#hell when hes shown being mean to her in canon its not even hinted its bc she hurt him or made him insane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meltingangels · 3 years

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As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind.

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were.

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands?

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place.

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan.

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado.

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory.

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s.

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her.

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked.

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is. Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after?

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was.

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them.

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for.

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end.

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family.

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top.

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive.

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here.

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius.

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music.

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock.

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience.

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could.

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following.

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels.

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld.

Ok, it was kind of an obsession.

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life.

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts.

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit.

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that.

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later.

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia.

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient.

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door.

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did.

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing.

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall.

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard.

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band.

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you.

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster.

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Two): Here In Night City

Notes: This one has been done for a while, I’ve been pretty busy and overwhelmed with school for a while, but I’ve been having some fun silverv shenanigans on my personal account and I figured it was time to post it. I’m not sure how I feel about it? It went through some heavy edits, so there might be some typos and issues with that, and writing a montage...is new territory for me...

Word Count: 14799

Chapter Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Casual Discussion of Suicide (its fairly common in Night City according to lore), Talks of Sex but nothing explicit

If you haven’t yet, you can read the first chapter here.

V fiddles with the frayed edges of her hoodie, following behind Jackie. The night air chills her skin as they walk. It's not far from the bar where he stops a building, among the shorter cluster of buildings in Heywood, in no way stretching up into the heaven like many of the buildings in Night City. Jackie has no hesitation, taking the steps two at a time and swinging the front door open. She moves to take her mask off, not wanting to risk creeping his mom out, though her bruises and blood matted hair won’t do her any favors.

“Ma! I brought a friend home!” He yells out, like they’re kids asking to have a sleepover and V finds herself smiling. V bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, looking around the living room, the little collections of knick knacks, little calavera skulls. The couch covered in blankets and the warm little cozy touches within the home.

“Jaquito!” A woman’s accented voice rings out, Jackie’s mom coming into the living room, “where the hell have you been!? I’ve been worried sick!”

Jackie’s mom is a woman somewhere in her fifties, if V had to wager a guess, with gray hair that falls down past her shoulders and blue eyes. There’s a softness to her as she looks at her son, something inherently maternal to her gaze. There’s wrinkled lines of worry around her eyes.

“Ay, I told you Mama, it was just biz. Nothing to worry about,” Jackie waves off his mother’s concerns.

“And your friend?” The older woman’s eyes land on her, she looks down finding a spot on the floor to focus on.

“Ma, this is V.”

Jackie turns to introduce her and V starts to look up, then his green eyes widen for a moment. It’s the first time he’s seen her without the mask, she’s realized, and she finds herself hyperaware of her features, worrying about how they’re being viewed. Her hands fidget and nerves flush her face. She’s not even this anxious when a hookup sees her face for the first time. The idea of a potential bedmate rejecting her is nothing compared to this visceral fear that her new friend and his mother not approving of her .

“Hi,” she signs, slightly stilted in her movements, feeling as if she might combust.

Her already awkward gestures completely freeze when she feels Senora Welles cups her cheek, fingers rubbing over the purple bruises on V’s skin. The touch is kind and warm, stirring up memories of V’s own mother. Memories of being a child returning to camp after hours of scavenging through a landfill or exploring the new land just for her mother to come look over her for every bruise or mark she may have collected.

“My Jackie drag you into one of his messes?” Senora Welles asks before V can go further down the slippery nostalgia slope. Fingers brush across the blood in the back of V’s hair, the worry etching the older woman’s expression only grows. The intensity makes the former nomad look at the ground, unable to maintain eye contact.

“It was a client, mama,” Jackie answers for V, “First night in NC spent bleeding out in a dumpster, second will be spent on the street unle-”

“Say no more. I’ll get you some clean clothes, you can use our shower, and we’ll get some food in your belly, alright?”

“Alright, thank you, so much,” V signs as Senora Welles pulls away. She doesn’t know what she did to deserve their kindness, but she’s thankful for it, nonetheless.

She’s given a black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants once Senora Welles has shown her to the bathroom. It’s modest with a tile floor, stickers on the mirror and sugar skulls beside it. V catches sight of herself in the mirror and blinks at what’s looking back at her, she understands Jackie and his mother’s reaction now. While she suspected and felt what she may look like. But her reflection staring back at her confirms it. Purples, blues, and greens scatter across her face like galaxies over her skin. Her eyeliner has smeared and smudged around her eyes. Her hair is in tangles, darkening red flecks of blood staining the bleached blonde and dark brown of her roots where it sticks to her scalp the ponytail she tied it back in is now knots. She needs a cut and a touch up. But bleach may have to wait, when she tries to brush it out, it hurts, pulling at the not quite healed wound on her scalp and bringing fresh blood to the surface. She does the best she can for now before deciding it’s enough.

V triple checks the lock on the door, not out of distrust for the Welles, but her own paranoia and habit. Then she strips out of her clothes and takes out her hearing aids, stashing them in the medicine cabinet in hopes of protecting them from steam. She rubs at the reddened skin of her ears. She knows they’re necessary, but they chap and rub her ears raw after too long. There’s cream she has for it, that’s in her duffle bag, that was in her Rattler. She pouts at the realization before she turns on the hot water, stepping under it’s spray.

The hot water is a welcomed relief to her aching muscles, as she washes away the grime, she starts to feel human again. She scrubs the blood and mess from her hair, careful of her still tender scalp as she washes away the mess that was her first day in Night City.

V dries off and slots her hearing aids back in, they seem to still be dry. She throws on the clothes she was given. The shirt hangs off her shoulders and the hem hits at her knees, she gets the idea the shirt may be Jackie’s. She’s less sure of the sweatpants, they do sag on her hips and the legs go well over her feet, but with enough tightening of the drawstring they manage to stay up. Baggy, soft, and warm. If not for the still steady pain in her temples and the cramping of her empty belly, she could curl up to sleep. Her hair is still in absolute knots, so she ops for putting it up in a bun to save for a time in which she can handle combing through it. Then finally she leaves the bathroom, peeking around the corner.

“Chica, in here!” Jackie’s voice booms and calls her into the kitchen.

She pads her way in there, Senora Welles and Jackie are gathered around a table in the kitchen. He’s thrown off his jacket, showing the muscle shirt he wore beneath it. And despite having seen him all night, she truly feels like she’s seeing him fully now in the cozy lighting of the kitchen. Freckled skin, biceps the size of her head, a black and red tattoo on his wrist and forearm that’s cut off by a gold bracelet. The light catches off the cyberware across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He grins widely as his mother fills a bowl with chili, the grown man shoveling it in his mouth without waiting for it to cool, like an overexcited child.

“Over here, mija, take a seat and a bowl,” Senora Welles beckons her over.

V climbs up into a seat, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. Senora Welles fills a bowl to the top with chilli for her; the smell of the tomato, synth beef, and veggies making her stomach growl. She’s torn between gratefulness and feeling a bit like a mangy dog Jackie dragged in. It’s fine line between kindness and pity, she can only hope it’s the former rather than the latter.

“Thank you, so much.”

The second she’s done signing another thanks, she’s shoving chili into her mouth and its so good. Perfectly cooked and with a hint of spice. She nearly inhales the rest of her bowl, barely coming up for air as she gobbles it up. A second bowl goes by just as quickly, she’s pretty sure Jackie’s on her third by the time she grabs the second. She’s slowing down by her third, her stomach not quite bursting, and she’s willing to push it just to keep eating.

“Aye, you’re as bad as Jaquito,” Senora Welles teases, smiling as she calmly eats her own food.

“Sorry, its just really good…” V signs with one hand, still eating with her other.

“Told you my ma made the best chili.”

“Hey, what did I say about talking with your mouth full, Jackie!” His mother scolds him.

“V did it first.”

“I don’t talk!”

“See, she did it again!” Jackie teases when she signs again. V swallows her mouthful of chili and sticks her tongue out at Jackie. The joking around has eased some of the tension for V, Jackie still treating her like a new friend and not some sad sack he’s trying to help.

“So, V,” Senora Welles says after a few moments, “where are you from?”

“All of the everywhere, I think I was born in North Carolina? Maybe?”

“You’re a nomad?”

V chews her lip, the media talk about nomads is far from good, usually painted as asshole outlaws. Corps don’t like them. Corps own the media. So they make sure the media tells everyone that nomads are the violent assholes who refuse to fall in line, refused to sell their land, and then ran away to ruin everyone’s life when they lost the battle. Not that it stops them from lining a nomad’s pocket when they need work done. Which, granted, her own nomad family are…violent assholes and criminals, but that doesn’t mean they all are. And she doesn’t want to be painted with that same brush. And there are good solid nomad families out there, she’s met more than a few in Bakkers, Aldecaldos, and Red Ochre Clan; to name just a handful.

“Formerly, yeah, was hoping to make a new life here.”

“Your nomad family ain’t waiting for you?”

“Uh, no, just…no.”

Tears prick at the back of V’s eyes, threatening to shed as she thinks of her mom, put down in a med tent. The first time her father held a captive bolt pistol to the base of her skull, ready to kill her for her newfound disability. The way everything seemed to change when she lost her hearing. Her sister hunting her down like a dog, not caring who she has to shake down, what she has to burn to the ground; just to kill her on the order of their father. She bites down harshly on her lower lip, she doesn’t want to think about it.

Then there’s an arm wrapping around her shoulders, Senora Welles having stood up at some point, and now gently tucking V’s head under her chin. A gentle one-armed hug, not tight or all-encompassing but warm and kind, without pushing her.

“No worries, mija,” the older woman speaks against V’s skin, “you can stay here as long as you need.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” V’s not sure if at the angle, Senora Welles eyes can translate her signing, but she squeezes the older woman’s hand, hoping it can be communicated through touch if nothing else. Appreciative as she is, there’s a small pit in her stomach, she’s already becoming a burden to someone new.

A moment passes and then Senora Welles gives a soft kiss to the top of her head before taking away the dirty dishes. V starts to gather it as well, she’s eating their food and staying in their house, the least she can do. If she’s going to impose for any length of time, she needs to make herself worthwhile to have around, to some degree.

“No, no, no, V. You’re a guest, go on and get settled in,” Senora Welles stops her before she can help any further.

“Uh-“

“C’mon, jaina,” Jackie gives a quick pat to her shoulder, “I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

She gets up from her seat, feet padding up the stairs after Jackie. He barely fits between the banisters, his wide muscular frame completely blocking her view as they move through the house. He takes her up to a bedroom, its not particularly big, and she can’t help but think he’s had it since he was a child. There’s fitness posters on the wall, weights that she imagines Jackie could juggle if he wanted, a vanity with a rosary, but it’s what stacked on top of one of the desks that catches her eye.

Two desks are flush against one of the walls, one with a large aquarium balanced on it. Vivid blue and white fluorescent lights illuminating the water. Only one fish swims through it, gray with a fin, like a mini shark. V can’t help the noise of excitement she makes as she bounces on the balls of her feet over to the tank, sitting in the chair at the desk. She wants a better look at this beautiful baby.

“V, meet Taco,” Jackie introduces her to the dwarf shark.

“I’d die for him,” she signs, with zero hesitation.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Heh,” she giggles at his response, “must have cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Think I bought him?”

V’s nose wrinkles as she laughs, hands forming words, “forbidden shark.”

V taps against the aquarium glass, getting Taco’s attention, she drags her finger back and forth across the glass watching the large fish chase her finger. Taco twirls and twists, trying to nibble at her finger through the glass.

“So, what happens tomorrow?” Jackie asks, bed creaking under his weight.

She turns in the chair, resting her arms and chin across the back of it as she shifts to face him. Jackie has sat down on the bed tucked into a cubby against a wall. Can he even fit on that bed? She’s still not even sure who’s sleeping where tonight, she has no intention of stealing the man’s bed, if anything she wishes you could buy him a bigger one to more comfortably fit him.

“Tomorrow? Gonna get my shit back, hopefully turn a quick profit off the cargo, and get myself a place. I don’t plan on making a nuisance out of myself, I promise.”

She’s thankful for the hospitality and as much as she maybe shouldn’t, she’ll take advantage for the night. But, she has no intention of leeching off of their kindness. They may be opening their door to her, but no one wants a mooch. She’s an adult and needs to take care of herself.

“Pfft, you ain’t no fucking nuisance, my ma’s probably just happy to have someone who’ll help with the dishes.”

“I don’t wan-“ she shifts gears mid-sentence, “you don’t help your mom with the dishes?”

“Eh, ya know,” he makes a vague wiggly hand gesture and scrunches his face up “it’s gross…” He shrugs.

“Of course it’s gross, you dummy! She cooks for you for god’s sake, the least you can do is help clean up!”

“I’m busy, okay!”

“Unbelievable.”

“Look,” he laughs, “ that, this was not the point, Chica. So, before you climb up my ass again… Lemme ask, what about the day after tomorrow? Day after that… you ice Sinclaire and then what? ”

“Hmmm,” she hums, tapping her fingers against the chair before signing, “I hate to disappoint but I haven’t come up with any grand plan since the last time you asked. ’

“Figured as much, you ever do any merc work before this?”

“Little things, smuggling jobs here and there, stayed out of cities so pickings were slim. You been doing it long?”

“Most of my life; work for yourself, live for yourself. Only way there is, if you ask me.”

“Probably be the easiest way to make eddies after I square away this cargo thing,” she admits, she never really put it into thoughts, but she always sort of assumed that’s where she’d end up once she landed in the city. The only other alternative would be some entry level job waiting tables or something and that might even be a pipe dream if they expect her to have cyberware or something resembling a formal education.

“Already got a fixer who likes you,” Jackie tells her, “and not to brag, but with me as your partner you’ll be getting preem jobs right out the gate.”

“Oh, so we’re partners now?”

“Don’t see why not, already know we work well together, I could use an extra pair of hands and you could use really any help you can get, and… ” he pauses for a moment, finding his words, “I just got a good feeling about this, ‘bout us.”

“A feeling?”

“Yeah, that the two of us could make to the top.”

She’s trying not to laugh as she sees excitement fill his eyes, like a child on Christmas. It’s not as if merc work is new territory to her, she’s taken odd jobs in the Badlands. But, it is sparser than in the city and mostly smuggling. She can’t exactly proclaim it’s her dream job or what she wants to do forever, but she can’t think of a damn thing else she’d like to do. Death has been nipping at her heels since she was nine years old, she hasn’t thought far ahead, hasn’t felt she had any right to.

And, she can’t really say she gives a fuck about making it to the top. Riches, fame, notoriety, being a legend. She couldn’t care less. She just wants to be in control of her own life, to feel like she has no restraints, and to build a life that has meaning to her. To be the person she wants to be, even though she isn’t quite sure who that is yet… She’s twenty, twenty-one this year, and she never even thought she’d get that far. Its hard to really expect her to know exactly who she is or what she wants.

But… could she really even get that far? Jackie seems convinced, but could she be capable of that? Is she strong enough? Competent enough?

“I’m talking the major leagues, V. The top of the top, the mercs who get the best jobs, are swimming in eddies; Night City legends.”

“That what you want?”

“More than anything. Raised in shit, told I’d never climb out, but I’m gonna prove ‘em wrong. Don’t you want to? Show every son of a bitch who put you down, looked down their nose at you, that they didn’t know shit?”

Her father and his words come flooding to her mind; told she’s weak, worthless, defective, not worth the lead to blow her brains out. And yeah, she’d love to prove him wrong. To be strong and show she’s capable. To know she can take care of herself, that she doesn’t need anyone else to be okay. She’d love to prove to the people who told her she needed to get her hearing “fixed”, that she’s not fucking broken. Even now, people like Sinclaire take one look at her and see her as gutter trash. She wants respect, the security that comes with it, not notoriety. Proving her strength, her capability, her worth by taking any job that comes her way is more than a little enticing, it’d earn her that respect both from others.

But more importantly, she’d like to prove that to herself. To know in her heart she really isn’t any of those things. That she isn’t a burden. To prove to herself that she’s capable of more than being a burden, more than meandering along to her father’s orders. For once she’d like for others not to look at her like cockroach and more importantly to be able to look at herself and see more than a waste of space. To finally feel right in her own skin, take that voice of doubt that keeps asking her if she’s enough, and crush it.

She could give a fuck less who knows her name, hell she prefers no one ever does. Its not the notoriety or fame. V greatly prefers being unknowable, between the mask and alias she’s a few blurry photos away from going full cryptid. And she likes that. If she keeps the mask on for business, keep work and personal separate with it, she could keep her privacy. Keep skeletons in her closet from coming back to bite her...

For so long she was told she was weak by The Herd. Weak for her disability. Weak for accepting her mother’s protection.

An outcasts among outcasts, thats what the sheriff said, and he didn’t know the half of it. Nomads the outcasts of regular society, raffen shiv the outcasts of the nomads, and her an outcast among the raffen shiv. An outcast from the outcasts of the outcasts. So unwanted by the world and even her own fucking body. There has never in twenty years been a place for her in this world. But maybe she’s finally found it, working her ass off with Jackie and showing Night City just what she can do.

“Lets do it,” she decides, she wants this, not to be famous or major leagues but to be untouchable, to prove a point, to take control of her life, to be more than anyone thought she could be, and to like what she sees when she looks in the mirror.

“Fuck yeah,” he shifts to face her fully, catching her hand in shake, his large fingers blanketing her smaller ones, “this is the start of a beautiful thing, I just know it.”

That night, Jackie sleeps on the couch in the living room, despite V’s constant insistence that she’ doesn’t want to take over his bed; his stubbornness wins out. And as he leaves to the living room she’s left with the weight of loneliness, of trying to sleep without the warmth of another beside her. It’s a dumb issue to have, keeping the world at arm’s length and keeping her walls up at all times, but needing a hug to sleep. Years of safety in numbers being beat into her head, sleeping alone feels like baring her throat for the wolves and expecting herself to find peace.

As odd, creepy, weird as it may be V takes advantage of the benefit that sleeping in Jackie’s clothes and bed has for her. Burying her nose in the pillows and blankets that smell like him, smell like another person, trying to convince her senses she’s not alone. Letting the smell of cheap cologne and some oil she can’t quite place soothe her. It used to be a band tee she stole from Ava, before…everything, though the scent has steadily faded over time, its still a source of comfort. And it was in her bag…in her car. Who knows if she’ll find it again…

Then there’s her pictures and the old polaroid camera she fixed up to take them. A little treasure she found rummages through a landfill out towards Oregon. Photos of her sister, her mother, and Ava; of her life before she had to run. Back when she still thought that a family that doesn’t want you was worth having… Pictures from her time on the road; her and Sabrina, the sweet group of Bakkers who sold her the Rattler, and just any place, sight, or person that managed to make her day or make a few days. Loneliness colored a lot of that time, but she made her memories, people she’s sure forgot her when she left but whom she’ll never forget.

Her mom’s guitar… the one thing she went back for the night she left, doubling back and breaking into her father’s tent for it when she realized she had left. Stepping into the lion’s den just to have it, she can’t play, she gave up on learning when her hearing went. But those early memories of sitting in her mother’s lap at camp with the guitar in her hands, small fingers callusing as they plucked at the strings….

