#fic: vagabond

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 26

"LOVE AND HOPE"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 24 & 25 - "SEPARATION & THE NIGHTMARE"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/764929745333927936/vagabonds-chapter-24-25?source=share

Word Count: 2.3K

Background: The return of a friend. Echo comforts Sil. And, the Batchers are given Thoomie's back story from Uncle Taavi. It's a very unorthodox origin story...and one that I am familiar with when another woman I worked with left her baby behind in a locker room, and the police came to my home for questioning. TO BE CLEAR: This story is NOT an attempt to punch down at any one person in particular. This part of the story, much like a lot of other parts sprinkled into this series is a commentary on SOCIETY overall.

The Batch and Taavi ask an open ended question. One that could be seen as scornful, but instead are blunt questions. They don't judge, only contemplate their own luck. And, the scale of value society sets for life in the galaxy.

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series named Mad. Mad is an older single mother, close to almost 50 years of age (not many older female protagonists in stories, so I decided to make one.)

Warning: swearing, angst and brief mention of a LIVE baby in a dumpster (no worries reader, baby is rescued-NO blood or gore, but brief mention of a "blue baby").

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-Wh1spers, @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive Pinterest: Blackstar)

Tech tinkered under the Beldame.  It helped keep his mind off of Hunter’s depression and sadness.  This was the first time Tech and the rest of The Batch had seen Hunter openly cry since...well, probably since that Reg broke Hunter’s nose when they were children. 

Thoomie administered a light sedative to Hunter so he could rest and heal for an hour or two.  Taavi announced he would whip up a meal for them all in the Bar’ge ‘N Go’s cafeteria after he was finished with his duties. 

Now that there was access to more tools, equipment, and parts, Tech would have the ‘Dame up to speed in no time.  And, with Echo researching intel, The Batch could help Mad and Sil locate and retrieve LOVE and Tiggy. 

Tinkering away deep in thought, Tech reflected on how so much had transpired since leaving Kamino, then Ord Mantell. 

It had been a DIZZYING turn of events... 

“Well...look WHO popped up” 

Tech was pulled from his rumination, glanced down recognizing a familiar pair of metal heeled boots... 

His eyes widened. 

Immediately he wheeled out from under the ship and sprang up.  Tech slicked back his hair and dusted of his clothing. 

Pushing up his goggles, Phee Genoa came into focus. 

“Hello Brown Eyes.” She slyly smiled. 

Tech stood there speechless... Say SOMETHING!  But...WHAT??? 

Your hair has a buoyant quality that attracts my attention... 

NO... 

The scent wafting up from your skin excites my senses... 

NO NO.... 

The timber of your voice causes prolierection of the hairs on my arms... 

NO! 

The thought of you quickens my heartbeat, resulting in tachycardia... 

NO!!! 

Phee watched amused at Tech’s internal struggle. 

His face began to flush slightly. 

Phee mused ADORABLE when he’s flabbergasted. 

“Uh...hello.” Tech exhaled, trying to keep his cool. 

“Glad you made it off Ord Mantell.  Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I am currently repairing this ship...for a close friend.” 

“Oh?  Looks like Madienne Dax’s ship.” 

“Why...yes...it is...” 

“Close friend, you say?” Phee smirked. 

“Why yes.  She’s been very hospitable with sharing it as a living space.  And preparing meals for consumption...” Tech trailed off. 

Maker, I am rambling He cringed. 

“Sounds cozy.” Phee teased. 

Tech silently analyzed Phee’s words.  Cozy?  Peculiar thing to remark.  I am NOT cozy with Mad... 

Phee stood patiently and watched his brain work it out 

Tech’s eyes widened as he made a realization. 

...OH! 

“I should be clear.” Tech raised an index finger to accentuate his point. “HUNTER is Mad’s boyfriend.” 

Phee giggled.  “Just the person to keep Bandana on his toes!” 

“That she certainly does.” Tech smirked. 

Phee leaned in and her voice softened. “Hey...Brown Eyes?”  

“Yes?” Tech answered 

“I missed you.” She smiled. 

“I missed you as well.” Tech beamed. 

Sil sat in the darkened clinic room alone.  The only light filtered out from the bacta tank where Mad floated silently, sleeping with help of a sedative. 

He refused to leave when Thoomie offered to show him to a room on the barge.  Taavi reassured her Sil would be alright.  Just needed time to spend with his auntie and to sift through his feelings alone.  Uncle Taavi moved a hover stretcher next to the tank for his nephew. 

Sil, now lying upon the stretcher, whispered to his auntie. 

“I feel SO lucky you found me Coruscant.  And thank you for taking me with you and LOVE....glad to have you both as family.  We’ll find them, Mad.  Tiggy too.  These guys are gonna help us.  I can feel it.  Please don’t be so sad.  It will work out...” 

He took a deep breath and exhaled. 

“Then we get away from all this trouble that’s been following everyone.  We find a place to hide out.  LOVE will help you have them babies.  And...maybe...you marry Hunter, huh?  We send out a coded signal.  And, when the rest of our family shows up we have a great big Reunion with a Nomaadi wedding...yeah?  We will all be so happy...” 

Sil wiped a stray tear from his eye and sniffled. 

“We get that ole’ Nomaaddi tattooist to mark Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Hunter...they can officially be part of the Star People Family.  Auntie I want to LIVE...instead of just trying to SURVIVE.” 

Sil gathered his hearts wish hoping it would come true with The Force. 

“Hey...you awake?” 

Sil turned over to see Echo faintly standing in the darkness by the clinic doorway. 

“Yeah...just talking to her.  She can hear me...us, you know.” Sil spoke wistfully. 

“She’s probably very grateful to hear your voice.  Can get pretty lonely in there.” Echo strode over to Sil.  “Hey...Taavi is cooking up his all day, all you can eat breakfast.  Don’t know much about it but sounds promising.  Wanna come eat with us?” 

Sil exhaled wearily “Not very hungry...sorry.  Just want to be alone...with my auntie.” 

Echo’s heart went out to Sil  “No worries.  I’ll bring you something later...ok?” 

Sil nodded. 

Echo headed for the door, then turned with conviction. 

“We’ll find LOVE and Tiggy.  Somehow.  Some way.  Promise.” 

Wrecker emerged from the refresher clean and wearing a fresh change of clothes. 

“Ahhh...good to be in a decent sized shower for once.”  He flopped down on the king-sized comfy bed and eyed Omega sitting on the other one across from him.  “You’re turn.” 

She sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillows. 

“Go get cleaned up, ya smell like musty Bantha Butt!” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Yeah...you do.  If I can smell it, you definitely stink.” Wrecker rolled over and propped himself up with a pillow.  “Besides, you don’t want to gross out Hunter when he’s tryin’ to eat, do ya?” 

Omega perked up slightly “He’ll be eating with us?” 

“Yep.  We’re gonna wheel that hover stretcher right up to the table.  No reason for him to be eatin’ alone.” 

“Is Mad going to be alright?  How are we going to find LOVE and Tiggy.” Omega looked so sad.  It broke Wrecker’s heart. 

“Yes to the first question.  Uncle Taavi told me so.  I believe ‘em.”  Wrecker winked.  The second question...”  Wrecker struggled to answer in a way that would give Omega some hope.  “I...don’t know.  But Echo is trying to figure it out.  If anyone can find ‘em, Echo can...” 

“I miss them...and I’m scared they aren’t safe.” Omega whispered. 

“Me too, Omega.”  Wrecker agreed.  “But we can’t do anything about it right now...on an empty stomach.”  He tried to put on a silly face to hide is concern. 

Omega looked skeptical. 

“C’mon...get in the refresher.”  Wrecker negotiated.  “Sooner you clean up, sooner we go eat with Echo and find out if he has any leads.” 

Omega dragged herself off the bed and slowly made her way to the refresher.

“What is Thoomie’s  story” Tech inquired 

The Batchers and Uncle Taavi sat comfortably at a large booth.  Echo had wheeled Hunter into the cafeteria on a hoverchair.  He was healing quickly with a bacta wrap over the sutured area, but still advised to stay off his feet for another standard day.  Echo parked the chair at the table so Hunter could eat with the group. 

A HUGE spread of breakfast food, served all hours during one rotation, sat in front of them.  Omega, Hunter, Echo, Tech, and Wrecker heartily filled their bellies while conversing with Mad’s Nomaadi Uncle. 

At the opposite end of the cafeteria in the game room section a menagerie of droids loudly and happily cavorted with several Tooka kitties. 

“Little Thoo?”  Uncle Taavi flamboyantly waved his hand smiling.  “Well... found her!” 

“A street urchin on some Outer Rim planet, huh?”  Hunter probed, sipping his Meilroon juice. 

Taavi calmly shook his head “Nah, on the bottoms of Coruscant...in a DUMPSTER.” 

Hunter dramatically spit his drink out onto the table.  “Eh...apologies.” He sputtered. 

Omega, ever ready to help her brother, stepped in “It’s ok, Hunter.  I’ve got it.” 

Taavi didn’t miss a beat and tossed a handful of napkins onto the mess and kept speaking.  He gesticulated animatedly no matter whatever the topic of conversation. 

“Yeah...so I got tip about a buncha slightly used but primo ship parts being tossed out for garbage pickup.  Just picked up and hoofed it down there right away.  I ain’t one to let somethin’ valuable go to waste!” 

Echo and Tech were transfixed, caf cups raised, watching this man so casually speak about something so...personal.  Hunter refilled his glass with juice.  Wrecker listened intently while shoveling food in his mouth like it might get away.  Omega absent mindedly wiped the table slowly with the napkins while watching Taavi tell his story. 

“Landed, hiked into the bottoms, found the right location, then hopped right into that dumpster and went to diggin’ through all the stuff people don’t want no more of.  Shit...” Taavi threw his head back and laughed “ALL the stuff the rich up at the top of Coruscant just casually throw out ‘cause they got that money to burn.”   

Taavi other hand shot out and rubbed his fingers together.  “LOTS of ‘garbage’ they would call it...the good stuff.  The people at The Bottoms don’t have nothin’ much ta part with.  They keep as much as they got...which is pretty little.” 

Omega kept slowly, absentmindedly wiping the table.  Hunter sipped his juice.  Wrecker shoveling in food.  Tech and Echo sitting motionless...still haven’t sipped their caf YET! 

