#yes i am still mad about acolyte

[shinylitwick94]

Skeleton Crew seems like a lot of fun

Which doubtless means the fandom will hate it into cancellation

Oh well, we'll always have 10 years of Grogu spinoffs to look forward too

[shield-and-saber]

i keep thinking about what would make a man so dedicated to being a jedi so reckless and selfish when it comes to wanting a padawan, and all i can think about is him growing up lonely

he's so shy that he's unable to connect with his peers and thus feels closest to his mentors and the adults in his life, but nothing feels satisfying to him the way he wants it to. he doesn't feel like anyone truly knows him bc his peers see him as odd and the adults see him as a child, and he feels somewhere in between

so even though he has an understanding of what it means to be a jedi, all the right things to say and do, he grows up empty and alone despite being surrounding by people i would assume love him - his master & indara, even vernestra

and ofc when he finally feels a connection to someone, it ends in disaster. because he never learned how to approach connection with someone, a spiritual connection, in a normal way. bc he never got that when he was younger.

[thinky-think-brainblast]

Am I the only one that really, really , really, HATES how mixed kids are portrayed in LOK.

Like why is their so much waisted potential, and it makes me so mad because I would really love to see one person embrace both of their parents nations therefore, by inheritance, ALSO THEIR OWN NATIONS. Like don’t just embrace the nation were their bending comes from or the nation of which they look like the most. *cough cough* Mako and Bolin.

Like we all know this is about Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin,

And like I know that Aang was the last of his people so it only made sense for Tenzin to take on more of his air nomad or air nation side, and I know it could be the parents fault that children don’t embrace both cultures, and I could get into the whole argument of *why didn’t Aang teach Kya and Bumi* and all of that, but one you have already heard that like a billion times, and two yes Aang SHOULD have helped them embrace their air nomad side more after all they are part of the few people who still carry air nation genes. And lets leave Aang bieng a better father at that (which by the way am still very mad that they wrote him like that.)

Let’s get back to the kids becuase it is the little things they could have done and didn’t do, as an example why did Tenzin not give Pema a bethroval necklace, like in my mind he did and Pema wears it but we can’t see it cause her robes hide it OR why didn’t we see Tenzin wear a Parka (I know airbenders don’t get cold just hear me out) when he was in the South Pole just because its his culture and he can embrace it down there. Or why doesn’t Kya carry around the necklace that Yang Chen, Gyatso, and Aang have, correct me if am wrong but I believe that they are used by air nomads to meditate, and she enjoys meditation even taught some of the knew air nation. I imagine she wouldn’t wear it around her neck but have it wrapped around her wrist or wear it on her hip like if it was hanging from a utility belt and then when she meditates she would USE IT. Imagine it is the necklace Aang used to wear so it would become parallel to katara wearing her moms necklace. And this are small details because I know Tenzin is the last airbender for a while and Kya is one of the few waterbenders who originally come from the southern water tribe, so they wouldn’t be able to embrace both their cultures so much. But lets talk about the other one… BUMI, in my mind he doesn’t only dress in water tribe clothes but his outfits are the perfect mix between both his cultures, he is a non-bender he doesn’t owe anyone anything, but the writers are cowards. And for me thats the bare minimum anyway, if it were really up to ME THEY WOULD ALL EMBRACE THEIR CULTURES.

Then again there is also the issue that whatever traditions or customs Tenzin does or practices will probably be copied or passed down to the air acolytes and the new air nation. We see this in LOK in one aspect, the nuclear family’s, Tenzin was raised by Aang and Katara in a reasonably big family ,water tribe style, this is something him himself carried on to do. This is not the traditional way to raise or procreate as airnomads, but it would have also been very hard to to due to there only being one airbender. Air nomads get raised in air temples with several other people they aren’t or don’t know if they are related too. So Aang and Tenzin did have to have a nuclear family, but the way Tenzin family is is very much representing of how he was raised. In the water tribes I ca imagine is more common to have big family’s and a little detail that is a clea water tribe family aspect I noticed in LOK is when Tenzin and Pema are sleeping in bed and we see Meelo right in the middle also sleeping until he answers the phone. I imagine this is something Tenzin learned from his own childhood, to have little kids sleep between both their parents while they are still toddlers or very young children, we can’t be sure but it will probably happen that this would be seen in Meelo, Jinora, Ikki, and Rohan, when they are older in their own families, if they have kids. Either way when we think about the air nation having a mixed of aspects of the water tribe culture we can’t ignore the fact that the new air nation will most likely also bring Earth Nation traditions into the air nomad culture, I mean Opal isn’t going to completely leave the traditions she was raised in and she is still pretty young imagine an older person having to cut off the traditions they have known all their lives. So at the end how much effort does Tenzin need to put into keeping air nomad culture as alive as it can when the changes that are going to happen to it are so clearly going to continue. I mean am sure Aang knew for a fact that air nomad culture was never going to be the same again. It wouldn’t make a difference in the world if the culture wasn’t the exact same, it would be a great loss in history and extremely saddening for a entire culture that was so different to others be changed(one of the reasons I don’t want to read Yangchens books is to not see how much of this culture was really lost), but it is not crucial to the balance of the world. What was crucial was for their to be airbenders, how this people go on about bieng airbenders doesn’t really matter to the safety of the world.

So yeah I got a bit side tracked, cause airbender culture is a whole other topic

[tobiasdrake]

Okay, time to check out The Messenger, which was released before Sea of Stars but takes place chronologically after it, I guess? Playing these out of order but here we go.

Exile from what? That's an ominous sentiment.

Minions of the Fleshmancer, then?

I wonder if this is what happened to Brugaves? We never did hear from him again after the deal with Aephorul was finalized. Fleshy promised to give him a new body, wipe his memory, and send him away to a world where he'd never have to face Solstice Warriors ever again

Then that was never followed up on, save for a brief glimpse of his shiny new monster body in some world somewhere during the closing credits. We know it was him because Erlina, who never died in the True Ending, was reunited with him.

Maybe this is that world.

Hey look, it's Resh'an. And I guess that's probably the hero riding his back, but I'm more focused on Resh'an.

UGGGGGGH I have been Ninja Gaidening for weeks and this guy is so late. Fucking Westerners have no sense of propriety. If I was riding a magic bird across the ocean, I'd get there on time, dammit.

There are so many fucking prophecies in this mythology. Too many prophecies. The ancient fables are just prophecy this and prophecy that. Legend has it that the moon goddess Luana once got so fed up with prophecies that she drowned a fish. To this day, no one's quite sure what the hell that means.

You know what, that's on me. I was the one that tempted fate. I do not apologize.

I should probably go take a look, though. You never know, this could be a wacky misunderstandi--

Not much room for ambiguity there.

Hey, I'm confused. The number of horns on each of your heads clearly implies levels of authority but then you also have a crown guy? Why does that guy get a crown if he's not the #1 Most Horniest?

You should go bicker about this. Somewhere else. Please. Thank you.

Buddy, you have no idea who you're messing with. Go ahead. Come at me, bruh. Hit me with your best--

OH THANK LUANA

I'm gonna be honest, I was talking straight out of my ass. I have no idea who I'm messing with but I'm pretty sure my basic-ass ninja skills were not going to cut it.

THERE HE IS! THAT'S THE GUY! That's the demon that Brugaves became. I would wave hihi but I am not the person that learned everything she knows from him. I am instead a very manly man, whoa ho ho look at my manly biceps.

You know what, his biceps are the size of my torso so this isn't a good time to boast.

Uh, okay. Guess Brugaves is a creepy voyeur now. You know what, that's fair; He did spend a lot of time with the Acolytes, some things might have rubbed off.

Have fun watching me poop, asshole.

Wait, the same Autumn Hills? Are we on Mesa Island right now? Is this Home World? I thought it was a third, unrelated world.

I'd like to take that as a compliment but your options are me, the old man, or a pile of corpses. Though I suppose winning by default is still winning. *chest puff* Yes, I AM the best candidate for the job and I appreciate you for recognizing my greatness! I will proudly be your--

Mail boy. I will proudly be your mail boy. ._. Okay.

We are. We are on Mesa Island.

Holy shit. What the hell happened to our world? Is this because Solstice Warriors became defunct as an organization after the last two trained warriors turned into gods and fucked off into space, leaving nobody to teach a new generation?

...

Oh. Wait. No. The multiverse is made up of different timelines, not holistically different realities altogether. So we might still be a third, unrelated world.

Looks like a full moon's risen. Before I venture forward into the Autumn Hills, I should take a moment to recite the lunar prayer of protection.

"Luana, may your beautiful and amazing radiance, way better than the sun, guide me in these dark times. May my blade drink deep in the blood of all fuckos and shitweasels, that I may carry out Mad Bitchin' Deeds in your glorious name. Also robots are valid people and your hair looks amazing like that. So let it be."

So our coins are Resh'an's Time Shards. Huh. That's. Odd.

Don't these only appear when he's recursing time loops?

That is definitely one of Resh'an's portals. Are we... Where are we going? Is this going to take me to the Archives?

That's. Not. Necessarily. A no.

What the fuck is this place? Are you Resh'an? I need you to tell me if you're Resh'an. Legally, you have to tell me if you are, because I might not be allowed to interact with you. I'm pretty sure I'm required to call you an 'assclown', whatever that is, and tell you "She hasn't forgotten" in a threatening voice.

I don't know why. My village is under siege by demons. I am not looking to make enemies. But that's what I've been told.

What does that fucking mean?

Ugh, the Scripture of Luana warned us that the keepers of lore are always full of cryptic bullshit but I thought she just meant that old history keepers have spotty memories.

Honestly, despite the demons all over the place, this place is kind of nice; Don't look at my health bar.

Sure, there's weird-ass turtle demons and stuff, but they're pretty slow and manageable. And the woods, lingering in a perpetual state of autumn as they always have, remain beautiful even at night. Mesa Island would be a pretty nice place to live if it weren't for, y'know, all that evil shit.

I mean, I could lived without that, honestly. Don't know why we installed so many deathtraps. I guess it was to keep the demons out but I'm the one having to bend over backwards to navigate while they're crawling all over the place, so who's this really fucking over?

The moral of the story is, always keep a killswitch for your defenses somewhere in your own camp.

[sparrowmoss]

the acolyte episode 3 livetweet post SPOILERSSSSSSS

curious to know why the little girls playing young osha and mae are not identical twins. just an interesting choice when u have the same person playing the adults so obviously they are identical

NIGHT SISTER?????

oh no we’re about to find out the bad stuff

oh my god their mother is the coolest looking woman ive ever seen

okay not a night sister just a zabrak. and this zabrak is their other mom. so why did they call her koril and not also mom or something

OH MY GODDDDD YESSSSSS YES YES YES GETTING TO SEE OTHER FORCE WIELDING PRACTICES!!!!!!!! YES YES YES YES YES

witches… so… Maybe a night sister thing. maybe just other witches

osha i love you. you are so great and i relate to you so bad it makes me feel ill

FUCK this is so cool

ABIGAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dude the wookiee has a part shaved head thats so cool

ohhh it is mother koril. okay!

oh my god the actual. hypocrisy of this. the jedi. im Laughing this is so unbelievable. no ones allowed to have children and raise them in their own force sensitive practices that can only be done by the jedi

“the jedi do not take children” LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

what you’re doing is wrong but i love you sol

sol what are you doing man

oh

man im so fucking mad at both sides. why do none of you want to give these children their own choice. it should be up to them what they want to do. mae should be allowed to stay with her mothers and osha should be allowed to learn about her other options and not be forced to take the same path as her sister

oh now mother aniseya says “osha wants to do it” which i am glad for

“she is old enough to know what she wants” so true!

hm. mixed feelings on this. i think koril should get just as much say if shes their other mom but she is still wrong on this

torbin is sooooo cute oh my god

LMAKSJSKFJKSD OSHA failing at lying 😭😭😭😭

oh dude im gonna cry. “there are other children there?” godddd what a miserable life

appreciate the rejection of destiny and saying you make your own choices. just on a personal level

them both cryinf is making me tear up i dont like this

mae what the fuck dude

dude whats even catching on fire its a room made of stone and metal

WHAT is GOING ONNNN that little fire didnt do all this did it

watching sol become attached in real time right here

THATS THE END???? man i…. im…. hmmm… i expected the jedi to have done something quite bad. but a child with codependency issues set fire to her entire town because these people and her mothers potentially intended to let her sister choose her own path. i really thought it was going to have been the jedis fault. the only thing they did that i take issue with is indaras initial implication that no one other than the jedi are allowed to train anyone to wield the force. but it seems like in the end the jedi were also going to give osha the choice whether or not to come with them….????

[fankid-central]

AUgust Day 2: Immortals

Written for the AU-gust Challenge by @augustwritingchallenge! Prompts here

An Employer takes a decision. It has unforeseen consequences.

"...So that's what you think."

The Maker stared at the creature in front of them. The Employer stared back.

"I see."

"...So will you help me?" The Employer sounded determined.

"You must understand that, if I do, you will have to pay a great price."

"I know. I am ready for it."

"You will have to take a different form."

"Yes. It is another reason why I'm asking for your help." He sighed, and added: "You created them. Make me like them."

"I will. But, you must understand, you cannot die. If you do... or if for, whatever reason, you were at risk of it..."

The Employer raised an non existent eyebrow.

"I cannot change your true nature. It will still exist, deep inside you. It won't be perceived by them, do not worry. But, given the circumstances explained, it can be exposed."

"I see. I will be careful."

"...This is a great change. And it may change you in ways that you are not expecting."

"...It is what it is."

"You are committed to it."

The Employer sighed again.

"You have seen, too, the way the Auditor has been behaving. I cannot allow that to continue. And..." He inhaled. "He won't listen. No matter what I say or do. And no one else is worried. They don't see it. They don't... understand." He sounded tired. "It's because of him. For his influence. For what he thinks. But he's intent of blaming that mortal."

"I am aware of that."

"And you are aware, too, of what his obsession will bring."

"Unfortunately."

The Employer shook his head.

"None of us can stop the coming of the madness up ahead. But it will not last forever, either. Or, at least, I hope I can bring an end to it with time. And..." He exhaled. "I cannot do it. Not... in this form."

"But you can as a mortal?"

"Yes. Or... at least help in some way."

"...I understand."

The Maker looked at the Employer, feeling sad for him. The path up ahead of him would be difficult. And... he would lose everything he'd know so far. But... he was right, too. And, like the god he was, he loved Nevada, the place he had taken care of for so long.

The Maker knew it was time.

"I will help."

The Employer nodded.

"I am ready."

And so, Ghoul was no more god.

============

"...That was interesting decision that you took."

