#to the point where when i went to the nearby barracks open day and got my hands on a SAW

[rowansparrow]

Juke Box Hero: A Rose Story

This is SO STUPID LMAO But I hope you guys like it anyway. I’m back on my bullshit and I am here to provide you with a little story based off THIS POST. Anon, thank you for your service, because this was very, very fun. 

This snippet takes place during Chapter Seven of BAON, during the flashback when Reader is meeting Rex for the first time and Rose and Co. are stuck cleaning up the barracks. You don’t necessarily have to have read it for this to make sense, but the right context might be neat. 

Also, for timeline purposes/in BAON, Tup and Dogma technically never met Rose, as they weren’t part of the 501st before he died, but I’m including them in this because I make the rules and I wanted to. 

Also Denal’s here because I think he’s a funky dude and deserves more content.

The clones deserve to dance and have fun and who’s gonna write them doing that if it ain’t me? 

Rating: Mature-ish? There are some dirty jokes and swearing but mostly it’s Just fun shenanigans with Rose and Bros. 

(Also I spent a TON of time picking everyone’s songs so pls tell me what you think of my selections lmao).

I’m tagging everyone from the BAON tag list in case you’re interested. Enjoy!

In retrospect, perhaps Rose should have put a stop to the loth cat situation – or as Hardcase called it, Operation: P.U.S.S.Y. He claimed it was an abbreviation for “Petting Unusually Sweet Strays, Yeah!”

“You have to call it something else.” Rose had said at the time, staring at the loth cat cradled protectively in Hardcase’s arms.

“But you’re not saying no?” Hardcase prompted eagerly, already bouncing lightly on his heels.

“Just…” Rose pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… clean up after it? And if it breaks anything, it’s on you, and for the love of Force, don’t get caught.”

Now, as the Lieutenant surveyed the disarray that had befallen the barracks, and the company of very disgruntled subordinates, he was reconsidering his earlier leniency.

“I feel as the acting SIC, you’re the one who should be taking the flak for this, not the entire company.” Jesse grumbled, glaring at Lieutenant Rose over his shoulder as he scrubbed at the floor of the barracks.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the one who brought a pregnant loth-cat into the barracks in the first place.” Rose replied, straightening up for a moment where he’d been hunched over, his back cracking as he moved.

“Well, you didn’t fight me very hard on it!” Hardcase protested. “And I didn’t know Beans was pregnant at the time! I didn’t even know she was a girl!”

His explanation only earned him several slugs to the arm from nearby vode.

“And just because I’m second-in-command does not make me exempt from the Captain’s wrath.” Rose added. “You didn’t get the dressing-down, you just have to carry out the punishment with me.”

“Hang on, I thought we agreed the cat’s name was going to be Road Rash?” Coric asked.

“That’s unladylike.” Said Denal. “And rude. She can’t help her scars.”

“And Beans is ladylike?” Jesse raised an eyebrow.

“She likes it! And her kits looked like beans when they came out too!”

Rose shook his head fondly at his men as they bickered. At least they weren’t complaining anymore.

In truth, he was surprised the situation had been managed as long as it had been. They’d lasted almost a full three weeks without anyone figuring out they were hiding a cat in the barracks. Of course, the kittens made it much harder, and they could only hide them in overturned helmets during inspections for so many days before the helmets started to mewl.

And once Beans threw a tantrum over not having her kits with her, it was game over. She’d knocked over an entire can of armor paint in her wrath, and blue pawprints and large paint puddles coated the durasteel of the barracks, and a few of the bunks had claw and bite marks in the fabric.

“It’ll take us an hour, maybe more, to clean this whole mess up.” Fives complained, looking around the barracks forlornly. He had a nasty scratch just under his eye from finally snatching Beans up in her rampage. “Kriff. I was excited to go out tonight.”

“Not to mention after we finish here the Captain said we had to go take over latrine and canteen detail from other battalions.”

“Then I guess you better get scrubbing.” Kix said absently, thumbing through medical requisition forms on his datapad and sitting cross-legged on one of the few bunks that didn’t have blue paw prints streaked across it.

“Why aren’t you helping? You’re part of the company too.” Echo said. “Fives and I are ARC troopers, if anyone here should be exempt from company-wide punishments, it’s us.”

“I’m not helping because I didn’t participate.” Kix replied, not looking up from his ‘pad.

“The kark you didn’t, you delivered the kits!” Fives snapped.

“Well, Captain Rex didn’t catch me, so.”

“That’s because you went and hid in the medbay and didn’t warn the rest of us he was coming.” Tup muttered under his breath.

“Not true. I sent Jesse a comm.” Kix said, finally looking up only to shrug and return to his work. “Which he didn’t check, and that’s not my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter who was involved and who wasn’t involved.” Dogma piped up. “Clearly, because if it did, I wouldn’t be here either.”

“We know.” Said Jesse and Fives in unison.

Rose sighed, his eyes drifting forlornly to his bunk. He spotted his footlocker sticking halfway out from underneath the durasteel, and he lit up. He opened it quickly, pulling out a beat-up radio he’d gotten at a market stall during one of his first deployments. He’d had to trade a droid popper and half his rations for it – Rex had not been pleased about it when he found out – but it was worth the two-day latrine rotation he’d gotten as punishment.

He’d already downloaded several songs off the HoloNet, along with a few channel recordings of past BoloBall games. Even if he knew who won them, it was still something to listen to on long stints on cruisers.

“What’cha doing, Lieutenant?” Tup asked, peeking around the corner as Rose straightened back up, fumbling with the little radio for a moment and propping it up on one of the bunks so the music could fill the whole room.

“No. NO! No.” Jesse jabbed a finger at the Lieutenant as he saw him set up the radio. “No. Absolutely not. I have had enough of your osik-brained, Force-forsaken, whack-ass music to last me a lifetime.”

Kix chuckled, rolling his eyes at the other trooper. “You listen exclusively to electronic dance music. Even when we aren’t at 79s. You have no room to talk.”

“This is better than that.” Rose promised, dialing up the volume. “This is the kind of stuff you’d find on the jukebox at Dex’s Diner.” He grinned. Dex was personal friends with General Kenobi, and was one of the few Coruscant establishments that was friendly to clones, as long as they behaved themselves. Rose had gone there with his brothers a handful of times, and even Anakin had dragged his Padawan Ahsoka, Rose, and Rex along once.

“You have a radio?” Dogma frowned. “Isn’t that contraband, sir?”

“Relax, it’s an old prewar-era radio, it’s not hurting anything.” Fives drawled, knocking Dogma lightly on the shoulder. “What’re you gonna play, sir?”

“Let’s see…” Rose filtered through his downloads, and grinned wider, pressing play.

Immediately, soft music rang through the barracks, and Jesse smacked his head against the bunk, groaning loudly.

“I’m begging you, Lieutenant.” Jesse said. “I’m begging.”

Rose was already swaying his hips, bending over to grab Jesse by the chin.

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair, warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air.” Rose serenaded him.

Jesse swatted Rose’s hand away, and Rose turned, swinging around on the side of the bunk and pointing to Fives this time. “Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim, I had to stop for the night.”

Fives grinned, joining in even as he stumbled slightly over the words.

“There she stood in the doorway. I heard the mission bell and I was thinking to myself, this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”

Kix was drumming his fingers on his datapad, nodding along and singing under his breath.

“Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say…”

“This is too slow.” Echo griped, rising to his feet and stepping over Dogma, who was still stubbornly scrubbing away at the barrack floors and refusing to engage even as the rest of the clones began quietly singing along with the chorus.

The ARC Trooper fiddled with the dial for a moment, scrolling through Rose’s music and selecting another song, already grinning as the chanting started through the speakers and eventually rippled through the ranks of the 501st.

“STOP.” Jesse barked, trying to kick Fives as the other ARC trooper hopped to his feet, stomping his feet and chanting along. “STOP, I HATE THIS ONE!”

Rose and Hardcase were chanting too, and Coric had started clapping his hands on an overturned bucket, a few shinies clapping their hands together as Echo shook his ass, kama swaying as he climbed up onto a nearby table. He scooped up a mop, pulling the handle to his mouth.

“I can’t stop this feeling, deep inside of me.” He pointed to Kix, grinding against the handle. “Girl, you just don’t realize what you do to me.”

Kix gave him the finger, and Echo pointed to Fives, who was still chanting with the others but was now holding up his helmet, recording the whole thing. Echo amped up his performance.

“When you hold me in your arms so tight, you let me know everything’s alright. I’m hooked on a feeling!”

Tup whooped from where he’d moved to sit on one of the bunks. Dogma shot him a nasty look, which he ignored in favor of watching Echo strut on the table.

“I’m high on believing that you’re in love with me. Lips as sweet as candy, its taste is on my mind. Girl you got me thirsty for another cup of wine.”

“Wait, wait, wait, I have a good one.” Fives shoved his helmet at Hardcase, letting him take over recording as he scrambled to the radio, quickly turning the dial once again and elbowing Echo off the table as fast, loud, angry guitars shredded through the barracks.

Jesse seemed to perk up just slightly, and any of the 501st troopers who were still trying to actually clean – save for Dogma – had abandoned their supplies and had elected to dance instead, crowding the table and forming a makeshift mosh pit.

Fives was nothing if not a showman, and when he snatched the mop from Echo, he performed.

“When I get high, I get high on speed. Top fuel funny car’s a drug for me, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

He stomped his foot hard on the table, flipping his head back and running one hand messily through his hair.

“Always got the cops coming after me, custom-built bike doing 103, my heart! My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Rose laughed, watching as Fives looked at the helmet Hardcase was hoisting up over the crowd, singing into the camera and rolling his shoulders back.

“Ooh, are ya ready, girls? Ooh, are you ready now? Woah, yeah! Kickstart my heart, baby give it a start. Woah, yeah! Baby! Kickstart my heart, hope it never stops. Woah, yeah, baby yeah!”

The clones joined him for the chorus, and then Fives dropped to his knees like he’d seen rockers do on the HoloNet, high fiving the nearest vode. Dogma was still stubbornly trying to clean up the barracks, but had moved on to one of the far corners, only giving the rest of his battalion the occasional side-eye.

“Skydive naked from an aeroplane, or a lady with a body from outer space, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart.” He wiggled his hips as he straightened back up, biting his lip through a grin and dropping his hand to his hips and shaking his fist obscenely, as though he was jerking himself off.

“Say I got trouble, trouble in my eyes, I’m just looking for another good time, my heart. My heart! Kickstart my heart!”

Before Fives could do something else profane – or possibly attempt to crowd-surf and give Rose a handful of incident reports to fill out, the music suddenly shifted, and all heads turned to the radio.

Kix was smirking. He’d divested himself of the top half of his armor, instead electing to shimmy his way up onto the table in just the upper half of his blacks and lower armor plates. Fives exited, rejoining the crowd as Kix leveled a sultry look at the camera for just a moment before turning his back on the crowd.

“Clean shirt, new shoes, and I don’t know where I am goin’ to. Silk suit, black tie, I don’t need a reason why.”

He spun quickly, switching his grip on the mop handle as though he was holding a woman in his arms, dipping it low towards the crowd as he sang.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives and Echo were howling with laughter, and Hardcase wolf-whistled loud enough that Rose’s ears rang. Even Jesse had finally joined in, nodding his head along to the music and trying to bite back a grin. Tup had left the crowd to instead attempt to pull Dogma in, and Denal had rounded up a few newer members and was trying to push them closer to the front.

Kix unzipped the top half of his blacks, doing a slow strip-tease in time with the music.

“Gold watch, diamond ring, I ain’t missin’, not a single thing. And cufflinks, stickpin, when I step out I’mma do you in.” Kix shrugged out of his blacks and rolled his hips along the mop handle, dropping his ass low and slowly dragging himself back up, grinding against the handle.

“They come a runnin’ just as fast as they can, ‘cos every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.”

Fives actually pretended to faint, falling backwards into Echo, who was laughing so hard that he fell over with him.

“ALRIGHT!” Dogma shouted over the music, elbowing his way through the crowd with Tup following anxiously behind him. Dogma firmly stopped the music, hands on his hips as he turned to face the rest of his brothers, who’d begun to boo.

“We have orders,” Dogma reminded them. “This is a punishment, not a party. When we finish here, we’re supposed to clean the shower block, and then we’re supposed to report to the mess hall and take over the canteen cleanup shifts.”

“We know the orders, Dogma.” Rose said, putting a hand on the younger trooper’s shoulder. “There’s no harm in having fun while you work.”

“I’m the only one still working.” Dogma grumbled.

“Alright, alright, we’ll turn it low for now, and we’ll finish up in here, then we can bring the radio with us when we move to the refreshers and canteen. Fair?” He asked, turning to the rest of the men. There were a few muttered responses, and Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out.” He said. “We are cleaning this mess up, correct gentlemen?”

“Sir yes sir!” They all answered quickly, hurrying back to work.

Rose chuckled, shifting the music to something a little calmer, the gentle piano wafting through the barracks as they continued to clean up.

Denal’s head perked up as soon as he heard the piano start, and while he didn’t climb up onto the table like his brothers had, he smiled to himself, turning back towards the spot he was scrubbing and singing to the durasteel floor.

“I'm sailing away. Set an open course for the Virgin Sea.”

Echo hummed, closing his eyes and rocking back on his heels for a moment, listening to his older vod croon.

“'Cause I've got to be free. Free to face the life that's ahead of me.” Denal continued, his voice soft but steady. “On board I'm the captain, so climb aboard. We'll search for tomorrow on every shore and I'll try, oh Lord I'll try… to carry on.”

Somebody whistled, a few scattered claps ringing through the barracks. Coric picked up where Denal left off.

“I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory. Some happy some sad.” He sang. “I think of childhood friends, and the dreams we had.”

Tup glanced to Dogma, who was practically seething as he scrubbed at the same spot on the floor that he’d been working on for the past several minutes. “You like this song, don’t you, Dogma?”

“No I don’t. Shut up.”

“Join in. They won’t mind.” Tup encouraged.

“No.”

“We live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold.” Sang Coric. “But we'll try best that we can to carry on!”

The music picked up, and Jesse shot Rose a look.

“This is a deceptively fast song.” He said.

“It sneaks up on ya.” Rose chuckled.

The barracks devolved into chaos once again, the clones all screaming along to the lyrics, even the ones who didn’t know the words picked it up quickly, encouraged by their brothers.

Despite the distractions, they finally finished cleaning the barracks, and Rose plucked the radio from where he’d stashed it, leading the way down the hallway towards the refreshers. The 501st were especially rowdy in the quiet halls – most of the barracks were empty, the clones who weren’t being punished for loth-cat related shenanigans were taking advantage of the shore leave.

When they opened the door to the shower block, they encountered a few members of the 212th already in there, cleaning up.

“Pack it in, lads.” Rose announced. “We’re taking over for you.”

“What? Why?” Boil asked, leaning on a mop and raising an eyebrow. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Yes.” Hardcase replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“All of you?” Waxer poked his head out from inside one of the refresher stalls, Crys and Wooley pausing from where they were wiping down countertops.

“Yeah, it’s Hardcase’s fault. As usual.” Jesse said, strolling over to Boil and plucking the mop from his hands. “We’re supposed to take over your shifts.”

“Good, I was hoping to get to 79’s tonight before last call. I hear they’ve got purple spotchka.” Boil said excitedly, glancing at Waxer over his shoulder.

“We can help you finish.” Waxer said, immediately raining on his brother’s parade. “There isn’t much left to do anyway.”

“You sure?” Rose asked. “It’s technically a punishment -.”

“Nah, it’s fine, there really isn’t much left, aside from the toilets.” He grinned. “But you boys can handle those.”

“Fair enough.” Rose chuckled, nodding over his shoulder to his men. Fives, Echo, Jesse, and Hardcase were in a heated four-way battle of rock, flimsi, cutters in order to determine who had to clean the toilets first.

“What’s that?” One trooper Rose didn’t recognize asked, pointing to his hand.

“It’s a radio!” Rose said cheerfully. “I’m err… technically not supposed to have it. But we’ve been listening to music while we worked.” He set it up on the countertop. “Do you have a favorite song…?”

“Spitter.” The 212th trooper supplied helpfully.

“Spitter.” Rose repeated, chuckling to himself and wondering how the hell he’d earned that name. “Do you have a favorite song?”

“I don’t know the name of it.” The trooper admitted shyly. “But – but it’s the one they play on the hits channel all the time. I hear it playing in the admiral’s quarters on the Negotiator all the time.”

“I know that one!” Waxer said excitedly, nodding to Rose. “It’s the one Commander Cody likes. You were playing it in the hangar a few weeks ago when our flight detail overlapped.”

“I remember.” Rose smiled, and turned the song on.

Immediately, every head, including Dogma’s, perked up at the familiar tune. Fives clapped his hands together, getting them started.

“When I wake up, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who wakes up next to you.”

The younger trooper, Spitter, lit up and followed it up.

“When I go out, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.”

Waxer elbowed Boil, trying to get him to join in, but the other trooper shook his head and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes even as Waxer sang.

“If I get drunk, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you.”

Their voices carried through the refresher’s tiled walls, and Jesse picked up where Waxer left off.

“And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s havering to you.”

When the chorus rolled around, everyone joined in, their voices bouncing off the walls around them.

“But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.”

“When I’m working,” Kix began, offering a hand to Wooley and giving him a playful spin. “Yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s working hard for you.”

“And when the money comes in for the work I do, I’ll pass almost every penny on to you.” Wooley laughed, shoving Kix away with a grin.

“When I come home,” Tup piped up quickly, before someone else could. “Oh, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you.”

“And if I grow old,” Crys smirked, shaking his shoulders at Fives, who punched him playfully in the arms and joined in, singing the line in unison. “Well, I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s growing old with you.”

The chorus returned, and they sang with even more feeling than before, dancing and tossing their heads back, shouting along to the words and nearly drowning out the music itself as they sang.

As the final verse approached, Waxer sidled up next to Boil, giving him a hopeful look. His brother sighed, scrubbing a hand bitterly over his face and reluctantly joined in.

“When I’m lonely, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who’s lonely without you.” He sang.

“And when I’m dreaming,” Echo called. “Well I know I’m gonna dream, I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you.”

“And when I go out, well I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you.” Fives followed.

“And when I come home, yes I know I’m gonna be, I’m gonna be the man who comes back home with you.” Denal said.

Tup took a deep breath, preparing to finish off the verse, but he was cut off.

“I’m gonna be the man who’s coming home,” Dogma’s voice was shaky as all eyes turned to him, and he finished in a squeak. “With you.”

The room erupted in cheers, Fives catching Dogma under his arm and giving him a noogie as the chorus rang out once again, everyone shouting along to the lyrics together.

When the song ended, and the cleanup was done, the 212th parted ways with the 501st, the brothers patting one another on the back and jeering affectionately at one another now that the song and dance was done.

“If you finish with everything before final call, catch up with us at 79’s.” Boil called over his shoulder. “We can give the vode there a run for their money with our rendition of that song.”

“Count on it.” Rose chuckled, giving the other company a little salute before leading his men on towards the canteen.

The canteen, blessedly, was empty, and most of it was already clean. All they really had to do was wipe everything down, mop, and then make sure the kitchen was well-prepped for the next day.

“I didn’t know you had it in ya, Dogma.” Echo said affectionately, knocking his younger vod playfully in the shoulder as they walked.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dogma muttered, his ears burning as he pushed into the canteen, grabbing the cleaning supplies from the nearby supply closet.

“Who’s turn was it for a solo?” Fives asked, watching as Rose started to set up the radio above one of the food windows so it could project into the entire cafeteria.

“I think Dogma should go.” Kix grinned. “Now that we know he’s got some pipes.”

“Absolutely not.” Dogma said immediately, not looking up from where he was wiping down tables.

“I can go first?” Tup offered, raising his hand sheepishly. Dogma shot him another stern look, but Tup was already wandering over to the radio, moving the dial and tentatively pressing play.

Upbeat music filled the canteen, and the other troopers cheered as Fives ushered Tup over to the nearest table, boosting him up on top of it and then thrusting a mop into his hands. Hardcase was already fumbling with the helmet again, trying to get a recording as Tup tapped his foot along with the beat, nodding his head as he found his rhythm.

“I get up in the evening, and I ain’t got nothing to say. I come home in the morning, I go to bed feeling the same way.”

Fives was leading other troopers in pounding the surrounding tables in time with the drumbeats while Echo was leading another group to clap in time.

“I ain’t nothing but tired! Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself.” Tup flashed the camera a grin, reaching up and pulling his hair tie out, shaking his wild curls loose around his head. “Hey there baby, I could use just a little help.”

Jesse whistled, and Dogma had stopped cleaning and was watching his brother, the slightest smile pulling at his lips.

“You can’t start a fire, can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

Tup shook his hair out of his eyes, tossing his head back and jerking his hips.

“Messages keep getting clearer, radio’s on and I’m moving ‘round my place. I check my look in the mirror, wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!”

He swayed his hips again, and Hardcase shoved the camera at Kix instead so he could join in the clapping.

“Man, I ain’t getting nowhere, I’m just living in a dump like this. There’s something happening somewhere, baby I just know that there is.”

He hopped off the table, instead taking Dogma’s hand and dragging him towards the makeshift stage.

“You can’t start a fire, you can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”

He pushed the mop into Dogma’s hands instead, beaming at him as he scurried off the table, sprinting over to the radio and quickly changing the song.

Immediately, slow guitar started but quickly escalated into heavy drums and fast riffs. Dogma’s cheeks turned a darker shade, and he looked frantically to Tup, trying to climb back down off the stage.

“No, no, come on!” Fives shouted, trying to body block Dogma from getting down. “Come on, you got this!”

The lyrics began, and Dogma sang along, his mouth barely moving, voice almost imperceptible.

“Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken… and the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaken?”

“Come on!” Tup called to him. “You LOVE this song! Let ‘em hear it!”

Dogma grit his teeth, his voice gaining strength. “But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family, in your head, in your head they are fighting.”

He stomped his foot on the table, practically snarling out the words. “With their tanks, and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns, in your head, in your head they are crying.”

He threw his head back, and for not the first time that night, the radio was drowned out by cheers.

“In your head! In your head! Zombie, Zombie, Zombie. What’s in your head? In your head? Zombie, Zombie, Zombie!”

Dogma climbed off the table quickly, his ears and cheeks burning but a small smile was on his face, even as he was smothered by Hardcase, Fives, Tup, and Echo swarming him with hugs and rubbing his head affectionately.

Jesse climbed up onto the table next, picking up the discarded mop and clearing his throat.

“I would just like to dedicate this song to the gorgeous woman I picked up at 79s last week.” He drawled, nodding once to Kix, who was hovering knowingly by the radio. He nodded once to the helmet, which was now stationed on a nearby table, still recording. “Darling, you had the best pair of tits I have ever seen in my entire life, and you had the mouth of an angel and the coochie of a devil.”

Fives whistled, and Coric snickered. Rose rolled his eyes.

“So, babygirl, this one is for you.”

Kix turned on the radio, and Jesse grinned.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. Darling, you give love a bad name.”

Guitar rang out through the mess hall, and Jesse bit his lip, rolling his hips as he leaned slightly off the edge of the table.

“An angel’s smile is what you sell, you promised me heaven then put me through hell. Chains of love got a hold on me, when passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.”

He dropped into a crouch, singing directly into the camera.

“Whoa, you’re a loaded gun, whoa, there’s nowhere to run, no one can save me, the damage is done!”

He jumped to his feet, the table shaking under him as he landed.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame. You give love a bad name. I play my part and you play your game, you give love a bad name!” He turned his back on the crowd, dropping low again and slowly rising, shaking his ass. “Yeah you give love…”

He looked over his shoulder, tossing the camera a wink. “…a bad name.”

The music changed abruptly, and for a moment Jesse looked pissed. “What the hell, ‘Case?”

But his expression shifted as Hardcase rushed to the table, pushing his brother out of the way and taking the mop from him. The crowd cheered all over again as Jesse climbed down, brothers slapping him on the shoulders as Hardcase’s song started up.

“We finish strong, right vode?” He asked cheekily.

“We still have to finish cleaning!” Dogma called back.

Hardcase only smirked in response, and sang quickly to keep up with the lightning fast lyrics.

“Backstroking lover always hiding ‘neath the cover, can I talk to you, my daddy say. He said, you ain’t seen nothing ‘til you’re down on a muff and then you’re sure to be a-changin’ your ways.”

He cupped his codpiece, bucking his hips forward into his own hand.

“I met a cheerleader, was a real young bleeder, all the times I can reminisce. ‘Cos the best things of lovin’ with her sister and her cousin only started with a little kiss, like this!”

He swung his arms wide, shaking his ass in time with the music and stuck his tongue out, having the time of his life.

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

He walked backwards along the table, rolling his shoulders back as he moved.

“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘cos she knew what she was doin’, and I know love is here to stay when she told me to walk this way!”

The rest of the 501st joined in with him, repeating the chorus of “Walk this way! Walk this way! Walk this way!” over and over again, Hardcase taking over again as the next verse began.

“School girl sweetie was the sassy kinda classy, little skirt’s climbing way up her knees. There was three young ladies in the school gym locker when I noticed they was lookin’ at me.”

He ran his hands along his thigh, mimicking raising a skirt.

“I was a high school loser, never made it with a lady ‘til the boys told me something I missed. Then my next-door neighbor with a daughter had a favor so I gave her just a little kiss, like this!”

“Do you think he has any idea what he’s singing about?” Kix asked Rose, leaning back against the counter and chuckling.

He watched as Hardcase went back to grabbing his own crotch, dry-humping the air and hummed.

“I’d say most likely.”

“See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school and your feet flyin’ up in the air. Singin’ hey diddle diddle with your kitty in the middle of the swing like you didn’t care.”

Hardcase grinned, and to both Kix and Rose’s utter chagrin, Hardcase actually did dive off the makeshift stage and attempt to crowd surf.

“So I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play. Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘cos she knew what she was doin’, and I know love is here to stay when she told me to walk this way!”

“I’m not patching you up!” Kix shouted over the roar of the music. Rose chuckled, turning the volume nod down as the rest of the 501st shouted in protest.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” The Lieutenant said, taking control once more. “We can listen to it quietly in the background, but we really do need to wrap up cleaning.”

“Why? Got a date tonight?” Jesse asked with a raised eyebrow. Rose punched him lightly in the arm, and they got back to work once again.

They worked in relative silence, the occasional voice humming or singing along to the music, but they remained productive right up until one of the final songs Rose had downloaded cut through the speaker. The piano wasn’t as rich-sounding as it was through a regular speaker, but even through the tinny cadence of the beat-up radio, every single trooper in the canteen bolted upright, eyebrows raised. Rose smiled knowingly, and turned up the volume once again.

Fives beamed, sitting down on top of one of the tables and laying back, one leg bent and the other stretched flat, a hand behind his head as he sang up at the ceiling.

“Just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Jesse leaned back against the wall on the other side of the canteen, closing his eyes as he joined in.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere.”

Echo kept mopping, but was grinning as he picked up the next line. “A singer in a smoky room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume.”

Kix grinned. “For a smile, they can share the night, it goes on, and on, and on, and on.”

The rest of the 501st joined in together, their voices carrying in perfect harmony.

“Strangers, waiting. Up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“Night!” Hardcase shouted, straining every muscle in his chest and neck as he struggled to reach the high note.

Tup picked up the next verse, climbing onto one of the tables and dragging Dogma up with him once again.

“Working hard to get my fill, everybody wants the thrill. Paying anything to roll the dice just one more time.”

Dogma smiled, nodding his head along to the music. “Some will win, some will lose.”

Tup threw his arm around his brother, and the two of them sang together. “Some were born to sing the blues!”

Rose’s voice carried from over by the radio. “Oh the movie never ends, it goes on and on, and on and on!”

“Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night. Streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the -.”

“NIGHT!” This time, it was Dogma, of all people, who rang out with the high note, and the explosion of shouts and cheers was deafening. They were screaming along to the lyrics, dancing and jumping and shouting and swaying in time with the song.

“Don’t stop believin’! Hold on to that feeling. Streetlight people! Don’t stop believin’, hold on-”

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?!”

The booming voice was so powerful, it could be heard even over the shouts of all the clones. Echo was closest to the radio, and quickly shut it off as the song and dance stopped immediately, every clone scrambling to stand at attention.

The Jedi that filled the doorway was massive, an imposing shadow in the entrance to the canteen. He zeroed in on Tup and Dogma, who had been standing closest to the entrance, and stormed towards them.

“Who is your commanding officer?!”

“Me, sir.”

The Besalisk Jedi turned, spinning on Rose immediately. He stalked over to the Lieutenant, jabbing a meaty finger into his chest, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards.

“What is the meaning of this?” He snarled.

“Sir, we were assigned cleaning detail.” He explained. “We were just finishing up.”

The Jedi bared his teeth. “Doesn’t look like much cleaning was taking place to me.”

He surveyed the rest of the troopers, but turned his head back to Rose.

“What is your designation?”

“CT-7673.” Rose recited immediately, keeping his back ramrod straight at attention, even though the Jedi was deep in his personal space. He knew this man. General Krell had quite the reputation through the GAR, and Rose had no clue what he was doing outside of the Jedi Temple this late at night.

“Who is your commanding officer?”

“Captain Rex, sir.”

“Not a clone! Is there a malfunction in your design?!” The Jedi bellowed. A few feet behind him, Hardcase flinched at the sudden loud sound, but Rose held still. “Your general, CT-7673! Who is your Commanding Officer!?”

“General Skywalker, sir.” Rose said instead. The canteen was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

He turned his head, noticing the little radio on the table and picked it up, the device small in his massive hands, raising an eyebrow at Rose. “Contraband, disturbance of the peace, behavior unbecoming of an officer, insubordination.” He hissed. “That’s plenty of grounds for a court martial, Lieutenant.”

“Sir.” Fives spoke up, taking a step towards them. “Proper chain of command designates General Skywalker as the one to hand down a court martial order, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with contempt. “With all due respect, sir, you do not command this battalion, and cannot order a court martial on the Lieutenant.”

“Fives.” Rose snapped, whipping his head around to face Fives. “Stand down. Now.”

The ARC Trooper shrank back, his hands curled into fists at his sides, and the General turned back to Rose.

“Be that as it may,” he began icily. “You can rest assured this breach of conduct will not go unreported.”

“Yes sir.” Rose replied stiffly.

General Krell pulled back at last, surveying the battalion. “I want this canteen spotless, and not a word out of you in the meantime!” He ordered. “And I don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore.”

With one quick motion, he smashed the radio in his hands. Rose heard a soft, hurt sound somewhere behind him, but ignored it. He didn’t look away from the General.

“Dismissed.” Krell growled, turning and stalking towards the doors. “And as for you,” He turned, jabbing one large finger at Fives. “I’ll be mentioning you in my report as well. Pray our paths do not cross again, clone.”

And with those words, he left the canteen.

Rose relaxed, but only minimally so. The silence hung heavy over the 501st, and everyone quietly shuffled back to work.

Rose gripped the mop handle tightly as he worked, his knuckles turning white. His chest burned, a tight, constricting feeling wrapped around his insides. It was a feeling he’d never felt before – anger, sadness, humiliation, resignation – all rolled into one hateful ball, coiled in his gut.

“Finished with the kitchen, sir.” Came Tup’s small voice. He’d put his hair back up, the tight bun back to regulation standards. Dogma was standing stiff beside him, still not entirely relaxed yet. “And the um – the canteen area’s just about wrapped up as well.”

“Very good.” Rose said with a small nod. “I’ll report back to Captain Rex, let him know we’ve finished for the night.”

“Sorry about your radio, sir.” Hardcase murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, ‘Case.” Rose smiled, but his eyes were sad. “It was – it was old, anyway. Just a silly thing.”

Fives bristled, his jaw setting as he tossed the bucket he’d been holding back into the supply closet with far more force than necessary.

“We aren’t supposed to leave base for the rest of the night, right?” Denal asked, arms folded across his chest as they finished the last of the cleanup. “Guess we could play Sabacc or something back in the barracks?”

There were a few murmured agreements, and the 501st shuffled back towards the barracks. Rose was still thinking about the General, and had a bitter taste in his mouth. They hadn’t been doing anything wrong, really.

