#and i will sooner die than abandon my ship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

villainousshakespeare · 3 years ago

Text

Therapy Fit for a God Chapter 2

Loki/OFC Rated M (may go up to E in future chapters) Trigger Warnings: Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics

Chapter 1

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @yespolkadotkitty@maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @ghostypau @ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @mareebird @colorfulfreakstudentpizza @szycha22 @chokemedaddyloki @queenofallhobos @just-the-hiddles-reads @alwida10

Taking a deep breath as she heard the door click back into place, Caroline tried to center herself again before beginning once more with her patient.

“Oh dear, I hope there are no problems, Doctor?” Loki asked, false concern coloring his voice.

“No, no problems,” Caroline smiled at him. “I learned how to deal with gun-toting bureaucrats long ago.”

“If you would like, I could deal with him for you,” the God suggested. “Simply be so good as to unlock my manacles and I will gladly make sure that particular problem is out of the way permanently.”

From a purely ethical perspective, Caroline had issues with a patient being chained during a session. I this instance, however, she had a strong suspicion that no amount of persuasion would convince the magical being seated before her to remain once the cuffs were removed. While it was not her preference to treat an unwilling patient, this particular one was so clearly in desperate need of her services that she was persuaded to make an exception.

“I hardly think interrupting our therapy session is a capital offense,” she said after a moment’s reflection.

“Therapy? Is that what this is supposed to be?”

“Of a sort,” she shrugged. “We can call it something else if the term offends you.”

“I merely find it humorous. After all, where I am headed the status of my emotions is like to matter little. And after that… well, I won’t have to deal with pesky emotions at all.”

“And will that be a relief for you?” she took a gamble, probing him a bit.

“Emotions are a weakness. The sooner you learn that dear doctor, the better you’ll be.”

“I think emotions can be our greatest strength. However, seeing everything you have been through in your long life, I can understand why you might have some hesitation about that.”

“And what could you possibly know about my life?” Loki scoffed.

“Well, you told me a bit about it,” she pointed out. “You were abandoned by your birth father, taken from your home, lied to by your adopted parents, overlooked in favor of an adored sibling, and to top it all off, you found out about your true nature in a horribly traumatic fashion. That’s enough to make anyone want to emotionally shut down. Either that or tumble off the deep end into emotional chaos.”

“Don’t make chaos sound so unappealing,” Loki said. “It can be quite liberating. And after all, I do rule over it as a God.”

“That’s right, you’re God of Chaos and Lies as well as Mischief.”

“I prefer to think of it as stories more than lies,” Loki said innocently. “Lies just sounds so naughty, doesn’t it? But then, maybe that’s part of the appeal.”

“Don’t try to distract me with semantics,” Caroline told him with a disarming smile, ignoring how appealing it was when he said the word. “We were talking about your reaction to the discovery of your true origins. I take it you embraced chaos.”

“It is my nature.”

“You sent the Destroyer, I think it’s called? To Earth to kill your brother.”

“Kill or be killed, what would you do?”

“Not commit fratricide, I hope. Did you really think Thor would kill you?”

“What was I meant to think?” Loki exploded. “All of our lives, he spoke of killing every last Jotun. He dreamed of it. Longed for it. Planned endlessly for the day when he could carry out those dreams as King. Why should I ever suspect that a weekend on this dreary planet would turn him into a simpering puppy where they were concerned? All because of a pair of big brown eyes.”

“You mean Jane Foster?”

“That woman. I had tried to reason with Thor for centuries. Pointed out the problematic nature of genocide, counseled restraint and diplomacy, and for centuries I was mocked for it. Then a pretty female makes the exact same arguments and suddenly Thor is a pacifist?”

“He had changed when he came back to Asgard.”

“In some ways. In others he was exactly the same as always. He had experienced this grand epiphany and was now a warrior for peace, and therefore everyone else must instantly and intuitively know that the world had reordered itself. A mere handful of days prior he had tried to bring about the end of the Jotunheim himself and considered it worthy of songs and celebrations. But when I attempted the same, attempted to show that my loyalty was and always would be to Asgard and our family, I was a criminal, interested in only death and destruction! I spent my life pushing back against Thor and Odin’s reflexive shows of brute force, and the moment I finally embraced the family way they changed it! Why should I be held to a standard different from the one they set all my life? How is that fair?”

Heaving himself off of the bench, Loki strode over to the side of his cell farthest from the watching guards and leaned his head on a forearm pressed to the glass. Caroline could see the rise and fall of his back as he struggled to get his emotions under control.

“It’s not,” she said simply.

“What?” the word was barely audible from where he stood.

“It’s not fair,” she said again.

“Careful doctor,” he warned, turning his head to look at her. “You contradict the great rulers of Asgard and the Nine Realms.”

“How fortunate for me then that I am not one of their subjects.”

“The AllFather may not see it that way.”

“Loki, I know it may sound blasphemous, but I really don’t care what Odin thinks, or Thor either. For the former, I have never met him, and from everything I have heard I am grateful for it. As for Thor… I have met him on a handful of occasions. He strikes me as carelessly kind, overly headstrong, and more than a touch egotistical. Not terribly dissimilar from several other enhanced people I have come across in my line of work. I have a casual linking for him, but I cannot imagine how irritating it would be to be his sibling. The only member of the Asgardian royal family I am interested in right now is you.”

“Why Caroline,” Loki purred, turning with a predatory gleam and sauntering deliberately over to the table where she sat, “why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

***

She was good, he had to give her that. Most of the mortals Loki had met since arriving on Earth would have shrunk back visibly with him looming over them, manacles of no. He was considerably tall by their standards, and he had learned several hundred years ago how to use his presence to his advantage. Instead of flinching away from him, Dr. Thorpe just directed a quizzical look up at him, as though trying to decipher what secret his new tactic was hiding. Only the pulse he could see beating rapidly in her neck betrayed any kind of alarm.

She smelled nice. The thought passed irrelevantly through his mind. A light smell of strawberries that he believed must be from her shampoo surrounded her. Loki had always enjoyed the fruit, particularly when matched with chocolate.

“If you are trying to intimidate me,” she said hardily, “you will have to try better than that.”

“Intimidate you? On the contrary, I was trying to entice you. Are my skills as rusty as that?”

“It’s interesting that your words when flirting are move removed from your true self than any of the other words you have spoken thus far. If I were to guess, I would say you were not one to give your heart over rapidly to another the way Thor did with Jane. Is that part of why it surprised you so much?”

“Why would I ever give my heart to anyone?” he asked, still keeping his voice pleasant as he sat on the edge of her desk, crowding into her space. “I am not so cruel. And who in their right mind would want such a tarnished thing?”

“Tarnish is easy enough to scrub off,” she shrugged. “And I would think there would be many people willing to take a gamble with yours.”

“Indeed? Are you saying I’m attractive, Caroline?”

“You are undeniably handsome,” she admitted. “On top of that, you are intelligent, curious, I would guess talented in many different fields.”

“Oh, I am,” he made his voice as suggestive as possible, and felt a moment of victory when her face blushed slightly.

“I think, after some work, you would make some person an excellent partner.”

“Work?”

“Forgiving yourself.”

“What in Hel do I have to forgive myself for?” he snapped, standing up off the table.

“Not being Thor,” she sighed.

Loki felt as though she had slapped him across the face. So, it turned out this doctor was no different than all the rest. She judged him not by who he was, or even who he might be, but by how far he fell from the perfect golden idol that was Thor. Why had he ever expected different?

“No, Loki, wait,” she said quickly, laying a hand on his arm.

Loki stared down, thinking idly that she was touching him precisely where the Frost Giant had all that time ago. Her touch was warm though, and she grasped him gently as though attempting to heal him instead of trying to burn. He could not remember the last time a person had touched him with anything less than thinly contained violence, and he found himself frozen in place.

“You misunderstand,” she continued, looking up at him. “I am not saying that I think you should be like Thor. I think that even trying to be is an error on your part.”

“Because I am so fundamentally lacking?”

“In some ways, but in others you are so fundamentally more. From everything I read about Asgard before seeing you today, and everything you have told me, the social hierarchy sounds like that of a common high school here on Earth. Thor is strong, brash, brave, all those things. But he doesn’t think before he acts. He doesn’t even really believe a person should think first. In a culture that celebrates battles and strength, he shines. He is an instrument as blunt and inflexible as his hammer, and good for similar functions.

“You, on the other hand, are the complete opposite. You are agile, reflexive, fluid, graceful. Your mind is just as much of a weapon as any tangible object, and I would wager much more lethal. You will survive far better than your brother, because you know how and when to swerve or bend but never surrender. The Asgardians, with their black and white mentality, would not be able to see what a great advantage this is.”

“That is true,” he said begrudgingly.

“Now, let’s look at your childhood again. You were brilliant, I assume, from a young age. That would have made your teachers envious, and I can imagine that you did nothing to hide your superiority to them.”

“A God does not hide his gifts.”

“And they are gifts!” she pounced. “So, if your teachers resent you for the most part, and the other children see more value in arms than in books, what then? Your father spent all of your formative years recounting battles to you, it couldn’t help but glorify skills at arms. The entire society you were planted in revolved around them. And you, from before you understood, would have internalized this.

“And then the final knell – Thor is given Mjornir and the crown.”

“That was never in doubt,” Loki lied. He had dared to hope, long ago now, that the throne of Asgard might fall to him. That somehow he could prove to Odin that he was worthy of his pride and love. He had been a fool.

“You might have known intellectually, but it still would have hurt,” she shook her head.

It had hurt more than he cared to remember. The worst was that no one seemed to even consider that he might feel anything other than delighted on his brother’s behalf. He had been happy, in a fashion. He loved Thor back then with an ease that he grieved the lack of now. Still, that one small, kernel of hope had always remained that somehow, he could convince their father that he was not just a spare prince, dark shadow following behind Thor’s gleaming sun.

“What does it matter?” he asked with a sigh.

“It matters! It matters because you matter. Yes, Odin chose Thor. But that is because Odin has no more imagination than your brother. He wants Asgard to continue on as it has always done. In Thor, he has a perfect reflection of himself. He didn’t choose you because you would have tried new things, made improvements, and, yes, mistakes as well. But you would have changed the status quo. You were not less than, Loki. You were unique.”

Loki walked back to the bench, her words echoing in his head. Had he been comparing himself to Thor all this time? He had thought that he had ceased to do so years ago. Still, the constant praise of his brother rang in his ears. The worship in everyone’s eyes all but blinded him. He had tried to see the irony in it all, to see the throngs who followed his brother as lemmings, nuisances at best.

Magic had helped, a little. His mother had done her best to give him something of his own, and he had seized on it with embarrassing eagerness. He could still remember the first time he had faced Thor across the pitch, their father watching expectantly from the sidelines, knowing that he had a new advantage his brother would never possess. It had all gone as usual. Thor had attacked head on while Loki dodged and danced, blades flashing. Then, summoning all of his magical strength, Loki had blurred his image so that Thor was not sure where he truly started and stopped. It was a crude version of a trick he could do without thinking now. It had been enough to confound his brother, who threw himself at the wrong side of Loki and ended up lying face down in the dirt, Loki’s dagger pressed to the back of his neck.

Loki had been ecstatic. Surely, at last, he would hear Odin’s praise. Instead, his father had looked at him coldly from his one good eye, face unpleased.

“Tricks,” he had said. “Unsporting in this sort of battle. I had expected more from you.”

Odin had turned around and walked away, leaving Loki crushed. Frigga had tried to ease his hurt, assuring him that he had done the spell just right, and she was so proud of him, but the damage had been done. He told himself he gave up on trying to win Odin’s approval at that moment, but he knew it was a lie. A part of him wanted it still.

“Tell me what living creature ever dreamed of being unique,” Loki asked quietly. “Unique is just another word for alone.”

“Unique is special,” Dr. Thorpe countered. “Loki, you don’t have to be alone.”

“Would you link yourself to me, Doctor?” he asked, thinking to call her bluff. “There is, after all, very little time left. Would you stay with me until the axe falls, be it tomorrow or the next day?”

“If you wish it,” she surprised him with the answer. “I don’t think the axe has to fall, necessarily, but even if it does, I will be there with you, if you like. As a friend.”

“A friend,” the word tasted strange on his tongue. “Friend to the one who tried to subjugate your kind? Who killed humans without a second thought?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you are what you were made to be, and no one deserves to be alone.”

“Yet in the end, we are all. And so shall I be.”

“Loki, I will ask you one last time, do you want to die?”

Loki looked at her, truly considering the question for the first time. He did not actively seek out death, not since he had let go of Gungnir a fallen into the abyss. In that moment he had, indeed, longed for an end to all the pain. Instead, the true pain had only just begun. Wincing away from the memory, he brought himself to the present.

No, he did not particularly want to die. He just was not sure he wanted to live. He knew who hunted him, somewhere in the greater galaxy. He had thought he might be safe on Asgard. Surely his father, he had believed, even if he was not so by blood, would take him back rather than leave him to the barbaric Midgardians. An Asgardian jail cell would not be pleasant, but at least it would be marginally safer. Even one as mad as his pursuer would not risk a head on confrontation with Odin AllFather.

It had not happened that way. Odin had washed his hands of his Jotun pawn. Loki was on his own, with nothing standing between him and more of the agony he had endured in his captivity.

“It might be better for all involved were it to be over,” he said at last. “I fear you have wasted your time with me. Let them end it and save yourselves.”

“Save ourselves from what? From you?”

“No, my threat is over.”

“Then what? Loki, what are you afraid of?”

“I told you, I fear nothing!”

Lies, of course.

“I don’t believe you. Everyone has fears.”

“And what are yours?” he asked, suddenly angry at her for making him feel. “Tell me, Caroline, what are your deepest, darkest fears that keep you up at night? Is it loneliness for you, is that why you hope to see it in me? Do you lie there, alone in your bed with no one to care for you? Only your work to keep you warm in the cold hours of the night? Would you cling to me in my uniqueness because you fear to be on your own?”

