#they don’t have time to read they’re busy killing slavers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ahdraftingco · 2 years ago

Text

pairing: hard dom!joel miller x desperate!reader

ao3 crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44445643

rating: explicit (minors DNI)

word count: 7.8k+

summary: joel is your only hope, unfortunately. you and him aren't on the best of terms…not after you left him for dead during a smuggling run. but, he's the only one you can turn to when there's no one left in your life that gives a fuck, so you swallow your pride and ask for help from the man who hates your guts.

a/n: as always please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, **dubious consent**, hard dom!joel miller, enemies to lovers, heavy angst (be ready for feels!), age gap, jealousy, possessive behavior, size difference, breaking and entering, use of the words "sir"/"princess", dom/sub undertones, death threats, degradation, spit, praise kink, forced orgasms, squirting, spanking, bdsm, choking, knife play, unprotected piv, breeding kink, body worship, minor injuries/scars, hair-pulling, alcohol mention, drug abuse (sleeping pills), hurt/comfort, no use of y/n

enjoy this little one-shot I whipped up in the moment! it's been raining and I love the idea of being stuck in the rain with nowhere else to go except to your worst enemy's home ;) have a fun read!

｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ petrichor (n.): the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil ｡ﾟ🌨｡ﾟ｡⋆ ﾟ

You're about to do something very stupid. Though, it's not like that's atypical for you. You're used to doing impulsive things, but this…this is just downright idiotic.

Breaking into Joel Miller's apartment in the middle of a hurricane may take the cake of shit you really should not do in your lifetime. You reason to yourself that you'll hide there until you dry off and then you'll find some other place to fuck off to. He should be asleep so you'll have at least a few hours if he took the pills. He loves those pills. They're the only thing that will get him to sleep.

You remember being on the road with him, out to pick up the very pills he was used to taking and smuggling them back. To think, he actually lived after you left him for dead. In your defense, you're younger and the moment those slavers caught up to him, you weren't going to stop running in hopes of saving him.

You both were only business partners, anyways. You were the liaison, he was the muscle. That's all you were. Nothing else.

Even the few times you both were bored out of your minds, waiting for a contact, the sex was to kill time. It wasn't bad, but there wasn't any feeling in it. Neither of you can feel much. You've lost enough and so has he. You both kept your distance from getting too close and that's why it worked, your little partnership.

That is, until you left him for dead.

Ever since he managed to get back, you haven't taken a single big smuggling job. You've completely cut yourself from the network because you don't want to deal with the wrath of Joel Miller. You settled for solo trips between cities to deliver smaller items, like letters between loved ones. The work didn't pay well and it was dangerous, but it was all you could do in the meantime.

You heard Joel was heading out of town for some job and he won't be back for a long while. That'll be when you can reintegrate yourself into the smuggling scene, without the fear of being murdered by him.

You've spent so much time avoiding him, and now you're about to throw all that away because you're fucking freezing your ass off in the pouring rain and you need a place to go that isn't flooded. All your usual spots are filled to the brink with water and you haven't had your own place in quite some time. Rent is too expensive and you don't need a space to call your own anyways.

Back to the matter at hand, this isn't the first time you've snuck into Joel's apartment.

You've done it three times.

The first time, it was to steal some of his booze. It was a long day with no pay at the end of it because your contact fucking cheaped out and got killed so you needed a drink and you weren't going to ask him for one. Steal first, beg for forgiveness later, though he never did find out.

The second time, you needed some pills. Sure, you could buy your own, or pocket a few on your runs, but you knew Joel kept the good shit for himself, so you snatched some and replaced them with counterfeits. They weren't going to kill him. Or, well, they didn't. You weren't actually sure if they were safe or not, but at that moment, you didn't really care.

People die all the time. What's one more death?

As for the last time you snuck into his apartment…it's the reason why you would never want to do it again. It didn't feel good. You can't explain it but you forgot why you were there in the first place the moment you saw Joel and Tess together. You watched from the fire escape outside the bedroom window as Joel held her more tenderly than he has ever held you. You wondered then if she meant something to him.

You wondered then if you ever meant something to him.

Maybe that's why you left him for dead. He didn't need you. He had Tess. You had no one but yourself to protect.

You hope—prayed—Tess wasn't there now. You don't know what you'd do if she was.

Could you still sneak in, or would seeing them together again break you once more?

You don't understand why it pains you as much as it does. Envy, you think, that must be it. You envy that Joel has someone he can hold like that, someone who can hold him like that, while you're all alone, cold and soaked in the rain.

You're sick and tired of this fucking rain, so you decide to say fuck it and sneak in.

If Tess is there, so be it. You'll live. Maybe.

With a quick spin of your lockpick, you easily get the bathroom window open, sliding quietly inside. The apartment is still and silent, so you're certain they're asleep if they are here. You take the moment to strip your clothes off, half because they're wet beyond salvageability, half because they'll be too loud for you to sneak into Joel's closet to take some spare clothes.

You dry yourself off with what you assume must be his towel because it smells musky with a hint of cigarettes and whiskey. You then make your way out of the bathroom, opening the door as slowly as you can so that it doesn't creak. It's fucking cold since you're completely naked, but you fight back the shivers as you tiptoe into the living room.

You hold in a sigh of relief when you see the bed is empty and Joel is asleep, alone, on the couch with an empty glass of whiskey on the table near him. He's knocked out. You should be fine for a few hours, like you predicted.

You still keep your guard up, being as stealthy as possible as you rummage through his closet for something to wear. You manage to find a shirt and some sweats that fit you decently and socks. You're very thankful for the socks.

Now, all you have to do is decide where you're going to hole up for the next few hours. You contemplate laying underneath the bed. You doubt Joel will check there for any reason and that way, you could maybe get some sleep since you'd be on your back. But, it's a bit too risky.

You could hang out in the closet, but he might need to look through it, so that's not the best option. Same goes for the bathroom. You'd have to be ready in case he needs to piss.

So, you throw the idea of sleep out the window. You just need a place to chill and not get caught.

Easier said than done, because the moment you decide to hide in the bathroom closet, arms wrap around your body and slam you to the hallway floor.

You spit out the word "fuck" as you try to get yourself back up, but then you feel a knife press against your neck, sobering you up from the pain real fast. Joel holds you down with his entire body, consuming you completely as he towers over you like a wild beast.

"Don't fucking move or I'll slit your throat, princess." Joel's southern accent has such a bite to it that you get more goosebumps than when you were cold.

"Alright." You stay completely still as you tell him, "I just need to stay until the rain stops, then I'll go. I won't bother you again, Joel. I promise."

"You've done enough bothering as it is." There's a tinge of anger in his tone and you know why it's there. "Why are you even here? Ain't you got somewhere else to be?"

You slowly shake your head then admit, "I had nowhere else to go. Everywhere's flooded."

"What happened to your place?" He knew you back when you had one. Probably assumed you still had it.

"Couldn't afford to keep living there. Haven't had a place of my own in a while." You don't know why you're being honest to him, but you're hoping it'll build some rapport so that he'll get off of you. "Will you please put the knife away?"

"You aren't in a position to make demands." He presses the knife further into your neck with those words, the blade cutting into you just enough for you to really feel it. "You've got some fucking nerve, breaking into my place and stealing my clothes."

"I'm sorry, Joel." You're starting to feel the air sting the cut on your neck and you bite back a wince as you plead, "I really didn't have anywhere else to go. I just wanted to get out of the rain. You weren't even supposed to know I was here."

"You think I didn't know?" It sounds like you've ticked him off more with that. "I've let you steal from me enough times, but this time, you aren't getting away with it, princess."

This is news to you. "You…knew?"

"You don't think I keep track of my whiskey and my pills?" He scoffs, irritated that you thought he wasn't going to notice.

Then what about…you don't ask. You can't bring yourself to.

If he knew you were there when he was with Tess, then Joel did it on purpose. He wanted you to see them together. He wanted you to suffer and yearn for a moment you could never have. Fucking asshole.

"You had plenty and you know it's hard for me to get shit." You retort, not allowing him to act so high and mighty. "They don't give a fuck about selling you alcohol or drugs because you're just a dying old man."

Right when you finish your sentence, Joel tosses the knife aside and before you can stop him, both of his hands wrap around your throat and press down hard. You gasp for air as he starts strangling you. You reach up with your hands, clawing at his arms, trying to get him the fuck off you, but he's so much stronger than you. He always has been.

"Is that all I ever was to you? A dying old man?" He spits in your face out of pure anger, making you flinch. "Is that why you left me there? Because you figured I'd be dead soon anyways, so why fucking bother? Do you know what those slavers did to me?"

You blink back tears, not from the pain of being choked out, but because you knew. You heard what happened to Joel. How they used him as their punching bag. How they forced him to kill people for them in the most sadistic ways. How they stripped away the last shred of humanity left in him before he found the strength to slaughter them all.

"I'm sorry." You breathe out meekly. "I'm so sorry…"

"No, you ain't." Joel releases you from his grip then, allowing you to breathe.

You swallow as much air as you can through your bruised neck. Every breath hurts but you're too desperate for air to care. Then, you start to sob because it's all too much.

"I shouldn't have left you, Joel." You confess everything to him in a moment of weakness. "I should've stayed and fought them, but I was scared of getting caught by them. I know what they do to women like me…and I just…I couldn't…I'm sorry. I fucked up. I should've—"

"Get your ass up." Joel snaps his fingers and you listen to him all too reflexively, standing up beside him. "Now go over to the bed and bend over."

Your throat goes completely dry and you want to protest but…

"Listening to me right now is what you should do." He makes it clear that he won't repeat himself.

So, you quickly run over to his bed and do as you're told, bending over so that your stomach is on the bed but your feet are planted in the ground. It's humiliating, having your ass up like this and not being able to see Joel staring at you.

That's the point, you figure, since he goes, "now kick off your pants and spread your legs again just like that."

You freeze because…you really don't want to do that since you aren't wearing anything underneath. He doesn't like your hesitation at all.

Suddenly, you feel him yank you up by your hair and he yells straight in your face, "do as I say or I'll hurt you worse than those slavers would have."

Joel finishes his threat by spitting in your face and you whimper in fear, nodding your head to show him you understand before you strip off your pants. He lets go of your hair and your face drops back onto the bed as your legs spread with your ass up, completely naked from the waist down.

"Now, present to me." He demands fiercely. "Use your hand and show me your pussy."

You squirm, mainly out of embarrassment. You've never done anything like this before. It's degrading, dipping your dominant hand between your legs so you can hold open your folds so he can see all of you. You can't even tell where he's looking because he's directly behind you.

Then, you let out a shocked gasp when you feel him spit right on your clit. It's wet and warm and you should feel uncomfortable but it tingles in the weirdest way. You shouldn't want any of this, but your pussy is starting to ache uncontrollably.

"Poor little princess." Joel mocks you as his fingers trail along your bare ass. "It looks like it's been a while since someone's used this hole of yours."

He isn't wrong, as humiliating as it is to admit. You've been on a dry spell since you left him for dead. You just couldn't bring yourself to have a fling, not with all the guilt. It's hard to get turned on when your thoughts won't stop haunting you.

It makes you wonder why you're feeling the heat rise in your body despite it all. You're almost certain you're getting wet. It's more than just his spit between your legs and that haunts you in a totally different way.

"Tell me the truth." He addresses himself like he used to when the two of you would fuck. "Has no one touched you recently?"

You take in a deep breath before you answer, "no one, not even myself."

"Why?" He asks, his fingers slowly making their way down the line of your ass, brushing along all of your sensitive skin with his rough fingertips.

"I-I couldn't." You feel ashamed saying this but you do anyways, "I didn't want to feel good."

"Is that why you've been taking those shitty courier jobs?" His words surprise you.

Has Joel…been keeping tabs on you?

"Someone has to do them."

"Enough people have died doing them." He tells you as you feel a finger teasing your entrance. You quiver at his touch, stunned at how it contrasts with his words, "do you want to die, my princess?"

You press your lips together and then, when you can't seem to hold it in anymore, you whisper, "yes, sir."

His finger slips inside of you right then and your toes curl. It feels foreign because it's been a while but so familiar because it's Joel. Your body leans into the feeling as he grinds his finger against your g-spot.

"Now, why would the girl who left this old man to die want to die now?" He asks as he bends over on top of you, engulfing you in his body. His hot breath lingers on your ear when he whispers, "are you scared to be alive in a world where I'm not dead?"

Joel digs another thick finger inside of you, spreading you wide open. You bite the comforter, trying to ease the sudden mix of pain and pleasure that's coursing through your body.

"Answer me." He commands, grabbing you by the hair once again so he can yank you up, pulling you away from the hold you had on the blanket with your teeth.

You don't know what to say. It's hard to think when he's stirring your insides like this while he taunts you for your past actions. You're a mixture of guilty and aroused right now.

Your mind is so foggy which is why you start mumbling out your thoughts without a filter, "I'm not afraid of you, Joel. I don't mind if you hurt me for what I've done to you. I deserve it. I deserve…all of it, even death. It should've been me. I don't have anyone to live for. At least you had Tess so—"

Maybe mentioning her name is what got him mad, but Joel cuts you off from speaking by roughly fingering you faster. Your legs start to wobble as your orgasm builds, your body threatening to collapse in on itself. You can't say another word because every breath is occupied by a moan or a gasp for air.

"Cum." Joel is stern and his fingers are unyielding. "Cum your fucking brains out, princess."

Your orgasm spills out like a broken dam the moment he thrusts side to side, forcing your body to convulse inwards. He catches you before you collapse entirely, guiding you onto his lap. There, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as you navigate every wave of sheer intensity surging through you.

You lean on him with your head buried in the crook of his neck, and Joel gently rubs your back, helping you calm down. Maybe that's why you feel secure enough to cry. You latch onto him and you just sob everything out, needing to release all the feelings built up inside of you since the moment you found out he'd never be yours.

"I didn't want to leave you." You breathe out softly in between your tears. "I didn't want to admit that I was jealous of you and Tess. I didn't want to deal with it, with the fact that I was really all alone and you weren't. It's selfish but…I liked that you had no one else because it meant you were like me. When that wasn't the case anymore, I just…I panicked and ran and I left you for dead. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Your heart aches so terribly now that the pleasure has washed out of your system. It felt good to be touched by him again, even if it was under these circumstances. But, that fear creeps back in, the fear that he'll never touch you again, and you hold onto him tighter because of it, not wanting to let go.

"Come here." He whispers, nudging you until you're straddling his lap. Then, he taps on his shoulder and instructs, "bite."

You nod, listening to his orders, wondering if he even heard anything you just said. You pool the fabric of his shirt in your mouth, holding it with your teeth. You keep your head buried in his neck, unable to look at him after everything you confessed.

That's okay, though. He doesn't need to see your face. Not for what's about to happen.

You fully understand the moment you feel his cold hand grip your ass. He's keeping you steady for a reason.

"No screaming." He warns and you nod, bracing yourself by biting down a bit harder.

The first spank is a test. It's not hard, but it's not light either. You squirm after he smacks your ass and unconsciously, your body grinds up against him. You realize then that he's hard underneath you, his cock bulging right through his sweats.

Now, you're biting back a moan.

"Good girl." He praises you for keeping quiet but then switches to a more sinister tone. "Now, I won't stop until you've been thoroughly punished. Do you understand, princess? Let me hear it."

You let go of his shirt from your mouth, shocked that it's already soaked in your drool, so you can answer, "yes, sir."

Before you can get the fabric stuffed back in your mouth, Joel slaps you hard on the ass and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. You hold in your whines and he rewards you by gently kneading your sensitive skin, easing you through the pain.

"I treat you well, don't I?" He asks and you nod in response, which is why he allows you the time to bundle his shirt back into your mouth. Then, he whispers, almost too quietly for you to catch, "then why did you run from me?"

Another smack connects with your ass and you quiver all over from the suddenness. You can feel how wet you've gotten because you've soaked his sweats, his cock pressing wet fabric up against your bare pussy. You want him inside of you. You can't resist it when you're right up against him like this.

But, you don't deserve it. You don't deserve him, not after what you did. So, you grip onto his back tightly with your hands, preparing yourself to endure whatever he wants to do to you.

"Lift your hips." He pushes you upwards until you're no longer fully sat on his lap. "Now strip."

You don't protest, pulling away from him once more so you can tug your shirt off, tossing it on the floor. You don't even remember being cold, not when your entire body is on fire right now.

You watch as Joel scans every inch of your skin with his eyes, swallowing you up in his intense gaze. Then, when he has had his fill of looking at you, he demands, "show me that pussy of yours."

As much as it kills you to do so, because the sheer thought sends heat through every inch of your skin, you lean back and use your hand to spread your folds to give him what he wants. It's hard to hold this position, but that's the point. He wants you to suffer both physically and mentally. It's what you deserve so you submit to it.

"Look at your clit." His rough fingers brush against that bundle of nerves, rippling shockwaves through you. "It's begging to be touched with how swollen it is."

You swore, you could feel more of your slick drip out onto your fingers when he said that. There's something in the way he draws you in with his words that forces your body to respond. It aches for him, truly.

"Tell me what you want, princess." He teases your inner thighs, drawing circles there as he waits for your reply.

You shouldn't say a word. You shouldn't want anything because you can't have it.

But, you can't resist telling him, "I miss the way your mouth feels."

That's the first time you see Joel smile all night. It's a light smirk, but a grin nonetheless.

"Did you like the way I'd eat your pussy when we needed to kill time?" His words spark so much desire in you as the memories flood your mind.

It was lazy, the way Joel would rest with his head between your legs, spending hours exploring you with his tongue out of sheer boredom. Half the time, it was less for pleasure and more for comfort. It helped you sleep. It helped him sleep. Why? Neither of you knew, but if it worked, you both kept it up.

"I liked it more than I should have." You whisper quietly into the night, hoping your words will be washed away from the heavy rain pouring outside.

Suddenly, Joel tosses you onto your back on the bed and then buries his face between your legs. You gasp, not expecting to feel his warm tongue on your clit so soon, but he's impatient. You grab onto his hair as he swirls his tongue just the way you used to like it, making your mind all fuzzy from delight.

"If you keep doing that…I'm going to…" You clamp your hand over your mouth, silencing yourself because you know it won't do you any good. He's not listening, anyways.

You stifle your moans in your palm as Joel keeps ravaging your pussy. You can feel your orgasm building and it's a big one. You're going to explode and it scares you.

You want to tell Joel to stop because you won't be able to handle it. You can't live with the thought of how good it feels to have him touch you like this. It's too much. Maybe that's why the tears pool up in your eyes.

"I can't." You try to push him away, begging him, "please, Joel, we can't do this…"

You can feel how close you are and it's taking every bit of your strength to edge yourself. You need to hold it in. You can't cum. You can't…because he isn't yours.

This all ends tonight and you can't bear more memories of this. You avoided him for a reason…and now it's hitting you at full force.

You feel something for Joel. You wouldn't call it love, but it's something. It's meaningful enough that it scares the living fuck out of you.

"Please, stop." You shove at him, needing him to listen but he won't so you have to say what you must, even if it breaks your heart, "what about Tess? What would she do if she found out–"

"Shut up." He's quick with his retort, silencing you. "She has nothing to do with this, with us."

There is no us. You want to tell him that but it hurts too much to admit.

So, instead, you confess something else, "I saw you, before our run. You made love to Tess. You held her more tenderly than you've ever held me. You can't…you can't throw that away. Please, Joel. Don't ruin a good thing."

"Fucking hypocrite." He curses at you, his southern accent peaking as he growls back at you, "you're the one who ruined a good thing. You're the one who slept with my fucking brother and now you're lecturing me about fucking someone else?"

You blink, stunned that Joel knows about that. It was a while ago. A long while ago. Maybe the third time you met Tommy. You both got drunk and slept together. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't anything special. It was just a drunken one night stand that never happened again but you told Tommy that you both needed to keep it from Joel. It would just be better if he didn't know and Tommy agreed…

So, what changed? Did Tommy have a change of heart and tell Joel?

Joel confirms it. "Tommy told me everything. Said he needed to confess his sins after he married his wife. And here I thought…"

There's an expression on Joel's face that you can't quite parse. It's not anger. It's not resentment. It's just…pain.

Heartbreak.

You and Joel went to Tommy's wedding, since it was a stop on the way to one of the hubs you both had a job at. He made you dress up, which you never do but you did because it was a wedding and you'd never been to one before. You spent that night with Joel, shared a dance, talked about life before the outbreak. You were young when it happened, so you practically grew up in this world, knowing very little of the world before.

The night came and went in a flash. You and Joel had stayed up, just mindlessly chatting together. You remember calling him handsome because you'd never seen him in a suit before.

You had shoved the memory of him kissing you gently on the cheek before telling you to go rest for the day, since you both had to head out soon. It was a soft peck but it…it was unlike anything he'd done before. It was almost romantic and you couldn't fall asleep with that on your mind.

Joel mentioned nothing of it when you both left Tommy's place. He didn't really talk much for the rest of that job. He did, however, fuck you roughly every now and then on the road.

Boredom, he claimed. He liked toying with his submissive little princess.

When you both got back, he got close with Tess and then you caught them sleeping together and the rest was history…right?

Wrong.

"I knew you were there." Joel climbs on top of you then so that he can look down on you, seeing how much smaller you are than him. He wants to be powerful because his words make him feel weak. "I knew you were watching me and Tess so I fucked with you. I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted to get back at you for fucking my brother behind my back. I wanted…I wanted you to feel something for me, but you didn't. You just left me there to die. You didn't give a fuck about me and I should've realized that sooner before I gave a fuck about you."

"What…" You're in total disbelief.

Did Joel really fuck Tess like that because of some kind of jealous vendetta? He wanted you to yearn for his love and that was the only way he could show it because he was scared you didn't want it.

"Joel, I–"

He cuts you off to ask, "did I really mean nothing to you? I let you steal my booze. I let you steal my pills. I let you steal my fucking heart and you left me to die."

You choke on your own inhale then, the guilt consuming you. You know you shouldn't have left him. You know you should've fought and tried to save him. You know…but you were afraid and selfish and running from more than just your feelings for him.

"You meant too much to me." You speak the truth into the night because you need him to know it. "And that scared me. I never felt that way about anyone before and…and I thought I was all alone in it. I was angry because I thought you could be happy without me. I was sad because I didn't want you to be with Tess. I left you…because I didn't know how I'd live if I had to come back and watch you live a life with someone else that wasn't me. I'm sorry, Joel. I'm so fucking sorry…"

You feel tears streaming down your face, but they aren't yours. They're hitting your nose, dripping down your cheeks and onto your lips. They're hot and salty. Nothing like the cold, crisp rain outside.

And, they're coming from Joel of all people.

This hardened, soulless smuggler is crying in front of you because of you.

These tears are for you, right?

"I told myself if I made it out of there alive that I'd kill you." His words send chills down your spine even if his eyes are spilling tears. "I told myself that the only reason I needed to live was to get back at you for leaving me in the dust. But then, I came back and…you were doing worse than me. I didn't even think that was possible, but I watched you. You tried your hardest to avoid me, but I still found ways to keep an eye on you and…you would've let yourself wither away over this. My beautiful princess would've let the light die inside of her because of me. Am I right?"

You close your eyes, pinching them shut because seeing him sad is too much for you. It's hardly believable that he's sad over you.

Has he really been watching you waste away? Would he have…wanted to help?

Is that why he hasn't kicked you out of his place? Is that why he wanted to make you feel good?

"I didn't think I deserved to be happy after what I did to you."

You open your eyes then but immediately close them when you feel Joel's lips on yours. Out of necessity, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your hands in his hair, pulling him close to you. You and Joel rarely kissed, and it never felt like this.

There's such a desperation in it, where both of you just have to be connected, sharing breaths and space in each other's mouths.

"I haven't been happy without you." Joel breathes out onto your lips when he pulls away. "I wanted to be with you. That's why Tommy told me. It's because I told him how much I wanted you and he couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

"He was worried I didn't feel the same." You gather that to be the case and he nods in agreement.

"And I thought he was right, until now." Joel cups your face in his hands, carefully wiping away the tears from your cheeks as he explains, "I was so angry with you, but it hurt more not having you by my side. I thought I lost you forever. The only reason I had the strength to come back was for you."

"Joel…" You can't help but pull him in for a hug, sobbing into his shoulder, "don't let me go. I don't want to be alone anymore. Please let me stay here."

"Until the hurricane ends?" He asks, the nerves apparent in his tone.

You shake your head against his chest and then promise, "until you want to kill me for what I've done."

He chuckles lightly at that and nods. "Deal."

You smile at him then and you realize that's the first time you've smiled all night. It warms your heart and you lean up, giving Joel a kiss on the cheek like he had done at Tommy's wedding.

"Let's get you under the covers." He must notice that you're getting cold so he helps you get warm, bundling the comforter over the two of you. "Have you been cold without me?"

You feel embarrassed that he'd ask something like that, mainly because you know he's prompting you to say, "it's always warmer snuggling up with you, sir."

"Good girl, still knowing who she belongs to." Joel must be very happy about that because he slowly sinks his way under the covers until he's back between your legs. "Now, is my precious princess going to cum for me this time?"

"Yes." You assure him that you won't hold back.

"Ask politely." He's demanding and it shoots such a thrill through you to see him like this again.

"Will you please make me cum, sir?" You chew on your lip right after you say that, trying to hold in your shyness.