Was it such a crime to enjoy oneself? To simply exist?

Fives and Echo fell into step on either side of Rose, the ARC Troopers bracketing their Lieutenant. “I bet Echo and I could rebuild the radio.” Fives offered. “Might take a little bit, but even if we can’t, Kix is real good at bartering stuff down in the markets. Remember when he got us those HoloDisc movies for just a tube of bacta?”

“We could find another radio for you?” Echo suggested hopefully. “Or maybe,” he lowered his voice slightly. “Maybe Y/N could find you one?”

“Let it go.” Rose said, picking up the pace and pulling away from the ARC Troopers. They reentered the now far tidier barracks, and Rose gravitated back to his footlocker, starting to close it up and push it back under his bed. The metal clacked slightly against the edge of the bunk, and he paused, the tinny sound echoing in his ears.

He knocked the footlocker against the bunk again, listening to the little noise again.

Kark it. He was more than just a mindless flesh-droid. He was a person. A human being. And he liked music.

And he wasn’t about to let anybody take that away from him.

“I never got to do a song.” He announced, straightening up and putting his hands on his hips.

“You can’t be serious, sir.” Dogma said, shaking his head at him. “Haven’t we gotten in enough trouble?”

“I’m sure the General’s slithered back to the Temple by now, where he belongs.” Jesse replied, turning back to the Lieutenant. “We don’t have a radio anymore, sir.”

“We don’t need one.” Rose said, pulling his footlocker back out and propping up one leg on it. He tapped his foot against the metal, the rhythm settling, nodding his head along. He took a deep breath.

“Standing in the rain, with his head hung low. Couldn't get a ticket, it was a sold out show.”

Fives recognized the song, and started tapping his foot along, drumming his hands on an overturned weapons crate.

“Heard the roar of the crowd, he could picture the scene. Put his ear to the wall, then like a distant scream.” Rose climbed up onto the table. “He heard one guitar!”

Jesse slammed a bucket from earlier down against the supports of a bunk, the loud clang mimicking the strum of a guitar.

“Just blew him away. He saw stars in his eyes, and the very next day, bought a beat up six string in a secondhand store. Didn’t know how to play it, but he knew for sure, that one guitar!”

Another clang, this time from Kix repeating Jesse’s motion, and Echo, Denal, Coric and Fives were all drumming on overturned buckets and crates.

“Felt good in his hands! Didn’t take long to understand, just one guitar, slung way down low, was a one way ticket, only one way to go.”

Tup and Hardcase had picked up a brush – typically used for scrubbing their blasters and armor down – and were knocking it against the durasteel wall. Dogma had rounded up the others, a look of sheer determination on his face as they clamored around the bunks and tables, smacking their fists in rhythm with anything they could get their hands on.

“So he started rockin', ain't never gonna stop. Gotta keep on rockin', someday gonna make it to the top!”

Rose stomped his feet, and the rest of the 501st joined him for the chorus.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero!”

“He took one guitar,” Rose sang, while the rest of the battalion echoed “juke box hero, stars in his eyes” around him. “Juke box hero, he’ll come alive tonight.”

The singing quieted down, listening for a moment to see if anyone was coming, and Rose grinned, starting again and pitching his voice low.

“In a town without a name, in a heavy downpour, thought he passed his own shadow, by the backstage door.”

The clones took position, preparing to resume their makeshift instruments as Rose picked up in volume.

“Like a trip through the past, to that day in the rain. And that one guitar, made his whole life change! Now he needs to keep on rockin', he just can't stop! Gotta keep on rockin', that boy has got to stay on top!”

Once again, shouts rang out as his brothers joined him for the chorus, their voices louder and more determined than ever, refusing to be silenced.

“And be a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. He's a juke box hero, got stars in his eyes. Yeah, juke box hero, stars in his eyes. With that one guitar, he'll come alive, come alive tonight.”

As they finished the song, Rose panted softly, glancing down at his commlink again. He decided he was going to go off base after all. He wanted to see you, and nobody, not his Captain’s orders, and definitely not some karking General like Krell, was going to stop him.

“Dismissed.” He said curtly, and took off out the door without another word.

~

SONGS USED (because they’re all bangers and you should listen to them): 

The 501st (introduction): Hotel California Echo: Hooked on a Feeling  Fives: Kickstart My Heart Kix: Sharp Dressed Man Jesse: You Give Love a Bad Name Coric and Denal: Come Sail Away Dogma: Zombie Tup: Dancing in the Dark Hardcase: Walk This Way The 212th and 501st: I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) The 501st (Canteen finale): Don’t Stop Believin’ Rose and the 501st: Juke Box Hero

TAG LIST (Aka everyone on the tag list for BAON):  @fat-zygerrian @ladydiomede @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @threevie @cheesemachine44 @bubblyacey @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @loverofclones @starwarsgarbage @hockeyjedi13 @crazygirlwithasword @dar-manda-rjct @gotomarvelgal @baba-fett @whore4rex @bubblegumcat229 @generalcannoli @hellothere501stlover @in-the-crosshairs @vaderthepotater @for-the-love-of-clones @babyhowzer @imrealatedtothe501st @chewychewyque @bobafettuccini @baba-fett-writes @chromia7567 @coffeeandtodd @thedomesticatednerd @kirinpl @djarrex @a-c-lee @embarrassedauthornerd @kaorikoizumi @the-girl-of-rain-and-shadows @sammi9498 @theroguesully @salaminus

[eyayah-oya]

At First Sight

It’s been a while since I’ve posted one of these blurbs, and I really liked this one. It’s got some OCs of mine that I created to be Wooley’s batchmates. More information on them can be found below the cut

Wooley groaned as the Corrie tugged his arms behind him and pulled out a set of binders. He wasn't even drunk or involved this time. He just happened to be nearby when Crys set off a bunch of glitter bombs (Wooley was pretty sure he got them from Torrent) and of course the Corrie assumed he was a part of it. Or just wanted the bragging rights among their batchmates that he got to throw Wooley into the drunk tank.

"Corin, you are a slimy bastard," he groaned. "I didn't do anything."

"Hmm, that's what you say. But you see, you Ghosts rarely do stuff by yourself. Therefore, that kid Jek is arresting had an accomplice. The closest Ghost was you," Corin said smugly.

Wooley sighed.

"I actually hate you right now."

"Don't stay things you don't mean, Wooley dearest," Corin sang.

"Ratio is my favorite now."

"Blasphemy! I have always been your favorite batchmate," Corin protested.

"Ratio isn’t currently arresting me for something I didn't do and didn't know anything about."

"If you want to lie, you need to get better at hiding your tells."

"I've been working on that," another vod's voice called. Wooley sighed. He knew that voice very well. And of course Lovely just had to happen by.

Corin closed the binders on his wrists and turned Wooley towards the Guard speeder where Lovely was leaning against the side.

And then they stopped.

Wooley glanced behind and couldn't help but grin. Oh. Oh that was delightful blackmail material.

Corin stood there, his bucket clipped to his belt so his curly blue hair went in every direction as it attempted to escape its ponytail. And he stood, absolutely dumbstruck, and stared at Lovely. His brother, the most flirtatious of the lot of them, was stunned silent by a pretty face.

Discreetly, Wooley swiped the keys off of Corin's belt and walked towards the speeder, Corin's hand sliding off of his back. He fiddled with the binders for a moment and then slipped them off and tossed them into the Guard speeder. He put his bucket back on and immediately took several holos of Corin's face.

"Is there a problem?" Lovely asked, walking towards Corin as he waved Wooley away behind his back.

"Puh uh problem? No, there's no problem," Corin stammered. "I'm Corin."

"Nice to meet you, Corin," Lovely answered. "I'm Lovely."

"You definitely are."

Wooley almost gave his escape away with a snort as he listened to his normally suave brother blunder through an introduction. He couldn't wait to show this to Mal and Ama. They would absolutely never let Corin live this down. Cyan would get a kick out of it, too.

As Wooley hopped into a speeder heading to the GAR barracks, specifically for the clones, he sent the holo to the Crimson groupchat.

<Wooley: Look at him. He saw one of my squaddies and made this face!>

<Ama: NO WAY!!! I DON'T BELIEVE IT!!!!>

<Ratio: Ha! Thank you Wooley. I am definitely saving that to get back at him for the prank he pulled last week.>

<Mal: That was Ama. But it's about time Corin got a taste of his own medicine.>

<Cyan: Lovely is really nice. Corin at least has good taste. If Lovely falls for him, though, I'm gonna have to question his taste.>

<Corin: WOOLEY YOU SON OF A BANTHA WHORE!!!>

Wooley just cackled.

Wooley’s Batch (AKA Crimson Batch)

Mal: The Oldest TM. He is gentle and kind and gives the absolute best hugs. He’s the kind of person you go to for a nice long cuddle with ice cream, blanket forts, and a movie to feel better after a bad day. He’s also got great advice. He was one of the five members of Crimson Batch that were sent to Coruscant as part of the Coruscant Guard.

Kye: He can be a bit of a grump. He is also the easiest to get with a prank, which the others do quite frequently. Kye also has the most infectious laugh, if you can get him to let loose. He’s also a Coruscant Guard.

Ratio: Ratio is happiest if he has a fully-charged datapad, a hot cup of caf, and a vod’ika curled up against him (usually Ama). Force save anyone who brings him a problem to solve before he’s had his morning caf, though. He likes to tease and joke around and holds trivia nights, which can range from fun little quizzes, to him info-dumping with his batchmates. He is also a Coruscant Guard.

Corin: Corin is a notorious flirt. He will flirt with anyone that he can get away with. Charming to the extreme and with a fun sense of humor to boot, he is very popular both within the Guard and with any Battalions on leave. He is also a massive troll. Wooley and Corin were really close before they were deployed and Wooley learned how to flirt from Corin. He fell head over heels for Lovely the very first time he saw him, and spent the rest of the war trying to come up with ways to woo Lovely. (Lovely is demi, so it took a bit of time and a lot of patience, but he was wooed.) Corin is a member of the Coruscant Guard.

Talla: He is very protective. He was one of the batchmates that was assigned to Commander Rill’s Company (also an oc of mine) along with Wooley, Cyan, Kita, and Maie. When they were captured by Separatists, Talla was sold to Trandoshans along with Kita and Maie. He protected them and they managed to survive until they were later rescued (this is soft! I couldn’t kill them. I just couldn’t). He’s fairly paranoid and warms up to strangers very slowly and rarely goes anywhere without his armor and several weapons.

Cyan: Cyan was rescued by the 212th along with Wooley (and Lovely and a few others, but I’m not focusing on them now). He’s really reserved and quiet, but will absolutely swear like a sailor with the people he’s closest to. He becomes really close with Miggs (a fellow trooper in the 212th) and they eventually say the riduurok after Miggs lost his leg on Umbara. They will eventually adopt a squad of cadets and raise them together.

Kita: Kita is pretty friendly and adapts well to being around other people. At least better than Talla. He was also rescued with Talla and Maie. He likes making friends and is definitely nowhere near as paranoid as Talla.

Maie: Maie is considered “Babey TM”. He’s got the Sad Tooka Eyes (which Wooley learned from him and used to great effect on the 212th). He is a little quiet and tends to stick close with the people he knows the best but is also interested in making new friends. He really wants to open a ranch or farm and just spend time out in nature when he doesn’t have to worry about being hunted.

And finally . . . 

Ama: Ama is the Youngest TM. Always. He loves practical jokes and making people laugh. He has probably perfected several comedy routines at this point and performs them every time he’s at 79′s with a new Company on leave. Loves sitting with Ratio and they like planning pranks together. Kye is their usual victim, but they also target the others as well. He was also sent to Coruscant as a Coruscant Guard.

Let me know if you want to learn any more about these guys! (I have done piccrew with them because I can’t draw) I love them a lot. If you made it all the way this far! Congratulations and thank you so much!! Crimson Batch will appear in my Long Fic (whenever I have time to actually write it).

ALSO!! FYI, Wooley falls between Kita and Maie, age-wise. He’s not the Youngest, but he is one of the youngest.

[10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat]

Selfies, Tea, and Photography

AO3

Pairing: Commander Fox x GN!Reader Pen Pal Fic

Premise: based off this post I made a while back where I mused on the concept of a clone/reader insert pen pal fic. Starting off with Fox based on a suggestion by @istanmyman

Word count: ~3.9k 

Rating: G

Other notes: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, apparently I can only write Thorn as Fox’s best bro and nosy wingman 

--

When you heard the news that the Grand Army of the Republic was starting up a correspondence program for troopers and civilians to connect and communicate, you immediately signed up for it. Not that your friends and family weren’t enough for you, it was just that you itched to learn more about the galaxy and what it was like to live and travel among the stars. Enrolling in the program was the closest you were going to get until you were able to travel yourself.

(That, and you were curious to learn more about the clones who were fighting for the Republic.)

Around a month after signing up for the program, you learned you were matched with CC-1010, also known as “Fox.” A few days after learning about your match, you received your first message from him.

Hello,

I am Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I am stationed on Coruscant, where I oversee the security of the Senate, manage operations at the military base on the planet, and coordinate with local authorities to maintain public safety. My fellow Guard Commanders and I are participating in this correspondence program to connect with Republic citizens we have sworn to protect and defend. I look forward to communicating with you.

Regards,

Commander Fox

His opening message was … something. It read like he didn’t want to be in the program, like his fellow Commanders may have forced him to do it with them. You also supposed he may have not known how else to introduce himself, and that was the best way he could think of to make a good first impression.

Regardless of the reason for his overly stiff and formal introduction, you wrote up your first message to Fox:

Hello Commander Fox, it’s nice to meet you!

I live on Naboo, in a small town in the lake country. I have a job in my grandmother’s tea shop. It’s not nearly as exciting as guarding Senators or catching bad guys, but it’s quiet and peaceful. I’m saving up to travel the galaxy one day, and until then the next best thing is talking with people like you who live in different places.

I do have some questions for you: what’s it like living on Coruscant? What do you do in your free time? Do you have any exciting stories about saving Senators from Separatists that you can share?

Hope to hear from you soon!

You signed with your name and sent the message.

A few days later, Fox sent his response. He greeted you by name in his opening line then went on to say:

Coruscant is loud, crowded, and messy. Feels like the planet never sleeps, with all the noise and lights at all hours of the day. My troopers and I live in barracks on the surface, and we don’t get much free time. Some of the boys like to go to this bar called 79’s that a lot of clones frequent. It’s not my favorite place, though. When I have free time, I like to relax with a good book, watch holodramas, or catch up on sleep. The work we do is important and a great service to the Republic, but a quiet peaceful life on Naboo with no excitement would be a welcome change of pace compared to my current station.

I haven’t rescued any Senators in the line of duty, but I did help Senator Amidala arrest Ziro the Hutt at the beginning of the war. I like Senator Amidala, she has a good head on her shoulders.

(She’s your Senator, isn’t she?)

I hope that’s what you were wanting to hear.

Looking forward to your response,

Commander Fox

You smiled to yourself as you read his message, and you imagined him in full armor laying back in a bed reading a book. Quiet, restful moments that you took for granted in your quiet life must have been sacred to a man like Fox.

The following day, you hiked out to the nearest lake to take pictures. You made sure to capture the lush green grass surrounding the lake, the colorful wildflowers growing along the shore, the sparkling crystal blue waters, and the majestic waterfalls that poured water into the lake. You made sure to include the pictures in the next message you wrote to Fox:

Senator Amidala is indeed from Naboo. She was our Queen too, back when I was younger. Everyone in my town loves her, and my grandma even has her royal portrait on display in the shop.

Not much has really happened since I last wrote to you. But I did go out and take some pictures of a nearby lake! The pictures are included with this message. I hope they can give you a small taste of my quiet life here.

--

Three weeks went by, and you hadn’t received a message from Fox. At first you figured he was busy with his duties. Then you worried that your pictures of the lake soured his mood, reminding him of something he couldn’t have. Then … you feared the worst.

One day after work, you went home and checked your message inbox on your computer. There was a message waiting for you from Fox. You breathed a sigh of relief as you opened it and read:

I’m sorry it took me so long to write you back. There was a bombing that took out the Senate’s power grid, and then a hostage crisis with bounty hunters, and then Ziro the Hutt escaped from prison. When I haven’t been scouring the city for Ziro or his accomplices, I have been neck-deep in paperwork.

Ironic, how right after I brag about helping bring Ziro into custody, he escapes.

I appreciate the pictures you sent me. Naboo looks like a beautiful planet. I would love to visit someday.

~ Fox

You took note of how he signed off with just his name, not his rank, and then you leaned back in your chair to mull over what to say to him. Your first idea was to invite him to visit Naboo once the war was over, but who knew when that would be. Unable to think of anything to say, you decided to come back to it later as you went about your evening.

The next day while you were at work, you served a customer some herbal tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect. The customer didn’t stick around long enough for you to see if it worked, but you took a tin full of the loose-leaf tea home with you after your shift. You reviewed the rules of the correspondence program, confirming that it would be appropriate to send a package to Fox, and then you packaged the tea up and took it to the shipping depot to send to Coruscant.

Stars, shipping items to Coruscant was expensive. Fox better like that tea, you thought.

Hello Fox,

I don’t mind that you wrote late. I’m just glad that nothing happened to you.

That really is some rotten luck, Ziro escaping. I hope you or the Jedi catch him and take him back to prison. In the meantime, remember to rest and take care of yourself! Coruscant needs a great Commander like you looking out for it, and I like having you as my pen pal.

I sent you a package with some tea from the shop. It’s a relaxation blend. I haven’t tried it, but it’s popular with customers. It should arrive in the next rotation or two. Hope you like it.

Three days later you got his next message:

The tea is wonderful. I had a cup of it an hour before going to bed, and I had the best sleep of my life. Thank you.

~Fox

Short and sweet, but you couldn’t ask for more.

--

Over the following weeks you and Fox continued to exchange messages. The two of you discovered that you shared a common interest in a holodrama series and dedicated several messages to discussing it and predicting what might happen in the coming episodes. You sent him more pictures of the countryside and of your village, and he sent you pictures of the Coruscant skyline at sunset: the way the golden light of the sun glinted off the shining chrome towers was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, and it moved Coruscant up a few spots on your list of places to visit.

At one point you looked up pictures of the clones on the Holonet to get an idea of what Fox might look like. However, the only pictures of the troopers you could find showed them with their helmets on. The closest you could get was a ten-year-old picture of Jango Fett; Jango was ridiculously handsome, so it would stand to reason that Fox would be too.

Fox gradually began loosening up, and he shared stories about growing up on Kamino or shenanigans his brothers got into. He hinted at there being some interpersonal drama among some Senators, but he didn’t name names since he knew the supervisors of the correspondence program read his messages before sending them to you, to make sure he wasn’t divulging information he shouldn’t be.

Fox also asked you more questions about your life. You told him about your childhood, your relationship with your parents, how you got your job at your grandmother’s shop, about your friends that moved to Theed for work or university studies, and all the places in the galaxy you wanted to visit.

You mentioned wanting to see Felucia, and in his next message Fox included pictures of the planet’s colorful trees, plants, flowers, and shrubs – including a few at night, when the vegetation gave off a bioluminescent glow.

One of my fellow Commanders spends a lot of time doing missions on Felucia. I asked him for pictures to show you and he took these and sent them to me.

I’m trying to get him to join this correspondence program too, but he won’t agree to it. He spends a lot of time with his Jedi, maybe that’s enough for him.

I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about not having a Jedi. I think about how some of them seem like a pain to work with and that it might not be worth the trouble, but then I see other Jedi treat the men under their command as friends or even family.

Which is why I’ve come to appreciate your messages. When I get them, they’re the highlight of my day. For a brief amount of time I feel like a normal person. I’ve never met you face-to-face, I don’t even know what you look like, but I consider you a friend.

~Fox

Getting pictures of Felucia from Fox made you feel all warm and fluttery inside. What he said about feeling like a normal person did as well, but it broke your heart at the same time. You wanted to stow away on a ship to Coruscant to give him a hug, and then go kick the behinds of anyone who ever made him feel bad about himself. Especially since he and his brothers worked so hard to keep people safe … it was a crime that they weren’t getting the recognition they deserved.

You snapped a picture of yourself to include in your next message, making sure the lighting and angle were just right so you looked your best. It also helped that you just happened to be wearing a color that you thought you looked good in.

Thank you for the pictures of Felucia! When I look at them it’s almost like I’m actually there. Please pass my gratitude along to your brother who took them.

I think of you as a friend too. I’m grateful to have you defending the Republic, and I’m glad to have you as my pen pal.

I don’t have much to offer you right now, other than a picture of me. At least now you can know what I look like.

You sent the message with the picture, leaned back in your chair, and watched the monitor of your computer. You knew that Fox wasn’t going to write back that same night, but you imagined him opening the message, reading your words, seeing your picture, and smiling the way his message made you smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Were you developing a crush on him?

…

…

Then again, so what if you were? You didn’t have to tell him, you could hide it. He was parsecs away on another planet. And he was a clone; would he even be allowed to date if he wanted to? Nothing would or could come of it. If a crush was forming, with any luck it would go away on its own. But that didn’t stop you from double-checking how many credits you had in your savings and comparing that number to the cost for a ticket to Coruscant.

--

Four days went by during which you went about your usual business, often distracted by thoughts of Fox how his day might have been going. Maybe he was chasing Separatists or criminals around, or maybe he was buried under another mound of paperwork. You wondered if he caught the newest episode of the holodrama you both liked; you couldn’t wait to talk about it with him. That little crush you were sure would fade away wasn’t going anywhere, and it both delighted and frustrated you.

The first thing you did after you got home from your shift was check your messages. It had become routine at this point, especially since a new message from him easily became the highlight of your day. However, the message in your inbox – presumably from Fox – was not what you thought it would be:

Greetings, Fox’s Pen Pal!

I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but Fox has it BAD for you. I’ve been watching him write these messages to you and hemming and hawing around the barracks and his office making sure he gets every word just right. He’s got your pictures of the lakes and fields on Naboo framed on the wall of his office, he drank all that tea you sent him and he still keeps the tin on his desk right next to your selfie. And if you knew the amount of favors he had to cash in to get our brother Bly to get those pictures of Felucia for you! (it’s a lot, trust me)

Anyway, I thought you ought to know. I told him to make a move and be honest about his feelings but he’s shy. So even though I might be overstepping some boundaries, I feel like it’s my brotherly duty to intervene on his behalf. If there’s a chance you might feel the same way, you should tell him. If you don’t, proceed how you will but please go easy on him.

If it influences your decision-making process at all, I included a picture of him. He’s a good-looking guy if I do say so myself, although he’s not as handsome as me 😉

Yours truly,

Commander Thorn

PS – please don’t tell Fox that I wrote you using his account.

You sat at your computer, staring blankly at the words on the screen, taking minutes to process what you just read … and then you remembered there was a picture attached to the message, so you opened up the attachment.

Jango Fett may have been handsome, but Fox was gorgeous. He looked like he was in his early- or mid-twenties, although there were wisps of gray hair above his ears by his temples. His hair was cropped close along the sides and longer on top, and you took a minute to admire his curl pattern. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, his face wearing a more neutral resting expression that showed off the scar running along the corner of his mouth. Finally, you noticed his eyes: framed by dark circles, his irises were a deep, inviting shade of brown. What would it be like to look into his eyes in person, or run your hands through his hair, or trace his scar with your thumb before you went in to –

You stopped yourself. You were getting carried away. Heat rose up the back of your neck and across your cheeks.

For the rest of the evening you mulled over what to do next. You knew you wanted to tell him that you liked him too … but doing it over a message didn’t feel like enough. Turning up unannounced was a bad idea too. Would he even want you to show up in person? And since you didn’t have his contact information outside of the correspondence program, you didn’t have a way to call him for a face-to-face talk via holotransceiver.

Unsure of what to do, you fired off a message as soon as the fleeting idea for it popped into your brain. Would you regret it? Maybe. Only one way to find out.

Hi Fox,

I want to come visit you on Coruscant. When will you be free?

It only took a few minutes for him to respond, but it felt like hours. The entire time your heart pounded furiously in your chest, and you bounced your leg up and down since you could barely contain your jitters inside your body. There was a chance he would say no, Thorn did say he was shy after all. But when his message came through, you opened it immediately, and all the jitters melted away.

I see you got Thorn’s message … lucky for us he’ll be available to cover for me when I’m off-duty to host you. Let me know when you’re coming.

Your mouth instantly spread into a grin … you could hardly believe it. It hardly seemed real, even as you opened up a Holonet page to book a roundtrip ticket.

--

Four rotations later, your transport came into orbit around Coruscant. A shuttle took you from the transport down to the planet’s surface, and you were in awe of the densely-packed constellations of lights twinkling up from the planet’s surface. Descending into the atmosphere, those lights morphed into buildings, and lanes upon lanes of speeder traffic, and seemingly endless grids of buildings. At one point you saw several buildings whose architecture differed from the others; the pilot pointed them out and said they were the Senate Complex and the Jedi Temple, respectively.

You disembarked from the shuttle and paused to look around. Coruscant was nothing like Naboo. Not a speck of green in sight, no signs of nature, just duracrete and grays upon grays as far as the eye could see. And it was loud, just like Fox said it was, with the revving engines and blasting horns from speeders breezing by above your head.

You checked your wrist chrono, seeing that you had two hours until you were due to meet Fox at 79’s. Next, you pulled a datapad out of your bag that contained a map of the planet’s surface and studied how to get from your current position to the hotel you booked for your stay. The hotel was only a couple of blocks from the bar – not that you had certain expectations for this trip or anything, you thought it would be easier to stay nearby.

All in all, it took one hour and fifty minutes to get from the shuttle landing pad to the hotel to drop off your things, and then another eight to get from the hotel to 79’s. In your rush and panic as you navigated Coruscant’s taxi and public transportation systems, you didn’t have time to be too nervous about meeting Fox in person for the first time. But as you walked up to the entrance of the bar with its painfully bright neon signs and the muffled music spilling out from inside, it all hit you.

You took off to a strange planet by yourself to see a man you only knew through messages. If your grandmother had her way she would have stopped you from going. What if he didn’t like you after the trip … what if you didn’t like him? What if something went wrong?

But then you saw him standing by the entrance to the bar, recognizing him by his red-painted armor and the gray hairs above his ears and the thick curls on top of his head that you admired so much. He was surveying the area with a soldier’s laser-sharp focus, perhaps looking for your arrival, and he clutched a small bouquet of colorful flowers to his chest. When his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a smile, the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Your worries seemed to matter less as you broke into a brisk jog to meet him.

“Fox?” you asked, smiling yourself.

“Indeed,” he responded before he handed the flowers to you. “I- uh- I got you these.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you said. No one had ever gotten you flowers before; in the past it didn’t seem like anything to miss out on, but now that you held a bouquet in your arms, you felt special. Treasured, even.

“And, uh, as for the venue ….” Fox’s voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at the bar’s garishly bright neon signs.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you said, trying to be reassuring.

“I’m not allowed in most places, even when I’m off-duty … and I would have liked to take you somewhere nicer ….” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. You could hear in his voice just how nervous he was.

“Because … well … you’re special to me. In a way no one else in my life is.”

You smiled at him again, and then wasted no time in leaning forward and pressing your lips to his cheek. It felt right to kiss him like that, but when you pulled back and saw him staring at you in shock and awe, you worried that it was too much too soon.

“C-can I …” he stammered. You nodded, and he angled his face so he could return the gesture. His lips were surprisingly soft against the skin of your cheek, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel or taste like on your own lips.

There would be time for that later, you reminded yourself, if all went well.

“Does this place have food?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Drinks?”

“Well it is a bar … they have non-alcoholic drinks too, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Then it’s got everything I need. I don’t know what I would do with myself at a fancy restaurant anyway.”

“I imagine a restaurant would be quieter and allow for some proper conversation … but Thorn told me about a spot inside where we’ll be able to talk and hear each other without having to shout over the music.” Fox added.

“Sounds perfect,” you said with a smile.

Fox offered his arm to you and you took it, wrapping your hand around his bicep just above his elbow so he could lead you into the bar. Throughout the evening any time your eyes met his you felt safe, like you were the only person in the universe, and that you needed to figure out a way to make regular visits to Coruscant.

No matter what, you would always be glad you got Fox as a pen pal, and that you came to visit him. Especially since it was more fun to rant and rave about the newest episode of the holodrama in person.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Say You’ll Stay - Chapter 8

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Guys, I’m so sorry its taken me so long to get this chapter out. My muse abandoned me and my laptop was being weird. But here we are! Let me know what you think!

Tag List: @happyveday​ @alwaysindecemberfeels​ @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes​ @saritanotserena​

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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The sunrise lit up the morning sky with an array of beautiful, pastel colors. Anna could only hope it was a good sign for the day. She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes as she carefully walked over the rubble on the city's streets, dodging icy puddles and mud. Gene was going to be quite upset with her later, but she tried not to think about that now. 

 Quickly, she hurried up the creaky steps of the old two-story home. It looked similar to most of the other buildings but its door was dirty and faded red with a rickety looking porch only half standing. She made a mental note to thank Boyd for his surprisingly clear directions, otherwise she knew she would have been wandering for a while and on these streets, that was far from safe. As quietly as possible, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. She had been invited here, actually forced to come here if Boyd's look yesterday said anything, but she still felt like an invader. The idea of setting foot inside the men's barracks was something her mind fervently refused to acknowledge; it just was not even a possibility in her mind. Though this building was not technically an army barrack in the literal sense, she still felt like an intruder because it was sleeping/housing quarters for the men. 

 Her grandmother would be furious if she ever found out Anna entered the men's quarters…. especially letting herself in. The thought tampered down Anna's nerves slightly as she thought of the horrified look on the elderly woman's face, if she ever discovered this. It lightened her mood for a brief moment. 

 In the room to her left, a soldier sprawled on a mangy looking couch with an arm thrown over his eyes. If she had not been able to see his chest rising and falling, she would have gone to check his pulse for how still he was otherwise. In that same room another soldier sat in a high-backed chair with his head tipped back, eyes closed and snoring like a chainsaw. Not recognizing either man, she guessed they were from one of the other tank crews. The sounds of movement and soft talking to her right had her quietly turning in that direction, hoping to allow the soldiers their well-deserved sleep. 

 She startled when a head popped around the corner, covering her mouth quickly before a scream could escape. The man had a face that reminded her vaguely of a bulldog, thick jaw and deep-set eyes. He scanned her for a moment in a way that felt more like an assessment than any kind of leering. 

 He grunted then jerked his head back the way he had come. "This way." He muttered only to disappear just as quickly as he appeared. 

 Through her heart still hammered in her chest from the unexpected startle, she took a deep breath in an attempt to steel her nerves. Sudden, frightened screaming would most likely get her or someone else shot. It was too early to be shot in her opinion. Best she try to suppress any girly screams for now. Or at least until after she got some sleep. 

 She followed the man around the corner only to encounter what most likely used to be a kitchen but was missing some key utilities. The faded, peeling wallpaper only added to the desolate feel. Just off center and close to a window facing the river was a table with three men sitting around it. Two others leaned against a countertop, mugs in hand. What quiet conversation had been going before her arrival ceased as she came into view. 

 "Anna?"

 "Good morning." She attempted to smile but worried it came out more as a grimace. The need for sleep was beginning to claw at her mind. 

 "Sit down," Boyd immediately stood up, gesturing to his chair at the table. "You want some coffee? I reckon we got some left."

 "That would be lovely, thank you." Knowing she probably would lose the fight, she went ahead and took his seat. Something she had learned about Boyd Swan over the past almost two weeks she had known him, he was a gentleman but beyond that…. he was stubborn. 

 Don leaned back in the chair next to her, cigarette between his lips. "Morning." He stated in a gravelly voice, lingering traces of sleep apparent in the sound. He must not have been awake long. 

 "Good morning." She flashed him a quick smile, willing the warmth to dissipate from her cheeks, or at least hoping no one noticed the blush. This schoolgirl crush on him was ridiculous, and she knew it. A peek of those blue eyes and her heart beat a drumroll in her chest that rivaled any band. 

 Boyd set a tin cup in front of her, steam tantalizingly drifting out of it. "Didn't think you'd be here this early. Why ain't you sleepin'?" Boyd asked. 

