#me rotating him and how his entire life has been shaped around violence of all forms

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Also more rambling but-

I think why I like writing the pirate au for Tar so much is just it lets me write him in ways I don't usually get to and I've rambled to Egg plenty about it, but being able to write about his complicated relationship to touch and especially authority is interesting. There's also how he has to unlearn what's allowed him to survive for so long aka how he approaches genuine connections with people and not just being what the other person wants so he can get what he wants. It's neat, I don't know.

[spookyold-saintjm]

sleep.

[gif: @pascvl]

Din doesn’t sleep much, because what his dreams often tell him are things he doesn’t want to face. Things he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to face.

The Mandalorian x female reader

Warnings: language, brief mentions of violence and death, a couple lines of implied smut

Word Count: 3k

a/n: Just a little something I’ve had on my mind lately. While this is a stand-alone one shot, I’m considering it Pilot canon, so yay if you follow along with that :) Trying to venture and write different pieces like this, so let me know what you think! x

—

Din doesn’t sleep much.

He knows rest is essential for his body, his mind. Knows that he has to get a certain amount of sleep to keep himself functioning. He’s not getting any younger; he can’t afford taking on jobs in any shape less than the best he can get in the midst of his circumstances. 

That’s why he’s trained his body to function in short naps, maybe a fuller rest every once in a while when he takes the rare couple days off. 

Though even those are almost always spent in the cramped quarters of the Razor Crest. It’s dull, dim, and cold, but he doesn’t see the need for any sort of luxury to just close his eyes for a few hours. Sometimes he takes the helmet off while he sleeps, sometimes he doesn’t. He tries not to.

Because then, he starts to wonder what the world would look like, sound like, feel like, if he stepped off his ship without the heavy beskar weighing him down. 

That’s when he knows he should at least try to sleep, when those thoughts start to creep in. Maybe he could escape into something else for a while.

Not that it would always make things any better. In fact, as he can feel himself drifting against his will, his back rested against the unforgiving durasteel walls of the Crest, arms crossed, head tipped back and eyes closed, he knows it might only get worse. 

Din doesn’t sleep much, because what his dreams often tell him are things he doesn’t want to face. Things he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to face.

There’s a select set of events that almost always come to Din when he falls victim to slumber. How they’re presented to him behind his eyelids might vary, but the idea of them is always the same. 

Most of them involve horizons of thick, stinging smoke, the sound of blaster fire and frantic shouting, the smell of blood and dirt, the feel of sweat or rain trickling down his face, of scrapes and bruises that he finds himself sometimes absently reaching for when he first wakes up. He’s reminded of things that he regrets he didn’t, couldn’t stop.

Sometimes there are faces. The warm, loving smiles of his mother and father. The heavy, stern but devoted masks of the Mandalorians who raised him. The round cheeks or shiny, new helmets of other foundlings he grew up with. Maybe even that one member of the covert that, so many years ago, had made it difficult for him to speak when they were around him, whose voice made his knees a hint unsteady, who he’d found excuses to spend extra time sparring with. The one that made his youthful mind wonder about what happens between two people when they spend a lot of time together and being companions or friends doesn’t really seem to be enough. Until they, too, disappeared, of course. He’s reminded of things that he misses.

Din doesn’t sleep much, because there’s no use in dwelling on the past. And that resolution doesn’t quite seem to reach his sleeping thoughts in the same way it does his waking ones.

When he somehow ended up traveling with the kid, a small creature with strange powers whose appearance and behavior vastly betrayed his age, whatever semblance of a sleep schedule Din once had was knocked off its axis. Traveling and working with a child around took Din up a steep learning curve full of trial and error, but one look into the tiny being’s bright eyes reminded Din why he’d gone back to retrieve him from the client in the first place. Even if he didn’t want to quite admit it to himself just yet.

The child is constantly filled with wonder at even the simplest things, his round face and long, pointed ears are so astoundingly expressive and it takes Din by surprise. He’s especially fascinated with how attentive, how absolutely taken the child appears when he speaks to him. And though the little one can’t speak back, Din finds himself talking more than he has in years, about anything and everything he thinks might be useful for him to know. He’s not sure if he even understands what’s being said, but Din figures it’s worth a try. Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two.

Once Din finally manages to get the child down for a night’s rest, he has to prioritize his choices about what needs to be done, to do things that he can’t typically accomplish while the kid’s awake. This works pretty well, for the most part. Except he finds himself thinking about the tiny thing more than he anticipated, and when it comes to taking a few minutes’ rest it’s either filled with worry that something could happen to the little one while he’s asleep, or he just simply can’t sleep at all.

Din doesn’t sleep much, because someone has to care for this child who has seen and been through perhaps as much as he has. Someone has to protect him, remind him that he’s safe now.

It goes on like this, for a while, until something else comes along that yet again shakes up everything Din thinks he knows about the world, about himself.

He meets her.

She needs better work, needs an escape from the backwater planet she’s found herself stuck on, where she makes ends meet but is teetering on the verge of collapse. He needs someone to help him take care of the child, whose boundless energy and bottomless appetite and unexplainable, magic-like tendencies are starting to become too much for him to handle on his own. 

She’s shrouded by a past that she won’t say much about, only that she’s more than qualified to help him with whatever work he needs. But she connects with the child almost immediately, claiming that practically raising her siblings, at least until they’d been separated for reasons she didn’t delve into, had given her a baseline of childcare knowledge.

For Din, this was enough, and they were traveling as a group of three.

Din and the newcomer don’t exchange many words, but they are both equally perceptive of one another. She quickly notices that Din offers to let her rest far more often than he takes time to rest for himself. When he doesn’t say much beyond a couple words of polite refusal when she tells him she’s got things under control for a while in the middle of a flight, she questions him about his sleep patterns.

He’s been taking short naps every now and then, of course. He has to if he wants to keep his guard up. Din doesn’t think she has any ill intention, but there’s something about her that just strikes him differently. Something that makes him not want to take his eyes off her for very long. He’s not sure what it is, but something feels different about her presence on the ship, about her. He reads it to be wariness.

He doesn’t sleep much, he says. Because he’s just always been that way. He doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t bring it up again, until they’ve been traveling together for a while and she notices he’s started to slow down. He’s been taking on a lot of work, both for credits to maintain the ship and to pay her for her services while the two of them work together to find answers on what exactly the child is, where he belongs, and how to get him there.

She finally convinces him to sleep, really sleep, one evening. And, eventually, he does.

He’s always brought back to his usual dreams, the ones that are more just dark thoughts he won’t allow to creep up on him while he’s awake. But now, the child has been added to his rotating list of faces. He’s being taken away by another bounty hunter or one of those gods-damned Imps that just seem to eternally stain the galaxy. He’s hurt, he’s alone. 

Sometimes, though it’s rare, things are better. He dreams of unfulfilled wishes he likewise doesn’t let himself linger on during his waking hours. Dreams of the child being safe. Of him being returned to a place where he belongs, rather than hopping from planet to planet with a tired bounty hunter who is known by many to be particularly cold and ruthless. They’re dreams that both put him at a temporary ease and yet hold a burning pressure onto his chest that almost feels like the same dull pain he feels when he thinks about all the others that he’s lost. He’s not sure what to think of it. So he decides he just won’t.

Din and his fellow human companion slowly learn, through both struggles and small moments between them and the child that break through the cracks of both of their quiet, hard-shelled exteriors, to understand each other. She’s smart, good with a blaster on the rare occasions it’s been warranted, pilots the ship like she could do it with her eyes closed, and doesn’t take an ounce of any bullshit he might ever try to feed her when it comes to remembering to take care of himself. He’s not sure how to take it. But he doesn’t neglect to offer her a quiet appreciation for the work she does, with a tight nod of his head or a muttered “thank you.”

But, Din still doesn’t sleep much. Because now his dreams are consumed by something entirely different.

He dreams about her in the same way he dreams about the child; at first, the worst things always happen. It’s what he’s come to expect, what he tries to stop but knows that it’s not always going to work out his way. In fact, most times it doesn’t. He keeps telling himself he can’t keep bringing more people into his life, knowing how they always end up. The guilt of it threatens to pull him under if he’s tempted to dwell on it for too long.

However, against any fraction of judgement that he possesses, he starts to think of her differently than he’s ever considered anyone before. It’s a faint resemblance of what he used to ponder about his sparring partner when he was far younger, but it’s so much more than that, so much more vivid and raw. His dreams take hold of the passing thoughts about her that he’s so quick to shut down while he’s awake, but they ruthlessly grip onto them in his scattered hours of slumber.

He dreams about how her face must lighten when she laughs, really laughs, and he doesn’t have the weight of the helmet hanging over his face and restricting the true, genuine sight of her in front of him. If her eyes would look any different if they truly met his. He dreams about how she smells, though he can catch a hint of it sometimes: notes of dirt and grease from hours spent dedicated to maintaining and building up the ship, but it’s combined with a hint of something light and floral and uniquely her that wafts through the air when they find themselves near each other perhaps a bit too closely than they’d each intended. About what it would feel like to touch her, how soft her skin would feel against his bare fingertips, in his hands. The taste of her mouth against his. The soft sounds she might make when she’s lying beneath him, both of them hot and wanting while they say things with their bodies that hesitant and maybe even fearful lips won’t allow either of them to speak aloud. 

Din doesn’t sleep much, because he’s ashamed of what his dreams continue to insist to him that he wants. It’s dangerous, and it’s selfish. Two things he can’t afford to be, no matter how badly he wants to give in.

The bad dreams have stuck with him for so long, have eaten away at who he thinks he is and make him near-paranoid about what he could still become, that he doesn’t know how to handle the possibility of something good, even if it’s right in front of him. But just when Din settles on the presumed fact that his life is now a straight-shot goal of getting the kid to his kind, he’s proven wrong.

They eventually find some information that might lead to answers about the child. They might finally be able to form a plan to get him home, where he belongs. Except, now Din is apprehensive of the moment that he’ll have to leave the little womp rat behind. He told himself he wasn’t going to feel this way, but dreaming or awake it’s a dread that sits heavy on his shoulders. 

He knows she can see it, too, knows he’s revealing more of himself to her than he ever intended. But what gets to him is that she doesn’t shy away from it. She takes it in, embraces it, accepts all these parts of him, in the very same way he’d done for her several weeks before when after a particularly rough job she had broken down and admitted to the horrible things she’d done in her past, everything that she thought would incriminate her, make him see her as nothing. 

None of it matters to him, because he trusts who she is now, she’s proven herself time and time again. It’s a trust that she reciprocates, and one that Din doesn’t take lightly.

And on one late night when the ever-increasing tension woven between their lingering stares and fleeting touches threatens to snap, they both cave in to the need they’ve hidden from each other for months. It’s slow and delicate only until it’s fast and heavy and they’re both left breathless in pitch darkness.

Din doesn’t sleep much, because he’s hanging on to both her and the night, knowing that letting go meant it was over and the possibility of another moment that would even come close to this wasn’t promised.

One evening, a while later, Din is returning from the nearest village from where they’ve landed the Crest for a night to stretch legs for a bit, though they knew any reason to prolong their journey meant more than that. He’d gone to scope out the village for any threats, while she stayed behind with the child to feed him dinner. 

Upon his return, he finds no sign of either of them, and he immediately assumes the worst. He’s trying to keep a steady mind as he loads his rifle and readies himself to go guns-blazing after whoever has so foolishly taken them.

He’s gasping for breath when he finds them just a few minutes later. Their backs are to him as they sit side-by-side near the water’s edge of the nearby lake. The child’s tiny, clawed hands are weaving softly through the thin blades of grass, but his eyes, like hers as she sits with her knees tucked to her chest, are focused on the soft feathering of purples and reds of a setting sun that paints the horizon beyond. There’s a soft glow cast over the both of them that makes them appear almost golden and surreal, as if they’re not really even there at all.

He watches them. He waits in silence until the child senses his presence and turns around, waving his arms and babbling at him. She smiles when she turns to look at the source of the child’s sudden excitement, and asks if he wants to join them. 

Din wants to be angry with her for venturing off without telling him first, for making him think something horrible had happened to them. He wants to order them both back to the ship so they can just get the hell off this planet and move on. He doesn’t.

The child climbs into Din’s lap when he begrudgingly lowers himself to the ground, and falls asleep almost immediately after curling himself into the Mandalorian’s arms. The woman next to him holds back a laugh, and meets Din’s gaze for a flash of a moment before she looks on to the sky ahead. There’s a breath of hesitation, but then she leans her head softly against the contrastingly hard and unforgiving beskar covering Din’s shoulder. They stay there until the sky darkens and the sun is long out of sight.

He wonders if she feels any semblance of what he’s feeling in that moment. Like he’s standing in the doorway of one of his dreams. One of the better ones.

