#I just have to know if the Imperial Remnant had such an iron grip on Nevarro years after the war

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

I just read your mando episode 1 thoughts and I’m really glad you also didn’t like the Nevarro changes like I love Nevarro and I watched the episode and was like hm… Nevarro is… boring now…

Hello there, Anon! Finally getting around to this ask but it's been on my mind. It just really, really bothers me how flat and boring Nevarro is now. I liked the appeal of a grimy, hardscrabble planet that scraped by with work by the Bounty Hunters Guild, trade, and shadier, more illicit activities. It was a fun and fascinating look into the Outer Rim away from the likes of Tatooine, and now that's gone. Now Nevarro looks and sounds like a freaking Renn Faire trying to eat its cake as some cleaned up and respectacle independent trade center, and I feel like a joke watching it.

The entire season premiere was a mixed bag of decisions and the choices made with Nevarro really damped my already low expectations. Really hope the only way now is up.

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.” 

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion. 

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy. 

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway. 

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now. 

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face. 

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance. 

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being. 

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern -  shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting   and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest. 

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot. 

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone. 

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight. 

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste. 

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be. 

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[blackkatmagic]

Caaaan we get a sneak peek at those Ferus Wips, pleaaasde~ ?

“Where are we going?” Leia protests, tugging at his hand, though she doesn’t stop moving. “My father is back there—”

“I know,” Ferus says desperately, and pulls her sideways, one sharp jerk as he practically throws them both behind the jut of a decorative half-wall. In the same moment, there's a thud of steps, loud in plain armor, and Ferus sees how Leia's eyes go wide, the way her mouth instantly snaps shut. He drags her in against his side, curling around her as he ducks beneath the delicate iron scrollwork, and Leia clutches at the rough cloth of his jacket, perfectly still and silent as the stormtroopers march past.

A child shouldn’t have to have any idea about stormtroopers, or how to hide from them, but Ferus is desperate enough that he doesn’t feel anything but grateful.

He gives it a long three minutes after the last one passes before he straightens up, loosening his death grip on Leia and trying to stop the pounding of his heart. “You okay?” he asks, and Leia looks at him, looks in the direction the stormtroopers disappeared in, and pauses.

“They're here because of me, aren’t they?” she asks, and the fact that her voice doesn’t even waver makes Ferus's chest ache.

“Because of what you can do,” Ferus corrects, because he’s lied to everyone for years but he isn't going to lie to Leia about this. Obi-Wan had said—

But then, Obi-Wan seems to forget that Anakin didn’t have one child, he had two. Leia is just as powerful as her brother, and Ferus isn't about to let her suffer for that.

Leia's grip on his sleeve goes tight, and her expression wavers just for a moment. “And—my dad—” she starts, and then stops short, biting into the inside of her lip. Trying not to show a reaction, Ferus thinks grimly, and—she’s only twelve, on a diplomatic trip with her father that was supposed to be easy. Ferus almost hadn’t shadowed them on this one, because there was so little risk at the outset, but—

Best that he didn’t, clearly, Ferus thinks grimly, and wraps an arm around Leia's back, hurrying her forward with him as they break from cover and bolt for the line of trees that edges the next sprawling mansion. At the end of the street, butted up against the deep forest, there’s a ruin of white stone and glass, and Ferus's quick research into this planet didn’t turn up much at all about what used to be here, but—it’s a hiding place, at the very least, and it looks unguarded, which is invitation enough.

“Just a little further,” he tells Leia, and doesn’t risk a glance back over his shoulder even if he wants to. The planet’s curfew starts soon; anyone who spots them will likely pass them off as father and daughter hurrying to get home, and not immediately comm the authorities, which is all Ferus needs. Just a chance and he can get them to the spaceport, get them off-world, and then—

Then something. Training Leia, maybe, but for that he’ll have to find a Force nexus that will hide them, because otherwise Vader and the Inquisitors will just follow their presence in the Force like a beacon. But that means supplies, and arrangements, and days of travel. More chances for Leia to slip, control worn down with stress and exhaustion, and lead the Empire right to them.

She threw three Imperial officers off a balcony. Most initiates can't manage that until they’ve been training for years, and knowing that, Ferus doesn’t have a lot of hope that her next accident won't be just as powerful and just as dangerous.

“I have to warn my dad,” Leia says, tugging at Ferus's sleeve again, though she doesn’t stop moving as he ducks beneath a barrier made of trees trained into a fence and pulls her towards the entrance to the ruin. “He doesn’t know—”

“He knows,” Ferus promises, and slows, checking for guards. He knows that at least one Inquisitor is nearby; he felt them land, knows precisely who would be called to drag a senator’s child away to be trained for the Empire. If the Inquisitor managed to sense them before Ferus got to Leia, if they know what to look for, Ferus has very little hope of making it out of this without a fight.

