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sorcerersandskillusers · 1 year ago

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Fyodor and the Devil: Analysis of Fyodor's motives and role in the narrative

Asagiri has stated that he based Fyodor not on Dostoyevsky the author but on a specific scene from one of his books The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan Karamazov confronts “the devil” in his room.

(It's a really good book, you should read it if you have time. Also. fun fact, Fyodor and the devil wear the same hat, “His soft fluffy white hat was out of keeping with the season.”)

Having read the book and gone over this scene, I realized that this could be used to find out a lot more about Fyodor as a character than we see in the story, including a potential glimpse at his real motivations.

A bit of context for the scene. Ivan Kramazov is a clever but deeply trouble man who has struggling with the concept of God and rationalising him with the cruelty of humanity, at one point while very sick, Ivan starts seeing a man in his room who claims to be “the devil”. Their conversation is a fascinating look at morality and why evil exists in the world, and if you look at it closely it reveals a lot about the role of a “villain” in a story.

This line from “the devil” is really interesting to me, and seems to explain a lot about Fyodor’s character, as well as align perfectly with how Asagiri has described Fyodor in interviews:

Before time was, by some decree which I could never make out, I

was predestined 'to deny' and yet I am genuinely good-hearted and not at all inclined to negation.

'No, you must go and deny, without denial there's no criticism and what would a journal be without a column of criticism?'

Without criticism it would be nothing but one 'hosannah.' But nothing but hosannah is not enough for life, the hosannah must be tried in the crucible of doubt and so on, in the same style. But I don't meddle in that, I didn't create it, I am not answerable for it. Well, they've chosen their scapegoat, they've made me write the column of criticism and so life was made possible.

Basically the devil is saying that he was created because without evil then good means nothing, if everything was perfect then nothing would happen or change, life couldn’t exist, so he was forced to be that evil even though he never wanted to be.

This is so similar to how Fyodor is described in the BSD exposition 2020:

Fyodor is the antagonist, he is the villain of the story, that is the role he plays. This explains why he chooses to commit so many atrocities in the name of “following God's plan”. It even connects to his line in The Dead Apple, and his ability name. He is both crime and punishment, as “crime” or sin originates with the devil, but it's also the devil who punishes sinners.

(I mean the title of the episode he is introduced in is literally “My Ill Deeds Are the Work of God” by committing evil acts he is fulfilling God's purpose for him.)

And if Fyodor is really based on “the devil” it's very likely he also either does or used to wish for release from this role that was assigned to him, but he knows that he cannot stray from his path or the story will cease to exist. My evidence for Fyodor wanting to be free of his mission is just one interaction, when he kills Karma.

Look at Fyodor's expression here, this is the only time in the entire series where we see him look truly sad. This isn't an act, there is no one there for him to trick, he simply says a quiet prayer for the life of a boy who's only purpose was to suffer and die.

This next part of “the devils” speech actually seems to fit very well for Dazai, it's interesting since he is the narrative foil to Fyodor and clearly is a very similar character.

We understand that comedy; I, for instance, simply ask for annihilation. No, live, I am told, for there'd be nothing without you.

If everything in the universe were sensible, nothing would happen. There would be no events without you, and there must be events. So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to.

For all their indisputable intelligence,men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious. But what about me? I suffer, but still, I don't live. I am x in an indeterminate equation. I am a sort of phantom in life who has lost all beginning and end, and who has even forgotten his own name.

This ties perfectly into Dazai and Fyodor’s debate on the nature of God in the sky casino arc.

Dazai here points out that it's not perfection and harmony that make the world move, it's the irrational, it's the foolishness and stupidity of humans who charges into life making a million mistakes but always finding ways to fight on through it. Here Dazai and Fyodor represent the conflicting sides of “the devil” with Fyodor embodying his mission to drive the world and Dazai embodying his secret love for, and wish to join, humanity.

“I love men genuinely, I've been greatly calumniated! Here when I stay withyou from time to time, my life gains a kind of reality and that's what I like most of all. Yousee, like you, I suffer from the fantastic and so I love the realism of earth. Here, with you, everything is circumscribed, here all is formulated and geometrical, while we have nothing but indeterminate equations! I wander about here dreaming. I like dreaming. Besides, on earth I become superstitious. Please don't laugh, that's just what I like, to become superstitious. I adopt all your habits here: I've grown fond of going to the public baths, would you believe it?

And I go and steam myself with merchants and priests. What I dream of is becoming incarnate once for all and irrevocably in the form of some merchant's wife weighing eighteen stone, and of believing all she believes. My ideal is to go to church and offer a candle in simple-hearted faith, upon my word it is. Then there would be an end to my sufferings.”

“"Why not, if I sometimes put on fleshly form? I put on fleshly form and I take the consequences. Satan sum et nihil humanum a me alienum puto."*

* I am Satan, and deem nothing human alien to me.”

This piece from the devil feels like it could be a description of Dazai’s character, his wish above all else to find happiness and love as a human despite believing he is a demon. Both Dazai and Fyodor have strong ties to the Devil, both of them are often described as demonic or inhuman, with emphasis placed on the darkness of their souls and the isolation they feel due to their minds.

But the difference between them is how they dealt with it, Fyodor chose to embrace it and fully commit to his role in the story as the ultimate evil for the greater good, but Dazai has always shown a fasciation with humans and has spent his life trying to connect to them and find meaning in his existence.

Finally, let's look at what we can learn about Fyodor’s motivation. Fyodor is the villain, he is the final obstacle the protagonist has to overcome, he is the driving force behind so much of Atsushi’s life and the reason so much of the series has played out at all. He sent Shibusawa to torture Atsushi as a child, he was an informant to the guild who put the bounty on Atsushi making the mafia turn on him, he was involved in the guild invasion, and obviously he was the master mind behind cannibalism and Decay of Angles.

If he is aware of his position as the antagonist, then he also is probably aware Atsushi is the protagonist, he knew he was the “envy of all ability users” after all, so he knows Atsushi has some significance to the world as a whole.

Atsushi is also the “guide to the book” which is seemingly Fyodor’s end goal, so even though Fyodor doesn’t seem to be focused on Atsushi, he has been indirectly influencing his whole journey up to this point. This also explains why Fyodor is only moving actively now, because the protagonist has appeared and his role as the villain can finally be fulfilled and he, like “the devil” can finally get the “annihilation” he asked for. Hence, Fyodor’s true goal is to erase himself from the narrative.

There is actually quite a lot of evidence for this. The obvious part is that Fyodor wants to rid the world of ability users while he himself is an ability user, he cannot exist in his perfect world.

Then there’s the fact that in the Dead Apple, Fyodor calls himself “crime” if Fyodor is “crime” or “sin” then a world free of sin would not contain him at all

Even when Fyodor talks about sin, he says how humans are easily manipulated into killing each other, while he constantly manipulates characters into killing each other, he is the cause of the sin he fights.

A really strong bit of evidence is this interview with Asagiri and Harukawa

Not only does Asagiri reiterate Fyodors role as the person who moves the story, Harukawa specifically mentions that Fyodor might be trying to create a world without ability users because he thought it was a “bad thing to do” aka the action a villain would take that would lead to a hero stopping them.

“Dos-san is the biggest villain in the story so far, but I have continued to draw him with spaced out eyes that are neither righteous nor evil for a long time. The only time I drew his eyes completely white was when he said he would create a world without skill users. It was because, in reality, we would decide what is evil or not by our own scales, but I wasn't sure if he himself was doing it because he thought that was a bad thing to do.”

This also connects to how Fyodor was able to understand Gogol when no one else could, Gogol is chooses to fight against the way the world is to prove to himself that he truly is free. Fyodor, who is bound to play a part in a narrative, would understand that feeling and that longing to be truly free.

To be clear, I don’t think that Fyodor is really a good person whose just been trapped in an awful position against his will, we see many times that Fyodor revels in his cruelty and enjoys killing and torturing others. Its the same with “the devil” in the book, although he hates the job he was given, he tells Ivan stories of the people he’s corrupted and seems very proud of himself for it.

My personal interpretation is that the sadistic zelot personality Fyodor displays is a mixture of a mask and a coping mechanism, kind of similar to Yosano developing a sadistic side to help her deal with the guilt of half killing people in order to heal them. I think it makes sense that after centuries of cruelty and manipulation a person would become detached and stop really caring about the lives he destroys.

This analysis is partially unfinshed but I wanted to post it now and see what other people think of it.

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rukafais · 1 month ago

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i do think it's really interesting how in the first three drizzt books (the icewind dale trilogy not homeland) regis is not actually a good person and it's harsh circumstances forcing him to realize the consequences of his mistakes that set him on the path to becoming one.

his amulet is a funny little character quirk but it is also an incredibly dubious magical item that also betrays how callously he can treat other people when he doesn't have to actually pay for the consequences. if they have something he wants, he just takes it or coerces people into giving it to him. he does this so much that he has a reputation for it, and that reputation makes him easy to find, especially by people who you know, might be looking for that thing he stole:

Entreri considered the last exchange and again a smile widened across his face. He knew well the wake of magical charms. The "ruffled victims" that Fender had spoken of described exactly the people that Pasha Pook had duped back in Calimport. People charmed by the ruby pendant.

He literally creates his own problems. The pendant is nothing but trouble but if he'd kept it out of sight and NOT USED IT ON PEOPLE to get the luxurious lifestyle he wanted, he wouldn't be in trouble. He would be unrecognisable! But he just can't help himself. He can't throw off the mindset that got him into trouble in the first place because he's never mentally gotten out of the place that made him the kind of person to do that. People are toys to play with when you have a magic pendant that can charm them into doing whatever you want.

As much as Artemis searches for his mirror in Drizzt (which, they sort of are but only for fighting skills; Drizzt is not tremendously interested in being his mirror), he and Regis are reflections of the same busted system that raised them both; you have to keep an advantage on you at all times, you have to be ready to be fucked over, and you have to manipulate/kill people first before they can do it to you. Regis and Artemis are very similar in how they handle people, they just use different toolkits (Regis through social engineering, Artemis through violence and intimidation) to the point that other skills atrophy for it (Regis cannot fight his way out of a wet paper bag, Artemis, uh. Don't let Artemis try to do diplomacy that's not threatening people).

So Regis is not a good person to start. He continues to use the pendant for completely unnecessary shit. What's the difference between him and the guy he stole this pendant from? What's the difference between him and Akar Kessell?