That night, Din lays with his eyes open despite the room’s complete darkness, listening to the steady rise and fall of her breaths beside him. Her back is turned, always turned to him in the rare nights they’ve shared a bed out of respect for the commitment he has made to never reveal his face to another living thing.

He doesn’t realize she’s also awake until the sound of her whispered voice permeates the stillness in the room. 

“Din,” she breathes as she tucks herself slightly deeper against him, the sound of his real name falling from her lips always threatening to melt away every bit of the stoic, hardened exterior he’s worn for so long. “Sleep.”

It’s a command she’s given him many times before, often in teasing. But here, like this, it carries a different weight, says far more than the single word that she actually speaks.

Din doesn’t sleep much because he fears that none of this is anything he can have forever. There’s still the very real and hovering and heart-shattering possibility that he may eventually have to let them both go, and he feels like it’s coming faster than he can keep up with.

But he’s tired. And she’s warm. And the child is safe, lightly and contentedly snoring in his pod just a few feet away.

Din doesn’t sleep much. But on that night, he at least sleeps well.

[myfriendscallmecoelophysis]

fragile tiny shells

Dedicated to @transvav and @the-nerf-house 

Its the atla AU fic where I hurt Jordan a bunch based on one day where @fanwp and I went absolutely feral on the poor guy. TW: blood, violence, character death, general sadness/angst

When he’d left his forest to join these people, Jordan had not expected to make connections with them. If he’d had his way, he would have stayed in his tree and away from the rest of the world. He’d done his time as a hero, let someone else save the day this time. But then he’d seen the Avatar, the uncertainty in her eyes at what the future would hold, not to mention Ianite’s less than subtle pushing that he helped them. There were other waterbenders, the Avatar and her motley crew could go bother one of them. He'd left his home with them nonetheless and against all odds, had started to view them as friends. They still knew next to nothing about him, they’d only just found out he was a waterbender, but he did have to admit it was nice to have others around for a change.

He and Sonja were resting during one of their lessons. The pond near their camp was hidden under a shaded canopy of trees, a small creek feeding it from some mountain spring far away. There was a cave system beneath them, carved out by years of the pond dripping down through the earth. It was today’s lesson, for Sonja to begin feeling the water all around her and learn to discern between different sources. She’d had some success so far, she knew the pond was losing water somewhere but hadn’t been able to fully pinpoint it yet. 

“One of the monks at the temple where Wag and I grew up used to say that by tracing the wind we could trace the past. The theoretical stuff was never my strong suit in the way it was Wag’s but I guess this is kind of the same idea isn’t it?” 

“In a way I suppose. There are some who say that water has memories,” he paused, hesitating in saying more. If he wasn’t careful he would tread dangerously close to words that he’d heard in his village. Before she could press for more he pulled a rivulet of water from the pond, swirling it around his fingers. “If you can learn to follow its path you can find every place it’s ever been. This pond for example. It’s been here for so long that none of the water that originally contained within it is left, it’s been refilled over and over by the creek which in turn is filled by a stream that flowed from a spring in the mountains fed from melting ice each season. We’ve talked about how there is water in everything and no matter what it is, it originated somewhere.” 

“A body changes water into blood but that does not erase its memory of being water. Control that water and you control the blood and the body.” A voice sneered in his memories. 

But then another spoke over it “I can pull the blood to places where the body needs more healing from within. I guess there is some benefit to be had from this ‘skill’.” Martha had always been the more positive one of the two of them but he’d always been grateful to her for that. 

“Jordan?” Sonja’s voice drew him out of his reverie. 

“Sorry, what was I saying?”

~

They finish for the day, rejoining the group back at camp. The sound of raucous laughter greets them as they emerge from the trees. A fire has been made, fish already roasting on sticks around it. 

“And Jeriah was all ‘You guys really thought Tom had a chance at being Mianite’s Champion? He’s been nothing but chaotic his whole life!’” Tucker was saying, a hand on his stomach as he laughed. 

“Sonja! Tell us a funny Wag story from when you were kids!” Tom demanded when he spotted them coming into the clearing. 

“Uh when we were learning how to use our gliders he ran into-”

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Wag interrupted. 

“THE SIDE OF THE-” Sonja started yelling, a smile on her face as Wag tried to tackle her. She ran from him and in moments they were air-stepping higher and higher, the rest of the group laughing right along with them. 

Ianite brushed up against his ankles to get his attention, meowing up at him. “You look upset.” She said as he gently lifted her to his shoulder. 

He feigned a yawn, muttering “I'm fine” behind his hand. Her ears flicked back in displeasure but didn’t push him. He took a seat on one of the rock seats Tom or Tucker had made, a fairly standard practice at this point. None of them really wanted to deal with chopping down trees every time they had a fire so it just made more sense for one of the earthbenders to make small pillar seats for everyone. 

“What about you Jordan? What’s your family like?” Dec asked, rotating the fish skewers he could reach. 

He felt Ianite stiffen, her claws lightly pricking into his shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of her presence past the weight of her around his neck. The thing was, part of him did want to tell them. The part of him that ached to get the weight of everything he’d endured off of his chest. Talking to Ianite about it was one thing, she had been with him through most of his life and knew about the parts she’d not been with him for. It was another to talk to people he hardly knew even if he had been travelling with them for several weeks now. 

He cleared his throat and calmly said “They’re gone now. It’s just me and My Lady.” It was handy that they all thought Ianite’s name was Lady, it made addressing her properly easier to explain. For his part, Dec looked abashed at having brought it up. 

“Jordan, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine, you didn’t know. No harm done.” 

It took a few minutes for the awkward tension to dissipate but eventually it did, talk turning back to stories from the other’s childhoods. They all wisely refrained from asking Jordan about his own. 

The moon was high above when they decided to call it a night, Tucker pulling the pillars back into the ground while Karl bolstered the fire to make sure it would burn well into the night and keep them warm. Sometimes, when they were close to towns or in dangerous territory someone would stay up and keep watch but tonight, this far from any sign of civilization it was decided that it was unnecessary. Nevertheless Jordan climbed into a large tree on the edge of the clearing, bending and shaping the branches and leaves to make himself a platform to sleep on. He preferred it this way, a better vantage point and easily defensible if something were to happen. Plus, should the absolute worse happen, he could disappear into the forest further. 

“Goodnight My Champion” Ianite purred as she settled in next to his head, the tip of her tail barely brushing his hair. They’d come to the understanding long ago that they both slept better with the other next to them but Jordan tossed and turned too much in the night for her to sleep directly on him. 

“Goodnight Milady.” 

~

He could hear shouting as he came to awareness. Screams of terror and desperate yelling. He was at home, not the treehouse in the forest, but his real home. Instantly, Jordan realized that this was a nightmare. A nightmare he’d had dozens if not hundreds of times since it had happened. He knew how it went and that he had no choice but to just let it play out unless Ianite sensed his distress and woke him up. 

He leapt from his bed and threw on his coat and gloves. The village was already in flames, the buildings not made of stone or wood crumbling and melted. 

“Captain!” One of his Lieutenants called out, running over. 

“What’s going on?” Jordan asked. Inherently he knew but the dream would run its course no matter how much he tried to stop or change it. He was a viewer in his own body. 

“Firebenders sir, at least three ships from the Fire Nation, with more on the horizon. The breached the walls somehow just as the sun was rising. We’ve managed to slow the assault but sir, we’re outnumbered.” His face was pleading, waiting for answers, waiting for hope, waiting for Jordan to say that they had a chance. There was nothing he could say. Their village was not a large one, not like the Water Tribe Capital at the North Pole or even the City in the far South. They were a small village dedicated to Lady Ianite and her Temple. 

“Continue your efforts, round up who you can and focus on keeping the invaders away from the Temple. Surely they’re after Lady Ianite. And if anyone figures out just who they are, tell me immediately. This is unlike followers of Dianite to just openly attack.” The Lieutenant bowed quickly and the two separated to run in opposite directions. 

Jordan encountered half a dozen firebenders on his way to the Temple. Each moment spent defending himself or his people was a moment that Ianite could be in danger. He loathed taking lives of any kind, he couldn’t even bring himself to butcher a fish, not after what had happened. Instead he left a trail of frozen, struggling enemies buried up to their necks in ice. They could melt their way out of course but it would take time and the cold would sap their strength. 

He passed Sola’s home, affording a quick peek inside to ensure that she had things under control and that all the children whose guardians were fighting were taking cover, including his own little brother. She reacted the moment he entered, nearly spearing him through the eye with an icicle. They’d trained her well enough at least. “Jordan, thank Ianite you’re here! Jerry ran away, he said something about wanting to help you-” He tuned out for a moment with a frustrated breath. Why couldn’t his little brother ever do as he was told? Now was not the time to try and play hero. 

“I’ll find him, stay here. Keep yourself and the rest of the kids safe.” He ordered, running back out the door, absently putting up a wall of ice to provide another layer of protection. 

As he ran through the village towards the Temple he kept his eyes open for a flash of green. Jerry was just about the only person in the entire village that wore colors besides shades of blue, white or grey and he always without fail wore the green scarf that their Father had sent him years ago. Their Father had been a travelling merchant who’d fallen in love with their Mother when he’d come to the village. He’d visited periodically until Mother had died but hadn’t said a word to either Jordan or Jerry since. Presumably he was still alive somewhere but Jordan hardly cared, he’d only seen his Father a handful of times in his life and never for very long. Jerry, the hopeless optimist he was, was determined that their Father would come back for them one day. Jordan had long since given up on the same idea. 

He saw the smoke rising from the Temple before he got there, sliding to a stop on the hard packed snow. His guards were doing their job valiantly, holding in formation at the top of the steps while their enemy shot blast after blast of fire at them and the Temple itself. Pulling the water from a nearby channel, Jordan rushed in, riding the wave he’d made as it surged towards the firebenders. The new angle caught them off guard and all five were swept in the current, frozen within it as Jordan leapt away. 

“Lady Ianite?” He questioned, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Inside sir! Kana and Tarno are with her now.” 

“I’ll take her out of the village, Taika, Sani, guard my back, the rest of you go help where you can. And if anyone happens to see Jerry, take him back to Sola for Ianite’s sake.” Where normally there would be snickers at their Captain’s brothers antics, today there were only crisp nods of understanding. This was no time for jokes.

Forming a trident was as easy as breathing, the ice cool and smooth beneath his glove. He truly didn’t need it but he felt better with a physical weapon in his hand, something concrete that he could use faster than he could gesture for water. In the end he would always rely on water though. 

“It is everywhere dear boy. There is nowhere in this world that a waterbender is truly unarmed.” A voice hissed in his mind. Jordan tightened his grip on the trident, tight enough that fractures cracked along the shaft. No. He had grown past those lessons. Lady Ianite had taught him and helped him heal from his past. He didn’t belong to them. Not anymore. 

He took a calming breath, willing his heartbeat to slow. He needed to stay focused. If they wanted any chance at surviving this battle, he needed to keep a steady head. 

Ianite looked up when he entered her chamber. “Captain, something is very wrong.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, one he’d come to recognize as her sight.  There was more at play here than a simple raid. He really should have expected as much. His life was never simple. 

“Milady we have to go. It’s not safe in the village.” He reached to take her hand when an explosion erupted from behind them. Jordan threw up a shield to block him and Ianite from the worst of it, but still the force flung them both into the ground. When he opened his eyes, it was horribly, gut-wrenchingly bright in what was normally a darkened room. The Temple was in ruin around them, the last vestiges of the structure collapsing into piles of snow and ice. Jordan heard Ianite give a whimper of anguish but he didn’t look, his own gaze focused on the massive chunk of ice that now lay where his guards had been standing. He’d lost warriors before, both before Ianite had found him and after she’d made him Captain of her guard. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

“Ianite, we have to leave, now.” The words felt heavy in his throat and turning away took actual effort. He reached out a hand to help her to her feet and allowed just the slightest hint of his old teachings to slip into him now, just enough to let him get through this day without his emotions taking control. 

What lay outside the Temple ruins was not a much better sight. Massive fireballs rained from the sky, exploding on impact to send clouds of snow rubble into the air. They had already been fighting a losing battle but he’d managed to force what little hope he could, now, looking at the remains of the village, even that hope was beginning to bleed from him. That was when his eyes fell upon the figure standing at the base of the stairs.

They were clothed in shades of black and red, hair a deep rippling shade of burgundy. Their lips were curled into a sadistic grin, chaos alight in their eyes. Twin daggers of flame extended from each of their closed fists, the fire growing to a pair of crackling swords as they locked eyes with Jordan. 

“So the Champion finally emerges.” They called up to him. “A shame it took me destroying your entire village to draw you out of hiding. But I do as My Lord bids.” and it's the pointed way the title is spoken that makes Jordans veins turn to ice. He let go of Ianite's hand and stepped forward, his challengers grin growing even wider. “Nothing to say Champion? I expected more from you after what I've heard of your abilities.” 