Doc felt the definitely judgmental gaze of The Maker.

"What other option there was? He's the only one that can stop the Auditor and his acolytes."

"And that was the only reason for his revival?"

Doc was now judging the Maker back.

"What are you implying?"

"I am saying that becoming a mortal has changed you a great deal. As you were expecting, of course."

"Correct. But I do retain my intelligence and judgment, I believe."

"I agree. I am simply trying to understand your motivations."

"And I already told you what they were. I do not see why I must be interrogated further."

"..."

The Maker and Doc stared at each other.

"...I see." The God finally said.

Doc relaxed.

"I will simply add, I did not mean to imply your judgment had been clouded."

Doc raised an eyebrow.

"Then what were you saying?"

"I was just... curious about your... relationship with that individual."

"Ah."

Doc felt grateful for his mask hiding his now blushing face.

"Well. Ahem. That's private matters."

"I see."

"...I can tell you that I am more attached to him than other mortals, yes."

"...I see. Good for you."

This was a conversation that Doc definitely did not want to be having.

"...Anyway. I have more work to do. If you excuse me."

Doc left the strange, floating place, waving his goodbyes to an recently arrived Gambler.

"...Hm."

"Is something of your concern, Maker?" The Gambler said.

"Not of "concern", exactly. But I am curious of the effects of mortality on gods."

"As frequently, I do not know what you're talking about."

"Ah. Nothing is wrong, not immediately, at least."

"...That doesn't sound reassuring. Or does. I don't know."

"Let's say there might be something I will have to consider."

"Something I will, do, or have been concerned about?"

"...Correct."

"Understood."

And with that, they both nodded at each other, contemplating.

=========

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

Doc stared furiously at The Maker. They stared back, unmoving.

"You knew it. I know that you did. But you didn't tell me. Why?"

"Is that truly the only thing you want to know?"

"Of course not!" Doc moved around, angrily waving his hands. "This changes everything, and you know it!"

"Does it?"

"Of course it does!" Doc shouted, trembling in anger. "You know in how much danger they are almost daily! All this time, and they- I- could have been exposed! We're lucky it happened when the cameras had been burned! If not, the Auditor would've been trying to kill me already!"

"I think you are misjudging things."

"AM I!?"

"Please." The Maker out their hands in front of them. "This yelling is unnecessary."

"IT'S NOT! MY KIDS- MY LITTLE CHILDREN- THEY'RE EMPLOYERS!" Doc screamed the last word at the top of his lungs. The Maker felt thankful this place was securely hidden away from the Machine, as the once god yell felt strong enough to be heard from all Nevada.

"And I don't even know how! They're not even- I'm not- I'm not even their biological father! How is this even possible? How- Why-"

The Maker raised a hand. Doc looked at them furious.

"...I understand this upset you."

"You think!?"

"But I do not- I did not- Meant any harm by not telling you of this."

"You might have not." He scoffed. "But you still did."

"I know. I apologize."

"It's not enough. My kids- What am I even supposed to do now?" He passed a hand through his hair. "Not even Sam will understand why they cannot risk anything from now on, and JD-" He let a bitter laugh. "...There has never been a way to stop them. How am I supposed to-" Tears started coming out of his eyes. "I don't know what to do. I don't- I don't know anymore."

"...I'm sorry." The Maker looked genuinely remorseful. "I did not think it would affect you like this. But it did. And so- I am sorry."

"That-That doesn't-"

"Fix it. I know."

Doc passed a hand through his face.

"...I just... What am I supposed to do now?"

"...While that's an important conversation to have, is that truly the first one you want to have?"

"...No. I guess not."

"Alright."

Doc inhaled and exhaled a few times.

"How... did it happen?"

"I am not quite sure myself. I can only approximate an idea."

"Which is?"

"As you know, your nature is unchanged. And so, so is the connection that you forge with individuals."

"...The bond. The bond that connects us all. You are saying that, because my part of the bond is still godly..."

"So it became the one from those you consider your descendants, yes. It altered their nature as well."

"..."

Doc closed his eyes. He had suspected it, but... Getting the confirmation from them that he had changed his kids was almost too much.

"...What is your next question."

Doc sighed.

"Why... didn't you tell me?"

"I... could not be sure."

Doc stared at him, skeptical.

"I know what you think. But what you did was unprecedented. There was no telling of how it would affect them."

"But you knew it could change them."

"...Yes. Once again, I apologize for not sharing that. I... believed it better for you not to be worried of could-bes."

"That's not a decision for you to make."

The Maker shook their head.

"You are forgetting that, for the nature of what am I and what I know, I cannot share it all with you. As you cannot, or could not, share you own knowledge with mortals. They are not equipped to understand it."

"..."

Doc knew they were right. It... felt strange, to him, to remember his past, and to realize once more how much mortality and the life he built for himself had changed him.

"...You're right. But...I would like to know things that can affect my family. At least... that."

"I can tell you that much, yes."

"...Thank you."

"So. What is your next inquiry?"

Doc thought about it.

"...How is this going to affect them, going forward?"

"You all managed to figure out a way to transform them back to their grunt forms, yes?"

"Yes. But..." Doc gestured tired. "...How are they going to grow up? How..." He shook his head. "Us Employers are created by The Machine as we are. We came to this world equipped with the knowledge to do what we were made for. There has never been... anything like my kids."

"That is correct. And... I'm afraid that your knowledge of this particular subject is, truth be told, greater than mine."

Doc stared.

"So you don't know what will happen to them?"

"As far as I can see, their growth should not be impacted. Their bodies are normal."

"I know that, too. I already did a check up on them, when they transformed back."

"...Yes. And I am afraid that is the only thing I know."

Doc sighed.

"So we're in the dark, then."

"I'm afraid so."

Doc passed a hand through his hair.

"...Alright. For the sake of the next question, let's assume we are correct in thinking that they will grown normally."

"Alright."

"...What do... we do now? If they're exposed, we will face severe consequences."

"I'm afraid so."

"So... what? What am I... we... supposed to do now?"

"...You said that you could not convince them to be more careful."

Doc snorted.

"You had a hand in their creation. You know as well as I do there's nothing I can do or say to make them stop into getting into trouble. Sam has more sense, but they want to kept their little sibling safe, and they're also just a kid. And JD..." He rolled his eyes. "I think even Hank might be less ready to jump into action than them." He shrugged. "I can explain a bit to them, the dangers posed by their exposure. I know Sam is more interested into learning about this all. But... I do not believe it will actually do much."

"...I see."

They both stayed silent for a moment.

"...So. What now?"

"...I am afraid I do not know either."

Doc stared.

"You seriously have no idea?"

"You know as well as I do that here, in the madness, things are not as they were once."

"I'm aware."

"Improbable things are a daily occurrence now. And... I do not know anymore what will happen to anyone. Not even I."

"..."

Doc inhaled and exhaled once more. Then, he took a decision.

"So we do what we've been doing so far. We keep working, Hank keeps training them... And we prepare for the possibility of a reveal."

"...Yes. That is, I suppose, the only true option."

Doc nodded.

"Will you be ready, then? If you have to face them, again?"

Doc closed his eyes for a moment, but then nodded again.

"Yes. Things have changed, for me. ...I changed, too. I am not the same I was back then. And if I have to face the Auditor again as how I was... Then, this time, I know I won't be alone."

The Maker seemed pleased.

"Good. Then I will be ready, too, for what the Machine will do when it finds out I changed its creation."

Doc smiled.

"It's not gonna be happy."

The Maker smiled back.

"Not at all. But we will be prepared."

"That's a promise."

[claudiagray]

So, weighing in, WITH SPOILERS SO BE WARNED:

Ultimately, I felt like the storytelling in "The Acolyte" didn't hang together as well as I would have hoped--like, don't tell me that Mae and Osha are the same person without telling me how that works or at least why it matters--but I still enjoyed it. I definitely liked the elements of the show I liked (Manny Jacinto's Stranger, Jecki, that amazing lightsaber battle in the forest, Sol, the fabulous flashback episode where everyone meant well and everyone screwed up and everyone made assumptions) more than I disliked the parts I disliked (choppy narrative choices, the occasional dialogue made of wood, Darth Plagueis showing up so briefly and so oddly.) To me it seemed like they had a lot of room to grow, that they'd introduced a world and characters worth exploring, and that they'd chosen some interesting deep-cut SW lore to expand upon.

And then they canceled it. IMO, that's a big mistake for Star Wars.

Yeah, the show cost a lot, but (a) that doesn't mean subsequent seasons would have to cost the same amount and (b) it's up to the head honchos to set a realistic budget and enforce it to the extent possible. AFAIK, the showrunner wasn't going rogue and writing checks willy-nilly; there was a price LF/Disney was willing to pay, and then they got mad about it, I guess? IDK. (Despite my High Republic work, I am very, very, very far from the inner circle who knows anything about this.)

The point is: Star Wars needs to explore eras/worlds/characters beyond those already established in the movies. The Mandalorian began doing that...before swerving back into Clone Wars minutiae in a lackluster third season. Ahsoka counts on a technicality, since she came from TV rather than film, but I could hardly abide the live-action series, which (despite some strong casting choices) I found dull and inert every moment Baylan and his apprentice (whose name I can never remember) were on screen. At minimum, The Acolyte took us someplace new--finally--and yet SW can't commit to that either.

There's a lot of talk online (I think--I just moved and am still unpacking, so I have only seen headlines) that this was about SW capitulating to the fannish dregs who hate everything and downvote everything and send racist hate to actors, yada yada yada. The thing is, I don't believe that's true. I think that, due to larger corporate problems at Disney, there's a lot of fear, a lot of cost-cutting, and an overall climate that leads to never, ever wanting to say "yes" to anything that carries the slightest hint of risk. When "The Acolyte" got middling ratings, they could've dug in, played up what worked and what was most enjoyed by the audiences, and figured out how to budget. Instead, nobody wanted to be the person who said yes. That's how we wound up with a no.

(I imagine this is where someone out there is going, "Well, sure, SHE'S going to say good things about this show! She helped work on the High Republic! She probably gets a cut!" To which I reply: Almost none of my own work appeared in "The Acolyte," so no ego is involved, and if you think I get a cut, you don't know Disney. )

Anyway, nothing I say or do is going to have much impact. But it's sad to me that not only has modern Star Wars not learned from what it did wrong, but it has also done much worse: It hasn't learned from what it did right. When does this change, and how? Your guess is as good as mine.

THE ACOLYTE 1x08

[eldritchtickles]

A Lesson in Love and Dunamancy

And here's one of those once in a moon fics I write! Inspired by an ask from a long long while ago that I cannot find anymore lmao. But enjoy some wizard tickles! And of course a big thank you to the Critickle Role discord for not only lotsa ideas, but also keeping me writing this with your own amazing work lmao. Enjoy!

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre, Caleb Widogast

Word Count: 2665

“And as you can see here..”

The dark skinned hand moved lightly across the thick paper, gentle fingers tracing the runic symbols etched into its form. Essek’s eyes were focused as he read through the ancient script, while Caleb’s followed the drow’s finger with intent. Both wizards were sat closer to each other than either seemed to realise, leaning deeply into one another. The room was cosy, hazy with incense with small candles floating lazily through the air. Calm, oriented, as a wizard’s study should be. “These dunamantic symbols are the basis for most spells”, the Shadowhand continued. “Any current spell relies on these calculations, and predictably any new ones would include them too.”

“Ah, ja, I see it now…”, Caleb muttered, leaning closer as a slight smirk played at the edges of his lips. “I also see you already suspect I intend to play with dunamancy’s limits myself, hm?”

Ah, he was caught. A soft smile came to Essek’s face as he nodded. He knew Caleb Widogast would not be one to leave such magic alone if he could create with it. The transmutation master kept true to his discipline, creating something of nothing at a moment’s notice. Including making a need for Essek to put him back in place.

His face leaned down closer to his human companion’s, a twinkle of slight playfulness in his eyes at Caleb’s snark.

“Yes, Herr Widogast, I imagine you’ll be creating many a spell based on the Krynn magic, hm?”

As Caleb went to retort just as smartly, the gentle cosy candlelit haze of the room was bathed in the harsher light of the hallway outside.

“Oh ­Caleeeeeeeb~!”

Both wizards were suddenly acutely aware of their close proximity to one another as Jester Lavorre loudly interrupted their study session. In a second Caleb found himself alone on the floor as Essek’s floating spell took effect and jettisoned him into a more regal standing position, even if his face was flushed an embarrassed lilac colour.

“OH!’, Jester exclaimed, a not so sorry grin on her face as she surveyed the suddenly awkward tension she had created. “I didn’t meanto interrupt you two cuddling-“

“Jester!!”, Caleb yelped, embarrassment lending his voice a strangled tone as he stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off and cast a glance to Essek. “You… You did not disturb anything. Was there something you needed from us this urgent?”

Jester was already in the room as the wizard spoke to her. She inspected the floating candles overhead, courtesy of the magic inside Caleb’s Tower, giving each a slight poke to watch it bob away free of gravity. She cast a teasing grin at the two flushed wizards, before diverting her attention to the dunamantic scroll on the floor as she spoke.

“Weeeeelllllll”, she began, nose scrunching up as she tried to understand the arcane glyphs. “Beau asked me to get you! She needs help compiling notes, and said ‘his stupid keen mind would kind of be helpful’. So I came to fetch you for her!”

“Ah scheisse, you’re absolutely right”, Caleb said with a small groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Essek, would you remain here? I promised Beau earlier I’d help her with her endeavour, I’ll finish quickly and be right back to continue.”

“Ah, quite, yes…”, Essek mumbled, glad to feel the blush on his cheeks calm down. “Take all the time you need, alright? I’ll prepare the next part of the lesson in the interim.”

No more words passed between the two, just a polite smile and a nod before Caleb parted to help his comrade. Soon as the door closed, Essek let out a slow breath. What had he been thinking? This was a professional relationship, student and mentor, and yet he had been practically sitting in Caleb’s lap as he had taught. Where was his usual maturity? Had he gone mad? Really, he had to get his act together before someone thought-

“Essek likes Caleb~!”

The Shadowhand froze up. The heat of his lilac blush returned, reaching his ears this time. Just over his shoulder was the grinning face of Jester, he knew it. He could practically fucking feel her waggling her eyebrows suggestively at him. Damn tieflings.

He rounded quickly on the woman, face not seeming able to decide between incredulous, embarrassed, or angry. Probably a mix of all three.

“Jester I- You can’t think that- That’s just not-“

A breath. Nerves calmed.

