#the man behind the mask | vagabond

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 9

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: threats and allusions to sexual assault + graphic violence

Word count: 5.9k

Chapter 9: 'Carolina'

One Week Later…

A cold pressure spread across the side of Juliet’s head. She shifted, tilting to the side but the solid surface remained, creating an uncomfortable weight against her skull. A groan escaped her chapped lips but her eyes stayed shut, squeezed tight against the light which threatened the darkness behind her eyelids. A soft rumbling sound breathed in Juliet’s ear and she felt her body shake with the vibrations that rattled around her head. What is going on -  

“Shit!” Juliet yelped and sat up, her eyes wide open. She was in a car, a dusty road projected across the front of her vision. Juliet released a slow breath of relief at the sight of the familiar horizon, the same horizon they had followed for several hours now. Only now its colour had deepened, the soft pinks transformed into a multitude of blues. 

Juliet turned to her left, her neck now incredibly stiff, and found Joel in the driver’s seat. He had one hand on the wheel, exactly where he was before she fell asleep, although now he stared at her with his eyebrows raised. Juliet could have sworn there was a slight curve to the corner of his mouth, but that was impossible. 

She sighed and reached a hand up to massage her neck. “Eyes on the road,” she grumbled. Joel’s face was a blank slate again, his head turned upwards before his eyes met the road.

Over a week had passed since their night at Bill and Frank’s. They had left early the next morning, packing the truck with weapons, food and anything else Joel deemed necessary for their journey. He had estimated that it would take about two days of near constant driving to reach Iowa, a task he was very much prepared to complete until they ran into trouble.

About five hours into their roadtrip, Juliet spotted the signs of a group travelling the same road. Fear had gripped her, sudden and fierce, as she pointed towards the man standing in the middle of the road ahead of their truck. He was crouched in a defensive pose, his hands outstretched above his head and he was shouting, a series of “please, please, please,” echoing in the deserted highway. The action struck Juliet with a sense of deja vu, she recognised the performance: a single man, entirely alone, with no belongings in the middle of the day, looking strangely clean and unharmed for a post-apocalyptic vagabond. 

“Don’t stop,” Juliet had urged Joel, as every muscle in her body froze. 

“I wasn’t fucking planning on it,” Joel growled as he grabbed the wheel and dragged it to the left in one powerful movement, the truck tires squealed and burnt rubber invaded the air as it swung off the road into the trees.

They had to stay off the highways after that. 

Instead, Joel drove them through deserted back roads and rough woodland trails which the truck barely survived. They also limited their time on the road, only driving when the sun was high and the wind howled around them to mask the roar of the engine. Joel was the most cautious man Juliet had ever met, his mind always went to the worst case scenario. It was annoying as hell, but an incredibly useful trait in a partner while travelling the battered wasteland of America. 

After over a week on the road, Juliet was used to the routine, familiar with the subtle signs of Joel’s weariness at the end of a long day and the soft tapping of his fingers on the leather steering wheel. Which was why, when Juliet woke in the truck to the sunset’s approach on the horizon, she blinked and dared to take another peek at Joel, a question lining her lips. He was usually so careful about staying off the road when the light began to shift. Joel must have felt her confusion because he responded to her silence:

“There’s a town about a mile away. We can find a place to lay low when we get there.” 

Juliet let her gaze fall to the forest lining either side of the truck, her brows furrowed. Joel’s decision was final of course, but she wondered what had urged him to risk driving into the evening. Maybe he was sick of moving slowly, maybe he was desperate to get rid of her, get his supplies and get to his brother. Juliet, too, felt the crushing weight of each second they spent on the road and not at her destination. She was sure Ethan felt it too. 

Juliet shuddered and wrapped her jacket around her, faking a chill. Her shoulder had begun to heal properly, Joel had rebandaged it again before they left Bill and Frank’s but now that her infection had thankfully cleared up, she could take care of it herself. Joel wasn’t forced to touch her anymore, he didn’t have to flinch every time his calloused fingers met her skin. 

Juliet let her head fall against the back of the seat once more and her eyes fell closed, listening to the tap of Joel’s fingers. In the fading light, Juliet allowed herself to fade into another dreamless sleep. 

…………………………………………………………………………

“Get up,” Joel’s voice cut through Juliet’s mind, his voice a harsh, warped whisper in her sleep soaked subconscious. 

She blinked rapidly, attempting to take in her surroundings. Juliet sat up and turned her head, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness now clouding her vision. It was pitch black, night had fallen.

“What’s happening? Why did we drive for so long?” Juliet croaked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. 

Her eyes were still squeezed tight when an arm wrapped around her head and a warm hand closed over her mouth. Juliet reacted immediately and reached her hands up, clawing at her attacker, her broken nails digging into the hard flesh. 

“Shhh, it’s me,” Joel’s voice whispered in her ear, his stubbled cheek pressed against the side of her head. He didn’t react to the small scrapes now piercing his skin.

Juliet’s body sagged instantly at the sound of Joel’s voice. Her back pressed against the front of his body despite the odd angle they were positioned in. When he felt the recognition flare through her, Joel’s hand slid from her mouth to rest on her collarbone. Juliet’s eyes were wide, scanning the darkness which stretched in front of the truck window, she tried to turn and look at Joel’s face, desperate to gain some understanding of their situation but Joel’s hold on her was solid and unyielding.

“We’re bein’ followed,” Joel hissed in Juliet’s ear, his voice thick with urgency. “They’ve got us boxed in, we need to get to that store along the street without makin’ a sound.” 

Juliet could just make out the faint outline of a shop when she squinted her eyes, the world around her was so dark that only Joel’s soft breaths grounded her in reality.

“When I say go, we’re goin’ to leave the truck and sprint for the store. You run without lookin’ back, I’ll find a way to get us in,” Joel said, breathing the instructions in her ear. 

Juliet said nothing, waiting for Joel’s signal.

“You hear me?” he asked, his voice practically a growl in her ear.

Juliet nodded her head, her chin barely able to tilt downwards in Joel’s embrace, she felt his head turn, as though he was scanning their surroundings. 

“Now,” he whispered. 

In a smooth motion, Joel let go of Juliet and pushed her towards the door on her side of the truck as he reached down to grab the gun placed strategically at his feet. Juliet stumbled out the truck, her own gun locked in her hand, safety off. 

Seconds later, they were speeding across the dark street, the sound of their steps ricocheting off the stone buildings lining the road. They had left everything in the truck, their food, their backpacks, their brief pretence of peace. They only had their guns, Juliet’s knife, and the variety of weapons Joel probably had stashed on his body. Juliet could barely see Joel in the pitch black, she followed his footsteps as he rushed in a straight line towards the large store at the end of the street, the moon cast a soft glow on the red circles attached to the top of the building. 

Juliet’s breath escaped her mouth in rough gasps, the remaining haze from her sleep dulled her senses as she ran after Joel, not daring to turn back at whatever or whomever had spooked him. When they reached the building, Joel signalled with a quick movement of his hand to follow him around the side of the store, their bodies practically plastered to the crumbling grey stone.

Their brief pause against the wall allowed Juliet to take a deep inhale of the night air, her clarity returning in a flood of panic and disorientation. She reached out and clutched Joel’s arm, he turned towards her immediately, his eyes burned with a hot fury, wide with a sharpened focus; his survival instincts out in full force.

There was a glimmer of fear there too, just a hint of it in the wideness of his eyes, which dampened when he scanned Juliet’s body and found it unharmed. 

Joel was a master at silent communication and the look he gave her in that moment, when an unknown threat was creeping around them, was utterly lethal. The words of confusion, a desperate need to understand what was happening, died on her lips.

Joel shrugged off her careful grip, gave her another desperate look and continued their movements along the side of the store. They reached a door only seconds later, Joel stopped in front of it, instantly attempting the handle. Locked, of course. 

Joel scanned the area around them as Juliet closed her eyes in an attempt to capture evidence of the anonymous figures Joel was so sure were stalking their every movement, concentrating on any sounds passing in the cold wind. Juliet heard nothing, which did not bring her the relief she craved. The continued stillness was disconcerting. 

Joel’s hand grazed her own and Juliet’s eyes flashed open. He stood before her, turmoil raged behind his eyes, the dark brown now entirely invaded by the black of his pupils. Juliet tilted her chin up to meet his cold stare, awaiting whatever instruction lay heavy on his tongue. 

“There’s a window, I’m gonna boost you up to unlock the door from the inside,” he murmured, moving closer to Juliet to ensure she heard his rushed, quiet words. 

Juliet looked behind him at the small window situated just left of the locked door, the glass was smashed and small shards rounded the edge of the frame. Juliet’s eyes met Joel’s again and she nodded, she could feel the invisible threat closing in every second they were still out in the open. 

Joel bent down under the window with a soft groan, his gun now in his back pocket as he cupped his hands for Juliet to step on. Juliet didn’t hesitate, she shifted her own gun into her jacket pocket, quickly stretched her bad shoulder and placed one foot on Joel’s hand, her arms reaching towards the window frame.

Careful to avoid the sharp shards that littered the frame, Juliet used her remaining upper body strength to push herself up, her feet now dangling. Warm hands caught her, Joel stood underneath her, his hands gripped her waist with a tight security she hadn’t realised how desperately she craved. Juliet couldn’t allow herself to think about how good the heat that radiated from his large hands felt against her sore body, she could only use Joel’s offer of strength to push herself the rest of the way. 

As she wriggled through the window she felt the glass tear at her jacket and trousers, covering them in small rips. Juliet cringed when her feet landed on the linoleum floor with a loud thud, she stood for a second in the enclosing darkness listening for any sign of company in the small room. Her torch was in her backpack in the truck so she relied on the dull glow of moonlight seeping in from the window to light the room. Silence surrounded her once more and Juliet decided it was safe enough to unlock the door. The sound of the lock turning was like a crack of thunder in the black stillness of the room, she turned the handle with fearful caution and forced open the door. Joel stood on the other side, gun in hand once again, Juliet barely had time to step back before he pushed through and closed the door behind him with fierce urgency. 

Joel spared Juliet one unreadable glance before he rushed to the door across the room, prying it open and turning to Juliet once again. He met her eyes and raised his finger to his lips, Juliet answered by reaching into her jacket pocket and slipping her gun out. Joel scanned her face then turned and stepped through the door, certain that Juliet would follow close behind. 

The darkness of the store didn’t seem so frightening when Joel was with her, leading the way. Juliet’s trust towards Joel was an odd thing; she trusted his abilities as a survivor, she trusted that he would keep her alive until they reached their destination.

Juliet wondered when that unwavering faith in him had been forged. They worked together for years in the QZ without engaging in any form of conversation, but they were together, always. Each day they clocked in for their shift, each day they both carted bodies to burn in the firepit, each day they watched with gritted teeth as young children were consumed by the flame. Juliet often found herself examining Joel out of the corner of her eye, watching as he rolled the sleeves of his flannel up his smoke covered arms. She felt his eyes on her, too. His gaze was always clinical, analytical, Joel would examine her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. A puzzle he wasn’t sure how he ended up with.

Throughout those couple years, Juliet memorised the sound of every sigh from his lips, the way his jaw would harden when the body of a young girl was next to be burned, and the look in his eyes when a lethal anger spread throughout him. Juliet remembered too, the almost invisible twitch of Joel’s lips when she would complain about her neighbour Kenny to the other people on shift. She remembered the way his hands would clench around his tools when he heard one of the other workers get a bit too familiar with her, Joel’s knuckles would whiten and he would wave her over before the next truck had even rolled in.

Juliet didn’t know Joel well, but she knew enough to trust him. What surprised her over the past couple weeks, though, was the sudden urge to know more about him.

Joel stopped suddenly and Juliet ran into his back, a gasp left her mouth as the air was knocked out of her. Joel reached behind him, his hand now latched onto Juliet’s arm, steadying her as she remained protected at his back. Juliet was practically pressed against his dark jacket, she could smell the smoke and pine which never left his body. Joel turned around and crouched behind the shelves, pulling Juliet down with him, his hand still clenched around her arm. 

Juliet took this opportunity, protected by the towering shelves behind them, to question Joel about what was going on.

“Who’s following us?” Juliet whispered.

Joel’s head whipped towards her, a warning glare stark in his eyes. Their faces were so close, Juliet swallowed hard, then tried again.

“You need to tell me what’s going on,” Juliet hissed, her words stronger than she felt. 

Joel turned away from her, his eyes scanning the aisle they crouched in. There was no one here, Juliet was certain of it. She was used to following Joel’s rules but the pressure of not understanding what was happening was unbearable, Juliet struggled to feel out of control. 

Juliet reached out and touched Joel’s cheek, her fingers brushing over the permanent stubble that shadowed his face. Joel froze, his body locked up, his knuckles white as he gripped his gun. Then he turned, facing Juliet as a muscle jumped in his jaw. Juliet dropped her hand, thankful that they sat in near complete darkness which meant that Joel didn’t see the redness staining her cheeks. Juliet held his gaze, waiting for him to give in and answer her questions. 

Eventually, after several seconds of tense silence, Joel’s eyes hit the ceiling and he began to talk in a hushed whisper, leaning closer to Juliet. 

“Few hours ago, spotted a truck movin’ slow behind us, thought they were bein’ slick hidin’ in between old cars,” Joel began, irritation weaving a rasp through his words. 

“Couldn’t stop, I didn’t know how many was in the truck,” he continued. “Not goin’ to risk an ambush.”

“So I kept drivin’, tried to cut them loose but they must know the area well cause they were unshakeable,” Joel explained, then shook his head. 

“Then another truck showed up, blocking the road,” he said. “They were fucking herding us.”

Joel wiped a hand over his face, resting it on his jaw, then scanned the aisle again. 

“Once they got to this town, they disappeared. Just gone,” Joel said, slower this time as though every word weighed on him.  

Juliet stayed silent throughout Joel’s whole explanation, digesting every bit of information until he mentioned their disappearance. White hot horror crept through her body, tightening every muscle and raising the hairs on her arms. She knew that trick.

“It’s a game to them,” Juliet whispered back, her voice cracking. 

Joel’s eyes shot to her, surprise rippled across his face, his chin pointed down in agreement. 

Something was still bothering Juliet, another question building a pressure inside her.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked, surprising herself with the animosity that laced her words. 

Joel didn’t answer immediately, just glanced down at his hands, one now resting on his knee, the other still white knuckled around his gun.

“I had it handled,” he reasoned, still not looking at her.

Juliet rolled her eyes, then sighed. Her confusion had bled into anger and now, her anger had transformed into a cold disappointment. Juliet trusted Joel, but it was obvious he didn’t share that sentiment. 

“So how are you going to get us out of this?” Juliet replied, then rested her head back against the shelf. If he was so set on handing everything on his own, he could figure this out too. 

Joel glanced at her then looked away, the lines on his forehead deepened. 

“Because you know that they’re watching our every movement, they know we’re in here,” Juliet whispered, then paused. “They’re just waiting for the right moment to come for us.”

“I know,” Joel grumbled. “I’m thinkin’” he added, with a sharp glance towards Juliet’s unimpressed face. She looked down at her hands, her mind desperately forming a plan to get them back to the truck alive. 

Muffled laughter sliced through the silence, accompanied by the sounds of multiple harsh footsteps booming across the floor. 

Juliet’s head whipped towards Joel but his eyes were already trained on her, alarm darting across his face. Joel raised his finger to his lips again then pointed to his ear, listen.  

Juliet sat frozen against the cold metal of the shelves, Joel’s leg brushing against hers as they remained in complete silence, listening to the movements of the people laughing and joking across the store. The shop was big enough that the sounds were muffled, Juliet thought the voices were male but she couldn’t be sure. She let out a long, slow breath, if they were on the other side of the store that meant they had time to figure this out. She turned to Joel, desperate to signal some sort of plan to escape but her words were cut off when a cry rang out across the room. 

“Stop!” a girl cried. “Please, no.” 

The voices were clearer now, they were getting closer. Juliet heard a sick laugh in response and a slap echoed across the store. The girl’s cries stopped. 

Rage stormed through Juliet’s body. Those men had a hostage, someone who probably already played their little game… and lost. Juliet pulled her gun in front of her and moved to stand up, ready to kill those men and damn the consequences. 

A hand reached across her chest, pushing her back down to the floor. Juliet hissed and she locked eyes with Joel, his expression was frigid. “Don’t fucking move,” Joel mouthed, his arm not releasing his tight hold on her. Juliet’s hands shook, the sound of the slap had awoken something in her, something she had so desperately attempted to quell. She closed her eyes and the tears clouding her vision spilled down her face, her breaths were quick, there wasn’t enough air in her lungs, she couldn't breathe. 

Joel shifted and pulled Juliet onto his lap as his gentle hand hovered over her chest. “Slow down,” he whispered against her hair. “Deep breaths.”

The shaking had moved throughout her whole body, every part of her trembled. She couldn’t do as Joel asked, she couldn’t do anything. All she heard was that slap echoing through her skull, the girl’s cry ringing in her ears. Terror and rage interlaced in her chest, pumping through her veins. 

“Juliet” Joel breathed, his voice soft. “Please.”

Juliet flinched, startled by Joel’s pleading. She never thought she would hear that word leave his lips, the sound of it had shocked her into distraction. Her breaths came slower, deeper, and her dizziness began to recede. A chill covered her skin as the aggressive trembling slowed, and Juliet wriggled on Joel’s lap, desperate to gain a hint of warmth. Her body had shifted into survival mode, embarrassment wasn’t on her radar. 

Joel released a shocked groan right into Juliet’s ear as his free hand adjusted her on his lap, moving Juliet further down. The chill on her skin began to ease when a heat flooded her body, her breaths now slow and steady. 

When her panic shrank, the voices of the men returned. They were still laughing and spitting disgusting words at the girl who appeared to still be alive. Juliet wasn’t sure that was a blessing. Joel’s grip loosened and Juliet turned to catch his eyes, the voices were getting closer again, they had to do something. 

Juliet’s panic might have receded but her rage overpowered her. She plotted the deaths of those men with a cold precision. Joel met her frenzied gaze and nodded. 

Juliet slid off of Joel’s lap as quiet as she could, her gun steady in her hand. Joel stood, his hand outstretched, hovering behind Juliet’s back to steady her. Juliet took a second to bathe in the warmth that brought her. Then she opened her eyes, her gaze locked on Joel and waited for his instruction. Juliet wasn’t thinking rationally, she needed Joel’s detached approach to lead the way. 

Joel’s jaw shifted, then he signalled to move. 

Juliet was Joel’s shadow, she moved when he moved, stopped when he stopped. They rounded the aisles in the opposite direction from the voices, attempting to catch a glimpse of how many there were. Juliet knew there was no getting out of here without alerting them to their presence. In fact, Juliet wouldn’t have been surprised if the men already knew they were there and the choice to ignore them was another part of their sick game. Juliet shuddered, memories threatening to resurface. 

Joel stopped at the start of another aisle and met Juliet’s eyes, she shook her head slowly and Joel nodded in response. They were in agreement: the men had to die. 

They were in a spot now where they were hidden from the men but could still hear every disgusting word uttered from their mouths. Joel held up four fingers, then one.  Juliet closed her eyes to listen better than nodded. There were four men and one hostage. 

Juliet’s mind finally slid into a state entirely detached from her feelings, her eyes narrowed to the weapon in her hand and what she would do with them. Confusion, anger, and disappointment all faded, only an icy focus remained. Joel looked Juliet up and down, something shifting in his eyes as he caught the expression painted on her face, then he moved down the aisle towards the men. Juliet rolled her neck and followed.

………………………………………….

“Bryan, fuck, don’t hit her again. She has to still look pretty when I have my fun with her,” whined the tallest man out of the group as the rest of them laughed at his vile words. Juliet watched through the gaps between children’s toys on one of the shelves. The girl lay on the floor between the men, her face splattered in blood and her clothing ripped. Juliet ran her finger over the sharp blade of her knife now gripped tight in one of her hands, not caring when it pierced her skin. 

Joel was behind a shelf on the other side of the men, they had split up to coordinate their ambush. Juliet could see him across the aisles as she waited on his signal. She attempted to tune out the vulgar men as the minutes ticked by but the odd word still invaded her mind, forcing her blade to dig deeper into her finger. Blood dribbled down her hand, droplets dripping onto the floor by her feet. 

Joel held up his hand, then used his fingers to count down from three. When he reached one, Juliet moved. 

They shot out from the aisles they were stationed in, guns raised. Juliet wasted no time firing two bullets into the chest of one of the men as Joel put another in a headlock.

Juliet found the crack from his broken neck incredibly satisfying. 

There were two men left, Juliet had her eye on the tall one, she didn’t want his death to be quite so quick. 

The girl was on the floor, her body trembling as the tall one grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up into his arms. His gun was against her neck a second later. Juliet froze, her finger hovered over her trigger. Joel had the remaining man in a tight grip before he could retaliate. Joel’s gun was against his head, ready to pull the trigger until the tall one made his move. 

The tall one’s sick laugh filled the space around them, his free hand stroking the girl’s face with a disturbing gentleness. 

“We were wondering where you guys ended up,” the man continued laughing. Juliet shifted her feet, her eyes darted between the man and Joel, her mind buzzed with possibilities. None of them were particularly good.

“We had our eyes on you two for a while, led you all the way here, but then… well, we found this little one,” he said as he squeezed her cheek, the gun still pressed against her neck with his other hand. The girl had started crying again, silent tears streaming down her blood stained cheeks.

The girl looked a couple years younger than Juliet, and when she looked in her eyes, Juliet saw herself reflected back. 

“What do you want?” Juliet demanded. “I mean, it seems you’re all geared up for your big villain speech, so let’s hear it.” Joel’s eyes darted towards her with a slight shake of his head. Juliet was past caring at this point. 

The tall one’s laughter ceased. He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side as his eyes surveyed Juliet’s body. Joel tightened his hold against the man in his arms. 

A slow smile slid over his face but his soulless stare remained. Then his smile transformed into a grimace and he released his hold on the girl, Juliet flinched as the girl hit the floor with a cry. By the time Juliet opened her eyes again, the tall one had the gun trained on her. 

“Maybe I made the wrong decision,” he mused.

“Maybe I want you,” he said, tilting his gun up and down Juliet's frozen figure. Then he moved, stalking over to her. “I like my girls with some fight in them.”

Juliet swallowed, her mouth incredibly dry. Her hands started to tremble again as the man moved closer. Juliet’s mind projected another man’s smooth stride over the scene in front of her. Her breaths began to speed up again and her eyes darted to Joel. His gaze was trained on the tall one, murder danced in his eyes. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” Joel growled, digging the gun deeper into the neck of the man wriggling in his arms.

Juliet pushed every horror filled thought to the back of her mind, allowing that cool indifference to enter her consciousness again. She gripped her gun tighter in her hands, ignoring the sweat that coated the handle.

“Oh but we were just getting started,” the tall one moaned, turning towards Joel with another grin on his face. “She's a keeper,” he sang, his words slurring slightly as he winked at Joel. 

Juliet had witnessed many of Joel's hostile stares but the fury burning within his eyes in that moment was brutal. 

“Not interested,” Juliet replied, then pulled the trigger, using the man’s distraction against him.

The tall one didn’t even have time to turn towards her before a bullet shot through the side of his head. In the same second, Joel shot through the neck of the other man. Blood spurted from the wound, pooling beneath him when his body dropped to the floor. 

Juliet’s gaze immediately went to the girl on the floor, covered in more blood now from the bodies of the men who had captured her. She trembled so hard, it looked like her entire body was convulsing. Juliet knelt before her, laying her gun on the floor as she reached for the girl’s arm. 

“We won’t hurt you,” Juliet reassured her, her voice a whisper. “Are you okay?” 

The girl turned towards her, tears flowed down her red cheeks, a sob choked her throat as she reached her hands to grip Juliet’s. 

“Please, help me,” she cried. “I’ve lost my brother, I need to get to my brother,” the girl sobbed, her voice breaking. 

Juliet nodded. “We can help you, you’re safe, you’re safe,” she consoled the girl, stroking her hands across the girl’s trembling palms. Juliet felt an intense protectiveness towards her, her chest was tight with rage and terror but her mind was focused on the safety of the girl in front of her.

She had the same brown hair as Juliet, the same dark eyes, the same scream.

Juliet would convince Joel to take her with them, she would help her find her brother, she would - 

“Juliet,” Joel said urgently, cutting through her racing thoughts. Juliet turned to find Joel towering over her from behind, gun in his hand, locked on the girl. 

Juliet froze, her gaze darting from Joel to the girl and then back again. The girl started to sob again, choking on her own tears.

“Joel?” Juliet asked, confusion overwhelming her. “What are you doing?” 