 She took a sip, the warmth delightful even if the taste was less than desirable. "Um, well, I'm supposed to be but I wanted to see y’all before, or you might come busting down the door again." She directed the last part to Boyd with a mock glare. He was lucky none of the medics carried guns with how he burst into the aid station demanding to see her. 

 He shrugged unapologetically. "Just wanted to make sure you was alright. We didn't know where you disappeared to. I see you got some new clothes."

 "Yeah," she glanced down at the ODs she now wore. They were ill-fitting, clearly meant for a man, not a short nurse. She had to roll up the hems of the trousers and the sleeves multiple times and she swore she still looked like a child playing dress-up in their parent's clothes. On the other hand, they were far warmer than her nurse’s torn uniform and right now, that was more important. "Gene let me have one of their spare medic uniforms."

 "Mmm… explains the patch here." Don touched the screaming eagle patch over her upper arm. 

 It was an innocent, teasing gesture but it still shot sparks through her system. Her eyes jumped up to meet his lingering gaze. He gave her a quick wink before leaning his chair back. The warmth of a blush reappeared on her cheeks. Quickly, she took a sip of her watery coffee, well aware of the others sitting or standing around quietly in the room. 

 "Gene? That medic with the southern accent?" Boyd asked, leaning against the wall nearby. His question was innocent enough but the scrutinizing look on his face said otherwise. 

 "Boyd…"

 "He just seemed real protective of you, that's all."

 She groaned, setting her cup down on the table and dropping her face into her hands. A few chuckles drifted from around the room but she ignored them. Actually, now that she was sitting still with her eyes closed, she could feel a wave of sleep threatening to crash over her and pull her under, with or without her consent. The coffee should have been helping to keep her awake but at this point, the warmth in her belly only made her want to curl up like a cat and doze off.

 A conversation picked up around her, two of the men in the room speaking in a low drone. She recognized the sound of the man with the bulldog face, he made some kind of remark that had Don chuckle next to her before replying. Her mind refused to process the words though. The conversation became a background noise as she teetered on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. She should get back to the aid station. She needed to get back to the aid station to help Roe. Yet her body refused to comply. 

 "Anna."

 The soft whisper of her name caught her attention from the sleep-induced haze. She turned her head slightly to meet Don's concerned gaze. 

 "When did you last sleep?"

 "Mmm?"

 He huffed at her noncommittal answer. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

 "No…. I stayed up to cover so some of the other medics could sleep. I'm fine. I should probably head back."

 "Doll, I just watched you fall asleep sitting right there."

 "No… I was just… resting my eyes. I should get back."

 "Like hell you are." He raised his gaze to look over her head, his volume rising from the whisper they had been speaking in. "Boyd, take Anna upstairs and let her have one of the cots or bed. We'll take her back once she gets some sleep."

 "No, it's fine…." She weakly tried to argue but snapped her mouth shut when he turned his gaze back to her.

 "If you don't walk up those stairs right now, I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you up them." Don stated, then took a hit of his cigarette. The statement should have sounded like a joke but with his matter-of-fact tone and the way he watched her, Anna knew he was serious. 

 "Come on," Boyd put a hand on her shoulder. "We was gonna ask you to check Norman anyway."

 That caught her attention. She whipped around to look up at Boyd. "Is he alright? What happened?"

 "He's fine. Think he's got a cold.... maybe a fever too."

 With that information, she more readily followed the gunner up towards the nearby stairs and up to the second floor. There were four doors in the hallway but he led her to the furthest one on the right. Inside was a bed big enough for two people, a large dresser, nightstand and a short couch off in the corner. What immediately caught her attention though was the figure lying in bed, curled up like a child and coughing with a dry and scratchy sound. Her own exhaustion was forgotten as she darted past Boyd to drop next to the figure under the thick quilt. 

 "Hey, Norman." 

 "Anna?" He blearily opened his red-rimmed, glassy eyes. He sniffled, wiping his nose on the edge of his sleeve. 

 "How are you feeling?"

 "Ok…"

 "Liar." She teased, running a hand through his hair gently after feeling his forehead. He felt mildly warm but nothing she was too concerned with yet. That cough had her more worried. "What all hurts, Norm?"

 "Boyd thinks it's just a cold."

 "I know. Running nose, scratchy throat, slight fever… anything else? Headache? Fatigue?"

 "Uh huh." He mumbled, eyes closing as he relaxed under her touch, sleep guiding him away from awareness. 

 He looked so painfully young, lying in the bed. It broke her heart to know this was someone who was forced to kill people on a regular basis. He should be back home and going to school or flirting with his crush or playing baseball with friends. He should not be here. None of them should be here. 

 Yet here they were. 

 She looked around her and found his canteen laying just underneath the bed. Picking it up she was pleased it was at least half full. 

 "Norm, I want you to drink some of this before you fall back asleep. Can you do that for me, please?"

 With a painful groan, he shifted enough to drink a couple of mouthfuls of the water before handing it back to her and slinking back down onto the bed. She stood up but was surprised when his hand darted out to grab hers. 

 "Don't go yet." He said just barely above a whisper. It was the pleading look in his eyes that convinced her. 

 "Ok, sweetie," she cooed, running her hand over his sweaty forehead again, "I'll stay a little longer."

 She looked back over at Boyd, hovering near the door with an expression on his face she could not distinguish. 

 "Can you fill this back up and get him some of those crackers from your rations?"

 Boyd nodded, moving to take the canteen from her hand. "Sure thing. Anythin' else you need?"

 "No, I'll stay just for a little bit. Can you come get me in an hour or two? I really need to head back to the aid station."

 "You also need to rest. Those bags under your eyes look like permanent bruises now."

 "I will." She snapped then immediately felt bad and sighed. "I'm sorry, I will. I promise."

 "S'alright. I'll come back in an hour."

 "Thank you." She smiled, even if it was only a twitch of her lips. As Boyd walked out, she knelt back down next to the young soldier. His eyes were already closed, breathing slowing as slumber took hold once again. She rested her head on the side of the bed, carding her fingers through his hair. A hacking cough overtook him, startling them both. Once he settled, she continued her ministrations, humming softly. She hoped it was just a cold. That it was nothing more severe. 

 She made a mental note that when Boyd came her in an hour, she would make sure to ask Gene if anyone had found tea or honey laying around. 

 *****

 Don watched Boyd and Anna go up the stairs. When he turned back, he saw a couple of the men's gaze lingering on the stairs. 

 "The nurse is off limits." He stated with such finality that had at least one of the men's heads snap towards him. As if his statement sealed an invisible decree, the men in the kitchen turned back to whatever they were doing prior. 

 Davis looked at him from his spot across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. "She yours?"

 "I thought you don't participate in gossip?"

 The other tank commander shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. 

 Don ignored the question, even if he could feel Davis' gaze frequently drifting to him. He focused on the map on the table before him. It was not necessary for him to study it but the action had become a habit of his whenever his crew moved to a new location. Knowing what other towns were nearby, rivers, roads, anything that could be of use later, he tried to memorize it. At this point, he figured by the time the war was over he would have most of Europe and North Africa geography permanently seared into his brain. 

 A couple minutes later, Boyd came back down and returned to his seat next to Don. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed deeply. "She's workin' herself too hard. Looks like she ain't slept in a week."

 Don kept his thoughts to himself but he was loathed to agree. Exhaustion hung off her like a heavy cape making her feet drag as she walked. Witnessing how easily she fell asleep just sitting at the table did not help her case. 

 "Told her I'd be back up in an hour to get 'er."

 Don raised an eyebrow, looking at his friend. "Are you going to?" 

 Boyd smirked. "I'll check on her but if she's sleepin', I'm gonna leave her be. Lord knows she needs it." He paused, glancing towards the stairs. "I'd bet my own Bible she's asleep right now."

 "Mmm… Norman alright?"

 "He's sleepin'. She's takin' care of him."

 He was not all surprised. Since they had arrived in Haguenau, Norman's health had plummeted. Don worried for his newest crew member. The poor kid looked miserable and these were certainly less than ideal conditions for someone sick. The kid had a bed and a roof over his bed…. he would pull through. He had too. Don would not even consider the alternative. Especially with Anna now looking after him. The small nurse would mother the hell out of whatever is wrong with the kid. With a smirk at the thought, Don went back to studying the map. 

 Several hours later, he headed up the stairs to the room he shared with Boyd and Norman. 

 A runner had come from Captain Winters requesting his presence at noon at HQ. Don agreed, sending the runner back on his way. Boyd met his annoyed gaze and they shared a mutual sigh. So much for them having a reprieve before being sent back out. 

 Up the stairs he went and down the short hallway. The floorboards creaked under his boots; a sudden memory of his childhood home crossed his mind. Whenever he tried to sneak out of this bedroom as a child, he never could get far because of the damn loud floorboards.  

 He opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the room's occupants. As he registered what he saw, it brought a small smile to his lips and he paused at the sight. Norman was still curled up asleep on the bed, mouth open and breathing loud. On the other side of the bed, Anna lay on her side, hands tucked under her face, hair a wild mess around her. Boyd had mentioned when he came up to check on them, he had helped move Anna to the bed with her barely rousing. Clearly more tired than any of them assumed.  

 Instead of waking her up like he intended to, he found himself closing the door quietly and just watching the two sleep. Yes, he knew it was creepy and if Boyd knew, the gunner would rightly smack him in the back of the head. Would not be the first time after Don did something stupid. 

 War brings people together in the strangest of way. After the…. accident...he thought he would never have family again. That because of his stupid mistakes, he was destined to be alone forever. Which he rightly deserved. But then he went to war. He was thrown into a tank with four other men who quickly became brothers. 

 If he needed to be distracted from commands and his own inner demons, he knew sitting down with Gordo would distract him for a while with his crazy stories of home and the shenanigans he did as a teenager. Gordo always had a joke or story to share to lighten the mood. 

 Grady respected Don as a leader but never let him run him over; he could just as easily return Don's anger-fueled fire as follow his commands. It had taken some time for them to trust and respect one another, their tempers too similar. Now there was an underlying understanding between the two of them, that they took the worst of the jobs, that they would carry the most blood on their hands to spare the others. If Don had to get into a fist fight, there was no one else he would want more by his side. 

 Then there was the man who had become more than a blood brother, a confidante, a best friend, a moral compass. Even in the first week of tank school, Boyd had looked over at Don one day, said he was proud to be by his side and thought Don was a good man. Don had laughed in Boyd's face but somehow it sealed a pact between them. Boyd's calm demeanor helped keep Don's temper down and even when it did flare up like a roman candle firework, Boyd was always there to rein it in. Neither of them drank so while the others went off to drink away the night, Don and Boyd found themselves sitting together silently and both were more than alright with that. 

 Norman reminded Don of his little brother so much it physically hurt sometimes. He despised himself that it was HIS fault the boy was forced to lose that innocence he carried. It was HIM that made Norman kill. But this was war, and if they wanted to survive, they needed to be merciless. Don knew he overcompensated by making sure Norman ate and rested when they could. He showed the young soldier how to disassemble and reassemble his rifle, how to stab and slash, how to survive. He refused to let the boy die even through his own stupid mistakes. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the idea had been planted that making sure Norman survived this goddamn war would be his penance for his own failures.  

 Before two weeks ago, these were the four people that mattered most to him. Even more than what was left of his blood relations. Losing Red, Norman's predecessor, had felt like a knife to the heart, even if he masked it for all to see. He refused to let the others see him grieve, he had to be strong for them. 

 Now though, Anna had slipped past his heart's barriers and settled there in a place that he had not realized was empty until her presence filled the prior void spot. She remained in his thoughts more than he cared to admit. Her soft touch, her gentle spirit, those gemstone eyes, that faint scent… it all lingered with him like a summer's heat that no matter what you tried to do, day or night, you could not escape. He swore she was a siren, come to torment him. His life was proof enough he did not deserve someone like her, he never would deserve someone like her. She was gentleness and kindness wrapped up in a person. He was wrath and mistakes that cost people their lives. 

 Yet still her presence persisted. 

 Shaking his head, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and moved to her side. He hated to wake her. She looked so peaceful. 

 "Anna." He whispered. "Anna, wake up." 

 Overly aware of his actions, he squatted down to be eye level with her. He reached a hand over and brushed some loose strands of hair off her cheek. The sunlight coming through the dirty window made her red hair shine. "Come on, darling. Time to wake up."

 He was unsure where the pet name came from but once it left his lips, it felt right. Before he could think too long about it, she began to stir. 

 She sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyelids fluttered open but once the sunlight hit, they slammed closed once again. "No…" she whimpered, scrunching her nose up in dislike of either the sun or waking up. Either way, he was positive he had never seen anything as adorable before… and he never used the word adorable.  

 Oh, he was so fucked now. 

 He chuckled. "Come on, Anna."

 "What time is it?"

 "Almost noon."

 She peeked an eye open at him. "I told Boyd to wake me in an hour."

 "Yeah, well we thought you needed some sleep."

 Grumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "overprotective mother hen", she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up. 

 Movement drew Don's gaze over to Norman who was shifting around. His eyes blearily opened; it took a few seconds to come out of sleep. Once his mind seemed to realize Anna was still half laying in the bed less than a foot away from him, he sat up like he had been shocked with electricity. 

 "Don, I swear nothing happened. We just sleeping, I mean… I don't think…" a bout of coughing interrupted his frantic and hasty explanation. 

 At that, the tank commander laughed loudly. "I know, Norman." He shifted back towards the door, watching the two amused. Anna's cheeks were pink now but she gave no other indication of hearing Norman's sleepy mumbling. 

 "How are you feeling, Norm?" She asked, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. 

 "Alright, I guess."

 "Think you can come down and eat?"

 He nodded sluggishly. They both rolled out the bed, him moving a bit slower. The whole way out of the door and down the stairs, Anna walked next to him, occasionally putting a hand on his shoulder or giving a word of encouragement.  

 Don led the way back down, still smirking about Norman's hasty and confused comment. He would have to remember it to rib the kid later on when he was feeling better. Finally making it to the kitchen area, they deposited Norman at the table next to Gordo, who was nursing a cup of coffee. Boyd meandered over from reading on one of the couches in the common room, glasses still perched on his nose. 

 As soon as Anna saw him, she stomped over and punched him in the arm. "You were supposed to wake me up in an hour."

 Boyd winced and tried to shuffle out of range of another strike. "Well, you looked tired."

 "What every girl wants to hear, Boyd, thank you."

 Don was not the only one laughing at the interaction. 

 Anna blushed as she seemed to notice the others about the area but ignored them, walking back over to Norman. "You just rest. I'll come back and check on you tonight. I'll see if they have anything to help at the aid station."

 The kid nodded then started coughing again. 

 "Don't worry, we'll take care of him." Gordo said, wrapping an arm around him and giving her a quick wink. 

 She smiled back, cheeks still pink from her prior blush.  "Thanks, Gordo."

 Don figured it was time to speak up now. "Let's go, Anna. I'll walk you back." He was surprised when she followed him without hesitation after a quick goodbye to those from his crew.  

 Don and Davis were lucky to have found an unoccupied house on the western side of Haguenau for their crews, further away from the river and the Germans across it. Binkowski and Peterson and their crews occupied the building just behind them. Here they did not have to worry so much about the frequent mortars and snipers. Though some of the holes in the floorboards were concerning, but it was a roof over their heads. 

 The tank commander and nurse walked in silence past the other houses and buildings towards the aid station. The frost, hidden in the shadows, crunched under their boots. An unusual silence permeated the air, no shouting or sound of gunfire coming from the river. It made Don wary and he slowed down his typical purposeful stride to match hers, making sure to keep his body between hers and the direction of the river. He knew the action would be useless against a mortar but it helped alleviate some of his worry. 

 They stopped at the back door to the aid station, the couple brick steps still intact, leading up to a small stoop and the back, wooden door. Don remained on the muddy ground while Anna stepped up onto the first step then turned around to face him. 

 "Thank you for walking me back." 

 He hummed, glancing further down the road. "You make sure to eat something now. Can't have you wasting away."

 "Isn't that my job to take care of others?" She said cheekily. 

 "Yeah, doesn't hurt to have someone looking out for you too."

 It was a simple, truthful statement. If war taught anything, it was the need for others to watch your back both in dodging bullets and to share meals. War and death were malicious bastards, dragging down anyone into a black hole of melancholy before they could even realize they slipped in the first place. Yet as soon as the words left his mouth, the weight of them hit him firmly in the chest. Instead of meaning it as a comrade or friend, he realized he meant something more. Someone to look out for her in more than just the little things, but in everything. Shit. 

 Her head snapped up, her gaze meeting his in a way that sent a tingle down his spine. Neither one moved as they stared at one another. The world threatened to fade away around them. She was beautiful, it was a fact. Even in ODs that threatened to swallow her, she still managed to radiate warmth and kindness. He had caught more than one soldier eyeing her up. It burned him up on the inside but he had no right to fight them over their actions. She was not his…. even if he was beginning to wish she was. She was too good for him. Too pure. Too beautiful. His presence would only taint her. 

 He needed a distraction, something to break the hold they both seemed stuck in. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. "You still have the knife on you?" 

 She blinked rapidly as if awakening from a dream. "Yes." She stuttered then leaned over slightly to lift her right pants leg up. 

 He looked down and noticed it strapped to her lower leg, just above her boot. "Good."

 Even though the conversation halted, it seemed neither one wanted to move away. Her eyes held his once again as if waiting for something. A sign? A word? A fucking billboard with neon lights? Hell if he knew. The problem was, he could feel it too. There was something shifting between them and it both terrified and elated him. 

 Before he could stop himself, he reached out and slipped an erratic strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb trailing down her jawline after, her soft skin like velvet against his own roughness. Fuck he had been dying to touch her again. Instead of alleviating the need, now it seemed to burn stronger in him. 

 "Don…" she whispered as his thumb hinted at touching her lower lip. 

 The way she said it in that breathy tone, the light in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks, all of it combined sent a bolt of lightning through him that threatened any self-control he had. He wanted to pull her small frame against him, to taste her and see if her lips were as soft as they looked, if that heavenly scent that surrounded her came from her skin or hair. He wanted her. Fucking hell, he wanted her. And if the way her eyes were dilated and her breathing uneven, perhaps she wanted him too. 

 The door beside them suddenly opened, jolting them both back to reality. Whatever moment they had, dashed away as a paratrooper glared at them then pushed past them. 

 "I should…."

 "Yeah," he said, pulling out a cigarette.  He needed to keep his hands busy otherwise he would be tempted to pull her against him. "I'll send someone to come get you later."

 "That's not necessary."

 "Maybe, but I sure as hell don't like you walking around by yourself."

 "Fine." She stood up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his jawline, an innocent ode to the last time she kissed him. "Be safe, Sergeant." She whispered against his skin then quickly turned and ducked inside the aid station. 

 "Damn it." He muttered after his brain finally decided to restart. Such a simple touch should not make him lose all sense. He kicked a loose rock, sticking the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. The smoke curled in his lungs, helping solidify him into reality. He glanced back at the door, briefly wondering what it would be like to storm into the building and kiss her like he wanted too. But before he could do something stupid, he headed towards the regiment HQ, the lingering hint of lilacs danced in the corners of his mind. 

[chrysalispen]

xxxii. and larger shone that smile against the sun. (FINALE II)

there’s an epilogue coming, but otherwise this is it, friends! the final countdown chapter!

thank you all so much for sticking this 15 months out with me, it really does mean a lot. i’ll be spending the month working on some one-shot projects, outlining the next longfic in this set, and making some drafts, but otherwise i’m taking it easy. (no nano for me, i’m wiped)

anyway, this chapter is just under 13K words and it’s still not where i’d like it, but at some point it’s either release things or sit in editing purgatory for another month. so here you are. brief CW: in one scene a child is injured so i advise you take precautions if you find that upsetting.

AO3 Link HERE

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Once again someone was knocking on the Millers’ privy door.

Vahne’s fingers tightened about the larger hand that she held, but the returned squeeze from the woman in the bed didn’t bring her much in the way of comfort. Her sense of unease increased with each sound Goody Miller made, pained or not. It was so hard to sit still and wait. She kept hearing the sounds of her aunt’s screams in her ears.

And those sounds outside. Screaming. Running footsteps--

Her stomach twisted with alarm and guilt in equal measure. The sour and unpleasant taste rising in the back of her mouth was so sharp and overwhelming that for a moment she feared she might retch across the coverlet. They only came here because I did, she thought. The whole village is in danger because of me.

The lady of the house, her brow glowing with sweat, pushed herself upright and reached for her bedrobe. “By the Twelve,” she groaned, “what is happening out there? What’s all the bleeding racket-”

“I’ll go see who it is,” Vahne said quickly, standing up and reaching for the water pitcher. “Maybe they have news.”

“Chance’d be a fine thing.” Flushed and sweaty, discomfort carving lines of pain into her face, the weaver nonetheless gave her a kind smile and patted her hand. “Thank you, dear. You’re a good girl.”

The front room of the Millers’ cabin felt ominously quiet, made more so for the chaos that reigned without its walls. The wood stove made a low and steady ticking as it cooled just like her aunt’s, its final batch of pies delivered to the feasting tables a good half-bell past. She slipped past the tables of drying grass and the still-warm hearthstones towards the side entrance that opened between the stables and the privy.

What if it’s those soldiers? Her thoughts spun on an unstable axis. What if they’re just waiting for someone to let them in?

An old floorboard, loose and warped with age, creaked beneath her weight. Vahne froze in place, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, her tail lashing violently and her ears flattened against her head.

“Missus Miller? Is that you, ma’am?”

It was a boy’s voice, she realized, exhaling. There hadn’t been any boys with those soldiers. She crept closer to the wall that braced the privy entrance.

“Hello?” Another rap. “Anyone there?”

“She’s abed,” Vahne said as loud as she dared. “Who are you?”

“I’m Enguerrand Aubaints. Who are you?”

“I’m Miss Aurelia’s assistant,” she retorted, the lift of her chin defiant (although she knew the newcomer could not see it). “State your business.”

“Oh, for... listen, I’ve been trying to open the privy door to get in but it’s locked and I have children with me. Now will you please let us in?”

She half-fancied that it had all been a ruse and the moment she threw the bolt, the door would fly open as it had at her aunt’s cabin, and hard-faced soldiers would swarm the entrance like termites- but the voice on the other side of the door was only a boy after all: an Elezen somewhat close to her own age. Two young Hyuran boys hugged his legs, and Vahne recognized them as the children who had stared so curiously at her the first time she had come to Willowsbend.

Took you long enough,” the boy - Enguerrand - grumbled. One sweaty lock of brown hair tumbled into his eyes as he shut the door at their backs (and reset the latch, much to Vahne’s unspoken relief). “Is Mistress Laskaris here?”

“Miss Aurelia and the Sergeant both went outside right after all that noise started. What’s happening out there?”

“Garleans,” Enguerrand shook his head, a solemn cast to his dark eyes. “They came in the middle of the feast. I didn’t catch all of it but it sounds like they’re looking for someone.”

“Goody Miller needs a healer. I hope Miss Aurelia comes back soon.”

“From the sound of things I don’t think she’ll be back for some time,” he said. “You should fetch the Hearer. Or Master Trevantioux.”

“I would," Vahne retorted, "if I knew what either of them looked like. Why don’t you go?”

“Because someone’s got to watch these two, and besides, babies are girls’ wo-… um. I mean.” He faltered at the sight of her icy glare, and she could see clearly the wheels turning behind his eyes as he struggled to walk back his words. “...That is, I mean… I’m not… I’m not a conjurer b-but they could help, easy.”

She glanced first at the curtained window, then down the short hallway and the closed door at its end before she released a resigned sigh. “What do they look like?"

"Huh?"

"What do they look like," she repeated, her voice loud and slow. "Your conjurers."

"Oh. Um... the Hearer is old and Master Trevantioux isn't. They're both in long robes and big gray pointed hats. And they have walking sticks."

Vahne was no less worried or frightened than she had been before, but now she had come to a decision, and she felt all the better for sensing it to be the right one. She sat down on a nearby stool and began to wriggle her sore feet back into her weathered pattens.

“If Goody Miller asks after me, tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can. And make sure to lock the door behind me.”

“You're going out there now?”

“Well, when am I supposed to go?” she huffed, exasperated. “Do you think they’re going to put down their weapons and say ‘oh pardon us, we didn’t know your friend’s mum was having a baby, we’ll come back and burn down your village at a better time’?”

“What? I’m not saying don’t go, I’m just saying that it’s not-”

She reached for the latch, threw the bolt, and stepped across the threshold with a decisive crack of her soles against the floor.

“-safe,” Enguerrand finished, somewhat lamely.

“I’ve seen worse. Just keep an eye on them,” she ordered with a toss of her hair. “I’ll be back to help with the ‘girls’ work’ soon enough.”

She didn’t miss the rosy cast to the Elezen boy’s cheeks as the door shut behind her.

~*~

The fletching of yet another nocked arrow zipped through Keveh’to’s knuckles as it plunged into the fray below.

Although individually most of these soldiers were no more or less a threat than any other on the star, the danger of the imperial army lay in its discipline. Its personnel were extraordinarily well-drilled. The attackers had quickly regrouped in the confusion as the riot began in earnest, and in their efforts to suppress the furious villagers they had drifted towards the ceremonial dais in a singular large formation. It put the Keeper in mind of a malevolent cloud of summer wasps that had emerged from their jostled nest.

And it was working. The villagers were brave and morale was good, but farm tools and fists were no match for gunblades or even sword and shield forged in mass-production, and they were losing momentum quickly.

“We can’t keep this up, Lieutenant,” he shouted at the Wood Wailer a few fulms to his left. “Another half-bell and we’re done. We need reinforcements.”

“We’ve not the manpower to spare. Otherwise, I’d send for help from Quarrymill. Or even the Druthers.” Mariustel Aubaints raised his voice, shouting in the direction of two volunteers who had holed themselves up in a break in the wall: “Stay on them! Throw whatever you have!”

Keveh’to gathered his aether for a quick shot, and another spray of missiles peppered the enemy. Three of them stumbled back in haste and one folded in half like a puppet with cut strings- but it wasn’t enough to rout them. The ranks held firm and there was a cry from below as two more men from the village fell back.

It was only a matter of time, but if they could just hold out until-

“Sergeant!”

The young voice took his focus from the dais. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hugh Miller waving him down. “What is it, lad?”

“Cecilie’s out of spells!” Hugh shouted. “We have more back at our barracks, but I don’t know if we can get to them from here!”

The boy’s excited grin had long since faded, replaced with the over-bright shine of genuine fear. Keveh’to suspected that the novelty of taking part in a real skirmish with imperials - an actual fight with real and very deadly stakes, and not a product of a childish imagination - had worn off once Hugh had realized that he couldn’t simply call the game off when things started going badly for him.

“They’re about to fire at us again,” he shouted back. “Stay put with the others and for the Twelve’s sake, keep your heads do-”

The crack of a gunblade shot rang through the air.

Keveh’to could only watch with horrified eyes as Cecilie Aubaints stumbled backward with a cry of pain and collapsed to the ground. The slingshot in the girl’s hand went flying across the wooden planks, skittering somewhere out of sight in the darkness. She curled in on herself like a hurt animal, and the strangled sound she made was like a punch to the gut - along with Hugh’s cry of her name.

At his side, he watched all of the color drain from the Wood Wailer’s face. The Elezen made to stand but Keveh’to caught the man’s arm and forced him to remain in place.

“Let me go, Epocan.” Mariustel’s snarl was muffled beneath the confines of his mask, his hand shaking with rage as it tightened about its grip upon his longbow. “I’ll have the heart of every last one of them. Miserable whoresons-”

“You need to stay here with the others.” Keveh’to slung his bow over one shoulder. “The longer we keep the enemy occupied, the longer we can hold this position.”

“I should be the one to go.”

“No. You’re the leader. If that lot down there manages to get themselves out of that kettle, that’s all of us done for.”

“That’s my daughter they shot, damn it all! I can’t just sit here-”

“Aye, and if you get yourself killed and they overrun us, what do you think will become of her? The Garlean Empire isn’t known for its mercy.”

He wanted to argue, Keveh’to thought, and who could blame him? If it were his daughter who’d been injured, he knew he would have been no less insistent. But he also knew he was right, and he knew Mariustel knew it too.

The man gave a heavy sigh. “If I need to run for a healer-”

“Never you mind that. I’ll do the running.”

The short stretch he had to traverse to reach Hugh and his friends was treacherous. The Garleans couldn’t move but they were still able to concentrate their long-range efforts upon that section of the wall. Another gunblade shot narrowly missed Keveh’to’s face; its trajectory was so close that the current in its wake snagged at the collar of his overcoat like briar thorns. A third chipped at stone and mortar, ricocheting wide with a high-pitched whine.

Cursing under his breath, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the distance to the children. Hugh was in frantic tears, half-crouched over his friend’s body to protect her from any more incoming projectiles, and Keveh’to could hear dry whimpers echoing from the small form. The curtain of her hair spilled across the ground like discarded ribbons.

“The Garleans shot her,” the boy sobbed. “They shot her!”

“I see that, lad. Move aside.”

He was frozen in place with fear; Keveh’to had to shove him out of the way in order to take a closer look at her hurts. Cecilie was clutching at the meat of her left thigh. He found himself staring into eyes that were wide and terrified.

“Sergeant,” she gasped. He tucked a stray bit of her fringe behind one pointed ear. The small hands on her injured leg shook visibly.

“Cecilie, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m sorry.” Her voice held steady. All told, she was doing a sight better than her Hyur friend at maintaining her composure. “I only stood up for a moment-”

“All right. Lie still, lass.” Crimson spilled through her fingers and stained her leggings; it was quickly soaking through the fabric to patter onto the wood and seep into the grain. She looked clear-eyed enough, but even he could see she was losing an alarming amount of blood.

“I just wanted to check if we had any spells left. Just for a moment. I didn’t think-” Cecilie stammered, her chin wobbling, “I thought it would be all right but it wasn’t-”

Anger and self-recrimination left a dull ache in the depths of his chest. Hugh and Cecilie and the others were bright and brave, but for all their courage and wit, they were still children and had no place in a fight like this. He should have sent them straight home when he had the chance instead of encouraging them, he thought.

It was his fault the girl was hurt. But he kept his peace; it was far too late for regrets now.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, crying openly now. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault-”

Keveh’to shunted his guilt aside to offer her a smile he hoped was reassuring. “It’s all right, Cecilie,” he said gently. “We’ll take care of this. You’re going to be just fine.”

“It hurts so much--”

“Aye, lass. I know.” He reached into his belt for a length of leather cord, casting about their immediate surrounds for something he could use as a fulcrum. “I’m going to do something that won’t feel very good, but it’ll slow the bleeding. It’s only until we can find the Hearer or Master Trevantioux and get them to make you good as new.”

She nodded blindly. “Or Miss Aurelia?”

“Or Miss Aurelia,” he agreed.

He reached for a nearby piece of debris and began to wrap the cord around Cecilie’s leg. One stray glance below, peeking between the newly made cracks in the mortar, showed a half dozen more soldiers in the main street shouting to the group near the dais and gesturing to the walls.

“All of you, listen up,” he said briskly. “Once I finish up here, we’re all going to have to move down the wall and find shelter on the ground. I’m going to need your help.”

Hugh struggled to his knees, pulling Amicia and Larkin up alongside as he went. The two younger children stared at him with eyes the size of dinner plates but by the expression the Miller boy wore, he seemed to have regained a certain degree of calm- or he had passed into a state of shock sufficiently profound that there was little difference to be had between the two.

“What do we need to do?” was all he said.

Keveh’to knotted the leather cord and began to twist it around the piece of elm plank he had found, watching the blood begin to slow in its course down her thigh and onto the walkway. Cecilie whimpered in discomfort and her fingers bunched in handfuls of his greatcoat, but otherwise, she let him work without complaint.

“We need to find a quick way down. A ladder, rope, anything. What I’m doing here is just a temporary measure. We have to get Cecilie to the conjurers as soon as we can manage it.”

The boy nodded, his face pale but still almost eerily composed. As he opened his mouth to reply, the sounds of shouting arose from the main gates.