“In part, yes, probably,” she agreed with him, startling him once again. “I do know what it is like to be different. To keep others at arm’s length. I know what it is to be alone.”

“Well then, shall we comfort each other? You are not uncomely.”

He had meant to intimidate her, to drive her away, but as he drew closer to her, Loki realized that he would not mind spending time with her. She was more attractive than he had made it sound, and he could feel himself responding to her. Against his will, he began imagining her eyes, frank and compassionate, darkened with desire. Or perhaps it was not all his imagination. Her pulse was racing again, and her pupils had dilated as she looked up at him.

“What you suggest would not be appropriate,” her voice was more strained than it had been before.

“Because I am a terrorist?” he murmured, close to her ear.

“Because you are my patient.”

“I politely decline your services, doctor. At least, your professional services. You had said you would keep me company. We could become quite friendly if you desire.”

“I think this is a good time for a break,” she said crisply, standing and smoothing her hands over her skirt.

“I thought you wanted to stay with me,” he smirked.

“We need food,” she told him. “I will go arrange something and be back shortly.

Loki grinned as she hurried from the room, but the humor faded quickly. He had won that round, he believed. So why did the victory feel so hollow?

#Loki #Loki fic #fan fic #post Avengers Assemble #angst #therapy #talk of suicidal thoughts in previous chapters #Loki needs a hug #trauma #Loki/OFC #Loki needs a friend #eventual romance #unhealthy family dynamics #Odin sucks #odin's a+ parenting #Can we hug him please?#inapropriate flirting

80 notes · View notes

sovonight · 2 years ago

Text

undone, part 3 (end) | atton/exile, sith exile au, kotor 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

✧ — ✧

"Whinu claims he had nothing to do with it," Cela says, as soon as the door closes behind her. She moves to pull her cloak off her shoulders, before remembering that her cloak is gone, and abandoning the movement. Jaq is at her desk, leaning against the edge of it, leaving the chair free for Cela to take with a tired sigh.

"And you believe him?" Jaq asks.

Jaq's tone is neutral, leaving the judgement solely to her. Whinu had been insulted by her accusation, and had insulted her in turn, saying outright that Cela had plenty of other enemies at the academy to accuse instead. Beneath her anger, Cela had felt in that moment that she'd burnt her last, tenuous bridge at the academy, but she'd had to persist. The access codes, the timeline, the motivation, everything pointed to him. And yet….

"I don't know," Cela says. "I'm no longer sure of my judgement of him. But… Jaq, you've been on many interrogation assignments, haven't you?"

A strange look passes through Jaq's eyes, before he forces a casual laugh.

"Yeah, but breaking a Sith's different from breaking a Jedi," Jaq says, "And I'm out of practice, anyway. I'm just a pilot, now, remember? You need any ships flown, I'm your guy."

"Of course," Cela says, not so taken by the mystery of her assassination attempt that his somber air passes her by. She nods to his jacket. "A pilot who carries a small arsenal with him wherever he goes."

"Hey, old habits die hard," Jaq says, with an easy shrug, and Cela is glad to hear his tone is light once more.

Perhaps she can set this mystery aside. She had feared that Whinu or another Master would take advantage of her absence to claim her title, but nothing had happened. And for all that she's been through in these last few days, she's emerged better for it: the academy is still against her, but she's now assured that Jaq stands by her side.

"Jaq," Cela begins slowly, casting her gaze down to her cold hands, "Do you remember the last shipment you collected for me?"

Cela has never asked for Jaq's help in rounding up hopefuls. At some point, he had just begun doing it, offering them to her of his own volition. Cela had interpreted his help as some jab at her own weakness, but beneath her doubts towards him, she had long grown grateful for his silent devotion.

"I find myself in need of another," Cela says. "The sooner, the better."

Instead of the immediate yes she'd expected, Jaq frowns to himself, shaking his head.

"I can't. Nothing's coming in right now," Jaq says. "Word is, recruitment efforts are waning now that most Jedi are dead or dying. The academy's still getting students, but they're coming direct from the torture chambers."

"And the academy would be expecting them," Cela finishes for him, and Jaq only nods.

Cela falls silent, unable to suppress the cold in her chest. She had always known Korriban's supply would run dry, but had never thought it would happen so soon—not when she truly needs it. With the state she's in, the most she could do is mind-trick a gizka. She can feel the Force around her more acutely than ever, flowing throughout the academy, winding through its inhabitants; it drifts so near, and yet denies her grasp, taunting her.

"There are other ways to let off steam, you know," Jaq says.

"I'm not stressed," Cela says, her tone harsher than she intends it to be, and Jaq just gives her a raise of his brow, as if to say, And you were saying?

"I'm not!" Cela insists. "I'm—I'm just—"

There's just Korriban, bland and bleak and threatening, all around her again. There's just the academy, so full of plotting minds and jealousy and vehemence. There's just the vacuum in her chest, chilling her to the bone, threatening to eat her alive.

And there's Jaq, who's watching her now, who's closer to her now than she has ever let him be before, and yet—for all that she wishes he would reach out and help her—can do nothing.

"I'm just… not used to feeling the weight of the academy again," Cela finishes, hollow. "It is a temporary thing."

It's a familiar wall that she reaches for—so familiar that Jaq's body language closes off in response, taking her words as a push away.

"Right," Jaq says, subdued. "Well, I just remembered some repairs I have to do anyway, so—"

"Wait!" Cela says, and it's only when Jaq looks to her with a mixture of puzzlement and astonishment that she realizes that she's snagged the edge of his sleeve as he turned to leave.

"Yeah?" Jaq says, his tone edged with hope. "What is it?"

"Perhaps a moment at the cantina would help us both," Cela says, "If you're willing to join me?"

—

The cantina is a bright light in Korriban's dusk, filled to the brim with the liveliness of the evening crowd. Cela's gaze passes across the room, recognizing the mechanics from the hangar; workers and archaeologists from the dig; and guards from the academy. The only person she doesn't recognize is the woman behind the bar, who stares at her in open shock before spinning quickly away to wipe down more glasses. Jaq leads her towards the booths lining the back wall, where the din of the cantina is quieter, sinking into the backdrop.

Cela stirs her drink idly, the ice within it long melted so that it no longer makes a sound. She doesn't remember what Jaq had gotten her—it doesn't sharpen the mind the way Jaq claims juma does, at least, she needs her wits about her—and it doesn't matter, as such trivialities are far from her mind right now. The soft light around the booth melts against Jaq's features, leaving a touch of gold upon him that softens his sharp smirks and scowls as he talks over the day's work at the hangar. His grey eyes shine amber, like setting suns through the haze of dusk, and a sigh escapes her as Jaq continues on, oblivious.

"So I looked into it," Jaq says, "And yeah, if it's going to take that long to go through official channels, we should keep the junk ship for now."

"And our rogue repair droid?" Cela asks, resting her cheek on her hand, only to be startled by a cold sensation as she nearly sticks the stirring spoon to her. Thankfully, Jaq doesn't notice, and Cela quickly sets the spoon on the table, a safe distance away. Surely she's stirred enough.

"I didn't catch its serial number, so I sent them all in for inspection," Jaq says. "Mechanics weren't happy with that, but we're past the busiest part of the month, anyway. It does mean I'll be working on the junk ship myself for the time being, but it's worth the trouble. With the way cargo ships only stop in periodically to deliver supplies, we could be left trapped here if any brave Jedi decide to ambush u…"

His gaze drifts over to hers, and he interrupts his words with a smirk.

"Oh, so it's the idea of us all dying gets you smiling, and not a single one of my jokes?" Jaq says. The smile on her lips surprises her, disappearing as soon as she notices it—but Jaq doesn't tease her further; his gaze only softens.

"No, it's just…" Cela hesitates, wondering if she might be saying too much, but that ease and lightness in her shoulders guides her to continue, "We're on Korriban, and yet it feels like we're together for one of our old missions. As though we could step out of here and be... anywhere."

"Yeah, I miss it too," Jaq says, and she notices then just how wistful she had sounded, for him to respond in the same way.

"Why don't you go back?" Cela asks; she's long been curious. "The work here is tedious and unchallenging; I see how this place stifles you. They would take you back, easily."

Jaq only shrugs, glancing down at the table.

"It just isn't the same without you," Jaq says. "I don't want to work with anyone else."

I came here for you, he'd said. A sentiment that would've sunk sweetly into her heart if it weren't for everything keeping her here. If he had hoped to convince her to return with him, he'd sought her out in vain.

"Don't think of me," Cela says, quietly. "I am glad for your company, but Korriban has a way of wearing its inhabitants down to shadows of themselves. I would not want to see that happen to you, when you could thrive somewhere else."

"Funny," Jaq says, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Cela looks at him, and realizes what he's saying.

"Jaq—I can't leave," Cela says, stunned, and Jaq shrugs.

"Why not?"

"I'm the headmaster."

A couple heads turn from the tables beside them. Cela hushes herself a moment too late, but Jaq replies, unfazed.

"Last I checked, you have twelve replacements who'd happily kill to take your place," Jaq says. "Besides, once you leave, it's not your problem anymore."

She has long dreamed of throwing up her hands and telling the Masters to sort the academy's troubles out amongst themselves, rather than turn on her—but….

"I still have a duty to Revan," Cela says, quietly. "It's her wish that I remain here."

"Yeah, but Revan's not watching this place anymore, is she?" Jaq says, meeting her eye. "If she doesn't care about it, you shouldn't either."

It could all just... go away. Without explanation, without logic, she and Jaq could escape into the night, and leave the Masters to fight amongst themselves over the empty title she'd left behind come morning. No one would notify Revan of the change in command—and with Revan's frequent turning wheel of projects, it could be a year or more before her personal attention returned here.

"You could go anywhere," Jaq says. "An army's not the only place that could use a Dark Jedi like you."

"A rogue Jedi who had abandoned both sides would soon be found and dragged back," Cela points out. "If I am to walk free, I would never be able to use the Force again."

"Not necessarily," Jaq says, "You're a healer. People would be willing to cover for you."

In that one word, this hypothetical escape crashes back down to the earth. A bitter smile takes her lips, holding back more complicated emotions that she hasn't touched in years.

"I'm no healer," Cela says. "It was a pleasant thought exercise, Jaq, but my place is here."

"But why not? You heal me all the time," Jaq says. "Just do that for other people."

"It doesn't work like that. You're—different. A special case," Cela says, and Jaq chuckles, giving her an amused look.

"Alright, I know an excuse when I hear one," Jaq says. "I've never been a special case in a good way in my life. What's the real reason?"

"I'm serious!" Cela insists.

"Sounds like a Jedi lie to me," Jaq says, though his tone is teasing—and Cela's face warms, both out of indignance and what she's about to say.

"Force healing isn't like kolto," Cela says. "I can't use it whenever and however I want. I need to feel a certain kind of genuine emotion towards the receiver—emotion that I can no longer muster towards most people."

Cela watches for Jaq's response, and wonders if her burning face and beating heart might reveal to him the full implications of what she's just confessed, but Jaq's lips quirk to the side in confusion.

"What does that mean?" Jaq says. "Cela, can't you just drop the cryptic Jedi talk and tell me?"

She lets go of her breath in a frustrated sigh.

"No," Cela says adamantly, and turns away from him, taking a long drink from her glass. In their silence, the din of cantina roars back into her awareness, bringing her pieces of conversation that float past:

"—so I say to him, look, you find me another pair of power converters, and I'll—"

"—can't stand these Hssiss, we're running out of antidote packs—"

"—still making preparations, the Dark energy readings are overwhelming—"

A pair of archaeologists walk past their table, leaving Cela with that last shred of their conversation as they leave. Beside her, Jaq plays with the empty shot glass in his hand, muttering, "Something she feels towards me but no one else…."

"Jaq," Cela interrupts, too pulled by urgency to wonder what guesses are going through his head, "Those archaeologists. Do you know what site they're talking about?"

Jaq blinks, brought out of his subdued and thoughtful state.

"Oh—yeah, I've heard about it," Jaq says. "It's another tomb they've been digging out for weeks now. It's got some kind of strong stench around it. I say it's just the dead guy inside, but they say it's Dark energy, and they're making all these preparations and requests for it. I bet the forms are going to cross your datapad soon, if they haven't already."

Cela is on her feet before she fully registers her movement, and only glances back at Jaq when he calls her name, puzzled.

"It's getting late," Cela says, by way of explanation. "I'm returning to my quarters."

She doesn't address her abrupt action, or the way that this is hours before she would usually turn in; and thankfully, Jaq points neither out.

"Alright," Jaq says, "But you're not going to stay up all night working again, are you? Because you know those forms can wait."

There's that concern in his eyes again; now that Cela knows his sincerity, it's hard to push it away. Jaq is always looking out for her; he wouldn't want her to head into the tomb alone. Perhaps… she could tell him—

But as Cela looks at the lively flush in his cheeks, and the bright gold in his eyes, her uncertain words die in her throat. The Force is dangerous in her hands. She's only just opened her heart to him again; she fears what would happen if he walked in.

"I'm not," Cela lies. "Good night, Jaq. Take your time without me."

—

When Jaq leaves the cantina at last, the sky is long dark, and only a couple stragglers remain inside, their silhouettes hazy in the dimly lit windows. He hadn't meant to stay so long, but something about a lively room leaves just enough space for his thoughts, and he'd had many to sort through.

His hand has gone absentmindedly to his temple, touching the very spot Cela had healed just days earlier. Jaq pulls his hand back to his side, curling his fingers closed. He has all the pieces to understand what she'd said. Healing is an ability of the Light side—she'd told him this—and he's seen the Light. It had left him shivering, drowned in the vastness of it, haunted by the way the world looked through the eyes of the other side. But… he had felt none of that at Cela's hands. What she'd shown him was anything but grand and unknowable, it was... familiar. It was as if she'd known he was afraid to see the Force again, and had eased it for him.