Joel’s expression was eerily vacant, as though he had made a conscious effort to rid himself of any emotion. “Her arm,” he replied, his voice as empty as his features. 

Juliet followed his gaze to the girl’s arm, the one she had held only seconds ago. Her torn sleeve had pulled back revealing a large bite on the inside of her forearm, already red and blistered with dark veins stretching around the wound. 

“No” Juliet breathed, shock paralysing her. Her hands dropped instantly but she couldn’t move her body. The girl sobbed harder as tears, snot, and blood coated her face. Juliet’s mouth dropped open but no words came out. 

“Please help me,” the girl wailed. “I need to find my brother.”

She wiped her nose with her injured arm. “Will you help me?” she asked, her voice so childlike. 

Juliet glanced up at Joel, his gun was still locked on the girl, ready to pull the trigger at any time but his gaze remained on Juliet’s face, searching her eyes, waiting for her signal. 

A silent sob escaped Juliet’s mouth and she reached up to touch her face, her cheeks were wet with tears. She covered her mouth with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. This can’t be happening, she thought. Sorrow filled every inch of her body, Juliet couldn’t make sense of this situation, it was so unfair. 

Juliet opened her eyes slowly, desperately hoping that this was all a bad dream and she was really still asleep in the truck, on her way to a more familiar nightmare. 

But she wasn’t, she was still in this store, and there was still a girl in front of her who was dying and who needed her. Juliet reached out her hand and felt Joel stiffen behind her as her fingers grazed the girl's cheek. “What’s your brother’s name?” Juliet asked, her voice a gentle whisper.

“Luke,” the girl answered, her voice a quiet rasp. “His name was Luke.” 

Juliet choked on another sob, then smiled at the girl through the tears that spilled into her mouth. Juliet wiped her nose. “You’ll see Luke again,” she said. 

The girl’s sniffles stopped for a brief second as she looked into Juliet’s eyes. “You promise?” she whispered back. 

Juliet dug her broken nails into her own palms, welcoming the pain.

“I promise,” Juliet vowed. Then she nodded, her head tilting down in a sharp movement. 

A shot rang out between them. 

The girl slumped to the side, blood pouring out from the bullet in her head. 

Juliet released a shaky breath and turned towards Joel. Once their eyes met, he reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up to stand beside him. Juliet’s head was spinning but her gaze eventually fell to the devastation around them. Five bodies littered the ground in their own pools of red. Joel’s grip tightened on Juliet’s arm, holding her close to him. She could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

Juliet met his eyes, his expression had thawed a little and she saw a glimmer of pity shine through.

Juliet paused and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the darkness would swallow her whole. Then she opened them and shrugged off Joel’s hand, reaching down to grab her gun from the floor before more blood flowed its way. She wiped it off on her trousers then turned in the direction she believed the exit to be. Joel hadn’t moved, he just stared at her retreating form. 

“Come on,” Juliet called behind her in a cold, lifeless voice. She heard Joel’s footsteps stride forward to catch up with her.

Juliet didn’t need his pity. She didn’t want to witness that knowing stare. She just wanted to forget, move forward with their journey. 

Juliet knew, though, deep in the darkest parts of her soul, that she would never forget the ghost of a smile that haunted the girl’s lips as the bullet hit her head.

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@ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fic #Spotify #pedro pascal

[dancingwiththefae]

Jewel of mine eye

Dandelion/Anna Henrietta

dancing, making out, mild sexual content, mild book spoilers 1.4K

Also on AO3

The palace of Beauclair is hosting a masquerade ball in honour of their guests, the hansa. Dandelion and Anna Henrietta are playing a game of their own.

Dandelion combed through his curls, heat still present from the tongs. He admired himself in the mirror as he did so. Dressed in an elegant lavender doublet and matching trousers, he felt a far cry from the man who had camped in the dirt with his gang of vagabonds. He adorned his hands with rings. It was a little much, but it was a special occasion. And Beauclair catered to his expensive taste.

He watched the door creak open in the mirror. Geralt slipped into the room with a face like he was going to a funeral. The black clothing didn’t help. At least he’d made an effort. He wondered if Anna had her maids dress him. It was an amusing image.

“My friend,” the poet greeted, “you scrub up well. Handsome even. Looking to impress?”

His comment did nothing to ease the Witcher’s thunderous expression.

“Oh cheer up,” he admonished, “this ball is being held in your honour. The least you can do is pretend to have a good time.”

“Our idea of a good time is very different,” Geralt sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“Fringilla will be there.” He could quite disguise the tension in his voice.

“You don’t like her?”

“It’s not that I don’t like her.” He turned from the mirror towards his friend. “It’s just…”

“You don’t approve,” Geralt finished for him.

“Yes well,” the poet sighed, “it’s none of my business. What did you go for anyway?”

The witcher held up the mask he was holding. The ghost of a smile played upon his face.

“A wolf? Predictable.”

He picked up his own mask and laid it over his eyes. The elegant lace felt good on his skin. It didn’t do anything to hide his identity. But that wasn’t the point. He wanted to be seen.

“Mind you keep an eye on Angoulême this evening,” he said as he tied the mask in place, “and don’t let her near the butter knives.”

“Milva is watching over her,” Geralt assured.

“Good. Would hate for my little weasel’s plans to be ruined.”

The witcher let out an exasperated sigh. He didn’t bother to hide his tone. Dandelion bristled at the sound.

“You don’t like her?”

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” the witcher parroted, “I just….don’t approve.”

Dandelion stood abruptly and folded his arms.

“Well,” he said shortly, “it’s a good thing it’s none of your business then.”

Geralt said nothing. He positioned his mask and, with one last glance, left. Dandelion huffed. He wasn’t going to let a grumpy witcher ruin his night. He took one last look in the mirror, judged himself decent and then followed behind.

He spotted her as soon as he entered the hall. The place was grand. Full of elegant clothing, dancing and flowing wine. There she was in the corner. Her chestnut hair was pulled back from her face, elegant curls forming an elaborate style and falling down her back. Her choice of mask was a fox with a bejewelled nose. It wouldn't have been his choice, but it framed her blue eyes perfectly. Even if she was trying to disguise herself – which he suspected she was – he would recognise her anywhere. Her mouth was turned down into a pout as she scanned the crowd. So she was looking for him already? Well, she would have to pout for a bit longer. He wasn't going to go up to her straight away. It would spoil the game.

He glanced behind him to find that Geralt had already disappeared. Typical. It didn't take him all that long to find himself up a sorceresses skirts. Dandelion sighed. No matter. He could put on a show by himself. It was what he was best at, after all. He strode into the centre of the room and stood under the chandelier. He grabbed two glasses of wine from a servant walking by and sipped one. It was the most open space in the room. She was bound to notice him here. And sure enough, her eyes were on him. She didn't approach, only inclining her head slightly in acknowledgment. She was waiting for his next move.

He didn't leave her waiting long. He accosted a young woman next to him. She looked up at him from behind her feathered mask with wide green eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Wine, my lady?” He dripped seductive charm in his voice. The woman's eyes darted down to the glass in his hand. He features – of what he could see – softened.

“Thank you, good sir,” she spoke with a strong accent that Dandelion had always found endearing. She took the glass gratefully and downed it. Honestly, the poet was impressed. He followed suit before discarding the glasses on a passing tray.

“And perhaps a dance?”

He gave a bow and held his hand out for her. She accepted with a giggle. He laid a kiss on her hand and led her to an empty space on the floor. He spared a glance over as he did so. Anna was still watching. It spurred him on to dance, twirling his partner and making her laugh. He kept his touches respectful. It was all in good fun. When the song ended, he offered another kiss to the back of her hand before letting her go off with another man. His eyes found their way back to the corner. Annarietta was fanning herself, giggling at whatever the man sidled up to her was saying. She fluttered her eyelashes. Oh, she was good at this.

That was how much of the evening went. He peacocked around. Flirting with the women, drinking fine wine and dancing with anyone who would have him. Anna would pout, fan herself and flirt lightly with men who clearly didn't recognise her or they would not have been so bold. Eventually, Dandelion grew bored of their game. He waited for her to be distracted to strike. He sneaked up behind her when she lost sight of him and grabbed her by the waist. She let out a squeal as he pulled her away from the party. He led her into a secluded hallway while she laughed at his antics. But when he spun her round to kiss her, she pushed him away.

“Julian,” she admonished. Her voice was harsh but the light in her eyes gave her away. “I am a duchess. I must keep some kind of decorum.”

Now he pouted at her. It wasn't like they were the only one doing it. Morals were loose and wine was flowing. People were hiding themselves in every private space. But of course, she was the Duchess of Toussaint. She had to rise about it. Unless-

He took the fan from her hand and flicked it open with a flourish. It provided them just enough cover. With an arm around her waist, he pulled her in close. Their lips met and she yielded to him. He chased her lips, he tongue. She moaned into his mouth and he pulled her in tighter. He pulled back to whisper in her ear.

“I set my eyes on you from the moment I arrived.”

“How did you recognise me?”

His other hand came up to delicately follow the bridge of her nose.

“How could I not recognise my beautiful little weasel?”

He kissed her once more. Deeply, passionately, pushing her against the wall. He let his intentions be known to her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and reciprocating his advances before pushing him away once again. The mixed signals were confusing. He never really knew where he stood with her. Perhaps that was what made her so alluring.

“Well.” He composed himself. “If I cannot have you here, to your chambers perhaps?”

He entangled his fingers with hers but once again she rejected him.

“I cannot leave my people,” she stated, “people expect things of me.”

He folded his arms. It was just at that moment that a servant walked by. Dandelion's mind worked quickly. He took a glass of wine and in the next moment dropped it down her dress.

“Julian!”

Dandelion merely shrugged.

“I suppose you will have to go upstairs and get undressed now.”

She held her composure for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. She picked up her skirts and ran through the hall towards her private rooms. Like a dog to a bone, Dandelion followed close behind.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #anna henrietta #dandelion #jaskier #faye writes

[liveattheauction]

Okay Patho fandom, hear me out:

Repo! The Genetic Opera AU

Like, it’s not even that far off already. You’d barely even need to change their outfits; just add more leather and maybe a boob window or two.

Artemy as a Repo Man. All personal conflicts with what he does, his family’s ways, right and wrong are well-hidden behind the mask, and he has a place to let loose that butcher’s temper.

Daniil would be a designer geneticist/surgeon, high-class and classy to boot, foul in his methods but with damn good results.

Clara’s already a perfect little vagabond to be a graverobber. Half the things you see in a graveyard involve her clever hands.

(If I had the energy to do anything nowadays (and if I didn’t have like 8 WIPs already) I’d write something. Maybe I’ll open a Word doc and name it just in case…)

(…maybe a little Burakhovsky in there as a treat…)

#pathologic 2 #pathologic #repo! the genetic opera #repo!tgo #aus

[maskmerchand]

@radicheart from HERE

     A   CURIOUS   TILT   OF   THE   HEAD,   but his hands remain tucked behind his back before the man   SPEAKS,   an alluring blend of a spanish / french accent permeating the stale air with its resonance.

     ❛ very pink indeed, créature intéressante! a lackluster blend of french rose and bubblegum, if i do say so myself. ❜   the merchant moves his hands from behind his back, only to clasp them together with a soft   CLAP   before speaking once more.

     ❛ here is the beautifully plain sector of   BISMARK,   officially known as zone 2 in our little game. it has been   QUITE A WHILE   since a vagabond like yourself sauntered through our precious little level. the last individual who found their soul here certainly made quite a ruckus! ❜   zacharie allowed his index finger to trail along the outside of his polished counter as he made his way around it to gain a closer   INSPECTION   of the being before him.

     ❛ it appears the veil has thinned long enough for this   PHENOMINON   to occur once more!   unfortunate. ❜   zach lifts his finger from the polished counter, bringing it close to the slit in his frog mask to garner a closer look at its essence.   DRAT.   he needs to polish the tabletop again. after inspection, the merchant brings his index to his own chest and wipes off the excess   GUNK   on his shirt before tilting his head once more at the creature before him.

     ❛ your name, mon petit vagabond? ❜

#radicheart #i hope this is okay!!!!!! <3

[kamaandhallie]

The Dark Lord and the Savior: Chapter 4

Wander Over Yonder x Star Wars x Dune crossover fanfic

Chapter 4: The Targets

The Executor-class Star Dreadnought, more commonly known as the Super Star Destroyer, hovered through the vast emptiness of space, surrounded by dozens of significantly tinier Star Destroyers that were themselves surrounded by squadrons of TIE Fighters patrolling the area. From the command bridge of the Super Star Destroyer, Admiral Karus, commander of the ship and leader of the galactic conquest just below Darth Vader himself, stared out the window to the blackness of space that was riddled with stars and Star Destroyers flying all around.

As he stared out the window, the Admiral contemplated this new galaxy, particularly just how small yet vast it was. The planets of this galaxy were all much tinier than the ones back in his home galaxy, to the point that a lot of them could barely really be considered planets, more oversized asteroids, and even their smallest Star Destroyers dwarf them. Not only are the planets and systems small, but they are impossibly close to each other, to the point that they’ve rarely ever had to use hyperspace most of the time. So despite the vastness of this galaxy, conquering it should be a breeze for the Empire, especially since most of the inhabitants seem pretty defenseless. Unfortunately for them, there have been several complications getting in their way, from smaller local conquerors like Lord Hater and an evil sandwich of all things, and now they had equally big, if not bigger competition looking to conquer the galaxy as well.

To make matters worse, Karus had just received some troubling news not too long ago, something he knows Lord Vader would eventually need to hear, but anyone who’s worked in the Imperial Armada long enough will know that Vader does not take bad news well, especially if you were the cause. He was nowhere near responsible for what happened, but with Lord Vader’s anger, you can never be sure. He supposed there was no point delaying the inevitable, so he turned around and left the command bridge.

The Admiral entered Lord Vader’s meditation chamber, a dark room with very few sources of light, the biggest of which was the life support pod Vader was in right now. The top part of the pod was lifted to reveal its insides, and for a brief moment, Admiral Karus could see Vader’s bald pale head before it was covered up by his helmet put on by the many types of machinery inside the pod. Vader’s chair spun around slowly to face Karus, with the man himself sitting calmly and staring at him with his dark expressionless mask.

“What is it, Admiral?” Vader asked in his cold robotic voice.

“Lord Vader, we’ve just received news from a Commander Dannin. It appears Admiral Dramar and his Star Destroyer have been destroyed, and the system he’s been assigned to has also been taken…by Lord Hater,” Karus answered, trying to hide his worried tone behind his professional behavior.

“Is that so?” Vader said, still in his cold emotionless voice.

“Lord Vader, we must try hunting Lord Hater down, this is the second time he has ruined our invasions and destroyed our forces. If he managed to take down Admiral Dramar, surely we–”

“Admiral Dramar was as ambitious as he was careless, he was bound to fall to such a fate sooner or later. We will not be wasting our resources on Lord Hater,” Vader interrupted.

“But, my lord…”

“Have you forgotten we are dealing with a much bigger problem than Lord Hater? We are in a race against time here, Admiral. I will not lose this galaxy to Emperor Muad’Dib. Our own Emperor is not forgiving to those who fail to get him what he wants. Continue focusing your fleets on the invasion as usual, and eliminate any sign of Muad’Dib’s forces.”

“But something must be done about Lord Hater! As well as those two vagabonds, Wander and Sylvia. They are a constant thorn in the side of our conquest, and they will soon be a problem if left unchecked for too long,” Karus said.

“I am aware of that, Admiral. Put out a target on Wander and Lord Hater, and place a bounty on them as well if you need to, let everyone who works under us know to destroy them on sight. I do not want to hear any news about Lord Hater again,” Vader replied. “Besides, I hear that Emperor Muad’Dib is also hunting them down. Soon there will be no place left in this galaxy for them to hide, this problem will take care of itself sooner or later.”

“Yes, my lord.” Admiral Karus said and bowed his head.

The Admiral then left the room, and Vader’s chair rotated back to its original position as his meditation pod closed up again. 

Once Admiral Karus returned to the command bridge, he immediately called out to one of his subordinates. “You! Send a message to all our troops and fleets in this galaxy! Tell them to look out for the fugitives Wander and Sylvia and also watch for Lord Hater! Tell them that if they see either of them, destroy them on sight!”

As soon as his subordinates heard this, they immediately transmitted the order, sending out wanted poster holograms of Wander and Sylvia as well as Lord Hater, together with the instructions to destroy on sight. It didn’t take long before every Star Destroyer, every Imperial officer, and every Stormtrooper battalion got the message.

Karus spoke again, though this time mostly to himself. “Those thorns in our side must be destroyed as soon as possible! I will not let the expansion of our great Empire be thwarted by a singing vagabond and a terrible excuse for a conqueror, and I will certainly not lose it to Emperor Muad’Dib!”

Far away from where the Super Star Destroyer was, on a distant bright planet, Wander and Sylvia had just finished eating at a diner in the town they were passing by. Wander had just finished his bowl of salad, while Sylvia was having her last bite of jellyfish pie. As Sylvia chewed up the last bite, she wiped off the crumbs around her mouth.

“Gor, almighty. This jellyfish pie might not be as good as the one in Slarnack’s Deli, but it’s still pretty darn good.” Sylvia said with a smile.

It was nice to enjoy the simpler things again after facing two crazy villains in a row, it helped Sylvia take her mind off things for a while. For the last few days, Sylvia wasn’t able to get rid of the worry she had for Vader and Paul, especially for Paul, he seemed pretty deadest on taking over this galaxy and bending it to his will. Over the past few weeks, Wander and her have been seeing more and more of Vader’s Star Destroyers and Paul’s Heighliners in a few systems they’ve visited. It seemed like everywhere she went, she’d see more Imperial flags or Atreides banners hanging on the walls of the towns of each planet, and a few times she’d even see statues of Paul erected in spots for everyone to see, and that’s not even counting their several run-ins with Stormtroopers and Fremen soldiers. But Wander and her have faced many dangers together, they even saved the galaxy from total destruction when Dominator showed up, and if they can get through that, they can surely get through this too.

“I do agree that was a fine and dandy meal, Sylvia. Shall we hit the road again?” Wander asked, gesturing out the window.

“Sure thing, buddy. Just let me pay for the food real quick.” Sylvia said as she reached for some money in her bag.

After Sylvia finished paying for their meal, she and Wander stepped outside the diner, but something felt off, it seemed darker than when they came in less than an hour ago. Their confusion was gone when they looked up to see a Star Destroyer hovering above the planet and blocking out the sky. Wander and Sylvia panicked even more when they heard the thundering march of hundreds of feet growing closer, and as they looked down the street they saw a Stormtrooper army heading their way. Sylvia grabbed Wander and ducked into the alleyway beside the diner, hiding behind some garbage cans as the legions of stormtroopers marched past them. Sylvia poked her head out to see what was going on, and as she did, a hover tank appeared into view amid the passing battalion, sticking out of the top of the tank was a stormtrooper with a red pauldron watching the march. He then pulled out a device from his pocket, looking like he had just received a message, and as he turned on the device, it projected a blue hologram of two figures with red letters in front of them. Sylvia couldn’t see who the figures were at first since she was pretty far away, but as she squinted her eyes more she realized who they were. The hologram was of her and Wander, and Sylvia didn’t know what the red letters said, but she knew it wasn’t anything good, especially after the commander stormtrooper shared the message with his army and told them to keep an open eye.

“Oh, grop…” Sylvia murmured nervously as her eyes widened. “Wander, we gotta get off this planet fast.”

Ever since Wander gave the Stormtroopers shooting lessons on Goolopia, their aim has improved significantly, so that’s one major window of survival completely shut off. Sylvia looked around to find a way to escape, but it seemed there were very few options. They can’t fly out with their orbble since a Star Destroyer is blocking the sky, and the borders of the city have now been barricaded. Sylvia then tried to look for other escape options within the town, and she found two possible candidates, one are the public transport ships leaving the planet and the interdimensional door in the town square, both of which might get them to the Space Train Station, and the space coasters will help get them as far away from Empire territory as quickly as possible. The problem is that both of those things are guarded by Stormtroopers who inspect every person thoroughly before letting them pass, which is gonna be hard to get through, and that’s if they’re lucky enough to pass through the streets since they’re crawling with Stormtroopers.

Sylvia was honestly confused as to how to get through this situation, and she was a lot more scared for herself and Wander this time because this wasn’t like dealing with the Watchdogs where they’d get captured but there was still hope of escape, these Stormtroopers will destroy them on sight, meaning one wrong step and it’ll be over. The only thing she could be thankful about in this situation was that they weren’t dealing with the Fremen, because those guys are a lot more ruthless than Stormtroopers, and they’ll slaughter anything in their path if they feel like it.

Suddenly, an idea popped into Sylvia’s head. There’s one good thing about Stormtroopers that can give them a better advantage than when dealing with Watchdogs or Dom-Bots, that being nobody ever actually sees under them. Sylvia waited behind the garbage cans for the opportune moment, and it came pretty quickly. Two Stormtroopers passed by the alleyway Wander and Sylvia were in, and Sylvia quickly yanked the two armored soldiers into the alley and knocked them out just as fast, then took their armors off, revealing the very plain ordinary-looking human men underneath. Sylvia put the armor on herself and Wander, and even though their proportions looked way off for Stormtroopers, Wander especially with his short size, Sylvia figured it should be enough for her plan to work.

The two nomads peeked out of the alley with their stormtrooper armor on, but not before Wander provided blankets and pillows for the knocked-out armorless stormtroopers, even placing ice packs on the bruises where Sylvia hit them. The blue zbornak analyzed the streets, carefully planning their escape route, and she found it.

“Alright, Wander, here’s the plan. We’ll march through the streets, just acting like regular stern, quiet Stormtroopers, sir!…” Sylvia said while doing a salute and soldier voice. “…and then we’ll sneak into the trunk of one of those shuttles that take us straight to the Space Train Station, and we’ll be home free!” Sylvia declared confidently, before dropping it and getting down to eye-level with Wander. “Now look, buddy, I know you’re gonna see someone out there in trouble and you’re gonna wanna help ‘em and all, but I’m asking you for once just please, please stick close and listen to me! Those troopers out there are not gonna hesitate to destroy you on sight, and the Fremen warriors are even worse so let’s just be thankful we’re not dealing with them. So please don’t do anything stupid because if you get in trouble and I can’t help you in time, I…” Sylvia cut herself off before she could finish that sentence.

Wander looked at his best friend sadly, he felt pretty bad that he made her really scared and worried, but it’s not really like he could help it with his constant need to help those in need. But he could see the worry in Sylvia’s eyes, and he didn’t want to hurt his friend, so Wander sighed and then smiled at her, pulling her in for a hug.

“Alright, Sylvia. I promise I won’t wander off.” Wander said in his hug with Sylvia, which got a warm smile from her before it disappeared when she noticed what Wander just said. “Aahh, see what I did there?” Wander asked with a cheeky smile.

Sylvia stared at Wander with an unamused look, but after a few seconds, she warmed up again and chuckled. “Alright, buddy. Let’s get outta here.” Sylvia said as she and Wander put on the Stormtrooper helmets.

Wander and Sylvia walked out of the alley in their full Stormtrooper armor, imitating the stride and the blaster hold of all the other Stormtroopers around them. Sylvia didn’t know how long these disguises were gonna fool them considering how awkwardly the armor actually fits her and Wander, but considering no one has looked their way so far, it seems to be doing a fairly decent job. If all goes well, they should be able to reach the shuttle ships in no time at all, though for some reason Sylvia felt that wasn’t going to be the case.

Wander marched right behind Sylvia, doing an exaggerated military march, while constantly reminding himself “ Do not wander off, Wander. Do not wander off, Wander ,” in a whispered tone. Around them, hundreds of Stormtroopers patrolled the streets, a lot of them in squads, some taking care of traffic, and others guarding important spots like the radio the borders, and the spaceport they were sneaking into. Wander was kind of surprised not a single Stormtrooper had noticed their disguises, considering how unconvincing they were. Maybe attentiveness wasn’t a Stormtrooper’s strong suit, aiming certainly wasn’t before Wander tried teaching them.

Wander then saw to his right a squad of Stormtroopers marching down the street, but a group of purple alien kids stood in their way, barely getting out of the way in time. A little girl in the group who was eating ice cream stood too close to the marching troopers, and one of them shoved the little purple girl out of the way, causing her to fall to the ground and drop her ice cream. When she saw her dropped frozen treat, the little girl started crying uncontrollably, while the marching Stormtroopers walked on like nothing ever happened.

