#sorry all the traders and all the customers hate it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintgoths · 4 months ago

Text

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ꜰɪᴠᴇ

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - STARRY-NIGHT.

WORDS - 2,645.

RATING - G+. [death].

SUMMARY - Isabella is unsure if the baby is Joel’s.

i cross-post on archive of our own and wattpad

previous chapter - chapter thirty-four

Isabella had wondered if she had shown, she had stood in front of her tripled door closet mirror and had positioned herself to the side, her top slid up and hand against her belly as she looked at her stomach that had barely formed a lump. She had wondered how far she was and had wondered if it was a cryptic pregnancy. When she had made love to Joel this morning, he didn’t notice anything, and as everyone around her had noticed, Joel was usually keen about her.

As she had gently rubbed her stomach, the closed door to her bedroom had been pushed open, the entrance had barely made a sound but Isabella had quickly dropped her shirt to cover her body. “Warn me next time,” Isabella whispered, taken aback by the quickness of the person, yet, when she turned to see who had opened the door, it had been her partner, a bit wide eyed to her reaction but immediately had calmed down due to why she might’ve felt that way. “Oh---Joel sorry,” Isabella awkwardly muttered.

“It’s cool,” Joel said as he moved himself fully into their shared room, he had been quick to kiss her, hands behind her back as he then left one more kiss against her cheek. “Going to work today?”

Arms around his shoulders, Isabella tilted to look up at him. Her eyes had glinted at the sight of him, he was so handsome that it almost hurt Isabella whenever she had glanced at him. “Yes,” she said in relations to the Café, the past two days she had gained more customers, which hadn’t been a surprise, she was popular in Jackson and had connections to the main family in the commune, she had normally found her children there, which wasn’t a surprise, but Ellie and Dina usually popped in with Ivy, both paranoid if Isabella would somewhat hint at the girl’s pregnancy.

“I’ll take you there,” Joel said and as Isabella briefly thanked him, the two of them paced out of the room. Everyone else had been in school, which had been a relief for Isabella, as much as Isabella loved all of them, having them around her all the time usually got annoying due to the noisiness of the home. “Has Scarlet’s mother spoken to you?”

As Isabella shook her head, she had then replied. “No. I heard that Amelia is too busy drinking to bother to come fetch Scarlet.”

Just as he pulled a face, Joel followed Isabella down the steps. Joel had found nothing wrong with people who didn’t want kids, yet to have a kid but abuse and neglect them was something Joel had deeply hated. As any person would, though when it came to the topic of neglecting your kid, it usually hit a weak spot in Joel’s heart. “The traders are coming today, would there be anything you want me to get you?”

While Isabella briefly thought about it, she shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll think about it.”

“Baby, I don’t have much time,” Joel clicked and with her hands on her hips, Isabella turned to look at him.

“Then you should’ve told me yesterday then,” she sassed and he chuckled at her sassiness, Joel raised his hands up in defence before he apologised and continued to take her to the Café.

❊❊❊

Isabella had been cleaning the main counter when Kaylee walked in, the Lorde woman had been the first one to greet and Isabella raised her head and sent her a small smile in return. “Hi,” Isabella replied.

“Have you told Joel?” Kaylee asked as she approached the woman. Isabella quickly glanced to the side, luckily, there had been no one else in the Café, everyone else had been here in the morning before they returned to their daily work, and it had been at least thirty minutes before people would start showing up again.

As Isabella continued to clean, Kaylee clicked her tongue in response as she hastily gathered what the look had meant. “The baby is also Joel’s child; he deserves to know.”

Moved, Isabella twisted her gaze towards Kaylee, she had a certain look, an expression of insecurity that had mirrored that she had been ashamed with what she had wanted to say. “I don’t know who’s kid it is.”

With a gasp, Kaylee sat moved herself closer to the Rosalind woman, she could see the way Isabella’s eyes shook with anxiety after she had said that. She had been scared to inform Joel of the news in fear that the child could either be Adam’s or even Tora’s.

“Can the baby be a child of Adam’s?” Kaylee inquired and with her tools now set upon the counter Isabella added.

“And someone else’s,” she said and Kaylee gasped once more.

“Tommy?” Kaylee guessed and with the look Isabella had sent her, the Lorde woman continued to guess. “Seth?”

With her arms crossed, Isabella furrowed her eyebrows. “Are your expectations of me that low?” Annoyed Isabella had then opened the cabinets that were below the counter and returned the cleaning tools there. “Please do not tell anyone.”

“I won’t, plus, what Adam and I tried to do is way worse than that,” Kaylee encouraged and as Isabella shortly agreed with what she had said, Kaylee resumed to guess who might’ve been the potential baby father of Isabella’s unborn child, and when Kaylee guessed upon Tora, the look on Isabella’s face shadowed---and with her hand against her mouth, Kaylee shrieked.

“Does Joel know you’ve been with him?”

“Yes,” Isabella shortly answered and with now relaxed figure, Kaylee leaned against the edge of the counter.

Even though the circumstance had been entertaining, Kaylee would’ve rather Isabella have a clear conscious than hiding her pregnancy from her lover. “Then we should go to the hospital and check how long you are, and if it’s not long since you’ve slept with Joel, then you should be okay,” Kaylee kindly explained, and with her arms now unfolded and beside her sides, Isabella took in what she had said. “I’ll take you there after your shift, I need to visit Adam anyways.”

❊❊❊

She had laid against the hospital bed, Isabella had anxiously anticipated what the doctor would say to her, and if one path would lead her to tell Joel the news or keep in the intel due to guilt, and the other path was the fact it was a cryptic pregnancy she would have much time to hide it, because you couldn’t just hide a pregnancy. That was what Kaylee had told her on their way to the hospital.

“You’re a month in,” the doctor said and with a sigh of relief, Isabella felt all her muscles relax, with her hand in Kaylee’s, she could feel the Lorde woman rub the pad of her thumb against her knuckles.

“See,” Kaylee smiled. “You didn’t have to worry.”

As she gently sat up on the hospital bed, Isabella shrugged her shoulders, still anxious. “I have much more to worry about now,” she told Kaylee fore she turned to look at the doctor. “I’m not sure if my body is able to handle giving birth to another child,” she began. “I almost died when I gave birth to Venus.”

With a look of worry, Kaylee let go of Isabella’s hand. “Does Joel know of the pregnancy?” The doctor asked and with a guilty look, Isabella shook her head.

“Not yet,” Isabella said. “I don’t know how to get on with it, but I will tell him.”

“It’ll be best to,” the doctor responded. “You will need a strong support system if you do go through this pregnancy.”

With a short smile, Isabella turned to sit at the side of the bed. “I do have a good support system,” she said in relation to Kaylee who had smiled at her.

When they were allowed to exit the hospital room, Kaylee had then led Isabella to the room Adam had stayed in. Kaylee had informed Isabella that Adam had been getting better, and the stiches that had been provided to him was healing slow, in short terms, Joel punches to kill.

Awkward, Isabella had trailed behind Kaylee, playing with her fingers as Kaylee stepped into the room after she pushed the closed door open, the hospital room had been average sized, but Isabella could tell he was getting treated well. There had been a small tv in the room, so Isabella considered that Adam must’ve gotten somewhat of a VIP chamber.

He hadn’t acknowledged Isabella when he felt her presence enter the room. Though he had twisted to look at his sister, a silver platter on his thighs fixed with plates that mounted food, he had appeared glad to see Kaylee, his orbs barely landing on who stood beside her. “The doctors said I should be let out tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” Kaylee smiled as she turned to Isabella who then moved with one stride to stand beside Kaylee.

With a short smile, Isabella politely waved at Adam. “Hi,” she smacked, before she placed her hand on top of the other. “I’m sorry for what happened,” Isabella said, even though she had believed what Joel did was well-founded, she had in truth, felt sorry for Kaylee.

“Should’ve put your boyfriend on a leash,” Adam said and with narrow eyes, Isabelle responded.

“Should’ve been careful with what you were saying,” she argued.

With a look of disgust, Adam turned to look at his sister. “Why is she here?” He emphasised.

“I just wanted to break the ice,” Kaylee muttered, and with a sign, Isabella moved back to the door.

“I’ll be leaving,” Isabella said, aware that Kaylee’s plan to break the ice completely failed. “Thank you for taking me to the hospital, I’ll see you later,” she said and without wanting to hear another word, Isabella moved out of the room and made her way to exit the hospital building.

❊❊❊

Isabella had thought of various ways to break the news to Joel, to break the news to her children, she had speculated how Venus would react to hearing how she will be an older sister, even though having another child scared Isabella, immensely, and as much as Isabella had the unconscious reflex to place her hand against her stomach, the sight of the traders soaring through the town had caught her attention.

She had wondered if Joel would’ve been with them, specifically looking for coffee beans, with a short smile on her face, Isabella drowned herself within the crowd, head tilted upwards as she scouted for the man, he was easy to catch, whenever Joel was near Isabella her eyes would zoom to him like a magnet, he was next to someone, Mariposa, someone Isabella had thought she’d never see again. Though life always seemed to make surprises for the Rosalind woman.

“I had to come see you again,” Mariposa smiled after she took a good scan of Isabella, Joel wrapped his arm behind his girlfriend, expressive, Mariposa passed another can towards the older man. “Joel told me that you and him are officially together.”

“Really proud to be with her,” Joel expressed and with her lip tucked behind her teeth, Isabella hid a grin.

As he turned the can Mariposa gave him to Isabella, he sent her a look, proud of himself as he remembered what Isabella had mentioned to him a few nights ago. “I remember you telling me you were craving cherries,” he mentioned and as Isabella quickly kissed his nose, she grabbed the can away from her boyfriend and thanked him.

“Save it for the bedroom,” Mariposa joked as she tucked in the commodity Joel had given her. “By the way, there’s someone I met that says they know you Isabella,” Mariposa brought up and confused and curious to see who she had meant, she had watched Mariposa twist her body and motion for someone to come her way.

Keen, Joel had let go of Isabella as he watched a slender woman part their way through the crowd, and even though he didn’t hold Isabella no more, he could feel the way her body had tensed, had almost trembled as her eyes widened in surprise, uttered a name he hasn’t heard her say before. “Hana?”

❊❊❊

THE PAST

Isabella had softly shuddered as she walked through the cold night, it had been a couple of minutes since she read the letter Lana had sent her, and Isabella had been on her last trimester, and was told she could give birth any time soon. Truthfully, Isabella had been scared out of her mind, even though she followed the diet her doctor had given her, she was informed that it would be a slim chance for her and the baby to survive.

Isabella had tried to have talks about saving the baby and not her to Kai, but her husband did not want to hear it. On the other hand, from the note Isabella had read, informed the Rosalind woman to come to the beach the Ophanim Community owned, she had been unsure, but Isabella anticipated she could use this meeting to have a heart-to-heart talk with the twin. Though, Lana did say to Isabella that there was something at the beach that could help her give birth, and even though Isabella had been superstitious to what it had been, she had still been curious to what Lana would reveal to her.

Kai had remained home with the children, he was unsure to allow Isabella to be by herself, but Isabella had to remind Kai that she would be protected, specifically because she was protected due to his status. He was the one to walk her out of the house and hadn’t shut the door until his wife turned into the size of an atom.

However, if she was being truthful, with the missing persons in the community, there had been a speck of anxiety Isabella had carried, so as she rubbed her belly, Isabella looked around the beach that had seemed empty. It wasn’t as cold as Isabella would’ve expected, but there was a calm windiness that she liked the sound of, the beach was beautiful and the water reflected the starry night the sky mirrored.

Confused, Isabella had looked for Lana, who had eventually walked out of the woods the beach was barely connected with, she was far from Isabella, though she had been clear enough for the pregnant woman to understand who it had been. She hadn’t looked Isabella’s way but had recited a prayer, in a language she didn’t understand, but there had been a few words the pregnant lady could comprehend, specifically, “Ophanim.”

“Lana?” Isabela called out, though there had been no vocal response but the visual of the twin lighting herself on fire, the tone of her prayer increased in intensity as she slowly walked towards the ocean, the vivid imagery had caused Isabella to scream in fear and feel water between her legs slide down, but focused on getting Lana into the water, Isabella painfully dragged herself closer, but she was too late when she heard the chants of other Ophanim worshippers creep out of the woods and walk towards her.

“Lana! Lana, no!” Isabella fearfully cried out as she had attempted to fight the grasps of the worshippers who tried to pull her away from the situation, eyes teary as she watched Lana’s figure drop against the water surface and float as the fire that had once overtaken her body be slowly swallowed by the ocean, Isabella could feel her heart drop as she had fallen numb against the people’s hold. “Oh,” Isabella sorrowfully whispered as she looked up at the sky.

Her cold tears had slid down her cheeks as her vision began to blur. “Oh…” Isabella lightly cried once more before her vision turned blank.

masterlist

story masterlist

#the last of us #ellie williams #joel miller #the last of us 2 #tlou #the last of us two #tlou2 #joel miller x oc #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

10 notes · View notes

itsagrimm · 3 years ago

Text

The Hat

It’s physics. The hat just stays on no matter what. That is how science works. Look it up.

Cad Bane X she*her afab character

3k words

CN: hat, smut, blood, biting, unwanted advances, as always a fair share of violence and injury because I can <3, rough sex, bit of dom bane and generall kinkiness, character gets carried, biting, scratching, restricting movements, p-i-v-sex

Note: Reader is able-bodied and has hair which can get pulled.

“Bad day, huh?”, you greeted the customer, “What can I get you?”

“Spotchka.” He snarled and took a seat at the bar.

You got to work and started pouring the drink while secretly eyeing the stranger. He was a lanky Duros with dark blue skin, red eyes and an expression on his face clearly stating that he better be left alone.

You passed him the drink and busied yourself with cleaning up your workspace.

The cantina was moderately busy today, your shift nearly over and it was late. The rain poured outside, and you already braced yourself to go home wet and shivering.

Your comm buzzed.

“Hey, sorry it is a bit short-term, but can you stay longer and take over the next shift? My kid got sick, and I can’t find a babysitter.”

You stayed silent. It’s not like you did not want to help. But your boss on the other side of the comm call could sweeten the deal a bit.

“Hey, I’ll pay you double the ordinary rate.”

You considered.

“Please.”

It was rare for your boss to beg for something, and you bathed in that little rush of power.

“Alright. I’ll take the night shift too.”, you agreed.

“Thank you.”

The call ended and you returned to work.

The blue Duros with his blue drink was still busy with his order but other customers called for you. Motivated by the prospect of earning not only double but maybe a few more tips, you moved through the room with swaying hips, a polite smile, and the obligatory banter with your customers.

Running the cantina on your own, you returned to the bar after what felt like an hour. The Duros was still there, his drink emptied now. He raised his glass, and you raised your eyebrow in question.

“Lil’ Lady. Another one.”

“Sure, sorry for the wait. I am alone today. Thanks for the patience.”

He just growled.

Being behind the bar again you risked another secret look at the stranger.

He still had his hat on, a strange breathing apparatus and a huge coat. Two blasters were barely visible behind the heavy fabric.

“Like what you see?” the Duro asked, his voice deep and modulated from the breathing apparatus.

You smiled.

“Sorry, my curiosity got the better of me. Most here on Trask are sailors or traders. You appear to be none of that.”

“Aren’t you a smart one.”

“Trying my best.” You replied sourly. You were the one controlling the spotchka access after all. If this man wanted to treat you like that, he’ll be leaving soon.

“Oi Y/N!” Fabi, one of the regulars stepped next to the Duros. You rolled your eyes. Fabi was one of those people who couldn’t take no for an answer despite you being clear on that. You always hated when he came to the bar.

“What is it Fabi?” you spat out, raising yourself to your full height and reaching for the blaster you always kept under the counter. It always paid off to be safe than sorry.

“Hey, how are you doing today?”

“Worst day of my life, had to see you. What do you want?”

“Woah, woman. Don’t treat me like that. I’m just making conversation.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you treating all your customers like that?”

“You know Fabi - customers order, pay and then leave me the kriff alone. So, unless you want something from the bar, I need you to kriff off immediately.”

“Aren’t you charming today Y/N. I’m just-“

“The lil’ Lady was pretty clear, boy. Kriff off.” The Duros snarled at Fabi. ”You are disturbing my spotchka tap.”

You blinked. Getting help was one thing, being called a thing another. And you very much disliked being seen as a tap and not a person.

“Hey, who are you?” Fabi turned to the Duros and tapped him with his finger on the shoulder.

The moment Fabi poked the Duros, the man in the hat reached up, grabbed Fabi’s hand and slammed it down hard on the bar. The disgusting sound of shattering bones made your stomach turn.

“I-“ The Duros growled from under his hat. “ – am none of your business. Leave before I break your other hand too.”

You leaned back and watched as Fabi retreated from the bar.

The ruckus had disturbed the cantina peace and everybody watched you, waiting for a sign if you needed them for support or not.

You stepped to the Duros and whispered in low voice.

“As much as I appreciate your help with the asshole, I am not a lifeless thing, and you better change your tone when talking to me.”

The Duros looked at you from under the hat, with something on his face face that could pass as a mischievous grin.

“Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna kick you out of the only cantina on Trask, Mister.”

“With this piss weather? I am sorry. I’d rather stay. I’m gonna make you an offer. I’ll get you home with my ship after you close while you keep me pouring the spotchka and a dinner.”

You hollowed your cheeks and narrowed your eyes. It was a good offer. You would avoid a possibly lurking Fabi or other creeps plus the rain showed no sign of stopping soon. But the Duros was still a stranger.

“Who are you?” you required.

“Cad Bane.”

“Alright Bane. But you’ll have to make do with a bottle of spotchka some other day. Can’t have you crashing the ship.”

“Fair.” He rasped.

You stepped back again and gazed through the cantina, the usual faces of merchants and sailors still waiting for you.

“It’s alright guys.” You called. “Does anyone want to order?”

Relieve washes over their faces and soon the cantina returned to its usual business while you were fully occupied with serving drinks, passing out food and cleaning tables. Bane busied himself with the bowl of dinner you passed him and kept to himself while the rest of the night went on without any further incidents.

After a few hours the cantina cleared out and you locked behind the last customer, leaving you and Bane alone.

“That’s it then.”, you declare, “Time to go, Mister. But no funny business. I just want to get home dry and in pieces.”

You grabbed your bag and the blaster from under the bar, raising it high so that Bane could see it as a warning.

He just starred at you with an annoyed expression and got up from his seat.

“You have to show me more than an old DH-17 to impress me, lil’ Lady.”

You tried to be as neutral as possible with your face. But he was tall. And his voice so casual about the weapon left you impressed. You really did spend too much time in this cantina where drunk dudes tried to flirt with you by talking about all that big fish they caught with their big boats absolutely not masquerading what not-that-big-part-of-their-body they wanted to put into you.

You cleared your throat.

“The back entrance is here.” You said and led the way.

Bane followed you in long strides, his coat rustled with every step.

Obviously, it still rained.

You groaned and turned towards Bane. “I hope your ship is not too far away.”

“Come.” He commanded and walked down the alley.

You tried to keep up with him. But he was fast and did not mind the puddles of water while you had to dance around them.

To your anger he had to stop a few times for you to keep up.

“You’re slow.” He stated.

“You have boots. The puddles are no obstacle for you while I need to walk around them.”

“Want me carry you, princess?” his voice was flat and modulated. But you honestly weren’t sure if he was teasing or offering.

Keep it together.

You were fully soaked when you arrived at the ship. You cared little about space ships but living at a port had taught you a few lessons. It was a well-kept gun ship. An unusual ship for a trader.

Who the hell was this man?

He activated the door by pressing a few buttons on his wrist and you followed him inside. It was warm and dry. But your wet clothes made you shiver and dripped onto the floor.

You turned to Bane for an excuse for the mess only to catch him eyeing you.

“TODO!” He called. “Get something for the Lady to dry herself up and clean up the mess here.”

“Master Bane!” a voice answered from somewhere in the ship. "I am a techno-service droid, not a butler droid!" "Can it, Todo! You are what I say you are." Bane yelled back and started moving.

After a few seconds Todo, a little droid with funny round eye-sensors, appeared in the hull of the ship and passed you a dry blanket.

“Thanks.” You said and started drying yourself with it. Better than nothing.

Following the sounds of what must be Bane you entered the cockpit with the Duros seated in the pilot seat.

“Where you need to go, lil Lady?”

“You know I have a name.”

“Y/N. I know. Where you need to go?”

You sighed and gave him the coordinates.

“That’s pretty far.” He replied and started the ship. “I would invite you to take a seat, but you’ll just wet everything.”

“Want me to take off my clothes beforehand?” you quipped back.

“I wouldn’t object.”

You stilled in your movements, surprised and unsure how to reply.

He growled and turned to you, his red eyes staring at you intently.

“I am not forcing you to do anything, lil Lady. I am just saying that I would not object to a pretty woman like you taking off her clothes on my ship.”

You blushed speechlessly and he turned back to flying the ship.

None of this was planned. But was this bad? You had your fair share of unwanted advances and creepy interactions. You worked as a server in a pretty shady port, for gods sake. But this was new. Bane was mean, but not encroaching. And in a strange way you felt valued by his directness, even if he clearly had something violent in him.

You made a choice and took off your still wet shirt.

“Brave little one.” He rasped and turned on the auto pilot. His long blue fingers reached over to you and touched your jaw.

They were callous and violent when they pressed into your skin. It felt good.

He bowed forward, waiting a second for you to retreat, should you want it. You kissed him, answering his unspoken question, and he pressed his lips on yours. His tongue pressed against your mouth, and you opened your lips to tasting him. It was hot and wet, and you wanted to taste more, carefully testing waters by biting his lip softly.

He groaned and retaliated by biting you - hard. You tasted blood and reached for him. You wanted more of this.

Your hand wandered to his face, tangled with the breathing tubes, and finally reached his hat. He stilled and retreated.

“The hat stays on.” He rasped before moving closer and kissing along your jaw and neck.

You just chuckled at his odd insistence and let hand wander further down under his coat and shirt, reaching his neck and scratching him slightly.

“First you bit me, then you scratch me like a feral loth cat.” He nearly purred. “Is a bit of a fight what you like?”

You nod. “I do. Is that alright with you?”

“More than fine.” Ha answered, his voice even deeper and raspier than before. “I like the unruly pretty ones. You tell me when it’s too much and I’ll stop, lil’ Lady.”

You nodded again and he pulled you on his lap. His hands roamed over your chest and back, helping you to get off your bra while you kicked off your shoes.

You leaned into him and bit him into the neck while your hands tried to get him out of that coat and under his shirt. It felt divine.

Bane reached down your leggings and your groaned while grinding yourself onto him for some friction. But instead of pulling down the rest of your clothes he grabbed you in an iron grip and lifted you up.

“I don’t think the pilot seat is the right battlefield for now.” He explained and carried you down the ship to his bunk.

You pressed yourself against his chest and enjoyed the feeling of being carried until he put you down on the bed.

Instead of joining you he stopped up and looked at you. His red eyes felt hot, nearly torching you with lust and you felt yourself getting wet.

“Aren’t ya’ a pretty one, little loth cat.” He finally said and started taking off his clothes.

“Wait, let me.” You asked and reached for him.

He stepped closer and you started to undress him. First the heavy damp coat and the shirt. The hat stayed on like he said but you kneeled and started untying his heavy boots while he sat on the bunk with his legs wide.

“I like you kneeling before me.” He groaned. “But I need you up here.”

You obeyed and crawled up to him, kissing him deeply and playing with his tongue.

He seized you again with one hand, fixating you on his lap and grabbing your ass with the other.

“How are you feeling?” He inquired.

“G-good.” You replied breathlessly.

“Will you allow me to take care of you?”

“Uh-hu.”

He moved you onto the bunk again and slowly took of your leggings, roaming your body with his intensive stare and enjoying every bit of your sight. You observed him in anticipation. It was hard to know where to look first: his lustful gaze, his callous hands, his heaving wide chest, or the prominent bulge in his pants that made your mouth fill with spit and your core impossibly wetter.

He crawled between your legs and opened your knees for him to lean over to your core. You gazed down and caught sight of him looking up you under the brim of the hat before licking one long trail up your slit.

You mewled and closed your eyes. He started licking you and exploring you with his oh so wonderful fingers. Only a minor part of you noticed how you grabbed the blanked to ground yourself somehow. He inserted a finger into you, slowly working you open and reached up with the other hand for your tits.

You heard yourself mumbling incoherent words as he worked you into one shattering orgasm. Your body seized up and his rough tongue sliding over your clit in a delicious mixture of pain and delicate. He kept pumping his hand into you, helping you move through your orgasm and prolonging it.

You reached down for him, past the hat and felt his back before clawing yourself into his dark blue skin - until it all became too much.

Your legs trembled and Bane stopped, sitting up and watching you come back from your orgasmic peak.

You wiped away the little tears of pleasure and just starred up at Bane.

He snarled, his mouth twisting into something of a smile and leaned over you to kiss you. His looming presence and body weight felt like dragging you back into reality in the most welcome way.

“Bane.” You whispered. “Make a wish.”

He hummed and with so close you felt yourself vibrate from it.

“Think you can take me?”

“Yes.”

He reached down and tugged off his pants. You shivered in anticipation as you felt his cock heavy between your legs. Bane lined himself up while looking at you and started slowly pressing into you. He was big. You moved up your legs and hip to help him into you, pressing your fingers into his arm to tell you when to stop and when to move. Carefully he worked himself into your hot wet core and you loved every bit of it. Together you worked him into you, slowly finding a rhythm until he was fully sheathed.

You both groaned as he was full inside.

He was so much, and you felt so complete, having him inside you while barely being able to move. You bit at him playfully only for him to place his large hand over your neck and jar, stopping any movement of yours and starting to move himself.

You felt yourself losing control again and another orgasm building up with every stroke he pounds into you. Your eyes fluttered helplessly. All you could see was Bane above you with the most intent expression and the wide rim of the hat.

Your hands felt weak, yet you managed to reach up to his shoulder to caress him and wordlessly thank him.

He came shortly after you, deep inside you like you wanted. Breathlessly you both just lied there. Bane started to soften inside you, yet you could not help yourself move away from him.

“Spotchka.” He finally said.

“I am sorry?” you were confused and stilled in your slow drawings on his back.

