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fbwzoo · 2 years

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Hey- I was wondering if there's any way I can help/contribute to the effort to end/change wild caught trade? I would love to be a part of something so cool

I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. Thank you for activating info dump mode, I hope you enjoy your experience!

There are SO many ways to help work towards changing/ending hermit crab wild capture. Some may not seem as connected as others, but they all help with the overall goal of educating people about hermit crabs, valuing them, and respecting nature.

The more we can teach people that they shouldn't be cheap "disposable" pets, that they can live for decades instead of months, and how the wild caught trade is decimating populations, the less demand there will be for it. Play to your strengths and do what you can. Even small things make a difference!

(This post will have a ton of links, so please share since it'll probably get blocked from tags!)

Casual Advocating

- share a cool fact with class or with your friends! "Hermit crabs can live over 40 years" "Hermit crabs can lose legs due to stress, but can grow them back when molting" "Hermit crabs live in the ocean as zoea (babies) for up to a month before they become land hermit crabs" ...I could go on & on. 😂

- Remind friends & family not to bring hermit crabs home from beach shops, & not to take shells off the beach. Sometimes they have marine hermits in them, even if they look empty. These crabs will die without an established saltwater aquarium or being returned to the beach.

- Know someone interested in getting hermit crabs? Try to gently steer them away from pet stores & tell them about Land Hermit Crab Owners Society's adoption program! Or if they already have crabs, ask if they've heard of LHCOS & Crab Street Journal (original site), or send them to the websites or Facebook group for science-backed care info.

- If you know a teacher who wants to get a classroom pet, or maybe already has some crabs as classroom pets, tell them about the Claws in the Classroom program! They can get lots of help with a proper set up & free supplies for their crabs, as well as activity sheets & lesson plans. Having crabs in a classroom can be a big commitment, but LHCOS is happy to help, as it's a wonderful way to show kids proper care & teach them how cool hermit crabs are. Many beach stores and pet shops target kids with the bright painted (and toxic) shells, so we gotta beat them to their audience!

- Simply show people pictures of the captive bred babies! They're so freaking adorable, it's hard not to fall in love with them. 🥰

(Pictures all from Mary Akers' site)

More Direct Advocating

Some of these things may require being more involved in the crabby community or going out of your way with time & materials. If you want to advocate in person with events & pet stores, make sure you stay polite, friendly, and helpful! LHCOS aims to educate people without making them defensive or alienating others from our mission.

- Talk to pet stores in your area. See if they're willing to check out LHCOS, or make some changes to improve the store set up. Chain stores may be more limited with this, but it's worth a try. Independent pet stores may be willing to listen & learn about what supplies to promote over others, or even to avoid carrying hermit crabs at all. CSJ has printable info sheets you can offer, including a pet store appeal letter.

- Spread care information. On Craigslist in the pet section, on Facebook, on other social media. Make a post in your neighborhood FB group about not buying crabs at the beginning of the summer. I know someone who recently started putting business cards with LHCOS info next to the hermit crab supplies in chain pet stores. Hand out info at local pet events in your town!

- Contact people in charge. Hermit crabs are often still used as prizes at carnivals and fairs, and crab races are sometimes included at these events. If you hear about an event doing this, contact those in charge and try to educate them. Ask them to cancel or discontinue the use of hermit crabs in these things. It's especially prevalent around beach towns. We have a group member who has tried for years to get a Miss Crustacean Pageant in her area to stop exploiting hermit crabs, but no luck yet. But she still goes every year to hand out care information to whoever will take it.

- Attend Crab Con! It's absolutely amazing. You can get lots of great deals on food, supplies, & hermit crab merch, and spend the whole weekend learning & talking about hermit crabs! What's not to love? It's going to be in person in Virginia in 2023, but there will be an online part as well, for everyone who can't make the trip!

- Rescue crabs in your area! Check craigslist, kijiji, and similar sites. Facebook banned animal sales, but I still found my new crab on marketplace. Just be prepared to deal with crabs in poor condition - look up the Post Purchase Death Reduction method and learn what to do for limb loss, surface molts & naked crabs.

- Adopt crabs from the LHCOS adoption program, or adopt captive bred babies. This can be a great way to get crabs that are healthier than rescues. If you're able to adopt from those who do a lot of rescue work, you also free up space for them to help more crabs in need. Adopting captive bred babies obviously helps support the breeding program. Plus, you get hermit crabs that have never been abused or neglected! They've been loved & cared for since day 1. Just make sure you join the FB group for baby crab owners! They have some specific needs that are a bit different from bigger crabs.

- Volunteer with LHCOS. This is one where you'll need to be in the community for some time first, and you'll need to be reliable. But if you're really interested in hermit crabs and want to get involved, you can look into becoming a local representative for the organization, or becoming one of the educational people who go to reptile shows with a LHCOS booth. There may be other areas that need help, but Stacy would be the one to contact about that once you've been around a bit.

- Donate! Saved this for last bc there's a bunch of different places and ways you can donate. All of these are important parts of the overall mission!

Mary Akers, founder of Hermit House Captive Breeding

Darcy Madsen, certified breeder with Hermit House & runs Crab Central Station YouTube (second link is their website)

Land Hermit Crab Owners Society

Claws in the Classroom, you can donate money through the LHCOS PayPal above, or you can contact Stacy/LHCOS about donating supplies.

Shell donations - The Classroom program can often use shell donations to give teachers. There are also 3 different people who currently work to provide wild hermit crabs with safe shells in Taiwan, Japan, and Florida, USA! Scroll down that link for their addresses.

Painted shells - you can donate these for use with educational booths with the address listed here.

LHCOS & Mary also have stores where they sell hermit crab supplies & merch, if you want to grab some cool stuff while supporting them! The other stores on that list all sell safe hermit crab supplies, and many of us do rescue, advocacy, & donate to CITC as well.

I know this was a LONG answer, but there's just so many ways to make a difference for hermit crabs! It takes an army to stand up for these amazing little guys. I hope this helps and you can join me in being known as a weird hermit crab person!!

#hermit crabs #land hermit crabs #invertebrates #conservation #petblr #wildlife trade #wildlife conservation #long post #land hermit crab owner Society #hermit crab breeding #hermit crab advocating #gif warning

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camaro-and-smokes · 17 days

Text

Sunlight on his face

Warning: period-typical homophopia. Made for @harringrove-relay-race 💜

Also on AO3 >>

Sunlight bleeds into the ceiling and on the top of the wall of their small bedroom from behind the curtain that sways slowly in the wind in front of the slightly open window.

Billy sits down next to Steve on the bed, doing his best not to wake him up. He knows he should be well on his way, but the sun is about to get up and Steve laying in bed like this—on this morning of all mornings—Billy can't leave, not just yet.

Steve is laying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, and his dark chocolate hair is a mess. Billy smiles as he runs his fingers gently through the hair, careful not to accidentally pull on any tangles and wake Steve up. Some locks are mushed between Steve's cheek and his pillow and a few strands are stuck on his cheekbones. The rest is a wild mop over his forehead and on the pillow.

Billy loves it when Steve's hair is like this. Untamed, untethered, unbothered.

Free.

Billy likes when Steve's like that, too.

Steve's been drooling in his sleep. Again.

It never fails to be endlessly endearing to Billy. He'll never tell that to Steve, though, because Steve hates that he drools in his sleep. Waking up every morning to your pillowcase being wet—or to a crusty line leading down from the corner of your mouth to your jaw or cheek—isn't classy, according to Steve.

For some godforsaken reason, he still thinks that he should be classy, as if there was nothing else he could be. But Billy knows that when Steve says those words, it's Steve's dad speaking, not Steve.

Billy isn't classy, and yet here Steve is, in bed with him. The sole proof of the words not being Steve's.

Billy knows it's not easy to let go of your past, even if you're doing better now. For them, it'll take years, if not decades, to let go of all the horrors of the past. If they ever can.

But it doesn't matter, not this morning—or ever, really, not anymore. Because of this, right here; Steve, next to him, with him.

The rays wander closer to the bed, already caressing the headboard. Billy has decided to stay until the sun reaches Steve's face.

Because today of all days, he wants to see his boyfriend's sleeping face lit up by the morning sun.

He's seen it so many times painted by the last rays just before the dusk settles, or just before the sun reaches the first steps of the ladders that lead high upon the sky above the horizon.

But never has he seen it in the first morning rays, as the sun starts climbing high up onto the sky. Whenever there’s been a chance for him to catch the sight, it's always been the wrong place, or overcast or raining, or he's been already late, or whatever the hell else that's been keeping him from staying just for just a while longer.

Today, though, nothing else matters so much as this. The rest of the world can wait for ten minutes. He'll just drive that much faster to get to work on time. Hell, he'll even take a ticket and pay it gladly if it comes to that.

This morning, when he saw that the sky was free of clouds, he decided he wants to see the first rays of the morning sun basking on Steve's sleeping face.

Because today is special.

Yesterday, they moved into this tiny apartment. Officially to everyone else as roommates, of course. But to them, it's their first home.

The apartment is small; one bedroom, a tiny bathroom and an open space with a kitchen nook in one corner, and in the other a makeshift living room created by a couch and the small, bright red TV on a crate. There's no space for a kitchen table, so they'll be eating on the couch for now.

But it doesn't matter. Because the bedroom, even if tiny as well, has a closet, just big enough for their clothes, and enough space for their bed.

And in there, in that bed, they are.

Billy wants to stay with Steve. He wants to place his head in the crook of Steve's neck and curl himself around him like a cat. Purr into his ears all the dirty words he can come up with and wake Steve up for a round of... Yeah, he wants to, so bad.

It's just that... He started at this new job at Mr. Wilkinson's garage last week and he can't ask on his first week 'hey can I take a day off, um yeah, next Monday would be great'.

No. He needs this job.

- - -

“What is this, Steve?” a female voice, close to screeching, demanded.

Both Steve and Billy snapped their heads toward the voice. They'd been so immersed in making love that they hadn't heard the knock—if there'd ever even been one—or the door opening.

A tall, dark-haired woman looked into Steve's room, her eyes wide. Billy had never met Steve's parents, but he recognized immediately from whom Steve had inherited his looks.

Steve quickly pulled out, his face turning deep red, and he covered himself with his hand as he fumbled to grab his blanket with the other to help Billy cover himself with it.

Billy hid under the blanket and turned his back towards the door. He felt his cheeks heating as shame rolled over him and he felt like crying. No one else had known his secret, their secret, and now the third worst person in the world had learned about it.

“Mom, I can explain...” Steve tried weakly, but his mom cut him off.

“Get rid of that!” she spat.

Billy knew her tone all too well. Surprise of the worst kind, spiced with disbelief and disgust, served hot and painfully burning.

“Be glad it was me who saw this,” she continued. “This, whatever this is, ends now. You hear me, Steve the 3rd Harrington?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Steve said without hesitation.

When the door clicked closed, Steve brushed Billy's side with his hand. “I'm sorry,” he whispered with a hoarse voice, and started sniffling.

Billy realized Steve was crying, and it was all his fault. Everything was.

Him falling in love with Steve and wanting to have Steve to himself. Allowing Steve to fall in love with him. All this even though he knew it wouldn't last and that it would probably end just like this.

Billy was about to say that he'll go when Steve gently pulled the cover from over his head and looked at him.

His eyes were angry red, and the pain in them was obvious. But what came out of his mouth wasn't what Billy had expected: “Just let me pack and I'll come with you.”

“What?” Billy said, confused. “No!”

Steve shook his head. “I'm tired of hiding.”

Billy's stomach dropped at the words. He blinked and tried to find hints of lies in Steve's gaze. There weren't any.

Steve wiped his face into his forearm. “I'll come with you and we'll figure something out,”

“No. I won't let you do that,” Billy said and sat up. “You're not leaving, you have everything here, good things ahead of you—”

Steve cut him off. “I want to be with you. If I stay, I can't. My dad won't... he won't understand, anyway. I might as well come with you now.”

They stared at each other for a while in silence.

Billy swallowed. “You sure?” he asked quietly.

Steve brushed Billy's cheek with his hand and smiled. “Yeah. Never been this sure about anything in my life.”

- - -

So, now that Steve's out from Loch Nora, disowned and cut off from the Harringtons' inheritance for good, they're truly on their own until Steve turns twenty-five and gets his hands on his trust fund—the only thing his parents allowed him to keep along with his name. Yeah, they got some hush money from the government after Starcourt, but Billy needed a new car and Steve put his money on the side for a bad day. They tried not to touch it.

Steve didn't care what his dad thought, but his mom cutting all ties, too, that was a blow. Billy could see it in Steve how badly it hurt.

Maybe she'll come around one day. Billy really hopes that, for Steve's sake.

Thank god for found families, though. For Joyce. And Hop.

- - -

“Joyce?” Billy said as soon as they walked in to the Byers' house.

Joyce had taken Billy in after he'd gotten out of the government facility where he'd been treated for three months after Starcourt. While he'd been recovering Neil had skipped town, leaving Max and Susan behind and living in the trailer park, and Billy just couldn't live in the tiny trailer with them. So, Hop had driven him to Byers' and Joyce hadn't let him leave until he set his bag in Jonathan's old room, 'just until you find a place of your own.'

“Coming,” Joyce replied from somewhere deeper in the house.

“Uh, Steve's here...he, uh, came... When's dinner?” Billy heard himself stumbling over his own words. He couldn't ask Joyce to take Steve in. She'd already taken him, for fuck's sake, but Steve needed a place to stay, at least for the night.

“Oh, hello Steve,” Joyce said, smiling, when she came into the kitchen. “Food is ready, just set the table. Will is staying at the Wheelers over night and Hop is in the night shift, so it's just us tonight.”

“Uh, Joyce...” Billy started and glanced at Steve and then back at Joyce.

She must've recognized the unease in Billy's eyes as she looked at Steve and lowered her gaze at the duffel bag in his hand.

Billy could tell the exact moment she clocked in what was going on.

“Steve, do you need a place to stay?” she asked.

“Um...” Steve started quietly.

Billy followed Joyce's gaze at Steve's hands and noticed that his free hand was trembling. When he looked up at him, he saw him swallowing hard, with tears in his eyes. He took Steve's hand, squeezing it gently, and Steve squeezed it back. “Yeah, he does,” he replied on Steve's behalf. “We’ll start looking for a place of our own tomorrow.”

“You're welcome to stay, Steve,” Joyce said with a gentle smile. Then her cheeks reddened. “I know you two like each other, and that's all fine and dandy. But keep it down then, okay?”

Billy felt his cheeks heating, and he gently squeezed Steve's hand. Steve squeezed it back, and Billy cleared his throat. “We will.”

“I'll pay rent, of course,” Steve said quietly. “Or for food. Anything.”