“…….. Ms. Lavorre, you cannot make such claims about two acolytes. It is in very bad taste, our relationship is strictly-“

“Oh come ooooon, Essek! Admit it, you like the stinky wizard!”, the tiefling said in a lilting voice, walking around to his front so she could stand on her tip toes till her nose met his, which made him make a funny face as he floated back a step. “I mean, no one will blame you. Caleb is charming, and sweet, and kind of dirty but that can be fixed, and he’s so clever, Essek! And he’s-“

“Jester, I do not-“

His voice caught in his throat, before a pout was brought to his face as the drow turned from the intruder on his lesson. He started to spread out another spell scroll, putting all his effort into making sure he was solely concentrating on this.

“I would prefer not to speak on this topic if you don’t mind Jester.”

If it were anyone else, they might have taken the hint. Essek’s exterior had turned icy and aloof, as it had been when they first met, and was usually enough to deter more questioning. But while her insight may not be as good as Caducueus, Jester had enough of it to see through the drow’s shit.

“You are such a liar!!”, she whined, accentuating her point with a poke to the back of his ribs.

It took Essek a few seconds to realise through his brooding that he had squeaked.

It took a few more to have him pinned on his back underneath the grinning tiefling.

“Jester, this is most- A-Ah, Jester!!”, the Shadowhand blustered, squirming slightly as a clawed hand gripped his ribs. He was not used to… Physical touch. Much less being pinned with his arms above his head, straddled by a strong blue trickster. His blush was back in full swing.

“Well, are you going to tell me Essek~?”, Jester asked, that familiar lilt in her voice that meant a plan was in motion. “Or, we could juuuuuuuuuust…”

She accentuated her point with a gentle waterfall of tickles cascading down the stretched out ribs beneath her. Those pointed nails cut through Essek’s shirt worse than any blade, a choking giggle trapped in his throat now he expected it this time. That didn’t mean it didn’t- No, if he admitted the word to himself he’d be doomed.

“M-Ms. Lavorre, I would kindly ask you-“

Shit, he almost laughed as she brushed the area right under his arm. Deep breaths.

“I would ask you let me gohoho!! Dohohon’t!!”

That was most definitely a whine.

“Wow Essek, I knew you were squishy but even Caleb can hold out longer”, the girl teased with a giggle, concentrating her free hand on the wizards lower tummy. It was the spot that had earned the giggle, and with a slight ruffle of his shirt that dark drow skin was exposed to the air and a tiefling’s evil fingers, fluttering along his waistline. “Aren’t you the most ticklish Shadowhand in the Dynasty~! Tiiiiiickle tickle, Essek!”

“I am… T-Thehehehe only Shadowhand and you knohohow this full wehehehell Jester- DOHOHOHON’T SAY THAHAHAHAT!!”

She snickered at the little squeak as he said her name, and the subsequent shout at such a little tease. The poor man’s face was flushed so much you’d think him drunk, the only thing worse would be- oh, she couldn’t-no, definitely could. Artagan would be sorely disappointed if she didn’t.

“Ok Essek, time to get real!”, Jester said with a serious face, nodding to the giggly elf beneath her as if in agreement on what she was about to do. “When you want to tell me how much you looooooooove Caleb, you let me know, ok Essek?”

“W-What? Jester, wait, what?”, Essek asked as he regained his breath, diaphragm working overtime to get back oxygen lost to giggles. His mind was already slightly addled, not even realising his arms had been let go. He quickly did take that into account, if only because they had shot down to grab Jester by the horns and try push her away as a scream ripped through his body.

“JEHEHEHEHESTER!! THAT IHIHIHIS- EEEEEEHEHEHEEE!! TERRIBLE STOP IT STOP IHIHIHIT!!”

Ignoring his pleas, Jester just giggled and shook her head in amusement before returning to nibbling gently at the soft stomach beneath her. The tiefling’s hands held Essek’s hips down as her thumbs gently massaged a ticklish touch into the dips in them. His back arched as the sharp little teeth scraped along his skin, and as Jester cast a look up at his face her eyes lit up like a Winter’s Crest tree.

“You’re crying?!”, Jester giggled, an incredulous look on her face. Essek’s head was tilted back in ticklish ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as streams of tears stained his bright lilac cheeks. Frankly, it was the most adorable sight Jester had ever seen! And she knew she was close to getting an answer from the deathly ticklish drow.

“P-Plehehehease, Jester, just not my stohohomach...”, Essek pleaded weakly, hand still tangled in the tickle monster’s hair and horns. “I’ll do anythihihing, just not there..”

“Anything, hm?”, Jester pondered, raising herself from his stomach to give him a break and smoothing his shirt back down. Even thatearned a squeak, she noted. “Liiiiiiiiike….. Admitting you have a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy crush on Caleb….?”

There was a solid five seconds of silence as Essek debated with mattered more; his sanity, or his pride.

Jester got her answer as his face turned back to a pout, turning away from her.

She shrugged. Time to try somewhere else.

“Hm, alrighty then Essek!”

In a second, after a slight tousle, Essek’s light form had been flipped so he now lay on his stomach with Jester laying on top of him, facing toward his-

“Jester, don’t you fucking-“

His face burned as she ignored his words, feeling his ankles gripped in a hold by Jester’s deceivingly strong arms. He had of course taken off his shoes on entry of the tower, as any good guest would. Now he was wishing he’d be a bit ruder in the Nein’s abode.

“Oh, I’m just making sure your feet aren’t dusty when your crush comes back! See? I’m helping~!”

Essek thought no such thing as he felt those fluttering fingers returning to his poor oversensitive skin. He felt the tears well up already, which was fucking embarrassing might he add. Speaking of embarrassing…

“A cootchie coo, little Shadowhand~! Don’t be embarrassed, maybe Caleb will find it cute when he finds out how unbearably ticklish you are! He’ll be all like ‘ja, zat is inchresting Essek, you look so cute ven you are laffing unt squirming, tickle tickle my dear’. Just like that! Wow, you reeeeeaaaally hate teases huh, Essek? Let’s test!”

“Lehehehet us nohohot, Jester-“

“I’m going to get youuuuu~! I’m going to tickle these poor, helpless feet!! Aw you’re going to giggle soooo much when I just….”

“Jester, no, Jehehehester- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP THIS INSTAHAHAHANT- EEEEEEEHEHE!!”

As her claws scratched from his heel, across his sole, before nestling under his toes to make a wiggling, tickling home for themselves, Essek lost all resolve. He barely kicked anymore, body limp as silent laughter overtook him. Instead he lay shaking from the intensity of it, face sore from smiling so much more than normal, tears rolling hot down his face and falling dangerously close to meticulously written scrolls. All till…..

“I- Pffft nahahahaaaaa!! I LIHIHIHIHIKE HIM JESTER!!”

No sooner had the words left the wizard’s mouth did the devilish fingers below leave him. Essek sucked in deep breaths, grateful for fresh air in his tired lung. Finally, a break… Even if…

His eyes snapped open as his blush deepened. Had he really-

He looked back quickly at Jester, grinning broadly with twinkling eyes.

“Jester-“

“I have to, Essek-“

“You will not, Jester-“

“OH, CALEEEEEEEB-“

No sooner had Jester yelled for the wizard of the hour had she found herself under Essek instead, helped by some sort of gravity spell. His hand was clamped over her mouth to shut her up, a panicked expression on his face.

“Jester, you cannot mention this to anybody, do you understand- DID YOU JUST LICK MY HAND?!”

The look of delight as Jester giggled through the barrier of his hand gave him an answer. Despite his panic, Essek couldn’t help but break a smile. Jester Lavorre was genuinely the silliest girl he’d ever met. But still, he had to keep her quiet… And there was one way to keep her that way.

“Let me explain this in a way you can understand Ms. Lavorre…”

Jester was about to say something rude back, but instead a muffled squeal was all that escaped. Essek had a look of absolute seriousness on his face, not unlike the first time they’d met him, that made the cleric’s eyes widen. Then they snapped closed as his hand goosed her lower rib, extracting another squeal.

“You are not to mention this exchange to anyone, understood?”

His hand moved lower, fingers digging deep into the pocket of her hip. Jester cackled and snorted behind the man’s hand, unable to fight against the dunamantic magic that held her in place. It seemed wizard’s made amazing ticklers, with their dexterous, precise fingers.

“Nod your head if you understand, Jester…”

Essek was enjoying this. He had a grin on his face, one less evil and more proud. Jester was about to nod when the hand at her mouth joined its brethren, both choosing to squeeze at the point where hips met thighs. The laughter that spilled from Jester’s mouth was hysterical, giving her the boost needed to break the spell’s hold on her as her hands weakly tried to pry Essek’s off of her, legs pedalling in the air with how much the Shadowhand’s fingers tickled.

“Ah… Essek? Jester?”

Both parties stopped dead. Neither had even heard the door open, but as they looked they found Caleb standing in the entryway. His face was noticeably flushed at the sight he had encountered, not able to look directly at them. Though Jester and Essek didn’t look at each other, both knew what the other was thinking; adorable.

“I-I apologise, Beauregard had asked the Tower be soundproofed tonight so I did not hear from outside… Should I….?”

“No!! Gods, Light no!!”, Essek yelped, scrambling to his feet and casting a half-hearted glare to Jester, who stuck her tongue out back. “Jester was just leaving, aren’t I right Ms. Lavorre?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Thelyss~!”, the woman giggled, speeding from the room with a wink to the wizards.

“……… So that was-“

“Advanced interrogation techniques, we shall call them.”, Essek said quickly, trying to keep away the blush once more. Caleb couldn’t help a small smile crossing his face at that, taking a seat beside the spell scroll once more.

“Ah, a different sort of lesson for our cleric, I suppose…”, he said with a small chuckle, patting the spot beside him. “Let us stick to dunamancy for tonight, hm?”

Essek took a few seconds to smooth out his robes and compose himself. Seeing Caleb act so… Normally about all this. It was oddly comforting, to know he didn’t mind. Even stranger, Essek thought as he took his seat, was one observation.

That wasn’t so bad.

“Perhaps a lesson for another day, Mr. Widogast?”

He caught the way Caleb flushed and concentrated on the scroll, along with the small embarrassed smile that returned.

“Heh. Another day, yes.”

[darth-laeka]

Chapter four:

(Can anyone belive that this is only chapter four? It felt like a lot more. As always thanks to my beta-reader @thebreadtree  I always enjoy talking with you so much, and it was really fun today.

Anyone else: Please leave me critic or sth. and have a good day)

One year had passed and Zannah has become fifteen years. She had trained almost five years with Bane on Ambria, and she could only say that the last year was definitely the most exhausting one. She has learned to fully control her aura and was able to change it in seconds, but has also given more into the dark side of the force. Her live has completely changed and every time she called the dark side, every inch of her body seemed to glow. The only thing she still has problems with was hiding all of her emotions. She might be able to change her normal mood, but as soon as she got mad or emotional she lost complete control over her thoughts, and sometimes also her movements. Bane would describe it as a beacon that can be felt miles in distance. He warned her that it could get dangerous one day and she worked on suppressing it really hard. It got better, but not all of it. After all, the main aspect of the dark side was still emotions and feelings.

The Jedi suppress feelings, for lies like "peace" and "harmony." The dark side worked with their real feelings. Still Zannah's goal was not to die because she couldn't control herself. But that didn't matter anymore. Zannah felt ready.

Zannah was ready.

In her freetime she had taken research and worked out a costume for the Padawan she would be. Her name was Zōe Clär'tin. She was fifteen and also left handed. Neither she, nor her master were famous in any kind. They lived on "Lwhekkk" where they explored the native species "Ssi-ruuk"

The chances that she'll come back to the Enclave were probably lower than the chances that Zannah would turn to the light side. Zōe's hair was dark red and reached down to her shoulders. Her Padawan braid was made out of pearls. Zannah had cut her hair without hesitation, but the coloring had hurt a little. She had always liked her blond hair, together with her small stature it had always made her kind of invisible. But now people would most likely notice her.

The young Sith acolyte would be there under the pretext to get some informations about a planet, where they wanted to travel next. She wore a black coat over her Jedi robes, so no one could see her red lightsaber hidden on her back.

"I have trained you well my apprentice," Bane said, laying both of his hands on Zannah's shoulders, "Don't fail."

"I promise you, that I will succeed," she guaranteed confident. He only nodded and let her go.

Three hours. The shuttle to Dantooine was three hours late. Zannah had send the Enclave a message as Zōe to tell them that she will come, so it isn't a surprise. Of course the Jedi knew about the Shuttle, but it was still annoying for her. But as soon as she arrived in the Enclave everything was forgotten. Silently she cried out when she felt the power of the light nearly wringing her down. The apprentice felt some glances on her, but as soon as she could suppress this pain and stood normal again no one seemed concerned anymore. Zannah entered the enclave feeling like an imposter.

"Zōe!," someone screamed.

Kriff.

Zannah turned around forcing a smile. A Twi'lek boy came up to her. "Oh hey, you are still here..."

"Of course where else should I be? We wrote last week?"

"Yes, yes, of course, I remember, yea of course, uhm just you know, I had a long flight and yea, I am tired and uhm yea," nervous Zannah looked away and hoped that she didn't blush. That was definitely not how she planned this to go. But she hardly had any longer conversation with anyone else than her master since the last five years. It was not a fear, it was more the complete incompetence to act 'normal.'

His face brightened at Zannah's words. "Oh, of course you are. How could I have been so thoughtless. I will share my quarters with you since the others are already taken. It's the time of the year again where we have many Padawans. There won't be as much as now in two or three weeks, when the most are in training with their masters but as long as they aren't gone, their are barely any free quarters."

Oh great,

Zannah thought, already annoyed by the obviously very talkative Padawan.

"But I am so glad that you are here. We will talk so much about our youth, and Olavee is also here for a week. That's such a big coincidence, that you are both here!"

Who the hell is Olavee?

Zannah could only nod. The Twi'lek laid an arm around her shoulder and she flinched. "Oh yea, I forget that you don't liked being touched. " He lifted his arm again.

Zannah silently thanked the force that Zōe seemed to hate hugs and physical contact as much as she.

"And," Zannah tried to make some conversation, because she didn't know Zōe's character at all, "Anything important happened?" The Twi'lek shook his head. "Nothing I haven't told you in a message of mine already."

Oh this is getting better and better. Zannah rolled her eyes. This conversation would lead to absolutely nothing. She turned to the Twi'lek. "You know I'd really like to go to the archives and look for some informations. The sooner I'll get them the better. You know my master waits for me." The Twi'leks face changed immediately, "Oh, of course, yes, yes, sure you will find everything, just come with me."

Suddenly a Togruta girl came up behind them. "Cubi, who is that girl?"

Oh so his name was Cubi.