He’s fought Inquisitors before, and beaten them. But Anakin knows Ferus's presence, and a fight is too great a risk. If Ferus has to reveal himself as a former Jedi, he will, but the fallout will be catastrophic, particularly when Ferus is trying to escape with Leia.

“Do you even have a plan?” Leia demands, keeping her voice low. Ferus opens his mouth to reassure her, then promptly trips, practically falling down a steep ramp of white stone. Leia yelps, tumbling after him, and it’s all Ferus can do to grab her and leap, catching an overhang of stone before they can go spilling down and into the darkness.

“Getting you off the planet is my only plan,” Ferus says, and hitches her up, trying to keep his feet steady on the slick stone. “Can you—if you can get on my back—”

Leia makes a derisive sound, but she twists, scrambles up, gets a foot in the hand Ferus offers and lurches up, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. There's a precarious moment as Ferus feels his boots sliding, and he curses, takes half a second to check their surroundings, and then pushes off hard, launching them off the spur of stone and out over a long, narrow pool that glitters strangely. There's a walkway crossing the water, and he, tumbles over, lands lightly on it, and puts up a hand to steady Leia.

“All right?” he asks.

“Fine,” Leia says, muffled, and a moment later she shoves enough of her hair out of the way to see and demands, “You’re like me? I thought you were just another one of Dad’s assistants!”

Ferus smiles wryly at the outrage in her voice. “Yes, I'm like you,” he allows. “I used to be a Jedi.”

Leia's breath hitches, her arms tightening. “Like—a real Jedi?” she asks, and in the vast, echoing space around them her voice is thin. “Like the peacekeeper Jedi?”

There's too much Ferus could say, and not enough words. He swallows, one hand twitching towards his lightsaber, and hesitates for a long moment before he answers. “I never finished my training, so I'm not sure you should call me a real Jedi.”

“Well, you're more of a Jedi than anyone I've ever met,” Leia says tartly, and Ferus can't help the strangled half-laugh that slips out, a little rueful.

“That’s not saying a lot,” he counters, and hears Leia's unimpressed snort. Hooking an arm under her thighs to hold her steady, he casts a look around them, half of his attention trained on the entrance. “We should—if there’s a back entrance, we should try to hide near it, just in case.”

Leia pushes up with he knees, leaning over his shoulder, and points ahead of them to a tall doorway. “This was a Kwa Star Temple,” she says, like Ferus is an idiot for not knowing that. “Dad and I toured it this morning. Whuffa worms used to guard it, so there are tunnels underneath that run out into the forest.”

Something flickers in Ferus's chest, almost like hope, and he pauses, half-turns as he looks around them. Not what he expected, but—this would have been on the very edge of the Kwa Holdings, one of the last remnants in this part of space after their conflict with the Gree Enclave escalated. “A Star Temple?” he asks. “You're sure?”

“Of course I am,” Leia says, withering. “I read.”

Ferus huffs in amusement, but instead of heading in the direction Leia pointed to, he takes a flight of stairs up, double-time and moving quickly. “If it’s a Star Temple, the Infinity Gate will be at the top.”

There's a moment of startled silence, and then Leia asks, a note of something like excitement in her voice, “You know how to work an Infinity Gate?”

“So do you, technically,” Ferus tells her. “They're powered by the Force. If we can get it running, and use it, it can get us off the planet before the Inquisitor finds us.”

“Inquisitors,” Leia corrects tightly, and a moment later she wriggles down from Ferus's back, grabbing his hand instead as she matches him up the steps. “There were three of them when my father answered the comm.”

Kriff. Something cold pools in Ferus's stomach, even though he tries not to show it. One Inquisitor he might be able to handle, but—three will overpower him instantly. He was always good, and Palpatine’s training and years fighting left him better, but there's no way he can face down three of Sidious’s enforcers and walk away alive. Even getting to the spaceport just got a lot less possible.

“You look like you're about to curse,” Leia says, eyeing him. “Or cry.”

“I only have one lightsaber,” Ferus manages. “That makes three on one a little difficult.”

Leia pulls a face, tugging Ferus left around a trio of tall pillars. “I thought Jedi were supposed to be the best warriors in the galaxy,” she says pointedly.

Ferus gives her a wry smile. “I told you, I didn’t finish training. And besides, the Inquisitors were all Jedi once, too.”