“That's alright, we can talk those things through later,” she said and turned to the cabinets, taking out plates and cutlery, as if nothing world changing hadn't just happened.

As if one mother hadn't just kicked out her son and straight away another taken that son under her wing.

Steve and Billy looked at each other, stunned.

When Joyce realized they hadn't moved from the door, she turned to look at them. “Well, don't just stand there, boys. I'm starving. I hope you are, too.”

- - -

After a few months of looking, they finally found this place.

Their landlady is Flo, the secretary from the police station.

According to Hop, when she'd heard that two young men were looking for an apartment with a rather quick schedule and that he could vouch for them, she'd told him to call them about the small apartment of her recently passed father.

Billy is convinced Hop made the deal extra sweet for her somehow to get them out of the Byers' house. Because Hop also spent significant amount of time there.

They had really done their best to be as descreet as possible while they'd been staying at the Byers'. But they were young and in love and after sharing the house for a few months with them, Hop had looked relieved when he'd been helping them to carry their meagre belongings, clothes and such, both the couch and the bed frame Joyce wanted to get rid of, and the one thing they bought brand new—a mattress—up onto the second floor where the apartment was.

- - -

“Thanks, Hop,” Billy said when all three of them had finally gotten the last item, the heavy bed frame, upstairs. “For, you know, everything.”

Hop took his ball cap off his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his other hand. “Yeah, sure.” He fiddled with the bill of his cap for a moment and then raised his gaze to Steve, who had appeared on Billy's side.

Billy, who could sense trouble miles away, saw that something was brewing and eyed both of them, concerned.

Hop placed his hand on Steve's shoulder, rubbing it. “Steve. I know you're a good kid,” he started with a grave tone, and pointed at Billy with his finger. “But if you ever hurt that boy...”

Billy glanced at Steve; he'd gone stiff and he looked at Hop his eyes wide open.

But he seemed to quickly catch up with what Hop was aiming at, because he straightened his posture and pulled his shoulders back. “I won't,” he said with conviction, the kind Billy had never heard from anyone before. “Sir.”

Suddenly, Billy could feel tears gathering under his eyes, and not just because of Steve's words. He knew Steve cared for him, maybe even loved. And even if that made Billy sometimes cry for being so incredible, it was Hop's words that touched something inside him he'd never thought he'd need; knowing that the man he'd had come to look up to the several months he'd been living at the Buyers' also cared about him... He tried to blink faster to keep the droplets from falling.

Hop stared Steve in the eyes for what must've been just seconds, but what felt like a lifetime. “Alright,” he said, “I trust you. But Joyce, you know... she's a mother tiger. And she's very fond of Billy.”

Steve swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I know. I'll, uh, I'll take good care of him. Sir.”

Hop patted Steve's shoulder and smiled approvingly. “Good. Well,” he said, letting go, and put his cap on. “I'll be off then. Enjoy your freedom, boys.”

Both Billy and Steve stared at the door after Hop had closed it after him.

Billy, still trying to blink his tears away, looked at Steve again. The sight made joy bubble in his stomach and laughter break its way through his tears; Steve looked ashen and truly shaken, something Billy had never seen before. And, for some reason, knowing it was because what Hop had said made it endlessly amusing.

Steve tore his eyes off the door and looked at Billy. “Jesus Christ! Ted was never that intimidating. I almost peed my pants.”

The statement made Billy cackle even more.

Steve's expression turned from shock to sour and he punched Billy in the arm with his fist—not too hard, though. “Hey, stop laughing. If you'd received a shovel talk like that from Hop, I doubt you'd feel any different,” he said defensively.

Billy was glad about the laughing fit because now he could claim his tears came from that. “You should've seen your face, though. It was priceless,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes.

Steve frowned at him, but then his gaze softened into something Billy knew well. Billy almost managed to plant his feet to hold back Steve’s sudden movement, but Steve was faster this time. He grabbed Billy's wrists and pinned him against the wall of their small foyer with his body. Billy could see the mischief in Steve's eyes, and it made a swarm of butterflies take flight in his stomach. He knew he would never have to fight Steve, not the way they did that one time forever ago. He was safe with Steve, he knew, so he surrendered.

“I promised to take good care of you,” Steve said huskily, his eyes roaming on Billy's face from his eyes to his mouth and back.

Billy felt his cheeks heating. “So you did,” he replied, his smile widening.

Steve drank the smile away from Billy's lips with a deep kiss that was very clear on what kind of care Steve meant.

- - -

The sun finally reaches the mattress and climbs onto Steve's pillow, grabbing him by the hair, and Billy moves his hand away from blocking its way. The bright rays tiptoe onto Steve's forehead, using the moles as stepping stones, one by one. As the world turns, the rays continue their endless march, sliding over Steve's temple and the bridge of his nose down his cheek. Finally, the rays cover his entire face as they continue spreading onto his shoulder and further, over Billy's knee and thigh.

Steve's relaxed face, now fully lit by the first morning sunlight, is exactly as beautiful as Billy thought it would be.

His heart aches, for he has to leave now if he wants to make it on time to work. But it's okay that he has to go. They'll celebrate in the evening when Steve comes home from his evening shift...

Billy is suddenly overwhelmed and tears pool in his eyes without a second warning; when Steve comes home in the evening, he comes home to him, to their home.

And that matters. More than Billy thought ever possible.

Because not only they just moved together yesterday, today is their very first anniversary.

The first time they celebrate their love lasting longer than mere months—love that began in that government facility where Steve was taken care of after Starcourt, too—it happens in a home of their own.

In a home where they're taken as they are, broken and not even close to perfect. Where always one is looking forward to the other to come home. Where there's no need for a curfew, for both of them want nothing more than to get home to be with each other.

It's a miracle they're here, really. So Billy, who usually takes nothing for granted, allows himself to take this much as written: they'll be happy here, together.

Billy leans down to place a kiss on Steve's cheek. Sun has warmed it and Billy rubs his nose in it a little, taking in a deep breath of Steve's scent. When Steve stirs from his sleep and grunts, Billy whispers, smiling, “I gotta run, babe. Happy anniversary. See you when you get home.”

- - -

Please look forward to the lovely, wonderful and amazing work from the next contributor @thatgirlwithasquid

#harringrove #harringrove ficlet #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy x steve #steve x billy #suometar writes #harringrove fic

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carionto · 7 months

Text

What if we just hollowed it out?

Progress on the Dyson Ring was unbearably slow (by Human standards) and Captain Knoslark and some of his crew were busying themselves with a twice-a-week extended D&D session. He was banned from GMing after trying to introduce the Deck of Many Things, so relegated himself to a Wild Sorcerer Drow build. When it was not his turn during combat, he would make sure when his turn did come up, the holographic projections he programmed would show off his descriptions of his magics in the most spectacular fashion. He was irritatingly good at the visuals, and nobody wanted to praise him outright for fear his ego might explode, but it did pass the time well enough.

The construction efforts have become so routine and uneventful that the only people who had anything stimulating to do on the clock were the observation officers. Even then, it was just ships going in and out of the system, sometimes big groups of civilian craft would bunch together in the Oort cloud for a race, other times an alien diplomatic vessel and escort would jump in for a visit or to drop off a person who had "made a mess on a vessel not outfitted to handle Human strength", which typically meant somebody forgot alien doors don't have a manual override and broke it by opening it by hand without much trouble. Most exciting was when a new Dreadnought or other large military ship was constructed and it set out on its first voyage outside the shipyards around Earth.

Of course, their main job was monitoring celestial objects and make sure any wandering meteors or debris weren't on a collision course with anything important, and if there was one, tell the nearest patrol ships and they would go out and redirect or destroy it.

Today, Officer Xiang spotted something a bit bigger. A rogue planet! Trajectory analysis indicates it will pass into the Oort cloud in two years and pass through Sol over the next forty three, only once coming relatively close to Mars, but not enough to influence its orbit. It was, however, big enough that they could complete a significant portion of the Dyson Ring. Big enough that, in theory, it would then be able to output enough power at once to power the planetary Warp Gate for anything up to the size of the Moon.

Unfortunately, deeper scans showed it once had living organisms on it, and was thus protected under intergalactic preservation laws: "The surface of any rogue planet that once housed life shall remain untouched, and the planet shall be marked as a historical landmark and scientific object for study purposes only."

To this, Captain Knoslark inquired: "Hmm... but what about below the surface? It's just cold rock at this point, right? What if we find a natural crevice and just dig a little further? For Science!"

As a junior officer and there being almost no people who are experts on such niche intergalactic laws yet, Xiang and the others couldn't find a reason why this wouldn't work, but it felt... off.

"Just think, it'll be fine - we'll reinforce some of the ore and create a porous interior, preserving the structural integrity of the planet as a whole and keeping the surface as is. AND we get about 85% of a whole planet to further our progress - that's a whole 17 moons worth! And and it would be within our jurisdiction during the time. It's a win-neutral as far as I can see."

That sounded like logic. Maybe? Either way, we would have to talk to the higher ups about this plan. Even if anybody wanted to, hollowing out a planet is not a thing you can do in secret. You need, well, literally a planet's worth of ships, equipment, and crew to do something like that within just over four decades, and we want to get it done in less than one.

No matter our advancements, dedication, willpower, grit, force, or cunning, the two foes Humanity cannot defeat, but must always accept and handle properly - logistics and the accompanying bureaucracy. Still, it would be nice if we didn't have to use up more of our moons so quickly for one project.

#humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #hollow planet #carionto

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iamstartraveller776 · 9 months

Text

To Cleave Destiny: Prologue

Summary: One moment Emma Swan is an orphan who’s managed to carve out a modest living chasing down bail skips. The next, she’s the key to an age-old prophecy about the two factions which have been secretly battling for control over human souls since the dawn of time. With hardly any of the skills that should have been her birthright, she’s thrown into the middle of a race to end the escalating conflict forever—a race that involves the parents she never knew and the son she gave up for adoption. And a charming, roguish demon who helps her when it suits his plans.

Rating: T

Genre: Alternate Universe, Action/Adventure, Romance

Also on AO3

A/N: This is my entry for @cssns 2023! Special thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for beta reading this. It's been a while since I've written something multi-chaptered and so plot-heavy. So hopefully it'll turn out okay. Ack!

PROLOGUE: The Crimson Curse

28 Years Ago

Mud squelched beneath Killian’s boots as he trudged up a path overgrown with thick foliage. Rain beat a steady rhythm against the shoulders of his leather jacket, collected in rivulets that slid through his hair and down his face as he hunched forward in a futile attempt to protect the bundle in his arms. His body was weakened from the long trek, burning from a physical exertion that he was no longer accustomed to, but he resisted the clarion call of power coiling about him. Just a touch of that unseen force—hardly more than a crumb—and every pang would be soothed. No. He bloody well wasn’t going to toss all of his careful effort away over something so trivial as sore legs and an aching back.

The path curved, opening into a small clearing painted with a kaleidoscope of life in dramatic contrast to the muted grey-green forest behind. Even the clouds seemed brighter here as though cheerfully sprinkling the grass and flowers instead of weeping in a morose downpour. At the top of a gentle slope sat a small cottage with whitewashed clapboard walls, roof covered entirely with clovers. The chimney was devoid of smoke despite the cool afternoon, but he knew she was inside, sensed it through the invisible bond that connected her to him. He set his jaw with grim determination.

The door to the cottage swung open when he stepped onto the stoop. Gothel looked the same as he remembered, though it had been decades since he last required her services. Wild auburn hair framing milky, ageless features. Her pale eyes rounded in unhappy surprise when she recognized her visitor. She inched back, hand going to the door as though intending to slam it shut. He held up a finger, gave her a bare shake of his head as he pushed his foot across the threshold.

“Now, love,” he said, “is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“What do you want, Fatum?” she asked, suspicion in her honeyed alto.

“Pirate,” he corrected. He’d never cared for any other moniker. “First, I should think a little hospitality is in order. Good form, and all that.”

A beat passed before she stepped aside to grant him entry. The interior of her modest home had an open floor plan. A simple sofa and a stuffed armchair were set up in front of a brick hearth. One corner was a tiny kitchen with an olive-colored stovetop and a dining set made of Formica and chrome. The place was teeming with plants, hanging from the ceiling, haphazardly placed on dusty bookshelves, in window sills. She floated by a garland-strewned mantel, barefoot and wearing a verdant gown made of layers of sheer fabric. The fireplace instantly flared to life with crackling flames as she passed.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting tea,” she said with no small amount of derision.

“Tempting, but no,” he replied. “I have more pressing matters that need tending to.” He gestured toward the bundle in his left arm. As if on cue, the tiny thing began to stir, letting out a soft mewl.

Gothel edged toward him, gaze fixed on the knitted blanket. Killian pulled back a corner, revealing the newborn infant he’d carried for leagues. The child blinked large eyes at the sudden brightness, mouth stretching in a toothless yawn. Gothel recoiled from the babe with a hiss.

“She’s of the light,” she said, spitting the last word as the curse it was.

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I need your help to fix that.”

Gothel looked up at him, features falling slack with disbelief. “I’m not strong enough to snuff out that flame,” she sneered. “And neither are you, I wager.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, I’m perfectly capable of ‘snuffing out this flame,’” he said, “but I have no intention of doing so.” He glanced down at the pretty little thing with that wispy blond hair and rosebud lips. He wasn’t particularly keen on children, but this one was special. This one could be the key to everything he’d been working toward for centuries.

“I need a spell,” he said to Gothel. “I need to hide her from him.”

Gothel withdrew farther, flinging up a hand as if to ward off danger. “What have you done, Pirate?” she demanded. “You’re a fool if you think he won’t discover you.”

Killian’s lips curved into a deadly smile. "Is that any of your business, love?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Can you do the spell or do I have to find someone else?"

She narrowed her eyes, but there was fear written there as well. “What’s in it for me?”

He didn’t answer immediately but reached forward, feeling for that imperceptible thread that bound the two of them. There. A thin strand of dark energy that he wound around his finger. He balled his hand and yanked. Gothel’s breath tore out of her lungs in a croak as she lurched toward him, skin turning ashen, lines growing like spider webs across her smooth face.

“Don’t toy with me, witch,” he bit out in a growl. “I can send you to Infernum with the snap of my fingers.” He tightened his fist and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. Electric vitality pulsed into him from her, demanding to be consumed. There were more witches, weren’t there? Others who could give him what he needed. He could drain this one, add her to the souls who gave him strength, and oh, there was plenty to take from her.

The babe in his arms cried out, shattering the feral want that had nearly overtaken him. He released Gothel, and the witch crumpled to the floor in a tangled heap, gasping for air. He despised that craving for power, always hungering, always thirsting for more. But the bleak price was one of many means justified by the end he sought.