Taavi still gesticulating, as if conjuring the story with his hands.  “THEN I hear a noise.  Well...my nosy self thinks it some Tooka diggin’ in that dumpster for some food.  ‘Dem poor little kitteh’s start explorin’ around in there, and then the garbage just caves in on ‘em...and they can’t get out.”  Taavi was intense during this part.  REALLY committed to giving every Batcher at that table a glimpse of how terrified Taavi felt about it. 

“So’s, I dig down and find this backpack...in more than middlin’ condition I might add.  Open it up...like YOU do...” 

The amazement of what must have been on Taavi’s face at the time of the story shone brightly. 

“...and... there SHE was!  This sweet little baby, struggling to breathe, BARELY alive...NO LARGER THAN MY HANDS...” 

Taavi holds out both of his calloused hands.  A poor workman’s hands with starship grease in the worn creases and under his fingernails. 

His face then turned pensive.  “And I think to myself...WHO DOES THAT???” 

The Batchers sat transfixed...stunned. 

“So’s, I took that backpack with that perfect little girlie home with me.  Told myself ‘Taavi, you done found a little gift right in that there dumpster.” 

Omega wiping, wiping.  Hunter sipping.  Wrecker eating.  Echo and Tech motionless. 

Taavi leaned across the table at them, raising his voice “AND SHE WAS BLUE!  BLUE I TELL YA!!!”  Strugglin’ for breath but holdin’ on like a real trooper.  That ship parts tip...that right there was a SIGN!”  Taavi’s index finger stabbed down RIGHT on top of the moist napkins Omega was using to wipe the table.  

Omega stops wiping.  Then Taavi stabs his finger down repeatedly with every other word to DRIVE HOME HIS POINT. 

“The FORCE wanted me to find that little dumplin’ and take care of her!"

Taavi finally takes his hand away from the table, gesturing randomly towards the doorway, where in the heart of the ship Thoomie was treating another client who had arrived needing rudimentary medical attention. 

“You all have seen her now. Happy and healthy as a lee Romay clam!” Taavi smiles tenderly, a glimmer of tears glaze his eyes.  Eyes of love and gratitude for his girl. 

Hunter sees Taavi’s eyes and suddenly struggles to hold back his own glimmer of tears.  Omega gave up on the napkins and picks up her Star Cake.  Echo sits still like a Dugardugar in the Marauder’s headlights.  Wrecker chews... 

Tech... lump in his very composed, logical throat slides his plate of Bantha Bacon and Star Cakes slowly over to Wrecker...who silently takes the plate.  “Apologies...I am NO longer famished...” 

Taavi realizes the impact his story has on the group.  He empathizes with them.  Shared quite a bit just the first day of meeting.  But he felt a closeness with them.  And... Mad doesn’t just make friends with ANYONE...well a particular one was a mistake, but that’s just ONE.  She’s discerning...or she wouldn’t be alive.  The Force whispered to him that The Batchers are discerningly loyal and trustworthy.  Two things worth mineral backing credits to the Nomaadi. 

“Oh, PAL, it’s all A-okay!  My Little Thoo is doin’ GREAT!!!  Don’t let ole’ Uncle Taavi’s story get to ya.”  Taav’s head snaps down to the empty caf carafe on the table.  “Oh GEEZ, what kinda host am I?  Let me get ya a refill!” 

He pops up from the booth and scurries over to the Bar’ge ‘N Go counter for a fresh pot.  The Tooka kittens mob him and he cheerfully ladles eggs and meat from a pan into several bowls.  They mill around happily as he sets the bowls onto the floor. Then belly laughs in pure joy while they fall over one another to get to the food. 

The Batchers sit with everything Taavi said for a while.   

Hunter finally breaks the silence “SOMEONE PUT THEIR CHILD IN A DUMPSTER???” His face is grief stricken. 

Echo mused quietly.  “Makes our childhood look almost like an amusement park ride.” 

Wrecker had NOTHING to say.  He silently enjoyed the contents of Tech’s plate...spacing out...clinging onto the flavors and textures in his mouth, along with the present-day image of a very small, yet healthy and happy teen.  The food helped to push the image of a tiny baby barely clinging to life...barely old enough to cling to any HOPE of salvation from their situation out of his mind... 

Omega takes a bite of her Star Cake, sadly remembering all the very young clones the Kaminoan’s euthanized when they didn’t meet up with their exacting expectations...names and numbers the 99’s had never knew briefly existed... 

Tech could only make a VERY true, yet sad statement.  “WE were CONSIDERED valuable...” He stared into the bottom of his caf cup.  “Apparently...there are many MORE in the galaxy who fail to reach even close to that arbitrary standard...” 

CHAPTER 27 TO ARRIVE SOON!

Please let me know if you wanted to be added to my taglist or removed! Thanks so much for your support!!!

[wackulart]

THE FELLERS.... ive been so normal about them recently

+ two screenshot redraws from the fox, hare, moon animatic

boone belongs to @cupiidskiss and malt belongs to @meeks-just-wants-to-scroll

[toilandtroubled]

𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤 — 𝙝𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

If I were to create a tag list for my posts who would want to be included?

[cyber-geist]

Orion from 'TommyInnit's Services for Villains, Vigilantes, and Various Other Vagabonds' by @scorpionoesit I had honestly forgotten that I was sitting on some half finished concept designs for this fic. I posted a while ago the rough sketches of Orien, Artemis, and Michael's concept designs and now I'm finally finishing up my final version of their designs. Here's Orion, and yes I fixed the mask it's a boar skull cyberpunk mask now, which let me tell you I have three or four designs for this mask alone because it was a pain in my butt. Scorpio is back, and i had burst of motivation to finish this, will finish Michael and Artemis's final designs.... yes..... I have no idea when tho, but it will happen. For now have Orien and the rough sketches of the others from months ago. Click images for better quality, cause when they scrunched they dont look good. Anyways, Ciao!!!!

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Chapter 21 of Hare Fox Moon (The Storm)

Summary:

“Captured and separated from Boone, Malt lies and whimpers his way out of the pan and throws himself into the hot coals of the Maier Gang.”

Also Kieran Duffy is in this chapter :) he has been worked into the lore.

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter One: Don't look at me like that...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

A/N: Lovely tumblr friends, I'm a long time lurker reader and now here I am, sharing with you my first fic. I sincerely hope that it tickles your pickles. It's had a once over with a fine tooth comb, but please forgive any errors. And if I'm missing a trigger warning please feel free to pop into my inbox and give me a boot up the bum. Other than that, enjoy!

Warnings: Physical violence/Blood/ DomSub dynamics/ Fingering/ Oral Female/ Spitting / Restraint / Penetrative vaginal sex

The smoky haze of another Saturday night hung in the air. Tammy Wynette on the jukebox and the scent of spilled bourbon on your fingers. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and Jake was waiting for you on his perch at the end of the bar.

"Not tonight, baby." You sighed, slinging a cloth over your shoulder as you addressed him the same way you did every other patron. "I got this mess to clean up before I can clock off."

He barely lifted his eyes up from the papers rolling between his thumbs. Throwing his cigarette up and catching it between deft lips. He flicked his lighter open on the edge of his hand and held it until the papers startled to sizzle.

"You say that every night, Cookie." He replied, knocking back a single shot of tequila as the bar emptied. "And every night I wind up with a new pair of panties in my glove box."

Trophies. Reminders that he'd had you pressed up against his steering wheel out in the dusty parking lot. You should have known better than to wear any, knowing that he would be fixing to take you home.

"'Aint it enough to sit in my company a while?" You asked, filling his shot glass before he could ask for another. "We barely get to talking while I'm serving drinks and you're up there playin'"

He took a long drag off his cigarette, embers burning to ash as he slammed a five dollar bill on the sticky bar top. Whenever he paid for his drinks, it meant he was trying to get into your good graces. You took the money and slid it into your bra strap, hitting him with a seductive smile that told him it was your little secret.

"That's not a tip, Cookie." He admonished, "You'll get that later."

Of course you would. As much as you enjoyed making him wait, him being there made all the 2am closing rituals more palatable. You would serve beers to drunks and shmucks all night, playing nice and flirting a little while Jake sat on stage with his band trying to be heard over the clamour of bar fights and card games. Sometimes catching his eye between songs and fisticuffs.

"Be a doll and lock up for me." You said, tossing him a set of keys.

Jake had always been a dark horse. Turning up with his guitar one day, the flyer you'd left in town asking for a house band to play at the Vagabond Blues tucked under his arm. He'd played a few riffs on a scuffed up old acoustic, the way his lips pouted and his hips moved when he played sealing your fate. You'd hired him on the spot. Thinking his uncommon way of playing would bring in the girls, but keep the regular old timers happy with their penchant for nostalgic rock.

He didn't say much. Kept himself to himself. Every now and then a little nugget of something funny slipping out, making you notice him in a room full of mini skirts and denim. Chestnut waves of long hair tucked behind his ear, eating up your resolve to keep sex out of your business practices.

"You better give me my five dollars back if you want me to perform extra duties." He teased, sliding off his bar stool into a puddle of Jack Daniels.

You were fairly certain he knew he'd get what he wanted. But you leaned over the bar all the same, winding fingers around the chains at his neck and reeling him in towards your lips. Close enough to kiss, but not quite.

"You'll get that later." You whispered, releasing him before he could get too worked up.

The wicked grin he gave as he crossed the room kept you watching him. His ass in those tight levi's was a spectacle in and of itself, causing you to bite down heavily on your lip as you shook your head in disbelief of how flawlessly pert and round it was.

A beautiful distraction from the saloon door flying open. Your heart sank as it often did when people didn't respect your closing time. Drunk and in search of that elusive last sip. You often wondered what they had to go back to if they never wanted to go home.

"Hey!" You called, waving the white dish rag in your hand high above your head. "We're closing, Benny. You know the rules!"

Jake caught him as he stumbled in. Closely flanked by his dithering girlfriend, who could barely walk in her blood red stiletto heels. Chewing gum as she tried to placate his attempts to reach the bar.

"I'm so sorry, Cookie!" She cried, looking windswept and dishevelled as she fell over the chairs and tables. "I done told him it was closing time!"