Well, mostly it's because he still has the capacity to recognise people as people and not playing pieces or toys or victims he can fleece.

Any relief that Regis might have felt at the demise of Entreri was lost in the swirling mire of his anger and sorrow. A part of the halfling had died in that alcove. No longer would he have to run - Pasha Pook would pursue him no more - but for the first time in his entire life Regis had to accept some consequences for his actions. He had joined up with Bruenor's party knowing that Entreri would be close behind, and understanding the potential danger to his friends. Ever the confident gambler, the thought of losing this challenge had never entered his head. Life was a game that he played hard and to the edge, and never before had he been expected to pay for his risks. If anything in the world could temper the halfling's obsession with chance, it was this, the loss of one of his few true friends because of a risk he had chosen to take.

Like Artemis (who takes a lot longer about this revelation but tbf that's because he's in a job that sort of requires him to mercilessly squasher downer it lest he think too hard about it and feel unnecessary feelings, it's not a job that makes a lot of friends), when Regis is hit with actual consequences for his stupid decisions and his gambling with people's lives (knowingly, even) he goes "Oh. This isn't fun any more." Someone he actually cared about is dead, as far as he knows. Can't teehee i'm just a little guy out of this one!

But I do think it's interesting that this is the inciting incident that snaps him out of survival mode; that someone has just died for him, because of something he had a direct hand in. He fucked this up really bad. Now all he can do is try to make up for it.

#regis #legend of drizzt

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hypothermiatapes · 21 days ago

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How do you think Tomarry would work in an AU where Harry and Tom grow up together in an orphanage? Either through time travel or some other way. They're both orphans, both in the same orphanage, and the only magical people there.

That’s actually a really hard question to answer because when you change the environment Harry grew up in you’ll be changing his character. This means that his values, goals, personality and so forth would all change in some ways. Tom’s personality would also change to an extent because now you’re adding a new person into the mix that will influence him.

So, this means that the very characters we’re working with have changed and their dynamics will change as well. Usually tomarry in the 40s consists of Harry planning to stop Tom and “save” him or save his loved ones. This creates a dynamic of someone that knows too much and is trying to change the other character while that character doesn’t know what’s happening. It’s an odd dynamic, and it’s one that cannot be carried into them growing up together (obviously).

From this point on it’s mainly going to be speculation using my interpretations of Harry and Tom and trying to find how they would change. This also includes environmental influences and my beliefs of what the orphanage was like during this time. So, nobody has to agree and this interpretation is merely an interpretation (this is going to be long, so I apologize).

First, let’s look at Harry in PS when he’s the boy from the Dursleys and doesn’t have as much of his friend’s influence. This will show us what he’s like after going through years of emotional neglect, physical violence (no matter how small), emotional abuse and neglect in general.

I don’t have the time to put evidence for each point, but I do have notes so I may add on later. He is very observant, curious, cunning to an extent, judgmental, protective of what’s his in a way (the letter), and has the knee-jerk reaction to lie when in trouble. He also is more empathetic to animals (the snake), but with other people he typically isn’t unless he likes them but then again it’s not empathy but more sympathy. I would also like to add how he isn’t afraid to spend money when he has it and doesn’t appreciate the attention he gets, especially when it’s negative. Finally, he’s very good with pain, he simply shakes it off and acts like everything is fine when it isn’t.

I bring this up because I think if he were to grow up in Wool’s these traits (especially the more negative ones) could amplify. I say this because Wool’s is filled to the brim with other children during the Great Depression and disease epidemics. This means there will be less money to go around and every kid is in survival mode. These kids will have to do anything they can to stay healthy and get what they need.

This creates an environment of competition, an environment Harry wouldn’t have had at the Dursleys because he couldn’t compete. He was simply below everyone else in the house and had no way to prop himself up and Dudley was always winning. However, in Wool’s he’d have to be sneaky, cunning and maybe even aggressive if he wanted to survive. The other orphans are competition, people he has to steal from or maybe even ruin the reputation of if he wanted to get something he didn’t have already.

Sure, maybe he could befriend some (including Riddle), but who says he can trust them? Kids are resourceful and catch on quick, if one wants/needs something there’s a high possibility they’ll try to get it. If Harry had something another orphan wants it will be his job to protect that object and letting his guard down could mean losing something important.

As I type this I feel like I’m over exaggerating this environment, but Wool’s would barely have the money to keep afloat. These kids needs will not always be met and many are from broken families and lives, they’ll lash out and be aggressive. These kids don’t have support systems or people who actually give a damn about them because Wool’s workers have dozens of children to care for.

However, they could form groups and I’m sure a few of the older kids would care for the younger ones to an extent. So, maybe Harry could rely on someone but in the end I think this environment would actually make his personality far more similar to Tom’s. And remember, they already have a lot of parallels and similarities, imagine how similar they’ll be after growing up the same way.

As a side note emotional abuse and neglect typically makes people less empathetic over time according to a few studies. This is because it’s a taught behavior and trauma literally changes one’s emotional processing making it hard to empathize. Harry will also not have the time to care about others too much because it is bound to hurt him in the end especially with so many probably are dying from diseases.

Now, I’m not sure how Tom’s reaction to Harry would be, especially with the magic thing. I think in Tom’s childhood his mind protected him largely by saying he was special and unique and that’s why people didn’t understand him, why they hurt him. However, when he met Dumbledore he seemed excited to learn about magic, but I’m not sure if it’s because there’s others like him (unlikely) or because he could learn more about it.

Remember how I mentioned surviving Wool’s is like a competition? I do think both Tom and Harry would compete with each other. They’re the same age meaning clothes would be the same size, likely had interest in the same toys and since they’re the same age they’ll be grouped together and would have more interactions.

The fact they’re both magical could either make them hate each other or find some form of companionship in each other. It’s possible that Tom, someone whose defense mechanism is likely saying he’s better, will feel inferior and will double down in competing with Harry. Harry could see Tom has magic and immediately be wary since that means Tom can do the same things as him and that can put him at a disadvantage.

However, maybe they could bond over it. They could bond over both being “freaks” and different, maybe they could reach an “understanding” that they’re better than everyone else. Though I think it’s unlikely that while they’re at Wool’s they’ll ever trust each other fully. Maybe overtime they’ll learn working together is advantageous and so they’ll be more inclined to help one another. However, secrets are a way to protect themselves and who knows if the other will suddenly turn their backs on the other?

Hogwarts could be a different story though. In this scenario Harry likely will be sorted into Slytherin with Tom and in this environment they’re the bottom of the pack, worthless even. This is no longer everyone is at the same level and must fight tooth and nail, no, they’re surrounded by rich heirs who hate them for their blood. These people have everything they could ever want and more and suddenly Tom and Harry are the objects of their hate.

Nothing brings people together like a common enemy, and I think this is what would happen in Slytherin. Tom and Harry would likely decide fighting each other is too disadvantageous and why would they? They both have nothing while everyone else has everything, it makes more sense to steal from and tear down the people around them. However, they would have to do it differently than they did it at Wool’s.

I think here is where you could build their trust the most. Now at Wool’s they’ll start the foundations but Hogwarts is where it will grow. Their wands being brothers would likely just make them decide they’re meant to work together/stay together. They’ll be fighting to survive the snake pit together, not fighting to survive each other.

Honestly, I think in this scenario it’s likely Lord Voldemort is still born but now he has Harry Potter at his side. I don’t think the relationship would be the healthiest, it would likely be very obsessive and maybe even toxic. They’ll start out as competitors turning into teammates and eventually become lovers/friends.

They’ll be people that for a large part of their lives saw the other as an obstacle they had to overcome to live that eventually had to trust one another to overcome a different one. Likely a very transactional relationship while also obsessive and maybe even abusive from both sides.

I think the only way to get a good ending with this AU is if Harry is raised by relatives or his parents and meets Tom as a kid. But if they both grow up in Wool’s I can’t see it going well unless they get therapy but this is the 40s we’re talking about.

Sorry this was so unbelievably long, but I hope it sorta answers the question.

#hp #tom riddle #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle #harry james potter #hp thoughts #hp headcanon #hypothermia asks!!#tomarry #harry/tom #harry potter/tom riddle #grew up together au #hp theory #hp analysis #hp meta

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ncoincidences · 5 months ago

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Reasons why Blumbridge slaps -

Blumbridge refers to the ship Regulus Black/Dolores Umbridge.

There's an idea floating around that Dolores Umbridge would have attended Hogwarts the same time as Regulus Black, and I've seen a couple of posts on it, many by @plecotusauritus and today as I was soaking some sunshine, I thought to myself: why not, actually. And here you go, a mini essay on why Umbridge and Black were secretly lovers, or could-have-beens, or perhaps Umbridge is actually harboring an assumed-dead Black scion during OoTP.

All in good fun :-) Feel free to add your own reasons!

A. They're passionate about their interests and hobbies. Pair this up with good decor taste, and you've got Regulus’s room with clippings of Voldemort, his path to a better Wizarding World, and a beautifully painted Black Family crest, and green interiors. Why won't you pair that up with Dolores' setup of her offices - both at Hogwarts and at the Ministry - where she has the prominent theme of pink, and florals and of course, her special interest: cats and teapots?

Which brings me to my next point:

B. They have clear ideas of what they want to look like. I'm talking the colour schemes they've figured out for themselves.

Pink for Dolores, and not just any pink, it's the in-your-face pink, to portray the image of a saccharine, feminine witch, a purposefully deceptive image once you hear her vocalise her decidedly unsweet agenda.

Now, Regulus has a lot less screen time so we cannot be clearly sure if his passion for green and silver runs as strong so as to appear prominently in his daily attire, but from the glimpse of his room, and the fact that he's, well, a Slytherin, you bet he flashed his House colours as much as he could. Perhaps to rub it in the face that he was a true Black, honoring their traditions and respecting his forefathers.... unlike a certain brother of his.

C. Vocal about their agenda. Remus cannot get a job because of her draft of the Werewolf Legislation. Her reign at Hogwarts seeks to let people know that following Umbridge's rules are the only way to live. Regulus definitely lets his superiority over muggleborns in school known, and considering what Kreacher says of him in Deathly Hallows, his becoming a Death Eater is to seek out glory and power over those inferior.

D. Okay, the most interesting part, CANON will support me on this ship. Hear me out. Umbridge wears the Slytherin locket Regulus died for! It's practically fate the way it wound into HER hands, all the way from Grimmauld Place. The tragedy??? Plus in a world where Regulus didn't die and the locket wasn't a horcrux, you bet that he would give it as a courting gift.