And all of those could be gone. Every memory and memento could be gone for good because of one asshole. She digs her nails into her scalp and knots her hair, anger and anxiety pitting in her stomach, bleeding into each other.

She burrows into the blankets and pillows, trying to prevent her thoughts from wandering, though it’s fighting an uphill battle, trying to think of the name of every star she knows in alphabetical order if only to bore her brain into sleep rather than letting it race in circles. She’s somewhere between Meissa and Merga when she finally falls asleep.

And she awakes in the dead of night; chest tight and lungs struggling to get a deep breath of air. No nightmare this time, but a sense of panic and dread pumping adrenaline into her blood, making her heart race as she jumps out of Jackie’s bed. She checks the door, she locked it before she went to bed, she needs doors locked. And she knows she did, but she needs to check it. She locks and unlocks it, no windows to check, so her focus is only on the door. And she does that until the tightness in her chest ease, until she can breathe a little easier, locking it for the last time before walking away from the door. Security, safety, a paranoia that tells her to never feel safe. That the world has always wanted her gone and one day death will knock at her door for the last time.

Her body feels heavy as she wanders to Taco’s tank, the shark swimming in circles, V’s face bathed in the blue light from it. There’s still a shake in her hands, but her limbs are leaden as she sits down at the desk. She watches him swim and swish around for a few moments, sprinkling some of his food into the tank to watch him eat.

“Really wish I could hold you, right now.”

She speaks it out loud, softly to the swimming shark, needing to put her thoughts into the world but hands too shaky to sign worth a damn. Though they still ache and twitch to do so. After a few more moments of watching the mini shark swim, she crawls back into bed to sleep for the rest of the night. Thankful, that she doesn’t wake until morning.

The newly appointed merc is dragging when she wakes, as always due to her lackluster sleeping patterns. To make matters worse, her eyes are red and itchy, sensitive even in the light of the house. A flare up, autoimmune disease coming back to kick her ass for stressing and not sleeping. Her joints ache, swollen, as she groggily stumbles her way from Jackie’s bedroom, when a sweet smell hits her nose, stomach growling. She

Senora Welles and Jackie are at the table, she made breakfast of course, because she’s entirely too nice. On the table is a spread of french toast with cinnamon whip cream on top. Jackie already has a stack nearly as tall as V on his plate, half eaten.

Jackie yells out something, his mouth full, and she realizes the world is still quiet as his mother scolds him. Her eyes are too irritated and her mind too groggy for her to be able to competently read lips. She holds up a finger, asking them to wait a moment, and doubles back to Jackie’s bedroom. She grabs her hearing aids and contemplates grabbing her mask, just so it can translate for her.

Optic translations are pretty advanced for sign language, but they have limitations. Like people needing to look at the signer the entire time and name signs being essentially untranslatable since they’re personal to the signer. But she wants to eat and having to hold up her mask everytime she wants to talk is a pain. She turns on her hearing aids and leaves the mask behind, hopefully Jackie and Senora Welles will look at her if she has to say anything or she’ll just stay silent as she stuffs her face. Jackie raises an eyebrow at her when she comes back to the kitchen.

“Forgot my ears,” she signs, tapping her hearing aid, and flinching when it gives a bit of feedback in reaction.

“Ahh, well come sit your ass down, ma made tres leche french toast.”

“Thank you,” she signs to Senora Welles who gives her a soft smile.

“Something up with your optics, jaina? Looking red.”

“I don’t have optic implants,” she signs before pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Really? Guess that’d be why you don’t got lipreading tech and explain why they look like you rubbed peppers in them.”

“That’s just a flare up.”

“Flare up?” Senora Welles asks, concern darkening her expression.

“Autoimmune disease, some days my body hates me more than others.”

“That what happen to your…?” Jackie taps his ear, rather than say it outright.

She nods, it attacked the inner ear most aggressively, completely destroying her hearing by nine. According to the clan doctor, all the times she complained about her ears hurting, dizziness, and ringing in her ears it’s because her immune system was aggressively attacking them. But, she was only ever told to walk it off, until inevitably the world went silent. It still flares up, deciding it doesn’t like the rest of her either. Her eyes are what worry her the most but what can she really do.

“There ain’t anything that can help with that.”

“Uh, heard medications can, but haven’t been to a doc since I was sixteen and I ain’t looking to break my streak,” she signs, unable to help the way she scrunches her nose.

She hates doctors. Her last experience with the clan doctor ensured she never wanted to deal with another, not to mention how many times she’s been told to pop by a ripper and just “fix” her hearing.

“Hmm, you got any chrome, V?”

“Nope.” she signs.

“Seriously, nothing?”

“Not even a personal link.” She shows the palms of her hands and wrists, thankful the sleeves of the sweatshirt lent to her cover the brand on her wrist.

“Hate to break it to you, V, but you're gonna need some chrome. Personal link, neural port, bare fuckin’ minimum if you wanna get by in Night City.”

She doesn’t answer, just pouting as she pours sugar and milk into her coffee, until there’s barely a hint of brown coloring. She isn’t against cyberware inherently and everyone’s choice is their own, but whether it’s the years of being told they’re cheap tools to make the weak feel strong or just her own discomfort with everything it entails, the whole thing makes her skin crawl. V already hates doctors and would rather dose up on bounce backs if she has to. She can stitch her own wounds, has before, whatever it takes to avoid them.

Add in the fact most cyberware is made and licensed by corps, no. Sure, black alley shit exists, but just the idea of a corp having the right to her eyes. What if they revoke someone’s usage of them, spy through them, confiscate them?

“Once your two finish your business, take her to Viktor,” Senora Welles tells Jackie, before turning to look at V, “he’s a good man, I’d trust to take care of anyone, mija. I’m sure he can help with whatever you need.”

“Okay, if he has your seal of approval, suppose I gotta at least see him.” V concedes, Senora Welles seems convinced this guy is good. Even if V decides to just try to go without, everything, it can’t hurt just to meet the guy.

“Vik’s one of my closest friends, he’ll take care of you, promise. Though, uh, keep taking your coffee like that, he might have his work cut out for him.”

“I like sweets,” she signs, shrugging before taking a drink of her coffee and another big bite of french toast. They’re incredible, cinnamon whip cream sticking to her lips.

“You might as well inhale sugar.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t.”

They finish up the breakfast, V stuffed with a good three or more stacks of french toast. Senora Welles begins to collect the dishes. And no, V’s not letting this happen again.

“We’ll do dishes,” she signs, starting to collect the plates.

“We?”

“No, no, you don’t have to, dear.”

“I insist please, you cooked, it’s only right for us to clean up afterwards,” she signs with one hand then looks to Jackie, “right?”

“Right… we’ll take care of it ma.”

“Thank you, Mija,” Senora Welles squeezes her shoulder, “I washed your clothes last night, I’ll leave them in the bathroom, once you two finish with the dishes you can wash up and get changed.”

“Thank you,” V signs again before taking the dishes to the sink with Jackie.

“One night here and you’re already the favorite, Jesucristo.”

V can’t resist giggling at the comment, smile on her face. They don’t talk much as they wash dishes, mostly because she can’t sign and clean at the same time. It doesn’t take long before they’ve finished up. V going to shower and change, then they’ll head to the chop shop Padre mentioned. Then it’s time to end Sinclaire.

“You ready to go, V?” Jackie asks when she comes back changed, mask with her for when she’ll need it.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Me and V are headed out, Ma! Be back in time for dinner, promise!”

The pair leave the house and make their way down the steps. The streets are jam packed with people and she’s still not used to the crowd, cringing as she has to weave through them. Jackie doesn’t have a car and her’s is indisposed wherever it is. She nearly trips over a bag of trash trying to keep up with her new partner. Why is the city so dirty? V never even let the camp site get this filthy and these city people just toss their trash out on the street?

“C’mon, we’ll take the train down to the chop shop, see if they got your car first,” Jackie’s voice cuts her off because she can start trying to clean the street.

“I still don’t have any-”

“I’ll pay for us both.”

“Sorry and thanks”

“How many times have you said sorry or thanks since we met?” Jackie asks.

“I wasn’t counting.”

The station is already crowded and she’s cringing at the sight of two many fucking people. They fall in line, jacking in personal links, eyes glowing as they pay the fee then wait for the train. Mothers holding their children’s hands, homeless people with signs at the sides of the station, begging for eddies.

“Too many times,” he says jacking in his personal link, eyes lighting up as he pays for both of their rides, “this is what friends and family are for, chica.”

“To pay my way in the world?” She asks as they step into the crowded subway train.

The crowd is forced to part around Jackie, everyone offering his broad frame more space, as his sheer size demands it. No one moves for V, she has to step and weave around people who easily crowd around her small figure without a second thought. Is it just the size difference? Or something more?

She curls in on herself, shrinking as she maneuvers through people. Too many voices, layering together into cacophony. She can feel the warmth of everyone’s body, the stench of body odor and contrasting perfumes or colognes. She needs her own car, for sure, this is agony. She can’t do this daily.

“To have your back, mija. Besides, acting like world’s doing you a favor by letting you exist, a good way to get your neck stepped on.”

“But, you and your ma are doing me a favor. You gonna step on my neck for thanking you?”

They’ve come to a stop, Jackie finding a empty pole on the subway train to hold onto. She looks up at him, waiting for his answer, blinking expectantly. He’s not seriously suggesting she not be grateful, is he? She’s no stranger to faking confidence or having an attitude, she’s not exactly a goodie two shoes. But she’s not about to be rude to people who don’t invite the behavior. Usually.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?” She asks, migraine forming as she’s surrounded by noise.

“With those puppy eyes.”

“Those are just my eyes, Jackie.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Fine,” she decides, kill two birds, one stone, “I’m gonna put my mask on and turn off my hearing aids for a bit.”

“Why?”

“Too much,” she signs and gesture vaguely to the entire subway.

“Ah, not used to the city noise are ya?” He asks just before she turns off her hearing aids, sliding her mask in place. She breathes a sigh of relief, silence, glorious silence.

“Its...a lot, but in general, world has either been silent or at least had a mute button since I was nine. First time I got my hearing aids, I broke down in tears, felt like the world was screaming at me and that was in the middle of nowhere. I’ve gotten use to them and its not even necessarly the volume, its just that its not cohesive if that makes sense. Not that any sound is too loud, just there’s too many of them.”

“I think, I get ya, if it’s one thing drowning out everything else it’s fine. But, when you got twenty different things going on, it feels like your brain is going in every direction?”

“Kinda? It’s just too much, like the world on low volume.”

“Eh, have a feel you’re gonna be hitting mute on Night City a lot.”

“Yeah, I kinda figure.”

“Hmmm, probably should figure out a better fix than the mask too, can’t wear it all the time.”

“I mean,” she shrugs, “ideally everyone in the world would just learn sign language to accommodate me.”

“Yeah?” He laughs, apparently catching the joke, “Night City ain’t one for accomadating.”

“A person can dream.”

“Tell you what though, chica, teach me sign language, I’ll teach you, Spanish.”

“You got it, and once you know ASL and I know Spanish, we can learn Spanish Sign Language, or if you prefer Mexican Sign Language. Or both.”

“How many different kinds of sign language are there again?”

“Not sure, but I probably can’t count that high. I mean there’s several variations even in just signing in English.”

“Oh…”

“You have ASL which is the most common, you have Signed Exact English which has a lot more fingerspellng. You have Conceptually Accurate Signed English, also sometimes called Pidgin Sign Language which essentially uses ASL signs but follows word order and grammar rules from English. And-”

“I’m regretting this already.”

“Then there’s different dialects used within different parts of the deaf community, like-”

“Well, lookie there, it’s our stop,” Jackie cuts her off when the subway train comes to a stop and she’s smiling behind her mask, watching the way the gears in his head turn trying to keep up with this information.

V stays close to his back as he leaves the crowded train, taking advantage of the space the crowd gives him to give herself some space. The chop shop is just a short walk from the station and despite struggling to keep up with Jackie’s longer strides, they reach it without much issue. V making sure to turn her hearing aids back on before she enters the store.

“Can I help you?” A worker grumbles when the pair walk through the door.

“I’m looking for a Galena Rattler, nomad vehicle, red. Someone brought it in here.”

The worker scratches at the cybernetics etching his face, searching his memory for a moment before he finally speaks up.

“Had something like that come in a day or two ago, had a dog bobblehead on the dash?’

“That’s the one.”

“Bucket of rust was sent to the landfill as soon as it got here, probably scrapped by now.”

Her heart sinks into her chest, her first car, her fucking home for the past four or so years; gone. All because some asshole had to fuck her over. She wants to scream, cry a little bit, kick something.

“Sorry, kid, uh, I can get you the stuff we got out of it. About all I can offer you.”

“Okay…”

She nudges the floor with the toe of her boot, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt as she waits. It isn’t long until the worker emerges from the back room with her dufflebag, the guitar case, and her dog bobblehead. V checks through, all weapons and first aid shit gone. But her holophone, her clothes, the clunky old little computer, her photos, and her mother’s guitar are all still there. Basically anything they couldn’t feasibly make a profit off of is still there. Photos mean nothing, a crappy landfill camera worthless, beat up acoustic guitar, and tech that dates back a good couple years don’t amount to much when you want cash. At least being generations behind everyone else has done her some good. Even if she still lost her car.

Most of her mementos were saved, but a pit still forms in her stomach at losing her car, essentially her closest thing to home since she left The Herd.

“C’mere, chica.”

Jackie wraps his arms around her smaller frame, large arms encompassing her, threatening to crush the air from her lungs. Unlike the one-armed hug from his mother, this is overwhelmingly affectionate, surrounded by his warmth. She tries to think back the last time she was hugged like this, probably by her own mother, when she was fifteen? V freezes in his grasp, arms awkwardly hanging at her sides before she brings them up to lightly pat at his back. Not quite able to commit herself to hugging him back fully.

“…”

“Aye, Santa Madre. Is that how you hug, V?”

She shrugs within his hold, unable to sign while being pulled so close to him. He pulls away, leaving only a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong with how I hug?”

“Everything, don’t worry though, we’ll work on it,” he tells her.

“You’re weird.”

“So,” Jackie switches gears, “Sinclaire, you got a plan yet?”

“Sinclaire lives in the penthouse of a megabuilding. Intel says he should be there today, taking a day off tricking nomads I guess. Need to get in, figure out where the cargo is, and gut Sinclaire.”

“Got a netrunner who owes me a favor, she might be able to get in the subnet for the building, trip the cameras and get us in.”

“Seriously, you wanna waste that favor on me?”

“Eh, T-Bug will help me out again, even if she says otherwise.”

Jackie rolls his eyes and pulls out his holophone, his optics lighting up bright blue as he dials a number, like many folks he has his phone hooked up to his eyes. .

“Hey, Bug, calling in my favor.”

V can’t hear the other side of the conversation, shaking her bobblehead as she waits patiently. Bobble bobble, the dog’s head bounces up and down.

“We’re trying to get into Megabuilding 12, huh…oh I got myself a new partner, she’s cool, don’t worry. Just need you to hack the subnet, get us access, kill the cameras. Can you do that for me?”

A smirk comes across Jackie’s face and he rolls his eyes, before looking to V, “Bug says she wants to be patched through to you, ain’t helping someone she don’t know. “

“That’s fine,” she signs, “I can sync my holophone to my mask just like optics.”

Her mask will display the person just like optic tech can, she has it set so her avatar displays instead of her face so all they’ll see is a picture of the same expression on her mask, and they’ll hear the AI voice as she signs. Jackie taps at his phone as he sends the call to V’s phone as well. Her mask lights up to let her know of the incoming call and she taps accept on her phone, a little video square shows up in the corner of her vision.

T-bug is older than V, most folks are, with dark hair shaved down nearly to her scalp and dark makeup surrounding her big brown eyes. A skin tight black net runner suit clings to what’s visible of her body.

“Hello,” V signs, letting the AI voice resonate through the connection.

“No face, no voice; the hell are you dragging me into Jackie?”

“Stop worrying Bug, V is good people, she just needs to get back at a client who fucked her over. You said you owed me one.”

“Fine, but this goes sideways and I’m frying you both.”

“Not sure you can fry V, but alright. Let’s get our asses moving.”

They opt to walk to the megabuilding, not to leave any trace of traveling out there. It’s not far out and before too long they’re standing before the stairs up to the towering building. Megabuildings are impressive to say the least, giant ecosystems in their own right, rows of rows of the same apartments until you hit the top floors and lower floors dedicated to shops. V tucks her bobblehead into her dufflebag and puts her bag down in a corner by the stairs along with the guitar case, preferring to travel lightly as they axe Sinclaire, she doesn’t need to worry about bashing a guitar into a wall while she’s taking him down.

“You play?” Jackie asks her after a beat of silence, eyes on the guitar case.

“No.” Her answer is flat, monotone through the translator, and she offers no other explanation.

“…talking to you is really gonna be like pulling teeth, ain’t it?”

“You asked a question, I answered.”

“Nah, nah, it’s okay, I spill my soul, let you in my home, my family, my bed; and you give me half assed hugs and one word answers, I get it, chica.”

“There’s nothing to get!”

“No worries, I got time, I’ll know you better than you know yourself, before you…well, know it,” his grin drops as he realized he said ‘know’ entirely too many times in that sentence

“Didn’t think that sentence through, did ya?”

“Shaddup, let’s get this asshole.”

T-bug’s avatar and quick flashes of technological info flashes at a camera as they enter the megabuilding. The imagery showing through to Jackie and V while none of the hundred or so residents buzzing around are any the wiser to what’s about to go down.

“I’m in the subnet, I can see you on cams and cut off the feed to security. Getting you penthouse access now.”

“Efficient as fuck,” V can’t help but sign, forever amazed at netrunners in general, let alone just how quickly T-bug has managed to take care of this.

“Don’t work any other way, besides Megabuildings have shoddy security at best, this is nothing.”

“Honestly, you could hack a toaster and I’d be impressed, this stuff is way beyond my comprehension,” V admits as her and Jackie reach the elevator, T-bug’s avatar just flashing before it opens for them.

“Your mask can work for scanning, get a cyberdeck and I could send you some quickhacks and daemons; set you up with the basics.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, never hurts to learn.” Even if she’s fairly convinced she’s too stupid to figure it out.

“So, V’s managed to win you over already?” Jackie comments, grinning.

“More like I’m trying to make sure you don’t call me over petty shit again,” T-bug insists, though there’s no real malice to her voice.

V leans against the elevator wall as it lurches into movement, screens playing the news around them. She smiles behind her mask as Jackie grins, winking before he responds to T-bug.

“You say that but you and I both know you like being part of the team, Bug.”

“Oh, brother,” T-bug says with a roll of her eyes and V can’t help but crack up, she can’t really imagine the two being fast friends; a loud energetic solo and a stoic netrunner. It makes her wonder how exactly they met or what favor T-bug might owe Jackie.

“On your toes,” T-bug speaks up as the elevator comes to a stop, “two guards outside the penthouse door, I’ll run a quick hack to distract them.”

“Get their backs to us and we’ll drop ‘em quiet, T.”