Gothel looked up at him from her hands and knees, hatred warring with terror in her features as color returned to her skin, the cracks vanishing. He felt no pity for her. She’d known the cost when she made her bargain with him long ago. He turned his attention to the child, rocking her gently while Gothel rose to her feet.

“Fortunately for you,” he said, glancing at the witch, “I’m feeling particularly generous at the moment. As a boon for this deed, I won’t call in your debt for, shall we say, another century. I’ll even let you keep your youthful glow.”

He smirked. Vanity was one of her greatest weaknesses. She’d thought once to use her beauty against him in a woeful attempt at seducing more power from him, but he hadn’t been so easily swayed.

She licked her lips. “Fat lot of good your generosity will do me when he’s figured out what we’ve done.” She made no further argument, though, as she crossed the room to heave a large, careworn tome from a shelf. She set it on the table, spine cracking as she opened it. Muttering under her breath, she leafed through the yellowed pages.

Killian circled her home as he waited. The clock was winding down on this bold gambit, and it was only a matter of time before he was summoned by the very creature he hoped to thwart—nay, destroy. The Dark One wanted this child, so much so that he’d put a bounty out on her, something unheard of among the Fata. As Killian studied the babe in his arms, he couldn’t begin to guess why she garnered such single-minded interest from the strongest of the Fates. The soft white aura that surrounded her was dazzling, to be sure—brighter than he’d seen of her kind—but preventing the Saints from adding to their ranks was hardly cause for this feverish hunt.

Whatever the reason, it had tipped the Dark One’s hand, and Killian wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to circumvent the demon.

“Bring the child,” Gothel said. She pulled open the doors to a hutch and searched through an array of colorful glass bottles.

He swiped a large wicker basket propped against the wall and set it on the table. The little one, fast asleep once more, didn’t stir when he placed her inside. He stretched stiff arms as he scanned the open pages of the grimoire. The flowery script was in the long-dead language of the Nymphs, and that was as far his knowledge went. With a drop of power and intention, every line would become legible for him, but he couldn’t risk being tracked. Not yet.

Gothel returned to the table, grinding ingredients with pestle and mortar. “In order to cloak her luster,” she said, “its equal and opposite is required. Blood for blood, as it were.”

“I didn’t come here for riddles, witch,” Killian returned with a glower.

“I assure you that I speak plainly.” She retrieved a small dagger with a thin, rippled blade. “The darkness in your Fatum blood will overshadow the light in hers.” She held her other hand out as an indication that he should give her his.

He raised a brow, amused that she assumed he would trust her so implicitly. If he could use Sight, he’d likely find any number of enchantments on that knife. He certainly didn’t miss the twitch of anticipation in the corner of her mouth. Holding her gaze, he lifted his left arm, the end glinting with the silver hook that had replaced a long lost appendage, and dug the sharp tip into his right palm. Pain sliced through his hand as he dragged the hook across the skin in a jagged cut, though he kept a grimace from his face. He held the wound over the small bowl of herbs, and blood fell in such deep crimson drops that it splattered nearly black into the mixture.

Expression falling flat, Gothel pulled back the blanket swaddling the child and grasped her tiny foot. The little one’s face pinched, turning a brilliant shade of red, when the blade pricked her heel. She breathed out a piercing scream as Gothel pinched her foot to encourage that carmine life force to dribble into the bowl. Steam curled up in lazy coils as the child’s blood met Killian’s, and he sensed an infinitesimal tug in his chest, a whisper of a bond half-formed. Gothel flicked her wrist, and the babe’s wails abruptly silenced.

Killian took a step toward the witch, jaw set with menace. “If you’ve harmed—”

“She’s merely asleep,” Gothel said, picking up pestle and mortar and resuming her work. “There is a price for this magic.”

“There always is.” He pulled a kerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, careful not to let the fabric touch the gash in his palm as he pressed it against the small cut in the babe’s foot. His gaze caught the corner of the blanket flapped against the basket. There was a name stitched in the knitting. Emma. It seemed rather fitting for the lass.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, love,” he said, glancing back at Gothel. “What are my dues for this scheme?”

“As it is you who curses her, so it is you who can set her free.” Riddles again. Lovely. Before he could demand clarification, however, Gothel provided it. “Once she drinks this, you must keep your distance. If you touch even the hair on her head, her light will shine forth again.”

A negligible cost then, and one he certainly would have no trouble paying. Of course, the witch needn’t know it. He watched as Gothel poured out the concoction into an empty glass bottle, and he frowned. “How am I to get her to imbibe that sludge?” He nodded toward the blackened lumpy drink.

“Patience, Pirate.” Gothel raised her hands and murmured under her breath in the old tongue. Her fingers glowed with a tinge of green and the contents of the bottle swirled, changing into a deep red liquid, thin as water. Finished, she stoppered the bottle with a bit of cork and offered it to him.

He studied her for any hint of duplicity. “If you think to trick me,” he began, but she spoke over him.

“Yes, you demonstrated the consequences quite well.”

“Good.” He took the bottle, stashed it in his pocket. He grasped a handful of the blanket wrapped around Emma and lifted her out of the basket into his arms. She grunted, nestling against his chest.

Gothel scrambled around the table as he made for the door. “I can hide her for you.” She stretched her arms as if to take the babe from him, but then let them fall to her side when he glared at her.

“Don’t be greedy now, witch,” he warned. “You have your boon, and it’s more than you deserve.” He wrenched the door open and stepped out into the rain, steeling himself for another long trek.

More than twenty-four hours later, Killian sat in a quiet pub in South Dock Marina, nursing a dram of rum while he watched the bartender. The cursed babe had been spirited away to parts unknown by his most trusted man while he traversed to the other side of the world—without the benefit of his abilities. He was grateful for modern automation; a trip that would have taken months when he was still mortal was now condensed to a single day.

That said, the wonder of those airborne contraptions wore off by the third flight—when he was forced to listen to a doddering grandmother prattle on about her family for hours. He’d been tempted to offer the woman dreams beyond her wildest imaginings if she would kindly shut up. But the silver quercu she wore on a thin chain was an ample deterrent. The oak tree was the symbol of the Faithful, and they were rarely subject to the guile of his kind.

He took a sip of his drink, letting the sweet, woody liquid roll over his tongue. Fatigue had sunk deep into his sinews, refusing to be appeased by the snippets of rest he was able to steal during his travels. He’d resisted the siren song of his power for nearly two days, and he was feeling terribly human. After centuries, it was novel to experience long-forgotten discomforts. Nostalgia resurrected memories of simpler times: the wind in his hair, the crash of water against the bow of his ship, his hand on the helm as he steered his crew toward adventure.

But that was the life of another man, a ghost which haunted Killian only when he deigned to acknowledge its existence.

He set down his empty tumbler with a sigh. Denying his nature for a fleeting taste of mortality would come at an increasingly greater cost. Aches and pains would soon give way to greying hair and gnarled joints in an accelerated race toward the grave he escaped generations ago. Perhaps he would let death take him prisoner one day, but not before he finished his quest.

“Another one, mate?” The barkeep stood before him, tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest, rag draped on a shoulder.

Killian breathed in sulfurous energy, and the illusion of humanity fled, taking with it the stiffness in his muscles, the pervasive exhaustion. The scabbed-over cut in his hand knit together without a scar. Hale and hearty once more, he studied the other man with a lancing gaze. It wouldn’t be long before the Dark One’s bootlickers came calling, but Killian might as well attend to business while he waited.

He bore his teeth in a broad grin and flipped a doubloon to the barkeep. The other man caught the archaic coin, frowning as he held it up to the light.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Look closer, mate,” Killian encouraged. His smile stretched wider as the barkeep’s eyes rounded.

Time paused. The few other patrons in the establishment suddenly froze like mannequins, and ambient noise dissipated into an unnatural stillness. Killian watched his mark experience two lifetimes between one breath and the next. The first would be his fate should he continue on his path unaided. The second showed possibilities he’d only dreamt of—if he were to entertain a mutually beneficial arrangement.

James O’Leary wanted many things, but most of all, he craved revenge for his brother’s death at the hands of the criminal outfit that ran the shipyards. And vengeance was Killian’s stock and trade.

“How?” James glanced around the small pub, mouth falling open. He looked at Killian, shrinking back. “What are you?” His question was hoarse, laced with mounting terror.

“Oh, you needn’t fear me,” Killian said with a wink. “I’m here to answer your prayers.”

James shook his head slowly. “If you’re an angel, I’m the king of England.”

Killian grinned at the retort and leaned forward. “But what you want isn’t angelic, is it, James O’Leary? It’s a black, festering desire, and I find that I’m inclined to grant it for you.” He waved his hand. “For a price, of course.”

James blinked, conflict in his rough features, though Killian was certain he wouldn’t have to spell out the terms of their impending bargain.

The pub dimmed infinitesimally, the change only noticeable to Killian’s enhanced vision, and his smile fell. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know that his escort had arrived. “I’m afraid I have another engagement,” he said to James as he rose from the barstool. He dropped a glossy, obsidian card on the bar, blank save for his name in gilded script. “Do call when you’re ready to retain my services.”

Time resumed in the pub as if the exchange had never happened, and Killian strode toward the exit, sparing only a glance at the pair of devotees sent to collect him. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the door became a gateway to the grand hall of the Dark One’s palace. Killian stepped through, letting the portal snap shut on his heels. He may have been summoned, but he wouldn’t be brought before the crocodile like some cowering mongrel.

This citadel had once belonged to Hades, but when the god had been imprisoned, Rumplestiltskin took the place as his own. He fancied himself the head of Fatum Praefecti, and there was no one strong enough to argue the point—yet. Killian had no ambition for the throne, but he had every intention of tearing that devil down.

Unaccompanied, Killian sauntered down the aisle toward the dais. His clothing changed from late twentieth century fashion to the leather accouterments from his days as a marauder, complete with a high collared overcoat and a saber strapped to his side. The hook he’d been forced to leave behind on his pedestrian trek across the world appeared at the end of his left arm. He could have healed that hand after his initiation into the Fata, but its lack served as a reminder of his singular goal.

Torches lined onyx walls, and Fates stood in audience by the dozens, eager to witness the bloodletting that they hoped would transpire. A few members of his loyal crew dotted the crowd, and each gave him a nod in solidarity as his gaze passed over them. He’d rather not have cause to need their aid, not if he played his cards right, but he was glad of their unwavering fidelity.

Rumple sat draped across the blocky throne, playing cat’s cradle with a glowing thread as if he hadn’t called court. The Dark One had a mottled green complexion, more scale than skin, that shimmered in the flickering torchlight, and the effect made one’s gaze want to slide away from him. Cerberus, the giant three-headed hellhound, lay slumbering at his feet, blowing tiny puffs of inky smoke from each of its noses.

Killian stopped at the base of the dais and rested his hook on the hilt of his sword. “All this pomp and circumstance,” he said, “might make a man believe he’s become important to the Dark One.”

Disdain briefly twisted Rumble’s lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t let it go to your head, Captain,” he replied, thread vanishing from his fingers. “On second thought, do. It’ll fatten that thick skull of yours right up and make it a tasty treat for my boy.” He reached down and gave one of the gigantic beast’s heads a pat. Cerberus rumbled in response.

“I’ll wager that I’m too tough to be palatable for the creature,” Killian returned. “Let’s dispense with our usual pleasantries, Crocodile, and get straight to the matter at hand. I’ve come to collect my bounty.” There was no sense in pretending ignorance for his summons.

Rumple sat up, his venomous smile revealing a set of broken, blackened teeth. “Have you, now?” He held out his hands, fingers dancing in anticipation. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Hand over my prize.”

Killian tipped his head to the side, brows dipping in feigned bewilderment. “Your prize?”

Rumple’s grin turned into a sneer. “Yes, my prize,” he said. “The bounty was for a particular newborn babe. Where is it?”

“You wanted the child alive?” Killian clucked his tongue. “Your instructions were rather vague, and wanting to please you, I dispatched the little thing.”

“Lies!” Rumple hissed.

Killian raised his hand and hook. “Search, and you’ll not find a child of that light drawing breath on this earth.”

“That was mine!” Rumple roared, awakening Cerberus. The beast growled in complaint.

“Then you should have stolen the babe yourself,” Killian said, acrimony seeping into his words, “instead of lounging on your throne while others toil in your name.”

Rumple glared at him with reptilian eyes. “Watch your tongue, Captain,” he warned, “lest I remove it.”

“Give what’s owed to me, Crocodile,” Killian countered in an equally chilly tone, “lest the rest of the Fata think this is how the Dark One rewards loyalty.”

Rumple leaned back, affecting an air of apathy, though Killian knew his threat had struck true. “Ah, but do you have proof of your claims? You can’t expect me to take a pirate at his word.”

Killian pulled a kerchief from his pocket, the one he’d used to stem the cut in baby Emma’s heel. The blood stain had dried more brown than red, but it would do. He tossed the bit of cloth at the throne, and Rumple deftly caught it. The demon brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Yes, yes,” he conceded. “It’ll have to do, I suppose.” He crumpled the kerchief in a fist, transforming it into a glittering white dust, and poured it into the small glass vial that he’d conjured in his other hand.

“If we’re finished…” Killian said.

Rumple raised a finger, though his gaze stayed on his prize. “One more thing,” he said. “If you were so eager to please me, I wonder why it took you so long to come boast about your astonishing feat.”

Killian forced a sigh in diffidence. “The child was protected by the Saints.” Not a lie. “Understandably, the endeavor did not leave me unscathed. It took some effort in order to access my power again.”

Rumple studied him, eyes narrowed. “Yes, we’re all very happy that you’ve made a swift and complete recovery.” He held Killian’s gaze for another heartbeat before flicking a hand in dismissal. “Go on, then. Enjoy your spoils while you can, Pirate.”

Tramping down a swell of triumph, Killian spun around and stalked away from the dais, his crew filing in behind him. Against all odds, the ploy had succeeded, but it was a temporary victory. The mystery of Emma still remained, and until he could ferret out her significance to the Crocodile, he’d be no closer to getting his revenge.

TBC

Thank you so much for reading!

#cssns23 #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #emma x killian #killian x emma #my fic #to cleave destiny

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nobodywritingao3 · 10 months

Text

Your Love (Deja Vu) [ch 1]

masterpost | next

Phil stores his sons during a fight, revealing his true nature to them. Caught up in the moment, he doesn't get a chance to explain to them and falls asleep. When he wakes up, they're inconsolable.

CW: - gore - minor character death - Phil eats people - hard vore - soft vore

title taken from 'Your Love (Deja Vu)' by Glass Animals but specifically the stripped back version because that makes me cry

word count: 1.9k 💔 read it on AO3

"Children," the lead soldier orders, "come here."

Phil can feel Tommy's arms around his knees, tightening slightly as the boy buries his face into his legs.

