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thesharkspajamas · 2 months

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James and Angus play cricket - NO SPOILERS

@im-kikimon

Harriet: James' pallas cat daemon. Assume only James can hear her unless is specified as 'aloud'

Context: James and Lydia are staying with the Bells post season one (dw no spoilers here for the show or the books). James has discovered a love for baking with Helen and a talent for pipe icing. He and Lydia have agreed to help her ice 100ish cupcakes for a commission to the bakery. - I have actually posted a similar scene before if you want to read it, but it DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS for season 1.

This is also part of a larger chapter of a growing fic (~20k words) so some parts have been omitted/added to make it make sense, sorry if the flow is a bit off.

Anita is an OC, she's Helen's sister and is a foster parent. Helen rang her to get some advice about James and Lydia staying with them.

Some cricket terminology:

Whites: cricket is traditionally played in white trousers and t-shirt. This kit is often referred to as ‘cricket whites’ or just ‘whites’

Lad: young man - British slang

Guards: here it’s cricket terminology for where a batsman stands in relation to his stumps.

Stumps: the three sticks behind the batsman in cricket

Bails: little pieces of wood that sit on top of the stumps. If these are knocked off in the right circumstances then the batter is out. They indicate that the stumps have been hit.

James was up early on Sunday morning - hardly surprising as he’d been asleep by eight-thirty last night. He left a note on the chopping board and went for a run with Harriet trotting along beside him.

His thoughts turned to everything he had to sort out, his obligations to the Beaufort name, supporting Lydia...

“But you’ve got cricket with Angus today. We haven’t played since summer,” Harriet interjected, “and we’ve got to ice the cupcakes for the party.”

Good old Harriet for not letting James get too deep in his own head. He was looking forward to both of those things, “Bet you’re looking forward to the cricket, might be some cricket balls.” He teased Harriet.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Harriet had scratched and gnawed four cricket balls beyond repair while James had been focussing on his bowling once, and since then all unattended cricket balls had had to stay in a zipped bag. She didn’t regret it: not her fault they were leather, and stitched, and ball shaped - like yarn, but better.

They passed a florist’s brimming with colourful blooms and James stopped to take it all in. This was (of course) research for his cupcake designs, not because he liked the look and smell of pretty flowers.

A young woman came out to meet him, “Morning!” she greeted him cheerily.

“Morning,” James greeted politely, “what are these ones called?” He gently turned a large cluster of blue flowers towards her.

“Those are hydrangeas,” she smiled, “You shopping for anyone?”

“I’m decorating some cakes this afternoon and need some inspiration.” But, now he thought about it, some flowers might be nice for Helen and Ruby as a thanks for last night, and a live model was always better for drawing with - icing was probably the same. “Actually, could I make a bouquet?”

“Yeah, if you want to pick some out, bring them in and I’ll wrap them and arrange them for you. Take your time. I’m still setting up.”

Thank goodness for Apple Pay. James returned from his run with a gorgeous pink, white, blue and purple bunch of flowers. And a red rose for Ruby, just because.

He’d been out longer than he’d realised. He saw Helen clearing some space in a cupboard - “good morning, süßer, nice run?”, she smiled at him.

“Great. Thanks for your help last night.”

“Of course, süßer." held up the list of his and Lydia's favourite childhood foods they'd made last night, some of the baked goods had green stars next to them, “I was going to go food shopping this afternoon. I noticed I used to make quite a few of these at the bakery before we slimmed down. I’m happy to buy you some supermarket stuff, but I still have the original recipes if you’d like to try some at-home baking?”

James felt his eyes widen. “You made the brookies? And the apricot-honey things?” He couldn’t believe it, after his mum had stopped bringing them home from her commute, he’d never been able to find those again, and the Beaufort cooks had never got it just right.

“I’d love that.” He said sincerely. Speaking of at-home baking…

He pulled the bouquet out from behind his back, “I passed the florist. The brief was pink, blue, white, and purple flowers, right?” he suddenly felt embarrassed; he’d never given a woman flowers before, even if she was Ruby’s mum.

“Oh they’re perfect! That’s very thoughtful of you.” Helen exclaimed and sniffed them. She didn’t mention the rose. “I think you and Angus are leaving for cricket at half-nine, but you’ll be back by one so we can do them after lunch?”

James nodded, “Would it be okay if we listened to some of the prescribed podcasts while we ice? Just as background..” he trailed off. ‘Idiot’, he thought, ‘this was supposed to be fun and here you are wanting to listen to-’

“-That’s a good idea.” Helen cut off his thoughts, “I hope you don’t mind but I called Anita again while you were out. I just wanted some more on how I could help with the preparation and school and stuff like that. She said that creative stuff like this is perfect for prep, listening without distraction might be pretty depressing.” Anita had also recommended positive enforcement of good behaviour, so she continued, “Well done for asking. I know it’s hard to ask for what you need.”

James felt his cheeks heat, “I’ll go and shower”, and beat a hasty retreat. He still had the rose for Ruby. He should be able to catch her before she left for her shift.

Percy and the Range Rover arrived right on time. Percy handed James his Maxton Hall cricket whites, “Good morning, sir. Your cricket bag is in the boot.”

“Thanks Percy,” James ran back inside to change while Percy loaded Angus and the chair into the car. James had just jumped in the shower when Harriet reminded him that he didn’t have any other sports wear besides his (now-stinky and sweaty) running kit. A quick call to Percy had remedied that.

James got into the car.

“I saw Ruby looking very happy this morning, that got anything to do with you?” Angus smirked as he handed James a tupperware of sandwiches. Neither he nor Helen had seen James eat that morning so Helen made something just in case…

“Oh thank you”, James took the food. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. “I popped by the florist this morning on a run. They had some roses, and, well, turns out Ruby likes roses.” He shrugged, he’d picked it up on a whim, really. No real thought behind it.

He looked out the window and ate the sandwiches, trying to avoid more questioning. ‘It wasn’t that big of a deal’, he thought. ‘It’s just a flower.’

“It’s cute though,” Harriet teased him aloud from her seat. She loved Range Rover heated seats - they were so much better than the Merc’s.

“You’re such a girl.” James teased her back. It was an inside joke between them.

He missed Percy and Angus stifling their laughter in the front seats.

…

A few Adidas-track-suited local boys decided that James was an easy target in his pristine Maxton Hall whites and expensive kit, “Hey posh boy! Wrong club innit?”, “The fuck you doin’ere?” Their jibes echoed around the sports hall.

“He’s with me, lads.” Angus interjected firmly. “He plays the same cricket we do. Josh, Wills, pad up. We’re working on guards today.”

Jams was impressed by how quickly they fell in line under Angus, and the session continued calmly with only the occasional jibe. He’d rarely experienced this sort of bullying - what with his expensive private school education and closely engineered circle of friends - but he ignored it easily thanks to his father’s training in Beaufort Nonchalance.

Cricket was one of the very few things he and Mortimer had bonded over. Mortimer had had some nets permanently constructed at the mansion so they could practise year round: the result was that James was seriously good at cricket.

When it was time to go into the nets, James warmed himself up slowly; starting with some basic and slow ones, then gradually getting faster, spinning more. He was fast outstripping Josh and Wills as batsmen, watching them get frustrated as they missed and had to right the stumps every time (they’d given up on bails).

James let rip: alternating fast bowling with different spins, watching as their frustration boiled over.

Angus called it after Josh swore and flinched away from a particularly fast one, “Alright,” He flashed a torch he kept in his pocket until he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s switch batters. James and Callum, pad up!” He made a batting motion with his hands.

James and a ginger lad jogged over to the kit pile where Harriet was lounging about with the other daemons. It took James a moment to recognise her in the form of an Italian Greyhound. He narrowed his eyes at her and she privately replied, “If I’m fetching cricket balls, I’m doing it comfortably.”

James shrugged, ‘good paparazzi cover’ he guessed, and turned to the ginger boy.

Angus saw them shake hands. Callum was seventeen, basically deaf, and didn’t have many close friends at the club on account of going to a special school. He also knew that Callum liked spending time with people without necessarily talking to them - on account of the extra effort it took to make out conversation with hearing aids - perfect for James.

He overheard Josh and William muttering as they left the nets, “crazy fucker”, “what the fuck is a player like that doin ‘ere?” Angus let them go, he figured they’d learned their lesson.

To absolutely no-one's surprise, James’ batting was also excellent. One of the boys’ dads who stuck around to help sidled up to Angus, “With a player like that, we might just win the league. Where'd you find him?”

Angus didn’t take his eyes off the nets, “He’s one of Ruby’s schoolmates, he’s staying with us for a while.”

“Maxton Hall,” the father read the crest of James’ bag, “that the posh one up the road?”

Angus saw the ‘how do you afford that?’ question coming and shut it down quickly. “Yeah, Ruby’s on scholarship. I dunno if we’ll be able to keep him, but the other lads are copying him, so however long we do get him, we’ll see some permanent improvement.”

It was true: Josh and Will aside, the other boys had watched James’ bowls intently, and they’d all been chatting with him in the queue. It seemed that James fitted into this little club quite nicely.

#maxton hall #james beaufort #bellfort #james x ruby #ruby bell #maxton hall - daemon au #headcanon Angus being a keen sportsman before the accident and maybe even plays wheelchair cricket #this headcanon is as serious as the bow cannon on a warship if that makes sense

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nerdythebard · 1 year

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#58: Echo [Overwatch 2]

Always ready to learn!

This fun idea comes to us from a user by the name "deduqzaru". Today, we build the ultimate adaptoid. Echo, the creation of Doctor Liao - founding member of Overwatch - is a capable Damage hero, programmed with an advanced AI to fulfill variety of roles in combat and outside of it.

Next Time: Whosoever holds this hamm— NO! Not you! We're going back to the original!

Let's list the three main directives of this build:

Jill of All Trades: Echo was created with the goal of being able to fit into many situations, whether in combat or outside of it. In-game, her kit makes her a great scout, engager and damage-dealer.

I am Thou: Echo's Ultimate skill, "Duplicate" allows her to assume the form and copy the abilities of other characters on the battlefield.

Self-Sustainable: As a robot, Echo is unaffected by many statuses and effects that would affect humans: hunger, sleep, diseases, etc.

---

There were two options to start with Echo; one very obvious, the other - not so much... so I went with the obvious one and made her a Warforged. We get a +2 Constitution and +1 to one ability of our choice (Dexterity), 30 feet walking speed, and also immunity to being aged by magic. With Constructed Resilience, we gain several benefits to our fortitude:

Resistance to poison damage and an advantage on saving throws against being poisoned

We don't need to eat, drink or sleep

We are immune to diseases

We don't need to sleep, and magic cannot put us to sleep

Stemming from that last one, thanks to Sentry's Rest we can spend our long rest (shortened to a minimum of six hours) in a sort of energy-saving mode by remaining in a motionless (but still aware) state rather than unconscious sleep.

Another set of benefits we're granted by our Integrated Protection. We gain a +1 to our AC and can integrate any armour we're proficient in into our own body (and it cannot be removed against our will). Finally, Specialised Design gives us one skill proficiency (Performance) and one tool proficiency (perhaps Tinker's Tools could help us heal/repair).

Because of her learning matrix, Echo holds a huge amount of information. We will make her a Sage, giving us proficiencies in Arcana and History, three languages of our choice, and the Researcher feature - whenever we must recall a piece of lore, we know exactly where to look for the relevant information (library, archive, people of interest, etc.)

ABILITY SCORES

We'll start with Dexterity to move around the battlefield and position ourselves to different roles. Constitution will be next, our body is made of quality materials. After that, we're taking Intelligence, as recording information is what we're all about.

Charisma will be next; we're an adaptoid who can also impersonate others, we need to be convincing. Wisdom is on the lower end, we're still learning after all. Finally, we're dumping Strength.

CLASS

I've had a few ideas here, depending on which race I was going to pick for Echo. In the end, I've decided on something interesting and went Rogue start-to-finish. Rogues get the d8 as their Hit Dice, [8 + our Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with light armour, simple weapons, hand crossbows, longswords, rapiers, shortswords, and thieves' tools. Let's give Echo a studded leather set and a hand crossbow (and maybe darts) to integrate into her body, the latter to represent her primary tri-shot attack. Our saving throws are Dexterity and Intelligence, and we get to pick four skills from the class list (Acrobatics, Deception, Insight, and Perception).

Level 1: We begin this build by gaining Expertise in two skills we're already proficient in, or one skill and thieves' tools. We can double our proficiency bonus for any checks we make using those skills. Let's apply that to Deception and Insight. We can also apply Sneak Attack to strikes that we make with advantage; once per turn, if we attack with an advantage (or our target is within 5 feet of another creature hostile to it), we can add extra 1d6 damage (the value changes as we level-up).

