#even if mace is like 'I wish you two were still refusing to talk about your issues' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzsauce01 · 4 years ago

Text

King of Hearts

Synopsis: The king of hearts has a very special surprise planned for his queen. Heavy inspiration from Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass.

Warning: murder

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x king!Chan

The throne room looks best at night when the moonlight spills through the giant glass windows and illuminates the wall of weapons behind the throne. It is an odd array of mostly clubs, maces, and swords, but dead center in the wall and above the plush red velvet seat of the king is a heavy double-bladed axe. Crafted and honed to be as sharp as a diamond knife, it is the perfect tool for executions.

Tomorrow evening it’s gleaming, polished surface will splattered with the blood of a queen.

The king allows himself to admire his collection of weaponry for another minute before returning to his bedchambers where his wife is surely missing his warm presence.

“Good morning, sweet tart,” your husband purrs into your ear. “It’s a special day today.”

You have been awake for the past hour, pretending to be fast asleep when you were actually sneaking glances of Chan in various states of undress. However, you keep your eyes closed and your breathing steady, knowing that he will start planting kisses down your jaw if you��re not awake soon.

“I know you’re not really sleeping,” he continues. He taps the corner of your mouth, and you try not to smile. “I saw you looking earlier.”

You give up the charade and sit up. “Can you blame me?” you grin. “You always dress so nicely for court trials. How many are on the agenda today?”

“Four,” he replies, pulling you closer to him. You playfully squirm in his embrace, and he placates you with exactly four kisses on the crown of your head. “Will you be attending?”

You sink into him and wish you could stay there all day. Just the thought of your own schedule tires you. “I have to ‘entertain’ my sister.”

Chan’s throaty chuckle rumbles against your cheek. “Just until dinnertime, sweet tart. Then you’ll be free.”

“I know. Thank goodness she’ll be busy after dinner.”

Reluctantly you let go of your husband and stumble out of bed. Your dreadful sister will nag at you in that awful harpy-esque way of hers if you’re even a second late to breakfast. Chan makes a feeble attempt to grab your wrist before following you to the vanity.

“Is the king not needed in court yet?” you tease as you brush out the tangles in your hair.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and presses his cheek against yours. “I’m missing something.”

It’s a silly tradition from your courting days: a kiss for each departure. He insisted on keeping it even when the two of you married, and you happily obliged. You turn to peck him on the cheek, but he twists his head so that your lips land onto his. He laughs at your noise of surprise and kisses you like he’s never going to see you again. It has been a while since Chan has been this intimate with you, and you eagerly return his affections.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you remark when he finally pulls away. You feel warm all over, but Chan is as composed as ever.

He smiles, full dimples showing. “It’s a special day today.”

“Goodbye, darling,” you say as you watch him leave the room through the vanity mirror.

He gives you one last glance before disappearing through the door. You note that he didn’t bother to fix his mussed up hair and giggle when you picture how he’ll look with the crown on his head.

It’s a good start to a bad day.

“You’re late,” is what your older sister greets you with.

You sit across from her at the dining table and do your best not to scowl. You wonder how the servants feel about her. There are none in the room, so in typical fashion, she must have dismissed them for one negligible reason or another. “Good morning to you too, Nari.”

“What are you wearing? Does this kingdom only wear red and black?” she continues. She picks up her cup of tea and stares at you above the lip, waiting for you to explain. Even with a team of royal advisors and a sister married to a foreign king, she still refuses to learn anything about kingdoms other than her own.

You sigh and try to remember Chan’s words. You only have to suffer through this until dinner and then your sister will finally be gone. “It’s a court day, so everyone wears red and black. It’s custom.”

“You and your frivolous trials,” she scoffs. “What’s the point when they’re all guilty anyway? So, are you going to ask about my trip? Where are your manners, little sister?”

You’re certain she means well when she nags you, but it doesn’t make it any less irritating. “How is everything at home?” you ask instead, knowing that will produce a shorter answer.

“Fine. Felix is ruling in my stead, but most of my advisors are with him, so he’ll have no trouble with it.” Nari picks up a scone topped with confectioner’s sugar and eyes it curiously before taking a bite. “Your sweets are quite good.”

You primly nod and pour yourself a cup of tea. Breakfast is mostly silent, and you’re glad that you nor your sister care to make conversation. You can barely stand her when she’s in a tolerable mood, and it seems like she’s nothing of the sort today. Her usual haughty disposition is only tempered by her breakfast of sweets. Nari seems to be enjoying the food with less complaints than usual, and you feel just a bit smug.

When the servants come to clear away the plates, you hollowly suggest to show Nari the rose gardens. She cheerfully agrees and links arms with you as you lead her outside.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling to have her so close to you after you haven’t seen her in a year. It’s even odder when you realize that she hasn’t linked arms with you since you were five and she eight. You mindlessly point out a few varieties of flowers on the way to the garden and wonder why your normally cold sister has turned warm.

“Is everything alright?” you ask once you have led her to the middle of the garden. The sweet scent of the roses always relaxes you, and hopefully they will do the same for Nari. “You’re acting strange all of a sudden.”

She lets you go and stands in front of you. “Your husband. I don’t like him.”

“We courted for two years,” you remind her, frowning at the memory of her telling you the same thing when Chan first arrived at your home. “And we’re married now. I know you don’t like him, but there’s nothing you can do now.”

She shakes her head. “Do you know what the village girls call him? I stopped in town yesterday, and all the girls could talk about was Chan, the King of Hearts! They went on and on about his ‘perfect face’ and ‘perfect body.’ Think about what he’s done to get such a name!”

“Be an eligible, handsome future king?” You sigh and grab a nearby rose to stick your nose in. You will not give her the satisfaction of setting you off. “Nari,” you begin, your terse voice muffled by the petals, “it’s natural that you want to protect me, but if you’re only here to criticize Chan, then I’m not sure what to do with you during your stay.”

“I saw him stare at me when I arrived last night,” she protests. “Like an animal, unabashed.”

You almost snort at her claim. If anything, Chan dislikes Nari more than you do due to her constant nitpicks of him during the courting years. The incessant “You will never be good enough for her” and “Stay away from my siblings” surprisingly did not deter him from proposing to you.

“I’m sure it was disdain, not lust,” you dryly reply.

“I feel like I’m being watched in this place,” she continues, ignoring your remark. “I don’t trust him or anyone here.”

No wonder why she suddenly put on a facade the moment the servants stepped in the dining room.

“What do you think of the garden?” you ask to change the subject. You cannot fight with her on court day and with so many guests in the castle. “These are our prized roses. Chan said it took the gardeners and florists years to breed them.”

Nari glances at the flower you hold and purses her lips. “It looks like someone painted a white rose red. There’s still spots of white on them. You’re certain they were bred and not painted?”

You swallow the retort in your throat and reach out for another rose to inhale. Nari is just being Nari.

“How about a game of croquet?” You take her elbow and start leading her to the croquet court without waiting for a response. “I think you’ll enjoy it. I’ll teach you how to play.”

Nari roughly snatches her arm back, and her eyes flash with an unfamiliar fire. “You’re not taking any of this seriously, little sister. All the village tarts have likely been with him already, so you mean nothing to him! Isn’t that his cute, little pet name for you too? ‘Sweet tart?’ You’re pathetic.”

For all Nari has said in the past, she has never directly insulted you like this. The fragile restraint you have on your emotions snaps.

“You just hate Chan because he didn’t want to marry you!” you shout, pointing an accusing finger at her. “You’re just bitter that he chose me instead of you! And do you know why he and no one else likes you? Because you’re a cold, angry, bitter hag that nitpicks everything! And you think you’re such a perfect ruler, but the truth is that your advisors hate you and like Felix better! I bet the entire kingdom is happier without you!”

It comes out in one long breath, and you’re red in the face from screaming years of pent up feelings at your sister. It feels good to let it all out. With a sick sense of delight, you watch as Nari turns scarlet and as her eyes gloss over with tears.

“I’m going back to my chambers,” she frostily says.

She pushes past you, and you don’t try to follow her. Even though it’s a longer way back to the castle, you take the opposite path and head to the courtroom.

At least someone will be happy to see you.

You appear placid when you enter the courtroom, which is just the throne room with extra chairs for the jury and audience. Everyone stares at you as you walk to the empty seat reserved for you at king’s side.

“Hello, darling,” you whisper to him as you fluff out your skirts. “My sister decided to retire early to her room.”

He nods in reply and turns back to the defendant. “Proceed.”

Despite his reserved facade, he places one hand on top of yours and starts fiddling with your fingers to try and make you burst out into laughter. It’s a game you and him play during court days, and he has won the past three rounds. However, by the time the defendant is found guilty, neither of you have broken each other.

Chan calls to break for afternoon tea, but you and him linger in the empty room.

He helps you up from your seat and pulls you into an embrace in one fluid motion. “Court is much more fun with you,” he sighs into your hair. “Have I mentioned how stunning you look in red?”

“Only every time I wear it.” You reach up and brush a stray curl from his temple. “Might I say, you look even more handsome than when I saw you this morning.”

“It must be all the guilty verdicts. Are you going to watch the executions in the evening?”

“I always do.” Your eyes fall onto the double-bladed axe above the throne. “It’s my favorite part of court day.”

“I think you’ll enjoy today’s very much.” He slips his arm from your waist to your hands and begins leading you to the dining hall. “I heard the cook made jam tarts for tea today. Your favorite.”

You lean into him and smile at his pleased expression. “You requested them, didn’t you? She hasn’t made them in ages!”

“Sweet tarts for my sweet tart,” he playfully says, kissing your fingertips and making you giggle. “I thought they would make afternoon tea with your sister less awful.”

The mere mention of Nari turns your mood sour. “I hope she skips tea.”

“Did you two quarrel?”

“When do we not?”

Two servants open the door to the dining hall, and to your vast disappointment, you spot Nari seated at an empty table by a window, a cup of tea in hand. Her head is turned, and you can’t see her face, but she is the only person in the room not wearing red and black.

You hesitate by the door, and Chan nudges you toward her. “Your sister’s here.”

“Don’t you hate Nari?” you try. “Please don’t make me talk to her.”

“I do, but politics. She’s my sister-in-law” — he doesn’t even bother to hide the disgust in his voice — “and the queen of a foreign kingdom. You hate her less than I do.”

The last part is debatable. “I get a front seat at the executions tonight,” you negotiate. “And jam tarts for tea for the rest of the week.”

Chan gratefully kisses your cheek and murmurs into your ear, “You can request jam tarts from the cook whenever you like, you know. I’ll see you after.”

You should have demanded more, like handling executions instead of getting a front row seat to them. He would have never agreed to that.

While he leaves to chat with some aristocrats about the past trials, you stiffly walk towards your sister. You take the empty chair in front of her and curtly say a greeting. She says nothing and instead pours you a cup of tea. For a minute, the two of you choose to sip your drinks and nibble on the quiches and tarts.

“Have you come to apologize?” Nari says in a strange brittle way. She finally looks up from the table, and you see that her eyes are ringed with red.

You want to say no because you haven’t, but a small part of you feels guilty for making her cry. As far as you remember, Nari stopped crying when she was eight.

However, you’re still upset. “No because you’ve never apologized to me. For saying all those things about me and for being rude to Chan all the time.”

“I meant all those things.”

“So did I.”

Another silence. You sneak glances at her, and judging by the fact that she’s still chewing on the same mini quiche from two minutes ago, she’s barely holding it together.

“Here,” you abruptly say, placing a raspberry jam tart on her plate. “I know you like sweets better.”

You can see her debating whether she should take your peace offering or not. Her jaw is set as she looks down at it, but her fingers twitch like she wants to grab it and taste it.

“It’s good, I promise.”

She takes a cautious bite of it and slowly reaches for another from the tower of treats. In the meantime, you refill your cups with more tea and smirk when you see the content expression Nari has when she finishes the tart. Across the room, Chan gives you an encouraging smile at your efforts.

“How’s Felix?” you ask. Your little brother is usually a safe topic. “He’s going to be old enough to be king soon, isn’t he?”

“According to you, he’ll make a much better ruler than me,” she sniffs. “But I’m the eldest, so I was always going to be queen. Unlike whatever nonsensical laws you have here.”

She says ‘here’ like she said ‘pathetic’ earlier. Nari says something about Felix and how his studies are going, but you’re too concerned with keeping your anger in check to hear it.

“You can never leave anything alone, can you?” you snap in the midst of her spiel. You wrap all of the tarts — yes, every single one from the tea tower, much to your sister’s dismay — in a bundle of napkins and stand up. “I’ll see you at dinner, Nari.”

You hear her huff a reply about how immature you’re being, but you don’t care. On your way back to the courtroom, someone grabs your wrist and spins you toward them.

You already know it’s Chan. “I tried but—”

“Are you really going to take all those tarts and share none with me?”

“Oh?” You hold out the napkins and let him pick between raspberry jam and lemon curd. “You’re not here to come tell me to make nice with my sister?”

“I saw it wasn’t going well, so I called for court to resume in ten minutes,” he says, licking the leftover jam from his fingers. He smiles reassuringly at you. “Don’t lose your pretty head over her. She’s…”

“Annoying? Rude? Deserving of none of our kindness?”

He stifles a laugh at your tone and starts leading to the courtroom. “Difficult,” is what he finally settles upon, but you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “She won’t be a problem for you much longer though.”

“I can hardly wait until tomorrow,” you sigh. “Goodbye, dreadful Nari.”

All the pastries are finished by the time you and Chan take your designated seats. No one else has arrived yet, so Chan takes off his crown and rests his head on your shoulders. He contently sighs and nestles his face into the crook of your neck.

“I think you’ll like this trial,” he mumbles, his tickly breath making you giggle. “It’s why jam tarts have been a scarcity for the past two weeks.”

“Is the cook on the stand?” you joke. The double doors to the throne room start to open, and you raise your shoulder. “Darling.”

Within seconds, King Bang Chan is back and your adoring husband shelved away. More people fill the empty seats in the room, and you watch the entrance carefully to ensure your sister hasn’t decided to show up and make your day worse. It’s unlikely since she is bound to be upset, but you can never be too sure. As expected though, she never arrives, and you sigh in relief. When the trial begins, Chan’s hand is over yours, fiddling with your fingers again. You gladly continue the game as the defendant enters in chains, flocked by two guards.

However, no one wins. The trial is quickly over as the knave is soon found guilty of stealing fruit preserves from the royal kitchen. After the courtroom clears out and you and Chan exchange departing kisses, you retire to your chambers to get dressed for dinner while he goes off elsewhere to attend to more kingly duties.

You don’t see him again until you have finished your bath and the maids are pinning up your hair. Through the vanity mirror, you watch as he enters the bedchambers with his crown missing, hair mussed, and the top of his shirt unbuttoned.

“Hello, darling,” you call out, noticing his satisfied smile. “I see you enjoyed whatever it was that you were doing earlier.”

He gestures for the maids to leave, and they do so in a hurry. He walks over to you and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing his lips to your neck at the same time. Every part of you is hyper aware of his proximity when he mumbles, “I did.”

He protests when you lean away and weakly cite your delicate half-done updo. Despite his feelings, he gives you a kiss on your temple and goes to take his bath; dinner will be starting in an hour.

Unsure of what to make of Chan’s reply, you call the maids back in and sit like a statue while they finish your hair. Nari is wrong, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know a single thing about your husband.

Her accusations of him, however, swirl around in your head, and they are all you can think about when there are no more hair tugging and pin stabbings. When Chan emerges from his bath, whistling the cheery execution song, he grins at you and says in tune, “Have I mentioned you look beautiful in red?”

A different kind of chill washes over you, but you still reply back with a stiff smile. “Only every time I wear it.”

He walks over to you and wraps one arm around your shoulders. The scent of soap and cologne that you typically find so comforting is suddenly pungent and overpowering. You can see that his other arm is hidden behind his back, and you can’t look anywhere else.

“Here,” he says. He tucks a red-and-white rose behind your hair, and you jump a bit when you feel the dampness of the petals against your skin. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice these in the bath. They’re your favorite.”

“It’s been a long day,” you tell him. You abruptly stand up and nod to the door. “Should we get to dinner?”

He loops his arm around your waist and leads you to the dining hall. “Were those tarts not filling enough?” he teases. “Or are you just excited for the executions after?”

“I suppose both.”

The finale of court day is the last thing on your mind.

Dinner passes by in a blur. For the first time of the day, you actively look around for Nari and are shocked and disappointed when she doesn’t show up. Maybe you should have been kinder. You airily laugh at the jokes the aristocrats make and make a few of your own about the trials, but your mind and eyes go back to Chan. He sits at the head of the table and merrily cheers with others over another successful court day. You catch him gazing lovingly at you occasionally, and you don’t know what to think anymore.

Soon, the crowd gathers to the execution site outside where servants have set up chairs and lit lanterns. As promised, Chan lets you have the best seat in the house. You sit quietly while he changes into his executioner’s robes and while he is presented with his double-bladed axe.

The guards bring the criminals from the prison, their heavy chains clanging against one another. Four guilty verdicts, four heads to roll. You normally would be thrilled by this prospect, but tonight’s jubilation has been dulled. Nevertheless, you clap after each punishment and admire how clean the cuts are. The wooden chopping block soon drips with blood, and a metallic tang fills the air.

A servant comes to dispose of all the remains, and most of the audience turns to leave, but Chan still lingers around.

“There’s still one more execution left,” he announces. He wipes the blade clean and nods at the guards. “A very special one I planned in surprise for my wife.”

You hear the gasps before you can even process his words. You turn to find out what the fuss is about, and your eyes grow wide when you spot a familiar lily-white dress through the crowd.

“Darling,” you shakily ask, “what is this?”

Chan grins widely at you and readjusts the axe in his grip. “You’re going to be the queen of two kingdoms, sweet tart.”

The guards force your sister to stop in front of you, and Chan rips off the gag in front of her mouth. Nari doesn’t say a word, but the look in her eye says it all: “I told you so.”

“What is this?” you repeat. You wring your hands in the folds of your skirts and try to figure out what exactly is happening.

Your sister is about to be executed for unknown reasons, your husband seems rather nonchalant about the whole situation, and you suppose you are as well. With the chains manacled around her wrists and the guards standing behind her, Nari feels like just another criminal to be punished.

“For starters, you and I don’t like her,” Chan says, walking closer. He glances over at Nari. “She’s a terrible queen, and from what I’ve been told by my advisors, she’s too busy with pretending to be a queen to actually rule.”

“He’s a liar!” Nari spits out, flushing bright red at the allegation. “Don’t you forget that he has mistresses all over town and that you’re just another pretty plaything to him!”

The audience, having heard her accusations, gasps again, and a wave of whispers rolls through the crowd. You glance over at Chan to see his reaction.

He looks terrifying.

His usual cool composure is streaked with anger so hot, you can almost feel it radiating off of him. He thickly swallows, and his hand bearing the bloodstained axe starts to shake. His breathing turns ragged when he finally looks at Nari.

“You think that I would have an affair? You think I would be disloyal to her?” The next sentence comes out in a cold, calm breath. “I’ll execute you on that charge alone.”

“Wait!” you shout at Chan before he can drag her to the execution block. More quietly, you say, “Explain yourself. When you came into the room.”

His face softens as he realizes the implications of his earlier appearance. He cups your face with his free hand. “I was getting your sister taken to the prison. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t go on her own accord, so there was a bit of a scuffle. The guards took care of her later though. I could never be disloyal to you, Y/N.”

No pet names, no teasing. He’s dead serious.

You switch back to your sister, who is still clinging firm to her beliefs. Look at her steadfast expression! “You’re the liar,” you sardonically laugh. “You almost made me believe your lies! You… you almost turned me against my husband! And what for? Your own jealousy?”

“To protect you! And I was right too!” She sharply nods at the crowd of aristocrats. “Look at this madness! Court days and execution parties?”

“Like you don’t order the deaths of criminals yourself!” You motion for the guards to take her to the execution block. You hate her so much right now, and you can barely see past the haze of red overtaking your vision. “Goodbye, Nari.”

“So you’re just going to let him kill me?” she yells. She tries to grab your shoulders at the last second, but the guards pull her back. “He’s an awful man, killing me for such a petty reason! And you’re pathetic for standing by him!”

Pathetic.

It echoes in your ears, and you want to snatch the axe out of Chan’s hands and do it yourself. However, you instead bite out, “Shut up. It’s the least you can do to apologize to me.”

Chan cleans the blade with the cloth from Nari’s gag, and you watch as the white fabric gets painted with scarlet like your sister’s stupid notion about the roses. He raises the axe over her head, and the metal flashes in the lantern light.

You look your sister in the eye. “Off with your head.”

And off her head goes.

~ ad.gray

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids angst #skz angst #bang chan scenarios #bang chan fanfic #bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #stray kids au #skz au #20210408

236 notes · View notes

alia-turin · 3 years ago

Text

Hey I finished it! There is sense of accomplishment in my life now.

Thank you all for reading I APPRICIATE truly all your comments and likes. Also canon gets thrown overboard because of reasons.

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time: Chapter 11

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9 , 10

Rating: Explicit Fandom: The Witcher Relationship: Caranthir Ar-Feiniel/Original Female Character(s) \

AO3 Link

Caranthir smiled as he watched the ice break the human ships, soldiers falling overboard and crashing against the ice, their blood painting splashes of red all over. Humans screamed so desperately when they were hitting the cold water, the frost killing them before they could even realize what was going on. He pulled from his energy, bringing more snow and wind, almost intolerable even for him.

“I wish I could fight them.” Imlerith groaned next to him. He had walked from his bed using his mace as support refusing help. He was in bad shape and did not want Caranthir to heal him further. Didn’t matter, all would be over soon and he was out of danger now.

“If your guts spill out, I am not patching you up.” Caranthir warned not even looking at the other man. He focused now on finding the girl or that Witcher - didn’t even matter, either one would help him locate the other, but then he suddenly stopped. He sensed something he shouldn’t be sensing. That couldn’t be right. The ice growth and the ship cracking stopped. The wind went silent. All he could hear was the sounds of battle, humans screaming and dying, hounds howling…that ring he had left with Aine...why could he feel it here?

“Ran out of magic?” Imlerith asked mockingly behind him, but Caranthir was too focused to even acknowledge him. He must be losing his mind. Maybe he was too tired, maybe he had been tapping on his own power too much in the past days, with the attack on the Witchers, saving Eredin, saving Imlerith, keeping the Hunt here, his own dream trips...did he finally go too far and his mind was playing tricks on him.

Caranthir opened a portal getting himself closer to where he thought that feeling was coming from, he found himself in the middle of a small human unit. They all stopped for a second, confused at what had just occurred, but his attention was somewhere else. Meters away on the coast he saw Avallac’h, the Witcher, a Sorceress and...no. That couldn’t be. The human soldiers attacked him and he did short work of them, while moving toward the coast, his steps leaving a bloody trail after him.

“Let her go Avallac’h.” Caranthir finally said, as his gaze stopped at Aine. The Witcher was holding her arm twisted behind her back, as soon as she saw him she tried to struggle but that just caused her pain. The man told her something, it did not sound threatening but Caranthir had turned deaf, the only thing he was focused on was his anger and the next words that would come out of Avallac’h’s mouth.

“How about a deal?” his teacher smiled and Caranthir could feel the ice behind him growing, ripping through ships and flesh, he wasn’t even sure he did that consciously. “You should control yourself.”

“I’m not your student, I’m not your son, let her go and I might even kill you quickly.” His eyes moved between the three of them. He had no doubt he could take the sorceress and the witcher easy. Avallac’h was a different matter, but taking any of them and keeping Aine out of harm’s way was where he could fail. He wanted Avallac’h to attack him, once and for all their struggle will be resolved.

“You were right, he is arrogant.” the dark haired woman said. Caranthir was going to show her arrogance.

“Caranthir, stop your spell, ask Eredin to stop his attack, I need to talk to him.” Avallac’h was focused, serious, the Navigator heard his words, but did not really listen. His mind was preoccupied thinking of how he would end all three of them. “Caranthir stop that!”

Something changed in his mentor’s voice and at first he could not understand what. All their expressions had changed, The Witcher loosened his grip on Aine and reached for his sword, the sorceress was preparing a spell, Avallac’h’s face was something between disgust and surprise. Caratnthir however had no idea what was going on. He wasn’t doing anything. He turned around, slowly, not fully losing sight of them and then he saw it. Corpses of the soldiers he had just walked through had raised, despite blood and broken bones and they moved toward them.

“It is not me who is doing that.” Caranthir smiled and looked at Aine. She was focused, serious. Red hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall of blood. He could see it was hard for her to maintain the spell...no wonder, it was a difficult spell, she had failed with something simpler once, but this time she did it. It wasn’t just one body she was controlling, it was a number of them. He started laughing as he could hear the dead soldier’s footsteps in the snow. Figures. He wondered if necromancy was something she was good at because of him, or she actually had affinity to it. Destiny was playing with him, the one woman who would accept him would be also the one who can raise the death. Maybe that is what he had seen in her so many weeks ago. He was a corpse and she had revived him.

Avallac’h was the first to figure it out, he weaved a spell and broke Aine’s link with the corpses. That was expected, he was more powerful than her and she was far from being able to fully control that. Caranthir heard the bodies collapse behind him. He could see Aine exhaling; she was tired, that was too much for her. Despite her gift, she was too inexperienced, she might have been able to move her small squad of dead soldiers to herself, but she would never be able to withstand Avallac’h and the human sorceress. Didn’t matter, he could.

The sorceress pulled a dagger and pressed it against Aine’s throat. Caranthir grinded his teeth.

“We don’t have time for that.” the woman said. “Bring your king here or she dies”

Caranthir looked at Aine, mismatching eyes tired, pleading with him. For what? To save her? To leave her? Didn’t matter, he could not do either. Then again, if he had Eredin here that was an easier fight. Eredin could deal with the pestering humans while he finally showed Avallac’h he was no longer a child.

“I know someone who would love to collect your skull.” he pointed with his staff at her and then opened a portal. He waited, his eyes on Aine’s as she was looking at him as well, relying on him, but all he could muster right now was anger. He would destroy them all if it came to that and he won’t even hesitate.

Eredin stepped out of the portal, Caranthir didn’t even need to look at him, he could hear and feel.

“Amusing.” the king eventually said as he stepped out of the portal. Caranthir could feel his whole body needing to move, almost shaking in anticipation, he wasn’t going to tell Eredin what to do but he surely knew what he wanted to do. “I assume I’m somehow supposed to be moved because your sorceress is holding a knife at Caranthir’s toy?” his tone was flat.

“I don’t want us to fight. Any of us.” Avallac’h finally said. “Me and you can solve that, we can talk. Our people have lost enough through the years.”

“Some of us more than others.” Eredin smirked and Carathir could see Avallac’h being taken aback. Was that attempt to push him overboard or just agreeing with him? “Someone once told me that only losers want to negotiate to avoid the inevitable.”

“How about kings who want to save their people?” when Avallac’h said that Caranthir had to turn toward Eredin. What was he even doing? Why was he talking? They could kill all three of them now, find the girl and be done forever. “It doesn’t matter if you lose or I lose - the Aen Elle need both of us. You cannot achieve what you need without me.”

“Eredin…” Caranthir started impatiently but the king raised his hand and the Navigator bit his lip under the helmet. His teeth sank in the tender skin of his scar and he could taste his own blood.

“Entertain me, Crevan.” Eredin made a gesture with his hand showing Avallac’h that he will indulge.

Aine watched as Avallac’h and the king walked away, somewhere behind the rest of them. Her mind was still dizzy from the spell he had put on her, she didn’t even know how or where he had dragged her but given that Caranthir was her she could make accurate assumptions. Her attempt at a spell had exhausted her even further and now everything around her was just a blur. As soon as the two men walked away she saw Caranthir take off his helmet, his hair a mess as it fell over his shoulders, a line of blood running down his chin but he cleared it with his hand.

“What bit your face off?” the sorceress mocked. In other circumstances Aine would get angry on his behalf but she was too exhausted even to turn her head toward the human female.

Caranthir did not respond; he started pacing like a wild animal that had been put in a cage, the mountains of ice behind him growing even larger.

“Caranthir...please...stop.” she wasn’t sure what or why she was asking that, but she could feel she had pushed herself too far. It was the spell. She had used too much of her own energy to bring these corpses to life and that had not achieved anything. She used all she got, for nothing. He had warned her, using too much power that you can’t control was deadly. Surely she was just dramatic now, it wasn’t that bad...it wasn’t that much energy. It had been easy for her to raise the bodies, almost too easy. She did not even feel how much of her strength it had used, not at first at least, now...that was a different story.

She felt a shortness of breath, her chest felt tight and her whole body jerked, the human was still holding her arm but it didn’t matter, she could not control that despite the pain and the feeling he would break her arm if she pulled a bit more. She coughed, red drops hit the snow. At first she did not realize what happened but only when she could taste the salt in her mouth she figured that it was blood - her own blood. The pressure from her arm suddenly disappeared and she could feel herself falling forward, her knees hit the snow first, wetness and chill crawling through her dress but she could barely feel it.

“What did you do?” she heard Caranthir’s growl and she saw him rushing toward her.

Caranthir almost teleported himself to her, he saw the sorceress getting ready for attack but he used a spell to push her and the Witcher away. The woman seemed angry and he could sense her getting a spell ready, let her, he was going to send her back to the hole she came from, but the man grabbed her wrist to stop her and Caranthir moved his attention ignoring them.

He pulled Aine closer to himself, her breathing was slow, she had no strength, the spell was too much for someone as inexperienced as she was.

“I’m sorry…” even her voice barely reached his ears. “He told me that you are in danger and then…”

“It doesn’t matter.” he interrupted her. It really didn’t matter. An hour from now it might matter when he could finally take it out on Avallac’h but now it didn’t really matter. “You shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid.” That was not what he meant to say, why was he so bad with words. Every time he wanted to say something nice it came out the wrong way. He had to tell her that he was sorry, it was his fault she was here in the first place, it was his fault he was teaching her stuff way above her level but he never thought she would have to use them. Not now, not in the near future or ever for that matter.

“I’m sorry…” she said again and he was angry at himself for making her feel as if there was something to apologize for. He placed his hand at the base of her throat, he could barely feel any life in her. “You shouldn’t have to save me every time.”

“No.” Caranthir pressed against her collarbones, healing could not fix that, she was not injured. He had no idea if passing some of his strength to her would do anything but he had to try. He knew he had been very generous with how much magic he had been using, but just a bit more...he had never done that before. In theory it should be possible, what was the difference between that and using his power to light a fire or move an object? Just a bit, enough to get her on her feet and then her body should be able to figure it out. His chest felt tight, not from effort although he could feel his one strength running low, but that just could not be happening to him again. He was not going to lose someone else like that, because of him...if it wasn’t for him Avallac’h would have never brought her here. He would not forgive Avallac’h for that, but he would not forgive himself either this time...

He got dizzy and as much as he wanted to continue that he had to stop. Both of them death would not help anyone. He could see Eredin and Avallac’h coming from wherever they had been, but his attention was down on Aine. Some color had started coming back to her skin which he considered a good sign. He saw Eredin raising an eyebrow, and Caranthir became very self aware at that moment. He was kneeling holding Aine in his arms, that was probably the most affection he had ever shown publicly to anyone. He cleared his throat getting up through his own pain and weakness pretending nothing happened.

“We are done here.” Eredin said as he passed him, barely looking at him.

Caranthir looked at his king’s back then at Avallac’h who was standing a few meters away close to the witcher and the sorceress. He had Aine a hand helping her up, but his eyes were fixed on his teacher.

“Caranthir, let’s go.” Eredin had stopped and looked at him. “It’s over, we are done.”

It wasn’t over for him. He couldn’t care less about what Eredin and Avallac’h had discussed, agreed or simply ignored each other. He had a score to settle with his teacher and he was not going to turn his back on that now.

“Listen to him, Caranthir.” Aine’s eyes were fixed on Caranthir, her fingers digging in his armor trying to find balance and not fall in the snow. She was freezing because the clothes she was wearing were not made for that weather and she was cold from the snow’s wetness.

“No.” Caranthir said she could almost hear his teeth grinding as he spoke. “I would turn you back to that pathetic creature but this time there will be no turning back.” She had no idea what he was talking about, but she somehow doubted he could do anything. He looked tired, strong, focused, but also exhausted.

“Caranthir, let’s go.” she pulled on his arm but he ignored her, she had no idea if he even felt it.

“There are more important things than your ego.” Avallac’h said and she could hear the king laughing somewhere behind.

“You of all people should have not brought her here.” Caranthir finally said. “You know very well how dangerous that is. You know what it could do to the body.”

“How about saving your life? That good enough of a reason?” Avallac’h offered.

“Caranthir…” Aine started, the words barely coming out of her throat, she could not muster anything louder than that. “He saw your death. That is why he brought me here.”

“He saw nothing.” Caranthir was not looking at her at all. His angry eyes were just fixed somewhere else.

“Let’s go.” She saw Eredin standing behind them, his hand on Caranthir’s shoulder. “The Aen Elle needs him alive.”

Caranthir sat in Eredin’s cabin. Everything hurt, his mind was wondering and it was hard to focus on the conversation. He was doing his best to get them back to Tir na Lia without killing them all in the process...or killing himself for that matter. He had left Aine in his cabin; she had almost collapsed as soon as he left her on the bed. He needed sleep as well. A week of sleep probably would do. Imlerith was sitting on the chair next to him picking on one of his smaller wounds, Eredin behind his desk rocking in his chair.