Gratitude curls up in his chest, but guilt is there to meet it. She hadn't known. And it's precisely because he's kept all these secrets that Cela—Cela, who faces all challenges with a cold determination and set shoulders—had broken down and cried in front of that wreck of a ship, not from the pressures of Korriban, but from a fear of him. A chill grips his heart at the memory; he never wants to see that look on her face again. He had always thought that she walked beside him knowing the way in which she marked his limits. Anyone, but her. No one, but her.

But that small, troublesome voice in the back of his head pipes up: he has never wanted to let Cela to know just how far he'd go for her. He's had his moments of self-justification—it's more noble, isn't it, to serve her quietly from the shadows—but he's long known that his reluctance is due to pure cowardice, tied up in that itchy sense of self-preservation that's kept him alive all these years. Even that glimpse he had shown her of his uncovered heart had taken all his willpower to hold open. And Cela… and Cela….

Cela had given it back to him. His affection, still wrapped within his fear and his guilt. The Light, tamed to fit into the palm of her hand. He's back at the start: an emotion that she feels for him, but no one else. He's close, but he's afraid. Because if he wants it, then all these tricks and shadows and lies he's built up around himself have to go, to leave room for her.

"Easier said than done," Jaq says to himself, then pauses, looking up. "Wait, where the hell am I?"

He'd been heading towards the hangar, but a glance around shows him that he's wandered onto a dig site, his boots upon the gradient of a shadow cast by an entrance dug into the cliff face, within which lies a path that only seems to slope down. Jaq looks cautiously in, reaching a hand out to the side of the entrance to support his lean in, but the moment he makes contact, an overwhelming wave of emotion hits him: urgency, wrongness, danger.

"Cela," Jaq says, because his responding pull of protectiveness would emerge for no one but her, "You didn't go back to your quarters, did you?"

Sparing only a second for a steadying breath, he heads in after her.

—

Jaq knows he's entered the tomb proper when the dug-out soil of the cave fades into tiles of dusty ceramic, which run alongside carved reliefs that line the wall and stretch into the shadows ahead. It takes a moment for Jaq's eyes to make out the entrance to an interior chamber ahead; the workers had installed lights in the cave, running wires down from the surface, but none hang here. He runs a hand along the wall, following the lines of ceramic down the path, and that feeling of foreboding crawls up his fingers once more.

There's just enough light to guide him into the chamber—into the empty chamber. For a brief moment, Jaq's heart drops, but he's heard stories about these tombs: about the ones that torture their trespassers, and the ones that don't want to be entered. Surely this is one of the latter; and surely Cela had left her touch here, had marked the way ahead, even though she had been foolish enough to go on her own.

A thought bothers him, nudging at the back of his mind—what is she looking for in a place like this?—but Jaq waves it away. He needs all his focus to make out the reliefs on the walls in this terrible, dim light, and that foreboding is still—

That foreboding is still guiding him. His eye catches on some text on the wall, probably some sort of ancient Sith riddle, but he doesn't need to play their games when he has her. Jaq places his hand on the wall once more, closes his eyes as he's seen Cela do for her use of the Force so many times, and holds still as that danger, alarm, fear crashes over him, sending spikes up beneath his skin. She's so close, he can almost feel it—

—And a low, grinding sound comes into his awareness. Jaq opens his eyes to see a carving in the wall, a piece of which has been depressed by a push of his fingertip—a hidden switch. With a step back, it's released, and the wall that had pretended to be a dead end before begins to pull away from the ceiling, sinking into the floor. Jaq grins to himself in relief, but relief soon becomes confusion as the light in the room begins to fade, cut by a rising line of shadow cast along the falling wall. He turns back in time to see the last gap of light between the chamber and the hall outside disappear into the ceiling, as a second wall slides into place.

Of course: a trade. With these people, there's no give without take. Jaq shakes the residual shiver off his shoulders. Whatever—he doesn't need that door open anyway, not until he finds Cela. But... that feeling he's been following is gone.

Thoughtlessly, Jaq clutches at his heart, as though emotion were a physical item that could be lost then found, but it's vanished. That can't be right. Jaq doesn't know much about the Force, but he doesn't think it works like this. He can't run out of awareness. That'd just be stupid.

A nervousness tugs at his lips, a reassuring smile that has no one to see it, alone and sunken into darkness as he is. Cela's here… right? Unless he'd just imagined it. Unless he'd just been tricked. It wouldn't be the first time, but it hurts more now, now that he's walked into it. Something gives in Jaq’s chest, and when he sways slightly, finding a wall behind him when he takes a step back to steady himself, he just lets himself slump against it. What is he doing? Assuming that Cela's here, based on one bad feeling? Assuming that Cela needs him, when he'd been left behind?

Take a hint, Jaq. Cela knew what she was doing when she left him for Korriban. She'd seen enough in their time together to see through him, to all the ways in which he's weak. And she'd been right: when he'd seen that Light without her there to make sense of it—without her there to prevent him from ever seeing it at all—he'd ran, afraid, in the direction of the closest safety he knows. He'd told her he was here for her, but the truth is in a twist of the words.

A ragged breath escapes his lips, and horrified, he clamps a hand over it, silencing himself. This tomb is mired in Dark energy, whatever that is, but like the others scattered in the valley, it could hold all manner of creature inside, from a common mynock to a wandering Hssiss. Jaq doesn't have any antidote packs on him; for all the supposed precautions that line his jacket, he'd rushed in after all.

Then he hears a shuffle of fabric against the floor... a step of a boot. When a light shines through the darkness, in the familiar vivid red of a Sith lightsaber, all Jaq can feel is relief.

"Cela," Jaq says, quickly wiping the dampness from his eyes, "You're alright."

"Yes, but are you?" Cela asks. The light rises to illuminate half of her face—oh, how he's missed that half of her face—and she extends a hand to him, helping him up. "You look shaken."

"You know me. I'm fine," Jaq says, though the quick grin on his face has never felt more like a lie. "What are you doing here? I felt—I mean, I thought, that you were in danger."

"Ever vigilant," Cela comments, with a small, fond smile that lifts his previously leaden heart. "There is no more danger here than there is in one's mind. This is a proving grounds, of sorts. I came here to conquer my doubts."

Cela holds her lightsaber aloft before them, revealing their surroundings in its red glow. Rather than a wider version of that chamber he'd stood in, what lies before them is some kind of underground arena, with stands that stretch out to either side, circling a pit in the center. Jaq steps forward for a better look, doubting his eyes; he's sure he would've seen hints of a structure this grand before that wall sealed the way behind him. But all thought escapes him when Cela places her hand on his shoulder and draws in close, the fabric of her robes moving in a whisper against his back.

"I'm glad you're here," Cela confesses. "I was waiting for you to follow me."

"Well—you could say something next time," Jaq says, turning to her, but Cela rests her head against his other shoulder, and her hand moves into a loose embrace across his chest, holding him; he stills against her softness.

"Do you truly not know what I was trying to tell you?" Cela asks, softly. "In the cantina."

Her breath ghosts past the shell of his ear, a kiss of warmth against the cold; he holds back a shiver.

"I think I do," Jaq admits.

"Then what will you tell me in return?" Cela asks. "A confession for a confession."

But an unease crawls up his neck, and he has the distinct sense that they should get out of here.

"Look, Cela, I feel the same way," Jaq says, "And I'll say it, properly, as many times as you want, but—can we leave this place? It's giving me the creeps."

He still has too much to tell her, too much that might change her mind, and he'd rather not rush it here and now, not inside this tomb. But Cela laughs, low and drawn out, tipping her forehead against his shoulder. Jaq wonders if the bartender had gotten her drink wrong, if Cela weren't drunk after all, but when he turns to face her, her eyes are dark and unreadable in the lightsaber light, and hold no amusement anymore.

"Not that confession," Cela says. "The other that you owe me."

"What are you talking about?" Jaq is aware of now of another, building nervousness under his skin, layered upon the unease; different from what he'd followed for Cela, it's a portent for himself. "You know, relationships are built on—"

"Relationships are built on respect," Cela interrupts him, and takes a step forward; with her lightsaber drawn before her, all he can do is step back, startled, dropping down a stone step. "A respect you refuse to show me when you continue to hide the truth from me."

"Uh—Cela, I—" Another step, and another, steadily pushing him away from the entrance. "I'm lost. Help me out here. What—what truth are you talking about? Because I—"

"This is about the Jedi," Cela says, low and serious. "I know all about your last interrogation assignment. I know how you almost left."

Speechless, his veins run cold, and he stumbles down the last step, backing away until the arch of his boot rocks over the edge that separates the stands from the pit below. For a split second, his balance is gone, until Cela reaches out and grabs a fistful of his collar.

"You ran to me like a coward," Cela says, coldly. "You think I can't see the way you cling to me? How you hope to use me? Not just as a distraction from the spark of the Force that lies in your heart, but as something more?"

"That's not true," Jaq says, desperate even to his own ears, but Cela only holds him further out from the edge.

"Be honest with yourself, Jaq, in a way you have never been with me," Cela says. "What else did you seek of me?"

"I…" His voice fails him, breaking upon his words, "I wanted it to be you. If anyone was going to train me... I wanted it to be you."

"Finally," Cela says, with a cold satisfaction, but Jaq can't stop looking for the warmth in her eyes.

"But I didn't come here to use you," Jaq says, his words as rushed as a plea, "I came here because I couldn't leave you behind. They're destroying you here, you know that—"

"And a coward that can't even bear the Force can save me?" Cela asks.

"I can bear it now," Jaq says. "I can bear it, if it's you."

"Then prove it," Cela says, and in an uncurling of her fingers, lets him go.

Weightlessness is followed by impact far too soon, and he groans in pain, finding himself upon the dusty floor of the pit. Cela's figure swims in his hazy vision as she looks down at him from above, and he watches as she deactivates her lightsaber and tosses it over the edge after him; it strikes the dirt next to his hip.

"Pick it up," she commands. "Stand and face your opponent."

"You're crazy," Jaq says, pushing himself off the ground with a wince. "I don't care what's going through your head—I'm not going to fight you."

But Cela ignores his words, folding her hands behind her back, and looking out into the area behind him. Jaq realizes that there's more than one red glow illuminating the place—and there has been, for some time.

"You must take his place," Cela says. "There is only the Dark side, or death."

Jaq feels like a mind trapped as his body moves for him, turning to face the figure behind him. Twin lightsabers rise to reveal their wielder: his own corpse, staring back at him.

—

Revan's reinforcements are late, and with their forces struggling, the Mandalorians may yet turn the tide of battle. Cela knows she must give the order—and Jaq, beside her, gives her a solemn nod, prepared for the sacrifice—but she isn't. Somehow, Jaq wears the robes of a Jedi; somehow, his heart beats next to hers; and she would trade the galaxy to spare herself from feeling not only her wound created anew, but the agony of the Mass Shadow Generator tearing through him, tearing through her.

"I can't," Cela says, betraying the Light for her attachment to him, betraying the Dark for her unwillingness to complete the test. "I can't do it."

"And the sacrifices you've made to stand here?" Jaq says. "Your kyber, your family, your Order. What are they worth if you don't commit to your path?"

"It's not the same," Cela says. "I haven't lost you yet."

"You will," Jaq says, his eyes cold and unkind, "When I see you for what you are. When that time comes, do you want to face me with the Force, or without it?"

"You..." Care about me, she wants to say, but the words catch in her throat, "You'll understand."

Jaq sneers, cruel.

"And I joined Revan for my generous sense of understanding, did I? You're a Jedi, Cela. You'll always be one of them, looking down on the rest of us. Even if you spare me now, one betrayal is all that stands between my blade and your throat."

Jaq advances, and Cela steps back, maintaining a buffer of distance between them.

"Will you walk away from here with the power to keep up your act—or will you show me what you really are?" Jaq says, low and mocking. "Lost, and broken. Worthless without the Force."

Cela's back hits one of the consoles on the bridge, having backed away as far as she can, and yet Jaq still advances, gripping her jaw in his hand, twisting her face up to look at him.

"Love is fleeting," Jaq says. "There is only the Dark side, or death."

Jaq's eyes are on hers, their grey as opaque and uncaring as the sharp edge of a vibroblade, and Cela shuts her eyes, no longer able to stand his gaze.

Power is what kept her going, but in that time when she had believed that she stood alone on Korriban, lost in a sea of hostility, what use was her power then? Cela had never felt more unlike herself—and until she had healed Jaq of his injury, she'd forgotten what she'd once held in her heart.

And yet Cela cannot fathom turning away. She's never known how one could bear it: to hear the Force and never be able to grasp it again; to feel like this, forever.

But before she can voice anything, Jaq's cruel touch is pulled away. A sensation of falling lifts her heart to her throat, and a gloved hand grips hers, pulling her through—and Cela's eyes fly open, seeing not the bridge or the stormy skies of Malachor, but the mundane and familiar interior of the headmaster's ship, the one that she and Jaq had left in flames on that pale speck of a planet.

Her hand is still held, tight, and her gaze trails up her rescuer's arm, to the shoulders of a familiar jacket. Jaq's back is turned to her as he scrolls quickly through the screens at the pilot's seat, and scenes fly past in the front viewport: sandy dunes, barren land, a cantina interior, a forest floor.

"Jaq?" Cela says, and hears in her voice a trembling, fearful shadow of herself; with a breath to gather herself, she tries again, firmer. "Jaq, what is this?"

"Hold on," Jaq says, "I'll find it—any moment now."

"Find what?" Cela says, pulling away. "If this is another trial, I—"

But when Jaq turns at last to face her, his eyes hold none of the cruelty of the tomb’s trials, bearing only concern and warmth—he’s real. With a shaky breath, relief drives her forward, and Cela finds herself throwing her arms around him, pressing herself to his chest.