E. Of course Umbridge denies that Voldemort is back!! (In An AU where Regulus is alive) She doesn't want her boy to be in trouble!!!!

F. Dolores' bloodthirsty approach (literally) and abuse of her authority contrasts against Regulus’s search for autonomy after Voldemort violates the rules of magic by creating a horcrux, and his failure to find authority over Muggles. So, Dolores being successful in pushing out the Muggleborn Registration act makes her all the more attractive to Regulus.

And, in a world where Voldemort didn't exist, if Regulus took a career in the Ministry, a workplace romance with an ambitious and cunning woman sounds like an easy setup for a good story.

There can also be a parallel drawn between the two on how they are less attractive than other characters, Umbridge described as a "toad" and Regulus as "rather less handsome than Sirius"...

In conclusion, to me, it seems like the strong dominance of Umbridge's character will balance the quiet resilience of Black's. And that maybe, amongst the felines covering Umbridge's decorative plates, one of them is the feline Animagus form of Regulus Black.

#regulus black #dolores umbridge #blumbridge

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affableramen · 3 months ago

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Creditor, ch.4

Boss Pantalone x employee reader

Pantalone x maid reader

No smut

You remember what he said when he mistook your analytical gaze for something else.

“You’re mistaken. I’m not interested in such things and I’m not looking for a rich husband, obviously.”

“Ah, my apologies. I must be lacking clarity since I am a bit exhausted.”

There is no implication that today is going to end poorly for you. The shift went smoothly, with you correcting the mistakes of your project, and Pantalone, professionally and patiently guiding you through it not only as a boss, but as a skilled supervisor. His skills are impeccable, and it amazes you every time how a person can be so acknowledgable at so many areas. When you’re around him, it feels like he’s a walking encyclopaedia; once he opens his mouth, his discussions are artlessly eager and passionate, as if he’s hungry to get more people to hear him. And despite being the richest man in the whole Snezhnaya, he still seeks to become even more powerful, more famous than he already is. It is as if his desire to become great is insatiable.

Pantalone’s ability to not only teach, but to listen is nothing but impressive. He reads implied text, focusing on finding a deeper meaning every time he examines something, and you cannot help but be at awe every time you spot him analysing his employee’s works. The artless charisma, the unbreakable ambition feel almost unreal beneath his depressive state. Everything he does, everything he creates, bears a solid portion of wisdom and sense, one that would make a normal human shake in their place. Sometimes, you wonder if he is a regular human at all. You have never seen him get a proper rest, only constantly working and managing the bank.

Behind that snake attitude and known tendencies to sadism, you do not hesitate but unravel an incredibly introverted although temperamental man who lives in his own world. Fortunately for his reputation, just once you catch a brief glimpse at him in this state, he immediately puts on his affable mask back. At some moments you are left to wonder, how in the world it is possible for you to work closely with the world famous Harbinger. Harbingers, who are by no means heroes, are an outlined criminal group. And you, a girl who lives with a grandma, who finished a business course thanks to his generous credit, now work hard under the very bank owner. It is all so weird, you think at times. But as long as he pays you, and as long as you can secure repaying your debt, it shouldn’t be a problem, right? It’s not like he will use other means to get the payment out of you? At least, he doesn’t seem to be that kind of a man. Or is that what you’d like to believe in?

The attitude to his employees varies. This man’s temper is unpredictable, and sometimes even a good employee gets yelled at. Despite that, Pantalone also has his fair moments: not once you notice how he rewards a good job among his subordinates, and once in a while gives them a promotion. You have only worked for him a few months, but you’re certainly seeing the impact.

At his bank, you do not just come to grind your brain into blood and meat as you stare at the laptops and other devices for hours with no end. Pantalone is the kind of CEO who actually gets his job done. Sometimes, through the means of late night shifts. Sometimes, he doesn’t even question his employees’ availability to stay. However you also get proof of his good character once in a while. Those rare moments do not just prove him as a decent boss but a fair employer. You notice that he has his troubles and arguments with different staff, and you make an assumption that he’s not perfect at choosing HR. One of Pantalone’s best skills is to recognise humans’ hidden desires and motivations, but even this skill sometimes fails him into hiring unsuitable people. He sometimes forgets that some of his employees have little kids that need to be taken care of. Is that, perhaps, he doesn’t have a family himself? After all, had he one to take care of, he would not be harsh at the employees who may not stay overtime.

The Regrator, his title, spread out enormously the past few weeks, highlighting his crimes as a Fatui Harbinger. It especially had a huge impact on Liyue newspapers. Perhaps, Liyue was the biggest place of controversy gathered by the rich bank owner. That might be the reason Pantalone almost never shows up in that county. You do suspect you’re working under a criminal force, for quite some time now. But that’s one side of the story. The other arguments tell you that, Pantalone, being the very bank owner cannot be suspected and imprisoned. His reputation, though stained, dictates the circumstance of clear protection and undercover. No one has guts to challenge him, or hunt him down. Imprison the Ninth Harbinger — and the economy will fall apart, quite literally. Who in their right mind would go against the Northland Bank?

Yet, it’s difficult for you to hate him. What is this feeling? It’s not an attraction, but he mistook it for one. Maybe it will go away.

“Damn, I have no money left to pay for the train. What the hell…” you look through your wallet and realise that there’s no mora left. How stupid of you to have not planned your finances in advance. A dark shadow grows next to you, and a familiar strawberry smoke fills your nostrils.

“How much till your payday?”

It’s Pantalone, smoking a sleek cigarette as usual. Like a ghost, or, better – a vampire – he appears from behind you, showering you and everything around you with utter darkness and his signature solitude that you’d feel whenever he was around.

“A week”, you respond dryly, tiredness from your voice gives away your uneager attitude.

“And you already have nothing left?” He sardonically chuckles. “You’ve never been financially literate. How did you manage to finish a business course?”

You choose not to respond to this question, just staring at his smug smirk in the darkness of the late evening. “Strange man”, you think. “Tries to be subtle but smokes such smelly cigarettes."

Pantalone pulls his wallet and extends a dozen of cash to you. Your stare takes an inquisitive shade.

“Here. Is that enough for your commuting? Not gonna lie, I would give you a lift, but I am working overtime tonight. Unless, you want to stay overtime with me.”

“No. Maybe not tonight. I feel exhausted and won’t be much of help”, you accept the cash, gingerly taking it from his hand and bow deeply. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. As for your work… Well, that’s understandable. Tiredness will slow down your productivity, and we don’t need that, do we?” He finishes his cigarette and extinguishes it before facing back to you. “Enjoy your end of the day.”

Pantalone politely steps out of the conversation. He has provided you with money for your commuting and now you don’t have to worry about it for the time being. You discreetly glace at the cash given you — damn, that’s much more than just for one ride. You could even buy groceries with those. Respectfully, you might think about this later. You hide the cash in your bag and attempt to leave before you overhear an amusing conversation. A butler of Pantalone’s actively trying to persuade someone on the phone. It is quite funny to listen to him… until you realise the sole purpose of the conversation.

“…what do you mean you can’t? Do you want him to kill me?” The next words are pronounced drastically quieter: “You know his personality – he won’t be able to survive without a maid a single day!”

Your ears perk up. A maid? Can it be..?

“I beg you, find me a replacement maid as soon as possible! What?! What do you mean none’s available? Do you realise whose authority you’re questioning? It’s the Regrator! R-E-G-R-A-T-O-R!”

The rest of the conversation seems to be borderline Mondstadt profanities and disappointed grunts.

“Is he looking for a maid?” You think, your heart beats against your bones terribly. That’s a nasty thought that occurs in your mind; that constant selfless desire to help everyone that brings you burden but nothing more. But you have to ground yourself, prevent yourself from going into this without thinking. It will be extremely irritational! You already work full time for him!

“Excuse me, I might have just overheard your conversation”, you reach out to the butler quietly.

But what if it is your chance to open the world you’ve never seen before? The Regrator lives in a lavish mansion, such as your eyes had never had a chance to observe; can you imagine how it could grace your mind? Your feet have never stepped in a rich man’s house, not once. Life is too short to not grab a hold of such opportunities.

However, wouldn't it be selfish? It’s not just your desire to help and cover someone else’s shift up.

It’s a purely materialistic desire to unravel a world of rich people. Their house, their living and space.

What is wrong with that?

“Miss, yes, but do not misunderstand me, I may not allow you this position. You’re already working full time for my lord banker. I would dislike you to bite more than you are able to.”

“Don’t worry about me”, you look into the man’s slightly worried eyes. “There’s nothing interesting happening in my life. If this is one way to repay his generosity (towards my loan), I don’t see why I couldn't make extra time for him.”

The old man rubs the bridge on his nose, almost making his eyeglasses accidentally slip from his face. There is uneasiness in his face, but he seems so far a good kind of man.

“I understand you want to be of service to him. And it is a rare occurrence that my master helps someone for a long-term, like he does for your case. But I guess he saw something in you.”

“I guess most people get tempted by a loan for trivial matters, and I applied for mine solely for studying purposes.”

“That… that is as simple as that? I’ve never thought about it before.” Something about the old man seems off, as if he is implying some context, but he quickly gets back into his pleasant manner of speaking. “Ah, yes, it might be one of the reasons, I think.”

“So, what will the answer be? Can I take one more responsibility?”

The old butler looks at the starry sky, which is specifically beautiful tonight, and the dark navy colour of the sky is incredibly clear. The tranquility of the surroundings almost gives you hope.

The old man looks back at you:

“I might have to ask you to commute, then. My master would dislike you spending time on the road daily.”

Makes sense, you think, but you’ll have to warn your grandmother, otherwise she will be worrying.

“Then I’ll start packing immediately.” The old man nods. A part of him seems to be relaxed and relieved now that he doesn't have to seek for a replacement maid, now that you are here and perfectly available.

“Then it is settled. Please expect the driver at 10 p.m. tonight”, he turns away with a relieved smile, but before he can say goodbye, he says the next:

“Ah, and miss, remember that it’s only for three weeks. We can only hope that you won’t get overwhelmed.”