The moment Wander saw this, his helping instinct immediately went haywire. He desperately wants to run over to the crying little girl and help make her feel better, but he’s already promised Sylvia to not run off, especially since they’re in disguises now. Wander frantically looked back and forth between Sylvia in front of him and the little purple girl, sweat dripping down his face like crazy. Finally, Wander snapped and sped off to the little girl, promising himself he’d be back with Sylvia as quickly as he could. When Wander stopped in front of the crying little girl, she backed away from Wander, which he realized was because of his Stormtrooper disguise. Wander quickly calmed her down, and pulled a brand new ice cream out of his hat which he hid in his armor, giving it to the girl, who now stopped crying and had a big smile on her face.

“Thank you,” the girl said before leaving.

“Never hurts to help!” Wander said cheerfully from within his Stormtrooper mask. Wander was now ready to leave, it seemed his plan went smoothly, and he’ll be right back with Sylvia before she even notices he’s gone. But before he could even turn around, something made him stop dead in his tracks.

“You! Soldier! What do you think you’re doing?!” a voice behind Wander shouted, causing him to freeze in place.

Wander slowly turned around, and saw two people approaching him. One was a Stormtrooper with an orange pauldron on his shoulder, and the other was a young Imperial officer in a black uniform. They both looked pretty displeased, even if Wander couldn’t see the Stormtrooper’s face.

“Who? What? Me?” Wander asked nervously.

“Yes, you! What were you doing just now?!” the Imperial officer asked, his tone becoming angrier.

“I was just, uh…giving some ice cream to this little girl. She dropped hers so I gave her a new one.” Wander answered, growing more nervous.

“And why would you do something like that?! You’re a Stormtrooper, not an ice cream vendor!” the officer yelled. “Speaking of which, aren’t you a little small for a Stormtrooper? Where are you from?” he asked again.

“Well…I’m just kinda shorter than usual. Nothin’ to worry about there, right?” Wander answered again, trying to figure a way out of this situation.

“What is your service number?” the Stormtrooper asked him.

“M-my service number?”

On the other side of the streets, Sylvia was still marching through. Wearing this armor was actually quite tiresome, and she had no idea how much longer it would fool people or she could take wearing it. Not only was her body not proportionate at all to fit the armor, making it look very awkward, but she also had to try to hide her tail as that would be the biggest giveaway, and there was nowhere she could really hide it. Luckily, Sylvia could see they were getting close to the space buses, one step closer to safety.

“Haha! You see that, Wander? We’re almost sa–” Sylvia said happily as she looked back behind her, only to cut off when she saw Wander had disappeared. “Oh, of course! Flabdrass it! I should’ve learned by now!”

Sylvia frantically looked around the streets to see any sign of Wander, a little furry orange spoon-shaped guy with a big hat shouldn’t be too hard to spot in a crowd like this. “Wander? Wander!” she called out.

Sylvia eventually spotted Wander somewhere to her right, and she was about to be relieved until she noticed that in front of him was a Stormtrooper and an Imperial officer talking to him. “Oh, no…”

On the other side, Wander was still trying to answer the Stormtrooper’s question. His lack of knowledge coupled with his nervousness made it hard to answer. “Let’s see, service number. I think it was 8…16…20…13…” Wander threw out random numbers hoping it would work, but it looks like it didn’t.

“I think you’re gonna have to come with us, soldier. Let us do a proper inspection on you,” the young Imperial officer said.

Wander gulped in fear. This was it, there was no way he was getting out of this. But luckily, help came just in time.

“ Wait !” a voice yelled out.

That voice came from Sylvia, wearing her Stormtrooper armor and rushing towards Wander, and stopping just in front of him and the Stormtrooper and Imperial officer. “Hehe, sorry, sirs. The little pipsqueak’s with me. New recruit and all, doesn’t know how stuff works. We’re supposed to be guarding those space shuttles over there.” Sylvia explained to the two officers and pointed to her and Wander’s destination while deepening her voice a bit to sound more like a typical Stormtrooper.

The Imperial officer and the Stormtrooper captain stared at Wander and Sylvia for a few seconds but ultimately decided to leave them alone. Not before a scolding, of course.

“Watch your subordinates more closely next time! I do not want any incidents like this again that will make our great Empire look like a joke! Now get back to your posts!” the Imperial noncom officer warned Sylvia before storming off with the Stormtrooper, and Sylvia had to resist the urge to blow a raspberry at him behind his back because of his ‘Great Empire’ schtick.

After the two officers leave, Sylvia immediately grabs Wander tightly by the shoulders and turns him towards her, pressing her helmet-covered face against his. “Wander! I just told you specifically not to leave my side! You just promised yourself too!” Sylvia scolded in a whispered tone.

“Sorry, Syl. I just saw that little girl get pushed by Stormtroopers and dropped her ice cream, I couldn’t just leave her crying like that.” Wander explained shamefully.

“Wander, what if I didn’t notice you were gone until it was too late?! What if you were taken away before I found you?!” Sylvia scolded in a slightly louder tone.

Wander said nothing, and eventually just turned his head away and looked down. Even though Sylvia couldn’t see Wander’s face, she could tell how sad he looked under that helmet. Sylvia sighed and managed to calm herself down.

“Sorry I yelled at you, buddy. I was just worried, that's all.” Sylvia said in a more relaxed caring tone as she pulled Wander in for a hug.

“And I’m sorry for worryin’ ya, Syl.” Wander said as he hugged Sylvia back, and they both smiled and closed their eyes as they embraced each other.

They remained silent for a few seconds before Sylvia opened her eyes and realized there were a pair of Stormtroopers staring at them awkwardly.

“What’re you weirdos lookin’ at? Never seen two Stormtroopers hug it out before?” Sylvia shouted at the pair. The troopers then looked at each other, shrugged, and marched away.

“Alright, we’re pretty close to our getaway, and try to stick closely this time, Wander. If next time we were dealing with Fremen, they’re not gonna let us off as easily as Stormtroopers do, so please try to be careful.” Sylvia said.

Wander and Sylvia continued marching through the streets, heading towards their intended target point, and miraculously, there wasn’t another thing that happened to distract Wander, which is impressive since it’s nearly impossible for a Stormtrooper-occupied planet to not have something bad going on. Now, Wander and Sylvia were just across the street from the shuttle ships, so close to escaping and freedom. They crossed the street and marched past the Stormtrooper security guards who were inspecting every passenger about to board the shuttles. While no one was looking, Wander and Sylvia quickly took off their Stormtrooper armors, jumped into the trunk of one of the shuttles, and closed it, hiding among the many suitcases. Then, the shuttle took off from the ground and flew up into the sky, passed under the Star Destroyer, and reached space. Nobody seemed to notice them.

After a while, the shuttle finally came to a stop and reached the Space Train Station. Once it stopped, the trunk swung open and Wander and Sylvia leaped out of the pile of suitcases.

“ Woohoo! ” They both cheered.

“We made it, Syl!” Wander exclaimed excitedly.

“We sure did, buddy. We sure did.” Sylvia patted Wander on the head. “So long Stormtroopers, we’re outta here!” she announced to nobody.

“Kind of a shame we couldn’t help the people on that planet, huh?” Wander said as he looked back sadly.

“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll help them later. But we can’t help others if we can’t even help ourselves.” Sylvia said. “Let’s just focus on getting as far away from Empire territory as possible.”

“But…”

“Yeah?” Sylvia asked, looking back at Wander.

“…no, nothing. You’re right, Syl.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it, buddy. Ya can’t help everyone all the time, but we’ll get another chance.”

Wander and Sylvia started to walk into the station, but soon noticed something about it felt off. It looked the same and was still as crowded as ever, yet it just didn’t feel right. It’s not chaotic in the usual way. They soon came across several long lines of people who were waiting in queue for a bunch of ticket booths that led to the rest of the station.

“That’s weird, I don’t remember those ticket booths ever being there,” Sylvia said, eyeing the booths skeptically.

“Maybe it’s a new add-on for the station?” Wander suggested.

“I don’t know, something about this feels–” Sylvia said before stopping dead in her tracks and gasping. 

Next to each of the booths stood Stormtrooper security guards that either guarded the gates and booths or were inspecting the luggage of each passenger trying to get into the station, some of the passengers were even blocked and dragged away to a corner of the station with some other rejected passengers next to big shuttle ships to be prepared to be taken back to the planets they came from. Speaking of the booths, Sylvia could finally see the people inside them, they were Imperial officers, and they were either offering tickets or interrogating and dismissing passengers.

“Oh, Grop! There are Stormtroopers here too?!” Sylvia exclaimed worriedly. 

“Seems that way, Syl.” Wander confirmed.

“Grrgghh! But we just escaped Stormtroopers! What are we gonna do?!”

“Don’t worry, buddy. I think my hat will have a solution.” Wander said as he reached into his hat, and pulled out two disguises.

Sylvia just stared at the disguises in confusion. “Wander, there’s no way those are gonna work.”

“You two! Turn around!” the voice of a Stormtrooper shouted behind them.

Sylvia immediately put on the disguises in a panic, Wander did the same, and they both turned around to face the Stormtrooper who was approaching them. Sylvia was sure the disguise wouldn’t work.

“No loitering around the station. What is your business here?” the Stormtrooper asked.

“Well, uh, to ride trains, obviously,” Sylvia answered, altering her voice a bit.

The Stormtrooper stared at Sylvia silently, and the tension between them grew thicker as Sylvia started to sweat nervously. Sylvia shifted her eyes nervously as the Stormtrooper continued to stare at her silently, unmoving, and she kept thinking to herself  Oh, Grop. Is he seeing through us?  The silence was starting to become deafening before it was finally broken by the Stormtrooper.

“Oh yeah, duh, you’re right. Why did I even ask that?” the Stormtrooper said to himself and smacked himself lightly on his helmet’s forehead. “But loitering still isn’t allowed, so if you wanna ride a train, you’re gonna have to wait in line and pay for a ticket from one of those booths like everybody else,” the trooper pointed to one of the long lines, which, like all the other lines, seemed to be moving at a pretty slow rate due to there constantly being some drama or complication going on at the ticket booth.

“Strange, I don’t remember ticket booths like those being there the last time we were here,” Sylvia said, half playing innocent and half genuinely curious.

“Well, things change. Now get in line, you two,” the Stormtrooper ordered Wander and Sylvia, and they both stepped to the back of one of the long queues.

“Why, thank ya very much for your help, kind sir.” Wander said as he tipped his head and did a short bow.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” the Stormtrooper dismissed Wander’s sayings before walking off to continue his duties, leaving Wander and Sylvia with their Groucho Glasses disguises behind the queue.

“Well, whaddya know. These disguises actually work.” Sylvia remarked about the disguises they were wearing, genuinely impressed.

“Sometimes the simplest things can be of the greatest help!” Wander happily reminded Sylvia.

Sylvia smiled and rolled her eyes at what Wander said, he was often right, but that doesn’t mean Sylvia doesn’t still get confused or roll her eyes at what Wander says or does. “Yeah, I guess so, pal.”

Wander and Sylvia stood in the line, surrounded by many miserable-looking aliens. Sylvia then turned to Wander.

“Alright, Wander. I’m sorry I keep repeating this, but don’t leave my side, alright? This station is packed with people and Stormtroopers, and it’s easy to get lost here. You already did it once today, but please don’t do it again. I’m serious, buddy, we’re literally in a tight space surrounded by enemies actively tryin’ to kill us! So just try to think about keeping yourself safe for once, alright?” Sylvia tried to tell Wander as warmly as she could. But instead of Wander’s reassuring smile she was expecting, the little fuzzy nomad instead started snickering, trying to hold back laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Sylvia asked.

“Sorry, Syl, but I jus’ can’t take what you’re saying seriously with those silly glasses on,” Wander answered, pointing at the Groucho Glasses that were still on Sylvia’s face the whole time.

“Ugh, seriously, Wander. Couldn’t ya have picked a better disguise?” Sylvia groaned as she remembered what she was wearing.

“Hey, if it works, it works,” Wander said before smiling with his tongue stuck out.

Sylvia stared at Wander’s Groucho Glasses-covered face, and Wander stared back at hers. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before they started snickering at each other’s faces, and then eventually laughing uncontrollably, even falling to their backs on the floor and busting a gut.

“Hey!” they heard the voice of a Stormtrooper yell, which caused them to immediately stop laughing. “You two move it! You’re holding back the line!”

Wander and Sylvia looked in the direction the Stormtrooper was pointing and found out that the line in front of them had moved quite a few steps forward, leaving a large space which Sylvia was surprised no one had tried to take yet. Then behind them, they could hear the angry complaints of people in the back of the line telling the nomads to move forward.

“C’mon, we haven’t got all day! Ya think we wanna be here?” the man right behind them said, who was a large and buff green one-eyed alien.

“Oh, sorry about this, sir,” Wander said politely.

“Alright, alright, we’ll move,” Sylvia said as she picked up Wander and moved the line along. After they finished moving the line, Sylvia put Wander back on the ground to continue what she was saying. “Okay, but seriously, buddy, don’t wander off again.”

“Don’t worry, buddy. Wander won’t wander over yonder.” Wander joked.

“Stop it.”

“Alright, alright, Syl.” Wander grinned widely.

Wander and Sylvia stood in line, which moved as slow as they initially thought it did. Sylvia was quickly getting bored as well as getting increasingly wary as she did not know how long it would be before a Stormtrooper saw past their disguise. Wander was also getting bored, and he was starting to fidget a lot, from rapidly tapping his finger on his leg and rubbing his shoe on the floor back and forth. Sylvia couldn’t see what was holding up the line so much, it was already ridiculously long as is, but it seemed that the inspection and ticket-buying at the booth was so strict that a single person had to go through an entire police interrogation before getting approved to finally enter the station. On top of boredom and wariness, Sylvia was also beginning to get irritated, the constant noises of Wander’s fidgeting, the angry grumbles of the one-eyes alien behind her, the loud marches of passing Stormtroopers putting her on edge, the loud crying of babies of other people in the queue, were not helping her current mood. So much so that she didn’t notice when Wander eventually disappeared again.

Wander was starting to fidget like crazy, clearly getting impatient and having a hard time keeping himself composed to not anger Sylvia or get them kicked out of the line by Stormtroopers. Wander saw how Sylvia was perfectly silent, not moving a muscle, just standing in place with her arms crossed. But it was obvious from her expression that she was starting to get irritated, bottling up more emotions than Wander was. Wander wanted to sit and lie down since the line was really slow anyway, which also seemed like what Sylvia and everyone else in the queue wanted to do. But unfortunately, there were several signs not allowing people to sit or lie on the floor, which was not helping the moods of anyone waiting in a long, barely moving line. He also wanted to play his banjo to entertain himself, but there were signs against playing musical instruments in public too, so that was out of the window, and Wander hummed quietly to himself instead. Wander tried to find something else to take his mind off the agonizing waiting, so he decided to look around him at whatever was going on in the station. Wander wanted to go around and explore, but he knew he couldn’t leave the queue, which was just bringing him down more. 

As Wander looked around him, all he saw were more queues. Sure, queues filled with aliens of all shapes and sizes and colors, some alone and some with friends and family, but queues nonetheless. Wander continued just looking around until something finally caught his eye. At the end of one of the queues, he saw a purple mother alien with several kids surrounding her pleading with an officer in a ticket booth while the officer and a Stormtrooper behind her were forcing her to move along past the gate, though Wander couldn’t hear what the whole thing was about. Wander looked around the station some more, then saw amid the crowd a lone purple alien kid crying to himself, and it didn’t take Wander long to figure out this was the purple alien’s child and they got separated.

Wander immediately panicked after witnessing what just unfolded. Wander was just about to make a beeline to the purple child but stopped himself before taking a step and looked back at Sylvia, who did not notice any of what happened as she was still lost in her frustrations. Wander knew he was in a lose-lose situation right now. If he ran off to help the child, he’d break his promise to Sylvia for the second time today, and after Sylvia already pleaded with him twice as well, which was a thought he couldn’t bear. But if he did just stay, the man would have his day, or as far as Wander knew, his whole life ruined because he couldn’t board the train and Wander didn’t step in to help. Either way, it’s just gonna end with guilt on Wander’s part. Wander now started fidgeting even crazier than before, his feet didn’t stop moving causing his shoes to constantly squeak against the floor, he started biting his fingernails, and sweat was starting to pour down his face fast as he kept looking back and forth between Sylvia and the direction of the crying purple kid. Eventually, Wander finally snapped and ran off.

Sylvia was starting to get a headache from the waiting and the constant wariness of everything around her. She grumbled and rubbed her forehead. 

“Grrgghh! Could this line possibly be any slo–” Sylvia said as she looked down at Wander, only to see he wasn’t there anymore. Sylvia could feel her eye visibly twitch rapidly and her arm started to shake before her teeth clenched and she finally yelled. “WANDER!”

Wander ran through the heavy crowd of the station, heading straight towards the lone purple child, and avoiding some passing Stormtroopers along the way. Finally Wander made it to the child, gently touching his shoulder, in which the child stopped his wailing and looked up at Wander. To Wander’s confusion but also delight, the child started laughing at Wander.

“Hey there, little buddy. Are ya lost?” Wander asked, to which the child quietly nodded after he stopped laughing. “Well, don’t ya worry! Yer old pal Wander here knows where your mommy is, and I’m gonna take ya to her as quickly as possible! She’s really worried about you, y’know?”

The child smiled brightly and took Wander’s hand, and Wander quickly led himself and the child through the large crowds in the mother’s direction. As Wander and the child approached the mother who was surrounded by many of her other children, he could hear the argument going on between her and the Imperial officer in the ticket booth.

“Look, ma’am, for the last time! Either you board the trains without your child or you and your entire family can leave the station and go back to the planet you came from! There are people waiting in line!” the officer in the booth argued. 

“But we can’t go back to our planet, sir! It’s been completely overrun by Fremen! Please, you have to help find my child!” the mother pleaded to the officer, who was not moved by her at all.

“Lost children or property is not our problem, ma’am!”

“But it is mine!” Wander interjected, getting the attention of the mother and the officer.

“My child!” the mother cried with joy and hugged her child tightly while her other children cheered at the return of their sibling. The mother then turned to hug Wander as well. “Thank you very much, kind sir! You brought my kid back to me!”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am. I’m just helpin’ out someone in need.”

“Alright, you finally got your child back. Now can you please move along already?!” the officer in the booth groaned, gesturing to the mother to go through the gates.

“Of course, sir!” the mother said, now with a relieved happy voice, as she called all her children to follow her through the gates.

As the mother and her children walked into the station, the child that Wander helped turned around one last time and waved goodbye to Wander. “Thanks, Funny Glasses Man!”

Wander smiled proudly but was also pretty confused as to what the child meant by that name. It was only when Wander looked down on his nose and remembered that he was still wearing his Groucho Glasses disguise the whole time that he chuckled to himself and realized why the child laughed at him upon them initially meeting each other.

Suddenly, Wander felt himself get grabbed by the shoulders and quickly turned around to face whoever it was that just grabbed him. For a split second, Wander was worried that it was a Stormtrooper that was about to arrest him, either because he unknowingly broke some newly-placed station rule, or they saw through his disguise and recognized him. But to Wander’s relief, but also fear, it was Sylvia, who was completely out of breath from worry and exhaustion.

“Wander! Where the flarp have you been?! I’ve been all over the station looking for you! You told me that you wouldn’t go anywhere again!” Sylvia scolded while shaking Wander roughly.

“Sorry, Syl. But this kid was in trouble! They got lost in the station and separated from their mommy and was all alone and crying! I couldn’t just leave them alone and let ‘em get separated.”

Sylvia just sighed, any worry and anger that was on her face faded away. “Look, Wander, don’t get me wrong, what you did was a very good thing. But you need to stop running off without telling me. Otherwise, I won’t know where you are, and I won’t be able to help you!”

“Alright,” Wander said quietly, feeling ashamed and not knowing what else to say.

“C’mon, buddy. Let’s just get back to our place in the line,” Sylvia guided Wander back to the queue they were in.

As the both of them arrived at their queue, Sylvia tried looking for their previous place in the line. Sylvia recognized the buff green cyclops alien who was behind them. Sylvia then stepped into the line right in front of him, along with Wander, but the green alien behind them suddenly pushed them out again.

“Hey! What’s the big idea?!” Sylvia shouted as she got up to her feet again.

“Don’t cut into the line like that, ya chumps!” the green one-eyed alien scolded.

“What?! We were the ones in line in front o’ ya, buddy! Remember?!” Sylvia argued with the man.

“No, I don’t remember ever seeing you two in front o’ me,” the big green cyclops crossed his arms, but Sylvia could clearly tell he was playing dumb.

“That’s it, pal! Let me an’ my buddy in! We were here first!” Sylvia tried to fight her way into her and Wander’s spot in the queue.

“Oh no ya don’t! Security! Security! These two are tryin’ to cut the line!'' The green one-eyed man called out to someone passing by behind them, which Wander and Sylvia turned around to see was a passing Stormtrooper.

“What?!” Sylvia exclaimed. “No we’re not, ya big liar!”

“Hey, you two! No cutting into lines or starting fights, or we’ll have you kicked outta the station and back to the planet you came from! Now go to the back of the line where you belong!” the Stormtrooper shouted at the two disguised fugitives, pointing them in the direction they should go.

“Wha-! But…!” Sylvia stammered, trying to argue even further. But she remembered that she and Wander were supposed to lay low right now, and causing a scene could get them arrested and found out. So she had no other choice but to do what the Stormtrooper told her. “Yes, sir,” she sighed.

Sylvia turned to the direction of the back of the queue and was shaken to her core seeing how long the line had gotten, with at least a hundred new people. Now the two of them were going to have to wait twice, if not  three  times as long as they would’ve if Wander hadn’t run off and Sylvia hadn’t gone looking for him. Sylvia could do nothing but groan and reluctantly walked to the back of the line, with Wander following close behind her. Sylvia turned around to see the alien who got them kicked out of the queue, and she saw him looking back at her too, waving goodbye mockingly while having a smug smile on his face. Sylvia’s anger grew upon seeing this, which only caused the one-eyed alien to smile even more because he knew she couldn’t do anything at the moment.

“Ooh! If only these stupid Stormtroopers weren’t constantly breathing down our necks, I’d give that guy a  serious  piece of my mind!” Sylvia growled while making a fist.

“I understand yer upset, Syl. But ya can’t just start a fight in a public place, or we’ll both get kicked out! Plus, it’s jus’ plain wrong,” Wander attempted to calm the zbornak down.

Sylvia just sighed again. “I know, buddy. Let’s just try to keep our heads low.”

Wander and Sylvia stepped to the very back of the line, and now the ticket booth they were trying to get to seemed further away than ever before. The two of them then waited for a painstakingly long time for the queue to make any major progress, with the nomadic duo sometimes even finding themselves sitting or lying down on the floor just to wait for the line to move, before the person behind them yelled at them to get up and move, or some passing Stormtrooper security guard told them that it’s not allowed to sit or lie down on the floor, both merely fueling Sylvia’s frustration. After a while, Sylvia decided to stick her head out to the side of the queue to glare at the large green cyclops alien who caused their entire situation right now in the first place. She could see that the man was now practically at the end of the line, approaching the ticket booth, which only made Sylvia flare her nostrils and grit her teeth. Suddenly, as the line moved forward, and so did the green cyclops, Sylvia saw something fall out of his back pocket as he walked up to the ticket booth, something small and brown. It was hard for Sylvia to tell what the object now on the floor was because of how far away she was, but the more she looked at it, she realized it was the one-eyed man’s wallet. Sylvia couldn’t help but feel a bit of sadistic pleasure at seeing him lose his wallet since she knew that meant he wouldn’t be able to pay for his train tickets and would get transported out of the station.

“Heh, serves him right,” Sylvia murmured with satisfaction.

“Serves who right?” Wander suddenly asked, curious as to why Sylvia was smiling and snickering to herself all of a sudden.

“That jerk who got us kicked to the back o’ the line just dropped his wallet. Yeah, have fun gettin’ kicked out yourself, buddy! Right, Wander?” Sylvia turned to her best friend, only to find he had disappeared yet again.

Sylvia facepalmed hard, and wanted to be mad at Wander, but couldn’t bring herself to do so since she realized she pretty much brought this on herself. She should've expected her friend would go running off to help someone immediately after she’d told him that said someone was in any form of trouble. “Me and my big mouth,” she sighed to herself.

At the other end of the queue, the one-eyed green alien was in the middle of buying one ticket for himself, but when the time came for him to pay for it, he reached into his pockets only to find nothing in them. He then starts to panic and frantically searches every crevice of himself, but still finds no sign of his wallet.

“Is there a problem, sir?” the officer in the booth asked, who was starting to grow impatient with the green cyclops.