We also learn Thieves' Cant (can't what?), a series of special code phrases and symbols that is recognisable only to us and those who operate in the same circles as us (so, like... Python, C++, HTML, pick your poison) to decode or encode messages.

Level 2: We can now use Cunning Action to take the Dash, Disengage, or Hide actions as bonus actions.

Level 3: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 2d6. We also pick our subclass, the Roguish Archetype. Since Echo needs several abilities that are similar to magic, despite my dislike of MagiTech, we will make her an Arcane Trickster. We gain Spellcasting, with Intelligence as our casting ability. We learn cantrips and a fixed number of regular spells. We gain the Mage Hand cantrips and two others of our choice (Light and Shocking Grasp) and three 1st-level spells: Disguise Self, Feather Fall, and Magic Missile. With those three, we have covered Echo's ultimate (to a degree), her passive ability to glide, and her primary tri-shot.

Additionally, with Mage Hand Legerdemain, we can make our Mage Hand invisible and use it to perform additional tasks (pickpocketing, using thieves' tools with it, etc.).

Level 4: Time for the first Ability Score Improvement, and we will use it to bump up our Dexterity by two points. We can also grab the Identify spell to access our vast database.

Level 5: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 3d6. We can now activate our extra jet boosters and make an Uncanny Dodge; doing so, we can use our reaction to halve the damage of an attack hitting us (if we can see it).

Level 6: We get an upgrade to our Expertise, by selecting two more skills that will benefit from the effect: let's choose History and Perception.

Level 7: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 4d6. We also unlock 2nd-level spells, so let's grab Aganazzar's Scorcher to replicate Echo's Focusing Beam ability.

Here, we also gain a very useful maneouvre ability: Evasion. When we are forced to make a Dexterity saving throw against an effect that would result in us taking half damage on a success (such as the Fireball spell), we instead take no damage. On a failure, we take half damage instead of full damage.

Level 8: Another ASI. We can cap our Dexterity to 20 for even better AC and Initiative bonus. To replicate Echo's Sticky Bombs ability, let's use the spell Snilloc's Snowball Swarm.

Level 9: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 5d6. We gain a new subclass feature: Magic Ambush. If, while casting a spell, we are hidden from our target, the creature has a disadvantage if the spell requires them to make a saving throw.

Level 10: Halfway through the build and we get a new cantrip (Light) and another spell. Let's get Detect Thoughts to improve our impersonations. We also get another ASI; let's put two points into Constitution here.

Level 11: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 6d6. We now gain a Reliable Talent, which makes our proficient skills even more refined; whenever we make a skill check using a skill we're proficient in, we treat every roll of 9 and below as 10. We also get another spell; let's pick See Invisibility to upgrade our visual sensors.

Level 12: For this level's ASI, instead of increasing any traits, we're gonna pick a feat that furthers Echo's specialisation: with the Actor feat we get a +1 to our Charisma, an advantage on Deception and Performance checks used to impersonate another person, as well as the ability to mimic the speech and sound of another person or creature (if we hear them speaking for at least 1 minute).

Level 13: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 7d6. We also unlock another class feature; Versatile Trickster lets use use our invisible Mage Hand to distract a target within 5 feet of it as a bonus action. Doing so, gives us an advantage on attacks against that target until the end of the turn.

Additionally, we unlock 3rd-level spells and we can finally become the aerial support with Fly.

Level 14: At this level, we install some new update to our sensors and gain Blindsense. If we're able to hear, we are aware of the location of any hidden or invisible creature within 10 feet of us.

For our next spell, we're going to grab Melf's Minute Meteors for some cover fire/carpet bombing.

Level 15: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 8d6 and our software gets some patches, because thanks to Slippery Mind we gain proficiency in Wisdom saving throws (and oh, we desperately need it).

Level 16: For another ASI, we can round up Charisma and Intelligence with one point each. We can also grab another spell, so let's disappear from the enemy's radar with Nondetection.

Level 17: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 9d6.

Time for our final subclass feature; Spell Thief allows us to hack the system and steal the knowledge of how to cast the spell from another once per long rest. Immediately after being targetted by a spell (or being in the area of one), we can use our reaction to force the caster to make a saving throw. On a failed save, the spell is cancelled and we steal the knowledge behind it. For the next 8 hours, we can cast the spell using our spell slots and the original caster cannot access that spell.

Level 18: We become the most Elusive target there is. If we aren't incapacitated, attacks against us cannot be made with an advantage.

Level 19: Our Sneak Attack bonus is now 10d6. With the final ASI of the build, we will cap our Constitution to a 20. We also unlock 4th-level spells for the endgame; let's take Locate Creature to be an even better pursuer.

Level 20: Our capstone is Rogue 20, which gives us Stroke of Luck. Once per short or long rest, we can turn a failed attack or ability check into a success. For the final spell of the build, let's grab Ice Storm and re-flavour it into carpet bombing.

---

And that is Echo, carrying the spirit of one of the founders of Overwatch. Let's see what we came up with:

First of all, we have all the boxes of being the cutting edge automaton checked; we do not require food and water or sleep, we are immune to diseases, and can still keep watch even during stasis. We have good detection skills thanks to spells, mobility, and good Insight. Finally, we have also covered Echo's mimicking ability thanks to Disguise Self and proficiency in Deception and Performance.

Our AC is 18, wew have a +5 to our Initiative, and the average of 176 Hit Points.

Although we have hit two 20s in this build (Dexterity and Constitution), we don't have much in terms of other abilities. Our Strength modifier is still a negative, and our Wisdom is pretty low; even with proficiency in saving throws, it may be challenging to resist some crowd control effects. Sometimes, hackers might get the better of us.

---

Wow, it's been some time since I've typed the ending words. I enjoyed this one, the Overwatch characters have a really good potential to use in your D&D game; let me know if I should do more of those. It's good to do this again, and I saw that you guys wanted more gods, so I shall deliver.

I'll see you in the next one, darlings! - Nerdy out!

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #character building #d&d 5e #dnd 5e #overwatch #echo #overwatch 2 #warforged #rogue #blizzard #video gaming #dnd character #dnd5e #dnd build #echo overwatch

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askthechronoverse · 3 months

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Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

When Bellamy returned to the others with Kit in tow, Charmy was attempting to eavesdrop on some beat cops who were talking about the robbery.

“Guys.” Charmy and Vito turned to look at Bellamy, who pointed at Kit.

“We have to help these people solve the mystery. The guy who stole Ken's roller skates doesn't have it. Once we return everything to its rightful owner, then we'll see if we can borrow it.” Kit frowned. “Hopefully.”

“All right. You said that you know somebody was looking into this?” Vito pulled his sister over. “We should find them. If we need to help solve this case, we should have all the clues that whoever has been researching this whole thing has gathered.” Almost as if summoned, Tim’s voice called to Kit.

“Hey! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” He trotted over to them, his Pikachu nowhere in sight. He flashed Kit a sympathetic smile. Kit introduced him to her cousins and Bellamy. “What kind of Pokemon are you, Bellamy? It's not often you see a Pokemon who can talk, unless they're a psychic type.”

“I'm not a Po-kay-mon. I am a few different kinds of things, but not that.” Bellamy flexed their wings. Charmy laughed from behind Bellamy, mouthing the pronunciation of the word Pokemon to remember it for later.

“You really are from a different world, huh?” Tim scratched his head. “Kit, the police haven't found anybody fitting the description of the guy you're looking for, but we do have a few leads about where the plates could be. We could team up. Swap notes. I have a feeling the five of us could solve this mystery.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Vito was the first and only of the group to speak up. “What do you have so far?”

“I think the actual heist was done by a Pokemon called kecleon. They are Normal types who have the ability to camouflage. It was hard to see in the camera footage, but I think that's where we should start.” He sighed. “The problem I'm having is there aren't many witnesses, and not many of them have or know a kecleon.”

“Who have you talked to so far?” Vito closed his eyes in concentration. It was clear from his stance that Vito was in his element.

“The museum curator, the owner of the items for the exhibit, and the janitor. As far as we know, the janitor was the last human to be at the exhibit before closing time.” Tim picked up Pikachu. The rabbit Pokemon made noises that sounded excited. Then again, Pikachu always seemed to sound excited to Kit.

“And you say there's no other witnesses? Just those three humans?” Tim shook his head. “Is there anything else we should know?”

“I can't get you into the crime scene. But I can get you into the museum. I've told the Chief Inspector you're my apprentices… And that Bellamy is a Pokemon from a far away region.” Bellamy looked taken aback. He rubbed his neck. “Let’s go. We have the museum all to ourselves right now.” The group headed for the front doors, Tim and Kit trailing behind the others. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm getting really worried about my dad. He… I'm afraid I'm not going to see him again for a very long time.” Kit’s voice shook a little. She was guarded, but the words of the stranger about her dad being afraid still rattled around in her head.

“I know how you feel. Part of the reason why I came to the city was to find my dad. Losing a parent in any way isn't easy.” Tim’s eyes lit up. “I'm going to go get something. I'll be right back.” The man rushed through a small doorway. While Tim was gone, Kit began to search around the dinosaur displays again. A piece of cloth in the claw of one of the centerpiece Pokemon skeletons, a jumping Archeops, caught her eye. The cloth was a ruby red and looked almost silken. As she took it out of the claw, Tim returned. His Pikachu was not with him.

“Has anybody you've seen today had repairs to their clothes?” Kit handed Tim the ripped cloth.

“I didn't, but I'll ask around. This might be a really good clue, Kit.” He put the cloth in his pocket. “Did you find anything else?” Kit shook her head. Pikachu walked next to Tim with a to go cup of coffee.

“What is Pikachu to you? I know you said he's your partner, but how did you meet?” Kit started her search for more clues.

“He was originally my dad's partner. I'd say I took him in, but it feels more like he took me in sometimes.” He laughed as he helped with the search.

“So your dad is a detective, too?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty famous. People would come from all over for his help.” Tim's voice sounded wistful. “I've been looking for him. I haven't had any luck finding him yet.” He picked something up off of the floor that Kit couldn't see and pocketed it. “I sometimes feel like he's close, but I think that's just wishful thinking.”

“Is that why you're a detective? To find your dad?” He nodded. “I hope you find him.”

“Me too. It's been years, but I don't want to lose hope just yet.” He put something else in his pocket. “He can't have just disappeared.”

“I really hope you find him, Tim.” Kit said with a light smile. She pointed to a corridor. “Where does that hallway lead?”

Tim was glad for the distraction. “I'm pretty sure that the hallway leads to the curator's office. I know the police were told to not go in there because of some priceless artifacts, but that makes me wonder if the curator is hiding something.”

“Why don't we go in there then?”

“I have a way to search that room without people getting suspicious. I'll let you know what I find.” Tim gestured with his eyes to Pikachu, who ran off in the direction of the corridor when Kit’s back was turned. “I think you were onto something with the cloth. I found a button and another piece of the same kind of cloth. If we find the piece of clothing it belongs to, we can find a new suspect.”

“If you found a button, could it possibly be from a jacket? Maybe a sleeve?” Kit tilted her head. She watched Bellamy get thrown out of the room where the plates once resided. “Ami! Did you find anything?”

“Yeah!” They rushed over to Kit. “The whole room reeked of something super sweet. Like honey mixed with milk.” Bellamy stretched their wings.

“Milk and honey?” Tim thought for a moment. “That's strange. I'll have to ask the inspector to get a sample of whatever that smell is coming from to see what it really is.” He trotted over to the person he had spoken to before and began to talk to him.

“I hope we're not doin’ all this work just for the bad guy to swoop in and take it from us.” Bellamy folded their arms.

“I hope so, too.” Kit played with the horn on her head.

“Really interesting.” Tim came back to the two. “They already looked into that. It's just a mixture of milk and honey. I don't think anyone had any time to spill a snack and the police believe it has to do with the display. That still might be something important.” They were quickly joined by Vito and Charmy.

“We found something.” Charmy grabbed Kit and dragged her over to a glass vase with a twisted neck just outside of the roped off exhibit. Inside the vase was a small creature that was sprite like in appearance. It was pink and wore a scarf. It looked up at the five with large eyes.

“The poor little thing! It's trapped!” Kit put a finger on the glass, the humanoid insect putting a hand on the spot.

“That's a ribombee, a fairy Pokemon. I wonder what it’s doing here. They usually prefer being around flowers and meadows.” Tim stated as Kit began to work to get the creature out of the vase. She dug through her bag and pulled out a sweet smelling granola bar. She used this to help the tiny creature through the mazeline twists by waving it around the neck. Eventually, the insect was out and the little thing looked grateful for the save. Kit broke off a piece of the bar to share with the fairy. “I wonder if it saw anything. This vase isn't that far from the exhibit.”

“It's a shame you can't ask.” Kit stated as she looked the winged creature over. It flew into the display room, flew around the now empty altar in confusion, and then returned to Kit.