~*~

Vahne had expected to see disarray of some sort once she moved beyond the relative safety of the Millers’ house, but what she saw was pandemonium. The villagers were crowding a group of soldiers, shouting angrily, the feast tables were overturned, and the food and festive decorations were mostly trampled into the dirt. Some few still crouched behind whatever shelter they could find, but most who had not chosen to fight the invaders appeared to be hiding in their homes.

Right. I have to find one of the conjurers. She cast her eyes to and fro, looking for the figures Enguerrand had described (Miss Aurelia was nowhere to be seen, as much as Vahne would have preferred to find her).

Her eyes scanned the small cabins and their darkened windows and she thought of her aunt’s house, of the expensive glass windows and the wraparound porch. It was a mistake; she felt the worry she’d managed to suppress begin to claw its way up her spine all over again.

Not now, she told herself. Not now. Concentrate on this problem first.  

The sound of a door slamming open from a nearby cabin interrupted her train of thought.

Vahne hastily took cover behind the closest large object she could find: a large barrel that had been overturned in the villagers’ flight. She was not a moment too soon, for only a few yalms away she saw a tall, pretty young Elezen woman in a soft blue dress fall into the dirt with a cry. At her heels was a big man in that scarlet-trimmed black. He dragged forward an old Elezen - scruffed like a kitten by the collar of his kurta in one hand - and carelessly tossed him across the threshold to tumble down the steps and into the road. In his other hand, their captor bore a long blade with a strange-looking hilt.

“Father!” the woman cried.

Seemingly heedless of her predicament, she crawled through the mud to reach the old man. Blood glistened upon his temple and cheek, dark enough that it appeared black in the dim light. She grasped his shoulders and pulled him away from the soldier, her smooth brow knitted in a defiant glare.

The soldier lifted the sword in his hand until it was pointed at Noline’s father.

“Those who aid and abet fugitive criminals are accessories to their crimes,” he purred. “Without exception. There is but one punishment for treason by imperial law.”

Noline raised her chin to look him in the eye.

The flower wreath she wore on her head was in a pitiful state, half-wilted, its petals torn and its leaves shredded and the hair it sat upon a wild and filthy cloud matted with dirt and debris. Even in such a disheveled state, she looked like a proud young queen as she faced down the invader without flinching.

“If you know what’s good for you,” she said with a toss of her long hair over one shoulder, “you’ll take your friends and be gone from this place.”

The soldier’s laugh was harsh and brittle, cutting through the background noise like the steel in his hand.

”Make as many idle threats as you wish, savage,” he sneered. “You chose the wrong allies.”

“And you’ve trifled with the wrong village,” Noline shot back. The grin that split her bloodied lips was one of barely controlled rage, a triumphant and half-wild rictus. “You’ll be sorry soon enough that you dared lay a hand to me or my father or any of the others. I swear it.”

From her hiding place, Vahne stared at Noline and her ailing father and the Garlean soldier with his blade pointed at them both, hardly daring to breathe.

A massive burst of earth aether cracked the space between them. The soldier staggered back with a startled curse and his weapon spun out of his hand to fly into the darkness and parts unknown. Pressing the advantage, a tall thin figure lunged toward the soldier as if the forest had sensed danger and somehow summoned a rescue.

She caught a glimpse of pointed ears and angular cheekbones and that was all: the Elezen barely paused to take a breath as he sprinted past, flower crown flying from his head and one hand still outstretched from the spell he had cast. Brandishing a heavy-ended staff, the Elezen man gave it a mighty swing, bellowing like a Limsan marauder. The blow struck true, with enough force behind it to dent the man’s pot helm.

The soldier collapsed into the mud with a strangled groan and lay still.

“Trevantioux,” Noline said weakly.

The man dropped to his knees and threw his arms around her shoulders. “Noline,” he wheezed. “Thank the Twelve. I thought he was going to shoot.”

With a trembling laugh, she replied, “So did I.”

“You’re bleeding, are you-”

“ ‘Tis only a split lip. I’m fine. Better than Father, he’s hit his head.”

“I’m fine,” the old man grouched. “He didn’t do half the damage he thought he did.”

Shaking with reaction herself, Vahne stood on wobbling legs from her hiding place to make her approach. Noline’s father caught sight of her and nudged the younger man with one elbow, a jabbing gesture of his index finger, and a slightly louder-than-necessary clearing of his throat. Frowning, the conjurer followed the pointing finger to see the Miqo’te girl fidgeting in the middle of the muddy road.

Vahne bit her lip.

“Are you Conjurer Trevantioux?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The man squinted at her. “...Do I know you?”

She shifted from foot to foot and forced herself not to stare at the ground.

“Well, no. My name’s Vahne Wolndara. I’m- I’m a friend of the Millers’.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough. “Miss Aurelia left to look for my aunt and told me to wait for her until she came back, but Goody Miller is having pains and they’re getting worse and I don’t-”

A great shout swelled at their backs.

“What in the hells,” the old man began, but trailed off mid-sentence as they watched the undefended gate swing open. Half a dozen archers in dark green leathers, their faces concealed by red cloth, spilled into the street with bows at the ready.

“Wasps!” a man’s voice roared out of the din, “Attack! No quarter to the imperials!”

Vahne, Trevantioux, and the old man stared at each other in collective confusion as the bandits rushed the dais, but Noline--

Noline was smiling. The hem of her skirt fluttered in the evening breeze, whipping around her legs, and her slim hands braced upon her hips as her narrowed eyes left father and fiance entirely in favor of the archers and their prey. Unlike her companions, the Elezen woman didn’t appear a whit surprised by the presence of the masked men.  

Trevantioux stared at the woman he was to marry as if he had never seen her before.

“...You knew,” he said slowly. “How did you know?”

It wasn’t a question. But if he had expected denials or self-defense, he would be disappointed. She turned back to look at him, chin tilted in a birdlike way, and patted his cheek with a fond smile as if he were a child. A smile that never reached those hard eyes.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“Oh, darling,” she said, voice as placid and serene as a pond in summer, “don't ask so many questions. It's tedious. All you need to know is that everything is going to be fine. Now run along and go tend to Goody Miller.”

Exasperated by the delay, too young still to understand what had passed between the two adults, Vahne grabbed his wrist and pulled.

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “You can talk to her about it later. We need your help now.”

Trevantioux let himself be dragged along the thoroughfare towards the Millers’ yard and their privy entrance, but he looked over his shoulder as they went. His eyes lingered upon Noline’s slim, proud form until it was no longer visible.

==

“Who in the seven hells invited them,” Mariustel Aubaints growled.

Keveh’to wasn’t normally one to criticize a sudden influx of good fortune in such a dire situation, but the timing of it was serendipitous enough to make one wonder.

“I don’t know, but you can be sure I’ll find out once I’ve got Cecilie to the conjurers.”

“If you come across aught of significance, let me know.” The Wailer sighed and dragged one hand down his cheek. “I’d best gather the others. The Wasps will only shoot at the Garleans until there’s none left to shoot, and after that-” After that, Mariustel didn’t say, who knows?

“Papa,” Cecilie whimpered. “Papa, I’m scared.”

Distracted from the bandits and their suspiciously timely arrival by his daughter’s distress- at least for the moment, Mariustel smoothed back some of the sweat-damp hair stuck to her brow.

“I know, love,” he said, “but Sergeant Epocan’s going to take you to the healers and they’ll see to your hurts. Be brave for me, all right?”

She nodded slowly, as if the act required a heroic effort, and slumped back down in Keveh’to’s arms once her father was out of sight. Her face was pale and cold sweat beaded her brow - whether from pain or shock, he wasn’t skilled enough in field medicine to tell. Aurelia would know, of course, but gods knew where she was right now.

At his back, Hugh piped up, “Sergeant, I have an idea!”

Keveh’to turned around to regard the boy. He had apparently taken a second wind, and by the conspiratorial looks on his friends’ faces, the trio had been mired in some sort of discussion.

“And what idea is that?”

“You can use the stairs to get Cecilie down,” he said, and Larkin and Amicia nodded in affirmation alongside. “It’ll be much faster than the ladder.”

“Easier said than done, lad. They’re not done building them yet.”

“No, not those stairs. The ones that lead down to that little side door-- the one that comes in the watchtower from the forest. Da and the others were using it to haul up rocks when they were fixing the wall--”

“Wait. Do you mean that scaffold?”

“Yes! That!”

“Hugh, it’s dangerous.”

“Usually there’s guards but they’re probably gone now. We can unlock the door from our side and let you and Cecilie in,” Hugh continued as if Keveh’to hadn’t spoken. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Lark, Amy, come on!”

“Wait-”

His warning had gone entirely unheeded; the trio was already halfway down the ladder. Keveh’to sighed.

The watchtower was as empty as he had expected. He nudged the back door open with one foot to the rickety wooden cage that sat along the wall and quickly saw the reason why the watch hadn’t bothered to remove the stair: it was clearly fallen into disuse. Large holes were visible where the planking had rotted out from the bad weather earlier in the year. It should have been removed and dismantled months ago as much for the hazard it posed as the security risk, Keveh’to thought.

Here’s hoping this godsdamned thing doesn’t collapse under us.

Fortune was with them both, however; the steps, while noisy and dangerously flexible under his feet, held their weight long enough for him to descend the wall without incident. He jumped over the last two steps, which were rotted and splintered, and landed on his feet in a soft crunch of leaves to begin his slow walk of the perimeter.

For all his careful investigation Keveh’to nearly missed the door, set as it was into a less visible section of the wall. He kicked at it with one foot - and was met with the sound of a loud crash, a pained groan, then silence.

“Hugh?” he called. “Hugh, is aught-”

The grunt he heard from the other side of the door was not the sound a boy of twelve summers would make, but he heard the series of clicks as the door unlocked. It swung open on rusted hinges to reveal Hugh and Larkin and Amicia, huddled behind a hunched figure in conjurer’s greys. At the old man’s feet lay two unconscious Garleans.

“Not much of a plan, Sergeant,” Hearer Ewain observed, tucking the staff back into the strap on his shoulder. “You’re fortunate they didn’t have troops waiting outside.”

Keveh’to was far too relieved at the sight of the man to be irritated at his criticism. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“Happenstance,” he grunted, shoving one of the limp figures away from the door with one kick of his pattened foot.

“Happenstance?”

“I’d no intention of cowering behind a barricade, so I went in search of wounded. Their commander had sent part of his squad to start dragging people out of their homes door to door. I heard the children shouting, saw two over here, and-- Twelve preserve, is that Lieutenant Aubaints’ girl?”

“Yes. I did what I could to stop the bleeding, but-”

Ewain clucked his tongue and held out his arms. The Miqo’te handed her over and fought back the sigh of relief he felt, even as the old conjurer stared into the pale, sweat-slick face of his injured patient. “Stupid girl,” he chided, although his tone was gentle. “You and your friends should have gone home.”

Hugh gave the old man the fiercest scowl in his arsenal. “Cecilie isn’t stupid!”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

“She’s brave and strong. Anyway, aren’t Wood Wailers supposed to defend the Twelveswood from Garleans?”

“She isn’t a Wailer, boy,” was the Hearer’s blunt retort, “and neither are you.”

The scowl wobbled for a moment.

“Will Cecilie… I mean, she isn’t going to...”

“Your friend will recover and be none the worse for her foolishness, or yours for that matter,” Ewain said. “Sergeant Epocan acted quickly enough, though I’ll need to remove this contraption as soon as I can manage it. Now. Your cousins are going to come back to my cottage with me and help out with some of the others who’ve been hurt, and you’re going to go on home and mind your mother, Hugh Miller.”

“But-”

"No buts, boy. I’m not in the mood to explain to any of your parents why they’ll need me to say rites over your coffins.”

“How are you going to get back with the fighting like this?”

“I’ve lived in this village longer than any of you have been alive. Do you think I don’t have more than one route back to my house?” Ewain harrumphed at them, but his stooped back had lost some of its slouch as he squinted at his newfound charges. “Come along, all of you.”

Keveh’to was silently grateful that the bossy old man had chosen to take the welfare of the children upon himself. All told, they were at least as safe with the old Hearer - who was, after all, a powerful conjurer - than they would be with him.

He turned to make his way back to Mariustel and the watch and paused mid-step.

A tall Duskwight man in Wasps’ leathers stood before him, blocking his path back into the village. The lower half of his face was hidden from sight, but the eyes that peeked over the hem of the scarf were as hard and unyielding as diamonds.

“Is it true?” the man asked.

“Is what true?”

“The rumors about that lady conjurer who’s been working in the village,” came the man’s cool response. “Some of the villagers are saying she’s a Garlean herself.”

Keveh’to scoffed.

“Don’t know who told you that, mate,” he said with as dismissive an air as he could muster. “But you should know better than to heed idle villagers’ gossip. The lady came with me from Gridania by order of the Conjurers’ Guild, if that answers your question.”

Something ugly and hostile moved behind those eyes for the briefest of moments before they were blank and placid once again.

“Two of my men saw their commander fleeing into the forest with some of his men. If he’s got a brain in his head, he’ll bring back enough friends to kill any who resist.”

“And if he doesn’t? If they stick it out until they get what they came for? Garleans are a treacherous lot. I’d wager their leader still has a nasty trick or two up his sleeve somewhere.”

“Having run afoul of the XIVth before? I’d wager you’re right.”

Beneath the scarf, the man’s lips shifted upwards. He was smiling, but there was something about it that Keveh’to didn’t like.

“Mind, the Wasps would be plenty willing to keep our eyes open on your behalf. A more permanent arrangement, like,” he continued. “If the town’s willing to pay for the privilege, of course - we don’t come cheap, and tangling with the Empire is risky. But this is a nice peaceful place. Be a real shame if they torched and salted it.”

“It’s not my place to make a decision on behalf of the village,” he said. “Mistress Laskaris and I represent the interests of the Grand Company and the Conjurers’ Guild, not the settlement’s nor the Wood Wailers’. I’ll do what needs must to protect my own, but I’m not interested in being your errand boy.”

“If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is. But it’s a formal offer from the Redbelly Wasps. One I’d give a bit of thought, were I you and yours.”

Though he kept his tone as cool and level as he could manage Keveh’to felt the fur on his tail bristle from base to tip.

“Is that a threat?”

"Just a friendly suggestion, Sergeant.”

“It didn’t sound very friendly.”

The Duskwight offered a laconic shrug. “The Black Wolf knows a chink in his enemy’s armor when he sees it,” he said. “And so do we.”

With that he brushed past, drawing an arrow from his quiver as he ran to join the fray, leaving Keveh’to alone to mull over his words.

Bandit or not, the man was right. But even if the Empire left them to their own devices, he also knew the opportunistic Wasps would be happy to move in on the settlement. Gifts like the boon they had provided tonight did not come without a price, he knew, and the village might be saved from imperial invasion, but it might also find itself saddled with a debt it could ill afford to accrue.

Worry nestled itself deep into the dark corners of his mind like worms tunneling through soft earth. And as he turned towards the opaque black border of the Shroud buttressing the far side of the creek like a fortress wall, just before the cries of alarm reached his ears, Keveh’to Epocan realized that he smelled smoke.

~*~

The first time Aurelia jen Laskaris had ever seen the Twelveswood, it had been through a tempered glass window.

The assortment of chirurgeons and engineers had been nestled in the belly of an Aurora-class transport vessel as it tracked its way towards the landing pad at Castrum Novum at day’s end. The sun was still visible only by the barest sliver of light and sinking fast behind the foothills of the western mountains, and all she could see was a vast and ominous sea of trees completely covering the ground for malms in any direction.

One of the decurions had offered a grim smile at the sight that lay below them through the portico. That there’s the Black Shroud, he had said. You’ll not be wanting to get any closer than this and if you’re lucky you never will. Got a right nasty reputation, that place.

Even the most obstinate antitheist knew better than to venture beneath the Shroud’s boughs (without well-armed company, in any case). Nearly every infantryman in the VIIth Legion had some sort of story to tell about former comrades who entered the forest on some mission or other only to be sent back to Garlemald in a coffin if they came back at all, from Frumentarium’s forward scouting squadrons to the conscripted legionnaires running castrum perimeter patrols. Worse things than angry Eorzeans lurked in its darkest depths, and it very much did not want the Empire’s presence anywhere near it.

Tonight, armed only with her aether and her wits, that healthy caution felt well-earned indeed. The settlement walls were ablaze with torchlight but they illuminated nothing past the embankment leading to the creek bed, and there was no moon by which to mark her path. It would be easy to trip over an exposed root or turn her ankle in a warren run, and so Aurelia moved as quickly as she dared. It worried her that Sewell was nowhere to be found, but she couldn’t let herself be distracted worrying about a former imperial army soldier who - even still recovering from his wounds - would be able to fend for himself at least for a time.

Should she find him she’d bid him run for the Druthers and fetch help if she could. Right now, Rhaya Wolndara was her first priority.

She stood with a soft grunt, bracing one hand against a nearby oak tree, and tried to get her bearings.

Now. If I were their commanding officer, where would I be holding her?

This cohort had ventured beyond the safety of its castrum for one purpose and one purpose only and that was capturing deserters by fair means or foul. That man - rem Canina - would not have been so foolish as to leave her behind to call for help but neither would he have brought her into the village if he planned to use her as a bargaining tool. It would have to be somewhere nearby, she thought. Close enough that Rhaya could be fetched at a moment’s notice to serve her purpose, but not so close that she could be easily rescued without attracting--

“Keep your filthy hands where I can see them.”

Sewell Blackthorne stood mere yalms away, brandishing a gladius in one hand; he must have pilfered it from the small armory in one of the wall watchtowers. He wore no armor and the ill-fitting linen undershirt he did wear stood in stark contrast to the darkness of the trees. Coupled with the wild sheen in his dark eyes, he looked like a malevolent forest spirit.

“I thought I might find their godsdamned leader out here,” he said. “Aye, in the forest, watching and waiting and biding your time while poor ‘savages’ like me do the dirty work for you.”

Cautiously Aurelia ventured closer to the three and now she could see two figures in cermet-plated armor kneeling before him, heads bowed and gauntleted hands raised in surrender. Neither of them wore their helms and disarmed and unmasked they seemed far less intimidating than they might be otherwise.

The Black Wolf’s hounds, she thought, brought to ground by their own quarry.

“Blackthorne-”

“They’ll have no choice but to withdraw. Isn’t that right?” His bared teeth flashed white in the darkness like levin arcs across a cloudbank, bright and brief. “You lot are naught but jackals: if I kill the leader, it scatters the pack.”

“Killing me will gain you nothing,” a man’s voice rasped, the heavy accent of the capitol one she recognised, and she put two and two together. It was Argas rem Canina, the Garlean officer whom she had injured at the Wolndara homestead. “Put down your weapon, Blackthorne.”

Sewell’s response was less a laugh than a bark. “I no longer have to take orders from your like.”

“If you would but let me speak-”

“I told you not to move. How many others are there?”

“It’s just us.”

“Like hells it is.”

A stray twig snapped beneath Aurelia’s foot and betrayed her position. She watched the muscles in his arms bunch and summoned a small sphere of wind aether to her fingertips- just enough light for Sewell to see her face and recognize it before he did anything he might regret.

“Master Blackthorne,” she said, in as low and soothing a voice as she could manage and still be heard. “Don’t.”

His expression remained unyielding and furious, but his lips pursed and she saw the tension flow out of his shoulders.

“I came out here to do this myself,” his eyes were as bleak as the night he had recounted his friend’s death to her, and she understood what was happening: the mere presence of the soldiers had put him back in the thick of his own tormented memory. "They’re your countrymen. I thought if-”

“I know what you thought,” Aurelia said. “You’re wrong.”

She took another step forward and he flinched. The small, controlled sphere ruffled her loose hair. Its erratic light flickered along the curve of her third eye, half-concealed as always beneath soft gold fringe. “I can only guess why he isn’t involved in the raid with the others. Injury alone wouldn’t preclude him from taking part unless he perhaps insisted on accompanying reinforcements.”

Sewell’s jaw twitched.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he said. “The Empire is all too happy to resort to deception whenever it suits them.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said a soft, fluted voice. It came from the Elezen woman kneeling at rem Canina’s side. Her angular features - thin mouth, high cheekbones, pointed ears - stood in stark relief under the glow of wind aether, and despite the clear disadvantage at which the pair of imperial defectors held her and her superior officer, she appeared quite calm. She was staring at Sewell with something like faint reproach rather than any sort of fear. “Now if you would, please sheathe your weapon. I am not armed and I have two patients under my care at the moment.”

Slowly, almost grudgingly, the Ala Mhigan lowered his sword.

Upon closer inspection, Aurelia realized that the pilus prior was clutching at one arm. There was a circular tear pockmarked into the carbonweave, and above and below she saw the neatly stripped winding of field bandages. Argas rem Canina’s expression was as composed as that of his medicus, though he looked pale and drawn.

Then the other must be...

A rattling groan and a stir of leaves drew her attention to the much smaller figure lying at the medicus’ other side. Aurelia caught a flash of auburn hair and the twitch of a set of familiar ears.

“Rhaya,” she gasped. There was crusted blood on the woman’s lips and chin, an ugly bruise along her cheekbone, and-  “What in the seven hells did you do to her?”

The medicus shook her head. “Lord Fabian--”

“Who?”

The hitch in the woman’s shoulders betrayed her hesitation. At her side, Argas rem Canina let out a weak, resigned sigh.

“Tell them, Salvitto,” he said. “It doesn’t make much difference if they plan to kill us.”

His note of command was unmistakable. The woman’s eyes shifted uneasily from the grim set of his mouth to Sewell Blackthorne’s unyielding and furious visage before she finally replied,

“The acting head of personnel retention. Lord Fabian rem Corbinus.”

Sewell’s derisive scoff made his opinion more than evident. “ ‘Personnel retention,’ “ he repeated. “You mean Frumentarium’s rat catchers. Deserter squads.”

“If you like.”

“Why are you hiding in the woods like a craven, anyroad? Shouldn’t you be down there with your men making sport of the village?”

“Phoebus pyr Cinna - my second, the man you likely encountered in that village - is their leader now.” The man struggled to sit up, pained breaths rasping from his lungs. “He was only supposed to act in my stead in the instance that I could not do so myself, but-”

The pain was upon her again, pain and a bright light to blind her vision---

*

The verdant fingers of the Black Shroud spread in all directions, deep and dark and alive with its own primeval sentience. He crashes blind through thick undergrowth with three subordinates at his heels. His mind roils with rage and a sense of urgency and something very akin to panic.

This was not his plan. Were it not for desperation he would never consider it, but extraordinary circumstance calls for extreme measures.

It's gone wrong. Somehow, it's gone wrong. He doesn't want to admit it to himself or to the cohort, and certainly not to Fabian rem Corbinus, patiently awaiting his success back in Castrum Oriens. Not after everything he promised. Not after he swore he would do what Argas rem Canina could not and bring them back flush with their victory.

Once again the mission stands in very real danger of failing. Not only has Sewell oen Blackthorne managed to somehow elude discovery once again, but his mysterious Garlean accomplice has prevailed once more, against all odds. The savages in this pathetic backwater should have been cowed beyond any hope of defiance, should have been too hostile and afraid of everything her true identity represented to do aught save leave her to her fate and let them take her captive.

Certainly, he had not expected her defiance to prove enough ammunition to spark a revolt.

But all hope isn't lost, he tells himself. Not yet. He saw the Garlean woman flee into the forest. Canina and the Miqo'te prisoner are still there where he left them, and he has no doubt that Blackthorne is skulking about somewhere nearby.

Phoebus pyr Cinna knows exactly what must be done.

"What are you doing?" he snaps at a nearby decurion. The man, an Ala Mhigan like their prey, is staring into the forest, his skin blanched pale. "Get over here before we're seen."

"My lord, I don't think this is a good idea. The forest- that is, it's not wise to-"

Seven hells below, must he do everything himself?  

He wraps his fist in a handful of the man's carbonweave doublet and hauls him forward, staring through the tempered glass of his helm's visor into terrified eyes. Satisfaction dulls the razor edge of his anger, if only for a moment.

"You aren't paid your coin to think," he snarls and shoves the hapless Hyur forward. "Take these others and gather as much kindling as you can."

Bewilderment knits the legionnaire's brow into a confused furrow, but after what happened in the village square he knows better than to question this man’s orders. He sketches out a hasty salute and scurries into the tree line with the others.

Phoebus reaches for one of the small ceruleum tanks on his belt and upends it over a stand of nearby underbrush, then picks up a fallen branch. There has been little rain as of late, and even the slightest spark will catch.

He remembers a dry autumn day from his own boyhood on his family's estate in Dalmasca, the cold beginning to creep back into the desert at night, his father ordering him to watch while the servants plugged meerkat burrows until there was only one run left open and setting each of the ceruleum-wrapped rags ablaze. Watching the colony burn alive, its survivors driven out to suffocate and die in the sand. Staring at his father's cold smile.

Phoebus snaps the small lighter open.

The sound of the flint wheel rasps in his ears as the small flame flickers to life. He only has to hold the tip of the branch against the lit wick for a moment before it catches and he can shut the lighter to tuck back into his belt. Light flickers from the fiery tip, curling it to black as the flame consumes more of the dry wood, limning steel in orange and red.

Fire will kill anything, Seleucus kir Cinna had said. Remember that, Phoebus. Fire will kill anything.

He remembers. Oh, he remembers. He is his father's boy, after all, and he has learned his lessons well.

He lowers the branch towards the fuel-soaked dry grass and deadfall without touching anything. Touch is not necessary, he knows; it is the fumes from ceruleum that ignite, not the substance itself.

Smoke billows into the night air as the leaves catch with a breathy thwump, and he laughs.

When she opened her eyes again the forest was once more shrouded in darkness and the unlovely chemical reek of ceruleum lingered still.

She grimaced, inhaled, and something acrid seared her throat and watered her eyes. The air surrounding them was no longer clear; a vague and ominous haze had settled over everything like a fine film. Twigs snapped and leaves rustling overhead as a flock of birds burst forth from their roosting place, wings buffeting the air and warning cries breaking the tranquil warmth of the summer evening.

So it was real, then.

Sewell Blackthorne had one arm wrapped about her waist to hold her upright - just as had happened in the camp infirmary all those months ago, Aurelia had all but collapsed when the light blinded her - and stared at her with blank and bewildered eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pushed him away with one hand. Her throat ached and her head throbbed, whether from the vision or the fire she wasn’t certain.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine. But we have to go.” Her voice sounded rough in her own ears. She glanced at the bewildered Sewell, then the Elezen woman, then at the grim-faced Garlean commandant. “Your underling is having his men set brushfires somewhere along the embankment. I think he’s trying to flush us out.”

A deep and curious frown knitted the man’s brow but before he could ask any questions Sewell exploded: “Is he mad? He’ll set the entire godsdamned forest on fire!”

“I doubt he cares. And the Shroud is large enough that without knowing exactly where he is, there’s no way of stopping him,” Aurelia said. “He’ll have this entire area ablaze before we have any idea where to even start looking.”

“Then what the hells are we going to do?”

Rather than answer him, she turned her attention to the Elezen woman sitting at the Garlean’s side. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“It’s Lavinia. Lavinia jen Salvitto.”

“Lavinia it is, then. You may call me Aurelia. Can you get your commander up and moving? I’ll take Mistress Wolndara.”

“Why are you helping us?” Argas rasped as he took Lavinia’s hand and struggled to his feet in his heavy armor. Sweat stood out in a cold band on his brow, misting about his third eye. “After all of this. After everything-”

“My lord,” Lavinia began, but he plowed on ahead.

“After everything we’ve done, after the orders I’ve given, you still choose to aid us. Why?”

Aurelia thought of her own desperation in the aftermath of Dalamud’s explosion, clawing through mud and dirty water with broken bones to escape a slow death beneath the press of cermet and reinforced steel. She thought of Sazha, most of his face a ruined mess, the rattle in his chest when he had passed, barely recognizable. Of wounded lying in vast lines within and without tents not equipped to hold them, of a close shoulder-to-shoulder press in a cold, wet gaol cell.

“I would be a poor example of my profession were I to leave any man to die, no matter his crimes against me or others.”

“Not a sentiment I would expect to hear from the likes of a deserter.”

“You needn’t pretend we’re friends, but I do ask you to try and trust me.” She coughed into the fabric of her sleeve. The silver locket beneath her robes now felt uncomfortably warm against her skin; sweat stuck the hemp to her shoulders and chest in damp patches. “With all due respect, pilus, we can discuss comparative morality when we aren’t in immediate danger.”

The Garlean inclined his chin; his expression was solemn and very focused, as though he was digesting her words. Aurelia slid her arms under Rhaya’s limp form, heedless of the woman’s cracked and semi-conscious moan, and slowly bore her weight aloft until she was on her feet with the Miqo’te in a bridal carry. There was one place she knew could provide them temporary shelter.

“I need someone up here to help clear a path,” she said.  

It was Argas rem Canina who stepped forward. The pilus prior held a mailed hand against one side but his gunblade was unsheathed, angled low in his grip.

One look into his eyes told her he knew as well as she did that this fire was meant to smoke them out. It was a common enough tactic, one often used in Ala Mhigo to flush out bandits and smaller Resistance cells in the mountains, and Aurelia had no doubt this cohort employed it now-- but better to take the risk and spring the trap on their own terms.

“My lord,” Lavinia protested, “you can barely stand.”

“A passing weakness and naught else. I have enough in me to swing a blade.”

Aurelia’s expression was as doubtful as her fellow chirurgeon’s; Argas didn’t look at all well, but there was no time to argue. The hiss and crackle of flames were audible now as they began to move, just at their backs and still in the periphery, but spreading with a disconcerting swiftness.

“Master Blackthorne can assist,” she said. “Let’s go.”

It was slow going; the underbrush was brittle from lack of rain and mostly overgrown brambles besides. The effects of aether imbalance from last summer’s disaster lingered in the forest still, and as Argas and Sewell chopped away at the offending plant life Aurelia fancied she could feel something heavy and ominous in the air. Cold invisible fingers trailed their way down the length of her back, like some eldritch lover beckoning her to its bed, and her stomach twisted in knots.

The forest, Aurelia realized, her heart pounding. That’s what this feeling is. The elementals.

She could sense an immense and ancient fury pulsing through her newfound connection to the land -- aether roiling just under the surface of the earth. And there was nothing she could do about it, save to forge on and hope the Shroud would not rise in indiscriminate fury against them before she had seen them all to some kind of safety. And the farther away they could lure the Empire’s hounds from the village, the better.

With a gentle touch, she shifted her grip upon the injured woman in her arms and followed the narrow clearance the two men had cut.

==

There was no angry treant to greet their arrival this time, and Aurelia couldn’t decide if it was an unexpected boon or an omen of the worst sort. The tumbled stones of Amdapor lay as she had left them a fortnight past: cold and still, ivy creepers and belladonna black against the white stone in the depths of the night’s shadow. Empty and broken remains of gracefully arched windows seemed to gaze down upon the eclectic party like malevolent eyes as they scurried down the sloped path and into the half-excavated city.

As she paused to get her bearings Argas rem Canina drew to a pause at her side and squinted into the darkness. The Garlean was breathing heavily, though whether from exertion or exacerbated injury was unclear. “I certainly hope you and Blackthorne were not expecting reinforcements to await you in a tomb such as this.”

“A tomb, mayhap, but hopefully not ours,” Aurelia replied curtly, eyes scanning the crumbling buildings. The oppressive weight of the Greenwrath hissed through her veins with each pulse as it sank into the aether around them, making it difficult to concentrate. “Do any of you have anything we can use for light? I need both my hands to carry her.”

Sewell was already moving to lift Rhaya from her arms. “I’ll take her. Do what you need to.”

“Your shoulder-”

“Is healed enough to carry weight for a little while. What are you looking for?”

“A partially excavated antechamber,” she said absently. “The Wailers had plans to convert part of the ruin for their use but the project was abandoned nigh on two summers ago. It should be sound enough to serve as a firebreak if it gets this far.”

“Seven hells. I’m almost afraid to ask, Mistress Laskaris,” his expression was decidedly pained now, “but why was the excavation only partial?”

She gave Sewell a wan smile over her shoulder. “The elementals wanted it undisturbed. So I’m told.”

“A haunted ruin,” he muttered. “Brilliant.”