The elevator door opens and there’s a clanging mechanical sound that rings out on the top floor halls. Jackie and V stay low as they leave the elevator; turning a corner to see two of Sinclaire’s guards. They’re looking over a vending machine that’s began to spew energy drinks out on the floor. She suddenly wishes she brought her duffle bag up with her, if only to take advantage and stockpile some drinks.

They creep up behind them, V points at the guard at the left then herself, making it clear she’ll take him and Jackie nods. She gets behind her mark and lurches forward, snapping his neck with a crunch, feeling him go limp under her touch. From her peripheral she watches as Jackie crushes his target’s windpipe with one heavy press of his forearm. Two guards in a pile they stand up straight and make a beeline to the penthouse door. Jackie takes out his pistol, making sure its loaded, while V gets her own gun out, the one she stole from the 6th Street fuck.

“You get a peek inside the penthouse, Bug?”

“No more muscle inside, Sinclaire is in his office, its second door on the left going past the living room.”

“’Preciate it, T-bug.” V signs as the penthouse door slides open. Jackie and her have weapons at the ready as they go in.

Sinclaire’s penthouse is bougie as they come, more proof for her theory that rich people just have no fucking taste. Tacky and gaudy decorations in a lavish open room plan. The disgusting lack of taste nearly distracts from what he has that is of legitimate value; a bar stocked with expensive booze and a tv nearly as wide as a car.

“Doesn’t seem like Sinclaire was hurting for eddies.”

“That’s fine, plenty to sell off if he already moved the cargo.”

“Place giving you sticky fingers?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums as she rubs the dirty heel of her boot against the tacky zebra rug, satisfied when she leaves a smudge of filth in the white of it.

They move through the penthouse, finding the office door, Jackie doesn’t jump to do anything, instead giving her a nod. He’s letting her lead the charge, take care of her own business on her own terms and she’s beyond thankful for it. No desire to be subtle, V kicks the door in, slamming her boot into the door and watching it burst open under her force.

Sinclaire yells out, jolting at the sight of the two mercs bursting into his office. He’s still sat at his desk, hands raised in surrender as he looks at V, then his eyes drag over to Jackie. Staring down two barrels, he still finds it in him to sneer.

“V…see you managed to find yourself a friend in the trash.”

“Pair of crosshairs, both on ya, wouldn’t be mouthing off if I was you,” Jackie warns.

“Someone wi-“

“Already iced your muscle and got control of the cams,” V explains, smirking as his ego deflates, “the only way you’re getting out of here alive is if you tell me where the cargo is.”

“Seriously, all this over some ca-“

V cocks her gun and presses it to his forehead, finger on the trigger, held in one hand so she can still sign.

“Either I get the cargo or I get revenge; take your pick.”

“In the tank behind you.”

“Jackie.” She doesn’t want them to both turn their back on Sinclaire, slimy fuck that he is.

“What don’t trust me?”

She cracks her pistol across his cheek, the force of it knocking him out of his chair and onto the floor. V steps on his back, gun still pointed at his dome as she presses her weight down on him. The pale of his cheek starts to turn purple and she feels just a touch of satisfaction knowing she’s dealt him even a fraction of the harm he dealt her.

“Iguana, lesser Antillean I think,” Jackie calls out and with the new position she’s put Sinclaire in she’s able to crane her neck to see. A large tank with a bright green lizard, black around his face, and red spines down it’s back.

“What!?” Her voice comes out along with her signing, distorting and layering over the artificial one, unable to contain her temper as she looks down at Sinclaire, pressing her foot down harder on him, “did you try to kill me over a fuckin’ lizard!?”

“You got any idea how much that thing’s worth?”

She pulls her foot off of him just to grab his shirt collar, dragging Sinclaire back up to his feet. V keeps one hand wrapped up in his collar and uses the other to press the gun against his back. She shoves him, he tries to resist, but despite their size difference V is easily able to out strength him. The former nomad drags him through his penthouse and out the door, across the hallway towards a door. Jackie’s steps echo through the building as he covers her, keeping a lookout for any new guards that may show. She kicks the door open from behind Sinclaire, the flights of stairs greeting them, one’s going down and the ones that go up to the roof.

“T-bug, roof?” V asks, voice still distorted and echoing through the filter of her mask, unable to sign with her hand full.

“No muscle up there, you’re good.”

“Look, we can talk about this V, w-“

“Move.” She jabs her gun into the small of his back, emphasizing her point. Sinclaire marches up the stairs as she forces him upwards, they reach the final door that leads out and V kicks it open like she did the last before making him walk through.

The former nomad forces him out onto the roof of the megabuilding, cool air hitting her fevered skin. They don’t stop moving, V’s eyes trained on the edge of the roof as she pushes him forward. He babbles, utterances and insistence that they can work this out; but she’s pissed and he has to pay. He’s not going to get away with it, no one is ever going to get away with treating her like this again.

Sinclaire stops moving, feet cemented in place just before he hits the edge, still trying to beg for his life as he resists her pushing on his back and neck.

“V, please, please we can ta-“

His voice cuts to a scream as she shoves him as hard as she can with both hands, knocking him off balance and sending him over the side of the building. She watches as his body plummets; a low whistle ringing out beside her.

“Long way down, ya know I heard folks die before they even hit the ground on falls like that.”

“That’s a shame,” she signs, shaking her head, she wanted him to feel it when his head hits the concrete.

“Feel any better?”

“Yeah, lets klep the lizard and run before someone asks questions.”

“No rush, pigs will just think he offed himself, happens all the time.”

“Good to know.”

“Still wouldn’t throw yourselves a party up there, NCPD might come check the area once it’s reported.” T-bug warns over the comms.

“Yeah, in like two days, chill Bug,” Jackie assures her as him and V leave the roof, taking the stairs back down to the penthouse.

There’s a weight off of V’s shoulders as she and Jackie return to Sinclaire’s penthouse office. She hefts a little sigh as she sees the bright green iguana and she’s reminded of Jackie’s earlier comment, called it a lesser antil-something.

“You know a lot about iguanas?” she asks him, he has Taco after all, he seems to like fish and lizards.

“Ah, saw something about ‘em on the science channel,” he looks to the iguana, calmly sitting in it’s tank, “you come a long way, my scaley friend.”

She can see a softness in Jackie’s smile, and she can’t blame him, the iguana is adorable. Tentatively, V lowers her hand down into the terrarium. She nudges her fingers against the lizard, feeling it’s bumpy skin that’s been warmed under a heat lamp. It’s tail flicks against her just before it turns to knock it’s face against her hand, nuzzling under the touch. She can’t help but smile, signing with her free hand to Jackie.

“Yeah, I’d kill me for him too.”

Jackie laughs as the iguana latches it’s claws into her hoodie sleeve, before climbing up the length of her arm. She lets out a soft little exclamation as the reptile makes it’s way to her shoulder, burrowing itself into the junction where her neck and shoulder meet.

“Awww cuddly fucker,” Jackie coos, smiling softly at V and her new snuggle buddy.

“He’s…probably worth a lot…” She slowly signs, unable to have much energy at the idea of selling him. V wants to make the money she meant to make, iguanas are rare, but…he’s very cute. And maybe she’s too much of a softie for animals.

“Yeah, a shame too, been wanting another pet, Taco’s got some age on him now…Had the name Manny all figured out too.”

“Are the two of you, serious?” T-bug comments, rolling her eyes in the holoview, “all of this and you want to keep the lizard?”

“I mean…I don’t want him to fall into the wrong hands,” V tries to defend herself.

“Iguanas have very specific needs, not just anyone can take care of ‘em,” Jackie adds.

“But you’re like, an iguana expert, basically.”

“Basically.”

“And I mean, if you and Mama Welles don’t mind having me around a while longer, I won’t need the cash right away.”

“Hell no, we don’t mind.”

“Just keep the damn thing and shut up,” T-bug scolds, sick of them trying to justify it.

“C’mon, let’s get Manny home and set up,” Jackie explains, unplugging the heat lamp so he can grab it along with the tank.

“We gotta keep him warm, right?”

“Yep, can’t let him get chilled.”

She nods, deciding to scoop up Manny and move him from her shoulder to putting him in her hoodie, hugging him close to her body over the fabric. V feels a bit like she’s cradling a baby, which isn’t terribly off base. Manny is now her child, she has decided. Jackie starts to carry the iguana stuff out of the penthouse, cutting through the kitchen with V trailing behind him.

V jumps and yelps, a loud popping noises and sparks flying out of a toaster as she walks past. She clutches Manny to her chest, the iguana clinging to her under her hoodie after the startle.

“Impressed?” T-bug asks, raising an eyebrow and V tries desperately to suppress her smile at the joke. A part of her mad that she was caught off guard by the trick, damn netrunners.

“I’m something, alright, scared the shit out of me.”

“Holy shit,” Jackie says with a smile teasing at the corner of his lips, “Bug making jokes, I must be dying.”

“Fuck off, cutting comms, now.”

“Talk to you later, Bug.”

“Hmm, maybe, we’ll see how I feel,” T-bug teases, “nice meeting you V.”

“Thanks again for the help, and the minor heart attack I guess.”

“Anytime.”

“I’m not sure if you mean the help or the heart attack.”

“Could go either way.” T-bug tells her before cutting communication, the woman’s face blinking from V’s mask. The merc laughs, softly at the exchange as she pushes the mask up onto her head. T-bug seems nice underneath it all, colder than Jackie, but most people are. The teddy bear of a guy is hard to compete with warmth wise.

She trails behind Jackie as the pair leave to the elevator. V leans against one wall of the elevator, against one of the bright screens that play ads, looking down at Manny tucked in her hoodie. He’s too cute. Jackie gives her a wink before he hits the button on the elevator and it lurches into movement.

“Once we get little mano here set up, we’ll head over to Misty’s.”

“Misty?” She fingerspells the name out, cocking her head to the side in question.

“My mainline,” he gets a dreamy little smile on his face, “mi amada, you’ll love her, she’s the sweetest thing”

“Oooooh~”

“Jesus fuck!” V yells out and jumps to hide behind Jackie at the sudden keening moan in her ear, holding Manny tighter to her chest.

“Pfff,” Jackie’s shoulders shake, before he busts out in laughter, clutching at his stomach.

Heat flushes up to V’s hairline as she sees the source of her distress, the screen she’d been leaning against now display an advertisement for Milfgaard some cougar website with a scantily clad older woman spreading her legs and moaning. She threw a man off a building and the scariest parts of her day have been a toaster and a porn ad.

“My god, you’re wound tighter than a clock, Jaina,” he teases her.

“Shut up.”

“We have got to loosen you up,” he tells her as they step out the elevator and back out the lobby of the megabuilding.

She carefully pulls her bag and her mother’s guitar case on her shoulders, making sure not to shuffle Manny too much before she trots off behind Jackie. There’s already cop cars pulling up behind the megabuilding as the two mercs disappear into the crowd.

Once Manny is settled in his tank next to Taco’s and V’s stuff is put aside in Jackie’s room; her new friend is pulling her back out of the house. He’s pure excitement accentuated by a wide grin as he shows her the city and god it has it’s problems, what place doesn’t, but there’s something to it. She could write a list of flaws from the corps to the trash, to the cruelty, to the poverty, and homelessness that run rampant there.

‘Hellooooo there Night City!’

But there’s an energy she can’t describe.

Night City has a magic to it, it’s the only way she can define it. Neon lights distract her from the trash that covers every corner. The constant thrum of music helping drown out the just as constant sound of gunfire. Something is magnetic and she understands why so many people are drawn to such a place.

‘Stanley, here with you and we got another day ahead of us in this city of dreams!’

She meets Misty; Jackie’s mainline in her candle lit shop for tarot readings and chakra realignments. The pair adorable as Jackie spins the blonde goth around in his arms. She says V has a nice aura but her chakras are misalligned, which sounds dumb to the merc, but Misty says it with such a sweet smile and V loses the will to tell her as much. Turns out the oil smell in Jackie’s blankets is diluted cedarwood oil that Misty gives him to keep away negative energy and aura blockages.

Misty reads her tarot cards not long after they meet, her cards frayed and worn, as she tells V what the hanged man card means. V doesn’t buy into any of it; but Misty is kind and earnest, the merc willing to entertain her eccentricities if only to say in Misty’s company. V learns her aura is a bright cyan blue, is given a chrysocolla crystal which provides energy for a fresh start, and lavender oil to encourage relaxation and sleep. How Misty knew her sleep struggles, she has no idea, but the lavender does help her relax so why look a gift horse in the mouth. She signs a thanks while tucking the rollerball of oil into her pocket.

‘Ooh, I love this town!’

V meets Vik the same day, trying to hide her nerves at being in a clinic as Jackie and the ripperdoc playfully punch at each other. He’s a sweet older man, tattoos and jewelry showing his love for boxing. He doesn’t even get mad the first time he tries to even look over her and she has a panic attack, accidentally kicking him in the groin, before the ripperdoc glove can even touch her. She apologizes like her life depends on it, hands aching by the time she’s done signing it. He laughs it off, laughs harder when she jokes about not getting candy for being a good patient.

The next time he tries, he stops himself. Face contorting when he’s able to get as far as a diagnostic report this time, seeming stressed by the results. He asks about her autoimmune disease, diagnostics picking up on her overactive antibodies. She can nearly see his heart sinking, like she’s his own child and not just a stranger who freaked out on his table one time. He’s horrified to know her condition has gone completely untreated, that her fear of doctors kept her from getting the treatment she needed. She doesn’t explain where the fear comes from, not wanting to recount her experiences with the clan doctor, the fear of having treatments done against her will. He warns her that while it’s not attacking her eyes or joints as aggressively, overtime and without any treatment it could take the eyes next, the muscles, the joints, the organs. Her entire body could with time destroy itself. Before he fathoms giving her implants, he puts her on immunosuppressants. Making her sure her health is stable, that her body has calmed in attacking itself . Only then, do they go back to the idea of installing cyberware, she even gets a lolly along with her shot and pills; Vik leaning into her dumb joke.

She takes the personal link and neural slots well, cyberdeck and the like added. But the idea of losing her eyes is too much, he says he’ll work with her. He works with her lot, both on the money and with her own discomfort. Vik doesn’t press a “fix” for her hearing, instead beefing up her hearing aids so she has more control over the volume and so she can tune it to police scanners; not that she has any intention of doing contract work for the pigs, but it’s good to know what they’re up to if nothing else. He doesn’t even get mad when she nearly breaks her personal link a day after him installing it, unable to stop playing with the damn thing.

‘Love it like you might love a mother who popped you out on the steps of an orphanage once and now stops to ask you if you got a smoke for her!’

In a few weeks he’s gotten her contacts that work like optics and helped her fashion a choker with the same AI translator of sign language; for when she chooses to ditch the mask. He also has candy, leaning into her dumb joke, and for the first time she feels like she can trust a doctor. And she doesn’t go anywhere else, even if she catches a bullet in Pacifica, she makes Jackie haul her ass to Watson to see Vik.

She soon learns that she and Jackie just work. There’s a synergy to their partnership, an understanding and balance that shows in their merc work. He’s stronger than her, knows the streets and people of Night City better than she could ever hope. But she’s stealthier, quieter, and cleaner in her work. She leads the charge when dropping targets quietly and he runs the show when they’re going in guns ablazing. Though he always tries to keep her safe, perhaps out of care and perhaps out of a sense of obligation. It’d be smothering if it weren’t endearing.

‘Every new day here, means another hundred new arrivals!’

It’s not all cherries on sundaes, the two don’t always get along and butt heads more than once. Mostly over gigs; money vs morality. She won’t take corp or cop cash, unless it’s stolen; they want work they can find some other gonk. Jackie says cash is cash, no matter who’s paying. She gets the pragmatism but can’t do it, shutting down a fixer the second she learns their money is coming from Biotechnica. Jackie isn’t happy, but he respects the call. They agree to disagree, if he wants to take those gigs, he can do them without her. He doesn’t take it in the end, she wonders if he doesn’t want to solo it or if she managed to get him thinking about where his money comes from.

“But only half these gonks will survive a year and that’s if it’s a good one.”

They find a steady routine and flow; working gigs, grabbing lunch with Misty and Vik, more gigs, dinner with Mama Welles, maybe a few more jobs and maybe hitting the bars to spend the eddies they just made. Regular trips to the black market to pick up some ammo and firearms. He has a date with Misty about every week, something V always takes the time to mock. But it’s all in good fun. Some night her and Jackie fall asleep on the couch in a heap watching movies, waking up with Mama Welles having thrown a blanket over them. Other nights she spends at a Kabuki motel, wrapped up in whoever she picked up at the bar.

She experiences her first braindance, loses a tooth when they sneak into the Riot nightclub, gets in another police chase, and sees her first pair of Mantis Blades when they’re coming for her head. V realizes Mama Welles runs the Coyote Cujo and gets better introduced to the staff there; including a busboy named Jake who finds his way into her pants quite easily.

‘And why do these peeps come to NC?’

And then a month has gone by and she has no idea where it went.

V spends her saved back money on a car before she rents an apartment; sick of using the train. Nothing like trying to move a dead body on public transit. Jackie helps her pick it out, the car sold to her by Padre, because every fixer apparently doubles as a car salesman. It only seemed right for her to buy from him and to get Jackie’s approval before she made the purchase. Her bobblehead sits on the dashboard proudly.

She helps Jackie pick out a new deck of tarot cards for Misty, spending an entire day browsing mystical shops before they find the perfect one. Misty adores them and gives the mercs readings as soon as she opens the box, feeling a connection to the cards.

‘Well, to be street samurai like Morgan Blackhand and Waylon Boa Boa!”

Misty and Vik hear her voice, no mask, for the first time on a sunny day after she accidentally launched herself down the stairs in front of the doc’s clinic in an office chair. Laughing as Vik asked her if she was stupid and telling him, “yes.” Because who is she to deny the truth?

In between gigs, Jackie drags her down to Jig Jig street, the most perverse section of Night City. Sex shops, strippers, and joytoys as far as the eye can see. He gives her hell for the way cheeks flush red, they’re there for fun and not business so the mask is off, she’s still not used to the brazen displays of sexuality a person finds in the city. But, despite her awkwardness, she’s far from opposed to it.

‘The greater the risk, the bigger the bounty!”

She childishly demands Vik and Jackie teach her how to box when she finds out there’s a club for it that they both attend. V manages to last a round with Jackie, but only by being fast enough not to get hit, taunting him until he gets a punch in on the second round and knocks her ass to the ground. He apologized a thousand times but all she could do was laugh. Misty has it on camera, as she should.

Misty shows V her little rooftop get away on top of her shop, her zen garden with plastic chairs where they can spend time together when they need a nicer view during lunch, Misty, Jackie, Vik, and V eat their Chinese food takeout or whatever they’ve decided on up there. Once or twice V finds herself going up there alone at night, just to take in the way the neon lights of the city hit the black sky. The city may have been named after its founder, but she finds it more apt to describe when the city is at its most beautiful.

She also gets to witness a rare spat between Misty and Jackie when she catches the merc’s dangling a target over the side of said roof to get information. Jackie letting go of the guy to try to apologize for ruining the aura of the roof; while V struggled to hold him up…and eventually dropped him. But Jackie bought Misty some sage to cleanse the roof, so all well that ends well.

