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hugmekenobi · 6 months ago

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S3: The Bad Batch (15)

Chapter Fifteen: The Calvary Has Arrived

Gif by @theworstbatch

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: It all comes down to this final fight on Tantiss

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Chapter Warnings: Limited (Y/N), swearing, canon-typical violence, injury descriptions (blood, cuts, blacking out and bruising, loss of limbs, choking), needles and injections, Hemlock being extra cruel and evil, detailed torture and pain descriptions, mentions of self-sacrifice, begging and heavy angst, reader has a bit of a low moment, death, 'fixing' a death, I alter how the hangar fight goes ever so slightly, the Force and medical supplies suiting my needs, happy endings with nice emotions and light PDA

Word Count: 15.8K (Terribly sorry)

Author's notes: It's here! It's a rollercoaster! And Jen and Brad, we all know how it really went, okay? Happy reading!

Night had fallen by the time Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair had made more progress towards the base but even then, it was slow going. Patrols had increased and Wrecker’s injury was affecting him far more than he would like, they kept needing to stop to attend to it.

“Ow.” Wrecker complained as Hunter stuck him with another med patch.

“Did you think wrestling that creature was a good idea?” Crosshair snarked.

“At the time, yes.” Wrecker replied stubbornly.

“The base is five klicks away. Can you make it?” Hunter offered his hand out to Wrecker to get him back on his feet.

“Ha. Try and stop me.” Wrecker responded as he grasped Hunter’s hand.

Hunter waited a second to make sure the coast was clear before he led the way again.

Hemlock worked on drowning out the persistent blaring alarm as he walked down the corridor. His lack of success with you and Tech should not matter. He had enough to know how this squad operated. He still had everything under control. He stopped in front of the oncoming patrol group. “Guard the vault until the security lockdown is lifted.”

“Dr. Hemlock, one of the insurgents has been captured.” Scorch informed him.

Hemlock followed him down the side corridor towards the cells.

Hemlock opened the prison door to see a familiar face. He massaged the palm of his gloved hand as he entered the room. “Aligning yourself with insurgent clones…” He sighed, “Not a good look, Rampart.”

“You’re surprisingly calm, considering this secure and secret facility has been compromised.” Rampart said with a cool countenance. “I can’t imagine the Emperor will be pleased about that.”

Hemlock wasn’t about to let this failure of a man get under his skin. “All that time you spent on Kamino, yet you learned nothing about how clones think. I knew Clone Force 99 would eventually attempt to recover Omega and their Jedi. Their failure is inevitable.”

“The Jedi, I understand. But all this for the young clone too. I fail to see how she’s of value to you.”

Hemlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, this fool didn’t understand. “What I am working on is beyond your understanding. Something so vital to the Empire, it makes me indispensable. Unlike yourself.” He waltzed out the cell.

“The longer this lockdown continues, the higher the chance you’ll be discovered.” Emerie advised cautiously as Echo kept working through the system. “We need to move. Now.”

“Why can’t I find any record of the vault Omega’s held in? Or this different cell you were talking about.”

“These databanks are heavily encrypted. The vault and the cell are several levels down. Hemlock keeps them under heavy guard, but I can get you inside.”

Echo unplugged and reattached his hand as he faced Emerie. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I was wrong about this place. And-” She inhaled sharply, “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

The sincere way in which she spoke allowed Echo to view her in a new light. He gave her a respectful nod before he donned his trooper helmet and signalled for her to lead the way.

“You want us to do what?” Eva double checked as Omega finished telling them the plan.

“It’s how we’re going to escape.” Omega reminded them.

“But it sounds dangerous.” Sami said worriedly.

“My squad I told you about? They’re here. If we can get out of this room and find them, we can all go home.”

“What about your friend?” Jax asked.

Omega had to push you to the back of her mind, as much as it pained her to do so. “My first objective is to get you all home first.”

Home. The word felt so foreign to them now.

“You really think this will work?” Eva asked softly.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Omega promised. “I’ve been trained for this. Let’s get into position.”

Doing as she said, each of the kids took up a seat at a different table to wait on Sami’s signal that they were clear to start.

Sami looked up at the window to see Dr. Scalder step away which was when she tapped her puzzle piece on the table.

Omega readied her tool as Jax and Eva approached the supervising droid.

“My game is broken.” Eva held the device out to the droid. “Can you fix it?”

Omega snuck up behind the droid and stabbed the droid’s power centre. The three of them manoeuvred it into her cell where she could get to work on reprograming it.

Eva and Jax kept an eye out for Sami’s signal and Eva saw the Pantoran knock over the stack of pieces which only meant one thing, “Dr. Scalder is on her way. Hurry.”

“You’ve done this before, right?” Jax asked as Omega seemed no closer to getting whatever it was that she needed to do to the droid completed.

“Yes, but not on this type of droid.” Omega hissed as she hurriedly worked on the wires in the droid’s main control panel.

Dr. Scalder entered the lab and asked the specimen still at the table, “Where are the others?”

Sami stayed silent and held Bayrn close to her.

“Sp-39, I asked you a question.”

Sami pointed behind Dr. Scalder as she saw the three of them approaching.

“We w-were with the droid.” Eva said quietly, her head hanging in automatic submission.

Dr. Scalder sighed in exasperation. “Another scan wasn’t scheduled. Tell me what you were really doing.”

“Eva’s telling the truth.” Omega said calmy as the droid drew closer to Dr. Scalder. “We were with the droid.”

“Dr. Karr has been too lenient with you all. Return to your alcoves. A few days of isolation should remind you-” That was all she got to say before a needle pierced her skin and she fell unconscious.

“It worked.” Sammi gasped as Bayrn released a few happy babbles.

“You did great.” Omega praised. “Now, we have to hurry. Droid, guard the door. Sami, prep the sling for Bayrn.”

Omega dashed into her room and used her tool to get under the first panel before she could tear the rest down. Turning to the others and seeing that Bayrn was now secure on Jax’s back and Eva had her doll strapped to her, Omega asked, “Ready?”

“Ready.” Jax confirmed.

Omega led them into the walls as part to of their escape was underway.

Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair paused again as another ship passed overhead.

“He’s gonna need another med patch.” Crosshair advised Hunter as he heard Wrecker’s strained grunt and the way he kept bringing his hand to his chest.

“We’re out.” Hunter said regrettably. Seeing Wrecker so hurt was a rare thing and it made the decision to carry on forward to Tantiss that bit harder.

Wrecker got to his feet with a groan. “I- I can make it.”

Hunter and Crosshair shared a concerned look, but they followed in their brother’s insistent footsteps through the jungle yet again.

Emerie led the way to the vault, with Echo walking a few paces behind.

Echo took in the corridor awash with red beams of light. “The kids who are held in here, where’d they come from?”

“The Empire used bounty hunters to retrieve them. Their genetic material was required for certain medical testing. I didn’t know about them until recently. I couldn’t help them. Until now.” Emerie paused by the vault door.

“Well, how do the two of them fit into all this?” Echo asked as he thought about you and Omega. “These kids, are they like-”

“I believe they could be, yes. As for Omega, she’s vital to Hemlock’s main objective for the Emperor. Project Necromancer.”

“And (Y/N)?”

“Hemlock wanted her blood for the same purposes as these children, but he also had ulterior motives that his focus has shifted more towards. He stopped taking her samples a while ago.”

“Shifted to what?” Echo asked warily.

Emerie swallowed, “He wants her to join his operatives. He thinks he can… condition her the same way.”

All of what Emerie said made his blood run cold. “Don’t like the sound of that.”

“Everybody good?” Omega asked to the group behind her as they all squeezed along the path she had found to their destination.

“Bayrn’s getting restless. H- He won’t be quiet for much longer.” Jax warned.

“Don’t worry. Things are about to get very loud anyways.” Omega stopped and peered through the slats in the wall and saw that the Zillo Beast and the number of personnel watching it was still the same as what it had been when she’d first came upon it. “Wait here.” She removed the grate and sneakily clambered out and made her way to where the controls that were keeping the beast contained were situated.

However, just as she reached it and was determining which buttons did what, she heard Bayrn’s wails echo throughout the chamber, and she knew she had to hurry. She sussed out what controls would get her what she needed and when the button lit up and she pulled on the lever, she heard the winning sound of the system powering down.

As the troopers rallied to try to contain the now very awake and active Zillo Beast, she darted back and hid with the others in the wall once more and had the joy of watching her plan come to fruition.

The chaos and destruction that unfolded was something she knew Wrecker would be proud of.

Emerie opened the main vault door but was taken aback by what greeted her. “What’s going on in here?” She inquired as Dr. Scalder was escorted past- groaning and clutching at her head. But what concerned her more was the intense conversation occurring between Dr. Hemlock and Scorch.

“Omega and the specimens have escaped.” Hemlock informed her, rage simmering in his voice. “Due to Dr. Scalder’s incompetence, they exploited a weak point in within the walls. She will be dealt with.”

Just as he said that there was an intense rumble that shook the entire facility and the lights flickered off and on again.

“The Zillo’s loose in the containment level.” Scorch revealed as the information came through his comms.

Whatever was happening had not been what he’d anticipated, clearly, he’d been wise to seek the information from you and Tech, it was just an unfortunate setback that he had been unable to acquire it but no matter, he was still in control. Now that he knew Omega was out, he could go back to what he already knew about their ways. “Shut down the reactor and send a diversion to secure the transport hangar.” Hemlock said sharply. “Check on SP-42, Dr. Karr. Then find Omega. Consider your fate now tied to hers.” He exited the vault.

“SP-42?” Echo murmured, already knowing and fearing the answer.

“Yes.” Emerie confirmed quietly as the other troopers departed. She waited until everyone else left before she spoke to Echo in a louder voice, “I don’t understand. Where could the children have gone?”

Echo may not have understood a lot about the goings on in Tantiss but there was one thing about this that he did know for certain. “Omega. She released the Zillo.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s exactly what I’d do.” He replied with a cheery sense of pride. “She’s splitting their numbers and creating a diversion. Come on.”

The two of them jogged out of the lab and Emerie led the way to you.

Echo followed Emerie as she took another sharp turn down a corridor and then opened a set of doors that led to another small, tight corridor with a door a few metres down.

Emerie rifled through one of the compartments in the walls outside the cell and took out your lightsaber which she clipped to her belt before she grabbed the proper medkit. Then, she grabbed a small set of keys from her person and cautiously opened the door, “(Y/N), it’s Emerie and Echo. We’re here to get you out.”

Echo’s mouth went dry as he saw you for the first time since Teth and he took in the dirtied and blood-stained uniform. It was definitely better that he found you like this instead of Hunter but even then, he was still having to steady his own breathing.

“Emerie, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but you’re supposed to stick me with the needle before you say things like that.” You croaked through dry and cracked lips as you kept your eyes shut.

Echo took in the mix of fresh and fading bruises on your face and the way your body was racked with exhaustion. Emerie’s prior information did not even come close to accurate- this wasn’t conditioning, it was torture. “You just allowed this to happen?” He questioned angrily as he snatched the key from Emerie and strode over to your slumped form.

“Oh, now that’s good. He almost sounds like him.” You complimented with a weary sigh.

“I didn’t mean to- Hemlock- he was-” She stopped any attempt at defence because no matter what, she’d played a part in this. “I did what I could to help her.”

“Open your eyes and look at me.” Echo implored as he undid your chains and took off his helmet.

“No.” You whimpered. “It’s a trick. It’s always a trick.”

“It’s not a trick.” Echo reassured you as he rested both hands on your shoulders. “Open your eyes.”

“Echo doesn’t have two hands.” You said, aggressively shaking your head as you kept your eyes tightly shut.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.” Echo pleaded. Time wasn’t on his side here and he needed you back with them.

He sounded so real; you couldn’t help yourself. You slowly opened your eyes and took in the familiar face and the eyes that were filled with worry as they looked at you. “Echo?” You whispered; your tone filled with uncertainty.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“You’re here? This is real?” Even though Omega had told you this would happen, you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully believe it.

“It’s real. And the others are on their way.” He confirmed with a small reassuring smile.

You flung your arms around him and as he returned your embrace, you already began to feel more alive than you had since arriving here.

“Come on, we gotta get you on your feet.” Echo supported you as you shakily stood up.

“Where’s- where’s Omega?” You said through gritted teeth as your body protested the movement. You knew she had a plan of her own but with Echo and Emerie here, you had to wonder why she wasn’t with them.

Emerie gave you a round of E-bacta shots to get you closer to the level of fitness they needed you to be.

At the first injection, you automatically flinched away from her and into Echo’s side.

Emerie paused and chastised herself for being so thoughtless. She held up her hands in a pacifying gesture and apologised, “Sorry. It’s just bacta to help you heal quickly.” But she waited for you to give the okay before she went any further.

You regarded her suspiciously and made no moves to allow her to carry on. You were on edge, just waiting for the familiar effects to set in and for this to all come crashing down around you.

Echo felt your body go rigid as you leaned into him. He’d never seen you like this and it unnerved him. He was so used to seeing you remain unphased, no matter what came your way. Whatever torture Hemlock had done to you had left far more than physical marks. “I saw her grab the med supplies. She wants to help.” He reassured you gently.

You glanced at his face but saw honesty and so you nodded to Emerie to continue.

Once you were more relaxed, Echo answered your question. “Omega’s already helped us out. Her plan to release the Zillo Beast has worked very well so far. Their forces are a bit stretched and frantic at the moment.” He informed you proudly.

“Oh, she’s brilliant.” You murmured with affectionate admiration.

Echo nodded in agreement as Emerie finished tending to you.

“Hey, wait a minute, you do have another hand?!” You gawped before wincing as the final injection entered your skin- the pricks were still a painful reminder of what you had endured here.

“Not exactly the time for that.” Echo reminded you.

“We cannot linger here. We need to keep moving.” Emerie agreed hastily as she put the medical supplies away.

You nodded sheepishly. “Yup, you’re right, you’re right. Keep that for later.”

Echo picked up his helmet and put it over his head. “Can you walk?” Echo asked.

You rolled your sore shoulders as you took a steadying breath and nodded. “The bacta is working. Let’s go.” You called on the Force to help you find that extra bit of strength as you all exited the cell.

The three of them stopped again and Crosshair used his binoculars to scan ahead. He saw a squad of troopers with lurca hounds and everything he’d been trying to supress since arriving back here came rushing back. His hand trembled and his breathing came to him in short pants. He couldn’t do this. His brothers couldn’t do this; he wouldn’t let them. “They’ve got heavy patrols guarding the perimeter with lurca hounds.”

“Told you we should’ve brought Batcher.” Wrecker joked feebly, groaning in pain and bracing himself against a tree. He noticed the helmeted looks of concern that were sent his way from both his brothers. “Stop looking at me like that! I’m fine!” He insisted through another groan.

“No, you’re not.” Crosshair disagreed strongly. “Change of plans. You two, head to the communications array and try to contact Rex.” He drew his sniper rifle. “I’ll infiltrate the base myself.”

“Not happening.” Hunter objected.

“Yeah, we’ve handled worse situations than this. Countless-”

“Wake up, Wrecker.” Crosshair snapped. “Clone Force 99 died with Tech.” His voice dropped slightly, “We’re not that squad anymore.”

Wrecker and Hunter reflected on that for a moment and Crosshair was right, they weren’t, it was true. But they’d become something more, hadn’t they? Something that meant far more than just a squad title for a war effort. And Tech, alive or dead, was a part of that too.

“I’ve been inside that mountain. I know what we’re up against. If we all go in, we’re not all making it out.” Crosshair continued. “(Y/N) and Omega need you both. So, I’m doing this alone. It’s- it’s what I deserve.” He said, almost to himself.

Hunter wasn’t going to accept that or even entertain the possibility. “Don’t even think about Plan 99, Crosshair. They need all of us, and so do those clones.” He stood facing his brother, so he knew, even with his helmet on, that he meant every word.

“We’ve always known the risks. And so did Tech.” Wrecker placed a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder.

The sounds of the lurca hounds in distress got their focus back and Hunter looked through his binoculars just as the hounds were running away from their handlers.

“What’s going on?” Wrecker asked.

A deep banging and screaming of dying troopers answered his question as the Zillo Beast emerged from the base with a piercing roar.

Crosshair knew that could only be the result of one of three people. “Whose handiwork?”

“Omega’s.” Hunter and Wrecker said in unison.

“If she’s giving us a way in, let’s not waste it.” Hunter said before setting off towards the base again.

Satisfied that it was safe to emerge, Omega removed the grate and led the way over to the ladder that ran up the entirety of the base.

“You want us to climb up t-that?” Jax asked nervously.

“The Zillo got out this way. So can we.” Omega replied but she saw a familiar but fearful reluctance on Jax’s face. “What’s wrong?” She asked kindly.

“I’m not good with heights.” Jax admitted. “I- I guess I’d make a poor soldier.” He said shamefully.

Omega’s eyes softened. “My brother Wrecker hates heights too. And he’s the strongest soldier I know.” She touched Jax’s shoulder in reassurance, “Just stay focused on what’s ahead, not what’s below.” She waved them all over and led the climb up the ladder.

“The Zillo breached the bay doors and fled to the jungle after wiping out two full divisions of troopers.” Scorch said as he entered the control room. “We need reinforcements.”

Hemlock kept his hands behind his back but clenched his covered hand into a fist. “Send the shuttles after the Zillo.”

“But, sir, without air support, the rogue clones could exploit our weakened defences.”

“Of course they will. Do it.” Hemlock strode out of the control room.

Hemlock entered the training room and powered up the system. Even though he hadn’t wanted to use them just yet, the situation called for it and it was time they had a true test. Even though they’d only come up against you, Hemlock had no doubt that they were ready and could get him the results he needed. He watched with a dark smile as they emerged from their capsules.

He said nothing to them yet, he just motioned for them to follow him out but as he did so, he was interrupted by Scorch again.

“Sir, the Jedi has escaped.” Scorch told Hemlock. “Should I send a squadron to look for her?”

Hemlock massaged his gloved palm harder as he felt that rage flare up again but then a remarkable sense of calm overcame him, and a new idea emerged from the clarity. Perhaps this was the way to go after all. “No need, Commander. Send a squad to accompany the operatives to the hangar bay and when she is found, I want her alive. I want all of Clone Force 99 alive.” He nodded to his soldiers to leave for the hangar.

Now, you all would do the work for him.

All he had to do was wait.

The three of you waited until the corridor was clear before you followed Emerie around the corner and down towards another door.

Emerie slid her datapad into the panel and programmed the door to open, but it only opened a fraction before the system shorted out.

Echo peered through the gap and saw the wreckage ahead. “We’re on the right track. Omega definitely came through here.”

“And went where? How are they getting around unseen?” Emerie asked.

Echo followed up path of chaos up the way. “What’s at the top of this shaft?” He moved out the way so Emerie could look.

“It leads up to one of the transport hangars.”

“Any chance you know a shortcut?” Echo checked.

Emerie nodded and made to leave the area.

You didn’t follow them, instead you puffed out a short breath, “This isn’t going to work.”

Echo and Emerie paused and looked back at you.

“I can’t stay with the two of you. The fact we haven’t been caught yet is incredibly fortunate but the longer I’m with you, the more likely it is that’ll happen. We can’t risk either of you being discovered.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Echo asked.

“You two can go find Omega and those kids, I’ll find Hunter and the others.”

“You don’t know the way.” Emerie pointed out.

“Sure I do.” You motioned through the gap in the door. “Just follow the mess and head straight up, right? I can get there quicker than you can now that I’m free and feeling a lot better.”

“There will be soldiers and you’re not 100%. And there’s no clear way through either.”

“I’m a lot more capable when I’m not bound and tortured.” You argued pointedly.

“It’s still not a viable-”

“Echo…” You tilted your head in his direction. “Please tell her.”

Echo nodded to you and then spoke to Emerie, “She can do it. Plus, you won’t really be able to stop her. There are only two that could, one of them is somewhere in this base and the other is doing his best to get here.”

“He’s right. You’ve helped heal me and I think you’ll find I can be far more stubborn and irritating when I’m not in a permanent state of pain.” You said with a simple shrug.

Emerie sighed but conceded the matter. The debate wouldn’t get them anywhere and, thanks to the bacta, you were on the mend. Plus, you had skills that would aid you in this task. “Very well. You’ll need this.” She handed you your weapon.

You took your lightsaber from her with a nod of thanks.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I should’ve done more to stop him.”

You offered her a slight smile. “Well, you did stop me bleeding out that one time so…”

Emerie wasn’t about to let you let her off the hook so easily. “I should’ve done more.” She repeated seriously.

“You’re doing more now.” You said, dipping your head in acceptance of her words.

Echo rested his left hand on your shoulder. “Be careful.”

You placed your own hand on his upper arm. “You too.” With that, you used the Force to widen the gap in the door and hurried through it.

Echo and Emerie began their more traditional route.

You took in the levels of destruction ahead of you and you had to hand it to both Omega and the Zillo Beast, they definitely didn’t do things by halves.

Calling on the Force, you jumped to the next highest safe point you could reach, and kept that going when you could, climbing quickly when you couldn’t, and the hangar was drawing closer by the minute.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before you saw them again.

But you also knew it would be far from over when you reached them.

Blasters drawn, the three of them had managed to reach the transport hangar and sneak their way in. The entire hangar was decimated, with bits of it’s interior now reduced to piles of scrap metal. Fires were dying all around them.

Just as Hunter was assessing the situation, he dodged the blaster bolt aimed right at his head.

They all took cover behind some scrap metal and looked ahead at the emerging squad of troopers.

“What now?” Wrecker grunted.

Crosshair was the first to peer out and he saw the stormtroopers but that wasn’t what unnerved him. The sight of four operative soldiers standing on a pile of wreckage is what alarmed him. They couldn’t handle this.

“How many?” Wrecker asked as he saw Crosshair press himself back against the scrapheap.

“Too many.”

“W-we can take ‘em.”

Crosshair steadied his shaking hand. “No we can’t. Not in your condition. We need to fall back.”

“Crosshair-” Hunter tried to argue, not trusting that Crosshair was planning.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you.” Crosshair placed a sticky bomb on the end of his rifle and fired it at a fixture hanging over the main area of the transport bay.

As they began their retreat, the troopers starting firing on them and advancing towards them.

They could only be on the defence as they fired back.

You heard blaster fire above you and- breathing hard after the strenuous climb- with one final jump, you reached the ruined transport hangar. Some wreckage blocked your path but you used the Force to push it out your way and the sight that greeted you had your stomach lurching. Troopers were everywhere and, although you had been blindfolded the entire time, you knew the four armoured soldiers making their way through the hordes of soldiers were the operatives Hemlock had pitted you against and were what he wanted you to become. You knew yourself that you still weren’t ready for this type of combat, but you couldn’t do nothing.

You took a revitalising breath as you centred yourself and blocked the lingering pain you were feeling from your mind before you ignited your lightsaber, the shining blue blade giving you that added strength you needed.

With a Force-aided leap, you sailed over the heads of troopers and placed yourself between them and the clones behind you.

For a moment, time stood still.

Hunter stopped falling back as he heard that familiar ignition sound and his head snapped towards the source and his breath caught in his throat as he saw you.

It was you. Standing in a soiled prison uniform but in a wash of blue light that stood out from the ember flames was you.

However, something was off as you blocked the blaster fire and struck down the troopers around you. Your movements weren’t quite as fluid or easy as they typically were. You moved stiffly, almost cautiously, and it was obvious to him that you were hurting. He could only let the worst imaginings take hold of him as he thought about what had happened to you and his blood boiled as anger raged through him.

Hunter got a hold of himself and fired at a trooper that was taking aim for your back.

At the sound of a body dropping next to you, you turned and followed the path the shot took, and sharp gasp left your throat.

Everything else around you slowed down and faded into the background as you caught his helmeted gaze. The paint, like his brother’s, had been stripped from his armour, but it was him. He could wear a hundred disguises, decorate his armour in a hundred different ways and you’d know it was him. You’d know him anywhere.

Time swiftly righted itself swiftly again once Crosshair’s bomb went off, shaking the already weak integrity that remained of the hangar. The entire room trembled.

You cut through the final trooper before you turned off your saber and jumped over the falling ceiling beam. You saw the top of where the hangar bay doors used to be begun to collapse which threatened to block their way out and so you called on the Force and held the structure in place. You could buy them enough time to get out and then you could follow.

But you sensed the oncoming threat a second too late.

One of the larger operatives tackled your waist and you both went sliding along the floor.

Hunter and Wrecker watched as the once steady structure started to fall once more. Clearly, whatever help you were providing was no longer available. Now, the approaching gunship was their main concern.

Hunter shoved Wrecker out of the line of fire but the resulting explosions behind him threw him across the room where he clattered into a heap of wreckage and the knock-on impact from the blast saw more falling pieces land on top of him. Darkness engulfed him.

Crosshair killed the pilot and began to run over to the two of them.

Wrecker dashed over to where his brother had fallen, “Hunter!” He removed the metal and picked him up, but he didn’t get very far before a weighted bolas wrapped around his legs, causing him to trip and drop Hunter.

Crosshair caught up to Wrecker, holstered his sniper rifle, and took the vibroblade from the side of Wrecker’s leg and worked on cutting through the rope but he saw another operative heading straight for him. He wasn’t able to draw his blaster in time. The blow landed and sent him careening backwards.

Wrecker couldn’t do anything to help his brother either. The operative that had tripped him up and hit Crosshair now towered above him and pressed his electrostaff straight into the gash in his chest and the pain was excruciating. His entire body was engulfed by the electric current and he didn’t have the energy to fight against the man above him or the hurt anymore, it all got too much, and he succumbed to the darkness.

Stars danced in front of Crosshair’s eyes as his back hit against another piece of debris and his head snapped back against the metal, but he saw that Wrecker was in trouble and he made himself stay awake as he searched for his weapon which he saw a few metres to his right. But his attempts to grab it were thwarted instantly. Crosshair groaned as a foot stamped down on his wrist before he could reach his blaster.

CX-2 caught the vibrosword from his counterpart before he looked down at the pathetic form beneath him, “You should be more careful with your shooting hand.”

Those were the last words Crosshair registered before he saw the blade descend and he felt a deep, searing pain and his sight went black.

You and the operative that had attacked you had been engaged in a fight all on your own whilst that had all gone down.

The operative had gained the upper hand in the tussle and your lightsaber had escaped your hold in the struggle.

Right now, you were doing your best to stay conscious as the operative straddled your chest and wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing hard.

You powerfully facepalmed the underside of his chin so his neck whipped back, stunning him for a second but it was a much needed second.

With that second, his hold on your neck loosened and you were able to remove his hands from you. You pushed him off you and to the side of your body where, with a ragged breath, you got to your feet.

You stomped down hard on his stomach as he attempted to sit up. With one hand, you used the Force to keep him flat on the ground- his futile struggles spurring you on. With the other hand, you called your lightsaber to your it and activated your blade as you swung it down…

“Stop.”

Your blade hovered over the operative’s chest as you angled your head in the direction of the recognisable voice. Your breathing left you in short, uneven pants as you glared at him.

“Surrender or his head goes next.”

Your mouth went dry as you saw what the operative from Pabu was talking about. Crosshair’s shooting hand had been cut clean off and now the long vibroblade weapon was resting over his neck.

“Put your weapon down, or they all die.”

You scanned for the other two and saw another operative standing over Wrecker with an electrospear pressing down on what appeared to be an open chest wound and Hunter lay limp and unmoving on the ground.

The only reassuring thing about this situation was that they all were still breathing. Unconscious, but still alive. And that’s how you wanted to keep them.

You clenched your jaw and ground out a defeated breath as you disengaged your weapon and released your hold of the soldier beneath you.

Your operative got to his feet and snatched your weapon from you and, with a hard punch to your jaw, took your arms behind your back and held your wrists together in a strong and unnecessarily tight grip.