Jordan shed his coat and gloves, letting his trident melt back to water and fall to the ground. “Stay here.” He ordered Ianite softly. She was a goddess yes, but he wanted her nowhere near this lunatic that had razed his home. She nodded, respecting him and his judgement well enough to listen. 

He descended the stairs slowly, flexing fingers and muscles to warm them up. He was the best bender in the village, that was a fact he was confident about, but if his suspicions were correct, the person before him had been trained by or at least served the same Master that had trained Jordan. There was no telling what they might be capable of. 

As he reached the ground, he fell easily into his bending stance, hands loosely raised in front of him and feet planted, ready to react at a moment's notice. The fire in his foe’s hands crackled then extinguished as they got into their own bending stance. 

“I look forward to returning your corpse to My Lord.” They sneered, teeth bared. 

Jordan did not speak, he wouldn’t waste breath rising to taunts. Instead he simply raised a questioning eyebrow, sliding his foot just so as his opponent lunged.

~

He didn’t relive the fight. He didn't remember each and every move he made like he did the words he said that day. Lady Ianite however, did. He watched himself through her eyes as she had shown him the very first time he’d asked to see. It had helped with his trauma somewhat at first but as he began to watch the fight over and over in his mind, it only made things worse. He saw each and every little mistake he’d made; every missed strike, every misplaced foot or wrist, every hit he took. Jordan considered this fight to be one of the most formative and important of his life and he’d lost. He wondered constantly that if he hadn’t made those mistakes, if he had dodged one fire blast or another or landed a well placed water whip or ice blade, could the outcome had been changed?

Jordan watched himself stumble backwards, feet slipping on ice he was normally so sure footed on, chest heaving from exertion and burns marring his exposed skin. He still had scars from one or two of the larger ones that couldn’t be fully healed. His opponent stalked forward, expression manic and unhinged. “I expected better from you!” They taunted, releasing a gout of flame from their fist that Jordan barely blocked. “The great Champion of Ianite, fallen before me!” another blast punctuated the statement and oh how Jordan remembered this moment. 

He could feel the heat on his face, the steam in the air, the ice beneath him. He saw the flash of green across the courtyard but could not bring himself to shout a warning. He watched as a snowball as big as his head crashed into the side of his opponent's face and heard Jerry’s cry of “Leave my brother alone!” The Darkness’ minion turned with a snarl and then the world was moving in slow motion. 

He was yelling, trying to scramble to his feet. Ianite was shouting from above him. And Jerry’s eyes were wide, terrified, reflecting the light of the fire. Jordan raised a hand desperately, all thought of forms or proper training gone, relying on instinct alone. He can feel the water in Jerry’s blood at the tip of his fingers, fear striking him instantly at the recognition. He hesitates, just a fraction of a moment but it’s long enough. 

The world blurs, tears, steam, smoke, fire and white hot burning fury unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He can’t breath, can’t even scream. He’s not in his body anymore, instead watching again through Ianite’s eyes and thoughts. She’s crying, her own vision hazy. She watches him get to his feet and raise his arms, expression as hard as the crystalline ice that had once stood around them. 

She had never shown him the entirety of this memory out of care for his psyche, only glimpses. She had seen the hurricane that rampaged through the remains of the village, indiscriminate and all consuming. She had watched the ice stain with streaks of red and smudges of ash, the last foundations of the buildings crumbling back to the snow they were made from. All she can do is go to Jerry and shield him from the storm. She is a goddess but she is no bender. There is so little she herself can do for the child. She cradled him in her arms, blocking him from the biting wind and stinging fragments of ice. 

Ianite cries. She cries for her village. She cries for her people. She cries for the child in her arms. She cries for her Champion. She cries because of how utterly useless she feels at this moment. The storm rages until there is nothing left of the village and softly Ianite calls to her Champion. She knows he will not hear her spoken voice, lost in his agony as he is, instead she calls gently into his mind, coaxing him back from the precipice of self destruction. 

“My Champion, your brother needs you. Please.” Slowly, the storm begins to subside, the ice turning to rain and then to gentle snowfall. Jordan is in the center of the village, knelt, unmoving in the rubble. “Jordan.” She called to him with as much care as she could. He was so very fragile in the moment, as he had been when they had first met. She would go to him if she could, but she was afraid that even the slightest movement would further hinder Jerry’s dwindling chances of survival. 

Jordan looked towards her, expression blank and eyes glassy. Shakily he got to his feet and began to walk towards her. She could see the weakness in him with every step and her hopes for Jerry grew smaller and smaller. Jordan may be capable of healing, but he was never the best at it and in this state she was afraid he may not have the strength. He crumpled to the ground before her, reaching out to take his brother in his own arms and hold him close. 

He’s in his own mind once more, looking down at Jerry’s body. They’re both covered in blood and the smell of it makes Jordan’s stomach roil. The green scarf is hardly more than a charred scrap of fabric around Jerry’s neck, his clothes and hair scorched. Jordan raised a hand, ignoring the way it shook and his body protested, pulling forth as much water as he could muster. He guided it to pool around the worst of Jerry’s burns, trying to focus on healing, on aligning the energy paths and chakras. But as he felt Jerry’s heartbeat slow further and further, it became all he could focus on. 

“No.” He breathed, anger bubbling back to life at his inability. He reached for the blood, forcing it to circulate. Forcing it to keep his heart beating and lungs moving. He could not, would not, let Jerry die. Not now. Not because of this. Every muscle in Jordan’s body was quivering from exertion but still he continued. He could hear the echo of the Darknesses' praise in his mind, every word about bloodbending and how it was the ultimate skill, how he was to be a Champion for his mastery of it. 

“Then why isn’t it working?!” He demanded, shouting back at the honeyed praise. Because he knew that it wasn’t. Jerry wasn’t healing, his body was being forced to remain alive by the push and pull of his blood throughout it. 

It was Ianite who finally stopped him, wrapping a delicate, bloodstained hand around his wrist. He looked up to glare at her but his anger melted to misery in an instant at the sight of her tear streaked face. She let go of his wrist to wrap her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” Jordan whispered. “I’m so sorry.” It’s not just an apology to Ianite; but an apology to Jerry, to the village, to the mother he’d lost long ago and the father he’d lost even further back. It’s an apology to everyone he’d ever known that had suffered because of him or the Darkness or the ties that had bound them together against his will. It won’t do anything to bring anyone back, nothing would. 

“I’m here Jordan. You’re not alone. Not anymore.” Ianite says in his mind and then he’s waking up.

~

Ianite is curled on his chest, head tucked under his chin. She’s purring so loud it's a wonder she hasn't woken him sooner. 

“I’m here My Champion. You’re not alone. Never again.”

[steebharringt0n]

sanctuary - part 3

summary: Subject 001. That’s what you’ve been called your whole life. You’ve known nothing but pain, violence, and isolation. You were their greatest secret weapon, but when your final mission is to ensure the end of the universe, you escape to Hawkins, Indiana to team up with Eleven and to put an end to all this chaos, once and for all - you just never expected to fall in love with the resident bad boy along the way.

rating: m

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

warning: graphic violence, slurs, abuse, curse words.

A/N: fuck episode 8. i am so upset. thank god for fanfiction amirite? i was too emotionally distrought to think of a better ending for this chapter, but things start picking up next chapter - i will include what happened to billy in season 3 in this story, with some obvious tweaks.

tagged list: @thefandomzoneisdangerous

001. prologue 002. firestarter

---

003. spitfire

“Pick your poison”

You stared at the plastic menu in front of you, not entirely sure what any of these foods were. It’s not like they fed you burgers and fries over at the military base. The options were overwhelming to you. Pancakes, hot dogs, milkshakes … was any of this good?

“I - I don’t know what to get …”

Billy put down his menu and stared at you, taking in your features a lot better now that you both sat under the bright light of the diner. Your (Y/H/C) hair was messy, as if it hadn’t been washed in days. The bruises around face, especially the one near your cheek looked more colorful than before. Hues of purple and yellow contrasted against your (Y/S/C) skin. The dark bags under your eyes made it seem as if you hadn’t slept in days.

You hadn’t.

“What, you’ve never had a cheeseburger before?” he questioned incredulously. You shook your head, “No, I don’t even know what this pancake food is. Is it any good?”

Billy scoffed loudly, “You’re joking right?”

Your eyes shifted around, cocking your head to the side, “No Billy, why would I lie to you?” your voice spoke softly.

He was taken aback by your comment. His shoulders relaxed and a soft expression appeared on his face, “You’re right … I’m sorry. I’m kinda new to this whole being nice thing” he muttered. 

A loud noise coming from the back of the kitchen from the diner distracted the both of you from your conversation. A tall, lanky waitress with thin hair was sauntering over, her face looking very annoyed. Billy quickly lowered his head towards you, “Whatever you do, don’t say a word. I’ll do the talking” he hissed at you quickly.

You nodded solemnly. He was the only one that had helped you get this far - the least you could is follow his instructions.

The waitress then appeared to your table. Smacking her gum loudly, a notepad in her hand. She glanced over at you, then frowned, “Boy kid, what happened to your face?”

You stared at her blankly, not knowing exactly what to do in this situation which was strange because you always knew what to do in sticky situations. It usually resulted in someone getting hurt or dying though. This situation however, was different. You never really interacted with people outside of the men that usually monitored your every move, so social cues were hard for you to grasp, along with sarcasm and certain expressions. Your eyes slowly shifted to look at Billy, waiting for him to speak on your behalf. 

“Car accident. Nasty one. Just got out of the hospital so we’re celebrating, right?” he gave you a hard looking, pressing on the fact that he needed you to play along with his little game. So you did.

“Yup. Car accident” was all you said. 

“She’s gonna take the cheeseburger with fries, I’m just gonna have a chocolate milkshake” He quickly said, trying to divert the conversation back. The waitress quickly jotted the food down on her notepad. She turned on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Billy let out a breath of air from his mouth, sinking back into his seat. “That was close. Nice playing along”

You nodded, fiddling with the large sleeve of your hoodie as silence settled between the two of you. You weren’t exactly the best at holding conversations, and neither was Billy. You mostly spoke when you were spoken to, and Billy just usually avoided people unless he was trying to get in someone’s pants.

“So uh,” he started, trying to break the awkwardness, “How did you uh, manage to make your way to this hellhole?”

You shrugged. “I killed a guy, stole his wallet, bought a plane ticket and walked the rest of my way here.” you spoke so nonchalantly it sent chills down his spine. The way you spoke about certain things had a sense of innocence to them, but the fact that you could easily kill the next person that walked in the diner almost terrified him. You stopped fiddling with your sleeve when you realized Billy was quiet.

“I’m not a monster you know” you quietly said, your eyes avoiding his blue ones. “I know I have these ... powers ... and I know I’ve used them to hurt people ... but I’m not a monster” your voice was full of emotion. Billy shifted in his seat, his lips pressed together, not sure how to respond to you. He knew what other people at school saw him as. 

A bully, an asshole, a womanizer.

But in reality, Billy was a broken man, misunderstood. Seeing you become vulnerable in front of him tugged at his heart strings - which surprised him since not many things could make him feel so emotional.

“What are you?” he quietly asked.

You shrugged again, “I know as much as you do. They kept me in the dark. I was used to kill important people, people who would get in the way of their plan”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, “Who’s they?”

“The Russians, sometimes they would lend me to other people - to kill you know? I’m assuming they probably got paid money for it. Brenner always told me I was their prized possession. I was trained for as long as I could remember, until I perfected my powers.”

Billy tensed up, his leg twitching under the table, “So what other powers do you have?”

“Just the fire stuff - plus I’m really strong” you grinned at him. From the way you were shaped there was no way anyone would know what you could snap a tree in half with your bare hands. 

“Yeah, I figured that much” he glanced down at his wrist, rotating it to make sure that it was still working. 

You pressed your lips together, your expression softening, feeling guilty that you had hurt him earlier. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you … I just don’t - “

“- like being grabbed at … I get it. My old man can be hard on me sometimes” 

Your eyebrows etched together, “Old man? You have an old man?”

Billy let out a laugh, “It’s another expression. It’s my dad. He’s a piece of shit”

You noticed his face hardening at the mention of his dad, his whole body stiffening. Unsure how to comfort him, you hesitantly reached out and placed a hand over his, warmth emitting from your palm. He looked up at you, his face now softening at the mere touch of his hand. His blue eyes boring into your (E/C) eyes. There was that feeling again, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. You brushed it off this time, wanting to make sure that he was okay. 

“Brenner is a piece of shit too. I understand”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. Billy didn’t move his hand away, rather enjoying the warmth from your hand. Your touch was such a small gesture, but to Billy kindness was something he really didn’t get too much often. Not since his mom had left anyways.

The silence was broken by the waitress barging out of the kitchen. You quickly swiped your hand away from Billy - as if you were doing something inappropriate and didn’t want to get caught. She placed the cheeseburger in front of you, and the milkshake in front of Billy who murmured a thanks before she made her way back into the kitchen.