‘Or so they say!’

Another month gone by like she blinked it away.

T-bug starts to work with them again, off and on. Jackie told her she only owed him a favor and didn’t work with him long term. But she reconnects, helping get them more jobs and helping the jobs run even smoother with a trusted security expert on their side. She teaches V how to use quick hacks, but the merc still prefers blades and baseball bats. Mostly just using them to blind folks before she stabs them.

She catches a bullet in Santo Domingo, a 6th street member trying to settle a score and she refuses to go to anyone but Vik. The merc holds her hand to her wound as Jackie drives them to Watson. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Vik mad, he patches her up but he scolds her for hours after, that she should have seen the nearest doc. That she could have died. And she has no excuse, but she knows she’d do it again.

‘But you can only be a major league player for so long!”

A gig drags V and Jackie out to a supposedly haunted old building; Misty tags along, nearly bouncing at the prospect of contacting spirits. V learns that Jackie is afraid of ghosts and spends the entire job trying to entice the supposed specters into eviscerating her. They all leave unscathed though Jackie looked on the verge of tears.

T-bug hacks a Militch training datashard at some point and V decides to try to play through it, interested in learning any new tips or tricks that could help her. The netrunning lessons are the most useful, Bug managing to help even an idiot like V figure out how to do some quick hacks and use daemons. She also gains a new appreciation for being called maggot by her friend. Bug definitely had way too much fun play sergeant.

During a job, Jackie and V hear a man yelling into his phone demanding to know if the person on the other end fucked his wife. They lose their minds laughing and lose the person they were tracking for a good hour. Misty and Vik think they’ve gone nuts when they spend the rest of the day mimicking the stranger to make each other laugh; seeing who can scream “did you fuck my wife!?” the loudest without shame. Jackie wins.

‘The faster you live, the faster you burn out!’

Vik catches her eyeing the projectile launcher system implant; essentially a rocket launcher that goes into the forearm. She’d love to have that sheer amount of firepower at will, plus unlike other weapon implants it’s only on one arm, less intrusive for the cyberware shy merc. The ripper offers to install it for her on credit and she nearly chokes, amazed that he’d be so kind, maybe he just trusts her when she says she doesn’t go to any other doc. But she refuses, not willing to take advantage of his good graces. Deciding instead to save up once she gets the apartment.

She meets Cecelia, a waitress at Tom’s Diner, an older woman with pretty eyes. Jackie nearly rolls his eyes out of his head when V starts flirting, giving her even more shit about V’s taste in older men and women after she gets Cecelia in bed. Along with Jake, she becomes one of her rare repeat bedmates. They’re both significantly older than the young merc, each with children, and not interested in anything deeper than rolling around in the sheets, after all anyone with eyes can see V’s not stepparent material. There’s no danger of them wanting more, so V’s happy to return to them when she wants something more familiar than a one-night stand.

‘If you don’t get a bullet to the brain first!’

Misty gets confused when V signs Jackie’s name sign, instead of fingerspelling it. Optics getting the translation off and muddled. So, the merc is left explaining the inability of optic tech to translate name signs due to their highly individualized nature. Jackie’s name sign to her is only that, his name sign to her. It’s not mind reading tech…yet. Her cheeks flush red when she has to explain that Jackie’s name sign for her is a combination of the sign for the letter ‘J’ and the sign for ‘brother. Fingerspelling J, then bringing that fist with the pinky out onto an “L” shape formed by her other hand. Jackie pulls her into a hug immediately after, nearly crushing the air out of her lungs. She’s less timid during this hug, he tells her she’s getting better, but it still needs work.

Vik, Misty, and Jackie take to trying to learn more sign language; letting V teach them whenever they all find a spare moment. Mama Welles even uses a few, picking them up from V and Jackie. The merc tears up, none of them are fluent, but they’re trying. Trying to learn for her and she’s so rarely had anyone care enough to try for her; her sister and mother the only one of the nomad family who knew it fluently, who took the time to learn. Ava learned a few then stopped bothering. Years of no one caring enough to learn for her, but even with all the tech in the world to get around it, they still try. She doesn’t explain her tears, and no one makes her, Misty just gently rubbing her back as they continue with the lesson.

Jackie helps her with Spanish in return, just as they talked about. Some things are intentionally taught to her, other just picked up. Pendejo is forever ingrained in her head. Though, a part of her wonders how much use it really will be, if maybe Jackie just likes that she has to talk during these lessons. She’s become more comfortable with talking with him verbally. It happens naturally, over their time together. That when it’s just him and her, she’ll find herself talking along with her sign language. But, she’s still tight-lipped when she ventures outside her new social circle. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have it in her to be completely verbal.

Another month gone…

“NC’s Legends! Know where you’ll find most of them?”

Taco passes away, the mini-shark was an older pet even when Jackie first got him. He knew it was coming, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. They hold a makeshift funeral for Taco, Misty and V hugging Jackie as he cries. Mama Welles makes his favorite foods for dinner and V stays with him through a movie night. It doesn’t make things magically okay, he hurts and he grieves the lost of his friend. But he’s not alone and they fall asleep on the couch in a heap. He spends the next night at Misty’s and V finds herself wishing that Misty and Mama Welles got along better, that they all could have been there to support Jackie that first night.

She knows he’s back on the upswing when they find an abandoned grocery cart and he offers to push her around in it. V calls it a dumb idea than promptly climbs inside. Jackie gets a long running start and heavy push of his foot before putting both feet up, letting them ride out the distance, giggling like children. Then they hit a hill and flip at the bottom of it, on the ground staring at the stars and giggling like concussed children.

At some point in the month a client invites them to an orgy after they drop off the goods they were asked to steal. V finally gets her revenge for Jig Jig street, Jackie’s face turning red all the way to the tips of his ears. He refuses and runs to tell Misty as soon as he can, as if even getting the invite makes him feel guilty. Jackie’s the only one who ever finds out about whether V went, a secret she likes to keep close to her heart.

V gets…acquainted with her first exotic partner, that is to say someone who’s had animal based body mods done. She’s seen the cat ears and tails and nearly got bit by a ganger with fangs; but the full anthropomorphic furry mods took her by surprise. Some people played Sonic as a kid and just never looked back, she supposes. Not that she can judge, she did spot the heavily modded bunny exotic girl across a bar and decide why not. It was an interesting night, the fur took getting use to, and she thinks the girl was a little sick of V petting her ears after a while.

Her and Jackie find an illegal firearms dealer, her best friend finding a pair of pistols he loves. They’re embellished with gold and he proudly brandishes them, spinning them in his hands and giving her a grin a mile wide.

And another month finds it’s end.

“The Graveyard.”

She’s fallen into the habit of using her mask during her work and using the choker with the contacts during her personal time. It keeps business a bit more separate and she feels more secure in the hiding of her identity this way, most fixers and clients don’t know what V looks like. not that she worries much about The Herd anymore. The days blink by faster and faster without her ever thinking that her former family might have an inkling of where she is. Despite the polluted air, she’s breathing easier.

There’s a few rumors among mercs and fixers about what her deal is, why she hides her face. From burns, cyberware gone wrong, to some mutated twin stuck on her head. She encourages them, finding each new crazy idea funnier than the last. Her favorite is just telling people she was born with a bad case of ugly and seeing their reaction. None of them are any the wiser when they pass her unmasked on the street, thinking her just some other Night City citizen and not the same merc.

“Matters not where you’re from.”

In her six month in Night City, she finally gets an apartment to herself. Not wanting to have spent half a year mooching off of the Welles family. Even if Mama Welles insists it’s no trouble, that she’s a delight to have around and her stress cleaning has done wonders for their home. She still can’t bring herself to spend the rest of her day living off their good graces. Mama Welles holds her face and kisses the top of her head before she leaves, making her promise to come see her again.

Her apartment is in a megabuilding in Watson, one of the worst districts in Night City, though better than Pacifica she supposes. She’s on the eighth floor, the buildings all get nicer the higher up you get and have at least twenty levels. It is far from grand but it’s hers. Jackie and Misty help her move in, as well as decorate. Putting pictures and fairy lights up over her enclosed bed, another strand of lights across the opening for it and over top of the shuddered windows. And install a sensor on the door that will make a bright red light shine if someone knocks, so she can see it if she has her hearing aids out. The apartment only comes with a microwave and vending machine as far as food goes, no kitchen or fridge. But there is a stash room for weaponry because guns are more important than getting to cook for herself. But beggars can’t be choosers, Misty even brings some purifying crystals and burns sage to keep the energy clean even if the apartment floor isn’t.

She gets to know some of her neighbors and people who run businesses on the services floor of the megabuilding. Wilson runs the Second Amendment gun store on the floor below hers, he’s a curmudgeon of an older guy who runs away most customers with his consistent yelling about respecting firearms. But he doesn’t seem to mind her, maybe because his yelling didn’t scare her away.

“Matter not where you start.”

Brooks is an enby with green cat ears on the floor above her sells V edibles, pot brownies and cookies whenever she has the spare eddies. It helps her sleep a little easier on nights where she doesn’t have a partner and eases some of her anxiety that still pops up every now and again.

The guy who lives in the apartment just below her own is a beat cop named Barry. Something she learns when she’s playing music with her hearing aids out, top volume so she can feel the vibrations rattling her bones and shaking the walls. It apparently shook his walls too and he came knocking on the door. She didn’t get a chance to read his lips when she answered the door, but judging by the drop on his face when she started signing, she suspects he might have been demanding to know if she was ‘fuckin’ deaf or something’. Despite his job, he’s an alright guy and they find themselves talking a few times after laughing off the exchange. If he quit, maybe she’d consider calling him a friend someday.

“What matters here is the walk you walk.”

Things in Night City are good, really good for her. There’s conflict and struggles along the way, she collects new scars. The bullet in Santa Domingo, a mantis blade catching her gut, wolvers skimming her back, and bit by a ganger with vampire mods just to name a few. Night City rattles and rolls her, some days she craves the clean air and open road of the Badlands. She’d be lying if she said otherwise. But there’s an ease in the city, in the people she’s found that make it feel like another home.

She’s laughing and smiling more than she has ever before. V’s able to joke and play around, find a sense of humor and excitement in her life rather than just fear. She’s free to do her merc work, set her own rules and still make a mark. Her and Jackie are steadily carving their place into the ecosystem of the city. She’s showing her strength, her capability, her resilience. She’s not defective, she’s a merc on the rise, a couple fixers go to. She’s got money in her pocket; a roof and food she got with said money.

And she’s got a family, a real one, not made of blood but love. At least she loves them and she hopes they’ve managed to find something in her worth loving. In a dirty city of neon, she managed to find her place in this world, not where she expected but she’s exactly where she needs to be.

‘In Night City, the city of dreams!’

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #fem v #silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #i hope its not disingenuous to tag johnny when he hasn't shown up yet #can you feel the sun?#aidan becker #aidan v becker

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spookyboogie3 · 4 years

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The trope Last Minute Hookup shouldn’t be used for LGBTQ+ relationships.

AND DEFENDING MY LAST POST ABOUT THIS.

I DO NOT hate any of these pairings. A good many of them could have been handled differently by the creators, writers, and networks. But this isnt me hating the relationships or characters or shows. Just going off about how they shouldnt have been tacked on at the end of their respective series.

As of writing this all of these shows have ended their original runs. Except for Supernatural which is on its last few episodes. And Supergirl, which announced its coming to end with season 6.

LGBTQ characters and relationships aren’t as common in the media as straight-cis characters and relationships. Sure things are improving but a lot of networks and writers still don’t fully understand why representation is important why they can’t keep using the same throwaway tropes they’ve been using for the straight-cis relationships.

You could name any piece of media and find and name one character that isn’t LGBTQ+, but you can’t do this with LGBTQ+ characters. We haven’t gotten to the point where they are as common as non-LGBTQ characters.

I have a whole paper I wrote on why asexual representation is important to have in the media and the same logic applies to any part of the LGBTQ+ or anything that falls under minority.

Back to the topic on hand. The trope of “Last Minute Hookup.”

Its exactly what it sounds like. Characters get to together at the very end of the story. These characters could have a on and off again relationship, lots of ship teasing, the classic “Will They or Wont They?” trope. What makes it different for non-LGBT characters in relationships to do this, we know what these relationships look like. Not to say the that both Non and LGBT relationship cant have similar struggles, however members of the LGBTQ+ community know how hard it is to feel like your identity and self matters and is normal.

I know that the whole “will they, wont they” thing is done for drama and networks and showrunners think if they give the fans what they want that they’ll start losing viewers and they have nothing to look forward to. Which is true to some degree. But most of this comes from the writers not knowing how to fucking write relationships.

Let’s just focus on whats it like to be in a non-straight relationship.

Heres an example: you have an action series, with 2 male leads and halfway through the show, they get together. Cool. Now you have a Battle Couple.

By making LGBTQ relationships happen at the end of a series that’s already had plenty of other non-LGBTQ relationships happen before it, it makes it look like the people in charge don’t care for it or were afraid of backlash. But it’s the end of the series so its not like they can get the show cancelled or anything. (The only people who are going to lash out at LGBT couple or characters are homophobic people, we don’t want them around any way so just make stuff super gay, so they’ll leave)

This is especially a problem when the writer and network have spent the whole series queerbaiting the audience with these characters.

Side note for anyone is doesn’t actually know what queerbaiting is:

It’s a marketing technique used in entertainment, which the writer or creators hint at but then don’t actually depict sex-same romance or LGBTQ representation. They do this to attract (bait) the LGBT/queer or straight ally audience into the show with the suggestion of representation but at the same time avoiding this as not alienate other audience members *cough* (homophobes) *cough*

Definition is from Wikipedia, not a reliable source says my highschool teachers and college professors but fuck em

The Legend of Korra is a great example of Last-Minute Hookup. Korra and Asami had VERY little ship teasing, and that was in the last 2 books/seasons. Any thing that was perceived as romantic came from the fans wearing shipping goggles. So to a lot of people just casually watching, yes this looked like it came out of nowhere. Nickelodeon had some serious balls to say how brave they were for putting 2 girls into a romantic relationship.

Theres a few problems with this.

A. It never actually aired on TV (to my knowledge). The last 2 seasons of Korra were put on Nicks website.

B. The confirmation that this Korrasami was canon had to come from the creators on twitter because of how unclear it was.

C. The show did the bare minimum when it came to hooking them up in the series. They walk off holding hands (very cute btw). They didn’t even get a kiss. Aang and Katara had a Last Minute Hookup at the end of ATLA after 3 seasons of ship tease and THEY GOT A KISS. Hell the original end of LoK*, has Korra and Mako kissing. *(the first season, they didn’t know they were getting more seasons at the time, no matter what you hear the writers say, they’re full of shit)

D. Anything continuation of Korra has come in the form of comics, which her and Asami are in a fairly well written relationship. Yes, they do kiss. Yes it would’ve been great to see this stuff happen in series.

A show that handles this a little bit better is Adventure Time. Not by much though. It implied several times that Princess Bubblegum and Marceline have history together and its shown more and more in its last few seasons that there is some ship tease happening. However its not until the finale where they kiss, and they are shown in the last minute of the show cuddling together in Marcy’s house. HBO has picked up Adventure Time and has a miniseries called Adventure Time: Distant Lands, where Bubblegum and Marceline’s past relationship is shown.

I had brought up in my original post about being upset with networks making LGBTQ+ relationships canon in the last season/episode. I originally had Catradora tagged. While Catra and Adora have history together, they did not become official couple until the end of the series.

Yes, I was wrong about the network making things canon in the last episode as they’ve always had ship tease with each other, and it probably was the writers’ intent to put them together by the end. They do technically fall under the Last-Minute Hookup, however.

I wanna talk about Once Upon a Time really quick. Fans of the show were hoping and wishing for an LGBTQ couple for the show as a lot of characters, especially Regina and Emma, have alot Ho Yay moments. The showrunners weren’t going to put those two together, for whatever reasons they may have for that (im indifferent on all the shipping going on with this show). The showrunners thought to put two characters together, and hoo boy did it not make people happy. The characters they put together are Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Ruby the red riding hood, which would be fine if they had properly been developed.

The entire episode they did this in was a mess. They stopped the current arc during the season 5 episode ‘Ruby Slippers,’ to go over the characters that haven’t been seen in years, Dorothy was introduced and last seen in season 3, and Ruby was introduced in season 1 and was last seen in season 5 before ‘Ruby Slippers’. The characters get together in the same episode the meet in and are never seen again. The characters barely interacted, barely got along, and showed little to no ship tease or interest in each other and BOOM they are in love and together aaaaaannnnndd they’re gone. Other than having One Million Moms, a Christian fundamentalist organization, protest against the show and want it taken off the air (yes this really happened). The fans weren’t please with this development of the characters either.

(also Mulan was right there and already knew Ruby from a previous episode, and Mulan already is established to like girls as shown by her being in love with Aurora. Don’t know why the writers didn’t just put these 2 together but whatever I guess)

So they tried again in season 7 with MadArcher. The characters of Alice, a version of Alice in Wonderland from another realm (its complicated) and Robin, the daughter of Robin Hood and the Wicked Witch (it’s also complicated). And the writers did a lot better here. Both characters were allowed to have time together and have a history together too and it was done over the whole season. Not just one episode.

Now even though the writers decided to do something different with the last season and it could be detached from the previous 6 seasons, MadArcher is not really a Last Minute Hookup per say but still falls under my thing about it being the last season so who gives a fuck if One Million Moms gets mad us and tries to get us cancelled again.

I would like to say I have never watched a single episode of Supernatural in my life. I may one day. But as of right now my knowledge of it is coming primary from what ive seen on tumblr. You know a great source for doing research and looking for reliable information among the piles of shitposting.

From what I know from fans, the writers of Supernatural have been queer baiting for years. I mean it’s the CW, I’m not that surprised. What also wouldn’t surprise me, that by the end of the series Castiel is back and he and Dean actually start and relationship or strongly hint at starting one. I actually fear for the writer lives if they threw out a confession scene after years of queerbaiting and potential ship tease (debatable) and they don’t put them together. Fans are going to be angrier than they probably ever have been with this show and the showrunners and writers really would be known for queer baiting.

From what I know about how previous shows have done and if anyone that has ever worked on this show wants to continue living, Castiel will be back from Super Hell (is that what yall are calling it?) and he will get together with Dean. And they will fall under the Last-Minute Hookup trope and my networks make LGBTQ relationships canon last season.

One last show I want to talk about is Supergirl, which in has been recently announced that the 6th season will be the last. The show started on CBS but moved to the CW after the end of season 1. So more CW bullshit. There is no confirmation about whether the CW or any of the Supergirl writers are planning to do this, its all speculation. Supergirl is more LGBTQ friendly than some other shows on the Network. One of the main characters came out a few years ago and had a girlfriend a season and has had plenty of hookups with other ladies around the Arrowverse. They even introduced a trans-woman superhero in the form of Dreamer.

