#had all the supplies i needed + there was typically someone there to help folks out when they needed it

[hearteyedpup]

I bought more black and white film....I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna get back into film photography even if it kills me. It's been a long time coming tbh. I've been to afraid tk relearn + developing the film and making prints

#i wish i still had the darkroom lab on campus furnehebdhjwhd #had all the supplies i needed + there was typically someone there to help folks out when they needed it #i do not miss though having to take my film out of the god damn fucking film cannister in a pitch black room #and having tk roll it onto the metal thing whatever the fuck it was called #kit offered to talk to me on the phone while i was doing it bc it stressed me out ao fucking bad #it was so hard ooooh my god

[letteredlettered]

I have a question for the HR expert! Since you focused on employee relations, I'm wondering if you noticed any general trends regarding disciplinary actions and/or termination. Like, do disciplinary actions typically lead to change? Are people usually let go for similar reasons? It would be nice to know what sort of behavior to avoid. I guess it would also be good to know in case I ever want to get fired. You never know!

The biggest trend in disciplinary action is absenteeism. Someone is gone a lot and don't have paid time off to cover it. The weirdest thing about this is my company was pretty lenient about protected leave; there is both federal and state protected leave and basically if you were even applying for it the company wouldn't do anything to you. Now sometimes if you applied and were denied, there would be corrective action, depending on the length of absence. But the number of folks who received disciplinary action and hadn't even tried to get protected leave was wild to me, especially because many of them were people I'd had conversations with personally about their attendance, and they'd told me to my face they would apply for protective leave, and then then they didn't. Also there were a number of people who would be out and not call in, which is going to count against you far more than if you notify your department of your absence.

Most of the people I helped terminate were terminated for attendance.

Some folks with attendance problems improved and never got a counseling again. Other folks did not. As for counseling for other reasons, on the whole, I think disciplinary action led to change a lot of the time. Plenty of the people who received counseling never had a problem again.

I'd say those with work performance issues did not tend to improve in the same way. It's pretty hard to give a corrective action for work performance because at our company, you had to provide extensive proof that you coached them repeatedly, gave them extra training, asked multiple times what resources they needed etc. It was a big job for management, who sometimes would rather deal with someone who didn't do a good job rather than do all the work of mentorship. If it got to the point of counseling, the person was probably doing a really bad job, and it often meant that the job just wasn't a good fit for them--ie, they were not going to improve on their own. I don't like to think of anyone as helpless, so I feel like it was less that they couldn't do the job and more that it wasn't possible to give them the training, mentorship, and resources they needed, or they weren't particularly interested because they were about to retire or applying for other jobs or were interested in getting unemployment. That said, with those employees, they would almost never get a second counseling, because it was too much work.

There were only a few folks who had behavioral problems. At my company, you could not receive disciplinary action for being annoying, or because someone just didn't like you, or because you said something a little off-color, or because you rolled your eyes a lot and slammed doors, etc. Basically, you had to do something definitive that could be proven and was demonstrably unprofessional. It's definitely true that if a lot of people didn't like you and made up reasons for that dislike that were egregious enough, you could get counseled, so I'm not saying that the process was 100% fair, but the number of times I dealt with issues where the whole department didn't like someone, but the only reasons they supplied were because the person was passive aggressive and made bad jokes, was not nil. And that person should be coached but is not going to be put on a path to termination because their personality doesn't mesh well with others. It's just not fair. Anyway, lots of those, once they received a serious counseling, either decided to quit or change their behavior in some way, and didn't receive counseling again.

If you want to get fired just don't show up and don't call; it will happen eventually.

#human resources

[metalnecklace]

I Was Raised Out In The Cold

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Words: 8099

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mentions of Death/Violence, Injuries/Head Trauma, P in V Smut, Unsafe Sex (wrap it up, folks).

Notes: Here is the second part to Forgive My Northern Attitude. I wrote way more than I expected, but I’m really happy with it! I hope this redeems how I left the first part. Also I played through the game before I watched the show so if it’s obvious then I’m sorry. Also also, I have dealt with the injuries in this part before so I’m basing recovery/treatment on what I went through when having to deal with that.

Masterlist

Part I

Three Months Later (Autumn)

I tried not to think about that night. About him. About the way he held me so close, as if he was afraid to lose me. I knew in that moment I was afraid to lose him. I didn’t know that I would.

Ever since he closed my front door on us I decided to close my heart to him. We barely spoke unless necessary, and I tried my hardest to keep my distance from him. Ellie had suspiciously been getting closer to me, but I didn’t mind as long as he didn’t join her.

One day she asked about us at lunch. “What’s up with you and Joel?”

I shrugged. “Not much.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back with her arms crossed. “You can’t fool me. How do you guys know each other?”

“We were friends before the outbreak. That’s it, that’s all.” I continued keeping my eyes down and focused on the food I was stabbing with my fork.

We sat eating in silence for a few more minutes, and I thought I was off the hook. “You probably already know how stubborn he is, but he does eventually give in. I promise.”

I looked up and saw that she was genuine with her words. She looked at me with concern that only someone who actually cared could have.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

She smiled. “Anytime.”

Joel and I continued existing around each other until even Tommy couldn’t take it. I walked in on him and Joel arguing after he’d called me into his office.

“You’re fucking stupid if you think I’m goin’ out there with her.” Joel was standing with his back to the door, and I tried my hardest to ignore the ghost of how it felt to pull that back closer to my body.

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” I said, causing Joel’s shoulders to tense up even further toward his ears. He spun to face me and his eyes held a look that I couldn’t figure out.

“(Y/N). Glad you could join us.” Tommy was sitting at his desk, looking amused at the scowl etched onto Joel’s features.

I walked further into the room, closing the door behind me. “What’s going on, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes darted between me and Joel, no doubt noticing how hard I was trying to ignore the older man. “I’m sending you guys out on patrol to one of our safe houses in the north. There’s reports of infected hiding out there and I need them cleared out. We have a lot of supplies up there and can’t afford to lose the place.”

“But why us?” Joel asked before I could. “Why can’t you and I go up?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You know Maria doesn’t want me going out as much right now, and you two haven’t been out on patrol together yet. I’m trying to change things up.”

“If we haven’t been out before then do you really think it’s safest to try this now?” Joel was nearly shouting, gritting his teeth to keep his voice level.

Tommy stood up so he could look Joel in the face. “You two are the best shooters here, you work your asses off, and look out for everyone else before yourselves. I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the two to do it. Also, it might help get the stick that’s shoved up your ass out once and for all.”

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, I didn’t dare speak. “I could just say no,” Joel finally said.

“You could,” Tommy shrugged, “but you won’t.”

Joel grunted then turned toward the door, throwing it open. Before he left he looked at me. “We leave at dawn, be ready by the stables.”

He slammed the door before I could even give a response.

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?”

“Nope,” Tommy replied, lips popping on the P. “Just please make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

“I’ll try my best,” I grumbled. “But I make no promises.”

I slept fitfully that night, my dreams filled with a scowling face and slamming doors. When I rose for the day it was much earlier than I wanted, which meant I not only had enough time to get my horse saddled up, but his as well. He didn’t seem too pleased when he walked in to see me tightening the girth on his saddle.

“I could’ve done all that.” He walked over and took his bridle off the wall.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” I snarked, not even bothering to look his way.

I could hear him stop in his tracks, pausing before continuing to tack his horse. “Thank you.”

I didn’t respond, mounting my horse and riding her out of the barn. Joel’s grunt let me know he mounted his horse behind me and followed my path. I allowed him to take the lead, since he’d been up to that particular safe house more than I had.

We rode in complete silence as the sun started to rise, warming us up. The sight of Jackson during the fall always took my breath away, but it was nothing compared to the way the rising sunlight shone through the red and yellow leaves that morning, casting golden rays on the mountains. Joel slowed down so he could take in the same landscape, and I was pleased to see he still knew how to enjoy his natural surroundings.

He turned to me as much as he could in his saddle. “Well, you always did wanna be surrounded by nature.”

I snorted, shaking my head. It was easy to forget for a moment that I was mad at him, that he had walked out after we opened ourselves up to each other that night.

He turned and continued leading us on our journey. If we continued the way we were we would make it to the safe house within the hour. I was starting to get nervous about what we would be facing, but I couldn’t let Joel know that. He already didn’t want to be working beside me, who knew how he’d feel knowing I was also unsure about my abilities.

Eventually we tied our horses up far enough away from the safe house that if any infected ran out they’d hopefully steer clear, and then made our way to our mission. The only sound between the two of us was the crunch of the leaves under our boots and our breaths heavy from our journey, and possibly our nerves. We came across our target and Joel held his arm out in front of me, stilling our movements, as the sound of moaning and snarling rose from the house.

“Did he say how many there might be?” I whispered, getting my gun ready.

His only answer was the shaking of his head as he mirrored my movements, aiming his gun in front of his body. I glanced at the way his strong hands gripped firm around his weapon, and I shook the image of those hands gripping my thighs out of my head. There was no time to be fantasizing.

We crouched low and made our way to the house, listening in to try and asses the number of bodies we’d have to take care of. I was sure I could distinctly hear at least four different infected, but it was impossible to say for sure until we investigated further.

Joel looked to me, pointing toward a window that had been boarded up. The boards had clearly been ripped apart, leaving a gaping hole to the house. We shuffled closer and I peeked in, looking around what I assumed had been a kitchen. There were no infected in the room, so we lifted ourselves through the window and crept over to where we could hide from the next room.

From our vantage point we were able to see two infected in the living room. I turned to Joel who nodded toward the one on the left, my target. As we advanced forward slowly, he took the right, and we jumped the infected from behind, shoving our knives into the sides of their necks. It was easy work, and, most importantly, silent.

We made our way through the house exactly like that. Silent, swift, with devastating accuracy. There were seven infected in total, and we wiped each one out, only having to fire a few rounds into the last three. I was always nervous about firing our guns, especially when we were further from Jackson, but I knew that the only infected around to hear were dead.

Or so I thought.

“Alright, let’s make sure the gear is untouched,” Joel mumbled.

I nodded and began going through the cupboards to check on the canned goods. “Guess Tommy didn’t need his best shooters after all.”

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, I have a feelin’ he was exaggerating his story.”

We still worked in silence, but it no longer felt as heavy as it had that morning. I missed Joel and just being in his company. It had been so long.

“Everything is accounted for and untouched,” I confirmed once I had checked through each room. We were standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms searching through the closets for hidden ammo.

“I just need to check the bathroom,” Joel said.

I stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll check while you radio Tommy downstairs.”

As I went to pull my hand away he grabbed onto it, keeping it held to his heartbeat. “Hey, you put in a lot of work, why don’t you rest up while I take care of both?”

I shook my head and pulled my hand away. “Joel, I’m fine, I’ll just check the bathroom.”

“So stubborn,” he said, turning to go downstairs.

I turned to face his retreating form. “Oh, I’m stubborn?”

He sighed, stopping in his tracks and tilting his head back. “We’re really gonna do this now?”

“No, you’re right, nevermind.” I threw my hands up then walked toward the bathroom. “Let’s just ignore it, cause that’s been working out so well for us.”

He turned as I started opening the door. “(Y/N), come on-“

He was cut off as an infected burst through the door that I had opened, pushing me back toward the far wall of the bedroom. Joel yelled my name, cocking his gun and firing at the creature. I couldn’t get my hands free as I pushed the infected off of me as best as I could, my feet carrying me back closer and closer to the window behind me.

Joel shot again, the infected finally howling in pain as it gave me one final shove before dropping to the floor. I stumbled back, tripping over a board that was sticking up and yelped at the feeling of lightning shooting up from my right ankle. All I heard was Joel shouting my name before my back collided with the window, glass shattering around me as I fell through the air and slammed into the earth below. My head hit the ground and everything went black.

I awoke to Joel hovering over me, his hands feeling my forehead and neck gingerly.

“Shit, sweetheart, I’m right here. I got you,” he cooed, cradling my face in his hands.

I groaned, a splitting headache making its way to my eyes. I tried to sit up but Joel pressed his hands to my shoulders, keeping me pinned.

“I just have to make sure nothin’s broken or bleedin’ first, okay?” He looked at me for permission, but I couldn’t even bring myself to answer. I felt tears spring to the corners of my eyes, not sure if it was embarrassment or pain, but knowing it was probably both.

He checked me over, his hands moving carefully and softer than I’d ever seen or felt. It was hard to believe the callouses that were worn into his skin and the knuckles that were scarred from fighting belonged to the same man who looked at me with those eyes. The more he touched me the more I felt myself melting for him.

“J-Joel,” I stuttered, tears starting to stream down my cheeks. “Joel, it hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He pulled back. “Where does it hurt?”

I found myself wiggling slightly, trying to pinpoint exactly where the pain was coming from. “My head, and my ankle. Mostly my ankle.”

His fingers moved behind my head, swiping over what I was sure to be a nasty bump, but his skin was clean when he pulled away. No blood. He looked relieved to see that, but concern took over once more when he moved to check my ankle. I hissed at the slightest movement as he carefully pulled my pant leg up. I thanked whatever spiritual being was watching over us that I had worn my lace up boots that day instead of my usual pull ons, since even taking one of those off hurt incredibly bad.

“Fuck, baby,” he hissed, not even daring to touch what I was assuming was a very swollen ankle. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s definitely sprained.”

“Shit,” I could feel a sob trying to break from my chest, but I didn’t want Joel to see me that weak. “What am I gonna do?”

“We,” he began, “are going to wrap this with the first aid kit from the kitchen. Then we are getting you home.”

He bent down further and placed a hand under my head and between my shoulders. With his help I was able to sit up, though the ground seemed to move slightly under me.

“I’m a bit dizzy,” I confessed, placing a hand out so he would slow down.

“Yeah I’d say you have a pretty nasty concussion.” He sighed. “You really did a number on yourself. We’ll go slow, okay? I just gotta get you standing.”

“I didn’t do it to myself,” I groaned, trying to lean on him enough so I could push myself up onto one foot. “It’s not my fault.”

He shook his head. “Still fighting even after falling from a second story window.”

I felt bad leaning my entire weight on him so I could stand up, considering I was feeling quite weak from my fall and the shock running through my system. He didn’t seem to mind though, and barely made a sound as he half carried me into the house. He walked me over to a couch that was up against the living room wall and helped me lay back down.

“I’m gonna radio Tommy to let him know we’ll be a bit delayed coming back, then I’ll get you wrapped up okay?”

I nodded, then winced at the pain from the movement. He went into the kitchen and I heard the sound of the radio as he muttered into it. Even though I strained to listen I still couldn’t make out a thing he said, and decided to wait for him to come back. As I waited my eyelids started feeling extremely heavy, and I felt a blanket of sleep start to pull me under.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, sweetheart.” Joel’s drawl pulled me back out from the fog I had been in. “We can’t have that with your head, don’t want you not waking back up on me.”

I groaned but obeyed. “I’m so tired.”

“I know.” He pulled a chair up to the bottom half of the couch, opening up the first aid kit on his lap. “Just keep those pretty eyes on me, darlin’.”

I did as I was told, admiring his capable hands as he held my ankle as gently as he could. It was hard to hold in my cries of pain but I tried my best for him. I didn’t want him to feel bad about hurting me, considering he was only helping.

Joel held the wrap in his hands and began to loop it around my foot and ankle with expertise. It started to feel better when it was supported by the tightening fabric, but I suspected some of that had to do with the man who was taking such good care of me.

“There,” he said, his voice gruff but I could still hear the hint of care under his tone.

“Thank you, Joel,” I grunted, trying to get up.

He reached out and stopped me yet again. “Woah there, let’s take it easy. I gotta pack everything up and I’m gonna bring the horses over. There’s no way you’re walking for very long.”

“You’re gonna leave me here?” I knew I didn’t need to be too afraid, we had hopefully cleared out the infected around us, but the thought of him not being next to me made my hands start to tremble.

“Oh, sweetheart, I swear I won’t be more than ten minutes, okay?” He laid his hand on my forehead and smoothed back my hair. He leaned over and took his gun off the floor and placed it in my hands so it was aimed toward the hallway. “If you see anybody that isn’t me, don’t even hesitate.”

I nodded. “I know, Joel.”

I waited alone, barely breathing, for what felt like hours until Joel announced his arrival. He came into the room with his hands up as if I had him pinned, making me chuckle as I lowered the gun.

“So here’s the plan,” he said as he took the gun from my hands and slung it over his shoulder. “We need to get you on that horse. Do you think we can do that?”

I thought for a moment about everything it would take to do that, then nodded slowly.

“Are you able to put any weight on it?”

I had already gotten myself into a seated position while I waited for him, but that was all I dared to do. He watched as I wiggled my toes slightly, then maneuvered myself so my feet were on the floor. I winced as I put pressure on my foot, but held my hand out to stop Joel from trying to help.

“I’m just gonna hold your hand to help you, I promise that’s it.” He was looking into my eyes helping me feel more determined than ever. We were the only ones in the room and we might as well have been the only ones on earth as I focused on him and the rough surface of his palm on mine.

I used his support as I pushed myself up off the couch into a standing position. The floor shifted slightly causing Joel to let go and hold onto my shoulders instead.

“I’m okay, just a bit dizzy still,” I reassured him, then took a tentative step. I immediately hissed in pain. “Fuck, that really hurts. I’ve sprained my ankles before but not this bad.”

“I know, sweetheart.” His voice rumbled through me and I closed my eyes, allowing it to soothe my nerves. “We’re just going to go slow. The hardest part is just outside, then it’s smooth sailing, okay?”

I opened my eyes to find his already on me. My breath hitched in my throat.

“I promise.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, Joel.”

With my arm over his shoulder I hobbled outside, putting as little weight as possible on my ankle. I whimpered when we got to the side of my horse, panic rising in my throat. How was I going to do this?

“I’m gonna need you to lean back on me, sweetheart. Your good foot is going in that stirrup and you’re gonna pull yourself up okay?” His lips brushed against the shell of my ear and I couldn’t help the shiver that rippled through my body.

I did as he instructed, groaning at the pain shooting through my toes and up my leg. His arms wrapped around my middle, pulling me into him. I tried to lift my other leg up but my back muscles were pulled taught, and I felt like my energy was sucked out of me.

“I think I hurt my back more than I thought,” I panted, still trying to lift my leg.

One of his hands left my middle and moved down to grip my outer thigh, his fingers wrapping around my leg and helping me lift it high enough that I could get my foot in the stirrup.

“Alright, I’m gonna push you up a bit, but I’m gonna need you to really step with that good foot,” he grunted.

“It’s okay, I can do it,” I said, panting even before the hardest part.

Using every bit of strength I had, I hoisted myself up into the saddle, my opposite leg dangling in the air beside the stirrup. Joel walked over and adjusted the stirrup so it would be sitting looser than usual, and his hands roamed up to my ankle and calf to help my foot get set in place, but not before fitting my boot back on. For the cold, he told me, making sure it wasn’t too tight.

“I know it’s still gonna ache a bit, but hopefully not too bad,” he said, raising his eyes to mine with the warmth of his hands radiating through my jeans. He kept them there for another breath and then pulled them away hesitantly. “Are you gonna be alright?”

I nodded. “As long as we take it slow I should be fine.”

“We can do that,” he agreed. “It might take us longer to get back but I’d be out here all day as long as you feel alright.”

My lungs emptied at his words, and I found myself wishing I was back under him. Feeling the weight of his body pressing down into mine, holding me, keeping me tethered to the earth.

I pulled my gaze away, breaking my line of thought. I couldn’t do that to myself, I didn’t dare dream about Joel Miller. He sighed and walked over to his horse, swinging his leg up and over with ease. Once he was seated he turned to check my progress. I nodded once, and we set off.

The trail to the safe house was luckily not one known for its rough terrain, it was just lengthy. Usually it would take patrollers two hours to reach the house, and two hours to go back home. It took us three until we could see the Jackson gate.

Although my ankle was throbbing, it didn’t feel like it took us as long as we did. The only way we could tell any time passed was because the sun had started to set. Joel hadn’t spoken a word, only glancing behind every once in a while to check on me, leaving me to my thoughts. And did they ever race.

After trying to steer my mind to more appropriate things, I found that the only way to distract myself from the pain was by focusing on the broad back in front of me. The way his jacket puffed out over his torso, but still stretched slightly over his shoulders. Even under the layers I could tell his strength, and longed to feel him let go. Let me feel it.

I was nearly salivating by the time he stopped in front and half turned to check on me.

“Doin’ alright?”

“Y-yeah,” my voice nearly broke after not talking for so long, “just exhausted.”

He nodded and looked to where Jackson was. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll be there. I’ll make sure to help you off and everything, I know that’ll not be too fun.”

“Right. Thank you.”

I could barely feel my foot, the swelling too much against the confines of my boot, but I wiggled my toes every once in a while to make sure I still could. When we finally passed the gates I felt myself nearly give out, slumping over the horn of my saddle slightly. Joel was already in front of me, holding the reins to his horse and taking mine out of my loosening grip.

“It’s alright, we’re here.” His voice was soothing, my port in a storm. “Just keep it up for a few more minutes, I’m getting us to your place first so you won’t have to walk far.”

I didn’t answer him but knew he would do what was needed. All of my strength was being used to keep myself awake and alert as I hung onto the horn of the saddle for dear life. Every step had my body shift forward, making it harder to stay upright. Luckily my house came into view and I knew we were only a few more steps away.

When we arrived he rushed over to my good side, and instructed me to swing my bad leg over so I could slide down and land on one foot. His hands held onto my waist, helping me down slowly until I was on my good foot, and I gingerly placed my other on the ground.

“It’s really stiff,” I groaned.

“Do you think you can walk on it a bit? Just to get you inside?” His eyes searched my face looking for any indication of pain.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” I said, still a bit out of breath from the dismount. “I’ll be fine, I just need to lay down.”

He helped me place my arm around his shoulders and together we hobbled into my house. I went to direct him to where my bedroom was but realized I didn’t need to. He found it as if he’d been there a thousand times, as if it were his house, not just the house he snuck out of in the early hours of the morning.

I sat down on my bed and watched as he bent down on one knee to take my boot off. I was mesmerized by his gentle touch and watchful eyes, remembering the last time we were in that room. A heat pooled low in my belly and my thighs involuntarily clenched together.

“Sorry, I know it hurts,” he said. He had no idea. “I’m gonna go get Tommy and Maria, they were gonna get the doctor, so I’ll be right back. Why don’t you change into something comfortable?”

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Joel.”

He stood up and looked at me. I felt my breath falter as time stood still under his gaze. He nodded and walked away. Maria and Tommy came in with the doctor not long after, but Joel didn’t come with them. They confirmed it wasn’t a break, and that I definitely had a concussion but I was okay to rest up. Maria made sure my curtains were drawn tight so my eyes wouldn’t be as sensitive to the light, and they made sure to give me time to rest.

A week passed by with Maria and the doctor coming in to check on me a few times a day as I rested and tried to regain my strength. My head wasn’t aching as much as before but my ankle was still quite tender. I was trying to put more and more weight on it each day but it was hard to stay determined. Joel flooded my thoughts throughout the day and at night my dreams tended to revolve around my mixed feelings toward him.

I was upset he hadn’t visited. Even Ellie had visited at least once a day. She said I needed entertainment, which apparently meant bad jokes and then hounding me about Joel.

“Was he less grumpy before?” She asked one day while I made us some soup to fight off the chill in the air.

I shrugged. “I think we all were.”

“You two were friends, though?”

I turned to her. She was sitting at my kitchen table shuffling cards, but I knew that little smile she wore had different intentions than just curiosity.

“Yes.” I turned back to the pot on the stove. “I already told you that before.”

“I know, it’s just hard to imagine him making friends.” She laughed a bit, the cards flipping through her hands with small swishes. “He doesn’t tell me too much about before, but he has started opening up about Sarah more.”

“He was friends with my brother first,” I said quickly, not sure Joel would want us talking about Sarah. “I was his and Tommy’s mechanic.”

“You were a mechanic?” Ellie asked, her hands pausing their movements. “That’s so cool! There were a few at FEDRA, but they were mostly all men.”

