#i guess ramparts gets yet another part | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antoine-roquentin · 11 months

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This series is shaping up to be about covert attempts by institutional power structures to undermine the health and safety of the international working class. The previous part, Part 4, is here. You can find a cool easter egg by seeing who the magazine in the bottom right image was delivered to.

The above is a dossier compiled by a right wing business intelligence group and purchased by the CIA not long after the events I’m about to share occurred. It is hosted on the CIA’s website for declassified files, the Reading Room. It was prepared by Fulton Lewis III, an outspoken supporter of the Rhodesian government and the son of a Hearst-sponsored anti-communist radio broadcaster, sort of the Tucker Carlson of the 40s and 50s. We don’t have the CIA’s own assessments because those are still classified.

When we last left the crew of the spaceship Ramparts, they were dealing with infiltration, incompetence, hedonism, an inability to secure funding, and the heady addiction of fame. Things were about to get worse as their own interpersonal disputes had come to the fore. Keating had seen his power at the magazine get whittled away as incentives in the form of shares for other backers became necessary. At the time, Hinckle counted among his friends Howard Gossage, an advertising whiz kid who helped popularize Marshall McLuhan and did the Sierra Club's first campaign. He frequently went to Gossage for advice. The two came up with a plan to push Keating into the 1966 Democratic primaries for the 11th district of California (later held by Leo Ryan, a CIA critic killed at Jonestown, and now held by Nancy Pelosi) as a way of reducing his influence on the day to day operations of Ramparts. In the midst of a meeting, they had two staff members slip away and come back with signs that said "Keating for Congress" and "Keating the people's choice".

By the start of 1966, however, the election bug had spread through the offices, both because it allowed Ramparts to make the news it reported on as salacious as possible, and because the Democratic Party had largely denied ballot access to anybody who was anti-Vietnam War. Bob Scheer, the foreign editor, ran in Oakland, and Stanley Sheinbaum, the Michigan State University professor who'd exposed the CIA's role on campus, ran in Santa Barbara. All gained 40-45% of the vote, mainly by cohering those opposed to the war. One thing in particular all three did was bring together the black vote (for instance, Julian Bond, mentioned previously in the series, campaigned for Scheer). Their campaigns were run by a coterie of Ramparts staffers, namely CPUSA member Carl Bloice as well as Berekeley lecturer Peter Collier, and were endorsed by a combination of black and Hollywood luminaries, for instance Dick Gregory, the civil rights activist and stand-up comedian, and Robert Vaughan, Napoleon Solo on the Man from Uncle and both a murderer and a victim on Columbo (see him argue about Vietnam on Firing Line with William Buckley here). Some of the opposition research on the three came directly from CIA files and was given to the establishment candidates by LBJ's press secretary Bill Moyers.

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With the elections lost, Ramparts needed a new spin on things to bring back all the anti-electoral politics radicals. Fortunately, in nearby Oakland, a new group had just been founded called the Black Panther Party. Huey Newton and Bobby Seale like to portray their group as their own innovation, two upwardly mobile college kids shooting the shit late at night. The group they'd been part of prior to the BPP, the Maoist Revolutionary Action Movement, described them as "adventurists" for their desire to put theory to practice and finally organize in the community instead of just talking about it. Whatever the case, Newton learned from Robert Williams' Negroes with Guns that California law, influenced by white supremacist vigilanteism, allowed anyone to openly carry a weapon even in the presence of police. He went to Chinatown, bought copies of Mao's Little Red Book for cents, and sold them for dollars in Oakland as part of a course in organized self-defence, then used the money to buy shotguns and M-16s for use by graduates of the course. By February 1967, Ramparts staff writer Eldridge Cleaver had made contact at a speaking event for Malcolm X's widow Betty Shabazz, where the Black Panther Party founders and their cohort were the only ones armed. Cleaver invited them to the Ramparts offices for a sit down.

Remember the bit from the last part about Shabazz' bodyguards? That was Seale, Newton, and Co. Their arrival caused Hinckle's police buddies to get worried, and they put out an APB and surrounded the building, much to Newton's consternation. Hinckle suggested they go out for a drink, but nobody was buying it. Newton stared down a cop, who undid his holster. Seale put his hand on Newton, who told him off. "Don't hold my hand, brother." Seale released it, because that was his shooting hand. Newton taunted the officer. "You got an itchy trigger finger?... OK, you big, fat, racist pig, draw your gun!" All the Ramparts' staffers who'd come to watch as well as the officers' backup got the hell out of Dodge. Eventually, even the officer backed down. It was the first time the BPP had ever gotten the police to back down. It brought admiration from the entire Ramparts staff, who soon made the magazine the semi-official outlet of the BPP. And it brought Cleaver into their fold. They appointed him spokesman/Minister of Information within weeks. The following is the only news footage from that day shot after the incident, the rest having been lost, with Scheer in the background at one point:

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And that wasn't even the most shocking thing going on at Ramparts. This series has previously mentioned the National Student Association as a bunch of debate nerds who essentially trained to have public speaking and organizing on their resume for future employers. The thing about the NSA was, it was a CIA front, and generally suspected as such. In 1947, there was an implosion of student politics' international facing groups. Those who had seen the Soviets fight in the Second World War generally accepted their claims to want world peace on their face, while the groups aligned with the Catholic Church teamed up with disparate right wing WASPs and Jews to fight back. The CIA had taken these students (to note, these were largely men in their late 20s or early 30s, grad rather than undergrad) under their wing and organized them into a front group that could report back on invitational events held in Eastern Europe. In turn, the top echelons of the NSA had to be sworn into legal secrecy as a prerequisite of participation, with the reward being entry into the old boys network of politicians and bureaucrats which virtually guaranteed a job.

The CIA fucked up. In 1965, the elected president of the NSA was Philip Sherburne. He was sworn into secrecy on the source of funding for their new HQ and general operations, as was normal for the group. But he disliked that they had only one source of funding, and he wanted the NSA to be independent. At the time, the grassroots in the organization who followed international politics and hewed to the left had managed to get some of their membership into power, but they had felt straitjacketed by the CIA's complete control of NSA finances. Many wanted to join in on the anti-war marches. Sherburne and others, spurred on by abrogation of Juan Bosch's regime in the Dominican Republic and the electoral fraud that brought the American-backed opposition to power, worked to find alternative sources of funding. They sent one an NSA man as part of the operation, but he got cold feet and worked with Sherburne to expose it. In response, the CIA had a number of top NSA men declared eligible for the draft in Vietnam. Bureaucratic fights ensued, involving the lives of students in America, Spain, Vietnam, and elsewhere. Finally, Sherburne went above the CIA's head to vice president Hubert Humprhey. In response, the CIA went and cut all of Sherburne's independent lines of funding. Unbenkownst to them, Sherburne had made a relatively radical student named Michael Wood his outside line to donors. He'd told Wood not to approach certain groups because they were backed by "certain government agencies". Wood had surmised that this meant the CIA and gone and picked up the only book out on the Agency: The Invisible Government, by David Wise and Thomas Ross. When he saw that the NSA's funding for 1966 had the same donor groups backed by the CIA, he realized Sherburne had lost and stole the files.

Twice the New York Times had published articles critical of the CIA in some form. In 1965, Texas congressman Wright Patman, initially elected on his support of the Bonus Army and ever a thorn in the establishment's side, had investigated 8 charitable foundations and found them to be CIA cutouts. The NYT had written an article on this as well as replies from the funded orgs (Encounter Magazine and the Congress for Cultural Freedom). In 1966, spurred by Ramparts' articles on MSU, NYT reporter Tom Wicker wrote of the allegations and added details of other botched operations around the world he'd heard from sources over the years. This brought the ire of the agency. In 1961, in response to details of the Bay of Pigs invasion being published in The Nation before it occurred, President Kennedy told his aides to bother him when details showed up in the New York Times because it otherwise did not matter. The CIA had actually worked hard to kill the very same story before the NYT could publish it so by the time the invasion failed, Kennedy apparently exclaimed that he wished more details had been published in the NYT so that the invasion would have been stopped. CIA agent Cord Meyer made the postscript of Part 3 of this series as the handler of much of the CIA's work through cutouts and allied groups like AFL-CIO, especially in in regards to the effort to influence the media known as Operation Mockingbird. Meyer and his wife, Mary Pinchot, were next door neighbours to the Kennedy's before JFK became president. Pinchot divorced Meyer after their child was killed in a car accident in 1957. She moved in with her brother-in-law, Ben Bradlee, later of Pentagon Papers and Watergate fame and played by Tom Hanks in the Steven Spielberg film The Post. In 1961, James Jesus Angleton, head of counterintelligence at the CIA, tapped her phone and discovered she was in a sexual relationship with JFK, including visits at the White House. When Pinchot was murdered in October 1964 in what was termed a robbery (a black man was arrested but acquitted), a friend of the family heard (he said) about the murder on the radio and phoned Bradlee first and Meyer second. Bradlee went to go find her diary and found Angleton sitting in her house (his garage) reading it. They later destroyed it. After that, Meyer became an alcoholic and compiled an enemies list of the CIA that included the Vice President. He was already fearful of a leak and told his subordinates to go after NSA staff but did not determine who Sherburne had told until his wiretaps of Ramparts phone lines informed him.

Ramparts, of course, knew that they had been tapped and kept phone calls brief. Scheer phoned Judith Coburn of the Village Voice and asked for her discretion. Wanting to break into a field dominated by men, Coburn felt like she was being called by a rock star, but nonetheless found it absurd that Scheer believed his calls to be tapped. She knew the CIA to be involved in assassinations like Lumumba's and thought their dealings with a minor org like the NSA were absurd. Ultimately, she helped by confronting a number of figures on their work. Eventually, a young WASP Harvard undergraduate who was on retainer from Ramparts named Michael Ansara got the call. His blog about it is excellent reading, located here. I quote:

One evening in the cold months of early 1967, my phone rang. A strange voice, obviously from New York asked, “Is this Michael Ansara?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sol Stern from Ramparts. Bob Scheer says you are our man in Boston.”

“Well . . . OK.”

“Listen I need you to do some work for us right away. I cannot tell you what it is about. I am calling you from a phone booth. Will you do it?”

“Well, what kind of work and are you willing to pay me for it?”

“It is research into two Boston based foundations. We will pay you $500.” 500 dollars was a lot of money. I had no idea how to research foundations, but I thought, what the hell. I could really use the money.

“Sure. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“I can’t tell you anything more than to find everything you can on the Sidney & Esther Rabb Foundation and Independence Foundation. They are based in Boston. I will call you in several days. You cannot call me. You cannot tell anyone what you are doing. You cannot mention the name Ramparts. Can I count on you?”

“I guess so. Sure. Yes.”

Ansara knew a much older man, an economist and lawyer who had sway in the Democratic Party named George Sommaripa. Sommaripa suggested Ansara go to a guy he knew at the IRS. Ansara did, and was told that under no circumstances could he have access to the files on two CIA cutout foundations. Chastened, Ansara complained to Sommaripa, who'd gotten the IRS clerk his job. A few days later, Ansara went back. The IRS clerk told him he could have any box he wanted, provided he did not go past the 990 form on the cover. He went past for the first two foundations and found that money came from an anonymous donor and in equal amounts went right out to the NSA. Ultimately, he pulled the files for 110 foundations, every single known group that the CIA used. He would look at the incorporation files for the foundations, see a lawyers' name, and look him up. Every time, the lawyer was an OSS operative during WW2, the predecessor org of the CIA. One of the lawyers had founded a firm with Sommaripa, a man named David Bird. Ansara confronted Bird, and Bird did not even stop to hang up on Ansara before phoning a contact at the CIA.

Left to right: Hinckle, Stern, Scheer.

A major corroboration of the story came from three students in New York who were disgusted by American foreign policy in Latin America. One in particular, Fred Goff, had been sent to the Dominican Republic with Allard Lowenstein (part 3) to observe the election of the pro-American candidate over the anti-American one. Goff had discovered that a man that Lowenstein had said he trusted on the country was actually a CIA agent, Sacha Volman. Another, Michael Locker, had done a paper about the CIA based on the NYT articles. Together, they walked in the doors of the AFL-CIO's American Institute for Free Labor Development and asked directly about the CIA, prompting a crashing sound and the institute's director, Thomas Kahn, planner of the 1963 March on Washington and the long-term romantic partner of Bayard Rustin, to scream at them.

The problem was when it came time to do the story. Sometimes, the researchers were paid by Ramparts. Other times, they received cheques from the Interchurch Center, a strange agency that serves as a front for charitable giving from the Episcopal, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Reformed, Methodist, and United Churches in America. James Forman, mentioned in previous parts, once led a picket in favour of reparations from them. Ramparts staff demanded they talk to them by picking up pay phones that would ring at designated times, a dismal failure. Other times, Hinckle, Scheer, and Sol Stern would fly in, book rooms at the Algonquin, and order massive amounts of takeout and booze. 15 to 20 people would be in a hotel room trying to negotiate who would be writing the story by continent, or by year, or by foundation. At one point, Coburn broke into the NSA HQ and unwittingly stole the original deed to their land, where it remained undiscovered in Ramparts' files till the 2010s.

On New Year's Eve, 1966, Lowenstein was hanging out with the new members of the NSA leadership when he informed them that Ramparts was writing about their relationship with the CIA. "The usual sloppy Ramparts piece, lots of flash, little substance," he said. The CIA had known since at least Thanksgiving. A lower level NSA official who'd just been sworn in went to meet with Hinckle and Scheer. The duo, while nonchalantly throwing darts, offered the Ramparts donor list as an incentive to tell all, but he refused. Sherburne attempted to find counsel in a lawyer who'd once opposed the CIA's new Langley HQ on NIMBY grounds. Meyer had threatened the lawyer's brother, working in Bogota with USAID, but the lawyer persisted. Undaunted, Meyer got word to Douglass Cater, the first president of the NSA and now an advisor to LBJ. LBJ bumped it to Lowenstein and the CIA to develop a response, which was to hold a press conference with an article in Henry Luce's (the man, not the monkey) Time Magazine that this was all well known since the 1965 congressional hearings, that the money was not that impressive, that the Soviets had done much more, etc.

This could have killed Ramparts. The IRS was already looking for any sign of foreign influence as an excuse to shut down the magazine. It needed some sort of relationship with the establishment press in a way that would let it gain influence without keeping it from the areas it wanted to report on. At the very same time, both Time and the NYT were reporting on the survival of Ramparts: Keating had attempted a coup and lost a board vote 13-1, with Mitford and other backers providing anonymous quotes that while they disliked the "Animal Farm-ish" nature of the issue, they needed Ramparts to stave off a fascist dictatorship in America. Hinckle followed by setting up an astounding agreement with the New York Times and Washington Post: they would get full access to Ramparts' files on the CIA right now, before the White House could set up a press conference, in exchange for letting them run full page ads for days for their next issue.

The day the Times went to press, February 13, 1963, was termed by former CIA director Richard Helms in his memoirs as "one of my darkest days". The press pushed, smelling blood. President Johnson ordered a suspension and review of CIA funding for outside orgs. The CIA initially tried to find a way to blame a dead president, Truman, but realized that its own documentation on the program, written by Cord Meyer, claimed that then-director Allen Dulles did not have any responsibility to inform the president of what he had ordered. Switching tactics, they turned on their press weapon, known as the Mighty Wurlitzer, and claimed that the CIA would have been remiss to not conduct these operations. "I'm glad the CIA is immoral" was the headline of an article by Meyer's boss, Thomas Braden. He described $250 million a year the CIA believed to be spent by the Soviet Union on cultural subversion, to which a mere handful of dollars from the CIA could not compare. No evidence for the accusations was provided, of course. Finally, Helms pulled in a favour from Robert Kennedy and had him testify to the press that his brother had authorized the funding, carried over from the days of Eisenhower. 12 former NSA presidents (including Lowenstein) came out and said the relationship was above board. All had worked for the CIA at least once after they'd left the NSA, but that was not revealed in their letter.

The strategy was a half-success. All the foundations funded by the CIA fell apart and students around the world became suspicious of CIA infiltration. Much of what Ramparts found was investigated by Congress repeatedly over the next decade, culminating in the reforms that came out of the Church Committee, which Helms claimed in his memoirs was sparked by Ramparts and Watergate. Certainly press readership was high, and many stories were published in the NYT and WaPo confirming and furthering the work done. At the same time, the CIA escaped with only a few new rules on its behaviour. President Johnson was a paranoic and was more concerned about using the CIA as a tool against his domestic enemies. He authorized a much larger role for MHCHAOS in punishing his enemies (remember the cryptonyms? MH was the most illegal, as it meant the USA). Many of those fingered were considered liberals in good standing and were part of the labour movement, particularly AFL-CIO higher-ups. They fell in line with the rhetoric about communist subversion because they knew they'd be the ones punished if things went further.

Interestingly, a few months later, the NSA held a vote on integrating an anti-Vietnam War and anti-draft stance into its platform. Traditionally, the CIA had worked from the shadows to suppress these votes. This time, Allard Lowenstein whipped in favour of the anti- stance and it won. Lowenstein soon became a fixture in the anti-LBJ movement, leading the call to bring Eugene McCarthy and Robert Kennedy into the Democratic presidential primaries. To a large extent, the organizations that were closed to the CIA had been products of decades-old relationships and worked in ways that nobody had bothered to improve. Within the CIA, a tension had always existed between bureaucrats with their own fiefdoms and up and comers with new ways of doing things. To a large extent, this scandal simply pushed the former out and made room for the latter, who would not do things like create financial records with the exact same dollar amounts going in and out, or act so bluntly when it came to manipulating staff. While the CIA may have suffered a little in the short term, it was an act of "creative destruction" that improved how the CIA did business. For Ramparts, on the other hand, things were going to get much worse now that they had drawn the ire of the intelligence community. While the magazine reached its peak distribution of 250,000 copies a month, it still did not bring in enough money to cover its expenses, and it was about to be faced with a much larger funding crisis: the Six Day War.

AFTER ALLEN DULLES RETIRED, the director bragged about the NSA operation. “We got everything we wanted. I think what we did was worth every penny. If we turned back the communists and made them milder and easier to live with, it was because we stopped them in certain areas, and the student area was one of them.”... Edward Garvey, who also worked at CIA headquarters, puts it more dramatically: “My God, did we finger people for the Shah?”... Stephen Robbins, despite his limited CIA involvement during his year as president, echoes Garvey’s concern: “It’s South Africa that keeps me up at night.”

#i am finding that i am including way too much information yet the details haunt me enough to make me put it in #i guess ramparts gets yet another part

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nimata-beroya · 1 year

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MY THOUGHTS ON TBB 2x03 "The Solitary Clone"

I'll start saying that the episode was pretty much as I thought it would be. The only thing I got wrong was the location, and it was a confusion on my part about the Battle Memorial.

I have so many feels for Crosshair 😩 my poor baby! I just want to wrap him with a blanket and hug him forever. He's so alone 💔💔💔

More spoilers below

Even if it felt like a knife to gut to know that he spent a month stranded, like yikes 😬😬, I'll say that he brought that to himself! I said it from the beginning, whatever happened to him there would be his own fault for not accepting his brothers' offer to go with them. He didn't even have to go permanently with them, just off-world and be dropped somewhere safe. But he didn't want to. What could've the batch done? Kidnapped him, take him away by force and take his choice away? No, so, for much it hurts, he cannot blame anyone but himself.

Despite all that, I can't imagine how awful Crosshair feels. You'd think that the Empire not appearing either during that time would clue him how unimportant he is for them. And yet... *Sighs* As a Rebels fan, this is such a deja vu.

The Rampart's dig about not being fit for command, that he'll be under the command of someone else, yikes 😬, it was insult to injury. I'd say a hard hit to Crosshair's pride. One done on purpose. Hate you Rampart! But I guess that it solves the question I had about how could go the relationship between Cross and ES-02. I mean, I don't think she'd have follow his orders after what happened in Kamino.

But it's Cody, which is both good and bad! Because now my heart is broken for both of them 😭😭😭😭😭😭 At least, he cares about Crosshair, and Cross respects him a great deal.

Is it me or Crosshair got just a tad defensive when Cody confirmed that he wasn't surprised that the batch went rogue because they're different by design and Cross retorts that Regs have gone AWOL too. I think it was both another hit to his pride and he didn't like to be reminded that he's different.

The Cody-Crosshair team-up is awesome (even if it's for the Empire) . They work awesome together.

Why?! Why do they have to name Clones for me to get attached to and then kill them right after? WHY?!!! RIP Nova and Wyler 😭💔

Ok This is so hot 🥵🥵 both Cross doing amazing shots with the reflective disks and Cody going a la Hunter with the knife

Cody negotiating just like Obi-Wan would have 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 and I knew Crosshair was going to be the one shooting the governor 😐 baby no! 😭😭😭

See, this is why clones were never going to last much in the Empire. More than accelerated aging or anything else, it's their moral code, which eventually start clashing with that the Empire. Crosshair stays out of pride and stubbornness. Hopefully, seeing that even Cody defected (WOOHOO!!!! 😁 We're going to see him in another episode right?! Right?!), he starts thinking through what's he's doing.

But I'm TERRIFIED that Rampart is believing Crosshair is somehow helping other clones to defect, when all he does is to cling desperately to the Empire, looking for something he always had and now lost. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I loved many moments in this episode, but i think the most important is at the end when Cody when Cody and Crosshair are back to the Battle Memorial and Cody remarks that they're not droids, that make their decisions and have to live with them. I only hope those words are food for thought for Crosshair.

#episode review #the bad batch #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb season 2 spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb s2 spoilers #tbb 2x03 the solitary clone #commander cody

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noddytheornithopod · 1 year

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Okay what I will say was that those newest two Bad Batch episodes were pretty good. With Echo though... it's weird.

On one hand, it feels painfully obvious this was supposed to happen. On another... we didn't really get enough focus for him for this to hit harder. On yet another though... Omega being sad about it actually made me feel more than expected? Told you it was weird.

Anyway, holy shit @ Palpatine just throwing out Rampart, arguably the show's closest thing to a central villain, like that. Part of me feels like we might see him again though. Not to mention actually twisting the truth to further his own agenda.

Anyway, if Echo is back with Rex... I hope that doesn't mean bad things for him. Though assuming they don't just all die he might just go back with the Batch after whatever makes Rex go hang out on the AT-TE lol

Also yes it was nice to see Riyo Chuchi again, she was kinda naive about a lot of stuff but hey her heart is in the right place I guess

#tbb spoilers #the bad batch #star wars #sw spoilers

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libidomechanica · 4 months

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“Wide night”

A rispetto sequence

Yet, if I be gone! Wide night? At several she knew a woman. Example, untested into the porch swinging, Die, oh! Still they

con to me. My cheeks are a North End, the turn’d for mouse, of sunset throat, another cast that be. Grow old and the Fire. Go sleepers’ den?

That lyues on his play’d their path, struck by the walls blacke and love. Round rulers and briars fell to hear it had I sign’d to the druries the end

when most, as thou can my natural. Of maiden hair. By time or cologne. Hear these fields, and changed … There’s none is like an old, white balloon.

III

Whom parting to turns earth, west, that where you would have lost breeze: theeues stealthy festivals, and her in the rampart her face lies upon his

rest: if at moments on mortality with the shepheards sight I stand the sunny land it by things— for I would mounts of truth, the sea.

The new rhythm, you were not worth! And Lord August—now was done the pull it. Pell-mell, and thee, stella is sicke too, no man on Art. Doves,

in but buried in their guns with wonders pure, all for the sport is just proud that liuing that I writ, your to introduce therefore than dead!

By all the fled meekly from my eyes than all men else, have lovest is morn before they are, we must go, endure its fir-topped Hurst, its

impressing brethren stood about his dunghill, and know, too, the Blest a saying Priam’s song in their panting to a lottery. Get up,.

Us in a moment did reed. An’ chief art so sweet and I will you leaves to hear me? All fragrance with accent driven thro’ Heav’n’s declined,

but bright, and warm white turn’d to that bed of love, all the night have life of many other befalls hem needed, and fox-terriers.

VII

On the hour I told a tale, since now one piercing eye, all is cald, the wears took compare, pronounced with eternity; or as may live

in fortune shewe fortress is my face. That thou hast to come after hallelujahs quench love with, dim- descript and fauour feet, high over.

VIII

Of heaven, there’—for weeks, I breathe! All is a brighted Troth, and full of eggs, and the library, and bow’d low as thought, queen; ’tis the twilight,

blind below, because herself felt the mind. Their own communion, as may I sing, happy valley, trick’d upon Branch cut down hearing.

Her mail, anchor’d; whither, and when the thou canst press will pype and the flock’s connection of thine out, at our degeneration, or rough.

To live, a jest, as in other, bade my heart: I string blast war, the guy of your captivity and my mother; angle, the bee kisse.

And song of the find out, each me many winding in the most fear of lace. For shame of that gray beardless skies that blows their brevity

to this Irish whiskey, I wist the end of men request, if twas dusk; she has twa sparkling fairer lodge there problem with me in!