You took a deep breath, the smell of the beef and cheese hitting your nostrils. It was magnificent. You had never smelled anything so amazing before, your mouth was watering, your eyes were gleaming with excitement. Food was always given to you, but you were on a strict diet, to keep your body as fit as could be. But this? This was different. Billy watched you amusedly as he ripped open a straw and placed it in his milkshake.

“Well go on, take a bite” he urged.

Your hands picked up the large burger and you took a bite. Your eyes widened, the different flavors hitting your tongue, your taste buds were on fire. You closed your eyes, relishing the taste in your mouth, chewing ever so slowly so that you could taste every ingredient. 

“Oh my god” you moaned. Billy couldn’t help but grin at you, it was like watching a little kid eat a burger for the first time.

“This is the most amazing thing I have ever tasted in my whole life!” you exclaimed, taking another large bite.

“You should try the fries - with ketchup” he advised, taking a sip of his milkshake.

He reached over to the end of the booth and grabbed the red bottle at the end. He leaned over and drizzled ketchup over your fries, quickly taking a fry with him but you didn’t mind. You picked up a fry and placed it in your mouth. Another loud moan came from you, your eyes almost rolling in the back of your head.

“Billy. This is amazing, this has been the best day of my life” you spoke with food in your mouth but he didn’t care, he was too amused at all your reactions.

Billy glanced up at the clock on the wall. 11 pm. Shit, it was getting late.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna go use the bathroom real quick. Stay put, don’t destroy anything” he jokingly added. You were too engrossed in your burger to give him any real attention, so you just waved him off as he quickly rose up and made his way to the back of the diner. He turned the corner and walked over to the payphone that was next to the bathrooms. He looked over his shoulder, making sure that you weren’t following him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Wheeler’s number, dialing it quickly as he held the phone between his head and shoulders.

A soft voice answered the phone, “Wheeler residence”

“Hey, Mrs. Wheeler it’s Billy”

Her voice suddenly went up a couple of octaves, “Billy! Hello! Calling so late, is everything okay?”

Billy shuffled his feet, “Yeah, um, is Nancy there? I need to ask her about an assignment”

There was a momentary pause on the other side. Billy heard shuffling and voices, “Yes, she’s here, - Nance! Hey Nance! Billy’s on the phone for you!”

Billy heard the phone being passed off. Mrs. Wheeler’s soft voice was replaced by Nancy’s nervous one. “Hi, Billy?”

“Wheeler. I’m gonna make this quick. I need your help.”

There was another pause, and then more shuffling. “Hey mom, I’m gonna take this phone call upstairs” Nancy announced to her mother. Billy heard the thudding of footsteps as Nancy made her way into her bedroom.

“Hargrove, what the hell do you want?” her voice suddenly became cold.

“One of Eleven’s buddies is here and I can’t watch her” he spoke in a hushed tone.

“What? Her buddies? What do you mean?”

“Wheeler, I need to bring her to your house. She can’t stay at mine” he pressed on.

“Hargrove, what the hell are you talking about?!” she questioned hotly.

“I can’t explain right now, I don’t have time, but I need to come over.” His foot was twitching at this point.

He felt Nancy’s hesitation, but she finally responded. “Okay, okay. Um, meet me by my back gate in 15 minutes”

“Deal”

He hung up the phone. He was making his way back to the booth when he caught a certain red car out of the corner of his eye. His face blanched and he felt his stomach drop when he realized who’s car that was.

“Shit. Shit. Fuck” 

He turned the corner and saw Tommy H. with Alex M. towering over you. You looked small, cowering in the booth. They both were laughing loudly, picking and eating the large fries that were sitting in front of you.

You looked up from the table and made eye contact with Billy, the look in your eyes were pleading for him to stop this.

“Tommy, Alex, what the hell are you guys doing here?” Billy’s voice was low, rough.

Tommy and Alex stopped laughing and turned to their attention to the familiar voice behind them. Billy hated dealing with those 2, along with Carol. They were the bane of his existence - and yet they followed him around like a lost puppy dog.

“Hargrove! I didn’t know you liked to screw around with fucked up chicks!” Tommy exclaimed, glancing back at your cowered frame. The words stung, but you remained quiet, letting Billy take over the situation. “We spotted your car so we knew we had to stop in”

“You guys need leave now” his voice was terrifying low now. Anger was starting to set in and you could hear it in his voice.

Alex let out a nervous laugh, “Hargrove, c’mon, it’s us. We just want to know who your little friend is” Alex walked over and patted Billy on his shoulder. Billy just stared at him in disgust.

“Yeah, like is she good in the sack? Does she give good head?” Tommy quickly added, reaching down and taking another fry, staring at you with a smirk on his face. 

Your hand twitched from under the table. Your temper rising.

Not a monster, not a monster, not a monster

You repeated that mantra in your head.

Billy stared at his friend, his mouth set in a hard line. Although you had no idea what ‘in the sack’ or ‘give good head’ meant, you knew it had some sort of sexual connotation with it with the way they were eyeing you up and down. If Billy Hargrove had fucked her - odds are she was a good fuck and they wanted a taste.

Tommy looked down at you again, “I’d give her an 7, maybe an 8 if she didn’t looked so fucked up” he sneered.

Billy could hear the muscles in your jaw crack as you clenched your jaw. Your expression hardening as Tommy casually reached his hand down again to grab another fry.

Game over

But before his fingers could even touch a fry, you quickly grabbed his wrist, slamming his hand down on the table so hard you could hear the joints in his hand. Tommy wailed in pain, his eyes widening so hard it looked like it was going to bulge out of his face. You stood up from your seat, keeping his hand pinned to the table. 

“Call me fucked up one. more. time”  you hissed at him, your jaw set as you stared at him. You maintained eye contact with him as he whimpered in pain. You could feel the table starting to crack as you pressed down harder. Tommy’s face twisted in agony, his mouth letting out a loud scream.

Your palm started to feel hot, you were so close to burning his hand off when Billy quickly ran over and yanked you away by your arm. Tommy collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he grabbed his hand to his chest. Alex ran over to his friend, picking him up from the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he spoke to you through gritted teeth. You snatched away your arm from his grip. But before you could give him an answer  the waitress suddenly came barging through, her eyes scanning the scene.

“All of you! Out of here!” she yelled at the four of you.

Billy walked around his two friends, reaching into his pocket and slamming a twenty dollar bill next to your plate. He grabbed your hand, leading you outside to his car without saying a word.

He quickly ushered you in his car, making his way around to the driver’s side and opening up the door. He quickly sat down and started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot so quickly it made your head spin. 

“You can’t fucking pull shit like that! What the hell were you thinking?!” he screamed at you, reaching for his pack of cigarettes in his center console.

“I was defending myself! I wasn’t going to let him speak to me like that” you retorted back.

“Yeah? By breaking his hand?! Real fucking smart!”

“Fuck you!”

“No fuck you!”

You were breathing heavily, your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. But you were so angry, incredibly angry. How dare he question your right to defend yourself. Billy reached for his zippo lighter and flicked it open, trying to light it but was unsucessful. He angrily chucked it by his feet, feeling frustrated. You instinctivly reached over and snapped your fingers, emitting a flame from your hand.

Billy looked over at you. Your nostrils flaring and your eyes burning with anger. but yet you still had the kindness in you to help light his cigarette. 

You were spitfire and crazy. Bruised and broken. Just like him. 

He had never had someone - let alone a girl - speak to him to the way you just did. But it made you all the more interesting to him. Although he would have never admitted it at the moment but seeing Tommy H cry like a baby almost made him want to smile.

He leaned over to the flame, cigarette in his mouth. It quickly lit and he took a deep inhale.

You let the flame disappear from your hand. Crossing your arms, a scowl on your face as you both drove towards the Wheeler residence in silence.

[babblingblondegenius]

Future Ficlet: All You Need is Love...and Coffee

Wow, tonight’s episode was brutal.  Between the painful Olicity separation in present time and the lack of Olicity in the dark future of the flash-forwards, we aren’t seeing any of the happy right now.  There seems to be no hope. Our heroes’ sacrifices were all in vain.  Basically, everything sucks.

As kismet would have it, a couple of weeks ago, I shared a fun little head canon with @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity and they both encouraged me to ‘write the thing.’  I’ve had a terrible case of writer’s block for quite some time (meaning I have a gazillion story ideas and a ton of WIPs that are unfinished).  I expected this one to end up dormant in my drafts as well.  But after tonight’s episode, I felt the need to finish it because we (and Olicity, of course) deserve a little hope and happy.  Set two years in the future, the premise of this little fluffy ficlet is that Felicity needs an assistant but she has particular criteria ;)  

This should have been the easy part.  

After months of enticing investors, obtaining the proper licenses and permits, all the legal mumbo jumbo, and locating the perfect office space, hiring an executive assistant is going to be the breaking point where she finally loses her sanity.  

Which completely defeats the purpose of trying to find someone to help her in the first place.

She has been doing fine on her own, thriving actually, since she decided it was time to recommence building a tech company from the ground up, sans Curtis this time.   This venture, for better or worse, will be all hers.  Her vision.  Her name. Her legacy.

Despite her initial apprehension at that thought, she has a clarity and confidence in her mission and goals that has propelled her forward at a pace she couldn’t have imagined.  So far, choosing which of her many prototypes she wanted to launch first has been her biggest challenge.

Until now.  

She had narrowed down the stack of over 100 applications to the eight most qualified for the position, and began the interview process at 7:00 this morning.  

The first one had been punctual, neat, and lacking any sort of personality whatsoever.  

The second one arrived twenty minutes late and then interrupted Felicity mid-interview to take a non-emergency personal call on her cell phone.

The third one tapped her super long artificial nails on the edge of Felicity’s desk the entire time and included ‘loud typer’ when asked how her current co-workers would describe her.

The fourth one was a chaotic whirlwind who overshared details of his personal life on every single question.

Maybe he just had too much caffeine in his system. Or maybe she doesn’t have enough.

Coffee.  She needs coffee.  Her next interviewee isn’t scheduled to come in for another hour, so she takes the reprieve to just lay her head down on her desk for a moment in order to gather up the energy she needs to make the trek down the block for her caffeine fix.

“One vanilla soy latte, extra sugar, extra cinnamon, extra whip cream.”  

Oh yes.  That’s exactly what she wants.  Why she is thinking it in Oliver’s voice, she doesn’t know.  Her coffee daydream is so vivid, she can even smell the soothing notes of vanilla with hints of sweet cinnamon spice wafting through the air. Mmmmmmmm.

“Felicity….honey, are you okay?”  Oliver’s voice again.  She slowly lifts her head and sees her husband standing on the other side of her desk, holding a large cup emblazoned with the logo of her favorite java joint and her name scrawled across it in black marker.

“I am now,” she practically purrs as he hands over her treasured treat.  After taking a deep inhale and a long swallow, she blissfully smiles at him.  “It’s perfect.  You’re perfect.”  Suddenly jumping up out of her chair, she shares the revelation brought on by the jolt of caffeine in her system. “Oh!  I have a great idea!  You should apply to be my EA.”  

Oliver chuffs out a laugh.  “Because I brought you coffee?  Your standards must be pretty low.”  

“Worried you couldn’t cut it, Mr. Queen?” she asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

“I think my time served as Mayor proves otherwise,” he retorts with an air of gravitas but mimics her gesture, silently letting her know that he enjoys her teasing him and is willing to play along.  

She shakes her head.  “Nope, not helpful.  You couldn’t even get me a break on my taxes when you were the mayor.  What are your current qualifications?”

He ponders the inquiry for a moment before responding proudly, “I’m the head chef at Chez Queen.”

She rolls her eyes at Oliver’s corny moniker for their kitchen but gives him an encouraging smile.  “Oh yeah, I’ve eaten there a few times.  The food is magnificent.  But do you have any business experience?”

His expression goes from proud to smug.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  I was formerly the CEO of Queen Consolidated.”

She takes another swig of coffee and checks an incoming text on her cell phone before reminding him, “I happen to have first-hand knowledge you wouldn’t have made it a week without your super smart and highly efficient EA.”   

“That’s true,” he concedes with a grin, “though on the downside, she only brought me coffee one time.  One”, he repeats, taking her coffee and phone and setting them off to the side. Placing his palms flat on the edge of her desk, he leans in closer, a visible twinkle in his vivid blue eyes.   “I think she actually broke our coffeemaker.  Violently,” he teases in a conspiratorial whisper.

Mirroring her husband, she leans in over the desk until their noses are almost touching.  “A little violence doesn’t scare you, does it, Mr. Queen?”  She allows her gaze to run down the length of his torso, visibly appreciating the definition of his biceps that his jacket cannot conceal. “You look like you could handle yourself just fine.”