“Yeah, it was a pretty male dominated profession before too.” I turned off my stove, giving the soup one last stir before going to sit in front of Ellie. I had taught her ‘go fish’ and it was her favourite thing to play on rainy days. It also helped pass the time while I was healing.

I was reminded of Freddy. All that time playing cards while we waited for his treatments in the hospital. Us playing games we played as kids just to keep the air lighthearted.

She dealt out our cards. “So, you were close?”

“Close enough, I guess.” I picked up my cards, fanning them out in front of me. “We would just hang out on weekends, having barbecues or hang outs. Nothing crazy, certainly never serious.”

Ellie nodded, but didn’t say anything. The silence that hung between us was filled with questions she didn’t dare voice. She didn’t have to.

“My brother and Tommy fought in the army together, and then stayed close when they came home.” I stacked my cards together face down on the table so I could look at Ellie. “He introduced them to me because I was just starting up my shop.”

Ellie was patient, letting me tell her what I felt comfortable telling her. I understood how she and Joel got along. She knew the right questions to ask to get you talking, but was respectful enough to let you take the lead. It was easy to see the understanding she felt toward me, and I could only imagine the amount she felt toward Joel.

“My brother got very sick. He was getting treatments that made him quite weak, so he was living with me. Did Joel tell you about the flour?”

She nodded, her cards long forgotten.

“Well, he had some. Got infected.” I looked down at my hands. They laid steady on the wood in front of me. “Joel… Took care of him.”

Ellie gasped slightly, barely loud enough for me to hear. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, my eyes welling up. “No, no, it’s okay. It happened so long ago now that I’ve made peace with his passing. The last year he was alive I went to sleep each night wishing he was no longer in pain. Praying for some relief. I guess I should’ve been more specific.”

I looked up to find Ellie chewing on her lip. It was a lot to take in for a young girl, but I knew she wasn’t a typical young girl.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said finally.

“Thank you for listening.” I smiled and picked up my cards. “Now, get ready to be schooled.”

After another week I had most of my strength back, my ankle and head were feeling much better, and I had given up hope that Joel would grace my doorstep. That was until I heard a tentative knock one night after I got ready to go to bed. I was confused as to who it was, because Maria’s knocks were forceful, announcing immediately who it was, and Ellie barely knocked anymore before barging in. When I opened the door I nearly rolled my eyes at the broad frame standing before me.

“What do you want, Joel?” I held onto the door, ready to slam it in his face.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I just want to talk. That’s all.”

I gnawed the inside of my lip, then moved out of the way for him. He wandered inside as if he had never seen my house in his life, so unlike the man who was so sure of where each room was when he led me inside after my injury. I gestured to the couch and sat down, twisting my body to face him as he followed my actions.

“Well?” I asked. “Talk.”

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for everything. For how I’ve treated you, for how I’ve ignored you. Most of all I’m sorry you’re going through this. I should have been the one to open that door, I should have insisted. It’s my fault you’re hurt.”

I shook my head, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t give me that.” His attention snapped to my tone, surprised at my cruelty. “Joel, if you would have opened that door you would have been in the same place as me, if not worse. So don’t give me that.”

“Yeah, but at least it wouldn’t have been you. You don’t deserve to be in pain.”

“Oh?” I scoffed. “And you do?”

He looked away from me, letting his silence speak for him.

“Joel, come on. When are you going to realize that you don’t need to take on everyone’s burdens?” I reached out and placed my hand on his knee, but he still wouldn’t look at me. “You don’t need to repent for your sins, you don’t need to sacrifice yourself for anything. You are not something that needs to be saved or fixed, you are not broken.”

Joel shook his head and stood up, pacing in front of me. He came to a stop and turned to face me. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, and I wanted to go to him and press my thumb against his trembling bottom lip to keep it still. I didn’t.

“How can you even look at me, (Y/N)?” His voice broke on my name and I could feel my chest ache for him. “After all the things I’ve done. The things you’ve seen me do.”

Images of bloody knuckles, split eyebrows and lips, and Joel’s eyes devoid of emotion entered my head. The sounds of pleading and cries for help clogged my ears until I nearly plugged them. Then the blood that splattered against the wall behind my brother was all I could see, the screaming becoming my own, Joel’s face, his eyes. The realization of what he’d done. I shook my head trying to rid myself of the horror.

“I did things too, Joel. We were trying to survive. You can’t blame yourself.” I looked at my hands, the same ones that killed for our survival alongside him. “I think we’ve lost enough to have made up for it.”

“But you’ve stopped. You stopped all of that well before I did. Fuck, (Y/N), I just put a bullet through every single person who was only trying to save the world, just because of my own gain.” He broke off in a sob, wrapping his arms around himself. “I couldn’t lose her, (Y/N). I couldn’t let them take her. They’ve taken so much, and they weren’t even going to let her choose.”

I stood and went over to him, unwrapping his arms and wrapping my own around him. He hugged me back, cradling my head in one of his hands, and gripped the back of my shirt with his other. His shoulders and chest heaved as he cried, and I held him through it. I wasn’t sure what had happened with him and Ellie, but knew that he would tell me one day when he was comfortable. The best I could do was give him that space, and allow him to work through what he was feeling.

He spoke after calming down. “I just don’t want you being disappointed in what I have to offer.”

“What do you mean?” I pulled back slightly.

He shrugged, but wouldn’t look at me.

“Joel.”

His eyes flashed to mine, a fire burning deep in the pools of them. “I’m working on being a better person, for me, for Tommy, for Ellie, for…” he trailed off, gesturing slightly toward me. “But you shouldn’t be getting yourself attached to a work in progress.”

“I think it might be too late for that,” I lowered my voice as if I was afraid we could be heard outside our private bubble. “Joel, I’ve been trying to forget you all these years, but you keep coming back. I want to let you in but you have to let me, and you can’t just run off whenever you get scared.”

Joel nodded.

“We work through things together, okay?” I rubbed my hands up and down his chest. “We take care of each other. Because we’re in this together, no matter what.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “It won’t be perfect, but I want to try my best for you. As long as you’ll have me.”

I chuckled. “I don’t want perfect, I just want you.”

“Can I kiss you?” His hand that was on the back of my head moved lower to cradle my neck, while his other hand still splayed across my lower back. “I’ve wanted to kiss you again since that night, but I didn’t want you to be disappointed when you saw me still there.”

“Joel, I was disappointed that you weren’t there.” I sighed. “When are you going to get it through your head that I actually want you here? That I want you with me?”

He hung his head, but I placed my knuckle under his chin to angle him back up.

“I want you to kiss me, Joel. I want you to take me to bed and have your way with me. I want you to ruin me for anyone else. I want you,” I leaned in, my lips brushing against his, “Joel.”

“Fuck,” he whispered before closing the gap between us.

There was no pain in the back of my mind once I felt that man’s lips on mine. No aches in my head or ankle, no screaming in my ears, no blood splattered behind my eyelids. Everything was just him. Just Joel.

He pulled back and peppered kisses along my jaw, trailing his way to my ear. “Baby, let me take care of you the way I should’ve been all this time.”

I moaned as his teeth nipped at the skin directly under my ear. His hands gripped me closer until I was pressed so tightly to him I thought I would shatter, but felt comfort knowing he’d be there to pick up the pieces.

“Joel, take me to bed, please.” I pulled away from him and reached out for his hand, threading our fingers together.

He followed me to my room and spun me around as soon as we crossed the doorway. I whimpered into his mouth as he pressed our lips together once again, and pulled him closer to me.

Joel pulled away with a gasp, struggling to catch his breath. “Sweetheart, I want to keep going, but are you sure you’re okay?”

I felt his hand brush the back of my head and I nodded. “Yes, Joel, I promise I’m okay.” I held his face between my hands, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “You won’t hurt me. It’s okay. Don’t hold back.”

His eyes flitted down to my lips, then off to the side.

“Joel, look at me,” I demanded. His eyes snapped to mine, the hunger renewed within them. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel everything.”

“Strip,” he growled, stepping back to give me space. “Then get on the bed.”

I nearly ripped my clothes off, too impatient to make the act look good for him, and climbed onto the bed. When I turned to face him he was already naked, stroking his cock slowly while pinning me in place with his gaze. My lips fell open at the sight of him, completely at ease, yet ready to tear me apart. I let my legs widen and his eyes traveled down between them, where my core was clenching around nothing.

Joel walked forward, getting ready to kneel down but I closed my legs, making him pause his actions.

“I need you, all of you, right now.”

He chuckled. “But I need to get you ready for me, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Please, I need it,” I whined. “I need all of you. I want to feel every last inch of your cock, Joel.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He crawled onto the bed and sat back on his knees, lining himself up with my entrance.

“Don’t hold back,” I reminded him again.

He bottomed out in one thrust, and my head was thrown back involuntarily. The sound that ripped from my throat was unrecognizable, a guttural moan that broke off into a whine as he slowly pulled back out. He slammed his hips into me again with a grunt, and continued at that pace. Hard thrusts and slow drags of his cock, though he never fully pulled out. The tip of his cock was always left in, keeping our bodies connected, along with the bruising grip he kept on my hips.

My head was still thrown back on my pillow until I felt him lean forward just enough to grab a handful of my hair on the very top. He pulled my head up so I could look at him, and I whimpered as he continued his punishing pace.

“There you go, baby, just like that,” he cooed while circling my clit with his fingers, his other hand tightening its grip on my roots. “Just like that, you’re such a good girl for me.”

My orgasm was coming on almost too fast for me to wrap my head around. His fingers danced over my swollen bud as I nearly screamed his name over and over until I came. The waves of my pleasure rolling over me, dragging me under, his voice the only thing bringing me back to the surface.

“There you go, fuck, baby. Look at you, so beautiful, so good for me,” he babbled, his voice rumbling through my veins. “Turn over baby, I wanna cum all over you.”

My limbs felt liquified as he helped me turn over onto my belly. I didn’t dare try to hold myself up and stayed laying flat between his legs. He reached over me, his cock nestled against my ass while he grabbed a pillow. I lifted my hips up enough for him to wedge the pillow under my hips, keeping me in the right position for him.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he drawled. “She’s all mine, so wet and ready, all for me.”

He spread my ass and I blushed at being fully revealed to him, then almost laughed at the absurdity of that. I moaned when I felt his tip nudge at my entrance, then moaned again when he pushed in until he was snug against me.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last long,” he said.

My walls were so sensitive as he continued the same as he did before, slamming his hips flush against my ass, making sure I could feel every part of him when he pulled out slowly. I could barely make a sound, my entire body felt like it was on fire.

Joel moved forward so one hand held him up over me, his other hand slid into my hair, pulling my head up so I could watch him. He pressed his lips to my shoulder, his eyes burning into mine, and our bodies flushed together so tight he was barely pulling out of me.

“S-so deep, Joel,” I stuttered out, his body pressing me into the mattress as he continued pushing in and in and in.

“I know, baby, I know,” he panted against my shoulder blade, then leaned forward to bite along my back. “I’m almost there, so fucking close.”

“I need it, Joel, I need you.” I was ready to pass out, feeling so overwhelmed by him, but I didn’t want him to stop.

His hips stuttered, and he sat back up so he could fully pull out. I groaned at the empty feeling, wiggling my hips in search of him. His hand came down onto my ass and I yelped, then sighed as I felt the first spurts of his cum on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” he grunted, fucking his fist through his orgasm. “You look so good like this.”

“All for you,” I mumbled, feeling my eyelids shut.

He finished, breathing heavily behind me, and I waited for him to find something to clean me up, only to feel his hands stroking my ass. His finger ran through the cum rolling down my skin and slid down to my clit, making me jolt with the sensitivity.

“Oh, baby, look at you. Sensitive?” He asked, even though he knew the answer. Asshole. “Think you can give me one more?”

I whined as his fingers slipped around my clit, mixing our cum together.

“I think you can take it, sweetheart, come on.”

It didn’t take long, my orgasm ripped through me with just a few more circles from his fingers. I shuddered under him, my limbs trembling after I came back down. He moved to the bathroom to get a cloth and some water, then wiped it over my skin, cleaning himself off of me. I was still in awe at the gentle swipe of his hands over the most sensitive parts of my body, especially after remembering the brutality in how he handled any weapon.

He laid down next to me when he was done and pulled me over so I was snuggled up to his side. I looked at his body, and traced my fingers along the scars both old and new. I hadn’t realized that one of his scars was quite fresh the last time I had seen him like that, and hovered over it before moving on. I knew he would tell me when he was ready.

My eyes landed between his legs when he shifted slightly. “Hard again? Already?” He nodded and then hissed as I traced my finger over his velvet skin. “I’m surprised you can still get it up at all, old man.”

He laughed, the sound like music to my ears. “Oh, darlin’, for you? I don’t think I could ever stop.”

I smiled and tilted my head up to kiss him.

We fell asleep embracing each other, with the promise of continuing in the morning unspoken between us. When we did wake up halfway through the night in each others arms it was easy for him to roll me onto my back so he could fuck me again.

Only that time it was slow. He held me close and whispered every promise into my ear, while he took his time unraveling me. My thighs ached but I still held him in between them while I came, his name falling from my lips. He came not too far behind me, and then kissed my forehead, leaving his lips pressed there for a moment.

I fell asleep again that night in his arms, and woke up alone. Again.

I sat up, my heart breaking, only to hear the bathroom door close from the hallway. Joel came striding in while pulling a t-shirt on, his cock already straining against the fabric of his underwear.

He paused once his shirt was on and he realized I was awake. “Mornin’ sleepyhead. I was thinking of making breakfast, eggs, toast, all that good stuff. How does that sound?”

I watched his smile slide onto his face so easily and couldn’t help but mirror it. “That sounds perfect, Joel.”

He turned and walked toward the kitchen. I wondered for a moment how long he would stay, but I shook the thought out of my head. I threw on some clothes and went to join him. The sight of his broad back almost completely shielding my view of the stove had my heart soaring, and when I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle he started humming.

He turned slightly and kissed the top of my head. My smile was so big I thought my face would crack in half, and when I looked up into his eyes I knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

#Joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader

[starsinmylatte]

It’s alright. I’m here

Alright, folks, this is the Protective!Silco piece I referenced when I was planning my next set of fics. There are some warnings and general info I need to cover about this fic, so please pay attention to the author's note and trigger warnings. As a general reminder, the Witchy!Reader x Silco fic will be up next.

Trigger warnings: Attempted SA by an unnamed character, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Silco x AFAB!reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, attempted SA, this does end with comfort

Summary: You are having an incredibly mundane day, but things take a turn for the worst as a creep attempts to corner you. Thankfully, help is closer than it seems.

Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Author's note: I can't find the post to link, but a few weeks ago, I made a post about wanting to write a Protective!Silco one-shot based on a scary experience I had. This was the experience. I have been assaulted twice, and this piece directly pulls from a combination of those two experiences. I am in therapy and doing fine, but I needed to write it out. This was both extremely cathartic and very painful to write, and I almost didn't share it because it is difficult for me to re-read it. So, I couldn't edit the work as thoroughly as I normally do and it may not be my best work. Fair warning. However, I wanted to share it in the hopes that it can be helpful to another survivor. This should go without saying, but If you leave me a rude or hurtful comment, I will block you immediately.

It had been the most uneventful day. Silco was away on some kind of business, but all the mundane chores at The Last Drop still needed to be taken care of. Inventory needed to be ordered, supplies needed to be stocked, and someone eventually had to make the bar countertop slightly less sticky. Usually, that would be grunt work, but you took some pride in the place; way more pride than some random underling would. 

The relationship you had with Silco was almost an unspoken one. Of course, the two of you had discussed it at great length, but only two other people were privy to the finer details. Jinx, of course, and Sevika because the full extent of her protection had to cover you as well. To anyone else, you were simply the lady Silco trusted to care for the less shady side of the business in his absence. Anything more than that was pure speculation. Some simply thought you were a very devoted assistant, and some had theories so scandalous you and Sevika had to discuss them over drinks. 

The bar countertop was the first chore on your checklist today. The job wasn’t without satisfaction, and every inch of clean countertop only served to spur you on to the final goal. The cloudy haze of sticky syrups and exotic flavored liquors slowly lifted from the bar with each pass of a rag. Even though your fingers began to ache, the wood underneath started to shine, and a hum of contentedness passed your lips. One final pass with a different cloth dipped in a lemon-scented polish finished the job. 

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t register a presence beside you until it spoke. 

“Not many people woulda helped with that. Thank you.” Chuck’s familiar voice rang out in the room, startling you out of your concentration. 

“Don’t mention it. I used to bartend, so it’s second nature to me. Besides, I’m not the one who has to be behind here all night.” You dismissed the thanks with a lighthearted wave. 

Chuck hummed in agreement. The job paid well, and tips were great, but the constant flow of rowdy customers always constantly demanding more would wear anyone down. 

You wiped your hands on the cloth tucked into your skirt's waistband and bent down to stow some of the cleaning products back under the bar. When you finally stood back up, Chuck was toying nervously with his hands and staring at you obliviously. The second your gaze met his, his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment, and he immediately glanced away. “You know, you’re always welcome to work behind the bar with me.” 

You laughed to yourself. Chuck was adorable, but he was one of the more clueless men that you worked with. Besides, he was far from your type. “I’d love to, but that's not what Silco pays me for.”

The syrup bottles still needed to be cleaned, so you continued wiping down the ones you could reach. Chuck picked up his own rag and began to clean a few glasses. You worked quickly and silently. After all, you had a schedule to keep. The silence between the two of you was comfortable, and the time flew by. Eventually, it was time for you to head out and run a few errands. 

You packed up your things and finally broke the silence. 

“Hey, I’m on my way out to run some errands and pick up another thing of bitters. We used way more last night than usual.”  

There was no response. You turned back around to find Chuck lost in deep thought and polishing the glass like he was in a trance. Clearly, he didn’t hear you. You waved to grab his attention as you walked out from behind the bar, and it was his turn to jump slightly. 

Chuck leaned back against the bar and tilted his head as if he was considering something. Then, finally, he found the right phrasing. “If you don’t mind me asking….. What does Silco pay you for?” 

With the most deadpan expression you could muster, you turned to look directly at him as you headed for the door. “I bury the bodies.” 

Chuck’s face instantly paled, and he dropped the glass he was cleaning. You turned around and walked quickly through the door before you lost your composure.

As soon as you shut the door behind you, you instantly doubled over in a fit of laughter. After a few minutes passed, you glanced at your watch as you wiped the tears from your eyes. Shit. I’m off schedule. I only have an hour before the shop closes. 

Would Silco care? No, of course not….. but you would. The world would keep turning, but he worked so hard, and running these mundane errands was the absolute least you could do to help ease his load. Besides, you were only headed to one store to pick up a few extra bottles of cocktail syrup and bitters. 

You rolled your eyes. The homemade syrup was infinitely better, but customers at the bar dropped a pretty penny for the stuff imported from topside, so it found its way into a wide variety of drinks. People paid to feel fancy. 

On the bright side, the shop wasn’t even that far away from The Last Drop, and the walk was rather pleasant. Of course, the undercity had its problems, but it was the only home you’d ever known, and you truly loved it. You waved to some people you recognized on the street, and before you knew it, you had arrived. 

The door to the shop jingled as you pushed it open and an unfamiliar man behind the register waved at you. 

Oh, It looks like they hired someone new. 

It was really not a problem. They should have the usual order stocked and ready to go behind the counter, and all you had to do was grab a few extra things and pay for the additional items. The bell jingled again behind you, and you barely even registered it as you walked around an aisle. You wandered a bit, taking time to look at the new stock and think of new drinks to try. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man following you through the maze of shelves. He was tall and skinny, and he seemed to be watching you. As soon as you glanced in his direction, he hurriedly turned down a different aisle. 

Weird. Maybe it was someone who was too shy to say hello earlier. 

You didn’t start worrying until he returned. The people of the Lanes were your family, but some of them were undeniably dangerous. Part of growing up on the streets was learning when you were being followed or watched, and the man was undoubtedly doing both. 

The seconds seemed to stretch on for hours and the hair on the back of your neck prickled. Someone following you down one aisle was nothing unusual, two was a coincidence, and three was unnerving. Your heart started to beat a little faster, but thankfully you reached the aisle with the bitters. You grabbed a few bottles and ducked back around the corner. The man seemed to vanish into thin air, and you let out a low sigh of relief. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath. 

He’d have to be stupid to try something in front of the worker. 

Suddenly, you felt someone brush past you. You flinched at the unexpected contact and sharply twisted around to see what happened. The creep who had been following you around the store was leering down at you. He was towering over you and so close you could feel his disgusting breath hit your face. The man was messy and disheveled, but that wasn’t what frightened you. No, the scariest thing was his aggressive body language and the rapacious glint in his otherwise cold eyes.

His piercing eyes trailed over your body as he sneered down at you. His gaze was possessive and dark in a way that terrified you. You felt frozen in place, suddenly too afraid to move. The man grinned lasciviously as his predatory gaze raked over the swell of your hips and breasts. Your breath caught in your throat. You were too scared to breathe. Scattered thoughts flew around your head, and time screeched to a halt.

Leave me alone. 

Why can’t I move? 

I want to get away. 

Help me. 

Time started flowing again, but everything seemed to happen in slow motion. You could only watch in terror as the man reached out to grab your forearm. You desperately turned to the register, hoping to grab the attention of the worker behind it. But, to your horror, he was already looking at you, watching the scene unfold and nervously toying with his hands. His face had an apologetic, anxious look that screamed, “What do you expect me to do?” 

You fucking coward.

The worst possible thoughts flew through your mind. 

He’s going to grab me. Right here in the middle of the store. 

As you flinched away from the man, your feet moved on their own, and you hurriedly looked for a way out. He was backing you into a corner of the store; there was no way to escape. The man directly blocked your path to the door, and you had no hope of overpowering him in your frazzled state. There wasn’t enough time to think, but you couldn’t just act blindly. You looked up at him desperately, prepared to bargain or plead if you had to. Honor was far less important than survival. 

His smile was nothing more than sharp, bared teeth as he stalked toward you. However, the last thing you expected to see when you looked back at his face was a fist colliding with his head. 

But…. there was nobody else in the store.

Your brain hadn’t even registered the jingle of the shop’s door opening again, but there was undoubtedly another person standing directly behind the creep. He stumbled at the sudden blow, but before he could recover, a glint of silvery steel flashed through the air as a knife materialized against the side of his throat. 

Your tunnel vision dropped just enough for you to see light reflect off the gold filigree on the sleeves of the man holding the knife. There was only one person it could be. You scarcely believed your luck as you raised your gaze once again and sucked in a shaky breath. 

Silco stood behind the man and held the pervert in a vice-like grip. One of his slender arms was snaked around the creep’s chest from behind, his hand hooked into his shirt collar and pulling it so hard his knuckles were white. His other arm crossed over the front of the man’s chest, wielding the knife. 

There was no doubt that the kingpin of Zaun had the man pinned against him, stuck completely in place. Almost as an afterthought, a single, thin line of scarlet trailed across the man’s throat in the wake of the knife. The knife was so sharp you could barely see the cut itself, but you could certainly see the thin trickle of blood. Silco’s aquiline nose was almost pressed into the man’s temple as he snarled into his ear, his ruined eye glowing with hatred. “Now…. just what did you think you were doing?” 

Silco was normally an imposing man, it came with the territory of being a kingpin, but you had only heard stories of how terrifying he could be. It was never something you had witnessed in person. His temper was legendary, and few people survived seeing him in his worst moods…. and many times, the ones that did probably wish they didn’t. Now, you very much understood why. 

The man had the good instinct to begin shaking in fear. He couldn’t see who had him, but he didn’t need to. He knew that he was completely and utterly fucked. Silco’s signature deep, drawling voice was as unmistakable as his scarred face and wickedly cruel eye. 

It was almost poetic how the situation had turned around. You had felt absolutely powerless in the situation that perverted bastard had forced upon you. Now, he was the prey, and he was in the claws of a predator more dangerous than he could ever dream of becoming. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no words ever came out.