"I 'aint having it tonight, Savannah." You tutted, confident that Jake could handle it. "You let Jake put him outside, now."

"Yes Ma'am." She replied, inebriated but not enough to know when it was time to call it a night. "I really am sorry about this."

Jake had him by the scruff of his collar. Placating him softly, telling him he'd had enough. Easing him back towards the door as he tried to break free.

"You go on home now, Benny." You humoured, placing a defensive hand to your hip as you prepared for the inevitable fight.

Punches rolled into the air, each one dodged and caught. Curses and spit flying everywhere as Jake manhandled him to the ground. Glasses smashing as tables were flipped, the sound of girlish screams as Savannah tried to keep her little skirt from riding up as she hitched herself onto Jake's back.

"What the hell, Savannah? Get the fuck off of me!" He shrugged, with very little effort, as she fell back into an abandoned deck of playing cards.

You whipped your dish rag on the back of a bar stool and flipped open the bar flap. Striding across the floor through a menagerie of spilled drinks and broken glass. Hardened to the way people loved to brawl after a few too many drinks, this was an inconvenience more than anything else.

"Get him the fuck out." You lashed, grabbing the poor girl by the straps of her little halter neck top and helping her to her feet. "And if you can't keep your man on a tight leash, I don't wanna see either of you in here again until you can. You hear me, Savannah?!"

Benny didn't like that. His fist reeling upwards as Jake lifted him from the ground. Both hands aggressively on the ripped shirt of your offending regular, unable to stop it connecting with his jaw. A simmering bubble of anger about to spill over the edges of your calm demeanour.

"Damn it, Benny!" Jake cried, reeling back before striking a dull kick to his stomach in a pair of boots you knew would leave a mark. "You want a drink so bad?"

You watched as Jake spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Something visceral and instinctual in the way you settled back onto the edge of the foray. Savannah lingered in the open doorway, the way you looked at her enough to keep her there.

"Have a fucking drink, my friend." Jake said amusingly, using the edge of his boot to turn Benny's head towards the whiskey saturated floor board.

Jake looked over to where you were standing. Arms crossed and a pout that spoke a thousand words you wouldn't say until the door was bolted shut.

"Alright, that's enough." He moaned, picking Benny up off the floor, every ounce of fight in him gone. "If I let you go, you're not going to swing for me again are you?"

Benny shook his head, defeated. Staggering into the doorway where his equally unsteady girlfriend caught him. The two of them descending into the early hours rain, their voices pitched and argumentative.

Jake picked up the keys from the floor, taking the liberty of locking everything up precisely how you'd asked him to. You could see the blood dripping from his lip, a look of consternation as he kept his eyes on you. He shoved the last bolt across, like he was pissed off at the interruption. Staring at you as you waited for him to be done.

"Don't look at me like that." You warned, taking a step back as he approached.

"You know I'm dead inside until you touch me, don't you?" He replied poetically, backing you up against the locked door. "There's only you who can get my blood pumping again, Cookie. You know that."

His blood was all you could taste as he caged your body between his and the door behind you. Pressing you into a kiss that was warm and metallic. His tongue probing yours in desperate search for a release that had been building all night.

As if you ever had the strength to deny him. Or yourself. Telling yourself pretty stories about driving yourself home without letting him have so much as a taste of the lace between your thighs. Such fiction always made you feel better about your intentions, until they fell by the wayside.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You said, like you always did, an echo of something you knew would never manifest. "It's bad for business."

Where he'd cut his lip, you could see the blood pooling. He sucked on it as he towered over you. Rubbing the remains of his kiss across your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You tell yourself that." He murmured against the shell of your ear. "Tell yourself you don't want this. Your wet little pussy tells me a different story."

She betrayed you, the thing between your legs. You couldn't silence her purring, even if you'd tried. Your head was a revolving door of wanting him and trying so hard to convince yourself that you didn't. Your heart ached for him, even when he was sat on that little stool with his guitar perched on his knee, playing the blues for a crowd that barely listened. But that was yours to keep. That didn't belong to him. The throb was all his, though. He'd claimed that the first night he'd waited for you after closing. You couldn't hide it. He knew the way he made you gush from his touch. You had no control over your actions when he awakened that part of you.

"You're bad." You whispered, clenching your eyes shut tight, letting him open the buttons of your daisy dukes. "So, so fucking bad for me."

You could feel the clammy touch of his palm against your stomach. Opening your eyes the moment he slipped it down behind the waist band of your panties. Rounding over your mound where his fingers hooked delicately into the waiting wetness of your slit. Making you moan into his open mouth.

"There she is, my sweet Cookie." He crooned, taking your earlobe between his teeth, tentatively sucking. "They named you well when they called you that."

It was just a silly little childhood nickname. When your real name had been too hard to pronounce, your little brother had resorted to calling you Cookie. And it had stuck, nothing more than a curse to you now as he desecrated it. Took all the innocence out of it and made it filthy.

"Shut up!" You growled, wrapping your hands around his wrist. "Just shut the fuck up for once, Jake..."

His air of mysterious quiet didn't extend to these moments. He liked to talk. A revelation which had come to you unbound the first time he'd ever talked you through it. Giving you a running commentary on his every move, letting you know precisely how hard you got him. Keeping you hanging off every sensual word.

But sometimes, just sometimes... you needed him to push through all the nagging doubts. To make you forget that you were breaking your one and only rule. That you'd made it part of Vagabond Blues lore. No fucking the other employees.

You clutched him tight, forcing lazy circles around your hard clit. Biting down on your lip, panting heavily as his fingertip brushed over the hood. His eyes were locked on yours. Silently speaking to you as he rolled over the peak of your throbbing bud. He couldn't shut up, even if there were no words coming out of his mouth, his gaze conveyed his pleasure.

"Not here...not here..." You simmered, knowing you were moments from casting off the panties you knew he would keep as a souvenir.

He held you against the door, his hand applying enough pressure to keep you locked where you stood. Fingers stilled on your clit, like he was gently punishing you for trying to stop his flow.

"Nobody else is coming through that door." He asserted, his mouth lingering at yours, eyes shifting from your begging stare down to your parted lips. "And if they tried to, I'd take on any man who came between me and this..."

Your eyes rolled back as he slid a single digit into your entrance. Curling up inside you just enough that his tip could reach the sweet spot that made you fold into a thousand pleading little pieces.

"Guitar fingers..." You hummed.

He liked it when you stroked his prowess as a guitarist. It made him roll his hips into you, his painfully hard cock pressed into your stomach. His arousal piqued, and you truly believed that nobody could tear down that door without having to get through his dominance first.

"Gonna play you like a Gibson." He giggled softly, pulling down your shorts, taking the panties with them as you stepped out. "Make you sing for me, Cookie."

He brought big, strong hands down the curve of your spine and rounded them off around your ass. He lifted you up, forcing your thighs to wrap around him. Your saturated core dampening his shirt as he carried you over to the little box stage at the side of the bar. Laying you down with careful intention, your legs hanging off the edge for him to manipulate.

"No, not like a Gibson." You said, inching up your t-shirt until it sat around your collar bone, tits spilling out. "Play me like your Harmonica..."

You caught sight of his jaw clenching. His throat flexed as he swallowed, considering your demand as he slipped off his shirt. Unbuckling his belt so that it fell to either side of his waist, just enough to free his buttons and zipper. You could see the tip of his penis sitting snuggly behind the waist band of his boxer shorts.

He stood back. Folded his arms around his chest and gazed at you with intensifying heat.

"You want me to tongue block on your pussy?" He raised an eyebrow, resting his line of sight on the bloom of your centre as you hooked your toes over the edge of the stage.

He'd never looked more rockstar. Shirtless with his jeans wide open, his hair shrouding the darkness of his wild expression as he tilted his head forward. Softly predatory. In anticipation of getting a taste, he wound a tight fist around the chains that hung around his neck, licking a stripe across the split in his lip.

"Do something," You begged. "Anything, before I come to my fucking senses."

He wouldn't let you. He stood over you, pulling down your thighs until your legs were resting in the crooks of his arms.

"This is mine. Say it..." He growled, spitting onto your slit and letting it drip.

You almost couldn't formulate a coherent sentence. "Yours."

He nodded, railing a hand up to cover your left breast. "And these?"

"Yours." You echoed, "All of it, yours."

You'd heard the expression before. Be careful what you wish for. Begging him to do anything might have been too wild a request. He squeezed tightly, letting your hard nipple feel the friction of his closed fist. You were never coming to your senses, never...

Above your head were the stationary instruments of the Vagabond Blues Band. A set of guitars leaning against stands, an acoustic drum set at the back and a menagerie of amps and wires. Jake had an almost demonic glaze over his face as he leaned forward, letting your cunt press against the fabric between your flesh and his.

"Ever since I met you, Cookie, you've made it hard for me to want anything else." He said, gently placing your arms up as he clamped his mouth around your aching nipple. "I know it's wrong, I know it's against the fucking rules. But you got me all kinds of fucked up..."

You didn't realise what he was doing at first. Distracted by his beautiful mouth sucking on your breasts. Watching his tongue make circles around the gooseflesh of your areolas. Biting into the curve of them, leaving his mark as you laid beneath him savagely moaning, unaware that his amp cable was being twisted around your wrists. It was only when you tried to break free that you had to struggle.

"I got you all kinds of fucked up, so now you're keeping me prisoner is that it?" You tried to wriggle free, but the sleek black cords were pulled tight.

"You want me to set you free?" He smirked, pulling down his boxers, letting his raging hard cock fall out from behind it. "Just say the word, sweet Cookie, and I'll set you free."

He pushed his jeans down just enough to move his tip closer. With your knees parted and on full display for him, he wrapped a cautious hand around his base and began slapping your wetness against the inside of your thighs as he tapped your slit with his cock.

"It's wrong to want you the way I do." You confessed, your voice on the verge of wilting.

He continued tapping away at your clit. "Yeah, it's wrong. But doesn't it feel fucking good?"

You could only nod. Words evaded you. Breathing heavier and heavier, your chest heaving with your arms restrained above you as he drummed away on your pussy with his violent cock.

"Seems I got the wrong instrument." He snickered, "You wanted the Harmonica, right?"

You let out the most simpering whimper. A sound which made him smile in utter abandonment of his brooding.

