#if i were gonna take this route id go back to roots and say

[elfreek]

i was rolling this japanese fantasy thing ive been entertaining around for a bit and i cant seem to seperate it into a purely fanatasy thing. Theres always some scifi-ish element that sneaks it way in

[brushstrokesapocalyptic]

The Legend of Asriel PART 2 | THE LOST CAVERNS

two companions try not to get too horribly lost.

Chara leads Frisk to the alternative route they spoke about. According to them, they can use it to cut weeks of arduous hiking through the desert down to less than a day. It’s also significantly more dangerous and hard to find than the regular route, but both problems are more-or-less mitigated by the fact that Chara remembers perfectly well how to get through!

...Well, they thought they remembered. They really should’ve expected a place called the Lost Caverns to be a little hard to navigate. Welcome to the first dungeon!

As one might be able to guess, this place is basically just the Lost Woods but underground. I could spin a whole tale about why and how the magical forest migrated into an intricate cave system but honestly, it’s zelda. Locations arbitrarily moving around between games is par for the course.

All that aside, it’s really not that different from how it’s traditionally depicted. Thick, magical fog makes it hard to keep directions straight, and despite Chara’s best efforts to remember their own trek through the cavern they keep hitting dead ends and landing right back where they started as if the paths are changing when they’re not looking.

With some very intense trial-and-error they eventually find their way to a section of the cavern that’s a little less clouded with fog. They’re just about to sit down for a breather when Frisk notices a strange figure with a flower mask, and the figure notices them.

[ID: A two-panel comic. In the first panel, Frisk and Chara are looking up at someone sitting on the edge of a ledge, wearing a flower mask. Flowey notices them as well. The second panel is a closeup on Flowey, showing more details; the mask has a smiling, jagged mouth, and there are cords wrapped all around their forearms and lower legs. In the second panel, Flowey is speaking. “Howdy!” End Description.]

“What is that, a Skull Kid?“ Chara wonders aloud, squinting up at Flowey. Frisk glances between them, unsure exactly what’s going on, then tentatively waves at the mystery flower person. He laughs and leaps down from his perch.

[ID: Another two-panel comic. In the first panel, Flowey drops down in front of Frisk, looking interested. Frisk has their sword drawn and looks uncertain. In the second, Flowey has circled around behind Frisk, and looks a little too eager. Frisk’s head is turned to keep their eyes on him, and has raised their sword. End Description.]

Flowey circles Frisk a couple times, being all friendly and intruding on their personal space. "What’s a little desert kid doing all lost in the Caverns alone? Did ya take a wrong turn?” Chara attempts to point out that they’re not alone, but Flowey doesn’t hear them, and when they go to grab his shoulder their hand passes right through.

It’s at about this point that Frisk gets tired of letting this weird stranger poke them. They push him away, giving Chara a pained look and signing “I have no idea what this guy is saying.” Chara is quick on the uptake and tells them Flowey’s curious about how they got here.

What follows is a short back and forth with Chara playing interpreter to Flowey’s curiosity while Frisk writes out their replies in a small notebook they carry for exactly this sort of situation. Frisk tells him they’re looking to take a shortcut from the desert to Hyrule Field, leaving out exactly why that is. Flowey is impressed that they managed to get this far without a guide and offers to help them find their way around.

Frisk is ready to accept his help, but Chara catches their hand as they go to write. It’s a little awkward trying to write by holding your hand over someone else’s, but Chara manages to at least somewhat legibly write, “Who are you?”

Flowey laughs again. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

Chara is supremely unimpressed with that non-answer. They have a rapid-fire silent argument with Frisk over whether to trust him, and Frisk manages to convince them to give the guy a chance. He’s the only hope they’ve got at the moment.

Flowey just watches, eyebrow raised, until Frisk finally turns back to him and gives a firm nod. He doesn’t comment on all the signing, just leaps back up to the roots and calls for them to follow.

It’s not easy, considering the guy is almost unnaturally fast and able to leap from root to root without breaking a sweat. After a while, Chara starts to suspect he’s just leading them in circles, and that suspicion doesn’t go away when he simply vanishes in the blink of an eye, leaving Frisk surrounded on all sides by swirling fog with no idea which way he went.

Chara refuses to panic, though, taking their hand and leading them further in the direction they were already heading in. They’re back to trial and error, but eventually they manage to find their way to... another dead end, but this one has some kind of ribbon hanging from a branch... root... tree... thing.

[ID: A four-panel comic. In the first panel, Frisk is looking up at a ribbon dangling down from a small tree. There are a multitude of question marks and arrows pointing towards the ribbon. In the second panel, Frisk pulls down on the ribbon with enough force to bend the tree down. In the third panel, the ribbon comes free, the hook at the end hitting Frisk upside the head. In the fourth panel, Frisk holds up the combination grappling hook/ribbon up with one hand in the typical zelda style, but they have their other hand on their head and there are stars swirling around it. A pair of speech bubbles read: “You got the Ribbon Grapple! (you might want to get that bump looked at.)” End Description.]

After confirming Frisk probably doesn’t have a concussion, Chara identifies their new toy as a weirdly fancy grappling hook. Like really, a rope would’ve worked fine, did they need to use ribbon? No wonder it was just tangled in some tree, whatever adventurer lost it clearly had no sense.

Whatever the case, it’s Frisk’s now!

The grappling hook opens up some paths that previously appeared to be dead ends, using it to swing from stray roots and branches to reach new heights. It’s much smoother sailing from there, and soon they can practically taste freedom.

And then Flowey reappears, expressing surprise they managed to get all the way here. “I thought for sure you’d’ve been way too lost by now! D’you have some other guide or something?”

Chara says some very colorful words in an impressive array of ancient languages, to the point where it’s a shame the only person who could potentially hear them is deaf. “I told you he was bad news,” they tell Frisk. Frisk gives them a flat stare.

Flowey announces that if they’re not gonna get lost like a good little child, he might as well kill them the old-fashioned way. By which he means, he kicks awake a huge-ass golden Deku Baba and leaves it to eat Frisk, then ollies on outie.

[ID: A sketch with simple color added underneath depicting a massive plant-like monster. It has a head resembling a golden flower but with teeth and meaty flesh on the inside of the petals, and the rest of its body is composed of a mess of writhing green vines. Frisk is visible near the bottom of the image, they’re only about as tall as one of the vines is thick. The background is blurry and vague, but is intended to convey an overgrown cave. End Description.]

A boss fight ensues. Listen, I’m not here to design a video game, forgive me if I don’t have anything more detailed than that written up. Zelda Tradition states that the Ribbon Grapple be involved in it somehow but that’s about it.

What matters is that after Frisk gets done weeding this garden and Chara finds that indeed, Flowey is nowhere to be seen, they finish their climb to the surface and taste sweet, sweet sunshine. And then...!