"Fuck off," Technoblade squeaks. "We're not going anywhere with you."

Several of the squadron visibly eye Tech with distaste, and Phil hears one mumble to another, "can't believe we're supposed to save the damn brats..." to which another replies in a dry tone, "The king already thinks the beast ate 'em, there's no reason to bring them back alive."

Wilbur obviously hears this too, judging by the sharp intake of breath.

Phil feels agitation coil in his gut. His children aren't in danger, but they don't know that. Fear is possibly the worst emotion someone can feel and he doesn't take kindly to someone threatening his kids, even if in the end it'll amount to nothing.

"Boys," Phil says warningly, "I won't repeat myself again. Go to the hiding spot."

Before they can respond, the lead soldier chimes in again, "They're not going anywhere, Philza. And even if they do, you know we'll just track them down after we're finished with you."

He narrows his eyes. These men would never get the chance, though he's the only one who knows that. He doesn't bother to respond to the soldier.

"Kids - "

A gunshot rings through the air, and Phil feels the hard smack of a bullet against his chest. He winces and nearly stumbles back from the force, but otherwise it doesn't affect him. Nothing human-made can.

Tommy starts to cry, Wilbur screams, and Techno is trying to pry his brothers away and run off to the woods. They think the bullet is killing him, but the soldiers clearly know different. Their faces are shocked and terrified as they realize that the standard monster bullet won't work on Phil.

He glares at them and steps forward, his kids falling back with a gasp as they realize that he's unharmed.

"Get the fuck out of here," he spits at them. "I won't say it twice."

The lead soldier, visibly shaken, reloads his gun with quivering hands.

Something inside of Phil snaps apart, and before he knows what he's done, he's shooting up and up, expanding and growing to his full height.

His children stare up at him in awe from between his feet, tears steadily drying on their face but their fear only temporarily abated. Tommy starts to cry again and Phil doesn't think as he acts.

He leans down and grabs the lead soldier. He's screaming and begging for his life but Phil doesn't care.

How many years has it been? Of running and hiding and pretending to be human, being good, keeping people out of his diet, and only feeding on wild animals? He's integrated himself into towns and cities and bolted so many times at the first sign of hunters. Not for his sake, but theirs. So isolated and alone, just to be harmless.

The decades wore him down. He couldn't take it anymore - he knew taking in children meant settling down. Settling into one spot and waiting, a sitting duck for the day that this would happen. And he thought he'd made peace it, the threat of death or dissection constantly hanging over him. He knew what the bounty on his head was, but he was so fucking lonely he was willing to pay the price. He thought he was fine with risking his life for a little company, and maybe he had been once, but it was no longer just about him.

This was - this was threatening his children. This was shooting their father in front of them.

He doesn't realize he's been squeezing until the man erupts in his hand, gore spraying out between his fingers.

His children start to scream as blood splatters on them from above and he blinks dumbly, distantly realizing that this is not his best parenting moment. They begin to retreat behind him though, something he notes with a sense of satisfaction. They're safer the further they are from the fight.

He turns his attention back to the soldiers. Some of them are turning back and running, but the majority - a stupid majority - are still shooting up at him. Where the bullets at least had impact before, they now harmlessly pelt at his skin. He scoops a few soldiers up and swallows them as they scream, not even bothering to chew. That's too merciful, he decides. It's better to let them die as they digest.

Phil works through the remaining soldiers, the ones who decided to stay and fight, before the soft crying of his children draws his attention.

He's fucking zooted. Lost in the sauce, his brain a puddle of dopamine, a bundle of suppressed instincts finally rearing its head. He's a fairly smart man, and if there's one thing he's excelled at, it would be parenthood. But crouching before them as they wail and scream, it never crosses his shot-to-shit mind that it's the blood dripping from his mouth and the screams growing fainter in his belly that's scaring his kids.

Wilbur holds Tommy's face in his chest, his arms wrapped around his head as Tommy screams and kicks, desperate to see what Wilbur won't let him. Technoblade stands before the pair, shielding them from their father as if he had a chance of doing any good.

Phil coos at them. Wilbur isn't being very nice to Tommy, is he? And why does Tech look so scared?

He reaches a finger out - a finger soaked in drying blood, the red seeping unpleasantly into the crevices of his skin - and Wilbur actually falls backwards.

Phil frowns. Wil isn't usually that clumsy... had he hit his head while trying to get away from the soldiers? Fucking nuisances, the lot of them. He'll have to finish the rest of them off before they regroup.

Tommy manages to squirm out of Wilbur's grip with a faint cry, only for Technoblade to turn around, tackling him to the ground.

Phil lets out a low hiss at that, and Techno freezes, but still clings onto Tommy. Wilbur crawls across the ground and actually lays across Tommy, linking hands with Tech. Phil sighs. He thought that the two had outgrown their phase of messing with their little brother like this, but clearly they still had a little growing up to do.

He pokes a finger at the small pile of children, barely noticing how his fingers smear the soldiers' blood across their bodies. He does his best to disentangle them. Techno is crying a this point, an awful full-bodied sobbing, but he still won't let go of Tommy. In turn, Tommy is still struggling and screaming, and Phil winces at the noise. Finally, he manages to separate the twins from his youngest. Wilbur's hands fall from Tommy's eyes, and Phil gives him a gentle smile, as if to say 'I'm sorry your brothers are teasing you.' Tommy whimpers, spying the blood staining his giant father's teeth, and dives right back into Techno and Wilbur's embrace. Phil's smile drops and he sighs. Fatherhood is difficult.

He doesn't understand the game they're playing, or why they've gotten so worked up. He regards them curiously, scooping his kids up and running gentle fingers across their faces and torsos to check for injuries. They're so squirmy today - is it because of the blood? Techno was going through a bit of an obsession recently, but maybe being coated in the stuff is a bit much, even for him. He regards them a little wistfully. They're so cute when they're soaked in the red like this, but he knows what he has to do. He raises them to his mouth - which riles them up all over again - and begins to lovingly clean them off, savoring the combination of flavors. Once he's done, he cups them in his hands and holds them to his chest, purring in another attempt to calm them down. They're as still as statues, if statues shook and quivered, but it's still better than before. It seems like they've mostly gotten it out of their system, so he gently lowers them to the ground.

A soldier darts out and before he can react, it's grabbed Wilbur around the arm. It starts to pull him along, practically dragging him away.

Fury reignites in Phil's chest and he reaches out. He grabs the tiny figure and pulls him forward, ignoring the surprised shriek. It's like he has tunnel vision, with his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He shoves the little person into his mouth, as gentle as he can while still so desperately wolfing something down. He swallows.

And then he turns to the soldier.

It stares at him in shock, a look of disgust plainly written across its face. "You ate your own son..." it mumbles.

He doesn't bother to correct it.

Tommy and Techno are screaming again, and his heart wrenches painfully for them. They're so scared... he'll swallow them too, get them nice and safe in his brooding pouch with Wilbur. They'll feel much better once they're safely tucked away.

He can feel Wil now. Despite being in Phil's storage, he's still freaking out. He's throwing himself against the walls of the pouch and Phil can hear his desperate sobs. He'll calm down soon, young always calm down once they're in the brood pouch, but it makes him uneasy that it's taking this long. Is something wrong?

He files the thought away for later as the soldier starts to dart forward again, reaching for Technoblade this time. He grabs it around the midsection and it kicks and screams in his hand. He's so damn mad he's tempted to swallow the stupid thing whole, let it die inside of him like the others, but his brooding pouch is right next to his stomach. They're so close together that his boys would definitely hear the soldier screaming, and given their current state - especially Wilbur's - Phil doubts they'd find those noises very relaxing. He opts to bite its head off instead.

He swallows the body and the thick blood, and once he's all finished, he turns to his other sons. Tommy is buried in Techno's arms, inconsolably sobbing, and Techno has a strange, faraway look on his face. He reaches for them, but they don't respond to him. Techno tenses up and buries his face in Tommy's hair. They're distraught. He hopes the soldiers haven't traumatized them for life, but he's never seen them this upset.

He scoops them up, gentle and mindful before sliding them into his mouth. His tongue prods at them a little, tasting salty tears on their faces, and he purrs sympathetically before swallowing them down too.

They settle into his storage. He feels Wilbur cease his punching and clawing and can feel the three of them rest in a little huddle in the center of the pouch. They're still and quiet, and Phil feels a rush of relief. They're finally calming down. He soothingly rubs at his midsection, but the three flinch away from his touch. He frowns at that, but he gets the hint. He lets them settle themselves without him, and once he's satisfied that they're simmered down, he starts in the direction of the other soldiers. They still have to pay for how badly they've scared his children. And then he'll take a nice nap. It'll do the family some good to get some rest. They can discuss the soldiers in the morning.

~ ~ ~

lol. how we feeling about this

i wrote this in a single shift at work because i have no respect for major corporations or capitalism

boss makes a dollar i make a dime thats why i write vore on company time

anyway... wrote this is as a writer's block exercise. i have a lot of ideas that i just dont write because theyre a little weird or out there (such as vore) but i decided to take a chance and just write/publish the thing i felt ashamed of and i think it turned out pretty good so im glad i tried

lemme k if you liked this or not <3 youre all wonderful people and i hope you had fun reading this

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imfluentinfangirlandgay · 6 months

Text

A Father's Resolve - Ch 4

Ingo returns after a decade - with two extra cars in tow. Years later, his kids are swallowed up by time in the same way he was. Will he be able to find them? Will they be able to make it out alive?

Word Count: ~1400

Rei awoke to someone pounding on the door of the hut. After a moment of pure confusion, he suddenly recalled everything. The portal, Arceus, Prelude Beach, Laventon, the Galaxy Team…

"Cyllene wishes to speak to you two!" It sounded like Laventon's voice.

"Be out in a minute!" Rei called back. Akari groaned.

"Do you have to yell that loud?"

He ignored her. He stood and brushed off his clothes. They didn't have any changes of clothes, but he did throw his jacket back on. His back ached from the thin mattress.

"Hey, Rei…"

"Yeah?" He was pulling on his shoes and glanced to look at his sister.

"If we're back in Hisui… should we show people our teams? Would that mess with the timeline?"

He'd been wondering the same thing. "Probably not," he said. Then another thought struck him. "Wait," he burst out, making Akari look at him, "What if Dad is here? Like, younger him?"

She blinked. "We don't know for sure that he is."

"But what if?" He stood up and grabbed his bag. "It's not impossible. What if our mom is here?"

"How would we even know?" Akari shouldered her own bag and combed her hair back into a ponytail, threading it through her hat. "We never saw her."

"She's a native to Hisui, I think, so she is probably here… but you have a point." He blinked as he rested his hand on the sliding door. He slid it open, beckoning to his twin as he left the room. She shut the door as she left and they looked next door at the large brick building. People were milling around the street, like last night. Several of them threw the twins odd glances.

"Let's go see what Cyllene wants," Rei said.

—

"Your first task is to catch a Bidoof, a Starly, and a Shinx." Cyllene's gray eyes did not waver. "Complete this task and you will be official members of the Galaxy Team." And with that, she dismissed them by going back to her desk.

They turned away from Cyllene and began to walk away. Rei met his twin's eyes and whispered in Unovan, "That's it? Catch three baby mons?"

"Maybe it'll be harder than we think?" She also seemed confused.

"Akari," Rei whispered, staring at her with a blank expression, "a Bidoof, the goofiest thing ever. A Starly, basically Sinnoh's Pidove. The only one I could see having any trouble with is Shinx."

"Let's just see what happens."

People stared at them and whispered as they entered the village. Buildings of simple brick and mortar with variegated roofs lined the street. Laventon continued to talk, but it was hard to pay attention. Akari held onto Rei’s hand, both of them staring in different directions.

The canteen owner was hostile. The Captain was doubtful. "If you fail, you will be turned away to meet your fate, and perhaps your death, in the wilds." Laventon had tried reassuring then that she was simply trying to keep them safe and wouldn't actually do that, but Rei did not doubt they would for a second. What would the trial be? A lot seemed to be riding on it.

As the twins left the room, they were stopped by Laventon. "Before we go," he said cheerfully, "I want you to pick one of these." He let out the three pokemon that the twins had worked to capture in front of them. Rowlet, Cyndaquil, and Oshawott stood at attention.

Rei looked between the three of them. His partner was a flying type already, but should he bring him out in Hisui? Is that a good idea?

He looked to Akari. She said, "dibs on Oshawott. I've wanted one for a long time."

Rei was considering the little water type, but he supposed he was a little late on that. Dibs was law, as everyone knew.

He looked to Cyndaquil. A fire type, small, but he knew what it could become. He knelt down and looked at it. It cocked its head at him. Then it waddled towards him and immediately wriggled into his lap. Akari had picked up Oshawott under the armpits and was hugging it to her chest.

And then in flashes of light, they were gone. "Here are their balls," Laventon said, handing them each one of the weird smoking balls. Rowlet stood next to him. "Shall we head out for the Fieldlands?"

The twins nodded as they followed him out the door, adjusting their new waist packs and preparing to leave their old backpacks in their room for the time being. After hearing the talk of them potentially dying being tossed around so carelessly, they had made a pact that they'd each bring their ace, just in case. The birds were their last resorts, but if bad came to worse, it was always better to have an ace up your sleeve.

—-----------

Emmet jumped when a new voice drifted into the room. He hadn't heard the front door open. "Guys, what's wrong? You look worse than Emmet did when you first disappeared." Elesa was looking between the two of them, eyes glancing over the mounds of books and papers and lists they'd been writing. Ingo had only gotten worse over the last week. Emmet was sure he would collapse any moment. "I've been having radio silence from you and I wanted to check in."

Silence met her question. Ingo's eyes watered as he fought back a fresh wave of tears.

Emmet took the controls. "Nine days ago, the kids disappeared." He heard Elesa’s breathing hitch. "It was identical to Ingo's disappearance. The sound. Nothing was left behind." He picked up the two devices in the center of the table. "Nothing except their Xtrans and an eyewitness."

"Oh Arceus…" She stumbled to the table and sat down, her face in her hands.

"Professor Juniper… she thinks they made their way to Hisui, somehow " he continued. Ingo's face was set as stone, even as hot tears started to fall, his eyes red and tired. "Ingo mentioned the space-time distortions everywhere when he was there. She suspects that if the act was the same, it's likely that they're in the same place and time as he was."

Elesa took in a breath, removing her hands from her face. She brought them down to the table, nails scratching the wood as she curled them into fists. She breathed in. Out. "That makes some sense. And it gives us somewhere to start," she sighed.

"So far, all we can find is the hero twins with the same name," Emmet said, showing her a book. "Nothing about them."

"Not every single person was recorded," Elesa countered. "There's a non-zero chance they were dropped there and just not written about."

