#quit my job move to a far away land where no civilization is near

[that-vampire-loser]

The way I always forget that Kevin Day’s mom was the one that invented exy. Like, he’s got coaches kid syndrome already, but THIS. The poor Exites workers, just trying to do their jobs, when Kevin MymominventedexyandIknowmorethanyou Day walks in the store.

He’s a menace to society

[unlucky-rubber-ducky]

Found

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

3265 words

Summary/warnings: Not proofread. Sleep deprived writing. Mentions of injury and fighting and sadness and all that jazz. Post-Order 66, baby.

A/n: This one is definitely a ride. If not good, I hope it is at least entertaining. It was entertaining to write. Kinda sad. As always, please let me know if there’s anything I can edit to make the story more inclusive. Thank you for reading!

The annoyance you felt as you trudged out of the marketplace was… unmatched. This was certainly not the deal. You would help Sar’pah clean up the mess he had made, and in return he would get you off of Abafar. Of course, when you had said ‘off of Abafar’, you had meant somewhere with some semblance of civilization; something to blend into. Not another Maker-forsaken desert planet.

You should have known that a ‘pit-stop’ on Tatooine meant kicking the dangerous fugitive offboard, but seeing as how Sar’pah himself was a wanted man, you had hoped he would be a little more forgiving. He had landed in Bestine, asked you to go get a few items from the market, and flew off the moment you stepped off the walkway.

Kriffing fool doesn’t even know what kind of fugitive I am. Your trusting nature may have lost you a ride, but it certainly didn’t extend far enough that you told people why you were on the run. You simply told them that working with you could be dangerous. It was up to them to decide if they wanted to take that risk.

Too many would love the reward a Jedi would bring them. And dammit, if you were going to be brought down by the Empire, it certainly wasn’t going to be for anyone else’s gain. So, here you were, stuck on another desert planet. One ruled by the Hutts, no less. A few too many brushes with them, before and during the Clone Wars, had you very wary to make your presence known to them. So, you figured that at least until you had a ride offplanet, you should try your best to avoid bigger settlements. (Well, as big as settlements on Tatooine could get.)

Which brought you back to the current moment. Republic Credits had never meant much in the Outer Rim, but you had just enough to buy some water and an admittedly sickly looking Eopie. You hadn’t really bothered to check what direction you were setting off on, just picking the horizon that looked the least difficult to navigate with a large animal. It was also in the opposite direction of Mos Eisley, where you were quite sure a few old enemies resided. 

You refused to acknowledge it, but you could feel the Force pulling you west. You were sure many Jedi had taken solace in the Force after all they had lost, but all you felt was… betrayal. You were well aware the Order itself was corrupt, you didn’t deny that- but mass murder? The will of the Force was to kill some of its most loyal followers? You had witnessed its power. You couldn’t deny its existence. But you could deny its benevolence.

So you kept going with the suns in your eyes and told yourself it was logical to go west.

“Hey!” You ignored it. You didn’t know anyone here, surely they were calling for someone else. “Hello? Excuse me?”

You finally turned to see a blue Twi’lek jogging to catch up with your Eopie. Three years of being hunted had your instincts screaming at you to reach for your lightsaber, but the friendly (if panicked) smile on her face put you at ease enough to let her get close enough to explain herself.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh you don’t have to be so formal! I’m Sasrula, just Sas if it’s easier, and if you’re willing, I could really really use some help right now.” You stopped your mount entirely, turning so the suns were at your back and the stranger couldn’t see your face. You examined her more closely, which you could tell was making her more nervous. “I just need to get out of here, somewhere a little more sparsely populated, and quickly, or else I wouldn’t be bothering you, but just since I’m pretty light and your Eopie could probably carry both-”

“You were enslaved?”

She looked down at herself, seemingly only now noticing the small bits of fabric she had been given as clothing. Before she could go on another rant, you gestured to the space behind you. 

“Hop on.” Before she could get any closer you help up your hand, stopping her in her tracks. “There’s a cloak and some water in the bag.”

 The animal beneath you protested, already struggling with your weight, but when you calmed it down enough, it began its slow progress. The first minute or so was silent, but Sasrula’s chatty entrance was an omen of the hours to come.

“Whatcha doin’ on Tatooine?”

“Passing through.”

You could sense the doubt that washed over her, and the suspicion that your lie brought onto you.

“Most people ‘passing through’ Tatooine don’t ride off into the desert.”

“I have never killed anyone that wasn’t about to kill me.” It didn’t… soothe her, but the blunt statement seemed to ease her enough into another topic of conversation. 

“...did you have a job before Tatooine?”

“Few years ago.”

“Spouse?”

“No.” It was too late, though. You had stiffened, and due to her close proximity, Sasrula easily picked up that there was more to that story than you were letting on. “He and I were never married.”

“Already have a wife then, did he?” You let out a puff through your nose.

“Something like that.”

There was a time you had resented Obi-Wan for inevitably choosing the Order over you. For leaving your quarters early in the morning, whispering empty promises of love and a happy future. Nowadays you would go to the ends of a universe just for one more moment with him. But you would never get that. Because even if Cody hadn’t been the one to kill him, and he had survived the initial execution, Obi-Wan was too courageous and too selfless and too reckless to have made it three years on the run. 

And if maybe you didn’t want to consider the idea that he hadn’t come looking for you like you had spent the first two years looking for him, you would never admit it to yourself. You weren’t sure you could survive that notion.

“Was he handsome?”

This was the most Sas had seen you emote in the little while you had now been together- she wasn’t letting your mystery man get away that easily.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Rich?” You laughed, and Sas felt just a bit of pride that she had eased you up.

“Hardly! The man never remembered to bring whatever money he did have, and I would constantly have to apologize to Dex-” You stopped yourself. No names. Don’t get familiar. “Dex was the owner of a greasy little diner.”

There was something… pleasant, about pretending that your relationship with Obi-Wan had been a normal one. There was no Jedi Council to answer to, no status to keep safe, nothing. Just you, a few memories, and an escaped Twi’lek full of questions and eager to fill the silence.

“...then, the kriffing bastard, he pushed me into his closet! Like whoever was coming in wasn’t gonna figure out something was amiss!” The giggle coming from behind you was loud, and you were glad to finally be sharing these stories with someone. 

“Oh no I entirely relate, there was a guy who- why’d you stop?”

You all but fell off of the Eopie, stumbling when you landed but quickly steady on your feet. Something felt very wrong, and you were quite sure that something was moving towards you very fast. While your hand first landed on your lightsaber, you made the decision to grab the blaster you had stolen from Sar’pah instead.

A distant cloud of dust, coming from the direction of Bestine, was moving… fast.

“How fast do sandstorms usually move?”

“Well, it depends on the pre-existing weather and geographical conditions, but they can go hundreds of miles an hour, it’s not pleasant-“ she finally turned to look at what was causing you to panic “dank farrik! That is not a dust storm!”

“Well what is it then?!”

“A lot of trouble!”

As you tried to pick out details of the approaching figures, a reflection of light let you know they were on speeders. A brief glance at the struggling eoipe let you know you wouldn’t be riding away from this, and the miles of flat desert around you hardly made for any good hiding spots.

“Are we sure it’s trouble?” You knew it was- another whisper from the Force that you were trying to keep unacknowledged. 

“Yeah. I had hoped he wouldn't notice I was missing till tomorrow.”

Now that’s just… great.

“Who is ‘he’?!”

“My previous captor. He’s, uh, not very forgiving.” Sas moved to get off of the animal, but you stopped her. “Listen, I appreciate your entrepreneurial spirit, but you’re not gonna get any money from him for my return, he’s just gonna kill you.”

“I’m not trying to get any money, you’re not going back.” The Twi’lek’s surprise was almost palpable. “At least, not while I’m standing.”

The cause of the dust cloud had gotten close enough that you could see four speeders drawing near. Three had large, intimidating riders, and the front one, the fanciest one, had a severe looking older man.

They slowed when they drew close enough, and the cold look in the man’s eyes told you everything you needed to know about him.

“I believe you’ve made off with something of mine.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me, sir.”

He paused for a moment, taking your protective stance and hood-covered face in.

“I’m not so sure I do, partner.”

“I haven’t stolen anything since I landed on your dustball of a planet.”

He snorted, still looking down on you from his position on his speeder.

“That,” he pointed at Sasrula, “is mine.”

“She is traveling with me. Has been for a while.”

“You can’t fool me, traveler. I know my own property. Don’t try to lie.”

You held your hands up in mock defeat.

“Hey, I never said exactly how long she had been with me. No lies have been told.”

“How long is this gonna go?”

“Till you either let us go, or are crushed under my boot.”

“Now, we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

In an instant you dropped to the ground, dodging blaster fire from four different directions. Even in the heat of the moment you were wary to reveal your past, so you pulled out your own blaster, desperately trying to get back on your feet whilst dodging dozens of blasts every moment. Once you finally had the chance to stand, you were able to get two of the larger men down.

It was a stressful situation, and once again you hated to admit it, but fighting felt… good. Not the chaos or death or injury of it, but the feeling of letting the Force guide your movements, feeling it flow around you and tell your limbs where to go.

Unfortunately, the method didn’t work when you were surprised out of your focus. And a cloaked figure coming out of seemingly nowhere and kicking the leader off of his speeder was enough to startle you.

You cursed as pain shot from your right shoulder, and it took everything in you not to drop to the ground. You shot the last of the body guards, and aimed at Sas’s captor, who laid in the cloaked man’s shadow. You paused when you felt a hand on your arm. You looked up to see Sasrula, who was looking at you with an unspoken request in her eyes.

You handed her the blaster and let her take the shot. You understood the desire.

Once he was dead on the ground, you turned towards the other presence, who had taken to watching your interaction with Sas. You couldn’t see his face under the hood of his cloak, and some part of you felt better knowing your face was likely just as concealed as his. 

“Thank you for the help!” Sasrula’s bright voice poked through the suspicious silence.

“It was no trouble at all.”

Your blood froze. You were almost certain you knew that voice.

“Take down your hood.”

“Excuse me? I-“

“Please just do it.”

You could see his shoulders stiffen, and you knew he recognized your voice. He lowered his hood. 

His eyes were the first thing you noticed. They were sad. The saddest they had ever been. And so tired. But there was a burning hope, a burning question, that you knew you needed to answer for him.

So you copied him, and dropped your hood.

“Hey, Obi.”

That was all it took for you both to take off in a sprint, clearing the few meters between you in less than seconds. You jumped and landed in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You buried your face in his neck, sobbing as you tried to get as close to him as you possibly could. He let out a disbelieving laugh, and you pulled back to get another look at his face. You placed your hands on his cheeks, brushing the stray tears that had fallen from his eyes.

“I thought you were dead, Obi.”

“I thought you were dead, little one.”

There was a part of you that expected him to push you away when you leaned in to kiss him. A part of you that still felt it needed to hide your relationship. 

Instead, you kissed him and all of your grief and anger and sadness and deep adoration and love were on display for him, and his for you.

You finally pulled back and stepped back down on the ground when someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“I’m assuming this is the handsome man from before?”

You blushed and looked at Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, it is.” You reluctantly pulled out of Obi-Wan’s arms, taking a step back to look him over for injuries. “How long have you been here? How did you survive all of the slaughter? I heard you had killed Grievous but then there was so much chaos, and I made my way to Utapau just to be sure you weren’t there and-”

“You went to Utapau?! Darling, that was foolhardy and-” 

You took another step back.

“And?”

“And dangerous! I can only imagine that place is crawling with Imperials!”

“What was I supposed to do, Obi? Yours was the only face I cared to see, so I figured I’d start from the beginning.” Conflicting and powerful emotions caused more tears to fall from your eyes despite your best efforts. “What was I supposed to do?” It came out as a whisper, and you hated how broken you sounded. Suddenly you felt very tired, and the previously forgotten blaster wound on your shoulder was beginning to burn with pain.

“I had hoped that you would let me go.”

“Could you have?”

“What?”

“Could you have let me go?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer immediately, and you had your answer. Suddenly all of the heartbreak and quiet crying in your quarters at the temple were worth it. The three years of not knowing if you were searching for a ghost, the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t done the same for you.

Worth it.

“Can I stay with you?” You sounded like a child and you hated it, but now that you had him you weren’t sure you could let him go.

His continued silence turned your heart to ice. Perhaps he hadn’t looked for you because he was tired of you. Perhaps you misread the situation. Perhaps he could have let you go. 

“Have you had any run-ins with the Empire?”

“Nothing beyond what any other Jedi has encountered.” You heard Sasrula gasp, and you felt just a little bad that you had entirely forgotten she was there. “I’m sneaky, Kenobi. Surely you remember that.” The curious turn of conversation had you feeling just a little more stable. He did not, however, smile.

“I’m staying here. On Tatooine. For a long time.”

“You’re saying I can stay?”

“It’s not like I can kick you off the planet.”

The rush of relief was sudden, and altogether too much for you. That, combined with the rather serious wound you had yet to take care of; the exhaustion of the past few hours; and the hot sun, it’s really no surprise that you passed out.

“Oh dear.”

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

When you woke, you felt blessedly cooler. The bandage around your shoulder was soft, and the blankets you were wrapped in smelled like the desert and Obi-Wan, which calmed your initial alarm at waking in a foreign place. There were no windows in whatever room you were in, but the general darkness around you suggested it was nighttime. There was a doorway with just a curtain across it, from which you could hear quiet murmurs. Your sleep muddled brain told you to lay back down and close your eyes for just a little longer, but you were too curious to sleep any longer.

When you stood you realized you weren’t in your own shirt. It was much larger than your own, and a slightly different color. You were, however, still in your own pants. Which was very appreciated. You took a few steps before stumbling, still rather weak from the past few hours.

You weren’t noticed when you first stepped into (what you could only assume to be) the main room of Obi-wan’s home. Said man was currently bickering with Sasrula over how to prepare dinner, and if they should wake you up to eat. You were glad to see that the Twi’lek hadn’t run off, and you were even gladder to see Obi-Wan in a lighter mood.

You finally caught his eye when you moved further into the room, and he quickly moved to your side in order to help you to a make-shift dining room chair, kneeling in front of you. You sheepishly smiled at your two companions, who both returned your look with concern.

“I see you two have become pals.”

“I see why you spent three years without him. Your man is insufferable.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and you both tried to pretend like Sasrula calling him ‘your man’ didn’t affect you.

“You gave us a bit of a fright, my darling. I hadn’t even realized you had been hit.” He kissed you on the forehead. “I do hope you don’t mind that I took your shirt off in order to treat your wound.”

You shrugged.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

If he wasn’t red from Sasrula’s earlier comment, he certainly was now.

The Twi’lek snorted and made her way to the kitchenette on the other side of the small space, taking her chance to prepare dinner her way.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“About two days. You left me alone with a stranger for two days.”

“That explains why you’re so chummy with Sas.”

He grimaced.

“Yes. I… don’t know that I’ve ever met such a talkative woman.”

“Giving Ahsoka a run for her money, hm?”

“Don’t remind me.”

You chuckled, and felt a warmth in your heart that you hadn’t felt since you and Obi-Wan were both Padawan’s and had the galaxy ahead of you. Except… this was different. You weren’t sure you could call it better. There was too much bloodshed and trauma for it to be better. But it was undoubtedly freer. 

“Does it make you uncomfortable to say that I love you?”

Obi-Wan smiled softly.

“Never.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you deeply, little one.”

[the-fiction-witch]

La Bella Ranch P1

TV GODLESS AU COUPLE WHITEY X READER RATING: FLIRTY AF

Somewhere snuggly between the unhinged new mexico desert and the last lines of civilization sits the little place I call home. My grandfather built this ranch with his own two hands when he was trying to impress my grandmother's father of course it did and they were soon married since then the families run the ranch successfully of course selling in the nearby town, working the land and the animals. I loved our ranch then again not like a had a whole lot of choice I'd been born in the ranch and had only very rarely left to go to town every so often, I was even homeschooled with the teacher coming every Thursday but I really did love the ranch. I loved feeding the chickens and caring for the horses along with my many other jobs daily on the ranch my father worked hard I'd argue far too hard more so since my mother died he doesn't much speak me with me he spends time with me but always doing things like building or working I think sometimes he doesn't quite know what to say to me without my mother around. He'd always been protective even more so after she passed, my grandma helped out in the house as she couldn't do much else anymore, my grandfather still worked hard almost as hard as my father, and my aunt who honestly worked as hard as my father her husband past a while ago and she just took to the work much like my father did. Ohh and if course must not forget, our well I guess you could call him a farm hand, Name whitey. He was a townie a year or two older than me, he lost his parents a long time ago and my father took him in as a farm hand on the ranch he lived out in the old barn helping out as he was needed. 

I woke to the sun shining in brightly I forced myself up and had myself a shower, I got dressed did my make up and my hair putting my usual comfy dress on heading down to the kitchen grabbing an apple or two on my way out into the dust and dirt instantly I saw my father and aunt working on the driveway fence as it came down in the storm last week "morning daddy, morning maggie" I greeted 

My dad simply nodded 

"Morning y/n. Where are you off to so bright an early?" 

"I got work to do" I laughed heading down the path, I did my usual jobs with the chickens and the horses before heading along to my hutches "hello my little babies" I smiled picking up my lovely bunny rabbit snowball giving her a nice cuddle I fed her and her little fluffle of baby buns making sure they were all alright. 

Once I was finished up I was secretive I snuck away over the fence and headed to the old barn where I saw the door open I peaked inside the messy place the old barn had very much been turned into a little house all of it a mess, the bed unmade a pipe of laundry near and around the basket, a pile of dishes in the sink and in the corner by the large old barn door sat two very impressive sights firstly the tall lanky body of whitey winn, sat on his little stool hands working hard oil covering them he hadn't noticed he to deep in his work his hair a mess and muck across his face it made me giggle a little and beside him taking up all his attention was his prize possession an old motorcycle I believe from the sixties it was his dad's and had been locked away for years whitey had been tinkering with it forever but it still didn't run even if it was beautiful I closed the door quietly and slowly crept over putting my hands over his eyes "guess who!" I giggled

"Uuuuuuughhh easter bunny?" He joked 

"Nope. Guess again"

"Hi y/n" he laughs

"Hi whitey" I giggled moving my hands away as soon as I did he wrapped his around me pulling me down into his lap "ohh whitey!" 

"Hi"

"Hi"

"I missed you"

"I saw you yesterday"

"I know but…. It's been a little while since we where all alone" he smirked stroking a finger across my thigh 

"Is that a hint mr winn?"

"Might be?" he shrugged I smirked pulling his neck closer kissing him deeply he happily kissed back pulling me closer and tighter too him 

[dine-on-darling]

Feral

Remember how I said Beel would never willingly/knowingly use fear play? Well, that still holds true, he’d never want to hurt Darling. But when he falls prey to a malicious spell, it ain’t about what he wants. 

Fear play, mentions of digestion, and some blood, but it’s still soft and safe.

Oh, and very angsty.

Might write a part two for comfort if y’all want.

---------

Demons, like anyone else, are capable of being extremely petty. They might even be more susceptible to giving into it than any other being. So unless you’ve got power on your side, it’s best not to upset one, or else you will certainly face the consequences.

Although, if a demons feeling real petty, then not even the fear of the sins can deter them from seeking revenge.

---

Most days in the Devildom felt the same. There wasn’t sunlight like on earth, no clouds to roll across the sky and cast shadows, no gusts of wind to ruffle leaves and clothes; still, Darling had come to enjoy the atmosphere anyway, and the predictability was nice for planning outings, such as a day out with only herself and one of her favorite demons. The atmosphere of the Devildom was fine, but it became even more pleasant with good company.

Beelzebub sat next to her on the secluded bench, tucked away in the little forest of trees. They weren’t far from civilization by any means, but it still felt they were thousands of miles away from anyone else, the trees like a bubble of silence stretching all around them.

Beel had wanted to go for a midday run and had convinced Darling to go with him as his jogging partner, although less than halfway to their current spot they’d realized quickly that she had no hope of keeping pace with the much longer legged Beel, so jogging had turned into getting a piggy back ride. She’d been embarrassed by her lack of stamina, but he’d only joked and told her she was helping him now by providing some extra weight to run with, plus she had the very important job of holding the snacks in her schoolbag!

They’d been running for quite a while when he decided it was time for a break and set her down, and now here she sat, munching on her own meager snack while Beel wolfed down enough food to feed a family and still call it a “snack”. Ridiculous as his eating habits were, she couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

Darling closed her eyes, content to sit there and enjoy the moment, breathing out a soft sigh. Her back ached a little, and she winced when her clothes brushed against the still tender skin. Yesterday, she’d gotten her first ever tattoo. Not any normal tattoo, either, this one was a special sigil engraved into her back. Infusing the magic into it had made it hurt like a bitch, more than even a regular tattoo, apparently. This particular charm was meant to be a permanent version of the protection spell the brothers put on her whenever they ate her, since at this point it happened so frequently they figured they might as well. Also since there had been one or two incidents where one of them had been a little too eager and almost forgot the spell, so better to be safe than sorry. They were supposed to wait until the tattoo was fully healed for her to be devoured again by any of them, since a spell like this needed time to sink into her fully. As it was currently, it only had about half the effect.  

Meanwhile Beel still wasn’t satisfied with what he’d eaten so far, and dug into the bag in search of more food. He only paused for the briefest of seconds to examine what he pulled out. It looked like some kind of candy bar wrapped in foil, plain and simple. He knew they hadn’t packed it for the jog, so that must mean it belonged to Darling. He should put it back, he thought, since she might be upset with him for eating something of hers, but… his stomach let out a pitiful little whine. Oh well, he could buy her a new one later as an apology.

Darling opened her eyes again in time to see the demon stuffing the last of the bar into his mouth, the packaging crinkled in his hands. She blinked for a second, recognizing it. “Beel, was that the candy I had buried in my bag?”

He blushed at being caught so quick, he’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t notice until later. “Yeah, sorry, I can replace it though. Running always makes me so hungry.” He rubbed his stomach as it made another noise.

Darling rolled her eyes with a smile. “Okay, first of all, everything makes you hungry. Second of all, I’m not mad, but…”

“What is it?”

“Well, I hadn’t actually bought that candy bar myself. Yesterday, after school, I opened up my bag to get a book out and it was simply sitting there, nestled in between all my other stuff.”

“So someone gave it to you?”

“I guess, but I have no idea who. If it was one of you guys, then you wouldn’t have bothered being sneaky about, and I can’t imagine any of the other friends I’ve made doing that either. It kind of bugged me, so I decided not to touch it and put it back in my bag. I was planning to ask anyway if any of you guys knew where it’d come from, but I hadn’t gotten around to it and forgot it was even there until now.”

“Hm.” Beel opened his palm to look at the crumpled wrapped. Now that he took a minute, something seemed odd about it. He brought it to his face, sniffing it. It mostly smelled of chocolate for sure, but there was something else coiled in there. Running his tongue along his teeth, he now picked up that same presence, something bitter.

There was a stab of pain in his gut, and Beelzebub doubled over with a grunt.

“Ah, Beel!” Darling quickly moved closer, putting a hand on his back and shoulder. His face was contorted in a grimace, his hands pressing into the flesh over his stomach. A loud, almost angry growl rose up from the depths. He could feel something twisting up through him, clawing into his mind, settling into his bones, a dark magic wrapping it’s hold around him. He tried to open his mouth to warn Darling, but another stab of pain had him biting his tongue.

The girl herself had no idea what was happening to her dear friend. He had the most iron clad stomach of any being she knew, so what in the worlds could be upsetting his stomach this much?

“Beelzebub, what’s going on?” She begged. He tried to lean away from her, but the pain had him slumping heavily against her.

“R… Ru…”

“What?”

“Run…”

Energy crackled over Beelzebub’s skin, and Darling was only barely able to push herself back, landing in the dirt, before the avatar of gluttony burst out of his human form.

She’d seen his demon form on multiple occasions now, but this time felt distinctly different. When he opened his eyes, there wasn’t a trace of the warmth she’d come to know, replaced by cold, feral hunger. And all of that was focused on her.

“Beel…” She started, cautiously.

He barred his dagger sharp fangs and growled.

Darling could be called a lot of things, stubborn amongst them. More than once this had caused her to get into trouble when some of the lower level demons around the school would harass her. She never started the fights, but damn if she wasn’t willing to finish them. Usually, one of the brothers would interrupt pretty quick, and she never knew whether or not to be thankful for that. Of all the things she could be called, she knew she wasn’t an idiot. She knew the demons were all physically so much stronger than her, but the thought of them thinking she was nothing more than simple human with no teeth made blood boil. That’s why she always stood her ground in the face of their threats.

This time was different though. She wasn’t starring into the face of someone with rational thought in their head, this wasn’t someone she cherished right then, this was a beast. And she was alone with it.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d run from a fight in the Devildom, but pure instinct washed over her and she bolted as fast as a deer who’d seen a mountain lion about to pounce.

The avatar of gluttony roared behind her, and she could feel the ground shake with each of his thundering steps. Her mind flashed back to how easy it had been for him to outrun her at a simple jogging pace, but if she could somehow use the trees to her advantage, if she could keep out of his reach until she got back to the House of Lamentation-

Darling screamed as she was knocked hard into the ground from behind, dirt spraying up around them. She could feel his growled breathing at her ear, so close to her throat.

She thrashed about as best as she could, the task made near impossibly by how heavy the demon was. Especially in is demon form, he was so much bigger than she was; there’d never been a chance of her escaping him.

“Beel! Beelzebub, please, get off!” She screamed, pleaded, did whatever she could to try and get through to him, to no effect. His clawed hands tightened their grasp on her arm, digging into her and causing pinpricks of blood. His mouth opened, his hot breath fanning out over the back of her neck.

Fear coursed through her, and in desperation she managed to twist her body enough to bring her free arm up and jab her fingers roughly into his eyes.

He roared, pulling back to cover his eyes. She used this to wriggle out from under him, pushing herself into a crouch ready to take off running again; but as soon as the thought that she might be able to get away appeared, it was squashed by his hand closing around her ankle, dragging her right back down.

She was flipped onto her back, and still she tried her hardest to kick out of Beel’s grasp. She really wasn’t looking to hurt him, but she had no other choice right now. Of course, her struggles did nothing to deter the giant wall of power and muscle towering over her. Is mouth opened again, revealing the row of sharp teeth and the powerful throat beyond them, and stuffed her feet first in.

Shit! Shit shit shit!  

He wasn’t in his right mind to put any sort of protection on her right now, and the sigil on her back still wasn’t in full effect. If he ate her now, then maybe the spell would buy her some time, but it wouldn’t hold. He’d digest her.

“Beel, stop!” There was nothing nearby for her to grab onto, and she knew from experience how fast his throat worked. And true to that, as soon as her feet reach the back of his throat, he swallowed, dragging her roughly through the dirt. Where normally he was so careful not to injure her with his teeth, she could feel them scrape against her legs as they went past, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but enough so that the danger was real.

That one swallow had already brought her in up to her hips, his demon form even better suited to taking in a meal than his usual form. He lifted her up off the ground, his head tilting back to hold her up and help her slide. This was so familiar to her, they’d done this dozens of times, and she’d never been truly afraid before. Fear had never gripped her the way it did now, as she struggled in this monsters hold. He still paid her no mind, only growling around her form. He swallowed again, and it was only her arms outside of his lips. But even those were slurped up eagerly.

What had Belphie once told her? “Here, you are a human in a demon’s world, remember.” Yea, that was achingly clear.

She barely spent any time in his throat before it dumped her into his waiting belly, which gurgled and pressed in around her. The remnants of his snack from earlier were still in there, but they were already mush that lapped at her sides, pushed around by the hard working walls around her. She gasped in the heat, had it always felt this suffocating in here? No, she was sure it hadn’t. It wasn’t even the fault of his demon form; he’d eaten her with it before. She’d never known exactly how the properly working protection spell had affected her experience, it seemed. Her body tingled as the stomach began to knead gastric juices into her. Not painful, not yet.

She screamed his name again and again, using every ounce of her strength to push and stretch out the space, clawing and kicking up a fierce storm. But his stomach only treated her like a petulant child, contracting around her and balling her back up again. She had no talons; her nails did nothing to him. She’d hoped that maybe some pain would snap him back, but she couldn’t even cause any. Her breathing came fast and shallow, panic gripping her though she tried to stay level headed.

Her prison jostled as the avatar of gluttony rose to his feet, his stomach not even big enough to throw off his balance despite her wild thrashing. She could feel him walking, but it seemed to be more of a mindless wandering. His growls and heavy breaths echoed all around her. With each moment, she could feel the acids building up around her, only barely held off by the incomplete protection spell. She had to think fast before it became too much, there had to be something she could do to get through to him!

A mark on her body pulsed with heat, and she gasped. Their pact! She’d been so scared earlier that she’d forgotten about it. With it, she might be able to command him to let her out.

Darling closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a few slow, steady breaths, focusing only on the pact mark engraved in her, on the bond she could feel humming through it. It was muddied and difficult to grasp through whatever spell had turned Beel feral, but she pushed through with all her mental might. “Beelzebub.” She said.

The body around her shuddered, the giant demon halting in his steps.

“Beelzebub, I know you can hear me. Please, whatever is happening to you right now, you have to fight through it, you have to come back to me. Please, Beel, come back.”

The demon growled, hunching over his stomach. Darling bit back a yelp as his stomach began to thrash about her more violently than before, but she refused to let her concentration waver; she knew if she did that she’d lose her grip on him and might not be able to get it back.

Darling let out her own growl of rage, she was going to find whoever did this and beat them to a pulp for doing this to her Beel. She gathered what power she had in her little body, feeling it rise in her chest, and she poured all of it into their bond. “Beelzebub, I command you to return to your senses!”

He howled, arching his back enough to squish Darling even further, and crashed to his knees. His claws dug into the dirt, and his body heaved with shuddering, heavy pants. The tingling was beginning to burn.

She worried that it hadn’t been enough; he remained motionless besides his breathing. Her whole body shook with the anxious anticipation thrumming through her. Before she could call out to him again, though, he spoke first. “Dar… ling…”

“Beel! Beel, is it really you?” She held her breath, waiting for him to catch his enough to respond.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me… Darling, what have I done? I hurt you…”

His stomach clenched, and she hissed at the acids that rubbed into her. “Beel, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

“I can taste blood, though. You’re blood, Darling.”

“I got a little scrapped up is all, it’s fine. But I won’t be if you keep me in here much longer, please spit me back out now.”

“Right.” His mind seemed to be clearing through the fog, catching up to the situation. The walls around Darling moved again, but differently this time. It squeezed her up back into his throat, though he had enough control to leave most of the food much still inside. She spilled out into his waiting arms, dragging in a deep breath of fresh air. She blinked up into the face hovering above her, into the eyes that were no longer hunger, only sad and worried.

“Beel…” she smiled despite the absolute terror she’d felt mere moments ago. “You’re really you again.”

His frown only deepened, eyebrows scrunching up. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, shivering in the cold air. “A little tender, but I’m fine.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. Her body betrayed her nonchalant attitude, though; he could feel her trembling in his grasp, trying to calm itself from all the anxiety it’s had pumped through it. Beel’s eyes swept over her, becoming sadder with each scrape he saw and all the dirt still clinging to her from their struggle.

“Do you remember anything of what happened?” She asked.

Slowly, he nodded his head, not meeting her gaze. “I do.”

“Then you have to remember that you weren’t think straight. Look, I have no idea what caused that, but-“

“It was the chocolate.”

“Huh?”

“The chocolate.” He still wouldn’t look at her. “I only noticed there was something wrong with it after I ate it. If I had actually paused to look at it and not immediately stuffed my face then… then I wouldn’t have…” Darling had never seen Beel cry before, but now little beads of water formed at the corners of his eyes. “I could have killed you, Darling.”

Darling reached up to gently grab Beel’s head and guide it to her. She held him there, doing her best ro wrap her arms around him in the most comforting hug she could. He was still in his demon form and was still so much larger than her, but he curled around Darling like a child desperate for comfort. He wasn’t sobbing, but his body would shake every now and then as he clung to her and soaked in the fact that she was safe. For her part, Darling only carded her fingers through his hair, her other hand rubbing small circles into his back.

She almost found it funny, only a little bit ago she’d been scared out of her mind, and she was still coming off of that, but here she was doing her best to be the one doing the comforting. Because it was sweet Beel.

They stayed like that for a long time, not saying anything and simply trying to find comfort after that whole experience. Eventually, they both stopped shaking and could breathe evenly. Darling pulled back slightly to look at Beel, but he still tried to avoid her. She refused to let him, though, and used her hand to make him look at her. “Let’s go home, okay, Beel?”

He nodded mutely, standing up with her still in his arms. Mid-standing, he finally released his demonic form, shrinking back to his human size. He held her tightly as they started walking.

---

Evidently, the other brothers had started to grow concerned as it took much longer than it should have for the pair to return home, but they weren’t actually worried until they saw a solemn Beel carrying the still dirty Darling through the door. Beel hadn’t let any of them get close to her as he brought her to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and he explained everything that had happened while they were out.

He’d insisted on retrieving their stuff before heading back, specifically the candy bar wrapper. Satan was able to do some research on the residual magic that still clung to it and tracked down the spell. Apparently, it had a different effect based on who ingested it. For a demon, it filled them with rage and blocked off their inhibitions, causing them to go feral. Destructive and not a pleasant feeling, but something that would eventually fade away on its own before long. In a human, though, it was a destructive poison. If Darling had been the one to eat it like intended, then it certainly would have killed her.

The brothers continued to investigate into who could have gotten their hands on a spell like that, and who would have it out for Darling, and eventually found the culprit in one of the students at R.A.D. A demon who’d been particularly vocal about his dislike with the exchange program and who Darling had had more than one run in with.

He was called into the student council’s office, and the next day failed to show up to school. In fact, no other students saw him after that. Darling elected not to ask what they did to him.

The brothers continued to be a little extra gentle with her following the event but what drove her mad was the eggshells Beel was walking on around her. He’d held her so tightly right after, but now it was like he no longer trusted himself to be around her. She missed her friend, missed how it used to be so easy around him; and while the others said to give him time, Darling knew she had to take matters into her own hands to fix things.

…

[lieraburaaisuh]

Truth and Valor [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

While on a backwater planet for a job Drogan Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri finds himself in a bizarre situation. After saving a kid from a group of humanoids who'd ganged up on him, he comes to find that the boy has no recollection of anything; even his own name. With no way to know who he is or where he comes from the only thing he can do is keep the boy close until he can remember who he is

The strange things that happen around the boy and his odd insights are only a coincidence. At least that's what Drogan tells himself. Otherwise he'd have to acknowledge that he may have bitten off more than he can chew when he decided to take the boy in.

Warnings: Assassination and death, cursing, trauma/brain injury, and memory loss.

Note: This is the First Story, Part 1 of The Ties That Bind series. All 8 chapters, 20.7k words, plus artwork!

Chapter 1

Laying on his front with a Verpine sniper rifle tucked against his shoulder he followed the first target, finger against the trigger. Taking a slow and easy breath he let it out slowly. Between one heart beat and the next the first body was falling. With the efficiency of long practice he switched targets and dropped the second target before the first even hit the ground. Shuffling away from the edge of the cliff he stood and slung the rifle across his back. Pulling out a small probe droid he tossed it into the air and sent it to take holopics of the deceased as proof of their termination.

Heading back to his ship he dropped into the pilot’s seat and pulled out the datapad connected to the droid. Checking that the targets were easy to identify by their holopics he crossed them off his list and recalled the droid. So far the job hadn’t been too difficult. Normally a couple of politicians and nobles dropping dead would have had someone up his aft by now. Lucky for him there was already a civil war brewing on this dirtball of a planet.

Once the droid was back on board he took off and headed for the last, and most difficult, target. Rumour placed the male Twi’lek out in some old bunker hidden in the rocky canyons outside the largest city. If the intel was right he could be off the planet and heading back to pick up his credits within a day.

Setting the ship down just inside the edge of the treeline he locked down the controls, a handy trick he’d picked up from his sister’s husband, and did a quick once over of his rifle. After a quick meal he walked out into the windy crevices made of crumbling dirt and stone. His cloak threatened to strangle him as the wind whipped it about but he refused to leave it behind. It was far too useful.

Coming closer to the location of the bunker his plan was immediately derailed by the sounds of fighting. Taking a knee he brought up the rifle and peered through the scope. The entire area looked like an insect colony that had been kicked. Keeping low he crept closer to the ledge of the canyon to get a better look. Movement off to his left had him dropping to his stomach and crawling the rest of the way forward. “Shab.” ‘Fuck.’ He cursed under his breath.