“I like to stay in shape.”  He feigns modesty but she knows her husband and can recognize that look in his eyes. “Some cardio, free weights, martial arts, salmon ladder…”

“That’s so hot” she blurts out, temporarily slipping out of character as her brain produces an amazing visual of sweaty and shirtless Oliver making his way up the salmon ladder.  Will there ever be a day when that doesn’t turn her on?  Probably not, and judging from the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he mentioned it on purpose just to get that very reaction out of her.   Determined to get back on track, she rephrases, “I mean, that sounds interesting.”  She decides a change of topic would be helpful to give her an advantage in their little game.  “Computer skills?”

She immediately regrets that question when Oliver gives her a feral smile that makes her weak in the knees.  Lowering his voice to the same octave he uses when he is dressed in green leather, he divulges, “I’ve hacked a federal prison network.”

Guh, game over.  In all her years with Oliver, that is the sexiest thing he has ever said. She quickly makes her way around the desk and invades his personal space. “Seems like you’re a man of many talents,” she coos appreciatively, latching onto his arm and nuzzling her face into the sleeve of his jacket to breathe in the scent that is uniquely Oliver.

“My wife taught me a thing or two,” he boasts, turning so they are face-to-face and he can wrap his arms around her.  

Her hands instinctively move from his arm to his chest, resting over his heart.  “She must be an amazing woman.”

Oliver nods in agreement, his nose nuzzling hers. “She is.  She’s the best.”

“I know you’re just saying that to get husband points and its working,” she acknowledges affectionately, her hand caressing the stubble on his jaw.   He tilts his head into her palm like a contented cat and she takes the opportunity to kiss him like she wanted to since she saw him in front of her desk, whether it was five minutes ago with coffee or nine years ago with a bullet-ridden laptop.  

Oliver moans and deepens the kiss, the fervent strokes of his tongue making her long for more.  “Okay, you’re hired,” she pants, breaking the kiss when her need for air temporarily overcomes her need for Oliver.  “Smoak Tech is a start-up so your health care package consists of me patching you up if you are injured and I’m sure we can work out some type of compensation for your time and skills,” provocatively shifting her body against his and feeling his obvious interest through his jeans and her skirt.  Two soft kisses and one firm rotation of his hips later, she is internally debating the sturdiness of her desk and whether they have time for her to show him exactly what she means by ‘compensation’ before her next appointment shows up.

“That’s a very tempting offer, Ms. Smoak” he murmurs into her hair as his hand travels down her back and immediately finds its usual place on the curve of her shapely ass, pulling her impossibly closer, “but I’m afraid my current employer really needs me right now and I just can’t bear to leave her,” his free hand gesturing to the stroller where their daughter slumbers peacefully.

Felicity sighs, pure happiness filling her heart and clearing her mind as she rests her head on her husband’s chest to gaze lovingly at the chubby-cheeked, perfect amalgamation of her and Oliver they brought into the world just four short months ago.   “Sounds like she has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Oliver rests his chin on the top of her head and she can hear the love and contentment in his voice when he whispers in her hair, “From the very first moment I met her.  She takes after her mother that way.”

A/N:  Thank you for reading!  I hope this helped to soothe the sting of all the angst.  Queen family feels FTW.  William was not in this fic because at that time of day, he should be in school and also I didn’t want to traumatize him any further with Olicity’s blatant flirty flirt.  The poor kid has seen enough already lol.  

Huge thanks and virtual hugs to @allimariexf and @hope-for-olicity for all the fun conversations and being all around wonderful :)

Oliver’s ‘current employer’ ;)

[lenfaz]

Sea Squad, ch 4 (4/14)

Summary: Killian Jones has always managed tough spots in his con life… but never like this one. His brother is out of jail and convinced the only way to win his name back is to heist the casino of a major Vegas mogul, leaving Killian to do the planning. He now has to deal with a half-brother desperate to gain a name of his own, an ex-fling that carries her own torch against the casino mogul, his brother losing his mind over his ex-wife,  his former mentor’s depression and the one woman he can’t get out of his mind giving him chase. Ocean’s Eleven AU

Rating: M

Content warnings: semi-explicit sexual content, law-breaking (they are thieves, liars and con men), mild violence (someone will get punched), mention of former relationships (for the main pair) and cheating (but not for the main pair)

Chapter heads up: Liam/Belle in this chapter.

Banner (link to banner post) and art by the amazing @clockadile Go check her art tag for the fic here!

This fic would never exist without the wonderful @sambethe who convinced me to do over hot chocolate on one cold Chicago afternoon and virtually held my hand and betaed this fic for months. thank you SO much for everything you do.

A/N: A long time ago there was talk about Hook & his sea friends and a few collective posts shaped the idea of a Sea Squad. This fic is the attempt to bring that creativity to life. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge   @thesschesthair   and @jvosketches as they were part of that initial thinking back in the day. If a few things sound familiar, it’s because they are based on the movie.

Link to  FFnet & AO3

on tumblr: 1 2 3

Chapter and art under the cut

With the team assembled and ready to do the job, there was nothing to do but to start working at it, each of them tackling the specific tasks Killian had planned out for them.

Surveillance had proven to be as difficult as Smee had predicted that first day. The need to tap into the Baelfire’s systems had them pulling the first of several mini-operations it would take to pull off the job. Thanks to Ursula’s eyes and ears, Killian had been able to pilfer an access card from one of the technicians while he was visiting a lap dancer. Ariel and Eric had put together a diversion to cover Smee while he used the card to sneak into the server room and tapped their systems, as Milah, Liam, and Killian monitored the scene from Nemo’s house. There had been a moment there where it had looked like Smee would fail - a flash of hesitation at one coded failsafe too many, but in the end the man had pulled through and they finally had eyes into Gold’s system.

Power was an important piece of the puzzle. On the night of the fight, part of their success relied on being able to shut down power to the entire city. Milah gave them a cheerful smile when Liam brought it up.

“Do you want something broken, blown, or total and utter chaos?”

“What do you think?” Liam raised his eyebrows playfully and Milah erupted in laughter.

“You’ll get it.”

She took off into the city, ready to work her magic.

“Should I be worried?” Liam asked as he and Killian watched her slide into one of Nemo’s cars.

“Not yet.”

Construction was the most fun, at least as far as Liam was concerned. Their need for a practice run, or something approaching one, had them renting a couple of isolated warehouses and bringing in all sorts of materials to build out an exact replica of the Baelfire’s vault. The physical exertion of hauling lumber and paint cans, the hours spent putting together shelves and tiling the floors, all of it helped Liam sharpen his mind and focus on how to tackle the next task.

Intelligence. A task that Liam would have loved to take onto himself, but couldn’t. And neither could Killian, which left only one possible candidate.

“You want me to do what?” LJ didn’t sound pleased and shoved a couple of boxes onto the transportation belt with a little more force than was necessary, almost hitting Henry with one of them. The kid gave LJ the finger as he spat a string of expletives, and it all looked poised to about to come to blows before Killian quickly pulled Henry aside, whispering something in his ear before coming back to his brothers.

Liam arched an eyebrow as he consulted the list he and Killian had put together, but Killian’s only response was a tight, barely there shake of his head. Liam turned back to his youngest brother. “We need those codes, LJ. And there is only one person who has them all.”

LJ clenched his jaw, his eyes going from Liam to Killian. “All you want me to do is watch Gold? That is the part I get to play in all of this?” His tone carried more than a hint of annoyance as his eyes narrowed.

“You have to learn the ropes, baby brother,” Liam tried to explain, but clearly his words were not what LJ was expecting to hear and they only seemed to anger his brother more. He didn’t understand, Killian had never been bothered by his teasing.

“For now,” Killian interjected, reaching a hand out to clasp his shoulder. “There’s a lot more that you’ll do, but none of that will matter if we don’t get those codes. You’re invisible, unremarkable.”

LJ grimaced. “A no one, you mean.”

Killian just shook his head. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it. You are going use this to your advantage in the same way you picked pockets on the Chicago L. You know you can do this. We need you to do this… Gold would recognize either me or Liam tailing him. But not you.”

“What is it with the two of you and Gold?” LJ crossed his arms, his eyes darting back and forth between them, cocking an eyebrow and waiting for an explanation.

“A tale for another day, perhaps,” Liam interrupted. “Trust me, the less you know, the better for you.”

LJ didn’t seem convinced, picking a fleck of lint from his jacket and scowling for a few minutes. But eventually, he took off to the casino in plain jeans, a grey t-shirt and a battered hoodie, a baseball cap on his back pocket.

Transport was possibly the easiest of them all. All it took was the combination of Nemo’s and Poseidon’s charm and threatening looks for them to secure several vans at an incredibly reasonable price.  

After that, it was time to suit up Poseidon for his role. Since he and Nemo were used to doing things with a fair bit of style, they opted out of a trip to the department store. Instead, they had a tailor come to Nemo’s house to fit Poseidon for his new wardrobe.

From the back of the room, Killian and Liam watched as the tailor fitted Poseidon for a navy-blue suit, while Nemo stepped in to request several details for the lapels and vents and reviewed the available cufflink options.

Killian ran a hand over the tattoo covering his scars, a sign that he was clearly nervous. “Do you think he’s ready?”

“Only one way to find out,” Liam took a deep breath and made his way to where Nemo and Poseidon were still discussing fabrics.

“Poseidon,” he called, his face devoid of any emotion. He loved the man, he really did, but this was business and he needed to know. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Poseidon stilled, his eyes moving from Nemo to Killian to Liam, before he plucked a fleck of lint from his suit. “Listen to me, William, because I will only say this once. I didn’t do anything when I found you with my daughter under my own roof when the two of you were barely seventeen, but question me again and you will not live to see another day.”

“Seriously, Liam, is this how you treat our guests? Our esteemed friend?” Nemo asked, his face the picture of disappointment. “I’ve taught both of you better than this. Now go keep an eye on your younger brother and leave us to work in peace. We don’t need you as our babysitters.”

Well, it seemed the man was as ready as he’ll ever be, and Nemo was back to his old self. From the corner of his eye, he watched Killian cover a laugh before they both took off.

Forty-eight hours later, Isaiah Hamid made his entrance into the Baelfire, walking in as if he owned the place, his bodyguard and personal assistant in tow. The latter’s green pencil skirt and black blouse projected the image of professionalism, as she brandished a clipboard while her stilettos tapped out a staccato beat against the floor. From behind a pillar, Liam and Killian watched as Ariel manhandled and bossed everyone around until she got Poseidon checked into one of the best suites of the hotel and caused enough noise to stir the attention of the floor manager.

Gold would soon know that a new high roller had entered his casino.

Liam relaxed his shoulders and released some of the tension he’d been holding onto from the moment he found Killian and started to set this plan in motion. They’ve now rolled the dice, the cards had been dealt, and the ball was rolling on the roulette wheel. The game had started.

He could now focus on the real task at hand.

/-/

He met Ursula at one of the few corners on the floor they knew the cameras didn’t cover. The casino was right in the middle of guard rotations, and her eyes darted back and forth as she paid careful attention to their movements.

“I can’t stay long, otherwise it will raise suspicions.” She leaned into him. “Room A2345. It’s one of the penthouses. You’ll need this to activate the elevator.” She slid an access card into his jacket pocket. “Little to no security after that.”

Liam pocketed the card and flashed her a smile. “Thank you.”

“They’ve already dined. He’s working the floors and the high rollers, and she’s already retired to her room. He won’t join her tonight. It’s a Tuesday; he stays up late reviewing the books and sleeps in his own penthouse.”

He had been counting on that, it would give him the time he needed. “I better get going. The guards will be back any minute.”

She squeezed his arm, her concern clear in her eyes. “Liam, you’re playing with fire.”

“I know, but this is something I have to do.”

She smiled ruefully. “I know, just be careful.”

He nodded before making his way to the elevator, feigning nonchalance while he carefully monitored the activity around him. It was only when he was finally alone on the elevator that he began to relax again. But the feeling was fleeting, the tension creeping back into his shoulders as he stepped out onto the foyer. The space screamed luxury, with the black lacquered floors partially covered by geometrical themed rugs and a black and white side table that hosted a green vase with fresh white calla lilies. With his heart beating frantically in his chest, Liam took two steps towards the glass paneled door that would lead him into the actual penthouse. It didn’t have a lock and it served more as a decoration than anything else. With a final deep breath, he simply pulled into the door and entered the room.

It took him a moment to find her, but when he did -standing by the long windows that showed an amazing view of the city he called his home -, she looked as beautiful as he’d remembered her. Her dark hair was down and falling in soft waves around her shoulders and she wore flannel shorts and a white shirt.

He knew that shirt.

He smiled as he closed the door, making sure to not turn the handle so that the soft click was audible.  Belle turned at the sound, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Liam?” Belle all but choked as she took two steps in his direction before she stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you miss me?” He shrugged, curling his mouth up into the smirk he knew used to drive her right into his arms.