“I, uh…can’t seem to find my wallet…yet. Just, uh…gimme as sec,” the large muscular alien stammered.

“Sir, if you want a ticket, you’re going to have to pay for it.”

“I know that! Just gimme a minute! I’ll find it!” the cyclops man began double-checking his pockets more frantically now.

“If you are unable to purchase a ticket, you will not be permitted to board the trains. If you are unable to board, you shall be transported back to the planet you came from. Can you state the planet you arrived here from?” the officer asked in a very monotone voice as if reading standard procedure, which it probably was.

“No, man! C’mon, just wait a moment!”

“I have many more passengers to attend to, sir. So I’m afraid I cannot just ‘wait a moment’.”

“I know I had my wallet with me! Let me just try to find it! Please, just tell security to look for a missing wallet!” the green cyclops pleaded, but the officer wasn’t having it.

“Missing items are not our responsibility, sir. You shall wait by the space shuttles and you shall be transported down to the nearest Empire-occupied planet.” The officer then gestured to two nearby Stormtroopers to the green cyclops man. “Guards, please escort this man to the shuttles.”

“No! Wait! You can’t do this to me!” the cyclops man struggled as the two Stormtroopers grabbed him and attempted to drag him away until they were stopped in their tracks by the arrival of another individual.

Wander was out of breath by the time he arrived in front of the green cyclops man due to how far and fast he had to run, but he thought it was worth it.

“Excuse me, is this your wallet, sir?” Wander held out the brown wallet in front of the green cyclops.

“Yes, that’s mine!” he yanked the wallet out of Wander’s small hands and opened it just to be fully sure it was his own. “Thank Grop you found this!”

The green cyclops man’s face then shifted from joy to a more solemn expression as he turned to Wander. “You’re…really helping me? Even after I was such a jerk to you and your friend?”

“Aw, sir. What you did was very rude to us and you should never do it again, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve just stood by and done nothin’ while you got in trouble because of an honest accident.”

“Gee, uh…thanks, man,” the green cyclops man said, with an expression of quiet surprise and amazement at Wander’s actions.

“You should consider yourself lucky, sir. We don’t get many do-gooders like him around here willing to waste their time to help the likes of you,” the officer commented from inside the booth, though he still had an air of condescension in his voice. 

With that, the green cyclops man turned around back to the booth, paid for his ticket, and walked through the gate. Wander felt bad about running off yet again, but he was also proud of himself for not only taking the time to help someone in need, but it seemed he also made an impact on the cyclops man with his simple act of kindness. Wander could see it in his eye and face. Then, Sylvia walked up beside him, also exhausted and out of breath.

“Sylvia? What’re ya doin’ here? Why didn’t ya just wait back at our spot in the line? I was gonna come back.”

“Yeah, I considered doing that,” Sylvia said after regaining her breath. “But I did say you were gonna stick by my side no matter what, right? Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing. No matter what, we stick close, buddy,” Sylvia said as she embraced Wander with one arm.

“Aw, thanks, Syl!” Wander hugged his friend back.

As Wander and Sylvia snapped out of their embrace, Sylvia saw a Stormtrooper security guard pointing his finger in the direction behind the two nomads, and despite not saying a word, Sylvia understood what he was saying.

“Alright, alright! We’ll go to the back of the line again,” Sylvia groaned as she walked away, dragging Wander behind her.

This time, despite being moved to the back of the line for a  second  time and waiting a while yet again, Sylvia did not feel frustrated, or at least  as  frustrated as she was before, though she couldn’t really tell why. Maybe because she’s just gotten used to waiting in line for long periods of time, but it’s more likely it’s because she stopped being frustrated and stressed out by Wander, who now that she thought about it, was the main thing causing all her worry and stress throughout this entire thing anyway.

As the two fugitive nomads continued waiting in line, something miraculous happened; the line moved fast this time. Turns out, the only thing making the line Wander and Sylvia were in ridiculously long was a centipede man (whom Wander recognized from the time he tried buying Thunder Blazz for Sylvia) who took up most of the space of the queue due to his length. As the man who took up most of the line only had to buy one ticket for himself, the moment he left and went through the gates, the entire line in front of Wander and Sylvia had completely disappeared. The two nomads then decided to run towards the ticket booth as fast as they could before the people behind them could get the smart idea of stepping into the empty queue in front of them. Finally, after waiting for who knows how long (Wander and Sylvia had pretty much lost all track of time by this time, they could’ve been in the station for either thirty minutes or two days and they wouldn’t be able to tell), they finally reached the end of the line and in front of the ticket booth.

The Imperial officer in the booth looked up at them, who from his face got bored from waiting for the centipede man to completely pass through the gates. He stood upright again and put one hand on the computer panel to his right and the other on the microphone in front of him. “Well, look at that, the do-gooder finally made it.”

“Hehe, yeah, that’s me,” Wander chuckled nervously.

“Alright, anyway…where do you two want to go?” the officer asked while looking down at the computer screen he was tapping.

“Uh…pretty much anywhere that’s available,” Sylvia answered, trying to put on a fake regal accent.

This response from Sylvia seemed to make the officer look up at her with a somewhat confused look. “That’s not an answer, ma’am. What is the purpose of your trip? Business or pleasure?”

“Er, well it’s kinda neither. Y’see, sir, we had to flee our planet that’s been overrun by Fremen warriors, sir. Me an’ my pal here just need to get on a train that’ll take us anywhere far enough to be safe.” Wander explained.

The officer’s expression then shifted from one of frustration and confusion to a blank unfazed expression as if he was about to repeat a tired old routine. “Of course you are. Every day this station sees more and more immigrants fleeing Fremen-invaded planets.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, sir…” Sylvia said, trying to make her voice as regal as possible. “Why exactly are you all working in this place now? Aren’t you all busy conquering the galaxy or something?”

“That’s exactly what this is.” the officer answered. “Any conqueror and invader who knows anything about what they do would know that the most important places to strike first when taking over new territory are the communication centers and the transportation centers. Good thing too, the space travel in this galaxy is way too unchecked, too many inhabitants flying around whenever and wherever they please, there wasn’t even any security or authorities in this station. That’ll change once the Empire brings much needed order to this chaotic galaxy. Can’t have a rebellion forming in another galaxy as well.” Sylvia started to glare after hearing the officer’s explanation. 

“You should be thankful that we’re the ones who got to these places first, you know? Especially with the forces of Emperor Paul Muad’Dib running around. Those desert savages are destroying every spaceport and spaceship they come across.” the officer continued as if responding to Sylvia’s inner thoughts.

“They’re destroying spaceports?! Why?” Wander and Sylvia asked in unison.

 “Obviously to restrict interstellar travel to just those heighliners of theirs. Emperor Muad’Dib seems to be trying to monopolize space travel as well. At least we are civilized enough to not destroy and still preserve all the spaceports here, unlike those barbaric Fremen who are so blinded by their idolatry to their emperor with a saviour complex that they can never think for themselves.” Sylvia supposed he had a point, anything was better than Paul and the Fremen at this point, but that didn’t make what the Empire was doing any better, and it certainly didn’t make her hate them any less, they were still a bunch of cruel arrogant jerks who think everyone else is below them.

“Aw, sir. What the Fremen are doin’ is terrible and all, but there’s no need ta call ‘em all that nasty stuff.” Wander said with sympathetic eyes.

“After all they’ve done to this galaxy we’re supposed to claim and their audacity to think they can just go against the Empire? I’d say nasty words are the least they deserve. Can’t wait for the day we decimate the lot of them and their delusional emperor,” the officer then started staring at Sylvia and Wander, narrowing his eyes, as if trying to analyze something about them. “You know, you two look strangely familiar. Have I seen you two somewhere before?” the officer asked.

“Seen us? Whaaatt? Of course not! We just have one of those faces that look like wanted fugitives for some reason!” Sylvia said, chuckling nervously.

“You two look kind of like…” the officer said as he looked down to turn on a device, which projected the wanted holograms of Wander and Sylvia. “Wait a minute, aren’t you–” the officer looked up from the hologram, only to find Wander and Sylvia having disappeared from their spot in front of the booth, leaving only two Groucho glasses falling to the ground where they originally stood.

The officer quickly pressed a button, sending an announcement that echoed through the speakers riddled throughout the station. “Attention all Stormtroopers! The fugitives Wander and Sylvia are inside the station! Pursue them immediately and destroy them on sight!”

Sylvia ran through the station with as much speed as she could muster, throwing Wander onto her back in the process, which was a better alternative than holding his hand through the entire thing. Sylvia and Wander finally reached the giant clock at the center of the station, and Sylvia looked around quickly to find any possible escape routes, and while doing so, she also saw several squads of Stormtroopers heading their direction from multiple corners of the station. Sylvia started to panic, she now frantically scanned her surroundings as quickly as she could, and luckily, an opportunity presented itself. In one of the platforms, a train had just arrived, giving Sylvia a glimmer of hope, but the downside was that it was way over on the other side of the station where she and Wander now stood. But it was better than nothing, and Sylvia wasn’t someone who never not took a chance. 

Sylvia started running again, maneuvering around the crowds and the twists and turns of the station. In front of her, a squad of Stormtroopers stopped dead in their tracks and aimed their blasters at them. 

“Stop right there, fugitives!” the lead Stormtrooper shouted.

Before the Stormtroopers could fire, Sylvia leaped in the air, Wander holding onto her tightly. Sylvia used the top of the lead Stormtrooper’s helmet as a jumping pad, before leaping yet again over the Stormtrooper squad and landing behind them, and Sylvia continued running. The Stormtrooper squad behind them turned around, the leader rubbing his head in pain from Sylvia’s foot jumping off it.

“Blast them!” the leader shouted again as he and the rest of his squad opened fire and began to pursue the two fugitives.

As Sylvia ran, none of the laser blasts hit her or Wander, luckily. These Stormtroopers must’ve not been part of Wander’s training program back on Goolopia. Sylvia continued maneuvering through the crowds, a lot of them just continuing about their day as if nothing was going on, which considering this station allowed Dominator-Bots to run around without anyone batting an eye, didn’t surprise Sylvia too much. The good thing about it is that it helped slow down the Stormtrooper squad chasing them, as Sylvia easily slipped through the crowd at full speed, the Stormtroopers behind her and Wander kept bumping into angry passersby and having their path blocked by the large crowds, which slowed them down significantly. Sylvia was glad for that, but that was just a minor setback for their problems.

In front and to the left of them, Sylvia saw other squads of Stormtroopers headed in their direction, numbers greater than before. Sylvia quickly made a turn to a path on the right, where the two squads joined together upon crossing paths and continued chasing her.

In front of them, Sylvia could see the family of the purple alien mother and her children. Wander’s eyes and the eyes of the child he helped met, and the child knew what was going on. As soon as Sylvia ran past them, the little purple kid told their siblings to all play in the path of the pursuing Stormtroopers. As they did, the Stormtroopers halted in their tracks as the dozens of small purple children blocked the narrow station path, with no way to get around them.

“Ma’am, get your children out of the way!” The lead Stormtrooper ordered the purple mother.

“What?! I can’t hear you!” the mother shouted, her voice and the Stormtrooper’s command getting drowned out by the noise of all her children’s screaming and playing.

The purple child that Wander helped looked back at Wander and gave him a wink, and Wander returned it as Sylvia kept running.

Now, another troop was heading in their direction from a different path. It seemed like they all kept coming from different directions and just won’t stop. Sylvia made a quick turn in the direction of the train she’d been targeting, deciding to stop wasting any more time as that train would probably depart any second now and would leave her and Wander trapped in the station.

This time in front of them, was none other than the buff green cyclops man, who seemed to have noticed what was going on and stepped out of the way for Sylvia to run by, and as soon as she ran by he extended his large muscular arm which all the Stormtroopers chasing them bumped into.

“Hey, get out of the way! Or you’ll be taken into custody!” the lead Stormtrooper shouted while getting back up after running face-first into the green cyclops’ arm.

“Take this into custody!” the green cyclops man retorted by punching the lead Stormtrooper so hard that he was sent flying back into the other Stormtroopers who didn’t bump into the cyclops’ arm.

Once he did that, the green cyclops man turned back to Wander and gave him a smile and a thumbs up, which Wander also returned. Wander knew that the cyclops man would get arrested for doing what he just did, but it was clear from his face that the cyclops man knew this, but was willing to risk it to help Wander and Sylvia escape. Wander couldn’t help but feel touched at how he helped this man change in such a short period just by doing a simple kind act for him.

The two fugitives are now nearly approaching the platform with the boarding train, but to their panic, the train is about to depart, and on top of that, behind them, many Stormtroopers troops and even several uniformed Imperial officers leading them are close on their tail, quite literally. Sylvia decided to put all her energy into running as fast as she possibly could before the doors of the train closed and the Stormtroopers could get a hold of them.

Behind them, one of the Imperial officers shouted a command at all the chasing Stormtroopers he was leading. “What are you waiting for, you fools?! Blast them! Fire at will!”

Every Stormtrooper behind them fired their blasters, with no regard for the safety of the crowd of people in the station who could get caught in the crossfire. Many red laser blasts flew around Wander and Sylvia, and one of the Imperial officers behind them, who ran surprisingly fast for someone in his position of power, was nearing Wander and Sylvia with his hand reaching out, intending to grab Wander.

Now Sylvia saw that every person on the platform had entered the train with no one else going in or out, meaning the doors were about to close any second now. Sylvia just kept running with all her might, didn’t look back, and even ignored all the laser blasts flying around them. The hand of the Imperial officer behind them is mere inches away from Wander, and it seemed prepared to grab the small fuzzy orange nomad any second now too. 

“Gotcha!” the officer grinned just as he was about to grasp Wander’s back.

But just before the officer could grab Wander, Sylvia leaped forward off the ground and towards the doors of the train that were about to close. Miraculously, Sylvia and Wander crashed safely into the train, and the doors closed just in time before any of the officers and Stormtroopers could enter, causing all the ones in front to run face-first into the closed doors and fall on their backs.

“Nooo!” the lead officer who was about to grab Wander cried out, banging against the closed doors’ windows. But the train was now departing at full speed, and Wander and Sylvia saw the Space Train Station get smaller and smaller in the depths of space by the second.

Back in the station, the lead officer could do nothing but throw his hat to the ground and stomp on it out of anger, as he and the Stormtroopers could now do nothing as the fugitives they were pursuing were now on the train that flew farther and farther away.

“Woohoo! We did it, buddy! We made it!” Sylvia cheered as she high-fived Wander, and the two of them hugged each other yet again. “Ugh, if I had known we could’ve just ran through the gates like that, I probably would’ve just done that from the start.”

“But Sylvia, don’t you see? We wouldn’t have made it if all those people didn’t help us, and they wouldn’t have helped if I didn’t also help them! Like I once said, Syl, one o’ the good things about helpin’ other is that sometimes they help ya right back.”

“I guess you’re right, buddy,” Sylvia said with a calm smile. “But, wooh, am I out of it. I just wanna sit down and take a break.”

“Right there with ya, buddy.”

The two fugitives sat down at two empty seats and decided to take their well-deserved rest, but not before Wander suddenly asked something. “Hey, Syl. Where does this train go, anyway?”

“Uh, I actually don’t know, buddy. And I don’t care as long as it takes us as far away as possible from any Stormtroopers,” Sylvia answered, deciding to shrug off any worries.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Wander said, and the two of them finally decided to rest.

After a long ride, the train finally stopped on a planet, where Wander and Sylvia decided to get off. Sylvia felt very relaxed after her long rest on the train, and so did Wander, and the two of them embraced this new planet with open arms.

“Ah, finally, completely Stormtrooper and Empire-free,” Sylvia said until she and Wander took a good look at the planet they arrived on.

In front of them was a city that seemed to have just been invaded, with a statue of Paul Muad’Dib being built in the center, many signature red hawk Atreides banners being hung in many of its buildings, and even many ornithopters flying around. The two fugitives realize they have just got off on a Fremen-invaded planet.

“Oh, are you kidding me?!” Sylvia shouted, realizing she just got her wish, but they merely just got out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Wander then pulled out two Groucho Glasses, one he already wore on his face, and the other was being offered to Sylvia. “Ready to face another dangerous situation, buddy?” he asked with a wide grin.

Sylvia could do nothing but groan and just put on her ridiculous disguise again, having to deal with the exact same situation for a second time.

#wander over yonder #star wars #dune #fanfic #fanfiction #stormtrooper

[belladonnavtamie10]

1: Haunting Tune

"Get away from me!!"

A man ran through the sea of crowds, stumbling and bumping into people causing them to be annoyed or irritated. Many of the guys either protected their significant others while many gave the frantic man a hard shove to the ground.

"Somebody help me!"

"Get off of me!"

"Please, help me!"

"Get the fuck away, you creep!!" The man winced in pain when he hits the ground.

His breath was frantic and his mind is getting hazy, ears ringing. He was about to lay down and accept but when he heard the familiar tune of humming getting closer.

His heart begun beating faster, the hair on his skin rise and his breath begun to become frantic. He turned his head, frantically searching until he finds her, standing on the other side of the road, looking at him while humming the despicable tune he dread so much.

The end of her parasol struck the ground as a way of taunting him, causing him to stand up and run away. He continued running while bumping into people, walls and trash bins. He continued to run as he turned and run into a dark alleyway, entering the dreaded dark side of the city.

Vagabonds roamed the dimly lit streets. Beggars are around in every corner, holding out their hands as they were hoping of being given some spare change or if they are lucky, some food, water or old clothes. The man wanted to hide within the rubbish the vagabonds were hoarding but they kicked him away, protecting their hoard.

"Please, help me!" he grabbed one of the vagrant's shoulders, shaking them as his face was filled with despair and fear. The vagrant pushed him away and ran off to another direction, frightened.

The others saw this as a threat, causing them to stand up and slowly approach the man. They held their ground while watching the man pant and looked around frantically.

"Give me sanctuary! Please! She's after me!" The man begged frantically, losing his mind as fear continued to engulf his once prideful self. He knelt down, hands grabbing the sides of his head as he continued to panic.

"She? You said 'she'...correct?" One of the beggars stood up, grabbing his crooked walking stick.

The man looked up, gazing up to see the blind old beggar approaching him. The sound of the walking stick echoed through the dark and empty streets.

One of the vagrants held up a torch, standing beside the blind man. The blind man was around his 50s, a pair of black shades cover his eyes. Dark brown skin and long dreadlocks that hasn't been washed for some time now. His ragged clothes kept him warm from the current cold weather but implied on who he is to others.

"You said 'she'...correct?" the blind man asks once again, tapping his walking stick to the ground.

"Y-yes! She's after me! Please...! Help me!" the man begged the blind beggar.

"Did you sign it?" the blind beggar asked.

"Huh? What do you mean?" the blind beggar heard the slight nervousness on the man's voice.

"I'll ask again...did you sign it?" he asks again, tapping the end of his walking stick to the ground. The man's breath hitched as he tried to mask the fear and truth behind his panic but the vagabond beside the blind man kicked the man to the ground, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Please, give me sanctuary!" the man once again pleaded, ignoring the blind man's question. The other vagabonds grab his arms and pulled him away, restraining him and forcing him to look up.

"I'll ask again...did you sign it?"

"Answer the question or you'll never be able to speak again." one of the beggars threatened him, holding the neck of a broken bottle. The others revealed their crude weapons, ready to beat the man if he doesn't answer the question.

Fear engulfed him as he decided to come clean.

"Y-yes! I signed it!" The man yells. The vagabonds stopped in their tracks. The man opened an eye, only to see the vagabonds looking at him, believing his answer. He was confused at their sudden silence.

Many of them looked at him before turning to look around. The once cool wind suddenly changed into freezing. The fires in the metal drums blew as the sudden blast of freezing air came from the alley way entrance.

"The fires! Cover 'em! Hide! Hide and don't be tempted by her! Cover your ears and never be swayed by her words!" the blind man orders as everyone of them, except the blind man and the scared man, went on to do what they were told. Barrels were covered, people going back to their spots and cover themselves with tarps, blankets and garbage bags, hiding themselves. Those who couldn't cover themselves, hid behind the walls and curled up into a fetal position, covering their ears and close their eyes tightly.

"Please help me! Give me sanctuary!" the man pleaded, grabbing the blind man's cane, but the blind man took a step back.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't..." the blind man tap the end of his walking stick to the ground, staring into the man's terrified eyes,

"You signed the deal."

The air was getting colder as the faint sound of humming was getting fainter. The blind man turned and walks away.

The man, who was terrified to the bone, became furious and grabbed a bottle. He ran up and slammed the bottle onto the blind man's head.

The blind man fell to the ground.

No one dared to make a sound...

The man huffed in anger, looking at the fallen man in front of him...

The air was getting colder...

The faint humming was getting softer...

"Well... this is a sight to see." a female voice say. This caused the man to freeze in his spot.

"I was only expect to see you beaten up to the ground, all bloody and bruised just by bumping into people...but never this." her voice was smooth and addicting to hear, but the tone has a distinct sarcasm and playfulness to it as she speaks.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... What a shame... Seems like you just took a man's life. No matter how many times you can deny it, you still committed a crime..."

"Y-you...you made me do it! You lied to me! You bitch!" the man pointed the broken bottle to her, the broken edges face her as if he was ready to take her life.

The woman, despite being threatened by the broken bottle, only gave him a giggle followed by a giggle, furthering taunting him.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have run away and be in this situation! I would still have my family with me and I would be living back in our home! You liar! You lied with those false promises!"

"Mr. Johnson... or should I say, Gil..." her tone shifted from being playful to a cold tone, catching him off guard.

"I seem to remember...you were the one who called upon my presence. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, if only I could get what I wanted without the hard work! The easy way out! The fastest way to success!" she imitated his words, pitching it as she was mocking him.

"I would bet my life for it!" her tone suddenly became distorted upon mentioning 'bet' and 'life'.

"Be careful what you wish for~" followed by a giggle. Gil's frightened eyes widen upon realization.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful when you sign the contract? Tsk, tsk, tsk... well, to be fair, you weren't the only one to ignore my terms and conditions." she shakes her head, sighing in disappointment. The tip of the parasol tapped the ground softly in a rhythmic

"B-but, your contracts are supposed to be impenetrable...No truth can ever be leaked if I signed your deal! You lied to me! I can't accept defeat when I'm at my peak!" Gil roared furiously at her, unable to accept the reality.

"IF I'M GOING DOWN, YOU'RE COMING WITH ME!!" He lunged at her, the broken bottle aiming onto the chest.

His crazed eyes and smile were visible, thinking he might get out once she was killed but...

Her hand grabs his neck, stopping him in his track as the broken bottle was smacked away from his hands by her parasol, shattering once it hits the ground.

"You already lost. Accept it already." She reminded him, calmly.

"Oh! If you already forgot, I'll make this quick for the both of us, okay? I'm a busy woman... but do know this, NEVER...EVER...LIE...TO...ME...!" Her tone distorted within each word, tilting her head as her eyes changed from a humane pair into a bright green hue.

He tried his best to break free from her grip but it was no use.

"Are you ready?~" she asks in a singing tone, scaring him to what she had in store for him.

Upon those few seconds of silence, the vagrants could only remember was the sounds of the bloodcurdling screams and the body falling to the ground.

Breathing became hitch... Some cupped their mouths, preventing themselves to let out a scream or cry.

Some covered their ears and eyes, trying not to listen or see, even if they were hidden.

Then, there was silence...

...

...

...

...

A hum...

Soft, melodic and haunting tune bounced through the walls, before it softens.

Then...

...

...

...

...

...

Once they felt that the sound was gone, they got out of their hiding places and saw the limp body of Gil as well as the old man, who was now conscious but still on the ground. The others approach and helped him up.

"What do we do about the body?" one of the women asks, still terrified from the scream earlier. They turned to the body, rolling him onto his back as the sight of the petrified face was shown as it was the last moment of Gil's life.

Pale, white skin, eyes rolled back to his head and mouth wide open beyond the jaw's capability.

"Leave him in the other alley... we don't want another incident with the cops to happen." the blind man said as some of the men picked up the body and headed away to the said location.

The blind man sat down and the others tended to his wound.

"This is 3rd incident that happened in our place with this 'deal-maker'."

"We can't keep living like this. This fear..."

"It's bad enough that we are getting harassed by privileged and vain assholes but this is a problem we can't ignore to fear..."

"When will this end?"

Sounds of the people complain were heard by the blind man. He gently raised his hand, silencing them.

"No matter what you ask for... the end, is something that is uncertain. That man paid the price for his pride and selfishness...Even if he wants to be with his family, his vain action of signing the deal cost him his life."

"I don't have the power to rid the presence of the deal-maker... But know this, what ever means of your desire; whether it's for yourself or for others, there is no getting rid of her. Even if we try and want to, we can't."