“The theoretical existence of restless spirits is preferable to death by immolation, I think.” A few moments of perusal revealed the ingress she sought. She pointed to the door that stood ajar. “After you.”

Argas narrowed his eyes at the sight. “Are you certain this is wise?”

“Does it matter? We can’t outrun the fire. Certainly not with injured parties to tend, unless you’ve a better idea.”

“My lord,” Lavinia murmured, “we are not in a position to be choosy. The safehouses can’t be trusted now-”

“-and the nearest settlements are malms from here. If our luck holds, Phoebus will waste valuable time trying to find us.” Argas shook his head. “Unfortunately I suspect this is the first place he’ll look. We surveyed this ruin months ago and he has the maps and the intelligence-”

“We’ll worry about that when he arrives,” Sewell interrupted, grabbing his unhurt arm. “Do as the lady says.”

Glaring, Argas obeyed.

Other than a cool draft whispering from the crack in the door the space was blessedly unoccupied, save a few musty crates situated in front of a collapsed pillar. While Sewell struck flint to make torchlight, Aurelia dragged the remains of the heavy door shut as much as she could manage, even as her stomach roiled and her limbs trembled.

Full darkness fell upon them, so complete that nothing was visible. She could taste ceruleum and stagnant muddy water and damn it, no, she thought angrily. There wasn’t time for this. She would simply have to bear it.

She bit back her sigh of relief as the first torch flickered to life.

“Someone should stand watch at the door,” Argas grunted as he leaned against a pillar. “It’d be wise to make certain we won’t be ambushed.”

“Might as well be me.” Sewell removed the last unlit torch from its wall sconce and touched it to one of the others. The dry wood caught immediately. “Go on, Aurelia. Tend to Mistress Wolndara; I’ll let you know if I need you.”

With an effort she swallowed back rising bile and turned her focus upon Rhaya’s still form, lying next to a pile of rubble.

The woman’s pulse was a bit quick for her liking, but it was strong enough not to worry her overmuch. She stared at the bloodied, bruised hand in hers with its misshapen fingers and swollen forearm and let her anger flash through her for only a moment before she closed her extended palm and dismissed the sphere of wind she had held. Gently she placed her hand upon Rhaya’s forearm and taking pains to keep her actions slow and deliberate, poured aether into the fractured bones little by little just the way she’d been taught by Brother E-Sumi-Yan.

Aether trickled from her fingers in a slow and steady stream, like refilling an empty ewer. It wouldn’t be a panacea, but the curative spell would regenerate new bone more quickly. As long as the arm was properly set and Rhaya did nothing to aggravate her injury for at least a fortnight there would be no lasting ill effects.

A soft sigh escaped the Miqo’te’s lips, and the stark lines on her face began to smooth.

“Phoebus pyr Cinna questioned her personally. Looking for you and Blackthorne,” Lavinia said. She was wrapping Argas’ arm in field bandaging as she watched Aurelia work. “Lord Argas had nothing to do wi-”

“Let it be known I am supremely disinterested in any excuses on your superior’s behalf.” Aurelia didn’t bother to look at the other chirurgeon nor remove the contempt from her words. She carefully examined one of the ruined fingers on Rhaya’s hand; the woman’s whimper cracked into the darkness, wordless recrimination. “He could have put paid to his subordinate’s cruelty at any time and instead he chose to say and do nothing. And so did you.”

Lavinia bowed her head and did not answer. Aurelia was grateful for the brief silence while she set Rhaya’s fingers and reinforced the hasty field splints. She had nothing to say to either of the imperials that would be civil, let alone kind.

“What made you do it?”

Aurelia paused in the midst of securing the field tapes. “I assume you mean defect.”

“Yes. Surely you must have known-”

“I was not given a choice in the matter.” She let her aether spread over Rhaya, enfolding her like a warm blanket to ensure she would rest. “But I think even if I had the choice, I would have made it anyway. Garlemald does not-”

“Aurelia!” Sewell’s voice was fraught with tension. “I need you!”

Without pause, she pushed herself onto her feet. “I’ll be right back. Keep close watch over her,” she instructed Lavinia. “Let me know if her condition worsens for any reason.”

The Ala Mhigan peered through the cracked door, attention so wholly focused on the far side he didn’t even look up at her approach. In only a moment of listening, she caught the sound of voices: a number of them, shouting to and fro, growing closer. Beneath the shouts were footsteps crashing through the underbrush outside.

“They’re here,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t see as well as I’d like, but I’d know those pot helms anywhere.” His eyes were wide, flickering like frightened animals to and fro as he stared through the fissure. “A dozen at least.”

“Then we’d best do what we can to keep them away from here,” she said, grasping his arm in her hand. “Let’s go.”

~*~

The Twelveswood burned, a pyre to bear the remnants of Amdapori folly.

It looked like some ominous illustration from a book Aurelia had owned as a child, depicting one of the seven hells. All around was the hungry crackle of flames and the frantic cries of birds fleeing the destruction of their roosts, their wings stark against the night sky. Smoke billowed in great clouds into the air, which had taken on a hazy orange cast.

Upon this stage spilled scarlet and black carbonweave, a swarm of angry insects.

Aurelia covered her mouth with her sleeve as she took in narrow sips of air. Her temples pounded with her pulse and her breath rasped harshly against the back of her throat with each suppressed cough into her elbow; she grasped Ewain’s staff in her right hand, and in the left palm balanced a sphere of wind-aspected aether. At her side stood Sewell Blackthorne, crouched into a readied fighting stance with his weapon in position. His expression was bleak and cold and, she realized, resigned. He fully expected them to die here.

Watching the remains of the cohort press towards them in a wave, weapons held aloft, she could hardly begrudge him his fatalistic determination. Beneath her feet, the forest seemed to growl and strain against its fetters: a great and ancient beast stirring from its uneasy slumber.

The morass of red-trimmed black fanned outward in a semicircle before drawing to a halt mere fulms away from their position. The soldiers did not move to attack- there was no need to do so, not yet. Their maneuvering had cut off any avenue of escape for Aurelia and her allies that the fire did not cover.

“Aurelia, we can’t do this with just the two of us!” Sewell hissed. “The moment either of us drops, the other dies.”

“We have to defend this position.”

She had gone from a faceless member of the imperial army’s rank and file to raising her hand against them in a year’s time. Perhaps last summer, she could reasonably have argued that her defection was by circumstance rather than choice, as she had told Lavinia not a quarter-bell past. That was of a certainty no longer the case.

The crunch of sollerets against lichen-crusted stone echoed through the air, slow and steady, and the black and scarlet parted like a dark wave for its steel-and-magitek clad vanguard. The man wore the bronze-trimmed tabard of a low-ranking officer and his helm, protecting himself from the fires he had set. Although Aurelia could not see his face, she could sense the mocking leer that lay beneath his armor as he pointed his blade at the pair.

“Now I have you both,” he breathed. “You’ve nowhere left to run.”

Aurelia tensed, backing towards the antechamber door by ilms as the man drew short and unsheathed his gunblade.

“We will see to the rebels who aided you in due time, but first we must needs deal with you.” The sharpened edge pointed first at Sewell, then her. “All of Eorzea will see what comes of those who defy His Radiance’s supreme will. For your crimes-”

“That will be quite enough, Phoebus!” a voice at her back shouted. “Lower your weapons and stand down! All of you!”

Argas rem Canina staggered out from the door to stand between them, his gunblade at the ready. A shocked murmur rippled through the remaining soldiers.

“You stand with the very criminals you were tasked to hunt?” Phoebus pyr Cinna sputtered. “Lord Fabian will have your head for this, you old fool.”

“And the Black Wolf will have yours for mutiny once he hears what you’ve done.”

“Mutiny? This mission should have been mine from the start,” Phoebus raged. “Had I had been entrusted with the retrieval effort, we’d not have lost good men due to your blundering about. We had Blackthorne to rights in that miserable hovel a fortnight past but we lost him because you’re too bleeding soft!”

Argas lifted his blade with a pained grunt and thumbed back the hammer along the hilt.

“You were right about one thing,” he said. “I was a fool. A wise man would have had the sense to do something about you long ago.”

“As you’ve thrown in your lot with criminals, Canina, you can die like one. Velites! Forward!”

But the soldiers did not move. Uneasiness crossed several faces as their former pilus prior set his right foot forward in a battle stance, and it was clear that their erstwhile leader did not have as absolute a mandate as he had believed. Enraged now beyond any semblance of rational thought, Phoebus pyr Cinna screamed,

“Don’t just stand there, you godsdamned cowards! Kill him! Kill them all!”

*

||Hear||

A spark of intense pain flashed across her temples and into her third eye, but for the first time since it had awakened her from a dreamless unconsciousness in the Carteneau Flats, Aurelia did not collapse beneath the force of it.

Everything - her pain, her consciousness, even her very sense of self - dwindled to insignificance: replaced with the giddy sensation of feeling near overfull with aether. She didn’t know where the surge came from. Only that it seemed to well up from somewhere deep within: a bountiful, boundless fountain of power that blossomed from her very soul and into every last part of her, until even the very edges of her hair felt static and alive.

She had felt this only once before.

The day she had healed that boy.

She could

||Hear. Feel||

use the staff now. Easily. Her hands seemed to rise of their own accord into a fighting stance, in a space of time that must have been mere seconds but felt as eons.

Earth and air coalesced at her fingertips, winding and twining like vines about her arms. She knew where their strikes would land before they even had the chance to make them, and danced nimbly this way and that, stones and cyclones flying from her fingers to dispatch her opponents with absurd ease.

It felt far less like fighting people than making strikes against the inert training dummies nestled in the groves surrounding the Fane.

||Think||

Her chest seized. She coughed and floundered in a heartbeat’s space of panic before E-Sumi-Yan’s words came back to her, and along with it the training he had so patiently drilled into her during the cold months before her arrival in Willowsbend.

In that moment she bent her will to the land and drew from it. Aether rushed forth at her beck and call, and her strength began to replenish itself once more, and -- as Argas himself had once hoped to see -- she turned the land itself upon her enemies, confounding them with water and earth and air and the heaviness of sleep.

The imperials gave ground again and again before her magicks and her allies’ blades until at last only their commander remained standing and able to fight.

Panting audibly, it was now Phoebus’ turn to back away as Aurelia advanced. The wildness in his eyes had long since soured to hatred, but now held something of fear in them. He had expected defiance. He had not anticipated this, and she supposed she could not well blame him for that, as it was beyond anything a pureblooded Garlean should have been able to muster.

That supernatural fount of strength was like a brightly burning candle, however- it was not meant to last for long periods of time, and she sensed it was close to guttering.

He wouldn’t know that, though.

She took another step forward, staff at the ready, and the Garlean visibly flinched.

“Abomination,” he spat at her. “Anathema.”

The words stung, but she was careful to keep her expression neutral when she spoke. Her voice was rough from the smoke.

“You are outnumbered, centurion,” she said, “and the fire will soon summon the Wailers from the Quarrymill barracks if it has not done so already. Should you set foot outside this ruin, you must contend with them- and so long as you remain, you must contend with me.”

“This isn’t over.”

“It is, Cinna.” Argas’ voice was flat both with hostility and pain. The Garlean had fought his own men despite clinging to the edge of collapse; she could see the wavering tremor in his posture. “She’s right. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

“And what of it?” His chin snapped from one to the other- Aurelia, Argas, and Sewell. “What will you do? None of you have the strength to finish me.”

“It’s over,” Argas repeated. “Lord Fabian will not accept your failure any more than mine, and well you know it. Depending on what you promised him, mayhap even less.”

He lowered his gunblade.

For a moment, Phoebus pyr Cinna stood in stunned, tense silence. And then a deep, enraged cry welled up from the man’s chest, emerging through the helm as a mad shriek. His attention turned not upon Aurelia or Sewell but upon his former superior.

“You," he screamed, barreling towards Argas with terrifying speed.

Aurelia and Sewell moved at the same time to intercept him but she had less distance to close, and reached him first. She threw her arms around the pilus’ shoulders and pulled him out of their enemy’s path with all of her strength. Argas staggered and nearly fell from the lack of counterbalance, his gunblade clattering to the ground as he fell to the ground with her weight atop his. He uttered a muffled groan, but the crash she had heard was not from his fall. It had come from behind them, somewhere a few yalms away from the antechamber opening.

The choked gasps she heard at her back stopped her breath in her throat.

“Master Blackthorne?” she said, her voice low. There was no reply. Slowly she tilted her chin to her right, looking over her shoulder to the place where Sewell had stood.

The long, slender steel of a standard-issue imperial gunblade had impaled him through the chest, its edge stained crimson with his blood-- but the mortal blow had not been without cost to the blade's owner. The simple gladius Sewell had pilfered had found the chink between the base of the centurion’s helm and the seams of his carbonweave, and neatly punctured his throat.

Arterial blood crested over the hilt and spilled over his fingers like a waterfall. Sewell kept his grip and leaned forward, grimacing from the pain of his own wound but forcing himself to endure it. Phoebus lifted a hand to wrap around Sewell’s wrist, fingers plucking weakly in a feeble attempt to dislodge the sword that had struck the killing blow.

It was a futile effort; his once-formidable strength had left him.

“It means nothing,” Phoebus sputtered thickly. “In the end, Eorzea will fall.”

With open contempt, Sewell Blackthorne flung the offending hand aside with his own. “You lost," he spat in the man's face. “Have the grace to accept it.”

His only answer was a choked gurgle. Pinned to the ancient wall like a displayed insect, the dead man’s body sagged over the sword and his gunblade hand fell away from the weapon to dangle over the stones, dripping blood. Sewell released his grip and let gravity finish its work; his knees buckled as he fell. Phoebus pyr Cinna’s gunblade followed, its hilt striking the ground with a metallic rattle.

Aurelia clambered to her feet and closed the distance on trembling legs. She could hear Argas rem Canina follow suit, his footsteps dragging and faltering at her back, but barely paid it mind as she dropped to her knees at Sewell’s side.

The Ala Mhigan shoved her hands away before she could attempt to tend him. His blood, a deep, dark red, left a long crimson smear down the front of her robe.

“No sense in that, miss medicus. Wastin’ aether... on a dying man,” he croaked. His smile was a small and joyless thing. “...You were brilliant. Never... seen a healer fight before. Not like that.”

“Sewell,” she reached for him again, trying to pull his tunic aside to see to the damage. He caught her hands once more and his head lolled from side to side. "Please," Aurelia said. It was a plea. She knew the tears that burned her eyes were not sentiment for a man she barely knew. It was for the understanding between them: the frustration and futility that came of knowing she couldn't save him.

No sense wasting your aether, he'd said. Sewell knew as well as she that the wound was mortal, and as she'd done at so many other bedsides, all Aurelia could do was keep watch until he passed.

“Just… tell Rhaya I’m sorry. For all of it.” He grasped the hilt of the gunblade still buried in his chest as if savoring his victory. “Imanie an’ me… we’ll be watching you.”

The vigil was brief and quiet. Like a candle, the light in his eyes faded into emptiness. Slowly, more from ingrained training than aught else, Aurelia reached for his still face and closed them. She looked up at her unlikely ally and in silence the pair stared at each other with dulled eyes, both of them pale and exhausted and not quite able to believe the swift and brutal conclusion of the night’s affairs.

Shouts of a different and no less familiar sort echoed against the stone, followed by a sound that had become lately familiar: nocked arrows and multitudes of bowstrings, drawn in tandem.

“Wood Wailers!” a voice bellowed. “Put down your weapons!”

The last vestiges of the presence that had spoken to her during the battle withdrew itself entirely and all of the giddy energy that had kept her on her feet drained from her body like the running waters of the creek.

On its heels, the depletion of her aether hit body and mind like a dropping meteor. Aurelia crumpled forward as the world began to spin around her, feeling suddenly as if each of her limbs were tied to lodestones. She would have collapsed across Sewell’s body had Argas not caught her in his arms. The memento mori she wore seared her skin, metal heated by the surrounding aether. It burned, but her mind felt so many malms away that the pain seemed to be happening to someone else.

Footsteps shook the ground beneath her prone body. Heat on her cheeks, searing and intense. Beneath half-closed lids, she stared blankly at an orange sky.

The red moon, she thought. Dalamud keeps getting closer and closer. Any day now, it- or did that happen…?

She smelled ceruleum and blood and thought of cold water and the close tomb of a reaper, but she knew this wasn’t Carteneau. Still Eorzea, but it was somewhere different. A forest. Large and dark and watching-

“Sergeant!” another voice called. It felt malms away: oceans, entire continents. “It’s Mistress Laskaris! She’s alive!”

Her thoughts moved in a slow and confused jumble even as she caught a scent that she knew well. The familiar someone was lifting her out of Argas’ lap and into a carry, but she couldn’t open her eyes to see who it was.

“Two more, Sazha,” she muttered, unable to raise her voice. She was tired. She was so tired. “Look inside. The antechamber. Rhaya. Rhaya and-”

Her lips were too sluggish to form the words. Tell Rhaya I’m sorry. For all of it.

It was the last thing she remembered before the world faded-

-but the long night was ended at last.

[the-blackest-spider]

Revisiting History, Part 1

Precarious Remains

Wheaton, New Jersey - Remains of Camp Lehigh

While discretion was the better part of valor, in this case it had to be done within reason. For example she was here in broad day light. Why? Because at night people take notice to things easier, it’s drilled into the human brain thanks to various form of media that you pay more attention to things in the dark. During the day? What is there to worry about? Discreet for this situation was using a motorcycle to travel and tucking it in the nearby wooded area.

“Yeah. This is totally weird.”

Natasha was alone, the only things around to hear her comment being some birds, trees, a mangled fence and pile of rubble. Seeing it now, even with the shield offering cover she still isn’t sure how they survived that air strike. Granted it had knocked her cold, but they got lucky walking away from it.

It’s weird being here because the last time she was, it was in a stolen truck that she always wondered if Steve felt guilt about as it had got caught in the blast. Borrowed he had called it, clearly she’d had a bit of unintentional hindsight.

It’s bittersweet being here again. She stares at the broken earth and buildings beyond the fence finding then to be a fitting monument to the past. It couldn’t be rebuilt, and so it was left to just be forgotten here as history should be. Well, in some cases anyways.

Boots move over gravel and carry her beyond the fence, even with the destruction Natasha can tell what each building is.

What is it?

Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within 500 yards from the barracks. This building is in the wrong place.

They got out, so there had to be a way back down in. She looked the remains of the wrong placed building, walking around it, examining the situation from every angle possible. She had dressed accordingly for this little adventure of great importance. Her tacsuit would give her some protect and she had packed an oxygen device into her belt in case the air was questionable down below. Tossing the thick braid of her hair back over her shoulder, Natasha maneuvered her way up the rubble, looking for an access point. She didn’t know where Steve had gotten them out from and she wished she did. This was one of those moments she missed her friend.

“That looks promising.”

A slab of concrete and nothing but darkness beyond it. Crouching down, she looked it over, debating if she could squeeze through the small opening or not and if she moved it would it compromise anything. Not wanting to waste daylight, she made the decision to move it just a little.

Natasha Romanoff is stronger than she looks, than she lets on. Flipping a man over with her legs isn’t so much about physical strength as it is counter weight and gravity. The enhancements granted to her by the biochemicals running through her veins makes her capable of doing some impressive heavy lifting, but most of the time she leaves that to someone else. Today however is another story.

She’s not Thor, or Steve Rogers or the Hulk or even Stark in his suits, but all the same she shifts the large piece of concrete in her way, moving it just enough that she feels confident she can slip in and out easily. Satisfied, she decides to start dipping into her bag of tricks.

While her eye sight is as impeccable as the rest of her, it’s always good to have a little assistance when you’re on a time schedule. Not only for Germaine, but for all she knew today would be the day the underground collapsed and with her in it. For all she knew it could be already, she’d find out soon enough.

Unfolding the high tech glasses, Natasha slides them onto her face, flicking on the flashlights attached to the each side. She had decent night vision, but there’s a difference between night and total darkness. The HUD of the glasses came to life. They would measure the air quality, keep track of any compromised areas that she couldn’t see and also magnify what she could see. The quicker she did this the better for everyone really.

Half way down, she has to alter directions, wiggling her body, feeling much like a snake or a worm. Dust gathered on her suit, in her hair on her skin and invaded her nose making her cough a bit. Finally after what felt like hours, she found herself on a slippery slope, gravity taking over and requiring her to think fast and slow her progression. The soles of her boots gripped at the sides of the tunnel of rubble, but that wouldn’t do forever and she’d need a surefire way back up anyways. Firing off one of her grappling hooks, she used it in tandem with her legs to slowly work her way down to the end, darkness below her, hopefully it was where she wanted to be, it seemed deep enough according to the readouts on the glasses.

Shifting, Natasha shined the lights down, hopefully it would illuminate something promising before she dropped down and out into the chamber. She could see metal, broken glass.

It was eerie. Too quiet, except for the occasional rumble and sound of rock and debris falling reminding her that this could all go at any given second. She needed to move fast.

Broke computers, pieces of basically Arnim Zola’s brain lay all over, crushed and destroyed beyond repair. She took a bit of pleasure at the sight and wondered if he had felt it… probably not, he hadn’t been that advanced. She wondered what went wrong, why no one tried to put him in the body.

“The technology didn’t exist yet…”

She reminded herself as she moved closer, feeling anxious, “by the way you got my date of birth wrong,” not that he could hear her and she doubted he would care. Funny he had really and she hadn’t corrected him, there hadn’t time to get into all of that.  

In the chaos of that moment she couldn’t remember what happened to the flash drive. Part of her wanted to say either she or Steve grabbed it and this whole venture was a waste of her time. But she wasn’t a hundred percent sure. But then something glinted in the beams of light coming from either side of her head. Moving towards it, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. The drive and somehow it was intact.

“Eureka.”

Tucking the precious object into her belt, she went back to where she had dropped from, the line of her grappling hook dangling in wait. About thirty minutes later and a few hits of oxygen she emerged to find a twilight sky. Oranges, purples and pinks fading out from the sunset.

“Man I need a shower…” from head to toe she was covered in all manners of dust. She swore she could even feel it under her suit. Giving a wiggle to display her absolute discomfort, she made her way back to her bike and not wanting to attract attention using the water she had brought to get some of it off of her before climbing on the vehicle and heading off.

That had gone smooth, almost too smoothly and it made the Black Widow wonder what lay a head.

@specialagentace @hxrbingxr

[jynappreciationsquad]

my youth is gone (and i know it)

Jyn meets an old friend of Saw’s.

*

Jyn feels the woman before she sees her. She’s not sure how; there’s a buzz in the air, in her body. Her necklace burns in the hollow of her throat. Living with Partisans has made her paranoid beyond belief but it’s what keeps her alive. At 14, Jyn still finds herself struggling to discern a friend from a threat. Among the barracks she has acquaintances, but Saw won’t let her stay in one place too long. People tend to gravitate towards her. She thinks he’s afraid they’ll start to follow her instead of him, or maybe he’s scared to be without her too long.

On this day when the woman comes Jyn is in new barracks, scrubbing pots on kitchen duty. Her arms were already sore from training, and trying to clean the burnt bits from the pan worsened the ache.

There was no other training for the day, no missions. She could get away with a rare mid-afternoon nap if she cleaned hard enough.

It was with that thought that the woman came in, and the universe told Jyn to pause.

(read the rest under the cut, or here on ao3)

*

“I was told Saw’s daughter was in here.”

Jyn wanted to clutch the chain around her neck. She squeezed her ragged nails into her palms, trying to feel grounded.

She wasn’t ashamed to be Saw’s daughter; at this point it wasn’t a lie. They weren’t like most families. She wouldn’t call them a family at all really. They’re more like a cohesive unit, a nameless piece of a larger whole that is the Partisans.

Times like these, she wanted her Mama.

“That’s me,” Jyn answered, still scrubbing. She’d wait to turn around, see if it gave her the upper hand.

The woman sighed but kept her voice steady. “How long have you been here?”

“Since I was born.”

“Really?”

Jyn turned now, off-put by the woman’s sarcasm. Purple lekku peeked out of a white robe. The woman’s face stayed shaded but Jyn could see the slope of her orange nose, and expressive eyes.

“Are you a friend of Saw’s?” Jyn asked, refusing to answer more questions about herself. The woman’s eyes looked lost for a moment before they refocused.

“I don’t know anymore. I haven’t seen him yet.”

Alarm bit Jyn; there’s no way a visitor could be in the barracks without Saw knowing. She catalogues the weapons on her: nothing but a small vibroblade in her boot. There’s the pot she’s been manhandling for the past 20 minutes, and a plain cooking knife laid out to dry that could be in reach if she moved strategically.

The woman isn’t openly carrying a weapon. Her arms look strong and she’s taller than Jyn by a head and shoulders, but that didn’t mean anything. What did matter was how Jyn felt…the air moved differently around the woman. It was hard to describe but she just knew this woman could kick her ass. Could kick anyone on base’s ass.

Desperately she allowed herself the time to hope the woman was Saw’s friend and not an Empire villain really good at getting what they want.

“Maybe I could give you my name and we could go from there?”

Jyn nodded.

“I’m Ahsoka.”

“Kestrel.”

Ahsoka didn’t look taken aback by Jyn’s shortness; she did arch an eyebrow, making Jyn wonder if Ahsoka could tell she was lying…

They moved from their standoff in the kitchen to a rickety card table and some wooden chairs Jyn had helped nail back together. The nearby hallway was quiet— normally she’d be able to hear yelling, sometimes laughing, a handful of different languages all smushed together. It was as if everything stopped and mellowed out.

The silence was disconcerting. Jyn tapped her fingers against her seat, the muffled thumps making her feel a little better.

Across from her, Ahsoka took off her cloak. Her lekku were bright purple and white and her markings stood stark against her orange skin. She wore work clothes, breeches that looked like they were for creature riding, and a light linen top. Definitely from off-world. Their current base wasn’t Jyn’s home world but she became familiar with their customs— especially the lack of any kind of transportation that wasn’t walking. Jyn heard other Partisans talk about animals they’d ridden before— blurrgs in the desert, something called tauntauns on a snowy planet. Desolate places usually had creatures. Where they were now had too many trees. Animals here hid from danger, which mean they hid from all the Partisans. Jyn couldn’t blame them.

She lets her curiosity get the best of her.

“You ride banthas?”

“Where I just came from, yeah. Didn’t have time to change.”

“If it’s something important shouldn’t you have just found Saw?”

The woman doesn’t look in a hurry. She’s casually hunched in the chair, elbows on the table and head in her hands. She almost looked like she belonged.

“He’ll be in here soon, I left a note. You know last time I saw him, he didn’t have a child.”

Ahsoka did know she was lying, but she didn’t seem mad. More sarcastic. Searching for an answer she know she won’t get.

She knows more than she’s saying, Jyn thought.

“I haven’t been alive forever,” Jyn chooses to say.

The Togruta’s laughter filled the kitchen. It broke the spell immediately; Jyn recognized insect buzzes again, and the soldiers Ahsoka must’ve tricked sounded boisterous down the hall (not recognizing they were compromised).

Before Ahsoka could say anything, Jyn heard Saw’s heavy footsteps. The laughing and talking stopped. He was saying something; new orders. Extreme workouts, the man-in-charge probably being sent off world on a suicide mission as they speak.

If Ahsoka truly knew Saw, she’d have known she was signing those men’s death sentence once she tricked them.

Her hearing must be good too. Jyn heard her whisper to herself “What did I do…”

Jyn wanted to tell her Saw’s a genius and he’s fucking crazy, she believes in his crazy, this is the only way we can stop the Empire, but the man himself walks into the kitchen, ragged and out-of-breath, and tells Jyn to leave.

*

Saw doesn’t know she’s here, but Ahsoka has too. The two went back to his “office,” which is just his teeny private room, no window, bedroll on the floor and kettle in the corner on the makeshift table. They argued in normal voices, unusual because Saw always thought he was being spied on.

“Don’t hurt your officers. It’s not their fault I got through.”

Jyn heard a harsh intake of breath turn into a rough cough.

“They’ve been trained to resist anything. You got through so it means they need to train more.”

“Not until they die.”

“You still carry around those ideals? They did nothing for you, and they’ll get us all killed. Sacrifices have to be made if the Rebellion plans on defeating the Empire.”

Silence stretched on for minutes. Jyn was scared they noticed her, that Saw would admonish her and make her run around the compound until she was sick.

(She didn’t dare think he’d send her away, like he did with others when they messed up. She was too good, and she always had his back.)

“Who’s the girl Saw?”

Jyn moved herself slightly behind the door to peek through the opening. She only saw Ahsoka’s face and the back of Saw’s head. He gave nothing away—no twitchy movements, no rubbing his neck the way he did when he was liability-drunk and she had to drag him away before he spilled secrets.

“She’s my daughter.”

Ahsoka gave a bland smile; it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Jyn, she’s force sensitive you know.”

Now that got a reaction. Saw sat up straight, hands clenched tight. Jyn too felt panic; she remembered her mother’s last words to her: Trust the Force. Throughout all her life, the changes she’s been through, she tried to obey her Mama. It hurt her to think it was a bad thing.

“Do you think…” Saw trailed off.

“Not a Jedi. But it enough it probably helps her fighting power, even as a child.”

At that moment Ahsoka tilted her head up slightly, shifting her eyes to the door. She knew there was an eavesdropper. Probably knew exactly who it was. Jyn felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was grasp at her necklace, the crystal warm in her palm.

“It’s kyber,” Ahsoka said. Saw was still tense but he acted like that phrase wasn’t a surprise.

“Her mother was a believer,” he replied, starting to move out of his seat. At that moment Jyn realized she needed to go anywhere else. She took one more look at Ahsoka, who had draped her cloak back over her lekku, memorizing her face in case she ever saw her again. She hadn’t decided if she was 100% a friend, but she spoke casually with Saw and that counted for something.

Jyn ran slunk down the hall, not quite running but bouncing quick off her toes. The crystal got hotter for a moment as it bounced against her chest.

Kyber… Jyn had never heard of it before. She wondered if it was important. She wondered if her mother knew anything about it; what she believed in that involved it.

Long ago Jyn had promised herself to stop asking those kinds of questions about her parents. It didn’t matter. They were gone. But on her way back to the bunks all she could think was how she badly she wanted to ask Mama everything about her. Everything she never had the chance to share. Maybe then she’d be a believer too.

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 37

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. NEW WARNING - fictional police brutality. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer @silver-stormy . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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Near the Icebox was a barracks for DMC officers, and they would take a small rail tunnel to the prison for their shifts. The barracks and the prison were in a remote enough area that the tunnel didn’t have any particular protection. Storm sent a small whirlwind to clear the flattest spot they could find to land the jet. 

“They’ll probably send reinforcements soon,” Domino said as she zipped a heavy jacket and grabbed her guns.

Cable grumbled his agreement, “If they haven’t already.” 

As they disembarked from the jet, the wind howled just as harshly as it had higher in the air. Negasonic winced as the swirling snow hit her face with a hundred little stings. Below their feet, carved into the mountainside, was the tunnel. She dropped to her hands and knees and sent a powerful burst of force that fractured the rock. She sent another, and was about to send one more when Cable tapped her shoulder. 

“Pace yourself,” he said quietly, then waved for everyone to stand back. His techno-organic eye flared like a giant ember, allowing him to see the cracks running deep in the rock as he took careful aim with his gun. With a few good blasts, he had a good sized hole where everyone could climb down and drop into the tunnel. 

It was lit with LED bulbs that washed the small railway in a weak, bluish light. The team could hear vague echoes, mostly from their own movement and from the wind, but there was a foreboding stillness that whispered a chill through everyone’s bones.

Storm listened for a careful moment, then said, “Let’s start walking.”

Then they heard a rumbling, and Cable snapped a look behind them toward the barracks. “Everyone off the tracks.”

--

Rhonda’s gaze darted all over the yard and mess hall as inmates started attacking Colossus and Beast. She glanced back at Wade, Mimi, and Robinson, then grabbed the microphone for the loudspeaker. “Everyone shut the fuck up for a second,” she shouted. Her voice was strained, but strong enough that a few stopped fighting long enough to listen. “The X-Men are here to help. Work with them, and you can get out of the Icebox. Fight them, and I will kill you myself.” She took a breath and let that sink in. By now, most of the Icebox had gone still to listen to her, including Beast and Colossus. Her husband looked around until he found the glass walls of the office, and stared up at her with wide eyes.