"But that leaves the question, how do we get to them?" Emmet pulled out another book. "We can only find two possible ways there, and both of them are long shots." He set down one, flipping to the bookmarked page and showing the photo to Elesa. "One is Dialga. It is a Sinnoh legend, said to be the creator of time itself." She looked at the page, skimming the information as he brought out a different, thicker book. The bookmark came out as he flipped to the page and he pointed to a drawn diagram inside. "And two is Celebi," he pointed, "a mythical being said to be able to hop through time like a fish through a river." He sighed. "The only issue is, all we have are a few witness accounts. There's no way to tell if they even exist."

Elesa studied the book as Ingo excused himself. The bathroom door slammed shut somewhere else in the house.

She looked at Emmet. "Is he…"

"No." Emmet glanced to the doorway his brother had left through. "He has not eaten or slept at all since we got the call. He's constantly looking, searching…"

"Like someone else I can think of," she interjected, staring him down with a knowing glance. "And you don't exactly look much better, Em."

He didn't need to think about that. He needed to take care of his brother. "Don't worry about me," he said. "The sooner we find them, the sooner we can go back to normal."

Elesa kept her eyes trained on him, but said nothing.

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#submas #subway boss ingo #subway bosses #pokemon legends arceus #my writing #ingo #pokemon #pokemon rei #pokemon akari #professor laventon #pokemon elesa #gym leader elesa #nimbasa trio #subway boss emmet

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jinmukangwrites · 9 months

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weep little lion man (9/14)

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Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order / Survivor Rating: T Warnings: N/A Ao3 Notes: so close to the climax holy hell

Summary: After defeating Dagan Gera for a third and final time, the Compass ends up in Bode's hands without a scratch. He could go back to Jedha with Cal... but he's holding what he wants. He doesn't see the point in pretending any longer. He makes a split-second decision. Or: Bode's betrayal goes a bit differently.

-o0o-

When Bode re-enters Cal's room, Kata is in the process of wringing out the cloth that's supposed to be on Cal's head.

Cal, to Bode's slight disapproval, is still awake and obviously fighting the lull of sleep if his lidded, flushed eyes glancing at him as he walks in is anything to go by. That disapproval is quickly replaced by relief when Kata puts the rag on his forehead and he doesn't fight it. Like Bode had hoped, Cal seems more willing to accept help from an innocent child rather than Bode who... in Cal's eyes is probably the furthest from innocent.

Bode hadn't been away from the room for long, but he had almost been expecting Cal to look a lot better than he did. The fever attacking his body clearly hasn't lessened its grasp; his skin is sickly, lips chapped, cheeks and ears bright red. Shivers continue to attack him, making Bode desperately wish he could pile blankets on him and warm him up; yet that's the last thing that would do any good for the fever. Bode's even reluctant to use the patches on Cal's cuts; the gel has a natural warmth to it, and even if he had the resources to cool it, that's not exactly recommended.

Cal lets Bode put the packs on his neck, but stubbornly looks toward the wall as he does so.

Bode resists sighing, backing away from Cal to set down some of their rations within arms reach. Despite his actions saying otherwise, he knows when he's not wanted.

He gives a lame excuse to leave, neither Cal or Kata argue against it, and he wonders slightly if they've been bonding without him around to see it. The guilt that persistently lingers in his stomach isn't only for Cal, he knows Kata doesn't like it here either. He's seen her smile more often on Nova Garon rather than here. Denvak might have been using her as a hostage to keep Bode in line, and she knew that, but she worked hard to find happiness there. Here, it's almost like she's one step away from rebelling and demanding a trip back.

Maybe he shouldn't leave Kata with Cal. They'll feed off each other; or Cal will convince her to be more vocal about her gripes of living here. He doesn't know how he'd handle that; having both of them join so loudly against him. He had hoped that if Cal didn't see within a few weeks that being here was better than the Empire, that Kata would.

It's been eating at him more than he thought it would. He knows that's where the guilt comes from. But he also knows he's right. He's saving both of their lives. They're safer here than what either of them have been in their entire lives. The guilt for doing something right mixes horribly within his emotions; and he knows himself well enough to know that it'll eventually burst out in anger. Years on the run, decades of spying, infiltrating, lying... none of it has helped him exactly in being the perfect indifferent Jedi his Master had taught him to be. He can only be thankful his master rejoined the Force before the Purge; he's sure the only emotion on her face if she saw him now would be disappointment. He's not the first Jedi to abandon everything he's been taught so he could fall in love; he's far from the first Jedi to find attachments and cling to them, to let his emotions run wild; happiness, desperation, anger. He can only be glad that he's never truly fallen to the Dark Side, even after losing Tayala. The temptation has been there, and he has dipped his toes into the power, but he's never let it consume him the way it did those Inquisitors, those Sith and Sith in training during the Clone Wars.

And he knows, deep down, there's no gray when it comes to the Force. The line doesn't exist, not even a hair's breadth. Either you're Light, or you're Dark. Gray Jedi, historically, never lasted long before falling completely. That's why he's limited himself within the Force; why he gave away his lightsaber. He can't risk letting his anger bleed into the Force. He can't become like the monsters that took Tayala.

And yet, he also can't find it in himself to separate Cal and Kata. It'll feel too much like he's a jailor.

As he leaves Cal's room, his lame excuse bitter on his lips, he doesn't notice as Kata and Cal share a look. He doesn't notice Kata stand and pull the rag off Cal's forehead and Cal purposely turn away from the food and water, clutching himself as the shivers continue without relent.

-o-o-o-o-

This is, without a doubt, the sickest Cal's felt in a long time. Every instinct in him screams out to find relief; rest, drink, eat, find a way to break the fever—but doing so could ruin the best opportunity he's had off this planet since finding Bode's ship.

Hours have passed since Bode's last stepped foot in the room, and Kata has been valiantly keeping watch over his symptoms; checking for his fever and listening to his coughs and checking in on his state of consciousness. It's almost funny that, as the day drags agonizingly on, she breaks into a smile every time something feels worse than the last time she'd checked.

"I think," she says, laying her hand flat on his forehead, "I should tell papa you're not getting better now. I don't want you getting too bad."

Cal coughs, then nods his head. Kata is such a terribly smart and mature young girl; he almost feels bad for how much she's risking by getting him out of here.

Why would you go against your father to help me?

Because, maybe you'll come back to take me with you.

She doesn't like it here. She's told him as much in the quiet hours listening out for Bode; Kata either hiding or consuming the food and water meant for him, purposely dumping portions of the water meant for the rag under the bed to evaporate out of sight. She feels lonely, and trapped, and frightened of her father. She's always thought her papa was a hero, that one day he'll betray the Empire and whisk her away from Nova Garon, but she'd never expected the results to be so isolating.

And Cal, in turn, told her about what Tanalorr is meant to be. Tanalorr was always meant to be a safe haven from war and oppression; and even though the Jedi of old failed to protect this planet from the Nihil, they wouldn't with the Empire. Cal hoped to move the Hidden Path here, make it a safe haven for those persecuted by the Empire, train younglings in the Force to rebuild something like the Jedi Order and train others to become soldiers. This planet could be a turning point in the rebellion.

Kata listens to him ramble about his plans with wide, bright eyes. If she's frightened at the aspect of this planet becoming a rebel base, she's more excited at the possibility of friends.

Cal thinks of his time on Bracca, terrified, small, hunted, alone. He grew up surrounded by thousands of people, but he always had to shield himself from getting too comfortable with them. He imagines Kata has gone through much the same, locked in an IBS base. He has no idea if Kata is Force-sensitive like her father, but if she is, she's probably gone her entire life being told to hide that side of herself.

She wouldn't have to hide if Cal got the Hidden Path here. As ironic as the name is.

Kata frowns and steps away from him, her hands twisting around each other. "I hope we didn't make you too sick already."

Cal waves a hand. "It'll be worth it. Once I'm off this planet, Kata, I can get help," he pauses, coughing into his elbow, and continues once he's recovered. "We can come back, make your father see our way. You remember the plan? You're sure you won't get caught?"

She nods. "I used to sneak all around Nova Garon; I'm good at squeezing into small places."

Cal nods, exhaustion tearing at his eyelids. "And if you're caught?"

She frowns further. "I won't be."

And it's almost funny how Cal can almost imagine himself at her height, looking up at Master Tapal as he quizzed him over a mission, even questions about what to do if Cal failed his part of his mission. "Humor me," he says, copying Master Tapal's words.

She sighs. "Tell papa you made me do it."

He relaxes slightly. Bode would be furious if he catches Kata, and Cal would happily suffer his anger rather than let Kata get caught in the crossfire. Bode would believe her if she threw him under the bus.

"Kata," he says weakly, he's so tired, "you don't have to do this."

"I want to."

-o-o-o-o-

"I shouldn't be more than 24 hours," Bode says as he resupplies Cal's bedroom with water, food, and the likes. Kata listens dutifully to Bode's instructions, and Cal knows the second he's gone she'll follow them. Cal, himself, barely listens to Bode's valediction. He feels as bad as what he's sure he looks; he wants nothing more than to just stop existing for a little while. Part of making his illness considerably worse was not drinking, eating, or sleeping, he knows that if he tries to listen, most of what's said would be muffled from his clogged sinuses. If he tries to speak, it'll barely be intelligent.

So he lays there, staring off into space, trying to keep from grunting in pain with every breath, as Bode gives last second instructions for Kata to follow—to try and keep Cal alive until he can return.

Eventually, Bode glances at Cal, worry and anxiety painted on his expression, before he turns and stalks out of the room, credits stuffed in his back pocket.

Kata scrambles to replace the rag on Cal's head, leaving water and food by his weak, trembling hands, before she bids farewell and rushes to follow Bode out the door.

"Good luck," Cal whispers through sparks, and his eyes slide closed.

-o-o-o-o-

The Nariai system isn't far from the Koboh system. It's not exactly the most well known system in the Galaxy, but it's a decent place for trade at this time of its year. Most of the time, the prime planet is perfectly out of the way for most hyperspace lanes, but during it's spring it happens to perfectly cut off a major hyperspace lane used for trade. Thus, making it seasonal stop along business, gathering crowds of merchants of all kinds so they can resupply and move on—might even make a few sales while they're at it. Nariai celebrates this phenomenon every year, making the whole season a festival of business.

And, because Nariai is a backwater planet for the majority of its year, the Empire doesn't usually bother to make a presence there. It makes it the perfect place for Bode to go for emergency supplies, especially since the festivals will make the place crowded enough for him to be difficult to spot even if there was an Imperial presence that could recognize him.

Getting there, buying medicine, and getting out shouldn't take long at all. It all also goes easier than what he expected too. Sure, the prices offered by the merchant were a bit much, but Bode has a good amount of credits stored up, and it's not like he needs to worry about holding on to them.

After getting the supplies that he needs, he pauses at the hatch of his ship. Jedha isn't at all close to this system, but considering its religious impact through the centuries, news of the planet has a pretty decent chance of traveling as far out as a backwater planet in the frontier, especially with all these merchants.

He shouldn't.

He does.

He finds the nearest vendor that seems well-traveled, and asks a very simple "any news from the Mid-Rim?"

He doesn't even have to pay the vendor off. They seem all too happy to reply: "Aye, there be news of NiJedha. Damn Imps crawling all over the moon, set me back 3 weeks and twice the hyperlane tolls. Apparently they found a Jedi terrorist hideout, you could hear the fighting from Jedha City. What? Word of survivors? I doubt it. I heard Lord Vader went himself."

-o-o-o-o-

Cal’s fever breaks two days after Bode came back with medicine, though he was barely conscious of any of it. He has vague… recollections of the time spent in a feverish haze, but they’re foggy at best and distant at worst. Almost like he’s seeing echoes of himself, sensing weak memories attached to unimportant items, catching muffled emotions, sights, sounds, nothing solid. Hardly anything to grasp onto, like he’s trying to catch a handful of sand in a Jedha dust-storm.

Kata changing the rag on his head. Pouring water in his mouth. Pain tearing down his ribs with a coughing fit, staring at the wall and endlessly waiting for his body to stop hurting. Bode murmuring something as he coaxes Cal into swallowing something, the words lost but his expression sad.

He comes back into his body slowly, true awareness trickling in slowly, making it so that the first time he thinks about being actually awake, he’s not sure how long he’s been actually awake.

Kata’s there when he finally gathers the motivation to open his eyes—her eyes meet his, and she smiles.

“Mission a success,” she says, and Cal sighs, closing his eyes and letting the relief swallow him into a truly restful slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

More time passes, time that Cal isn’t entirely consciously documenting, but enough for Kata to give him the run-down of the situation while his body fights away the last of the sickness with lingering coughs and aching joints. Conversations between the two of them are quiet and purposely timed to be most elusive to Bode’s potential listening ears. They can’t risk failure here, not when Kata has succeeded at so much with as much risk.

“Papa went to the jet first,” she explains softly, her voice hardly above a whisper as she runs her Mookie doll across the sheets of his bed, absentmindedly making some effort to move the limbs in a way a living creature would do. “I couldn’t climb after him, but I saw where his star-fighter went next. I found a cave, and papa had some supplies in there left behind. I think they’re stuff he doesn’t want us getting our hands on.”

Cal nods, sipping a warm cup of tea slowly. The heat of the flowery liquid soothes the stiffness in his fingers, melted the shards of pain entangling his ribcage. The things Bode keeps hidden are probably the restraints or old equipment. Cal doesn’t exactly remember Bode leaving to pack away supplies in some cave any time while he was awake and at ‘em, but considering Cal hasn’t seen hide-nor-hair of the restraints since getting them off, it seems pretty likely. The memory of the restraints flicker something uncomfortable, he resists rubbing his jaw. Bode still hasn’t thrown that off the side of a cliff, not to Cal’s knowledge, but granted Cal’s physical health didn’t exactly stick around long enough for that end of Cal’s ruleset to go into fruition.

“Do you remember where the cave was?”

Her nose wrinkles as she gives him an unimpressed look. Even Mookie looks offended by the question.

“Okay, okay,” Cal says, grinning slightly. “You did great, Kata. You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.”

She shrugs, putting more attention into playing with her doll rather than speaking with Cal for a moment before she thinks to respond. “Saving you will save me and papa.”

Something clogs in Cal’s throat.

He doesn’t mention it. He can’t bring himself to speak too negatively of her father straight to her face. He clears his throat, banishing that feeling for later, and takes another sip of tea.

“And you think he didn’t hide our targets in different places?”

She nods. “I think so. He isn’t suspicious of me, I don’t think he’d hide them in different places if he doesn’t have a reason to.”

Which means… which means all Cal needs to do is have Kata describe where the cave is. Then, he can sneak out when Bode least expects, grab the jet, find the cave, and…

And the Compass, hidden among other tools Bode doesn’t want found.