[Next Part] [Index]

[master-sass-blast]

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you. 

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

[aragarna]

Tell me about John Reese.

Headcanon A:  realistic

The escape route to Canada that John had so convenientlyready for Daniel Casey was originally for himself. He’d taken great length toplan it and secure it. He hadn’t decided yet when he’d run – if he’d run – but it had been on hismind for some time. He was feeling a little better, safer, knowing he had anescape plan. But John being John, he gave it away for someone else. At thetime, he thought he’d just plan another one. He never got the chance though.Not that it really mattered. Being presumed dead was working just as well.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

John has wrecked, burnt or disabled 462 vehicles, whichincludes mostly cars, but also a dozen trucks and one tank (that one wasn’t hisproudest moment and he’d rather not talk about it).

He has collected 51 badges of all sorts – one can never havetoo many IDs. And of course he stole a good dozen from the 8thprecinct alone. To this day, Lionel doesn’t know his badge isn’t his.

He has jumped 28 times out of a window without a scratch.His record is the fifth floor, but that’s only because there wasn’t a sixthfloor that time (he did go to jumping school).

He owns 15 identical black suits and 15 white shirts.

He’d rather not tell how many weapons were stashed in hiscloset of mass destruction. That’d upset Harold.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

The five of them stand there, watching water run under the Queensboro bridge,in a peaceful and companionablesilence.

Naturally, Shaw is the one to breakthe spell. “And none of you thought of bringing the dog?”

That brings a smile on everyone’sface. John’s chuckle dies in his throat. As they take a few steps, giving the girlssome space, Fusco glances at him.

“Are you crying?”

John quickly brushes the tears awayand shrugs it off. “No, I’m not.”

But Lionel stares at him withinsistence and John gives in. He looks toward Shaw who is tenderly cuddlingwith Root on the bench.

“I’ve lost a lot of people in my life,” John says finally in a hoarse voice.“But it’s the first time. The first time one of them comes back.”

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because Ireject canon reality and substitute my own.

Well if we disregard canon, then of course John doesn’t dieat the end. The DC team came to his rescue. (I actually have a whole fic aboutit). But he was so convinced he’d die that he isn’t sure how to react when hewakes up. He almost feels disappointed. Is he such a klutz that he can’t even pulloff his exit like he wanted to? And with all the injuries he’s sustained, it’sgonna take forever for him to recover… But then he remembers why he really wason that rooftop. To save Harold (and incidentally, The Machine, and the world)and he did. He saved Harold. The one person that meant the most to him. The oneperson who reconnected him to the world, who made him someone better. Who sawin John something that John himself didn’t. He failed Jessica, and Joss. But hedidn’t fail Harold. And it doesn’t matter that Harold is giving him a lectureright now about how he should stop risking his life for him, that Harold didn’thire him just so John could take all the bullets for him…. John isn’tlistening. He saved Harold (and the Machine, and the world), and he didn’t evenhave to die in the process. He’s happy.

From this meme. Previous answers for Lionel, Jessica and Peter Burke.

[renegade-skywalker]

Out of the Abyss, Chapter 8

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2  / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8: Every Man For Himself

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary:  Vale and her crew need get in touch with the Republic, or anyone else that might help, but a hunting party gathers in Anchorhead, and plans go awry.

3951 BBY, Anchorhead, Tatooine

It wasn’t long before Darek noted the gathering outside of Vale’s storefront, advising that she might want to close up shop for good.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said, mirroring Asra’s words from the day before.

Glitch and Orex remained in the workshop, ensuring that their cargo was secure while Vale, Asra and Darek gathered in the shop proper, watching discreetly from the patchwork building’s slatted windows.

To anyone shopping the market, the crowd was nothing of note, but to a trained soldier like Darek who had been keeping tabs on all present, the signs were obvious. They were being watched.

“Do you think they know?” Asra asked, already adopting a hushed tone. “About the holocrons?”

“Not sure what a bunch of mercenaries and bounty hunters would do with them, unless there really are Sith involved,” Vale replied, fear rooting somewhere deep in her chest at the thought. Was it Revan, having pulled off the greatest con the Republic had ever known, and again no less? Or was it something else?

“Maybe they just want what’s theirs,” Asra mused.

Vale thought about it before shaking her head, unsure, “These things are ancient, and they’re almost not even holocrons. More like a primitive prototype or something, but far more dangerous.”

Asra only shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right, though. The Sith are all about their dark lineage or whatever.” Vale laughed darkly.

“Cute,” Asra retorted, amusement returning to her face before Darek roused their attention.

His skin gleamed a striped red-and-black in the slatted sunlight that filtered into the room against his face, making him look all the more dramatic as he turned to them again.

“I don’t think they’re here for those things, whatever the hell they are,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” The worry was clear in Asra’s voice as a trigger-ready finger traced the edges of her holstered blaster.

Vale felt the same. Danger was near, and she didn’t need the Force to know it. Instinct kicked in and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her shock staff was secure against her back for now, and at the sight of Orex in the doorway, she knew she might be using it sooner than she expected.

“You’re gonna want to see this.”

Orex retreated into the workshop before Vale could ask any questions. She exchanged glances with Darek and Asra before following him, her sense of dread mounting.

A bad feeling is right.

Orex stood over Glitch, whose hands were poised over Vale’s ancient terminal computer. She mostly used the thing for transactions or logging her inventory these days, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what she saw when she approached the display.

Vale froze. A younger version of herself looked out from the monitor, her skin untarnished and unscarred under a mess of short hair, a Padawan braid trailing lazily down her shoulder.

“What is this?” she said, her voice low, severe, and unbelieving.

Orex didn’t say anything, and Glitch didn’t make eye contact. The girl hid behind her own mess of hair and scrolled further down the page instead. Eden Valen had been outed, her records released after almost ten years in exile.

Beneath an image of a young Eden just before she entered the war were various other iterations of herself and their adjoining ID card photos, false names, transport documentations, and forged medical records all laid bare. And stamped on every image of her was an Exchange bounty, 50 million credits worth.

There wasn’t a file that portrayed her now. There was nothing on Vale, but there was a photo of her from a year ago, maybe. Half her face took up a pixelated screenshot from what appeared to be a security feed from the Anchorhead docks. Her hair was fully alight in the dyed yellow-blonde that it was now slowly growing out of, and though her garb was different, anyone who had seen her about town would be able to identify her.

“50 million credits, huh?” was all she could muster in an unamused tone, placing her hands plaintively on her hips as her mind raced. She, Orex and Glitch all stared at her console display, unsure of what to do next.

“Who would do this? Why?” Orex pressed quietly, his voice soft, handling the weight of the situation with delicate but deliberate words. He must have known that this was not protocol, that she was erased from the public record. There was no good reason this information should have leaked at all, especially with what the Jedi feared of her. Vale felt oddly comforted, reminded of the camaraderie she often missed with her troops. The Jedi had betrayed her, Revan had abandoned her and Malak had come to despise her and the wounds she left him with, or so she hoped – despite whatever regrets she had for what she lost or what she was denied, her troops had only ever tried to do the right thing, and she always felt wrong in leaving them behind.