Cubi laughed: "That is Zōe, I am sure you remember her." Olavee screamed and hugged Zannah, who was too perplexed for taking a step- or hugging her back.

"I haven't seen you in years! But Cubi told me that you would come." "Yeah what a lucky coincidence," Zannah answered slowly, the Padawans didn't seem to realize how uncomfortable she was.

"Yea, Olavee hasn't been here for two years. So cool that now both of you are here. Our childhood trio is together again!" Olavee laughed. "Don't you see that Zōe wants to do her tasks? What are you even here for?" "Researching about the planets next to Lwhekk," she said. "You plan to move?" "Yea, my master thinks about it. I need to get to the archives fast."

Olavee and Cubi looked at her a bit concerned. Then both started to laugh. "Oh Zōe you are still as funny as always. Come on, the trio is back together, we are going to drink something."

"We are fifteen..." "We are both sixteen, and you are going to be in a week." That's when Zannah realized she should have taken more research about Zōe than only her apperance and her age. She knows nothing about the people who know Zōe. She laughed contrived. "Okay..than let's grab a drink."

﹄ ﹃

Bane had always warned Zannah about alcohol. Twenty minutes and five shots later, she finally understood why. She felt completely sick and her stomach hurt. "That was too much," she whispered. Cubi turned to her and raised an eyebrow, " Was this your first time, drinking?"

Zannah nodded, kneeling on the ground, holding her belly. She cried out: "Wha- what did you give me?"

Olavee kneeled next to her: "Why didn't you tell us, that this was your first time drinking alcohol? We wouldn't have started with throwing back shots."

"Shut up," Zannah muttered. Her body spasmed, as a burning liquid paved the way up her throat as she vomited on the bar floor. "Ey! Out of my cantina when you only make dirt!" Cubi helped Zannah up and Olavee gave the cantina owner some credits. "There you go, sorry for the trouble."

﹄ ﹃

It was a wonder that Cubi and Olavee got Zannah into Cubi's quarter without anyone noticing how drunk she was. But as soon as they laid Zannah in a bunk she closed her eyes and seemed to sleep. Olavee and Cubi left the room.

Zannah wanted to sleep so badly, just close her eyes and left herself drift away...but she couldn't. She needed to go to the archives. Of course she could do it tomorrow, but she wanted to leave the Jedi temple as soon as possible. It was so hard to change her force signature, particularly when she slept. And sleeping drunk would make it even worse, she was sure about that.

She rolled herself off of the bunk and stood up, swaying a bit around in the room, before she crawled up in the ventilation shaft, trying not to vomit again. She wriggled through the real tight shaft. "Why...does...the...temple...have...such...a...strange...architecture," she cursed, and tried to find her way to the archives. She knew that it wasn't so hard to steal a holocron, in the cantina Olavee and Cubi told her that they have already often stolen some. And this wasn't secured so bad. It was only supposed to keep curious younglings away. There was only a map in it. Who would try to steal a map? Right. No one. But there she was, trying to steal said map.

In her thoughts she cursed herself for not listening to Bane about drinking. Everything seemed to rotate around her, and her thoughts formed only in a haze of mist. She concentrated and tried to call upon the force, but she only fell forward.

Great.

Zannah was neither able to call upon the force nor to concentrate. She felt so helpless.

Finally she realised that she was over the archives. She took the grid away and let herself fall into the archives. She breathed through her nose and tried to see out something but it was completely dark. She closed her eyes and opened them again.

Still no connection to the force.

She stumbled, but was able to catch herself with her hands. Zannah stood up again, and wavered against the shelves but she could stand still.

Never ever will I touch alcohol again.

Zannah slowly moved forward and tried to open the chamber.

„What are you doing here?," Cubi said behind her.

Kriff.

She should have felt him coming.

Zannah turned around. „Funny Story..."

„You are a Bounty Hunter! They sre searching for Sith Holocrons!," Olavee screamed.

Bitch what, where did that come from

Zannah slammed the door and grabbed the Holocron. When she stepped out of the door Cubi had his lightsaber ignited. „I knew that something is wrong with you! Zoe never had such a defined jaw line!"

Zannah rolled her eyes. „Okay? And now? What do you wanna do? I have completed bounty hunter training," her voice was just a little bit trembling. She was no bounty hunter neither would Zannah stand a chance against Cubi and Olavee. She couldn't call upon the force, and she probably wasn't even able to draw her lightsaber without killing herself.

But Cubi didn't seem to notice. „I can wake up the whole Jedi Temple in five seconds through the force. You don't stand a chance, bounty scum."

Even without the force Zannah could feel that he lied. He might be good at drinking, but he would never become a master of lies.

Zannah laughed, finally seeing herself in full control. „Oh really? I am waiting." Olavee took a step forward. „Even when we are only Padawans. You probably don't even know how to hold a lightsaber. You are defenseless here."

The Sith Holocron in Zannah's hand suddenly felt heavier. Words started to build in her head, the words slowly became voices. It was creepy and relaxing at the same time.

Zannah.

Next Dark Lord of the Sith.

Use your power.

You know you can.

You know how.

Trust the Dark Side, Zannah.

Do it.

„Am I?," she whispered. The eyes of the two padawans grew bigger. Zannah didn't need to look down to know why. The Holocron in her hand had started to glow. The voices in her head became people.

Malak, Revan, Nihilus, Valkorion, Maar, Sorzus Syn, Freedon Nadd, Darth Traya, and so much more she has never heard about before. All of the great big sith lords came together in this Holocron.

Zanah concentrated. Tried to call upon the force. This time it worked. She could feel every inch of her body beeing pushed up by the consuming will of the force. Neither Cubi nor Olavee had the chance to scream. They both fell to the ground, kneeling in front of Zannah. That's when the young apprentice realised that she controlled their minds with the force.

She made them kneel.

A smile formed across her face. A cruel smile.

She lifted the arm, which didn't hold the holocron, and pushed the Padawans away from herself.

They where thrown against the wall and all of sudden everything went dark.

As always I am reminding you that there's also a wattpad version of this fanfiction and yea.

https://www.wattpad.com/1136740952?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create_writer&wp_uname=Darth_Laeka&wp_originator=pAxFf69yYH9pU5LaO4CDhi78YE9Ck%2FPWuK7IkpDT5yFXmOvSkAaAF%2FLEZdpZizInDwfED05pjDVtUlAZYXMkAON9S1Lnow6aBjSwxTPZX1nxxbGRaNdVa6TYQZ%2FhnQFa

[mythrilhusk]

Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 6

Words - 1967 Ao3 Version Chapter 5 (last) Chapter 7 (Next)

AN: Just wanted to note (although it’s already in tags) that there are no ships in this story. The characters may be affectionate with each other, but it’s all platonic. 

====

Exams are the worst part of school, but the end of the first term approaches fast. Tommy determines he will not fail. Philza has promised to teach them how to fight, and by the ever-loving stars, Tommy wants to show off his mad skillz. 

He's so intent on getting fighting lessons that he's dragged his friends into group study sessions. Wilbur insists on leading said sessions, and somehow the schoolwork gets entwined with role-playing battles with fiercesome monsters. 

"The answer is forty-two!! I pull out a bazooka and blast everything to smithereens!" Tubbo cackles. "Nothing shall stand in the way of world domination." 

"Tubbo," Wilbur sighs for the fortieth time. "That would kill all of your teammates." 

"Do I care?" Tubbo grins innocently. "Less competition, big man!" 

"I lay down and die." Ranboo says drily, leaning against the wall with his arm around Tubbo's shoulders. 

"Not you, Ranboo, you're going to be my puppet queen. Every world-dominating super-villain needs a puppet queen." Tubbo says, quite matter-of-fact.

Tommy scrawls messily on his workbook, determined to complete the next answer first and get a turn. "Ha! Fucking x equals twenty-nine!" He crows. "I shoot my nets at Tubbo and capture him!!" 

"Stand-off." Wilbur says with a grin. "Who wrote Frankenstein?" 

"Some woman with a boring name." Tommy retorts. 

"Anne Rice!" Tubbo cries. 

"Tommy, you got the closer answer. It was Mary Shelley." 

"Alright, I win, and I say 'Hahaha, you fucking imbecile, you are no match for me!' and then I drag them to jail." 

"I completed my worksheet, Wilbur." Eret pipes up. Wilbur takes it, then nods for Eret to complete his bonus action. "I stab Tommy and release Tubbo, saying, 'The world is yours for the taking, but allow me to oversee a portion of it.' and then I kneel and plant my sword in the dust." 

"Oh! Oh!" Tubbo waves his worksheet in the air. "Ranboo, stab him for me!" 

"As you wish." Ranboo sighs with a wicked grin. Eret protests weakly in the background. 

"Ranboo, you need to answer a question correctly, first." Wilbur steeples his fingers. "Or else there will be penalties." 

"I, uh, I think I got this one correct." Ranboo shows his study sheet to Wilbur, who nods curtly. 

"Fine, go ahead." 

Ranboo turns to Eret and says in a dark tone, "You betrayed your friend. I can't trust you, Eret." Then he turns to Wilbur, "I run him through with my dagger." 

"Eret, you're now a ghost." Wilbur shuffles through his game notes. 

"Aw, man. Can I haunt anyone?" 

"Yes."

"I haunt Ranboo to remind him of his crimes." 

"Aw, dang, another voice." Ranboo groans playfully. 

"Whaddya mean, another??" Tubbo cries. "Am I being replaced, Ranboo??" 

"You- you are the voice." Ranboo laughs nervously. "Even when you're dead, I'll still hear you, shouting at me to not kill the bees." 

"You better not. I worked hard to cultivate our apiary." 

"I won't, I won't." 

Tommy finishes his worksheet, ignoring the chatter of the others. "Ha!" He turns it into a paper plane and throws it to Wilbur. "I want twelve actions now!" 

"Okay, Tommy." Wilbur replies with a sly smile. The others protest, but Tommy has Wilbur wrapped around his little finger, so they won't be winning this battle. 

"But! I want to split them up between us, because I'm a fucking nice person who loves women." 

"Go ahead." 

"My first action as King de facto of the world is to declare peace between the Moon and Mars." 

"Wait, wait, you're king?? Eret, you didn't even kill him properly!!" Tubbo throws up his hands. "Ranboo, kill Tommy for me." 

"Hypothetically, what if I didn't?" 

"Ranboo. Are you betraying me??" 

"No, no, I said hypothetically." 

"Then, hypothetically, I would nuke your entire homeland and make you watch as I killed your family before your very eyes." 

"Oh! Oh, no." 

"And then I would torture you to death." 

"Oh, man. That would not be good." 

"So are you going to betray me?" 

"Apparently not." 

"Aw, man. I wanted to torture somebody." Tubbo sighs. 

Ranboo gives Tommy a look that says 'help me'. 

"You both lost your turns for talking too long." Wilbur decides. "Tommy and Eret, you both have an extra turn." 

"I turn corporeal using necromancy, and I use Tubbo's soul as the energy source, draining him of life." Eret says, his cheerful eyes belying his dark tone. 

"No! Ranboo, avenge meeeee!!" Tubbo cries melodramatically to the heavens. 

"Oh no! I'll avenge you!!" 

"I kill Ranboo." Tommy cackles at the horrified look on Ranboo's face. 

"Oh, that's not good." 

"How do you kill him, Tommy?" Wilbur asks. 

"I stab the bastard through the fucking eyes." 

"Oh. Man. That sounds painful." Ranboo winces.

"It is. You're screaming like a fucking bitch." 

"Am I? Oh dang, that's not fun. Am I a ghost now?" 

"Ghostboo." Tubbo laughs. "You're now Ghostboo." 

"You're Toast, you don't get to mock my name." 

Tommy frowns. "What's my ghost name?"

"Ghommy." Ranboo laughs. "Eret is Gheret." 

"Tommy, you think we're ready for the exams?" Wilbur gathers the papers scattered across the floor.  

"Fuck yeah, we are. We'll crush those bastards to dust. We'll get the highest grades of anybody in the entire school!"

++++

"What do you mean, you can't transfer me?? My grades are the worst they've ever been in years!!" Jack cries, stomping his foot on the polished wood floor of the principal's office. 

"I'm sorry, duckie, but I can't let anyone transfer between classes this year." Puffy-- rumored to be a pirate in a past life and therefore always called Captain-- frowns as she flicks through Jack's portfolio. "Why did you want to be transferred, anyway?" 

"No reason." Jack grumbles, then stomps out of the office, slamming the door behind himself. 

"How'd it go?" Niki hops down from one of the pillars. 

"Terribly. Those bastards in 3-E must've told Captain Puffy to not let anyone in. They're probably planning to take over the world now, using Techno as bait!" Jack cries, his eyes burning with furious tears. 

"That's awful!" Niki wails. "What will we do?" 

"What do heroes do to villains? We bomb them." 

"Bomb them?" 

"I don't know how yet." Jack grins, filled with burning rage. "But we'll think of something." 

"I know a man." Niki says decisively. "He'll get us supplies. If they really are planning to end the world, we need to stop them." 

++++

Exams roll around, and 3-E joins the the main school buildings for the tests. Quackity and Sapnap both leap on and hug Karl Jacobs. Tommy strides through the testing auditorium like he owns the place, with Wilbur glaring at everyone and Tubbo whetting his dagger with a placid smile. 

Fundy watches the chaos from the sidelines, chewing on caramel taffy and bubblegum at the same time. He doesn't recognize the quiet boy huddled in a corner and writing. Before he can creep over and look at the boy's words, Eret accosts him. "Hey, man." 

"Oh, hey!" Fundy grins and hugs his friend. "What've you been up to?" 

"Oh, just trying to stop the world from ending and make a profit in the process, you know, the usual." 

"Right, right. What's up with that, anyway? This guy, Technoblade? He must be really hard to kill if nobody's done it yet." 

"We have till the year ends." Eret says gravely. 

"Right. But why hasn't anybody, I don't know, tried to get in on the action?" 

"The government is supposed to be keeping his location a secret." Eret adjusts his sunglasses. 

"Weird." Fundy pops a bubble between his lips. 

"Indeed. I know there must be a weakness. But I'm not sure what it is."

"Maybe it's something like technical immortality! Maybe he can only be killed if he lets it happen!" Fundy theorizes, chewing more intensely. 

Eret grimaces. "Perhaps. Threatening his friend, Philza, directly is out of the question. But perhaps we can get the kill switch from the president." 

"Woah, woah, back up!" Fundy laughs. "There's already a kill switch in his friend and the prezz hasn't thought to use that??" 

"Well, he's a hostage, but- oh." 