The reality of the progressing situation feels remarkable. He realizes with distant cocktails of emotions that this might be the first time his feelings have been anything other than betrayed, angry, frightened, and sick in days. He feels light. He feels hope.

He half expects everything to go swimmingly from here out. Finding a moment to sneak away from Bode’s attention should be easy enough considering Bode hasn’t outlawed exploration. He can easily fall back onto his original plan, playing along until perfect moments present themselves.

He’s so caught up in the excitement of beating Bode that he hardly notices that the man himself has been avoiding him until Bode approaches him one morning and Cal thinks oh, I haven’t seen him in awhile. He’s been seeing more of Kata if anything, occasionally getting tidbits of Bode’s day to day activities as they sit and chat. Working on the poultry pen, tilling ground for a garden, fixing up some of the rooms. Cal thinks they’ve been on Tanalorr for the better part of a standard week now, if not longer, and Cal’s been sick for the majority of it. Yet, the improvement of his health and the days that lead after, Bode’s really only been present for a check-in here and there. Delivering food, water, checking in on Kata. And that’s the thing too, Bode’s only ever entered Cal’s room if Kata’s already in it. Never when Cal’s alone.

It’s happenstance that whatever Bode’s been avoiding come’s to a head-on collision with Cal’s growing restlessness; just when Cal thinks he’s well enough to finally get up and moving again, Bode walks in the room, eyes downturned and shoulders slightly turned forward.

Cal’s freezes from where he’s sitting, panic flaring slightly because he has no idea what Bode wants or what either of them are fated to say. But Bode doesn’t keep him hanging for long, he holds out a hand and Cal looks down at it, blood growing cold and stomach clenching.

“Off a cliff, right?” Bode asks.

Cal swallows, tearing his eyes away from that muzzle and up at Bode’s eyes. He’s not looking at Cal. Cal doesn’t need all four of Greez’s hands to count the amount of times Bode has looked him in the eyes. Yet, this time, something feels... off. The righteous guilt that’s followed Bode around in the beginning days has been weighed down by something heavier; whatever is eating at Bode right now, he’s truly regretful about it. Cal doesn’t know if he wants to find out what that is.

So, instead, he sends a silent prayer to the Force, to Master Tapal, to Cere, to the Jedi of old, and begs them to give him patience and strength for just a little while longer. None of them answer, except from the ever present calmness from the Force as damaged as it still is. He stands, stretching his arms and hopping foot-to-foot for a moment before forcing his lips to not turn down so critically. Not a smile, but at least not a glare.

“Off a cliff,” he agrees.

Bode nods, then jerks his head for Cal to follow along. Cal takes a calming breath, something fractionally close to a single moment of meditation, and complies.

-o-o-o-o-

Cal’s legs swing off the edge of the cliff, and Bode knows looking at him will cause whatever’s in his stomach to threaten to come up. Hell, just the thought of speaking to Cal makes Bode feel like he’s worth no more than a few grains of sand from Tatooine. He’s been feeling like this since the consequences of his actions have been confirmed, and he’s tired of it.

Everything just feels… wrong. A mistake. He doesn’t regret the safety, the isolation, the betrayal, but what he does regret keeps piling more and more on him and it’s shedding light on things he’d rather not let sway him in his resolve.

At the end of the day, of every day on every planet, Bode cares about Cal. He cares more about Cal than he has about any sapient being in a long, long, time. The last time he’s cared so much for another life-form, he was holding an infant in his arms next to his wife. He’s never planned on hurting Cal so badly, not when impulse and fear seems to run so deeply at the thought of the Empire finding this place, but he can no longer fool himself into believing Cal will roll over and show his belly with time alone. Time only brings uncertainty. Bode has to gain Cal’s trust again. Patience, kindness, honesty, compromise.

And that's terrifying, because Bode knows there’s one thing holding Bode back from feeling worthy of Cal’s trust again.

He hoped going through with Cal’s request with the muzzle would make Bode feel better about what he has to do, but it doesn’t. The hope was irrational, along with everything else involving Cal.

He has to tell Cal about Jedha. About what he’s done. About the Empire finding the hideout, about Lord Vader visiting in person, about there being no survivors.

Not now. He can’t do it now. But he has to. Soon.

“If you told me before you shot me, you wouldn’t need my forgiveness.

The words grate on Bode’s consciousness, echoing and lingering like a bad dream. He wonders how generous that line of thinking goes, how low Cal’s forgiveness can sink. When does a secret become unforgivable, even if it’s told before it blows up in everyone’s faces?

And Cal will hate Bode. Truly. Sure, Bode’s already destroyed their trust, has already spat on every olive branch offered to him, but Cal doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body. Angry, yes. Betrayed, yes. But not hateful. The thing with being a Jedi, even formerly, with the Force muffled, is that you kinda get a grasp on sensing hate from other Jedi. It’s not an emotion many Jedi are very good at completely squishing down before it gets loud through the Force. True hatred is different from anger, or aggravation.

But he’s sure Cal will hate him. He won’t even blame the guy if he tries to kill Bode. Bode will of course defend himself, subdue Cal if need be, but at least all the dishonesty can finally be over with and…

And what?

He won’t lie, the question steals sleep from him.

He doesn’t think he can keep Cal here if there’s true hatred in his reaction. He’s entertained the idea of just… letting Cal go. Releasing him back to the greater universe and letting kriff-all happen to him. He’s also considered… just slightly… small inklings of entertainment… allowing Cal a little of what he wants. Not so much setting up the Hidden Path, but maybe letting Cal bring Force-sensitive children here, or other refugees. The thought sickens Bode to his stomach, he doesn’t entertain it long. More people here raises the likely-hood of the Empire finding his little girl. It’s why he cannot allow the Compass to fall into anyone’s hands other than his own; and in the dead of night, he knows that's why he called the Empire on Jedha. He’s afraid of anyone knowing about Tanalorr; and with all of Cal’s friends… and the anchorites silenced… Tanalorr is back to being nothing but a prospector legend.

That’s what's safest.

“Bode,” Cal asks, tearing Bode from his spiraling thoughts. Bode looks out over the vales, but hums in hesitant reply. “Why did you bring me?”

The question catches Bode off-guard, but there’s decades of training that keeps his face neutral and his body unflinching. It doesn’t catch him that off-guard.

“Because you’re my brother.”

Bode opens himself to the Force, just a little, in time to feel Cal’s disappointment in the answer.

“But why me?”

Bode sighs. “I don’t know. I wasn’t supposed to… grow attached to you.”

He can feel Cal’s mental scoff at the word attached. Bode isn’t sure what Cal feels at the old Jedi taboos, but if it’s anything close to what Bode feels and has felt, it’s probably close to the feeling of grudging understanding on why the Jedi forbid attachment, but the persistent urge to cling to things that feel worth the risk. People, places, ideas.

“I’m not happy here, Bode,” Cal says, voice close but distant. “I’m not meant to be happy here.”

Bode frowns. “You can be.”

“I need to go back out there. Not fighting the Empire, not knowing what they’re up to, or doing what I can to stop them hurting more people… it’s killing me. It’s why I went out that night, I thought hurting myself would hurt more than this… helplessness.”

This is the most open Cal’s been to him since… since before. Bode thinks, for a moment, that maybe he can get Cal’s trust back without completely shattering it first.

He risks looking Cal in the eyes, it feels like looking directly at a sun about to burst supernova.

He holds the gaze, however. He can’t afford to look away.

“You’re not helpless. You’re safe.”

Cal smiles sadly, letting a laughing huff escape his nose. “I don’t want to be safe.”

“Why not, Cal? What’s stopping you from accepting the peace that you deserve?”

“I was safe, on Bracca,” Cal says softly, “I did everything I could to make sure I was safe. I was alive, but… Bode, I wasn’t living. Every day I spent safe was a day I spent feeling like a shadow of myself. I’ve never known safety, I was made a padawan early. Myself and my creche-mates were some of the youngest padawan’s in… eras. Myself especially, being psychometric only made the Council want to pair me up even quicker. Most of my memories are of war, of fighting, of battle, death, uncertainty. Safety is… foreign. But when I got off Bracca, I felt like life was worth living. Fighting stormtroopers, Inquisitors, bounty hunters… finding others like me who are sick of the fake bubbles of safety they made for themselves… I felt like I finally understood my place in the Force.”

Bode’s mouth feels dry.

“You’ll work yourself to death,” Bode says.

Cal verbally laughs now, looking away from Bode back out to the landscape before them. “Trust me, I’m not looking for death. But… I only have one life to live, and one death to die. I know I’d rather spend them both out there, fighting those who oppress, with every single breath, rather than be safe…” Cal pauses, then takes a shaking inhale. “Please don’t take that away from me.”

Cal, I need to tell you something, Bode almost says. Cal, your family is dead. It’s my fault. I’m probably the last person in this Galaxy who cares about you, and you’ll forever resent me for that.

He stays silent instead, turning out to the peace before him, swallowing thickly.

“I’ve seen heroic deaths, Cal,” Bode whispers, “they don’t mean as much as you think.”

“You care about Kata,” Cal says, “and me. You wan’t us safe. I understand that. But Bode, nothing will ever get better out there if everyone just… hides. That’s all this is. Hiding. Do you really think Kata will thank you for this once she’s old enough to understand her isolation? She wants friends. Kids her age. Other adults she can trust.”

“Why can’t you just see that isolation and purpose mean nothing when compared to the surety of seeing tomorrow?” Bode’s voice raises just a little, his heart beginning to pound with anxiety at the challenge seasoning Cal’s otherwise calm voice.

“Everyone gets to decide what makes life worth living for themselves,” Cal replies. “You have no right forcing your decisions on anyone else.”

“What gives you the right to force yours onto me?” Bode demands. “Tanalorr was about us. You, your family, me and mine! And then you were going to get the Hidden Path involved and…”

Bode deflates, squeezing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Cal stays silent.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Bode continues. “Brother, I want you to be happy. I want Kata to be happy. But every time I close my eyes I see… I see stormtroopers gunning you both down. I see your corpses next to my wife’s and… and I…”

Fluttering silence, Cal exhales. “Just… consider it. I… see your side. I do. But I’m begging you to see mine.”

Your family is dead. I killed them.

Bode squeezes his fists and closes his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, because he’s terrified that if he does say anything, he’ll accept Cal’s request. He’s terrified that if… if he allows himself to see any perspective other than his own… he’d truly find villainy. He’d see everything he’s tried to build be built upon corpses and betrayal.

He throws the muzzle off the cliff instead. Nothing feels different.

The sun sets on the conversation, and Bode dreads every sleepless night he knows will come after.

#cal kestis #bode akuna #kata akuna #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi survivor #jin writes #fanfiction

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indycar-series · 6 months

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post-season update from the blog

(TLDR IS AT THE END SORRY)

hi everyone! sorry its been a Minute since i posted anything. the downside of working in motorsport is it gets BUSY very fast and it gets hard to keep up with everything else, including this blog. thought i would share a couple of things that happened/are happening that the motorsport fans of tumblr would appreciate.

first, thanks to everyone who's stuck by and stayed around despite me not posting anything (i KNOW i KNOW sorry for no content this season) and big thanks to everyone who has hopped in the indyblr discord this season! i appreciate all of u :) sending you big hugs

second, i wrapped up my first full year in motorsports (can you believe its only been a year, i feel like i've aged 10 years) and am transitioning away from the arca menards series. its been fun but i have another opportunity awaiting me. we had a lot of ups and downs, but the real fun was the friends and experiences we made along the way. not saying where i'm going yet but it'll be cool and im excited

third, if you didn't hear the news, there has officially been an openly lgbtq+ crew chief in a nascar-sanctioned series. that would be ME MOTHERFUCKERS!! thanks to my boss for the opportunity to do something wild in the last race of the season and to nascar: no takesies backsies >:) . we went from 17th to 12th and got the hard charger award. my driver also made history as the only driver to race in 6 decades and got his 300th start so yknow thats kinda cool. the full shore lunch 200 at toledo is available RIGHT HERE (please mind the fs1 comm booth i know they're bad) if you wanna watch. it would also be cool if you would check out the team's highlight reel and give it some views. hopefully not the last time i'll be on the stand so stay tuned! if you had dreams of being the first one in nascar sorry :( but you can still be the first truck series crew chief, xfinity series crew chief, or even cup series crew chief. the door is open now, follow your dreams!

i won't promise to keep the indycar portion of this blog updated next season because i have no idea what my schedule will allow for, but you should definitely join the indyblr discord server if you haven't already, some great folks with some excellent blogs in there! its a fun time highly recommend.

see yall next season!

-nyx harenberg, nascar crew chief (i get to say that now suck it haters)

TLDR: did a lot of cool shit that kept me from updating the blog, casually made history that you can watch via link above, don't know if i'll be able to update the blog next season but i'll see what happens, join indyblr discord server.

#blog update #fr tho did not expect what happened this year and i have no idea whats going to happen going forward #i know where i'm going and what i'll be doing but i'm not sharing that yet #but racing has for sure not seen the last of me! >:)))))))))))#anyway enough of that yall will hear what im up to when i can share #long post #sorry its so long i had a lot to update yall on

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resiotcage · 1 year

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Hello everyone, I am coming out of the shadows to share with you all a fic I wrote a long while ago but had many mixed feelings about. It took some time to fight the demons off my shoulder, but I am ready to fling it into the wild so that I may never think of it again. It'll be Tumblr-exclusive for this reason.

Title: The Tower's Hidden Secret Rating: M Tags: Blood, Gore, Graphic Violence, Eldritch-Like Bam Based on: https://elidyce.tumblr.com/post/68819... Summary: The tower has held prisoners for many millennia, and in its basement is a long-forgotten prisoner whose release time is coming up. Freedom doesn't sound appealing when your existence, twisted and inhuman, has only known darkness... unless the offer comes from someone more intriguing than the apprehension.

There was a quiet noise behind him and Bam stopped his pacing.

Silence.

He looked at the sky from the sliver of an opening at the top of his cell and the moon was full and bright tonight. Guards only came by during the day to deliver his daily meal so it was probably just a rat.

The noise repeated a little louder, and he was able to distinguish it as a whisper. Bam turned to stare into the darkness beyond his bars. “Are you the Irregular?”

It had been a long time since he had been called that.

He was most commonly called a monster. Sometimes they would append cursed or demon to that name, but they couldn’t decide on which one was worse since he never reacted to any.

A few decades ago, a fringe group had come by calling him a God. It was probably the most offensive name he’d been given because he was nothing close to holy with his inhuman appearance.

They wanted to use him for personal gain but it was pointless. The bars had been enchanted to keep him locked in there for exactly 1000 years and the spell was long lost to time by now. Once they figured that out, they faded away quickly. He wouldn’t have helped them anyway.