Below him a group of six humanoids surrounded a child. Kid couldn’t have been older than ten. Blood covered one side of their face and soaked into the left side of their simple shirt. The kid had no weapons and yet they fought tooth and nail. Standing defiant in the face of greater numbers, their attackers all older and much larger. He watched them stagger and knew their strength was fading.

Glancing toward the bunker then back to the kid he growled. Memories of his three nephews and one niece’s smiling faces flashed through his mind and he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid. Mind made up he reached back and grabbed a stun grenade from his belt. Priming it he chucked it behind the group and turned away to brace himself. Screams of confusion and pain were his cue to move.

Hauling himself up he pulled up his rifle and shot two of them in the chest. Slinging it over his back he jumped down. Sliding along the rocks he switched to his pistol and shot the remaining four. Standing with gun in hand he made sure they were all dead before he holstered his weapon. Anyone that ganged up on a wounded kid didn’t deserve his mercy.

Turning to the kid in question he showed his weapon free hands and spoke gently. “Hey there, kid. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” The child, a boy by the looks of it, stared at the bodies around him. His left eye was closed, either due to injury or because of the blood, while his right eye was a deep green. He looked back at the bounty hunter and took a couple steps forward before he started to fall. Moving fast he caught the kid before he hit the dirt. “Talyc haran!” ‘Bloody hell!’

With a sigh he laid the kid out on the ground nearby and searched the bodies for anything useful. There was nothing that would lead him to the target and he wasn’t enough of a sha’buir to steal from the dead. Picking the kid back up he slung him over his shoulder and started back toward the ship. With an unconscious kid and the area full of enemies his plans were effectively screwed. He’d have to lay low and wait for things to calm down before taking out his target.

He had to dodge a patrol or two on the way back and shot one of the searchers when they practically landed on him from above, but the journey back was otherwise uneventful. Once he was up the ramp and the door sealed behind him he heaved a sigh.

Laying the kid out on one of the bunks he fetched the med kit. The gash on his head wasn’t too bad but it looked like he’d lost quite a bit of blood. For the next standard hour or so he checked over the kid for any other less obvious injuries, cleaning and tending to any he found. Now that he had a better chance to look him over he thought the kid might be a little older than ten. He looked pretty small either way. Beneath the dirt and blood his hair was a surprisingly bright blonde, almost silvery in color. His skin was milky white, at least the places that weren’t burnt by the harsh sun. When he was finished he tucked the kid in and headed to the cockpit to relocate the ship. Even if no one had come knocking he didn’t want to push his luck.

Kicking back at the small table in the back of the ship he pulled apart his rifle and gave it a thorough cleaning. With the kid still unconscious he decided a shower and some caf was in order.

After four hours he decided he might as well rest. If the kid woke up while he was sleeping he trusted that he could overpower him in the event the kid ended up being hostile. Though he highly doubted it.

When the kid didn’t wake up after ten hours he began to grow concerned. The boy was still alive, he had a pulse and didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, but he just wouldn’t wake up. He was loathe to give the kid any stimulants in case he was allergic to something. After fifteen hours he wondered if he should find a local doctor. By twenty hours he grabbed his kit and was preparing to go find a doctor, even if it left his ship undefended. Checking on him one last time he noticed the boy stirring and let out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank the stars.’ He thought to himself as he helped the boy sit up and drink some water.

Seeing his eyes properly for the first time he sucked in a breath. The right eye, the one he’d seen earlier, was a vibrant green. While the left was a deep, icy, blue. He’d never seen someone with two different eye colors before. It was unsettling. Like two people staring back at him. The boy lifted his hand and probed the wound on his head, hissing and cringing in pain. “Woah, careful. I found you in a pretty bad way earlier.” The boy frowned at him slightly, looking confused. “What were you doing out here?”

He tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could, speaking to the boy as if he were family. The boy slowly shook his head. “I don’t… know.”

“Alright then. How about a name? I’m Drogan, what about you?” The child sat there for a moment before he grimaced in confusion.

“I… I don’t…” Eyes wide the kid looked up at him in confusion and fear. “My name… what is it? Why don’t I… who am I?” Panic set in and his breathing grew frantic as he clenched the blankets with one hand and reached up to his head with the other.

“Udesii ad’ika, udesii.” ‘Calm down, kiddo, take it easy.’ Sitting on the edge of the bunk he reached over and rubbed a hand on the kid’s back. “Calm down, kid. Deep breaths. You’re okay.” The boy seemed to respond to the firm commands well, taking a long, slow, breath. It took nearly ten minutes for the boy to finally calm down. They both devolved into an awkward silence. Neither sure what to say or do.

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I need to go into town to grab a few things. I want you to stay here. The fresher is over there if you need it but I want you to stay in bed as much as possible. I won’t be long.” He stood and picked up his helmet from the table nearby, slipping it over his head. “Are you hungry at all?” The boy shook his head slowly and lay back down, watching him with those bright eyes. It was a far cry from his sister’s boisterous children.

“I’ll be back soon. Maybe by then you’ll remember your name and can tell it to me.” The boy frowned, looking away. Drogan sighed and headed to the nearby hatch. This situation was a little more complicated than he had planned for. Looks like he’d be finding a doctor after all.

‘Well, it could be worse.’ He flinched the moment he thought it. “Shabla di’kut!” ‘Fucking idiot!’ He cursed himself. He wasn’t the most superstitious man but he just knew something was going to go horribly wrong. It was only a matter of time now.

Chapter 2

Standing behind the doctor as the woman looked over the boy’s injuries Drogan tried his best not to hover. Behind his helmet his eyes followed her carefully as she worked, one of his hands placed idly near his blaster just in case. The planet was experiencing civil unrest and was in the midst of war. Anyone and everyone was his enemy here. Especially after the string of assassinations he’d performed.

Stepping away from the boy the doctor gave him a look and he motioned for her to precede him down the ladder, away from the child. Once they were alone she eyed him carefully for a moment before speaking. “What kind of dangerous situation did you put that child in?” Her voice was low but her tone was clearly agitated.

“I didn’t.” Was his firm reply. “I found the kid being ganged up on. He was already bleeding and staggering on his feet when I saved him.” The doctor looked skeptical for a moment before she decided to accept his words as truth.

“The blow to his head has caused some damage. His motor skills, speech center, and ability to gain new memories is unaffected. But anything he knew before is gone. It could be temporary or permanent. It would be best to take him back to where he came from. Familiar surroundings might prompt his memories to return.” Drogan scowled. If he knew where the kid had come from he’d have taken him home already.

“Thanks for your help.” He tossed her the credits he owed and walked her off his ship. Once she’d taken off back toward town he closed the hatch and slipped his helmet off. To a scared kid who hadn’t been raised Mandalorian he was sure the helmet would be intimidating. Clipping it to his belt he went back to the kid and saw him picking at the threads of the blanket, looking dejected. He grimaced, unsure what to do. He had a job to finish but he didn’t want to bring the kid into a dangerous situation. If he somehow ended up dying then the kid would be truly alone.

Deciding to let the kid have a moment to himself Drogan went to the cockpit, sat in the pilot’s chair, and rubbed at his forehead. He was starting to get a headache.

Going over all the information he had he decided it would be best to get the job out of the way as quickly as possible and leave the planet. He could decide what to do from there.

“Sir?” Jumping he grabbed his blaster and turned toward the wide eyed stare of the boy. Relaxing he released his weapon and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

“Careful, kid. I could have shot you.” It was a bad idea to startle a Mandalorian when he was in enemy territory. The boy was lucky he was trained to look before pulling the trigger.

“I’m sorry, sir...” The boy looked sheepish and apologetic as he shuffled on his feet. Drogan studied him for a moment. There was no way he could have missed the boy coming into the room. Even with the door open the plating on the floor would have made some noise. The ship was pretty old.

“What is it?” He finally asked. The child looked back up at him.

“I’m hungry.” He spoke as if he was embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to bother the man who’d saved him with something as inconvenient as hunger. It was endearing as hell.

“Alright kid, I’ll grab you something.” According to the doctor the kid was human so he could eat pretty much anything Drogan had on hand. He’d have to watch out for any allergies. The kid wouldn’t be able to warn him if he had any.

“Thank you sir!” Was the cheerful reply. Standing he reached toward the boy and ruffled his hair. It was a habit from home, when he interacted with his nephews. He never did it to his niece, she would kick him where it hurt if he did. The boy’s reaction was a bit odd in his opinion. From the corner of his eye he saw the kid reach up and touch his head, radiating confusion. As if he wasn’t used to being touched.

Pulling out some haashun he let it soak while he grabbed some of the fruit he’d bought from the locals. They’d assured him it was edible for humans and seeing as they were human themselves he’d taken them at their word. Once the bread was at the right consistency he called out to the child. “Ad’ika! Come on down here.” The table was large enough for two so he set out the food and waited for the kid.

The boy entered the large open space and looked around curiously before noticing him in the corner and scampering over to sit down. Drogan served the boy first and then himself. The boy thanked him politely before he started nibbling on the bread, looking unconcerned with eating food he may not have ever eaten before.

Taking a bite of the fruit he grimaced. The boy must have noticed because he looked between the fruit and his face. “It’s not bad. Just very sweet.” The boy nodded and took a bite, a look of delight on his face at the soft texture and sweet juice.

For a time the only sounds were the two of them eating. But as time wore on the child kept looking like he wanted to say something. Drogan almost rolled his eyes. “Ask.” He finally said, to the boy’s apparent surprise.

“You called me… ad’ika. Is that… a name?” Oh. Well he hadn’t been expecting that. He didn’t even realize he’d slipped back into Mando’a.

“It’s my native language. It means child or boy.” The look of disappointment on his face made Drogan feel terrible. The kid looked so lost.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come up with a name for you? Until you remember your own.” He received a bright smile in response. The kid sure was pleased by simple things. Then again if he didn’t remember anything he probably didn’t have any preferences at the moment. He didn’t even know what skills the boy had.

Well there was a thought. He had been so worried about leaving the kid on his own while he went off to do his job but he didn’t even know if the kid was actually defenseless or not. It looked like he had been able to keep those adults at bay, or at the very least outrun them until he’d been cornered. For all he knew the kid could already be half trained and not know it.

Once he’d cleared the table of their meal he motioned for the kid to follow him into the port side cargo hold. It was set up as a training area. “I want to see if your body remembers how to fight.” The kid looked both nervous and excited. At least it was a reaction he was used to. His nephews reacted much the same.

Showing him how to throw a punch he watched the boy copy him. His form was fluid and stance solid. He nodded in approval. “Now a kick.” The child obliged, seeming surprised at how easy it was for him to do. The doctor had been right. His memories might be gone but his body remembered the years of training he’d received. From who or where, Drogan wasn’t sure yet.

Getting the kid into the rhythm of the fight he sped up, using only simple punches, blocks, and kicks. With all of his concentration on Drogan the boy didn’t even seem to notice what his body was doing. It was entirely reactionary and defensive. Good enough.

“Alright, stop.” The kid stepped back and bowed suddenly before he froze. They shared a confused look as the boy straightened.

“I… uh…” He waved the boy’s concern away, the strange behavior didn’t matter at the moment.

“How are you feeling?” The child blinked at him before a thoughtful look came over him.

“A little sore, my head still hurts a little, and I feel dirty.” Drogan realized the kid hadn’t had a real shower yet and felt a bit sheepish himself, though his expression didn’t change.

“Alright, you go wash up. I have some clothes for you to change into when you’re done.” The boy smiled at him and followed him when he headed back toward the cockpit. Drogan heard the sound of the fresher door opening and closing. Sitting in his favourite chair he started going over what he knew of the boy.

‘He’s human, well trained, obeys orders with no fuss, is very polite, and walks lightly on his feet.’ Someone spent a lot of time and effort in raising the boy, that was for sure. Whoever they were, they were probably dead. He doubted someone who cared about the boy would have let him wander around a dangerous area like that without them. The clothes he’d been wearing were very basic and made of a cheaper material. At the most the boy was the son of a wealthy farmer or poor merchant. But that didn’t really explain his training. What farmer or merchant knew that much hand to hand combat? Maybe the kid was from off world…

In any case the kid was under his protection for the moment. He could always search for information later.

He heard the door to the fresher open and turned around to look down the passageway. The boy looked much better than he had earlier. With his hair clean he could now tell that it was an almost perfect white. It came to just below his ears except for a long piece behind his left ear that fell past the shoulder. Looking at the loose strands Drogan got a strange feeling in his gut but he quickly pushed it away.

“The clothes are on the bunk.” The boy nodded and disappeared inside the other room, taking his time.

Drogan stretched, cracking his neck as he did so. What he needed was a good sleep and to plan his next move. He still had one more target to assassinate before he could leave, otherwise he wouldn’t be getting any of the credits. That had been the deal. It was all or nothing.

Getting up he walked down the passageway and stopped at the door to the single bunk. He leaned in and spied the kid immediately. “Hey, why don’t you come back down with me and we’ll find you your own room.” The ship itself was a highly customized PB-950 Patrol Boat. The space that had once been used for conferences was split into two rooms. Drogan’s personal bunk and his fresher. The only reason the kid had been allowed up on the control deck was because he had been unconscious and then because he had no idea if letting him move around too much was a good idea. Now that he knew the kid was mostly okay he’d be moving to the main deck.

The boy followed him back downstairs and stood with him in the lounge area. “There’s six rooms down here and you can pick any of them you like.” He pointed toward the doors that lead to each. The boy looked back up the ladder, a slight pout crossing his lips.

“Why can’t I stay up there?” Stars, was he at the mulish and questioning age already?

“Because that is my room. You aren’t allowed on the control deck without me present or my express permission.” The boy grudgingly nodded and turned toward the closest room. Opening the door he peered into the large cabin before stepping inside. Drogan waited by the ladder, leaning against it as he watched the kid explore.

In the end he chose the larger cabin on the port side, the one closest to the galley. As he settled in Drogan looked at the practically empty room and frowned. The kid had nothing on him when he found him. Not even a weapon. It made him feel bad for the boy. Heading to one of the storage rooms he rummaged around for the box he knew was in there. It wasn’t often his sister’s kids came on board but he still had toys for them just in case. Finding the container he hauled it into the bedroom and set it down on the floor.

“Here. Take whatever you like. When I have more time we can go looking for more things for you.” The boy hesitated before coming over and opening the lid. Inside was a set of old Mandalorian action figures, they had been passed down from his grandfather. Each had a different dangerous beast from various planets to hunt. There were a few three-dimensional puzzle games and toy blasters as well. The boy looked at the toys and settled on one of the more complex puzzles and a few of the Mando’ade figurines. By coincidence he picked the exact three figures that Drogan had always loved when he was a kid. The boy looked at them, then at him, then set them on the desk beside his new bed.

“Thank you.” He said, looking a little more at ease in the large room.

“You’re welcome.” They stood there awkwardly in the silence until Drogan cleared his throat.

“I have to go plan out what’s going to happen next. Are you alright in here? I have some holobooks you can read if you like.” When the kid agreed he fetched the few books he had and set them down on the desk for the boy to read.

“I’ll let you know if I have to leave for work.” The boy’s hand paused as he reached for one of the faintly glowing crystalline boards, face turned upward in a silent question.

“I’m a bounty hunter.” The words didn’t seem to mean anything to the boy as he shrugged his shoulders in response. Drogan grumbled under his breath. “Someone pays me money to find other sentients that don’t want to be found, for one reason or another.” Apparently it made sense to the kid as his eyes lit up and he nodded in understanding. Drogan gave him a slightly forced smile as he headed back up to the control deck.

Falling into his chair he put his feet up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the monitors. Why didn’t he just tell the kid the whole truth? He was a gun for hire, an assassin. He had far more kills under his belt than live captures. It felt almost wrong to keep it from the boy but at the same time he didn’t know if being in the presence of someone who killed for a living would scare the kid or not. He’d have to learn the truth eventually…

‘Stars, what have I gotten myself into?’

Chapter 3

Waking with a start as something touched his shoulder Drogan shifted his body further back on his bunk and grabbed the knife from his waist in the same movement. As the light snapped on and his eyes adjusted he saw white hair and two bright eyes watching him. With a curse he shoved the knife back into its sheath and let his body relax. The kid needed a damn bell, he was far too quiet. “What is it?” He croaked, still not quite awake.

“He’s dead.” The words that came out of the child’s mouth made him freeze.

“Who?” The boy shook his head, looking distressed and close to tears.

“I d-don’t know. Th-there was a man… in my dream. His hair was black? He wore clothes like mine. I think… he was yelling? There was a flash of light and then he was just… dead.” Looking the boy over carefully he could see the poor kid was trembling from head to toe. Sliding forward he motioned for the kid to sit next to him. Instantly he had a child plastered to his side, gripping onto his shirt and sobbing. At first he was unsure what to do but after a moment of hesitation he placed a hand on the kid’s head and gently stroked his hair. It was something he’d seen his sister do whenever her kids were frightened or hurt.

It took a while to calm the boy down but no matter what question Drogan asked the answer was always “I don’t know.” It could have just been a nightmare but something told him it wasn’t as simple as that. It was vague but had enough detail that it painted a pretty bleak picture. The kid was absolutely certain that the man he’d seen was dead. Drogan could only assume it was a relative, and that the kid now had one less family member in the world.

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” He said gently. The boy looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and Drogan realized the boy would have no idea what that meant.

“It’s Mando’a. It means; they are not gone, merely marching far away.” He thought for a moment about how to explain a concept he’d grown up with to someone who had never heard of it before. “Mando’ade, the people of Mandalore, believe that the dead never truly leave us. As long as we remember them, they are always with us in spirit. It doesn’t make it hurt any less that they are dead, but it helps to know they are never truly gone as so as we keep a piece of them with us.”

The boy was silent while he spoke and scrunched up his face as if he was in pain when he finished. “B-but I don’t remember him.” Well… he wasn’t really wrong. He sighed.

“But you did. You still have your memories, ad’ika. They are just locked away. Whether you remember everything or not you still know that there was someone. As long as you know there was a someone you can hold on to them.” He couldn’t promise the child that he’d regain his memories, the doctor said that he may never get them back. He didn’t want to give the boy false hope.

“That’s true. I guess I know a little more now than I did yesterday.” That was… surprisingly mature for a kid in his situation. The boy was like an open book. Everything he said was just so straight forward and true.

“Haati.” The word escaped him before he could really think about it. But once it was said aloud he felt it was right. The boy looked up at him, disgruntled with the amount of words he didn’t know. Drogan chuckled. “Haat is the Mando’a word for truth. I think Haati would suit you as a name.”

Once the words finally registered the boy beamed at him. “Thank you!” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “My name is Haati.” He said, as if to reassure himself.

He huffed and ruffled the boy’s- Haati’s hair. He was glad the kid had calmed down and the nightmare didn’t seem to be bothering him anymore. A yawn tore through him and he heard the boy snicker. Glancing over at the chrono he groaned.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” The boy blushed and nodded, but seemed to hesitate to get up from the bed. With a long suffering sigh Drogan got up and grabbed another blanket from storage. “Go to sleep, ad’ika. I’ll hit the lights.” Haati climbed into the bed and under the blanket. When the kid was well situated he turned off the light and stretched out on the floor. Luckily he’d had the room carpeted a while back when he’d converted the space, so he wasn’t laying on cold hard metal.

“Jate ca, Haati.” ‘Goodnight, Haati.’ He mumbled as he started to drift off.

“Jate ca… buir.” ‘Goodnight... father.’ Drogan could have sworn the child said something as he wavered on the edge of sleep, but in the end he let it go.

[***]

Waking up to a stiff back he sat up and stretched. Popping sounds filled the room as his spine settled back into place. Getting up off the floor he looked toward the bed and found it empty. The blanket was tucked in and the pillow placed just so, as if someone had taken the time to fix it. At least the kid was tidy and cleaned up after himself.

After a quick trip to the fresher he slid down the ladder and headed toward the galley, yawning along the way. What he really needed was a cup of caf.

“Oh, good morning! I was going to wake you, but you still looked tired.” Waving at the kid he shuffled over to a cupboard and pulled out some instant caf. He turned to find that the boy had already boiled some water and raised an eyebrow at him. Haati smiled shyly. “I wanted some tea.” Drogan just shrugged and filled his cup. He wasn’t really a talker when he first woke up.

Sitting at the table he was surprised when the boy set a plate down in front of him. Looking at it he could tell it was well cooked and looked perfectly edible, if a bit bland. Taking a bite of what he assumed were eggs he found it pleasant enough. “Tastes good, vor’e.” The boy stood there staring at him for a moment until Drogan’s sleep addled brain caught up with him. “Vor’e, means thanks.” The kid didn’t seem bothered by his curt answer as he nodded before turning to grab his own breakfast. Without another word he sat at the table across from him and began to eat.

They ate in companionable silence. Every once in a while, when the boy seemed distracted, Drogan would study the child across from him. He was a bit of a contradiction. Truthful, skilled, and mature, but also emotionally stilted and unsure. He acted like he had no confidence one moment, as if lost, then did something unexpectedly well the next. He’d probably be confused by the kid for a while until he either got his memories back or made enough new ones that his personality stabilized. It was going to be interesting to watch him grow and change, to say the least.

When he was finished eating he put the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick wash before putting them away. It was an old habit, something he did without thinking.

Turning around he looked at the kid and crossed his arms, uncertain of what to say. It had been almost three days since he’d aborted his first attempt at assassinating his last target. He needed to do some reconnaissance and find out if his target was still hiding in that bunker or if he’d moved shop. But what to do with the boy? He knew the kid could defend himself but he didn’t have a weapon. Could he even shoot a blaster?

“When you’re done meet me in the training room. It’s in the port side cargo bay. You’ll find it easily enough.” He left once the boy acknowledged the order.

Grabbing some of the smaller blasters he owned, ones that could easily be slipped into a belt or boot, he checked to make sure they were in working order and set up a couple of targets. It didn’t take long for the boy to join him.

“Sir?” Turning he held out one of the blasters to the boy.

“I’m going to teach you how to shoot, or remind you if you’ve forgotten that you knew.” He grimaced at how odd that sounded but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He picked up the blaster as if it might bite him, eyeing it like he might a dangerous animal. Drogan chuckled.

“It’s not going to hurt you, ad’ika.” Standing slightly behind him and off to the left he changed the position of the boy’s hands on the weapon and tightened his hold, making the child grip the weapon firmly. “You want to make sure you hold it properly. This is not a toy. It is a weapon. Make sure you show it proper respect. It is a tool that can kill as easily as it saves. Understand?” Two differently colored eyes went slightly unfocused for a moment and the boy remained silent.

“Haati?” He asked quietly, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He gasped and shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You okay ad’ika?”

“I just… that sounded so… like I’ve heard it before.” He glanced up at Drogan and the man squeezed his shoulder gently in reassurance.

“Then whoever told it to you was a good teacher.” So he may have been trained in firearms after all. For a moment he wondered if the boy might have been raised by a Mandalorian. But he discarded the thought as quickly as it appeared. If the boy had been raised by a Mando’ad then he wouldn’t be so confused by Mando’a. After all he spoke perfect Basic with no issues.

“See the targets I’ve set up? I want to see if you can hit them. Go ahead and fire whenever you’re ready. But if I say stop, you stop immediately.” He left no room for argument. He meant what he said. While he didn’t want to scare the boy he had to ensure he would be obeyed.

Standing back he watched the boy as he aimed the blaster at the closest target. Shifting one foot back slightly he turned his body. ‘He’s making himself less of a target and stabilizing his aim.’ With a couple of slow breaths Haati seemed to relax into the stance and fired a shot. Even with the more sophisticated blasters there was a slight recoil. The kid didn’t seem surprised or phased by this. Just took aim at a farther target and took a shot.

When he’d hit each target, except the farthest one, the boy lowered the blaster, taking his finger from the trigger and aiming it at the deck. “Kandosii! Very well done. It looks like you have some training after all.” The boy stared at the gun in his hand, a conflicted look on his face.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He muttered.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“The blaster. The weight feels all wrong.” That gave him pause. Maybe the kid was used to larger guns with a longer range. He’d have to experiment with that later.

“I don’t care if it feels strange. From now on I want you to keep that on or near you at all times. I won’t always be here to save you if someone attacks. You need to be able to protect yourself.” It was harsh, he knew. But if it kept the boy safe and alive he’d take off the kid gloves in an instant.

“…yes sir.” Haati looked disgruntled but he didn’t disagree with him. It was a start.

Once he’d grabbed the kid a holster for the blaster and shown him how to put it on and take it off he let the kid go back to his room to play for a bit while he tried to call some of his contacts. He needed more information on the bunker his target was hiding out in. Or if the guy was scheduled to be somewhere in the near future.

By the time he was finished checking his contacts and cross checking information it was getting late in the evening. He’d completely forgot about eating a mid-day meal. Oh well. Hopefully the kid grabbed himself something.

Down on the bottom deck he wandered into the kitchen and looked over the supplies. He wondered if he should ask Haati to help him pick out something to eat, since the kid could clearly cook. Walking to the kid’s room he saw that the door was left open and could hear the boy talking out loud. He slowed and leaned against the wall, listening in.

“…I want to be, but I’m scared. What if he doesn’t come back?” That didn’t sound like someone talking to themselves. Who was the kid talking to? “Okay, it’s his ship so he has to come back. But what if he… dies? I don’t want to be alone!” The boy paused then sighed. “Okay, Dral.”

‘Dral? Who the hell is Dral?’ Coming around the door he saw Haati sitting on the floor, cross legged with his back to the bed. In his hands was one of the action figures, the other two were on the floor in front of him. “Haati.” He called softly, trying not to startle the kid. He failed. The boy jumped slightly and looked up at him with big eyes.

“Y-yes sir?” He sighed.

“My name is Drogan. I don’t mind if you use it.” The child flushed slightly. “Who were you talking to?” The child was pretty honest so he suspected he’d blurt out the truth when asked.

“Dral.” He held up the dark blue action figure, looking embarrassed.

“Dral? You named him?” The boy was puzzled and shook his head. Written on the sole of the boot was the name Dral. It was then that Drogan remembered the action figure had once belonged to his father. Now it made sense. One of them should have his own name on the sole of the boot. Each action figure had been bought by the father and given to the son when they were a young child. Starting with his great, great, grandfather. His sister’s boys had their own at home but Drogan had inherited the toys for his own children, whenever he got around to having them.

“Dral is my father’s name. Dral’cabur. That was his when he was a boy.” Haati looked at the action figure and smiled.

“What about this one?” He held up the dark brown action figure with white stripes down the left side of the helmet and continuing down the chest plates.

“Dha’kal, my grandfather.” He said as he crouched down. Picking up the green action figure he grinned. “And this one was mine.” Haati smiled.

‘I’ll need to get him his own. I wonder what color its armor will be…’ He blinked and looked away from the boy, frowning to himself. Haati was not his child. He felt responsible for him because he’d saved him but the child probably still had a home somewhere.

Getting up he motioned behind him. “I was thinking about dinner. Want to help me pick something out?” The boy put the action figures back on the table and happily followed him into the galley.

Chapter 4

Drogan woke feeling surprisingly well rested. But then it was probably the first full nights rest he’d had in the last week. The new morning routine he and his guest had fallen into was pretty simple. Get up, get cleaned and dressed, then head to the galley for breakfast. Afterward he’d drill Haati in hand to hand combat and target practice with his blaster. The boy was quite studious and absorbed everything like a sponge, even if he still looked uncomfortable every time a blaster was placed into his hands.

At mid-day they’d take a break to have a meal together before Haati went back to his room to read and play with the action figures. Drogan would use that time to check his contacts for any new information until dinner. When Haati would come into the galley and help him cook their evening meal. They’d sit and chat about simple things, like the earlier training or anything that the boy was reading. He had a lot of questions and each day became asked more of them as he became more settled and confidant. The lad was even picking up some Mando’a through osmosis alone it seemed.

Today, though, would be different. For the first time since he’d stumbled upon the boy his last target would be outside the bunker. Apparently the male was supposed to be making a speech to rouse his supporters, and wouldn’t let a ‘threat to his person’ deter him. Drogan wasn’t sure what this ‘threat’ might have been, it certainly wasn’t him, but he was glad the male wasn’t going to let it stop him. It would be much easier to kill him if he was in the middle of a speech than it would be to bust into the bunker on his own.

In full armor he sat at the table checking over his rifle. It was much earlier than their usual start time so he was a bit surprised to see Haati come into the galley. The lad was rubbing at his eyes and looking at him curiously. “Jate vaar’tur, Haati.” ‘Good morning, Haati.’ He said with a nod, his hands still working even as his attention was diverted. His father had taught him from a young age how to check and clean his weapons blindfolded and under fire. There was no way he was going to make a mistake just because he was a little distracted.

“Jate vaar’tur… Drogan.” He hid his smile as he turned back to his favored weapon. It had taken the better part of a week for him to convince the lad to call him by name, rather than ‘sir.’ There was a little hesitation there and he couldn’t help feeling like the lad wanted to call him something else, but he ignored it for the moment.

“What are you doing?” Haati asked as he slid onto the chair next to him, rubbing his sleep filled eyes.

“Checking over my kit to make sure it all works before I head out.” The lad froze so completely that it was almost disconcerting. Before he could ask he seemed to sink into the seat suddenly.

“Where are you going?” Drogan looked at the lad and swore Haati was almost pouting in concern.

“To do my job, ad’ika. No need to worry, I won’t be gone more than half the day.” He reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair with a small smile. “Less if everything goes well.” The boy blushed faintly at the affection he was being shown, glancing away as if embarrassed. Drogan supposed he was at that age. The age where boys still craved affection and attention from male relatives but wished not to be treated as children any longer. He chuckled.

“Feel free to go back to bed. I’ve already eaten breakfast in preparation for my departure.” Even as he said that he knew the lad wouldn’t go. There was a stubborn look around his eyes and the way he sat that told Drogan the boy would not go back to sleep. No. He would probably spend his time anxiously waiting for him to return. He wished there was a way to reassure him that he wouldn’t just disappear, that he would be coming back. But he knew nothing he said would be enough.

Though the boy didn’t know it Drogan had already made arrangements if he didn’t return to the ship. In three days if he did not return the ship was programmed to send out a pre-recorded message to his sister back home. There would also be a message for Haati, letting him know that he had a home waiting for him for the time being. Until the boy decided what he wanted to do with his life. If he wanted to find his own family or not. It was a grim thought, but Mando’ad were always prepared for death.

“Walk me out?” The boy hopped off the chair as Drogan stood and slipped his rifle onto his back. They walked together in silence, Haati’s lips quirked down slightly and eyebrows knit in worry. Stopping by the hatch he knelt and put his hand on the lad’s shoulder.

“Listen to me, Haat’ika.” The new term of address seemed to snap the boy out of whatever poor thoughts he was currently having as he looked up, curious. “I can’t promise you that I won’t get hurt because I know I can’t keep it. But… I will return to you. So long as I am able I will return to you. Do you understand?” Haati’s eyes searched his own, as if trying to read his mind, or perhaps the depth of his sincerity. Eventually he gave a stern nod in response, eyes alight with hope and understanding. “Good lad.”

Standing he slipped on his helmet and hit the door release. Once he was outside he waved at Haati and motioned for the boy to close the hatch before he turned and started the long walk to his target.

The streets of the town were full to bursting. If anyone was looking for a spectacle held by the leaders of the rebel faction in this civil war- they need look no further. Different species of all types and people of all walks of life mingled together, excitedly talking about the speech about to be given. Drogan didn’t care. His only thoughts were on completing the job and going home to his… guest.

He wondered if he’d find the boy on the command deck in his room, sitting there with his action figures. Back when he was a child Drogan would do the same thing when he thought his father would be returning soon. He would sit on his parent’s bed with his toys and play until his mother needed him for something or his sister pulled him away. That lasted until he was old enough to start going on jobs with his old man.

Finding a tall building at the edge of town that was easy to access, if one had the means, he waited until there was a suitable distraction and slipped inside. The town was small and seemed to be the kind of community that trusted each other. He didn’t find it difficult at all to get to the top floor and out onto the roof. Although he’d had to go through a window and climb the rest of the way up. Settling down on his stomach he found a comfortable position and pressed the gun into his shoulder gently.

It was maybe a standard hour later that the male he had been looking for finally came out onto the wide stage, waving to his audience like some sort of celebrity. Looking through his scope he followed the man carefully, waiting for the perfect shot. From the probe droid he’d left near the stage earlier he could hear the Twi’lek’s speech. Drogan didn’t care about the political landscape of this backwater planet. At one point he almost rolled his eyes but strict training helped him resist the urge.

About a third way into his speech the guards, who were probably getting bored, finally began to relax. It was the perfect time to focus and finish the job. Reaching for the trigger he took a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. Falling into that calm place that gave him the most clarity he felt his heartbeat slow and time seemed to stand still. Until the Twi’lek pulled something out of his shirt and raised it above his head. “…even a Jedi could not stop us!” Drogan pulled his finger away from the trigger as he jerked in surprise.

“Tal bal range!” ‘Blood and ashes!’ It was a common curse in his family, and used only in the most shocking of circumstances. His mouth went dry and he had to forcibly calm himself. The Jedi might have been at odds with the Mado’ade but he had no desire to be on the planet when they inevitably appeared. It was a warning his father had given him a long time ago, and it had always stuck with him.

"Never take a contract for a Jedi. They like to pretend they don't want revenge, but then they send out a squad to hunt you down. If a jedi attacks you first, that's self defense. But never, never, hunt them first." Killing a jedi, while considered a feat to be proud of, still carried a lot of risk behind it. He had a kid to look after and if the Jedi spotted him they sure as shit would assume he had something to do with the death of their cohort.

Focusing back on the brainless idiot who had brought all this trouble down on his own head, Drogan fell back into his almost meditative focus. Finally, with no other distractions, he pulled the trigger. The man fell to the sound of panicked screaming. The probe droid hastily took the picture as he recalled it.

It was time to leave.

Drogan wasn’t even sure how he’d returned to the ship. Only that he had fled the town as if a devil was on his heels.

The moment he was inside the ship he locked the hatch and ripped his helmet off. Clipping it to his belt he hurried to the command deck and strode purposefully into the cockpit. On the way he passed Haati, who was where he had guessed the lad would be. Sitting cross legged on Drogan’s bed with a holobook and one of the action figures.

The boy had obviously noticed his return and scrambled to follow him into the cockpit, looking worried.

“Sit down and buckle up, ad’ika.” He motioned to the co-pilot seat as he spoke, fingers dancing across the controls as he made the proper pre-flight checks. Without a word Haati did as he was told, looking anxious and confused.

“Wh-what happened?” Drogan’s face pinched and his hands paused. He turned to look at the boy and let out a sigh.

“I finished my job but we’re in danger here.” He shook his head and his hands started to move again. “So we can’t stay on this planet anymore…” A lump in his throat made him pause. ‘We? What am I saying?’

“What danger?” He thought he heard something rattling and glanced behind him toward the ladder, wary of anything abnormal.

There was only one word to describe the kind of danger they were in. “Jedi.” The boy looked puzzled. Of course he wouldn’t know what Jedi were. Even if he’d heard of them before his memories were gone. “They don’t like Mando’ad like me. But…” He felt a heavy weight in his chest. The boy was so earnest, he didn’t want to lie.

“But they’d be able to find your family much easier than I can. If anyone could do it, the Jedi from Coruscant could.” Hazel eyes met and held two differently colored ones. If the boy wanted, Drogan would leave him there to seek help from the Jedi. People who may be able to do far more good for him. The moment seemed to drag onward in silence.

Leaning over Haati reached out hesitantly before grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, shaking his head. “I want to stay with you. Please.” It was a half whispered plea and it tore at his heart. The boy looked scared, as if Drogan would try to get rid of him somehow. As if he would be abandoned.

“Then you stay, ad’ika. I promise you I will never leave you behind. You have a home here with me. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.” ‘Truth, honor, vision.’ His words were spoken with such strength and conviction that for once the boy didn’t need to ask what the words meant. He could feel the weight of them in the air. Letting him go Haati gave him a bright smile and settled into the seat, content.

“Alright.” He said, clearing his throat. “We’re taking off now. Ready for your first trip to the stars?” A roguish grin spread across his face as he looked to the lad. An excited mischievous smile matched his grin for intensity and he chuckled.

Feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long while Drogan took the ship into the air and set off toward home.

Chapter 5

Coming out of hyperspace above Rorak 4 he looked down at the planet below with a grimace. He knew that if he wanted his credits he had to report to his employer in person. All part of the contract. But from his experience he didn’t trust a single sentient on the entire planet. Slavers, smugglers, crime lords. If he hadn’t needed the credits he would have bypassed the planet entirely and ignored the contract.

Glancing over at Haati he wasn’t surprised to see the boy’s face light up with awe and delight. Whether the boy had seen a planet from this high up or not was a moot point, because he certainly wouldn’t have remembered it. For a moment Drogan wondered what it would be like to see everything again with fresh eyes like that. Then he thought about the trade off and decided he never wanted to experience amnesia. Forgetting about his family, Mandalore, and the Resol’nare which he had wholeheartedly sworn to? It would be a fate worse than death.

“It’s so beautiful.” He heard the boy whisper and sighed.

“Yeah, from up here.” He grumbled. “Haati…” The slight hesitance in his voice must have tipped the kid off to his mood as the look of delight fled his face instantly. They had spent a lot of time together the past week and a half, and Drogan was beginning to notice some interesting personality traits that were slowly becoming more apparent the more time that passed. Like the boy’s almost solemn calm whenever faced with something challenging.

“I know you have a hard time remembering anything from your past. But this planet isn’t like most other worlds.” The slightly concerned yet curious look aimed his way wasn’t helping his conscience any. “There are a lot of… terrible people down there.” He hated to simplify something like this. He knew Haati was intelligent but he was so… naive and trusting. At least around him. He wasn’t sure how the kid would react to other people honestly. He’d been okay with the female doctor that had checked over his wounds but that was one person in a closed environment with a protective presence nearby. This would be so much worse.

“This isn’t… where you live?” The boy asked, biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat.

“No, this planet is where my current employer lives. I need to stop by and see him before I can get paid for my work. Once that’s done I’ll be taking us straight to Mandalore.”

The boy gave him a small smile, going from concerned to almost shy. “I can’t wait to see Mandalore.” The excitement and nervousness was there and it made Drogan smile. Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s hair, which earned him a small giggle.

“Alright. Back on topic.” He sent a request to the planet for permission to land. “Because I don’t trust anyone on this planet I want you to come with me when I meet my employer.” There was a look of excitement in those two colored eyes and he wanted to groan. “It will be dangerous. Very dangerous.” Turning completely to look down at the boy he put on as stern a face as he could, which would have terrified most sentients. Haati just fell quiet, listening intently. “If I give you an order I expect it to be obeyed. You will stick close to me at all times and not speak to anyone without my say so. Do you understand?” Two different eyes looked down for a moment, as if truly thinking about his words, before they flicked up once again in understanding.

“Yes Drogan. I won’t leave your side, I won’t talk to anyone you don’t say it’s okay to, and I will obey any and all orders.” A proud smile crossed his face unbidden.

“Good lad. Now get ready because we’ll be landing soon.”

The planet was exactly how he remembered it. Full of the worst kinds of sentients imaginable. All scurrying around pretending to mind their own business while greedily coveting what others had. With his helmet on, fully armored, and weapons on display there weren’t many who openly watched him. One quick glance and the majority of the crowd moved out of his way. Mandalorians had a reputation for a reason. Back on the ship he was a protective and kind guardian, not wanting to scare the boy now in his care. But the moment he stepped foot onto the planet he fell into the role of heartless mercenary as easily as breathing. Just like his father had taught him and his father’s father before him.

Walking just off his left and a little behind, Haati gaped openly at all the tall buildings with their flashing signs and strange architecture. This was one of the most affluent districts on the planet, where the wealthy crime lords came to relax and do business at their leisure. Of course, that didn’t mean it was any more safe than the rest of the festering pit of a planet. To his credit the boy never strayed from his side, sticking as close as he could without tripping up his protector.

Stopping at an intersection to check the information he’d been given, making sure they were going in the right direction, Drogan noticed a couple of thugs nearby staring at him intently. No. Not him… They were staring at Haati. Watching the boy with a look that left Drogan feeling sickened and enraged. Glancing down at the boy he tried to see what it was they were so interested in and cursed when it finally hit him. The boy only had the one outfit, simple backwater merchant’s clothes, since they’d had to leave the planet quickly. Unlike Drogan the boy had no armor to wear and thus nothing to hide his features. A human child with milky skin, hair like fresh fallen snow, and heterochromatic eyes. To a slaver he was a rare and exotic find, a slave that could be sold for an exorbitant amount. Even if he was male Drogan knew there was a market for that sort of thing.

The very thought made a tight knot of his stomach and a burning anger build in his chest. For a moment he had to seriously fight down the urge to kill the thugs for even looking in their direction. It would certainly put everyone on notice that the boy was under his protection and that he was not to be messed with. But when he thought of how it would effect the boy he stayed his hand.

“Haati.” He snapped, making the boy jump slightly and tense at his tone, focus solely on Drogan. “Don’t stray.” He ground out between clenched teeth.

“Yes, Drogan.” He muttered, looking chastised and a little confused. It was obvious the boy hadn’t noticed just how much attention he was attracting. It was the main reason he wished he could have left the boy back at the ship. Haati just didn’t know enough about the galaxy yet to watch out for himself. But if someone found their way onto the ship Drogan wasn’t sure if the kid could handle himself alone. It was a choice between two unpredictable situations, and he’d chosen the one where he could keep an eye on the kid. Just in case.

Shifting subtly he turned his head so his visor was pointed in the direction of the thugs and placed a hand on his blaster. It was the only warning they would get. If they tried anything their lives would be forfeit. He had no mercy to spare for stupid outsiders.

Turning down the right street he kept his eyes peeled for any followers. You could never be too careful. Paranoia had saved his ass more times than he could count. Beside him Haati kept pace, even as he looked around in naive awe. He would have worried about the boy keeping up if he hadn't been sparring with him the past week. The kid had excellent stamina and endurance for his age. Now all he needed was to get him some proper armor and- he sighed to himself, putting an end to that line of thought.

Thoughts like those had been coming more frequently the longer the boy stayed with him. If he kept thinking of the child as his own then he would never be able to give him back to his real family. Some part of him wondered, would that be so bad? If he took he boy in and raised him from this point onward. He could just claim him right now and it would be a done deal. Adoption was a simple ritual in his culture, though the responsibility he would be taking on would be immense. ‘But it wouldn’t be fair to the kid.’ He concluded.

Bringing all of his focus back to the task at hand he stopped in front of the high class nightclub and checked his information one final time. “This is the place. Stick close, speak to no one unless I say you can, and if anything happens don’t hesitate to blast your way out.” Haati shuffled, hand touching the handle of the blaster at his hip as he grimaced. Honestly Drogan still had no idea why the boy had such an aversion to blasters. Then again, he had mentioned flashes of light and someone dying as his earliest memory, hadn’t he?

“Let’s go.” Taking a deep breath and letting it out again he stepped up to the doors and shoved them forcefully open. A bit dramatic, but he had an image to project.

Striding inside with purpose he immediately realized he should have kept Haati back on the Chaab’kalar. Everywhere he looked there was some depraved activity or another going on. The air was thick with the scent of acrid smoke and sickly sweet alcohol. Females of different species danced sensually on stages to hypnotic music, wearing nearly nothing at all. Nearby patrons of all kinds lost themselves to the oblivion of expensive designer drugs, calling out raunchy suggestions to the dancers.

To his credit the boy barely glanced around, splitting his attention between the floor in front of him and Drogan beside him. He wondered if the kid had really good situational awareness or if he’d have to teach him how to ignore anything that wasn’t an immediate threat so he could look around without being distracted.

Without faltering he walked past the host like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, head high and shoulders back. He only stopped when the man called for security, after Drogan ignored his initial attempts to stop them. Turning he spoke to the man in an even voice, purposefully letting a little annoyance color his words. “I’m here on business. Tell Lurdoon that the Mandalorian he hired is here to see him.” The host stuttered and eyed him warily, looking up at his expressionless helmet. Visibly swallowing whatever it was he wanted to say the man seemed to rethink calling security on him, probably worried about losing them. Finally he waved over a female Twi’lek.

“I’ll have someone alert Mr. Lurdoon of your arrival. Sitara will show you the way to the vip lounge.” Without another word he turned to the Twi’lek, who was doing a good job of not looking intimidated by his presence. The fake smile on her face was the only indication of her discomfort as she politely invited them to follow her to the back of the club.

Haati stuck even closer to his side and for that he was grateful. Out in the street he had a far better chance of protecting the boy than he did in a scummy nightclub owned by a Hutt crime lord.

Entering the back room he had to push aside his disgust at the sight of his employer. Lurdoon wasn’t much different from any other Hutt he’d seen before. Revolting, greedy, depraved, with no morals or honor. The giant slug lay across a dais covered in luxurious pillows, surrounded by female slaves that fed him and spritzed his body with something Drogan didn’t care to know about. Fortunately there weren’t any dancing girls in this room, although he was certain that the fat creature enjoyed that sort of thing.

The Twi’lek that led them into the room sashayed forward and delicately prostrated herself before the Hutt, waiting until she was called on to speak. Standing she motioned toward the two of them, but only introduced Drogan as a visitor. She didn’t spare Haati even a glance and after a second or two of agitation he realized that everyone assumed the boy was his slave. For a moment his mouth went dry and he felt almost dizzy with disgust. His right hand clenched, glove creaking from the strain, and he felt the urge to hit something. If they thought he was the same kind of scum as Lurdoon they had another thing coming!

A small hand sliding into his own and gently squeezing it stilled him immediately. Glancing down at Haati he could tell the child was frightened. Of course he was. Even if he’d ever been in a place like this, which Drogan doubted, this experience would be new to him without his memories. Thinking back to the first time he’d seen a Hutt in person Drogan could understand how intimidating they could be. Letting the tension leave him he took a few breaths and let them out as calmly as he could. He needed to keep his temper in check, if only for the boy. Giving Haati’s hand a reassuring squeeze he released it. He would need both free if he had to draw weapons.

“Ah, Mandalorian! You return. With good news, I presume?” Stepping forward he gave the Hutt a curt nod, a basic courtesy. Unlike his slaves Drogan would not bow in deference to the fat slug. This sentient might be his current employer but he was owed nothing, especially respect. Only his professionalism and his concern for the boy behind him kept Drogan level headed.

“I have the proof you wanted.” Handing the datapad over to one of the Twi’lek slaves he stood back and waited as Lurdoon was shown the pictures of the now deceased targets. It didn’t take long for him to be handed back the datapad, the Hutt finding the proof sufficient enough.

“The credits are being sent to your account now. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mandalorian. I know who to call the next time I need a reliable… employee.” The Hutt let out a rumbling chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The very thought of working for the crime lord again made his skin crawl. But he had an image to keep.

“If you have another job for me in the future, you know how to contact me.” Turning on his heel he started back towards the door, glad this was almost over and that they would be off the planet in a matter of hours. He was almost out the door when the Hutt called out to him, making him freeze in his tracks.

“Mandalorian. I see you have a guest with you who was not present the last time.”

Grinding his teeth he turned back toward the slimy crime lord. “What of it?” He asked tersely.

“Only an observation. I have never seen such a unique human before.” Biting the inside of his cheek for a moment he counted to five to keep himself calm.

Switching to Huttese, he didn’t want Haati figuring out what they were talking about after all, he let some of his anger fill his words. “He is not for sale! He’s- he’s my son.” He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing himself. When he opened his eyes again he could see the surprise on the Hutt’s face, his pupils blown wide. For a moment Drogan wondered if he’d only increased the creature’s interest in the boy. But after a moment of silence the Hutt waved him off.

“I see. That is… unfortunate. I hope I have not offended.” Drogan’s eyes narrowed at the blatant disrespect but he refused to speak to the Hutt again.

“Ad’ika, shekemir’ni!” ‘Boy, follow me!’ He winced inwardly when Haati stiffened and looked up at him in surprise. Honestly he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, or fall back into Mando’a. He only hoped the boy would follow his lead. If he tried to take back the words in front of the Hutt it could ruin the credibility of his previous statement.

“Elek, buir.” ‘Yes, father.’ Haati replied. The words that came out of the boy’s mouth almost made him falter as he stalked out into the main hall. While he had taught the boy the words for yes and no in Mando’a he had never mentioned the word buir, the word for parent, not wanting to color the way the boy perceived him.

‘Where did he learn the word for father?’ He was absolutely certain he’d never mentioned that word even once. Going over every interaction he’d had with the boy as they left the nightclub he wondered if the holobooks he’d given him had anything on them that might explain it. He’d have to check when they returned to the ship.

Back out onto the street he tried to let himself relax but couldn’t help he feeling that they were being watched. If it was one of Lurdoon’s goons he was going to send them back to the slimy outsider in pieces. Mandalorians were well known for many reasons, chief among them being their legendary tempers.

“Is… is everything okay?” Letting those thoughts sit in the back of his mind he looked down at the platinum blonde beside him and smiled. The boy’s concerned look deepened and Drogan remembered that he was wearing his helmet. Haati couldn’t see his expression.

“Everything’s fine, Haat’ika. We’re done here. Once we get back to the ship we can get off this planet and head home.” Relieved the boy smiled brightly at him with excitement. Drogan chuckled. The kid was certainly eager to see his home planet and meet his family… shit. What was he going to tell his family?

Leading the way back to the ship he checked his accounts and was relieved to see the credits had already gone through. The amount was nothing to sneeze at and would keep them going for quite a while. If he budgeted it correctly he could buy Haati some new clothes. Maybe even a blaster of his choice. Though that could probably wait. Neither of them could figure out why nothing felt properly weighted to him. It was like he was used to a weapon that weighed practically nothing at all. He’d think the kid wasn’t used to any weapon whatsoever but it was clear he knew how to handle them and how to shoot straight.

Coming into a busy intersection they were nearly swarmed by the crowd before everyone seemed to recognize the armor he was wearing and got the hell out of his way. Turning to Haati he was about to offer his hand to the boy so he wouldn’t get lost when something slammed into him; hard. It was only his years of training and experience that saved him from landing on his face as he tucked and rolled with the force of the blow. Crouched he glared up at the male Rodian as he reached for his blaster.

“Drogan!” Head snapping to the side he saw a brawny human male haul Haati over his shoulder and start running. Snarling he jumped to his feet to give chase but the Rodian started shooting at him. Dodging to the right he closed the distance between them. Using his blaster in this crowd would do him no favors. Instead he pulled the knife from his belt and slammed it into the Rodian’s neck before twisting it viciously. Ignoring the body he sheathed the knife and ran in the direction he’d seen the kidnapper go.

With Haati struggling and making a racket the crowd that had been between him and his boy scattered. Running full tilt he raised his left arm, planted his feet, and launched the whipcord from his vambrace the moment he was in range. The fibercord whip wrapped around the man’s neck and Drogan took vicious pleasure in hauling back as hard as he could. The man’s feet went out from under him and he made an aborted choking sound as he dropped Haati, desperately trying to untangle the cord around his neck.

Now that Haati was relatively safe Drogan stalked forward, like an enraged predator. Pulling out his blaster he shot the man twice in the chest before he untangled the cord and hit the retract button on his vambrace. Turning to Haati he crouched and reached out to examine him. “You okay?” There must have been something about his voice that pulled the kid out of his shock. His shoulders relaxed and he winced as he got up. Drogan would have stood as well but Haati threw himself against his chest, wrapping his arms around his neck with a frightened sob.

“Shh, ad’ika. Udesii. You’re okay now.” Rather than let him go and force him to walk back to the ship while he was openly crying, Drogan picked the boy up and held him. No one said anything to him as he left the bodies of the kidnappers cooling in the middle of the street.

He was on high alert the entire walk back to the ship but nothing came of it. The moment they were inside he locked the door and went straight to Haati’s room. He set the boy down on his bed and took off his helmet. “Hey, Haat’ika. You stay here for now. I’m going to get the ship moving.” Reaching out with his hand he finally noticed the Rodian’s blood on his gauntlet. With a grimace he pulled his hand away, much to the boy’s confusion.

“When I get back I’ll make you something hot to drink and we’ll just relax for a bit. Alright?” The boy stared at him for a moment then nodded obediently. “Okay… okay. If you want to take a nap it’s fine I’ll wake you up in a bit.” It was harder than it should have been to leave the boy there in his room, face still splotchy from crying. But Drogan wanted them far away from this place as soon as physically possible.

Once they were back in hyperspace Drogan finally let himself relax and took off most of his armor. It needed to be cleaned anyway. Heading downstairs he went into the galley and made the boy a spiced tea that he always kept a stock of. It was nice after being out in the rain, snow, or if he just wanted to relax. He was fairly certain there were some medicinal herbs in it but he’d never thought to ask before.

Going into Haati’s room he knocked lightly on the wall, since the boy had never closed the door. The overhead light was off but the small light built into the bed was on. He found the kid curled up, eyes closed. “Haat’ika, I have your tea.” He set it down on the side table as the boy slowly sat up. There was a searching look in his eyes that made Drogan wince. He was only thankful it was currently curious and not accusatory.

“I think… we need to talk.” Sitting on the edge of the bed he waited for Haati to grab his drink and get comfortable before he started speaking. “I told you that it was my job to find people who don’t want to be found. That I was a bounty hunter.” The boy nodded. “While I didn’t lie, I wasn’t telling the whole truth either. I also do work as a mercenary.” Haati gave him a slightly unamused look and he snorted, smiling before his expression dimmed. “A mercenary will do anything for money, or almost anything. I have my own set of rules I follow when it comes to taking a job.” No kidnapping or killing kids was high on that list. Along with helping slavers hunt down more innocent people to exploit.

“On the planet where I found you it was my job to kill some of the leaders on either side of the civil war.” He looked down at his calloused hands. “You don’t get to be as skilled as I am by training on your own. It takes real world experience. Mandalorians are a culture of warriors. We’re well known throughout the galaxy as being cold-blooded murderers.” It was why so many people feared him the moment they saw him.

A small hand reached out and grabbed his hand. Looking over at Haati he could see the boy’s eyes, bright even in the dim light. “I think I… already knew that…” He frowned. “I remembered a couple days ago what happened before I fainted. How you saved me by killing the people trying to hurt me.” Drogan sucked in a breath, not daring to speak or even breathe. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. You wouldn’t have saved me if you were bad. You wouldn’t give me toys and books and teach me to defend myself.” Haati gave him a bright smile. “I have amnesia, I’m not stupid.” That unexpected comment pulled a laugh from him.

“I see your point, ad’ika.” He continued to chuckle.

“Besides, why would I be scared of you?” Maybe he should give the boy some more credit, he was smarter than he thought. “You said I was your son. I really don’t think you’d hurt your own son.” All the air left his lungs and he openly gaped at the boy.

“I… what?!” Haati blinked at him then frowned.

“When you were talking to the big… sentient… thing. You told it I wasn’t for sale and that I was your son. Didn’t you?” Drogan wanted to curse.

“You know Huttese?” His brows came together in a frown. There were so many implications to Haati knowing Huttese, including the fact that he may have possibly been a former slave.

“Is that what it’s called? I don’t know… I just… It all made sense to me.” Moving away he pulled his legs closer to his body, looking lost. Drogan wasn’t sure what to tell him. How many things were locked up in that uncooperative brain of his?

“But you said I was your son.” The smile he received lit up the boy’s face. “Um… unless you were just saying that.” He felt his stomach twist at the dejected look on the boy’s face.

“You can be.” He blurted. “If- if you want to be.”

“Yes!” The fierce way Haati spoke, and the determined look on his face, was all he needed.

Reaching out he pulled the boy to him. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, Haati Kurshi’cin be te Cin’ciri. I know your name as my child. You are now Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri.” And it was done. The boy snuggling into his side was no longer a waif he’d rescued on some backwater planet. He was Drogan’s son.

Chapter 6

A knock at the door in the late afternoon and the call of her eldest child had her smiling to herself as she wiped her hands on the hanging towel in the kitchen. She shushed her eldest boy and went to open the door, hand on her blaster just in case. A little while ago, no more than twenty minutes, she’d heard a ship fly overhead. Since her husband was a ship mechanic it wasn’t too unusual. But a knock at the door was.

Opening the door she was met with a familiar sight. Primarily dark green beskar’gam with a line of white stylized triangles in the center of the helmet, in what could roughly be called a tree shape, stood staring down at her silently. A bright smile crossed her face as she threw herself at the man returned home.

“Ori-vod!” ‘Big brother!’ With a chuckle her elder brother caught her up in a hug. When she finally let go she swatted his arm with a scowl.

“You were supposed to be home a week ago! You didn’t tell me you were coming or even if you were safe, you big idiot!” He gave her an exaggerated shrug that he must knew annoyed her.

“Just get in here and park your behind.” She turned to let him inside. “And take off your helmet! You know the house rules.” When he didn’t move she gave him an annoyed look. He took a breath to say something but she cut him off. “Oh, and apologize to the kids. You promised them you’d tell them some stories last time and you didn’t.”

“Stars, Jetta! Can I get a word in here?” He groused as he yanked off his bucket, giving her a disgruntled look. The switch from Mando’a to Basic had her placing her hands on her hips and glowering at him.

“Well? You’ve done something, or you wouldn’t be standing out here giving me that look.” Shuffling nervously on his feet for a moment the man took a step aside. Without the large form of her brother in the way she was finally able to see the boy standing behind him, looking wide eyed and nervous. He was about twelve years old with white hair and strange eyes. Once she’d finished looking him over she looked to her brother for an explanation.

“Who is this?” She tried to keep her voice even, the poor thing looked scared. Clipping his helmet to his belt Drogan stepped back and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Jetta, this is Haati.” Clearing his throat he gently urged the boy forward. “My son.”

For the second time in her entire life she was absolutely speechless. Her brother, the man who was far too awkward to even realize when a woman was hitting on him, had come home with a child in tow.

“Son?” She asked for clarification when her voice finally returned. He nodded.

“I adopted him. He is now Haati Kurshi’cin.” After the moment of shock was finally over her entire face lit with happiness.

“Well, come in.” The boy looked up at Drogan and received an encouraging smile. It eased something in the boy and he seemed to relax finally.

“I have to call our buire and let them know. Since I assume you didn’t.” ‘Parents.’ Drogan winced and shook his head, earning him an admonishing look.

“Do you really want to deny our buire the knowledge that you have finally given them a bu’ad?” ‘Grandchild.’ It didn’t take long for her brother to crack under her glare. No one in their right mind got in the way of Dral’cabur and his grandchildren. The man was a mountain. “That’s what I thought. Now come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat. You can introduce Haat’ika to his cousins.”

They came inside to sit down and the kids practically exploded with excitement. They all adored their uncle and were glad to see he was home. Jetta laughed to herself as he tried to keep the kids at bay while they asked a million and two questions. Her only concern was that they were going to overrun her new nephew. But seeing the small smile on his face she figured everything would be just fine.

Chapter 7

It was a little strange. Normally sitting in his sister’s home surrounded by the kids was the only time he felt he could relax outside of hyperspace. But the last couple weeks with Haati had given him the same feeling of being home. Whenever his boy was around he didn’t feel the need to be so guarded, to act like a ruthless killer constantly. And wasn’t that a wonderful thought? His boy. For the longest time he’d thought about getting married and having children but there had never been anyone he really thought he’d like to spend the rest of his life with. Start a family with. Now here he was, almost thirty, and although he wasn’t married he now had the son he’d always wanted.

“Cuyir gar ner ba’vod’ad?” ‘Are you my uncle’s child?’ Aran, his sister’s eldest boy at seven years, was practically bouncing in place as he asked question after question in rapid fire Mando’a. Haati looked at the younger boy, his brows drawn together in a concerned frown. He knew the boy would have answered the questions if he could but he just didn’t know enough of the language yet.

“Aran’ika, Haati only speaks Basic. He still has to learn Mando’a.” The boy stopped bouncing and looked up at him with wide eyes. Drogan huffed in good natured exasperation. “Like ba’buir Tianna had to.” Understanding crossed the child’s face as he finally caught on. Haati, on the other hand, looked even more confused.

“Your grandmother, Tianna, married into the Kurshi’cin clan. Before that she was aruetii. Your grandparents, the words are ba’buir and ba’buire, don’t talk about it much for some reason.” ‘Outsider, not Mandalorian.’ He suspected that they’d met during one of his father’s jobs and their introduction to each other hadn’t been the best. Yet somehow they’d ended up together anyway. He and Jetta had only brought it up once or twice but their parents reactions made it clear that it was something personal, something they were not meant to know. So they dropped it. It didn’t matter what his mother had been before becoming Mando’ad.

“Cin vhetin is an important concept in our culture. It means white field, or virgin snow. A blank slate to start your life as one of the Mando’ad. Your past is erased, forgotten, and only what you do after becoming Mando’ad matters.” He didn’t really think Haati needed it, to be honest. What with the boy not even remembering who he had been before waking up on Drogan’s ship. But it was something he had to learn anyway.

“As for you, Aran’ika. I adopted him, so yes, he is your cousin.” The little boy’s smile grew wide and his excitement returned.

“Why is one of your eyes funny colored?” Drogan couldn’t help the snort of amusement as Haati tried, and failed, to not look offended. His face scrunched up before his expression smoothed out again and he became thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I was born like this, I guess.” Seeing as he had his cousin well in hand, now that they were both speaking Basic, Drogan turned back to his niece and twin nephews.

“Hello Ruusan, did you miss me?” The five year old girl gave him a bright smile while the two year old twins crawled into his lap and started tugging at his armor, curious as always. Kebiin and Vorpan were like miniatures of their father, Taylin. The man was very quiet, intelligent, and observant. There were very few times Drogan had heard the man raise his voice and it had only ever been in warning. Anyone who thought Taylin was less of a Mando because he was a mechanic, and tried to take advantage, quickly found out it was the quiet ones you should fear most.

Glancing over to his sister he set the twins down on the carpet with Ruusan to play and joined Jetta in the kitchen. She’d already commed their parents and was in the middle of making a much larger meal than she had been intending to earlier. Taking off his gauntlets he motioned to the cutting board and she waved him toward it dismissively, accepting his help without fuss.

“He’s a quiet boy, good with the children.” There were questions in her tone of voice, ones that demanded an answer. She could tell that there was something off about Haati already. Raising four children probably gave her some sort of sixth sense. Drogan sighed.

“Echoy'la tome'tayle, he has Amnesia.” Her hands stopped moving and she turned to him, brows nearly in her hairline.

“You want me to believe that he has no recollection of anything at all?” He shook his head.

“He has muscle memory and can recognize languages he’s learned but doesn’t remember speaking. He already knows how to fight and shoot, decently too. Whoever he was before he was well trained.” Reaching over she put her hand on his arm, looking concerned.

“Are you sure he has no family?” Hanging his head slightly he wondered how to explain the connection he had with the boy, and his decision to take him in. As a mother she probably sympathized with the idea of having a child taken away.

He quickly switched to Mando'a so they could speak privately. “I rescued him from a group of militia on the planet from my last job. He’d already lost his memories when I found him. I thought I could help him find his family, give him back. But…” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to be embarrassed or feel guilty.

“From what he vaguely remembers, he had some nightmares that are very telling, the only family member he had was killed. Probably by the same people chasing him down.” His sister stirred the pot on the stove, one eye on the children and one eye on the food. But he had no doubt that she was listening to him intently.

“On my last job one of the targets had a stolen lightsaber. He claimed he’d killed a jetti and stolen it.” There was tension in her frame now, her mouth a grim line.

“I wasn’t going to stick around to find out if I’d be blamed or not. I gave him a choice. Stay there and wait to ask the jetii for assistance or come with me. He chose me.” There was emotion in his voice. It was the first moment where he’d really felt like he might want to keep the boy.

“I went back to my employer, on Rorak-4. I couldn’t leave him in the ship, just in case, so I took him with me.” Now she was glaring at him and he may or may not have deserved it. “He’s twelve, Jetta. Or near enough.” That didn’t make her feel any better and he knew it.

“My employer thought Haati was a slave.” The rage on her face pretty much matched his feelings at the time. “I know.” He said quietly.

“The fat bastard hinted that he was interesting in buying the boy and I just… I told him he was my son to get him to back off.” His cheeks flooded with warmth and his sister gave him a small smile and shake of her head. “I didn’t realize Haati spoke Huttese until later, when he asked me if I meant it when I called him my son.” She looked just as surprised as he’d been when he found out.

“Do you think he was a slave?” He shook his head. It just didn’t fit.

“He was too well taken care of and knew too much about how to defend himself. If he was a slave he would have been sold somewhere that would capitalize on his,” he scowled at having to think like a slaver, “exotic appearance.” The fiercely protective look in his eyes was met with an approving nod.

“When he asked if I’d just said it to make the slimy Hutt back off there was this look on his face. Like… like he thought I was going to reject him, abandon him.” Jetta’s expression softened and she smiled.

“So you offered, and he accepted.” He shrugged in response. She was right after all. Now there was no one who could take Haati away from him. Not without a vicious bloody fight to the death.

When he finished helping his sister in the kitchen he returned to the main living area to find Haati sitting on the floor with the kids, listening to them as they told him stories. With a small smile his son took out the two action figures he’d claimed as his favourites. Aran and Ruusan recognized them and went to grab their own, showing them to Haati excitedly.

“That one is Dral ba’buir, and that one is Drogan ba’vodu, where’s yours?” Aran asked when he recognized the two of them. Haati blinked and looked down at the figures, shrugging.

“I don’t have one.” He said honestly.

“Don’t worry, Haat’ika. You will.” He said with a chuckle. Just then the front door opened. Drogan’s hand went to his blaster for a moment before he recognized the ‘intruder.’

“Ba’buir!” The kids all cheered, jumping up and swarming the man. The giant let out a deep chuckle, picking them up all at once in a hug before setting them down again and usher them away from the door. His wife came in next, smiling in that gentle way she always had.

“Drogan, we’re glad you’re home.” Giving her a hug he leant down so she could kiss his cheek. “I see your sister reminded you about the house rules. Good. I made two beautiful children and I like to see their faces.” Drogan chuckled.

“Drogan, vaii cuyir ner evaar'la bu'ad?” ‘Drogan, where’s my new grandchild?’ Looking over at Haati he motioned his son over. The boy was quiet as he got up, hugging the action figures to his chest, and quickly came to stand beside him. He looked up at the six foot seven inch tall man with curious awe before looking down at the action figure in his hand.

“Haati, this is Dral’cabur, your grandfather, and Tianna, your grandmother. Dral’buir, Tian’buir, this is my son Haati.” He could tell the boy was a little nervous, the way he kept looking back at him was proof of it. Settling his hands on his son’s shoulders he felt the boy lean back into him, taking comfort from him as he met his new family for the first time.

“Basic?” Dral’buir asked him, his voice even in temper.

“Yes. He has a small issue that we’re trying to deal with. But it will take time.” His father frowned and his mother looked concerned.

“Mir’shupur. Echoy'la tome'tayle.” Brain damage and amnesia, not things to be taken lightly. Haati looked up at him, frowning in concentration. Trying to figure out what he’d said no doubt. Dral’buir was giving him a stern look and Tian’buir looked like she wanted to wrap the boy up in a hug.

“I’ve already discussed things with Jetta, she can tell you more. I’m not changing my mind.” In his life Drogan had only ever stared his father down once. He had a lot of respect for the man and they had very similar views on the world. But at this moment he was willing to do it again. Regardless of what the man thought Haati was his son and he would fight for his right to be a part of the Kurshi’cin clan.

Dral’cabur returned his stare for a long moment before nodding his head in acceptance. Drogan didn’t realize how tense he’d been until the man’s blue eyes drifted down to the child and he smiled.

“Haati, then. Did your buir name you?” The boy returned the smile with a bright one of his own.

“Lek, ba’buir.” ‘Yes, grandfather.’ Dral’buir’s face split into an even wider grin.

“Ori’jate! You’re learning fast.” ‘Excellent!’ There was clear approval in his voice and Drogan had to smile.

“Alright everyone, the food’s ready!” Lifting one hand off his son’s shoulder he ruffled the boy’s hair before steering him toward the table.

“Come on Haat’ika, it’s a special occasion. The first meal with your new family.” Haati looked up at him with a warm smile and Drogan knew he’d made the right decision.

[***]

After dinner the kids had decided to play hide and seek tag. At first Haati didn’t really understand the idea of the game but he got it pretty quickly and was soon laughing along with his cousins. Whenever he’d find one of the younger boys he’d pick them up and spin them around or tickle them to get a laugh instead of a pout.

Sitting with his parents he watched the kids play with no small amount of relief. Sometimes his boy could be so quiet and serious that he wondered if he’d ever actually had a childhood. Even if he didn’t remember his past there should have been the usual acting up for attention and emotional outbursts. But Haati was so obedient, like a little soldier. The thought made something twist painfully in his gut. Mando’ad might train their children from a young age but they didn’t start the harsher training until about twelve to fourteen. To be as good as he already was meant he had to have been trained in discipline since he was a toddler. Drogan didn’t like the implications of that.

“He’s a sweet boy.” Looking over at his mother he smiled.

“He is. A little fragile right now but he’s been well trained. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was one of us already. But he doesn’t understand our language like he does others.” No Mando’ad would go without teaching their child the language of their people. It went against the Resol'nare, the very tenets of their culture.

“Do you think he will swear to the Resol’nare” ‘Six Actions.’ Looking up at his father when he returned from the kitchen, Drogan shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I want him to understand more of our culture before I tell him about the Resol’nare. I don’t want him to swear when he doesn’t understand.” There was an approving look in his father’s eyes that made him feel a little embarrassed. Like he was a boy again and had given the man the right answer to a difficult question.

“I always knew you would be a good father. You just never found the right partner.” He groaned and put his face in his hands, ignoring his sister’s laughter and his mother’s playful smile. Every damn time he returned home it was the same thing.

“Yeah, yeah.” Thankfully he was rescued from having to hear more about his non-existent love life as the front door opened and closed. Standing in front of the door, helmet already clipped to his belt, was Taylin. He stood there looking at them all curiously for a moment before giving a small wave. The kids noticed their father was home and swarmed him, tugging on his arms and encouraging him to meet ‘Ba’vod’ad Haati!’

Taylin’s eyebrows rose as he was dragged over to the newest addition to the family. He looked at the boy for a moment then gave him a kind smile.

“Welcome to the family.” Haati seemed surprised that the man spoke to him in basic, since most of the family defaulted to Mando’a first.

“Vor’e.” ‘Thank you.’ Taylin gave him a polite nod before picking up the twins, who had latched onto his legs, and handing them over to his wife.

“I need to get clean, dinui’ike.” He said when they complained. Drogan couldn’t help but smile. Little gift was a good nickname for the kids collectively.

Now that their father was home the kids could finally be settled down for the night. Drogan’s parents decided to head home before it was too late and wished them a good night, promising to visit again soon to get to know Haati better. Nudging his son’s shoulder he smiled. Haati smiled back at him, all the nervousness from earlier completely gone.

“Time to go, Haat’ika.” His boy looked up at him, tilting his head curiously.

“This is your bavodu’e’s home. Ours is the Chaab’kalar.” Haati smiled very wide and he looked down at the boy with a questioning brow. His face colored slightly.

“I like that… our home.” Drogan chuckled and put an arm around his shoulder, giving him a small hug.

“Alright then, let’s go home.”

Chapter 8

Laying on the grassy hill silently he watched the target through the sights of his verpine sniper rifle. The wind shifted and he felt anticipation flood his veins as he held his breath. The crack of the rifle echoed through the open field and he grinned as a hole opened up dead center in the head of the target. The sound of movement beside him had Drogan turning his head to see the pleased smile on his son’s face and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Kandosii, Haat’ika!” ‘Well done!’ Reaching over he ruffled the boy’s short hair affectionately. It had taken a while to get over his dislike of firearms but the wait had been worth it. The lad was a naturally good shot. He had a good eye, steady hands, and an almost sixth sense for the right time to pull the trigger.

“Vor’e buir.” ‘Thanks dad.’ Canting his head the boy seemed to almost be listening to something before dismissing it. “Tug’yc?” ‘Again?’ Drogan looked up at the sky, judging the time the old fashioned way, and shook his head.

“Ca'nara at ba'slanar.” ‘Time to leave.’ Immediately the boy sat up and began packing. Getting up himself he brushed some grass and dirt off his armor before packing up his own gear. Watching his son he went over the past three months in his mind’s eye.