The Jedi exiled her for a reason, and they sealed her records away in hopes that no one would go looking for her, Revan included. But they were sure to keep tabs on her, to ensure that the wounds that festered in her wake were controlled, monitored, and maintained. And who, pray tell, would take on such a task, or dare say revel in it? Vale knew the answer.

“Atris,” she whispered, her voice unable to speak the woman’s name at full volume with the weight of it.

Orex cocked his head but allowed her to continue.

“My old Master, or one of them anyway,” she sighed, still unnerved by all of her past selves passing judgment on her from the monitor, “But as to why part? I have no idea.”

Orex nodded curtly, returning his attention to the screen as well.

“We’ll need to be quick about this,” he said, though Vale wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, to Glitch, or to the both of them.

“Quicker than before?” Vale asked, eyeing the munitions pack now tucked beneath her workbench.

“We need to move immediately, if not yesterday,” Orex responded, shooting her a half-hearted smirk. Vale felt rain again, but this time only in her memory. And she remembered his name, then. Agent Antares. Pushing the recollection from her mind, she mentally mapped out her shop, the city and the dunes beyond, and even the sector of the Outer Rim where Tatooine resided. She could hold her own, and so could the others, but she would be damned if she was the reason they were all in danger.

“There’s a passage not far from here. Out the service door, about ten paces down the back alley, there’s a grate to some old tunnels that belonged to a moisture rig once-upon-a-time. The machine’s gone, but the channels are still there, and they’re large enough for all of you to get out safely. You can follow the tunnels to the cantina, that damn Czerka post at the edge of town, or out into the desert for all I care, but you have to get out of here.”

Doling out orders was still second nature, and Vale was surprised it came so naturally, even now.

“You’ve planned an escape route everywhere you’ve gone, haven’t you?” Orex smirked knowingly.

Vale may have taken that as an insult, but she knew Orex meant well. The man probably did the same. Life on the Outer Rim was merciless, especially for ex-soldiers.

“You know what they always say about bad habits,” she quipped, despite the urgency welling in her bones.

“But what about you?” Glitch asked. Near dumbfounded, all Vale could do was stare at her. The girl watched her from behind her dark veil of a fringe, eyes wide though her expression stern. How old was she, anyway?

“I’ll distract the bounty hunters, or whoever the hell is parked outside.” Vale glanced through the narrow slit of a window in her workshop, making sure that the alleyway was clear at least, lest her one and only plan go awry before they even got started. “The rest of you need to get off-planet. Find the Republic, anyone that might help.”

Glitch looked from Vale to Orex, as if awaiting his answer to the proposition. The girl’s face was emotionless and Vale couldn’t tell if that was just how the girl was wired or if her plan was a dumb one.

“And the crystals?”

Orex was careful not to call them holocrons – they were never sure what they were back then, and they sure as hell weren’t any more certain now.

“You’ll have to take them with you. The Jedi can’t all be wiped out, and if anything they’d be allied with the Republic, right?”

Orex nodded despite the words that came out of his mouth, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“They want me alive, but that’s not to say they’re not willing to kill to get to me. If any of those bounty hunters see you with me, you’re dead. We’d be lucky if they haven’t already,” Vale pleaded.

Glitch and Orex exchanged glances before the girl looked to the munitions pack again. For a moment, Vale felt the unease radiating from her, but it may have just been her intuition. They were all pretty uneasy now as it was, herself included.

“There was a third…” she thought aloud, but the other two were barely listening.

Glitch returned her gaze to Orex and the two nodded, turning again to Vale.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” Orex said without any elaboration. It sounded like a callsign. Vale knew what Orex was up to without even asking, and she smirked at the fact that he trusted she’d make it out of this alive.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” she affirmed, nodding.

Her eyes swept over her workshop, stalling over a loose grate near the alley window – a hiding spot she located upon first buying the place. Vale always had emergency rations and several other unused ID cards she could utilize if she ever needed to move on. Without a word, Glitch followed her gaze and investigated the grate. Taking hold of the rucksack inside, Glitch shrugged and handed it to Vale.

“You might want to work on your tells.”

“I’m getting sloppy,” Vale laughed darkly as she took the sack and looked at Orex approvingly. “Kid’s got potential.”

Vale held back a laugh and nodded as Orex placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. After years of isolation, of avoiding contact or attachment, there was something about this small gesture that felt so natural – and so bittersweet and heartbreaking at once. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

Vale wasn’t sure what made her say it, but the thought did not process in her mind before being spoken. It was simply stated, and it was the truth. Orex’s good eye fixed on hers as he nodded, affirming her feeling and the sentiment it carried.

“We’ll meet again.”

The room was almost too quiet before Asra’s uneasy voice sang through her workshop’s doorway. “Guys?”

On instinct, Vale’s hand reached back for her shock staff. She unhitched it from her back as she entered the main shop. Darek held his rifle at the ready and Asra’s blaster spun around her finger, itching to be fired. Vale’s eyes locked on Asra’s, asking without words. The Togruta’s warm yellow eyes darted to door on her left. The side entrance. Darek still had his eyes fixed outside, presumably watching their latest threat as they contemplated making their move.

Asra’s blaster remained aloft as she rushed to Vale’s side, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“I want to hear all about your dashing escape, ya hear?” she whispered with equal parts threat and affection.

Vale placed a hand on Asra’s, nodding solemnly, silently regretting their circumstances but thankful that she hadn’t made more of a habit of making friends in her exile. This wouldn’t be easy.

Vale felt Orex and Glitch arrive in the doorway beside her. Orex shot Asra a look. Within an instant, Asra understood. She nodded at Orex and looked to Darek, catching wind of their silent exchange. In the span of a moment, the two were in sync and up to speed with Orex’s soundless orders. Orex and Vale made eye contact once more, silently saying their goodbyes as the rest of the crew filed into the workshop and through the unseen service door without a sound.

Vale was alone again.

For the first time in years, Erebus was afraid.

Word on the street was that there was a Jedi in town. The image circulating the holonet was familiar to enough of the locals that Erebus’ plan was thrust into action. He parked himself just outside of his sister’s stall, but upon doing so was immediately made aware of the other hunters on watch. Most of them were unremarkable, and he knew he could best them easily in a fight, if necessary - but there was one that troubled him.

At a nearby food stall sat a girl, hooded and cloaked. Though Erebus could not see her face, he could feel the faintest signs of the Force welling in her cells, urging her bones into patient action, preparing to strike when the moment was most opportune. She watched and waited, just as he did, but her presence unnerved him still. Especially since he did not know who she was or why she was here.