"Wow, you're really glad to see me, huh?" Jaq sounds relieved, relaxing and wrapping an arm around her in return. "For a moment there, I thought I'd never find you."

"Wait," Cela says, pulling away to look at him, "How did you find me? How are you here?"

"It's a long story," Jaq says. "You know, I almost got fooled by this other version of you, but then I saw myself, and—well, you have no idea how many places I waded through to find you."

"You're navigating inside this place," Cela says, disbelievingly. "But you shouldn't have been let in. These trials, the Force, it…"

"I guess now is as good a time as any," Jaq says, and with a hollow smile he shrugs and says, "I'm Force sensitive."

"What?" Cela says, faintly, pulling away from his grasp, but Jaq steps forward to meet her step back, reaching out to her.

"No, I know," Jaq says. "That's what I thought, too, but Cela, it's okay—"

"What part of this is okay?" Cela says, pushing his hand aside. "What possessed you to follow me? You should have stayed where I left you—far away from this place!"

Cela regrets her words when hurt flashes in Jaq's eyes, but his determination soon replaces it.

"I heard you," Jaq says. "You were calling for me—I didn't imagine that."

"You fell for a trap. You shouldn't have listened," Cela says, even though she knows he's telling the truth—the truth, for once, she doesn't want to hear. "I was fine where I was. I was in control. I always am."

"Then you have a funny way of showing it," Jaq says, sarcasm coloring his words. "Were you fine when you panicked at me rounding up hopefuls for you, trying to help you? Were you in control when you crushed that creature guarding the ship?"

Cela opens her mouth to answer, when the ship trembles, and she looks up quickly, eyes wide and afraid to find Malachor in the viewport again. Nothing fills it but dark, vast space; and when her attention returns to him, all the harshness in Jaq's demeanor is gone, leaving only the hurt beneath.

"Cela," Jaq says, "Please—I know something's happening to you. I thought it was just stress, but—whatever it was that overcame you, whatever it is that you're scared of—that's why you're here, isn't it?

"If you just tell me what's happening, maybe I can help," Jaq says. "Maybe this touch of the Force inside me can be good for something for once. Whatever you need of me, if you show me, I can—"

"You can't. I can't let you help me," Cela says, pulling away from him before he can take her shoulders in his hands, blanket her in more frustratingly gentle words. Though the Force can't be manipulated here, she pulls something like it to her hands to hold him apart from her, fearing that her resolve will break—and the ship shudders in response, protesting the barrier, but Cela ignores it, her voice strengthening in conviction.

"This isn't some monster we can kill, some night terror. This is the Force itself," Cela says. "After Malachor V, they called us all ghosts for witnessing so much death that day, but I was one who felt it. I held a tie to every last Jedi, every last sacrifice, and I felt their deaths scream across the Force, magnified tenfold in the intimacy of my mind.”

"I couldn't bear it,” she confesses. “I couldn't listen anymore. I cut them all from me, severed every last tie, including mine to the Force. But the Force must run through all living things, and the price I pay to live is to steal what shreds of it I can from others. I drained it from every Jedi we hunted, every doomed hopeful you brought to me, and now—"

She laughs, helpless.

"Now I can hurt you in the same way," Cela says. "You've seen the kind of death I deal; it had disturbed you. Aren't you afraid?"

She expects Jaq to look upon her as what she is: a shambling disaster, a tragedy past its ending. The metal of the ship around them strains, and the stars in the viewport begin to melt and marble into space, becoming the lightning of Malachor V once more—and yet, when Cela raises her gaze to Jaq's at last, the look in his eyes is fierce and determined, centered only on her.

"I’m not," Jaq says, “But you are. You’re just trying to scare me away.“

"Jaq," Cela says, despairing, "You don't understand—"

"Maybe I don't," Jaq says. "Not yet. I haven't known all this as long as you have. But there's something that you don't understand either."

Somehow, that not-quite-Force begins to slip from her fingers, the barrier between them buckling.

"Because I remember Malachor, too," Jaq says. "I remember all the anger and hatred I felt as the war was dragged out for nine long years, because the Jedi council refused to join it. I remember feeling that for so long that every other emotion in me grew dull. But you were part of what woke me up again, Cela; you were why I stayed. I've been afraid of the Force for so long—Light, Dark, it didn't matter—but you showed me another way."

The barrier is gone now; Jaq could approach, but he doesn't, leaving the space between them merely empty. Outside, the stars have become not the surface of Malachor V, but coalesced into plain sunlight; the ship, having accomplished its task, simply disappears from memory. All that remains is a tree, a wall, and a field of green, familiar to Dantooine. Light passes through the canopy above, falling dappled upon her shoulders, and unlike the memories the tomb has shown her, this one holds nothing but calm.

Cela runs her fingers through the sunlight, watching the flickers of gold play across them. Jaq, who despite taking her here, seems completely new to their surroundings, looks around with some confusion.

"The wall, it just… fades away," Jaq says. "I know none of this is meant to be real, but…."

"It's all I remember of home," Cela explains. "From before I joined the Jedi."

"Oh," he says, changing his tone in that single word; Cela gives a slight smile.

"It's alright," Cela says. "I'm told my family was proud to let me go. I was proud, too, of all the things I'd been told I could learn to do…."

A leaf flutters in the breeze on one of the branches above, and drops, spiraling into a chaotic fall. Cela holds out her hand, and though its path appears unpredictable, it lands perfectly into her palm.

"The world felt different then," Cela says. "Unknown, but knowable. Vast, but finite. The whole world is simple when you heal; there's nothing else to pour your love into but the wound before you."

This time, she doesn't pull away when Jaq steps forward to close the distance between them. His hand finds the curve of her face; his thumb is gentle as he brushes her cheek, and she realizes that, at some point, a tear had fallen there, betraying her.

"Can you show me how?" Jaq asks.

"So you can heal the wound in me?" Cela says, with a weak laugh. "It's futile. You could keep trying for years upon years, an eternity, and never make a mark."

"That's alright," Jaq says, "I've got nowhere else to put my love. The Sith Lord it belongs to doesn't want it."

"I'm no Sith Lord after this," Cela says; though no one else need know about the tomb and its test, she'll forever know she failed it. "And… you don't know that."

"I don't?" Jaq says. "Does that mean you'll come back with me, now?"

Cela lifts her gaze to his.

"I will, but... do you understand what you're asking?" Cela says, stilling his hand. "If we're to love each other, we'll inevitably form a Force bond. You'll be able to feel my pain, my sadness—"

"—And your love, and your relief," Jaq says. "And the same goes the other way around; I know. I remember my training. I always thought a bond like that would weaken me, but now it sounds like what we already have."

"But it's stronger," Cela says. "Unbreakable, unless one of us dies, or wounds ourselves to sever it."

Rather than match her seriousness, Jaq only smiles, and the fluttery, warm thread laced through the tangle of his emotions reveals the love beneath.

"Cela," Jaq says teasingly, "Are you proposing to me?"

Her words play back in her head, her face burning with warmth—but her response is cut short. Dantooine is fading: the tree bark has grown stony and jagged, the land barren, and the wall translucent, a window back into the trial she’d left behind. Cela pulls Jaq close to her.

"We can't dwell here any longer," Cela says. "You've shown me a way out; now take it."

It's no different from waking from a dream. Cela's eyes open to the ancient, dusty tomb floor she had fallen upon, and Jaq, slumped over her previously limp body, begins to rouse as well. His eyes catch hers, and she's pulled forward.

"Cela," Jaq breathes in relief, pulling her into a crushing hug. It's uncomfortable yet calming at the same time; his heartbeat is strong against hers, reminding her that she's still alive. When the embrace relaxes, it's only so Jaq can pull away slightly to look into her eyes. "No more creepy Sith tombs, please—at least not without me."

"Y—yes," Cela says, and it's only now that she's experiencing the real thing that she realizes how muted Jaq's touch was in the tomb's illusions. Had he always been so warm? And had she really said all those things—been so honest with him... shown him the parts of herself she'd long sought to hide?

Somehow, Jaq seems to know exactly what's running through her mind.

"I guess they're not all bad, though," Jaq says. "I finally know how you feel about me."

The look on Jaq's face is smug, satisfied—but just a touch uncertain, as though a trace of doubt lingers that their earlier conversation had ever happened at all. Cela could deny it now, put him back at an arm's distance—but after all the pain it took to get here, there's something freeing in pure honesty.

"You do," Cela admits, and for all her embarrassment and flushed cheeks, finds it the easiest thing in the galaxy to say, "I love you."

It's one thing to know, and another to hear it outright: Jaq turns red, as well.

"R—right," Jaq says, and clears his throat awkwardly. "And the bond, well… I think you know what my answer is."

A warmth glows in Cela’s heart, and she takes his hand, interlacing their fingers.

"I do," Cela says, "Though I wouldn't mind hearing it."

"I'll spill everything once we get out of here," Jaq says. "We've had a long enough heart to heart in some dead Sith’s resting place."

Cela laughs, and with that, they leave.

—

"So, Nar Shaddaa?" Jaq asks.

"Nar shaddaa," Cela confirms. "It will be easier to hide you there than on Korriban."

"I'm sorry," Jaq says, and Cela wonders what the apology is for when she's already come to realize that she has only ever suffered through this place, but he continues, "I know what you gave for your place here."

That, out of everything, is what constricts her throat, with something not unlike sorrow cinching it shut. She grips the sill of the ship’s viewport; the pressure against her fingertips grounds her.

She looks out across the cracked and barren land, to the academy, standing high on its cliff, a lofty structure that well represents its place in Revan's army. It had seemed so crucial and all-encompassing, holding all the crushing weight of Revan's influence… and yet now that she's prepared to leave, it appears small.

"It's alright," Cela says at last, turning away from the sight. "It never suited me."

#sovo writes #*locks jaq in a dark room and makes him confront himself*#cela: i *could* ask for help... OR i could keep hiding what's wrong with me #cela: i'm dropping subtle hints that i love him | cela to jaq: stop helping me. leave me alone

17 notes · View notes

fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years ago

Note

Companions and their mental health statuses?

(Wrote this while listening to a Spotify playlist named "going absolutely fucking apeshit" anyway- I'm gonna split this up by what I think character wise...and then my experiences with these seggsy bitches in game bc boy, it's been wild)

Cait:

•Sufferer of severe trauma throughout her life.

•Shit just gets worse

•Fights for her life and has a strong love for psycho before a special someone convinced her she is worthy of being loved

•Trust issues out the wazoo..for sadly, good reasons.

•Maybe not the worst on the list, but definitely up there.

In game experience...

•GOD DAMN FALLOUT VERSION OF LYDIA- like seriously? Gtfo the doorway! I'm getting blown up!

•Hates everyone and everything except sole and breaking the law.

Curie:

•Actually not all that bad...except for secret abandonment issues.

•Usually masks it by burying herself in research.

•As far as these poor bastards go, she's probably one of the most mentally stable- which is scary.

In game experience.....

•Sweet Frenchie with asshole pets.

(I don't travel with her often 🥲)

Danse:

Pre-Blind Betrayal-

•Confirmed sufferer of PTSD

•Blames himself for the death of several team members.

•Evidence points towards un-talked about alcoholism.

•Seems to be attracted to power armour..

•Not very good but not the worst on this list..

Post-Blind Betrayal-

•Same as above but add on identity crisis times a thousand and two.

•Will literally kill himself (or let you kill him) if you don’t convince him otherwise.

In game experience....

•Fucking goes apeshit, pre or post BB

•Completely unaware of his surroundings unless it has to do with vertibirds flying over head, then it's time for guerrilla warfare. "Fate has decreed that you must die!"- he speaks, drawing a laser rifle.

•Has been caught on multiple instances doing drugs out of the drug vending machine in Nuka World despite clearly being against them.

Deacon:

•Probably one of the more mentally fucked.

•Lost his wife in front of his own eyes in a notably terrible way.

•Escapes his deep seeded pain through his elaborate schemes, justifying it by telling himself it helps his organization.

•Still feels like shit every waking minute.

•Cant really allow himself to get close to anyone because of his experiences.

In game experiences...

•Asshole

•Jumpscare king, mainly because I didn't know he changed outfits THAT often.

•Doesn't like physical affection??? Shit that actually makes sense..

•Stalker.

Gage:

•He's pretty "meh" on the sanity scale. He's ruthless, but he's entirely stable besides his attachment issues.

•Trusts too easy and hates himself for it...also tries to make himself not be that way and for the most part, it works!

•Problematic raider.

In game experience...

•Makes stupid comments at inappropriate times as though he wishes for the enemies to murder us

•Thinks that walking through walls is entirely possible and gets stuck every time I run with him

Hancock:

•The actual worst on this fine list of mentally messed up individuals.

•Self worth is just nonexistent despite being a pretty all around decent guy

•Uses drugs to cover up terrible trauma to the point of putting himself in the greatest danger just short of dying

•Oh yeah, doesn't mind death actually.

•Doesn't feel worthy of anything deep down.

in game experience...

•Shoots sole for stealing shit in the third rail

•Unhinged

•Sits for hours

Macready:

•Lost his wife in a horrific way

•Only has his son, who he is convinced is going to die sooner than later because of something he can't control

•Willing to do everything if it means caps to send to his sick child

•Doesn't really have a place to call his "home"

•Reckless and unforgiving

In game experience...

•Being nice? How dare you speak such ill language.

•Kleptomaniac

Maxson:

•Does as good as a boy his age with all of the responsibility possibly could.

•Just imagine- your dad died when you were super young. Your mother shipped your ass away. The people you loved like family died all around you. Now you're stuck in foreign land and have no fucking idea where to begin, only that you have to mobilize these fuckers you're in charge of and remain a good leader...

•Still not good enough? Okay, pile on insomnia, alcoholism, and the thought that you have no one alive that truly loves you as more than just the "elder". Oh, but you eventually got to spit out some kids somehow because you're the last of the great "Maxson" line...