There had been some rocky patches and a few cultural misunderstandings, which had baffled the boy, but over all Haati was fitting in well with his family. Jetta was thankful for another set of hands to look after the children and the kids themselves adored their new cousin. Dral’buir had threatened to introduce his boy to the glory of explosives while Taylin offered to show him some basic ship repairs. Tian’buir had even made him some new clothes to wear. Drogan had to admit the dark green with white accents looked good on him. The symbol associated with the Kurshi’cin embroidered on his chest was probably his grandmother’s way of claiming him and letting everyone know it. Drogan smiled fondly.

Heading back home they stowed their gear and had a quick meal. After cleaning up he watched Haati head straight for the training room and chuckled. His son looked back at him quizzically with a pout. Drogan smiled in response. It was nice to see him shedding his stiff formal manner and finally start showing more of his personality.

“Not today, Haat’ika. We have some errands to run in town.” The boy stared at him for a moment then shrugged and headed for his room to change clothes.

The walk was long but pleasant. Drogan gave his son more lessons in Mando’a to keep his mind busy but by the time they’d arrived he could tell the boy was getting bored. Walking past their normal stops Haati looked up at him and raised a brow. It was definitely something he copied from his father. Drogan ignored the look and kept his expression passive. He was sure that if he looked over at his son he’d start to smirk and give the surprise away.

Not even stopping he walked to a shop, opened the door, and strode inside. He didn’t want to give Haati a moment to think about it. The boy quickly followed him inside and stopped dead just inside the door, eyes wide. The sounds of metalworking rang into the front of the shop. Drogan couldn’t help the giant grin on his face as his son realized where they were.

“Surprised, Haat’ika?” Two brightly colored eyes turned to him, wide with awe. An older man stepped out of the back and looked between him and Haati. He snorted, amused, before he came further into the shop.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming today.” The shopkeep asked in Mando’a. Drogan chuckled.

“I didn’t tell him anything at all.” The man gave him a matching grin.

“Come here, child.” Haati looked up at him and he nodded, motioning his son to his side.

“You’re going to have to change.” Haati looked up at him for confirmation, brows furrowed, and he sighed.

“Basic, for now. He’s still learning.” The man blinked, shrugged, and switched gears.

“You need to change out of that.” He motioned to the boy’s outfit. “So we can fit you with a flightsuit.” There was a changing room off to the side that his son darted into, all too eager to try on the article of clothing that would go beneath his armor. Drogan couldn’t help but feel happy for his son for how much he’d grown these past few months.

The shopkeep, Motik, grabbed a few flightsuits from the shelf and handed them off to the kid. They waited quietly for him to try them on and eventually he emerged in a navy blue flightsuit. Drogan nodded. “Looks good.”

Motik pulled out the armor pieces that had already been made for the boy and motioned him over so he could attach them. They would probably need a little adjusting but Tianna used to be a seamtress. Her measurements were always accurate.

Staring at himself in the large mirror Haati beamed. The armor was a simplified version of his father’s and he couldn’t be happier. It was currently unpainted but that could easily be fixed later, when the boy finally decided what he wanted to present to the world. When Motik was done he stepped back to admire his work.

“Looks good, Haat’ika. Now you’re ready for anything.” Those two colored eyes looked at him from the mirror and he could see the pleased blush on his face. He was still so shy when it came to compliments.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Walking over to the counter he grinned as Motik reached down and pulled out the last piece. Haati turned to look at him, curious. When he saw the armor piece in Drogan’s hands he practically started to bounce on the spot. Going over to his son he unfolded the kama and clipped it to his son’s waist. It was a little long on him but he would grow into it eventually.

Motik tossed him the helmet and he handed it over. Haati slipped it on and squared his shoulders before looking in the mirror again. Staring back at him was the picture of a proper Mando’ad. Reaching over Drogan held out his forearm, tilted slightly. Haati reached out and clasped his forearm in the proper Mando way and Drogan couldn’t be more proud.

“Thanks for the rush order.” He said to the shop keeper as Haati pulled off the helmet and clipped it to his belt, still beaming. The man waved away his thanks.

“Your money’s always good here. The Kurshi’cin has been coming to us for their armor for generations. You just make sure that boy takes care of it. And if you ever need repairs you know where to find us.” He gave the man a respectful nod.

“Come on, Haat’ika. We still need to grab some things for your ba’vodu.” On his way to his father’s side he stopped, turned to the shop keeper, and bowed politely. It was the one habit they had yet to break him of and it still baffled everyone around him. Taylin seemed to understand it, somehow, and said that it would take years to break him of the habit. Drogan wondered what his brother knew that he did not. After all he was the one that very pointedly suggested they get Haati’s hair cut.

Stopping by the usual shops Drogan had to hold back his laughter every time someone complimented his boy on his armor. Haati would get so flustered and thank them quietly before practically hiding behind him to avoid more attention. Drogan shook his head. It was only a matter of time before his confidence grew and the armor became like a second skin to him. He’d have to get used to people noticing him. Mando’ade were well known throughout the galaxy.

“Me’vaar ti gar?” ‘How are you?’ He asked when they were on their way home through the streets of the small town. Haati looked at the ground for a moment, quietly contemplating his answer.

“Aalar’la evaar’la.” ‘Feels new.’ He shrugged his shoulders. Drogan could understand that. The armor would be heavier than what he was used to wearing and the kama in particular affected the way one walked. The feeling would be strange until he got used to it.

“Dinuir bic ca'nara.” ‘Give it time.’ He said comfortingly. His son shrugged again, shifting the bag of supplies in his arms. Suddenly his head snapped off to the left then quickly turned right. He looked confused. Out of habit Drogan’s hand went to his blaster and his eyes started scanning the crowd around them. He’d learned that his boy had a sort of uncanny sixth sense when it came to danger. He’d saved Aran from falling off the roof and Taylin from electrocuting himself when one of the generators malfunctioned.

Three figures surrounded them, all humans. Their hands were under their cloaks and Drogan knew they were palming weapons.

“Can I help you?” He growled out in Mando’a, cursing himself internally for not putting his helmet back on. Even Manda’yaim wasn’t always safe.

“Step away from the boy!” The woman on the left demanded in Basic. Drogan scowled. What did these people want with his son?

“The fuck I am! Haati, bevik gebbar at ni.” ‘Stick close to me.’ The boy took a step closer to him, turning slightly so his back was being guarded by his father and he could see two of the attackers. Smart boy.

“Justus, it’s alright. We’re here to bring you home.” Drogan’s brows rose as they pulled out their weapons. Jetii. The three of them were all fucking Jetiise! He looked down at Haati and could see a look of recognition on his face. Something inside his chest tightened.

“Buir, I think I used to have one of those.” He said, awe and confusion warring in his voice as he tried hard to remember. Drogan’s blood ran cold. Thinking back to every interaction he’d had with the boy everything started to make sense. The long strands of hair just behind his ear, the way he’d been so subdued and almost emotionless, the formality and polite bowing. The ingrained physical training, the fact that he found no conventional weapon comfortable to wield, and the sixth sense for danger. All of it had been right there in front of him… and Taylin had fucking known.

For the first time in his life Drogan was hit with something so far outside his realm of expertise that he froze. Haati was a jetii. Jetiise and Mando’ade had been enemies for a long time. His throat felt tight and he wondered at the odd feeling that filled him.

Betrayal. What he was feeling was betrayal.

Haati turned and their eyes locked. In that moment the tightness in his chest disappeared. Cin vhetin. Whatever his son had been before was gone, now he was Mando’ad. Tearing his gaze away he glared at the jetii.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, jetii, but you are not taking my son from me!” The man behind him shifted, taking a step toward them. Drogan pulled his blaster and aimed it at him, trusting Haati to watch the other two and warn him if they moved.

Murmurs erupted around them and Drogan felt a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Behind the jetii the people of Mandalore had drawn weapons and were preparing to attack. No one came to their home and threatened one of their own without a fight. The jetii were woefully outnumbered, and they knew it.

Slowly they turned off their sabers and returned them to their belts, looking as if they’d eaten something sour. Drogan didn’t put his blaster away but he did lower it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” The third jetii, the other male, finally spoke. He looked between Haati and Drogan, frowning. It was obvious to all and sundry that Haati and he weren’t related by blood. Not that it meant much to Mando’ade. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. Drogan had formally adopted Haati and that was it. The Kurshi’cin would fight anyone who tried to take their newest member away from his father.

“We’re looking for a lost padawan, Justus Armaan. White hair, fair skin, right eye green, left eye blue. He was last seen on Skiidush by a female doctor. She described a fairly large ship of a specific make and a Mandalorian in dark green armor with three white triangles in the center of the helmet.” The man pointedly looked down at the helmet clipped to his belt. “We tracked the rumours to Rorak-4 where a Mandalorian of the same description was seen carrying that same child to his ship after meeting with a Hutt crime lord.” Drogan’s hand tightened on the handle of his blaster and he grit his teeth. His jobs were his business, not theirs. While he knew that no Mando’ad would judge him for the jobs he took to support himself and his family it was a very personal choice.

“Justus, we’re sorry about the death of your master.” Drogan bristled as the man turned to talk to his son. “It must have been very upsetting for you. But we’re here to take you back to the Temple. Where you can talk to a mind healer.” Haati blinked at the man, clearly not understanding. “We even retrieved our lightsaber.” He said as he held out a smaller cylinder, obviously made for smaller hands. If the fucking jetii said anything else to his son Drogan was going to shoot him.

“I… sorry? I don’t…” Haati shifted closer to him, practically glued to his side. He was trembling slightly and Drogan growled. No one scares his kid and gets away with it.

“Come on, padawan. You’re safe now. You don’t have to stay here with this kidnapper.” Drogan snapped.

“You better back the fu-” It happened suddenly. One moment he was raising his blaster and the next he was catching his balance after being pushed a few feet down the road by the female jetii. A green light erupted from the cylinder Haati had summoned to his left hand as his right was raised toward the female jetii he'd pushed to the ground with the Force.

“My name is Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. Son of Drogan Kurshi’cin. I am Mando’ad, and you are not welcome here aruetiise!” ‘Outsiders!’ Drogan felt a burst of pride for his son.

Stalking forward he stepped up to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You heard my son jetiise! You are not welcome here.” The female jetii stood up and glared at him, pulling out her lightsaber without touching it. Drogan stiffened but Haati stood there, calm and unmoving.

“Chandara, put it away.” The lead male hissed before turning back to them.

“Are you sure about this Jus- Haati? If you leave the Order we will not welcome you back.” There was a slightly threatening warning in his voice but Drogan didn’t rise to the bait. He stared the man down, certain that his son would handle the situation.

“I am Mando’ad.” He reiterated, voice unwavering. The three jetii looked to each other for a moment before the lead male sighed.

“I will inform the council of your decision. Our mission was to find you, we’ve accomplished that mission.” His focused shifted to Drogan and he scowled, but thankfully didn’t speak. Every gun remained trained on their backs as they slowly made their way back out of town. Once they were finally out of sight Drogan sagged slightly. Holstering his blaster he looked down at the remains of the groceries and cursed. Haati shifted under his hand and he looked back at his son.

The boy was staring at the cylinder in his hand and smiling contentedly. He supposed he’d be looking at his verpine sniper rifle the same way if ever he forgot what his favourite weapon was and hadn’t held one in months. Around them Mando’ade were staring at the boy with curiosity, confusion, contempt, or a mix of all three. It wouldn’t take long for the news to spread that Kurshi’cin now had a jetii in the family. Whether that would be a good or bad thing he didn’t know.

“Put it away, Haati. We need to pick up replacement groceries and visit your ba’vodu.” Seeming to snap out of whatever trance he was in his son put the lightsaber into one of the pouches on his belt. At least the bag Haati had been holding had nothing breakable in it, thankfully.

It was a little awkward to go back and re-buy the groceries, with everyone staring at his son with mixed feelings. Haati seemed able to sense it and after one particularly nasty glare he put his helmet on to hide his face. Drogan felt an almost uncontrollable urge to punch someone but he refrained. If he caused more trouble now it would reflect poorly on their clan. It wouldn’t help the situation any.

The walk home was quiet, both of them thinking over what had just happened. Drogan knew that the fact Haati was a jetii was a surprise to the boy as much as everyone else. He wanted to reassure his son but there was nothing he could say to change the truth. Haati was a former jetii and had the Force.

Entering his sister’s home he saw the family waiting to congratulate him on his armor and waved them down. The expression on his face must have been grim. Dral’buir was up from his seat in seconds. Drogan steered Haati toward the kitchen to help put the groceries away. He had yet to remove his helmet.

“What happened between here and town?” Dral’buir asked, following him into the kitchen.

“Not out of town, in town. We were ambushed by jetiise.” Dral’buir’s face could have been chiseled from stone it hardened so fast.

“Why the fuck would jetiise ambush you!?” Drogan looked back at Haati and sighed.

“Helmet off in the house, Haat’ika.” He hunched his shoulders for a moment but quickly slipped the helmet off and clipped it to his waist. “Good lad.”

“Because they were looking for Haati. He was a jeti’ika before I found him.” Dral’buir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he looked past Drogan to the boy who looked conflicted and hurt.

“Get your mother.” Drogan wanted to protest but one look was all it took.

In the main room he has headed for his mother when he spied Taylin leaning against a wall. “You fucker, you knew and didn’t tell me!” He hissed as he passed. His brother gave him an unreadable look.

“I knew. As long as he didn’t remember I thought it would be fine… I’m sorry.” Drogan swallowed but gave him an accepting nod.

“Tian’buir, Dral’buir asked for you in the kitchen.” His mother looked up at him, concerned, but silently went to go see what was wrong. The kids were looking between the adults, mostly quiet, as they sensed the heavy atmosphere.

A few minutes later they brought Haati back out and he was looking less like the world had caved in on him. He ran over to Drogan and launched himself into his arms. There was a loud clank as two armors forcefully met but he didn’t care. He pulled his son into a hug and placed a hand on his head. He looked from his father to his mother and back, confused.

“He was worried you wouldn’t like him anymore. He’s still only a boy, and who knows what the jetii put in his head that he can’t remember.” His father said with a scowl. Drogan couldn’t help the offended look on his face. Of course he wouldn’t turn his back on his son!

“Haat’ika, listen to me.” A sniffle came from where his son had hidden his face. “There is nothing in the entire galaxy that could make me stop loving you. No one will take you from me, do you understand?” Two puffy eyes looked up at him and he smiled. “I’m proud of you. You stood up to the jetiise like a proper Mando’ad.” Dral’buir’s brows raised in question and Drogan chuckled.

“He told the jetiise that his name was Haati Kurshi’cin of the Cin’ciri. That he was my son and a Mando’ad. Then he told the jetiise they were aruetii and weren’t welcome here.” Dral’buir burst into laughter, grinning ear to ear.

“Mandokarla! You were born to be Mando’ad.” ‘Showing guts and spirit.’ Haati blushed, wiping at his eyes then frowning when he realized he was still wearing the bracers. Drogan snorted and grabbed a handkerchief from one of his pouches, handing it to his son to wipe his face with.

“Come on Haat’ika. We thought today would be a good day to celebrate your birthday. If you remember later we can always change the date.” Haati stood up and let out a huff.

“Okay.” He looked at his cousins and then back at Drogan. His hand tapped the pocket where he was keeping his lightsaber and he tilted his head.

“Later. You can show off later.” The smirk on his face must have been enough to set his son’s mind at ease about whether Drogan accepted this new and strange part of his son’s life or not.

“Come on, ad’ike. It’s time to celebrate! Today is Haati’s gota’tuur!” The children cheered and clung to Haati’s arms excitedly, dragging him off with Dral’buir to play games. Drogan watched them from his seat on the couch and let out a sigh.

“It’s not the same, is it?” He looked over at is mother, who smiled. “Before kids and after. Nothing can compare.” He smiled back. She was right. There was something just so right about having Haati in his life. He doubted anyone else would ever come close to the amount of affection he had for his son.

“Now you just need a nice partner.” He groaned and ran his hand down his face as his mother laughed at him.

The End! Thanks for Reading!

Artwork for this story by the absolutely wonderful PeachyProtist on DeviantArt! Please go check them out!

[savage-rhi]

“Where are you taking me?” w/ Chris x Jill

WHOO HOO COMING RIGHT UP :D!

“Where are you taking me?” Jill asked as Chris continued to drive. They had been on the road for the last two hours. When Chris brought up going on a trip during a weekend, Jill expected something simple but, nothing quite like this. She wasn’t familiar with the lands outside the window, never having ventured this far out of the city where they both resided due to their respective jobs. It was tough being an on-call agent, the BSAA among other organizations they helped, were always so busy that it was near impossible to get time to explore their own neighborhoods. 

“Trust me, you’ll see.” Chris reassured her as he smiled, keeping his focus on the road ahead. Occasionally he’d watch as Jill would glance out the window, wondering what she was daydreaming about. They had been partners for a long time, and knew so much about each other, yet when it came to normal things; average joe activities, Jill was a tough one to read. Despite his air of confidence, Chris was a little nervous. He was taking a big leap with this trip and hoped Jill would understand what he was trying to convey with the whole thing. 

Another hour and a half later, and they ended up near a national park close to the coastal range. They spent a great deal of time walking around, getting a feel from the world without bio-organic weapons in the mix and terrorists to boot. Chris couldn’t help but admire how carefree Jill was. He missed this side of her, having not seen it in many years ever since the Raccoon City incident occurred. Between the two of them, Jill had an easier time adapting back to civilization, meanwhile Chris was very much stuck in soldier mode. He did his absolute best however to be anything but that today. 

Eventually, as the day wore on and they had a decent dinner at a pub, Chris and Jill found themselves walking along the beach. They were enjoying each other’s company in silence before Chris cleared his throat. 

“So I heard you’re taking on that mission in New Zealand.” He mentioned as Jill sighed sadly giving a nod. 

“Not exactly what I was looking forward to, but hopefully there aren’t too many outbreaks by the time the terrorists figure out we’re onto them. Can you believe all the bullshit we’ve been through?” Jill said with a laugh as Chris couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, but we’ve survived haven’t we? I mean look at us. Who would have thought we’d be where we are today. Its kind of amazing if you think about it.” 

Jill quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking a little. “You’re quite peppy than usual. Is there something I missed?”

“Guilty as charged,” Chris said with his hands up as Jill nudged him playfully with her shoulder. He returned the gesture by giving her a playful slap before coming to a halt, further taking Jill aback. 

“Chris?”

“Sorry, I just--look, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, but I never got the chance to say it. Either work got in the way, or we didn’t have enough time.”

“Don’t leave me hanging on a cliff, speak up.” Jill said playfully as Chris chuckled then took in a deep breath. His eyes lingered on Jill’s gaze, wanting nothing more than to remain like this. 

“Would you consider going out with me?” He shrugged as Jill went neutral. Chris was about to backtrack until Jill took charge and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Chris’s eyes went wide before he found himself moving along with her, letting out a pleased groan before she pulled away, looking at him with a smile. 

“You have any idea how many years I’ve been waiting to hear that?”

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

[asweetprologue]

Fandom: The Witcher Pairings: Geralt/Jaskier  Words: 16,147 Chapter: 1/5 Summary: After a job goes wrong, Geralt must rely on Jaskier as he is left blind and deaf. As they attempt to navigate the curse and find out how to lift it, Geralt comes to realize that his feelings for the bard have grown deeper - but how can he know if Jaskier returns those feelings if Geralt can't see or hear him?

Also on AO3

your skin carries echoes of me

Winter in Temeria was a hell of a thing. The entire country was, broadly speaking, a damp and slightly rancid place. From the time of the first thaw until the Velen equinox, it was redeemable by virtue of the sweeping golden fields in the countryside and the lush, vibrant forests in the west. Come winter, however, the forests became gray, fractured matchsticks scratching at the sky, the golden fields rotting away into mud and gravel. Even when it wasn’t cold enough to set your teeth on edge it was wet, slimy and miserable. Humans and monsters alike tended to burrow into their respective hovels until the warm rays of the spring sun graced the region once again.

Which is why Geralt, finding himself deep in the south as autumn began turning the landscape around them a fetching red-gold hue, was in desperate need of some quick and easy work. Wintering in Kaer Morhen would be out of the question. There was no way that he could make it to the pass through the Kestrel Mountains before the winter snows claimed the valley. And besides that, he had a particularly aggressive tag-along that he suspected wouldn’t fare nearly as well as Roach might along the steep mountain trails.

Said tag-along was standing besides Geralt at a notice board in the ramshackle town they’d stopped at for supplies, a pout on his youthful face. He crossed his arms over his chest, the deep navy of his current ensemble stained near black in places from the muck of their travels. “I just think,” he continued, resolutely ignoring the fact that Geralt was ignoring him, “that she cheated us of well-earned income. I mean, ‘a fearsome beast tearing apart the garden and scaring off the sheep.’ Those were her words! ‘Kill the beastie that’s ate my poor Bella.’ That was the job! It’s not our fault the culprit was a wild dog and not a bloody griffin.”

Geralt pulled a flyer down from the board, looking it over before turning it in Jaskier’s direction. “Caravan escort?”

The other man sniffed, eyeing the paper with a distrustful look. “The last one of those ended poorly. If they want entertainment that’s one thing.”

“Hmm. Roadside protection is asking too much?” He stuck the flyer back in its place, looking over the others again. Nothing too promising - someone asking for help with autumn logging, the herbalist looking for fool’s parsley, a dog gone missing. Not exactly witchers’ work, though he supposed he was reasonably skilled enough in alchemy to dig around for roots and plants if it came to that.

“It’s not that it’s not a reasonable request,” Jaskier said. “They just always seem to want it for a very particular reason that they aren’t at all ready to discuss with the hired help. It’s just. Well. It’s one thing to prepare oneself for the inevitability of bandits on the road. Quite another to wake in the middle of the night with an assassin’s blade at your throat in nothing but your drawers.” Geralt shot him an amused look. “A situation that you handled admirably. Still. We wouldn’t be in these circumstances if that hag hadn’t skimped on us.”

“Hmm.” People rarely, if ever, paid what they said they would in Geralt’s experience. Once their fear of the monster was assuaged, their distaste for mutants resurfaced with a vengeance. They seemed to have little remorse about trying to weasel their way out of their agreements, though it happened with less and less frequency the longer Jaskier kept his company.

Geralt glanced back at the bard as he turned away from the unhelpful notice board and back towards Roach. The man had been traveling off and on with him for some time now, though this latest stint had been longer than typical. They crossed paths often enough, but usually Jaskier would only spend a few weeks trekking after the witcher before disappearing back into civilization once again. He would spend his time on the road singing snippets of ballads, humming seemingly thoughtless tunes and plucking the strings of his lute absentmindedly. The witcher would have said that the bard used his time with Geralt to freeload if he didn’t inevitably hear the same snatches of song on the lips of strangers, even in the most remote parts of the land. And he had to admit, his purse had been significantly heavier, the eyes of strangers less accusatory, in the last few years than they had been in decades.

Jaskier continued, unaware as ever of Geralt's internal musings. “She hired a witcher, and that’s what she should have paid for. I don’t think -” Jaskier was suddenly interrupted by a hand reaching out to snatch at the sleeve of his embroidered doublet. He made a small noise of surprise, likely in reaction both to the hand and to Geralt’s sudden move into his space as he faced the newcomer. “Excuse me!” the bard exclaimed, and Geralt was unsure whether it was directed at him or the assailant.

Who, fortunately, turned out to be a pleasant looking middle aged woman, who quickly let go of Jaskier’s tunic when Geralt stepped forward. She backed away, shoulders drawn in fear. “F-forgive me, sirah, but if you please, I have a request for you?”

She phrased the statement as a question, and Geralt attempted to relax his posture invitingly before he realized that her eyes were unfocused and clouded. She was blind. He cleared his throat. “Go on then.”

“Well, sir, um. I heard your companion -” she gestured vaguely in Jaskier’s direction, leaning around Geralt’s shoulder - “mention you work as a witcher? If that’s for true, I would ask for your help. We’ve not much by way of coin, but we’ll find some way to gather a nice pouch for you if you care to help us. We’ve been plagued for too long now, and I’m not sure how much more we can take.” Her hands twisted in her stained apron, which smelled faintly of flour and cloves. A baker, or a baker’s wife.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

“A witch,” she said, her voice pitched slightly lower, as if she feared said witch was listening in. “It began with the chickens. She was takin’ em at night, to use in some foul ritual, and then a pig. And the animals in the wood have all run off, it seems. Samuel, our hunter, hasn’t found more than a few pheasants in weeks, and with the snows comin’ we’ll need meat to dry. A few of our men tried to confront her, and when they came back they were all foul tempered, mean spirited to a one whereas before they were gentle souls. I went to confront the wench myself, and she…” Here the woman grew quiet, drawing herself inwards as she reached up a hand to hesitantly touch below one of her sightless eyes. After a moment she shook herself and stood again, shoulders back in defiance of her plight. “Please, master witcher, help rid us of this scourge and we will find a way to repay you.”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak and found himself cut off by Jaskier, who was already pushing his way forward to gently take the woman’s hand in his own. “My lady, I give you my word that we will do everything in our power to help you with your plight. Consider it done.”

The woman looked near tears. “Oh, bless you both. Bless you.”

Geralt huffed, annoyed at Jaskier accepting his job for him despite the fact that he’d planned to say the same himself, though in significantly less words. “Fine.” Jaskier turned towards him with a bright grin. “Where can we find her?”

* * *

On the plus side, despite the fact that this witch seemed like, well, a bitch, they were typically easier to deal with than monsters. They usually wanted something, or were trying to get something, but they weren’t nearly as difficult to manage as a kikimora or, gods forbid, a sorceress. Most weren’t actually capable of going up against a professional witcher; their magics were more indirect in nature, a glimpse into the future here or slew of bad fortune there. Very few had anything approaching the battle magics wielded by true mages, or even the alchemical knowledge of a witcher. Most could be reasoned with, forced into moving on or, if necessary, put down with a bit of steel. Geralt was sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t come to the later in this case.

Which was why Jaskier had been allowed to tag along, much to Geralt’s chagrin.

The bard, for his part, seemed happy to have been allowed to come. Despite his detailed and often blatantly exaggerated retellings of Geralt’s exploits, Jaskier was rarely allowed to actually come along for the battles themselves. He had, at this point, utterly perfected the art of sneaking after the witcher on hunts, staying far enough away that Geralt’s heightened senses wouldn’t pick up his presence and closing in when Geralt was distracted by his quarry. It had, to the witcher’s extreme annoyance, actually proved useful once or twice. It wasn’t that his life was typically in danger when he was injured in a fight, but. Well. Having someone around to help patch up his wounds and haul him back to an inn was an improvement on lying in the mud throwing back potions until he could stand again.

This time, Jaskier was traipsing along by the witcher’s side, after he had - again, much to Geralt’s annoyance - convinced the witcher that he would actually be an asset on this particular hunt. Geralt anticipated that this job would involve a lot more talking than fighting, and even he could admit where his skill set ended and Jaskier’s began. In spite of his frequent bouts of oversharing and his tendency towards nervous chatter, the bard was profoundly charismatic. Geralt was made keenly aware of this every time he found himself searching for Jaskier in a crowd or buying the man another round at the bar in spite of his own oft-light coin purse. It wasn’t his fault; Jaskier just did that to people.

He hoped it would come in handy this time around. He really didn’t want to have to kill this witch.

“So, what do you think she’ll want?” Jaskier said, his eyes on his boots as he unsubtly moved through the underbrush. He’d recently been convinced to finally purchase a pair suitable for traveling, and had immediately had them dyed an aggressive shade of mauve. “New dress? Pearl earrings? Our first born sons?”

“Witchers can’t have children,” Geralt corrected absentmindedly, holding a branch back so that Jaskier could pass. “And I’m assuming you’ve already fathered many.”

The bard spluttered indignantly at him, and Geralt turned around to hide his smirk. He paused suddenly, holding a hand out towards Jaskier to stop both his squawks of protest and his forward momentum. It said much about Jaskier’s character and his time with Geralt that he halted immediately. “I think we’re here.”

The cottage was small, almost cozy, with smoke curling lazily out of the chimney and ivy clutching the west facing wall. It looked more like a place that someone’s elderly relative might retire to than a witch’s hovel.

“Looks like a nice place to settle down,” Jaskier pipped, echoing Geralt’s thoughts uncannily. “Should we knock?”

Geralt held up a finger and Jaskier quieted, allowing the witcher to listen. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose as he peeled away the layers of noise around them. A witcher’s senses were sharp, but often finding specific information in the cacophony of life was like searching for a needle in a haystack. It took years of training to learn how to turn the blunt instrument of their broad senses into a finely honed scalpel. Geralt fell into that place as he had so many times before, concentrating on the house and everything in it. The thick smell of honeysuckle from the plants growing against the side of the cabin, the sweet scent of cedar and pine, the faint rust of old blood. Rustling leaves, the muffled snap of wood burning. No shuffling footsteps, no soft sighs. No heartbeat, fluttering quickly away in comparison to the slow rush in his own ears.

“She’s not here,” he said a moment later, satisfied that the witch was nowhere in the immediate vicinity. “Stay put. I’ll see if I can find out where she went.”

“Tch,” Jaskier said, for once following directions as he leaned against a nearby tree. “Out looking for babies to gobble up, perhaps?”

“You’re thinking of witchers,” Geralt quipped, already checking for footprints around the stoop. Jaskier barked a laugh behind him.

“I had no idea your diet was so restrictive,” the bard replied, mirth coloring his tone. “It’s an honest mixup, you see, witches and witchers.”

It was novel, still, having someone to jest with while in moments like these. Geralt looked up to find Jaskier watching him with an amused expression, something soft in his gaze that Geralt had seen before. It always lingered with him when Jaskier inevitably moved on. He could say with absolute certainty that no one else had ever looked at him like that - with an utter lack of fear and pure, open affection. Feeling off balance, Geralt tried to focus back on what he was doing, away from Jaskier’s too-blue eyes.

This, too, was part of the reason Jaskier wasn’t invited on hunts.

The man was… distracting. Geralt wasn’t sure exactly why. He was loud, and annoying, and occasionally disarmingly funny. And sometimes, when Geralt brushed a leaf out of his hair and Jaskier turned to him with a grateful smile that was devoid of nervousness and the sunlight through the trees made his skin honeyed gold, he was very… something. Something distracting.

It wasn’t great for Geralt’s concentration.

That’s what he would blame it on, later, when he was cursing himself for not noticing her approach. Jaskier was too busy thinking of something else snappy to say about witchers kidnapping children, and Geralt was too busy not-thinking about the way Jaskier’s eyes shone when he laughed, and the witch walked up already fuming.

She was tall, almost as tall as Geralt, with brown hair woven through with silver cord and viney tattoos winding up her arms. At first they looked to be flower designs, but Geralt’s keen eyes could make out small, detailed runes etched out between the artwork. The witch’s bright blue eyes, cold as chips of Yuletide frost, bore into him intensely. “You are trespassing,” she said sharply, sliding her hand into a woven bag she had draped over one shoulder. “I told you all not to return here.”

Geralt stood slowly, resisting the urge to look towards Jaskier. From where she was standing, it was possible that the witch could not see him, hidden as he was in the shadows of the forest. She had emerged from another path that came around the backside of the house. Based on her equipment, it looked like she’d been hunting for herbs, possibly near the river to the north of the town. “Folks from the village sent us to discuss the… situation,” he said slowly. “W- I don’t want any trouble.”

The witch gave him a disbelieving glare. “Trouble is all I get these days, witcher. Don’t look surprised, I’ve heard the songs. I’m not a complete recluse. I know the White Wolf, as they call you, or the Butcher of Blaviken. I suppose I should be honored that you’ve graced my small corner of the world.” She spat the words at him, sneering. “Tell those simpering peasants that if they want to burn me at the stake they’ll have to come and light the tinder themselves.”

Geralt sighed. This was more antagonism than he’d hoped to start out with. “Haven’t heard anything about stakes. They just want you to stop stealing chickens.”

“The blood was for protection rites, to protect my home from the whoresons that have given me no rest since I arrived. They came a fortnight back with accusations on their tongues and cleavers in their hands, and I turned their fury back towards those they love.” She smirked. “I thought it was poetic.”

“People are always spiteful,” Geralt said, annoyed. “You can’t pay them back in kind.” He wasn’t unsympathetic, of course. Throughout his life he had more often than not been spat on and cursed at whenever he showed his face around humans. They knew that he was other, sensed how dangerous he could be if he decided to turn his skills on the ones who fed him. In his experience, this did not make them more cautious in his presence. People reacted to fear with violence in most cases. But the only appropriate response was to turn the other cheek. He could cleave through an angry mob without a second thought, destroy an entire village if it struck his fancy, but it was not what he had been made for. He had refused to let himself be molded into a monster for decades. The least this woman could do was try the same.

The witch broke him from his frustrated thoughts with a snort. “Easy for you to say. Always moving, never in one place for long. People call you a hero. ‘Friend of humanity.’” She scoffed. “They call me a devil. I could help them, and instead they cast stones my way. No,” she said, eyeing him coldly. “I will not bow to them.”

“I can’t let you continue to do them harm.” He felt tired. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this to go. Against his will, he found himself looking in Jaskier’s direction, and found the bard looking back at him with wide eyes. He seemed conflicted, his hands wringing the strap of his lute case nervously as he looked between Geralt and the source of the witch’s voice. Debating whether to try and step in, solve things diplomatically, Geralt realized. He shook his head slightly, and Jaskier nodded, though his brow furrowed in distress. When Geralt looked back to the witch she was watching him with an expression of disgust.

“You’re just like them,” she said, her voice angry and filled with grief. “No one understands. No one sees .” She drew herself up, pulling her hand from her bag. In it she clutched a handful of items - herbs, some kind of stone, and what looked like a human ear. “Very well. If you can hear no foul lies and see no bright pyres, you’ll do less harm to me and mine.” She raised her hand.

Several things happened in rapid succession. Geralt drew his silver sword, and ring of metal on metal echoing through the clearing as the witch tossed the objects into the air. He rushed towards her, raising his hand to begin etching the sign of quen . From his left there was a burst of noise, and he had time to think, ah, Jaskier just as the bard tackled the witch to the ground. She landed with a cry and quickly elbowed him in the jaw, a surprising move from someone so slight. Jaskier tumbled off of her from the force of it, and she turned back towards Geralt. Her eyes were full of fury as she opened her mouth and shouted a word.

Geralt’s sword swung down towards her neck, and the world went dark.

Part Two

[cemeterygrotesque]

Didn’t I tell you so? [Drabble]

Trigger warnings; torture, gore, abuse, kidnapping, brainwashing. Nero’s scene with Ruby @sapphireblackfox

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It’s not particularly difficult to be prepared when you could arrange for something to be done to such precise instructions. And so Nero waits patiently outside of the house with four men to assist him with tonight’s plans. A smile cracks his otherwise bored expression when Ruby finds herself dropped from a lesser height just in front of him. Only briefly does Nero notice the flash of hold and black that accompanied the sudden appearance.

The drop is unexpected, and the fall leaves Ruby somewhat stunned, especially as she lands poorly on her one leg. And Nero is quick to instruct his men to tie her up. Of course it proves a bit more challenging than expected, as everything with Ruby does. But the people he picked out for this job weren’t fresh off the streets, and in the end her struggles, even if bothersome, prove fruitless. As she is dragged, tied up, in to the house.

Into the hallway.. then the living room, through a door.. down the stairs, through a hallway.. through a heavily secured door, and finally into a small room and pushed and tied into a chair with experienced movements. The room is mostly empty. With a smooth concrete floor, tiled walls and a light in the ceiling. There is drainage in the middle of the room, along with a hose by the side of the wall. The room was clearly designed for easy maintenance.

Of course Ruby kicks, screaming profanities all the while. "Nero fucking fuck you! What the hell is this? Where is Nico??" She demands, arguing as she struggles against her bonds. Nero replies very simply, snorting in grim amusement at her insults. "Interesting choice of words." However he ignores her other question, he wasn't here to accommodate her.

"I have a wide variety if you want fucking interesting!"

This time he turns around. Looking at her. "Will see if you learn quickly. Judging from my experience with you I doubt that." He moves slowly to the wall, where he placed the crowbar. Eyeing it as he waits for her reply. "Let me go and try me one on one you fucking coward"

"You remember what you said..? That you wanted to see if I could find you?" He asks, looking almost bored. "On your own you fucking cheating ass bitch." Ruby spits the words out at him, as if it was venom.