His Master knew now, and he already had a lot to answer for.

Not only could Darth Nihilus easily discover where Erebus’ ship was docked by asking some subordinate to retrieve his ship’s coordinates, but Nihilus could simply reach out with the Force and discover that his apprentice dawdled before the doorstep of their very Maker and hesitated upon it.

Erebus scoffed at the idea but knew that in some way, it was true. Nihilus and Sion were ravaged by what happened at Malachor, and were born from what ruins remained. Their master, Darth Traya, had brought them out of the ashes of oblivion so that they could reign over it. And it was her ambition to study that forsaken moon and the wound that still festered there, but most importantly, what had created it. Or who.

Erebus was who he was because of his sister’s slaughter, because of her abandonment on Dantooine, because of their innate connection through the Force. He could wrong her as she had wronged him by taking her to Nihilus and letting his master do what he will. Or he could take her for himself. He could kill her, yes, but there was another part of him that just wanted to take her away from all of this. There was a part of him that felt like home in the wake of her shop, a part of him that felt warm again.

Before his plan of action could be decided, he’d have to dispose of the Echani first.

But he had to know – who was she?

The girl at the stall was stoic, sure, and unlike any other creature he had ever come across. Debasing was his way of staying aloof, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and it was making him clumsy.

She was unlike any Jedi he had ever known, or ever met for that matter, and he had yet to come across a Sith that was as adept as she was when it came to blocking his mental intrusions. Erebus thrived on forcefully probing into the thoughts of others, especially given his love for learning, prying into unsuspecting minds for information that was by no rights his to take. But her mind was vice-tight and silent as stone. She had been trained for this.

Electricity poured from his fingertips without his consent. It was only a matter of time before the Force-sensitive girl noticed it, too.

Vale held her shock staff aloft as she surveyed her shop for the last time. None of the other dwellings she had inhabited in her exile ever stood out. In fact, she could hardly tell them apart. But here, she felt tempted to grow roots, and she almost had. She had a shop, a clientele. She had friends. Friends.

Her eyes glanced back at the storage room door when a monotone voice spoke coolly in her ear.

“Affirmative Statement: Master, I believe we should vacate the premises immediately.”

Vale swung around, her shock staff still at the ready, and came face-to-face with an HK droid. It was one of her many salvaged droids, lined up pretty, all in a row. But none of her stock was programmed to activate pre-purchase. In fact, she kept most of the intelligence modules in storage, unless a customer requested an on-floor demonstration. The droid’s amber eyes stared vacantly out at her, it’s head cocked sideways in crude imitation of more sentient capabilities.

“Admonitory Warning: Time is of the essence. A horde of bounty hunters and mercenaries await you, as well as a Sith Agent and an Echani-trained warrior.”

The HK’s voice drawled softly in the open space, as if aware that they may be overheard.

“How did you-?”

“Assertive Suggestion: I believe we should vacate now and ask questions later.”

And with that, the HK droid took it upon itself to approach the main counter and procure the blaster rifle she kept hidden beside the register.

Vale’s eyes widened, watching wordlessly.

“Wh-?”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before her shop’s side door burst open. Before instinct could kick in, blaster fire singed the air around her. The intruders, the mercenaries, bounty hunters, whoever they were, lay dead on her doorstep within moments. She didn’t even have the chance to get a good look at them.

“Confident Assumption: You have miscalculated your odds. You may want to reconsider them.”

“Who are you?” Vale found herself saying, incredulous. Though she knew full well what her inventory consisted of, it just didn’t add up.

“Astonished Admission: I am an HK-50 model droid. My primary functions are to facilitate communications and terminate hostilities. You should know these things, Master.”

Vale rolled her eyes.

“Right, should I be surprised?” incensed that she had forgotten how pompous protocols were before the droid could respond with another quip of its own.

“You might want to find cover.”

Without elaboration, the droid moved toward the sales counter. Heart racing, mind on fire, Vale ran to its side, ducking beneath her sorry excuse for a register as the front wall collapsed in an ear-shattering explosion.

“The rear exit is our only option, Master,” the droid stated, its drolling monotone muted by the aftermath of the blast. Vale’s ears were still ringing, but she understood loud and clear. Whatever the hell was happening, her body urged her onward, and she wondered just how far the others had gotten. If they were lucky, they were already in the moisture rigging tunnels, and whatever happened afterward would only propel them further away from this disaster.

With the HK at her side, Vale ducked through the workshop doorway and glanced out her side window. The slatted shades permitted her a view of the alley again – the way was clear.

“Now you might want to find cover,” Vale said this time, slamming her open palm on a hidden panel in the workshop doorway. Several figures entered the shop proper through the blasted entrance, (Fools, Vale thought to herself) just as the rest of the shop collapsed on top of them. She was already out the back door with the mysterious HK at her side when the rest of the shop followed suit, dissolving into the sands behind them in a cloud of mushrooming dust and debris.

Flashes of memory invaded her grasp on the present: she felt as if she were one moment, she was darting through the alleyways of Anchorhead and the next she felt the weight of humid air, tepid and stagnant despite the rain – and even as Anchorhead’s sand threatened to fill her lungs as she ran, she heard the distinct sounds of Mandalorian vehicles thrumming as they weaved through dampened trees, kicking up mud into the underbrush. Vale was already halfway down the narrow path towards the cantina when a cloaked figure swept into the passage, blocking any advances, bringing her memories to a staggering halt.

Her blood stilled, her limbs frozen in half-recognition, but before her brain could recognize the figure standing before her, a phantom hand grabbed her elbow, jerked her sideward, and straight into the durasteel side of a dumpster.

“Always hated this place,” an almost sing-song voice uttered in her ear, annoyed despite the melody inherent in her speech. Vale cursed the absence of the Force and the clumsiness of her natural skills, still struggling to keep up with everything going on. The alleyway she left behind still felt heavy, the presence of the cloaked figure weighing it down with a dark familiarity she hadn’t felt since the massacre at Malachor V. And yet, despite the urgency with which she assessed the threat, Vale was pressed with another matter: the massive Wookiee and the blue-skinned Twi’lek at her side, still stabling her arm in a vice grip.

“We’ll exchange names and braid each other’s whatevers later,” the Twi’lek quipped, glancing for a moment between her own lekku and Eden’s mess of a bun, “but right now, you best be coming with me, sister.”

“Cautionary Proposal: Master, we do not know who-“

But before the rogue droid could spit out another word, the Wookiee reached forward, grabbed its head and clawed its intelligence module straight out. Without any further explanation, the Wookiee tossed the module at Vale, expecting her to catch it, and roared “You can fix this hunk of junk later, too.”

Vale’s Shyriiwook was rusty, but she got the gist of it, the module tumbling into her half-suspecting hands.

“Your friends are up ahead, and if you want to see them again, we need to move.”