“Yeah. Pokemon don't really work that way.” Tim shifted awkwardly. “I'll take Ribombee for a moment. I can make sure it's OK.” The insect landed on his hand and he headed off to a quiet and darkened corner, Pikachu trailing after.

“I don't like how this feels.” Vito stated. “Bellamy told me you saw that hood guy before. I can't help but wonder what the end game is.”

“We definitely need to talk about this, but later.” Charmy stated. “Right now, our focus should probably be on helping that weird guy who's currently talking to the bee thing solve the mystery so we can beat the bad guy at his own game.” Kit looked over to where Tim was and, sure enough, it did appear that he was trying to calm the ribombee down. She shrugged and continued to listen to the others.

“I guess you're right on that, big sis. I feel like we all need to sit down and figure out what we know so far. I think the police completely combed this place at this point.”

“You're right about that.” Tim finally approached them, Pikachu and Ribombee trailing behind. “Let's head back to the Hi-Hat. We can go over my notes and figure things out from there.”

Before they left, Tim tapped Kit’s shoulder. “Ribombee seems to want to return the favor. I don't know how she can do that, but I've told her to stick around.” The bee Pokemon nestled into Kit’s messenger bag. The teenager nodded and the two humans headed to where the others were waiting.

#⌈the ashes of disaster drift to you⌋ ⋆❈⋆ ⌈days of oblivion⌋#⌈the newspaper isn't antiquated⌋ ⋆❈⋆ ⌈writings⌋

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skyyclan · 2 years

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So @sootslash 's Hypoparents idea has me thinking....

Make Flametail, Dawnpelt, and Tigerheart Sasha and Tigerstar's kits, and make Mothwing, Hawkfrost, and Tadpole Tawnypelt and Rowanclaw's kits

Instead of Hawkfrost helping train with Brambleclaw in the DF and then being a mentor to the trainees, he can be part of a trio with Breezepelt and Lionblaze. I think it would be an interesting take, having to compare Lionblaze when he goes against the DF and actively starts helping with the prophecy from Starclan, to Breezepelt who maybe could back out last minute, or have both Breezepelt and Hawkfrost fight on the DF's side but while Breeze lives on to continue life and gets forgiven and repairs his relationships with everyone, Hawkfrost dies in the fight. And he's left very alone in the DF compared to how he was basically Tigerstar's shadow in canon. This could help lead into the whole imposter plot (and honestly? I think itd be cool if HE was possessing Bramblestar, or maybe he ends up possessing Shadowsight after Shadow was nearly killed by the imposter? That could be interesting, and since Rootspring can see ghosts, we wouldn't lose him entirely and he could still help a lot despite being a ghost. And he could either get his body back, or he could take Bristlefrost's place when dying to take out the imposters, or just join her. Having all three protagonists die after that would be really impactful imo but idk if Rootspring would jump into action like the other two would)

Idk what Tadpole would do, but I think itd be very interesting to lean into the Tadpole is Spiresight au I've seen by making that canon to this au, so Tadpole disappearing early in apprenticeship or late kithood (maybe due to the tunnels underground? To try and tie that into the plot a bit more since it isn't used much after Po3) and growing up into Spiresight

And like... Brambleclaw forging a relationship with his siblings (could either be in River or Shadow... I think Shadow would be interesting but would also lead to lots of Tigerkids in that clan, so maybe not) that have either very similar, in Tigerheart's case, struggling due to their father (and Tigerheart even more so since hes NAMED after him) struggles, or completely separate struggles like Flametail being a med cat and having to deal with Starclan. I think an interesting take would be having Flametail be on the journey with Bramble, Crow, Leafpool (he could train her on the journey!!), Tawny, and idk maybe Squirrel or Dawn could also come (also Squirrelflight and Dawnpelt would make a really good ship in this au imo) but I think the cast is good with just those four.) Like maybe he is the first to get the Power of Three prophecy and it's his duty to push Leaf and Crow together, much to his dismay. And Dawnpelt at home is likely still struggling with dealing with post-Tigerstar Riverclan and its hostility towards her and her family. I like the idea of her striving to become deputy, but being terrified of power at the same time, so she is desperately trying to find a place for herself and keep her clan together as the forest begins to fall apart. Maybe we could introduce two separate plotlines here, one for the journey cats, and have a different group of protags at home keeping the clans together and alive as the forest is destroyed. Maybe Windclan isn't the only clan struggling to not fall apart, like Shadow and River both had really bad times due to the last arc and the damage Tigerstar did to them both. (I'd vote having Dawnpelt, Squirrelflight, ...Mudclaw, and... Rowanclaw? As povs in the forest. Not sure yet. Mudclaw and Dawnpelt could both be vying for Mudclaw to become leader of Wind, supporting each other politically and believing that the systems in place for picking a deputy protect Mudclaw from losing his position due to a last minute decision change that wasn't in front of the clan, while Squirrel and Rowan could want Onestar as leader due to Mudclaw's less peaceful (seemingly) ideas of leadership and due to Firestar's and Starclan's say in the matter)

#warrior cats #hypoparents #text post #wc au #these thoughts are not at all organized and i wrote this at 1 am so #its very rough. but i think it has potential!#still not sure on a Shadowclan pov for in the forest but i thought since Rowanclaw was later shown as 'soft' when he was leader #that this could at least set up for that #anyway hope you dont mind the ping sootslash!! just love your Hypoparents idea and the huge amount of potential it has for plot changes #also i pray im thinking of the right cat when saying Rowanclaw. thats his name right. the leader that Needletail and Sleekwhisker hated

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talonslockau · 9 months

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Fire and Ice - Chapter 45

Chapter 44 || Index || Chapter 46

By the time Fireheart woke up, it was somewhere close to late day, the sun well past its height and heading towards the horizon. The storm had long since left, the clouds parting to reveal the blue skies beyond. Graystripe still slumbered, so he carefully crept out of the den and into camp to avoid waking him.

The Clan was hard at work repairing camp. Most of the cats he could see had cobwebs covering one or several injuries, and his own pelt stung with several claw marks, though he didn't remember where he had gotten them. Those with injured legs were working on the camp wall, while those with other wounds were likely out patrolling or hunting.

He saw Snowkit playing alone in one corner of camp, Speckleflight watching him carefully. After the morning's scare, he couldn't blame her. The elders were sharing tongues, no doubt immortalizing Brokentail's reign in their stories. Everything was peaceful for a change.

"Fireheart!" He turned to see Yellowfang crossing camp towards him. "You're finally awake. I'm running out of marigold and I need some extra paws to help me carry it." There was a glint in her dark eyes, and he knew he couldn't refuse her; not if he wanted to keep her on his side.

"Of course! I'd be glad to." He responded quickly. "Actually, are Dewpaw and Peppermask available? The more paws the better, after all." He pointed out steadily.

"Hmm. I don't know if we'll need that much." The old molly squinted at him for a moment, scrutinizing his intentions. "But maybe you're right. Leafbare is coming, after all. Fine. I'll go fetch my apprentice." The thick-furred healer turned and headed back towards her den, leaving Fireheart to find the warrior molly. After a moment he spotted her, working on the nursery with Cinderpaw.

"Peppermask!" He trotted towards her swiftly. "Yellowfang wants us to help her fetch some herbs. Can you come?"

The spotted tabby looked up as he spoke, blinking a greeting as he stopped in front of her. "Are you sure Cinderpaw wouldn't be better? She's quite energetic."

"Yes, please!" The sole apprentice begged, her eyes wide as she abandoned her bramble weaving. "I've been stuck in camp weaving brambles all day. I'm sick of it!"

"No offense, Cinderpaw, but I think Yellowfang would sooner drown you than listen to you the whole time." He shook his head sadly. "Besides, she asked for Peppermask specifically."

"Aw, mousedung." The apprentice grumbled, returning back to her work with a sigh. "Well, you two warriors have fun without me."

He winced at her words. "I'm sure you'll get your chance soon." He replied, turning away from her. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen then. Snowkit was close to being apprenticed, he supposed, but it would be moons until Goldenflower's kits were ready. "Anyways, let's hurry. You know Yellowfang doesn't like to be kept waiting."

They met with the two healers at the entrance to camp. "You found her? Good. Let's get going." With a lash of her tail, she led the other three out of camp and up the ravine.

They traveled silently, towards the Twolegplace, until they found a clearing of bright yellow flowers. Many of them were soaked by the morning's rainstorm, and several had been squashed by fallen branches.

Still, there was plenty to gather, and Dewpaw immediately began doing so as Yellowfang turned to Fireheart. "So why did you lie about Ravenspirit?"

"What?" Peppermask bristled beside him. "What're you talking about?"

"Fireheart didn't get attacked by Brokentail on the border. None of us did. And I certainly didn't bury anyone." Yellowfang replied sourly, her nose wrinkled in disapproval. "So? Out with it!"

"He-" The spotted molly turned to him. "That's why you insisted on me, isn't it? Something happened with Ravenspirit." She tilted her head as she studied him. "Does it have to do with-"

"Tigerclaw was planning to kill him." Fireheart interrupted her before she could finish. "He outright said as much to him at the Moonstone. If he had stayed, he would have died."

"So he's alive then." He turned his ears to listen as Dewpaw spoke from where she was carefully stripping flowerheads. "That's good. I… I was worried I helped send him to his death."

"Hold on." Yellowfang interrupted incredulously. "Tigerclaw was planning to kill his own son?"

Fireheart stared at her. "Yea, because of Redtail." He explained hurriedly. "I thought you knew all this."

"Redtail?" Her copper eyes were baffled as she stared back at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The night Dewpaw was made a healer apprentice, you told me to keep quiet about it!" He responded, equally confused. What else could she have been talking about? "We were talking about Redtail, and then you said-"

"I was talking about the prophecy! You were going to blurt it out to the whole Clan!" Her fur bristled angrily. "I don't know what you're talking about with Redtail."

"What prophecy?"

"You mean you don't-" She caught herself after a moment and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Starclan."

All four of them looked at each other in confusion. "What prophecy?" Fireheart repeated. What was she talking about? He'd never heard of any sort of prophecy in his life.

"I honestly thought you knew. That's why you attacked Brokentail, is it not?"

"I attacked Brokentail because he was going to kill you!" The ginger tom shook his head in disbelief. "So you had no idea why Redtail was showing up?"

"No!" Yellowfang sat down, staring at him as myriad emotions swirled through her eyes. "Starclan above, that changes things."

"Maybe a little!" Fireheart turned his gaze over to the two sisters. "What prophecy? What even is a prophecy, anyways? Like, I've heard it in the elders’ stories, but an actual-"

"Sometimes Starclan speaks to us outside the Moonstone." Dewpaw cut in before he could stick his paw in his mouth. "They only do so when there's grave danger coming. Those are prophecies. They're very rare, though. Spottedleaf told me when I was a kit that the last one she received was about Bluestar." Her tail drooped at the mention of her mentor. He didn't blame her; though it seemed like ages ago, the healer had only died that morning. She hadn't had time to process her grief.

"Yes, that's correct." Yellowfang's gaze stared out into the forest. "Goosefeather was notorious for spouting them. Whether Starclan actually spoke to him or not, I cannot say."

"Okay. So there was a prophecy about, what? Brokentail? I guess that makes sense." He had certainly pulled Starclan's attention, after all. Breaking the warrior code left and right, killing cats by the clawful - no wonder they thought the Clans were in grave danger.

"I suppose there's no point in hiding it, since it's been fulfilled." The dark gray healer finally looked back at him. "Fireheart, the prophecy was about you."

"Me?" He bristled in shock. "But why? I'm barely a warrior!"

"You're more than that, in Starclan's eyes." She replied steadily, her eyes clearer now. "Fire alone can save our Clan. I received it less than a moon after Raggedstar's death. Brokentail had already begun pulling the Clan away from the warrior code when he assigned Badgerkit to be Spiderfoot's apprentice at three moons old. I knew Shadowclan was in danger."

Fireheart blinked, shock washing over him. He had heard that phrase before, when he had spoken to Redtail. But why would Redtail care about Shadowclan's problems? "So they knew that I would attack Brokentail?" He scoffed at that. "So what? It wasn't that big a deal. Someone else would have done it if I hadn't."

"I didn't know what it meant for a while." Yellowfang admitted. "I thought perhaps it was referring to a Shadowclanner, but I didn't know who. It wasn't until I was attacked by a young tom named Firepaw in Thunderclan territory that I began to understand."

"You're still holding that against me? I've apologized a dozen times!" Fireheart spat crossly. "If I could go back and undo it, I would!"

"But if you hadn't, we would have passed through your territory unnoticed. We may never have returned to the Clans." The old healer replied, her voice steady and clear as she spoke. "It was you who rescued Mosspaw and Volepaw and swayed Thunderclan's mind. And it was you that led the charge to chase out Brokentail, in the end." She shook her broad head with a soft smile. "Starclan was right. Fire saved Shadowclan from Brokentail."