You were too dazed to do anything to resist it.

They moved you all out and back into Tantiss base.

Omega reached the top of the level that led to the transport hangar. As they’d all drawn nearer, they had heard the sounds of blaster fire, but it had all stopped now. She only hoped that meant Hunter and the others had gotten through.

She headed off for the hangar bay, the children following behind.

Echo and Emerie exited the lift and made for the but both of them slowed as they saw a group of operatives go down the corridor.

There were three soldiers unconscious on hovercrafts.

You were pushed along behind them, your arms held securely behind you by one of the soldiers, a fresh purple bruise on your jaw.

Emerie glanced at Echo and even with the helmet on, she could tell he was worried, “Is that the rest of your squad?” She asked as they all rounded the corner.

“Yeah.” Echo said, his voice low. “Where are they being taken?”

“I don’t know. But Hemlock will keep them well guarded.”

“I can handle that. But we have to find the children first.”

Emerie waited a second in case he wanted to change his mind. She could tell his mind was still with all of you, but he was pushing through for the current objective. “The science hangar is up ahead.”

Omega guided the others into the room and took cover by a crate as they all took in the destruction. Whatever had happened here wasn’t solely due to the Zillo Beast anymore- a firefight had occurred here too.

“Do you see your squad?” Eva whispered to Omega.

“Not yet.”

“Hey! You don’t belong here. Call it in.”

Omega jumped to her feet and started to back away from the two troopers, but two stun blasts shot above her head towards the men. She turned back around to see her rescuer was another stormtrooper.

“Causing chaos, Havoc 5?”

“Echo?” Omega gasped happily.

Echo removed his helmet and smiled, “Hey kid.” He then saw more children come out from behind Omega. “And other kids.”

“The shuttles in bay four are still operational.” Emerie informed him as she came back from checking them out.

“You’re helping us, Dr. Karr?” Eva said in surprise.

“I am. But we must hurry.”

Echo put his helmet back on and he and Emerie led the way to the shuttle at a run.

As they reached the shuttle, Omega paused and looked around her. “Wait. Where are Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair? And (Y/N), we’ve got to free her!”

“We got her out, but we split up and now, they’re all detained together.” Echo told her.

“You mean captured?”

“For now.” Echo turned to Emerie and slotted his blaster under his arm. “Can you fly that shuttle?”

“Yes. Why?”

Echo brought out a datacard and gave it to her. “Take the kids to these coordinates. We’ll meet you there.”

Sami, Jax and Eva all looked at one another anxiously.

“You’re not coming with us?” Jax asked Omega.

“There are more prisoners inside, including my family. I can’t leave without them.” Omega welcomed their group embrace and rubbed Bayrn’s head. “Don’t worry. Emerie’s taking you someplace safe. We’ll meet you there.” The kids let her go and stepped away.

“Here.” Emerie passed her datapad to Omega. “This will help you access all wings of the facility.”

“Look after them.” Omega instructed her sister.

“You have my word.” Emerie promised. She placed her hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Be careful, Omega. And…” Emerie took a short breath before she shared her final bit of what she hoped was useful intel. “And if you can, check out the maintenance closet in the prison level. It isn’t what it says, Hemlock spent almost as much time there as he did with your Jedi friend, and he didn’t tell me why. But he never did anything without a purpose. He’s hiding something there; I just don’t know what.”

‘Tech was more resistant to my methods this time.’ Hemlock’s words echoed in her head, and she couldn’t help it, theories and hope started to stir in her. She nodded to Emerie before she and Echo took off back to the base and back to the rest of you.

“You ready?” Echo asked as the door opened just as the shuttle with Emerie took off and away to safety.

She’d succeeded in her initial objective. Now it was time for the next one. “Let’s complete the mission.”

This was no nightmare.

This was no illusion.

This was no trick.

This was not a figment of your imagination.

You were not under the influence of any injection or serum.

There was no denying what you were hearing and seeing now.

There was no blocking out this type of agony that you were experiencing.

Hunter’s moans and screams of pain as the electricity crackled against his temples and jolted through the rest of his body were real.

It was all horrifyingly, heartbreakingly real.

And no matter how much you struggled against your captor’s hold, you were helpless to do anything but watch and listen.

There was no convincing yourself that it wasn’t happening.

And you knew would do anything to make it stop.

Hemlock studied the room. Your hands were now bound in cuffs in front of your body, but one operative still kept a vice-like grip on your shoulder. Hunter and the others were in their capsules, bound and powerless. Crosshair and Wrecker were still unconscious, and Crosshair’s right wrist was being sealed off by a droid. He ignored you for the moment, your time would come soon, for now, his attention lied with Hunter. He signalled for the machine to be turned off.

Hunter panted heavily as the torture finally stopped. Everything hurt, his limbs burned, his head felt like it was going to explode- and that was just from this. He could still fill a deep soreness in his ribs from the blast in the hangar bay. And right now, it may have stopped but he still felt the current in his veins, so the pain endured. He could barely keep his eyes open. He attempted to free his hands from the binders, but they were too tight. Then, he heard Hemlock’s cool, quiet voice.

“The last time we crossed paths, you had just lost a member of your squad. And it appears history may repeat itself. CT-9904 resisted my conditioning in the past, but I’ve made alterations to my methods. Something your… partner can attest to. If you all survive, you will make fine operatives.”

Hunter followed Hemlock’s gaze to where Wrecker and Crosshair were and the wave of guilt that he felt upon seeing what he’d brought on them made way for new type of hurt to enter the mix. Then his sights found yours and he saw the fear and distress in your eyes at Hemlock’s words. He had rarely seen you look so genuinely terrified and yet whatever else Hemlock was talking about got that from you.

“No!” You shouted as you violently fought against the hand holding you back. You couldn’t bear it if they suffered that fate or had to go through anymore of this.

Hemlock ignored you and approached Hunter. “And if not, well, there’s no shortage of clones to test on next.”

“We’ll survive. But you won’t.” Hunter said with as much strength as he could muster.

Hemlock regarded the clone pitifully and indicated to the operative to start the process once more.

Hunter couldn’t help the anguished shouts that left him as he felt that electric fire deep in his body once more, each nerve felt like it was burning away.

“Stop! Stop hurting him!” You cried out as you pulled against the hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. You wanted to take his pain away.

Hemlock turned to you and hummed out a pleased laugh as he saw the torment on your face. He had you right where he wanted you. “Do you know I finally figured something out?”

You breathed heavily as Hemlock touched the recent bruise on your jaw but did nothing to stop him in case it made things worse for the rest of them.

“You didn’t succumb to my methods because they weren’t real. I was foolish to think a Jedi such as yourself would be so easily fooled by mind games. You needed the element of doubt removed and look at the results. One glimpse of the real thing and see how you quickly you fall apart.” Hemlock said smugly.

You weren’t looking at the doctor, you were looking past him to at the man you loved with every part of you.

The man who had brought you into a crazy, wonderful family.

The man who had shown you more patience and care than you had ever deserved.

The man who had enabled you to open your heart to everything he had to offer and who had shown you that attachment could be a beautiful thing.

The man who had your heart and soul.

But was now being put through the worst kind of pain he could experience.

And then you looked to the others. To the ones who had welcomed you instantly and who had risked everything for you and Omega and who were now hurting and endangered because of it.

And it was tearing you apart. “Just let them go. Let him go. Stop this, Hemlock, please.” You choked out.

Hemlock nodded again to get the operative controlling the machine to stop. He wanted the clone awake for this.

Hunter gasped in limited relief as the electricity turned off once more. He fought through the pain to keep his eyes open as he saw Hemlock beside you, a cruel yet somehow gleeful smile on the man’s face that worried him in a way he hadn’t experienced before. There was something deeply unsettling about the sight of him standing so close to you like that.

“You know, from our time together, I can see why you would fall for her.” Hemlock commented to the clone. “She showed remarkable durability and resolve. She was quite a challenging subject.”

Hunter clenched and unclenched his hands as he watched Hemlock. It wasn’t just the physical torture that had his body feeling this much pain. After what you’d told him about Christophsis, he’d never wanted you to go through that hell again, but you had. He’d been far too late.

“But of course, such feelings are a weakness, all too easy to exploit. Oh, you should’ve heard her cry out for you, just begging me to end your suffering.” Hemlock pretended to ponder the next decision. “Then again, perhaps you can.” He stood in front of you.

Your blood ran cold as you saw the look in Hemlock’s eyes.

“You wish for his pain to stop?” Hemlock asked you, a wicked and calculated smile on his face.

“Yes.” You said, your voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Beg.”

“No.” Hunter rasped as he heard the demand.

You shoved down the bile that rose in your throat at the thought. “Please.” You breathed.

“Not so resistant now, are you?” Hemlock taunted cruelly. “But I don’t think you mean it.”

“Don’t do it.” Hunter ground out weakly.

But you would. You would do anything. You kept your attention on Hemlock. “I’m begging you, please, please don’t hurt him anymore.”

“More.” Hemlock commanded, enjoying the distraught etched on your face and the pathetic attempts the clone gave at breaking free to stop this.

You didn’t need the pressure on your shoulder that came from the operative by your side. You did it freely. You didn’t care about the humiliation, you only cared about making it end. On your knees, you glanced up at Hemlock, your voice hoarse as you pleaded, “Please. Please stop hurting him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Hemlock caressed the side of your head. “You know what I want.”

The sight of you begging on your knees for that man caused him more pain than any machine could. Hunter, as weak as he was, still attempted to get out of his prison. You shouldn’t have to do this, not for him.

You did. You knew precisely what he was after, but you automatically shook your head in refusal.

Hemlock simply snapped his fingers.

Hunter tossed his head back and writhed and yelled in pain as the electricity coursed through his body once more.

“No, stop! Please!” You begged. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Hemlock held his hand up and it ceased once more. “Well?”

You swallowed tightly. And it wasn’t just Hunter you wanted to save; you had a family you needed to protect. “I join you, they don’t.” You negotiated quietly, hating the words as they left your mouth.

Hemlock considered the options in his head. Getting a Jedi under his command would be yet another testament to his work and that was worth more to him than these clones. It was a sacrifice he could make. “Join me and I will allow them to remain prisoners here. No conditioning required.”

You knew that was the best you were going to get for them right now. You squeezed your eyes tight as you resigned yourself to what you were about to do and ignored Hunter’s pained and faint protests. “I’ll join you.” You barely got the words out, but you’d said them now. You opened your eyes to that sadistic and twisted grin, the one from your nightmares. The one that he'd wear once he made some kind of monumental breakthrough in his research. And this time, it was warranted. He’d done it. He’d finally broken you.

Another Imperial entered the room. “Doctor, there is an incoming transmission from Governor Tarkin.”

Hemlock signalled back to the operative stood by Hunter’s capsule.

A raw and tormented scream left Hunter’s throat as his senses were overloaded once more.

You rushed to your feet and went to lunge for the doctor, but the operative held you back. “No! You said-”

“Think of it as a reminder of what will happen if you change your mind.” Hemlock said icily as he left the room.

If it weren’t for the bruising grip on your upper arms, you would’ve collapsed to the ground, but you were left with no choice but to stand there and live with what you’d decided and to hear Hunter’s cries.

The lift opened to the prison level and before the troopers on guard had time to react, Echo shot them both. He picked up the loose blasters and he and Omega advanced down the corridor.

More troopers came at them, but Echo easily took care of them whilst Omega slid the datapad into one of the terminals.

“Hey, kid. What’s going on?”

Omega turned to the clone that addressed her from behind his cell door. “We’re breaking out.” With that, she programmed all cell doors to open. “Here.” She tossed the clone a spare blaster she had acquired. “I’ll look for the others.” She told Echo, mentally including the so-called maintenance closet in that statement.

Just as she looked down one corridor, she saw another familiar face. “Nala Se!” She ran over to the Kaminoan.

Nala Se knelt down to the girl’s level. “Omega, why did you come back to this place?”

“I had to, but it’s okay. We’re all getting out this time.” She reassured her old mentor before she carried on past her, anxiously scanning for any sign of you all.

Omega hadn’t seen any of you, but she had found the door Emerie had referred to. She knew perhaps the hope she was feeling in her heart was foolish, but she couldn’t help it, it was who she was. And she’d rather know for sure than spend the rest of her life regretting that she never tried. She held her breath as she opened the door.

Omega’s exhale left her with an indistinguishable surprised and elated sound as she saw the figure.

He may have a supportive brace encasing his entire right leg.

He may be without his goggles.

He may look dishevelled and weary.

But there was no mistaking his face.

This was her brother. The brother she never thought she would see again. The one that had given up everything for them. Yet, somehow, he was standing there before her.

Omega stared at the man that had turned to face her when the door opened. “Tech?” She gasped, scarcely believing it. She needed him to speak, to confirm that she wasn’t seeing things.

Tech’s eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t dared take Hemlock’s words as the whole truth, but he recognised the child immediately and… and he felt alive again. “Omega?”

Another joyful sound left her throat as happy tears welled in her eyes. She dashed forward and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Did it not work?” Tech whispered as he rested his hands on her back. He recognised the prison uniform. And he didn’t remember a lot since Eriadu, especially with the months spent enduring Hemlock’s manipulations, but he had thought the rail car had gotten away at least.

“No, it- well-” She stopped. “The main thing to know is Crosshair did betray the Empire and he’s back with us. We can catch you up on the rest once we’re out of here.”

The news about his brother made him sigh in relief. They had been without Crosshair for far too long and Hemlock’s lies had been the only moments he had to imagine what having him back would feel like but the happy emotions it brought had all been spoiled and tainted by Hemlock’s cruelty. Now, he could allow himself to feel that happy again and he could be confident in knowing it was true. Then, he remembered the last part of Omega’s statement. “Out of here?” Tech repeated, the very concept had felt like a distant desire for such a long time.

Omega smiled at him, “Come on, Echo is waiting. We’re breaking everyone out.”

Tech released a long, relieved breath, “An excellent idea.” He concurred. He followed her- a slight limp in his gait now- out of the cell that he hadn’t been sure he’d ever leave.

“We gave up hope that anyone was coming to help us.”

Echo held his helmet and addressed the clone that had first spoken to Omega when they’d arrived, “We’ve been looking for this base for a while.”

“Echo, I searched all the cells. They’re not here. But I did find someone else.”

Echo turned at the sound of Omega’s voice but what he saw had his jaw dropping and his helmet fell from his grasp. He said nothing as he walked towards his brother and clasped him close. “I don’t believe it. How- I mean- you called out the plan- we saw you fall.”

Tech hadn’t quite expected the hug, but he welcomed it all the same. It felt good to accept that fighting against Hemlock this time had been worth the pain. This was a truth he could trust. “You forget that my intelligence did not cease to exist after I shot that connection hinge.”

Omega smiled as she heard that loveable cockiness in his voice.

Echo released his brother but kept his eyes on him. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice fuelled with concern.

Tech grew more solemn again. “As much as could be expected. However, I’m afraid to say that I have failed our squad. Hemlock, he wanted information about you all. I resisted when I could but- but his methods were rather… effective at getting the results he wanted.”

Echo had seen what Hemlock’s methods could do so in a short space of time and Tech had been here for months. So, the very fact that he had even held out at all was something to admire. “Don’t worry about that.” Echo reassured him. “All that matters is that you’re alive.”

Tech gave him a grateful bow of his head before he straightened his spine. “I see that I am not the only one with a new look.” He commented lightly, gesturing to his brace and Echo’s mechanical hand.

Echo allowed himself a short chuckle, “Yeah, well, the situation called for it.”

Tech nodded in understanding before he scanned the group of clones around them all. “But where are the others?” Tech asked, fully realising that amongst these newly freed clones, there were four faces that were missing. And the worry that flashed across Echo’s face did nothing to ease his own anxieties.

Giving Tech’s shoulder one final squeeze, he spoke to the rest of the clones surrounding them. “The rest of our squad were grabbed by Hemlock’s operatives. Where else would he take them?”

“Well, they could be in the training room. It’s where Hemlock conditions the clones he deems useful.”

“I think I know where that is.” Omega said, grabbing the datapad. “Follow me.”

“Are you joking?” Rampart shoved past Echo. “The wisest course of action is to leave while we can.”

Echo glared at the man. “Clones don’t leave our brothers behind. And Hemlock’s also got someone who is just as important to us as any other clone.” He moved Rampart out the way and kept his speech for his fellow clones. “Listen, I know you’ve all been through enough. You deserve your freedom. But Omega and I can’t do this alone. Is anyone willing to stand with us?”

The clone that spoke to Omega spoke first, “I will. I’ve got one more fight left in me.”

That spurred others on. Soon more rallying shouts were declared throughout the group.

“Good.” Echo said appreciatively. Then he turned to Tech and took a reluctant breath, “Tech…”

Tech recognised that look but hearing that the rest of you were in danger had his loyal and protective instincts as a member of this squad come rushing back to him. “I want to go with you.” Tech insisted. “They need our help.”

“You’re not 100%. We lost you once, it’s not happening again.” Echo said firmly. “Get the injured to the hangar and secure a shuttle. You can help them there.” He gave Tech a spare blaster. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Very well.” Tech said with a heavy sigh. Deep down, he knew that his current situation made him more of a liability for such a high stakes mission. He needed to recover properly and get back to form and he could start by helping the rest of these clones.

Echo put his helmet on once more. “I’ll trigger an alert in a different wing and reroute their troops. The rest of you, grab any weapon you can.”

Tech led the way with the injured, hoping that this would all come to a better conclusion that Eriadu had.

Before Omega left with Echo and the rest of their team, Nala Se’s voice stopped her.

“Omega, I must not allow my science to remain in the Empire’s hands.” She knelt down and placed a large hand on Omega’s shoulder. “The only way you will be free is if Hemlock is gone and the databanks are destroyed.”

“Then let’s get to the lab.” Omega said determinedly.

“No. Your place is with them.” Nala Se nodded to the clones.

Omega dipped her head in both a farewell and in understanding. “You’ll need this.” She gave Nala Se the datapad and watched her walk away before she joined up with Echo and left the cells.

Rampart watched the scientist go, a fresh plan of his own forming in his head as he made to follow her.

Hemlock walked back to the training room, working on dampening his simmering anger and irritation. The conversation with Tarkin had not been a productive one and now he was faced with having to deal with the lousy Imperial face-to-face.

He had it under control. Tarkin would just be another nuisance he had to deal with.

“The training floor’s two more corridors over.” Omega said to Echo as they eliminated the guards by the hall terminal.

Echo used his scomp to bring up schematics. “The pneumatic tube system runs throughout this base. Think you can use it to get eyes inside that room?” He opened a panel in the walls.

“It worked in the vault.” Omega ran over to the gap and crawled into the narrow space.

“Relay what you see, but stay out of sight until we’re in position.” Echo ordered before she disappeared. He handed her a comm.

“Rodger that.”

Nala Se had taken a grenade from a downed trooper as she made for the lab. She had accepted what her course of action would lead her to.

Covertly following her, Rampart grabbed a blaster from another body.

Nala Se entered the lab but just as she finished bringing up the databank and blood samples, a blaster clicked behind her, and she was staring down an unhappy looking Admiral Rampart. She activated the bomb behind her back, no one was going to stop her from doing what needed to be done. And if she took this Imperial down with her… well, that was an added bonus.

Omega peered out into the room from behind the ceiling grate. All was quiet. You were standing up, your hands in binders with an operative holding on tight to your shoulders, whilst the others were knocked out and in some type of capsule prison. “Echo, I have a visual on them. There’s an operative on guard but I don’t see the others.” She whispered into her comm. “I might be able to free them if you give me a big enough distraction.”

“We’re on our way.”

Echo and his group of clones entered the training room but as soon as they entered, the lights dimmed, the floor lit up in a harsh red light and parts of the floor rose up to form obstacles. They were ambushed by the other operatives in seconds.

You couldn’t understand why the operative holding you suddenly let you go to activate the downstairs area, but the sounds of blaster fire soon told you why.

You hoped Echo’s plan was going to work.

Omega managed to sneak into the room without incident. She caught your eyeline and motioned for you to be quiet as she went over to the main control box. She worked on Wrecker’s first, and she succeeded in removing one of the wrist cuffs. Before she could work on anything else, she felt eyes on her and she let out a fearful gasp as she saw the operative staring at her.

You acted quickly. You ran in front of the operative and saw your lightsaber attached to your belt. You lunged for it but with your hands bound, you were limited in what you could offer and a powerful kick to your chest sent you tumbling to the floor. Winded and gasping for air, you could only watch as Omega’s stun blasts did nothing to stop the advance of the soldier and he took a hold of her arm and dragged her into the centre of the room. You got to your feet just as Hemlock entered the room with the operative from Pabu.

“A glaring weakness in clones is their loyalty to one another.” Hemlock said to the young girl. “Thank you for proving my point.” Then Hemlock beckoned you over to him as you both walked towards the window.

“Now that you’ve joined our ranks, perhaps it is time to see what sort of matters you will have to deal with.” Hemlock said to you. He wouldn’t free you yet, not until he knew for certain that this matter was officially over and dealt with. Your attachment for the clones remained and therefore the margin for error was still too great so for now, you remained in cuffs and his prisoner.

You forced yourself to ignore Omega’s shocked gasp as she heard that.

“Shall we see if they fare better than you did?” Hemlock allowed the firefight to continue for a couple minutes before he pressed the buttons that would introduce his special toxin into the room.

You could only watch on in horror as the clones without helmets started to cough and choke whilst they desperately clutched at their throats before they collapsed to the ground.

“Perhaps an unfair comparison given that I didn’t use this for you but alas, sometimes such things are necessary. You will find that often the most pain gets the quickest results, but with your skills, you will make quick work of things, I am sure.”

“You joined him?” Omega said in dismay.

“I had to.” You croaked, your throat closing up as everything you loved fell apart around you.

Having entertained Rampart and his delusions of Imperial redemption for long enough, Nala Se didn’t fear the blaster bolt that entered her chest and as the light faded from her eyes, she took comfort in the fact that this final act of hers would bring peace to Omega’s life.

Rampart heard the rapid beeping of the grenade that rolled free from her hand as she fell, but before he could do anything, his life left him in a flash of blinding white light.

Having been the only one with the safety of a helmet to resist the gas, Echo was on his own against the three operatives.

He staggered forward as a knife entered the back of his shoulder. His blaster was knocked out his grasp, so he used his mechanical hand to defend against the swings of the sword from the operative that had cut him, and he succeeded in throwing the black-armoured clone against one of the walls, so his helmet came off and he too feel victim to the gas.

However, Echo didn’t have long to recover before he was knocked to the ground but just as he reached for his blaster, it was kicked away, and he glanced up to see another operative pointing a blaster at his head.

Hemlock kept his sights on the scene below. “Their efforts have failed.” Hemlock stated. “Predictably so.”

You were shoved back to stand in the middle of the room with Omega.

Omega glanced at you, but your face was a blank slate. Your posture was slumped and heavy with defeat. You had no fire, no fight in you.

“Sir, there’s been an explosion in the central lab. It’s been destroyed.” Scorch revealed as he entered the training room.

This news snapped you out of your fatigued and defeated state. Hemlock wasn’t untouchable and he knew it. You remembered the nervousness you’d picked up on when he’d first told you they were coming to the base, and you saw the way his body tensed after Scorch’s words. For all his victories and apparent calmness, he knew you were the people that could get to him which was why he’d done everything he could think of to tear you apart. The thoughts sent a surge of strength and resolve through you. What the fuck were you doing? This was your team, your squad, your family. You’d all never stop fighting for each other so why had you? You’d given up so easily and that wasn’t who you were, how could you have lost sight of that? You glanced over to Omega and nodded.

Omega felt hope rise in her chest as she saw the familiar spark and determination in your eyes. She then stole a look behind her to see Wrecker slowly waking up. “You failed too.” She said smugly to Hemlock. “Your data’s gone.” And she wasn’t just talking about the samples, she knew Tech was safe too.

Hemlock whipped his head around to face the two of you. He had what he needed; he could start again. “But I still have you both.”

Picking up on Wrecker’s movements too, you got ready to fight once more. “Hey, Hemlock?” You waited until his eyes arrived on you. “Go to hell.”

Hemlock glowered at you but before he could do anything more, Omega spoke once more.

“And you’re forgetting one thing. We have them.” Omega said proudly.

Chaos erupted.

Wrecker ripped himself free of his capsule and used the portion covering his legs as a shield against the blaster fire before he launched it towards the operatives, the impact of the piece of metal against one of the control towers took down the entire system in the process.

Crosshair and Hunter groggily woke up their confinement also loosened.

Wrecker shakily got to his feet and pushed against the electrospear that the operative shoved towards his chest. He ignored the pain of the electrical current and kept his focus entirely on meeting the soldier strength for strength.

You dashed over to Hunter and rested your bound hands just beside his head “My love, I need you to stand for me.” You murmured with urgency. You placed your hands under his neck and then moved them gently still to his upper back to support him.

Hunter strained to open his eyes as he took in your still slightly blurry form, but he never failed to recognise you or your voice. He nodded and inhaled sharply as he slowly rose with your encouragement.

Whilst you did that, Omega made a break for a loose blaster, but Scorch grabbed her. She struggled against him, but she was forced to stop as Hemlock paired them together with a set of cuffs.

“We’re leaving. Get the Jedi.” Hemlock said to Scorch, passing him a hypodermic with a sedative inside it. He then snatched a blaster from CX-2 as well as the set of controls he kept on his sleeve for his ship. “Deal with them.” He directed the operative before he dragged Omega out,

Scorch came over with as he saw you attempting to aid the clone sergeant to his feet. He speedily stabbed the needle into your thigh and pressed down on the plunger.

You reacted swiftly and slapped his hand away before you landed a kick to his gut, but you felt the broken skin and as you removed the needle from your leg, you saw that the tip of it was wet, and you knew that you hadn’t been fast enough. Some of it had entered your system. A wooziness overcame you and you swayed on your feet as you fought against it.

Scorch recovered from the blow you dealt him and as he saw the unsteady way you stood as well as the lack of clarity behind your eyes, he knew he had done enough to get you compliant. He grabbed your wrist and forced you out of the room as he hurried to catch up with Hemlock.

Seeing that Hemlock was escaping with you both, Wrecker thrust the spear above him and kicked the operative back.

Hunter wearily worked on standing up straight and finding the strength to go after you and Omega.

“Get them back.” Wrecker said to Hunter before he let out a roar and charged at the operative he’d been fighting. He tackled his waist and smashed through the cracked window.

The gas dissipated and Echo glanced up to see the glass of one of the windows had cracked and there were flashes blaster fire. Whatever was happening above him was the disruption he needed.

And that distraction developed as Wrecker came crashing through the window.

In the mayhem, Echo was able to divert the blaster pointed at his head to the second operative standing behind him and take cover. Even with one operative dead, he was still outnumbered but two more rounds fired past him to disband the operative forces. Echo turned and saw that Wrecker- despite being flat on the ground- had been the one to fire the shots but he was still in danger. Echo fired a series of shots to the operative that Wrecker had forced out of the window and that operative also fell dead to the ground.

But Echo couldn’t ease up. Another operative had recovered from the disruption and attacked them again. Echo opened fire back as he took cover behind one of the obstacles.

Wrecker was slower to react. The shot he took to the inside of his leg as he rolled for shelter was yet another painful sign of how out of it he was. But he needed to get it together, Echo still needed him, and he wasn’t going to let his brother down.

Echo carefully moved around the room. He knew there were two operatives remaining and they made themselves know quickly. Now that the danger of the gas was gone, he had removed his helmet to aid in his breathing but as he walked around the side of one of the wall obstacles, a wave of blaster fire was sent in his direction, and he quickly pressed himself back against the wall. He searched for another way to somehow get behind the operative who had fired on him but as he did so, he felt a threat approaching his own back. As he turned, he saw the operative with the vibroblade weapons lunge for him and his blaster wasn’t primed to take the shot to stop it.