Let’s talk SuperCorp. Lena Luthor was introduced in the 2nd season and has been a major character in Kara’s life ever since her introduction. Even if she isn’t involved in the plot, Kara always goes to her to talk and check in on her and worry about her. They are best friends. Since the 2 have met, there has been plenty of Les Yay going on. The writers seem to be aware of the fans wanting SuperCorp to be canon and they keep throwing in moments like Kara and Lena struggling together or Kara carrying Lena bridal style.

Why I bring this up after the announcement of Supergirl’s final season to start next year. We may get SuperCorp. Kara has a relationship with William in the show and not a single person likes this relationship. The writers may scrap it and get put Kara and Lena together for the final season. This is a big maybe though. The Supergirl writers and crew get called out a lot for queerbaiting.

Let me know if you guys have any other examples of last season/last episode LGBTQ+ hookup.

And please let me know if you see any mistakes. This was all done in one sitting so I may have some things wrong.

Also check out the video by @aretheygayvideos on this topic too.

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soliavenne · 3 years

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Ok here we go, ◇ anon here, let’s talk about this mess of a novel (good and bad). Unfortunately I don’t see an option to add the “read more” break in the submission editor - if you find a way feel fee because this will be quite long.

[warning: spoilers of Gaara Hidden from this point on also please read the original post first, this is just a response to the author of this blog]

Link to the post for reference! https://soliavenne.tumblr.com/post/637596997003722752/thoughts-on-gaara-hiden

1. I agree so hard with this one. While I don’t feel like he liked Hakuto in a romantic sense (I mean there was simply no time for that) - it was just heartbreaking that he compares getting an arranged marriage to dying - just the idea that he can’t even have a say in that part of his life is so sad … Then how he becomes hopeful it might be tolerable just because she is not immediately repulsed by him - tragic. 2. yes, just yes. I hate the thought that Kankuro is just like “nah my brother, who until now never showed interest in romantic relationships, should probably be forced to marry a random girl so I don’t have to” and Temari is just ok with it. I mean it’s true that this might be the only real option sometimes, especially when your marriage is a political affair - however, I would at least expect his siblings to get upset that their little brother is made to endure yet another thing because of the elders. I completely agree that it would seem more like Kankuro to consider taking that burden himself. He clearly has already taken on at least some responsibilities for Gaara’s sake (like helping him to support his leadership from the sidelines). Also - maybe it’s because Gaara is a male character - but I have a feeling if he had been a girl the writer might have put more focus on how cruel it is to force someone into a marriage. There was a lot of effort put into making him seem cool and calm in every situation - not so much on his emotional side. Gaara was never emotionless, far from it - he always had some scenes where he acted rather shy/flustered and it’s been shown that, while he is usually protected from physical injuries, the words and actions of others have the capacity to hurt him severely. To me, he feels like the one person you would not want to force in an intimate relationship with a stranger because there is just no way he wouldn’t take it very seriously and try his best no matter how the other person treats him.

3. agree completely. It didn’t feel like the Gaara we saw in the manga and anime up until that point. Although the novel was obviously approved by Kishimoto, I would say there are a lot of people here on tumblr who have a better grasp of Gaara’s character than the author of the novel - keeping in mind that writing a book takes more than fully understanding your main character. The focus was to make him appear cool and always on top of things - not to depict his emotional conflicts and more awkward side. 4. again yes - The point about his mother just feels like a plothole. I also don’t enjoy the thought that Gaara NEEDS a love interest. He has always been written very vaguely about this sort of thing, why not keep it like that? To me it didn’t feel like he was interested in her in that way, he met someone he admired but it really didn’t go anywhere. That space in the book could have been better spent on exploring relationships with existing characters or to add interesting parts about Suna’s culture and politics.

5. and 6. YES Now for the better parts:

1.I like this bit of added background - another part that feels like Suna is a mix of japanese and middle eastern cultures, same with the tea scene.

2. I feel like this line especially is a big reason why people feel like he is asexual or demi. It’s just interesting to see that he can read this type of thing and feel absolutely nothing from it. This supports the idea that he needs a strong emotional connection with people first and foremost. (And it makes him a character to relate to for people who are also on that spectrum. Even if it was never outwardly stated, for me this line hints severely at the fact that he is at least leaning towards the ace-spectrum, yet doesn’t exclude the possibility that he might find a partner one day.)

3. like stated in 1. I like that scene a lot - it’s a cute idea that Gaara would do little charms/rituals here and there because they might help in his daily life. Even he sometimes leans into things that would be superstition for others.

4. I remember telling you that part made me cry - it’s just such an emotional line. 5. This was so cute. I’m a firm believer that the book should have contained more of that and remove at least one of the new characters that ended up being insignificant. 6. For me this fits his character so well. gaara-obsession-blog has been referring to things like that in their analyses quite a bit - It makes sense for Gaara to abstain from things that could take away some of the control he fought for for so many years… 7. Adding to that - I found it interesting that they stated Gaara is very resistant to genjusu because he had to fight for his consciousness with shukaku for so many years. It fits the canon AND it fits his character - definitely one of the bits I appreciate. 8. I knew you would appreciate that line^^ I like the suggestion you made for an alternative plot. Another interesting part for me were the lines of Gaara addressing why he has never had a love interest. He talks about the fact that he believes the girls in the village who admire him, do so more because of the persona they imagine for him - he feels like they don’t truly like him. The line “and because of Temari’s stealthy handiwork in getting rid of unwanted admirers” still makes me think. I wouldn’t think Temari would actually hurt anyone wanting to get to know her brother. The games have a scene where she asks naruto to guard Gaara’s office while she has to leave for a short time. You are basically asked to send everyone away - if I remember correctly this includes people who are disguised as kankuro, a child who wants help with their cat, someone who just wants to see the kazekage in person and - most relevant here - one of the fangirls who wants to get close to gaara. To me, this means that Temari probably did her best to keep all the people away who were fascinated by Gaara because of his reputation - not, that she would actually go after a person who gets too close to him, who has genuine feelings and doesn’t bother Gaara. But this quote definitely made me consider its meaning for quite some time - I mean, if Temari truly wanted to keep someone away from Gaara at all cost - I’m sure it wouldn’t end well for them. I only hope Gaara became better at rejecting people’s requests - otherwise it must have been hell after she left and there was no one to guard his office– I’m sorry this turned out rather long - there is just so much in this book that either bothers me or makes me think if this fits the characters or not. I’m glad to talk about it with someone.◇

---

As expected as always, ◇. You took the words out of my mouth hands down. I also really appreciate the fact that you brought up a trivia from the games (I haven't played them yet AAAA) so it's a whole new interesting information that I wouldn't be able to learn if you didn't mention it! To be honest, the whole "Temari's stealthy work" didn't sit quite well with me at first as well, so I'm really happy that you cleared that up for me! That'd been such a huge help!

You have nothing to apologize for, ◇! If anything I honestly love receiving your asks/submissions! They're very interesting and I could clearly see the efforts you invest in discussing your points in such a detailed way. You're also able to back it up effectively! It's honestly such a treat to read through. I enjoy them so much.

Thank you soo so much for having me as usual! The feeling is mutual, I'm glad I was able to talk about Gaara Hiden like this with you, ◇. :) <3

#gaara hiden #◇#submission

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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The Eternal and Unseen (3 of 4)

SO yeah. The chapter count has grown. There’s a lot going on here. David has a backstory. Emma and Killian have a mission. IT’S A LOT and it needs more words.

CW: This chapter contains minor (and canon compliant) character death and a potentially distressing scene involving the accidental death of a child. It’s not graphic but it is emotional so be prepared.

As ever, thanks to @ohmightydevviepuu for plotting with me and @thisonesatellite and @katie-dub for general amazingness and @optomisticgirl and @spartanguard for the prompts and the always-enthusiastic responses 😘

And @carpedzem for another absolutely stunning drawing. SEE BELOW.

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

AO3 | tumblr part one | tumblr part two

(I MEAN. WHAT. SO PERFECT.)

PART THREE:

They returned to Andersen just as twilight was creeping across the sky and the moon rising into it, heavy and dark gold as it crested the forest trees. Emma watched it through the window of her room, where she and Killian and David had retreated to rest a bit and collect themselves before deciding on their next move. The others had also gone to their rooms rest and prepare, and now David sat on Emma’s bed with his hands clasped in his lap and his shoulders tight as Killian made Emma a cup of tea and she frowned at the moon.

David watched in silence as Killian approached Emma and offered her a steaming cup. She accepted it with a smile and a cheek turned up to meet the kiss he dropped on it, in a gesture so comfortable and natural it gave David’s heart a little twinge. He wondered how he could ever have thought they weren’t right for each other when the depth and intensity of their love was so very, very obvious.

But then he was becoming aware that there were in fact a great many obvious things in this world that he hadn’t been able to see. It was not a comfortable thought.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “I get that you’ve both got a lot of thinking to do right now. But could you—is there time for you just to explain a few things first? Like exactly what the hell is going on? I feel like everyone knows what’s happening here but me.”

“That shouldn’t be a new feeling for you,” remarked Killian with a smirk. David sighed.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair. I’m not sure how I missed so much of what was happening around me, but I see it now and I’d like to understand it.”

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance.

“What exactly have you seen?” Emma asked.

“Visions?” David said uncertainly. “Of the past? Killian made me drink something purple and then I started seeing things.”

“Something purple?” Emma frowned.

“Yeah. He put some grey powder and a crushed up leaf into a beaker full of something Victor gave him, and it turned purple. And started to smoke,” said David.

“You gave him purple willow bark?” Emma turned to Killian in alarm.

“Aye,” Killian replied. “Along with the sap from one of Jane’s leaves.”

“Oh.” Emma relaxed. “Well, that was the right choice of leaf at least.”

“I do listen when you talk about the plants, love.”

“Hmmm,” said Emma. “And how did you feel afterwards?” she asked David.

“I—kind of passed out.”

Emma nodded. “I’m not surprised. Purple willow packs a punch. Normally we blend a few herbs into the emulsifier to soften its effects, but there’s no way Killian could have known the correct ones. He did the best he could in the circumstances.” She gave Killian a smile that tried hard to be sardonic. “This time, though, I’ll give you the gentler version.”

David started. “This time?”

“Well, yeah,” said Emma. “It’s the easiest way to give you the information you need. We could explain, I suppose, but it’s really best if you see it for yourself. Especially if you want to know your own history.”

“My… own history?”

Emma nodded, her expression sorrowful and soft with sympathy. “Yeah. You’ve seen the history of the fae and the Guardians, now you need to understand where you fit into that.”

“Killian—” David cleared his throat. “Killian said I’m a—a Guardian? Like he is?”

“Yeah you are. But as you’ve probably guessed there’s more to it than that. Are you ready to See?”

David swallowed hard. Part of him still wanted to say no, to deny all of this and run, back to yesterday when things had made sense. But a bigger part of him knew he needed to know, and to understand why all these crazy things that were happening to him seemed less and less crazy the more he thought about them. The more he thought.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

It’s less abrupt this time, smoother, as though he’s drifting in a boat on a misty sea. The mist clears and the sea recedes and he is standing at the edge of a wood, with fields at his back and before him trees that reach up to the sky, tall and straight as in the forest of the fae council, only now they frame not an ancient round stone but a house. It’s a nice house if rather a small one, humble but homey, made of wood and fronted by a well-kept garden with a creek running through it. Something about the house tickles at David’s memory—though no, not his memory exactly, more a feeling… the sense that he has been here before.

He blinks and finds himself inside the house, in a cramped bedroom where a woman lies back against rumpled pillows, exhausted, cradling a tiny newborn baby in her arms. Slowly she traces the curve of the baby’s cheek with the tip of her finger, her eyes alight with wonder.

“James,” she whispers. “Your name is James.”

“And who is this one?” asks a voice. David turns to see another woman, plain and sturdy and with kind eyes, holding up another tiny bundle. This second bundle she places gently in the crook of the woman’s other arm.

“David,” says the woman on the bed. “This one is David.”

David gasps and his eyes fly to the woman, but before he can get a good look at her the scene is shifting and he sees the babies—himself and his brother—his brother—now toddlers, running through the woods behind the house. He knows, somehow, which is himself and which is James—though their faces are identical, James’s wears an expression of recklessness and mischief as he runs as fast as his young legs can take him to the edge of the creek that comes out from the woods to cut across the corner of their garden. Young David follows, his tiny face crumpling as he calls out to his brother, and David now can feel the terror of his younger self as he sees James slip on the slick rocks that border the creek, hears his brother’s cry, abruptly silenced as his head hits the stones… David sees his own young legs move as fast as they can—faster than they should—but still far too slowly. He hears a heartrending scream, feels the flurry of movement as his mother runs from the garden—she turned her back for the briefest moment—and David looks away. His toddler self is bawling and he cannot watch it, cannot listen to his mother’s broken sobs… this, he thinks, this must be why she never told him that he had a twin. Her cries are unearthly as she cradles James’s tiny form, and they echo in David’s aching chest as he squeezes his eyes shut and wills the scene to change.

It does, and when he looks again he’s back inside the house where it is clear that time has passed—though it cannot be much; David’s younger self is older now but by a few months or so, no more. He is in the bedroom again, where a man with a very familiar square chin and blond hair arms himself for battle, while David’s mother sits on the bed and pleads for him to stay.

“You know that I can’t, Ruth,” the man says, “The call has come, and my duty—”

“Oh, your duty!” Ruth cries. “You’re not even the chosen Guardian!”

“But I am a guardian,” he insists. “I must go to battle when called. And David—”

“David is a child!”

“A child with a bounden duty, the same as my own. You knew this when you married me.”

“I know. I know I did but I can’t bear it now,” sobs Ruth. “I can’t, Robert. Not so soon after James.”

Robert takes her face gently in his hands and kisses her. “I will return,” he says softly. “I promise, my love.”

But David knows, even without being shown by the vision, that he never did.

The scene shifts again. Very little time has passed, David can tell, but the change in his mother is heartbreaking. She is wan, gaunt, lying listlessly on the sofa with no expression in her eyes, and David can feel the worry of his toddler self as he makes a show of playing quietly on the floor, but with far more attention on his mother than his toys. She is weakened by despair and fragile from her losses, and young though he is, David is afraid for her.

There is a knock at the door but his mother makes move to answer or even acknowledge it. It’s David who toddles over and cries “Come in!”

The door opens to admit a woman, pale and blonde and green-eyed. Her face resembles Emma’s though considerably older, and she lacks the determined chin, the stubborn glint in the eye that Emma has.

His mother’s eyes flit briefly to the woman then away, and she makes no move to rise. “Princess Angharad,” she says flatly.

“Ruth,” replies the woman, coming to stand next to the sofa. Her stern expression softens in sympathy and, David thinks, a hint of pity. “I’m so very sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” sneers Ruth. “You lost a fine warrior, after all.”

David gapes—never in his life has he heard his mother speak so rudely. Angharad’s expression does not change.

“Your sacrifice has been great—” she begins, but Ruth interrupts her.

“Yes it has,” she says sharply. “And it won’t be any greater. I’m taking David and I am leaving this place.”

Angharad’s eyebrows rise then snap together in a frown. “Leaving!” she exclaims.

“Yes.”

“But—you know that David has been chosen as the Guardian for my granddaughter, Emma.”

“Yes I do.”

“His selection was a great honour.”

“Yes it was. And I refuse it. You can’t have him.”

“Ruth—”

“No!” There’s fire in Ruth’s eyes now, sparking dangerously as she sits up straight to glare at the princess. “You’ve taken my husband. I’ve lost my son. David is all I have left, you will not take him from me too!”

“But the Guardian—”

“Choose another.”

Angharad steps backwards and nearly stumbles into the armchair next to the sofa. She twists her hands together in her lap. “It is your right, as you know, to make this refusal on behalf of your minor child,” she says. “But I would urge you, strongly urge you to reconsider.”

“I won’t.” Ruth’s jaw is set. “My mind is made up.”

The princess’s own jaw is tight, her eyes troubled. “There is another who might do,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Closer in age to Emma than we generally prefer and with certain… troubling portents, but if you are truly adamant…” She darts a glance at Ruth.

“I am,” Ruth confirms. Angharad nods. She looks up again and this time holds Ruth’s gaze.

“And what is your intention, when you leave us?” she asks. “Where will you go?”

“Into the human world. I’m going to raise my son among his own kind, humans who have no obligation to the fae or any knowledge of darkness or covenants. He’ll grow up as far away from magic as I can get him.”

Angharad’s face is sorrowful now. “I cannot agree with this decision, as much as I sympathise with why you have taken it. This recent battle has brought great losses to many of our human allies. For that I am boundlessly sorry.”

“I don’t accept your apology,” says Ruth stiffly. “Although I do acknowledge it.”

“That is fair.” Angharad nods. She straightens her shoulders and looks at Ruth again. “Before I go and with your permission, I would bestow on you one final gift.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What sort of gift?”

Angharad looks at young David, still playing on the floor and listening, older David is certain, to every word. “The human world is not like ours but there is still magic there, and David with his heritage and the distinction that should have been his will find himself drawn to it,” she explains. “I can—close his mind, as it were, to the perception of that magic, make it far more difficult for him to see and easier to rationalise if he does see it.”

“You want to mess with my son’s head,” says Ruth flatly.

“In a manner of speaking,” Angharad concedes. “It’s not normally something I would do especially to a child so young, but understand me well, Ruth—underestimating the pull of his heritage, of two hundred generations of Guardians, would be a grave mistake. Even with this spell upon him he may still find himself drawn by magic. You cannot keep him from it by your will alone.”

“Fine,” Ruth spits. “Do what you like.”

Angharad approaches young David with a kind smile and kneels beside him.

“What’s that you’re playing with?” she asks.

“Lego!” he exclaims. “It’s a castle!”

“And a very fine one too,” Angharad murmurs, with such sadness in her eyes David’s heart aches. She brushes the hair from his forehead then lets her hand rest there as she murmurs a few words. David feels his younger mind blur and shift and resettle. The toddler’s eyes go hazy and he blinks them slowly, and when the princess removes her hand he returns to his toys, blithely building his castle as though she were not even there.

Angharad rises to her feet. “I shall take the sword now,” she says briskly.

Ruth gets up from the sofa and disappears through the bedroom door. When she returns she is carrying a long sword—the same sword David last saw belted around his father’s waist. The one that is now in his own possession.

“What will you do with it?” Ruth asks, thrusting the sword at Angharad.

“Keep it safe,” she replies. “It rightfully belongs to your son, and to his descendants. One day perhaps one of them might wish to claim it.”

“I hope not,” says Ruth. “With every fibre of my being I hope it.”

“That is your right, and your prerogative,” replies Angharad. “As it is mine to hope that despite everything that has come to pass, one day David may take it up again, and find his way back to us.”

Emma sat in her armchair with her legs curled beneath her and a cup of tea steaming gently in her hand, watching the images flickering in her scrying mirror. David was lying in her bed, his eyes moving frantically beneath closed lids and his limbs twitching as he re-lived his history. Killian and Harriet both sat at his beside, ready to react should anything go wrong. Emma cast a glance at them, smiling fondly at the sight of one of Harriet’s fronds curled gently around Killian’s neck, stroking the nape of it as Emma herself liked to do. Killian gave a little hum at the tickling caress but did not look up from the book that lay open in his lap.