[dear-mrs-otome]

Kinktober - Oct 17th - Restraint/Bondage

I’d like to have spent a lot more time on this, but I’m trying to catch back up, so its getting posted before bed. @toloveawarlord requested Theo + begging + bondage - I hope this quick fic fits the bill! <3

~~~~

"I want you to beg."

Theo’s eyes narrowed to two fierce slits, and as the drawn-rope silence stretched ever more taut, you thought he wouldn't answer. 

Until finally he cut it, with a flinty tone and the creak of tested silk. "You know what it means if I do, right?"

You nodded, swallowing around a mouth suddenly dry with anticipation.

"Say it," he demanded, somehow imperious even though he was the one naked and trussed and stretched out beneath you. "What does it mean if I do? I want to know that you remember."

And remember you did, the recollections his words dredged up bringing a flush to your cheeks and another slick rush of desire between your thighs. "You return the favor tenfold."

"That's right." His voice was a dark, dark promise as he shifted, the motion accompanied by a warning groan of wood. An unsubtle reminder that he was only where he was because he was tolerating it. Gifting you this.

You sat back on his hips, framing the searing heat of his arousal in the vee of your lap. Letting the damp warmth of your center just kiss the underside of him. Taunting.

In the stillness, he sucked in a breath.

"Please then, Mistress." The words began honeyed, as sweet as you knew him to be capable of, before they took on an edge. Hard and dangerous, sharper than the cool glint of a blade in the dark. "Ride. On. My. Fucking. Cock."

Humming pensively, you leaned forward, letting the solid length of him glide through your folds as you did, glazing him with your wetness. “How about...no.” You punctuated with words with a flick of your tongue over his tiny beaded nipple, savoring the delicate shiver he tried to suppress.

A low warning growl trickled from him but you ignored it and bit down on the firm muscle of his chest, and his hips jerked beneath you. Left you half-drunk and reeling on the feeling of power, knowing he was at your mercy like this. Not the sort of power that come from conquest, exactly. You knew that was only an illusion. 

Theo was too much of a force of nature to ever be truly contained.

But there was power in being allowed to hold the leash, even if only for a moment - maybe even more so when such a proud beast had willingly bent its head to the collar. Declarations of love in its indulgence. 

“Open your mouth,” you demanded, as you sat up.

For a long minute you didn’t think he would comply, blue eyes searing yours like gaslit flames as he held you locked in a glare, before he finally did. Exposing the long fangs you had been sure you’d see, a visceral reminder of the twinned lusts that you knew simmered just below his tight-lidded surface. And you wanted - so badly you could almost taste it - to see him finally boil over.

Still keeping your eyes fixed on his, you ran a thumb down the length of one of those dangerous teeth, letting the wicked point catch on the pad. Until in a slow, deliberate lean you pressed, felt your own flesh part with a sweet sting beneath the keen tip as it sank in, blood immediately welling up around it.

A wave of heat washed over you, like a banked fire being stirred, and you both shuddered through a moan.

You smeared the wound over his tongue and felt him rattle beneath you, his mouth closing around the digit to suckle. Hard enough to hurt, as if to punish you for your audacity, and you watched the pupils of his eyes blow wide and black as he swallowed. Dark and deep enough for you to tumble into and never climb your way out of again, lost in him the way you had been from near the moment you'd met.

You tugged your thumb free of his mouth with a soft pop of sound and he tried to follow, drawing to an abrupt stop when he reached the end of the restraints that held him. A snarl twisted his features, teeth still stained pink with blood as he writhed beneath you. Bucking for a moment like some half-wild thing.

"Sit on my face." His growl was raw, painfully low, and closer to a plea than you knew he'd ever admit. "Verdomme...sit on me now. I need to taste you."

Bending over, your breasts framed his face as you drew your lips to his ear and breathed your impudent reply, like the soft flutter of a matador’s cape before the bull. “Make me.”

There was another, half-choked noise from him before his jaw clenched, the muscles there jumping as he ground down on the rest of the sound. And then the remnants of it were overpowered by an ominous creaking protest and the harsh tear of fiber.

Hands clamped on your hips in a punishing iron grip, wrenching you upward so sharply you couldn’t stifle your squeal of surprise, setting you scrabbling to grasp the headboard as you toppled forward. Before you’d even caught your balance Theo had his tongue shoved deep between your thighs, and your squeal frayed to a moan as you squirmed atop his chin, just that slight motion pressing his needle-sharp fangs against your core...but there was something breathtaking about riding that perilous edge.

He kept at it relentlessly, moving between drawing on your swollen clit and fucking you ever harder with his tongue, his fingers digging almost painfully harsh into your hips to hold you in place. Feeding on the wet heat of you like a man half-starved, his harsh smothered breaths washing over your mound ever faster. You only managed to wrench your gaze from the heady sight of his face in your lap when he rolled his eyes up to meet yours and held the contact mercilessly.

Somehow, that was the thing that had you flushing with near-embarrassment.

“Theo…” His name was the near-gasp of a prayer on your lips as pleasure roiled golden and warm through you. Pushing at the confines of your skin as if filling you from the inside out, close so close...mere drops away from overflowing. Deep inside of you, muscled fluttered like ripples on the surface of a cup, and just when it seemed about to spill -

He pulled away and half-tossed you onto the bed beside him with a bounce, leaving you crying out in dismay and frustration.

“What did I tell you?” He rose over you, one hand stroking leisurely at the proud jut of his cock as if to taunt you. “What happens now?”

Swallowing around a mouth gone dry, you reached for him and he obliged, but only let you draw him close enough to drag his lips over the tendon of your neck. His hips still devastatingly far away from yours and your aching, empty center. “Please, Theo…”

He lingered for another handful of heartbeats, and you could feel his mouth curve into an infuriating grin against your throat before he sat up and you saw it as well. “You can do better than that.” He dragged a single finger through your soaked folds and rolled forward, so that his arousal ghosted hot along the inside of your thigh. Frustratingly close to where you needed him, and yet still so very, very far. “Now...be a good hondje and beg for your treat.”