With a loud shout, Wrecker got to his feet and picked the operative up by the neck and smashed his head through one of the walls. That took up the last of his energy, his legs gave out and he fell to the ground with a deep groan.

Seeing his brother go down so heavily alarmed Echo deeply which was why he wasn’t the one to kill the final operative that had emerged. No, those shots came from one of the clones who had rallied by his side for this fight. He gave him a grateful nod before he knelt by Wrecker’s side. The clone could barely keep his eyes open, and he was breathing in short, sharp pants, his pain was obvious. “Wrecker, where are the others?” Echo asked as he looked on worriedly as his brother.

“They’ve- they’ve gone after-” Wrecker broke off with a low groan and couldn’t finish the thought. He was too exhausted and sore to focus on anything other than staying awake.

Echo put it together. “I can help you get there but I need you to get to your feet.” Echo urged as insistent but as caringly as possible, but Wrecker made no move to stand. “Come on, Wrecker, you can do it.” He thought of the first thing he could think of to get him there. “Tech’s alive. He’s waiting at the shuttle.”

“If that’s supposed to cheer me up, it’s a bad way to do it.” Wrecker managed to grunt.

“I’m serious. Omega found him.”

Wrecker glanced at Echo and a brief rush of adrenaline hit him as he saw the serious and honest look on Echo’s face.

“It’s true. I saw him.” The other clone added as he came over to offer his help.

Wrecker allowed himself to believe that because it was now the only thing giving him the strength to even think about getting up. With a determined moan, he got to his feet.

Echo, along with the other clone, supported Wrecker as they all made their way to the shuttle.

Hunter had managed to stand and grab the spear that the operative had left behind, but everything was still blurring together in one dark and incoherent shape. He couldn’t fully tell one sense apart from the other, everything was too sore and disjointed.

But he knew there was still an operative up here and he had to focus on finding him.

Crosshair was also beginning to get to his feet and as he saw CX-2 creep next to his pod and aim his blaster at Hunter, Crosshair kicked his arm which caused the shot to go array.

Tracking the sound, Hunter threw the spear in the direction it had come from and heard the sharp blade meeting it’s target as CX-2 was speared in the gut and the power behind Hunter’s through saw doubly sure that he was dead as he was flung back into the power grid and electrocuted.

Hunter grabbed the fallen rifle and spoke to Crosshair through gritted teeth, “I’ll go get them. You should stay here.”

“Not a chance.” Crosshair grunted as he properly got to his feet.

Hunter picked up a second blaster and handed Crosshair the sniper rifle.

Supporting each other, the two of them hobbled out the room to go catch up with you and Omega.

The night air was cold as a storm raged on.

Thunder rumbled above you.

Lightening flashed through the black clouds.

The pouring rain pelted against your skin.

The wind whipped across your face.

But as unpleasant as it was, it did help get you out of your sedative state. You just had to wait for the right moment and so long as Scorch had a blaster pressed to your back and Omega was cuffed and attached to Hemlock, it wasn’t the right moment, so you pretended to still be as compliant as you had been when being led through the corridors out of the training room.

Hemlock led the way across the exposed and narrow walkway towards the landing platform. He was almost there. He could rebuild once he got away. He ignored the girl’s struggles and protests as he dragged her further along and pressed the button on the control sleeve that would bring the ship to them. Just as the ship was preparing to land, two blaster bolts hit the right and left engines and the ship erupted into flames.

You used as your moment to take care of Scorch. You smacked the back of your head into his visor and turned on your heels to grab his blaster.

In the push and shove struggle, both of you teetered towards the edge of the bridge. One particularly nasty shove from Scorch saw to it that you fell over the top, but you still had a hold of his blaster, so he toppled over with you.

You just about managed to take a scrappy hold of the one of the bars that formed the boundary of the walkway, Scorch fell past you into the abyss below. The metal was slick against your fingers and being cuffed wasn’t making holding on any easier, your grip was haphazard at best. Which was why you weren’t surprised that you couldn’t keep a secure hold and you slipped downwards, your fingers catching the edge of the platform.

You saw the scene unfolding across from you and you wished there was more you could do to help but all you could do now was fight to keep your head up as your legs dangled aimlessly. You called on every piece of strength you had to hold on and wait this out.

Hemlock thrust Omega in front of him and wrapped his arm around her neck as he held the blaster to her head. You were out of the picture for now, his main adversaries remained further down the bridge. “That’s far enough!” He threatened as he saw the clones

Hunter shook the rain from his eyes as he and Crosshair paused to figure out the next best course of action. He had to trust that you would hold on for long enough. Right now, his priority was Omega. He knelt down and kept his blaster trained on Hemlock.

Crosshair did the same, only he rested his rife on Hunter’s shoulder as he peered down his scope.

The two of them synchronised their breathing as the storm echoed around them but that didn’t distract them. Their entire focus was on the two people down the walkway.

“You won’t get past them.” Omega said, no fear in her voice.

“They won’t risk hurting you.” Hemlock said through heavy breaths. “And it’s not only you they have to consider.”

“Neither will you. You need me alive.” Omega countered. “And she’s a lot stronger than you think.” She said, knowing that no matter what, you would be fine.

Hemlock brought her to the edge of the bridge opposite to where you were hanging. “If I go over, then you go over.” He then bellowed down to the clones, “Drop the blasters!”

But Omega wasn’t going to entertain that outcome. Hemlock’s arrogance would be his downfall. She reached into her sleeve and grabbed the tool she had stolen from Emerie’s supply kit.

Hunter saw what Omega was doing and understood her plan. “Shoot the binders.” He told Crosshair.

“I- I- I can’t.” Crosshair stammered. He had rarely practiced with his left hand as the trigger hand and these conditions were less than ideal to make such a precise shot. “They’re too close. If I’m off- I can’t risk Omega.”

“She knows what to do, Crosshair.” Hunter said. He trusted Omega and he trusted Crosshair. He had all the confidence that his brother could make the shot. “Wait for her, then take the shot.”

Crosshair let that faith and his own desire to rescue Omega guide him as he rested his finger on the trigger. He could do this. He knew he could. He inhaled and exhaled steadily as he waited on her.

Omega stabbed her implement into Hemlock’s thigh and used his surprise to step away from him and she raised their cuffed hands in the air.

When Crosshair’s shot met it’s mark and separated them, she crouched down as she heard six shots hit Hemlock’s chest and she watched his body fall over the side.

Releasing a thankful sigh, you braced yourself on your forearms as you worked on hauling yourself back up. You felt a supportive hand tug at your arm and angled your gaze to see Omega doing her best to help you back onto the bridge.

Once safely situated and cuff free thanks to Omega’s tool, you stayed propped on your knees and braced your hands on your thighs as you caught your breath and looked at the young girl and all it took was that glance from you. She crashed into you, and you squeezed her close. “Are you alright?”

Omega squeezed you back and nodded into your neck. “Yeah… I’m okay.” She said through an exhausted but relieved sigh. “Are you?”

“Yeah, kid, I’m okay.” You said, your throat tightening as you realised what was about to happen next. It had been the thing that had gotten you through every night since arriving here. And it had been the thing you had so nearly given up and lost.

You both pulled apart at the same time.

You got to your feet and followed her gaze towards the two men still kneeling further down the bridge. You didn’t need to check with her, you both started running together.

Naturally, you reached them just before Omega did and you didn’t really slow down in your approach.

With adrenaline overpowering your own lingering pain and tiredness, you- getting caught up in the excitement of seeing Hunter again- foolishly forgot about his injuries and all but launched yourself at him. You collided against his chest with a happy cry and flung your arms around him and pulled him close to you.

“Ow ow ow.” Hunter mumbled with a sharp wince as he braced himself against your strength, but he couldn’t help himself, he clung to you just as tightly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Your words were muffled from where you pressed your face in the crook of his neck. You went to pull away instead, but he wasn’t letting you yet, in fact he readjusted his hold to keep you right where you were.

Hunter breathed you in and let himself get lost in the feeling of holding you and feeling you against him. The familiar shape and scent of your body providing him the comfort and security he needed to alleviate part of the pain he was feeling with his senses. He nuzzled into your neck and used one hand to cradle the back of your head whilst his other arm still kept you tight to him.

The two of you held onto each other like you were terrified it was all a dream and you might be taken away again. The bridge was cold and wet against your legs but after all that had just happened, it hardly mattered now. The rain continued its deluge against your body, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was this moment right here and now.

Only when his body did truly start to protest against the strain, did Hunter relax his arms.

You released your own arms and hid your face in your hands as the emotions of the time that had passed hit you all at once. Sobs mixed with laughter left your throat and racked through your body as you realised that he was safe. That Omega was safe. That they all were safe.

Hunter gently took your hands away and carefully held your bruised face. He used his thumbs to softly wipe some of the rain and tears running down your cheeks. He brushed some wet strands of hair tenderly away from your face before murmuring, “I love you.” A kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” A kiss to your cheek. “I love you,” A kiss to your other cheek.

You stared into his brown eyes as you got yourself under control and they grounded you so completely as you saw the feeling behind them. “I love you too.” You gasped breathlessly. You threaded your fingers in his damp strands and-more mindful of his injuries- leaned forward.

Hunter went to close the gap but the sound of someone managing a strained but somehow still very pointed cough caused you both to stop and you turned your head to see Crosshair and Omega waiting expectantly.

“What? No hugs for us?” Crosshair said with a light-hearted, albeit pained, smile at the two of you.

You huffed out a chuckle and together, you and Hunter slid into their embrace, and you all wrapped your arms around one another. You shared in that moment until Omega decided to break away.

You all got to your feet, but you noticed how unsteady both Crosshair and Hunter were.

With Omega looking out for Crosshair, you focused your attention on Hunter. “Lean on me.” You instructed him as you placed his arm around you, and you took on his weight as you all made your way to the transport hangar.

You all reached the shuttle and slowly walked up the ramp but the person you saw tending to Wrecker’s wounds had you all forgetting any remaining aches and pains.

All three of you inhaled sharply and stopped short. You shared a look to make sure you were all in agreement with what- or rather-who you were seeing.

“Yeah, you’re not seeing things.” Wrecker told you all with a cheery disposition.

Echo had a small yet delighted grin on his face as he took in the stunned yet happy reactions from all of you.

“Oh… did I not mention that?” Omega kidded, a joyous smile on her own face.

“Tech?” Crosshair all but whispered.

“You’re alive?” You and Hunter said together, emotion overwhelming both of you as you spoke.

“You sound surprised.” Tech said with a small smile. What did catch him by surprise though was the way he was dragged into a large group hug with all six of you.

And as the shuttle took off and you all had that minute together, you were hit with a remarkable sense of home.

The shuttle landed in Pabu and the rescued clones steadily departed the shuttle first.

Echo, Omega and Wrecker were the first of you all to leave with Echo wanting to check on Emerie and Omega wanting to check on her friends from the vault.

Tech made to go too but hesitated as he caught the attention of a familiar face.

Phee’s eyes widened. She walked up the ramp and took in the messy yet totally recognisable man in front of her. “Well, brown eyes, it’s about damn time.”

Tech made to adjust his non-existent goggles but caught himself. “I was- uh- rather occupied for a while.”

Phee raised her chin and smiled. She came up the ramp and linked arms with the clone. “Now your survival is an adventure I want to hear all about.”

You could’ve sworn you saw the faintness of blushes on Tech’s cheeks.

“Well, it involved a grappling hook and some pretty fast thinking. I was falling…”

You, Hunter and Crosshair watched them walk away and you caught the completely astonished expression on Crosshair’s face. It was possible he was more taken aback by that than by seeing Tech come back from the dead.

“I have a question.” Crosshair asked as he stared at the fading figures.

“What’s that?” You said, pretending to have no idea as to why he looked so bewildered. You welcomed Hunter’s arm that looped around your waist and the look he gave you told you that he was willing to play along.

“We just spent the duration of that journey getting medical attention and catching Tech up on everything that had happened since you all ignored Plan 88, right?”

“Right.” Hunter agreed, ignoring the playful jab.

“And I was on Pabu and with you all a good while before everything went to shit.” Crosshair said.

“Uh huh.” You concurred, a slightly teasing smile on your face as you waited for him to get to the point of his question.

“So, please explain to me why no one thought to tell me about that.” He pointed with his left hand towards Tech and Phee. “Since when did Tech get- I mean how- just what exactly is that?”

“Oh… that.” You feigned a sudden realisation. “Huh, I guess they did get pretty close whilst we were staying here. How many dates was it before we had to leave, Hunter?”

Hunter matched your teasing tone. “Yeah, I don’t know. At least three or four- not that Tech truly realised that’s what they were. We really didn’t tell you?” He asked Crosshair, a smirk on his face.

“You two are impossible.” Crosshair groused before he walked down the ramp, muttering under his breath.

You laughed quietly as you watched him leave.

Hunter let out a low chuckle too as he brought you in closer to his side and he pressed his lips to the top of your head before you both walked out the ship.

Emerie observed the children from afar and was pleased to see them chasing the animals of the island and interacting with the Omega and the other young clones. “They’ve adapted quickly.” She said as Echo approached her side.

“Kids are resilient.”

“A childhood’s not something we ever had. Our lives have never been our own.”

“Until now. I’m heading to Pantora to help get some of the clones settled. I’m sure Senator Chuchi would find whatever you have to say very helpful for our cause.”

“I have a lot to make up for. I’d like to help out however I can.”

Echo rested a hand on her shoulder before he made for the shuttle once more.

Emerie followed a few paces behind.

As you and Hunter were making your way from the shuttle, Omega called out your name.

You paused and turned to see she had brought a group of kids over with her.

“These were the children I was telling you about. This is Eva, Jax, Sami and Bayrn.” She introduced each child in kind before she introduced you and said to them, “And this is my friend I told you about.”

“Hello.” You said warmly as they looked at you, both with curiosity and nervousness.

“I um, I filled them in on everything. I hope that’s okay.”

You nodded. “You contact Rex, I’ll catch up.” You said to Hunter whilst Omega went to go find Batcher. You crouched down in front of the remaining children. “Omega told me a lot about you too. I hear you all helped with her escape plan, that’s pretty impressive.” You said sincerely, keeping your voice tender and kind.

“Omega was the one that led it. It was all her. We didn’t do too much.” Jax said.

“A team is only as good as everyone in it. You all had a part to play, and you did it well.” You cleared your throat as you readied yourself for the next part. “Now, I know Omega has told you that I’m a Jedi, and did she tell you what that means?”

All of them nodded.

“Okay, that’s good. And I have to ask, have any of you ever like an object moved without you touching it, or you were somehow able to jump higher than you expected?”

You knew Baryn couldn’t really understand and wasn’t paying much attention as he babbled away in Sami’s arms, but you figured he was there for the same reasons as the rest of them nodded again.

“We’re going to look out for you whilst we work on getting you back to your families, but life will always be a bit different for you now, and you’ll still have to be careful. But I can teach you some things whilst you’re still here that should help and once you’re home, if you or your parents have any more questions, you’re welcome to come back.” You offered, smiling at them as they nodded. “Alright, that’s all from the grown up for today. Carry on exploring.” You said fondly before you stood up and went to rejoin Hunter and Omega

You, Hunter and Omega had taken up position by the weeping maya tree with Batcher lying by Omega’s side. You all watched as the clones walked around freely and the children from the vault got to enjoy being kids once more and it was a delightful sight to take in.

“With Hemlock gone and his data destroyed, they’re finally safe.” Omega said with relief.

“Mm-hmm.” Hunter agreed and released a relieved sigh of his own as the impact of that statement properly hit him. “And so are both of you.”

“Will it take long to find their families?”

“Rex and I are working on it, but we’ll look after them until then.”

“And that brings the adoptive parent tally up to eight- nine including Gungi.” You kidded affectionately before you laid down next to Hunter and rested your head in his lap.

“Like you didn’t just offer them that exact thing whilst I was speaking to him.” Hunter retorted playfully as he brushed the backs of his fingers across your cheek.

You stuck your tongue out at him before the sound of the shuttle powering up grabbed all of your attention. You raised your head and saw Echo getting ready to depart with some of the clones that wanted to continue the fight. All four of you dipped your heads and smiled in farewell.

“What about the rest of the clones?” Omega asked as she watched the shuttle leave. “Will they stay here on Pabu?”

“Well, it’s up to them. They’re free to follow their own path.” Hunter exhaled tiredly but kept his voice light as he said, “We’ve all fought enough battles for one lifetime. Now we get to choose who we want to be.”

“Like what?” Omega asked.

You smiled at Hunter and placed your head back down in his lap. You closed your eyes and let the sun’s warmth seep into your skin.

“Whatever we want, kid.” The girl leaned against his arm and his voice and face softened at the action, “Whatever we want.”

Then, as the Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair came to sit down with the three of you, Hunter stared down at your utterly content form and stroked a hand past your brow and through your hair.

He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to be next.

Post S3 oneshot>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @arctrooper69, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @dominoeffectsworld, @allthingsimagines , @nightmonkeysstuff , @jellybeanstacey0519 , @callsign-denmark , @superbookishhufflepuff , @qvnthesia , @justsomerandompersonintheworld

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch s3 #hunter x reader #hunter x femaleJedi!reader #hunter x female!reader #hunter x fem!reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch x you #hunter x y/n #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars #friends to lovers #angst #fluff

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gaybd1 · 11 months ago

Text

“So… you’re really breaking up with me?” Zuko asked again.

“I mean, I guess. We don’t need this anymore, don’t you think?”

Zuko was more confused than upset. And wasn’t ‘we don’t need this anymore’ an odd thing to say about ending a relationship?

He looked back at Mai across the sofa they sat on, confusion still showing on his face. He could see a hint of exasperation beginning to make its way into her expression. They’d been having this conversation for a while already.

“I just… aren’t things going well?”

“Zuko,” Mai sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder, “You’re like my best friend.”

“Right, so..?”

“Not. A boyfriend?” She raised an eyebrow, hoping Zuko would be able to fill in the blanks.

Zuko knew his relationship with Mai wasn’t… typical. They didn’t kiss much anymore and had never even thought of doing anything beyond that, but it… worked… He valued their companionship.

“I just… why now?” He thought it was a fair question.

Mai huffed and stood up, turning to face him.

“Honestly, Zuko. I didn’t think this was going to be such a big deal. I just thought maybe we were both ready to move on. The world’s changed since you became Fire Lord, and I thought maybe it would be safe now for us to…”

Zuko blinked at her, still making it quite clear he had no idea what was going on.

“Look,” Mai sighed, sitting down to face Zuko on the sofa opposite his, “We aren’t in love, Zuko. We never have been.”

He sputtered, wanting desperately to protest, but finding he needed a moment to think about it. He did love Mai, definitely. He always would, just like he loved Azula. Being with Mai had always made sense…

“Zuko,” Mai pushed, “We’ve never been in love, right?”

“Maybe not…?” he admitted.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand. “I don’t take it personally. I know you’re not interested in women.”

Zuko sputtered again. What? Of course he was… why wouldn’t he…?

“What?” he whispered. The truth was he’d never really thought about it.

“Zu. It’s fine. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not into guys either. That’s what I thought this whole relationship was about, actually.”

Zuko didn’t say anything. This was a lot to process.

Mai seemed to understand, sitting quietly until he was ready to talk.

“So…” he finally managed, “You’ve always…?”

“Yeah. It took me a while to figure it out, but definitely.”

“So you think if we break up now we could…?”

“No offense Zuko, but I’d much rather be with Ty Lee than stuck in whatever this is with you. I think we’re ready for it now. And you and Sokka—“

“WHAT?”

Mai sighed and put her head into her hands, staying like that for a moment while Zuko tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

“Agni, Zuko. Sorry. I didn’t think any of this was new information to you,” she sat up and looked directly into Zuko’s eyes, “Yes, dumbass. The whole Nation knows at this point that boy is in love with you. He’s not exactly subtle about it. And everyone besides you seems to have the idea that you love him back.”

“But I’m not even…” Zuko was learning a lot about himself tonight, apparently. Could he be in love with Sokka?

He thought about it.

They were just friends, right?

Thought about the happiness that filled his heart every time he entered a room Sokka was in.

Good friends…

About the natural ease with which they spoke with and spent time together.

Close friends…

How he thought of his friendship with Sokka very similarly to how he thought of his relationship with Mai.

…Best… friends?

The desire that had crossed his mind on more than one occasion, which he’d tryed and failed to lock away completely, to grab, caress, kiss Sokka. But thoughts like that were normal every once in a while, right? Everyone had them. Except… he had them for Sokka more than he ever had with Mai…

“Oh shit…” he whispered, “I’m…”

“An idiot,” Mai finished for him.

That was not was Zuko was going to say, but he let it slide.

“I think we gotta break up,” he said instead.

#here’s another one. it’s canon to me #platonic maiko #gay Zuko #zukka #atla #mine #fic #headcanon #greatest hits #100

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sordidmusings · 2 months ago

Text

The Wrong Rest

Art by attyrocious

Summary: Everything exhausts you and you see no end and no way to fix it. Too scared to go alone, you find comfort next to the one you love: Trafalgar Law.

A/N: Very indulgent for Specific Angsts lol it’s a repost - had it up for a vERY short while but deleted it in shame LOL here goes take two 🙏🏻 this has an ambiguous ending and in my WIPs I have a good and bad ending I’ve been toying with. There’s a quick message on the dark topic of this fic at the bottom of the post. Please heed warnings if they pertain to you

Word Count: ~1.5 k

Warnings: gn reader, suicide attempt, abuse of pills, portrayal of it as Bad but it is sympathetic to the attempt, do N O T take this as promotion of the idea, been on both sides and it’s a Bad Time no matter what our brains tell us lmaooooo, but sometimes it’s nice to engage with the topic in fantasy to scratch the itch of someone specific caring the way you think would fix it and that’s what this is from, both endings will more thoroughly cover Consequences and why it’s Bad

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Law had noticed something jittery about you when you slid into bed that night. It was a change from the distance you’d both been hosting, but he wasn’t sure if it was a welcome one yet. He eyed you with suspicion that he thought was masked, but you knew him much too well. You knew all his tells, all his hurts, all his habits. You cherished each one and always wondered why you got to be there for them.

The distance you’d felt from him made you consider it over and over and over again. You weren’t able to love him enough. You felt you’ve tried everything you were capable of to offer him peace and safety and relief and joy but it wasn’t enough. It was an easy cycle of thought to fall into - your brain had long learned to fault you for things both within and without your control. You were certain they were faults born of inadequacy, inaction, and an inherent lack of value in the core of your being. Another day, another verse in the song you’d been singing since you could form words.

Law used to help you fight that. You had barely let him know the extent of it, but building a relationship with him had been your life’s most beautiful blessing and distraction. Him being a part of your life - him actually wanting you to be a part of his - had given you enough ammunition to properly engage and push back your warring thoughts. Unfortunately, they were patient and steady and gaining ground inch by inch with each falter of your strength to take care of your own mind.

You would have never guessed at the hours worth of unspoken words and worries that were laying right beside you. Law was so full of them he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. There was a point between their inception and their overwhelm that he had stopped being able to bring them to you. If he spoke them then it made them real, it made his fears real, and he was beyond incapable of handling that. To think that the guesses of where your growing depression was headed could come true choked the air from his lungs and made him desperately run from the thought. Underlying his terror at your disappearing spark were vicious notions that it was his fault. He was meant to care for you and help you and love you, and he felt he had fallen short. He couldn’t face the idea that he had trapped you to him and strangled the life out of you with his inability to support you like you needed.

Your continued jitters were born from guilt but also so much potent excitement and fear. A tiny pit of the most shameful pride you’ve ever mustered kindled in you too. It was all from a plan finally put to action, a certainty that you’d be relieving everyone, especially your dearest love, and the awaiting of the unknown. Sure, there were some things you can expect, but absolutely no one knew where you were headed, including yourself.

Some of the expected pains came to you about an hour after you laid next to Law and began watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. As of late, he had taken to turning away from you, more proof to yourself that you weren’t wanted. It ached to see his back when you knew the love of his embrace. You knew the blissful heat of his tattooed chest taking the place of your pillow, knew the wonder of hearing his heartbeat - of hearing it skip for you. You knew how sweet his hands could be when they trailed over you, roaming and massaging you as if he hoped he could work his immense affection right through your skin so you could understand its depth and breadth and keep it with you forever.

The pains in your chest became worse than the ones you usually felt. Your heart had begun fighting something it’s never known before. The racing and pumping of it left your skin pounding with heat and anxiety that you diligently tried to breathe through. Your eyes misted when it was accompanied by a twisting starting at your stomach and moving down the rest of your guts. Still, you simply breathed. The last thing you wanted was to wake and upset the man next to you. You knew in some piece of you that he’d be upset eventually, that it was cruel to lay this scene out right next to him, but you were too scared to be alone and you selfishly wanted as much of Law as you could have left. And you were certain it would get better with your absence. Over time, he’d see that too.

You felt the pit in your stomach worsen, the pain now pungent and biting. Instead of sharp cramps, it felt like actual hot pokers were playing with your insides and splitting you apart. You knew it would be there and tried to prepare, but your teeth still ground and your eyes still watered and it took everything in you not to let out a whimper.

You turned your head to the side, slower than you think you’d ever moved before. Even with the writhing agony inside you squirming in a flurry, your body felt like a haphazard pile of sandbags. In a pathetic flop that took way too much energy, you got your hand resting against the skin on Law’s lower back. The small tether to something beloved and alive brought you a tiny comfort but also bitter longing. A sense of mourning began to root through your heart from the finality you felt building between your touching skin. You’d always loved Law’s touch, whether he gave it or you sought it. It always lit your skin up wherever it went, giving you either invigorating tingles or soothing warmth. That mourning grew by the second as your skin numbed over, replacing that vital warmth with boiling pinpricks.

Law fidgeted briefly in his sleep, roused by your hand bumping him. A deep sigh pressed him closer then shrank him further from your touch. Stuck limp and staring at the blurring ceiling, you could only listen as he shuffled and repositioned. At this point you couldn’t tell if he moved away from you or not; your hands had moved past feeling numb to feeling much too ballooned to send any real sense of touch to your brain.

“Mmnnn, go back t’ sleep,” he mumbled, barely coherent. You still enjoyed that deep rasp that you loved so so much. Even if it sounded tired and a twinge annoyed. “I’m tired, ‘s late.”

You responded with silence, tongue much too thick and dry to form words. You weren’t sure if your chest was even moving to breathe at this point, but it must be because you were still stuck in your body, stuck staring at the ceiling, stuck feeling your insides shred themselves apart. Instead of the feeling that you were bothering him, you focused on what was left of the feeling of his skin on yours. Through that ballooning and those pin pricks was the ghost of his body heat. The warmth, familiar even through dying nerves, felt comforting and beautiful, but it only made you cry more. It was probably the strangest cry you’d ever had; it was every emotion at once and yet you felt so hollow. The fact that you could only let your eyes leak and couldn’t even muster a sob didn’t help with it feeling like some farce.

But the warmth next to you was real. The radiant warmth that was seeping from your love into the sheets and your body remained, and if you concentrated enough you thought you could still feel warmth reaching through the hand you’d moved to him. The heaviness settling on your chest was real too. It started to fully halt each inhale with the potency of its weight. You thought it would be terrifying, but instead you were now fuzzy and light. Your head was spinning (probably lack of oxygen, you thought distantly, or maybe I’m high) and your body was sinking and you felt like your bones were already in the dirt.

You weren’t sure when your eyes shut - it was a second ago and a year as well in the murky dark depths of time and sensation. The stabbing pain in your gut felt like someone else's. You knew it was there, but it no longer affected you. It couldn’t through the all encompassing and smothering dark that was pulling you down and out of your body. It was cold, but it was quiet. Something similar to peaceful but not quite. The feeling that was certain was relief. It permeated everything despite the distant shaking of your the body and a hollering voice. The voice was a bit familiar, but you’d never heard such panic distort it before. You couldn’t bring yourself to think on it; everything was so far from you.