"Exactly!! If the prezz actually wanted him dead, all they'd have to do is threaten to kill this Philza dude if Techno doesn't let himself be killed!" Fundy blows another bubble and pops it with his teeth. "Damn, I'm good." 

"That's assuming Technoblade would die if he allowed it. What if he can't?" Eret muses. 

"He has to have some weakness. How was he even created??" 

"I- I don't know." 

"The only way a mutant like that could be created is through Human intervention, aka a laboratory and scientists!!" Fundy claps his hands together excitedly. "But why would scientists create a creature who can destroy the world?? Unless he can't, and this is all just a damn test." 

"Hmm." Eret doesn't sound convinced. 

"So, they're trying to develop immortality, and they're testing it on Technoblade-"

"Why him?" Eret asks. "And if it is a test, why here, with a bunch of students?"

"He got loose before the tests could be finalized, and they're trying to contain him again!" Fundy starts pacing. "He was a terrorist, yeah? I remember him in the news. The Acolyte." 

"Blood for the blood god." Eret reminisces, paling. "That's right." 

"He only ever went after important government figures! But, five years ago, he disappeared, and nobody ever heard from him again. Until now..." Fundy grins wildly. "This is amazing, I can't believe I get front row seats to a conspiracy!" 

"Wait." Eret groans. "He had a partner." 

"Oh! He did?" 

"Technoblade was the Acolyte. But his partner was the Angel. What if that was-" 

"Philza!!" Fundy cries. "Oh god, we have both of the most deadly international terrorists in my school!! Why couldn't I have worn better clothes??" 

"I don't think that should be our main concern." Eret steeples his fingers. "I think we should worry more about what they're planning to do." 

"I'm going to talk to Captain Puffy." Fundy decides. "Come with me?" 

"I'll pass. Good luck." 

"I've got the best luck in the world." Fundy crows and skips off. He glances back once, briefly, only to see Eret watching him with an unreadable expression. 

++++

Tipsy, Schlatt lounges on one of the pristine metal tables. In the background, HBomb sweeps up the shards of a broken whiskey bottle, the remnants of a drunken tantrum. 

"Heyyy." Schlatt greets the mercenary waiting in the doorway. "Come on in." 

"How much do I get paid for my trouble?" The mercenary asks, slouching in a too-large purple hoodie and baggy pants. 

"Fifteen billion, take it or leave it." Schlatt grins. 

"I'll take it. But this is the last time." 

"Sure, honey." 

"How'd you lose him again?" 

"Bitch killed half my fucking scientists." Schlatt shrugs genially, hiding his irritation. "But we've got a neutralizing agent, now." He tosses a capsule to the mercenary, who catches it and inspects it. "Inject that and he'll be as harmless as a two-ton hippo." 

"That's hardly what I'd call harmless." 

"Eh, semantics. He won't be immortal." 

"Hmm." The mercenary pockets the neutralizer. "I'll do it. But you'd better pay me exactly what you promised, or he dies." 

"C'mon, darling, what do you take me for? A scam artist?? Nah, that's not my fucking style. Return him safe and sound, and everything will be just fine." Schlatt lights a cigar, takes a deep drag, then lets it all out in a slow plume. "Do as I say and nobody gets hurt." 

++++

Eret opens his buzzing phone and answers, "Hey." 

"Crocodiles don't cry often." The familiar voice says coldly into their ear. 

"Crocodile tears are worthless." Eret replies. 

Purpled laughs on the other end. "What do you say, partner? Ready to make some dough?" 

Eret grins, baring her teeth. "Always." 

Chapter 7 (Next)

[noonmutter]

Unbalanced

Something was very wrong, and no one was telling him. Exhausted and desperately craving sleep like a starving man craved bread, it had taken Leon too long to realize his comm had been largely silent almost every time he used it. He wasn’t even sure anything he’d sent had gone anywhere, anymore. And that lack of news had only been amplified by the utter refusal from both Cylan and Bollad to discuss matters outside the Dreamgrove.

Cylan he had expected such things from; competent tutor though he was, he was a staggering asshole, too. But Bollad had surprised him. He was shocked when Bollad’s answer almost mirrored Cylan’s. “You are losing focus; worry about here, now, and the dream you seek.” It wasn’t...unfair, as answers went. Leon was struggling to remain attentive, though at least half of that was because he was so bloody tired and they all knew it. The minimal-sleep schedule would feel less like a rolling death after a few weeks. Any day now, he was supposed to start feeling refreshed after four hours...

...but something was wrong, besides that. They had listened attentively, and with tiny sparks of concern in their expressions, when he’d told them of the last dream and the great and terrible face in the sky. They had reacted especially poorly when he had called it a ‘maw,’ though as with other things, they did not explain themselves. That had not sat well with him, even in his addled state, and he’d gone to sleep fretting and woken up feeling like he was going through grief, which he didn’t understand. At least he hadn’t remembered that dream.

When he emerged from his alcove in the barrow, Leon almost ran smack into Bollad, who handed him a mug of tea with the simple order of ‘drink,’ and he drank without really thinking about it. Fortunate for him that he was in a safe place, he mused to himself, or he probably would’ve woken up missing a kidney.

"Despite my protests, you are to make your first journey into the Dream today.”

Leon choked on his tea.

“Yes, I know. I protested; I was overruled.” Bollad rolled his shoulders, causing the furs on his armor to rustle. “Though I believe you will be capable of traversing it now, I have...concerns, about what you might find. Other Dreamers have been fitful, of late. Moving. Occasionally, speaking. This is not typical, as I’m sure you’ve guessed.”

They were walking as they talked, though as was common in the last few days, Leon couldn’t have said when they started moving, nor how far they’d gone. Out of one barrow den and into another, they descended down much older, smoother stone paths and past countless sacred images and texts carved into the rock. Emerging into a great circular chamber, a statue of a great bear reared up and towered above them both, watching over the Dreamers in their alcoves.

True to Bollad’s word, all of them were twitching, murmuring. One or two had an oily mist rising from their mouths or eyes, the pleasing, vibrant green of the natural magics Leon knew but seeming... slick, slimy. Polluted.

“...what is this?”

“We do not know. I do not know. And I do not like the idea of sending a pupil into what is unknown to me.” Again, the druid rolled his shoulders, a nervous tic that conveyed a great deal of barely-restrained aggravation, then sighed. He led them the last few steps to another alcove, one Leon recognized: he’d been shown this one, and its pillows and blankets and adorable little murloc plush all, and told he would Dream here when he was ready.

“The world is...mad, once again. Outside this grove, things have changed. The balance is badly undone. Death has lost meaning. This knowledge does not benefit you, and I am sorry for adding its weight, but as you shouted in my face before I met with the others... you do deserve to know.”

“‘Ow mad is mad?”

“If you chose to leave the grove and attend to your loved ones, I would not stop you. I am of the mind that the Dream can wait, as it always has.” The kal’dorei sighed, and for the first time since Leon had met him, looked exhausted. “But all you or any of us might do out there is fight and enable others to fight. And we believe that what you have seen is of far more importance than the threat in front of us. We have heard and seen Dreams like yours too much in recent days to discount it.”

Leon rubbed at his aching eyes. Of course his first concern had been his wives. His family. His friends. Faces and places he knew. But he also knew that precious few of the people that flashed through his mind were incapable of defending themselves. Defending each other. Of his household, he was the least dangerous part, as he always said. Though he desperately wanted to go to them... He knew he would only be another body to keep track of and be afraid for. Here, he was safe; a bitter thought that tasted too much like ‘coward’ for his liking. But here, he was also a great deal more useful. Hopefully.

“Elune forgive me.”

“Elune guide and protect you, thero’shan.”

Leon sat down as two acolytes stepped into the chamber and moved to join him at the alcove. It felt strange to be attended to, but it was their job to ensure he wouldn’t slumber in filth, or wake up to sickness or starvation. When all was said and done, he shed his human form in favor of the great green liger, curled up, and closed his eyes to meditate in the sudden stillness of the barrow. Fixating on a single droplet falling into the pool in the middle, he drifted.

Please...please...please let them all be safe. Please let this be the right choice. Please...

...mist curled up from his fanged maw as he slumbered. For a time, it was the soft, bubbling, welcoming thing that any druid knew, rejuvenating and smelling of spring rain. His paws fell on a tightwire of green light and he traversed it with the effortless grace of the form he’d chosen, and for a time, he was content to follow that trail, heartened to find it in the first place.

But as Leon heard the call again, the mist became greasy, and the trail veered.

And he began to tumble, slowly enveloped by a dull roar of voices and laughter and the clacking of bones.

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part three of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as anonymously demanded in an ask politely requested in the notes sjsjjs.

Will I cry? Maybe. Will YOU cry? Hopefully Probably. They'll be happy tears tho. I think. I hope.

(Wtf does Hamish even study, guys) Hamish always feels like there's something missing. The apartment doesn't feel like home. It feels strange and alien. He doesn't know what he's missing. Or maybe it's a who? Late in the night, Hamish will check his wrist and he'll wonder when he'll hear the words. He wonders what sort of situation they're going to be in. The days feel monotonous and like they drag on for years. Something is missing.

Vera doesn't go home for anything other than sleep. The past few years, drifting away from Hamish, wasn't so bad. She still went home, albeit very late, and she still didn't have much of a problem delaying leaving. It felt nice to be at home and remember the days when she had enough free time to lounge around with Hamis. Now, going home brought guilt with it. Everywhere she looked, he was there and she couldn't face knowing she had done it to him. Part of her hoped he'd never get hid memories back. She hoped she could live with Hamish having no idea who she was, but she knew she could never live with Hamish hating her. Vera often sits alone in the reliquary, staring at her wrist. Remembering the day she watched the words write themselves. For weeks, Vera didn't look at her wrist because she knew soulmates changed and she knew that Hamish might find someone else without all his memories. She sits behind the desk and fiddles with a ring handing from a chain around her neck.

The day Hamish gets his memory back, he doesn't know what to feel. Jack is very vocal about how pissed he is at Vera and Alyssa, more than the Order as a whole. Lilith just shrugs it off. She never expected anything different from them.

Randall waits until Jack and Lilith have left the den, probably to hunt down their knives that they'd both had at one point. "Hamish --"

"Don't, Randall."

"We don't know if she really wanted--"

"She's the Grand Magus. She holds the highest authority. Don't make excuses for her."

Randall leaves quietly. He knows how stubborn Hamish can get.

"We're going to make them pay," Jack tells the knights after they've been inducted. "All of them."

Hamish glances back to see Alyssa walk by. Yes, he thinks of Vera, all of them.

They need the necklace. They need to get a copy of it.

"Let me," Jack says, "I'll--" "No, I'll do it."

Randall is rightfully Concerned™. "Dude, are you sure? It could get--" "Ugly? Painful? For her, I certainly hope so."

Lilith, as Hamish leaves: So, um, is now a good time to ask about what happened during the ambush last year or . . .

Randall: you know what, I think you should talk to Hamish about this one......

I am a strong woman, Vera thinks to herself when Hamish walks in with a drink. I will not break, I will not break, I will not break.

Ultimately, she gives in anyway a few days later. Not to say that she's blameless. Hamish, despite all his burning hatred, still loves Vera like before. He's intrigued at how he can love and hate her at the same time. Is this what people mean when they say, "it's complicated"?

"Bring me something in a tall glass," she says, absently clicking the heel of her shoe against the floor twice. I want your attention.

"What happened to you?" "NOTHING. What-- what happened to you?"

Randall's still wary of the demon summoning, but he's noticed the look on Hamish's face. He hasn't seen that look in years. Big gasp from Randall. Big glare from Hamish.

Later, once the excitement is slowly dying down for Hamish and he settles down to watch his young friends thoroughly enjoy entertaining themselves, Randall scoots up to Hamish. "You are so weak for V." "Am not." "You've got her lipstick on your face." "Shit, really? Did Jack and Lilith notice?" "HA!" "Fuck you, Randall ..... don't tell them anything." "My silence costs twenty bucks." ".......fuck u"

"Let me dispel the rumours. We are all going to die." Hamish's amused snort is quickly silenced by the withering glare Vera gives him.

When Vera comes to and notices Hamish taking care of her, she's almost relieved. Then she remembers the threat, Alyssa, Kepler and most importantly, no getting close to Hamish until everyhting is all sorted.

"So . . . what's all this talk about wolves?"

Honestly, at this point, Vera thinks she's going to glare hard enough that her eyeballs pop. "You fucking IDIOTS! You lying fuck, you actually got me thinking you genuinely cared. And you, you little shit . . . . you -- you -- you -- fuck you. Where is my inventory?"

"It was stolen from us." :|

"Oh, so you lost it. No surprise there."

"That's a little harsh, V." "I told you not to call me that, Randall." "Sorry. Look, we'll get the sickles back. We won't--"

"Too late."

Losing Lilith only makes Hamish worse. He wants to blame Vera and the Order, he really does. But he can't. He knows Vera and he knows she's not selfish enough to do this for her own benefit. Fuck feelings, they just make everything so damn complicated.

Vera is pissed at Hamish for being so petty. Hamish is pissed at Vera for the blatant betrayal. Vera is pissed with herself for allowing everything to come to this. Hamish is pissed at himself for being unable to resist Vera. They're both pissed and not talking to each other and frankly, it's starting to weigh on Randall, the only one who really knows what's going on behind closed doors.

"You know, you really should talk to Vera." Gabrielle appears out of nowhere. "About what?" Hamish and Randall: terrified screaming for about half a second until they finally spot the tiny Acolyte.

"Nothing." "You two are up to something. I wanna know what it is." "Are you blackmailing us . . . to spend time with us?" "No. What d'you need to talk to the Grand Magus about?" "Getting you some heels so we can see you when you're approaching." "Very funny, Randall."

When Vera attacks the Prometheans (and Jack) with her emotional amplifier, it's not just the desperate cries of a baby ringing in everyone's ears. Among it all is Vera's own voice, her always doubting that she'd done the right thing in erasing the Knights' memories, her thinking about how much Hamish was going to hate her and that was a price she was willing to pay to keep him safe for as long as possible.

Among it all are nights where a very young Vera would cry alone, wiping at her eyes with a bare wrist. And then a much older Vera, hiding away in a vault, refusing to cry as she looks at the words on her wrist.

"I don't need your pity, Mr Morton," Vera says, hoping and praying that Jack doesn't care enough to put all the pieces together. "I'm sorry about your daughter." Vera doesn't turn back to face him. She's okay. She really is. And then a very quiet, very whispered, "and Hamish." Vera leaves before Jack can see her strength fail.

"Are either of you going to tell me why you're all on first name basis with the Grand Magus?" "It's a Knight secret, Gabby, sorry." "Fuck you."