“So it was all for nothing?” Imlerith finally asked.

“Not for nothing.” Eredin concluded, both of their voices sounded as if they were somewhere far away, in different a room, never mind they were both just meters away from him. There was a faint smile on his lips. “However, he was right...I cannot achieve what I want while being...well me.”

“So what he just agreed to let you rule over the Aen Elle in exchange of…?” Imlerith asked.

“No...that’s not how this works. He and I will work together.” Eredin didn’t say anything more than that and just smiled. Caranthir had millions of questions there and then but nothing could come out of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes, they were almost at Tir na Lia. Good. “Caranthir!” That was the last thing he heard.

He woke up, took him a moment to recognize the place. It was his room in Tir na Lia and he was in his bed. He must have lost consciousness. Too much energy was used to bring them back to Tir na Lia. He tried to move but his whole body protested against that. It wasn’t pain, more like the feeling of not moving for a very long period of time.

“You are awake!” Aine's voice came somewhere to the right of him. He turned his head in that direction. Her hair was a mess, falling over her shoulders. She looked as if she had spent days next to his bed.

“How…” his voice scratched his throat he was thirsty. She immediately reached to the bedside table and passed him a glass of water. He almost choked as he drank it, but it felt so good. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.” she reached for his face and her fingers touched his scared cheek. At first he tried to pull away but the warmth of her skin was too alluring. “Caranthir, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been there, but he came here, he told me you were in danger. He wanted me to come and convince you to...I’m not even sure what.” Her words were coming too fast out of her mouth, but he actually did not care what she was saying; he just looked at her face, her lips moving, her eyes pleading with him. “I said no, I thought that would mean to betray you, and then he just did something and took me to that place and...I’m sorry, I feel like if I had said yes, none of that would have happened.”

He placed his finger on her lips to silence her. The words stopped coming out of her mouth but he could still see the distress.

“You were going to do whatever Avallac’h wanted you to do, no matter if you wanted it or not. He gave you a choice to make you feel better about it, but you were always going to end up there.” Her gaze softened as if she just needed to hear that. He took a deep breath. It felt nice to be able to fill his own lungs with air without feeling pain. “Come here.” he placed his hand on the empty spot next to him and she climbed on the bed next to him, her small body curling next to his. “That won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Doesn’t matter.” she responded. “You are alive and okay, that is what matters.”

Caranthir opened and closed his mouth. He had no idea what to say to that. Nobody ever cared so much about him or at least it was never shown. Part of him wanted to push her away. Tell her to leave him so he can drown himself in his loneliness and self pity, the same feelings he had been swimming in for more than a hundred years. However, he couldn’t deny the fact that he liked it, the warmth, not just physical, but what he felt inside.

“Do you want to leave?” he finally said and she pushed herself up, her hair falling over his body. Mismatching eyes looking at him in confusion. “I’m serious. Your life has been in danger twice now because of me and I'm a lousy teacher.”

“You just said that won’t happen again.” she smiled. Was she mocking him. Throwing his own insecurity in his face. “I think I’m fine where I am.” she curled closer to him, placing her head on his chest.

She couldn’t see it but he smiled. He had to get to Eredin, check on Imlerith, check on his men, figure out what had happened with Avallac’h...that could wait. He was enjoying the moment too much.

#my writing

23 notes · View notes

chews-erotically · 4 years ago

Photo

*Waxing Gibbous

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

* Warnings: None really, maybe more angst/ comfort

* Summary: You arrive on Central and begin your recoveries.

* Word Count: ~1500

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX* *Part SEVEN*

PART EIGHT

If you had fled the Green moon even ten minutes later, Ezra would have died. That was the grim information relayed to you by the sling-back medic after he’d been rushed to a med cot, given high-flow oxygen and sedated. He was critically ill. You’d been told immediately upon arrival and quick assessment that once you reached the Pug you were going to be transferred directly to a teaching hospital on Central.You were faring a bit better, but not by much. Your shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged. As you were conscious, you were given supplemental oxygen through a nasal cannula.

The medic had attempted to press for some detail concerning how you’d both ended up in such states. Exhausted and struck numb, you’d simply shrugged and moved to rearrange the intravenous line of lactated ringer’s solution going into the catheter inserted into the top of your forearm. The machine had started beeping, and the sound was like a hammer to your skull.

Once you reached the Pug things moved quickly indeed. Transport was coordinated in the Pug med bay and a nurse approached you, stating that she would be taking you into an exam room to obtain an updated set of vitals and enter your information into their data system. You had refused.

“I’m not leaving him.”

Clearing his throat, the nurse tried to explain the protocol he had to follow. You held up your hand to still his speech.

“Save it. You won’t change my mind. I’m not leaving him.”

***

Once on the transport you’d been able to keep your eyes open for perhaps twenty minutes. You’d passed out sitting on the hard metal bench with your head slumped forward onto Ezra’s cot, your hand clasping his.

***

Central was cacophonic. After the eerie quiet of the Green the sounds, chatter, colors and thrumming life surrounding you was beating into your brain like a staccato mace. Your head throbbed. You flinched away from the shoulders brushing past you. You were close to panic, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. You took deep, measured breaths. You stayed as close to Ezra’s cot as possible. You had to resist the urge to climb into it with him and throw a blanket over your head.

They were going to have to take Ezra away from you. You knew this logically. He was fragile. Needed intubation, needed close surveillance. He was most likely septic at this point and it was uncertain if the damage he’d suffered to his lung tissue would be permanent. You knew he might still die. You knew this, and you wept openly, pitifully.

“WAIT!” you’d croaked out, shakily grasping the shoulder of the ICU nurse who had begun rushing him down the hallway for STAT bloodwork.

She’d turned to you with sympathy shading her features.

You gazed at her name badge through waterfalls.

“....Mollen. That’s your name?”

A pause. “Yes,” she’d replied softly. You knew you needed to trust her.

“His feet get cold at night. Only at night, otherwise he says they’re like furnaces. He can’t sleep well if his feet aren’t covered. Please cover his feet. Please,” you’d choked.

She had given you a small, sad smile. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Mollen.”

You had stood pathetically twisting your hands together with tears coursing unabashed until Ezra turned a corner and disappeared from you.

***

“Prognosis is precarious,” One of the physicians had pulled you into a private room to go over findings with you. You had since been seen and treated; miraculously you had not needed surgery, though you would most likely have permanent nerve damage to your thumb and two fingers on your left hand. You’d been told that you’d most likely be in the hospital for a week or two; you needed IV antibiotics and respiratory therapy in addition to wound care.

You’d requested a private room as close to the ICU as possible, passing a piece of aurelac to the Intake Administrator. He’d accepted with wide eyes, and you’d gotten your room.

The doctor was solemn as she looked over the rims of her glasses at you.

“Your partner has diffuse opacities in the lower lobes of his lungs. The left is partially collapsed. We’ve intubated him, as you know, to allow his lungs time to rest and strengthen. He is septic, and he’s being treated with an experimental cocktail of three different antibiotics, dexamethasone for inflammation, and vasopressors to maintain his blood pressure.

“Fortunately, his body is strong and his kidney function is improving. He has remained without a fever for the past eight hours, so that is reassuring. If he continues to show improvement I am fairly confident that we can begin planning for extubation within the next two to three days. If he can tolerate extubation and begin breathing on his own, we can start weaning his oxygen and begin to wake him up.”

Though you knew what you were walking into, you steeled yourself.

You entered his room and stood a moment to process the sheer enormity of the amount

of medical equipment keeping Ezra alive. You took in the tubes and wires, the bags of

fluid infusing through catheters, the softly beeping sensors. When you were not in your

room or engaged in your own treatments, you were here. You pulled up the chair that

Mollen had placed especially for you, and you began your silent vigil once again.

Ezra looked so small in that bed, so fragile. He was dwarfed by the machinations

surrounding him. He was pale, wan. As you always did, you grasped his hand and

squeezed, ran your thumb over his knuckles the way he’d once done with you.

you talked to him softly, describing the room, going over what had happened since you

had escaped the Green. You talked about your own treatments and progress. You

described Central, how busy and bustling everything was, how many people flooded the

streets each day. Theatres you’d seen across from your window, coffee shops and

bars you wanted to explore with him. Your favorite activity was reading to him. You had

spent a great deal discussing all manner of art, and Ezra loved to talk about books both

well-loved and those he longed to read but had been unable to find. As you found

yourself in the incomprehensible position of having more credits than you could ever

imagine possessing, you had books delivered to your room.

Ezra was extubated the day you received your last dose of antibiotics. You were due to

be discharged in three days. His organ function had improved at a rate that had exceeded

the expectations of his medical team. His encyclopedic list of medications had shortened reassuringly. He was strong enough to tolerate the extubation and was transitioned to a nasal cannula. You rejoiced in this, though your anxiety spiked as the physicians began the arduous task of bringing him out of sedation. It did not happen all at once as many thought, but gradually and in increments. It happened in sighs and twitches, thrashes and groans. You wondered if he dreamed. You hoped that he could hear you repeat your devotions.

You had secured a lease downtown, finding a loft a block from the hospital. It was spacious, covered in windows that stretched, floor to ceiling, and opened onto a balcony that afforded you a breathless view of Central. You had never had something so nice in your life.

You had been discharged for two days, you had started to plan how to turn your new space into a safe space for both you and Ezra, when you were alerted by the hospital that Ezra had awakened. He was asking for you.

You doubt if your feet touched the ground as you rushed to the hospital, stopping only to catch your breath.

You entered his room panting, vibrating.

Ezra was sitting upright, the first time you’d seen him not supine in weeks. He was pale, he sported dark and sunken circles under his eyes. His hair was wildly curling, his blond streak sticking straight out. He was sipping gingerly on a cup of water with a shaking hand.

Your Ezra. Beautiful Ezra.

“.....Ez?”

He looked upon you as if you were an apparition. He went to move shakily to his feet, and you were there before he could stand. Enveloping him in your arms, kissing his face, feeling him and inhaling whatever you could of him, of his vibrant life.

Alive.

You realized you were both weeping, you chuckled as you took turns wiping the wetness from one another’s face. When he spoke, his voice was rough, you knew it would take time for Ezra to regain his mellifluous cadence.

“Beautiful star, our souls cannot escape one another, universe try as it might to tear us asunder.”

“I missed you, Ezra. Sweet love, I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again. Ever.”

“I wish you luck trying to part from me at this point, Dove.”

You knew you’d done something right, standing against him.

You knew you were home.

#chews-erotically writes #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra #ezra fics

157 notes · View notes

frunbuns · 4 years ago

Text

As the World Falls Apart

Read on Ao3

Padmé watches Obi-Wan rock Leia around the ship, willing her to stop crying. He shushes and coos at her as he gently pats her back. Nothing seems to work. He’s been trying for the past hour or so. Leia has a strong pair of lungs and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. Even as Obi-Wan practically begs her to stop crying. Nothing works. They’ve tried feeding her. They’ve tried changing. At this point she’s just crying for the sake of it. She’s sure of it.

Obi-Wan looks dead on his feet as he paces from one part of the cockpit to the other. His eyes are bloodshot, red and splotchy. Dark bags under his eyes. His clothes are scorched and burnt. Hair tousled. He’s limping slightly. She hasn’t said anything about it, but she assumes it’s from his fight with Grievous. He hasn’t smiled once since they got back from Mustafar - not even one of his fake ones he puts on sometimes. (Except when the twins were born, but even that smile, while fond and loving, had been filled with heartbreak.) In fact, he looks miserable right now. Like he’s on the verge of crying. He probably is, Padmé muses. Padmé kinda feels like crying too.

She had offered to take Leia off him, but he had refused. Told her to remain seated, a dozing baby Luke in her arms. It was typical of him, really. Obi-Wan had always been good at giving pieces of himself, even at the expense of himself. He had been like that as long as they’d been friends.

It’s strange. How it has merely been hours since the twins had been born. And now they were hurtling through hyperspace. Master Yoda had told them to go to Naboo with the twins and go into hiding. Obi-Wan would serve as protection and a teacher once Luke and Leia start showing force sensitive abilities. They’ll need to learn how to control it. Padmé is just grateful she’s not going to be alone, and she’s sure Obi-Wan feels the same. She is grateful for his company, no matter how miserable they both might be right now. At least it’s something.

She’s glad he snuck onboard the ship when she went to Mustafar. She’s not sure what would have happened if he hadn’t. She thought she could talk some sense into him. Obi-Wan had probably thought so too. Even after all he’d done she still loved him. She continued to love him, even if he broke her heart. Obi-Wan too.

Anakin had always said he and Obi-Wan were closer than most jedi. That they were like brothers. That Obi-Wan had been like a father to him. Looking at him now, there’s no doubt the love was mutual. And as a mother now, she feels like she gets him better than she ever has. All of Anakin’s stories about Obi-Wan. Their little misadventures.

They were like two halves of a whole, and Padmé can’t help but feel like Obi-Wan died with Anakin on Mustafar in some way. The Obi-Wan in front of her is almost like a shell of the man she knew.

She can’t imagine having to do what Obi-Wan did. It’s just not fair. But things are rarely fair. With the war rampaging the galaxy, sith lords at every corner. The galaxy has never been fair, but it could at least try for Obi-Wan’s sake. Padmé can’t imagine being only thirty-eight years old and knowing as much heartbreak as Obi-Wan does. She can’t help but admire his strength. That he’s still standing right now. Padmé honestly feels like she’s going to break any moment.

And if Leia doesn’t stop crying soon she might start crying too.

Leia’s screeching is ear-piercing. She’s red in the face from the sheer effort of it. Tiny fists balled into the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic, tears streaming down her small face. It’s a miracle she hasn’t worn herself out by now. Padmé sure would have.

God she hopes this isn’t going to be a regular thing. She’s not sure she can take it. And from the looks of things Obi-Wan doesn’t either. Taking care of twins is going to be enough work, but having to deal with twins and a screaming baby sounds damn near impossible. Even for two people.

R2 beeps in sympathy from where he’s piloting the ship.

Padmé closes her eyes, preparing for the impending headache she knows she’s gonna get soon. But then the screeching stops. It just stops. Padmé can’t believe her ears, but when she opens her eyes again Leia seems to have settled against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, eyes half lidded and body lax. Obi-Wan looks at her with bewilderment. As if he can’t believe it either.

A range of emotions crosses his features before he closes his eyes, in utter relief, and lets out a choked sound. Something like a sob. It’s an utterly pathetic and pitiful sound. Something that’s not very becoming of a Jedi master. But she finds that she agrees as she smiles at him. Wet and a little crooked, but relieved.

But that’s not the end of it. It’s like the floodgates have finally opened - that the dam has broken - because Obi-Wan chokes back another sob. And another. And another. And then there are tears running down his cheeks and disappearing into his beard. And he’s sniffling as he suppresses shudders in an attempt to not disturb the now calm baby.

“Obi-Wan?” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear her. “Why don’t you sit down. You must be exhausted.”

He nods. “Y-yes that— that— I’m so-sorry. I—” He gasps and hiccups as he stumbles over the words. It’s truly a pitiful sight.

She does her best to put on a warm and comforting smile. Even as her whole body aches, she stands up and walks over to him, careful not to jostle Luke too much. She’s never seen him like this before, and if her heart didn’t feel like it was already shattered into a million pieces it would break even more now. “It’s okay,” she tells him, putting a hand on his arm. His tattered sleeve full of burns and holes. “It’s okay.”

Gently, she guides him back to the pilot’s seat and he slumps down into it. His sobs subsiding into quiet sniffles and silent tears. Leia appears to have drifted off to sleep, thank the stars. Padmé isn’t sure she can handle much more at this point. She envies them. The twins. And their ability to just fall asleep as the world falls apart around them. They haven’t got a clue what’s happening around them. Everything is in shambles, and she’s grateful that they’re blissfully unaware of it all.

The ship rumbles beneath their feet. It’s a sturdy craft. Skillfully built and probably expensive, but awfully boringly decorated on the inside. It’s nothing like Padmé’s ships. But she supposes the jedi don’t really care for such.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan croaks after a while. “I mean it.”

Padmé raises a brow at him. “Why?”

“I failed him. I failed Anakin,” he says, voice tight as he avoids her gaze. the light of the stars dancing across his features and glimmering in his glassy eyes. “I should have realised something was wrong. He was my padawan. I should have known.”

“Obi-Wan,” she murmurs. “Palpatine groomed and manipulated him for years. It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. We did our best.”

“I shouldn’t have let him see him. I always knew there was something about him.”

The corner of Padmé’s lips quirk upwards. “I never liked him either,” she says. To which Obi-Wan smiles at her, albeit faintly and ever so briefly. At least it’s something.

Leia continues to doze on Obi-Wan’s chest, ear pressed to his chest where his heart beats below his ribcage. She looks so small with his hand almost covering up her entire back. She just wishes anakin was here. So he could enjoy his children with her. Like he should. But she supposes Obi-Wan will have to do. As far as she’s concerned, he is the next best thing. He did raise Anakin, after all.

Padmé breaks the silence. “So what does this make you then?” she asks, humour in her voice. “Grandpa Obi-Wan?”

She hears the jedi snort. “Surely I’m too young for such a title.”

“Oh yeah, old man? Pretty sure I heard your joints pop when you sat down just now.”

“You’re going to regret saying those words in ten years time when you’re my age.”

Padmé smiles, a real, genuine smile, for what feels like the first time in forever. She even chuckles a little. A little quiet and awkward, but genuine. When she looks at Obi-Wan he is smiling so wide it reaches his eyes.

They’ll be exiting hyperspace soon, but right now they can rest. Just her, her children and Obi-Wan. Some ragtag team for a family, but she doesn't really mind the idea of it. There’s just something missing.

Obi-Wan strokes Leia’s back so gently it almost looks like he’s afraid to break her. He watches her with such softness and adoration it makes Padmé’s heart swell. He has only known them for a day and he already loves them. Anakin would be ecstatic.

“I just wish Anakin was here.”

Obi-wan stops stroking Leia’s back momentarily, fixing her with a gaze she can’t quite deschipher. “Me too,” he murmurs. “They’re wonderful, Padmé. He would have adored them.”

Padmé nods, a sad smile on her face. “He would have.” Her heart aches at the thought of it, but she appreciates the sentiment. “I’m glad you’re here though, Obi-Wan. It means a lot that I’m not alone.”

“I’m glad too, dear,” he tells her softly. “I’m not sure what I’d do if— I mean—” He swallows thickly. “—Almost everyone I knew is dead. Mace, Bant, Luminara, Quin… Ahsoka. Oh god, Ahsoka.”

Padmé can almost feel the grief in the air. She wonders if this is what it’s like to be a jedi. To have one of those bonds that Anakin had talked about.

“I’m sorry too,” she tells him. “About the jedi, and the clones… And Anakin. I know you loved him.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and nods solemnly. He doesn’t need to say anything. She understands. She reaches out and grabs his hand where it lies limply in his lap. It’s calloused and scarred, but warm and gentle. Obi-Wan’s hand is warm and firm in her hand. A little bigger than hers, a little rougher. The hand of a jedi. Of a long life lived. Of a friend. A mentor. Even a father. She can imagine him ruffling a young Anakin’s hair with. Righting Ahsoka’s grip on her lightsaber. Shaking her hand at events. She gives his hand a squeeze and hopes he gets it. He does. He squeezes her hand back. They sit like that for the rest of the journey.

They exit hyperspace, the ship jolting slightly from it. In the distance Padmé spots Naboo. As long as she had lived on Coruscant Naboo would always be her home. And now it would be Obi-Wan’s too, she supposes. She looks over at him and finds him with his eyes closed. As if he’s asleep. She smiles. She can wait to wake him until they’ve landed. He could use the rest. She could too, honestly.

She misses Anakin already. Not the man she saw on Mustafar, but the man she fell in love with. The father of her children. The man that loved, and was loved in return. Her Anakin. Obi-Wan’s Anakin. Ahsoka’s Anakin. A man that was flawed, but good. A man that was kind. Her husband. Ahsoka’s master. Obi-Wan’s padawan. God, she misses him. Just the thought of him makes her heart ache.

They’ll be okay, Padmé thinks. Not right now. Maybe not for a while. But one day. She’s sure of it. They’ve survived so far. They’ve got each other. They just need a moment of quiet. Just a little moment. They’ll be okay. Just not right now.

23 notes · View notes

hellotherekenobi · 4 years ago

Text

─── in hot water.

summary: obi-wan is not only your fellow padawan but your best friend too. however, this raises issues from both your masters and following the rules becomes more difficult than ever.

a/n: special thank you to @obi-wankenobae & @anakinni3 for helping me out with this one - it would most likely have sat in the drafts for three more years if it weren’t for them.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 2,294 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your laughter reverbs off of the stone walls, circling around you and the reason for your laughter; Obi-Wan Kenobi. He has always been a source of happiness for you, even a source of comfort. He seems to always know what to say and how to make you feel better when you’ve had a particularly grueling day training as a Padawan. Your only wish is that you could see him more regularly than you do-- being Mace Windu’s Padawan and he Qui-Gon Jinn’s, the only times you could see each other was in moments between missions and training, or the occasional recon. He’s become somewhat of an anchor and a good friend too.

“You must be lying,” chuckling, you lean toward him.

He smiles, shaking his head, “I promise you it’s the truth.”

“No!”

“I promise!”

Another fit of laughter echoes around the room, which is sliced in half when a voice shouts your name and you’re sitting up straight; eyes at where the voice had come from and you gulp. Obi-Wan can feel the tension; a much different weight in the air than the light, bubbly ambiance the filled it just a moment before.

“I thought I had left you to meditate,” Mace says with a stern look, and with Qui-Gon behind him.

“As did I for you, Obi-Wan.” He says, arms crossed.

“Sorry, master.” Both you and Obi-Wan croak out, feeling extremely foolish for having been caught in something as simple as laughing.

It hadn’t been the first time and you’re sure it won’t be the last; Obi-Wan and yourself have always been so close that you find it hard not to be happy when he’s around. You remember back to when the two of you were just younglings; running across the room toward the other just to say hello. Neither Master Qui-Gon or Mace Windu could catch you when you two saw each other. Growing up, that instant joy was channeled into laughter. And it was becoming a nuisance to your master.

“Come now, Obi-Wan. We have much to do and we wouldn’t want to keep Senator Cyone waiting again, would we?” Qui-Gon hums, extending his hand out for his Padawan to walk toward him.

Obi-Wan shivers at the thought of the Senator, which only makes you chuckle. Your master clears his throat, crossing his arms along his chest, and you go quiet. Obi-Wan pats your knee before standing-- an act that has Qui-Gon staring at his Padawan with a raised head, though Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to notice-- saying goodbye and walking away with his master who says his goodbyes also. Now, it’s just you and your master. You’ve already shrunk into the couch you’re sitting on, looking up at Master Windu without lifting your head. You can already hear it coming; how many times have I told you...

“(Y/N), how many times have I told you?”

There it is.

“I know. I’m sorry, master. It won’t happen ag--”

“Don’t say it won’t happen again because you’ve said that every time now.”

“Sorry...”

Windu sighs, “There is nothing wrong with happiness, (Y/N). But you must learn on putting your feelings aside.”

“Yes, master.” You speak, barely audible, as he steps to the side for you to walk with him.

“You and Obi-Wan...” Windu speaks up after a while of silent walking down the hallway, “...are very close.”

The breath hitches in your throat as you take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding, “Yes, we’ve known each other since we were younglings.”

“I know that.” He says it so matter-of-fact that you almost wince at the words, “It’s almost as if you’re siblings.”

Your eyebrows furrow as a reaction to that sentence; a growing expression of disgust on your face-- Obi-Wan... your brother? No. That is in no way how you feel about him. Surely, your master must realize that-- ...oh. Looking at him quickly, you find he’s already staring at you and the two of you stop walking. His eyes almost bore into yours and you try to lighten your expression but it’s not exactly working and, by the looks of things, it’s not exactly convincing either.

“(Y/N).” He chides and you’re almost tempted to mimic his tone, “You can be honest with me.”

No, I can’t - you think to yourself as your eyes dance across the hallway; past the opening on the other end, past the archways on your left, through the frames to watch the Coruscant sky outside. How can you tell your master that you’ve broken the one rule you had been given to meditate on the most; to not develop attachments and certainly not to fall in love with anyone?

His hand presses onto your shoulder, “I think you need to--”

“No.” you speak over him, still refusing to meet his gaze, “I don’t want to.”

“The fact that you don’t want to means that you know you need to.”

“I don’t want to.” You finally look at him, trying to hold even some ground against him but it’s futile and you know it, “I don’t want a self-examination!”

Mace sighs, tilting his head disapprovingly to the side. This was something that he always held against you-- these self-examinations-- and you hated it. It was like a reality check, something to slap you in the face and show you how hysterical you’re being about something. When all other tactics and lessons failed to reach you, Mace always knew that this would drive the dagger home.

The Jedi who walk the temple hallway give you and your master glances as they past you both, and the attention has you shrinking into yourself as Mace simply smiles at them; you feeling so small compared to your master.

His eyes are back on you the instant the Jedi are far away enough not to hear him speak, “Think it over. That’s all I’m asking.”

Sure, think it over-- how bad could that actually be? Well, apparently, very bad. You’re currently groaning with dread in your quarters; hand on your forehead as you lie on the bed you hadn’t made this morning. You felt something with Obi-Wan, you always have. It was hard to push any feeling for him aside because of how much you liked it. But you knew just as much as your master does that this is the problem; you knowing your error but not wanting at all to rectify it.

So, you try a different tactic. You don’t force yourself to stop talking to him or stop thinking about him, just simply avoid spending so much time with him. Conversations between you two were often so long that Jedi and Senators alike would have to separate you both, but now you’ve cut that time in half. You cling onto the hope that Obi-Wan won’t notice the difference but who are you kidding? Of course he notices. He’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He calls your name from behind you, making you jump and accidentally push the wrong button on the screen in front of you-- a loud, whirling sound churning out of the device, causing eyes from every direction to look over at the ruckus you’re causing. A calm hand glides past yours frantically searching for the button to turn the noise off and finally the sound silences-- but his hand is on yours.

“Are you alright?” He asks, innocently at that.

“I’m fine.” You breathe out, drawing your hand back and refusing to give him eye contact as you go back to reading the report off of the screen.

He sighs before sitting down beside you, leaning his elbow on the table and in effect pressing his arm into yours. He opens his mouth to speak again but you’re faster, “Obi-Wan, please. I’m sorry but I need to concentrate on this. My master is expecting me back at the Council room soon.”

For an added show of politeness, you flash him a quick smile but he looks right through you-- almost just as well as your master had done that other day in the hallway. His eyebrow raises when your smile falters.

“Something’s on your mind.” He says.

“Of course there is, Obi-Wan. There’s always something on my mind. It would be a concern if there wasn’t.”

“Don’t try and cover this with humor. You can tell me anything, you know that?”

You whisper, “I know that.”

“Then why have you been pushing me away?” He leans in closer, just like a person would when telling someone a secret.

“It’s complicated...”

“How so?”

“I can’t exactly explain.”

He places his hand on top of yours, “You can try.” He smiles softly, “It’s me.”

Feeling yourself deflate in your chair and by the touch of his thumb rubbing against your hand, you breathe out, “Yeah... it’s you.”

He doesn’t seem to understand at first, only thinking that you were repeating his words and would be telling him your issue soon, but after a moment, when he sees the wary etched into your brows, he realizes with a slowly gaping mouth that you had just told him your issue-- it’s him.

“Oh,” he whispers, taking a moment before continuing, “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Obi-Wan. You don’t have to.” You whisper back to him.

But he doesn’t seem to hear you; he looks lost in thought, staring across the room as if he were reading the words from the screen on the table. You almost convince yourself that you can see his eyes shifting across each line. Then he blinks, looking down and slipping his hand away from yours, your skin now cold from the lack of contact, before repeating, “I’m sorry.”

Then he stands up so abruptly that the chair legs squeak as they get pushed back and he’s almost sprinting out of the room; eyes from everyone in the library watching him as he goes. And you’re left sitting at the table and staring at the empty space beside you.

─────── ⋯ ───────

Your eyebrow twitches for what feels like the tenth time in the last few minutes and if you weren’t trying to meditate right now then you’re sure you would scream. Instead, you sigh and turn to look over at your master who is, just as you’ve thought, staring directly at you.

“What is it, master?” You inquire, “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no.” He says seriously and draws out the silence far too long for your liking before saying, “That’s the problem.”

“What?”

“You’ve followed orders very well in these last few weeks, better than you have ever done before.”

“All thanks to your training.” You murmur, turning back around to close your eyes and slip into meditation once more.

But your eyebrow twitches again. He’s still staring at you.

“I don’t think that’s the reason.” He explains, “You and Obi-Wan have both been very dedicated in your missions and very... dedicated in not speaking to one another.”

“We’re fine.”

“...Are you?”

It’s as if a bubbling feeling suddenly rushes up your spine and before your master can speak your name, you jump up to stand on your feet and point a finger at him, “No! Don’t say it!”

Windu raises his hands in innocence, “It’s only a suggestion--”

“I don’t want another self-examination, alright! I know what’s going on and I know what I did was the right decision, so stop pestering me.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

Groaning, you fall back down to the matted floor to try and get back into your meditation mindset but it’s failing and altogether does fail when you feel your master’s hand pressed onto your shoulder.

“What happened?”

You shake your head, “I did what you said. I took a step back.”

You can almost hear the cogs in his head turning, “Well... it doesn’t seem as if it has done much good... for either of you.” You turn to look at him as he continues, “Yes, you’ve been dedicated to your missions and you’re to be commended for that. But Master Qui-Gon has told me that he senses a loneliness in his Padawan... and I sense that same loneliness in you.”

“I’ll work on it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

You stare at him quizzically, “Why not?”

“Because,” he sighs, “despite better judgement, you and Obi-Wan need each other.”

“But... but I thought the whole point of this was to avoid attachments?”

Windu smiles, “Yes, well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

─────── ⋯ ───────

The noise from downstairs is causing Windu pain; he wants to reach up and rub his temples from the volume of it all. The sound he had grown used to and the very same one he had encouraged to return, he now wants to stop. He’s a Jedi Master and should have some sort of self-control but in the name of the Force itself, he swears he’s going to throw something if the noise doesn’t settle down soon.

“Can you both please be quiet!” He shouts out, leaning over the railing to watch the two Padawans-- Obi-Wan and yourself-- huddled by each other with the biggest smiles on your faces.

In unison, Windu hears, “Sorry, master!” followed by snickering and whispered words exchanged between the two.

Qui-Gon chuckles from beside Windu who stands up straight again, snapping his gaze over at his fellow master who seems to be enjoying himself, “They’re learning.”

“Not fast enough.” Windu groans. “We shouldn’t have let them off so easily. This will bring nothing but trouble.”

“Yes, trouble, most likely, but not nothing.” Qui-Gon leans over to watch the radiance that surrounds you and Obi-Wan-- the affection that he knows will never die between you two and one he hopes to see utilized one day-- and he smiles to himself, “Not nothing.”

#i just: shrug #better than nothing i suppose?#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan imagines #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfiction #obi-wan #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars imagine #star wars prequels #ewan mcgregor #oneshot

249 notes · View notes

peach-the-owl · 4 years ago

Note

23,38 and 46. With Jester where the M9 is going out to this mission that was was assigned to them but won't take the kid, we get in a argument with Jester about it and we run off ,then traveler finds us and it convinces us to go find them and save them. (SORRY IF THIS TO TOO MUCH! keep it up btw :3)

Conflict…… I love it, and don’t worry it’s not too much. Actually I’m not sure what to consider "too much" just yet, I guess I’ll cross that barrier when it’s reached but for now… conflict 😁

Divine Intervention

Child of the Nein (Jester & Child!Reader)

23- That's not fair! 38- I hate you, 46- You came back

Doing odd jobs for people was both a nice way to help the small communities and make some nice cash for future shopping needs. The town you’d stumbled in was paying a generous reward to anyone who could deal with the chimera that’s been terrorizing the place. The Nein were in one room discussing their course of action while you were in another, happily jotting down in the notebook Jester gave you some little doodles of you fighting the beast as if you’d already won. The door creaks open and Jester walks in, you bounce up to her not noticing the nervous look on her face.

"You’re back! That means you’re all done talking and we can go kick some chimera butt." You say pumping your fist in the air.

"Yeah, ummm, about that…" her voices trails off a little, you still none the wiser as you grab her hand.

"C'mon, c'mon, we can’t keep everyone waiting!"

"(Y/n), I know you’re excited but-"

"Just tell me about it on the way there!" You quickly cut her off before she can finish, making your way to the door.

"Your not coming!" You pause, the smile on your face instantly disappearing as you turn to look at Jester confused. "We were all talking and have decided that you should stay here." She spoke slowly as if having a hard time speaking her words aloud.

"But… but why not?" You look at her with big eyes, she rubs at her shoulders, clearly up having a hard time with this.

"It’s just that this could be really dangerous and we don’t want anything bad happening to you."

"That’s it!?" Your confusion and disappointment bubbled into anger. "We’ve been in lots of dangerous fights before, why is this so different? I know how to handle myself, I can fight!" You argue, Jester bites at her lip.