You would have smiled if the muscles in your face worked.

How lovely it is…

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

No tags in this one cuz I feel Guilty with the dark topic LOL

Now for a brief psa: I don't want to preach because I know from experience how that doesn't exactly work. Each platitude feels more and more like a lie the longer the feeling persists. What I will say is that it matters. It matters that you're struggling. It matters that you're suffering. It matters that you're trying. It matters that you're hurt. It's not fair to have to deal with it all the time and it's not fair how life simply happens around something so gargantuan taking place inside you, making it seem insignificant and/or made up.

If people act like it's not a big deal, please do not try to use that as proof. That is a dark game on a false premise where no one wins. If they truly mean it, they are an abusive and cruel person and shouldn't be listened to. If they are a normal person, they are likely treating it lightly because they can't conceptualize it happening because of how upsetting the concept is NOT because the concept isn't upsetting.

I'm trying to keep this brief so I will leave it at that. My messages are always open - I have periods where I am inactive so if I don't get to something it's because I haven't seen it not because I don't care.

Here is a link to a post full of prevention hotlines of various kinds and also from many countries and this one that has suicide prevention hotlines for 56 different countries.

Stay safe 🤍🤍🤍

#trafalgar law x reader #reader insert #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #one piece angst #angst #tw: suidice #tw suicide #one piece reader insert #one piece fanfiction #x reader #gn reader #scheduled cuz I'm a coward LOL #law x reader #law x you #law x y/n

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vvatchword · 2 years ago

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In Defense of BioShock Infinite

Although I had preordered BioShock Infinite with all its bells and whistles, I did not actually play it until January 2023. And lordy, I had me another Experience with a capital E. How the hell a bunch of urban Yanks could capture my experience as a queer democratic-socialist atheist struggling with her roots as a rural evangelical-cum-fascist is kinda magical, honestly. As to the game itself, it didn’t hurt how good it looked—the kickass skyhook gun battles—that novel setting—the complex characters—that delicious historical setting—that bloodthirsty critique of America—and to top it all off, they had pulled yet another Cassandra. Hell, speaking of which—not only was the game fun, it was fucking smart. It was intelligent, memorable, and meaningful in a way I hadn’t experienced in video games for years.

Now, back in 2013, when I had realized that I would be spoiled for Infinite, I left the BioShock fandom. After completing the game, I headed to Tumblr to re-engage, wagging my whole body like an excitable golden retriever, only to discover that BioShock Infinite was remarkably absent, and when mentioned, brutally derided.

“I hate BioShock Infinite and all my friends do, too,” someone said in the tags under a post.

I was utterly befuddled and deeply sad. I wanted to talk about BioShock Infinite! I wanted to dig into it, uncover unexpected ideas, learn new things, talk shit, make new friends—the full fandom experience. And instead I kept stumbling into hateful diatribes and super-charged disgust.

Obviously, I first looked at myself and my own judgment. Had I missed some obvious problem or misread some theme or dialogue? This wouldn’t be the first time I’d snapped down on a hook. But the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

There are two parts of BioShock Infinite that are unquestionably terrible: the fridging of Daisy Fitzroy and the false equivalence of violence between haves and have-nots (lol what are the have-nots supposed to do, ask nicely?). Additionally, one could look at the use of real Native American tragedies as tasteless. Personally, I do not—in the same way that I don’t find it tasteless that real war victims were used as inspiration for Splicer deformities. This is what really happened; this is commentary on events that really happened to real people.

At this point, I’m sure I don’t have to explain why two of these themes are Unequivocally Bad.

Anyway, I thought that perhaps these were the reasons BSI had been condemned to Super Hell.

I was wrong.

How Criitcsim Werk

This wasn’t the fandom I’d made friends in over 2010. Hell, this wasn’t the fandom of 2013. This was a fandom made up of Babies. They were making their first coltish stumblings into media criticism and with it, dredging up the same brain-dead bullshit from Tumblr circa 2008.

Suddenly I was brought face to face with people who seemed to think that if a character couldn’t be likable or good that the story itself couldn’t be likable or good; that one bad element means the story is unsalvageable (lol u pussies); the implication that one is bad for liking it; the destructive juvenile insistence that media accurately measures its fans’ moral qualities en masse like an astrological sign. This goes far beyond simple like or dislike and plunges head-first into Puritanism: praying loudly on street-corners instead of quietly in a dark corner where God might hear you.

At one point I had a kid go off about how they wouldn’t take time to understand Booker DeWitt’s perspective because he had (fictionally) taken part in a genocide. (That same person said the Native American element had been employed for shock value, a thought that sometimes keeps me up at night, because it is legitimately one of the dumbest criticisms the game has ever received.) At another point I saw someone acting personally offended that (fictional person) Dr. Suchong’s (fictional) data was being stolen (in a fiction) by a (fictional) racist who would (fictionally) take credit for (fictional person) Suchong’s (fictional) inventions “while calling him slurs”. Sure, a better question would have been, “Why would the creative team opt to do this” rather than assume intentional racism from a Jewish creative director with an in-office multi-ethnic team in the year of our lord 2013, but why not handwave the choice with prurient moral dismay so your audience won’t beat you to death with bats?

It was as though fans were treating these completely fictional characters as real people whose personal gods had opted to torment them, and that their tormentors merited the kind of censure that psychopaths should receive. As I hope all of you understand, this is fucking madness.

More than once I saw people posting about hating the studio or the creative director in ways that seemed intense, unreasoning, and excessive—notably an “I Hate [Irrational Games creative director] Ken Levine” stamp (rofl the more things change amirite). People get so performatively moralistic about it that I started wondering if I missed something big along the way. Was there some secret Voxophone I missed swearing fealty to baby Hitler or some shit?

Double Standards

At the same time, I was utterly confused. BioShocks 1 and 2 both featured some absolutely ghastly bullshit based on real-life horrors and a thick mix of complicated human beings—many of them victims who have become monsters. The fact they are grounded in historical tragedies is a huge part of their appeal. Hell, I don’t think those games would have had half their meaning without World Wars I and II and the threat of a third.

A gay man who feels so cursed by his orientation that he is incapable of intimacy and systematically destroys his ex-lovers—including the man he loves the most. A Korean who survived Japanese occupation and a Jewish Holocaust survivor repeat the violence and traumas exacted upon them and their people, subjecting a new generation to agonies unthinkable. Chasing the shadows of Bolsheviks, a Russian citizen becomes the brutal tyrant that he loathed. A rich lawyer with an easygoing drawl designs a concentration camp and systematically harvests hundreds, if not thousands of political prisoners, selling them out to medical testing for a quick buck.

But a Native man who destroys his own people and class to ensure his own survival and social acceptability is too far? This character is where people drew the line, so much so that the entire game is disavowed? Hell, if you’re just talking about Booker (rather than Comstock), he doesn’t have anywhere near the largest bodycount. If we were to judge on the metric of human misery alone, Booker wouldn’t even hit the top ten.

Keep in mind that the most-discussed BioShock game on Tumblr is BioShock 2, and that one of the biggest fandom favorites is Augustus Sinclair—the easy-talkin’ Georgia lawyer who sells your character into horrors past all human comprehension, as he sold hundreds before and after you. Sinclair is a motherfucker so vile that BioShock 2 gives you no choice but to murder him. But Sinclair is also pleasant; good-looking to some; spends the whole game making sweet love to your ear; is one of the only true positive experiences you experience in a horror story. Unlike DeWitt, a man who is brutal and awful from step one, Sinclair is smooth and sweet. Unlike DeWitt, Sinclair’s victims are faceless, completely fictional, and carry no political or social baggage.

People fuckin’ ship this guy with Subject Delta, his explicit victim. He’s usually described as a squishy cinnamon roll. In most fanfiction, he often gets to escape to the surface and fuck Delta while helping raise Eleanor as Dad 2. It is rare that I find fanfiction that acknowledges his monsterhood in all its glory. In fact, I can only think of two.

Literacy Comes in Levels

My problem with the over-the-top hatred of BioShock Infinite is along the same lines as my confusion at Twilight and Harry Potter hate: there is so much worse out there (how much do the haters actually engage with media if they think this is that bad—yes, even considering the shitty creators themselves!), the hatred far outweighs the sin committed (in BioShock’s case, the truly bad bits are not central enough to derail the larger narrative), people don’t seem to hate it so much as they want to be seen hating it, fans want to enforce an unspoken rule hating it (bitches this is poison. Stop this), and there’s something about the hate that stinks of poor reading comprehension.

A great metric for general literacy is the newspaper. In journalism, you’re writing for the lowest-common denominator, which for years here in the USA has been about a fifth-grade reading level (about 10-11 years old, for my non-American readers). The AP posted an article a couple years back about how the general reading comprehension of Americans needs to be dropped to a third-grade one (8-9 years), and baby, I’m here to say it’s true.

Most of the problem is that the American education system is shitty as fuck. The rest of it is from an extremely American disdain of intellectualism and the arts. People are not taught how to interpret art or literature—a difficult and subtle skill which involves accepting such truths as “multiple contradictory readings can exist and yet be simultaneously correct”, “the author can be a complete tool and still be right about things”, “the author can be a great person and still write horrifyingly incorrect bullshit”, and “worthwhile works can be ridiculously long and it really is your fault for not having an attention span”.

Media criticism must be learned through trial, error, asking questions, confidently swaggering into a public space to announce your brilliant insight only to have your ass handed to you (usually by your older self ten years later), being willing to admit you swaggered confidently into a public space to state bullshit and then amending your bullshit only to produce more bullshit, and otherwise making a complete and utter cock of yourself. We are taught to fear and flee pain and failure, despite the fact this is how we learn and improve. Because we judge our value by whether or not we are “smart,” we are afraid of displaying that we don’t know something or might be mistaken–better not to try at all than to reveal ourselves to be fools. And yet the best way to learn is to crash up against someone else and be proven wrong!

American parents are terrified of hurting their children to the point that they spare them cognitive dissonance of any kind, disavowing difficult art—without any appreciation for the fact that art is how we provide safe spaces to explore key human experiences, better preparing us to face those difficult subjects when there are real-world consequences (sex, gender and social expression, grief, violence, predation, illness, interacting with people of different ideologies, whatever new issue is pissing off some smooth-brained old motherfucker somewhere).

If parents and teachers aren’t teaching us how to interpret art, we’re probably never going to develop the skill at all, or crash unsubtly into it in a piecemeal fashion (hello it me). Another unfortunate side effect is that these readers tend to be blitheringly superficial: they are literally intellectually incapable of reading deeper than the uppermost layer of a text. The curtains are always blue.

And let’s not forget the role moral performatism plays in media criticism, which although faaar from new, has reached hilarious levels in the age of social media. What’s important isn’t understanding something, it’s finding something to symbolically burn at the stake so everyone knows God loves us: please keep loving me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t throw me on the fire—for performatism is not for outsiders. We long for human connection so fucking much that it’s more important to destroy what might point out our fallibilities than it is to let ourselves stand in the furnace and burn out the dross.

What do you think the point of BioShock Infinite was?

Emotional Machines

Let’s face it. Human beings give a lot more credence to how something makes them feel than they do its complex invisible reality. We are not logical creatures; we are emotional ones. Our logic is too new a biological mechanism to override something as powerfully stupid as our primal lizard brains.

Knowing this, let’s take BioShock’s most popular characters. The first two are Subject Delta and Jack Wynand, the protagonists of BioShocks 2 and 1, respectively; and why not? They’re the characters we play. In the first two BioShocks, whether or not you kill Little Sisters determines the ending you receive. In other words, Delta and Jack can only be as “wicked” as the players are.

How do people want to see themselves? As good. What do people want to see around themselves? Good. (What is “good”? Uh, well,,,,,,) What do they want? Simple moral questions with simple moral answers. And in the first two BioShocks, what is moral is obvious: don’t kill little girls. It’s actually kind of insulting once you say it out loud.

In-fandom, Jack and Subject Delta are almost never painted as murderers or monsters, but as victims and heroes; I saw someone musing about putting Subject Delta on a “gentle giants” poll and I nearly choked on my own tongue. I only saw that musing because someone put Subject Delta and Jack in a “Best Fathers” poll. Nobody in-fandom really considers the “evil” or “complicated” endings as canon choices, despite those versions being fully understandable alternate readings, with a story that doesn’t make sense without them. (I don’t believe Burial at Sea is necessarily canon; in fact, I would bet good money that it is a huge middle finger lol, mostly because a number of brain-dead motherfuckers won’t take unhappiness for an answer.)

Most fandom art and writing is gentle, sweet, good: the symbolic healing of the damaged, the salvation of innocents, the turning of new leaves. These things are not just saccharine sweet—they tend to be unrealistically sweet. Now, far be it from me to demand these works cease. There’s a reason they exist. People write them because they need hope and happiness; I have enjoyed them greatly myself and intend to enjoy them in the future. But if y’all get to have your dessert, I demand the right to have my dinner.

The Colours Out of Earth

Let there be media where the opposite can also be true: where everything is unbelievably complicated and unforgivably fucked-up. Let there be characters who slide slurs into their speech without thinking. Let there be characters who destroy themselves in a thousand different ways, not all of them obvious, some of them horrifying. Let there be well-meaning people struggling with all their mights to do what is right only to destroy everyone around them and then completely miss the fact it’s all their faults. Let there be wickedness painted as goodness, superficial appearances accepted over essential and inherent values, denial of change and transformation, failure to accept that what is old must die and what is new must live, human stupidity and short-sightedness and cruelty in all their flavors. Let’s smash it all together and see how it plays out.

Oh, badly? No shit! But “badly” isn’t the point. How does it play out?

Let there be a world of gradients—a place I can float from color to color, hue to hue, value to value, while attempting to figure out where, why, how, and by whom they transform—to taste concepts in a hundred different ways, test their textures by a hundred different mediums, insert them into a hundred different contexts. I need to understand why I feel the way I do; I need to understand morality in all its hideous, fragmentary glory. For I have been sold to a ideology of blacks and whites, and let me tell you: it prepares you for nothing, and it will always destroy what is most precious about human life.

I can no longer believe in a world where what is lost always returns, because that world does not exist. I have a reflexive need to come to terms with Finality: what I have lost, what I have destroyed, what will never return, what will never be better. I have a reflexive need to understand Transformation: what I am now, what is as of the present, what has risen shambling from the ashes, what turns to gaze upon me in the darkness. I need to understand what is wretched about me as much as I need to heal myself. How can I heal if I can’t understand how I have hurt and been hurt?

I need to shine a light in the dark. Not to remodel it, not to destroy it—because I also can’t believe in a world where the wicked is destroyed forever—but to behold it, to learn from it, to view my own impact upon it, to accept how it has become a part of me, to learn how to do my best (because that’s all one can do). I must learn to love people more than causes, I must learn to love people rather than the act of winning, I must learn to love people rather than battle. I need to stand in that endless black with the lamp off and my eyes closed, letting the agony roll over me, burning with a fire that throws no light, rolling back and forth from an intense self-loathing to a fury at a society that destroys what is most valuable because it didn’t make them feel the way they wanted.

The Unforgivable

I believe that there are only two differences between Booker DeWitt and his equally cursed cohorts.

In the Hall of Whores: The Unmarked Slate

First, unlike the previous two games, where you enter the world as a tabula rasa and might roleplay as what you perceive as a good person, you are explicitly put into the shoes of a monster, and nothing you do can save you.

With other shitty BioShock characters, you are passively watching other people, and you are able to hold yourself apart. Sure, everyone else is crazy as fuck from using biological Kryptonite, but you’re too smart to end up a crazy fucking asshole like them! Sure, you are now technically a mass murderer, but those fuckers deserved it, damn it!

“Look at this crazy bastard!” you say, rolling your eyes at the Steinmans and Cohens and Ryans and Fontaines. “It sure is a great thing I’m not a crazy bastard!”

You are able to escape acknowledging that you, too, in certain circumstances, might be the crazy bastard. You are being challenged to stand in the body of a person who has committed unforgivable sins. Imagine if you yourself committed those sins. Imagine what sins you have already committed. Imagine what brutalities you cannot take back. Imagine what horrors you have wreaked just by breathing.

“Ahhhh!” said players, probably. “What do you mean I’m not allowed to be good?”

Because that’s what the game was designed to do. Because “good” is a fucking cop-out and if it’s how you live with yourself wait until you find out you’ve been doing horrifying bullshit all your life without question. You can be evil by association through no fault of your own.

Original Sin

Second, the plight of Native Americans is a sin that non-Natives will always carry, and the socially conscious are aware of this even if they don’t know how to put it into words. The state of affairs being what it is, it is unlikely that First Peoples will ever be treated humanely, much less have their land returned. They must struggle for scraps of what is rightfully theirs while we lounge on their corpses. We cannot help but benefit from their destruction; we are made unwitting partners with our forebears; we steal the fruits of their lands and make mockeries of their faiths and identities. We have destroyed part of what made this world fascinating and unique and most of it can never be returned. Even if everything were to be made right tomorrow, their genocide is a sin that we will carry until we die, because the only reason we could be here at all is because they were killed.

The obvious solution stands before us, but the powers that be are so much greater than we that we are effectively powerless, and achieving anything less than total restoration smacks of anticlimax.

This is unbearable.

How can one think of oneself as a good person if one sees the good that must be done, but cannot achieve it? If one’s actions are meaningless? Goodness without action is pretension.

We are all Booker DeWitt. We have all set fire to the tipi. We swept the ashes away, we ignored the sizes of the bones, we built a CVS on their graves, and then we made statues and holidays commemorating Native Americans like the world’s cheapest “Thinking of You” card. We have de-fanged them, transformed them into cardboard cutouts, and set them up as cute little side characters in our sweeping American dream.

Booker is not a man. Booker is America and Americans—and America and Americans are monstrous: one part hypocrisy, two parts incessant violence, three parts constant peacocking, and four parts dumb as a stump.

The Monsters We Make

Outside of the message about “choice,” an enormous part of BioShock’s thematic ensemble is the creation of monsters. How are monsters created? Who or what is responsible for creating them? What do the monsters think made them the ways they are? Can a monster be saved? How? Is it enough to acknowledge you did wrong and want to be a better person?

Maybe most people are aware on some instinctive level of what facing one’s own monsterhood means. No one wants it. It’s not fun. It hurts. It’s embarrassing. It’s destructive. It’s admitting you don’t have it all together and might never, ever—that despite your best actions, you can have it horribly wrong at any point. In an age where we demand moral perfection, it demands vulnerability: you must admit that sometimes you’re the racist, the transphobe, the sexist, the nationalist, the classist, the homophobe, the violent, the wrong, the dumbfuck.

Human beings are not built to be moral; human beings are built to survive. We so rapidly learn how to deal with our contexts at such young ages that we don’t have the time or capabilities to question why those contexts are the ways they are or why it is demanded we perform the ways we do.

In a very real way, BioShock Infinite demands vulnerability of us. It demands you look in the mirror and see what is monstrous in you—how you have been created—manufactured—a tool, a machine, a trained animal. It asks you to recognize that you can be a monster simply by association. And if we can’t look into the mirror and truly acknowledge that monsterhood, we run very real risks of becoming or enabling those monsters in one way or another.

Worst of all: perhaps monsterhood isn’t optional. Perhaps the monster was inside of us from the very beginning. It’s not a matter of if you become a monster, but when, under what circumstances, by whose hand. What is more, believing the “right” moral stances will not save you. Monsterhood can afflict anyone, in any ideology, any political stance, in any social movement, in any faith. The only element that can save you is to truly love other people, and even then, you can fail, for there can be states where there is no winner and ways to misread how best to treat another person.

Environment and Society: Context Will Not Be Denied

BioShock 1’s original ending is Jack-as-monster, regardless of how many children he saves, regardless of your feelings as player. He passes through the gauntlet of Rapture, but he has supped of its poison. And he wasn’t poisoned when he entered Rapture the second time—he was poisoned the minute he was conceived. He was born of it. He had no hope of ever escaping it—he never could have—he’d never had a choice to begin with.

No matter what choices you make in BioShock Infinite, Elizabeth will always kill you. Why? Because she has seen every world—every context—every limitation—every boon. And there is no way to stop what has been; there is no way to undo what has been done. The minute you have committed to a decision, you have split the universe; there is no telling what kind of person it will make you. In fact, there’s no telling which of your decisions will matter at all. Only Elizabeth can see because she is the unlimited future: your offspring stands before you, judge and jury, and you will have no choice but to accept her verdict, for despite your name, you are incapable of controlling how you are interpreted.

Elizabeth sits across from you in the boat and stares without blinking. She sees a million million similar Bookers. Some are a little bit taller, some a little bit shorter, some a little heavier or lighter. Some more-resemble one grandparent or another. They have different colored ties. This one blinks when rain hits him in the eyeball. That one took a brutal beating back on the airship and one eye is swollen shut. That one can’t stop shaking; this one is unable to speak at all; one hasn’t yet lost hope, although even he doesn’t realize it.

They all lowered the torch to the tipi.

The baptism determined Comstock; what determined Booker?

Why Booker Is

In BioShock 1, characters are often stand-ins for larger concepts. Thus Ryan stands in as Ayn Rand’s Objectivist Ubermensch; Bill McDonagh as Andrew Ryan’s conscience; Diane McClintock as the citizenry of Rapture; Captain Sullivan as law and order; Frank Fontaine as the truest expression of Objectivism in its distilled form.

Who is Booker? Most importantly: why is he?

Booker is a fictional character with a brutal background based on historical events, alternative and true. Booker might be Lakota; Booker might have undergone forced Anglicization; Booker might have been ripped from his parents; Booker is a product of violence, perhaps literally. Booker is American exceptionalism distilled. Booker is the past in constant judgment of itself, unable to live with itself and unable to die. Booker destroys what is best in him and around him in exchange for belonging. Booker has sold the future to absolve his sins. Booker has sold his daughter because he is a fictional character in a work of fiction who needs to be propelled.

Booker is a shell, a sluice, an environment. Booker is the broken shape you are meant to fill, horrified. His internal shape should torture you as it has tortured him: the messy slaggy soul of a shitty tin soldier.

Does Booker take the baptism and become Comstock? If so, it might be his second one. His last name literally means “the white.” His first name can mean “author.” It is most likely his second name: an attempt to rewrite himself. And when he was unable to rewrite himself the first time, when the cognitive dissonance boiled at the edges of his skull, he found there was only one way to cleanse himself the second: to remake the world entirely. To force transformation on everyone else. To take vengeance on a world that could never love him, never want him—to create a world that has no choice but to love him. If he can’t change the world’s mind, he’ll change the world.

Note what he opts to do: to take the fight to the environment–to the unyielding universe.

Context Is Everything

It is no mistake that BioShock Infinite occurs in 1912: the sinking of the Titanic is often credited with ending an unfettered optimism, a period when the Western world believed technology had brought the human race into a golden age. With World War I—which would follow a mere two years later—came modern warfare and all the horrors thereof, not the least of which was the realization that humans had created a kind of war that could destroy the entire world. World War I also seeded the rise of the United States: much of the wealth of warring Europe—itself fat on the blood of subjugated peoples and stolen lands—would rattle into America’s coffers.

It is also no mistake that BioShock 1 directly follows World War II. With WWII came a heightened terror—that this war is not the last war, that there will never be an end to war, that war will go on expanding and expanding until it has consumed us all. World War III would not be denied: prettily packaged in the ideals of its children, it simply followed the utopians down to their underwater tombs. According to BioShock 1’s original ending, World War III is not a matter of if—it’s a matter of when.

But even more important than the history in the BioShock games are their settings. Mute leviathans, Rapture and Columbia determine all of your behaviors: from where you can exist in space to all of your desires and goals to how you choose to present yourself to how you opt to behave. Isolated in extremism—whether that extremism is the crushing depths of the ocean or the unbearable lightness of the air—most of their power is that they simply cannot be escaped. You can’t outrun them. They are everywhere. They are everything.

Like Lovecraft before it, BioShock acknowledges the greatest horror of all: you cannot escape your context. Your context does not only involve your immediate surroundings. It is also historical; contains zeitgeists from various cultures and subcultures; is filled with pressures both personal and impersonal, human and nonhuman. Many of these forces can hurt you. Many more can destroy you. What you do to survive depends very much on where, when, and with whom you must live.

Human beings are not built to be moral.

The Death of the Future

In the film Operation, Burma!, a soldier asks Errol Flynn: “Who were you before the war?”

“An architect,” says Flynn.

Who were you? Because that “you” doesn’t matter now. That “you” is irrelevant. So you’re an architect. What the war does to you; what these deaths mean to you; your past, your education, your loves and desires and forward motivation, the you that could have been outside war, the you that slogs alone into the brutal future—all completely irrelevant. Your forebears don’t care so long as you can bleed.

Children are the manufactured tools of their creators—helpless before the enormous strength of their elders and the zeitgeists that enclose them, poisoned by their parents’ insecurities and flaws, utilized like weapons regardless of the cost—often with great love.

Consider something more than the traumatized culture: consider the society filled with traumatized children; consider the traumatized society. Consider channeling children through that trauma over and over and over again, if you can. Poisoned—poisoned—poisoned—all of us poisoned. Poisoned by those who loved us most. Poisoned by the people we trusted. Poisoned by the people who meant to make a better world.

I believe it is notable that creative director Ken Levine is Jewish; I have read from multiple accounts that the European Jewish diaspora was uniquely traumatized from the Holocaust and passed that trauma down upon their own families. I sometimes wonder if he saw that firsthand.

The fathers eat sour grapes; their children’s teeth are set on edge.

Choice: Player Expectations and Entitlement

For players who experienced BioShocks 1 and 2 with their multiple endings (Good, Bad, and “ok bye then I guess” respectively), it must have been jarring to suddenly reckon with being a monster. How often I see players grousing that nothing they do will change their wicked pasts! These players completely miss that the only meaningful choice had already been made, that it had nothing to do with the player at all, and even if they had been there, DeWitt was still unforgivable. The only way to go on was to bow out and allow the future to redefine herself.

Nobody was ready for that shit.

Like it or not, BioShock 1 had set a precedent. Not everyone’s going to read up on creator intentions. If any keyword came blaring through the noise, it would have been “choice.” Most players only recognize choice by the ability to make it, not the absence of it, and most of them weren’t equipped to recognize that its lack was the point. The meaningless choices were commentary, and they were as much about the player as they were about DeWitt himself. Not every choice will be meaningful, will it? And there will be choices you make that will be momentous, but they will seem very small when you make them.

Because most players had experienced what they thought was a basic moralistic tale in the first two games, and would see Infinite not as reflection upon America’s destructive personality, its obsession with a meaningless Good/Bad duocracy, and the infinite, cyclical nature of violence, they saw Booker’s death as corrupted artsy claptrap.

“I did the good schuut,” they say. “I want the good schuut end. Where happy end??? Where treat :(”

Bitch the future is here.

Time to die.

It’s Not Me, It’s You

Generally I despise essays that end with, “But the real fault lay with the clueless motherfuckers who played the game!” Often, if enough people complain, there’s something to it; the message has been obscured somehow. Details or explanations weren’t clear or intuitive enough, some mechanism isn’t working somewhere, some character needs to talk more or less, some setting needs to be transformed. O artist: stop whining and get cracking. If everywhere you go smells like shit, it’s time to look under your shoe.

But sometimes it’s true that a piece of media is on a level folks aren’t equipped for. Think of every literature and art class you’ve ever had, if you’ve been fortunate enough to have one. There’s always someone scoffing in a back row, like here are all these jokers making more of something than they should. Similarly, some of you have been arguing with me this entire time, saying: “I just wanted a video game. I just wanted to shoot something and feel better and instead I get this bullshit ending that makes no sense.”