"Only if you don't hold in your voice. I rarely get to hear you be vocal, so I want you to be now."

You hadn't realized how used to being quiet you were in bed. Holding in your moans was a necessity since you and Joel normally fucked out in the open and rarely behind closed doors. This wouldn't be the first time you've gotten to be loud, but it would be the first time you can really let yourself drown in the pleasure.

"Please hurry, then." You grip onto his messy hair, urging him to continue. He smiles at your impatience and doesn't keep you waiting much longer.

Your eyes roll back when Joel's lips wrap around your clit, giving it a light suck. It's like all the air has escaped your lungs because you can't breathe anymore. His beard scratches at your inner thighs and it makes you want to grind on him more. You just want to remember this feeling.

You want him to etch himself into your mind and body completely.

"I love it when you ride my face like that, darlin'." The term of endearment rolls off his tongue before he dips lower, teasing your aching pussy with the tip.

"Please." You hate that he's stalling. You're wriggling at his soft touch, at the way he dips his tongue so casually inside of you. He knows it's not enough to get you off.

Joel relishes in the control he has over you. He might be smothered between your thighs but he's in charge of the pace. He gets to choose if he wants to give you what you need and you love every second of it.

That's why when he finally eats you out the way you've been craving, you gush out uncontrollably when you're taken over the edge. Your breaths are all raspy and your mind is trying to catch up with the pleasure that's searing every inch of your body.

Joel licks his lips with a grin, proud that he made you squirt with just his mouth. You cover your face at the sight of him, timid because you haven't cum that hard in quite some time.

"Can you handle more or will you give out on me too early?" He asks as he pulls off his shirt, showing off the body you've been missing.

Though, you can't seem to answer his question when you see the new scars on his chest. There are…so many…and it's obvious they were left to fester because the scars are like spiderwebs of pink and red. Your hand unconsciously reaches up and Joel takes your hand, pulling it towards him so you can lay your palm on the scar closest to his heart.

"I-I did this." You stammer your words, your nerves heightening at the thought of what pain Joel went through. "You got hurt because of me. I-"

"It's in the past." He holds your hand securely, as if to ground you back into reality. "Don't think about that anymore."

"Can I touch you then?" You press your hand into him more, wanting him to switch places with you. "Please, Joel. Let me so I can forgive myself."

You can sense he's afraid in his own way. It's obvious neither of you have sought comfort for what had happened between you two, so opening up to that now is difficult. But, Joel nods slowly and then pulls you onto him, having you straddle him once again.

For the next hour, you kiss every inch of his body. Your hands trail along every scar, old and new, and you whisper quiet affirmations to him, telling him that you appreciate him and his resilience. You apologize here and there, even though he tells you not to, but it isn't for him. You need it more than he does and he understands that soon enough.

"You're so…beautiful." Joel tells you when you come up to him for a kiss. "It makes me wary that you want to be here with a man like me."

"I think you forgot that I'm the one who broke into your house." You say with a smirk and he lets out a hearty laugh.

"What would you have done if I didn't find you?" He wonders aloud, so you think for a moment.

A part of you thinks you chose Joel's place because you wanted to get caught. It would be the only way you could get yourself to talk to him again, after all.

With a chuckle, you tell him, "I think I would have woken you up. You've never been a heavy sleeper. Plus, I know you stopped taking the pills."

"How do you know that?" He's curious.

"You always ween off them before a trip and I know you've got a big one coming up." You don't shy away from the fact that you've been keeping tabs on him too. "I…heard you're taking Tess."

"It was either her or go alone, since I didn't have you anymore." He says as his hand comes up to caress your face. "Would it be wrong of me to ask you to go with me instead?"

"What's the job?" You ask, leaning into his touch.

Joel adjusts until you're both facing one another side by side so that his hands can idly run along your skin while he explains, "Marlene has some kind of cargo she needs transported."

"You're working with the Fireflies?" You're surprised to hear that.

"I ain't, I just need what they're willing to give me so I can get to Tommy." That makes a lot more sense.

"I heard you've been looking for him." You bribed the radio man for that information a few days ago, actually.

"Mhm." Joel nods, his hand slipping between your legs then, getting distracted.

You part your legs so that he has better access and he smiles at you when you do. His hand dips deeper, his fingertips teasing your entrance as his palm rests on your clit. He won't go any further than this. Not right now.

Not unless you give him a reason to. "Make me cum again and I'll go with you. Tess can tag along if you think we need the extra body."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't be too shy to fuck in front of Tess?" He dips two of his fingers into you when he says that and you have to hold back your gasp. "You'd be too horny not to. Isn't that right, my greedy princess?"

"Yes, sir." You roll your hips against his hand, needing him to knead your clit with his palm. "I wouldn't care. I'd let you do anything you wanted to me, wherever, whenever."

"Tess won't be tagging along." Joel tells you as he grabs your face with his free hand, lifting your chin to meet his fearsome gaze. "No one gets to see you look like this but me. Understood?"

"I understand." You say with a nod so he drags his thumb across your lip before pushing it into your mouth. You swirl your tongue along his calloused finger and then let it rest there with your lips wrapped around it.

"My princess. All mine. Every hole of yours is mine to fill." He curls his fingers inside of your pussy, rubbing up against your g-spot once again. "Do you like being mine?"

You don't even respond. Instead, your hand sneaks down and pulls his hard cock out from his sweats, needing to feel him. You gently stroke him up and down as he starts to thrust his fingers inside of you, making you wish it was his cock instead.

"You drive me crazy." He lets out a low growl before he topples you over, smacking your hand away from him. He pulls his fingers out of you then and rubs all of your slick onto his cock, the wet sounds filling the air.

It's erotic and hot, watching how his cock throbs for you.

That's why you slip your hand down and spread yourself wide open like he has made you do all of tonight and tell him, "take what's yours, Joel."

He doesn't wait a second longer. You're ill-prepared for him to slam every inch of his cock inside of you, but the moment he hilts, you swear you could've cum right there.

The way he fills you up is perfect. Thick, hot and hard, curving inside of you at the perfect angle to rub every inch of your pussy the way it needs to be.

You're already swimming in ecstasy just having him sit inside of you like this, but then he starts to move and it's all over. You cum hard, clenching around his cock. Sparks tingle on your skin and you can't help but want so much more.

"Fuck, you feel so good, princess." He grunts, gripping onto your hips to steady himself. "I shouldn't fuck you raw like this, though."

"I don't care." You should, but you've always been a bit reckless so you wager, "I won't forgive you if you pull out right now."

"Someone wants me to bury my seed deep inside of her." He leans down then, his eyes locking on yours as he goes, "if you want me to fuck you until you're pregnant, all you have to do is beg."

You do so without hesitation, "please fill me up with your cum, sir."

He's glad to hear it, which is why he responds, "I'm going to drown your pussy until it's leaking out over my cock and then I'll do it again, and again, as many times as it takes, my little princess."

Joel drags his hand across your stomach and rolls his hips, like he wants to feel the way his cock is stirring you up inside. You're tightening up so much because it's been so long since you've been filled like this. It aches in the best kind of way, that pleasure of being split in two by him.

When he starts to go faster, rougher, it's hard for you to edge yourself. You can't count the number of times you must have cum before he finally did. It drips out of you like a flood as he slowly pulls out.

Though, right when you think he's going to slip away entirely, Joel shoves his cock back inside of you, making your toes curl uncontrollably. You crave more already and he's well aware.

That's why when he does finally pull his cock out of you, his fingers replace it. You don't stop him from forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you until he's hard enough to fuck you once more.

How could you say no to a man like Joel Miller?

Somewhere along the way, you and Joel take naps together and eat small meals before fucking again. You can't get enough of him. You don't ever want to let him go again.

You want to stay by his side forever.

"The hurricane will be over soon." Joel notes the lighter rainfall outside. "We'll have to leave soon for the job."

"Does that mean we should sleep or…" You chuckle at your own joke and Joel presses a kiss on the top of your head before laughing lightly with you.

"Just promise you won't leave me for dead again." He tells you and you know he's never going to let you live that down.

"I'll think about it." You say with a cheeky grin and Joel retaliates by pinning you down onto the bed, glaring at you.

He's going to devour you for that and you're thoroughly ready to be swallowed whole.

Oh, how you love such a dangerous man…

a/n: this was really fun to write! I'm sure you noticed, but this oneshot kind of acts like a possible prologue to a canon-divergent series where you replace Tess on Joel's trip with Ellie. will I actually write a whole series? who knows! but I think a little prequel like this would be a nice dabble into the idea! should I write it? hehe

if you enjoyed this read, maybe you'll enjoy my other joel oneshot: trouble! thanks again for reading ~

#joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader #the last of us #joel miller

670 notes · View notes

kbysh-kds · 3 years ago

Text

FC3!Diego AU headcanons

Whoooo boy, ok this is long! It migth take a few minutes to scroll through 👀

Vaas was born in Yara, rigth in the Castillo residence. Both Antón and her wife were fairly young, just in their 30s and recently married. The residence - once a summer house in Antón’s chilhood - was given to them by Antón’s brother as a marriage present (The same house Antón shows Diego in the Rite of Passage comics)

Mama Castillo was a very soft spoken, polite woman. Her family was on the poorer side, being one of many siblings. So, when she announced her engament to Antón her family was more than happy to accept their marriage.

Antón being an up-and-coming politican at the time, just staring to plan out how he would run for presidency, made sure to get brownie points any way he could. And this was what caused the start of the strain on his marriage. He got in touch with a wrong people and stacked up an insane amount of debt, which he couldn’t pay.

It turned out that those people were slavers (an early version of the Pirates basically), and since Antón couldn’t pay they demanded him to give over something entirely else. That being a now six year old Vaas.

Agreeing was the worst decision and nor Antón or Mama Castillo ever recovered. Mama Castillo fell ill a few days after after all the stress and worrying for her boy. Antón? Ofcourse he was worried aswell, but didn’t want to show this infront of his wife. He made sure to hide any uncertain emotions just to seem calm and collected. And he carried this with him all the way to his presidency.

Meanwhile little Vaas gets taken to the Rooks, where he ends up in a prison camp. He’s scared shitless, but which six year old wouldn’t be? You’ve just been taken away from your parents, you don’t know where you are and you don’t understand what they’re saying to you because you don’t speak the language. Luckily the Rakyat was already at war with the slavers and liberated the prison camp just a week later.

Vaas was already covered by smaller scars by the time the camp got liberated. He couldn’t stop shivering, didn’t even let a Rakyat doctor touch him until the doctor spoke to him in spanish. Since he was so small and already showing signs of malnourishment the Rakyat took him in, specifically Citra’s family who was nine year old small girl at that time.

He learned to speak english from Citra and the other children but he never actually learnt how to read or write.

Citra was already fascinated with the perfect warrior story even as a little girl, wouldn’t stop telling about it to her new little brother. And when she was chosen as the Warrior Goddes - as per Rakyat - and tradition her first fitting candidate for a perfect warrior was none other than said little brother, now in his teens.

Vaas was completly oblivious until Citra made him drink something. Going through the worst possible drug trip of his life the next thing he knew when he regained conciousness was his own sister, well, taking advantage of him. Even he doesn’t know how but he managed to escape, now with a gaping slash wound above his brow stretching up to his scalp from a kukri. (The same knife both Buck and Citra are looking for.)

Back home, Mama Castillo falls pregnant again, despite reaching her 50s. Antón is happy to say the least, but Mama Castillo? All the memories of her sweet boy that was taken from her flooding back all at once wasn’t healthy for her. She didn’t live through childbirth and Antón was left as a widow with a newborn son named Diego.

Due to his wife’s passing and the fact that he willingly abonded his oldest Antón becomes overprotiective of Diego, almost helicopter parent like (but in a strict way) not willing to go through the pain of losing a child again.

Half a month after his escape from Citra and the Rakyat, Vaas meets Hoyt who recently came into power after killing the previous overlord (The man Antón became indebted to). Hoyt recognized Vaas, hearing about him from the previous overlord and seeing how the freshly twenty year old boy was desperate he offered him a job as a right hand man and thus, the Pirates were formed.

Hoyt took the first oppurtunity he could get to pump Vaas full of drugs, make him addicted so he couldn’t escape. This was also the perfect time according to Hoyt to tell Vaas how his real father willingly gave up on him.

Vaas, now going through existential dread since both of his families betrayed him starts destroying himself with anything he could think of: smoking, stronger/heavier drugs, self harm even. He found the most comfort in drugs, since whenever he was high, going through various trips an image of a younger woman would always comfort him, talking sweetly to him and he knew this woman was familiar. But he just couldn’t figure out why.

During the start of the summer of 2012 (roughly a month before Far Cry 3′s events) Antón visited the islands to conduct business with Hoyt, brining a now five year old Diego with him. Hoyt wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of tolerating a little shit of a toddler while they talked business, so he tasked Vaas with the lovely task of babysitting a toddler while his father discussed a drug deal.

Ever since Hoyt told him about his real family, Vaas despised the name Castillo. When he learned that the five year old he had to look after was a Castillo too, he thougth about drowning him right then and there. But, he soon changed his attitude when he figured out that Diego, was in fact, his little brother.

Vaas quickly grew fond over Diego. From taking 2 hour naps with him (even though Vaas was probaly passed out and Diego just cuddled up to him) to showing all the cool little places he found when he was in his teens. He’s just happy to have a family member than didn’t utterly disappoint him.

When Antón and Hoyt finally finish business after week, Vaas brings Diego back but before Antón could leave he calls him aside. At first Vaas is screaming, throwing everything he could at him and then breaking down, almost on his knees begging his father to take him back home, how he hates this island, how he hates the people here, how he hates Hoyt and so on and so on. Once Diego chimed in Antón didn’t really have much of a choice.

Hoyt was furious, how couldn’t he be? The most valuable little puppet was ditching him rigth infront of him. But did Vaas care what Hoyt think? No he doesn’t. Not anymore. Once he arrives back to Yara he notices the pictures in their home. A woman with long, loosley braided brown hair. Vaas instantly recognizes her as the woman from his various drug induced trips. Findig out that woman is Mama Castillo, his mother was comforting. And probably for the first time ever, he could relax.

#far cry 3 #far cry 6 #vaas montenegro #diego castillo #anton castillo #hoyt volker #mama castillo #citra talugmai #fc3!diego au

46 notes · View notes

wen-kexing-apologist · 3 years ago

Text

Some Semblance of a Man

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31716874

Kaz

Kaz Brekker was always looking for a challenge, for the next rival to ruin, for the next near death experience. He’d learned quickly that sitting idle in The Barrel got you killed and he’d been running ever since. But with Pekka gone, Inej and her parents reunited, and the Council of Tides temporarily abated, Kaz was beginning to realize there was nothing else for him to do but wait.

Of course, there were the day to day activities, he still had The Crow Club to run, he still had slavers to gather information on. But after everything he and the Dregs had been through recently, those tasks seemed trivial. He didn’t want his crew to think that just because he’d come into a bit of money that he had gone soft, and he didn’t want rumor spreading throughout the Barrel that Kaz Brekker was getting bored. Without his crew around the Slat, Kaz had to find other ways to pass the time, and for the sake of maintaining appearances, Kaz would walk the streets at night, pretending to look at his watch, pretending to trail a random person, or spreading rumors. Sometimes he would walk to The Menagerie and think of what it would look like burned to the ground.

That’s where he’d been tonight, with a gentle mist of rain turning the cobblestone to mirrors, pools of colored lights spilling out across the street. There were few people out, the rain enough of a nuisance to make them think twice about spending their coin in gambling halls and pleasure houses. Despite the hour growing ever later, the Slat was teaming with life when Kaz returned, the air smelled like alcohol and sweat, the newer additions to the crew were trying to have a conversation, which had mostly devolved into shouting over the out of tune cacophony of voices singing drunkenly across the bar. Kaz bought a round for everyone, though he knew the chance of anyone here betraying him in favor of another gang was slim, keeping his crew happy with a bit of booze usually made his job a little easier. Besides, the longer the crowd was down here, the longer he had for some quiet of his own, in his room on the fourth floor, where the voices did not carry.

Kaz held his breath as he started his climb up the stairs, it was never easy, but Kaz valued the privacy and protection afforded by his room more than he worried about the pain. He bolted the door behind him, leaning his head against its frame and biting his lip as he massaged the twitching muscle of his thigh. He stretched, rubbed a knot from his neck, and reached for his hat.

He paused, the pattering of raindrops puncturing the peace. “Won’t Jesper and Wylan be missing their Wraith?” Kaz asked his empty room, his back to the window, hiding his smirk. He moved slowly, hanging his hat on the doorknob and turning around just in time to watch Inej swing gracefully from the rafters of his ceiling and drop down to his bed.

“No, they’re going over the books tonight, so they’ll be busy for a few hours at least,”

“Wylan’s books take hours to go over?” Kaz asked, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his bad leg.

“No,” Inej replied “But the boys tend to get distracted by...paperwork and usually have to start over,”

It took Kaz longer than he’d ever admit to understand her meaning, but once he had he merely quirked a single, bemused eyebrow at her. Something hungry and desperate twisted its way through Kaz’s stomach when Inej smiled wryly back at him, her eyes flitting to his collar. “What business?”

“I’ve been reading up on cannons.” Inej began, her face a picture of concentration. “Specht and I are going to be taking a few people we’ve been eyeing for our crew out on the water sometime in the next few weeks to practice. We aren’t going far, just far enough to where the cannon fodder won’t send other ships into a panic. We want to see if they can work well as a team before we commit to hiring them.”

“A wise decision,” Kaz agreed, ignoring the way his heart seized within his chest. It made him happy she would have her freedom, but the thought of losing her to the sea always left an ache.

“I wanted to extend an invitation to you,” the confidence Kaz had grown so used to seeing in Inej’s shoulders melted away, she pulled out a knife, turning it over in her hand. “to join us on that trip. I thought you might want to be there to ensure your...investment is taking form the way you’d hoped it would,”

“It wasn’t an in-” Kaz swallowed the rest of the sentence. It wasn’t an investment. He thought, don’t you know this was all for you? “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long, a day, maybe two.”

“When you have the dates secured, let me know, I’ll see if I can make the time,” He knew already he would make the time.

Inej nodded, a glint of something in her eye “And you? What business?”

“I have a job for you,” Kaz took this as an excuse to get closer to Inej, moving toward his desk and stretching out his leg. “I recently came into the possession of some ledgers,”

“You can use the word ‘stole’ Kaz, I’m not the stadwatch ,”

“They have the names of all the ships that have docked in the harbor, the captain, and their cargo,” Kaz continued, “I was looking through it for leads on slavers when I noticed something,” Inej untangled her limbs, and pushed herself upward, walking over to Kaz’s desk. Kaz had forgotten how comfortable it felt to have her by his side. “There’s a ship that keeps appearing, but it never stays for long. It docks at last light, and it departs first thing in the morning. I’ve looked at the dates of it’s arrival,” Kaz handed Inej the first of the ledgers, she took it from him without a word, scanning the pages in search of the same patterns he had found.

“The Sankta ?” Inej hissed and Kaz could hear the disgust on her tongue.

“I thought that might catch your eye,” he opened another ledger, pointing to the name of the ship and the dates it had docked in Ketterdam. “It comes in every six months or so, and when it does the population in the Barrel always seems to increase. The clubs start advertising more heavily, the pleasure houses start getting more traffic,”

“You think they’re smuggling people into the city?”

“I don’t know for certain what they’re trading, the ledger has different cargo listed every time. And the Captain...I’ve never heard of them before.” Inej placed the ledger in her hand back down on the desk, leaning in closer. Her braid fell down across her shoulder, barely an inch from Kaz’ face. Focus . “If the pattern holds they should be docking here in-”

“Three days?” Inej finished for him, reaching for the second ledger. Her fingers brushed against his gloves, her forearm against his jacket. Kaz lost all sense of time and place, despite the warmth of the room and the floor beneath his feet. One second he was in the Slat and the next he was cold and drowning. Inej was saying something, something like “tell him”, maybe? But he wasn’t quite sure, there was cotton in his ears, his heart was in his throat. There was water rising around his ankles.

“Kaz?” He heard her voice, far off, like a siren calling him to shore. He did not trust himself to speak, as it was he struggled to find breath “Kaz!”

He slammed back into himself, pressing one hand flat against his desk, wrapping the other around the head of his cane so tightly his knuckles went white beneath his gloves. Solid wood and solid metal, no flesh or water in sight, this was always how it went. The place beside him where Inej had been was empty, she had retreated, pressed herself up against the wall, her hands behind her back.

“I’m sorry, I-,” Kaz would have done anything to wipe away her guilt. “I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to-”

“I wasn’t prepared,” he said, unable to look her in the eye, to admit to the weakness they both knew that he carried.

“I know,”

“I didn’t expect-”

“I know,” Inej interrupted. “Does the Sankta change the Berth it docks on?”

“No,” Kaz would never have the words to express the gratitude he felt at her diversion. He turned slightly in his seat, pretending to study the documents in front of him. Pretending like every cell in his body wasn’t honed in on Inej. On the way she was looking at him, distracting him once again with talk of plots and schemes, intangible actions that would let him fly high above the harbor he was drowning in. “It uses the same Berth every time.”

“Do we know who that dock belongs to?”

“It’s paid for by the Council, it’s designated for public use,”

“I’ll see what information I can gather,” Inej said and Kaz nodded, trying to force the image of Jordie out of his head. “Goodnight, Kaz,” Inej whispered after a moment, and though he did not hear her footsteps, he felt her absence immediately.

Where the water had been, regret replaced it. He balled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. “Wait!” he called out after her, turning around slowly to not seem overeager. Inej was frozen, partway out his window. He felt picked apart with the way her gaze fell upon him, her eyebrows knit together, her face desperate and searching. Whatever unease still lingered in the center of his stomach, whatever terror still wrapped around his ankles, it fell away at the sight of Inej, sitting here on his window sill, backlit by moonlight and held up by hope.

At some point the fear of what her touch would bring him was dampened by his need to hold her close. He was broken and crooked and the most unworthy man, but he needed Inej to know it wasn’t her fault. Wanted her to know that he was trying to push the pieces of himself back together, into someone, something she would not be ashamed to love.

When Kaz and Nina had broken into the morgue all those months ago, he had powered through his fear with thoughts of Inej; the warmth of her skin, the sound of her voice. But as every second in that room of corpses passed them by, Kaz had forced Inej from his mind, not wanting to taint his memories of her with the scent of death. Kaz had believed for so long that the foolish little boy he had been had died in the harbor, but as his eyes fell upon Inej now, he knew he had been wrong. He had carried Kaz Rietveld with him every day of his life, and had pulled that doe eyed little fool to the surface on the back of his brother’s bloated body with every touch since then.

He’d learned very quickly what it meant to be weak in The Barrel. The Barrel starved, and beat, and stole all the kindness and compassion and love out of those unlucky enough to build a life inside it. Weakness got you killed, so Kaz had buried his weaknesses so deep they had turned themselves into shadows. He had kept them there in the dark for so long they had grown claws and teeth, they had become so rabid, so feral that Kaz was finding it harder and harder to keep them locked away.

But maybe he didn’t have to anymore. Because now he had the Wraith, he had Inej, and Inej made him strong. Inej made him wish for things he had convinced himself he could never have. Perhaps if he tried it, if he tried it enough, to touch her, to put her hand in his, to let her rest her head against his shoulder, to...to kiss her, he could finally put the little boy in the harbor to rest. Yes, he would drown his fear beneath the tidal wave that was Inej, he would burn away the memories of corpses against his flesh with the warmth of her skin against his.

“I want to try again,” it pained him to admit to it, it thrilled him to have said it. Kaz failed to keep his heart beat steady when Inej planted her feet firmly back into his room, and closed the window.

“Try what again?” she asked, stalking forward until there was nothing more than breath between them. Kaz studied the head of his cane, his skin prickled with the thought of what she’d feel like in his hands.

“I-” He dared a glance at her, she was ethereal, she was calculating, she was Inej and the rest of Kaz’s wish was lost with his nerve.

“Kaz, tell me,” Inej leaned forward, Kaz leaned back. He clenched his jaw, locked himself away behind his mask. “Tell me what you want,” He could feel the way she looked at him, like she’d created her own gravity and he’d collapsed beneath it. But he couldn’t make himself form words, it had taken everything he’d had to say something the first time, to show her such weakness again would surely break him. When Inej spoke there was an edge to her voice that was sharper than her knives. “Say it, Kaz. For once in your life just...say what you’re thinking. There is no one else here but us. There’s no one else to see you, to hear you treat me like you actually care.”

Kaz hung his head in shame, it was a fair blow, but that didn’t stop him from shattering into a million pieces at the acknowledgement of all the times he’d failed her. “I want to take my armor off.” He forced himself to meet her eye. “I want to beat this, I will beat this. Will you help me?”

They’d done this little dance for months now, the day on the docks, when he’d shown Inej her ship, he’d managed to hold her hand for a whole five minutes without sinking below the waves. He’d tried a couple times since then, with various levels of success. Some days he’d managed to throw his arm around her, others just the thought of her face caused him to tug on his gloves.

“Of course I’ll help you, Kaz, you only had to ask,” Kaz committed that smile of hers to memory. “Are you ready?” Inej asked.