~~~~

If you want to see more of the kinktober or my other work, check the masterlist linked in my blog desc or the tag on my blog: #mrs_o’s_kinktoberfest 

[sweetiecenter]

Fallout, Borderlands, and how a Medium Compliments a Theme.

Fallout, Borderlands, and how the Theme can serve the Medium well, and vice versa. A small essay by me about two of my favorite game series.

2K Games and Bethesda are industry giants. Both of these studios have built their companies on the backs of extremely successful game franchises.

In the case of 2K, they built their franchise around sports, as well as Sid Meier’s RTS, Civilization, as well as delving into many other genres. It wasn’t until 2K started to delve into RPGs like Bioshock, from the creators of System Shock 2, that they started to develop their formula.

For Bethesda, they got their massive start a bit earlier with id software with games like Doom and Wolfenstein, which almost singlehandedly popularized the FPS genre.

Both of these industry giants are responsible for thousands of hours of love and enjoyment, and Bioshock 2 is singlehandedly responsible for growing my love of video games, and their writing.

There are two franchises from these respective companies that are both known for being notable open-world, first person RPGs: Borderlands and Fallout, and both series were published by their respective companies around the same time, with Borderlands 1 entering development in 2005, and Bethesda being commissioned to work on Fallout 3 in 2007, which later turned into Bethesda buying the rights and absorbing Interplay. Fallout 3 was released in 2008 on October 28, with Borderlands coming out almost exactly a year later.

As time has gone on, both companies have paid mutual respect to each other, particularly in regards to these FPSRPG games; Borderlands 2 even has a gun called thre dog in reference to the infamous Three Dog from Fallout 3. The similarities between the themes and playstyle of these games has led to many comparisons, but I would just like to take the time to talk about how each respective game does justice to the themes of their stories and the medium they use.

So what are the themes of these games, really?

The more unique taglines and themes of these games would be “war never changes” and “everyone is the hero of their own story” for Fallout and Borderlands, respectively. The underlying themes that go unspoken (mostly), seem to be anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism.

The anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism arguments are where it gets interesting.

First, let’s look at how both games use American culture and atmosphere to their advantage and to get their point across.

We can all agree that governments are, at their core, made to protect folks, right? That is their stated job. It is in their job description. Especially in America, the idea is that you should never, ever have your rights taken from you. We are surrounded by people who believe in the government, and if not in the government, then in your country itself. Patriotism has its own dedicated holiday! This is why Fallout has such a huge focus on how the government of their universe shifted away from protecting people, and how they have become imperialistic, jingoistic, and xenophobic. Even if you hate the military, the world of Fallout is intended to make you go “shit, at least we aren’t THAT bad”.

And this tone helps to set the theme for the Fallout games. Everywhere you turn, you are completely let down by the people you rely on. Looks are deceptive, and yet they aren’t. The dark and gritty atmosphere of the games are constantly screaming at you that the world has already ended, even as Ron Perlman tells you it is only the beginning. Happy endings are nonexistent in almost every case, with the sole exception of perhaps the Courier... but then, the Courier is the only one with no ties to a Vault. No delusions of grandeur, no expectations.

It should be noted that in the dialogue choices as the Courier, you are the most aware of everything that has happened. Instead of being shocked that someone shot you in the head, you are apathetic at best and mostly want the package back; even if you roleplay your courier as a revenge-driven mailman, they are never surprised. Disappointed? Oh, almost certainly.

The first time I booted up the original Fallout and saw the Overseer start talking, my first thought was:

“This is it. Humanity has degenerated into ridiculous blue cavemen.”

I think the design of the Overseer was very intentionally made to be odd, and to showcase that the people have changed. Then you step out into the wasteland. You see the disconnect between the Vaults, the only remnants of pre-war society in the first game, and the rest of the world.

The discovery that the government willingly let all these experiments happen only adds to our disgust as we piece things together, piece by piece. You become jaded and cynical, and in your quest to save everyone, you truly have changed. Sure, the Overseer exiling you because “you’re different” may seem weird and a flimsy excuse to keep the experiment going, but it has a hint of truth to it. You’ve changed. You’re knowledgeable. You can no longer be controlled by the propaganda you had taken as the truth, that all Vault residents had taken as the truth. This disconnect between reality and the Vaults is further explored whenever you reach a new Vault.