"Oh, that's my girl." He beamed, trailing a palm down the centre of your body. "Fucking music to my ears."

He sank to his knees. Holding your thighs apart, knowing the grim state of the floor after a Saturday night you knew it was a real sacrifice on his part. Grateful for his dedication, you let him rest your legs over his shoulders as he buried his face into your aching, wet and impossibly hot pussy.

You began sobbing. Begging. Crying out deliriously. Trying so hard to be good and not unravel right there on the flat of his tongue as he licked deliberate stripes up the length of your dripping slit. Driving you to the edges of what was tolerable as he slurped and swallowed your wetness. Like he'd done with your nipple already, he clamped his mouth around your throbbing clit and started rolling his tongue against it. Pulling it into his mouth with gentle suction, humming his own feral moans against it as he jerked himself off.

You could feel the vibration, the movement of his body as he reeled his fist up and down his shaft. Pulling the flesh back and forth, squeezing as he rounded off at the tip. You knew his style, his melody. And the more you pictured it the more you ached for penetration.

"Fuck me, Jake..." You cried, fighting against your restraints to rag his head back, to take a fist of his hair so that you could see your juice glisten on his mouth. "I need it, baby...please!"

The blood was rushing in your ears. Your own heart beat thrumming wildly over the din of your own voice rising. Breathless and helpless, your wrists bound and your thighs rubbing eagerly against his ears it felt like he was deliberately keeping it from you.

"Don't make me cum in your mouth, Jake." You simpered, "I want you inside me. I'm your fucking boss, Jake...listen to me!"

Down through the valley of your heaving breasts and laboured breath, his eyes flitted upwards. Resting his chin on your mound, covered in a sheen of your mess, he pulled his tongue out of your cunt and looked up at you.

"You 'aint my boss when we do this." He switched, rising from his knees to appraise you. "You can be my boss while ever I'm getting paid to play. But soon as that door closes, you're my girl."

He loosened the cables. Stretching over you, setting you free. Immediately you sat up, resting on your palms as you watched him step back.

"Where are you going?" You asked, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability as he hitched up his jeans and walked across the room towards the door.

Heat flushed to your cheeks. You felt humiliated. If he left you there like that, there was going to be no way back. You could already feel it rising in your chest. The pain and the breaking of your heart that you hadn't known would come.

Your shorts and panties were right where he left them, in a heap by the door where he'd make you take them off. You watched him reach into the pile of denim and pull out your black lace thong.

"Spoils of war." He replied, shoving them into his back pocket. "You look so beautiful like that, by the way."

You were sitting on the edge of the stage, your hair messed up and your cheeks all rosy. Still feeling the throb of where his mouth had been. You let your t-shirt fall, pulling it down in an act of rising shame at what you'd done.

"Beautiful enough that you're going to leave me here like this?" You wondered.

His brow knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

You shrugged. "You're leaving, 'aint ya? Pissed you off with my I'm your fucking boss bullshit?"

He feigned offence, placing a hand at his heart as if you'd placed a dagger right there in the centre of his chest. You couldn't help but smile bashfully, looking down at your bare thighs as he strode back towards you.

He chucked your chin with the back of his hand. Making you look back up, unable to stop yourself from meeting his impenetrable gaze.

"Why you worried, woman?" He asked, "Nothing I done ever worried you before."

"No but..." You huffed, trying to reclaim your balance. "Then you said I was your girl when we do this."

You had to be strong all the time. The Vagabond Blues couldn't be run by anyone with a weak stomach or a fear of getting hurt. You had to be ten steps ahead at all times, predicting the moods and behaviours of every single soul under that roof. It was a lonely place to be.

"I'm not leaving." He answered softly, kissing you with his broken lip. "I didn't fuck my girl, yet."

You let him sink his teeth into your jawline, letting out a deep sigh as he pushed your legs apart. Quick, shallow breaths exhaled as he pushed his jeans back down. Trying in vain to keep yourself calm. But it was no to avail, you could feel the room begin to spin as Jake pushed his tip against your grieving clit.

"I can't be..." You whispered, tethered to him as he slipped inside slowly. "You know I can't be your girl."

You felt the soft brush of his hair against your cheek as he shook his head.

"No, Jake. Look at me, I want you to see me." You breathed, making him fuck in slow, hard thrusts that made your tits bounce against his chest. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not somebody you can just claim."

"I know." He moaned, clinging to your body like it pained him. "You gave yourself to me, remember?"

"I mean it, Jake." You said firmly. "I can't have authority around here if people know about us."

He placed his hand over your mouth. You tasted the salt of his sweat on your lips. You could have said it a thousand times over and the outcome would always remain the same. He would wait for you at the end of the night, and you would go to him.

"Can't you feel that?" He said, low and gravelly as he peered down to watch your pussy swallow him whole. "Can't you feel how good my cock stretches inside you? Just let it go, Cookie."

Pussy lips like ribbons against his shaft, he pulled his hand away so that you could take a look for yourself. Like poetry in motion he was, fucking you so deliciously slow and hard. Sliding in with gentle force before slamming his body against yours to the hilt. Edging you closer and closer to that sweet finish.

"That's it, beautiful." He encouraged, his breath hitting your tongue so warm and familiar as you writhed against him on the edge of the stage. "Cum on my cock, let me feel that juice drip on me. Just let it all go, you can do it."

When it washed over you it was like being reborn. You wailed into the rafters, letting it echo into the eerie silence of the empty bar. Jake shuddered when you calmed, feeling a little wetter than you had been a moment ago.

"I can't do it, Jake...I can't!"

You'd never let him see you cry before. And for some unfathomable reason, he felt it necessary to kiss the tears which spilled from your lashes.

"Yes you can." He replied, "You already are."

.

.

.

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @shutupdevvie

[cannibalisticcorpse]

Ooughhh jayroy 1E 🥴 kissie meme

from this ship/kiss meme

[niloerua-writing]

Vagabond - 0

Summary: A new spiderman has come to join the club from a mysterious universe.

Pairings: Miguel x Black Cat Variant!Reader. Spidersona x Black Cat Variant!Reader

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: nothing yet.

A/N: it is almost 2am and this is my first fanfic in 4 years and first time writing the atsv gang so it’s gonna be rusty. this fic is does not follow all the events of atsv because that be hard to implement with the plot im planning rn. also hobie is like 18/19, but grouped him with the teens bc those numbers have teen in it. thank you for reading.

0 | 1

“Quit staring at him, y���all.” Jessica narrowed her eyes at the curious teens, her voice nearing a hiss. “The man has eyes all over him. Besides, I brought you four as stand-in witnesses from the reports just in case.”

Miles couldn’t see any exposed irises, the unfamiliar spiderman before him was dressed in a two piece suit with shining oxfords, his hands gloved in leather. His long scarf was the only color that wasn’t a dull gray, it was electric blue with a thin, delicate white webbing design. His red hair was tied into a small ponytail. He had his back turned from the group, however, Hobie was bold enough and took a step forward to take a closer look.

“You gotta name, mate?” Hobie crossed his arms, and there was a moment of silence before he finally turned around.

The spiderman had a black face mask, exposing his ragged scar that ran through his left eye and continued under the cloth. It was closed shut compared to the right’s sharp green. There was an insignia of a spider pinned to his coat- someone should have told him that a spider suit wasn’t something formal.

“He’s actually a cyclops, Jess.” Pav whispered. Jessica rolled her eyes while the other teenagers snickered. The spiderman let out an amused huff at their hushed comments about his appearance.

“Kids.” Jessica nervously chuckled. “Sorry about them. Miguel should be here after his mission.”

“No worries. Afterall, I didn’t give a proper introduction.” The Spiderman’s voice was a perfect blend between gentle and raspy, there was a hint of a Scottish accent in that sentence somewhere.

He started at the beginning. Calan Wesson Parker was his name. He was born in New Zohei and he was bound to an Arachne Pact by an earth deity. And for the last seven years, he was known as the one and only-

“Arachne Pact?” Gwen repeated.

“Earth deity?” Miles followed.

“Seven years ago?” Pavitr’s face soured.

“I hate organized religion.” Hobie said flatly. Jessica was mentally begging Miguel to come back.

Calan blinked before finishing. “Spiderman. As you all would say here.”

The teenagers, aside from Hobie, began to surround him with other questions. How’d he get his scar? Why doesn’t he cover his eyes? How does he fight in a suit and expensive shoes? What’s an arachne pact? Does he actually have extra eyes somewhere? Calan could only look onward with silence as the topics began to shift between Calan’s broad background, to religion, and finally, video games. Even Jessica couldn’t tell what was happening and how the conversation went overboard. This was a strange place, a strange time, and strange people that were supposed to be like Calan. Jessica had found him in his dimension, already restraining an anomaly she was supposed to capture. It happened three times when she visited for missions, and the other spider people who were assigned work for  that universe reported Calan immediately handing away anomalies to them. Impressed, she decided to invite him to the Spider society. After some hesitation, he followed.

“You’re already handling them well, from the looks of it. You got kids of your own?” Jessica asked.

Calan let out an acknowledged grunt but he refused to answer the question, like the other questions the three kids threw at him. His stare was blank, the dimming lights of several open screens around the office couldn’t even put a glint on his eye.

“That was a close one!” A familiar AI zipped down the walkway, activating the computers on the rising platform. “Hey guys! Glad you came early.”

“Hey Lyla. Where’s Miguel? I brought that new spiderman that’ll definitely help out.” Jessica glanced at Calan, who studied the glitching woman and the floating screens.

“He’s coming alright. After yelling at some spider people. The anomaly just blipped out of existence again after wrecking half the city.” Lyla shrugged. Calan furrowed his brow at the comment.

It wasn’t long until the doors slid open, followed by heavy footsteps. Curses of Spanish became more evident, and soon, the group parted to make way for the man himself. Everything fell silent with only the ambience of activated devices and blips; it seemed right to keep quiet to not rile him up further. Up above, Miguel quickly reviewed multiple tabs of what seemed to be Calan’s canon events. Below, the group could barely see the screens from afar, but what was certain was that there was one tab dedicated to looking at Miguel’s late daughter.