“The collars come off by entering a code from a hard token,” Rhonda continued. Her free hand found her neck and rubbed at her skin. “Come to the office and Mimi and I can help you.”

Mimi tapped her arm and held her hand out for the microphone. “No bullshit, no screwing around,” she added. “We’ve all waited long enough to get out of here. Do anything that threatens everyone’s chances, and if Guestbook doesn’t kill you, I sure as hell will.”

Turning toward the doors of the office, they regarded the inmates who had been threatening Janks to let them through. Rhonda asked Mimi and Robinson, “How many hard tokens are there?”

“Three,” Mimi replied, holding out her hand with the remaining two tokens.

Wade still had one in his hand, Rhonda took a second from Mimi’s palm, leaving the third for the reptilian. “We’ll have everyone line up,” Rhonda said, “and each of us will start taking off collars.”

“Absolutely not,” Mimi shook her head, resting a closed fist on her hip. “We go out there, I give it about ten seconds before they start mobbing us for the tokens.” She absently drummed her fingers on the surface of a desk. “We’ll stay in here, have them pair off and they’ll do each other. If they try anything, they’ll blow their own hands off. Not ours.”

Wade tilted his head and leveled Mimi with a deadpan, “Yours don’t grow back?”

Rhonda sighed and made the effort to ignore Wade. “What about this one?” she jutted her chin at Robinson.

The defected guard smiled pleasantly enough, “Whatever Maria says, goes.”

“You’ll have to get into a yellow jumpsuit,” Rhonda said firmly. “If you look like DMC and not one of us, you won’t make it out of here alive and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop that.” She glanced at Mimi, who nodded.

“That reminds me,” Mimi unzipped her jumpsuit and pulled out another that she had secreted away from the laundry room. 

Robinson went into a corner for the slightest semblance of privacy to change, “And what if someone asks me to prove I’m a mutant? I can’t fake any powers.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Just say you’re a telepath and any demonstration to prove it would be a vulgar display of power.”

Wade guffawed and slapped his friend on the back, adding, “Make sure you ask for some pea soup, Linda Blair.”

“Keep an eye on the monitors, Edmund,” Mimi waved loosely at the bank of screens. “We’ve got at least two DMC guards locked in the armory who will be trying to bust out.” She surveyed the screens herself for a moment. They still had plenty of time before the morning shift would be making their way up the rail passage to report for duty. “We need to be out of here before the next shift shows up. Edmund, give a shout if you see anyone trying to pull something.” He nodded and gave an affirmative as he kept a dutiful watch.

In the yard below, Colossus and Beast maintained a firm stance, sharing a questioning glance and warily eyeing the nearby inmates who had just stopped attacking them. “It would seem we are rescuing you,” Beast offered cheerily. “Why don’t you visit our friend to get your collars off, and we can all go somewhere more pleasant.” Reluctantly, begrudgingly, the inmates took a few steps backward before turning to head up the walkways to the control office, tossing glances over their shoulders at the two massive X-Men. Quieter, from the side of his mouth, he noted to Colossus, “Not sure how we’ll fit all these people with us.”

“Freeing the whole prison was not the plan,” Colossus said. “We have to trust Rhonda has her reasons.” He was no stranger to making sensible plans and then having to throw them out the window, but a new dread crept up in him. “The others should be here by now,” he said. “Something has happened.” He took in the dingy yard - with the rusted fitness equipment that was missing pieces and grimey floors that had old smears of blood. Glass shards littered the whole area from their entrance via skylight. Weak lights and a bit of moonlight highlighted the light snow that drifted down. Despite being an open space, Colossus felt suffocated by the atmosphere - he immediately understood this was a place designed to sap its inhabitants of hope, and was amazed that anyone could survive here.

“I’m sure they’ll be along soon,” Beast assured him as he started to climb to the walkway above him, skipping the stairs.

Colossus looked up at the office one more time. He had recognized his wife’s voice on the intercom, and he was sad to note he also recognized that cold, threatening tone. He’d had just over two days to think of an apology and still wasn’t sure what he would tell her once they were back on the jet.

--

The rail car roared down the tunnel. Cable and Negasonic planted themselves in the middle, with Storm levitating just above them to send a gale screaming towards the oncoming wave of DMC reinforcements. Domino, Nightcrawler, and Yukio flanked them, weapons drawn and ready. 

The officers were shouting, readying their weapons as their rail car drew closer. Cable fired his biggest gun and an energy blast hit the car, causing it to derail. Immediately following that, Negasonic sent a low powered wave to keep them off balance. As some of them tumbled from the vehicle, Nightcrawler disappeared with a pop in the air and materialized behind them. Using the hilts of his swords, Nightcrawler punched and deflected the DMC, breaking hands and wrists so they could no longer hold their weapons. In such close quarters, Nightcrawler was at particular risk as officers tried to snap a collar around his neck - he easily disappeared at the last possible second and emerged somewhere easy to sucker-punch an enemy.

Three officers tried to rush Yukio, who was closest to them along the wall of the tunnel. She whirled her electrified chain and landed a few hits - and only narrowly avoided the collar one flung at her. “Watch out for collars!” she warned the others. If any of the team got a control collar, this rescue mission would be jeopardized. 

Storm blasted them with wind, Yukio electrified the rails, and Domino got a particularly lucky shot through the squad leader’s head as he was reaching for his radio. “We have to collapse the tunnel!” she yelled. “Cable, up there!” Domino pointed up at a crack that had radiated from the team’s initial breach. Together, Domino and Cable sprayed gunfire at the rock ceiling. Pieces started falling, and some struck the DMC officers. 

Fortunately the team of mutants handled the enemies quickly. The short fight ended with every DMC officer incapacitated. “We’ll have to hurry,” Storm said. “We didn’t expect such a long walk or a surprise fight.”

“Wait,” Domino paused, listening. She followed a faint crackle and picked up a radio that one of the guards had dropped. The voice on the other end was shouting questions about where the hell was the other squad, there were an unknown number of intruders, inmates had taken the control office. “There’s already another team of reinforcements at the prison,” she announced with urgency.

Nightcrawler flicked his blades to shake off some blood. “Ja, we blast the tunnel a little more, and run for the prison?”

Negasonic, Domino, and Cable shared a nod and blasted the rock until the tunnel in the direction of the barracks was sealed. Then the team took off running the other way, fervently closing the distance to the prison.

--

Mimi, Rhonda, and Wade stood practically shoulder to shoulder, reading off codes for pairs of inmates. Janks was in the first group. He had watched Mimi intently while she read off the code for the inmate behind him to enter into his collar. Her voice hadn't faltered, his partner's fingers moved with quick certainty. He had seen what happens when someone tampers with their collar, and he was too afraid to breathe until finally it clicked open, and Janks threw it away like it was a scorpion.

For all the contempt Rhonda had for the other inmates of the Icebox, she saw in their eyes the same fear and hope she had felt only minutes ago - and months before that. She didn’t recognize the inmate in front of her, a face full of freckles and dark veins, but she gave them a firm nod, a promise that she wouldn’t misread the code and this person would be free in a few more seconds.

“Maria!” Robinson’s voice was pitched high with concern, “We’ve got incoming!”

Shouting echoed distantly, starting somewhere past the kitchen, then grew closer. "What the fuck is that?” Mimi demanded from her spot by the door. Rhonda dashed to check the window.

Heavily booted footfalls added to the shouts. Rounding a corner from a hallway, a squad of DMC officers came barrelling through, bellowing at Colossus and Beast to stop, stop where they were, get on the ground, stop--

Colossus stole one more glance up at the office. Rhonda was too far to see her expression clearly, but he caught the brief press of her palm and fingers against the glass. Fight dirty against the DMC. All the inmates above him still had collars, and they wouldn't be able to leave until they got them off. The pair of X-Men had to buy enough time for them. 

A short few steps for his long legs, and Colossus grabbed one of the metal benches in the mess hall, which were bolted to the concrete floor. He wrenched it free and lobbed it into a wave of riot-armor-clad monsters. One officer threw some kind of canister at him that was spewing a thick, white smoke; he crushed it under the heel of his boot, breaking the dispersal mechanism.

Beast had climbed along the underside of a walkway and dropped into the middle of the throng of guards. Some hit him with cattle prods and bean bag rounds, but their armor barely held up against his claws. The mass of blue fur thrashed and kicked, launching DMC personnel into tables, weight racks, and the railing above. 

In the office, Rhonda had her first inmate freed, then a terrible boom shook the plexiglass doors and there was a flash of brilliant red splattered across the glass. Rhonda and Mimi had screamed in alarm. Wade yelled, “OH COME ON!” The women stared at him in bewilderment and realized what had happened - the collar of the inmate he’d been helping had exploded. The body fell against the glass and sagged to the floor. The inmate who had been typing the code screamed in agony and horror. He hadn’t lost his hands entirely, but a few fingers were definitely missing. 

Janks, wide-eyed with shock as the rest of them, told Mimi, “Yeah, he’s...dyslexic.”

Wade’s shoulders bounced with an indignant huff, “Okay, so it wasn’t on me!” Rhonda ground her teeth, but Mimi took charge before she could say something.

“Move the body, let’s go! We can’t help him now,” she barked, “Someone find something to wrap this guy’s hands!” The gang boss pointed at a few inmates, “You, you, and you will type the codes. Anyone gonna fuck it up?” When they shook their heads, Mimi slapped her palm on the glass a few times to spur them into action. The poor dead inmate was dragged away, the one with the mangled hands sat down and cried, howling as other collared prisoners tore their sleeves to try to cover the bleeding. Rhonda watched him for a second, hurting for him, before resuming reading codes off to free more prisoners.

Without collars, the inmates immediately started testing their abilities. Like Rhonda, some found they could hardly use them at all. One took a little hop, then stunned, started yelling about how she could still feel gravity. One or two of every ten inmates seemed unaffected by how long they had worn the collars - apparently as strong as they had ever been. Most felt their powers reduced, stunted. The one who swore he could shoot flames from his hands could now only make things hot if he touched them. 

Mimi’s gaze skipped nervously around the group. “What’s happened to them?” she asked Rhonda, even as she tested her own teeth and spat a pale yellow substance on the floor, which sizzled. 

“Something about the collars,” Rhonda explained. “When I first got mine off, I had to rehab for months, but I’ve gotten it back...mostly.”

Mimi gaped, eyes wide. “And you didn’t think to warn us?” She was seething.

She pointed at Wade, “He bounced back just fine! I thought maybe it was just me. Or that it depends on how long you’ve worn a collar.”

“Excuse me, ladies?” Robinson interrupted. “More incoming.”

There was a clap of thunder. A pop in the air. Storm and Nightcrawler tore through the same door as the wave of DMC reinforcements had. Rhonda and Wade watched as their friends rounded the corner - and when Rhonda saw the streaks of pink hair, her heart dropped. Ellie and Yukio were in the Icebox.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

> 🔴 cyberneticlagomorph is live on caster

Music plays over a cute screen of a cute doodle of Jack sitting on an upturned teacup, kicking his legs peacefully. His eyes are closed, tail thumping contentedly.

Jack's voice comes in clear over the music as the chat in the corner of the screen starts to become lively as people log in, "Right, ok so... I'm doing things a little-- well, a lot different tonight."

A pause, and the cheerful music stops.

The stream changes then, to Jack sitting in a very lush vivarium with plenty of climbing trees and ledges and places to hide, Jack himself is sitting on a lush cushion on the ground, a long cord snaking away from his back and curling around to the monitors in front of him. He's got a handheld camera, that much is obvious at least.

"Tonight's stream is sponsored by the Lobotomy Corporation! These guys are doing me a solid and keeping me under close observation while I game tonight, so hopefully nothing horrible will happen this time... god I hope I didn't just jinx myself." He makes a sour face, after a beat he clears his throat, "Anyway... let's get this started, yeah? The site went down for maintenance last night, so we probably won't have any problems this time... hopefully."

He's visibly uncomfortable, maybe even afraid. The camera cuts off and we are met with that familiar splash screen. Jack logs in, the loading screen that follows is a sketchy drawing of something vast and terrible reaching up and up and up in order to devour the sun, Jack finds himself reading the tooltip text aloud, "Sand fallen, sun consumed, the War was all for nothing, our stuffing is the only softness left in this world - Stitches 5:24"

A shudder seems to rip through the entire stream, a concentrated wave of unease.

For a lot while there is only a heavy silence until the game finally loads in.

Jack's avatar is outside the doll hospital again, rocking back and forth in a cute idle animation. He can finally see the town around him, brightly lit by lanterns full of green fireflies. The streets are made of obnoxious bowling alley carpet, and the grass is an assortment of fluffy shag rugs.

The town itself is full of players wandering here and there, going into shops, and chatting with each other. Someone flying on an obnoxiously pink cloud swoops low enough to nearly decapitate Jack, he barely has time to duck. The sky is normal again, dark purple with green stars, and that sad, jagged moon hanging limply in the sky.

For the first time, he can hear the background music and it sets him at ease. He wanders away from the hospital, looking for something to do.

The cloud flyer swoops back around and coasts next to Jack, low enough to make polite conversation, "Sorry about almost running you over like that, I just got this thing and I'm still learning how to drive it..." her avatar is almost as pink as her cloud, some sort of frilly undead opossum with a skeletal tail and toothy mouth where her sternum should be, "You ok? You look kind of lost."

"Oh, uh, it's fine!" Jack stops, unsure of where he even wants to go, "I'm new, I just got past the weird door tunnel monster like, yesterday."

"The Snarl, you mean?" The possum tilts her head, "I'm Keerah by the way, but yeah the big scary boss thing at the start of the game is called the Snarl, you're supposed to try and run from it but it always catches you and you end up in this damsel in distress situation and black out it's An Ordeal!"

Silence, "I just sorta... ran straight at it?" Jack laughs awkwardly and fiddles with his claws. Keerah gawks.

"No way?? No... way??? You can DO that??" She makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat, "Jeeze, that's probably what broke the game last night, you went full hero and confused it."

His head snaps up, "That can happen!?"

"No! No, I was just teasing, sorry." Keerah reaches over and pats Jack's paws, "The glitches have been a thing for awhile but they've never been this bad before, like sure sometimes an npc would lag out or something but never whatever the hell last night was." She shivers, "Hopefully maintenance fixed everything... so, where ya headed if you don't mind me asking?"

Jack just shrugs, trying to keep his mind off of the... everything, "Dunno, I'm like brand spanking new at all this, I don't even know what the main storyline is..."

"Oh that's because there really isn't one! Quests, plots, and character motivations all vary by server, so players have complete control over their play experience," she grins in a wistful kind of way, "Isn't it great?"

"Yeah... great... uh, where do I want to go if I want to take up a quest?" Might as well actually play the game instead of standing around, waiting to get spooked

Keerah points towards the massive Lego brick wall that seems to wrap around the entire town, "Head back towards the doll hospital and go north until you hit the barracks, you can't take any real quests until you learn how to fight, y'know how it is with these kinds of games..." she looks like she's turning to go at first but stops herself, "Oh! Before I forget, let's add each other as friends!"

She produces a cute pink coffin shaped smartphone and holds it out for Jack to take. There's a moment of awkward silence, "I don't... know how to do that yet."

"Just check your pockets, it's ok, this game really hates holding your hand when it comes to mechanics, everyone was a confused noob once in their life!" Keerah smiles again and the caster chat fills with heart emojis. Jack will now die for this complete stranger.

He finds his pockets, and his phone, along with the prescription bag he got from Ribbon. He hands it to Keerah and watches her enter her information into his contacts the same way one would do a normal phone.

Cool, not everything in here is ridiculous then.

The phones are swapped back and the two part ways.

The barracks aren't hard to find, a squat Lego brick building sprouting from the inside of the huge wall like a tumor.

It's dim inside, and crowded with new players sparring against each other. Some with swords, some with magic.

Others seem to bend the darkness to their will.

Another player let's out an ear splitting cry and sends their sparring partner flying through a nearby wall.

"Well... looks like I'm in the right place..." Jack muses. A mangled looking stuffed dog strides up to him, missing an eye and more patches than plush, his fur has been stained camo print and he looks deeply unpleasant to be around.

"You there!" He barks, the remaining fluff on his top lip looks like a droopy mustache, "What's your business here?"

"I came to train!" Jack barks right back, the old dog looks taken aback but just starts to laugh heartily.

"Well then, why didn't you say so! Welcome, new recruit to the first day of your new life in service to Haven and all those who live safe within her walls, my name is Sargent Barker and it's my job to whip limp ragdolls like you into shape!" Barker turns quick on his heel and marches away, "Come along now, we don't have all night."

Jack follows, his excitement evident in the way he wiggles, bouncing up into a rare binky. Barker stands before a wall covered in weapons, each polished so bright that Jack can see his reflection.

"Now then, I can't train you until I know what you want to be, so go ahead and pick whatever speaks to you, and we'll go from there." The old army dog stands aside, hands behind his back. He's wearing little polished black boots on his feet, that's not entirely important to the situation right now, but Jack things it's awful cute...

The wall glimmers with promise and dulls with the dust of heros past. Jack stands there, trying to decide, while the chat loses its entire mind trying to get him to pick the sick looking anime sword in the top right. His hand ghosts over the one thing that looks out of place, a bandaid with a smeared lipstick print on it. He looks at Barker, and the Sargent tilts his head, "Ah... the Ragged, toys that have been loved to death by their humans and are now more patches than fluff..." he clears his throat, "Not that I'd know anything about that! They're a peculiar class of folk, can heal themselves as well as their friends on the field of battle, and they know more than anyone how to strike down the Fears that plague mankind, would you like to be one of them?"

A pause. That didn't sound like him at all, he broke things, he didn't fix them! He was a manmade monster, not fucking Mercy! He opened his mouth to reply to Barker when the cheerful background music slammed to a literal screeching halt. The entire world seemed to bend and slant, like a cardboard box in a trash compactor. The npcs lost their textures, t-posing brokenly as their heads twitched and snapped back in ways that shouldn't be possible.

"Another glitch, hopefully it will pass." The fear in Jack's voice is evident, he can taste his own lies.

None of the players seem to be able to move, just standing there, helplessly watching as the world becomes flat and colorless. Textures and lighting melting away until there is nothing but the bare framework of the game all around them. Escape is impossible, any attempts to log out fills the screen with endless error messages.

Jack swore and screamed, but made no sound.

The ground beneath them all became a chasm yet again. That same impossibly black pit that stretched forever and ever.

Hands snaking up through the emptiness, grabbing players the way one plucks fruits from the vine.

Long and disfigured fingers with far too many joints wrapped around Jack, leaving him only slivers to see through.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The darkness swallowed him whole and the entire stream suddenly goes dark.

[blukrown]

Not Meant To Be - Chapter 2

First Chapter

Also available on AO3

The Clashing Of Swords

The next day came with a sense of relaxation, as Tebanam had the day off from court proceedings. Which meant that he could spend the whole day with Faris.

Already finished exploring the inside of the castle and surrounding area, Tebanam left it up to Faris to decide what he wanted to do. Faris, very much still a man of the sword, was keen to look further into the barracks. Curious to learn a few Hylian tricks with the blade. Tebanam, although knowledgeable of the art, ending up more a hangers-on in the end. But he did not much seem to mind.

So, after a very filling breakfast of eggs, toast and bacon, the couple made their way to the guardhouse, where all security slept, ate and practised.

As it was soon coming to midday, Faris had assumed the training grounds would not be in use. Yet from the far end of the bare space, they could see a figure. Jabbing, slashing and cutting at one of the dummies as they trained.

At first, Faris had assumed it was merely a guardsman who had time off. But was mistaken as Tebanam shouted to the man, "Jazoh!" Aiming to catch the man's attention.

As the prince and his bodyguard walked to join the man, the noble had waved. Then sheathing his fake sword into the hilt at his belt and wiped his face with a towel that was nearby.

"You're still a swordsman?" Tebanam asked after shaking his hand in greeting.

Jazoh let out a small chuckle, "Your tone makes it sound like I quit." His voice one of bemusement as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "If anything I only improved when I was away, there was so little to do apart from work and study. It helped vent my anger."

Tebanam gave a half impressed look, "Well then you'll have to show me your moves."

"In a match?" Jazoh asked, a smile quirking his lip, "I'd be more than happy to."

Perhaps it was just Faris but he was feeling bothered by this odd playful atmosphere the two men had around them. So much so he uncharacteristically spoke up.

"Surely, I can give you more of a challenge?" The bodyguard inquired, sounding friendly as he stepped forward.

Jazoh looked Faris up and down, from his new shoes and tunic - which were given to him on arrival at the castle and almost too new as the cloth was stiff and did not leave much movement - to Faris' restrained mane of black dreads. The guard was not quite sure what to make of it. He was not so much sizing him up this time but judging him, as if he was out of place in the very clothes he had on his back. But the nobleman did not seem too fazed by it as he shrugged, even saying a 'why not' as he looked between Faris and Tebanam.

Tebanam more than happily sat under one of the single trees which gave some shade on the mock battlegrounds. He had given Faris a questioning look but did not seem worried. Only saying before he left his lover's side, "Have fun."

Jazoh waited patiently while Faris chose his weapon, his right hand on the handle of his sword, which appeared to be a wooden copy of a rapier from what Faris could tell from a distance. He looked over the array of weapons, very much impressed by the large selection. From Gerudo sabre's to Sheikah katana's, Faris was almost spoiled for choice. All of course made out of wood for the use of practice, making them practically harmless if one was not to use much force.

Faris was not too particular but when the idea of losing came to mind, seeing himself at the mercy of Jazoh's blade, he decided it was best to go for what was most comfortable. Remembering Jazoh's chosen weapon, he decided on a long sword. It was his provided weapon back when he was in the arena and used often throughout his time accompanying Faris.

Returning to Jazoh, Faris gave himself ten paces space from his opponent. Removing his tunic so as to only be wearing his undershirt and trousers. He then took up his stance, both hands on the hilt, legs spread to be aligned the width of his shoulders and lowering his body ever so slightly. Jazoh followed suit, feet pressed side by side with one hand tucked behind his back. His hand was slow as it drew his sword, letting the whole of the mock blade leave the sheath before swiping the air in one harsh cut. His left foot then moved forward, his right behind and used for balance. His unused hand going behind his back.

They were both ready.

"Tebanam," Jazoh spoke, not looking from his adversary as he got the prince's attention, "Would you do us the honours of a countdown."

Faris' eyes darted to where his boyfriend sat and he looked more than happy to contribute in some way. "Not a problem." The man got to his feet, looking very much excited from what Faris could tell as he lifted his right arm.

“On my mark," Tebanam spoke, voice raised so as to be heard clearly from where the two swordsmen stood, "Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Begin!” His right hand chopping the air to show the spar had just now commenced.

Perhaps Faris was slow or distracted as within a second Jazoh was in front of him, sword at his side as he tried to stab at him. Faris was lucky, his reaction speed was fast enough to dodge the blade. The noble not seeming too bothered, let the sword sweep across as it tried to hit Faris’ side.

Faris was ahead of him as his sword shielded him from harm, the sharp ‘clunk’ of the timber's first contact ringed in their ears. Jazoh was now the one on the defence as Faris parried his sword, dragging the rapier away. Forcing Jazoh to open his guard while his right arm flew away with him.

Charging in, Faris aimed for the stomach. He could see the look of shock as Jazoh must’ve known he was going to be hit. But suddenly, the nobleman vanished, forcing the bodyguard to still follow through his motion as he stabbed through the air. It wasn’t until he was retreating his sword again to ready himself when he suddenly felt his legs come from under him.

Jazoh had ducked down and let one of his legs sweep at the man’s feet, causing Faris to fall.

Faris was surprised, although he was not extremely knowledgeable of Hylian practice, he knew that the style did not use dirty tricks. But perhaps this man won so often for that very reason, as he did not abide by any rules.

Faris let out a grunt as he landed on his backside. Looking up when a shadow cast over him as Jazoh jumped and aimed to cut him down the middle. The bodyguard stopped the attacked with the sword's blade, one hand holding the hilt and his left supporting the makeshift barrier by the point, gritting his teeth as he would yield. Jazoh seemed to quickly realise the bodyguard wasn’t going to budge so he dropped away. Allowing space between them while Faris got to his feet.

Faris could hear the soft clapping from where Tebanam sat, occasionally cheering words of encouragement to  the both of them.

"Looking good Faris, keep it up."

"You're in great form, Jazoh."

This only bothered Faris further. Sure, maybe Tebanam was trying to be fair, as it would be unsportsmanlike to leave one of them without any support. But at least give Faris some special treatment. The ex-Garai tried to push these distracting thoughts aside, however.

Faris decided to charge in, shortening their distance as he attacked. The harsh point of his sword aiming true to the nobleman's chest. Jazoh tried to parry the blade but Faris was too quick. Pulling his sword back to his side, Faris went for a barrage attack. Using the length of the long sword to its advantage, he kept the shorter and slimmer rapier from getting anywhere close to touching him.

Jazoh was clearly in trouble, the weight of the long sword easily overpowered any blocks the man tried to defend against. And what with Faris being so used to the sword's size and distribution, it almost felt like air as he easily swiped through the air.

Suddenly, a cloud of dust blocked the nobleman from Faris' sight. Making the bodyguard's eyes water.

"Shit," Faris swore, realising this must be another one of Jazoh's backhanded tricks.

Jazoh suddenly reappeared through the dust and Faris could only just see him through his watery eyes. Going for his legs, Jazoh hit the taller man's ankle. It was light, as Faris still found his body trying to dodge it.

In a real fight, that cut could have very well sliced through his tendon. Making his leg almost useless and surely leaving him defenceless. Which would leave Jazoh to give the finishing blow.

Luckily, he was not in the coliseum, he was not a slave and he was not the Skullcrusher. He was a free man named Faris, fighting a nobleman in an effort to impress his lover. Honestly, when one put it into context, Faris supposed he was acting immature. But the fight must continue. Faris could not allow thoughts of embarrassment or anger sway his focus.

The dirt that had been kicked up was now clearing and Faris' eyes, notwithstanding the fact that they stung, were clear. He could feel his heart racing in his chest and sweat starting to wetten his forehead and palms of his hands. It had been a while since he had fought someone of this calibre. It did not excite him but it did make his blood pump fast. Adrenaline coursing through him as both his body and spirit were not ready to give up the fight. Not while it was against this supposed ex-lover nor while it was all in front of Tebanam.

Faris, wanting to win back the advantage. Did not leave the nobleman any breathing space as he took the needed steps so he was within the reach of his sword. Turning the sword from left to right Faris targeted the Hylian's side.

The Garai, however, may have been too eager to cut Jazoh down, as he abandoned his left shoulder very much open as he missed and slashed air. Lifting his blade just in time to stop the counter, the fake rapier mere inches from his skin.

That was close.

Faris cursed his own enthusiasm as he parried the light sword away from him. Jazoh, possibly coming to understand just how Faris fought, used that to his advantage. Pulling his sword away, the man slashed the air and focused on Faris' right.

For all the bodyguard knew, eagerness was getting to the both of them, as Jazoh left his head open for the taking. Faris had the thought that it may be a trick but with the over exaggerated follow-through of the nobleman attack. Even if it was an imitation, he would not have enough time to save himself.

Faris, with a spring in his back leg, kicked forward. His sword going straight for the head. As if to cut it right off from his shoulders.

The nobleman's body reacted, as anyone would, trying to duck away but to only find his legs were not ready to redistribute his weight. Forcing him to fall to the ground. Rapier loose in his hand and unable to assist him.

Defenceless, Jazoh could only stare at the end of Faris' blade as he aimed it to his throat.

Faris could see the anger, of losing but also something more. Bitterness and no sign of accepting that he was the losing party.

Faris reached down with a hand, offering the nobleman a lift back onto his feet. The bodyguard would not have known if he would've taken it as Tebanam was cheering the two as he reunited with them.

"Impressive." He said, his smile bright as he looked between the two swordsmen. "It was so close. It could have been anyone's win."

Whatever emotions were hidden in Jazoh's eyes disappeared when he looked to the prince. "I very much doubt it. Your Faris is very skilled. I doubt I could beat him."

"But still, I can tell you have definitely improved," Tebanam said, extending a hand for Jazoh to take.

Faris had unconsciously withdrawn his hand, to straighten as Tebanam had joined them. But in the back of his mind, he had a strong feeling Jazoh would not have taken it. But the nobleman seemed more than happy to take Tebanam's aid.

"Thank you," The nobleman said, getting back on two legs and dusting himself down. "You are very much worthy of being Tebanam's guard." He said, giving Faris a smile.

"Indeed he is," Tebanam agreed, looking to Faris with a proud look that had the bodyguard very much proud of his accomplishments.

Tebanam reached to hold onto Faris' hand but recoiled making a noise of disgust. "Ugh, I'm sorry my dear but you're going to have to have a bath." Faris let out a small huff, though still amused by how Tebanam fussed as he watched the prince wipe his sweat covered hand on the fabric of his pants. A look of over exaggerated disgust scrunching his face. "Will you join us, Jazoh?" The prince asked.

Jazoh nodded, "Yes, I will. Just after I finish a few things here." Offering to take Faris' mock sword from him.

Tebanam did not seem too bothered by the nobleman's delay in joining them. Raising his hand in a wave, he walked beside Faris as they left the barracks.

Faris only looked behind him once, seeing the handsome nobleman standing where they had left him. Watching them.

Jazoh Spegeil observed the prince and his bodyguard leave the sparring grounds. His eyes very much lingering on the scarred man who had held a sword to his throat just moments ago.

Looking down, one hand held his rapier sword, which had failed him in battle. The other held the long sword, which the quiet Faris used to defeat him. Jazoh clenched his jaw, feeling a sense of anger as he let the long sword drop from his hand.

The nobleman was furious, quietly feeling the flames of disappointment and frustration lick at his chest. Making it almost ache with how harshly his pride had been shaken.

To see himself lose in front of Tebanam. The prince. And to a man who was clearly not of his calibre.

Faris was not a swordsman. He was a warrior. He did not follow the art and grace. His movements had been messy yet horrifyingly precise. Jazoh hated to imagine what could have happened if they had truly been enemies, and used real steel in combat.

Lifting the rapier up, he was left in thought. Remembering how many times he lost to that ancient woman back at the farm. Easily flooring him with a couple of swipes. Showing no sympathy she would always say, 'Be resourceful, that is the Spegeil way.'

The words ringed in his head.

He hated that the old shrew was right. Jazoh had promised not to use such dirty tactics unless when necessary. Especially when he lived in the grounds of Hyrule castle. To both use such schemes in front of Tebanam and lose, Jazoh glared at the rapier as if he wanted to break it.

Jazoh knew of Faris' was once an ex-gladiator and yet he may have perhaps let his pride of being a well-trained swordsman get in the way of any feeling of caution.

Swiping the sword through the air. The familiar sound brought back memories that nulled the frustration which bubbled in his core.

Tebanam just a bit older than sixteen, falling onto his back and losing to Jazoh for the third time that day. Letting out a sigh when he sat up to rub his aching behind.

"Are you alright?" Jazoh had inquired, quickly going over to offer a helping hand.

The prince had laughed, "Of course I'm fine, you're going to have to do more than that to hurt me."

"Surely that is enough for one day, your majesty." Jozah had said.

Tebanam had glared at the nobleman. It was not a sincere look of anger but more of a child pouting. Jozah had remembered thinking he looked especially adorable. "I told you Jazoh, call me by my name."

"But . . ." Jozah looked around them. There were soldiers who also occupied the sparring grounds. All giving occasional glances to the two boys, as they were very much concerned for the youngest prince's safety. "Why?"

Tebanam had combed a hand through his short orange hair, thinking for a moment before he answered. "Everyone else treats me like I'm made out of glass. I don't feel like I'm even a person in their eyes. Besides, no one wants to spar with me." He looked at his surroundings, grimacing as he did. "The guards don't think I'm at a suitable level for them, my brothers and father are too old." The prince had then looked up at Jazoh, who was still slightly leaned over with his outreached reached hand. "At least you treat me like a normal person."

Jazoh had frowned. That was the complete opposite of how he treated Tebanam. He treated him like he was a king. Worthy of praise and deserving everything he could ever want. But if his prince wanted it so, he could act like he was just like any other boy.