Finding out the horrifying truth about what the Vaults were, what they were made for, never gets any easier. The game’s sound design is always made to harken back to something behind you, in some way. The base game’s sound design usually invokes paranoia and fear, while the radios that constantly play music from a bygone era invoke a general feeling of “nothing will ever be the same”.

All in all, Fallout does a fantastic job of setting the basis of its universe. Worldbuilding is a massive part, and their is little to nothing left unknown for a savvy player, should you be willing to listen to exposition. The overall tone is tragic and bleak, in order to juxtapose itself with the pre-war propaganda.

Which brings us to Borderlands.

Borderlands does not ask you as a player to think. It does not ask you to feel. The main focus has never been the story, and yet it is still a beautiful aspect of it, in the way of all the things that go left unsaid. How did the sirens come to be? Who knows. How did all the Eridians die out? Who knows. Why is it so much god damn fun to shoot a vertically challenged man in a gas mask and watch his head explode? Who knows.

Borderlands never gives you enough time to reflect on the overarching theme of the series. Compared to Fallout the game is much more fast-paced and linear, but if you take the time, you can see everything fall apart as the story progresses. You have no choice. Nothing you do ever matters, especially in the face of corporate overlords. All these bandits you’ve been fighting? They were normal people once. Convicts, sure, but they were also taken advantage of, brought to this strange alien planet and used as slave labor. Fresh off of the heels of Fallout, you could ask yourself, “what sick government would do this?” The answer is it isn’t a government. It is a corporation that styles itself as a government.

There lies the sick joke of the Borderlands series. This isn’t some far fetched, awful alternate reality. This is the future, where corporations continue down the same path they are on now - unchecked, allowed to ruin the worlds, contracted by governments - and nobody did a god damn thing. These guns you buy? Produced by Atlas. The clothes you’re wearing? Probably Hyperion fashion. The planets you come from? Owned almost completely by corporations. Atlas has an iron grip on Promethea, and Mister Torgue literally blew up an entire PLANET, even if it is played for laughs.

Just like in Fallout, nobody is on your side - and yet you know this. You embrace futility anyway; you buy Atlas, you buy Hyperion, and you buy Maliwan because at the end of the day, they are more powerful than any Vault Monster you could hope to kill. The bright tones and dark humor of the Borderlands are a direct result of embracing futility. The fun does not lie within facing your oppressors, it lies within killing them over and over. The thing that makes Borderlands so celebrated is its replayability; in Fallout, everything you do is permanent. Borderlands has next to no permanence. No matter how many Hyperion soldiers you kill, you won’t put a dent in them. These corporations span six whole galaxies.

Borderlands doesn’t need to set an atmosphere to make you immerse yourself in the story. We already know corporations are horrible. Jeff Bezos spends his money on space while Amazon employees die of exhaustion.

The horror of these two games directly correspond with each other. Fallout is horrifying because of past deeds, because of what could have come to pass. Borderlands is horrifying because of what still could happen.

Both of these game series have, in many’s opinion, fallen off in recent years, but I personally will always have a special place in my heart for these wonderful games and their storytelling.

Thank you for reading.

[nitewrighter]

Could we mayhaps have some more Symmarah in the Star Wars AU? Please?

Previous Symmarah Star Wars AU is here!

I would like to thank Hera Syndulla and Amilyn Holdo for giving me the pass to do whatever the fuck I want with regards to hyperspace.

—–

“Not exactly a Serennoan pleasure yacht,” said Pharah, ducking her head as they headed up the boarding plank. “But she’ll get you where you need to go.”

“Provided we make enough credits to keep fuel in the tank,” muttered Winston, lumbering up behind them.

Satya bowed slightly to avoid the storage compartment going in as well. “The blue paint job is impressive, but it’s a bit… flashy for a smuggler’s ship, is it not?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” muttered Winston.

“Smuggler—Who said we were smugglers? We’re a legitimate freighter!” said Pharah with a short nervous laugh, “Smuggler…”

Satya arched an eyebrow and Pharah cleared her throat, “Well we would be a legitimate freighter without all those Hutt Space checkpoints.” 

“And the Umbaran Customs office,” muttered Winston, closing the ramp behind them.

“And the Umbaran Customs office,” Pharah conceded as they took their seats in the cockpit. They buckled in and took off from the spaceport, the Raptora arcing gracefully across the sky and breaking free from the atmosphere with only a few seconds of shuddering.

“So…” Pharah rolled her grip on the Raptora’s controls as they put more distance between them and the planet, “Core worlds, huh?”

“That’s not a problem, is it?” Satya tilted her head.