“You still owe me the bottle of Spotchka. I’ll be back for that, lill’ Lady.”

You could not help yourself but giggle.

“I hope you do, Bane.”

Would you like to get tagged in more of my work? Write me a message.

Dividers where made by saradika.

193 notes · View notes

alexoreality · 2 years ago

Text

Forgotten Bonds(Rewrite): MEMORY 1

That was a decade ago...

Monkey D. Luffy was his name. That’s what his dad said. He was a cheerful child with no care of the world whatsoever, he had lost his memories... How and why is something he’ll figure out on his own.

His dad told him to avoid going to the East Blue at all cost, but why? It was his home sea, why shouldn’t he visit it?

The catalyst of it all were three young siblings and sake. The two older kids were looking for their youngest and somehow; Luffy found himself helping them. The kids didn’t mind how sketchy he looked with his two scars, he kind of hated them to be honest.

That was only the scars on his face, his body and torso was littered with it, they find the youngest of the three and one of them reprimands while the other comforts.

Then next thing he knew was that a jolt of pain had erupted in his head, he retreats, away from the kids and back to the nearest Revolutionary Base. Memories...

Of two older boys, so blurry but he can make out certain aspects, one with black hair... Small blurry dots, those were freckles, right? The other had a missing tooth and was blond, his mind notes his love for the color blue.

Luffy remembers this phrase with the same young voice, the brand name of the sake they used to announce their brotherhood.

“Did you know? If you share sake; you become brothers?”

He HAS brothers! Brothers! They were probably looking for him, worried about him! It had been like... What? A decade ever since he lost his memories? Were they still looking for him? Was he missed? Don’t get him wrong, the Revolutionaries treat him right but... It just doesn’t seem like he can fit in and he doesn’t want to force himself to fit in then he already has.

Forcing himself to wear tight, constricting leather suits while having to fight in missions, he preferred wearing some sort of apron skirt... Or a mid-asymmetrical wrap. Something a bit more... Ah, how should he...? Something that allows you to move more freely? Shorts? Cloaks? You know, that stuff.

Dawn Island is where he’s headed, on a small ship with traders and sailors. They were kind enough to let him board their boat, Luffy was thankful for them. That specific island is where he was first found when he had asked how he was located.

‘I’m sorry, Dad...’ Luffy smiled sadly, it was necessary sacrifice. He might receive punishment for this but once he gains more memories of these two boys; he’ll know it’ll be more than worth it!

***

It was just another ordinary day in the Partys Bar.

There was said to be a boat with returning villagers on it, why they left? Well, the fire in Grey Terminal can speak for itself. And the bombings, the way the nobles ignited everything in flames with no one to stop them had terrified them.

Makino doesn’t know what was keeping her forward now, the dark green-haired woman with vacant eyes had kept polishing the wine glasses and shots ‘til they were shining. Then to washing the dishes, serving some customers, nothing too eventful.

Everything in this village used to be so lively... With a rubbery boy at the center of the bright light that made them all happy, he was so sweet and innocent, then he was taken to the mountains by his grandfather. A few months later, he came down by himself, or did he?

No, he came down with two older boys who seemed shy? Unnerved? She remembers basically interrogating everyone if they gave the two boys a look. Which they truthfully answered; “No!”

Luffy... Gosh there were tears pricking at the corner of her eyes again, Luffy introduced her to his older brothers, boasted about how they took care of him when she wasn’t around. Makino thanked the two older boys, who were now big shot pirates who had bounties over their heads.

Hiken no Ace and Ryousuken no Sabo, how the blond young man managed to get a hold of that fighting style was beyond her but if it helped him in those harsh seas then she doesn’t mind.

Makino knew how much of a good influence little Luffy had on them, Ace, who was usually a hot-headed person and preferred to be isolated (from what she heard from the mountain bandits), was actually interacting with Luffy. Hell, one of the bandits said they saw the freckled boy’s fist immediately make contact with some assholes face after he hit Luffy.

And Sabo, he just seemed to follow Ace’s lead, but was also keeping some secrets and kept to himself; that included some of his feelings. With their little contagious sunshine around, he lets loose from his self-restraint.

Despite not being related at all, these three were so similar.

The doors swing open, plastering a fake smile she had practiced over the years of mourning, she turns to greet the new customer that might be a one of the returning villagers. She had already heard crying just outside the bar-

The plate she was wiping slid from her hands, her entire frame frozen all over, wide eyes frantically scanning the customer. “Hello, uhm... I’m kind of lo- Lady, are you alright? You dropped that plate!”

It was the same voice, its tone got deeper and sounded more mature but... “Luffy...?” Her own voice wavered; the name rolled out of her tongue naturally. When the young man met her gaze, Makino saw the same round ebony brown eyes. A burn scar on the upper right side of his face, and a familiar (again) crescent scar under his left eye. His skin was no longer just a regular tan, it was sun kissed. Wearing a forest green cloak and she barely made out a greyish-red suit under it. What was even more surprising was that he now wore shiny leather shoes.

“Y- Do you know me?”

“Luffy!” The woman threw her arms around the grown young man who she considered her own.

***

YEEET, PArt 1 done. Dear goodness...

#Forgotten Bonds AU #one piece au #one piece #monkey d. luffy #luffy #forgotten bonds au #fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 1 #this took me an awful long time to think about and make lol #better enjoy it bitc-

15 notes · View notes

sidespart · 4 years ago

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 3

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

The mad Prince of Notaleveale.

Remus was coming here. Remus was coming to Steveange and if Romulus saw him-

Roman had to leave.

Which was easier said than done; when the streets were crowded with hoards of shoppers and revellers all pressing against him, blocking his path, stealing the air out of his lungs-

“Roman!”

He needed to go. He need to find Virgil and Patton in whatever rooms they’d managed to find, collect his belongings and-

No. That would take too long – he could replace the clothes and books, he already had his sword-

“Roman, what’re you-”

- but he needed his lute. To make any kind of living he had to be able to perform. It was the only thing he was good at and once he’d got away he’d be -

He could do it. He’d run away before. He survived alone, without anyone, he could do it again and-

“Roman! Stop!”

He stopped.

Logan. Heading towards him. But he hadn’t given a time frame and if Roman grit his teeth and pushed past the spike of pain he could start to move again in just a second-

“Wait!”

Dammit.

Roman waited. Fists clenched by his side, until Logan was next to him.

“Roman.”

His chest was tight. His brain wasn’t -wasn’t working right and Logan looked so odd, with his glasses askew and his face flushed – had he been running?

“I thought I saw Patton.” Roman blurted.

It was the first excuse that popped into his head and it was clearly not – not good enough. Logan was frowning at him, a pinched expression, studying him like an experiment and-

Roman hated him, suddenly.

Logan was an upstart swot with ideas above his station and a chip on his shoulder. He poked and prodded and lost them jobs with his terse words and his better than you attitude. He reminded Roman of the tutors who snap at him for his lack of understanding and bark orders for him to recite, repeat, remember, to be better, smarter, stronger: someone worthy of his title.

He reminded him most of all of Julius. His fathers closest advisor, who had been charged with unravelling the Princes’ curses. He was the one who had helped Romulus learn how to push against his curse. He would give him orders that were almost impossible to follow and watch with cold eyes as Romulus struggled to disobey. Together they’d categorised how much pain he could withstand, what orders could be navigated and misinterpreted and which ones he was truly helpless against.

Once, he’d bid Romulus to stand on one leg. And left him there until his muscles started to cramp and shake, waiting to see if gravity or the curse was stronger. Romulus had been in tears by the end. Had even wondered, briefly, about complaining to his parents. But is was such a silly, innocuous order compared to other experiments. What had truly upset him was how Julian had just stood there, not speaking, his eyes distant and cold and calculating as he noted down every twitch and whimper from the boy. Even when he circled him, Romulus could feel those eyes boring into the back of his neck like a-

“Princey.”

Roman blinked. Julius’ practice room disappeared, replaced with the sights and sound of the Steveange street. Logan was in front of him and his eyes were far from cold. When he spoke it was with the same gentle tone that Roman had heard him use when Virgil’s worries overwhelmed him or when Patton woke from a nightmare and didn’t know where he was.

“Did the cro- the woman. Did she say something to you?” Logan was holding his hand. Gently but firmly, he tugged at Romans tightly clenched fingers, encouraging them to unfurl. Roman stared uncomprehendingly at the deep crescent marks he’d made in his palm.

Slowly, Logan released his right hand and reached for his left, repeating the process.

Roman felt shame ripple through him.

Logan wasn’t Julius. Logan would never push him so far he broke.

Logan was his friend and Roman has made him worry with his silly behaviour and his slapdash lie. But he could fix it.

He forced a smiled. Flexed his fingers and straightened up his full height. Made a show of looking around him.

“I swear I saw him. Big man, big sword, big smile – he’s hard to mistake!”

Hesitantly, Logan glanced around too before quickly refocusing on Roman.

“Are you sure you –“

“Ah well, the mind plays trick I suppose – must be hunger getting to me, speaking of which…”

Roman reached forward and deftly snatched the bag from Logan's grasp, reaching in blindly and shoving the first pastry he found into his mouth.

“Mmmm so good!” He beamed at Logan with berry stained teeth, flakes of pastry flying through the air. “Aren’t you going to have one?”

Logan stared at him. Roman kept his smile sweet and his eyes clear. He held up the bag and wiggled it enticingly.

Hesitantly, Logan took the bag and selected a tart. Keeping his eyes on the bard the entire time, he ate his treat with much more refinement then Roman had shown. “Holding back?” Roman asked, teasing, “I’ve seen you eat jam before, there’s no point pretending to have table manners now.”

Logan just hmphed but his shoulders relaxed slightly and Roman decided to take that as a victory. “We should get going” Roman said and started walking, Logan easily falling into step beside him.

The streets were crowded enough that none of the sellers seemed to feel the need to call to Roman specifically, and so this time he was free to investigate the stalls he was actually interested in.

But instead he stayed by Logan's side

Logan was a good friend. For all he claimed to lack an understating of emotional nuances he was letting Roman have his space. He’d even distracted him earlier, when his biggest concern had been the a spike of homesickness after meeting their northern customer.

He was nothing like Julius.

Roman was going to miss him so much.

***

Roman kept up his performance of normality all the way back to the main square, where they had agreed to meet the others once their mission was done. The sky was beginning to turn dark by the time they got there, though it was easy enough to navigate from the sheer number of stalls still in operation, each one boasting its own selection of colourful lanterns.

“This is fantastic!” Roman gasped theoretically, spinning on one foot to take in the whole spectacle.

“It’s a fire hazard.” Logan muttered with a frown.

They found Virgil waiting for them by the central fountain. He had manged to find a seat on the fountains edge but was wedged between two young couples who had clearly taken the romantic festival atmosphere to heart. The healer’s shoulders were up by his ears and his cloak was wrapped so tightly around himself it looked constricting. When he saw them he sprang to his feet so quickly he almost knocked one of the young ladies into the water.

“Took you two long enough.”

Roman and Logan glanced at each other.

“Logan got lost-”

“Roman kept wandering off.”

“-We brought you baked goods!”

Virgil took one of the two remaining pastries with minimal grumbling and led them out of the square. They took the north east road, a path that curved its wary upwards into the higher levels of the city. Here the buildings were all built of a blush-pink marble that sparkled in the evening twilight. The streets were wide, with neatly arranged flowerbeds and street lights which had the steady glow of Arkazeii glow lamps rather than the flicker of oil. There were certainly no traders spread out on blankets. Logan looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Was this inn you found an…economical choice?”

“It was a ‘the whole town’s rammed and this was the only place with a room left’ choice.” Virgil snarked “and don’t worry – its one room for all four of us with no breakfast included, if you were worried about getting too… bourgeoisie…or whatever."

Logan raised his hands for peace.

“I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“Well …we were lucky.” Virgil told him, and then glanced over at Roman, his lip twitching.

“Apparently they give discounts to performers.”

***

The inn was certainly a cut above their normal haunts. With brightly painted walls almost obscured by well pruned climbing plants, outdoor seating, and a wrought iron gate leading to spacious stables behind the building. Even the doors were of better quality then your typical village tavern – made of wood heavy enough to make a satisfying crash when Roman stormed in.

The room was crowded, but Patton really was hard to miss. Roman shoved his way through to the back table where the big man sat waiting. Leaving other customers cursing in his wake.

‘Hey kiddo!’ Patton greeted him with a wide smile “Did you-“

“Key.” Roman snarled.

Patron blinked and him, shock writ large on his face. “Sorry?”

“The key. To my room. Give it.” Roman snapped. “It is mine right? Since you seem happy to pimp me out in exchange for-“

“Hey!” That would be Virgil. Roman half thought he had left both men behind in his rage after Virgil’s little announcement, but the elf at least seemed to have kept up. He’d reached the table just in time to hear the start of Roman’s rant. “What the hell is your problem Princey?”

“My problem? Oh I’m sorry, I’M not the one signing other people up to sing for their supper without permission Virgil.”

“You like singing for your – we thought you’d want to!”

“Well it would have been nice to have a choice!”

“Virgil. Roman.” That was Logan, it had taken longer for the shorter man to force his way through the crowd but he wasted no time now in inserting himself into Romans business. “whatever this is… it’s not about putting on a show.”

He turned to the other two. Virgil scowling, Patton wide eyed.

“He had an…episode in the market.”

“Excuse me?” Roman shouted.

“Roman, whatever disturbed you, you practically ran away.”

“Well perhaps I had simple grown tired of looking at your face? Had you considered that?”

He turned his back to Logan, rounding on Patton again: “Now, give me the-“

Patton already had his hand out, wrought iron key resting loosely in his palm.

“We’re on the fourth floor.” he said calmly as Roman snatched it from him. “First door once you get up the stairs.” Roman spun on his heel only to find Virgil blocking his path.

“Move.” Roman hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Roman narrowed his eyes. Virgil looked angry. Looked one second away from telling him to sit down, shut up, stop causing a fuss. He wondered if he could get past him without using his sword.

“I’ll bring you up some food in a bit,” Roman blinked glancing back at Patton, startled. The warrior still hadn’t moved from the table - admittedly no easy task in the cramped corner- and was looking at him calmly.

“I don’t want anything” Roman muttered, sullen.

“But you might later.” Patton smiled at him. Not knowing how to respond Roman turned back to Virgil. The elf glanced between the two, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before sighing and stepping to the side. Not fast enough to prevent Roman from knocking his shoulder with his own as he pushed past however.

It wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

At a guess, the room was normally meant for storage not guests. Two rickety looking beds had been shoved in, so close together they might as well have been one. There was one small table forced between the end of one bed and the wall, with a basin of water perched on top. Someone, presumably Patton, had organised their bags neatly at the end of the beds. Roman’s was at the far end, closest to the window. Then Patton, then Virgil with Logan closest to the door, next to the only built in shelf where a candle had been left for the night. Roman would be able to wake with the dawn, as he liked to do, and Logan would have light for the longest to stay up and read.

Romans lute was not on the floor with his pack. Instead he found in had been placed on the bed itself, propped up on his pillow, away from any potential harm.

Whatever righteous anger he had been able to hang on too as he stomped upstairs dropped out of him now like a stone from a cliff. Without it, the despair he had felt in the market came rushing back. He sank down right there by the door, bringing his knees up to his chest as he’d done in the forest. As he used to do in Julius’ room.

He almost wished Julius was here – at least he would tell him not to cry.

The through was so absurd he let out a weak snotty laugh and buried his head in his arms.

He needed to leave Steveange.

He didn’t want to leave them.

But they had planned to stay for a week at least, hopefully longer.

Convince them to leave early? Except he couldn’t explain why. Find them a job out of the city? How? When the coronation and accompanying celebrations were over it would be easy enough to find a traveling group in need of a little extra protection, but for now no one was leaving.

They’d been excited to come. Virgil want to try the city baths, famed for their heated pools and soothing water. Logan had been talking about the library for half the trip. Patton was just excited to explore the city itself, meet the people and try the food. He loved when they stopped in busier towns but it was a rarity.

There was no way Roman would be able to convince them to leave just because he wanted to.

Roman did what other people wanted. It was all he knew how to do.

And even if he had a convincing reason…well, they probably didn’t want him around anymore anyway.

He scrambled up, grabbed the first pillow he could reach and buried his face in it to muffle a scream of frustration which turned into more sobs.

He was so pathetic.

Since he’d left home, he’d kept his memories, kept Romulus, buried as deep as he could. But now it was like Romulus was just under his skin. Ready to jump out If he let himself slip. With all his anger and hurt and fear.

Romulus was a liability.

Romulus was a murder. Or would be. If Roman couldn’t think.

He stepped over to his pack, still hugging the pillow to him like a teddy bear, and started to review the contents. He didn’t need to take all of this with him, surely? Half of it wasn’t even his, their belongings having become more and more intertwined the longer they travelled.

The healing salve was rightfully Virgil’s, the soft shirt he wrapped himself in during cold nights was actually Patton’s, at least one of the notebooks belonged to Logan.

He opened the nearest book to check, but instead of Logan's neat lists his own sloppy scrawl stared back at him. Song lyrics and passing thoughts and, on the next page, an unfinished sketch. It was of Virgil, hand covering his mouth but eyes betraying his laughter. The other pages, he knew contained scribbles of all three of them. He flicked back and found his favourite, the page marked with a yellowed leaf he couldn’t remember picking up.

It showed all three in one sketch. Logan, sleeping and so looking years younger, head pillowed on Virgil’s thigh. Virgil was turned towards Patton, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘can you believe this?’ but making no move to actually shift scholar off him. Patton was laughing, he was the most well rendered of the three figures, you could almost see his shoulders shaking.

Roman looked at it for a moment. Then slowly replaced the book mark and closed it. This would have to come with him.

A knock at the door startled him so badly he dropped the book, which bounced under the bed.

“Kiddo? Can I come it?”

Fuck.

Patton. He had -he had been so, so unbelievably rude to Patton.

His first instinct, which was admittedly not a good one, was to jump out of the window.

Roman took a deep breath. Focusing on the mundane task of sorting items had cleared his head somewhat. He was still a little shaky but his eyes were dry. He knew what would be expected of him now - Romulus had spent most of his life apologising.

“Come in.” he croaked and stood, squaring his shoulders.

Patton entered alone, two bowls of something that smelled delicious cradled in his arms.

Roman ignored the sudden spike of hunger – the fruit tart seemed a long time ago now- and bowed from the waist. He kept his back ramrod straight and bent low enough that it quickly became uncomfortable. It was the kind of bow Romulus would only have given his father or elder brother.

“Patton, I owe you my most humble apology I-“

“Roman I am so sorry.”

“The way I spoke to you was the height of disrespect and unprin- ungentlemanly behaviour I – wait, what?”

He straightened up and looked at Patton, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“Roman, I – wait hold on.” Patton handed him one of the bowls and turned to close the door. “Do you mind if we sit?” he asked and Roman nodded, smiling despite himself. Patton was the politest person he had ever met.

Once they were both seated, Patton’s bad leg stretched out in front of him, Patton looked at him seriously.

“Roman you were right downstairs. We should never have promised you’d perform without asking you first - no it's true!”

But Roman was already shaking his head. “Patton you were fine, you know I love singing! I was the one acting like, like some sort of beast I-“

“I know you love singing but that doesn’t mean we get to pick and choose when-“

“But I wanted to perform as much as possible whilst we were here- I’d told you that!”

“-especially after travelling all week. We were, er, presumptuous.”

Roman stared at him.

“Unlike this soup, which is pre – scrumptious.”

Patton beamed at him. Roman groaned.

“Anyway I’m sorry for letting you stew-“ he held up the bowl again waggling his eyebrows “- up here for so long, but we needed to make things right with the landlord.”

Roman, who had been starting to relax under the force of two puns in a row, tensed again. “What things?”

Patton smiled. “We paid the difference – you don’t have to perform! Uhh unless you want to of course, but it’s your choice.” He nodded decisively whilst Roman gaped.

“b-but isn’t it expensive?”

Patton just shrugged, “Well, the last job paid well didn’t it?”

“Not that well!”

“Aw c’mon kiddo, what’s the point of having money if we don’t spend it? Right?”

Not knowing what to say. Roman shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth without tasting it. Guilt turning the meal to ash.

“Patton…how many days did you pay for?”

“The rest of the week! And there’s still enough to have some fun at the markets, don’t worry, we can all have a – hey!” Patton put his bowl down, shuffling closer to put one warm hand on Roman’s knee.” Roman, hey kiddo, buddy what’s wrong?”

Roman found, quite to his surprise, that he was trembling. He followed Patton's example and put the bowl carefully on the floor before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I…can’t Pat. I can’t stay here. I have to go.”

“Go?” Patton looked at him with confusion clear in his big brown eyes, “But why kiddo? You don’t like the inn?”

Roman groaned shaking his head “not the inn. The city. I’m not – I can’t – if ‘m here it- “ he let out a whine of frustration, hating his curse heavy tongue.

Never tell anyone about our conversation.

“I just-“ My brother is coming and if I see him I-

“If – “ my brother is coming and he won’t be alone. There are people who know who I really am and I –

“Okay.”

Romans head snapped up.

Patton still had a frown on his face but when he looked at Roman his eyes were as serious as Roman had ever seen them. “If you can’t tell me the details it’s fine but-“ he lent forward, “Roman, are you safe here?”

Without breathing, Roman shook his head. No.

Patton nodded and squeezed his knee. “Well then of course we’re not staying.” Hesitantly, he lifted his arm and rested one large hand on the back of Romans neck. Forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever it is – we will help you. You know that don’t you?”

Embarrassingly, Roman felt his eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Patton told him. Patton stood up, taking Romans congealing stew and his own empty bowl and headed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “Everything’s going to be okay kiddo.” he smiled, “We love you.”

And he was gone.

For a long moment Roman sat frozen, staring at the closed door.

“Yeah.” He agreed, eventually. “Right.”

Except. They didn’t. Not really.

They loved Roman.

Roman had screamed and insulted them and instead of kicking him out of their group like they had every right to do, they had given up what little money they had just to make Roman feel better.

And Roman was a lie.

Roman was Romulus with a bad haircut. And Romulus was everything they weren’t’ – a stupid, pampered, prince with no power or pride.

Patton might be willing to upheaval their lives just on Roman's say so, But Logan and Virgil were more practically minded. They would want explanations. Might even demand them.

Never tell anyone about your curse. Remove yourself from anyone who might ask you about it and put as much distance between you as you can.

Romulus was a liability.

One they shouldn’t have to deal with.

He strapped his lute to his back and secured his dagger in a hidden pocket that Virgil had taught him how to sow. Everything else he left, including, after a moments hesitation, his sword. He had been training Logan to use it, on and off, and whilst the scholar was no solider he was improving. At the very least, it would be some source of protection until they could hire another swordhand for their travels.

The climbing plants he had noticed on the way in made getting down from the window much easier than he had originally anticipated. Dusting off his hands he skirted the building, taking care to avoid the large windows of the main hall, until he found the entrance to the the stables.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had stolen before when he first left home. He would have to again now in order to put some distance between the city and himself.

It wasn’t his worst plan.

And it might even have worked, had they not already been waiting for him.

When Romulus was eleven, and had taken to following the young Marquis de Orenlla around like a love sick puppy. Even now, under the weak light of a covered lantern and with almost fifteen years distance from the memories, he still recognised him instantly.

“Good evening, your highness.” The Marquis smile was as dazzling as he remembered, although his eyes were colder.

He had no army with him, and no weapon that Roman could see. But then, why would he need one?

“Come with me.”

Roman went.

part 4

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #creativitwins #this chapter is just #roman having an extended panic and making piss poor decisions #but also having great friends #alas #sidespart writes #TS: Fall of Romulus

190 notes · View notes

melon-wing · 4 years ago

Text

My Captain [Pirate AU]

[PIRATE AU MASTERLIST] This is part two of @gridoc ‘s birthday present, also based on a wonderful commission she did for me! This is set way after the other stories, when Grian just left the navy and joined Doc’s crew

~*~

Grian stood at the railing of the ship, looking at the first rays of the sun peaking out at the horizon, searching for any sign of a navy ship. He was now part of Doc’s crew… And wasn’t this a weird thing to even think about, let alone say out loud? Sure, he had wanted to do it. He never did anything this rash without thinking about it… It was still weird. Especially in situations like these, everyone asleep but him, the safety of a whole pirate crew in his hands.

He had been the last one to take the night shift and it was always a challenge for him, standing out here all alone with nothing but his thoughts keeping him company. He was only glad the others trusted him enough to put him on the night shift at all. It really spoke louder than a thousand words.

He heard the creak of a door and steps, making him tense a bit. He took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax again, before turning around.

Ren stood a few steps towards him, a bright smile on his face. Ren was always the first one to get up on deck and he was the only one who was always bright and cheery right after getting up. Ren walked up to him, but stopped about a metre away, leaving him his space, just like he always did. And Grian was thankful for that.

“Did anything happen? Any ships? Any scary magical feelings?”

Grian shook his head. “I would have called you if that was the case.”

Ren nodded and stretched a bit. “Good, good. Doc should be out and about in a few along with the rest of the crew.” Ren looked at him for a while, as if he wanted to say something but held back. Grian was pretty sure it was something concerning Doc and he was really glad that Ren never actually went through with asking. Because he might have joined the crew to get away from the navy, but he still got confused everytime he thought about his relationship with the crew’s captain. And they all must have noticed.

“Not now, Ren.”

“That’s what you say every time. One day you’ll need to talk about it… Or at least think about it.”

“There’s not a day I don’t think about it.” Grian smiled and looked at the sea, his loose hair flying in the wind. “I owe your Captain my life after all. He came when no one else did. He’s… He’s important to me. I just don’t know if I really...”

Grian stopped himself when the door to the deck opened again and Doc stepped out. His smile widened a bit, a warm feeling entering his chest as he looked at his… the Captain. Doc was rubbing his eye, his hair was a mess, his clothes dishevelled and a deep frown showed that he had probably once more been kicked out of bed by either Etho or False. Going by the size of that frown it had probably been Etho and Doc had most likely already heard more than one bad joke this early in the morning.

When Grian turned his gaze back, he realised that Ren was looking at him knowingly, a wide smirk on his face, arms crossed in front of his chest, one eyebrow raised. And Grian immediately knew what that look meant. “Oh, shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything”, Ren replied in a sing-song voice.