"I know you can, but you’re also still little and you don’t have a lot of experience, so you can’t come." She crosses her arms and gives you a hard look, your growing anger refuses to let you give up.

"That’s not fair! I’ll never get to learn if I don’t try! What happened to us being the unstoppable team? It’s not fair!" Tears stream down your face as you stomp your feet around and flail your arms up and down in frustration. For a moment Jester looks like she’s about to cave but she shakes her head and looks at you with a stern look.

"That’s enough (y/n). I have to learn to take responsibility for you and I say you’re not coming, that’s final!" You both stare at each other for a second try to make the other back down, when neither one of you does you scream in frustration.

"I hate you!" You yell then quickly turn and dash out the door before you can see Jester's look of pure heartbreak.

"Wait (y/n), come back!" Jester calls to your retreating form, but you were already too far to hear her. She tries to go after you but is stopped by Caleb and Beau.

"We need to leave, now." Caleb simply says.

"I-but I…" Jester shifts her gaze from them to the direction you’d run off in.

"Look," Beau sighs, "whatever it is that’s bothering you will have to wait till we get back." Jester takes one last look at where you’d been then gives a sad nod and follows after them, but not before giving a silent prayer to the Traveler to watch over you.

You were sat by a small pond in town staring at the reflections in the water seeing birds flying around freely in the bright and beautiful sky, you grab a stone and chuck it into the pond making the image shift and shake, than another. Soon you were standing and grabbing whatever seemed close enough to you, throwing them into the pond watching the reflection ripple around before settling down again every time. You reel your hand back but stop yourself this time before throwing the object and stare at it, this was the holy symbol to the Traveler Jester made for you and you almost threw it away. You grip the item tightly and hold it to your chest remembering and feeling guilty about what you shouted at her earlier, slowly sinking back down onto your knees. You hear a soft sigh, seeing a second presents approach you out of the corner of your eye.

"This sour look on your face really doesn’t suit you, I much prefer it when you’re smiling." You turn your head and stare in awe at the clocked figure that takes a seat next to you.

"It’s really you." You speak softly, still absolutely starstruck that you were talking with the very deity Jester's told you so much about and the one you'd come to serve as a paladin to. You hear a chuckle come from them.

"Tell me child, why are you here instead of with everyone else?" You tilt your head in confusion at his question, he should already have known the answer to that.

"I thought you knew everything, so you must have heard me and Jester argue earlier."

"Indeed… I just wished to hear it from you," he pauses a moment. "An unfortunate thing for me to watch really. I rather like seeing the two of you working together to cause such marvellous chaos. Now why don’t you get up and rejoin them."

"But I can’t! Jester said I had to stay here." You cross your arms and pout a little.

"Now when have rules like this stopped you from doing something fun." You look at him again and can see a devious smirk from under the large hood. "If you ask me, rules are more like highly regarded or overly glorified… suggestions others choose to follow, when nessessary." The Traveler hums, you were slowly starting to get the idea being placed before you.

"You really think it’s okay?"

"Oh absolutely, and if they ask you just tell them I was the one to send you there." Your smile brightens for a second but drops when you realize something.

"Wait but I don’t know where they are!" You look to him with concern, he raises his hand and licks at his fingers? Strange, but who were you to question his methods. He then points towards a rocky hillside area.

"If you head in this direction you’ll find where they are, and if you hurry you’ll make it just in time too."

"In time for what?" You ask, feeling him place a gentle hand on top of your head. He leans in a little closer and says.

"Why, in time for them to see just what a paladin of the Traveler can really do." You smile at this and quickly go grab your gear, you take one look behind your shoulder and see that the Traveler was now nowhere in sight but sensed he was still watching over you.

With everything ready you run off in the direction the Traveler had shown you and it’s not long until you find a rather large cave entrance amongst the rocks. There was something about this cave that, when you entered, made you feel icky. As you walk deeper you tap into your Divine Sense in hopes that it’ll help you find the source and to your surprise you were able to detect something fiendish just within your senses radius and decide to follow the awful scent. As you follow your senses you can’t help but wonder what sort of fiend would be here, and more importantly weren’t you supposed to be fighting a chimera. You find your answer when you reach a pitted out area, the source your senses lead you to was in fact a chimera but it was far different then what books have described. It still had the heads of a goat, lion and dragon but it’s wings were more bat-like, it’s tail was that of a scorpions and it had quills on its body like a porcupines, not to mention its abnormally large size and the odd chains that wrapped around its body. The Mighty Nein were down there fighting the beast, they all looked badly roughed up though the chimera itself also looked pretty beaten but not as badly it seemed. It lets out a variety of snarls as it closes in on everyone, you had to think fast, looking at the chimera you notice that the chains on it all linked to one spot on its back where a mysterious stone was wedged into it, that stone had to be the source of the fiendish energy you detected. The only way to get to it was to get onto the chimeras back, fortunately it was in this pit but you were gonna need to make some good distance if you wanted this to work. The chimera swats at the everyone scattering the group to get out of the way its sights then set to the nearest target and as luck would have it that target was Jester. You had a plan, would it actually work you weren’t sure, but you prayed to the Traveler for help and take a few steps back then sprint forward using a combination of the Grease spell you knew and your shield to slide gaining an extra boost of speed. You rocket off the edge and kick off your shield for even more distance, by some divine miracle you managed enough distance to arc yourself right on target with the chained stone. With a loud battle cry, using all your strength and help of gravity you bash your mace into the stone using up a Divine Smite for extra power, so when you hit the stone a large and bright burst of green light pulses from the chimeras back and you hear a loud crack as the stone shatters into pieces the energy within shooting up into the air before dispersing into nothing. Chains clatter to the ground and the chimera collapses, shrinking in size and its extra features revert back into their intended form, you tumble to the ground in a not so graceful way but you didn’t care. The party stares at you in silence and you look over at Jester who slowly picks herself up and you can see tears in her eyes. You run to her ignoring everyone else and practically jump into her waiting arms.

"You came back." Her voice teeters close to a sob while you both share in a much needed hug.

"I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean it, I don’t hate you." You on the other hand couldn’t stop your sobbing, and feel her press a soft kiss to the top of your head. You stay like this for a little while, no one bothering to interject with your sweet little moment.

"How were you able to find us?" Jester asks when you finally break the hug.

"The Traveler came to me, he showed me." You say with a smile, Jester stares shocked for a second then a large smile of her own spreads across her face.

"Isn’t he the best." She says more as a statement, one you nod eagerly to.

"I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should be gettin' out of here." Fjord steps in, pointing to everyone else who were waiting somewhat impatiently. You both give him a nod and make your way back out of the cave.

"I told you all we should’ve brought (y/n) with us." Jester huffs a little.

"It seems you were right," Caleb says then looks to you. "We never should’ve underestimated your abilities." You just give them all a nice smile.

A little ways away a clocked figure watches the party leave the cave, casual banter and laughs now being shared with everyone, the cloaked figure gives a sigh of relief before disappearing from plain sight.

#critical role #critical role & reader #mighty nein #the mighty nein #mighty nein & reader #jester lavorre #jester & reader #nothing romantic here

32 notes · View notes

missizzy · 3 years ago

Text

New Fic: All Five, Part 16(Star Wars)

(Read entire fic on AO3)

The rest of that day was dull, and therefore, long. In the Temple, Qui-Gon spent most of it trying to find out all he could about the current traffic around the Chancellor's office, while Obi-Wan and Anakin were mostly caught up in other tasks, ones their Master feared wouldn't keep them distracted, knowing them both as well as he did. Over on Avvarbor Prime, Mace spent it traveling to where his Padawan waited with her pair of charges, and the three of them apparently spent a quiet day in relative safety.

Qui-Gon and Anakin took their lastmeal that night in their quarters. Of course as soon as Qui-Gon said they were going to, Anakin must have guessed what he wanted to talk about. He was mildly surprised his Padawan didn't launch right into it as soon as they had sat down with their greens and loaf. Maybe he was finally learning patience. Or maybe he wanted to not talk about it that badly.

He waited until both their plates were half cleared, before he said, "I know something happened yesterday which you remain troubled about, my Padawan. What about it is most on your mind?"

"The girl, of course!" It burst out from him, just as Qui-Gon had expected; the question had just been to get him talking. "I'm wondering where she is right now, if she's even alive...yeah, we can't even know that, can we? Look, I know we had to walk away, didn't even need Obi-Wan to explain, not really, but..." He sighed.

"Of course this has brought you pain," said Qui-Gon. "You would not be a good person if it did not. This is one of the prices of being a Jedi they don't tell you about until you're paying it. The guilt, especially when we are aware it is the system that is stopping us, the rules set for us by the Senate, rather than the Force."

"And you object to those, Master?" Anakin asked, with a hint of a smile.

"Certainly not in their entirety," Qui-Gon had to admit. "We do want to be of service to the people, after all. Indeed, if the Senate was a bit more of a reflection of their true will...but it may be the closest we can get."

Anakin hid his disappointment well; Qui-Gon could only faintly sense it. "There are no easy answers to any of your questions, Padawan," he said to him. "The best I can tell you is to try to figure out what is right, and to know there may be times when that will not be what you were told to do. You knew what the right thing to do was yesterday, after all, much as it was a terrible thing to do as well."

A nod from Anakin. He was now old enough to understand why that wasn't a contradiction in terms, and regret it. "We shall meditate further on this tonight," he finished. "I hope that will help you find peace with it."

But they ultimately wouldn't get the chance to. They were just gathering up the dishes when the comm chimed, and Master Yoda's voice came out, "Master Jinn? Padawan Skywalker?"

"That's us," said Anakin, with just a little cheek. Qui-Gon felt oddly proud.

"See you, I must, right away," and there was something odd about his voice. A line from Master Dooku ran through the head of his former apprentice: "On those occasions when he's obliged to do something he doesn't think is the best idea, he'll sound as impatient as he accuses us of being."

Anakin probably hadn't noticed. He was at the door even as Qui-Gon said, "We're on our way. Your interview chamber?"

They did indeed meet Yoda there, sitting next to the far wall so as not to have the ceiling lurking right behind and over Qui-Gon's head, waiting for him to bump into if he tried to move without paying attention. That at least got him a little more relaxed than his poor Padawan, and he tried to sound casual, as he asked, "So, Master Yoda, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Pleasure this may be, or may not be," was the reply, as Yoda turned towards Anakin. "Word, I have just received, from Chancellor Palpatine. He wishes to meet with you, Padawan Skywalker. Alone."

That was a very great demand to make at Anakin's age, even for the Supreme Chancellor. "What for?" he asked. "Did he say?"

"Say, he did not, only that he would like if within the next few days, this meeting would be."

"Right now, my schedule's open?" Anakin asked his Master.

"It can be very easily," Qui-Gon confirmed, but he knew they both would sense his displeasure and wariness.

"Refuse this, you can, Master Qui-Gon," Yoda reminded him. "He is your Padawan, and even the Chancellor of the Republic cannot meet him, or just cannot meet him alone, if nay, you tell him."

Qui-Gon had never forbidden any of his Padawans to meet with anyone, or even restricted the conditions under which they could. It went against most of what he believed in in life. But now he was besieged by a feeling he had never had before, a fear of what would happen to Anakin if he didn't step forward to protect him from those too powerful.

It was because Anakin couldn't get away with refusing himself, he told himself firmly. That didn't mean the decision couldn't still be his. Yet he still felt the vague dread as he asked, "What you do want to do, Anakin? Itï¿½s not right that you should need me to say no in your stead, but if you don't want this I'll do it."

Anakin didn't answer right away, but just sat there, his uncertainty strong enough for anyone to sense. After a minute or so, he asked, "What do you think would happen if Master Jinn insisted on coming with me? Would he agree, or refuse to meet with me at all?"

Yoda closed his eyes, and they could tell he was reaching into the Force, seeing if it would tell him. Finally he said, "Tricky, Chancellor Palpatine seems. Possible, it is it, that he will say yes, then attempt to separate you when you arrive."

Master and Padawan then needed only a quick glance at each other to confirm they were both thinking the same thing. "Tell him I insist on being present," said Qui-Gon.

"Tell him that, I shall," said Master Yoda, and he bowed. "May the Force be with you two. Need it, you may."

"Maybe this will even be fun," Anakin commented as they walked back to their own quarters. "I mean, if we're trying to get the better of the Supreme Chancellor." It was a weak echo of his younger self, and in spite of everything, Qui-Gon had to smile a little. They would, at least, feel some very real satisfaction if they pulled it off.

"We shall have to begin preparing for it immediately," he said. "It is a safe assumption that the exact meeting time will be at the Chancellor's pleasure rather than ours; we might even find ourselves roused for it early tomorrow morning. Tonight will we have to study the layout of his office and surrounding quarters. Also, I have a friend there who we'll contact; he may be willing to help, although he will likely ask for favors in returns, ones we may or may not be able to grant."

He also thought that so long as they were going to be in the Chancellor's suite, they might also do some investigating of the other goings-on there, at least if the opportunity provided itself. It would for him, perhaps, if Palpatine did succeed in separating them. Although if that was a back-up plan of action, it was probably smarter not to mention to his Padawan that he had it. There was still too much chance of him taking that the wrong way, hard as Qui-Gon had worked to get him to overcome his insecurities.

Rozitti didn't answer when Qui-Gon first commed him, in his bedroom, while Anakin waited outside. He was a very busy man. Anakin looked very curiously at his Master when he came out, but when Qui-Gon said, "He wasn't home," he didn't ask any questions. The two of them spent two hours going over everything they knew about the entire building, right down to what Anakin happened to know about the electrical system. ("I got curious about how they worked here on Coruscant after that adventure I went on in the Temple," he explained.) The two of them did meditate a little before Qui-Gon sent Anakin to bed, with him directing his Padawan to focus on what he could do in the immediate future, and let go of what he couldn't do.

A lesson he could've learned better himself, of course. Obi-Wan was busy that night, helping tutor a young knight of a more nocturnal species, so Qui-Gon could have no companion except his own all too agitated thoughts. He couldn't let Anakin know how much he, too, had been disturbed and deeply distressed by the thought of that poor woman they couldn't help, much as he had known countless people like her in his life. He spent extra time in meditation, keeping his mental state through several exhausting katas, which at least allowed him to drift off for a few hours. But his dreams that night were painful, and when he woke too early, it was just as well, since he needed more meditation to resettle his mind.

By the time Anakin woke, however, Qui-Gon, was more mentally composed. It helped that they took their first meal with Obi-Wan that morning, though the talk between the three of them that morning was entirely commonplaces. It was a busy day for both him and Anakin, the one still teaching lessons, and the other still learning them. Qui-Gon envied them that, wished the Council would let him take on some classes, though he supposed if he couldn't anyway if they did let them go to the Avvarbor System now.

He instead spent the morning doing more research. There was only so much more left to read about Palpatine and the goings-on of his circle and surroundings. With that subject exhausted, he went back to reading about dark objects. He'd found a book about experiments done by now-unknown practitioners, possibly Sith-affiliated, experimenting with ways to travel tens of thousands of light-years within moments by bending and twisting the Force. They knew it hadn't ended well for most of them, but there were a handful where their exact fate was unknown. Obviously if any of them had succeeded, the Sith hadn't received their knowledge then, but it was just possible they had somehow come to it, or part of it, now.

When just before lunch he got a comm from Master Yoda, he was pretty sure what it was about even before he answered, "Master?" and got the response:

"Agreed, the Chancellor has. To meet you both tonight, he wants. At 2000, or 2100."

"2000, then," said Qui-Gon. The sooner this all was over with, the better.

2000 Hours Both Master and Padawan were the epitome of proper decorum for the first ten minutes or so they were in the Executive Building. Master Jinn had made Anakin spend much of the afternoon reviewing all the rules, and Anakin had done it very thoroughly. He knew how important this all was, after all.

Then they got a few minutes by themselves, when they were left to wait to be called into the Chancellor's office. Obviously they had to be on camera at that point, so there was only so much they could even say to each other, but Master Jinn still leaned down and said to him, "Remember, Chancellor Palpatine is a very powerful man with maybe more responsibilities than anyone else in the galaxy. But he is also just another person in the end, to be respected as much as any other, but not seen as all powerful or more than that."

It wasn't Anakin's first time meeting a Supreme Chancellor. Master Jinn had a couple of times had cause to meet with Valorum, and Anakin had come with him once, when he'd been eight. Palpatine he'd seen images of, and his main thought had always been that he and Valoum didn't look all that unalike.

He still thought that now, but when Chancellor Palpatine actually stepped out of his office to greet them-which Anakin didn't think Supreme Chancellors usually did-Anakin did note they felt pretty different in the Force. It wasn't a difference he could even really put words to, but if he'd tried to, he probably would've said it was like Palpatine was just more there. He could've just been strong in the Force; politicians often were, though thankfully they usually weren't actually Force-sensitive. But Anakin also had the feeling that there was something important there too he couldn't identify. He hoped Master Jinn could figure that one out.

Whatever it was, he wasn't sure he liked it. But that could just be his already being suspicious of the Chancellor and the people around him. He wasn't even sure how much that was them, and how much that was his being suspicious of everybody nowadays.

"Padawan Anakin Skywalker." Palpatine's voice was warm and paternal. "Thank you for coming to see me, and on such short notice. And you, too, Master Jinn. I've heard so much about you both. I suppose you will insist on coming in?" He didn't sound entirely friendly there.

"I assume you must have something very important to tell my Padawan," said Master Jinn, perfectly placid. "Something I'll need to know anyway. This should be easier for both of us if we can just hear it together."

"It's not exactly that," said the Chancellor as he stepped into the audience, but made no further protest when Master and Padawan followed him shoulder to shoulder. "And in truth, Master Jinn, what I've got to talk about today is something the Jedi Council will be hearing about sooner or later. I suppose you two might feel the need to tell them about it now, but...I think I will leave that up to your discretion."

Did he know, about Master Jinn and the Council? Anakin wasn't sure how many people outside the Temple knew about that. Though if there was any kind of Sith influence in this place, they'd probably be spying on the Council as much as they could.

One way or another, he didn't like the way Palpatine was looking at Master Jinn, like he thought he could get something out of him. It made Anakin wonder a lot what he might want. They none of them had time to get tangled up in stupid politics, if it was just that, and if it was worse...well.

"To be honest, this is something I'm very worried to tell the Council about, especially as I fear they may take offense...or worse. You see, I am starting to think someone in the Order is plotting against me, the Republic's government in general, or both."

He looked at them as if he expected this news to send them both reeling. To be fair, it would have, if they hadn't already thought far worse could exist within the Temple.

Though Master Jinn probably would have remained easily neutral anyway, as he calmly asked, "And what makes you think that, Chancellor?"

"Call it a combination of whispers I've heard and circumstantial evidence I've seen piling up. I am aware, of course, of these Sith Lords that have done the Order such damage and even put you in dire conditions once or twice, and I would not expect you to do as much as you did before all that started. But suddenly I'm finding strange failures on some of my vital diplomatic missions. Just last week, for instance. Kit Fisto has always been exemplary in his negotiations with the Dac, but this time he suddenly couldn't get them to stay seated for five minutes even after he spent three weeks trying."

Well, that could potentially be caused by the Sith sabotaging Knight Fisto somehow. Anakin wished he could ask someone what missions Master Dooku had been even somewhat connected to.

"And after that mission, you see," Palpatine continued, "I found myself with five Senators, two of whom had never showed any sign of caring in the least, coming after me, three of them on the floor of the Senate itself, attacking my very capacity to serve as Chancellor. And when I looked into them, they all had ties to the Jedi Order somehow."

"Who were they, and how so?" Master Jinn asked. "Were all the ties all that significant?"

"Well, one of them, Senator Merks from Duzzkem, is actually married to a failed Initiate, which seems pretty significant to me. Two more, Senator Larkin Buffe and Avos Fullan, have distant cousins in the Order, though I admit I don't know if theyï¿½ve ever actually had much to do with them. The last two, Sborowsky Glitz and Ken-Oilt-Feras Gu, have worked with the Jedi multiple times on various diplomatic matters over the years."

"If their behavior is a coordinated effort against you," said Master Jinn, "then those Jedi and those Senators, or at least their staff, would have to be in a good deal of contact with each other. How much do you think they could conceal?"

"You would be amazed, Master Jinn. I know the Senate preaches transparency and letting the people know all we do. And yes, a good deal of spying and other dodgy monitoring goes on too. But I'm afraid it's all been going on so long that any Senator who's been on Corurscant for more than a few months has learned how much to let themselves be recorded and how to make sure, for an hour or so at least, that noone will ever watch what they are doing and who they are doing it with.

Of course, I don't pretend to fully know what kind of supervision the Jedi Order puts its members under, or even how much you people tend to just know about each other." A pause, and maybe all that work Anakin had done trying to learn how to read people was finally paying off, because it hit him that the Chancellor was silently suggesting Master Jinn tell him exactly what supervision there was.

Master Jinn, however, remained silent at first, then asked, "What do you know about their activities? Quite frankly, Chancellor, if you claimed not to be monitoring them as much as you are allowed, at least these past few weeks..."

"I can give you detailed records on that if you like. I will note immediately that Senators Fullan and Glitz have found themselves in the Temple District surprisingly often, though only Glitz has actually set foot in it in the past two months-to my knowledge, anyway."

"I'm willing to take that back to the Temple with me. Of course the moment the Council hears about it, they will want to see everything." When, of course, there was still the possibility one of them was working for the Sith.

Which was probably why Master Jinn kept a game expression when Palpatine kind of crooned, "Do they really need to hear about it, Master Jedi? I have heard that you and they have not always agreed on how to handle certain affairs, especially ones that might require a more unorthodox solution."

Yet he responded, "I shall have to tell someone, Chancellor. A matter such as this I cannot keep to myself. Not with the implications it has for the entire Order."

Palpatine looked gravely as him, then said, "If you feel you must, I suppose you must."

"Is this why you only wanted to talk to me about this?" Anakin asked. And now that he'd had that thought, well, he really hoped it wasn't true.

But Palpatine replied, "I did want to restrict this information as much as possible, yes, though I know we could never have kept you in the dark entirely, Master Jinn. You see, I was wondering if young Anakin would be willing to get just a little more information for me. Nothing secret, even, just...hard to obtain if you're not a Jedi. About the Jedi who have interacted with the Senate recently, and maybe which missions they were sent on, that sort of thing."

"That sounds like a lot of information," said Anakin, to quell his real reaction. "Don't Jedi and the Senate interact a lot?"

"Indirectly, more often than not. And I don't necessarily care about every routine diplomatic assignment request, especially ones that were denied anyway. I think if you start looking over everything, you'll be quick to spot where the more significant interactions are."

"That is no small task you are asking of one Padawan," observed Master Jinn. "Even if I aid him, it would consume much time for the both of us. If we were to do this, we would need further help. How would you feel about potentially bringing in my former Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi into this? Or Padawan Padme Naberrie? She's a good friend of Anakin's."

"Hmmmm." The Chancellor's face didn't say much, so Anakin looked at his Master's instead. Master Jinn shook his head only slightly, just enough to convey his opinion to his Padawan. "Naberrie is apprenticed to Master Windu, I believe?" A stronger shake of the head from Master Jinn.

Anakin decided to ask it: "Do you not want Master Windu to know?"

"I would think that would be obvious," he chuckled. "Not that I even suspect him of anything, mind you. But you must know how he is, especially if you're friends with his Padawan. Has she not told you how he berated her when she went and offended some Lord on Falsine while exposing two of his manservants for secretly working for his longtime rival, and when as I understand it, there's a chance that this saved the negotiations to end the civil war. He wasn't happy with her the time she ran out on a meeting to help put out a building on fire on Morgos Prime either. And then there was the time..."

"We get the point," said Master Jinn, and he was now sounding openly displeased, but meanwhile Anakin was reeling, because no, Padmï¿½ hadn't told him about any of that. "But I still do not think it likely the two of us could do this alone. At the very least, I know Obi-Wan to be free of any overbearing influences; even I haven't been one in his life for years now. If I was to tell anyone other than my current Padawan here, it would be him."

"If you feel you must, then," sighed Palpatine. "Shall we nonetheless keep this to the four of us for the time being?"

"Very well," said Master Jinn, and Anakin nodded too.

They didn't get the chance to do any real snooping. Barely had they stepped out the office when the guards were right there, making it clear they were to remove themselves immediately. Honestly, Anakin was a little relieved. He was still thinking more about what he'd just learned about Master Windu and Padme.

It was still the main thing occupying his mind as he and his Master headed back for the Temple. He didn't even pay much attention to his surroundings as they went, at least until they were nearly there, and Master Jinn commented, "You look at the Temple from the outside, you really don't see that much of it, all things considered. You see an outward structure, spires that have relatively little happen in them, a grand entrance, and a few more ways in if you look closely enough, and walls that go down far lower than most of this planet's inhabitants will ever travel.

I don't think most of the inhabitants will ever have any idea that we're having any special trouble right now either," he continued, as they disembarked and headed up the steps inside. "They never know all the trouble and complications the Jedi Order suffers from. They don't want to, and the Order doesn't want them to either. Of course there's no keeping it from the galaxy when we get openly attacked, but I don't know how much of the Order, even, knows of the rest of it. Even rumors only get out about so much, and then of course they're not always believed."

"That sounds like it's all true all the time," Anakin couldn't help but remark. "And not just about big scary things that where Jedi who do know about them know they have to put a stop to them, but also things where nobody does anything."

"You're right about that, Ani," said Master Jinn. "I daresay there are even many things even each of us hasn't noticed, much as we know about these big important things currently going on. We should keep that in mind."

Not too long ago, the thought of Master Jinn being oblivious to anything would've seemed absurd to his Padawan. But he was pretty sure he'd missed the obvious possibility of his own Master being the Sith, because surely if he had seen it, he would've also realized that Anakin, too, had seen it, and thus sat him down to discuss it by now. It left Anakin both thinking he really needed to point it out, and feeling like he just couldn't, though he supposed if Obi-Wan or Padme said they should do it, he would.

And now he had to think he might have missed a thing or two about his longtime friend Mace Windu, that his good opinion didn't necessarily mean there wasn't anything seriously wrong with him. That he didn't really know how he truly treated Padme. Maybe nobody really knew how a Master treated a Padawan besides the Master and Padawan themselves. Though he now wanted to talk to Padme about it, at least a little.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #qui-gon jinn #sheev palpatine

4 notes · View notes

irene-sadler · 4 years ago

Text

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka “The Tournament”)

` Had Isbel made it rain? Meve thought maybe Gascon was onto something, but knew better than to ask. Regardless, the weather had changed by morning to a chill wind and cloudy sky which warmed to a damp, but rainless, afternoon. Possibly it was pleasant enough for those observing the proceedings and eating roasted nuts; she herself was drenched in sweat and could see only a small, square piece of the world beyond the two-inch thickness of leather, eighth-inch of steel, and heavy coat of dull black paint that separated her head from the outside world. Her view of the day was of pale gray skies, floating colorful banners, and the back of Bohault’s armor directly in front of her.

(“The tourney armor is not quite what you’re used to wearing.” Reynard had advised her, the night before. “It’s heavier and thicker.”

He’d considered the hastily-painted set he’d loaned her, frowning doubtfully.

“I must admit, I’m concerned that a few of these knights might recognize my armor even with the black paint, but will of course know I’m not in it; luckily it will be hard for them to say much about it if you arrive with no time to spare. Of course, a real professional can generally tell who is wearing a set of armor by the way they fight, whatever disguise they may employ, but they’ve never seen you fight, and even if they know my armor, and they know me, they may not figure out the discrepancy before it’s too late; for them, I mean.”

She’d grinned, gap-toothed and wolfish.)

She wasn’t smiling then, because of her jangling nerves, but he was right. It was impossible to see much of anything through the helm, much less recognize an individual knight, or realize that someone wasn’t really a knight. The roped-off lists teemed with a shifting, crushing press of horses and people – knights, footmen, valets, and Gascon, visible in the front of the mass, talking to Reynard, although she had no idea what they were saying, between the din of the crowd in the distance and the rattle of armor directly around her.

(“You won’t be able to hear much of anything, what with the crowd and the helm,” Reynard had continued, with a smile that almost matched hers, “It’s easiest to just listen for trumpets. The first you’ll hear are a warning to prepare yourself.”)

She heard a distant blare of instruments through the metal and leather that protected her head; her destrier, a massive bay animal, twitched his ears at the sound and sidled gently away from her neighbors, carrying her footmen and valets along with him like lesser celestial bodies. She sat still as he completed his movement and then stood patiently, unaffected by the din or by the dramatics of any of the horses near him. A veteran, she noted with appreciation; she’d borrowed him, like the armor, from Reynard, and wasn’t sure which of the two she valued more at that moment.

(“The second time you hear horns will be when the melee is over. Once all is in order, they’ll cut the ropes; you’ve seen this done, of course. After that you may fight whoever you come across who is on th’ opposing side. As you aren’t a famous, or infamous, knight, nobody will single you out in particular, and all you need to worry about to succeed is staying on your horse – but you’ve been in plenty of real battles, and you know that. I think you’ll do very well, under the circumstances.”)

The mass of men and animals waited; a drift of wood smoke floated over them and found its way through the little gap in Meve’s visor. Her eyes watered; she battled the urge to sneeze, lost, and, at that moment of weakness, the pack suddenly surged forward, carrying herself and her horse along with it. She juggled her lance and the reins for a moment, then noted the frustrated cant of her horse’s ears as he broke into a slow, heavy trot with the rest of the mass of rattling, encumbered men. It occurred to her that the animal knew more about his business than she did, so she dropped the reins, couched her lance, and knocked down her first attacker by instinct as much as skill. The spear shattered on impact with his breastplate and she continued on her way, dropping the useless splinters and happily shifting to more familiar tactics.

(Reynard’s face had turned unsure again, as he spoke. She suspected he was more nervous than she was, herself.

“- you’ll do very well unless, of course, you fall off, and then it’s anyone’s guess. You fight well on foot, better than I do, in fact, but it’s still best for you to stay mounted; mine will do his best to keep you aboard if he possibly can.”)

With a lance, she was awkward at best, but with a mace, she was perfectly competent. Reynard’s horse needed no guidance, and she battered her way through one, then another, of the defendant knights, as they happened to pass into her narrow view. She smashed through the lance of the first as he tilted at her, turned back after him, shoved him to the ground with her shield, and kept going. The second knight she recognized with satisfaction - he was dressed in red armor and had, seeing her unstoppable approach, moved to block her way. Her horse turned himself obligingly to put her alongside. She swung, experimentally, was easily blocked on his shield, and deflected an answering sword-blow with her own. Her next swing was delivered with the full force of her personal dislike behind it. The hit dented the stranger’s shield and splintered her mace; the head flew off into the air. They paused, staring at the splintered handle of her weapon in mutual astonishment.

(“But if you fall, Meve, you ought to yield; Bohault and th’ others will keep you in one piece. At least, I hope they will,” Reynard added, with a doubtful frown, which he shook off sharply. “Yes, they will, you’ll be fine. However, should you lose your helm-“

“Oh,” she said, taking his hand and steering him away from the armor, “Not to worry; I’ll wear a knit hat to cover my hair, and nobody will notice. Although, I do wish Isbel hadn’t refused to charm the thing so it wouldn’t come off at all, but I suppose that’d be an unfair advantage.”)

The moment was interrupted as someone hit the back of her helm from behind, a clanging blow that crashed her off her horse and into the clinging mud below. Isbel had most definitely caused the rainstorm, Meve reflected distractedly, as someone immediately dragged her up out of the muck and onto her feet. The stolid, middle-aged face of Bohault loomed overhead. He released her as she dragged her sword out of its sheath, and shouted an angry negative at whatever he was saying. She abandoned the horse and her shield, pushed Gaspar out of her way, and strode off in search of a new target, ignoring her ringing ears. Close by, one of her allies was scrambling backward, under desperate siege by a pair of opponents; she dealt one a hard punch to the helm with her armored fist, closed with the second and disarmed him with a clever twist of her weapon that sent his sword flying, turned back to her first victim, and scowled in disgust as the knight rapidly backed away from her and made his escape.

The man she’d rescued was floundering in the mud with his helm crooked; Meve made a momentary search, turning her entire torso to see through her visor, for his footmen, saw none, dropped her sword in the mud, and, gritting her teeth through her growing exhaustion, dragged him back onto his feet with both hands. She recognized his face with a flash of annoyance, noticed that his right arm was most probably broken, from the way his shield was awkwardly hanging, and sighed. Over his shoulder, Meve spotted the red knight coming for her, himself unhorsed; she hesitated, then raised her empty hand significantly, and, as he accordingly changed course and passed her by, reluctantly signaled to Bohault. The cavalryman and her own footmen circled around, blackjacks held against the thinning remains of the melee.

(“You’ll get tired, sooner than you think, my dear, but recall that this isn’t a real battle, and you may quit the field at any time, even if the fight hasn’t ended yet.”

She’d scoffed at the idea. Reynard smiled and shook his head at her.)

“There’s no shame in retiring early, so long as you put in a valiant effort,” Reynard had said; she repeated his rhetoric to Ethan, just before Isbel snapped the squire’s right shoulder back into place. The youth had nothing to say in response, but managed to nod to convey that he accepted her comments as an absolute truth, given by his Queen, before he fainted dead away. She sighed, rubbed her aching neck, and prepared herself for another lecture from the sorceress, but to her mild surprise the older woman only nodded approvingly at her.