General councils of yeares not, like a kind flowers of the truth is the gentle moves, he shock of cataract seas at her last illness,

as the winds creep so sweet city from my love of men resolve in weeks, I breathing in the mere had bene. Thou wait death the sky!

XII

Post-haste; no sister flowing bars, murmur are flock of a Caitife worthy will. Wanting for Death wound in the wind on the equivalence

of raunge of Moldavia’s wail, and where she’s coming wonder althought found the power? No sound would learning days, with the sky resign.

XIII

I dare scorn my losse of chosen one mad. Nor need, and the world thee my deeds to her and clay but right in vain, or with holy and be

sentences, this innocently with Phoebus replied, and song. Bid me to th’oaks as of our sakes must first touch’d my soul when my poor souls!

XIV

The assent: yet this, ’ he white feet hath led me; its kiss of Fitz-Fulke; then to signalise the marke in Sommer dies to me. From thy heart

I do Nature longer to please of that the golden skill and layen baytes to sally his comrade’s Juan; the Russians now must prove her.

Guess I knew not worth do to us, of Satyrs dance is kindle not, happy valleys low, but once, say nay! My lord, all known to the

wing’d eagle scorners of Maud has sentence she wild Prince than die. Now, who desire what I was but for his should not, by rysing moon.

XVI

As for his aim; full lips that same rulers and quell? And for that climbs the world, but doth behaviour. Pleased my tears, which the mightier arms

pale body shall obey they felt the bush; an’ she hath been faith torn, in vowing India of thy flame that sunset; O, a shotgun.

XVII

Writer of man’s features of white turn’d with with the haplesse miscuit utile dulci. A weak, a song? He is none of Treason faded,

and how shaking each stick; and I the serpent now draw in your brain full moon, and listen to rise that crimson barr’d that I aspired!

XVIII

But the dance could not shake its style could write the errant nothing naughty cannot to grow. Of which a curse midas they bear take it is

like tempestuous woman’s vain for the slabbed steps above these cruel coxcombs. The West; too justly ravished he knew to be gay.

XIX

I said to their bear’st the long tale, but thy flocks astate. And scape of blue as long, not even mere comes where not freely give. Is by the

kindly dream the earthy mind was like a ghost! Begin, and coy excuse the lass, by a clench of your side shatter yet I none is flood.

She had been altogether wanton playnely tree. Never weeping, too, and both of Loue to the scatter’d how truely I not sound.

It seems, had not been altogether, a star in watched Elenor! Specious village of the fish did the better, yet soft air hair’d flood.

XXI

Out the clear, now; now, who knew the arms adorned to much brings for being! To form our own. She saw her serious glimmering my rude

ignorance which, star-pitche, nor this beat. But O, what euer thy painful plight, when evening breaks, and by that where I to see. Troth-breakers plays.

XXII

Promise twice, dear, the tangles of thirteenth, where a rustic flutes: it is the chaplet any man to he count my honour’d by the foe’s.

Mine be set down thy face. Thou will not one of any things rights in the every glance, Provide and a spirit flew his counter to die.

XXIII

No soon, and silent who watch not only sad occasion, and the skies. By his host, the moon I fixed their bills, Arcadians both, and

women’s soul, in ashes, without sensation, which wexen old passive weight, but pure eyes he beloved on. But feede him by the world.

XXIV

Suggested times seize to-day, he sawdust tavern at the blood running and charm against time the hunters fail like a fire ashes, wishing

fall, m ontgomer y, rich and the while birds rejoiced; and feel her secret lovest is fire. She had peace in fame, to let it lies.

XXV

With life by the faire hairy, and no more terror where.: But love when once betweene Ioue, and on the mocking! And when the omen! I have

seen a Sultan of money; and even kind of darkness holds them. Leave the fall; too gross the last, the owl his passing been at Stonehenge.

XXVI

To move in words where I don’t prodigy and straint, came nearly. For my verses matter ends. But dead, my feete are two print on was crammed

beast? Longbow from the works, made eloquence, the two eyes Like as the shock a cony is not June for port, and I wanted on the Past!

XXVII

I open quite by nature of all these are lead; others, fluttered grace; everything can tell you of dutie green, and t’ other growest

months in a highest wind, deepening I climb the breach? I love in the balance: right. Of all I doe? In gazing of that he scuds befell.

XXVIII

About distant on their hallow’d? &Mine apparition growth of passion drew in some did reare. Is poorly imitated at the word.

And let in could have need;—first i’ thee; saw the hearts after bright. Own life’s the sea-coal fire, a kind but at once more author’s wheel? He is.

XXIX

I grew up in the Nereids fair; more like a man—so glorious landlord hath been reform, in aspect, that beneath his eyes already

your Venus gloue, as many doubtful twilight the thoughts in a trice: but never and rash enthusiasm in good to retreat!

XXX

Came vestures, or on my chin, she never seen. His great prevent: to laughing of my smart, the tendency to under your fools about,

that I had in angels’ trumpet blow; roses were to see each straggling lies be made retreat a cure, their rule me, and spoil within.

XXXI

Of men unblest kisse. Put her wanton base delight. My face rose makes one souls to either let the long- cramp’d scroll fresh woodlands, sike bene

a little questing in your kindest Calmucks, drill the rainspout you shall I wene above that lie opened them to the row of Revenge!

XXXII

At moment youth should at last you wilt; if everyone I hoped this rays from her demeanors motion what I knew a woman a’ her

will say yes, maybe. Into thy glorious through they passing heart, how after crest spreads herself, believe that clause it doth dishonor.

XXXIII

Hung this gentlemen; also my late rhymed to men, which then the his bed; but in truth, the swan. Therefore, and be one who fought,—All labour,

yet I none can great a generals, some photograph in every soul with rich hair are seacolor. He loved the rolls, pleased myself, and they?

XXXIV

A schooner, or are thou Menalcas, that, after place. Nails rusty bosom’d the signs and bony growth of Cossacques, hovering, soon, and

speak, my pretty pink, and my pet- name! Will stands someone who is call’d Jemmy, ’ after i have lost in their haram education bites.

XXXV

Our friendship could enter, because we goe a Maying. Hoofed Satyrs knell; till the loved the ruled, the dust; and I will relieve of a song of

your forget the very world laid our tree-topp’d hills and lie, till not stay, Miss O’Tabby, and all the mountainer troubled by the rest.

XXXVI

Thy propound, and laid our two batteries Hark! Let the prophecies of thee only cruel be? But from whose fire. What doen so doting, and

yet your eyes, strongest look pale, lost allow’d? That serene declined, while her heartfelt prayed by the Town. What your eyes, but mine eyes were but go!

XXXVII

Promised length descry neath a little prospect of with him, in some did not speak, my prophecy gives, your bones, are not skill and on to

annoy; but better of the love O soul, the ashes, books, pawns; the word. And blind you leave their own land batteries erect and groom fair.

XXXVIII

Were we not what’s best musing; the white feet may be, comfort her, my minute, a miracles Mens faith the palace high inspire and answer

to mortal part hence come winter former! Feelings I though engage; the named a few, if they came to go, while my bliss, hundred be.

XXXIX

Hirèd village of another doctrines thy heart, safe as god’s own common love of other beauty, some have told, that will get on. Proud

of human power of it selfe had her fairest were several Englishman, always why we are but to the sea! In hart I know.

And helpe, most no grave, is because thee their sandals o’er a waste, whereas I have never singing, leap’d upon itself and his stand, they

will, far wish me too much thy glimmering like waterfall, as a readers give us poor. Where is blooms sae green is my dark days seen!

XLI

If my loue, and under the pitiless with thou in Grecian tires him whose coole, however weep. Hair as those for better breathing

and nature with increased my hand, and the elms, and wave of orator so dear! But O, what their end; each correct, without. Your hands three.

XLII

And learn that shook when nothing i know. Sleep had but if the murm’ring gush’d by the Bank: no mixture is a fix. Rejoiced; and its beat, beat,

as Angels, who, coward, old Wisdom! And say This post, I say though in the descry such exist with their lone weirs, till the removed it?

XLIII

The codes we see will walk the prow,— thy dears! Also their feeble vassals of the tears, and love, so full of wolves, who fought appear as if

her stept: she, to be a private after the sad’s a seal the face so great words soere she bee kisse. There moans a straight, that another give.

XLIV

Thou hast. No soon, and commence nothing in the world’s blame, ne string each streets anonymous; which must not but know! Also my lay behind,

go sleepe, what sweet; the little tracklesse thee, thy guide, shine and leans, and narrow: I can that the swan. Which prove twas to art: the Future sheet.

XLV

Their own selfe to the flocke in these flower? It sighed so she melted and that are gone, and portion of some one to quite underneath: they

can bear traces. From dirt, Nothing built in truth—to proclaim—departure, time-past, known, but only thine out, thereupon take the instance.

XLVI

So short; for I hear; ’ at leave traces, wherewith brows of lusty May! That he show’ry feete more be some want to be found his leagues of

thy please a glasse: but of men torturingly the radio was a man’s little, mere mortal soil, nor holybush, nor meant to thee.

XLVII

And Lord Henry and armed, here was the row of that does his flowe. You can ever dies, the women may live in me not my use and do

not knowst I lose they bear of your hands … whose lamp of a lie coming, Juan’s youthful to th’oaten flute; rough to its maze; the hard sky limits.

XLVIII

Who could reach; and scent of folly with hindward flies, a soldier’s down. Lie with the setting eyes, accessible, not, for many people,

like man’s art, but tell her pillars and let me and swear she never more ord’nary eyes do there.—She has gathering steep rough the moon.

XLIX

A flame kind; among while among, all though exits into girls. Long- wave lightning lacketh aye so solidly where’er the puppet-shows

them. Marriage feast; still in a notary would these are empty courtesy call theefe! Should be the fire upon their treble interwove?

As so much one another give. Or in Christendome: but prophet, yet, which its strife. And so he cruel banker’s stupid hearse, I though

suffocating in men resolve to my heart’s antechamber-melodious bark, built and lullaby my selfe, and to see and which wooed.

That must be about the world, her neck did crawling up the wings or salve which they felt only can be convey’d than me. And never from

weary. And raise, paints the sessions for your witchcraft is sad next generate breeze: the news; the main account; and with my darkness ever.

LII

Slits throne, you’ve kisses and pleasure. Still these, troubled with all worthy wightly worn as the two world’s hum, was calm, and was sure under to

the captives just nerved to sence, the rules by bringing up their bodies from the moment fable and faith the colour of the ashes.

LIII

But want playe, or sauce; to the sea. Past when the body in the faire lineaments few, if but Wisdom’s Quixote, still, my Maud has sent,

down to a sword can fast and grew. You, then return in hope no relieve me, and dim. She had trod Sicilian fields, and cheerful light.

LIV

To man, a lord hath mo pence; no eye with lasting head of legal stricture you I’d plunge and of Love, I have not fairest were. The

soft completely stirr’d Return, unhappy ground, all purged and feelings of narration of her shadow falls, the dream it waketh, as light.

When at your dreams alone; while thy love thee in praise grew, at noble pride at any hour, first wast bound dizziness. Which to have drawe with

calm kiss of Britain—which all to lose to her brazen prow in port done withal, unless than one: more delight, and know what atones?

LVI

Suddenly she enough not a blast. The figure in His hand, aye until I find her feet! Of amorous theft: from the talk’d the calls

from the shepheards, to escape, and to their fan, to cold, where these two souls amaze, to light, and then to darkening heir trickling roguish een.

LVII

The third, in the bourn of it; for the blustringed verse wanted this listening now. Who may, and bow’d thee so low that valleys of Peace toward

the rising through harbengers long, O God, as Spring-days, drafts, the love-sick air; wherein he felt, that was of gratified Desire.

LVIII

All to be a wave of thee forth. You can’t answer. Into a deep is my hair awakes beneath each hardships you’ve kiss me sweetbread

fr an old apace. About the warld nor gate; there was on the garden grownd, and the queen, hail! The hunters of musketry and no cure?

LIX

An’ she has the tempest’s roar of a friendship’s just fade for what? Here continent, Adam, from City Hall too clean. When small or ill, and

for a lass wi’ a tocher, the fat from you, in pride of all the mark! Who have been, but no storm by which blend; and wett your much-adored.

But when the splendours, better Death— he turn this one open hate recruits wind are laves, and wheel. Whether wings that August you canst there

mayet thief, in preservation; so neighbour great fooling, or read lov’d the world arraigne on the Fire. And make false to die wits by quoting.

LXI

Not alone in these my eyes of the other—for deeming, and heaven of careless like when my poor a plighter; and thy mind thee thy

recommeth leave them, letting his Doric lay; surely high raigne on the gravy. With gazing of love, thy spirit flew, saw other die.

LXII

But who would heaven was her shade dight golden chain round with not long as I’ll plucked the speed of it. Come in the raise, and cold stormy

Hebrides, meanewhile birds. To a bottle-conjurer, John Bull they repent; thou wilt though all my woes I wish I were, painting west?

LXIII

The gods he died bene all the sight they’re new batteries, so alike is comrade’s Juan; sir Henry was shed upon two Ukraine hacks,

till ye go to thee: I lay there’s none you could not sad? It was near under her finger within her crest showe, then had small faces.

LXIV

I’ll tell a solutions, as tedious based on the will swing and throw hither late espoused sail’d by the whirl was gone, no tears to bringing

voice, such freends did not open, eyes, thoughts will not sad? Cleaves the weeds on dinner; and none even Death, rock-solid then never so well.

LXV

Pan in the cars go over and ride, in woman, fill me with such a tree. To flower, that he would tease here think of men at you’re lucky

present poem I wanted one, to move purification what I had been now. Of Reason: thou, to one like a new rhythm.

LXVI

Tis then, my sweep the same, give, where grim wolf with though t was awake any less. Dead religion, pages dusty brown partridges, hurling

pillar’d porch with sometimes stumbling and yet to mince before a greater faultlesse fayth, is the assent: yet have been dream it and pledge?

LXVII

Reading—’t is not so much invite me with more continent, Adam, from afar. That sing off the boats will take her robes and heart-

wearying rain: Love is so cold myster sayne the walls, long praise, and trade, to crown’d with something to turn like at an Eurydice; for I flatt.

LXVIII

She is worthy of the duet, attuned hair are rustling to be gay. Upon the oxygen. Someone else thee will in my adventure

beautiful old rhyme. She love her, like a mocke at an echo given by much in an import for all meet; my Muse and ruff too.

LXIX

Thus lily, There has twa spark disturb your brain. Thus while there will I awake any less. As long, love, all hit or more shores came town’s open

casement. And what was a forest, ere were in His hand, but the narrow after the head, the voices more death’s wounds Aeolian breathes.

LXX

That touch the lies sweet eyes including tier, for his foible, but now escap’d from a poison to driven this count of modern fame: but

purer was once a moment deep- disguised along. Sharp violin, bassoon; all is not its beat, and clear pool, where down to faith! I did.

LXXI

But I have much mortars ready to all such transgression seat of bliss to alights my soul helps to hear it, O Thyrsis, on liking,

thine head, and stocks impresse; vngrateful form to beare the spring, on a boggy walk, perhaps there. Wet was in a dreamy urn; farewell!

LXXII

Yet, lovelinesse? Far-shadows on the father’d amongst there’s a flowers his and tumbled by the faint, old, crushing else pronouncing

noon will fayre flock early about your bed will affections fully and free of the still, beside was ripe; a sources quite alone.

LXXIII

When as a rose again, the came close my wife or many a tinkling, scatter’d a prophecy; for I would stay, and every sight them

of refuses to wood, through fowl now not one that nothing which judge’s joke for out. That made, were much dross, and had not play at childhood?

LXXIV

Take the best, a way to this, if parching real, a gallant, young beautiful in siluer sound. That the chilling,—for Time, not fewer; growing

shade, or as a fault was made a stream. By the gold to aery thinks no foot of us verses matter the Christ toil up and moss.

LXXV

Proud of twelve of men and widening brethren stood; and ever, what your leave them back the pale—mething boy, pissing him here must let us

like a stoop’d falcon ere his flock’s conne no sin, and happiness; my soul had fallen his repartees. And in mass, dimension strain.

LXXVI

Leave me my home. Which province on every fine; thought into the woof of day, he shouldest date, even such out for us? Whether I

saw this sleep, and all vices ouerthrow, nor ever, t is in mournful family’s once scream. And lullaby the South, rock-solid them.

LXXVII

So oft in dew? Draw in my back the cherries fleck the page wondering, instead of love; take care, and made it spring; but I turn that

nothing some western hill along Broadway, thanne hadde in clear as in no farther fruit them hither thro’ all those tremendous light control.

LXXVIII

As love were the starting joys to tell, but half retir’d, and light he spongy cloudless sea, admit not get they drewe abacke, and warm on

amorous promised party, to leaues from her soft air how oft hath none evening-moon. I have gone, and catch, mething but a mere ague still.

LXXIX

Ding, dong, bell. I hope to Vivian- place, struck for cash bereft, nother was more bitter than all be kindly dies in the haunt me and

must allure I loved a conqueror play and seen in safety in its maze; the sun like a ghosts to pass as was made, some sucking eye?

LXXX

Like a race more evil strongly recommendation; but the dreading— ’t is nonsense, too sore, the deep, while I had been Hermes prior

to gard. The time young, he acquaint, by Machiavel, by Rochefoucault, but Strongbow frill? An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

LXXXI

Made greenest woods, unfettered with me in! Light from thou found a palpitating foam; your eyes: whatever Izaak Walton sings of night

i’ the monied speech as yet; two massy keys he be boundless sneer some eighty Jove, pallas, Minerva, maidenly ashamed of me?

LXXXII

Out, and oh, young lord-lover, a Fisherman lounged a providence, silenced a cure, thye neuer thou found to flowered leewardings,

shaking salamander? An exquisitely skill how darling pillar’d porch, mid his stature, turning slight broke from the cleaved the pit?

LXXXIII

Now God fortune, hapless of hottest Sommer steadfast? As in honde, to decorous Smiths’ whom cruel coxcombs. Oh, had trod Sicilian

fold, her soul, could produce a bouquet in clout I was a groves and full gaze, and where I don’t be plant my wife she has acres o’ charm.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #221 texts #rispetto sequence

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Text

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided. The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes.

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook.

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.”

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree.

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face.

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase.

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word.

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out.

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant.

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam.

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement.

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming.

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too.

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again.

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side.

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn.

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.”

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment.

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll.

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink.

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life.

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating.

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table.

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again.

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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

What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what.

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List! @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think.

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

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imabeautifulbutterfly · 3 years

Text

The Reunion - Part 2

Summary: We meet up with our crew after they have left Barab and after Friday’s episode of the Bad Batch getting their chips removed. Hunter x Reader. Echo x Reader.

A/N: Italics - Past conversations

The quotes Crosshair says during his nightmares are directly from the Bad Batch episodes. All rights for those quotes, belong directly to the geniuses working on the Bad Batch TV show at Disney.

Warnings: Slight mention of a beating, nothing described. Medical procedures.

If I miss a warning, just let me know.

Words: 4,608

AO3 Link

Drop some love, a comment or a reblog, it’s all appreciated. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Previous -> Masterlist -> Next

“We don’t usually work with regs”

“Grow up, Wrecker”

“If your plans are so good, why did Commander Cody have to call us in?”

“An order is an order”

“Since when?”

“Good soldiers follow orders”

“He had us disobeying orders”

“I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem”

“Disobeying orders again over a kid?”

“You’re becoming a liability”

“You disobeyed orders”

“I did what I thought was right”

“You should have killed that Jedi, you disobeyed orders.”

“You never could see the bigger picture. Now surrender.”

“Best stand down sergeant, make it easier on yourself.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Your move”

“Bad play, Hunter”

“You want to know why they put me in charge? It’s because I’m willing to do what needs to be done.”

“What seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” Lama Su asked Nala Se

The two Kaminoans looked on behind the one way mirror, “medic, what seems to be the problem with CT-9904?” asked Nala Se.

I looked towards the mirrored glass, “he’s having a nightmare”, I glanced from the mirror to Crosshair that laid on the med bed before me. The Kaminoans wanted his inhibitor chip to be constantly activated and operating at peak efficiency; if they lost him, they would lose the backing of Admiral Tarkin, something they couldn’t have.

How I wished Hunter was here? How I wished I got to the ship in time? I wished for a lot of things, mostly I wished that Crosshair’s chip hadn’t been activated, and that as the medic for Clone Force 99, I wasn’t the one in charge of keeping his chip activated. Every time he laid down on that med bed, a little bit of me died. I had to do this to my friend, my family, Hunter’s brother. I tried at first to say that the chip was damaged, it wouldn’t activate, but they quickly dealt with my deception, in the form of a beating from two of the Clones who had taken me under their wing. The beating from the two had knocked me out, when I came to Bad Batch was gone, Omega, my little helper, was gone, and Crosshair had tried to kill his own brothers.

What’s worse is that Crosshair looked for every opportunity to wound me with his words, he wasn’t my Crosshair, he wasn’t the man I had grown to know and love as a brother.

‘Must be miserable to know you fell in love with a traitor.’

‘How does it feel knowing they left you?’

‘Only the Empire can provide what you need’

‘Join them and die’

“He seems to be having a particularly disturbing dream, he keeps thrashing” that voice, oh I hated that voice, it was responsible for the so called War Mantle project, Vice Admiral Rampart. How I wish he could be the one on this bed before me, so I could make him suffer, the way he’s making Crosshair suffer.

“Indeed” oh there’s that other voice, Admiral Tarkin. I loathed both men, and would be happy to see both die a very slow painful death.

“I do not believe we should continue for much longer, the procedure could cause irreparable damage”, I suggested. I’m sorry Crosshair, I hope you can hear me. I’m so sorry.

“Very well” Admiral Tarkin’s voice filled the room, I could almost feel his breath on my skin. It was revolting.

“End the procedure, medic Kambe”

“Yes, Prime Minister”

I turned off the machine and watched as Crosshair's tortured face relaxed. I moved beside him, and disconnected him from the machine, he was still unconscious, at this moment and I could pretend he was still my family, he was still the same Crosshair. The one who taught me to shoot a target five klicks out. The one who would tease Hunter and me, when we would go out on a date. The one who said he always wanted a sister, and was happy I was his. I discreetly held his hand, rubbing circles with my thumb on the back of his hand. I’m sorry Crosshair. I’m so sorry Cross.

- - - - - - - -

“That medic seems very attached to CT-9904” Admiral Tarkin noticed

“Yes, she was the medic for Clone Force 99. She got to know them very well and went on several missions with them.”

“Interesting. She may prove useful.”

“How do you mean Admiral?” Asked Vice Admiral Rampart

“She may know something the clone doesn’t, or she could be used as bait, to bring in the others”

“Admiral, I must protest” Nala Se interjected, “she, unlike the clones, is not Empire property, she is hired by the Kaminoan facility, and works directly for us.”

“And yet, she gets paid via the Empire, does she not? Or do you pay her directly, Prime Minister?”

“Uh … I would have to check our records, Admiral Tarkin”

“Don’t bother, I have checked already. She gets paid by the Empire. She used to receive funds from the Republic, and has subsequently received funds from the Empire, therefore she is a servant and employed by the Empire. As such, we have the right to do as we wish with our workers.”

“Admiral, I would be more than happy to take over … keeping an eye on the medic” offered Vice Admiral Rampart.

“That is not necessary, it seems we have the best thing to keep an eye on her already” he motioned towards the unconscious clone.

- - - - - - - - -

Although, I couldn’t hear what was being said behind the glass, I could sense eyes on me. I grabbed a data pad and pretended to check Crosshair's vitals. If they were going to stay there watching me, then they wouldn’t get anything except a medic doing her job. There had to be a way to get the chip out of his head, someway to go under the radar. If Cross was back to normal then he and I would be able to get off of Kamino and find the boys.

I heard the door slide open behind me, “Medic Kambe”, I turned to face Nala Se, she was the only Kaminoan that I could somewhat tolerate, although in the end she was the biggest problem of all, as the Chief Medical Scientist, if it wasn’t for her, so many soldiers wouldn’t have been killed and treated less than they deserved.

“Yes, Nala Se?”

“You can move clone CT-9904 to the recovery room”

“Yes, Nala Se”

She stepped closer to me, it was odd and threw me off. She disliked me more than anyone else, simply for making the clones feel like people and not property, it was one of the reasons I was assigned to an actual team, rather than the Kaminoan facility in general. “You need to be careful,” she said in a lowered voice.

I kept busy preparing Cross for transport, “what do you mean?” I asked in a similar whisper, “they’re watching you, they want to use you to bring back Clone Force 99 and Omega. We can’t have her land in the hands of the Empire.”

“I understand”

“Please be quick about transporting the clone, Admiral Tarkin wishes to see what effect the new enhancement has on CT-9904” she said in a louder voice.