•Also not exactly on the "stable" side..

In game experience...

•Stares intently down the Prydwen command deck with his hands behind his back..for hours.

•Never wants to chat :(

•Long winded and short sighted, bad combo..

Nick:

•Has to deal with not only demons that technically aren't even his, but after "reunions"- Kellogg's fucked up self haunts him. He keeps it to himself and suffers silently.

•Deals with the pain of knowing there will never be a place where is truly just himself. He's a man trapped inside of a metal cage..and yet he's not even really "that" man, is he?

•One could easily understand how he has some issues too.

In game experience...

•Cigarettes? Yes.

•Oh, Youre in a fight? Seems like a good time to tighten the bolts in my hand right about now...

•Wields a flamer like a champ.

Piper:

•Surprisingly..has the most sound mental state out of all.

•Is a little obsessive tho

•Has had to adapt to the role of sibling and parent to her younger sister, which isn't easy for anyone.

•Often delves into her work, sort of like curie, to avoid dealing with the pain of her parents no longer being there for her or nat.

In game experience..

•Hey kid, want some Nuka-Cola?

•Mayor McDonough shall die, even if it means execution by the hands of everyone else in Diamond City.

Preston:

•Has canonically admitted to considering suicide.

•Is holding onto the last threads of hope he has with a fucking death grip.

•Definitely not of the best mental state

In game experience...

•Doesn't know how to properly use furniture.

•Can hear sole coming from a mile away and is already getting the map out for the next settlement

X6-88:

•Emotions? Is that a snack?

•Seriously though, he has been "reset" so many times that sometimes-he doesn't even realize it- he doesn't even know what "he" is. Every aspect of who he is..it should be gone, he's a machine and he knows it...why does he still feel like a person?

•Short story, he hates life. He hates being held captive and being used like a damn hound to hunt down those who were smart enough to run- those of which he envied and didn't even realize he did. Hey, he's just a machine though- it's his job and he knows better than to revolt.

•Violence is the freedom he feel he has. He can kill and track in any way he wants, so long as it is successful and what the Institute deem appropriate. It's horrible, but he doesn't realize it- and at this point he doesn't care. The death of another and the way they die by his hand is just his way of expressing who he is deep down.

In game experience...

•Oi, you don't like the institue? FUCK YOU

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #fallout shitpost #porter gage #curie #x6 88 #cait #deacon #hancock #fo4 #nick valentine #arthur maxson #brotherhood of steel #macready

127 notes · View notes

specialagentartemis · 2 years ago

Note

🌾

🌾 A fic you really want to write but you haven’t (yet)?

I have SO many more ideas than I have energy to carry them out. The big one is the Last Days of the Lovelace Administration which I have like a six page outline for. A frame story set during the Wolf 359 s2-s3 timeskip, when Minkowski has kind of accepted that sooner or later the Hephaestus is going to fail and they’re all going to die and no one is answering her calls, and Lovelace tells Minkowski about what happened when her own mission failed, tracing the history of What Happened from Fisher's death to Lovelace's abandonment of Selberg on the station as she takes off alone. It will be very long and horribly tragic.

I actually have, like, I think three other distinct "here's how everybody on this space/deep sea station died" fic plans percolating in my mind (the last days of Zhang's Tiamat, the last horrifying few hours of the Hermes, and the decline and... it never really ended, Sirena kept surviving for ten years under the sea, of Sirena Halcyon's Tiamat as well.) (I love... the slow quiet horror of being trapped, abandoned, and doomed.)

(Relatedly, but with a more hopeful ending, it's a fascination that has made me go "who WAS Consuela Makeba and WHAT WAS HER STORY" so if nobody stops me I'm probably going to someday end up writing the backstory of how the Preservation Alliance began ~280 years ago, back with an abandoned and desperate and starving colony planet and a sleeper ship captain determined to help.)

#asks #ask game #holycafe #fanfiction #back on my 'what if everyone died in a sci-fi way and it was very tragic' bullshit

3 notes · View notes

sithsecrets · 4 years ago

Text

one and lonely | din djarin x reader

you and mando visit one of his old friends at a corellian strip club, and doubt begins to set in. in return, mando gives you something no one’s ever had: his name.

---

2.8k words

mentions: implied/referenced piv sex, fem!reader, strippers, strip clubs, original female character, mild jealousy, mild hurt/comfort, mild smut, fluffy at the end

---

In hindsight, you have no idea why you agreed to do this. It probably has a lot to do with the words Mando used, how he asked you and when he asked you.

“I know someone who can watch the baby,” he had said, murmuring in your ear under the cover of darkness. “I need you to come with me. Will you?”

Need— that one little word is what made you say yes, heart jumping in your throat the second you heard it. And what a sound it was, dripping from Mando’s tongue raw, the static of the modulator not touching a single bit of the word. It’s like he knew you couldn’t say no to him then, not when he was naked and laid out beside you in the pitch-black hull, helmet off— no creed to abide by, no business to attend to, just him. Then he’s talking about needing your help, insinuating that he wants you to assist him bring in bringing in this bounty, and well… It hit all the right spots inside you, the raw ones that need gentle handling, and you said yes without second’s hesitation.

Since it all began, what you and Mando do together in the dark has felt vaguely unreal, the sex and the talking and the vulnerability of it all so foreign and ridiculous in the light of day. But you this right here, this strip club on Corellia? It’s realer than real, your senses overloaded by the sights and sounds, by the smells and textures. Your first instinct is to turn right back around, but Mando’s got you by the arm, gently leading you through the room.

“Find a table near the stage,” he tells you, speaking in your ear to be heard over the thudding, fast music. “I have to meet someone. Send me a comm immediately if you see the quarry, alright?”

All you can do is nod, distraught as Mando abandons you near the front of the club. You watch him walk away, colorful lights bouncing off the beskar as he goes, and then you do as you’re told, taking a seat at a table as far away from other patrons as possible.

Alone and completely out of your element, you have no idea how to act. You suppose you should try to blend in, but you feel shy watching the show. The women are half-naked and unbelievably beautiful, practically levitating as they perform onstage. You have no idea how they’re doing half of what they’re doing on their poles, and you envy their sex appeal, their confidence. You’d sooner die than give one of these patrons the time of day, but to watch them fawn over the dancers and give them money does make you feel just the slightest bit less-than. You could never be so bold as to work a job like this one, and the attention, well… Nobody’s ever going to look at you like that, not even the most desperate man, and you’re sure as hell never going to have anyone throwing credit after credit your way like it’s their honor to do so.

“It’s okay if you want to look, honey. Nobody’s going to judge you, not in here.”

The sound of a voice above you has you jolting in your seat, your train of thought crashing and then disappearing like it never existed in the first place. You look up to see who’s addressing you, only to find that it’s not a someone at all, but a goddess. Never in your whole life have you been this close to someone so gorgeous, and you finally understand what it means to be struck speechless by a person’s beauty.

The woman seems to sense what you’re feeling, and a small, almost satisfied smile creeps over her perfectly painted mouth. She leans down, her curtain of thick, silky red hair swinging, and you catch the scent of something spicy all around her. Perfume, you think, but not the cheap kind. “Are you here all by yourself, baby?”

Something in your brain sputters back to life, and you’re able to speak again.

“No,” you blurt, “I— I’m here with my friend. He has to talk to someone.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you feel like you’ve said too much, done too much— your gaze went straight to Mando when you started talking about him, and the redheaded goddess is looking dead at him now. And that’s just what he needs, more attention than he’s already getting with all that beskar on his body. Mando always puts a premium on secrecy, especially during his hunts, yet here you are spouting off all his business to someone you just met. Fucking unbelievable.

“The Mandalorian is your friend?”

You couldn’t lie to this woman, not even if you wanted to, and so you find yourself nodding before you can think about what you’re doing. She looks back at him one last time, the jewels on her skimpy costume flashing, and then you’re the object of her full attention once more.

“Loosen up, honey,” she says to you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face with a soft, manicured hand. “I’ll send you a drink on me.”

The goes the way she came, disappearing more than she walks away. A few minutes later, a waitress does come by with a drink for you, but you still don’t have the nerve to turn your gaze towards the dancers. No, instead you keep your eyes essentially glued to the floor, only peeking up now and then to glance at Mando. He’s still at the bar every time you look, stock still and unbothered, almost like a statue someone affixed to the stool he’s seated on.

About the fourth time you do this, you’re startled to find that Mando’s no longer alone, accompanied now by the very same redhead that bought you a drink. She’s just as stunning at distance, perched on the stool like it was made for her, hair shining under the lights. The shape of her body had been lost on you before, but it would seem that that, too, is utter perfection. Jealousy flashes up inside you when Mando leans in close, giving her his full attention as she talks. Whatever’s being said must be important, the set of her face serious as she listens to him in turn. Eventually, the conversation wraps up, and then Mando’s coming to collect you from your table. The two of you leave together, and you’ve never been more relieved to get back to the Crest.

Though your little jaunt into Corellia’s night life was anything but, the rest of your evening is routine. You and Din collect the Child from his friend, you make dinner when you get back to the ship, and when the baby falls asleep, Mando cuts the lights and fucks you for the better part of an hour. You’re left sated and sleepy by the end of it all, already dozing off as Mando cleans his cum off your stomach with a rag.

Mando had you in his arms when you finally went out for good, but you wake up cold and alone, blinking sleep out of your eyes in the dimness of the hull. You pull on a new pair of underwear and a loose shirt, stumbling back towards the armory after a quick check on the baby. He’s still sound asleep, but you know Mando’s up and about if the noise in the back is anything to go by.

Sure enough, you find him cleaning his blaster, perched on a crate with some supplies laid out nearby.

“Hey,” is all Mando says to you, barely looking up from his work. You feel it still, though, the way he reaches out to pinch the back of your thigh as you walk to the pantry, and that makes something warm bloom in your chest.

It’s quiet for a while, just you munching on your snack as Mando works on his weapons. There’s a clink here and there, a crinkle of the bag in your hands, but neither one of you speaks at all. As you sit there and watch Mando clean and count and calibrate, you can’t help but think back on all that’s happened today, on the club and that woman who spoke to both of you. The smell of her perfume is still vivid in your mind.

The smell of her perfume, and the way Mando sat so close to her.

“That woman you met with tonight was nice,” you say slowly, trying to fish for information without being too obvious. You’d like to know if Mando knew her before tonight, and how he came to discover that club at all. There’s so much of his life that predates you, so much of his history that you’ll likely never know, and it’s times like these when that fact comes into sharp focus.

Mando doesn’t even raise his head. “She liked you.”

That makes you flush. “We didn’t even talk for five minutes.”

“She liked you anyway.” Finally, you earn yourself a glance. “Sypha’s just like that.”

Sypha. Even her name is sexy.

“You know her?”

“She’s a friend,” Mando affirms, shrugging. “A lot of people pass through her place. She’s always good for information when I need it.”

You nod, trying to stay causal. “How did you two meet?”

“We know some of the same people. I cut her in a bounty, Maker, what, five years ago maybe? Anyway, I’ve kept in touch ever since. Like I said, she sees a lot of faces.”

That genuinely makes a lot of sense, but you know that Mando doesn’t consider just anybody a friend.

“Have you had sex with her?”

It’s risky question, and you’ve really got no right to ask it. But since you and Mando started hooking up, you’ve always wondered what he’s comparing you to in his head, always wanted to know how you measure up to the women he’s had in the past. Call it jealousy, call it insecurity, hell, call it self-absorption— in any case, you just want to know. You have to know.

Mando’s hands go completely still, abandoning his work in his lap as he raises his head to look at you. You feel small and helpless before him, and you wonder if he knows that he had your dignity, your ego, and, most importantly, your heart clenched between his teeth. Just the slightest bit of pressure, one puncture from a sharp, dismissive word, and he could destroy all three.

“Yeah,” he finally says, “a few times. But that was back in the day.”

A few times stings, but he’s not exactly telling you to fuck off and mind your own business. You know you should quit while you’re ahead, but you feel like a woman possessed, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“Did you want to hook up with her tonight?” You take a breath, think about how that might have sounded. “I mean— If I wasn’t there, if I hadn’t been waiting for you, would you have gone in the back with her?”

You know he knows what you’re talking about, Mando’s not stupid. He saw how some of the dancers would lead patrons back behind a curtain and off into another part of the club, he saw it because you saw it, and Mando doesn’t miss a thing.

The blaster and his tools now fully abandoned, you know Mando’s appraising you, his gaze intense even behind the helmet. An apology sits poised right on the tip of your tongue the instant you’re done speaking, because who the fuck do you think you are? Mando’s girlfriend or something? And even if you were, even if he did call you his and show you off like that, he’s a grown man. He has a past, and he has a right to have a past, regardless of what it involves. Just because you’ve had sex with a grand total of two people in your entire lifetime doesn’t justify you being upset at the fact that Mando’s known more than one woman before you, whether he paid to know them or not.

“Sypha never took me in the back, not even back then.” Mando doesn’t sound upset, but the tone of his voice has certainly changed. “And no, mesh’la, I didn’t want to fuck her tonight, and she didn’t want me either. All that’s long gone between us. And even if she did ask, I wouldn’t have accepted. I wouldn’t make a fool of you like that.”

You must look as confused as you feel because Mando shifts on his crate, tilting his head your way. “Cyare,” he says, disbelieving, “do you really think I’d do that? Fuck some other woman while you’re here waiting for me to come back?”

It feels like somebody picked your brain up and shook it, all the thing you could say jumbling up in your head. “Well, we never… You never… I don’t know what I thought, Mando. I’m sorry.”

He sighs, deep and tired, but you don’t think it’s directed at you. “No,” he says, “I’m sorry. I don’t— I’m not good at this, and I know that. I’m not good at talking, especially when it’s about you, or what we do when the baby’s asleep, or how I feel. Just… Just know that when I meet with someone, whether you’re there or not, it’s all business. You’re the only one, alright?”