“You’re wanted, ma’am,” Pug announced, sticking her head into the room, “And the Duke of Dogs warns that you’ve won some prize or something, and ought t’ prepare according.”

“They’ve been saying that the black knight is in love with a princess who was turned by magic into a swan,” Isbel remarked. “And that he is searching for a way to turn her back; as part of his quest, he has taken a vow of silence, so that he neither speaks nor removes his helmet. I’ve no idea how these rumors began circulating, obviously.”

“Fantastic,” Meve mumbled, reaching for her helm. “A swan, is it? Sound most inconvenient; for the knight, I mean. I’m sure the lady is quite content.”

The prize was granted by the middle-aged wife of the defendant Baron, smugly standing in for the mysteriously absent Queen; Meve recognized the woman from the previous day’s jousting even through her narrow view. She was exhausted, but Reynard’s horse carried her to receive her due, again without any instruction on her part, and her mud-spattered armor disguised her slight shaking. Somewhere beyond her metal shell, a man haughtily announced, “Behold here this noble lady, accompanied by my lords the judges, who have come to give you the tourney prize, because you have been judged the knight who has fought best today in the melee of the tourney, and my lady prays that you will take it with good will.”

She did, after a short pause before she realized she was being addressed, said nothing at all in response but only bowed, a motion made necessarily awkward by the weight of metal she wore, and then rode away.

There was no avoiding either the feast or dance that night, and Meve’s dwindling morale was not improved on realizing she would be unable to avoid the Baroness, either; she didn’t dislike the woman, but her patience for small talk was limited, at the best of times, and almost nonexistent after her long day. Luckily, the older woman only eyed her speculatively for a moment as she sat down and then tactfully made uninteresting conversation on occasion. The evening therefore wore on tiresomely, but mostly in silence, until she nodded toward Gascon and his admirers and remarked to Meve, “I believe they grow them without brains, these days; you’d best keep that one in green away from your friend. Do you see her circling? A grasping creature; harpies don’t compare.”

Meve, quite familiar with the behavior of harpies, considered the subject with an analytical eye and said, thoughtfully, “Hmm.”

A few minutes later, they were deep in a detailed discussion of the merits and backgrounds of the women in the hall, and then, after another drink or two, the men as well; it carried them companionably until Gascon escaped the crowd and joined them. He flopped into the seat nearest Meve, uninvited, and consumed the rest of her drink with a dramatic sigh. The Baroness stared blandly at him; Meve rolled her eyes toward the other woman.

“This is awful,” Gascon complained, “I don’t know how the two of you do this full-time. I think I was pretty rude, though; maybe most of those people won’t want to talk t’ me again.”

“You get used to it, after a few decades – oh, what now?” Meve asked irritably, as the door to the hall banged open and an armed man strode confidently through. Conversation in the hall ceased instantly, as everyone else looked curiously at the newcomer: a soldier, Meve suspected from his patchwork armor of mail and leather and extensive mustache, or perhaps a mercenary. The stranger looked around himself, bowed toward the Queen and Baroness and said, politely enough, “Good evening; I’m looking for Sir Reynard Odo.”

“Really? What for?” Gascon asked him, intrigued, but the knight stood up before the stranger could answer.

“Yes? Can I help you?” he asked; Meve sighed as the stranger immediately declared, “My master, Sir Holt of the Fen, represents that you have offended his honor and demands that you apologize or else face the consequences.”

“Who?” The Duke asked in a carrying whisper, blinking.

“The red knight; you remember him,” Meve explained, much more quietly. “What did you do, Count Odo?” she asked, louder. The Count shrugged modestly.

“He annoyed me yesterday evening, my lady,” he replied, “And so I threw him up some stairs. No, sir, I won’t apologize,” he continued, to the messenger. “Would do it again, in fact, given the chance.”

Gascon grinned; the Baroness smirked; Meve had to duck her head slightly to hide her own slightly surprised smile. A whisper of comment and a few laughs went around the room; the stranger ignored them.

“In that case, he challenges you to a duel, to restore his honor by force, says you are a recreant knight and no gentleman, and-“

“Yes, yes,” Reynard interrupted, uncharacteristically impatient, “Gascon, would you mind arranging the details?”

“Not at all,” he said, lightly. “Do you prefer swords, or something else?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” the knight replied, bowed to all present, and shot a quick glance at the Queen. She nodded, very slightly; he left the hall without another word.

“Well,” she said to Gascon, as the stranger made his exit and the general din resumed, “I suppose we’ll be imposing on your hospitality for a few more days, then.”

“Stay as long as you want,” Gascon replied cheerily.

“I’m not surprised he wants to fight me,” Reynard was saying much later, sitting complacently with his legs stretched toward the inferno in Gascon’s fireplace and the knight who’d fought best that day resting her head in his lap, “But I did expect Sir Holt would choose a less melodramatic moment, if he called me out. These things would never fly in the royal court; you’d never get away with giving the melee prize to an unnamed knight who was dismounted and resigned early, no matter how gallantly he behaved toward his allies, or how well he fought beforehand. At least, not without any hurt feelings or complaints - not that I didn’t hear my share even here. Nor with trying to duel a judge of the tournament, for that matter, before it was yet officially over -”

“She,” Meve interrupted, to redirect his lecture, “How well she fought. And I’ll give prizes in my court as I see fit, sir.”

“Won’t be able to win all of ‘em yourself so easily, there,” he answered, “I thought you had fallen asleep; did I wake you?”

“Resting my eyes only, my love,” she said, “I can hear well enough despite.”

“It’s a fine trophy you’ve won,” Gascon said, examining the ruby-studded ring she’d been awarded with professional appreciation, “What will you do with it?”

“Why, give it to the next swan I come across, naturally,” she said; Reynard almost laughed.

“Say, Reynard,” the Duke continued, as if nothing unusual had happened, “Lord knows I’ve annoyed you hundreds of times, and yet you’ve never thrown me up some stairs. What gives?”

“Did I say annoyed? I meant something else,” the knight replied, with an automatic glance at Meve. She raised an inquiring eyebrow up at him, smiled as he looked cagily away, and made no attempt to hide her gratification at his embarrassment.

“Oh,” Gascon said, with an ironic smirk, tossed the ring to Reynard, and continued, inexplicably, “I get it. Well, I went against Sir Holt in the jousts th’ other day, and I don’t think he’s all that good of a fighter.”

“He knocked you down in a single pass,” Meve noted.

“Exactly; nearly anyone else could have done it just as easily, so it proves no particular skill on his part.”

“Yes, well, I fought him in the melee, and I think he’s more than passing good; you’ve your work cut out for you, Reynard. Although,” Meve added, “I should have beaten him in th’ end, without having to stop and rescue that squire of yours again, Gascon.”

“No doubt,” Gascon agreed, with no obvious sarcasm. “Well, seems you’ve preparations to make, Reynard, so I’ll leave you to it. Don’t stay up too late.”

Thick fog had settled in over the fort by the next morning; the Queen sent dozens of courtiers and retainers on their way before noon, moving very stiffly even to an unsuspecting eye, but otherwise appearing her usual self. The Duke, on the other hand, was visibly hungover and surly on top of it. The Baroness regarded her with a faint, amused smile, but said nothing of note to as she departed; Meve concluded that, probably, the older woman had gotten the wrong idea altogether about her relationship with Gascon, but it was too late to explain, even if she’d cared to bother. The only trouble with her and Reynard’s affair, she reflected, was that its private nature meant almost nobody else had any idea it existed, causing the occasional inconvenience.

She managed the rest of the departures with casual patience. Those few of Gascon’s admirers who were truly dedicated braved his short answers and dull, stupid glare, to no profit - he had no obvious interest in any of the women, no matter what they tried. Reynard watched the proceedings on and off from a distance, saying nothing, but conveniently vanishing during the brief appearance and hasty departure of the red knight. By midafternoon, the last of the visitors were gone, leaving only the lesser mob of Meve’s own retinue. Gascon, who had suddenly recovered from his hangover and moodiness, departed for a conference with the enemy and returned late in the evening.

“Sir Holt’s agreed to fight with th’ usual weapons, but not now. He says he wishes to postpone until some point in the near future; claims that his shield arm is injured from the melee due to a particularly hard hit, and he is, therefore, not prepared to restore his honor immediately,” he reported, helping himself to Reynard’s dinner. Meve smiled smugly.

“So,” Reynard said, yielding over his mostly untouched plate and looking unusually irritated, “There was really no reason for him to interrupt your feast with this nonsense, yesterday.”

“Well, he doesn’t wear that ridiculous red armor because he’s th’ uninteresting but considerate type, like yourself, my friend.”

“I suppose I ought to go back to Rivia Castle tomorrow, then,” said Meve, without much enthusiasm, as Reynard rolled his eyes and Gascon grinned cheekily at him. “Two weeks away from court is, perhaps, a little long; I wouldn’t want them to start getting creative ideas in my absence.”

“I’ll go too; no need to await Sir Holt’s recovery here instead of there,” Reynard said quickly.

“Or you could stay here,” Gascon said hopefully, “Sure, it’ll take a few weeks, but by then it’ll be hunting season, which you shouldn’t miss - boars, should it snow early in the season, deer if it don’t, foxes either way - you’d be home in no less than two months, I figure, when all’s said and done.”

The minor argument that immediately ensued brought Meve to a sudden conclusion; she considered that she wasn’t sure how, exactly, she could have missed the now very obvious reason for Gascon’s moodiness as she interrupted them:

“Gascon, we aren’t parting forever or even departing on a long journey to distant Kovir, only going home, which is a few days’ ride from here at most; you may visit us at any time you choose.”

Reynard glanced sharply at her and then adopted a distant frown. The Duke stared, apparently speechless for once; she looked back at him impassively until he said, “You spend far too much time with that sorceress; you’re acquiring a certain similarity of expression. Have you noticed it, Reynard?”

“No,” the knight said stiffly.

“Anyway,” Gascon continued, “I know all that, obviously, and, well, I’ll be honest: it does feel strangely isolated, out here by myself, after we all spent so much time together before; the two of you have each other, perhaps as a result you don’t feel the same - although don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for you both; no two people that I know suit each other better - but you’re right, it’s not as if I couldn’t make it to the capitol more often; it’s less simple for you to both drop everything and come all the way here, unless it’s with a good excuse like the tournament. I knew it’d work a charm.”

He ran out of breath on his final, slightly triumphant phrase and stopped; Reynard looked thoughtfully from Gascon to Meve, whose victorious smile had quickly faded to a stunned, slightly hurt stare.

“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “You might have said something about this earlier, instead of delaying and inventing plots, or been less cagey about it all week - in short, you could, generally, have handled this better, but,” he continued, a little louder as Meve opened her mouth to interrupt him, “We’ve all benefited, I think, from this - diversion, one way or another, so no lasting harm done.”

Meve mumbled something under her breath, frowning.

“The next time that you want to get together, however, you might find it convenient to just ask us, without any schemes to bring it about.”

“Yes, of course,” Gascon said, “You’re right. Should I apologize?”

“Not to me.”

Meve shook her head at him, but Gascon said, “I’m sorry, Meve. How do people usually apologize, at court? Flowers? A card? Or I could let Sir Reynard knock me off a horse, like he will Sir Holt?”

“No,” she said, “I can knock you off horses myself perfectly well.”

“I await your summons, then,” he said, venturing a hopeful grin, “Or I could send a fruit basket; we will soon be well-supplied with apples -”

“Look,” she said, finally cracking an amused smile despite herself, “It’s fine; I forgive you. Just - just don’t be such an ass, next time.”

“I will never be an ass again,” he announced, mouthed thank you to Reynard, bowed gallantly, and then prudently departed. Meve stared at the spot on the floor where he’d been standing for a long moment, then sighed, cracked her aching neck and sat in Reynard’s lap, frowning.

“That man is a disaster,” she remarked.

“Do you want me to fight him, too?” he asked; she ran her fingers through his hair and said, fondly, “No, thank you. I don’t think a knock on the head will be of much use, here; Gascon will have to sort himself out some other way, I’m afraid. If he can.”

“And what about you?”

“Me? Well, I’m all right, I suppose.”

Reynard looked up at her, frowning doubtfully.

“Really,” she claimed. “Gascon does have one thing right; having you around makes the more difficult days easier to get through.”

He looked less dubious; she grinned, kissed him, and added, “Although th’ effect might be in part a result of that hit I took in the melee; a knock on the head can solve one’s problems every so often, though not quite so often as it causes them.”

“A good thing your head is so hard, then,” he noted with a smile.

#thronebreaker #witcher #action #romance #sports

6 notes · View notes

meteor752 · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I read your Obi-Wan’s padawan post, and I really liked the character you created! You think you can write something with her????

Warnings: Angst, anger, self doubt, self hatred, self inflicted harm, mention of past slavery, mention of childhood abuse, body horror, me hating on the council despite the fact that I love at least half of them

Relationships: Only platonic ones, unfortunately (JK, but also not really)

Word count: 4801

Notes: Welp, you didn’t ask for anything specific, so that means you’re getting angst. If you wanna read about who the hell this character is, then you can find out about it here

Deep breaths.

That was the trick, that had always been the trick.

Deep breaths.

She’d been instructed as much when she was just four years old and still just a slave girl, by an older zeltron slave. He’d told her that if you just breathe, and keep yourself calm, then everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright, but Vera still clung to that idea.

Beside her Soka was talking, most likely asking her questions about what had just happened, but Vera was too focused on breathing to make out a single word the Togruta was saying.

Ani was pacing back and forth in front of the two Padawans, most likely muttering to himself considering the movement of his lips. Master Kenobi had entered his quarters the minute they got on the ship, mumbling something about the council, and he hadn’t come out since.

It was when Ani stopped pacing and looked towards the two that Vera snapped out of her thoughts as her Brother Padawan spoke.

“But how did you manage that?” He asked, his blue eyes looking into Vera’s brown, as if they were staring into her soul, judging it’s dark spots.

Vera didn’t answer. In fact, she had not said a word since her feet had hit the ground just an hour or two earlier. Whenever she tapped into the dark side she would usually do it as subtly as possible, but that hadn’t been an option.

They’d been attacked, from out of nowhere. They didn’t have any clones with them, there’d only been the four of them against thousands of battle droids.

They’d all almost died. Vera had been ready to just pass out from exhaustion, she’d been so tired and the blaster wounds hadn’t helped, when she’d seen the look in Soka’s eyes. She’d looked scared, worried, and also very tired.

Vera couldn’t have imagined the person she considered her sister to die in such a way, she deserved to live for a long time and take on padawans of her own.

So she’d snapped.

She’d ignored the pain in her side, she’d ignored her master and Ani calling after her, questioning what she was doing, she’d ignored the rules of the Jedi order.

She’d broken the barrier that stood between her and the dark side inside of her, and she’d taken out the entire army with just the cleansing of her fist.

Vera had expected the other three to be relieved, to be glad that they hadn’t died. Instead, when her eyes fell on them, they looked horrified.

And that was when she realized what she’d done.

“She used the dark side,” Soka answered, sounding tired. She really should check the wound on her arm when they get back, she lost a lot of blood.

“Yeah, but the dark side can’t do that!” Ani replied, throwing his hands in the air, “I mean, did you see her eyes?! There were six of them!”

Vera’s blood ran cold. She’d hoped that the beast would’ve been kept in check, but luck hadn’t been on her side. It was never on her side.

Despite the inner turmoil, she kept her face blank, and her eyes devoid of any emotion. Master Windu would be proud.

“Yeah well, while that might have been a bit odd,” Soka put a hand on her shoulder, and she did her best not to flinch at the touch, “She did save our lives.”

“Well, the Council won’t see it that way,” Ani slumped down on the opposite side of the two padawans, his arms crossed, “They won’t take this lightly, using the dark side to such an extent.”

Vera didn’t answer. The two continued talking between each other, sometimes addressing her, but she toned them out entirely.

They were right, the council would not be happy with her. She’d usually stayed on their good side, following orders and keeping quiet mostly, which when standing next to the duo that was Ani and Soka made her seem like the perfect Jedi. She wasn’t.

She was clingy, she was emotional, she was a liar, and she was a user of the dark side. She was just really good at hiding it all.

Except for this day, apparently.

Master Kenobi exited his quarters, his brow furrowed as if he was deep in thought, which he probably was. He always seemed to be nowadays.

Both Ani and Soka looked up when he did, and Vera carefully did the same, her brown eyes locked with his blue before he looked away.

“What did the council say?” Soka asked, leaning on her still injured arm like it was nothing.

“What did you tell the council?” Ani clasped his hands on the table, seemingly not noticing the trail of blood running down his temple. Those two really need to take better care of themselves.

Master Kenobi ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flickering between the three of them, “I told them that we were ambushed and that Vera needed to tap into the dark side to save us,” He sighed, sitting down beside Ani, “They request her presence when we reach Coruscant.”

Vera still showed no outer reaction, even though she was screaming inside. Her shields were up high, so they would not notice the distress in her force signature, though judging by the small glances Soka kept giving her she guessed that they weren’t high enough.

Vera took one of her light whips from her belt and started fiddling with it in an attempt to calm herself. It would usually work, as it reminded her that she was in control here, not one of her old slave masters, but it didn’t work this time. You can’t fight yourself out of a situation like this.

“Vera, are you alright?” Master Kenobi looked directly at her, she could feel it, but she refused to take her eyes off her lap. She couldn’t stand meeting that gaze.

“She hasn’t spoken,” Soka answered in her stead, ”I think she’s in shock.”

Shock? No, Vera was not in shock. In that regard she was fine. She was, however, absolutely terrified. Not only of the council but also of what the other three would think of her after what she did. They’d surely ask about the extra eyes, which would result in her coming clean about the beast. That probably scared her the most.

Vera bit into her lip, her sharp tooth immediately breaking the skin so the thick tasteful blood filled her mouth. Master Kenobi had told her multiple times not to do that, but sometimes it was hard not to.

“Vera please, we only wish to know what happened,” Master Kenobi’s voice sounded so kind and comforting that it almost hurt. She just wished to wrap herself in a blanket with a cup of hot chocolate in her hands while listening to that kind fatherly voice conversate with Soka and Ani and just forget everything that had happened.

But Vera remained quiet, fearing that she might say something wrong, and Master Kenobi simply sighed.

When the ship approached the landing pad of Coruscant, Vera had already prayed to everything she could think of for it to go well and that they could just forget all of it, and she most likely pray again.

***

“Do you care to inform us of what happened, Padawan River?” Mace Windu’s deep voice echoed in the council chamber, and it sent a chill down Vera’s back.

Every council member was there, she noticed, and sat silently while seemingly watching her every move. The only one not seated was Master Kenobi, who stood just beside her with his hands clasped behind his back.

Vera did not say anything. She had never liked talking to people with such a higher rank than her, a scar left behind from her days as a slave. Usually, when she was standing in front of the council she would let someone else do the talking, or just give single word answers.

She could not do that here.

“Padawan River?” Master Windu sounded impatient and annoyed, and it just scared Vera even more. She dug her nails into the palms of her hand, hoping the pain would distract her from what was happening, and she could feel a few drops of blood escape the wound.

“She has not spoken since it happened,” Master Kenobi excused, glancing briefly at her before looking back at Master Windu.

“I see,” He simply said, leaning back in his chair and looking at Master Yoda, “Well then Master Kenobi, why don’t you inform the council of what your Padawan did?”

“Well,” Master Kenobi cleared his throat while looking over at Vera once more, before looking away the second they made eye contact, “After the four of us were attacked and nearly, Vera unleashed an amount of force that could only be accessed by using the dark side, and she crushed the entire army while barely lifting a finger, saving our lives.”

Vera could see some members of the council turn to each other in surprise and shock, but instead of reacting she only dug her nails deeper into her palms.

“Anything else?” Master Kolar asked.

“Well-“ Master Kenobi sighed, “When she turned back towards us after the army was destroyed, she-“ Master Kenobi seemed to hesitate, and Vera prayed that he would just shrug it off and not say anything more, but the force was once again against her “-she had six eyes.”

“Six eyes?” Master Billaba questioned, furrowing her brows.

“Many things, the dark side can do. Change a person in that way, it can not,” Master Yoda said, looking towards Vera with his wise eyes, which always made her feel a bit uneasy. She looked away, glancing over the rest of the council until her eyes met Master Fisto’s, who did not have a look of surprise in his eyes as the rest of them, but more of a silent question.

Vera knew what that question was. She also knew that the answer needed to be given. She nodded her head once at him, and she could see him sigh.

“If I may-“ Master Fisto said, holding up his hand “-but the...extra eyes, has nothing to do with the dark side, Master Yoda.”

Vera bit her lip hard as Master Fisto told the council, told Master Kenobi, about the one time she’d slipped up, the one time the beast had been shown to other people.

She’d just been a youngling, still so new to the temple and her clan, and still not used to the fact that she wouldn’t be hung in chains if she did something wrong.

It had been their first swim lesson with Master Fisto. Timoa Vaplez, one of her clanmates who’d always liked messing with her, had pushed her into the water and she’d had a panic attack.

When Master Fisto had pulled her out of the water, she’d been more beast than humane, with the multiple extra set of eyes covering her face and neck, her jaw unhinged showing off the monstrous teeth and the tentacle-like things growing from her skull.

Master Fisto had calmed both her and her clan down and made her explain what the kriff that had been. She’d made him promise that he would not tell a soul about the beast (and he’d made her clan do the same thing), and the two had bonded a bit after it.

Every time Vera just felt like breaking down she would go to Master Fisto, who would either make her forget her problems with bad jokes or baking, or he would just hug her tightly, sending calm reassurances in the force. If Master Kenobi had not been her master, then she’d surely wanted Master Fisto as it.

Vera could feel Master Kenobi’s gaze on her as Master Fisto spoke, and she only bit even harder into her lip, not caring about the blood that was slowly filling her mouth. The pain wasn’t enough to distract her, it was never enough.

“A beast?” Master Windu questioned, looking directly at Vera.

“That was what she called it, yes,” Master Fisto answered.

“So what you’re saying, is that Padawan River has not only used the dark side on such a large scale to save those she was attached to, but she has also lied and kept secrets from the council for years?” Master Windu’s voice was so stern and cold that Vera just wanted to curl in on herself.

“Discuss this, we have to. Anything to say, do you?” Yoda’s eyes were turned to her again, though his gaze looked different. It was almost...pitiful. Vera desperately wanted back the wise but slightly judgmental look, it was easier to handle.

Vera had a lot she wanted to say. She wanted to defend herself, to apologize to her master, to explain why she did what she did, why she lied, but she couldn’t. No words were able to escape her mouth, so she just stayed silent.

***

They’d been waiting for almost two hours. Ani and Soka had originally been waiting with them, but Master Kenobi had sent them to the apartment the two of them shared, which was right next to theirs. He’d said that it would stress Vera out with so many people, but she knew that he just wanted to speak to her alone.

And he’d tried, he’d really tried to make her talk. He’d tried to ask about what happened and the beast, but when she hadn’t responded he’d tried to talk to her about everything. He’d even brought up both Maul and Mr Ohnaka just in an attempt to make her speak. Normally she would be babbling his ears off, as she loved speaking about the two but Master Kenobi never wanted to, sore subject she supposed, but she just didn’t feel like it.

She’d swallowed blood that had filled her mouth from biting her lips four times, and she knew that her master would be disappointed. The normally sweet taste of her own black blood tasted bitter on her tongue, and it made her want to gag.

Master Kenobi had left briefly to retrieve bandages for her hands that had started to fully bleed, and he’d scolded her for doing so, and she’d actually felt guilty about it for a second before her master's sad eyes reminded her of everything that had been going on, and the guilt of that overwhelmed the one about hurting herself.

She knew she could not be silent forever. She knew that when she did start talking again, Master Kenobi would want answers to both what happened and the beast and that she wouldn’t be able to avoid it then.

Still didn’t make it any easier.

***

It took them nearly four hours to be called back into the council chamber. Vera still hadn’t spoken, and at the third hour Master Kenobi had become legitimately concerned, forcing her to drink water as if it was because of a sore throat she didn’t talk.

She still had drunk the water, partly to stop worrying her master and partly to get the bitter taste of her own blood out. The cold icy liquid had felt really good against her throat though, and she’d almost asked for a second glass before she stopped herself. It wasn’t worth starting talking just for some water.

The council chamber was silent when they entered. It was usually silent, the council had never been too chatty with each other except when they had discussions, but it still unsettled Vera immensely.

Something was wrong, she could feel it.

“Master Kenobi, we apologize for the long wait,” Master Ti said. Vera had always liked Master Ti, she was kind and motherly and always reminded her of Soka, but while looking at her now she saw none of that maternal warmth, only an area of cold pity.

Master Kenobi didn’t answer her. His eyes were directed towards Master Yoda, who barely seemed to be present spiritually, with his closed eyes and closed off force signature.

“Master Kenobi, under normal circumstances, something like using the dark side to save people would be overlooked, if it would be the only option,” Master Windu sighed, “But using it on such a large scale, during who knows how many times, while also lying about something this important for years during these uncertain times, that is something we can’t ignore.”

Vera wanted to dig her nails into her palms again, but she didn’t want to destroy the bandage that her master had been so careful with. Instead, she tugged on her loose sleeves, just to have something to do with her hands.

“So, the council has discussed, and voted, and-“ Master Windu paused, now looking directly at Vera. For once she stood her ground and did not look away, despite every cell in her body screaming at her to do so “-Vera River, we hereby expel you from the Jedi order.”

It felt as if the entire galaxy froze the second those words came out of his mouth. Vera’s eyes widened, and she knew that if her skin weren’t already chalk-white she would have paled to the color of it.

Expelled.

As in, no longer a Jedi.

Which would mean that she had to leave the temple, leave her sister and brother padawan, leave her master.

It was said Master that pulled Vera out of her racing thoughts by putting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly

“What?! You can’t- She-“ Master Kenobi seemed to stumble over his words, and when Vera sneaked a look at him he seemed to be as pale as she was.

“Do you have anything to say, Master Kenobi?” Master Mundi asked with a warning tone.

Vera knew he couldn’t change anything. The council’s decision was made, and there was nothing he could do to change that. But still, just the idea of him caring enough to defend her warmed her heart. Her heart was still raising and her hands shaking, but she hadn’t collapsed at least, so that was good.

Which is why Vera was surprised when no more words escaped her master's mouth. Instead, he just bowed his head down, mumbling something, and refusing to look at Vera.

So he didn’t care.

Well, that’s good to know.

Everything suddenly hurt. Her palms hurt from digging her nails in them, her lips hurt from biting them so much, her shoulder and knee hurt from being shot in them earlier, and her soul itself hurt.

He didn’t care.

Vera reached up and wrapped her slender fingers around the thin braid that was trailing down her back. She’d always been so proud of having it, of its great length and the green and yellow bands that were entwined in it. She could barely count the number of times that Soka and her had argued which was better, beads or natural hair.

She tugged harshly on it, ripping the hair from her skull and watched as it fell to her feet. It throbbed slightly on the place where it had been behind her ear, and she supposed that beads were better in this area.

She noticed how Master Kenobi stiffened when she pulled her braid out, but she didn’t care. Why would she?

Instead, she just turned on her heel and walked out of the council chamber, ignoring how Master Kenobi called her name, and tried to keep herself as calm as possible.

Though the moment she was out of the chamber, she ran. She ran, and ran, and ran. She needed to get out, she needed to quickly get to her and Master Kenobi’s apartment, collect her stuff, and then get off this planet.

Though it wasn’t really Master Kenobi anymore, was it? It was just Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, while she was Vera River, a no one from nowhere.

It hurt even more to think about it.

She knew tears were trailing down her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The people she passed seemed concerned when they saw her, but it didn’t matter, did it? It was not like she would see any of them again.

She passed Barriss. She’d been one of Ahsoka’s best friends. While they had never been particularly close, she still cared for the Mirialan.

She passed Caleb. Caleb who was still so young, who idolized his master and did everything to be just like her, who would often get into heated arguments if Master Bilaba or Ani was better with Ahsoka.

She passed Amore. Amore who’d she’d known since she was just a youngling, the only one of her clanmates she still had contact with, who’d comforted her after the death of their other clanmate Tiivia.

Vera couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand thinking about everyone she would lose like this.

She must have zoned into herself, as the next thing she knew she was just outside her and Kenobi’s apartment. She could hear muffled voices from the apartment next to it, Soka and Ani’s apartment, but she couldn’t enter. She just needed to get her stuff and leave.

She didn’t bother fumbling with her keys, she simply just forced the door open and closed it as quietly as she could behind her, so Soka and Ani wouldn’t hear that she was there. She didn’t want to talk to them about why she was missing her braid, and why she was packing her stuff.

The apartment was tidy as it always was. Unlike Soka and Ani’s place that had droid parts, food wrappings, and clothes all over the place, both Vera and Kenobi made sure to keep their place clean. It had always been a fun activity to do together when they just needed an excuse to relax, and Vera had always looked forward to it.

She was on her way to her quarters to grab a bag and some clothes, but she stopped in her tracks when she noticed her blanket laying on the couch where she’d put it just a few days earlier.

The blanket was old and itchy and was an absolutely disgusting shade of green, but it smelled of tea, and oil, and grease, and raw meat, and hot cocoa, and all the smells that made her think of her little family. Whenever she would sit on the couch she would wrap herself in the blanket and just take in the smell and the memories that came with them, and just attempt to forget about the ongoing war.

Vera reached out her hand and pulled it towards her using the force. It was not hers, not really, it had apparently belonged to Qui-Gon when he was still a padawan, but she still felt as if she could keep it. She had saved their lives, after all, she must get something for that.

Vera clutched the blanket almost greedily as she entered her quarters, which looked just like she’d left them. She tried not to pay any mind to it as she pulled some of her clothes out of her trunk and stuffed them into a bag, not even bothering with folding them.

She only had one cloak that wasn’t a Jedi Robe, a black one with dark red details that Soka had given her once. She took it, leaving the rest behind.

It was with her light whips that she hesitated. Should she take them? Was she allowed to? She had constructed them, they were hers, but it would be a painful reminder of the life she was shut out of. She ended up bringing them with her, as she’d never been too great with a blaster, and it was always good to have a way to defend yourself. There was a war going on after all.

She pulled the bag over her shoulder and tried to leave the apartment quickly, but the force was really against her today.

“Vera!” Soka called out, entering the apartment door just as Vera exited her room. “You’re back!”

Vera didn’t reply. Instead, she looked at the door that was still open, trying to calculate her odds of getting out of there if she just bolted.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” Ani asked as he entered the apartment right after her, looking around as if he would be hiding behind a corner.

Karking hell. Ani was strong, broad-shouldered, and powerful in the force. If he wouldn’t feel the fact that she planned to run, he would surely stop her. She could push him away, or use her whips, but a fight was the last thing she wanted, so she simply closed the door to her quarters and bit her lip hard.

“How’d it go with the council?” Soka asked walking further from the way out.

“What are you doing?” Ani asked, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows.

Vera didn’t know which question would be harder to answer. Both made her feel pretty terrible inside, so she did not answer either of them.

Instead, she moved towards the door calmly, to the surprise of the two people in front of her.

She was almost out the door, almost out to freedom, when Ani grabbed ahold of her arm. She stopped, glancing up at him, and felt her blood run cold when she realized what he was looking at. He wasn’t looking at her, not really, instead, he was looking at the place behind her right ear where her Braid was located. Or, had been located.

It seemed to take Ani a second to realize what it meant, but Vera could pinpoint the moment that he did, considering how his eyes widened and his grip loosened. It gave her a chance to pull her arm free and bolt, not caring if they would chase after her or not.

She didn’t want to answer the questions. She didn’t want to tell them about what the order had said, what it had done, and how Kenobi had been silent about it.

Vera must have zoned out again, because the next thing she knew she was far away from the apartment building close to the temple, and instead on her way to rent a ship and a pilot. It was during moments like this that she wished that she could fly without crashing.

She pulled the hood over her head and tried to keep her head down, while keeping her hands on her light whips. Soka had told her of how once a pickpocketer had stolen her lightsaber, and Vera was not risking that.

Vera had no set goal in mind, but she was thinking of Wecacoe. She had no good memories of her home planet, but maybe she could find out what she was and why her family had given her up to slavery. If not, she could always take revenge on her old slave masters. Revenge may not be the Jedi way, but she was no longer a Jedi, was she?

She felt his force signature just as she entered the first hangar she could find, and she contemplated just turning around and walking out then and there. But she couldn’t, this was the only hangar she knew of that was close, and she wanted to get off the planet as soon as she could.

She hadn’t expected to be able to enter and hire a pilot though, she knew that he would confront her, which was why she was not surprised when Obi-Wan Kenobi grabbed ahold of her arm.

“Vera, please,” He sounded exhausted when he spoke, and when Vera met his eyes she could see that he was, among other things. He looked tired, desperate, sad, upset, and almost scared. Kenobi had always been good at hiding his feelings, apart from a few twinkles in his eyes, but now he was practically showing them off to the whole galaxy to see.

“What,” Vera snarled, her voice a bit hoarse because of its lack of use. Kenobi seemed surprised at the fact that she had spoken, but he didn’t let go of her arm.

“Vera, you know there’s nothing that I could have done,” He sounded almost pathetic, and it just felt wrong. He was supposed to be witty, and sly, and strong, and wise, not-

It didn’t matter.