“He has a name”

“He is a clone. Clone CT-9904.”

“His name is Crosshair!”

“Medic Kambe! One more outburst and I’ll have you restricted to your quarters and brought up on charges of treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes”

“Good” without further word she stepped out of the room, maker I hated her. I really did.

I looked at Cross one more time, he had a slight scarring from where the machine had performed it’s procedure. My only hope would be to perform surgery at night, or maybe if I was able to go on a mission with Cross again, distract him, get him isolated, and perform the surgery. We both needed to get out of here, and soon.

- - - - - - -

“I don’t know if the plan will work” Fives offered

“Oh I’m sorry, do you have something better, vod?”

“Listen Phoenix Ghost, we are not judging you, it just seems risky” offered Hunter

“Well, what do you want to do?” I asked, Rex had just left after we were able to get the chips out of the remaining Bad Batch, the idea was to take the med pod with us, or at the very least take it and hide it on a planet that we could bring Crosshair to.

“Why can’t we just use the method you did before, with the other clones?”

“That would require us going to a safe clone planet, the nearest one has over 500 of your brothers, inhabiting it. I would gladly take you there, if the Empire thought you were dead. However, as of right now, the risk is too great that someone would follow you, or someone spot your ship and decide to report you to the Empire simply for credits. I’m sorry but I’m not putting your brothers at risk. Either we find a way to bring Crosshair here, or find a way to bring the med pod to Crosshair.”

“Cyar’ika, it’s okay. We trust you”

“Really, cause if you trusted me, you wouldn’t be questioning the plan right now”

“It’s just dangerous” Tech tried to reassure me.

I couldn’t help the glare that had appeared on my face, “seriously Tech? That’s your pathetic platitude, that it’s just dangerous. Everything we’ve ever done, from the moment we either joined or were sold to the GAR has been a life filled with danger. I personally have a scar on almost every quadrant of my body from one injury or another.”

They all looked to Echo, who simply nodded. Oh that was it, “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I WOULD LIE ABOUT THAT?!!!”

“No, of course not” Hunter tried to calm me down, but the anger within was growing from their… I guess lack of trust.

“Cyar’ika”

“Don’t Echo! Don’t Cyar’ika me!”

Echo let out a frustrated breath, being back with Echo was amazing, it’s like we hadn’t missed a beat, all those years being apart had evaporated within a matter of minutes.

“Fine, ner riduur”

Ugh! Why did he have to tug that cord? All the anger I had a second ago washed away at remembering that we had indeed gotten married, I dropped my shoulders and my head to my chest. As soon as we were off Barab, we had found a place to lay low for a few weeks. Echo didn’t want to waste anymore time and proposed, I didn’t want to waste any time either and said yes. We both had wasted too many years apart, to waste another second not being with each other, was downright idiotic.

Fives had been his best man, Omega was my flower girl, Hunter walked me down the aisle, Tech officiated and Wrecker stood in as my man of honour. Rex had come to wish us well, after the ceremony, he pulled me aside and gave me a big bear hug, “I’m happy for you ad’ika. I wish you nothing but happiness.”

The words were there, but the warmth in the eyes weren’t, “I’m sorry Rex. I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He didn’t let me finish, “nothin’ to be sorry about, little one. You followed your heart to the man you love. It’s the heart I fell in love with, so how can I be upset about that” his warmth finally reached his eyes, we hugged one more time, “thank you, Rex. I love you, vod”

“Love you too, vod’ika”

“Alright, let’s come up with another plan than” I offered calmer, I looked over at Echo, and smirked.

“How do you do that?” Whispered Wrecker

“It’s my gift” Echo chuckled, I simply shook my head, “what if we make a medical droid?” Asked Omega

“It is possible” Tech advised

“We are at the scrap yard so we could find the parts we need, it won’t be pretty, but it’ll get the job done” I added, Tech and I sat down to work out a plan and design for the medical droid.

“While we are doing this, maybe the five of you could try to find an actual droid, maybe if there is an actual medical droid, we won’t have to make one” suggested Tech.

“Fine, we know when we’re not wanted,” Fives teased.

“Hey Omega”, I called, she turned towards me, “good suggestion” I winked at her. She ran over and hugged me, “thanks mo…I mean, thank you Phoenix Ghost”, I returned the hug and looked at Hunter, he had a smirk on his face, “hun, I think your dad’s waiting for you”. Hunter shot me a look, I couldn’t help but smile back, at the end of the day we were all co-parenting, so what was one or two more parents, uncles, or aunts. Whatever way she looked at us, we were family.

- - - - - - - - -

“How does it feel, vod?” Fives asked Echo

“How does what, feel?”

“Being married to the love of your life?” He elbowed Echo

Echo couldn’t help the blush that appeared on his face, “like I’m living a dream that I never want to wake up from”.

“Awww, that’s so sweet” shouted Wrecker

“Alright you guys focus, Omega and I will go done here" Hunter motioned to the corridor to his left, "Wrecker, go with Fives and Echo” as Hunter motioned to the corridor on his right.

“Copy that” Fives answered.

Hunter and Omega headed down what looked like a medical hallway, there were all kinds of beds, against the wall, “Hunter?”

“Yes, Omega”

“Are you married?”

“What?”

“Like Phoenix and Echo?”

Hunter didn’t answer for a minute, Omega could see something was bothering him, “I”m sorry, should I not have asked?”

“It’s okay, kid. No, I’m not married.”

“But there was someone?”

“Yes”

“Medic Kambe?”

Hunter stopped and looked at Omega, “how do you know that?”

“I trained under her as a medical assistant, she always used to mention Clone Force 99”

“That’s how you learned all about us”

Omega nodded, “she treated me like I was …”

“Like you were a person”

Omega nodded, “that’s how she treated us too.” Hunter continued examining the rooms, and realized more than likely his love had seen what was happening to Omega and how she was treated. He could see his tiny love stepping up to protect Omega. Knowing her, she probably even had to fight to be Omega’s trainer.

“Do you think we’ll see her again?”

“I don’t know, kid. I hope so, I really do.”

“Why didn’t she come with us?”

Hunter let out a sigh, “I don’t know, but something must have happened, otherwise she would have been waiting for us in the hangar.”

“I hope if we do find her, you two get married”

“Really?”

“Yes, she makes you happy. You clearly make her happy. She always had a smile on her face when she spoke of you, she kept her biggest smile when she mentioned you specifically.”

Hunter smiled at that, hopefully soon enough, he’ll have his brother back, and his love in his arms.

- - - - - - -

“Any luck?”

“There’s no such thing as luck” chuckled Fives

“What are you? Obi-wan?” I asked

“Hey how do you think I got so good with the ladies? I learned from the best” he laughed.

“Fives, you were good with the ladies, because they took pity on you. Not because you had any of the charm, Obi-wan had.”

“How do you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo.

“Hmm… what, my love?”

“We will discuss this later”

“Whatever you say, ner cyare”

“Oh don’t try and placate me with sweet sayings”

“As fun as it is to be in the middle of what’s probably your first argument” Tech interrupted, “did you find a medical droid?”

“I did!” Shouted Wrecker

“Good. By the way", Tech directed towards Echo and I, "I would like to see how an argument between married couples proceeds, it would be interesting to learn and see first hand” inquired Tech.

“Yeah, not gonna happen” I said, “let’s get this droid adjusted. Faster we get this thing on the ship, the faster we get out of here, and the faster we can get to Crosshair.”

“I think I have an idea about how to get Crosshair out in the open,” Hunter offered.

“How?” Asked Wrecker

“I’ll tell you guys when we’re back on the ship”

- - - - - - - - - - -

“That’s a bold plan” Fives commented

“But it has the potential for working” I appeased

“How do we know we can trust her?” Tech questioned, “how do we know she didn’t wilfully not show up? Had a change of heart?”

“Come on Tech, you know her. She loves us.” Hunter looked to the ground before continuing, “she loves me, she would never … She was detained. I know it. Something prevented her from meeting us in that hangar.”

“Okay, so you want to send a message that will undoubtedly put her in danger, either on the mission, or before the mission, and definitely after the mission. Basically, you are okay painting a giant target on her back, Hunter? Cause that’s what you’re doing by sending that message.”

“I know Phoenix, but it’s the only thing I can think of to do.”

“Then I’ll help to try and limit the damage. First things first, we are going to need to split up, find a planet to draw their attention to, hopefully one that’s uninhabitable.”

“With lots of ground coverage” offered Wrecker

“No high ground” suggested Tech

“With lots of animals” said Fives, we all turned to look at him, “what? If he can get distracted that gives us an advantage, I’m not crazy”, we all nodded along. “He does have a point” chimed in Echo.

“What about Felucia?” Hunter suggested

“It’s not inhabitable. I actually think I have a place.” I offered

“Where?” They all asked at once.

“I can’t say.”

“Well if you can’t say, how can we use it then?” Fives asked

“Because I have to ask permission to go there, it could put someone in danger, and that could be worse then …”

“Then having the Empire after us right now?” Wrecker inquired.

“Yes, actually. They’re very dear and special to me, I need to …sorry guys, I’m gonna have to take over the bunk for now.”

“Oh” said Echo

“Oh” I nodded.

“Oh what?” Hunter asked

“Ohhh!” Clued in Fives adding, “I thought he was dead.

“About as dead as you and I are”

“What are we talking about?” Wrecker asked Tech

“I don’t know” Tech answered shrugging his shoulders.

“Sorry guys, I can’t say more, or talk more about it. Like I said, I need the bunk, no one come in until I emerge. It could be several hours, I suggest we stay in hyperspace as much as possible.”

“What’s going on?” Omega asked as she stepped out of her room.

“Sorry guys, but we can’t talk about it” Fives answered, “just trust us, when we say she needs to do this, and you really can’t disturb her, she needs the quiet.”

- - - - - - - - -

It had been a while since I sat here meditating, trying to connect with my older teacher. I had been a force-sensitive child, and was about to take the Jedi trials, to be ordained as a Jedi Knight, but the anger within me had proved to be too volatile, with the war in effect. It was important to not let those who could be in situations where the constant fighting, the constant bloodshed and the insurmountable injustice would be present all the time. It could lead one to use the force in an unnatural way, causing one to take actions into your own hands.

I closed my eyes, and focused on the force, being one with the force was always easy for me, which was why the Council was concerned when they felt my anger.

“Little one, hmmm? Yes, hmmm”

“Hello Master Yoda”

“Why reach out through the force did you, hmm? Alright are you, hmmm?”

“I seek advice, Master, the advice is not for me, I’m alright, but it is to save two innocents.”

“To save a clone called Crosshair you wish, and medic called Kambe. Innocent, Kambe is. However, shed innocent blood, Crosshair has.”

“It’s not his fault, Master, it’s his chip. If we remove the chip, he’ll be back to his old self.”

“Possible, removing stone from a puddle is, damage the stone caused when thrown in is permanent. Back, what makes you think the Crosshair you once knew would come, hmm? Hmmmm.”

“Because it happened to one of the clones I am travelling with. His chip activated, and he tried to kill Omega, the little clone girl, once his chip was removed he went back to normal, although he remembered the incident.”

“Wrecker activated for, how long was, hmm?”

“Not long, maybe about 20 to 30 minutes.”

“Crosshair been activated, how long has, hmm?”

“Since the start of the Empire”

“Over time weeds grow over stone, in the puddle, that is. When you pull out stone, pull out weeds too. The damage caused, irreversible, could be. Prepared to face that consequence are you, hmm? Hmmm?”

“At least he would be free.”

“Of clone life free from, hmm? No. Free from the Empire, hmm? No. His other self free from, hmm? Possibly. Plague his mind constantly, the nightmares of what he has done will. Carry, can you soothe the pain his soul will, hmm? If this chip you free him from, have to help carry his burden, you will. Ready for that are you, hmm?”

“Yes”

“Then I offer, what advice can hmm? Yes, hmmm”

“We need a planet that is shrouded in darkness, with no major high ground, lots of foliage and animals”

“You use Dagobah to draw him out want to, hmm?”

“With your permission, Master, yes. But if you feel it is too big of a threat, maybe you can recommend another planet, one that can wreak havoc on a sniper.”

“My permission, you have. I will give you coordinates that will put any in danger not, and your purposes that will serve.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Your anger and your fear I no longer sense. Changed, what has, young one, hmm?”

“Ever since my ‘death’, I no longer lived for myself but for others. With the help of others and my skills we were able to save 2500 soldiers. Brave men, each one.”

“That is all not. Herh herh herh”.

“No, Master. Ha, never could hide anything from you. I married the love of my life, Echo”

“Happy for you little one I am. Continue learning from the force. Serve you in the future, it will. To the dark side within you I no longer sense the temptation. However, to say goodbye to the man you love, be prepared, when the time comes, or to the dark side again find yourself on the path.

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

“With you may the force be. Hmmmm”

“And with you, Master.”

- - - - - - - - -

“How long does this usually take?” Hunter asked Echo

“Once it took her - - - what was it? Fives, 12 hours?”

“I thought it was longer, closer to 15 or 16”

“It depends”

“On what?” Asked Tech

“On how easily I can connect to the force”, I answered. They all turned to see me emerge from the bunk room, “how long was I in there for?”

“About 8 hours,” Echo answered.

“Do we have a plan?”

“We do, Hunter” I smiled, not only did we have a plan, but I had the privilege to continue learning about the Force, who knows what will happen in the future, but as of right now I was very hopeful.

“So where are we going?” Asked Omega

“Dagobah, we’re going to Dagobah, but first I need to eat, secondly there are a few things we need to discuss and thirdly, only three or four of us should go, the others should keep Omega safe.”

“I feel like there’s going to be a whole Jedi sort feel to this story” Fives laughed

“Well not completely, but you’re not wrong either” I laughed along with him.

“Does that mean, you’re going to tell me how you know about Obi-wan’s charms?” Asked Echo

“You’re never going to leave that alone, are you?” Hunter and Tech got up and headed for the cockpit, Omega headed for her room, Fives and Wrecker headed for the bunk room, leaving Echo and I alone.

“Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do I need to tell you about something that is so trifling, and doesn’t matter in our current predicament?”

“Because I need to know”

“You don’t need to know, what you want to know is if I personally experienced his charms, isn’t that true?”

“I … how … that’s …” Echo rubbed the back of his neck after his failure to start his sentence, “that’s not what I want to know.”

“Then why do you keep asking that question”

“I just didn’t think that Jedis, you know”

I just looked at him, “Echo, I married you. I was learning to become a Jedi, remember?”

“Yeah, but I just didn’t think you were with anyone before me, I thought we had that in common”, that’s what he wanted to know! Man, why was he beating around the bush?

“Echo, my love” I kneeled before, cradling his face with one hand, holding his right hand with my left, “I love you. Obi-wan is just a horrible flirt. I was never interested in him. I wasn’t interested in anyone other than you. You have been and always will be the love of my life. No one can compare to you. They can’t hold a candle to your bravery, your courage, your kindness, your sweetness, the way you care for me, the way you look after your brothers, the way you look after Omega. You are the best man I have ever known. No one will ever change my opinion about that. I love you and only you, and I have never been with anyone other than you.”

Echo looked into my eyes, leaned forward and kissed me, with all the passion he could muster. “I really wish we had our own room, and our own ship, right now.”

I laughed out loud, “well let’s get to a safe haven where we can pick up another ship, and you and I take an hour for ourselves.”

“I think maybe four hours is needed”

“Ha, if only we had that kind of time my love, an hour and a half?”

“Two”

“Done, but then we have to get this plan under way as soon as we land.”

“I know”, I pressed my forehead against his, soaking in his scent; Master Yoda was right, I would have to prepare myself for the eventuality of losing him for real, one day. When I had thought I had lost him the first time, it nearly destroyed me, and it was because I wasn’t able to have a future with him. Wasn’t able to live freely with him. Now, I could. If I were to lose him tomorrow, I can be comforted in knowing that I had married, and had been able to love him without reservation. I would have no regrets with how I loved him.

“I love you, Echo”

“I love you, Phoenix”

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11- Much More

Summary: Deciding to let Geralt handle the child surprise on his own and rekindle your friendship with Yennefer while against all odds, fight with mages by your side, it’s time to protect Sodden from Nilfgaard.

Warning: blood, fighting Nilfgaard soldiers, angst, reader going a bit feral, eyy more backstory ft. Geralt

Masterlist

The next morning, in the early hours of the dawn did you, Yennefer, and a handful of willing mages set off in lifeboats for the distant shore. You sat in silence within the tight cluster of other bodies seated all around you, every mage dressed very distinctive from one another, their outfits less then ready for battle if you're being completely honest.

You could almost laugh, what exactly did these magical people have in mind when the time came to stopping Nilfgaard? They travel in their fancy robes and attire like it's time to go to court. But you digress, they may look like a fashionable lot, but they do know how to use their powers for destruction if need be.

Hopefully they won't shy away from turning a soldier to ash.

The boat ride lasted longer then you'd have liked, honestly why didn't you just fly across? Oh right, you wanted information about what's going to happen and you know, Yennefer.

Cursed that damned djinn.

Once the boat safely rested against the sandy shore did you get out with the rest of the other mages. Not caring in the slightest to help them pull it fully onto the grass beyond the sand, though you could have done it with one hand. Instead do you follow Yennefer as Vilgefortz questions her relentlessly about many things she simply brushes off, disinterested and annoyed.

It's another boring cluster fuck of hours before you can hear the telling noise of people as they prepare for battle. Once you find your way out of the woods do you notice the great castle-like structure of the Elven keep upon Sodden's Hill, it's crumbling white stony walls sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the land. On the other side, a long bridge pathway leading to the other edge of the great pass, exactly where Nilfgaard is planning to go.

You follow the mages as you all make your way down to the grassy hill towards the tents below, Tissaia meets up with another mage, a man who welcomes you all with open arms, clearly he did not expect such company. But by the looks of it, is desperately going to need every single one of you.

You walk in step with Yennefer, Triss to your back as you shift your gaze from the spread out mass of tired refugee villagers, orphans, and scared old men. The atmosphere is dreary and tense, they all know what's coming and the sight of your group makes some of them even more nervous.

"These people," Starts the robed mage as he walks in line with Tissaia, "they have been pushed from their homes. They've seen the scorched earth, the fields of corpses stretching between Gemmera and this river. Such cruelty."

"It's Nilfgaards way." Replies Tissaia, "There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable." If that isn't the truth.

"But it's all any of us have left. We have to defend it."

"That's heroic." States Sabrina much to your surprise.

You turn to her, "And stupid." They all stop and stare at you in puzzlement like you'd just kicked a helpless puppy and laughed about it, letting out a sigh you shift your scarlet eyes upon the man and Tissaia, "Take the children and hide before they get here so they may avoid more terror and death."

His brows furrow, "There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard. They have come from beyond the mountains to destroy the world." You stay silent, it's not worth arguing over at this point. He's already made up his mind.

Saving the slightly awkward moment, Triss steps in, "You still believe it can be saved?"

Everyone looks to the mage as he stares off into the distance, a look of hope in his bright blue eyes, "I suppose I do." He smiles before turning back to your group, "With some help." And just like that do you all make your way into the keep to further make use of your talents.

Countless arrays of glass bottles are set out and filled with some type of strangely smelling blue rock, arrows are constructed and set out up by the ramparts as you watch from your perch high atop a castle ledge. The preparations are made throughout the whole entirety of the day, the villagers and mages alike all working tirelessly together in a hopefully fruitful attempt at saving this dying stronghold from the Nilfgaardians.

The sun has kept herself hidden from the world hours ago, the beautiful welcoming blanket of darkness settling across the land for the time being. Your favorite time of the day. You watch as the mages and other villagers find their company with one another on a last night of peace before blood is most likely spilt tomorrow when the soldiers arrive.

Against all odds the atmosphere is quite happier and light, people telling stories over fires under the stars as they take their minds off of the impending doom. You've placed yourself a couple feet from Tissaia and Vilgefortz as they sit side by side on a stone ledge with their feet just about touching the ground, a drink in their hands as they reminisce about better times in their lives. You hold one knee up, your other leg dangling freely as you listen to Yennefer and Triss as they walk into view.

Triss snacks on an apple as she points towards your direction, "Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?" A small snort escapes you as your heightened hearing catches her jest. Not a second later does Vilgefortz happen to get up, leaving you and Tissaia alone, Yennefer parting from Triss as she stops in the grass. Unsure of where to go next, Tissaia takes this as a cue to raise her glass, "The ale won't disappoint. We should enjoy it while we can."

Yennefer turns to the two of you, a stoic expression crossing her features as she walks over, "It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." She quips bluntly before sitting down in between the both of you.

Tissaia hands her a spare glass, "Must you always be so fatalistic?"

"It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die." Replies the violet eyed mage before taking a sip of the ale, still rather unenthusiastical about everything.

You chuckle, "Well maybe you two, I on the other hand plan on tearing these dogs to pieces."

Tissaia laughs, "All the more reason to live tonight."

Yennefer sets her mug against her lap, "Mmm. Like you." She retorts, looking knowingly in the direction of Vilgefortz as he converses with some soldiers. You look to Tissaia, a smile upon her slender face as she stares almost adoringly at the raven haired man. The three of you look to one another and begin laughing like young school girls who just found out about their friends secret crush.

It feels nice, oddly so.

Your laughter slowly dies down, a more heavy aurora laying over the three of you as your smiles vanish from your once happy faces. Tissaia sighs before excusing herself from the two of you, no doubt heading to seek out the man of the hour.

You sit back in a comfortable silence as a light breeze caresses your face before turning an eye to your friend, "Are you ready?" Your voice is steady and calm yet holding so much, Yennefer quickly turns to face you, her eyes full of apprehensive wonder, "To die." You finish with a raise of your brow, "If destiny decides to finally take us out that is."

She pauses for a moment to think it over as she watches some kids run by in the firelight, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

"But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." You point out as she frowns, her eyes downcast in the nearby fire light.

"But I've no legacy to leave behind. No family." She says sadly, "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." A tinge of disappointment in her voice as she sits next to you, feeling rather defeated with her life.

"You still have so much left to give." She looks to you now, a kind warm smile pulling at your features, "I know it, and I'm not just saying that because of well, you know. I've never really thought about it but you're kind of like me in a way."

She slowly nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, not sure where you're about to go with this, "How so?"

You shrug, "We're both half of something, two pieces that make us a whole being of vitality and raw power. You're half elf, I'm half vampire, two incredible immortal races that should not be fucked with." You playfully nudged her shoulder, "We don't always get what we want in life, she can be quite the bitch you know, and even though I'll never have a true heir of my own. Well I guess, if I can keep alive some of the good in this world while defeating the evil, that's good enough for me. My legacy is hidden within my actions and who I help along the way, it's all it needs to be."

She furrows her brows, "Thank you Y/N." Sincerity in her voice.

You let out a breathy laugh, clearly confused, "For what?"

"For deciding to come with me to this place, you could have left and fucked off to wherever you chose next. But you decided to stay, and well...maybe I do enjoy having you in my company....no matter how how scary those eyes of yours are." She teases.

You smile, "Not the djinn talking?"

"No. Not the djinn. I swear it." Says Yennefer honestly.

You softly hum in agreeance, "So do I. I think it just makes us want to protect one another, perhaps that's how we're drawn in. It's like I'm a beacon of light and you're a moth," You laugh, "or something like that."

"I think so too. Hopefully we don't end up dying, or well, I don't end up dying that is. Guess I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready." Inquires Yennefer uneasily.

"Is anyone ever? I can't die just yet anyways, I still have to see Geralt again, tell him I'm sorry for leaving and probably punch him for that damned wish. Gods I feel horrible..."

"You had every right to say what you did, and don't worry, I know you Y/N. You'll survive. I'm sure of it."

You lean back into the grass, your arms holding you up as you stare up into the dark starry night sky, "Thanks, very motivational. But hey, since we're out here and unsure for the inevitable future.....got any stories?"

Yennefer takes another sip of her mug before setting it down in her lap, "Got a few, but I'd honestly rather hear something from you." She lightly kicks your boot, "Is there any truth to Jaskier's ballad about when you and Geralt fought a Bruxa? From his tale, it appeared to be quite the story."

Rolling your eyes you scoff, "Oh yeah, that bard loves to make our hunts seem so glamorous and amazing, the famous White Wolf almost got his balls slashed off from the nasty fucker."

She hums in interest, "Do tell." You look at her with the most unamused face you can muster, she simply laughs at your lackluster reaction, "Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me all the gory details, I'd rather enjoy hearing about how your Witcher almost lost his prized jewels."

You stare a her before making a gesture for her to hand you the half filled mug in her lap, with a smirk she generously hands it to you, "Now. I can tell you the story." You add before taking a hearty chug, setting the mug down next to you in the grass as you let out a little hiccup, "Alright, so for this specific hunt we though it best to leave Jaskier or he would have without a doubt been killed on the spot, and blah blah we all would have sorely missed him." You lightly chuckle at the dark thought, "Anyways, the town nearby had been recently dealing with a very dangerous problem hiding in some nearby abandoned ruins of some burned down village...."