“That’s weird. Why does this just cut to black? Actually, why are all of them cut like that?” Lyla had to scan through the events several times over. Miguel watched as the hologram went through every event: the canons were in order after all, but there was something about the presentation that wasn’t like everyone else’s. He heaved a sigh, slicking back his brown hair- it’s a minor issue. However, something else had to be addressed.

“Calan.” His voice echoed, his glower focused on the other’s upward glare. The rest of the group hoped it wasn’t something critical-  Miles and Hobie had a rough introduction to Miguel when they joined the spider society. Jessica hoped Miguel didn’t reject the Calan outright, otherwise webs would start flying.

“We noticed a pattern of anomalies appearing and disappearing, and then popping up in your universe. You know anything about this?” Miguel asked.

“That is a mystery to me as well.” Calan replied. “I’ve yet to hear from the Gods.”

The answer confused everyone, especially with how serious that sounded. Did he ask about the anomalies as if he prayed every morning and before meals about it or? Miguel visibly didn’t like that kind of answer- however, it implied focusing on one reality rather than going through thousands of other dimensions to capture multiple anomalies. From the looks of Calan’s canon, it was plausible, it was an optimal answer as of now.

The silence made time drag.

“Just say that he’s recruited.” Jessica had her arms crossed, her fingers tapping. Miguel let out a ‘yeah, yeah’ before tossing a dimensional travel watch. It seems that he would have to look more into that universe later. Calan caught it with ease, observing the glowing letters and buttons. He put it just above his analog watch which weirded out the teenagers.

“Leave. Go give him a tour or something. I have to plan this mission so we can finish it as soon as possible.” Miguel returned his focus to the other screens, pulling up other tabs with his hologram working alongside him.

When the group left the office, a weight was lifted from all of their shoulders. Hobie commented something about the old man doing something right for once.

“Y’all heard him. You can give Calan a tour of the building,” Jessica could tell that the four kids would enjoy the simple task before the mission by how they straightened up.

“What about you?” Miles gave a yawn as if he just stood through the longest five minute talk of his life.

“Paperwork’s not gonna do themselves.” Jessica waved them all goodbye before walking away. As the five of them walked down the open hall, the teens tried to initiate a conversation with Calan, but they only got short answers or even silence on anything they wanted clarification on.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Gwen looked up at him, trying to meet his gaze- he only looked forward, shaking his head. “And what’s that in your hands?”

“A key?” Pavitr watched as Calan’s gloved hands twirled around a long, iron key with a braided skeleton bow. 

“Treasure chest key.” Miles said, and Calan gave a small chuckle. Miles grinned widely at his correct answer.

“Now tell us what it’s for.” Hobie nudged the man. Calan considered, finally meeting the gazes of the four with his tired green eye. Their eyes were wide and bright, something that reminded him of a certain someone back at home. He would give in just this one time.

“Preventing someone from taking my things.” Calan said. The vague answer prompted the four to give out an exasperated groan. Maybe this place, the time, and the people wouldn’t be so strange later.

Meanwhile in New Zohei…

(Y/n) pushed the treasure chest over, using her steel claws to saw through the enchanted wood as soon as she realized there was a lock on the chest. The wooden board fell, spilling glittering contents that caused the woman to bounce in excitement.

“So pretty…” Her (e/c) eyes sparkled at the gold, silver, and gem studded jewelry that fell out from the hole. She gently sorted out a portion of the pile: cute necklaces here, flashy bracelets over there, rings- oh no, she has plenty of rings already. 

“This one!” She held out a ruby necklace towards several accomplices-turned-victims who were bound in cables, leaning against the wall. “I’ll take only this one.”

They gave out frustrated muffles through their gags, writhing in their restraints. One of them toppled over to the floor.

“You’re right. I should take some more. I did do a good job this morning fighting off Professor Ceph like what Spidey said.” (Y/n) giggled at the sight of the group protesting louder, another person trying to slither his way over to the chest. She placed her boot on his side, using light force to roll him back to the wall. The tied up criminals were steaming with rage. They let their guard down the moment they stepped in Spiderman’s office and saw the chest beside his desk, and (Y/n) immediately went to work solo. They should have known better than to recruit a renowned underground thief into their band.

“Hm. Maybe I’ll leave a note for Spidey when he comes back.” (Y/n) went over to the desk, taking out a pen and paper from the drawer. She tapped the end of the pen on the corner of her lip for a moment before scribbling something and planting a kiss on the corner of the parchment. The sounds of sirens were creeping from the outside.

“Sounds like my time to leave.” She put down the letter and grabbed a handful of necklaces and bracelets letting them hang around her wrists. (Y/n) pushed the window open, hopping onto the ledge. She took in the fresh scent of the night, allowing the breeze to brush back her (h/c) hair. The sirens were getting louder, and she looked down to see if she had a clear landing spot. Check.

“Wait a minute-”  (Y/n) pulled herself back, quickly walking over to the restrained criminals who were growling and glaring at her with murderous intent. She took a folding hand fan from one of the girls, who began to let out a muffled screech as she flailed pathetically on the floor. (Y/n) then went over to one of the men, striking him with the accessory. It left a gash just under his eye, tearing through the cloth that kept him from speaking. He screamed in pain, pressing his face against the wall to lessen the sting.

“Come back here, cat!”

She didn’t have to say anything back- it was for grabbing at her in public and making fun of her spidey. Afterall, there was only one person who was allowed to do that, but he wasn’t even in his own home, or anywhere either after a week of searching. (Y/n) leaped out of the window, the darkness encapsulating her figure and her treasures as she ran away. It was an open and shut case for the police when they arrived and arrested the criminals. They had ignored the note on the desk as it blended in with the other papers and books that were sprawled across the surface.

Spidey!

I just got my nails done and wanted to see if they worked. You should also clean up your office and hide your stuff better.

From your favorite black cat

[kittygamesda]

Vagabond Cookie as the Fury :)

[skellymom]

"Vagabonds" Chapter 24 & 25

"SEPARATION" & "THE NIGHTMARE"

Ongoing fanfic Hunter x Reader/Fem Reader/OC

Hunter meets a smuggler Nomaadi Star Woman with a powerful force sensitive teen who changes the trajectory of CF-99's lives...as they ALL try to escape from The Empire together.

To read Chapter 23 - "RETREAT"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/763930279133970432/vagabonds-chapter-23?source=share

Word Count: 3.9K (Sorry so long. Wasn't sure WHERE to end this chapter, so I posted TWO CHAPTERS! I am hoping to wrap this series up by the end of this year!!!)

Background: What plans do The Empire have with LOVE? We meet several more NEW supporting characters. And Hunter has a helluva nightmare!

For anyone new to this series: "LOVE" is the nonbinary/genderfluid neurodivergent/nonverbal Force sensitive kid of the main OC of this series named Mad. Mad is an older single mother, close to almost 50 years of age (not many older female protaganists in stories, so I decided to make one.)

Warning: SW Canon violence, some blood, swearing, angst.

(Credit: Cool dividers by @4ngelic-Wh1spers, @plum98 @strangergraphics-archive Pinterest: Bad l3atch, f/StarWarsJediSurvivor)

He stunned the little shit, but REALLY wanted to kill her outright.  He HATED this dog with every fiber of his being. 

CX swore as he carefully pulled off his ruined faceplate.  Blood poured from the toothmarks and sharp edges of the destroyed plastoid.  Then dropped it to the floor. 

An animal of that size SHOULD’NT be able to bite through his armor.  And she SOMEHOW managed to hide or cloak herself within the confines of his ship easily.  Her mastery of stealth, ferocity of attack, along with her bite strength might be beneficial to breed into a new class of working dogs for the Empire.  Dr Hemlock might be pleased to have such a specimen to experiment with. 

And, if the doctor didn’t feel the need to use her, he could destroy her himself. 

CX applied pressure to the facial wounds with his bacta bandaged left hand that had been mauled.  He hailed his contact with his still intact right hand. 

Governor Tarkin’s likeness popped up on holocomm. 

“Did you capture the Force sensitive?” Tarkin sniffed. 

“Yes.  Aboard my ship and restrained successfully.  We are enroute.”  

“Good.  With this asset our timetable for PROJECT STARDUST is AHEAD of schedule.” Tarkin seemed pleased.  “We will expect your arrival within one standard rotation.” 

The Governer's image immediately disappeared. 

CX would contact Dr Hemlock about the dog later.   

LOVE awoke both hands tethered together and a collar around their neck.  They cautiously glanced up where they lay on the floor. 

Tiggy lay prone and unconscious nearby.  One of her back legs dangled at an odd angle.  Clearly, she was injured.  LOVE reached out to her with the Force. 

Nothing. 

LOVE was unable to feel...anything.  They couldn’t levitate, either.  And, unable to Force Manipulate physical objects. 

The fisticuffs binding their hands, looked different from anything LOVE had seen before.   

The CX Trooper in the pilot’s seat faced away from love, busily dabbing bacta on his facial wounds. 

“You can TRY.  The restraints were specifically designed for a Force Sensitive such as yourself.” 

He didn’t glance up from his wound care. 

LOVE reached out again. 

NOTHING.  No Force powers at all. 

However, LOVE could still physically move their body. 

CX swung around in his chair.  He raised his left hand and motioned to his face. 

“Your...pet is responsible for this!” 

LOVE’s eyes widened with the realization Tiggy was the culprit...smiling deviously at the Trooper. 

He snarled back at LOVE and swung his chair back around to face the pilot’s console. 

“You think this is a JOKE?  If you resist in ANY way or refuse to do what I say, I will shoot your pet dead and blow her body out the airlock.” 

He calmly fitted a new glove carefully over his bandaged hand. 

LOVE laid their head down on the metal floor and whimpered pathetically. 

It was quite the vision: Taavi’s Bar’ge Fix ‘N Go was an immense, rough looking, refurbished old barge freighter, including a multitude of modifications lit with neon.  Blocking out the stars as it slowly sailed past.  According to Sil, it served as a docking station, mechanical repair, hotel, cafeteria, bar... 

...and an illegal and VERY secretive “treat and street it” clinic. 

Uncle Taavi always came up with several streams of income.  His major one being a repair service for ships, droids, devices, and prosthetics.  He also rescued feral Tooka cats, spayed, neutered, providing them medical treatment and care.  

Taavi NEVER stopped fixing things.  Fixing things was HIS LIFE. 