You chuckle at him. As if you are not exhausted now. Working for the banker Harbinger has never been easy. Smoothly, you get on your train and return home safely. There’s a late evening snake you find in your fridge, perhaps leftovers from yesterday, forgotten though. You get yourself a plate and place the neat piece of cake on the plate. There’s not much time left before Pantalone’s driver will pick you up, so you spend these moments on yourself. Considering that, like any mansion, he should have plenty of bathrooms and other comfortable entities in his place, you do not worry about such things.

“But what if he restricts me? No, he would not restrict my hygiene. It’s for his sake too”, thoughts such as this appear in your exhausted mind and you better not pay attention to them.

Harbinger’s butler was not the only person concerned about your decision. Before you leave, your grandma reaches out to you.

“Dearest, are you sure this is the right decision? What if he’s cruel on you? You don’t know him very well, after all.”

Your granny’s wrinkled hand grasps your shoulder tightly, but warmly. You sense uneasiness in her touch, one would a person sense when they have to say ‘goodbye’. But you are not leaving forever.

“I’ll be fine. Just think of it that way: when will I ever get a chance to see something so luxurious and wonderful? I might become acquainted with good life. Even for three weeks, I will live in a huge mansion, surrounded by elegant staff and, possibly, pieces of art. Besides, I’m only in the office five days a week, I can manage cleaning, or whatever he asks me to manage around his house, one day more.”

“One day? Are you sure he won’t exploit you for your both days off?”

“No, grandma. He’s intimidating, but he cares about his employees… in his own way.”

Your grandma is on the verge of tearing up, and you hug her. “Don’t worry, it’s just three weeks. They will pass.”

The driver picks you up in no time.

His mansion is situated in a secluded forest area that looks cold and uninviting. There is a village a few blocks away, making his place look like he’s the master of the land, located on top of the map. And he is, kind of.

A familiar figure, Pantalone’s butler, meets you in the entrance. It’s securely guarded by two heavy-looking men. The richest man in Snezhnaya, indeed.

The old man takes your bags and welcomes you into the vestibule. The vestibule is a nice place painted in warm colours such as brown and yellow. There are lavish decorums, seemingly purchased at different stages of the owner’s life. They are all different – in style, epoch and mood. You make your way, enchanted, down the corridor until your gaze turns to the marble-made head bust of the very owner.

You reach out to trace the contour of his head, curious to feel the cold marble on your fingertips, yet reluctant to realise how intimate and scandalous your movement is.

“He would look better with a flower headband”, you chuckle to yourself.

“It would certainly bring the master more colour. I’ve always found this bust a bit too stiff.”

The old man approaches you from behind, supporting your artless discussion of art. You’re surprised he heard your words and even responded to them so politely. You are in Pantalone’s house and neither he or his staff might take your “analysis” into consideration, let alone approve of it.

“I can see it now that you pointed it out. He does look a bit… uncomfortable?” You turn to face the bust once again – the mighty Ninth Harbinger certainly looks much more serious and troubled, perhaps. Maybe that is because the statue was carved in real time, and he was but a bare living person in front of the artist. But he does, in a way, look different from what you’ve seen in him so far. There is no signature smirk, but a flat expression on his face, yet a subtle wrinkle on his smooth face gives away a vibe of uneasiness.

“Why can’t you live? What are you lacking?” Pantalone leans over the miniature fuchsia orchid that seems not eager to grow healthily. It’s pale and dry, although he gives it plenty of water, and the sun seems to be always enough for her. Pantalone completely does not understand why it can’t look normal, why it doesn't want to stay alive and bloom.

“Perhaps you were given to me sick like that. After all, I know nothing about flowers. You’re just a decoration, nothing more.” He slowly moves away, shifting his gaze away from the dying flower. The flowers could not show emotions like humans did, but for a single moment, there was a slight trembling in her petals. Once Pantalone has completely left the room, the head of the orchid drops onto the compost lifelessly.

Pantalone senses your presence and goes downstairs to catch you staring at his bust and other art pieces, engaging in meaningless conversations with his butler. He feels his blood boil.

“About time. I have some chores for you to do.”

You immediately stop talking about what you were talking about as you notice him. Pantalone drinks in your look and waits for your unquestionable obedience.

“If you could give me a few minutes to adapt to the place. I need to place my belongings somewhere and–”

“First the contract”, he looks at the butler with a dominant glare, “take my ‘maid’s’ belongings into the guest room 45.”

He immediately does so. You wonder where this room 45 is and what it looks like. After all, it will be a bedroom where you’re going to spend the next three weeks of your life.

“He’s not in the mood”, you think to yourself. “But he was alright a few hours ago, was he not?”

“Follow me”, Pantalone tells you. You have no choice but to obey.

“Remember that it was your idea in the first place, I never forced you to take up this responsibility��, he says as the both of you go upstairs. While walking you place your hand on the staircase reels, and just a few moments after you realise that your hand actually follows his. You instantly remove it and rely only on your body balance.

“Of course, I understand that and I assure you that I’d be happy to help.”

Pantalone snorts unflatteringly.

“I doubt that. Only a fool would sacrifice their free time on an extra job”, unexpectedly, he turns to face you, right on those staircase, and his voice goes quieter, like a whisper:

“Unless, you’re reckless enough to get yourself exhausted”, Pantalone punctuates his last word with a smirk and proceeds into his office.

#pantalone x female reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #pantalone x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #genshin x female reader #genshin impact fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction

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legacygirlingreen · 7 months ago

Text

Something About You || Captain Rex x OFC (Mae Killough)

Pairing: Captain Rex X Original Female Character (Mae Killough); mentions of @leenathegreengirl's PabuVerse characters!

Word Count: 8,800

Warnings: Mention of troubled past (think Henry the 8th vibes honestly). Tooth rotting fluff honestly - they are so freaking cheeky and sweet its painful at times.

AN: Hi friends! Part Two of Rex & Mae's story is finally out! I have already started working on a part three, but for now, I recommend going back and reading part one if you haven't. If you have, full steam ahead! Massive shout out to my dear friend @leenathegreengirl for her amazing art featured in the cover and the full image at the end! Seriously, I cannot thank you enough for bringing them to life! Linked below is Part 1, as well as bit more info on Mae! Anyway without further ado...

PART 1 || Mae Bio || Mae Q&A || PART 3

Masterlist

Shimmering, translucent waters stood in stark contrast to the stormy, eerie oceans of Kamino. Rex had never understood why anyone would choose to spend time by the sea until he followed the others down to the beach. The warm, sandy shores, cool shade from swaying trees, and pristine waters that caressed his skin were indulgences he hadn’t known he craved.

Initially, he had donned a pair of stretchy shorts tossed his way by Hunter, only to appease Omega. She had appeared at dawn, eager to reveal the island's delights. Rex found it hard to refuse her, especially since her hair shared his distinctive hue, a welcome departure from the standard brown of the Fett genome.

As he and Omega led the way, the path through the trees opened up to a breathtaking vista. The refreshing scent of salt lingered in the air, waves lapped peacefully against the shore, and birds called to one another. Flowers crowned the bushes lining the treeline, and the warmth of the sand beckoned. Amidst it all, a figure glided gracefully over the waves.

Rex was captivated, the sunlight dancing off the water and illuminating porcelain skin. He barely noticed Omega cup her hands around her mouth, her voice ringing out as she called, “Mae!”

Startled, the figure with damp red hair turned toward them, waving before diving into the water. Rex’s heart raced for a moment until he spotted her head reemerging, breaking the surface with a splash.

“Isn’t it amazing? The locals call it surfing. Mae’s been trying to teach me, but it’s harder than it looks,” Omega chimed in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Rex could only manage a small nod before following her into the sunlit paradise.

As Rex helped set down the box of assorted items he had been given before their journey, he focused on arranging the space according to Omega's enthusiastic instructions. He laid out a few blankets on the sand, turned the crate upside down to create a makeshift table, and propped up some tarps for shade. She had even designated a hammock in the trees for her grumpy brother, Crosshair.

The murmurs of the island's residents drifted around them as more of Omega's brothers and their companions arrived to soak up the sun. Rex felt a twinge of unease; it was a rare luxury to relax, and in truth, he hardly knew how to embrace it. The sound of footsteps in the sand and something being driven into the ground behind him intensified his brief moment of concern.

“Ready to try it again, Omega?” came a cheerful voice that stirred memories of the previous night. He had awakened to find several of his brothers and Omega peering down at him, and he couldn’t help but feel a hint of disappointment that she had slipped away during the night. Now, she stood before him, clad in a skintight black mesh fabric reminiscent of his armor's undersuit, and he was suddenly acutely aware of her curves.

Last night, he had tried not to stare, captivated instead by her bouncing red curls as she spoke. But today, avoiding glances at her figure would prove to be a challenge.

“What do you say, hun?” she asked, her syrupy-sweet voice cascading over her plump lips, completely capturing his attention.

Rex initially hummed in response, thinking she was addressing Omega, but it quickly dawned on him that her gaze was fixed on him. Both she and Omega were watching him expectantly, and he felt warmth rising in his cheeks. “Oh, uh—”

“Mae asked if you wanted to try! It’s lots of fun!” Omega chimed in, her excitement palpable as Rex contemplated her suggestion. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his hesitation in his throat as he glanced at the surfboard. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“Omega, I think the Captain could use some rest and relaxation, not a workout—”

“I’ll do it!”

The words slipped from his lips in a rush, surprising both Mae and himself. Standing there, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, uncertain about what he had just agreed to as he awaited her response. Blinking away the shock of his own outburst, he caught Mae's smile, her palms gliding over her hips before she gestured toward Omega.

“Oh, wonderful! Omega, darlin’, could you grab one of the extra boards from over there? Preferably one of the bigger ones.”

Clearing his throat to stave off any potential voice cracks, Rex attempted to recapture the lighthearted banter they had shared the night before. “Are you calling me fat there, Doc?” he quipped.

Her laughter was as sweet as he remembered, her head shaking in amusement. “Not at all, Captain. You’re far from it—though I might suggest taking off your shirt,” she added casually, stepping away to assist Omega.

Confused by the sudden need to consider her opinion on his physique—a fact he had never questioned, given the demands of war that had kept him in peak shape—Rex caught the lingering gaze of Hunter. A smirk danced on Hunter's face, the side devoid of tattoos, as he gestured toward Rex. “Best not to keep her waiting, Captain. It’s not every day a pretty lady asks you to strip.”

“You coming?” Mae asked, prompting Rex to glance back over his shoulder. He nodded briefly and, without another word, tore off his shirt, stepping into the sunlight. As his bare feet sank into the warm sand, he caught the sound of Hunter snickering behind him and tried his best to tune it out.