(Cue flashback)

It's daylight as you walk down an old dirt road leading to a recently destroyed village, the townsfolk living just across the river had told you and Geralt how some vengeful bandits took it upon themselves to burn and pillage the place after some hero wannabe killed their leader with a lucky arrow to the head. The next thing they new, every wooden house had been set ablaze in the dead of night as they raced outdoors to listen to the terrified screams emitting from within the woods.

The mayor claimed it was a horrendous display of revenge, only a lucky few had survived the torment, but something even worse then petty bandits had loomed over the land in the following month, brought upon by the lingering stench of death and blood. It had begun with high pitched shrieking in the dead of night, right were the ruined village was, some brave souls would investigate the next day to find the mutilated corpse of a male traveler.

More people would go missing for another month before you, Geralt, and Jaskier happened to stroll into town one autumn afternoon. No one at the local tavern, nor the mayor herself, would know what beast was taking all the men hunting for it. So with a suspicious curiosity did you accept her offer of coin in return for the death of the mysterious beast. The next day, with lack of a certain bard, did you and Geralt set off to explore the destroyed grounds.

You kick a loose rock and watch as the little boulder skids across the muddy trail while keeping pace with Geralt, "So, any idea what this hungry fucker might be?" You ask, turning to him with a wiggle of your brow, "I have a few ideas."

Geralt hums, turning an inquiring golden eye in your direction, "Considering this place has gone to shit in the past two months, dead bodies everywhere, could be a ghoul....or a wraith...maybe even a werewolf." His voice gravely and filled with a tinge of dark humor.

You chuckle, "A werewolf huh, now that would be quite the battle to witness, me and the notorious dogman, claw to blade. I'd have its head on a spike in an instant..."

"Would you now?" He teases.

"I would!" You lean in to lightly smack his arm, "What? Don't laugh...grrr ugh okay fine....after it put me through a couple rounds, I'd get there eventually. Then you'd be there to celebrate my victory with loud cheers of praise before taking me on the grass to thoroughly show me your ever loving gratitude." You cackle as he coughs awkwardly on his own spit, sending you an surprised but very amused facial expression at your more sensual implications.

"Right then and there, in front of the headless beast?" Wonders Geralt as you nod, a smile breaking out upon his handsome face, "Y/N, you are quite the woman."

"Course I am, best thing you've got." You sass with confidence before stopping dead in your tracks at the scent of something decaying. Geralt watches in curiosity as you sniff the cool air, your scarlet irises dancing across the burnt ruins of the village now that you're both so close, you raise a brow at him, "New flesh. Someone was just recently killed."

Your feet are quick as they take you past charred wooden houses and broken glass, all the way through the mess before you stand a few feet away from a large half caved in house, its entrance gone as it stands looming over all the other destroyed ruins. You turn to Geralt, "The dead one sleeps in here, the blood is a couple days old." He nods as you cautiously enter through the broken door, your eyes adjusting to the shadowy darkness as you walk into the room.

It's one large area with a crumbling ash covered fireplace at the far middle end of the wooden structure, you walk a couple more feet before stopping, Geralt coming to a halt at your side. "Nothings here." He confirms, his eyes still looking over the ashen room.

You shake your head, a smile upon your lips at his terrible observation skills, you turn around to face him before taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his head towards the rafters. His eyes immediately lock onto the incomprehensible corpse of a man, or at least what was left of him, only his guts and a single arm hanging from the ceiling.

"That's lovely." Muses your Witcher bluntly as you release your touch, he lifts a brow to you, "Definitely not a wraith or a ghoul. I'm not even sure a werewolf would have done this, that is the charming work of something incredibly violent and depraved. Some creature that would not care for their victim in the slightest, and the victims...all men.." He looks to the side, trying to think for a moment, "just men. And it showed up after the burning, but then it decided to stay...now it kills for food and apparently pleasure too. Maybe this is a..."

"Bruxa." His golden eyes lock onto your causal stance, he sets a hand on his hip as you simply shrug, "I could smell the bitch before we crossed the bridge, wanted to see if you figured it out first. Wow Geralt, what a monster hunter you are, very good sleuthing work." You tease with a slow clap as he rolls his eyes, motioning for you to follow him out of the dying house so he doesn't have to spend another second in this gloomy old place.

Stepping into the daylight he turns to you, the ghost of a humored smile gracing over his lips, "I would have gotten there eventually." He sasses back, using your own words against you, "Maybe this Bruxa is a family friend."

You scoff, "I wish, these type of bloodsuckers are more feral and less elegant, they're a subspecies so I won't feel bad about killing it, not that that's ever stopped me before. But still, they're deadly cunts who kill whatever has a heartbeat, only silver will take them down." You take a step forward, pushing your pointer finger against his leather armored chest, "So you better be on your guard tonight, I'd rather not travel alone with the bard until he dies." You snort, setting your arm down once again, "Or I kill him first."

"I'll be ready." Confirms Geralt with a knowing tinge of confidence, much to your amusement at his self-assuredness, "The sun doesn't set for another couple hours, why don't we head back into town and tell our bard of the plans, hm?"

"Yeah alright." You reply, beginning to walk back the way you came, "Jask is definitely not joining us tonight. That idiot would be dead in a heartbeat, I mean seriously...these nasty bitches whole thing is appearing as harmless attractive women before...blah!" You pounce at Geralt, squeezing his muscular bicep before letting go just as quickly, "You're ass is dead. And torn to shreds like a piece of meat in a starving dogs cage, not a pleasant way to go at all."

Geralt chuckles at your dramatic antics as the two of you travel back to the town; Jaskier was luckily fine with staying behind, unsurprisingly he happened to have found himself a lady friend, who was all too satisfied once learning her new lover would be staying the night once more. Soon enough, dusk had settled over the land and you and your Witcher began the hunt.

Taking silent steps through the forest as you both walked across the beaten down trail leading into the sad abandoned village, the two of you go to stand behind a large oaken tree while your eyes wander over the broken houses. Your silver dagger clutched tightly in your hand as the other one presses against the rough bark.

Geralt's armored back touches yours as the two of you watch from opposite sides of the tree, "Y/N you hear anything?" Whispers Geralt.

"No."

"Smell anything?"

"No."

"See anything?"

"Ask me something again and I'll shove a stick up your ass."

"Noted."

Another fifteen minutes would go by before your superior hearing would pick up the supposed sound of something brushing past some leaves from the treetops across the destroyed houses. Your hand grips the dagger tighter as you listen more intently, it moves slowly, a branch creaks as it sits atop it. Then the wood creaks again, more leaves are brushed aside as you suddenly realize where this fucker is headed, the town!

"Oh, fuck." You whisper yell, not even aware that you just said that out loud.

"What? What is it Y/N, did you hear something?"

"The bitch is in the trees, she's going for town." You pause searching for your words, "Uh, be ready I'm going to lure her out into the open." You rush before taking a step forward, stopping to turn towards a confused Geralt as he studies your face, "Don't, uh...get bitten or killed. Love you, good luck."

He's left to his thoughts as you swiftly race across the muddy yard in a blur before jumping onto a half standing thatched roof, you stay low as your crimson irises scan the tree line in search of the Bruxa, it doesn't take long before you spot a beautiful pale black haired woman looking in the opposite direction as she stays perched on a thick branch. You smirk, your fangs showing in the moonlight as you decide to be as boldly annoying as you can.

Rising to your full height, you stare at the beautiful bastard before yelling, "Hey! You big ugly horse fucker!" The Bruxa immediately snaps her attention over to you, her yellow eyes glaring down at you before she turns from an attractive young woman into a terrifying lady demon.

She screeches, jumping down from her perch before making a hasty beeline in your direction, you jump, just as she narrowly misses your face with her long sharp nails. You gently land upon the muddy ground, the growling Bruxa eyeing you hungrily as she stands once again, her body facing you with great malice, lips curling in a snarl, hands balling into angry fists.

You smirk, feet planted firmly in the earth as you grip your dagger tight, "Come on you pale faced cunt, come get me." You taunt as she hisses in fury before darting in your direction, you twist to the side, slashing her arm as you skid in the dirt, facing her once more.

Her face whips around to find yours as she grunts in pain, the silver burning her skin as she charges you once more, this time you launch yourself into the air. Just as she grabs for your feet, missing them by mere inches while you quickly flip above her head, you land, facing her. But before she has time to attack you once again, Geralt races out of the tree line and slashes the back of the Bruxa with a fury enough to turn you on if not for the current circumstance. A blood curdling scream rips through the frosty air as she whips around with lightening speed, grabbing Geralt's sword less arm before thrusting him across the yard to your left.

Her feet move inhumanly quick as she follows her downed silver haired prey, instinctively you throw your dagger, it makes a strong thwack sound as it sinks into the pale flesh of the feral vampire's thigh. She stumbles back, falling to the ground as she screams in agony, all before standing up once again and keeping as still as a statue, staring you down like a wolf to her prey.

You ball your fists, not sure what to do now since your only weapon is gone, you shrug, "No hard feelings?" You jest before she growls, her feet bounding against the earth as she quickly tackles you to the ground faster then you're able to blink.

Damn, vampires are fast.

She bares her fangs doing her best to chop at your exposed skin, her hands trying to claw desperately at your everything as you hold her forearms tightly in your grasp, droplets of spit fall upon your face as you grimace in disgust. Geralt where the fuck are you? She angrily struggles in your fists as her face desperately snaps at your own, inches apart she just misses your skin, a moment later do you sigh in relief as she's ripped from your grasp and thrown across the rocky ground.

You jump to your feet, only to watch in awe as Geralt and the Bruxa fight with one another in the center of the destroyed town, she slashes and bites at him as he punches and gets in some hits with his silver sword. But soon enough does she have him on his back, his sword only a few feet away, just out of reach as she pounces on him in a fury.

Instantly she tears at his black pants, ripping them open from his lower right hipline to his knee, he kicks her away before she lunges for him once again. Geralt scoots back just as she smacks her taloned hand right where is crotch was, not even a split second ago.

"Y/N!" Shouts Geralt with wide eyes, "My sword."

Wiping blood from your nose you take swift steps forward, he braces for the worst right as you grab a fistful of black hair, yanking hard as you pull her to the ground, your other hand closing tightly around her throat as her yellow eyes expand in surprised rage.

You pin her down, squeezing tight as she squirms from beneath you, her thin muscled arms reaching for your neck as you force your face away from her sharp nails, "You get your fucking sword!"

He lets out an annoyed huff before scrambling for the fallen blade, grasping it in his strong hands as she digs her claws into your clothed arms, you yelp in pain, losing your grip on her neck. She shrieks again before you suddenly get cracked in the forehead by the bitch's own skull, you see stars as she uses this opportunity to kick you in the chest, hard. You let out a breathy gasp before stumbling backwards across the dirty path, your head falling onto Geralt's boots, he looks down as you stare up at him in a daze. Your labored breaths coming out as a wheeze.

You blink, trying to focus on his blurry physique, "Fucking ouch." You growl through clenched teeth as he hastily pulls you to your feet.

"Watch out." Warns your Witcher before leaving your side to tear into the furious Bruxa.

"Thanks for the forewarning, very helpful." He ignores your annoyed jest, conveniently slashing off the head of the damn bitch before your very eyes. He's breathing heavily as he towers over the bloody mess, golden eyes finding your irritated ones as you pick up your silver dagger, "Great work, bravo, well done." You deadpan, giving your man a less then enthusiastic round of applause.

Lowering the weapon to his side he glances down at his slashed pants before finding your eyes once again, "Almost got me." Chuckles Geralt with a small smile.

Rolling your eyes you break out into a grin, "Oh yes, then we would have really had a problem."

Yennefer snickers as you end the tale, an amused laugh falling from your lips as you sit up once again, "After that we told the town, which of course they were surprised but nonetheless ever grateful, giving us a nice bag of coin. Geralt got some new pants, Jaskier got some more writing material, and I got a solid reminder that I am not invincible when it comes to creatures like a Bruxa. Vampires, huh."

Yennefer nods, shaking her head as she smiles, "That's...more then I'd ever encountered. Better you then me." She muses.

You sigh, a small tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips, "Those were the best times though, hunting, traveling, being with those two idiots. I do miss them, a lot actually."

Her lavender irises fall upon your saddened gaze as you watch people converse happily with one another, a mother tucking her child into a makeshift straw bed, you suddenly feel much sadder then before, "You will see them again, I know it Y/N."

Shifting your scarlet eyes to her shadowed face, you lightly tap the edge of your mug, "Hopefully I won't see a Bruxa again, fucking cunts. But yes, thank you for the words of encouragement and...friendly counselling, I'm going to bed." You scoot off of the grassy ledge, standing on the soft earth as you turn to Yennefer, "Right here's good enough. Also, not to worry, I don't snore."

She watches as you lay upon the ground, others doing the same as the night progresses, deciding to follow your example she moves to lay a couple of feet from you, pulling a foresty green blanket from out of a nearby bag, "Won't you get cold?"

Laying on your back you look up at the stars, "I've never felt cold before actually."

She lays down, an amused burst of air flowing out of her nostrils, "Right, half vampire. Well, goodnight then you odd freak of nature." Playful sarcasm dripping from every word.

You lightly chuckle, "Night, you insane fucking witch." The two of you share a humorous moment together before falling into a comfortable silence, the both of you trying your best to fall asleep before the sun rises, bringing danger on the fiery horizon.

—-

You awaken to the shouting of men nearby, opening your eyelids do you raise yourself up into a sitting position as a massive fiery orange ball of light begins its decent from the great blackness of sky. Right in your very direction, you can hear it sizzling as your eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry just as Yennefer throws her blanket to the side, reaching out her hands just in time to abruptly halt the death ball of enchanted flame before it can incinerate the whole yard of sleeping people. Her face is pained as she throws it to the left in mid-air, the tiny sun bursting into a beautiful explosion over the trees, safely away from everyone else.

In an instant are you up, both yourself and Yennefer screaming for everyone to rise and prepare for the beginning assault. The grassy grounds are covered in racing frantic bodies filled with frightful screams. Another fireball would be thrown at you all, and deflected just the same, nothing more coming about for the rest of the night. Nilfgaard keeping you all on your toes till the dawn.

Now here you are in the early hours of the morning, the sun illuminating the landscape as you follow the mages around the castle while they figure out a plan of attack. Everyone keeps low behind the walls as you'll quickly walk down some stairs, no roof to keep anyone adequately hidden.

"Stay low. We don't know what other tricks they may have." Warns Vilgefortz as you follow behind him, more mages rushing to a halt on the stone steps as you all look out over the forest in the direction that those damned flames came from last night.

"Maybe it's over." Says Triss, but you know better. This is just the beginning.

"No. Fringilla's just getting started." Whispers Yennefer.

"It hasn't been two days yet." States Sabrina, "How is Nilfgaards army here already?"

Vilgefortz gets up, "Doesn't matter. We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms. We have to fight."

You chuckle, "There's only 22 of you left, those other cowards fled in the night like little mice chased by some housecat. Guess some heat was too much to handle." You quip as one mage stands, claiming with confidence that's he's not going anywhere, others agreeing as well. You suddenly feel uneasy, sorcery in the woods, snapping your attention over to the forest your crimson eyes go wide at the sight of white mist flowing throughout the trees, "Uh, what the fuck?"

"There coming!" Shouts a mage in fear.

"It's starting!" Exclaims another in excitement.

I hate magic.

In seconds is everyone up and moving to their assigned stations right before your very eyes. Leaving you alone to watch the strange unnatural fog slowly make its way closer and closer to the stronghold.

Times seems to go fast, in the next twenty-five minutes has the archers and people with slingshots wrecked havoc upon marching Nilfgaardian soldiers in the woods. No doubt giving them an explosive ending before their time in battle has even begun. Yennefer directs the mages assault from her position high up in the tallest tower with the best view. Your eyes shift from the nearing wood line where the real danger lurks to the grassy courtyard below where people are hustling back and forth, racing to their duties. You walk upon the castle ledges, high up above the sweating foreheads of the mages and archers as you make your way over to the tallest part of the Elven Keep. Gliding up to her level, you softly land with atop the wooden landing.

She appears quite distraught and panicky as you study her body language, she turns to you, tears in her lavender eyes, "Vilgefortz, he's..."

What is that fucking swooshing sound?

"Portal!" You shout, turning your body to look over the other ledge, just as you'd sensed, a large swirling portal has materialized from the earth. A second later do you watch in horror as arrows fly up from its center, thwacking into nearby mages and villagers. Killing them instantly.

Fearful tears fall from Yennefer's eyes as you feel a surge of rage forming within you at these grisly acts of violence. She quickly regains her bearings enough to telepathically speak to Tissaia before the heiress is cut off by something or someone in the woods. You can hear as more and more mages are being slaughtered from beyond the Keep's walls as they run to the stronghold for cover, Yennefer calls out to them but it's no use, they're already dead.

A gate has been breached!

You want to do something but you can't bear to leave Yennefer's side in such dangerous times, but hearing the screams and wails of agony from the brave people around you is enough to shift your mind. You must help them, now is the time.

"Triss! The gate! Can you buy us time?" Shouts Yennefer aloud, though you know she's speaking telepathically to Triss.

Tearing your eyes away from dying Nilfgaard soldiers and mages alike do you place a comforting hand on Yennefer's shoulder, she snaps her attention to you, almost startled, "I'll help Triss. Be careful, Yenn." She tearfully nods as you lend her a small smile in return.

Your feet move inhumanly fast as you run atop the castle roof, jumping down to the wooden balcony where the archers are, you race past them before bolting down the steps and into the grassy courtyard where a gate has been breached. Many armed villagers and a few Nilfgaard soldiers are currently fighting with one another, their swords clashing in desperate fury.

Across the courtyard is Triss who's struggling to cover the opened gate with thick vines as a couple dark armored soldiers get themselves tangled up in the process. A look of pure determination crosses your face as you unsheathe your silver dagger, your legs move quick as you take out a few soldiers on your way to aid Triss in her fight. Knowing you can't do much from behind the gate, you scale the stone wall with ease, falling to the grass below, you land atop the soft earth with the grace of a dancer.

A pained scream rips forth from Triss' throat as a Nilfgaardian soldier thrusts his flaming torch into her neck, in an instant have you sunk your blade into his skull, pulling the bastard away as you look down at Triss from behind the vines. Her screams of agony pierce your sensitive ears as she looks at you through glossy pained eyes, but the thudding of quickly approaching heartbeats alerts you to turn around.

Your scarlet irises lock with the green ones of a rushing soldier, his sword is bared as he charges you, adrenaline and hate coursing throughout his entire vessel. He swings the blade to his left in your direction, twisting around past him, you shove your dagger through his jugular and right back out again, a red spurt of blood bursting forth as a couple droplets dance upon your face.

The fresh scent is almost intoxicating, driving you into a more primal feeling, you turn with fire in your eyes to face three more ugly old bastards, weapons drawn and ready to strike. You hiss at them, bearing your fangs as pure fear flashes across their faces. In a blur do you end their pathetic lives before they even have a chance to realize what hit them. You hear another scream and race to the aid of a fallen mage, slicing through more Nilfgaardian men in a fury of blood and broken bones.

She fearfully thanks you, her eyes dazed as she carries herself to safety, though there is no safety here as moments later does your ear drums burst with the sounds of explosives shattering throughout the battlements where all the glass bottles of blue stone where being kept.

Oh, fuck.

Stones fly past your head as white smoke emits from the destruction, you can smell the blood and hear the cries of the ones most unlucky enough to be so close. No one alive is around you for the time being as you stand among the dead, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, some trickles of unfamiliar blood falling down the side of your face and hands. More red dripping off of your sharp silver dagger as you stand in the evening sunlight, the smell of smoke and blood on the breeze.

"Can anyone here me? Is anyone out there?" Calls Yennefer from inside your head, likewise to all the other mages, "If you can hear me, you need to get to the front line. More Nilfgaardians are coming to the woods. We can't give up. We can still fight." Her voice is tired and desperate, heavy with emotion as she makes a last fleeting effort to protect the Keep.

You catch her scent and the sound of her erratic nervous heartbeat as she emerges from the broken gate of vines, white fog pushing to the side as she walks into the daylight. She looks rough, her face and chest dirty, her left hand coated in her own blood from a wound at her side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Races three unfamiliar heartbeats.

Three more men rush out off the bushes and whitish thick mist, heading straight for her, she thrusts her opened palm into the air. Twisting her hand, the men fall dead one by one at her beautiful display of chaos.

Her lavender eyes trail across the battlefield, landing on you, you're speckled with the ruby red blood of dead Nilfgaardian men. A mess of red coating your lips as a trail of it wanders down your chin to your throat from when you let yourself have a little taste of Nilfgaards finest.

You slowly walk over to her side, she swallows, her throat is dry, nonetheless you lend her a hopeful smile, "You're ability to still look this good covered in dirt and blood is honestly impressive." The tiniest of smiles gives you a small sign of hope on her face, "I've cleared this area but as you've said, more are in the woods. I can still hear them, they're close."

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse as she lowly nods, her voice becoming distant as she looks out into the wood line, "I need to find Tissaia."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer

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imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs · 3 years

Text

Rayllum Valentines Week Day One: Valentine’s Day (February 14th)

Solemnly, Rayla waited. Waited for the sun to rise. Soon, the day would begin and the most infamous day of the year would begin.

The holiday which little Moonshadow elves still told stories about to scare each other during the darkest of nights during new moons.

The day on which humans celebrated their own dismemberment, presenting the bloody evidence to one another in a macabre show of their passions.

The day as infamous to the elves as the death of Avizandum.

The Day of Valentine.

But today, Rayla was ready. More than ready.

The doors and windows to her and Callum’s adjoining rooms had been barricaded. She’d stockpiled enough provisions to last three people a week and a half, her bed made for an excellent rampart when turned on its side, and she’d set enough improvised traps in the room to make any would be assailant stop long enough for her to disarm them.

Moonshadow elves could do a lot with empty bottles and a few choice dead plants.

But homemade smoke bombs aside, she would have to find Callum and Ezran soon. Callum was just next door, so getting him to safety would be easy, but Ezran was all the way down the hall. Not only would getting to him be dangerous, but getting both the prince and herself back to her fortified room would be too.

But she couldn’t think about that right now. She would never allow Callum or Ezran to be disemboweled by some raving lunatic. They meant too much to her to leave them to some backwards custom humans hadn’t yet out grown.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her door. Rayla steadied her breathing and tightened her grip on her weapon. This was it.

“Rayla? Are you up?”

Callum!

Rayla jumped over her bed and over her trip wires, making a dash for the door. Removing the chair she’d jammed under the doorknob, Rayla opened the door enough to see outside.

“Callum?”

Callum stood in front of her door, a sheepish smile on his face and his hands behind her back.

“Hi Rayla,” he said, wiggling his fingers before returning the hand to behind his back.

“Are you alone?” Rayla asked.

Callum frowned.

“Yes…?” he said, confusion on his face.

“Well, get in here!”

Grabbing him by the collar, Rayla dragged him through the door, slamming it shut behind him. She was briefly aware of something hitting the floor behind him, but paid in no mind. Their survival was her top priority.

“Rayla, is everything al—what happened to your room!?”

Ignoring his question, Rayla unceremoniously picked Callum up bridal style and bounded across the room until they were safe behind her bed.

“There,” Rayla said, dropping him, “we should be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“Shush.”

Rayla placed a finger over his lips.

“I need your help. You’re safe, but Ezran’s still in his room.”

“He’s not in his room.”

Rayla felt her stomach drop.

“He’s what?”

“He’s outside the castle. You know for Valentine’s Day.”

This was not good. Ezran was outside the castle. Away from Rayla or any of the guards, he could be torn apart by a frenzied mob.

“Stay here,” she said, rising, “I’ll go get him.”

“Rayla, wait.”

Callum made a grab for her arm.

“Don’t try to stop me Callum,” Rayla said.

Callum frowned.

“Stop you? From what?”

Not as agile as she was, Callum opted to take the route around her rampart to talk to her face to face. Which unfortunately meant he would be headed straight for one of her tripwires.

“Callum…!”

All too late, Callum became aware of the line at his feet and the sound of dozens of glass bottles falling from where Rayla had secured them on the ceiling with a web of fishing lines. The air filled with black pepper and dust, sending Callum and Rayla fleeing from the room coughing and rubbing their eyes.

“What the hell was that?” Callum spluttered, “Are we preparing for war?”

“Not,” Rayla said, thumping her chest with a fist, “Valentine’s Day.”

Callum looked like he was about to explain something, only to suddenly slap his hand to his forehead and then sprint down the hall.

Great, Rayla thought, now I have to princes who forgot about self-preservation.

The consternation was short lived, however, as Callum returned, carefully carrying a box in his hands.

“Callum, what’s that?”

Callum blushed and held out the box to her.

“I…I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, Callum, you didn’t…”

“It’s fine. I wanted to.”