Still, he was very curious as to why the antiquated term for a shinsu user would come from a nameless stranger. It had been many decades since the idea of shinsu had faded into myth. Who were they?

“I am.” He hoped they would stay for a while. “May I ask who you are?”

There was a muted clank and shuffle of cloth as something pressed against the bars. “Someone who can help you.”

Help him? Bam looked around his cell.

The stone walls had been covered in scratched images of the night sky. He had mapped the stars and learned their names with the help of a servant girl who for a while had been tasked with delivering his food early in his imprisonment. The floor had a worn-down path where he liked to pace. Written on the wall next to his bed was the list of names of guards and jailers and knights he had befriended over time. He missed them all.

He turned back to the bars. “What is it that you think I need help with?”

“I know why you’re here.”

Bam blinked. Why was he here again?

Oh, right.

He had spent so many decades with a ball of anguish and rage lodged in his lungs, aching and burning with every breath he took until he finally became numb to it.

Recalling the memories he had pushed to the back of his mind took little effort as they sprung forth, flashing rapidly in his mind, clear as day.

His father’s severed head sat on the altar.

His mother’s throat freely poured blood onto the ground.

The rope burned his wrists as he trembled with fear.

Yellow eyes filled with greed and fanged teeth bared with glee.

A man plunged a knife into his chest, the force knocking the air out of his lungs.

The previous night, his mother had carved her revenge onto his back.

Those runes etched on his blistered skin burned hotter than the wound in his chest.

He had regained consciousness with bits of torn flesh clinging to his bloodied claws, no longer fingers. He counted six of the corpses of the ten so-called Family Heads that had sought to steal his family’s shinsu propensity to extend their own life and power.

Their power now thrummed through him.

He spent days hunting them down, having nothing but vengeance left to his name. He caught the first one while they slept. They hadn’t considered him a threat until his claws pierced their throat before they could scream.

The second one was trickier, as they had hidden away inside a fortress. He had become more proficient in his new powers by then and had blown the walls and their occupants to smithereens until he got the joy of ripping out their still beating heart from their chest.

The last two had teamed up and tricked him into stepping on a binding rune. A tower was built around him and had since been used to hide him and other prisoners.

He felt like remembering everything should have rekindled the anger that had blinded him back then. But it only took a few years for the blood rage to fade, leaving him only with the vivid memories of his carnage to haunt him.

What had terrified him was not what he had done—It was that he had no choice, driven mad by the curse and power he had consumed.

But sitting in this cell watching the world change without him felt empowering because it felt like the only one who dictated his next step from now on would be him. Well, once the spell on the bars wore off.

“And if I’ve already moved on?”

Silence stretched on as if his visitor had not considered an answer to this. Bam felt a bit of remorse. Will they leave if there was nothing to gain?

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? It would make sense for you to let the past go. But the past is still here.”

Bam stepped closer, making out a shape crouching in the corner against the bars.

“There’s a kingdom to the north where there’s an emperor who won’t show his face to hide the fact that he’s been the same ruler for over 500 years. He is a glutton, indulging in every sin you can think of at his people’s expense.” They pressed their face closer to the bars. “He treats people like sport, forcing them to fight to the death for his entertainment. Eventually, he started to run out of people. So you know what he did?” Their voice dropped low and they hissed through their teeth. “He made more. He raped the women and had his children fight too.”

Bam knelt in front of the visitor, able to more clearly discern the sharp angle of their jaw and high cheekbones. He could see the anxious determination in their dark eyes.

“Khun Eduan. Does that name sound familiar?”

It didn’t. He remembered the faces of the two remaining Family Heads but no names. Not even his own from back then. “No.”

The visitor’s brows furrowed and Bam was tempted to touch them. It’d been a long time since anyone had let him get so close without backing away with fear.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s time for his reign to end. The people need to be free.”

Bam swept his hair over the front of his shoulder and sat back so he wouldn’t sit on it. It was long overdue for a cut but no one had offered him one yet.

“If I help you kill him, what will you do?”

Their hands slipped down the bar a few inches, brows knitting tighter. “Are you asking for what I’d give you as a reward?”

Bam let out a light laugh—a feeling and noise so foreign, he didn’t know he had been capable of it. “No, no. I mean, once you are free, what will you do? So much time has passed since I was last outside. I don’t know what a normal life is like today. What will that look like for you?”

Their expression softened, their mouth opening slightly as they stared at him.

The moon had run its course and the sun was starting to illuminate the cell now. Hues of yellows and reds were starting to filter the room. It was just enough to make out the pale shade of their hair and the deep color of their eyes.

Bam leaned in closer to see if he could distinguish their color and regretted it immediately when they jerked their head away.

“Uh…”

Grateful that they didn’t get up to leave, Bam crossed his hands on his lap and bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

The visitor cleared their throat. “No, it’s—it’s fine. I was distracted. That’s all.” They hummed in thought for a moment. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I haven’t had a normal life, either. I guess I’ll figure it out afterward.”

Bam tilted his head. “What do you mean by that?”

Silence. Bam wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“There’s a different kind of life for those born outside and inside the castle,” they said quieter. “I was someone who was born inside and raised to… to fight.”

Oh.

There was a twinge of something aggressive in his chest. A defensive reaction that made him want to bear his teeth and flex his claws. He suppressed it, instead squeezing his wrist with a hand to keep himself grounded.

“Okay.” He had made his decision. “I will help you.”

Their eyes widened and a corner of their mouth twitched up into a crooked grin. “Really?”

Bam scrambled to his feet, eager to get going already.

“Yes. Something needs to be done about that. And I have unfinished business with Mr. Eduan.”

It had been a long time since he had harnessed shinsu but it came to him effortlessly, like running fingers through the water to make it swirl in whatever direction one wanted.

“May I ask your name?” He watched as the shinsu condensed in the air in a clear mass around his fingers. There was a familiar heat building at his temples as his horns reacted to the flow of shinsu.

The visitor stepped away from the bars. “Khun Aguero Agnis. You may call me Aguero.” He cleared his throat and added a little tentatively. “The old scrolls call you Jyu Viole Grace, but… How do you wish to be addressed?”

Bam smiled. So that was his name. Was. “Please call me Bam. It’s the only name I remember.”

With a flick of his wrist, the shinsu impacted the bars and shattered them like brittle glass. They both stared at the mess on the ground.

To be honest, he didn’t expect that to happen. Maybe the material hadn’t lasted as long as the spell and he could have left ages ago.

No, there would have been no point. He only just now found a purpose in the form of Khun. He was exactly what he was waiting for.

He carefully balanced on one foot as he swept some of the bigger shards aside with the other so he could safely step forward. Maybe he could find some shoes in another room. And another set of clothes. And some scissors.

Bam blinked at the stretched-out hand that entered his vision.

“Here. Let me help so you don’t get hurt.”

Bam stretched out his hand but paused when his claws were made visible.

Irregular. Demon. Monster.

Khun took his hand without hesitation and started sweeping a safe path for him with his shoe. Bam’s heart warmed with a strange but invigorating feeling.

They worked together until they were free to reach the stairs leading out of the holding area.

Bam took one step and stopped, slowly turning his head. He looked at the stars on the wall and his throat tightened.

This cage was safe and familiar while the outside world was filled with new dangers and unknowns. It filled him with fear and hesitation as he wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever feel in control.

But a warm hand squeezed his, and his attention was drawn to Khun. Under the sun’s full strength, he could see the silvery blue of his hair, the deep azure of his focused eyes, and the infinite patience in his warm smile as he waited for him to make peace with his decision. “Take your time.”

He squeezed the hand back with a deep, resolute exhale. He was much too excited for whatever new adventures awaited them.

“I’m ready, as long as I get to be with you.”

#tower of god #khunbam #fanfic #khun aguero agnis #twenty fifth baam #Resi's works

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throttlegainwell · 4 months

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So, reflecting on this year from a hobby writing perspective (and if anyone else wants to share any personal reflections or fic stats for the year, that would be very cool):

I posted at least one fic every month of this year (sometimes a few!), which is fucking wild and very cool to me. Didn't set out to do that! Just happened. But I've never even come close to doing that before. My goal has always been to post at least one fic per calendar year, prior to this.

First place was in February, with a whopping eight fics posted (some WIPs). Second place is a tie between September, August, and July, with five fics each. ~183k words total for the year (again, posted, not written, and not counting that decade-old kinkmeme fill that I backdated and finally put on Ao3--I've written a bunch that I didn't post or haven't finished yet, too). (Not to say that I'm hung up on quantity or anything, though I know I've mentioned that kind of thing quite a bit. But it's just really neat because it's so unusual for me.)

And on that note: posted to six different fandoms.

Participated in two fandom events, too, and filled a kinkmeme prompt. Also other prompts. (Also slowly working my way through two bingo things.)

And got into a new fandom! (So very into it lmao.)

Speaking of which, the please don't wake me series is now officially the longest thing I've ever written. I know it's technically a series of oneshots, but it's telling a singular, cohesive story in the same 'verse, so I'm counting it. (And, honestly, I've always wanted to do a series like that, so that's one goal being realized.) It's longer than Circadian, my second-longest work (~42k for Daybreak, ~62k for the series overall). pdwm is ~88k currently posted. It'll probably be ~150k when it's finally finished. Unreal.

And I talked to a whole bunch of people. Like, I've talked to more fandom people in the past year than I have in the past decade. (I don't even tend to talk to people outside of fandom online, so... yeah.)

Didn't update Circadian or finish And Where Do You Rest?, but there's always next year.

#writing tag #i don't by any means write to post #i just post sometimes when i write #but there is something very satisfying about this #i don't imagine that i'll be nearly as prolific next year #but hopefully i'll keep writing #also no for real i have talked to so many people (for me)#really cannot overstate how asocial i typically am online

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daydreamgoddess14 · 11 months

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My bad habits lead to you pt. 4

MASTERLIST

Sequel to We lie awake in love and fear

From a prompt by @lilacmermaid25:

5 times Ted returns from Kansas for a wedding, one time he returns 'just because'.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Thanks for reading so far! I struggled a bit with this one - I think I'm all wedding'd out! We're getting to the end now... Time for Ted to sort his shit out!

Chapter 4

Leslie and Julie - October 2024

“Julie and I are going to renew our vows.”

“That’s wonderful, Leslie! What made you decide that?”

"It's been 35 years this year. We were so much younger, we had no money, Julie was pregnant… I want to do something special for her."

"That's lovely, do let me know if you need any help with anything." Rebecca said warmly.

"I think we might go somewhere, I would say a beach in Cornwall but… well, it'll be October." He shrugged.

"Why not overseas? There are still warmer places this time of year."

"We've got the kids to think of, and the people here we'd want with us."

"Leslie, if it's about money then I'd like to help. I really would, it's the least I can do. I owe you so much."

"Nonsense, Rebecca. We've both come far in the last 4 years."

"We have indeed. And I'm grateful we stuck together. Let's make sure Julie has the most wonderful renewal ceremony."

Two months later, Leslie had planned a ceremony for Julie fit for a queen. He had settled on an old lighthouse directly overlooking the sea, but thankfully undercover from the wild waters and unpredictable weather. Their children were given central roles - their eldest performing the ceremony, their youngest walking Julie down the aisle. Rebecca found herself sitting near the front in between Ted and Keeley. With Henry back at school, Ted had brought Marie with him to meet his found family. Despite sitting next to his still relatively new girlfriend, for the third wedding in a row, Ted made sure Rebecca had tissues when she cried and held her hand. To make the guilt gnawing at Rebecca even worse, the woman simply smiled and whispered,

“I love that you two are such good friends!”

Rebecca tried her hardest to be nice to Marie, she sat at their table during the reception, agreed with her observations of Ted and smiled her way through the evening. Eventually, finally, Marie was encouraged to dance by Trent and Will, leaving her alone with Ted. They watched Leslie and Julie on the dancefloor, enraptured by one another.

"35 years. To think, Rupert and I didn't last much longer than a decade."

"Hmmm. Nor did me and Michelle."

"Can you imagine loving anyone for 35 years?"

"Pretty sure I can, yeah."

"Really?"

"Sure. I think anything is possible with the right person."

"Sounds like you've got someone in mind already."

"Maybe I do." Ted shrugged.

"I hope she knows how lucky she is." He looked over his glass at Rebecca who wasn't looking at him, her attention was taken up by the dancefloor where Trent was dancing with Marie. Ted didn’t respond.

“You were right, you know.” He said at last.

“I usually am Ted, which bit this time?”

“Feeling guilty. I’ve never… I’m not the kinda guy to…” he sighed heavily. “I don’t cheat. But apparently I do now, and that’s not me.”

“I know. You’re the best man I know, Ted. And look out there,” she gestured to the people around the room - her team and family, “I know some of the very best men in the world. Those boys, Roy, Leslie, Trent, Roy… Beard and Nate? They are my family. The loves of my life. They are flawed and sensitive and caring and witty and I’ll love each and every one of them for the rest of my life. To me, they are among the very best men in the world. But you… you’re the best of the best. You’re the one who helped most of them become the best versions of themselves. I know you feel like the worst person in the world. I did too - I still do, especially now I’ve met Marie. You need to let go of your past decisions and move on with Marie. She’s your future, Ted.” She looked at him with a heartbreaking smile, “I need to let you go.” As she finished speaking, Trent spun Marie back to the table and the younger woman took a seat next to Ted.

“May I?” Trent extended a hand to Rebecca.

“You may indeed, Trent.” He pulled her into the dancefloor just as a much slower song came on. She gratefully stepped into Trent’s arms and hid her face into his shoulder. It took a moment for him to realise she was crying.

“Shhh. I know, I know. I’m right here.” He murmured, swaying them gently in time to the music, one hand on her back. He looked over her shoulder at Ted who looked troubled, he nodded and smiled, reassuring Ted that everything was ok. As the song drew to a close, Rebecca took a steadying breath and looked sheepishly at Trent,

“I’m so sorry Trent, I’ve no idea where that came from.”

“Don’t be sorry darling, I’m right here if you need me.” She rubbed his arm and headed for the bathroom to freshen up before anyone could see that she’d been crying. There was no fooling some people though, and Keeley was hot on her heels.

“Alright babes?” She hopped up onto the vanity and watched with concern as Rebecca touched up her make up and wiped away stray mascara.

“I’m fine, love. Seeing Marie here… it’s harder than I expected. I want him to be so happy. I want him to be so loved and cared for and just… the happiest he’s ever been. She’s so lovely, and if she makes him happy then that’s enough for me.”

“It doesn’t make you happy though?”

“I have you lot out there, the best support system I could wish for. Trent’s a great hugger by the way, I’ve literally just cried all over his fantastic shirt. I’ll be absolutely fine. Maybe not tonight, maybe not this month or year, but I’ll be fine.”