Nero snorts again. Did he expect her to act civil? No. Did he expect her to be scared? Nero hoped she would have some common sense, but clearly that wasn't the case here. "It's not cheating to have an army, it's power." He replies, finally picking up the crowbar and weighing it in his hands.

"If it's between the two of us then fucking yeah it is cheating!" She squirmed, not liking the potential of the crowbar. "One on one if you actually want a fair fight."

"Life isn't fair." The vampire shrugs, staring towards her. His expression took on a more cold appearance, the overhead light not doing much to change his apparent demeanour.

"Not for lack of trying..."

"Hm?" Nero walks over, gently tapping her knee with the crowbar to encourage that reflex induced jerk of the leg. Smiling when her body responds as it's naturally made to do. Ruby squirms, trying to curl her leg out of the way. It's difficult, with her legs tied to the chair. "Where is Nico?" She asks  instead, ignoring him.

"Dead." Nero says, about as interested as if she asked him about the weather. "Do you remember what else you taunted me to do? What was so uncreative?" He asks instead.

He's ignored again. "The fuck do you mean, he's dead?" Her voice cracked. He presses her again, giving her another chance to answer. To at least hint at some form of respect towards his person. "You don't want to answer?"

"Where is Nico?" She asked instead, trying to sound more demanding.

This time Nero sneers, baring his teeth in anger. "And you still don't have an ounce of respect for me." And with the fresh reminder of her actions he doesn't hesitate, lifting the crowbar over his shoulder and striking down against her knee. Beating down on the fragile joint there. Ruby cries out, straining as much as she could against the pain.

"I told you I would shatter you kneecaps. Since you seem to have forgotten." He says, now smiling at her. Taunting her in sadistic glee. He felt empowered. Ruby gasps out a swearword, shaking with pain and adrenaline, "Fuck.."

Nero however continues his monologue. "Though you have pissed me off, so I might just fucking pry them off you instead. With all your fucking sassing. 'Whiny Bitch' was it?" He lifts the crowbar to strike at the same knee when he reminds himself of her insults. "You still think it's fucking uncreative?" He leans in after the next hit and grabs her hair, yanking her head back. "I have never had anyone I have done so much for insult me like you have."

"Yeah..." She choked out. "Uncreative..."

Nero sneers at her reply again, baring his teeth. "Oh I will try to spice it up then, just for you." He yanks her head to the side and away before letting go, moving back to lift the crowbar and hit her knee again. Choking a pained sob from Ruby. However he seems more than enraged now, not giving her any pause. Lifting the crowbar he takes the pointy side and stabs it into the side of her knee. Not particularly precisely as he tries to quite frankly pry up her kneecap from the tendons attaching it to her leg. Ruby screams and swears, wanting to get away from the agony.

It wouldn't take much time for him to rip the kneecap and the tendons off and away from her body. The vampiric strength made it easy enough, even for him. But he takes his time. Working on the gruesome task without much care for her gasping. She hasn't even starting begging yet.

Eventually though the tendons do rip and the bone is free. Sadly there is plenty of skin left in place to keep it there. So Nero starts roughly chopping into her flesh with the crowbar. It was nowhere near the surgical precision that would be preferred, but Nero didn't want it to be clean and precise. He keeps going until a chunk of her skin, bone and tissue actually separates from her body, Nero hooking onto it with the crowbar to dangle it in the air in front of her. "Am I still being uncreative Ruby..?" He asks, spitting out her name between clenched teeth.

Ruby doesn't answer, gasping from pain as her body reacted in gruesome ways. The contents of her stomach spilling across her torso as the pain overtakes her body. Nero grimaces and steps back, intending for her to rest before he continued on the other leg. Even if he intended to burn the wound, she couldn't be allowed to bleed out. While he puts away the crowbar she gasps out a word against the pain "Nico..."

Nero turns around just briefly, looking at her with a glare. "And you still refuse to answer me. Not even the basic respect." He says, ignoring her nagging demands before leaving. He needed to come get a blowtorch. Ruby doesn't say anything, trying too wiggle out her wrists, to try and get away while he isn't there. But it doesn't take him long, holding a semi large butane torch that he holds on a far distance from himself as he lights it up. Flinching at the bright blue flame before he walks over to her and almost nonchalantly sears the bleeding, gaping flesh wound that was her knee. Quickly lifting the torch back up again as walks over to the wall to lean back against it, putting the torch on the ground. Now he was simply staring at her.

"I'm never eating BBQ again..." She mumbled, barely hanging on for the moment, tugging at a wrist. Nero answers somewhat amused. "Oh yeah, great reason to turn vegetarian." He says, taking out wet wipes to clean up his hands. Picking up his phone to stare at the screen.

"Rumor has it you're a leech.." Ruby mumbles.

Nero looks up from his screen. "Not as much as you."

"pfft...  I know you are, but what am I?" She says. Nero answering with a harsh tone. "A parasite on everything and everyone around you." He would wait an hour, he didn't want her to enjoy that adrenaline rush too much. "Says the leech." She scoffed, looking somewhat disoriented  "Fuck..."

"That's the funny part. I drink blood and yet it doesn't compare with how much life you suck out of everyone." He pouts, mocking her.

"Mmm... That's the assassin part probably."

"No respect what so fucking ever." Nero mumbles to himself. Staring at his phone when she gives yet another snarky remark. "Kind of hard to bend the knee when you haven't got one." She shrugs against the pain.

"Soon you won't have the other." He mumbles again, trough clenched teeth. Shaking his head in disbelief at her next remark. "Damn. That sucks." Nero doesn't say anything else, occupied with his phone.

"Damn..." She scoffed. "Shock is one bitch if a drug."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to miss out on the whole experience. I wouldn't want to be uncreative and let you think I was boring... so we are waiting." He remarks, dryly. "How considerate..." She grumbles, taking a breath. "Let me thank you for thinking of me..."

Nero scoffs. "What is it you're wanting out of this, Nero...?" She asks him, her voice strained with pain. "I want you and everyone to see that I can't be fucking stepped over and insulted." He answers.

"Mm... Is that why Franz isn't here?" She asks quietly. "Shocked I decide I have had enough myself?" He asks back. Raising his brows in mockery. "No. Not surprised you're showing everyone but him your point though."

"He isn't the one that needs it." Nero snarls, barking out the words. "Everyone has this idea that I can't possibly stand up for my words."

"Well, making others unable to certainly gives you an advantage." She says. Another snarky remark.

This time Nero just stares at her, with a blank expression."Do you want me to kill you?" He finally asks her rather bluntly.

"Not particularly but I feel I don't have a say right now so it doesn't matter." She answers, tired. "You have a strange look on life. You don't think you have a say in it, yet you make fun of me and insult me.. uh huh." He licks the inside of his cheek. Glaring at her.  "Yeah. Basically. What happens happens. Me being nice right now won't make you just change your mind and let me go." She answers.

"It sure as fuck is making it worse." He says with a heavy sigh. "But I feel like you have snapped out of your adrenaline.. so let's finish this up." Moving to lift up his crowbar. He wasn't sure if she was mad or arrogant. Mocking him where he would be begging for mercy in his situation, screaming apologies. Ruby flinches when he gets closer, closing her eyes as she awaited the pain.

"Nothing?" He asks, waiting in front of her with the crowbar hanging low in his grip. "Good. Shame I can't reward it." He stares down at her.

"Just do it." She says with teeth clenched.

"So much spirit.." He shakes his head, smiling sadistically as he taps the crowbar against her knee, causing the same reflexive reaction of her leg jerking up gently a few times. Ruby flinches and whimpers, closing her eyes tightly. "I wonder if they will cut your legs off." He mumbles to himself, curious. He lifts the crowbar up and slams it into her undamaged knee,  before stopping and looking at her again. "So. Still uncreative?" Ruby doesn't reply, screaming from pain. This time Nero waits, taking his time to have her stop screaming so he could at least give her a chance to answer. See how long she would try and deny him. "Fuck.." She gasps, tears rolling down her cheeks with pain. "You better answer me." Nero insists, threatens even. A dark tone to his voice.

"Yea." It's short, and she is pain. But to Nero it reads clear as day just how insulting she was being.

So the vampire scoffs, and this time he doesn't smash her knee with the crowbar, instead he goes straight to the stabbing motion. Trying to pry the crowbar roughly down into her knee to try and start prying the knee cap up. He would again drag this out, yanking roughly back and forth and scraping against the bones of her knee joint as he tore the tendons apart with the blunt metal tool. It doesn't take long for Ruby to wait, roughly snapping back to reality as the pain doesn't stop with a choked scream, her voice cracking. Nero doesn't pay much attention to her well being, but he stops when she doesn't move. Waiting to see her come back to it. So he takes a moment, simply standing there with the bloody crowbar. But as soon as she seem to gather her senses he continues, this time prying the long curved part of the crowbar into the gash and under the skin, feeling into the cracks between her bones and roughly shoving it under her knee cap before tugging up and away. Slowly tearing the bone away from the tendons holding it down..

"Stop!" She finally begs, and Nero stops the tearing, looking at her as he lets the crowbar stay in the wedged position in her joint. "Fuck, stop. Please.." She continues.

"A bit late don't you think? You just complained that I was uncreative. I have to prove you wrong." He taunts, leaning over to be a bit closer to her face. Finally answering her.  "You are. I.. fuck... I'm gonna pass out..." She was shaking from the pain now.

"What do you say?" He says, leaning close to her face.

"About what?" Her head rolls back, her body trying to cope between the agony she has just experienced. It wasn't strange she couldn't think. It was a miracle she hasn't passed out. Or died. Partially thanks to her experience as an assassin, no doubt.  "Well that's up to you." Nero answers. He wanted her to come up with something. He didn't want to have to spell it out for her.

"Fuck..." She took a deep breath. "Where's Nico?"

Nero leans back again, shaking his head with an angry sneer.  He doesn't know what he expected. Without another word, and without an answer he yanks on the crowbar, ripping trough her flesh in a rough motion until the bone and whatever tissue came off with it comes loose. Falling to the floor as he taps the crowbar against the concrete. Ruby screaming again at the pain. Nero clearly wasn't interested in playing games. She didn't answer his questions and yet she demanded answers. It was clear as day to the vampire that there was no respect in her. But he was starting to doubt if he would ever see it. Instead he tosses the crowbar to the side nonchalantly and without any care, and picks up the torch. He lights it again, just as carefully as last time, before he walks over to her, intending to burn the wound. The bound woman wiggling to get away from him without much luck, though she manages to trip the chair over, falling onto the floor and sending shock waves trough her cracked legs. Nero however doesn't show much mercy, he grabs hold of the damaged leg and roughly and painfully yanks it forward to get access to it, before putting the hot flame against the bleeding wound. It results in more screams.

He quickly turns off the torch, happy to not have to use it again. And puts it aside, even if a tad more gently. He walks over to her again and crouches so that he was close to where she was laying. "You know what the best part will be? How much you are going to suffer when not a single person gives a fuck that I did this to you. You are going to see everyone smiling, and joking and wanting to spend time with me and god will it hurt you." He taunts her, speaking with a sweet, sadistic tone. Full of spite.

"You act as if that's something new..." She says between gasps, swallowing away the soreness of her throat.

"No. But it's going to hurt so much more." He whispers, as if telling a secret only he knew. "And this time you will be alone at the hospital. And perhaps you will look back and actually appreciate all the fucking things I did for you." He snarls before standing up. "Or you won't. God knows you don't learn." He cleans off his hands again. Trying to consider his steps before he was going to prepare the mental torture, all the memories he would implant into her head.

"You didn't have to..." She sniffles, the slightest movement of her toes shooting fire through her body.  "No. I know. That's why it hurts so much to listen to you repeating how none of it was good enough, or how you don't think I did it for you." He answers. Grimacing to himself.

"Like you cared enough to do anything just for me..." She mutters. "Why would you?"

This shit again. How Nero hated it, this repeating nonsense. Did it even matter what he said? Or would she just later forget it as always. It fills him with rage. "Because I wanted to. Because I didn't want you to be alone. Or go trough things alone. Or to be alone. Because I fucking felt like it you dumb, fucking, bitch." He spits out the last few words, walking over to the chair again.

"why the fuck would you even care though? If I'm always such a pain? If I tried to kill you? If I'm such a dumb, fucking bitch? Why the fuck would you care?"

"Because I wanted to. You fucking moron!" He shrieks suddenly, his voice booming in the small room. His emotions spilling over.

"For what possible purpose?!" She cried back, shaking.

Nero lifts his arms, hands pulling back on his hair and squeeze his head with stress and frustration as he groaned. He wanted to kick something, but decides against it. Shaking his head he ignores her, giving up on this conversation.

Instead he moves to grab her by the hair and roughly pull her, her body and the chair back up on it's legs. Very obviously showing that he was capable of more than an average human would be. Ruby crying and whimpering as she strained against the painful hold. "There was no purpose. That's the sad fucking part. I did it for no fucking reason what so ever. And god do I regret it." He exaggerates the word. Leaning in close as he hisses the words into her face before roughly yanking her head away again.

"And why are you doing this then?" She choked out. "Why do you seem so he'll bent on caring what I think or do when... Why...?"

"I told you why." He says. "Because you told me you wanted me to. You didn't think I could be serious. And I need people to learn that I can. You included. Some respect would do you well." He sneers at her.

"You'd be better off just forgetting about me, Nero. Save us both the effort. Because nothing either of us do will make the other happy!" She says, her voice choking with pain and exhaustion.

"No, you have proved as much." He snorts. "And I will try my best."

Nero was clearly done talking. At least in that sense of the word. He grabs hold of her hair and yanks her head back to stare into her eyes. He wanted to implement the memories and get it over it. Knowing full well that it would take him. He speaks to her, reshaping her mind he begins to form the new memories in her head.

Embedding a memory at a point of distress in her recent past, adding in a story of her torturing and hurting Nico. The child pleading, crying and screaming her name as she snapped bones, kicked and stomped on his little body. He ends the memory with her choking her child dead, until the throat gave in under her grip and his body went limp.

He didn't need it to be realistic. He just wanted her to remember it.

Somewhere under this process Franz would peek in. And in a morbidly humorous moment Nero would simply say 'busy' as if it was a bathroom he was occupying and not sitting and torturing someone.

Once he finished he would remove the memories of Nico prior to that event, even if it was just a day or so. And removed her now fresh memory of his tampering with her mind. And when that was done Nero stepped away from her and went out of the room to get his goons. Telling his men to drag Ruby up and to dump her at the side of the road somewhere.

He was done.

[areluctantsblog]

Teenker headcanon

I got temporarily obsessed with teenker a few days ago and i had this idea. I haven't made a headcanon post before, but I need to get this out of my system. I'd love to write it (even written one scene) but it'd be such an enormous work that I don't think I'll have time to write it anytime soon. Hope y’all enjoy, have fun :)

tw: pseudo-incest

Canonically, Harley lives with his mother after his father leaves them. In this hc he gets orphaned in IM3 and Tony adopts him.

They move to New York, but Harley doesn't like it there, so they move back to his hometown. Tony buys/builds a lake house similar to what we've seen in Endgame. They also have garage/lab where they tinker together.

Tony is still Iron Man and he works tirelessly with the team. He flies to New York most days, but if Harley needs him, he stays home and makes sure that his boy is all right.

Harley is doing well, he likes his new high school much better than the one he started in New York. He's not a posh kid and doesn't want to become one despite Tony's unlimited funds. He's glad that Tony understands and accepts him this way.

Sometimes, he goes along with Tony to New York. If not forced to live there, he quite enjoys Stark Tower. However, the company that comes with it is more complicated. Being at the receiving end of the attentions of a group of superheroes is flattering and embarrassing at the same time, especially if one is 15.

Ultron happens and it shakes both Tony and Harley.

Harley's always known that Tony - he never thinks about him as his father - could get in danger, but actually fearing for his life is terrible. In the two years since the adoption no mission came close to that of Sokovia and Harley finds himself wishing that Tony would quit.

After his vision, where he sees Harley dead, too, the only thing Tony wants is to hug his boy and make sure that he's all right. He wants to protect him and the others, but it all backfires. They win, but the price is terrible and so is Tony's guilt.

It's hard times for both of them and it doesn't get better any time soon because Civil War happens.

Tony recruits Peter Parker and after the fighting is done, he doesn't ghost him, but invites him to the lake house.

Harley gets jealous and worried, because Peter is so much more like Tony, a genius superhero, and Harley has no idea how he can compete with that. Tony is bound to love Peter more and Harley thinks he can already see the signs in the way Tony's hand lingers on Peter's shoulder and how it slips down lower on his back than appropriate.

But Harley can't resent Peter because the boy really is very likeable. He starts to enjoy his visits and tries not to think too much about the time Peter gets to spend with Tony in New York.

It takes Tony about half a year to admit that he's attracted to Peter Parker. It fucks him up, but he's powerless against it. All he can do is withhold his offer that Peter could spend weekends and holidays at the lake house. May is busy, but she's there and Tony is also better off without the constant temptation. However, with May getting a new job that keeps her away 5 days a week and the summer holiday approaching Tony runs out of excuses. He knows that Peter would love to be their guest and as far as he can tell Harley wouldn't mind either.

For the most part, Harley doesn't mind. He gets along greatly with Peter. Tony is on his best behaviour most of the time, so Harley can deal with their attraction, too. The hardest part might be when Peter goes back to New York to patrol. At those times, Harley has trouble falling asleep. It's not only that he worries for Peter, but also his other issues that he only allows himself to think about alone. The thing is, that despite the support Tony could offer him, Harley doesn't want to go to university. He wants to be a mechanic, wants to help people by repairing their vehicles and other machines, wants the simple life of owning a little workshop. He always had something similar in mind and getting the chance to enjoy the superb workshop Tony put together for them convinced Harley about his plans. The problem was Tony, or more exactly his reaction. Harley dreaded to disappoint him. It was one of the things that got worse after Peter came into their lives. Tony has never shut up about how the kid is bound to get into MIT. Harley knows he has to talk to Tony, but he waits, hoping that it'll get easier.

Peter loves this summer. Despite his worries that Harley might not be happy about his presence, he finds that they are soon becoming close friends. He still goes on patrol three or four times a week. He agreed to share it with Tony, and it works fine, except for the fact that they rarely spend the evening together. Peter is disappointed, because he admires the family that is Tony and Harley - and he also enjoys being near Mr Stark for other, more private reasons.

Homecoming still happens that autumn. Tony is not ghosting Peter, but he wants to spend time with Harley to work on their relationship. At the start of his last year in high-school, Harley tells Tony about his plans and also his fears. Tony has nothing against Harley becoming a mechanic, but he's deeply upset that Harley thought he could possibly be a disappointment. As they talk through it, Harley's jealousy comes to light, too. Well, not the part where Tony wants to get into Peter’s pants, nor the part that it only bothers Harley because it's not him that Tony's after. No, they keep silent about all that, but they still discuss Harley's frustration that comes from being ordinary next to two genius superheroes.

It works and they reach a new level of trust despite keeping heavier secrets than ever before.

Tony is stricken with guilt after what the Vulture does to Peter in his absence.

At first Peter waves it off and says that he's a hero on his own, without Tony's help, but eventually he starts having symptoms indicative of PTSD.

Tony invites Peter over for weekend to work it out together. Peter ends up staying for a whole week and even Harley stays home from school. They all share their thoughts and feelings about the events and sort out all the remorse and resentment that appeared either consciously or subconsciously. If they weren't before, they definitely become a family after this. In the intervals of the deep conversations, Tony cooks for them and the boys enjoy the autumn air by rowing on the lake. They watch movies and torture Tony with 21th century music. By the time next Monday arrives, they are all relieved and happy once more.

The rest of the year goes by quietly. They celebrate Christmas together and Harley only feels a sting of envy when Peter pulls out the flashy new suit that Tony made for him. It only lasts however, until Harley himself opens his gift and finds a comfortable looking, yet obviously high-tech overall in it, tailored to suit the needs of a mechanic. He hugs Tony with warmth and gratitude.

Peter feels pretty much the same. He smiles as he watches Tony hug Harley. They really made it work and now are able to admit their emotions in front of each other. Well, the family friendly ones at least. The thought makes Peter blush.

By the time May arrives, both conspicuous packages are hidden. The delicious cookies she brings make up for her being late.

Next term is quiet for both boys. They chat a lot and seize every opportunity to meet. Sometimes, Tony takes them somewhere, skiing (neither of them knows skiing, but they have fun learning), hiking (Peter's spider senses help a great deal) and to various car shows (where Peter can silently admire the awed expressions of Tony's and Harley's faces).

Harley graduates and he plans to enjoy one last summer before starting mechanic school and work at a nearby shop.

Peter gets there too as soon as school ends.

At first, Harley is happy to see him, then, when he actually looks at him, he knows that he's fucked. Peter got ripped. He's still slender, but those muscles are impossible to miss. When Peter hugs him on the threshold, it's all Harley can do not to pop a boner.

The situation gets worse when Peter comes downstairs after dropping his bags into his room, wearing nothing but swimming trunks and invites Harley to the lake.

It's not easy for Harley to come to terms with the new situation. Peter became hot. He's still lovely, fluffy and cute but now, Harley wants Peter to pin him to the wall and whisper dirty things in his ear. The fact that he's sure that Peter couldn’t talk dirty without blushing and stammering does nothing to lessen Harley's desire. On the contrary, he wants to kiss that blush off Peter's cheeks.

And there's more. They never talked like this. Not just about science, music and other stuff, but about themselves, their hopes and fears. They've never opened up so much without Tony being there, taking care of them.

It's about three weeks after Peter's arrival, while they are by the lake again that Harley walks up to him and tells Peter that if he has no objection, he's going to kiss him.

Peter doesn't object but gets very nervous because he's not sure if they're allowed to kiss.

Harley doesn't push it. They talk, lying on the landing stage. It's still that afternoon when they kiss eventually.

Things escalate fast.

Peter sneaks into Harley's room two nights later. This time, Tony is at home. Harley still gives him a blowjob - Peter's first - and gets off on his dirtiest fantasies about Tony catching them and taking revenge on Harley for being with his precious Peter by fucking him - preferably both of them - hard into the mattress.

Tony spends the next weekend with them. It means less kisses and more fuel for their secret desires.

Once Tony leaves, Harley and Peter continue their game of making out in every corner of the house and the grounds. When Harley suggests Tony's bedroom, Peter hesitates. That's when Harley decides to risk it and he tells Peter how turned on Tony would be to know that Peter got off in his bed. The only thing that could make him more into it, if it was his doing.

Peter doesn't deny it. He noticed Tony's eyes and hands linger on him. He welcomes them, god he does. He'd be so ready to do it - he finds himself going hard from the idea even now that he's with Harley. He feels guilty but Harley kisses it off him. He tells Peter how much he envies him, how he would love to receive such attention from Tony.

Harley takes Peter's virginity in Tony's bed that day. They change the sheets, but the smell of sex lingers. Later that night, without him realising it, it helps Tony come so hard that he can't help crying out. His boys listen.

After this, things change. It's obvious, even though its exact manifestations are imperceptible. They all play it coolly. Tony sees how much closer his boys are and it would be hypocritical if the possibility of something going on between them didn't cross his mind. Peter is scorching hot and his Harley is a beautiful young man. When Tony sees that Harley and Peter are all right, he decides to accept it without looking for an explanation.

Peter falls in love with Harley, too. He had no idea that there was enough place in his heart for two people, but he's happy to find that there is.

Harley realises that - apart from Tony - Peter is the only one to whom he opened up so trustingly. In a way their relationship had been unique a long time before that kiss. And it all led towards where they are now.

The separation that the new school year brings about is difficult for all of them, but it's also exciting. Harley loves mechanic school and Peter - being Peter - enjoys school. They meet as often as they can. Tony helps them, flying almost daily between the city and his home.

The time Tony spent in the lab that summer - his boys are growing up, they don't need him 24/7 - means that he makes ground-breaking progress in nanotechnology. First, he designs and builds Mark L. It has to be him first, so that he's able to protect his family. That word still stings. Of course, Harley is his family and now Peter, but there's Pepper and Happy, too, and Rhodey and even those he lost. No matter what, he wants to protect them all.

After the Mark L, he starts working on the Iron Spider armour. He means to fish it by Christmas, but one month is nowhere near enough to put all the special features in it.

Tony sits down to talk with Harley at the end of the year. He asks him about how the many changes in their lives are working out for him. He's relieved to see Harley content. He remarks that Tony's happiness would add greatly to his and that he'd love to help. It makes Tony feel a pang of guilt.

Tony tells Harley about the Iron Spider suit and offers to make him one, too, in case he ever needs it for protection.

Harley refuses, saying that it's not fair to stay away from the fight if he has an armour and he doesn’t want to fight. "I've got you for protection," he says and tears well up in Tony's eyes as Harley cups his face with overwhelming trust and love.

Infinity War happens.

Peter dies. Tony is stuck in space for three weeks and one day. Harley is maddened by grief. He's curled up on the living room floor, eyeing the door through his tears, when Natasha and Rhodey find him. They bring him to the compound to keep him safe and care for him.

When Tony returns, they don't let go of each other for a long time. Harley sleeps next to Tony's bed and they leave despite the doctor's orders after Tony's return.

The others don't bother Tony with their plan to go after Thanos. He's made his point clear to Steve and he's too weak anyway. But mostly, they respect that he's a father who needs to mourn and care for his other son.

On the first day Tony and Harley just curl up on the sofa and hold each other. They cry, then they sleep. On the second day, Harley changes Tony’s bandages. On the third day, Tony cooks and they eat it. On the fourth day Tony remembers to call May. When she doesn’t answer, he flies to New York. Harley accompanies him despite his reluctance. They find the apartment locked up. Tony blasts in the door. First, they smell the awful stench of an almost a month-old cereal and milk. Then, they see the small pile of ash on the chair and around the table.

Harley drags Tony to the jet. Friday flies them home. They are back at day one, clutching at each other desperately and sobbing.

Happy shows up next day. Later, Harley figures that Friday must have called him. He brings food and moral support. During the three days Happy spends there, Tony gets on his feet. He starts caring for Harley again.

It takes Harley a whole day after it's just the two of them again, to say something other than please and thank you.

He tells Tony that he loved Peter. When Tony says that he understands, Harley realises that this is it, the moment he never thought would come, when they talk about it.

They do, they tell each other everything without being exact once. They don't need to be. They've both known, now it's just confirmation. It's the most intimate moment they've ever shared.

That night, Harley goes into Tony's bedroom. Tony protests, but Harley doesn't stop. "Don't you love me, too?" Harley asks and Tony is torn, because he does and doesn't, not this way, not before...

Harley snuggles close to him, wraps his arm and leg around Tony, not hiding his erection, nor the moan he lets out when he can finally feel the heat of Tony's body pressed against his. He looks at Tony from a few inches distance and asks him if he still wants him to tell how they were with Peter - something he asked that afternoon.

Tony can't breathe from shock and from arousal, but he nods, eyes wide and glued to Harley. He's never seen his son like this, was never supposed to see him like this, light blue eyes darkened by passion, blonde curls already debauched, lips glistening where he licked them in the most delicious way...

Tony is lost. He nods again and wraps his arms around Harley.

Harley tells him how he liked to see, touch and love Peter. Each memory hurts, each fantasy reminds him that he will never able to play any of them out with Peter, but Tony's soft stroking on his back and his erection pressed into Harley's thigh keeps him anchored to the present.

When Tony sees Harley's eyes glisten with tears, he kisses him. His guilt, though heavy, feels nothing compared to their loss. Crossing the line doesn't bring the burning shame of sin, but the relief of honesty. This is Tony's confession to both of his boys.

The weight of what they've done catches up with them next morning. Harley fears that he tainted Peter's memory and their love. Tony fears that he ruined his son.

It takes days for them to figure it out. They spend some time apart but return to each other in their grief.

When Tony learns that the others found and killed Thanos, he laughs. Thor executed the titan and Tony fucked his son. Both are big deal, yet neither made a difference in the universe.

Slowly, in matter of months rather than weeks, Tony starts working again. He builds tech to support the rest of humanity in their efforts to stabilise their world once again. In some cases, he had the plans already. In others, he comes up with new ideas.

Harley goes back to school. Most of his teachers survived and after a few months of recuperation they've decided to go back to work. The class that wasn't too big to begin with now looks pitiful.

Harley's boss at the garage died, too. Only him and another assistant are left. They take over the shop, but the other guy breaks down and starts skipping. Harley understands but he doesn't have the strength to reach out to him. He keeps going on his own, repairing cars and machines. People are grateful but they both know that none of them can repair what really matters.

At first Harley and Tony pretend to go to bed separately, only for one of them to end up crawling into the other's each night. Then, they give in and use Tony's bedroom. Sometimes, they do things, sometimes they just sleep.

When Harley is stricken with guilt, he tells himself that he needs it for survival, but deep down he knows that it's not that. Not only that. He's wanted Tony for a long time and having him is bliss, no matter the pain.

Tony feels much the same, even though he never thought about Harley this way before. However, it's only in his arms that he comes close to feeling something akin to happiness since Peter's death.

Peter's birthday is hell. The New York memorial place hasn't reached the letter p yet, so they have no place to honour Peter's memory apart from their home. Rhodey calls. Happy drops by with Pepper. They make several attempts at conversation but end up eating in silence. The knowledge that Peter would have turned eighteen that day weighs them down.

Christmas is awful, too. It's just Harley and Tony on Christmas eve but Rhodey, Pepper, Happy and even Natasha visit on boxing day. This celebration is merrier than Peter's birthday but still quite subdued.

Their own birthdays, Harley and Tony celebrate with each other.

It's not until a year later that his guilt catches up to Tony and he suggests that Harley should find someone else. Not to replace Peter, but to replace him. Harley is enraged. He refuses point blank and sucks Tony off there, in the middle of the kitchen to prove his point.

Tony doesn't mention it again. Sometimes the idea that he should, that he must put and end to it becomes stronger, but then he embraces their sinful reality again.

When Steve turns up with Nat and Scott Lang, Tony's alone. He refuses to participate in the madness they propose, but he is unable to stop his mind.

By the time Harley gets home from the workshop Tony not only has to tell him about the visit and the proposal, but also the solution he found. Harley breaks out in tears. He asks in a trembling voice if they can get Peter back. Tony tells him that if they succeed, they get everyone back. Harley lets him go, but can't resist running after him from the front porch to kiss him and make him promise that he comes back. Tony promises to do whatever it takes. He doesn't tell Harley that Peter will be his priority. Harley must know, but it's easier to keep silent about it.

Endgame happens. It's Thor who snaps and even in his weakened state, he survives.

After the battle, Tony takes Peter home. Harley flies towards them, sobbing and Peter almost falls as he throws himself into his arms. When Harley kisses him, Peter pulls back. Tony is quick to step closer and assure him that it's all right. Peter's eyes go wide as Tony touches his face. He glances at Harley for an explanation, but doesn’t need it anymore when Tony's lips crush against his.

Half an hour and some hurried explanations later Peter goes home to find May amidst repeated confessions of his love for both Harley and Tony.

That night, Harley takes control and fucks Tony until tears. Tony needs it. As he surrenders himself completely, he can feel the tension of the mission finally dissolve.

The next few days pass in a frenzy of burials and celebrations. It’s almost a whole week before all three of them can return to the lake house and find some peace. Harley is the first to arrive. He flew back a few days ago because he got a van to repair. Peter is the next to arrive. He walks straight to Harley and straddles him on the couch. After a long kiss he tells him that Tony is outside with Steve, talking about rebuilding. Harley groans and tells him to run along and rescue him. Peter is happy to go and he soon returns with a much turned on Tony. At Harley’s raised eyebrow Tony explains how their little boy’s innocence is the sexiest look on him. Peter glows with pride and moans as he feels two sets of hands move to undress him.

[warriorofdragons]

Light in the Dark Chapter 10: The Northern Light

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death

Note: {Övüsi is in these brackets}

Additional Note: [Mystery Language is in these brackets]

You’re getting ready for work, when there’s a knock on your door and you go to answer it, but opening the door instead of Hernandez, you’re met with Montehugh and Kandomere.

“Can we come in for a sec?” Montehugh asks.

“Of course,” you say and usher them inside.

They step inside and you shut the door behind them, “What is it?” you ask.

They’re both silent for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” you question.

There has to be some sort of trouble for both of them to be here.

“The Northern Light has landed in L.A.” Montehugh states.

Your eyes widen in shock, “What?! Where?”

“In the elven district, in one of the large gardens,” Kandomere says.

“Is she still there?” you ask hesitantly.

Montehugh nods.

“And you want me to do something about it?” you ask.

Kandomere inhales, “You have been specifically requested to be present during the talks by one of the…higher ups in the Magic Task Force.”

“Me? Talks? So is she just…sitting there? Waiting?” you ask.

“Pretty much. She’s been there since early this morning, just patiently waiting for someone to come out to meet her,” Montehugh explains.

“So just to clarify, this isn’t like what happened with Angelo?” you question.

“No, she has come here peacefully though not many are enthused by her presence,” Kandomere says.

“You being there would make things go a lot smoother, otherwise those politicians aren’t gonna go anywhere near her,” Montehugh adds.

“And I’m sure we would all rather not test a dragon’s patience,” Kandomere continues.

“Alright, it’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my day, but I guess I don’t have much a choice,” you say grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes.

You’re wearing a white midi dress with blue and pink flowers across it and a pair of lace-patterned flats. When you finish putting on your shoes and look up at the elf you see confliction in his face that mirrors the look you saw before with Angelo.

“I am sorry, Querida, were it up to me you would not be the one to do this,” Kandomere says.

You pause, there’s that word again.

Querida.

Does he really mean it?

It’s not just some word he’s throwing around, right?

You take a breath, “I suppose we shouldn’t keep her waiting. We have a job to do afterall.”

“I will be beside you the whole time,” Kandomere says softly taking your hand, “As will Montehugh.”

You nod and then follow them both out of your apartment and then down to the car. You nervously wring your hands together as you stare out your window and inch closer to the elven district. When you reach the block that houses one of the larger botanical gardens you step out of the car and stare up at the buildings surrounding it. There’s more than enough open air space for something as large as a dragon to fly down and land…somewhere…nearby.

You follow between Montehugh and Kandomere as they lead you towards the entrance where a number of other people are gathered. There are MTF agents of course decked out in full gear and in the middle of them is a human man in a suit, and three very old elves. The three of you approach them as they all seem in to be in a heated discussion.

“In my day there wouldn’t have been a meeting at all,” one of the elven men says.

“Agreed, as far as I’m concerned she’s complicit in her mate’s actions,” the other elven man wearing a bowtie says.

“That’s hardly fair, Frotovir, she could’ve just as easily been caught unawares as we were,” the elven woman says.

“Yes, I agree Moiranith, and isn’t that why we’re here to hear HER side of the story?” the human man asks, who now as you get closer, you recognize to be Mayor Mike Contreras.

And the elves are members of the city council.

“I thought we were here to hear her demands?” Frotovir asks.

“All I’m saying is we would have run BOTH of them OFF!” the first elven man says.

The Mayor seems exasperated with his counterpart, “Yes, well, Guthron, this isn’t back in the day, and in today’s world we try and hear everyone’s side and then decide on the information we’re given what to do next.”

“They have both been living here peacefully for years! We owe it to them to at least hear what they have to say for themselves for this betrayal,” Moiranith says.

Guthron seems disgruntled with the way the conversation is going, but Moiranith holds up her hand, “It seems we have company.”

The Mayor turns around and takes in your group, “Ah you must the Special Agent I was told about,” he says as he extends his hand to Kandomere.

“Yes,” Kandomere says and extends his own hand and shakes it firmly.

“Kannomire? Was it?” the Mayor asks.

Kandomere lifts his head slightly and then sighs, “Kandomere.”

“Ah yes, my apologies,” the Mayor says.

Some of the elves behind him roll their eyes.

The Mayor nods at Montehugh and then he stares at you curiously, “Are you an agent as well? You seem to be different…”

Kandomere steps forwards and puts a hand out in front of you, “This is an expert on dragons that we brought to…aid if necessary in the meeting with The Northern Light.”

He nods, “Very well then.”

You look at the elves past him and the elven woman and one of the elven men are looking at Kandomere askance like they don’t quite believe his explanation. You are at least a little relieved to know that the city’s leaders don’t know you’re a Bright.

“Now, that we’re all here we can begin,” Moiranith says.