The Marauder was able to pull the still barely operational Beldame from the hyperspace lane, then detach from its top.  Echo and Wrecker piloted the Havoc Marauder while Hunter and Sil slowly followed behind piloting the Dread Beldame.  Tech and Omega sat with Mad on the ‘Dame making sure she stayed medically stable.  Omega also kept her eyes glued on Hunter.  He INSISTED on helping pilot the Beldame...knife STILL buried in his thigh.  She twirled her fingers in Mad’s long mohawk tail with one hand and held Mad’s hand with the other. 

Omega ALSO worried about LOVE and Tiggy while listening to Mad’s ragged breaths. 

Mad didn’t know LOVE and Tig wasn’t with them.  She anticipated the fear and heartbreak a mother would experience when she found out... 

Tech did his best to TRY and distract her by infodumping...to no avail. 

With help of the Bar’ge ‘N Go’s tractor beam, it pulled in the hulking mass of the Dread Beldame into the landing bay of the barge.  The Batch marveled at the repair bay.  Taavi seemed to have EVERYTHING to fix ANY kind of ship, arranged neatly and cleanly.  True the equipment was much older but well-made and maintained expertly.  Odd looking, refurbished droids zoomed and whizzed back and forth inside it’s mechanical bay. 

After both ships landed.  Their respective crews emerged...to greet the man who owned this establishment: Mad’s Uncle Taavi. 

He was as tall as Echo with shaggy black hair, dark skinned, his face heavily tattooed with symbols and designs.  His eyes, pitch-black silver speckled irises, indicative of the OLD Nomaadi.  A subset of their people older than time...before the Long Purge of their numbers....and one of the reasons the Nomaadi were referred to as “The Star People.”  His patchworked but well-fitting clothing indicative of a Nomaadi with deep family ties...the pieces of snipped fabric from family and friends sewn as embellishment on his clothing.  A tapestry of memories and strength of family ties to accompany him on his Long Road: The Journey of Life.  Heavy and well-worn work boots completed the outfit. 

A small statured...child?  Walked next to Taavi with the confidence of an adult.  Her unmelanted hair braided into many long, tiny braids that trailed past her shoulders.  Her eyes: Either blue or ultraviolet, depending on the light.  Blue veins occasionally showing through her pale albino skin.   

Finally, a standard Astromech adorned in rose gold detailing, a yellow light on her dome.  She was a spiffy droid to behold.  Of course...she knew it...  Behind the astromech followed several tiny droids, and two Tooka kittens chasing after them. 

Taavi stopped.  His eyes wide in surprise. 

“Sil?  As I breathe the stale recirculated shitty air of this ship...never thought I’d see ya AGAIN!!!” 

He grabbed Sil up and hugged the teen.  Sil hugged Taavi back. 

When Taavi let go, he wiped a tear from his eye.  

Sil leaned out, grabbing Thoomie and pulling her into the hug as well.  She embraced Sil.  

Then Taavi caught sight of Mad being carried in Hunter’s arms.  She was covered in dirt and crusted blood from multiple wounds.  Her breathing loud, harsh, and labored.  She was barely conscious. 

“Ohhh FORCE NOOO!  We gotta get her into the bacta tank!  COME WITH ME!!!”  Taavi didn’t ask for introductions.  He ushered them through the ship and into a secret wing that contained a large medical lab. 

Taavi motioned to Hunter “Put ‘er in there.  We’ll clean her in that tub first, then put ‘er in the tank.” 

Hunter carefully placed Mad into the stainless steel tub.  Then stood over her and stared silently.  He seemed mentally far away... 

“Uncle...” Thoomie tapped Taavi on the arm.  “I think he’s in a state of shock.” 

Taavi did a double take at Hunter, pointing “Son...ya got a knife stickin’ out of ya there...” 

Hunter calmly glanced down at the knife and back at Taavi “Yes...” 

“Thoo, take...whatshisname...” Taavi nodded to Hunter. 

“Hunter” Hunter answered. 

“Hunter and that smart lookin’ fella...” Taavi nodded at Tech. 

“I’m Tech.” Tech added smugly. 

“With Tech and that droid guy” Taavi referred to Echo. 

Echo didn’t answer, just shook his head grimacing. 

Tech answered for Echo “Uh, that is Echo.” 

“Sure.” Taavi waved them on. “Have ‘em help you prep Hunter for surgery.  Can’t be walkin’ around MY ship with a knife stickin’ outta ya like nothin’s happenin.” Taavi shook his head.  “Mad sure can pick ‘em...” 

“Come with me” Thoomie took Hunter’s hand and led him, Tech, and Echo away. 

“Sil, stay with me.  You can catch me up while we work on your Auntie.” Then Taavi addressed Wrecker.   “Eh, big guy...Help me clean up Mad so we can plop ‘er in that bacta tank.” 

“Uh...ok.” Wrecker seemed confused about what was happening. 

Taavi recognized Wrecker’s confusion.  “You wanna get free care, ya gotta pitch in and help.  Droids will finish after we start, ok?  Besides, Mad will pitch a fit if we let them droids touch her.” 

Wrecker hesitated.   

Sil nodded to him and patted his back.  “You got this Wrecker.  Uncle Taavi will walk ya through it.” 

Wrecker nodded and did as he was told. 

CHAPTER 25 - "THE NIGHTMARE"

Thoomie handed Echo a surgical gown and bag for Hunter’s clothes.  She then handed a tub of Bacta wipes to Tech.  She instructed Hunter to sit down. 

She pulled a syringe out of a drawer, then a drug bottle from a wall unit, and began drawing up a dose.  Thoomie approached Hunter. 

Echo and Tech glanced alarmingly at each other.  Tech stepped in her way “Is it standard protocol on this ship to have CHILDREN give injectable medication?” 

Thoomie laughed.  “Forgot you’re new here.  I’m NOT a child.” 

Echo and Tech glanced at each other again...now in confusion. 

“I have a rare genetic disorder that inhibits my normal growth and development.  Will FOREVER look like a preteen or teenager...for the rest of my life.” 

Both clones stared at Thoomie stunned. 

“You’re defective???” Tech blurted out. 

Thoomie winced “Er...you COULD say that.  I prefer the term different...or unique.  PLEASE step aside and let me treat your batchmates' pain.  His condition is worsening, and I need to remove that knife as soon as possible.” 

Tech stepped back. 

“How did you know we’re clones?” Echo asked as Thoomie swabbed Hunter’s arm with a bacta wipe and injected into his vein.  Hunter winced slightly and came out of his glazed state to attempt to rub the area.  Thoomie handed him a square of sterile gauze and gently placed his hand over the area like a parent would a child.  Hunter kept quiet and held pressure on the injection site. 

“The timbre of your voices.  Subtle similarities in your facial features.  Other...tells in your mannerisms.  Hard to explain.”  She tossed the syringe in a sharp's container. 

“What would you require of us to assist you in helping Hunter.” Tech spoke up. 

“I’ll let you both undress him completely, throw the clothes in the bag, then wipe him down all over.  Don’t worry about his hair.  Put the gown on with the opening in the front.  Please drape several FRESH bacta wipe over his private parts for cleanliness and discretion.  Knock on the partition when you’re done.  I can then prep him for surgical removal of that vibroknife.”   

Then she handed a pair of medical scissors to Tech.  “Imagine you will need these to get his blacks off without further injury.  We have extra clothing on board if this is his only pair of pants.  Please be quick.  Thank you.”  She promptly left the room. 

Tech pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose “The Nomaadi NEVER cease to amaze me.” 

Echo put his hand on Hunter’s shoulder to get his attention.  He could tell the pain meds were starting to to work.  “Let’s get you ready, ok?” 

Hunter nodded sleepily...as he closed his eyes...drifting into the dark... 

They had come for him and his brothers AGAIN. 

Hunter wedged himself under the small gap beneath his lower bunk, pressing his back against the wall of their barracks.  He managed to pull Crosshair halfway under.  Only little Hunter and his skinny younger brother could manage to fit. 

Crosshairs fear was palpable as he scrambled to squeeze in with Hunter.  Tech rigged the mechanics of their bunk room door so it could only open from the INSIDE.  He hid behind the already large Wrecker who stood tall and RAGEFULLY angry, fists clenched and ready for a good fight. 

They were ONLY children. 

The Kaminoan’s and their clinical assistants routinely carried out medical experiments on them.  They rebelled against the pain, shame, and inappropriately probing hands that explored their bodies. 

This was NOT the first time the Bad Batchers had resisted. 

The Kamino medical staff learned the hard way several times to bar access to ANY sharp objects or ANYTHING at all that could be used as a weapon.  This left the Batchers room barren of any toys or enrichment.  Only to be let out for training and mess hall meals.  When it was found the defective clones had smuggled in an occasional training weapon or a table utensil from the mess hall, they were routinely patted down, scanned, and accompanied by the staff themselves. 

As the Batchers anger and resentment peaked, along with their accelerated growth, strength, and strategy, fully trained teenage Reg clones were called in to perform this duty. 

Some of these Regs sustained severe injuries, thus creating MORE resentment already present among the “Defective” Clones and the Regs.  This rivalry came to a head when Hunter’s nose was broken during a particularly violent scuffle and Tech was knocked unconscious, almost compromising his advanced mental capacity.  Wrecker and Crosshair’s retaliation was immediate and SEVERE.  One of the Regs barely survived HIS injuries. 

From that time on the Kaminoan’s ONLY sent in the most hardened adult clone troopers in armor to retrieve them.  Lama Su considered “discontinuing” their squad due to the inconvenience.  But Nala Se convinced him this sharpened their skills and made them more “elite.” 

Clearly, the child Batchers were no match for these new adversaries. 

Wrecker didn’t give a damn.  As the door was finally breached and the clone troopers spilled in he rushed them.  His screams of rage sounded familiar to Hunter... 

...like an angry dog. 

Tech begged for leniency as he was dragged away, promising to be compliant from now on... 

Hunter held tight to Crosshair... 

...who was yanked from his grasp and pulled out from under the bunk. 

Hunter attempted to call out to his brother but could make NO sound. 

“OW!  LITTLE FUCKER BIT ME!!!” As Crosshair was dropped face down on the hard white glossy floor.  Blood splattered across the polished tiles from Cross’ split lip. 