"But- That's-" He frowned. He was an ordinary apprentice! At the time it was given, he had barely been accepted into Thunderclan - if he had even been part of the Clan at all! Why would Starclan pay attention to a lousy kittypet? He kneaded his claws in and out, not sure how to explain his disbelief.

"Starclan works in mysterious ways." The dark molly shrugged. "It is not up to us to know how they think. We can only interpret what they tell us."

"Can we go back to Ravenspirit being alive? And how Tigerclaw was about to kill him?" Peppermask interrupted them, her green eyes narrow as she stared at him.

"I just told the Clan that so Tigerclaw doesn't try to find him." Fireheart explained quickly. "And even if he does find out Ravenspirit lives, he's far enough away that Tigerclaw won't come after him."

"Why does Tigerclaw want his son dead so badly?" Yellowfang interjected, shock creeping back into her eyes. "And what does that have to do with Redtail?"

"Tigerclaw killed Redtail because he wanted to be deputy instead, and Ravenspirit saw it." The new warrior told the clueless healer, trying to catch her up on the sordid events of recent moons quickly. "Ever since then, Redtail's been haunting us to do something about Tigerclaw and get revenge for him."

"Also, we were all apprentices when we found this out, and we didn't think Bluestar would believe us." Peppermask's green eyes were blazing as she glared at him. "And now that we're warriors and maybe earned her trust, you've gone and gotten rid of the only evidence we had!"

"We had to keep him safe!" Fireheart retorted. "Tigerclaw was actively plotting to murder him with Darkstripe. I overheard it right before we left for the Moonstone. We couldn't keep an eye on him all the time!"

"Yeah, but now what are we supposed to do? Tell Bluestar that the Clan's top warrior is a secret traitor, just trust us on that though?" She shook her head angrily, her tail lashing. "Now we're stuck in the same situation we were before!"

"There's got to be some other evidence. And Ravenspirit isn't even that far away." He huffed angrily back at her. "We'll figure it out. You're the smartest out of all of us, I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yeah, but-" She broke off in a snarl, turning away from him. "Toms!" She spat out as she began pacing in a circle.

Yellowfang was watching and listening to their debate stoically, though he could tell her thoughts were racing. "And what about Redtail?" She asked. "You said he shows up in your dreams?"

"No, he shows up around here. Like he did in the healer's den, with Spottedleaf." He wished he could make the dead deputy show up and just explain things to Bluestar, but of course it could never be that easy. "Apparently he used to talk to Ravenspirit, when we were still apprentices, but now he mostly shows up behind my shoulder all threateningly."

"You don't say." Yellowfang responded dryly. "I never would have guessed."

He blinked in surprise at her tone as she spoke, before noticing her gaze staring past him. This time, when he turned around, he spotted Redtail staring at them from behind a tree, nearly blending into it with his tabby coat. Peppermask bristled beside him, while Dewpaw continued silently stripping flowers as she stared stoically at the ghostly tom.

"Redtail!" He snapped. "Why don't you come out and explain all this to Yellowfang, huh? Or better yet, Bluestar herself?" He took a step towards the calico tom. "Maybe actually help us get your revenge instead of spooking everyone for a change?"

As soon as he moved closer, the tom jumped away with a flash of his namesake tail, vanishing among the leaffall leaves. Fireheart knew better than to try chasing him. He could disappear into nothingness at any moment, so what was the point?

He sighed and turned back to Yellowfang. "I think that's about everything. Sorry that Thunderclan isn't the perfect Clan it appears to be."

"I knew that from the moment you broke my leg." The healer smirked as he groaned at the mention of his worst mistake. "But I certainly believe you. Stranger things have happened in the forest before, though it was usually when Goosefeather was involved." She sighed and shook her head bemusedly.

"So now that everything's out in the open, what do we do?" Fireheart asked the other three. "Ravenspirit might be able to return and speak up against Tigerclaw, but Peppermask is right. We should try and figure out some other form of evidence."

"If you want my advice, you've all done quite enough for the time being." He perked one orange ear towards Yellowfang as she spoke. "You've thwarted his plotting for now. I might be able to persuade Bluestar there's more to Tigerclaw than it seems, but that will take time, perhaps a few trips to the Moonstone." She shook her wide head slowly. "The best warriors know when to wait patiently."

Peppermask hesitated. "But- what if he goes after our dad? What's to stop him from killing another deputy?"

Fireheart grimaced at her questions. He had to admit she was right; now that Ravenspirit was out of the way, the dark tabby would see no more obstacles to his next victim.

"He has three warriors and both healers to protect him. I'm sure Redtail is watching over him as well." The old healer pointed out steadily. "They claim prey runs over the paws of those who wait. Perhaps Tigerclaw will do the same."

The spotted warrior didn't seem quite convinced, but nodded in agreement. "Very well. Waiting it is."

"How's that marigold coming, Dewpaw?" Yellowfang asked as she stood up and stretched. "We should probably be getting back. The vigils will be starting soon."

The healer's apprentice pushed a pile of bright yellow flowers towards them. "This should be enough for the whole season, if we're lucky." She remarked in her typical quiet voice. "Be careful picking them up. The more juice you can preserve, the better."

They each carefully collected a mouthful of the marigold, trying not to squeeze it too tightly as Dewpaw had requested. It was a slow walk back to camp, and by the time they entered camp the sun had almost set. Fireheart hurriedly deposited the flowers on the healer's stone workspace before rushing back out to see Graystripe exiting the warriors' den with a ferocious yawn.

"Fireheart!" The gray tom hurried over to greet his fellow warrior. "Dad woke me up. He said it's almost time for our vigil."

"And the vigil for Spottedleaf and Ravenspirit." He looked to see Dappleshine emerge from the healer's den, followed by Yellowfang carrying Spottedleaf's body and Dewpaw behind her. Shortly after, Dustleap, Speckleflight and Sandstorm came out from the shadows to sit nearby. Ravenspirit's half-siblings and second adoptive mother, alongside Dappleshine, so it made sense they would all come to mourn the 'fallen' warrior. They sat in the middle of camp, a respectful distance from Spottedleaf, presumably sitting vigil for Ravenspirit even though they had no body.

"There you two are." It was Bluestar, deftly avoiding the mourners to speak to her two newest warriors. "It is time for you both to sit vigil until dawn. All cats in camp will be putting their lives in your paws, including those mourning the fallen." She stared at both of them sternly. "I expect I don't have to remind you two how important this night of listening is."

Fireheart shook his head quickly, and he could sense Graystripe beside him do the same. "Good. Go on, then." She flicked her tail to dismiss them, then turned and padded over to Spottedleaf's body. Of course she would mourn the calico; Spottedleaf had served as healer beside her for a long time. It was understandable she would want to see her off on the Startrail.

Fireheart padded over to sit beside the entrance to camp. Graystripe took a spot near the nursery, flicking an ear at what he assumed was the mewling of several kits inside. They met each other's gazes from across camp and nodded solemnly before looking back out over their home.

Their vigil had begun.

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kaesaaurelia · 11 months

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better to reign in a soho bookshop

For @whumptober day 16, using the prompts “don't go where I can't follow" and the lyric prompt, “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Continued from Day 5, wherein Aziraphale returns to Earth, hoping some allies he’s contacted will be able to help him, has a big fight with some archangels, and is horribly injured leaping in front of Crowley, who wasn’t supposed to be there, Day 8, wherein one of Aziraphale’s angelic allies (and an old enemy of Crowley’s) rushes in to distract the Metatron while Crowley scrambles to save a horribly wounded Aziraphale, and the three of them manage to get away from the archangels in the Bentley, and Day 15, wherein Aziraphale reveals that he's stolen the Book of Life, and Crowley reveals that one of Aziraphale's wounds means he's probably going to Fall.

CW for explicit sexual content; mention of past Satan/Crowley.

Of course, it wasn't as easy as all that. Crowley was torn between the desire to just look at Aziraphale and drink in the fact that, for however long, he was back, here, with Crowley, and the desire to keep himself away from Aziraphale so he wouldn't pelt him with all the irritating questions he wanted to ask, and of course, the desire to ask those irritating, often angry questions. And also, obviously, he wanted to kiss Aziraphale, but given how well that had gone last time, he didn't dare.

Instead, after a few moments of reassuring himself that Aziraphale, whatever his injuries, wasn't just going to vanish again, Crowley said, "Someone should probably bandage those wounds, at least."

"Ah. No," said Aziraphale, "unfortunately."

"Well. Let's do that," said Crowley, and he busied himself with unbuttoning Aziraphale's once-pristine white shirt, now stained with red, and carefully helping him get it off. There was still a nasty gouge on his chest, a matching one on his back, and things were probably still repairing themselves in there, but Cerviel's miracle had stopped the bleeding and it seemed to be in effect still. The other wound was a thin slice along his collarbone, barely a graze, but from the way Aziraphale reacted when Crowley touched it, it must be excruciating. "Have you got any bandages here, angel?"

"There are some in the downstairs bathroom, there's a first aid kit there," said Aziraphale. "For liability purposes, in case a customer gets hurt or something."

"You mean in case a customer trips and cracks their skull open, because you keep the lights too dim for humans to see well in the back of the shop," said Crowley.

"For liability purposes," Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley stood to go find the first aid kit, but as he approached the door he overheard bits of a slightly-too-loud conversation. "Hang on, angel," he said, and ducked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. "Exssscuse me," he hissed at the speakers, two woman-shaped persons he did not recognize from behind.

They turned, and Crowley saw Nanael, Principality of Vienna, and Nisroc, who was not technically a Principality anymore, having Fallen with the Watchers. She had been keeping an eye on Los Angeles as payback to Vehuel ever since the two of them had faked her death a couple centuries ago, since Los Angeles had somehow slipped through the cracks of Heaven's bureaucracy.

Nisroc clapped her hands and favored him with a sharp-toothed smile. "Crowley! How are you?"

Crowley did not like Nisroc even a little bit, so he did not feel bad saying, "Shut up. Aziraphale's trying to ressst." Technically Crowley had struggled tooth and nail to get Aziraphale to try and rest, but now that he was in a bed he seemed to agree it was for the best whether or not he was actually trying.

"Is he all right?" Nanael asked, in a quieter voice. Crowley liked Nanael much better, but this was perhaps because they had only met once and she'd probably assumed he was Aziraphale's human lover. She was looking at him now as if she wanted to ask about that, but he didn't care to go into it just now, because there would be accusations of kindness when all he'd really done was drive her around a bit in various stolen cars while she'd had her miracles turned off. Deceiving an imperiled angel and implicating her in crimes was a fine misdeed, Crowley had told himself at the time.

"Not -- it'ss complicated. He'sss hurt," said Crowley. "Michael got to him."

"Oh fuck her," said Nisroc, although at least she was keeping her voice down. "We're gonna do some baking because we're stressed the fuck out and also I'm not allowed to leave the bookstore anymore. Any requests?"

"Why are you not allowed to leave?" Crowley asked, suspiciously.

"Got into it with Moroni about scones," said Nisroc mournfully. "I'm right, by the way."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Nisroc rolled her eyes and made a scoffing sound. "Look, it was one little free personality test, it wasn't cult recruitment, it was like, one of those ones where you pick from a bunch of song lyrics you're not familiar with and it tells you what kind of frog you are. I made up the song lyrics," she said, "and also the frogs, but, come on. I can't believe Moroni would snitch on me like this over scones. We've been pen pals for centuries."

"You made up the frogs?" Nanael asked, sounding disappointed.

"Do I look like I know anything about frogs?" Nisroc asked.

"Look, I don't care, jussst. Be quiet," said Crowley.

"Sure, sure," said Nisroc. "What's Aziraphale's favorite dessert, though?"

Crowley's mind went blank and all he could think about was watching Aziraphale devour sweets with such delight and appreciation that Crowley ought to be at least a bit jealous of them, only he wasn't, because he'd been staring, because it was fucking hot. "A-all of them?"

Nanael laughed. "He will like whatever we make, I think. Even if it isn't very good."

"Oh honey, don't worry, it'll be good," said Nisroc. She had been Beelzebub's private chef for a while, and Crowley had to admit some of the stuff at those feasts had smelled pretty good, even if an alarming amount of it had incorporated bugs and/or human flesh. "If you could go ahead and see what we've got in stock and what we'll have to miracle in, that would be great, though?" Nanael nodded happily and went, leaving Crowley alone in the corridor with Nisroc.

"Hey, so, sorry I uh, tried to eat you all those times?" said Nisroc. "I promise it wasn't personal, I was just trying to make my quota, you know?"

"We were all trying to make our quota," Crowley said. "Most of usss didn't end up permanently on display on the Mexican flag and coat of arms over it, though."

"Wait, what?" Nisroc pulled out her phone and tapped on it a few times. "Oh my god, I didn't even realize? Wow, they did not make any effort to get your look right at all. I am so sorry. Just. Godawful."