“You were thinking about it! Stop that!” Grian grumbled and when Ren started laughing he threw his hands up in frustration and walked to the door leading below deck. It was his turn to get some sleep while the rest of the crew started working.

This also meant he had to walk past Doc. Grian realised with annoyance that his heart started beating a bit faster the closer he got.

“Doc”, he said shortly when he was a few steps away from Doc.

He would never get used to this, the way Doc’s head snapped up to look at him, the way just uttering one word made Doc smile so brightly, his eyes sparkling with uncontainable joy.

Doc behaved so differently around him than around any other member of his crew, keeping him at the back at each and every battle. And Grian hated that. He was one of the best fighters on this ship. He had proven that, when he had defeated Doc a few years back. But Doc treated him like he was made out of glass and unable to protect himself.

“Grian, are you...”

“Going to bed. See you when we hit land”, Grian just replied shortly.

Grian didn’t look back when he went below deck, the route already so familiar. He walked past the Captain’s cabin and then stopped at the next door. This room totally wasn’t the place a newcomer like him deserved or would have gotten if it had been anyone but him. It was a miracle the rest of the crew didn’t hate him for this blatant favouritism.

Grian sighed and stepped into the room, taking off his belt and weapons, putting them all aside, except for a small knife that he laid down right next to his pillow. He took off his shirt next, keeping his eyes on the wooden wall straight ahead. He didn’t want to see the faint marks that were still covering his body. One day they’d fade or become just another scar on his body, but that day wasn’t today; that day was still far away.

~*~

There was loud knocking on his door and Grian awoke with a start, hand instantly flying to the knife, eyes searching the room.

“Grian? We put down the anchor. Doc wants you to get ready.”

Grian took a deep breath at the sound of Etho’s voice from outside and slowly put his knife down. The disorientation from having just woken up disappeared again.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

When Grian stepped on the deck, the others were already busy unloading some wares to sell off and he immediately went over to help, when Doc stepped into his path.

“Not today. They can handle that, Grian. I really need someone to… accompany me into town and I’d like for you to come along.”

Grian knew what Doc was doing. He rarely let Grian go anywhere on his own, let alone have him somewhere out of his sight when they were off the Golden Goat. And it annoyed Grian that he went along with it every time. He never once went against Doc’s orders, no matter how stupid they sometimes were. But he felt safest when he was with Doc. No one else made him feel this way. That still didn’t stop him from arguing.

“You know that you don’t really need me. I won’t be in any danger here. My Captain let me go to town alone all the time.”

Grian noticed the way Doc flinched a bit and then he realised that he had slipped up… Again.

“I am your Captain, Grian.” Doc’s voice was so gentle, but Grian still felt a tremble running through his body as if he had been reprimanded. He had been part of the crew for a while now. He still referred to his old Captain as his Captain far too often. He still referred to himself as a navy officer sometimes… And he had never once called Doc his Captain. He knew Doc had noticed… He had even once overheard Doc talking to Ren about it. He knew Doc blamed himself when Grian slipped up like that, thinking he wasn’t making Grian feel as a part of the crew.

“Sorry”, he muttered quietly and as an apology – and maybe as a way to change the topic - added on, “I’ll accompany you. We can leave right now, if you want to.“

Doc‘s face lit up a bit, but Grian could see the way his smile was strained just a little. They were both trying their best, but everything was still too new to work flawlessly. Grian really hoped he‘d get used to this sooner rather than later. It had been his decision after all. He had wanted this… Well, at least he thought that way. Doc always pretended that Grian hadn’t had any other choice. Maybe that was the reason he thought Grian didn‘t feel like he belonged. And maybe sometimes… Maybe sometimes he really didn’t.

“Let‘s go then”, Doc said and started walking, Grian right behind him as they moved down to the port. “This is a pretty neutral area, so They didn’t have to worry much. The navy doesn‘t drop by often and when they do, they never really get into fights. They are too scared to lose business here if they anger the traders. The traders got good wares and money and pirates are among their best customers.”

They walked past a lot of people hurrying around. The port was buzzing with activity, ships leaving and arriving, wares being loaded, repairs being made. It was chaos, but it was a chaos Grian was used to. Seeing everyone run around, busy with their own life made him feel calmer. Nobody was paying any attention to him and Doc. They weren’t a feared pirate Captain and a traitorous navy officer here. They were just two more people walking through the streets

“So…”, Grian started when they left the port, moving on to the streets of the town, passing by some vendors trying to sell their wares. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Oh, just some old acquaintance of mine I need to visit. She sells information, for a certain price, you know? I think she likes me enough. I never have to pay too much to get what I want.”

“So… You hussle her.”

Doc smirked slightly, taking the accusation almost like a compliment. “Well not exactly. I‘m just really good at bargaining, you know? I can be pretty convincing if I want to be. I also always try to get some nice jewelry for her. She likes that.”

Grian rolled his eyes a bit and turned his gaze back to the street. They were getting further away from the main road. The shops were becoming more run down, the wares in the window getting more and more illegal and Grian was pretty sure they had entered a blackmarket area.

He had been in those areas a lot back in the navy, but wearing his uniform, people had always been scared by him, trying to hide their more exotic and expensive items, seeing him as a threat to their business. Now everyone was looking at them with a calculating expression, some even trying to approach them with their wares. Doc made them all back away with one glance.

They turned another corner, the house fronts becoming even more broken, some of the vendors only using small blankets on the floor to show their wares. Finally, right in the middle of the street, in front of a black wooden door, Doc came to a halt.

Grian looked at the building. It was small, the windows were covered with fabric on the inside. The glass had countless cracks and he wondered how it was still holding together. The black paint of the door must have been newer than the house and window, since it was the only thing not completely run down, only chipping off in a few places.

“This looks really welcoming. I‘m glad you took me along after all. Wouldn‘t want you here all by yourself.”

Doc glanced at Grian and shrugged. “I‘ve been alone here a lot before, don‘t worry. It‘s safe. She wants me to stay her customer after all.” Doc stopped, smiling sheepishly, probably remembering how he‘d told Grian that he needed him here. “It‘s still a good idea not to wander around here alone in case something does happen. You never know. And you’re one of my best fighters after all.”

Grian chuckled quietly and motioned Doc to go on, not even commenting on the rambling. Doc sighed and turned back to the door, knocking a few times in what might have been a pattern or a code… Or maybe just Doc being extra again.

There were steps on the other side and then a small window inside the door slid open. Gray eyes stared at Doc, then at Grian and back to Doc, squinting slightly, showing the deep wrinkles around them even more clearly.

“Doc. Didn‘t I tell you not to show your ass around here again?” A voice croaked at them, sounding really pissed off.

“Well nice to see you too! It‘s been so long! I brought you a present.”

The eyes snapped to Grian and seemed to take him in from head to toes. He shuddered below the almost invasive stare. “Didn’t take you as that kind of guy, Captain Doc. You know he‘s too old to sell. Although, given the right customer I might…”

Grian could practically feel the air around them getting darker as Doc growled in annoyance or maybe anger.

“You won‘t put your grimy hands on him. He‘s part of my crew. If you so much as touch him our business here is over.”

“As if I have ever wanted to do business with you, Doc.”, she grumbled and the small window slammed shut. Grian thought that would be it. Doc had managed to piss her off enough for her to cut ties, but a second later the door opened and the old lady stood in front of them. She was wearing a dusty worn out dress that had probably seen better days once upon a time.

She was still glaring at Doc, but then stepped aside to let them pass. When Doc had walked by her, she turned her eyes to Grian and her mouth twisted into a smile that sent shivers down his spine. He hurriedly went after Doc and inside the room. It was dark in here and the air reeked of dust and mold. There was barely any light, except for a few torches lining the walls.

The walls were covered in dark dusty fabric. The room was lined with shelves containing a missmatch of items. There were books and maps, things floating in glasses. Grian really didn‘t want to look too close at them. He was pretty sure he’d seen some body parts.

In the middle of the room stood a desk and the lady wobbled past them again to sit on the other side of it.

“So, Captain. What can I do for you? Treasure Maps? Love potion for your Navy toy?”

Doc flinched at the last part and Grian‘s eyes widened.

“How did you know?”, Doc‘s voice seemed calm, but Grian could tell how tense he was from the way he sounded.

“Word gets around my boy. Some say you seduced a Navy soldier to join you, others say you fell for him and kidnapped him to have your wicked way with him. Poor boy in the claws of a horrible pirate, who doesn‘t care for anything but his own pleasure and not the well being of-“

“I‘m perfectly fine!”, Grian interrupted her, hands balled into fists. He‘d seen the shadow crossing Doc‘s face. He knew Doc still blamed himself for everything that had happened. He wouldn‘t have some old lady berating him. “I joined his crew because I wanted to, because he was there for me when the navy wasn‘t, because the navy is a bunch of arseholes. So stop your stupid gossiping. He hasn’t kidnapped anyone.“

The old lady‘s eyes stayed on Grian for a while and then she smiled softly, her eyes becoming more gentle.

“Oh. So it‘s you after all. I thought so. You don‘t look like you belong here. You look far too proper to mingle among pirates and us low lifes.“ She clapped twice and out of one of the dark corners stepped a young girl.

Doc squinted his eyes at her, looking uncomfortable at the presence of a mere child. “I thought you worked alone.”

“I‘m not getting any younger, my boy. I took on an assistant. But don‘t worry. I‘ll send her away while we do business”, she said, scribbling something on a piece of paper with an old worn quill before handing it to the small girl. She couldn‘t have been more than 10 years old. „Go fetch this for me, dearie. Hurry along. You don‘t have all day. I want you back by the time these two gentlemen leave.”

The child nodded, not ever speaking up and just hurried out of the room. Grian looked after her and then sighed, turning back to the old woman.

“So, Captain Doc, I heard you came bearing gifts? If it‘s nice enough I might consider listening to your questions. Not promising any answers though.”

Doc didn‘t look too happy, but he took out a small bag out of his pocket, throwing it onto the desk. With a sudden burst of speed the old lady grabbed the bag, tearing it open and turning it around, a few necklaces and bejewled rings fell out. She looked at them for a while and from the sparkle in her eyes Grian could tell that she was very happy with her present, even when she tried to keep an emotionless face.

“Well. At least these don‘t look as pitiful as the last ones you brought me. They are almost halfway decent. I will listen to you, but I can‘t promise you any help. For a gift this cheap I‘ll only do it if I want to and if it‘s not too much trouble.”

“I need information. I need to know about a pirate raid. 10 years ago on Gedwyld

Island. Pirates attacked a small seemingly unimportant village. They were ordered by someone else to attack. It was no accident that those pirates were on the island that day. I need to know who was behind the attack. And I want to know why they attacked. Who was ordering them to do it?”

Grian‘s head snapped towards Doc, eyes going wide. He had thought that Doc would just ask for some maps or some inside information for the navy, not this. Why was Doc interested in his childhood home? Was Doc doing this for him? What would having this information even achieve?

“That is quite a lot of questions, my boy.”

The old lady looked at Doc in deep thought. Her eyes darted to one of the clocks hanging on the wall. Grian followed her gaze, the time on that one seemed off. According to the clock it was just a few minutes after noon, when it was already late noon. When he kept staring at it for a while he realized that the hand was going backwards. Huh… Weird.

“It is. If you have answers, I will reward you of course. If you don‘t have the information I‘ll pay you a small fee to gather them and we will return in a month to collect them.”

The old lady looked thoughtful, nodding slowly before turning around in her chair and grabbing a heavy old looking book from the shelf behind her. Her eyes darted to the clock once more. The hand had moved back another minute. She started to slowly flip through the pages, taking her time to trace the lines with her finger before flipping to the next.

Grian could tell Doc was getting impatient next to him. He kept tapping his foot on the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. And Grian could relate to this restless feeling.

“Well it looks like you will need a while, old hag. So how about we leave now and-”

“No! Stay!” The urgency in her voice startled Grian. Doc next to him raised an eyebrow.

“If you‘re so worried about losing business you should hurry up. I‘m a busy man. My ship doesn‘t run itself.”

The clock ticked backwards another minute and when the old lady looked at it again, she smiled in satisfaction.

“Ah, well. Looks like it‘s too late now anyways. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Captain, but the navy just pays so much better. You really shouldn‘t have pissed them off, taking one of their little stars into your greedy hands. They apparently had big plans for him. Plans that are worth a fortune.“

Doc‘s hand immediately flew to his sword, Grian had his in hand already, when the door burst open. Grian's heart immediately sank. Two navy officers stood in the door, the little girl right behind them, pointing a shaky finger in their direction.

"Surrender, Captain Doc!", the first navy officer shouted, glaring at Doc, before his gaze turned to Grian and he sneered. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, haven't they, Lieutenant?"

Grian tightened his grip on the sword, casting a short glance in Doc's direction. Those two soldiers would be no problem for them, but Grian really didn't want to hurt them too badly. He knew he shouldn't think of them any different than all his other enemies, but it was still so hard. Seeing the uniforms sure triggered something inside him, but it also held him back. Fighting alongside people wearing those outfits had been too ingrained into his head.

"Well. I won't. I don't see the need to surrender to some poor weaklings like you", Doc replied, talking down to those navy officers with a smirk, but Grian could tell that he was worried from the way his fingers twitched a little. He got why Doc felt tense like that. They were still far away from the ship and didn't know how many navy officers were rushing over to their location right now. They were in danger and couldn’t tell how much would be thrown their way.

"Oh, there is some incentive for surrendering, you know. If you two surrender we won't hurt the traitor. The higher ups still have some use for the cursed child. But if you decide to fight I really can't guarantee for his safety. You know things happen in the heat of the battle. I never liked Lieutenant Grian that much. My blade could accidentally run through him and-"

The officer stopped, when Grian snorted loudly and turned to glare at him.

"Oh please, Henry. You couldn't hit a pirate dummy if it stood right in front of you back in our academy days. It's a wonder they let someone like you graduate."

Just as Grian had expected of his hot headed opponent, he let out an enraged scream and charged forward without putting any thought into his action, blade outstretched to pierce Grian.

“Idiot”, Grian just whispered with a smirk and ducked under the blade, grabbing the arm of the soldier and throwing him over his shoulder onto the old lady‘s desk. „Let‘s leave, Doc. We need to get back to the crew!“

Doc looked at the fallen soldier and then at him and nodded, before charging the remaining officer. Doc‘s blade pierced right through him and Grian winced as a cold shiver ran down his back, seeing blood pour over the white shirt of the navy uniform. Every fiber inside of him wanted to help the officer falling down. This was his comrade. This was a law abiding citizen. He should help. He could help. He needed to save him. But when Doc grabbed his arm, Grian averted his gaze from the body, looking into Doc‘s worried eyes.

“You good?”

Doc knew. Doc always knew. That was the reason he never let Grian fight alongside them when it came to going against the navy even though he‘d been with them for a month now.

“Yes. Just…” Grian motioned around them to the fallen officers, though the one Grian had attacked was mostly uninjured and just unconscious. “It‘s… Those are people I went to the academy with. Takes time getting used to. I’m just glad they aren‘t part of my crew and I don‘t have to fight my capt-“

Grian stopped himself, but he could still see the look of hurt flashing over Doc‘s face, before Doc turned away, dropping his hand from Grian‘s arm. “Let‘s hurry along.”

They pushed past the little girl and stepped outside the shop. Grian could hear shouts in the distance that were pretty unmistakably navy soldiers screaming out orders. A lot of the vendors along the streets were suddenly in a hurry, trying to hide parts of their wares.

The shouts were coming from the direction they had arrived from - the direction leading back to the port. Grian just prayed that the navy hadn‘t gotten to the Golden Goat yet. Not that he didn‘t trust Ren to take command and defend the ship, but it would just complicate things.

Before Grian could decide what to do, Doc had grabbed his wrist, pulling him along into one of the side alleys. Grian rushed along, but his eyes kept darting to the hand touching him. These last weeks, Doc had done his best to avoid any form of prolonged touch to give Grian space. Almost all of the contact they‘ve had, had been initiated by Grian. And not once since the rescue from… not once had Doc pulled him along by his hand.

They turned another corner. Doc cast a glance back at him and noticed the way Grian looked at the hand, letting go immediately.

“Sorry. We needed to hurry. I didn’t think… I shouldn‘t have done that.“

“It‘s fine. Let‘s keep going. Take the lead and I‘ll follow you.”

Doc nodded and started running again, Grian hot on his trail. Doc made his way swiftly through the tiny alleys, jumping over more than one wall and Grian went after him, trusting him blindly. Doc knew these streets far better than him after all. The port was getting closer. Grian could see the mast of the Golden Goat in the distance, recognizing it among all the other ships even from this far away.

“We have to turn onto the main road next. Be prepared for an attack once we do“, Doc called back and Grian adjusted the grip on his sword. He was ready for anything the world would throw at him.

Well… Everything but a navy officer jumping down from a roof of one of the houses framing the alley, landing right between them, making Grian stop in his tracks. Doc kept running into the main road a few metres before he finally realised that Grian wasn‘t behind him anymore. It was too late. A few soldiers stepped in between the two of them. Grian tried to search for a way around his opponent, but two others stepped up to him and he needed to back away a few steps, to get out of their weapons‘ reach.

“Grian! Fuck! Don‘t you assholes dare touch him. If you so much as lay a finger on him, I‘m gonna rip you apart, limb by limb!”, Doc shouted from down the street, but going from how far away his voice sounded he had also been pushed back a bit. There was no way they could help each other like this.

Those soldiers must have planned to seperate them. He just hoped that Doc would do the smart thing and rush back to the ship, even if that meant leaving Grian alone here. The crew‘s support would be so important now.

Grian had been in a lot of battles before. Alot of those battles had not been in his favour and he’d still come out victorious. He’d seen more than his fair share of fights, for someone his age. But this? This felt different. He wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore. He wasn’t fighting with the law behind him anymore.

This wasn’t even their first fight against a navy crew, but Doc had always kept him on the back line when things like that happened. Grian was pretty sure he would have put him below deck if he thought Grian would go along with it. In the short fight earlier he had been able to knock his opponent out, but if he held back here, he‘d lose.

Grian‘s eyes kept darting between his opponents, holding his sword protectively in front of himself, waiting for an attack or maybe an opening for him to get rid of one already. A fight against all of them at once would be impossible.

“You really have fallen far. Look at yourself…“, one of the officers said. Grian thought he recognized him from somewhere, but couldn‘t really pinpoint it, until… “Captain Sam was really sad to see you leave. You were such an entertaining guest.”

Grian froze for a second, hearing that name and realizing that the man in front of him was part of Sam‘s crew. That guy had been there when Sam had sold him out. Was Sam here as well? Grian felt his heart rate increase at the thought alone, his eyes darting around.

The officer smirked at Grian‘s reaction and jumped forward. Grian raised his own sword just in time to block the attack, eyes wide, arm shaking a bit from the impact he hadn‘t been prepared to take.

“It was a good look on you, Grian, tied up, beaten and bleeding. It made me want to do bad things to you. You‘ve always been so high and mighty. Watching Sam break you… It was like a work of art. Such a pity someone managed to put the pieces back together. I liked you more when you were a little puppet”, his opponent whispered, voice too quiet for the others to hear. Grian tried to tune it all out. He knew those words were meant to distract him from the fight and he shouldn‘t let it get to him. It had been so long. He was better now. He was with Doc now. He was safe. Doc had promised to protect him, no matter what. He needed Doc. He needed to get to Doc.

The muscles in Grian‘s arm tensed and he let his sword strike, pushing his attacker stumbling back, right into one of the other guys. Grian turned his attention to the third soldier. He looked younger than the other two and his uniform was less decorated as well. Grian almost felt bad, but he knew he couldn‘t hold back… He really really shouldn‘t hold back.

His sword flew through the air, past the other blade and cutting deep into the soldier‘s shoulder. The young man screamed and dropped his sword and Grian jumped back again, before the others could attack. He was holding back. He could have - no - he should have gone for the neck. He could have killed him with one attack. But he had hesitated, repositioning his blade just a bit before it could hit.

Why was he risking his own life for someone who was ready to kill him without a second thought? He shouldn’t be hesitating. “I won’t die here today.”

The two soldiers glared at him, one rushing to their fallen comrade, pulling him back, away from Grian. That left only him and the guy from Sam’s ship.

“No you won’t die. The order is to take you alive. Operation Cursed Child will begin once you’re returned to the headquarters.”

Grian looked at his opponent in confusion, but didn’t get the time to ponder on what he had said for too long. A blade came flying his way. Their swords kept clashing together and Grian had to admit that his opponent was a skilled fighter, but he also knew that he was better. He would win. He could end this. He didn’t even need to kill. He wouldn’t have to harm a navy soldier. He could just disarm him. He had the upper hand. He only needed a little more time to-

There was a loud scream. A loud and pain filled scream. Grian knew that voice, but he had never heard it like that. And when his eyes searched the entrance to their alley, he saw Doc fall to the floor, lying on the ground face first, a foot on his back, a blade at his neck.

Something snapped.

“Oh, looks like your little pirate is-”

His opponent never got to finish his sentence as Grian’s blade pierced right through his eyeball into his brain. Blood sprayed as he pulled it back out, but Grian didn’t care, rushing forward. The second soldier tried to block his way, but Grian stabbed him right through the abdomen, before kicking him off his sword to the ground.

Someone bent down to Doc, handcuffs ready and Grian screamed.

“Get your dirty hands off of my Captain!”

His shout made the soldier above Doc snap up again, scrambling for his sword, but he was too late. Grian’s blade was already cutting deep into his chest. Now Grian stood above Doc, sword raised, turning around slowly, surrounded by soldiers. He let out a low growl, glaring at each and every one of them.

“You hurt my Captain and I will kill you.”

Grian knew they were heavily outnumbered, even when Doc slowly got to his feet again, standing back to back with Grian. Still the soldiers didn‘t attack, watching them with wary eyes. Grian felt dread rise inside of him. They wouldn‘t make it out alive… No. He would. For whatever reason they still needed him. But Doc wouldn‘t. They‘d kill Doc.

Images flashed in front of Grian‘s mind. Doc‘s head on a block, an axe raised above him, flying down and-

A warm touch on his hand snapped Grian out of his thoughts and he just now realised that he had been shaking. He didn‘t need to look down to know that the hand gently holding his was Doc‘s. It was funny how one small touch calmed Grian down so much and helped him focus again. One simple touch made him feel so safe and warm. Ever since Doc had saved him that first time, holding that hand made him feel like no harm would come to him.

„Let‘s go out with a bang, love“, Doc said and his voice was so soft despite their current situation.

Grian just nodded and pressed Doc‘s hand with his own to show him the same support. Someone shouted an order from the back row. Grian let his hand slip out of Doc‘s grasp, but the feeling of safety stayed as he faced the fight.

They would lose. They would fall, but they would give those guys one hell of a fight. They wouldn‘t go down without taking some of their opponents along with them.

Everyone was waiting, all muscles tensed. People around them were looking at them curiously. Suddenly one of the soldiers surged forward and the spell seemed to be broken. Grian barely had time to move, blocking one attack after the other, sword always making it just in time. He didn‘t pay attention to the things happening behind him. He knew his back was as safe as it could be and it filled him with determination. If he could at least hold them long enough for Doc to get away. They didn‘t want to kill him and the way they fought showed just that. There was just a slight bit of hesitance in the attacks. He could use that to his advantage.

Grian pressed on further, giving even more, fighting harder, deflecting attacks and starting counter attacks. He managed to hit one of them across the face, drawing a loud almost inhuman yell as the soldier stepped back, but his place was already taken by another one.

He growled and kept fighting. He stopped attack after attack, but then he heard a pained sound behind him. He shouldn’t turn around. He needed to stay focused. He heard a blade clattering to the floor, far too close for it to be one of the enemies. Grian turned his head just slightly, to see Doc go down to his knees, to the floor, holding one hand to his bleeding shoulder, a sword at his throat.

Grian screamed, a shout tearing from his throat that didn’t even sound human to his own ears. He hit the blade on Doc’s neck so hard, he sent it flying into the head of another soldier.

“Don’t. Ever. Touch. Him.”

Grian glared at them, looming over Doc. They seemed to hesitate for a second, but the attacks kept coming again. Grian was able to deflect them, but as more kept coming from the front, he left his back open and suddenly he was grabbed by the shoulders, sword slipping from his grasp, as he was pulled back. Grian struggled, digging his heels into the ground, as he was pulled away from Doc.

Doc stared at him, trying to jump up, but suddenly there were hands on him as well, digging into his wound. Doc froze and it didn’t take long to chain his hands behind his back. Grian suddenly felt the anger leave him and fear settle in. He couldn’t lose Doc. He couldn’t. Not now when he had finally decided to stay by his side.

And then something else started to rise inside of Grian. Suddenly he felt a primal rage inside. He looked at Doc and ground his teeth. Those soldiers were taking what was his. He closed his eyes and felt it. The same feeling he had felt under the sea when the siren had dragged Doc down below. The same energy was running through him. And he knew when he would open his mouth now he’d hurt everyone who was able to hear him, soldier and civilian alike. He didn’t even know why he knew, he just did. Everyone would fall. Just not Doc. Never Doc. He had to save his mate.

He took a breath, opening his eyes. He could hear Doc gasp in shock. He must have noticed some change in Grian.

“Grian… Don’t!”

Grian opened his mouth.

A loud shot rang through the street, before one sound left him, startling Grian out of his trance like state. He blinked a few times, every trace of the energy gone again. He looked around in confusion, searching for the source of that sound. The shot had been far too loud to be a simple gun. And that‘s when he saw it. The sails of the Golden Goat behind the crowd of navy soldiers. There was a smoking hole in the ground a couple of metres from them, navy soldiers rushing away to pull injured people to safety.

“Back off or we will kill you all! No hesitation.“

Ren‘s voice was booming loud. People around them started panicking. There were screams and chaos.

And then Grian could hear steps rushing towards them and when he looked over he saw Doc‘s crew charging in, False right there at the front of them, her eyes filled with fury and a promise of pain.

Someone was pulling at him, trying to take him away. Grian dug his heels into the ground, but soon another pair of arms grabbed him and he stumbled backwards. His eyes searched for Doc in the chaos. He felt a heavy weight lift off his chest, when he realised that False was already by his side, her bloody sword raised as some other crew member was taking the chains off of their captain.