“How would you rate your balance?” she asked, her gaze searching his own for a genuine answer.

“Fairly decent, I suppose,” Rex shrugged, unsure how balance could be measured, his hand rubbing along the nape of his neck.

“I can work with that. We’ll start on land,” she explained, gesturing to the board propped beside her. Assuming she meant for him to pick it up, he was surprised by how light it felt in his hands. Mae tucked her own under her arm and headed closer to the water's edge, and he followed her silently.

“Any reason we’re starting on land?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, it’s easier to practice the movements here, where you’re stable, before trying them on the water. Don’t worry—I think you’ll be a natural,” she said with encouragement as she set the board down in the sand. Rex followed suit, placing his board a few paces away from hers.

He watched as she lay across her board, positioning herself vertically on her stomach, and mimicked her stance.

“Alright, I’m correct in assuming that GAR conditioning has made you quite familiar with push-ups?” she asked, glancing over at him as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Yes,” he replied, recalling the rigorous training the clones had undergone since their youth, which continued throughout the war.

“Perfect! That’s half the battle,” she said with a smile. “I’ll walk you through the motion if you want to follow along—”

“Right,” he said, placing his forearms down on the board just like she did.

“So, when you’re paddling out, you’ll want to push over the sides of the board until you’re on the wave. From there, pull your hands back to your sides and place your palms flat on the board near your chest,” Mae instructed. Rex followed her directions without hesitation, eager for her to continue.

“Perfect! This part should be easy for you. Just do a push-up and hold yourself on your toes,” she said, demonstrating the movement. Rex watched her lower body lift effortlessly off the board, then shook his head and mimicked her.

“Now, this is where it starts to get tricky, especially on the water. Move the leg you want as your back foot and place it near your other knee, keeping your toes on the board while maintaining your balance,” she explained. Rex observed as Mae positioned herself in a way reminiscent of a ‘mountain climber.’ He copied her movements, nodding for her to go on.

“Okay, now take your other leg and place your foot between your hands, keeping your knee bent.” She executed the motion with impressive speed, tucking her small frame up onto both feet and holding steady as she waited for him to catch up. As Rex did his best to follow suit, she nodded and pushed herself into a standing position, prompting him to quickly do the same before she could offer more guidance. He realized that while the movement felt straightforward on solid ground, it would be much more challenging on an unstable board in the water.

“Great! I knew you’d be a natural. Do you want to try it on your own to see if you’ve got it down? Then we can head out,” she said, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. A part of Rex wondered if his ability to grasp the movement had genuinely impressed her.

Running a hand through his hair, he nodded and lowered his body again under her watchful gaze. Doing his best to recall the movements from memory, he felt confident in his performance. Just as he focused on where his front foot landed, he felt gentle fingers graze his jaw, guiding his face forward.

“Looks perfect, but remember to keep your gaze forward. Looking down can throw off your balance; focus on where you’re going, not where you’ve been…” she advised, her fingers retracting as swiftly as they had brushed against his skin. A warm flush spread across his face as she pulled away, leaving behind a lingering sensation that felt almost electric.

Using his strength to push himself up, despite the brief lightheadedness from her fleeting touch, he soon found himself towering over her again. A bright smile lit up her face, revealing her white teeth as she nodded at him. “Perfect! Let’s try it in the water,” she said, nudging his shoulder before disappearing to sit in the sand.

Curious about her sudden retreat, he watched as she took a small strap from the back and wrapped it around her ankle. He mirrored her movements in silence, noting how her gaze wandered over his frame. He knew there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen before. She was a doctor, and one who had worked with clones before. His tan skin and frame hardly differed from those around him. However, he knew his scars might be different as they told his own unique story. He felt her eyes linger on the center of his chest, where a bullet had almost claimed his life.

Red hair dramatically bounced as she realized she’d been caught staring, her eyes darting away at the last moment as she pushed herself off the ground. Rex had always been attuned to the movements of others, a skill honed over years of watching targets and surveying for danger. Her hurried movements now lacked the grace he had admired before, leaving him to wonder what thoughts occupy her mind.

Before he could linger on his thoughts, she sprinted toward the water, and he hurried after her, eager to keep pace. “Come on, Soldier!” she called back, her voice ringing with excitement as she dove into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves. He followed suit, delighting in the refreshing coolness of the water against his skin. Carefully placing his board atop the gentle swell, he watched it bob as he stood near the shore, waiting for her to reappear.

“Do you want to try standing up here before we head out further?” Mae asked, suddenly popping up on the other side of the board, her arms gracefully shifting as she positioned herself. Assuming her suggestion came from a genuine desire to see him succeed, he nodded and hoisted himself up in the shallow water while she held the edges steady.

He immediately felt the difference of being in the water and approached the motion of standing with extra care. Once his feet were firmly planted, he rose with as much grace as he could muster. The board rocked beneath him, and when he looked down, he saw Mae beaming as she released her grip, allowing him to fully experience the push of the waves. With a joyful splash, he jumped back in, swimming close to her as she applauded. “I think you’re ready to head out and try it for real!” she said, her enthusiasm shining through.

With a nod, he watched as she effortlessly pulled herself onto the board and demonstrated how to paddle out. As soon as he grasped the motion, his gaze drifted to the captivating scene before him: the ripples of her arm slicing through the water, the sunlight glinting off her wet red hair, and the curve of her figure as she paddled ahead, her black swimsuit accentuating her silhouette.

Perhaps it was the thrill of being able to gaze without interruption, but he couldn’t help but watch her throughout their journey into deeper water. When she turned around and effortlessly hoisted herself up on the board, he quickly glanced away, not wanting her to catch him staring. He remained horizontal, moving closer and propping himself up on his elbows, ready for her to explain.

But she seemed completely absorbed in her desire to catch a wave, laying back down and paddling away, leaving him behind.

His brown eyes carefully tracked her movements, admiring the ease with which she glided through the water. She rose as if it were second nature, standing tall atop the wave as she distanced herself from him. To his astonishment, she even had the audacity to walk along the length of the board while riding it, only to leap off into the shallow water moments later.

Knowing it would be a moment before she returned, he pulled himself into a seated position and settled in to wait. Even though he understood the movements, he still felt a twinge of unease about trying it without her guidance. As she paddled closer, she grinned and waved, and he couldn’t help but mirror her smile. She looked truly at peace—much happier than the day before, when exhaustion and stress had weighed her down. Now, she radiated lightness and joy, enjoying the water not as a task, but as a pure source of delight. Perhaps it was a type of relaxation he could come to understand in time.

“How’d you do that?” he asked once she was close enough for him to see the dimples in her cheeks.

“What, walking?” she replied casually.

“Yeah, it looked so effortless,” he complimented.

“Practice. Time. Definitely not a move for beginners like you. Speaking of which—” she nudged her head toward his board, “are you ready to give it a shot on your own?”

“I suppose. I can already tell paddling is going to be quite the arm workout,” he said, gesturing as she let out a light laugh.

“It is! How do you think I got these guns?” she said playfully, flexing her surprisingly impressive bicep for someone her size. Unsure why he felt compelled to comment, he was even more taken aback when a cheeky remark slipped from his lips.“Whoa there, Ma’am! Do you know how to handle a loaded weapon like that?”

From shock at his quick remark to a teasing smirk, she shot back, “Not sure, Captain. Why don’t you come over and give me some firearm training since that’s your area of expertise?” Her laughter rang out as she turned away, leaving him momentarily speechless, mouth agape. He blinked in disbelief, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. “Well, I do have a few tactical moves up my sleeve,” he called after her, trying to regain his composure.

She glanced back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, really? I’m intrigued!”

With a newfound determination, he pushed off the board and paddled toward her, his confidence slowly building. “Alright, just remember: I’m an expert in this field,” he teased, aiming for a lighthearted banter as he caught up with her.

As they floated side by side, he couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight danced on the water around them, mirroring the playful energy between them. “Most important part of handling weapons is making sure they are properly maintained” he asked, raising an eyebrow, gesturing to her arms as the woman caught on to what he was insinuating with a laugh.

She laughed again, the sound like music in the salty air. “Oh of course, Captain! Might I need to pass your expert inspection…?”

He grinned, enjoying the playful tension between them. “Absolutely! I take my inspections very seriously,” he replied, feigning a serious expression that quickly broke into a smile.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her laughter. “Well, I hope you’re thorough,” she said, inching a little closer on her board.

“Thoroughness is my specialty,” he quipped, feeling a rush of excitement. He studied her arms, the sun casting a warm glow on her skin, and added, “You’ve clearly put in the time. Those guns are impressive.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain,” she replied with a wink, leaning back slightly as if to give him a better view. “But can you keep up with me when it comes to the real action?”

“Oh, I think I can handle a little competition,” he shot back, his competitive spirit ignited. With that, he paddled ahead, urging her to follow. The chase was on, and the thrill of the moment filled the air. As they raced across the water, laughter and splashes followed them, the sun warming their skin and the ocean breeze carrying away any lingering doubts. He felt alive, invigorated by both the challenge and her presence.

There was something refreshing about the way he could be both playful and straightforward with her. Rex couldn’t recall the last time he’d flirted so unashamedly with a woman—certainly not for the simple joy it brought him, rather than with the aim of a quick hookup. But as she surged ahead in their race toward the shore, her board catching a wave and propelling her effortlessly forward, he found himself grappling with a revelation: he was flirting with Mae.

She was the same charming doctor who had shown kindness to Echo and every man he’d sent through Pabu. The woman who had welcomed Aiko and made her feel at home. Everyone seemed to hold her in high regard, and Rex had quickly come to appreciate her even more after catching glimpses of her past. There was a depth to her that drew him in, making this playful exchange feel all the more significant.

Silencing the nagging voice inside him that questioned “why,” he attempted to stand, following the motion he’d practiced. His feet barely made contact with the board before he found himself sliding off into the cool water. Breaking the surface, he spotted Mae watching him with a playful smirk. “You put your front foot down first—that’s what made you fall off the back,” she critiqued, her tone light as he blinked, processing her words. It dawned on him that she was right; he had indeed led with his front foot.

“You need to establish a firm foundation first,” she continued, offering a smile. “That said, it wasn’t a bad first attempt. I’m sure we’ll get you there in no time.” Her encouragement wrapped around him, igniting his determination to improve. He wiped the water from his eyes, feeling the coolness of the ocean embrace him as he grinned back at her. “Alright, then. Let’s try this again.”