Once again, you have absolutely no idea what to say. You’re not sure you could talk around the lump in your throat anyway, even if you did have the words to express how you feel. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to cry, deciding that that would be entirely too dramatic.

“I know the fact that I’ve been with other people worries you—”

“It’s doesn’t,” you cut, lying through your teeth. You’d sooner die than have Mando think that you judge him for his past.

“It worries you,” he presses, “but it shouldn’t. You have something that none of them have ever had, something they’ll never get to have, period.”

Your heart leaps in your throat, thoughts racing. “What’s that?”

“My name.”

“But everyone calls you Mando. When—”

“No,” he says, speaking over you, “my actual name. The name my parents gave me.”

You think for a moment there that you’re still sleeping, that you never woke up from your little post-sex slumber and that this is all a dream. But no, Mando really is beckoning you over, gloved hands reaching out to grab hold of your waist as you lean in close. The two of you are alone on the ship, save for your sleeping baby, but even so, the whole thing is secretive, hush hush like a ritual. And you think that’s a fitting way to treat this, a fitting way to behave as Mando reveals one of his most closely guarded personal details.

“Close your eyes,” Mando commands, speaking softly, and your heart stops as you think of the lights— one false move, one flutter of an eyelid, and you’ll see it all. You’ll see him.

“Mando—”

“Close your eyes, mesh’la,” he repeats. “I trust you.”

Those last three words alone are enough to put your body on autopilot, and so you do as you’re told, eyes slipping closed. The sound of Mando removing his helmet is unmistakable, the beskar landing with a thunk beside him. Your stomach flutters when you feel his breath on your ear, the warmth of it so familiar and yet so foreign all at the same time.

“My name is Din,” he whispers, voice softer than you ever thought it could be. “Din Djarin. You can’t call me that in front of other people, but here when we’re alone, when we’re with the Child, you can say it all you want.”

“Din,” you say, experimenting with the name, trying it out on your tongue. A hand trails up and down, up and down, up and down the inside of your thigh, and so you sigh it again. “Din.”

“I like how you say my name,” Din tells you, and it takes all you have to keep your eyes clamped shut. “But I’m sure I’ll like how you moan it that much more. Go lie down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

You don’t have to be told twice.

#my writing #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you

154 notes · View notes

solarsavoy · 2 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday, 2022 Goals

For this week's WIP Wednesday, I wanted to share what my goals are for the rest of the year in regards to my art and writing. First are the things that I "must" do, then the things I "hope" to do.

Must List:

Keep up with weekly Life in Retail updates on Saturdays. Since it's supposed to be happening now, I can't just stop, right? Lol.

ASD Karushuu. ASD is a collection I've started called "Any Ship Dates" where I write up a date for any ship. This one, however, happens in the Life in Retail universe and should happen on 9/11, at least that's the plan.

Suprise one-shot for 11/9 that also happens in the Life in Retail universe. Don't want to spoil anything with this one though. 😉

Kristmas Karma II Prelude, end of November. Just like with Kristmas Karma I, there will be a prelude, main story, and New Years epilogue. This is also when the AC character starts working at Nagisa's store, Convenience. ^^ Or at least they get the job. I haven't worked out the details yet. Interacts with Life in Retail.

Kristmas Karma II, posted daily just like the first one for 25 days of Christmas! Interacts with Life in Retail.

Technically 2023, but Kristmas Karma II New Years on the first of January. Interacts with Life in Retail.

I also plan on keeping up with Magic Shuu every other Friday and hope to get ahead so when it comes to Kristmas Karma II, I don't die from overworking and stress. 😅 We'll see how it goes. It's all planned out, so it should be easy to get ahead, but the chapters are long and it comes with pictures.

Second Chances, a To Your Eternity one-shot. I feel like my muse just up and abandoned this, but there's no excuse! The picture is nearly as done as the fic and it just needs a little bit more, but I... just... haven't touched it. 🤷‍♀️ But seriously, it's been nearly done for two weeks now, so hopefully I'll finish it soon. Hopefully...

Maybe List:

I would like to finish Gerit. I only have to do the pictures and I'd hate for it to take over a year to post something as small as 20k words that has been finished since June of last year because of just some drawings. >_> But we'll see. If I don't start it up by October, it probably won't get done this year, but I want to. May also post this on Patreon for Patrons so that at least the story is up somewhere, but AO3 will just have to wait for pictures. Sorry.

Krystar First Fragment edit and republish. I'm considering alternative self publishing other than Amazon and I'd like to have it up sooner rather than later, but apparently ISBNs are expensive. 😵 So this may also be made available to Patrons via Patreon. Also hoping to redo the cover, but we'll see.

And that of course brings me to Krystar Second Fragment. I'm in the process of editing, but it's slow going since I like to keep myself busy (can't you tell? Only 9 things on this list already. 😅) I plan on having a few beta readers get at it after that, but then I might not be at the publishing stage until next year. Even so, I hope to get the editing done and it sent to the beta readers by November at the lastest (but we'll see how that works. 🙄)

Finish Assassin Skills Required Bonus Round. The main story is done. I just have to rewrite it with Deshi and Stag's perspective. Why is this so hard? Or rather, it's not hard, my muse just doesn't want to do it anymore and it was its idea. 😣 Whatever... Anyway, would love to knock this and Gerit off my list so all my works are completed on AO3 because I'm OCD like that and hate unfinished things. Anywho.

The 20 day drawing challenge that I'm cheating and doing ahead of time for Assassination Classroom. High chance of it getting done (at the time of me writing this) and I hope to start posting in September, but honestly, if I don't, I probably won't do it this year at all.

Zodiac Killers. It's only 12 chapters. I have them all planned out. It's not that intricate of a story. I can write this easy, yeah? Well... I didn't finish it in July and haven't touched it since but I'm still hoping to write it up so it's off my to-do list. Planning on posting sometime in September or October. If it doesn't start by November, also putting it off until next year then.

And last but not least, Pandora's Box - The Lust for Truth (work 1 out of 7). It's mostly dependent on the art right now, and I hope to get this out, but of everything on the list, this is probably the least likely to happen. 😅 I'll try to work on it at least and since I plan on finishing the entire thing before I start posting it, I really don't care when I get it done, even if it's during Kristmas Karma II. I'll still post it, because it'll be done.

And that's my list. Because I'm a nerd, here's a schedule for your viewing ease on my goals for this year.

Thanks for reading! What are you most looking forward to reading? Let me know with a comment. 😊

Edit: I wrote this up last week and this edit is right before posting this. The 20 day challenge will start October 1st and I'll be posting a celebratory pic for my 1st year on Tumblr the same day, inspired by @o0o0thorn0o0o . Also, I'm considering pushing my whole Krystar project off until I've created more of a fanbase and gained some financial support for it. Speaking of which, Patreon is currently up and running! And I post all my sketches and linework on there. Still making tweaks and stuff on it, but I am posting exclusive stuff already, soon to include chapters of Krystar First Fragment until I'm ready to publish it again. Thanks for reading!

#daily delivery #WIP Wednesday #goals #ao3 fanfic #solarsavoyfics #solarsavoyart #for update purposes

5 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Introducing the girlfriends: the looks.

Hello puppets! In this post I’d like to show how I imagine the OC Girlfriends in terms of face and looks, mostly in terms of fashion.

I won’t state how many times my self esteem abandoned the conversation as I made this post, so let me do a disclaimer before I make y’all suffer with me (sorry). These pictures come from my Pinterest board called “Simply incredible people”, which contains mostly photos of people that have very unique facial traits and that I use for reference. Now, ALL OF THESE ARE MODELS. They were photographed BECAUSE after hours of makeup and hair and clothes chosen perfectly for them, a set made up specifically to enhance their good looks, a fair bit of photoshop and unfairly good genetics they were put in the position of being beautified. Don’t think that these gorgeous folks are The Thing: I picked them because of specific reasons explained under each picture, and in my opinion all the guys are pretty far from dating perfect young women with perfectly symmetrical features and flawless complexion and... all of that. However, yes, in my mind they date regular, “unbeautified” versions of these women. If your self esteem can’t handle disgustingly beautiful models, then please, don’t open the “read more”. Also, you’re absolutely free to keep imagining your ideal girls and not check out this post, no hard feelings ✌️😘

However, if — like me — you are incredibly attracted to girls with pretty unique facial features, then do open. If you’ like girls, I’m sorry, you might have one (or more) new crush(es) after this post.

Now, all of the girls have Asian traits — because according to my plots and headcanons, (which you can find in my masterlist) the guys have always met their s/o while in Seoul/Korea and also because I’ve always imagined the girls Asian. However, I’m not saying that they like these specific types or looks, or that they’ll end up with a person with traditionally Asian traits: I am simply assuming in statistic terms. Also, since I write memberxFem!reader, they’re obviously all girls.

I only know two of the people inserted here (that is Vixen and Kitten). I might have accidentally inserted someone famous, however that was not my intention. Also, the girls have been chosen exclusively for facial features: there is no shipping going on between real people here.

After this lengthy introduction, let me move on to the real deal.

In case you need my masterlist, here it is! (Remember to vote for next prompt!!! Link in bio 🥰)

Enjoy✨💜

Vixen - (Namjoon)

— The face —

Baby face: yes

Doll lips: yes

Very intense, borderline scary, November-baby glance: yes.

This is Vixen, with her baby cheeks, her sharp, refined looks and a doll-like face that mixes innocence and seduction. Top that with deep red lipstick and artsy jewellery. Her eyes show ten thousand different feelings and her face is suitable for acting, being extremely expressive: every little sensation and emotion can be found in a quirk of the mouth or an arching of the eyebrow, a little curl of the nose or a pursing of her lips.

— The Look —

Total black winter look, basic and classy, thigh-high boots for her long legs, simple, plain bags and purses, and finally a long coat to keep her warm over her dresses usually characterised by a high neck and a generous slice of leg. But don’t let that fool you: her favourite looks are oversized sweaters stolen from Namjoon’s wardrobe — that obviously fit like dresses on her —, fluffy woolen tights or stockings and comfy shoes when they go on breakfast dates, but also thick jumpers, large jeans and comfy sneakers when they go for walks and bike trips.

Angel (Seokjin)

— The Face —

Traditional Korean Beauty: yes

Big eyes: yes

Soft pink lips: yes

Angel is the definition of Korean Beauty, looking young and innocent. She could easily have the face of an idol, with the purest of charms. And her cute bangs... yes.

— The Look —

Even though her job requires a total black look, which often means pretty flats, black trousers and a turtleneck, in her free time she likes wearing preppy looks, with lots of plaid prints and cute dresses that match Korean standards, with not-too-revealing necklines and a skirt that hits just above the knee. Match it all with cute, warm coats and small bags.

Kitten (Yoongi)

— The Face —

Intimidating look: yes

Angular jaw: yes

Plush lips: yes

Kitten has angular, almost aggressive facial features, characterised mostly by the rectangular shape of her face and her jaw, and quite jutting cheekbones. She has a rough, tough beauty which can be difficult to understand but absolutely charming to observe.

— The Look —

Another one with total black, but unlike Vixen, who likes coloured clothes once winter ends, Kitten keeps the black look all year round, inserting tiny splashes of colours with accessories and jackets. Expect a lot of turtlenecks and blazers for her work attire, but also fancy shirts for more elegant occasions, mostly silk blouses that offer a generous view of her bosom.

Giggles (Hoseok)

— The Face —

Strawberry blonde: yes

Freckles: yes

Too cute: yes

I’ve always imagined Giggles with a mop of messy reddish-blonde hair, may it be natural or dyed. I know the combo is pretty rare; still, she’s a fictional character so... a girl can dream.

— The Look —

A vintage mess of prints. She messes around with flowers and stripes and plaids and colours. You could most definitely spot her in a crowd. Even when she’s working (remember she’s a vet), she has very colourful scrubs and bright coloured clogs/nurse shoes. Overall too cute and tiny for her good, her being so small makes it easy for her to shop in the children department and find even more coloured, fancy prints.

Princess (Jimin)

— The Face —

Overall cute: yes

Gaze to command a photo shoot: yes

Borderline scary both in terms of beauty and power: yes

This small girl has the power to supervise everything, you can read it on her face (remember she works for a fashion magazine and organises photoshoots). Sheer calculating, organising force. And with a gaze like that, ready to make you wither and die were you to deny her, you see specifically why I chose her.

— The Look —

Smart attire, comfortable flats or slippers to dash from a place to another. Comfy, fashionable, practical. She’s always on a rush from an appointment to the other and she uses bags big enough to hold a skirt and a pair of heels in case she needs more elegant attire for a last-minute evening appointment in fashionable clubs and restaurants. She’s more than happy to play Barbie for Jimin, letting him choose how to dress her.

Lace (Taehyung)

— The Face —

Louder big dick energy than your ex: yes

A neck to die for: yes

Eclectic charm: yes

Honestly, I think Lace is too particular — strange even — to find someone who could possibly embody her. What made me pick this specific woman was her very incisive choice in clothing and accessories, but I’ll update her sooner or later, I think. As me and my friend said: you don’t find Lace, is Lace that finds you. (Also, if anyone has a Lace to suggest, please send links 💖)

— The Look —

Black tight dresses, all the time. Tight pencil skirts and anything that screams Fifties housewife; lots of robes, unusual cuts and premium fabrics — she is a designer and lingerie maker, after all. She doesn’t follow trends, she makes them. She is literally one of those people who looks good even with the most hideous, unfashionable things on. However, the moment she wears a silk slip dress, her power intensifies by a few thousand times — do not expect Taehyung not to get weak in the knees. In the house she’s absolutely comfortable wearing a robe with nothing underneath — and sometimes she doesn’t even tie it close. Taehyung is perfectly okay with that.