Pharah made brief worried eye contact with Winston before forcing a smile and going, “Not a problem at all,” said Pharah, quickly dialing in some coordinates into the ship’s hyperspace computer. They flew for a few minutes longer to avoid the gravitational complications of hyperspace before Pharah pulled down on the activation level. The stars at the front of their viewport streamed into razor-straight ribbons of light and the three of them jolted in their seats slightly at the force.

“Welp,” Pharah readjusted herself in her seat, bringing her hands behind her head in a relaxed postion, “All that’s left to do now is to settle in and wait for the next few hours before we drop into core worlds territory.”

“Thank you,” said Satya, leaning forward in her seat slightly, “You have no idea how much this means to me–well.. not just me—I mean—”

The ship suddenly jerked and shuddered and Pharah instinctively grabbed the controls of the ship to keep from being forced out of the hyperspace lane, “What was that?!” said Pharah, rapidly looking over the ships controls.

“Something fired on us!” said Winston.

“What?! We’re in hyperspace! We’re literally traveling faster than any ship’s cannons can fire!”

The ship jerked again and suddenly an ear-piercingly loud feedback came over the ship’s comms as everyone groaned and put their hands over their ears.

“WHAT KIND OF SHIP CAN SEND COMMS THROUGH HYPERSPACE!?” Pharah shouted over the feedback.

“Oh no…” Satya’s voice was soft, but the dread in it caught Pharah’s ear even in the roar of the feedback when suddenly a voice came out of the crackle of the Raptora’s comm.

“Stalwart-class freighter, designation: Raptora. This is Captain Sanjay Korr-Pahl of the Akasha. In concordance with the territorial holdings of the Vishkar corporation, you are hereby ordered to surrender custody of Senator Satya Vaz to us.”

“Senator?!” Pharah looked over at Satya in her seat.

“Vishkar?” said Winston.

Satya had broken out in a cold sweat. “They weren’t supposed to find me yet,” was all she managed to say, her brow crinkling.

“We have no interest in any of your other contraband,” Sanjay spoke over the comms, “Simply hand over the Senator and we will leave you to your business.”

Pharah muted the comm with an angry grunt.

“Well, if they’re just corporate and not Imperial remnants…” Winston started warily.

“You can’t! Please!” Satya leaned forward in her seat and put her hand on Pharah’s arm, “You can’t let them take me!”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were a senator?” Pharah’s brows crinkled at Satya.

“I figured the less you knew about me, the safer you’d be. I… I only needed a lift to the core worlds…” Satya inhaled, “I’m from a planet called Chalacta. The Vishkar corporation has an iron grip on my planet’s imports and exports–they’re practically the Trade Federation reborn. They’ve even gone so far as to monitor holonet dispatches so everything my people try to say about their situation is drowned out by propaganda! And they’ve cracked down even harder since the fall of the Empire.”

“Never a good sign…” said Winston slumping back in his seat.

“I was hoping to get help from the New Republic but… I know it’s not fair. I know you didn’t sign up for politics. But for the sake of my planet I beg you not to hand me over to them,” Satya squeezed Pharah’s arm and her gold eyes stared deep into Pharah’s, pleading, terrified.

“We won’t,” Pharah put her hand over Satya’s. She forced a smile. “You’re paying me to get you to the Core Worlds safely, right? What kind of legitimate freighter would I be if I didn’t do that?”

Satya smiled nervously as well, tucking her black hair back, “You pilots…” she said, glancing down demurely.

“Pharah…” Winston started warily, “If they can fire and send comms in hyperspace, we should probably think carefully about–”

The comm screeched and crackled and everyone put their hands over their ears as Sanjay came back online.

“I do not appreciate being ignored,” said Sanjay, “I was hoping we could negotiate like businessmen but I see the senator has infected you with her misguided ideals. No matter. Shoddy ships like yours blow up in hyperspace all the time.”

“The hell we will,” said Pharah, tightening her grip on the ship’s controls, she looked over to Satya and Winston, “Hold onto something.”

“Pharah–wait–you aren’t going to—” Winston started but Pharah veered the ship hard.

“I SAID HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!” Pharah hollered before shutting off the hyperspace drive and veering the Raptora out of the hyperspace lane. Everyone gripped their seats as the ship shuddered and whirled dizzyingly out of the lane into what seemed like a swarm of strobing colors through the viewport. All were slammed back hard into their seats from the g-force, grunting from the strain before Winston managed to bring a hand up from his side and activate the Raptora’s stabilizers to try and slow them down. The viewport went from a blinding strobe of colors to a sickening scramble of rapidly spinning asteroids and debris and distant planets.

“The controls! The controls!” Winston shouted as Pharah jerked forward and took ahold of the controls, trying to get back in control of the ship. Both Winston and Pharah manically alternated between steering and stabilizers to try and bring the Raptora back under control, finally, the ship slowed to a controllable somewhat controllable velocity.