“Come now. There’s no need to be shy about it. I saw more than enough.”  Silco pressed the knife in harder, and he yelped in pain. The trickle of blood turned into a steady but small stream.

“I…. I t..tried to grab her.”  

“So, he can speak.” Silco’s tone was mocking, but it was as cold and sharp as his blade. 

A tear rolled down the man’s cheek, “Please, please, sir. Let me go. I’d- I’d never have tried- I’d never have touched her if I knew she was yours.” 

“That’s the problem.”

Silco shifted the knife, so the tip rested against the man’s chin and used it to tilt his head to look directly at you. “It doesn’t matter whose she is. She did not want you to touch her, and yet…..” 

His pause was pointed enough for the man to realize his arm was still outstretched in your direction. He tried to lower it slowly, but a low, displeased hiss from Silco immediately stopped his movement. 

“Now, I’m going to tell you exactly what you’re going to do.” 

The man was still shaking pathetically, “Anything, sir, anything. I swear it’ll never happen again.” 

The corner of Silco’s scarred lip twitched like he was about to laugh. A damned bloodthirsty grin flashed across his face, and he practically snarled, “Oh, I know for a fact that you won’t. Sevika.” 

She materialized at his side and looked directly at you. Her eyes flashed with worry as she registered the tears in your eyes and how panicked you looked huddled in the corner. The man let out another pathetic sob, and you saw her eyes frost over and turn cold and hard. Every ounce of Sevika’s concern for you turned into a frigid, biting rage directed at the man beside her. 

She took one look at the man’s outstretched arm and turned back to her boss with a savage smile of her own. Sevika grabbed the man’s wrist and upper arm. In a tandem motion, Silco kicked the man to the ground. The creep barely had time to shout in surprise as Sevika brought her knee up to connect with the middle of his outstretched arm. 

The sickening crunch of bone and an agonized shriek filled the air. You had closed your eyes instinctively, and from the sound of the man’s screaming, it was a good choice. A second later, you heard the sound of his body hitting the floor. 

Silco calmly spoke over the man’s wailing, “No one is going to help you fix that, or they will find out just how creative I can be. You will live with the pain you earned. You should also be very thankful that I don’t have more time to spend with you.”

He snapped his fingers, and the sound of wailing faded into the distance as the man’s body was drug out the door. In the distance, you heard the worker pleading with Sevika, but his words fell on deaf ears. She took poorly to men who abused women, and those who enabled it were no different. 

A familiar set of slow, measured footsteps approached you, but you couldn’t open your eyes. You were afraid that you’d open them and Silco wouldn’t be there. Somehow, you feared that the rescue was a hallucination. Once you opened your eyes, the pervert would still be there… and you’d be all alone. Another tear slowly trailed down your cheek, but a slender hand tenderly wiped it away. 

Instantly, you knew it hadn’t been some fucked up dream, and your eyes flew open. He was there. 

Wordlessly, Silco pulled you into his arms as you sobbed. The ferocious kingpin had melted away, leaving the man who loved you more than life itself. You crumpled in his arms, but he gently caught you and lowered you to the ground. Once again, he pulled you in close and you wrapped your arms around him. 

You sobbed into his chest, listening to his heart's strong, steady beating. His signature scent enveloped you. Cigar smoke and the deep leather and wood of his cologne soothed you. Silco’s long, slender fingers stroked your hair as he murmured comforting words into your ear. 

“Shhh… I’ve got you. It’s alright. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. That sick bastard can’t hurt you anymore. Nobody will ever hurt you again.” 

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[pr1ncesspopstar]

Nothing You Don't Want To Hear - FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 3: Hire (Free)

Takes place post-ARR | Ao3

-

The idea of hiring a retainer filled Halditar with a bitterness she had hoped she left behind.

She couldn’t wrap her head about the seeming obsession adventurers in this land had with them. Whether it be her juniors lamenting when they’d have enough gil and notoriety to hire one, or her elders having them run around completing whatever task they deemed too unimportant for their own hands. Even in the most remote places she could find, chances were a bloody retainer would be there as well, or at least a summoning bell.

Halditar tried not to judge them too harshly. Many were kind folk, merely having picked up the job out of a passion or need. They had done nothing to earn her ire… Yet her skin crawled anytime she heard a honey-worded retainer speak. Only able to wonder if they spat venomous words behind the backs of their employers. If they stared at those adventures with a vicious hate as soon as their back was turned.

Her chest began to ache. The burn of humiliation welcomed itself unto her body, draping her skin in an uncomfortable, flushed heat. The cackling of those she once knew as friends bounced around her skull. They had mocked her from the shadows when they thought she was long out of ear shot. They spilled secrets she confided in them while they stared at her with gazes of pity and contempt from behind. The fury she had held against them, and then the isolation so painful when she cut them away the child she once was pondered if it would have been better to endure the cruelty just to have someone by her side.

How cruel it was that such memories could flood her mind with only the most passing thought.

Halditar didn’t need a retainer. And that was the truth of it for the longest time.

But the steady escalation of her work, from a simple adventurer to savior of the realm started to weigh on her. Literally. Her bag stuffed to the brim with things she simply didn’t have the time to sell, even her chocobo struggled under the weight of all the things she stored in his saddlebags. Letters from herbalist and alchemist friends she had made throughout her journey were piled up, requesting her botanist skill for supplies she simply hadn’t the time to gather. She refused to say it aloud, but it was obvious. Whether she wanted it or not, she was long overdue to hire help.

Thus she found herself in Ul’dah. On the rare rainy day that blessed the arid desert, which often seemed to bring more people out that kept them inside. She leaned against the counter of the retainer vocations, holding a massive book of retainers for hire. Her brow furrowed as she flipped page after page. Sometimes she passed by dozens of them in minutes. Some would call her picky, but she had to be. She wasn’t going to trust any schmuck to handle her wares and botanist dealings. Nor was she keen on trusting the written descriptions of these people. It was much too easy to lie about yourself on ink and paper. All she could do was trust her gut.

“Excuse me,” a voice said. Halditar did not look up from the pages before her, continuing to flip deeper into the tome. Despite her lack of attention, the voice persisted. “You’re an adventurer, correct?”

“If you need help with something, head to The Quicksand,” she said in an effort to wave them off. “Momodi can find you help just as well as I, for a fraction of the time and cost.”

“Allow me to rephrase myself then.” The voice huffed now, getting sharp with annoyance. “You are Halditar Elilwyn? The Savior of Eorzea.”

The roegadyn finally drew her gaze up from the ink printed on parchment. The man standing before her was Elezen, a rare sight in the walled city. A verdant green hood protected his pale blonde hair from the downpour. His sharp features set with a grace typical of his kin. His stare may have been just as dagger-like if not for the brilliant shade of purple his eyes were colored with, softening the hardness of his gaze. He looked too serious and recognized her too easily to be just a casual traveler. 

“I’m busy. If you insist on getting my help, wait at The Quicksands. I can be with you in a few hours.” She returned her gaze downwards, skimming words with a practiced precision.

“Actually, I’m here to extend my help to you.”

“No thanks. I’ve had enough people proposition me about making ‘good gil fast.’ You’ve got a good set of balls on you for trying with me though.”

The book between her hands slammed shut. The elezen’s lips were tugged down into a frown, his face shoved mere inches from her’s to make sure he had her attention.

“I’m serious. My name is Ifort. I’m a retainer looking for a master.” He spoke with a heavy enunciation on each word, like he didn’t expect her to understand unless he spelled it out for her. Halditar let her eyes narrow, sliding the book back onto the counter behind as she drew up to her full height, towering over the stranger.

“And what makes you think slamming a book in my face makes me inclined to pick you?” She asked, matching the hard edge of his voice as she looked him up and down. Now that he was closer she could smell the odor of travel, and see the dirt that scuffed his clothes, turning to mud in the rain. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“Where I’m from is irrelevant. What isn’t is that you have been searching for a retainer for nearly a week now and yet to hire anyone.”

“My standards for a retainer are none of your business.”

“I can easily live up to them.”

Halditar let out a short, loud laugh at that. “You don’t even know what they are!”

“And I don’t need to. I’d rather prove my capabilities than discuss them.” He pulled from his side a bag and handed it to her. Her eyes widened at what was inside. Emerald beans, cyshal green, magma beets. All still fresh, and harvested with nary a leaf or cut out of place. These would stay fresh for days, maybe weeks.

A part of her wanted to think maybe he bought them from the market board, but the evidence was there that couldn’t be the case. Dirt from their place of harvest any merchant would have cleaned off before selling. And getting if he was willing to go so far as to solidify the lie of having gathered these himself by getting dirt from the native region, he may as well deserved to get away with it.

“…Not bad,” She admitted, handing the bag back. “But good botany skill alone isn’t enough. What of your bargaining?

“I have a seller interested in this satchel for 75% more than market price. I can bring the receipts after as proof.”

“How are you with questions?”

“I avoid asking unnecessary ones at all costs.”

“Why’s that?”

“They waste both of our time.”

“And what do you consider an ‘unnecessary’ question?”

“Things I can research the answer for myself and ones you don’t want to hear.”

“Why seek me out specifically?”

“You’re strong.”

“You don’t seem like someone that values strength.”

“And you don’t seem like someone that’d be overly cautious about good help but here we are,” Ifort paused for a moment, before speaking again, seeming to understand that wouldn’t be a satisfying answer to the adventurer. “And it’s less to do with strength and more… trust,” he chose his words carefully. “People rely on you, meaning you on some level have to be a good person. And I’d like to work for someone like that.”

“Yes, but we’re strangers. You’ve no reason to trust me, beyond stories.” She argued.

“Momodi, Baderon, and Miounne sang your praises otherwise and I am not one to take words at face value.” He remained, staunch, unmoving in near perfect posture as he challenged her word. She was at an utter loss of words. Just how determined was he to go so far as to ask the adventurer’s guild for her.

“Being a good person doesn’t mean I’ll be a good boss. I’m rough around the edges, I make bad market calls, and I genuinely hate the idea of needing help with small things and get annoyed when they aren’t done best.” She warned, trying one final time to dissuade him. To see if there was anything that could turn him away.

“I have not been known to hold my tongue and speak harshly about my opinions when asked, enough to land me in trouble with my previous employers cooperators.” Ifort shrugged. Such a lackadaisical acceptance of flaws, Halditar couldn’t help crack a grin. He had a grit to him, despite the air of grace, and how nice that felt compared to the over-polite platitudes she was so familiar with.

“Persistent bastard, you are. Alright. I’ll give you a month, and we’ll see how things work out.” She took his hand and shook it vigorously. Though his serious expression was ever serious, a bit of a warm shine came to his expression that day.

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv #ffxiv wol #my writing

[randommoney26]

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[bankshill3]

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[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #thomas strange #fic: not what he seems #the midway bar #demons #I mean it's TAU so that's a given

[thebountyfucker]

The Two Princes - Royal AU

NSFW - 18+ ONLY

Embo x F!Reader x Cad Bane

Tags: sex party, public sex, double penetration, threesome, blowjob, handjob, overstimulation, maybe ooc but this is an AU so I don't care lol

CW: mentions of drugs, prostitution, power imbalance (the reader is a hired attendant, and both Embo and Cad are princes. Reader is not a part of either of their domains, so they have no control over her. However, I did want to include it just in case)

Here's a link to my masterpost and to the application for my taglist!

“So explain to me again what is going on?”

“There’s nothing else to say.” Your boss replied as he sorted through his collection of datapads, his fingers flicking through the stack until he found the right one. He pulled it out and thrust it in your direction. “Ya gotta sign it.”

“Sign… what?” You took the datapad into your hands and powered it on. A file appeared, one that was rather lengthy and full of legal words that you couldn’t, for the life of you, understand. You parsed through the paragraphs of Aurebesh, before pausing and glancing up. “Is this an NDA?”

“Yep.” Your boss was quick to reply, turning his stout body from you to search around his office for something else. You uneasily returned your attention to the swirling legalese, and faltered. Your boss noticed your hesitancy, and sighed. “I can tell you this - it’s the royal folk. One of them is planning some shindig, and needs you and the girls to help take care of them.”

“Is it… safe?”

“You tell me. You know them royal folk better than I do.”

You wouldn’t exactly say you knew them; one one-night stand with Prince Cad hardly seemed to count, in your opinion. Though, if this party was hosted by a royal, there was a good chance that you’d get to see him again. He’d protect you if things went wrong, right? You stared down at the datapad, and your boss huffed impatiently.

“Look, sign it or don’t. I need to know who to staff now. They aren’t the patient type.”

“Alright, alright.” You scribbled your signature down on the line and your boss snatched the datapad from your hand. He tossed it aside and waddled around from the other side of the desk, gesturing with two fingers for you to follow him.

“You and the others will caravan to The Veil, where you’ll meet the employer. Remember, none of what happens tonight can be talked about, or we’ll be sued to shit. You understand?” You nodded again at this, the uneasy sensation rising in your stomach once more. Your boss glanced over his shoulder at you, and scoffed. “They ain’t gonna eat you! Relax!”

“Easy for you, perhaps.” You muttered under your breath as you both slipped into the meeting room. About fifteen young women - your coworkers - were waiting in the room. Most seemed just as confused as you were.

“The employer has everything you’ll need. Don’t let them talk you into doing anything that isn’t in your job description, okay? You’re attendants, not whores.” Your boss drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest. The last line, specifically, caught your attention. You’re attendants, not whores. What about this job warranted that comment? He had to know more than he was letting on, and this bothered you. You supposed he, likely, had to sign a similar NDA, but at the same time, you hated going into jobs blind. Things were more likely to go wrong this way… and the royals weren’t the type you wanted to disappoint. “Get your asses moving. He’s waiting on you.”

-

The Veil was unlike anything you had ever seen before - it was a meeting hall affiliated with Azvergin Hotel - a high-end joint for billionaires and royals alike. This meeting hall was just as high-class, with high ceilings and sculpted arches and hand-carved crown moulding. Columns lined the grand hall, holding the heavy mosaic ceilings from toppling to the floor. Famous artwork was displayed along the walls. You were so caught in how awe-inspiring this hall was, you hardly noticed the room was empty. There were no tables or chairs to be seen - something you expected for a function fit for royalty.

“This way.” The grounds-keeper spoke, pulling your attention from the details of the room; it was then that you finally noticed how quiet everything was. You turned towards the groundskeeper, watching as they turned down a long hallway. You jogged after them, your coworkers following closely behind.

“Where is everything?” You asked, and the groundskeeper glanced over their shoulder at you.

“Downstairs.”

“Right…”

They turned to the left and knocked on a door; a small peephole opened, and someone from within called out.

“Who are these ladies?”

“Attendants.” The groundskeeper explained. “The prince sent for them.”

The peephole closed, and the door opened instead. The guard gestured for you to enter, which you did; you slowly descended down the flight of stairs, noting that the lighting had dimmed and that low, sultry music was playing over hidden speakers. You turned to look at your girls, the pieces of this puzzle slowly forming in your head; it wasn’t until the door opened that things finally started making sense.

The room was much smaller than the grand hall above, without the frills and displays of wealth. It was hard to tell what colors the walls and floors were, given how dark the room was compared to the hall above. Plush chairs, chaises, and even beds were dotted around the room. Men and women were already wandering around, dressed in lingerie or kink apparel. They glanced at you and your party, but didn’t say anything.

Against the wall closest to the entrance of the room was a table covered in sex toys, condoms, lube, and little flags of various colors.

You understood the NDA now; this was not your typical job. No… this was a sex party. You had been hired, by one of the royals, to attend to them while they’re likely doing dope and fucking the brains out of prostitutes. Great. This would be fun.

A door to the left of the room opened up, and out stepped Prince Embo, the tall, broad chested Kyuzan prince. He wore a loosely tied satin robe, which exposed his defined chest; tattooed across his exposed skin were dark green, blocky symbols. You could make out the facsimile of a sun printed along his collarbone, though no other shapes made sense to you. Your gaze trailed down his chest and abdomen, before noting the loose tie which held his robe shut. You wondered if he was wearing anything underneath it…

Embo cleared his throat, and you startled, your gaze ripped from the knot of his closure. Your gaze flicked up to his face, before you remember that he was royalty and some royals found eye contact with subordinates to be threatening; you briefly met his gaze, noting the amusement in his face, before you cast your gaze to the floor.

“What is this?” He inquired, looking you all over; he waded through the crowd, looking over each and every one of you personally. His hand ghosted across the back of your neck, sending shivers straight down your spine. “My attendants, yes? Come. I have uniforms for you.”

You tentatively followed him into the room he had just exited from. He started rifling through a box, paying no mind as the sixteen of you gathered around you.

“What will be our role here tonight, your majesty?”

“Attendants. As is your job title.” He answered bluntly as he pulled out enough uniforms and set them aside. “You do not have to do what you are not trained for. Just offer drinks and take care of my guests.”

“I… well… okay.” You nodded as you grabbed one of the dresses - they were short, but not too revealing. Guests would definitely be able to tell the difference between you and the entertainment, even in the dim light. You held it up to you, noting that the prince was watching you. His gaze held interest, but no ill intent; you weren’t sure why, but your stomach somersaulted and your heart skipped a beat.

“Is that a problem, miss?”

“No, your majesty.” You replied, and he stood to his full height, towering over you in a way not many others could. This, embarrassingly, sent spikes of pleasure to your cunt. If he was this tall, you knew he had a huge cock to match.

“Good. My guests shall be arriving any time now. Do not keep us waiting too long.”

He ducked out of the room, giving you ample room and privacy to change. You slipped out of your work uniform and pulled on the given dress; it was red in color, and made of silk. It clung to your body, accentuating your curves; there was something about this dress that made you feel so pretty. Most other uniforms you were given were unflattering at best and purposely ugly at the best. You appreciated the prince’s good tastes.

The others gossiped about the situation you all were in as you pulled on your shoes. You weren’t much for gossip usually, but you understood how odd this situation was.

“So the rumors of the Prince are true!”

“Who knew that a royal could have such a ravenous appetite!”

“Of course he would! Those types always get what they want.”

You chuckled as your mind wandered to your night with Cad. They weren’t entirely wrong; royals were just as fickle and just as horny as everyone else. But you couldn’t imagine Cad throwing such a party. Hell, you couldn’t even imagine him attending such a circus! Prince Embo surely was something else...

You made sure your shoes were on tightly, and slipped out the door. You wanted to get a feel for the place before the chaos began. You took note of the supplies on the table near the door, and of the bar you had somehow missed. So far, there was nothing illegal, but you weren’t certain it would stay that way.

The main floor was still only populated by prostitutes at this point, despite the Prince’s warning that guests would soon be arriving. Some were fixing their hair or make-up, and some were chatting it up with anyone around. Missing, however, was the Prince. You tried to find his towering frame in the crowd, but that was easier said than done.

A hand slid across your back to your shoulders, and you jumped in surprise. You turned, noting Prince Embo staring back at you. You lowered your gaze respectfully, and he responded by wheeling you around to face him, and gripping your chin in his free hand.

“I think I would like for you to be my personal attendant tonight.” He purred, tipping your head back so he could look at you better. His glowing gold eyes searched your soul, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in response. “Pretty thing. It is too bad you are not one of my entertainers tonight.”

His presence was engulfing, and your heart skipped a beat. His thumb brushed over your lips, and you had to stop yourself from parting your lips and accepting it into your mouth. Mindlessly, you edged closer, and the hand on your shoulder slid downward….

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A familiar voice drawled and you winced; of all the people that could have walked through the door at this time, it had to be Cad. The only royal who actively had a past with you, and the one you figured wouldn’t dare be seen at such a function. You turned away from Embo’s grasp, glancing over at an amused Cad. “Didn’t expect t’ see ya here.”

“I only hire the best.” Embo explained, sauntering over to his chair, which overlooked the rest of the room.

“Yeah. De best.” Cad smirked. There was no malice in his tone; rather, you figured this was his attempt at teasing. “Dat’s de one dat spilled wine all over yer mother’s dress."

Blood rushed to your face, and you were thankful that the lights are so dim; you had just barely forgotten about that whole mess, and now Cad had to bring it back up - to the Queen’s own son, nonetheless! You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

Your self-pitying was cut short by a loud laugh from Embo; at first, you were glad that he wasn’t upset by this information. But then, you realized that he was likely laughing at you. Your mood soured, and you crossed your arms over your chest in a pout.

“So that was you? Oh, my mother raved about you for days after that.” Embo leaned back on his little throne, spreading out like he owned the place. Maybe he did.

“I… what?” You dropped your arms, confused.

“You gave her an excuse to change out of that gods-awful dress my father bought her. She wanted to hire you to ruin whatever gifts he gave her, but we had to talk her out of it.”

“Shouldn’t have.” Cad chuckled. “It would be the best job she’d ever have in her miserable little peasant life.”

“Hey now.” You frowned. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Cad waved you off as he drew closer. “You wouldn’t happen t’ be available tonight?”

“She is an attendant, Cad. And mine for the night.”

“Figures. You always bag de good ones.” Cad shook his head as he stood; he looked you up and down with a licentious smirk. “I’ll see you ‘round, den.”

“Of course.”

You watched Cad retreat to settle in a nearby chair. One of the prostitutes - a handsome man - approached, sitting on the arm of the chair. Well… at least Cad was there in case things got out of hand.

Embo called to you, and you turned toward him; he gestured with his two fingers, watching with an intensity as you approached. You bowed your head when you reached the foot of his chair, and he tsked.

“None of that.” He told you. “There is no need for pleasantries here. Now… fetch me a drink.”

-

You had never been around so much sex in your entire life. Everywhere you turned, there was someone giving someone else head, or someone riding someone else’s dick. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, of gagging, of slicked up cunts… and the moans… oh the moans!

You edged around one of the beds -where a princess was getting gangbanged by a group of various alien men- carrying the tray of goodies to your prince. Embo was leaned back in his chair, looking surprisingly bored even as two ladies fondled his cock. You leaned down to hand him his drink, which he accepted with a grunt.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this, my Prince.”

He just shrugged nonchalantly as he sipped at his drink. “I am not feeling particularly inspired.”

With a wave of the hand, he dismissed the two ladies, and closed his robe up. You set your tray down and knelt before him. He carded a hand through your hair, muttering something in his mother tongue. “Is there anything I can do to make this a better experience?”

He glanced over at you, his gaze lazily trailing down your form; something - which you figured was lust- sparked in his golden eyes, but he was not quick to act on his feelings. He gestured with his free hand, and you offered him some sort of smokable, which you figured was not smart given his need for a breathing mask. He lit it and slumped back in his chair.

“No. Stay your course, kamour.”

“Are you sure, my Prince? I… am offering to help you. You hired me to help, right?” You inquired, reaching out to touch his hand. He glanced over at you, and you wondered how much convincing it would take him before he realized you were serious. Not much, it turned out.

“I am no monster. Say the word and I will let you go.”

“Of course.” You settled between his parted legs, your soft hands slowly sliding up his naked thighs. What was it your boss said? Oh, that you were attendants and not whores. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

Your hands swept under his satin robe, parting it open to reveal his large cock. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, and slowly worked your way up his length. He was already hard from the ministrations of the prostitutes, the head of his cock flushed a deep and needy green. You leaned forward, gathering spit in your mouth before drooling it out onto his cock; you locked gazes with him as you spread your saliva down and around his shaft.

“Now, dat ain’t fair.” Cad’s voice startled you from your task, and you turned to spy him sitting on the arm of an unused chair. He was completely naked, with his arms crossed over his chest. “You said she was an attendant.”

“I did not lie. She is attending.” Embo put his mask back into place, and ran his hand through your hair. “She is doing her duty.”

“Yeah, well, I want in on dis.”

“That is up to her.”

You hardly even had to think - you reached for Cad, wrapping your hand around his slick, hard cock. You gave him a pump, and Cad hissed through gritted teeth in response. You gestured for him to move closer, and he did; the princes met gazes but said nothing to each other as you reached the other hand out to stroke Embo’s cock.

You stroked them both at the same time, reveling in the hisses and grunts trickling from their mouths. The way their cocks pulsed in your hands was enough to make your pussy tingle, and arousal slowly built within you. There was something depraved about this - about a lowly attendant pleasuring two powerful princes in the midst of a sex party - but the depravity only added to your pleasure. You could hardly stop yourself from grinding your needy cunt against the heel of your own foot.