"You're ssorry they didn't get me right but not for dragging me into the middle of a lake to eat me?" Crowley demanded.

"Well, I mean, I look fucking fantastic on this flag," she said, looking down at her phone, "but you're..." She expanded an image on her phone and squinted at it. "...kinda squirmy and pathetic and green, so like. I mean, did they even look at you? Anyway, you totally fucked me over in the end there, the feathered serpent thing was a really good personal branding strategy, so... well-played? Like, I absolutely thought you were just Satan's little favorite but you actually are that good. How did you never get promoted?"

Crowley tried not to be flattered, because he wanted to keep hating Nisroc, but also an apology was worth nothing compared to telling him he was clever, even if both were insincere. He tried to work out if Nisroc was being insincere, but if she was, she was selling it well. "Well. I mean. I was Satan's favorite," he admitted, "just.... I don't think he wanted anyone else to realize I was clever."

She laughed. "Sucks for him you found someone way better, I guess." She glanced at the bedroom door before venturing on, more seriously. "Look, uh. Aziraphale was super nice to me right after I Fell, and it meant a lot to me because I was pregnant and miserable and scared, but, uh, I also definitely bit off two of his fingers the very next time we met?" She had the decency to look ashamed.

"Yes," said Crowley, irritably. "I was there." The fight had been over him, apparently; Nisroc had wanted to feed Crowley to her son Grendel.

"Yeah, but you were out cold," said Nisroc, "so I figured, no shame if you didn't remember. Anyway, I dunno what strings he pulled to get my baby out of Heaven but holy shit, I owe him, and, and --" She looked perilously close to crying, and Crowley didn't know what he was supposed to do with that, not when Aziraphale was Falling and there was nothing he could do about it. "Look. Whatever I can do. I'll even be quiet and stay out of the way, and you know that's not my jam at all."

Crowley considered telling her about Aziraphale; that he was probably Falling, that it was an uncertain kind of Fall and not one to Hell, necessarily. He considered telling her about how Lucifer had Fallen, how the lake of fire had come from him, and what he'd told Crowley about it, and what little Crowley believed of that. But he wanted Aziraphale all to himself right now, and he was tired of all these other people laying claim to him. "Sstay out of the way," he said.

Nisroc gave him a little nod. "Sure. Okay." She did not leave, though. "What's your favorite dessert?"

He boggled at her. "What?"

"Maybe Aziraphale likes everything, but we could make something you'd like," said Nisroc.

Crowley had never once considered this. "I. I don't. Something with apples?"

Nisroc appeared mildly annoyed that he didn't have an extremely specific request, but then she shrugged. "We'll make it work. Oh, and..." She waved a hand as if she was casting something up into the air, and nothing changed, exactly, but the sound and the shadows were different; everything felt hushed and a bit somber -- not in a funereal way, but in a respectful one, as if this was a great library or a museum. "I can keep things peaceful out here, at least," she said. "Anyway. Probably don't tell him I said hey, since he still thinks I'm dead, I guess? But if I could've said hey, I would've."

And before he could even consider thanking her, she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Crowley tried to put the whole weird conversation out of his mind as he hurried downstairs to get the bandages. He found them quickly, slipping back through the main room of the bookshop unnoticed. Cerviel seemed to be talking about what he thought they should do if Heaven staged an aerial assault on the bookshop with the angel Moroni, a small turtle demon Crowley had never seen in his life, somebody Crowley thought might be the Principality of Berlin, and someone who, as far as Crowley could tell, was just a pale, scruffy human man who needed more sleep. He hurried back up the stairs, not wanting to be pulled into whatever nonsense was going on there. He was at most a dabbler in aerial defense.

When he got back to the bedroom, Aziraphale's eyes were closed, and Crowley panicked for a moment, but his chest rose and fell, and Crowley made a face at his own stupidity.

"Angel?" he said, quietly.

Aziraphale's eyes opened, and he sat up, making a pained face. "Who were you talking to out there?"

"Someone you were kind to," said Crowley, "one of the other Principalities."

"They're not giving you any trouble, are they?" Aziraphale asked.

"Nah," said Crowley. "I'm not even the only demon here. At least one of them's a human. What did you tell them?" And why didn't you tell me?

"Ah. Well. The first thing I did was fix the mess Gabriel had made of all our -- rather, Heaven's," he corrected, "communications with the Earth agents," said Aziraphale, as Crowley started working on covering the wound on his chest. "So when it came time for me to leave, it was fairly simple to let everyone know what Heaven was planning to do to Earth, and it's been my experience that the more time you spend on Earth the less you want it to be destroyed. I imagine the demons are people who've been working closely with other angels; I wouldn't have been able to send them messages."

"What about the human? Also, move over, I've got to get the one on your back," said Crowley.

"Heaven's been... hm... outsourcing its work to humans in some places," said Aziraphale, wincing as he moved. "The pay is abysmal, and they're contract workers so they get no benefits, of course, not even recorporation. I reached out to them separately and told them they probably ought to ignore my message but I suppose some people are going to show up to the apocalypse whether or not they can do anything about it." He frowned. "I suppose we were those people, once upon a time. Oh, I'm sorry I dragged you into this again, my dear," he said.

Crowley froze. "What do you mean, dragged into? I got a call from Muriel telling me to come right to the bookshop and not to go looking for you, and --"

"Yes, well, I assumed they'd go after you if I left," said Aziraphale. "Use you as a hostage or something. I was planning to take something from them that was important to them, after all. I assumed you'd be in, in, outer space or wherever, by now, but Muriel said --"

"Outer ssspace?" Crowley was fumbling around trying to get the adhesive tape straight on the second bandage but he gave up and miracled it before standing so that he could look Aziraphale in the eye. "Did you think I'd jussst... run off?"

"Well. You always seemed to want to," said Aziraphale, looking pained.

"With you," Crowley said. "I wanted to run off with you. No point in doing it otherwissse."

"Ah," said Aziraphale, going pink. "Well. I assumed you'd rather be safe than --"

"I would rather be with you," said Crowley, "but you wanted me to be an angel again and --" He looked at the wound from Michael's sword. Had it got bigger? Deeper? No, he was imagining things. "Well. I suppose in a bit neither of us is going to be an angel. Ssorry about that."

"Crowley, I wanted us to be together without Heaven or Hell hurting you. And I thought --" He swallowed. "Well. I thought a lot of naive things about Heaven. But I love you." His voice was shaking now. "You, as you are, with your inconvenient questions and your appalling driving and your lovely eyes and your kindness that you pretend isn't there."

Crowley found he could not look Aziraphale in the eye; he had his glasses on, so at least he had that small mercy, but he was still alone in a room with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was confessing his love, his love, and Crowley didn't know what to say about it, so instead he looked away and said, "Sss'posse I should bandage the cut from the sssword now, yeah? Jusst. Jusst so you don't touch it by accident."

There was a long silence. "I suppose you should," said Aziraphale, sounding very unhappy about it.

So Crowley found himself crawling onto the bed so he could get at that side of Aziraphale's chest, and carefully trying to cover the long, shallow cut without touching it, and also without looking at Aziraphale's face. Which mostly meant he was looking at Aziraphale's chest, which was soft and covered in white-gold hairs, and listening to Aziraphale's breath hitching as Crowley's fingers got too close to the wound, and when he was finished, because he supposed he had to, he sat back and looked at Aziraphale and, very grudgingly, said, "I... love you too."

Aziraphale's intake of breath and his hopeful expression were -- they were something. They were doing something to his chest that was a little bit overwhelming. "I -- I thought maybe. But even now?"

"What do you mean even now?" Crowley demanded, appalled. "Even now. You've gone off for a few years to do ssomething ssilly in Heaven and you think I'm going to jusst -- I've -- felt like thisss for thoussssands of yearssss and you think -- even now? I'm --"

"Oh," said Aziraphale, looking astonished for a moment. "Oh. Well. Good." Then he grinned at Crowley. "I do love it when you get so flustered you're hissing every other word, my dear." And he leaned forward a bit and pulled Crowley down by his tie and kissed him and this time, this time there was no crying, no tragic choice to tear them apart, there was only Crowley leaning forward, overbalancing a bit, and accidentally headbutting Aziraphale in his desire to get closer to him. Aziraphale winced as Crowley scrambled back.

"Ssorry, sssorry, fuck," said Crowley. "I. Fuck." He fumbled to take his sunglasses off, threw them aside, and kissed Aziraphale again.

This third kiss was just as desperate as the first one, but it was a different flavor of desperate, an I haven't seen you in ages and who knows how long we even have kiss, and Crowley pushed Aziraphale back down onto the bed, on hand on his cheek and the fingers of the other against his chest, careful not to touch any of his wounds.

They parted and Crowley looked down at him. Aziraphale was beaming like he wasn't Falling, like he hadn't been made into an angel kebab an hour or so ago, like they hadn't had a vicious argument and parted ways for years. "I've missed you," said Aziraphale, taking the hand that had been on his cheek.

"Yeah," said Crowley, who was suddenly painfully aware that he didn't know what he was supposed to do now. What did you do when the love of your life finally articulated that he returned your affections, and that they were wanted? He had not planned for this moment. The before he had much experience of; the after had been the subject of daydreams and also somewhat more carnal fantasies, but the middle... nothing. His body was reminding him of those other fantasies, though, noticing the warmth of Aziraphale's flesh, remembering the feel of his lovely soft mouth, hearing his heavy breathing. "Aziraphale...." His voice came out rough and a bit wobbly.

"Kiss me again?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley could deny neither himself nor Aziraphale, so he did. Aziraphale's hand on his chest became a hand slipping under Crowley's shirt, which emboldened Crowley enough to trail his own hand down Aziraphale's chest and between his legs, where he found that Aziraphale was very hard.

Aziraphale moaned as Crowley squeezed his cock. "Do you want --"

"Please," said Aziraphale, and Crowley fumbled one-handed with Aziraphale's trousers while Aziraphale unbuttoned Crowley's shirt. Crowley shed jacket and shirt without bothering to separate the two, then pulled Aziraphale's cock out. He gave it an experimental stroke, and Aziraphale gasped; then he knelt and slid his lips over the head and Aziraphale swore, which was extraordinary to hear and weirdly erotic in and of itself.

Crowley wasted no time in taking the whole cock in, and Aziraphale's hand tangled in his hair, and, fuck, he hadn't realized how much he would like that when Aziraphale did it -- or quite how tight these trousers were -- until now. His own hips jerked involuntarily against the bed and he moaned. "Crowley," Aziraphale gasped and thrust into him, the fingers in Crowley's hair tightening, thus perpetuating the most pleasurable feedback loop Crowley had ever been subject to.

Crowley savored the ridiculous things Aziraphale said about Crowley's beauty and his fiendishness; the biggest downside, really, was that his mouth was too full to make fun of Aziraphale for any of them. When he came, Crowley mostly managed to swallow it, though some of it ended up spilling down his chin. "Crowley, darling," said Aziraphale, stroking his fingers through Crowley's hair, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You were..." He trailed off, and reluctantly, Crowley sat up, wiping his chin off with one hand. "I have wanted you so very much," said Aziraphale.

His pulse was pounding, and the sight of Aziraphale flushed with pleasure -- pleasure Crowley had given him -- just made him want more. But his eyes lingered on the bandages he'd just applied. "Fuck. Should -- should we be doing this?"

"I don't know that should really comes into it anymore," said Aziraphale.

"I meant because of your, your, um." Crowley gestured at the bandages. "Because you're hurt."

"Oh. Well. If the Fall wasn't going to kill me I don't think any -- any acts of physical love are going to finish the job, as long as we don't get too wild," said Aziraphale, looking mildly embarrassed. "And if it is going to kill me," he said, scowling, "I refuse to let it take this away from us."

"Well. In that case, I'm going to -- I mean, if it's all right -- I'm going to fuck you," said Crowley. He didn't know why he should be so flustered, they'd got all the confession stuff out of the way, wasn't it supposed to be easier now?

Then Aziraphale looked him up and down, eyes lingering on what Crowley now realized was an extremely visible erection. "I thought you'd never ask," he said.

Crowley vanished the rest of their clothes away with a gesture so he could spread Aziraphale's legs. "We're ridiculous, aren't we?" he said. He eased a couple fingers, miraculously slick, into Aziraphale's arse.

"A bit," Aziraphale gasped. Crowley pressed into him, trying to make Aziraphale gasp again, and was rewarded with a startled "Oh!" as Aziraphale's hips jerked forward. He experimented a bit further. "Really, Crowley, stop teasing me," said Aziraphale. "Haven't I suffered enough today?" For about half a second he managed to look very pathetic and tragic, but then Crowley moved his fingers and he just looked desperately horny.

"Jussst trying to make ssure I know what I'm doing, angel."