The blind man grabbed something from the inside pocket of his coat, revealing a folded torn paper. The others saw this as the paper was unfolded and presented to them.

"We signed a deal."

#wattpad #creepypasta #creepypastaoc #the deal maker #carina creepypasta #chapter 1 the deal maker #belladonnavtamie10 writes

[listwjanka]

Intermission - Yves & Ismail

Dramatis personae:

Yves Grosceau - Imperial Court artist, runic reader, goldsmith

Ismail Sames - "The First Alchemist", founder of the modern alchemical education

On a quiet afternoon in autumn, two men take a stroll through a gently swaying meadow and bask in the cool falltime sun. Yves, a portly, short senior with rich dreadlocks, is pushing Ismail's ornate wheelchair. Ismail is a gangly, pale man with thin hair who is now slouching, crumpled like a spider's shed exoskeleton, with his legs almost too long for the wheelchair. Nearly all of his features, including extremities, excepting most of his face and upper jaw, are replaced by copper prosthetics.

Their sashay is halted upon reaching a pond, where they take a moment to rest.

Ismail ponders the body of water and shares a warning in his raspy voice: "Take care not to look into the waters for too long."

Yves purses his lips. "Scared I'll fall in love?"

"And forget to wheel me back."

Grosceau playfully leans in and cups Ismail's gaunt face.

"I would never forget about you." Yves inspects Ismail's copper augmentations and worry clouds his round features. "I'll have them shined and cleaned when we get back."

"That won't be necessary." The decrepit figure gives a small, warm smile. "I will be hatching soon."

Grosceau steps back and sighs deeply. There's a congealed air between the two men, of old hurt and past arguments too pointless to retread. Sames reclines in his wheelchair and lets the fresh breeze carress what's left of his old skin. They stay silent for a long while and Yves recalls a decades-old memory to himself.

-*-

There, on a smouldering summer day, a lone, sunburnt young man arrived at the stairs of the Imperial Court. He claimed to be a scholar carrying a message of great import for the Imperial Thaumaturges.

His haggard appearance and dirty garb, however, did not inspire much confidence in the heavily armed guards. They argued his manuscripts had to have been stolen from a proper scholar and that this lanky figure demanding an audience was nothing but a thieving vagabond.

The man then stripped the stained bandages off his left arm, revealing a shiny, russet prosthetic in place of a forearm, and asked for a cup of water.

The guards began asking him to leave the premises, but Grosceau stepped in. Melting in his protective smithing gear, behind a solid cast mask, he was looking for any excuse to take a break from the forge's heat. Not keen on offending a member of the Court, the guards stepped back when Yves handed the other man what he had asked for.

The apparent vagrant thanked him, focused in on the liquid, but over time, his focused gaze shifted into increased nervousness.

Grosceau's muffled voice came from behind the mask, asking what the matter was. The scholar replied, well, he'd come all this way by foot with an incredible discovery up his sleeve, and now that he were to prove it, he was stupefied on how to best orchestrate such a surely historic moment.

But as the guards grew increasingly impatient and the cup increasingly shaky in his hands, the man finally formed a fist with his prosthetic hand and flung his copper arm upwards as if tossing a child's bullskin playball.

In that same moment, the water, now compressed into a sphere the size of a fingernail, hurtled at a head-spinning velocity through the air before colliding with a stone pillar and exploding into fine mist, leaving a round dent in the marble.

While the guards were processing the inexplicable display, Grosceau took off his mask and politely requested to escort the stranger to his necessitated audience. Upon revealing his face, the vagrant audibly gasped for air and rudely pointed at the goldsmith. You, he said, you are the rune etcher! The Medium of the Aether! Then he fell to his knees and grabbed Yves by the hem of his working trousers.

"O, Medium! I, Ismail Sames, humbly beg for your service!"

Yves' dark complexion lightly paled upon the man's undignified prostration.

"And what service would you ask of me, Ismail?"

Ismail's swollen, wild eyes met Yves' from down below.

"Sire, I wish to bend the Aether to man's will."

-*-

And bend it we did, pondered Yves. Inasmuch as humans could tame the wild, cosmic flow of energy that is the Aether. Man had come no closer to understanding the Aether, unknowable as it is by nature and impishly sensitive to observation, as if consciously refusing scientific study.

But tapping into the stream? A cattle's skin is too thick to feel the bite of a tiny gnat, meddlesome as the winged beast may be; the insect, however, can feed until its abdomen bloats, beyond its fill.

Though far more delicate and indirect work, Ismail's hypothesis was, conceptually, similiar. Communing through runes, rerouting, obscuring, transubstantiating and translating into human intent and action - the Aether gave unknowingly its inscrutable creative energy.

For an unavowed price.

Yves gives the silently smiling Ismail a glance. Copper was, from what scholars could surmise, a material naturally more attuned to the flow of the Aether than other metals. Zealously, Ismail sacrificed as much of his flesh as he reasonably could to further his goal of aethereal control.

All Grosceau could do anymore was watch his husband become more and more consumed by his own obsession, one which he helped fan the flames of. Yves was the one to carve runes into flesh and copper to facilitate the research Ismail was so keen on advancing. They instigated each other's passions for taming the untameable, deciphering the unreadable, illuminating the furthest corners of a space that did not want to be known. Together, they changed the Empire.

In the end, Yves did not want to keep up.

But it became clear that Ismail was not taken with the idea of peaceful retirement.

"Yves, dear."

Grosceau snaps out of his thoughts, facing the fragile man in the wheelchair. Sames' eyes are as wide and wild as they were on the day they'd first met.

Yves stares at Ismail's haggard face, a hot flash passes through his body and the ember gets stuck in his fingertips, his heart begins to pound arhythmically in horror.

"I'm hatching."

The corners of Ismail's mouth are tearing like old leather and a russet fluid is leaking from a crack in his skull.

#the knight and the alchemist #my writing #yves grosceau #ismail sames

[rcstlcsshearts]

Look who just woke up- is that TAIKA WAITITI? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s EDWARD TEACH/BLACKBEARD from OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH. I heard he is 46 and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a WORN BLACK LEATHER, QUIET DEFEAT OF THE DESIRE TO LIVE A NEW LIFE WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO DO SO, FEARSOME REPUTATIONS DESPITE AN INHERENTLY GENTLE SPIRIT impression. They’re known to be quite CREATIVE, but have a tendency to be MERCURIAL on their bad days.

Gender/Pronouns  Cis male / he/him

How long have they been in Sydney? Ed has been in Sydney for nearly a year. In his memories, however, he has lived in Sydney his entire life.

Job  Ed is nothing short of a gangster. Cue the cigar, the dark rooms, the slow turning of a chair. He’s a real cad, whose reputation precedes him. Screw with Ed Teach, get the horns, and you’ll be lucky if you live ’til morning, kid. He mainly deals in exports, coming in and out of Port Botany. What kind of exports? Depends, mate, what’s your pleasure? But if you ask him, he’s just a lowly fish-monger, and content to be so.

Which suburb do they live in? Haymarket.

Memories of their real life : Coming from the moment when Blackbeard declared an “act of grace” for himself and Stede, Blackbeard has very few memories. They’ve been trickling in slowly, more like dreams. Daydreams, really. He remembers a man, well-dressed, changing his life around one stitch at a time. He remembers the feeling of salty air against his face, the sound of waves crashing against the bow of a ship, the feeling of a fine cashmere pressed against his face. To Edward, the dreams are as good as real; he just hasn’t fit together yet that they actually exist.

What was their fake life like? As far as Edward is concerned, his fake life is similar enough to his actual life to fool him. He was born in abject poverty to a father who drank too much and yelled too loudly, and a mother who did her best to keep peace. Despite the constant reminders (both by his mother and society) that he was not made for fine things, Ed never really accepted it. Au contraire: he secretly craved the finer things in life, even if he didn’t entirely understand them.

Making it his goal to “stick it” to the upper-crust, Ed hid his desire with open disdain, the mask a thin veneer to prove to everyone that he was better than them. He didn’t make many friends, but he did manage to host a “business,” even in early school. He’d purchase candy and trinkets from stores (occasionally slipping an extra into his pocket) before selling them for more than they were worth in the cafeteria. Before long, he had “lackies” who would help, and Ed got to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

His father died when he was young, and although Edward remembers very little about the event, he does remember that life was a lot better when he wasn’t around.

Ed dropped out of school when he was sixteen, instead, falling into work with some more cunning types: vagabonds, gangsters, and everyone in between. He was barely of legal age when he broke off on his own.

It’s amazing: one body washes up to shore, and everyone becomes afraid.

The thing was… Edward couldn’t even take credit for it. He did take credit, but only he knew it wasn’t his doing. Still, whatever accident befell that sorry fellow, Ed used it to his advantage. When pressed, he smiled, knowingly, commenting some vague warning in a low voice, quiet enough so the other would be forced to lean in to hear. And so his life continued.

Now, Edward is able to maintain his bustling business, under the guise of a fishery. For those who mistakenly wander into his store, Ed will sell whatever has been brought in by his crews. For those who don’t, who know what lies behind those walls, they may just make a deal with the devil.

#muse: blackbeard #thebridge: intro #death tw #murder tw #(implied)

[imladris-soldier]

Burn Him Out

DISCLAIMER!!!!!: This piece is 100% just me trying to deal with issues I still have regarding R*an and everything he did. I’m only sharing it here in case it might help anyone else. Please do not take it too seriously. I just thought that writing something out would help me.

The Vagabond betrayed the team. He has to pay.

“He betrayed us.”

The declaration was definitive, though one would be lying if they said they couldn't see the weary grief in Geoff's eyes from behind his desk. The rest of the crew were scattered around his penthouse office in various states of discomfort.

You were leaned up against the wall to Geoff's right with your arms crossed tightly over your chest and your eyes on the floor. It had come first as a shock, and then as a gut wrenching blow when the news about The Vagabond was revealed. Jeremy had been the one to text you. Perhaps they'd known he would be the best choice – or perhaps none of the others were brave enough to do it. You'd gone off grid for days and done a few things you weren't proud of, almost going so far as to revert back to the person you were before the Fake AH Crew had found you and adopted you into their ranks.

Something had convinced you to turn your phone back on, and you'd been greeted by a call from Jack, begging you to come back to the pent house. Her voice was rough as though she'd been crying. That had been enough to bring you back to them – to stand in this room with them and decide what was going to be done about the man who had destroyed your unit. Your family.

“He has to pay,” Lindsay finally said, her voice sharp and brittle. “We can't let this go.”

“We won't,” Geoff assured her. “That's why I wanted you all here. To talk about our options.”

“Let's just snipe him and be done with it,” Trevor suggested from where he sat in a cushy white chair with his elbows on his knees.

“That's an idea. But I figured you lot would want something bigger.”

“He knows what he did,” Jeremy cut in. “He won't show his face long enough for that to work. He knows we'll be coming for him eventually.”

Matt asked, “Then how do we know he's even still in Los Santos?”

“I've kept my ear to the ground,” Geoff answered. “The Vagabond has been seen. Fleetingly, but he's here.”

“Fucking fool,” you muttered under your breath. He should have left and kept his mouth shut – disappeared off the face of the god damn Earth, but no. He was too proud; too convinced of his invulnerability. On one hand, perhaps you could understand why. Even after this, there would still be crews willing to work with him or take him in. Despicable. He'd do the same things all over again if given the chance. He had to go.

“Anyone in particular want the honors?”

The room was quiet. Despite everything, he'd been a friend. Everyone there had cared about him, laughed with him, run jobs with him at their back. The crew was harsh when it had to be, but this even they balked at.

Fiona quietly spoke up. “Well, we have to draw him out first, right? How do we do that?”

Geoff nodded. “I have contacts all throughout this city. We could set up a fake job. Get word out that they're looking to hire him specifically? Could work. We have to be careful though. Can't have any of us connected to it, whispers or otherwise. He'll know it's a trap.”

“It should be secluded,” Trevor added. “Whatever it is. He's done enough harm. We don't need collateral damage.”

Slowly, an idea began to form in your head. “Would a few dead cops bother you, Treh?”

He thought on that for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. Just no civilians, alright?”

“What are you thinking, Y/N?” Jack asked.

Your eyes scanned the room, meeting the gaze of most of your crew in the process. “You know that out of use gondola station up on Chilead? We lure him up there, and set the cops on him. Get him caught. Then we sabotage the cop cars. Options there, obviously, but I personally wouldn't mind sticky bombs.” You paused, your voice hovering over the thought that had come to you. “I wouldn't mind pushing the button.”

The silence that greeted you was humming with a little bit of surprise, but it soon dissipated as the plan was considered.

“Seems a little flashy,” Alfredo replied. “Why not just gang up on him at the gondola station?”

You shrugged. “We could do that too. But it needs to send a message. Don't fuck with us. Don't fuck with the people we protect. We take care of our own, and nothing gets in our way. Not cops, not sick, traitorous bastards like The Vagabond. Nothing.”

Geoff nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “Anyone got any better ideas?” No one spoke up, so he nodded again. “Fine. We'll do it your way, Y/N. You'll need someone with you to help you plant the bombs without being seen. Who do you want?”

Your eyes passed between each of your friends, considering the pros and cons of each. In truth, you would have preferred Jeremy at your side, but getting him out of his Rimmy Tim outfit for work was nigh impossible, and bright orange was the last thing you needed to pull this off. Matt was quiet enough, but too easily fumbled things – not a good quality when dealing with bombs. Jack would have worked if she wasn't so clearly emotionally affected by everything that had happened.

You sighed, massaging your temples. Fiona and Alfredo were too loud. Gavin goofed too easily and might just as soon attach a bomb to his own foot before the car. Lindsay may have been a good choice as she seemed to share your rage, but she was showing it too much. Given how much of a wild card she could be, you weren't sure she wouldn't run off to beat the Vagabond to death herself and get arrested in the process. Trevor maybe, but he looked so tired already. He was angry, but beat down.

At long last, your eyes landed on Michael. He stared back in stony silence – a resolve and quiet that you needed. “Michael comes with me.”

Geoff looked over to the younger man who nodded shortly. “Fine. Get the supplies you need. I'll start setting it up.”

With that, the crew broke ranks and spread throughout the apartment to brood and stew on it all. You touched bases with Michael briefly, giving him a list of things to acquire while you looked over the map and decided on where to place the two of you for the job.

As you stared down at the paper, Jeremy joined you. He stood there silently for a time, watching you work, then finally murmured, “You sure about this?”

“Yeah. Easy enough. I've run car bombing jobs dozens of times.”

“That's not what I mean.”

You sighed, feeling your shoulders sink some. “You mean am I sure I want to press the button.” He nodded. “I want him gone, Jeremy. From Los Santos. From this planet. But mostly from here.” You pointed to your head. “I want to forget I ever knew his name, ever saw his face, ever heard his laugh. I don't want to spend another god damn second of my life thinking about Ryan fucking Haywood. I don't want him to have this shadow over me anymore. So yeah. I'm ok with writing him out of this story. Burning him out. Fuck him for what he did. He hurt so many people. Including me.”

Jeremy nodded. “I know.” He put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “Get it done. I'll be here when you're finished.”

He left you alone. An angry tear slipped down your nose onto the map beneath you.

It took a few weeks for Geoff to get the fake job planted, but soon his informants were letting him know that the Vagabond had taken the bait. The job would be run, just as planned, and you and Michael would be waiting.

The two of you staked out the gondola station hours before the job was supposed to take place, keeping to your hiding places in case the Vagabond had done the same. You were quiet for a long time, but eventually you looked over to your companion and told him, “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Sure,” he replied. “It needs to be done.”

You nodded. “Still. Thanks.”

Something about him softened. “I know this isn't easy for you. It's not easy for me either. But it's the right thing to do. I got your back, Y/N.”

With that, a peace settled over you, and you were content to wait out the rest of the afternoon in silence.

As the sun dipped low, you began to strategically place your items to make for quick work. Once that was done, you texted Jack to call the police. It would take them a bit to get mobilized and up the mountain, but just a hint of the Vagabond would send them running.

As expected, in the hazy purple of twilight, you heard a motorcycle heading up the road. You and Michael looked at one another before you peaked out over the large boulder you'd set up behind. It was him, alright. The blue and black of his jacket struck a nostalgic chord inside you, causing your insides to clench in pain. Fuck.

As soon as he disappeared into the building to begin collecting the “loot” (it was really just several boxes of rocks that Matt and Alfredo had put together), Michael slipped out into the darkness to drag his knife through the tires of the motorcycle the Vagabond had arrived on to keep him from escaping on it, then hid himself on the other side of the road, just as the sounds of cars reached you.

The police didn't have their lights or sirens on – some actual wisdom on their part for once. Not until they had blocked the whole road with their vehicles and surrounded the building did they make their presence known.

“Vagabond! We know you're in there. Come out with your hands up!”

He was outnumbered, but of course that didn't keep him from trying to shoot his way out. In the chaos, you and Michael weaved between the police cars, sticking the explosives to the bottoms. You met at the back of the line, then ran off the road once more into the brush and trees.

A few cops went down in the fray, but they were soon leading the Vagabond out in handcuffs. They'd ripped his mask off, smearing his makeup and leaving his dark hair in a frizzy mess. You stared at him as they took him to one of the cars. For so long he had made you feel safe and happy, despite his darker turns. You'd never thought him capable of such a betrayal – of something so fucking heinous. Looking at him now made you feel sick and sad and broken. You missed the man you thought he was. Fuck, you missed that man.

But this one. He wasn't that man. The mask was off at last. Not so infallible after all.

The cars started down the mountain in single file, due to the narrow road, and the one they had placed their prisoner in went last. You waited until they were about 50 yards away before stepping out of your hiding spot into the middle of the road.

“What are you doing?” Michael hissed.

You ignored him and waited for what you were hoping to see. The rear car slowed as the cop driving it saw you, and then you saw him look. The Vagabond turned his head to look out the rear windshield at what the cop had seen. And he saw you – standing there with the detonator in hand. You met his blue eyes and held it up between you.

“Go directly the fuck to hell, Ryan,” you said as you pressed the button.

The cars lit up like a botched 4th of July celebration, sending careening, burning metal flying across the mountainside. The entire parade of them burst into flames and crashed into one another, shrieking and rumbling.

You stood there, staring at the carnage and listening to the screams. The last car in the line was just a pile of shredded car parts, but in the flames you could see the black and blue jacket, burning, and you let that image flood through your veins and into the folds of your brain. Burn him out. Forget.

Michael met you in the road, nodding some in approval. “Nicely done,” he told you. “Let's get back before more cops show up.”

You nodded too and threw the detonator into the fire. “Let's go home.”

The penthouse was quiet when the pair of you arrived back, but everyone slowly filtered into the living room to be briefed. You opened your mouth a few times, but found that nothing would come out. Instead, you turned on the TV and navigated to the news station which was reporting the explosion on the side of Mount Chilead.

The group watched it in silence for a while, then Geoff said, “Well done.”

After that, people began to trickle back to their rooms. Michael pat you on the back and followed Lindsay out. Gavin came and gave you a somewhat awkward hug before he left. In the end, only you and Jeremy remained in the room, staring at the TV emptily.

He came and stood next to you, taking your hand into his own. “Did it help?” he asked gently.

You nodded.

“Good.”

#fake AH crew #my writing #ryan haywood

[voidyellsforblockbois]

(/rp: the following is the characters from dream smp, not the cc’s!)

Wilbur had been lurking. Phil hadn’t been sure until late in the day, but the kid had been in his periphery for the last several hours, regardless of what Phil had been working on. While he was feeding the sheep, Wilbur had been perched on the fence across the field, stealthily feeding the cattle sweet grass. As the sun blazed overhead and Phil had headed underground to mine, Wilbur had followed him, worked side-by-side with little speech. When Phil had returned to organize his travel belongings back into chests, Wilbur had slunk around the kitchen, starting dinner begrudgingly. Phil could feel his eyes on his back as he worked.

When he turns around to Wilbur’s intent stare for the third time in a row, Phil decides he shouldn’t just ignore this. 

He sets his bag aside, still half-full from the previous day’s venture, and walks towards the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe to watch his son scurry to appear busy. He opts for the cutting board, but Phil isn’t worried. He watches him fumble with a carrot for a moment before speaking.

“Talk to me, Wilbur.” Will pauses, gaze fixed on the board under his hands, then flashes Phil an easy grin.

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?” His voice is perfectly even. If Phil didn’t know him so well, he’d second-guess his observations from the day. Maybe Wilbur just wanted to spend time with him after he’d been gone a few days.

But Phil knew the boy like his own son, and Wilbur was never quiet.

“You’ve been brooding all day. Tell me what’s going on.” Wilbur laughs in reply.

“I’m a teenager Phil, we get that way.”

“Mhm.” Phil doesn’t try to keep the disbelief from his voice. He moves from the doorway with a rustle of fabric, and watches Wilbur’s shoulders tense at the movement, then relax a little as he sinks into one of the chairs at the table. He sighs. “Will, I’m not going to be mad. I can’t know what’s going on unless you tell me.”

“You can’t intimidate me,” Wilbur snaps. Phil furrows his brow. He’d never intended that.

“I don’t doubt that. You’ve never been intimidated easily.” Phil says slowly, watching Wilbur’s face.

Wilbur stops his movements, laying the knife down on the board painstakingly slowly. His brow is furrowed as he picks his words. Phil can’t keep a fond exasperation from his expression, but fortunately Will’s gaze is fixed on his hands in thought.

“Take me with you, next time.” Phil tilts his head, studying Wilbur’s intent expression.

“I can’t, Will.” There comes his guilt, and Will’s darkened expression. “We talked about this before, mate. I can’t carry you anymore, and something as small as a trading run would take weeks. The farm can’t be alone that long-”

“Then let’s leave the farm!” Wilbur raises his voice. “We don’t need this, we’re both just fine with nothing.”

Phil studies his son. He’s grown a lot in the last few years, though he retains his weedy stature and sly eyes, and he’s nearly taller than Phil is. He wonders how tall he’s going to get. Phil isn’t exactly a short man.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried the vagabond lifestyle before. Both of them were accustomed to wandering. When they’d first met, Wilbur had been carrying everything he found meaningful on his back, and in all the time since he’d never heard Wilbur speak wistfully of anywhere in particular. As far as he could figure, the kid had been wandering as long as his legs could walk. In that respect, the two of them weren’t that different.

But Phil could read an expression. He had seen the melancholy that snuck into Wilbur’s eyes as they passed homes glowing with light, generations of work put into the soil they passed over. Wilbur spoke of reliance with contempt, sneering down those that needed the support of a family, but when he grew quiet again it was like an unspoken plea. Stability was meant to be good for children, right?

So he’d settled with Wilbur, nestled at the foot of a soaring mountain peak, a few short miles from a village – small but sufficient for their minor trading needs. Wilbur wasn’t fond of admitting it, at first, but he thrived off the permanence. He was a good builder even without Phil’s advice, and learned quickly. They were mostly self-sufficient, but occasionally Phil would take trips to seek out more exotic foods and enchantments that they couldn’t access where they were. He tried to keep these expeditions short, flying with the crows and returning just as directly, spending no more time in each place than was required of him. But he knew Wilbur noticed his absence.

“Do you really want to leave?” Phil doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. Wilbur hangs onto every word like a lifeline, even when he’s pretending not to.

“I-” Wilbur drops his gaze, chewing his words. It’s enough of an answer for Phil.

“Will,” he says softly, “sit down a moment.” The kid (young man, almost) doesn’t move for a moment, lost in his thoughts. Phil repeats himself, and Wilbur all but collapses into the chair, gangly limbs sprawling around him and over the table. He rests his head in his hands. Phil leans over the table, hands resting on the coarse wood. Support, if Wilbur wants to take it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice is gentle.

Wilbur mumbles something under his breath, completely incomprehensible to Phil.

“Will,” he prompts.

“Thought you wouldn’t be back,” Wilbur mumbles, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood beneath him. It looks like it costs a lot for him to say it aloud. “You were gone for so long, Phil. I thought…” he trails, unwilling to finish the thought. Phil feels his heart soften.

“It was only a few days.” Wilbur looks at him incredulously.

“A few days?” he barks a laugh, but it sounds more like shout. “It’s been like two weeks Phil. I thought something had happened.” Phil frowns at him. Two weeks?

“That can’t be-” Phil cut himself off at the sharp glare Wilbur sent his way. Wilbur’s ragged tone didn’t lie. “That wasn’t my intention, Will.” Wilbur doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Well, it’s what happened.”

It’s not impossible.