“Enough of dis pussy-footin’. Are ya gonna suck me off or what?” Cad drawled, as impatient as ever; you quirked a brow as you leaned forward to give him a long, wet lick. He growled in response, his hands threading in your hair. “Come on, doll… don’t be teasin’ me now.”

“You forget that you weren’t the first man I was pleasing.” You replied, your voice wavering. You weren’t sure it was a good idea to talk back to him, especially in this position. Though, you supposed, you held the power when you held his cock. Any wayward comment and you were in a prime position to bite him. You figured he wouldn’t risk it.

Cad scoffed and you leaned away to wrap your lips around the head of Embo’s cock. He chuckled and leaned back.

“She is not lying.”

“You shut up.” Cad muttered as he pressed a hand to the back of your head, almost as if he was trying to guide you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

It went like this for a while - you’d take one into your mouth, bobbing and sucking like a good little whore, before pulling away to take the other one. You felt oddly powerful knowing you had the ability to bring these two princes to their knees with only a touch. You reveled in this power for as long as you could before Embo lifted you up and sat you on his lap. He pulled you close to his chest, purring.

“I am going in you.” He told you, giving you ample time to back out of it. When you didn’t protest, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing, and turned you to face Cad. He guided you onto his cock, and you winced as the head slipped into your drooling cunt. You hadn’t realized that he was quite this large. He gripped your hips, controlling how slowly you eased down onto him so you didn’t hurt yourself.

Cad waited until you were ready before offering his cock to your mouth once more. You parted your lips, your eyes half-lidded and darkened with lust, and he chuckled.

“Are ya cock-dumb already, doll?” He reached out to tangle his hand in your hair. “Are our cocks just dat good?”

You nodded in response to this, greedily latching around his cock and sucking hard. He let out a hiss and tugged at your hair, spurning you to start bobbing up and down his length. At the same time, you had fully engulfed Embo, sheathing his cock deep within you. Your whine was lost amongst the sloppy slurps of Cad’s cock easing in and out of your wet mouth.

Embo slowly, gingerly, eased in and out of you, taking care not to hurt you in the process. Every time he pulled his cock half out of you, you took Cad’s cock to the hilt with a gag. Every time Embo bottomed out within you, you pulled away to breathe. It was tough to find the right rhythm at first, but when you did, the pleasure was all-encompassing. Your head was spinning, arousal burning deep within the well of your stomach; your eyes rolled back and your hands went to your breasts, squeezing so tightly you were sure they’d bruise.

“Think she could take us both in there?” Cad asked, and your mind wandered at the prospect. You imagined the sensation of their cocks filling up your cunt, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The idea was fascinating, and a bit frightening. You didn’t realize that you were drooling around Cad’s cock until your spit splattered on your thigh.

Embo leaned you back against his chest, a finger probing at your cock-stuffed pussy. He slipped it inside, and your eyes went wide; Cad’s cock slipped from your mouth as the air vacated your lungs. You quivered against Embo, a pathetic little whimper escaping your lips.

“No… not unless you intend to split her in half.”

“Shame.” Cad shook his head; he pondered for a minute, before tipping your chin up. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

As if you had other plans. Embo rested his head against you shoulder, purring softly. “I would like to see your pretty face, kamour.”

“Alright.” You turned around, facing the prince; you couldn’t tell for sure, but you guessed he was smiling behind that mask of his. His large hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warmth.

“Beautiful.” He slowly rocked his hips up into you again, and you whimpered. “A beautiful, sex drunk whore. You like my cock, hm?”

“Yes.” You breathed, matching his thrusts by rolling your hips; his finger slipped out of your cunt, and instead stroked your swollen, trembling clit. A fire built in your stomach, and your vision went blurry. Your orgasm was within reach! You gasped out his name, your voice strained yet velveteen. Embo’s eyes brightened at this, and he reached up to wrap a steady hand around your neck.

“Say it again. Say my name again.” He commanded, his voice husky with his own desire. You whimpered.

“Embo….”

“Again!” He rubbed at your clit faster, slamming up into you with a ferocity you had never felt before. You could hardly find the strength within you, but you couldn’t displease him.

“Embo!” You cried out, your entire body quivering as the fire of orgasm consumed you. Your head danced in the clouds as your body went limp and useless against him. He held you close, his hands dancing over your form.

“Shit, did I miss out on all de fun?”

You lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to spy Cad with his hands on his hips. You shook your head, your tongue weighing like lead in your mouth. You gestured for him to draw closer, which he did, and you gave his now condom-clad cock a stroke.

“I do think she can take more.” Embo hummed, his hand rubbing at your thigh. You nodded in agreement at this, and Cad leaned down to nip at your neck.

“Good. Do you still want to take de both of us?”

“Yes!” You chirped, and Cad chuckled.

“So eager.” Cad maneuvered you into Embo’s chest, giving him better access to your ass. Cad lubed you up with a bottle he had grabbed from somewhere, and gently eased into you. A strangled cry escaped from somewhere within you as Cad brushed against the thin, sensitive wall separating his cock from Embo’s. You could hardly keep yourself upright, the sensations quickly overwhelming you; Embo had to keep you from falling completely limp onto his chest.

“Easy now. This is not too much for you, is it?”

You shook your head at this. “N-no.”

“‘Course it ain’t.” Cad yanked on your hair, pulling your head back enough so you could look him in the eyes. He smirked, and then sheathed himself within you. You let out a cry, and his smirk deepened into a depraved smile. “Yer a good lil’ doll. You can handle us.”

“Yes! Yes!” You whined in agreement as they both slowly rocked into you. Every inch of you was set ablaze as they took turns massaging that oh-so-sensitive wall. Cad released your hair, his hand instead sliding down to roll your nipple between two of his fingers. His other hand gripped at your hip, keeping you steady. Embo’s hand returned to your clit, pinching and rolling the overstimulated bud around until you were panting and pleading for release. Your admissions only made them hasten their paces, and soon, they were both slamming into you. Your head lolled back on your useless neck, resting squarely on Cad’s chest; your legs quivered and jerked as you chased after your second orgasm. Hands wandered, acquainting themselves with every aspect of your body; this only added fuel to the fire which threatened to consume you once more.

With only a few more thrusts, you came undone. Your vision went white as you rode waves of pure bliss, only faintly aware of how erratic their paces had become. It wasn’t until Cad lurched forward and bit you that you were pulled from your euphoria.

His fangs pierced your skin, surely drawing blood; his orgasm, contained by the condom, manifested in quick, jerky motions up into you. Slowly, he eased out of you, lapping up any blood that had trickled from the wound.

Embo found his pleasure not long after that, shooting his cum deep within you; the searing heat of his seed was unexpected, but wasn’t unpleasant. You were almost certain that if he hadn’t been wearing his mask, he probably would have bit you too. He, unlike Cad, didn’t ease out of you. He let you decide what it was you wanted to do, even if it meant keeping his soft cock in you until he hardened up again. You did, however, ease off of him to sit on his lap.

“Dat was good, doll. I might need t’ keep ya around.”

“Yes, well, you may have competition.” He leaned toward you, humming. “Though, I suppose it would be your choice.”

“Who says I have to choose?” You managed, your voice sultry. They cast glances at each other, and Cad shrugged.

“‘Spose that could work.”

Taglist!: @sat-nam-saint @that-clone-wars-girl

You leaned back into the warm chest of one of your Princes. Huh. You liked the sound of that. Who would have thought that someone like you could pull two Princes!

-

#cad bane #embo #royal au #star wars smut #smut #star wars #my fanfiction #iri writes

[saphirered]

Hey! I hope you’re doing well. You’re writing is always great and I get excited when I see you’ve posted something new. Would you consider writing a little something with platonic Caduceus and reader where they have similar personalities and interests, but different backgrounds? Maybe the reader doesn’t have any family to speak of? I’m open to any character class or race :) thank you!

I’m doing well. I’m glad you like my writing and thank you. It’s really nice to hear people get excited when I post new things. I never expected people to like it at all 🙈.  I hope you like the way this one turned out 😘

You were typical city folk. Born and raised in the heights of civilisation; the pride and joy of the Law Bearer Erathis herself. Raised at the temple of the Raven Queen as a foundling the clergy were the only parental figures you knew and they were hardly parents. Your relationship with them is less of a parent-child dynamic. They were your caretakers and supported which is more than a lot of people can say but you missed out on parental pride, love and the ability to confide in someone in such a way. You missed out on the relation with siblings. No running around the hallways of the temple, no secrets between just you and them, no protective older sibling or a younger one that gets away with everything. You had no weird aunt or uncle to tell you ridiculous stories or take you on adventures every so often like the books you’d read as a child. 

Your childhood never bothered you because it was good and happy, just in a different way. You found a mother figure in the Matron. You’d get dreams sometimes, waking up with a single black feather on your pillow. She gave you an appreciation of all things living. Death is a sacred thing but it’s the life that counts. You made it your goal to nourish that what needs a little extra attention and preserve what can be saved before its time, conforming to the natural order. The Matron of Ravens taught you death is just as sacred as life and so you valued it and vowed to upkeep her commandments and preserve that natural order of life and death. 

As a child you spent much time within the public parks and gardens. You had an affinity unrivalled. Making flowers blossom in spring and keeping the branches and roots healthy during the colder months, curing diseases, healing ailments as well as returning to the earth what once came from it upon the passing. When you were old enough these habits carried over to ‘living things’; a term you had to disagree with because all that grows lives. You became part of the clergy and continued your life within the temple of the Raven Queen. 

You were never confined to the temple life. Your work took you far and wide, your expertise wanted by the many. You had tended to the ailments of kings as you had commoner, treating no different. You had tended to the pristine gardens of royalty as you had the fields of a farmer. In the eyes of the natural order all lives are equal in the end and so you treated them in life. 

When a group of strangers came knocking at your door looking for an expert you were surprised by the colourful bunch on your doorstep but heard them out regardless. You were faced with the story of a cursed forest, a sanctuary of the natural order to be disturbed, a family missing and a new one found. A story of beacons of endless stars, possibilities and souls of the preserved to be reborn, conflict, war and death. Stories of salvation, resurrection, a fight to preserve the natural order and save the lives of the many. Stories far and wide yet to be told.

You were needed. Your expertise was needed and when a raven landed on your windowsill staring at you, studying you and awaiting your response you knew it was time to leave behind the life you knew and venture into a strange new world of adventure and the unknown. How could you turn them down? Your help was needed and while the venture might be a bit longer and much riskier than your usual ones, the task remained the same. You’d travel with the Mighty Nein for a while and aid them for however long they needed you. 

You grew to love the Mighty Nein like the family you never had but you have to say from the very beginning you felt a natural gravitation towards the colourful firbolg, a radiance akin to that of the life you vowed to preserve. Caduceus did not hide he felt a same sort of gravitation towards you. The two of you were often paired together on watches or went out together to stock up on supplies for the road, spell components and the likes. The two of you while at first glance are day and night, as your respective deities are when compared, but those who look closer know you are in a way, one and the same. 

You’re sitting on the jungle floor eyes closed listening to the nocturnal critters make their way through, searching for food, hunting and finding their hideouts, burrows and nests before the sun rises and morning comes. A smile on your face, as you take everything in over the soft snoring and slight twisting and turning of some of the Nein. You hear someone sitting down next to you. 

“Good morning.” You say peaking through one eye seeing the pink haired firbolg cup of tea in hand. The two of you had always been and probably always will be the early risers of the group. Old habits? Perhaps so.

“Ah, it is, isn’t it?” He offers you a cup of tea. You take it with a quick thanks blowing away the steam and cool it down a little before you take a sip. A good cup of tea never fails to wake you up properly. 

“How are you feeling? Getting closer to where the Wild Mother has been sending you?” The two of you look out seeing the first light barely bleed through the trees. Caduceus waits a little before speaking, contemplating his answer. His brow furrows. 

“I’m unsure.” Caduceus mentally retreats just a little bit, watching his expression you can see the thoughts rush through his head. You know he worries for his family and how you might find them. A lot is unsure at these times. You can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst but you have faith. 

“You’re worried, for your family. For what might have become of them?” He gives you a bit of a smile and nods. It’s clear Caduceus hasn’t directly been faced with the notion of mortality in this sense close to home whereas in any other situation he’d be fine. 

“I’ve been waiting to see them for a long time. While I trust the Wild Mother’s path, I can’t help but find myself doubting if they are well.” You try to find a way to best approach his concerns and ease his mind. The words of comfort either of you would offer to those coming into your respective places of worship do not apply to this situation nor would they be particularly helpful. You’re not dealing with the dead, just the possibility of death of loved ones. 

“You trust her path and you believe she’s at your side?” You ask deep in thought as a light breeze rushes through out of nowhere. The Wild Mother must be listening. Caduceus relaxes a bit more knowing she’s there. Despite what some may think, the breeze may just tell you what you need to know.

“Yes. I believe so.” He smiles watching the leaves blow, the breeze being carried away into the distance of the early morning jungle, a couple of birds scattering as it comes along. 

You take a moment, close your eyes and reach out your senses sending a little prayer to the Raven Queen. You’re met with a sense of warmth, a soft cawing of a raven flying away and a small light in the darkness. 

“Then they’ll be alright in the end. I don’t sense my Matron’s presence in relation to you. You’ll be reunited with your family once more.” You interpret the signs she shows you. While they might not be a certainty you have faith she would not let you down.

“That’s nice.” You return to staring into the jungle in comfortable silence for a while. 

“What do you miss the most? About home and your family I mean.” You ask a bit out of the blue but you couldn’t help yourself wondering with everything drawing closer and the uncertainty of how you’ll find the Stone family, and what you’ll encounter there. 

“Old habits. The people. The simplicity of life. I’d say the piece and quiet but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Just different kind of noise. You know what I mean.” Caduceus reminisces, dopey smile returning at the memory of his family. You’ve heard some of the tales of his shenanigans when it comes to his siblings. He’s confided in you and you vowed to keep those a secret. Who knew Caduceus could be quite the prankster?

“I don’t actually. I never had a family like yours. The Mighty Nein is the closest I’ve ever gotten to the meaning of a family.” You look over to the sleeping shapes. You wouldn’t trade them for the world but can’t deny it’s still not the same. The others can attest to that. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I apologise if I offended you.” You smile at him. You’d stated before you loved your found ‘family’, the clergy but they were never your real family. It just hadn’t come up your dynamic with them was not the same as a more typical even dysfunctional family. 

“It’s quite alright. I never knew my birth family. I knew the clergy at my temple and that’s alright. I always wondered what it would be like to have parents to confide in, siblings to spend time with, perhaps even share interests with and people who love me unconditionally, people like me but also not. Do you get what I mean?” Caduceus nods in agreement and thinks for a second.

“I understand. Though you might come to take back the part about wanting to spend more time with siblings. They’ll grow on you like ivy in places you don’t want it.” He laughs a little and you join him. 

“They can’t be that bad.” You joke the both of you laughing as quietly as you can trying not to wake the others up. 

“I’d love to meet your family. From what you’ve told they’re wonderful.” 

“They are, in their own ways but don’t tell Calliope I said that.” Caduceus bumps your shoulder and you bump back finishing the last of your tea. You’ve heard enough tales of Calliope to know you better not tell her or she might never let Caduceus forget he admitted it so openly to someone else outside of the family. 

“I’m sure they’d like you too. If you wanted to you could come back to the Blooming Grove with us one day. Clarabelle always wanted another sibling. She thinks Calliope is a bit too stoic. The two of you would make great friends.” Caduceus finishes his tea and you’re a little taken aback. You look for any kind of jest. He must be joking right?

“You’re serious?” Caduceus laughs a little at your reaction. 

“Unless you don’t want to. I think you’ll fit in right along. Our ancestor used to be a champion of the Raven Queen. She might appreciate the return of a new Clay. Not by blood but by heart.” You recall the story he once told about the champions Stone, Dust and Clay of the Matron. You feel a pull in your heart out of nowhere and swear you hear a raven’s caw in the back of your mind. She’d be satisfied. 

“I’d like that very much if they’ll have me.” With Caduceus reassurance his family would very much like you and get along with you you’d see where this would go. Perhaps you would become an unofficial Clay. Your friends are just your chosen family after all so why should it be different? 

You’ll see where your path leads and you’ll stick with Caduceus until either of you grow tired of each other. Not that either of you see that happen. You’ve grown thick as thieves to the point where you could call yourselves siblings. If the two of you claiming yourselves siblings extends into his family then you’d love nothing more. 

A place. A purpose. A home. You’ll have to put the world back into tune first but once the Matron and the Mother call you both home you’ll stick to the path until homeward bound you both be. Both of you lost in thought come to the same conclusion. Caduceus pours the both of you some new tea, cooling it down a bit you both take a sip.

“That’s nice.” You say in unison watching the nocturnal critters go to sleep and the early risers come out and go about their daily business. 

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critrole x reader #caduceus x reader

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Twelve): Your Demon, Never Leaving

Notes: Soooo, its been a minute, like I said, been kind of sick. And I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, I was gonna wait until I finish the next. But decided, fuck it. We're still rocking around the angst train with this and I'm sure some of you are like, when is Johnny gonna be let out of brain jail and the answer is soon, next chapter, promise. Our girl just needs some time to process and what better way to do so, then to get into a fist fight and talk to some folks.

Word Count: 11873

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and mentions, bit of blood and violence, general angst, some talks of sex but no actual in chapter sex. 

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V finds herself in Westbrook next, kicking herself for forgetting that Wakako never paid for the Dorsett job. The sun’s barely been up but an hour by the time she makes it to Jig Jig street, the merc preoccupying her time by pouring more energy drinks from a vending machine into her thermos. A quick hack used to get them for free. 

She leans against the wall of the pachinko parlor while she waits, someone passing by offers to sell her drugs and a joytoy tries to flirt with her in the meantime. Both swiftly denied and the merc jumps when she sees the parlor lighting up, Wakako likely already tucked in her back room. She slides on her mask as discreetly as she can before she walks across the blue tiled floors and past the desk clerk, who shoots her a dirty look. 

Past a beaded curtain, she sees Wakako at her back desk. A slick black and gold color scheme that seems completely at odds with the gaudy vibrancy of Jig Jig street. Wakako is one of the older fixers, V would wager to guess she’s at least Padre’s age, with long gray hair pulled back off her face and cold shrewd eyes. 

“Well, well,” the fixer greets, “who do I spy but V, in my humble parlor no less.” 

“Here in the flesh, never did answer my call,” V can’t help but sign, thankful her bitter smile is hidden behind her mask. 

“I must have been busy, I’m sure.” 

“Of course.” 

“So, what brings you here?” Wakako asks, tapping her red nails across the wood of her desk. 

“Last gig, said I had to swing by to grab my payment, remember?” 

“I don’t forget such things, V. Here is your reward, it comes with a fairly ample bonus. Go to Cassius Ryder in Watson, he’ll weave you a derma-imprint with smart-gun compatibility, a Tyger Claws special. You did good work, you and that… friend of yours.” 

“Appreciate it,” V signs, feeling her muscles tighten at the mention of Jackie. Then the money comes in, over three thousand, not bad at all. But, she could still use a bit more before she pays back Vik. If she completely drains her bank account for him, Vik will throw a fit. 

“And V,” Wakako calls out before the merc can leave, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your calls from now on.” 

V simply nods, unsure of how to take the comment as she leaves the pachinko parlor. Wakako is hard to read, that much she knows. Everything the woman says seems to drip with poison and sarcasm. She could wish V could morning and the merc would wonder if it’s a veiled death threat. Kindness and cruelty sound the same coming from Wakako. Meaning the statement could be a cruel taunt regarding V’s ruined reputation or it could be genuine, that somehow the merc has built back some of it. She has been going hard the past three or four days, refusing to do much else. Deciphering Wakako will only drive her crazy, V determines, leaving Jig-Jig street and climbing in her stolen MaiMai. 

The fight in Kabuki is worth at least two grand, meaning if V’s lucky enough she can finish it up and pay Vik back while still leaving around… two grand in her bank account. Not much, but she’s worked with less. If she loses, she’ll just have to make it back in more scanner jobs, she supposes. Or start selling some stuff. 

She parks near the coordinates Coach Fred sent her. V pulls off her mask, it could be considered unfair, fighting with a face cover. When she gets out of the car, she catches a flash of something in the side mirror, breath catching in her throat. Thinking it’s a flash of dark hair and a beard, think it’s him, she looks again. But only sees her reflection, granted, she looks like she’s already been fucked up in a fight. 

Her hygiene has… suffered during this ordeal. Nose bruised to hell and back, looking a little crooked she realizes. There’s blood and dirt on her face, the worse of it down her lips and chin. She smells like sweat, blood, and still vague hints of stagnant water. Wakako probably smelled V before seeing her. 

The merc first takes a deep breath, grabs her nose and cracks it back into place, setting it as pain shoots through her face and tears blur her vision. . She curses, giving herself a moment before she goes looking through her bag for wet wipes or antiseptic ones, something to give herself a quick whore’s bath. But finds nothing, her supplies needing a restock. 

In a pathetic attempt at something, she spits onto her hoodie sleeve and tries to scrub some blood off with the drool. Only managing to smear the dirt and blood into a new pattern. As far as she knows, no one she cares about will be at the fight. She’ll shower before she sees Vik. For now, she’ll just be gross. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to care about how strangers view her hygiene.  

She takes three heavy drinks of energy drink and makes her way to the feet, down a set of stairs that run next to the overpass, walking across cracked cement through patch work metal shacks. Up a little yellow ladder and climbing over air conditioning units. Even getting to the fight has to be an ordeal it seems. 

V can see the backs of people, on one of the other rooftops involved in this little parkour endeavor. A crowd gathered around and she has to assume that’s where the fight is. A little set of metal steps up to the slightly higher platform. When she walks up the stairs she can see the crowd is around a clearing on the roof; two identical men squaring off. She half expected a Tyger Claw gang member, given the area is their turf. But the men look fairly nondescript, twins who box, she supposes. 

“This is pointless, I know where I’m gonna strike before I do it,” one of the men say, fist raised to his brother, though the wording seems off. Of course, one would know where they’re going to strike. Brain damage too many blows to the head, maybe. 

“Typical, I knew I’d say that.” 

She raises an eyebrow but shakes her head, and clears her throat. The men straighten up, two pairs of brown eyes staring straight at V. They’re older than her, which isn’t saying much, with bald head and implants around their heads. Completely identical, only thing to separate them out is their clothing; one is a tee shirt and the other in a tank top. 

“Was told I have a fight here,” V signs, “so, which one of you is it?” 

“Me,” the men speak in unison and V blinks, confused. 

“Didn’t know it was a tag team fight, but alright, who’s up first?” 

“No, no,” the one in the t-shirt waves his hand, “you don’t get it. That body and his one, I’m the same person.” 

“I’m seeing shit then?” 

“I used to be twins, which you could probably guess. The twins had a close bond, but they wanted to be closer, stronger. “

“So they installed neural oscillation synchs. And now they’re… well.” 

“Me, one person, two bodies,” the twins finish in unison again. 

And here she is, two persons, one body. Whether she likes it or not. The whole tale is horrific to the merc, unable to understand why anyone would willingly undergo something like that. She has a twin, Eira, and despite everything that’s happened, V loves her sister dearly. But, she can’t imagine ever wanting to merge themselves together, to want to lose herself. Its part of why what’s happening with the chip is… horrifying. She doesn’t want to be something else, someone else. V is far from perfect, but, she’s her. As many times as she’s wished to be better, she’s always wanted to still be her. 

These two willingly signed up for the horror show, V’s enduring, just split across two bodies. They wanted to be someone else, to morph into some new amalgamation of who they once were. 

“So, I’m fighting you both at once?” She asks, trying to get out of her own head, to focus on the here and now. 

“My bodies do everything together. Everything,” the pair speak with finality and V can’t help but smirk at the implication. How far does everything go?

“Everything? Even in the bedroom?” She signs, waggling a brow and can feel the immediate annoyance. 