"I -- but you haven't -- I thought you --"

"Not the -- I haven't..." Crowley was embarrassed suddenly at the accidental admission. "I mean, I've. Lucifer and I... But he didn't want me to fuck him. Undignified, or ssomething. And I didn't want -- humanss weren't...." He trailed off.

"Well, I'm happy to be as undignified as any-- hnn, Crowley, that's.... oh."

"Think I've got it," said Crowley, grinning. Aziraphale looked quite helpless in the face of pleasure, and his dick was already half-hard again. "Ready?"

"Crowley, if you don't get on with it right now --"

Crowley withdrew his fingers and, one frantic, fumbling moment later, pushed his dick into Aziraphale, eliciting a sharp moan. Crowley had intended to go slowly at first, but Aziraphale felt so fucking good around him that he ended up clutching Aziraphale's thighs and fucking him a little frantically for the first few thrusts. He shifted his hips a bit, and Aziraphale's little gasps of pleasure became whimpering, and he forced himself to slow down a bit, the better to savor the way Aziraphale felt and looked and sounded.

"Don't stop, don't stop," said Aziraphale, who was trembling, hips moving like his entire being depended on just how much of Crowley's dick he could get into himself at every thrust. Crowley began jerking Aziraphale off to the same rhythm, and fuck, they should have been doing this before, they should have been doing this ages ago, Crowley hadn't seen such ravenous desire from Aziraphale since he'd tried food, and Crowley'd certainly got himself off enough times thinking of that night. Both of them came too quickly, but by mutual agreement Crowley miraculously waived the need for a refractory period several times over; they deserved this, he thought, and Aziraphale clearly agreed.

Afterwards, they collapsed together, breathless, Crowley still inside Aziraphale and their bellies sticky with Aziraphale's come. "Oof, ssorry," said Crowley, pulling out of Aziraphale and rolling off to the side so he didn't hurt him.

"Come back here, I don't want to have to lean on this shoulder to kiss you," said Aziraphale, and Crowley, happy to do as he was told for once, leant over to share a sloppy kiss with him. "You're so lovely when you're happy," said Aziraphale. "Practically radiant."

"Shut up, you ssoppy basstard," said Crowley, laughing. He kissed Aziraphale again. "Fuck. I really do love you," he said.

"You sound surprised," said Aziraphale.

"I'm not," said Crowley, "it just keeps. I dunno. Hitting me in the chest." He looked over Aziraphale again, and wished he was not so wounded. "You'd better be all right, angel. If you're not I'm taking it up with God."

"Oh, please don't," said Aziraphale. "Anyway, I won't be an angel any longer. I'll be... whatever Lucifer is, I suppose. Not a demon, exactly." He made a face. "If it's all the same to you I'd rather just be a demon, though, I never did see the appeal of ruling in Hell."

"Serving in Hell's not great either," Crowley reminded him.

"No, I suppose not," said Aziraphale. "I don't have to, do I?"

"Have to what?" Crowley asked.

"Reign in Hell," said Aziraphale.

"I mean. Do you want to challenge Satan to a cosmic arm wrestling contest?" he asked.

"Not really," said Aziraphale. "And Hell seemed extremely uncomfortable last time I was there."

Crowley couldn't tell if this was damnation with faint praise, or praise with faint damnation, but either way it seemed a bit of an understatement. "Then don't do that," he said, snuggling up as close to him as he could without touching the bandages. "Maybe you can reign in a Soho bookshop instead."

"I don't want to reign," Aziraphale said.

"Then you can read and eat cake," said Crowley.

"Are you falling asleep?"

"Jussst. Closing my eyes," said Crowley. "Definitely sstill awake."

(In a few moments, he was not.)

#whumptober2023 #no.16 #don't go where i can't follow #lyric #good omens #fic #nsfwhump #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #fallen principality nisroc #text #fiction #kaesa op #nsft #man sorry this is so late I had a bunch of irl shit happen in a big clump of Things Happening so I lost my buffer #and then it took forEVER to write

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darckcarnival · 1 year

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Darck Headcanon

-->Sunglasses

The fact Darck always wear the same god damn pair of purple sunglasses is for a few reasons. It is arguably one of the most iconic features and accessories she owns, and wears, everywhere. Even indoors, and in the dead of a pitch black night. Those shades have never once not been on her. At least, in the past many years. It was not always that way however.

Even as a kid it was well known that she liked accessories, he is sunglasses she stole from a brother or her mother, or loving her own hats so often, wearing with her hair pulled through the snap back section, or any other way. However, after Darck was taken and turned into the half vampire she is now, the need for sunglasses, or goggles grew.

Light sensitivity. A natural vampiric trait.

Extremely bright light can seriously hinder the woman at times, easily causing headaches, ruining her sharp senses, and even stinging or scrambling every single sense she has if a flash bang goes off in her face. So, with this new found weakness, sunlight on bright summer days could easily make her constantly squinting, and ruin the sharpness of her higher eye sight. So she often times had classic sunglasses, or her uniform's old goggles when still under the command of her Sire. In younger years she never had those purple sunglasses, but god did she envy people who had cool colored sunglasses, this was not something she hid either. Would out right comment on it through the years. 'Those are cool as hell.'

The purple sunglasses never came into being until Darck had been abandoned by the sire that had turned her, and then she was traveling with Alvin.

The man knew her better than anyone, remembered who she was when they were both kids, and the taste for weird. So it was him who got her the small tool tinkering kit, that started her on working with small things. Followed by a few glasses frame styles. But only ever one set of purple lenses. 'I know your favorite colors are purples.' And Darck adored this.

She was admittedly, influenced for the round style from old school movies, and old school comics- but her sire also had the small circle lenses style, black our mirror sunglasses they were. And these three details influenced her sense of style and wants badly. Thus, Darck had made her own purple sunglasses, thanks to the kit she was gifted so many years ago.

The sunglasses she wears now are still the same frames from so long ago. Has maintained, repaired, and adjusted them as needed. The lenses have had to be fixed more than once, but the original ones are always kept, melted down, and reformed into new purple lenses with whatever new bits she needs to use. The sunglasses she had now were created by Darck's own two hands, with her light sensitivity in mind and sense of style she loves so much. God help you if you break them or touch them without her trusting you, you will see a sudden wrath, or protective instinct.

Now comes the side effect of her having worn these sunglasses so often, not just for style, or comfort...

The purple lenses help hide her emotions behind them when she needs to. Darck feels safer lying through her teeth of how she is, or how she feels on things if needed. Sure, Darck is honest and will help you, absolutely. But any deeply personal matters? Those sunglasses are used as a shield to protect herself from the outside world, and be so much harder to read. It makes it a lot easier to put up an act if Darck ever needs to... Eyes are the windows to the soul after all.

Yet, should she ever remove them for you, meet your eyes with hazel brown and be exposed? Or trust someone enough to let them remover them? Then that is a silent show of trust and vulnerability that no one may ever really understand without her actually saying it out loud. So few people have ever got to see her without sunglasses in a calm or passive setting.

If you do? Treasure it and realize she trusts you more than she admits.

#Awareness Of The Darkness :: Darck Headcanons

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mrenickma · 2 years

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“My friends…thank you.”

Team Star Fox glided through the endless expanse of space, away from the now destroyed Aparoid homeworld. The Queen was defeated, and peace had been restored to the galaxy once again. Although it came at the cost of many noble sacrifices (except, they knew for certain, Peppy’s), a rising sense of hope surged through the team, a hope they hadn’t felt in ages. A sense that somehow, some way…everything would be alright.

Could this be the end of evil terrorizing the Lylat System?

Andross was long dead, and the Aparoid threat was now eliminated. Perhaps, as incredible as it might seem, there could be an era of peace for Lylat. An era that the galaxy had not known in what felt like eternity.

As Star Fox descended onto the familiar planet of Corneria, to the loud cheers of its inhabitants, Fox smiled, looking up to the heavens as he basked in his latest victory.

Dad…if you can see me now…thank you.

Three red and white ships floated throughout the galaxy, making their way to the Sargasso hideout. The hulls were badly damaged and there was debris floating off of the aircrafts, but miraculously, the pilots were able to navigate their way home.

And after the day they had, they certainly needed it.

“Corneria must be looking beautiful right now,” said Panther as he looked out of his cockpit mournfully, “Perhaps we could pay a visit…”

“I told you, no!” growled Wolf. “Our ships need repairs. We can’t afford another trip halfway through Lylat.”

“Heh, those ugly bugs did a number on us,” said Leon, almost humorously, “It’s a wonder how we survived.”

“We always survive, Leon,” said Wolf, “We’re not just an ordinary group of mercs. We’re team Star Wolf.”

“Well, Pigma didn’t survive. Neither did Andrew, I don’t think,” replied Leon.

“Because they weren’t one of us anymore,” said Wolf, his tone souring. Andrew left of his own accord, and on amicable terms with Star Wolf. Pigma, however…

“I still can’t believe he betrayed you to the Cornerian Army,” said Panther, “And all those years you and him worked together…”

“I should have known his greedy ass would have tried something like that,” said Wolf bitterly. “I hope those claw marks I gave him hurt every day until he died.”

Wolfs grip on the control wheel of his ship tightened, and his teeth bared at the memory. Years ago, after Andross died, the Cornerian Army placed a bounty on Star Wolfs head, with Pigma having the biggest reward. Out of greed and irrational fear, the pig tried to contact the Cornerian Army and convince them he had changed his ways, wanting to sell the whereabouts of Star Wolfs hideout and make a profit himself.

But the Army wasn’t so pleased at the prospect of working with a criminal. And when Wolf found out…well, he wasn’t too pleased, either.

He kicked Pigma off the team. A month later, Andrew left, perhaps influenced by the unfortunate turn of events.

“But on the plus side,” intoned Panthers voice through the intercom, “You found me.”

Wolf couldn’t help but chuckle. He had to admit, Panther was a welcome addition. Especially considering what they had before.

The Sargasso Space Zone came into view, and the three Wolfens descended, landing as smoothly as they possibly could on the docks of the hideout. The ruffians who worked there - former members of Andross’ gang - murmured at the sight of the damaged Wolfens, and gasped in shock when their bosses exited the cockpits.

“Boss!!” one thug cried. “You’re back! But you don’t look so good…”

“I’ll be fine,” said Wolf dismissively. “Get me and the boys a cot and a first aid kit. It’s time for us to rest.”

“Grgh…huh….?”

Andrew Oikonny woke up from a long, long slumber. He looked around him, and recognized his room as one of the medical bays in an Androssian flagship. Rubbing his temples, he swore under his breath.

Star Fox…how did you…!?

It all happened so fast. He was on the cusp of victory, about to destroy Team Star Fox with his newly designed battleship (which Falco labeled an “Andross wannabe”, much to Andrews annoyance), when suddenly three energy blasts drilled through the hull. Next thing Andrew knew he was knocked out unconscious, nearly dead, but miraculously the beams didn’t hit close enough to where he was located in the ship to kill him.

“My lord?” A mechanical voice came through the doorway. Andrew looked up and saw a service bot standing idly by, modeled almost identically to Rob 64, except gray. “You have been in a coma for nearly a month. We will provide you with food and water shortly. What is your preference for your meal?”

A month…? Andrew rubbed his eyes. Had it been that long?

“I…just get me anything. I don’t care.”

“Very well,” said the robot with a slight, stiff bow of his head, and left.

Andrew looked around him, taking in his surroundings for the first time. There were several IVs strapped to him and, he noticed as he touched his face, a wrap of bandages across his head. He felt a dull ache in his legs but otherwise no pain. Deciding to take his mind off his less than ideal physical condition, Andrew reached for a remote and turned on the television that was attached to the ceiling.

A news station flickered on, revealing a Cornerian dog news anchor. “...and in other news, Team Star Fox has just arrived in Corneria, where they will be receiving the medal of - “

SMASH!

The television screen was shattered by the remote that Andrew threw at it. He growled as he felt veins throbbing in his forehead. Fists clenched, he glared at the now destroyed tv screen.

“Bah…Star Fox…I’ll show you! Just you wait!”

#nintendo #star fox #fox mccloud #star wolf #just a star fox thing I decided to write #takes place after Assault #and completely ignores Command #Because fuck Command lol #Hope you enjoyed

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therisingphoenixden · 2 years

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Prompt #24: Thalia

Prompt: Vicissitude

Characters: Azem, Hythlodaeus

Content Warnings: ShB/EW spoilers, mentions of blood, starvation, and death.

Author’s Notes: So, this is what happens when you put Natalie Merchant’s “Ophelia” on repeat in a way to get the creative juices flowing. I just let the song carry me as I wrote. It definitely influenced the final bit of this story. The first bit was lifted and expanded upon from day 22′s prompt, Veracity.