He kept getting further and further away. They were trying to pull him to one of the alleys and out of sight.

Grian opened his mouth to scream, but as soon as he did that someone shoved a dirty rag in between his lips. Grian only renewed his struggles, managing to land a few kicks on the two people holding him, but they didn‘t ease their hold on him.

He looked at Doc in desperation, trying to alert him that Grian was taken away in the chaos and panic. And as if Doc had sensed his terror, his gaze snapped up, searching and finally landing on Grian. His eyes widened for a second and then he smiled relieved. With just that one smile Grian immediately felt safe again. He didn‘t even have to wonder what would happen next. Doc smiling like that meant there was no danger for Grian.

There was a loud thud and one of the bodies holding him crumbled to the floor. Grian looked over his shoulder, only to see Etho, smiling softly at him, before he put a knife through the other soldier’s back. The hands holding Grian disappeared along with the enemy falling to the ground.

“You alright, new guy?“

Grian nodded and raised his shaking hands to take the cloth from his mouth, throwing it to the ground in disgust. “Yeah. All good. Thanks. You can go and give your medical expertise to our captain now.“

Etho's eyes widened a bit and then he smiled even brighter. “I see, it‘s no longer just ‘your captain‘ now. Welcome to the crew, Grian.“

Grian rolled his eyes, following Etho over to Doc who was already unchained and arguing with False who had thrown him over her shoulder.

“I can walk on my own!”

“You are wounded.“

“On my fucking shoulder! My legs work perfectly fine!”

“Struggle and I will change that.”

Grian laughed a bit at False‘s deadpan voice, until her gaze turned to him. “Don‘t think I have forgotten that both of you idiots got yourself into that situation. If you so much as smirk, I will carry you as well, boy. I‘ve got two shoulders after all.”

Grian felt the urge to salute, but just nodded and tried his best not to smile. No one ever dared to argue with False when she took that tone, and Grian sure as hell wouldn‘t change that tradition.

They hurried to the ship and boarded, sails lowered the moment Etho in the back stepped aboard. None of them wanted to battle a navy ship, especially not now when their Captain was already injured.

“False. Carry Doc below deck“, Etho shouted over the busy deck and False nodded, leaving through the door already. Grian wanted to follow, but was stopped by Etho.

“Not you. I won’t let you get away without a check up this time. Do you have any injuries? Anything that needs my attention now?”

„Just sore. Maybe a few bruises“, Grian replied, „Worst thing happening to me is that I can‘t get rid of the taste of that darn dirty rag.“

Etho laughed, and after some fumbling around in his bag, pressed a flask into Grian‘s hand. “Here. That should help.“

Grian looked at Etho‘s retreating form, before taking one swig of the bottle. His throat burned and he scrunched up his face at the taste, deciding against taking even one more drop. But oh well… It had indeed replaced the rotten taste the rag had left in his mouth and any reminder of being almost kidnapped again.

~*~

Grian stood at the railing, watching the moon rise and the stars come out. He was alone at deck once more, having insisted on still doing his shift of the night watch. He wasn‘t really wounded. And he could use the peace and quiet to calm down.

A light wind was blowing, whipping around his hair. When had it gotten so long again? He pulled out one of the strings on his shirt and pulled his hair back, tying them together. It felt weird after all this time. Weird and freeing at the same time. As if a chapter of his life had ended.

There were steps behind him. Grian didn‘t have to turn around. The sound was all too familiar to him, even before he had joined this crew. All the other nights, he had stepped away. All of the previous nights, he had stopped things from progressing. He hadn‘t even waited for what had been to come. He had always walked away, the message pretty clear.

He waited.

The steps stopped behind him.

Grian turned around.

“Doc…”

Doc looked at him, hand raised, seemingly hesitating, clearly intending to put it on Grian‘s shoulder, but not daring to overstep any boundaries. So Grian took the step over that line. He moved forward and the hand was on his shoulder.

Doc‘s eyes widened for a second, but then he smiled softly.

“I was scared I‘d lose you again, Grian.”

“You were the one lying on the floor about to be taken to prison, you know.“

Doc chuckled softly. The hand moved from Grian‘s shoulder, giving him a small pat and then moving away again. Grian felt dissappointed at the sudden loss of contact.

“I know. You saved me, Grian.“

“I‘d do anything to keep you safe, Captain.“

“Say it again...”, Doc whispered, his eyes so close, Grian could see the way they sparkled, his gaze so soft.

“Captain”, Grian repeated just as quietly, feeling happiness at just uttering this single word. “My Captain.”

Doc breathed in shakily, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. And he was so close. So close. The moon was high up in the sky, illuminating Doc's face. Doc's arms were moving, but he stopped and Grian could see how he resisted the urge to hug him. Always treating him like glass... Even now.

Grian took a hold of Doc's arm before he could lower it again and put it on his waist.

Grian moved forward, a sudden need to touch - to feel Doc - rising inside him. When their chests touched a second hand wound around him, joining the first on his back.

Grian smiled. He did feel some underlying nervousness. He felt his heart racing. He felt a slight urge to step back out of the embrace again. But above all of it - overshadowing all the other emotions - he felt safe.

"Grian. You don't have to..."

"I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm doing this because I want to. I... I should have done it way sooner. We live a dangerous life. Any day could be our last. Today could have been your last day. We both survived too much to let our worries stop us." Grian felt his heart beating in his throat as Doc finally tightened the embrace, and in return Grian put his arms around the other.

"Grian..." Doc smiled so brightly that it made Grian's heart only beat faster. He really should have done this sooner. He should have let Doc close again. Doc who had saved him, who had always been there for him and never expecting anything in return.

"I love you."

Doc's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open, before he closed it again, smiling even brighter than Grian had ever seen him smile.

„I love you too, Grian.“

#🍉 stories #hermitship #hermitshipping #gridoc #pirate AU #will I ever write these pirate stories in order?#no. answer is no :D #also pirate au now officially over 50k long :O

159 notes · View notes

steadybexin · 3 years ago

Text

slouching towards

this feeling - heavy, slow, flat. extra padding at my hips and belly, as if I’m retaining salt, or made of it. how long has this been going on - since October? since before? only now it’s accelerated, or grown louder. I am not sure if it is a speed or a sound. only that it is, every day, more conspicuous.

crying on the phone with anthem insurance. please it isn’t fair, I need help, I need care. what the fuck is wrong with this fucking system? can you hear me on this recording, you capitalist criminals? shh, shh, the customer service agent soothes me. I’m sorry to yell, I say, I’m not mad at you. I know, she says, I know.

crying on Amsterdam walking home from Knitty City, dark already at 4pm, the day over before it begins. I am listening to frank sinatra; I have never done things my way.

dreading new years, dreading january, dreading my return to work. each day piling up on the next, thick and congested and blursed. All year I had been writing down what I did each day in my slingshot planner, but I’ve let the last two weeks go by blank.

I talk to myself in spanish at trader joes in Duolingo-style children’s sentences. Ahora, tengo que comprar naranjas. Necesito una cebolla amarilla. I am practicing, practicing. I practice piano, I practice knitting. Can’t you see that each hobby I try is just a way to keep my hands busy and my breathing calm? I am creating noise to drown out the ever-faster beating of my heart? It’s 11pm and the void has found me, as usual.

joan didion died, bell hooks died, I fear my friends are dying and I’ll never know since I got off instagram. in fact I am crying now.

I only came here to write because it’s the only generative thing I know how to do. remember when I was a writer, an artist, a brilliant mind? remember when everyone thought I would be someone important, and I thought that life would be great as long as my outfit was cute and the champagne was flowing?

I know, or I think I know, that I am feeling this way because I do not have a vocation, a thing that brings me purpose. I do not have a generative creative practice that reminds me constantly that I am divine, that I am alive. I am not living my right life, at least in terms of what I do all day long. I am not being who I am. and I think it’s finally starting to make my life untenable.

omg while i was writing that sentence hermes just jumped from the desk to the loft which is super high up, so he got stuck and hung there in midair like a daredevil shrimp until I reached him and held him and brought him down. I don’t know what this means but it must be mentioned.

I’ve never really done depression; I’ve always been more of an anxiety girl myself. This slow-heavy, this creature-feeling. I hate it and I don’t know how to get out. I feel the apocalyptic careening and find futurity hard to to fathom, the seeds impossible to plant, the heartbreak and hardship yet to come.

2 notes · View notes

feuillytheflorist · 4 years ago

Text

the tomgreg coffee shop au i gave up on

i had good intentions but i’ll never finish this so i’m sharing it here. the unfinished coffee shop au that runs parallel to early season one where greg works at a fancy coffee shop instead of waystar (@@van1lla-v1lla1n & anybody else feel free to take any of this and put it in ur own shit! or pretend u never saw it)

The coffee shop downtown was full of uptight business men and women.

They came off Wall Street, out of the offices downtown and in the Financial District, and ordered either black coffee or fancy lattes and espressos-- it was a tossup, usually, Greg had found, though he and his co workers kept a running tab in the back of the orders.

(Greg didn’t know why they couldn’t make black coffee in their offices, but he supposed if you made a lot of money, five bucks for a large coffee didn’t matter.)

Most of them ordered while on the phone. One time a stern looking woman in a grey suit had been firing someone while she ordered a peppermint tea, a combination Greg laughed about afterwards.

He supposed it was good that they weren’t a chain cafe. Those places probably got the really angry people, who threw coffee back at you if it was wrong. The worst that had ever happened on one of Greg’s shifts was a middle aged man had taken a sip of his drink, made direct eye contact with Greg, and said it was the wrong drink, only for Greg to confirm that it wasn’t even his in the first place.

But hey, he wasn’t complaining. The place paid well enough, he got free coffee on his days off, and during the working hours, the clientele was mostly tourists and families.

Greg liked it most when the kids came in and he always somehow managed to have a screwed up cookie or some other snack that they were just going to throw away anyway. It made the kids smile, and the particularly hassled parents were usually thankful.

It was a break from the suits anyway.

Greg knew the regulars easily. He worked almost the same hours every week. Knew that the CFO of that accounting firm three blocks away was a tall blonde woman named Samantha who ordered an Americano every time unless she was especially stressed, because then she ordered tea and heaped sugar into it. One of the big name traders-- Greg didn’t know much else, was an older man named Matthew who was the only one who orderer hot chocolate all year round.

This man was new.

In general, it was fun to point out the customers you thought were attractive. He was sure it was a common occurrence, across countless coffee shops, in countless cities worldwide. Dani, the college student who worked Thursday morning with Greg thought that the daughter who sometimes came in with her banker father was cute, while Thomas, Greg’s Monday afternoon co worker had a thing for the red haired girl who studied there Monday mornings.

“So,” Dani leaned against the counter while Greg made the new man’s drink-- Tom, was the name he had given, and the name that was turning around in his head, “Are like, white collar forty year olds your type?”

“What?” She smiled, and twisted a braid around her finger, “Mr. Wall Street over there, in the fucking suspenders.” “Oh,” Greg frowned and topped off the latte. He wouldn’t have pinned Tom as a latte drinker, and he wondered if this was a regular drink for him, “What?”

She rolled her eyes, “He’s hot I guess, in a Dad kind of way.” “Hated that a little bit,” he put the lid on the cup, and returned to the counter. Tom looked up from his phone, where he’d been furiously texting for the past several minutes, “Here you go.” “Thanks,” he took the cup and then took a sip. Greg noticed this was common. They always took a sip before leaving the counter. Greg was pretty sure it was so they’d have easy access back in case it was wrong. Rich people were always eager to find something to complain about,

Greg smiled-- customer service smile, as Thomas called it, “you’re welcome. Come back soon.” Tom smiled back, a tight smile that people always gave them in response. He heard Dani laugh behind him, and when he turned she was looking at him, arms crossed. “Pathetic. Are you going to sleep with him?” “What?”

She laughed again, and returned to the register. Greg shrugged, and returned to the back, where he was supposed to be taking stock before the lunchtime rush really started.

In general, dating was off the table. Greg’s life was way too precarious to think about letting another person in to it, and besides, fantasizing about a customer you saw once and would possibly never see again was a fun thing to do occasionally, but was a waste of time. And sure he had thought Tom was attractive, but he thought plenty of people were attractive, this one was just obvious to Dani who happened to be watching him. It’d be fun to think about him when he walked in, but in general, unrealistic.

Greg put the thoughts of Tom the executive at the unknown location out of his mind, and focused on not losing track of his counting.

***

Evidently lattes were Tom’s thing because that’s what he stuck with whenever he came in.

“Suspenders is here for you,” Dani said, a week later, “He says you’re the only one that can make his fucking coffee. You better take care of this before I flip.” “Oh,” Greg frowned, “Uh, sure. You want to finish this order.” She nodded, “Anything to get away from him. He’s fucking annoying.” Greg shrugged, and went out front, where Tom was waiting at the cash register. Thankfully there wasn’t a line behind him that he was holding up-- people did that all the time and Greg was pretty sure it was eventually going to cause a riot.

“There you are, talented Mr. Greg,” he smiled, “You know I came here on Friday and you were absent? My latte was not as good.” “Oh yeah I’m off on Fridays,” Greg said, typing in the order. He didn’t bother waiting for Tom to actually tell him. He’d memorized it at this point, “Would you like anything else?” Tom shook his head, “No.”

“Four fifty,” Greg said, more out of habit than anything else, and Tom handed over his card. That was something else white collar people always did. Put everything on their card. Greg had only recently been allowed to use his card again, after it had been overdrawn for… several months, “It’ll be ready in five or so.” “I know,” Tom smiled tightly, “I’ve been up all fucking night. How much caffeine is in lattes, do you know?”

“Uh no,” Greg reached for a cup, “But like, if you want, I can add an extra shot of espresso. On the house.” “Would you?” “Sure,” Greg smiled, “You look pretty tired.” “My uh, future father in law is ill,” he said, “It’s been kind of a hectic time. I only just started a new job in addition to that.” “Oh I’m sorry to hear that, about your father in law,” Greg said. He felt a jab of something at the mention of a father in law, but shoved it away. It was unsurprising, and he had no Goddamn right to be anything about it. But it was like when you found out a celebrity you had a crush on was engaged. There hadn’t been any hope to begin with, but the part of you that liked to dream big was still upset at the loss, “I hope he gets better soon.”

“Thanks,” Tom smiled tightly, and the conversation fell quiet. Greg went to make the drink. Tom returned to his phone.

***

“I’m going to need the biggest size you’ve got,” Tom said, before Greg could even open his mouth to ask how his morning was going, “I’m in deep, deep shit.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” Greg replied. He didn’t understand the world of economics and business very well, but that couldn’t be very good regardless. He was pretty sure Tom worked in an office, not on Wall Street, but he still didn’t know what company he worked for. Tom kept his personal information vague and infrequent.

“Yeah,” Tom ran a hand over his face, “Yeah.”

“Like, do you know what you’re gonna do?” Greg asked, ringing up the order.

“Not a fucking clue,” Tom frowned, “It’s bad.”

“Is your father in law feeling better?” Greg asked. He knew it was risky topic. Maybe the man had fucking died, and it would just make things worse.

“Uh huh,” Tom said absentmindedly.

“Yeah my great uncle was sick for a little bit,” Greg said. His mother had called to tell him such, but he’d already seen the news, “But like, we haven’t seen each other in a long time.” Tom squinted at him, like he was trying to figure out why, exactly, Greg had said that. And in reality, Greg wasn’t sure why. Sometimes he just said things.

“Right,” Tom said, “Coffee?” “Oh sorry. One second.”

*** “You finally came out for drinks!” Thomas exclaimed when Greg slinked over to the bar. Greg liked Thomas because he didn’t put up with shit from any of the customers. He was in law school uptown, and came from California originally and Greg thought he was nice, if a little intense. That was probably the lawyer side of him.

“Yeah I finally paid off my credit card debt so,” Greg shouted back. It was a loud bar, the floor was a little sticky under his feet, and he felt exceptionally large all of the sudden, the crowd pressing against him from almost every direction.

Dani laughed, and slapped his shoulder, “Greg’s just sad because his executive boyfriend is getting married.” “What?” Henrietta, Dani’s roommate who worked at the diner a block away from the coffee shop called back, “Greg you have an executive boyfriend?” “No like,” he shook his head. It was too hard to hear in here, and he knew Dani was just joking, but he didn’t want that kind of false information getting out, “He’s a regular at the shop. Dani thinks I think he’s hot.” “He is kind of hot,” Thomas said, “I mean, objectively.” “He’s engaged,” Dani explained, shaking her head dramatically, “It’s not meant to be.” “You could be his mistress,” Thomas offered. The bartender brought over drinks and Greg took whatever they’d ordered for him, “I bet rich people treat their mistresses, like, really well.” “Mm,” Dani nodded, “I bet so.” “Yeah maybe,” he took a long sip. It burned a little, but anything to get out of talking about this.”

*** On Saturdays, Greg didn’t work until the afternoon. A cursory glance at Twitter the next morning told him two things.

The first was that Tom worked for Waystar, his Uncle Logan’s company. He knew all about Waystar because his grandfather hated it with the passion of a thousand suns-- that’s how Greg saw it anyway. He knew this because several articles had been published about the RECNY Ball, which Tom attended with his fiancée, Shiv.

That was the second thing Greg found out. Tom was engaged to his cousin. They weren’t first cousins. Greg wasn’t much into genealogy, but it was like a cousin removed or something. They’d never been close growing up. His mother kept them on the Christmas card list, but Greg hadn’t seen any of the Roys in several years. Even when he’d come to New York City, they ran in such different social circles that they hadn’t seen each other.

Much to his mother’s disappointment. She still thought he’d somehow be able to secure a job at Waystar with his half Roy bloodline, but he’d hardly had the opportunity.

And now there was this. It was really six degrees of fucking seperation wasn’t it?

***

Greg drove up to Canada for Thanksgiving. His Grandfather had agreed to go to Logan’s for the holiday. Much to everyone’s surprise, Greg was sure. His mother had informed him Marcia said he could go. Greg thought that was bound to be a fun revelation for all involved.

“Cousin uh, Craig,” Logan had said, motioning vaguely to Greg standing next to his Grandfather. Ewan frowned.

“It’s Greg isn’t it?” Shiv said, “Cousin Greg?” “Uh yeah,” Greg replied. A cursory glance said Tom wasn’t there, not yet at least. He wondered where he was, then decided he shouldn’t be wondering it.

“We’re glad to have you,” Marcia-- actually he assumed it was Marcia, they’d never met-- said. Her accent was French maybe, he thought, “Both of you.”

“Well no shit,” Tom said, when he arrived, an hour or so later, “Cousin Greg is my barista.” “Really?” Shiv said, looking between the two of them, “Greg’s the one that makes you those lattes?” “Small fucking world,” Tom smiled, and clapped Greg on the shoulder, “Family huh?”

“Ha yeah.”

***

There was a week Tom didn’t show up at all. Dani called him Romeo and lamented over a love that was never meant to be. Greg laughed, told her she didn’t know the half of it.

#tomgreg #fic #my shit writing #succession fic

30 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years ago

Text

Resol’nare - Part Eight

A/N: *posts this chapter and runs away before anyone realizes its a week late* oh... well that didn’t work. Anyway... sorry about last week y’all. I don’t know why an atheist married to a jewish man picked easter weekend to fall off the schedule but that’s life i suppose. we’re back! we are...back.

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: A trip to Corellia to offload their stolen speeders takes Navina and Firo through some of the shiftier parts of Coronet City before ending their trip with a visit to Firo’s family. Navina learns some shocking new information about her quest... and also misses something very important.

Warnings: Ummmmmm i think this one’s fine actually.

Word Count: 4.3k

Corellia.

Navina stuck close to Firo’s side as he expertly navigated the crowded streets of Coronet City. I hate it here. What remained of her armor after her encounter with the Mandalorian shifted in her bag as she walked, the pieces clanging together with each step. She noticed at least three pairs of eyes dart in her direction, the distinct metallic sound of beskar easily discernible to those who knew it’s exact value on the black market. Try it. Her grip tightened on the strap over her shoulder, her other hand casually hovering near the blaster on her thigh, conveniently concealed by her gray shawl.

Lucky for them, the shifty looking Twi’lek and the two heavily tattooed Czerialan women he was with didn’t start any trouble, presumably keeping their eyes peeled for softer targets. And they’ll find them. With a population in the billions, Corellia had gained quite the reputation for being overrun with pickpockets, thieves, smugglers and desperate people willing to do desperate things. Which is why we’re here but… She frowned, looking over at her friend. Next to her, Firo walked confidently, head held high and shoulders back, his stride deliberate and meaningful. I cannot believe he grew up here.

Technically, Firo and his brother Leph had grown up in a smaller town just outside the city limits, their parents wanting them to have room to run and find the kind of trouble that wasn’t looking for them first. Between the Black Sun and the White Worms, the city was becoming less and less of a desirable place to raise children, both organizations known for recruiting their scrumrats young. Their parents both worked in the city, though, so staying close enough for a reasonable commute was necessary. Their mother, a brilliant woman, worked as a translator at the welcome center in Diadem Square, and their father had been a test pilot for one of the only Corellian shipyards that had been able to resist being converted into a TIE Fighter factory during the Empire’s reign. It was because of him that Firo had learned to fly. The man would occasionally take Firo and Leph up for a spin once he’d deemed the ships safe and in good working order. Leph had always been more interested in the engineering that powered them, eventually getting a job at the same facility, but Firo had fallen in love with flight from the first time he took off.

Despite the fact that they had just turned the corner and crossed into Black Sun territory, Navina smiled to herself. She liked knowing things like that about Firo. Her own past wasn’t entirely without bright spots, but she found Firo’s anecdotes to be much warmer than most of her own. Aside from the memories she had of the few years she and her family were together on Yavin, her perception of what it was like to grow up in a domestic household had been built by her friend and his stories of having two parents and a bunk bed to share with his brother and a home that had a roof with four walls. She didn’t envy him, just enjoyed imagining what it might have been like to live that way.

The buildings in that sector of the city rose higher than those just a few blocks over, their shadows darkening the street level enough that artificial lighting was necessary even during the day, and the warm feeling she got from wrapping herself in Firo’s stories left, taking her smile with it. There were fewer people bustling about, but that only made Navina grow more alert, more aware of the ones that were. Like him. In the corner of her vision she noticed a tall Duros man leaning in a darkened doorway, his deep red eyes following her footsteps, a casual smirk on his gaunt purple cheeks. She narrowed her eyes, upper lip curling from the way being watched made her feel.

“Tell me again why we’re going this way instead of walking through the industrial sector?” Her grip tightened even further around the strap on her bag, until she could feel her fingernails digging into her palm.

Firo flinched, clenching his teeth before sucking a breath through them as he slung his arm around her shoulder. Oh, here we go. “Well, it’s kind of a long story, Nav.” It always is. “Suffice it to say that one thing led to another and I may or may not have,” -so, you did “made a bet that I had no business making, and I-”

Navina groaned. “Firo, you have no business making any bets, ever. You’re terrible at Sabacc, and-”

“Hey!” He dropped his arm and shot her a defensive glare. “I’m not terrible at Sabacc… I just...need practice.” He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, the tips of his fingers disappearing into his unruly locks. “A lot of practice, and I’m not… ready for a rematch just yet.”

Navina was still aware of the Duros lurking in the shadows, his long fingers lifting a lit cigarra to his lipless mouth. The end of it glowed to match the color of his eyes as he inhaled. He hadn’t moved to follow them though, simply shifting his weight as he allowed the smoke to swirl around his face. She felt his gaze on her back as they continued down the street, but she shook it off and turned back to Firo. “How much practice is a lot of practice?”

Pausing at the corner as a line of land speeders barrelled through the intersection, he kicked the curb and inspected a loose thread at one of the seams in his gloves. “Um… ten or… eleven, something like that.”

She nudged his boot with her own, eyes going wide. “Ten or eleven… thousand? Firo...are you telling me that you owe some card shark in this kriffing city eleven thousand credits?” The last three words came out in a hiss.

The traffic signal flashed and they stepped off of the curb to cross. “Don’t worry, Nav, I’ve got it all figured out.” He waved a hand in front of him as they reached the opposite side of the street.

“Yeah,” Navina grumbled, “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Your plans are never any better than mine. She sighed. “How much more do you need to get them off your case?”

Firo cocked his head to the side, doing some quick arithmetic. “After what we just made selling those speeders…” He trailed off.

They had arranged a meeting with a buyer in a secluded hangar in Coronet spaceport before taking off from Nevarro. The individual was reluctant to give them their name, which wasn’t abnormal when it came to the type of transactions that they typically took part in. Usually they dealt with other smugglers and traders, people who wanted their name used as little as possible to avoid getting thrown in prison or hunted down and frozen in a cold slab of carbonite.

This buyer though, had another reason to maintain their anonymity. Rumors and whispers of Imperial remnants gathering strength and support had prompted the reemergence of rebel cells across the galaxy, and those militias needed munitions and vehicles and other supplies that Firo and Navina were happy to procure for them as it served a dual purpose: filling their pockets, and taking tools away from the enemy to put them in the hands of the good guys. Only once had one of their rebel customers complained, trying to guilt them into dropping their price for the good of the cause. The good of the cause won’t put fuel in my ship, Navina had answered with a shrug, letting the would-be haggler know that they were free to try their luck elsewhere and that there was no shortage of buyers that would pay double what they were asking. It was a bluff, of course, but the customer had not only begrudgingly agreed, but had become one of their most frequent buyers. It was who they had sold the stolen bikes to for a total of eight thousand credits, four thousand for each of them.

Firo finally finished his calculations as they turned another corner, the shadows lightening and the buildings becoming shorter again as they reached the perimeter of Black Sun territory. They were almost at the nearest mag-lev station, and Navina was eager to get on the train and out of the city. “Probably another three?” He shrugged.

Another three. And then what? He goes back into debt to pay for food and fuel? No. “Firo,” she let out a long huff and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have to pay these guys off before you leave Corellia.”