“I have one girlfriend for both bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Shared between both.” 

And it takes everything in her not to laugh, a smile pulling at her lips and face flushed at how stupid it is. 

“So, what. she gets a daily double teaming?” 

“No. She’s with one body from Monday through Wednesday and the other Wednesday through Sunday. Bitch.” 

“You take shifts?!” V bursts, the entire ridiculous nature of it is exactly what she needed, cracking up at their whole situation. 

And maybe it’s mean to laugh, but she can’t help it, holding her stomach as she cackles. The insult more than worth it to know these two have their girlfriend on a sex schedule, that they take shifts for fucking. They have fuck shifts, how is she meant to handle that information?

“We doing this or what?” The twins yell, obviously not amused by her outburst. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she signs as she comes down, “but we’re doubling this, four grand.” 

She was already at a size disadvantage, the twins not huge, but taller than her. And now they’re outnumbering her as well, it’s already high risk, so she needs higher reward. The twins consider her deal for a moment, before nodding to each other. 

“Fine, see no problem there. So, can we get started?” 

“Show me what you got.” 

And three pairs of fist raise. The twin the tee shirt moves towards her first and she steps up to meet his charge, swinging the first punch and knocking her knuckles into his head. And then she steps back, grin on her face. Its been a long time since she’s sparred, a good clean fight with just fists and no weapons, it feels good.

She throws another punch and misses, the same twin comes back in to hit her, but she connects another punch first. He staggers back, but swings at her, a hard pain wracking her jaw when he connects. V blocks the next swing and momentum makes him twist around, letting the merc get a cheap shot against his back. Then another as he twists then she connects a right hook to his jaw; three hits in rapid succession, he stumbles back. He hits the ground. Then the other twin comes charging. 

V throws a right hook into the force of his run, catching just the right way to make his nose bleed. She swings for a left jab but the tank top wearing twin ducks and steps back, the one in the t-shirt is back on his feet.  

Tank-top comes at her again, right fist hitting her temple and she throws her own in return, knuckles catching his ear. She misses with her left and he brings a knee up, knocking it into her chin, making her teeth clang together as she bites her tongue in the force. He swings another punch and she deflects with her left forearm, punching her right into his face. He falls back. 

T-shirt comes at her next and gets punched in the eye, blackening under her fist. She connects the next punch to the opposite cheek, knocking into his nose. He stumbles back and wipes blood from his nose. 

The other twin swoops in, he acts like he’s going to knee her again, then swings a fist and catches her already injured nose. Pain cracks through her, but she laughs and throws a punch in return, connecting two more hits against him. Twins switch out again, t-shirt twin kicking her in the gut before throwing three quick hits. Then he shoves her back, only for her to push back and throw two more punches. And he’s down. One half done, she turns her attention back to the twin in the tank top. 

He tries to keep distance from her and she waits him out, fist raised. And after a quick moment of dancing around each other, he runs at her. A punch to her head, a swing to his own, and she connects one more to his chest.  And he hits his knees. V stares for a moment, unsure if she really just won a bare knuckle fist fight against two grown men? 

“Stop, stop, I give up!” One twin yells and gets up, face bloody as he walks to the railing. V looks down at the other twin. 

“You got more fight in you or had enough like your brother?” 

“That ain’t my brother,” he yells as he gets up, “that’s me. Jesus, what’s so hard to understand?” 

One leans against the railing and the other sits on a table by a couch, each with fresh blood and bruises on their faces. She finds herself standing before them, mind still revisiting the twin’s dynamic and situation. Melding yourself with someone else, even someone so close, she can’t even imagine being that close to someone. Even her own sister, she has a strained relationship with. She’s going into this situation with the chip kicking and screaming. 

“Here, your winnings,” the twins eyes glow as they transfer four grand into V’s bank account. 

“Not bad at all.” 

“Don’t worry, there’s always the next fight,” one twin tells the other. 

“Stop talking to yourself!” 

V can’t help but smile at the odd exchange, “Thanks for the fight, it was fun just sparring for once, I’m V. By the way.” 

“Certo,” the one in the tee introduced himself. 

“Esquerdo,” the other chimes in. 

“I know I kind of razzed on you earlier, just your situation is… interesting to me,” she admits, genuinely a part of her just wanting to ask a bit more about it. The twins must not have been perfectly alike, not anyone is, then they melded together. She can’t help but think of the ghost in her head, the man she’ll meld into, the fear of it. 

“If you’re here to pry more into my sex life, piss off.” 

“No, no, not that. Do you two read each other’s thoughts?” She asks, Johnny responded to her thoughts in the subway, assuming it was him and not an exhaustion induced hallucination. 

“No. Same person. Same thoughts.” 

“If that weren’t the case, I’d be on schizoid meds.” 

“Yeah, be weird having someone else's thoughts in your head… Would drive anyone crazy. Speaking of, wasn’t that, I don’t know… scary.” 

“What?” 

“Melding together like that, becoming one person. Because like… you’re no longer you, right? You’re a new combo, wasn’t that terrifying, to lose yourself?” 

“Not really, everyone’s always becoming someone new. Brothers knew each other well enough, loved each other enough, they knew they didn’t mind becoming each other.” 

“Strange… no offense.” 

“Why you so curious about it?” 

“I don’t know,” she stumbles for a response that makes sense, can’t explain she’s thinking about the ghost in her head, “I got a twin myself, actually. Love her, but life took us to different places. Can’t imagine… becoming part her, part me.” 

“You don’t though, you just become something new, the best of both of you.” 

“Interesting, uh, I won’t hold you up any longer. See you around.” 

V heads off and makes her way back home, guzzling energy drinks along the way, stinging the new bite mark in her tongue. She passes by Barry’s apartment on the way to her own, she’ll grab a shower, she decides before she talks to him either. Showing up at a former cop’s doorstep covered in blood and sweat sounds like a bad idea. 

The merc strips down as soon as she’s in the privacy of her apartment and makes a beeline for the shower, Hot water a godsend even as it stings her cuts and bruises, the heat relaxing her tightly wound muscles and the ache in her head. Her eyes drifting shut, body relaxing. A blink that lasts a second, maybe a minute, or two too long. 

Then pain shoots through her tailbone as she crashes to the wet shower floor, falling right onto her ass. She curses beneath her breath and gets back onto her feet, finishing her shower quickly before she falls asleep again.  The energy drinks are cutting it less and less, three days without any sleep, other than long blinks. 

She checks her tongue in the mirror thankful the bite didn’t tear at her piercing, and sighs as she takes a look at herself. Still bruised, but no longer bloody or dirty, dark bags have formed under her eyes and she’s paler than before. Her headache has become a constant throb she can’t get rid of, ears irritated from the rub of her hearing aids, the pain in her joints is equal parts overexertion and neglecting her immunosuppressants, the familiar burn of her disease flaring up. 

If Vik and Misty see her like this she’ll never hear the end of it. It feels like lying as she grabs up her foundation and concealer. She laves on a heavier layer of makeup than she’d usually do, applying it until she looks a little more human, a little more awake and put together. After everything she’s put them through the last thing she needs is to cause them any more worry. 

V throws on some clothes and makes up a new fresh batch of her caffeine cocktail before she leaves out again, fiddling with her bullet pendant as she makes her way down the stairs. She knocks on Barry’s door, trying to get the neighbors attention. 

“Hey, you home?” She signs, turning the volume up a little on her translator, hoping he’ll hear. 

“Who is it?!” A rough voice yells out. 

“V, your neighbor, remember? We talked about rides, You were all worked up over the newest Mizutani. I said it was for flash-posers.” 

“Heh,” he chuckles behind the door, “you don’t forget a gonk thing like that.” 

“You gave me this look, I was about to run back to the Badlands right then and there.” 

The door finally opens, showing Barry, just as she remembers the older man. Dark crew cut, over a foot taller than her, with tattoos across his biceps. He leans against the door frame, looking down at her by necessity. 

“I remember, what do ya want?” 

“To talk, I know that’s what you need right now, even if you don’t realize it. I can’t turn back time or magically make everything okay, would if I could, promise. But.. if nothing else, I’m good for a chat, hear you out as best I can,  and make sure you know you’re not alone.” 

“Now hold on a sec,” he makes her pause, the heaviness of it taking him off guard, “we barely know each other, and you just rock up here talkin’ to me about my problems? Where’d you get the idea something with me was up? You watchin’ me? Somebody send you?”

“You got me, your buds from the station asked me to drop in. I figured, why not, decent guy even if he’s got shit taste in rides,” she signs, with a teasing smile. 

“Come back just to get your ass kicked?” His grin makes her snicker, “man, you really know how to cheer a guy up. Maybe those two asshats really are worried about me… All right, come on in. You wanna talk, let's talk.” 

Barry leads her into the apartment, it’s layout a little different than her own. Most notably where her window stretches across the wall, he has none, with a couch against it instead. The apartment dark and gloomy without the sun being able to touch it, her boot knocks into an empty can, one of many. There’s trash across his floor, discarded takeout boxes, bottles, cans.  Has he left the apartment since she spoke with his friends? Has he locked himself up in here for the past three days? 

He sits down on the couch and V plops herself on the table in front of it, careful not to sit on his ashtray or nearly empty pizza box. She wants to be able to make eye contact and she knows human voices are far more comforting than AI ones, turning off her translator. 

“I lost someone, too,” she hates the scratch in her throat, the slight widening in Barry’s expression as he hears her speak for the first time, “he was my best friend, a good man.” 

“What do you mean ‘too’? Wait, this about Andrew? They… told you about him…”

“Yeah, I know it ain’t easy, losing someone like that.” 

 “Best bud I ever had… known him my whole life. Only person I could spill to without being judged.” 

“Take it Petrova and Mendez weren’t that great at listening?” She raises an eyebrow, Mendez seemed like a genuine dickhead, but Petrova was nice. Surely, she wouldn’t have minded hearing Barry out, given how worried she seemed. Barry shrugs his shoulders. 

“Petrova’s a decent gal, but she’s not good with this stuff. Mendez just doesn’t get it He thinks us blues need to be tough. Can bear the sight of a kid getting murdered? Born with pussy genes, according to him,” Barry tells her, the crestfallen expression telling her those are exact words from Mendez. 

“You told them about Andrew, though?” 

“Honestly? I thought about it a lot. Anyway… they don’t know everything. Better that way,” his soft nearly whispered tone tells her there’s more to this, something he doesn’t want them to know Or maybe he’s just like her and prefers to keep his cards close to his heart. 

“What exactly happened with Andrew? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Does it matter? Uh,” he rethinks when he looks at V’s face, “old age took him…. No wonder, seeing as he was only a few years younger than my grandma.” 

“I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But, Andrew had a long life with a good friend like you sticking by him through most of it. No better way to go, if you got to. And in Night City of all fuckin’ places? That alone deserves a fuckin’ monument.” 

That makes Barry smile, a soft laugh tumbling from his lips, “ashbox in a niche will have to do.” 

“So, was Andrew like a grandpa to you?” 

“Hm. Wouldn’t go that far. He was like… egh. I don’t know. A window into the past or… something. He reminded me of my gram-grams, about our little talks… time when everything had its proper place, y’know? He was the last living record of those times.” 

“He clearly meant a lot to you, it’s only natural losing him is gonna hurt. Mendez is full of shit, to be blunt. Life and loss is hard, really fuckin’ hard. And feeling that hurt doesn’t make you weak, makes you human.” 

Her throat feels tight as she speaks, each word making her feel more and more like a hypocrite. Preaching the importance of feeling out your hurt while hiding from her own. She can still taste gunmetal, feel the weight of the barrel on her tongue as she willed herself to pull the trigger. Talking a man off a ledge she tiptoed no more than a few hours before. And it’s not that she doesn’t mean what she says, but she can’t give herself the same kindness she affords him. 

“What if he’s right though?” Barry asks, eyes big with worry, “maybe my genes are soft? Don’t only the strongest survive?” 

“Losing people hurts. And that’s okay, doesn’t make you weak, and ignoring it don’t make you strong. If you felt nothing at all, then his loss wouldn’t have any meaning. You lost someone you cared about, who was there for you most of your life; anyone with a heart would be hurting right now.” 

“I guess… so. Thanks for the talk. I, uh, need time to take all this in.” 

“Alright, take care of yourself,” she stands from the table, “and if you need anything else, you know where to find me.” 

She leaves Barry’s apartment and lets out a soft sigh, rethinking what she told Barry, wondering if she handled it well. Taking in how it applies to her. The words she can easily speak to someone else, but not to herself. Feeling hurt doesn’t make her weak, just human. Painfully, disgustingly, revoltingly human.  

V shakes her head, making her way out of the apartment complex and taking the NCART down to Buran and Bradbury. Walking down the family little cluster of storefronts, pass strippers dancing in windows, where Gary the wannabe prophet sleeps on some abandoned filthy mattress, and into Misty’s store. Her heart jumping in her throat when she sees the older woman. 

“V!” Misty calls out, green eyes brightening and a breath of relief leaving her chest, “its been a minute, got worried about you.” 

“Nothing to worry about, just been, busy… Actually, wanted to see Vik, got a debt to pay back.” 

“Hmmm, c’mon then, I’ll walk you back.” 

“I think I know the way by now,” V signs with a raised eyebrow. Misty isn’t going to start babying her now, is she?  Sure, V got hurt and is in the shit right now, but that doesn’t make her any less of a grown adult. 

“You’re the first customer to walk in today and I’m bored out of my mind, just give me this,” Misty jokes and V feels bad for doubting her intentions, though there's still something in the way the older woman looks at the merc. More akin to a worrying mother than a friend. 

“Alright, whatever you want.” 

The two women leave out the back of Misty’s store and into the back alley, V searches for the bald little cat she pet last time she was here, but it’s gone now. Misty leads the way down the stairs to Vik’s clinic, the ripper doc in his usual spot at his desk. 

“Someone’s here to see you, Vik,” Misty announces as they walk through, the older man looking up to see V. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes pulls across his face, more of pity than happiness. 

“Hey, kid, how you’ve been?” 

“Getting by,” she shrugs, “more importantly, I got the eddies to pay you back.” 

“What is this?” He asks as she starts to transfer the seventy thousand. 

“Optics, mantis blades, and the launcher; all adds up. That’s the best estimate I could ge. If they cost more than that I-” 

“Hold onto ‘em,” he waves her off, “just in case. You need ‘em more than me.” 

“Not taking them to my grave, Vik, please, it’s the least I can do.” 

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping; “twenty-five thousand, I’ll won’t take a dollar more” 

“What? That’s not even half?” V blinks incredulously, can see Misty smiling at the exchange.

“Covers the mantis blades; you didn’t ask for the optics or launcher, seems fair to me.” 

“Even if I didn’t ask for ‘em, doesn’t mean they didn’t cost you a pretty penny.” 

“Not worried ‘bout it, spend the money on yourself.” 

“Vik, seriously, there’s no point in me keeping it.” 

“Six months is longer than you think, V,” his voices rises, a hint of frustration, “I’m not letting you throw that kind of cash away just because your-” 

And he stops himself, before he can says what they all know. Just because she’s dying. Her jaw clenches and she swallows hard. Trying to search for how to respond, how to deal with that. 

“I know you wanna pay him back, but Vik’s just trying to look out for you, V. Never hurts to keep some money in your account and besides, you’ve got way more than six months left in your,” Misty says, trying to smooth over everything. Her concern and worry always softer spoken than Vik’s. 

“It’s not just because I’m dying, you’ve done a lot for me over the years, want you to have something to show for it.” 

“That’s what friends are for, V.” 

“Fine, fine, never had to beg someone to take my money,” she jokes, sending a transfer for the twenty-five thousand instead.

“Other than that, how have you been?” 

“Already told you, getting through, not much to report.” 

V shrugs her shoulders again, wondering why he’d ask the same question twice. And she can the clench in Vik’s jaw, the somber downward pull on Misty’s expression. They don’t believe her. And she can’t blame them for it, because she knows its not true. 

“And how are you really feeling?” Misty asks, softly. 

“I… is there anyway we could talk about Silverhand and the chip?” 

“I’m no expert, but fire away, I’ll see what I can do.” Vik tells her. 

“I’m seeing him, I saw him, again. And I hear him, even without my hearing aids, is that? Is that normal, I none of this is fucking normal what am I talking about…” She rakes a hand through her hair, cleaning her jaw. 

“Well, that biochip is designed for users to communicate with constructs. It's just doin' its job. As far as hearing goes… Johnny’s in your brain, not your ears. You're deaf because the autoimmune disease destroyed your inner ear, but the Relic bypasses that and stimulates the auditory processing part of your brain like he’s actually there talking to you.” 

“So, my brain treats him like he’s real, even though he’s not?” 

“I mean, he is real, he’s a person,” Misty softly corrects, “just a person in your brain.” 

“He’s data on a chip,” Vik corrects Misty in return, earning an eye roll for his troubles. V can’t say she gives too much of a shit about the philosophical aspect, more just wanting Johnny not to choke her out. 

“He… tried to kill me,” V admits, both Vik and Misty’s eyes going wide. 

“What!?” 

“Oh… V.” 

“Tried to put my head through my window. It… he… felt real as anyone else. He wants to kill me, I think, I don’t know what to do.” V can feel her eyes stinging again, tears threatening to escape, as she finally puts her anxiety out into the world.

“Well... long as you don't give him control, can't do too much harm. 'Course that won't necessarily be possible after some time.” 

“And… what then?” 

“What do you say, we don’t let things get that far? Find a way to get rid of Silverhand and fast.” 

“What about his memories, why can I see them?

“You two share a brain now,” Vik says matter of fact and she wants to scream, “he has access to your senses, perceptions, even memories. Likewise, you get a look into his. After a while, won’t even know whose is whose.” 

“Right…” 

“V…” Misty says the merc’s name in a soft voice, “if you need to talk, we’re here for you. ” 

“I need to go,” V signs and shakes her head. 

She doesn’t want to deal with this. Hasn’t wanted to deal with it for days and she has no idea where she’s even going or what she’s going to do. But she hurries through the clinic gate and up the stairs, getting ready to cut through the backdoor of Misty’s shop. 

“V!” Misty yells out and grabs V’s shoulder, all too reminiscent of the merc’s exchange with Cecelia the night before. Women who’d be better off worrying about someone else, spending their time worried about V. 

“I can’t do this right now, Misty, I’m sorry.” 

“You can’t run yourself ragged, honey, you’ll kill yourself before the chip does.” 

“And is that really such a bad idea?!”  She blurts out without truly meaning too, at her ropes end, because she can’t do this anymore. 

“You don’t mean that, V.” 

“Why not? I can’t fuckin’ live like this! I haven’t slept in three days, I’m fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna wake up and it’s not gonna be me!  That he’s gonna take over and kill me in my sleep or, or, if it’s not him, it’s gonna be his memories, his life, that I’m gonna lose a piece of me and not even know which one! I survived, but maybe… I shouldn’t have… ”

Her voice trails off, becoming choked and pathetic as a dam threatens to burst. Tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, threatening to break lose. But she doesn’t want to break down in front of someone. A few people in the alleyway give her side eyes, looking at her like she’s already lost her last scrap of sanity. 

“C’mon, V, we can talk more up on the roof, okay?” 

Misty wraps her hand around V’s, gently tugging the merc into the elevator. And V doesn’t have the energy to fight her, holding Misty’s hand in return and following along. The warmth and kindness of the touch sinking into her bones, making her squeeze tighter just to hold on to the small gesture of affection. As the elevator starts to shake and rattle upward, V can feel her limbs getting heavier, her exhaustion pushing her to lean her weight onto Misy. 

To the merc’s surprise, Misty doesn’t seem to mind her weight, doesn’t even flinch when V lays her head onto Misty’s shoulder. Instead she lays her own head over V’s for the short moment, short wispy hair tickling the shorter woman’s cheek.  Misty’s warmth and affection feels like a lifeboat, rather than the innocuous touch V knows it to be. 

The elevator comes to a stop and Misty pulls V up the stairs up to the roof. A place V has visited so many times with Misty, Jackie, and Vik. A cool September breeze rolling through, cooling V’s skin while the sun works to warm it. The two women sit in the little plastic lawn chairs that are put around a table. V feels like she’s sinking into it. She feels heavy and like she’s dragging her own weight. Her emotional outburst just compounding her physical exhaustion. 

“I meant what I said, V. That as long as your alive there’s still hope.” 

“Misty...I-” 

“I can’t imagine how hard this is, I don’t think anyone could. But… I don’t think it has to be this terrible hell, you think it is. Fate doesn’t act without reason and there has to be a reason for this, for all of it. But if you…end it all like that, you’ll never know.”

“You think this is fate…?” 

“I do, your soul and Johnny’s were brought together for a reason, I think you owe it to yourself and Johnny to find out why.” 

“So, what, everything that happened is fate, I’m supposed to blame fate for all of this, for the heist, for Jackie, for-?” 

“Better than blaming yourself, isn’t it?” 

The question takes the winds out of her sails for a moment. She’s never put much stock into fate and the idea that things are meant to be, meant to happen. It sounds ridiculous to her. That the fates or some mystical pull in the universe put them in that hotel, an excuse to take blame off her own shoulders, a way to avoid accountability. 

“I already had a bad feeling before you and Jackie left, the heist was on the anniversary of the tower going down, and it just happened to be Johnny on the chip. And theres your tarot reading… there’s more to this, V, I know there is. There has to be,” Misty tries to implore her to understand, to accept the idea that this was meant to be. And all at once V is reminded of something she’s wanted to forget. 

“I’m sending you something,” V says softly, watching Misty’s brow furrow as she sends her the image of that SID profile, that night her door wouldn’t unlock. 

“What is… is that?” 

“His SID data.” 

“How’d you get it?” 

“Night before the heist, I tried to unlock my apartment door. Wouldn’t work, mainteance guy comes down, says my SID chip is reading as someone else’s. Sends me the data, it’s him… How the hell does that happen? We hadn’t gone near Konpeki yet, I… “ 

And she’s said it, put out that maybe there is a little something to this fate thing, that she doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to acknowledge. How cruel can the world be if this was all intended? But, she can’t quite come up with a logical reason for it. It could just be the mother of all coincidences, but that feels like a cheap explanation at best. 

“V... “ a small almost incredulous smile comes across her black stained lips, “this was meant to be. You and him, merging, it’s fate. There's something the world wants from you two, just got to figure out what.” 

“Its… a hell of a coincidence… “ 

“A higher power is screaming at you and you’re gonna turn a deaf ear?” 

“Only kind I got.” 

“Smartass,” Misty teases, “have you talked to him?” 

“Who? Takemura?” 

“No, Johnny.” 

“No,” V blinks in disbelief, has Misty lost her mind, “strangely enough I didn’t feel like striking up a convo while he was trying to kill me.” 

“You should.” 

“And why the absolute fuck would I do that?” 

“Like it or not, V, his fate and yours are one now. This is as much about what the world has planned for him as it does for you.” 

“He tried to kill me!” 

“And?” 

“And!?” V flails her arms out exaggeratedly, the flippant response taking her back, “I didn’t appreciate it!? I…?” 

Misty laughs at V’s shocked reaction and the merc can’t help but chuckle too, the entire thing sounding and feeling ridiculous. 

“Did you appreciate it when Jackie put a gun to your head?” 

“That’s different, Jack was just doing a job.” 

“So, it’d have been better if he was being paid to do it?” 

“Yes, least Jackie had a reason, dipshit just wanted to hurt me.” 

“Is that what you think?” Misty raises an eyebrow and tilts her head softly to the side, halo of blonde hair bouncing with the movement. 

“Is there anything else to think?” 

“Not saying it makes it okay, but, Johnny woke up fifty years in the future, in the head of a stranger. Feeling your feelings, your memories, and last thing he remembers is whatever the hell Arasaka did to him.” 

“And?” 

“And maybe, the fear you felt that night, wasn’t all yours.” 

V hums, rubbing her hands together, “I’ll think about it. Still kinda think offing myself is the easiest move, though.” 

“What would Jackie say if he heard you talking like that?” 