"Very well, T-Tebanam." Jazoh cringed at how he stuttered, trying to keep a cool face as he still felt discomfort from calling the prince by his first name. Although there was a very strong sense of joy.

Tebanam seemed satisfied. "Just one more round, alright? Then we can retire for the day."

Jazoh had smiled, "I'll be more than happy to put your ego down a peg, your maje- I mean, Tebanam."

Taking his hand Tebanam had gotten to his feet with a decent amount of ease. But perhaps one of the boys had miss matched their footing, as when the prince stood, he was very close.

Jazoh could remember the prince's bright orange eyes, glittering with a look of surprise. His tanned skin not completely hiding the slight presence of freckles that dotted his cheeks. He was sweaty, both his face and hand damp with perspiration and Jazoh found that he did not much mind it. His lips were supple and a slight tinge darker than the rest of his face. Jazoh could remember he was so close to him he could feel the soft outtake of breath that came from the prince.

Tebanam had then taken a step back, blinking as he ducked his head, "Sorry." He had muttered. A soft tinge of pink colouring his cheeks and peak of his sharp ears.

It had been in that moment that Jazoh knew that there was something between them. Something lingering, words that were at the tip of his tongue, feelings which squeeze at his chest, lips that he wanted to kiss.

That was nearly ten years ago.

Jazoh felt his hand squeeze the hilt of the sword. It almost felt like yesterday to Jazoh, as if his life on the Spegeil farm was but a mere nightmare. But clearly, that did not seem to be the case for Tebanam.

But Jazoh did not heed those thoughts much mind. the noble only felt determination. So he picked up his things and made his way to the baths.

"Patience as well." The words of the elder woman whispered in his ears. "Spegeil men are known for their patience."

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

This fic is based on the Zelgan au by @figmentforms 

The Zelgan babies, as well as Faris and Jozah, are created by @s-kinnaly

And special thanks to @ridersoftheapocalypse  for writing the main fanfic about Tebanam and Faris, which inspired this fic

I highly recommend you look at their content on this to have a better understanding of the story

[insomniac-dot-ink]

In Another Life: Prologue

Pairing: catradora (she-ra)

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: After pursuing an unprotected Runestone on one of Etheria’s moons Catra is thrown through space and time toward an alternate life that is everything she never wanted.

Now Catra can either go along with her new timeline until she can suckerpunch Princess Spacia in the face OR see if she can try and overpower this new reality too. Though it would help if her arch-nemesis would stop calling her ‘dear.’

Catradora alt!timeline marriage AU

Ao3 ⭐ Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon ⭐ WordPress

Prologue: I’ll Give you the Sun

It’s not my fault.

Soft sniffling came from down below. Catra rolled over and put her hands over her ears, the muted sniffles seemed to reach her even there.

It’s not my fault.

It was around 4am by that point and all the other cadets were either asleep or politely ignoring Adora’s muffled breakdown. Catra scowled to herself, Adora was always the smart one, trying to save her silent choked tears for late at night when weakness might be hidden more easily.

A soft hiccup came from down below, Catra rolled over again.

They would both be eleven in two months, Shadow Weaver would say that they should be over this kind of behavior by now. That they were almost full soldiers and beyond such indulgences. Adora gave another thin wail, burying the noise in her hands and trying to stifle it no doubt.

Guilt plummeted in Catra’s gut.

She gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes shut, it’s not my fault!

Adora rarely got in trouble, she rarely let herself- she was a winner after all, a champion as Shadow Weaver never failed to mention. And maybe it was just time. Catra thought to herself and let the dark thoughts settle in her like a nest of thistles, then she heard another little muffled sob.

Catra took a deep breath and carefully, silently, swung out of bed.

She landed on the cold metal floors with barely a sound, keeping her shoulders hunched and eyes down. A bundle of trembling thin green blanket lay in front of her, huddled and curled in on itself, Catra poked it with her toe. The bundle flinched for a moment and Catra leaned over to poke it more aggressively.

“Hey,” Adora turned over indignantly, her face marred by sorrow: blonde hair askew and clinging to her wet cheeks, eyes red and wet, nose a bright bulbous rouge color and running freely. She didn’t look like the Adora from earlier in the day who managed to do the obstacle course over 30 times. Catra winced at the sight of her.

It’s not my fault.

She gestured loosely, “Come on,” she said just above whisper. “Get up.”

Adora’s face screwed up into a scowl and she wiped at her cheeks quickly, mopping up the tear streaks and pushing her damp hair back. “This isn’t what it looks like.” She said quickly, the usual line they all pulled.

Catra just shook her head, “Get up or I’ll pull you up.” She didn’t mean to snap, but the hard feeling in her gut was making nausea rise in her throat. She didn’t want to see Adora like this.

Adora rubbed at her face again, deep purple welts covered her arms from earlier that day and a matching yellowing bruise lay on her chin. She pulled her long white sleeves over them and looked away, Catra looked away as well. “I want to show you something,” She mumbled and yanked on Adora’s blanket, trying to pull it off of her and get her up all at once.

“Alright, alright,” Adora hissed and pushed herself to her feet, reaching for her jacket on the wall. “But don’t get us in trouble.” They both winced at the sentiment, remembering earlier yesterday.

Catra latched onto Adora’s wrist and started tugging her through the rows of bunks and sleeping bodies, soft snores and pained breathing surrounded them. Catra snagged two scarves from out of one of the other cadets trunks and quickly kept them moving.

“Those aren’t yours.” Adora said tightly since she was slow and well… Adora .

Catra leaned over and whispered into her ear, “True. Everything in here is Hordak’s, we all just borrow it.” Adora’s brow furrowed together and she was no doubt coming up with a comeback, but Catra is quicker and hurried them out of the barracks before she can. She pushed them past the east halls and up the kitchen steps toward the far roof.

Adora muttered a few questions here and there, but she had started yawning again halfway through, the sleeplessness probably catching up to her. Catra kept their pace brisk and unapologetically horizontal, Adora cursed a few times as she stubbed her toe in the dark as they climbed.

“No really,” she called out from behind, “Where are we going?” “Up.” Catra opened the first door to the outside and a harsh wind ripped around them.

“It’s not even morning yet,” Adora was squinting into the dark yellow clouds of the Fright Zone, Catra pulled her through and shut the door behind them.

“Yes, and I’m out of bed, you’re welcome.” Catra said with a grin and pointed at the nearby metal ladder. “Don’t tell Shadow Weaver now.”

Adora gave a slow smile, “Never.” Catra took her wrist, warm and thrumming under her fingertips, she probably didn’t need to at that point- but some things can’t be helped. She led her to the narrow maintenance access ladder, it was attached to a solid metal pole that went straight up into the sky. She turned toward Adora, “And don’t look down princess.” Adora puffed her cheeks out, “Don’t call people names.” Catra laughed, “Just don’t look down.” They started to climb.

It was just before dawn in the Fright Zone, the hum of city streets was barely audible in the dead of the morning. The constant clanking of machines and motors and gears turning and grinding made sure it was never quiet, but the hush of the chilled morning air was close.

It became quieter the higher they climbed, chasing the ladder up and up as they ascended toward the thick smog above. Adora started coughing half-way up.

“I swear, if this is some sort of training exercise…” She said loudly.

“Me? Voluntarily training? Ha!” Catra’s tail twitched, “No. It’s much better than that, I promise.” Adora opened her mouth to say something more, but Catra was already on her way up. Adora coughed again but followed obediently, the petty part of Catra commented that that was what she was good at.

The other part remembered the look on Adora’s face when she fell off the climbing structure yesterday. Adora had started it: puffing her cheeks up and crossing her eyes as she swung across the bars, scrunching up her face and jutting her jaw out. She made faces at Catra, making her laugh as Catra watched from the sidelines. Catra had already fallen off the obstacle course that Adora was now sailing through, the faces were one type of distraction.

Catra started making faces back: sticking her tongue out while pulling her ears, drawing her lips back and creating a double chin with her neck. Adora was giggling, waving slightly as she did, then one moment she was holding onto the thin metal bars, suspended in midair. And the next, she wasn’t.

Adora slipped, Adora never slipped.

Nevertheless, she thudded down painfully to the ground and landed on her knees, “Ah,” she hissed in pain and let out a cry. What followed next was much worse.

“What are you doing?” A voice thundered, materializing from nothing and descending from up above. Two yellow eyes turned on Catra, “Insolent fool, distracting her like that, what good are you if you’re just going to get in Adora’s way?”

Catra shrank back, mouth falling open but with nothing to say. Despite the fall Adora bounced back to her feet first and started running haphazardly toward them as Shadow Weaver formed from the dark. Catra was already flinching back and making herself small.

“No! It’s my fault, I was the one who started it.” Adora’s voice came out desperate and booming. Catra on the other hand was already trying to become one with the wall as she pressed her back up to it.

“It’s true!” She called, already feeling like a coward and screwing her eyes shut.

The yellow slits where Shadow Weavers eyes should be narrow, “Is that so, Adora?” The witch turned on her protege, “Have you been… losing focus?” Adora nodded ardently, “Yes, yes, I wasn’t paying attention.” Shadow Weaver snapped her fingers, “Then I suppose we’ll have to get your attention again,” her voice was cold and clipped, “I’m sure 30 more runs on the obstacle course should hold it.” Adora’s eyes went wide and Catra can only watch mutely. “Yes, Shadow Weaver.” Adora gave a low bow and then turned back to the course, jogging toward the starting line.

“That’s my girl,” Shadow Weaver said quietly before speaking up again, “And then come to my room. We’ll have… a talk.” Catra wasn’t sure what happened during their talk, but Adora didn’t come to dinner that night and when she showed up at the bunks she wouldn’t speak a word to the rest of them. Her face downcast and jaw firmly shut, a bright purple bruise blooming on her chin.

Catra knew that face, Catra had made that face before.

She shook her head and snapped herself back to the present, her frozen fingers pulling her up one rung at a time. “Are we almost there?” Adora called, she almost had a whine to her voice, which was unlike her. “And this better be an all you can eat breakfast.” She grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Catra winked down, “They have eggs and toast and sugar cubes.” “Square ones?” Adora blinked a couple times.

“Four corners and everything!”  They both laugh but the sound is quickly swept away by the breeze.

Catra tilted her face up, the heavy quilt of smog loomed up above, she passed one of the scarves down to Adora before they continued, “Here,” she called, “tie this over you mouth and nose.” Adora raised her eyebrows but didn’t question it, using one hand to wrap the long scarf around her face and breathe deeply, Catra does the same thing. “There’s a platform just up above.” Adora was coughing again, “Okay.” Her voice sounded worn out now, cracking at the end.

Catra set her jaw and picked up their pace, “just a little further!”

They entered the cover of dingy soot and ash, the pollution of the great billowing machines that worked twenty-four-seven in the Fright Zone. They were used to it by now, but that didn’t stop them both from coughing violently as they climbed directly into it.

“Almost there,” she called behind her, eyes watery from the sting of the yellow fog.

Adora gave a thick wet cough, “I-I can’t.” Catra reached down, “We’re almost at the platform! Keep going.” Catra managed to pep talk Adora to the resting spot, cheering her up the last few rungs. They clambered onto the circular metal area and sat for a moment, letting their arms rest and weigh heavily down by their sides.

They’re both breathless and flushed in the face.

Adora shook her head, “I don’t think I can make it another rung.” She looked pale and deep indents were formed under her eyes.

Catra’s muscles tensed and she lifted her chin up, “It’s just a little further.” Adora looked off the edge of the platform, “Look, Catra,” she said in a small voice, “I know you’re trying to do… something, but,” Adora took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Catra stood up with the heavy clank of her feet and walked over to her, thrusting her hand out into Adora’s face before the other girl can finish her thought. Adora blinked at her outstretched fingers.

“Give me your arms,” Catra demanded.

Adora wrinkled her nose, “What?” Catra gave an exaggerated sigh and knelt down, she turn her back to Adora and looked over her shoulder. “Give me your arms and wrap them around my neck.”

Adora looked Catra up and down suspiciously, “Again, what?” “You’re tired,” Catra growled, “Shadow Weaver made you do too many damned laps,” she backed up into her insistently, “Let me take you the rest of the way up.”

Catra didn’t look at her as she said it, she could feel Adora’s eyes on her though, considering her. Crying was one thing, but being carried by another person was whole other level of weakness.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She whispered, “just trust me, okay?” She huffed the last part.

To her surprise, Adora wrapped her arms around Catra’s neck, pressing her chest up against her back and latching on.

“Good,” Catra grunted and wobbled back to her feat, Adora wrapped her legs around Catra’s torso as they teeter into balance.

“Hold on,” Catra said slowly and grabbed onto the rungs, starting to haul the both of them up the metal rings one at a time. It was much slower going this time and she had to remind herself this was what she was built for. I’m made for damn climbing, she chanted in her own head.

Adora was warm against her, her chest gently raising and falling, hard muscles wrapped around Catra’s body.

Catra lost track of time as she punched her way up through the cloud cover of the Fright Zone, her eyes stung and watered at the last toxic layer. She’s afraid that Adora’s fallen asleep at one point as the other girl was oddly quiet.

Nonetheless, Adora’s arms tightened around her as they saw a blurry glow of light just above.

“There,” Catra whispered, “There!” She pushed them the last couple inches up into the sky. Bright, pure light greeted them as the haze of smog dissipated. The very top of the radio tower awaited them: another flat circular platform with a blinking red light bulb at the highest point.

Catra was breathing heavily by then, her muscles complaining and teeth chattering as they made it the last bit of the way up, trembling slightly at every last push and pull. The sun’s first rays hit them, slow and almost tender.

Adora’s face was wet again, buried in the crook of Catra’s neck as she sniffled and hot silent tears pressed against her naked skin. She doesn’t say anything as Adora finished crying one last time.

She carried them the rest of the way up to the very top of the tower. They both gave a giant exhale, collapsing on the platform and letting themselves breath. It was so sharp and fresh up there that Catra is overwhelmed by a sudden dizziness.

She wasn’t sure she even recognized clean air at this point, she didn’t dwell on it and instead turned her face to the light.

“Look,” she nudged Adora with her foot, “Here it comes.” Adora turned, her face dry now, eyes still slightly puffy but the blue of her eyes clear and almost sparkling as they caught the light.

“Oh,” Adora gasped softly and they both shift toward the sunrise. “I almost forgot what that looked like.” She furrowed her brow and whispered, “I think I did forget.”

The sun was a sweet lemon drop on the horizon, reflecting off the miles of pillowy yellow clouds and breaking through the skyline like a blazing golden peach. It’s rays pierced the darkness of the smog below and slowly rose before them, chasing away the night like white ink spilling across a black page.

Catra closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the warmth soak into her cold body and tingle against her skin.

“Do you come here often?” Adora turned to her and Catra cracked her eyes open slightly, Adora’s eyes were huge and mouth ajar, as if stricken by something.

Catra shook her head, “Only when I need it.” Adora just nodded, “Thank you.” Her voice cracked, “Thanks for this…” They stayed silent, shoulders barely touching and words lost to them, Adora was motionless and quiet as they watched the sunrise and Catra watched her.

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

Many years later Catra’s ship pierced the thick wall of smog again, bursting above the cloud cover and into the cool night air. There was no sun rising this time and it’s only for a moment that she sees the blinking radio tower amongst the yellow murkiness.

But she can’t help but remember that moment, just for a second, the look on Adora’s face: stricken, almost frightened, overjoyed as they sat there on that platform.

Catra shook her head and tried to concentrate on her navigation as the second set of boosters engaged and she sailed out even further from the Fright Zone and into the heavens themselves.

Leaving the planet was one way of forgetting Adora.

[from-etihad]

Sa bháisteach

[ The following is a log of a scene involving Hana Yasmin and Eamonn. ]

Rain had fallen over Etihad in the morning, and lasted until early afternoon. The sky cleared enough to let the sun through by that late afternoon, drying the ground, but there was still a cooler breeze through out the day, bringing relief after days of being under a hot, summer sun. Taking advantage of the cool, gentle wind was Hana Yasmin, who was sitting under a large, open tent that was deep red, in the large water garden adjacent to her home. The tent itself, along with the pillows, carpet and floor seats, were red, and a wooden table with fruits and wine sat at the center. Hana was sitting on one of the seats, not wearing her crown, as she did not expect any officials visitors upon that day. She instead wore a jeweled head band that matched the deep magenta gown that she wore. She was alone, with only her guard around keeping watch. When Rama had arrived to take Eamonn to Amon, he took a moment to advise Hana to try to relax as much as she could that day, as the following days would be filled with anxiety and anticipation of war, and he worried about her health, especially since she had just recovered. She tried to and managed to clear her mind for an hour or so, even while it was very hard, but at that moment, she was reading a letter which caused her to feel concerned once again. [d]

The rain had the proceedings of the day arduous and difficult. Eamonn had been ushered into a meeting with the Military Governor, his captains and lieutenants, as well as nobles from the city and other parts of Etihad who had been summoned to lend their support. They had gathered in in a tent of their own inside of the barracks courtyard and held a long council on how to prepare, how to fight and where their rally points should be. Eamonn was concerned throughout the whole ordeal. The army of Etihad was small indeed. She had more men than he'd thought, but far less than he had hoped. The men that it had mustered in such a short time were not eager to leave their homes and fight a foreign enemy they knew nothing about. Eamonn explained as much as he could, suggested as much as he could, but could only meet consensus on few things. He fervently put down the idea that people should be evacuated. The abundance of poorly manned civilian vessels in open water would be like ringing a dinner bell for the raiders. Eamonn told them that they would be sending them into slavery or a watery grave. But the counterargument, or rather the accusation, was that Eamonn would rather see them trapped inside of a city that could be burned. Another was that they would be safe because the raiders could not perform a naval assault while overloaded with slaves and captives. The arguing went on for hours while they planned and at the end of it, while the defending forces would be armed and positioned straight away, and barricades would be built, there was still deep mistrust and enmity for Eamonn. When Rama brought him back to Hana, he entered the tent followed by two handmaids who sat him down and supplied him with a large cup of wine, some fruit and pulled meat. The rain had only just stopped by the sky still thundered, another storm announcing its presence close by. Eamonn drank deeply and stared at the gardens in front of him as the next showers began to drop. [d]

When Eamonn finally returned, she offered him a warm smile, but didn't say anything. He had been gone for many hours, and she figured he would want a few moments of silence. She always did. Whenever she was with her council for hours, discussing, arguing, or both, she made sure to at least give herself a few moments of still silence. If she didn't, her anxiety would keep her on the edge for a long while. With the things going on, anxieties were already at an all time high. So, she let him sit there for a few long minutes, as she quietly read the long, detailed letter that had been delivered that day. Finally, she let out a long sigh, and put the letter aside. A part of her wanted to tell him the contents of the letter, but after a long day of meeting with the military personnel, she didn't wish to cause him further stress. So, she refrained from it, and looked out at the garden as he did instead. "I used to love playing in the rain," She commented quietly, "Vali used to run after me, fretting about my health and trying to get me indoors by mentioning how I'd get sick, but I would run from him, laughing. I got your sister to do it once and she got sick. Your father was furious. " She smiled lightly, remembering how scared she was of Maxim's angry glare. She never tempted Slania into the rain ever again. "I still enjoy the rain, although it rains less often here. It reminds me of my days at home." Despite all the years that went by, she still regarded Doar as 'her home.' [d]

He blinked, looking around the tent before settling on her as if he'd been pulled from a dream or a deep sleep. He hummed as she reminisced, even smiling and nodding his head at the mention of Váli and his father. He was quiet a moment longer before his lips moved. "My father was protective of my sisters, particularly little Slán," He said. "He chased me around our home in Wexford once when I was a boy because I pushed Riley into the creek. She came running home to change, crying and tattling and when my mother and father dried her off and changed her clothes, there were leeches on her upper thighs." He snorted at the memory. "Mother tried to calm him down, but he came outside with a bit of wood to lash me with." He looked at her and his smile softened. "The irony of this story is that it was Fay who spanked me, not him." [d]

She covered her mouth, stiffing back a laugh at the very thought of a younger Eamonn committing such a misdeed. "I've heard of your mischievous days. Riley loved to tell us those stories, you know. If any of our children does that to the other, I'm blaming you." She commented amusingly, standing to pour herself some wine. She sat back down, and nodded. "Oh yes, your eldest sister. My first memory with her was one particular night. Your parents were asleep, I believe, but Katy and I were awake, playing in her mother's room," Katy was a few years older* than Slania and Hana, but still played with them a lot back in Doar, "We heard a noise. We alerted Fay, followed her as she investigated, and it turned out to be Riley sneaking in through a back door. Fay scolded at Riley for hours, but then turned around and made us swear not to tell your mother or father." She raised a brow, before she took a long sip of her drink. She watched the rain once more as she spoke on. "I used to envy Slania for having the three of you. Svein always avoided me when he wasn't scolding me." She shrugged lightly. It was hurtful many years ago, but a long time had passed since then. "The day I set eyes on you as when this one time, Slania fell and scraped her knee while we were playing. You were nearby. You practically ran to her when she began to cry and picked her up effortlessly. I practically melted."She laughed then, looking at him, "Each time you were around after that, my face would turn red and Slania would worry I was getting ill again." [d]

Eamonn smiled, listening as she spoke. It was refreshing to speak Englisc with her, after to go back and forth through Rama all afternoon. The comfort of his native tongue was warm. "Riley had a rebellious streak in her. Still does. Our father wanted respectable, chaste daughters whom he could marry away to good men and good allies. Neither of them liked that." He sighed and drank from his cup. "He turned a blind eye to alot of things they did. He would have rather not known. It kept him from being heartbroken. As much as he loved my mother, her free spirit and independence influenced his children far too much for his liking. King Maxim wanted obedient children." He gave her a sad smile. "Instead, he got us." He tried to laugh, but it just wouldn't come. Eamonn was tired and slightly sad when talking about his father. He was glad when Hana mentioned him and little Slán. He sighed wistfully. "I loved her then," Eamonn said. "So small and innocent... and very curious." He nodded at that, putting a grape into his mouth and chewing slowly. He washed it down with a sip a wine before continuing. "Old man loved her, too. So, so much. Riley was prone to jealousy when Slania grabbed his attention." He blinked, his eyes becoming wet. He wiped them without a thought. "Slania could have done so much for our family. Everyone loved her. Even Svein held her hand and walked her in the fields... we both took her riding when she was old enough to sit on a saddle." He stopped and turned away from her. Eamonn pretended to pour more wine into his cup while trying to control himself. The sudden melancholy that washed over him made him want to cry, but he knew now was not the time for that kind of weakness. Not when all of the armed men in Etihad had their eyes on him.He drew a deep breath and coughed, clearing his throat as he turned back to her with a new cup. He drank deeply again. "I love her now," He said. "Perhaps, when all of this is done, she will learn to love me." [d]

Eamonn mentioning that none of his sisters were 'chaste' made her take a long drink. She was well aware of that, as she knew a secret of the youngest Sargenis sister that proved that correct, something that not even Fay or Riley knew. Slania told Hana anything she felt like she couldn't tell her older siblings. Hana frowned upon seeing how despondent Eamonn began to seem. She stood up briefly to sit closer to him, and once she did, she rested her head on his shoulder. She had no idea what had occurred, but she knew something had happened that involved both Slania and Eamonn, and it clearly was eating away at him. "We kept a very consistent correspondence, your sister and I. From her letters, it was clear as day that she loved you and missed you. I would know when you visited her because she would tell me how happy she was..." She trailed off, confused by his words. She then took his free hand and held it with her own, entangling his fingers with hers. "Eamonn... I don't know what exactly happened, but I know something has. Your sister has stopped writing to me, and every time you bring her up, you look so disheartened... It's worrying me." She slightly tilted her head upwards so she could look at him. "You don't have to tell me now, but I'd like to know what occurred. I hate to see you like this." [d]

"There are many things that I have to answer for," He said simply. "And I think in the months to come, I shall answer for them all. The Wolf shall make me answer for them." He shook his head and stared hazily at the rain soaked garden before them beyond the cover of the tent. The rain also reminded him of home. He frowned. Home, He thought. Where is that? I haven't settled in any one place for years. He rested a hand on hers and squeezed it gently. "Hana, I can only change who I am going forward," He said then with a sudden steely voice. "I cannot change who I have been these long years." He looked at her then, his face serious. "What you learn of me in these next few turns of the moon, I pray you will forgive. I pray you will urge my loved ones to forgive also." He drank deeply from his cup, emptying it completely. "Váli is not the only wolf in the North." He let her go and proceeded to pour more for himself. He was silent thereafter. [d]

Hana accepted his answer with a nod, trusting that with time, she would learn what had occurred. There had been a resistance from fully trusting him years ago, and one of the reasons for that was because he felt like an enigma to her. She felt like she knew him, but at the same time, she felt like she didn't. She always felt like he was holding back things, so she held back in return. But something had shifted. There was a change happening in him. Now, she truly felt like she finally could see who he truly was after he finally opened up to her. When she gave herself in to the love she had for him, trust came along with it, as well as forgiveness. "As you move forward, so do I. I've already forgiven you, Eamonn. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have agreed to become your wife. I wouldn't have given myself heart, body, and soul to you. Even if I do not like what I learn, that's in the past, and I am focusing on us right now in the present. And, I will help you with your family as much as I possibly can." She told him before she grimaced at the mention of Vali, the man she did not want to forgive. "What do you mean? Is there more like him ?" She asked, standing abruptly to pour herself more wine. As time passed on, as they grew closer to facing Vali's ships, just the mention of his name began to stir an anger in her. [d](edited)

You'll learn in time, He thought. He wanted to say it, but chose to say nothing. He picked at a piece of cheese and played with it for a moment before eating it slowly. "Amon wishes to commission what few garrison ships your city has, as well as several merchant ships to ferry civilians off the isle and across the water to Al-Andalus and Paraiso." That word thickened his tongue and made it hard to swallow. He grimaced at the thought of the place; long had Paraiso been a country of enmity with Doar and the Sargenis. Eamonn hoped his presence in Etihad would be overlooked by their prying eyes. "I do not like this plan. Those ships are better served here defending the port. If the port and the beaches fall, the city is exposed." He took another piece of cheese and chewed softly while speaking. "The people are at risk of being overtaken by the raiders on the water. We'll be handing them slaves and ships." He looked to her now, worry on his face. [d]

This made Hana frown, and her eyes went on the letter she had left on the seat. "Amon loathes Paraiso, so if he suggested to send some of our people there and to Al-Andalus, then he probably deems it necessary." She commented, her demeanor now somewhat detached. It was like a switch, where she was open and warm one moment while speaking of personal things with him, but the moment he began to speak of the topic of invasion and warfare, she became reserved. It was part of adapting to the life of a royal leader. "I agree. We do not know when these raiders will come, so we could be sending them at the same time they arrived to our waters, and it could be disastrous. Al-Andalus would be ideal, but the distance..." She grimaced, and took a long drink of her wine, "It's too much of a risk. Paraiso is closer and King Tristian Delacruz is indebted to me, but..." She chuckled, but it was one of bitter amusement, "...I just got a letter from a few friends left in Paraiso. He's about to lose the capital and the country's war has escalated as a result. To send our people there will mean they may die as well." [d]

Fuck Tristian, He almost said. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, ready for the flyting. But Eamonn made only a shrill 'fff' sound and then lifted his cup to his lips to mask the intent. "There are barricades being raised, spikes and false walls covered in pitch and... well, we're going to try to corral them into one neck with caltrops, pits and sharp stones. With enough archers on the roofs or on the flanks, we can just..." He drifted off then. Eamonn realized what he was thinking and it was truly bloody work. The dead and the dying in their streets, the smoke and the ash. He frowned. "The dead will be numerous," He said flatly. [d]

Had he said that out loud, she would have joined in, because she was thinking it. The man left the capital wide open like an idiot. The more she thought of his incompetence, the more angry she felt. She crossed her arms and went quiet when he spoke of the inevitable. She suddenly felt her anxiety begin to suddenly increase. Her breathing got more rapid, and her eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing. Her stomach began to hurt. She was visibly become affected by his words, by the weight of the upcoming reality, and she seemed to be embracing herself, trying to remain in control. "Then make sure to slaughter the enemy." She said sharply to him, but closed her eyes. She felt like vomiting. "I need to... take a walk." She said slowly, and just turned around, stepping out from the tent and into the rain, walking aimlessly around her garden, trying to keep herself from vomiting the little food she had eaten that day. [d]

"Hana," He said her name gently, watching her leave. His brow furrowed with worry as she stepped out of the tent and into the deluge. The sky cracked with thunder and Eamonn rose from his seat. "Hana, it's raining," He called. "You'll get sick!" He set his cup down and followed her out in weather. The drops beat down on his tied hair and brow making his grimace in discomfort. The air was cool and even gave him a shiver, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin as his clothes became wet and stuck to his skin. "Hana, wait," He said again as he trailed behind her. She moved quickly through the different walkways and rows of plants and flowers, intent on her leaving him behind. Eamonn lost sight of her and began jogging down the aisles, water splashing beneath his feet. She appeared again in his peripherals on the opposite row and Eamonn attempted to stop suddenly which resulted in his slipping and falling into the water. He cursed loudly, now so soaken that he may as well as submerged himself in the sea. He stood up and limped his way around the rows of flowers to finally catch her. Gently, he took her by the arm from behind. "Hana," He said again, pulling her around to face him. [d]

Hana didn't even realize she was walking so fast. Breathing became difficult, and she began to take shallow breaths through her mouth. Her heart was beating so hard, it made her chest ache. Blood was pounding in her ears, making it seem like his voice was further away than it was. She was shaking, but it wasn't just because of the cool air against her wet skin. She was trying desperately to maintain control of her own body, but the thought of so much death and destruction headed their way made it seem impossible. She jumped when he touched her, not even noticing he had finally reached her. When she was turned around, her eyes were wide, her gaze on the ground. Her chin was trembling as she began to cry. "People are doing to die..." She began slowly, her voice strained, "..They have no fault in all of this. They have nothing to do with this. They're going to die and yet again, I can't do a damn thing about it. Just like in Paraiso. I tried to save so many people there, as Tristian told me to, and I couldn't." The more she spoke, the more overwhelmed she sounded. "Both of my mothers died because of me. People got hurt and died around me. It's like I'm a damn curse, and there was nothing I can do about." She finally looked up, making eye contact, the anguish evident in her stare. The moment she looked at him, whatever left there was of a restraint broke away. "I loved him like a father. I honored him every day of my life. I took his name. The worst part of all of this is a part of me still misses him." She laughed bitterly, stepping away from him as she felt like she couldn't catch her breath, evident by her increasingly labored breathing, "And this is what he does?! For a son that is gone?! " Hana raised her voice in pained anger, "He's going to cause so much death here, and he even might kill you... I can't lose you, Eamonn. I can't. I just can't..." She cried, frantic by just the thought of him dying."It doesn't matter than decision I make, it doesn't matter what I do, I've failed. I've failed all of them. I can't protect anyone, and I was a fool for even thinking I could!" Her voice finally broke, her body wracked with heavy sobs. After years of restraining and holding back pain and grief in order to be a strong ruler, she had finally reached her limit. [d]

Eamonn's heart sank seeing her so disconsolate, overwhelmed by the impending doom that lingered somewhere out there on the waves and by the seemingly unending gauntlet of trials and tribulations that had plagued her all her life. While Eamonn found commonality in her struggles, he couldn't quite share the experience; she had been thrust into a position more like his father than he himself. Reluctant, reticent and always timid, Hana instead put the same mask of strength that he had worn his entire reign as King of the Marches in Doar. Now it had begun to crack. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried, only to stare helplessly when she pulled away and wailed her sorrows to the booming sky above them. I've failed, He thought. Not you. But he couldn't say it. There were no words he felt he could say. And perhaps none that were even meant to be said. Eamonn snatched her wrist suddenly, his grip tight. He pulled her fiercely to him and kissed her wildly. He brushed wet hair from her eyes, wiped her running make up from her cheeks and lock their lips together. The rain made their clothes form fitting, her soft curves distinguishable beneath the ruined silks. A strong hand ran down to her waist, around the curve of her buttock and hooked underneath her thigh. He pulled her inward to him and pressed her back against the trunk of a swaying palm. He traced their tongues together in their kisses, parting their lips only to explore her cheek and her neck. He lifted her silks with his hands and found the warmth between her thighs with his fingers. "Hana," He breathed between passionate hums of his lips against her skin. "I will never leave you."(edited)He undid the sash and belt which held his clothes to his waist. Half naked there, beneath that dark rain and swaying tree, he entered her and made love. "Never," He said softly between passions. "Never."