“But you love him, babe?”

“I know, and I always will. But Keeley, he’s not mine to love. Not like that, anyway. I have to let him go so that he can focus on Marie and let himself be happy.”

“I just… I don’t understand why you have to sacrifice everything.” Keeley said sadly, “You deserve to be happy too, you deserve a love that lasts bloody 35 years and more!”

“I’m doing it for him. This is what he needs. He wants and needs to be with Henry, that means a life in Kansas without me in it.” She held Keeley’s hand and looked her best friend in the eye, “I promise you, I’ll be fine.” Further into the ladies, a toilet flushed and a second later, Keeley’s eyes widened as Marie approached the sink and washed her hands. Rebecca smiled calmly, there was no point in wondering if Marie had heard their conversation, it was written all over her face.

“I had no idea.” She whispered, looking at Rebecca in the mirror. Rebecca waved a hand,

“Of course, it’s just some lingering feelings since he left, that’s all.”

“Does he know that you love him?” Rebecca nodded. “Does he know how much?” Rebecca shrugged,

“It’s irrelevant, Marie. You are his future and I know you’ll make him happy.”

“But-”

“Hush now, this is a wedding, no need to get all melancholy. I’ve made it clear to Ted that I’m going to move on. If you don’t mind Marie, I’m going to go back out there and be with my family.” Though she smiled warmly, the pain in her eyes was impossible to disguise, and to ignore. She led Keeley by the hand from the bathroom and straight to the bar. “Can I have like a double gin and a single together? Like a triple? With tonic please. What do you want?” She turned to Keeley,

“Same please. Triple gin for the win.”

“I fucking need it after that. Oh my god. We didn’t say anything inappropriate did we?”

“How should I know! I was busy wondering how you still manage to look so fit after you’ve been crying like that!”

“Shit. We didn’t mention sex? I don’t think we did. So that’s fine, she doesn’t know that bit - she doesn’t need to know. I think we’re safe, right?”

“Babe, I hate to break it to you,” Keeley took the gin off the bar and handed it to Rebecca, “but you just admitted to that woman that you’re in like super love with her boyfriend and that you’ve ‘let him go’. And you look like… well, you. Like that.” She gestured up and down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re fucking hot, Rebecca. She probably feels a bit…”

“Like she’s won the lottery? Because she should, Ted is like the lottery.”

“Insecure. That he could have chosen you.”

“He didn’t choose. I took the decision out of his hands, I removed myself from the equation completely. Anyway, we need to avoid her for the rest of the night now, I can’t put my foot in it again.”

“Easy babe, it means joining the kids table though.” Keeley joked, pointing across the room at the clutch of tables housing the team and their partners. Ted looked a little disappointed as Rebecca and Keeley swept past his table and went to join the players. He couldn’t help but raise a smile as they all cheered her arrival and pulled out a chair for her. She didn’t leave their side all evening, she joined in with shots, accompanied Jamie and Will in their now traditional Macarena and video called Isaac’s girlfriend who’d been unable to make it. She collapsed into her seat next to Keeley and gratefully accepted a new drink from Simi.

“Is your back hot?” Keeley questioned.

“What an odd question. No, why?”

“Because someone has been staring at you alllll fucking night. I hope poor Marie hasn’t noticed.” Rebecca turned in her seat to look across the room at Ted, meeting his eye. He suddenly found his drink very interesting.

“I’m not sure about this plan to make Ted jealous-” Roy started, taking the seat next to Rebecca.

“She’s not trying to make him jealous.”

“Oh. Well what the fuck is going on then?”

“She’s given him up.”

“Oh. Fuuuck. I see. You do know that works in the same way as ‘trying to make him jealous’?”

“How does it? It’s the opposite of what I’m doing, He no longer needs to think about me.”

“But you made that decision… not him. So now all he’s thinking about is you. And how he can’t have you because you’ll say no anyway.”

“This is absurd. I don’t belong to anyone. I told Ted he should focus on Marie, and now it seems he’s not doing that at all.” The three sat staring over at the other table, a cloudy haze of alcohol getting in the way of them noticing that they were not being remotely discreet. Roy’s phone buzzed on the table.

‘Why are you all staring?’

“Shit, look alive, we’ve been rumbled.” They all turned their backs, Keeley’s giggles setting off Rebecca.

“Oh look! More new drinks!”

“Thanks Colin!” Rebecca and Keeley clinked their glasses. Triple gins were apparently a very good choice.

“Hold on, hold on!” He stopped them before they could take a drink, “Michael and I wanted to let you all know we’ve set a date… New Year's Day!” The team cheered. “I would say save the date, but we’ve got a match the day before so I know you’ll all be there.” The party descended into semi-chaos as the team pulled Colin and Michael onto the dancefloor, bouncing and dancing to the suddenly very lively music.

“Another wedding!” Keeley said gleefully. “We’ve been so spoiled with weddings recently! I wonder who’ll be next.”

“Probably Ted.” Rebecca snorted.

“I doubt it.”

“Where did Marie go?” Roy frowned, looking over at their table again.

“No idea. Oh shit, Rebecca, Ted’s coming over.”

“So? We’re allowed to speak.”

“Yeah but you are extremely, very wasted.”

“So are you.”

“I haven’t been banging him at every wedding babe. Oh no!”

“What?” Rebecca asked as Ted reached their table.

“I just realised your shagging streak will be over. You could have done 4 weddings!” Ted blushed at Keeley’s comment.

“Keeley! Will you keep your voice down!” Rebecca said, attempting a stern tone but dissolving into giggles again.

“Sorry, sorry. No more shagging, I know. Where’s Marie?” Keeley was suddenly on high alert, looking around to check she hadn’t been overheard.

“She’s gone back to the hotel. I’m ermm… I’m getting a different room.”

“Oh shit, what happened?” She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Roy cleared his throat. “Nope, not my place, thanks babe.” Roy’s hint changing her mind, she instead got up and pulled him alongside to dance with her, leaving Ted to take Roy’s seat.

“I hope I didn’t upset her? She heard Keeley and I in the bathroom. We didn’t say anything to suggest that we’ve… you know, since you’ve been with her.”

“No, no, I know. She told me about overhearing you. I’m the one who accidentally told her that we’d slept together.” Rebecca nearly tipped her glass over into her lap,

“What?!”

“Not recently, I suggested that it was just the one time, before I left last year. She seems to think that makes a big difference in the context of what she heard you saying.” Rebecca scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous. I like to think that our connection is far more than sexual.”

“That’s what I said.” She nodded in agreement, “Apparently that was not the right thing to say. That makes it worse.”

“Oh. Because sex is…”

“Just physical. Can mean nothing, to some people. Now she’s mad because she knows that not only is our connection more meaningful than just sexual but also that the sex wasn’t meaningless.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Ted. What do you think will happen?”

“I think we’ll talk about it tomorrow. See where we go from here.” Rebecca sighed. “Everything you said earlier about me finding someone to love for 35 years? And the things Marie overheard, about sacrificing your own happiness for mine?” He paused, searching her face, “What if-”

“Hmm… no. Don’t say it, Ted.”

“I need to.”

“No you don’t, you need to speak to Marie. You need to make a decision on your own terms.” She brought a hand up to brush his hair from his forehead. “Goodnight, Ted.” She slipped away from his reach and snuck out of the room without saying goodnight to anyone else.

She climbed into her lovely hotel bed a short time later and pulled out her phone, messages from Keeley and Trent wishing her a goodnight, a missed call from Ted. She hesitated before calling him back.

“Ted, it’s late.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have called, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Did you manage to get another room or has Marie let you in?”

“I got another room. Think I’ll give her the night, we can talk tomorrow.”

“Ok. At least they had a spare. You’d have been on Beard’s floor, and this is their first night away from Teddy. I wouldn’t want to be in that room tonight.”

“Hmm you got that right. I’m sure I’d have found somewhere to sleep. I heard you got the best room again.”

“It’s a lovely room. Huge bed.” He laughed.

“That an invitation?”

“You know I can’t say yes.”

“I know. Oh how I wish you would.” They fell quiet for a moment, she could hear his deep breaths in her ear. “Keeley was right, the tradition has been broken.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to survive, Ted.”

“Good for you, you’ll have to give me some tips on how ‘cos it’s all I can think about right now.”

“Ted,” she warned “you just can’t help yourself can you?”

“What can I say, seeing you do the Macarena really got me going.” She laughed,

“Silly man.”

“I know for a fact you’re silly as well. Keeley told me so, and I’ve seen it for myself. Heck, I saw you dancing the Macarena with Jamie Tartt and I saw it with my own two eyes."

"Don't remind me. Jan was trying to get me to do the dirty dancing lift."

"Hmm another Dutch fella trying to get into those very expensive pants of yours."

"Jan is perfectly harmless and you know it. Roy would kill any of them if they laid a finger on me."

"It ain't just my fingers I want on you. Or in you."

"Ted!"

"Right, right, sorry. Too much whiskey, not enough of you."

"You're impossible. How come you didn't flirt like this before?"

"I didn't know it was an option before. It's like sleeping with you unlocked new levels of you. Or me. Maybe both. Hey, you wanna come show me how to do the Macarena?"

"I don't think you've got the hips for it, Ted."

"Now you know I don't believe that. I know you love my hip action."

"Do I really?" She giggled.

"Yeah, when I do that thing and the angle means I get to-"

"Stop. You need to stop." She said quietly.

"Why?" His voice suddenly became a little quieter, a little lower.

"You know why."

"What are you wearing?' He asked. She didn’t reply immediately. "Bec?"

"The same thing I was wearing when you came to my house that night right before you left."

"Hmm. I remember. Pretty sure I dream about that at least 5 nights a week."

"Only 5?"

"Yeah, then one night is dreaming of fucking you in your office again, and the other night is in your kitchen."

"Why the kitchen?"

"Cos you'd look beautiful bent over that table for me." Rebecca whined a little. "I'm sorry." He added.

"What for?"

"Bringing Marie. I shouldn't have-"

"If you think her physically being here is the reason you're not fucking me right now then you haven't listened to a word I've said all night."

"I've been listening. I'm always listening to you. I know the way you sigh when I kiss you, I know the little hitch in your breath when I put my tongue on your clit. I know how when you say my name as you come it sends me right over the edge with you. Don't tell me I'm not listening, Rebecca." She groaned into the handset, her hand ghosting over her pajama shorts. "What're your doin' honey? I'm listening."

"Wishing you were here. I miss you."

"I miss you, jesus Rebecca, you wreck me."

"I need your hands on me."

"Close your eyes, you'll feel them. I love how soft your skin is, how strong your legs are. I wish I could touch you, make you fall apart over and over again." Rebecca pushed her hand into her shorts and ran a finger through her wet folds, her breath shuddered as she teased her clit. She was already so close from the sound of his voice. She heard him moving over the phone, heard his breath stutter. "Fuck, baby are you touching yourself?"

"Yes," she replied with a quiet moan. "I need you, Ted."

"What do you need? Tell me what you need."

"I need you to kiss me, I want you to mark my skin, I- god, Ted, "

"Go on sweetheart, you've got it."

"I need you to fuck me till I can't think straight. I want your hands on me, your mouth, your cock, Ted, I-" Her voice faded into unintelligible moans and expletives, his name the only distinguishable word repeated over as she came harder than she ever had before alone. She just about heard his low groan and the whisper of her name as he came. They lay in silence for a few minutes, both breathing heavily, "Jesus christ, Ted."

"Guess the tradition isn't broken after all." He laughed.

"Don't, I think you've made it worse." She giggled.

"Oh really? Cos I'm sure I could come over and-"

"Nope. No, Ted. This phone call was already a bad idea. We need to stop tormenting each other like this, it's not healthy."

"Do you ever get bored of being right?"

"Never. You're going to have to decide what you want, Ted."

"I thought you'd decided for me?"

"I want you to be happy. If that's with Marie then that's fine. Unfortunately your decision isn't as simple as me or Marie. What it really boils down to is London or Kansas. Or to make it even worse - me or Henry, and that's what you need to base your decision on. You need that boy, and he needs you."

"You know at Keeley and Roy's wedding he told me I was happier in London than I am in Kansas?"

"I mean, you were probably only happier because you'd railed me in my office that day, but I'm sure he's got a point."

"I don't want to choose, Rebecca. I can't."

"That's why I'm not asking you to, my love. It's no contest, there's nothing for you to do, Henry gets my vote every single time."

"What about you?"

"What about me? I'll be fine."

"I'm not sure I will be."

"You have Henry."

"I'm gonna sound like the worst father in the world here-"

"You're definitely not that."

"What if he's not enough? He's gonna grow up, go to college and I'll have put my life on hold for him - which I know is my role as his parent, but can't I be happy too? Wouldn't I be a better father if I'm a happy one?"

"Ted… there are some things you need to reconcile with yourself, how you parent and the kind of father you are is one of them. All I can do is assure you that you are one of the best fathers I've ever known."

".... Jeez Becca, there you go again."

"Always right?"

"Always. I should let you go, I don't think tomorrow is going to be a great day."

"Call me if you need anything. And if you do want to make it work with Marie then you need to be all in. You can't keep half arsing it anymore."

"Man, I still love those weird little phrases you guys use. I promise whatever happens I won't half arse it."

"Good. Now off you pop, I need my beauty sleep."

"Bullshit. Off you pop, goodnight Rebecca."

November soon rolled around, Rebecca hadn't heard from Ted. She knew via Roy and Beard that he'd tried to make things work with Marie but how successful that had been, she hadn't dare ask. It was the last Thursday in November, the cold was set in and Christmas was round the corner. She was working late at home on Christmas party plans when the email came though.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Dad

Hi Rebecca,

I hope you don't mind that I'm emailing you. Mom said I could, it's Thanksgiving day here, I wanted to thank you for sending the gift box of candy and chocolate, it's way nicer than the stuff I get here! Thanks for upgrading my kit too, dad said he was going to get another shirt when he came over for Colin's wedding but you beat him to it. He was surprised, he said he hasn't called you for a few weeks I think it's because he didn't want to tell you about Marie. He said you're always right. She was sad at football for a little while but she seems OK now anyway and I still get to hang out with Sophie so it's cool.

Can I write to you again? I'd like to if that's OK.

I'm gonna go to grandma's now for Thanksgiving dinner, it's gonna be so boring but we're gonna take the Star Wars TIE Fighter lego set you sent me.

Come on you Greyhounds!

Love, Hen xoxo

(Hey Rebecca, hope this is OK, his account is all looked after by me and he really wanted to drop you a note. Thanks, Chelle xo)

~~~~~~~

#ted lasso #tedbecca #tedlassoedit #ted and rebecca #rebecca welton #rebecca x ted #ted lasso s3 #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

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