“He’d kill me first for even talkin’ like that. Tell me to pull myself together, that it’ll all work out in the end.” 

“And it will, don’t know how, but it will. Just need you to want to live long enough to see that happen.’ 

“Fine, fine,” V sighs, “no blowing my brains out on this fine day, happy?” 

“Wanting to live is about more than just not killing yourself, V. You need to sleep, eat, drink something other than energy drinks and booze. Take care of yourself and actually deal with your shit” 

“But that sounds hard.” 

“Is it harder than running yourself ragged and no sleeping?” 

“Maybe.” 

“V…” 

“I’m just… scared, of seeing his memories, his past. Or, him getting a hold of me in my sleep.” 

“I could watch over you, make sure nothing happens.” 

“And what if he hurts you?” 

“He’s still in your body, V.” 

“Doesn’t mean he can’t use it to hurt you, I’m not risking that,” V tells Misty, shaking her head emphatically. 

“You could sleep in Vik’s clinic, no offense, but pretty sure Vik could stop your body if Johnny uses it to do anything.” 

“Nah, this is my demon, no one else’s. I appreciate the chat, really, I think I need to be going though.” 

“V… please.” 

“I’ll sleep tonight, in my own bed, alone. Just in case, but I’ll sleep, promise,” V reassures Misty as the merc gets up out of her seat, a few ideas already fluttering around in her head. 

“C’mon, I’ll get you set up with something to help you sleep, alright?” 

V’s soul feels a little lighter as she follows Misty back into her shop. The older woman getting a little sleeping kit put together for the merc. Lavender oils, tea, and spray. Moonstones meant to relieve emotional tension and help her relax. V can’t help but smile at the kindness of it all, Her money refused for the second time when she offers to pay Misty for it. 

“Take care of yourself, please,” Misty begs again, ruffling her hand through V’s hair. 

“I’ll give it a shot, thanks again, for everything.” 

“Wait,” Misty calls out, stopping V before she can head out, “you mentioned Takemura earlier, did you and him talk?” 

“He called me, morning after I got back to my place, wanted me to meet him for a chat.”

“What about?” 

“Don’t know, not meeting up with him.” 

“V…” 

“You know you keep saying my name like that it’s going to start hurting my feelings.” 

“Why haven’t you talked to him?” 

V shrugs, “He’s a corporate rat, can’t trust him.” 

“He saved your life.” 

“He also tried to kill me, which I think balances itself out.” 

“If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here, V.” 

“Corpos are tricky bitches, guy probably has some scheme up his sleeves, kept me alive so the wolves would have fresh meat or some shit.” 

“V… “

“My name is starting to feel like an insult.” 

“Talk to him, what’s the worse that can happen?” 

“You really want me to answer that?” 

Misty rolls her eyes and the two part with a quick goodbye, V feeling a little more energized, despite still being sleep deprived. She still has a few things she wants to cover before she goes home and sleep. Misty brought up something important, what Jackie would tell V if he were here to tell it. He’d want her to at least try and she owes him that much. 

It's a longshot, she knows, but she pulls out her holo. Evelyn, the client, claimed she knew how to remove the chip. That was before it was damaged and V’s not entirely sure Evelyn knew half as much as she claimed too. But it’s worth a shot, prefers it to anything a corpo suit like Takemura might be offering.  She calls Evelyn’s number, but an automated message tells her it’s not avaliable at the moment, V opts to leave a message anyway. 

“Hey… this is V. Got the chip, I know the heist had a few… hiccups, but if you could call me back, that’d be cool.” 

V huffs as she hangs up, blowing hair out of her face. She still doesn’t want to risk talking to a corpo, so she opts for her next idea. Learning more about Johnny, which feels weird to even think about. She’s not sure she buys the fate angle, not sure she really wants to ever have a chat with the man who bashed her head against a window. But, if nothing else, she wants to know more of who she’s dealing with. And while she gets his memories, she doesn’t have a good grasp on accessing them.  She could look him up online and fully intends to. But, she has some other ideas in mind. 

Dino is in the rockerboy scene, would know a bit about Samurai and Johnny. And despite what his faceplate looks like, he may actually be old enough to have crossed paths once or twice with the guy. The fixer may not be offering her jobs right now, but he only knows her as a V the merc when she’s wearing her mask. Without it, she’s just the girl he fucked in a bathroom stall once. Not her proudest moment, but hey, means he may entertain a conversation with her. 

The trickier one is Rogue, who she knows was close with Johnny, was too close. V grimaces at a few choice memories that stand out to her. But Rogue’s the queen of fixers and has never so much as looked V’s way. It's doubtful the older woman would want some no-name merc asking about her ex from fifty years back. But, that’d be her best source to try to get some solid first hand info of how the beast in her brain operates. 

The Afterlife is closer, but Dino is more the sure bet as far as talking to her goes. So, she catches the NCART into City Center. She gets off at the nearest stop, making her way through the crowd as she walks to his bar; Electric Orgasm. Because the man can’t name anything without sex being involved. The humiliation of fucking a bassist who named his band Gloryhole Bandits will truly never leave. 

Her boots scuff across the black and white dirty tiles, music blaring in the bar, making her turn her hearing aid volume down. She walks past the arcade and vending machines on her left, the stage with a band playing on her right. Dino is in his usual spot, leaning against the red bar. 

The fixer is taller than her by a ways, as most men are, prominent muscled biceps, one plated with bolts in an implant. Chrome in his jaw and along the back of his head, a mohawk of teal dreads and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. An energy that suddenly seems all too familiar, a rockerboy wearing sunglasses indoors with a smug air, the attitude of a man convinced it’s his world and everyone else is just living in it. 

“Hey, you,” Dino greets her with a smirk she’s never seen him without, the drag of his tone telling her he remembers her face. Or maybe he’s just remembering what her throat feels like. 

“Hey,” she signs and she can see his brows furrowing, thinking for a moment. ASL and translators aren’t… particularly common.  She’s the only person she knows who uses them, but Dino seems less confident in that fact. 

“You finally decide you didn’t get enough of ole Dino?” 

“Maybe I did, but turns out men speaking in third person makes me dryer than a desert,” she teases, climbing onto the stool next to him. 

“Oh, c’mon, girl,” he wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close, “don’t break my heart like that.”  

“I don’t think your heart is what you’re most concerned about,” she ends her signing by tapping her finger to his chromed chin, “so any news in the music scene?” 

“Nothing too exciting, a few new baby faced wannabes. We’re planning another show here in a few weeks, if you wanna pay me another visit, that is.” 

“What, not a fan of the newer crowd, prefer the classics?” She pointedly ignores his invitation, she can’t deny she’s attracted to him, but fucking a bassist in a public bathroom needs to be a one time experience in her life. 

“‘Course, new bands ain’t got style or soul, just young pissants hoping a guitar will help them get their dick wet.” 

“Because you’re so much better than that,” she rolls her eyes and he smirks, “old school bands, like, I don’t know… Samurai, more your thing I take it?” 

“Oh fuck yeah, you wanna talk style, Johnny Silverhand had fuckin’ style.” 

“You ever meet him?” She signs, stomach drop at the mention of that name. 

“Pssh, c’mon, little young for that. Did hit one of his gigs once.” 

“So, not that young, actually,” she taunts him, because she can’t resist. 

“Only as old as you feel, but...” he seems to to drift off for a moment, remembering, “that gig was fucked up, remember that much.” 

“They play that good?” 

“Eh, played normo. But Johnny, ‘parently he had some ‘saka suit tied up backstage. Said if they didn’t get at least three encores, he’d bash the poor bastard’s faceplate in.  Like I said, he had style, kid.”

“Firstly, you don’t get to call me kid after your dick has been inside me. Secondly, that all you know about the guy?”  

“What? You a Silverhand fangirl?” 

“I would actually enjoy killing you for saying that,” she signs and forces a smile to her lips, to make it seem lighthearted. But just the notion of being that man’s fan has left her stomach churning and her skin crawling. 

“Hehe, well how about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” 

“I actually got to head out now, bye.” 

V is out the door before Dino can say another word or stop her.  Sex isn’t exactly a prority right now, dying taking precedent.  Though she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want to take Dino up on his offer. Her sex drive truly knowing no bounds. 

Additionally, the merc tries to limit her amount of repeat partners; Cece and Jake the exceptions because of her own odd logic. Cece and Jake are both in their forties with kids. They’d have to be out of their mind to want anything more out of V, considering a twenty-year old merc isn’t exactly step-mom material, at least not if you give a damn about your kids.Means less worries about them wanting… more. 

While less tethered than them,  Dino is a grade A fuckboy with the same love them and leave them attitude, so he’s low risk as far as that’s concerned. Maybe another time, when there’s not a bomb in her head. 

She takes the NCART back towards Watson, feeling a little silly for pinging back and forth between the areas. But as expected, Dino was ready to spill his limited knowledge on the rockerboy with only a little bit of needling, probably just happy to oogle the merc. Rogue will be her own problem of getting information out of, given the Queen of Fixers is a little over V’s head. Maybe she can pretend she’s looking for work, granted she knows Rogue would never work with her after her reputation tanked. But, could at least get her into Rogue’s booth and a chance to have a convo. 

There’s an odd, bittersweet sense of nostalgia as she gets off a stop near the club, slides her mask on,  and reaches the little enclosed alleyway that leads there. Stuck in one spot in the alley, remembering the night she met up with Jackie here, half expecting to hear him on the phone with his mother. But there’s only chatter of other mercs. She takes a deep breath and curses beneath her breath when she sees the flashy red and blue poster pinned to the alley wall, graffitied over. But the band is clear, bright red flaming oni face and Samurai underneath it. 

Childish as it may be, she scratches her nail up under the corner of the poster and gets a hold of it, ripping it from the wall. An odd little sense of satisfaction at the way it tears half assedly, destroying the logo and oni head. Mild act of vandalism completed, she drops the piece she ripped up and continues on her way. 

Turns the corner, through the doorway, down a set of stairs, through a pair of double doors and down another set of stairs. Fellow mercs are scattered in the hallway outside of the main doors, a few stare at her, seem to be whispering. Must be her imagination, flashbacks of the other kids in The Herd mocking her start to flicker in her mind. They’re all adults here, though,way above schoolyard rumors and bullying, right?

The same bodyguard from that night is blocking the entrance to the bar, he looks down at her and scoffs. Her jaw clenches behind her mask and her stomach drops, she really is a fucking laughing stock here now, isn’t she? 

“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He mocks her and she hears some snickers, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin. 

“Here to drink and talk shop like anyone else,” she signs, hoping he can’t see the nervous twitch in her fingers. 

“After the shitshow at Konpeki? Not happening, get lost.” 

Her face burns hot with shame behind her mask and it takes every ounce of self control not to kick him. She forces herself to turn around and walk out instead, trying to behave. Trying to ignore the side glances or the soft snickers as people watch her get turned away, mocking the pathetic little merc who thought she could still have a rep after that shitshow. The fuck-up they all blame for the heist gone bad; for Jackie and Bug being gone. 

When she reaches the alleyway, alone, she pulls off her mask and puts it into her bag, tugging at her hair. Her feet stomp, anger and shame hot under her skin as she walks. She wanted to prove she was strong, capable, worthy of respect, worthy of something. And all she did was prove she’s as worthless as she always thought, as her supposed clan thought. 

“Fuck!” V screams her anger out as she reaches the end of the alley, and slams her fist into the wall, feeling her knuckles split open against the wall. She follows up by kicking it, she needs another boxing match something to get the anger out. 

“Need a smoke?” A sly female voice asks and leaning against the wall around the corner is Rogue. V still recognizes the much older woman from when Jackie pointed her out. And her face is still recognizable from Johnny’s memories, just more wrinkled with time. Her teal fluffed up mohawk of hair now traded for long gray hair shaved on one side. Cyberware notches along her cheeks and chrome peeking out over the neckline of her shirt. She’s puffing away on a cigarette, eyebrow raised  as she watches the merc like a cat watches a mouse. Rogue is exceptionally tall for a woman and casually even in her older age, V can see the maintained muscle of her abs around a chrome inset. 

Dumb luck seems to be on V’s side. Rogue, if she knows V at all, knows her as the masked merc. Which means V may be able to pass as a random civilian. She double checks and casually musses with her hair, making sure her hearing aids are covered. Rubbing at her neck but turning off her choker translator. 

“Appreciate the offer, but I don’t smoke,” V tells her, shrugging her shoulders and leans against the wall, hoping her body language is as casual as she intends. Even if her own voice is grinding to the ears. 

“Sure looks like you need something to take the edge off.” 

“Eh, I’ll survive, always do.” V picks dirt from her bleeding knuckles, “you’re Rogue, right?” 

“We know each other?” 

“Boss of the Afterlife, everyone knows you,” V opts for stroking the older woman’s ego, on the off chance it makes her lips even a little looser.

“Ugh,” the older woman scoffs, V’s praise not quite hitting how she wished. 

“Not all it’s cracked up to be?” 

“You don’t know the half of it, but ain’t too keen on that label. ‘Boss’,” she roll her eyes, ''Makes it sound like I've got an army of greasy henchmen.” 

“I mean, guy inside didn’t look that greasy.” 

“Cute.” A soft sarcastic lilt colors her tone, but the slight hint of an almost smile lets V know she’s at least amused by the merc. 

“So, what’d you rather be called?” 

“Hmm,” she hums, taking a drag off her cigarettes before breathing out the smoke,  “Good question. I'd have to think about that one…”

“Mind if I shoot another question your way?” 

“Why not? But ask at your own risk.” 

There’s an almost condescending bite to her voice, making it clear if V doesn’t traverse this next question carefully, she may find herself back in the landfill. Something about it… attractive, if the merc is being honest. And she’s not sure if that’s a physical attraction to the much older woman or that Rogue is… what V wanted to be. Exudes the confidence, commands respect, and is a legend in Night City; no one questions her strength or her competence. Rogue truly made it in Night City, something V can only dream of now. 

“You use to run with Silverhand back in the day, right? What was he like?” 

“Johnny...? Where’d that come from?” 

“Seem to be as many rumors about him as there were fifty years ago. And not all of 'em gel together, figured this be one of my few chances to ask someone who actually knew the guy.” 

“You a media, now?” 

The ‘now’ hits V’s ear the wrong way, maybe just a slip of the older woman’s tongue. But, Rogue doesn’t know V, especially not without her mask, just some random stranger striking up a conversation. For all Rogue knows the stranger could be a media, maybe V’s worrying for nothing. 

“Just curious, ain’t got to answer if you don’t wanna, both know I can’t make you do shit.” 

“It's good you know that,” Rogue smirks, “Johnny was… strong, arrogant, uncompromising. He'd burn down half the city just to prove he was right. And burn the other half just for fun.” 

“Sounds like…” V trails off, not completely sure of what she wants to say. 

“Like a kid with a box o' matches and a can of CHOOH2.”

“Still stuck by him, though, didn’t you?” V can’t help but ask, more to herself than to Rogue, but the question bugs her. Even back in the day, Rogue was a certifiable badass, hot as all hell to boot. Yet she wasted her time on some greasy manchild?

“And how exactly would you know that?” 

“Lucky guess,” V quickly covers her ass, “called him a kid, but way you say it, sounds more fond than mad, ya know?” 

“Maybe, doesn’t matter, won’t speak ill of the dead, anymore burning questions or can I get on with my life?” 

“I ain’t stopping you,” V says, shrugging her shoulders as she watches Rogue stomp out her cigarette and walk back down the alley towards the club. 

V lets out a heavy sigh, she didn’t exactly get a great deal of information. She didn’t expect to get a biopic of the guy’s life. At the very least she got a bit of a better idea of his personality, but it’s done nothing to put her at ease. Anti-corp rockerboy, reckless, unpredictable, and destructive. It doesn’t give her much more of an idea of how to handle the guy. Misty is saying to give the guy a chance to at least talk, but god knows what he’d do if he had half a chance to hurt her again. V shakes her head, she knows Misty means well, but whether it’s fate or shitty luck, being stuck with this asshole can only mean bad news. She’d be better off keeping him under lock and key. It’s not worth the risk. 

She makes her way back to her apartment at that, remembering her promise to sleep. She grabs a shower as soon as she gets home, letting the hot water relax her for a moment. Ther merc changes into comfy pajama, throwing on her slightly silly but cute plush golden brown hoodie, with little bear ears. It’s ridiculous and childish, but she loves it. The softness of it making her want to burrow under the sheets and never come up. Already exhausted and ready to sleep by the time she’s placed the moonstone in the shelves at the end of her bed cubby and sprayed lavender mist over the pillows. 

Her eyes are already heavy when she lays down, half asleep already, she grabs her holo, deciding to try one more time. Evelyn hasn’t called back at all, so V sends her a quick text message. Right now, the blue haired woman is her only real lead on anything that could help. Other than speaking to Takemura and… that’s a road she’d rather not travel if she doesn’t have to. 

V: We need to talk, it’s important!

[Unable to deliver message. Recipient may be temporarily unavailable.]

The merc blinks at her phone screen, yawning as she puts it aside, what on earth is going on with Evelyn? There’s no way Arasaka could have linked the heist to her is there? They wouldn’t have had a chance to track V’s call, Jackie’s phone had no correspondence with Evelyn if they got it, the bot couldn’t be linked back to her. Maybe Evelyn changed numbers and ditched town? V hopes the fuck not, but it would have been the smartest thing to do. But if so, V’s one lead is gone. 

Thoughts and worries flicker through her mind, but exhaustion crashes down on her before they can run rampant, slipping into sleep. Darknesss flooding her vision. 

A blanket of black then neon begins to bleeds through, brighter and brighter until it blinds. 

World around her shifts and she’s no longer her but him. 

Bright lights in a dingy club, the cling of sweat on skin, the weight of a guitar. Hands of flesh and chrome strum the strings, vocal chords straining as his voice screams out his lyrics. Kerry not far off to the side, the rest of Samurai behind him as they play through Blistering Love. A decent sized crowd screaming and dancing along to every note they play. 

And its a soft thrum at first, the chaos that starts to erupt, but not because of the music. A steady murmur thats something is wrong, then chaos bursting forth as security starts running through the crowd. Trying to push through people, shouting over the music for someone to stop, unable to draw their guns in the sea of bodies without risk of hitting someone else. 

Johnny’s gaze looks over to Kerry, confirmation that his friend is seeing this too, that the attention on them is shifting elsewhere. Samurai forced to play second fiddle to the growing commotion and when he looks back to the crowd he sees her, a woman cutting her way through the audience. Sweat stuck to her brow, a split lip with a steady drip of blood, and a wild mused mohawk of teal hair. Bloody lips pulled into a smug sneer as she ducks and dodges through the crowd, away from security. 

Then that soft thrum explodes into something more, someone in the crowd throws a punch at a shoving bouncer and they throw one right back. The audience breaks out into a brawl as drunk idiots start attacking the bouncers or each other; blood spraying and teeth knocked clean out. Music stopping as they know the audience is done giving a shit about them. 

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Kerry curses as a beer bottle smashes at the back wall behind the band, nearly nailing him right in the head. 

“We better delta before the pigs get called.” 

“Take care of this for me, Ker,” Johnny ignores Nancy’s warning, handing Kerry his guitar. He can see her making her way towards the door, trying to slip out in the commotion with a bouncer still on her heels. He’s not letting her go without making damn sure she knows who he is. An undeniable pull of attraction to her, to the kind of woman who can turn a crowd of drunk club goers into a battle royale.

“The fuck are you doing?” 

Kerry questions him, but Johnny’s already jumped off stage and into the fray, shoving and pushing his way through people. He walks surefooted, head held high and no shame as he cuts his way through. Shutting down anyone who gets in his way however he has too; a solid left hook, silver knuckles leaving their nose a cracked mess. Slamming an elbow into someone's jaw and hearing the crack of it over the noise of the crowd. All with his eyes staying focused on her, on the flash of teal hair under neon lights. 

She's nearly to the backdoor, Johnny not far behind, when a heavy wraps around her upper arm. One of the bouncers finally gaining ground and trying to wrench her backwards, though he can't manage to drag the amazon of a woman back.

"Think you'd get away with this, bitch!"

Her hand pulls back to throw a punch at the bouncer, but Johnny's hands are faster, stepping in to save the day. He slams his fist onto the bouncer's face, nose cracking and teeth gnashing under the force of the blow. The man is knocked back, the woman's green eyes glaring at Johnny, she looks pissed. Lips bloody and sneering, eyes dark with distrust. Domineering and angry in her demeanor, even while he's playing hero.

He reaches over her to wrench the door open, an excuse to be in her space, taking what advantage he can of the small height difference. She's only around an inch shorter than him, the heels of his boots extending that difference slightly. 

"C'mon, no reason to stick around," he says, hand on her back as he pushes her through the door into the alley. 

The night air cools his sweat slick skin, the woman quick to move away from his touch as the door shuts behind him. Silence enveloping them with the noise of the club is shut out. Johnny just takes her in for a moment; hot as all hell. Sweat clinging to her skin, freckles across her cheeks, split lip, and dyed hair falling into her face. A face cold and cruel in its expression, contrasted against the flush of exertion on her skin. 

"The fuck do you want?" She asks him, glaring. Tone and attitude nasty, making him smirk. Always did like the bitchy types, more fun when someone's got a bite to them. 

"Just saved your ass, wouldn't kill you to say thanks," he returns, already thinking of tasting the blood on her split lip and  grabbing a handful of her ass. 

"Don't need your help, rockerboy." She rolls her eyes at him, if he gets half a chance he could have her eating out of the palm of his hand by daybreak. Or better yet, could find himself between her legs before the sun comes up. 

Johnny's not stupid, knows damn well the effect he has. The way he can draw people in, only reason Kerry still hangs around, maybe the only reason Samurai still exists at all. 

"How 'bout a drink then?" He offers, smirk on his lips. And she groans, pissed off by the littlest thing.  

"Fuck off."

He watches her stomp off, eyes drawn to her ass and the swing of her hips. But he doesn't go after her. Not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him chase after her twice in one night, instead lighting himself a cigarette. He's seen her type before, runs with the Atlantis crowd; no doubt in his mind. They'll run into each other again. 

And as he breathes out a cloud of smoke, the world around him obscures. Gray filling his vision, flooding it, choking him on it. Until his throat itches, his stomach churns, pain cracking through her head… her head. 

A migraine wakes V up, every single cell in her body on fire, a sharp pang in the back of her skull. Her stomach clenches and twists, tighter and tighter. When she opens her eyes, the world is shifting and glitching, swimming before her, eyes unable to focus. Every muscle in her body winds itself into knots and can’t get a deep enough breath, lungs struggling to take anything in. 

Relic Malfunction Detected

The words flash across her optics as she flops out of bed onto her knees, gasping for air and retching to vomit all at once. Body unsure of what to do while everything seems to fall apart at once. She clutches at her chest, claws at her rib cage desperate to feel if her heart is even still beating, begging herself to just breathe, to just breathe. 

And it starts to pass, her stomach calming down, her breathing evening out. Her muscles starting to release some of the tension. She’s still dizzy and the world is still wobbly as she wipes spittle from her lips, forces herself to stand up. V needs to do something, speak to Vik, maybe he can give her something. Do something for it, but he’s made it clear he has no idea how to save her. 

She trips over herself on the way to her bathroom, grabbing at her sink for some balance. Looking down with her eyes closed as she breathes, steadying herself, waiting for the new fresh wave of nausea to pass before she looks up into her sink mirror. 

But it’s not her she sees. Johnny fucking Silverhand reflected back at her, leaning his hands against her sink and staring into her eyes; glare harsh with that barely contained anger he brims with. Always looking a moment away from lashing out. And when she twists her head, his follows, as natural as a reflection. Like she’s really him. 

“Jesus fuck!” 

She curses and jerks back, falling back onto her ass, not even minding so long as she doesn’t have to see him. V grabs at herself again, feeling that’s her. Soft flesh, not hard muscle, skin where his chrome is. Her blue painted nails, her dumb bear hoodie, her bleached hair, and her smooth face; that’s it her. That she’s still herself. And she is; for now, But for how long? 