First of all, smart bullshit (and even fucked-up attempts at smart bullshit! Hi BioShock 2) gets to exist on this Earth along with Gmod and Roblox or Schuut Big Tits 84 (there are 84 tits and you must shoot them all. They explode into smaller tits) or whatever-the-fuck-else you think is a worthwhile gaming experience. Second of all, miserable bullshit also gets to exist, and what did you fucking expect if you played through either BioShocks 1 or 2? When you hear a football player quavering out in the darkness for his mom to pick him up, how’d that make you feel? What did you think was going to happen to Jack after pounding back the entire Plasmid library, the cancer cocktail that explicitly destroys the fuck out of its users? Third of all, if you missed the smart bullshit going on in BioShock 1 and didn’t think BioShock Infinite might be larger in scope in more ways than one, that’s on you. Fourthly, if you were simply satisfied with saving like, 15 kids from a violently-perishing city of thousands and call it good, I mean… is that really where your thoughts end? Are you really that fucking small?

It’s Not You, It’s Me

You ever meet those motherfuckers who talk shit about Shakespeare or modern art? And you’re just left there staring with dead eyes at this poseur who mistakes playing devil’s advocate for intelligence, cheek resting on your fist, thinking about the fanfic you’re writing, wondering who it’s for, remembering that all your smut-writing friends get ten times the viewers, and considering throwing yourself in front of a bus.

Yeah, there’s a personal element to this: the fact that BioShock Infinite is the kind of art I like and long for and want to make myself, the fact that the game was successful and yet the studio was closed, the way its DLC was so rushed that the story plopped out like half-baked mystery meat—realizing that the same forced rush was at 2K’s behest for BioShock 2, as well, and wondering how good art can ever be made in this unforgiving capitalist hellscape. The game was weirdly niche and I’m not 100% sure I’ll ever experience anything quite like it again. And with the whiners in this fandom, the loud ones controlling the narrative, some fresh brain-dead exec in some brain-dead publisher might be like: “We must keep it safer and simpler for these fuckin babby adult!”

Nah bitch nah. Naaaah. Cry some more while I enjoy me my fucking dinner. I’ll eat it while making loud smacking noises and keeping unbroken eye contact. Come here. Let’s look at each other. It’ll be like Lady and the Tramp but we want to punch each other. What truer form of love can there be here in the modern world?

I keep having to remind myself that this response isn’t new. I keep having to remind myself of my place. I keep having to remind myself why I write, why I read, why I like to experience art to begin with. It’s not for the reasons other people do it. Oh, I want the same emotional release as everyone else, I want the same rollicking plots, I adore the same tropes. I seek out everything and anything for a good time; I’ll read Moby Dick today and a smutty 5,000-word abortion with the world’s most suspect grammar tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if it’s low- or high-brow; there are all kinds of ways to have fun and there are all kinds of ways to engage with art, and lord knows I’ve done my share of smooth-brain criticism. The problem is that I’ve always wandered off by myself, sunk into an all-consuming reverie, on tracks that no one else ever seems to be on, and then looked up to talk excitedly about something only to realize I’m alone. And whose fault is that?

By the same token, maybe I haven’t talked enough. Maybe I spend too much time with my mouth shut. Maybe I haven’t stood up enough for things that are worth our time, worth talking up, worth setting on pedestals.

I tell you, BioShock Infinite will stand the test of time. It’s too good for this. It’s too good for you, warts and all. Some of you will grow to understand that; some of you won’t; many of you will shrug and go on with your lives (and this is fine; it is only a video game). But I’ve truly not seen anything like it. I can’t believe a mainstream video game was allowed to be so fucking brutal about the American juggernaut, and what’s more, that it sold like hotcakes. Plus, I can’t think of any works in recent memory that have struck me so close to my own heart. No creative work has made me start beating a monster’s face into a washbasin for ten hours only to lift her by the scalp and see my own eyes looking back.

Look into those eyes. See your own stupid impulses pouring out. Your own stupid excuses, your violences, your sins—your claws, your teeth, your costumes, your hilarious attempts at interpretive dance. The beast doth protest too much.

O, monster—behold thyself—and tremble.

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #bioshock infinite #bioshock infinite burial at sea #booker dewitt #subject delta #jack wynand #augustus sinclair #essays #video games #spoilers #vvatchword #vvbsreceipts

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scorchieart · 1 year ago

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⬥◇◆ Clothes Shopping with the Ikeprinces ◆◇⬥

With Act 3 and Silvio's route just around the corner, let's slow down, take a step back, and remember how we all ended up in here. Particularly, how we all ended up in these clothes.

Silvio’s Dubious Preorder ◆◇⬥

*the front door to the clothes shop opens in the middle of the night*

Shopkeeper: Who’s there?

Silvio: Your worst nightmare…

*Silvio drops a heavy bag of coins in the shopkeeper's hands*

Silvio: And your salvation.

Shopkeeper: What?

Silvio: Listen closely, tailor. Tomorrow you will be visited by a pathetic pack of princes with questionable fashion sense. They are in search of new outfits to wear for the upcoming story arc and have chosen your lousy shop as their genius loci. Lucky you.

Shopkeeper: …What?

Silvio: I’ll be in attendance as well, but I’m only interested in an outfit that’ll blow everyone else’s out of the water, so I’ll mostly be observing from the sides. All you gotta do is keep those other guys occupied and catch all the notes I send your way. You’re an experienced man, you’ll know when I’m dropping you a hint. But no one else needs to know about our little deal, capisce?

*Silvio pats the coin bag and leaves. Shopkeeper puts on glasses and cleans out his ears*

Shopkeeper: WHAT?

⬥◇◆THE NEXT DAY ◆◇⬥

Judge Yves, Round 1 ◆◇⬥

Yves: As members of Rhodolite’s domestic faction, we are the pillars our citizens look towards to represent the values our kingdom instills in art, culture, and conduct. The outfits we select today must not only reflect the propriety expected of the royal family, but also that of our people for generations to follow.

Yves: Jin! Button your shirt all the way up right this moment!

Jin: You can’t cage the collarbones, Yves!

Yves: Leon! Too much detailing will overwhelm your conversation partners! You look like you’re drowning in gold.

Leon: But you’re talking to me just fine now?

Yves: Licht! You look wonderful, of course. But if I had to nitpick, the white on your lapels clashes with your black jacket. Try wearing more color, you don’t want to look like a walking chessboard.

*Sariel slowly backs into the dressing room*

Nokto Seeing Double ◆◇⬥

Nokto: No, this blue vest doesn’t bring out my eyes quite right.

*hands vest over to Licht. Licht tries it on*

Nokto: Hm… and these tassels make my face look too narrow.

*hands shoulder pads over to Licht. Licht tries them on*

Nokto: And these black gloves clash horribly with my hair, what was I thinking?

*hands gloves over to Licht. Licht tries them on*

Nokto: You look great, Licht. Ugh, nothing in this entire store works for me!

*a bag of coins flies across the store*

Silvio: Tailor! No vests, tassels, or gloves!

Judge Yves, Round 2 ◆◇⬥

Yves: Ahem! I’m only doing this because you four are an extension of Rhodolite beyond the borders, and I don’t want you messing up our image in front of our neighbors. It’s not like I particularly care how you dress everyday!

Nokto: Aww, Evie, you care~

Yves: Shut it! Ahem! For starters, the white theme you all have is a very nice choice. It’s a good idea to set up a visual indicator to let others know you’re working as a team.

Clavis: Oh, that wasn’t intentional. This humble shop is simply fortunate enough to have had enough pieces for each of us. Otherwise, these poor white coats would have been prematurely stained red! Hahaha!

Yves: Wha—?

Clavis: With strawberry jam, of course! Chev gets particularly pouty when someone wears white instead of him. I wouldn’t put it past him to “accidentally” sully that poor someone’s outfit with his toast.

Luke: That’s why I eat mine with honey instead!

Yves: No, that’s why we eat breakfast before we leave the palace!

*Yves swipes the toast from Chevalier and Luke*

Yves: Luke! If you’re going to wear white, you can’t carry honeyed toast in your pockets!

Yves: Clavis! If you’re going to wear a coat over a jacket again, at least make them match in style this time!

Yves: Nokto! If you’re not going to button your vest all the way, you have to wear a shirt underneath!

*Chevalier covers his chest and slowly backs into the dressing room*

Small Talk Sariel ◆◇⬥

*In a quiet corner of the store, Keith looks over himself in the mirror. Sariel notices and joins him*

Sariel: Ah, a modest choice, Prince Keith. Were you to show Prince Yves, I am certain he would impart nothing but praise.

Keith: 🙂

Sariel: Modesty is, of course, cornerstone for a prince to emblem. Although, with our continent so rife with rowdy royals, one would not want to appear too humble, lest he be trampled by his more verbally-inclined peers.

Keith: 😐

Sariel: But too loud a statement piece would have a similar effect of disfavor among colleagues. One would not want to appear too brash in company of those whose opinions matter.

Keith: 😟

Sariel: Finding that sweet spot in the middle is crucial to deduce, and this is the moment to do it. Tell me, Prince Keith, is this the outfit you wish to present to the world in the next act?

Keith: Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced something in the dressing room.

*another bag of coins flies across the store*

Silvio: Make it loud, tailor!

Multi-talented and Multi-purpose Luke ◆◇⬥

Luke: Hey, Yves! How about this? I keep the lid open just enough to stick a spoon in like this, and my pockets get to stay completely… Hey, you okay?

*Yves blushes in surprise*

Yves: Yes, yes! Why wouldn’t I be?

Luke: Well, you’ve been standing by the hair accessories for a long time now.

Yves: Because there’s no one else here. I need rest from evaluating all your outfits, obviously.

*Luke puts down the honey jar*

Luke: Hey, close your eyes for a bit.

Yves: What for?

Luke: Just trust me. Besides, you said you wanted to rest, right?

*5 minutes later*

Luke: Tada! Whaddya think?

Yves: How did you…?

Luke: My sister used to make me braid her hair all the time. I’d say I’m pretty good at it, eh?

*Yves blushes in joy*

Yves: Thank you. But how did you manage to keep it in place? You didn’t use any clips or anything.

Luke: Oh, that’s ‘cause I packed it tight with honey. It oughta keep its shape all week, plus it’s good for the scalp. Bonus!

*Yves blushes in rage*

Life Lessons with Big Brother Jin ◆◇⬥

Jin: Hey, Chevalier. Come try this cloak on, it’ll help cover your…

*Chevalier quickly wipes his mouth and hides his hands behind his back*

Jin: …

Chevalier: …

Jin: Chev…

Chevalier: I was merely inspecting them for poisons.

Jin: Come on, big guy. We’ve been through this.

Chevalier: The showoff apprehended my toast.

Jin: You can’t eat the roses.

Chevalier: …

Jin: …

Chevalier: The yellow ones taste best.

Jin: So you’ve told me.

*yet another bag of coins flies across the store*

Silvio: Bring me the juiciest rose you have! I know you’re keeping it from me!

Gilbert’s Infinite Hyperspace ◆◇⬥

Gilbert: Are you sure the shopkeeper won’t mind you making alterations to his designs?

Clavis: That wonderful man doesn’t need to worry about a single hair on his rapidly balding head! I won’t be defiling his style because all the additions I’m making will be completely hidden from sight.

Gilbert: How like you to run your dirty work in the shadows. Such fun.

Clavis: I wouldn’t use that particular arrangement of words to describe it, per se. But considering Sariel has egregiously forbidden me from purchasing more than one belt today, I am forced to improvise my carry-on capabilities.

Gilbert: Ah, pockets! How very fun, indeed!

Clavis: Not just any pockets! Secret pockets! And just look at this enormous canvas I have to work with! Only… my hands were full on the way over here carrying Chevalier’s breakfast, so I wasn’t able to bring much of my usual tools to measure. I don’t like leaving the palace without at least a net or two on hand.

Gilbert: You can borrow mine!

*Gilbert produces a large fish net out of thin air*

Clavis: How fortunate, this will work nicely! I do wish I could have brought my trusty shovel with me, though.

Gilbert: Regular or extra large?

*Gilbert produces two digging shovels out of thin air*

Clavis: Ah... R-regular is fine…

Gilbert: Anything else?

Clavis: You’ve been plenty helpful, I couldn’t impose—

Gilbert: No need to be shy. You still have plenty of space to work with, I see.

Clavis: …

Gilbert: Try me.

Clavis: …Well, I do like to be armed with more than just my sword—

Gilbert: How about this?

*Gilbert produces a hatchet out of thin air*

Clavis: … Thank you.

Gilbert: What are friends for?

*Gilbert claps his hands, taps his cane twice, and pulls a tiny comb out of the heel of his boot. He combs Clavis’s hair out of his eyes and walks away smiling as the largest bag of coins yet flies across the store*

Silvio: Secret pockets! But don’t tell anyone where they are, you hear? Not even me!

Doggy See, Doggy Do ◆◇⬥

Leon: Find anything you like, Rio?

Rio: Lots! But I’m just not sure she’d like them, too.

Leon: Why not show me what you got so far? I may not be Yves or Sariel, but I’ll bet I can point out a stinker in the mix.

Rio: Okay then. What do you think of this gilded vest?

Leon: Awesome! The color matches your eyes perfectly. That’s good… I think?

*Coin bag toss #1*

Silvio: Tailor! Look into my eyes and get me a jacket that matches them perfectly! No, not a vest! We said no vests!

Rio: Huh, that was weird. Anyway, what about this broach?

Leon: She’d love it! The looped design brings out the curves of your smile just right. That kind of attention to detail is probably really important.

*Coin bag toss #2*

Silvio: Tailor! Bring me your loopiest jewelry! The more hoops, the better!

Rio: Did you hear something? Ah, nevermind. Do you think I should go with one earring or two?

Leon: Hmm… Yves rocks the one earring look—

*Coin bag toss #3*

Silvio: Tailor! I want your gaudiest single earring in my palm right this second!

Leon: —but earrings are supposed to come in pairs, right? So maybe two would be fine. For symmetry, and all that.

*Coin bag toss #4*

Silvio: Make that two!

Leon: Sorry, I’m not too sure, to be honest.

*Rio knowingly smirks*

Rio: Your advice is great, Prince Leon. Tell me, what do you think of these snow boots?

Leon: Well, it’s not exactly winter. But they’re really a statement piece, and she might appreciate a good conversation starter.

*Coin bag toss #5*

Silvio: I need the furriest boots you’ve got in this place, pronto!

Rio: And this zebra-print cloak?

Leon: Chevalier looks good in tiger stripes. I guess that’s basically the same thing.

*Coin bag toss #6*

Silvio: Where do you keep the darn striped fabrics, old man?

Rio: Great! What’s your opinion on oversized hats?

Leon: Uhh… go big or go home?

*Coin bag toss #7*

Silvio: GO BIG OR GO HOME!!

Leon: Hey, Rio, do you hear an echo?

Rio: Nope. Just the sound of a nation’s GDP falling.

I wanted to add a joke about their gloves, but this post is getting way out of hand, even without puns.

Tagging: @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx @otomefoxystar @my-day6

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

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yinses · 2 years ago

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all and half pt. i

in which your fate intended is the one person you can achieve true pleasure from

pairing: modern au! alhaitham x fem! reader, minor kaveh wc: 10k+ (i wrote over 70k+ words for genshin alone last year, that's crazy talk) rating: mature 18+

a/n: so we have two people to thank for this. 1. @mystic-sky rescued my sanity with this fic. i always worry about characterization and plot sense. she's actually the culprit who got me into genshin so really it all started with her. and she made me tear up a bit so here we are. 2. you guessed it, @mediocrityexpert who never failed to mention this man at all opportunities with pictures included until i became the simp you see now. this fic is meant to be her wish banner charm! hope this story brings as much joy as his homecoming

you had a plan.

a simple and easy one-step outline that was meant to be fool-proof for a lifetime.

avoid your fate intended and you wouldn’t have any problems

the idea of connecting with another living being on a level of complexity assisted by the archons would be thought to be a spiritual venture. except the very gods who wrote the lining principals found more value in physical compatibility rather than soul binding merit.

it was proclaimed, since what is thought to be the beginning of teyvet, that an individual's soul would be tied to another through the carnal utopia found at the peak of an orgasm. scholars liked to believe that it was a forethought with intention to cultivate the proliferation of humanity; but you like some just inhaled a little too much meditation incense.

if you never reached true nirvana then there was nothing for you to compare it to. thus, you could go about enjoying the frivolousness of life and it's untethered freedom.

there was something to say about 'true love' when your soulmate could only be found at the peak of an orgasm. they say for those who have had sex in the past that nothing is commensurable beyond that. you don’t even have to love the person. the sex is just that good.

apparently it’s the worst for virgins—never knowing what came before and rarely having the courage to experience anything less.

the idea of soulmates was a broken concept of love. ruining stable relationships for the desire of an infallible sexual experience. to think fates were willing to reduce passion down to its most carnal physical form and bind people to it.

it was the forbidden fruit for some.

or what was left after it fell from the hands of celestia.

you weren’t in a relationship; had nothing to tie you down. but you refused to have your body hijacked by one person who could only rock your world because of erotic devine intervention.

it didn’t make you easy by any terms, just determined to always have a taste for what else the world had to offer.

there was good sex out there.

mind blowing, leg numbing sex.

and not everyone needed the most expensive cake in the shop to achieve satisfaction.

and that had been the testament of your life thus far, until today.

you were there, edging over the line you’d come to know like a second home, when it all just stopped.

the sheets shifted as the figure hovering above used his hold against your headboard to halt the progression of his hips.

“sorry, i just can’t.”

and the dessert began to crumble.

his face pinched in a way that was far from sexy, “it’s not you.”

of all the times.

“i just thought it was all myth and legend you know. it wasn’t possible for one person to hold the key to your sexual awakening, right?”

and now he was pulling out. no, no, no. you head hit the stale fluff of your pillow with a thump.

“or maybe it’s just you-.

you found flimsy satisfaction thump in the sound that came from knocking the second pillow into the blonde head of hair.

“okay, okay. not you. it was great before. but now it’s just—“

archons.

groaning into the mattress, you accepted that the mood was beyond repairable, left to simmer in the rustled sheets and sticky wetness connecting your thighs. honestly what was fate thinking ruining a perfectly good thing.

“you don’t even love them, kaveh.” you grumbled out crassly. maybe it was a little insensitive. but it was true.

he’d run into them on a whim, no more bound to you than you were him. it had only taken one night and and a short consideration to make a difference it seemed. kaveh had once he was a pessimist like you; willing to stick a middle finger to fate and find your own asylum without discovering the road paved out for you.

the two of you shared stories, marking your own sexual discoveries while exploring ones of your own. you could have married him.

maybe.

eventually, possibly, after accepting that you had unearthed all you could from your back- and other various positions.

were you selfish to deem it unfair ?

you’d taken a chance. you filtered through all the variables in an attempt to beat the odds. only to have it slapped in your face. and they even took away your orgasm with a last hoorah.

“it’s fine.”

it wasn’t.

well, you would move on. he was the best so far but there were plenty of fish in the sea it seemed as if he caught a bigger one, so to say. it wasn’t the least bit awkward as the two of you gathered your clothing, less of you as in the comfort of your own home you were comfortable in just a shirt and panties.

an old shirt of his in fact.

the last of your collection.

he has the nerve to actually look guilty at the door and you can’t bring yourself to weigh him down any further.

“hey, we were in a mission to find all the wonders of sex. be happy you get to clock out before your dick fell off.” the pat on the shoulder you give him feels lacking, but you had to stretch to get there so it wasn’t without effort.

his lips split into a small cautionary smile.

“hey, maybe yours is—“

no. nope. no evil spirits in your house.

all hospitality leaves you as you press and prod him through the door. just because he was content didn’t mean you were ready to accept the deal.

“don’t let your next orgasm send you into a coma. baby steps, kaveh.”

he laughs like you expect him too, waving you off with a wider grin as he departs, likely to slip into the bed of his dreams.

and now you were left with an absent orgasm and one less reliable partner.

great.

| ⚘⚘⚘ |

it’s funny how something so soul binding can’t even be properly taught in school. it's wholeness left for young people to discover on their own experience and limited research on the subject available to the general public. teachers spoke lightly on the topic of becoming one with another through body and soul.

the only interesting thing to come from joining the akademiya was dissertations being written as close to erotic novels.

you convinced yourself to take it easy-ier over the last few weeks since kaveh's unforeseen retreat. you were not that desperate for a good lay and fate would end up handing you want you didn’t desire if you weren’t careful. so instead of your usual nightclubs and after hour ventures, you found yourself wasting hours in lighter pubs.

maybe not completely losing time. a decent drink and sound music was as good a stress reliever as any.

relaxing into the bar seat, you manage to keep from losing your balance. the lack of back support seemed like a latent encouragement of chances of falling to the floor, but you were only two glasses in at the moment. as your fingers traced the edge of the glass in languid circles, you wonder if you should just call it a night.

it had been quite awhile since you’d let yourself wander into bars. back in your early undergrad days, it had been in the accompaniment of friends to alleviate any stress built up over the semester. it was safe to say you’d matured a little since then; or at least discover an alternative that was just as satisfying.

but then kaveh had to go and ruin that.

it was as equally frustrating to admit you were both dissatisfied with the abrupt departure as you were pleased it ended before it festered into something too entangled for you both to escape. though 'finding your soulmate ‘ route was still well outside your expectations.

nearly a year ago, your introduction to kaveh had been fortuitous. he was a graduate, senior to your status, but a frequent of the akademiya due to renovation projects. he had been a pretty face, an easy distraction when his latest construction was near the vahumana school grounds.

all it took was a pair of wandering eyes and a few smiles to strike up a conversation. after a cursory drink here and there and a night out of fun, the kindling chemistry began.

it had never been an intention for either party to make it more than that. one shot too many had kaveh confessing about his mountains of debt that put him in direct servitude to the akademiya.

and you had no desire to date either, at least not while the sages were still prickling your nerves about research. but you also were willing to admit that you were getting a little too old to be bar hopping for a night out.

kaveh fit comfortably in the midst of both criteria.

he was a reliable lay and it helped that lately it took effort to run into one another. he was always focused on a new project and you spent more time in the library than your own apartment. which was ironic, because the majority of your ‘meetings’ occurred at your place rather than his.

something about a belligerent roommate.

now he was out gallivanting in the desert in the pursuit of creative inspiration; an interesting metaphor when he was towing his newest obsession along for the ride.

but apparently that was a thing of the past as you found yourself in an establishment that was better referred to as a tavern than a bar, or at least one less frequented by akademiya students. the campus bars were always full and bursting with a cocktail of students and occasional faculty members. it was a dangerous mix of egos and alcohol.

it was why you found it worth it to venture to port ortmos on occasion to the habour tavern. the lack of boisterous music was nice, but the atmosphere was empty of intrigue. not to mention the place hardly offered a promising selection. not a favorable gift of wine, and top shelf liquor was hardly in their vocabulary, let alone supply list. you decided eventually not to waste time trying to explain the ingredient of a zaytum sunrise.

a sigh tickled you lips and your shoulders sagged an inch lower. really there were more pressing issues than laminating over bed partners. you were rapidly approaching the end of your scholarship, making you one step closer to your dissertation. which was still a prospective theory with no hardened evidence worth presenting.

it took something akin to guts to challenge the age old belief of soulmates. in sumeru, it was the equivalent of a religion and you stood as the outsider throwing rocks at the stained glass chapel.

what you believed wasn't meant to be interpurted as hate, but clashing ideology tended to paint one side as the villain in order to raise the value of the rest.

you didn’t want to topple the pedagogy, but be given the opportunity to confront it fairly. but with a theory so widely supported in droves, it was no surprise that no one took it seriously. the akademiya hadn’t even blinked when you had proposed it, not threatened in the slightest.

nor had you wanted them to be. all you wanted was to be heard and given the chance to provide a new perspective.

your mentor had been rather agreable about the matter, offering encouragement and diffusing tension in equal bouts. but they also had their concerns, more so for your future than the present.

though not insistent on deterring you, they often hinted at your growing fascination in conservation and rejuvenation of old practices to save the future. the histories of the past often held secrets for the future, they liked to say. vahumana was as proud as any house, determined to make their mark on the world and the research that gave it life.

but you liked to argue that the past also had plenty of mistakes as well, a shaky ground to dispute your soulmate theory on but one worth grasping all the same.

“maybe i should just summerise my conservation efforts,” you grumbled audibly, reluctantly tipping the ice-melted drink down the back of your throat. it was the easy way out. the more practical route with postgraduate application as well.

discussing soulmates with anyone felt too much like a religious sermon. the emotional process was part of the passion needed to drive the evidence behind the dissertation. half of the presentation was to comfort the audience of your opinion and you had plenty to say on the matter.

cutting your gaze back over your shoulder, you gradually took in the atmosphere of the tavern. it was small, likely a family owned heirloom passed down generations, a homey style that you’d seen quite a few bars back in the city try to replicate. frankly, it was dusty, cracked and you missed the appeal but it seemed popular with the quieter population. perhaps not as full tonight, but most tables were occupied by one or two patrons. sensibility correcting your wandering gaze, you reluctantly trained your eyes back forward. no need to garner anyones attention, there was hardly anyone here for that kind of late night ventures. mature men were a stark difference from akademiya students. you shudder off the imaginary thought of a stranger’s touch.

eventually you set your glass down for the last time, signalling the bartender without a word as he rounded back to check on you. in their approach you considered balancing one more round on your psyche. it’d been only been your second glass, watered down at that. you’d linger longer if need be to sober up. but archons, did you just want a glass of wine.

you parted your lips to initiate the order, the bartender not far away to request, but then his gaze was snapping beyond you. a slow tilt of familiarity formed his lips, followed by a polite wave. mannerisms encouraged you not to turn your head, but curiosity was a painful pinch. it was almost too difficult to resist. you were grateful when the bartender moved for you, not even perturbed when he bypassed you for a few seats down.

the quiet bustle was still too heavy for the distant conversation to carry. idly you twist at the mini straw floating along the melting ice as you way.

it took a few more moments for the bartender to return to you, an apology muted at his lips but you shrugged it off, sliding the glass closer. “just one more. no ice.” he gave his affirmation, the soft smile still lingering. you weren’t piqued by his brightened service. he’d been nothing but amicable to you, but it was something to take notice of.

the moment his back turned, the burning itch came back. just a peek. everyone got first looks, it wouldn't put you on the spot. you was sure it was nothing you hadn’t seen before but now you had to be certain of it, the tethers of inquisitiveness pulling at your gaze.

okay, well you definitely hadn’t seen that.

he was certainly something to observe. the first thing that caught your attention was his musculature, mainly the girth of his arms that were propped against the bar as unaware of the potential interest they could draw. not to say it was the first time you had been impressed, but he was filled out in a way that tore a page out of a different volume. you had grown use to the leaner builds at the akademiya.

but it wasn’t just his build, his presence alone took up so much space it was already hard enough to miss him without that silver threaded hair. he held an air of authority that felt strangely familiar yet foreign in the port.

the click of glass against the counter brought heat to your cheeks as you were caught, your head whipping back to attention. “thank you,” but he was already gone, moving on to the next attendant.

you filtered through a quiet breath, pretending to be engaged by your phone with spotty service. at this point you were nearing an issue you weren’t ready to admit to at such an early stage. while you were comfortable in saying you could go quite a while without kaveh, the eccentric architecture; kavrh jr’s absence was starting to have some drawbacks.

to think the bastard was possibly warming someone else’s bed while you refrained from tempting your own. what you refused to believe was that it was the best time of his life. you brought that man closet to the archons than anyone could.

yet here you were siting alone in a tavern nearly undressing a stranger after hardly a few weeks of no intimacy. what were you thinking even considering the idea? the bartender floated neatly around him but aside from that he hardly gave the impression of being approachable.

archons ... and weren’t you just imagining how uncomfortable it would be to be approached by someone from this bar. but technically weren’t you one encroaching now? had this been just another city establishment, for one you’d have some proper wine. but at the very least you’d usually just talk. if the receiving end didn’t like it, then oh well, you weren’t circling them like they were the sun.

so he wouldn’t be any different.

besides, if you didn't say anything now you’d be running scenarios of this moment until you really did go insane. you dreaded the thought already.

you were slightly attracted to him- okay, pretty attracted. and you were still a young adult, it was the season of flings and one offs. surviving your final year at the akademiya thrived a little excitement. cutting your eyes sideways, you recalculated your chances. maybe he-

“if you have something to say, say it. your flittering is just as distracting.”

if warmth described you before, flames were dancing beneath your skin now. the man wasn’t discreet in the slightest, not caring who listen to the exchange. or maybe he was speaking to someone else- oh no, he was looking at you and he was not very intrigued. for a pause you were caught by a churring sea of turquoise.

you stumbled over deliberation shortly before a new emotion countered the transition. weren’t you just accepting cutting losses? if he was lacking interest then what was the point.

against your internal will, your lips pulled into a scowl at the potent irritated disinterest in his voice. “yes, because i’m sure it’s me that’s distracting”

well, that was not exactly how you intended to start this whole scenerio. playing hard to get was already a slippery slope and your face of indifference was faltering. you could see it mirroring back from the look of reflection on his face. or maybe that was just him contemplating the consequences of just leaving. or maybe he was truly in with the owner enough to kick you out.

for another moment it looked like he might just, and then something shifted. he reached for his glass again, the amber colour much like your own but in a higher volume. the amount of his intake challenged yours as well, or so you would have noticed if you hadn’t been so entranced by the movement of his adam’s apple.