“We both know that’s not quite true,” Vera hissed back, attempting to pull her arm loose so she could flee, but his grip was tight.

“Why did you never tell me about what you are?”

“Because I was scared!” She yelled, pulling on her arm harshly which finally managed to get it free, but she stayed where she was and stood her ground, “The beast is not me, it’s something else, something wild and untamable, and it scares me to death,” Her voice was wavering, and she knew that soon it would start to break, but it didn’t matter, “I was a child, kriff I still am, and to have something as that be apart of you is terrifying!”

“I could have helped, all three of us could have helped,” Kenobi argued back, his voice still weak. She didn’t like it, she wanted it to be loud and upset like her own raspy voice.

“How would I have expected you to help, Kenobi, when the moment I needed you the most, you bit your tongue like a coward,” Vera could see how he flinched, and it felt good. It felt justified.

Vera turned her back to him and fully walked into the hangar, and to her surprise, she was not followed. Good.

If Vera would have looked behind her, she would have seen the dark shadow looming behind her, and how it’s dark red eyes seemed almost delighted as it followed her, as it had done for years.

11 notes · View notes

maximumsnow · 4 years ago

Text

Back from the Dead v.2

No specific fandom here because this is mostly OC work. Very loosely D&D inspired since this was a different approach to something that happened in game a year or so back. I can’t find a place to properly end this story since this feels like a section out of a novel that I didn’t intend on writing, and this has been sitting in my documents for almost a year now.

Warnings for injuries and death. Note that this also happens in a d&d esque world, so the gods sort of work similarly here.

The only sound in the small room was the crackling of the torch that Terjon held. After a short but quiet debate, it had been decided to be less risky than wasting magic for a light source. It was his turn to hold the torch while Abby guarded the entrance to the tunnel that lead to the rest of the mine.

Their eyes were much less suited to handling the dark than their companions who had scouted ahead, so they had elected to stay behind and guard their backs. It didn’t mean that it was any less nerve wracking than exploring the dark. Even Abby’s general optimism had dimmed as they spent more time waiting.

It didn’t help that the mine itself was about as quiet as an old house in an echo chamber. Random things would creak and drip, and the sound could carry for miles. The sounds were so distorted that the skittering of bugs or rats could be something bigger running towards them.

Wait.

Tap tap tap tap taptaptaptaptapTAPTAPTAP

That was too consistent, and it was getting louder. Terjon shifted to a proper standing position; Abby’s name on his tongue when she held her hand up. The order to stay quiet and still was obvious, and while he obeyed, he still kept his free hand on the mace and prepared to fight. Abby’s own hand adjusted her grip on the deceitfully sharp wooden sword, and she backed away slightly from the entrance to stand to the side. It took a few more minutes before the cause of the running footsteps careened out of the darkness and straight towards him.

It was only because he recognized Isolde’s mottled gray cloak that he didn’t immediately swing his mace down. She stopped and collapsed in front of him with sharp breaths, and Abby was immediately kneeling beside her.

Isolde was trying to speak, but between the run and her frayed emotional state, all that was coming out were disjointed words between gasps.

“Vi-vitaly. Chest. Trapped. Ran.”

Just hearing their friend’s name spiked Terjon’s anxiety even higher, and it took most of his self control to not bend down and shake the full story out of her.

Abby’s calming presence was much more conducive in this situation, and she waved him to guard the entrance while she helped Isolde slow her breathing down.

He had to obey. He knew that logically, but his mind was running with the vague words. The question of where Vitaly was was still unanswered, and he really did not like the sound of the word “trap.”

While they tried to keep their voices down lest nearby enemies hear, he still heard the story. They had found a strangely well kept room with personal effects in it, and suspecting that it might belong to the cult leader or another higher up, they investigated.

It all went sideways when Vitaly opened a chest, and he dropped.

“What?” Terjon couldn’t help turning and asking. The question came out more forcefully than intended, and Isolde’s flinch kept him from striding back towards them.

“I-I think he’s… dead. I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it. He just dropped to the ground, and I… I know what dead eyes looks like.” She muttered while shaking. After a moment of deliberation, she forcibly leaned against Abby who gently wrapped an arm around her.

Brown eyes ordered him to stay quiet long enough for Isolde to recompose herself, and it was Abby who finally asked, “Where is he?”

Isolde shifted back to a solo sitting position and answered in a sturdier voice, “I dragged him out of there and to a corner but… I couldn’t carry him. I just grabbed his bag.” She pulled out a rucksack that they recognized as his. “I know he had one of those powerful scrolls, but… I can’t read it.”

“It’s a Divine Scroll, it’s not meant for anyone to read,” Terjon recited hollowly. “Even if you were a wizard, it wouldn’t make sense to you. Vitaly studied them under Father Jude, which was why he could.”

“… And you’re a cleric, which is why you can,” Abby said as she stood back up. “… Can you use that Raise Dead spell here?”

“Yes. The scroll already has almost everything we would need.” He could see where she was going with the line of questioning, and he felt his dread build.

“What doesn’t it have?”

“… My god’s guaranteed approval.”

The gears in both women’s heads were all but visibly turning. “Why would it have to be yours? Why not his?”

“Because I’m the one asking.”

Abby’s determined gaze faltered when the pieces fell into place. Someone who lived outside the law would not be received well by a deity who valued law and order above all else. Shaking her head, she said, “Prepare anyway. I’m going to get him, and… We’ll have to try.”

Isolde had taken her time standing back up, but once she was on her feet, she was itching to go back. “I hid him as well as I could, but I don’t know who else is in here. Be careful.” The last two words were directed towards Terjon.

“I’ll manage, you be careful as well,” He said in reply. He backed up so that they could pass through easily, and once they were gone, he shoved the torch into a corner and forced it to stand up. He stayed on alert as he dug through Vitaly’s bag, and after getting frustrated digging through everything stored in it, he upended it so that he could properly see it all.

It still took a while for him to figure out which scroll was which, and more than once, he cursed Vitaly’s tendency to hoard magical items and heal spells to great excess.

He was truly lucky nothing wandered by the tunnel at this point.

Scroll in hand, he read through the Celestial writing so that he would know what exactly he had to say to start the ritual. He couldn’t afford to delay any longer than necessary; the longer a soul dwelled on the other side, the more difficult it would be to bring it back.

The others returned with heavy breaths and found him with items strewn across the floor, and Terjon nose deep in the writings. Despite the fact that Abby had made no attempt to hide her footsteps, she still startled him when she asked, “What do you need?”

When he looked up, his eyes immediately locked onto the pitiful body she was holding, and the dull ache in his chest suddenly turned into a much sharper pain.

He was grateful for whoever shut Vitaly’s eyes; the illusion of sleeping was a lot less painful than seeing the dull eyes of death.

Abby nudged some of the items around so that there was a big enough spot to lay Vitaly down, and Isolde grabbed them to shove back into the empty bag.

Once there was enough space, Abby gently placed the body in the center of the small cave and backed away to the entrance. As she passed by Terjon, they shared a look. He never understood how she could have so much faith in him, and he only wished he could share that conviction.

Isolde fluttered around and picked up any remaining supplies, and while the nervous movement would have normally annoyed him, he found himself almost grateful for the distraction. As if sensing being watched, her head sharply turned towards him, and she muttered, “Sorry,” before hoisting the bag on her tiny shoulders and following Abby out.

While his companions were still close, he was finally alone. He couldn’t back out of this now.

He didn’t even know when he started reading the spell aloud, but he immediately felt a heavy presence in the room. His voice, normally loud and strong, didn’t echo as he finished the words. The words written on the scroll glowed brightly enough to illuminate every corner.

I’m here.

The presence should have been comforting. It used to be.

Why are you afraid?

It wasn’t angry or accusing, just confused. Fearing the answer would only anger it, he stated, “I need to bring this man’s soul back from the land of the dead.” The formal speech was the only way he could get the request out even as he tripped over the words.

Simple enough. The words on the scroll vanished, plunging the cavern back to dim lighting, and his eyes took a moment before he could see again.

Tentative hope started to climb in his chest. Was it really that easy? Would-

The presence came back with enough weight that he staggered against the wall.

Why would you want to bring back someone who went to The Abyss? The accusation was almost as weighty as the presence itself. I should not even entertain-

“PLEASE,” Terjon all but shouted. The impending refusal tearing a hole in his chest. “He was on the right path! He was trying!” The irony that he was arguing with his god was not lost on him, but he couldn’t think on that right now.

The presence was shockingly not angry and tried to argue back. The one who reigns there wouldn’t accept-

He cut it off. “She has a sadistic streak even with her followers, of course she would drag someone there who didn’t deserve it.”

He has her mark. Only those who accept her ideals have it.

“He doesn’t anymore. He hasn’t in years.”

It was almost… amused. Prove it. You once wanted to bring him to justice, but now you want him saved? Why?

There were a lot of things that he could bring up; Vitaly was truly Father Jude’s ward, but Terjon himself had seen them as ploys only a few months ago. So he cited the thing that had changed his mind. “He saved me. Even though he almost died for it. And then he talked me out of-” He cut himself off there. Admitting to his god that he had faltered would not be easy, and could cost him Vitaly’s life.

Even though you promised to throw him in jail, he talked sense back into you. The voice’s calm surety made Terjon freeze. It knew.

There was a pause as the god deliberated, and in the silence, Terjon thought he could hear his own heartbeat.

Breaking down, he all but begged, “He has been trying and succeeding to be good, doesn’t he deserve the chance to change his fate?”

… You have made your case.

That was all the warning he had before blinding light once again filled the small space, and even though he couldn’t see, he could hear Vitaly sit up with a cry.

The pain in the other man’s voice scared him. “Vitaly?”

“Terjon?!” Vitaly’s voice shook. “What? How are you here?”

He wasn’t sure what Vitaly was actually asking, so he responded truthfully. “I never left? I was supposed to guard until you came back.”

As Terjon’s sight was restored, he could see Vitaly’s head turning to the side as if he couldn’t believe that he was looking at a cave wall. “I’m… Back?” His head turned back to look at his hands as he flexed them. He then let them fall to the floor. And then he asked, “… Are you okay?”

Terjon hadn’t noticed that he was still breathing heavily, and the rush of adrenaline from earlier was fading. There was always a price to pay, and his energy was gone. He managed to guide his drop to the floor as opposed to simply flopping, but there was still a heavy thump.

Vitaly was still confused, but Terjon could see the gears turning. “You- You brought me back?”

Long explanations were too exhausting. “Yes.” He was already cringing at the thought of answering all the questions the curious man was going to ask.

He was grateful when Isolde rushed back in. Her face lit up with relief and it fell almost as quickly. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know what was in there, I should-”

The distraction of needing to address Isolde turned Vitaly away from the questions he likely had for Terjon, and with the knowledge that his friends were okay, he let his mind drift off. When Abby’s melodious voice joined the background chatter, he finally succumbed to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how much later it was, but it still felt too early when he felt someone shoving his shoulder. When he woke up, they were back at the edge of the town they had last visited. Confused and on edge, he tried to jump up and nearly fell face first.

Two sets of hands kept him from falling, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Abby was in front of him, he would have fought more. “Vitaly teleported us out of there, but we have to walk to an inn,” she informed him before a mischievous smile took over. “You can get your beauty sleep there.”

He rolled his eyes. “At least it was just an energy price.”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’re hard to carry, or we would have let you sleep more.” There was concern but she had already gone to one side of him and made him throw an arm over her and started walking into the town proper.

It took him a minute to realize that Isolde was walking back towards them while carrying a basket with food, and that the other set of hands that supported him was Vitaly.

He tried to shift away from the shorter man. “… You can let go now.”

“Not after you almost lost to gravity again.” On one hand, the fact that Vitaly was able to make jokes was a good sign, but on the other, Terjon felt awkward and wanted a little distance.

He tried to argue, “You just came back from-”

“Don’t remind me.” All humor was gone, and Vitaly’s voice grew icy.

The silence that followed was awkward, and Abby tried to fill it as they started slowly making their way towards the inn in continued silence. Terjon was too tired to think of a way to broach the topic again, and Vitaly was not going to bring it up on his own.

Once they had eaten and gotten to their rooms, it wasn’t long before Terjon passed out again.

The morning proper came far too quickly for his liking.

He sat up in the serviceable bed when he heard someone knocking politely at the door, and called for them, “You can come in.” He tried to smooth down his hair that had escaped the tie he usually kept it in as Isolde entered.

The way she looked to the side and grabbed her arms made him focus squarely on her. At the flinch, he softened his voice before asking, “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t find Vitaly.”

“What?!” He swung a leg towards the edge of the bed and started to hastily stand. No longer looking at her, he started to rant, “He should know better than to wander off like that. Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

Not letting herself get run over in the conversation, she stated, “You were out cold. We tried.”

When he tried to stand, up, his legs gave out on him, and he crumbled back onto the bed. “Damnit!”

“You still need to rest if you can’t even stand up for long,” She chided. “I’ll go get Abby, and we can try figuring out where Vitaly is from here.”

“No, I can-” he argued.

“Fall over?” She walked closer to the bed and lightly shoved his shoulder. The fact that he almost couldn’t hold himself upright with the slight pressure convinced him. “You’re drained, I think literally. You might need something a little stronger than just rest to recover. We can see what Abby can do, but we really need Vitaly...”

“Who is missing.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m the one of the few people who can find him even when he’s actively hiding.”

“… Yes. Just. Wait.” And with that order, Isolde finally exited the room and shut the door behind her. Terjon almost couldn’t bear the silence until he thought he heard Abby and Isolde’s voices coming down the hall.

Abby’s heavy knocking was very quickly followed by a request to come in, and Terjon sighed before giving the permission.

Before any banter started, Terjon cut to the chase. “When did Vitaly disappear?”

Abby and Isolde looked at each other before Isolde said, “Before sunrise. I had gotten up for my own reasons, and didn’t see him. I didn’t think too much on it because sometimes he sleeps in, but after… that I’d think he’d want to see the sunrise.”

“We’ve tried looking in the usual places, like up on the roof, but there’s still nothing. If he’s trying to hide, I don’t know how to find him,” Abby added on.

“Is there a temple or shrine here?” Terjon asked.

“Yes, I looked there next, and I couldn’t find any sign he’d been.”

Terjon then dropped his face into his hands as he tried to think of anything else. “I’m not even sure where to tell you to start. I can’t go myself, and, no offense, but tracking people is my thing. And I’m not sure how to explain it.”

“We’ll go through town to see what we find, and you can stay here in case he comes back,” Isolde finally said with a shrug.

“Yeah, maybe he’ll come back to check on you? He’s almost as bad about mother henning as I am.”

That was the only plan they could even attempt with Terjon out of commission. He hated it, but if standing was out of the question, then he wouldn’t be any help to the others.

His slumped shoulders gave them an answer before his words did. “Fine. Take care.”

At first, Terjon had tried to stay awake in case Vitaly came back, but his exhaustion won over after about an hour of fighting it.

When his eyes opened again, it was much darker in the room. Did I sleep through the whole day? He wondered. He was a little hungry, but he didn’t feel like he had slept through more than one meal. And he knew that Abby wouldn’t have let him.

“You’re up, I see.”

The voice made him jump. Even with protesting muscles, he managed to sit up to look Vitaly in the eye. He was sitting in a chair in plainclothes; the adventuring gear obviously put away so he could blend in better.

“Where have you been?!” All of the worry and fear came out in a chiding tone that Terjon couldn’t help. “Abby and Isolde have been looking for you!”

Vitaly’s arms crossed. “I didn’t want them to find me.”

Gobsmacked, Terjon asked, “Why? They, no, we have been worried about you.”

“Yet you’re sleeping despite all that worry.” He gestured at the bed.

“I tried to get up, and it didn’t end well. That’s not the point though; they’re still looking for you.” He quickly waved the dig away before getting back to the point.

Vitaly refused to look at him, but even Terjon’s tired mind could see the struggle written on his face. “I’m not sure if I want them to right now,” Vitaly muttered.

“Why?” The book that contained Vitaly’s spells was nowhere to be seen, now that Terjon noticed it.

Quickly, Vitaly said, “I shouldn’t be traveling with you. They’ll just try to talk me out of it, and I’m not-”

“What the hell are you going on about?! What makes you think I’m not going to argue that?” The mere suggestion brought Terjon’s ire out. Was he being ridiculous? They needed him.

“You weren’t happy with me traveling with them at first.”

The very true statement made Terjon wince. “That’s from months ago, and I haven’t said a damn thing since you talked sense into me.”

“Well, even then you weren’t exactly happy with me either.”

“I will fully admit to being an ass back then, and that wasn’t your fault. I was going through a lot of things and while you were a part of it, it was something I needed to address.” Right. Wrong. Good.

Evil. The areas of gray all in between.

Terjon narrowed his eyes. Vitaly was hiding something. “What is this really about?”

Even though Terjon couldn’t compel Vitaly to speak the truth, the question made him flinch, and shame, anger, and finally, sorrow, flashed across Vitaly’s face.

“Was it even worth coming back? I’m… Never getting away. From Her. I thought I’d be able to after shaking off Her chains a few years ago, but when I- when I died. I was right back. Nothing I do in life will get me away from that fate.” Vitaly’s grip on his arms tightened as the torrent of words came out. By the end, he was shaking.

Despair colored his words.

It felt familiar.

Too familiar.

And Terjon was ill equipped to handle it.

“There has to be a way.” Even as the words slipped out, even Terjon flinched at how woefully inadequate the words felt.

“That’s what Father Jude said! And this still happened.” The bitterness cut deeply. The fact that he could refer to Jude in such a way didn’t bode well for Vitaly’s mental state.

“If I was able to convince my god to bring you back from the Abyss, then there has to be. Nothing is set in stone.”

“That’s-” Vitaly was ready to retort, but he paused as he fully processed the first sentence. “You convinced yours to do that?”

“I had to. I don’t get to pick and choose. He let me. If he didn’t think there was a chance… Well...”

The thought that he had been deemed worthy enough to retrieve baffled Vitaly. “I don’t… understand.”

“You’re a good person.” The statement was simple but full of conviction.

“But I did everything physically possible and still ended up there. How can I not be evil?”

“She doesn’t like letting go; nothing more than that.”

Vitaly still didn’t look fully convinced.

“We… I enjoy traveling with you, and you’ve done more than enough to prove yourself,” Terjon said as he started leaning back. The argument took more out of him than he had realized.

“Shit… Sorry, are you okay?”

In a simple selfish plea, he said, “Please don’t go,” before passing out again.

#My writing #Ocs #My Ocs

3 notes · View notes

kriffani · 4 years ago

Text

Second Chances (Chapter One)

A force-sensitive boy from the lower levels of Coruscant has been discovered by two Jedi, who are now taking him to the Temple in order to seek the Council’s guidance regarding his future.

warnings: mentions of death, implied abandonment & homelessness

word count: 2.2k

How did I get here? He thought. The boy felt cold. So, so cold. What’s going to happen to me? He looked at the Jedi next to him. To his right sat a kind-looking man who spoke softly and all but radiated light. On his left, a very tall Kel-Dor with a graceful tone and benevolent disposition. Wind whipped through his hair as the three of them sat in a speeder on their way to...where again?

“Are you alright, little one?” The Jedi on his right placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know. I’m cold.” He mumbled. Where is my friend?

“Here, this might warm you up a bit.” The man draped his robe over the child. The boy felt the Jedi’s curious stare linger. He said he would be back for me.

“Thank you.” He murmured. This is nice. He let himself sink into the warm fabric. “How much longer?”

“We’re almost there.” The other Jedi announced. The Kel-Dor stretched a finger towards an old building that stood apart from the space-scrapers of the upper levels. If you squinted, the five towers on top almost looked like the factory chimneys from the industrial districts.

“It’s huge.” The boy gazed in awe at the ever-nearing structure, gaining a chuckle from the Jedi on his right. He took a deep breath--only realizing how massive it really was as they approached the landing pad. The boy wiggled out of the robe, handing it back before hopping out of the speeder. As the two Jedi led him through the halls of the Temple, tall marble pillars led his eyes to ornate arched ceilings. So cool. He didn’t feel his mouth part, and he didn’t care to look down as his feet attempted to stray him from his path. The Kel-Dor smiled as he noticed this, and gently placed a hand on the nape of the child’s neck to keep him on course. He nearly snapped his mouth shut, eyes meeting his toes as a timid blush rose to his cheeks. Hesitation bubbled in his stomach as the trio approached a set of double doors. It must have been obvious, because the Jedi stopped before reaching their destination. What am I doing here?

“Is something wrong?” The soft-looking Jedi knelt down to the boy’s level.

“What’s going to happen to me in there?” The waver in his voice betrayed his desire to appear confident.

“We’re just going to introduce you to the rest of the council, and see what we can do to help you. You’ve already met Master Plo, and he’s nice, right?” The boy nodded. “The rest of them are nice too, and we won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. I’ll be right behind you.” The man smiled, holding out his hand. The boy took it, heart thudding. He’ll be right behind me...The Council chambers weren’t as intimidating as he had imagined--although he wasn’t sure what he had pictured to begin with. The circular room felt odd. It wasn’t a big room, but the large windows that surrounded it gave it the illusion of being so. Chairs lined the room facing in, all of which were occupied by a Jedi. The man holding his hand gave it a small squeeze, and directed him to face a small elderly Jedi. The boy scanned the room and to his relief saw Master Plo, who gave him a slight lift of his hand in acknowledgement.

“Alright young one, listen closely. From the right, there’s Master Plo, Master Windu, Master Yoda, Master Mundi, Master Tiin, Master Yaddle, Master Piell, Master Rancisis, Master Gallia, Master Yarael, Master Koth, and Master Billaba.” Each gave a respective nod as they were introduced.

“What is your name?” Master Windu asked.

“Uh...T-theo.” It was barely a whisper. He swallowed, “Theo.” Another squeeze of the hand. Why can’t I talk?

“How old are you?” Mace tilted his head.

“Eleven.”

“Where from, are you?” Yoda pointed to Theo’s chest.

“The lower levels.”

“A last name, do you have?” “N-no.” I don’t remember.

“Obi-Wan. Brought this child, why have you? Family, he must have.”

“Two reasons, Master. Firstly, due to his midi-chlorian count and his astonishing abilities I believe him to be Force-sensitive. Secondly, as far as I am aware he doesn’t have family at all. We found him wh-” Obi-Wan was stopped suddenly as Master Windu raised his hand.

“If neither of you mind, I’d like to hear this story from the boy himself.” Theo looked into Master Windu’s eyes, and immediately sensed what felt like...scrutiny? No...it was most like attentiveness, vigilance.

“As you wish, Master.” Obi-Wan’s voice almost shrank. He moved his hands to Theo’s shoulders. “Go on, young one.”

“I-I never had a dad--and my mom’s..” he swallowed, “dead. I was alone for a while, until my mom’s friend started taking care of me. He left on a job over a week ago, I don’t know where he is.” Theo deflated.

“What is the name of your mother’s friend?” Master Plo asked.

“Jango Fett.”

“You said you don’t know where he is, that’s okay. Can you contact him?” Master Windu raised an eyebrow.

“No. When he left he said it wouldn’t be for more than two days, and…” Theo’s chest grew heavy. It’s been way longer than that.

“You don’t need to say anything else.” Plo’s voice was soft.

“He...he was the only home I’ve had since mom…” Tears welled in his eyes, but Theo refused to let them fall.

“If I may, I believe I mentioned that Theo is almost certainly Force-sensitive. I would like to propose that we take him in to live here, and to possibly have him trained as well.” Obi-Wan rubbed his thumbs against Theo’s back in an effort to comfort him. Theo’s eyes went wide. What? Why? What did I do for this?

“A bold proposal, Master Kenobi.” Yoda crossed his hands over the head of his staff.

“Bring Theo to wait outside the Council Chambers, we will discuss this here.” Mace gestured to the door. “And young one, whatever is decided, we won’t abandon you.”

“Thank you Master Windu, and everyone.” Theo felt Obi-Wan tug on his shoulders. Once they had stepped outside, Obi-Wan knelt down again.

“Wait here, I will come and get you when it’s time.” He placed a careful hand on Theo’s cheek. “Don’t worry, I made you a promise that we wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and I intend to keep it. I shouldn’t be too long.” He patted Theo’s head gently, before turning to walk back inside. Theo leaned against the wall as his heart and body sank to the floor. His whole future was in the Council’s hands. What if they say no? What if they say no? What if they say no? What if- He put his head in his hands, so numb with dread it was impossible to cry. After what felt like hours, probably only a few minutes, a pair of boots stopped to mirror his own.

“Who are you?” Another boy stood over him.

“My name is Theo. I’m waiting for Master Obi-Wan and Master Plo.”

“Oh! My name is Anakin. I’m Obi-Wan’s padawan, so let’s wait together.” Anakin plopped down on the floor next to him. Sitting down, he looked to be only about two years older than Theo. “D’you know what they’re talking about in there? It seems kinda long for a mission debrief.”

“They’re talking about me. Master Obi-Wan said something about me being ‘Force-sensitive.’ I don’t know what that means. He asked the council if I could stay here, and then Master Windu told me to wait outside, and-” Theo began to panic. “And I don’t know if they’re going to let me stay, or if they even like me. I don’t have anywhere else. I don’t have anyone else. Not anymore.” Theo’s voice weakened, throat clenching.

“You know, I was in your situation a few years ago. I came to the Temple after Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon freed me from the Hutts on Tatooine. The Council didn’t want to let me train at first because I was ‘too old’ or whatever,” Anakin made a face, “but they did. I think I’m turning out okay, and I think they’ll let you train too. If they don’t, they’ll have to answer to me!” He wrapped his arm around Theo’s shoulder. “Obi-Wan promised you, didn’t he? That’s the type of person he is. Have faith in him.” Anakin flashed a smile, one that Theo was mostly able to return.

“Thank you. I’m glad I met you, I hope we get to be friends.”

“Me too! Hey, you can do Force stuff right? Have you ever tried to stand on the ceiling?”

------

“He is too old.” Master Windu crossed his arms. “Besides, we don’t even know who this ‘Jango Fett’ is, we have no idea what kind of child we would be letting loose in the Temple. And what are these ‘astonishing abilities’ you mentioned?” Maker, Obi-Wan wanted to scream. He’s just a boy. He's just a boy! Give him a chance!

“Theo has the dexterity, speed, balance, and perception of an educated youngling, so similar to one of our own that he may as well be from the Temple. And he’s a good boy, I can sense it! He’s just...been given a terrible hand to start life with.” Obi-Wan sighed, “He also claims to have what sound eerily similar to premonitions. I fear what could happen to him if someone else finds him--if a Sith finds him. Maker knows what kind of fate would await him then!”

“Master Windu, isn’t the age argument the same one you made against young Skywalker? His training seems to be going well. I don’t see why Theo shouldn’t be given the same opportunity.” Plo suggested.

“Master Plo is right, Anakin has made excellent progress since beginning his apprenticeship.” Ki-Adi glanced to Obi-Wan, “Am I correct?”

“Yes, Master. Anakin continues to improve daily.” Obi-Wan felt his confidence lift. “One could argue he’s less of a wildcard than I was at his age.”

“Agree with Obi-Wan, I do. Apprehensive, we all were at the arrival of young Skywalker.” Yoda nodded in encouragement.

“Why don’t we have little Theo learn alongside the other younglings for a year? If he possesses the potential to undergo his apprenticeship, I will take him as my padawan learner.” Plo offered. “If he doesn’t we can still find a place for him.”

“I admit I was quick to reject the idea. This concept will be new to the Temple, seeing as Theo is a whole two years older than Anakin was. My apologies for being a bit curt, Master Kenobi.” Mace bowed his head, before turning back to Plo, “I do see that this plan could work very well. If the rest of the council agrees, that is.”

“Plo, haven’t you said that you were done taking on padawan learners?” Master Rancisis raised a hand to his chin.

“I thought I was. However, little Theo deserves the chance to learn, regardless of any ‘complications’ his age or past may bring. I feel that this is the will of the Force, and that Master Kenobi and I were led to him for a reason.”

“It is the right thing to do, to take in a child in need.” Rancisis concluded, appearing satisfied with Plo’s answer.

“If this is the route to be taken, I don’t want to tell him too much. For now, he only needs to know that he will be learning here.” Plo looked to the other members. “Are we all in agreement?”

------

The door opened with a whoosh. Theo whipped his head around, wide-eyed and rosy cheeked. Obi-Wan furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth before immediately closing it. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then let go and ruefully turned his gaze upward.

“Good morning, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s face was unreadable as Anakin landed gracelessly onto the carpet. “Theo, come inside. The Council has made a decision.”

“Oh! Okay. I’ll see you in a bit Anakin.” Theo bounced up, dusting his hands on his pants.

“See you.” The barely-covered distress on Obi-Wan’s face made Anakin giggle. “Remember what I told you, have faith!” Anakin shot a briefly reciprocated thumbs-up. After the door closed, he blew a raspberry and collapsed onto the floor. May the Force be with you, Theo.

------

Theo stood rigidly next to Obi-Wan, yet again facing Master Yoda.

“Young one! Reached an agreement, we have.” They don’t want me.

“Theo, as of today, you are a Jedi youngling. You will receive formal education of the Force and go through the same training as other younglings.” Plo clasped his hands together. “When the meeting is adjourned, I will show you around the Temple and get you situated with a room, if you would like to stay, that is.”

“I...Yes! Yes, thank you! Thank you so much.” Theo beamed at the Jedi. “I won’t let you down, Master Plo, I promise!” He looked up at Obi-Wan, who gave a knowing smile in return. I have a real home!

“I know you won’t, little one.” Plo was confident in his decision. “I’m sure he will do well.” He looked to Obi-Wan, who hummed in acknowledgement. Plo watched the boy nearly trip over himself running to thank the other Council members before practically sprinting to meet him by the door.

“Ready to go, Master Plo?”

#tcw #obi wan #plo koon #clone wars #anakin skywalker #the clone wars #star wars #yoda #mace windu #ki-adi mundi #oppo rancisis #jango fett #death mention #jedi #jedi council #fanfic #sw fanfic

7 notes · View notes

tiptapricot · 5 years ago

Note

Hey hi, I’m the Dana accidentally ends up saving Batman multiple times anon and I’m a complete moron for not thinking this until now!!!! 5 TIMES DANA SAVES BATMAN + 1 TIME TERRY SAVES DANA (AND EVERYTHING CLICKED TOGETHER)

Anon I swear this wasn’t supposed to take this long but it became 10k+ words of fluff, angst, and character study so I hope that makes up for it. You can read it on AO3 here, enjoy!

—

The first time she isn’t thinking.

The lights of the club are still flashing, but the pulsing music is drowned out by screams and shouts as people run for the door. Dana should be with them, she should be running too, following Blade and Chelsea and Terry, but she can’t move. She’s huddled behind an overturned table, watching petrified as Batman dances through the strobe lights, dodging blows like a liquid shadow.

She doesn’t know what the goons want or where they came from, but they’re dressed in matching blue uniforms and wielding chains and maces that glow white hot and burn the patterned carpet when they drag on the ground.

She’s scared. She’s lived in Gotham her whole life and she can deal with Jokerz and weirdos but these are honest to goodness super villains, more like the ones you’d find in Metropolis.

The fight moves up the stairs to a higher level and she loses sight of them. There’s some kind of small explosion that sends dust cascading over the upper ledges of the club and Dana takes it as her que to move. She runs from wall to wall, trying to avoid getting caught in the open space of the dance floor. There’s a loud yell from somewhere above her, much closer than she thought the goons were, and all she can think about is that someone’s spotted her and that any second she’ll be dropped like a rabid dog.

She dives behind the juice bar, pulling into herself and waiting as she tries to calm her breathing. She stays crouched and curled up tight against the tiled floor, her heart hammering against her rib cage. Nothing. The sounds of the fight have resumed and she’s fine, she can move.

Dana peeks up over the counter, scans the room, and starts to get up.

She’s fine. It’s fine. The door is so close. She can make it.

A body slams into the wood to her right and she screams. She hopes it got lost in the blaring music from the speakers but she isn’t sure. It takes her a moment to actually look at it, and the sight doesn’t make her feel any better.

It’s Batman, splayed across the counter and barely moving. There’s a large rip on one side of his costume, the black peeling away to reveal a melted mess of circuits. Either he’s unconscious or… Dana gulps in breaths and tries to focus. No, he’s breathing, he’s not dead.

She hears shouts and footsteps cutting through the beating bass. If they find him he’s as good as dead, and you are too. Dana slips her hands under Batman’s arms and drags him behind the bar. Her palms are sweaty and they keep slipping against his suit but she manages to press the two of them as far into the shadows as they can go.

She hears the goons shouting orders, telling each other to “fan out!” and “find that bat-dreg!” and she hopes they’re invisible enough to stay hidden.

She glances over at Batman. He looks so odd, the contours of his face smooth and dark, the suit’s material reflecting the strobe lights in odd ways. They’ve only come face to face a few times, but did he always look this young?

A shadow crests over the top of the counter’s silhouette. Dana’s heart rate spikes again and she feels Batman shift next to her. Her hand flies to cover his mouth before he can make a sound. The white lenses of his eyes go wide and she feels an arm wrap around her back, flipping her over and pushing her further against the counter. She doesn’t even have time to feel weird about it, because a second later he disappears before her eyes. But he’s still there, she can feel his breath on her face and feel his weight pressing her into the bar. What the fuck?