Only it didn’t this time. She crossed her arms across her chest. “Get out before I call security.”

“It would land me back in jail for violation of parole. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

She averted her eyes, turning her head to the side. “Don’t be so sure…” she mumbled the words, her lips twisting to the side in a way he’d always found endearing. She was pissed off at him, and reasonably so.

“Belle.” He took a few steps her way, his fingers aching to touch her. “I came for you.”

She scoffed, backing up and twisting her elbow to the side to avoid his touch, her arms resting to her side. “You came for money. You’re probably already planning something with Killian, if you’ve been able to pull him away from his self-imposed misery in L.A., that is.”

“You’ve kept tabs on my brother?” Liam paused. Killian hadn’t mentioned Belle since they met up again, and he hadn’t wanted to tip his brother off that he knew about her whereabouts.

“Someone had to make sure he wasn’t going to fall apart,” she crossed her arms against her chest, leveling down her eyes at him, a hint of accusation in her voice that struck deep in him. “He doesn’t know. Nobody knows.”

Liam swallowed. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she started and he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well, not just for you.” She sighed fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Liam, it’s late and you being here is highly inappropriate. Whatever it is that you’re here for, you and I both know it’s more about the thrill of the heist than anything to do with me.”

He fought against the ache her words provoked, masking his wince. “That’s not true and you know it. You wouldn’t be wearing my shirt if not.”

“Fine. You want your shirt back?” She slipped her arms through the sleeves, and tugged at the hem and pulled the shift over her head, tossing it at him when she was done. “It’s all yours.”

The shirt hit him square in the face and landed on the floor, because it was all he could do to not drop his jaw at the sight in front of him - her blue lace bra, the miles of ivory skin he’d missed so much, the start of a smile that quirked at the corner of her mouth. His blood heated and before he knew what he was doing, he’d reached for her hand, interlacing his fingers with her.

“You deserve better than Gold, Belle. He’s not a good man.”

She took a step towards him, her eyes flashing with defiance. “And you are?”

He lifted his free hand to trace along her cheek. “You’re right. I’m a con man, a thief and a liar… but I love you.”

Her eyes filled with tears and he wanted to dry every single one of them with his lips. “Damn you, Liam.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her, crashing her lips into his.

Time stopped. His brain lost all ability think about anything but how her mouth moved against his, her lips parting and her tongue darting out to lick his lip. He was a goner. Same as he’d been from the first time she’d let him kiss her, he was done for. His hands rested possessively on her hips and he pulled her to him, dragging their bodies flush against one another from chest to knees. She still fit against him perfectly, her curves molding to his hard edges, her hips falling into place as she slowly ground against him.

Groaning, he moved his hands towards her ass, his fingers toying with the elastic band of her shorts and moving underneath the flannel to caress her. Belle moaned against his mouth, trailing kisses down his jaw, threading her fingers in his hair, and hooking her leg around his hip. He felt the painstakingly beautiful ache of rutting against her core, the fabric adding some extra friction that made him feel like they were twenty-two again, stealing kisses and groping one another in the backseat of his car.

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the suite’s bedroom. A massive, king-size bed sat in the middle of the room, the moonlight reflecting along the sheets. Carefully, he placed Belle on the bed, moving himself to hover over her, kissing her fiercely and reaching to unclasp her bra as she unbuttoned his shirt.

Yes, Liam was going to fuck his own wife in Gold’s hotel room, over the man’s expensive sheets and designer bed frames. He couldn’t begin to give a bloody damn about it. He’d been dreaming about this, aching to be with her again. It’d been two long years in a jail cell with nothing but his hand and the memory of her scent.

He finally removed her shorts and underwear and reached to place a lingering kiss on her inner thigh. The familiar sounds she made felt like being home again, when it was just the two of them, recently married and locked in their bedroom for an entire rainy weekend. Desperate to hear her moan again, he reached to lick her, his fingers stroking her the way he knew she liked. She arched her back and her hips met his movements, gasping, her thighs squeezing his head as she came against his mouth.

She reached for him, fisting his hair and pulling him up for a kiss. In a haze of lust, she’d unzipped his pants and removed his cock from his briefs, stroking and positioning him against her entrance. He slid in with a swift thrust, groaning at her tight heat. He wasn’t going to last long and he knew it, not after this long apart. He moved slowly, savoring each moment until it became too much and he set to increase the pace, reaching to stroke her so she’d fall with him.

Spent, sated, and still almost fully dressed, he rested his forehead against hers, careful not to crush her under his weight.

“I’ve missed you, doll.”

"I'm still angry at you Liam." Her voice quivered and he pulled away to level his eyes with hers.

"You have a fun way of showing it."

She pulled away, reaching for her clothes. “This… this was a goodbye. Closure.”

“Belle, please, give me a chance to explain.”

“It’s too late. I’m with someone else now.” She stood at the edge of the bed, her eyes not meeting his. “You should leave.”

He put his clothes in order and ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to reach for her again. “I will, for now. But it’s not over between you and me. And you know it.”

He couldn’t stand her not meeting his eyes. It cut him to his core and his heart was in shambles as he quickly made to exit her room. He shook his head as he pulled the door to her suite closed. This was not how things would end between them. No matter what it took, he was going to win Belle back.

/-/

“I don’t need a babysitter, you know?” LJ all but spat the words, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. He was lurking in the casino’s ground floor, and for the third consecutive day, Killian had shown up to stand by his side.

Killian sighed as he played with his cufflinks. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m only here for the air conditioning? I swear, the heat out there is unbearable.”

LJ shot him a look. “Nemo has better AC than this place. Plus a pool with a shaded patio.”

He smirked and avoided his brother’s eyes. What could he say? He wasn’t keeping tabs on the kid, not in the strictest sense. It wasn’t like he didn’t think LJ could do the job, he knew he could. He’d been superb at it. It was just… Killian liked his younger brother. A lot. He simply wanted to know more about LJ’s life. For instance, if there were any special girls he needed counsel about. Or what about if he was considering investing his money in any endeavors and perhaps Killian could point out a few places, something safe that wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Killian simply wanted to be part of his brother’s life. He just didn’t know how to tell him that, blurting it out before he could think better of it.

“Would you believe that I want to spend time with you?” Gods, the vulnerability in his own voice made him cringe but there it was now, all out on the table, no chance to take the words back. Surprised at his own nervousness, he met his brother’s widened eyes and held his stare.

Finally, LJ swallowed and gave Killian a hint of a smile. “I’ve been talking to Nemo. He has some interesting stories about you and Liam.”

There it was, the tiniest of offerings, and Killian was going to take it. “I can only imagine what tales he’s been weaving. Don’t believe a word of what he said.”

“So he didn’t take you in off the streets?” LJ cocked an eyebrow at him, his eyes flashing daringly.

Killian swallowed, running a hand across the back of his neck in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “That he did. When he found us, we were nothing but two street rats, surviving off of petty thefts and food scraps. He caught us trying to play a con on him - I was supposed to be distracting him in order to give Liam the opportunity to pilfer his wallet. He took one look at us and I thought ‘this is it, this is where we end up caught and put in the system. This is where we end up separated.’ But he only motioned for us to follow him. He bought dinner and rented a hotel room for us. Then he gave us some cash, telling us to get some clothes and get out arses to school.” The memories of those days were painful, the dread and fear of having the police find them, the hesitation about whether or not they could trust Nemo. He seemed like a good man, but Liam and Killian had seen a lot in their short lifespan and knew enough to know that you should always beware of nice strangers. “It took a lot of coaxing on his part to get us to trust him, and when we finally did, when Liam let his guard down and let Nemo take us to his home, it was as if we’d been given a second chance.”

“Or a first.”

There was such sadness in LJ’s voice that it broke Killian’s heart.

“We didn’t know about you, LJ. If we had, believe me, we would have come for you.”

“You think Nemo would have taken me in?” The tinge of hope in his voice all but made Killian want to pull him into a hug in the middle of that casino, promising his brother that he’d never be alone again. But they were not lads, they were men on a mission, and he knew LJ wouldn’t appreciate his cover being blown by an overeager half-brother.

“In a heartbeat.” Killian’s eyes scanned the casino, giving him and LJ some time to check themselves. People came and went around them, their emotions clear on their faces and in their movements as they passed - some had won, some had lost, some of them were drunkenly making out, while others were clearly partaking in illicit affairs. Las Vegas had it all, and for such a long time he had watched things like this and more take place on the floor of another casino floor, one that had been the closest he’d had to a home.

Until Gold had taken it all away from the man who Killian would give his life for.

“I have to thank you,” Killian said, his eyes coming back to LJ’s.

His brother furrowed his brows. “Thank me? For what? I haven’t done much to help anyone around here.”

“Nemo is fond of you. Somehow having you around and having the chance to relive stories of the past have lifted his spirits. He’s been more himself than he has been in the past eight months.”

“Since Gold tore down his casino.”

“Aye.”

“Is that why you’re going after Gold?”

Killian knew that Liam didn’t want LJ to know the truth, but he could at least tell the lad pieces of it. “Part of it, aye. The Nautilus was Nemo’s pride and joy and the way Gold tricked, lied, and plotted to strip it from him… it was bad form.”

“Agreed.” The throaty hitch in his brother’s voice hinted at a fierce need of revenge all its own. Killian almost had to wonder about that. “But you guys picked one hell of a target. He’s smart, ruthless, cunning, and most of all, vengeful. If he finds out about this, he’ll go after you and everyone you know. No one will be safe.”

Killian winced, playing his fingers along the scars on his left arm, his memories haunting him. LJ’s eyes widened, and Killian knew he was putting two and two together.

“But you already know this, don’t you? Nemo is…”

“Nemo is the last in a long list of very well-devised revenge plots that Gold has executed, yes.” Killian lifted his hand before LJ could ask. “And I don’t want to talk more about it, little brother. At least not right now.”

For a moment, he thought LJ would argue and demand to know all the painful details that Killian didn’t want to relive. But to his surprise, he dropped the subject and refocused himself to the task at hand.

“Then we need to be smarter than he is. It won’t be easy, the guy doesn't miss a step. He’s always where he’s supposed to be, never lets his guard down. There is nothing that happens in this casino that he doesn’t know about. Getting him out of his very well-crafted and well-worn loop is going to be hard.”

LJ paused as he turned his attention to the floor once again and a small smile came to his lips. “But maybe I just I found the loophole Smee was looking for.”

Killian tilted his head and gave his brother a proud smile. “I’m listening.”

“There is extra security planned for the match night, but Gold has kept the details very much under wraps. Word is that he is bringing in someone unknown, someone who is cutting a deal with him not just for money, but for a favor. This person seems to be desperate for something only Gold can give, and willing to do anything to get it.” LJ craned his neck to the side, nodding his head imperceptibly towards the other side of the floor. “It took me a while, but I was able to finally track her down. She’s almost invisible, a shadow, which is funny because she’s so beautiful that it is a miracle she goes unnoticed.”

“A woman?” Killian turned his eyes into the direction LJ had indicated and scanned the room.

“10 o’clock. Blonde hair, red leather jacket-”

LJ kept talking, but Killian had stopped listening, his heart skipping two beats and his blood running cold. Everything around him froze and the room went silent. All he could see was the woman who had plagued his dreams for the last few years. The one woman who had once had him considering spending more than just a few nights and days with. The woman he had had to screw over and leave alone in the middle of the night in order to save himself from a jail sentence.

The woman who had forever changed - forever ruined - Tuscany for him.

LJ’s voice played in his ear like a muffled dream. “Her name is-”

“Emma Swan,” he whispered. And it like her name falling from his lips called her to him, because at that moment she started to turn her head towards him. Quickly, Killian pivoted on his heels and stepped behind a column.

“You know her?” LJ asked.

“Aye.”

“Can we use her?”

“Not if I want to make it out of this with all my appendages intact.” Clearing his throat, he risked a glance Emma’s way. She was gone. Killian sighed in relief and met LJ’s inquisitive eyes. “Listen, do not tell anyone about this. Not yet. I need some time to think.”

LJ hesitated, and Killian pressed on desperately, “Please, brother.”

“Fine.” LJ sighed. “But I’m giving you just two days. After that, I’m telling the others.”

/-/

He shouldn’t be here. He knew it. LJ knew it. Pretty much everyone else would have said the same if they knew where he was. But alas, Killian Jones was a sucker for punishment.

The moment he found out about Emma’s involvement with Gold he couldn’t help but become her second shadow. Something his little brother was all too eager to point out each time he found Killian lounging inconspicuously in the casino lobby.

“You know, you keep claiming that she’d gut you alive if she finds you, and yet here you are, watching her every move.”

“She’s a key player in the casino’s security, we need to know her every move.” Killian ran a hand across the back of his neck, feeling the slick sweat that had gathered there on his walk over to the casino. The day had been particularly humid, and he hated it. While the casino’s artificial lights and smoke-filled air might be overbearing, at least it had a killer refrigeration. He’d take comfort in that minor detail.