Shooting him a sharp glance, she knew that he understood the subtext to what she was saying: take care of it before they come after you or your family. It had happened once before, not over gambling debt but over Leph clashing with one of the White Worm underlings when they tried to recruit the man’s daughter, Firo’s niece, for their organization. Leph had obviously refused, and when he couldn’t pay the gangster off, they had come after his family. Luckily, Navina and Firo had been making a trip back to Corellia at that time to see his mother, so they were there when the assassin had been sent. There was still a visible patch covering the round hole through the kitchen wall from where Navina had shot her blaster straight through it to eliminate the threat. But I can’t be there all the time and neither can you, Firo.

“Yeah,” he let out the word in a rush of air. “I know.” He frowned and scratched his nose.

As the mag-lev station came into view, Navina blew out another breath. “Okay. Sell the ship.”

The train rumbled along the tracks and pulled up to the platform, the two of them picking up their pace so they would have time to hop on before it left again. “What?” Navina didn’t need to look up at him to know that his face was scrunched into a scoff. “Nav, that’s supposed to be you-”

“My ship, yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “Sell it. Pay off the rest of the debt.” They climbed the few steps up to the platform, weaving through the crowd of passengers that had just gotten off of the train. A young boy, face smudged with dirt and grease, bumped Navina’s hip and crashed noisily into her bag. He apologized profusely and Navina waved him off, no harm done.

“But you need that ship to get back to Nevarro, that’s why we-”

Navina closed her eyes as she reached for the handle to step up onto the train. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mumbled, words running together, “but I’ll…” she took a deep breath as though preparing herself for something truly unpleasant. “Dank farrik, I’ll take The Flare.”

Firo gave her back an incredulous look as he grabbed the handle and climbed up behind her. “Nav, you flew The Flare here and you complained the entire time. You hate that ship.”

“Yes, well that’s because it’s a rusted bucket of bolts and you know it, but if you sell the new ship- my ship- you can settle up and no one gets hurt… aside from my pride…”

Firo’s mouth dropped open as the two of them dropped into one of the train’s window seats. “Navina-”

She turned to cut him off as soon as her name was out of his mouth. “Okay, one, lose the full name nonsense. It’s weird coming from you. And two, don’t try to talk me out of it. Your family is my family, Firo, so your stupid debts are my stupid debts.” I have to teach him how to bluff better if he’s going to keep playing cards. Now, do I like flying The Flare? Not even a little bit. But that’s what I’m going to do...assuming it doesn’t spontaneously combust when I jump into hyperspace.”

He knew better than to argue with her at this point. They’d both learned by now when they’d lost. Instead, he bumped her with his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Harsa.”

She bumped him back. “Yeah, that makes two of us, Ottabok.” The train let out a long, loud blast of it’s whistle to let passengers know that they only had a few more seconds to board.

“Hey maybe your new Mando friend can help you out with some repairs for The Flare when you head back to Nevarro next week,” Firo suggested.

Navina laughed. “Yeah, doubtful.” She had told Firo everything about her encounter with the man encased in beskar, from fighting the reptavians with him to the way they traded off answering questions to the Mandalorian’s reaction to her pendant and its mysterious purple glow. “He’s… intense. Doesn’t strike me as the type to just offer to help with repairs, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to ask him for another favor.” But I hope he made some headway on the first one. She chewed her bottom lip and sent out another silent wish that the man would return to her with information on her father. Even if it’s just… She swallowed. At this point, even the knowledge that he was no longer alive would be something more concrete than the floating hope of finding him. She shook those thoughts from her head and shifted her bag into her lap to cross her arms over the top of it. “Anyway, that’s next week’s news.” Hopefully. “Is Leph gonna be at your Mom’s tonight? I want him to take a look at this kriffing pauldron to see if he can tell me how to fix it where Mando decided to slice it from my shoulder.”

Firo gave her a quizzical look and scratched his head. “He...what? I thought you said he didn’t take you prisoner?”

Navina laughed again and shrugged, recalling the weight of the blade resting on her shoulder and the sound of his beskad carving through the thin durasteel plate. “I told you, he’s intense.”

Firo sat quietly for a few seconds just staring at the seat in front of him before he spoke again. Spit it out, Firo. “Do you really think he’ll be able to help you find your family, Nav? Or…” He frowned.

“Or what?” She turned in her seat and furrowed her brow.

“Or are you… do you want to meet with him to find out about your father and…” he shook his head, his hair flopping around his ears. “Or is this still about the Darksaber?”

There it is. Navina dropped her gaze to her lap and toyed with the end of her braid where it lay on her shoulder, the blue strands shining in the harsh overhead lighting of the train car. “Why can’t it be both?” She couldn’t lie to Firo, and she didn’t want to. He has to understand. “Until that thing is destroyed, Mandalorian families will be. Families like mine, and…”

She didn’t finish nor did she need to. “Okay.” Firo nodded and smoothed his hair back before fixing the strap of his bandolier which had fallen into the crook of his arm, and didn’t say another word about the Darksaber or the Mandalorian or Navina’s plan to meet with him.

Navina nodded, too, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Okay.” She didn’t know much about other people and their relationships, but she was fairly certain that her friendship with Firo was one of a kind. They weren’t afraid to speak their minds to one another. Certainly not. But they respected each other’s decisions and always did whatever they could to help make sure that those decisions, whatever they may be, didn’t come back to hurt them. She knew that friends like Firo didn’t just drop out of the sky.

The train began to pull out of the station and Navina switched the topic of conversation to the types of tools she was hoping that Leph would have on him to fix her armor with. Neither she nor Firo saw the dirty faced scrum rat that had collided with her on the platform speaking to the Duros that had been lurking in the shadows, the purple skinned bounty hunter slipping a few credits into the kid’s hand before shoving him away.

-- -- -- -- --

Staying with the Ottaboks was always something to look forward to for Navina. As much as she disliked Corellia and its cities in particular, she loved Firo’s family and they adored her, so she never truly minded when their travels brought them to the crowded, corrupt planet. She knew that there was at least one place there that was worth visiting. Millea, Leph’s six year old daughter, launched herself at Navina from the top of the stoop the second the girl saw her and Firo heading up the drive, her father right behind to clap a large hand on his brother’s arm before leaning in to kiss Navina’s cheek and untangle his child from her limbs. Ma waited near the door like she always did, waving a dish towel before slinging it over her shoulder to reach for Firo’s face and tell him how skinny he was getting. Navina took several mental snapshots and stuck them in the box in her memory with Firo’s stories, and followed the family inside.

After dinner, Ma finally content that everyone had eaten enough, Navina sat on the floor with Millea while Leph and Firo sat at the table with a couple bottles of ale, catching each other up on the past few months. Navina bit the inside of her cheek as she listened to her friend skate over all of the details that his family wouldn’t approve of, shooting Firo a smirk as he winked at her and took a swig of his drink.

“Navi, do the song you taught me last time!” Millea suddenly plopped into her lap, her small hands bracing on Navina’s shoulders.

She smiled as Ma continued to clean up the remains of dinner, packing leftovers in tins that would travel well for Navina’s journey back to Nevarro. “Which one, Mills? Three little loth-caths?”

“Uh uh,” she answered, swinging her head from side to side so that the braid she’d begged Navina to put in her hair smacked her cheeks. “The other one.”

“The other one?” Navina asked, still smiling at the girl but mind flashing back to the foundling that she sang the children’s rhyme to all those years ago. “You sure, Mills?”

“Yeah, Gramma helped me practice it since you were here last time so I know it- all the words!” She beamed with pride, cheeks going round as she showed off a grin, a gap small gap between her two front teeth just like the one her uncle had.

Navina caught Ma’s eye again, and the woman wiped her hands on her pants with an apologetic look. Firo’s mother was fluent in many languages from a life-long career as a galactic translator, and while Mando’a wasn’t one of them, the woman knew enough about the pronunciation to help her granddaughter work on whatever she remembered from Navina’s last visit. “Millea, don’t pester Nav now.”

“No, no,” Navina shook her head. She knew that she hadn’t hid the way that her emotion flashed in her eyes from Firo’s mother. She knows me almost as well as he does. “It’s fine, Ma.” She turned back to Millea and tapped her nose. “I’m impressed you remembered! It’s not an easy one. Alright, little one.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat as she used the same phrase she would have used with their little one, his enormous eyes watching her as she tried to teach him the Rhyme of the Resol’nare. He never followed along with the words himself, but he would clap his small hands and sway from side to side in a way that made Navina, even at 11 years old, think that he must’ve known what she was singing. “Let’s hear it.” Millea smiled again before launching into the rhyme, first in basic and then in Mando’a.

Education and armor,

Self-defense, our tribe,

Our language and our leader—

All help us survive.

Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,

Ara'nov, aliit,

Mando'a bal Mand'alor—

An vencuyan mhi.

She stumbled more than a few times on the second iteration, but Navina helped her through it, finishing the last line with her. LIke it did since she last saw her father and the little one, the last line made her chest ache. Our leader… the Mand’alor. Wielder of the Darksaber. The sword I’m trying to-

She pulled herself out of those thoughts though as Millea’s small arms wound around her neck in a giddy hug with Firo, Leph and Ma giving the girl a round of applause. Giving her a squeeze in return, she whispered “Good job, Mill’ika,” before Leph stood and announced that it was time for them to get back home. He offered Navina a few tools that she’s asked for from the kit in his speeder, reminding her of what he told her she’d need to do to repair her armor. And hopefully I’ll be able to use something here to open my pendant and see about that stone. Thanking him, she gave the man a hug and told them both that she hoped she’d see them soon.

Firo walked them out, and the moment that the door shut behind them, Ma spoke. “I need to tell you something, Nav.”

Navina took in the serious expression on the woman’s face and stood, immediately joining her at the table. “Sure,” she pulled out a chair and sunk into it, eyes still on the woman across from her. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh,” she waved one hand, curling her wrist fluidly. “Oh, yes. No, nothing’s wrong, but I… I overheard something at work the other day that I think you should know.”

What? She tilted her head. “What is it, Ma?” What could it… She didn’t look upset or worried or scared, simply… sincere.

She took a short breath and let it out through her nose. “Well, I know about your… mission. For your family, and for, well… Firo’s told me things and so have you so, I know that you’re…”

“Ma?” Navina reached across the table and placed her hand over the woman’s. “It’s okay, just tell me.”

She nodded. “Alright, well, you know I’m only passable with Mando’a. Huttese, Rodian, even Dathomiri and I’m-” she blew air through her lips. Yeah, I know. “But a few weeks back? Maybe… five or six now, I… well I heard two women speaking Mando’a in Diadem Square.” What? Ma shook her head. “And aside from you, Nav, I have never known Mando’a to be spoken on Corellia. Not in public, anyway.”

Navina hadn’t realized it, but she had leaned forward in her seat. “W-well, what… did they say?”

Ma shook her head. “I really… I only caught a few words that I know, so I’m not entirely sure, but I heard ‘aliit’ and then ‘Mudhorn’, a few words I couldn’t decipher, and then...then one that I knew and another in Basic.”

Navina’s eyes widened at the mention of the Mudhorn, the signet on the Mandalorian’s armor seeming to glow in her memory. “What words, Ma?”

The woman sighed. “I heard the word ‘Mand’alor’,” Navina stiffened, “and then I heard one of them say ‘Darksaber’.”

“What? Are...are you sure that’s what you heard?” Her heart pounded as the woman nodded. “Why are you telling me now?” Her eyes flicked to the door and she knew that Ma would understand her unasked question- why was she telling her while Firo was out of the room?

“I know Firo worries about you, Navi. Dank farrik so do I. I never had a daughter and I never imagined I’d be lucky enough to have you in my life but I am so, so glad that I do. You’re a good, fierce friend, Navina Harsa, and that is a rare thing in this life.” She felt her chest tighten, sending the same sentiment silently back. I’m the lucky one, Ma. The woman narrowed her eyes. “But I know that you need to do things for yourself. So I wanted you to know this.”

The door opened and Firo walked in, closing it behind him to make the world spin inside of Navina’s head. “Well I had to promise Mills that I’d pick her up from school tomorrow before she would agree to leave but-”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out in her mind as she thought about what she’d just learned. The Mandalorian. Clan Mudhorn, the Darksaber… the Mand’alor. She’d be leaving for Nevarro in two days, but suddenly with all the new questions that just cropped up, that felt like two lifetimes.

“Um,” she cleared her throat and pushed her chair back. “Um, I think I’m going to head upstairs and… and get cleaned up if that’s…” she trailed off questioningly and Ma assured her that it was fine, shushing Firo’s attempts to try to get Navina to have another ale with him first.

Thanking Ma and smacking Firo on the arm, she grabbed her bag from the bench by the front door, dropping the tools that Leph had lent her into it, and shouldered it to head for the staircase. She hadn’t seen the small device that the scrum rat working with that Duros in Coronet City had slipped in there when he bumped her.

It didn’t beep or blink, and it was small enough to become hidden in the fabric of the bag’s inner lining. And it was sending her location to its receiver, wherever- or more accurately, whoever that may be.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7

#resol'nare #the mandalorian #the madalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin fic #mando fic #din djarin x oc #oc: navina harsa #mando x oc #mando x navina #oc: firostian ottabok #and his whole family too #mando'a #sw fic #star wars fic #pedro pascal characters #chapter eight is subtitled : the title is finally relevant

10 notes · View notes

justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 10

Previous: Searching for Seokjin Pt. 2

Pairings: Light Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG13

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: She finds Taehyung at the local dog park, an unfamiliar face by his side.

Tailing Taehyung

Present Day

I’ll be honest, this is my favorite part of the job. Music low, tinted windows, unmarked baseball cap adorning my head, GPS tracking my every move so I can retrace my steps. I’ve already downed a grande latte, two bagels and a family sized bag of sour skittles. But it’s the quiet waiting, the planning of every move, the sleuthing and interpreting, anticipating another person’s every move.

Kim Seokjin is predictable. He gets up, goes to work, comes home. There’s no romantic partner, no gym time, nothing. His office building, non-descript, standard skyscraper. It’s painful how predictable he is. Which is why after three days, I begin to search for another name on Euna’s list. Kim Taehyung.

He’s easier to track, beloved librarian, he works at the downtown branch where he packs the house for his weekly story hour. Costumes, characters, voices, he commands the room, never demanding adoration because it’s so freely given. His name at the Library, though, is not Kim Taehyung, but Jung Taehyung, as if he got married and changed his name without telling anyone. My only indication that they’re the same person are photos from Euna.

Tailing Taehyung is thrilling. He’s going to book launches, gallery openings, museum exhibits, clubbing, and on a few nights, stays late to close the library. Those are my favorite, he puts headphones on and dances around the library, re-shelving children’s books and shaking his ass. He lives across town from Seokjin, in a quaint house with a green door. He seems to have an abundance of friends, rarely goes out with the same people twice in one week. No partner on record, no flirting or taking someone home with him. He does have a dog, something he must’ve picked up after leaving the Lee’s.

Picking up Johnson from my sister’s house, I park near the dog park by Taehyung’s house, a frequent weekend spot. He might go to different clubs every Thursday or try a new restaurant with a pair of gentlemen, but he goes to the same dog park on both Saturday and Sunday, then to the coffee shop on the corner, where he tries a new drink on Saturday. If he likes the drink, he gets it again on Sunday, but if he hates it, he picks something new. He never orders coffee, only tea and juice concoctions. How he exists, with all that energy, and no coffee, I will never understand.

Another thing I will never understand is Johnson. A golden doodle with a slight limp, she’s both deeply loving and simultaneously polarizing. She runs hot and cold, licking you one minute, growling the next. There’s no reason for her split personality, her ability to turn on a dime, but I’d like to think Johnson is struggling with her identity and would really benefit from therapy. At two years old, still fully a puppy, she has gone to obedience school three times, and is only truly unkept when forced to be with humans for too long. The dog park is her happy place. She loves running around, sniffing everything, frolicking in the grass, no leash, totally free.

What a blessing to borrow my sisters fur baby to ensnare Kim Taehyung.

Maisy pulls me towards the dog park, excitement coursing through her body. It takes everything in me to not drop the leash and let her go, but she has a high chance of running into traffic and her death cannot be on my conscience. Within moments of stepping into the park, I spot Taehyung and his little pup. A black and gold Pomeranian, he weighs the same as Johnson’s front paws. Taehyung stands, sunglasses on, black hair parted slightly to reveal his honeyed forehead. He looks too cool for school, and I’d believe he was, if he wasn’t laughing energetically at the man to his right. The man is familiar, one of the usual men he tries a new restaurant with every Tuesday.

Setting Maisy free, I move around the park, monitoring her, hoping she’ll land exactly where I want her to.

The initial contact with a mark, or suspect, is the most precarious. I can’t come on too strong, can’t give too much away or seem too eager. I have to have every moment planned in order to get the information I need. In this case, it’s getting close enough that I can speak with Tae to find out what he knows regarding Lee Euna and her family, and maybe see if he’ll drop hints about her manifesto.

I circle the park, my eyes on Johnson and Taehyung, slowly moving closer to the man and his friend.

“Did you catch the end of the game last night?” The other man asks.

“No, was I supposed to?” Taehyung responds.

“It’s too early in the season to be calling it, but they’ve got a chance to go to the Superbowl,”

“Huh,”

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” I say, turning my body to face them. “Is that your dog? The little one?”

“Yeah, it is,” Taehyung answers, smiling lightly at me.

“It’s so cute, what’s its name?”

“Yeontan, or Tannie,”

“Adorable, is that Korean?” I ask.

“Yes,”

“Very cool, my boyfriend’s Korean,” I lie. Jungkook isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just a guy I’ve slept with once and fallen asleep next to twice … or whatever.

“Nice, I wonder if we know him,” Taehyung said. “What’s his last name?”

“Jeon,” I tell them. I clock the miniscule movement in their brows, the exchanged glance, but I don’t know what it means.

“Not too many of those, what’s his first name?” The man next to Taehyung asks.

“Jungkook” I tell them. My eyes don’t leave their faces as they both nod, neither daring to share a glance.

“I don’t think I know him,” Taehyung says.

“Well, what are your names? I can ask him if maybe he knows you?” I offer. Take the bait, take the bait.

“I’m Taehyung, this is Jimin,” He says.

“Y/N,” I offer my hand to shake, which they each accept.

This is my moment, “This is going to sound crazy, but do you know Lee Euna?”

“Who?” Jimin asks.

I scrutinize his features, no slight quiver of the upper lip, no pupils dilating, no quickened breath. “Lee Euna, she’s part of the family that owns Lee Enterprises?”

“Oh, Lee Enterprises, I’ve heard of them, they’re brokers?” Jimin asks.

“Traders,” Taehyung responds.

“Candlestick makers,” I finish the rhyme, both men look at me quizzically, then laugh. “They do banking and stock trading for the top 0.01% of society, royals, billionaires, human traffickers, etc.”

“Ah,” Jimin nods. “Not my area of expertise.”

Agreeing, Taehyung nods, “Mine either,”

“Same,” I add. Maisy runs up to me and begins growling at the men I’m standing with. “Johnson Maisy Lou, knock it off,”

“Johnson Maisy Lou?” Taehyung laughs.

“I didn’t name her,” I shrug.

“Her?” Jimin continues laughing. He’s like, really pretty.

“Yeah, my sister’s dog. She gives no shits when it comes to gender norms. Johnson was a bet she lost though,” I inform them. I reattach Maisy’s leash and give her a good once over. “You ready?”

She wags her tail in response.

“It was nice to meet you guys, maybe I’ll see you next weekend?” I smile again, friendly and kind to a flaw.

“Yeah, bring your boyfriend, we might have some friends in common,” Jimin smiles again.

I wave before dragging Maisy back to the trail and slowly to the car. They know Jungkook, I don’t know how, or why, but something in their reaction tells me that they are more than just friendly with him. Maybe they went to school together? Or worked together before their respective positions at the library and whatever Jimin does? That would answer few questions but makes me feel uneasy.

When I return to my car, I’m met with a familiar sight. An envelope resting on my driver’s seat. Car locked, windows intact, it sits, waiting. My blood runs cold, chills down my spine as I stare. I swallow the bile in the back of my throat and survey my surroundings.

“The first was a warning shot. This is your last chance. Stop. Looking.”

I panic, glancing all around me, trying to find someone who stands out in the weekend shuffle. There’s no absurdly dressed person, no one in a weird hat or harboring a long-range camera, no one glancing at me in my sheer panic, fear pushing my fight or flight into overdrive.

Choosing a stance somewhere between fear and power, I walk swiftly towards the coffee shop. Ordering a concoction I’ve heard Taehyung order, I ask the cashier a leading question.

“That’ll be $3.57,” He smiles. I glance at his nametag, Robert.

“Thanks, Robert. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course!” He answers.

“You see that black car?” I point towards the general direction of my vehicle. “Have you seen anyone approach it in the last hour?”

“No, but I just started my shift twenty minutes ago,” Robert informs me.

“Okay, thanks,” I move out of the way and watch as other customers flit through the shop, the open concept rustic café is a hot spot, known for their tea infusions and gluten free pastries, it’s a hot ticket. The line is often out the door, and everyone who works here receives massive tips. I don’t know who gives their spare change, but I’ve seen the jar completely full on more than one occasion. Tipping for leaf water is preposterous, but then again, a good cup of leaf water is hard to find. I think, I’ve never really truly looked for it.

After giving myself 30 minutes to calm down, I head back to my car, taking the note and slipping it into an evidence bag. I drive the 15 to my sisters, knocking aggressively as I am positive Maisy is one bark away from biting me.

“Did you have to bring her back?” C asks, opening the door.

“I don’t want to be arrested for dog-abuse, that’s a serious crime,” I hand her Maisy’s leash, and she obediently retreats into the house, running towards her food bowl.

“Oh, I’ll stick the ASPCA on you for sure. How was she?” C asks, stepping back to allow me into the house.

I sigh, “Useful, did exactly what I needed her to.”

“That might be the first time in her life she’s listened to directions,” C laughs. “Water?”

“And probably the last, isn’t that right Johnson Maisy?” I ruffle behind her ears and take the can of Bubly from my sister.

“How’s your little man friend?” She asks, hope in her eyes.

“He’s not little, and he’s not a friend,” I correct her.

“Right, right, how’s lover boy?”

“Don’t call him that,” I squeeze my eyes closed, knowing full well where she’s headed.

“Oh, baby, how’s baby?” She does her best Jennifer Grey impression.

“You’re the worst. And he’s fine,”

“Have you been seeing him regularly? What’s his name again? JK? Did his parents just really like New York Undercover? Or I’m sorry, the Killing Joke?” C laughs at her own jokes, which makes me hate her cleverness even more.

“Jungkook, and yes you can call him JK,” I sip on the pineapple flavored sparkling H2O.

“And?”

“He’s great, he’s wonderful, he’s sexy and intelligent and thoughtful and kind and I could swim in his Bambi eyes forever, okay?”

She laughs at my tone, frustration evident as I blush profusely.

“You like him,” She sings.

“Too much it seems,” I roll my eyes.

“Are the feelings mutual?”

“He took me to breakfast, after dancing, we didn’t have sex, and then, he took me to dinner and a movie the next day, a ‘traditional date’ as he called it. It’s been a month? Not even, and I think about him constantly. I want to see him every second of everyday and I feel so sad when he’s gone. I’m literally handing him my heart to break and I think, all signs are pointing to him handing me his,” I bury my face in my hands, feeling the heat radiate onto my palms. Why is this so embarrassing?

“Are you going to take it?” C asks.

“Haven’t I already?”

C lets it hang I the air, my willing acceptance of heartache at the hands of this lionhearted man, my willingness to be absolutely gutted by him, and in return, his vulnerability to be tossed out like every other man who has ever dared to get close to me.

“Maybe he’s worthy,” C offers.

Shaking my head, “It’s not about being worthy, I don’t deserve anyone.”

“No, no one deserves anything except basic human rights, food, shelter, education, healthcare… but maybe you’ve found a guy who is actually going to be supportive and challenging, someone who isn’t scared of your callousness and thrives in your ability to love without bounds. Maybe he’s that person for you.” Her stare is knowing, and I hate how correct she could possibly be. I hate that I’m falling so quickly, and I hate that he might be falling too. It’s easier when one person has the upper hand, when a bluff pays off with a win. But if we both fold, then are hearts become collateral, and to whom the pieces go becomes a mystery.

“Can we please stop talking about him?” I request, the tears brimming giving way to my distress.

C smiles softly, her knowing sisterly gaze on my tears. “Absolute. How’s the case going?”

“Fine, I found another guy with Taehyung, they both seem to know Jungkook, but I don’t know how they know him or why they lied about it. Neither mentioned anything that was useful,” I wipe the few tears away and pick up my drink.

“Will you keep digging?” She asks.

“I’m not sure there’s much more to dig. Euna has her list, she knows what they did, she doesn’t want proof that they’re guilty, she just wants to know where she can find them.” I inform her.

“That’s the business you’re in, finding people who don’t want to be found?” C clarifies. She knows better than anyone what I do. Though I function in dark allies and make backroom deals, C follows the letter of the law and works for a branch of the CIA. Doing what, I do not know, but she understands the importance of hiding, and the lengths people will go to, to remain out of sight.

“It’s not my job to protect them, C, if I can find them, anyone can.”

“Why does she want to find them?”

“Revenge is my guess, why she had to come to me when she’s worth billions is beyond my understanding. She could’ve hired anyone, had a mole in the government search, literally anything other than showing up at my broken-down door,”

C pauses, “What if they’re in witness protection? What if she was abusive?”

“They’re not in witness, if they were, they wouldn’t use their real names or live in the same city she does. That and you would’ve found out. And, there are no records of abuse in the system, no restraining orders, nothing.”

“Could they be hiding from her?” C questions.

“In plain sight?” I counter.

She laughs. “Staring Mary McCormack now streaming on Amazon Prime.”

“I’m leaving,” I roll my eyes.

“Just, be careful, okay?” She reaches for me, and I enter her embrace. Sister hugs always carry more weight.

“I will be,” I say into her hair.

“Don’t dig a hole bigger than you can fill,” She kisses my cheek gently, her lip gloss sticking to my skin.

“That’s not a saying,” I reply as I wipe the goo from my face.

“Don’t care. Love you,” C stares me down, her words echoing through me.

“Love you, mean it,” I respond, and her shoulders relax.

We haven’t always had the best relationship, the most love, the most respect. She’s anal and controlling, I’m easy going and dare I say, happy? We’ve always been opposites, she loved analytics, statistics, history. I craved action, drama, constant stimulation. We both love puzzles, though hers remain recreational and mine professional. At our core, we’re cut from the same cloth. Mannerisms mimicking the other, eyes of similar shape, looking enough like sisters to never be questioned.