Mae nodded, her enthusiasm infectious. “Just remember, start with your back foot, and try to keep your weight balanced on the board,” Taking a deep breath, he swam back to the board, climbing on with renewed focus. He steadied himself, recalling her advice as he positioned his feet carefully this time. As he prepared to rise again, he glanced over at Mae, who watched with an encouraging smile.

“Ready?” she called, her excitement palpable.With a nod, he paddled out with the wave gaining momentum. As he felt the board finally catch along its pull, he pushed up, this time leading with his back foot and shifting his weight more deliberately. For a brief moment, he felt the board stabilize beneath him. Just as he thought he might actually succeed, the wave surged, and he wobbled precariously.

“Keep your core engaged!” Mae shouted, her voice cutting through the splash of the waves. He concentrated, trying to maintain his balance. But just as he thought he had it, the board tilted, and he found himself slipping again. This time, he fell with a splash, but as he broke the surface, he couldn’t help but laugh. Mae burst into laughter too, her joy infectious. “You’re getting closer! Just a bit more practice, and you’ll be a pro.”

“Yeah, if I don’t drown first,” he joked, paddling back toward her, needing a moment as he found the paddling to be a bit more draining than he’d anticipated.

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asked after a moment. He nodded, slightly puzzled, as she drifted closer. Pulling herself onto the board beside him, she abandoned her own board for a moment. Her hands lifted to his shoulders before sliding down to his elbows, gently raising them. “You can extend your arms to help stabilize yourself, but you’re really tense,” she said, her voice calm and encouraging. “You need to relax a bit…” She moved her hands back to his shoulders, her fingers gliding along his skin in a soothing manner. Gradually, he followed her advice, allowing the tightness in his shoulders to melt away under her gentle touch.

As he relaxed, he felt a warmth spreading through him, both from her touch and the shared moment. “How’s this?” he asked, trying to gauge her response. Her fingers flexed for a moment before disappearing from his body. “Much better,” she replied, a smile brightening her face. “Now, focus on your balance and the rhythm of the water. You can do this.”

He took a deep breath, feeling the gentle rocking of the board beneath them. “Alright, I’ll give it another go,” he said, determination bubbling up within him.

“Just remember to keep your core engaged and take your time,” she added, her hands pushing off his board as she returned to her own once more. Offering a reassuring grin she told him. “You’ve got this.” With her support, he began to paddle once more. Pushing himself up again, leading with his back foot and extending his arms out for balance. This time, he felt more stable, the water beneath him less daunting.

“See? You’re doing great!” Mae cheered, her enthusiasm infectious.

For a brief moment, he found his footing, gliding over the gentle waves with newfound confidence. But just as he began to believe he had mastered it, a larger surge bumped into the board. He wobbled precariously, and before he could adjust, he tumbled into the water once more.

Emerging with a splash, he laughed, shaking his head as he glanced over the top of the bobbing waves.“Hey, every attempt is a victory!” she called out, her laughter mingling with his own as she paddled closer. “You’re making more progress than you realize. Let’s try again!”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Returning to shore with a lighter air around him, he followed behind the doctor as she insisted they should take a break, claiming she was tired. Deep down, he knew her suggestion was really for his benefit. Rex had severely underestimated how draining the activity could be. Still, he felt a swell of pride for the progress he’d made.

“You looked a bit awkward out there, Rex. Surfing is harder than you thought, huh?” Hunter joked as they approached the spot where the rest of the group had gathered.

“I don’t see you out there giving it a shot,” Rex shot back.

“I value my reputation, thank you very much. Can’t have people watching me make a fool of myself like some people,” Hunter replied, a playful smirk on his face. Rex scoffed at the insinuation, laughter bubbling up between them.

“Oh hush, he’s doing great. Although any more sun and you are going to start burning there Captain-” she nodded towards him as she held a bottle of what he assumed was some sort of sun protection.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, gesturing to her cheeks, already flushed from the sun despite the sunscreen she had applied.

“Some of us are just a bit less immune to solar radiation,” Mae replied, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I could use some help with my back.”

Rex felt a swirl of excitement and apprehension at her request. Part of him relished the idea of being close enough to touch her, while another part worried about what that might mean. Yet, she had already touched him several times, each encounter feeling casual and comfortable. Taking a deep breath, he chose to embrace the moment. “Not a problem, ma’am,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” she giggled, her fingers deftly grasping the zipper of her wetsuit and tugging it down from her sternum to her bellybutton. As she slipped her arms free from the material, Rex stepped forward, his gaze instinctively dropping to the ground to avoid staring as she applied sunscreen to her front.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her being particularly careful, making sure every inch of her chest was covered before moving on to the rest of her body. She bent at the waist to lotion her legs, her bottom brushing close to him as he struggled to keep his focus on the lapping waves instead of the fact she’d shoved her quite round bum near him.

“Alright, you’re up!” she said with a playful giggle, waving the bottle of sunscreen. Rex raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Me?”

“Your back!” she clarified, gesturing toward him. Suddenly, it struck him that she intended to help him out before he had a chance to return the favor. Turning around, he felt her step closer, the warmth radiating from her as she placed her palm on his right shoulder. The unexpected touch made him jump, eliciting a soft snicker from her as her delicate hands began to rub the lightly fragrant lotion into his skin.

Instantly, he felt the tension he had been holding since the start of the war begin to melt away under her nimble fingers. She moved with purpose, ensuring the lotion was absorbed without lingering too long, her hands gliding across the expanse of his back. When she finally withdrew, he turned to reach for the bottle, but she looked up at him with a bright smile and tilted her head slightly, saying, “Lean down for a second.”

His eyes widened in confusion as she gently cupped the side of his head, her thumbs brushing the tips of his ears. Unsure of her intentions, he choked slightly on his own saliva, which had been pooling in his mouth, and stammered, “What—?”

“Ears are one of the most common areas to develop melanoma,” Mae explained, reminding him that she was a doctor. Her intentions were purely clinical; she aimed to highlight a vulnerable area prone to severe damage. Clearing his throat, he looked down into her eyes and noticed a delicate ring of gold encircling her blue irises just before she met his gaze.

“Good to know,” he said, and as she nodded, he felt compelled to add, “Thank you.” She acknowledged him with a slight bow of her head before handing him the bottle and turning her back to him. Her long red hair cascaded down, obscuring part of her shoulder. He gently tapped her shoulder and gestured, “Uh, you might want to—”

“Right,” she chuckled, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling it out of the way. Just as he was about to place his open palm against her back, something caught his eye—a scar, almost like a brand, marred her right shoulder. It was unmistakably intentional.

He felt a surge of curiosity mixed with concern, racking his brain for a moment as to why it looked so familiar. His gaze lingered, and she turned her head slightly, asking, “Something wrong?”

Rex hesitated briefly before placing his hand in the center of her back, rubbing in the sunscreen gently while his mind raced, trying to recall where he’d seen that marking before. As he moved his hands lower, he felt her shiver at the contact just above her swim bottoms.

“Sorry,” he murmured, catching the airy, uncertain response from her. “You’re alright, hon,” she reassured him, though the warmth in her voice didn’t quite mask the hint of tension.

In that moment, the marking and her accent struck a chord within him, illuminating details of her past he hadn’t anticipated uncovering. The realization weighed heavily on him, a deeper understanding forming in the quiet space between them.

Killough. Rex recalled reading about them in the archives as the war progressed. Despite the Republic’s diminished presence in the Outer Rim and the overwhelming focus on the droid armies, he was aware of the criminal activities lurking in the shadows of the conflict. The Killough Clan was notorious—a wealthy and well-connected crime family deeply entrenched in the region. They frequently associated with the Pykes, the Hutts, and other dangerous organizations. Why else would she bear a brand from such an organization unless…

Fingers lightly grazing the burn, Mae turned away abruptly, her eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion as she stepped back from him. “Thank you,” she said, avoiding his gaze. Rex might have probed further, perhaps even flirted, if he hadn’t just stumbled upon a revelation that made his stomach sink. Surely she couldn’t be connected to them. Right?

“You’re welcome,” he replied, tension hanging thickly between them. The weight of the realization that he’d pieced together her past hung over them, a shadow neither could shake. For how the man perceived her reaction, it was clearly a painful subject, possibly even incriminating. And for her, he sensed that she feared he would judge her based on it.

This unspoken tension made their quick exit easier, each of them looking for an excuse to escape.

As Rex stepped away from the group, he struggled to reconcile the fun, flirty doctor he had been enjoying with the unsettling possibility of a darker past. The contrast left him feeling uneasy, and he needed time to process it all. Just as he made it to the treeline of the beach he heard a raspy voice say, “go away,”.

Crosshair.

Rex had forgotten the sniper had settled into a hammock away from the others in this direction. Not wanting to confront his prickly personality amid an internal crisis, he almost muttered “gladly” in annoyance as he stepped away.

“Problem…?” came Crosshair's voice, tinged with an unexpected concern as Rex turned to see him leaning over the edge of the hammock.

“You all— I mean, someone has to know… how—” Rex struggled to articulate his concern, the words eluding him as Crosshair’s dark eyebrow shot up in interest.

“I can’t believe you let Stitches lure you into her death trap she calls surfing,” Crosshair remarked, either attempting to deflect the conversation or tease him while he was vulnerable—Rex couldn't quite tell.

“And I can’t believe you all are letting a woman connected to a criminal enterprise roam freely, let alone neglect to warn a guy—” Rex shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Crosshair's sharp intake of breath and equally hostile tone cut through the air as he dropped to the ground beside Rex in the blink of an eye. “What did you just say?”

Caught off guard by the sudden transition from teasing to menacing, Rex straightened, irritation bubbling within him as he realized the enhanced clone had the height advantage.

“I said you’re all either ignorant or reckless for allowing a woman connected to the Killough Clan to roam freely—” Rex retorted, his voice steady despite the tension.

“I’d recommend you keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand and that don’t concern you—” Crosshair hissed, his tone icy. Rex clenched his fist, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but pressed on.

“It does concern me. I’ve spent all day in the company of a woman—”

“Mae. Her name is Mae,” Crosshair interjected sharply.

“Mae” he corrected before continuing, ”Who’s walking around with a brand from one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the galaxy,” Rex shot back.

“Like I said, stop involving yourself in things when you don’t know the whole story,” Crosshair warned, taking a step back, eager to distance himself from Rex before the tension escalated further.