Some of the MTF agents go first while the others hang behind he group forming the familiar pattern that Montehugh and Kandomere always do with you. You realize now that it’s a protective position and that they’ve been protective of you…this whole time.

Even though you’re a Bright.

You look to either side of you at the agents and notice that Kandomere has placed himself between you and the other elves. You then glance around you at the beautiful gardens, there are tall, green trees that are definitely not native to the region, colorful flowers in perfectly manicured rows, and you can hear birds singing as they dart between the trees above you. It’s gorgeous and oddly serene, considering you’re all moving towards a large, fire-breathing dragon. You had never really thought to come here before with all the times you’ve visited this district.

You wish the first time seeing it was under better circumstances.

All of you walk across a wooden bridge over a gentle stream and you can see koi fish swimming in the water beneath you. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the city, but then again so is the rest of the elven district, this is just one of the only parts that embraces nature like what elves used to be known for.

Finally all of you exit the tree line and enter a golden field that sits at about knee height.

And that’s when you see her.

The Northern Light.

In the middle of the large field the dragon watches you all approach as she rests calmly with her forelimbs crossed over one another. Over the top half of her body are blue almost teal scales and her underside including her bottom jaw are covered in snowy, white scales. But the tops of her forelimbs, the edges of her wings, and the tip of her tail are a crimson red.

She leisurely reclines on the grass as she waits patiently for your group to come near, her wings calmly folded at her sides. Her ivory horns are long and twisted and they dip down and then arc back up at the points. The MTF agents spread out around her in a defensive position, but she pays them no heed. Her golden eyes are focused solely on the city’s leaders as they apprehensively close the distance.

Your group finally stops close enough that everyone doesn’t need to crane their necks directly upward to look at her. It’s this close that you realize something.

She’s the biggest dragon you’ve seen so far.

She’s at least twenty-five percent bigger than her mate, in fact.

She shifts and you can hear the movement of the scales from her body and the ground beneath her shift from her weight, “Thank you all for meeting me here. I know that you no longer fully trust me,” The Northern Light says.

“And why should we?!” Guthron demands.

“You think you can just barge in here unannounced?” Frotovir questions.

“What my compatriots here are trying to say is, it is too much to ask for our trust at this juncture,” the Mayor says.

“I am not asking for your trust, that is not why I am here,” she replies.

“Then why are you here? What is it you seek?” Moiranith asks.

“For us to come to an arrangement,” The Northern Light states.

“If that arrangement means you leave this region, then I think I can agree to that,” Guthron says.

“I will not abandon my unborn children,” the dragon responds.

“Then what will you do?” Frotovir asks.

“Please, The Northern Light has come here to talk civilly, and asking her to forgo her role as a mother is not very civil,” the Mayor remarks.

“Agreed,” Moiranith says, “And it’s barbaric.”

“Then she should take them with her!” Guthron continues, “The less dragons the better!”

“When did you lay them?” you ask suddenly.

Everyone seems startled to hear you speak and the dragon’s golden eyes shift to you, “Four months ago,” she replies.

You turn to the group who is now staring at you, “Dragon eggs need to be kept warm with their parents’ firebreath and after two months, obsidian formed at the base of the eggs has solidified them in place.”

You neglect to mention that there’s also diamond formed in the process.

“So she can’t move them?” the Mayor asks.

You nod, “It would kill them.”

The dragon’s golden eyes regard you for a moment and then her eyes slowly shift back to the others. You exhale quietly, and feel Kandomere’s arm press against your left arm. You go to move your arm away from his, but he follows you and presses his arm firmer against yours. You turn your head to the left towards the Mayor who is now focused on the dragon again and your eyes shift to the blue-haired elf beside you. He has his hands in his pockets and he’s not looking at you, but you realize that he’s trying to comfort you.

It’s the only gesture he can offer under the circumstances and you lean into him.

“What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?” Moiranith asks, “What is it that you have come here to ask of us?”

“My mate and I have not been able to hunt in a week. My children require constant heat now, as has been stated,” her head turns to you slightly, “Heat that cannot be given if my mate and I are starving. One of us must hunt in the sea, so I ask that you let it be me,” she finishes turning her head back to them.

“Where is your mate? Hmm? Why are we not speaking to him instead?” Guthron asks.

“He is in our nest, our home, tending to our children,” The Northern Light says.

“A little role reversal then?” the Mayor asks.

The Northern Light pauses, “No?”

She seems confused by his words and you wonder if you should tell him that both dragon parents take turns raising the children and protecting their territory.

“I…nevermind,” the Mayor says.

“We do not want you near the city,” Frotovir says.

“I’m not asking to go near the city, I can go around it. It will take more time,” she says glancing to the side, “But it can be done.”

“And what about the lives that were lost?” Moiranith questions, “What do you have to say for Angelo’s actions.”

The Northern Light blinks and you recognize the look in her eyes as the same Angelo had. She closes her eyes and dips her horned head for a moment and then raises it again, “There is nothing I can do to bring back the dead. And there are…no words that I could say to ease the broken hearts of their families.”

She takes a breath and everyone takes a step back instinctively except you and the two agents beside you.

“So you care nothing for the children that were slain?!” Guthron demands, “But then again I’m sure you with your happy family wouldn’t understand the loss of a child has on a parent.”

The dragon’s eyes start to cast a golden glow as her pupils shrink and you know that she’s really pissed. Because it’s more or less the same look Selina had sometimes.

“You think…that I don’t…know,” she begins with much restraint, “What it’s like to lose a child? You have no idea about my past. How hard I have worked to get to this point,” she pauses to exhale carefully, “HAVE YOU EVER LOST A CHILD?”

Guthron looks incredibly nervous, “I…no.”

“Because I have,” she says and she swallows, “I have had many infertile clutches, and when I finally did lay a clutch that was fertile? That was alive? They were taken from me,” she hisses her head drawing closer to him, “By a pack of wyverns…they tore them apart as they were hatching, they barely even had a chance to open their eyes. So do not pretend that you care about children, you old fool.”

The elven man swallows and the dragon’s head draws back and she closes her eyes and when she opens them there’s a slight bit of steam rising from her eyes. You give her a sympathetic look and there’s a slight shift of her eyes in your direction and then it immediately shifts back to the Council elves and the Mayor.

“I do extend my and my mate’s deepest regrets and sorrow,” the dragon says, “Which is why I wish to do something to help provide for the families.”

“Such as?” the Mayor prompts.

“Not to be rude, but what is it you could provide them? Words of comfort?” Moiranith asks.

“Our voices are the last they would wish to hear,” The Northern Light says, “No, I mean to give them gold. A small piece of our horde.”

Staring over at the politicians you watch them all glance between one another in a hushed excitement. Dragon gold is quite coveted and quite rare. And you can tell that it’s the best news they’ve heard all day.

“Well, I’m sure that it will more than cover the damages done to-“ Frotovir begins.

“It is NOT FOR YOU,” the dragon’s voice bellows and the elven man quiets.

“It is FOR the loved ones of those that died and the wounded who survived so that they may continue on without their future survival being threatened.”

“That’s very noble of you, but we have this thing called ‘taxes’ that have been around in this country for more than a couple hundred years. Living in your cave I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with it. And unfortunately there will be a great deal taken away from them by the government with how much gold is worth nowadays,” the Mayor says.

The Northern Light literally rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh her hot breath blowing past all of you, “Aren’t ‘taxes’ the very thing that made your country revolt against the last one? And just because I live in the mountains doesn’t mean I don’t know how things are run down here. What’s next? Are you going to explain to me how voting works? Or indoor plumbing? I am nearly six hundred years old I don’t need your ‘words of wisdom.’”

The mayor looks a little alarmed and flabbergasted and Moiranith sighs and steps forwards, “Then as one six hundred year old to another how do you plan to ensure they get all the treasure?”

“Is there not a law that was established during World War II where upon any dragon providing relief to any town or CITY may be tax free by the U.S. government?” The Northern Light questions.

The politicians all look at each other startled and Moiranith wrings her hands together, “She is correct, the gold is to go first to those most deeply affected and then to any reconstruction of buildings and infrastructure.”

“But it’s not World War II anymore!” Guthron protests.

“No, but it’s still on the books and has been utilized since, granted often in more rural communities but,” the Mayor says.

“But it is a federal law, one we must uphold,” Moiranith finishes.

The dragon nods.

The politicians all exchange a few glances they seem to be unhappy about not getting the gold and after a moment the Mayor steps towards the dragon.

“Alright we will allow you to drop off the gold, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we don’t want it to be inside the city,” the Mayor says.

“Fine, then outside of it,” the dragon sighs.

“And give the city a wide berth should you need to fly past it,” Frotovir adds.

“Of…course,” The Northern Light says reluctantly.

They all spend the next couple minutes working out the details on where the drop off should be. And Kandomere chimes in to reassure everyone that the MTF will handle it from there and even bring in an expert to properly determine the worth of the gold. When they all seem somewhat satisfied with their compromise the politicians are the first to leave the clearing with the armored MTF agents to escort them safely out.

And it leaves just the three of you alone with The Northern Light.

And her golden eyes shift from the edge of the clearing to you.

And only you.

“Come on-“ Montehugh begins.

“Wait,” she speaks softly.

And everyone stops and looks up at her.

“You’re the one aren’t you?” she asks, “The one who saved my mate?”

You nod silently.

“Thank you,” she says and her head moves forwards as she lowers her head almost to the ground in front of you, “Thank you for saving my mate and the father of my children, thank you for returning him to me.”

The two agents maintain their positions beside you, but you notice they glance between each other and then back at the dragon.

“He was fighting another dragon,” you begin, “Before…”

“Yes, I know. My mate and I can still smell him across our territory, but he is long gone,” The Northern Light says.

“Gone? Gone where?” you question.

“We suspect he fled to Europe,” she states.

Montehugh throws up a hand, “Of course where the fuck else would he go?!”

“Be careful, Little Ones,” she warns, “For we also believe him to be the Scourge of Europe and the slayer of The Everburning Emerald.”

Your vision shifts suddenly and you’re no longer surrounded by a golden field, but an emerald one. You begin to hear heavy footsteps and knowing what’s happening you try and focus your vision back to reality not enough to break it but just enough to…there!

You now have a sort of double-vision going on where you can see not only the dragon in front of you but also the field near the forest. The green dragon steps out into the meadow and then turns in your direction and as she opens her mouth to speak, you focus on her words.

And you repeat them.

Then the dragon flies off once more towards the mountain and the vision ends and this time you are jarred back to your senses and Kandomere grabs a hold of your arms and steadies you before you topple forwards. As you stare up at him you feel him brush the hair out of your face and you’re vaguely aware that he’s cupping your cheek.

“What?” you begin.

“I said are you alright?” he asks.

You stare into his silver eyes and focus on him to help ground you.

“I’m fine,” you manage quietly, as you now realize you’re in his arms.

“You don’t look fine,” he mutters and you notice how concerned the elf looks.

You turn your attention back to the dragon, “What did I just say?”

She’s staring intently at you and then her eyes shift to the side for a moment and then back to you, “If it is a new amulet you need then I will help you forge another. Then mayhaps together we can end his reign of terror.”

When she finishes speaking it instantly clicks in your brain that of course that’s what the dragon said!

“[A amulet,]” you whisper.

The spines on The Northern Light’s body puff out and she starts to say something to you in Draconic, but the only word you understand is the word “you.”

The dragon studies you for a moment, “I suppose not then.”

“What did you say?” you question.

“I asked you if you could understand me,” she says.

“I only understood the word ‘you,’” you say.

“This amulet wouldn’t happen to be The Amulet of the Dragon?” she asks.

You glance at the two agents and Kandomere nods and then you nod at the dragon.

“Oh dear, did you wear it?” The Northern Light questions.

“No, I only touched the lockbox holding it,” you state.

“Hm,” she muses, “It seems that was enough.”

You shake your head, “Enough for what? What’s happening to me?”

“The amulet has imprinted on you, it’s attempting to call you to it,” she explains.

“Imprinted?” you question.

“There are many different ways a magic item can belong to someone, are you familiar with them?” she asks.

“Uh…” you mutter trying to remember, “Binding spells are the most common, but they’re also only used for more powerful items. Then there’s ownership through forging an item, and also right of conquest where you kill the previous owner for it.”

“And a lesser known and often more rare way of claiming an item is by it ‘claiming’ you,” The Northern Light explains.

You ponder her words.

“It…WANTS me to use it?” you ask horrified.

She nods solemnly.

“Why?” you look to Kandomere and Montehugh whose faces are grim, “Why me?” you demand staring back at the dragon.

She sighs, “I don’t know…perhaps it has to do with who you are.”

“I…how do I MAKE IT STOP?!” you demand distraught.

Kandomere pulls your back to his chest and grips your upper arms firmly and leans down next to your ear, “Shh we’ll figure something out, you’ll be alright,” he soothes.

The Northern Light fixes you with a sympathetic look and raises her head, “I wish I knew more about the forging of the amulet.”

“Is there anything else you know? What was the name of that dragon again? The Scourge of Europe?” Montehugh questions.

“That was only one of his names, the name most knew him by was The Darkest Shadow,” The Northern Light says.

You blink and there’s an image of the grey and blue dragon soaring through the night sky as he banks back in your direction and swoops in low, and then there’s another image of him standing in front of you with houses set ablaze with blue flame. The dragon opens his mouth and more blue flame rises up from the back of his throat and illuminates a much smaller figure dressed in robes that swirl around them as the figure outstretches a hand. And in their hand you vaguely make out a small item as they thrust it outward and there’s a green flash of light…and you remember an image carved on the lockbox of a figure holding something out to…a dragon. Your mind rapidly fills with several other images none of which you can clearly make out and you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your head in your hands.

And then everything calms and you open your eyes.

You feel something holding you really tight against your midsection and look down to see the elf’s arms and turn your head to stare at him.

“It happened again,” you mutter weakly.

“What happened?” he asks shaking his head.

“Some sort of vision…” you answer.

Kandomere looks to Montehugh.

“We should get her outta here,” Montehugh says.

“I agree,” Kandomere says.

You stare up at the blue and white dragon and she tilts her head at you concerned, “I’m sorry I do not know more to help you.”

“It’s alright…” you mumble.

“Thank you for your help,” Kandomere says to The Northern Light and then he turns to you, “I think you need to rest.”

You nod and he adjusts his grip and loops your left arm around his waist and you lean heavily into his side.

“Goodbye, The Northern Light,” you say looking back at the dragon.

She smiles at you the corners of her mouth turning up, “Aurora.”

You smile back at her and the three of you begin to make your way to the edge of the clearing finally. As you walk leaning on the elf you reach your right hand out and run your hand along the golden grass and you realize that it’s not grass…it’s wheat.

                                                                      *******

Kandomere reaches the car and Montehugh climbs into the driver’s seat. The elf opens the back passenger door for the woman and she just stares at the car.

“Hey,” he says softly massaging her upper arm, “We’re going to get through this together.”

She nods slowly, “Okay.”

“I made a promise remember?” he asks.

She stares up at him and smiles at him gently, “I remember, Kandomere Dear.”

Her smile eases his heart a little.

He then lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her delicate skin and there’s a light blush that colors her cheeks, one that increases as he then drags his lips lightly across her hand and towards her arm.

“Kandomere!” a voice calls.

Kandomere stops and presses one final kiss to her hand and then glances behind him at one of the Council elves approaching him and sighs softly.

“Wait in the car,” he says.

She stares at the older elf and then at Kandomere again.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Kandomere promises.

She nods and then climbs into the car and he shuts her door. Kandomere then straightens his jacket and strides over to meet the elf.

“Yes?” Kandomere inquires politely.

“Do you think the MTF is prepared should anything more happen with the dragons?” Frotovir asks.

“We are making preparations as we speak,” Kandomere states.

“Ah yes but what about-“ Frotovir begins.

“And we have help from the National Guard coming soon, so should if it come to that…we’ll be ready,” Kandomere continues.

“Good, good,” Frotovir mutters clasping his hands together.

Then the much older elf squints at Kandomere, “I notice you’re not wearing your gorget is there a reason for that?”

Right, he has met this particular elf on a couple of occasions prior to today.

Kandomere raises an eyebrow at him and he avoids looking back in the direction of the car. He can’t hear either of them breathing through the car doors, but he can hear Montehugh searching through the radio stations.

He smiles inwardly, but his face remains neutral.

“I thought it would be in poor taste to wear it,” Kandomere remarks.

“Ah yes, The Northern Light might not have appreciated it,” Frotovir says nodding to himself.

Kandomere isn’t sure whether or not he truly misunderstood him or deliberately is refusing to acknowledge it, especially considering the entire council had gorgets.

“Yes, she would not have appreciated it,” Kandomere says.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work then, I’m sure there’s much to do,” Frotovir says and then he wanders off.

Kandomere shakes his head and then returns to the car.

They all wait until they hear the weight of something hitting the ground and feel the tremors shake the car. Fortunately this time the dragon is far enough away to avoid setting off the car alarms in their vicinity though he can hear some in the distance. After another moment he watches the primarily blue and white dragon quickly gaining altitude.

“Alright, we see her. Time to move out,” Montehugh says to the agent on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll mobilize the teams on my end,” Agent Murphy says.

Montehugh hangs up the phone and pulls the car out onto the road and heads back in the direction of the office. They mostly sit in silence with music playing quietly on the radio. Kandomere stares out the window and notices a large mural of Angelo painted over one of the buildings as they pass, but it seems it’s been added to recently…

“Kandomere?” she asks.

“Yes?” he responds.

“You speak Spanish, right?” she asks.

He inhales, “I do.”

“What does Ángel de la Muerte mean?” she asks.

“Angel of Death,” Kandomere answers.

The mural of Angelo has his eyes crossed out in red with the words spray-painted over the name “The L.A. Dragon.” And as they move further down the street there is similar graffiti written all along the walls written in English, Spanish, and Bodzvokhan. All of which call the dragon far worse things, but he refrains from repeating them in a lady’s presence. The elf turns in his seat and stares at her and he can tell that she’s still upset and she notices him staring and tries to compose herself.

Doesn’t she realize that she doesn’t need to pretend to be strong around him?

He’ll have to assure her that it’s okay to not be strong all the time.

He’ll have to assure her.

They make it back to the main building and Kandomere ushers her into his office and she sits down on the couch and wraps her arms around herself. Kandomere shuts his door and removes his coat and drapes it over her shoulders as he sits down next to her.

“What are we going to do?” she asks and tears begin to well up in her eyes.

“Shh,” he quiets as he places his hand on her right cheek and wraps his other around her and pulls her close.

“We’ll go talk to Saerthon, he’s our resident arcane researcher, it’s possible he knows more about what’s happening to you and how we can stop it,” he whispers.

A tear slips free from her eye and he thumbs it away.

She closes her eyes and then opens them again and takes a deep breath.

She looks exhausted.

She’s teetering just a little in fact.

He glances at his jacket, “You know I always keep some chocolate on hand.”

Her eyes light up and she digs through the inner jacket pockets until she finds the unopened chocolate bar and tears into it. She pops off a square and eats it and her body sags and she moans softly in delight.

Kandomere swallows the sound she made is…definitely doing it for him.

No, that’s hardly appropriate right now.

Especially seeing as she is in such dire straits.

She opens her eyes and breaks off a few squares and hands them to Kandomere.

“I think you need it more than me, Darling,” he says.

“I’m not going to eat the whole thing and it was yours to begin with,” she says.

Kandomere smiles and takes the chocolate and pops it into his mouth. The milk chocolate filled with caramel melts in his mouth and he hums in enjoyment. The woman stiffens in his arms and gives him a sidelong glance.

And then she leans into him.

He’s caught off guard for a moment and then he slowly rests his head against hers and they sit in relative silence as she munches on the chocolate.

He buries his nose in her hair and inhales her scent.

Nothing seems to have changed, but the amulet still has a hold on her or at least is attempting to. A worrying ache grips his heart and he inhales her scent again and her close proximity calms him somewhat.

Somewhat because he senses her worry as well, as it hangs over her like a cloud.

The door opens suddenly and Kandomere’s head snaps up and he sees Montehugh enter. He was so preoccupied with her, he hadn’t noticed the man’s heavy footsteps. His partner looks from Kandomere to the woman as she belatedly lifts her head to stare at Montehugh.

Montehugh raises an eyebrow at the elf, “We got a meeting in five minutes with one of the big bosses, he wants a rundown on what happened this morning with The Northern Light.”

Shit.

Of course.

He starts to stand up and then looks to the woman seated next to him, “Does she need to be there?”

Montehugh frowns, “Nobody said nothing about it so I would assume not.”

He releases her and stands up, “Just wait here, I’ll be back.”

She nods.

“It’s probably best she stays here anyhow,” Montehugh says quietly to the elf as Kandomere moves to join him.

“Hold up, Princess,” Montehugh says putting up a hand and Kandomere turns around and sees the woman standing up.

“Stay here,” Montehugh insists.

She looks back down at the couch and despite the fact she hardly moved from the couch she almost topples over when she tries to sit down again. Kandomere swiftly moves to her side and helps her sit down again.

“I think maybe I should get some rest…is it okay if-“ she begins.

“Of course. You can take a nap on the couch if you’d like. I’m going to lock the door when I leave so that no one will come in here and disturb you,” Kandomere says softly.

She smiles at him and he lifts one of her hands and presses a kiss to it. And then he stands up and leaves with Montehugh and locks the door behind him.

As they start to walk down the hall, “Hey, Boss, you wouldn’t mind taking a little detour for a minute? I need to talk to you real quick,” Ulysses says.

Kandomere follows him to his office and closes the door behind him. The office is smaller than the elf’s, but it’s still nicer than some of the other agents’.

“Yes, what is it?” Kandomere asks.

Montehugh holds up a finger, “First things first. There aren’t any of your pointy-eared friends around are there?”

Kandomere pauses to listen and then opens the door enough to look out and inhales and then closes the door, “No.”

“Good,” Montehugh says, “Now, I suggest if we want to keep her on,” Montehugh says quietly and jerks his head back in the direction of Kandomere’s office, “We don’t tell ‘em a fucking magic artifact is giving her visions.”

Kandomere takes a breath, “I agree.”

“Listen, I’ve seen enough of who she is as a person to know she’s not gonna turn out like all those other Brights we hunt down. She’s not a criminal. In fact she’s beyond good. Shit, she’s better than me.”

“I know. I can say the same. But they’re not going to believe that, not yet at least,” Kandomere says.

Montehugh’s brows furrow, “You got a plan? I was hoping you might have a plan.”

“The more she assists us with our cases the harder it will be to deny her virtue, and the closer we’ll get to finding that amulet,” Kandomere continues.

Montehugh nods, “You gonna talk to Saerthon later?”

“Yes,” Kandomere says, “Hopefully he’ll have something we can work with.”

“That elf runs a tight ship, he can be real weird at times, but I know he won’t say shit if you tell him not to,” Montehugh says.

Kandomere nods and pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time, “We best get going we don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

They both leave the office and step out into the hall.

                                                                      *******

You feel someone nudging you and you sit up and rub your eyes.

You stare at the pair of silver eyes in front of you and Kandomere smiles.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks softly as he smoothes your hair down.

You close your eyes and smile and then open your mouth in a yawn.

“Yes, actually it’s…peaceful here,” you say softly.

He smiles, “It’s what makes it so easy for me to do work,” he says and turns his head to stare at the mostly eaten candy bar, “I see you’ve eviscerated my chocolate bar.”

“I was trying to save you some,” you say.

“I gave it to you, it’s yours. You can have the rest of it if you want,” he insists.

“Well, if you insist then, I’ll just shove it into my purse for later,” you say.

He smiles wide and his fingers brush past your ear.

“It’s actually one of my favorite brands, but it’s only sold in the elven district,” you continue.

“I could get you some if you’d like?” Kandomere asks.

“I didn’t mean you should…you don’t have to,” you mutter.

“Are you kidding me? Montehugh pokes fun at my snobbish taste in chocolate. Despite the fact that, that’s not true I’ll eat anything chocolate. I just have my favorites,” Kandomere says, “I’m more than happy to buy chocolate for the one human who seems to share my taste.”

You smile at him, “Could…you maybe get more than one…”

“I’ll buy you an even dozen how does that sound?” he asks.

“An elf after my own heart,” you say softly.

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, “A lovely heart it would be to hold.”

You blush and glance down shyly.

He presses another kiss to your hand and then sighs, “I think it’s time we visit Saerthon. Are you up for it?”

Your smile fades, “Yeah,” you say and stand up.

You’re still wearing Kandomere’s jacket and it seems to have gotten quite wrinkled in your sleep and you’re worried the elf will be mad at you.

“Oh, um I’m sorry it’s all wrinkled,” you apologize.

He gives you a gentle smile, “It’s quite alright. It’s just a coat afterall.”

You stare at the elf, you don’t think you’ve ever seen an elf not be upset by minor inconveniences to clothing. Then again he deals with so much more serious matters on a regular enough basis that something like that wouldn’t hinder him. He loves to look good mind you, that is still very elf-like of him he’s just…a strange and…gentle elf.

He takes his coat from you and sets it down on the coffee table and ushers you out of his office. You take the elevator down and then walk across the familiar sidewalk path to the lab building. Kandomere opens the door for you and follows you inside and you continue forward down the hall.

You enter the lab with Kandomere, his hand on your lower back, “Saerthon?” Kandomere calls. Some of the assistants glance up at you, both curiously but when the Special Agent’s eyes sweep over them they go back to their work.

“Yes? What is it you require?” the older elf asks rounding a corner.

He stops short when he sees you.

Kandomere glances between the two of you and then stares back at Saerthon “We need to speak to you. In your office.”

The other elf nods and gestures for you to follow and you walk to an office not far from the main room and when you near the door you stop. Kandomere stops short with you and fixes you with a curious glance. Your gaze shifts slowly to a door at the end of the hall and you feel some kind of pull and find it difficult to tear your eyes away. It’s a familiar energy that’s thrumming…faintly.

Kandomere’s hand brushes against your cheek and you focus on him. There’s that worried crease in his brows and he thumbs your cheek gently. Your gaze shifts beyond the blue-haired elf and you realize Saerthon is staring at you as well.

“How ever did you know it was there?” Saerthon asks.

Realization dawns on Kandomere’s face and he glances between you and the door, “{That’s what we need to speak about,}” Kandomere says in hushed elvish.

Saerthon’s brows crease and he opens his office door and turns on the light.

Kandomere pulls out your chair for you and you sit down and then he seats himself. Saerthon locks the door behind him and then rounds his desk, his office is much smaller than Kandomere’s but it is immaculate, everything is clean and organized. Including his more personal items he brought to decorate the glass shelves behind him, such as a stone chess set with pieces that reflect the nine races. With an elven king and queen, centaur knights, giants as rooks, human bishops, and a mix of brezzik, orcs and…the other’s are beyond your sight but you assume goblin, and ogres and the like are mixed into the pawn line. It’s a very elvish take on chess, but you glance at the other side and it seems to be mostly orcs and two elves serving as the king and queen.

The battle of the nine armies then.

You glance around at the other figurines on Saerthon’s shelves and they all seem to be historical recreations of armor and castles, there’s even well-worn books on history and magic which are understandable given his line of work.

Saerthon notices you staring and spins in his chair and glances up at his belongings, “I’m a bit of a history buff I find it’s important to learn as much as possible about our past to better understand and prepare for the future.”

You glance at his gorget, “Maybe you should try learning a little harder.”

He spins back around in his chair to face you and furrows his brows as he glances at his gorget.

“We’re here to discuss The Amulet of the Dragon,” Kandomere interrupts before you all get off track.

“Do you have any more information for me?” Saerthon asks folding his hands across his desk.

Kandomere’s eyes shift to you, “In a manner of speaking.”

Saerthon glances between the two of you slowly.

“In our meeting with The Northern Light earlier today….some new information was gleaned,” Kandomere continues.

The other elf leans forwards slightly his face becoming serious.

“It seems the amulet has imprinted on her,” Kandomere says and gestures to you.

The other elf’s eyes widen and he leans back, “Oh my this is very serious and potentially very dangerous for you most of all Ms.” he says gesturing to you.

“Aurora told me what she knew about ‘imprinting’ she said it wants me to wield it,” you say.

His brows raise, “Yes, and now it makes sense how you knew where we’re keeping the key. You have a connection to it, one that is getting stronger. When did you first notice anything strange?”

“When I picked up the lockbox,” you answer.

His eyebrows raise higher on his head, almost to his hairline, “You picked…it up?” he shakes his head, “You shouldn’t just touch random magical artifacts-“

“I didn’t even know what it was! Selina wouldn’t tell me anything about it!” you shout.

Kandomere holds out a hand to you both and then glances behind him at the door, “Keep the volume to a minimum both of you if you wish this conversation to remain private,” he warns.

You’re still mad and Kandomere gently grips your upper arm and kneads it and you settle back into your seat. His hand trails down your arm to your right hand and he holds your hand in his.

“She’s been having visions: one when she initially touched the lockbox and two more when she was talking with The Northern Light,” Kandomere explains.

“Was the dragon’s mere presence enough for this vision? Saerthon asks calmly.

“No. She said a name, two names actually, The Everburning Emerald and The Darkest Shadow,” you say.

Saerthon’s face goes even paler, “I cannot say I recognize the first, but I do…very much recognize the second,” he takes a breath, “He is a very vile dragon that was quite infamous in Europe for burning villages to the ground some several hundred years ago.”

“She also said that he slayed The Everburning Emerald,” you add.

“That’s not surprising that name sounds like a dragon’s name, and he killed quite a number of them as well in his rampage,” Saerthon continues, “I imagine this dragon he-“

“She,” you interrupt.

He pauses, “She?”

“She was a female dragon I know from my vision,” you explain.

“What did she do in this vision?” Saerthon inquires.

“Um…she stepped out of this forest into a field and looked in my direction…it wasn’t at me specifically and then she said, ‘[If it is a new amulet you need then I will help you forge another. Then mayhaps together we can end his reign of terror,]’” you say.

Kandomere’s hand clenches yours a little tightly and you stare at him, he seems very worried. Saerthon is also staring at you, but he seems confused.

He purses his lips, “Might I ask what language you think you just spoke?”

You knit your brows together, “English?”

He shakes his head and stands up and removes a book from one of his shelves and starts flipping through it. You glance at Kandomere and when his eyes meet yours it confirms your suspicions, “I did it again didn’t I?”

He nods.

You take a shaky breath and Kandomere takes your hand in both of his now and strokes your hand gently.

Saerthon finds the page he’s looking for and sets the book down on his desk in front of you, “Do you recognize any of these runes?” he questions.

You stare at them and shake your head and then you pause…and tap one of the pictures of a single rune.

The elf leans forwards and examines it, “The Draconic word for ‘new’ or ‘renewal’ as it’s often used,” he states.

You nod, “[Renewal.]”

Kandomere shifts in his seat and you glance at him and then back at Saerthon.

“How is it you know this word?” Saerthon asks.

“I learned it when Aurora translated it for me,” you say.

“So it is not instant recognition? That’s good, it’s not as far along as I feared,” Saerthon says.

“What do you mean ‘far along’ it’s going to get worse?” Kandomere demands.

“Yes, actually. Until we can severe the connection somehow it’s going to keep happening,” Saerthon says.

“Is there anything I can do to stop it?” you ask.

Saerthon picks up the book and sets it back up on the shelf, “I’m afraid, I don’t know. Since I don’t know the why? Of how the connection was formed I cannot give you specifics.”

“I wasn’t the only one to touch it though so why me?” you ask.

Saerthon glances back at you, “Who else touched it?”

“The elf with silver hair,” you say.

“Hm if it’s nature is predatory it could be it saw you as an easier target? But that doesn’t sound quite right it should have ignored you after enough time had passed. No, there’s something it wants from you specifically,” Saerthon says.

“Like what?” you ask.

He puts up a hand, “Again I’m at a loss as to what that might be.”

“Is there anything else you know of the amulet’s history that might could help us?” Kandomere asks.

“It was made by a human man sometime in the 14thcentury, he was a simple potterer and artisan who doubled as his village’s resident wizard. There are some who deny that it was made by him, but that ledger you brought me is the most damning evidence I’ve seen,” Saerthon explains.

Kandomere looks to you and studies you, “Did you see anything that time?”

You shake your head.

Kandomere then turns back to Saerthon, “There isn’t anything else?” he questions a little exasperated.

“My interest and study in the story is a hobby of mine and I never imagined that it would be touched upon at all in my professional life. But I do have a few people in mind I could contact for more information and I will find someone who does know,” Saerthon continues.

You sigh and glance down at the cardboard box on his table and peer inside.

It’s filled with your Aunt’s figurines.

“Ah, yes, those,” Saerthon says noticing, “I’ve already examined them and found them to be ordinary so I’m carefully packing them in this box so they won’t break.”

“I could’ve told you that,” you say and pick up one of the unicorns not meticulously wrapped in bubble wrap.

“Yes, well I did want to ask you a few questions to make this process go smoother, but I understand that it is upsetting,” Saerthon says.

You stare at the rearing unicorn with their head dipped in a fighting stance, “Maybe there’s someone else we could still ask who might know,” you say glancing to Kandomere.

He inhales, “Saerthon, if you would.”

You furrow your brows and glance at the other elf as he takes a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocks a drawer in his desk and then pulls out a familiar purple-hearted wood, rectangular box.

Selina had this box specifically made for transporting her unicorn-haired brush.

He unlocks this box as well with a small, golden key and opens it and turns it to face you. You reach out and lift the brush out of the box and set it in your lap. Kandomere still has your right hand in both of his, and you turn the brush over to stare at the carving on the handle of a unicorn peeking out from behind some trees and you speak her name…

“Lady of the Wood, the Moonlight that Shines Through the Trees…” you whisper.

You close your eyes and you’re staring into a small stream illuminated by the moonlight. You turn your head to the right and see the unicorn who appears to be gleaming with silver-white light under the moon. Her head lifts up as she stops drinking from the stream and she stares at you.

You dip your head, “I apologize if I’m interrupting I-“ you begin.

“You seek my wisdom?” she asks interrupting you.

You lift your head and stare at her and nod.

Her eyes study you for a moment and then she lifts her horned head, “Something has happened. Something has changed.”

“Yes, I…” you pause and take a breath and the unicorn’s ear flick towards you and she lifts her head slightly, “There’s this amulet called The Amulet of the Dragon and apparently it has…’imprinted’ on me,” you explain.

Her head lifts up and her neck moves back as she inhales and then she stares at the ground, “Yes, that sounds problematic.”

“Can…can you help me?” you ask.

“From this distance? No,” she says fixing her gray eyes on you.

Your shoulders slump, so you’re doomed then.

“But,” she continues, “Were you to find this amulet and bring it with you here to my forest, I could sever the bond it has forged with you,” she finishes with a thrust of her horn.

Your eyes widen, “You can do that?”

She nods, “Of course, but both you and the amulet must be here,” she says with a stomp of her split hoof.

This is the best news you’ve heard all day.

“But how do I find the amulet?” you ask.

She tilts her head at you, “The bond is not strong enough then to sense it?”

“No,” you answer with a shake of your head.

“In your hunt for it, it will get stronger as will the pull to it,” she explains.

Then she stares at you for another moment, “Yes…not strong enough yet. It was not awakened before.”

You furrow your brows.

“When you find it. Do not use it. No matter the temptation,” she states.

You nod and then you pause and the unicorn tilts her head at you again, “Do you know anything about The Everburning Emerald and The Darkest Shadow?”

The unicorn stares at you and then lifts her head and stares up at the night sky. You follow her gaze and you can see the stars, something you sorely miss living in the city.

“I am from the earth and dragons are from the sky, I have heard stories of the ones you speak of, but I do not know them myself,” she says and her head lowers to stare at you, “I know only my forest and those who enter it and the stories they bring me. But what I do know is that the shadow of which you speak is a monster who enjoys the destruction and chaos he causes. But he is also a prideful creature one who does not enjoy being bested or escaped,” she finishes as she steps forwards, “Be careful, he’s seen your face.”

You nod and both your hands clench around the brush you’re holding and then you feel a hand grip yours and you relax. You look down at your hands and you can’t see his hands at the moment, but you can still feel Kandomere near you. The unicorn stares at your hands and then stares at the empty space beside you where Kandomere is seated.

“It seems you will not be alone in this endeavor,” she states, “Good…I sense the elf will aid you, “ she adds softly.

The unicorn stares at the empty space beside you and then slowly turns back to you, “How interesting….yes, something has changed.”