With another jerk of her arm, Vale was up and running again. The Twi’lek was slender, small almost, but wiry strong, and the Wookiee lugged what remained of the HK over his hulking shoulders as he kept up the rear. Instead of making a clear run to the cantina, the Twi’lek led them towards the loading area of the Czerka outpost, where there’d be plenty of cover. Smart.

Vale ran but managed to catch her breath, and in the meantime kept tabs on everything going on, falling back into hold habits the longer she ran with it.

Acid and adrenaline ran her veins as she kept up with the Twi’lek and the Wookiee, both of them hazarding glances and shots back over their shoulders. Vale ran with her staff in one hand, electrifying the air around them as they rushed forward, and her blaster in the other. Trigger ready, she looked back to find the Wookiee firing at nothing, the droid lolling at his side.

The Twi’lek pulled Vale back into cover once they reached the restocking station, reloading her weapon and looking over the edge of the cargo canister they were now breathing heavily against.

“If that sonofa-“

But before the words were out of her mouth, the air sizzled with energy behind them, and Vale knew her shock staff wasn’t the one responsible.

The figure from earlier stood nearby, and though Vale couldn’t see him, she could sense him.

This was no regulated static charge - it was the Force.

A crackle electrified the air again and the Twi’lek’s eyes widened, her grip firming on her blaster. The Wookiee growled, swatting at his now static-charged hair. There was silence, and then another round of blaster fire, only this time, it wasn’t from the Twi’lek beside her. Vale glanced around the cargo container, spying a rifle poised from the roof of the Czerka building and nearby a trail of Zabrakian horns poking out from the side of a vent exhaust. Darek.

The yard stirred, and though the stranger remained hidden, two others joined the firefight.

Two Czerka-clad officers slipped out the back entrance of the outpost, assuming positions behind other nearby cargo as two security cameras swiveled along the wall behind them. Vale heard the buzz of a comlink just before one of the officers opened fire.

A pipe ruptured nearby, and the figure emerged again, but unafraid. He walked to the center of the unloading station and stood, waiting.

Blaster fire filled the air again, missing the cloaked figure entirely. With a wave of his hand, one of the Czerka officers lurched sideways and into his partner, leaving them both in a muddled heap.

Another shot rang through the space, echoing off the canisters, this time managing to singe the sleeve of the figure’s cloak. As Darek took his second shot, a beam of violet light sliced through the air, deflecting it. One of the security cams burst into sparks, subdued by the flames that followed.

Hood drawn, the figure’s face remained concealed, though their intentions laid bare. Dark gloved hands bristled with electricity as the violet light disappeared into the hilt of a crude metallic cylinder, now holstered at the stranger’s hip.

A lightsaber.

“What in the hell?” the Twi’lek muttered at her side, equally in awe.

Darek did not dare fire again, and Vale watched as he retreated, out of sight. She had no idea where the others were, but she knew they must be nearby. If they knew what was good for them, they would continue retreating and not look back until Anchorhead and all of Tatooine were far, far behind them. Other shots fired. More head hunters were on their tail, and gaining on them. If they didn’t think quickly, they’d have nowhere to run.

Vale’s mind churned with questions she knew she was not yet able to answer, yet somehow, she trusted the girl beside her and her Wookiee companion. If anything, they wanted to see her out of this mess. Even if they were only in it for the price on her head, they at least wanted to bring her in alive, and she could work with that. As for the figure standing before them, the only thing she could imagine he wanted was the crystals, the ancient holocrons still safe in Glitch’s pack – or so she hoped. If they were smart, Orex and the others had resumed their escape… and Vale could buy them time.

She stood, holstering her blaster. The Twi’lek grabbed her hand, but Vale pulled back. Her shock staff at the ready, she faced the hooded figure and waited for him to make a move. She assumed her position, falling into pseudo-Makashi formation, and waited.

Her shock staff bristled with blue-white light, rivaling the electric tendrils that snaked the idle hands of the stranger.

“It’s been a while,” a male voice admitted, almost informally, his voice gravelly but wistful.

Vale faltered. She was missing something. She expected his words to be menacing, but they were sorrowful, heavy with regret. Maybe he wasn’t here for the holocrons, maybe he was-

She almost expected him to continue, to explain himself, and though his voice betrayed him, he extended a hand with a violent thrust and Vale felt her feet leave the floor. Her throat tightened, the breath squeezed out of her lungs as she lunged forward. Within the span of a moment, Vale rushed through the open air, her limbs dangling, as the stranger puppeteered her toward him with the pull of the Force.

She sputtered, gasping for air on her hands and knees, at his feet.

It only took her a moment to gather her breath and to push the disgust that rose at the back of her throat at the stranger’s display, but she remained on her knees, watching the outsider with her peripheral vision, her keen senses tracking his movements and the calm complacency that settled over him at the sight of her supposed submission.

And just when he thought he had the upper hand, she grabbed his ankle and jerked it toward him, pulling him off his feet.

“Doesn’t feel so great, does it?” she sneered, pulling herself upright again.

Vale reactivated her shock staff and prodded the man’s chest, but her limbs almost went slack at the sight of him.

His hood displaced by the fall, the man’s pale face lay exposed to the twin suns above, revealing familiar green eyes, so much like hers and yet so different just the same. They’d changed. So much had changed.

“It has been a while,” she found herself saying, her voice a hoarse whisper now despite her defiant words only moments before.

A question formed in her mind, the words rattling around her mouth unsurely, but a rustling in the alleyway drew her attention before she could fathom the composure to speak.

Vale’s eyes darted, but her staff remained poised, pinning the man to the ground. Aiden, Vale thought, after all this time.

He stirred. Without thinking, she prodded him the chest with force, suddenly reminded of their youth, but also recalling only moments before when he had used the Force against her. Her stomach churned.

“Not so fast,” she uttered, all sentiment dissolving from her tone of voice. Vale narrowed her eyes and hissed, “We’re not done here, yet.”

“So, some things never do change,” he spat back at her, his eyes indignant, glaring. It was only now she noticed just how unnaturally green they had become – bright and menacing, no longer their natural soothing sage.

Vale prodded him again.

“Evidently.”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee changed positions, having inched closer to Vale in the moments that followed. She felt the Twi’lek’s eyes on her, her blue lekku visible in her peripheral vision as she assumed position beside a nearby crate, her blaster at the ready.

Vale shot the girl a look, still unsure of her next move. The girl’s brown eyes darted between Vale and Aiden, though Vale doubted he went by that name anymore. Without speaking, the girl nodded and looked over the edge of the crate to get a better look at the alley beyond. She didn’t seem to see anything either, but the Twi’lek poised her blaster instead, still careful to aim and take cover at the same time.

Aiden squirmed again, his hands prickling with static lightning once more.