“-students.”

what?

you caught the tail end of fostering chagrin but you knew you were rapidly eating up his reserves for patience. really, he could have just been here to relax, not get harassed by some akademiya scholar.

the man stared at you for a second longer, then scoffed. “apparently the standards have dropped. what school are you from?”

“i…” you trail off, feeling a little nonplussed by the implied merit. “vahumana.”

he hums, a sound audibly dry with scrutiny. “the study of history and the past of our predecessors. fitting to dig into the business of others as you cant seem to mind your own.”

you narrowed your eyes at him,” and you must have been haravatat.”

he huffed in amusement and reached for his glass, the rim tips against the tilt of his lips. he didn't diffuse your assumption. “why's that?”

“because only you would be so far up our asses to know what business we were sticking into.”

there was a smile, but the tone was serious. “cute. what year?”

“final.”

“good. any longer and you might have become unbearable.”

you shot him a look of rebuke,”those same standards would imply that you got kicked out.”

“aw, its adorable that you think we’re held at the same degree,” he said. “i’m afraid i simply out grew their expectations.”

you scoffed. he was so stupidly cocky. “uh huh.” you prepared to turn away when he chirped back, amusement bleeding into the heart of his motive.

“done biting already? didn’t think you would bend to authority so quickly. but i suppose akademiya students know when to fall in line.”

you shot him a chiding look. he came across as tall but the way his torso seemed to stretch even seated. it would have been impressive enough without the additional bulk that added an unfair amount of definition to his clothing—attire that had speckles of familiarity in both its design and colour scheme.

“you work for the akedmiya.”

he watches you silently. allowing you to work through the calculations. he obviously wasn't a teacher, you would have at the very least heard of him by now especially since he was confirmed haravatat. he had maybe a year or two on you, just enough to be an established graduate.

looking back now, he did look a bit distinguished. the fine details of his clothing hinted equally at quality and prestige. though the material was tighter to form than usual robes, but you would admit it had it's own unique sense of flair. still it didn't give the full answer you were looking for.

“that’s all you can differ? disappointing.”

“if i’m so unsatisfying, why bother holding a conversation?”

he gives you a look over and you realise you weren't the only one noticing a few things. he was just more subtle.

“with your mouth closed, you’re mildly appealing.”

you could barely resist the roll of your eyes. “funny, most men would say they might prefer it wide open.”

“you must have a lot of soulmates with that kind of confidence.”

this time the effort was for naught as you turn away.

“oh, sore topic?”

his voice carried despite the action, a touch more smug.

“well i’m assuming your odds of not finding your true partner are promising enough.”

surprised into reacting, you twist your body in his direction. it was an odd choice of words given the subject. it almost felt as though he were implying something.

“i have your interest then?”

the intrigued man angled his body towards you leaving you no room to misinterpret his attention. “we both agree that there is physical attraction. and though i doubt i need more points, the likelihood of us discovering the epitome of pleasure is a low possibility.” the offer is so blunt as he roves you over with calculating appreciation, but those eyes… that blue-green fire-

don’t find that arousing. he’s being a dick.

feeling a bit unsettled by your desire, you averted your eyes briefly before raising them back to his handsome face. you had never once considered yourself weak, the spirit alone strong enough to challenge the akademiya worth its weight in mora.

pure stubbornness was your greatest defence against a lot of things.

but temptation was a trial fought time and time again.

he read your resolve like an open book and finished his drink in an impressive swallow before rising to his feet. he waved down the bartender with a quick hand and then put down a few notes of mora with the other. he walked with intent, hardly harbouring an inch of reprieve in any direction. whatever he was, this was his hunting grounds and he set his sights on you.

your mouth was dry, glass still untouched as you visibly shuddered under his shadow, “i’m not some easy student-”

archon be willed, you denied yourself the privilege of running your sight down the length of his arm as it benched securely between you body and the bar. there was a smart smirk on his face that you hadn’t witnessed yet, a challenge that you’d be dragged through whether you wanted to or not. “no, you’re just spun too tight and could benefit from new lesson.”

you parted your lips to rebuttal but he silenced you with a hum. “i’m not going to play the role of some authoritative figure you desperately need. you can either come along or play games with someone else.”

a streak of heat crackled along your nerves at the rawness of his words. to be honest, he looked absolutely done with your presence but there was a primal edge of something you couldn’t place rooting him there. whatever drug him down to this bar was still devouring away at him, tightening his defences to the peak of stress.

yeah, you bet he could use a stress reliever alight.

your eyes slipped close as a low groan escaped you.

| ⚘⚘⚘ |

it had taken you an embarrassingly small amount of seconds to fork over common sense as you hastily scrambled to procure payment, only to have your attempts overrun by another careless slip of a few bills to cover much more than you had spent that night. it was no wonder he was so popular here.

he didn’t just walk like he owned the place, it certainly seemed like it as he guided you out of the door with a firm hand at the small of your back. not one pair of eyes crossed your paths and from the corner of your own you witnessed the bartender already moving to clear your spot.

a minute later, you were outside in the slight chill of the nighttime air. but where you were expecting the man to hail a car, instead urged you along the cobble-stone path.

“you live in port ortmos?”

“is that a problem?”

“i just …”

he lifted his chin slightly, “expected me to live in sumeru city? no, i stay there enough for work.”

you hum thoughtfully at the new information,“so that’s why the bartender was so familiar.”

“or maybe he just likes me.”

“or maybe he just likes your money.”

“why are you so sure that i have money?”

it takes effort not to mention the cash he’d tossed so carelessly onto the table top. there could have been one too many stuck to gether, but he had not even paused to check. instead you gesture marginally to the fine clothing stretching over the girth of his arm.

“well at least i know you're only after my body.”

“it's certainly not your personality,” you respond flatly.

“you would prefer the bigger of the two.”

you click your tongue and look away, determined not to snort at the smooth jest.

the short trip ends when he taps his key fob against the entrance of a modestly built apartment complex overlooking the port.

“anyone you need to inform of your nightly ventures?" he breaks the silence as he hits the bottom for the elevator to jerk into motion.

it occurs to you with no great pleasure that he was indeed right. you had followed the man with only the speculation that he was part of the akademiya in some capacity. at least you had confidence that he hadn't drug you to some seedy part of town and as long as the bartender didn't sell you out, there would be an evidence trail.

still you shot off a quick text to a friend, letting them know of your location in the port.

“good girl.”

you scowled to which he returned the gesture with a broad smile.

fortunately, the elevator door opened before anything more could spark. he stepped out first, leading you four doors down before unlocking it and flickering on the first light available. he waved you in with a nod of the head.

if he was a secret murderer, he was one with good tastes. from the entrance, the home opened up into a modern looking living room with panel windows hanging high above the quiet streets. to the right, an impressive kitchen held more appliances than you even knew what to do with. you assumed the final hallways led down towards the bedroom and other accessory rooms. overall, it was quality living. something to dream of after finally graduating from the akademiya. yet it still did not offer anything more of his position.

overly curious, you ask, “what is it you do again?”

he smiles, all mischief, “i’m just a feeble scholar.”

the man expects your scoff, lip curling higher as he vaguely gestures to the darkened kitchen,“i’d offer you a drink, but then i’d have to cut the night short. i don't sleep with drunks.”

you shrugged off your jacket, folding it over before lying it on the couch. “i’m not a lightweight.”

he tucked his free hand into his pocket, “but you’re in my home. house rules for guests i’m afraid.”

his shoes echo off the floors as he walked towards you, teasing closeness until you stepped back in turn. a second later, you were backed against the wall connecting the kitchen to the hall.

you swallowed hard to control the nerves flaring under your skin. it was infectious with the way his eyes travelled slowly from your eyes to your lips. he was shameless, continuing down past your collor bone to the subtle swell of your breast until the weight of his gaze dampened your breaths.

eagerly, you arched your spine,” how else do you treat your guests?”

his eyes retuned to your face,” i suppose you’ve earned that much.” he shuffled closer and trailed his thumb along your jawline, then leaned in and kissed you. his other hand came up to cradle the other side of your face as his lips tugged gently at yours before coaxing them apart.

then his tongue slips into your mouth and you whimper. its an embarrassing sound that pulls a reaction from him as he breaks the kiss.

he’d never been close enough before to take in the spicy smell of his person, an additional spritz of expense. something about it burned your nose from this proximity, like he was activating too many of your other senses to not notice. his hands were hot and heavy as they groped at your body, following the curve of your hips and testing the weight of your breast.

his tongue lapped at your neck, each action only a span of minutes already accumulating a pool at your core.

you just wanted to kiss him again but he seemed to conveniently remain out of reach. to test it, you craned your neck again only to have him counter by nipping at your ear.

“did you come to that place just to get laid, sweetness?”

you were beginning to edge away from the dry tone of his voice but he had yet to be proven innocent from the other assumptions. blood finally returned to your hands, rendering you with the ability to move as you grappled at his own body, lavishing in the not so hidden display of muscle. “did it look like it?,” you eventually responded back.

that earned you another nip, obviously not the answer he was looking for. it wasn’t a gentle one either. the sharp bite of it was still echoing through your nerves and ripping a yelp of arousal from your lips.

“i just wanted a drink.”

he bit you again.

you quickly wailed out the truth of the matter, a short sentence about your growing frustration before waiting for another reprimand but the firm pressure of lips responded instead and you sagged into the warmth of it. you dared to ask the same of him but you doubt you had enough strength behind your teeth to get him to comply.

his pace was ruthlessly, hands sliding and discarding clothing, certainly not interested in prolonging the moment.

“you’re going to miss that attitude when i’m done with you.”

the weight of his words should not have produced the reaction that it did. but god did it make you so wet. this man would probably fuck anything. and everything would let him fuck them.

you’re grappling on to his bicep, meaty muscle probably tenderised from long hours at a pricey gym. he loops one of your legs around his waist, leaving the other standing to allow more room for himself. his fingers are dry when they first touch you, though not for long as they absorb the slickness your body throws at him wantonly. a thumb tweaks your numb and your breath hitches into a pant as he curls two thick fingers into you without warning.

his face remains refined but his touch is explorative, teasing the spongy walls as he stretches them to their limitations. “unexpected debut but not a bad way to end the night.”

you wished his words would have less of an effect on you, the dichotomy of them and his touch making you out to be a blushing virgin.

and he keeps talking.

“akademiya girl, huh? bet you think you’re so smart. “

you keen lowly as he introduces a third fingering, forgoing rudimentary scissoring to just plunge them into your depths. you arch against his hold bucking with no ground to stand on. his hitches your leg higher as a reminder, threatening your barely there balance.

“look at you, all spread out for me. i said what five words to you? did they not teach you manners? a lot has changed.” he presses with the intent of stretching limitations, and you’re grateful for the debauched ministrations. science and biology taught you more than enough about anatomical proportionality.

“no resistance. you’d let me fuck you for less wouldn’t you? ” but with the way words just kept off his tongue without preamble, you were nearing certainty that he’d ride the glide of your channel without much resistance.

he works a hand up the loose material of your shirt, sending your bra into disarray as he tweaks a nipple sharply. the pain is acute, shuddering through your body like a ripple. your groan rolls into a soft hiss as he does it again, enunciating the action with words.

“i asked you a question.”

the pressure returns and your body squirms. it's enough to plunk the strings of obediency as your mouth is quick to answer.

“yes!”

his fingers rip from you, cutting the strings of your impending release and you hear the tell tale signs of a belt jingle. the material of his pants shifts, but unlike you they never leave his hips.

“fuck.” he frees himself, af the musk of him permeates the air. it’s almost intoxicating, urging you too look but you fight the urge. “i knew it. you came to that tavern looking for someone to bit that edge off.”

you don’t have to, because he’s pressing into you thick and hard and your walls flutter around him. with efficiency, he hitched your last standing leg up as well, leaving you suspended at his mercy. “good thing i came in, i bet you were getting unbearable to your little friends.”

the wall reverberates against the knocking of your body, the offbeat staccato telling any nosey neighbours all they need to know. that's if they weren’t already use to the frequency of overnight guests.

“just needed a few pumps to set you right. “

you tilt your head back and his immediate reaction is to latch back onto your neck, no doubt intending to bruise you both physically and mentally. he’s not immune to his own sounds, grunting through explications with each thrust. archons, it’s so hot, feeling the weight of him dragging over the wet hole, soon to be coined as a delicious ache before the night’s end.

it’s uncertain if he drew blood, the sticky wetness of your throat a toss up between the possibility and perspiration.

his name. you need to know his name. desperate to whine it, cry for it, tattoo it onto your tongue. you ask as much of it without realising.

-haitham.

you’re supposed to learn of it so soon but don’t disappoint the expectation following the admission.

“my name is alhaitham.” his name rolls off fluidly and you bite down to savour it before it’s gone.

your head rolls back against the wall, mouth parted for air as your eyes squeeze shut. your breast rise and fall with each hurried breath as alhaitham pins his focus on the thrum and the heat of your clit.

he’s back at your throat, nosing against the constrictions as your voice strains high and desperate.it was dominating, overwhelming, and even though you could accept that you enjoyed it, you still couldn’t understand why. domineering had it’s attractive qualities, sure, but it was arguably a delicate matter. one that took a fine tuned perspective to account for any aversions and hone in on the pointes of gratification.

and he knew.

“you looked so pretty at the bar. i’m almost grateful you were so nosy. now you look even more gorgeous. pinned against my wall like a painting.”

a shower of sparks rain down over you and cracks open the door to the flash of lights stippling the dark behind your eyes. you rock yourself forward until it becomes clear that you’re fucking yourself on his fingers until theirs both slick and resplendent with your essence.

it should be the end, the cut off of your journey but the trip feels like it's leagues long until the horizon breaks and you’re no longer anchored to the terrestrial spear but floating within the realm of celestia.

he removes his fingers slowly, excruciatingly so, and smears your release over your clit and skin. your nerves feel as delicate as your bones feel weightless.

you're fortunate that alhaitham is close enough to catch you as you all but collapse against the wall, feeling like someone—no your fate intended—removed all the bones in your body. cheek pressed against his chest, you inhale the scent of his skin while wondering if this was the exact feeling kaveh had. it was indescribable. like you were racing toward the end of days, on the verge of expiring by your own inability to call back the breath that alhaitham had stolen from your lungs. it's a dichotomy of wonder and fear as you come to terms with a terrifying realisation.

you want more.

alhaitham lets out a throaty hoarse sound when you bury your hands in his hair and tug at the thick base. he presses his lips harder against yours, determinedly set on devouring you with teeth and tongue if he can get away with it. in turn, you wrap your legs back around the already familiar notch at his hips and squeeze, drawing your front flush against his.

his erection remains hard and insistent. it’s enough to make you sigh happily against his mouth, arousal blooming above her navel at the promising orgasm it will provide.

“i want you,” you gasp between kisses, cupping his cheek with one hand while the other continues to pull at his hair.

alhaitham grunts again at the action and sneaks a hand down between you two to cup your wet mound. two fingers press up, spreading your spend and is immediately reward with another sweet hasp from your lips as he teases the sensitive nub.

archons, just the faintest touch of his fingers against you is enough to drag back the reminder of the shattering kaleidoscope until the only thing you can think of is him—alhaitham— with either his soul-binding fingers or his cock buried inside. you don't care if it's a repeat performance or something new, as long as you come.

the truth is so palpable between you but alhaitham has sense enough not to mention it. instead he dips as his arm slips under your knee to pull you into his arms. he walks you towards the darkened hallway where the door at the end opens into his bedroom.

alhaitham pulls at your clothes and you let him, sliding them down until you’re left with nothing and reaching for his. he follows you onto the bed, bracing himself over you. he lowered his head to kiss you, holding you still as he ravishes your mouth until you’re forced to break apart, breath haggard from the effort.

you blink blearily up at the broad shoulder hovering just by your nose as you resist the itch to squirm. the grip holding you down had lessened dramatically in the last few minutes, the weight of trust holding you still. a soft sigh tickles your lip as his forehead rolls against yours, light and nuzzling.

“you’ve finally lost some of that attitude. that is good. you’re doing so good,” his voice is less dry, holding warmth and reverence for compliance. your head tilts up to seek his lips again, craving the gentle touch and the taste of exhalation.the sharp edges of thoughts fade away, leaving only room to consume and receive. a reward comes in the tweak of thick fingers returning to your apex, twisted deep within you and curling for purchase. in return, you sigh into his mouth, pleased, as you rock into the affection.

“think you can return the favour? let me see what all the fuss is about?” his smile savours the flavour of saccharine, both appealing and intoxicating and you find yourself nodding in acceptance without cause. alhaitham knows he has you anyway- always had- you’d crawl for his mercy if just to have a a taste of the nirvana only he could give you.

he feels the motion of your nod, pressed so close,” i’d like to know what it’s like. feeling your open mouth, the sounds of your gasp as you choke on my cock. ”

his hand remains low, twisting within you as your own rides the length of his body. it’s a stretch, but you manage to brush against the underside of his cock, tracing the thick vein protruding against the surface. your heart thrums, seeking his praise even as his hand leaving you and his thighs shift upward until he hovers at your face.

the heat of him bobs from the movement, tapping your lip and smearing its tackiness. his hand cards through your hair, rumbling veneration as you lick it away then open your mouth to stretch around him.

alhaitham’s hand, girthy and wide, teases the nap of your neck, forming a brace without asking. the rhythm of your tongue is met with a heavy groan of approval, the volume increasing as you swallow around him. the coordination of suction is breathing is an erratic dichotomy but you managed- for him. your mouth continues to caress him as he grows, hips beginning to undulate in aid.

“you’re going to swallow it all, aren’t you, sweetness? for me?” he’s curled over you, blowing through harsh pants as he coaxes another inch down your throat. it still lacked the depth that he would have wanted, but you would still make it good for him.

tears bubble behind your eyes, though not from pain, from sacrifice as you nod once more. it’s still an impossibility to take him to the hilt, but with passion you come close. swallowing the bitter taste of him until the taste of it is tattooed on your tongue. it’s a musky bitterness, thick with salt.

his voice is but a whisper, rolling against your ears. “yes, sweetheart. make me proud.”

you splayed your hands against his thoughts, fingernails digging a little into the skin there but alhaitham could care less. in fact, you dared to say he enjoyed the pinch of pain. it most noticeably shattered his ability to prologe his release as his eyes closed and he allowed the orgasm to surge through him.

this close, it was impossible not the notice the intense ripple of sensations as his nerve endings sparked with a powerful wave that had his knees trembling above you. just when you feared he might topple, he leaned back, rolling to the side and combing a haggard hand through his hair.

then your eyes connected and the truth you’d damned up inside, burst forward, barrelling through your defences and overwhelming you.

this man. alhaitham was your soulmate. this stranger whom you’d let take you home, ravish you beyond your wildest dreams and given you an core shattering orgasm that you were still reeling from. alhaitham who had come to lean in closer than you realised, must have come to the same conclusion as his mouth sealed over yours.

the featherlight caress of your lips to his made your body yearn for something more than one-sided release, the promise of coming together as one—

a sudden feeling of panic gripped your gut as the final dreads of your euphoria dripped away. scrabbling for your bearings, you nudged at him until he had no choice but to pull away, leaving you more exposed than ever.

alhaitham’s face was flush with exertion, eyes to feverish but his face was unguarded with uncertainty.

“are you alright?”

no, you definitely were not and you wouldn't be until you got home. even then you likely wouldn't be okay. you never would be the same after tonight.

“i should go—i shouldn’t have—i just need to leave.”

your heart seized with the sudden ache as realisation weighed down on you. this was not how this was supposed to go. not at all. you pushed yourself off his bed and onto your feet, hastily scrabbling for your clothing.

alhaitham picked his movements carefully as he straightened up on the bed,” it’s fine if you need space. i know this is a lot but it’s late. you should stay the night.” he gestures out out the door,” my roommate is gone for the weekend, you should take his room.”

but you were hardly listening as you pulled your top over head and headed for the door while working your arms through the sleeves. despite his offer, you continued past the adjacent door until you neared the entrance.

alhaitham’s steps were heavy as you followed behind. his hand came to your back to steady you as you hoped from one shoe to the other until they fit snug.

“you are overwhelmed and it's too late. you're not thinking clearly. i don't want you out in the city like this.”

you turned on him before he could finish, “you don't know me. just because were—you—,” you guested widely between the both of you. “this doesn't change anything. “

reading the room, the man carefully held up his hands in surrender. it should have been a commercial sight for a man of his stature given his still nude state.

“okay, okay. just wait, please.”

it’s the agreeableness that gives you pause. its give him just enough time to round the counter of the kitchen and rummage through one of the doors. he spares the time to bring a pen to it. when he returns, its with a small card.

“i’m not asking for anything. but if you want to reach me, here. i wont seek you out. but you know where to find me.”

whether he was referring to the tavern or his home was vague. but the look in his gaze wasn’t. no matter how much he tried to hide it, it was there … the expectation.

you turned away and opened the door, clutched the cardstock in your hand as you hurried to the elevate and punched the downward key until it blinked and the doors opened. you threw yourself inside, not looking back not when the doors closed but until you were free of the building and ducking into the hailed car.

fucking kaveh, it should have never ended this way.

it had been quite a long time since you’d felt anything remotely shameful after a night in bed with someone new. with kaveh it had never been an issue as he’d wormed his way into a positon of comfort before he’d ever reached your bed.

the both of you had decided that you enjoyed the fragile lining between friendship and something more, confident that neither would seek out the unknown. he was focused on his growing list of projects to offset his student debt and you were still trying to make the most of your own expenses into your education.

it had been a simple arrangement that you had been forlorn to see it unravel. but you couldn't put stocks into blaming kaveh forever. he certainly had not led you to the bar housing your soul mate and had no ploy in getting you into their bed.

no the blame had been solely yours.

you had barely been able to look at your reflection in the mirror, finding it all the more damning to written the swollen redness of your lips and early signs of hickeys dotting your throat. there had been no point in examining the rest of your body as you slipped into the shower to wash away what you could. however the ache of his presence remained seeped into your bones even as you fell into your blankets.

there had been one too many unsuccessful attempts to silence your mind, your more reasonable half having a field day over-analyzing your choices.

eventually you'd given up on sleep altogether in favour of squinting against the glare of your phone. if you were going to be riddled by guilt, the best thing to do was to spin it into a web of evidence. for months, you had been trapped trying to craft a damning theory to challenge the damn-near will of the gods.

and in return they made you into your own attestation.

in your initial presentation, the sages had challenged your theory as one-sided, some even edging to accuse you of envy. at their age, it was difficult for you to speculate if one or any of them had found their soulmate. there was no rhyme or rhythm to discovering your fated partner.

some discovered them early, others had to wait until their last breath.

but in the city of sumeru, where the god’s will was paramount to divine expectation.

if anything the only thing worth of your envy was the free state of mondstat where the country had thrived under their archon’s guidance to seek out their own fate.

it was a plausible dream but sumeru was your home.

closing your eyes, you leaned back against the flatness of your pillow. but behind your eyelids, however, were the lingering traces of last night’s memories etched there. it began with those blue-green eyes, then the image panned out to reveal the entirety of alhaitham, broad and defined in ways built from a fantasy.

hissing out a sharp curse, your eyes snapped open to shatter the visage.

it was starting to feel like a never-ending joke. why could it not be as simple as falling in bed with an attractive man.

you’d barely typed out a sentence before you eventually gave up, signalling defeat with the snap of the device closing. rubbing your eyes, you kicked the device to the edge of the bed and sprawled back against the bed.

hopefully tomorrow would bring forth a more concise mindset.

| ⚘⚘⚘ |

you woke several hours later tangled under a sea of blankets and the lingering taste of zaytum peaches. the faint glow of sunlight coming through the window indicated that it was sometime in the afternoon. instinctively, you rolled over to reached for your phone, heart stuttering at the feeling of hard cardstock against your fingertips.

there had been no effort made to forget about what had transpired less than twelve hours ago, nor was it meant to be a rude awakening. those thoughts were better suited after a shower and something to eat.

for now you roll out of bed in pursuit of the bathroom, mint taste and burn of mouthwash would help restart your day on a better note. you considered a second shower as well. the heat and steam was always a nice balm on a clogged brain, always helping to clear your head and think.

the promise of peace lasted about as long foam forming from the slow drag of your toothbrush against your teeth. it didn't take very long at all for your mind to sink into reality; the fog dissipating somewhat as you realised with dread that this would not be something you could avoid without some confrontation.

alhaitham

the name did not come without an overhanging cloud of density. it was a weighted thing, something of a reminder but you could not figure out the source beyond the stranger you’d met at the tavern bar.

it was fairly customary name in sumeru though your tallied occurrences were low. perhaps a stray soul at the market in passing but nothing of significance. it had been an akademiya joke to place him in harvata without truly knowing, purely inspired by the natural flow of banter.

but there wasn’t an alhaitham currently part of the darshan that you knew of. to be frank, when the name alhaitham came to mind it was only accompanied by occasional whispers in the absence of a highly regarded graduate and now scr—

your brows rose with each fragment of proof as realisation dawns with nauseating clarity. the soothing shower quickly becomes a brisk wash as you will your mind to calm.

you were so stupid. so so stupid.

spitting carelessly into the sink , you stagger through your strewn clothes as you return back to your bedroom with renewed vigour. the card you had tried to forget was quickly snatched up.

alhaitham kaysani

grand scribe

he was that alhaitham. the name bringing forth sobering clarity that had evaded you while post-orgasm. you had only known him in name, never having the opportunity to meet him. he wasn’t just faculty, he was damn near a sage after his achievements and one of the youngest to get so close.

and he was your soulmate.

snarky

callous

rational

these were all phantom rumours stitched into the reality of the man you’d come to witness.

but he was also dominating

attentive

and responsible when baring you to the world and unravelling you at the seems. there could be little fault in you for not recognizing him at first given the circumstances. you had never met the man before yesterday.

now, in the safety of your own home, you can admit to yourself that deep down, twisting your perceptions, you'd be a little relieved to have found him. yes, you were scared— worried that fate might have skipped you in your doubt— but the fated milestone was reached. and he had wanted you, albeit sexually, the setting had made you desirable enough to bring you home. even after discovering the truth, he’d reached for more.

in the end, you liked it; the weightlessness of floating above yourself for a moment; the rush of endorphins that seeped into the still waters. just the memory of it all has you tingling all over, hairs rising in protest.

despite your misgivings, the reality of it was, what you’d left behind was unfinished business. there was no plausible way for you to just go about your lives without addressing what was discovered. you knew your stance on the matter, but it was equally as important to understand his so that there would be no confusion in the future.

you were both scholars, but he was more welcoming to the present evidence than you were. though given the abrupt shift in your reality, a bit of additional clarity felt like a needed kindness.

tossing the card back down, you returned to the bathroom with the first spark of determination kindling. if your thoughts were going to be set aflame, you knew who to invite to the bonfire.

| ⚘⚘⚘ |

“i thought you said you and kaveh were through?”

finding a friendship with dehya had been an unexpected but appreciative experience. sumeru city was built by and for the cultivation of scholars under the aged guidance of late archon of sumeru. the akedemiya prided itself on its accumulation of knowledge, though it had yet overcame its ostracism of the children of the desert.

it boiled down to conflicting views of the source of knowledge and whom it ultimately belonged too, but those like dehya hardly cared little of the dispute. it was old news kept relevant but elders who needed to let the new generation decide the future.

ultimately, she found interest in your defiance. shared stories among drinks and good company overwriting centuries of bad blood.

you drew the steaming cup warming your palm closer, finding solace in the simple smell of caffeine rather than the taste of it. dehya kept her inquiries limited when you had first requested her company at the portside coffee shop but now her curiosity was brimming as she scrutinized you from across the table.