You stare at her confused and then focus on the feeling of Kandomere’s hands overtop yours, they’re strong and steadying.

“Thank you for your help,” you say with a dip of your head.

She repeats the gesture, “Hopefully our next conversation will be under better circumstances, Little One.”

You smile and then open your eyes and you’re back in Saerthon’s office.

You turn to stare at Kandomere and he fixes you with that worried look of his.

“She said that she could break the bond the amulet has on me if we find it and bring it to her,” you explain.

“Well, that’s good news,” Kandomere says with a little relief.

“Yes, but she’s all the way in France, yes?” Saerthon asks.

“Yes,” you answer.

Kandomere grumbles and his shoulders get tense again, “It would take considerable effort to convince anyone to ship such a dangerous artifact overseas to another country.”

“I…also have to go with it,” you add.

Kandomere looks at you and knits his brows together.

“It won’t work otherwise,” you state.

“They’ll definitely not agree,” Saerthon says.

Kandomere looks to the other elf and sighs, “There has to be something.”

Saerthon tilts his head to the side, “The amulet IS from Europe perhaps that is how we get our foot in the door? Convince them it needs to go home?”

“They wouldn’t ship it directly to France is the problem,” Kandomere says and then he stares at you again, “Unless bad weather redirected them?”

You get what Kandomere is implying and nod.

“We can work on an argument and a plan of action, but we still need to find the amulet before it disappears again for another several hundred years,” Saerthon says as he outstretches a hand to you.

You instinctively pull out of Kandomere’s hands and hold the brush to your chest.

“Not to worry you’ll be reunited soon enough, and until then she’ll be safe in here,” Saerthon assures you.

You reluctantly set the brush back in the box and then stand and Kandomere stands as well and follows you out of the room. You walk back to the main room and spot your Aunt’s books in stacks and then you see a familiar pink cover and stop. Kandomere stops beside you and stares down at you, “What?”

He follows your gaze to the stack of books and sighs, “We’re still going through the spellbooks-”

“These aren’t spellbooks,” you interrupt spinning to face him.

You then step forward out of the elf’s grasp and pick the book out of the stack, “It’s just a regular book, that I wanted to reread,” you explain.

Kandomere closes the distance and extends a hand and you give him the book and he flips through it briefly to verify.

“Those are just the regular books from the half-elf’s collection,” a feminine voice says.

You turn to see an elven woman with lavender hair wearing a yellow dress and holding a clipboard.

“I know, I recognize them,” you reply.

Kandomere hands you the book back and his hand finds your lower back as he stares at the elven woman. You glance at her and then glance at Kandomere and he seems to have gotten very tense all of a sudden.

Wait, they’re not exes are they?

She is very pretty and you can hardly compare to any elven woman.

Your heart sinks a little.

“I’ve already cleared them and set them aside,” the elven woman continues.

You stare at the stack and then up at Kandomere, “Can I take a couple home with me?”

He turns his attention back to you and his brows furrow, “Well, they do belong to you...” he trails off, “Saerthon,” Kandomere calls and turns to the older elf who just entered the room.

“Hm?” Saerthon responds.

“Would it be alright if she took a couple books home with her?” Kandomere asks.

Saerthon furrows his brows as well and steps towards the stack you’re standing next to, “From here?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“Oh of course, it’s fine,” he says with a wave of his hand, “Our Specialist has already cleared that stack.”

You pull out an old fairytale book from the stack too and set it on top of “A Moonlit Courtship” and nod at Kandomere.

“I do need you to sign for it,” Saerthon says after grabbing some paper and a pen from nearby and pinning it to his clipboard, “Just don’t put the date down or anything, we’ll put that in later after you’ve spoken with the lawyer about the half-elf’s estate.”

“Wait, so you’re the one…” the Specialist begins, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You stare at her and there’s a sincerity in her eyes and you nod, “Thank you.”

You sign your name and Kandomere nudges your back gently and he escorts you out of the building and across the sidewalk back to the office. And while you’re walking across the grass, “So…is she your ex or something?” you ask.

Kandomere bristles, “WHAT?! NO!”

“Oh,” you reply quietly.

“Why did you think that?” he questions.

“I don’t know things just seemed tense between you two is all,” you say.

Kandomere grumbles and stares forwards, “I’ve only met her the other day when she asked me out.”

“She asked you out!” you exclaim.

“Yes, why do you care?” Kandomere asks stopping in his tracks.

Why do you?

“Because…we pretended to be a couple and if you were already dating someone…” you offer as your only explanation.

Kandomere shakes his head, “We’re not dating. I declined her offer.”

You relax a little.

He then takes your hands in his, “I would not do something so dishonorable. It hurts my heart that you think I would, Querida.”

You glance down, “Well, I’m glad you’re single then.”

You stare back at him and he’s giving you a weird look, “Not that being single is bad, I mean I’m single, I mean…”

Kandomere chuckles and then lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, “I’m glad we’re both single then,” he says in a low voice.

You stare up at him as you feel your cheeks flush, he’s so handsome and he’s…your eyes drift down to his neck.

Not wearing his gorget.

“We should…get back to work, yes?” you ask.

He nods and lets go of your hand only to gently touch the small of your back and you feel a tingling run up your spine. You smile at him as you both walk back to the office and you feel his thumb lightly stroking your back and your heart flutters a little.

                                                                      *******

At the end of the day the elf insists on taking you home and you follow him out to the parking lot and you make note of the car he approaches.

It’s a four-door Mercedes Coupe, in a beautiful shade of blue.

He unlocks the car and opens your door for you and you seat yourself, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to,” he says and closes your door.

He steps around to the driver’s side and gets in.

The interior of the car is incredibly sleek and modern.

Fitting for the elf.

He starts the car and seems to notice you staring, “Admiring my car?”

“It’s nice, just not as expensive as some of the other cars I’ve seen elves drive,” you reply.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

Your eyes widen, you hadn’t meant that to be a backhanded compliment.

“Uh, I like the color,” you say.

He huffs as he backs out of the parking space, “Well, when you’ve lost fours cars in two years, you tend not to buy the most expensive ones anymore. Also blue is my favorite color.”

“FOUR CARS?!” you exclaim, “What did on Earth did you do to them?”

“What? You think that elf lady is the only person who’s ever tried to kill me?” he questions.

You stare at him in horror, “Kandomere, I’m very concerned.”

“Didn’t you lose a car as well?” he asks.

“I…that was different!” you argue.

“How so?” he asks raising an eyebrow, but focusing on the road.

You sit in silence for a moment and stare forward, “Okay so maybe it’s not different.”

He hums in response.

“Your favorite color is blue?” you ask.

“Yes, why?” he asks sparing you a brief glance.

“No reason,” you lie, “It’s a nice color.”

You continue the drive in relative silence, but when you make it to your street, you’re thankful that you didn’t get hit by a truck this time.

Kandomere parks on the street and gets out with you, “I’m going to walk you up, make sure everything’s clear.”

You smile and then you stare at his very expensive car and then out at the darkened street. This IS a gang neighborhood, and the elf’s car is too tempting a target.

“You can’t just leave your car here,” you say.

“Why not?” Kandomere asks.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Because it won’t be here when you get back.”

The elf frowns and stares at his car.

“Look, just let me cast an illusion spell on it,” you whisper stepping towards him.

He nods, “Very well.”

You place a hand on the car, “No matter how those with ill will feel, When they look upon this car there will be no appeal,” you whisper.

Light collects on the car and there’s a flash and instead of an overly expensive car, it now looks like the cheapest and oldest car on this block. You head up to your apartment with the elf in tow and unlock your door and then lock it behind you both. You turn to him and he steps towards you and takes your hands in his and holds them up massaging them gently, “How are you doing? Are you alright?” he asks softly.

You look up at him and shake your head, “No, I’m not. I’m not alright.”

“Come here,” Kandomere says and he wraps his arms around you and hugs you.

Maneuvering your arms around his waist you hug him back and close your eyes as he holds you for a while, as you allow him to comfort you.

And his presence is a comforting one.

You’re finding you’re less and less afraid of him the more time you spend with him.

You lift your head off his chest and he loosens his grip.

“Would you like me to stay awhile?” he asks.

You nod, “If you wouldn’t mind?”

You look up at him and he smiles gently at you, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

He takes you by the hand and leads you over to the couch and sits down. You sit down next to him and he removes his jacket and sets it on the table and you slip off your shoes and set your purse on the table as well. He leans back and wraps an arm around you and you move closer to him, resting your head on his left shoulder. Pulling your feet up you and placing your left hand across his chest, you curl up next to the elf and he rests his head against yours. You sit there in silence for a while, his fingers tracing themselves along the exposed skin of your upper arm. Your eyes start to slip closed as you begin to drift towards sleep.

“Can I turn on the tv?” Kandomere asks startling you back awake.

“Huh? Oh, sure,” you mumble.

He leans forwards and grabs the remote and turns on the tv and begins searching through the channels until he finds the history channel. You stare at the tv as a program about magic comes on and then slowly turn your head towards Kandomere.

He meets your gaze, “What?”

“Really?” you ask.

“I like to watch these sometimes, because I find it funny,” he says.

Your brows furrow at him, “How is it funny?”

“Well, when you work with actual magic on a day to day basis it’s hilarious to watch how wrong they get it on these shows,” Kandomere explains.

You turn your attention back to the tv and after about ten minutes of watching it in silence, “What?! That’s not what that’s supposed to look like!”

Kandomere chuckles.

You look at him and wave a hand at the tv, “Those runes are all wrong! I guarantee you it’ll backfire and blow up in your face if you so much as try to activate it!” you exclaim.

Kandomere huffs quietly and wraps his arm tighter around you and holds you close to him and you settle back into your seat.

You watch the tv angrily, “I don’t see how you think this is funny.”

“It’s funny to watch your face,” Kandomere remarks.

You turn on him, “Is that why you turned it on?!”

“No, that is,” he says and points at the tv.

You glance back at the tv and try to hold back your laughter as you see a group of actors in robes wander around in a circle chanting literal nonsense waving sticks in a field.

“Oh my God what are they even supposed to be doing?” you ask stifling back a laugh.

You look to Kandomere and he makes a stern face, “Summoning the dead,” and then the corner of his mouth lifts up slightly. Now you burst out laughing and Kandomere chuckles along with you. You settle your head back against Kandomere’s shoulder and continue to watch the very bad documentary.

“I think that’s stock footage,” Kandomere says.

“Yeah, I think you’re right I’ve seen it used in a lot of other things,” you say.

After a while you start to drift off again when a sound from the tv jolts you awake. Kandomere must have fallen asleep before you, because he also startles at the sound and swiftly grabs the remote and mutes the tv. You stare at the tv as a program about dragons comes on and the elf quickly changes the channel. Kandomere leans back against the couch, “I think that’s enough dragons for one day.”

You nod and then move to rest your head under his chin, your left hand moving across his chest and now fiddling with his tie. Kandomere rests his chin on the top of your head and wraps his other arm around you and then trails his fingers lightly across your arm. And you both sit in silence for a few moments.

“It’s not coming back,” he says quietly.

You stop fiddling with his tie where his gorget once was.

You pull away from him slowly and prop yourself up against him and stare at him.

“You promise?” you ask, smoothing your hand over his torso.

“I do,” he says, his face serious.

You glance to the side and take a breath and then settle yourself against the elf again, “I don’t want to ever see it again, understand?”

“I understand, Querida,” he says.

Your eyes widen slightly and you pull back and stare at him, “Why do you call me that?”

He stares at you and blinks and then wets his lips.

“Why do you call me Dear?” you ask.

You feel his fingers trail up your arm and to your face where he thumbs your cheek.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

And you can tell from his contemplative expression, he’s telling the truth.

“Perhaps, you just look like one to me,” he says with a small smile.

It’s not a very satisfactory answer, “But why?” you ask more insistently.

“I am hardly the first person to call you Dear,” Kandomere says.

“I suppose,” you mutter.

That is true, even Banathar referred to you as such.

“To be fair you called me Dear first,” Kandomere continues.

You furrow your brows again, “Is this that phone call that I don’t remember?”

“Yes,” he huffs, “And in that phone call you called me Kandomere Dear.”

You have…actually called him that since then.

“I mean…it rhymes and you know how much I like rhymes,” you counter.

He smiles a toothy grin and you find you like the way his face softens and the warmth in his eyes.

“I do, you’ve saved my life with some of those rhymes,” Kandomere says.

“Twice,” you say.

“Twice,” he agrees.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks.

“Stop what?” you ask confused.

“Do you want me to stop calling you Querida?” he asks softly.

You stare at him and lean into his touch as he continues his gentle touches and you close your eyes, “No,” you say softly.

There’s silence for a moment and then you open your eyes and let out a small yawn.

Kandomere lets out a little huff, “It seems I’m keeping you from such much needed rest.”

He sits up and you untangle yourself from him and then stand up.

The elf stands and checks his pocket watch, “It is getting late.”

“Who are they?” you ask suddenly.

“Hm?” he hums and then he glances at the picture in the pocket watch you’re pointing to, “Oh, Mi Familia, this is my mother and my three older sisters, with Maretha being the eldest, and Aranea and Cirinea being twins, and this is me.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” you say smiling at him.

He looks to you with a smile on his own face, “Yes, and you have a sibling as well.”

“I’m not surprised that you know that, but yes I have an older sister,” you say and then you stare at the photo and frown, “Where’s your dad?”

You glance back at Kandomere and his face darkens.

“Oh he’s not….dead is he?” you ask worriedly.

Kandomere closes the pocket watch and stuffs it back in his vest, “He’s dead to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mutter.

He shakes his head and stares at you, “Don’t be. He’s not a good man.”

He starts to move towards the door and you follow and then he turns to you and his hand finds your cheek. You smile and close your eyes and then open them again to find him return your smile. You tentatively reach your hand toward his face and brush your fingers against his cheek and as you start to move for his ear…his hand catches yours and he turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. You stare at him transfixed as he presses a couple more kisses to your skin and he meets your eyes again. His silver eyes regard you warmly and you stare back at him silently.

Have his eyes always been this gorgeous? Even the slightest movement of his lids as he glances down and then back up at you is breathtaking.

You realize you’ve been staring a little too long when he says, “Goodnight.”

You also realize that you had leaned towards him, “Goodnight,” you whisper pulling back, “My brave, gentle elf,” you add.

His eyebrows raise slightly as there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, “Brave, gentle elf?”

“Well yeah, that’s who you are to me,” you say.

He smiles and gives a small nod, “It is an honor to be known as such. Querida,” he says and takes your hand and presses another kiss to your knuckles and you can’t help but smile again.

“Goodnight," you repeat.

“Goodnight,” he repeats.

And then he walks out of your apartment.

You lock the door behind him and press on it to make sure it’s shut and then look at your hand. You press it to your face and sigh and then smiling to yourself, you tuck your hair behind your ear and finally go change out of your work clothes. You then turn off the tv and curl up on the couch with the book “A Moonlit Courtship” and re-read some of your favorite parts, before you inevitably fall asleep.

                                                                      *******

Kandomere sets his keys in the bowl next to the door and shuts it and locks it. He sighs and shrugs out of his jacket and heads for his bedroom. He sets it across his dresser and then loosens his tie and removes his gun and sets it in it’s proper place. He then removes his shoes, socks, and vest and wanders back through his apartment and into the kitchen.

It’s starting to get late and he doesn’t feel like cooking anything tonight.

Kandomere looks through his fridge at what he has leftover and sees there’s still some soup left.

Perfect.

He takes it out sets it in a pot and turns the stove on.

Bored, he meanders around his apartment for a bit. He wanders out into his living room and spots his plants near the window. Stepping over to them he checks to see how they’re doing. The rosemary and thyme seem to be doing well.

Hmm, the basil might need to be repotted it’s getting too big for the one he put it in.

He takes a long inhale enjoying the fresh scent the plants provide and then wanders back out of the living room.

He paces around with his hands in his pockets.

Kandomere lives alone of course.

He’s lived alone for quite some time, he doesn’t mind it’s just sometimes it can get...well lonely.

He stops and stares into his empty bedroom at his bed.

It has been quite some time since he’s had a girlfriend live with him.

Elves are all well off enough that they don’t need to live with each other and as such it was rather difficult each time to convince a girlfriend of his to live with him. Elven women don’t generally need to be taken care of either, unless it’s sexually of course.

He can more than provide that.

Only problem is too many didn’t value him for anything more than that even if they were dating him. And as such it’s been a little more than a decade since he has shared his bed with anyone. He wonders if humans have similar problems when it comes to their love life.

Perhaps he should ask his Bright?

Montehugh’s been married for a long time and hasn’t needed to deal with the bachelor life and voices that he very much prefers not to go back to it. He could ask her…though the question may seem out of the blue.

There’s suddenly an image of her from earlier curled up on his couch in his office and he imagines her in his bed, waking up because he came home late and having a worried look on her face. And he would crawl into bed next to her and hold her to reassure her that everything was alright...

He shakes his head and turns to stare into his home office.

He remembers suddenly that book that she’d wanted to read “A Moonlit Courtship”

was it?

He steps into his office and sits down at his desk and starts typing the name into the search bar on his computer.

There’s…two different versions?

He opens a tab for each of them and reads through them, one seems to be in English and the other in Övüsi. He scrolls down on the blue and silver embossed version and reads an overview of the book. He knew it was a romance novel, but the romance is between an elven man and a…human woman.

This is a rare find.

Elves quite loathe these types of books, they hate anything that encourages elves to seek romantic partners outside of their race. He reads through more about the book it was written by an elven man…and it’s…nonfiction…

Kandomere removes his hand from his face and sits up, it’s the story of how he met his wife. He hears the soup boiling and he quickly rushes back to the kitchen to turn off the stove. He removes the pot and sets it aside and covers it with a lid and then returns to his office. He checks the pink non-elvish version of the book…it’s her perspective on how she met her elven husband. He then starts to do a little research on the authors of the book. They had decided to write down their love story to encourage others that love can be found anywhere you just have to open your heart to it.

Kandomere smiles as he reads up on the couple’s life.

They were so happy together.

Inevitably though his human wife did die first of old age, but the elf never loved anyone else nor anyone more than her and never remarried and was buried next to her when he inevitably also died. Though he did die much sooner than he should have for an elf, perhaps it was a broken heart.

The couple had tried to have children, but had lost more than a couple in childbirth and early infancy, and as such only had each other.

That hurts his heart, as someone who wants children of his own, to be unable to have them would be heartbreaking. It would not be reason enough to find someone else, no, he would love her too much to abandon her.

And what if he was the problem?

He would not want her to abandon him either.

He wants to read this book, he decides.

Yes, but it is more than a couple hundred years old it might be difficult to….nevermind there it is.

There’s an old bookshop nearby that has one in stock.

Ugh, it’s not available to order online though, it’s just a list of the items they have in stock on a web layout he has not seen in a while. He’s not opposed to doing things the old-fashioned way, though it does take time out of his busy schedule.

He looks up the number for the shop and calls it.

“Yes, hello?” a raspy feminine voice says.

“Hello, I was wondering if I could reserve a copy of ‘A Moonlit Courtship?’” he asks.

There’s some grumbling on the other end, “Hold on one moment let me check to see if we have it.”

Kandomere saw that it says it’s in stock on the website, he hopes it’s still there and not false hope.

There’s some sounds of rifling and then, “The only one we have is in elvish,” she says uncertain.

“Yes, that’s perfect! Could you hold it for me? I’ll be by tomorrow to pick it up,” he says.

“Sure, what’s your name so I can write it down?” she asks.

“Kandomere,” he answers.

There’s a pause on the other end, “…Kandomere?”

“Yes…” he replies tentatively.

Oh no, is she not going to let him have the book?

She sighs, “Alright, Kandomere, I’ll have it set aside for you.”

“Thank you, goodbye,” he says with relief.

“Mmhm, bye,” she mutters and hangs up the phone.

He’s excited, he can’t wait to read it!

He closes out his tabs and makes a note on both his desk and in his calendar to go pick up the book after work tomorrow. And then he goes and fixes himself a bowl of soup and watches tv. And he finds he misses having her here to watch it with him.

[yarti]

[ Sanbosm ] [ Do You Know of Him? ]

Story Below:

Darkness. Numbness. Then pain. I thought myself dead before the pain. I could not move, but my back and legs felt as though they had been taken from me entirely. Then came a sensation. A touch, small and delicate. I felt it against my chest, then another. Warm and comforting. With this sensation came a light. Then came another pair of sensations against my chest. These ones more weary, less warm. Just as comforting at first, but then pain. More pain than before. The light became green, a swampy complexion. It fluttered then departed, taking the new found pain with it. Slowly, I regained feeling of body.

Chill night air, a light sea breeze tickling my mustache. Too tired and groggy to open my eyes, I drifted in and out of awareness. I recalled hands upon my cheeks. Heavy, rough, cold. I recalled a tugging at my robe, gripping at my shoulders and beneath my arms. Struggling to lift the dead weight I had became. I recalled the weight of the world below my feet. How each step felt as though it would be my last. I recalled a shuffling of my skullcap, and my instinctual bark to leave it be. I struggled to form even those words, and for a time, uttered no more. Speaking, though involuntarily, seemed to bring me closer to my senses. A torrent of memories. A great fall, but not a death. My life in summary, as it were.

"Attention. Attention please. My time is limited."

In the dark before me, it folded and weaved, bringing form to the events that had brought me here. I could do little more than watch, feel, and listen.

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the door. The boss of my shield dug into the wood audibly. Not quite splintering but parting in it's wake. So shoddy, no doubt built by a Nord. Gazing about the room, I cleared my throat and spoke. As usual, my best attempt at an educated Dunmer accent and tone. I hadn't used my real voice in years. So many years. Thirty, maybe thirty five. This one comes out shrill, high pitched. Irritating to some I am certain, but no more irritating to me than that of any other Nord. I cannot bare to hear the real thing. Hearing it in my head is bad enough. My curse is nigh inescapable.

"Would anyone be interested in accompanying me to the work site? Mercenary work. The usual."

The bar chatter continued uninterrupted. I had spoken plenty loud enough to hear over the chiming of tankards. I lifted my skullcap and dug a finger along the back of my ear to tend to an ever-growing itch. This thing chafes, but it is more essential than words can describe.

"Anyone?"

Few heads turned. All of them too busy with their drink I imagined. I knew some of these people. The same ones here drinking their lives away every night. They could at least have the dignity of wine at home like civilized folk. Mead is the drink of beasts. Ah wine. Lette did enjoy her wine. I was a man of mead back then, but she swore by wine. A regretful chain of thought. My fists clenched, face grimaced, as I fought back the memories. I turned from the crowd to hide my shame. Why is the mind so cruel?

Cruel, yes. The room washed into shadow, it churned around me like a sea then fell away as another thought came to mind.

"Cruel and utter destruction of House Telvanni's already waning goodstanding in unsanctioned lands." A ridiculous claim. They had likely spent years just waiting for the opportunity to pin a petty charge on me, and I eventually gave it to them atop that silvered platter. For so long I had thought myself the change. I spent the better part of my adulthood trying to prove my worth, that we were all equals. I succeeded for a time, but things were not to be. In the end, my mother had so sorely cursed me with the body of a Nord, and in doing so, sealed my fate. Their reaction was all the proof that I needed. I had "no right to climb so high." It merely made the fall all the worse. Fate brought me to that despicable cesspit of a town and to the one who I would love, Lette. Golden days. Thrown-stones to pelt her window until she would answer, the secret nights and yearning days. In time, she came to carry my child, if rumors were to be believed. I did not get a chance to find out. The guards came for me with blade and magic. There were no words, only the roar of my lightning. No sooner did they lay in the dirt than did a whole platoon of guards round the corner. Rather than worsen the situation, I complied. I was then escorted back to Port Telvannis with threat that if I should ever return, they would end all business with House Telvanni. A mistake. It goes to say, that I never saw her or the supposed child again.

The council stripped me of all rank and made fool of me. As a mere Nord, I was "lucky to have gotten so far as I did". They thought to humiliate me then cast me aside. Yet I surprised them as I wept and asked for death. Their satisfied expressions melted away, leaving wide eyes and nervous hands. None would lift hand against me. They thought it a trick, that the room would crackle with my splendor if one so much as lifted a finger toward me. I saw fear in them. A fear unlike I had ever seen. Those closest to me advised me to take the demotion with grace, that I could work my way back to Magister in a matter of weeks. I could still be the change. Again, I complied. The political and societal climate of our lands were shifting in those days. Every House was involved in the relief efforts in one way or another. When things are bad, people of course seek out promises of a better way. A better life, salvation, miracles, what have you. It was ripe for that sort of business. From that day onward, I was instructed to tend to these growing cults rather than be simple errand-boy and flower gatherer as my new rank would normally dictate. They would send me out into the wilderness, to towns that law and society had forgotten. I was to make friends, learn what I could, then investigate. Stamp out these falsehoods. There was work to be done and reputation to restore. It kept me from dwelling on what I had lost, to some degree. Those same allies ensured me, "Soon".

Then came Assut.

It started near Necrom, rumors of monsters in the night, disappearances, nightmares, cryptic symbols and artifacts. Familiar yes? I saw fear in them. Fear unlike I had seen since that day. They sent their most expendable. My name was of course high on that list. A Dunmer miracle maker calling himself Assut had taken a following.

Where he went, things grew weird. Very weird. His red eyes in the night, above their bed, out of the corner of their eye. People knew of him, knew where he would show up next, but little else. "The dreams brought me to him." In those places, one might find their words, scrawled across walls in Daedric lettering. Ink black as the halls they wander.

"He will return" or "Do you know of Him?" seemed to be common phrases.

I met him that very day, in the depths of one of those tombs. Eyes burning like coals. A vampire or part of the illusion, I knew not. He got into my head. He knew my name, he knew everything about me. My every thought, my every intention. He twisted the memories that pain me and used them to taunt me. The fight was long, but he survived. He always did. I would travel to a new locale, only to find the same things, and at the end of the day, Assut. I took it personal, in ways. I feel as though he is one of the only reasons I am still here. A goal. His skillset came to be something of an obsession of mine. I strove to understand some of his powers and sought to counteract them. I fashioned a skullcap of Dwemer metal and enchanted it. As I learned more, I poured more of myself into it. By our sixth or seventh exchange, the skullcap gave me some degree of immunity to his tricks. Yet, as I gave years to my craft, he gave to his. He would make abomination of men and women alike. Affixing Dwemer appendages and sacks to their withering forms. His flock, ever growing, ever more terrifying to behold. Assut himself wore many a burn from my magics, his body scarred from head to toe. The "third eye" atop his head grew ever more advanced with each encounter. In our first meeting, he wore a blindfold and headband, then black face paint, then a knifewound presumably by his own hand, and most recently, some sort of Dwemer metal appendage in the center of his forehead. I would hire locals at each site, pit them against his monstrosities like stones thrown against a window to garner his answer.

His face faded, leaving only his eyes. I found myself wholebodied again, a growing chattering behind me. Here again. I turned back toward the bickering crowds and began.

"You will of course be compensated. I could put in good word with the House as well if that interests you."

A few Dunmer heads turned at mention of the House. Though still no takers. Nodding to those I knew, I made my way toward the center of the establishment. Speaking again.

"Regardless, I need assistance. Are any of you willing?"

An elderly Nord emerged from the crowd at the counter. He stood, weak-kneed, giving a wavering stare, arms crossed, a mug barely in his grasp.  A slurred "Ay", barely audible among the patron's chatter. Sorely drunk, he smacked his dry lips and stared on.

"Sit down, oaf. No Nords. Not this time. I want the job done. No pissing about with mead on my clock. This is important."

My head instinctively tilted skywards with the words. The pompous way was not always my way. It came to me... naturally over the years.

The man slammed his tankard onto the counter. I can't say I didn't expect such an outcome. It always happens. Wobbling, he staggered out of the crowd, shoving people out of his path.

"Watch ye mouth, wizard." He paused, squinting his eyes. "A Nord wizard, ay. Ain't that a sight."

A deep chuckle, his trembling hand smacking the back of a Dunmer seated beside him, forcing drink to spew from his mouth. Friends or acquaintances of this poor man, arms outstretched, attempted to block him. Pointless attempts to save him from making a further fool of himself. As if on cue. It always happens like this. Pointing a shakey finger across the room, he snarled. Lifting a fist. He took another awkward step in my direction. I lifted my right hand, finger tips glowing a brilliant violet.

"Sit down, have another drink. Gods know you want to."

At my final word he dug for a weapon along his waistband, prompting me to act. The once dark room now fully lit. The arcing caught him in the upper chest, my hand rose, lifting him gently. Fingers outstretched, the current swelled and fell as necessary. With the flash of light, the crowd erupted into gasps and awe. Chairs and tankards fell to the floor as guests backed against the wall. Taking shelter from my brilliance. He tried to speak but his muscles fired against him. His shirt crackled and sizzled at the point of impact. Just a moment longer, just enough to make a point. I dropped the spell, letting him fall to a knee. His allies knelt and comforted him, shaking their heads in embarrassment or perhaps in worry. They dared not look at me. I took a satchel from my belt and tossed it onto an empty spot on the counter.

"Get the man a room and drink. I do apologize for the disturbance, friend."

This was not the first and would likely not be the last of such disturbances. The barkeep knew this just as well as I. I had spent the last five years on this dreadful shore. I had been in here nearly every month seeking assistance. The help rarely survives the first week and word has a way of getting around fast. On the far end of the room, two motioning arms emerged from the crowd. A Dunmer woman, dressed as a mercenary of sorts. Iron armor, mohawk, a dim-witted looking lass. Across from her, a Dunmer man. A lowly Telvanni hireling from the look of him. I thought the mention of rank might have caught his attention.

"Sanbosm Tedalen, Telvanni. Do excuse the complexion. You seem capable sorts. Far more so than those other ruffians. Do you do mercenary work, by chance?"

As I spoke I looked at one and then the other. It seemed I had found some company for the evening. I gave them a few hours to get ready then met them at the Sky Render dock. We flew southeast, along the coast and then a little ways into the gulf of Vardenfell. Throughout the flight, my companions held tight, obviously unaccustomed to such travel.

That day soon passed and another rose. Across the waves, Red Mountain stood motionless and barren. Pillars of smoke still churning high above the clifftops. By the next morning we had arrived. An excavation site. Towers of brass, forgotten and rediscovered. I had already been here. The previous week. Through many a winding tunnel we went. Silent halls slowly overtaken by a growing murmur. We came upon a dark corridor. My companions of the last week fell here. Their bodies were gone. Dragged back into the depths I supposed. Scraps of metal, splatter of blood and distant chanting brought us deeper and deeper by the hour. My new companions wearily trudged behind me, unsure of what I had gotten them into, though I knew. At once the chanting stopped and we found ourselves surrounded by shuffling of robes and hushed voices. I lent the room some of my light and gripped tight my hammer as my companions made themselves just as ready for what would surely come. All around us, barely legible in the dim candlelight lay the words:

"Do you know of Him?"

[dunnystuff]

Hi to all -

Lincoln Project

Well, this one really hit the fan, didn't it? The problems of sexual misconduct by its leaders (why is it that this practice is nearly universal among democrats?) was known, and ignored or covered up, by the Project for almost a year. Now that it is exposed - as all such doings will be at some point, shouted from the rooftops, so to speak - their leaders have resigned, and what do you know - they have stopped accepting donations. That means they are done and over. Let the lawsuits begin !!!

This was an evil group, pretending to be conservative, in order to spread lies. Does anyone recall the fate of those 'who love and make a lie'? And people are asking unpleasant questions about where all those millions of dollars went.

NY Times

Speaking of lies - the nation's paper has quietly retracted and corrected their story about the fate of Police Officer Sicknick during the DC protests. The paper claimed at first that Officer Sicknick was killed by being struck in the head by a fire extinguisher. That story was picked up by many outlets, and spread as if it was true, with no one looking into it. Turns out that he was not struck in the head with a fire extinguisher, but had been pepper sprayed a couple of times, and may have died as a result of an existing medical condition. Boy, those tangled webs really get messy, don't they?

Supreme Court

Now that the election is over, and their desired result is done, the Court has agreed to hear some of those cases about election fraud. If they can get around to it, we may have an answer by October. Before you lock that barn door, did anyone see which way the horses went?

Cuomo

He rose up complaining about all that negative publicity concerning his handling of the Coronavirus, and the nursing homes. You know, it just is not his fault, don't you know? Why, he blamed everyone and everything, ignoring his own actions and refusal to use the hospitals and tools provided to him, gratis, and ended up with the highest death count in the nation. Why, that conflicts with his self-serving story of how great a leader he is, and we just cannot have that. Even his fellow democrats called his performance B.S. This might even be enough to cost him the election, and perhaps his brother his job on TV.

DeBlasio

He is right up there with the governor. While the city burns, and riots tear up what is left of business, and people flee as fast as they can move away, the mayor is holding 'performing arts' shows in the street - with dancers and all. Sick, unemployed and hungry New Yorkers are asking unpleasant questions. I do recall saying when this character was elected - 'congratulations, NY, you just elected a communist.' But he is only one of many in our political class. We have seen this before, the less competent want to rule, and be served. They get pretty loud and nasty with their demands.

Biden

Speaking of incompetent rulers....seems that Biden is so prone to speaking badly, that Kamala has taken on the task of communicating with foreign leaders. That is a task always performed by presidents, in days past. But, then, Biden is president in name only, and cannot string together two coherent sentences without a mentor to whisper in his ear.

He is now also saying he will enact gun control - read that as disarmament - of the rest of us by Executive Action, disregarding the Congress and Constitution. And, he must move fast, before the movement against him gains momentum and throws him and his non-elected cronies out of office. So, expect to hear a lot of bloviating in the next while about the evils of gun ownership and how we need to 'protect' everyone. You know, like they protect themselves with a wall around Washington, manned by military troops. If they can, they will deploy troops to all America to go house to house seizing guns. Just as Nazi Germany did, nearly 100 years ago.

LA

"Let my convicts go" !!! The DA there wants to release thousands of violent criminals back into the streets, against the law and the complaints of his own staff. Why? He is a far-left democrat - read that as communist - who wants to destroy America. These people will create havoc in the streets, giving him the excuse to crack down and seize power. Some will even vote - democrat of course - if allowed. Like all such people, he thinks that once he is in control, he can also crack down on these folks, and bring them into line. Oddly, that has never, ever worked in the past, but, as always, this time it will be different.

Trump

Did you see his return to Florida, to his home there? Looked like one of his rallies. Thousands of people lined the roads, waving flags and shouting encouragement. The impeachment thing was to try to prevent him from being able to run again - he is a very real threat to the left. They failed, so Trump can return, and run over the democrats like a train. The left will do something to try to prevent this - from election fraud to assassination. Bet on it.

Remember that saying embedded in the list of democrat supporters? Global Power, Weak America. That is where all this is headed. The left is part of the one world global government movement. They think it will give them power and wealth. The problem is that all such governments have failed, badly. Nations rise and become wealthy and powerful to the extent that they adopt capitalism. That unleashes the power of all the people. They will innovate, rise, and gain wealth for themselves and all around them. It has always been so. No repressive government creates wealth. They only get what they steal. And, they depend on slaves to stay in power, until the slaves revolt and throw them out. And, our own left - the democrats - has always been and remains the party of slavery. They fought a civil war to retain slaves, and spent the next 100 years trying to overturn the results of that war. Then, they changed tactics, and used economic slavery of the masses, rather than armed insurrection. It has worked well. Illegal immigration will sustain slavery for a time. Not only will they import a new class of unskilled slaves, but they can use them to control the voting process, to hold their power. This will harm their current slave class - inner city blacks. It will destroy their chances for jobs and advancement, and at some point, they will revolt - sooner if they learn the lessons of the Trump years - that they can better their conditions.

Bill Gates

He is a leader in the one world government movement. He has advocated for this for years, using technology to enslave the peoples of the world. And, he has been quite successful at it. His latest is to suggest that the wealthier nations change their eating habits. That is, give up real meats in favor of synthetic meats. After all, it will 'save the planet', as herds of cattle, etc. require a lot of land, compared to other food sources. And, they emit greenhouse gasses - cow farts. This not only ignores a lot of actual science, and common sense, but is exactly the same idea in the novel/movie 1984. Remember that scene where everyone is eating at the communal dining hall (actual homes and families were no longer part of that society) where one of the men was praising the quality of the new synthetic meat they were served "Double Plus good, this is', using the approved NewSpeak terminology.