“But-”

“Don’t you think one of the first things Tech did when we saw that scar was investigate? We’re not fools. We know better than to get involved with dangerous people, especially for Omega’s sake. As for why she has that scar, that’s not my story to share. But I’d advise you to think very carefully before you disrespect a woman who’s spent the better part of a year cleaning up your messes without you even realizing it.” With that, Crosshair turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Rex momentarily speechless.

Glancing back at the water’s edge, Rex saw Mae standing waist-deep in the waves, her smile radiant as she demonstrated to Omega how to push up on the board. The memory of her gentle touch lingered in his mind, alongside the uncomfortable realization that Crosshair had been right: she had given him no real reason to worry. He didn’t know the full story, but he wasn’t about to find comfort in the words of a sniper with a blood-soaked past tied to the Empire.

Rex knew he had to be cautious; survival depended on it, and that instinct was not something he could simply switch off. Yet, as he watched her vibrant red hair catch the sunlight, he felt a growing urge to extend some grace until he had more clarity.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The sun was beginning its slow descent over the water, casting a warm glow on the beach. Most of the group had retreated to clean up before dinner, leaving Rex alone with Hunter as Omega waved goodbye over her shoulder.

“Someone should stay down here to make sure she’s okay,” Rex said, nodding toward Mae, who was now sitting on her board, watching the sunset with her back turned to them. She had kept her distance from him for most of the day, perhaps still affected by the moment he’d touched her scar or by his argument with Crosshair. Whatever the reason, he had retreated into himself since then.

Trapped in his own thoughts, Rex found himself trying to piece together the fragments of her past. Could she have been a slave? Maybe she was the child of an advisor? Or perhaps she had been tangled up with a former lover...

As he glanced out at the silhouette of her figure breaking the horizon, a thought struck him: what if he simply asked her? She had been honest the night before about her experiences in the RAR. If she opened up it would certainly ease his own mind.

Spotting the board he had neglected earlier, Rex paddled out to meet Mae on the water. She was much further away than before, and it took him significantly longer to reach her. As he got closer, he noticed she still hadn’t taken her eyes off the sunset. With her legs drawn up on the board and her chin resting on her knees, she seemed lost in thought. Without her wetsuit, the pink of her shoulders stood out against the fading light.

He was certain she had sensed his approach, yet she remained silent. Uncertain of how to begin, Rex felt a wave of regret wash over him for seeking her out. What if she was angry? What if he had crossed a line and she needed space? The confidence he had felt just moments ago seemed to dissipate, leaving him anxious and unsure. Surely, things hadn't shifted from wonderful to tense so quickly.

He cursed the Kaminoans for programming him for war rather than for navigating human emotions. Throughout his life, he had been led to believe he wouldn’t need to engage with civilians, leaving him unprepared for moments like this. The decision to forgo pleasantries now felt like a misstep. Though he was a free man in many ways, he would eventually need to connect better with civilians.

In the past, he had mostly adhered to regulations, interacting only with a select few—like the Senator’s handmaidens or some hired help at the 79s. He remembered Jesse’s girl, the one who had gotten pregnant, whom he had helped off-world after the war. But those brief encounters hardly made him an expert in emotional matters.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” she said, her tone firm yet laced with a palpable dejection.

“Wha—” he started, but she turned abruptly, locking him with a gaze that made even the battle-hardened captain shrink under the intensity of her eyes.

“Please, don’t pretend you don’t understand. I know you saw it. I’m fully aware of what that mark signifies. I had hoped you would be the kind of man to ask me, rather than fleeing as if I personally were the one who committed those crimes,” she began, and in the brief moment she paused to run her hand over her hair he started to reply.

“So that means you—”

“I’m not finished,” she interjected, her voice steady but infused with a quiet strength. He nodded, letting her continue. “Have you ever been on your own, Rex?” she asked, her gaze softening as she studied his features.

“I—uh, well, no. I can’t say I have. I’ve always had someone. My brothers, our Generals. There was always someone there,” he admitted.

“It’s not easy being alone at such a young age. I found out he was going to sell me off to some associate to be his bride. I endured years of abuse, watching my mother and every bride he took after, killed for giving him daughters. But learning I was to be ‘gifted’ to a man fifty years my senior was the final straw. When I escaped, I went to the one place I knew they’d be too afraid to look for me.”

“Coruscant,” he filled in the blanks, understanding how she had become part of the Republic.

“I always wanted to be a doctor,” she continued, her voice tinged with longing. “I felt a sense of purpose when I patched myself and my sisters up. But medical school is expensive, and I left everything behind when I fled. I enlisted so I could study for free, to see the stars, knowing that it was too close to the Republic for them to ever find me again.” Mae closed her eyes, a soft breeze tugging at one of her damp curls before letting it settle by her shoulder once more.

“I—” he trailed off as she opened her eyes again. The fading light cast a silvery hue to them, momentarily captivating him and causing him to lose his train of thought. Regaining his composure, he pressed on. “I’m sorry for running off earlier. You have to understand, I’m a soldier. I’ve been trained to be hyper-aware of danger, even when it comes in unexpectedly beautiful forms.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m pretty, Captain?” she teased, a playful smile breaking through the tension and bringing a moment of ease between them.

He chuckled softly, a warmth spreading through him. “Perhaps it is. But it’s more than that. It’s how you handle yourself. You’re strong, and that’s what caught me off guard.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in slightly, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “So you’re saying strength is attractive?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his tone earnest. “In my experience strength like that, it’s a rare quality. Most people hide behind walls, but you seem to embrace your experiences. That and admittedly-“ he looked at her with a smile before saying, “you are very candid,”

She tilted her head, considering his words. “Well, it hasn’t always been easy. But I’ve learned that there can be strength in vulnerability.”

Rex felt a shift in the air, a new understanding forming between them. “I’ve always been told to keep my guard up, but maybe there’s something to letting it down sometimes.”

“Exactly. You don’t have to carry the weight alone,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “We all have our battles, Rex. Sharing them can lighten the load.”

He nodded, feeling a sense of relief. “Then maybe I can start by sharing a bit more… that is, if there was someone willing to listen..?” His tone conveys a question rather than a statement as her eyes flash with understanding.

“Good,” she said, her smile returning. “I would be honored,” the redhead told him as he turned away, suddenly bashful at the notion.

“Remind me to give you my comm channel when we get back,” the man said, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun just began to peek over the water. Darkness would soon envelop them, and he knew they should return, but a part of him yearned to stay.

The weight of the moment hung in the air, inexplicable yet significant, as if the atmosphere crackled with unspoken energy. He felt a flicker of hope at the prospect of friendship and the stability it could bring—especially with someone who had been quietly supportive without him even realizing it. Memories of Crosshair’s words flashed through his mind, mingling with the insights he had gained the night before.

“Hey Mae?” he called, drawing her attention from the fading sun to him. She lifted her head from her knees, a curious hum escaping her lips. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity threading through his voice.

He wasn’t entirely sure which part of her kindness he was acknowledging—her honesty about her past, her compassion towards his brother, her understanding of his nature, or the lightheartedness that made him feel at ease. Maybe it was simply the way she made him feel like just a man, watching the sunset with a remarkable woman. Regardless of the reason, he felt compelled to express his gratitude.

“Anytime, Rex,” she replied, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a soft smile. “But we should probably head back,” she added, letting out a gentle sigh.

“Yeah,” he agreed, stealing a glance at her. The sun had kissed her skin, giving her a warm glow. “You’ve been out in the sun all day. It’s definitely time we get you back.”

With that, they leisurely began to paddle back toward the shore, neither in any rush to end their time on the water. Eventually, as the shoreline beckoned, they reached the shallows. Rex and Mae hopped off their boards, the cool water swirling around their ankles as they walked back to the beach.

Just as they were about to step onto the sand, Mae paused, her fingers sifting through the sand below. A delighted sound escaped her lips as she unearthed something.

“What is it?” Rex asked, intrigued. He couldn’t help but find her childlike excitement endearing as she examined her find.

“Your armor—it's blue, right?” she asked, holding up the small object in her hand, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. He nodded as she held the small object up to the fading light, revealing a blue fragment nestled between her slender fingers. Unlike typical glass, it had a frosted appearance, giving it an almost ethereal quality. “It’s called sea glass,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It forms when fragments of glass get smoothed out by the sand, making them soft to the touch instead of jagged like broken shards.”

She handed it to him, inviting him to examine it more closely. The color mirrored that of his blue armor, and it was indeed as smooth as she described. Yet, despite its beauty, Rex found himself puzzled by her delight over what he considered just a piece of discarded glass. Rex turned the sea glass in his hand, admiring its color and smoothness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just an oddity. “It’s beautiful,” he said, trying to match her enthusiasm, “but why are you so excited about it? Isn’t it just… trash?”

Mae laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. “That’s where you’re wrong! It’s not just trash. It has a story—it was once something else, maybe a bottle or a jar, and now it’s something new. Isn’t that kind of magical?”

He looked at her, contemplating her words. There was a profound depth to her appreciation that he hadn’t considered. “So you see beauty in… broken things?”

“Exactly! Just like us,” she said, her voice sincere. “We all have our own scars and stories, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find beauty in them despite the pain they once caused.”

Rex felt a flicker of understanding ignite within him. “I guess I’ve always focused on the damage itself rather than the possibility of finding beauty in it.”

Mae smiled, a gentle encouragement in her gaze. “It’s okay to feel that way. But remember, just like this sea glass, we are still here. Resilient and shaped by what we’ve endured into something entirely different,”

He handed the sea glass back to her, a newfound respect for its significance growing. “Thanks for sharing that with me. I suppose I needed a reminder.” She beamed at him, tucking the piece into her pocket as they continued their walk along the shore back towards her home, leaving the beach behind them.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The following morning brought with it the realization that he had to return to the stars and the mission that awaited him. After saying his goodbyes the night before, he decided to slip away quietly before anyone else woke up. He neatly folded the blanket from the sofa where he had slept and grabbed his bag, casting one last glance down the hall at Mae’s closed door. He knew she was likely still asleep, just as Echo and Aiko were in the other room. He didn’t want to disturb her; she seemed to be someone who rarely got the rest she needed.

Pabu in the early morning light was just as beautiful as it had ever been—quiet, warm, and inviting. It felt like home, even though he knew he shouldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable here. Yet, he understood why the others had found a sense of belonging.