Emma turned her attention back to the mirror. The images it revealed confirmed her suspicions, but something about the whole business still troubled her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She frowned as she went back over some of the images, playing them again, willing herself to see what she was missing.

Harriet unfurled one of her vines—not the one standing ready to protect David or the one fondling Killian (Harriet was an excellent multi-tasker) and with the closest thing to a long-suffering sigh a plant can muster tapped the tip of a leaf against one of the posters Emma had blu-tacked to the wall. The one that outlined the lunar cycles of the year 2020. Another leaf gestured emphatically at the window, where the golden moon was still rising in the sky.

“Of course,” breathed Emma. “That’s it.”

Killian looked up from his book. “That’s what, love?”

“I’ve just figured out what’s been bothering me about this whole thing,” Emma exclaimed. Harriet huffed and folded her vine as a person might fold their arms across their chest. “Okay, okay,” laughed Emma, “it was Harriet who figured it out.”

“Naturally.” Killian gave Harriet a little scratch behind her leaf.

“But it all makes sense now,” Emma continued. “Things I couldn’t find a good explanation for, like why those women would kidnap me and why my instincts would tell me they were deadly dangerous when every other sign indicates that they’re really, really not.” She set her teacup down on her desk and leapt to her feet, dropping an absent kiss on Killian’s cheek as she headed for the door. “You stay here until David wakes up, okay? It should only be a few more minutes. I need to go talk to Belle.”

Angharad’s final words echo in his ears as the scene shifts around her, and though her face appears unchanged David senses she is now some years older. This seems confirmed by the young woman seated in front of her, a blonde and green-eyed fae that is, finally, Emma.

She’s so young, David thinks, with a small twinge beneath his heart, though this cannot be more than a few years in the past. Emma’s face is rounder and her hair less styled, though he can see the seeds of the woman he knows in the stubborn set to her girlish jaw and the wilful spark in her eyes. She’s dressed in a long split skirt and a fitted leather jerkin in her trademark red, which even with his limited knowledge from these visions David recognises as a traditional fae style, updated for the modern world, and he is not surprised that this is something young Emma might choose to wear. She sits on a wide, cushioned seat in a large room where the walls appear to be formed of tightly twisted tree branches with tall windows and a wooden door set into them. David reflects for a moment how a mere twenty-four hours ago such decor would have astonished him, then returns his attention to Angharad and to Emma.

“Now that you are about to come of age,” the elder fae is saying, “it’s high time you met your Guardian.”

“Ugh. Do I have to?”

Emma manages not to whine but David can tell it’s a near thing. She crosses her arms over her chest and it’s plain to see her lower lip wants badly to pout.

“Don’t you want to?” Angharad looks shocked.

“No, actually,” Emma retorts. “I don’t need a man to take care of me.”

“He is not a man, he’s your Guardian,” her grandmother scolds, “and his job is not to ‘take care of you.’ It is to protect you.”

“I don’t need that either!”

Angharad’s expression says plainly that she is holding tight to her patience. “Emma, the most recent battles are within your lifetime—”

“Barely,” Emma mutters.

“—and despite your gifts for scrying you cannot predict with certainty when there might be another. After the loss of both your parents and so many of our kind we simply cannot afford to be without our Guardians should we find ourselves again under attack. Without their aid fae kind would have been lost thousands of years ago, and indeed as the covenants say—”

“All right, all right,” groans Emma. “For the love of the goddess, don’t start quoting the covenants. I’ll accept this Guardian and do what is required of me. But you canNOT make me need him!”

“I will pray that you never do,” says Angharad, now with a twinkle of humour behind her stern expression.

A knock sounds at the door, and she goes to open it. A young man enters the room, mid-twenties at David’s estimate and moving with a distinct stiffness in his right leg. “Ah, good day to you, Captain Jones,” Angharad greets him warmly. “Do come in. But where is your brother?”

“Outside looking at your horses,” says the man with a sigh. He continues to speak but David doesn’t hear his words—he has noticed Emma slip quietly from the room and he follows her. She creeps down a narrow hallway and through a door at the back of the dwelling. Once outside she darts through a sparse scattering of trees, heading for a long, low building that David gathers to be the stables. Just as she approaches the broad stable door it flies open and a boy strides through it, colliding with Emma and barely managing to catch her before she can fall.

“Oh!” she cries and the boy grunts, blinking startled blue eyes as he gazes down at her. Her own eyes widen and for a moment they stand frozen, his arms around her waist and her hands on his chest, staring at each other in helpless fascination—until the boy blinks rapidly and clears his throat as he steps back.

Killian—because of course it’s he—scratches nervously behind his ear.

“Um,” he says, “er... ah…”

“Eloquent,” teases Emma, who has by all appearance regained her composure—though David notes the bright flush in her cheeks and the breathiness of her voice. “You must be Killian Jones.”

“Aye,” he replies, collecting his wits and giving her a hesitant smile. “And you are of course the princess Emma.”

“I am.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass.”

“The pleasure is all yours,” retorts Emma. Killian looks first startled, then affronted, then captivated, all within a few blinks of an eye. A delighted grin spreads across his face, with just a hint of the smirk he will perfect in years to come.

Emma herself blinks at that grin, and the flush on her cheeks deepens. “You should know from the start that I don’t need a Guardian,” she declares, attempting to cover her discomfiture with a haughty glare. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yes,” says Killian. His gaze travels slowly down her form and back up again. “I don’t doubt that you can.”

“Oh.” Emma scowls at his easy acquiescence and also, David imagines, at the way he’s looking at her—as though she’s the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen. She shifts uncomfortably as Killian moves closer.

“But however capable you may be, Your Highness,” he says, his voice dropping lower and his expression hardening, “and regardless of whether or not you want one, you’ve got a Guardian. Me.” He leans in closer still and David can hear Emma’s breath catch. “And I intend to take my duties very, very seriously.”

“But I don’t need you!” Emma snaps. There’s frustration in her tone and temper in her eyes, though she doesn’t, David notices, back away.

“And I don’t care.”

They are so close now their noses are nearly touching and the air crackles with the tension between them. David is all too familiar with these battles of wills of theirs, having witnessed many firsthand in the dorm, but this one, the first one, is the most intense of all. He holds his own breath as he watches them take the measure of each other, notes the rapid rise and fall of their chests and the way their eyes are locked, how Killian’s hand curls around Emma’s hip and hers slides up his chest without either of them noticing. He begins to feel as though he should look away—this moment is too intimate for him to witness—but then Angharad’s voice cries “Emma!” from the direction of the house and she and Killian wrench themselves apart.

They stare at each other for a moment as they attempt to catch their breaths, then Emma gives her hair a toss.

“Well,” she huffs, “have it your way, I guess. You can follow me around if you like, I can’t stop you, but you’re going to look pretty stupid when you show up to save me and find I’ve already saved myself.”

Killian laughs, loud and bright. “I’m prepared to take that chance, princess,” he says.

The scene shimmers and resolves into two figures walking through the woods. One is Killian and the other his brother, the man whom Angharad addressed earlier as Captain Jones. His limp is more pronounced now, a halting gait caused by the stiff way he holds his right leg and his clear reluctance to put weight on it, as though the knee cannot be fully trusted. The two of them emerge from the trees and out onto a narrow road where a car is parked. David notes the way Killian moderates his own pace to match his brother’s, unconsciously, walking slowly despite the buzz of nervous energy that is rolling off him in waves.

They approach the car and Killian removes a set of keys from his pocket to unlock it, then gets behind the wheel while his brother with effort eases himself into the passenger seat. There’s a scowl on Killian’s face and his movements are jerky as he puts the car in gear; his brother has been lecturing him and he is clearly displeased. David hasn’t been listening to their words but he concentrates on them now, just in time to hear Killian snap “Bloody hell, Liam—”

“Language!”

“—I only met her today! We spoke for less than five minutes! Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to be warning me away from her!”

“I wish it were,” Liam mutters. “Sometimes five minutes is all it takes.”

Killian grips the steering wheel hard with one hand and jams the key into the ignition with the other. “What the devil are you on about?” he grumbles, though the look on his face makes David suspect that he knows full well what Liam is ‘on about’, and that it worries him too.

Liam sighs. “Look, just—just be careful, little brother.”

“When am I not careful, and it’s younger brother, if you don’t mind.”

“Killian.” Liam’s face is intensely solemn, with genuine fear behind his eyes. “You can’t fall in love with her.”

Killian shoots his brother a glare as he twists the key and the car’s engine roars to life. “I know that,” he snaps, “and I don’t intend to.”

David nearly laughs. If that’s what has Liam so concerned, his warning’s come far too late. Killian is halfway in love already, and his feelings are a tide that cannot be turned.

“Well.” Liam shifts uncomfortably in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. “See that you don’t, then.”

Killian twists the wheel and he car peels away. David doesn’t follow it. He can feel the potion thinning in his veins, the visions receding along with the car’s taillights, leaving him standing in the fading forest wondering what on earth could make the prospect of Killian and Emma falling in love strike such fear into a man like Liam Jones.

David came awake slowly, drifting back to consciousness in that boat on the misty sea. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on Emma’s bed wrapped in some sort of blanket, warm and quite comfortable and with Killian beside him in a chair, a book open in his lap. He shut the book when he sensed David’s gaze on him, set it aside and offered a smile.

“How are you feeling, mate?” he asked.

“Good,” said David, then paused to clear the croak from his voice. “Hell of a lot better than I did after the potion you gave me.”

“Aye, I don’t doubt it.” Killian chuckled. “ I’m pretty much the furthest thing imaginable from an expert on magic. It was all I could do to remember the basic elements of the potion Angharad gave me when I accepted my Guardian duties.”

“So you—saw what I did? The visions?”

“I saw what you did the first time,” said Killian. “The fae histories and the origin of the Guardians. That knowledge is given to all of us. These latest visions, though, were for you alone.”

David moved to sit up only to discover that he couldn’t. What he had taken for a blanket turned out, upon closer examination, to be an enormous, glossy green leaf wrapped tightly around him.

“What the—” he sputtered.

“Oh, that’s Harriet,” said Killian, blithely, as though leaves the size of blankets were a thing one found oneself wrapped in as a matter of course. “Don’t worry, she’s friendly. Most of the time.”

Another leaf appeared in front of David’s face, this one far smaller and with tiny green fronds curling at its base. He could swear it was waving at him.

“Say hello,” Killian encouraged.

“Um, hello, uh, Harriet,” said David. The leaf gave a nod. “Um, what’s it—er, she doing here?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“Oh. Er. Sure. Thanks?”

The leaf nodded graciously, then curled around his face and patted him on the head.

“You see?” said Killian. “She’s a sweetheart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

“Um. Why?”

Killian grinned. “Show him, Harriet.”

The leaf released David’s head and reappeared in front of his face. As he watched, it gave a sudden flex and thorns appeared across its surface, close-set and a good inch long, sharp as daggers. David gulped. “Oh.”

“Aye. But don’t worry, she likes you. She generally likes the people Emma likes.”

“Well that’s, um, good.”

“That it is.” Killian gave Harriet a pat. “Let him up, now, love.”

Harriet unfurled her leaf and slid it out from under him. David sat up, groaning and flexing his aching muscles. “Is it normal to feel this sore?” he asked.

“Oh yes. The visions take quite a lot out of you. But here, Emma left you this.” He held out a cup of a dark and steaming liquid. David accepted it warily, and gave it a sniff. It smelled earthy and sweet, like nothing he’d encountered before, and when he chanced a tentative sip it was delicious.

“What is this?” he asked, taking a larger drink.

“Infusion of the lesser burdock root,” said Killian.

“Oh, well that doesn’t sound too—”

“Fermented in wild boar dung.”

David choked and spat out his mouthful of liquid, wheezing and coughing as Killian laughed and clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, it’s thoroughly washed before they infuse it,” he said.

“Yea, that’s not really all that comforting.”

“Drink it up anyway, mate, it’ll soothe the muscle aches and calm your nerves. Just don’t think too hard about it.”

David squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down the brew as quickly as he could. Within moments his muscles relaxed and his heart rate slowed. He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, then opened his eyes.

“Better?” inquired Killian.

“Yeah.” He paused, then added “Physically at least.”

Killian nodded, and sat back in his chair. “You have questions,” he observed.

“One or two.”

“Anything you care to ask, I’ll do my best to answer.”

David rubbed a hand over his face. There was so much to process in what he’d seen, so much about himself that he had never known. He wondered what Killian knew, wondered how the younger man had managed to identify him as a fellow Guardian. How could he possibly have known? Unless… “How much did you see of… of what I saw today?” he asked.

“I saw none of it, not in visions. I told you, that’s your history and yours alone. But I knew the basic details, about your brother and your father, and the reason your mother took you away from the tribe.”

“Angharad told you.”

“Aye.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to be Emma’s Guardian.”

Killian shook his head. “No. I wasn’t. Originally it was meant to be my brother Liam.”

David considered Captain Liam Jones, and his stiff gait. “But he was too badly injured,” he murmured.

“Yes. In the battle that killed your father.”

David looked up sharply. “But he must have been just a child!”

“He was ten.” Killian swallowed hard, and when he spoke again his voice was strained. “Too young to fight, but not to young to come under attack. Raiders invaded our house, in search of my father. When Liam told them he had fled, they attacked the both of us. I was barely a year old. Liam shielded me, he wouldn’t let me go no matter what they did to him. Even when they smashed his kneecap beyond repair.”

David recalled the tiny boy who shared his face, racing towards the creek. It seemed he and Killian had more in common then he’d known. “Why were they after you?” he asked gruffly. “And who’s they?”

“We don’t know,” said Killian wryly. “They didn’t exactly stick around to effect introductions. We only know that they were humans, enemies of the fae, trying to eliminate a Guardian and his sons.”

“Your father’s a Guardian?”

“He was,” Killian spat. “Before he ran away and abandoned us. I don’t know if he’s even alive anymore. I don’t care.” He did care though, David thought. The pain of his father’s betrayal remained sharp, even after so many years. But he said nothing, and Killian continued. “At any rate, Liam was left unable to guard the princess, and so the mantle was passed to you.”

“And when my mother took me away—”

“It came to me, aye. As the very last of last resorts.” He attempted a laugh. “But it must be said that Angharad was never entirely comfortable with me as Emma’s Guardian. She’s highly gifted with Sight and I think she must have known that there was”—he flushed a bright pink and David bit back a smirk—“the potential for deeper feelings between us. But she had, very literally, no other choice.”

“Are deeper feelings not allowed? Is that why your brother warned you not to fall in love with Emma?”

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear. “You saw that, did you? Did you also see—”

“Your and Emma’s first meeting?” David did smirk this time. “Yeah.”

Killian’s flush deepened. “Aye, she, uh, mentioned she might show that to you.”

“I’m glad she did, actually,” said David. “It was sweet, really, seeing you nearly swallow your own tongue after one look at her.”

“I didn’t—” Killian began, then caught David’s sardonic expression. “Well, okay, maybe I did,” he conceded. “That’s not the reason she showed you, though.”

“It’s because you weren’t supposed to get involved with each other,” said David, just a bit smugly. “And she wanted me to understand why in spite of that, you did. Isn’t that it?”

“You know, I like you better now that you’re not so bloody dense,” Killian retorted, “but it’s also kind of annoying, you actually seeing the things right in front of your face.”

“Just answer the question, Jones.”

“Yes,” said Killian shortly. “You’re right. For a Guardian and his charge to fall in love is expressly forbidden. I could be executed for it.”

“Executed!”

Killian shrugged. “It’s happened before.”

“And yet you don’t seem very worried.”

Killian leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “Those histories you saw, the war against the Black Fairy and the Guardian alliances,” he said, “they happened over four thousand years ago.”

“Four thousand!”

“Indeed. So as you might imagine, a lot has changed since then. The fae population has steadily dwindled while the human one has surged. Magic is no longer widely used or even known, and much of fae history has been wiped from official records. Up to and including the original name of this very building.”

H.C. Andersen, David thinks. Teller of fairy tales. Because what better way to lessen the fear of something than to turn it into a children’s story?

“Meanwhile,” continued Killian, “the Guardians also have been whittled away to almost nothing. My brother out of commission and our father gone. Your father and brother both killed and you taken away. And that’s just in these past twenty years. Of the twelve fae tribes four have retreated entirely from human contact and refuse to have Guardians, and the eight who remain have only twenty-one active Guardians among them. A century ago there were hundreds of us. A millennium ago, thousands.”

David considered this. “But doesn’t that just make it even more reckless for you and Emma to give in to—um—”

“Our lustful desires?” Killian mocked.

“Well, er—”

“Aye, you might well imagine it would,” Killian replied, dropping the mockery with a sigh. “Except that there’s no one left to pass judgement on us. A ruling of execution would have to be proposed and carried by the Fae Council, which hasn’t been convened for centuries. I’m not sure anyone would even know how to convene it if they wanted to. The covenants that we follow are thousands of years old, made in and for a different time. They no longer suit the needs of anyone, fae or human, but of course only the Fae Council has the power to amend them.”

“Of course,” murmured David, though he found it rather comforting that fae bureaucracy was apparently as useless as the human version.

“Something has to change,” said Killian, “but no one knows exactly what or how or who is going to change it. So Emma and I decided that we would. Who better than the protector of the tywyll stone and her Guardian to make the decisions that need making? No one has more authority than we do, and we intend to use it. That’s why we’re not afraid anymore to make our relationship known. We’ll face whatever consequences may come and we’ll fight for each other. We’re prepared to do whatever is necessary to build a world where we can be together and be happy.”

He spoke so calmly and with such assurance, David thought, like there was no doubt in his mind of his feelings or of Emma’s. David thought of Snow—her face as always bright and beautiful and at the forefront of his mind—and a twisty tangle of yearning tightened in his chest.

“Well, I’m on your side,” he said. “For whatever that’s worth.”

Killian smiled. “It’s worth quite a lot, mate. For us personally but also because you’re a Guardian. That’s a heritage that can’t be erased; even though you didn’t grow up with it, it’s still yours. Your sword recognised you. You recognised Emma. And Snow, who, by the way, is also a fae princess. You know, just in case you were interested.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as David shot him a sharp look.

“Does—” David cleared his throat. “Does she have a Guardian?”

“She does. Chap by the name of Lance. Big fellow, many muscles.”

“I see. But he’s not, er, here?”

“He’s nearby,” said Killian. “Ready to respond in an instant if he’s called. Guardians don’t actually have to live so close to their charges as Emma and I do, but—well—”

“You wanted to be near each other.”

“Aye.”

David had so many more questions, dozens of them clamouring for his attention, but before he could ask any the door swung open and Emma appeared.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah,” David replied. “I think so.”

“Good, because I think I know what’s going on here. Everyone’s meeting in the common room in five.”

Despite the chill of the night the common room was warm, lit by a bright and crackling fire. David sat on the wide sofa across from the hearth, with Ruby next to him and Graham on her other side. August lounged in the armchair in the corner and Killian in the one next to the fireplace, while Victor leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma stood in front of the fire with Belle hovering at her side, just visible in the orange light of the flames. Snow wasn’t there—she had volunteered to stay back in the forest to guard the women in their tree-branch prison. David wished she hadn’t—there were things he desperately wanted to tell her, though he knew that, as she would say, now was not the time.