“There,” Pharah panted, “See? That wasn’t so ba–AH!” She veered out of the way of an incoming asteroid before slamming down on the stabilizers again. She was breathing hard, gripping the controls of her ship with white knuckles. “Everyone okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” said Winston.

There was a beat of silence and both Pharah and Winston whirled around to see Satya slumped in her seat, her hair obscuring her face. 

“Oh no!” Pharah unbuckled her seatbelt and Winston took the controls from her as she scrambled over to Satya. “Satya? Uh—Senator?” Pharah brushed her hair back and put two fingers to Satya’s neck before breathing a sigh of relief. “She’s just passed out.”

“No wonder with coming out of hyperspace like that,” said Winston, “If I wasn’t used to your crazy piloting, I’d probably be passed out too.”

Something crackled at Satya’s side and Pharah glanced down to see that even unconscious, Satya was gripping something silver with white knuckles.

“Some kind of distress beacon?” said Pharah, clicking the comm channel open.

“Senator? Senator can you hear me?” A woman with spiky hair, large eyes, and goggles pushed up to her forehead appeared in a hologram, “Sena–Ah! You’re–! You’re not the senator.”

“Uh… hi?” Pharah said a little haplessly.

“Where’s Senator Vaz?!” the spiky haired woman demanded.

“She’s okay! She’s okay!” said Pharah, “She’s just… passed out.”

“Passed out?!” the woman’s eyes widened. Pharah shifted where she was seated to show Satya to the hologram, unconscious but unharmed.

“It’s just g-force…” said Pharah, glancing off.

“Stay where you are,” said the woman crisply, “We’re triangulating your location.”

“What? No–I can still get the Senator to the core worlds—” said Pharah, “I have this under control.”

“…except for the part where we just veered out of a hyperspace lane after being shot at,” said Winston.

“Shh!” said Pharah.

“Look,” said the woman, “We’re with the Rebel Alliance. We want the Senator to get to Chandrila just as much as you, don’t worry. We just figure you can use some backup.”

“Great,” said Pharah, glancing at Winston, “More politics.”

“Don’t worry. General Solo’s policies have granted a lot more leniency to uh… Free Traders,” said Tracer, looking around and clearly trying to case their ship. 

“We’re a legitimate freighter!” Pharah blurted out.

“Riiiiight,” said the woman, making a finger gun at her, “Look, you’ll be fine. Any friend of Senator Vaz is a friend of ours! We’ll be there soon!”

The hologram clicked off then. Pharah huffed and got back into her pilot’s seat, quickly clicking on the ship’s controls.

“Winston–How long to plot our next jump?” said Pharah, turning on the hyperspace computer.

“Our ship barely held together coming out of hyperspace and you want to put her right back in?!” said Winston.

“It’s definitely preferable to getting mixed up with the Rebel Alliance!” said Pharah, “Firing up the engines–”

A loud popping sound came from the back of the ship and they stalled in space, floating helplessly.

“…we burned all of our fuel on the stabilizers, didn’t we?” said Pharah.

“Yep,” said Winston.

“Ugggggghhhhhhhhh,” Pharah groaned set her forehead on the Raptora’s dashboard, looking almost as passed out as Satya.

“She seems nice, at least,” said Winston, “The woman on the hologram.”

“Not helping, Winston,” said Pharah.

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 2 November

Pray to all the gods I can keep this momentum up through the weekend. Here’s a secret: I wrote so much porn on the weekends during TBTRM because it’s easy and lets me hit goals easily on days where I don’t really get the dedicated time I crave for writing. And SMTCY has no porn. So god help me.

Previously: 1 Nov

“Why didn’t you tear it down?” Fray asked as they made camp not far from the Castrum. “I think they mean to,” X’shasi told him. “But the Alliance has had more pressing concerns since Operation Archon.” “You should have destroyed it,” Fray said. “There are still rats hiding in that hole.” “I know,” X’shasi admitted with a sigh, setting a bucket of scavenged scrub in front of Anthea. The chocobo whistled contentedly, beginning to strip the hardy leaves from their stalks. “You still could do something about it,” he suggested, lifting a hand to gesture to where his baldric was hung over the crux of a tree branch. “I have no idea how to use that,” X’shasi admitted. “And you still won’t ask?” She looked at him, getting an impression of his disappointment despite the helmet screening his face from view. She opened the pouch at her belt, winding the iron chain around her hand so that she could lift the blood-red crystal from its keeping there without touching it directly. “This is a soul crystal,” she said. “Isn’t it.” “Yes.” “I have one, and it’s the most precious thing I own. Why give it to me?” “It’s yours,” he said. “The sword too.” Shasi opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted: “I’ll tell you why after we’ve done something about the gods-damned Imperials.” X’shasi sighed. “Fine,” she said, looping the chain about her neck.