V can’t keep doing this, can’t just wait until Evelyn answers her calls or texts back, she needs to do something. Anything. Even with popping the blockers like candy, she’s seeing him, living his memories. He’s bleeding into everything and she’ll lose herself to him before long. She can’t hide away, Jackie would want her to save herself, would want her to live. And she if she intends to do that she needs to move. 

The merc rises, as she’s had to so many times before. Her reflection is her own again, still woozy from the aftermath of the relic malfunction, but she pushes through to shower and change. Collecting all she needs before she leaves the apartment, marching out of the apartment building with single minded determination towards Tom’s Diner. She’s got a date with a corpo. Maybe it’s a trick and maybe he can’t help, but he’s something. As he put it so elegantly, if she intends to live, she’s got to get back in the ring and she’s been fucking around in the sidelines for too long. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #misty olszewski #female v #aidan becker

[razieltwelve]

2 things: 1. Garion? Seriously? *sigh…..* 2. How much is Erik enjoying being taller than Lyara?

Yes, Garion. Pronounced Gary-on, of course. A friendly, orange dragon with an optimistic outlook on life. He'll smile his toothy smile, ask to be your friend, and then pummel the absolute crap out of you if you decide that fighting is what you want to do. Although not as large as the legendary Balerion II (the dragon who is Drogon in canon), Garion was known to be a swift and cunning opponent, one who combined a dragon's natural strength and speed with the sort of cunning and deviousness typically seen in much smaller creatures.

He was perhaps most famous for his knack for hiding himself, often finding cover in clouds or flying such that the sun would be in his opponent's eyes. It made him an extremely deadly opponent, not that he had all that much reason to fight.

Beloved by the small folk and nobles alike, Garion proved to be of great aid, assisting in the drawing of extremely accurate maps, as well as helping transport key supplies and the like during times of need. The phrase 'As friendly as an orange dragon' became common place, meaning someone who was extremely scary at first glance but was actually quite friendly on the inside.

Perhaps the most famous story of Garion is how he enjoyed playing hopscotch with small folk children during one of Edward's tours of the kingdom. As he was only a young dragon at the time, it was actually possible, and he would insist that the king himself join the game although he was supposedly quite put out when Edward won.

Later, as an adult dragon, Garion famously became the judge of a special event regarding the quality of livestock. It essentially boiled down to, which one would the dragon prefer to eat? The winner of the event (there were separate categories for cattle, sheep, etc.) was crowned the Dragon's Chosen and deemed the best of its kind. This was especially valuable for bulls and other male livestock, as the winner's owner could charge handsome studding fees.

And, no, the winner was not later eaten. Instead, Garion was typically given several other livestock to eat instead.

The greatest champion of the event was a mighty bull from the North called 'Dark Horn' due to the unusual colouration of his horns. The great bull won his category seven years in a row and sired many exceptional offspring. He became a symbol of pride in the North, and allowed his owner, a humble farmer, to rise greatly in stature. The man became favoured by the Starks (who doesn't like beating the rest of the Seven Kingdoms?) and Dark Horn earned him a vast sum of coin over the course of his life.

The phrase 'as virile as Dark Horn' entered common parlance due to the bull's winning ways, and it became even more common as the children he sired proved to be of exceptional quality. It was rumoured due to his size and strength that he was part auroch, but nobody knows for sure.

Another famous animal with ties to Garion is the ram known as Iron Head. This crazy animal was but a lamb when he first met the dragon, who was at the time still only small. It was said that Iron Head challenged the dragon to a fight and the young dragon was so shocked that a mere sheep would dare challenge him that he almost took a backward step out of surprise.

Still, the dragon emerged victorious, but the lamb had proven his bravery. As a ram, Iron Head would prove to be a real jerk, constantly picking fights with other rams and just generally proving that his head really was as tough as iron. It was said that on one visit to the area, the ram would attack the king himself.

Edward met the ram head on, wrestling the gigantic ram to the ground and pinning it until it admitted defeat. He then ordered drinks be brought out, so that he and the ram could share them since he considered the ram a worthy opponent.

The mortified owner of Iron Head could only thank the gods that nothing bad happened, but Edward assured him that the ram was only doing his duty in challenging a stranger who had wandered onto the farmer's property.

Naturally, Garion challenged Iron Head again. However, the difference in size this time was enormous. Still, Iron Head attacked without fear, and that won Garion's respect, and Iron Head became known as the ram so brave he was willing to fight a dragon.

There are many such tales like this, about both Garion and Edward, which may go a long way to explaining his enduring popularity. Despite his genius and brilliance, Edward never held himself above others, and his respect and affection for the small folk made him unbelievably popular.

It was often said that Edward was a king who used his strength to carry the weight of the Seven Kingdoms upon his back rather than insisting the Seven Kingdoms carry him. It was through Edward that the concept of 'royal obligation' became common place. It was the idea that in exchange for the immense privileges that royalty had, they needed to give back to the kingdom through wise and diligent service, never forgetting that a kingdom is made up of people, not just land.

Garion would eventually outlive Edward (since dragons live longer than people). It was said that in his later years, as an elderly dragon, he spent much of his time watching over flocks of sheep and cattle, which allowed him to sleep under the stars.

When he passed away, it was said to the be the first time in the history of the Seven Kingdoms that small folk and nobles alike mourned the death of a dragon. His bones, as massive as they were, were eventually transported back to King's Landing where they were laid to rest alongside those of Edward I in the magnificent mausoleum that was built after the king's death.

Notably, King Edward I was content to be buried in the royal crypts alongside the previous kings, but he was so popular that the people insisted he be given a burial place fitting for the man topically cited as the greatest of Westeros's kings.

So Edward's Sanctum was built, a sprawling complex that included not only his mausoleum (which doubled as a Sept) but an entire campus dedicated to the many subjects he dabbled in over the course of his life (e.g., alchemy, engineering, merchanting, etc.).

It is said to be good luck for aspiring students to pay their respects at the mausoleum to both the great king and his friendly dragon. Indeed, rather than being a place of mourning, the mausoleum is instead filled with frescoes and other monuments to the happiest moments in the king's life.

The king's successor and oldest son, Robert II remarked that his father would never have wanted anyone to cry because he was dead. Instead, he would have wanted them to smile that he lived. Indeed, at the king's funeral, Robert II read a speech the king had written in his final days. In typical fashion, despite the sorrow of the occasion, the crowd was laughing in delight by the end of the speech.

It was fitting that Edward I, who had made so many smile during his reign, somehow managed to do the same at his own funeral.

#final rose #game of thrones #fanfiction

[lakemojave]

Land of Falling Sun 9

The Aurans thought themselves a solitary people. There were very few Auran strongholds, settlements, or major civilizations, especially in this part of the world. Their families rarely lasted long past the maturity of their offspring, who were often sent off into the world alone at age. They tended to be selfish and withdrawn: self-reliant at best, lonely at worst.

Yet, they possessed a strong sense of tradition, a natural compassion for the weak and downtrodden, and often traveled in flocks.

Auran children tend to grow up with a sort of split identity; they will often seek companionship from many a stranger, but will maintain what they believe to be a healthy distance, often drifting apart from their close friends. They will seek out a life of service, acting as a caretaker or as a paragon of justice, rendered somewhat ineffectual by their gravitation towards their own self interest.

Chipper was particularly worse off than most of their kind.

Born from a father they didn’t know, raised by two mothers--Seed and Pine--in the mountains far to the east of our plateau, Chipper’s early life was typical for an Auran child, for the most part. Their mountains were tall, craggy, and dry, filled with natural prey and good hunting. A small river flowed through the base of the mountains, which brought their families good fishing. They had to hunt and struggle to survive, though the mountains always provided, and they asked for little else.

Since Chipper was a hatchling they remembered sharing the mountains with others. There were many lone Aurans flying the wilderness as well, some of whom even taught them how to harness magic--though it was their Mother Pine who etched the distinctive runes into their feathers. There were many settlers and travelers passing through this country, some of whom sought to live there themselves, despite being helplessly unfamiliar with it.

This was all well and good for years. The Aurans and other humanoids got on well enough, sharing the land but mostly keeping to themselves. They knew who ruled the mountains at heart.

At least, until the company men came to the mountains.

See, these hills were rife and rich with copper, tin, and rumors of gold. There was money to be made here to folks who sought this sort of thing. Swaths of workers and machines and bosses and dynamite and money and blood came in and out of the mountains, excavating massive craters and boring deep holes in the quiet, sleeping land. The homesteads and settlements were quickly absorbed into the operations, adding to their horde of supplies and bodies. The forest--sparse as it was--shrank in the blink of an eye, and most of the Aurans’ natural prey were overhunted and overfished. Much of the Aurans’ hunting grounds were planted over or developed.

Relations between the Aurans and the company men were tense and boiling. Sabotage and theft were common, leading the company men to treat the Aurans less as an occupational nuisance to hostile opposition. When things were at their worst, the miners were given orders to shoot on sight if any of them came too close to their work sites. Many of them were shot down out of the sky without a second thought.

That was not how Mother Pine died.

Mother Pine was tracking a pronghorn one day. She picked up its tracks half a mile outside of a small patch of forest, and as far as she could tell it would make a good meal. Perhaps it would lead her to a herd, letting her uncover new hunting grounds and find sustainable food for months. Instead, She found a logging site, where company men were clearing forest for a new mine. Mother Pine’s grief at the dead forest was palpable, but she wouldn’t be deterred from her hunt. In a moment of weakness, she swooped down to the nearest logger she saw, hoping to ask if he had seen any signs of her prey.

The logger clipped her wing with a rusty sawblade in panic. She died of infection a week later.

Mother Seed was a firm woman, and always wanted Chipper to fly on their own two wings. She loved her partner very dearly, but knew they would part ways once Chipper was of age, which was another four years to go. She mourned very briefly, then set Chipper to practice their magic. Their talent for divining water and food and their skill at warding off the elements was not only essential for their survival, but also quite impressive for their age. With a bit of nurturing, Chipper’s magic would be sufficient for their own survival.

Chipper didn’t stop mourning Mother Pine for years.

-----

Two years later, Chipper was ten years old. Under Mother Seed’s watchful eye, they had met under Auran sages from across the mountains, learning how to inflict their Will in harmony with the world around them. Their favorite sage, a boorish and matronly Auran named Meolu, was the first to answer the question that tortured Chipper more than anything else:

Why?

More on that another time, though. For now let’s just say that much of what Chipper imparts to the wanderer now, they learned from Meolu.

Because of this, Chipper’s magical talent would be sufficient for their survival long before they were of age to leave the nest--at least, as expected. Chipper still hadn’t quite recovered from the loss of Mother Pine, and wasn’t ready to leave Mother Seed just yet. Whenever she went hunting on her own, Chipper’s thoughts would turn to isolation and despair. They would do whatever they could to distract themself. Mediation helped for maybe fifteen minutes, but they found themself tumbling listlessly down the nearest hill for hours on end.

One day, someone found them.

“Hey lil fella,” said a smooth, polite voice coming from somewhere above Chipper’s curled up body. Chipper looked up to see a crouching, human man, resting a rifle on the ground like a walking stick. He wore a beige overcoat over miner’s overalls, along with an overstuffed backpack and an easy, charming smile. “You lost?”

Chipper looked up, dumbfounded. Unsure what to say. They had never spoken to a human, let alone a human man, outside of from under their mothers’ wings. They opened their mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Take that as a yes,” the man said with a grin. He reached out to touch Chipper’s runes. “Nice feathers ya got there lil fella. You do magic?”

“I…” They never knew fear like this. “I…” What if they answered wrong? “I…” What if he knew they were lying? “I don’t know…” “Hm. You don’t know.” He stood up on his feet and reached for Chipper’s elbow, lifting them up to their feet. “Your parents’ nearby young…I’m sorry, I don’t want to assume.”

This was new. Most outsiders either didn’t know the Aurans’ relationship with gender, or simply didn’t care. That he took the time to ask Chipper’s preference showed respect and reverence for their kind.

“I’m uh, neutral, sir.” Chipper coughed, their voice weary and soft. “Mother Seed is out hunting, I think.”

“You think? You don’t know that either?”

“They do.” A matronly voice came from behind the strange man as Mother Seed descended upon them, two dead rabbits clutched in her talons. She flapped her wings powerfully, steadily, casting a dark shadow over this interloper accosting her child.

“Woah woah, pardon me ma’am!” The stranger stumbled back at the display. “I don’t want trouble or nothing, not at all! In fact,” He took off his hat to reveal neatly combed hair. He brushed it, and lowered his hat to his chest. “I was hoping to talk. I’ve heard from your friends in the area that Chipper’s skill is exceptional for their age, yes?”

Chipper looked at their mother with pleading eyes from behind the strange man. He knew their name--how did he know their name? Mother Seed kept her wings flapping wide, and looked at the man with suspicion and intrigue. Was he looking for Chipper? Why?

“That’s right,” Mother Seed said inquisitively. “What does it matter to you?”

“How old are they? They look old enough to stick it out on their own--at least by your standards, yes?”

Mother Seed paused before her answer. “Almost.” She was flapping more gently now, seeming as the man meant no harm, and they could converse in peace. “They have a few more years left.”

“Well,” The man set down his rifle and hat on the ground and clasped his hands together. “I understand you have fallen on a tough time, what with the miners movin’ in. My group have moved in as well--down by the valley, a short hike west of here. We’re a small community, and we brought plenty of supplies with us.” He turned back towards Chipper. “It’s comfortable for now, but we need more hands to help grow. An attuned Auran such as them could make a tremendous difference to us, and one so young could use a stable community to keep learning.” He turned back to Mother Seed. “You would only have to hunt for yourself, and your child will be safe.”

Mother Seed leaned in close, now towering over the stranger. “You wish to take my child from me?”

The stranger tucked his head into a deep bow. Mother Seed almost fell back. An Auran pledge.

“I want to help you.”

-----

That was the last time Chipper saw their last mother.

#land of falling sun #my writing

[jeanjauthor]

What’s the duties of a duke of his household in peacetime?

The duties of a Duke are the same as any noble, baronet, baron, viscount, count, earl, margrave, duke, grand duke, and of course the other gender versions, baronetta, baroness, viscountess, countess, marchioness, duchess, grand duchess... But whether or not a noble *followed* those duty expectations is, of course, up to the individual, whether they’re a genuine caring person or an entitled douchebag asshole. (Pardon my language but honestly...yeah.)

Anyway, the original premise of nobility vs. common folk was that because they could afford things like weapons and horses (which made combat easier), they were to protect their immediate neighbors in exchange for being given a bit of support in terms of food, goods, funds, etc.  This literally goes back thousands of years in Europe, all the way into the days of prehistoric civilizations (think of the grand burial mount civilizations, for example; archaeological finds have showed that those who could afford to keep & ride horses were given higher status, and were far more likely to have weapons buried with them).

By the time it becomes officially stratified in the records with various levels of nobility, baron to duke, etc, the primary job of protecting the people still exists, but the *method* has now varied.  Depending on culture, era, nation, etc, dukes don’t necessarily *have* to personally lead troops into battle.  (Please decide this for your created cultures in advance.)  This could still be done via raising a levy of home troops, seeing that they’re trained (mandatory monthly training weekend?), and drilled, and ready to fight...but it’s not always necessary.

By the era where nobles are stratified into dukes vs counts vs barons, etc, most of the time standing armies did exist (if small and padded with conscription during times of war).  This often meant the duke (or whatever rank) could negotiate for paying for part of those army forces via tax monies that could be used to pay the soldiers or pay for provisions, or products from their craftspeople (leather goods, clothing, weapons, vehicles, etc, and/or produce from their farms (actual produce like grains, vegetables, preserved meats, or living animals such as horses and oxen for pulling supply wagons, etc).

Now that we now what wartime possibilities are like, we can set that aside and focus on peacetime.  They would still be responsible for being able to provide goods and services and funds for any standing army, paying taxes to their sovereign, etc.  They might even (depending on the culture, think England and its longbowmen, yeomen) still have to maintain a yearly quota of trained fighters (in this case longbow archers).  There was a long period of time when, by law, all able-bodied males in England had to train with a longbow for X amount of time a month.  A conscientious noble--regardless of gender--would see to this, and see that there would be an adequate supply of well-crafted longbows, and a plethora of arrows.

This training would extend to the members of their own household.  In a typical keep / castle, there would often be a bow in every single room with windows or window slits facing to the outside, along with a supply of arrows, so that anyone within that room during a time of battle or even siege could pick up the weapon, string it, and use it to defend against invaders.  This means that there would be an expectation of anybody who could physically draw a bowstring would spend at least some time every week practicing those skills.  A good noble would ensure that all genders could do so, even in times of peace.

Moreover, a duke, et al, would have a trained force of guards to patrol the roads within their domain, to try to keep them free of bandits, scout for raiders or unusual incursions from a neighbor’s own armed forces...because war with your neighbors was not uncommon; resources were fought over, herd beasts were rustled, taxes would be “demanded” by the greedy from peasants who weren’t in that noble neighbor’s demesne (domain), etc.  It didn’t even have to be outright warfare to require constant vigilance.

And of course there would be the need to enforce certain laws.  Sometimes it was stupid classist gatekeeping bullshit like sumptuary laws (at one point the only fur commoners could wear was squirrel fur, which made winters hellaciously difficult to survive, and much of the Middle Ages did experience a Little Ice Age, so such laws were doubly punitive, and I hope those who created such laws suffered horribly from the diseases of the day)..  Sometimes it was a genuinely good law, like no you cannot beat your wife to death without it being called murder.  (Seriously, I would not last long in the Middle Ages, because I’d be too damn feminist to be “allowed” to live...)

Anyway, aside from the need to keep the roads clear for commerce and travel, to watch for neighbors slipping into raiding, to uphold the law, etc, technically a good noble’s next and utterly non-combat-associated duty would be to use their plenty, their excess, their ability to be generous and charitable with their extra resources...to be generous and charitable.  There was a long-standing tradition of expectations that a noble would take care of the poorest within their domain.  Cottages and daily meals for the elderly & infirm, help for those families devastated by illness, extra food in times of famine, and of course if they owned any of the buildings their tenants lived in, it was expected that they would maintain those structures at their own expense.

Furthermore, it was expected that anyone who worked for them, from the lowly scullery boy and/or goose-tending maid, all the way up through to their seneschal (person who actually managed a particular manor and its lands whenever the noble wasn’t there visiting) got a certain amount of money and a certain number of sets of clothes every year.  (Cloth is VERY expensive to produce, pre-industrialization, btw; it could take 12-20 spinners just to keep one weaver at the loom full time.)  They would also be expected to be provided with tools for their trades, too--leather and metal for animal harnesses when plowing the fields, plows for said plowing, chisels for a woodwright or a stonecutter, etc--when doing work for the noble.  At least, a good noble would help support their craftspeople, providing good scythes at harvest time, etc.

A truly good noble would actually pitch in, too, during heavy labor periods, especially in harvest season when the weather is looking iffy.  They’d pull in their soldiers and assign them to work the fields, and even work themselves to get all the pulses (peas, beans) harvested, all the corn (medieval term for seeds of grain such as oats, wheat, rye, barley, etc) harvested, and of course properly dried and threshed and stored...in exchange for a certain amount to be given to them as taxes, to feed for said soldiers and workers, and to pass some along in the form of either food or money from sales to their higher-ups on the fealty chain.

...Of course, as time went on, most nobles considered themselves entitled to all of those items and produce and goods without pitching in personally.  This of course has lead to the GOP insisting upon holding as much power as possible without giving a damn about the common American in the modern era...but this has happened over and over and over.  The French had a little head-chopping Revolution thing about it, in fact.  Not a good look for nobles, tbh, but they really were that entitled and uncaring in their attitudes toward commoners.  (Isn’t it fun the parallels we can draw between then and now?)

One thing people in this era don’t realize is that after the Black Death swept through and wiped out 1/3rd of Europe’s population (it actually swept through several times, but this was like COVID-19 to the common flu, back then), there was such a labor shortage that the nobles were literally enticing serfs in someone else’s domain to come work for them, for twice or even three times as much pay, benefits, gifts, etc, because they needed the harvest to be brought in but didn’t have enough living people, period, to get it done without poaching their neighbors’ residents.

The Black Death ended serfdom, the custom of people being essentially bound by law to a particular patch of land as a sort of pseudo-slavery--the phrase “year and a day” was used when a serf ran away from their home patch of ground to a freely-held (not beholden to any noble) city.  If they could live there for one year and one day without being caught and dragged back, they would be considered freed...but when the Black Death hit, if you survived, you had a LOT of leverage against the nobles.  It really shifted the balance of power and the balance of wealth in Europe, because the commoners could demand a lot more in funds and supplies and equipment, etc.

(It’s like how businesses are shutting down because their workers are tired of being exploited; if these businesses won’t pay an actually livable wage...well, we’re not serfs, not boung by law (yet--watch out for the GOP, since they want to reinstitute such things bit by bit, if you read between the lines of what they’ve been attempting to pass in state and federal congressional sessions) to have to work for starvation slavery wages for our (corporate) masters...  Instead, we have a great deal of power and leverage to demand better working conditions, just as our European survivor-ancestors did post-plague.  Anyway!)

Wise nobles treated their commoners well, giving them extra pay, better living conditions regardless of how much they needed the work.  They sacrificed a little bit of their own personal wealth to ensure that their entire demense (domain) prospered.  Those that did not, often caused far more misery than humanity should have allowed...such as the so-called Irish Potato Famine.

There was NOT a famine in Ireland at the time.  English colonizer nobles who had seized the land, etc, demanded that all the good food that was growing be reserved for -their- needs, to be sold elsewhere or fed to the local animals.  The Irish had to subsist on what little of the potato harvest and a few gathered wild foods or personal tiny vegetable garden goods they could grow...and when the potato blight hit, it hit HARD, and the vast majority of the potatoes were taken up--just like all the other foods--by their English overlords, maliciously causing the actual farmers, the actual people creating & growing & tending all that food, to literally starve to death...or be imprisoned for daring to eat the food they produced, because it “didn’t” belong to them.

So when we talk about the obligations of the nobles to their households in times of peace...we have to stop and think, what kind of culture do these nobles in general promote, and what does the individual noble and/or their immediate family promote?

Because the time you get around to having stratified nobility (baronetty through duchy), you’re probably going to have a lot of people who believe they have unassailable privileges and callously inhuman entitlement rights, UNLESS there are a lot of checks-and-balances on the culture to prevent such things.

Like what, you may ask?  Well, we can look at the corporate culture of Ben & Jerry’s, the ice cream company.  I don’t know if it’s still in their bylaws, but at least for a long while, last I heard, the CEOs & board of directors could not be paid more than 7x what the lowest paid employees in the company got.  By investing their money in their employees, the company was ethically using the labor of said employees, paying them back for their hard work.

Nobles who invest in their peasantry, improving their wages, their homes, their lives & ability to do their livelihoods, will have a similar ROI, Return On Investment--they’ll be beloved, they’ll be fiercely defended, they’ll have people wanting to work for them.  We know this worked in the medieval era because when the Black Death destroyed serfdom, those nobles who “shared the wealth” with their laborers got even more prosperous, because everyone who survived wanted to work for them.

One last thing, the higher up in rank a noble is, the more lands & crafts, etc, they probably oversee...and that means the less time they have to know everyone in their domain...which can lead to them “not being in touch with the common people.”  UNLESS they make a concerted effort to get to know and stay in touch with those people.  They can do this through conscious personal effort, a family culture of careful coaching & teaching, by not having primogeniture but instead a law of picking the best heir to take over (aka not the privileged entitled asshole types who only take & take, but the ones who genuinely care and give & give), or even by laws, “Nobles can only use X amount of what they have for their personal needs and must reinvest Y amount in their demense (lands, peoples, buildings, herds, etc).”

If you’re writing an historical novel with a duke, you’ll want to research the era in which they’re set, to see what the chances of a good guy duke versus a bad guy or uncaring guy duke might be.  (There are always exceptions to the rules, but maybe they’re just unaware their policies are asshole-ish...or maybe they really are English prejudiced against the Irish, considering the Irish to be moronic animals that have opposable thumbs...really seriously, the whole potato famine was the fault of the English nobility and their goddamn colonizer attitudes...but I digress).