But she’s right.

Am I digging a hole bigger than what I can fill? Has Lee Euna, Euna Lee, set me up to completely fail? Do these men want to remain in hiding, and if so, what’s the level of risk I am putting them at?

Maybe solving the mystery of who the man was with Taehyung will guide me towards an answer.

Next: Codename Another Shot at Love Pt. 4

7 notes · View notes

honeyedheartss · 4 years ago

Note

Pass the happy!🌻🌿 When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications!

I literally just got back on tumblr today after almost 8 months of leaving and have no idea when this was sent, so apologies but here's a comprehensive list if happy things

when you're not expecting a letter or a package and the mailman rings your doorbell

or your pet curls up on your chest to take an unannounced nap

or your significant other invites you over just to sit with them

when you meet someone new and know immediately you'll be friends for years

when your water boils and you pour it into a mug like a 18th century peasant hunched over a fire

when someone asks you to go grocery shopping

when you find out that the words you've written or the art you've drawn for someone is something they cherish

when someone takes time to write words so you dont forget the moments together

when you smell something that reminds you of Saturday's in june when you were younger

when a stranger high fives you for something you saw no one noticed

when you're walking down the street and someone starts idly chatting with you because you're heading in the same direction

when they lean in for a kiss first

when their hand is always the first to find yours the reassurance of your existence has never been more solid

when they find time to be with you no matter what

when your out of state friends surprise you for a visit

when the cashier smiles past the customer service smile at you

when they idly play with your hair

laying side by side on a cool tile floor while its 100 degrees outside pointing out patterns in the ceiling tiles

when you stop on the highway to pick wildflowers, I just think that's the purest form of love

when you get a new shampoo and they notice your hair smells differnet and good

when they sit on the counter chatting while you cook for them

factiming someone while you both do your own thing just so they can be with you

sitting in laps. having them sit in yours

"I think this would look good on you" shopping at thrift stores

laughing so hard you cry while trying on hideous dresses together at thrift shops

whisper laughing together at libraries and being shushed by the librarian

meeting someone's "oh she doesn't usually like strangers" cat

running through the streets at 1am while the traffic lights continue blinking red to green meaninglessly through the dark

softly singing lyrics to your favorite song at the grocery store and a stranger joins in

someone introducing you to something new in a really excited non condescending way

playing the "gay or hippie or both" at trader joes

sneaking out of your bedroom at midnight when the Christmas tree is lit up

watching snow fall outside your window while you sip tea and read curled in a blanket

running screaming through the rain and jumping barefoot in puddles

for no reason kisses during a movie

I saw this and thought of you gifts (bonus points if it's a rock or a nonsensical no use item that even they cant describe or explain)

buying you perfume/body wash in a scent they like

borrowing your hoodies/sweaters

just sitting with you while you cry

not needing the extra 3 pillows at night because they're with you

I saw *insert very normal animal here* today do you wanna see!!!!

doing their makeup or having them do yours even if its really shit

I shaved my legs, feel!!!

sitting on the edge of a roof while you talk about anything and everything in the world which really isnt anything at all at the end of the day

waking them up because there are tons of fireflies right now you absolutely have to come see

"its 11:11 make a wish" and seeing strangers close their eyes

new stompy shoes!!!!!!

"hey remember 2 years ago when you said this really specific thing to me? well I remembered and here's that obscure item you've been avoiding using because you don't want to run out"

"hey wanna see a russian sheep meme"

kitty toe beans !!!

you have friends over and a cheese board and you're serving wine like a middle aged white lady while you wait for your turn in monopoly or risk or sorry and your friends are laughing around you and even tho the laughs aren't with you right now they're not at you and it's a safe place

"hey I got a new board game want to come over and play with me"

living near a friend group some day

having a job I dont hate getting up in the morning for

1 note · View note

swtorpadawan · 5 years ago

Text

Three Years

Author’s Notes: Warnings for PTSD, emotional trauma and allusions to sexual violence. The following story takes place between Chapters 9 and 16 of Knights of the Fallen Empire. Three years.

Bas’rish leveled her blasters at the target. It was all instinctive to her, of course. She could almost make these shots in her sleep. People had been telling her how naturally gifted she was with a blaster in her hand since she was old enough to hold one back on Ryloth. And she’d been very young at the time, indeed.

The shooting range on Odessen was quiet this time of night. This ‘Alliance’ of Corellan’s never really slept, but even so, most of its personnel did find time to sleep at some point. Even Bowdarr had finally settled in for the evening, though like Bas’rish, he preferred to sleep in his old quarters aboard the Maiden’s Luck, which was now sitting on a nearby landing platform. Bas’rish, of course, had been offered accommodations inside the Alliance base when she’d joined, but she’d declined. The familiarity of her old ship, with Bowie residing just down the hall, were a welcome sanctuary. Her ship was the only place that had ever truly felt like home. Her old crew – misfits and vagabonds, such as they were – were the only people who had ever felt like family. Aside from Corellan and maybe Kira and a handful of others she could count on one hand.

She pulled the trigger. The automated targets registered the hits. Both bull’s eyes.

Three years.

Bowdarr. Her ship. And her freedom. Corellan had managed to return all these things to her. And he’d offered her a place in his Alliance without a second thought. A chance for her to strike back at the Eternal Empire. Surrogate little brother or not, she didn’t like owing the Jedi – or former Jedi – so much. Hell, she still owed him from before he disappeared, and the entire galaxy went sideways.

She fired her blasters again. Both indicators flashed. Hits.

Three years.

Bas’rish had ‘been someone’, once. Someone important. The Twi’lek merchant captain had been the best smuggler of her generation. (And the best living, period, no matter what Hylo Visz thought.) She was the finest quick-draw artist anyone had ever seen. She’d been the one to find the long-lost treasure of Nok Drayen. She’d co-opted a coalition of fellow independent traders back in the day to help the Republic pull off an improbable victory on Corellia and was afterwards honored by the high-and-mighty Chancellor herself. She’d been a thorn in the sides of two Empires, both of which had been hell-bent on galactic conquest. She’d been an even greater scourge to legions of gangsters, petty crime bosses, bounty hunters and Republic customs officers. She’d been counted a friend and valued ally of the most famous heroes in the free galaxy. Along the way, she’d left a long trail behind her of broken hearts of both genders, including those of two Republic senators, one Jedi Knight on Tatooine, an Imperial General, and two Alderaanian nobles – a brother and a sister - at the same time. (Beat that, Hylo.)

In a word, she’d been the Voidhound.

Then the ‘three years’ had come.

Three years as a prisoner of the Zakuulan Empire. Three years as a plaything to that bitch of an Exarch on her infernal Star Fortress hovering over Belsavis. Three years during which the rest of her crew, believing she was dead, had apparently scattered to the four corners of the galaxy. Three years during which her name and reputation had faded; most now seemed to think of her as yesterday’s news. Three years where the rest of the galaxy simply carried on without her.

Three years.

Bas’rish finally holstered her blasters, satisfied with her shooting if not with her own state of mind. Her customized belt with its holsters, pouches and ‘little tricks’ was one of the few things she had retained from her old ensemble. That, and her boots. Gone was the flashy gray jacket with red trim with the mid-riff baring red shirt beneath it that was tied off just above her naval, showing off just enough of her lovely green skin to be distracting without looking outright indecent in public. Cast aside were the matching trousers, the ones that that showed her backside to great advantage. Her ‘new look’ featured a black trench coat with adaptive armor padding and dark clothes underneath that showed precious little in the way of skin. The Twi’lek smuggler had even considered an eye patch but had decided the small scar just beneath her right eye – virtually the only physical scar on her body left over from her recent time as a prisoner – didn’t really warrant it, and no matter what anyone else said, she hated being a caricature of herself.

She suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.

Bas’rish spun on her heels on reflex, rolling into a crouch as she pulled both blasters and pointed them towards this figure who had been standing behind her. The movement was purely instinctive; a talent that had been refined from countless gunfights with Imperials, gangsters and other scum.

Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander, the infamous ‘Outlander’, simply raised his hands in an ‘I surrender’ motion.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch.” He smiled thinly.

Bas’rish felt her eyes widen in recognition then exhaled slowly, realizing only afterwards that she had been holding her breath. She re-holstered her blasters, then turned away from the Alliance Commander. He was wearing his new body armor – the one that was clearly Zakuulan inspired. She’d guessed that Jedi robes no longer suited him. Still, even with his twin lightsabers sheathed, he couldn’t help looking like the star from an action holovid.

“Sheesh, Hero. You startled me.”

Corellan’s smile widened a bit at her old nickname for him. She’d used it on reflex. They’d been close, once. Maybe they still were. Bas’rish honestly wasn’t certain, at this moment.

In response, he let his hand fall to his sides.

“I can tell.” His voice was simple and matter of fact.

Three years.

The smuggler reached down and dusted herself off. She’d kicked up quite a bit of dirt with her little move, as well as from her shooting session.

“Need something?” Bas finally asked.

“Just checking in, really. We haven’t gotten to speak much since you joined us.” He looked around. “It’s kind of late for target practice.”

“I just wanted to avoid the crowd.” She said the words quietly.

“I understand.” Corellan just nodded. “Hylo says the run to Kessel you and Bowdarr just came back from went well.”

“Told her there was a short cut.” Bas’rish smirked wickedly. The smile faded when she looked over at him and realized he was watching her for something. Doing that ‘careful consideration Jedi-thing’.

She folded her arms at him, eyeing him incredulously.

“I take it there’s a ‘but’ in there, somewhere?”

Corellan slowly nodded. “Hylo also said she’s worried you’re pushing yourself – and your ship – too hard. Given what you’ve been through, I mean. Belsavis was only a week ago.”

Was it? Her eyes narrowed at that. Bas’rish didn’t doubt he was telling the truth about the passage of time, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Like it had been a mere interruption in the life she’d been living, or that she had been dreaming for a long time but had woken up now and was ready for the life she’d had before to resume.

Even if she knew it wouldn’t go that way.

“Well, it’s my butt. And my ship.” She countered. “They’re both mine to push as hard as I want.”

Bas’rish worried for a second that Corellan would bring up the fact that she’d signed on with the Alliance. She was technically under his command. If he pressed the issue and pulled rank, tried to ground her, she honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do. If he were anyone else, she’d probably jump in her ship and bail on everything on the spot. With him…

Fortunately, he didn’t press. Not the way she expected, anyway.

“What about Bowdarr?” Corellan’s head tilted just a bit.

That knocked the wind out of her sails, a little. The loyal Wookie was one of the last links to her life from before. Her reunion with the big fuzzy lug after all that time… she had to bury her face in his fur so people wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

Three years.

Corellan Halcyon had her beat on that score, of course. He’d been frozen in carbonite for five years. For all Bas’rish had been through, she didn’t even want to think about what that could do to a person. Bas’rish wouldn’t trade places with him. Certainly not with that crusty old bastard, the Sith Emperor, now running around in his head. She was one of the very few who had a damned good idea of what he had lost along the way. And, of course, he was still somebody. Even five years after he had disappeared, hundreds had flocked to his banner, with nearly half of those coming from his former enemies in the Sith Empire. The Republic troops were no surprise, and the independents (her ilk, she supposed) had been squeezed so much, they probably would have followed almost anyone at this point. But the Imps! Corellan had probably killed more Sith and Imperial soldiers by his own hand than anyone else living, and they still admired him enough to bail on their beloved masters back on Dromund Kaas.

She honestly didn’t envy him, not any of it. Not after getting a taste of the burden weighing on his shoulders. She just…

“Bowie can take it. Trust me.” She finally answered.

He regarded her softly, then nodded. “Okay.”

The Twi’lek smuggler blinked. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I mean I trust you.” Corellan answered levelly, opening his hands wide. “If you tell me you’re alright, and that Bowdarr is alright, and that your ship is alright, then I believe you.” He regarded her again.

“So, that being the case, I’m okay.”

Bas’rish swallowed and turned away. Dammit. “Okay.”

Corellan shifted uncomfortably, a silence settling in.

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked more.” He dipped his head a little. “I’ve been busy.”

Three years.

“I believe you.” Bas’rish smiled, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I remember I felt swamped running a smuggler fleet for a few days. Running an outfit like this? I can’t even imagine.”

Corellan chuckled a little at that. “Honestly? Lana Beniko and the others handle most of the day-to-day administrative responsibilities. Theron Shan and I have been running operations.”

Her smile widened into a smirk. “I should have known. You never stay out of the field for long. What have you been hitting?”

The Alliance Commander eyed her levelly.

“The other Star Fortresses.”

Bas’rish blinked in surprise at Corellan.

“We used what we learned from the first one – and what you told us about them during your debriefing – to start hitting Star Fortresses above worlds with active resistance movements.” He pressed on. “There were minor differences, of course, but they all followed the same basic layout and employed the same strategy and tactics. Uniformity proved their undoing.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief at the Eternal Empire’s arrogance. “Belsavis was only the beginning. We’ve destroyed five more Star Fortresses all in the past week. All six worlds are now in open rebellion against Zakuul. Their resistance cells have linked up with the Alliance, like K'krohl did after Belsavis.”

The smuggler captain let out a slow whistle.

“That’s… crazy.”

Corellan shifted his head and shoulders a little. If he were a man capable of nonchalance, it might have come off as a shrug.

“Well, we weren’t sure how quickly they would make adjustments. As far as we can tell, they haven’t even tried. The Exarches apparently aren’t very effective at sharing information with each other, especially when faced with oncoming failure.”

Bas’rish shivered involuntarily. “Yeah. Forta Gair used to rant about the other Exarches all the time. Always complaining about who was getting the cushy assignments back on Zakuul, or who was commanding Fortresses over more interesting planets than Belsavis. She had a lot of anger.”

Corellan’s brow furrowed. Plainly, he’d picked up the emotion in her voice.

“It got bad, huh?”

Bas bit her lip. She could have given him a one-word answer. He’d have accepted it. She knew he would.

Three years.

“One thing I’ve learned fighting the Eternal Empire: At their core, the Knights of Zakuul are fanatics.” Bas’rish answered diplomatically. “With the Exarches, their best of the best, it’s doubly so. And Forta was the worst kind of fanatic.”

“How so? Was she brutal? Insane?”

“Worse.” Bas replied. “She was bored.”

Corellan was clearly being cautious with her. But when her pause lingered, he finally pressed. “How do you mean?”

It took her few moments to fully form the words. Corellan, of course, gave her all the time she needed.

“You know,” she began wistfully. “Back when I was just running contraband through Republic worlds, we used to say the worst customs agents weren’t the ones on the major worlds that saw lots of trade and had thriving markets, both black and white. No, the worst ones were the high-and-mighty petty bureaucrats on the small worlds at the ass-end of space. They just don’t have enough to do. One fella on Taris even threatened to have me locked up in prison on Belsavis. Which is ironic, I guess, given what happened later.”

Bas’rish exhaled slowly. “Forta Gair was like that, in a lot of ways. She was one of their biggest and baddest warriors, and here Arcann had stuck her on a Star Fortress in orbit over a dung heap of a prison planet that most people never heard of. A planet that has been a quagmire of fighting for years. The Fortresses practically run themselves; everything is automated. There was hardly anything for her to do aside from watching broadcasts of the freed convicts and the local Esh-kha killing each other while the Republic completely failed to restore order.”

Corellan must have caught the tremor in her voice. His eyes grew sympathetic.

“What did she do?” he finally whispered.

Bas’rish exhaled again, this time trying to turn it into a laugh. She felt light-headed and manic at the same time.

“Oh, you know. Sometimes she wanted…. wanted…” The Twi’lek’s voice caught itself before she said any more. For a second, it felt hard to breathe. She felt her right arm start to shake. Cursing herself, her left hand reached over and grasped it. On an academic level, she recognized that it was a coping mechanism. Something she’d hoped – prayed – she’d stop doing after her escape.

Three years.

She couldn’t help it. She started talking faster.

“It wasn’t so bad, though. She’d always have me taken to the medical bay afterwards to recover. Those Zakuul droids are good at patching people up. Three years of all that and I only got this little scar to show for it, see?” she reached her hand up to her cheek, brushing her fingertips against the small scar running across her eye.

She didn’t want to tell him why the Exarch had ‘allowed’ her to keep that one scar.

The hand started to shake again as she looked down.

Corellan started to reach out his hand for hers, then stopped.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Is this…?”

She looked up into those pale-blue eyes. They were so trusting, even after everything he had been through. She finally nodded, reaching out her own shaking hand.

He gently reached out and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. After a moment, her breathing returned to normal and she looked up at him. There was a look of regret in his eyes she hadn’t ever seen before.

“I’m sorry.” He offered simply.

She scoffed but didn’t pull her hand away. “I told you before I’m a big girl. You aren’t responsible for what happens to me.”

“No.” Corellan reflected. There was genuine guilt in his voice. “I’m not. But if I had been around, if I hadn’t gone missing, I might have stopped all of this. The invasion, the subjugation… I might have stopped it all from getting this bad in the first place. I might not be responsible for you, but maybe I am responsible to the galaxy.”

Bas’rish angrily pulled her hand back from his and punched him in the arm. And she didn’t bother being gentle about it.

Corellan, who’d probably endured more combat related injuries than anyone she knew aside from Bowdarr, winced and started rubbing his arm at the point of impact.

“Ouch.” He looked down at her questioningly.

“That’s bantha dung, Hero. You know better than to think like that. Hell, even your Masters taught you better.” She brooded. “If we’re going to start thinking like that, I might as well blame myself for getting caught and everything that happened to me.”

Corellan picked up on that. He always was good at reading her mood.

“How’d it happen?”

She shifted and turned away. “You didn’t read my debriefing?” Theron Shan had taken most of the questions when they’d brought her to Odessen.

Corellan shook his head. “This isn’t ‘Commander Halcyon’ asking. This is just me. Theron would have told me if there was something the Alliance Commander needed to know. But I figured you’d talk to me about it if you were ever ready.”

Bas’rish exhaled, then nodded. Somehow, talking to him made it easier.

“Well, after the invasion rolled in, jobs started getting tougher and tougher. Their blasted fleet was everywhere. My crew and I did what we could. We even ran some jobs for the resistance group that Kira was part of before that fell apart. I lost touch with her after that.” She eyed him for some reaction and, finding none, pressed on with her story. “Two years in, we were starting to get desperate just to find a safe harbor. The Zakuulans had Nar Shaddaa on lock down by then, and I soured on Port Nowhere when it was taken over by some idiot calling herself the ‘Red Huntress’.”

She paused, brow furrowing.

“Risha had left by then, gone off to chase her throne on Dubrillion. With our situation, I couldn’t blame her. I know it didn’t work out for her, but I don’t know if she survived.” The Twi’lek swallowed again at the bitter memory.

“Anyway, we got word of a prisoner on Belsavis – an Exchange slicer named Chaney Barrow – who supposedly knew how to avoid scans by the Eternal Fleet. Problem was, by then, Belsavis had its own Star Fortress. The only way we could reach the surface and search for this slicer was if we knocked out their sensors for a while. We managed to board the station and get pretty far in before the Exarch got wise to what we were doing.”

Bas’rish took another breath.

“Long story short, I got trapped behind a security force field. Guss tried to work the panel and bypass it, but by then we knew the Exarch was on her way with her Knights. We were out of time. I told them all to run for it.”

She swallowed. “Corso refused. He actually started hitting the shield with his fists in aggravation, the damned idiot farm boy.” She smiled a bit at the memory and sniffed. “Akaavi finally had to knock him out and carry him off. She said something to me in Mandalorian… I couldn’t understand it, but it sounded like a prayer. She was pretty torn up. Guss, too.” She sighed. “Long story short, Forta Gair caught me, then broadcast to everyone that I’d been killed. Bowdarr had been holding down the ship where we were docked and would have come back for me if he thought I was still alive at that point.”

“I understand.” Corellan said somberly.

Had he been anyone else, she would have hit him again. Thing was, she suspected he did understand. That part of it, anyway. At least he had Teeseven – his little Astromech droid – back, the way she had Bowdarr.

Time to change the subject. Before her eyes started to well up again.

“By the way, that’s two I owe you, kid.”

Corellan raised an eyebrow, questioningly. She wondered to herself if he had learned that expression from watching his Jedi Masters.

“Two?” he finally asked when she didn’t elaborate.

“You saved me from Drooga when we first met on Nar Shaddaa. Remember?”

The Commander chuckled at the memory. “As I recall, you took a very active part in your escape. Same as you did at Belsavis.”

Bas’rish smirked herself in remembrance. To her own surprise, it had been almost ten years ago, now. (Damn, she was getting old.) Her ‘negotiations’ with Drooga had gone sideways even after she’d recovered his blasted pet shanjaru. She could never help running her mouth too much with the Hutts. Bad memories from back on Ryloth, probably. Bas was a hell of a gunslinger but facing off against all Drooga’s guards was just a bit out of her league. Realizing that Corso was going to get himself killed trying to save her, she’d ordered him to run. (Back then, he still listened when she gave commands like that.) With the Twi’lek captain captured, Drooga had ordered her dressed in a slave girl outfit and then collared with a chain leash that wrapped around him, forcing her to sit at the foot of his throne. The sick bastard had even pulled her close and licked her face, promising her that she’d be ‘my entertainment tonight and my breakfast tomorrow’.

Creep.

Fortunately for her, Corso had found a couple of young Jedi wandering the streets a couple of hours later, and they’d been willing to help. (This was how she had met Corellan Halcyon and Kira Carsen in the first place.) The trio had fought their way to Drooga’s barge, with Bowdarr – who she had only just met – staging his own jailbreak during the chaos. Taking advantage of the distraction, Bas’rish had wrapped her chain around Drooga, then pulled when she was out of reach of his grasp. The fat Hutt (was there another kind?) had struggled hard, but when his eyes had popped out of his sockets and his final breath escaped from his nostrils, it had been one of the most satisfying moments of her life. With their meal ticket gone, the remaining guards had fled along with Drooga’s guests, and Corellan had cut her loose from her chain with a slash of his lightsaber. Having been rescued and still practically naked, she’d jumped into the tall Jedi’s arms and planted a kiss on his cheek, drawing a flush of embarrassment from the Jedi Knight, a blustering reaction from Corso (who still had a little crush on her at the time) … and daggers from the eyes of one Kira Carsen.

Bas’rish had gotten it.

Instead of propositioning the Jedi Knight – which had been her first inclination at the time – she’d pronounced Corellan her ‘little brother’ on the spot. It didn’t seem likely that they’d ever meet again, but as fate would have it, they’d wound up teaming up several more times, most famously when she and Corso had joined with Corellan, Kira, Ulannium – the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order – and Havoc Squad in their assault on Darth Malgus’ space station at Ilum. That had been a hell of a fight. But in between all these encounters, the smuggler and the Jedi hero had often exchanged letters and holo-messages. He’d warned her off a couple of tough situations involving Imperial fleet movements and she’d advised him on matters involving navigating the criminal underworld and other matters well-raised Jedi weren’t usually taught in their temples.

They were very different people, but they had made a good team.

(She would never admit it, but he’d probably rubbed off on her a bit from that first encounter. She’d made more ‘altruistic’ choices along the way than she felt she normally would. It was kinda weird.)

“Well, in the case of Drooga, my ego wouldn’t let you and the others have all the fun while I played the damsel in distress.” Bas’rish smiled wickedly. “For Forta… that was personal. Just a taste of what I owed her.”

She thought back at the memory from just a week ago. Corellan, while storming through the station with his Astromech droid, had found her in the Fortresses’ medical bay, recovering from another extended ‘interrogation session’ with the Exarch. He’d freed her, even recovering her blasters for her, then she’d joined him and Teeseven for the rest of their run. In the end, when they’d finally confronted the Exarch, Corellan had engaged her in a vicious lightsaber duel, giving Bas the opening she needed. A series of precise shots had breached Forta Gair’s armor and crippled her for good.

Three years.

She’d stood over the Exarch, this woman who had made her whole world a living nightmare for the last three years and looked into her eyes. Defeated, Forta had looked back up at her in disbelief. As if it were impossible for the Zakuulan to believe that her imprisoned ‘pet’ could ever be the one to finally deliver the death blow.

One well-placed shot between the eyes had proved her wrong.

She noticed Corellan had grown quiet and somber again.

“I should have gotten you out.” He said sullenly. “The moment I saw you lying there. I should have aborted the mission and gotten you back to the ship. You were in no condition to press on to the Exarch.”

The smuggler scoffed. Her physical injuries had mostly been healed at that point.

She knew Corellan wasn’t talking about physical injuries.

“You couldn’t take the risk. You’d invested a lot of prep work for that mission. If you’d scrapped it all, the Exarch would know you’d been there and would have changed everything. She’d have been ready for you next time. You might never have gotten another chance. Besides, I proved I could still handle myself, didn’t I?”

“Maybe.” He looked at her again. “But it would have been the right thing to do.”

Bas restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his words. Instead, she sighed.

“Doing the right thing – and doing the best thing – aren’t always the same thing, Hero.” She said. “The things you’re taking on now… you’re making decisions that will shape the whole damned galaxy for years to come.” She stopped herself. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the pressure on his shoulders.

“Anyway, like I said, that’s two I owe you.” Bas finished.

“You know I’d never hold you to that.” Corellan frowned again.

This time, Bas’rish shot him a hard look.

“Hero, debts like that aren’t about the person they’re owed to.” She said somberly. “They’re about the person who owes them. Just… accept it, okay?”

He started to speak, then stopped himself, looking into her eyes.

“Okay.” Corellan finally said.

An awkward silence settled between them. She didn’t know where to go from there and he suddenly recognized the need to change the subject.

“Also, can I just say you’re only about two years older than me. That’s hardly old enough for you to call me ‘kid’.”

It was as close as he could manage to an actual joke. Kira would have been proud.

“Closer to seven, now.” She wrinkled her nose at him and smiled. “Carbonite.”

It wasn’t an idle barb. Bas’rish honestly hoped that would get him to open up about what was up with him. Instead, he just exhaled and nodded.

“Well, I suppose so.”

That was so like him. He just absorbed the blows, got up and kept going.