“we are.”

“so this has something to do with the random quality of life text i got last night?”

the curl of her lips hinted that she already knew the answer, the slow grin widening further when you tossed her a less than impressed scowl.

“i found someone new.”

the sharp red of her freshly pained nails drummed patiently against the table top as her raised brow encouraged you to get on with it.

with a huff, you opted to just get it all out.

“i met a guy at a bar who ended up being my soulmate.”

the woman had the courtesy not to laugh outright in your face, but the quiet snicker that escaped through the side of her mouth couldn't hide her amusement.

“you know i was rooting for you. i thought if anyone could defy the odds it would be you.”

her support, while generous, was one-sided towards your benefit. dehya had her restraints when it came to the exaggerated nonsense spewed by the akademiya on the subject. but she couldn't deny it’s biological merits after discovering her other half in the form of her childhood friend and now girlfriend.

dunyarzad believed in a more muted rendition of the historic value of soul mates, a hopeless romantic that thrived on the magic of dreams. in a way you both humored the young woman, if only to be plagued with her infectious smile and outlook on life.

dehya smirked, leaning forward on her elbows. the flaky croissant you had purchased as a show of gratitude forgotten. “so you go out with a stranger and they rock your world … and now you’re in the same boat as the rest of us."

you stare at her blankly, “it’s not that simple.’’

“it is if you stick by the facts,” she answers smoothly. “so you had one good night, you’re not obligated to marry him. if anything, you're the one hung up over it. why not just leave it as that and move on?”

your body jolts with the instinct to protest, but the weighted gaze she holds over you keeps you rooted until the words seep in. you had hardly delved into the details of the night, but she was reading you like an open book.

society’s expectations weren't your reality. nor had alhaitham’s surmise given his perplexed but visible patience during your hasty escape. he had made the same discovery as you but didn’t hold you accountable for an explanation.

instead he gave you the option.

seek him out or leave it as it was.

knowing him would be an emotional burden but you had lived this long without encountering him and would eventually outlive the physical reminder.

dehya drew your attention back by the soft sound of her spoon clinking against the side of her mug.

“you’re my friend, but sometimes you scholars are all the same.”

setting the spoon aside, she leveled you with a look. “once you get a theory planted in your head, anyone outside of it is well out of reason. you all forget that the world is full of theories and opinions and there is so much more to explore if you would be more wiling to accept ones that aren't your own.”

her face softens as she reaches out to fold her palm over yours.

“you came to me for advice at least, so let me give it. everyone's soulmate situation is unique. your parents for example.” you flinch at the mention, years of memories solidifying the reason you sought out the akademiya.

dehya's fingers squeeze in reassurance as she continues. “at least hear him out. maybe their theory will compliment yours. and if not, well next time call me to a fight rather than a cup of coffee.”

the thinly veiled joke pulled a tight smile from your lips.

she was right though. as a scholar you had encouraged a new experience and were left to analyze the variables. the night had been an unexpected outcome but not a failure.

you managed to finish your coffee before dehya eventually coaxed you out of the shop, muttering about a fresh text from dunyarzad as you parted ways at the entrance.

the warmth of her encouraging hug still lingered as you plucked the contact card from its perch on your nightstand.

flipping the card, you found a neat scrawl of additional numbers, the intention clear.

with that in mind, you reached for your phone and typed out a message.

‘i’d like to talk.’

your thumbs tap against the screen idly, hoping he was awake and wouldn’t keep you waiting. it was a safe assumption that the man was a morning person when the reply was sent a few minutes later.

‘fine. would you like me to come to you?.’

you thought about alhaitham coming to your flat.

grand scribe alhaitham who was hardly as inconspicuous in sumeru city.

soulmate alhaitham who had yet to have his way with you in your bed-

the last thing you needed to think about was either of you coming.

‘no, will you be home in the evening? i can be there.’

his reply was simple.

‘4pm.’

you stared at the text with a writhing feeling in your gut. it definitely needed to happen, a talk like this was better addressed soon than later. but maybe this was too soon. there was no taking the words back now but how hard would it be to just delete them? a simple swipe and tap and they’d be gone.

you’d avoided alhaitham this long. and if you stayed away from a certain tavern you could continue to do so. he didn’t seem like a man who would put effort into something that lacked fruition.

exhaling slowly, you tossed the phone away before you made another rash decision. confronting it now would be the smart thing to do. it was the best way to keep yourself from spiralling down a path of the unknown. just because you discovered your soulmate, nothing had changed.

granted he gave you the best orgasm you’d had so far in your life, it was just that. a night of carnage that had you waking up with nothing but regret. how could anyone chase something so recklessly because they felt that the archons put their stars too close together?

yes, tackling this now would let you set the record straight. you didn't want a marriage proposal but that didn't mean— no, you wouldn't speculate or conjure up anything until you got on the same page. alhaitham seemed like a rational person, he likely didn’t believe in soulmates either. a good night in bed got the best of everyone.

for a long moment, you stood in the noon shadow of your bedroom before eventually returning to the bathroom to finish your routine. as you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you tried hard not to look too close at your reflection again.

picking back up the phone, you craft and send a quick message to kaveh.

‘hope you haven’t fallen into a coma.’

and you hoped you aren't falling into a deeper mess.

continued in part ii

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham imagine #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham imagine #al haitham fanfic #the wrong draft got uploaded early so sorry for the rough first post enjoy!

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astramthetaprime · 1 month ago

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Smoke & Mirrors

When I was eight years old, my mother started taking me to a psychologist.

Each Tuesday morning for I think a couple of years, Mom would wake me up early so I could go in to work with her instead of sauntering my way around the block to school. It was fun for me, I got to help her firm’s mailroom girl on her rounds through the partners’ offices delivering the morning’s mail or copies of the Wall Street Journal. I got to buy sausage biscuits from the food truck parked just outside the building’s front door on our way into the building. Then at some point during the morning, Mom and I would leave to go several blocks away to the psychologist’s office for my appointment.

I remember I asked Mom once why I was doing this. I distinctly remember her saying that it was because I wouldn’t keep my room clean.

I took this at face value. It seemed odd but okay, I’m going to the shrink because I wasn’t keeping my room clean.

You take a lot of things at face value when you’re a kid, especially when it comes from your parents. Mom probably could have said it was because I had green eyes and I’d have shrugged and gone with it.

And that’s how it stood, for close to fifty years. I went to a psychologist for a couple years as a kid, nothing ever came of it, and it was largely forgotten. I’ve been to a lot of other therapists since then, with no substantial results.

A few days ago in another incidence of re-processing my past and present, I finally realized what was really going on.

I was in 4th grade, that year I was eight years old. As such, I was under the care of a saintly teacher by the name of Mrs. Covington.

I remember her very vaguely as being white-haired, wearing large glasses and probably long since past retirement age. I realize now that she must have had decades of experience as an elementary school teacher and had seen probably thousands of children of all stripes. She was “oldschool” in the truest sense, with a kind and perceptive soul. What she must have seen in me was an odd little girl with an obsession for Star Wars who awkwardly tried and repeatedly failed to make friends, who was good at spelling but rarely spoke, who spent a lot of time staring out the nearest window. Mrs. Covington must have realized there was something wrong with me, but had no specific word to call it and no idea what it was.

This was 1977. We wouldn’t know the word “autism” in the United States for another seventeen years. And I wouldn’t be officially called by that word for another thirty years beyond that.

But Mrs. Covington knew there was something wrong, and that little girl desperately needed a friend. So she took another little girl in the class aside and asked her if she would make friends with the odd, quiet little girl that nobody liked.

We were best friends – she was my only friend, and became so much more, things I am still discovering – until graduation and college and the sharp words of hatred separated us twelve years later. I’ll call her here by the nickname I gave her, Ace.

What I’ve only pieced together in the last few days was that Mrs. Covington must have spoken to my mother, told her there was something wrong with me, and urged Mom to take me to be evaluated by a child psychologist. Mrs. Covington must have been the source of those Tuesday mornings when I thought I was going to a doctor because I couldn’t keep my room clean.

In actual fact, I was going because my father had developed Multiple Sclerosis, my parents had abruptly divorced so he could get financial assistance so he could get into a nursing home, I’d become a latch-key kid and beyond all that I was too quiet and too strange and could not make or keep friends.

Mrs. Covington had done God’s work, she’d seen a little girl in trouble, and alerted my Mom to get me help. Mom tried, she’d done what she thought would help. But it was the beginning of that long road of wrong answers that never satisfied the questions.

And that little girl Mrs. Covington asked to make friends with me? That’s the funny thing. She was an answer that didn’t get realized until another set of dots connected. I didn’t have the words for that either back then, I didn’t even know it was possible for two girls to be in love, I didn’t even know it could be possible until decades later. But the emotions were there long since. I loved her desperately – but in true autistic style I didn’t realize she hated me until we graduated high school together.

Sometimes I don’t see the forest for the trees.

Ever since I was diagnosed I’ve been furious that no one ever realized there was something wrong with me. But someone did. Mrs. Covington saw I was in trouble, but she had no way of knowing what it was because we didn’t have words or concepts for it yet. You can’t know what you don’t know. It wasn’t malice. It was simple lack of knowledge. Mom knew there was something wrong, but the shrink couldn’t call it anything but depression. Given what was happening to me at the time, it wasn’t even an unlikely call. But it was wrong.

It was dumb, blind luck – a random YouTube video and increasingly frantic web searches – that gave me the right answer. The real answer. The answer that finally, decisively fit.

#actuallyautistic #autism #dealing with grief #allaboardtheangstexpress

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ancientforgcd · 1 month ago

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Kiana had always measured her worth by what she could do, not by who she was. Being a Kaslana meant she was born to protect, to push herself until there was nothing left, to lay down her life if it came to that. Her value, in her mind, had always been tied to her strength, her utility. Anything beyond that? She didn’t even know what that looked like. Every battle fought, every bone-breaking training session, every injury ignored-these weren’t acts of self-sacrifice. They were simply what was necessary. And because of that, she never saw herself as selfless. No, to her, she was just doing what any good Kaslana would do. The bare minimum.

But the truth was, she needed to prove herself. Every day. As a Valkyrie, as a Kaslana, and especially after becoming the Herrscher of Flamescion. Every title she carried, every mission she took, every time she threw herself in harm’s way-it was all part of this endless, silent drive to feel like she was enough. She told herself it wasn’t self-sacrifice. It was her choice. She chose this life, chose to push herself until she was ready to collapse, because the idea of failing, of being less, was too much to bear. She thought, What right do I have to rest while others fight? How could I ever live for myself when so many have sacrificed for me to be here?

And that pressure, that impossible standard, became something she carried like armor. Except it didn’t protect her-it crushed her.

Where others saw her endless routine of training and fighting as dedication, Kiana saw it as nothing special. Of course she would work herself to the bone. Of course she would push until she was bleeding. Anything less, in her mind, was selfish. And that’s exactly what she called herself; a selfish girl who couldn’t even consider slowing down because she’d convinced herself that she had to be ready for the next threat. To her, even stopping to catch her breath was indulgent.

When her friends begged her to take a break, when they worried about her, it felt wrong. Why should they worry? she thought. She was fine. She was doing what she was supposed to do. Their concern felt misplaced, like they didn’t understand what she was really doing. She wasn’t pushing herself for them, she told herself. She was pushing because she couldn’t bear the thought of failing again, of feeling like she wasn’t enough. She needed to keep going, for herself, for her own reasons. And yet, she called it selfishness, because admitting her fear, her need to be valuable, was too raw, too vulnerable.

Her sense of self-worth was bound so tightly to her strength that she couldn’t see herself as valuable in any other way. To be vulnerable, to rest even for a moment, felt like a betrayal of everything she was supposed to be. Kaslanas don’t rest, she thought. Kaslanas fight. Kaslanas protect. She had trained herself to believe that taking care of her own needs somehow detracted from the energy she could be putting toward protecting everyone else. And that logic, twisted as it was, had been her anchor. If she wasn’t fighting, she was failing. If she wasn’t pushing herself, she was slacking.

But at the heart of it all was this: Kiana didn’t know how to be anything but a soldier. And maybe she didn’t think she deserved to be. All those years on the edge of survival, all those battles where her own life came second to everyone else’s-she had started to believe that her only value was in what she could do. Outside of her power, her strength, her ability to protect...she didn’t know who she was. And maybe, deep down, she was afraid that there was nothing worth knowing.

So she worked herself to exhaustion, she wore herself thin, convinced that as long as she kept going, she wouldn’t have to face the emptiness she feared. She would never have to ask herself, Who am I without this fight? Because if she ever did, she was terrified the answer would be nothing.

#long post #;Kiana #narrative #meta #analysis #thanks puyo for the feedback and working on this with me sasklhg

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agirlsawalittlerose · 1 month ago

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SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 9: Vala

The evening was a spectacle of extravagance, the kind that Volantis did best. The grand hall was alive with the clamor of music and laughter, the gleam of golden goblets filled to the brim with wine, and the scent of rich food that drifted through the air. Lanterns flickered, casting a warm glow over the sea of noblemen and freemen who had gathered for the campaign celebrations.

Dila stood at the edge of the gathering, her face a mask of serenity as she engaged in conversation with Vaego, one of the Elephants. He was a man of austere expression and a rounded belly, a figure both imposing and oddly comforting. He often told her she possessed a rare gift for subtle diplomacy, and perhaps he was right. So, with confidence, Dila ventured, “We should take inspiration from another son of Valyria.” Her words drew a flicker of interest from Vaego. “Aegon the Conqueror. He studied Westeros extensively before moving to subdue it—”

Vaego’s hand rose, cutting her off with a sharp gesture. His gaze flicked about, cautious. “Gods, don’t mention those damned Targaryens,” he muttered, his voice low but firm. “And you’d do well to guard your tongue. One of your husband’s loyal hounds might be listening.”

The warning was clear, thinly veiled though it was, and Dila felt the familiar sting of being dismissed. Her insights, however sharp, were often relegated to whispers in a world ruled by louder, more stubborn voices.

With a measured sigh, she resumed her dance through the crowd. She moved gracefully, exchanging pleasantries with practiced ease, her smile never faltering. Yet her thoughts were far from these shallow exchanges. The men respected her, listened even, but only up to the point where her ideas began to deviate from the rigid doctrines of Tigers and Elephants. They were blind, steeped in Volantene tradition, their minds dulled by years of political stagnation and endless maneuvering between factions. None dared to look beyond the gilded cage of their palanquins.

Her wandering thoughts were interrupted as the crowd shifted, parting like the tide to make way for Qorlo. He strode into the hall with his usual theatrical flair, his tunic shimmering in the firelight, embroidered in the fierce red and black of the Tigers. The room quieted as he approached, but it wasn’t Qorlo who captured Dila’s attention.

It was Aegon.

At Qorlo’s side, Aegon appeared transformed. Draped in the finest silks of Volantis, his Valyrian features seemed to catch every glimmer of light. His silver hair, his sharp cheekbones—he looked every bit the part of the storied Valyrian lineage. Yet Dila noticed the tension in his frame, the stiffness in his gait. This was no conqueror, no confident son of Old Valyria. He was a man out of place, his discomfort thinly veiled beneath the finery.

Qorlo, oblivious to nuance, wore a grin of triumph as he addressed the room. “Friends! Brothers of Volantis!” His voice carried with ease, silencing the murmurs. “Tonight, I present to you a guest—no, a gift! The Vala, a lost son of Valyria, returned to us by the grace of the gods. He comes to us nameless, without memory, but the blood in his veins is pure. His presence is a sign, a reminder of the glory that courses through our veins as well!”

Dila’s heart quickened as she scanned the room, gauging the reactions of the gathered nobles. Her skin prickled with anxiety as she awaited their verdict. Her gaze flicked back to Aegon, whose posture had grown rigid, his eyes cast downward as though bracing for a blow. Would tonight mark his rise or his ruin?

To her astonishment, a murmur of excitement swept through the hall, swelling into a chorus of applause. The applause grew into a roar of approval, the chants of “Vala” echoing off the stone walls. Aegon stood still, his expression unreadable. Dila’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shifts in his demeanor—the tightening of his jaw, the fleeting glance of his eyes as they scanned the crowd, wary as a cornered animal.

Then, slowly, his unease began to ebb. His shoulders relaxed, and his chin lifted, the weight of the crowd’s adoration settling onto him like a well-fitted cloak. His lips curled into the faintest of smiles, and in his violet eyes, Dila saw a spark of something new. Satisfaction.

No, not satisfaction—hunger.

He basked in their praise, drank in their admiration like a man dying of thirst. It was a transformation before her eyes. The once-reluctant figure now stood taller, steadier, as though the approval of these strangers had filled a void within him.

Dila felt the corners of her lips lift into a subtle smile. It was done. Aegon was the Vala that Volantis hadn’t realized it had been waiting for. After their earlier conversation, seeing him absorb the crowd’s fervor, she allowed herself a rare moment of shared triumph. He was playing his part, perhaps even better than she had dared to hope.

Aegon’s gaze met hers across the crowded hall. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause. The chants, the cheers, all faded into a distant hum. His violet eyes held hers, a connection that pulsed like a silent accord between them. Dila raised her goblet, tilting it toward him in a quiet salute, the firelight catching the rim in a golden gleam.

“To the Vala!” she called out, her voice clear and confident, her eyes never leaving his.

The room echoed her cry, the chants of “Vala” surging louder, more fervent. And as Aegon stood there, accepting their devotion, Dila allowed herself a single thought: A king in shadow, now bathed in light.

And as she watched him smile, she wondered, with a thrill of both pride and trepidation, how dangerous that realization might become.

Dila stood at the edge of the gathering, her expression serene as she engaged in conversation with Rhaemor, another one of the Elephants, a man of soft features and a practiced charm. His words dripped with flattery, but Dila had long grown accustomed to that.

“Lady Dila,” the man said with a polished smile, “your family has always been the pride of Volantis. Trianna, may her name live forever, was a beacon of wisdom and strength. I see that same brilliance in you. There are few who could stand against the cunning of the Tigers and still hold their own with such grace.”

Dila inclined her head, the corners of her mouth lifting into a modest smile. “You are too kind. My ancestors laid the foundation; I simply walk the path they carved. Trianna’s legacy is not one I take lightly.”

Rhaemor gave a soft chuckle. “And yet you walk it so effortlessly. The gods must surely favor you.”

Dila’s response was a polite smile, smooth and effortless, though her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes drifted past the man as he spoke, searching the garden beyond the crowd. And then, she saw him.

Aegon, emerging from a shadowed corner of the garden, his silver hair tousled, his tunic askew. His face was flushed, lips curled in a half-drunken grin. At his side, a girl—young, wide-eyed, and clearly enamored—followed him, her gaze fixed on him with a mixture of awe and adoration. A freeborn’s daughter, by the look of her. Aegon caught sight of Dila, his smile widening, but the sight that met Dila’s eyes sent a faint flicker of unease through her. Something about the way he carried himself in that moment, the careless indulgence, unsettled her.

“Will you excuse me?” Dila said, her tone light but firm, offering the Elephant a graceful nod before slipping away into the shadows of the garden.

Her movements were deliberate, her steps quiet as she wove through the moonlit paths. Her gaze never wavered from Aegon. He stood near the edge of the garden, half-shrouded in darkness, the flicker of torchlight catching the silver of his hair. As she approached, his violet eyes found hers, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He gave her a small, insolent bow, his amusement plain. The faint scent of wine lingered on his breath, and his tunic hung open, revealing more skin than decorum allowed.

Dila didn’t falter. She closed the distance between them with ease, her hands finding his waist as if they’d done so a thousand times before.

Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his—a fleeting kiss, light as a whisper, exactly how Qorlo had done before to him. When she pulled back, her expression was unreadable, her composure flawless.

Aegon blinked, his grin faltering for a heartbeat. His breath hitched, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered across his features. “Do you always do that?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, though a trace of genuine curiosity lingered beneath the jest.

“No,” Dila replied simply, her tone casual, as though nothing had passed between them at all. She turned her head slightly, her eyes drifting over the garden as if the moment had already slipped from her mind.

Before Aegon could respond, she spoke again, her voice softer now, laced with quiet command. “Sit with me,” she said in the Common Tongue, her words intimate, a gentle beckon rather than an order.

Aegon’s cheeks flushed, though not entirely from the wine. He followed her as she led him toward a remote corner of the garden, away from prying eyes and curious ears. Even in the dim light, he could feel the weight of her presence, the command in her every movement. The scent of her lingered in the air between them, intoxicating in a way the wine could never be.

They sat, the night air heavy with silence for a moment. Dila’s gaze locked onto him, sharp yet unreadable. She waited until she was sure no one was near enough to overhear before she spoke again, still using the Common Tongue.

“You’re not just a dragon, Aegon,” she whispered, her words almost teasing. “You’re the king of dragons.”

Aegon tensed at the words, his eyes narrowing. The lightness in him from moments earlier faded, replaced by something darker. He leaned back slightly, his expression guarded.

“I’m no king,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I fled before they could crown me.”

Dila blinked, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “You ran? From the crown that’s yours by birthright?” Her voice was soft but incredulous.

Aegon looked away, his gaze flickering toward the distant lights of the celebration. For a moment, he said nothing, his silence thick with unspoken thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, distant.

“I was never meant to be king,” he said. “Not in my father’s eyes. Or in anyone’s, for that matter.”

Dila’s lips parted, a faint frown crossing her features. She couldn’t understand it, not fully. The crown was power, legacy—everything she had been taught to cherish. Why would he reject what was rightfully his?

Dila tilted her head, watching him carefully. There was more behind his words, she could feel it. He wasn’t just speaking of his past—he was trying to distance himself from it, to bury it. She leaned in closer, her presence overwhelming, intoxicating in its nearness.

“If being king means living the life I left behind,” Aegon continued, his voice quieter now, “then I’d rather die here in Volantis.”

Dila’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though her eyes remained sharp, her voice cutting through his haze. “You’re lying.”

Aegon’s breath hitched. She was too close, too perceptive. Her gaze seemed to strip him bare, leaving him vulnerable in a way he had never intended.

“You don’t want to die. Not here. Not anywhere. You want to live. You want them to worship you.” she murmured, her voice a soft purr in the dark.

He said nothing, his heart pounding in his chest. The fire of her words, her nearness, was stirring something deep within him. Dila’s fingers brushed against his arm, lingering longer than necessary, and he shivered.

There was a pause, thick with tension. The air between them crackled, their proximity charged with unspoken desire. He could feel her breath against his cheek, the warmth of her body inches from his. He had wanted this, he realized, from the moment he saw her. And now she was here, so close he could barely think.

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You’ll never be able to resist what’s inside you, Aegon. You’re a dragon. And dragons… don’t run.”

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, his mind racing. He knew he should pull away, should fight the pull she had over him. But he couldn’t. Not now.

Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.

Aegon straightened his tunic, his expression firming as the effects of the wine began to wear off. A new sense of purpose settled over him, a self-assurance borne not from the wine or from the fleeting encounter in the shadows, but from the attention that had wrapped around him all night like a cloak. They had called him Vala. They had cheered his name. For the first time in what felt like an age, he had felt important—seen.

Aegon understood that being the Vala, being in Volantis, living like this, also meant surrender to the schemes and games of Dila Maegyr.

He fixed Dila with a pointed look, his tone sharper than it had been all evening. “And what would you know about being a dragon, Dila?”

She blinked, momentarily taken aback. The playful arrogance in her eyes faltered, only for a moment, before curling into something sharper. She hadn’t expected this. She had assumed she had him cornered, wrapped neatly around her finger, a Valyrian prince ripe for manipulation. But this flash of defiance, this sudden fire in him—it surprised her. It amused her.

“More than you do, it seems,” she replied, her voice as smooth as silk, the trace of a smile playing on her lips. “You act like a dragon’s strength is something to run from, something to fear. But power, Aegon, is not a burden. It’s a gift.”

Aegon’s eyes darkened. “Power’s a gift to those who know how to use it. To those who are wanted.”

“And you think you aren’t wanted?” Dila leaned closer, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You were the center of everything tonight. The Vala. The son of Valyria returned. You think they were chanting for nothing? You think they care about the past you’ve run from?”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening. “You don’t know anything about the past I’ve run from.”

Dila’s smile widened, her amusement deepening. “Then enlighten me. Tell me about this tragic past you can’t seem to outrun. Or is that just another excuse to hide from what you’re meant to be?”

He leaned in, his voice a low growl, barely above a whisper. “I’m not hiding.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though the amusement never left them. “No? What do you call running away from your birthright, then?”

Aegon’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “What would you know of birthrights, Dila? Yours was handed to you, wrapped in silk and tied with a bow. You’ve never had to fight for anything.”

Dila’s amusement flickered, her expression hardening in response. She straightened, her body stiffening but not pulling away from him. “You think I don’t fight every day? You think I’ve been allowed to reach this far without knowing how to sharpen my claws?” She shook her head, her tone dropping into something colder. “You have no idea what it’s like to fight in a cage, Aegon. To be seen only for your bloodline and your womb.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, not backing down. “And yet, here you are. You’ve done nothing but climb. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be disregarded your entire life.”

“You think I’m privileged?” Dila laughed softly, incredulous, though the bitterness was unmistakable. “You, the dragon prince? No, Aegon. You didn’t run because you lacked of privilege. You ran because you couldn’t bear the weight of not knowing if you were worthy of it.”

He flinched at that, the words striking closer than she likely intended. He took a breath, steadying himself before he spoke. “Maybe you’re right. But this—this life of yours, this world of schemes and ambition—it’s no different. The moment they’re done using me, the moment I don’t fit into your plans, I’ll be discarded. Just like before.”

Dila’s smile returned, a slow, serpentine curve. “You underestimate your value, Aegon. You’re not just a pawn in our games. You’re the king on the board.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping lower. “And I don’t think you’ll be discarded so easily. Not by me.”

There was a moment of silence, the tension between them thickening. Despite the sharpness of their exchange, their bodies remained close, the heat between them unmistakable. Aegon’s gaze drifted to her lips, then back to her eyes, his pulse quickening. He felt the pull of her, the same dangerous allure that had hovered over their every encounter. He hated her arrogance, her inability to understand him, but at the same time, he was drawn to it. She was fire and steel, everything he had fled from, yet everything he found impossible to resist.