No. Kaz steadied himself and straightened his posture “Yes,”

They started slowly, Inej resting her palm on the back of his gloved hand, Kaz took a deep breath, he could do this, he was fine. Inej’s fingers curled around his hand, she pressed their palms together. Kaz pushed the water away. She laced their fingers together, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?”

“Fine,”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,”

Kaz wasn’t sure what kind of sound he made when Inej began to tug the gloves from his hands. She froze, looking up at him, reading him the way only she could. She dropped her hand, Kaz wanted to reach for it, but he let it fall away. “I’m sorry, did you want to do it?”

“No, it’s- no one else ever has,” Kaz cleared his throat, biting back a smile at the way Inej’s cheeks flushed. Tentatively, Inej continued, it took a lifetime to complete her task, it took a second. The metal of his cane was cold against his fingertips, for the first time in a long time it no longer felt comforting. He reached out with his other hand, and gently Inej took it, her palm against the top of his bare hand. It felt like fire, but Kaz preferred the burn to the icy harbor he had always known. His breath caught in his throat, Inej continued until their hands were pressed palm to palm.

“Breathe,” Inej whispered, Kaz exhaled and peace rushed in to fill his lungs. She interlaced their fingers, the water started in. Think of her . Kaz clenched his jaw. Think of that day at the docks . Kaz faltered when Inej wrapped her other hand around his wrist, the one that held his cane. He thought that she might pull their hands away, and though he was not a man of faith, he thanked every Saint he knew that she kept her hold on him.

She repeated the pattern, gripping his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder with all his layers on. He kept his breathing purposeful, controlled, his eyes trained on the wall for fear he would look at Inej and see a corpse standing in her place. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his chest, he hoped she could not feel his heartbeat. He nearly lost his footing when her arm went to his waist. He was impossibly warm, sweat had started beading at his temples, he gripped his cane a little tighter.

Inej released his hand and a weight Kaz hadn’t realized was upon him disintegrated in his chest. But it returned in a flash when Inej began to pull off his coat. “Saints,” he whispered. “Why won’t it stop ?” he hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t meant for it to send Inej shuffling backward, too far away for him to grasp.

“It takes time, Kaz,” Inej replied, tossing his coat on the bed, taking a tentative step forward, then another when Kaz responded in kind. She brushed her fingers against his shirt sleeve at the wrist, it was an apology and a question. “You can’t kill this kind of monster in a day,” she traced a line up to his elbow. “It took me months,” Inej said, so simply that it knocked his world out of alignment and he had to take a step backward to right himself. Inej reacted on instinct, clutched his shoulders to make sure he did not fall.

“I’m not strong enough,” Kaz blurted out, hoping that if he spoke, he could force the feeling of rotting flesh out of his mind. “I’m not as strong as you,”

“That’s not true,” Inej ran her fingers across his chest and down to his waist. “My weakness just wasn’t visible, yours is,” she unbuttoned his vest, Kaz hadn’t even noticed and the implication of that made his stomach do a somersault. “When someone touches you, you are present, aware.” She continued her pattern, hands going back to his wrist, making sure he could anticipate where her next move was going to be. “Me? I disappeared,” Kaz caught her eye, and threw his thought away. He refused to pity her, he knew she wouldn’t want that. “I looked calm and collected, but no one knew what it was doing to me, to shake their hand or have their arms around me,”

She smiled at him, unrestrained and brilliant, and he looked down to realize he had his hand upon her waist, her arms wrapped around his in kind. This felt like a victory, it felt like a curse. Against the roughness of her jacket, his hand began to tremble. She stepped away, he didn’t want her to, but it was exactly what he needed.

“Your tie,” Inej stated, and Kaz could have worshipped her right then, for understanding that if she had brought her hand up to his neck, he might not survive the evening. He undid his tie, though the tightness in his throat did not relent. He unbuttoned his shirt, hoping that the action would steady his hand. He was feeling light-headed but he wasn’t drowning...yet. He wiped the sweat from his brow, ran a hand through his hair, forced his anxiety out with a breath. He had never gotten this far with her before.

Inej repeated the rhythm: wrist, elbow, shoulders. Her hand was Jordie’s hand, her flesh was Jordie’s flesh. His chest, his waist. The waters started rising, coming in with the strength of a flood. Inej could sense the change in him immediately, “Tell me about the tattoo,” Inej said, he did not want her hand on him anymore, he needed it to stay so he could keep trying. He knew why she was asking, she knew he needed a distraction, and he chuckled darkly because she did not know that this particular question serveed an opposite purpose.

“Not tonight,” But someday .

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,”

Her hand has been in his for seconds, minutes, days, long enough that Kaz let himself hope that one day he could be rid of this. This ghost of his brother, the phantom of his skin, slipping underneath his hand, his chest, his face. Carefully, never breaking eye contact, Inej brought his hand up to her lips, Kaz focused on his breathing, on the moonlight spilling across Inej’s plait. Kaz tasted salt on his tongue, no not salt, iron. His vision went blurry, and he lost the shape of Inej as a result. This was unbearable, but he was desperate for more, it was easier this way. Feeling her lips against his skin, instead of her skin beneath his lips. She pressed another kiss to the creases of his palm, to his wrist. This felt nothing like a corpse, but the traces of her lips burned like ice, like water.

“I never asked you,” Kaz began, relaxing the tension in his jaw “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing,” she whispered against his forearm, lips brushing the dark ink of his Dregs tattoo. He flexed the hand that held his cane, releasing some of the stiffness in his knuckles. She continued her familiar path across his body, through the smoke of Reaper’s Barge Kaz noticed she took care to avoid the R tattooed to his bicep when she kissed him there.

His whole body was alight, electrified, dying. He could smell death in his nose, he could feel the warmth of Inej’s body wash over him. He was tired, he was treading water, knowing any minute he could drown. He saw Jordie’s face, swollen, purple, eyes cloudy, No. He thought of Inej, of her laughter, her smile, of her voice whispering his name. Kaz Rietveld and Kaz Brekker were at war with one another, and right now, he wasn’t sure who would win. He should tell her to stop, but he didn’t want her to.

Inej took another step in, her hands balling into fists. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing . She had just told him that, but he saw her now, saw how tightly she carried herself. He’d been so caught up in his own head, he hadn’t realized she’d been trying to shed her armor too. She leaned in, and Kaz was back in a hotel bathroom, she paused mere inches from his chest, sucked in one shaking breath, and ran her lips against his collar bone.

The current pulled him under; Kaz Rietveld had won again. Sudden, uncontrollable panic seized within his chest, snapping the leash to which he tied his weaknesses. They ran him over, all snarls and teeth and claws, turning him into something wild and furious. Before he could control himself, before he was even fully conscious of what was happening, he had flung his arms outward, pushing Inej away from him. “Stop,”

Inej, working to quiet her own demons had not been expecting this outburst from Kaz, she lost her footing, stumbling backward, and though she did not fall, Ghafa’s never fall , she did slam the back of her knee into the hard metal of Kaz’s bed frame. Inej cried out, more out of shock than out of pain. Desperation, horror, fury, regret pulled Kaz further under, the room was spinning, the moonlight hurt his eyes. Kaz caught himself on the edge of his desk, fumbling frantically for the waste basket he kept there, the cold metal of it in his hands bringing the briefest moment of comfort before he was vomiting up his dinner.

“Kaz?” Inej’s voice was sturdy, grounding, calm, but he could not turn to face her.

Inej

Kaz Brekker had gone by many names, and Inej had heard them all, whispered fearfully through the streets of Ketterdam by cowardly men. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. Inej had spent so many nights on this city’s rooftops, seen only by the stars, listening in on the conversations that twisted up to her like crow feathers in the wind. She knew what people thought of him, he held a place amongst the most dangerous and feared of men. To some he was a bogeyman, to all he was a threat. And though she had seen him do terrible, violent things it still sent a sharp bolt of surprise crackling through her body whenever she heard the word “monster” following his name.

That monster stood before her now, leaning against his desk. Trusting her enough to turn away, to leave himself defenseless in her presence. Not trusting her enough to show his face. He was sweating, and in the light that spilled from the lamp upon his desk, Inej could see his hands twitching with the slightest tremor. She knew he was slipping, knew he was trying desperately to pull his armor on. But she was not here for Dirtyhands, and she had no time tonight for bastards. She thought about those names, the truths they carried with them. Could they really be titles for the man she was watching now? A boy who could not look her in the eye? No, the person that stood, half naked and shaking in this tiny little room, was neither of those things. This, she realized, this was simply

“Kaz,” she tried again.

“Leave,” and if she had known him any less she would have thought that he was serious.

“No,”

“Inej,” She was never sure how he could do that, how he could make her feel coveted and worshipped just by saying her name “ please ?” and his voice became a quiet, broken thing.

“No.” She said again, gentle as the breeze “I will not leave you, not like this,”

“I don’t want to see you,” it wasn’t a lie,

“You did great, Kaz, you’re making progress, ” and so was she, though she wasn’t sure Kaz realized it.

“Inej, get out,” he hissed, as if it hurt him to say the words.

“Why?”

He stiffened, and she bit back a smirk he hadn’t been expecting that . “I-” he hung his head.

She knew he didn’t have a reason, not one that he would admit to anyway “Is it because you don’t want me to see you like this? Because you’re worried you can’t give me what I want?” She tried to dampen the delight that bubbled in her chest, when she watched blotches of red blush paint the back of Kaz’s neck and spill down across his shoulder blades. “Is it because you feel ashamed?”

Kaz screamed with a rage she had seen up close only twice, a wild, guttural thing. When he got like this, destruction usually followed in his wake. As if on cue, Kaz slammed his hands down on the table, sweeping everything that rested there- every half drawn blueprint, ledger, and plan -onto the floor. His lantern tumbled with it as did a small wind up dog toy Kaz always kept sitting at his desk. The force of their impact caused both to shatter, sending pieces of glass and metal skidding across the hard wood floors. The paperwork took longer to fall, floating gently in the air around him like snow.

Kaz finally turned to face her, fury exploding behind his eyes. He wanted a fight, but Inej would never give him that satisfaction. When the dust settled, the anger that had possessed him had begun to burn low, confusion taking control of his posture and his brow when he finally saw Inej.

She had crossed her arms and tried her best to look bored. Based on his reaction it may have been working. “You can’t scare me away, Kaz,” It was the wrong thing to say, but it’s what he needed to hear.

The fire that flickered behind his eyes turned to ice, “I am the Bastard of the Barrel,” Kaz spit, stalking toward her, making sure to punctuate his words with the tapping of his cane against the wood. “I brought down Pekka Rollins, I conned Jan Van Eck, I broke into the Ice Court and made it out alive. Men run when they see me coming, parents tell their children I’ll steal them away in the night if they do not behave.” Kaz only stopped when her back was to a wall. He wanted her to feel cornered, he wanted her to feel trapped. On any other night, that may have worked, but she knew this was an act, and she had maneuvered herself so she was near the window, and he hadn’t seemed to notice. “I scare who I damn well please,”

Inej could not hold back anymore, she hadn’t meant to do it, but she started to laugh. “That’s good,” Kaz blinked in surprise, his posture shifting, his grip loosening on his cane. She took a step forward, he took a step back. “I can see how that would work on most people. But I know you Kaz. Sure, you took down Pekka and Jan Van Eck...with help,” she took another step forward, reveling in Kaz’s retreat. “But you’ve also fainted in a carriage, nearly drowned in Djel’s river, and got embarrassed when Jesper’s Dad caught you two in a fist fight.” Kaz ducked his head to hide the redness rushing to his cheeks. She took another step forward, he ceded his territory. “You got good at palming cards and picking pockets not because you planned for a life of crime, but because you like magic tricks . You’ve lost a hat in every corner of Ketterdam,” Kaz lost his footing, his knees buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling onto his bed. With nowhere left for him to go, Inej smirked, and leaned in just far enough so he could hear her whisper. “And, when you wake up in the morning, your hair sticks up to one side. Jesper and I pretend not to notice, but we both think it’s adorable,”

Inej spun gracefully on her heel, gliding back towards the window, because she was not cruel and did not want Kaz to suffer...she didn’t want Kaz to suffer much . Kaz glowered at her, but seemed to otherwise have calmed. “You know,” Inej said when the silence grew too heavy. “I’ve been afraid of a lot of people since I came to Ketterdam,”

“Even Jesper?” Kaz asked eventually, she could tell from the cadence of his voice he was exhausted.

“Especially Jesper” Inej trusted Jesper with her life, he had brought so much chaos and joy into her world. But he was kind and charming in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Inej had had too many clients come to her, all smiles and compassion. Jesper scared her because she knew what kind and charming men could do. Kaz flinched and looked away.

“But not me?”

“No,” Inej wanted to touch his cheek, to smooth the worry that lined his forehead “Never you,”

Slowly, deliberately, Kaz stood. Inej’s breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his. He looked paler than usual, and maybe a little green, but his hands were still, his stance was steadier. He had locked his thoughts away, no emotion showing on his face, but there was a shine in his eyes Inej had seen before, when Kaz was trying to let go of hope. He quirked a single eyebrow at her, a challenge.

“I’ve been scared for you,” she admitted. “I’ve been scared to disappoint you, I’ve been scared of what it would do to me to lose you.” Inej stepped forward, already knowing what would happen, knowing that Kaz, having slipped away once already, would take a step back. But instead he stood rooted in place, his grip tightening ever so slightly on his cane.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve never looked at me the way everyone else does.” She considered the weight of the words on her tongue. “One day at The Menagare would have been enough to show me what kind of place Ketterdam truly was, and I spent a year inside it’s walls. I’ve collapsed beneath a million broken promises, but never yours. I’ve heard a million gentle lies, but never from you. I have felt a million….unwanted hands,” Inej wanted to shrink away into the shadows, but she refused to show her weakness, she refused to look away. Like magnets they were pulling toward each other until they were sharing the same air, until they were standing as each other’s equals in the center of the room. Inej held out her hand, not a demand, not a question, but a wish. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest when Kaz, without a moment’s hesitation, took her hand. He clenched his jaw, and drew a soft line across her palm with his thumb, it was a certainty, it was a promise. “But never yours,”

Kaz cleared his throat “I haven’t been scared of anyone since Jordie died,”

“Not even Jesper?” Inej teased, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Kaz bit back a smile “Never Jesper,”

“Not even me?” It was another joke, because she’d wanted to see more of that smile.

His face fell into something powerful and serious “I’ve always been scared of you, Inej,” she knew how much it must have taken for him to have admitted it. “From the moment you snuck up on me with bells on,”

“Really?” she could not hold the joy she felt at bay, it spread throughout her body, warming her all the way down to her toes.

Kaz nodded.

“But I was nothing then,”

“You have always been something.” Kaz corrected. “Back then you were Silence,”

“And now?” her eyes kept falling to his lips.

“You…” Kaz continued, leaning down, sending Inej’s heart into a frenzy she was worried she could never tame “should be going home,”

Inej scoffed, Kaz’s walls slipped down just long enough to let a small chuckle pass his lips. She would tuck that away in her memory, a look into the boy he could have been, a minute of vulnerability all for her. “That’s not fair! I told you mine!” If it had been Jesper standing in front of her, Inej would have backhanded his shoulder. But this was Kaz and he had done a lot tonight, she didn’t want to push her luck. Especially when she was enjoying this feeling of his hand in hers, she wasn’t looking to ruin it. “Come on Kaz,” she whispered, “why are you scared of me?”

He chewed his lip, and she could see the gears turning in his head, the debate he was conducting. Should he tell her the truth? Or keep his feelings a mystery and send her away. She was getting tired of being sent away. “Because I trust you.” Kaz said. “Because, you make me want to tell you everything. We deal in secrets, Inej, because we know that information can be more valuable than money. You’ve learned my patterns, you know my mind, you could unravel everything I have built with a single word to the right person,”

It was true, but it hurt. She pulled her hand from his, and regretted it. “You think that I would?”

“No,” he said it so fast, so sure that it knocked the air out of her lungs, it tore her voice from her throat. “And that is why you scare me. Because I know that thought has never crossed your mind.” He tugged gently at the bottom of her braid, twisting it around in his fingers. This was a system they had worked out months ago, for when Kaz wanted to be physical but the feeling of her skin was too much. “You are kinder and stronger than I will ever be and I am scared that-” he dropped her braid, placed both his hands atop his cane, and broke eye contact. “I am scared that you will finally see yourself for everything you are and know I am not worthy of your time or loyalty.”

“Kaz,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Because she couldn’t say I love you . The tension in the room, the cord that pulled the two of them together, was severed by the tolling of a clock.

Kaz broke first, eyes skirting to the city stretched out below them. “Goodnight, Inej,” he whispered, his voice rougher than usual.

“Goodnight,” she managed, slipping out of his window and vanishing into the night. Kaz watched her go until he could not feel her presence any longer, then he turned, and started picking up his mess. When Kaz woke the next morning, his heart stuttered in his chest. Sitting in the middle of his desk was a brand new wind up dog toy and laying next to it, reflecting the early morning sun was a geranium made out of glass.

#kanej fanfiction #kanej #kanej fic #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #the crows #six of crows #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #six of crows fanfiction

46 notes · View notes

southslates · 3 years ago

Text

like an angry god

@kanejweek day four: darkness (corrupted ambition) / kanej / canon divergence - soulmates - one-shot - rated T / read on ao3! / 2007 words

Inej Ghafa comes to Ketterdam as part of a traveling circus. She doesn’t mean to enjoy the city, with its sharp architecture and cold edges, with its people who pray to kruge, but she does. There is something haunting in its corridors, something which whispers to her in its alleys. Inej is a gravity-defying girl, she is an acrobat and nothing more, but these late-night Kerch streets set fire to her bones. It is as if Ghezen has come alive to speak to her and tell her she could be more.

It's strange because she thinks she has everything. She also feels like she is missing something—not something that needs to be there, but some defining feature of her. She feels like she is spinning a wheel with a loose axel.

Ironically, she stumbles upon the Crow Club when Malik takes her in, wanting to try his hand at Makker’s Wheel. She indulges her cousin and lets him drag her into the lively business in the darkest hours of the night, knowing that they’re on break tomorrow. The Suli do not forbid fun, and they drink, Inej has drunk, but she does not want to in this strange city.

She ends up drinking anyway. She is caught up in the moment, caught up in the lights above the table, the large, large gambling hall, and almost in Salim, the friend Malik had brought with him to the club. Inej likes him, has always liked him, and the sight of him loosens her inhibitions. They loosen her inhibitions so far that she forgets him.

Inej wanders off across the hall, stopping to see the sheer variety of people who habit it: a white splatter of the upper-middle class of the Kerch, lazing away a Saturday; a collection of young children from Novyi Zem, laughing away in the corner; even a splashing of Fjerdans, staying away from alcohol and looking distrustfully at the numbers in front of them. It’s an experience, she can admit even halfway down her glass, eyes shining.

At some point she wanders over to a setting of Kerch men and women playing a game she doesn’t quite understand; they’re holding chips and laughing, cards dancing in front of their eyes. Inej has always been a quick study with these gambling games, though she detests playing; it’s something else the city has whispered into her mind, perhaps. It is the Ketterdam in her blood, though she’s certain she has never been here before. She has never been here before.

She sits at the table and picks up another glass. She will be fine; Malik and Salim are truly not that far away, she can see them from here. A women smiles at her with shark-teeth, daring her to down the cup in accented Kerch. Something in Inej does it, and then when she’s slid another one, she downs it again. Her eyes are uncharacteristically bright at the table, her head muddy.

It's only a moment later she’s in someone’s lap, between two people. It is the Kerch woman and another man, fitting her in the space between them. The woman’s hair is a rusty gold and the man has black hair and a gold tooth.

Inej may have drank too much, but she isn’t stupid. She blinks and sees that Malik and Salim are gone from her line of sight—then she promptly sits up, a bit more aware of her surroundings. This is not a situation she is new to; she’s almost been taken by slavers as a child. They had ransacked her family’s caravan near the Ravkan shore and would have stolen her away from her family had she not woken up early. She has learned to be suspicious of people, and she let her guard down. It’s this saints-forsaken city, she thinks briefly. It is affecting some part of me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man whispers with whiskey breath, and Inej pulls herself into the space between the bodies she is caged in, ready to pull one of her acrobatic feats—twist her body, do the unimaginable. But before she does and the woman’s vodka-laced breath rushes across her face, something hard clangs down on the table in front of her.

Inej is only human, so the sound makes her lurch. The tablecloth moves forward, and something shatters and then leaks onto her on the bench. She groans, because alcohol will not go well with the cottons she’d donned for a night out.

“Peter,” a voice says crisply. “Lotte. You are not welcome here. Did I not make that clear enough last time?”

The bodies next to Inej scramble away from her, and she looks up in her disorientation to see a man who can’t be much older than her, a cane in his hand bisecting the table and separating her from Lotte on her left. On her right, Peter has shifted away from her and is now standing up, raising his hands above him. “We didn’t mean nothin’, I promise—”

“I don’t give second chances,” the man says, and his voice is cold, so cold it almost crawls into Inej’s spine and then leaves her body, but icy enough that it wants to make a place there. His voice is the city’s whispers in her ears, the biddings of greed. She is buzzed, but she still looks at his sharp suit and glaring eyes and thinks: Who are you?

Or perhaps she voiced that thought out loud. No matter; the man ignores her, watching as Peter and Lotte stand up and try to leave the premises. Inej lets the whiskey on the table, cold as it is, leak into her shirt as she watches two large men grab the two vermin by their collars and drag them away to some corner.

“Wow,” she says out loud at the brief spectacle—some patrons have turned to see the two get carted off, but more seem unsurprised. “I was fine.”

“Who said anything about you?” the man bites. “There are no games here. There is no place for cheats.”

Inej is straightforward, and her filters are off as she wrings out her shirt. “You could at least pretend to be chivalrous.”

The man glares at her, his gaze dark and intense and dangerous—but for whatever reason, Inej doesn’t feel like it will cut through her. Maybe that is just the stupidity of being drunk. The longer he stares at her, the more she wants to laugh. “You cannot kill me by looking at me, you know.”

He says nothing, just takes his cane off the table and begins to limp away from her. Inej bites her lip and stares at his receding back—that moment had felt strangely powerful.

“Yer brave,” the girl next to her says after he has disappeared from sight, into a door at the club’s side. “To talk to Kaz Brekker like that.”

“Who?” Inej asks, and the boy next to her, keeping his distance after what had happened to the woman in his previous position, looks almost affronted.

“He is Kaz Brekker, Ja. They say he has played cards with the devil and won,” he says, like he is speaking of a myth, and not the twenty-year-old man with a ridiculous glare Inej had faced just moments ago. “He used to be better, ja, growing up on the streets. But he culled his boss right las’ week, he did. Hung his body from the lighthouse by First Harbor. They say he will commit any sin, without a price. Bloodthirsty.”

Inej leans in close to him, feels something lock into place, the gears of her heart. “Really?” she asks. “He just seems like a man.”

“He is no man, he is a demon. A quick thief, too,” the girl nods to her, and Inej grasps at her pockets. Her coinpurse is missing.

“An immature demon,” she says, stepping up, her head spinning just a bit. “Cheap tricks, for shevrati.”

Inej Ghafa leaves them there and takes the path that the man with the cane had followed; he couldn’t have gotten too far from her, with his disability. Ostensibly, she knows she should not be trying to pick a fight in the middle of the night with a man who just hung another in a public display, but the city is speaking to her; the club is, as though it has a heart. Inej believes in saints, and they are leading her a certain way, giving her the want to get her coinpurse back. It had a sizeable amount of kruge, and she refuses to be made a fool of.

The hallway is dark and she follows its walls to a set of stairs, and then walks up them. At the end there is a door, and to its side, when she moves her hand a certain way, another small alley; a trick alley. She follows that aisle to another door, wooden and locked and in the pitch dark. She shoves her body weight against it.

She doesn’t know what she is planning on doing. Do demons give you back your money if you ask them nicely? What is inserting this drive into her veins?

“What?” a voice roars from inside the room, and then a moment later, as Inej pushes herself against it, it opens. She almost trips onto a cold metal floor, but she doesn’t—she is an acrobat, even sheets to the wind. So she rights herself and turns to the man with the cane—Kaz Brekker.

“You,” he says, distaste coating his mouth. There is no good intent hidden in that word, nor in the hard lines of his face. Whoever this man is, he is not good.

“Me,” Inej agrees, then holds out her hand. “My coinpurse, please.”

“Your . . . coinpurse,” the man says, her face twitching. He is wearing a hat and a suit perfectly tailored to all his edges, a glass man. Inej wonders if she could break him. “Why would I have such a thing?”

“You do,” Inej insists. Of this, she is certain. She’s had it until he was just a foot behind her. “Give it back.”

“You’re very demanding,” he says. Inej wonders if he can feel a pull towards her, like she does for him. His face is surely not giving anything away. “You must be new.”

“I’m visiting,” Inej says, some sort of fear starting to creep into her voice. Perhaps the liquid courage has left her soul in a flush—perhaps the city is no longer with her. She can feel it drifting around her bones, maybe leaving. It is as though it has filled the strange place in her soul with something, not left her empty.

He leans into her—he doesn’t leer, not in a way that is lewd, but in a way that is certainly dangerous. “Well, then, my dear visitor,” he says the word like a curse, “you would do well to leave now, before I break your legs for coming to my office without permission.” His eyes scan her, perfunctorily, and Inej can only dream she sees something below the surface. “You need your legs. Or perhaps you can walk a rope with your hands,” he sneers.