“I can destroy you,” he said, his voice finally assuming the venomous authority Vale had expected the first time he opened his mouth.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

Vale thrust the edge of her shock staff into Aiden’s chest, their electrical currents mingling for a moment before he laughed. His voice was hollow but guttural. Aiden had never been this strong, nor this confident. Cocky, yes, and self-assured, but never when it came to physical endeavors. His command of the Force had been elementary, his skills best put to use in the Jedi Archives. Vale had never known a more brilliant mind, but that hadn’t stopped him from slinging insults at her when she told him about joining Revan’s cause. As much as things were undoubtedly different, he was right. Some things didn’t change much, no matter how many years had passed.

Aiden seethed, seemingly unable to control his anger or use it to his advantage. Isn’t that how Sith harnessed their power? Through hatred and anger, fear and violence? Maybe that’s what’s changed, Vale thought to herself. Perhaps he had begun to put his bitterness to other uses.

For a moment, Vale had almost forgotten the world outside the one where only she and the man she once called her brother stood in a deadlock. There was someone else here in the yard with them, she could feel it, but she couldn’t see them. She jabbed at Aiden again.

“Where are they?” she demanded, knowing he could reach out with the Force, but Aiden remained sputtering, angry and red in the face on the ground beneath her. She shoved at him again.

“I said, where are they?”

Her blood was boiling, and the voice that escaped her throat didn’t feel like her own. Catching herself off-guard, she blanched, shocked at her own words and the seething hatred that fueled them. But just as she came back to herself, she saw Aiden’s face contort with rage, feeding off of her. In a flash of movement, her brother grabbed hold of her shock staff, the electrical current circulating with his own now, and he brought himself back to his feet, sending Vale back.

Staggering, she held her grip as Aiden knocked her back into a cargo canister. She yanked the staff from his prying hands, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she planned to do with it. Aiden stood there menacing, a sickly grin plastered across his gaunt face. It was then that she noticed just how pale he was, how twisted his face had become. His features assumed the sharp angles of the bones underneath, abandoning the warmth they once possessed beneath freckled cheeks that often blushed when speaking with his superiors at the Academy. There was hardly anything familiar about him, and yet, Vale saw a reflection of herself in his eyes, a reflection of something she could have become but turned away from.

Vale caught her breath and pulled her blaster out of its holster just as Aiden revealed his lightsaber, still attached to his belt behind his billowing cloak. She braced herself.

His hand reached for the hilt of the weapon, but before his fingers could detach it fully, a body came soaring out of the air, knocking Aiden to the ground.

The new stranger’s hood fell as she landed square on her feet, immediately assuming a solid Echani stance upon gaining her balance. It was another girl, this one pale and human, short white hair cropped to frame her porcelain face and the fierce ice-blue eyes set in a determined stare.

“You again,” Aiden muttered, the words dripping with poison.

Taken aback, Vale stepped away, looking for the Twi’lek – but the Twi’lek found her first.

“Explain later, go now.”

She grabbed her arm again and guided her towards the Czerka station’s back entrance. As much as the girl was right, she wanted to know what in the hell was going on?! First the bounty on her head, then the ambush, her brother? And who was that young woman? Was she another Jedi? A rival Sith? Who was she that she thought she could take on a man who had just displayed the ability to manipulate lightning? And who exactly was she following anyway? Vale had the feeling that the girl knew Orex, given her liberal use of the word “friends”. She swallowed her reservations, her regrets, and shot one last look back at her estranged brother, still alive after all this time.

Trailing the Twi’lek and droid-carrying Wookiee, Vale hurried alongside them through the Czerka office, ignoring the startled employees as they rushed passed. She heard what must have been a manager call after the men they had sent into the docking yard earlier and call for backup, but they were out the door and rushing into the street before the woman could ask what under the suns they thought they were doing.

The usual afternoon bustle swallowed them whole. Vale looked over the crowd as they ran. Dust filled the sky where her shop had been, and no one other than annoyed bystanders paid them any mind. As far as she could tell they weren’t being followed. For now.

Darting between passersby and around shop stalls, they continued on without stopping – until they reached the docking bay. Just as they rounded the corner, the Twi’lek grabbed at Vale’s elbow, wheeling her into a side-stall. The purveyor, a wide-eyed Duros, glared at them, muttering a few choice obscenities in Durese under his breath before asking if they planned on buying anything with a pained (and obviously faked) cheerful disposition. All three ignored him.

After catching their breath, the only thing the Twi’lek said was, “Act casual.”

The girl squared her shoulders, drawing herself up in height as the Wookiee did just the opposite. He slumped casually beneath the weight of the droid still splayed over his shoulders and nodded in Vale’s direction, urging them onward. The Twi’lek looked at Vale for a reaction. After a moment of confusion, she nodded in haste.

“Yeah sure, whatever.”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances again before leading the way. The three of them blended in as effortlessly as possible into the milling crowd, the girl fumbling through her pockets like any other spacer with leisure on their side might for her docking pass and ID card. They sidled up to the dock officer, the Twi’lek smiling sweetly.

“Looks like we’ll be heading out now, Miss-” she read the woman’s name tag carefully, “Deena.”

She smiled again, sliding her documentation across the log-in console at the red-haired woman before them, clad in a somber smile.

“Leaving so soon?” the woman asked, sincere. Vale rolled her eyes.

The Twi’lek tried to act as nonchalantly as possible, but every time she steered the conversation toward giving them clearance, the more questions the dock officer asked. It was only a matter of time before she noted the unrest in the crowd behind them, the bounty hunters and mercenaries undoubtedly catching up, and word about the “unsanctioned destruction” of the droid shop reached her ears.

As soon as her documents were scanned and their clearance granted, the Twi’lek swiped her stuff back and shoved them into her pockets as they sauntered onward with a running start.

Vale’s eyes scanned the crowd of departures and arrivals for any sign of Asra, Orex, Darek or Glitch, but it was all a blur. Her new companions seemed equally lost until a comlink buzz from the girl’s belt got their attention. They were still half-running, half-walking as she answered.

Indecipherable chatter erupted from the comm, the Twi’lek shaking it with haste in an attempt to clear the signal. “Damn it.”

“Did you come here on a ship or what?” Vale finally asked, under her breath, trying to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

The Wookiee growled in response, annoyed, as the Twi'lek explained with worry.

“They were supposed to meet us three loops ago,” she muttered. Vale realized they had been walking around in circles.

Finally, identifiable words emerged from the comm, garbled but clear enough.

“Change of plans, meet us in Docking Bay 94! I repeat, Docking Bay 94!”

It was Asra.

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances just as another explosion sent them forward. Near enough to the blast zone, they tumbled into the passersby ahead of them, the crowd worked into an instant frenzy.

The Wookiee groaned.

“I have a feeling that was ours,” the Twi’lek responded, pained, but they were running out of time. She grabbed Vale by the elbow again as they ducked under the door with the numbers 9 and 4 poorly plastered above it.