Emma was silent for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. “So as you all now know, I’m the one who has the tywyll stone,” she said finally, and everyone nodded. “It’s been in my family since the beginning, and it was my ancestor Arianrhod who locked the Black Fairy’s magic into the stone in the first place. All my life I’ve been raised knowing that I would be the stone’s protector and I never once questioned that. It was my heritage, and it was decreed by the covenants. I never questioned any of it, until recently.” She cast a glance at Killian, who gave her a smile and an encouraging nod. “I also didn’t question the instinct that told me to leave the stone behind when those women took me,” she continued. “The instinct that told me that I couldn’t allow the stone to fall into their hands. It wasn’t until I got back home this afternoon that it occurred to me to wonder why. Why would my instincts react so dramatically when those women were so easy to defeat? It troubled me, and the most troubling thing was that I couldn’t figure out why it was troubling. But now I know. It’s their timing.”

“Timing?” said Ruby. “What do you mean?”

“Okay,” Emma replied, “here’s the deal, everything I was Shown in the scrying mirror. There are three of them, a mother and two daughters. The mother, Cora, she’s human. She’s got no magic and her knowledge of it seems limited to what’s contained in the standard scrolls—the versions of the histories that are available in any human library. She wouldn’t have access to any of the actual fae histories, and if she raised her daughters among humans it’s unlikely they would either.”

“Sorry,” said David. “But what do you mean by the actual fae histories?”

“The fae store our history in trees,” explained Emma. “Like the purple willow whose bark gave you your visions. The scrolls tell the broad story, but they hold none of the details you get from seeing the events unfold yourself.”

“So—all of you have seen these visions?”

“We’ve all seen a version of them,” said Graham. “The ones involving our own ancestors. But the location of the tywyll stone needed to remain secret, so for obvious reasons we weren’t shown the part involving the trapping of the magic.”

“But then why was I shown that?”

“Guardians are all shown what you saw,” Killian replied. “We are all descended from Cynbel, the warrior who captured the Black Fairy’s wand.”

“What, all of us?”

“All of us. Cousin.” Killian smirked at him. “Cynbel’s tale is the origin of all Guardians, and so we have the right to see it.”

“So all Guardians know who has the ti—er, the stone?”

“Yes, and part of our vows include protecting the secret of its location with our lives.”

“Everything was always about keeping the stone a secret,” said Emma. “So that even if someone did figure out a way to release the Black Fairy’s magic, they wouldn’t know where to look for it.”

“But somehow this Cora and her daughters figured out where to look for it,” said Ruby.

“So it seems. But the thing is they don’t actually know what they’re looking for. They don’t even seem to know that the magic is stored in a stone. They only know it’s stored somewhere, and that I have it.”

“So then they can’t possibly know how to release it,” Ruby cried.

“Or how to control it even if they did,” Graham pointed out.

“That’s what it looks like,” agreed Emma.

“But then why?” Ruby held up her hands in frustration. “Why would she move against you when she’s so unprepared?”

“That’s exactly what was troubling me,” said Emma. “It didn’t seem to make any sense. She��s so completely unable to do what she plans and yet she’s so confident. Why? And why did my instincts tell me to do whatever I had to in order to keep the stone out of her hands?”

“Well?” Ruby prodded. “Why?”

Just then there came the sound of footsteps in the corridor. The door swung open and Snow appeared, rushing into the room followed by a young woman with long, dark hair and bloody scratches covering a face that wore a look of deep apprehension.

Emma stiffened and threw up her hands, magic sparking and crackling at her fingertips. “What is she doing here?” she snapped.

“She’s—” began Snow, but Killian was already on his feet.

“Who is she?” he demanded.

“One of the women from the forest,” said Emma, and before the words were even fully out of her mouth, the room whirled in a blur of motion. August leapt from his chair as his eyes flared red and his fangs extended. Ruby and Graham’s bodies twisted, fur sprouting from their skin and claws from their fingers, faces elongating into snouts lined with sharp and dripping teeth. Killian drew his sword so fast it was a blur to David’s eyes as he swung it at the woman, stopping a hair’s breadth from her neck. Even Victor stood tense and ready, fingering a razor-honed scalpel he’d retrieved from the goddess knew where, as madness sparked in his eyes.

“Stop it,” Snow cried, whirling around as she tried to defend against everyone at once. “She’s here as a friend.”

“She tried to kill me!” snarled Emma, and Killian pressed the edge of his sword against the woman’s skin. She gasped and blinked as a small line of blood appeared beneath it.

“I—I didn’t,” she stuttered. “I did my best to save you.”

“That’s not what it sounded like from where I was standing,” retorted Emma. “Or from where I’d been flung on the ground, to be more precise.”

“You don’t know my mother.” The woman’s tone, despite the sword at her throat and the snarling wolves and the mad scientist, the witch and the freaking vampire, was dry and heavy with irony, and David found himself impressed despite himself by her aplomb. “It’s… unwise to act directly against her,” she continued. “But she can be influenced by suggestion.”

David could see the gears begin to turn behind Emma’s eyes as she regarded the woman with a probing stare.

“Killian,” she said quietly, and with no more instruction than this her Guardian lowered his sword, though he remained, David noticed, tense and alert.

“Stand down, chaps,” he instructed.

In a flash August’s eyes were blue again and his teeth a more expected length. Ruby and August shifted back to their usual forms, and Victor—well, he still looked mad, but at least he put his scalpel away.

Emma was frowning thoughtfully at the woman. “Snow,” she said. “Why did you bring her here?”

“She’s my kin,” replied Snow. “Look.”

She pulled back the sleeve of her jacket to reveal the image of a tree brach curling around her wrist. David had seen the branch before, many times, but had always taken it for a tattoo. Now, though, he watched as it began to move, to wave as though caught in a summer’s breeze, and a bird appeared from out of nowhere to perch upon it. The woman pulled up her own sleeve to reveal the same branch and a very similar bird, and when the two women held their wrists together their branches intertwined and the birds began to sing.

“Llwyth daear,” said Emma. “Earth tribe. I suppose I should have seen that.”

“You had other things on your mind,” said Snow. “But I saw it right away. Regina is my uncle’s daughter. My uncle who left the tribe when he fell in love with a human woman. We never heard from him again.”

“He died,” said the woman—Regina—shortly.

“Oh.” Snow’s fingers reached out to curl around Regina’s. “I’m sorry.”

Regina smiled. “Thank you.”

“Well this is a touching reunion,” drawled August. “But it doesn’t explain why you brought her back here.”

“For the information, of course,” said Emma, fixing Regina with a pointed look. “She’s here to tell us all about her mother. Aren’t you, Regina.”

Regina nodded. “I am.”

—

#csssns #cssns20 #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #supernatural beings #college au #kinda sorta #captain swan #and a whole lot of other stuff #like a whole lot more #profdanglaisstuff #the eternal and unseen #carpedzem

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border-spam · 4 years

Note

Bit of a subjective question, but I'm at a crossroads with my au. I posted a while ago that I think Ava should have been Lilith's apprentice - and while I do still think that, I think it for the story we had. A lot of its problems came from Ava's connection to Maya when she had more of one with Lilith - but I'm changing the story, and I do like Ava's relationship with Maya. So, in a different world, would Ava work best as Maya or Lilith's apprentice?

This is such a great question that I’m gonna essay it because I’ve not commented on Ava as much as I wanted to in general. Any choice you make here in regards to using her is going to work, because she’s a blank slate character you can develop to fit your overarching planning. I like Ava. There is nothing wrong with her character build, she’s an exciting and interesting idea to work with. The problem is:

Ava in BL3 was a plot mechanic for a plot that never actually happened. She was seeded into the game story in a way that destroyed the “Sirens can choose who they give their powers to” rule in the same game it was added to canon in.

Throughout Bl3, Maya repeatedly drops hints that she knows Ava is going to be a Siren. She does this more than once, it’s literally the driving cause of her death when Ava mouths it to the twins (apart from blatant fucking stupidity from all sides which I’ll cover later), and that as well as how much Maya cares about Ava, is meant to be a major plotpoint in the game.

It isn’t, it gets completely ignored after the entire plot shits itself when Troy goes full e-thot and dies.

Essay under the cut. /dab

Ava exists as a character to further a very simple and clear plot that’s fed to us from the point we meet her:

She is going to be a Siren.

Maya knows she is going to be a Siren.

Maya has taken her on as an apprentice because she wants to train her how to be a Siren before she becomes one (wat).

She is very important to Maya and may as well be a sister figure.

We know this, and we sit and wait to be shown it instead of told it, but the problem is that BL3 completely falls at showing not telling (which I covered before), and instead we are left wondering WHY the hell Maya, a character we know very well and understand is very intelligent, is doing any of this at all.

We have no context for why Maya cares about her, we have no build up of relationship or backstory. It’s hamfisted and shoved into the game plot and like most things in BL3, the writing thinks the players are stupid enough to just accept it and move on - which is why the story has been slammed in general as time goes on. If Maya had for some reason met Ava and decided this kid was going to inherit her powers, it means also she had vast amounts of knowledge she was refusing to share with any other Sirens and chose newcomer Ava over any of the women she’d known very well who could be excellent choices over the years.

None of this is very Maya at all, so we move onto option two for why she chose Ava:

Because we have no actual explanation for WHY Maya is so close to this kid or HOW she knows she is going to be a Siren, we have to rely on mystical fuckery instead. That Sirens can somehow... sense.. other future Sirens? And this is where things start spiraling downhill very quickly.

If Sirens can sense other future Sirens, then they aren’t choosing who their powers go to, are they.

They can’t decide who gets them, it’s preordained. And if they can sense this, why did NO ONE cop Tannis was going to be one or WAS one the entire time she was? It makes literally no sense, it’s contradicting its own plot as the story continues, so now we are left with something really terrible.

Now we are left with Maya and Ava having a clearly written side plot of:

She is going to be a Siren.

Maya knows she is going to be a Siren.

Maya has taken her on as an apprentice because she wants to train her how to be a Siren before she becomes one (wat).

She is very important to Maya and may as well be a sister figure.

.... except as the game progresses you realise this fits nowhere in the story. It literally does not fit into BL3′s plot, it contradicts it blatantly.

The story needs to get Maya’s power into Ava for some reason, it’s stressed she knows Ava will get her powers and is highly defensive of her and given us no actual explanation of why, and suddenly we are in a cutscene that’s going to haunt a huge group of players for a long ass time, watching Maya, this intelligent woman we care about and know:

Grab one of the fucking Leech Sirens who kill with direct contact with her hands.

Have him fumble at her arm as she has him in a choke hold and begin to husk her despite not having a clue he could do that.

Stare in surprise and give a “Wat lol” response (I don’t blame u Troy that was mine too)

Threaten our dearly beloved Ava

We are meant to care about all of this, but none of this intended plot has been put in the game correctly so instead we just stare in complete confusion and try and work out what the hell just happened. It’s garbage tier storytelling. It’s absolute wankery.

The only way to redeem this arc would have been for Maya’s death to somehow have some grand saving grace across the rest of the game, like for Troy to turn on Tyreen and join the raiders - become the true Leech and return Maya’s power to Ava with a somber acknowledgement of her loss, or to have Ava become a force for good, mature and step up to the mantle Maya had known she would bear and use Maya’s gifted powers to defeat the God Twins, but instead we got nothing.

Ava was completely forgotten about till the end of the game where suddenly she’s given control of the Raiders, and Maya just.... lol. Goddddd. No one cared.

Because this fizzled so badly, and the actual arc was:

Maya dies -> Troy gets power ->Troy pisses on moon -> Troy dies -> Ava gets power -> Fart noises -> Ava big girl commander now

Ava is hated for being a shitty character and people want Maya back.

Ava isn’t a shitty character, her and Maya (and Troy’s!) plots were not part of BL3 and so came across as clownshoes honk honk leading to people hating that entire arc.

If you’re using Ava in an AU, go ham with her! Don’t even consider the canon, it’s -shite-. If Sirens don’t predetermine who an upcoming Siren is going to be, then don’t even have her in your AU if you want, because there is no reason for her to have been in the position she was at all.

She’s not in Leech Lord as a main char for the above reason, there is literally no logic for Maya to have taken her on as an apprentice because Siren’s can’t.. magically.. tell.. who will be one in the future. She’s just a kid who got a chance at a home and a live with Maya’s sect instead of some star crossed Mary Sue the game used her as.

I think personally, Ava’s way of interacting with other’s and explosive emotions does suit Lilith a little closer to Maya, but we got so damn little of her canonically that you cannot go wrong. Just have fun with her, give her the use she missed out on BL3.

She’s a great char, she just needs a chance.

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #maya #lilith #ava #siren #tannis #amara #troy calypso #calypso twins #my hcs #my writing #garlicbreadbowl

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thewatsonbeekeepers · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5 – Hey, Soul Sister: Who is Eurus?

Do you get it? She’s his sister? But metaphorically, she’s a part of his soul? I was very impressed with myself for this title. Anyway…

This chapter of the meta is going to deal with the various times we meet Eurus before TFP and what this might mean, which will help us to understand who she is once we have stripped off the disguises.

Before series 4, we had real!characters and MP!characters set up as distinct entities, particularly in TSoT, which distinguishes between MP!Mycroft (the deducing brain) and real!Mycroft, as well as MP!Irene representing desire and real!Irene, who doesn’t come near the episode. The MP section in TSoT, for a lot of people in the fandom, broke down Sherlock’s psyche into MP!John vs. MP!Mycroft – and John is clearly winning.

However, I want to suggest that Sherlock’s psyche isn’t nearly so straightforward as a tug of war between the brain and the heart. Whilst MP!Mycroft undoubtedly represents the oppressively reasonable part of Sherlock’s psyche, that’s not the only thing repressing him – it can’t be. If it were simply a rejection of ‘sentiment’, this wouldn’t be the powerful queer love story we know it to be – there is a lot more internalised homophobia being dealt with than just love being illogical. That’s where Eurus comes in.

Eurus and Mycroft are parallel oppressive forces in Sherlock’s brain, but they’re oppressive in different ways. Having family members and childhood trauma be the psyche’s symbols for repression is particularly poignant in a queer love story, for obvious reasons. However, I want to take you through my reasoning behind Eurus being the most secret and troubled part of Sherlock’s soul.

The first clue is that her prison is called Sherrinford. We all assumed that the third Holmes sibling was going to be Sherrinford back before s4, and it seemed that way in the beginning, with Mycroft mentioning speaking to Sherrinford several times, construing it as a person rather than a place. This is no coincidence – for those who aren’t familiar with the history of the stories, Conan Doyle’s original name for his protagonist was Sherrinford Holmes, which he later changed to Sherlock. That Eurus is trapped inside Sherrinford is a clear suggestion that Eurus is something that’s trapped inside Sherlock – a dangerous MP entity. More important than that, Sherrinford is the version of Holmes that never made it into the books. Plenty of people have worked on queering the Holmes canon and working out what ACD might have been implying and leaving out and arguably none more so in an adaptation that Mofftiss. Let’s think about the implications of this. A kind of second self, not shown to the public, buried inside your mind and forgotten since childhood, which is bursting out into a moment of acute psychological distress. Gee, I don’t know what that could be about. The Sherlock that Sherlock thinks he is has thus far been dominated by MP!Mycroft, but this series is about uniting canon!Holmes with the non-canon, queer Sherrinford who has always existed, judging by the name, and who is currently dominated by the destructive MP!Eurus. The other important point to note here is that Sherrinford is an island in the middle of the sea – that’s not a coincidence, given how much water imagery abounds in this series. I spoke briefly in Chapter 2 X about how water represents Sherlock sinking deeper and deeper into his own subconsciousness – this is the deepest he can go. In Greek mythology, Eurus was the name of the wind most associated with causing storms at sea X – this isn’t a coincidence either. She’s very deliberately tied in with water.

(In real life terms, of course, all this means that a real!Eurus probably does or did exist in some form, although I can’t begin to hazard a guess about this. However, I’m trying to refer to her as MP!Eurus when she’s in her normal form in the MP, in case we get a series 5 with Sian Brooke as real!Eurus, and also to distinguish her from therapist!Eurus etc.)

This is my reasoning as to why MP!Eurus represents Sherlock’s innermost trauma. She is not merely the fact that he loves John – he deduced this in TSoT without her appearance. She is the trauma that he needs to come to terms with. A running theme through our analysis of Eurus will be that her gender is particularly important; her representation of Sherlock’s repression cannot be but as a woman, because for most of s4 he is only able to process his identity through the most heterosexual of lenses. We see this hinted at quite early on in TST, when Sherlock takes on a case called ‘The Duplicate Man’, warning John that it is never twins. The word ‘duplicate’ here, removing twins, leaves us with the only real possibility that it is in fact the same person. Eurus’s gender makes that more difficult to see; she needs to be female, but it’s much more difficult to elide the two characters without employing a Cumberbatch doppelganger. However, this hint that Eurus is not only male but an actual ‘duplicate’ of her brother should give us pause for thought. With this in mind, I want to use the rest of this chapter to analyse her three forms before TFP.

1.) Faith!Eurus

I’m certainly not the first to point out that Faith!Eurus is a mirror for John, nor will I be the last – people jumped on it pretty much as soon as TLD aired. There are a few good reasons for this. Firstly, she walks with a cane, a throwback to ASiP – in case we’d forgotten, however, Sherlock has a flashback to John walking with a cane to make the link explicit. We are supposed to link these two characters, the authors are saying pretty clearly. Faith!Eurus is also suicidal, which John was at the start of ASiP, as made clear by the fact he carried a gun – and Faith!Eurus does the same. Sherlock also takes her out for food (for more on the food/sex metaphor, see here X) which he doesn’t with anyone bar John, and we certainly never see him talk so easily with someone who isn’t John. An eagle-eyed tumblr post that I can’t find now also broke my heart in pointing out that Faith!Eurus’s unseen self-harm matches long-sleeved John Watson a little too well.

This isn’t just the show trying to remind us of what John was like in ASiP, however. MP!Eurus is the trauma prodding Sherlock’s sexuality – it’s going to be hell to get through it, but he absolutely needs to do it. This is Sherlock’s trauma, not reminding him that John was suicidal, but forcing him to acknowledge it in the first place, something which Sherlock has buried. We know this because of the way the image of John forces its way into Sherlock’s mind – it’s much like the way Moriarty breaks into TAB. His brain is making a connection that he’s not quite capable of making and it’s knocking him. His deduction that Faith!Eurus is suicidal is accompanied by that image of John, and he then re-enacts the food ritual he completed with John the evening John left his cane behind, before throwing Faith!Eurus’s gun into the Thames – proving that it was Sherlock himself who stopped John from taking his own life.

This is trauma, however, and Sherlock can’t process it in full – hence why the image of John that breaks in is shaky, and Sherlock tries to push it out of his head. It’s also why Faith!Eurus, who in Sherlock’s subconscious could take any form, specifically takes the form of a woman. His gay trauma means that he first has to process John’s suicidal ideation in a heterosexual dynamic, before fully grasping and applying it to his relationship with John. (Chapter 9 X explains how that plays out over the rest of TLD in full detail.)