Then he slams the door in Inej’s face. The city escapes her, returns back for its sins, disturbs her edges. I have shown you a story, she can feel it whisper, from the wrong end, wrong beginning.

She slides out of the secret corridor and down into the busy club. The Crow Club, it’s called. The largest building in the Stave. She wonders if the foundation was built on a demon’s work. She wonders why she feels like she should know, why there is a haunting space in her mind.

Inej wonders who Kaz Brekker is. She wonders why her saints guided her towards a demon, what they were trying to tell her.

She wonders how he knows she performs on the rope.

#kanej #kanej week #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #kanej fic #dee writes

30 notes · View notes

5lazarus · 4 years ago

Text

Labyrinth

Chapter Two: Kirkwall Read on AO3 here. Read Chapter One: The Circle here. Summary: Anders tries to enjoy a life roving without a care, but destiny--and justice, and letters from Karl--draw him to the City of Chains. A better world is possible, and though Kirkwall's a shithole, Anders is convinced that once he breaks Karl out of there, they can do anything. If you want the full story of how Justice and Anders take on a despair demon that's clogging people's lungs in the Foundry, check out my story Phosphorescence! (and read on, to find out why that's referenced!)

Anders wakes up in a dirty bed in the Gnawed Noble to Isabela tying a kerchief to keep back her hair. He watches her a moment, enjoying the suppleness of her back. She is lovely, nude but for the blue in her hair.

She glances over her shoulder carelessly. “Oh. You’re still here. I liked that thing you did with the lightning.” She picks up a letter, bound with a lyrium sigil pressed into the wax seal. “This came for you.”

“From who?” he asks, rolling out of bed. He stretches, enjoying taking up space with his nudity. He loves the lankiness of his body, he loves letting it feel good, the magic running through his veins, the pleasure this all brings to him and to others, the woman who took him to bed.

“Some mage in a silly hat,” Isabela says. “I don’t ask questions. Are you going to leave, or what?”

He snorts and gathers his clothes. Dressed now, Anders grabs his satchel and ambles down to the inn. The innkeeper places a fryup in front of him, generous because he fixed her back and hand tremor. Ferelden has never cared that much about mages, either locking them up or letting them go, and Denerim everyone always looks the other way. Anders eats until he’s full, luxuriating in the looseness of his body, and contemplates the letter in front of him. Who would reach out to him at this point?

Justice says, You left a lot of people behind. Karl? Mahariel let you go but she wasn’t happy about it.

I don’t want to think about that.

He slips the letter into his pocket, downs his ale, and leaves with a clatter of dishes. He should leave Ferelden soon, but cutting through Orlais seems a nightmare. There’s only so much amnesty the Wardens provide.

Anders finds himself at the city gates, slightly befuddled, and blinks. He draws in breath suddenly and coughs on the sweetly rotting smell of gutter garbage. Justice says, You should read that letter. I bet you it’s important. Taste that lyrium. It’s familiar, isn’t it?

“Shut up,” he murmurs.

The guards eye him warily. He hitches his satchel on his shoulder and passes through the gate without incident. The roads are busy now that spring is here and the slushy mud has dried again. Anders passes families returning to Denerim and merchants heading up the King’s road. At a crossroads he sits under the old wooden signs and pulls out his satchel. He’s got some hardtack left, and he nibbles at the corner of a piece while he contemplates what to do next. There is always the Anderfels. The Mages’ Collective needs more messengers, too, if he wants to be useful.

Justice says, You need to read that letter. You owe it to whomever wrote it.

Anders snorts. What are you now, my conscience?

If you need it. Justice is unplaceable. If it is right.

Sighing, Anders pulls out the letter. He presses his thumbnail onto the wax seal and surges a quick snap of lightning. Faintly, the lyrium sigil glows. The wax releases the paper. He opens the letter and begins to read. To his surprise, it’s not written in Common, but in Anders instead--clunky, constructed like it were Common, but understandable nonetheless.

“They’ve sent me to Kirkwall and I don’t even know why. Every few months someone goes missing and I can hear the Gallows screaming, no one knows where they’re going but it’s clear they’re trying to kill us. There are no old mages in the Gallows. The First Enchanter is the oldest and every day he is looking more pinched, more worn, he talks to himself or something, I don’t want to know. That’s how this place gets you. There is so much I don’t want to know but every night the dead rise teeming in my dreams, and they tell me this city was built on blood.

“I’ve heard rumors the Divine sent the Seekers to investigate and no one knows whether it’s to annul us or reconsider the Chantry’s puppet, Meredith. She killed the last Viscount and sent the new one his bloodied ring, as a reminder. This is where they send the liberati to die, if Uldred couldn’t ground them down first. Every month there’s a new disappearance and I do not know if it’s despair--you know me, I have never had patience for despair--but I wonder, when will I be next?

“Do not let me be next. Let the Mages’ Collective know--Kirkwall cannot be forgotten. We need help. Orsino is trying his best but the nobility is terrified of the Knight-Commander and clearly the Divine finds her useful. Get me out of here. Get us out of here. Or there will not be a Circle left.”

He heads back to Denerim and convinces Isabela to take him as far as Highever. He could get himself a bunk at the castle if he felt like it, Teyrn Cousland is generous to stray wardens since his sibling ran off with the Crows, but he wants to say unnoticed. He finds the Collective’s safehouse. A mage, fled from the White Spire, is sheltering there. When he tells her he’s heading to Kirkwall, she laughs.

“I promise I’ll get a drink for you, when I see your name of the missing list of the collective newsletter,” she says. “Me, I’m heading towards Denerim. I heard the Wardens are taking anyone, nowadays.”

“The Deep Roads suck,” Anders says flatly. “And they wouldn’t let me take my cat.”

“Why the fuck would you take a cat to the Deep Roads?” she says. “What sort of darkspawn cruelty is that?”

Needless to say, he does not make a new friend.

He leaves a letter at the Collective, for them to forward faster than he can get there: “I’m coming. I love you. Stay strong.”

It takes him another two weeks to get across the Waking Sea and into Kirkwall proper. Though it’s summer, the seas roil. The Wardens say that all the seasons fall out of joint after a Blight. It snows in Seheron, it rains upon the Hissing Wastes. He doesn’t get seasick; Justice keeps him strong, helping him ease into the gravity of the waves.

Sometimes you gotta lean into it, he says. Sometimes you gotta be swept away.

Rainsplattered and queasy the ship drags itself into the City of Chains. The bronze of the statues of screaming slaves shines dully in the low morning light. Anders feels suddenly the great despair of acceptance the millions who have passed through these gates grasp at his heart and tug lightly. Above the Gallows Hightown shines, clad in marble, on the literal backs of these statues. Karl had never sailed before. Stumbling down the plank, pushed by the eager crowd at his back, did he contemplate falling into the waters instead? Did he know how to swim? He had never been in a body of water larger than a bath.

Anders draws his hood over his face and disembarks, shaking. Justice says, steady, steady. This is where you’re meant to be. There’s work to be done yet.

“I need to get him out of here,” Anders murmurs. “All of them.”

Some nobleman’s Tevinter wife bribes the guards to let him through unquestioned. He gets a piece of paper that certifies he is sent by the Wardens to provide holy aid for the lost souls of Darktown, after the Blight. That isn’t forged, Mahariel sent it ahead of time; she keeps tabs on him, to remind him whose, exactly, he is. Karl’s, the Circle’s, the Anderfels’, Kirkwall’s--he is beaten and robbed on his way to meet the messenger from the Mage Underground. They take his shoes. Kirkwall’s cobbles are hard under his feet, and positively grotesque in the rain. He drags himself there regardless.

Justice says, Karl. The mages. There’s rot here, can you feel it? Millions dead. I came here too late. Or soon enough. There’s a grimness to his thoughts. Get yourself some clothes. Beg. Fuck. There are things in motion and we must be part of it.

Eventually he finds the right tenement and someone washes the grime off of him and gives himself to drink and ill-fitting boots, bought with Tevinter money. Sure, magic is made to serve man and not to rule over him, but the First Enchanter sends all records of the money the Formari bring in to the Chantry, so they take what hidden cache that can be ever-so-conveniently found. Someone explains to him that Tevinter has interests in the city.

“No shit,” Anders says. “I saw the statues. Got anything stronger to drink?”

He jots down a note in Anders, drunk and tired, as the rain floods the streets below: “I’m here. Where/when can we meet? I love you.” He tucks the note into a hollow gold coin. The next morning, as the neighbors bail out the basement apartments, Anders slops through the gutters to the Gallows. He heads to the Formari stand and slips it to the buyer. Then he hurries back to Darktown and makes himself useful. He patches houses and welds leaky pipes shut. He fights a Despair demon that mired itself in the muck of the Foundry. He develops the classic Kirkwall cough, and learns how to heal it.

He watches a lot of people die--starved refugees from the Blight, miners possessed by those who were sacrificed to the quarries centuries before their time, too many babies who seem to have been born listless, without the will to survive. Lirene calls it the Kirkwall disease.

“Mages don’t do well here,” she says, late one night in her shop, eating the last scraps of stew after a long beggars’ line. “You should try your luck elsewhere.”

Anders says, “Where? Tevinter? I’m not a slaver. No. This is where I have to be. You know.”

Lirene frowns over her bowl. “Yes,” she says. 1. Her spoon clinks as she places it down. “You know, while you wait for your boyfriend to contact you, you might as well make yourself useful. We can scrape together the bribes for the templars, if you want to do more than mix poultices.” Anders does not immediately answer. He does not want to return to the Circle, to die another slow death, humbling his temper and mastering desire, accepting that he must be watched. But you gotta, Justice says. Aren’t you sick of watching children die? Anders says, “Don’t worry about the bribes. I’ll talk to--” He stops. Lirene smiles at him. “I have a lover,” she says frankly. “He’s a templar. Oh, don’t give me that look. He’s a good one.” Anders scoffs. “Yes, yes, I know--the only good templar is a dead templar, or ones like Samson, who make themselves useful. He’ll pay the bribes, and he’ll deliver your letters too. If you make yourself useful.” “I want the right to fuck around,” Anders says, leaning back in his chair. The chair creaks warningly. “I’ll help out, sure. If your good templar can cover for me, then yeah. I’m sick of seeing babies die of depression. This city’s fucking miserable. I’m down to clean it up.” Lirene says, “Good. How good are you at fighting? There’s a set of rooms in Darktown the Seven Sisters have been using, but with my people and your mage connections, I’m certain we can talk them on.” Anders writes Karl: “L.’s helped me set up a clinic. I know, you remember how I’d always complain during those anatomy lessons. But it’s paid off, literally. I don’t make my patients pay, of course, but other people are happy to see me taking care of the detritus of Darktown. The shipworkers’ guild and the dockworkers’ guild pay me to treat their workers well. Which you know is getting me drawn into labor disputes which is fascinating but not really the point. What I want to say is that there’s a life outside the Gallows and even though it’s all literally underground, in a quarry where you can still see the clawmarks left by elves falling to their deaths, you can hear the screams at night and in the Fade, and the moss glows phosphorescence, even after Justice and Purpose and I took on that demon in the Foundry--I can feel something building. Something growing in this dank. Something’s gotta give, and it won’t be me. If that makes sense. I love you. Reply soon. Tell me, how are we going to meet?” Karl writes, “I would suck Ser Alrik’s dick for the chance to see phosphorescent moss. Well. Perhaps not Ser Alrik. He leaves me well alone. A mercy. Others aren’t so lucky. Our friend’s wife says the Seekers were last seen sniffing around the Viscount’s office, which is a good sign. Dumar’s M.’s puppet, and behind her is Elth and behind her is of course our great DVine. But I think it’s a good sign that she’s conducting an independent investigation of what makes Kirkwall hell. The entire apprentice class failed their Harrowing this week. It is so hard to keep the Tranquil safe, my love. We cannot risk leaving them alone but they stare and they stare and these ones, they’re barely more than children. Kinloch Hold was a slow death but this, I sometimes wonder how Jowan is doing in the Aeonar. Because I think it’s better than here. I’ve volunteered to watch the Tranquil in the market next week. We’ll be under heavy guard, we won’t be able to talk. But maybe you and L. can walk by. Even stand on the stairs. A glimpse, that’s all I need, to get through this. I love you.” Anders writes, “Your hair’s gone gray and you’ve let your beard eat your face. That’s how I know you’re suffering, my love. And you’ve lost weight. I don’t know how you can stand to be surrounded by Tranquil. They enrage me, they drive me past any control, and I don’t know if it’s Justice or grief or this fucking city, but I can’t stand seeing them, it makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. And there’ll be Anders-gore plastered all around the fucking Gallows courtyard, like when Kirkwall had its first of many uprisings. Well, it’ll happen

eventually. My tribute to the sacrificed of the city. Except we’ll win, too. Every day I’m more and more convinced that not only a better world is possible, but it’s happening. So much that I can’t write here but the M.U. and the collective has eyes and ears everywhere and you’re right that it’s a good sign, what you told me. There’s more sympathy in high places than I thought, and all of the low. In my clinic I’ve met all sorts of people. Too many Fereldens, and they all think I’m Ferelden. Lots of elvhen nationalists. That’s how they spell it in Common, with the extra-H. Makes me wish I paid more attention to how Leorah used to write. There’s a Dalish clan nearby but they’re not from the area, they’re from the Korcari Wilds, and they don’t deal with the alienage. But I’ve been hearing a lot from the elves who work down on the docks, that’s not what they’re all like, and they’re so different about magic. They take it for granted, almost. None of the shame we get fucked with. They’re proud when little Ellana or Mahanon starts shooting sparks from their fingertips, and they’ll move their kids from alienage to alienage and clan to clan to keep them safe. I met a woman who’s been running a long time, to keep her son safe. He has bad nightmares, Kirkwall makes it worse, but she doesn’t have the money to move on. I gave her more than I can spare. If you could leave where would you want to go? I’m sorry. It’ll take longer but I swear I’ll get you out of there.” Karl writes, “My love, don’t worry. We can wait. We have time. You did the right thing. Maybe she can talk to the Dalish? Orsino’s complained about how Clan Sabrae has made dealing with M. more difficult. Huon was recently captured, he’d been living quietly in Kirkwall for years. He’s not taking the Circle well, but do any of us? I thought I could survive Kinloch Hold but now I see what you mean. I will kill to feel the grass under my ass. I mean it, Anders. I will. So, I suppose I want somewhere with grass. Do you remember the high grass on the steppes, how the frost would linger on the wheat? I remember my last harvest. It was beautiful, even if it meant that some of us were going to die. It came as a relief that the templars came. One less mouth to feed that hard winter. I wonder if any of my family survived. My mother was never good at rationing. I’d like to check. I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a child but perhaps we could steal horses and ride hard across across the Imperial Highway, through the wastelands of the Blight to the Wandering Hills. Do you remember crossing the Hunterhorn Mountains, when they dragged you to Ferelden? I want to see the sun rise on the mountaintop, above the frozen wastes, and tuck my hands under your tunic to keep them warm. I want to fuck you slowly as the bird wake up in the valley, in some forgotten corner of the mountains where no one will ever see us, and it will take centuries for anyone to stumble across our campsite. Promise me that. That you’ll keep me warm.” Then Anders does not hear from him for weeks.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #kanders #karl thekla #anders #anders/karl #karl/anders #kirkwall #labyrinth #da2 #lirene #justice #dao #awakening

6 notes · View notes

panharmonium · 4 years ago

Note

I'm curious if you have any headcanon/any fic plans or just ideas about how Hunith learnt Will knew about Merlin's magic. Sorry if you already talked about it and has slipped out of my attention!

Oh my gosh, any message that asks me about Will or Hunith or Ealdor in any fashion makes me so happy; thank you!

I'll avoid drawing up an outline for an exact scenario, only because I am always writing more fic about Merlin’s pre-Camelot life and if I end up deciding to actually do this in a fic I’ll be mad at myself for already typing it all out in meta XD I will, however, talk about some general thoughts, because I do have solid opinions about certain aspects of this whole thing (all my own, obviously; folks are free to imagine this in different ways - these are just my own personal inferences from the canon we’re given).

Putting this under a cut because it got long - you always write me such detailed notes that I wanted to be thorough! <3

So! Here are some of my thoughts about how Hunith learnt that Will knew about Merlin’s magic.

i. it was not careless.

In my opinion, Will and Merlin, by the age where we meet them in canon, are not out there goofing around with Merlin’s magic in risky ways. It doesn’t make sense for Merlin, who is old enough to understand the dangers to his own life and who is also desperately committed to making sure his mother never finds out that Will is in the know (because Merlin knows it won’t go well), and it definitely doesn’t make sense for Will, who, despite his fanon reputation for mischief, is...not actually shown to be like that in canon.

I talked before in my big meta dump about Will that I very much do not read the “he’s always been a troublemaker” line to be indicative of the “pranks and shenanigans” theme that I tend to see in a lot of fic. The “troublemaker” line, in context, is not referring to Will causing mischief; it’s about Will’s inability to shut his mouth and stop stirring the pot, in the sense of him yelling about stuff that nobody else wants to think about; it’s about him not being able to put his head down and go with the flow. It’s immediately followed by the line “they’re used to ignoring him,” and what we’re being told here is that Will is the cousin who can’t stop himself from getting political at the holiday dinner table even when the rest of the family is begging him to let them have one single meal in peace. He cannot let things go, and the rest of his neighbors are completely sick of it (see: Hunith’s ZERO patience with Will when he challenges Arthur in front of the community).

Canon Will, in contrast to some fanon interpretations, is actually a very intense, guarded person? He’s suspicious and pragmatic and risk-averse. And I just think it’s important to remember that Will, in his current situation, does not have a lot of time to be messing around. He was orphaned and left to run a whole homestead as a child. That’s like...he’s doing the work of an entire family. Life in Ealdor already leaves little room to slack off, and Will is completely overburdened - somebody in his situation would be desperately busy, almost all of the time, and always on the verge of a potential disaster, if he fell behind on anything.

So I just don’t read him as someone who is out doing silly things with Merlin in a way that got them discovered by Hunith. Like - Merlin isn’t careless enough to be goofing off in his own house, for example, and Will isn’t a character who’s daring Merlin to do foolish things for the fun of it. Merlin is comfortable using his magic around Will, definitely, and we know he’s had at least one mishap in the past (the tree), but at this point in their lives, I don’t see either of them as frivolous or clueless enough to use magic in a way that could get them caught by anyone, or for the purpose of risky/trivial games.

ii. merlin was the one who let it slip

I personally think the lead-up to Hunith discovering Will’s involvement was preceded by two things:

an increase in external stressors (related to the political situation between Camelot and Cenred’s kingdom), making Merlin’s position in Ealdor progressively more precarious/dangerous

Merlin becoming increasingly frustrated, rebellious, and unwilling to hide himself the way his mother wanted him to

The first point is something that I've incorporated into fic, so I think @blueclaw7 is already familiar with it :) But essentially, when I was collecting info on Ealdor and Cenred's kingdom prior to a previous fic-writing endeavour, there were a few things that led me to wonder just what sort of trouble was brewing in that corner of the world, prior to Merlin's departure:

We know that Cenred makes agreements with slave traders, allowing them to work certain areas of his land without interference (see: Cenred's discussion with Morgause about Jarl in 3.12 - “He's been working our western border for months...We have an understanding.”) Cenred likely would not allow this unless it benefited him in some way, so I think we can safely assume that he is receiving some sort of kickback from allowing slavers to operate in his kingdom, either in the form of financial compensation or perhaps by having people like Jarl on-call in case Cenred himself needs specific targets rounded up.

We also know that sometime prior to 1.10, Cenred's kingdom and Camelot signed some sort of peace treaty, which according to Uther was “years in the making.” We're not told how long the two kingdoms had been enemies before that, but my personal interpretation is that they have been at odds for a long time, because the peace treaty doesn’t appear to be very successful - by 2.12, Uther says, “Our treaty with Cenred no longer holds. We are at war,” despite the fact that we actually haven't even met Cenred in the show yet and he hasn't attacked Camelot or anything (he doesn't agree to do that until Season 3, when Uther is incapacitated and the kingdom is weak). Uther also later refers to Cenred as Camelot’s “sworn enemy.” So the treaty just appears to have been a temporary, shaky peace between kingdoms that are frequently in conflict, the terms of which we are not privy to.

We know that Uther “offers a handsome reward for anyone with magic” (2.09, when the bounty hunter shows up with Freya), and we know that normal people will turn others over to bounty hunters for their own benefit (“How did he find you?” / “You can't always trust people.”)

We know that Aredian (the witchfinder) has been operating “in foreign lands” (aka, not Camelot).

So, the question I asked myself was this: why would Cenred and Uther even agree to a peace treaty in the first place, when their kingdoms are clearly constantly at odds with one another? And looking at the other tidbits of information above, the framework I constructed for myself was that I personally think part of the aforementioned treaty involves Cenred turning people with magic over to Uther - and perhaps allowing Uther's agents over the border to do their own hunting - in exchange for some kind of compensation (probably financial). We know Cenred is greedy (he's aiming to conquer Camelot even though he is, per his own words, “rich and powerful already”), and we know he canonically has the means to give Uther what he wants (agreements with slave traders working within his borders). And given that the treaty appears to have been a fairly recent development in 1.10, my personal read is that this treaty was signed sometime before Merlin left Ealdor, and that it prompted an uptick in dangerous activity that frightened Merlin's mother and made her more willing to send him away. Bounty hunters nabbing people on the road, slave traders being given the freedom to operate without interference, rumors of single agents like the Witchfinder roaming the countryside - all of this would lead to the far more immediate concern of “what happens if somebody in Ealdor thinks Merlin might be magic and decides to make a quick shilling by turning him in????”

I think that is Hunith's biggest concern. Ealdor is poor. And Merlin himself says his departure was prompted by not being able to trust the people around him. When Freya tells him, “you can't always trust people,” he replies, “I know. That's why I left home.” And if there were suddenly a higher demand for people with magic, due to Cenred and Uther's arrangement, then there would be more incentive for regular people to look for a way they could turn it to their advantage, especially if they've already been conditioned to see magic as an evil/dangerous thing.

I think this leads to Hunith being even more cautious, and putting even tighter restrictions on Merlin re: where he can go and when he can be out and who he can go wandering around with, and even on using magic for little things at home where no one can see. And the problem with this is that Merlin won't tolerate it anymore, not the way he did when he was younger. Not because he doesn't want to listen to her or because he doesn't understand that she's trying to help him, but because he just can't. He can't. It's killing him. He tells Gaius in 1.01, “if I can't use magic, I might as well die,” and that’s not just him being dramatic; he really feels that way. He doesn’t just have magic, he is magic. He can't suppress it that way, without feeling like he's killing himself.

So, to bring us back around to the point of this segment - I think what ends up happening is that Merlin starts pushing back on Hunith’s restrictions, not so he can goof around and do stupid things, but so he can live his life in a way that doesn't make him feel like he's suffocating, so he can just be, without feeling like his entire existence is a crime. I think the increased pressure drives him more and more frequently to Will, the only person around whom Merlin can exist as a complete person, and I think he becomes increasingly resistant to his mother's directives, and I think his mother gets more and more frustrated with him, because she sees it as him needlessly risking his life, but Merlin is tired of hearing that he can't trust anybody, because he CAN trust somebody; he has somebody to trust right now and he’s had them for ages, and he doesn't think things have to be so dire all the time, if his mother would just see that, but she won't -

And then, when his frustration reaches a boiling point, Merlin accidentally spills the beans.

I don't think Hunith walks in on Merlin doing magic in front of Will, personally. I think Merlin slips up and tells her, in the course of their increasingly frequent, tense conflicts between “you can't trust ANYBODY/things are too dangerous” and “i CAN trust somebody/i can’t live like this anymore.”

I think he lets it slip in an argument, as a frustrated justification for “it doesn't have to be like this all the time; things could be better; will's known about it for X years and nothing bad has ever happened to me.”

And then, of course, it goes very, very badly.

Which brings us to Point #3 -

iii. it was a Disaster.

What I mean by this is that Hunith discovering that Will knew about Merlin’s magic was not a chill situation. It did not go over well, and it created an interpersonal crisis between the three of them that persists all the way into 1.10.

We’ve already heard canon confirmation of this - “when she found out you knew, she was SO angry” - and it’s obvious that this conflict was never resolved. I’ve already talked in another post about Hunith’s weird disinterest in/disapproval of Will in favor of Arthur (even after Will’s death!), and Will clearly isn’t feeling very generous with her in 1.10, either - they only interact once, when Hunith snaps at Will to “keep quiet” after he challenges Arthur in front of the village, and after that, they never talk again. They never go anywhere near each other, in fact.

I know fandom likes to headcanon Hunith as the ultimate mom who is super generous with everyone and would instantly adopt all of Merlin’s friends out of an overabundance of motherly love, but 1.10 tells a very different story about her relationship with Will, and it’s clearly not a completely new issue. Merlin knew his mother wouldn’t react well to finding out that he’d shared his secret with Will. It’s why he lied in the first place. Whatever the relationship between the three of them was before the reveal, Merlin knew that a history of positive interactions wouldn’t make a difference if the truth came out. His mother would never be okay with Will knowing.