“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?” Wilbur spent the whole day sitting on this. Why? The kid hesitates, tipping his head forward so his hair obscures his eyes, a telltale sign of emotion brewing in him. Always another layer to hide behind, another mask to obscure his true thoughts, even after years of living together. Phil supposes he’d not too different.

“It was fine. Not like I can’t get by on my own.” And he wasn’t wrong. He was almost an adult by now, after all. But…

“I’m sorry, Wilbur.” Phil said earnestly, leaning across the table to fix Wilbur with an intent gaze. His eyes were on the grain of the table, absently running his fingers over the thin veins of the wood. “I didn’t mean to leave for that long, but that doesn’t make it alright.” Wilbur hums.

He was really upset about this. Wilbur draws in a breath, and Phil forces his attention to it to avoid the twisting guilt in his stomach.

“It’s… it doesn’t matter. I know time’s weird for you.” The guilt feels like its crawling from his gut into his throat. Wilbur’s voice is harsh with restrained emotion. “I’m alright on my own, Phil, don’t worry about me.” Wilbur looks up now, a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Will.” He gives a questioning look, attempted innocence, but his eyes are glittering. Phil laughs slightly. “You’re a shit liar.” Wilbur scowls at him.

“I am not!”

“You are a tad, yeah.” Wilbur grumbles again, disagreeing, and Phil cuts him off. “You don’t have to be cagey about these things, mate. It’s what I’m doing here, after all.” He hopes his voice has more confidence than he’s feeling. Phil’s never been good at the whole… emotions thing, let alone with a teenage kid. When he was that age… his life had been different, at least. His few memories of it were hazy, clouded with time and distance.

He did remember struggling to make words of his feelings, and wings curling over his, a rich voice rumbling in his ears, calm and steady and confident, even though he couldn’t remember exactly what they’d said to him. The words never came easier, hell, even now he struggled, but leeching the confidence from someone else…

It had been helpful, if nothing else.  

So, even though he’s tempted to stumble through some explanation, some apology (or better yet, change the topic of conversation entirely) he holds his tongue.

The dark shadow of his wing sweeps the floor of their kitchen, dusty at the corners, to curl around his son’s shoulders, which stiffen for just a moment. Phil holds his breath, waiting, and Wilbur relaxes after a moment, leaning into the wing’s embrace.

He lets his breath out. Wilbur’s shaking, just slightly.

“I don’t want to be alone.” It’s a whisper so quiet Phil barely catches it under the blanket of feathers. Still, he hears it all the same.

“I know.” Phil tucks his chin over Will’s head, gathering the gangly lad into his arms. (Cheek pressed up against his chest, dark feathers curling around him, voice calm and confident.) “I won’t let it happen again.”

(a snippet from this)

#my writing #dream smp #wilbur soot #dsmp philza #fanfic #im actually really happy with some writing for once so you all get to see it #just some soft hurt/comfort #also good dad philza i promise #dsmp #wilbur #ae

[olimpias]

THE JUGGLERS OF VENICE - A SHORT STORY BY ELIZA ORMANDY

words: 2k

warnings: death and i can’t be too explicit here, otherwise it would spoil some things, but ill say this: it’ll be very, very disturbing

general taglist: @stuff-lucie-wrote @buster-keaton @bookphobe @write-gallagher

tjov taglist: @withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus

persons of the mystery

Geronimo - a young Venetian gentleman 

Erasmo - his friend, the Marquese di Giglia

the old woman - a ticket seller

the man with the Gnaga - a fire-eater

Gaspare - a woodcarver

Floriana - the daughter of Erasmo’s cousin

When autumn arrives and the days begin to be shorter and darker than before, it happens every October that the jugglers come, in their colourful little wagons and their funny fringed costumes, to lure the already rather dusty population of Venice out of their incipient winter torpor and to tell them about foreign lands and people. Here, in the city of the arts, these vagabonds are quite highly regarded and, even though the Venetian way of life cannot exactly be described as colourless, they are seen as a welcome distraction in view of the approaching winter. There are a lot of rumours about the jugglers and a few years ago a child disappeared there whom I even knew (she was the daughter of a distant cousin of my friend Erasmo, the Marquese di Giglia), but even after an extensive search little Floriana could not be found and so her disappearance was explained that she must have fallen into a nearby canal and the jugglers were not further associated with it.

And so it happened that on the very day that the curious folk came to Venice, I was staying at Erasmo’s' palazzo and we passed the time excellently at his expense. "Listen, Geronimo," he said, when we had just emptied our second bottle of wine, "don't you remember that the jugglers are to come to town today?" "How right you are, Erasmo!" exclaimed I. "Let us leave at once, for it will soon be dark!" Briskly we got up, threw on our masks and cloaks and set off.

Never before had I seen the jugglers with my own eyes. Their reputation undoubtedly preceded them and it was said that they were godless, unbridled creatures who knew how to make others laugh but remained as cold as ice themselves. They had set up their quarters near a small square on the outskirts of the city. As dusk had already fallen, most of the visitors had left, and the cold wind was getting into our limbs, so that we wrapped ourselves even more tightly in our coats, but there was a wonderful glow from the little stalls and the most pleasurable music was playing, which made us soon forget all the dark stories about the jugglers.

A stooped old woman stood in front of the stalls selling tickets. She wore a blue and gold half mask, a large tricorn with a cock's feather and her lips were painted a rather quaint red. "Come in, come in!" she cried in a croaky voice. "Two tickets for the young gentlemen? Here you are, here you are, always come in, just don't hesitate! Let us whisk you away into another world! But be warned: no one who goes in comes out as he was!" At this she burst into cackling laughter and Erasmo grabbed my arm in fright.

We left the strange old woman behind and looked at the various stalls. There was the most artificial candy that could even move, daintily built little houses with tiny figures in them, there was a tent where a fortune teller was supposed to be and of course the jugglers, fire-eaters, acrobats and girls with apple-red cheeks offering candied fruit. Every now and then a stately white horse was brought in, with a feathered headdress and a lady in red on its back, wearing a red mask and a red veil.

Suddenly, from behind the stalls, a puppet with a large key in its back appeared and performed a wild dance before our eyes. It threw itself into the air, hit the ground, jumped up again, spun in circles, flailed its arms and shook itself before falling lifeless to the ground. Then a man dressed in black and red and wearing a Gnaga mask leapt into the circle that had formed around the doll and shouted, "Good evening, dear friends! What you have just seen here was one of the dolls of the famous Gaspare, known as the best woodcarver who ever set foot in Italy!" With these words he beckoned a small man of slight stature, dressed all in white, even his face was painted white, but his lips were ghastly red. Gaspare bowed awkwardly and grinned as if possessed. Hesitantly everyone applauded and he spoke in a squeaky voice: "I suppose if the gentlemen would like to take a look at my humble tent, I can show them some more of these amazing puppets."

Everyone entered the tent and Gaspare spread his arms. The walls were covered all over with dolls of all kinds, big, small, men, women, children and mythical creatures, but they all had one thing in common: their ugly, almost devilish laughter, which made me think of Gaspare himself.

But another, smaller area of the tent was separated by a cloth. "What might be behind this, Geronimo?" said Erasmo quietly to me, but Gaspare, who must have heard us, moved around and stared at us. "In this part are the particularly valuable dolls, those that are only brought out on special occasions." All the while he squinted his eyes. I felt uncomfortable in the face of this madman and wanted to urge Erasmo to leave, but Gaspare approached us again. "Would the young gentleman agree if I took his portrait?" he asked with another hypocritical grin, stroking Erasmo's cheek with his pale, bony finger. It is true, Erasmo is significantly more handsome than me and not infrequently I, who looks quite normal and unassuming, have envied him his thick, dark hair, which is entirely without a wig, and his noble, light brown skin, not to mention his flawless features, which immediately make everyone suspect his aristocratic origins. "Well, why not?" he replied politely, even managing a smile, which I give him credit for, knowing how much he hates it when other people touch him. "Don't do that!", I whispered in his ear. "Something is not right here!" But he squeezed my hand tenderly and followed the old man to a moth-eaten velvet armchair where Gaspare told him to settle down. Then he took out some paper and began to draw magically fine lines on it with ink, which joined together to form a face with incredible speed. It was unmistakably Erasmo's, albeit strangely distorted, with huge eyes, a tiny nose and a small, pointed mouth. When he had finished, Erasmo reached out to take the drawing, but the old man snatched it away. "I still need it," he cawed. "You can have it - later. That is, if you still need them then." With these words he slipped through the curtain into the hidden section and came out again a short time later, but without the drawing. "I have work to do now. Out, out!" He suddenly seemed very upset and really shooed us out of the tent.

When we got outside, it was dark and I noticed that we were the only visitors left. "Let's go," I said, pulling Erasmo with me. He allowed it, although reluctantly. The old woman laughed as we passed her.

We hadn't gone far when Erasmo stopped abruptly. "Let's go back!" he said, and I saw in his dark eyes the dangerous mixture of adventurousness and folly that was well known to me. Ever since we were children, I had tried to stop him from doing something stupid, but usually without success. This time was no exception. He looked at me pleadingly and I gave in. "All right," I said with a sigh. "But what do you intend to do anyway?" "I want to get my drawing," he replied, but I knew very well that he was merely using this pretext to get into the hidden area of Gaspare's tent.

So we crept back, under the cover of night. Fortunately, we were both dressed in dark clothes, so we didn't have to be afraid of any passers-by. We arrived at the stalls, but there was no one to be seen. The lights were no longer shining and the cheerful music had stopped. When everything looked so deserted and uninviting, I felt a bit queasy, but I took heart and followed Erasmo, who was walking carefully but purposefully towards Gaspares' tent. He too was nowhere to be seen, neither inside nor outside the tent. We peeked behind the curtain that divided the room into two halves. At first glance we saw nothing unusual. To our right was a workbench with some tools and a candle on it. It was burning. Opposite was a chest and before I could hold it back Erasmo had already opened it. I stepped closer.There were dolls in the chest too, but these ones looked different, more alive in a frightening way. Their eyes seemed to look straight into my heart and their red mouths seemed as if they wanted to say to me: "Listen, Geronimo, what are you doing here? You have meddled in something evil, you can believe us!" I suddenly became so scared that my throat tightened and I turned to Erasmo to ask him to get out of here once and for all, but he had stepped to the other side of the small room and was looking thoughtfully at a cloaked figure leaning in the corner. It reached about to his waist and was strangely slumped. "What do you think this is?" he asked, and even in the dim light of the single candle I could see his eyes shining with excitement.

Slowly he lifted the cloth, but when he saw what was hidden underneath, he stumbled back, startled. "Just look," he whispered with fear in his voice. I walked over and was also struck with fright. The doll looked exactly like little Floriana! Her light brown frizzy hair was twisted up into two elaborate curls, her wide brown eyes stared up at us trustingly and even her cute rosy mouth looked as if it might start talking at any moment.While we were still standing there, barely able to contain ourselves, the curtain was pulled aside behind us. We wheeled around. There stood Gaspare, trembling and gasping. He staggered towards us, yet it was not It was not his sudden appearance or his indistinct muttering that frightened me, but his face, in which the bright madness glowed.I believed he was about to attack us and for a moment I thought my number was up, but he paid us little heed. "Did the young gentlemen discover my masterpiece, eh?" he asked in a trembling voice. "I knew they would come back. You only have to take a look at their inquisitive noses!" He knelt down in front of the doll and clasped it with both arms. "My dearest Floriana," he whispered. "Just look!" He palmed her. "It's her hair and her clothes!" He opened her mouth. "And her teeth!" He jumped up, the doll in his arms. "Never will she grow up, never! She will always be my little daughter. And you," with these words he came up to Erasmo, "you will be my son, and I will delight in your beauty as I make you and Floriana dance, just for me!" His ghastly laughter shook the tent walls. Then at last I awoke from my rigidity of terror, seized Erasmo's arm, and, dragging him behind me, ran as fast as I could out of the tent and past the stalls, not stopping until we had reached the canal on which Erasmo's palazzo is situated. There we leaned against the parapet, breathing heavily. "Poor, poor Floriana," sobbed Erasmo. "And my poor, poor cousin!" I wanted to say something comforting, but I couldn't think of anything.

The next day we heard that the jugglers had left, much earlier than usual, and they were never heard of again, either in Venice or in all Italy. Erasmo and I quietly agreed that we would take that terrible experience to our graves. It is probably better that way, even if I am pained by the grieving face of his cousin who comes to visit now and then. I can only hope and pray that the jugglers have given up their terrible ways, but I cannot imagine it. Surely they will travel around for all eternity until perhaps someone comes along who has enough courage to put a stop to them. But that someone will not be me, that is certain. 

#the jugglers of venice #tjov #my writing #my wip #short story #writeblr #amwriting

[writerofshit]

For the first like 2 months after joining the crew Jeremy was *certain* the Vagabond didn't like him or didn't trust him because every time he was just hanging out in the penthouse that mask would be staring at him constantly and he was so paranoid. The reality was V was crushing hard and usually could hide it but Jeremy always took his jacket off inside and his arms were sending Ryan into gay panic and it only became clear when he forgot his mask one day and the blush/heart eyes were evident

God, I adore 'big bad vagabond is secretly a dork with a huge crush' and I will never be over it

I imagine that at first, Ryan is in his head like 'oh god he's hot, look at those muscles. He could crush me like a tin can and I'd say thank you, what a way to go' but he can, for the most part, ignore that part of his brain.

Then they work one whole job together and Ryan is gone for him. That humor? That personality? That laugh? The fact that he obviously cares so deeply and so fiercely about the crew, the people Ryan considers family? And so quickly, too? Stick a goddamn fork in him, he's so done.

But he's still The Vagabond, and he has a Reputation™ to protect, so he leans pretty heavily on the mask. Jeremy has seen his face a handful of times, so it's not really necessary to the whole disguise thing, but. It's certainly useful to the 'I'm ever so fucked by how much I like you and how much I blush everytime you say a goddamn word to me' thing.

It comes to a head one morning when Ryan comes downstairs without his mask, and finds Jeremy in a tank top and pajama pants, leaning against the kitchen counter eating cereal. Jeremy greets him with a cheerful "Hey Ryan!" (Because even though he's terrified that Ryan hates him, he's not about to let the man know that.)

Ryan trips over a response that doesnt sound like words at all, turns bright red and all but runs back upstairs.

Jeremy goes to Jack because if anybody is gonna know what the fuck is up with Ryan, it's her. She always has all of the information on them, somehow. Super useful in situations like these, less stellar when Jeremy is drunk and trying desperately to convince her that he's 'totally taking this stake out seriously, ok, how dare you accuse me of being drunk on a rooftop!!'

But anyhow, he asks her if Ryan always resembles a tomato mixed with a high schooler giving an oral report, has he just not noticed somehow? If yes, wow, he should start paying more attention. If no, then... Why?

Jack, ever the adult of the crew, patiently explains that "it's because he likes you, you oblivious moron." Which doesnt make total sense to Jeremy (did Ryan forget the part where he used to be a goddamn model, and still could be, and Jeremy is an idiot who wears godawful color combos and a shitty cowboy hat?) But you know, Jack is smart about this shit so there must be some truth to it.

He immediately goes to Ryan (who is back to hiding behind his mask) because either Jack is wrong and they might get a laugh out of it, or Jack is right and... Well he doesn't really count on that, and doesn't bother to figure out that outcome.

Which he really should have, because yes, Ryan has been crushing on him, and now they're both blushing idiots. There's a long talk that mostly involves them tripping over their words and making surprised pikachu faces at each other. It's exactly as adorable as it sounds.

#this got away from me #but i love blushy crushing morons so #jeremwood #ks talks #anon #i love this idea so dearly

[sorcererinthestars]

more fahc myan thoughts: while geoff has helped michael learn to stop his rage and jack has helped him learn to redirect it, its ryan who teaches him the most on how to /use/ his anger. we all know the boy is filled with it, most of the time his temper gets the better of his though. and causes more destruction than he intends. but ryan sees this and helps him learn to use that energy, that fury and push to get the upper hand or scare others away. adrenaline is useful if you know how to work it

You sent this ages ago, but with my life, I get around to asks as I can. But I really love this concept. Michael’s always been an angry boy, and sometimes it can just make him more angry when people tell him to calm down. He doesn’t know how - when the rage is pulsing through his bones, when he feels hot and his chest feels tight, none of the tricks the others teach him work. He tries to take deep breaths, he tries to steady himself, but he can’t. He knows what Geoff says - anger will make him do stupid things, emotions can lead only to downfall. He knows he’s right, Geoff is always right. But that doesn’t stop him from not being able to hold himself upright or lunge at the opposition, just looking to beat the shit out of them. How dare they talk to him like that?

It takes a while before Ryan is comfortable enough with them to take Michael aside and offer him advice, but its less time than removing the mask. There would be times when they’d be alone in the Fakes’ training facility, a shitty warehouse repurposed with targets and dummies made to fire at. Ryan would be working on honing his aim with a new sniper rifle, putting dozens of holes into the chest of a white plastic thing, and Michael would be ripping into a punching bag.  Michael will hit and hit and hit and the warehouse would be full of nothing but their gasping breath and the sound of punches and gunshots. That is, until Michael throws his hands down, miserable, because his technique isn’t the same when he isn’t fired up. It’s Ryan who lowers his gun and shows Michael brawling techniques that have the edge. It’s Ryan who is the first person in the crew to tell him that anger is a tool like any other, it’s a weapon like the knife in his pocket, the gun on his back, or the brass knuckles on his hands. It can be used if wielded properly, but like any of those weapons, can break you if you don’t know how to use it.

He’s not an impatient teacher. He works slowly with Michael, rolling with his punches and putting up with his tantrums when things aren’t going right, goading him mercilessly behind a black mask until Michael is gasping for air and swinging wildly. Ryan will catch the punch and scold him for leading his shots, telling him instead of letting the anger control him, he had to control the anger.

And after a while, Michael starts to understand that anger - if he controls it and it doesn’t control him - is a deadly tool. It can be manipulated and used for his advantage. The first time he kills a foe he had been arguing with, he realizes that it’s Ryan who taught him more about himself than anyone else. And it’s Ryan who he owes his newfound freedom.

Michael is known as the man who rages. This is still true, but now Michael is the man who gets angry but doesn’t get sloppy. A technique unfathomable to the common street brawler, but known by only two men in LS.

Michael “Mogar” Jones and The Vagabond.

#fahc #myan loosely #ragehappy #just a little bit of a thing #felt like writing a bit #shadeofazmeinya

[vagrantblvrd]

Random FAHC scenario where Gavin and Fiona meet up in the Europes before joining the FAHC AU and it’s like.

Gavin is this Cool Hacker and Fiona’s just...Fiona? Like. Fighty, but also a horribly human being/kindred spirit with Gavin and they’re like :DDDDDDDDDDDD when they realize they’re horrible human beings?

Sniper buddies on the side, too, because of course.

And they pal around for a while until there’s this Shiny they want to steal because reasons, only it’s been confiscated as evidence or is just taking up a place of pride somewhere with ridiculous amounts of security around it and they’d need all these resources and the whatnot they don’t have access to.

But then they’re vegetating somewhere and watching tv shows and on comes some detective show with the police consultant who is Super Sleuth not unlike Sherlock Holmes and they’re rolling their eyes because wow, terrible writing and worse execution of premise and the acting.

But.

It percolates in their brains for a while until they thing about the Shiny again and one of them is like “Hey, remember that asshole from that show?”

Because police consultant and such, privy to all kinds of things other people aren’t and somehow that translates in a Brilliant Idea of them pulling a Brilliant Plan.

One in which Gavin (because British) plays the Super Sleuth with Fiona as his assistant.

(The thing where she’s younger and, you know, a woman, which hahaha, the police/authorities they’re planning to fuck with are horrible mysoginists and it works to their advantage.)

ANYWAY.

It’s a long play, this plan of theirs in which they wow the cops with Gavin’s Super Sleuth-ness, which is just him and Fiona with the computer hacking and intel gathering and also, maybe, paying off some randos to help make them look like totally legit Super Sleuth and Assistant looking to become police consultants and so on.

Gain trust and respect and all this, and working their way to getting better access to the Shiny.

Actually put some legit criminal-types behind bars, naturally making new and exciting enemies along the way. Said criminal-types were real scumbags or potential hindrances or something along those lines.

After however long they manage to steal the Shiny and the police never figure out it’s them behind it?

But England/Europe is dangerous for them with the enemies they made or maybe they’re just bored of it or there’s a new Shiny for them in America, so!

Off to America they go, leaning hard on the Super Sleuth thing they’ve got going and work their way towards Los Santos building up this reputation for themselves as they go?

Like.

Minor celebrities kind of thing while stealing all the Shiniies that catch their eye along the way.

And then Los Santos, right?

Not exactly ideal for their shenanigans in which the cops don’t want people like them sniffing out all the corruption and the whatnot, but there’s this big Thing, some special Shiny and its owner has heard ever so much about the two of them.

Wants them helping keep it secure and all that - which, okay??? - and they’re like okay???

Plan to steal the Shiny and make a run for it before anyone catches on?

But the night of the big gala/party whatever where it’s meant to be on display there are all these suspicious characters wandering around.

Gavin flirting with this one guy who waltzes up to him at the refreshment table, all southern charm and pretty blue eyes and such a gentleman?

Fiona’s off to the side like jfc, just bone already because it’s ridiculous?

And then!

The power cuts out and when the lights come back on the Shiny is missing!!1!

The owner of the Shiny lets out this shriek and ~faints and it’s up to Gavin and Fiona to Super Sleuth who the culprit is?

ALSO.

This totally takes place on a  cruise ship because of course it does and is basically Clue but on a big, big boat. (I know, I know, ship, but whatever.)

Gavin and Fiona are joined by Mystery Blonde Man (whoever could it be, I wonder???) as they Super Sleuth their way along.

Occasionally there’s a Murder (defs mysterious circumstances) and More Tension!!!1!

Paranoia as party-goers suspect the person next to them of being the murdered and petty disagreements and such coming to light (Also confessions of adultery and bribery and just waaaaay too much Drama for anyone’s comfort? AND YET.)

Gavin and Fiona are like jfc because this is NOT what they signed up for when they came up with this farce of a con way back when?

Because of course there are the moments in which Gavin is Investigating - alone, because seperated in the dark - and gets attacked and knocked unconscious and Mystery Blonde Man is the one to discover him, because of course he does.

(And of course there’s that moment of Staring Into One Antoher’s Eyes and Unguarded Thoughts and Fiona standing right the fuck there, you assholes, Christ.)

ANYWAY.

Shenanigans (and light murder) until Gavin figures it out.

Realizes Mystery Blonde Man was behind it the whole time along with his associates. The bald bastard posing as a waiter, and the crewman with the Jersey accent and the Flashback Of Realization as Mystery Blonde Man pulls a gun on Gavin and Fiona and does the rueful apology thing because he really did like Gavin, you know?

Meanwhile Gavin is holding Fiona back from going for the asshole’s throat, or really, his ankles because she’s goddamned vindictive like that, and trying to make it look like he’s not? (Because Assistant!Fiona is sweet like angel and would never, you know?)

Maybe one of the security guards runs up to stop Mystery Blonde Man from absconding with the Shiny and about to shoot him?

And Gavin, like the idiot he is, jumps in the way to take the bullet for him.

(Because kevlar vest under his tuxedo and all the way Fiona’s wearing one under her ensemble - gorgeous dress or incredible tux of her own, idk both work great for me.)

 Mystery Blond Man is like :O!!11! because he doesn’t know about the kevlar vest thing and Gavin’s not moving (because he still got shot and that hurts like a mofo and also Drama and Angst) but it’s too dangerous to stick around so he escapes along with his associates not realizing Gavin’s going to be fine?

AND THEN.

Gavin and Fiona are still in the LSPD’s good books, not to mention the city at large and don’t know what to do about it just yet?

BUT.

Gavin’s Intrigued about Mystery Blonde Man and his associates and does his hackery mcgic while Fiona goes out to gather what intel she can from their contacts.

AND THEN.

Gavin goes out to some bar somewhere one night, dressed like the horrible little hacker gremlin he is in regular street clothes and sits down at this table in a darkened corner?

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks, because someone’s been sitting at the same table for a bit now.

Big, scary looking bastard in a leather jacket and ridiculous skull mask. (This close, Gavin can make out what looks like face paint under it??? Something like that anyway.)

Ryan, because of course it’s Ryan, freezes.

About to take a drink of his diet soda and sets it down slowly because reports about what happened on the cruise ship were way confused/conflicting and he thought Gavin died, you know?

Was out of town on a job for Geoff and the crew when the corrections were made and no one thought/knew to tell him because he’s kind of dumb about that shit and just bottled everything up, insisted on working through it. (Also, he barely knew Gavin and they were on opposite sides anyway and just. A whole slew of excuses.)