2.) E!Eurus

Taking a jump back to surface level plot here, the first thing that grabbed me about E!Eurus was just how minor John’s flirtation with her was. In the terms of a television show which really rides on very high drama (multiple faked deaths and insane cliffhangers for a start), the emotional peak of John’s emotional arc with Mary being that he texted another woman – not went out for lunch, not kissed, not slept with – is bizarre, particularly when we know next to nothing about E!Eurus at this point. It’s incredibly anti-climactic as a means of John falling short of Mary’s view of him. Maybe we can accept it as in line with John Moral-Principles Watson, but it’s difficult to accept as in keeping with the nature of a show whose intent is nearly always to shock.

With this in mind, let’s delve back into the MP to see how that might give this moment greater emotional significance. Chapter 10 X is on the hug scene, and that will deal with John’s revelation of his infidelity in greater detail. For the moment, the most important thing to remember is that John Watson is not real!John – he is heart!John. In other words, we are seeing a similarly heterosexualised re-enactment of Sherlock’s relationship with John.

I will talk a lot in Chapter 10 X about how MP!Mary is linked to Sherlock’s compulsory heterosexuality; at the end of TST, Sherlock substitutes Mary’s body for his because he cannot conceive of John’s queer grief without breaking himself. This is interesting because the E of Eurus actually stands for Elizabeth in this scene (certainly in the credits, and possibly elsewhere, although I can’t remember Sian Brooke actually saying it). Elizabeth is Elizabeth is Mary’s middle name in BBC Sherlock, which looks like another of those shared name links our creators love so well. If so, this begins to justify how Sherlock’s heart is conceiving of its emotions. We will see in TLD that heart!John’s relationship with fem!John in the form of Eurus is aligned with Sherlock’s sexual desire in the form of MP!Irene. Both are hidden and exist only in texts – i.e., they cannot be spoken yet. But they will be.

3.) Therapist!Eurus

This one is perhaps the most straightforward on a symbolism level, but also possibly the most significant moment in the series. Therapist!Eurus, plain and simple, is Sherlock’s trauma prodding at John, interrogating him like a therapist would, trying to work him out – and largely failing, right? She can get basically nothing about how he feels about Sherlock out of him. But this is part of MP!Eurus’s ongoing project to get Sherlock to wake up – the Gay Trauma is interrogating John, trying to suss him, and failing.

Except, in the final scene of TLD, without the help of Therapist!Eurus, Sherlock has finally sussed John – it has taken until Culverton’s confession to recognise that John is suicidal without Sherlock (Chapter 9 X). The sigh of relief that is the hug scene (Chapter 10 X) is a kind of acknowledgement of that relief that he’s finally worked out what he’s been trying to cover up with drugs – so much so, that he misses the obvious, which is that John is suicidal again. When John leaves his cane with Sherlock in the hospital, it is a reminder of the first time he is suicidal, and Sherlock doesn’t make the immediate leap in his comatose haze that this is what his psyche has been trying to tell him. Hence you have this moment of immense relief and fade out at the end of the hug scene which suggests the end of the episode, and could feasibly end Sherlock’s life, except we’re started awake with a much more abrupt and troubling ending scene – Therapist!Eurus shooting John. Because, of course, if Sherlock is gone again, John must be suicidal again, and it has taken a few scenes of cognitive dissonance for this to clock. Indeed, it’s not Sherlock himself who clocks – Gay Trauma in the form of Eurus!Therapist returns and shoots John for us. This shooting isn’t, of course, permanent (in one of the worst cliffhanger resolutions in TV history), but that’s because it’s not real – it hasn’t happened yet. It is Sherlock, through MP!Eurus, finally recognising the problem – John.

This is particularly poignant in light of the opening and closing shots of TLD. Although there’s the fucky not-blood red that fills the screen at the end of TLD, apart from that the shots of Norbury shooting Mary and Therapist!Eurus shooting John are one and the same shot. It’s also a stylish shot (what I call split screen, but given that I never went to film school I think that’s just my name for it) and it’s repeated enough times over TLD that it’s pretty clear the creatives want it to be memorable. By the time John gets shot, then, we shouldn’t be caught up in the drama of it – we should be thinking, as so many did, “something’s fucky.”

And it is – but it’s brilliantly fucky! Head over to Chapter 7 X if you want to read about Norbury shooting Mary, but TLDR it’s a metaphor for Mary shooting Sherlock as understood from Sherlock’s warped and depressed perspective – and he’s finally realised what it means! The version in which Mary shooting Sherlock means John losing Mary (the Norbury version) is one in which John is sad, goes to therapy, and the world moves on. Now, however, that Sherlock has recognised that John was suicidal, he can also recognise that Mary shooting Sherlock will make John suicidal again – hence why it’s the same shot. Mary shooting Sherlock is the same as John dying – and the latter is much more important in Sherlock’s mind.

[It’s worth noting that the identical shots we see in TST and TLD don’t match the shot in HLV, although admittedly that one’s not in the MP – it does strike me, however, that the sounds are reversed – HLV sounds like a dart, whereas the MP shots sound like bullets. If anyone has any thoughts on that, do let me know – it has me flummoxed for the moment. If you want meta explaining why the shot from TST is the same as HLV, Chapter 7 is here X, and I’m certainly not the first to hypothesise this. For me, the TLD shot being the same is therefore a logical extension.]

#tjlc #chapter five: hey soul sister - who is eurus?#eurus holmes #meta #my meta #mine #bbc sherlock #johnlock #tjlc is real #bbc johnlock #e #mary #queer theory

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cosmiceverafter · 4 years

Text

𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕩 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕎𝕖𝕖𝕜 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟕: 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐝)

A/N: Things are getting weird as I mash-up two worlds: Roswell meets Star Wars. A bit of canon divergence au going on here. This fic is dedicated to my good friend @saadiestuff (sorry it took me so long)!

Summary: The galaxies collide during what seems to be an ordinary night in Roswell, New Mexico. Alex and Michael receive an unexpected visit from a different type of alien from a galaxy far, far away.

Rated: G

Read on ao3

***

When Galaxies Collide

It was an average Thursday night. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Michael and Alex were getting a bit cozy on their couch in front of the roaring fire, just the way Alex liked it.

They were getting in the mood when they heard it. A loud boom and what seemed like a crash from behind the cabin.

Michael jumped up in protective mode, and put his hands out—Alex thought it was rather cute.

They raced out the front door and slowly made their way behind the wooden house with their flashlight.

There was smoke, that was spiraling around the late-night autumn fog. Being curious, yet cautious, Michael and Alex walked closer crunching the leaves beneath their feet.

Buried slightly below the ground, was a small pod. It was shaped in an oblong way and looked to be covered in a foreign metal, one Alex had never seen before. By the look Michael was giving it, it was unfamiliar to him as well.

Suddenly the hatch on the side popped open with a hiss and slowly rose up.

Michael put his hands up again, clearly ready for just about anything. What was in there, however, was not what Alex was expecting at all.

Sitting inside the pod was what Alex assumed could only be a small green alien with long, long ears. Its eyes were big and its mouth seemed to hint a bit of a smile. Something about it seemed wise to Alex as if it were older than it appeared to be.

“What the hell is it?” Michael asked getting a bit closer.

“I think, and it might just be a hunch here, but an alien,” Alex answered.

Michael laughed, “You think? I mean, it looks how a typical alien should seem.”

“What if it’s your family?”

“Baby,” Michael replied with a smirk and shaking his head so his curls swayed, “do I look similar to that thing?”

“You’re both extremely cute. Similar long ears.”

“Ha, ha.”

Alex winked and walked over to it. Michael grabbed his arm firmly, “We don’t know what it is, Alex. It could be dangerous.”

The alien looked more like a baby, and honestly, it was the cutest thing Alex had ever seen. Well, not counting Buffy of course.

“We can’t leave it out here though,” Alex replied, worrying about wild animals getting to the creature. In addition, winter was quickly approaching as snow began to fall all around them. Soon the temperature would drop.

“Ok, I’ll try something.” Michael focused on it and squinted his eyes. The little alien floated up and slowly started moving towards the inside of the cabin. Alex quickly opened the door and looked as Michael started shaking slightly.

He gently set it on a soft blanket on the couch. And fell in Alex’s arms. Alex wiped the sweat away and kissed Michael’s forehead gently.

Alex helped Michael to the ground to rest and then walked over to their leather couch. He saw the little one tilting its head to look at them both. It looked curious, but not scared.

Then it cooed.

“It has to be a baby,” Alex said with a small smile. “I don’t think it’s going to hurt us.” He noticed it cowering slightly as he walked closer. “If anything, it’s trying to figure us out.”

“I’m trying to figure it out as well,” Michael replied, his eyes fluttering closed. “Why is it here? What does it do?”

“And what if it has some answers about where you come from,” Alex added.

Michael nodded, “That too. So many questions.”

“Should we try to feed it?”

“What does it like to eat?”

“Well,” Alex said slowly, “you’re an alien...what do you like to eat?”

They both laughed, marveling at what a weird situation this night had become.

The little one didn’t move much.

Then Buffy came walking in the room and the alien’s ears perked up as it made a little sigh. Michael and Alex stopped laughing and just observed.

A ball slowly started to move across the floor from one side of the room all the way to Buffy. The beagle leaned down and put it in her mouth, then plopped to the ground with a grunt.

“Oh my God… it has powers, too.”

“Like I said,” Alex replied, “you two might be related after all.”

***

A while later, they attempted feeding it. But it didn’t look satisfied with anything they brought out.

Alex did have to laugh as Michael brought out his favorite cereal in a bowl. Not looking impressed, the alien turned away. Michael shrugged and took a bite. When Alex gave him a look, Michael gave the ‘what...I’m hungry’ look.

Finally, Alex held up a steak on a plate, “What about this, little guy? I can cook it up for you.”

At that, the alien’s ears wiggled and it cooed again. Alex felt the raw steak move out of his hands and watched in amazement as the meat floated towards the baby.

The alien held open its mouth and gnawed on the steak.

“Well then,” Michael laughed, “guess it likes it raw.”

After it ate the entire steak, they watched as the little one slid down off the couch and walked over to Buffy who was eating her bone. It held its small hand up and Alex could make out three small fingers with long nails. Alex took one step forward unsure what it was going to do to his beloved dog. But that little green hand simply patted Buffy’s head.

Buffy looked thrilled as she rolled over. The alien patted Buffy’s stomach and Alex could’ve sworn it smiled. There was a sweet connection between the two, and Alex wondered if it felt a familiar feeling around the dog.

As Buffy was relaxed and closing her eyes, Alex and Michael sat on the couch. Alex noticed Michael looked tense. “What’s on your mind, love?”

Michael sighed, “I just want some answers about this thing is all. I can’t help but wonder how many other life forms are out there.” He looked over at Alex, “I want to know where I come from, ya’ know? Just wanna know where I belong.”

His boyfriend leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. Alex so badly wanted to say the right thing. He knew how desperately Michael wanted to know more about his beginnings and his family...how could he not? But he still was going to attempt to reassure him, the only way he knew how. With love. “Listen, I wish I could give you all the answers you’re looking for, Guerin. However, I want you to know something.”

“What’s that?”

Alex took Michael’s hand and placed it on his own heart, “You belong right here. This is your home, forever and always.”

Michael’s face broke out into a smile, “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“Hmm, I think you did this morning when you were making sweet, sweet love to me.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Michael grinned even further at the memory. “What a way to start to the day.” But then his expression changed to a more serious one. “I love you, Alex Manes. Thank you for being my constant here on earth.”

They leaned closer together as their lips touched softly. This was heaven; all that Alex would ever truly need.

Just then, he felt a warm sensation of peace and love tingling all over his body. He opened his eyes and looked down. The alien was touching his leg and Michael’s as it looked up at them both.

“Whoa....do you feel that?”

Alex nodded. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful.

“I guess we should take that as a sense of approval?” Michael said leaning forward. He outstretched his hands and the creature jumped into arms. Michael gasped in surprise as if he didn’t really expect it to trust him.

Now that it was up close to them, Alex took the alien in. It’s bright big black eyes were full of wonder, and as you looked into them, you knew that it was much older like he originally had thought.

Alex held out his hand, and it grabbed his finger softly. Its green skin was as smooth as velvet. The alien held out its other hand and grabbed Michael’s finger.

Just then Alex saw a flash of bright white light. He closed his eyes quickly and saw stars swirling around the galaxy. Alex felt like he was flying through space. The colors and the speckles of lights surrounding him were dazzling. And then it was over as quick as lightning.

Letting go of the child’s finger, Alex gasped and looked at Michael, “What was that, Michael?”

Panting, Michael shook his head, “I dunno… but it felt….”

“Cosmic,” they both said in unison.

Maybe the two of them truly were meant to be together; it was clearly written in the stars—the alien had shown them that.

***

Through the cabin, the warm early morning light was starting to shine through the windows. Alex yawned and looked down. The alien was curled up in his arms and a blanket was embracing them both. Buffy was lying right next to his feet in a ball breathing in-and-out slowly. He felt so at peace.

None of them had been able to sleep during the late-night hours, so instead, they had watched E.T., which had been Michael’s idea. He loved movies with aliens. Their little alien had been so entranced, that it had sat close to the TV, touching the screen. It had been simply adorable.

Halfway through the movie, they must’ve fallen asleep. Alex now watched as the alien’s long ear twitched and he felt its steady strong heart. At that moment, he was filled with a different type of love.

He looked over to where Michael had been, but he wasn’t there.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Michael was leaning in the door frame holding two cups of coffee. His feet were bare and his curly fry curls were tousled in disarray. Alex had never seen him look more beautiful. He walked over quietly and whispered, “I didn’t wanna wake y’all. You looked so peaceful.”

Michael leaned down and kissed Alex’s forehead. Alex tilted his head back and puckered his lips out making a face. Smiling, Michael leaned in once more to kiss him.

Comfy mornings with the ones you loved, that’s how Alex liked starting his day. He looked down at the little one nestled in his arms and realized he could get used to this. He had wanted to start a family with Michael, and what better way than to start now? “We could keep him, you know? He could be a part of our family.”

“Really?” Michael replied with a soft smile. “I mean...we know nothing about it and that’s a big responsibility thinking into the future.”

“I’m ready to take on this challenge, as long as I do it with you.”

Michael’s bottom lip trembled slightly and he nodded, “Me too, babe. Together we can do this.”

“I think it chose us for a reason. We can keep it safe.”

Michael nodded, “I think you’re right about that one.”

But fate had different plans because, at that exact moment, the front door slammed open.

Alex jumped up and held tightly to the alien. Buffy growled and barked at the intruder covered in metal armor and a mask with what looked like a ‘T’ on the face. The person had a long black cape and was clearly armed.

Michael was already in position with an outstretched hand, “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in our house?”

There was no answer. The cold air mixed with the freshly fallen morning snow was starting to blow into the house. The hair on Alex’s neck began to stand on edge—this wasn’t good.

The intruder looked around, boots slamming down on the wood floor when finally they stopped and tilted their head, “The child.”

His voice was morphed, yet powerful.

Alarmed, Michael’s eyes widened, “What? What child?”

Alex’s arms went tighter around the alien. Whoever this person was, it wanted the bundle in his arms. Alex suddenly felt very protective.

The intruder pointed towards the alien, “The child. Give me the child and no one will get hurt.”

“How do we know you won’t hurt it?” Alex replied with a glare.

“I was sworn to protect it.”

“Great job,” Michael scoffed as he rolled his eyes.

“Michael…” Alex warned, shaking his head. Now was definitely not the time for that.

“We were trying to escape from our enemies off of our ship, I was trying to keep him safe but the pod malfunctioned and left without the proper coordinates. I have never been to this planet, but luckily I was able to track him. It was a mistake for him landing here.” Alex frowned—it had not been a mistake. “I need to take him home. That was always the plan. He has a family. His kind. It’s my mission to see it done.”

“Who are you?” Michael asked again. It came out more of a demand. Alex was impressed.

Alex could hear the man take a deep breath in, “I’m the Mandalorian.”

“The Mandalorian? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind that, we need to leave before our enemies infiltrate onto your planet,” the Mandalorian replied, walking up closer to Alex. Michael immediately moved in front of him and the child. Alex loved him for it.

Just then, the alien wiggled and jumped out of Alex’s arms. It ran over to the man and put a green hand on his boot. Slowly, the intruder picked the little one up. Immediately, it nestled in the man’s arm.

Whatever the relationship was between the two, there was clearly a connection and a bond. Alex now knew the man was telling the truth. He could feel it, even though it made him sad to say goodbye.

The Mandalorian held out a small metal ball and the child cooed and its ears wiggled as it grabbed onto it.

As the man turned to walk away, the child made a whining noise. The Mandalorian shook its head but finally groaned and put the alien down. It ran quickly to Michael and held its arms up.

Puzzled, Michael bent down to pick it up. “What’s up, little dude?”

The alien put his small hand and touched Michael’s temple. Michael gasped and closed his eyes.

It was showing Michael a vision...but of what?

After a few moments, the child removed his hand and touched Michael’s cheek.

Michael cleared his throat, “Thank you...thank you for that.”

The alien did a small nod and Michael gently placed it back down to the floor. It walked over to Buffy and patted her head. Buffy’s tail slid across the floorboards in response. The child looked at Alex and smiled making a little noise of approval.

Returning back to the Mandalorian, the man scooped him up once more and headed towards the door. But he paused and looked back. Muffled through the mask he wore he said, “Thank you for keeping him safe. You’re good people.”

“Of course,” Alex replied. “Different doesn’t scare us,”

“Maybe he was meant to meet you after all then.” The alien’s ears wiggled happily. “May we meet again someday,” the Mandalorian said with a nod. Then they went into the morning sun.

Alex rushed towards the cabin door and saw in the distance a small ship. The child’s pod reattached to the side of the ship. It rumbled and hissed, and then hovered in the sky. Then away it went as if a distant memory, but not to be forgotten.

He hoped like hell that the military hadn’t witnessed that, or they were in for it.

“Wow...that was something, wasn’t it? Feels kind of like a weird lucid dream.”

When Michael didn’t reply, Alex turned around. His boyfriend was standing next to the window, frozen in his shocked expression.

Alex walked over and touched Michael’s arm gently, “What did he show you?”

Michael came to the present moment and looked at Alex, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with tears, “My home.”

As his heart started beating out of his chest, Alex held on to Michael’s hand, “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Michael smiled and pulled Alex into his arms. “I’m now even more certain though, that this… you, are my home, Alex.”

Alex held onto his cosmic soulmate tightly as he realized that the galaxy had all but collided and yet their love had only seemed to grow with the confirmation that they were clearly meant to find one another.

Their love story would simply continue to live on within the stars.

#alexweek2020 #alexappreciation2020 #alex manes #malex #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #my fic #my graphic #crossover #star wars #the mandalorian #baby yoda #buffy manes #rated: g #michael x alex #otp: cosmic

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