And he was right! Because Hunith finding out the truth fractures that relationship. It’s what finally prompts Hunith to send Merlin away. And that, of course, makes things worse, because a) Will never did anything to deserve that reaction, and b) as I’ve talked about in another post, Merlin disappears without even telling Will he’s leaving. He just vanishes. And Will, blindsided, is left in Ealdor with Hunith, who was party to that decision, and he is so...I don’t even know how to describe how full of grief and rage I would be, if I were in his situation. Merlin was the only good thing in Will’s life.

I don’t think Will wants to be anywhere near Hunith, after that. I think he avoids her like the plague. I think the only reason Will even knows anything about where Merlin is or what he’s doing is because Hunith is careful to chat about it with other people in casual conversation, while Will is within earshot (hence why Will later says, “I hear you’re skivvying for some prince”). And I think Hunith is probably making a misguided attempt to be kind, by doing that - giving Will a way to stay sort of updated even though they’re not speaking to each other - but I also don’t think her efforts are effective, at all, because the only thing her secondhand updates do for Will is hammer home the fact that Merlin is writing to Hunith instead of him, that Merlin hasn’t directed Hunith to relay Will any message, that Merlin really did just leave without saying goodbye and apparently has no intention of contacting Will again. And Will doesn’t know why Merlin did that, or what he did to make Merlin not want him anymore, but because Will is who he is, he ends up feeling like Merlin must have never cared about him that much in the first place, and it was just that Will misread the whole relationship; he got his hopes up and let his guard down and believed that somebody cared for him, and he should have known better, because everybody ALWAYS leaves him, and he was stupid to think this time would be different. And he is so angry at himself, but he is also devastated, and impossibly lonely, because he has nobody in his life, and he has to just sit and simmer in his own pain, because Merlin is gone, and Will would rather crawl over a bed of hot coals than go anywhere near Hunith right now.

And I honestly don’t blame Will for avoiding her. It’s like...I hate to put this on Hunith, because I do appreciate her in other areas, but there’s just no getting around this: the way she views and deals with Will is markedly different from the way she treats Merlin’s Camelot friends, even though she barely knows them, and despite the fact that she’s perfectly aware that Arthur hates sorcery. She’s happy to ignore Merlin’s friendship with Will all throughout 1.10, even though that’s the relationship that is in the most desperate need of attention, and instead she chooses to focus on/encourage/praise Merlin’s relationships with people who hate the thing that makes him who he is. And that is just so...bizarre to me, and I think...I really believe there is a part of Hunith that blames Will for everything that happened, even if it’s subconscious. Like - I think there’s a part of her that believes that if Will hadn’t found out about the magic, Merlin wouldn’t have been “in danger,” and she wouldn’t have been put in the difficult position of sending Merlin away. I’m not sure if she truly believed Will was going to sell Merlin to a bounty hunter when he got desperate enough for money (see above re: Will’s situation being a precarious one, survival-wise), or if it was more her fear that Merlin would be too trusting now that one person had accepted him (what if Merlin went and told someone else, because it worked out the first time??? What if he let this thing with Will lull him into a false sense of security?) But whatever her reasons, she still ends up pushing Will away. She never treats him with the same kind of solicitous interest that she extends to Merlin’s new companions, and I do think it all comes back to that moment when she found out that he knew.

It’s hardly rational, given what we know about how dedicated Will actually is to protecting Merlin’s secret. And I don’t think Hunith is like...actively taking it out on him. But the attitude is still present, as an undercurrent, and I have to be honest about this: the feeling I get from Hunith in 1.10 (and the vibe that I imagine Will was getting from her while Merlin was gone) is that she thinks Merlin is much better off now that he’s moved on from Ealdor, and that leaving Will behind was ultimately best for everyone, and that Will needs to just get over it and understand that he’s not a part of Merlin’s life anymore, so everyone can be happy that Merlin has met such fantastic, fascinating new friends.

That’s what I hear her saying, when I see the way she completely ignores him while simultaneously loving on the Camelot crew. That’s what Will hears, too, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

And honestly, my heart breaks for him. He deserved more than that.

(tangentially, but - I think it bears mentioning, given certain fic trends I have seen, that Merlin himself does not share this viewpoint. Merlin has never and will never consider his new friends to be a “step up” from Will, and he has never and will never consider Will to be a “past” or less immediate part of his life. Even after Will is dead, Merlin refuses to tolerate even the barest suggestion of this from anybody - when Arthur tries to say that Will “was a close friend,” Merlin corrects him, saying “He still is.” Will is just as relevant and meaningful to Merlin in Camelot as he was when Merlin was still at home, and the fact that Hunith doesn’t assign Will as much importance anymore does not in any way correspond to Merlin’s own feelings on the subject.)

So - the point of all this is just to say that Hunith finding out about Will isn’t an event that ends with all of them coming together and collectively deciding to send Merlin to Camelot while Will and Hunith promise to look after each other while Merlin is away. Whatever relationship the three of them had before this happened, it’s broken after Hunith learns the truth. Hunith and Will are completely done with each other, after Merlin leaves. Merlin and Will are obviously plunged into an incredibly messy situation, thanks to Merlin vanishing without a word. And even Merlin and his mother have tension - Merlin references the big blow-up to Will in 1.10, but there’s also a moment in episode 1.01, too, that is VERY subtle but also very telling, when Gaius says “your mother asked me to look after you.” Merlin’s response is just, “Yes,” but the way he delivers it - he looks away, and his mouth tenses up, and there’s this little hesitation and then the tone is almost - rueful, like there’s more he’d like to say but he refrains. It’s like a “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all�� vibe. And the reason for that is because the circumstances under which his mother asked Gaius to look after him were a mess. Merlin tells us straight-up in 1.10 that he didn’t want to leave home. The entire thing was a disaster.

iv. the reason hunith was “so angry” is because will did not find out about merlin's magic by accident

I think I've talked about this briefly before, but here it is in more detail: I am firmly convinced that Merlin told Will about his magic, as opposed to Will finding out accidentally.

It's not something we can actually know in a canon sense, obviously. And I know the “Will almost has an accident and Merlin uses magic to help him” motif is more common in fic. But the reason I’m so set on this is because of how Merlin describes Hunith's reaction to finding out that Will knew.

“When she found out you knew - she was so angry.” The way Merlin says that - he shakes his head, almost in awe, like it was something almost frightening to behold - the way he puts an emphasis on “so angry” - to me, this has always been an indication that Merlin voluntarily disclosed his magic to Will. We know enough about Hunith to be familiar with how gentle and calm she is, and how much she loves Merlin, and how kind and understanding she is with him. I think if she learned that Will had found out about Merlin's magic in an accidental way - ie, in a way Merlin could not have reasonably prevented - then even though she would still have wished that Merlin had told her sooner, she wouldn't have reacted in a way that made Merlin reflect on it like she was scary-angry. I think she would have understood, if he explained that he'd been forced into a situation to use his magic to help someone or prevent a bad accident from happening.

However - if Merlin had TOLD Will about his magic, voluntarily, when he didn't have to, just because he felt like it, despite all of Hunith's warnings and all of her efforts to keep Merlin safe - that, I think, is something that would have prompted the kind of anger Merlin references.

To Hunith, that would be unconscionably reckless. After all she's done to keep Merlin alive, after spending every day of her life sick and sleepless with worry - to have Merlin so easily throw her work away like that, in blatant defiance of every cautionary thing she's ever told him - it's a slap in the face. Plus, Merlin is now in more danger (she thinks) which just amplifies her fear, and thus her fury.

But what she doesn’t understand is that Merlin didn't do it to hurt her. He didn't do it because he doesn't appreciate how hard she works to keep him safe. He did it because he had to. There came a moment, at some point in the past, where he became so lonely and so desperate to be seen that he made a choice, took a risk, and put his life in someone else's hands.

And he was rewarded for that choice! Merlin never, ever would have made it in Ealdor without Will’s honest companionship. A Merlin who did not have a single friend to know and love him for those first two decades would have been utterly unrecognizable by the time he arrived in Camelot - if he even survived long enough to get there.

But Hunith doesn't understand the depth of Merlin's desperation. She thinks that him telling Will was a foolish, uncalled-for risk, when for Merlin it was a lifesaving necessity.

So, I think that this is part of what makes Hunith react so badly. And I also think the severity of her reaction (and the ultimate tragic outcome that follows in 1.10) is something that lingers in Merlin’s mind for a long time, because he never willingly discloses his secret to anyone again. Gaius and Lancelot find out by accident. Freya, Gilli, and Daegal find out by necessity, because Merlin needs to leverage his magic in one way or another in order to save their lives. Even Arthur is a forced confession, demanded by desperate circumstances.

Merlin doesn't choose to reveal himself to those people. It's something that's pushed onto him. Will is a singular instance. Merlin has only voluntarily shared his secret with one person - just because he wanted to, not because he was forced to, just because he trusted them, just because he wanted that connection so badly.

And it leads to such painful consequences, in the end, that he never does it again.

in conclusion:

So, to summarize, my foundational thoughts on how this went down can basically be boiled down to those four things: it wasn't the result of carelessness, Merlin was the one who let it slip, it was a huge disaster with long-lasting consequences, and part of the reason why it went so badly is because Hunith found out that Merlin had voluntarily told Will about his magic, as opposed to Will finding out accidentally.

But, as always, those are just my own personal thoughts about it, and I am still 100% happy to read about all sorts of differing envisionings of this scenario - nothing is confirmed in canon, obviously, so for people who imagine this event differently, have at it! The world can always use a little more of Merlin’s pre-canon life, if you ask me. :D

#the once and future slowburn #meta #bbc merlin gen #no kings no masters #replies #@blueclaw7 - thank you for asking!#i really loved writing this up!#<333

32 notes · View notes

lilrexsoka · 4 years ago

Text

Hi Hi Hi... Ready for more angst? :)

Rexsoka Week 2020 Day 5 Prompt- Shadows

Tagging- @officialrexsoka

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698138/chapters/65313565

Read it on AO3 or below!

Rating: G

Warnings tags- Angsty/depressive thoughts, anger.

He’d thought that seeing his best friend on a wanted post, chasing after her with intent to capture or having to give that order was difficult. It had been just as difficult as the battle of Umbara, or knowing that she was locked up on Zygerria with half a dozen slavers willing to bid her away. It was hard to remember that all of this had happened in a matter of months, and each time he had been as helpless as last.

Rex had almost jumped after her into the depths of the lower levels of Coruscant. His heart had practically slammed against his rib cage as if it too was tempted to fling itself after her. What had stopped him was her own word. She had planned to get herself out of that mess on her own, without her Master’s help, and without him.

Anakin had brought his Captain back to the barracks and suggested he get some rest. “Trust in Ahsoka,” he had told the clone. Rex did. That didn’t stop him from worrying for her the rest of the evening. He would have torn out his hair if it had been long enough; the entire Republic thought that Ahsoka Tano was a criminal. Even if he himself should have believed it with all of the evidence stacked against her, he couldn’t stop himself from insisting to every sympathetic brother who approached him that she would never have bombed the temple, never would have killed innocent clones.

He didn’t sleep.

It was early, perhaps just before sunrise, when his comm rang incessantly. “Rex,” Anakin’s voice gasped, piercing through the clone’s drowsy haze. “They found her. They’re taking her in.”

The clone came with the General to retrieve her; the Wolf Pack boys had found her in a warehouse filled with the same explosives that had killed the Jedi in the Temple. Rex still told himself that it had been a coincidence. He knew that girl. He knew her tells for when she lied. She had not lied. She would never do such a thing.

She had been stunned and set up against the back wall of the ship. Rex had held her up gently by her shoulder and studied her lifeless face. She was covered in swaths of dust, her clothing ruffled and skin scuffed. She wore the expression of someone tormented while they slept; clearly, the stun bolt had not eased her torture. Rex had only seen her like this a select few times before, and always when she had a brush with death. He had to concentrate and feel the pulse in her neck to remind himself that she was still alive. Though wherever she was going, he wasn’t sure it would be any better.

The Padawan stirred as they landed at the prison; as the Coruscant guards dragged her away, she cast the Captain a sad glance before they shoved her forward and out of his vision.

Rex felt like crying out of frustration. But they wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say about her innocence.

“You should go back to the barracks again. It looks like you haven’t slept a wink,” Skywalker told his Captain again with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder plate. He hadn’t, and though he would have stood outside until he could see her next, he knew that would be pointless. It was up to the court to decide her fate.

He did end up sleeping, but it was only out of pure exhaustion. It was only for an hour or two, and just at the time the sun would begin to rise, Rex received a private message from Anakin. She left, It simply read. It took a lot of begging, but eventually, the clone was able to squeeze her location out of the General. He couldn’t let her walk out… not before he could talk to her.

He caught up to her at the very bottom of the grand steps that lead up to the Jedi temple. Anakin had returned to whatever business he had next to attend a while ago, but somehow she had yet to leave the Temple behind. She stood still, her face tilted up to the sunrise. She looked impossibly resigned despite the tears in her eyes as if she had already accepted her fate. He was almost hesitant to call out her name; she was clearly deep in thought, perhaps enjoying the last few moments where she could see the same view as the Temple she had once trained in. “Ahsoka.”

The Togruta slowly turned at her name. Her expression did not change, but the corners of her lips rose. “Rex,” she breathed.

The clone stopped on one of the steps instead of meeting her; he tore off his bucket and tucked it into his side. “I had to come see you,” he explained softly. “I… I heard what happened.” With a sigh, he decided he had to ask. “How can you leave, Ahsoka? Right in the middle of the war?” How can you leave me, after all we have been through?

Now she really looked like she was on the verge of tears. “I had to. I couldn’t stay,” she insisted miserably. “There is something wrong with the Council. It’s not the Order I knew. They didn’t believe me, Rex. They thought I had killed people.” She sniffed angrily and wiped her nose. “They’re corrupt. I couldn’t stay in an Order that is so obviously wrong.” Her chest heaved as she sighed a heavy, calming breath.

“Then you need to correct it,” Rex protested desperately. “If they really are wrong, then they won’t realize it. You can’t abandon them now, Ahsoka. Please. Don’t abandon your troops. Your Master. Me.” Maybe it was selfish to plead, but it was very rarely that Rex had ever wanted circumstances to change so badly.

“There is nothing I can do. I’m only one Padawan.” Ahsoka shook her head and hugged herself even tighter. She was shivering. “And I’m sorry. I really am. I never wanted this to happen!” Now she was outright sobbing. “Please understand, Rex. I don’t think I could live If I knew you hated me.”

Finally, the clone finished the descent to the bottom step where Ahsoka stood. He was still taller than her, though it seemed that she grew every day. Her face; still scuffed, streaked with tears and utterly stretched with despair, seemed to imprint itself in his head. He wished he could make her smile again and chase away everything that had pained her. All he could do, however, was try and assure her. “I believed in your innocence. I really did.” With everyone against her, it had to be a nice thing to hear.

“I know you did,” the Padawan answered quietly. Hesitantly, with a feather-light touch, she reached out and slipped her fingers through Rex’s. “You’re a good person,” she complimented as she brought his hands to her chest. “Better than I. I have to go, Rex. There are things I need to sort out, and I have to do it alone.”

He felt reality itself was slipping like a boulder down a hill. He had never imagined what it might be like to not have the likeable Togruta by his side. “I… don’t know how I will fare without you.” The pain he felt was unlike any that he had experienced before; no tumble, strike or explosion had ever caused an ache like when Ahsoka had told him she was leaving. It was as if a giant hole had replaced the organs in his chest, which was then filled with the weight of his emotions.

Ahsoka just shook her head. “This has been the hardest choice I have ever made.” It was whispered through tears and a trembling lip. “Be strong, Rex. And I promise we will meet again.” With an entirely sad expression, eyes wide and glistening with a hand that curved around the plates of his arm for just a moment, it was clear she was in as much despair as he.

Rex had wanted to tell her something at that moment, though what he had wanted to say slipped off of his tongue. He merely remained silent as the Togruta leaned forward and he met her gesture. Pressing their foreheads together, hands still clutched desperately, the clone decided this was how he wanted to remember her. Not as the framed innocent who had fought for the truth despite all odds. Not the mature, brave warrior that had made a difficult choice, but instead a caring, emotional friend who was always ready to show her love.

He watched her go and tried very hard to collect his thoughts. They jumbled and stirred in his mind, flinging emotions throughout his already aching body. Nobody contacted him to ask where he had disappeared to. Maybe, somehow, they knew, because when the captain returned to the barracks and announced the newest change, his brothers merely dipped their heads in reverie. They didn’t offer condolences, but Kix did ask if he cared for a sleeping aid. Rex denied it. He didn’t need sleep. He had only needed her.

There was still a flurry of emotions clouding his judgment when the Captain awoke in the medbay after sleeping off the anesthetic his troops had stuck in him. Rest had not helped. He still was completely aware that his Commander was unfairly ripped away from everything she had loved. He was getting tired of feeling so much pain and sorrow, all in a short span of time. Pushing them down only worsened the emotion that he had always struggled the most with hiding; anger. The shadows closed in, and he felt as hopeless then as he did under Krell’s command.

He might have punched in a wall if he hadn’t thought about what Ahsoka might have said. She might suggest he talk about his frustration, or have a drink of tea over a mediation session. She would have told him not to be upset at something he couldn’t change. She would have made him forget out the circumstances with a joke and a fanged grin.

But now she was gone. The light was gone. There would be nothing to chase away the darkness, and nothing would ever be the same without her.

#rexsoka week 2020 #rexsoka week #rexsoka #rexsokaweek #rexsokaweek2020

32 notes · View notes

lo-55 · 4 years ago

Text

Tilt The Hourglass Ch. 7

Maul had been many things in his life.

Student, Assassin, Sith- hopeful, Madman, Crime Lord, Ruler of Mandalore.

Now he could add corporate spy to that list.

Joy.

Maul found Kenobi and Si Treemba sitting together in the battered mess hall that the Monument was equipped with, each with something suitable for their species. Zabrak were technically omnivorous, but his particular brand had an affinity for meat. They were hunters first and foremost. They both had their heads down, and Si Treemba’s green skin was pale with his anxiety and disappointment. A plate of dactyl and fungus sat in front of him.

Maul sat next to the pair, and scarred the life out of the both of them. He caught the elbow Kenobi threw at his face with ease. He peered at the jedi, unimpressed.

“You look like someone pissed in your moof juice,” he said before Kenobi could do something silly like apologize. That didn’t stop the little jedi from looking contrite.

“We had no luck. Did you?”

Maul lifted his shoulder. “I found the thermocoms, in a vat of lubricant. So they’ve been recovered but there’s no way to tell who took them. Fingerprints and DNA would have been wiped away. The hutt’s are on a rampage, too. They’re ready to kill someone.”

“I see,” Kenobi’s shoulders slumped. “If only…”

“Mmmm?” Maul prompted him while he stole Kenobi’s dinner out from under him. The boy was so sad he didn’t even fight him. Or maybe Kenobi was just a push over right now.

He looked guilty of something too.

“It was just a thought I had. When Jemba was threatening everyone. Why didn't Master Jinn just use his lightsaber to cut him down? He’s a cruel person and a criminal, and he won’t stop hurting people. Master Jinn could have stopped it, but he chose not to. I just wonder why.”

Maul paused, his stolen dinner halfway to his mouth.

It was disconcerting to realize that Kenobi had had the same thought that he’d had.

It seemed like every time they interacted like this Maul was thrown off course. Kenobi was not chosen by Jinn. Kenobi was willing to kill someone just like that, however he might justify it.

Kenobi mis-read his expression, because the little jedi sunk lower in his chair.

“I suppose that’s not the jedi way, but we’re supposed to defend the defenseless and seek justice in all things.”

Maul mentally gagged. Familiar anger bubbled up under his skin, beneath the scars that Sidious had left on him. If the jedi had found him they wouldn’t have helped. He was too dark, wasn’t he? Too tainted. At best they would have sent him Dathomir to be a slave to the Nightsisters. He had been defenseless and they had never defended him. No one had.

“There is no justice in this galaxy,” Maul told Kenobi darkly, his yellow eyes burning. “Not unless you make it yourself.”

Kenobi looked startled at him, but Maul didn’t pay him any mind. He shoved food in his mouth.

Si Treemba watched him eat, his eyes on the salt resting on the table. That was right. It was a rather horrible drug to them, wasn’t it?

Maul paused.

Maybe he should just poison the hutts and he could convince Jango to leave this job early and go find his brothers? Hutt’s were hardy, but Maul was creative. Starship fuel would do it, right? And he could certainly make it look like an accident…

“You know,” Kenobi said suddenly, “there‘s one think I don‘t understand. Jemba puts on a good show. But I sense he‘s afraid of Clat‘Ha and the Arconans. And the mandalorian too.”

“Jango,” Maul corrected, “Jango Fett. He would be a fool not to fear him. Mandalorians are powerful warriors, capable of going toe to toe with jedi. Don’t they teach you history in that fancy temple of yours?”

Kenobi made a face at him while Si Treemba swallowed a mouthful of dactyl and fungi.

“We think you‘re right, Obi-Wan. He fears us. Even though it is not our intent, he knows we will destroy him one day.”

“How is that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“In Offworld mining, the chiefs and overseers make fortunes, while the common workers make nothing. Many of them are slaves. But at Arcona Mineral Harvest, we have no chieftains, no overseers. Each worker shares in the profits. This did not bother Offworld until Clat‘Ha began to expand our operations. So she contacts the better workers at Offworld. If they are slaves, she offers to buy them and set them free if they will work for us. If they have signed work contracts, she offers to buy the contracts. Now she has the support of a mandalorian and she is more a force than before.”

“That sounds fair,” Obi-Wan said.

“It is fair,” Si Treemba agreed. “That is exactly why Jemba fears us. Many good workers wish to join us, only the bad will stay at Offworld.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said, touching his chin in a familiar gesture. “So in a few years, Jemba will have only chiefs with no one to boss around. He‘d hate that.”

Si Treemba grinned, then turned serious. “But Jemba has stalled us. He has raised the price on labor contracts and slaves. We can no longer afford to hire Offworld workers.”

Maul quietly filed that information away. He had no love of slavers, and freed slaves were loyal to a fault. He could use that to his advantage.

(Maul ignored the little voice that was starting to sound annoyingly like Tano, or perhaps Ezra, that pointed out that he had been little better than Sidious’ slave once. He was a darksider, he didn’t need weaknesses like sympathy.)

“It’s no surprise. Hutt’s run the crime empire in the outer rim. Of course they’ll use glorified slave labor for legitimate businesses too. Does Jango know all this?”

Si Treemba shrugged. “We thought you would know. He is your guardian, isn’t he?”

Maul curled his lip. “I need no guardian, and I am no Mandalorian.”

“Ah. We are sorry. We had heard that Mandalorians were fond of children.”

“I’m not a child,” he snapped irritably. “But you are not wrong. They’ll adopt anything that moves if given the change.”

“I heard Mandalorians were killers for hire, a violent race that tried to conquer the galaxy,” Kenobi said quietly.

Maul snorted. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Mandalorian isn’t a race. It’s a creed. Anyone who swears the Resol'nare is Mandalorian. I haven’t, and he hasn’t adopted me, so I’m not a mandalorian.”

“You are a simple zabrak?” Si Treemba said dubiously.

Maul flashed him his sharp, gap toothed grin.

“Not hardly. I am a-” dark sider, crime lord, warrior, assassin, “Nightbrother.”

Si Treemba grimaced. “You should keep yourself hidden from the Hutts then, Maul. We understand that Nightbrothers are very prized on the black market.”

Kenobi looked ill. He pushed the rest of his plate towards Maul, who had no qualms finishing the bird. Perfectly at ease, he kept talking while he ripped the flesh apart with his sharp teeth. He was still getting used to the feeling of his eye-tooth being missing. Zabrak had a few extra teeth than humans, but his hadn’t even started to come back in, leaving a fleshing gap in his mouth that he kept worrying with the tip of his tongue. It tasted faintly like blood even though it had stopped bleeding some time ago.

“I’m aware. The Nightsisters breed us to be strong and resilient, among other things,” Savage hadn’t enjoyed telling him about their homeland, but Maul had learned on his own. He learned much on his own after the rise of the Empire, about the sith and the Nightsisters both. Some of it was useful. Most of it would have had Kenobi pale and puking if he knew what his people were capable of. “Slavers from Rattatak tried to steal me once, for a warlord there,” he added idly.

“And you escaped?!” Si Treemba stared at him in shock. “We know Rattatak is a dangerous place. They have gladiator tournaments and many civil wars.”

“It wasn’t that hard. There was only a small force, and I was not alone for it.”

Maul looked down at the bones on the plate. Wasn’t Ventress on Rattatak now? Or if she wasn’t she would be soon. Maul wasn’t even certain she’d been born yet. Or would be, if he arrived on Dathomir before she was born. He could not promise the survival of all the Nightsisters if his brothers were not in top shape. Talzin may or may not have been his mother, but he would not allow harm to his brothers go unpunished.

How much would that change? How involved in the galactic plan had Ventress been a part of? She had briefly ruled Rattatak, before being made an apprentice to Dooku, who was in turn an apprentice to Sidious. Had that happened yet? Was Dooku still a jedi master?

Time travel was just one headache after the other.

“Still. We think it is very impressive. There are many brave people on this ship,” Si Treemba said with a small smile. Kenobi returned it weakly. Maul tried not to roll his eyes.