They stay like that until the shadow disappears. She can feel Batman lean back just before he becomes solid again, pulling away. He glances over the counter and leans in so she can hear him.

“Wait a few seconds for me to lead them away and then run for the door, alright?”

Dana nods, eyes wide.

Batman smiles, at least she things he does, and then he’s gone, swooping back into the fray.

She hears a roar and a crash and then she’s running for the door. If the shouts are for her she doesn’t pay attention to them. She’s just running, running, drowning in light and sound and—

And the air outside is cold and fresh. A group of policemen rush up to help her away from the building and someone wraps a blanket around her shoulders. Dana’s hands are shaking and she’s still struggling to breathe but it’s okay, it’s alright. Her legs feel like jello and she’s not sure how long she can stand, so she wobbles to the curb and sits down, closing her eyes and taking breath after breath after breath.

Chelsea and Blade run up from the group of people still crowded around the building asking if she’s alright, their faces pinched with worry.

“I’m fine.” She says. But she’s not, at least… she’s not sure.

The two of them sit down on either side of Dana and rub her shoulders. Blade goes to get her a bottle of water from the medics and Chelsea tells her she called her dad to pick them up. That eases Dana’s worry somewhat.

But Terry isn’t there.

Chelsea says they got separated in the crowd and they haven’t seen him since, so Dana calls him.

He doesn’t pick up. She calls again and he still doesn’t pick up. She sends him a text and calls his mom but she hasn’t seen him either. She can’t help but worry. What if he’s gotten hurt? Why else would he just leave?

She worries all the way to Chelsea’s house, all the way through dinner, and all the way to bed. She and Blade stay over at Chelsea’s that night instead of going back to the GCU dorms and Terry still hasn’t responded to her messages when they get up the next morning.

Dana sees on the news that members of the Justice League had to be called in to finish taking care of the villains and she wonders for a moment if Batman is alright. He didn’t look in the best shape when she’d helped him, but there were no reports of a body, so maybe he’s fine. She hopes he is at least.

Terry doesn’t come to any of the classes they share that day, or the day after. When he walks into Science on the third day, he’s sporting a nasty black eye and limping. He refuses to tell her what happened and that worries Dana more than anything else.

She knows Terry. She knows his favorite foods and drinks, she knows he’s a sucker for retro 2000s pop, she knows what sent him to Juvie, but for the life of her she can never tell what he’s feeling.

He doesn’t talk about his insecurities, even though she knows he has loads. He doesn’t talk about his dad much, even though she knows he’s still hurting, and now he won’t tell her why it looks like he was in some kind of fight.

What did he do that night after the attack? What did he get mixed up in?

She drops it after a few days and tries to enjoy the break he has from work. It’s rare Terry gets a day off, not to mention a whole week. He still does the odd job or two for Mr. Wayne or leaves to help his mom with something, but otherwise they’re free to go out and have fun. It’s awesome. Dana has almost forgotten what Terry is like as a boyfriend and she’s not disappointed.

They go to parks and malls and theme parks. He tries to help her learn how to ride his motorcycle, but it doesn’t work as well when he can’t actually show her. They still have a good laugh and end up taking Dana’s car to a movie. It’s nice. Terry is… nice to have around.

She just wishes it could last.

The second time is nearly a month later. Dana is walking with Terry and Max to one of the arcades near the university when they hear a loud crash. They turn a corner, and Dana freezes.

A gang of Jokerz is crowded along the sidewalk, their bikes propped up against lamp posts and fire hydrants. A few of them are spray painting a small electronics store, its windows smashed, white faced kids laughing loudly as they ferry TVs and holo phones into a waiting, beat up, floater truck.

It wouldn’t be the most uncommon thing to see in Gotham, except that the shop workers are kneeling outside with their hands in the air, bruises swelling on their faces, and a Joker is pointing a laser pistol at their heads.

Terry grabs Dana’s arm and yanks her back around the corner before they can be seen.

“What should we do?” She hisses.

“I’m gonna run to the police station for help and you and Max are going to go back to campus.” Terry says, ushering her away.

“What?”

“He’s right, Dana. Come on let’s go.” Max grabs her arm and starts to pull but Dana shakes her off.

“But what about those people? We can’t just leave them. Who knows what’ll happen before the cops get here?”

“That’s not our responsibility.” Max insists. “Come on Dana.”

“Terry back me up on this.” Dana turns to look at him and realizes that he’s gone. “Where the hell did he go?”

“He took off for the police station just like he said.” Max grabs her arm again. “Now come on we should really be—“

But she’s interrupted by a shout and the sound of breaking glass. Dana runs to look back around the corner and stops in her tracks.

It’s Batman, in the middle of the day, slamming the Jokerz into each other as he flies above them, leaving thin contrails of smoke in his wake. The employees have managed to get a safe distance away, but the Jokerz are putting up a good fight and tearing up the rest of the street in the process.

Dana can smell the harsh scent of laser plasma and the shots are blinding. Max keeps trying to pull her away but she won’t budge. The night club was terrifying but the fight she’s seeing now is exhilarating. Batman’s red and black blurring through the blinding laser fire, the sunlight filling the street with a yellow glow, she can’t take her eyes off it.

And so she notices, and she sees that Batman doesn’t.

He doesn’t see that when he swoops down to knock over a Joker he lands himself against a wall, he doesn’t see the Jokerz picking themselves up to tackle him, he doesn’t see that if they manage to hold him still for even a few seconds there’ll be a smoking hole right between his eyes.

Dana moves as quickly as possible, ignoring Max’s shouts of warning and stepping over unconscious bodies as she runs for one of the bikes. She grabs a pipe propped up against the tire and rushes at the group of Jokerz as they close in around Batman.

She knows which one has the gun, she sees that the others have grabbed onto Batman’s arms and are starting to restrain him and so she moves. The pipe hits with a sharp crack against the Joker’s skull and the guy falls limp to the ground. The other members stare at her in shock for a moment, and that’s all the time Batman needs to twist out of their grip. In the next second the gang members are lying in a heap on the ground, knocked out cold.

Dana stands with the pipe still raised, nostrils flaring as the adrenaline wears off. Max is at her side immediately, yelling about how dangerous that was and how she could’ve gotten hurt, but Dana stops her with a laugh.

“That was kind of schway.” She says, letting the pipe slip from her hands.

Batman is still standing there, and he seems to realize after a moment that he shouldn’t be.

“I, uh, I should go. The police will be here soon to pick up these guys so I’ll be… going. Thanks for the help. Dana, right?”

“Yeah, you saved me from that rat kid a few years back.”

“I’m… glad you’re doing okay. And thank you.” And that time he really does smile, she can see it. It’s not a scary smile, like she expected it to be. It’s soft and almost snarky, like he knows something she doesn’t. Batman gives them a nod of recognition and takes off into the air, wings fanning out behind him.

“Sometimes you really scare me Dane, you know that?” Max says after a moment.

Dana laughs and pulls her back to their spot around the corner.

“It’s better than being scared. C’mon let’s wait for Terry.”

The third time is in the heat of the moment, cradled in light and pain.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

Matt isn’t in the ball pit or the tube maze, he isn’t in the game area or by the food counter or the bounce house. Dana has checked all those places. Twice. He isn’t anywhere. She’s asked the cooks and the mascots and the employees and the waiters, but they haven’t seen Matt. Oh god no one has seen him.

She’d taken him to the bathroom before she went to get them pizza, but she hasn’t seen him since. That is not normal for an evening of babysitting, especially not for Matt. Usually she can’t get the kid to quiet down, and she knows he isn’t a fan of hide and seek, so something is wrong.

She calls Terry first. She knows he’s helping Mr. Wayne with some big event tonight, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

“Dana?” Terry picks up on the fourth ring. “You know I’m kind of busy, right?”

“Yeah, Terry, but something… came up.”

There’s a long pause and Dana can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“What happened?”

“You know how I said I was going to take Matt to Cheesy Dan’s tonight?”

“Yeah…” He says it slow, worry inching into his voice.

“He went to the bathroom and now I can’t find him. No one’s seen him for like, the past half an hour and I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Okay okay give me a second.”

“I think it’s serious Terry.”

“I know, I know. Are you still at Cheesy Dan’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, listen, I’m going to call the police and then see if I can head over. I’m really tangled up but this sounds bad. Talk to you later.”

He hangs up and Dana goes outside to wait. The air is cool and the early evening makes the buildings stick up in glittering silhouettes against the sky.

How could she let this happen? Matt was her responsibility and if she had allowed him get hurt she would never forgive herself. She owes it to Terry. He used to babysit Matt before his job got out of hand. He still works so hard, too. He hasn’t moved out of his mom’s house because he refuses to let her do everything on her own. He’s taking extra classes to try and get his credits done sooner and he still works seven days a week for Mr. Wayne, most of that money going to supporting his tuition fees so that his mom can focus on the house. It’s the least Dana can do to alleviate some of those responsibilities.

“Excuse me.” A finger taps on Dana’s shoulder, making her flinch. She turns and comes face to face with two pointy ears and a pair of white eyes.

“Batman? What are you doing here?”

“I intercepted a police call a few minutes ago from a kid who said his brother was missing. He also told the operator his girlfriend would be waiting for help at Cheesy Dan’s. I was in the area so I thought I’d stop by and see what I can do. What’s the situation?”

“I’m not sure.” Dana rubs her arms, glancing back at the restaurant. “I guess we can’t talk inside, can we?”

Batman shakes his head and gestures to the suit. “I’m not exactly the most inconspicuous company, why?”

“I’m a little, uh, cold.” She gives him a crooked smile. “And I’m guessing your outfit has a little more insulation than mine.”

“Oh… right.” Batman seems genuinely caught off guard for a moment. He looks up and around, thinking, before he presses something on his belt and grabs onto her waste.

“What are you—?” She begins, but a second later they’re rocketing upwards and she has to bite back a scream. She squeezes her eyes shut against the wind and pulls herself closer to Batman. When the air stops she’s met with dim red light and warmth. Batman sets her down and slides into a seat. It takes her a moment to realize she’s inside a car.

“Is this the Batmobile?” She asks, scooting behind his chair. Her legs are squeezed between the leather and the metal dashboards that circle around the interior. “It’s not very roomy.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” Batman says absentmindedly, easing the thrusters forward. “There aren’t any better places to go, and It should only be for a bit.”

“Right.” Dana settles back against a console and watches the buildings blur by

“So,” Batman presses a button and swivels around to look at her, “tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem. It’s like he just vanished.”

Batman makes a humming noise and turns back to pull something up on the car’s screen.

“It says here one of the McGinnises has a record. Could it have something to do with that?”

“I guess, but Terry hasn’t been mixed up with those types of people since Big Time bit it in our Junior year.”

Batman visibly stiffens. “They never found the body though, right?”

“The Gotham river is big, maybe it just got lost. Though knowing this town, anything’s possible I guess.”

“Did Bigelow know you babysit the McGinnis kid?”

“I mean… maybe. I knew him before all the shit hit the fan when we were younger, but I didn’t babysit Matt back then.”

Batman taps his fingers thoughtfully on the console. He doesn’t talk, but she watches him pull up a few more specs before he turns to look at her.

“I’ll look into it and make sure Matt gets back to his family safely.” He flashes a smile and it’s not real. It’s strained and business like and it’s… jarring. “I can take you home if you want. Where do you live?”

Dana stares for a moment, before squinting in disbelief. “Wait, that’s it? You can’t just drop me off, I lost this kid, it’s my job to help find him too.”

“Dana, listen, you’re very nice, but you’re a civilian, I can’t just bring you on a case.”

Dana leans forward to look Batman in the eye and hits her knee on something. She bites her lip but doesn’t react further. This is Batman she’s talking to, if she wants to convince him she has to be confidant. She’s still nervous, she’s still just a kid, and she knows that, but Batman doesn’t know Matt. Batman doesn’t know Terry. Dana does, and she can help but she has to make him listen.

“If this actually has something to do with Terry, and it’s not something else crazy, then I could be an asset to you.”

“That really won’t be—”

“Batman, a little boy’s life could be at stake, you need all the help you can get.”

She can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. She’s talking down to Batman. Batman.

He looks at her, and she sees something familiar in the draw of his brow under the suit, in the muscles and the contour of his face. He turns away before she can pinpoint what it is, and the oddness of the moment sticks in her mind.

“Fine.” He says. “But if there’s a fight you’re staying in here.”

“Can do.”

Batman sighs and the car speeds up. Dana stumbles slightly but can’t help but smile.

They spend the rest of the night together. Batman visits different gang hideouts to ask for information, stopping to end any fights or robberies they catch along the way. At first he’s quiet and serious, but he loosens up as the night progresses.

He stops every few hours for Dana to drop down and get them coffee, he asks her questions about the McGinnises, even though he only seems to be half paying attention, he tries to make small talk, and he jokes. A lot. God Batman makes a lot of jokes. But Dana doesn’t mind. She always expected Batman to be this stoic guy who only cared about justice, but he’s chatty and funny and nice to be around. He’s a genuinely schway guy.

Dana calls Terry’s mom while Batman’s stopping a break in at a chemical lab and talks to her. She’s in a bit of a panic and Dana manages to calm her down. Terry isn’t home yet either, and Mary puts Dana on hold to call him. She checks back in a few minutes later and says he’s still with Mr. Wayne, and that’s a small weight off Dana’s shoulders if anything.

Afterwards she leaves a message for her roommate saying she’s spending the night at a friend’s house and settles back in the driver’s seat. At least when Batman’s out she actually gets leg room. “Don’t touch the thrusters,” he told her, “Otherwise you’ll end up going at mach three with no way to steer.” She’d laughed at first, like this car could reach mach three, but he’d looked at her in a way that made her stop.

He’s Batman, of course it can.

At half-past three, Batman comes back to the car after a raid. She opens her mouth to ask how it went but he just shakes his head and starts the engine again. They drive a few blocks in silence before he parks on a rooftop and hops out, gesturing for Dana to follow. She pulls herself out and slides down to the car’s bumper, pausing a moment before jumping to the ground.

Batman has moved to sit on the edge of the building. He’s hunched over, his hands balled up tightly in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” She hears him say. He sounds less gruff than usual. “I haven’t found anything.”

“Do you usually solve your cases in the first few hours?” Dana asks, just a hint of laughter in her voice. She moves to sit behind him, not quite on the edge, but close. The drop is too far to sit right on the edge.

“You don’t understand, I don’t know where Matt is, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what else to do.” Batman’s voice cracks on the last word and Dana watches him crumble. His shoulders shake and he curls in on himself a bit more.

She’s surprised at first. After all, this is Batman she’s looking at, Neo Gotham’s hero, its legend. Of course, he’s not the same Batman from the history books, the one who helped found the Justice League, but he’s the only Batman Dana’s ever known. To see him so vulnerable, to see him cry, it’s like looking at a puzzle with pieces in the wrong places. It doesn’t quite… fit.

Besides, he seemed fine most of the night. He had quieted down in the last hour or so but Dana had just thought it was exhaustion. Maybe it was, but not the physical kind.

Dana hovers for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’s never really had to deal with something like this before. She’s never seen her dad cry and god knows Terry would never even think about it. Chelsea had had a hard time recovering from her time at the Ranch, but she’d mostly stayed home. The most Dana had been able to do was offer comfort.

And in a situation like this, what else can she do?

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Her hand reaches out to pat his back. She rubs little circles between his shoulders, distracted by the feeling of the suit. It almost feels like plastic silk, smooth and industrial. She pulls back after a second and averts her attention to the city below.

“How about we go back to the car, get some more coffee, and try something else. He can’t have just vanished.” She offers.

“Yeah, that sounds… good.” Batman nods and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “And, uh, sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t worry. You’re only human.” Dana smiles.

“Yeah I guess you’re— duck!” His hand shoves her roughly down against the building top as a barrage of laser fire explodes in the air above them. Dana’s cheek scrapes against the concrete and she winces before Batman yanks her back to her feet.

“What the hell?” She yells. Batman pulls her behind him and shields her with his body, firing several batarangs into the crowd of thugs running at them from the other side of the building. There’s a few more shots fired before he grunts loudly and takes a step back, pulling her closer to his back. They’re getting cornered against the drop, Dana can feel the edge against the heels of her shoes.

“Batman what do we—?”

He cries out in pain when one of the shots makes contact with his abdomen and stumbles back, just a few inches, but those few inches make a world of difference. Suddenly air is rushing past Dana’s face and whipping against the fabric of her dress and the two of them are plunging headfirst into a free fall.

She screams and Batman twists to grab her, his wings snapping open. His hands are unsteady, and she can smell burnt plastic and feel the roughness of melted metal against her back. The laser fire follows with deafening blasts and they’re only in the air a few seconds before something bursts above Dana with a loud crack, showering her in smoke and sparks.

Batman seizes and goes limp, his arms loosening underneath her, and Dana glances up to see it was his wings. They’re shredded and trailing smoke like a burst jet engine. The tip of one of Batman’s ears is snapped off and Dana realizes with a start that he’s been knocked unconscious by the explosion.

They start spiraling out of control, the bright lights of Neo-Gotham streaking past, and Dana chokes on her own breath as she tries to think. What can she do? What can she do? She twists so she’s holding onto Batman with one arm and looks around desperately. Everything’s going by so fast, too fast, she can’t see a thing. Dana reaches out blindly and tries to push herself through the air. She sees the lights of a building coming closer and reaches out desperately because how long do they have until they hit the ground?

Her hand smacks against concrete and bounces off, the palm coming away scraped and swelling, but she tries again. Dana reaches out and snags onto a window ledge, the force of stopping nearly yanking her arm out of its socket, and her grip slips again. They tumble a few more feet before she’s able to get hold of something solid. She winces as the pain in her hand flares, and she stops for a moment to catch her breath. They made it.

Dana closes her eyes and lets herself relax a bit. She’s so tired. Her arms ache, she’s bruised and scraped, and she’s sweating like a pig, but she’s alive. They’re alive. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and hauls herself further onto the ledge, lugging Batman behind her. It hurts. He’s heavy and she’s not an athlete, not even close. Her muscles strain and burn, her hand starts to slip on the fabric of Batman’s suit, and her nails scrape against concrete, but she manages to get the two of them onto the ledge.

Dana gasps and gulps and collapses back against the wall, chest heaving. Batman’s still knocked out, his head lolling to one side, but she doesn’t pay him much attention. Her head hurts and her limbs feel like lead and it’s so damn hard to focus. Dana sighs and watches her breath puff out in a cloud of steam. She laughs breathily and lets exhaustion have its way. Her eyes slide shut, and the calm darkness sinks in.

Gotham’s lights look so beautiful at night.

***

Dana floats in and out of consciousness. She’s somewhere cold and quiet, and there are voices.

I know it was a dumb idea but what the hell was I supposed to do?

Leave her behind. She’s a civilian, no matter how much you like her you can’t let personal ties get in your way.

But she saved my life tonight! This is like, what, the billionth time?

Third, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so distracted if she wasn’t there. You let those thugs get the drop on you.

Oh right, like that was her fault.

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

What mission?

She’s somewhere warm and soft, the dull hum of an engine surrounding her.

Think she’ll be alright? I mean, what am I going to say to her dad? I don’t think she’s visited him for like a year.

Say you two went out to go clubbing and got in a fight on the way home. That’s believable enough.

But my mom thinks I was with you the whole night.

I’m an old man, remember? It can’t be too hard to give me the slip.

Right.

She’s under a blanket, in a place that smells familiar. She’s home.

I’m sorry Mr. Tan, I did everything I could but we just barely got away.

I forgive you Terry, I’m just glad you’re both safe. I know you’re adults, but we will be talking about this in the morning. For now go get some rest and I’ll call your mother.

Thank you sir.

She wakes up the next day confused and sore, her face and hands tingling from healing meds.

“Good afternoon sleepyhead.” She sits up, rubbing her eyes groggily, and sees black hair and blue eyes.

“Terry?” He smiles, pushing off the wall near the door. “What are you doing here?” She pauses partway through pulling her blankets off. This isn’t her dorm room. Her bed is too big and there’s a dresser across the room with picture frames sitting on top. This is her dad’s house.

“Why am I here? What happened to Batman?”

“Woah woah woah. Calm down.” Terry walks over to the bed, wincing slightly when he sits down.

“Terr… are you alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” He gives her that strained smile, the one that shows too much teeth, the one he uses when he’s lying.

Dana sighs and moves so she can look him in the eye. “Alright, what happened?”

Terry’s smile drops and he averts his eyes. “I, uh, kind of ditched Mr. Wayne last night. I was gonna go find you, but I ran into some Jokerz on the way over and got a bit roughed up. Nothing bad, but I couldn’t get to Cheesy Dan’s. Then…” Terry pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Then I was walking back to my mom’s house and this car drives up, real sleek, black with big jets, a custom I think. And… and Batman came out carrying you. He told me to take you somewhere safe and the first place I thought of was your house.”

Dana’s eyes bulge. “You mean my dad’s house? Terry you know I moved out for a reason.”

“What was I supposed to do? GCU is on the other side of town, I couldn’t carry you that far. Besides, do you have H628 in your bathroom cupboard? You were really banged up, Dana, you needed medical attention.”

“So? My dad’s probably going to make me stay here for a year because ‘I can’t keep myself safe.’ I’m honestly surprised he didn’t skin you alive when you showed up.”

Terry chuckles. “Yeah I thought he was going to too for a moment there. Turns out he was just glad you were alright. Well… mostly alright.”

“You didn’t tell him about, you know…”

Terry shakes his head. “I don’t know what you were doing with Batman, Babe, but I’m sure you had your reasons. I said we went clubbing and got mugged. Still going to be hell to explain that to my mom though.”

Dana laughs and pulls Terry into a hug. “I think you’re the only college kid I know who worries about a curfew, Terr.”

He holds her gently, burying his face in her shoulder. “Yeah, well… They still haven’t found Matt you know.”

“But they will.” She assures him. She stares at the shadows stretching across the carpet and smiles. “I’m sure of it.”

The fourth time is the time she chooses. The fourth time is the time she’s sure.

Matt’s been missing for almost a week. No other kids have disappeared, but that makes the whole thing worse. Dana’s gone in for questioning multiple times, even though she always tells the police the same thing. Terry’s been skipping school more, coming in looking more worn out each day. She’s caught him covering up big injuries more than once, but he won’t talk to her. He hasn’t really talked much since that first day she woke up.

Dana’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel and she takes a deep breath. Batman has been on the news a few times since their night out. She knows he’s looking too, she trusts him.

She turns onto the bridge that cuts over the river and merges into the flow of traffic. Honestly, at this point she’s not even sure whether or not there’s anything to look for. If it was a kidnapping situation, for whatever reason, a ransom would’ve been made by now, right? Dana has thought about it, she’s heard the police talking about it, she isn’t dumb. Sometimes kids just disappear and never show up again. It’s morbid, but this is Gotham. Anything can happen in Gotham.

A car honks loudly in front of Dana and she focuses back on the road. Something’s happening further down the street. She squints against the evening sun, keeping steady. It’s a cargo truck by the looks of it, swerving in and out of the lanes and banging into other cars.

As she gets closer, pulling up just behind it, it’s side door blasts open and out comes a streak of black, as smooth and dark against the sky as ink. Batman. He’s followed by a hoard of armored goons, dressed much too familiarly for her liking.

She sees blue outfits and glowing weapons, and for a moment she can smell the dust and smoke from the club, she can feel her heart in her throat, and hear the booming music vibrating in the air around her. Her hands shake on the wheel, and she blinks rapidly, trying to dissipate the memories of darkness and fear and focus on the moment at hand. She’d done scarier things since. The nightclub didn’t matter.

Batman is hanging off one side of the truck, something wrapped tightly in his arms. When he jumps to dodge a shot from one of the goons, Dana realizes with a start that it’s a child. It’s Matt.

Batman barely manages to dodge a second blast, sending himself careening further down the street. He curls protectively around Matt, landing roughly on the road and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop.

The other cars have slowed or stopped further back on the bridge, and Dana wonders for a moment why she didn’t.

The cargo truck begins to drive faster as Batman struggles to get to his feet and… No. No. Dana won’t let this happen, those dregs are not going to run them over.

She doesn’t think for more than a moment. Her foot slams down on the gas and she hurtles past the truck, sliding to a halt next to Batman.

“Get in.” She says, with much more authority than she expected. Batman jumps into the passenger seat with Matt in his lap and Dana floors it. She’s never been more angry and terrified at the same time.

The truck follows after them and she can hear the shouts of the goons and the purr of the electric engine.

She takes a cursory glance over at Matt. He doesn’t seem hurt, but he’s huddling into Batman, which isn’t a good sign. They hurtle off the highway and jolt when the car touches the ground for a moment. Dana swerves around a minivan and a hoard of honking cars.

“Take the next left,” Batman hisses, “they’re gaining on us.”

“Can do.” Dana puts on a small burst of speed and takes a sharp turn, entering a side alley. It’s narrow, her car crashing into trash receptacles and scraping against the walls. They emerge onto a busy street, Dana veering out of the way of an oncoming semi and into another lane, taking off with the rest of traffic. Batman looks behind them again and relaxes.

“I don’t think they followed us.”

Dana nods but doesn’t slow down, cutting between two cars and taking a turn towards the residential district. Batman doesn’t stop her, just settles back and closes his eyes.

They drive for a few minutes before Dana breaks the silence. “Matt, are you okay?”

“I wanna go home.” He says. It’s muffled, groggy, but she still hears it. She gives a nervous look to Batman and keeps driving.

They pull up to the McGinnises’ apartment and Dana leads Matt up to their floor. He’s out of it, recovering from some kind of knockout drug, but he makes it up the stairs alright. Dana knocks, Mary opens the door, and the woman bursts into tears.

Terry rushes in after about half an hour and pulls Matt into a big hug. Dana stays the rest of the night, talking to police, to Mary, giving her story. Terry pulls her into his room around midnight and they just sit by his window and hold hands. He massages her knuckles and asks if she’s okay and she leans against his shoulder and says that she is.

But in all the commotion she doesn’t get to talk to Batman, she doesn’t get to ask what happened.

But Matt is safe, Matt is home, and in the end that’s all that really matters.

The fifth time is the very next night. The fifth time she almost doesn’t.

Dana looks at herself in the mirror. She’s a little worse for wear, the bags under her eyes more pronounced, a few bruises still healing on her arms and shoulders.

Her dad had asked her to house sit while he was away on a business trip and she had agreed, if reluctantly. It’s weird to be back at the house. She hadn’t moved out under the best of circumstances, but the space still feels familiar and comfortable.

Matt had talked to the police that morning. She wasn’t there for it, but Terry had called her when he got the details and the things he’d said made Dana’s stomach churn.

Some guy had grabbed Matt in the bathroom and knocked him out, and when he woke up he was in a cell. He told the police the people didn’t want to hurt him, that they kept telling him he was only bait for Terry, but that didn’t make things better.

Every few days they moved Matt to a new location. He said they’d knock him out with a cloth, chloroform most likely, and he’d wake up in a different room with a different group of people. It was only Batman’s intervention on the truck that had stopped them from moving him again.

He said the goons talked about their boss a lot, apparently they were who ordered the whole thing, but he never saw who they were and the police were still on the hunt.

Dana’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want to think about why someone would want to get to Terry through Matt, because it makes her think about other things. The injuries, the lying, the disappearances. Maybe Terry is involved in some kind of gang after all. It would explain everything else.

She continues with her evening routine, brushing her teeth and washing her face, her thoughts running wild in the background. When she goes to dry off her face she presses her cheeks into the towel and takes a deep breath. It’s soft and warm and she feels on the verge of crying.

What is Terry doing with his life?

Dana finishes up in the bathroom and slips on her nightgown, walking quietly to her bed. She might be alone, but she doesn’t want to be loud. She doesn’t have the energy to be loud.

She grabs the edge of her comforter and slips underneath. It takes awhile to fall asleep, her thoughts keeping her mind awake, but she gets there eventually. She lets her mind relax, lets the weight and warmth of the covers surround her, and finally sleeps.

***

A loud crash jolts Dana awake. She sits up, looking around wildly, her fingers clutching tightly against her sheets. The window is shattered and the curtains are whipping about wildly in the wind. She yanks the blanket off of herself and stumbles to her feet, pulling on a pair of slippers.

“Hello? Is someone there?” She makes her way cautiously towards the window, expecting at any moment to be jumped by a burglar.

But there’s nothing.

The room is quiet except for her own, loud breathing.

Except… it isn’t just her breathing.

The sound is ragged and wet, interspersed with coughs and Dana turns sharply to find a crumpled shape lying near the stairs. Dark liquid is smeared in a streak across her carpet, joining the puddle seeping into the fabric closer to the body.

Dana is at his side in a heartbeat, because she knows who this is, she can see the ears and the smooth blackness of the uniform. She rolls him over and pales at the large gash in Batman’s side. It’s messy, bits of his suit sticking out at odd angles, frayed and twisted, the wound itself a mess of blood and tissue.

Batman’s breathing is slow and he reaches out to grab her arm, his mouth trying to form words, his face screwed up in concentration. He manages to say her name and give a strained attempt at a smile before a thick line of blood dribbles over his lips and his head lolls back.

Dana slips into a panic.

“Batman? Hey, open your eyes, come on! Please don’t die, not like this, you can’t!” She doesn’t know much about medicine or wounds, but this is too much blood, way too much blood, for a person to be losing. She starts breathing too fast, her chest tightening as she squeezes Batman’s hand.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what you—what you want me to do! Please you can’t just—I don’t—tell me what to do!” She chokes out.

“Hello, can you hear me?” A voice crackles to life, deep and rough and oddly modulated.

“I— who’s there?” She looks around, blinking rapidly before realizing it’s coming from Batman’s cowl.

“Who am I talking to?” The voice asks, the audio quality fluctuating like a fuzzy radio.

“My name is Dana.”

“Where are you Dana?”

“Why do you need to know? Who are you?”

“A friend. I want to help but you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“I—yeah I can, I can do that.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“My house, 326 Eastside.”

“Is Batman awake?”

“No… no he passed out about a minute ago.”

“Is he still breathing?”

Dana leans over to check, her heart hammering in her throat. The rise and fall of his chest is so faint, so slow, but it fills her with relief.

“Yes, he’s—yes but barely. He’s losing blood fast.” She keeps tripping over her own words. Her skin is humming with adrenaline and her tongue feels heavy and slow.

“Alright. I need you to listen to me very carefully. I need you to breathe.”

Dana takes a deep breath and steels herself. “Ok.”

“I’ve unlocked the belt for you, there should be a pack of medical capsules in the sixth compartment left from the buckle. Can you get them?”

Dana gives a small noise of confirmation. She counts along the belt, then counts again, shaking her head as she tries to focus. Her hands are unsteady as she unclicks the compartment and lets a few oblong, white, capsules roll onto her palm.

“I have them. What now?”

“Crush them and hold the powder to the wound. Wait until it foams and then let go.”

“O—okay. Okay.” She follows the voice’s instructions, cringing as warm blood runs over her fingers. After a moment, the foam spreads over the wound, stopping the blood flow.

“It worked.” She says, her voice breathless and relieved.

“Good. I’ve sent the Batmobile to you. Once it gets there, put him in the cockpit and press the center button on his belt. That will send him back to me where he can get proper medical attention. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Okay.” Dana’s voice is so quiet.

“The car should come up by your window. You’ll need to get him there. Be careful, the wound is still—” There’s a burst of static and the line cuts out. Dana takes a deep, shuddering breath and tightens her hold on Batman’s hand.

“Hello?” She tries. There’s no response. She looks briefly at the ceiling and tries to compose herself, but tears slip down her cheeks quick and smooth. She tastes the salt on her lips.

“Hello? Are you there?” She tries again. Silence.

Dana nods to herself, laughing ruefully and closes her eyes.

And then she waits.

The voice doesn’t come back. The only sound is that of the breeze coming through the broken window. Whenever Dana shifts, her knees dig into the damp carpet, red staining her shins and ankles.

She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the dying man lying on her bedroom floor. Batman already looked so tired, and his breaths have only gotten quieter. She doesn’t want to look at him yet. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and see that the dying man has died. She doesn’t want to see that the hero has fallen.

She hopes he’ll be alright.

After what feels like forever, she hears the hiss of a hover engine. She opens her eyes and tries to avoid looking at Batman as she drags him to the window. She kicks out a few more pieces of glass so she can get him through before lowering him as gently as possible into the batmobile. At least she can’t see the blood in the red lighting of the car.

Dana chances a look at Batman before she presses his belt. His eyes have drooped closed, every muscle in his face slack and relaxed. He almost looks like Terry does when he sleeps.

But that thought makes it worse, because suddenly it’s Terry sitting there, bleeding all over the fancy leather seats, inches from death. Because suddenly she thinks about finding him in some alleyway or parking lot, pale and cold and stiff in the wake of a gang fight. She sees him in that moment, and the next she’s stumbling back, her whole body shaking like a leaf, and the car is flying away in a blast of hot air.

Dana sits on the floor of her room, tiny bits of glass pricking into her palms, and stares after the Batmobile. She gulps in breaths of air and feels her tears dripping off the tip of her nose and the side of her jaw and her chin. She tries to rid the sight of blood from her mind’s eye and stares at the blackness outside the window.