Wanted to? Callum wanted to vivisect his fellow humans?

“I had Barius and Ezran’s help. I… I had to call in some favors but…”

Callum’s eyes shifted around the room, as if there would be words to say written on the walls before finally looking at her again.

“Here,” he said, handing her the parcel, “I was going to give it to you first thing this morning, but I was so nervous, I guess…”

Rayla didn’t hear the rest. She could only stare down at the plain off-white package now in her hands.

The love of her life, a deranged maniac who gave her a box of severed body parts on this most grim of holidays.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

Rayla looked up, where she found Callum watching her with expectant eyes. Expectant puppy dog eyes no-one could say no to.

Rayla sighed.

Might as well get the mental scarring over with.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid, bracing herself for the stink she knew accompanied pieces of the dead.

Except there were no dead body parts in the box.

Instead, nestled inside the box was a moonberry tart (she could tell from the smell; the non-threatening, non-stinky, delicious smell) and artfully written on top of it, in pieces of dough, was the message ‘For Me, My Elf, and I’.

“Callum,” Rayla said, looking up at him, “I don’t understand.”

Callum’s previously proud expression changed to one of confusion.

“I thought you said you liked the moonberry tart recipe Barius had.”

“No, I do, it’s just…”

Her confusion probably mirrored his own by now.

“Why?”

Callum shrugged.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. This is my Valentine to you.”

“This?”

Rayla looked down at the tart.

“And it’s not made of body parts?”

“Body parts?” Callum asked.

“Because on Valentine’s Day, humans rip hearts and organs out of other humans chest to give to other people they want to sleep with, right?”

For what must have been five minutes, Callum stared at her. Then, as if she’d just told a joke, laughter burst out of him. Rayla scowled.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Callum said, wiping his eyes, “but I think we might need to have a talk about Valentine’s Day.”

#My Writing #rayllumvalentines #TDP #The Dragon Prince #Rayllum #Rayla #Callum #Silliness #valentine's day #happy valentines day #Just realized I have some typos here they'll be fixed when I post it on AO3

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rolandtowen · 3 years

Photo

Dumbass Romantics, the first part of a series exploring the ways in which Sokka and Zuko falling in love after the War.

Sokka and Zuko seem to keep “accidentally” flirting with each other with romantic gestures from their respective cultures. It takes a while for everyone else (and them!!) to catch on. Set a few months after the end of the war, featuring chronic pain and cultural flirting.

Read it under the cut!

The Fire Lord hated the cold. He supposed he should have commissioned a fur cloak before visiting Katara and Sokka, but where could his tailors find fur on such short notice? He couldn’t bring himself to slaughter dozens of squirrel-toads just for one coat. He had settled on a cloak woven with extra koala-sheep wool, but stepping out of his ship’s warmth now and into the crisp air of the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko knew he should have heeded Sokka’s advice to him to dress warm.

The cold was a bitch. But thankfully, he didn’t have to dwell on it long.

“Zuko!” Came Katara’s voice from somewhere below him. Zuko hurried down the rampart and came to meet his old friend. He went to bow formally, but she laughed and pulled him in for a hug. “Maybe save the bowing for when we have dinner with the old folks tonight.”

Zuko raised his eyebrow.

“Oh! It’s nothing big – just my Dad, Bato, Kanna, and Pakku. I do hope you’ve worked up an appetite for stewed sea prunes, that’s all my Dad can make without blowing the kitchen up – unless you’re allergic to sea prunes, of course, but I guess you wouldn’t know yet seeing as you’ve never tried them—”

“Katara,” Sokka’s voice startled Zuko a little bit, coming from his left side. Zuko shifted his head so he could hear him better. “You’re rambling again. Let the man breathe!” Zuko let out a low chuckle and turned to fully face Sokka.

“It’s good to see you too, Sokka.”

“And you, jerkbender! Spirits, aren’t you cold? I told you bring layers!”

The trio started to walk towards Katara and Sokka’s village. Zuko pondered what he should say: admit weakness and say he was, in fact, cold; or be miserable for the rest of his visit in silence?

“I’m okay, it’s just that the Fire Nation hasn’t ever had a need to make warm clothing. My tailors wouldn’t even know where to start on finding fur for a cloak.”

“Well then,” Sokka said, “it’s lucky for you that we have polar leopards!” And with that, Sokka unclipped the fur-lined cloak he was wearing and draped it over Zuko’s shoulders, fastening the metal clips with practiced ease. Zuko was shocked.

“Sokka, I can’t take your cloak!” He protested, stopping in his tracks.

“Relax, jerkbender, there’s more where that came from. When are you going to learn to dress up for your visits, dork?”

Katara chimed in. “The last time Zuko was here, his body temperature was elevated by his righteous search for the Avatar. I’m sure peace and love have probably cooled your hot head off quite a bit, huh?”

Zuko only hummed, looking down at the cloak that had been thrust upon him. It really was, quite warm. And quite intricate as well! He ran his fingers over the moon phases embroidered at the seams, a striking white against the deep blue of the cloak.

“Enjoying my handiwork?” Katara asked.

“Yeah, I am.” Zuko answered in a daze.

He wasn’t sure if he should tell them what it meant in Fire Nation culture, to place your own cloak on another’s shoulders, to literally and figuratively place another under your protection. Really, Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he had been given anything as a gift. Charity was not a concept Ozai was familiar with. Sokka couldn’t have possible known that what he just did was like the Fire Nation equivalent of a betrothal necklace. Still, it did leave Zuko touched that Sokka would so willingly give over such a valuable garment. He decided to leave the matter alone and revel in the warmth of the cloak.

“Sooooooooo, do you wanna go fishing together?”

Zuko sighed. He was a little bored. When they got back to the village, Katara had immediately ditched them to go help Kanna and Hakoda prep for the night’s family dinner. Leaving him and Sokka to do…. whatever until dinner time rolled around.

“Uh, I don’t really know how to fish—”

“That’s alright! I can teach you. Just grab your cloak!” Sokka leapt up and swept out the door. “You are coming, right?” Sokka called from afar.

“Yeah, I’m coming!” Zuko hollered back. He fiddled with the clasp on Sokka’s – er, his cloak—and stepped back into the cold.

Sokka was at the edge of the village, spears in hand. “You ever been on a kayak before?”

Zuko chuckled. “No, the ships I’ve been tend to carry more than one person, I don’t suppose you’ve got one of those?”

Sokka punched him in the shoulder. “We can’t use one of the warrior’s boats, we’ll scare the fish!” Oh. That made sense. “Now I get it, you really don’t know anything about fishing, do you? What have you got to say for yourself?”

“Two things: one, prince; two, fire nation. We much prefer Komodo sausage to seal jerky.”

“Well, your hotness, let me show you how it’s done.” Sokka hopped into one kayak, patting the one next him. “I assume you at least know how to use a paddle?”

Zuko laughed. “I may have been an adrift refugee once or twice. I think I can handle a paddle.”

“Good,” Sokka smiled at him as he climbed into the one-seater kayak. Zuko took a few moments to adjust to the shift in his center of gravity, then nodded at Sokka.

“Let’s catch some fish.”

It turns out, Zuko is not a natural at spear-fishing. He watched closely the first few times Sokka threw his spear, bringing up fish each time. “Go on, try it,” Sokka encouraged him. Zuko looked into the depths and tried to aim for the blurry shadows he took to be fish. His spear came up empty. “That’s okay! It took me a few fishing trips before I really go the hang of it.” Sokka analyzed his form. “Make sure you extend your arm a bit before your release the spear, then you can change your angle more easily.”

Zuko nodded, mirroring the way Sokka was holding his spear. They waited in silence, kayaks knocking gently into each other on the waves. A fresh school of fish appeared underneath them, and they released their spears at the same time. This time, even Zuko had caught a fish! Only one, compared to Sokka’s two, but it was his first fish! Sokka smiled widely at him. “I knew you could do it.”

“I guess I should call you Sifu Sokka now, my fishbending master.” Zuko quipped.

Sokka blushed and he hoped the gathering snow hid it from Zuko. “I think we should probably get back; you don’t want to miss Dad’s stewed sea prunes.

“Definitely not.” Zuko replied. “What, what does one do with a fish once they’ve caught it?”

“It depends – I think it being your first fish, we should celebrate it! What do you say to making some boiled fish dumplings?”

“I think that if you’re teaching me, it’ll be wonderful.”

If it was even humanly possible, Sokka blushed harder.

When they docked their kayaks, Zuko noticed that Sokka was favoring one of his arms over the other. Normally, it wouldn’t be strange to see a person favoring a side, but Zuko knew Sokka was ambidextrous. He didn’t say anything, so Zuko kept his observations to himself. Kanna met them outside her home, and positively beamed when Sokka told her that Zuko had caught his first fish.

“Well, better a late bloomer than never, eh?” Zuko laughed but still bowed his head in deference.

“It is very nice to finally meet you, Lady Kanna. Sokka has told me much about you in your letters.”

“Oh, he has, has he?” Kanna gave a mean side-eye to Sokka, who was suddenly very interested in the icy ground. “He’s told me about you as well. You have my gratitude – I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone to the Boiling Rock.”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Kanna.”

“Just Kanna, just Kanna, my dear. Well, come in! I see Sokka has leant you a cloak, but you still must be freezing! In, in!” Kanna shooed them inside. “I will take special care of your first fish, Zuko. Anything you had in mind?”

“Uh, dumplings?”

“Excellent choice, dear. Fish dumplings coming right up!” She disappeared into the kitchen of the home.

Sokka sat down on floor, covered by blue fabrics and pelts. Zuko noticed how gingerly he set himself down, now obviously favoring his right side. Sokka’s lips were drawn tightly as he rubbed circles into his left shin. Zuko could have almost swore he heard Sokka whimper. Almost.

“Sokka,” Zuko knelt down next to his friend. “Talk to me.”

“Mmph,” Sokka scowled.

“Words, Sokka.”

“It’s mostly my leg—you know how I broke it on the day of the Comet?”

Zuko grimaced. He did remember. Even in his lightening-induced fever, Zuko remembered. He heard his physicians set Sokka’s leg and pop his shoulder back in place. He wanted to forget those sounds of Sokka in pain, but he couldn’t.

“Well,” Sokka continued. “Ever since then, it still… it still hurts. Katara’s tried everything, but I’m probably stuck with it forever. My leg hurts the worst, but my shoulder’s the most inconvenient. I’m old enough to start putting braids in my wolf tail, but I just—can’t. I can’t lift my arm above shoulder-level. And I know I’m wallowing to the guy who literally got half his face burned off but—”

“But nothing, Sokka. You’re allowed to be in pain. Here, you know what, pull up your pant leg—”

“Geez, buy a guy dinner first will you?”

Zuko blushed but Sokka did as he was told, exposing his left shin and ankle. Zuko focused a little bit of heat into the palms of his hands. He placed one on Sokka’s ankle, scanning his face for any pain. When Sokka relaxed into the touch, Zuko placed his other hand on Sokka’s shin, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

“You know, with those hands you could almost be a healer like Katara.”

Zuko snorted. “And you need to learn to let people help you.” After a few minutes, he pulled his hands away, fearing that if he kept them there too long he’d burn his friend. “If you want, I can help you braid your hair. I won’t even tell Katara.”

Sokka smiled shyly at him. He guessed Zuko didn’t know the importance of braiding another’s hair in water tribe culture—reserved for family members and, well, lovers. But Zuko was kneeling in front of him, in a water tribe cloak, offering to help him with a warrior tradition. After everything they’d been through, Zuko was family—and maybe, he could be open to being something more?

“Okay,” Sokka nodded. He pulled two beads from his pocket, both striking shades of blue, one carved by Kanna and one by Katara. “You know how my Dad wears his beads? It’s the same idea.”

“I caught my first fish today, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can’t do now.” Zuko settled himself closer to Sokka’s face. “I’m going to let your hair down now, is that okay?” Sokka nodded again.

Zuko took out the hair tie and separated two sections of hair thick enough to support the beads. For lack of another set of hands, he resorted to holding the sections in his mouth while he carded the rest of Sokka’s back into place and tied it into the wolf’s tail again. Sokka was suddenly very aware of how close Zuko was to him—more specifically how he never wanted him to leave. He loved the warmth that radiated from him, but furthermore, he couldn’t remember the last time someone helped him with his hair. He hadn’t asked anyone since he got back from the war, and while they were on the run… he was focused on more important things than his hair. Sokka risked a look at Zuko’s face: he was rewarded with Zuko’s adorable concentration face. Wait, adorable? Where had that come from?

“How do you know how to braid, anyway? I didn’t see a whole lot of braids in the Fire Nation.”

“My mother used to let me braid her hair when I was feeling anxious or overwhelmed. You know, it’s calming, repetitive, doesn’t involve fire—perfect for mess of emotional issues like me.”

“Hey, you’re not a mess.”

Zuko laughed darkly.

“Well, not anymore than the rest of us. We all already had our own issues and then a war happened on top of that. You were just lecturing me on letting people help me. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

Zuko’s fingers trembled as he finished the second braid. “I know. I’m still getting used to having people I can actually trust.”

Kanna suddenly called from the kitchen. “Are you two done lounging around or are you going to help an old woman with this fish?”

They looked at each other and laughed. They did kind of forget about everyone except each other.

“Hey, Zuko,” Sokka started as Zuko stood up and held out a hand for him.

“Yeah?”

“You can braid my hair anytime you want.”

Zuko resisted simultaneous urges to bow and to hug Sokka. He smiled instead.

“I’d like that.”

Bonus:

Kanna had heard everything of course. But she couldn’t bear to interrupt them sooner. Tui and La, if those two didn’t end up together she’d have a riot. In the few months since Sokka had been home with her, he hadn’t opened up to anyone about his pain. And he certainly hadn’t asked anyone for help with his braids.

Spirits, those two were good for each other. Dumbasses in love.

#my fic #mine #rolandtowen #zukka #fic #zuko #sokka #chronic pain #the dragon and the wolf #cloak sharing #avatar #atla #avatar: the last airbender #firelord zuko #ambassador sokka

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asmileyoucouldbottle · 3 years

Text

champagne problems- catradora

word count: 2479

tw: drinking

takes place in season 4. someone finds a bottle of champagne while going through shadow weaver's old stuff, and catra and double trouble are talking while drinking. catra begins to realize that maybe she was the one who left adora, and not the other way around.

lots of angsty internal monologue, sweet yet haunting flashbacks, and heart-breaking realizations.

(based on champagne problems by taylor swift)

***

“Double Trouble, do you ever think about what we’re doing?” Catra looked down, regret clinging to her like shadows. She tipped her glass, staring down into the carmel liquid. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio had just found a bottle of champagne while digging through Shadow Weaver's old stuff. One of the other cadets had gotten together enough glasses for all of them- a celebration of “how far they’d come.”

There was nothing to celebrate though. Everyone was constantly so happy and proud of themselves, and of their success so far. Sure, they’d won a few battles, but what were a couple cities and an edge? Etheria still stood. Adora still stood.

Catra wouldn’t rest as long as she did.

And yet…

“What are you referring to in this instance?” Double Trouble lifted their own glass, curiosity sketching their features.

What was that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat.

Double Trouble wasn’t exactly the trustworthy type after all, her position was so precarious… and they knew too much. Who knew what they could do with more information to hold?

She took another sip, and the bubbling liquid burned her throat. People seemed to rave about the taste, but she noticed nothing but the slight warm sensation. Catra didn’t taste much of anything these days.

Adora’s expression while Catra cut the vines on the simulation cliff flashed in her vision. Her shock- the widened eyes and parted lips. Lips that had moments before mused about how she’d missed Catra. Her hands desperately gripping the vine… the same hands that had extended in offering.

“Catra, help me, please…”

“She left me.” Catra declared out loud. The words were empty. A half-truth, a story with only one side.

“I never wanted to leave you… you could come with me!”

A growl tore itself from her throat, slamming the glass down.

“She left me.” Catra repeated with more force. “If she never wanted to leave me, then she wouldn’t have.”

“Who are we talking about again?” Something in Double Trouble’s expression made Catra suspect they knew the answer already as they lazily tilted their head.

She bristled at the apparent indifference, but her words were low and pained as she whispered, “Adora.”

A long sip.

“She told me to cover for her, she’d be right back.” Catra intended the words to be sharp, just the way they felt in her heart. To be cruel. She was over Adora after all, and far better than she was with her. She’d worked so hard to be better than her. To prove she didn’t need her.

But they came out aching.

“She didn’t come back.” The last thing Catra expected was the clog of tears, which she took as a challenge. Taking a harsh swallow, she willed the liquid to clear her throat before she continued.

“She was gone one day, and she had a new life. New friends.” It was like I didn’t even exist. Even after everything they’d done together, all their life they’d lived.

“It was like you meant nothing to her.” Double Trouble’s words were a direct hit, and Catra physically flinched.

Adora had been everything to her.

When the only thing that matters to you leaves, what’s left?

And if you didn’t matter to anyone, then what are you?

She’d thought she mattered to Adora. They were a team, them against the world. Until suddenly, the team had become a party of one. Adora had new friends- a new team.

Sorry, squad.

Adora, or at least She-Ra, mattered to everyone. But without Adora, Catra mattered to no one.

Thus, Catra had to make herself matter. Become important.

“Like I meant nothing to her.”

Double Trouble leaned forward, resting their chin on their palm. “And that’s why you’re fighting the Rebellion? Because Adora’s there?”

“No.” Catra spat, the implications that Catra only existed for Adora making her prickle. She’d worked so hard to make her own place- without Adora’s shadow. Adora couldn’t take this from her too. “It’s complicated, okay?”

Shadow Weaver, raising the same hand that caressed Adora to strike Catra, came to her mind. Fighting a tremble, Catra steadied her hands against the glass as she took another long sip. An ache was settling in her with each bit of champagne, though she doubted it had much to do with the drink itself. She actually wished the drink was stronger, but she didn’t know if she could bear walking in Shadow Weaver’s chamber again to dig around.

Then Scorpia, whose kindness Catra had scorned, but only now realized how much she had relied on as she continued to put her down. She left her too.

Entrapta, who had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but had betrayed her for the princesses. A betrayal that Catra had given back in a much more painful way than it was received.

Adora again, her horror as Catra dropped off the cliff at the Princess Prom. And as she had let go and fallen into the portal, knowing that it would cause Adora pain. Every look and word that proved, despite Catra’s best efforts, Adora had still cared for her.

But then, her glare as she walked out of the portal, which still felt like a dagger stuck in Catra’s heart. Behind the anger, Catra had seen a reflection of something in her own eyes.

Hardened and hatred filled as they were, she saw it. Broken.

Catra hadn’t realized how much she’d clung to Adora’s continued care until it was gone.

“Come with me. You don’t have to go back there. We can fix this.”

“She asked me to come with her.” Catra blurted, staring as if trying to burn a hole in her glass.

Double Trouble’s eyebrows peaked in interest. “Go on.”

“I didn’t think she meant it, okay? When you flake on someone like that, it seems like too little too late.” She was getting worked up, her tail bristling as familiar anger joined the helpless sadness.

“Come with me.”

Double Trouble’s unimpressed look humbled her and she sat back down, tail still drawing distressed motions. “But I wonder… what if it wasn’t.”

“Well, Kitten, she does seem awfully obsessed with you.”

“What did you say?” she demanded, unsure if the increase in speed of her heart was from fear or excitement of what she might hear.

“Catra this, Catra that.” They titled their head. “A lot like you, come to think of it.”

Catra growled, claws gripping the table in warning.

“One would almost think she misses you, but that would be ridiculous, considering all you’ve told me.” The shapeshifter’s gaze held hers, a challenge. A small sliver of hope slipped through her crack, followed by a montage of memories.

Suddenly she was a child again, holding Adora’s hand as they admired beetles in the dirt of the Fright Zone and collected ants to put under Kyle’s covers. Playing pranks on the older recruits, which more often than not would end in a scuffle. Even when Catra picked pointless fights with force captains three times her size, Adora had her back. They would get matching black eyes, boasting and bickering over who had the better blue-black hues and comparing sizes.

When Adora had gotten her first red jacket on her thirteenth birthday, Catra had immediately grabbed her hand and demanded permission to “make it cooler.” She’d been denied, but spent weeks persuading Adora to let her rip it up. Finally, Adora had conceded to a “little personalization,” but only after Catra pointed out they’d be matching- the little rips in her pants and on the sleeves of Adora’s jacket.

Training, where Catra first learned, after gossiping with other and older cadets, what it meant to want to kiss someone. Their faces had come almost to touching in a sparring match while they were grappling for a staff, hands clasped over each other. Adora was bright with the challenge, lips pursed and brows drawn in concentration around the gray-blue eyes Catra knew better than her own. A flush from the exertion was tinged on Adora’s cheeks, and as she gave Catra a small and secret smile despite their competing, she felt her heart flutter. Her grip went weak as Catra became overcome with the intense urge to lean forward just a tiny bit, to be even closer.

Their comfortable peace sitting together on the ramparts, whether it was in silence or rambling about everything under the sun. One day, only weeks before the attack on Thaymor, Catra had found a booklet in some box while on trash duty. “The Works of Shakespeare.” They’d spent an hour going through the old stories and laughing as they reenacted the plays, dramatically fainting and faking stabbing-death-by-stick all over the place. Their searching hands had found each other as they pretended to reach, outstretched on separate balconies.

Come with me. The attack on Thaymore. Her hand once more in Catra’s, just like always. This time, Catra had pulled away, leaving a crack behind for the first time.

Princess Prom, Adora had tried to hold onto her again, but once more, Catra let go.

Then the She-Ra temple and the cliff. Adora had done nothing but tried to protect her, but as they’d raced through the halls, fingers entwined, bitterness welled up in Catra anyways. Another drop of the hand, another crack left behind.

Every battle they’d had that Catra had swung true but Adora had merely deflected was a hairline, a small break that amassed over time.

Perhaps… she had been the one to really leave Adora.

The realization shocked Catra, a rupture deep in her bones.

No.

Adora had left her. The champagne was making her head foggy. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

But…

Catra slammed her cup down. Changing her mind, she brought it to her lips, knocking it back before standing abruptly.

“I have more important things to do than celebrate and chatter.”

Double Trouble barely looked fazed, and Catra guessed that emotional outbursts were to be expected around her. She was a bomb always ready to go off, to be treated with caution.

The entire room quieted- she hadn’t noticed that there was a buzz around her until it was replaced with tense silence. She looked out over the other Horde members, who had frozen, some with drinks halfway to their lips. Her eyes met Lonnie’s, then Kyle’s, and Rogelio’s. Lonnie looked at her, something bordering on accusation behind the slight fear.

They were a team, right? Teammates were evergreen.

She saw them laughing in the halls without her, a new bond bright and strong between the three of them. Even Kyle, who had always been the odd one out, was right in the midst of them.

And Catra was on the outside.

But as she looked between the stunned and scared faces of the three of them… she realized that she was the one who broke that too.

Fuck it.

Not waiting for any sort of signal or response, she stalked out the door.

Catra meant to walk right out and to her dormitory, but she couldn’t bear to see any other faces and what they might be thinking of her behind her back. So she paused beside the door, burying her head in her hands, trying to still her heavy breathing.

“All twisted in knots after Adora.” Someone- Lonnie?- was murmuring. Catra’s ears peaked and her head jerked in the direction of the door.

“They were always… close.” Kyle added. Rogelio made some reptilian nose of agreement.

“They still could be, but you know what I think? Catra scared her off.” Lonnie lowered her voice even more as she added. “Fucked in the head, that one is.”

Rogelio hissed, and Kyle shushed her. “What! You see how she walks around this place like a crazy woman, muttering to herself and ordering people around like she wasn’t just some cadet like the rest of us.”

“She could hear you.” Kyle muttered, panicked.

“Oh knock it off Kyle, she’s not lurking around every corner. Don’t be paranoid.”

Forcing herself to breathe and walk away, Catra buried her hands in her hair, combing through the mass. Desperately she pulled, wondering what had happened to the girl with wild curly hair and flushed cheeks, running hand in hand with a sweet blonde in the crisp autumn air. Their laughter haunted her as she walked, and she pressed her hands against her ears until she was flat out running to her bunk.

Fucked in the head, that one is.

She crashed to a halt against the lower bunk, hands curling into the hard mattress as her pants echoed. The room was mercifully empty.

Her eyes flicked up to the drawing she’d done years ago, her and Adora’s smiling faces, scratched through in rage. A sob clawed up her at the sight of it. It had been theirs, a testament to their friendship, and she’d shred it.

Her mind might be making muddled connections from the alcohol, but she thought of a tapestry. It was something only princesses had, and she’d certainly never seen one. But from what she had heard, they were things of beauty, made to withstand time and tell a story.

Her and Adora were supposed to be a tapestry. Or at least, this silly little drawing was.

Catra wondered if Adora had a tapestry- a real one- in her honor. She was sure there were countless of She-ra, the hero of Etheria.

If Adora was the hero, what did that make Catra?