Hamish is still being Petty and Pissed, so when Vera gives them the contract and Randall gets super upset, Jack's the one to tell him to lay off a bit. "I think you're overreacting." "And I think you're protecting Hamish's girlfriend."

Hamish, low warning tone and Vera, high yell: "Randall!"

"Am I wrong?"

"About which part?" Jack mutters, glad the joke makes Randall laugh. He can deal with one angry werewolf. Two is way too much a burden.

"Have you seen or heard from Hamish this morning?" "Why would you ask me that?" Jack gives her a deadpan look. Big sigh. "No, I haven't."

Hamish being missing shifts Vera's entire outlook. She's wasting all this time being mad and angry when she could have been using it to try and mend her relationship with Hamish.

"Is everyone okay?" Hamish grins because he knows that as pissed as they are with each other, she worries for him just as much as he worries for her. Vera would have to hit a very high bar if she really wanted to break off every tie she had to Hamish and Hamish is sure Vera doesn't want to even touch that bar.

Vera is completely stunned when Hamish literally throws Angus out of the room. In all honesty, she shouldn't have been, but still. She expected a little more restraint, given Hamish was still visibly pissed with her. On the outside, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Vera. I saw Angus and I just reacted. I almost died yesterday and now it seems like I might die anyway. Part of me wishes we never got our memories back. I could just go back to being . . . happy."

Vera doesn't turn back. "Would you really? Be happy, I mean. You have all the answers now. You know all the right questions. Would you really be happy?"

"Ignorance is bliss." "Not always."

And then the tartarus eruptions begin.

Jack runs into Alyssa at a Praxis location and the Knights recover a third of the Order's inventory.

"Tell me about these puppies." Obviously, Vera wants information about what Praxis is up to, but Randall deadass adopted the puppies so now Vera is subject to being lectured about the puppies. Okay, not lectured, she's somewhat invested in her new grandchildren. Hamish has a small smile on his face because Vera's still his Vera. Strangely fond of Randall despite all his annoying flaws -- just like Hamish himself.

Vera makes the three of them Magistratuses on the spot and Hamish looks like he's beaming at the promotion but really he's just so thrilled to see Stubborn and Petty Vera go up against Kepler.

"I'll order some wine." "Champagne, please. We're at war with Praxis, not good taste." And she's apparently retained what he taught her about drinks!

No matter what she does or what she acts like, the very core of who Vera is, her innermost self, will never change. And Hamish is glad for it, because that's who he loves. And the words mark her forever, so she'll never forget it.

"It's all right to let someone care about you." Vera shakes her head, because she's done horrible, horrible things and some would even call her irredeemable. She wants to argue and fight with Hamish because away from her is the only place he'll be safe. "V. . ."

Hamish is better at saying things when he doesn't talk. So he takes hold of her hand and gives it two small squeezes. I love you. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and trails his hand down to her chin before lifting her head, guiding her to look at him. His fingers tap on her neck. One, two, three times. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you.

And when everything dies down, Hamish swears to protect Vera. He and the rest of the Knights will protect her secret with their lives. Even if she weren't their Grand Magus, she's Hamish's soulmate and given how important Hamish is to them, it's no surprise Vera automatically is, too.

Besides, Randall kinda likes the Mom Vibes he gets from Vera. Gabrielle is jealous.

Vera finds Hamish taking a nap under the tree. He squints at her. "Don't make me look like an idiot. Get down here."

Vera smiles and joins Hamish on the grass. "I love you," she says softly, finally, finally finding the peace and joy she had before she and Hamish started drifting. She looks at the words on his hand, then the words on her own.

Soulmates. Someone who is always going to be there for her, no matter what. It's nice to have one, even though for most of her life, she thought she would never find one.

But the special thing about Hamish is that they had something really special long before they discovered they were soulmates. Vera smiled in the knowledge that Hamish wouldn't have done a damn thing different even if she still had s blank wrist. He loves her, she loves him, and frankly, nothing else matters.

FINALLY COMPLETE!!!!!! I trust this is satisfactory, my loves??

See other soulmate AUs that make me cry

[reliciron]

Decided to write out the important bit of my jedi consular’s backstory. 

It should be noted that he doesn’t technically want to die, he’s just very scared of his master and doesn’t see any way to escape. 

That said, at the end of the day he does try (and fail) to die by throwing himself at some jedi, so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that.

Go to the northern reaches of Brentaal IV. There you will find a small Jedi temple: the place where Grand Master Satele Shan first trained.

It has enjoyed relative anonymity since, but this must change.

Infiltrate the temple. Slaughter everyone within. Show the Jedi that nothing is safe from the Sith.

Do this, my clever acolyte, and I will raise you from the shadows.

You will be my apprentice.

Dust kicks up as he races across the northern plateaus on his stolen speeder bike. It will take hours to track properly, with the damage he left behind. But by then he’ll have either completed his mission…

Or he’d be dead.

He clenches his teeth.

She was mad. She HAD to be.

No.

He shakes his head.

No. His master is many things, but not mad.

Just calculating. And he may be a mere acolyte, but he hadn’t survived this long without learning some of the game.

If her words were true, the Sith would send a platoon, or at least a full squad. Make a show of the massacre to demoralize the Republic and Jedi Order both.

One lone acolyte would not be enough to guarantee victory. Indeed, it was very likely that he would not survive the attempt at all, even with 6 years of careful training from his master.

He’d been her faithful servant. Her knife in the dark. She’d liberated him from Rattatak and kindly taken him under her wing as a boy. He’d learned to wear the Force like a shroud. Hide himself from sight and strike from the shadows.

She gave the word, and he carried out the sentence. A name, a picture, a place, and they’d be dead in a matter of days.

He couldn’t be her apprentice. No matter his talent, he was Rattataki. And as far as the anyone else knew, he didn’t exist.

He KNEW this. She’d said it so many times. But now she was offering it to him.

It wasn’t real.

And the impossibility of the task only affirmed his suspicions.

He was not MEANT to succeed.

He did not exist, yet as more Sith and Imperials fell before him it became harder and harder to keep his existence secret. And she would never let him go, not when he knew so much of her secrets.

He was a liability now. One she hoped would take care of itself in a pointless attack on a temple.

He should run. He SHOULD, but he CAN���T.

His throat goes tight and he slows down a bit as the temple’s coordinates loom on the navigation computer.

He’d tried to run once, before he’d truly understood how much of a PRIVILEGE it was to have been chosen by his mistress. He couldn’t recall the ‘how’s and ‘why’s anymore, but he remembered the punishment had gone on for well over a week.

Run and I’ll find you, little one. And I will not be so merciful the next time.

If he tries to abandon his duty, he’d die all the same, but she’d make sure to make it hurt. At least the Jedi would make it quick.

Yes.

If its one thing the soft-hearted fools abhorred, it was making a being suffer.

There was no way out for him, but an end by their sabers would be better than by her hand.

–

It had been laughably easy to enter the temple. The roomy interior had given him plenty of space to cloak himself and slip through without being noticed by the guardians. He’d made it all the way into the empty training room, where he’d entered a vent near the ceiling and used it to gain access to the meeting room.

Inside there were a handful of masters and their attending padawans, likely a collection of the strongest jedi in the temple. An incredibly foolish target.

But that was the point, wasn’t it.

He could have killed a great many by now. Picked off padawans one by one has he slithered through the building. Had he actually believed the lie his master had told him, he would have.

But he didn’t. And now these Jedi were his best chance for a swift end.

As he grips his lightsaber, he wonders, not for the first time, what his mother would have thought of him. He didn’t remember her, or much of Rattatak for that matter. But he hoped he’d grown to be a strong son, one who might have made her proud, had things been different.

He muffles the sound of the grate being opened, curls his toes over the edge of the vent frame, and leaps.

–

The creature had seemed to come from thin air.

A calm discussion with his fellow masters about possible changes to the curriculum one minute, and a whirl of dark robes and red light the next.

By the time he and the others managed to pull their lightsabers, 3 padawans lay crumpled on the floor with the attacker ready to strike again.

The battle had been vicious.

Master Evren nearly had a leg taken off, and Knight Balrus fell in a burst of lightning before Ixal finally got in under its guard to slice up through it’s hood.

It screamed, bringing its saber up in mindless defense as it clutched its smoking face, but it was a futile effort. He followed through, ducking its arm and spinning around behind to carve his saber deep across it’s back.

It folded like a house of cards, crashing to the floor in a heap of dark robes.

Not dead, but also not getting up any time soon.

Healers and medical droids are called, and to everyone’s relief no one was killed. But it still left them with a host of very injured jedi, and a deeply wounded assailant who should have never made it this far.

–

Once the others have been seen to, he and the few other jedi of rank gather in the assassin’s room.

The scans the droids provided them with were both enlightening… and disturbing.

A juvenile rattataki male, approximately16 years of age. Signs of extensive, long-term electrical trauma, 18 healed fractures, and general malnutrition. And that was all underneath the damage he himself had caused in the battle. Evidently he’d blinded the man - no, boy - in one eye, and his final strike had severed his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down.

Stars above.

It’s about an hour more before the boy comes to, numbed heavily around his injuries but not sedated.

They needed to speak with him, and it absolutely could not wait.

Even so, none of them are prepared for the tsunami of terror that all but knocks them off their feet.

He chokes and tugs desperately at his restraints, every inch a panicked child despite the destruction he’d wrought only a few hours ago.

It makes his stomach roil to know he’d not fought a man, but a boy.

“Peace, young one,” he says softly. And the single remaining eye fixes upon him.

A muscle jumps in the rattataki’s jaw before his face goes eerily blank, at odds with the fear still saturating the Force around them.

“My name is Master Ixal. I’m afraid you’ve committed some rather serious crimes here today, but I would like to talk, if you wouldn’t mind.” When all the boy does is stare at him, he smiles, “May I ask your name?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before the answer.

“Acolyte.”

His accent is Kaas-ian, but given that he’s an alien, there’s a very good chance that he was a slave.

“Is that your name, or the one you were given?”

He blinks, as if trying to parse the meaning.

“Did you ever have a different name?”

Something small and fragile flickers across the part of his face that is still visible.

“…. Faun.”

He sighs. Good. Not so far gone that he won’t answer questions entirely, “Faun then. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“My master sent me.”

A sith then. Were they truly so desperate as to use children?

“They sent you to attack us?”

His eye closes and he seems resigned.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you? Are there more coming? Why is the temple being targ-?”

“It doesn’t matter, kill me and be done with it.”

“What-?”

“I killed your people and infiltrated your temple, is that not enough?!”

He seems desperate then, like a frightened animal, and the fear redoubles in the Force.

“Easy now,” he assures, “You killed no one, all those who were injured survived.” He frowns, “And you will not die for it. We certainly won’t be letting you go, but you will live and be treated fairly. But I can promise you, the more you help us now, the easier things will go for you in the future.”

Instead of being assured, the young man barks a harsh, bitter laugh.

“What, future?! I failed to die! Now my master will come for me to correct my failure!” He positively whimpers and shrinks in on himself, “She’ll be so angry! She’ll make it hurt! Why can’t you just kill me!”

They’re all taken aback by the outburst, but as his words start to sink in a sick feeling begins to settle in to Ixal’s stomach.

“What do you mean you ‘failed to die’?”

“You think I am a fool?!” he spits. “What else am I to believe when she gives me such an impossible task and promises rewards I knew could never be!” He sags onto the hospital bed. “I do not exist. She cannot allow me to be tied to her, and I was no longer worth the risk.”

He truly feared this master of his so much that he would willingly undertake a suicide mission? Stars above, what had this woman done to him?!

He shakes his head. They knew the why now, but not the how.

“How did you manage to make it all the way into the meeting room? You would have had to pass several guardians.”

The boy huffs, voice still raw and wavering, but evening out as they entered more neutral territory. “Your security is poor and my master trained me well. I cloaked myself in the Force, muffled my presence, and walked right passed them.”

A hint of pride threads through the fear in the air, but already a few of their number have left, unable to take such overpowering emotions.

Cloaking is a rare gift. That this young man is capable of doing so, well enough to fool full fledged jedi, is both dangerous and intriguing. Between that, his combat ability, and the hyper-projection of his emotions, they were dealing with a powerful force user, no matter his age.

It only occurs to him now that the young rattataki could have likely killed dozens of padawans and younglings before being discovered.

But he didn’t.

An idea starts to form but he’d need to consult his fellow masters first.

“Thank you, Faun, you’ve been very helpful. Please rest for now. We will speak again later.”

The boy looks wary as they leave, but more than likely the sedatives are already being administered through his drip. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

–

The discussion is heated, with several knights and masters arguing against it, but after consulting the Jedi Council, they finally come to an agreement.

They would attempt to rehabilitate Faun.

Turning a sith was notoriously difficult, but his youth would work in their favor.

The skills of an assassin, Force-cloaking especially, where nearly impossible to teach to jedi. Too close to the dark side for many to want to risk learning. But as much as they may wish otherwise, sometimes those skills were needed, and if they could earn Faun’s loyalty they’d have an invaluable ally.

It would be a long and delicate process. Mind healers would be needed to try and break the chains his master had instilled in his mind, and the physical reconstruction and recovery would be just as taxing.

There was no guarantee that it would work at all, but he genuinely believed it was worth a try.

The poor boy had been through so much. With a bit of work they might give him a second chance at a fulfilling life.

Dark-side or no, the Force practically hummed around him in a way Ixal had not seen since young Satele. He didn’t know what part this young man might play, but he had a feeling he may yet prove essential in the future.

This would not be the end the young man had sought, but a new beginning.

======

From there it takes a long time to deprogram him, and they need to install several internal cybernetic bypasses in his spine to get around the damage. At the end of it, he’s got a pretty serious scar that runs from right shoulder to left hip, a few numb patches on his lower back, and his eye is still blinded. He learns to hide his accent, too. And he’s somewhere in his late 20s-early 30s by the time the game starts.

He was sent to Tython as a fresh start for his padawan training, since no one there would know who he was, aside from the Council.

His companions don’t find out until they’re fighting the First Son and Syo tells them to try and get them to leave or turn on Faun. Zenith almost does leave afterwards, but after a long discussion they all stick with him.

[heraldofzaun]

Hi. We’re doing this again. I’ve already spoken a little bit (well, a great bit) about how old lore Viktor wasn’t a stereotypical evil villain, but I keep seeing this interesting trend crop up - especially in the comments of analyses on Viktor’s character - and so I’m going to write about it. That trend is the fact that people seem completely and utterly convinced that only old Viktor “augmented without consent” or “didn’t respect free will” or similar mad-scientist-adjacent claims. This isn't true. The inverse is true, actually.