The blackness that had swallowed the black car and the black bat and that was filling her room with black shadows.

You can’t see the stars in Neo Gotham, and Dana has never been more acutely aware of that fact until this very moment.

She sits and stares until the tears have become sticky tracks on her cheeks and the blood has gummed up the space between her fingers and toes.

Dana gets unsteadily to her feet, takes one last look out the window, and wipes her hands on her nightgown.

Her bathroom light flicks on and the water runs red into the sink and she looks at the girl in the mirror. The girl who had saved Batman.

+1.

The last time is on a sunny Friday in April, just after school, a two months after the night in her bedroom.

“Dana! Hey, wait up!” Terry jogs up next to her and slips a hand around her waist. It’s a welcome touch, seeing as he’s only been out of the hospital for a few weeks.

“Hey yourself. I thought you weren’t supposed to be back at school yet, Mr. recovering from a dog attack.”

“Yeah well,” Terry presses a kiss to the top of her head, “I just couldn’t bare to sacrifice my education.”

Dana laughs. “Yeah right. Like you actually want to listen to Mr. Eiten talk about the science of concrete for an hour.”

Terry chuckles. “You got me there.” He pulls away and laces their fingers together. They walk in comfortable silence and Dana is the most relaxed she’s been in months.

Batman is still alive. She had been worried when he wasn’t sighted for a few weeks after the night in her room, but he popped up here and there after a while. She doesn’t know what happened and she’s not sure she wants to know. She nearly had someone die in her arms, she had fallen off a building and been in a car chase and beaten up gangsters. The police still don’t know who kidnapped Matt, she still doesn’t know why Terry was getting hurt, and she still doesn’t want to think about it.

She just wants to be here and now, to walk with Terry and feel his hand in hers and not worry about anything else.

Is that so much to ask?

Dana squeezes Terry’s hand and looks up at him. He glances over and smiles warmly, rubbing her hand with his thumb.

Is it so much to ask to be comfortable and happy and normal?

An old car squeals to a halt next to them, the doors open, and in the next second Dana is being yanked up into thick gray arms.

Terry tries to grab her back but he’s knocked to one side by a knotted hand the size of a tire. Dana writhes and screams and she can feel laughter brushing against the top of her head, deep laughter, a voice she remembers.

Charles “Big Time” Bigelow wraps one hand around her throat, each of his fingers thicker than her arm, and begins to squeeze. He smells like burnt rubber and stale chemicals but all Dana can focus on is the air being pushed out of her lungs.

In the next moment there’s a blur of movement and Bigelow stumbles with a grunt. Then two more accompanied by the sound of quick punches. He lets go of Dana and she lands in someone else’s arms before being set gently on the pavement.

She catches her breath, coughing and gasping before she looks up and loses it all over again.

Terry is fighting Big Time. And he’s winning. He moves faster than she’s ever seen him move, vaulting off of street lights and Big Time himself, landing punches and kicks in quick succession.

Dana can’t believe her eyes. She just watches, completely dumbstruck.

Terry punches Big Time twice in the jaw as he soars over him. He lands on the car and pushes off, using his momentum to flip Big Time onto his side with a loud thump. Big Time lets out a grunt and goes limp, eyes fluttering shut. Terry steps back, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, and glances up. Their eyes meet and Terry freezes.

One second.

The fighting.

Two seconds.

The injuries.

Three seconds.

You need to focus on the mission Terry.

They’re the same. They’re the same person.

Terry is Batman.

***

She helps haul Big Time into the back of the car after Terry finds its keys and the two of them drive in silence to the GCPD. The engine sputters and the seats are worn out but it’s fine. Terry calls ahead to the precinct.

They don’t look at each other once.

Commissioner Gordon meets them outside with a squad to get Big Time properly restrained and then leads them inside. She tells Dana to stay in the waiting room while she talks to Terry but Dana excuses herself after a few minutes.

She finds a bench out front and sits down. The air is warm and fresh. It smells like hover fuel and the stream of cars passing by the precinct is slowing as the last stragglers from rush hour finally make their way home.

Dana reaches up to rub the sore area around her neck. The bruising has set in and she knows she’s going to be feeling it more in the next few hours. She swallows thickly around the ball of stress in her throat, feeling it squeeze in response, tight and hot, like every breath is the line between her and a breakdown.

Dana drops her hand back down and sighs, leaning further back into the bench. What a way to end the day. She’d been relaxed, she’d been happy, and something just had to ruin it. Her jaw is clenched and the muscles all along her arms and legs are taught. Her eyes are warm with barely restrained tears but she doesn’t know why.

She doesn’t have a problem with Terry being Batman, she liked both of them to begin with, and it’s not like she’s adverse to stress or danger, the last few months alone prove that. So maybe it’s the fact that they aren’t separate anymore.

Terry isn’t normal and safe, Batman isn’t a faceless person she can detach herself from when things get too stressful, they’re one in the same now. Sure, she’d bonded with Batman and seen Terry get out of bad situations, but the two still didn’t cross over for her. Terry was Terry and Batman was Batman.

Looking back she can see the signs though. Familiar things she noticed about Batman when they talked, or Terry showing up when Batman left and vice versa. Not that it makes it any easier to understand, it just makes her head hurt.

Dana hears the precinct door open and shut with a soft click.

“Hey.” Terry sits down next to her, “Didn’t know where you went for a minute there.”

Dana hums slightly in acknowledgement, her fingers tapping nervously against her knee.

“Babe… you okay? We can go see a doctor if you want, see about those bruises.”

Dana nods gently and takes a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Terry smiles nervously. “What do you mean?”

“That you’re Batman, Terr.”

He stiffens before his shoulders sag and he lets out a long breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Were you going to tell me at all?”

“I was, I just thought—“

“I mean this has been going on for years right? How long did you think you could keep this from me?”

“Dana—“

“I almost saw you die, Terry, you were bleeding all over my carpet! I thought you were in a gang for heaven’s sake, I thought you were… oh my god.” The tears start to fall, small and slow, little drops sliding over her lashes and cheeks. “What if I wasn’t there to save you? What if you go after some villain next week or next month and you get slagged? How am I supposed to deal with that if you never told me?”

Terry takes her hands firmly in his and starts rubbing her fingers with the pad of his thumb. His touch is warm and careful, and Dana slowly feels herself start to calm down.

“I was going to tell you today, actually. Take you out someplace nice and talk about it over dinner. Didn’t exactly turn out that way though, huh?”

Dana chuckles softly, reaching up to wipe her face.

Terry lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “I should’ve told you sooner, I’m so sorry Babe. You helped me out a lot with the Matt case and I should’ve trusted you more to begin with. But I’m here now, if you wanna talk or ask me stuff or just slap me in the face.”

Dana laughs a bit louder, kissing his cheek. “That’s tempting but I think you’ve been through enough.” She sits back and looks at his face. Just looks.

He’s filled out a bit since high school, he’s broader, his hair a little longer, but he’s still the same Terry he’s always been, and he’s… Batman. Dana runs a finger along a healing scratch on his cheek.

Batman.

“Terr?”

“Yeah?”

“What… who have you been fighting?”

Terry shifts a bit, his brows drawing together. “Like recently?”

“Who’s been doing everything the past few months. The club, Matt… you know.”

Terry’s mouth makes a soft oh. “I’m not really… clear on all the details.” He says, settling back and pausing a moment before talking again. “When Matt first disappeared I couldn’t find anything. No one had seen him and no one had a grudge against me. Terry me. After we got attacked that night on the roof, Wayne smelled something rotten, so I used some of my connections in the underground to ask around. Found out it’s a new gang, call themselves the Riders. They’ve been given a bunch of high tech weapons, real schway shit, expensive. The old man thinks it might be prototype stuff from Luthor Enterprises, but we don’t know yet. So, I went after them. People told me where their base was, and I went, and… next thing I know they’ve slashed me open like a thanksgiving turkey. I should’ve known better. I couldn’t take them alone the first time, don’t know why I thought it would be different.”

Dana squeezes his hand a bit tighter.

“I knew their leader had something against Terry McGinnis, since they attacked me once and then kidnapped my family, but I didn’t know who it was,” Terry takes a deep breath, “until now.”

“Big Time?”

He nods. “We’ll know after the interrogation, but I think my original hunch was spot on. We didn’t exactly leave off on the best of terms. I was the reason Charlie’s gang gig got slagged, and knowing him, he’s sure to carry a grudge. Plus, I’m looking into a possible cover up by Luthor Enterprises. A few shipments went missing in September, right around when Charlie would have had to start putting the gang together, which accounts for the weapons.”

“So kidnapping Matt, going after Batman, going after me, it was all to hurt you?”

Terry smiles awkwardly. “Pretty screwed up huh?”

Dana nods, averting her eyes. She’d forgotten for a moment. She had looked at Terry and it had slipped her mind for just a second that things had changed.

Dana rubs her throat again and remembers the way he fought, the way he moved. She remembers all the times he had to ditch dates and outings, the times in high school where he fell asleep during class. She remembers the weight of the body as she lowered Batman into his seat, red melting into red.

That was Terry.

Dana reaches out to hold his hand and takes a deep breath.

“What now?” She asks.

Terry smiles, his eyes soft, his dimples poking into his cheeks, and helps her to her feet.

“Burgers?”

Dana laughs, her voice a bit hoarse, and kisses his cheek.

“Only if I get to see the Batcave.”

“Yeah yeah.” Terry swings their arms back and forth as they start off down the sidewalk.

“I love you, by the way. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah Terr. I love you too.”

Dana had forgotten, but the moment has passed and it doesn’t matter. Terry is still the same person she’s always known. They’d gone through rough patches but he always worked to make things better. Now she knows he does that for the whole city.

So Dana is content, content with talking, content with waiting, content with seeing what the future holds, seeing what lies beyond.

#batman beyond #terry mcginnis #dana tan #fic #fanfic #my fic #dc

50 notes · View notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 5 years ago

Text

Monster House || Morgan, Cassie, & Blanche

Three gals, one creepy old house, and TOO MANY ghosts.

Contains: ghostly body horror

@harlowhaunted @deathsdoorman

Morgan brought her car up to the curb in front of the Bachman house. She had gone up the drive many times before, but under the cover of eternal night, it seemed more foreboding, more dangerous, and Morgan had a flash of fear that the earth might swallow her car if she left it alone, an offering to be devoured. It was probably her fear talking, the night pressing on longer than thirty minutes in front of her happy light could help. Or it could be the four-ish deaths she’d recently uncovered thanks to her sleuthing with Rio and Winston. Agnes’ father had been impaled on farming equipment, her sister strangled in clothesline, and one of her nieces drowned in a pail. Accidents, all of them. The exact cause of death for Agnes’ mother, Hannah, was unknown, because she was found so many days later, when a neighbor was alerted by the buzzing growth of decomposition. And that didn’t count the little disasters that had come before then. Something about the curse, which only knew how to take and torture, seemed to have embedded itself into the walls, and Morgan felt a twist of guilt at agreeing to bring Blanche along. Seeing this through with Cassie was one thing. Unavoidable, even if her refusal to let Morgan pay her back somehow made her neck itch with discomfort. But Blanche? She was a kid. A reckless, overworked kid in way over her head in so many ways. She didn’t need another. But here they were. Marching headlong into a completely literal danger zone.

The Bachman house was the oldest of its kind on the street, steadfast against the press of time that peeled its fingers over the paint and shingles and bowed its fist on the front step. The earth, still in its winter sleep, seemed to have made an uneasy truce with the place, growing in brown prickly brambles around the perimeter, but stopping short of the place itself. The strange clarity of this border made the house seem ensconced in its own picturesque dome of grim. Morgan walked as far as the weeds and sat down, clutching her bag to her chest. She had Cassie’s special brew, a tin of Morton’s, the iron rod she’d been gifted by Deirdre, and a shiny new transmutation circle on a cuff around her wrist. It was more than she’d ever had coming here on her own, but knowing what she knew now, it didn’t seem like enough.

Pulling the car up across the street and leaning across to look out from the passenger side window Cassie sized up the building looming just ahead of her. Reaching behind her to the back-seat Cassie pulled through and slung her bag across her chest and stepped out of the car. One of these things is not like the others. Amongst its newer and less neglected siblings the house stuck out with its dilapidated yard and forlorn looking façade against the fresh coats of paint, well-manicured lawns and front porches of its neighbours. Never judge a book by its cover, but she felt it was safe to say that saying didn’t count under the circumstances. She didn’t even have to step inside to get an uneasy vibe from the place.

She raised her palm up in a small wave as she spotted Morgan where Morgan was sat, bag clenched to her chest. “There’s uh….a lot of character going on here,” she offered in tentative greeting as she approached and stopped just outside the threshold. “You sure about this?” She was sure she already knew the answer, but she had to ask all the same. Okay, two out of three so far were here. The third party was the worry. Blanche was young, but determined, persistent even, but if every other interaction so far was to go on, she was going to do this kind of anyway. She may as well get the full experience with some backup.

Regan was going to kill her. Remmy was going to kill her. Blanche was probably going to want to punch herself in the face after this. But it was fine. She pulled up in her yellow jeep, parking on the side of the road, already spotting where Morgan and Cassie were. She hopped out, grabbing her backpack that had… Well. She hadn’t known what to bring. She had a lot of salt, acid mace, regular mace, the chalk pens, and that book that Cassie told her to get with her. Just in case. She made Granny stay at home because she didn’t want Granny getting into a fistfight with a cranky ‘caught in between’ ghost. She still didn’t know what that meant.

“Hey guys,” Blanche said, approaching the two. She looked at the house and grimaced. “Spooky house,” she said. The sort of house that had this been three months ago, she would have had to be dragged into kicking and screaming. It was like something broke in her - the denial and the living in secret wasn’t something she wanted to do anymore. It was exhausting. But, well, this didn’t seem to be very restful. Still, Morgan was nice, and she liked her, so she couldn’t just leave her alone. She shifted the backpack on her back, looking between the two. “So what’s the plan?”

Morgan fixed her attention on Cassie and Blnache’s shoes. They were nice shoes, black and sensible, and ready for ass-kicking in a pretty on TV sort of way. Morgan wished she’d gotten the memo and put on something besides her busted sneakers, but that wasn’t why she was looking. It was just easier to see three pairs of shoes on a rickety stoop than two good, nice people with hope and salt in their bags, and her. She could turn them away, she thought. Sorry, game over, thanks but no thanks, I’ll just take my blind ass in there alone bye! But she needed this. She needed the universe to stop blowing holes in her like so much swiss cheese. She needed coming to White Crest to amount to something more than hurt and confusion. “Spooky Central!” She said brightly. “Come for the ambiance, stay for the impending doom.” She forced herself up to her feet, iron and salt at the ready. “Um, we stick together, because splitting up is for horror movies, and that’s not us. We don’t know who all might actually be in there, but both Agnes’ parents, her sister, and one niece all died in there back when. I don’t know if Agnes can turn up if she died in Texas, ghost travel isn’t my thing, but it is yours! Hopefully whoever Constance is shows up, and--” She held herself a little straighter. She was fine. This was fine. Plans were supposed to be simple and straightforward, right? “At the end of the day, we just need to get the dirt on why my family’s been cosmically screwed for at least four generations! The older they are, the more likely they’ll know.”

The last of their party arrived hefting a backpack which looked like she was packing for doomsday, but she came prepared, she would give her that. Had Cassie really been that young when she started out? Too young for this. This was probably how everybody that had ever clued her in had felt now she was in their shoes. It was a weirdly jarring feeling. Cassie looked over at Morgan and flashed her a brief look of doubt. Yeah no, this is a bad idea, a thought she quickly shook off. Okay, so she had two people she had to watch out for. No big deal. It was just to talk anyway. No exorcisms needed necessarily. This was doable. “Yeah, no splitting up,” she agreed with a small shake of her head. “That never works out and if there’s anybody in there we’ll know soon enough. We’ll get them talking,” she shrugged. Getting them to do the opposite was usually the problem. Plus, if they split up, she just knew she would turn around at some point and Blanche would manage to find the broken floorboard or portal to a hell dimension. Call it a Sixth sense. “How about we take things room by room,” she offered up, looking back towards the house. “Go from there,” she finished as the dry grass reeds parted to her left as something skittered through.

Impending doom was right. Blanche looked at the house, doubtfully. Maybe she should have brought Granny with her. Granny was always better at calming down ghosts - but those ghosts were usually, like, freshly dead. “I’m all for not splitting up,” Blanche said. “I know, surprising, but like - I do have some sense of self-preservation you know,” She shot them a grin, as goodhearted as she could make it. She was a little anxious, but as Morgan pointed the way to go, she was the one that strode right ahead, grimacing at whatever slithered through the grass. Nope. Nope. Nope. They were supposed to deal with the inside of the house, not whatever animal was in the grass. Gripping onto one of her backpack straps tightly, she tensed the second she pushed the door open. She definitely knew that feeling. She held the door open for the other two, walking a little deeper into the house, looking around the entryway curiously. “Room by room, yeah? This the best place to start for our friends?”

The Bachman house welcomed them with a damp sigh. As they crossed the threshold one by one, the doorframes edged away from their frames, making room for their new guests. The walls, flaking like fine old gentlemen, stood as straight as they had the day they rose. Stairs rose in neat lines, and pine and oak furniture, stubborn against the wear of time, glowered alongside their moth and maggot familiars.

“Hello, old house,” Morgan sang tentatively. In visits past, she had said so as a peace offering toward the presumed beings loitering around. Knowing what she knew now, however, of White Crest, of the many ways her ancestors had perished, it became a plea for mercy. Agnes, from what she had gathered, had liked to be the center of entertainment. Her sister, Martha, had been more of the ‘boss the servants around’ type. And their mother, Hannah, had been ill after a tragic, brutal fall before her eventual death, like Morgan’s own mother had been. Because of course she had. Because some torments were just so good they bore repeating.

“Parlor first,” Morgan said, “Maybe they’ll be partying where the party’s at, right?” She stepped ahead of the others, iron rod raised in front of her. “Either of you see anything?” To Morgan’s ordinary eyes, the place was much as it had always been, except for a door in the corner that she didn’t remember being there before. Morgan went still. “Blanche--? Cassie?” She called.

“Emphasis on some'' Cassie half-joked at Blanche and followed after the two of them. “But good to hear,” Cassie was the last one to step across the threshold and closed the door over behind her just as that familiar pins and needles sensation spread. She could feel it spike as she stepped further inside the front room and trail down her arms and crept up to the tip of her neck. She did her best to shake it off and pressed on. Taking a cursory glance around she caught sight of a few weak fleeting figures that seemed like they were doing their best to keep out of her eyeline. Weird. Cassie looked away from the others for a second and took a few steps towards the door on her right to peek inside following after one of the figures, but thought better of it. “Okay, parlour sounds good,” she started, “let me try and get hold of few of these—" she moved to turn around and found herself facing a wall. The hell did that come from? Shaking off the confusion she looked around for any sign of Blanche or Morgan, but found herself alone in a now empty hallway. “Guys?” She called out again and let out a frustrated sigh and ventured through the first door she could find and stepped inside. A dark-haired figure flitted across the room, but she couldn’t quite make them out in the gloom, “Morgan?”

“Cassie? I don’t think these guys want to-” Blanche started, absentmindedly following after Morgan to the Parlor as a figure darted just out of her eyeline. Must be one skittish ghost. “Guys?” Blanche did not find Morgan, even though she just saw her go through the door. Instead, she found a moth-eaten dusty bed. Blanche stared at it, silently a moment, before turning around. “Cassie?” Nope. There was a window. Blanche stared at it for a long moment. Her entire body was on edge because they were all clearly note alone in the house, but now she was just tense. When the hell did she get to the second floor of the building? Blanche backed away from the the window, turning away as she patted her pockets for her cell phone, intending on calling Cassie straight away. No service. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed, before she heard something move. She looked up, and moved straight through the open doorway and into the Hallway - nope. Not the hallway. “.... Cassie! Morgan!” Blanche yelled at the top of her lungs. It was a big ass house, but someone had to hear her. Maybe, though, she realized after, with a grimace, she should be careful. There were others in the house after all.

They left me, Morgan thought. The plan didn’t mean anything and they left me. Was that the real plan, to disappear? Morgan stayed rooted in place, the rod trembling in her hands. The Bachman House breathed around her, raising dust around the old floorboards. Its cold breath pinched her, cruel and needling. The walls laughed, as the playground children had laughed, and the third dates she tried to tell about magic, her old cohort. And under them was a strange sound, a tisk of disapproval, or of keeping time. Tat, tat, tat, tat… Morgan wobbled on her feet and inched through the new door, clearly she wasn’t going to find anyone in here—and found herself on a stairwell, suffocated in dark. “No—” She dashed back the way she’d come and crashed into a wall. Trapped. “No, no, you do not get to do this. Cassie! Blanche!” She stumbled up blindly, each stair scraping on her ankles like so many teeth. She had to get to them—didn’t she?

The room was empty save for a debris-covered fireplace and some moth-eaten curtains. Cassie breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped inside and caught sight of Morgan’s sneakers in the dim light. Okay, now they just needed to find Blanche. She was crouched in the corner of the room with her back to the door. “Hey, you find something?” She asked taking a step closer, “thought we said we weren’t splitting up where’s—"she cut herself off and felt the pin prickles erupt along her arms again as she got closer and clocked the tattered denim jacket and dishevelled dark hair. No, not Morgan. Definitely not Morgan. A pair of terrified dark eyes flickered up at her. “Hey,” she ventured tentatively like she was approaching a startled animal, “you help me I’ll help you have you seen-”

The girl rose up suddenly, hands clinging to the wall and shrank away from her as though she were contagious, “stay away,” her voice cracking from disuse. “Get away from me!” She shrieked and streaked past her, making contact with her right arm sending the feeling of her skin being plunged into ice water and darted past her at speed through the wall. Taking their advice Cassie got out and called out again, “Blanche? Morgan?” She yelled. “The hell are you?” She asked quietly as she weighed up her options. “Stay where you are! I’ll come to you,” she tried, hoping one of them was close enough to hear that. For a split second she could have swore she heard someone call out and followed blindly in the direction it came from.

“Cassie! Morgan!” Blanche was bellowing Cassie and Morgan’s names over and over again. It was a big house, but it wasn’t that big. They had to find each other eventually. Flashes of people danced around the corners of her eyes, but everytime she turned to look, nothing was there. She did not like that. She didn’t like that one bit. She was hardly used to seeing ghosts when they were normal, she didn’t like them when they were screwing with her. And this whole maze of rooms thing? Not cool. Blanche was going through rooms as fast as humanly possible, none of them ever where she meant to go and none of them being right. It wasn’t until she ended up in a closet that she finally stopped and took a fucking breath.

It was a large closet. Blanche turned on the flashlight on her phone, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Blanche screamed backing up against the wall as she stared at the human skeletons. Her stomach twisted, she for a moment, she was certain she was going to hurl. Except the jacket. The stupid fucking jacket. Blanche latched onto the first thing she saw that would ground her fear, and it was a jacket. Faded and moth eaten and dusty… It was hung around the shoulders of the bones, but that wasn’t what she was concerned with. DIE was on the breast pocket. She knew that fraternity on campus, but this was just a cruel joke. She was rooted to the spot now, staring at this stupid jacket around a dead person’s bones. Eerily, she was calm now - or numb. Her head sort of felt fuzzy, almost like she was in a dream. What a dream, what a nightmare. She went to leave… And then turned back around, unsure what possessed her to carefully take the jacket with her. Two people had died in this house alone and scared, someone had to miss them. And Adam could track down any DIE alumni and figure out who had gone missing. What their names were. Who were they? She wanted to know. Blanche’s stomach churned as she clutched the moth eaten jacket to her, before stumbling back into the hallway eyes burning with tears. Wait. Hallway. The hallway! No more room swapping hell! “Cassie! Morgan!” Blanche yelled again, turning a corner and catching sight of the stairs. She bolted to them immediately. “Hey! Can anyone hear me?!”

Morgan was sure she’d been walking the same stairs for hours now. She had stopped for breath, she had raced on almost all fours in desperation, and it was still just this. Just her and the dark, alone.

Tat, tat, tat, tat….

Morgan tripped on the latest step and slammed onto her knees. “What the hell?” Her voice trembled hoarsely in her throat.

“Come out already, pumpkin.”

It was a soft voice, steady and sure. Morgan couldn’t place the sound, but there was something in the cadence that chilled her with familiarity. What was happening? Why couldn’t she get out? Morgan staggered back up to her feet and began to climb again. Any second now, it had to be. She couldn’t be more than a few steps from the top. She continued, on and on, over and over. Had there been a landing she’d missed? A door just to her right or something. Of course there was. Only you could get lost on a fucking staircase. Morgan stopped, and fished out her flashlight for what--the third time? Or the first? Had she tried it before or dismissed the obvious idea because getting something right would just be too novel an experience?

The light came on. Morgan was staring in front of another door.

Earth and fucking stars, she had been in front of it the whole time. Morgan threw her weight against it and stumbled into a hallway. She looked behind her--there was no door. No enclosed stairs. She was coming up the main staircase that had watched them when they first entered. Someone was calling her name. Or was that in her head? Stupid, lonely-- no. Blanche was there, running towards her.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Morgan snapped. “What were you--” she couldn’t breathe. She was trembling from the shoulders down. Shit. How did she breathe again? She couldn’t forget how to breathe. It was in there somewhere, right? In. Hold. Out. Slowly, counting the time. One, two, three, three-- wait. Morgan looked up at Blanche from her haggard crouch in the middle of the hall. “You were supposed to be right behind me,” she said. “And what is that you’re holding?”

She could hear them yelling but every time she thought she was getting close it faded and died and she was left with silence. Cassie lost count of how many doors she went through that seemed to lead her on in what felt like an unending loop. “Here! I’m here!” She called back to no answer and sat down to catch her breath on one of the chairs left sprawled in the basement that sent out a thick plume of dust before she registered, she wasn’t alone down there. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at her and instantly rushed her. A chorus of frantic voices fought amongst themselves to be heard over the din and figures pushed and shoved to jostle for position in front of her. “One at a time,” she yelled. “One at a damn time,” to no avail. If her patience had been low before it was non-existent now. Reaching into her bag she opened up the salt container and launched it into the air sending anyone stupid enough to have stuck around to see it in her hands evaporated into the air. On the move again she tried to make contact again, but none of the occupants inside lingered long enough to be of any use or offer any help. They were all just kids, terrified kids too far gone to be of any use. Pressing on she wound her way through the house until she finally pushed against the one door that emptied her out into the hallway. Her eyes took a moment to adjust and clocked the two figures huddled close together and felt a flicker of relief at the sight of both Morgan and Blanche just ahead of her. She attempted to dust herself off on approach and caught her breath. “I’ve been looking everywhere,” she stopped to get a breath, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” she managed in relief and clocked the tattered fabric in Blanche’s hands. “You find something?”

“Morgan!! Morgan!” Blanche exclaimed in relief, before Morgan’s name caught in her throat as she lashed out at her. Blanche looked at her, eyes wide, shaking her head. “I was right behind you! I was right behind you! I got spit out in the bedroom! I don’t know what happened. And then I started running through the house and nothing was right and -” Blanche was shaking and talking way faster than she meant. She didn’t realize how terrified she had been until she looked down at the jacket and saw her knuckles white with how hard she was gripping the jacket. She took in a shaky breath, jumping as Cassie hurried up to them. She let out a sigh of relief, nodding. “There’s - I don’t know where, but - I mean, two people, two skeletons…” Blanche wasn’t great at explaining, but she shifted the jacket in her hands and showed the D.I.E. logo on it. “This is a frat at my school. I thought… if I talked to my friend, they could… figure out who they were,” Blanche said, suddenly feeling very foolish. This wasn’t why they were here at all. They were here for Morgan. Blanche’s face felt hot, and her eyes burned slightly, and she looked down, clutching the jacket back to her. After a moment, she got it together. “What the hell just happened?”

Morgan was still struggling to breathe. She gave up on maintaining her crouch and stood, pressed against the wall as she forced oxygen through her teeth. “Yeah, while we’re at it, we can pick up trophies from every other dumbass who died lost in a two story house!” She snapped. Stars, this was wrong. This was wrong, wrong, wrong, but Morgan couldn’t figure out in which direction, should she be doing this alone? Was that better? Or was the stupider thing to push Cassie and Blanche away? The thoughts in her head were soured like milk left in the sun, ugly blobs rising to the surface, smelling strange, and wrong. She clenched her fists. “We’re lost,” she said, trying to line up the facts for herself as much as the others. “We might die here. You need to get out. I, meanwhile, am going to--”

Her eyes didn’t even look away. They were on the end of the hall, she could’ve sworn they were on it the whole time, when it stretched impossibly far away from them and the door, or had there been a door? There must have been, her eyes never left it-- The door opened with a cruel thump as it hit the wall on its hinges.

Morgan looked to the others and back to the hall again. “We are so screwed,” she whispered.

“Hey!” Cassie frowned at Morgan, “let’s not start turning on each other. I get it, but this is the last thing anybody needs. Keep it together.” She swiped more of the dust away from her arms as she crossed to stand close by and folded her arms over. Her eyes flickered to Blanche as she mentioned finding remains and softened. Shit. What was seeing something like that going to do to her? For a first rodeo this was like throwing her in the deep end and attaching a concrete cylinder block for good measure. She registered the letter jacket in Blanche’s hands with the letters D.I.E on it, yeah, that’s not an omen at all “Soon as this is over and we’re out of here we’ll find somebody to give that to,” she reassured. She shook it off and sighed “I couldn’t get a straight answer from anybody. It’s all just a bunch of college kids and high schoolers. Something’s got them too scared out of their minds to make any sense.” Something was causing this, messing with their heads, with what they saw. This was beyond your standard poltergeist activity; past any hallucinations they could pull. “We’re not lost and we’re going to die,” Cassie urged at Morgan again, “come on, enough,” she pressed and padded over towards Morgan to pull her along with them when the hallway gave itself The Haunted Mansion Ride treatment and elongated out. She stopped still and watched. “We’re all getting out. Whatever this is, it’s trying to mess with your head, so don’t fold on me and make it easy for them.”

Shame and guilt twisted through Blanche like a poison. She didn’t understand why the feeling was so strong, but it was enough to make her want to get sick. She cringed away from Morgan’s harsh words, clutching the jacket to her chest. What was wrong with her? Her emotions were in overdrive, and she felt like she was going to have a panic attack. Her mouth dry, she forced herself to fucking breathe. Morgan was already freaking out, Cassie and her didn’t need to deal with her useless problems because she made a bad decision. She always made bad decisions. No. Shake it off. Stop it, Blanche told herself, focusing on Cassie. “I can’t get a good look at anyone, they won’t - I mean, I think they kept running away from me. And I kept running away from them trying to find you - I mean. Sorry.” Blanche stuck with Cassie and Morgan, and reached out. “I don’t think we should go that way - hey, I don’t think we should go that way!” Blanche reaching to tug lightly on Cassie’s arm. “We’re being herded! I think we’re being herded. Let’s go back the way we - oh.” Blanche had turned to point back the way they came, but it had changed again. No more stairs. They were being herded. Blanche swallowed hard, and pushed forward anyway. She was afraid and overwhelmed and all she wanted to do was cry. She noticed the whispering then, just as they all plowed through the door. The low whispering that in her head - “Cassie. Cassie can you hear them? Morgan?”

Cassie’s grip pressed something back into Morgan and at last she remembered how to breathe. In. Hold Out. Five. Three. Five. In. Hold. Out. And they were all here, together, in arm’s reach. Morgan wiped her hands on her pants and took hold of each of them. She stared intently at her fingers, the fabric it pinched on their sleeves. “Sorry,” she mumbled. There was still so much gunk in her head, and that voice from before, that voice. Morgan barely had time to notice the stairs vanish before their eyes. No way out. No way around.

Morgan tightened her grip on each of them. “I can hear something,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “What’s, um, what’s yours saying, Blanche?” She could only just work up the nerve to meet the girl’s eyes for a second. There was no comfort in her to give, and only the smallest piece of resolve, She was just afraid, but she wanted to tell her the truth. “Does it sound like anyone to you?” She asked.

Her eyes darted around them, waiting for another way out, but nothing came. This was the only way forward. Keeping her grip on them, Morgan led the way into the room.

There were no windows to be seen, and yet the room was full of the stale non-light of winter days and lingering hurricanes. There was a bed against the wall, a rocking chair, an empty shelf. In the middle of the room a hunched over woman, her skeleton bent in ways that should have broken her skin or sent her to the floor: feet bent the wrong way on the floor, limbs zig zagging in sharp, terrible angles, back swollen and curved like a snake in distress, She was swaying, unnaturally steady in her balance.

“We’re not going to get any answers from them,” Cassie answered. “They’re too far gone,” she answered Blanche honestly. As Blanche tugged on her arm the house sealed the stairs off from them, they had no choice but to follow. The three of them fell into step and moved towards the room ahead as Morgan took the lead. Follow the yellow brick road it was. No way to get separated now at least. The only way was forward as the voices picked up again as they moved. A hushed whispery rustling of words sent a shiver up the nape of her neck. “I hear them,” Cassie answered quietly, her voice far away as she listened and tried to tune into the words but couldn’t make it out. As she concentrated Cassie could almost hear partial words as though she was hearing snapshots of a hushed conversation as it ebbed in and out of audio. The fact that Morgan could hear it wasn’t a welcome sign. “I can’t make much out.” As they entered the room Cassie felt her skin prickle and flare in the seconds before she caught the figure inside. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, at first. She could make out the twisted limbs bent at unnatural angles. It was a woman, or it had been in life, but whatever was left in death had been warped and mangled into something that only just looked human. There was something about them, something important, but she felt her mind blanking the longer she looked. There was something. She could feel it. She was forgetting something, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Just the vague feeling as she rapped her fingers against the side of her leg absently in rhythm. “What do you want?” Cassie asked them, her voice steady as the figure seemed to make a move towards them.