Inside the hangar bay was a vessel far too small for the landing pad, but the image sent chills down Vale’s spine nonetheless. It was one of Revan’s ships. A basic Imperial shuttle, nothing flashy, but she could tell by the armor plating that it had come from the Star Forge all those years ago. Or was the damn thing still suspended in space, churning out ships for all eternity?

The girl rushed Vale up into the belly of the ship, ignoring her wide-eyed stare. She could hardly afford a good look at the thing before boarding the on-ramp with stumbling steps. Before she could ask any more questions, Asra pulled her aboard, taking her hand as she reached the inner belly of the small beast.

“What a day, huh?” the Togruta teased, though the anguish was clear on her face.

Vale nodded, wondering if she had wandered into a dream, as the loading ramp closed behind them.

What a day, indeed. And it wasn’t over yet.

[the-brodiac]

The Red-Eyed Lied (SagAqua Human!AU) ch. 5

Warnings: ESL grammar, food, alcohol, smoking, NSFW jokes, I live in a small town with no library

Word count: 2371

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Chapter 5: Immersion

   “The original plan was”, Veto spoke up as we head to the twins’ room that afternoon. “When Caleb’s roommate calls for his usual alcohol errand boy, we connect him to Dragon instead. He’s the principal… Oh no, don’t worry, he’s chill. It won’t get him kicked out if he’s smart but it’ll still be hilariously awkward.”

    “Wow”, I replied, not sure what to say. “You guys know how to do that?”

    “We have our ways”, Quinn told me, quickening his pace.

    “And how do you guys get all the information to this?”

    “Well, I’m an errand boy in this school as well, so I know ‘im”, Sag said with a smile. “People pay me to sneak out and buy ‘em stuff from shops around here, except I don’t buy alcohol like Caleb’s does. Everything else is from our ‘dataminer’, Oliver. He’s one of the guys in charge of the lakehouse trade and has lots of connection.”

    “The only thing stopping you from buying alcohol is your wrong fake ID and your baby face”, Quinn chimed in, snickering.

    Sag rolled his eyes. I stifled a laugh.

    We finally reached their dorm room, situated in the second floor of a different building from mine and Sag’s. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Theirs was a bit larger than any room here I’ve visit, with painted walls that actually isn’t peeling off and furnitures that looks like they didn’t come from an abandoned backyard. No offense, Sag, I love you and I love your couch.

    “You’ve even got a balcony!” I exclaimed, running towards it to check out the view. “And close route to the bathroom! And an actual working fan! Fuck you!”

    They both laughed, plopping down to the (nicer) bottom bunk bed. Sag walked over to me and looked out of the balcony as well. You can barely see the lake from here, but the main school building and one of the neighbouring girls’ dorm are visible.

    “Nice place, huh?” Sag said, as if he owns the place.

    “I’m still wondering what kind of privilege these guys have to end up here”, I retorted.

    “This room is originally for exchange students, but we never even have one, so we claimed it. Oh, and the furnitures are ours”, Quinn explained, stretching and laying down. “Aaand our parents are members of the board. Aaaaand we’re rich.”

    “Wow. My parents won’t even get me McDonalds when they’re out”, I said.

    “Anyways”, Veto got up, pulling out a wheeled whiteboard from behind their closet. “About the plans… We need to brainstorm a prank that can compare to what he did to Aquarius. Quinn?”

   Quinn didn’t move from his position. “Yeah, that. Hmm. Well, the best way to find a personalized prank is look for inspirations from the target’s routine, since it’s meant to be surprising. Is he doing anything special soon?”

   “Y’know Michelle from History class?” Sag went to the nearby couch and sat down. I joined him. “Samesh said he was invited to a Richard party hosted by her this Friday… or Saturday? Well, guess who’s gonna DJ? Caleb.”

    “Oh yeah, we knew about that.”

    “Wanna call the police on them or some shit?”

    “That’s gonna involve innocent people… Even if they’re Richards. And it’s too simple.”

    “Also it kinda broke the first Millennium rule.”

    “Doesn’t pranking in general broke the first Millennium rule?”

    All three of them turn their heads towards me. I looked around awkwardly.

    “I mean”, I began. “You’re basically interfering with someone’s daily lives. Not that I don’t like pranking and appreciate you guys doing this to avenge me or anything.”

    “The rule’s unofficial, it… doesn’t have to be black and white, and… Uh, nevermind, I have no defense”, Veto muttered, writing some points about the Richard party on the whiteboard. “It’s just fun to do.”

    Quinn yawned loudly. “Maybe the biggest prank of all is that we come to the party and have fun with the Richards. He would never expect that. We’d blow all his expectations and he’d be so embarrassed he’s wrong. I’m a fucking genius. Veto, write that down.”

    “Quinn…”

    “I’m joking”, the blue-eyed twin quickly said when he caught Sag glaring at him.

    “I’ll put that as Plan E, just because”, Veto retorted.

    “Seriously?!”

    “God, then help come up with something, Kieron!”

    Sag bit on his nails. “…We can switch out his songs to somethin’ completely different?”

    “Predictable, hard to manage in a few days, but classic and appreciated. Thanks Sagittarius”, Veto wrote it on the board as Plan D. Sag visibly rolled his eyes. I gave him a pat.

    “Do you have anything, smartypants?” Veto questioned, turning to me.

    “Yeah, can you hack stuff?” Quinn added.

    “A bit, but nothing really useful”, I replied. Besides, I do robotics all day, not practicing my hacking skills. “I tried to think of something outside the box, but it’s going to sound really… dumb.”

    “Oh, dumb ideas are good”, Sag said. “Make it so dumb he’ll never see it comin’.”

+++

    “It takes ‘bout a day for Oliver to datamine what we’ll need, so in the meantime we’re just gonna go shopping for our materials”, Sag told me after we returned to our own dorm later on that day without the twins. “C’mon, we’ll pay the lakehouse a visit.”

    The twins wanted me to have “experience”, so they keep telling me to tag along Sag. But we haven’t even been back for 5 minutes, yet he’s already pulling me out of the room again, and out of the building. We made our way towards the woods across from the lake I’ve been curious about. It was a bit of a walk, having to go around the lake, and the woods are even worse, as the ground is anything but flat and there’s always some tree root sticking out to trip anyone who pass. I’d probably get lost pretty quickly without Sag.

    “So, no teacher ever caught you guys in here?” I broke the silence.

    “Well, the lake and everything else beyond that is actually not the school’s properties, so they’re technically not responsible for whatever we do ‘ere after school hours end.”

    “What a school.”

    “Yeah, but some of the more caring guys like Tiger checks around the lake every now and then. He’s never gone deep into the woods though. Afraid to get lost, probably.”

    Sag, who noticed me struggling with keeping up, stopped and offered his hand with a smile. I smiled back and took it.