[paul-henri]

Far Off Regions, part 2

     As much as I hated serving the source of our family’s hardship, it felt like the only thing to do was enlist. So with no joy, I walked to the Army headquarters (because we had sold our last mount for a bolt of cloth) and signed up. I didn't have far to go, it was only half a mile away; walking around the back of the Alamo, with its now famous ‘hump’ on the old mission chapel barely a year old, and straight down Houston Street to the Vance building. The Army had made the two story white stone building their command post for all forces stationed in San Antonio about the same time they fixed up the Alamo.

     I made sure that in my five year contract there was a provision that guaranteed my $8 a month, paid every two months, was to be sent to my family directly. I wouldn’t need any pocket money, the army would give me everything I would need. With my papers signed they sent me with a note, signed by the commander, to the supply depot; the Alamo, where I was issued a uniform and rucksack, and a mess of gear with no idea how to put on.

I was milling around the former convento, turned into a supply loading area behind the long barracks, with fifty other recruits when a full-framed, bearded, sergeant strutted towards us. Stopping a few yards in front of our gaggle of youthful men he stated in a very even tone,

"I am Sergeant Wilkerson. I am here to instruct you in the basic military drill and infantry tactics. Now you will all fall into four even ranks. Make sure the man to your left is taller than you and the man in front of you shorter than the one behind you."

After much shuffling and rearranging I found himself center file third rank, a distinct disadvantage of being tall; I was always going to be in the back. We were marched around for a few minutes in the small yard and then paraded all the way down Houston Street.

We took a left on Soledad Street and finally stopped in Military Plaza. Our formation of troopers was facing the same court house in which I had pleaded my case not eight weeks ago. Wilkerson stopped us and assigned men to their respective barracks and bunk assignments. it seemed odd that the men stayed in the buildings lining the West and South sides of the plaza; interrupted by stores and private residences. The bunks filled quickly, so the last few of us in rank just stood there for a while after he stopped calling names.

"Alright, all you men left over will be assigned billeting at a later time, company fall in." Wilkerson said as he looked up from his roster. "Just my luck,’ I said in a bit of a stage whisper, “I'm in the back so I don't have a place to sleep." Which was quickly answered by, "It's not like I'm any better off,” from the fellow next to me. "Hey, quiet back there. Get to know each other some other time." Wilkerson yelled at us from the head of the column as we began marching again. 

This time we went along the back of San Fernando church, turning left down Flores Street then about six hundred paces and we stopped at a large stone building. It was a two story white stone, some three times longer than it was wide. There were smaller buildings to the south, lined up along Arsenal Street and two backed up to the little canal. Closing off this quadrangle was a nautical looking flag pole flanked by pyramids of cannonballs.

When we got inside the downstairs was one giant room with a long row of tables running plum down the middle, cutting the room in half. All us troops were lined up on one side looking across the counter to the back wall. Out of the center of the ceiling was a trap that was letting down a hand crank freight elevator. Three men came off the platform when it finally reached the floor, pushing a hand truck stacked with wooden crates. They cracked the top one open and the tallest one, he looked extra thin because his uniform was baggy, reached in and pulled out a musket. He read the number on the butt plate to his shorter friend holding a ledger book; then handed the weapon to the first guy in line. "Name?" There was a second of silence after he said that, "Come on we don't have all day. Do you know your name?" The scrawny one said to the recruit across from him holding the musket. "Boggess, Henry, Sir." "That's more like it; did every one hear that? You do the same when I hand you a weapon."

The process was repeated down the line until every man had a Springfield in his hands. These weapons had just arrived from the factory; but they weren’t new, they had just been converted from flintlock to percussion cap. They marched up back to main plaza with our weapons and dismissed; most of us at least. The last few of us left standing there were directed to a wagon waiting nearby. The driver was laying across the bench with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his feet kicked up on the brake lever.

"Corporal Vickers has just come to us with the light Artillery." Sergeant Wilkerson said pointing at the sleeping waggoneer, "You men will be bedding with them at Camp Crockett. This will be your taxi every day. I expect you here and ready by sunrise, dismissed."   Once Wilkerson disappeared into his own lodging the dozen or so of us left outside meandered over to the wagon and woke up our driver. We had to shake him by the boot rather vigorously before we got a, "Yeah, yeah, I'm up already." The corporal was young, probably the same age I was, but he was weathered. It wasn't just the faded uniform he wore, there was a maturity about his demeanor; a fullness and oldness that surpassed age and came from living through too much.

 Camp Crockett was two miles north of the plaza at the source of San Pedro creek. The artillery men were camped in neat rows of large A-frame tents. Each tent housed a single cannon crew; eight men. There had been two extra tents set up for the new recruits at the end of the row forming a short L wing. The long row of tents was backed up to the bubbling spring; the short row pointed towards an old stone building standing off by its self. The blockhouse looking structure had a tower on one end pierced with shooting slits and great heavy doors on two sides of the building proper; the whole thing was about 15 foot wide by 45 foot long. The corporal saw me focusing on the stone building and spoke up, 

“That is our powder reserve, ain’t no reason for any of you to go over that way. And for God’s sake don’t smoke around it.” “Did ya’ll build it?” I asked. “No, that is the oldest building in Bexar, so I’m told. They used it in case of Indian attack before the missions were built; all we did is put better doors on it.”

 At night most men all turned in early; they knew the next few days were going to be brutal. The corporal was always last to lay down, he spent the night quietly staring into the fire; but he was always the first one up. He'd sit there drinking coffee waiting for the others to get ready, and then drive us into town. After a few days he told me that he had joined the field artillery in ’46 when he was only 16 years old. He had been at the battles of Palo Alto, Buena Vista, and Vera Cruz; he had been on campaign for 21 months. The war that had ended four years earlier still haunted his dreams and he warned me that if I did ever see any action I’d never forget it. 

After a week of musket drill and marching Wilkerson asked for volunteers for the Mounted Rifle Regiment. “What’s that?” asked one of the men in the front rank. “The concept is that you ride out and then fight on foot, very similar to dragoons. The farthest outposts have to use these types of troops to control vast areas. They are all volunteer units, and you get two dollars a month more.” I was the first one to step forwards.

 “Extra pay and I didn’t have to march anymore, such a deal,” I told Vickers later that night. Now every day the corporal dropped us off at the Alamo, to draw horses, and then we rode to military plaza. Mounted Rifle recruits were issued short carbines and did mounted drill for the next month. 

It was summer, in south Texas, and it was hard to get accustomed to the stuffy wool jacket and wide billed cap. The dark blue short jacket trimmed in yellow and trousers with their black stripe edged with yellow cord did not take long to break in. The dark blue, hard side, shako trimmed in green with its funny looking angles and enormous bill were hard to get used; it just never seemed to fit right. "Where did the army get this atrocious thing?" I asked the Corporal one day as he hit a bump and the bulky thing fell down over my eyes. "Either from the French or the English; it seems that they can't come up with anything original,” the corporal told me, “To be honest when you’re out at your post most of the time they let you wear the old forage cap. This shako thing is mostly for parades and such.” 

[feynavaley]

Another odd dream, this time that I had years ago but remember quite clearly because I wrote down on a notebook.

In this dream, I was a Russian princess named Anya (I didn’t know that it wasn’t a legitimate Russian name) living in a very isolated castle high in the mountains. At the beginning of the dream, I was 12 years old.

The first scene reads exactly like a clichè introduction from a B-rated novel: I was in front of the mirror while my mother was brushing my hair, so I could see how I looked like (I still have quite a vivid picture, actually. I had straight blond hair that went down to my hips, light blue eyes and those very high and prominent cheekbones that make your eyes look slightly slanted – just like the first Russian girl I met in my life, I think it’s quite amusing). My mother was telling me that she and my father had been summoned to the court and she told me to take care of my younger sisters (apparently, I was the eldest of several girls) along with my cousin Sergei (who was three years older than me, and I think an only child. He was also living with us, his parents were either dead or simply the dream never dwelled on them).

Our parents left, leaving us alone inside the castle (there weren’t even servants, it was just us, but we all knew what to do). That year, however, winter came quite early, basically trapping us inside the castle and leaving our parents unable to reach us until spring because it would have been too dangerous. We weren’t worried about it though, even if it had never happened before, we were prepared and we had everything we needed to survive the winter.

Everything went smoothly until a day when we heard a knock at the door. I had been reading and for a moment I froze in surprise, as we weren’t expecting anybody. Not understanding the situation, my youngest sisters rushed to the door, believing that it was our parents. Knowing that it was too late to stop them, I sent my second oldest sister to get Sergei and I ran after the little ones, crying to not open the door. They didn’t listen to me.

I watched in horror as my younger sisters opened the door, fearing what would be behind that (my mind was already running to bandits or something of that sort) – but for a first moment, I saw nothing. Only later, following my youngest sister’s surprised exclamation, I noticed the form that was lying flat on the snow. It looked like a boy, not much older than me. My sisters rushed to him, but he didn’t move. As I got closer, I noticed the drops of blood that tainted the snow around the boy, however, when I turned him to his front I saw he was breathing. I immediately took note of his brown hair and tanned skin that likely marked him as a foreigner.

A moment later, Sergei came out as well. We didn’t even need to say anything, we just lifted the boy and carried him inside while my sister flanked us, the oldest ones running for some medical equipment. We laid the boy on a sofa to treat him. He looked underfed, his clothes were in tatters and he was covered in bruises and scratches. The most serious wound was a gash on his lower abdomen, large but, fortunately, not too deep. Aside from that, he had likely suffered a blow to the head. The boy woke up for a moment as we were tending to him and he locked eyes with me. He smiled and groggily asked me if I was an angel, since I was so beautiful, before falling unconscious again.

Sergei, the oldest of my remaining sisters (who couldn’t stop giggling and kept giving me annoying knowing glances for the boy’s comment) and I tended to him and kept the younger children away. Eventually, the boy started regaining strength and recovered. He didn’t remember anything before waking up and seeing me, not even his full name – though it sounded something like ‘Jay’.

Since he had nowhere to go, Jay stayed with us, and when our parents came back they accepted him as well, seeing that he was basically a lost child. After his recovery, my father had him attend Sergei’s sword lessons and Jay turned out to be quite skilled. He also knew how to fire a gun and had an excellent aim, something I and my sisters found quite puzzling yet admirable. My parents theorized that Jay came from a noble family, but there were no reports of missing children and he was plainly a foreigner. He had just appeared out of nowhere.

Jay ended up staying with us, almost adopted as a member of the family (both my father and Sergei, in particular, welcomed his presence since all the other children were females). I spent a lot of time with Jay as well, and as we grew older I started seeing him as something more than a friend – but I thought the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

Fast-forward to a spring day of four years later. Jay, Sergei and I went to a nearby village during a marked day, and we were fooling around. I was extremely giddy because Jay had asked me to dance, and that was normal, however, at the end of the dance he had offered me a flower, blushing like mad. After the dance, we kept holding hands as we walked around the market.

Everything was going well until Sergei came back to us, looking extremely serious. He wrapped his arms around our shoulders as if to get between us, then whispered that some foreign merchants had been looking at us in a way he didn’t like. He thought we’d better go home before running into troubles.

We all agreed, but we haven’t taken more than ten steps before somebody yelled: “It’s him! How are you still alive?”.

It immediately became clear that they were talking about Jay – and they didn’t look like they had good intentions. Since they were a lot more than us, we fled through the town. At one point, Jay and I got separated from Sergei, but it looked like we had lost our pursuers. We had just managed to catch our breath when I was suddenly knocked down and pinned to the ground. It was one of the men from earlier, and he was much stronger and heavier than me so I couldn’t move. Meanwhile, Jay was trying to fight off four other men, but they eventually managed to overpower him. They tied us up and started dragging us to the docks. From their conversation, it was clear that they had expected Jay to be dead and were quite unnerved by the discovery. They didn’t know what to do with me, but decided to keep me so they could have a leverage on Jay in case he started misbehaving.

Eventually, the men got us into a ship and started tying us up. At that point, we were terrified and we didn’t have any idea of what to do. A man had also realized that Jay had lost his memory (since he didn’t seem to recognize anybody) and he was clearly elated at the thought.

The ship was about to leave when suddenly we heard some commotion. Jay and I manage to turn to see that Sergei had gotten on the ship and was duelling with a man. At first, Sergei was winning, then another man joined the fray and managed to slash his side and push him. Jay and I screamed as we saw Sergei being pushed off board, and the culprit turned to us with a disgusted expression and declared that there was nothing we could do, he was dead anyway.

After that, the ship left the docks. I think that we travelled for several weeks, but I don’t remember much, just that Jay and I were constantly restrained and we barely talked, torn between fear and mourning Sergei (who we truly believed to be dead). I knew that Jay was feeling guilty and avoided me for that. I didn’t blame him the slightest, but I was too numb to talk.

Eventually, the ship stopped – but not to a port, it stopped next to a beach and we were carried over there by smaller boats. I was surprised: I had never seen a beach in my life. I remember touching the sand with my bare feet and lifting it, looking in wonder at the grain stuck to my feet. It was also quite hot.

Once on the beach, the men who had captured us had a brief transaction with another man who looked like a merchant and was dressed quite well. Jay and I were eventually led to the man, still tied, and into a chart. Jay was really nervous and told me to stay close to him.

After some time, the chart stopped in front of what looked like a plantation, and some poorly dressed people unloaded Jay and me from the cart. Then, they started trying to separate us. We both screamed and struggled at that point, but the woman who was holding me slapped me and told me to stay quiet unless I wanted the master to punish me. We both fell silent after that. We were separated and brought to different barracks, where I was offered some cold water to wash myself and a change of clothes.

My memories get a bit blurry after that, I know that we were kept working in the fields but I was having a lot of troubles, partly because I wasn’t used to heavy work and partly because the heat was making me sick. I think I collapsed once, and some other girls brought me back the barracks while our owner yelled at us,

I have a glimpse of Jay sneaking out of his barrack to see how I was doing, he was truly angry for how they were treating me. He was dealing quite well with the climate, though, so we theorized that he had spent his childhood in a place with a similar climate.

The days went on like that. We kept working, sometimes there was talk of running away but I was too weakened from the heat and Jay knew I wouldn’t make it. We were almost losing hope at that point, we were just trying to survive.

One day, I awoke to some strange commotion. I got out with some other girls in time to see that the boys were already out of the barracks – and Jay was standing in the middle of a circle, completely still, while a smartly-dressed woman was clinging to him and sobbing.

Then, I heard an exclamation and raised my head to see my parents, who rushed to hug me. There was a lot of crying and hugging from then on, and we eventually settled in the main house for an explanation.

Long story short, Sergei had survived his injury, however, he had been comatose of a while (how he had survived without the help of modern medical equipment is beyond me, but hey, that’s how Dream Logic works). After waking up, he had told my parents what had transpired. They had managed to find out who our kidnappers were and threatened them until they had gotten the entire story.

Basically, Jay (whose real name was ‘Jared’) was the only child of a rich English couple who had some properties in the Caribbeans. Before Jay, his mother had had several miscarriages and even almost lost her life. After that, she and Jay’s father had stopped trying to conceive and were starting to arrange to have another person (I think their administrator or something like that) as the heir. Then, Jay’s mother had gotten pregnant again and, this time, the baby was born. Obviously, there was no more need for an heir. Not keen on losing that chance, the administrator had eventually managed to sell Jay to some men who were supposed to kill him. Something went wrong, however, and to have some profit they decided to sell him as a slave (in Russia, because this makes so much sense...) and Jay had managed to run away. Since it had been winter, they had given him for dead and panicked when they had seen him still alive four years later.

I don’t remember how the dream ended after that, I didn’t write it down. Maybe I just woke up, but there might have been some talk about a marriage. For one who doesn’t like romance, my dreams surely seem to disagree with that...

[demialwrites]

The White Tiger Ch 4

Your shiftmate whistled when you admitted the news.

"When I said get yourself a lover, I didn't realize you would go out and bag yourself a prince."

You smiled to yourself, immensely pleased.

"I was gonna offer to buy you a drink to celebrate, but I think you should just hop in his bed again. See what else you can get," he added, elbowing you excitedly.

"Fuck you," you laughed. You shoved him, but you also made the immediate decision to go to the palace that night.

As time went on, the sex got better. Genji learned how to please you better (which always included liberal use of his fangs), and you returned the favour. But that got you to thinking, if he was sleeping with you, there was nothing stopping him from doing the same with others.

You breathed deep and slow, staring hard at him. You asked him one night if there were others. Genji denied it.

"And even if there were others, truth be told, you have worn me out," he said, regarding you wearily and resting his cheek in his hand.

You jogged across the room and jumped in his lap, where he sat on his recliner.

"Then just sit there. You don't have to do anything," you said, grinding down onto his crotch.

"Whatever you wish."

You pulled his cock out, to his protest of, "Be more gentle!" The two of you spent the night rubbing and grinding and rolling your hips against each other, his cock sliding inside you with quick, shallow movements. Genji thrust up into you when your muscles refused to obey you anymore. Then you went to sleep in his spacious bed.

A hand touched your shoulder, and you groaned grumpily.

"Please do not be angry," Genji pleaded softly. He pulled the blankets from your body, earning him a growl from you. He gently slipped his hands under your body. "I should have done this before, but I was making decisions with my dick." He lifted, hugging your sleepy self to his chest. "Come on."

"You're a dick," you accused.

"Yes, yes. Just come on."

You welcomed the hot water he eased you into after being rudely ripped from the bed. You blinked away the sleepiness. Steam and a medicinal, but not strongly so, scent wafted upwards from the water. Tiny, fresh herb leaves floated in the water. You whirled your hand in the water, making the herbs dance around in the miniature currents. You gave Genji no snark this time, just smiled at him with genuine gratitude.

"Enjoy," Genji urged you, "And clean yourself."

A knock at the nearby door made you both look towards it. Genji got up from kneeling next to the tub to answer it. Two slender hands appeared with folded linens resting on them. Genji opened the door further to take them from the young woman standing there.

"The extra towels, Your Highness," she said with a bow, politely averting her eyes from you. You wouldn't have cared if she saw you. You had changed and bathed yourself many times at the barracks in front of your fellow guardsmen. This wasn't much different.

"Thank you, Miho."

The girl called Miho was apparently not the only person at the door, because two pairs of heavily-makeuped eyes stared at you from behind the maid.

"The latest conquest," you heard one of them hiss, rudely feigning a whisper, before Genji shoved the door closed behind Miho. They continued to speak loudly out in the hallway.

"Too much muscle to be a woman."

"Too many breasts to be a man."

"What a freak!" exclaimed one, and then they both giggled.

You couldn't believe your ears. They were right outside the door. You glanced at Genji with eyebrows knotted together in unimpressed disbelief. They insulted your body, with its curves and muscle from all your training. Your body was a living, walking example of your hard work. Resentment and an urge to punch someone starting tensing your muscles.

Genji opened the door again and strode out with his royal chin held high. Judging by the stiffness of his body, they were in for it.

"Go circle someone else and peck at them, you vultures," rang out Prince Genji's authoritative, raised voice. Your eyebrows shot up. He had never used that tone with you.

"Yes, Your Highness," the women answered stiffly. You heard nothing more, so they must have left.

You could have found Genji's use of his authority over the gossiping women amusing, but you didn't. Instead, you wondered how awful it must be to live in a place with people like that in it. The downward-sloped, defeated lines of Genji's shoulders confirmed what you thought. It gave you an idea. An adventurous one, but ever since you met Genji, you had been doing adventurous things.

He came back to kneel again next to the tub. He rested his hand against the back of your neck, staring at your mouth instead of into your eyes.

"What's wrong, Tiger?" you asked, raising your chin.

He smiled sadly at the nickname.

"My problem is now yours since they know you are here with me. The gossip will make its way through the palace by the end of the day," he explained. You shrugged. You were an adult and could handle yourself. The prince put his hand on the edge of the tub. "May I join you?"

You nodded. Genji peeled his clothes off quickly and let them drop to the floor. You got yourself a nice eyeful of naked man before he stepped into the water with you. You especially noted his semi-erection. He sunk down into the water to sit next to you.

He followed your gaze to his lap. He smirked but told you to ignore it.

"You know I could have you transferred to the palace, so we could see each other more often. But...everyone would guess correctly that I had a hand in your transfer."

That got your attention, because you had been wishing for that earlier. Genji watched you, waiting for you to say something. His mouth was slack, and his eyes lacked a confident glint; maybe he waited for you to rebuff his offer.

Which you did. "No."

Genji was all set to respect your decision. "If that is-"

"Wait," you said, stopping him with a hand held high. "I have a better idea. Let me explain."

"Very well," he said.

"But first," you said, "tell me the story again about the monastary."

You snuggled in close to him, pressing your naked side against you. The warmth from his body and the water combined was so cozy. You did your best to appear coy, and it seemed to work. Genji regarded you like he knew you were up to something, but you just stared at him with expectant wide eyes. And he couldn't resist stroking his own ego by telling you about his heroic adventures.

"Very well," he said, slipping an arm around your waist under the water. "The one about the monks in the monastary."

Genji told you of how he climbed a mountain to find a cloister of monks. They studied a religion unique to only them. They were a kind and patient people, and as such, a village of followers had settled below the monastary on the mountain to learn from them. The inner sanctum held valuable religious artifacts of great importance to the monks. All of which, except one, were pacifists. They refused to fight under any circumstances (you always scoffed at this point in the story, being someone who had learned to defend yourself a young age). Genji himself learned what he could from these people and left. After he left, he learned that a neighbouring group of bandits were planning to ransack the village and loot the monastary. Knowing only one monk stood between the bandits and the kind people, Genji decided to go back and fight alongside the single monk. It was difficult and exhausting, but Prince Genji and the monk, Tekhartha Zenyatta, held off the bandits until a blizzard picked up, and they retreated. And that was how the prince received most of his scars.

"You have heard this story." Genji pointed out. He watched you again after the story was done, but his expression held less disappointment.

"That's because I have a wild idea. I spent a lot of time thinking about the kind of man you are, and it occurred to me then." You kept your gaze centered on his face to watch for any changes in expression. "Why don't we go there and live in the village?" Genji's lips parted, and his black eyebrows came down. You had his full attention. "You must care for those people if you went back to defend them with your life. You don't seem to care much about the people, here, in the palace."

The arm around your waist squeezed you closer. Genji implored you with his eyes.

"You are ignorant of the dangers outside the city. I almost died in my story, if my friend Zenyatta had not been at my side."

"I'll have you at my side," you said, nodding at him. "You can teach me what you know."

You saw Genji's mind working behind his eyes.

"Zenyatta would like you...You are a rational person..." He blinked as if realizing something. His lips widened across his face in a grin, showing his long canines. "And I look forward to making a good lover of you yet."

"Whatever," you scoffed and splashed water at him, a few leaves sticking to his chest. He grinned and surged forward to kiss you to seal the deal on that matter, then he took a moment.

"I just," Genji began, but he stopped, blushing. You suspected he wasn't used to having a red face in front of others, and you took a little perverse pleasure in that. Then he smiled at you with shining eyes, the way he did only at you. He took your face in his hands and looked into your eyes to make you heard his next words. "You continue to amaze me, you know this?"

"Thank you," you murmured.

Genji gently wiped his thumbs across the blush forming on your cheeks. "Of course." He smiled wide enough that his fanged peeked out. Then gave you a lingering kiss, expressing his amazement and gratitude with his lips and tongue.

[thelordfool]

When The Sun Rises - Chapter Two

Stripped Away

The Courier stared up into the morning sky, Mojave dust tugging at the hems of his jacket, cracked, dry asphalt beneath his boots. Something about being back in the Mojave - back home - brought a great sigh of relief to him, a sigh that shuddered deep throughout his body. Long had he walked, long had he been exposed to the dangers that lay outside the wastes he had grown to know, and finally, he was home.

Home, he thought, blinking upwards at that same morning sky, sun hidden behind endless layers of charcoal clouds that hailed down the storm, is where he would like to be most. Laying down on his bed in Novac, shaped to the curve of his body, fiddling with a Dinky the Dino plastic figure and wondering how hilarious it would be to turn it into a grenade. Pop the head, toss over a wall, hear a solitary moment of confusion, then, boom!

“Ahem,” an impatient cough interrupted his thoughts. Aberdeen turned his head to stare at the figure in the tent beside him. The woman inside was waving him in. “Come on, get out of the rain already!”

He obliged and stepped underneath the canvas. Buckets were strewn about, catching drops of water that fell through in areas where the tent had been chewed through by moths.

“Sorry about the mess,” said the woman. She was a frazzled looking person, like the stress had sunk deep into her skin, but she still wore a genuine smile on her face. The hair on her head had looked like it once had a mohawk, but had been flattened by the onslaught of rain and was now slicked back. Her eyes shone bright green, even in the dimness of the tent. She wore, much like many of the Followers, a doctor’s lab coat. “My name is Julie, and I’m the leader of this branch of the Followers of the Apocalypse. Are you in need of any medical attention?”

“One could say that,” croaked out Aberdeen. He removed his helmet to give her a proper look. “Not in the physical sense, though.” Julie seemed taken aback to see his face. Aberdeen was not handsome by one’s standard definitions - his travels have caused scars, more than just on the surface. Across his dark brown skin stretched a bright pink, fresh scar, temporarily blinding his left eye. It ran up into his scalp, stopping just before the scar where he had been shot just three months prior. Fainter than them both, unnoticeable if not by where the hair could not grow, the scar from his lobotomy in the Big Empty. “Pardon my manners. I’m Courier Six.”

“An interesting name,” she commented, looking him over. “Are you the courier that everyone has been talking about?”

“One and the same.” 

“My goodness. And here I thought all the celebrities had been stolen away to the Strip.”

“I’ve got an invitation from a man named Benny up there,” he grimaced, “but I’ve decided to leave it for another day.”

“I see. So how can we help you today, Courier?”

“I’m looking for a therapist.”

“Well, you’re quite forward.”

“Takes a lesser man to not admit when he’s down.” Aberdeen was not one to be afraid of opening up to people, or showing his emotions. While some people become tough and an impenetrable wall when facing bad times, he had turned softer and knew that this was his only life. So to speak, having risen from the grave. Speak true, speak kindly, but take shit from no-one. It’s done him well thus far, and goody-two-shoes as it may seem, treating others with kindness makes their lives that much easier and gained him that much more in return. All in all, it was a selfish way of life.

“Well, I’m sorry to say, but I don’t think we have what you’re looking for here. The Followers specialize in some forms of mental health, mainly addiction, but we may not...” She trailed off, seeing the pained look on Aberdeen’s face. Julie thought a moment. “Actually, we might.” Julie turned to point in the direction farther into the Fort. “Head into the tent just past the one next to this. In there, there’s one of our doctors. He’s less of a doctor and more of a researcher, though. He might be able to figure something out to help you with your problems.”

“So... you want him to experiment on me?” Aberdeen arched an eyebrow, a sarcastic smirk on his lips. Julie opened her mouth to retort but caught onto his tone before giving a disapproving grunt, narrowing her eyes. 

“I take it you’re the type to express his pain in the form of humor.”

“Ring-a-ding-ding!” That smirk grew into a shit-eating grin.

“Get out of my tent.” Aberdeen let out a short laugh, threw back on his helmet and trotted to the tent, Julie watching him disappear into the rain. They’ll be a good fit, she thought, then swore at how much water was pooling at her feet.

*

The courier stepped into the tent. This one was much smaller than the one that Julie had hurried him into, and only occupied a single person, sitting at a desk, fiddling with a barrel cacti. The sound of someone stepping in was enough to startle the man, who dropped his succulent and spun around to face the courier. Blonde hair that had been made unusually curly by the weather framed at the top of the man’s face, followed by rectangle glasses that shadowed green eyes - though a duller shade than those of Julie’s. 

“Uh, hi,” Aberdeen waved awkwardly. He once again took off his helmet, this time, sticking it on a nearby, unoccupied chair. “Julie sent me over here? I’m, uh, Courier Six. What are you...”

“Oh,” the man seemed to swallow what may have been a lump in his throat and cleared it out. “You know. Finding treatments to common illnesses and injuries. Simpaks out of barrel cacti, and other fantastic improbabilities.” He nodded his head back to the succulent, eyes rolling so hard they’d’ve been better off on a New Vegas betting table. “As far as fruitless wastes of time go, this one is quite noble in its aims.”

“I see,” Aberdeen nodded. He had quite the knowledge of medicine after having to patch himself up so much and all the magazines and books he’d found, reading them during long, boring nights of nothingness. “She had told me you were a researcher.”

“I’m not much of a people person. So I’ve got no qualms with Julie sticking me back here.”

“Yeah, no shit, I don’t even know your name yet.” 

“My apologies. My name is Arcade Gannon.”

“That doesn’t sound very real,” Aberdeen eyed him with suspicion and amusement.

“The situation we live in currently doesn’t sound very real, yet, here we are!” Arcade threw his hands up in annoyance. “Now, why did Julie send you over here?”

Aberdeen eyed the doctor over a little more carefully. Looking at the shape of his nose, the way his hair made perfect circles, broad shoulders and legs that went for miles. He found himself being hit with the initial feelings of a crush - love at first sight. Being the rational person he is, he swallowed that and planted his butt firmly on some dry ground up against a metal shelving unit.

“Turns out I need a good-looking doctor to help take care of me in the big, bad wastes,” he said with a smirk. Arcade scoffed at this, the slightest hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and a quick flash of red washing over his face.

“Overt flirtation will get you anywhere, you know,” he finally forced out with a chuckle. “Seriously, what would Julie send a courier to me for?”

“She thought your research might have helped you come across something for my mental health issues. Unsurprisingly, I have depression, but have found myself unable to cry in recent memory.” Aberdeen tapped the top of his head on his bullet wound. “Might’ve been able to before this magical eraser, but all I could remember when I woke up was my name and the face of the man who shot me.”

With this, Arcade made a hard face. His mouth twisted at trying to find the right words to say. But the look said enough for Aberdeen.

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

But Aberdeen was already standing up, moving to put his helmet on. “Sorry to waste your time, doc,” he muttered in a frustrated tone. How many more days would he have to suffer with this? Strange as it may seem, it had effected his other emotional responses, too. How much longer would he have to think about how he would be unable to properly mourn? Laugh? Did he even truly feel anything? 

Arcade leaned over, grabbing the courier’s wrist. “Don’t,” he said in a stage whisper, barely audible above the rain. “What you really need, I think? Is a friend.” Aberdeen stared at Arcade with marvel. The doctor’s face screwed up and he released his grasp, face reddening with either ire or embarrassment. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixated on his feet. “I’m sorry. You’re free to go as you wish.”

Aberdeen hovered for a minute, then put his helmet on, and stepped into the rain. Arcade didn’t even watch as he went.

*

Exactly two hours later, around 11 a.m., the courier returned to the tent. The rain had persisted relentlessly, forcing Arcade and the other residents of the Old Mormon Fort to the inside barracks. Aberdeen swore and rushed into the nearest tower and set search. When finally he came upon Arcade, he was slowly picking at an early lunch of cold grilled mantis.

“Courier,” he said in shock, “I didn’t think you’d return.”

Silently, only panting, Aberdeen sat and pushed a tightly plastic-wrapped, large, oddly-shaped package at Arcade. It made an audible thump as he tossed it on the table. The doctor looked down, then up to Aberdeen questioningly. 

“God damn it, just open it.”

With no further words, Arcade carefully tore the package open to reveal a set of armor not unlike that of the courier’s. Upon Arcade examining it, Aberdeen spoke again. 

“Why don’t you come with me?”

*

This is part two of ? of a slow-burn Courier Six (Aberdeen)/Arcade Gannon fic. If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or donating to my PayPal. If you need any artwork done, here is my commissions post.

If this is your first time seeing this, you can start here with chapter one on tumblr or on Ao3.