Blanche shook her head. “I can’t - I can’t figure out what they’re saying they’re not -” It was like they were purposefully out of reach. Purposefully trying to mess with her head. Was that really a thing? Being too far gone? Blanche didn’t get a chance to think much of it, only glance between Morgan and Cassie as they entered the room they were herded too, before she froze. She clutched the jacket closer to her, like it was a blanket of comfort, except, it didn’t help. Cassie spoke to the thing in a somehow impossibly steady voice.

“Agnes,” the figure cooed. “Martha. You’ve been disobeying me, haven’t you?”

Blanche was fixated on the thing’s feet. Bent the wrong way as it stumbled towards them it made her a little sick. Who was Martha and who was Agnes? And who was she? Was she human once? Was this Morgan’s family? Blanche went into overdrive for a second - would this be what happened to Morgan if the curse wasn’t broken?

“I think we should leave!” Blanche hissed, tugging at Morgan’s arm. “I think we should -”

“Did I grant you permission to leave?! Wretched child,” the woman looked straight at her. The room seemed to lurch and Blanche was thrown off balance, letting go of Morgan with a squeak. “After showing up without notice? You’re making me angry. How dare you make me angry.”

Her heart sank. She made it angry? “What do you want?” Blanche repeated Cassie’s question, her own voice wavering. The room span and Blanche, after a moment Blanche realized it wasn’t her anxiety and she stepped forward unable to get a good look at the thing now. “What the fuck? What’s happening? What’s happen- urck!” Blanche snapped her eyes shut and sank to her knees, but that was somehow worse.

“I wouldn’t have to punish you if you hadn’t disobeyed me -”

Blanche tried to get a grip, and start reaching behind her to start rifling through her bag. Salt. She needed salt. No - she couldn’t focus. “No! Make it stop. Make it stop!”

Morgan jolted off balance, crashing to her knees. The woman (she was still a woman, wasn’t she?) was beginning to scream. “Don’t talk to me that way! I am your mother!”

“Oh,” Morgan wheezed, forcing her eyes upward. “You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.”

The floor seemed to tilt, but Morgan shut her eyes against the sensation. She had skipped over being ‘done’, like a deep scratch on a record, and now she was skimming past that in a burning haze. “You are fucking kidding me!” She screamed. She swung her iron rod blindly. She staggered to her feet, wheezing and shaking and livid. “Was it you? Did you wake up one morning and decide one punishment wasn’t enough? Because your daughter wasn’t the way you wanted? It was you, wasn’t it, Hannah? Answer me!”

The floor leveled out, the walls went still, and yet there was no silence in the Bachman house. The quiet tapping sound like teeth crept into the air. Tat, tat, tat, tat. Morgan opened her eyes. The ghost of Hannah Bachman hovered inches from her face. Her ghost hair dangled in front of her in ropes, hiding whatever there was to see of her face save for one wide, lashless eye. “It is you,” she said. “My precious girl.”

“No--” Morgan swung but Hannah only vanished. Her voice, reedy and bitter went on, marked only by the tapping in between.

“Another precious girl. You never change. You did this to yourselves.”

“Fuck you,” Morgan whispered, digging into her bag for the tin. She hurled it at the nearest wall and it burst open, white grains of salt hissing and rolling over the floor.

Hannah laughed. “How many times did I tell you not to mix with others. Your family is all that matters. I would have done worse than Constance Cunningham if I could. At least she learned her lesson.”

“You want worse?” Morgan backed to the nearest wall and slammed her cuff on it. The wood snapped, veiny cracks sweeping through as if they had been clawed in one swipe, they jutted outwards, exploding into sawdust and splinters and earth, showing the way out on the other side, if they could just get to it. But the tapping, the tapping was still in her ears, and the house, whole parts that Morgan hadn’t even consciously touched, were trembling along to its rhythm. Morgan looked to Cassie, abashed. “Oh, shit.”

Hannah paid Cassie no mind as she advanced on the other two. “Apage!” Stop she demanded and tried to step forward but the tapping grew louder and louder drowning everything out and she felt the ground come up to meet her. Every thought, every sound with it as the thing in the room rounded on the others. The more she fought against it the more the room around her seemed to twist and warp and forced her back down. The sound increased until it thrummed like a pulse inside her head. She fought again as the others fell to their knees as the room span and contorted, but was pulled back to the floor as Morgan managed to scramble to her feet and confront her.

“Make it stop!”

Something in her stirred and she pulled herself up with effort and stood, barely. She could make it stop. Make it all stop. Had to. Taking a step forward brought a wave of nausea, but she pushed through, trudging through what felt like quicksand, but kept going. No chalk. No circle. No salt. There wasn’t time. Stripping off her watch she gripped it in one hand and started to chant. Slowly and quietly at first, closing her eyes over as she focused on the words and intent and forged on as she felt the familiar tugging sensation spread out from her chest as she poured all her energy into forming the circle above. After a few moments she opened her eyes again in time to see the shape above start to take form and kept her eyes on it as she worked, aware that ahead of her Morgan and Blanche were trapped with it, but she needed time. She needed her distracted. Apologies would have to come later.

Out of the corner of her eye she turned her attention to Hannah then; too rapt in toying with the others to notice the opening forming above her on the ceiling. The gleeful look on its face made her stomach twist. That bought her some time as she gritted her teeth and concentrated as the circle above bloomed out and the dust began to fall downwards and swirl. Gaining mass in thicker dark plumes that branched out like vines as they found their target and clung to Hannah’s form. Spreading slowly upwards from their ankles began to snare her in place, creeping upwards.

She was going to be sick. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Blanche thanked every possible being there was that she didn’t come here alone. She was useless. What good was being able to see and hear this shit without being able to do anything about it? She buried her head in the jacket, trying so stop the wave of nausea, fear, and confusion that hit her like a truck. Still a little sick to her stomach, she looked up just as Morgan’s hand slammed against the far wall - Just as the opening in the above Hannah Backman appeared - it was the first time she had seen a real exorcism.

Danger! Get out! Get out! An unfamiliar voice hissed in her ear and Blanche whipped her head around to look.

“Do you hear - “ Blanche asked.

Get out!

Blanche felt the rumbling underneath her knees and sprang upward. Danger. Get out. They needed to get out right now. She dove for Cassie first, her legs feeling like JELL-O as she yanked hard. She went for Morgan next. “We have to go, we have to go right now! Something else is wrong!”

As if to prove her point, loud cracking through the wooden structure and the ground began to shake. Oh this was bad. “We gotta go,” Blanche pulled a little more, the damn jacket still clutched in her arms as they went barrelling out of the house. One goal, and that meant out. They needed to get out and get out now. She had hopes that whatever Cassie and Morgan did would shake the house back to normal before it collapsed on top of them.

She shot out of the room, trusting the others to follow. They didn’t want to die either. She was shaking too bad to be able to hang onto them. Was she shaking too bad or was the house shaking too bad? PRobably both. The long hallway was there, but replaced with more doors, no doubt for more maze confusion - nobody had time for that. Debris was already falling, smashing furniture and used to be wall fixtures. Blanche saw the stairs and immediately threw herself down them as fast as she could. If they could just get to the ground level…

Danger! Look out!

Something hard hit the back of her just as she got towards the end, and she shrieked in pain as she was knocked off her feet, her left side hitting the ground at the bottom of the staircase hard. The shaking was getting worse, the crashing of the house collapsing after them was deafening. Blanche didn’t realize until she was already back on her feet that pain was searing in through her left shoulder and she couldn’t move it - fuck. Tears bubbled and spilled, but she saw it. “Front door -” Blanche said. “Front door. Front door!” She dove for it before it could disappear. “No! Let us out!”

Morgan didn’t need to be convinced to leave. She held onto Blanche for dear life as they sprinted out, the Bachman house screaming at them from all sides as they went. Beams roared as they buckled overhead, floors shrieked as they snapped. Morgan pushed herself to keep pace, but the house was faster. Her foot plunged through black, dusty air. She cried out, holding onto her friends harder and collapsed, her leg crashing into the ruins. Above, the second floor was bottoming out, and for a moment Morgan wondered if she should just let it. Just let it all break and stop running. What was next after Constance anyway? What use was any--

No.

Morgan staggered up, blood dripping from her leg,and charged the rest of the way out, tears streaming down through the dust on her face. When she could see the world outside, she let herself go splat into the grass, her things splattering around her. She pressed her cuff into the ground and fixed herself on the house and all the hurt it had done with bitter certainty. She opened herself and pushed.

The collapse of the Bachman House was not a natural thing. The ground that had held it for two hundred years became a hungry, jagged mouth. It swallowed the basement and the neglected foundation, it guzzled up the steps and the wood pillars and the beams, the windows, the roof, and the brick chimney, melding it all into dust and ash. The sound was something like fury, something like an unquenchable hunger, demanding more.

Morgan watched, dead-eyed. All that remained was the debris from the upper floors she hadn’t had the strength to reach. And now that she was finished, and sick from draining herself, she realized she hurt...everywhere.

The tendrils snaked their way around Hannah. By the time Cassie had the sense to pay attention it was too late. Kicking and screaming she tried to lash out, but the more she fought the tighter the binds gripped and encircled her until she was shielded from view entirely. Without an ounce of sympathy Cassie kept her gaze set on whatever was left of her and finished the incantation, watching as she lost form altogether, dissipating in front of her and was pulled upwards through the opening in a pillar of smoke rising up towards the opening. She watched in horrified fascination as Hannah was swallowed up and the opening sealed itself up, disappearing in the time it took to blink. There was no time to stop or take a breath. The whole house felt like it was shaking, but her limbs struggled to respond as any energy she had left ebbed away.

“I—what?” Cassie found her voice as she heard the others frantically pulling at her. In the moments that followed Cassie was only vaguely aware of Blanche hustling her out of the way, throwing off her balance as the room came into focus again and she registered the crumbling surroundings and clocked Blanche dragging her alongside Morgan as they scrambled to find a way out. As her head cleared, she took in the situation and dodged the falling debris as they ran for the front door. The whole house was coming down around them with an unnatural fury and she searched around for a way out as the house continued to twist and contort as it crumbled. The woodwork started to give way and she heard Blanche cry out somewhere ahead of her. “Blanche!” she yelled as the house started to fold in on itself as they cleared the stairs and fled. She heard Morgan yelp in pain and fumbled to get to them to no avail. All she could do was try to keep up. Glass smashed and sprayed out behind her and rained down and she shielded her face and neck as she sprinted for the exit. Scrambling to stay close to them Cassie barrelled out not long after them as the house seemed to crumple in on itself and howl with rage. The outside air hit her and collapsed down on the grass. As Morgan dug her cuff into the ground Cassie watched in horror as the ground itself seemed to open its mouth and swallow the remnants of the house whole until all that was left was a crater in the ground. Looking to Blanche and Morgan she finally caught her breath and slumped back on the grass.

Blanche stumbled out of the house, the fresh air a gift to her dusty face as she collapsed into the grass. It was pitch black - of course it was, but Blanche shut her eyes tightly, breathing hard, before she watched in horrified curiosity as the house seemed to melt way into the ground. Blanche dropped back down into the grass, looking at the ever present moon above her, trying to process what the fuck just happened. Morgan was hurt. Cassie was too. The adrenaline and shock was wearing off on her arm and it was really starting to hurt. Tears bubbled over and she sucked in a deep, deep breath. She couldn’t - she wouldn’t - lose it now. Not when she had been stupid and asked to come. What would have happened if she hadn’t been here? Blanche didn’t want to know. “I can’t… move my arm…” Blanche’s voice cracked faintly.

#wr blanche #wr chatzy #wr blanche chatzy #wr cassie #wr cassie chatzy #wr group chatzy #wickeds writing #wickedswriting

10 notes · View notes

ziathewitch · 4 years ago

Text

Prâslea the Brave and the Golden Apples (Part 2)

[...]But the emperor, satisfied that he had touched the golden apples, did not want to know about the thieves. The son, though, was not convinced. He showed his father the trail of blood left behind by the thief and said he would look for him all over the world until he found him and and brought him to the emperor. And he spoke the very next day with his brothers and asked them to join him.

His brothers envied Prâslea because he had been more worthy than they had, and they sought an opportunity to get rid of him; that's why they were happy to join the quest. They prepared and set off.

So they followed the trail of blood and walked, and walked, until they came out into the wild emptiness. From there they walked a little more until they reached an abyss and the trail was lost. They searched around the chasm and they saw that the trail of blood was no longer advancing. It was then that they realized that the thieves must live in that abyss.

But how to get inside? They immediately got thick ropes, and the older brother was the first to go down.

"But," he said, "when I shake the rope, get me out."

And so it happened soon after. After the older brother, the middle one went down and he did the same as the first, only he dared go a little lower before shaking the rope.

"Now it's my turn to go into the abyss," said Prâslea, seeing that the older brothers were scared.

"When I shake the rope, lower me more, and after you see that the rope is not moving anymore, you stand guard. When you see that the rope moves again, that's when you pull it out."

And so, down went the youngest brother, and the more the rope moved, the more they lowered it, until they saw that the rope was no longer stretched, as it is when it has something hanging from its end. It was then that the brothers took counsel and said:

"Let us wait until we see if he succeeds, and wether or not he does, let us end him, to cleanse ourselves from one like him who brings shame upon us."

Prâslea reached the other realm, looked cautiously in all directions, and with great astonishment saw everything around him was different: the earth, the flowers, the trees. And all sorts of creatures were there. He was a little scared now, but, bracing himself, he walked along the road until he reached a palace that was completely and utterly made of brass. Seeing no human being to ask about this place, he entered the palace to see who lived there.

A beautiful girl greeted him at the door and said:

"Thank God I got to see another human in this land! How did you get here? These are the lands of three ogre brothers, who kidnapped us from our parents. We are three sisters and we are the daughters of an emperor from the human realm, where you come from."

He then briefly told her the story of the apples, how he wounded the thief and how he came after the trail of blood to the pit and so on, and he asked her what kind of beings those ogres were and if they were valiant. She then told him that each of the dragons had chosen one of the three sisters and they were being forced to take them as husbands. The girls keep resisting their sweet words, and they requested all sorts of difficult things as conditions for marriage, and the ogre brothers were doing the impossible to please them, fulfilling all their wishes.

"They are indeed strong", she added, "but with God's help you may be able to overcome them. But for now hide, I beg of you! Hide somewhere, don't let the him find you in his house, because he's dangerous and has the strenght of a lion. Now is the time when he comes home for lunch, and he has a habit of throwing his mace from a long distance. The mace knocks on the door, on the table, and hangs himself on the wall from that nail.

Before they could finish talking, there came a whistling sound, then a knocking on the door, then on the table, and the mace showed itself.

Prâslea took the mace and threw it back farther than the ogre had thrown it. And when it passed the ogre, the mace touched him on the shoulder.

The ogre, frightened, stood still and looked for the mace, went to pick it up, and walked home.

When he was at gate, he began to shout:

"Hmm... it smels of human flesh from the other realm!"

And seeing the young prince coming forward to face him, he added:

"What brings you here, human? Do you seek to leave your bones in this realm?"

"I came to catch the thieves who stole my father's golden apples."

"We are those thieves," said the ogre. "How should we fight? Do you prefer the mace, the sword, or should we wrestle?"

"Wrestling makes a fairer fight," replied Prâslea.

They began to fight, and they fought and fought, until the ogre shoved Prâslea in the ground up to the ankles. Prâsleâ then grabbed the ogre, and, throwing him, he shoved him in the groung up to his knees and cut off his head.

The girl, with tears in her eyes, thanked him for getting rid of the ogre, and begged him to have mercy on her sisters as well. After resting for a couple of days, he went to the middle sister, who lived in a silver palace. Here too he was received with joy. This girl also asked him to hide and he again refused. And again the mace came to hang itself on the wall, but this ogre had thrown it from a distsnce twice as large as his brother. Prâslea threw the mace a lot further back, hitting the the ogre on the head. And the ogre came home troubled, fought with Prâslea like his older brother had, and he also got himself killed.

The girl, after thanking him, askes him how to rescue her youngest sister as well.

"He is stronger than his brothers whom you have killed," said she, "but with God's help you might be able to best him, especially since he is still wounded from the blow you gave him with your arrow when he wanted to steal the apples."

Prâslea spent a week with the two girls, resting, then he set off for the third ogre.

Seeing the gold palace in which the youngest ogre lived, he pondered for a while, but then he gathered up his courage an went inside. When she saw him, the youngest princess begged him to save her from the ogre, especially since, according to her, he was tired of waiting and had decided to force her to be his wife as soon as he was well again. They had barely finished speaking, when the mace came knocking on the door and on the table, and hanging itself on the wall. Prâslea asked about the ogre's strenght and then threw the mace down for a distance three timea greater than before, hitting the ogre in the chest.

The ogre, mad with rage, immediately returned home.

"Who dared to cross my borders and enter my house?"

"I do!" said Prâslea.

"Then," the ogre replied, "I'll punish you bitterly for your recklessness. You came here willingly, but you will not leave."

"With God's help," said Prâslea, "I will defeat you too."

They agreed to go straight to battle and they fought and fought for a whole summer's day until eve. Around noon they both turned into flames as they continued fighting.

A raven keept flying around them, croaking. Seeing the raven, the ogre said:

"Raven, oh, raven! Bring me some tallow in your claws and in return I will give you this carrion!"

"Raven, oh, raven," said Prâslea, "give me the tallow and in return I will give you three carrions."

"If only such luck should fall upon me," said the raven, "I would gladly give up my home for it!"

"I speak nothing but the truth," said Prâslea.

The raven, not wasting any time, brought tallow in his claws and dropped it over the flame that was the brave Prâslea, who thus gained more power.

Towards evening, after both had returned to their true form, the ogre said to the emperor's daughter, who had been watching them fighting:

"My beauty, bring me some water to cool off, and I promise we'll be married tomorrow."

"My little beauty," said Prâslea, "bring me water, and I promise to take you to our realm, and marry you there!"

"May God hear you, strong one, and fulfill your thought!" she replied.

And so, the emperor's daughter gave Prâslea water to drink and he gained more power. He then grabbed the ogre, lifted him up in the air, and when he threw him, he shoved him up to his knees in the ground. The ogre grabbed Prâslea and, throwing him, he shoved him up to his waist. Gathering all his strength, Prâslea grabbed the ogre and squezed him so hard he broke his bones, then threw him so hard he shoved him in the ground up to its neck. Then he cut off his head.

The girls gathered around in joy, and and embraced Prâslea, and kissed him.

"From now on you shall be our brother," they said.

To be continued...

2 notes · View notes

resonanteye · 5 years ago

Photo

via http://resonanteye.net/current-events-condensed/

current events; condensed

A condensed post including short writings on current events.

CONSPIRACIES ARE NOT SECRET IN THIS CENTURY

open up? conspiracies? here’s the real one.

if They want to “cull the weak” and control us better, what better way than to present a false choice between going back to work and risking lives, or slowly going broke at home?

it’s a false choice. there are hoarders, greedy fucks holding money they’re not entitled to, billions. enough for everything to be covered. hell, the Pentagon LOST enough money to pay EVERYONE’S rent and mortgage for the best six months. LOST IT.

The conspiracy? PRETEND THAT MONEY ISN’T THERE. force people to fight over scraps, pretend there are only two options. don’t let people come together and agree that TOO MUCH MONEY IS IN TOO FEW HANDS, because that might mean we can beat this thing.

unity among the poor? PREVENT AT ALL COSTS. if you kill a few hundred thousand people in the process, fuck it. that doesn’t matter to Them. They want to keep their grip on power, forcing us to behave like serfs working at their pleasure, dying for their capital gains. Living in their damn bunkers.

There is more than these two choices, don’t let them suck you in. the current garbage video circulating is MORE OF THEIR SHIT. it’s part of this. it’s not “secret info” or “exposing an evil plan”.

to get what They want – they’ve just got to keep us arguing about whether to open up or not. that’s it. that’s all they’ve got to do. circulate some fake anti science garbage to make sure it goes over easy.

and murder a ton of people to make another dollar.

THAT’S your conspiracy. THERE’S your elite takeover.

they don’t need micro chips, 5g, or any of this other shit. vaccines aren’t “Them”, the anti vax movement is THEM trying to murder the “useless”.

” WAKE UP, SHEEPLE ” it’s obvious as fuck and you don’t need to go out on any limbs to see it. it’s plain as day. they’re saying it out loud. there’s no need for this conspiracy to be secret. half of you are HAPPY TO JOIN IN.

stop that. join together. fight for the end of greedy leeches stealing from us then pretending that money is gone and they can’t help. the big banks? THEY FUCKING OWE US ONE. it’s time we collect, TOGETHER. right/left/middle. all of us. they owe all of us.

Divine is disgusted by slumming yuppies

SEGREGATION, A REAL THING

in a post about this photo, someone from Europe, younger, asked if segregation was a real thing, a real law in the US. comments were then closed, so I’ll post my reply here instead, in case anyone was not aware.

Elvis sits to eat at a segregated lunch counter while an elderly black woman stands, waiting for food to take away. she’s not allowed to sit there.

it was law, and when it wasn’t the law it was the unspoken rule, for a very long time.

lunch counter (restaurants of all kinds), bus sections, bathrooms, water faucets and schools were separated by race. the fight to desegregate schools is most well known, as it lasted a very long time and required buses, because people of color had also been segregated by neighborhood- many towns refused to sell and owners refused to rent to anyone of color in a “white area”. (the TV show “the Jeffersons” addresses this, and it’s also known as “redlining”)

many politicians on both sides of the aisle supported it, but the Democratic party eventually worked to pass the civil rights amendment and related bills to stop it, although there were those in the party who still argued in favor of these laws.

https://www.businessinsider.com/biden-said-desegregation-would-create-a-racial-jungle-2019-7

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lester_Maddox

(of note- this happened after desegregation, that’s how strongly politicians felt about it! ten years in and they were still arguing that it had been a good thing.)

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Massive_resistance

after it legally ended, thanks to the civil rights movement, there was blowback; people trying to vote, to eat lunch, ride the bus, go to school, were viciously attacked by crowds or groups of white people.

FILE – In this May 28, 1963 file photo, a group of whites pour sugar, ketchup and mustard over the heads of Tougaloo College student demonstrators at a sit-in demonstration at a Woolworth’s lunch counter in Jackson, Miss. Seated at the counter, from left, are Tougaloo College professor John Salter,and students Joan Trumpauer and Anne Moody. John Salter, who also used the name John Hunter Gray, died Monday, Jan. 7, 2019 at his home in Pocatello, Idaho. Relatives say he was 84 when he died Monday after an illness. (Fred Blackwell/The Clarion-Ledger via AP, File) ORG XMIT: MSJAD701

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freedom_Riders https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Crow_laws

during this time, due to so much police and community violence, the Black Panther formed to monitor and protect people.

https://www.wglt.org/post/director-chronicles-black-panthers-rise-new-tactics-were-needed#stream/0

members of the Black Panthers, preparing to feed the community

GENERATION X

sure, we are slackers. yeah. we’re ok with staying home. you have just told a generation of latchkey tech addicts raised during the bridge from antenna TVs to HD internet streaming to sit at home. if you’d feed us, we wouldn’t even blink at it. this quarantine stuff? that’s not the hard thing.

but we’re watching friends and family die. a lot of us have been down this road before. we’ve watched right wing pigs (yes, I’ll say it) allow our friends to die before. we’ve been down this road of denial and greed and prejudice and all of it. we’ve seen what happens when politicians value money and ego over human lives, and we know it SUCKS ASS.

hell, we watched Reagan. Bush. Bush. Clinton, too-he was only a hair better. and so-

when we need to, we pound the pavement. we toss the bricks. we get arrested. we wipe mace out of our eyes and stampede.

we always tend to be masked, regardless of standards of the moment. I don’t think, in my life, I’ve been to a protest that didn’t have a contingent of masked people wishing to avoid cameras. Now, a protest for actual assistance for people? a real protest, a fight for better conditions, the 300-some strikes that have happened that the news ISN’T covering? yeah. surgical masks. they’re brilliant photos, but not as interesting for the crap media as a few fat guys with guns.

because that’s the joke they want to show us, yeah? not people actually fighting in solidarity, to protect each other, get better work conditions, protect the disabled, get better healthcare for all, support people financially… the shit the majority of people really want. no. they’re not covering that real shit.

the news, they like a spectacle.

we need to find ways to make the facts spectacular.

I have rarely seen my generation protest FOR corporate interests and find any such thing suspicious as all fuck. I don’t believe a bit of that shit. That’s paid for, that’s arranged, that’s a pony show. That’s the same tiny batch of zonked out cultists that don’t have a trump rally to travel to right now. it’s like a damn road show, the same hundred people, like some Boomer deadhead traveling bus shit. I don’t trust it and I don’t believe it. the older folks at them, yeah. they’re that little band of travelers. sure. but us?

Seattle police use gas to push back World Trade Organization protesters in downtown Seattle Tuesday, Nov. 30, 1999. The protests delayed the opening of the WTO third ministerial conference. (AP Photo/Eric Draper)

because even though we will go do Things, we are, in fact, ok with staying home.

and we don’t like your fucking company. and corporations bought our music and art and killed it in front of our eyes, and there’s no getting our trust back. and we will wear a goddamn busted ass thrift store sack before we spend money on slave-sewn clothes. and we would rather read and write and play music and watch movies all damn day, than go to jobs in cubicles.

War protesters and march to Gas Works Park protesting the US involvement in the Persian Gulf and the buid up to war against Irag January 15 deadline 1991 Seattle Washington State USA

I mean, we’ll usually go, because we gotta eat. so feed us. give us bread. you already poisoned the roses.

THE ASSHOLE FACTORY

this is where your conspiracy videos are made. in the asshole factory.

what do you notice about these photos? do you see the threats? what kind of people are there?

it is almost like there’s a monthly event they’ve been going to, that’s been cancelled, where they could hold up trump signs and boo anything reasonable… wonder what that event is. where have you seen some of these faces before? I’ve seen a few in the rally photos and videos.

check out “small business” guy. who is he? does he own a “small business”, you think? (photos by Orin Louis)

ON THE PANDEMIC

a lot of people talking about immunity/reinfection and that study.

that study is just saying we don’t know yet. we just don’t know yet.

it’s early days.

Coronavirus is not influenza, they’re two different families of virus. VERY different.

this is more related to the common cold (in its behavior)than to the flu. (the cold is a rhinovirus. SARS & MERS, and Covid-19, if you want to find out more about these viruses, don’t look up the flu-they are Coronaviruses.)

it is contagious the way a cold is, but it has serious effects on any part of the body with ace2 receptors. (simply put- blood, lungs, heart, kidneys, brain)

they have been working on a cold vaccine for decades. no success. BUT. again, it’s early days. there’s never been this kind of pressure for a vaccine for it. so, to be direct: we don’t know yet. they’ve never been this desperate, this well funded, to find a cold vaccine.

this could be a seasonal thing, eventually- it could mutate to be less lethal and become just another cold we can get every year. it could mutate to be even more vicious and we all are in serious danger all the time. it could create immunity, and some will be ok for a year or a month or a decade… it might not, and people can catch it again and worse.

we just don’t know yet. the whole reason we are isolating the way we are is to buy time for science to find these answers. we’re not in quarantine to “kill it off” or stop it. we are slowing it down so science can have time to find answers, so less of us die while that happens.

every day we don’t infect other people, is a day in which researchers can work. we need them to work. they are doing that. every day we don’t infect other people, is a day this virus doesn’t get a chance to mutate and change. this helps a lot.

science needs time. all this economic mayhem- it’s to buy them time to help us, to figure it out. the answers won’t come right away and during this time we may hear things that are being tried and tested, some may not work at all, some may be worse than nothing, so information won’t be steady or always correct. when you read a thing, wait a day. read more about it. read the actual study- and if you can’t, wait a few days and read what scientific sources say about it (the lancet, NEJM, etc). don’t rely on NBC, fox, etc to do a great job reporting on science. you’ll have to have patience, even science is having to watch and wait while things are researched, right now.

nobody has the answers; it’s NOVEL. brand new.

they’re testing, they’re researching, they’re learning this thing’s secrets as fast as they can, while we wait that process out.

be as safe as you can be while we buy them the time.

image: pink pangolin drawing in frame

COMMON SENSE KNOWLEDGE

FOR ACCURACY

You shouldn’t leave the house unless you absolutely have to: food, medicine, or other necessity of life. This includes going to other people’s houses.

Masks are good at protecting others if you are infected, and help protect you too, just not as much as others. Wear one.

Stores are closed, unless they provide food or medicine. Alcohol is a necessity for alcoholics who will have actual seizures and could die from withdrawal, so some of those are open. (Some states have been pressured into letting other things stay open, and people insist on going to church and being able to buy guns in public stores, but that’s political shit and you shouldn’t go places unless you have to.)

This virus is deadly to many people, even healthy ones, is as contagious as a common cold, and has killed more people in a month than the flu does in a year. You don’t want to catch it, and if you do, you want to catch it when doctors and nurses aren’t overworked from other people catching it too. There are 8 strains identified right now. This will change over time, because it’ll mutate- like every virus. EVERY virus.

Glovesw help, unless you change them after touching a contaminated surface. They’re good if used properly and if you’re not sure how to do that, don’t bother. Just wash your hands often.

Everyonen to stay home, but you can go outside- away from people. Staying a good distance from people is really the whole point of staying home.

There will be shortages of some things at the grocery store as supplies run out, and as things are shipped to replace them. Chill out.

The virus does spread through and sometimes kill children, but we weren’t aware of this until we had better information.

You will have many symptoms when you are sick, but you will be contagious for up to two weeks before you get sick. YOU WILL BE CONTAGIOUS WITH NO TEMPERATURE OR SYMPTOMS.

You really shouldn’t be eating restaurant food, unless you can reheat it. Wipe down or wash off your groceries.

You are safe if you maintain six feet distance from others, if everyone is masked and nobody is coughing or sneezing. If they are, you need about 27 feet of distance. Keep space from people.

The virus remains active on different surfaces for a time. The surface being porous may or may not matter; like many things, research by science will give better answers as they have time to figure it out.

We count the number of deaths but we don’t know how many people are infected because most places have not got enough tests to see who is infected. Until we can test everyone, stay home, stay away from people.

We have no treatment. There are clinical trials of many different drugs and at least one vaccine, right now, but it will take time to find out what works.

We should stay away from people to avoid spreading this virus until scientists can offer a treatment or preventative measure like a vaccine. There is no reason to infect people, help the virus mutate, or fuck around with this.

If you are an essential worker of ANY kind, you deserve a living wage, hazard pay, full PPE and kindness from everyone who needs you right now. we should be fighting for your safety, not to make things more dangerous for you.

Stop spreading misinformation. Science doesn’t know everything about this yet, information can and will change or become more specific as time goes by. Yes, business interests and governments have handled the entire thing like a clown show, but you don’t have to be part of making it worse.

THE VALIDITY OF PROTESTING IN THIS TIME

protest for:

stronger unions

better pay

stronger social safety nets during a pandemic

your right to own and bear arms

your freedom of speech/freedom from unwarranted surveillance

safer working conditions

medical care for all

free education

fair elections

physical safety from police violence

safety from racist/hate crimes

NOT FOR:

fuck, BUYING things. don’t protest to be able to go buy shit? what the hell is wrong with you?!? you can buy a gun next month, dipshit. you can buy through private sale. fuck all the way off with that.

SOMEONE ELSE TO WAIT ON YOU (haircuts, restaurants, nails, tattoos, etc)

the right to block hospital entrances (we all saw the footage, shut the fuck up)

the right to gigantic church services during a pandemic. YOU CAN DO LIKE GRANDPA DID AND WATCH YOUR PREACHER ON THE TEE VEE.

going to a shit job that you’ve never liked instead of all the things above that would have allowed you to get through this shit without starving to begin with

by the way, local seed and feed stores are open nation wide; agriculture is considered an essential business. you can’t buy whatever the fuck at wallymart right now though, SO SORRY. maybe don’t even fucking shop there?

edit to add; if they were only endangering themselves I wouldn’t give a shit – but you know these fuckers are getting too close to store cashiers, walking the wrong way down narrow aisles, and touching every-fuckin-thing.

also: 81% of people polled, from EVERY political group, think they should be staying home. and agree with that. THIS IS A CRAP PROTEST BY A TINY, UNIMPORTANT GROUP and should not be getting the coverage it is. they aren’t enough to restore an economy, let alone fill a small concert hall.

I may split these into separate posts, if you’d like that, comment so I know people need/want that.

#advice #current events #pandemic #911 #complaints #deep thoughts #dos and donts #ethics #health and safety #politics #posts with lists in them #questions #true stories #Uncategorized #wtc 9/11 einstruzende neubauten artistic poetic terrori #you

1 note · View note