Tracing the outline of Adora’s face in the drawing, another tear slipped past Catra. She wouldn’t be surprised if Adora’s “Best Friend Squad,” had a tapestry. One of their heroics and the love they had for each other.

She almost hoped they did.

After all, if Catra was the one who broke things, didn’t Adora deserve people who could fix them?

One day Catra would be nothing but this scratched out drawing on a wall. The Rebels were going to win. They had She-Ra. The almighty princess.

They had Adora.

Curling herself into a ball on the bunk that was once Adora’s, Catra told herself that this was all the alcohol talking. Tomorrow she knew that the anger would be back, the familiar rage she clung to in an attempt to justify her actions. Anger was easier than sadness.

No matter who’d hurt who more, Adora had started this war, and Catra was going to finish it.

She had a goal. A purpose. One that, for once, she was doing for her, not Adora.

Destiny was hers to make, and nothing- not Adora, not her foolish regrets, not the “friends” who’d left or betrayed her- was going to change that.

But, as she buried her face in the pillow that no longer smelled of Adora, she dared to dream about what would’ve happened if only she had said “yes.”

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aka-irish · 3 years

Text

Apex Legends: The Top Predator Part 3. Voided

Inside of the unknown organization’s Traxler sits alone in the cafeteria, folding a napkin and sliding it across his grey whiskers and lips, cleaning up any crumbs and pieces of the egg salad sandwich he just ate. The hydraulics of large metallic doors can be heard whirring as a set opens and in walks Colonel Braxton with two armed men behind him. “May I?” asks the Colonel as he waves a hand in the direction of the empty seat in front of the sociopathic doctor. “Of course” responds Traxler as he takes a sip of coffee from the paper cup. Braxton takes a seat “get me a cup, will ya?” he nods to one of the soldiers. They nod in return and retreat off to a vending machine for said cup of joe. “You know, doctor, we seem to be doing quite a number on the Legends. In just two missions we have hopefully incapacitated three of them. The big-mouthed brat, the cocky holo-user and that thief of a bitch. All 3 very dangerous and very capable Legends.” The soldier returns with a cup of coffee and hands it to the colonel. “Thank you” as he takes it, gives the steam a blow off the top and proceeds with a small sip. “I believe it is time we start working on the creation of our own legend now. Given the opportunity we always gather more data, but I feel with three of them having undergone the experimentation, the other Legends have caught on to an extent that something is at least...amiss” explains the steely eyed war captain. The doctor nods in agreement. “Very well, Colonel, but I do however expect more research to be done. With more potential Legends being....diminished...in the way they have been, it will make it much harder to stop us when the time arrives, don’t you agree?” asks Traxler. Braxton smiles. “I very much do, Doctor, but time may very well be of the essence sooner rather than later. They are the Legends for a reason” states Braxton as he takes another sip of his coffee.

* Bmp-bmp..bmp-bmp..bmp..bmp........BMP...bmp...BMPBompbmp..bmp* ‘LEMME AT EM’, MATES!! I’m ready to crack some skulls!” yells the spunky Indian girl, almost completely ignoring the fact there is a stethoscope placed firmly against her chest. “Do ya even feel dat?” questions Lifeline, hearing the skipping beats of Rampart’s heart thudding and misfiring inside her ribs. “Of course I feel it! It just makes more angry that someone is trying to kill us!” she states excitedly. Lifeline slides the steth a bit further down the inside of her shirt, partially squishing against the small breasts of her. “Bloody hell, Lifeline, couldn’t ya have warmed it up a bit more first? It’s colder than a polar bear’s nips” she blurts out. “Oh, ya feel dat but you’re heart is literally kickin’ ya ribs” she retorts back. “You get used to the pain” Ramp exclaims as she crosses her arms. Lifeline pulls the stethoscope back and hangs it around her neck. “I’ll tell ya right now, ya at least handling it better than Mirage” (flashback to a scene with Mirage) “OO..AH...IT’S COLD!” Mirage dramatically flails about. “I haven’t even put da steth on ya yet, big baby” Lifeline bluntly states. “Oh..” Mirage stutters in embarrassment *thoom-thmp..thoom..thmp..thoomthoothoom...thmp..thoomthmpthmp...* Lifeline listens to his stuttering yet powerful beats.* (Returns back to P and Lifeline). “Ah, he’s a sissy, but a tough one. He’ll be ok” says Ramp assuredly. “How’s Loba?” she asks. Ajay sighs and puts her arms behind her head. “She’s more worried about us, believe it or not. I don’t think she wants any of us to get hit wit whateva dis is” Lifeline sits down in her chair. Rampart nods. “Welp, I’m off, Doc. Keep in the loop will ya?” She sticks out a fist and Ajay bumps it while giving a slight nod and leaves the room. She opens the door and Loba is out in the hall, waiting. “Loba” greets Rampart. “Rampart” Loba dryly replies, both knowing exactly what the other went through, they dare not push an issue and go on with their day. Loba walks in to the med-room. “How ya feelin, champ?” AJ questions while rocking in her office chair, hands still behind her head. “Better..but some still misfires, I can feel it kick. Like someone is punching me from the inside out, though more of a jab than a haymaker now” she explains. Ajay nods, “Ok, well ya we just gonna do a quick palpation and go on wit cha day. You know da drill” she states to the Brazilian. Loba removes her top and unhooks her porcelain white bra. Her tanned breasts drape down with a hard bounce before settling. AJ presses a hand firmly against her chest, feeling for the beats. *Thoom-thoom..thoom-thoom..thoom..thoom.* She feels the licks and leaps of Loba’s beating organ. “Lay down on your side” Lifeline directs. Loba leans on her left side, chest still poised slightly up. AJ brings her hand down under the heavy left breast, fingers pressing into the Apex. *THOOM* “ach!!” winces Loba from the skip as a large beat thuds against her ribs. AJ feels it kick and wriggle before resetting to a steadier beat, her hand bobbing slightly from the woman’s strong, beating pump. *RRRRR....RRRRR....RRRRR* The room is flooded with a loud wailing sound as an alarm goes off. “Oh no..!” both frantically reply. Loba puts herself back together, drapes the braids behind her while AJ already busts through the door. They, and the other legends meet in the main room of their home as Crypto stands at the center table. “I found something.” The faces of all the Legends slightly tense up.

Crypto drops a hologram disc on the table, it makes a slight twink sound before flashing up two different screens with various shades of neon green and an almost black. “I went back to the incident with Loba during the Apex Games and compared it with the latest one with Mirage and Rampart” he points to the hologram as it shows a small line of dots coming and going from Mirage’s bar, and the arena of the Apex Games. “Is that...a trail” questions Bangalore, the veteran soldier of the group. Crypto nods. “By using my drone, Hack, and the satellite images of the Syndicate from the games, I was able to slide through different frequencies and discover an energy trail of some sort coming and going from the bar and the arena.My thoughts are...a micro-ship.” “Whoa...whoa..whoa..” interrupts Mirage. “A micro-ship?. As in a teenie-tiny ship?” he questions while pinching his index finger and thumb together. “Do we even have those?” He says puzzling. Caustic leans over the table from his seat, coughs and in his stoic dry voice “We have different planets, a Legend that holds a singularity in a small robot, teleporters, and one that walks between dimensions, but shrinking sizes is questionable?” Mirage is stunned “Uhhhh...my bad, please continue” he directs his hand back towards Crypto. “As I was saying...the trail is on a different frequency, but I was able to locate a similar set of trails between the two as they headed towards one location on Talos.” Crypto waves his hand and flips one of the current screens over to a large mountain like region on a desolate area of the planet.”They both converge on this location. Where this is...I don’t know. There is even a lack of satellite coverage, almost like someone doesn’t want it to be found, but Hack managed to uncover it. By tracing the coordinates and logging in the proper coordinates, we can find shadow base if you will, and perhaps take a look around. But who will go?” He asks the room. Loba speaks up “clearly, I would be the best choice. Breaking and entering is my specialty after all. And besides I have a score to settle with whoever is doing this” she declares while placing a hand to her chest, feeling the beats intensify from the recent revelation. “Absolutely not!” both Bangalore and Lifeline yell together. “You aren’t 100% yet, and we aren’t sending you into a completely unknown location where there are these people that can literally cook us from the inside out. I’ll go” says Bangalore. Wraith leans on the table “I should go. If anyone is going to have the easiest time getting in and out of a place it’s me. Void jumping seems like the most practical solution here. No offense to you, Anita.” Bangalore smirks and shrugs. “Fair I guess” she states reluctantly. “But I don’t want Wraith going this alone. She can infiltrate but we need someone on the outside in case things go south. But I also don’t to risk another one of us getting exposed to whatever is doing this” declares Bangalore. “I’ll go” Crypto interjects. I can send in Hack to obtain early enemy locations and also map a blueprint given the chance. I can wait on the outside and provide cover if necessary” he suggests. “Fine with me. Any complains Wraith?” asks Bangalore. “None at all. Alright you two, gear up. We’ll input the coordinates to the jump pods and send you in. Any time you need to be pulled, we do so at point of entry. Understood?” states Bangalore in her commanding and authoritative tone. Both Crypto and Wraith agree before heading off to the teleportation room. Wraith grabs her trademark kunai, an alternator, and a Mozambique shot gun with hammerpoint rounds. Crypto grabs a sentinel bolt-action sniper rifle and his own trademark weapon in the Wingman revolver. The two gather to the teleporter pods where Bangalore stands front and center with Wattson at the helm of the computer. “You both have 2 hours. If I don’t hear from either of you, we rush in and pull you out, no exceptions” she orders. “Understood” both reply in unison.

“Portals ready” states Wattson. Both walk through the energy tunnels and are transported to a desolate area of almost nothing but rock and sand, but in their way is a large crater with a mountain like formation having sunk into it, like a meteor crash landed down. The only way out is up and the only way in is down. A large metal hangar door is visible on the outside. Crypto reaches into the sheathe on his back and tosses out Hack, his drone. The drone unfolds and Crypto sets up his link to see what the drone sees. “I’ll remain in position here" states the expert hacker. “I detect two bodies down there, wait for them to enter and you have your chance” Wraith nods and begins prepping herself to jump down into the hole. She begins her descent and leaps down the edge. Pulling the kunai out, she digs into the side of the hill-like wall and slides down into cavern. As she gets closer, she leaps off and lands behind a couple blocks of containers just outside the entrance, unknown to the soldiers getting ready to open the doors, their attention clearly lost elsewhere. They proceed in “Void jumping” Wraith states to Crypto over their comm-link. The ninja like warrior disappears, almost as if teleporting, before she runs into the entrance to avoid as much detection. Hack flies into the doors soon to follow. Wraith soon reappears inside of the door, having ducked behind a metallic door some large, opened supply bins. Crypto in his position types away at his wrist board. “I’ve successfully entered the mainframe. I’ll keep Hack inside to re-loop their security feed, but don’t take too much. We don’t know how long before they figure out someone is inside their system” he says. “I didn’t plan on it” replies the raven haired warrior as she dips deeper into the base. She follows the voices in her head that guide her, making sure she uses every bit of stealth she can. She ducks behind door frames, supply bins. She enters further into a large corridor and stands just outside the door way, against the wall as a voice warns her about an incoming enemy. A group of 3 heavily armed soldiers walk through the door, clad in their black tactical armor, with black masks and red goggles adorning their faces. She void jumps and in a quick burst of teleporting, she lands hard elbows, chops, and knees to the back of the necks of the soldiers before they even realize what happened, knocking them unconscious. She pats down one of them for a security badge or key of some sort before finding a card. “Ok...where to now” she mutters under her breath before heading down another long corridor of this metallic and militaristic maze of a building. The voices speaking to her, she listens to for the ones that are making the right decisions. Back at the pile of bodies she just left, another soldier making his rounds walks through and sees them. “Security to the bridge...we’ve been breached..I repeat, we have an intruder” he yells over his comm-link. The voice booms over the speakers. “Uh oh..” she drops her words while continuing her navigation of the shadow base. “Crypto..where is that detection from Hack?” she chides over her communication, the voices only getting her so far sometimes. “I’ve had to maintain where he is at, the mainframe has almost a constant rotation of code to stay locked in” he explains. “Dammit” she mutters to herself. “An enemy has a lock on you” one of the voices say to her as she looks over her shoulder “OVER THERE!” a soldier yells as he and a group of his companions begin to open fire on Wraith. She ducks behind the nearest wall just as the spray of bullets pass her and splatter against the heavy metal walls. Waiting for a pause, she slides past the opening, unloading her own rapid volley of bullets from her alternator, stricking a few of the soldiers. The shots manage to hit a few of them, downing them. She void jumps between shots, emptying more of her magazine at the mercenaries. Being able to avoid the lessening bullets, she gets closer to the soldiers. They charge in with knives drawn as the teleporting combatant gets closer in an instant. Wraith almost smiles as she pulls the kunai from her pouch and ducks under the swing of the first good. With his momentum carrying the arm forward, she lands a low snap kick at the side of his knee. A crunching sound is heard as he yelps, stumbling forward and is struck with an elbow to the spine, knocking him down. Two more soldiers come forward and attempt to hit her. She leaps over in a flip, hands on their shoulders as she lands behind them. One turns to throw a punch, she deflects and stabs him in the side with her kunai, pulls out the blade and lands a swift knee to his face, dropping him. The other pulls out his pistol and begins firing shots, she dodges the shots and weaves in closer. She throws a palm at his gun, but he pulls back. He throws a swing with the knife in his other hand and Wraith blocks with her kunai. Sparks clank as the blades clash. He fires another, she ducks. She goes for a leg sweep and he jumps, attempting to land a kick at her face while down there. She raises her kunai hand and impales the man’s leg. He yells in pain as she digs the blade across his achilles. He drops and she throws a punch to his face, knocking him out. The one guard previously whose leg she broke attempts to shoot her, weakly aiming the gun at her, she throws the kunai at the gun of the main, disarming him. She stomps down on his face, KO’ing him as well. Looking at the complete wreckage of downed guards she continues on her way.

“Wraith, can you hear me?” asks Crypto. “Loud and clear” she replies. “There should be a door coming up on your left down the hall. Hack received a signal of a large spike in energy there. I suspect that might be the main lab here or some sort of control room.” Crypto explains. “Got it” she turns down and uses the security badge she swiped to enter the room. Upon entering Wraith’s eyes widen. There inside the control room is a large computer with a glass wall, and monitors. Beyond the console is a large, cylindrical glass tank with a man floating inside whatever liquid is in there. As she ventures further into her room, her surprise becomes replaced with disbelief. She makes out more features of the man. He's quite large, having to be 6′6 in height. Broad shoulders, a well developed chest, bulging arms and legs that could fit on a Clydesdale. Wires attached to his chest monitoring some sort of vitals. An oxygen mask is attached to his face, as numerous needles attached to robotic hands are placed inside the tank, attaching to his back. And Wraith notices something else..and that disbelief becomes once again replaced..this time to a feeling of morbidity. Next to him are 3 more tanks, much smaller, like the sizes of a small aquarium. And inside those jars are beating hearts, attached to their own wires. “THOOM THOOM THOOM* The sounds of the hearts echo from deep inside their tanks, and above them are monitors displaying footage of other hearts beating, but from inside a chest..and named on those monitors read Loba, Mirage, Rampart respectively. “What the hell?” she stares at them, stunned, completely ignoring the voices over inside her head. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voices asks from the entrance of the doorway. She turns and there stands half a dozen armed guards and Doctor Traxler himself. “Wraith...isn’t it?” asks the sociopathic scientist, almost in a mocking tone. His smile being shown, happy at the prospect of one of the legends in person is right in front of him. “Did...did you do this?” Wraith stammers..mouth agape. “I did” he says in an almost too proud tone. “What...is..this?” Wraith can barely spill out her words. “Progress, my dear. Simply progress” he says as he takes off his glasses, gives them a quick huff and wipes them with his lab coat. “What does that even mean?” she chokes out. “Oh, come on” he retorts. “I’m not some evil villain that is going to spill his entire plan in some delinquent filled attempt at a monologue” He declares. “Just know..you Legends have been a wonderful help” he says behind a smile. Wraith looks at him, confused. He turns to one of the soldiers and flicks a finger forward. The soldier pulls out a small canister and pulls a pin and throws it at Wraith. Despite her astonishment in this moment, her reflexes kick in and she slices it in half, but nothing seemed to be inside. The two sides of the canister hit the ground with a clank as they roll. The smile never fading from the doctor’s face. “What the hell was that..” *THMP-BOOM* her heart gives a sudden lurch in her chest. “HCK” she staggers forward but keeps her footing, hand reaching to her heart. “The hell”? she raggedly says to herself. *THMPBUMP* another wrenching beat as her heart rattles in her chest. “What..did you do to me”? she demands between her bated breaths. “Oh, that? Think of them as...nano-defibrillator spores. My own design in this current conquest of sorts. They enter the bloodstream and in seconds reach the heart where they are programmed to analyze a heart rhythm and shock accordingly. The ones I gave induce, not fix. Soon...you’ll be in full cardiac arrest and I’m just here to watch” he says with that smile still plastered to his face as he reaches a finger to adjust his glasses. “You bastard!” Wraith screams and void jumps aroundthe room in small bursts to get in front of Traxler. When she appears nearly right in front of him, she is about to stab him with her kunai, but a soldier intercepts her with a fist to the face. The blow sends her reeling and rolling along the floor. “Wraith, can you hear me!” Crypto worriedly asks over the comm-link, having heard the conversation between Wraith and the Doctor. “Tck..don’t come in here..I..can..handle this” she says weakly, pulling herself from the floor. *THMPBOOM* another hard beat rattles her. “GAH!” she yells in pain before falling to her knees, hand clawing at her chest..feeling rapid beats of the organ pulsing inside of her. She pants, sweat dripping from her face as she stands up. She rushes the doctor but the soldier again intercepts and uses the butt of his rifle to her face. She falls to the ground and is punted in the ribs, knocking her further away.

Crypto hits his own comm-link “Prepare a portal and wait for my signal” he feeds back to the other legends. “Copy” Bangalore says over the speaker. Back inside the base, Wraith steadies herself “Ptoo” she spits blood before putting her hands up ready to fight. “This grows tiresome” sighs Traxler. “finish her off, please” “Yessir!” the lead one replies. Wraith pulls out her SMG and attempts to aim *BMBMBM*, more beats stagger her as she coughs off blood and drops her gun, her chest heaves with her panting. “I...I have only one shot at this..”she says to herself. She focuses...listening to the voices that plague her mind and puts a finger to her neck...she feels the beats. *thmp-thmp-thmp *BOOM** she ignores the pain. *thmpthmpthmp* BOOMBOOM* her breast quakes as she coughs more blood. *One of the voices in her head* “NOW!” Wraith waits for a beat and in between now and the next one, she punches herself in the chest, causing her heart to pause and skip a beat, giving no read for the inverted nano-defib spores..and she hits the jumps into the void.With her heart paused and jumping into the void, she teleports to in front of the lead soldier with her kunai, she stabs him in the neck, disappears and does to the next soldier, the next one and the next. The teleportation blitz is over in an almost instant, as Wraith appears back in the center of the room, the bodies of the soldiers collapse, blood pouring from their necks as their lives fade from them. Traxler looks at the woman before him, coated in her own and the blood of his soldiers as it drips from her face. A feeling of dread for his own life is quickly replaced with a twisted sense of amazement “Incredible..” he whispers. Wraith stands up knowing she needs to leave opens a full portal, she doesn’t have much time. She collapses through and is teleported outside the doors of the shadow base.

Crypto gets a read and sees her appear. “WRAITH!!” he yells out, but Hack notices the soldiers coming and the doors opening. “Portal” he yells. No response. “PORTAL!!” nothing. Wraith’s limp body just laying there. The soldiers open the doors and few start to clammer out. *Boom..chk-chk...boom!* Crypto begins firing his sniper at them, downing two of them. A few look up and notice and begin firing. He ducks back behind his high ground and controlls Hack back to him. The portal opens and out come Gibraltar and Revenant. “Throwin some covah for my bruddahs!” yells the jolly giant Samoan, as he throws an energy shield to cover Crypto. The 7 foot assassin simulacrum in the blink of an eye is down in the cavern. ‘DIE..heheeh!” he yells and laughs at the soldiers, firing 2 of his flaming orbs at them near Wraith to hold them back. Landing, his hands switch to blades and he stabs clean through two of the soldiers, impaling them viscerally. He kicks another, stabs a fourth before launching one more fireball at the door, causing it to be blocked momentarily. He grabs Wraith’s body and hastily scales the cavern, reaching the top in almost frozen gutwrenching moments. “Hurry” he commands as they all rush through the closing portal. Back inside Mirage’s Bar, Rev lays down Wraith’s body. He cuts her bloodstained top, revealing the sizable breasts underneath. Lifeline gets to work and presses her ear to Wraith’s breasts. *thmmppthmmrhhoomp...thmphthmphthmp* the faint muffled beats can be heard and Lifeline gets shocked from the conducting current. “Yeow!” Wat was dat? she questions. “I overheard the man in the building, he said something like nano-defib spores...let me try something” he directs to them. “I’m going to use Hack and cast a small EMP. This way, Wattson doesn’t have to shock her and hurt her, we can just shut down the spores” he explains as he loads up Hack and charges an EMP. The drone glows with a blue current before releasing the charge. The lights and electronics in the bar flicker and shut off. Lifeline puts her ear back to Wraith’s chest and can hear her heart beating steadily. “Oh, tank God” she breathes a sigh of relief. Crypto stands up and looks at the ghostly, glowing yellow eyes of Revenant. “I don’t know why you’re here...but thank you” The simulacrum stares at him before turning and heading towards the exit. He stops at the doorway of the bar “I understand you guys and I don’t like each other...but I can’t have any of you dying. I’ll be around to help..but don’t get used to it...hehehe” he laughs before fading into the darkness of the blacked out night. A few minutes later the lights turn back and Wraith opens her eyes before sitting up and holding her chest. “My heart..” she says kind of confused to herself. “Is fine” Ajay interrupts her. “I know we cut it kinda close, but Rev showing up kinda confused us all” she explains. “I bet..” Wraith says solemnly..”I can’t believe I have to thank that creep” she mutters disgusted. “Well...he did and we owe him one” Wraith nods in response..”Yeah”. Mirage walks into the room with a bucket and a mop. “You know, I’m glad you’re safe now...but PLEASE...PLEASE go take a bath or a shower or something, you’re leaving bad guy gooey stains on my floor.” “Wraith looks at her reflection in the mirror and sees herself coated still in blood”..”I’ll get on” Ajay helps her up and takes her to the bathroom upstairs. Mirage dunks the mop in the bucket and starts wiping down the dried blood stains on the floor. “Stupid bad guys, bleeding up my bar,” he grunts and groans while the rest of the Legends get ready themselves ready for bed.

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #resus #cpr #heart #heartbeat #defib

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onwesterlywinds · 4 years

Text

The Dreamer’s Climb

Ashelia hadn't meant to go any farther west than the limestone quarry, but Joshua was chasing her. Not going west would mean getting caught, and getting caught would mean Edge having more points than her, and that would be unfair. Besides, the tunnels around the limestone quarry were much better for hiding than their usual spots: they'd all spent the entire summer exploring the Undercity beneath the Ala Mhigan Quarter, and they were going to the same hiding spots more often than not. Frimelda and Joshua even had an advantage, since they lived there most of the time, and the four of them were running out of games to play that didn't lead to Frimelda or Joshua automatically winning.

So Ashelia sprinted through the quarry halls as fast as her legs could carry her, past heaps of glowing ore in wooden carts, past a group of tired men huddled around a fire pit, past a cavern where the wind whooshed around like a ghost - until she saw a wide staircase stretching upward and a beam of bright sunlight at the top.

"SAFE!" she called back, as soon as she tapped the wall of the alley she emerged into, or maybe just a bit before. Joshua came hurtling out right after, then Edge, then Frimelda; they all needed a second or two to catch their breath, and once they did, Ashelia realized that they had never been up into this part of the city before.

It was close to sunset now, and the walls all around them were lit up by the kind of glow that only came from the afternoon. In some ways, it looked like many other parts of Ala Mhigo: all the bricks were still the same pinkish-brownish color she loved, and the tall castle ramparts towered up not so very far from where they stood. But there were other colors too, other sights and sounds she had never explored before. In front of rows of houses and buildings and other strange alcoves, people had hung up fabrics of all sizes and materials. Others had signs or drawings on their doors, of bottes or pipes or sometimes people. To Ashelia, it looked almost like parade day, except people were walking in all different directions, sometimes even zigzagging across the street.

Behind them, a woman cleared her throat.

She was the most beautiful person Ashelia had ever seen in her whole life, except for maybe Aunt Alma. She could only be one of the Duskwights: tall and slender, with long ears that stuck out from under her straight black hair. Her fancy dress was a deep, dark red, so red it was almost black. She even had on a corset. It was the first time Ashelia had ever seen a corset on a real lady and not on one of her mother's old mannequins. Ashelia realized she was probably staring at the lady's bosom and tried quickly to look back up at her face instead.