Candy (Jungkook)

— The Face —

Biggest smile: yes

Cutest lil nose: yes

Very squishable: yes

The small happy bean is a very gentle bean too. She is a graphic designer and a cartoon artist and it shows in her whole being, even in her facial features. I imagine her hair not too long, soft and wavy — though the most valuable asset to Jk is their scent. And look at those sweater(shirt) paws!!! Adorable.

— The Look —

First rule of Candy and Jk’s relationship is “my flannel shall be thy flannel”. Their wedding rings will probably be flannel shirts. Candy likes to pull them off with oversized sweats or coloured jeans. She also wears oversized sweaters — probably stolen from Jk’s wardrobe — together with leggins and mid-calf socks, especially since her workplace is not too strict with dresscode. She likes oversized and layered fits, using light cotton shirts and tank tops in the summer and fleece/flannel shirt and warm woolen turtlenecks in winter. Comfort always comes first. Expect her to use biker shorts and giant T-shirts and bulky shoes in the summer on her spare time.

An extra — since I’m sooooo gay for these two

Sora Choi and Yoon Young Bae are the two models that I immediately spotted respectively for Kitten and Vixen and the fact that they posed together made me super soft (I literally fell in love with both of them). Oh also!!! Yoon has posted on her insta the sweetest picture of her with a snow bear and it was like... a sign, but also so endearing and I’M SMITTEN, HEAD TO TOE IN LOVE WITH THIS SMALL CUTE LIL POTATO. She’s a cutie and Sora has the prettiest smile I swear to God I’d give the world for these two. *bisexuality upgrades*

Did you imagine them differently? Are there any of the girls that match or challenge your ideas? Leave your impressions in the comments!!! 😚☺️

#introducing the girlfriends #bts blog #bts headcanons #bts scenario #namjoon x vixen #jin x angel #yoongi x kitten #hoseok x giggles #jimin x princess #taehyung x lace #jungkook x candy

71 notes · View notes

mari-beau · 3 years ago

Text

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FOUR - A Rogue One Fanfic

So this part/scene got a little out of control. Ironically, since I only had the base idea of when it would take place until I started writing it. You can also find/read this story on AO3 now.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Four

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some sappiness?

Words: 2,978

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

...

“Ms. Erso, it is time for you to vacate the infirmary.”

Jyn jerked, jarred from sleep and reaching for the knife she no longer had on her person. Her situation settled back around her surfacing consciousness, calming her immediate fight-or-flight response but keeping her on edge.

“No,” she told the medical orderly droid. “I already told the doctors, medical staff and you lot that I’m not leaving Captain Andor. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Yes. You were most clear regarding your intransigence, Ms. Erso.”

Droids had the worst attitudes. Shouldn’t med ones be programmed with a better bedside manner?

“But the bed is needed,” the droid went on when she just wanted it to go away so she could wallow in the overwhelming mix of emotions drowning her; loss, guilt, relief. “There are numerous incoming casualties from a skirmish in the Za’dan sector.”

Jyn scowled, but didn’t budge.

“What difference does it make if I leave? It’s not like I’m taking up an extra bed.” As if to prove her point, she shifted closer to Cassian in the infirmary cot, making her already petite body take up even less room.

“Captain Andor is to be processed for discharge. So you will keep your superfluous vow that he won’t wake up alone. Even though he wouldn’t be alone anyway. There are medical staff and med-droids present.”

Jyn was too alarmed by the droid’s revelation to mind the griping typical to its type.

“You’re discharging him?!” Jyn shifted, pushing herself up to study the unconscious man.

How well she knew every bruise and injury visible and many hidden by the white medical tunic and pants. She’d passed out herself from exhaustion as they began treating her injuries, but as soon as she’d woken up, she’d bullied, threatened and pleaded until they brought her to Cassian, making her wait outside the operating room, only able to watch as they finished the surgeries and treatments. They’d let her curl up in a chair next to the Bacta tank they’d stuck him in afterward, and no one even questioned by the time he was relocated to an infirmary bed when she climbed in beside him.

She’d seen the bandages, bruises, burns and scars. And she knew how they’d changed as the hours, the days had passed. Barely days, just three days since Scarif. Were they insane? They were just going to turn him out, in his condition?

Apparently, they were.

The med-droid was already injecting him with something, and Cassian was rousing. Jyn’s heart beat faster and she practically held her breath, on her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with anticipatory anxiety, clutching at her kyber crystal with one hand. His past few hours of sleep had been strained. He’d been unconscious but also tense, in pain. She’d felt it in the rigidity of his muscles, the periodic hitches in his breathing.

“Did you give him more meds for the pain, too?” she asked the droid. How could they ask him to get back on his feet when he was in so much pain just lying still?

“Yes. And the stimulant should keep him awake until he gets settled back into his quarters.”

Jyn sagged in relief slightly until Cassian came crashing back into reality with a gasp and a jerk, and bewildered, began to thrash. She threw herself on top of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down, hoping he wouldn’t hurt himself worse, but understanding how confused and frightened he must feel.

“Cassian, It’s Jyn.” As if that would make a difference to him, if he even remembered her upon waking from a days-long practically-a-coma, someone he’d only met far less than a week ago and since had suffered devastating traumas. “You’re safe. You’re on the rebel base on Yavin 4. In the infirmary.”

Almost instantly, he went still, calmed, like a switch had been thrown. But she supposed the man did have quick reflexes, was highly adaptable to various situations. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it so long as a rebel spy.

“Jyn?” His eyes found her face. They were a little glassy and unfocused but were still, well, captivating, dark, intelligent and expressive. “What happened?”

“We did it.” She shifted back to kneeling beside him, gave him a smile, a genuine one albeit bittersweet. They had succeeded in their mission, but at a tremendous cost. “The plans to the Death Star were received by the fleet.”

“Are they planning an attack?” Cassian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing and inhaling sharply, making Jyn picture the freshly healed surgical incisions that were doubtless strained by the movement.

“I…” Jyn had never thought to ask. The moment she realized they weren’t going to die on that beach, making sure Cassian survived had become her only concern. “I don’t know.”

“I should report to Command.” Cassian moved to get out of the infirmary bed, but Jyn stopped him, grabbing his arm to hold him back. She shimmied across the bed and hopped off it to stand in front of him.

“If they needed any more information or intel, they would’ve asked me.” It sounded plausible, even though if they’d tried it, she couldn’t rightly say she would’ve cooperated (they hadn’t listened to her the last time she tried to convince them of the truth), but especially if it meant leaving Cassian’s side. Even for a moment. How had someone else become her primary, her only concern, that she now cared only for his welfare? “And you’re not in any shape to help. Give yourself a little more time to heal.”

She reached for him as he was already trying to stand, stiffening and wobbling for a moment when he was fully upright. But Jyn would support him without him needing to ask, slid her arms around his waist and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms. He leaned into her, likely without even realizing it. From what Jyn could tell, Cassian was an independent sort of person, like herself, but unlike herself, was not too proud to accept help, being more of a team player than she ever had been.

His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, deep breath, swaying a little.

“How far are your quarters from the infirmary?” she asked.

He sighed. That close, was it?

“Can you make it? If I help you?” Jyn looked around, but the droid had already stripped the bed and skittered off. She would go find whatever he needed for assistance because maybe he was a little proud, too, and had sacrificed a good portion of his independence by leaning on her. She waited, letting him decide, despite her wanting to wrap him up in soft warm blankets in a fluffy bed of pillows and keep him safe.

“Let’s try it. I should probably find out how bad the damage is sooner than later.” His expression had gone tight and unreadable, and her heart broke to think of the justified fear he must be feeling, that he may have suffered permanent damage that could affect the rest of his life, that might take away his purpose of serving the rebellion.

“They healed the blaster wound easily, but you’ve got an impressive scar,” she said as he took a tentative step, using her like a crutch, not questioning why or how she knew his wounds and medical diagnosis and treatments. “The fractures in your vertebrae and ribs probably haven’t completely knitted yet but the prognosis is good.”

Well, this wasn’t so bad. His weight was a burden making her own steps difficult, but Jyn didn’t begrudge it, not when it meant he was alive, and on his feet even. And they were already at the infirmary door. The medical staff hadn’t given them even a second look, but Jyn steeled herself for the possibility of stares as they entered the rest of the base. She couldn’t care less but these were Cassian’s fellow soldiers and he deserved their respect and not pity.

“They replaced your hip and part of your femur,” she said when they entered the hallway.

“Is that why it feels like I’ve been sliced open from my ribs down to my knee?”

“They sealed you back up.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “Things could be worse, then.”

They could, they really could. If Jyn were to make comparisons, it wasn’t just the fact that they hadn’t died on Scarif like it seemed they should’ve, but this situation she found herself in, saddled with a wounded spy (by her own choosing), on a rebel base, a Death Star out there somewhere in the galaxy… It was still the best place she’d been in since… Since she was abandoned by Saw at 16? Since her mother had died and her father had been taken?

Part of her that enjoyed the warmth of Cassian’s body beside hers, the feel of his wiry flank beneath her hand, the smell of his skin, even the weight of him he placed on her shoulders, that part proposed that this was the best situation, the best time in her entire life.

How pathetic did that make her?

She enjoyed dragging a severely wounded man around some giant old ruins half-reclaimed by the jungle converted to a military base… sort of base… The Alliance was so loosely confederated, everything seemed slapped together and piecemeal.

But hopefully the medical facilities had been up to par… They had seemed nicer than anything Jyn had ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much at all.

“You need a minute?” she asked, finally realizing Cassian’s steps and breathing had become labored. She maneuvered him towards a wall and leaned up against it with him, nodding to a passing rebel soldier of indeterminable rank and unnotable appearance.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d left me on Scarif,” he said, his voice low, quiet and pained as he almost-panted, sagging against the ancient stone wall.

“No,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I was ready to die.”

She didn’t want to hear this. The meds and the strain were making him say things. She told him as much.

He shook his head.

“Listen to me, Jyn.”

What could she do? What could she say? That she didn’t want to hear how he valued his life so little, that he’d throw it away just for the slim chance of providing an opportunity for the rebellion to destroy some Imperial weapon, a terrifying one, but one weapon of many. She-

“I felt peace. For the first time in my life, probably.” His voice had gotten even lower and quieter, almost a whisper, wistful even. Jyn didn’t dare look at him, had to concentrate on breathing normally when she felt his fingers slip into her hand. It was easier to consider her unsolicited affection for the man when he was giving no indication of whether or not he returned it. “And I think it was because you were there. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I didn’t feel alone.”

Oh, Force. He was getting delirious, saying things that, from what she knew of him, he would never share even if he did feel them.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

He didn’t say anything else as they traversed several more halls, and Jyn wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by not responding to his raw, quiet confession. But he continued to lean on her without any hesitation and the silence between them felt comfortable. It was strange. He’d made her so tense in the beginning, the way he watched her, how secretive he was, so guarded. But somehow, somewhere along the way, she grew to not only feel comfortable with Cassian Andor, but to trust him as she’d never trusted anyone else before.

And she thought, maybe he trusted her in return. He followed her on a suicide mission, let her support his injured, vulnerable self on Scarif, let her drag him off that cursed planet, and now lead him across the rebel base, passing by people who really amounted to the only family he’d ever had.

There weren’t many, however. And none stopped. Or stared, too much. The med droid must have been right about the incoming survivors of the skirmish, everyone seemed a little rushed and mission-oriented. Or maybe there was more going on…

“Stop. Stop.”

Jyn immediately froze.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shifting beneath Cassian’s weight to try to get a good look at his face. “Do you need a break?”

“We’re home,” Cassian said, his eyelids sliding nearly shut before they shot open again.

“Oh,” Jyn said, ignoring the way something fluttered inside of her over his choice of words. “Which one?”

“Left side of the hall.” He indicated the door directly to their left with a nod of his head. The stimulant must be failing to combat the pain meds, and his body’s need to rest, to heal. Because he was getting heavier and more slack in her arms.

They staggered over to the door to his quarters and he was at least coherent enough to punch his code into the lock. His room was by no means large, barely larger than Jyn’s cell on Wobani. But at least he didn’t have a cellmate, er, bunkmate… Well, not officially…

She basically dumped him on the narrow bed, which he didn’t seem to mind at all, making a groaning sound of relief and taking several deep breaths, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side. Not knowing what else to do, she bent to lift his legs and slide them onto the bed, forcing him to lay down in a less uncomfortable position. She pulled the white slip-on infirmary shoes off his feet and tossed them in a corner, feeling only a flash of contrition over sullying the pristine room. It was so austere, even with two of the walls comprised of the old stone of the ancient temple. It could’ve been anyone’s quarters. No. That was wrong. It’s nondescriptness, everything hidden away in the meager storage units, only Cassian would keep his personal space in such a spartan manner.

“Cassian…?”

He mumbled something she took to imply he was listening and not passed out yet.

“Do you have extra bedding? A blanket or something?” She could do without. She had, many times. But it would be a little bit better than sleeping on the bare hard stone floor.

“No… Jungle moon… Already too hot… Why?”

“I was going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” Jyn said. Why was this an awkward conversation to have? Why was she so afraid he’d say no, send her away? “On the floor.”

His eyes opened and that furrow formed between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to be having trouble focusing. But then he was scooching over until he was almost touching the wall.

“I think this is a nanometer larger than the infirmary cot,” he said. “What do you think?”

Jyn tried not to smile as she kicked off her own flimsy infirmary shoes and climbed onto Cassian’s bed to stretch out beside him. Something inside her sighed, content. She didn’t let it out.

“I don’t know…” she said. “But I guess if they made the infirmary beds nicer than the barracks, they’d have sick rebels all the time.”

A chuckle escaped through his nose.

“I don’t think they usually offer an ángel as a companion, either.”

“What?” Jyn shifted onto her side to study his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed content. The pain meds must be working.