Si Treemba was far too easily impressed.

Kenobi too. Shouldn’t the jedi have prepared him better for this?

In fact, shouldn’t the jedi have sent him with an actual guardian, instead of on his own? Jinn certainly didn’t count. The man was much more useless than Maul had initially thought. He’d respected him for his fighting prowess, and for raising a jedi as good at fighting as Kenobi was, but how much credit did Jinn actually deserve, if Kenobi was here on his own?

“We should tell the others that you found the thermocoms,” Kenobi suggested.

“I already told Jango.”

He’d looked exasperated by Maul going off and doing investigating on his own, but hadn’t scolded him in front of Clat’Ha and Jinn. Even if he had, he wasn’t Maul’s father. Maul owed him a small debt, but that was all.

That was all.

“Oh.”

Maul eyed Kenobi speculatively. “Why aren’t you training to become a knight?” he asked suddenly, the question that had been bothering him for hours. Surely nothing Maul had done would change Kenobi’s life up until this point. Which meant that his Kenobi, the one he’d fought for decades, had had this happen to him too. He’d been sent away from the temple. He’d been assigned a farming job. And somehow he had returned to the temple, made a master out of Jinn, and become a powerful duelist as well.

Kenobi jerked back like Maul had come at him with a knife instead of a simple question. Maul could taste Kenobi’s disappointment, fear, and insecurity. And there, at the center of it all, was anger. Maul had gotten him angry before. Enraged over the death of his loved ones. This was a different kind of anger.

Maul carefully prodded at Kenobi’s mental shields. They weren’t as strong as they would be in the future, and Maul had to be mindful. His own shields were still ragged and being built back up, but he would need more time to get them back in shape.

Maul hid a grin. Kenobi looked away from him, down at the table, and fiddled with his sleeve cuffs.

“I would rather not talk about it,” he said quietly. “The temple decided that I wasn’t fit for- for the role of a knight. That I would be better suited to serve in other ways.”

“As a farmer.” Maul said dubiously.

“Yes,” the word came out sour on his tongue, “The agricorps are an important, honorable way to serve the galaxy.”

Kenobi’s declaration sounded utterly hollow. Maul propped his chin on his hand and his elbow on the table with a ‘thump’.

“Nearly everyone needs food to live,” Maul conceded. “But you don’t want to be a farmer, do you little jedi?”

Kenobi shook his head miserably.

“No.”

Maul watched Kenobi squeeze his eyes shut, his face flushing under his freckles, before he drew his shoulders back and sat up straighter. His expression smoothed, at least a little. He hadn’t perfected his sabacc face yet.

“But it was decided by people wiser than I am. And it was my own fault so-”

“So here you are.”

“So here I am.”

Si Treemba, who had been watching the pair quietly, piped up. “We are glad you are here, Obi Wan. We are proud to be your friend.”

That, at least, got a smile out of Kenobi.

“Thank you, Si Treemba. And thank you too, Maul.” He must had seen Maul’s confusion. “For helping us. You didn’t have to.”

Maul huffed at him. “Of course I didn’t have to. But I’m stuck on this ship with the rest of you. If war breaks out it might be inconvenient.”

The pair looked at eachother, then at Maul, and started laughing quietly.

Maul stared at them blankly.

He hadn’t been joking!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Maul really needed to find a place that was private, where he wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone.

He was getting tired of only having a blaster and a knife. He wanted his lightsaber back, and unlike jedi he didn’t need to waste his time exploring some overglorified ice cave to get one. He could make his own crystals, and he had his whole life.

His original crystal, the very first one he’d ever made, had been made from necessity. He’d been sent to kill a reclusive jedi master, Siolo Ur Manka. He hadn’t been able to, and when he was forced to flee he drew upon a design he’d found in his masters sith holocron. A blue print left from the weapon of Darth Zannah, Bane’s apprentice and an unbeatable combatant.

It took him four days to properly craft the crystals, two for each one. He had entered a deep meditation, one that almost killed him with dehydration. He’d been sustained by the darkside and his own feelings. In the end he had used the trick of the second blade to run Manka through.

That lightsaber had served him well until he’d lost it after his duel with Sidious on Mandalore. Now, surrounded by hostility and in the presence of jedi, he felt its absence much more acutely than he had on Orsis. It’s weight had always been a comfort on his hip. Even in those years lost to madness he had kept it with him in a box in his scrap cave.

He wished, sometimes, that he had taken Sidious up on his offer to name it.

“It, like myself, is nothing more than a tool in your fist. It is undeserving of the honor of a name. Let it be nothing more than what it is. An instrument of murder, and nameless.”

Still true. Maul was an instrument for murder, an accumulator of power, but it was under his own authority now. Not Sidious’.

His name was his own, whether his mother had given it to him or Sidious had bestowed it upon him, he took it and made it his.

Maul.

Now, years later, Maul had learned how to make a lightsaber crystal in less time than two days. He only needed half of a day to make one now, and a furnace to provide heat to the raw materials.

Those materials, raw minerals and stones, were easy to find on a mining ship. A furnace would be easy too, for the same reason. Miner’s kept small ones with them for any number of reasons, and ships themselves usually had very hot engine’s he could utilize.

The problem came with the face that Maul couldn’t find a moment of peace.

A strange thing for a darksider to seek. Sith did not seek peace, but Maul required privacy at the very least to do this, or he would out himself to both jedi and Fett as well.

He was not interested in that at all. Too many complications.

Anything he needed to build the ‘saber itself was on the ship too. He’d made a small bag of pieces he could use. Spare pieces of mining equipment, ship parts, bits of weapons he’d taken the liberty of removing from the whiphids, would all come together to make a perfectly functional lightsaber.

While Maul wouldn't be able to conceal his saber in a cane anymore, Jarrus and Ezra were wonderfully creative. When Maul had had his fake legs he’d kept his saber in one of them for a time, before he was old enough to warrant a cane.

Now neither of those were options.

Maul ended up patted Jango on the shoulder at breakfast.

“I’m going to go sit in the vents,” he said, the truth. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Jango narrowed his eyes at Maul.

“Are you… okay?”

Maul was fairly certain that he meant mentally or emotionally.

“I’m fine. Don’t wait up.”

Jango caught his shoulder before he could leave completely.

“Maul,” he said, his voice gentling again, “If there’s anything you need, you can tell me. I’ll do my best to help you.”

Maul really didn’t understand him. Maul was no mandalorian, and he really could handle himself, even if Jango didn’t understand that. Jango had no obligation to him. Maul was just some rabid zabrak that had fallen out of a vent and tried to strangle him. He’d known him less than a week, and already he wanted to help him recover his brothers.

He wanted to adopt him for Force sake!

Against his will Maul felt some tension bleed out of him. Jango was genuinely concerned, but also amused. Others might not have given him the same freedom that Jango did. But Mandalorian children were independent too, if not as independent as Maul was. He’d been self reliant for so long.

“I am fine. It isn’t something to worry about…. Well. The Jedi might worry about it,” he admitted, tilting his head.

Jango’s mouth twitched towards a smile. “Don’t get into any trouble you can’t get out of.”

Maul snorted at him.

“Give me some credit,” he chided.

Jango patted his head, mindful of his horns. “Of course. You could take the whole Galaxy by storm if you set your mind to it, couldn't you?”

Maul was aware he was teasing. That didn’t stop the vicious grin from curling on his face.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said again, and left Jango in their shared room. The man was reluctant to eat outside of it, or remove his helmet anywhere on the ship. Maul doubted he was one of the more hardcore Mandalorian’s who never took it off unless in the presence of family, so it must have been healthy caution.

Maul made sure no one else was looking before he crawled into the vents. One good thing about this ship being so dilapidated was it made it easy for a small zabrak to get around unseen.

He made his way to the engine room.

The engineers were keeping a decent eye on things, but they missed Maul picking his way to the sublight engine. While the hyperdrive was engaged it wouldn’t be used to propel them, but it would still be kept running so it could take over in case they dropped out of hyperspace unexpectedly.

Maul searched until he found the hatch that led to the firing cells. They helped dispurse the heat created by the engine inside, to keep it from melting under the sheer force of fission reaction that happened inside. If they were out of alignment the engine would overheat and explode.

Maul used the Force to keep the heat inside when he pulled the the hatch open, and used it again to guide the particles inside the firing cells. With part of his focus on keeping the raw minerals, small quartz, carbon dust, and simple coal, in the center of the firing cell Maul scampered back into the vents, out of sight.

Then he focused.

Trusting the unrest of the ship to hide his workings from Jinn, and trusting the Kenobi was too caught up in his own turmoil to notice either Maul closed his eyes and focused.

Piece by piece he pulled the pieces together and drew heat around them.

Maul reached into the ocean of his being. Deeper and deeper, past the darkest parts of his being, until he found the harsh center where lava made of rage bubbled lazily. Waiting for his use.

Maul gripped that heat and pulled.

Anger twisted in his grasp and steadily wrapped around the components of his crystal. Layer by layer, he added more of himself and more of his anger. Anger as jedi, for never coming for him, for discarding Kenobi’s potential. Anger at Dooku and Vader for taking his place. Anger at Sidious for a life time of torment and pain.

Anger at himself, for not taking his life into his own hands the first time. For not saving his brother, or Kilindi or Daleen. For failing his men. For failing his own ambitions, and letting himself be struck down by the same man twice.

Maul breathed in, and along with that anger came threads of something else.

Maul had always drawn on his anger and ambition to drive him, but something else seeped into his mind.

Kilindi. Daleen. Savage. Kast. People he had failed once. People he would not fail again.

His hearts twisted hard in his chest. Never again would he allow himself to fail his people. They were his. They belonged to him.

Their lives were his. Their future was his. Their goals and dreams belonged to him. His to ensure, his to defend, his to push them towards.

His.

Slowly, inside the firing cell, the components started to split into two distinct crystals.

Offense and defense. Anger and determination. Vengeance and loyalty.

Sweat beaded across his brow and the heat increased.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall set me free.

Maul poured himself into the firing cell. Each sliver of stone fitted together and sealed with the fires of his being.

Piece by piece.

Maul forced them together, under the head and pressure of his anger and need. A new heat wrapped tightly with the rest as a part of him he’d half forgotten existed cracked open and bled into his crystals.

Gold eyes snapped open and he sucked in a ragged breath.

The engineers had changed. He didn’t know how long he’d been in that fiery state. Maul waved shaking hands at the engineers, who had the sudden idea to go get caf while he stumbled messily into the engine room.

His hands were tremblings.

Maul barely had the energy to open the valve and float his crystals out into his waiting palm. He barely noticed how hot they were when they dropped into his black tattoed hand.

Two crystals. One red, the other scarlet. Just a shade of difference, but enough to catch his eye.

Maul carefully pocketed the two crystals and stumbled back to the vents. He was utterly exhausted, physically and mentally, but he felt more stable to have the stones against his thigh.

Jango came back to the room to find Maul passed out on his bunk, sleeping like the dead. It was the most relaxed he had seen the boy since he’d been nearly comatose on their way to Coruscant.

If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest he might have panicked and dragged him to the medical bay.

As it was he settled on the bunk on the other side of their small room and watched the boy rest. He may not know what had happened, but he knew that tension had risen high on the ship today, and he had the inexplicable feeling Maul was responsible for it.

He would have let him sleep, but at that exact moment the ship lurched and alarms sounded, blaring red lights through the room.

They were under attack.

#Darth Maul #Maul #darth maul time travel #Star Wars #star wars the prequel trilogy #jango fett #obi wan kenobi

7 notes · View notes

oveliagirlhaditright · 4 years ago

Text

Because of @roselevesque wondering what kind of trouble a Lawlight child would get into... here are some ridiculous headcanons I’ve come up with, about Arya Stark from “A Song of Ice and Fire” being Light and L’s adopted daughter in some weird AU.

So, Light and L adopt Arya for an A+ reason to start with (I say sarcastically. But they really do come to love her and vice versa. Even though they’re sometimes shit at being parents, and Arya kind of shows it).

Like, she’s some orphan that they meet after some case. I imagine the “Death Note version of Cersei(?)” is some political leader somewhere, and killed Arya’s father who was a threat to her. But L and Light were actually beginning to suspect Cersei of foul play a long time ago. So they finally bring her in for questioning--and Arya with her, who’s Cersei’s “ward”--and Arya’s all like, “I don’t like Cersei.” She didn’t buy the Stockholm-Syndrome thing the woman was trying to do with her for a second.

Light and L then decide they like this child.

L may even get the idea to have Arya judge everyone’s character from now on, as she seems good at it. And Light and L grow attached to this kid, which is part of the reason why they decide to adopt her. But the real one? L: “I just think we’re in a rut, Light-kun. We don’t do anything new anymore. It’s very boring. Why don’t we try something new, like adopting a child?” Light: “We are not adopting a child just because we’re bored, Ryuzaki!” L gives him a look. Light: “...Okay. Maybe we’re adopting a child...”

I should probably mention that this is an AU where Light gave up the Death Note and being Kira (somewhat. Though part of him is biding his time, hoping he can get his perfect world back. And L knows this. Light remembers everything, because he has a microscopic piece of the Death Note in his watch).

Light and L decided to not tell Arya that Light was Kira--as a whole, the world doesn’t know Light Yagami was Kira--but Arya eventually finds out. More on that later.

I feel Arya loves both parents pretty equally. But she may slllllllllllllllllightly prefer Light. Just because there are times that L isn’t understanding at all. He doesn’t get, for instance, why someone calling Ayra “horserace” hurt her feelings, because it’s kind of true. L is very much with the “never forget who you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you” mentality of Tyrion Lannister.

Arya may even have a hard time gravitating around L, because he has a hard time talking. But so does Arya, somewhat. So perhaps they actually bond over that? -shrugs-

But L is good at trying to cheer Arya up, at times, by silly things like sweets (even though he was once miffed at her for not liking lemon cake. But then was okay with her again for loving tea) and swivel chairs. He was also the one who wanted to buy her a pony... or a wolf (since Arya wanted one) And Light had to tell him “no”.

And both L and Light are A-okay with Arya wanting to learn sword play and horseback riding.

L also probably taught Arya capoeira.

And eventually, Arya does help him with some of L’s cases, since she is pretty sharp (they’re more L’s cases than Light’s, since Light is sort of on “probation”).

There were also times that Arya would come to L, worrying that Light was Kira--and he would just kind of look at her gravely--before Arya realized she maybe agreed with Kira.

L is the one who goes to most of the parent-teacher-conferences. Because one time, Arya got in trouble for punching a kid in the face. And Light said, “What? She absolutely should have punched that creep, and I’m glad she did. She should do it again.”

Light’s probably the one who tries the hardest to give Arya a normal, happy lifestyle and everything she needs.

He’s also the one who brushes her hair, when Arya refuses to do that. (Speaking of... there are definitely times when L admits privately to Light, “Light-kun, what were we thinking in adopting a girl? We know nothing about them.” And Light responds with, “For your information, I’m great with girls!”) He’s not. And he might even somewhat resent Arya being such a tomboy at first, but he gets over it. L, however, has always loved that Arya is that.

Light’s also probably the one who realizes that Arya isn’t misogynistic? Which is hilarious, because Light can certainly be that himself. With helpful gems like, “Arya, I don’t think you actually resent female things, like embroidering--or your female peers for being good at it--but rather yourself for being bad at it. So if you want... I can try and figure it out myself and teach you, I guess.”

Also... one day when Light is reading Arya a story and she says, “They killed the slaves? They should have killed the slavers,” Light has never been more proud of her than in that moment.

Both Light and L are of the mind that if anyone ever tries to touch Arya, she should kill them dead. Light and L might actually wish that Light had kept the Death Note, so they could put in it anyone’s name who would ever harm Arya.

Eventually, Arya is separated from Light and L. Basically, it’s found out that L was “aiding and embedding Kira”, so there’s this whole coup. Some people even discover L’s identity for a crazy second (before L gets that under control again. And convinces the general public that Kira is dead, and they’re all just cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs).

And in this chaos, the family is completely torn apart. Even Light and L are away from each other for a while (and this is what stars Arya’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” journey. More on that in a minute).

L finds Light... and there may actually be some tension there for a while, because Light thinks that L should have found Arya over him.

L: “I tried to find you both, Light!” Light: “But if you had to choose... you should have put more energy into finding her, because Arya’s a hopeless child, L! I’m not!”

So, Arya’s mayhap put into this “home” where children of Kira-worshippers are tortured (it’s the closest thing I can think of for Harenhal here). And she’s deeply traumatized and fucked up by it. She escapes, and commits her first kill to do so (as a nine-year-old, no less)... and gets a taste for it.

Like A Song of Ice and Fire!Arya, she begins keeping a list of all the people she’s going to kill, and that’s the only thing that keeps her going. And like in A Song of Ice and Fire canon, she changes her name multiple times, pretends to be a boy for safer travel, etc.

During all of this, Arya has to try and come to amends with Light being Kira (as she knows now). Death Note’s version of “The Hound”, I guess, kidnaps Arya eventually to try and ransom her back to her parents (after the friend she’d made, “Gendry”, leaves her). But that doesn’t happen when Arya, perhaps, murders the Hound to get away from his abuse?

Still not entirely knowing how she feels about the “Light having been Kira, and Light and L having lied to her about it” thing, Arya might purposefully stay away from them for a while and join the “House of Black and White�� cult, that worships death... She then realizes that maybe she will drink that Kira Kool-aid.

L and Light finally find Arya after this her stay at the House of Black and White (they never gave up looking for her, and knew that she was alive because their girl is a survivor. So eventually, they probably just had to face the truth that she didn’t want to be found). And there are issues again, because Arya now knows that Light was Kira and tells him this and wishes he would be Kira again (and Light, has, like, never been happier). But L thinks he might leave both of them here... I haven’t quite figured how they work this out yet.

Maybe because while this Light is somewhat biding his time, and does still think the system is corrupt and shit, he also gave the Death Note up for a reason? Did he realize that just soullessly killing everyone wouldn’t solve everything? And is her fearful that Arya is romanticizing death so much? And the deaths of some “innocent people”, even? Like this one guard, who didn’t know what he was there for, that she killed to get out of that first torture house? There’s probably some moment where Light is honest and says what being Kira almost cost him, and then tells Arya to not be like him. And then she isn’t.

L is upset by how damaged Arya now is, of course. And that he let it happen. “I can’t believe our daughter is nine and already a murderer--and that she enjoys it--...but she only did what she had to do to survive. And I am glad she found a way to survive.”

Light: “You have to admit that you seem to be attracted to murderers, and vice versa. Maybe it’s only natural that this happened... And you have to realize that she got her affinity for changing names now from you, right?”

Some other things just off the top of my head: Light and L don’t think Gendry is good enough for Arya (until he makes her a sword? Then they sort of get it). Before then, they at least got her crush on Jaqen--if murder apparently interested her, as it would an honorable Wammy’s kid--but who was this Gendry fellow? And what kind of name was Gendry, anyway?

Sachiko loves Arya, because of course she would. Soichiro is somewhat afraid of what a child of Light and L will be like (he knows that his son was Kira), but is choosing to be hopeful and put all of his eggs into one basket, anyway. Sayu and Arya don’t get along that well (probably because of the tomboy and girly-girl thing. But they do try to be civil). And Matsuda is constantly thinking Arya’s going to be Kira 2.0, because he doesn’t want to be blindsided/betrayed again, but doesn’t say anything... But L, Light, and Arya all know Matsuda fears her, and probably laugh about it after their dinners together.

Though a part of L wants Arya to follow the “family business” and become a detective, he’s also open to any of her dreams. Arya decides she wants to travel some. That maybe she’ll be the first person to figure out what’s up with the Bermuda Triangle, and he thinks that that’s a beautiful thing. And he can’t say anything about her potentially wanting to risk her life to do it, because he risks his life for his line of work all the time, too. But eventually Arya does come home, and does probably become a detective like her parents.

The three probably have a lot of fun family outings, like to bakeries for one thing. And maybe Alaska? L is from Britain, so he’s used to the cold. And I headcanon that this Arya likes the cold, even without being from Winterfell. So one time they visit there to look at wolves or something... and enjoy not having to pay taxes (even though L doesn’t even have to worry about it. Because he’s so rich) while they’re there... This was not Light’s favorite trip, but they still got a lot of cute pictures together, with wool coats and stuff. IDK.

Edit: So, in the books, there’s this scene where Arya is put in a dress and Gendry just bursts out laughing. Because it isn’t her. That scene probably still happens. And Light and L are probably there, too, and also laugh (maybe it’s a moment where Light and L finally get the Gendry thing), because they all know it isn’t her.

Edit 2: I forgot to mention that even though Arya is a quiet introvert, somewhat (like L). She’s also very charismatic (people always love her) and a good leader (like Light).

Edit 3: Arya totally gets to the point where she can beat Light and L in fights, of course... and most people.

#long post #lawlight #I've just gone nuts. ignore me

8 notes · View notes

thecrenellations · 4 years ago

Photo

Thick as Thieves Undead-Blog, Part Two | when your liveblog wakes up to drink some broth then goes back to sleep smiling because it trusts you | my notes from reading the book for the first time, Spring 2017

Format: Page number. My ridiculous thoughts (Context???)

Part One

Chapters 6-13:

Ch. 6 - Very intense chapter in which Kamet and Costis are captured by the slavers and escape

163. Costis <3 Muscles Good looking! (wow what a way to start this post)

one hot piece of attolian manflesh ... confirmed (people would call him this on LJ! I forgot about it for several years until reading this passage)

164. omg earring swallowed!

166. amanuensis? (perennial thanks to mwt for all the vocab words)

168. shit. severed hand.

172. wtf Costis don’t kill him

173. how do you silently kill someone like that?

174. wow fuck

men dead not even breathing hard. (compare to KoA assassination)

Everyone is a monster!

176. Thieves.

Ch. 7 - Lots of good conversation, potentially symbolic animals, and a surprise Eugenides

183. Grt scene (apologies)

184. now who’s asking rude questions? (about killing people)

186. lying to him <3

ok! unreliable narrator!

wait i thought they didn’t have slaves in Attolia?!

187. “I was unappreciated” ... I’m always lonely

so cute

188. me when mwt writes: what is this blatant unabashed fanservice?

WHO IS THIS BOY?!

189. Onarkus =/= Sandy?

190. okaaay #confirmed Gen!

191. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Boots

195. he caught a snake (associated with a certain king and assumed bootboy “you viper” “you are a poisonous little snake” ... another ominous dead animal)

Is Costis’s earring for Eugenides (I was thinking of the god!)

196. a goat and a snake .... how poetic

Costis stalks goat ...

197. hmmm.... goat and hand and last trace of Nahuseresh (OMINOUS)

does Irene know her husband was a bootboy?

203. no this what? (“trouble with a maid” story exchange)

Marin?

204. he was prepared to run away??

how old was he?

well this is a lot to chew on

205. K using past tense for N

C asking about slaves killed after emperor’s death... does he know?

Ch. 8 - This road trip was going great until SOMEONE fell in a well

208. Are Taymets taller than Eddisian mountains?

210. time passing, broad and focused

212. MY Attolian

classic minor mwt characters

215. singing Costis???

216. swearing gimme a break

please don’t let the Namreen kill them later...

217. Kamet says very little of what HE did/his interactions w them!

218. wot nice cut! (“Eleven days later...”)

gods?

219. “water finds a way” a saying from Eddis? how does C know that? also brings to mind QoA weather passages

Why doesn’t Kamet ask/wonder WHY Gen wants him?

223. They’re gonna do it? They’re gonna make it? So close!

224. does Eddis have comparable irrigation engineering?

227. NO!

228. u idiot you meant to leave him before!!!

at least look in the freaking well!!!

229. Kamet’s Face! wow he’s really in shock (at weapons shop)

230. SUCH FAMILIAR PHRASING! birds :( (I was caught up in the birds and completely missed the spilled wine!)

Ch. 9 - Retrieving Costis from the well, Ennikar appears again

231. “You’re certain he’s dead?” nice CUT

this time i heard him say?

was he talking?

232. thoughtfully tensing his lower lip?

who tf is this guy - another god?

mm grr I’m Kamet I have no friends

ok so he’s what’s his face Enkidu?

heroes walk the streets

234. AAH why

say his fricking name?!

god you’re so bad @ this

236. THIEF

237. FRIEND OMG

238. omg so good flour!

SO CUTE I WOULD LOVE TO SEE THIS

239. OMG Costis. Nice. (Costis tries the Gen method of deflecting concern)

241. “as if we were close friends traveling together???”

242. Costis ... knows a hero when he sees one?

But ... delighted? not horrified?

Ch. 10 - Hanging out with Godekker

247. SO MANY HELPFUL STRONG MEN (Enter Godekker)

249. PAY THE FASTENER

253. god so snarky

254. Kamet’s chops

fuck how is this book going to end???

256. You’ll never feel safe ... Gen + Relius’s fears?

258. Fuh!

259. Ok do i have hope?

he doesn’t have Tethys lesions does he?

263. aahhhh

Costis trusts him!!!! <3

aaahhh

264. Noli? where did he get that from?

smarrrt

265. yeah u did tell Godekker your name!

wtf is this god advice!

268. The So, so, so count in this book is OUT OF CONTROL!!! It may be a record.

Ch. 11 - Kamet’s stressful voyage

270. Lol Sophos is better @ assuming Attolian ships are there...

272. yesssss earring GOOD

274. yeah sure Kamet you still haven’t left!