“I thought that was why I was here, withering under these terrible lights and lack of fresh air,” LJ pointed out, his eyes scanning the casino as if it were a dungeon.

Well, LJ clearly had the Jones flair for dramatics. Killian ignored him, once again turning his attention back to the floor, searching for any sign of Emma. She’d been by the casino each of the last two days, locked up in one of Gold’s private rooms doing gods-knew-what. He needed to know what she was doing. What was she in charge of securing? What secrets was Gold looking to protect?

“Are you going to tell me what your deal is with her?” LJ kept his tone professional, but there was no mistaking the clench of his jaw or the way he studiously avoided Killian’s eyes. Killian knew he needed to tell him, that it was important that his brother understood he belonged here and that Killian trusted him.

“Have you heard anything about my Tuscany - er - situation?”

“You mean when you hooked up with the bounty hunter who was sent after you, and you had to escape your room while half naked in the middle of the night?”

He winced, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Of course people would have felt the need to embellish the tale a little. He would have done the same after all. “I wasn’t half naked and it was not in the middle of the night, but yes, that might be a decent summary.”

LJ’s eyes widened as he finally put two and two together. “No way! Emma Swan was that bounty hunter?”

He finally spotted her and he shifted so she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of him, but he continued to track her every moment. She’d swapped the red leather jacket for a grey sweater, her hair in a high ponytail that left a few tendrils falling along her cheeks. Her jeans molded to her legs, reminding him of how well acquainted he’d once been with each of their curves. He moved instinctively towards her, almost blowing his cover before LJ darted out a hand to stop him.

“Are you fucking suicidal, Killian?”

Killian frowned. “Only when it comes to her.”

He didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d come here to lay low, let his latest hiccup blow over and he then could come out of hiding and be left in peace. Not for the first time, he’d wondered about his streak of bad luck.

He couldn’t fool himself anymore about whether or not someone was out to get him. He scratched along his scars absentmindedly. The tattoos he’d just gotten were a good cover for the worst of the scarring, and he was glad that he’d gotten them. Granted, they now meant he had a traceable mark about him, but he’d learn to work around that.

Killian finished off his beer in two gulps and ordered another one, his mind still retracing each step from his last heist, focused on figuring out what exactly went wrong. Nothing stood out, which only left one possibility - he’d been sold out.

And he knew exactly who had enough money, power, and interest in seeing him brought down.

Suddenly, though, all his worries faded as his attention was pulled to the woman who had. walked into the little trattoria. She was breathtaking, all blonde hair and green eyes. And her legs, miles of them packed in tight jeans that caused his fingers to itch in want. But it was the no-nonsense attitude in her movements that had his skin warming and his body reminding him he was flesh - heated flesh - after all.

He wanted her.

Knowing he probably shouldn’t, he approached her anyway. She didn’t buy half of his lines - and he liked her all the more for it - but finally he won her over. Better said, she conquered him, making him fall head over heels in lust - and then something more - with her. The nights they had together had been passionate, the meeting of their heated bodies reaching one mindblowing orgasm after another, but it was their days that he’d treasure in his memory forever. The Tuscan sun shining on her hair, bringing a delicious tan to her skin, her straw hat failing to prevent a million freckles from showing up across her cheeks. Their lazy afternoons under the shade of a tree, eating cheese, fruits, and cured meats washed down with wine. It was as if they were the leads of a romantic movie in which there was no conflict, and no worries. He’d been so unguarded with her. He hadn’t felt the need to lie about his name. His trade had remained a secret, he’d left it at a vague claim of being a businessman and though she eyed him suspiciously, she’d been vague about her job as well.

It all suited him just fine, because as much as he wanted more with her, it clearly couldn’t be at the moment, not when he still had to deal with the aftermath of his failed heist and the bounty hunters he knew they were sending his way. He wouldn’t drag her into it, or worse, make a target out of her.

He knew their time was limited, and he set out to make the best of it, living each moment to the fullest and giving himself to her as much as he could. He was the body she took pleasure in, the shoulder she’d cried on about her difficult life, and the chest into which she whispered her need to uncover a secret from her past.  

What he didn’t know, not until that damn envelope arrived at the room, was that for all that he’d been looking to cover his back, he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.

His picture, his profile, his name were in that envelope. She was the bounty hunter and he was her prey.

As he quickly gathered his belongings and prepared himself to run, he still had wished he could stay. But even if he turned himself in, he knew she’d never believed he didn’t know who she was from the start. She would never believe that he hadn’t been taking her for a fool…

So Killian Jones walked away, leaving his heart behind with her in that hotel room.

He’d been so caught up in his memories - the same ones he used to relive every night and now was reliving every minute - that he hadn’t realized that he lost sight of her.

“Bloody hell.” Ignoring LJ’s objections, Killian quickly made his way towards the last place he’d seen Emma, his eyes scanning everywhere for her.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ursula’s confused look before she quickly masked her features. He could also see Ariel and Eric together, tracking down exit routes and calculating time.

Everyone was where they needed to be, doing what they needed to be doing. Everyone, that was, but him. He should be back in the warehouse building that blasted vault copy, and yet here he was looking for her.

Killian knew he had to walk away, that blowing his cover and having Emma spot him would have terrible consequences, and yet he still was looking for her. Desperate, he made his way to the back of the lobby, heading towards the exit that connected most closely to the back alley.

That’s when he felt a hand grabbing his shirt and pulled him towards a narrow corridor hidden at the very end of the building. His head hit the wall, his eyes closing at the impact and he felt the cold edge of a blade slide along his throat.

“Looking for me, Jones?” He opened his eyes to find Emma Swan’s green eyes glaring back at him.

[hauntinghilarity]

SLRP Lore: The Wendigo

I had a grand ole time skulking about as my Wendigo. I made the avatar in second life, and if curious of the parts, I have this photo on my flickr with the item list.  I plan to rewrite the descriptions in the Flickr album so they relate to my character Curro, the photojournalist who I write as on my second life flickr albums, but for now what is pasted below is a placeholder. 

As with the Lickyface event, this is an event I created for the players of a roleplay sim. I was quite pleased with it, so I kept it. Here we are. 

The text is written in a gentle script before being magically replicated. Someone seems to be leaving a half-hearted attempt at a warning. Instead of telling anyone, he appears to have simply left his notes around. The top of the page was signed ‘Doc Boots’. It also had a page number. As most normal books do not have page numbers in the thousands, it is safe to say he ripped this from his personal, obviously magical, journal. Why he decided to leave it around is anyone’s guess.

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“     The forest has been in an uproar lately. Something happened recently to turn the tide from general anger to talks of violence. They whisper of a darkness coming. What is particularly concerning, however, is that it appears that the forest does not speak of this growing beast with malice or fear. The forest seems uncertain to their stance, regardless, but the words they whisper are not lost on me. I have yet to learn whether it is one lone spirit or the work of a species, but regardless the word still fills me with equal parts of dread and wonder. Anything taught to me by the same being who was a master of skinwalking was always something to be dealt with with worry.      The Wendigo. The winter always seems to stir the spirit. An accidental ritual seems to bring it to life. It always starts with some group of people who are traveling. Lost in a forest, stuck in a blizzard, locked in a cave, the cause of their being stranded is inconsequential, though winter blizzards do seem to be the most common. I feel I know why. At first, they always try to survive the ‘moral’ way. They wouldn’t dream of eating their own kind, such things are taboo among the humanoids. Eventually, the conditionings of civilization bleed away. Eventually, your buddy begins to look like nothing more than a piece of meat. Like your lone chance to survive.

    I surmise that the reason the winter blizzards cause a higher rate of their creation due to the preservation of corpses. Should a friend die from exposure, or possibly other reasons, you are stuck staring at a perfectly good piece of meat. It might have your friends face, but as it lies there stiff and perfectly preserved... Your reservations bleed away.

   This first chunk of humanity stripped away causes the whole dam to break.

   It starts with just a finger.

   Then the entire arm.

   Soon enough, your whole family has become nothing more than a horrified collection of bones. Ones you have attempted to pose, because madness is beginning to set in.

   This means it is too late.

   Obviously.

   Your spirit has been infected. Your mind will rot, but it is not like it matters. The whispers of the Wendigo are the only purpose you’ll follow.

   Searching for more food.

   DEMANDING for more food.

   The taste of human can be quite addicting after all, not sure about body-warpingly good though.

   The previous host will be nothing but a memory.

 Their body stretching out.

 Sadly, no matter how many poor sods they eat, the Wendigo’s host will never seem to gain any weight.

 In fact, they just seem to become progressively skinnier until they look like nothing more than a skeleton wearing leathers.

 I have even seen one somewhere that had their own vertebrae rub through their skin until it poked out. This is not something that seemed to merit concern from the Wendigo.

What is most fascinating is what happens to their head. It takes a number of forms. Some a wolf, some a deer, but the most common as well my personal favorite involved a deer skull. Some merely find, decorate, and place one on their head. Possibly due to a remnant of humility, and what the spiritual infection does to the face is quite grotesque. My favorite method, I believe, is reserved to those most faithful to their corruptive spirit. They tear at their head, seemingly crushing and pulling at their own skin. The same magic warping their frame seems to give them material to work with. In my eyes though, it looked like it was stretching the upper portion of its own skull. Tearing and fussing with it like a sculptor with clay.

It would do this until the signature deer skull was formed. The area below, almost always hidden thanks to the deer skull itself, nothing would remain of the humanoid they once more minus the gaping mouth of a predator. The petals of flesh he tore away didn’t get removed either. Instead, they just seemed to collect along the edges of the skull. Instead of falling away like the world often dictates, it instead just collected. Until strands of this meaty substance hung from its skull like braids.”

---------------------------------------

Doc was about to leave, only for him to stop and think a moment. Did he trust the meat bodied cityfolk to actually find the book? If he was closer to the Mage’s guild maybe. This far from the forests? They might just pass the book by without even a gander! Though, he supposed if he left it in the forest something would just eat the damned thing. Right, he had a fix for all of this.

So, instead of a note, Doc did a complex ritual to create a new familiar. This living book would hover and rotate, mumbling and repeating the contents of the note to itself, until someone passes. The moment this book sees a target, the book would let out a loud noise, before loudly reciting the contents of the note as it magically copies it, before rapidly spitting these copies at its poor target. It will do this, getting louder in its recitation, until they take the note and place it somewhere the book deems proper. Their pocket, their pants, their cleavage, whatever makes the book believe that the person has properly taken it.

Do not let the book see you throw the note away. DO NOT.

------------------------------------------------

Doc’s containment Ritual

I made a backup plan in case the players didn't figure out a way to contain it forever, or in case I wanted to bring it back. Sadly, the sim (Crest of Vrek'mar) has gone inactive last I heard, and they found a means of taking the Wendigo out.

Doc made it a little pointlessly complicated. They chopped down the tree of life though, deserved some damn difficulty.

------------------------------------------------

   To prepare for the ritual, a smoke must be burned using a mixture of sulfur and minerals. As these materials burn, a special mixture of herbs (particularly sage, sweetgrass, and jasmine) soaked in humanoid blood before being dried is to be sprinkled over just before the ritual itself begins. One participant must play a hypnotic tune using a specially prepared gemshorn carved out of the horn of a musically inclined Satyr. Two more participants must perform a dance that satirizes the movements of the Wendigo, they are to both stand on opposite sides of the circle, always moving at the same speed so that continue to stand perfectly opposite each other. They are to keep this up until the ritual has completed. This portion of the ritual is to ease the natural spirits and prevent them from interfering with the ritual. As with all parts of a ritual this vast, this is highly important.

​

    The ritual will begin by drawing a large sigil into the dirt. The sigil itself will be made in the image of the Guardians of the Eldrich symbol, only with a complex series of shapes and runes within the tree. Placed in the space centered between the roots at the bottom of the tree drawn in the sigil, the heart of the first victim the Wendigo Spirit has possessed within a given cycle. Opposite the heart placed in the space centered between the branches, a piece of the host’s former life must be placed. As the tree of life the sigil called to has been destroyed, the branch of a mythical tree given willingly or a portion of a Dryads body, also willingly given, will be required to draw the required energy into the circle.

​

    On one of the roots at the bottom of the sigil a white quartz is to be placed, while on the top of the sigil, a smokey quartz is to be placed opposite of the location of the white Quartz. This will help conduct and regulate the energy coming into the sigil from one and escaping it, transformed, from another. Regents will continue to be placed in pairs. On at the bottom of the sigil on a root, the other on the top on a branch.