Gavin of course, doesn’t know any of that, just blithely goes on and on about the weather and the shitty band playing on stages. Kids looking to make it big and desperate for it and not really good but not terrible either, just. You know how it is.

And then he switches tracks, brings up the Shiny and the cruise ship and this whole Super Sleuth deal he put together afterwards.

Hackery magic and Fiona’s intel and the two of them with a murder board figuring everything out?

“Should ahve expected the Fake AH Crew wouldn’t be able to pass it by,” he says, referring to the Shiny, while Ryan’s just !!! because what is going on right now?

Worried he might have to kill Gavin now since he knows who Ryan is and all that? (Lol, try to, or at least look like he’s trying to, because FEELS)

And then Gavin gets onto the bit where he reveals the thing where he and Fiona are totally criminals in their own right.

Big deal, that, because it could blow up in his and Fiona’s faces so badly? But Fiona was tired of him moping around because of Mystery Blonde Man/Vagabond/Ryan and was like.

“Fucking tell him, what the hell do I care?”

So Gavin seeking Ryan out and this whole Thing and Ryan being so, so confused?

Like.

Why is Gavin telling him all this? (Why did he bother to track him down and such?)

And Gavin’s just like.

Looking at Ryan’s drink where the ice is all melted with the whole exposition dump that happened taking a bit and all.

“I’d like to buy you a drink, if you don’t object?”

At which point Ryan realizes Gavin has gone super nervous and awkward and it takes him another moment or two to realize why?

Because FEELS and weird date experience? But also criminals and weird everything anyway, and he’s just.

This little smile (because awkward nerdface) and says that would be nice, but maybe not here? If Gavin’s hungry he knows a decent place not too far away and they can get something to eat, and anyway, anyway, awkward dorks and their first date???

Which of course turns into more, with Fiona giving Gavin so much shit for his smushy feelings for Ryan???

The two of them keeping their Super Sleuth and Assistant con going and stealing Shinies here and there.

And then!

Some shenanigans in which members of the crew get caught, arrested, and taken to whatever precinct Gavin and Fiona are in good with?

Gavin and Fiona being like oh, shit when they see the Vagabond and whoever paraded past them headed to the holding cells?

Realizing nothing good can come of this because of course not, and then overhear some cops talking about planning an accident to make sure the Vagabond and whoever else is in there don’t make it to the morning?

So of course they have to break them out, almost certainly burning their Super Sleuth con in the progress, but that’s not important because FEELS? Also right thing to do, so!

They finagle their way to get access to Ryan and whoever and run into this FIB agent.

Stern woman who is all HMM when she meets them and gives them ALL the shit because of course she does.

Total asshole and Gavin is like :) and trying not to snap - Fiona is weirdly quiet about it, but whatever.

The FIB agent trying get Ryan and whoever transferred to FIB custody, but pissing contest with the LSPD and Gavin and Fiona planning a jailbreak?

FIB agent and her partner/team marching the Vagabond and whoever out through the parking garage and Gavin and Fiona about to break out the jailbreak plan, only for FIB agent to be like,

“You owe me, assholes, so fucking much,” as she unlocks the cuffs on Ryan and whoever because of coruse it’s Lindsay, you know?

Either running her own long play of being an FIB agent or just this one-time production, who knows, and Gavin and Fiona are like???

Because they kind of stumble into it, all ready with guns out and the like and Lindsay is like, “Took you guys long enough,” :DDDDDDDDDDD when she sees them, and idk, I’m losing the thread here yet again.

All of them having ot escape when the cops come down to try one more round of being assholes about things? But uh, wow, ALL the criminals and just a lot of yelling and shooting and Daring Escapes.

Gavin and Fiona being like shit because they just burned the Super Sleuth con for basically nothing? (Don’t regret the intent behind it? But wow, what a waste?)

Lindsay’s just :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDD because the crew could use people like them, and what do they say to a trial run with these assholes of hers?

(Ryan is trying not to be all hearteyes over the realization of what Gavin and Fiona did for him and whoever, and failing miserably because Ryan.)

Gavin and Fiona agree to the trial run, and it’s kind of great because ALL the assholes like them and fun criminal activities?

Also, bonus for Gavin in which he makes Ryan’s life the absolute worst? (But in a loving manner, and vice versa.)

Fiona is totes hearteyes over Lindsay because why wouldn’t she be?

Michael is off to the side like , jfc, because that asshole Gavin, but also that asshole Fiona and goddammit, what is with this city?

Geoff is like oh, God, now there are more of you assholes???

And then shenanigans, I guess, idk anymore.

#ragehappy #freewood #ridiculous super sleuth con au #idk either #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #long post

[theangelwithashotgun8]

Back at it again with FAHC BS

Kind of a continuation to this and it got long as hell again because yenno what that’s just how I roll

-

Ryan and Gavin are absolutely dating. Or, at the very least, they are banging on the regular and feelings may or may not be developing.

That’s what Jeremy thinks.

They have a special bond. They can talk without opening their mouths and they both laugh at the same twisted things. Jeremy isn’t idiot, knows that behind those goofy glasses and blinding smile, Gavin is just as fucked up as the rest of them, if not more so. He’s seen the man rip organs out of screaming victims, has watched him set police officers ablaze with a smile, had crowed with glee over the pickled brain Ryan had given him for his birthday (after gagging at the sight of it for a few minutes).

Jeremy knows that the Vagabond is gentle with Gavin in a way he isn’t quite with the rest of them. He’s seen it go both ways, sees how enthusiastic Gavin is to go along with Ryan’s more… Vicious ideas. How excited he is to tag along for capture and torture missions, how he goes for Ryan when Michael isn’t around, how whenever he goes to the store for a grocery run he makes a point to buy another case of diet coke for Ryan. He is always invading Ryan’s space, and the older man never seems to mind.

He first realized they were probably together, or at least strong in like, when a heist went wrong. A bystander at the bank had screamed unexpectedly at the sight of a spider and Michael had jumped in surprise. The explosive he’d been setting had gone off before he was ready. He was injured, he’d recover fine according to Caleb, but he’s not home and they’re all rattled.

Gavin, Michael’s literal platonic soulmate, is shaking and he’s biting his lip so much Jeremy is surprised it’s not bleeding. Geoff and Jack are huddled in the kitchen, speaking in low and worried tones. They’re worried about Michael, of course they are, but also for what this loss of revenue means. They’ll need to plan a new heist, a bigger one to hopefully make up what they lost with this one. So it’s just Jeremy, Ryan, and Gavin left in the living room.

Finally, when the shaking is so bad Gavin can no longer keep a steady grip on his cup of water, Ryan claps a hand on Gavin’s arm, “Let’s go for a drive.”

And Gavin agrees.

They come home and Gavin’s hair and clothes are disheveled, but he’s smiling again and Jeremy finds it easier to breathe.

A month later, when Michael is back on his feet and causing mayhem again, he brings it up. It’s a cool night, with the lights of Los Santos twinkling below them. It’s just the two of them out on Geoff’s balcony, breathing in the peace and quiet. Gavin rears back at his inquiry, looking green around the gills at the very thought.

“Lil J, I’m not dating Ryan.”

“Well if you aren’t then you should. You’re obviously nuts about each other.”

“No. We’re not.”

And he takes Jeremy into his room, the first time he’s ever been there, and it’s nothing like Jeremy thought it would be. The bed is neatly made, with a normal dark blue comforter and matching pillows. The walls are bare save for a collage of photos pinned above the bed. He gestures to it and Jeremy sees strips from a photo booth of Gavin with the OG lads, smushed together and younger than Jeremy has ever seen them. There’s a few polaroids of Geoff and Gavin in a fishing boat, surrounded by beer bottles and screaming at a cod fish in their laps. There are glossy, newer, photos of Jack and Gavin posed outside of various vehicles, arms around each other and smiling. He’s notices that there are a few of him, all candid when he’s doing stupid shit or when he’s gazing off into the distance with the light hitting him at just the right angle.

In the center of it all is an old, faded, photo of a younger Ryan and a pre-teen Gavin. Ryan’s hair is long, swept up into a ponytail, and his face is free of paint. He is young, so young, and on his back Gavin snoozes, face buried in his hair. There’s another one of Gavin, in full cap and gown, sitting on Ryan’s shoulder. There’s one from Halloween of a beaming, teenaged, Gavin dressed up as a caterpillar with a black eye and a lap full of candy next to Ryan who has his head in his hands. There’s a photo of Ryan, bare faced again, at the kitchen counter with Gavin next to him-face covered in spaghetti sauce. Gavin looks 7, if the monster truck T-Shirt and baby face is anything to go by. Ryan looks at Gavin with a familiar fondness in his eyes, one he thought was romantic but is something else entirely, now that he’s looking at this collage of affection.

“Geoff and Jack love me. But… It wasn’t easy. Raising me an’ all that.” Gavin says, voice equal parts serious and fond, “I used to get threats all the time. Geoff brought on Ryan as a bodyguard when I was young. He’s literally watched me grow up, that’s why we’re so close. Even when I learned to take care of myself, even when I joined the crew on my own, Ryan kept looking out for me. When he looks at me he still sees that scrawny little kid.”

He lifts up his glasses and Jeremy looks into those hazel eyes he doesn’t see enough. 90% of the time it’s damn near impossible to tell whether Gavin is bullshitting him or not, his mask is too perfect, his act too ironclad, but his eyes give him away too much. It’s why he wears those glasses.

It’s as much a mask as Ryan’s.

Looking now, he can see how these are just things Gavin has picked up from a lifetime with the Vagabond, traits and skills he inherited from the man who helped to raise him.

“Oh.” Is what he says, because it’s all he can think to say, because Gavin is staring at him and Jeremy can see no lie.

He is not in love with Ryan, can never imagine himself feeling that way.

The glasses come back down and Gavin smirks, “No need for jealousy Lil J. Ryan’s definitely not the one I’m after.”

And he walks out of his own room, leaving Jeremy behind, struggling to remember how to breathe.

#Fake AH Crew #Jeremvin #FAHC #Jerevin #FAHC Ryan #FAHC Gavin #FAHC Jeremy

[evil-is-relative]

The Tale of Meric

Long before Alduin was sent forward in time, a young boy is named dovah. The story of how Miraak joined the Dragon Cult.

Trigger warning for the Dragon Cultists being brutal arseholes at the best of times, even to a child.

Not lore compliant. Dovahzul translations at bottom.

...

He looked down at the Sanctuary beneath the Eldergleam, tears coursing down his cheeks. The Sisters lay in pools of their own blood, dun-colored robes stained with it. They hadn’t had a chance against those that came for them, who had slaughtered them and Jerbodun and Hahnu. He’d never seen a dragon die before, had never heard of mortals killing them. The Priests were lying; dragons could be as mortal as anyone else when faced with an axe. Barely eleven years old, and he now knew the biggest secret of the dragons. He somehow doubted he’d make it to twelve; his earlier life made him all too aware of the brutal world beyond the Sanctuary. Numbly, he left the protection of the Tree, walking amongst the corpses of those that had been his friends and protectors for the last few years. Playmates, teachers, surrogate sisters…all dead. All the memories and potential, ripped away. They hadn’t known what to do with him, that night three years ago when he ran from bandits to hide in the seemingly shallow, nondescript cave he had all but fallen into. It had been so long since he’d had new clothes or a wash—the boy must have looked like a complete vagabond. They had been divided, at first, on even letting him stay the night, for men of any kind were not allowed here. That was when she spoke up, her Voice cutting through the babble around him and summoning him before her. The boy was not a man, she had declared, and children were as welcome to remain as any woman. That moment changed his life, staring up into those cerulean eyes for the very first time in what would become many. His vision grew bleary as he approached the dragons. Hahnu had been so close. Seven years carrying her baby, she had but three to wait until it emerged. Now it never would. The boy sobbed, stumbling against the cold, slick side of Hahnu’s birthing sister, Jerbodun. She had never really liked him much, but she had been civil enough, and amazed at his ability to learn their language. Even under the Great Paarthurnax’s tutelage, the Dragon Priests still took years to master the Tongue. Hahnu had been so proud of him. She would take him with her, she’d declared, when it was time to return to her mate. He would be her Priest. Jerbodun began to glow, and he staggered backwards, hope making him breathless. Was this the way dragons healed themselves? Was she about to rise, none the worse for wear after her battle? The hopeful look fell from the child’s face, replaced with horror as the body began to burn, turning to bones in moments as a bright, whirling essence rose up like a wraith from snow. It hovered in the air for a moment as he gaped. Then it started toward him.