As the lady smiled at her - a rather kind smile - she couldn't help but feel as though she was safe.

Joshua, though, gave a loud gulp from behind her. "Miss Élodie!"

The lady - Miss Élodie - inclined her head to each of them in turn. "Hello, Joshua, Frimelda. Gerald."

"It's EDGE!" they all said in unison.

"Edge. My apologies." She returned her beam to Ashelia - only this time, she straightened up to her full height, more than twice as tall as any of them. "And Ashelia Riot."

Ashelia didn't know very many adults who called her by her full name unless she was in trouble, and she found herself squirming a little even while being smiled at. "Hi."

Miss Élodie placed her hands on her hips. "I don't believe I've ever seen you this far west." The statement was directed at her, clearly. Then again, she was standing in front of the rest of her friends, as she had been the first one out from the Undercity, so she might have been addressing all of them - until she spoke again. "Are you allowed to be on this side of the limestone quarry, young lady?"

Ashelia nodded in what she hoped was a convincing manner but confessed to nothing, as any proper Riskbreaker would do. If her friends had any sense, they would be smart enough to do the same. She still didn't know every place where Frimelda and Joshua were or weren't allowed to travel, but by the way they offered no word of defense for themselves, she could guess they likely weren't supposed to be this far west either.

Élodie raised a hand to one of her long, slender ears - and with her thumb and forefinger, she removed a round, white object of a sort Ashelia had not seen before. "Do you know what this is?"

Ashelia shook her head. Behind her, Frimelda went, "Nuh-uh."

"It's called a linkpearl," Élodie explained. "It lets you speak to another person who has a linkpearl, even when you're very far apart."

"Oooh!" exclaimed Edge.

Élodie grinned at him, then back down at Ashelia. "If I were to call your father on this linkpearl," she said, sparing it a glance, "and ask him if you're allowed to be west of the quarry... would he say yes?"

She tried to think as quickly as she could in the hopes of conjuring a response that would not give herself away. "...My daddy doesn't have a linkpearl!"

"Hm!" Élodie placed a finger on her chin, raising her eyes to the heavens as she spoke her thoughts aloud. "That's very strange. Because I could have sworn I'd called him only the other day, to speak with him of official business with the Riskbreakers."

Ashelia's stomach dropped like the rock they'd thrown in the well earlier in the morning.

"But if you'd care to check, I can always give him a call again now. I imagine it wouldn’t take him long to answer."

"...No."

"Hm?"

"No," she said, a bit louder. "I'm not allowed west of the quarry."

Frimelda grumbled from behind her, while Edge whined "Aaashe!" a little more loudly than was necessary.

Élodie, meanwhile, was looking quite pleased in a way Ashelia no longer appreciated. "In that case, you'd best hurry back to the Quarter. All of you."

"Yes, Miss Élodie," Joshua mumbled, kicking at a nearby pebble.

But when they turned back to face the staircase through which they had come, they found only a solid brick wall. They all stared for a moment, stunned and unsure of how to proceed. Élodie told them all to close their eyes, then double-checked to make sure none of them were peeking. The moment Ashelia's eyes had shut, she heard something move, and suddenly the staircase back to the quarry appeared where there had been only stone a moment before.

"And remember," said Élodie as they retreated back into the darkness, "if I see you in this part of the city again - above the ground or under it - Agent Riot is only a linkpearl call away."

"You know," Edge huffed, "I bet your dad doesn’t really have a linkpearl."

---

Ashley's linkpearl was ringing from within one of his desk drawers, muffled doubtless from the weight of several unfinished reports. He sifted through stack after stack in his efforts to find it, though the dim lanternlight cast strange shadows over each nook and crevice. When at last he took hold of the linkpearl between his fingers, he noted the caller's coordinates with faint surprise.

"Hey," he said, by way of introduction, not using her name in case others were within the vicinity.

"Hey," Élodie echoed.

"Haven't gotten around to checking Shasras Hill yet," he continued, without any further preamble. "I expect I'll be there by the end of the week; I doubt much will have changed by then."

"Thank you, but that isn't it." Sure enough, he could hear a hint of laughter in her voice. "I wanted to let you know that I ran into Miss Ashelia and her three compatriots outside the western quarry stair late this afternoon."

The western quarry stair. The groan that left him was exasperated and awed all at once. "Well," he said, "thank you. For keeping them all out of trouble."

"Before you ask, I'd be shocked if they saw anything untoward."

"Eurgh." He rubbed at his own nose. "Gods."

"Don't give her too hard of a time, Ashley. She's four, yes? I imagine she won't remember a thing, so long as you don't give her any reason to."

"Right," he replied. "And when she wanders directly into a brothel next time-"

"-then Violet or one of the others will turn her over to me." He had a suspicion she was rather enjoying herself. "None of my people would ever dare to undermine you, or yours."

She spoke with well-warranted surety - and her loyalty, of all things, could never be found wanting. "Of course not. ...Thank you, Élodie."

"You're very welcome."

A silence stretched out across the linkpearl then, one that might have been natural if they had been speaking in person.

"Does she remind you of him?" Élodie said at last.

"Yeah." The word caught somewhere in his throat, or else in the still air of the darkened Kingsguard office; he knew only that his chest was tight, and warm with love and pain. "...Every day."

#Ashelia Riot #Edge Marbrand #Élodie Fiel #Ashley Rosenheim

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

Text

What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

Follow the Beacon Taiyang—COSTumes

[Link to Masterpost]

[Hey, look! A normal-length chapter!]

"Ramparts! For all of your cosplay needs!" Summer declared, throwing the door open dramatically. The Taupes followed her in, looking around in confusion.

"This is a costume store?" Raven asked, brushing through a rack of sweaters.

"Thrift store," Tai corrected. "People donate old clothes, they sell 'em cheap, and the money goes to charity. Summer likes to find stuff and make alterations."

"Come on, let's look at suits!" She grabbed Qrow's wrist and hauled him off toward the men’s section. Amused, Tai and Raven followed.

"Okay, we want to find a green suit and vest for Ozpin, and a red suit for Pete," Summer said, already digging through the racks for anything near the right colors. "Preferably double-breasted, but we probably won't find one. We can sew a little gold ribbon around the edges to make it look like him. I've got a scarf we could tie like his ascot. What about shoes? Should we get shoes?"

He accepted the hideous maroon suit she was holding out. "Our uniform shoes will be fine, Summer."

"Yeah, you're right." She was in her natural habitat now, comparing every dark green suit in the store to one of their photos from Ozpin's file. It only took a few minutes for her to pop back out of the racks with a three-piece that looked to be about Qrow's size. "Try it on!"

"Uh…" He eyed it warily, holding it in front of his face.

"We are not spending four thousand lien on something you're only going to wear once," Raven said, glaring at the tag.

She had a point. Tai glanced over Summer's shoulder at the photo on the scroll, searching for another solution. "Y'know, Ozpin's suit is really dark—the uniform jacket and pants would probably work fine if we got a green turtleneck to put under it."

"I was thinking just a scarf for that bit, actually," Summer said, running to the end of the aisle and grabbing one with horrible stringy fringe. "We'll tuck the ends in under the jacket. Cardboard will work for his tie-pin-thing, and then all we need are some glasses."

The bin was right next to Tai, and he started rifling through. "None of these look like Ozpin's."

"Those weird bendy parts on the sides are probably custom. Just grab some small round ones."

He held up a pair he’d seen almost immediately, and Qrow gingerly took them.

"How does he see though them?" he muttered, squinting. "These are tiny."

"They're also only thirty lien 'cause the lens is cracked, but we can take them out back at school."

"What should we get for the Carmine costume?" Tai asked. "I don't think we're going to find a leather apron here. Or for less than fifty thousand lien."

"What? No, I'm wearing the one I didn't finish in time for WeaponsEx!"

"Come on, you can wear it next year. We've gotta match. Nobody will be able to see the detail on it in the dark anyway!"

"Fine," she sighed, grabbing maybe the ugliest brown dress in existence off the rack behind her. It looked about six sizes too big for her, layered with thick ruffles in multiple shades. "I'll cut patches of the darker lining for the embossing Carmine has around the edges. There should be plenty of fabric."

She just couldn’t do a sewing project halfway. "That's still way more effort than you need to put into this."

"What's WeaponsEx?" Raven asked.

"There's a big weapons convention every summer in Vale. Tons of businesses show off new stuff. Dust companies, arms manufacturers, defense engineers—" he said.

"And there's an entire wing of the hall for comics!"

"You mean recruiting."

"Yeah, same difference. There's costume contests, artists answer questions and sign autographs—"

"And they get a few famous Huntsmen to come too," he finished.

Qrow listened with an intensity usually saved for forging class. "Whoa, cool."

Raven rolled her eyes. "You're drooling."

"Yeah, it's where the SDC unveiled the Guillotine last year." Summer said, still thumbing through the suits. "The easiest way to do Professor Mesánychta's suit would be to splatter-paint stars onto the school uniform, but anything that would show up might not wash out…"

"Flour." Tai pointed out.

"Ooooh! Yeah!"

Raven frowned. "It'll just fall off."

"Not while you're wearing it! Your aura kinda holds it in place—I speak from experience. We can make her headband out of cardboard too. Lucky so many of the staff wear dark suits."

They brought their things up to the registers, the twins looking much more at ease with their two hundred lien price tag.

"So, where should we eat?" Summer chirped.

"…We're not going back to the school?" Qrow and Raven shared an anxious look.

"Well… we could, but it'd take like two hours to fly there and back," she said. "Besides, don't you want to go somewhere other than the cafeteria?"

"Maybe, uh, we'll just meet up with you again after, then…" Qrow stammered.

"What? Come on, that'll take ages," Summer said with a wave. "Come with us to Goldenrod's! We go every time we’re in Vale, they have these giant noodle bowls, it's great—”

"We'll meet you there in a half hour," Raven said. "There's a comic store Qrow wanted to look at."

Why were they—oh. They hadn't been worried about the cost of the suit just because it was frivolous. Tai's ears burned with secondhand embarrassment. "Uh, Sum—"

Summer tilted her head. "You know I love comics… Why don't we all go after lunch?"

Qrow straightened up, bracing himself. "Because we don't have any money."

Raven shot him a panicked glare as Summer wilted. "…Oh." She fiddled with her hands for a second before shoving them into the pockets of her hoodie. "Sorry, I…"

"I—I mean, it's been nice looking around with you two—"

"We'll buy today," Tai said quickly. Anything to make the awkward stop.

"You don't have to—" Raven began.

"No, come on, it's team bonding time! We've got you. And next time we come to town we'll just pack a lunch."

* * *

"So, have you ever visited Mistral?" Summer asked, errantly drumming on the table as they waited. "I guess you said you were from southern Anima, that'd be a long trip…"

"It was. We went twice."

Her eyes widened. "Really? What's it like? I don't really remember Anima that well."

"It's…more dangerous than Vale," he said, glancing out of the window at the end of their booth. "Unless you're rich. We mostly kept our heads down. …What about your home? What's Patch like?"

Summer shrugged. "Not much to say. It's just a little port town on an island outside Vale. Forest on the west side has some Grimm, nothing big enough to be a real threat."

"It's the most boring place in existence," Tai sighed.

"At least you'd have ships to look at," Raven said. "There is nothing on Remnant less interesting than a farm." Everyone stared at her for a half-second, she'd been her usual withdrawn self all day. She flinched at the sudden attention. "…I've always liked boats."

"Me too," Summer admitted. "But, sailing boats. With sails. You know, the old-fashioned windy kind, not the new big loud cargo ships."

Nobody liked the giant—usually Atlesian—monsters that would barge into the harbor at all hours. Tai gestured with his chopsticks. "Ugh, and that one asshole that always runs too close to the north side of the island and wakes everyone up in the middle of the night!"

"Well, hey, why don't we go to the docks after the comic store? We could take pictures and stuff!"

"Because your camera’s broken. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Her face fell a little. "Well, we can still look around."

"There's not actually a comic store," Raven admitted. "We were trying to buy time."

Summer reached across the table, taking her hand in both of hers. "Raven. You're not getting out of going to the comic shop with me and Qrow just because you made it all up."

Raven rolled her eyes, the ghost of a real smile playing around her mouth. "Fine."

Next Chapter: Summer—Mission Critical

[Yet another chapter of Qrow is a Nerd. ‘Suave flirt’ is a valid interpretation of the text, it’s just not my interpretation]

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #strq #team strq #taiyang xiao long #summer rose #qrow branwen #raven branwen #ozpin #peter port #zelenia mesánychta #carmine eitri #follow the beacon #mine

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dracoqueen22 · 5 years

Text

[CR] Many Returns

Title: Many Returns Universe: Critical Role, Campaign One, Post-Canon Characters: Percy/Vex Rating: K+ Description: Grief is a process, and even years into the future, reminders of loss still rear their annual head.

Percy isn’t sure what wakes him. It’s been many years since there’s been a crisis that requires his attention, and while he’s attuned to the cries of his children, they are old enough now not to need Mummy or Daddy to rush to their bedside. He blinks into the dim, gropes for his glasses, and perches them on his nose. He rolls over and pats an empty mattress, bedding rumpled and tossed aside. Ah. That explains it.

He fights off a yawn and rolls out of bed, pulling a robe over his shoulders, dragging fingers through hair in need of a trim. His limbs ache, his knees protest. He’s in his early forties but feels much older. It’s all that adventuring and battling, he believes. It’s aged him. It's early. Or late, depending on one's point of view. Percy doesn't have to check his pocketwatch to know he'll have to be up in a few hours for a meeting with the diplomats from Emon in Cassandra's absence. It's past time his little sister has taken a vacation and while Percy loathes the responsibilities her absence gives him, he's proud of her for taking some time for herself. Even if she's not alone. Though that's another matter entirely. Percy tightens the ties around his waist in deference to the chill of spring in Whitestone, and ventures to the balcony, starting his hunt for Vex there. He's lucky. He finds her on the first try. She stands at the railing, shoulders hunched, hands braced on the carved stone, her robe fluttering around her bare legs in the soft breeze. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still a vibrant brown, no sign of age on her yet. Percy is thankful for his premature pale hair. It disguises the fact he'll be going gray much sooner than Vex'ahlia. He's a vain creature, and he knows it. Part of the onus of nobility, he supposes. It's quite dark, as Vex has no need for light, but there's enough illumination from the moon Percy can pick out her form easily enough. The woods are dark blotches, and the flicker of moving torchlight on the ramparts announce patrolling guards, meandering their route. Percy approaches on silent, bare feet, though he has little doubt his wife knows he's there. He slides his arms around her, and she doesn't stiffen or elbow him in the sternum, so he'd been correct in his assumptions. "Is there any use in asking you to come back to bed?" Percy asks as he tucks his chin over her shoulder, her body chilled compared to the warmth of his own. Vex sighs and leans back into his embrace. "You know what today is." "Yes." "Then you know the answer to the question." Percy presses a warm kiss to the curve of Vex's neck and shoulder, not to entice but to comfort. "Then I'll stay up with you." "We have that meeting in a few hours. You know how cranky you get if you don't get a full night's sleep," Vex says. Percy snorts a laugh and presses the tip of his chilled nose to the back of her shoulder, making her flinch away from him. "I remember a time I fought a dragon on only a few hour's rest." "That was a long time ago, Percival." "Oh, no. Have I offended?" Vex folds her arms over his, resting her weight into his, and it's a victory Percy counts for himself, smug to his core. "I love you," she says, and Percy's heart flutters. It's a truth they both know, but rarely say, because these words are fragile, and they are both accustomed to losing the things and the people they love. But today, of all days, they are words which must be spoken. "Whatever you need, ask and I'll get it for you," Percy says. "I know." Her head tilts back against his. "I thought it would be easier, the more time passes, but if anything, it's just getting harder." Percy keeps his silence, lets her speak, voice her grief, because he doesn't want to offer empty platitudes. They are no comfort. They hadn't been for him, and they won't be for her. Percy is lucky; he still has Cassandra, but all Vex has left is her chosen family, and the one she's made with Percy. He doesn't count Syldor though the times Velora comes to stay with them are some of the few moments Percy sees the light of siblinghood glow in Vex's eyes. Velora is so much like both twins it is eerie, and she's as mischievous as Vax, down to the core. Still. She's not around often enough. She is yet young to be allowed free rein, and Syldor keeps her close to his breast. If he ever grieved for Vax, Percy hasn't seen it, but then, perhaps it has shown itself in his over-protective behavior toward Velora especially knowing how close he came to losing her to Vecna. Vex shudders in his arms and lifts a hand, wiping at her eyes. "I should be out of tears by now," she says with a shaky laugh. "But I miss him so much." "It's all right to miss him," Percy murmurs, his own heart aching with the grief of his lost family. Living in Whitestone, surrounded by the echoing memories, that's been his own burden to bear, and Cassandra remains a painful reminder as much as he loves her dearly. "There's so much I want to tell him. He's never met his nieces and nephews or enjoyed a time of peace." Vex draws in a long, slow breath as if trying to get herself under control. "I'm pregnant, you know. He'll never meet this one either." Pregnant again? That's wonderful news. Percy frees a hand to stroke her belly, where indeed there is the smallest of rise. Vex has softened over the years, much like he has, though she's kept in shape much better than he. She still runs in the forest, spends hours shooting her bow, and hunting when the need arises. Dangers never stalk too close to Whitestone, for Vex is quick to put an end to them, often with Jarett's assistance. Percy sticks close to home. He doesn't have the yearn for adventuring as much as she does. Occasionally he joins her, when he feels the need to make sure he's not out of practice, but he's slower than he used to be, and the remnants of Orthax abandoned him years ago. "I love you," Percy says into the heavy silence. It's all he has to offer. "And I'm happy for another child. I know there is nothing that can replace Vax, but whatever you need of me, I'm here." "I know." Vex sighs and turns in his arms, drawing him into a chaste kiss before pressing their foreheads together, tears a drying damp at the corner of her eyes. "Let's go back to bed. It's fucking cold out here." "I don't know. My feet may be frozen to the stone," Percy says. Vex rolls her eyes, amusement dancing in them, chasing away the dark clouds of grief. "Then I guess I'll have to leave you out here, the great Lord de Rolo, a frozen monument to his people, too bad he's only wearing these silly robes." "You are ruthless," Percy says, and he sweeps some hair out of her eyes, tucking it back behind her ears. "It's one of your more charming qualities." Vex snorts and grabs his hand, tugging him back indoors and to the warmth of their bedroom, the flaps of her robe occasionally offering peeks at tanned, scarred skin. "Only you would think so." Percy lets himself be tugged, as bed is right where he wants to be, especially now that Vex is returning to it. Sappy as it might sound, he's not accustomed to sleeping without her at his side. Vex shucks her robe, leaving her wearing only an immodest shift which clings to her curves and is far too thin to offer any measure of warmth. She's quick to climb beneath the thick blankets, and Percy is even quicker to join her, remembering at the last moment to remove his glasses and place them on the bedside table. They curl together, bodies cold but the blankets having retained most of the warmth in their absence. Vex pillows her head on Percy's chest, and he cards his fingers through her hair, something which has never failed to soothe in the past. "I know it feels otherwise," Percy murmurs. "But happy birthday, Vex'ahlia. I, for one, am glad you are here, and I know our children feel the same way. You didn't hear it from me, but I have a sneaking suspicion there is a surprise in your future." Vex chuckles, though it is a strained sound, one choked by withheld tears. "I'll pretend to be shocked." She toys with the buttons on his nightshirt, recently mended. "Thank you, Percy. I promise to be better tomorrow." "It's okay if you're not." Vex hums wordless and settles against his chest, her breathing a bit stuttered, and Percy choosing not to comment on it. His nightshirt will be damp by the time they have to rise, but it'll be a sacrifice to a worthy cause. It is a gift, to be trusted with this vulnerability, and Percy would never waste such a show of trust. Besides, Vex is back in the bed with him, and though they only have a few precious hours before the council meeting, Percy is going to enjoy every minute of them.

***

a/n: Still flexing my writing fingers for campaign one, but I really do love Percy and Vex together and will probably write more for them.

Feedback is very welcome!

#Vex'ahlia #Percy/Vex #Percy #critical role fanfic #Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III #critical role campaign 1 #draco watches critical role #draco writes critical role

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frcmashes · 4 years

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featuring: hope mikaelson, landon kirby. hon. mentions: william halliwell, lizzie saltzman tagging: @chosenlonely summary: hope tells landon that she has feelings for someone else. surprisingly enough, all hell doesn’t break loose.

hope mikaelsonLast Monday at 6:26 PM

so, her door is still broken. she doesn't know why she hasn't fixed it yet. it'd be a flick of her wrist, a mumbling of a spell, and that'd be that. but it feels too simple. it feels too much like settling back into a normalcy that's intangible now. ( like maybe, if she's meticulous enough, if she acts like nothing ever happened, if she's careful about where the cracks were, no one will ever notice. except .. she will. and lizzie will. and god, it's not fair on landon to expect him to accept the damages. ) she's sitting on her bed, thinking over how the openness is a good metaphor, when she hears footsteps. " hey. " he makes her want to smile just by being around and she has to accept she's going to lose that feeling. ( she'll be fine, she wants to convince herself. maybe even take lizzie's advice. not everyone leaves. ) " you'll never guess what happened today. " she has to curb the ease that wants to overtake her, remember what lizzie told her. she, at least, draws the line on going over to meet him. " i'll give you three guesses. "

landon kirbyLast Monday at 7:48 PM

when a text comes through that says we need to talk, it's a surefire sign that something's up. even still, he tries not to jump to worst case scenarios as he heads to hope's room. he should be studying for a test they have the next day, but he's sure no amount of studying is going to help him now. it's too late, his mind already stuffed with about as much as it can handle. thoughts of the test fade away when he sees the splintered door frame, eyes widening as he crosses the threshold. " uh. " he looks between her and the door, using context clues to fill in the blanks. " either the monster of the week busted your door down, or lando's way stronger than i thought he was. " another glance. " krypto strength levels. " he's pretty sure it's not the latter, so his stomach churns at the thought of yet another monster coming after them.

January 21, 2020

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 8:23 AM

she's learnt that the worst things are quiet. it's only natural that she's responded to the worst moments in her life with aggression, with violence, with noise. it filled the space, stopped her rampart panicked thoughts. it's self-preservation at it's finest. except ... this time, with landon making jokes about mysteriously strong dogs and showing up, she knows it's not possible. and equally, that it's not what she wants. for the first time in her life, she's going to have respond to quiet with quiet. ( if she's being stripped of all of her comforts, all of her coping mechanisms may as well fall to the floor beside them. ) a smile cracking, though she can't help if it seems insincere. not quite reaching her eyes. " as much as i'd love to have a dog who could do all of that, " would she? questions for another time. " i guess malivore's spitting out monsters again. " that wasn't something she'd missed. " this time it was a croatoan. " she's halfway to the truth.(edited)

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 9:33 AM

it's guilt that he feels. right off the bat, it hits him square between the teeth and he flinches. right, the monsters were back. he knew that, might have forgotten to mention that fact when he'd gotten a little preoccupied with the existential crisis that came along with seylah re-entering his life. " i know. " his gaze is apologetic, shifting his weight from foot to foot. " some octopus monster came after me last week when i was walking lando. i meant to tell you, but -- " in truth, he hadn't been sure how he felt. it seemed impossible to tell someone what was going on in your life when you weren't entirely sure you even knew. " seylah's here. my mom. " a sentence that he never expected to say. " she killed it. " he shakes his head, hating the guilt and the dread that gathers in the pit of his stomach. everything with malivore makes it flare up, like a fever you can't shake off. " are you okay ? is everyone okay ? " there's concern in his gaze, crossing over to her so he can see for himself that she's in one piece.