“Tried to escape once.” Bas’rish offered. She didn’t know why she was telling him about this part. Maybe she cared too much about what he thought about her? “From the Star Fortress, I mean.”

“Really?” Corellan turned his head, listening with interest.

“Mmm-hmm.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “About five months after I got snatched. I caught the Exarch in a … a ‘compromising’ position where I knew she couldn’t corner me and then I made a run for it. I had it all planned out. How to bypass the security. How to get past the patrols. I even had the codes to launch the shuttle sitting in the hangar. From there, there’s no way I couldn’t have out-flown whatever they threw at me and gotten away.” A soft sigh. “It would have been perfect, Hero. The greatest escape of my whole damned career.”

As Bas’rish’s voice trailed off, another awkward silence settled between them. This was definitely getting to be a thing.

“What happened?” He finally asked, quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t know that Forta had wired my shock collar remotely to her cybernetic implants.” She waved a hand, feigning indifference. “She didn’t need her control device – or even her hands – to zap me from anywhere within the Fortress. She basically just took me down with a thought, right before I would have reached the hangar.”

Bas’rish found she had turned away from him again.

“Clever bitch. She made me pay for that little stunt for weeks afterwards.” She exhaled. “And after that, she was much more careful with me. She never let her guard down with me again.”

She watched the tension roll through his body. What would have been anger in someone else. For a second, it looked like he was distracted, listening to someone else.

“I understand.” Corellan said quietly.

This time she turned and challenged him as a flash of anger came to her green eyes.

“Do you?” she bit back a retort.

He nodded slowly.

“I know you. I know you value your freedom more than almost anything else.” Corellan said. “Imprisoning you, telling your crew you were dead, treating you like that, to you, that must have been worse than death.”

Damn. He had her pegged as much as she had him.

“Yeah.” She swallowed. “Just as you value being the ‘Hero’ more than almost anything else.”

Not a dig. They’d always been honest with each other.

“Maybe. But like you said, I need to become more than that.” He shook his head, plainly determined not to get thrown off his train of thought. “That doesn’t matter. The point is, I can’t imagine what being imprisoned could do to you. Regardless of my intent, I’d never try to do the same by grounding you on Odessen, even if I thought it was for your own good.”

Finally, Corellan looked up at her. She could see the pain in his eyes, and he could see the same in hers.

“I’m not okay. And you’re not okay.” He said quietly. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

This time, Bas didn’t turn away. She reached out and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him close. Much to her surprise, his feet didn’t budge. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug.

She lowered her head muffled a sob into his shoulder.

“I want to kill them all.” Bas’rish whispered harshly into his ear, still clinging to him. “All of them. Arcann. His stupid sister. All their Knights and Exarches. Everyone who fought for them and helped them. For what they took from me. For what they took from you. For what they took from all of us.” She exhaled slowly. “I want to just light their whole planet on fire and watch them burn.”

Stars, it felt good to say all that out loud.

Corellan simply pulled her closer, holding her like that.

“I know.” He answered quietly.

That was it. No judgements. No condemnations. No damned Jedi platitudes about temperance and the folly of revenge. Just a quiet acceptance of what she had said. An acceptance of what she felt.

That was Corellan. He would never preach or nag or demand. He’d inspire and even lead you… but only if you let him. Otherwise, he’d just press on with what he had.

He didn’t bother releasing her from the hug. He just spoke in a low voice.

“Listen, I know I’m not much of a counselor. And I’m probably not much better at being a surrogate little brother, either. But I am your friend. I’ll do anything I can to help you. And I have a whole organization of people behind me, now. Some of them are, you know, equipped to help with situations like this. I can send one of them to talk to you.” He paused. “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

If it had been anyone else making the offer, she’d probably have pushed him away and stormed off in a huff. Possibly after delivering some key insults about people minding their own business.

But she knew he was hurting, too.

Their experiences had been very different, but he understood about her crew. Maybe he understood about this, too.

So instead, she just pulled him closer.

“You’re the best surrogate little brother any girl could ask for.” She exhaled slowly, then leaned up to whisper in his ear. “When we find him, please don’t let Corso know I told you that. He gets jealous about that sort of thing.”

Corellan chuckled faintly. “What about Bowdarr?”

“Oh, Bowie’s way too old to be a surrogate little brother. Or even a surrogate big brother. He’s more like a loving, slightly crazy uncle. With a lot of fur. And with the strength to rip Skytroopers apart with his bare hands.”

Corellan laughed lightly at that, something he did rarely. The two finally eased out of their embrace.

“You’ve gotten better at this ‘hug’ business.” Bas’rish grinned up at him wryly.

He smiled back. “Well, I’ve learned to expand my skill set.”

She snickered then finally exhaled.

“I think… I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” She swallowed. “For help from someone.”

“I’m glad.” Corellan looked relieved.

An easy peace settled between them. This time, it didn’t feel awkward at all.

“Nightcap?” he offered.

Bas’rish smirked again. In all the years she’d known him, it was the first time he’d ever been the one to invite her for a drink.

“Sure. See you in the Cantina in five?”

“Of course.” Corellan gave her a boyish grin, and there was a bit of light in his eyes. “It’s good to have you here, Bas.”

With that, he turned, walking back towards the base. Bas’rish simply watched him depart before gathering her things.

Corellan was right. She wasn’t okay. And she wouldn’t be okay for a while, yet.

But she had her ship, her Wookie, her friend and, most importantly, she had her freedom.

Bas’rish realized that she was still somebody, after all.

END

#swtor #oc: corellan halcyon #oc: bas'rish #tales of the eternal alliance #swtor fanfiction #bas'rish is the big sister corellan always needed #odessen #eternal alliance #bowdaar #Forta Gair #voidhound #the corellan halcyon legacy

32 notes · View notes

katieskarlette · 5 years ago

Text

WoW: What’s Next panel

This is the big one! I’ll be watching the panel on the livestream and editing this post as it goes, so check back for updates.

[EDIT: Panel’s over, post is finished!]

----

Ion: We are not jumping on a ship and going to a land that “mapmakers have mysteriously ignored for the last ten years.” Ha. It’s another plane of existence.

The Warcraft Afterlife: Souls cross the veil between life and death Souls are brought before the mysterious female entity known as the Arbiter All the deeds/misdeeds, aspirations, triumphs and failures are laid bare to the Arbiter, who then routes the soul to one of the Shadowlands’ realms. Each realm is ruled by a powerful Covenant.

Souls bear with them a vital force called Anima. A quiet farmer who lived an unremarkable life has only a little Anima, while “Varian, Garrosh and Arthas had a ton.” He mentioned those characters by name. Hmmmmmm.

Ion joked about how the early concept art of Bastion was already leaked.

Bastion is home to the Covenant of the Kyrians, aka spirit healers. “Souls here shed past burdens and seek virtue.” Uther’s soul is here, and we’ll encounter him!

Kyrian are ordered and purposeful, dedicated to service.

Maldraxxus is ruled by the Necrolord Covenant. It is the heart of the Shadowlands’ military might who defend the Shadowlands from the enemies of death. They’re about survival of the fittest, not strictly evil. Relentless, unyielding spirits go here, including Thrall’s mother, Draka. It’s like EPL on steroids, aesthetically.

Ardenweald is an enchanted fairy forest. It’s ruled by the Night Fae covenant. This enchanted mystical forest is the Emerald Dream’s dark mirror. It reflects fall and winter, a place of rest and rebirth. Cenarius’ soul went here after Grom killed him.

Revendreth is a creepy, gothic zone with miasma, soaring castles and dark secrets. Ruled by the Covenant of the Venthyr. Flawed and prideful souls atoning for their sins end up here. You don’t want to end up here, but it’s possible to redeem yourself and move on to another area of the Shadowlands. We will encounter KAEL’THAS there! Ooh! (And, yes, Ion made a “setback” joke.)

Covenants are the four powers of the Shadowlands and are integrated into almost every feature of the game. Each one seeks your aid, and each offers power and rewards. Each one has a full endgame narrative campaign, akin to the two factions’ war campaigns in BFA. Each gives you two active abilities, one of which is class-specific.

Endgame progression system: Soulbinds. Bind your soul to a powerful entity in the Shadowlands for unique benefits. There is no artifact power to grind! YAY! Ion says they have learned from the last couple of expansions. It’s important to have goals to work toward and ways to customize your characters’ playstyle without having it be a grind that is full of pressure and punishing to alts.

Each Covenant has a sanctum that we’ll build up and restore to glory, sort of like Shal’Aran was in Legion.

Covenants will also have rewards of mounts, transmog, etc. They will give you items for the cloak slot that will give you ornaments like, in the case of Kyrians, a halo or angel wings, etc.

Oribos, the Eternal City is an ancient city that predates memory, and the home of The Arbiter. Brokers and soul-traders gather here. It will be the main player hub and sanctuary city. “Khadgar wanted to bring Dalaran through but we figured there was already a city there, so not needed.” LOL

The Maw is a mystery even to Shadowlands natives. No known Covenant rules it. It’s ruled by a dark figure known as The Jailer, who is like a boogeyman to the people of the Shadowlands. It’s a horrific prison for the most vile souls. Nothing has ever, ever escaped.

In 9.0 the machinery of death is broken, and souls are pouring directly into the Maw without being routed first. The other parts of the Shadowlands are thus starved of Anima.

“What about Sylvanas’ role in all this?” asks the slide. Yes, Ion, do tell.

A picture of the burning of Teldrassil got a lot of booing, cheering, laughter and general excitement from the crowd.

“Arthas is dead, I’m sorry.” SO?!?!?! So are Uther, Draka and Kael’thas!

The Jailor in the Maw is the creepy silhouette that Sylvanas was facing in the teaser footage. Sylvanas doesn’t have a master, but her goals align with the Jailor’s. He’s been feeding her more power lately.

9.0 will start with Scourge marauding across Azeroth, since the Helm of Domination that held them back is shattered. Azeroth’s heroes make for Icecrown to stop the problem at its source. We are led by Bolvar, since he understands the Scourge best. He has one foot in each realm and knows more than anyone about them.

We go from Icecrown into The Maw, and that’s all, we’re trapped. Nothing’s ever escaped. “It’s a short expansion.” LOL! Actually, we escape the Maw and go on, but it sounds like some lore heroes stay trapped there...for now. Hmm.

We work with each realm’s leaders and borrow their powers, then choose a Covenant at max level.

However, once you have one character who has reached max level, your alts can pick their Covenant right away before they start leveling. You can level in any zone, do world quests, etc....lots of choices. You can work toward endgame progression while you level, reducing the sense that leveling and endgame are two separate games, that what you do while leveling doesn’t matter in the long run. Interesting.

At max level we return to the Maw, a fearsome zone with freeform outdoor gameplay. Unlike other max level zones, there are no innkeepers or friendly bases. You have to be on your toes all the time.

At the center of the Maw is Torghast, Tower of the Damned (the upside-down thing in the sky above Icecrown in the cinematic.) It’s an endless, ever-changing dungeon for 1-5 players. As you ascend the tower you earn upgrades that shore up your weaknesses, play to your strengths, etc. It looks a bit like the choices on each ring of Azerite gear.

4 dungeons to level up in: The Necrotic Wake, Plaguefall, Mists of Tirna Scithe, Halls of Atonement

4 max level dungeons: Spires of Ascension, Theater of Pain, Sanguine Depths, and The Other Side--where Bwonsamdi is!

Castle Nathria is a 10-boss raid at Revendreth. Think Dracula’s castle. It’s a winged raid and “for once you’re not going in through the sewer.”

Core philosophy: Focus on player agency. “We want to give all of you a feeling of more control over your destiny.” It’s something the playerbase has been asking for for years, and they’ve heard the feedback.

Profession updates: be guaranteed to craft an item with the secondary stats you want instead of having to craft a zillion items with random stats before you get the crit/haste/whatever you needed.

The weekly loot chest is the most hated example of RNG in the game today, according to Ion. It will now give you 5-6 items to pick from, based on the bosses you’ve used your bonus rolls on, etc.

Legendaries: Legion legendaries were fun when you had them, but the randomness of obtaining them was a major pain in the butt. In Shadowlands you’ll be able to work toward building a specific legendary that you want, then a second one, etc.

Shadowlands brings us a return to class identity as opposed to spec. Some abilities that were made spec-specific will go back to being class-specific, and some that were removed will be returning. Yay!

Shadowlands has a streamlined leveling experience. 120 characters going into the expansion will be 50 when they go into Shadowlands, and will level to 60 at the end. Every level will now unlock something and be meaningful, instead of dinging all the time but it being meaningless.

Unprecedented flexibility for alts. Want to just level in Pandaria? Do it, then go to Shadowlands. Skip everything else if you want to.

Character customization is the focus this time instead of new races. (YES!!!!!) Tattoos, body paint, new skin colors (be a Sandfury troll!), undead without visible bones(!!!), horn and tusk options, eye colors, etc. RACIALLY DIVERSE HUMAN MODELS! OMG! THEY LOOK AMAZING!

Every allied race will be able to be Death Knights.

Deep dive into Shadowlands at 11:15 AM Pacific tomorrow.

#Blizzcon with KS #shadowlands #shadowlands spoilers

27 notes · View notes

migleefulmoments · 5 years ago

Text

Reality Check on TSG and Darren: Dissecting the Lies the ccers repeat.

The obsession with Mia and TSG returned as soon as Elsie was over- just as predicted. I find it so odd that a handful of women with NO intention of ever stepping foot in TSG have such an obsession with keeping tabs on negative Yelp reviews. How often they must check Yelp in order to catch every one. hot of the press so they can blast it and rage over the problems. But even more curious is that they never actually vet the reviewers themselves for their validity. Several of the negative reviews the fandom delighted over were clearly written by people who have never been to the bar and were influenced by Abby’s theories including the one who complained about the vaginas dripping on the bar and the one who complained about Open Dyke Night and then admitted she was underage and half a world away.

Here is TSG overall score:

With 118 review they are at 4.5 stars so these 1-star reviews are not the norm. Most review look something like this

or this

Now let’s look at this recent lot that Cassie decided to bring to ccers’ attention.

cassie1022

(Well Megan, it depends on what night you were there. They close at 1 am on Tuesday and Wednesday).

(If the door people are turning people away an hour before closing, Mia needs to know and the Yelp review will be helpful But since the vast majority of the 118 reviews are very positive, this clearly isn’t a problem that occurs often).

(This is the one that gets Abby’s fired up about. I have no clue it it is true or if it this policy is posted anywhere. I will give them this one because I can’t check anywhere. 20% does seem a bit high for a bartender tip since they aren’t waiting on a table...anyone?)

(Melinda, Melinda Melinda...I’m going to guess that by her comment that she is not 21. She gave the place 1-star because the bartender carded her. Basically that is it. She gave them a horrible review and ranted because there were frumpy old lady tourists in the bar, she insulted the drink taste and the price even thought it sounds like she wasn’t served and the bartender thought she looked young. I’m sorry but this smells wrong. But even more telling is the comment “If I am willing to buy your mediocre $20 glasses of urine then you bet I am old enough”. Notice she never says she is 21, she simply spits that she is willing to pay the price for the horrible drink and that qualifies her.

Check out her Yelp page- she went to LONO after TSG and complained about TSG on that LONO’s review. “BEST BAR OF THE EVENING! I came here after fleeing the depressing depths of Tramp Stamp Granny's in search of refuge. The bartender with the long red beard was incredibly nice! He was kind, considerate, and extremely welcoming. The drinks were superbly delicious!!!!! Everyone should come here” I get the vibe she didn’t get served at TSG (Keep reading, there is another hint about her age at the bottom of this section)

Back home in NY she gave Trader Joe 1-Star claiming she found a worm in her smoked salmon. That seems suspect since the salmon was smoked. She gave her local ice cream place 1-star and this charming review “There was a long, black hair rolled up into my ice cream, the plate that my "sweet treat" was made on was covered in ice and the remnants of previous orders, and the employees appeared to be quite overworked. When I want ice cream, I don't want an accompanying side of pity for the workers and disdain for the tedious, migraine-inducing procedure to make a mediocre ice cream. Also, the store was sweltering and I broke out into a beading sweat while waiting in the purgatory-like line.” The only places Melinda likes are a hot dog place and a pizza joint. The pizza joint got 5-stars “By far the best pizzeria ever; my existence would be trash without Emilio's. Oozy, gooey goodness that tastes like ambrosia regardless of the toppings. While the employees are lacking in the common customer service charm that we are force fed as a society, they have a higher level of pizza IQ than the rest of us average mortals. I guess that's what happens when you spend your days cultivating the food of the gods.”. But my favorite review of all is for 5-star review for her favorite hot dog place “Very delicious, savory hot dogs. The location is prime with it being directly behind the high school, however, the large line every single day can get a bit tedious. If only they would expand and open an extra window.” Now why would an adult care that it is located near the high school? It would seem that the person who calls the location “prime with it being directly behind the high school” but also notes that it the line is large every single day is a high school student. Of course she could be a teacher who eats hot dogs everyday and is between the ages of 22 and 30 (any older and she would not be that upset that the bartender thought she looked young) but her comments reek of teenager.)

(I have no clue what David’s issue is. Is this a viable complaint to leave on Yelp? It sounds like David has a personal issue with the guy working the door.)

Now the ccers chime in:

ajw720 While all of these are bad, how are they getting away with unitemized bills that include gratuity with no policy plainly in site? I totally understand charging gratuity and have absolutely no issue with it, but it needs to be clearly stated, because if it is not, that is tricking customers into tipping twice. Disgusting.

Can we please separate d from this horrific establishment? Not only is it utterly misogynist and offensive in nature, with theme nights where the name is considered hate speech, it is repeatedly cited as poorly run. First a 5% upcharge on ice and now we learn they charge gratuity automatically on bills of $80 or more without clearly stating the policy. That should be written on the bill handed to the customer. Unacceptable.

(Can we please separate d from this horrific establishment? No, Darren is married to the owner and considers himself an owner. What did he say the other day? “It’s my bar too because we are a unit” or something like that.

Not only is it utterly misogynist: TSG is NOT misogynistic. You dont understand the word .

and offensive in nature: TSG is NOT “offensive in nature” to most grown adults. You can find it offensive but you do not get to dictate what the rest of the world finds offensive. Your attitude is no different from the Christians who claim they won’t serve LGBTQ customers because it is against their religious beliefs in that you are both putting your morals, values and beliefs on someone else and declaring that it is offensive to all of us. If you find it offensives then don’t give them your business. Period

with theme nights where the name is considered hate speech: The theme-night names that you find so offensive and are labeling “hate speech”, are in fact words the LGBTQ is using to empower their community. “Open Dyke Night” was named- and is hosted by- a lesbian who uses the word to empower lesbians. These theme nights you find so offensive are NOT for you. They are nights for the LGBTQ community to come to a space that is safe and enjoy the company of others in the community just like them hence Open Dyke Night is for lesbian women to come together with other lesbian women and enjoy a night of singing and celebration.

it is repeatedly cited as poorly run.. : It is NOT “repeatedly cited as poorly run” by anyone who isn't named Abby, Cassie, Leka, and Flowers. The bar has 4.5 stars overall and a lot of 5-star reviews. This is exactly what NadiaCreek was talking about when she said “You are denying a reality that is obvious and that gets more and more evidence with every passing day. You are tricking yourself into seeing patterns that are not there, by obsessing over small details and ignoring a mound of evidence for the opposite, true conclusion. That kind of thing can and will pour over into areas of your life that do matter. Denying reality in any area of the world is a dangerous game that can and will impact the rest of your life”. THIS is so important.

First a 5% upcharge on ice and now we learn they charge gratuity automatically on bills of $80 or more without clearly stating the policy. That should be written on the bill handed to the customer: A 5% up-charge on ice was mentioned by one person. I wouldn't be referencing that based on one person’s random comment. The 20% gratuity is again only one person complaining so I wouldn’t sink my teeth in to this one until you know a lot more)

klaineownsmysoul

When you have a “venue operator” masquerading as an owner who knows nothing about how a business should be run and obviously couldn’t care less, what do you expect? They couldn’t be bothered fixing the air conditioning last summer and laughed it off as a joke. Pretty sure at this point its obvious this wasn’t some sort of “life long dream” of hers to own a bar like they’ve pushed; more like a dream to have a place where she can drink for free and have her pic taken while people kiss her ass and call her wonderful. There is not an ounce of D in that place. His shoelaces have more integrity than this place.

(You have no clue what the business end of TSG is and comments like how she is “masquerading as owner” are so obtuse and stupid they defy logic. She is the owner and the bar is busy. But it doesn’t matter if it is failing and barely hanging on- it isn’t any of your business-that’ss between Mia, Darren and Danny and their landlord and vendors. It’s really sad and disgusting that you want Darren’s bar to fail. CCers want to be taken seriously -Abby constantly complains that the stans won’t listen to the various cc tropes -and yet you make nonsense statements like this...this is one big reason why you aren’t taken seriously. You WANT Mia to fail and you WANT TSG to go away but that is not the same thing as it actually failing or Mia being a clueless boss. In fact, her employees have said very nice complimentary things about her being a fabulous boss and they are far more credible evaluators than the cc fans who have never been to the bar and simply believe Abby’s fantasy tropes about the bar and Mia failing. You have no idea if she cares or doesn’t care and again, it isn’t any of your business. It’s her business to drive into the ground or make it a roaring success. Darren’s fans don’t get a say in the matter other than to either be a customer and pay for drinks or don’t give them your business.

Patrons continue to go to the bar and I have not seen complaints about the lack of A/C except on opening night. It is just as much Darren’s bar as Mia’s- so you believe Darren didn’t care about the A/C and laughed it off as a joke? When? Or is it that A/C was out a few days over a year ago and you are still using that as fuel for your rage about a bar that you have nothing to do with?

“Pretty sure at this point its obvious this wasn’t some sort of “life long dream” of hers to own a bar like they’ve pushed; more like a dream to have a place where she can drink for free and have her pic taken while people kiss her ass and call her wonderful” Again comments like these are why you aren’t taken seriously. Mia owns the bar. Whether you like it or not, she owns the bar. You simply don’t like that she isn’t the bar manager-she pays people to do that. The owner is the one who hires and trains staff, makes decisions about the menu and what alcohol will be offered, writes the policies and procedures, plans the calendar and makes payroll. She pays other people to run the bar day-to-day and that pisses you all off because you can’t see her at the bar and criticize every moment that is uploaded to social media. What she does is all behind the scenes and not Instagramable. But it doesn’t mean she isn’t working. There is a thing now called the internet and it makes doing a lot of the work of running a bar doable from a wide varsity of locals. .

Your comment that “there is not an ounce of D in that place” leaves me shaking my head. When you guys say things like this it just proves that you don’t know anything about Darren. You spend your time looking for Blaine and you're right- the bar has nothing to do with Blaine but it has Darren written all over it. The cc fandom spends all of their time and effort looking for the Darren they want to see and it’s a lot of work. You have to reject a lot of what you see and blame it on his team for making him be the bro’ dude that you can’t stand. You have to find videos and look at them frame by frame to find the moments you believe are the ‘real’ Darren aka the one you want to see. You have to cut out those precious few seconds, slow them down, and turn them into gifs and THERE...THERE IS the Darren you know and love. But while you are doing all that work you are missing the real Darren. The one who is right there in front of your face but you don’t like because he isn’t Blaine. Darren’s footprint is all over the bar- from the elegant debauchery of the decor to the sexual puns on the signs and the drink names that IS Darren Criss. The piano at the center of the room-Darren’s piano- that he uses to connect with people through music and the fact that it is a piano bar that plays covers is all Darren. Mia plays very different music when she performs and yet the bar is literally based on what Darren does best- play the piano and sing covers while those around him join in. The place is ALL Darren-you just don’t like the real Darren.)

flowersintheattic254

You know so many things were attempted to try to make M look like a career woman, with a viable business, shared interests with D and not a beard without taste or work ethic.

I think the bar will likely last as long as the fake marriage as M isn’t interested in it when D isn’t there to hang off and when you consider when it opened and how the encage went down.

M hung around bands when she was younger due to her fathers businesses. She likes being around famous, talented people. The bar gives her the opportunity and venue to continue her groupie inclinations.

I’m absolutely glad that D has been too busy recently to be there.

The most influence he may of had was with the whiskey choice.

(I don’t know why it’s so hard for you all to understand that Mia had several jobs and now she is owns a bar. The fact that you feel entitled to criticize her for her career decisions and make comments about her taste level is pure misogyny. Darren has also had lots of jobs and you don’t criticize him and the punny sex jokes are all Darren and yet you attribute them to Mia- that’s misogyny. Mia didn’t write Me and My Dick, Darren did, he loves the puns. As for shared interests...he married her. Their shared interest is the family and the life they are building together.

How long the bar is open is yet to be determined but given that your record for predictions regarding Darren and Mia is abysmal, I’m not going to sweat it. The idea that Mia “hung out with bands” as a kid and the piano bar gives her the opportunity to hang out with famous people-I just can’t. She hangs out with far more “famous people” and musicians just going to events with her husband then she ever will at Darren’s piano bar.

Her “groupie inclinations” WTF is a “groupie inclination”? I don’t even know what to say to that because I have no clue what a groupie inclination is. It’s really sad that you are so happy that Darren isn’t connecting to people though music since that means so much to him. He recently was asked if he had a need to be on stage and he said no, he has never had that need but what he does "NEED” is to connect to people though music and he also has said that playing the piano while people sing along gives him that connection. I shouldn’t be surprised that you are gleeful that Darren hasn’t had time to spend at the bar he created in honor of his beloved Marie’s Crisis, your fan-girling over Darren has never been about Darren, it’s always been about you).

leka-1998 Too bad you can’t actually call forgetting about that place most of the time and drinking the money they force people to spend a career. She’d be truly successful. It’s really her bar and D’s just the piano man, right? So if that could stop too, that would be nice.

(You really need to stop slandering Mia, she doesn’t drink anymore than Darren. You never call out Darren’s drinking but then again, it’s just your misogyny speaking-it always comes. The bar is Mia and Darren’s. When he says he’s just the piano man, he is just taking the attention from himself and giving it to her. Darren does this a lot with people he cares about. But he has been very clear that the bar is his and Mia’s. I know words are hard for you guys, you get so caught up in the meaning of the word that you fail to hear the message. Anyone paying even a little attention t Tramp Stamp Granny’s would realize that is Darren’s bar through and through. Someday maybe you can all stop looking for the Darren you like, stop obsessing about what this word means or that word, stop slowing down videos and clipping the out the 3 seconds you like and instead you can just listen to the Darren that is right there in front of you and HEAR what he has to say. It will be revolutionary. Listening to other people without assumptions is the very least you can do..literally it is the least).