What follows is the entirety of Viktor’s old lore (I’m using the first - the second variant is the one that snips out his going to the Institute of War, I’m not trying to pull a trick on you or anything), his lines upon release (which are still technically canonical, even if many people believe them to be outdated - whether that is due to Riot still believing that they’re accurate to his character or, more likely, Riot not caring to replace them, I don’t know), and the accompanying blurb to his release comic. I am also including Jayce’s second lore, the one which Riot wrote after Viktor fans pointed out that Jayce’s original lore was contradictory to Viktor’s character. (Which is mentioned in the post I linked above. TL;DR: Viktor fans made such a fuss that Jayce’s lore got changed to paint Viktor as less of a villain, which again points to the fact that old Viktor wasn’t necessarily perceived as villainous by his fans. Of course, fan perceptions can be wrong - but canon was changed, so...)

This screenshot is missing his pick/ban quotes (“Join the Glorious Evolution.”/”Inferior constructs.” - ban quotes were added after his release, so they recycled one of his attack lines) and the quotes for Chaos Storm (“Obliterate!”/”Consume!”/”True power!”/”Behold!”). This is because it didn’t fit on my computer screen nicely.

This was written alongside Viktor’s teaser comic. (I personally really like the teaser comic, even though I’m concerned about Viktor cutting a hole in his laboratory wall.) It is, technically, non-canon material as it was posted on the now-defunct forums rather than anywhere on the client, but as we’ve seen a recent trend of Rioters Word-of-God’ing facts about canon, I may as well include it. There may be more Word-of-God confirmations on those forums as well, but the backup site that they’re currently hosted on doesn’t allow for searches as the original site didn’t either. You can find this on the “Development” tab of Viktor’s wiki page, if you’re curious.

Is there anything in here, besides “Submit to my designs.” and a few other of his voice lines, which should be taken with the context that they were a) written in 2011 and are thus not the highest examples of character-focused writing and b) written under the context of these being things he is saying to opponents on a battlefield, that says “Viktor augments people who are unwilling”? I don’t see it. He isn’t an angel, sure, because he wrecks Jayce’s lab after the man doesn’t want to work with him, but… He’s mostly alright, at least when it comes to the claims I’m investigating. (Also, note that his acolytes are not specified as being under his control or anything like that - they very well may just be people he’s helped, who don’t want a strange man smashing up the lab they were helped in.)

An interesting side-note: Jayce’s first lore does seem to imply that Viktor murdered people, as he “staged a deadly raid on Jayce’s laboratory”. This is concerning. There’s still somewhat of that implication in the second lore, considering the whole “incinerating the lab’s meager security force” line, but I’ve never seen anyone in fandom over the years use that as evidence for Viktor being a murderer, which is interesting. There’s actual textual evidence you can point to to say that Viktor’s a morally awful dude, and yet no one pointed to it when it was canon...I’ve never seen it cited in any character analyses for Viktor, nor have I ever seen anyone make the point that it’s people that Viktor’s incinerating. Food for thought, I guess. Anyways, my personal take is this: it’s security systems, not people. It doesn’t quite make sense, in-universe, for Viktor to murder a bunch of redshirt security guards but only blast Jayce aside - and leave him with no lasting injuries, obviously. Out-of-universe, you can say that it’s because Jayce is a champion, but still… It really doesn’t fit. Of course, I’m an old lore Viktor fan and this is entirely me trying to justify that he’s not a bad guy, so you can definitely take my words as biased. As we’ll see later, even if you take this as proof that old Viktor’s a killer, it doesn’t mean new Viktor is morally spotless.

Also, if you speak a language other than English and want to kill time, feel free to write in with what Jayce’s old lore says he did if you can find a translation of it. (If you go to the League wiki you can find other language versions of it, and from there you can poke around on Jayce’s page to see if it even has his older lore at all.) The Polish version apparently doesn’t imply people, but the Russian version uses “guards”... or so I think, my knowledge of Russian is pretty small so it was me and Wiktionary against the world. I think that League lore translations, especially from 2011, aren’t exactly the best material for textual evidence, but it’s an interesting curiosity. (I’m genuinely fascinated on how this was never a point of argument, and also to the fact that it was made much more ambiguous in Jayce’s post-outcry lore… but not removed.)

Anyways. Of course, you can take his lines and general character to a logical endpoint and say that it is implied that he doesn’t care much about whether or not people consent to the Glorious Evolution, but at that point you’re arguing interpretation and need to say as such. The cases I’ve seen in which people say that old lore Viktor was lopping people’s limbs off without consent or what-have-you just say that, without citing any textual evidence or saying that it is possibly implied by his character and lines. It’s pretty hard to take those claims seriously when there’s much more textual evidence that current-canon Viktor doesn’t seem too keen on respecting autonomy. Let’s begin with his own lore, which is written to favor his perspective.

Please keep in mind that this Viktor got his start selling automative technology to businesses in Zaun. The Zaun that is full of corrupt chem-barons. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he only sold to good businesses. (Also, fascinating that a common complaint about old Viktor is that his status as a pioneer of his field is that he’s “unrealistically accomplished”, and that other people would have figured out the same technology - just as it seems to be the case in current lore, with the Church of the Glorious Evolved existing pre-Viktor (except that it probably didn’t at the time of this lore’s release, as there’s a paragraph later on in his lore that talks about a “quasi-religious cult” that is unnamed but… Who else would it be?) and augmentations being common on the NPCs on the Universe page. Yet someone who’s 19 having their inventions be commonly used in Zaun long enough for the term eventually to be used in reference to the next stage of their life is perfectly acceptable. Anyways…)

What we see from this is clear: even if there is a “good” reason to control the divers, there is no mention of them consenting to the procedure. Considering the previous quotation, Viktor seems to deal more with the bosses than the workers and doesn’t seem to consider the potential job-removing impacts of his work (how many people lost jobs due to being rendered obsolete?), which doesn’t bode well for him caring much about what the workers think. But of course, this aside about dealing with bosses is all interpretation, so you can ignore it if you’d like. There still is, however, actual, textual evidence that new Viktor does not care about consent if he believes his idea is what’s best for you.

Ignoring the writer misusing the term “psychotics” - par for the course in fiction unfortunately - here’s Viktor kidnapping people “for their own good”. Nothing is said in his lore if he’s contracted to do this, or if he’s just Zaun’s version of a Good Samaritan out and about chloroforming people. While I’m not saying that the moral choice is to not intervene, he is drugging people here and performing brain surgery on them. Please note the “in a manner of speaking”. What does that mean? Is it in reference to them having permanent brain damage? Or is it in reference to him being all well-and-ready to transfer their bodies into robots that presumably weren’t designed for them? (Speaking of, if Viktor can transfer the consciousnesses - or at least brains - of people… why is he still in a fleshy mortal body? Yes, it would require a VU to update him to be fully robotic, but none of his written media seems to imply that he’s on his way. His color story has him integrating technology directly into his arm, for example. Why aren’t you getting into the robot, Viktor?)

Anyways, two options here: either the automatons had enough of their former programming to react to Viktor giving a kill command, or the consciousnesses of the people Viktor is “saving” are in these robots and are under his sway enough to commit murder. Either is bad (and negates any moral superiority over old Viktor’s maybe-implied-canonical-murder), but the second is horrifying. And, obviously, non-consensual. (Because the damage is reversing, I don’t believe there’s room for a justification of the second option in which these people are still violent and dangerous.)

Anyways, last bit. It’s pretty bad when your ethics are panned in Zaun, the nation host to rampart corruption and also people like Singed. Let’s now move on to his color story, which is what a lot of fans point to as evidence for new Viktor having a heart or a moral compass.

Yay! Moral win: your cyborg isn’t cutting off the head of a child without his consent. (Also, again, is this proof that Viktor can put brains or consciousnesses in robot bodies? Admittedly, he might be joking since this Viktor is a little softer than he is in his biography.)

Moral… win… your cyborg is augmenting a child… Anyways, joking aside, this is unethical. How’s Naph supposed to consent to something like this? I know that we can’t expect fictional characters in a fantasy setting to abide by modern ethical standards, but I think we can critique them from an out-of-universe context. This is bad. Viktor gives very little context, could very well be lying (he isn’t, hopefully), and sends the kid off with his version of a pat on the back and tells him to come back if he wants more. (The “Oh yes” is also… creepy.) A kid’s decision-making abilities aren’t developed to the extent that they can be reasonably expected to understand or consent to a procedure that removes a pretty crucial emotion. If Naph comes back and wants his fear gone permanently, will Viktor oblige?

Also, fear is something that is very important to survival and judgment calls. Without fear, a kid in Zaun might take dangerous risks that could end up with them dead. I can’t really see how people interpret this as a morally sound decision - Viktor’s pretty much giving mood-altering drugs to a child and telling him to come back if he wants another hit. Just because he got Naph’s okay doesn’t mean that he got informed consent.

Let’s now turn to the black sheep of Viktor content: his Legends of Runeterra lines. There’s two of interest.

Armed Gearhead’s card art is of a man whose only augmentation is his arm, which he says he broke in another line. (I suppose he didn’t want to wait for it to heal?)

Viktor is talking about messing with his head, here, because Armed Gearhead is… too emotive, I’d guess. He is “not yet complete”. A statement which Armed Gearhead seems rather apprehensive about, if you listen to his response.

I know that LoR Viktor is one of the more “comically villainous” depictions of Viktor we’ve seen, so if new Viktor fans would like to ignore his lines I have no issue with that. But these lines certainly seem to imply that what Viktor sees as Armed Gearhead’s end state isn’t necessarily what he sees as his, and should be considered if people want to take them as canonical.

Not necessarily needed, but here’s Jayce’s present lore. One of them is definitely lying - Jayce’s lore says that he doesn’t strike until after Viktor gives the kill order, and Viktor’s says that he gave the kill order in response to Jayce smashing up the lab. Either way, Viktor is ordering automatons (that, in this version, are outright stated to be housing the brains of the people Viktor is trying to keep alive) to kill Jayce. Not a good look.

Viktor’s new lore gives significant textual evidence that he doesn’t care for whether others willingly consent to his ideas, so long as he believes that his ideas are for the greater good. This is in contrast to the vagueness of his original lore, meaning that any individual who speaks about how current Viktor is someone who cares for consent in contrast to the “unethical mad scientist”ness of old Viktor is unfortunately mistaken. I have to imagine that general fandom interpretation, combined with the fact that his bio and color story are very tonally different, have made it so people believe that this version of Viktor is much more ethical than he canonically is.

Interpreting Viktor as sympathetic and actually morally grey is fine, of course! Riot wrote his narrative very poorly when he was updated, which is why I’m still finding bones to pick with it in comparison to his original and more open-to-interpretation lore. The issue is stating that this is canonically the case, which it isn’t, and/or stating that the current iteration of Viktor has the moral high ground over his previous incarnation, which he doesn’t. I think that much more interesting character conversations can happen if people acknowledge that Viktor as he’s currently written is roundly unethical - how can that be improved upon for a more complex character, does that mean that Jayce’s behavior was right, etc. For all my dislike of new Viktor, I’d be genuinely curious to read a take that actively acknowledges his pre-college work in automation and how that affects his standing in Piltover and Zaun. (Is he well-known in industry? What do workers think about him? And so on…) And, well, on a personal note: I think that acknowledging current Viktor’s moral failings would be nice, because it would mean that people would stop using old Viktor as a strawman.

Anyways, I suppose that’s the post. Thank you for reading!

[gingersimasnaps]

I'm not even sorry for this one 💁‍♀️

Vera is AGAIN OOC as fuck because obviously I don't know how to write canon Vera, English is again horrible, and it's angstyyy! 😁

@bakulka @fanfics-she-wrote @everythingabouthatship - I won this one. 😘

Angsty Vermish fic ❤️

This has to be some kind of a fucking joke.

Because no way this situation is happening seriously.

Vera Stone, Grand Magus, is standing in front of new Massachusetts Temple Magus and this just can't be true. She really waits for someone to jump from behind the door, laughing, and telling her it's just a joke, but it doesn't happen.

With almost sheepish smile, Derek Johnson is standing in front of her. Her ex boyfriend. Father of her dead daughter.

"Vera..." He says quietly. "Hi."

She wants to do three hundred things right now. She wants to run, to yell, to claw his eyes out, to hug him, to kiss him, to call Hamish-

Hamish.

The thought of him stops the madness in her head.

"Hi, Derek," she answers simply and tries to hold the cold tone of voice but failes miserably.

"I... Haven't seen you for a long time."

"Not exactly my fault, is it?" she snaps.

"I know, I know, and I'm incredibly sorry, Vera. I really am. I wasn't ready to be a father back then."

She scoffs. "Because I was so ready to be a mother."

Derek holds his hand up as a sign of peace. "I know I was the grand coward," he sighs.

"Yeah, you were. Now, back to the work. You were selected by your Massachusetts chapter and by the Gnostic council as the new Temple Magus. It won't be easy, I warn you. You have to be careful. You have all of your chapter's acolytes under your wing now so listen to me carefully. I don't want to hear about one single unnecessary death from your temple."

She dips into explaining him his duties and tries to ignore his body warmth when he stand closer to her to see what she's showing him in some book.

"I would love to be a part of our child's life if you allow me," Derek says when they're done and after they agree he will stay here for a week or so, to observe her work. Vera tenses up.

"She's dead."

"WHAT?!"

The next thing she knows is she's crying, and Derek rushes to hug her. He doesn't let her go when she sobs out what happened.

Suddenly the door are flying open, and Hamish is standing there, with a drink in his hand. Of course, it's 4 PM. He always brings her drink at this time. And she's still in Derek's embrace.

Hamish watches how she pulls away from the man and how he doesn't want to let her go. He watches his lingering touch while Hamish is setting the glass on her table.

"Your drink, Grand Magus," he says blankly, and turns his back to them.

"Thank you," Vera calls softly, which makes him to turn back again. Her eyes are wet. And so incredibly vulnerable. He wants to hold her. But, obviously, there is someone else to do it now.

"You don't have to thank me, Grand Magus," he answers, and goes away.

Derek stays for more than a week. It's been over a month now. He spends all his time in the Temple. With Vera.

Hamish is just tired and sick of all this. He tries so hard to maintain everything in his life and he feels he just reached the bottom of his strength.

His pack kind of excommunicated him. Randall is mad at him because he's 'not acting as the leader should act', and Jack doesn't care enough, as he's consumed with his relationship with Alyssa. Lilith is the only one who seems to care, but she has her own life. And yet, he's still trying to keep them all safe because excommunicated or not, it's his duty and he needs to do it.