If you’re writing a created culture, however...you can work things to turn out differently, either by culture, by expectation, law, etc, so that it’s different from what happened in Europe (and other locations).

In my fantasy romance DestinyVerse books, mages have a great deal of power, and often end up in positions of nobility because--like having horses and weapons--a strong mage has the ability to protect a lot of people from incoming threats...but at the same time that they’re asked to protect those around them in a position of legal & cultural power... they’re expected to swear magic-binding oaths to protect the people they rule over, so that their magic literally prevents them from violating the terms of those oaths.  They have to protect the people they’ve sworn to protect from various oath-bound threats.  That’s a guarantee that Medieval Europe (or China, or India, etc) did not have...though a cleverly worded oath can still allow a mage to be an asshole in many respects.

I hope all of that helps!

#WhatDidDukesDoInTimesOfPeace

#NobleObligations

#answers

[kjrosswrites]

Trust, Dean Winchester & Wendigos- Part 1

Word count: 3409

Summary: Rylie gets a call from investigators wanting to know about her missing friend. They turn out to be Sam and Dean hunting a Wendigo. Rylie and Dean have a crush on each other. A little fluff. This is my first time posting any fanfics!! I’d appreciate any feedback. The character Rylie in this short story is similar to my MC in a manuscript I’m working on. ☺️ (also I’m really bad at titles 🤪)

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s an unknown number. I answer on the off chance it could be about my missing friend, Amber.

“Hello?” I answer, out of breath from my run.

“Is this Rylie Evans?” a man’s husky voice asks.

“It is.” I try to hide the fact that I’m out of breath.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your missing friend?”

“Who is asking?” I know one week in to be more guarded. Some people will prey on those of us going through a hard time.

“Agent Tyler, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”

“I would be happy to speak with you, agent. Could we perhaps meet in person so that I can verify you’re who you say you are?”

“Of course, name the place.”

I give him the address of a coffee shop off I-40.

Two hours later, my hands are wrapped around a warm, steaming cup of coffee that I haven’t touched. My stomach is in knots. It’s been a long few days of moments like this, going over every detail of the last time I saw Amber and what I knew about her camping trip.

The door dings, I lookup to see two tall men in suits coming through it. I make eye contact with them to make sure they notice me.

I can’t help but notice that they’re both incredibly handsome, and don’t look like your typical agents. The shorter guy, though he has to be at least 6’1’’, has a little scruff on his face. The taller guy has medium length chestnut hair.

The man with darker brown hair and hazel eyes smiles at me softly. I shift in my seat.

“Do you happen to be Rylie Evans?” I hear his slight southern drawl that is definitely not Tennessean, again, and recognize it immediately.

I stand, extending my hand, “Agent Tyler?”

“You can call me Dean. This is my partner, Sam Kramer.”

Dean gestures for me to have a seat back in the booth. I reluctantly sit down. Regretting my choice of jeans and a flannel shirt, I tug at my curly auburn hair absentmindedly. Rubbing the ends of a strand between my chipped nail polished fingers.

Sam clears his throat, “So, Rylie, do you know where your friend was last seen?”

“Yes- as I’ve gone over with the Sheriff’s Department and the Park Rangers. She was camping at South Cumberland State Park. She was last seen by a park ranger there when she parked her car. I last saw her the day before that and I helped her pack.”

“Does she usually take solo backcountry camping trips?” Dean asks.

“No. She just went through a break-up. She wanted to clear her head and be alone. I tried to go with her.”

“I’m sorry that you have to feel that guilt, then.” Dean says.

The waitress comes and the men order their coffee.

I sip my coffee that’s finally cool enough to drink.

“Why would I feel guilty? Has there been a lead?” I meet Dean’s hazel eyes.

“Well, possibly. We have an idea. The reason the TBI is now involved is because it seems there’s a bit of a pattern of missing persons in this area.”

“You guys think it’s a serial killer?” I fight back tears.

“We don’t know- there’s odd circumstances. Have you heard anything out of the norm lately? Reports of hearing someone cry for help that didn’t seem quite right?” Sam asks.

“A man is trying to lure people by pretending to be hurt? No. I don’t understand.”

I’m frustrated now, and flustered. Dean’s hands are far too close to mine on this table. I pull mine back.

“I know it’s confusing, but we can’t give out too much information. Please, stay out of the woods at night and give us a call if you hear any grumblings.” Dean says as he puts a card on the table.

“Wait!” I nearly shout. The patrons near us turn to look. I blush.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t heard anything about other people going missing. Where are those reports coming from?” I ask, lowering my voice.

Sam and Dean exchange a look. “They’re coming from all along this region. Every few months, someone goes missing in a heavily wooded area. Along the Craighead Caverns cave system.” Dean says.

I blink, not understanding. “The caves have something to do with it?”

“Maybe. It’s complex.” Sam says, giving Dean a pointed look.

“So you called me here to ask me if I had heard of anyone being lured by someone pretending to be hurt?” I furrow my brow. “Is this come kind of joke? Preying on me because my best friend is missing? Y’all don’t even really look like cops.”

I get up to leave, genuinely upset now. I throw their card towards Dean and stomp off.

When I get to my car tears are properly flowing down my face. I’m fishing through my purse for my keys and I can’t find them.

Frustrated, I dump my bag onto the asphalt, bending down to search for them.

“Looking for these?” I hear Dean’s voice from behind me.

I whirl around, heat all over my face.

“You left them in the booth.” Dean stoops down to pick up the contents of my purse.

“I can do it- thank you.” I scoop it all back into my bag quickly.

“Here you go.” Dean holds out my keys, lipstick and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.

I look at him incredulously. “I’m fine, thank you.” I wipe the tears from under my eyes with my hand.

He raises his eyebrows and takes a step back.

“Alright, look, you’re right to be upset. We are not really TBI. We’re hunters. We’re tracking a Wendigo.”

“Hunters?? What’s a wendigo?” I back away him.

“It’s a cryptid type thing. They hunt folks. Impersonate humans. You know all those things that have a lot of folklore and discourse? It’s all real. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. We hunt them.”

“You think my friend was killed by a Wendigo?”

“Maybe, or something like it. Whatever it is- we don’t think it’s your standard Ted Bundy.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“But- no remains have been found?” I question.

“If it’s what we think it is, there wouldn’t be. Her bags and tent were recovered right?” Dean looks towards my feet, staring at my worn down boots.

“Yes.” I say. My voice breaking again. Dean still has the hankie in his large hand. I look at it instead of his face.

“The other theory is she got lost? Would she do that without any supplies?” Dean looks up from the ground, I’m still staring at his hand.

“No. She wouldn’t. She’s smart.” A tear hits my face. I look up to meet Dean’s eyes with my green tear filled ones.

He extends the hankie again, a sympathetic look on his face. I take it this time and wipe away the tears. It smells like him, woodsy with a hint of whiskey.

“Thank you.” He nods at me like he’s done this a million times before.

“The lore about Wendigos is that they make their prey last. There could be a possibility of your friend being alive. I don’t want to give you false hope, but it’s possible.”

“How on earth could you find her?”

I search his face. I have an odd sense of comfort being near him. Like we’ve met before.

He clears his throat. “We’ve done it before. You have to go to the last place you think the thing was, to gank it.”

“Y’all are gonna go camping the same place she went missing? Are you insane?”

He grins. “Many people would say that I am, yes. That’s why we wanted to talk to you. Find out exactly where she was. We’ll go tomorrow night.”

“I couldn’t describe to you where her campsite was. I’d need to go back.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Yeah we kinda figured that. Look, I know it’s a lot to ask. I’ll buy you beer and dinner tonight.”

“You want me to come hunting a mythical creature that I just found out existed-with you and your partner who are strangers to me for beer and dinner?” I laugh despite myself.

“He’s my brother, actually. No, you wouldn’t hunt. You’d just show us where the campsite is and go back home. We can’t have you in danger, too.”

“No way in hell am I going out there just to show you when my friend could be alive. I’ll stay. I can handle myself.”

Sam walks out of the coffee shop and throws his hands up at Dean. “What the hell, Dean? I thought you were coming back in.”

Sam stops short when he sees us. I’ve got my hands on my hips and Dean is standing a little too close to me.

Sam looks between us with a confused expression.

“No, Sammy. Rylie is going camping with us tomorrow night.”

“She is not.” Sam immediately rejects the idea.

“Y'all need me to show you where exactly she camped. The only way I’m doing that is if I stay, too. Otherwise you can forget it.”

Sam sighs heavily. “You told her what we’re hunting?”

Dean gives a small grin to his brother, shrugging. “She wasn’t going to help us unless we told the truth, Sammy.”

“So who’s buying my beer?” I smile, despite myself. Something about these boys is comforting now that I know the truth.

“Oh, that’s all you, Dean.” Sam claps his brother on the shoulder.

“Anywhere with a good pool table?” Dean looks at me.

“Yeah, I can text you the address and meet you there later. I need to do a few things. Can I text the number on the card?” Dean hands me the card back.

“Yep. We’ll see ya then.” Dean smiles at me, his dimples showing.

Butterflies stir in my stomach as I return the smile.

“See you then.”

I open the door to my Toyota Tacoma and climb in. I watch Sam and Dean cross the parking lot to a black 1967 Impala. I smile. My mom’s first car was an Impala. Sam and Dean’s is in perfect shape, though.

Three hours later I’m back in the truck heading to Joe’s bar and grill. I pull in and notice the Impala is already there. Dean had texted me back nearly immediately and said “See ya there, sweetheart.”

I walk through the doors wearing the jeans I was earlier, and a black long sleeved blouse. I see Sam at the pool table. Dean at a high top table off to the side.

There’s not many other people in here and I scan the room for familiar faces, as I’d rather my family not know I’m hanging out with two random guys.

Thankfully, I don’t see anyone I know. Dean makes eye contact with me and stands up. He grins, walking towards me. I observe his bow legged gait and can’t help but grin back.

I’ve always been a sucker for bow legged boys in flannel shirts. His shirt is red flannel and I notice a brown leather jacket hanging off the back of his chair.

“Hey there, whatcha drinkin?” He greets me.

I smile. “Hi, should probably stick to beer.”

“I got you. You look nice, by the way.”

I blush, “Thank you.”

“Go have a seat and watch Sammy hustle. I’ll get us beer.” He gestures to the table he was sitting at. I nod and cross the room to sit. Sam waves at me.

They both seem so comfortable here, as if they’re here all the time. That strikes me as odd, because I know people will be talking about this tomorrow. We have a population of maybe three thousand.

Dean walks over with three beers and sits next to me. “Thank you.”

I open my beer and take a sip.

Dean does the same, when he’s done he leans closer than necessary to say, “Are you sure you want to come with us tomorrow? The weather is supposed to be pretty cold.”

“I’m positive. She’d go if it were me.”

I flip my hair off my shoulder to my back as I take another sip of beer. Dean watches as I do this and I can see his jaw clench. I feel heat in my cheeks.

“How long have y’all been friends?”

“Since highschool.” I pick at the label on my beer bottle and suddenly feel so guilty for flirting with this guy when I should be focused on finding Amber.

“I hope we can find her. We see enough loss. It’d be nice to help a reunion happen.” Dean looks over to his brother.

I’m trying to not get choked up again so I follow his gaze just in time to see Sam win. The man he was playing looks upset as he hands over the money.

Sam walks over to us, “Money for dinner.” He grins.

“Hunting monsters doesn’t pay well?” I ask, eager for a subject change.

“Not jack.” Dean mutters.

“We do it because no one else does.” Sam explains.

“We lost our parents to monsters.”

“And too many damn friends.” Dean says. “That’s why I want to find yours, Rylie.” Dean stands and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I hope we can.” I look up at him.

“Another round?” My beer is hardly touched but I agree and ask for a burger and fries too.

I quickly finish my beer while Dean is at the jukebox.

“Oh, here we go.” Sam smiles.

“Does he have bad taste in music?”

“Not bad, just, mostly dad rock.” Sam chuckles, his big dimples showing.

I smile back. Sam seems like a sweet guy. Then I hear Blue Oyster Cult start playing and I understand what Sam means.

Dean comes back, “Don't worry I picked several we can dance to, later.” He winks at me.

I smile back, blushing again.

“Since when do you dance?”

“Shut up, Sam. I love to dance.”

The next hour or so flies by and I find myself more and more comfortable with them. I have a huge crush on Dean, especially after he’s had a few drinks and being goofy.

I put a Taylor swift song on the jukebox and Sam is laughing.

“You still wanna dance to T-Swift?” I ask, holding out my hand.

Dean groans. “Fine. Because you asked.” He smiles.

He takes my hand and pulls me closer to him, hands on my waist.

I gasp at the quick change of movements and try to even my breathing. I look up at him. I’m 5’4 so my head barely reaches his chest. I try not to let my mind wander to how good it would feel to rest my head there.

It has been years since I’ve had this much genuine fun with a guy. I put my arms around his neck and sway to the music with him, smiling.

“See? I can get down to some T-Swift.” He smiles, gazing into my eyes.

I swallow. I want to lean up and kiss him. At that exact moment, someone changed the song to George Strait.

“Damn. We were just getting our stride.” Dean says.

“We were.” I reply.

His hands are still on my hips. He gives them the tiniest squeeze before he lets go, but I noticed it.

“Dean. I don’t want to be a buzzkill but we do have a long day ahead tomorrow. We really should get some sleep.” Sam says when we return to the table.

“You’re right.” I say.

Dean looks bummed. “Fine.”

“I’ll go pay.” Sam says.

I walk towards the door and realize I’m probably too buzzed to drive.

Dean opens the door to the parking lot and the cold hits us like a wall.

“Holy shit.” I say wrapping my arms around myself.

“Where’s your coat?” He asks.

“Didn’t bring one.” I grin.

“I’ll go start your car and you can sit in ours while it warms up?”

“That’s sweet. But about that, I don’t think I should drive home.”

He grins. “Too many beers?”

“A few.”

“We can take you home. Or you can bunk with us. I’ll make Sammy share his bed.”

I’m so tempted to take him on that offer. “You can take me home, thank you.” I smile.

I think about my mom seeing a classic car with two beautiful men in it dropping me off. We don’t live together, but I’m right across the street from her. I cringe at the thought.

“On second thought maybe I’ll bunk with y’all.” I say once we’re in the warmth of the Impala.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean turns around to look at me.

“My mom lives across the street. I’d rather y’all bring me back to my truck in the morning and then meet you where y’all are staying to go to the campsite.”

“Don’t want to explain who we are to your mom?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that conversation would go over too well.” I snort.

Sam opens the passenger door.

“My god it’s cold.” He mutters.

“Oh, hey Rylie, I didn’t know you were riding with us.”

“Too buzzed to drive, Sam.”

“And bunking in my bed.” Dean grins at his brother.

“What?”

“Sam she’s been through a lot the last week. This will be easier for her.”

“I’m sorry to intrude.” I almost whisper.

“Oh no, you’re okay. I just don’t want to have Dean the blanket hog in the bed.”

“I’m not opposed to sharing your bed.” I look at Dean.

Sam clears his throat and Dean has a shocked expression on his face.

“Oh-okay.” Dean stutters, blushing.

I smile, happy I finally surprised him.

“I can get my own room.”

“Don’t be silly, Sam. I’ll be fully clothed.”

At the motel, I turn on the TV and try to find something.

“I’m gonna head to the gas station to get supplies.” Sam says abruptly, walking out the door.

I blush. “He didn’t need to do that.”

“He didn’t?” Dean asks, sitting down next to me, our thighs touching.

I look over at him. “I’m not trying to get in your pants, Dean. Not that I’m saying no forever. I really like you, if you can’t tell. It’s just not the right time.” I put my hand on his knee.

“I get it.” He sighs.

I put my head on his chest and sigh. It feels like I thought it would, firm but soft. He smells so damn good.

He runs a hand through my hair. I pull back and look up at him. He moves his hand from my head to my chin, tilting it toward him. I close the distance between us and kiss him softly. He kisses me back, deepening the kiss. I move my hand up his leg slightly.

He breaks the kiss. I blink up at him, blushing. “Did I do something wrong?”

He chuckles. “Hell, no. It was too good. I need to break if we’re supposed to sleep next to each other tonight.”

“I don’t mean to lead you on-“

Dean puts his finger to my lips.

“You aren’t leading me on. You told me you didn’t want to have sex tonight. I wanted to kiss you. Even if you hadn’t prefaced it, we just met. I had no expectations.”

I hug him tightly without thinking.

“Thank you.” I whisper.

“You don’t need to thank me for respecting you. I’m sorry someone else made you feel like that.” He strokes my hair.

I lean up and kiss his cheek.

“I am actually super sleepy.” I say.

He chuckles. “Me too. Do you want to sleep in one of my shirts? I’m sure it’d be long enough.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He rummages around his bag, tossing me a worn T-shirt. I go to the bathroom to change. It comes well below my butt and I don’t feel too exposed.

I climb in bed where Dean already is. I pull back the covers and see he didn’t change.

“You’re sleeping in jeans?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, when we’re on the road I don’t change. I like to be ready.”

I nod, knowing there must be a reason behind that. He holds out his arm in a gesture for me to lay with him. I smile and scoot over. I fall asleep faster than I have since Amber went missing.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #self publishing #new adult #romance #supernatural #supernatural family #spn

[saffronveiled-dreams]

Unbinding the Hair: In Defense of Magic in the Hellenic Polytheist Tradition

“Shall I write about things not to be spoken of? 

 divulge what ought not to be divulged? 

shall I utter the unutterable?”

Julian, Oration 5, Hymn to the Mother of the Gods

To be a hellenic polytheist is to advocate for the glory of the Gods; reach your arms out to embrace their warmth and lower your head in respect of their unimaginable power. It is generally believed that if one has trust in the Theoi then one has all they need. Among my fellow polytheists who follow a strictly reconstructional, or even revivalist, religious structure it is common belief that it is up to the Gods to take our wants, needs and desires into favor; and any personal dabbling in fate, especially in the form of magic or witchcraft, is hubris - an insult to the Gods. Many of our official religious organizations (Hellenion, Neokoroi, and YSEE to name a few.) are openly against the use of magic in conjunction with traditional hellenismos. 

If I am going to dismantle and combat this belief, it’s important for me to shed some light on the foundation for many HP Recons disdain for magic and explain its place in antiquity. In the major city-states of Greece, particularly Athens, witchcraft (specifically baneful magic was titled as such; curses, love spells, etc.) was outlawed and practitioners were persecuted. Not only was it feared, it was described as impiety and profane. If we are going to base our religion around the common state cultus of Athens then we should also note other religious requirements, perhaps about how we shouldn’t mention, or even utter the name of mighty Haides, also note that there are sources citing that Attic peoples did not worship Ares. Yet, interestingly, many of these formal Hellenismos organizations list their own ordained Priests and Priestesses, some of which are devoted to both Haides and Ares. Blasphemous! Unheard of in the old Greek way of life and faith!

...Or is it?

To have a religious practice that is only using sources from the common state cultus of major Greek cities is to turn a blind eye to the undeniable fact that one’s practice would be... rather sparse and open-ended without any of the seasoning that other minor city-state and mystery cult adds; particularly that relating to the natural world, various Theoi, the afterlife, and rites pertaining to such. Despite the fear of Haides’ name, there were temples erected in his honor. There were temples and festivals dedicated to Ares. Many examples of sacred symbols, rites and ways of devotion actually stem from preserved citations of religious behavior branching out from the common cult. I think it is also worthy to note that while much of Greece outlawed the practice of necromancy, it’s hard to ignore the relevance of the Necromanteion of Acheron; a temple for necromancy. Should we exclude these because they weren’t always honored by the major city’s common Priest? 

Many of us understand that our religious praxis will not mirror that of our polytheist peers and it’s important to understand this rings true for the ancient people as well. Ancient household worship was not temple worship and temple worship was not private cult worship yet someone could indulge in all of these to fatten and enrich their praxis.

I mention this because the sources we have detailing ancient Greek magic and witchcraft (particularly that of the PGM) are written and passed down from initiates of various private cults - especially that of the mysteries. If we take a look at the initiation rituals explained in the papyri, we won’t see your typical temple worship however the nature of the spells has one believing it’s still a Greek commoner (a spell for a failing business, an unwanted relationship, unrequited love, the victim of thievery, a slave with abusive masters, etc.) It’s generally believed that magic was taught to these mystai from various Gods. A good example of this is in the rather simple spell PGM IV 1265-74 where a secret name of Aphrodite "that becomes known to no one quickly” is used. To me, this implies a rather strong and long-term relationship must be met with the Goddess before one can learn this spell. It’s also not uncommon to find myths detailing various “priests” of a God as a practitioner of magic (see Medea or Kirke, priestesses of Hekate.) It would be very hard for me to believe that the Theoi would teach their devotees impious behavior. 

When we pick apart the complaint that magic is hubris, we find the idea that magic is actually someone trying to command, or even force, the hand of the Theoi. Ancient Greek magic was not only initiatory, it weaved animism throughout its formula. You can find this in the term “dynamis.” The Greek’s term for the magical consciousness within nature and the practitioner. If there is "dynamis," or magical power in everything around us then it is divine in some way. I believe that the dynamis of plants, rocks and water are specific daimons that connect back to the Gods through planetary correspondence. One cannot perform a spell if they don't work with the right daimons, or dynamis in question. You can also ruin the dynamis of the material you're working with or even simply not be granted its assistance. For instance, ritual harvesting of plants is very important and the Greeks would only use bronze blades to cut or dig (iron is said to kill or remove power from spirits or lesser daimons) and would do certain ritual acts (singing, using a specific hand, etc.) before pouring an offering to the ground where the plant was harvested. This was a thank you, a small act of worship. The forces within Greek magic, may they be plant daimons or Gods, are respected. They're feared. They're adored. 

To me, this is far from hubris.

I also can’t look away and ignore some of the... magical inclination of certain Hellenic practices. Firstly, there are ancient home remedies such as having your daughter wear a small moon amulet to ward sickness, or placing basil on top of a door to bring in wealth to the home, maybe even sending your son to his exams with a necklace of rosemary. Some may consider this an old beginning to folk magic. However, a more commonly known practice for both antiquity and today would be the Kathiskos. The Kathiskos is a small jar containing olive oil, water and various food from ones home, made every Noumenia (first day of the lunar month) then dumped every Deipnon (last day of the lunar month) and dedicated to Zeus Ktesios. This jar, being stored away in the pantry, has apotropaic tendencies where it will protect one’s food supply. It’s almost hauntingly similar to a very popular spell jar practice that will evolve much later in 17th century Europe; the witch jar. Here, someone will create and bury a jar filled with various items to counteract witchcraft (specifically curses and love spells) and dismantle negative influence from entering their home. 

I don’t find the kathiskos to be rather impious, however.

My last, but most important point, is that the Gods encourage us to practice arete; personal excellence. The Gods will assist us and offer their hand to enrich and bless our lives with good luck and prosperity, of course. But this hand is not extended to those who do not try for themselves. I’d like to mention an antique joke here that was used to teach against being lazy and expecting divine influence to fix every problem we may have; 

 There was a man traveling down the road with a wagon, yet it drifted off the path and became stuck into a sinking in the earth. The man reached his hands to the sky and shook them with dismay, crying out to Hermes. “O’ Gracious God, will you please help my wagon back onto the road?” There was no answer, the wagon did not budge. The man’s desperate prayers continued from that morning until sunset, where his cries stopped once he began to believe Hermes had abandoned him. It wasn’t until late that night in his sleep that the God appeared to him. Angry, the man asked “O’ Lord, why did you not remove my wagon from the hole?” to which Hermes replied, “I would have, if you pushed it!”

This also ties into the delphic maxim “the Gods help those who help themselves.” From the sources I’ve found claiming the mystics being taught magic through divine initiation as well as considering my own personal accounts, I’ve come to believe that magic is a tool for mortals to learn, practice and perfect in order to better their lives. To help themselves.

The Gods have weaved magic into our backyards, it is not hubris to go find it. 

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