Food is always a weapon of tyrants. Siege warfare had the goal of starving out the opposition, and has been used from ancient times and is still used today. Coming to a grocery store near you, sooner than you think.

Rich

[its-ness-ness]

Final Fantasy Games in One Timeline: Some Thoughts

Hi, my name’s Nessa, I have no social life, and I’ve been working on the above theory for going on two years now. I’ve seen some theories on some Final Fantasy games taking place in similar timelines, and a few even being on the same timeline. BUT if you’re interested in an attempt at squashing all of the mainstream games into just one (1) timeline, some handwritten folklore, and too many characters to keep track of, then come on in. These are the bare basics for now, because I haven’t gone in-depth with all of the games yet, and this is the first time I’ve put this theory out there. I openly welcome any critiques and comments you may throw my way! 

If you’re interested, here’s what I’ve thrown together:

IN GENERAL:

Though this is one cohesive timeline, I don’t have any exact dates to put on things. Whether it’s one hundred or ten years between games, I believe, depends on how far you’re willing to suspend your disbelief. (I mean, look at our own advances from the 1920s to the 1950s - completely different fashion, atmospheres, and developments.) That being said, this timeline does rely on the fact that the games would be close enough together to have their stories, ideas, and lessons passed on to the next game. How long that takes, though, is up to you. 

For everyone following along at home, we’re going to go in this order - 

1 / 5 / 3 / 2 / 4 / 9 / 12 / 6 / 15 / 13 / 10 / 7 / 8

Let’s start, then, beginning with:

FINAL FANTASY I (1):

How could we start this timeline with anything else? Of course, this game exists in our timeline here as more of a legend and creation myth than anything real. This is the basis for our world, whether it really happened or not, and in some parts of this world, I like to believe that the unnamed Warriors of Light may have even been worshipped as god-like figures.

V (5)

5 is, at least for me, where this timeline really starts. From what I gathered, 5 has more open space, uninhabited, and quite a bit of monster and nature-made ruin. Only the barest civilization would allow for this. The clothing and atmosphere both stay strictly fantasy, and as a result there isn’t much actual technology in the world yet. The job class system reflects a world relying on people and their natural skills; a place just beginning. Thus, this is where our world starts out.

III (3)

Like 5 before it, 3 holds a lot of the same fantasy elements, but we start experimenting with great technology and use of magic. The world has become a touch less wild, so to speak, and those rural fantasy elements have grown into patches of true civilization here and there. These people have seen evil defeated once before, and they’re stronger because of it.

II (2)

Our fantasy world has developed corruption, folks, and these comfortable palace landscapes now foster a rebellion. We’re starting to armor up our characters with more than just a tunic and a dream, and Firion and his friends have past heroes to look up to and inspire hope from. We see more refined magic use and more airships and metal works in this game. The kingdoms established have had time to prosper, and those in the rebellion have had time to form a secret coalition together against the Emperor.  (It should be noted that these first three games I know much less than those to follow, and may be swapped around in later drafts. For now, though, I feel like these fit nicely where they stand currently.)

IV (4)

We’ve hit advanced-fantasy in terms of aesthetic with this one. 4 holds much more tech than its predecessors, and we have boats, ships, and gliders. The crystals worshipped in past games’ lore still remain important to the story. Communication has advanced as well, and we see the first beginnings of other races - most notably, the Lunarians and the Gnomes underground. Those separate civilizations have had time to prosper over the past 3 games, and are now joining the narrative. This game uses advanced magic, and mages and summoners have been able to let their own cities prosper as well. We see more and more kingdoms and larger towns popping up than in previous games, and the world is doing well.

IX (9)

More steampunk technology is entering the picture now. While we remain high-fantasy, airship use has peaked, along with other daily mechanisms. The summoners from the last game are the same civilization that produced Garnet and Eiko, and the Lunarians from 4 are the ones who, upon going to sleep, built Garland to create their vessels - and, therefore, Kuja and Zidane. More animal species are developing in this game, as seen in most cities, and though the kingdoms are much, much larger than in 4, there are still parts of the world left untouched. Something about this fantasy still feels very rustic in comparison to the technology that will come later in this timeline, but most of what 9 presents feels very new in its own world. They have reached their peak development at their present state, and are still producing more and more. Magic use has disappeared from the public and become exclusive to summoners and the mages made by Kuja.

XII (12)

We’ve continued along the steampunk technology route, but we’ve gotten a little more urban now. Kingdoms are crowded enough to show the slums and underground cities that are a part of them now. We continue seeing different animal races in the present day, though they are less common and don’t receive the same rights and privileges as humans do, due to the royalty growing distinctly corrupt. Major magic use is no longer possible, though some simple spells are known exclusively on the battlefield. It’s not impossible to imagine that the royalty may in fact crack down on magicks sellers, in the way that witches were burned at the stake in our own time. Vayne, possibly loosely related to Alexandrian royalty, has the genetic potential to become a summoner, the power lost to most people in this time as the summoners are all but extinct. After the undoubtedly bad rep they gained by Kuja’s destructive magic use, they vanished into the separate world of the summons as a matter of safety. It’s this knowledge that he is so close to doing so and yet cannot that drives him near-mad with want in his drive for power.

VI (6)

High fantasy has now become cyberpunk, everyone. Technology went through the rough since the last game’s plot, and while we still feel very fantasy, we’re also starting to see more of that urban development in the kingdom areas. Magic is used only by the government and military (see: Celes and Terra both have good hands in magic versus the rest of the party), and summoners and their summons exist on the separate plane Terra comes from. Street rats and everyday people are the heroes of this installment, as in the last one, and the not-so-reformed royalty from last game have dipped more into forbidden science and forcibly enslaving soldiers. (That’ll come more into play later.) Vaan and Balthier partner up and initially form The Returners, which develops over time from sky pirate gang to resistance coalition. For one of the first times, we see a villain rise from a regular citizen who gained true god-like powers that the people of this world had never touched before. True destruction is tasted for the first time, but this is quickly remedied when things are set right.

XV (15)

Technology has developed and become more up-to-date here. Royalty still exists, but everything has become more smooth, refined, and modern. Upon Terra’s death, she sent a handful of summons to guard the world in her absence, thus creating the presence of the Six main summons in-game. She would go on to pass her secrets to one select person, an Oracle, who would hand that knowledge down over time and possess the secret to harnessing those summons, should the world ever need it. Hey, corrupt military government, good to see you’re still around, too. (That won’t go away for a while, trust me.) Magic use is still held only by royalty and the military here, and not in public life.

XIII (13)

After the death of the party from 15, Gareth Dysley enters the picture as a corrupt minister. The PSIICOM and Sanctum Guards are created, and the world develops from there. Technology gets more futuristic than ever before. We see government corruption taken to the highest degree. Fal’cie are mistaken for familiars of the original Six summons, and that’s why the public trusts them so much. (Here’s where things get a little strange, because I still have to revisit 13 and wrap my head around the events here. FOR NOW, the world we’ve been living on this entire timeline is Cocoon. Pulse is a separate planet in orbit that becomes victimized, rather than moving everyone from world one to another artificial planet. This may be subject to change.)  

X (10)

That whole the-government-lies thing sticks around to this fantasy. Zanarkand is the first city created by Cocoon citizens on Pulse, but is quickly destroyed by the emergence of Sin, a bitter creation by the dying Fal’cie (the false, artificial summons, if you will) in an attempt to exact revenge, and still produce the death count desired in 13 to see their initial Maker. The true summons, those present from the beginning and granted to the Oracle by Terra, still exist in the other plane of summons, and wait to be called upon by summoners. These summoners are trained by the church of Yevon in order to seemingly destroy Sin, though they themselves do not know the answer to its defeat. Since this game consists of civilization starting anew, we see less of the destroyed technology, and instead a fresh, mystical fantasy story as we begin again on Pulse, rather than the timeline on Cocoon above. When the pillar breaks and Cocoon finally crashes into Pulse, the Calm Lands are created.

VII (7)

The world re-adopts technology after the fall of Yevon, and advances much more quickly than they had before. They already have the tools and power available, and refine that now that people are allowed to develop. We spring into a second urban fantasy, which flourishes after the Shinra corporation develops a way to tap into the Farplane (now called the Lifestream, as harnessing it has put it in motion versus its stagnant state before.) For protection, SOLDIER is created based on renewed ideals of the Magitek Knights in 6, though the recklessly-tapping-into-science thing comes back to bite them in the ass. This game’s small, sleepy cities are the first rustic results of villages coming back together after the events of 10.

VIII (8)

Science has now gone through the roof. Esthar is the hub of futuristic science and technology, and the evidence of that is everywhere. Modern cars and trains are back, and magic use is allowed by SeeD students in a draw system (a more accessible update to the materia system used prior). Summons are technologically copied to allow all students access to their powers, though what happened to the origin of these powers is currently unknown. The cost of this copying system was that the summons (GFs) needed a way to root themselves to existence - thus tampering with student’s memories in an effort to plant themselves there. SeeD is a revamped SOLDIER program, and many towns in this game bear resemblances to towns in the last game. Time and space are now on the forefront of technology, and magic has taken a step back (in terms of relevance) in comparison. The heroes here pave the way for a brighter future, as this world advances, learns more, and betters itself.

And those are the basics!

I have plenty more revolving around the above timeline - how it’s connected, who goes where and does what, and the way that things develop. Should anyone be interested in more, I’d be more than happy to elaborate! 

[chaoticlamphoagietaco]

Racism and G

G and me had a fight, we’re going to process more on Sunday, but...

Live been thinking about his racism more....

He tries, like others, but is still wrapped behind a mask like me,

You can espouse black knowledge all day long,

But reinstate white supremacy by occupational entitlement.

He went to the protest, he talks about serious matters with his loved ones and friends,

He tells his students that philanthropy by itself isn’t enough, he makes sure his teaching incorporates black culture,

But as time has show up again and again,

Toleration and equality is different then equity and equality.

Tolerance, is putting an effort towards confronting the issue, but passively accepting t he status quo, in my definition, within this writing. As we accept the status quo, or don’t work to grow and develop our impact, or passively say yes to racism or passing people along, we allow supremacy to reign within education.

For example, if a group of students are studying a standardized test and their scores are examined, statistically speaking, minority students typically score lower than white counterparts, which is influenced by teaching styles.

If a teacher, with this same group, is prepping the course based on toleration and equality, they would give as much attention as they could to every student while also attuning to the learning style of each student within the he time frame a teacher is given, under a certain pressure with probably a minimal amount of time, the teacher knows inherently, or unconsciously, that the white students are more likely to succeed in the class. Through indirect and consequential actions, the teacher will appease their unconscious bias while trying and failing at helping minority students due to a lack of resources, experiences, and training, which are all rich with white culture. As this cycle portrays the stereotypical teacher, the white students will succeed while the minority students become frustrated with education, feel disconnection from the institution of education, and subsequently results in dropouts, suicide rates skyrocketing, and high rates of drug anarchy alcohol abuse. This is the fucking system.

Alternative methods of performing arts, HBCUs, and other programs are aiding in the fight for equity, but... in this scenario, my bf is a part of this cycle.

My bf is a part of the cycle that demeans minorities and initials white supremacy, which is a scary thought to have, but one that I won’t hold over him. One I will process with him and talk about at length, but I want to find the root of this process or my thoughts before I came to him, or at least closer to the root.

I think this is why I’m pushing him to be a academic coach or work outside the institution of academia. His heart is in the right place, but theirs many twists and knots in the way. How do I compassionality bring this up to him?

Besides he,s going back to his teacher mode with me, backseat driving, and sliding back to habits. I wonder if this is because of my relation back into tobacco. I’m coming closer to naturally wanting to quit I think, but something inside me tells me it’s not the right time.

When I was angry with my bf last night, I had a wicked headache. I was fillled with rage, at one point that turned to homicidal ideation, and it was a bit scary since I hadn’t gone that far even in my thoughts in a long time. Like I’ve kept them locked in. A cage for some time..., I’m not sure where it came from or where it’s going but I’m gunna keep trying to journal more often,

I feel like as I turn 25, everything within my occupation desires, relational wants, are maturing as I also accept my mothers death. Even mentioning it has lost it’s painful tingle. But becoming a personal trainer, becoming a marketer, becoming a manager, I’ll be unstoppable in making a six figure income, which could frankly happen by the time this pandemic is over, wouldn’t that be something?

I’ve been obsessing over Spain lately,

Although their racism with black people is direct towards Africans rather than African Americans, there is still an inherent racism that I’m wondering will manifest if I move there, will people look at me strange in passing, will I be fired or not promoted from a job due to the color of my skin? Or are all these things just stories I’m creating? I haven’t traveled there before, so my context is solely research and pictures. However, their way of life is so appealing, going home during lunch time, everything moving at a slower pace, and beaches that are magnificent... it’s seducing. Properties range from cheap to ridiculous with beach front to Celtic lands, and the only downside, besides what might manifest, is learning the Spanish that derives from Spanish, I think it starts with a C. Which is a pretty fun way of engaging with people, engaging in social normalizing behavior, and tactfully getting the lay of the land and the people inside of it.

When I have children, I have a certain amount of conditions, given this is a long time from now. But I couldn’t raise children in the city, or near gang violence or where crime rates are sky high, no I don’t want to shelter my child and live in a castle away from civilization and a yard away from a neighbor, I want a happy balance of maybe the outskirts of a city, a suburb with a tremendous amount of things to do, or beach front property of course, with weather conditioning installed.

I want my child to be bilingual, artistic if they choose to be, but also grounded in esptimoloogical intelligence in a plethora of institutions. I want to instill yogic practices as foundational to family time, while instilling meaningful and engaging activities that derive from my child too. I want my child to be able to experience anything that their mind wants, of course within reason and process, while knowing deviant behavior. I want my child to be free in any representation of gender and/or sexuality, with of course reason to physical altercations. I don’t want my child to accept mediocrity because of the choices I’ve made in my life. If they choose that for themselves then that is perfectly fine, but they have the range to do virtually anything they can perceive.

I’m honestly scared to have a girl, I feel like I don’t have enough strong female representation. Within my geographical desires to adequately raise a female. Yes, Research will be done, and I’ll make sure to contact people, but people are people, we only care about ourselves.

With boys, even if the transition, I have a comfortablility there that I can’t deny. Bias, but every part of their maturing would be enhanced by my actions and of course my bf or possibly husbands. Still this is a long time from now, but I really want boys.... twin boys hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha hahahahahahaha

Penis,

[megacircuit9universe]

The Last Touchstone

FRI FEB 14 2020

So, since my last entry, it’s been... I would call it, a, “noisy,” news week.

What I mean by that is... there was one big story... and then there were a string of other stories, with a different narrative, which, I sense were being pushed to drown out the one big story.

The one big story was... Bernie Sanders decisively became the front runner for the Democratic nomination.  He won New Hampshire... with Joe Biden placing 5th... and Polls afterward had him not only taking California and Texas in the near future, but also the easy winner of the nomination.

And though this got a bit of coverage in the media, and made newspaper headlines... it was split screened, at the very least, or totally drowned out later in the week, by obsessive coverage of Trump doing exactly what we expected him to be doing, after being acquitted by the Senate... which also was exactly what we expected the Senate to do.

He started by firing Vindman and Sondland, who testified against him to the House.  Who thought they were going to keep their jobs after that?  I didn’t.  Did they?

Then Barr of course, pressured the DOJ team who’d been prosecuting Roger Stone, to recommend a sentence half what they were planning on (7 to 9 years) after an angry tweet from Trump... a move which caused every member of that prosecution team to resign from the case, or quit the DOJ altogether.

That’s clearly an abuse of power on Trump’s part, but it’s exactly the same kind of shit he was doing before the impeachment... and Barr obeyed him exactly as he always does.  This was not new or surprising... except for the fact that the prosecution all resigned immediately.

That’s the headline, and if anything, it thwarts Trump and Barr, because it halts the sentence recommendation, and give the Judge (as well as the House) time and cause to look into possible wrongdoing from the AG... and Barr could soon face his own impeachment trial, or be forced to resign.

At any rate, in my book it seems Trump’s impeachment did nothing but hurt him here, as it put a spotlight on this nefarious behavior which would otherwise have happened in the shadows... and punctuated how wrong his acquittal was, thus hurting his loyals in the Senate.

Okay, but the mainstream media focused on Trumps retaliatory actions as if they were unprecedented, and took the fear mongering angle that he was becoming an autocrat... and what the hell are we gonna do now?..  

...to the exclusion of any meaningful coverage on the contest to decide Trump’s 2020 opponent... for which there is now a clear front runner, as well as a couple more strong candidates.

They don’t want to look at that contest, because the candidates they wanted to oppose Trump... Biden, or if not Biden, then Warren... are both doing miserably in these early primaries, and will both probably drop out before March is over.

So instead of talking about the candidates who are doing well, with Sanders leading the pack... they’d rather fear monger about Dictator Trump, and hope that voters will pick up, from their silence about the primaries... that all hope is lost, unless Biden and/or Warren can be raised from the dead.

What exactly do I mean by fear mongering?

I’ll give Rachel Maddow as an example here... but bear in mind that I’ve been watching her regularly since 2017 and in all that time, have been a biggggg fan of hers.  Loved her!  Praised her!

But this week she did a segment about Trump’s post acquittal retaliations in which she was uncharacteristically hysterical.

She said that the resignations of the DOJ prosecutors for Stone, after Barr pulled rank on them because of a Trump tweet, were meaningless... because all resignations in protest are meaningless now... because everybody in the Executive Branch who have stood up to Trump, from them, to Vindman and Sondland, to Bolton, to everybody... she listed everybody...

...have had their lives, “destroyed,” by Trump.

This... made me physically gag to hear her assert it, in such an animated, alarmist tone... for two big reasons;

1) No their lives were not destroyed.

2) No matter what they suffer, it’s part and parcel of taking the oath.

On the first point... he fired them.  They lost nice jobs paying good money.  Oh no!  Every single one of them will land on their feet... if not by retiring on the piles of  money they already have, then by just getting other jobs, or by writing books, doing the lecture circuit, being political pundits on MSNBC... the opportunities for these people are endless.

To say that their lives have been destroyed is a gigantic insult to people’s who’s lives have been destroyed, either by unjust presidential policies of the past, by putting them in jail (war on drugs), putting them out on the street (economic policies), deporting them, etc... OR... their lives have been literally ended by going off to war to fight for our constitution with actual guns in actual battles against armed combatants. 

Which leads to the second point... they took the same oath as any member of the military.

We say that Vindman and Sondland were brave... but they were doing their fucking jobs, according to the oath everybody takes when they take a job with the Executive Branch.  Same for these prosecutors who resigned.

It’s not bravery to stand by an oath you took when entering public service.  It’s cowardice to do anything but.

I’ve said this before, and I need to say it again, there is nothing in the oath to defend our constitution that says, “unless it’s really inconvenient, or could cause you undo public embarrassment on social media, or could force you to retire and live off your fortune before you were ready.”

And for Rachel Maddow, of all people, to imply that the relative inconvenience these people have suffered standing up to a real constitutional menace... is too high a price to pay, and that therefore, such stands in the future are meaningless now... is truly galling... given the powerful megaphone she used to say it.

Nowhere in that segment did she say, “But don’t worry, because we have some good Democratic candidates to vote for to put an end to this nightmare just a few months from now.”

It was unmitigated fear mongering... coming from a state of deep denial about where the American public is actually going in 2020... and done in a desperate attempt to raise centrism from its grave.

Because 20th Century style centrism... and the status quo capitalism that goes along with it... is the bread and butter of Rachel Maddow, as well as her mainstream journalist colleagues.  

This same week, Chris Matthews stated fears that if Bernie were president, there would be public lynchings of the elite in Times Square, and Chuck Todd likened Bernie supporters to, “brown shirts,” a statement that got him a slap in the face by the Anti Defamation League... likening Bernie, a Jew, who grew up with holocaust survivors, to Hitler.

In short, Centrists are terrified of Trump, on the one hand, because they are fantastically over blowing the significance of his Senate acquittal (which I’ve already covered is par for the course in a Presidential impeachment, but never saves the impeached party from immediate retirement) and fearing he will throw them all in Guantanamo next week... now that he has no checks at all on his awesome power (his approval ratings are always shit, nearly 80% of the public wants him removed, the courts hate his guts, one half of congress hates him, and the other half is up for reelection).

On the other hand Bernie Sanders, if elected, will command his brown shirts to hang them all in Times Square, because they have comfortable livelihoods.

These are mostly boomers, by the way, and boomers are the generation who invented centrism... this philosophy of being sympathetic to social justice issues, but also sympathetic to conservative financial concerns... give me my huge paycheck, and McMansion in my gated community, and keep my taxes low... but also... hey, racism is bad and gays are people too!

For boomer centrists, it’s about... staying true to your teenage rebellious phase, when you protested the man, because it was cool... but also enjoying the life of the man... and the system the man made for you... it’s a balance.

There are a lot of conservative folks to the right of center, so... it’s easy to go a bit left and just... balance that out.  But keep the see-saw level!  Center!  Level!  Balance!  

In the closing paragraph of my last entry, In so many words, I argued that Trump has concentrated so much weight... so far right of center... that the only way to counter it now... is to get further left.

But, when you’re a centrist... any change is inconvenience, and any inconvenience is equivalent to having your life destroyed!  

We’re not supposed to live in history... we’re only supposed to use history as a way to impose our centrist views on everybody, to keep it from changing!

They obsess over two periods of time... WW2, and the 1960s.  In the former era, some generation of sad souls gave their lives to put down totalitarianism around the globe and keep the world free.  

In the latter... another unfortunate generation... (the Silent Generation for the most part), endured all kinds of horrors (including high profile assassinations to JFK, RFK, and MLK) to secure the civil rights we all enjoy today.  

All of this was selflessly done to settle all the major problems in life... for us!.. the people who don’t have to be inconvenienced by history anymore :D

And if any candidate, or social issue has ever threatened to upset that... well... they just analyze WW2 at everybody... and analyze the 1960s at everybody... until the problem slinks away into the shadows of shame.

This is why Bernie will be hanging the elites in Times Square, and why Trump is already an all powerful Hitler... and also why the only person who can save us is the former VP of Obama... because without Hillary Clinton in the race... Biden is the last touchstone of the world they knew.

It wasn’t always a world they liked... with Reagan and Bush pulling their naughty conservative shenanigans during their allotted terms on the Presidential see saw... but it was a world where the corrupt ones... the Nixons, stepped down.

Despite the political cold snaps and heat waves, over the long run, life always remained stable.

Just like the climate!

And, just as climate change is the result of boomer centrism constantly ignoring the warning signs, because to acknowledge them would result in inconvenience... 

...so too, we can see pretty clearly in February of 2020... Trump’s Presidency itself was the result of these same people gate-keeping Bernie Sanders out of the nomination process in 2016.

I’ll state that again for emphasis;

Trumps Presidency was the result of centrists gate-keeping Bernie Sanders out of the 2016 nomination process.

This was done by the DNC putting their thumb on the scales in a few key primaries to favor Clinton... and in the General election it was done by overwhelming press coverage, assuring everybody that Clinton was going to win the Presidency by a landslide.

The former action had the result of alienating an organic grassroots movement of progressive voters across the nation.  The latter, convinced them to stay home, because they were not needed, while simultaneously daring Trump supporters to come out and vote, because they would not matter.

And having learned nothing, they meant to go right back to that same script this time around, with Biden.

But it’s not an option this time around... and they’re having nervous breakdowns about it.  Huge, panic ridden nervous breakdowns, calling for everybody to just give up hope.

All of this said... and with the hour growing late...

Bernie was right, in his victory speech in New Hampshire, to point out that he’s put together a grass roots coalition which is multiracial, and multigenerational. It doesn’t depend on any one demographic, because it has significant voting power coming from all of them... and it’s not gonna be easily swept aside, either by billionaires, or mainstream neglect, or Trump power stunts... because it does have roots... it has real weight... and he’s in the lead... and gaining momentum.

Okay, that’s enough for one entry.

I’ve got work in the morning.

[konnl]

Scrappers Part III

After encountering a Harvester, Angie and Ruggy are wrapping up their scrapping mission. They question why the operator sent them here. Unfortunately, there’s no time to ponder. Harvesters aren’t far behind.

Scrappers Part III continues of a sci-fi horror universe that is being developed through short stories. Enjoy the story in written word, audio, artwork and soundscape.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Scrappers Part III

Heading Home

The idea of wiping off this gunk was the one thing that kept me going. We had to get back to the cruiser if I wanted to snag a cloth and get all the sweat and blood off me. As Ruggy and I shot the embryo sacks with the Harvester infants, the liquids had splattered against us. The mix of sweat from the intense heat of the spacecraft crash added to the disgusting factor. I couldn’t wait to get out of this mess and back to the cruiser.

We were scrappers, though. It was our job to get whatever goods there were from the location the operator gave us. It was that simple. What we did today, I had a hard time grasping. We killed children. Harvester or not, they were living conscious beings. The idea that Harvesters should be spared was an unpopular opinion. I knew it. That’s why I didn’t share it often. At the moment, I guess I lost control of myself. Ruggy managed to slap me back into the routine, and we annihilated the infants.

After our rover arrived, and we started doing what we did best – scrap. The Harvester’s spacecraft had plenty of raw materials to gather. The damn gene-freaks are smart with their tech. Most of it had self-destruct functions built-in. It was unlikely we’d be gathering anything of value other than the metal.

That was true. Another job done. We loaded up the rover and returned to the cruiser. The beast we shot left blood and footprints in the ash. It retreated deeper into The Lost. That wasn’t our mission. We’d report the finding and get back to base. More than anything, I wanted to get out of this wasteland, get to that cloth. Plus, the old world was unsettling. Every time we entered The Lost, I found it hard to believe that there used to be another civilization before this mess.

On Route

We marched back to the cruiser with the rover right behind us. The cruiser was barely in view, probably another half hour. I held my rifle tightly, looking at all the nearby rubble. That beast was still out there. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would come back. We had no idea what or where it was. The Harvesters dabbled in modifying all sorts of genetics. It could be another human for all we know.

“We’ve got to get some intel as to why the operator took us out here,” Ruggy said.

“Yeah. It seems odd they’d send a scrapper team out here,” I said. “A military unit might have been more useful.”

“One would think. Quite frankly, I am not surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“We’re disposable. The military is not. They knew it was a Harvester crash site, and they wanted to get to it before the Harvesters did.”

“Right, for the metal.”

“And we did.” Ruggy looked up to the grey-and-black sky. “Thankfully, no more of them showed up.”

The Harvesters were usually quick to come and snag their deceased. Lucky for us, we got here first. We were sure we knew why the operator took us here. Still, it would be good to hear it from the horse’s mouth. Until then, we did our job and made sure we stayed alive. No one else had our backs.

Ruggy and I reached the cruiser. With a few subtle eye movements, I used my goggle’s interface to open the cruiser’s back hatch. The rover automatically strolled in with the scraps of metal. Ruggy and I went in after, letting the hatchet door close.

I took off my goggles and blinked a couple of times. My eyes burned any time I used them. It didn’t matter how many times.

“Angie,” Ruggy said, taking his goggles off. “Mind starting the cruiser? I’ve got to take a shit.”

“Yeah,” I said. Classy Ruggy, I thought.

Relief

We split from the hangar bay. I made a quick stop to the storage closet, snagging a small towel before entering the cockpit. Wiping my face of the blood and sweat, I sat down in the driver’s seat and flicked the machine on. I felt a wave of relief removing that grunge from my skin. Harvester baby fluid – disgusting.

The cruiser roared to life as I gripped the steering wheel with my gloves. Now we could go home. I pressed the acceleration pedal while turning the wheel, moving the large vehicle around. The dashboard directly below the windshield lit up with a locally saved map. It was the familiar system that the goggles used that got us to the crash site.

The system said it was about halfway through the night. Thankfully for us, the dark offered some shielding from the Harvesters’ spacecraft. Sure, they had night vision like we did, but every little bit helped when it came to survival.

Ruggy came into the cockpit and sat down in the shotgun seat. He pulled out a small box from his pant pocket and flicked it open, revealing small white sticks.

“Are those?” I asked, glancing at him.

“Yeah, smokes. Want one?”

“Give me one,” I said, extending my hand.

Ruggy put one in my palm as he flicked a lighter. He lit my smoke and his. I took a puff of the cigarette and let out a small cough. It had been a while. The taste of nicotine soothed my nerves. I needed that and a good bottle of whiskey to shrug today off.

“Where’d you get these?” I asked while puffing on the smoke.

“I know some folks at the base,” Ruggy said, putting his feet up on the dashboard.

“Tobacco is hard to come by,” I said, eyes on the road.

“I know, trust me. You did well today, kid. You earned it.”

“Thanks,” I brushed my hair aside, exposing my ear. “That wasn’t easy.”

“I know,” Ruggy said. “That’s why I said you did well.”

“What do you think the operator will have to say about this?”

“Not much. They never do. Operators just run it up the pipeline, and it will be delegated to the right department. That’s how these things work.”

“Truthfully, I am a little pissed that they had us go all the way out here.”

“Get over it. It will happen again. We’re replaceable.”

I tightened my one hand on the steering wheel. Ruggy’s bluntness annoyed me. He didn’t seem to mind that we were just numbers when it came to the higherups. We had more value than that. I know we did. If it weren’t for us, humanity wouldn’t have any raw materials to work with.

The Call

“Speaking of,” Ruggy said, flinging his feet off the dashboard. “Let’s call this in.” He reached for the touch screen in the middle of the dashboard and navigated through the system’s interface. The speakers rang, then clicked.

“This is operator 43-S3, unit S-89 do you reply?” came the operator’s distorted voice.

“Hey, operator,” Ruggy said.

“S-89, have you reached the assigned location?” the operator asked.

“Done and scrapped. We’re on our way back.”

“What did you call for then?”

“About that scrap. Did you know it was a Harvester crash sight?”

Silence.

“You had us rush out here in the middle of the night,” Ruggy persisted.

“We’ll want a full report on your findings when you return to base,” the operator said.

“Yeah, I get that. That’s protocol. I think we should actually chat with someone about what we saw.”

Silence.

“Hello?” Ruggy asked.

The cruiser made several beeping noises. A red dot appeared on the dashboard’s map. That was never a good sign. Someone else was in the area. The question was, who? From the details on the map, the cruiser’s sensors detected it to be above ground. It was aerial. Another spacecraft.

“Operator 43-S3, are there any ships in the area?” I asked.

“Don’t bother kid,” Ruggy said. “If those were our ships, we’d know.” Ruggy pressed the touch screen, cutting the communication with the operator. He flicked some additional switches that shut off the exterior lights. I brought the cruiser to a halt and turned off the engine. This was protocol. Unidentified spacecrafts meant only one thing – Harvesters. We couldn’t have this cruiser radiating transmission signals and lights. I watched the map fade out – the red dot getting closer – as the cruiser turned off. We were left in the dark.

“The cruiser doesn’t use any global positioning?” I said. “How did it find us?”

“No, the maps are local,” Ruggy said, eyeing the sky. He puffed on his smoke. “Looks like the Harvesters came for their crashed ship after all.”

I inhaled the cigarette while looking out the windshield. Dirt, ruins, and a dark sky. There was no sign of anything. The cloudy night sky was working against us. We remained silent, both watching in anticipation. The Harvesters had to be near. The cruiser’s sensors were pretty accurate.

Visitors

“There,” Ruggy said. A humming sound faded in as lights were seen in the sky, piercing through the clouds to the ground below. The lights moved through the ruined landscape, locking onto various cracks and sheltered areas.

“They’re looking for something,” I said.

“Yeah, us,” Ruggy said.

A smaller light came down from the larger light. A craft came out of the clouds and descended onto the ground on the other side of a hill. It was probably a good hundred paces away. The dark made it tough to see the details of the craft. There were only bright lights.

“We can’t stay here,” Ruggy said.

“We can’t turn the engine on,” I argued. “They’ll see us.”

Ruggy nodded. “That leaves us with one option.”

“No,” I said, already knowing.

“We’ve got to abandon the cruiser.”

My heart sunk. We were sitting ducks. Without the cruiser, we also had no way of getting home. We’d be stuck in The Lost.

“Grab the survival packs. Don’t waste any time.” Ruggy said, extinguishing his smoke. He got up from his seat and hurried out of the cockpit.

I stared at the distant lights. Smaller lights trickled out of the landed craft. Harvesters. They were on foot. There was no way we’d be able to fight them off. Running was our only hope. I took one last inhale from my smoke and pressed it into the ground. It was time to act.

Ruggy and I gathered all the supplies we could into emergency backpacks and met up in the hangar bay. We swung the packs over our shoulders. Goggles strapped on, rifles in hand, and ammunition belts buckled – it was showtime.

“We can come back,” Ruggy said.

“Presuming the Harvesters don’t blow the cruiser up.”

A loud thump came from on top of the cruiser. It was directly above us. We froze. A moment passed. Another thump. Then a roar. Something was on the roof outside.

Visitor

“That ain’t no Harvester,” Ruggy said, lifting his rifle.

“That thing, from the crash site,” I said.

Scratching and pounding picked up. The tearing of metal reverbed throughout the cruiser. The beast was attempting to break in. We were sitting ducks.

“We can sneak out the side,” Ruggy said, leaving the hangar bay.

I followed him, holding my rifle tightly. The tearing of metal amplified as a loud clang erupted. A howling roar echoed in the hangar bay. The beast was inside. Ruggy and I picked up our pace, closing the midway hall door in the process. We made it to the side exit beside the cockpit. Ruggy began to punch the emergency pin to open the door. With the cruiser completely off, we had no way of communicating with it from our goggle interfaces. Everything was manual.

Thumping erupted from the hall, it was closing in. I looked back. There, behind the small circular window of the hall door, the muscular beast from the crash sight stood on its hind legs, looking almost human. The spikes on its back erected upward as the drooling mouth opened, exposing the sharp teeth. It let out a roar, slamming its clawed hand into the glass. It shattered, pushing the door forward with it.

“Ruggy!” I shouted.

Ruggy finished punching the pin into the door’s lock, and it lifted upward. We rushed out of the cruiser as Ruggy turned around, punching the button the lock the door. It swung back down as stomping came from the hall. The beast rushed towards. The door locked shut as it slammed into the side of the cruiser, roaring. The whole vehicle wobbled.

“Damn manual override,” Ruggy said. He glanced around while placing his goggles over his head. I did the same, letting the night vision come to life. We could now see the lights off in the distance. The Harvesters were on their way.

Bringing The Fight

WE DON’T HAVE A LOT OF TIME, Ruggy communicated through the goggle’s chat window. THAT THING IS GOING THE BREAKOUT. COME ON.

I used subtle eye movement to type back, WHERE?

Thumping and scratching came from inside the cruiser. The beast was shredding through the metal. I caught up with Ruggy, who jogged towards the Harvester lights.

RUGGY, THIS IS SUICIDE! I typed.

Ruggy turned to face me. HARVESTERS ARE ONTO US. THEY’LL CATCH-UP. THEY’RE FASTER THAN US.

WE CAN’T FIGHT THEM. YOU KNOW THAT.

OUR BEST BET IS TO LURE THAT THING TO THEM. WE’LL GIVE THEM A TASTE OF THEIR OWN MEDICINE. THAT THING WILL FUCK THEM UP. I swallowed heavily. Ruggy was right. The man knew how to survive. He got himself out of difficult situations before. Seeing the dilemma we were in, I had no choice but to follow him. This was for our survival. We’d bring the fight to the Harv

WE DON’T HAVE A LOT OF TIME, Ruggy communicated through the goggle’s chat window. THAT THING IS GOING THE BREAKOUT. COME ON.

I used subtle eye movement to type back, WHERE?

Thumping and scratching came from inside the cruiser. The beast was shredding through the metal. I caught up with Ruggy, who jogged towards the Harvester lights.

RUGGY, THIS IS SUICIDE! I typed.

Ruggy turned to face me. HARVESTERS ARE ONTO US. THEY’LL CATCH-UP. THEY’RE FASTER THAN US.

WE CAN’T FIGHT THEM. YOU KNOW THAT.

OUR BEST BET IS TO LURE THAT THING TO THEM. WE’LL GIVE THEM A TASTE OF THEIR OWN MEDICINE. THAT THING WILL FUCK THEM UP.

I swallowed heavily. Ruggy was right. The man knew how to survive. He got himself out of difficult situations before. Seeing the dilemma we were in, I had no choice but to follow him. This was for our survival. We’d bring the fight to the Harvesters. Give them that failed experiment back to them.