He teaches fucking big bunch of classes now, because Krowchuk is on long term sick leave. He's still Magistratus, so he works for Order as well.

And the most painful thing is the fact Vera is spending all her free time with a man she swore she hates to the guts. And she enjoys it.

The last blow is delivered when he works on the drink for her (yes, he's so stupid he still does that) and hears her loud, genuine laugh from her office, where she is with Derek. After a few seconds, the door opens, and the man walks to the bar.

"I'll take it to her, Magistratus, thank you," he says with a smile. Sly smile. "She will never be yours, young man. I was the first and I will be also the last."

Hamish stands there for a few minutes, feeling completely empty. This has happened only once in his life so far - when Cassie died. Vera is still very much alive, but he lost her also.

Fuck this.

Hamish almost runs from the temple, hops in his car and drives to his parents' cabin, about an hour from Belgrave. Once he turns the engine off, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and types a single message to her.

Derek is telling Vera some story and she listens, of course, when he phone chimes, announcing new message.

"Leave it," says Derek, but she reaches for in anyway.

Hamish [5:26PM] I quit.

"Wait," she silences Derek. What does Hamish mean by quitting? His TA position? The Order? He can't exactly quit Knights. Or does he mean he's quitting them? She dials his number. It rings and rings and rings, but no one answers.

"Fuck," she grits between her teeth and furiously types a message. Then another and another.

Vera [5:30PM] What do you mean?

Vera [5:31PM] What are you quitting??

Vera [5:31PM] Answer me!

Vera [5:32PM] Hamish, please, tell me what's wrong?

Vera [5:35PM] This is not funny.

Vera [5:48PM] Hamish where are you? Tell me where you are.

Vera [5:54PM] MAGISTRATUS, COOPERATE!!!

Derek watches her attempts to contact him and of course he doesn't like it. Vera is his. She shouldn't give a fuck about the BOY when she has *the* MAN next to her. He tries to bring her attention back to him, but with no success. Vera tries another call, and this time the person answers.

"Ms. Bathory, do you happen to know where Hamish is?" she asks immediately, to hell with Mr. Duke.

"Why do you suddenly care?" asks Lilith back in her typical 'Kilith' way.

"Ms. Bathory-"

"Because to me, you didn't seem to bother with Hamish during the past month."

"Can you please tell me where he is?" Vera's voice is soft and if Lilith wouldn't know her, she would say she's almost begging.

"I don't know," she gives up. "But I would check the cabin. His parents own it, we crashed there once or twice for holidays. I'll send you the address."

"Thank you, Lilith," Vera says and ends the call. After a minute, Lilith really sends her the address.

"What's going on?" Derek asks for like 108th time.

"Hamish, the man who makes all the drinks texted me 'I quit' and I need to find him," Vera answers. "Whatever is happening, I'll help him to find a solution."

"Well if he wants to leave then let him leave, no? After all, it's gonna be better for you."

Vera turns to him with disbelief. "Excuse me?!"

"It's more than obvious the boy is in love with you. He's so bad at hiding it he could tattoo it on his forehead. Poor kid no way reaches your limits, not even with some branch two meters long. And I already told him now that I'm here, he doesn't need to bother anymore. Let him leave. It's for the best."

Grand Magus feels pure rage flooding in her veins. "What LIMITS are you talking about, Derek?! Who the fuck gave you the right?!"

Derek smiles. "Honey, we both feel we're the right match for each other. Don't deny it." He tries to reach for her, but she yanks her hand from his grasp.

"Oh my fucking God, I can't believe I was so stupid! I really thought you want to learn about your work, but all this time, you were just trying to get into my panties! And how do you even dare to talk to Hamish about him bothering or not?!" she's literally screaming on top of her lungs.

"If you need to know it, we were a thing long before you came here. Me and Hamish, and I was the one who iniciated it. I never want to have anything with you again, because it's you who can't reach HIS limits. Hamish would never- fuck this. You don't deserve to know him at all."

"Now who's running from who?!" Derek yells when she gathers her belongings, ready to chase Hamish to the other side of the planet if she needs to.

"I'm not running from you. I'm running TO him. And I'm not leaving you knocked up at 16 with words 'I don't fucking want to be dad, God knows who you fucked with!'" Vera hisses, and magically throws - literally - him out of her office.

She's driving fast, violating the speed limits, but her heart is pounding painfully in her chest and her mind is screaming at her to go even faster. What had she done? What had possessed her that she almost dumped her source of happiness and joy for Derek?! How could she hurt Hamish so much, when she promised to herself multiple times she never wants to hurt him?

Suddenly, her hands grip the steering wheel with such force her knuckles turn white.

Please, please, oh God please, he didn't think he's quitting his LIFE, right?!

She feels bile in her throat and swallows forcefully. The image of his lifeless body is in front of her eyes and a sob escapes her. No. No, no, no, no, no, NO. He wouldn't do that, not because of her, she's not worth it!!!

Vera drives even faster.

When she arrives, it's 6:47PM. Normally, she would be impressed she managed to get there so fast, but now, everything she needs is to know Hamish is alive.

Vera doesn't bother with knocking or whatever, she just bursts through the door.

Hamish is sitting on the couch, in front of TV that is switched off, and just stares at the black screen.

"Hamish-" Vera manages to breathe and he looks at her. There is so much pain in his eyes she almost cries out.

"What do you want, Grand Magus," Hamish sighs, and she drops her purse in the floor and runs to him.

"You," she says. "I want you and I want us, forever. I'm so sorry, Hamish, for everything I put you through. For the past month. I'm so sorry, can you forgive me? Please... I don't know what to do without you. I don't know how to breathe right when you're not next to me."

"You have Derek now, don't you?" he says, and she puts her hands on his cheeks.

"No. I don't even wanna know what he told you but it's not true. I never wanted him back. I have to admit it was interesting for me to have him around again, but I never wanted him back as my boyfriend, or partner, or lover or whatever connected with feelings. I have you for all of these things. And you have me, Hamish. You have all of me." She climbs in his lap and feels so relieved when Hamish wraps his hands around her waist.

"I love you, Hamish. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will. Can you forgive me? I'm not asking for instant forgiveness, but someday?"

Hamish leans in and kisses her, and Vera kisses back, with all the 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' and 'I want you' and basically every emotion she's feeling.

After their century long kissing (and yet it's not enough, it never can be enough), Vera hugs him tightly, presses his face into his neck, and Hamish is swinging them slowly and gently from left to right. Neither of them says a word, and they don't need to. Vera just wants to spend rest of her life engulfed in his embrace, and Hamish never wants to let her go. They both came home today.

Home is where the heart is.

[spiteweaver]

first encounter | previous | next

(Note: this story takes place in April of 2020!)

--

“About time you showed your ugly mug ‘round here again!”

Monroe fell into the chair opposite Delucius with a heavy sigh, his hat tipping down to hide his face from view. Castor thought he looked a little worse for wear, but decided it may be best to hold his tongue. Not wishing to turn their reunion into an impromptu bar brawl, he instead drank deeply from his mug.

“Good t’see ye in one piece,” he mumbled by way of greeting.

“Likewise,” Monroe responded gruffly, and flicked the brim of his hat up to glare at Delucius. “Now what’s this nancy doin’ at my waterin’ hole?”

Delucius feigned offense with a hand over his heart. “I heard you were back in town,” he replied, “so I made sure I would be as well. It’s been eons since we were all together like this. C’mon, cowboy, lighten up; drinks are on me.”

“Get fucked.”

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

Monroe looked to Castor, who gave a helpless shrug. “Fuck ‘im yerself,” he said, “coward.”

Delucius’ grin widened until even Monroe, ornery as he was, couldn’t help an amused snort. The smarmy little git was right; it had been too long since the three of them had sat ‘round the table and had a proper chat. So, kicking back in his chair, Monroe lit up one of his noxious hand-rolled cigarillos.

“When’d ya get back, Cas?” he asked.

“Few weeks ago,” Castor replied. “I figured I’d just missed ye, but Delucius told me ye’ve been abroad since the clan woke.”

“Eeeeyup.”

“Well?” Delucius leaned forward, his eyes shining with mischief. “What’s the word? You’ve gotta have something juicy for me after a trip like that; preferably something Sinclair’ll pay top dollar for.”

Monroe scrambled to appear presentable as a glass of whiskey came down in front of him. “Welcome back, stranger,” Sitri cooed, and pressed a kiss to the Fae’s cheek before bustling off to see to his other customers. Delucius and Castor exchanged a knowing glance.

“Damn,” Monroe said dazedly, “he’s one helluva drake.”

“Ye’ll never get anythin' out of 'im now, Delucius.”

Delucius slammed his hand on the table. “Stop staring at Sitri’s ass and spill it!”

“I’ll stare at whoever’s ass I damn well please.” That being said, Monroe reluctantly returned his attention to his tablemates, and settled for sneaking glances at Sitri between sentences. “I’ve got yer juice all right,” he said, “but I ‘dunno if ya’ve earned it, pal.”

“I said drinks are on me, didn’t I?” Delucius countered.

“A single round’a drinks ain’t enough to get’cha so much as a hint,” Monroe retorted. Taking a particularly lengthy drag off of his cigarillo, the Fae leaned in to meet Delucius and blew a cloud of soupy smoke in his face. “Yer ten cycles too green fer this scoop, so take yer ‘generosity’ elsewhere. This’s fer Dreamweaver’s ears only, unless you can come up with an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Drinks and my ass aren’t good enough?!” Delucius cried through a fit of hacking coughs.

“Drinks ‘n Sitri’s arse maybe,” Castor muttered into his ale.

Before Monroe could think of a suitably witty comeback, the door to the tavern swung inward, and a pair of strangers sauntered up to the bar. With their arrival, all thoughts of lighthearted banter leaked out of Delucius’ brain like egg yolk. He clamped his mouth shut, so tight that his teeth ached, and did what he always did when he was scared dead to rights: tried to disappear in plain sight.

Now this, Monroe thought, might be worth more than a hint.

“What’s got ya pissin’ yerself, pardner?” he asked, examining the newcomers from beneath the wide shadow of his brim. “A couple’a yuppies like them ought not t’ bother ya none. I’ve seen ya go toe-to-toe with drinks scarier’n them two.”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Delucius hissed.

“Talk t’ me like that again,” Monroe warned, “and I’ll invite ‘em over fer a round—on you, a’course.”

“Not more immigrants, eh?” Castor said. “Had our fair share of ‘em in recent months.”

“No,” Delucius replied, “no, I don’t think they’re immigrants, Cas.”

“Back again, Miss Cymbeline?” Sitri asked one of the newcomers, a pretty dam with hair the color of sea fog and eyes shrouded by cloth. “You ought to give Phoebus a break now and again, you know? If he spends too long hanging 'round with this lot, he might just—” Sitri gasped— “have fun!”

The dam laughed demurely behind a raised hand, much to her companion's displeasure. He shot her a look, but kept any harsh words he may have had for her to himself.

“Tavern Master,” the drake, presumably named Phoebus, began.

“Haven't I told you to call me Sitri?” Sitri cut in. “Oof, you're so awfully stiff, honey. Let me mix you up a little tonic.”

“As I have informed you on more than one occasion,” Phoebus went on, “neither myself nor Lady Cymbeline are permitted to drink. We have come for the atmosphere only.”

“Sure you didn’t come for me, Phoebus?” Sitri all but purred, eliciting another round of stifled giggling from the dam. 

Monroe had to admit, the color that rose in Phoebus’ cheeks then was certainly attractive. He and Sitri had been cut from a similar cloth. They liked their drakes one of two ways: suave and sultry, or pricklier than a porcupine. Phoebus looked the part of the first, his angular face clean shaven, his ensemble pressed to perfection, but acted the part of the second, all work and no play. For Sitri, he was a rare treat indeed.

So, of course, Monroe instantly despised him.

“Looks like ye’ve got competition,” Castor noted.

Monroe gave another snort, this one derisive. “I could run circles ‘round that greenhorn.”

Unfortunately, it was at that precise moment that the tavern’s characteristic clamor fell into a lull, and Monroe’s distinctive voice cut through the resulting murmur like a hot knife through butter. Delucius sunk lower in his chair, but it was too late. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, burning and stinging with what he could only describe as malicious glee. It wasn’t much consolation, but at least Monroe appeared suitably remorseful. He was chewing hard on the butt of his cigarillo, his grip tight on his glass.

The sound of approaching footsteps sent a chill racing up Delucius’ spine. His tablemates remained seated, but he saw each of them reach below the table—Monroe for his six shooter, Castor for his dagger. Neither of them bothered to play nice when Phoebus eventually came to a halt behind Delucius’ chair.

“Somethin’ we can help ya with, holy man?” Monroe inquired.

“No,” Phoebus replied, “I am merely here to deliver a message to Mr. Shadowheart.”

A hand alighted on Delucius’ shoulder, and all at once, he was there again, in that accursed church. Warmth seeped into him from the place where two bodies met, causing an uncomfortable sheen of sweat to blossom across his forehead. He could hear choral laughter ringing in his ears, smell rich, heady incense burning nearby, taste blood from a bitten lip on his tongue, sweeter somehow in his memory. It tasted of the tea he’d been offered upon his arrival.

“The Archbishop sends his regards.”

Then Phoebus stepped back, and the present rushed in to fill his absence. Delucius blinked to clear his vision. There was blood in his mouth again, but it was bitter. He washed it down with the rest of his drink.

“Tell him I said to go fuck himself,” he spat.

“Such language,” Phoebus tutted, but said nothing more to the trio. “Cymbeline, come along.”

“We only just got here,” Cymbeline protested. Something in the tone of Phoebus’ voice must have unsettled her, however, as the next moment, Delucius sensed her eyes on him as well, staring from beneath her shroud. “I’m sorry,” she added once she had joined her partner at their table, “for Phoebus, detective. He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Cymbeline!”

“Former,” was all the response Delucius could muster, “I’m a former detective.”

Cymbeline hesitated at his back, but presently began to drift after Phoebus. He almost felt bad for giving her the cold shoulder; unlike her peers, her kindness seemed genuine. Whichever one of the Archbishop’s mad schemes she’d gotten tangled up in, he was certain she was unaware of her part in it, another lamb to the slaughter. Still, as long as she stuck by that drake she’d come in with, Delucius intended to keep his distance. The bastard smelled too much like the Archbishop to be anything but one of his most trusted acolytes.

“So—” Across from him, Monroe relaxed, once again kicking back in his seat with the crumbling remains of his cig between his lips— “ya gonna tell us what that was all about, prettyboy?”

Delucius ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, “but it’s gonna cost ya.”