“My mother was a believer in an Ancient Festian religion that worshipped a creator god. I don’t remember very many specifics...” Jyn didn’t dare breathe out, afraid of interrupting the story, softly spoken with hints of nostalgia, sharing a childhood memory, an intimacy she knew Cassian permitted, well, probably no one. “Except, there were these creatures that did the creator’s bidding, guiding people, aiding them, saving them… Angeles… I don’t know the word in Basic…”

He looked at her, and her apprehension about breaking the spell ebbed. Cassian knew full well who he was talking to, even if the pain meds had loosened his tongue, broken down the rigid walls he kept around his private self.

“I don’t know the word, either,” Jyn said. “I’’ve never heard of such creatures, mythical or otherwise.”

Cassian laughed, a soft little rumble that was accompanied by that rare smile of his that was brighter than a yellow dwarf sun and warmed her just as well. But, “What’s funny about that?”

“You…” His hand found hers, fingers sliding against her palm to curl around hers, engulfing her smaller hand. He shifted to face her, wincing a little, but his expression was soft if serious and . “Jyn, you saved me, guided me, are still coming to my aid… You’re my angelita…”

Oh, shit, he was so tired and drugged up he was becoming incoherent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember saying such emotional things- oh.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, making her swallow a gasp of surprise, and fight the sigh when he held her hand to his chest as he lay back, his eyelids finally losing the battle and sliding shut.

Oh, Cassian…

“Don’t worship me,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m nothing worth venerating.”

Of course, was she behaving any different when it came to him?

They were quite the mess, the two of them.

She wriggled her fingers in his hold until she was able to interlace them with his and feel the warmth of his palm against hers. Jyn closed her eyes, immersing herself in the quiet, safe moment.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #cassian x jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso

16 notes · View notes

scullysexual · 4 years ago

Text

pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (5/ )

A tale of a Pirate Queen.

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter Five: Here A Man Be Free

The last few men filter through the entrance to the cave, spreading themselves out in the small area. Fifty, Dana counted, of the 300 that mull about the island, only fifty want to continue piracy. Spender keeps watch for any snitches who could’ve followed them here.

“You all know why we’re here,” Mulder asks. He stands near the back of the cave holding the pardon in his hands. “This pardon says we’ll be able to live free if we turn ourselves in but we know that’s not true. We turn ourselves in, when will we ever be allowed, trusted enough, to sail again?” She watches his eyes scan the faces of the men sat listening to him. “When will the likes of Frog, Elias, and Jacko be considered equal in the eyes of white men and gods again?” A murmur begins to rise, mutterings to the person sat next to them. Mulder looks down at the pardon and hops down from the bench he stands upon. “This pardon says all men will be free but what they don’t understand is that here, a man be free. Free from the hierarchy of a naval service, where a man is whipped if he so much as mutters a word, dares to disagree. Free to take as much or little as we want.” A stir begins to form, the mutters and murmurs etch higher and higher as men begin to shout their agreement towards Mulder.

“How many of you have risked your lives on the sea and received nothing but a pitiful handful of coppers?”

The men shout back, banging their hands on the rocks.

“Because that is what you’re asking for when you sign this.” He holds the paper up and points at it. “You’re asking for the whips, for the chains, for the poverty if this is what you agree with.”

All fifty men rise, shouting and yelling in encouragement. Adrenaline courses through Dana as she finds herself swept up in it. She looks towards Mulder who stands there looking pleased with himself. He catches her eye and she smiles.

The cries die down and a slow clap makes its way through the cave. Dana turns towards the noise as the men part and a man she has yet to meet makes his way through the crowd.

“Impressive speech Mulder,” the man says. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Mulder sighs. “What do you want, Krycek?”

“Just having a look,” Krycek says. His eyes scan the crew. “An interesting bunch you’ve got here, Mulder. A black man, a psycho,” his eyes finally land on Dana, the look of disgust clouding them. “And a woman.” Dana clenches her fist, staring him down. Krycek smiles and looks back towards Mulder. “Fitting for the disgraced son of a plantation owner.”

“You come to join us?” asks Mulder.

“I don’t think I fit in much,” Krycek answers. “Besides, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna accept the pardon or not yet.”

“Skinner just made you a captain,” says Spender. “Like hell you’re going to accept it.”

“Well, when I decide, I won’t let you know.” Krycek turns away, walking out of the cave.

“Will he tell anyone?” Dana asks. She didn’t trust this Krycek and Spender not stopping his entering worried her.

“No,” says Mulder. “He’s got no love for the British anymore than we do.” He shakes his head. “He won’t say anything.” He shuffles forwards, rising his voice to address the crew. “This is the plan. Tomorrow, Scully will go back to the tavern, be part of the welcoming committee and will sign the pardon on our behalf. It will give us more time to figure a way out of here.” He turns to Dana. “If anyone asks, the rest of us have gone out to sea, you’re not sure when we’ll be back.” Dana nods, it was easy enough. “I want you to report back anything you hear, okay. Anything.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“The rest of us will camp out here until we know it’s safe to leave,” he addresses back to the men.

“Do you think this will work?” she asks him. It’s not to undermine him, her hope depends on it.

“It won’t be easy but once we’re away from here, we should be okay.”

Dana smiles, hoping that was the case.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Colton is an idiot. Ambitious, smug, carrying an air of arrogance and “I’m better than you” around him. The lower end of the ranking, Dana imagines he volunteered for this job, thinking he was doing somebody a favour. All he’s doing is shovelling the shit in the Navy’s eyes.

She signed the pardon, scribbled her signature on behalf of herself and Mulder’s crew. In three days time, they were to board The Angel and go back to England or, alternatively, they could live on here.

She does as Mulder told her. Sits in the tavern and listens to the conversations around her- one she learns are rumours that Krycek plans to take a ship called The Outlaw as the ships in their harbour would become property of the British. She keeps note of what is important and what isn’t, keeping her ears trained on Colton and Skinner, mostly, who sit on the furthest table in the room.

“There are still people yet to have signed the pardon,” she hears Colton say.

“Look,” says Skinner. “Those who want to sign it, sign it. I can’t make them.”

Colton hums. “One of these people who have yet to sign it is Aleksandr Krycek. He was your Right-Hand-Man, was he not?”

“He was,” answers Skinner.

“And you can’t account for his whereabouts?”

“I made him a Captain,” Skinner explains. “He commands his own ships now, his own crew. If he hasn’t signed the pardon, that’s his reasons.”

Dana tucks that one away; Krycek made his decision.

“Well, I doubt you’ll mind looking for him then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those who don’t sign the pardon are to be caught and hanged, Mr Skinner.”

“You expect me to become your bounty hunter?”

“The Navy would appreciate it greatly.”

Colton’s footsteps retreat from the table, Dana watches him walk past. He takes no notice of her.

This was interesting.

She downs her drink in one gulp and scurries out of the tavern towards Mulder in his cave.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Krycek has gone. I overheard someone say he was planning on stealing a ship called The Outlaw, that all our ships would become property of the British.”

“Makes sense,” says Elias. “Take our ships, we can’t sail anywhere.”

Mulder nods.

“There’s more, too. Colton’s turned Skinner into some pirate bounty hunter. He’s instructed him to go after Krycek and his crew.”

“Traitor!” yells Spender, he kicks the rocks on the ground.

“And once they realise we’re not here, he’ll be instructed to go after us, too,” Mulder states.

Dana nods. Her father told her tales about Walter Skinner, how he was one of the best navigators. There was no out-sailing him.

“We’ll have to leave sooner,” says Mulder.

“How?” Elias asks. “There’s no ships left.”

An idea hits Dana. It might be suicide but it was worth ago.

“What if we took The Outlaw?”

“Steal from Krycek?” Elias laughs, shocked. “That’s the last thing you want to do.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we claimed it first,” Dana explains, her eyes on Mulder. “We’ll fight him for it.”

“Krycek isn’t some little amateur sailor, you stupid bitch,” shouts Spender. He stands close to her, peering down at her. “In first sailed with the Imperial Russian Navy. There’s a reason Skinner chose him as his Right-Hand.”

“Alright, back off,” commands Elias, standing between Spender and Dana, creating a wedge.

Spender steps back. “She wants to get us killed,” cries Spender, pointing his finger at Dana.

Dana goes to say something but she’s cut off by Mulder.

“I don’t see you suggesting anything, Spender.” Spender backs down. “It’s worth a shot.” He says, nodding.

Dana smiles gleefully at Spender.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The ship sits at the bottom of the harbour. Not a soul in sight, it was easy pickings. Something about it didn’t feel right to Dana.

“If Krycek is really gone, why hasn’t he already taken it?” she asks Elias.

“Nobody knows why Krycek does anything,” says Elias. “Get untying.”

Dana nervously looks around. Her stomach twists and turns. Something was wrong about this. She might not know Krycek every well but something told her he wouldn’t just abandon his ship like this, not while knowing they were still on the island. The others, however, seem not to care. She shakes her head, puts it down to worrying about getting caught by the British and sets on untying the rope.

The moment her hands touch the rope, however, there’s a cry from Elias. She turns as he slips and his dragged into the sea by something.

She goes to shout, to alert the others, but they’re under attack, too. Some pulled beneath the pier, others with shadows holding a knife to their necks.

“You really thought it would be that easy, Mulder,” comes Krycek’s voice. He moves from the shadows, a smile across his face.

“You already have a ship Krycek,” Mulder tells him. “Why do you need this one?”

“It’s bigger, better.” He smacks the side of it. “But I am willing to fight you for it.”

The smile doesn’t leave Krycek’s face. Already, he thinks he’s won.

Mulder nods his head, not letting any fear show. “Deal.”

Krycek just smiles some more. “You win, you get the ship. I win, I get the ship and…” his eyes fall to Dana. “her.”

Dana’s stomach drops as she looks at Mulder. She catches the worry in his eye, a reminder that he isn’t a fighter.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tries not to let her worry show. Soon as she notices her fingers tangling together, she rips them apart, even going as far to sit on her hands.

Mulder wasn’t a fighter. He avoided it as much as he could but now her life depended on him winning. Dana hoped that wasn’t too much to bear.

“I can fight him for you,” she suggests but Mulder shakes his head.

“That would be cowardly. Especially if I was to get a girl to fight for me.” He smiles. “I’ll be okay, Dana. I’ll try my best.”

She nods, knowing he will. “Will he kill you?”

“No. It’s just who gives up first.” They see Krycek ready. “The others will fight. Your going will be the last thing that happens, okay.”

Dana nods again, believing him, believing in his crew.

His lips press against hers. “I love you,” he confesses.

Dana smiles, pushes at him slightly. “Go on.”

She watches him walk away, her arms crossing over her body.

“He’s been in fights before Scully,” says Elias, soaked through yet recovered from his dip in the sea. “He’ll be okay.”

She uncrosses her arms, allowing her fingers to tangle together as she watches. A clanging of swords, near misses from both of them. Mulder tries to keep up but Krycek is too quick, the edge of his sword scrapes Mulder’s side and Krycek knocks him to the ground.

Dana holds her breath, praying for Mulder to get up, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach.

Beside her, Elias is whispering his own mantra yet Mulder does not get up. He lays on the ground, his hand covered with blood.

“You’re just not good enough Mulder,” Dana hears Krycek say. He turns around, the victor. He’s won the ship and Dana.

“He’s gotta get past us,” says Elias, determined.

Dana smiles, trying to find comfort in that. She doesn’t tell him that the others don’t care for her.

“Or maybe not.” Elias nudges her. “Look.”

Dana looks to see a dagger pierce Krycek’s calf. The other man falls to the ground as Mulder stands up. The tables have turned and it’s them who have won the shop.

She runs to him, gathering him up in her arms. He falls against her, hissing at the pain in his side.

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells him, helping him towards the ship.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Once on board, she helps him with his clothes. The cut is long and nasty. He hisses and winces when she moves the skin.

“Is it bad?” he asks not wanting to look at it.

Dana smiles at him. “You’ll live,” she says. “It’ll scar, though.”

Mulder shrugs. “What’s another scar?”

Dana smiles slightly. She busies herself getting pieces of cloth and bunching them together to press against his side.

“You seem distracted,” he says.

One look into his eyes and Dana knows she can’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She drops the cloth and sighs, turning around to sit beside him on the bed.

“You won’t be mad when I tell you?” she asks, looking at her hands, pressing her thumb into her palm.

She waits for him to comment, to offer in this quip or joke. When one doesn’t come, she exhales, her eyes trained above her on the ceiling.

“Mulder…” A shaky breath falls from her lips. The internal struggle of whether to tell him or not. But he’s looking at her expectantly, it’s clear she has something to say.

“You can tell me, Dana.”

And she can. She knows she can.

“Okay,” she says, nodding, believing him. “I…I think I’m pregnant.”

Shock floods his face, then confusion, then awe.

“You’re…” he starts then shakes his head. “How can you be sure?”

She shrugs, unsure herself. “I just…know?” she offers as answers.

He jumps up, the pain in his side forgotten, smiling. Then the smile fades.

“Shit Dana,” he says. “We’re about to go…the men….”

Dana stands, ready to protest.

“They don’t have to know. Not yet.” She grabs his arms. “I’m not even showing yet. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

“Dana, it’s dangerous. This life is dangerous. If something was to happen to you, or…”

“It won’t,” she tells him. “We’re just looking for more crew, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you need me until then. Once I start showing, then you can drop me off somewhere. But until then, I stay here.”

His eyes trained on her stomach, she can see him thinking it over. Finally he nods then laughs.

“A baby…” he says in awe.

Dana finds herself laughing, too. At the absurdity of it all.

Mulder kisses her. Once then twice then once again and Dana laughs some more. She was home. And she was free.

#the x files #the x-files #txffic #xfiles fanfiction #pirate au #historical au #alternative universe #xfiles alternative universe #multichapter fic #18th century #mature #scullysexualwrites

35 notes · View notes