He screamed in terror, trying to flee, but the light caught him, surrounded him, sank into him. He gasped, euphoria such as he had never known sweeping through him, then crashing him back down to reality. Finding himself staring at the ceiling of the cavern gulping air as if he had nearly drowned, he realized that he could still feel it, a tiny spark inside his mind. All he could think was that somehow he had trapped Jerbodun’s soul inside him when it should have gone to the afterlife. The boy rolled onto his side and was sick. A thought occurred to him and he scrambled to his feet, moving as far from Hahnu’s body as he could. Jerbodun had been an accident, but he wouldn’t risk  making the same mistake with Hahnu and the little one. He looked away from the blood-splattered face of the dragon, tears blurring her to a golden smear that thankfully erased the rivulets of red. Above him, the Earth Mother that guarded the Eldergleam gazed down at him for a moment before vanishing into the tree. There was nothing more for him here. There was nothing for him anywhere. He stumbled outside, wondering what kind of strange creature he was. He had devoured a dragon’s soul! Blasphemy! Heresy! He was some sort of abomination, he was sure. Cursed. He’d always been cursed. “Meric…” He froze, then rushed forward, skidding to a halt next to the dying priestess laying against the wooden arch of the temple marker. He caught her shaking hand in his, clutching it as if he could keep her life tethered to her body. “Sister…” should he tell her? “Meric,” she coughed, flecks of blood foaming at the corners of her mouth as her breath hitched and rattled in her lungs, her eyes already glazing over, “Go. Tell Paarthurnax…Alduin betrayed…” she died with a final spasm of her fingers, but she had gotten out what she needed to say. He stared at her. Him? Talk to the brother of the Dragon God? That was…that was insanity! What if he knew? The boy’s heart started to pound as he sat back on his heels. What if Paarthurnax took one look at him and knew him for the abomination that he was? He would be executed, just like those that had challenged the Dragon Priests. Except he had done worse than talk out of turn, he had eaten a dragon’s soul. A dragon he knew. A dragon that had trusted him. His death was going to be extraordinarily painful, he just knew it. “You there, boy!” someone yelled, and he jumped as he was forcibly spun about by a soldier. Beyond him, a Dragon Priest sat astride a horse, gazing his way behind the narrowed eyes of her mask. “What are you doing? What happened here?” “Paarthurnax,” he croaked, mind so numb with dread he wasn’t even thinking. He was a lowly orphan—the name of such an exalted being should never grace his thoughts, let alone pass his lips. “The priestess said I had to tell Paarthurnax.” The reaction was instant. There was a shuffling as people shifted in outrage, and the soldier’s face darkened, his hand pulled back to strike the boy, when the Priest’s voice called out. “Wait.” Her voice was firm and commanding, so assured it should never even occur to someone to disobey her. Meric winced as the man grabbed a handful of his short golden curls and pulled him over to the Priest’s horse, forcing him into a kneeling position. It was painful, and his legs would sport some new bruises from where the man kicked him along the way, but he didn’t resist. “What is your name, boy?” she asked coldly. This was it; the Priest must know, they knew everything. He was almost relieved; if he died, he would never have to face the Great Paarthurnax. “Meric,” he replied humbly, keeping his gaze down near her feet so no one could accuse him of being disrespectful. “You came out of the Temple of Kyne,” she stated, but he nodded anyway. “What happened to the Priestess laying there?” He bit his lip to choke back a sob, but the soldier took his hesitation as defiance and gave him a hard cuff, sending him sprawling. “The Priest Lokus asked you a question!” Meric nodded, starting to pull himself out of the dirt when the soldier put a boot on his chest, holding him down and making it painful to breath. He gasped, pushing futilely at the foot pressing down on him, to no avail. The Priest watched dispassionately from her mount, saying nothing. Feeling his ribs creak ominously, he gasped out something deliberately unintelligible, thinking furiously. Where before his mind was numb with grief and dread, now it raced, trying to reason out how to survive this. Hahnu would not be avenged by his death! The soldier leaned down, putting more weight on the boy, face leering out from under his horned helm, “What was that?” he asked, putting just a bit more pressure on his heal. A rib snapped. His howl came out as a pained gasp, but the sound seemed to galvanize the others into action. Another man strode forward quickly, shoving the soldier off him. “Do you intend to kill him before he can answer?” he thundered, reaching down and hauling Meric to his feet by the scruff of his neck. The first soldier looked belligerent, reaching for his sword. His savior noticed, and scoffed. “Just try it.” Thinking better of his actions, the man’s hand curled into a fist, dropping by his side. His look of promised retribution fell on the boy, however, and Meric knew that the moment he wasn’t needed anymore, there would be more pain. Before things could get worse, he blurted out, “She tasked me with secrecy!” Everyone stopped and turned towards him, and he nodded, trying to look firm. “The woman there is Head Priestess Eivor, direct servant under the Dragon Ha-- Lovaasunslaadhahnu.  All the priestesses are dead, and she tasked me to secrecy, to tell only the Great One what happened here.” As one, the soldiers and attendants looked toward the Priest. “Dyre, go see if he speaks truth,” she commanded. Meric’s heart seemed to stop as the big man turned towards the cave entrance. “Men aren’t allowed in there!” he shouted, grimacing and clutching his cracked rib. His tormentor laughed, grabbing a handful of his hair again and shaking him. “So what does that make you, Curls? Did they chop it off?” “It’s a place sacred to Kyne,” he explained, daring to look up at the Priest in his desperation. “Please. If he goes in there, then he has to die for the transgression.” “Don’t look at her!” the man growled, slapping him without releasing his grip. “If all the priestesses are dead, who’s to know? Is their dragon still in there?” Meric looked right up into the narrowed eyeslits of the mask and said, not bothering to hide the tremble in his voice, “Yes.” Priest Lokus twitched slightly, hands tightening on the reigns. “Stop,” she commanded Dyre, her own voice shaking just slightly. Attendants rushed to assist her as she slid from the horse, but she was already halfway to the cave mouth by the time they reached the broken-looking animal. “Hold him,” she instructed Dyre, striding into the darkness of the shattered Sanctuary.   The large man reclaimed him off his tormentor with a few sharp words. Apparently his name was Langer. It didn’t suit him very well; Dyre towered over him by at least a head. “Damn,” the man swore, pulling off his helmet to give the boy a quizzical glance, “What’s in there that she had to go herself?” “Secrets,” Meric found himself saying with a shudder. Dyre gave him a sympathetic look. “Do you have family we can send you back to?” he asked, his tone abruptly gentled. Meric smiled grimly, hand still pressed protectively over his side. He knew how this would go. “Even if I did, there probably won’t be enough to send back.” . . . A shaken Dragon Priest was a rare sight, and one that people usually didn’t live to tell about, for one reason or another. So when Lokus stumbled back out of the Sanctuary and ordered everyone to do an about face back to Bromjunaar, no one asked any questions, but speculation abounded. Meric was tied, gagged, and thrown into the back of one of the carts, left to bounce and slide around as they moved far too quickly for safety across the rocky landscape. They camped that night in the shadow of the Throat of the World, long after the sun went down. Langer dragged Meric to the Priest’s tent by his hair, apparently taking delight in the boy’s struggles. Lokus was reclining on a plump red cushion when he was shoved into the tent, hands still bound behind his back, his left side bruised from the cart, the sides of his mouth raw and bleeding from the coarse rope used to gag him. Normally, he might have been tempted to stare at the lush tent, at the woman in sumptuous robes across from him, mask absent to allow her to drink, stick-straight brown hair falling listlessly around her all the way down to her hips. Now, he was just too tired. Too tired to struggle much, too tired for terror, or tears. Langer ripped the gag from his sore mouth and he couldn’t even whimper. The look Langer gave the reedy, rather pinched-looking woman skirted the border of disrespect. “Is there…anything else you need?” he asked leadingly, with a familiarity Meric had never heard one use with a Priest of any kind. Lokus barely seemed to notice, taking a hard swallow from her glass and dismissing him with a curt wave of her hand. “Leave us,” she barked. Shooting Meric a glare full of smoldering resentment, the man left, aiming a kick at the boy’s injured side as he passed. The moment the tent flaps were tied behind him, the woman raised a hand ringed with ghostly blue light that flit over the cloth sides of the tent. The noise from outside ceased abruptly, leaving them in relative silence as she examined him. “So, what am I to do with you, boy?” she asked rhetorically. “I’ve no doubt you know. You must have seen, and despite your age Dyre says you’re no fool.” “I know what’s coming,” Meric finally said when she trailed off. “Do you?” she countered with grim amusement. “It’s only because you will not let me deliver your message for you that you still have a tongue. I must say, I’m impressed with your ability to withstand pain. Most children would have given up after a ride like that.” She paused, watching him keenly, then shrugged when he offered no response. “Once we reach Bromjunaar, you will have no chance to tell me. Do you really think you can stay firm in the presence of any dragon, let alone the Great One, second only to the Son of Akatosh himself?” Meric took a deep, careful breath. They had partially Healed the crack in his rib, not wanting it to snap completely and puncture a lung, but it was still sore, and the mass of bruises along his other side caught stiffly. “I do not expect you to believe me, but I have served under the dragon Hahnu for nearly four years. She trusted me—she told me so. She saved me from wandering alone. If my life ends when we get to the Capitol, I still wouldn’t regret my time with her. I would no sooner betray her confidence than my own mother’s.” Memories tried to swamp him; of the first time he had looked up into the warm blue eyes within the golden mask of her face, the same color as the sky in autumn; playing the harp for her as best his meager skill could, and telling her of the fate of his mother, who could no longer teach him; the first time she had laughingly tried to teach him a Word of Power, and he had sent baskets and pots flying with his first try. A tear escaped his watering eyes, and he hastily wiped it on his shoulder. The sound of glass shattering recalled him to where he was, and his head jerked upward to see the Priest glaring at him in undisguised fury, blood dripping from her hand where she had shattered the bottle she grasped. Panicked, he fell backwards as she rose, striding purposefully around the table with murder in her eyes. Reaching down, she grabbed him by the hair, as Langer liked to do, yanking him off the ground to stare dead into his eyes. “Don’t you ever take that tone again,” she hissed, throwing him against the side of the table. “Dragons are aspects of the gods! They are our rulers and we live to serve them! No dragon would befriend any mortal; not a king, not a priest, and certainly not a little nothing like you!” Meric gasped and tried to evade her hands as she reached out, but a swift foot sent him sprawling. In an instant she knelt over him, capturing his head in both her hands, long nails digging into his skin. With a sideways jerk, she bashed his head into the leg of the table. “If you ever speak of a dragon as if she were your whore of a mother again, you will deliver your message as an undead thrall, do you understand me?” Rage boiled up within him, as if a dragon rose from the depths of his mind, and without thought of consequences, he glared back up into her puckered face and snarled, “Don’t talk about my mother.” Her eyes went wide and she paled, gaping down at him as if she didn’t know what he was, her hands jerking back from his head as if he’d burnt them. Blood trickled down one cheek where her lacquered thumbnail had punctured it, and her eyes followed it as if her life depended on it. She threw herself away from him as if he carried a blessing of Peryite, her eyes never leaving him, even as she dismissed the spell still shimmering along the canvas of the walls. “Langer!” she shrieked, her voice shrill and holding none of the regality of earlier. His tormentor very nearly ripped his way into the tent, sword drawn. His eyes widened when he saw the sweating, trembling state Lokus was in, but at his startled gaze she collected herself. “Tomorrow, this brat walks behind the cart. If he falls, drag him. As long as he doesn’t die before he can complete his task, I don’t care what else you do with him.” . . . It took two weeks to reach Bromjunaar, and by the end of the first Meric was certain Lokus meant for him to deliver his message as a thrall, as promised. Lying where they had left him dragging behind the cart until the Priest called for him, he stared up at the stars, veiled by a red aurora that seemed rather fitting to him. His body was a mass of bruises and cuts, but once he had seen that harridan of a Priest, he would do what he could to Heal himself. He hadn’t been able to use magic for long, but the priestesses had insisted that the more he used it, the stronger he would get. Given that Langer liked to try to ride his horse over Meric’s legs after he fell, or toss trash in the path of the cart for him to be dragged through, he was having quite a few opportunities. “Still alive, boy?” Dyre asked, appearing as a black void between him and the sky. It was a nightly ritual by now. “Why? Was I supposed to die today?” he asked, trying to manipulate his swollen face into a smirk. Jerbodun had taken him to task many times for his arrogance, but Hahnu had always laughed, saying it was fitting for a dovah to be arrogant. Meric had always wondered what she meant, that he had the soul of a dragon. He had taken it as a compliment, thinking it meant only that she thought he would be a strong warrior one day. Now, he was unsure. Did not dragons take the power of those they defeated? Was death not the ultimate sign of defeat? Had he somehow unlocked the method the dragons used to steal another’s power? Whatever was happening within him, it seemed to unnerve those of the Priest’s retinue even more than it did him. His arrogance in the face of their brutality infuriated them, but every day that Dyre walked him through the camp to Lokus’s tent, the whispers grew more hushed, fearful. He shouldn’t be alive. No human could be dragged like this, day after day, and be able to walk upright, defiant, to face down a Dragon Priest every night. He’d eaten thrice this week, and was allowed one cup of water a day. The boy should be dead, and wasn’t, and everyone in camp knew it. If assuming an arrogant demeanor made them too afraid to kick him, he would play it to the hilt, even if all he wanted to do was lie down and let it end. He owed Hahnu too much to give in until someone else knew who killed her. By the time they reached Bromjunaar, Lokus’s control over her followers was slipping as her anxiety continued to show. They showed Meric as much deference as her, to the point that Dyre began bringing him soup and health potions when he checked on him every night. The boy made sure to get to his own feet before accepting them, no matter what he had been dragged through. The day before they reached the Capitol, Lokus had him beaten, but no one but Langer would do it. She had him Healed, then horsewhipped him herself before them. Meric bit his lip until it bled, but didn’t scream once. A dragon’s soul, Hahnu had said. A dragon would not be pained by so pitiful a creature as Lokus. That night, Dyre took him to bathe in the river, then presented him with clothing that fit surprisingly well. He watched silently as the boy dressed, unable to suppress a wince as the cloth caught on still-open lash marks. “When we met, I pitied you,” the man said abruptly. Meric glanced up at him, startled. “I thought you were a child—you seemed so innocent. Lost, confused, grieving. I watched you that first day they dragged you and knew you would die, yet night after night you have struggled back to your feet. Not one in a hundred men would be standing today after what she put you through, and yet here you are.” “What is your point?” he asked tiredly. “What are you?” Meric laughed humorlessly. “Haven’t you been listening to Lokus? I’m nobody.” Dyre crouched, hazel eyes gazing straight into Meric’s blue. “I don’t believe that. Who are you, really?” A moment passed as they regarded each other, then Meric looked away, out into the night. “I don’t know yet.” Crickets chorused out in the wavy grass beyond them, but Dyre remained where he was, examining the boy. “Whoever you will be,” he said finally, “I think he shall be very fearsome. His manner will be resolute and his word unchallenged. When we found you we lived in awe of our Priest. Lokus was everything to us, the whole world below the dragons. She was strong, and untouchable, and we worshiped her for it.” Meric glanced over at the man, one eyebrow arched, “’Was?’” he echoed. “The moment she met you she began to fail. Whatever she saw in that lair broke her, yet you emerged the stronger for it. Her will has beaten against yours for over a fortnight, and you have not faltered. We thought her more than human, but it is you that has shown inhuman fortitude. Where once our allegiance was sure, you have guided it astray.” Licking lips that cracked and bled with the slightest provocation, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man. It had to be some kind of trick. There was no way Dyre could be implying what Meric thought. “Just say what you mean,” he commanded, certain even Dyre would cuff him for that insolence. Dyre did no such thing. “If you survive tomorrow, my sword will be forever yours to command.” . . . He wasn’t dragged behind the cart that day. Lokus ordered it before riding to the front of the column, but he was placed gently on the back of the cart instead. Dyre walked along beside it for a while, leading his horse by hand. “Have you ever been to Bromjunaar?” he asked the boy. Meric nodded. “When I was five. My mother was commissioned to sing for the Harvest Gathering.” Dyre shot him a startled glance, his gaze taking in the soft golden curls that seemed to glow in the sunlight after their washing the night before. “You’re Ceridwen Golden-Harp’s son? The greatest bard to journey from Atmora?” Shoving down the howling grief hearing her name called up, Meric shrugged, “Until one of the High Priests took a liking to more than her music, anyway.” The man was silent for a long while, until he quietly stated, “Your mother’s death galvanized them, you know.” At the boy’s sharp glance, he grimly nodded. “The female priests nearly rioted. Ceridwen was a much-beloved figure, and the only keeper of much of our heritage that is now gone forever. If he would dare touch her, they felt no woman was safe. No priest will ever be able to do to a woman what was done to her without repercussions, perhaps even death.” Meric looked back out over the tundra. “Yet he still lives.” Dyre sighed. “Yes, he does.” For another long stretch of time, silence reigned between them.  Greif bubbled to the surface of his mind and heart again as memories returned to plague him. Ceridwen bending to place his fingers over the strings of her moonstone harp, the sun glinting off the golden curls that tumbled down her back. The same glint off Hahnu’s scales as the rays of light pierced through the wind-smoothed holes in the roof of the Sanctuary. The acolyte casting him out of the room the temple had gifted his mother for the Gathering, days after she was supposed to return. Blood glinting off Hahnu’s face plate. Refusing to cry, Meric cast about for something to talk about. “Where did you get these clothes? I haven’t’ seen any other children with us.” “I bought them in Windhelm for my son. He’s a bit older than you, but about your size.” Meric smirked, “Doesn’t take after his father, then?” Rewarded with the rare sight of the man smiling, Meric was rather glad he had asked. “No, he takes after his mother. She’s this tiny little thing from the other side of the Druadachs. Don’t let that fool you, though. She’s tamed and trained more warhorses than you or I will ever see. Saering looks to be going more the clerk rout, though. Not that the world doesn’t need more clerks, but…” he winced, looking up over the cart and the group ahead. “The Capitol just came into view.” He wanted to look. He wanted to stand up and gape as he had the first time he had seen it, the sprawling metropolis that housed even more people than Saarthal had. Spanning both sides of the mountain range, it reached deep underground and into the mountains on either side, but its crown was the Skyborn Altar, high up on the mountain, where dragons and man met. “As I said,” he replied, swallowing the dry lump in his throat, “I’ve seen it.” The soul of a dragon, Hahnu had said. Dragons did not cry, either out of grief or fear. Whether she had actually named him dovah or not, he would not disgrace her by being anything less. . . . The other Priests didn’t seem to know what to make of him. Four of them, including Lokus, milled about the room, speaking urgently to each other. They spoke the language of humans, since it appeared at least two were not very versed in Dovahzul. Lokus had stumbled the first time one of them Spoke and the room began to tremble. Meric began to wonder just how low Lokus was in their hierarchy, seeing her deference to the others. She told the tale of what she had found—the dead priestesses, Hahnu graven and cold and covered with her own blood…and Jerbodun’s bones, as clean as if they were polished. This seemed to shake them as nothing else. Dragons did die, it seemed, but as he had first suspected, they could be revived an infinite number of times by the Son of Akatosh. For one to be reduced to nothing but bones… It seemed he knew two secrets of the Dragon Rule: Dragons could die, and Dragon Priests could be afraid. This, then, was what truly bothered them. They questioned him relentlessly, but he resolutely told them that he had been tasked to secrecy. Whenever he began to be overwhelmed or frightened, he told himself that he had the soul of a dragon, and a mission, and stood tall and uncowed in their presence. Perhaps that had been a mistake. The shock spell caught him by surprise. A priest with a dun-colored mask strode up to him, razor-edge tendrils of light passing from finger to finger. Unlike Lokus’s mask, his was made of metal. “This gets us nowhere,” he declared. “We should just torture it out of him.” Somehow, Meric managed to shrug, reminding himself that power was truth in the world of dragons and their Priests, so he must appear strong, even if he was anything but. “If you all take me to the Great One, you will all hear my message regardless. However, I think he might be annoyed to learn that something meant only for his ears graced yours first.” The final priest rose at last from his seat in the far corner, shrouded by curtains and tapestry. Meric felt his stomach drop as he took in the gold mask, the tusks gleaming in the light from the braziers. He’d had no idea the Warlord himself was there. It wasn’t arrogance, real or feigned, that kept him rooted to the spot as the man came towards him. Suddenly, he was grateful that he’d been given nothing to drink for several hours, but nothing could hide the widening of his eyes. “You wish to see Paarthurnax, boy?” a deep voice, like a low-toned bell, echoed out from behind the mask. His tone was slightly mocking. Meric swallowed, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer aura of power about the man, but that growing part of him resented it, wanted to match that power with force of his own. Summoning just a bit of that part of him, he met the Warlord’s gaze. “I have to. I will not break my word.” “Hm,” the man replied thoughtfully. He glanced up and nodded to the guards beyond, and they leapt into action, pulling cudgels from their belts and forcing him to his knees with a few well-placed blows. “I admire your tenacity,” the Warlord said when Meric’s face had been ground into the floor just before his boots. “Spirit is a good thing, but yours, I think, must learn to bend, or I shall be forced to have it broken.” The boots vanished from his vision as the man walked away. “We have enough, I think, that we no longer need your message. Lokus saw all she needed—” “She didn’t see who did it,” Meric interrupted, knowing the beginning of his death sentence when he heard it. “That is the message I am to deliver.” There was a long pause. “Teach him to respect his betters. We’ll leave the second lesson for tomorrow,” the Warlord stated, and swept passed him out the door, followed by the two other metal-masked priest. Lokus rose from where she had been kneeling on a cushion before the Warlord, watching him with a smug smile on her face. Apparently lesser Priests were not permitted to wear their masks before the High Priests. “Let’s see you keep that overconfident attitude now, brat,” she hissed. Once more, rage rose up to overshadow his every thought, and he bared his teeth at her, “Nii los hin pahlok tol fent oblaan,” he told her. The resulting shaking of the Temple knocked both the guards to their knees. Lokus squeaked in terror and fled. . . . If the Warlord expected him to be more bruised than he was, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he thought they had Healed him before presenting him to Paarthurnax. In any case, Meric was marched out to the Temple steps, where his shirt was ripped from him. Two guards held his arms as a third whipped him before the city. It was not an uncommon sight here, but there were a few surprised murmurs about his age. They increased as his hands were released and he did not fall to his knees. Around his feet the stone was splattered with his blood, and his back felt as if it were on fire, but he didn’t let himself fall to his knees. Dragon soul, he told himself with every lash. He had a dragon’s soul, and dragons did not bow before any mortal. He couldn’t keep the tears back, but he choked on every sob that tried to escape. “Right,” the Warlord said genially, halting next to him. “You wished to see the Great One, and now you shall get your wish. You will walk there on your own two feet, and no one shall assist you. If you fall, you will be left there like trash, and trodden underfoot. We shall see how long your resolve lasts.” The priests went first, climbing onto grand chairs with poles affixed to them. Slaves came and lifted the poles onto their shoulders. Meric followed behind, trailed by guards. People stared as he walked passed, wondering. He had just been publically whipped, so he was a felon of some degree, and yet he was being taken to the Altar? He could not be an offering, for he was not perfect. Each step was agony, for the stone of the city was so cold it might as well have been ice, and they had taken his shoes last night, whipping the bottoms of his feet with broad leather strips so that he wouldn’t try to run. Trash and wedges of shale cut his soles. He knew if he looked behind him that his every footstep would be outlined in red. The lash marks still bled freely as well, and he began to feel just a bit dizzy from the loss. They reached the steps to the Altar and the priests left their chairs behind, ascending on foot. Many of the slaves were the hated pale elves, so it was no wonder they were not allowed to see the holy ones. Steeling himself, Miraak put his foot on the first step, and began to climb. This was Skyborn Altar, not the Throat of the World. It only felt as if he were climbing seven thousand steps. Soon, snow covered the steps as well, numbing the pain but causing new worry. Experimentally, Meric cast a Healing spell. Instantly, a guard stepped forward and grabbed his arm, halting him. Another guard dipped a dagger into a wide-mouthed vial and handed it to his captor. Meric suppressed a yelp as the dagger was slashed across his forearm, but he was released instantly after. Another attempt at Healing proved it to be a magicka regen poison, and he sighed in annoyance, turning to follow the priests. He almost missed the startled glances the guards exchanged at his response. Meric smirked, imagining what they would be saying if their tongues hadn’t been cut out. Maybe he was cursed, but he’d made it this far, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by showing weakness now. He may not look like a dragon, but if nothing else, he had Jerbodun inside his mind, and he would conduct himself with a dragon’s pride. It became harder to hold to that when the Warlord reached the top, and the mountain began to shake. “Oo, Lot Paarthurnax, Mu drun wah hi pahlokaal goraas, mey wo saag rok kent gemindok ok funrah okmaar.” The guards dropped to the ground, hands covering their ears as their faces contorted in pain. Meric watched them curiously. The one who had cut him opened eyes that grew round to see the boy still standing. He glanced away dismissively, climbing the rest of the way to the Altar. All his confidence evaporated. The Warlord alone was standing, mask at his feet as he bent at the waist before a massive dragon the color of the moss that grew on slate. He was bigger than Hahnu. Somehow, Meric had assumed dragons must be like animals, with the females eclipsing the males in size. It seemed this wasn’t so. The Great One was craggier than the dragons he had met, and he wondered briefly if it was because he was male and needed more armor. His jaw sported many small horns, almost like a beard, and his eyes...they were blue, like Hahnu’s. Not as deep or as warm, but for some reason it helped him conquer his fear. Paarthurnax glanced at him, then turned to the Warlord. “Daar los ni med hi, wah vos vorey kelnat volzah yunrot. Fun zey fos hi mindok hinmaar.” This time the boy did stagger, so much greater was the dragon’s voice than a mere mortal’s. The Warlord didn’t move, but the one who used lightning magic flinched at the scolding. Lokus and the other looked tense and vaguely confused, unable to follow the interchange but knowing a chiding tone when they heard it. “Zu'u nutiid wah hi Lokus, wo koriaan fos lost vahlut. Rek lost ni faal Zul,” the Warlord said, motioning toward the woman. Lokus trembled as Paarthurax’s head swung around to pierce her with his gaze. “Speak, then,” he said impatiently. “I…” she swallowed, looking down. “I came upon this boy on the Aalto Plain. He is the only survivor of a terrible attack on a temple. Some forty priestesses, slain. And…and two dragons. One was nothing but bone!” Paarthurnax paused, tilting his head a bit. “Fah vahzen? This you are sure of?” At her emphatic nod, he muttered, “Vir zurun.” He seemed to be pondering this when her next words pierced the cold air. “The other was pure gold, a female, and gravid.” It happened so fast even the Warlord was left gaping. Lokus wailed in terror when the Great One knocked her to the ground, one claw holding her pressed to the earth as he gazed straight into her face, so close he would barely need to move to bite her head clean off. “Nii nis kos! You lie; you must!” he snarled. Flames licked from the corners of his mouth. “Tell me this dragon was not heavy with offspring!” “I cannot lie to you!” Lokus screamed, “I would not! I dare not!” “You are certain she was gold? Not copper? Fun zey vahzah!” he shoved her harder into the ground as the other priests watched, stricken and amazed. Blood began to foam out of her mouth as she said, desperately, “I speak the truth. I only tell what I saw.” To Meric’s amazement, the Great One took off, leaving Lokus half crushed as he surged heedlessly into the air, keening. The other two priests hurried over to Heal her, but Meric paid them no mind. He’d never heard a dragon keen before. They’d flown over him all his life, challenging, bellowing, but always the sound was assertive, filled with rage or domination. This sound, though, was the purest expression of grief he’d ever heard, and it ripped open the shield he’d been holding over his heart for the last fortnight, summoning his sobs to the surface. The sounds of the city below ceased, everyone stopping and turning upward to gape in awe as the Great One passed over them. Lose stones fell from older buildings, and many people dropped to the ground, crying with soul-deep sorrow they didn’t understand. The Warlord was just struggling to his feet when Paarthurnax landed, whirling on them as if he thought they were to blame. The wind off his outspread wings propelled the priest backwards across the cobbles where he collapsed to his knees. “Wo?” he bellowed. “Tell me who did this. Aus fent kos vothni oblaan. I shall rip them from existence itself!” Lokus shot a hand towards Meric, small eyes wide with desperation. “We don’t know! He would not tell us!” Meric swore his heart stopped as the Great One advanced on him, knocking him to the ground as he had Lokus, though his claws remained reassuringly on the stone. Meric found that hard to appreciate with the dragon’s teeth a hair’s breadth from his chest, those storm-blue eyes whirling with fury and anguish as they stared into his. “Wo lost drehlaan daar volrog? Tell me and I will spare your life!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, you will not,” he countered. Paarthurnax drew back in surprise, then leaned back in, eyes narrowing. “Child, tell me who has done this.” “The only one that can undo it,” he whispered, glancing toward the remaining Priests to make sure they could not hear. “The men who came to the Birthing Place bore the mark of Alduin himself.” Trembling in every scale, the dragon growled, “Nid! You lie! I will tear you to pieces if you dare utter such falsehoods again!” Heartache and wrath galvanized him, sending him to his feet, standing nose to nose with the second greatest dragon in existence with three of the most powerful mortals alive as witness. In the last month, Meric had lost everything, and now that his mission was complete, he’d reached the limit of what he could take. “Enough!” he snarled right back into that fearsome visage. “I am Meric, born of the greatest bard in Atmora and student of the dragon Lovaasunslaadhahnu, and I would not tarnish their names by lying to you!” It was only after the angry words were out and the dragon in his soul settled down to fume that he realized he had said all of that in perfect, unaccented Dovahzul. The Priests stared, eyes wide. Paarthurnax reacted as if he had been turned to stone, unmoving save for the pants of his breath. Meric wiped the tears from his cheeks and glared at them all. “She took me in,” he said to the Great One, not bothering to switch back to the language of man. “She was there when I had nobody, and now she’s gone! They just came in and killed them all! And I…I hid, like she told me to. I hid, while they died and…I wish it had been me. I wish she was still here, and I wasn’t.” Paarthurnax lowered his head to be face to face with the boy, staring for a long moment into his tearful, defiant eyes. “She took a student?” he asked. Meric nodded. “She did not take students. That, she said, was my task, and I took it to humor her. Why would she make an exception for you?” Meric shrugged. “I didn’t know. But…she said…she told me once that when she looked into my eyes, she saw the soul of a dragon.” The Great One drew back again in surprise, then leaned in closer, almost touching the boy as he studied him. “Could it be?” he rumbled to himself. After an eternal moment, the Great One rose, craning his head on his long neck to find the Warlord. “I am taking this boy under my protection,” he said to the Priests’ great shock. “Heal him, indoctrinate him into the priesthood, and bring him back a week from today.” With that, he launched himself into the sky, disappearing from view in moments. The Warlord dusted his robes, walking over to Meric with measured strides. The boy watched him wearily, too worn out and hurting far too much to try to run. When golden light arched around the man’s hands, Meric looked up into his graven face, examining the dark brown eyes for some sign of what he was thinking. “Shouldn’t you be doing that for Lokus?” he asked, not bothering with her title. “She neglected to get the full story, and now will pay the price,” the man said carelessly. “Dukaan, Morokei, leave her,” he called to the others. Meric glanced over to Lokus in surprise, watching the dull pebbles of her eyes burn with hatred as their gazes locked. “If she makes it down the mountain she will have earned Healing.” “The Great One seemed fairly displeased,” Dukaan protested mildly. “Should we not assure her demise?” “She has caused us enough trouble already, but I see your point.” Straightening, the Warlord Konahrik turned to regard the woman struggling to get to her knees. “Priest Lokus, I hereby strip you of your name and the mantle of Priest. Live or die as you are able, but do not show yourself in the city after today.” With that, he turned and swept past Meric and the others, heading back down the mountain. Morokei strolled up to the boy, handing him Lokus’s hardened leather mask. “So,” he said, his voice revealing the nasty smirk hidden behind his moonstone mask, “you are the son of Ceridwen. Such a lovely woman. She had quite a beautiful…singing voice.” “I recall,” he said, taking the mask and examining the man, emotions tightly hidden away. “You should put that on,” the priest urged. “Wouldn’t want the common rabble to think you’re one of them anymore.” “Right,” Meric agreed neutrally, carrying the mask in his hands and following them down the steps. Konahrik was waiting for him at the last landing, where the snow gave way to cleanly swept stairs. A man in servant’s garb knelt before him. “It seems Lokus’s followers somehow knew what might transpire. The entire group just pledged themselves to you.” “I thought they might,” he replied evenly, glancing up at the Warlord. “Is there any reason I cannot have them?” he asked lightly, as if it didn’t matter. The Warlord shrugged. “Normally, it would be at least a decade into your training before you were allowed any servants. You wouldn’t have a retinue that size until you were in your thirties. To date, I think you may be one of the youngest Dragon Priests not born into the order.” “But Paarthurnax has taken me under his tutelage,” Meric supplied, realizing what the man was getting at. Konahrik nodded slightly, continuing down the slope. “Saves me having to feed them until the next mass sacrifice, anyway.” He paused again, turning to regard the boy. “You really should choose a name,” he added, then moved on, this time without stopping. Meric descended the steps, going over what he knew of Dovahzul. He wanted something similar to his own name, if possible. He didn’t want to lose himself to this new life. As he turned the last set of stairs, he caught sight of Langer and Dyre amongst the crowd, waiting. What was it Dyre had said? “Guided our allegiance…” he muttered, then hurried forward before Konahrik could be lifted into his chair. “Allegiance Guide,” he said, and when the man looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, elaborated, “Miraak.” “Meric; Miraak,” the Warlord tested, then made a motion that suggested he was rolling his eyes. “It’s a stretch, boy, but it will do.” Motioning for the slaves to lift both him and Meric into the air, he called out in his bell-like voice, “I present to you Miraak! Serve him as you would Us!” That done, the slave holding him up lowered him carefully, then joined the other three carrying the chair, leaving him to his own devices at the bottom of the steps. Dyre and Langer made their way over carefully, kneeling before him. “What is your wish, my lord?” Dyre asked. It seemed Langer was choking on the words. “Did Lokus have a room or something here?” he asked. Dyre nodded without hesitation. “Then we go there, where my wish is to sleep for about a week.” Dyre nodded again, ushering him over to the sedan chair Lokus had ridden in to the base of the steps. Meric looked at it askance a moment, then settled gingerly onto the cushion. When the men shouldered the poles and began to make their way into the city, his new followers began to cheer. The crowd caught the mood, cheering as he passed, and the newest Dragon Priest reluctantly placed the symbol of his new life over his face. . . . The Warlord watched the boy move through the masses, the cheering growing until it rang from the mountains. Morokei moved to stand next to him, hands folded demurely before him. Konahrik knew better; the mage was a vicious weasel at the best of times. “Oh, my. I wonder what they think they’re cheering for,” he said pleasantly, a hint of laughter in his tone. “The people are too stupid not to be easily led,” Konahrik stated, unfazed. “This infatuation of theirs will pass easily enough.” He snorted, “Miraak, indeed.” “He’s going to be trouble,” Morokei warned. “Undoubtedly,” the Warlord agreed, turning to head into the Temple, “but the brightest fires burn out quickly. It’s only a matter of time before he does something fatally stupid. And then the world will forget him quickly enough.” “You’re right,” Morokei sighed, watching the boy step onto Lokus’s former front porch and wave to the crowd before disappearing inside. “He’ll never last.”

~Fin~

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Dragon language translations: “Nii los hin pahlok tol fent oblaan.” --No, it is your arrogance that shall end. “Oo, Lot Paarthurnax, Mu drun wah hi pahlokaal goraas, mey wo saag rok kent gemindok ok funrah okmaar.”--Oh, Great Paarthurnax, We bring to you an arrogant youth, a fool who says he must disclose his message himself. “Daar los ni med hi, wah vos vorey kelnat volzah yunrot. Fun zey fos hi mindok hinmaar.”--This is not like you, to make another deliver bad tidings. Tell me what you know yourself. “Zu'u nutiid wah hi Lokus, wo koriaan fos lost vahlut. Rek lost ni faal Zul.”--I present to you Lofty, who witnessed what was left. She has not the Voice. “Fah vahzen?"--For sooth? “Vir zurun.”--How odd. “Nii nis kos!"--It cannot be! "Fun zey vahzah!”--Tell me the truth! “Wo?”--Who? "Aus fent kos vothni oblaan."--Their suffering shall be without end. “Wo lost drehlaan daar volrog?"--Who has committed this atrocity?

#Miraak #Dragon Cult #writing #my stuff #my writing #Skyrim #tes