I did not want to leave the Attolian!

276. watching Costis

277. my heart’s gonna break don’t leave, Kamet!

278. “as if the gods had cursed my wandering feet” nice. also iambic pentameter

also laying it on a bit thick there

280. Sea in the Middle of the World!

he’s so scared though. :(

the fuckin nerve!

Costis + Gen and their s3cr3t sign

281. nooooo it’s ok to lie, it’s endearing in this world!

also Costis seriously why do you think he would be ok w/ this!

I’m coming home! (to Attolia. In cursive, see image at top of post.)

282. war?

Ch. 12 - Dramatic times in Attolia

284. “I thought we were I + E” :o

shit where is his honor now (”I would have let you go”)

285. hey there Teleus...

my heart

285. yeah but C probs knows all those guards ... he thought punching Gen was the most embarrassed he’d been... (in retrospect, I don’t think he was embarrassed AT ALL during this scene. Costis fight mode was activated.)

yeah I mean she has given us the Magus all this time! (reflecting on the fact that Costis’s name has yet to appear)

286. Yesss angry Costis poking Teleus!

This is Something to imagine

287. THIS IS REALLY BAD (”the queen”)

OK...

holy shit

when is this???

she’s not THAT old!

288. THE room? (“filled with all the horrors I had fled in Ianna-Ir”)

289. 298 pages until this! (“Costis”)

289. Please stay alive Irene!

On some level I do feel that my childhood is ruined w the confirmation they banged. :( Gen is like 20! (Listen. I love them. I'm very happy for them. This is not exactly breaking news. 20-year-olds, and this one in particular, can obviously do anything they want. This note brought to you by me being Too Ace For This and having been both younger and older than him since first reading the books a very long time ago...)

292. Gggennn

293. Is this court respect a recent development? WHAT DID I MISS? (they watched him fight the entire guard, is what, c’mon me. Costis hit him on the head with an amphora.)

yeah we get it people underestimate Eugenides

OH MY COSTIS

294. is this Annux by any chance?

Boys ur making a scene!

King of Attolia vs of Attolians?

295. very ... dramatic

this is ... a private convo?

297. yup he’s Eddis’s best stalker!

Ch. 13 - Everything else that happens in this book!

298. “Do they know?” yeah wtf Gen

it’s like the new “and every1 was naked” (in KoA)

“and every1 was watching”

300. Gen: Yo Helen can u bring me that one coin?

Helen: sure. no prob

301. “Poor Costis”

yeah Melheret always sneaks up

302. “You’ve come from the prisons, not how an honored guest is usually received” UM ACTUALLY...

305. Kamet.... (crying in his room)

306. “the kind of Attolia sitting on the footboard” oh my god yeah classic

307. Irene comes thru with the stats

Was Kamet at the battle at Ephrata?

310. talk with the kitchen staff good god i would like to know. So bizarre.

lol toting around an ambassador all nite? What would Teleus say?

while Irene’s sick ...

WTF will Costis do now?

312. names ... Kamet ... Ormentiedes?

Creeeeeeeeepy Relius (probably about “there are some questions you might answer for us” but possibly about the cutting up and feeding to wolves comment)

314. business arrangement uh sure

Yeah ok write it all down

316. talking to Costis?

(a note: the version I read was an advance reader copy, and the only major difference was that it did NOT include the scene with “the young Erondites”)

318. Attolia smiled at him!

anything worth doing is worth overdoing lol

319. alternate readings of poem?

322. orange trees!

cabbages!

324. sent Onarkus away RECENTLY???

Is Brinna Sandy!

Seriously.

Cooks r weird (thinking about the entry for cooks in the Tough Guide to Fantasyland)

326. the magus!

an ACHING void

oh I know I’ll just GO!

poor Gen can’t have any friends...

331. they have duffles in Attolia

and with Attolian duffles, the story ends! Thanks for reading, feedback is welcome. I promise I have more developed thoughts about this book. For another weird journey, listen to my Thick as Thieves playlist, maybe.

#this half is truly a mess.#queen's thief #thick as thieves #mwt #something i

16 notes · View notes

thesummerstorms · 5 years ago

Text

Rev Recaps Hard Contact (Chapter 14)

CW: typical violence, hint of off-screen murder to happen. pretty light in this chapter, comparatively.

TL;DR Recap: Uthan reveals that, actually, she’s been lying to Hokan about how much danger her virus still poses to non clones, and he expresses the desire to kill her. Omega, Jinart, and Etain strategize. Hokan murders Guta-Nay.

Beginning Kal Count: 25 Ending Kal Count: 26

We open with Uthan and Hokan. Uthan is pissed because she and her staff have been moved back and forth more than once for Hokan’s ruse. Hokan is fretting while he looks at the plans for her facility and its defensive drawbacks, but convinces himself he’s fooled the enemy enough they’ll attack the villa anyway. Uthan wants to evacuate her work, but with no communications and a Republic ship in orbit, Hokan decides they’re digging in. He challenges Uthan, because she was the one who designed the facility in the first place...

which is when she finally admits it was designed to her worry about things getting out.

I mean, I really don’t know what you expect when you’re guarding a scientist who’s still in very early stages of creating a biogenic weapon. If it was more targeted than this, they would have already rolled it out. But we established already that Hokan doesn’t really have a grasp on how viruses work. Still, he doesn’t take it well.

“The fact that he was dealing with a woman was the only thing that made him hesitate” UGH. At this point I have to decide that Traviss is purposefully writing him as a sexist, if only for my own sanity. And to be fair, she has had Omega say multiple times now that they have no problems shooting old women.

I will say Uthan has some guts. She’s shaking because she’s afraid and that’s sensible, but she absolutely doesn’t back down. I like a lot of what this character could have been, had Traviss not later thrown it out a window.

Also, Hokan is going to have to eventually find a solution to being disappointed that isn’t just shooting the nearest staff member. Manager from hell. Hokan and Uthan continue to spar verbally for a bit about the fact that they’re sitting on a metaphorical bomb and that he wants to keep her separate from her staff and the virus to spread out the chances of losing the project. Then the officer who Hokan had kill the last guy who he disliked comes in, having brought in Guta-Nay as a prisoner. It’s against orders, but Hokan decides to hear him out.

We cut to the next scene, which is from Niner’s point of view, and has lots of little Dar/Etain foreshadowing bits I like. The squad, Jinart, and Etain are planning their next move. At the moment they’re trying to decide what to do with their gear because despite bringing it all with them, it’s become more than they can carry. Atin is very insistent about his Trandoshan weapons.

Atin, love...

Niner is fretting about only having the four commandos to carry all the equipment through tight spaces and accidentally getting stuck. Etain insists she share the burden, but Niner is skeptical and privately asks Darman for an opinion over the squad’s helmet link.

They go on to talk about plans A and B, what’s possible if they can set off an explosion in a villa versus if they have to do a split attack. Etain notes that both plans sound difficult and someone tells her the odds were never good. She also is worried that she won’t be of use against the droids, which is when Atin-

This is the moment that gets us Etain and her LJ-50 (tiny general, massive rifle) for the rest of the series, and honestly, my heart. Admittedly, from what I remember of the Republic Commando game and can confirm from the Wiki, and LJ-50 concussion rifle and the Trandoshan array blaster (technically speaking a Accelerated Charged Particle Array Gun) aren’t the same. The LJ-50 is, well, a concussion rifle. The array blaster? Is a shot gun.

LJ 50, which honestly looks weird in this picture:

Array Blaster:

BUT, we also will get this quote in Triple Zero:

So... I think maybe it’s a continuity error? But any which way, I’d forgotten that the “very competent gentleman” in this particular case was actually Atin. And you know what? Fuck it. Next time I have a chance to work a friendship between them into a fic, I’m doing it. Also... I wonder if Darman ever brings this up with Atin later, while he’s watching his girlfriend haul around a rifle that’s almost as big as she is.

Okay, okay, I promise, I’m moving on from Etain and her giant guns armaments rifles & shotguns.

They keep talking plans, and Fi is pretty dismissive of Etain. But to be fair, he doesn’t have the context Dar does to understand the real scope of what she’s trying to offer. Meanwhile, Niner is just trying to keep him from digging a hole with his mouth. Attempt One:

And attempt two:

Niner is gonna spend the rest of these books being the responsible but aggrieved big brother desperately hoping his squad will stay out of trouble, or at least be polite and well-dressed. In this moment, he just wants Fi not to get them in trouble with the Jedi. I kind of love it.

Jinart agrees to smuggle some explosives in her pouch into the villa, so they all head that way back together up to a certain point to prep. Etain hangs close to Darman the entire way, which worries Niner.

I mean, my shipper goggles for Etain and Dar aside, it’s rational that she stick the closest to Darman and feel the friendliest to him, since they’ve spent a few days together and saved each other a few times and she only just met everyone else the night before? Also, Kal Count just increased to 26, a lot of Niner’s worries about saying the wrong thing to a Jedi are explained, and I wonder how the Kaminoans felt about Kal undermining their Jedi-are-demigods campaign.

Niner spends most of this chapter worrying about Etain as a complication in some way, shape, or form and talking about her behind her back. I’m prickly on Etain’s behalf because I’m biased, so I don’t like the slight conditional to Dar’s defense here - “Physically, anyway”- but I acknowledge it makes sense plot wise, and that Etain hasn’t had a chance to prove herself to the rest of Omega yet. And I kind of love Dar defending her with “If she drops, it’ll be because she’s dead.” Atin is the designated stubborn one, but Etain is also ori’atin’la.

Jinart heads off with the explosives, Niner starts to break out the food and wants to ask Etain’s permission/opinion on using up all their rations now rather than saving them for a time after the mission when they’ll be too busy or dead to need them, But Darman cuts him off.

Again, Darman and Etain have gotten to know and read one another pretty quickly. Niner is, as always, a skeptic.

We cut back to Hokan.

Hokan: *is about to commit brutal murder*

Also Hokan: *is distracted wondering how lightsabers work*

Guta-Nay proceeds to feed the false intel to Hokan that the squad gave him about having two squads of commandos and a Jedi who are all targeting the villa. The Trandoshan slaver accompanying him volunteers to help so that he can go back to selling off the Qiilurans, and Hokan accepts. Hokan asks if Guta-Nay knows anything else about the commandos and isn’t expecting much, except then Guta-Nay describes the clones armor, which Hokan takes as a description of Mandalorian armor.

Hokan is not thrilled by the revelation about the clones, and starts to question some of the bullshit Uthan has fed him about them being “docile” and generally dependent and mindless. But one of his officers suggests that as there’s a Jedi with the squad, maybe the Jedi is the tactician. More importantly, the squad has just screwed their own plan.

Rather than being convinced they’ll attack the villa, Hokan decides that if they have enough forces, they’ll definitely attack the villa and the facility both. Work just got harder for Omega. Finally, as promised, Hokan kills Guta-Nay with Fulier’s lightsaber, which sets us up for Chapter 15.

I hate Chapter 15. It’s my least favorite in the book.

#Republic Commando #RepComm #Rev Recaps RepComm #Etain Tur-Mukan #Darman Skirata #Niner Skirata #Ghez Hokan #Qail Ovolot Uthan #Hard Contact #Atin Skirata #Fi Skirata

7 notes · View notes

spectraspecs-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Kashyyyk - Chapter 78 (Carth)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 77. Chapter 79.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

——————

“...Hey…” Ow, my head. “Hey, Rena, wake up.”

Carth? How did Carth get here? When? I open my eyes, about to ask him that, but he’s leaning over me, close. His eyes are sparkly, have they always been brown? I thought they were… well, I didn’t know what color they were, actually. “Holy crap, your eyes are gorgeous,” I say.

He grins at me. “I’m glad you’re all right, you got smacked on the head pretty good,” he says.

“Making this the second time you’ve been there after I get hit on the head,” I say, “Starting to be a pattern with you.”

He laughs a little. “Well, when it happens a third time, then I guess I’ll just have to marry you, huh?”

He’s joking, but it cuts a bit. And in my state - lying on the floor with a bump on my head - I can’t take a cut like that. I’m trying not to be too sensitive here and be like “oh, he thinks a relationship with me is a joke,” because that’s not what he meant by it at all. Just move on from it, Rena. “How did you get here, anyway? Bastila?” I ask.

He helps me stand up. “Yeah, although Juhani already knew something was up. A lot of the Czerka dockworkers just… vanished.”

“And that bothered you, I’m guessing.”

“You guess right. So when Bastila showed up and told us about Freyyr, we knew exactly what was going on,” Carth says. Then he says, “Well, not exactly. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Mission brings over a crate and Zaalbar hands her a cushion to put on it, for me to sit down on. “How long was I out?”

“Well, I know we woke you up, what, maybe five minutes after we got here?” he says.

“Correction -” HK says - HK’s here - “Master, you regained consciousness seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds after our arrival.”

“I stand corrected,” Carth says, minorly annoyed by the droid, “How’s the bump on your head? Is there anything I can--?”

“No, thanks, Carth,” I say quickly. Not ready for that.

“You got it,” he says, not offended at all thankfully. He stands and goes to another part of the room.

Jolee looks at me and raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Don’t look at me like that,” I send to him, “I’ll deal with it in my own time.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You don’t have to. Jedi, remember?”

He shakes his head a little, smiling at me. But he doesn’t say anything else, or send anything else.

Freyyr, who had been kneeling over his dead elder son - I obviously didn’t see Chuundar die, but I’m willing to bet that sword wound in his torso came from Bacca’s Blade, by Freyyr’s hand. Anyway, Freyyr, who had been kneeling over Chuundar’s body, finally stands. “We have done it,” he says, “I am saddened that it had to come to this, but I couldn't let it continue.” He now turns to Zaalbar. “Zaalbar, my son,” he says, “I am truly sorry. You have suffered a great shame. I was blind. I have no excuse.”

“I can forgive, Father,” Zaalbar says without hesitation, “I have learned a lot over the years.” They embrace, and Freyyr leans into it. Carth leaves. I think his mind is still on his own son. He’s hurting.

“Nice to see some good come out of all this,” Jolee says.

“What will you do about the slavers, Freyyr?” I ask.

“We will fight them,” he says, “It will be difficult, but I swear they won't take another one of my people without bloodshed.” Hell, yeah! “I'll send quick-climbers to other villages and try to rally a defense. We must guard against this ever happening again. You will be the last outsider welcome here for a very long time. That is a change for the better, I think.”

“What about you, Big Z?” Mission asks, “Are you… are you sticking around here, or…?”

“Returning home has lifted a great weight from my mind…” he says, “…but it has been painful as well.”

“You have a place by my side, Zaalbar,” Freyyr says, “I would be honored if you would take it.”

“I… I can't,” he says. Mission relaxes, relieved. She wouldn’t say it, but she’s not ready to be without Zaalbar yet. She’s lost her home and she barely has her brother. And now we’re wandering the galaxy looking for Star Maps? She needs some stability in the form of her best friend. If he wanted to go, she wouldn’t stop him, but she’d hurt. “Not yet,” Zaalbar continues, “I'm just getting used to being free… and not just from the slavers. And I have a life-debt. Now that my life is truly my own again, honoring that agreement is all the more important.”

Freyyr beams, addressing the other Wookiees in the room. “Listen to my son!” he says, “His insight humbles me.” He turns to us. “Take that good judgment with you and all the planets will come to revere Wookiee wisdom.”

I stand, leaning against the wall - I’m still a little unsettled and off-balance. “I think it’s about time we left,” I say, “You’ve got a society to reform, we’ve got a galaxy to save, we’re both busy people.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “but before you go, Rena, I must see to your reward. You have done us a great service. Kashyyyk will remember you well past your lifetime.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” I say. Not even trying to be humble, I would have done this anyway, or tried my damnedest at the least.

Freyyr shakes his head. “Because of you, I am reinstated as Chieftain. We will return to the old ways, when honor and trust of kin ruled above all else. I'm not sure there is a reward that accurately reflects the value of what you have done. Our world is changed because of you.”

“I have a request, Father,” Zaalbar says, “I have thought about it a great deal. I would like Bacca's Sword.”

Whoa, that’s a lot to ask! But, I mean, Bacca changed Wookiee society, Zaalbar’s just done the same. “That would be fitting, I think.” I don’t want a reward anyway, but this seems important to him.

“Well…” Freyyr says slowly, “That is quite a request. I am tempted to say no but… perhaps I should consider it an investment. Zaalbar, do you understand what this will mean? It is the legacy of our people, held by chieftains… and future chieftains.”

“I understand,” Zaalbar says solemnly, “I want this, Father. I’ll bring it back one day.”

“I have no doubt,” he says. He takes the hilt from Chuundar’s body and addresses the Wookiees in the room. “Let the two halves of the blade be made one,” he says, joining the halves, “My son shall hold Bacca's Sword.” The Wookiees cheer and raise their swords in victory. We’ve just reunited a people.

-------

The revolution happens quickly, and we have to fight our way back to the ship. Non-Czerka merchant ships are pillaging the Czerka stores, only just making it back to their ships. One or two try to mug us, but Canderous and HK don’t stand for that. HK takes point, going in front of us, while Canderous brings up the rear so no one comes behind us. Not only looters, but there’s still kinraths on the path, and Czerka grunts trying to get out alive. And largely failing. None of the other pilots want to take them on, those that could got on Czerka shuttles and left already, so everyone else is sitting ducks. The Wookiees are taking care of most of them, and they’re right behind us sweeping the docks. By the time we get back to the Hawk, the Wookiees have taken the docks and there aren’t any Czerka people left within eyeshot.

Still, we need to get out of here - Czerka will not let this planet or this operation go so easily. They’ll be back with a vengeance. They’ll lose, but they’ll be back. I follow Carth up to the cockpit. “Set course for Tatooine, I don’t want to be here when Czerka shows back up.”

“Can’t say I find that an appealing concept, either,” he says, “Not too eager to go back to Tatooine, though.”

“Just a stopping off point, get there tach glands to Griff like he wanted,” I say. I sit down in the copilot’s chair, and turn towards him. I wait until he’s done inputting the hyperspace coordinates before I talk to him. “You okay?” I ask him, “You seemed upset a little when Freyyr and Zaalbar were talking.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he sighs. He takes a deep breath. “No, I’m not, but it’s fine.”

“You sure?” I say. He doesn’t… feel right. Force-wise. “You seem kind of far away. I figured the father-son thing had you thinking about Dustil”

“No, not Dustil, not really,” he says. He sighs again, and sets the ship to autopilot before turning to me. “I told you my wife died four years ago. I… I've just been trying to remember what she looked like.” Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. “It shouldn't be so difficult. I can remember things about her… things she did. The way she smiled, what her hair smelled like… our last fight. Just not her face. I try to hold it in my head but it's gone. Is-is that strange?” He pauses, and looks up at my face. He must see something in my expression, because his expression changes and he says, “Maybe I shouldn't be talking to you about this.”

Well, I’m not about to lie to him, it doesn’t feel right. “It… does feel a little odd to discuss her, I admit.”

“Ahh, I'm sorry,” he says, “I shouldn't have mentioned it, even if you asked. I just find you, I don't know… easy to talk to.”

“But if you want my honest opinion, I don’t think it’s strange,” I say, “You remember the important things.”

“But I should be able to remember her face. It's frustrating!” he says, “I… feel like I'm losing her.” He shakes his head at himself. “I, uh… it must look really strange for me to be obsessing like this still. You must think I'm incredibly stupid.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, “but I doubt your wife would want you torturing yourself over this.”

“I… suppose you're probably right,” he says slowly, “But I have to do it, anyway.” He stammers a little. “The only thing that's kept me going since she died has been the need to find Saul and kill him. It's better to think about that than… anything else. If I can do that, then maybe I can let her go. Let it all go.” He shakes his head again and looks at me. “If we encounter Saul… if we ever have the chance, promise me that I will be the one to kill him. I have to settle this… I need to.”

“I can’t promise that,” I say, “Things may not work out that way.”

He shrugs. “Whether it does or not, that’s the way it has to be,” he says, “I guess there’s no need to discuss it until then.”

I guess not. He goes back to the controls. I’m still feeling a little beat up so I take a medpac out and start tending to myself. “Tell me something,” I ask, “what happens after you kill Saul? How does that play out in your head?”

“I…” he starts to say, starting to spit out something fake, but he doesn’t want to lie to me either, “…never thought about it.” Excuse me? What? “I suppose I always assumed that I would be dead once Saul was.”

“Why? What sort of risks do you plan on taking?” I ask.

I think he can tell I’m pissed about this, because he turns away from the controls. “Understand that whenever I envisioned taking on Saul in the past, it was always as the captain of my own ship,” he says quickly, “… or alone. In those cases I would risk everything. I'm not in the same situation, now. I wouldn't risk hurting you.” Is… does he mean…? “Or the others.” Of course, right. Hoping for shit again, Rena.

“I’d certainly hope not,” I say.

“You don’t think I would throw away everything we’re doing here, do you?”

“I don’t know, what wouldn’t you stop at to kill Saul?”

“I’d like to think that I wouldn't put you in danger!” he says quickly, “That I wouldn't forget that there's more behind Saul that needs to be stopped.” There’s more coming though, where’s the but? “If I saw Saul, however…” Ah, not a “but”, a “however.” “If I had the chance… I don't know what I would do. I really don't. I mean his death has been my entire focus for so long.”

“I need your help, Carth,” I say, “There’s more than just Saul to fight.”

“I know, I know,” he says, “I'll… see this through. I promise you that. No matter what. As for what comes afterward… well, let's wait until I know that I'm around to see it.”

I don’t want to wait! If I wait, and he dies, then maybe I could have done something. If I tell him how I feel then maybe he won’t go on a suicide run to kill Saul. But the idea of the feelings, sharing them and knowing that he shares them, still scares the ever-loving shit out of me. “What if I don’t want to wait?” I say softly.

He stops. “What?”

Oh, God, oh God, abort, abort, abort! “Nothing,” I say quickly, “Never mind. You know, I’ve got a pretty wicked bump forming on my head, I want to go check it out, I’ll see you later.” Bad idea, Rena, bad idea, shouldn’t have done that, I was not ready for that, I shouldn’t have said anything, maybe I played it off, maybe I didn’t, I don’t want things to get weird but I may have fucked that up! That damn dream! I was fine and happy living in denial, you know!

4 notes · View notes

words-and-seeds · 4 years ago

Note

13 and 45 for Marilyn and Fenris, and Jacob and April!

Thanks for asking! 💋💋💋

Fenris/Marilyn

13. What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

Sex. These two tend to get stuck in a rut, honestly. Hanged Man, drinks, wicked grace, more drinks, kill slavers, rinse, repeat. Kirkwall is not exactly a lovers’ delight on a moonlit night, if you know what I mean.

But they like being together most of all. Fenris likes to read in front of the fire, either each reading their own books or Fenris reading aloud - especially as he gets more confident. They like cooking together, going to the market together. Normal, domestic, couple-y things that they almost never get to do.

45. Any special dreams or goals they have as a couple? Any heartbreaks? Regrets?

Aside from the normal, everyday heartaches and disappointments that come with living, they have few regrets. One of the big ones was Hawke becoming the Viscount of Kirkwall. The other was the decision to put off having a family while everything was so volatile, but it was definitely necessary at the time. The ultimate goal is to retire from being Hawke and go live somewhere quiet and peaceful.

They would die of boredom inside of two weeks, but it’s the thought that counts.

Jacob/April

13. What do they do for fun? Do they have a favorite activity or do they like to switch things up?

They’re both so busy with the Project that they don’t really have a lot of time for fun, but any time spent together is a favorite activity. In the no-cult AU, though, they like to take the motorcycle out into the hills - especially in the fall, when the leaves all change colors. They just like to be together, where it’s quiet and peaceful in any universe.

45. Any special dreams or goals they have as a couple? Any heartbreaks? Regrets?

Listen, these two are doomed to heartbreak, no matter which way you look at it. Surviving the Collapse was the goal, lbr.

#Thanks for asking!#jacob seed #oc: april hepscott #fenris #oc: marilyn hawke #my ocs

2 notes · View notes

fallout4reactsblog · 6 years ago

Note

companions react to ss being in the red room before the war, and thats why their so good at fighting, killing, seducing people, etc

Companions are just realizing their crush for sole in this one! Warnings: depictions of violence, drug use

Cait: Cait watched sole disable the last of the collars keeping civilians as raider slaves. She allowed herself the briefest smile as families tearfully reunited and sole humbly waved off praise, only letting the barest hint of a smile show through on their face. As soon as they could get away, they picked their way over to her side, leaning up against the building with their arms folded.

“Thanks for doin’ this,” Cait said, giving them a gentle punch to the shoulder. “I know it was a hassle, but I do appreciate you doin’ this stuff for me.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Slavers are dicks. Anytime I can get a chance to hurt them, I will.” Their eyes trailed over the civilians making their way out of the camp and toward wherever home was. “Besides, it’s a little bit for me, too.”

“Oh?” Cait raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to continue, and to her surprise, they did.

“I guess it was a long time ago, but I was in cryo for most of that, so I don’t remember. So it feels like a couple months. But I remember what it was like to be at someone’s beck and call. No freedom, no will of your own, just doing what you were told.”

“Were there slaves before the war?”