#cc #ccer #cc fandom #crisscolfer #darren criss #cc nonsense #cc lies #so many lies

14 notes · View notes

angeldormante · 6 years ago

Note

Hello *wave* I really liked your insight into the TMNT franchise and previous meta. There's an article on livejournal that states that people tend to forget that the turtles are raised as ninjas who kill & will kill if necessary. In the 2003 incarnation, it's not shown, but its definitely implied in 2007 movie w/Leo killing the slave traders. The TMNT do seem dangerous but it's almost alarming. What are your thoughts? Do you think that the TMNT hesitate and try other means before killing?

hwhaa, a tmnt ask…. bless u anon (•̥ ̫ •̥)

this is LONG i’m sorry

i don’t think killing is something they pull out as a second or even third resort, no, but i do believe that realistically they’re all aware that sometimes it’s necessary for their own safety and the safety of others. if you think about it, the guys live a lifestyle that’s essentially just one big contradiction: they’re ninja, but they follow a code of honor that more closely resemble samurai.

the thing is, several incarnations claim that they live by bushido, but this just… isn’t true. not strictly, anyway. bushido is very rigid and forthright and it’s pretty much impossible for them to follow it religiously while still operating with all of the trickery and deception and other underhanded tactics that they literally need to use to stay alive. it’s not really their fault, of course, but… it seems a lot more accurate to say that the guys live by a set of morals and personal judgments influenced by bushido, not exactly bushido itself.

what this means is that essentially they’re kind of just ninja cowboys. they live by their own rules and make judgments based on what seems right, this sort of customized moral code that splinter taught to them and they refined for themselves. and sometimes, yes, it involves killing.

they all take it at different paces, of course.

mikey is undoubtedly the most hesitant to kill, and i’m pretty sure he’d in fact avoid it at all costs if he’s able to – the only time i can really see him intentionally killing would be in the heat of the moment. mikey would be the first to ask if there’s another option when they’re talking about the pre-meditated killing of a target, and he’s the last one to put it out of his mind. because of this, i imagine he has the least blood on his hands: his brothers know he has zero taste and little tolerance for it and rarely let the responsibility fall on him. at the same time, mikey does understand that sometimes it’s necessary, and he never looks on his brothers badly for killing. if anything, he only hates that they’re forced to do it, because he knows none of them have the hearts of killers and none of them should ever have to live like they do.

raph is a bit trickier because he just… his lack of control in so many aspects means that he’s had accidents and a lot of not accidents when he loses himself in his rage. i believe this boy has a lot of blood he doesn’t want on his hands. that said – unless the person in question is a truly evil pos that has done real wrong by his family, raphael isn’t someone who takes pleasure in killing. he can be vindictive and hateful and angry, but ultimately, raph just wants the world to leave his family tf alone. he’s not going to throat-stab every guy who pisses him off or snatches a purse. raphael does, however, have a huge berserk button, and it’s the same one that the rest of them have: his family. raph is the kind of person who can and will hunt down and kill someone and be glad about it if they’ve intentionally harmed his family in any way.

don and leo, i think, kind of fall into a similar category: killing is a tool that is sometimes necessary, but it’s never the first or the best option. it’s not a last resort, either, though – and i think these two tackle the issue with a very pragmatic sort of process. is it possible to let this person live without sacrificing the integrity of the plan or our safety? how high are the stakes? don can look at the big picture, and leo is better at the cold calculus, but neither of them take any amount of joy in it at all, no matter the circumstance. but sometimes it has to be done. i do feel like donnie has a harder time with it than leo does, just because leo has more experience with compartmentalizing his emotions in order to make the hard calls, and i think the both of them tend to linger on the lives they’ve taken in the past. but i firmly believe that both leonardo and donatello are willing to get their hands dirty once they’ve decided that that’s what it takes.

of course, these are all assuming that the person in question is a direct threat, and is trying to or already has caused harm to the tmnt or their extended family. if they can be reasoned with, if they’re an overall good-intentioned person, or otherwise, i’m sure the guys would do everything in their power to make sure everyone comes out of the situation alive.

they’re not killers; they don’t want to be.

but they can. and sometimes, they do.

#tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2007 #long post #meta #sleep deprived 2k19 im sorry if this is nonsense #and that its so loNG #if i ever pen a tmnt meta that isn't an entire essay assume i've expired #Anonymous

71 notes · View notes

quinzelade · 5 years ago

Text

Making One’s Bones (chpt 2)

Chapter List

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

Mouse

“Have you heard the radio?”

Sarah looked up at Mr. Glass’s kindly face. She returned his smile, and then glanced back down to the feral ghoul eating the remains of her breakfast. It snuffled and snorted as it smeared food everywhere. Sarah giggled.

Mr. Glass cleared his throat. She jumped and snapped her eyes back to him, feeling guilty, but he simply continued to smile, and she settled. Mr. Glass had always been nice to her. He didn’t get mad when she got distracted.

He tapped the horse toy he’d made for her on the nose and said, “Bella Buttercup knows how to listen. Why don’t you follow her example?”

Sarah giggled again. She liked it when Mr. Glass used Bella’s name, and he knew it.

He grinned, sitting back in his seat, and said, “Have you heard the radio?” When Sarah shook her head vigorously, he continued, telling her about a place with toys. She stopped listening, imagining a vast world of trinkets, with lifesize Giddy-Up Buttercups big enough to ride. She would gallop all around the world, Bella by her side, and—

“Sarah?”

Sarah came back to earth with a bump, blinking innocently at Mr. Glass. He rolled his eyes, but repeated his explanation, and this time she listened. His face was serious as he finished. “How do you feel about that?”

“I just want to be with you, Mr. Glass,” Sarah said with a shrug, looking at the feral ghouls, who were now crawling together into a big pile by the nearby metro train. “You’ll look after me.”

Mr. Glass gave a little sigh. “I’ll do my best, Sarah. I’ll do my best.”

“Have you heard the radio? RedEye says there's a new overboss!”

Gentle hands shook Sarah awake, people muttering all around her head. Mutterings about the radio. She flinched and shied away, the metal around her neck uncomfortable and sweaty. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, and looked up to see Mackenzie. A tanned lady with shoulder-length, light brown hair and a kind face, Mackenzie was one of the few people Sarah liked in her new home. Maybe it was because she was a doctor and tried to help people—or maybe it was because she always took the time to check Sarah was okay, and never hesitated before touching her, despite her being a ghoul.

“Aaron has your morning chores,” Mackenzie said, tucking her fingers under Sarah’s chin and giving a small smile. “Sorry to bring the bad news.”

“It’s okay,” Sarah mumbled, rubbing her eyes and getting unsteadily to her feet.

“Take your time,” Mackenzie replied, getting to her feet and tugging distractedly on her own metal slave collar. “I’ll try and keep Aaron occupied for a little while. Maybe if you’re quick, he’ll find someone else to do his dirty work.”

Sarah grinned and the corners of Mackenzie’s mouth twitched before she turned and headed back outside. Sarah remained where she was, yawning and rubbing her eyes again as the chatter about the radio and the overboss continued just beyond the rundown shack she slept in. She pulled herself up, shaking her legs to get some feeling back into them, and poked her head outside.

Something gripped her by the scruff of the neck and dragged her forward. She gasped, her welcome to Nuka World flashing through her mind, before she managed to turn and see the scowling face of Mr. Corbett.

He was a pale, stocky man with greying hair, his forehead and eyes etched with wrinkles. They were the kind of wrinkles adults got when they frowned a lot, Sarah thought. Mackenzie didn’t have those frowny wrinkles. Neither did Wiseman or Mr. Glass. Her dad had, though. It felt like years since she’d seen him.

Mr. Corbett’s lip curling with disgust as his thick, doughy fingers dug into her skin, before launching her out of the door and into the marketplace.

Sarah hated the marketplace. It reeked of sweat and urine, the ground a mix of stinking puddles and dry, hot dirt. There was an old brahmin panting in the corner, too weak to pace around its cramped pen. A cloud of flies hovered permanently over its scabbed molting heads, almost as nasty as the rancid smell clinging to its pitted hide.

Sarah called her Buttercup.

Mr. Corbett let go of Sarah as they moved into the open, but before he could turn around, she took Mackenzie’s advice and threw herself into the crowd, out of his sight. Even in the morning, the marketplace was always packed. Wiseman once said the key to hiding from someone was to use other people. She wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but pushing into big groups to get away from trouble had worked so far, and she wasn't about to stop.

Hopefully by the time Mr. Corbett found her, he’d have forgotten why he wanted her.

Sarah slipped through the masses, holding her breath every time she passed a raider, until she made it over to Buttercup. Sarah reached through the pen gate and patted Buttercup on one of her noses, before glancing up at her keeper. The trader in charge of Buttercup winked and turned her attention back to her customer.

A bang cut through the bustle, the doors to the market bursting open and hitting the walls. All fell silent. The traders ducked behind their stands, covering their heads. Sarah had already withdrawn her hand from the pen and scurried to the wall, flattening herself against it. Loud noises meant trouble, and not the kind of trouble you could lose easily. Only the raiders remained standing.

A solitary figure walked into the frozen arena, and every head turned to look at her. Whispers rose from the silence like a swarm of bloodbugs, hissing the same word over and over again: Overboss.

The new overboss surveyed their kingdom, a small smile on her gaunt face. Sarah’s mouth fell open. The new boss was like her. She was a ghoul.

Sarah was old enough to know ghouls weren’t liked. She’d been very young when the change happened, but she remembered enough to know the difference. Where once people had hugged and held her, they now recoiled in disgust. People like her mother.

Sarah couldn’t blame them. She was a monster.

The radiation that swept through her little town claimed many lives, but the survivors crawled from the ruins, their skin flaking away. In time, they lost their hair, their ears, their noses…in the end, they were barely recognisable as human.

Her dad told her over and over how bad ghouls were, that they were both outcasts, that they had to live with other ghouls to be safe. Even Wiseman, who always stood his ground, tried to avoid conflict with humans; keeping out of their way.

This woman—whoever she was—didn’t care. She didn’t flinch away from the scowls of the raiders, or the grimaces the traders were giving her—like there was a bad taste in their mouths. She continued to smile, showing crooked, yellowed teeth, but her eyes never rested, flicking back and forth across the gathering. They landed on Sarah for the briefest of moments, and Sarah’s insides froze.

Then the boss turned away and strode across the marketplace to the nearest stall. Every head followed. She talked with each trader in turn, apparently oblivious to her audience. Some traders were quiet, even respectful. Mr. Corbett tried to sneer, until the boss leaned forward and quietly said something. His face paled, and he didn’t speak again.

The boss patted his shoulder, leaving her hand clamped there long enough to dig her fingers in, and then let go, stepping back. She glanced around the room, her smile fading.

“You may carry on,” she said, as if she’d ordered them all to stand and stare. Then she left, whistling tunelessly and leaving the door open behind her.

One of the raiders stormed over, slamming the door shut, before whipping around and snarling at the enslaved traders, “You heard her! Back to it!”

Noise erupted through the market once more, though to Sarah it felt forced. The raiders were muttering amongst themselves, casting dark glances to the exit, so engrossed in their conversation they weren’t even bothering to bully the slaves.

Sarah tugged at her collar absentmindedly, staying pressed against the wall. The raiders picked on her a lot. Everyone picked on her a lot. Except the lady who owned Buttercup. She was nice. Sarah glanced over at Buttercup’s owner, but the trader was haggling with a fat, red faced man. Wiseman once told her never to trust a fat person in the Wasteland.

“How do they have so much food while the rest of us starve?” he’d said as he’d picked at his daily bowl of tarberries. “No one ever got fat off rations, Sarah. They either got lucky, or took something from someone else.”

Sarah’s brow creased at the memory. She never liked it when Wiseman got upset, so she turned away from the trader and the fat, red-faced man, and stared at Buttercup instead. The old brahmin bobbed its heads in her direction, pushing its noses expectantly against the fence. Sarah grinned and edged towards her, stretching out her hand.

Fingers clamped down on her wrist, and Sarah let out a small cry of shock, before Mr. Corbett dragged her away, snarling into her ear like an angry yao guai, “Don’t you run off from me again, girl.”

They walked quickly to a stand at the back of the area, where all the slaves were huddled, casting wary looks at the gossiping raiders near the exit.

“Got her?” Mackenzie said as Mr. Corbett drew near. She glanced down when Mr. Corbett finally forced himself through the crowd, Sarah in tow, and smiled. Then Mackenzie frowned, her eyes flicking up to Mr. Corbett again. “Aaron, is there any need to grip her like that? Let go.”

Mr. Corbett obeyed, mumbling an apology and staring at his feet, while Sarah rubbed at her wrist. She’d never heard Mackenzie sound so sharp before, and she hesitated as Mackenzie hitched her smile back into place. After a few seconds, Sarah relaxed. This was Mackenzie. She could trust Mackenzie, just like she could trust Mr. Glass.

Sarah felt a jolt in her chest at the thought of Mr. Glass, fragments of her dream bobbing to the surface of her memory. Her eyes began to sting, and she blinked quickly, forcing herself to focus on Mackenzie again.

Mackenzie beamed at her, crouching down to Sarah’s level. “Sarah, I need you to do something for us. Something important.” But then she paused and turned her eyes up to Mr. Corbett, who was looming behind Sarah. “Aaron...are you sure one of us can’t…? She’s only a kid.”

Mr. Corbett sniffed loudly. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and saw he had folded his arms, frowning. “Exactly. We all have jobs, but she can use the excuse of passing on a message. She’s small, hard to notice, and knows how to disappear. We were only in the damn marketplace, and yet she got away from me.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to get away from,” a man to Sarah’s right interrupted. He was a little taller than Mr. Corbett, thin as a rake, with slicked back grey hair and an even greyer beard. Sarah thought his name might be Chip Morse. He was always wandering around, tinkering and fixing things up whenever the raiders got too rowdy. She’d never seen him frown before, but now Chip was glaring fiercely at Mr. Corbett. “This could get her killed.” He directed his gaze to Mackenzie. “I thought you were better than this.”

Mackenzie bit her lip.

“We need to know what this woman is like,” Mr. Corbett shot back. “The girl’s our best option.”

“At least use her name if you’re going to force her into the firing line!”

The two men glowered at each other, but Sarah only had eyes for Mackenzie. The doctor stared back, still biting her lip, and eventually said, “We want…” Her head briefly turned towards Chip. “I need someone to follow the Overboss through Nuka Town. Find out what she’s about. She’s already threatened Aaron, but that might be because he was being...difficult.”

The unknown man snorted with laughter. Mr. Corbett huffed but didn’t say anything.

“If you don’t want to do it, I won’t make you,” Mackenzie continued. “None of us will. But if you can help...”

All eyes fell on Sarah. She felt the weight of their collective gaze pushing her into the ground, and suddenly a horrible memory clawed its way to the forefront of Sarah’s mind. A dark night, not long after her dad went missing. Super mutants descending on the Slog, baying for blood. A Brotherhood Paladin, telling her to get back, to run away, to hide. He hadn’t let her help.

Fear pounded through her chest, but she was determined to do her part. Sarah stood up straight and gave a short, sharp nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Chip made a noise of disgust and walked away, while Mackenzie shut her eyes, as if in pain. But then Mr. Corbett moved over to her, placing a hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder, and she opened them again. Mackenzie smiled widely, but stared at a point somewhere over Sarah’s head.

“Good girl,” said Mr. Corbett, and Sarah was shocked to see him smiling too. He cast another quick glance in the direction of the raiders, but when Sarah looked at them, they were still talking in a huddled group. Then Mr. Corbett kneeled down next to Mackenzie, a grim expression on his face. “Now listen closely…”

It was almost an hour before Sarah managed to catch up to the overboss. Nuka Town was big, and yet the streets were still packed. She picked her way around puddles of muck and blood in the pitted pathways of the park, and melted into the shadows of crumbling buildings whenever the raiders turned their attention towards her. It was difficult, but no one knew how to keep out of the way like a ghoul, and Wiseman had been a good teacher.

The Operators and the Pack were muttering amongst themselves when Sarah finally spotted the overboss strolling down the sidewalk like she’d lived in Nuka Town all her life. The Disciples were glaring fiercely at the boss, but the other gangs looked...curious. Sarah bit her lip. Mr. Corbett said the new boss would probably be meeting with the gang leaders as soon as possible. It seemed Sarah had missed a meeting already. Hoping Mr. Corbett wouldn’t be too mad, Sarah followed the boss at a distance. With any luck, she’d catch the next one instead.

Sarah stopped in her tracks when the boss walked straight towards Fizztop Mountain, the lair of the Disciples. Sarah’s heart began to race, cold shivers rippling through her. She’d heard stories about the Disciples, none of them good. She’d seen things too, but only the aftermath, when Mackenzie patched up what was left of the slaves who’d managed to escape the Disciples’ clutches. A missing finger here, a nose there...sometimes entire chunks of flesh just gone, or even large sections of skin. Most of the slaves that made it back didn’t survive, even with Mackenzie’s care, and those that pulled through refused to speak about what had happened to them. Sarah was glad for this. She didn’t want to know.

What did they do with the bits they took? Sarah wondered if they ate them. It would make sense...sort of. Though why anyone would want to eat another person, she didn’t know. Hopefully they didn’t like the taste of ghoul. But then again, maybe they’d never had the chance to try it—and going in there would as good as asking them to eat her.

Sarah clenched her fists, now trembling where she stood. The boss had gone in. That meant Sarah had to go in too. Mackenzie asked her to follow, was counting on her. Sarah’s breath came out in short, sharp bursts, her eyes pricking with tears as the boss went through the door into Fizztop Mountain and out of sight.

She could do this. She had to do this.

Wiping her face impatiently, Sarah moved around the side of the huge, crumbling structure, avoiding the unseeing eyes of the patrolling Disciples. She needed a gap, a break, anything. The buildings in this place were old, just like everything else in the wasteland. And she was small. The two made a good combination, as she found out when she first came to Nuka World. As Mr. Glass found out, too.

Sarah swallowed, her throat tight, and pushed away the thoughts of Mr. Glass. He always told her to focus, and now was the time to pay attention. Like Wiseman said, old buildings were her friends. Sure enough, within minutes Sarah found a loose panel on the surrounding fencing, and she ducked through to a maze of junk between her and raider base. Smiling to herself, Sarah crouched and began to crawl, weaving through the mess with ease.

The mountain itself had a sizeable crack in the artificial rock. It was far smaller than the gap in the fence, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Sarah clambered inside the tunnel and pushed on, her arms pressed tight against her body, her legs only able to help her by the tips of her toes. Her breath sounded muffled in this tight space, but Sarah liked it. She always liked the cracks in buildings. No one could catch a mouse when it hid in the walls.

Sarah smelled the other side long before she reached it. The thick scent of metal and rotten meat filled her nose cavity, making her gag. She coughed and retched, fighting to control herself before she went any further. If she made a noise, she’d be caught. And if she was caught…

Eventually, the gagging subsided, and Sarah pressed on, taking deep breaths to let the stink flow through her. The sooner she got used to it, the sooner it wouldn’t be a problem.

By the time Sarah pulled herself out into the open, she was saturated by the smell. Trying not to think how long it would cling to her, she let her eyes adjust to her new surroundings, the interior of the mountain only slightly brighter than the darkness of the tunnel. There were dark splatters everywhere, and it looked like raw meat had been nailed to some of the walls. The stories of the Disciples resurfaced again, and as her heart raced she realised she’d found her answer for where the pieces the Disciples stole ended up.

Sarah slowly got to her feet, her shoes sticking to one of the dark patches on the floor, and crept towards an open space where two people were talking. The rest of the mountain was quiet, and as Sarah squinted through the gloom, she saw figures standing sentinel around the edges, watching the conversation in the middle.

Sarah watched too.

The boss was smiling as she talked to the leader of the Disciples—Nisha, Sarah thought she was called—and her tone was calm and collected. And yet despite this, Sarah couldn’t help but feel tense. There was the taste of threat in the air, mingled with the blood.

Nisha seemed to sense it too. While her helmet covered most of her face and her lip was curled into a sneer, there was a hint of confusion in Nisha’ responses, though the words were too distant for Sarah to pick out clearly. Then with a slight bow, the boss turned on her heel and left, still whistling merrily to herself.

Sarah crept closer. She had nothing to give Mr. Corbett, nothing to bring back for Mackenzie. She needed something.

There was a long silence, only broken when the boss exited through the main door.

“So what we gonna do?” drawled the other woman, her voice strangely light and cheerful. “Can I…?”

“No, Dixie,” Nisha shot back, and Dixie stiffened. “I don’t know what the hell Gage is playing at bringing in a ghoul, but we do what we have always done. We wait. We play things smart. And then, when the moment is right, we skin them.”

Dixie giggled and stretched her arms as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “You think this is going to end bad?”

“I know it will. The question is when. But if we act now, we risk open conflict with the rest of the meat here. We’d win, of course, but if we want the region, we can’t just start a war.”

“Oh I can wait,” said Dixie in a low voice that quivered with anticipation. “You know I can wait.”

Night was starting to fall. Soon the streets would run with blood, the harvest of accidents and deaths plentiful. Witnesses were temporarily blind and deaf, participants unable to account for actions or name assailants. It was an unspoken rule of Nuka World—in twilight, grudges were settled.

Sarah held her breath as sounds of pain and parried words choked the air, hoping she would remain unnoticed. she sidled into a back alley and saw a figure in the gloom, whistling merrily, apparently unfazed by the dark. Sarah crouched down, watching the boss from afar.

The boss stopped, stretching out her arms with a slight groan, and then pulled out her sword, holding it over her shoulder. She stood in the abandoned alley, tapping her fingers on her leg, but no longer whistling. Almost like she was waiting for something.

Then Sarah saw it from the corner of her eye: someone moving silently as a shadow, a dagger gripped in their hands—a raider. Sarah felt a shout rise up her throat, before managing to cut it off just in time. If she stayed quiet and hidden, then it didn’t matter who won the fight. She would be safe.

The masked figure raised the dagger, and the new boss whipped around, her sword slashing out towards the raider’s neck. The raider hit the ground with two distinct thuds.

The boss simply stood where she was, breathing hard. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees, gripping her sword to her chest, odd snuffling noises disrupting the silence. It took Sarah a moment to realise the boss was crying.

“Nicky,” she mumbled, her head bowed as she rocked herself on the spot. “Nicky...I can’t…” The boss gulped down her tears. “What do I do?” She raised her head to the sky, still tainted with fading light. “What do I do?”

Sarah decided she’d stayed here long enough. Time to go. But as Sarah inched back, the boss’s head snapped in her direction. Sarah froze.

“Come out,” the boss said. “I see you.”

Sarah didn’t move, her limbs locked into place. She’d been seen. Mr. Glass’ face flashed before her eyes, along with Wiseman’s, and even her father’s, pushing Mr. Corbett’s cover story out of her mind. She was going to die.

“Now,” repeated the boss, harsher this time.

Hot tears flowed down Sarah’s cheeks as she got to her feet and walked forward, trembling so badly she stumbled several times. As Sarah drew close, the boss’s expression shifted from a scowl to surprise, and she wiped her sword on the dead raider’s clothes and sheathed it.

“What’s your name?” she rasped.

Sarah tried to speak, but no words came out.

The boss frowned, but didn’t stand, remaining at Sarah’s head height. “I’m Mrs. Bossanova. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

Sarah stared at it for a moment, and then shook. Her skin was dry and crinkly, like her own, but her grip was warm and firm. Sarah sniffed a little, and wiped at her eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No.”

Sarah glanced up at Mrs. Bossanova to see she was smiling. Not the smile she had given Nisha, a thinly veiled threat, but kind and small. Sarah felt confused. Was this the same woman? There weren’t any other ghouls in Nuka Town. Not that she’d spotted anyway.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” Mrs. Bossanova said, gesturing to the raider’s body.

“I’ve seen people die before,” Sarah replied, seeing the old lady remained kneeling and deciding to sit on the ground with her. If she was going to talk with this woman, she might as well get comfy. Mrs. Bossanova copied her. “I’ve seen lots of people die before.”

The overboss frowned. “How old are you?”

Sarah shrugged. “Dunno. Ten, I think?”

Mrs. Bossanova regarded her carefully, her frown deepening. “Just because you’ve seen lots of people die before doesn’t mean you should. Does that make sense?”

Sarah shrugged again. It didn’t, but she wasn’t going to argue with her.

The old woman laughed and shook her head, muttering something that sounded like, “Kids.” Then she met Sarah’s eye again and asked, “How much did you see?”

“I saw you crying, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sarah replied. There didn’t seem much point in lying. Besides, Mrs. Bossanova said she wouldn’t kill her. Sarah trusted her on her word. “And talking to someone called ‘Nicky.’” Sarah paused, wondering how much to push things, before deciding just to ask. “Who’s Nicky?”

Mrs. Bossanova blinked at the question. She considered Sarah a moment, and then said, “A friend of mine before the bombs fell. I made it. He didn’t.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, before Sarah said, “My name is Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah, can you keep a secret?”

Sarah nodded. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you crying. Or...about Nicky.”

Mrs. Bossanova beamed at her. “If you want to tell people about this…” she waved her hand at the raider again, “or anything else you saw today, I don’t mind. I have a feeling you aren’t here of your own accord. But everything after the attack...tears are dangerous, and I’m still learning who to trust. I want to trust you, though.”

Sarah nodded. “You can trust me.”

Mrs. Bossanova smiled. “We’ll see. For now, head on home. I need to clean up.”

Sarah knew she’d been dismissed. She got to her feet and slunk away without another word. Mrs. Bossanova was a strange lady, and Sarah wasn’t quite sure yet if she was a kind one. But she hadn’t tried to hurt Sarah, which was more than any other raider had done so far.

Sarah kept her word when she returned to the marketplace. No one else would know Bossanova could cry.

#fallout 4 #fallout #porter gage #nuka world #mob #Making One's Bones

8 notes · View notes