Crosshair pulled his face from the floor, yelling Hunter’s name... 

...it wasn't Crosshair’s face, but Jebith Freed. 

A green armored CX trooper grabbed the boy’s leg, dragging him away while he trailed bloody purple rose petals in his wake...SCREAMING Hunter’s name over and over...as the bunk room melted into an alien forest... 

Lightning struck the ground.  Torrential rain fell in thick sheets. 

Hunter, terrified watched from under his bunk as the ground gave way swallowing both the boy and trooper up. 

The wall behind Hunter groaned, buckled...muddy water spilled through cracks.  He attempted to scrabble away, but the remaining wall of the bunk room collapsed around him.  A wave of muddy water and debris enveloped Hunter.... 

...dragging him down into the darkness... 

Hunter awoke with a START. 

"You’re safe, Hunter.  I’m here.” Omega’s voice. 

Her face came into view. 

He felt fuzzy around the edges of his consciousness.  Hunter had gotten enough injuries in the past to recognize recovery from sedated anesthesia.   

“You’re not on Kamino anymore.  We’re on a Nomaadi sanctuary barge.” 

Omega held Hunter’s hand tightly as the realization set in.   

“How...did you know?”  

“I remember EVERYTHING you ALL went through on Kamino.”  Omega’s voice trembled “Until Shaak Ti found out and intervened...instead of the Reg troopers, they began sending ME to help gain your trust.”  Her face conveyed deep sadness.  “When you all finally complied, I was not allowed around your squad...again.” 

“How come I don’t remember?” Hunter rubbed his forehead. 

“It was traumatic.  You shut it out.  The memories are still in there...they come out in your dreams.” 

“...nightmare...definitely NOT a dream.”  Hunter swallowed.  He was overcome with emotion from the effects of the anesthesia.  His eyes welled up. 

“SO glad to have you ‘Mega.  I LOVE YOU.”  He choked.  Hunter felt this MANY times but never vocalized it. 

Omega threw herself onto Hunter, hugging his neck tightly.  “I LOVE YOU TOO HUNTER!  I was so scared of losing you!!!” 

“Take the whole galaxy to hold me back from you, ‘Mega.  Sorry I had to leave you on this mission...” He hitched as he inhaled.  A tear ran down his cheek. And Hunter squeezed his eyes shut tightly.  “If I hadn’t left you behind this time, probably never see you again...” 

He opened his eyes to see Wrecker and Echo approaching his bedside.  He could see the relief in their eyes. 

But Hunter’s post anesthetic daze wasn’t done... 

“I failed...” He mumbled to them.  “Lost LOVE, and somehow Tiggy...Jebith...this kid on that planet we ran into...” 

“Hunter...” Echo squeezed Hunters shoulder reassuringly.  “You couldn’t...” 

“NO...should have had you and Wrecker along with us...” 

Wrecker looked concerned over his brother’s uncharacteristically strong emotional outburst. 

“It was HORRIBLE!  Like losing Caleb Dume all over again!!!” Hunter worked himself up.  “I FAILED CROSSHAIR TOO!  HE WAS RIGHT...I’M NOT FIT TO LEAD...”  More tears.  “...NOT FIT TO BE A BROTHER...OR A FATHER...” 

“Now, now” Echo patted Hunter’s shoulder.  His normally gruff voice softer.  “That’s SOME kind of anesthesia he comin’ out of!” 

“Perfectly normal range of surgical recovery behavior” The old Med Droid, who had been washing Hunter’s muddy hair prior to him awakening, handed a tissue to Hunter. “Deeply held thoughts and feelings do tend to surface when the patient awakens.  Wipe your eyes, friend.  We must get some sustenance into you soon.  It will help you heal” 

“Thank you, Rusty” Omega took the tissue from the droid and dabbed at Hunter’s face.  “PLEASE don’t cry Hunter.  You did what you could.” 

Hunter sniffed and steadied his breathing. 

Wrecker leaned over and carefully hugged Hunter, then kissed him on the temple.  “Hey...let the Droid finish ‘yer hair.” 

“Yeah, you look like a wet mess.” Echo joked. 

Hunter took the tissue from Omega and blew his nose. “Yeah...a total mess...”  He started to come out of the anesthesia a bit more.  “Apologies” 

“None needed.” Echo smiled. 

Omega held Hunters hand, patting it. 

Rusty conditioned and rinsed his hair again, then dried it fully.  Hunter reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  SO SOFT!   

He mildly panicked at the absence of his bandana. 

“No worries, friend.  All of your clothing has been taken to the laundry.  We will return it to you soon, clean and pressed!” 

The droid wizzed around to Hunter’s bedside.  “Don’t YOU look HANDSOME!  Now your family will take you to see your lady.” 

Hunter attempted to pull back the blankets and get off the hover stretcher.   

“NO Hunter!” Echo pushed Hunter back down on the stretcher.  “Gotta lie still, or you’ll pull out your sutures.” 

Wrecker chuckled “And you’re only wearing that blanket.  Nothin’ else.” 

“Oh!” Hunter blushed and chuckled, now in better spirits but still feeling the effects of the drugs. 

“Relax and your family will take care of the rest.” Rusty waved goodbye as Echo wheeled Hunter down the corridor.  Omega and Wrecker waved back following behind. 

They wheeled Hunter into an adjacent room containing several bacta tanks.  Sil leaned against the tank, waiting for Mad to awaken.  Omega ran to him, and they embraced each other.  Tech infodumped animatedly with a 2-1B med droid named “Bucket.”  But paused when he spotted Hunter. 

“You appear to be recovering quite well.” He smiled brightly.  “I am extremely pleased, Hunter.” 

“That’s...SO affectionate of you, Tech.” Hunter chuckled, then turned to Taavi and Thoomie. “How is Mad?  Are the babies...” 

Thoomie answered “She’s just recovering from anesthesia.  The babies are EXTREMELY healthy...and STILL growing!  Never seen anything like it!!!  I am concerned about Mad, though.  She’s been through A LOT physically.” 

“She’ll REQUIRE quite a lot of rest and nutrition.  The accelerated growth could take a negative toll on her health as the multiple fetuses she is carrying will literally leach the nutrients from her body.”  Tech added. 

“Eh, sounds like she’s got parasites.” Wrecker shivered. 

“Technically...unborn babies ARE commensal parasites” Tech adjusted his goggles. 

Echo grimaced “Pregnancy sounds...creepy...compared to clone Growth Jars.” 

“It’s beautiful.” Hunter mused, staring at the bacta tank Mad was currently floating in.  “Imagine giving up your body for another life.  Not just during pregnancy but devoting all your energy to raising that delicate being once it’s born, grows, becomes its own person.  Loving that little life so much it almost hurts...willing to sacrifice or even die for it...heck...some people do it for others who can’t experience that themselves...”  Hunter smiled and tears welled up in his eyes. 

Thoomie was impressed “That’s...pretty deep.” 

“Yep.  That’s Hunter.” Echo grinned.  “Usually, it’s all in his head.  We’re lucky to hear it out loud right now because of the surgery drugs.” 

“He does wax poetically when inebriated as well” Tech added “When sober Hunter tends to hold a HUGE amount of emotional weight in.” 

“That’s Tech’s way of sayin’ Hunters a BIG softie.” Wrecker whispered to Taavi. 

Taavi chuckled.  “Good thing to be.  The galaxy needs more empathy, no?” 

“My apologies for the interruption” Bucket interjected “Our patient is waking up.  Vitals are within normal ranges currently.” 

“Whoa, there!”  Uncle Taavi tapped the bacta tank to get Mad’s attention. 

Mad stirred and slowly started to realize where she was.  Inside of the bacta tank she was hooked up to an IV line, a feeding tube, respirator, bacta nebulizer, and endotracheal vacuum.  The lines swayed around her as she bobbed in the bacta solution.  Mad was only clad in a medical chest binder and med panties which helped secure the lines that carried her urination and defecation waste away.  The rest of her exposed body covered in a multitude of small lacerations from the shrapnel Uncle Taavi had surgically removed. 

He could see her anxiety ramping up. 

“She gonna RIP them out.  Bet ya.”  Taavi remarked to Thoomie and Tech. 

“While I understand your concerns restraints seemed too severe an option.” Tech remarked. 

Thoomie nodded “I agree with Tech.” 

“Ah, you never seen Mad lose her SHIT!  She’s got a phobia about all of this” Taavi motioned to the whole tank, then addressed the B1.  “Sorry Bucket, best to leave outta here for now 'fore she notices you.  Or gonna be hell to pay!” 

The B1 turned to Thoomie.  She nodded “It would be best for the patient.  You can return when she is sleeping.” 

Hunter commiserated “My apologies, Bucket.”.  

The droid silently turned to leave. 

Mad eyed the med droid suspiciously, then flashed an obscene hand gesture as it left the room. 

Hunter giggled. 

Mad attempted to laugh too but erupted into a violent coughing fit. 

She choked and gagged SOMETHING up.  One of the tubes attached to her life support face mask suctioned it out of her trachea. 

Her breathing sounded slightly better and less raspy. 

Hunter put his hand up to the glass, pressing his palm flat against it.   

Mad did the same on the interior of the tank.  Eventually, she glanced further out in the room, shocked to recognize Uncle Taavi and Thoomie.  She waved excitedly to them...and scanned the room again... 

Someone was missing...Mad signed in Basic with her other hand... 

LOVE?  Tiggy... 

Hunter TRIED his very best to keep a neutral face through his post-surgical haze.  He was at a loss for words.  

Mad glanced up at the faces of all the Batchers, Sil, Taavi, Thoomie... 

Varying expressions of sadness and guilt is all she saw.  Nobody spoke. 

She hitched and cried out loudly, then choked and gagged violently again.  In her grief, she reached for the tubes attached to her in what looked like an attempt to pull them out. 

Thoomie immediately punched the sedative button on her IV line. 

Mad went still within the tank, floating quietly while the endotracheal vacuum cleared her lungs. 

“Hate to say it...I told ya so...” Taavi whispered sadly. 

Hunter covered his face with both hands and quietly sobbed. 