They laughed a little. “Not legal ones, no. But there were people that would take civilians and train them in a place called the red room, teach them to become something other than human. Fighters, spies, torturers. They’d beat you until you learned, then either kill you or beat you some more. Then, once you graduated, you were always under your handlers command.”

Cait was smart enough to put two and two together. “And that was you.”

They nodded. “That was me, and I fucking hated it. The skills are great to have now, but constantly having to do everything my handler told me to, well, that was pretty damn miserable.”

“I always knew you’d seen some shite,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “Guess I was right.”

“Guess you were. Makes us two peas in a pod, huh?”

“Sure,” she snorted. “Two peas in a pod, whatever that means.”

“Come on.” They shoved off the wall and stepped into the sun. “Let’s get out of here. No sense in dredging up nasty memories for no reason.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

They headed into the sun.

Curie: “You have a lot of scars, cheri(e),” Curie noted as she patched up the latest of sole’s wounds. Her fingers trailed one without meaning to, and she quickly snatched her hand away in embarrassment.

Thankfully, sole didn’t seem to notice, as they just nodded. “The wasteland’s a pretty dangerous place. You get hurt a lot.”

Curie hummed a little, trying to focus in on the bandages that she was supposedly applying, but getting a little too distracted by their naked back to pay as much attention as she should. “Oui, this is true. But some of these are very old, non? They are from before the war, I think.”

They nodded again, letting out a long breath. “I suppose that’s also true. Life wasn’t much safer for me before the war, I guess.”

“Oh, why not?” She reached for a bit of tape to hold the bandages in place. “I did not think things were very dangerous before the war, but then again, I was just a small robot in a lab. My view of things was probably not the best.”

“Yeah?” They laughed a little. “I guess not. You were probably pretty protected, huh?”

“Oh, yes. The only news that I knew was whatever my fellow scientists were talking about. Otherwise, I would not have even known there was a war. “

“Yeah, things were a little different for me, I guess.” Their fingers drummed against the counter they were perched on. “In all the news you ever got, did you ever hear of something called a red room?”

“Oui, I did. There was a lot of talk about the police finding one not far from where I worked. We followed the story of them arresting everyone and the trials for months. I was very happy. All that talk about the violence and horrible things happening made me very unhappy. It was hard to work.”

They chuckled again, shoulders shaking. “That’s funny. I think that one was the one that I went through.”

Curie’s hands stilled, falling flat against sole’s skin. “You experienced one of these awful places? Cheri(e), tell me it isn’t so.”

“But I did,” they said with a shrug. “Believe me, I was as excited as you to see that hellhole get shut down. Watching them try my handler was the best thing I’ve ever seen, especially the look on that asshole’s face when they sent him away for life.”

“Mon dieu.” Curie moved around the counter to stand in front of them and take their hands. “I am so sorry. You must have seen such awful things.”

“Of course. But going through all those things is what makes it possible to stay alive out here. So, I guess, in a way, I owe them.”

“Absolutely not. You do not owe those horrible people anything.” She cupped their face in her hands. “You would have made it just fine on your own. You are very strong and very smart.”

“Thanks, Curie.” They were a little muffled, due to the squished nature of their face, but their smile was genuine.

“Of course. Now, let me finish patching you up.”

She slid back around the counter as sole whined, “How long does it take?”

“A while, if you want it done well.” She reached for another roll of bandages. “If you would take care of yourself, and not try to fight so many Deathclaws, this would not happen.”

“I know, I know.” But they were laughing, and so was she, and everything was good.

Danse: He supposed that one of the things that made him and sole such good partners was their tendency to have nightmares.

They shot up in bed across the room, panting heavily, eyes unfocused as they looked around. Slowly, he waved from his position keeping watch at the window, and when their face snapped to him, he saw fear clouding their vision.

“You with me, soldier?”

Their head shook, fingers curling around their wrist, nails digging into their skin. “I’m- I’m not-”

“It’s alright. You’re safe here.” He slid off the stool. “I’m going to walk toward you. Try to count the steps I’m taking. I’ll take it slow.”

His foot hit the floor, and they softly whispered, “One,” eyes locked on his shoes. They counted the steps as he eased toward them.

“Is it alright to touch you?” He knew from experience that contact wasn’t always the way. Rhys had punched him more times than he could count, just from the surprise, but sole slowly nodded. His fingers found theirs, and he pulled their hand away from their wrist. Gently, he pushed their holotags into their palm, and the other hand rubbed away the angry red crescents in their skin.

“Wherever you were, it’s alright. You aren’t there anymore. Can you tell me where we are?”

They nodded, and their voice shook a little as they spoke. “We set up camp in an abandoned drugstore. You offered to take first watch, said you couldn’t sleep anyway. I didn’t argue; I was tired. It was a long day.”

“It was.”

He stayed there, sitting across from them for a minute, watching them come back to the present. Their hand dropped from their holotags, and they slowly relaxed.

“Do you want to talk about it?�� he asked once they seemed to be with him again.

They sighed heavily and nodded, fingers curling into the bedroll. “Do you know what a red room is?”

“I’m familiar with the concept. A room of training through torture. They’re highly frowned upon here.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear, at least.” Their eyes darted around the room, eventually settling on tracing the pattern in the floorboards. “I went through one, back before the war. It’s where I learned to fight. I guess it kinda messed me up.”

“Anyone would be emotionally scarred by that experience. It wasn’t your fault.”

They sighed again, then nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Silence stretched between them. He gently rubbed the redness away from their skin, trying to soothe the marks they’d made. He wasn’t quite sure when to stop, but they told him by pulling away and standing up.

“Here, you should try to sleep. I’ll take watch.”

“Are you certain?” He watched them settle on the stool he’d pulled up by the window. “I can stay up a while longer.”

“No, I mean it. Try to sleep.” They smiled, a little weakly. “It’s gonna be another big day tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure you’re alright.”

“I promise.”

He nodded and settled into the still-warm bedroll, mind spinning with this new information. He couldn’t imagine the things they must have seen, or even the things they must have done.

“Go to sleep, sir.” They seemed to read his mind. “I’ll wake you if I need you.”

He took their advice.

Deacon: Deacon liked the way the new agent worked, he decided as he sat back in his chair. He watched their leg gently press against a mark in the Dugout Inn, listened to them laugh at some joke the target had made. Their seduction techniques were beyond any he’d ever seen. They made it look so easy, even he found himself believing the attraction was genuine for a moment.

Their eyes left their target only for a moment, and they spared him a wink and a smile before returning to the Brotherhood Knight on their left, whose words were just beginning to slur together. They motioned to Vadim for another drink, and a certain change in their demeanor let Deacon know that they were about to get down to business.

Ten minutes later, when the information had been retrieved and the Knight was tucked into a bed, courtesy of sole, Deacon found them side-by-side as they stepped out into the rainy Diamond City air.

“How do you do that?” He asked, not trying to hide his grin as he gently nudged their shoulder.

“Do what?” They playfully nudged him back, just hard enough for him to stumble a bit.

“Handle those missions like you do.” He darted back to their side, shoulder hitting theirs hard enough to nearly make them stumble into a building. “You make it look so easy.”

“Secrets I learned before the war. You get to be an old-timer like me, you pick up a few things.” They practically ran at him to shove him, smile shimmering under the lights, and he was the first to hit the wall. “I didn’t go through the red room and come out with nothing to show for it.”

That was enough to make him pause their bout of roughhousing. “Sole, you went through a red room?”

They blinked twice, seemingly caught off guard by what they’d just said, then plastered a too-tight grin on. “Sure did. Terrible vacation, that was. Food was bad, hotel was bad, customer service sucked as well. One star because at least it was educational.”

Deacon was a liar. He knew that, and he also knew that it was his coping mechanism to deal with everything that had happened. In this moment, sole was not being a very good liar, but they sure were trying to deal with what they’d been through. So he wrapped an arm around their shoulder and laughed at their joke, and after a moment, they did, too, though a little uncertainly at first.

“Come on,” he finally said, pulling them back toward the exit to Diamond City. “Let’s get out of here and give Des the information you just expertly pulled out of that girl.”

They chuckled again, leaning into his side a little more to wrap an arm around his waist. “She’ll be happy we were so efficient.”

“She’ll be happy you were so efficient.” His other hand reached up to gently tap their nose. “All I did was watch.”

“You were…” they struggled for the words. “Moral support.”

“Sure, moral support.”

Gently, he squeezed their shoulders, and the two of them headed for home.

Gage: Gage liked a lot of things about his new boss. He liked the way they fought, he liked the way their ass looked in their jeans, and he liked that they certainly weren’t Colter. Mostly, though, he liked the way they got shit done.

A sickening crunch echoed through the streets as a traitor’s face met the pavement. They yanked the attached head up by the hair, snarling into terrified eyes.

“Where the fuck are the supplies, Davies?”

Davies looked like he was probably going to shit himself, but he shook his head in their grip. “I don’t know anything- I-”

Sole interrupted him with another slam against the road. This time they let him stay, grinding his broken nose into the ground, pulling a muffled scream from his limp body. “You know who you were working for, you piece of shit. Start talking.”

Muffled words were swallowed by the ground, and they dragged him up by the hair once again.

“All I did was do what Char told me to do. I swear, that’s all I know, please, she said she’d kill me if I didn’t do it. Please.”

“Oh, Davies.” Their lips curled into a sneer. “Did you really think Char could fuck you up worse than me?”

“No,” he whimpered. “Please, Overboss…”

They shook their head and gestured to a raider nearby. “Get this dumbass on a pike, and bring me Char.”

Davies’s screams and begs for mercy echoed off the building and fell on deaf ears. Sole stood up and wiped their hands on their jeans.

“Nice work, boss.” Gage offered them a can of water, which they plucked from his hands. “I think a lot of the people around here could stand to learn somethin’ from you.”

They snorted and handed the water back. “We could make our own red room here, if we really wanted. Make a whole new line of raiders. Nobody would dare fuck with us, then.”

Gage didn’t quite want to ask, but curiosity was burning him up from the inside out, and eventually he just couldn’t hold it in. “A red room?”

“Yeah, you know. A place for training. You take a bunch of people, put them in isolation, make them learn to be killers and spies and beat the shit out of them or kill them if they don’t succeed.” They eyed his undoubtedly quizzical look. “Do those not exist anymore?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well, maybe they should.” They kicked some dirt over the spot of blood Davies’s face had made on the ground. “After all, I learned everything I know from a red room.”

“You’re a badass, boss, there’s no denying.”

They grinned at him, and opened their mouth to say more, but Char’s voice cut them off.

“What the fuck is going on here? Why do I have to see the Overboss?”

Their grin widened into something far more unpleasant, and Gage settled back to watch them work, contemplating how to set up one of these “red rooms” for the boss. It’d make a nice present for them.

Char’s shriek echoed off the buildings as the Overboss’s ball bat connected with her knee.

Plus, it might keep him on their good side for just a little while longer.

Hancock: He sank back into the couch cushions, watching the colors begin to spin along the ceiling. Sole sank in beside him, head dropping back against his arm, and they let out a contented sigh that he could just barely hear over the song playing from the radio. He loved to get high with sole.

“‘S a good batch,” he mumbled, and reached up to gently run his fingers through their hair, soft strands tickling his skin even more than usual.

“You hear that?” they asked in reply, sitting up again. He whined a little at the sudden lack of warmth against his side.

“What, the radio?”

“No, that- that-” They stumbled to the window, pushing it open. Cold air rushed into the room, and Hancock whined again.

“That what?”

“That screaming. It’s getting louder.” Their now-yellow eyes darted around the room, and they reached over to shut off the radio. The world went quiet around him.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Their hands reached for their ears. “How do you not hear that?” they shouted, making him jump and land unceremoniously in the floor. “God, it sounds like-”

They froze, eyes on the door. He looked over, seeing nothing, but sole looked like they’d seen a ghost. Fingers still curled around their ears, they whispered, “Alex?”

“Hey.” He crawled across the floor to wave a hand in front of their eyes. “Hey, there’s no one there.”

“I’m sorry,” they whimpered, tears beginning to run down their face. “I didn’t want to, Alex, they made me, they said they’d kill me, they’d kill my son. I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Hancock’s drug-addled mind made two and two connect, and when they finally made four, he was glad they’d taken Jet. Just a few seconds left, now. “Sole. Hey, there’s no one there. It’s just us.”

“I’m sorry,” they said again, rocking back and forth slowly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, I’m sorry.”

As the drug faded out, he wrapped them in a hug, tucking them against his chest. He rocked them a little slower, trying to calm them, trying to soothe the sobs that wracked their body. The colors finally disappeared from around him, and sole’s hands fell away from their ears.

“Bad trip?” he whispered gently, and they nodded.

“Real bad.”

“What happened.”

“I- I saw an old friend of mine. Someone I was forced to kill. We were close and-” They laughed and didn’t bother to finish their sentence.

“Who’d make you do that?” He ran a hand through their hair.

“My handlers. That’s what the red room does, John. It makes you do terrible things, and then it uses the guilt from that to make you do more awful things until you stop caring and just start doing what you’re told. And if that doesn’t work, they show up to your house in the middle of the night and threaten to kill everyone inside, including your newborn son, if you don’t carry out your orders. So, you go torture your best friend to death for turning and then you try to move on with your life.”

He wasn’t sure what all that meant, exactly, but he was sure that sole needed him. So they sat on the floor together, slowly rocking back and forth, him whispering calming words every now and then, and he promised himself that he would never, ever let sole get high on Jet again.

MacCready: Robert Joseph MacCready was in no place to judge people for their personal business. He’d woken sole up enough times shouting Lucy or Duncan’s name that he couldn’t be irritated when they talked in their sleep either.

But still, he thought there was something a little different between shouting for a family member and snarling, “Begging for your life won’t matter to me” at three in the morning.

The strangest thing was that, come morning, sole never mentioned this. They were their usual chipper self, offering him a cup of instant coffee and a cigarette. The sheer juxtaposition of the sharpshooter he knew by day and the apparent psychopath that came out in their dreams was enough to unsettle him to the point he was actually willing to ask.

“So what’s up with your dreams?” He asked one morning, after their mutterings had kept him up late into the night.

They raised an eyebrow as they refilled their coffee. “I don’t catch your meaning.”

“Y’know, what do you dream about at night? You’re a pretty restless sleeper.”

They slurped the cool layer of coffee off the top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, RJ.”

He sighed, seeing that they weren’t going to give him the answers on their own. “You say weird stuff in your sleep. It’s creepy and I want some answers.”

“What do I say?” They laughed a little, leaning back against a tree, seemingly unfazed.

“Weird stuff,” he said again. “Stuff like, ‘Shut up or I’ll kill you.’”

Their face collapsed. The energy in the camp seemed to shift in merely a second, and he’d swear the world went a little grayer. “Oh, I thought… Nevermind.”

“Sole.” His eyebrows furrowed seeing how clearly upset they had suddenly become. “What’s going on?”

Their fingers ran over the side of the mug they were holding, tracing the design on it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s clearly bothering you.” He reached out to touch them, but pulled away at the last minute. “You can talk to me.”

A breath hissed between their teeth, stirring the steam rising off their coffee. “Did you ever wonder how I got be such a good shot?”

“Sure, lots of times.”

“I figured.” They sipped their coffee again, clearly uncomfortable. “This is hard to talk about, I guess. But, y’know, you’ve told me a bit about you, so it’s only fair…” They sighed one more time, then set their coffee cup to the side. “Back before the war, I was trained in a place called the red room. Heard of it?”

He shook his head.

“I didn’t figure. Basically, it was a ‘learn to do this or I’ll kill you’ thing, where I learned how to fight, how to seduce people, how to… well, torture them to get information. That’s what you’re hearing. I was there for a long time, so I guess it stuck.”

His breath hitched in his throat, stealing his words for a moment, but he finally managed to choke out, “You torture people when you dream?”

They bit their lip and nodded slowly, picking up the coffee cup again. “I guess so.”

“I- that’s messed up.”

They laughed, bitterly. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

They lapsed into silence. MacCready tried to process what he’d just heard. His fingers combed through the grass, trying to ground him to the here and now and not freak out over this new reality.

“If you don’t want to stick around, I understand.” Their voice didn’t shake. “I probably wouldn’t.”

He scowled at them, a little playful but mostly genuine. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

They glanced over, eyes betraying their vulnerability. Suddenly, he felt a pang of guilt for not having told them more about himself. “Promise?”

“Yeah, sure.” His cheeks flushed a little. “Unless you do something awful, I’ll stick around.”

They nodded, and their posture relaxed once again.They drank their coffee, he drank his, and together they settled back into life.

Nick: The Valentine Detective Agency was usually a quiet place. Nick liked it that way. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter what happened, he always had a place to go back to that was warm and quiet.

That changed a little when sole arrived. It took them a while to settle into the routine that he and Ellie had unofficially set out, but once they had the hang of things, Nick found he liked having them around. They had a relaxing air about them, and it was nice to have someone else to work on cases with.

The only time sole ever broke their usual calm persona was at night. On the rare occasion they slept in the agency, it wasn’t uncommon to hear whimpers of what he thought was pain at first, or words that begged for someone to not hurt them.

Nick knew what bad mental health looked like, and he hated to watch his friend suffer.

“Got a minute?” he asked, one particularly slow afternoon.

Sole glanced up from the case file they were reading over for what had to be the hundredth time, then nodded and set it to the side. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, I’ve noticed you don’t always sleep very well. Get a lot of nightmares?”

They pursed their lips in displeasure but nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You know, talking about this stuff helps.” He offered them a mug of coffee, which they accepted but didn’t drink. “I’m always here.”

“It’s hard to talk about.” They wrapped one arm around themselves, staring into the distance.

He considered that for a moment, then motioned them to sit in a chair beside him. They did, slowly, and he produced a piece of paper from his jacket along with a pencil. He scratched down. “Do you think writing about it will be easier?”, then offered the pencil to them.

They considered the offer for a moment before setting their coffee to the side and plucking the pencil from his fingers. “It might.”

Their handwriting was far nicer than his, and he tried his best to not be jealous, instead writing, “What do you dream about?”

“Things I did before the war. I don’t want to bother you with all the details.”

He sighed and shook his head, retrieving the pencil. “I’m one of the few people who might understand. It’s not a bother. I want to help.”

They tapped the pencil against their lips a moment, considering, then scrawled, “I was in a red room. I did some stuff.”

“What stuff?” He already knew the answer, but him making assumptions wasn’t going to make them feel better.

“Torture. Killing. That sort of stuff. It was-” they paused int their writing, thought for a moment, then resumed, “awful. Sometimes, I think there’s still some of them out there, looking for me. Even though it’s silly and they probably all died when the bombs fell.”

Nick wrapped a gentle arm around their shoulders as he scratched out his reply. “The mind is strange sometimes. It makes us believe things that don’t make sense, puts memories in that we don’t want. It’s okay to be afraid. But you have people to help you. We’re on your side.”

The didn’t take the pencil from him, just opted to wrap their arms around him and whisper, “Thanks, Nick.”

He hugged them back. “No problem, kid. Any time.”

Piper: “Come on, sole,” Piper whined, trailing her traveling companion by a few steps. “You’ve picked this camp twice over already. There’s nothing here.”

“Well then what does this go to?” They brandished a key they’d pulled off of the Gunner Captain, metal glinting almost menacingly in the light.

“Probably something in one of the other camps.”

They shook their head. “Something isn’t right here, Piper. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Piper sighed and resigned herself to another round through the building. “Alright.”

Sole nodded their thanks, and their right hand found the wall again as they traced their way through the building. Piper followed, mentally composing a new article on all the ways the hero of the Commonwealth was an idiot,though a lovable idiot, an idiot nonetheless.

Suddenly, sole came to a halt, and Piper, who wasn’t paying attention, ran straight into them with a small “oof.”

“What’d you find, Blue?” she asked, straightening her cap on her head and dusting off her coat.

Sole grinned. “Secret door.”

Their fingers wedged in between two wall panels, and with a heavy shove and a grinding of rusted gears, the wall slid to reveal a long, empty corridor. Fluorescent lights flicked on overhead as they stepped into the hall, illuminating the area. At the end, a large metal door stood imposingly, and sole shot a very smug grin at Piper as they slid the key into the lock and turned.

The smile dropped away from their face as the door swung open. The key clattered from their hand to hit the floor, and they just stood, staring into what seemed to Piper to be an empty room like any other, littered with skeletons and a few towels.

“Uh, Blue?”

“They starved,” they whispered, seeming to forget that Piper was even there. “The handlers must have died when the bombs dropped.”

Piper rocked back on her heels anxiously. “Blue, it’s just a bunch of skeletons. We see them all the time.”

“I might have known these people, Piper. I trained here. This was…” They sank to their knees to trace a long scratch mark on the tile flooring, stained dark brown. “This was my red room.”

Piper’s breath caught, and she sank down into a low squat beside them. “Oh, I- Geez, I don’t know what to say.”

They shook their head. “Don’t say anything.” A long breath dropped from their lips. “It’s a long way behind me now. I guess at least I have closure. Nobody’s gonna be coming after me now, right?”

It was a weak attempt at a joke, but Piper smiled anyway. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Wanna help me burn this place to the ground?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Preston: Sole had a lot of bad habits. He knew that about them, and so he tried to mitigate it when he could. He didn’t let them stay up all night working on new defenses, he made them take at least one day off a week, he made sure to get some food into them every once in awhile because they’d forget to eat.

He knew what guilt looked like for sole. It looked like running yourself into the ground week after week, trying to solve every problem they found, trying to save everyone. He didn’t know what they’d done, and for a while, he didn’t ask. He reasoned that it was their business and that they’d figure it out in time.

But they didn’t. As the months wore on, they only became more frenzied, taking on more responsibility, handling more issues. He appreciated the help, sure, and as a Minuteman he knew that serving the people was their first priority. As their friend, though, he knew it wasn’t healthy.

His tactic wasn’t the most honorable, he’d admit. He waited until late night, when they were exhausted and their defenses were down, to corner them at the workbench. They were bent over what looked to be the wiring for a new turret of some kind. He whistled loudly as he approached, trying not to startle them, and they waved with a screwdriver in his direction.

“General,” he said when he was finally close enough to not shout through the sleeping Sanctuary Hills. “We need to have a talk.”

“I’ll go to bed in a bit, Preston. I just need to finish this.”

“This isn’t about that.” Gently, he rested his hand on theirs, stopping their work. “This is about you.”

“I know, I know. I’m not taking care of myself, I work too hard, blah blah blah. Spare me the lecture.”

“Not this time.” He perched on the counter to the workbench. “This time it’s something different.”

“What then?” The lights made the dark circles under their eyes stand out against their paler-than-usual skin. They looked exhausted, and for a brief moment, he almost backed down and sent them to rest.

He didn’t. “What are you running from, sole? What are you making up for?”

They said nothing for a long moment, simply looked at him. The lights danced in watery eyes, and he wordlessly handed them a handkerchief. They took it and wrung it between their hands.

“I’ve got my own Quincy,” they whispered finally. “I’m just trying to make up for the damage I’ve done.”

“Sole,” he said again, softly and kindly as he could. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

They trembled, undecided, for a moment longer. Their eyes held uncertainty and something he thought might be fear, so all he did was smile.

“It’ll be okay. We’re friends. You can tell me.”

They twisted the handkerchief tighter as they spoke, as if they could choke out their demons through it. “Back before the war, before I went into the vault, I was trained in a place called the red room. I… I learned awful things there. I did awful things there. My handlers would send in people and tell me to find out what they knew. A lot of them were scared. They were just normal people in the wrong place at the wrong time. I hurt a lot of good people, I-” They sucked in a breath. “I killed a lot of good people that didn’t deserve it. I just want to make up for what I did.”

“That’s noble,” he whispered, laying a hesitant hand on their shoulder. “That means you’re on the right track.”

“I don’t think I can ever make up for everything I did, Preston.”

“I know. But all we can do is try, right? We have to promise ourselves we won’t go back to that, that we’ll be better. That’s how we make up for it. We help others, and we help ourselves.”

They nodded, finally dabbing at their eyes. “Okay.”

He smiled and patted them softly. “Alright. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

For once, they didn’t resist, and he guided them away.

X6: X6 knew what humans were supposed to be like. He was around them often enough to observe their usual patterns and habits, and overall he would say he had a decent idea of what a normal human typically behaved like.

That was one of the things that intrigued him so much when it came to the new director. They didn’t fit that pattern at all. They were closer to him and his courser siblings than any human he’d ever known.

He wasn’t about to ask about it though. No, X6 had more pride than that, and he knew all too well what the costs of stepping out of line were. So instead, he snuck out at night to poke around in their personal file. No harm, no foul, and if he got caught, he could always just say he was doing research for their next mission.

What he found was hauntingly familiar. This concept of a “red room,” something he’d never heard of before, dredged up a host of old memories for him, and he forced them to the back of his mind as he scanned the file. It seemed there was a reason that the new director reminded him so much of a courser; the training was incredibly similar. The Institute had probably modeled their courser training after this, removing the part involving seduction and adding more to fighting.

He never did mention it to sole, though. It was their business, he decided, and he didn’t want to get punished for looking for answers he wasn’t asked to look for. But still, a part of him wanted that companionship with them, to reach out and let them know that they weren’t alone, especially when they cried out from night terrors or jumped at strange sounds in the dark.

X6 didn’t have the words for that, though, so he let them be, and hoped they’d approach him in their own time.

219 notes · View notes