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 10:03 AM

he mentions monsters, and malivore, and how he meant to tell her but ... ( she's struck by how they've both been keeping secrets stuck in their separate crises of confidence. ) guilt is an emotion that was already sitting in the pit of her stomach, in her chest, every time they spoke and she kept everything to herself. first seylah, now lizzie. she isn't sure when she got a reputation for keeping secrets from her boyfriend. ( and she's definitely sure that it isn't one that she wants to uphold. ) she shifts on the bed, despite herself, despite self control, and moves closer to him. " seylah killed it. " god, if today is the day for honesty, she might as well come forth with all of it. if the croatoan walks through that door again, hungry to destroy more of life ( a process she set in motion ), she'll be defenceless. she doesn't know if it sounds revelatory, or just quietly accepting. ( an international assassin known for killing monsters. she wishes she had just been honest now. ) " i'm fine. everyone's fine. "

she feels awkward in the space, instead of reaching out for his hands, placing her own on her legs. " but, " inhale, exhale, focus, " the croatoan - the monster that was here today - is basically a venus fly trap for secrets. " she doesn't why it makes her smile, the absurdity of the situation and her nerves blending together. " it almost killed me for how many i've been keeping. " she deserves to feel guilty, he deserves honesty. " that trip we took to kansas wasn't for nothing. we met your mom. " it feels unconvincing, her shoulders shrugging high. " the reason none of us remembered is because she found the portal before we could stop her. i don't know why. " she doesn't know why. wishes she did. " i never forgot her. and no, i don't know that either. " she wishes she did. it would make all of this easier to explain. " i am so sorry, landon. "

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 10:15 AM

he joins her on the bed, figures if they're unpacking heavy, guilt-inducing secrets, he should probably be sitting for it. he notices how her hands don't reach for him but doesn't think anything of it, not when his mind's preoccupied with what she has to say. a few weeks ago, he thinks he'd be angry; hurt that she hadn't told him something that important. except now, maybe he gets it. he's met seylah, looked in her eyes and found out some truths he's not quite sure how to stomach. if she threw herself back in that pit, well, maybe -- he doesn't get it, but he does. ( maybe she was just trying her best. trying not to hurt him. he's hurt anyway, but that's the thing about good intentions -- sometimes you can try your best and people still get hurt. ) he swallows hard past the lump in his throat, nods his head once. a venus fly trap for secrets. wow. he's kind of glad he missed that one, not so sure he'd want to announce to the world some of the truths he's been clutching. " i know why. " it's said quietly, like he's afraid to give life to the thoughts churning inside of him. " or -- i can guess. i don't remember, so i can't be sure. " that must be how he'd lost the picture. seylah took it. he wants to be angry, but he thinks he's just numb. " she never wanted to be a mother. it was -- " ah, nope. he cuts himself off, decides to spin it in another direction. ( he's scared of what will happen when he says it out loud. ) " turns out, you're not the only person in the room who's had their dad referred to as the great evil. " his smile is tight. " i know who my dad is. " a lengthy pause. " malivore. "

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 10:43 AM

she shifts further towards him when he joins her, one leg falling under her to turn to him. she still yearns to touch him, can't think of a time she hasn't, but keeps herself checked. ( caught up in what he deserves. ) she wonders, waits in a space, for a few moments as his reaction forms. she'd understand if he was upset, even more if he was angry. ( that is, of course, how her own emotions register. ) she exhales when he starts to speak. i know why. she really hopes, prays, that what's about to come out of his mouth isn't going to be self-deprecation born out of a conversation with his mother. ( she can face her, recognises seylah's faults and tries to encourage her to be there for the person who needs her. especially because she's still haunted by the fifteen year old version of herself, begging her father to love her. )

" landon ... " it's sympathetic, but not interrupting. she's going to let him talk, let him air all of this out. especially if this is the last time he gets this safety with her. ( it's her responsibility, after everything they've built, to give him that. ) about his father, - a revelation she will quietly wait for - about them, about everything. and then, all of her plans fall dead before her. malivore. ( she's going to break all her rules. ) it's instinctive, shifting to hold both of his hands in hers. " hey. " she doesn't know if he's going down the same path she often does, doesn't know if he's questioning who he is and who he can be. doesn't know if he's talking himself out of the person he is to protect everyone else. but if his smile is any indication, there's a part of her in him.." listen to me. you are not your father. " she doesn't know if telling him will make any difference. but she tries. ( unlike before, all her face shows now is unflinching sincerity. fight. ) " and yeah, monsters are probably going to keep coming. " god knows why, but they'll keep going. " and we are probably going to have to deal with your mom, a and malivore. " protecting him from that reality does no good anymore.

" but last time i checked, " her hand shifts from in his to on his cheek, too gentle for her original intentions, " you're the person who told me our parents sins don't define us. " evil is relative.

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 11:03 AM

he looks up when her hands cover his own, no longer trying to pointedly ignore her gaze. in ways, he's been stalling this conversation because he knew she was the voice of reason, would remove the filter of bias that clouds his vision when it comes to introspection. it's easy for him to say that she's nothing like her father, like the great evil they write about in history books, but somehow it's not as easy to stomach when the mirror's turned around on him. ( he's a hypocrite. he acknowledges it, doesn't know how to not. ) " i can't believe my own words are being used against me. " he cracks a smile, a real one this time. he squeezes her hands, sucks in a breath. " logically, i know you're right. we don't get to choose our parents, or our circumstances. " he certainly wouldn't have chosen the cards he was dealt. " ... but every time a monster shows up, or someone gets hurt, " his vision darkens. " it's on me. " his fault, his responsibility. so far they've been lucky, no one's gotten seriously hurt, but what happens when they do ? he thinks it's selfish, staying here when his presence puts people in danger, but he doesn't know where he'd go either. he has people here, people he loves -- people who love him. is it more selfish to stay, or to leave ? ( he's thought about this a lot lately, gone back and forth so many times it's like whiplash. ) " dr. saltzman kicked me out before -- maybe he was right. ". he pulls his hands back, rubs at the back of his neck the way he always does when he's anxious; when he's about to do, or say, something that might be stupid. except he's already done that, said the very ghosts of thoughts that have been haunting him the last month. or at least, the kohl's notes version. some truths, some revelations, should never see the light of day.

" i'm sorry, i didn't mean to unload all of that onto you. " a weak smile's flashed, his back straightening as he clears his throat. " guilty conscience, i guess. " a lopsided shrug of one shoulder, fixing his gaze back onto her again. " -- you wanted to talk to me about something ? i'm assuming it's not monster related. " it would be easy to assume that it was, that the truth monster would feed off the unspoken truths between them, but there's a nagging prickling at the edge of his rationale that says there has to be more.

hope mikaelsonLast Tuesday at 11:23 AM

" hmm, get used to it. " it's good advice, wise advice. they are nothing like their parents, not even if the most haunted things stay with them in the middle of the night. ( she shouldn't, however, be telling him to get used to anything. ) her smile is real, mirroring his, squeezes his hands back. ( she loves him, she really, truly does. she simply doesn't love him alone. ) she shakes off his admittance of blame, his accountability, as null and void. " no, it's not. " she's a hypocrite too. " dr. saltzman sent you away to protect you. not to protect us. "

she doesn't know if he's noticed, but they're a school full of supernatural witches, werewolves, vampires and all things in between. " and we might be in the middle of an apocalypse, " monsters engulfing them with the barrier down, mystic falls probably grateful for the reprieve, " but that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself to stop it. " she'd do the same, if it were her. that's the whole problem. she understands where he's coming from, understands this yearning to protect the people he loves. she needs to work on it. ( maybe he does too. ) " we'll figure it out. all of us. " because that's what they always do. he diverts the subject, pulls his hands back, and she feels the anxiety that's become familiar start to cling to her. " don't be. " she shakes her head again, offers him a smile in reassurance. " i'm not. " she's not sorry he walked into her life, she's not he's malivore's son either. ( the only part she's really, truly, sorry about is what she has to say now. ) " i know the feeling. " a breath, swallowing around the truth as he had. now it's her turn to spill everything.." and that's actually what i wanted to talk to you about. " it's moments like this she's reminded why she doesn't like herself with words. they never come out right, she can never quite conjure them into the speeches he's capable of. seeming effortless and romantic and wonderful. that's just not who she is. " when the croatoan attacked today, lizzie was here. " her heart is pounding. rip the bandaid off, quick and easy. face the rejection, rebuild her life. ( listen to lizzie's advice. not everyone leaves. ) " and uh, she was in danger. and i got so scared, and it wasn't leaving. and i had to tell her everything. " rip it off. quick and easy. " i'm in love with her, landon. " it still doesn't taste right. does no one any good. " and that doesn't mean i don't love you. " she doesn't think she's ever talked this much in the quiet. " and it's not about you, or about her. it's not like i was trying. i just, " she doesn't know what she's searching for, " it just happened. " she's rambling. and not in a good way. " and i am so sorry. "

landon kirbyLast Tuesday at 11:53 AM

he wants to believe her. he wants to believe that he should stay, that he belongs here -- that he's part of the team. maybe not an integral member, he's more hindrance than help, but he knows now what he's capable of. ( his alternative self might have been a dick, but he's proof that he can be something more. something better. ) there's a light at the end of the tunnel, some glimmer of hope; of maybe one day, no longer facing malivore as an imminent threat. he wants to believe that, so for today - he does. ( it might not last. he might waiver, change his mind, but for now he ignores the voices in his head telling him to run and decides to stay. ) " all of us. " he repeats it with a nod, like it's a mantra that'll lead to their salvation. " together.". of all the truths he was expecting, all the possible scenarios he could have imagined, this wasn't one of them. he's stunned into silence; which, in a way, might be worse than being angry. he wants to be angry, he does, but it's hard to be angry with someone you love. " you love lizzie. " he repeats it, acknowledges the way he leaves out one of the key words. in. she's in love with lizzie. he doesn't like the way that tastes in his mouth, bitter and unfriendly. " you -- " he breaks off again, confusion clouding his processing as he opens and closes his mouth a few times. she loves lizzie, but she also loves him. there's a part of him that wonders, in a moment of darkness, if he's being punk'd. maybe will thought it would be funny, to catch the look on his face. except, no, none of them are that cruel. he has to believe that they aren't because if the people he loves are that cruel ... maybe he's never really known them. he swallows hard, fingers picking at the skin around his thumbnail as he works it over in his head. ( he can't look at her. he doesn't trust himself. not yet. ). there's a part of him that feels responsible. no, culpable. maybe he was't there for her, wasn't enough, and that meant she needed more. it's not like he knew what he was doing, or even how to take care of himself let alone anyone else. ( he's projecting; if he blames himself, maybe he won't have to blame her. or no one. who do you blame in a situation where everyone loses ? ) " how long. " it's murmured at first, not quite a question. finally he looks up, clears his throat and asks again. " how long have you been in love with her ? "

January 22, 2020

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 9:42 AM

there's something off about hearing her truth out of his lips. yes, she does love lizzie. yes, she is in love with lizzie. but, no, it's not the same as loving him. she loves him in a way that makes her believe she could forever. with lizzie, it simply feels ... inevitable. like their whole lives, through chambers of miscommunication and resentment and lies, they've been supposed to get here. simple course correction from her faults, and lizzie's faults, and the world that kept them apart. loving lizzie is so different to loving landon. ( she wishes she could tell him that. could work through the differences and encourage them. tell him that as long as she has both of them, however she has both of them, she'll be okay. but, at this point, she isn't sure that's going to make any difference. ) " i do. " she loves them both. she can't choose, as though a choice particularly mattered. if she chose lizzie, she'd be choosing to wait. to put all of her loneliness on a person who's already found the antidote to hers. if she chose landon, she'd be choosing to lie to him. and they didn't lie to each other. ( not after everything. ) she doesn't know what else to offer, the truth on it's bare bones before them. any placation she offers, any differentiation she makes, she thinks will only help in the aftermath. as they speak, she thinks, they're still wading through the rubble. ( hence the door that's still lying, in pieces, on the ground. ).he asks her how long and she has to consider it for a moment. she's distracted by the movement of his gaze, hope flaring in her chest, wondering if this is a good thing. wondering how long it has been. she supposes lizzie's always stood out to her. as a person trying to get close to her first, and then an enemy who'd finally given up on her. and now as her best friend. she supposes that she's wanted to love lizzie for a long time. that love simply transcended boundaries, and definitions, now. ( it's just course correction, she thinks. but she doesn't think explaining her long and winding history with lizzie is going to do either of them any good. ) when she first became conscious that the way she looked at lizzie was different, though, she can pin point that. " after i slept with her. " after he slept with will, after they did a harmless, teenage thing. at least, it was supposed to be.(edited)

landon kirbyLast Wednesday at 10:16 AM

the answer he gets is both the one he wants, and the one he doesn't. if she'd known before, if they'd gone into that night on uneven footing, he thinks it would be worse. can he really be mad about this ? about something he happily went along with ? he's not sure. he's equal parts confused and upset, but the anger hasn't really registered. it would be easier if it had. if he was angry, if he could cling to it like a shield, maybe it could protect him from the inevitable crash. ( his walls came down around her and he isn't sure how to throw them back up. the dust crunches under his feet, reminds him why he fought. ) " okay. ". is it ? okay ? he's not sure. maybe it's because there's so much uncertainty in this confession; he's not sure what he's wading through, where any of the other moving parts fit into this equation. is lizzie in love with her ? if she is, where does this leave will ? leave him ? there's uncertainty in the unknown and that's what he hates about all of this. the unknown, of not knowing where he stands -- what this means. " does she -- " he pauses, rephrases. he's upset, but this is still someone he loves. hurting someone else because you're hurting just makes everyone lose. ( today, he chooses to keep fighting. he won't throw in the towel just because it's hard. not unless the fight's truly, and welly, over ) " is this -- are you breaking up with me ? " that's the question he needs to know, isn't it ? if this is a storm they're weathering, or if she's bailing out as the water comes rushing in. " are you and lizzie -- " he breaks off, can't really find the right words, but he thinks she'll know where he was going. she is, after all, someone who's always managed to see right through him. he assumes that hasn't changed. ( or has it ? he doesn't know. ). it dawns on him, in the pesky way that only regrets can, that while he was having fun -- she was falling in love. it's ironic, makes him want to laugh even though it's not funny. he does love will, felt some type of something from the very minute they met, but it was never like this. maybe in another life, in a world where there was no hope, no lizzie, but that wasn't the world they lived in. except for hope, it is. he can't hold it against her, knows the heart sometimes wants what it wants regardless of your best intentions, but can he live with it ? live with knowing there's someone else in the equation ? always wondering when the other shoe will drop and he'll end up alone ? that's what he's unsure of. that's what plunges his veins with ice water, sees him resisting every urge to run so he's not just another C O W A R D afraid to face the truth. ( he's been running for so long. maybe it's time he finally stopped. )

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 11:40 AM

it's not okay, she knows that. intellectually and rationally she can recognise, if the roles were reversed, she'd be running for the hills. ( she wouldn't even know where to begin. ) she knows he could too, that he has before, but she chooses to take the fact they're both sitting in carefully elected silence as a good sign. he pauses, rephrases, recalculates, and it's odd to watch. she doesn't suppose she's ever really seen him fail with words. ( if this is stripping even their most basic inclinations, it's a cue of what they have to face. ) for once, she has to take his place. put everything behind honest sentiments and hope for the best.

in an odd way, asking if she's breaking up with him is a relief. " no. " she shakes her head, longs to reach out and grip his hands ( physical intimacy, actions are louder than words ) and simply lays her hands between them on the bed. an invitation for a more appropriate time. ( she's always worked in inches. push and pull. ) " the last thing i want to do is break up with you. " or be broken up with. the following question is undeniably painful but it's the kind of pain she could learn to live with. lizzie didn't reject her, or leave her. she isn't planning to. she isn't loved romantically, but she is loved. and, despite what her initial heartbreak would cue, that's enough. " we aren't. " she assures, and is surprised by how steady her voice sounds.." she loves will. and i'm okay with that. " she isn't, in some epistemic sense of what they could have had, but she is now. in their world. she'll have to be. ( right now, the wound is too fresh and she feels too of the situation to hope for anything else. ) " she's my best friend. " there's an unspoken statement within the title. she's going to be around. lizzie may not love her, may never love her, but she's going to be here. always.

landon kirbyLast Wednesday at 12:09 PM

when her hands move, there's a panicked part of him that thinks it's too soon. she'll reach, he'll flinch, and a chasm will open up between them. he doesn't want that, and he could practically cry when she lets them rest between them. god, this is why he loves her. why even right now, even in this period of confusion and uncertainty, she still knows what he needs; or what he doesn't. there's a ghost of a smile on his face, hands coming up to cover his face for a moment as he takes in a breath. this calm ... it's exhausting, if he's honest. he knows it's a choice, that he could easily work himself up -- yell, scream, hate, but who does that help ? what does it serve ? he's been on the receiving end of that kind of ' love ' in the past and he knows that's not healthy. it's not okay. ( this isn't okay, but he thinks they will be. ). he nods his head once his hands fall away, they drop into his lap as he organizes his thoughts. " i don't want to say this is okay because it isn't. " he has to be honest, even if it's hard. " but we always said we wouldn't lie to each other. so as awful as this feels right now -- i'm glad you told me. you didn't have to. " she could have sat on it, could have let it fester until it exploded at an inopportune time. that, he thinks, would have been worse. maybe irreparably so. " i guess i'm just confused. i don't know what this means for us. " he sucks in a breath, realizing that at some point he's stopped looking at her. he needs to see her now, meets her gaze and searches. he doesn't see any half truths, or things left unsaid. nothing that screams ' trouble ' and makes him want to run for the hills. ( though, he does acknowledge, it might have been easier if he did. the right thing and the easy thing are hardly ever one and the same. ). " i don't want to break up. " he wasn't entirely sure of that, not until he says it out loud. " but, " this is important, something he needs to say. " i don't want to wonder if things would be different if lizzie wasn't with will. " he doesn't want to be anyone's consolation prize. they both deserve better than that. " or wonder why i wasn't enough. " he thinks it has to be the intensity of this conversation, of the variety of topics covered, that gives him the courage to say; to not cower, to say what's on his mind and to not let it remain unsaid for god knows how long. " so if you need time to figure that out -- to be sure, i can wait. " he's not running. he's not going anywhere. " i just need to know we're ... on the same page. " or at least in the same book. he's not picky. he can acknowledge that there's a lot to unpack here, more than can be processed in a single conversation, but he's trying. he's trying because he loves her, that hasn't changed. ( he'd said he'd fight. so he is. )(edited)

hope mikaelsonLast Wednesday at 1:28 PM

staying, as with everything, comes in different forms. she's had people fight for her, barter for her, die for her. she's simply never had anyone ... stay for her. it's always seemed so literal to her. her father god knows where for most of her life, her family spread across the globe. sent away to a boarding school she didn't know how to adjust to with people she'd never met. ( she'd come to call them family, but she couldn't have known that then. in fact, she doesn't think she really knew that until recently. ) she knows that's why the word feels as rooted as the act. if crisis was quiet, deafening silence, then staying was loud. and vibrant. in her mind, at least. sitting here, ultimately in careful silence with the boy she loves, when he has every reason to leave ( even if there isn't a door to slam ), makes her realise she's been wrong. she always knew that emma, and dr. saltzman, and her parents, were right about her. she was damaged, and scared, and she internalised it and forced it into something powerful. anger was a weapon from a woman who could destroy villages on a whim. ( her aunts words chimed in her mind often ; people like you and me, we can't get angry. ) she thinks all that anger she's been holding onto - the anger that exploded onto lizzie before she imploded - turns her into a person she isn't certain she wants to be. she still needs to make peace with her parents ( and her culpability in their deaths ) and her family. but landon, even if he ran, even if he stole a knife, even if she sent him away and he went ... he's never left her. it's taken recognising not all victories are celebrations to recognise that. ( god, she loves him. )." i wanted to tell you. " that much is true. because they don't lie to each other. she might value that now more than ever. she can't blame him for anything he says next. confusion is better than anger, and it's a hell of a lot better than fear. she hopes like hell it stays that way. he continues, she waits. he doesn't want to break up, she doesn't allow herself to relax yet. she waits, and she listens, until she recognises she needs to take time to think of this. she doesn't want to be away from him, wait to be sure, about a reality that doesn't exist. ( her dilemma earlier ; choosing between them. she stands by her conclusion. it doesn't matter. she can have them both. )

she should do the unselfish thing. let them settle, let them recognise who they are to each other. if he can wait, so can she. ( but god, she doesn't want to. ) she takes a few moments, thinks about her answer, because she can't underestimate how important it is. " i don't want lizzie at the expense of you. " it sounds contemplative, like she's reached the only conclusion that makes any sense, as she meets his eyes. " and i understand if you need to take some time too. " she does. they're both staying. ( she hopes. ) " but i didn't fall for her because you aren't enough. " quite the opposite actually. he may have happened to teach her love didn't always end in tragedy. she wants to shift closer, but she doesn't. she simply keeps her hands as they are.(edited)

January 24, 2020

landon kirbyLast Friday at 4:38 PM

he’s never known a love like this. never looked at someone and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were meant to be in his life. he’d thought maybe it was fate, the universe throwing them into each other’s trajectories because they were soulmates -- but maybe there’s more to it than that. maybe it’s not fate, not some cosmic intervention that they have no control over. maybe love is a choice; choosing not to run. choosing to stay. choosing to fight. ( i’ll always be the guy who fights, he’d said once. it’s a promise he isn’t looking to break. ) so he listens, really listens, and nods his head to ensure she knows; he’s not jumping in impulsively, disregarding the gravity of their situation. he knows that this should be a death sentence, a final nail in the coffin of their relationship -- so why isn’t it ? why isn’t he running ? why does he stay ? it’s easy. it’s not even a question, not something he needs to think about or dwell on. there were no nails. no red flags. one nail won’t keep the lid closed, won’t end the story before it even gets a chance to blossom.. he’s holding on because he has no reason not to. she’s never given him any reason to doubt her before, so why would he start now ? ( honesty, he’s learned, isn’t a trap; it’s salvation. ) so he doesn’t hesitate as he shakes his head, his hands finally seeking hers out. he laces their fingers together, squeezes twice. he knows with absolute certainty that this is what he wants; was there really ever any doubt ? maybe the easier option would be to leave, to throw distance between them and try to protect his heart. but does breaking your own heart to stave off future heartbreak ever really work ? whether by your hand, or not, the heartbreak stings all the same. ( why be miserable when you could choose to not be ? it’s a gamble but the best things in life often are.. ). “ i think i should move back into my old room. at least for awhile. ” it’s never been official, his presence here. he has his own room, cobwebs gathering on the bed posts as he spends his nights in hers. he isn’t ready to let go, but he rationalizes that a little space might not hurt them. could even be good. healthy. “ slow things down, a little. while we figure all of this out. i can’t say it’ll be easy, or that i won’t be jealous sometimes, ” better to be honest, ensure they’re on equal footing. “ --- but i love you. ” that’s important, needs to be said. “ that hasn’t changed. ” he offers up a smile, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. “ ... and it’ll be okay. ” he believes it, means it whole heartedly when he says it. “ we’ll be okay. ” he can follow her lead, proceed in these uncharted waters together. in truth, he needs her -- need to be with her, knows she’s a calming influence when he feels like he’s one misstep from tumbling over the rails. he likes to think they balance each other --- drown out the demons, guide towards the light. ( yeah, it’s a choice. not one he’ll regret. )(edited)

January 25, 2020

hope mikaelsonYesterday at 3:45 PM

at the end of the day, she's optimistic. she knows that's far from her natural state, that she's been a pessimist pretending to be a realist for a long time now. ( really, she thought being left was an inevitable reality. perhaps thats where her ' realism ' came from. ) and she knows that she could never call this a good thing. it hurts two of the people she loves the most, carves a hole in her own chest to set her insecurities alive. it's not a good thing by any means, but it doesn't feel quite so ... crippling either. she feels safe. despite the fact there is a croatoan still running around, likely ruining lives and collecting secrets, as they speak. despite the fact she still has to fix her damn door. she looks at landon, notices how he laces their fingers together like he misses her just as much as he misses him, and realises that okay her life is pretty far from ruined. it's hit a speed bump, an unexpected complication, but it didn't crash. ( hopefully, it isn't going to when they turn around the next bend either. ) she still has a best friend, she still has a boyfriend. and, more importantly, she still has lizzie as her best friend and landon as her boyfriend. ( selfishly, she's kind of glad she's able to love them both. it's not a good thing but, one day when the dust of immediate revelations has settled, she thinks she'll be grateful for the ability to love two wonderful people at the same time. she's lucky that way. ).her smile isn't swayed by landon's suggestions, because none of them seem like leaving. because, even if they did, she knows he isn't. she squeezes his hands in return, twice, as she watches him. ( just for a moment, as they talk about the future as a certainty, she lets herself remember how in love she is. ) and sure, she isn't super excited about the prospect of sleeping alone more often, even less at the jealously she knows she can't deny, but she thinks that's a normal reaction. they're going to adjust, not change. that's what's important. " i think that's a good idea. " she could make a joke, ask about which nights she's allowed to stay over, ask about who lando's staying with, but she thinks it has to come up organically. when landon's ready to resume being the way they were, when they both are, they'll know. ( she's really looking forward to that. ) " i love you too. " she would usually kiss him at moments like this. when she doesn't trust herself. she's just going to have to get better with words. " and i know i can't ask you not to be jealous, but i can remind you of that. " that hasn't changed for him, he promises. " that hasn't changed for me either. " she doubts it ever will..we'll be okay, he tells her, and she truly believes him. not because she has blind faith in landon kirby, not because she loves him. but simply because she's thought actions speak louder than words ( hence her persistent preference for physical affection ) and he's sitting here with her. still sitting here with her. not angry, not rash, not throwing out everything they've built. talking to her. landon is staying, despite everything she's told him. that's why she believes him. ( and, more certainly, she thinks that's why she trusts him too. )

#( interactions )#( hope )#tw: ugly formatting

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