“So that’s it, then?” Thalia stood tall at her podium, her mask of Azem affixed to her face as she addressed the Convocation. All of the talk and debates held regarding this matter, and still they were up their own arses over what was best for Amaurot! More than once in the past week had she found herself crying in Hythlodaeus’ arms, both from sorrow at the suffering and death across Etheirys and out of sheer frustration at the Convocation’s inaction.

“Your grand plan is to summon this…Zodiark to forestall the Final Days through the sacrifice of our people?” To her surprise, it had been the new Fandaniel and Elidibus who had proposed this measure - to grant Etheirys a will of its own through a being, Zodiark. But the summoning required vast amounts of aether, which meant sacrifices - of both the people of Amaurot and those throughout the Star.

All of this set her on edge. The rest of the Convocation had spoken with this entity, and skeptical minds rapidly changed. That was not normal! Could none of them see that this entity, this Zodiark was manipulating them for its own ends? She had yet to meet with it, as she had been busy defending those the Convocation would easily dismiss as “acceptable losses.” Even her usual defender hadn’t spoken up in support of her. Had he…

She paled behind her mask. She wanted, no, needed, to know.

Her gaze swept across the room, fixing each member who nodded their support with a glare, until it settled on the Third Seat, the one of Emet-Selch. “Even you?”

A nod.

She sighed, using her rage to mask the feeling of her heart breaking. “I cannot, in good conscience, follow you. There is another way to save our world and I will find it.” Thalia’s posture straightened further as she stepped aside and brought a hand up to her face. “As of this day, I step down from the Seat of Azem.” She removed her mask, set it carefully on her podium, and walked away.

All poise crumbled as soon as the doors to the chamber slammed shut behind her. The noise echoed down the hallway, a hard stop to her once bright career. Fighting back tears, she ran.

–

Packing before an excursion had never ached so much before. But Thalia knew deep down that this would be the last time she stood in this bedroom. She looked at what she had - armor, repair kit for her armor and weapons, bedroll, extra smallclothes, some rations if she couldn’t hunt or gather for herself, but no trinkets of the two who held her heart. It would be better this way. Better if they forgot her, forgot her betrayal. Still…

She reached up and unclasped one of her teardrop pearl earrings and left it on the dresser. If Hades truly cared, if his mind was still his own, he would come looking for her. It had been a code the three of them had set up long ago when they were still students. Whenever they had a fight, Thalia would leave something of hers where Hades was sure to notice. To let him know she was mad, but she would forgive him.

She hoped he would remember, and that his will was his own and not of the entity’s.

With one last look at the apartment, Thalia sighed and left, locking the door behind her.

–

It had been a stupid impulse. She had only meant to call for her familiar on top of the Bureau of the Architect building so she could leave quietly. But someone had spotted her during her ascent up to the roof of the tower, and she now stood before Hythlodaeus. He wasn’t angry, nor disappointed. She wrung her hands as tears flowed down her cheeks, shame and sorrow crushing her in equal measure under the gentle, accepting gaze of part of her heart.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, my love,” he said gently as he approached her. He was cautious, tone soft and body language as nonthreatening as possible. “Both of you have grown distant since the disasters started.”

She fell into his arms, relishing in the sensation of his embrace. Possibly the last one. “I’m sorry, ‘Daeus,” she whimpered. “I am so sorry.” Her body began to shake with sobs and she felt his hands rub her back through her robes.

“You've naught to apologize for,” he whispered. “The Convocation made its choice and lost the best of them with it.” He leaned down to press his forehead to hers. Somewhere, deep down, he knew this would be the last time he saw her. Still, he couldn’t help himself. “Come back to us.” His whisper was less an order and more a plea, a beggared promise to see her safe in their home once more.

Words failed her, so she leaned up and kissed him fiercely, pouring all the love she held for him and Hades into it. Yet it was bitter, tasting only of their shared tears and farewells. “If he asks you to consider giving your life to this cause, deny him,” she replied.

They were the last words she ever said to him.

–

At first, she slowly helped the people of the Star regain ground lost to the monstrosities called forth by the Final Days. Each life saved was precious aether denied to Zodiark in her mind. Each life saved lifted the spirits of those around her.

But it wasn’t enough.

One day, the beasts vanished. Yet the earth beneath her feet was barren and the water turned to poison. It had taken so long, too long in her mind, to develop a way to make the water safe to consume again. The people were starving.

She, too, was starving.

Her armor hung off her too-thin frame and she leaned heavily on her spear to walk. Her boots had worn out long ago from the battles - scorched and melted by fire and the buckles to her leg guards would no longer fasten around her thin, brittle legs. So she traveled barefoot, then with blistered and bloodied feet wrapped in the cleanest rags she could find.

She was so tired. Even thinking was too much for her, although there was little to distract her from the stabbing pains in her empty belly.

It was by sheer luck she collapsed near a village that had emerged from the calamity mostly unscathed, right as the green of life burst into view.

She slept for a long time.

When she awoke, she was still weak. Her Amaurotine robes threatened to slip from her shoulders, but the soil was alive again. The green was…refreshing. Calming.

The villagers doted on her, which she didn’t deserve. She was merely fulfilling her purpose, although her seat was long-abandoned.

She grew stronger, began working the fields with the villagers. It was peaceful, fulfilling. She was content.

Until one day, that peace shattered. Elidibus, or at least a shade of him, had appeared in the village and began to cull them in the name of Zodiark. Suddenly, he teleported away without warning.

She realized far too late what had caused him to withdraw.

A wave of pure blue-white aether enveloped the land. When it hit, pain like she had never experienced before wracked her. She heard glass breaking. She could feel herself breaking.

Then she felt no more.

–

She was a feline hunter, racing through the jungle before his world was consumed in flame.

She was a tall, stately leoprine matriarch, worried for her clan as their world was consumed by lightning.

She was an avian warrior, watching in horror as generations were smashed to the unfeeling earth from winds stronger than he could fight.

She was an Allagan scientist under Amon, although she couldn’t understand what it was about the new advisor that intrigued her.

She was an elven merchant, watching as those around her slowly froze to death.

She was of a clan of merfolk, watching as the seas ran dry around them and powerless to fix it.

She was a hume man, helpless as the Light consumed his world.

She was an au ra, terrified as Dalamud fell from Limsa Lominsa.

She was the same au ra, standing proud as she felled Nabriales.

She was Thalia. And she was not Thalia.

She was Berude.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite masterpost #ffxiv #cw: blood #cw: starvation #cw: death #named azem #mentions of hythlodaeus x azem x emet-selch #berude eijinn

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sirgiant-blog-blog · 2 years

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You know those little eyeglass repair kits they sell at Walgreen's and places like that?

I have a story I want to share with you.

It's a love story.

For three years I worked at a nursing home. Okay, it was an Assisted Living Facility (later to be re-branded as an "Assisted Living Community." Go figure.)

But, to me, still in my mid 40s, the place was a nursing home. And, since I was in my mid 40s, everyone who lived there seemed really old.

I worked as an Activities Director. What else would I be? My background was in radio and music. I had a history of playing music in bars, coffeehouses, and eventually the college market.

The point is, I was NOT in the medical or healthcare field AT ALL. I was in the entertainment business. And, since I was an entertainer, I was a good fit for the job of activities director.

I took the job after one of the radio stations folded. It was a welcome break from the often ego-driven environment of a radio station.

Being the activities director meant my desk was in the activities room. That was cool for me. I didn't want any stuffy office anyway.

The activities room was a meeting place for the residents. They were in there all the time playing Bingo, cards, putting together puzzles, or just talking.

I even learned a few dirty jokes from some of the sweetest old ladies you could ever know. They loved to laugh.

So, getting back to the eyeglass repair kits. They were very cheap. I bought them all the time and kept them in my desk in the activities room.

Why?

Because someone was ALWAYS needing their eyeglasses fixed. You know, when that little screw gets loose or falls out?

Well, one day, a lady named Dorothy came in and asked me if I could loosen the screws on her eyeglasses.

What?

"Dorothy," I said. "Why do you want me to LOOSEN the screws?"

In a low, whispering voice (the same voice she used when telling me a dirty joke) she said, "There's a new man. His name is Leonard. I'm going to ask him to fix my eyeglasses for me."

This was an inside scoop for me! I was actually getting a glimpse into how the mind of a woman works!

But I understood.

So I loosened the screws on her glasses and Dorothy proceeded to go find Leonard.

Not a half hour went by when Dorothy, and the new man, Leonard, came into the activities room.

And Dorothy was using a walker! Dorothy NEVER used a walker!

I didn't ask. I figured I was witnessing female ingenuity. And this was interesting.

Dorothy let Leonard do the talking.

He said, "Dot tells me you might have an eyeglass repair kit?"

Dot? I never heard anyone call her Dot.

I opened my desk drawer, pulled out one of those kits and handed it to Leonard. (This is the man code, by the way. If a man is fixing something for a woman, DON'T OFFER TO HELP!)

In no time at all Leonard had Dorothy's eyeglasses all repaired. She was gushing. I mean gushing. BIG TIME GUSHING.

I thought about all the times women had made a big deal out of MY manly talents and, with squinted eyes, a lot of things suddenly became much clearer.

But what was the walker all about?

Hang on. Here comes the frosting on this cake!

Dorothy put her newly repaired glasses on, looked at the walker, and said, "I hate this thing."

She looked at Leonard. He said nothing.

"I really wish someone would walk me home."

By the way, "home" was down the hall.

I tried to telepathically communicate to Leonard, "GO FOR IT LEONARD! DOROTHY, or DOT, wants you to walk her HOME!"

Men are so stupid sometimes. I know. I am one.

Well, when Leonard seemed oblivious to Dorothy's desire to have him walk her home, Dorothy finally did what all women do. She stopped hinting and gave a command.

A soft spoken command, but a command, nonetheless.

Dorothy simply, firmly, and maybe even a little seductively said, "Walk me home."

And he did.

Dorothy and Leonard were inseparable from that moment on.

I painted this digitally on Procreate. I used a turpentine brush. I titled it, "Walk Me Home."

#artwork #illustration #illustrator #digital artist #digital art #booksforchildren #penguin random house #simon and schuster

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stewardofningishzida · 2 years

Text

Real-Life Scary Story 4: Mountain Drive

As stated, I like to explore new places and try new things when I think I can get away with it. I get this trait from my folks, who are equally adventurous. This is one of those times where our adventurous streak almost wiped all three of us out.

TRIGGER WARNING: Near-death experience, car accident, lost in wilderness

In 2019, sometime around late March or early April, we were on a Sunday drive in a local mountain range. We had packed some camping gear in the car just in case we broke down or had an emergency. In addition, we had first-aid kits, an axe, a folding shovel, car repair kits, etc. So, we figured that we had everything covered in case anything went wrong. We also had several maps of the area…Keep this detail in mind for later.

With all of that, we were off and taking plenty of stops to admire nature and walk on some of the shorter trails coming off of the road. It was around 2 pm when my dad mentioned a ghost town hidden within the forest just up the mountain we were on. I was fascinated and thought it was a cool idea. Mom was a bit hesitant at first, but she IS the more cautious of the three of us. However, I looked at the clock and how many hours of sunlight we had left and figured we had enough time. My dad agreed, saying it was just a few miles down a forest service road. So, the three of us came to an agreement and turned onto the small service road.

Mom had the map and supplemented with SatNav. I was looking out for the town, any passing vehicles, and major hazards. The road was paved, at first. Though it was a single, very narrow lane. However, the paved part was very short and we soon ended up on dirt. I warned my folks about some dune buggies I had noticed speeding around. My dad thought that they weren’t actually on the road because they were off to the side…Turned out the road was very windy and one of them almost hit us on their way out. Another one sped by shortly after. We kept going. Everything looked fine so far.

We reached a fork in the road and Mom gave directions. SatNav was working at first too, but now the signal was getting bad. So, we switched to the map. The road went deeper into the forest and now I was looking for wildlife so make sure we wouldn’t hit anything. Our little path got rougher and less maintained. So, it was an incredibly bumpy ride. Still okay, though. We had good suspension. The roads got more mazelike, though. Zigzagging around boulders, huge fallen logs, and dried stream beds. There were also branches upon branches of service roads coming off of the main path. According to the map, we had to take one of these side roads. So, we kept following the map. By now, the forest was so thick and the sun had begun to set. We had underestimated how quickly it would get dark. Due to how narrow the road was and how close the trees were, we couldn’t really turn back. So, we kept going.

Eventually, I saw a clearing and a tiny cabin next to a huge tree all by itself. I announced that we found the town. My parents didn’t think so. There was too little left and it looked like just an abandoned hunting shack. I took a photo anyway. (I’ll include a few at the end.) By now, it was properly sunset. We were in the middle of nowhere and no signal. So, we started to get worried. Onward to continue the road. It had to lead out of here eventually…right?