To read Chapter 26 - "LOVE AND HOPE"

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/765645976136564736/vagabonds-chapter-26?source=share

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[jokest3r]

Shot through the heart (fatally) and he's to blame ❤️‍🩹

Introducing "Blue" / "Norton" Shark, sole (begrudging) heir to the Shark fortune as well as budding Nepo baby psychopath I play as my GTAO PC !

[toilandtroubled]

𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙨 + 𝙟𝙤𝙣

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[squirrelwrangler]

Vagabond Gondor

As a birthday gift, I decided to brush off a very old project and write out the opening paragraphs to something I cannot promise I'll ever fully write, but to which I had done so much groundwork that I didn't want it to go to waste. And as it's a LotR fic, making it a gift on my birthday seemed appropriate.

...

Ten years after the Restoration of the Rightful King, that is to say ten years after the Battle of the Crossings of Erui which ended the Kin-strife, a man with a broken sword arrived in Minas Arnor.

 The wandering swordsman crossed the River Anduin in a small boat just as dusk started to settle into the warm summer evening, paying the ferryman with the last of his worn coins. Across the fields, farms, and small towns of the Pelennor Fields the wanderer strode, aiming for the Great Gate of the seven-tiered city. He did not pause, even as the light disappeared from all but some of the windows of the houses and inns or glowed against the approaching twilight from the handheld lanterns of fellow travelers. Even at this late hour other people still crowded the four leagues of roads leading to and from the Great Gate. Most traveled in groups composed of companions, family, or coworkers. Boisterously they laughed and chatted amongst themselves as they returned to their homes or ducked into taverns to wash away the sweat of fieldwork with the soothing coolness of alcohol. Not all were Dúnedain, but few of the Northmen were dressed discernibly differently, and all spoke a blend of Westron and Sindarin. Tradesmen and traders sang cheerfully from the open doors of the taverns and alehouses. Ten years had restored the music of peace to the Pelennor Fields. Roads -and the harvest- were safe once more. Osgiliath had been rebuilt, but as was tradition, the king resided in Minas Arnor during the summer, during which the city and the lands skirting Mount Mindolluin blossomed and the population boomed. Business followed the royal court. Even those of Minas Ithil might have summer lodgings in their sister-city. Single travelers such as the wandering swordsman were rarer. Most who aimed to reach Minas Arnor had passed through its gates long before sunset. The locals of the Pelennor ignored the man with the broken sword, and the man ignored them. Of the few that noticed the scabbard hanging from the shabby-dressed wanderer’s belt, none knew its secret. 

Tradition brought over from Númenor held that after dusk large wagons were allowed to enter the city. Therefore long lines of ox-driven carts laden with produce and goods now dominated the well-paved roads into Minas Arnor, lit by lanterns held by the freight-haulers and the rare bored guard hired by prudent or suspicious merchants. Few people walked the roads on foot as dusk deepened into true night. The clouded sky hid the stars from view, but there was no hint of rain soon forthcoming. Still, the man wore a wide-brimmed hat that shaded his face. Silently he walked besides the freight wagons, head bowed and hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his patched tunic. The guards made note of the wanderer and noticed the sword, but as the man did nothing but walk silently, staring only at the ground, they dismissed him as harmless. He was short and slight, the type of figure that could easily lose a wrestling match to a hobbit, if the men of Gondor knew what a hobbit was.

Pelennor in the summer did not swelter as badly as Pelagir further south, but it was too warm for cloaks, and the drivers wished for a breeze to cool their faces and banish the pungent odor of the draft animals. Street cleaners would remove animal dung from the roads in the pre-dawn, also according to ancient Númenorean tradition. Still the heady stench was undeniable. 

The black expanse of the first wall of Minas Arnor stretched like the outermost void, its shadow cooling the summer night. Ominous it could be to outsiders, but to the men who called this city and its surrounding lands home, the First Wall with its gleaming black stone that reflected the many lanterns of its travelers signified safety and beauty. Towards the east the main road turned, following the curve of the wall to the only gateway through the unbreachable Minas Arnor. It was a relief to pass through the Great Gate and enter the city itself. 

Up the gently sloping streets the wanderer ambled, lacking the steadfast determination of before. His goal had been the city itself, but now he had neither destination in mind nor coin to pay for it.  Past midnight, only the main thoroughfares were not deserted, the music of taverns faded into silence. Streetlamps at the doors of many a great house or inn were kept lit with oil, as it would have been a shameful admission of poverty to do otherwise. Under the reign of Castamir, many houses had gone dark. But now all that the lamps illuminated were the cobblestones of the streets and the facades of the houses across, broken rarely by the shadow of a passing hunting cat. Soon the man was alone, his shadow the only other movement. An innkeeper's watchman on the Lampwright’s Street of the First Level almost called out to him, but changed their mind when they noticed the ragged appearance of his dark blue tunic and lack of travel pack. In the brightness of the city’s lit streets, the color of the man’s hair could be discerned, and it was the same red as the summer pelt of a fox. A memorable trait, nearly as identifiable as the intersecting pair of scars on the man’s lower left cheek - neither of which the wanderer wished to be recognized by. 

But it had been ten years since the Battle of the Crossings of Erui. Ten years since King Eldacar slew Castamir. Ten years since the Blood-haired Berserker, killer of thousands of men, feared warrior of Rhovanion, disappeared. A legendary figure like that belonged in grisly tales and gruesome sorrowful songs, not ambling without purpose down a deserted Third Level street in Minas Arnor looking for a safe doorway in which to rest until the sun rose. The wandering swordsman was too unassuming to be a figure of infamy.

Which is why when a spirited young Dúnedan noblewoman accosted him of being a mad murderous berserker breaking the king’s law and the city’s peace, brandishing a wooden quarterstaff, the wanderer yelped.

“I’ve found you, Outlaw! Blood-haired Berserker, Slayer of Men, face justice for the two months of terror that you have inflicted on our city! Your murders will not go unpunished!”

The maiden punctuated her accusation with a perfect swing of her quarterstaff -which the wanderer dodged- followed by followup swing exactly as prescribed in the arms master's training manuals -which he also dodged- and a jab towards the torso - which the wanderer stumbled backwards from, unscathed but shouting in alarm. “Oro! Wait, Mistress, you have the wrong person!” His words were Sindarin, accented and soft, and he used the polite address for you in the Noldorin fashion. Northmen rarely learned Sindarin, and none had that old-fashioned accent.

“Mountain?” The young woman questioned, confused at his outburst, then shook her head in frustration. Switching from Westron, she repeated her accusation, but the outrage had lessened to uncertainty, for the man had collided with the ground against a grocer’s stall, knocking empty baskets to the cobblestones.

“Noble Lady, I cannot be the one you search for,” the red-haired man said, straightening a fallen basket. Crumbled on the ground, the young woman could see his beardless face and thin frame. His scrawny underfed body reminded her of one of her students, and though she had not confirmed it when she first attacked, he was shorter than her. As a rule, the Northmen of Rhovanion were tall and muscular. She was not, even though she was a full blooded Dúnadan as her coloring suggested. The deferential address and vocabulary sounded comical coming from a shabby-dressed Middle Man. It belonged to a stage play about the First Age, and only Classical Adûnaic would have been more ill-fitting for the occasion. “A masterless vagabond I am, newly arrived to the city this night. How could I have accomplished a murder?”

“You are an unliveried Northman carrying a full-sword, though,” the noblewoman countered. “By King’s Decree, no one may carry a longsword within the walls of the city unless they be a royal soldier or a nobleman’s oath-sworn, their blade peace-tied to the scabbard and in livery to the house of their allegiance.”

The wanderer had noticed that the wagon guards carried only long knives and cudgels. Peacetime could only partially explain the anomaly. Eldacar’s law, enacted after the war’s conclusion, attempted to curtail the worst of the violence endemic during the Kinstrife and to suppress armed uprisings from the few traitorous lords, but the ban on the most dangerous tools of war - the longswords and great war axes- was truly aimed at the tension that remained between Northmen and Dúnedain. A murderer stalking the streets of Minas Anor while the King was in residence was an affront; a mad Northman was a political powder-keg.

Holding the scabbard by the far end, the swordsman pointed the hilt at the young woman, offering it to her. “Humble I beg you see that this sword could have killed no man,” he said, switching now into the Common Tongue, but here his Westron was just as heavily accented and even more deferential, using the politest possible terms.

The young woman pulled out the broken sword, shocked to see that the blade extended only a few finger-widths before terminating. By hilt and size it was closer to a longsword than the more common arming swords, and though it would have been double-edged with a deep fuller, the style of sword left the blade itself unsharpened near the hilt. An uncovered hand could grip a blade there to wield a sword for certain tricks, be it to wield two handed when the hilt was not long enough or to shorten the reach to confuse a foe. Swordsmanship training covered these in detail, to which the young woman was deeply familiar. There were moves to defend oneself with a broken blade, invented by her grandfather, that the young woman knew as well, and the pommel could be an effective bludgeoning tool if wielded against an eye or judiciously striking the head. But close inspection showed that the blade had been snapped off before the shoulder sharpened into the blade proper. Aside from the maker’s mark, no other nicks or cuts marred the steel to signify use, though some of the hilt wrapping was worn. The pommel was plain. 

“It’s not Narsil,” the man joked. “The edges are all dull, Noble Lady. Humbled I beg you return this useless sword to me. No violation of King Eldacar’s law do I commit by carrying it.”

“You could not kill anyone with this,” the young woman admitted. “So why carry it-“ she began to ask, before a watchman’s shout interrupted. “They found him!” she cried, tossing the hilt and dashing back to the intersection. Behind her, unseen, the swordsman caught the broken sword with a deft swing of the scabbard. Hat forgotten and expression darkened to seriousness for the first time since he crossed the River Anduin, the red-haired wanderer ran after the young woman.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Chapter 26 of Hare, Fox, and The Moon - (The High Before)

(Art by @cupiidskiss )

Chapter Summary:

“The night they’d been waiting for is before their eyes: the gala at the mayor’s mansion.

Malt and Boone have a delightful night together: eating, dancing, laughing, and forgetting everything bad in the world.

…

*authors evil laugh and rub their hands together*”

Author Note: so this chapter straight up has frottage. Be aware.

[heysatanitsyourgirl]

I have to cut this so I’m gonna leave it here

[gretavanglimmers]

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @velveteencatch @jakesmustache