“And you,” he said, his voice a little hoarser now, “you think you’ve got me all figured out. Think I’m just another tool to get you where you want to go.”

Her smile didn’t falter. “I don’t think, Aegon. I know.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” he murmured, leaning closer, the space between them vanishing until he could feel the warmth of her breath. “What if I’m more dangerous than you think?”

Dila’s eyes flickered, the amusement in them deepening, even as her pulse quickened. “Then show me,” she whispered.

His lips hovered close to hers, the temptation thick in the air. There was nothing but the sound of their breaths, the muted music of the celebration drifting through the gardens. But just beyond them, in the adjoining courtyard, Qorlo moved among the other guests, his laughter booming over the din.

Aegon hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the sound. Dila’s hand came to rest on his chest, her fingers curling against the fabric of his tunic. She leaned in, her lips brushing his for just one moment.

Aegon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move. The temptation was there, the pull undeniable, but so was the voice in his head—reminding him of what had happened the last time he had let himself be seduced by power, by the promises of someone else’s game.

He stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

Dila’s eyes darkened, her amusement fading slightly as she watched him retreat. But there was no disappointment in her gaze—only intrigue.

“You’re still running,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with challenge. “But for how long, Aegon? Sooner or later, you’ll stop. And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

Aegon didn’t reply, but the tension between them hung heavy in the air, unresolved and dangerous.

That night felt like a cruel jest. The music had long since died away, the streets of Volantis lay in hushed stillness, and the palace itself slumbered in silence. Yet all Aegon could hear were Dila’s cries of pleasure.

Qorlo had come to collect her, as though she owed him her attention, and Dila had transformed in an instant. Her practiced mask slipped effortlessly back into place, her face serene, unreadable. Aegon had craned his neck from his palanquin to theirs, unable to resist stealing a glimpse. The light curtains offered no real barrier, and the shapes beyond were unmistakable. He saw Qorlo’s thick hands undo Dila’s dress with ease, saw the way he slid his arms around her to grasp her breasts, his face buried in the curve of her neck.

But even that had not been the worst of it.

Later, as Aegon lay on the luxurious silk bed in his borrowed chamber, his ears still rang with the echoes of the evening’s celebration. They had chanted his name, called him Vala, yet none of it mattered. The only sound that remained, that tormented him, was the voice of the woman he craved calling out another man’s name.

She’s lying, he told himself, clinging to the thought like a drowning man to driftwood. She had to be lying.

Aegon had always prided saw through Dila’s deception, at least so he believed. And now, in the dark, he clung to that belief. She’s lying, he thought again, more fiercely this time. She has to be.

Because anything else was unbearable.

#aegon #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon x oc #hotd #hotd fanfic

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sayakxmi · 1 year ago

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So, I made that post earlier, that I can’t help but view Mori as depressed and passively suicidal, and I wanted to elaborate on it, now that I have the time.

I’d say that one of the first things that gave me that idea was the fact that Mori saw himself in Dazai. A child that he’s known by the time he says it for about a year. And even now, honestly, we all know very little beyond that. Dazai is a genius, and he’s also suicidal. He sees no value in life, his or otherwise (at the time). (Fifteen).

That last part specifically made me think. We all know Mori is pretty much synonymous with utilitarianism. His actions are always meant to serve the greater purpose (victory in war, keeping Yokohama safe), and if he needs to sacrifice a person to gain something that serves these goals, he will. But I think it’s worth noting that Mori doesn’t seem to view himself as an exception. A good hint at that is him letting himself get captured, so he could find out the location of a hostile (for Yokohama) criminal organization’s hideout. As well as his entire view on leadership, specifically when he says “The leader stands at the top of the organization, but is also its slave.” (Fifteen). Mori does not consider what he does a fun activity. He views it as a necessary burden somebody had to bear, and it just so happens that he is the person best equipped for this sort of role. And, frankly, he’s right.

But here’s the interesting bit. While it wasn’t said word for word, it’s strongly implied that Mori becoming the Boss of Port Mafia wasn’t his idea.

[Fukuzawa: This, today. After all, we only crushed a small catastrophe. As long as the atrocities of the Port Mafia exist, disasters will continue to occur.

Mori: I understand that. Which is why I agreed to join Natsume sensei’s “tripartite tactic”.]

Now, I’ve said “strongly implied”, because it is possible that he’d considered the idea of usurping the Old Boss for Yokohama’s sake, but I don’t recall it being specified anywhere. What we do have here, though, is Mori agreeing with Fukuzawa that if the current (at the time) Mafia wasn’t stopped, things would’ve just keep getting worse, and followed it with “Which is why I agreed to join Natsume-sensei’s ‘tripartite tactic’”.

It’s very reasonable to interpret it as Mori never wanting to become the Boss in the first place. And, to add to this point, we even know that Mori isn’t actually happy there.

By the end of Fifteen, as he speaks with Chuuya about leadership, these specific quotes caught my attention:

“He closed his eyes, then opened them again. Then, with a genuine look that nobody had ever seen before, said [...]”

And when Chuuya answers him, showing his understanding and respect for the role Mori’d accepted to play, we have this:

“The smile on his face was different from any smile he had had before―a kind [...] that ordinary humans wore when they were happy.”

It’s hard to say if these words were meant to be taken literally, but whether you do or not, it still leads to the conclusion that Mori’s rarely open about his feelings (I know, I know, shocker), and that he’s rarely if ever happy.

Actually, that one time when it’s confirmed in writing that he’s genuinely happy, is right after he’s offered understanding from somebody else. Everything else is up to be deduced from what we can see, but I can imagine that in line with that, he’s also happy to hear Kouyou say that she’d rather stay in the Mafia and help him out, than leave (Chapter 37).

All in all, it seems pretty sad. He’s repeatedly thrust into situations (war, mafia) which, with his mindset, make him take the role of a monster, a role he doesn’t actually enjoy but considers a necessity, which, understandably, makes people loathe him. It leaves him lonely and misunderstood, a fate he accepts, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Which is what leads me to the conclusion that he could be depressed and passively suicidal. I mean, it must be tiring to live that kind of life. I wouldn’t expect him to actually want to kill himself, but I can absolutely see him thinking every so often about going to sleep and never waking up again.

#mori ougai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #tw depression #tw passive suicidal ideation #honestly it's essentially me backing up my headcanon with some evidence and a lot of speculation

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kdinjenzen · 2 years ago

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Would you happen to have your post about puss in boots' Death and thier role in the story on hand? Ive been lookin but i must be blind but i cant seem to find it

I never made a proper one, but I did reblog some stuff, I posted a biiiit more about it now but it’s not anything in depth.

I know a lot of folks see Death, The Wolf, as antagonistic or evil in the movie but… Death is part of life, Death is just there, and he’s frustrated with Puss just throwing lives away.

Death basically shows his hand early, but Puss is too afraid to realize that Death is MOTIVATING him to move forward and find an answer to what LIFE means and why it’s important.

If he wanted Puss DEAD he would have just killed him, he was already there for all of them. He’s DEATH. Not like… personified… he’s just DEATH in a physical form for the sake of the DRAMA of it all and the ACT.

See this as a great example:

First Life: Oh, you think you are better than us? Without us, you will always live a life of-

Death: Fear.

Puss: You!?

Death: I do love the smell of fear. (sniffs) It's intoxicating.

Third Life: It is?

Death: (smashes third life) Sorry to crash the party with your past lives, or, your past deaths, as I like to call them. (smashes first life) I was there to witness all of them. Each. Frivolous. End. But you... didn't even notice me. Because "Puss in Boots laughs in the face of Death", right? (smashes two more lives) But you're not laughing now... (pushes fourth life)

Puss: You are no bounty hunter. You are...

Death: DEATH. (smashes another life) And I don't mean it metaphorically, or rhetorically, or poetically, or theoretically, or any other fancy way. I'm Death. Straight. Up. And I've come for you, Puss in Boots.

Puss: But... I'm still alive.

Death: (chuckles) You know... I'm not a cat person. I find the very idea of nine lives absurd. And you didn't value any of them. So, why don't I do us both a favor, and take this last one now?

Second Life: That's cheating!

Death: (smashes second life) Shh, Don't tell.

Eighth Life: Run, Puss in Boots! Make the wish!

Death: (smashes eighth life) Go ahead, run for it! Makes it more fun for me.

… why would he do this? Why would he let him go? “Make it more fun for me?” I don’t buy it.

Death already knows where Puss is at any and every moment.

Death left Puss alone when he retired and, while it was boring, began to change his thoughts on things slightly.

Puss jumped BACK into danger to “get his lives back” so Death sprung back into action because Puss was back on the path of destruction.

Here’s the other thing… Death is DEATH… he knows when it’s people’s time to go. Which means he also had to have known Puss needed to be around to stop Jack, be around to help his new found friend, be there to regain a lost relationship, and also be there to help Goldilocks to “regain” her family.

Death isn’t uncaring… Death wants to meet Puss when it’s actually his time… Puss was going against this by being neglectful with his life.

Puss just needed to be reminded that it’s not how you die, in some heroic blaze of glory, but how you live… how you are remembered and cherished beyond your time on this planet…

Puss is a good person, but he just wasn’t being respectful of his own life and that made Death frustrated and angry.

Again… if Death wanted him dead, he could have done it at the start of the movie… he’s DEATH… straight up, not a metaphor, not “in an aspect”, he is DEATH…

It was all for show, all because that’s what Puss needed… the theatrics of it all … just to help a hero who has helped others realize his OWN worth beyond throwing his life away.

The lesson here… care about yourself, Death doesn’t want to meet you before your time. Value every second of the life you have.

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kindheart525 · 10 months ago

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Red Cedar paced around the basement where her band normally held their practices, no song in her heart but a cacophony of feelings as she wasn’t here to make music this time. She had set up a board covered in pictures, lists, and letters to make sense of her feelings. Or at least, try to.

Unable to come up with any solutions herself, Cedar had enlisted her sister, Blue Velvet, and her bandmate, Blueberry Sticks, to give her advice. For now, they sat listening as she rambled on and on.

“-and that’s why I just don’t know what to do! I’m attracted to both of them, and I know I shouldn’t be! But I can’t make myself stop! Do you two have ANY ideas?”

Blueberry looked over the board with a smirk on her face.

“Yeah, I say we turn this into the Hissing Roaches’ next single. It’d be a hit!”

Blue Velvet nudged her disapprovingly.

“Oh, you mean like, actual advice?”

Cedar nodded frantically.

“YES!”

Blue Velvet pondered for a moment, twirling her mane as she mulled over the situation.

“There are lots of different types of crushes. You can be attracted to their body, or their personality, or just the IDEA of a relationship. Remind me what you like about Brackish?”

“I don’t even know how to describe it! It’s like he unlocked these...awful desires I didn’t even know I had! He’s handsome, he’s mysterious, he’s strong, and he made me feel small but in a good way. When he saved me from drowning and told me to be careful I just...melted. He made me feel taken care of.”

Cedar looked at the photo of Brackish pinned to the board and swooned a little.

“He makes you feel...small? And you want that? What kind of oppression kink—“

“Doesn’t Rainier take care of you too? How is he different?”

Blue Velvet inquired, speaking over Blueberry before she could embarrass her more conservative sister further.

“Of course he does, he’s a perfect gentlecolt! He always communicates with me before doing anything and he goes above and beyond with letting me know he loves me. Just look at the letters he’s written me!”

Cedar pointed at a few papers scattered around the board.

“I can really see a future with him. He respects me and treats me like an equal partner. But Brackish is new and mysterious; he’s not an open book like Rainier but it’s like I want to figure him out. He seems to know how to treat a mare like...a mare.”

“Wait, you’re saying you DON’T want to be treated like an equal partner? Are you shitting me?”

Blueberry snorted.

“You’d give up the good thing you got with Rainier to run after a guy you barely know? And not even a good one, this one sounds like a real asshole. He’s obviously trying to get in your head and you’re just letting him! And he clearly doesn’t respect you. I don’t know what the hell you mean by ‘treating a mare like a mare’ but you need to get your head screwed on right.”

“I think what she means to say is, Rainier treats you really well and communicates with you. So you should do the same for him. Talk to him before making any big decisions. Think it through. You two have something really special and I don’t think it’s worth letting go of.”

Blueberry nodded in agreement.

��Yeah, I don’t think we’re the ones you should be talking to here.”

Cedar’s heart dropped as she realized what she had to do. They were right, if she valued communication she had to put it into practice herself. No matter how much it hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Shaking In Her Horseshoes Next: Hesitation

#KindsArt #auraverse #heart and a hard place #red cedar #blue velvet #blueberry sticks #rainier #brackish #story piece #next generation #my little pony #mlp fim #mlp g4

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somewhat-insane · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows of the Beach: Chapter One

(Here's the masterpost.)

Remnants of His Past

Pairing: Ao Lie/Sun Wukong/Macaque

Rating: Teen and up Audiences (for mild language)

Tags: Playful Banter, Flashbacks, Teasing, Awkwardness, Slow Burn, Background Freenoodles

A/N: This is my first time posting any of my fics on Tumblr so the formatting may be a bit off, feel free to read it on Ao3 instead if that makes you more comfortable ;3.

Summary:

As if the entire situation with Azure Lion hadn't been world-shattering (quite literally) enough, Wukong gains information that sends him spiraling.

What is one to do when it turns out your best friend/kind of homoerotic lover didn't actually die and now you have to introduce him to your ex-best friend/other kind of homoerotic lover?

Visits to Pigsy's noodles had recently become relatively routine for Sun Wukong.

It was good eating, that he already knew ever since Pigsy took over the shop, but before he had always just had them delivered (Tang, he remembered, had briefly done the deliveries for Pigsy in turn for free noodles, which explained why Pigsy had yet to kick the “freeloader” out, that and, at some point along the line, they had gotten “married” (it wasn’t really a wedding at all, not legally anyway, but they considered eachother married and that was enough for them)… which Wukong, having known them in their past lives was… very conflicted about.) He could just make noodles with his powers but there was something nostalgic about the taste and smell of Pigsy’s noodles that reminded Wukong of deep laughter around the campfire and calloused, hard-working hands that meant well despite their owner’s arrogance and aggression.

Even before he and MK had officially met (or before MK had learned Wukong had been watching him which, okay, now that he mentioned it, it did sound kind of creepy,) Wukong would order and set the address as some random abandoned house or temple where he would utilize his 72 transformations to retrieve it.

Or, alternatively, he would send a clone out into the city to pick it up, but that was riskier as his clones had something of a habit of getting hit by cars and mortals weren’t exactly used to having the person they hit with their car poof into magical smoke. Perhaps he should’ve expected embodiments of his centuries-old magic might not be entirely “up to date” with modern-day civilization, especially back when he was hiding out like a hermit.

Comparatively, when he had it delivered, after having figured out how phones worked, the hardest part was always hiding his tail. Which normally wasn’t that much of an issue but…

Look, it wasn’t his fault he got so excited at the idea of food! It probably made it worse that the cooking really did remind him of when Zhu Bajie had finally gotten the hang of it. A little more modern though but not to the point of the frozen mass-produced meat that the rest of the city used. No, Pigsy still made all of his meals by hand, the difference coming from the more modernized techniques people had learned to use to draw out the flavor more. In some cases, outside of Pigsy’s Noodles, what people do to enhance their food was borderline poisonous to the human body but if Wukong had learned anything over the years it was that humans valued very little more than money. They’re not the only species that eat what is essentially poison to them. Like, koalas for instance. None of that affected him though, not being a particularly big fan of cooked food (with the exception of Pigsy’s noodles), as he was a monkey, and he was immortal, so he didn’t really care.

He had started actually going into the shop after the scroll incident, partially because he was growing closer to the crew, and–even if the memories still made him fidgety around them–he had started seeing them as their own people and not the friends he used to be acquainted with. Beyond that, his time in the scroll had kicked up some old feelings inside of him that he didn’t exactly want to face on his own. Not that he would talk about his feelings or anything–that wasn’t exactly his style–but his thoughts weren’t as loud when he surrounded himself with small talk and idle banter which came surprisingly easy when it came to the crew. It allowed him to fall into the familiar pattern of ignoring festering problems until they blew up in his face.

Perhaps that’s why he tended to turn everything into a joke or a game, it made it easier to ignore everything.

Eh, he wasn’t going to think too much about it right now.

As he flew over the water on his cloud, he reminded himself that, this time, as he was headed to the small hole-in-the-wall establishment, he was not coming for noodles and banter.

Roughly half an hour earlier, MK had relayed a message to him via telepathic communication (he didn’t get a nosebleed this time! … though he did stub his toe while distracted.) Apparently, the nerd- er, Tang (he had promised himself he would start actually calling them by their names… no matter how much inner turmoil it caused him) had a theory he wanted Wukong’s opinion on… or something like that, admittedly MK’s explanation was rather vague which was… out of character for the boy who had seemingly picked up his father’s tendency to ramble.

Again, Wukong decided not to think too much about it.

Having to talk to Tang about theories and the like was something he was used to as Tang had jumped at the opportunity to gain more insight into the Journey to the West through Wukong’s own experiences but this seemed… different. Something in the way MK seemed more… hesitant made him uneasy.

This unease was only heightened when he dispelled his Nimbus and landed in front of the building, only to walk in and see the entire group (Pigsy, Tang, MK, Mei, Sandy, and even Mo) there waiting expectantly for him.

Now, he knew it wasn’t exactly uncommon for them to be there all at once since they seemed to all have been friends long before Wukong became a present being in their dynamic, and group meet-ups had become a semi-regular occurrence for the crew after the scroll incident; they all tried to find times when everyone was free and would hang out over a movie or a barbeque, talking and laughing and digging up old wounds because Sandy’s soft smile reminds Wukong of the way Sha Wujing would encourage them all, Pigsy’s laugh is a bit too similar to Zhu Bajie’s - a hearty sound Wukong would never forget for the joy it stirred inside of him - and Tang seemed to have Tripitaka’s tendency to fidget when nervous, but it wasn’t exactly common either.

All eyes turned to him making Wukong shift uncomfortably with the attention as he chuckled nervously, “Uh, heh, is this an intervention or something?”

Idly he was reminded of the scolding looks he would get from the Jade Emperor or Guanyin when he had done something bad, but he also recognized the looks as something more akin to what he received from his master, a pitying look. A concerned look.

…

Was this an intervention!?

MK, being the absolutely amazing person he is, offered a soft–if not slightly pitying–smile in response to his mentor’s joke but the expression didn’t reach his eyes, and his brows were furrowed slightly, almost as if in thought.

After a moment, his strained smile falls away and he averts his eyes to a random spot on the ground, idly fiddling with his keychain, the soft jingle it brought being the only noise throughout the room.

Wukong’s smile also falls in response to the absence of MK’s and he sits down at the counter with a rare serious expression on his face.

“Alright, what’s the bad news? We got another big bad headed our way?” he asks, tail flicking anxiously as he studies everyone’s expressions, trying to gauge what could be happening.

The group shared an apprehensive look before Tang sighed, opening and closing his mouth as if at a loss for words–or afraid to speak the ones he did have–before he nervously slid a scroll toward Wukong. Wukong raised a brow, unfurling the scroll and letting his eyes skim over the contents.

Contrary to popular belief, he could read, he wrote a letter and made that game to teach MK about the importance of setting up a counter attack instead of just using brute force, but now, he was almost convinced otherwise.

His brows furrowed as he looked over it again and again, not believing what he saw on the page.

Finally, he resigns himself to the reality he was being exposed to and his jaw clenches as he looks over at the others with stern, searching eyes, each of them waiting with bated breath for his reaction, which luckily wasn’t as immediately explosive as they expected.

Immediantely being the key word there.

Wukong thought he was done.

He thought he was done with his buried feelings about his past being dug up and shoved in his face like his old laundry when Macaque finds it on the ground. (As much as he enjoyed being on speaking terms with Macaque again, he could’ve lived without the other constantly berating his slobish lifestyle.)

As soon as he confirmed what he was reading with the others, he had burst out of the shop (quite literally as he had broke a hole through the wall,) and headed back toward Flower Fruit Mountain.

Logically, Wukong knew the peace he had found amongst MK and the others wouldn’t last forever and he would have to continue facing his inner turmoils just like MK and Sandy had been helping him to and how life had been pushing him to. Being immortal and all, things were bound to resurface sooner or later, but for crying out loud life could’ve at least given him a month without a mental breakdown!

The fly back to Flower Fruit Mountain was the same as it always had been, though a large chunk of the mountain, along with his hut and most of his treasure heap, had been taken out during the battle with Azure. While inconvenient, the situation wasn’t something Wukong couldn’t adapt to, a small cabin now sat on the beach of the island, just beyond the treeline, as a testament to that.

For the second time that day, Wukong found himself dispelling his cloud and landing, this time on sand, stumbling a bit amidst his urgency. When the sand that had been kicked up from his landing settled and he regained his balance, he prepared to dart into the cabin but paused, seeing a figure near his hut, shadow magic dancing around them as they instructed two others seemingly born of the shadows to do… something. Wukong couldn’t really tell from here.

The being was clearly aware of Wukong’s presence as three of his six ears were angled towards him, presumably listening to what he was doing but too preoccupied to give him their entire attention just yet.

“Macaque?” Wukong called, hesitantly moving towards him, catching the attention of the two shadow creatures, who Wukong vaguely remembered as Rumble and Savage, “what are you doing here-”

Wukong is interrupted by a sigh from Macaque, who still hasn’t turned around to look at him, making Rumble and Savage chuckle to each other before being shut up, presumably with a glare from Macaque who finally turns around to face Wukong with a forced smirk, “putting the finishing touches your cabin like I agreed I would. Or have you already forgotten? I’m not surprised, you’ve never really been able to fit much up there,” Macaque then turns his head towards Rumble and Savage who seem amused at the interaction, “a moment of silence, please, for this poor fool’s intelligence.”

Rumble and Savage chuckle once again and this time, Macaque allows it, looking at Wukong with that stupid smug face he makes when he believes he’s getting under Wukong’s skin. And he is, because he knows exactly how.

But he doesn’t have time for that right now. So instead of making a snarky remark in turn, he takes a deep breath in through his nose, the voice of his master echoing through his head as he urges himself to calm down.

“No violence, Monkey.”

“Anger will not serve you.”

“Caution, Wukong, listen to what is being said.”

That last one… wasn’t his master.

The memory of Ao Lie’s voice urging him to wait and listen before striking gave birth to a fresh wave of urgency in Wukong’s soul, but he paused to remember the context of his words…

“We have no reason to trust that flea-ridden pest!” Zhu Bajie’s gruff voice had rang out around the campsite, grating on Wukong’s already frayed nerves, “one should trust not the being who needs to be kept on a leash!”

Wukong’s eye twitched in irritation as the only nerve left that seemed to be tying him to his sanity was struck and he grit his teeth, finally dropping down from the tree he had been hiding in, “that ‘leash’ is the very reason one should trust me you overgrown hog!”

“Zhu Bajie, Sun Wukong-” their master had tried to intervene, only to easily be talked over by the more boisterous pig.

“My words weren’t directed toward you, runt,” the pig spat toward Wukong.

“Your words are unfounded, swine,” Wukong grit out with clenched fists, willing himself not to attack, the only thing detering him being the threat of the golden fillet. His “leash” as the swine so distastefully called it.

A hand on his shoulder made Wukong jolt slightly, turning his searing gaze toward the person next to him, expecting to see Sha Wujing, only to falter when instead he saw Ao Lie, the white horse dragon he hadn’t yet become well acquainted with.

“Caution, Wukong, listen to what is being said. I do not believe you are hearing the words for all they are,” he spoke, voice gentle and melodic, a nice change from the gruff sound of the pig, “I should suggest patience.”

The words confused Wukong and he frowned, “what do you imply?”

“Perhaps do not listen to what the swine says, but why he says it.”

Wukong’s frown only deepened, “I know why he says it-”

“No, my friend, you think you know why he says such things. You take his aggression at surface level, but I find aggression is rarely mere aggression,” Ao Lie pauses, adding with a playful smirk, “unless the aggressor is an immortal stone monkey with no regard for those outside of his kingdom.”

Sun Wukong’s first instinct is to quip back defensively in response to that last part, but as the first part registers he pauses, and he wrinkles his nose in confusion and distaste, “you speak words of a fool, aggression is nothing but.”

“He is afraid, my friend. And I find I can’t blame him, your legacy proceeds you,” Ao Lie hums, “perhaps the real fool would be one who so easily trusts a man known for his lack of empathy towards anyone but himself.”

A smirk finds its way onto Wukong’s lips, “so you call yourself a fool?”

“One finds it bold to assume I trust you,” Ao Lie replies easily, unaffected by Wukong’s words.

The monkey watched with wide, curious eyes as Ao Lie moved to sit with their master, easily starting up idle chatter.

With a frown, Wukong’s gaze trailed over to the swine who was being calmed down by Sha Wujing. The monkey’s brow furrowing in thought.

Trust… it’s been a long time since he’s had to, or wanted to for that matter, earn trust. He usually just scared people into submission. He hasn’t needed to work for trust since…

Since, well, him…

Wukong let out his breath.

Listen… what else was being said, what was Wukong not hearing?

Macaque shouldn’t be afraid… he couldn’t be.

What were his exact words before he defaulted to mockery?

“putting the finishing touches your cabin like I agreed I would. Or have you already forgotten?”

Of course he hadn’t forgotten! When your ex-best friend agrees to help build you a temporary cabin it’s not exactly something that just slips your mind. Did Macaque…

Did Macaque really believe he was that unimportant to him?

“I didn’t forget,” Wukong finally said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible to not come off as defensive, the response making Macaque raise a brow, obviously not what he expected, “I was going to ask, what are you doing here alone? Wasn’t Sandy supposed to help you finish up?”

Macaque looks taken aback for a moment, even Rumble and Savage’s expressions fall. After a moment, Macaque pulls himself from his shock with a scoff and looks away, crossing his arms, “he said one of his cats got sick and he’s busy taking care of it.”

Wukong makes a small, “oh” noise and is about to consider going to check on the big guy (he’s been helping Wukong and Macaque a lot when it comes to the “not killing each other” stuff) but then he remembers what he was doing in the first place, “oh, right!”

“Huh?” Before Macaque can even ask what Wukong’s talking about, the golden furred monkey had darted into the cabin, leaving nothing but kicked up sand in his wake. Macaque coughs and waves it out of his face, grimacing as he takes note of how much got in his fur.

“Damn you Wukong…” Macaque growls, turning to Rumble and Savage, “you two finish up here, I’ll go make sure he’s not doing anything stupid.”

The two shadow beings give him a mock salute and Macaque levels them with a knowing glare, “and don’t break anything.”

They nod nervously, sighing in relief once Macaque disappears into a shadow to follow Wukong. Silently, they look at each other, mischievous grins growing across their faces as they agreed that they were, indeed, going to break something.

Macaque uses Wukong’s shadow to follow him into the spare room where the remnants of the treasure hoard were stored. Most of it was stuff that couldn’t be destroyed, but there were some nick-nacks here and there that, despite all odds, survived with minimal damage. There was a monkey cop figure that had its face melted off that Wukong insisted on keeping though. Macaque still regularly had nightmares of that thing coming alive to murder him.

Wukong sifts throught the piles, panic obvious in the way he moves, seemingly searching for something.

Brows furrowing in confusion and possibly slight concern, Macaque emerges from the shadows and crosses his arms, “what’s gotten into you, Wukong?”

Said monkey’s ear twitches but he doesn’t respond immediately, diving into another pile. Macaque is about to say something again before Wukong pops back out, tail flicking in irritation, seemingly not being able to find what he was looking for. With a sigh, Wukong looks up at Macaque, eyes stern but glimmering with concern, “Ao Lie might be alive.” Macaque has to take a second to digest this information, eyes going wide, “... w h a t.”

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