My mom checked the map and since she didn’t believe we passed the ghost town, she had no idea where we were on the roads. She made her best effort anyway. My dad followed her directions while she got more and more frustrated with navigation. I kept an eye out for any rangers or campers who might be out there so we could ask for directions. It got darker. I started getting nervous and took pictures to keep track of where we had been. Kind of an impromptu disaster log.

The road got even worse than before and now the car was constantly bucking. There was snow, mud, and ice. Said obstacles were also covering massive potholes that cratered the path. We hadn’t expected the snow and ice since it had been Spring for a while and we weren’t in an area known for cold weather. It eventually got so dark that even the headlights weren’t helping much, being blocked by the thick brush. Then, we got stuck for the first time. Dad managed to do the forward-and-reverse thing, which got us free without too much trouble. Now, he wanted to go faster, thinking that would help avoid some of it….Which got us stuck a second time shortly afterwards. This time, it was deep mud and ice, which scraped the bottom of the car. We had to dig the car out. After about 5 minutes, we tried to get out and the large, sharp rocks under the mud scraped off the plastic guard under the vehicle. It was broken beyond repair and too dark to see in the muck. We had to leave it behind.

Now, Mom and I were starting to get scared. There was nobody around, it was pitch-black, and the road was getting more and more dangerous. She started trying to talk Dad into having us camp overnight, but he wasn’t having any of it. He was determined to get us out of the forest. So, not having learned from the first time, he hit the gas again. The road twisted and turned with a wall of solid rock growing next to us. Then, I noticed a drop suddenly appear in front of us and Mom screamed at Dad to stop. He hit the brakes and the car hit a patch of ice. We slid. I lost it and screamed for any deity to help us as we hurtled towards the cliff.

The car hung with two wheels off of the cliff. Thankfully we had all-wheel drive. Dad carefully backed us onto land while we all held our breath. I snapped out of my fear-induced paralysis, got out, and guided the car back onto the road, looking over the side…It was hundreds of feet down. A straight drop. Certain death.

At this point, we were all badly shaken and Dad drove much more slowly. Then, Mom saw a light a short distance away. I looked too and we figured out that it was a cement factory just a short drive down the mountain. We followed the path just a bit further and reached pavement. After what seemed like an eternity, we passed the cement plant and ended up on a main road on the opposite side of the mountains. We were free. After that, we went straight home and I went to class tomorrow morning, grateful to be there at all.

In retrospect, we looked at the pics of the cabin and it turned out that we DID pass right by the ghost town. It was just in such a state of ruin that my parents didn’t recognize it. The cabin, some graves, and stone foundations are all that remains. The tree next to the cabin was an old hangman’s tree used for executions in the 1800s.

#scary stories #real life #near death experience #mountains #driving

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

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(The Bad Batch) The Awkward Chronicles

(Author’s Note: Here is some wild Bad Batch content for you. I’m still not entirely sure why I did this, but I was sitting here laughing and blushing at this madness. I’m one of those people who gets embarrassed so easily, so this fic was a ride for me.

-We all have ideas on what it’d be like to live and fight with the Bad Batch. These are some short examples of the less glamorous things that can happen when you dwell with five males on a tiny ship-

Warnings: Some awkward situations, embarrassment, some crude humor, potty humor)

Link to The Sequel

You were walking down the hall, minding your own business, when it happened. The lights went out. As a matter of fact, it seemed that power in the entire ship was down. You were left stranded in the pitch black, feeling around for the wall for only a few seconds before a low hum sounded and the emergency lights came on.

The hall was cast in an eerie red light.

“Tech!” Hunter’s growl made you jump. That’s when you remembered; the last time you’d seen the Sergeant was when he excused himself to the refresher to take a shower. A loud bang sounded on the door just a few feet away from you. “Tech, what’s going on?”

Before you could respond, the door slid open, and a very disgruntled Hunter emerged. It was quite a sight. His long hair was damp and full of suds, some of which was falling into his eyes, and he wore a towel around his waist. He was trying to blink the soap from his eyes, and he must not have seen you there because he marched straight into you.

You yelped, hands shooting up instinctively to try and cushion the blow. They landed on his broad chest, and you shrunk away awkwardly. The dampness of his skin and the proximity was enough to make your face flare up. Embarrassment quickly took its toll. You were glad that the emergency lights were dim.

“__________?” Hunter asked in disbelief, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. His grumpy demeanor was replaced with surprise.

“Um, yeah, it’s me,” you replied. “Sorry.”

“I’m the one who ran into you,” he said in amusement. He was right, but something about the situation just made you feel like you should apologize. Maybe it was the way you were trying so very hard to meet his eyes and not let your attention wander.

Funny enough, Hunter didn’t seem at all bothered by the situation. He continued to stand there unabashedly, eyes flickering past you. “Where’s Tech? Do you know what’s going on?”

“He was making repairs in the cockpit,” you said.

“Would’ve been nice if he at least waited until no one was using the shower,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, very true. Here, I’ll just…” You glanced at the floor, biting your lip. “I’ll, um, tell him to hurry up with the power.”

“Thanks,” Hunter nodded. He gathered up his damp hair which had started to drip more suds down his shoulder, and turned to head back into the refresher. You spun around and hurried toward the cockpit, ready to face-palm.

That image won’t stay burned into your mind or anything. Nope.

- - - -

You glared at the empty roll. It sat there tauntingly as your brain desperately thought of options to solve your current predicament.

If you really wanted to, you could pull your bottoms up just enough to shimmy out of the refresher and grab a new roll of toilet paper in the supply closet. It was a small ship, though, so there were a few things that could make the plan go awry. Someone could easily walk by and witness the unfortunate situation. Or worse, someone could be waiting for you to exit the refresher and slip in after you walk out the door.

Your best bet would be to see if someone could bring you a roll. Wrecker was the most ideal choice. He was likely the one who left you with an empty roll in the first place, and he was the most relaxed of the group about things like that. Not to mention you’d rescued him from the same situation a few times already. You could count on him cracking a joke and then just moving on.

Speaking of which, you heard his heavy footsteps going down the hall right then. Relief washed over you as you grinned and gave the refresher door a knock. “Wrecker! Can I ask a favor?”

“Sorry, ________! I’m moving something for Hunter,” he grunted. “Crosshair’s here though! He can help you out.”

Your smile faded.

Crosshair was not a bad guy, but to say that you weren’t exactly eager to ask him to get you toilet paper was an understatement. How could you bring yourself to ask the man and have him know your awkward situation?

“What do you need?” Crosshair’s smooth voice was muffled through the refresher door. You took a deep breath as you decided to take the plunge.

“I, uh, I need someone to grab toilet paper from the closet.”

It was dead silent on the other end for a minute, and you were inwardly cringing. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, and your face practically burned with shame.

“Isn’t there any under the sink?”

“Already checked,” you said. “Someone forgot to restock it.”

“That would be Wrecker.” He sighed in annoyance. “Give me a minute.” It felt like forever before you heard him knock on the door again. “I’m...I’m just going to leave it here.”

“Thanks,” you called through the door.

His footsteps faded away, and you cracked the door open just enough to snatch up the roll.

In hindsight, Crosshair had been pretty cool about the whole thing. You weren’t sure what to expect, but your wildest imagination had envisioned his tone being laced with disgust, or at the very least irritation toward you. Or maybe a snide comment. Even so, it didn’t do much to derail the embarrassment that had set in when you joined the others in the cockpit. You had a hard time looking Crosshair’s way for a while.

- - - -

Where could they be? You rested your hands on your hips, frustrated. You had searched every inch of your bunk for your boots to no avail. Hunter and Wrecker were waiting for you outside the ship to join them for a supply run. The only thing you could think of was that perhaps during the last crash-landing, they slid up to the front.

With a sigh, you typed up a quick message to Tech on your holopad. He was already up there working on one of the panels: maybe he could check.

Three dots appeared on the screen, which meant he was typing up a response. Then, they disappeared. They reappeared once more. Confused, you were about to head up to the cockpit anyway before a ping sounded on your device, alerting you of his response.

I take it you were asking about your boots. If that’s the case, then yes, they’re here up front.

Your brows furrowed. “What…? I did ask about boots. What does he think I wrote?” You scrolled up to see your original message, covering your mouth in shock.

It read: Tech, have you seen my booty?

You quickly typed up a response. Oh my gosh. Yes, I meant to say boots.

That explained his hesitant reply before. Your face heated up at the thought of the brainiac reading your typo and short-circuiting for a moment, being unsure of how to go about it. You choked back a laugh on your way up front to fetch your boots.

Tech was kneeling down beside the panel when you arrived.

“Heyy,” you greeted. He paused his work to lift his helmet. There was a hint of amusement in his gaze, and you could see the way he was fighting a smile.

“Hello, ________.”

“About earlier,” you grimaced.

He finally cracked a smile, chuckling. “No worries. These things tend to happen. I set your boots over there.” He nodded in the direction of the co-pilot seat. Face flushed, you grabbed your boots off the chair and pulled them on before heading out to join Hunter and Wrecker.

- - - -

“Alright,” Hunter shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who was that?”

Everyone in the cockpit exchanged looks, some accusatory. Under normal circumstances, you’d think the whole thing was childish. But for someone with Hunter’s abilities, you sort of understood why every time someone passed gas, it became a game of “who did it?”

It was almost always Wrecker. Sometimes he’d admit it proudly, and other times he’d try and deny it. This time, it seemed, he was out for blood.

“It was __________,” he said. “I heard it.”

All eyes turned to you, including Hunter’s vexed expression. You glared at the largest Bad Batcher with your heart thumping in embarrassment. “Was not!”

The corner of his mouth twitched. A hint of a smile, though he quickly hid it. “Come on, _________. It’s bad enough that you disturbed Hunter’s ‘advanced senses.’” He quoted the phrase that he’d heard Tech throw around before. “But don’t try and cover it up.”

“It wasn’t me.” You replied in disbelief. Turning to Hunter, your eyes took on a more pleading look. “You’ve got to believe me.”

“You’re being awfully defensive,” Echo noted.

“Yeah, awfully defensive,” Wrecker repeated, nodding furiously. “Own up, ________. That one was really bad.”

You sighed. “This is silly. It wasn’t me, and you know it.”

“Maybe it was,” Crosshair shrugged. “And maybe it wasn’t.”

“Either way,” Hunter interrupted, shooting each of you a look. “I’ll ask all of you one more time. Try and hold off until we land, so I can leave.”

The cockpit fell into silence once more, and you turned around to take a seat in one of the passenger chairs, brooding over the situation. Wrecker shot you a cheeky grin, and you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile that crept its way onto your features at his childishness.

- - - -

“__________, could you fetch me another wrench?” Tech asked, grunting as he pulled out a few wires from the opening in the wall. “I’m going to need it in a minute.”

Your eyes caught something shiny on the tool kit he had laid out on the floor of the cockpit. Kneeling down to pick it up, you shrugged. “You mean like this?” Tech glanced your way and shook his head.

“A smaller one.”

“Oh alright,” you sighed. “Be right back.” You moseyed your way out of the cockpit, taking your time because it was a slow day and there was no rush. It was unusual for the ship to be so quiet. That was most likely because Wrecker wasn’t on board. He went with Hunter and Crosshair to see the planet a little.

On your way back to the rest of Tech’s tools, you saw Echo making his way up front.

“How go the repairs?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” you said with a nod. Both of you had paused to converse for a moment in the hall. “I’m grabbing some more tools for Tech. Apparently the toolkit he brought up front doesn’t have the wrench he needs.”

Echo chuckled. “Well, good luck to you. I’ve got my own repairs to make, or else I’d help.”

“Well, thanks anyway.” You smiled.

“__________!” Tech called. “If I am to proceed, I will need that wrench.”

“One second!” you called back. Shrugging, you mumbled, “duty calls.” Echo and you both stepped aside so the other could pass by first. A few chuckles floated into the air, and before you knew it both of you were taking a step forward at the same time.

“Wow, okay, I’m sorry,” you said, feeling a little shy at the awkward close proximity. Both of you sidestepped, bringing your chests together again. Echo fidgeted a little with the contact. Heat flooded your cheeks at how you were so close you nearly kissed. Your friend rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah, sorry,” he mumbled. “Why don’t you just go ahead?” This time, he managed to take a step back and over against the wall, lighthearted laughter leaving his lips as you walked past.

“Sorry,” you told him again over your shoulder. As you walked away, you felt that familiar twinge of embarrassment. Poor Echo looked somewhere between amused and a little embarrassed himself. You were a little relieved to hear another laugh from him down the hall.

#the bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader #the bad batch imagine #the bad batch fanfiction #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #echo x reader #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #the bad batch reader insert

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village.

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him.

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth.

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed.

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?”

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit.

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital.

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence.

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force.

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read.

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question.

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered.

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other.

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice.

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic.

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force.

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship.

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to.

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks.

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs.

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?”

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.”

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak.

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced?

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching.

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen.

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility.

It is a guarantee.

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