Each step back toward his ship felt surprisingly lighter. After sharing his private communication channel with the talented doctor the night before, he left the decision to reach out in her hands. She had thanked him for finally showing his face after all the clones who had passed through her care on his behalf. He felt willing to let their friendship develop at its own pace, however that might unfold… for now.

Just as he caught sight of his ship’s outline, he heard the sound of light footsteps pattering behind him. Assuming it was Omega sneaking away to see him off, he turned, ready to greet the young girl. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with a pair of bare feet on the stone and a shock of vibrant red hair.

“I heard the door close—” Mae began, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as Rex’s surprise quickly faded into a nod.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said sheepishly, his shoulders slumping as he realized he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped.

“It’s okay. Someone should see you off, right?”

“I suppose,” he replied, setting his bag down for a moment, his mind racing with questions about why she had chosen to come out.

“I also forgot to give you this last night,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. When he didn’t respond, she rose onto her tiptoes, gently placing something over his head and letting it drape across his chest. Pausing for a moment, their eyes crossed one another. Her checks flushing at the recognition he was watching her closely. With that, Mae stepped back to allow him space once more, and he caught a light whiff of something feminine. Not exactly floral, but certainly reminiscent of the aromatic scents of the island tangled with perfume.

Remembering why she’d stepped close to him in the first place, his hand south the item. It was the same piece of tumbled glass from the night before, but now it had a small hole at the top, threaded with a cord that extended to a leather band. “I thought you should have a memento from your first time on Pabu, and the blue matches your armor,” she explained as he turned the sea glass pendant over in his hand, marveling at its beauty and the thought behind it.

Rex held the pendant up to the soft morning light, the frosted blue glass shimmering delicately. A wave of warmth washed over him as he realized the significance behind Mae’s gift. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice sincere. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Mae’s smile widened, her excitement infectious. “It’s a reminder that even broken things can become something beautiful.”

He nodded, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface of the glass. As he reflected on his words, thoughts of her filled his mind. Mae came from a perilous past, having faced terrifying and uncertain situations that could have easily shattered her spirit. Yet here she stood, illuminated by the morning light, bare feet planted firmly on the ground, dressed in her nightgown—radiant and resilient. There was a strength in her that captivated him, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, one could emerge beautiful and stronger.

The pendant felt weighty yet comforting in his hand. “I’ll cherish it,” he promised. The gesture felt like a connection, something he could carry with him no matter where the stars took him.

“I hope it brings you memories of this place, of your brothers and your friends,” Mae said softly, her gaze lingering on the pendant before meeting his eyes.

“It already does,” he replied, a warmth blossoming in his chest as he took a moment to appreciate her kindness. “This whole trip has been more than I expected.”

Her expression shifted, a hint of vulnerability peeking through her cheerful demeanor. “I’m glad. It’s nice to know you enjoyed your time here.”

“More than I can say,” he said, feeling the weight of the moment. “You’ve made this place feel like home, even if just for a little while.”

Mae’s cheeks flushed, and she looked down for a brief moment before meeting his gaze again. World spinning, butterflies in his stomach as he looked back at her. His gloved hands stroking the smooth surface of the pendant between his pointer finger and thumb as he looked down at the way her expression showed a hint of longing amidst her resolve. Clearing her throat after a beat between them she said, “You should get going, though. I didn’t mean to hold you up,”

“Right,” he said, reluctantly picking up his bag. “I guess it’s time for me to ship out.”

As he turned toward the ramp, he felt a twinge of regret. “I’ll keep in touch,” he assured her, glancing back.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone laced with hope.

“Promise,” he confirmed, feeling the weight of that commitment resonate between them.

With one last smile, he turned and began walking away, the pendant resting against his heart—a tangible reminder of their shared moments. As he sat down in the cockpit, he couldn’t help but look back one last time, capturing the image of Mae standing there, the morning light framing her in a golden glow. She’d moved further back under the large tree at the top of the Island’s hill, leaning against its low hanging branch as she lifted her hand into a wave.

Starting up the engines, Rex felt a renewed sense of purpose. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but with the pendant as a reminder of his time on Pabu and the connection they had forged, he felt ready to face whatever awaited him among the stars. And if he found it way back to Pabu in the future, perhaps he could enjoy a few more slower moments in the midst of his chaotic life.

To be continued...

Again shout out to my friend for this amazing image!

#pabu au #captain rex x oc #captain rex fanart #captain rex #captain rex is really hot guys #mae killough #clone wars #the bad batch #tbb oc #tbb fanart #tcw #tcw oc #tooth rotting fluff #surfing #my friends art #star wars is so much better with OC's #look at my lil ginger girlie go

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prettycottonmouthlamia · 1 year ago

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My re-reading project has gone reasonably well, my ADHD is still untreated so I often have a lot of trouble actually starting (Who is Real consistently created this roadblock in my mind for whatever reason), but it was re-reading Under Tides that has had me sitting down and digesting it for some time.

Under Tides has a dramatically different tone from pretty much every single other event that I've read so far. It's a very moody work, dramatically more so than previous events (and, definitely in comparison to Stultifera Navis), both in story direction and in art direction. The residents of Sal Viento are drawn in a way I find really compelling for the nature of the story: they look like they've had the life and energy sucked out of them, and share the same muted palettes with the Inquisitors. It really makes the Abyssal Hunters standout in comparison to the rest of the world, in Skadi's vivid reds, Gladiia's blues, and Specter's monochrome colors.

This piece, on top of just being absolutely breathtaking honestly, is a really good example. Sal Viento sits, tilted in ruins into the sea, but at this angle it feels impossible to tell where the land begins and where the ocean meets the city. It makes Sal Viento feel very isolated from the world, and it is in many ways, and I in particular like the way the support structures at the right, now broken and falling apart, make Sal Viento feel skeletal. How much has been destroyed, taken by the sea? It's great.

But Skadi is the only splash of color. Skadi's red stand out amongst the very muted blues, the blues that feel barely distinguishable from the dismal grays of rain clouds and brackish water, and the sterile colors of Sal Viento. Skadi and the Hunters are the only splash of life in this landscape; even the Inquisitors cannot be said to do this, because much if not all of what the Inquisitors leave in their wake is death.

But it's also a much darker story than usually, and that's a bit surprising considering how much fare Arknights up to this point has had with the ideas of corporate corruption, discrimination, and cleansing. It's a lot to do with how the characters are positioned to each other: the people of Sal Viento are almost zombie-like, being slowly eaten away from ingestion of Seaborn flesh, and are intensely paranoid and disapproving of outsiders. Only Anita stands out amongst them, a beacon of innocence and curiosity that hasn't been stamped out yet by the constant erosion of the tides. Skadi and Gladiia are both oppositional to each other and oppositional to everyone else in the story. There's no real sense of cooperation or camaraderie between any of the characters outside of Anita, which creates a really rather oppressive atmosphere. The dark parts of Talulah's story in Chapter 8 stand in contrast to the warmer parts of her relationship to Alina, Frostnova, and Patriot, and it stands in contrast with Amiya and Ch'en. Maria Nearl's attempted assassination at the hands of the KGCC stands stark against Marcus and Zofia's support of her and her naive ideals.

There's no contrast in Under Tides, it's a constant gloomy, dark feeling, it's being in a cave that's constantly damp, dripping, and moist. That works really well for the type of story it wants to be, especially for its climax moment, where the first time character's connect with each other, it is portrayed in the form of a mental breakdown.

"She is a monster. She murders her own kind. She for her own kind murders her own kind. She by her own kind murders her own kind. The eyes of the people in the streets are filled with warmth. They don't know anything. The eyes from the research institutes and in the tents are filled with ice. When the hunters sleep, there are patrollers guarding. No. Those aren't guards. That night patrol doesn't serve the hunters. The patrollers are waiting for the hunters to become monsters."

Aside from her, anyone and everyone probably knew. Sea monster. And–she has already committed the gravest sin...

I killed it. I killed her. I killed Him.

There's some questionable writing decisions made in this chapter, especially with the way that Anita and Irene have a habit of narrating action scenes in dialogue, but this will not be what I criticize. This is the climax of the story: where the truth of the matter, where Skadi understanding the bizarre idiosyncrasies of her biology and what they mean, causes her identity to collapse, leaving Skadi to try and grab at anything she can.

And she grabs onto being a monster.

Becoming a Seaborn is in some ways both an invasion and a form of acceptance. Your biology changes, but the outcome is not a guarantee. Skadi only avoids her fate here because Gladiia deliberately took a massive injury as a trap. If that hadn't been intentional, if Gladiia truly took a mortal wound, Skadi would have fallen right there.

"Your neural cells are rapidly metabolizing. Remember, you are a hunter. They can't do anything to you."

It's truth and its untruth. The extent to which Skadi's condition can be directly tied to her biology is questionable: we've already seen this questioned in Skadi's own monologue. But as long as Skadi remembers that she is a hunter, that she has a purpose and can resist, she'll be fine.

It's good, it's a fantastic climax that leads to the rather nice and cathartic reunion amongst the Abyssal Hunters. Really liked this event.

#arknights #under tides #abyssal hunters

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deadboyfriendd · 9 months ago

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I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie,

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful.

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind.

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him.

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances.

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie.

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she.

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death.

Signed, your cousin.

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death.

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him.

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself.

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first.

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town.

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem.

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner.

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads.

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss.

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance.

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway.

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions.

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what?

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it.

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed.

It was already warm enough to burn.

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car.

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled.

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters.

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location.

Cousin,

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine.

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather.

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either.

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme. I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us.

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth.

We are the law, here.

If we lose our morality, we lose everything.

I will see you soon. I love you.

Nellie.

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate.

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best.

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year.

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand.

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed.

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell.

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way.

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer.

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers.

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that.

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame.

8:50. Like clockwork.

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her.

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now.

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest.

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light.

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels.

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds,

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now.

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be.

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be.

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize.

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to.

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer.

I’ll be the one in white.

I will see you then, Sheriff.

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a depiction of the implosion of his world.

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had.

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently.

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart.

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue.

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.”

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.”

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots.

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose.

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters.

And then, you were there.

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view.

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction.

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt.

“I have an affinity for pretty things.”

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it.

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her.

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.”

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender.

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue.

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it.

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well.

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation.

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us.

With warmest regards,

Steven Harrington

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #sheriff!steve harrington #cowboy!steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

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