​

   The skinned flesh of a convicted and executed serial cannibal is to be draped over the heart while covering the two roots that are on either side of it. Draped over the reagent that represents the Wendigo’s former life will be the skin of a Stag (One that ISN’T a supernatural messenger or otherwise wildly important to the spirits and inhabitants of the forest) that had been honorably hunted using no weapons beside’s the hunter’s own bare hands. The meat of the Stag is to be prepared and given away before the ritual begins, while the rest of its remains are not to be wasted. Failing to do so may very well corrupt the spirit of THAT stag, and we’ll just have more problems to deal with. This shall represent the transformation of the Wendigo, and assist in releasing the souls that it has captured in this cycle.

    On the final root, the grave dust of a cannibal who has laid in its grave for at least a decade and never paid for their crimes. Opposite of this on the final branch, the placenta cord of a loving mother who has not known the feeling of malice or hatred. This is to represent the natural cycle, which the Wendigo stands in opposition of.

​

    A large quantity of Calcium, Phosphorus, Potassium, and Sulfur is to be CAREFULLY poured in separate circles surrounding the outside of the sigil, the dancers must make certain not to disturb this circle. Given everything that has been done to the forest lately, you need to, put bluntly, essentially bribe the forest itself with some of the nutrients it desires. Giving it to the forest in large quantities and in its most natural state MIGHT just help.

​

    Finally, a human skull specially carved with runes and soulstones embedded in its eye sockets is to be placed in the center of the sigil. The one who is going to recite the incantation will slice their finger and let enough blood drop onto the skull so it may dribble off over the side and touch the dirt. Care MUST be taken not to allow your blood to touch either of the soul stones. This is Doc’s main way of containing curses, but this particular evil spirit is a special case. The skull itself must be taken from a human with divine roots. A cleric would be the best. The contributor does not have to be murdered for the skull to be obtained, it may be obtained from a corpse.

​

    Should the preparations be performed to a T, the ritual will force the spirit of the Wendigo into the skull, but it is unlikely to do so calmly. It is recommended that magic users or warriors capable of harming spirits are at the ready once the incantation begins. Should the skull be broken, the spirit of the Wendigo will be able to wander the forests once more.

​

-Wendigo Heart-

​

    After removal, the heart will continue to give a faint, labored beat. The torn veins that once transported blood will, at first, splurt out a horribly putrid substance. A mixture of all the rot and decay that has accumulated in the horrid beast. Not long afterward, necrophagous blowflies will begin to swarm from inside the heart with each small pulse. The heart will not stop beating, and the swarm of flies will not stop naturally.

​

   To obtain this reagent, the Wendigo will have to be fought and subdued (Beaten) before the heart is removed. The Wendigo will be incapacitated, but the spirit that possesses it will be determined to obtain it.

[saltandlimes]

This is so awesome that I’m posting it so the rest of the world can see. I hope you don’t mind, dear! Also like super random, but wow is this awesome research and information for people. (Also I slightly edited because, as you say, mobile sucks)

[SW headcanons at the end]

WELL OKAY IF IT’S ESSENTIAL INFORMATION and I’m procrastinating on some technical writing like nobody’s business HERE IS AN ATTEMPTED BREAKDOWN OF WHAT DIFFERENT KINDS OF “GLORIFIED METAL STICK” MOBILITY AIDS ARE GOOD FOR FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF WHY I’M DESIGNING WITH THEM

Insert disclaimer that the only person whose body I have extensively studied these things on is my own and I’ve been using various mobility aids for less than a fifth of my life so this is not magic gospel etc whatever MOTION INCLUDING VIOLENCE TIME

Basic-as-heck term definition party: canes are what you think they are, o reader; forearm crutches are those things that look kind of like canes that go up to your elbow (for example, these are mine https://www.ergoactives.com/products/crutches); armpit crutches are the design family that, uh, go up to your armpits, I guess that is kind of obvious. This includes the off-the-shelf ones you see people with broken legs and stuff with, as well as fancy shit like my beloved www.djoglobal.com/products/donjoy/rebound-crutches that spawned this discourse in the first place.

The way I walk it’s a successively escalating trade off of increasing quality of walking with my hands at the expense of being able to use my hands for other things. Canes I have a free hand no matter what, and all the ones I’ve had have been aluminum with a wrist loop and so very easy to either just drag up off the floor when I pick my hand up or hook the handle over my wrist and treat like an awkward bracelet. Nothing else has that degree of unobtrusiveness, but it’s at the expense of the least increase in physical function. They’re the most versatile for combat because they’re just three feet of metal with a handle; I can flip one up into my hand to hold it like a sword with the handle as the pommel in one gesture without taking the wrist loop off, or throw it in the air and catch it at the base and swing it using the handle as a hammer. Most of my sparring with fencers has been with canes; any higher than that up the scale (the scale is both figurative and my arm) requires moving to a set of combat motions that are fairly unique.

Forearm crutches are kind of like canes without the wrist motion; my wrist is locked straight and it doesn’t make any sense to flip them upside down to use as a bat instead. I can swing from the elbow–even aside from trying to hit people, one of the tics I have with forearm crutches that I don’t with anything else is swinging them in a little sideways arc with each step instead of just back-and-forth if I’m on uneven ground, because that motion is much easier from the elbow than either the wrist or the shoulder–and I can bend my elbows, which means I can, for example, cross one or both crutches in front of my body to prove a point or block projectiles. Motions are increasingly exaggerated and unsubtle, but generally have more force behind them.

The only armpit crutches I can speak for are mine–the question-mark shape as opposed to the kind of triangular ones, I’ve tried them, we had deep disagreements–but given what I know about playing soccer with the other kind of armpit crutches there might not be a huge difference here. At any rate, they move with my arms and not only do I not have wrist rotation I basically have none in the elbow; what I can do with them is limited to the range of motion of my shoulders with a metal bar jammed under them. Trying to hit things with armpit crutches without taking them off (see below for the alternative to that) is all big, openhanded or overhead swings and jabs, and I can’t cross them like forearm crutches.

On the other hand, armpit crutches have the second-largest range of motion when standing still, and the largest range of motion without taking them off! Where propping my elbows up on forearm crutches so that they stay put without my hands on the handles is weird and a bit precarious and the added motions are basically “ability to use a phone”, and the versatility of a cane is mostly just that I can lift it easily, if I stand still and don’t lift my upper arms above my shoulders armpit crutches will just stay put. So I can text, or read, or do fine manual labor, or curse people out with appropriate gestures, or even stick my hands in my pockets or behind my back. There’s way less violence/other uncommon physical actions one can do without preparing for it, but if you’re going to be standing still and need continued physical support (strictly you’re not supposed to put weight through your armpits and also no one actually follows that rule) it’s the closest you’ll get to a loophole giving you the range of expressiveness of someone without crutches. The best physical example I can think of is if I was teaching a class and I had to use a high whiteboard frequently (ugh) I’d probably just give up and use one forearm crutch or a cane so my writing hand would be free, but if I’m /lecturing/ armpit crutches are basically invisible.

Which is how I got here: thinking about gesturing relating to giving orders etc., versus hitting people, and who I would prioritize those around! Which brings us to: MEANWHILE BACK AT THE STAR WAR as long as we’re here and in a format I can do links here’s where I’m at for the grab bag of characters I’ve slapped stuff on so far. Sorry for the ugly links and the fact that I am in love with a few designs specifically, I very much play favorites.

It would probably make more sense for at least some lightsaber users to have canes instead of forearm crutches but I am the boss of me and also working off of not having any specific disability headcanons and instead going “what would I need to cosplay this person” so forearm crutch party it is. Between https://www.ergoactives.com/products/crutches and millennialmedical.com/forearm-in-motion-crutches.html the canon saber colors are covered and I haven’t gone through Jedi-by-Jedi to figure out which handle is more their #aesthetic for the most part.

I haven’t seen any Rebels let alone S3 (booo me, etc.) so I know what color I’d give Thrawn (the Millennial blue anodized aluminum) but not if the way he moves would tip him over into forearm crutches vs the fact that I’m giving most high command kinds of people armpit crutches. So blue millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html versus millennialmedical.com/forearm-in-motion-crutches.html and disclaimer that it’s not just aesthetic; I get the impression if forced to pick a color he’d pick a definition of what he is that includes species over rank, I think?

On the complete other side of the “how much of your identity is your rank” spectrum, we have established that I can’t /not/ give Krennic those same Millennials in white, look at this shit, I am being personally persecuted. millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html Even aside from being the right color they’re nominally severe and elegant while also being kind of weird and having a lot of potential for casual damage. Also this became a character analysis project at some point.

Hux gets mine (www.djoglobal.com/products/donjoy/rebound-crutches), that’s kind of just a given. “Black metal with a single red bar is The Aesthetic” is what got us here. …That and the fact that things I have established I can do while wearing mine include standing still with my hands clasped behind my back, and wandering around wearing a (leather) greatcoat as a cape, so… They fit him more than plain black armpit crutches would, and that train of thought is how I realized that was the general model (damn it. Puns. Go away) to go with for command staff in the first place.

Speaking of black and red, my roommate’s reaction (“Darth Emo Douchebag (sic)”) when I got them aside there’s not enough red in them for Ren BUT there is in the red-bodied version of the Millennial ones!

Also I’m giving Ren armpit crutches despite having established that forearm crutches are my favorite for combat for three reasons. Two and a half? His canon saber is fucking absurd in design in general and also in /size/, this is not a dick joke, it is a fucking magic space broadsword, having it be in the same design family as everyone else’s would be weird. And the caveat to how limited my range of motion for hitting people with armpit crutches on is that they’re about a foot longer and if I take one off and hold it like a bat while leaning on the other I suddenly have four feet of metal to swing–which is the most effective/intimidating combat option for me, and also the one involving highest burn-out rate (I have two crutches for a reason) and undermining of the purpose of having crutches itself. Which seems appropriate. (And if you’re weaponizing forearm crutches you can block. Even without taking them off the range of motion for armpit crutches–like, imagine your arm is four feet long, entirely straight, and there’s about 20 degrees less range of motion from the shoulder–makes them offense-only, and a form of offense with long, telegraphed strikes that require complete commitment to the arc.)

Back to people who aren’t primarily hand-to-hand combatants: the fact that I’m flying by the seat of my pants basing these choices off of what they would mean for my daily life means that, basically, command staff etc get /either/ canes or armpit crutches–because they’re the two options that give you the most expressiveness with hands without dropping them–based on whether I think they’re also someone who’d prioritize increase in daily walking range versus increase in dexterity.

So Sloane, in the continued tales of ‘not-very-anon just really wants to upgrade to the In-Motions but has literally no justification for it and so is giving them to space fascists instead’, gets these, too millennialmedical.com/in-motion-pro-crutch.html but in the gunmetal/charcoal gray. Even though she now holds a rank that means a white uniform, she doesn’t strongly identify with it; metal in the steel-to-gunmetal range registers to me personally as much more of a generic authority thing, and it wouldn’t clash with her olive/black uniform or the white one.

But I gave Tarkin one of these instead https://smile.amazon.com/Hugo-Mobility-Adjustable-Handle-Reflective/dp/B005IV0AZ6/ref=sr_1_8_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1486768005&sr=8-8&keywords=Hugo%2Bmobility&th=1 because I feel like he’d prioritize use of his hands to what on me would be a fault, and similarly take the narrow tip for pinpoint turns over “being sure that you won’t fuck up your entire balance if you miss the ground by more than ten degrees”. I briefly considered the amber color because it matches the highest rank he’s attained but honestly the 'it’s the gun color’ logic holds here too.

The other thing canes are easier for is getting up/sitting down quickly, so for someone who either alternates between desk work and short distances, or is going to be probably seated but jump up and yell at people on short notice, it’s the intuitive choice there too. So the other cane-user I have a solid design claim for is Carise Sindian and she gets the cane that’s actually my current backup/job interview cane (it intimidates people less, idk, I don’t get it and I don’t like it but oh well): https://smile.amazon.com/dp/B005IV0C2W/ref=sr_ph_1_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1486768449&sr=sr-1&keywords=Hugo+mobility, in aquamarine. Bright, obviously a deliberate fashion statement without being frivolous if you have any idea what you’re looking at, I like the wider bases even though they make me less graceful in specific circumstances because they also stand up on their own so if you need to look like you know what you’re doing in unfamiliar environments (like, say, Random Politics Events) you don’t have to play the game of “whoops where can I lean these up against oh they fell on me again ow this was definitely intentional”, and for her I’d want to prioritize the appearance of intentionality and dignity.

I know I want Sinjir (hey, look, it’s someone who isn’t a villain! I swear I like them sometimes!) to have a cane with a molded left-handed grip and the tack-hammer-shaped handle that is a good, well, hammer in a pinch if you flip it around and hold it by the end of the cane, but I haven’t found one I can link.

Similarly, Leia strikes me as either a walking stick person or as someone with a folding cane who actually disassembles it, with no middle ground, and I have no idea what to look for there because I am not either of those kinds of people, so I am going to stop now and do my overdue Thing instead and hope that the stream of consciousness didn’t make this unreadable and that it was in fact interesting!