    Finally, we reached the old abandoned farmhouse they keep referring to as the lakehouse. I don’t even see a lake. Maybe it’s deeper in the woods. There were some other people there, but Sag didn’t let go of my hand. I don’t mind. This feels pretty nice. A few people were chatting close by, group of people smoking were sitting at the porch, and there’s a guy asleep on a tree.

“…Okay, it’s actually only active on weekends”, Sag told me.

    We walked towards the porch. I watched the smokers blow smoke rings and do tricks and compare them to each other’s. One of them caught me. “Do you want one or something?”

    “…Can I?”

    “Oh God”, Sag said. “Aqua, it’s better for ya’ if ya’ don’t start.”

    “We’re gonna die soon anyways, Archibald”, the girl who offered me one retorted, helping me light the cigarette in my mouth. “Just don’t try it for the second time if you’re afraid of becoming addicted. That’s when you start reconsidering it and adapting… Personal experience.”

    I inhaled. Oh, and then I was coughing. Pretty hard. I collapsed on my knees and held my throat, wheezing.

    Everyone but Sag seems to be laughing. I was still gasping for breath. Now Sag is panicking. He asked me if I need some water. I told him I need death.

    At least these guys don’t need to be worrying about me trying it the second time and becoming addicted then. I’m never doing that again. Don’t smoke kids.

     Slightly leaning against Sag for support, he helped me in. Inside the lakehouse, there was only a single guy there. He looks like the kind of guy that would punch everybody in the room. He sat on a recliner that looks like it will fall apart anytime soon, his legs propped on a dusty coffee table next to a laptop and an ashtray, while blowing out smoke rings to the ceiling. Of course.

    “If you’re looking for Oliver, he’s in his room. Jacking off, probably”, he spoke when we approached close.

    “Actually Mered, I’m wondering if there’s anyone who’s got a shit ton of sugar for caramel on your list. I’ve got stuff to buy”, Sag replied. Mered sat up straight with an eyebrow raised. Then he reached for the laptop, placed it on his lap, and began scanning the screen (from the reflection on his glasses, it seems to be an excel file). Well, at least this guy doesn’t question much about what we’re up to.

    “…Nope, you have to go grocery shopping yourself. But Frankie from your building’s got some caramel popcorn, that’s pretty close. He’s in room 14”, Mered finally said after a while.

    “Seriously, nothing? What about anything sweet?”

    “Archibald, you know these depressed teenagers only live off coffee, instant food and underage drinking. Hm, but Casey from building 2, room 9 has got bubblegum ‘to sneak in in class’. Sam from building 3, room 2’s got a month old apples to get rid of, those are sweet… if she keeps them in a fridge. Zoey from building 3, room 17 has tea, but I don’t think they’re up for sale, just trade. She’s looking for… Uh, booze. Amazing. That’s pretty early during the school year.”

    Sag sighed. “Well, whatever, going out it is. I have to pick up some pads and ice cream for Cadence anyway.”

     “And two packs of the usual for me. Get them by tomorrow”, The redhead in front of him added, motioning to his cigarette and taking out some money from his pocket. Sag took the money, but Mered’s gaze drifted towards his other hand holding mine.

     “Cute catch. But he looks too tame for you, in my opinion.”

     “We’re just friends” “Gee, thanks”, Sag and I quickly said simultaneously. Also what the hell is that supposed to mean? Too tame? I’ve been rigging vending machines my whole life. What can you do, blow smoke rings in people’s faces and not cough your lungs out?

    Mered just rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me squealing when you jinxed it.”

+++

    At school the next day, gossip seems to have spread a bit, because everyone I come across in the halls threw me pity looks. Well, at least I’m not a subject of laughter, I guess. Some sneered, but Sag said they’re just Richards. Even Cancer greeted me as if he’s going to a funeral… My funeral. He seems embarrassed in my place. I quietly told him not to worry with a pat.

    Aside from the stares, Sag and I have been avoiding Caleb nonstop. We don’t always have classes together, but everyone else helped me in other ways, such as Libra who diligently saves me a seat near him. What an angel.

    “Can you guys go deliver this to Oliver today?” Quinn said in a quiet voice during lunchtime, handing Sag a hardcover book. The cafeteria is pretty noisy, so I don’t know why he even bothered.

    “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the book with my fork.

    “Uh, Watership Down”, Sag replied, reading the cover. “Oliver helps out in the school library all afternoon today, right when we have study hour after this. Libra also helps there sometimes.”

    Okay, but this is such a random timing. Is this how the librarian dataminer receive payment? Having people return books on time? That’s actually believable.

    “What about the party plan an’ stuff?” The purple-haired guy next to me turned back to them.

    “Oh, he sent in everything already”, Veto answered while texting, barely touching his salad from before. “Exact schedule, address of place, guest list, which people from Millennium are gonna help set-up, dresscode, even menu – down until every booze. Oliver’s insane.”

    “Holy shit. Are you sure he’s trustable?” I can’t help but wonder. Insane is right.

    “Yeah, his shitty ex was a Richard, so he hates them. Besides, he’s been working with us for a year, and the dude knows we pay… There. I told him you guys are coming. Now shoo and take that book far with you.”

    Fortunately, none of the teachers here give a damn about what we do during study hour, so when the next hour start, Sag and I slipped off from class easily. The library is located in a different building, and on the walk there I was surprised by Sag suddenly grabbing my hand.

    “Um…”

    “Ah! S-Sorry, haha… It just seems right to do now, y’know?” He quickly said, all flustered, immediately letting go. Well, we did come back to our room still holding hands yesterday.

    “No, no, it’s fine! I was just a bit surprised”, I assured, grabbing his. “Come on.”

    The library is perhaps the most depressing and non-liveliest place in this godforsaken school. There’s like one or two people not including the librarian himself, typing away something at the computer on the checkout desk. This is Oliver, I suppose. Sag waste no time chatting and handed him Watership Down without a word.

    “I’ve been expecting you two. Thank you for returning your book on time.”

    Oliver looked up with a subtle smile that makes me feel like being in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and he’s enjoying my psychological torment. He flipped through the book quickly and slipped a white envelope from inside it into his pocket very swiftly. Then he stamped the book and stuff, before slipping it into the to-be-put-back tray.

    “This is a bit ridiculous. Can’t you guys just use PayPal or something?” I whispered.

    “Immersion, Tinia”, Oliver scoffed. “Immersion. Look, whatever it is you’re doing in that party, make sure you do a good job of it. That wine balloon prank is just distasteful.”

    “Will do, Sir”, Sag smirked and saluted, pulling me back to class.

 +++

((Hey, sorry it’s been a while! I’m living as a NEET for the time being, so I might as well try to finish this. Oliver and Mered were supposed to be Scorpibra and Scorpittarius cusps.))

((…BTW sorry for the awkward pacing in this chapter. I haven’t written anything for months rip))