Soul crystals were meant to be worn close to the skin, so she tucked hers away inside her vest. She could feel its scalloped edges against her breastbone, warm against her skin despite the fact that she’d kept it tucked away all day. X’shasi listened for the voice, for a repeat of the last time, but all she could hear was the wind and the low hum of distant engines. And Fray’s laughter—a low, dark chuckle of satisfaction.

“Good,” he said. “Take the blade and leave the bird. We’ve got work to do.” X’shasi did, buckling it across her chest. She lifted her hand to the leather, the feel of it somehow familiar against her palm. She felt the pull to draw it, as though the blade longed for the touch of her hands. It was heavier still than it looked, even when she wrapped her left hand around it. She dropped back into a ready stance, left leg leading, the hilt just at the level of her temple. Fray stepped in front of her, the point of his blade inches from his golden eyes. “Good,” he said again. “Are we going?” X’shasi put up the sword. “What about you?” “I don’t keep a spare, if that’s what you’re asking,” Fray said. “I’ll do my part to keep you on your feet.”

They had no real chance at a stealthy ingress to the Castrum—and it didn’t seem like Fray wanted one. Even without their Legatus to direct them, the remnants of the XIV Legion maintained discipline enough to continue their patrols. X’shasi could hear the approach of booted feet. She pressed herself back against the black iron of the outer walls, pressed into a corner. “It seems a little reckless to throw me into a sword fight already,” X’shasi said. “It’s not a fair one,” Fray told her. “Don’t worry, Warrior of Light, you won’t die by their hands.” “It’s still a heavier blade than I’m used to.” “You know how to tap into your aether to weave spells,” Fray said. “Somewhere in your soul you can find a potent fuel for your strength, I’m sure. All dark knights can.”

Was that what he was? Was that what he thought she was? X’shasi didn’t have much time to consider the question as the Imperial turned the corner and stepped past the outcropping the pair had used for cover. X’shasi stepped out after him, lifting her right hand and pulling free the sword, wrapping both hands around the hilt and swinging it around to that same ready stance. It felt like she had done it a thousand times before. The soul crystal was warm against her chest.

The Imperial turned, bringing up his cermite targe. He seemed surprised to see her standing there, and drew his blade. His weathered hand gripped it tight, and he charged her recklessly. Easy, too easy, to lift her left wrist, to drop the blade to intercept his swing, bracing her footing. She advanced, her straight thrust meeting his shield with a resounding blow. X’shasi recalled Fray’s fight with the Eft, an old knight’s battle with dragons, a hundred blade strokes she had never made. She swung the sword in a diagonal cut, and he brought the targe up. The heavy steel left behind a scar upon the curved surface, despite the fact that her opponent was taller than her.

He fought with the caution of the old, though his sword-arm remained strong. What blows she could turn aside rang along the length of her blade, making her hands tingle. Her shoulders ached from the unaccustomed weight, but she grit her teeth and found her courage just the same. The Imperial landed a blow, tip of his gladius scoring her forearm deeply, blood already begun to stain the sleeve of her shirt. A moment later she felt conjury knitting her flesh—Fray at her shoulder, watching the scene grimly.

Is acting not better than reacting? Zenos asked from her memory, and she tried to put him from her thoughts, but the anger she felt recalling when last she had held a blade as large as this spurred her forward. The imperial could take only so many blows on his shield before the shock of them numbed his arm, his guard drooping. She slashed open the cermite weave of his uniform tunic, revealing the sallow flesh beneath, brown skin marked with black ink. Before she could stain both in crimson, remembrance struck her. She had seen tattoos of a similar sort before.

In Rhalgr’s Reach.

Her opponent fell to his knees. It would have been easy to end him, then, but she didn’t. He looked up at her, brown eyes luminous in the moonlight. She let her guard down, lifting one hand from the sword to put her fingers to the rim of his helmet, just where it joined to the face-guard that masked him. With a flick of her wrist she cast it back, cascading to the crystalline soil. Two eyes stared back at her own—two, only, set in the withered face of an aging highlander hyur.

“You’re,” he said. “The eikon-slayer.” “You’re a conscript,” she said in turn. “Where are you from?” “Ala Ghanna.” “Those tattoos. I’ve seen them before. You’re Fist of Rhalgr,” X’shasi named him. “Not for twenty years,” he said. “What’s your name?” “Wystan,” he said. It shuddered from him with effort. Every breath he took caused fresh crimson to seep from the wound. “What are you doing?” Fray asked. X’shasi ignored him, wiping her blade off on the meager grass. “Patch him up,” she said to Fray. She could smell the blood on the night air. “This isn’t what we came for,” Fray reminded her. “Ala Mhigo is free,” X’shasi told the conscript. “If you made it back there, what would you do?” “I thought they sacked Rhalgr’s Reach,” he said. He shivered, with the cold or with the thought. “The Crown Prince ...” “He did,” X’shasi said, swallowing the bitter tang in her throat. “And he wasn’t the first one. Despite that, it’s still standing. So. Wystan. What would you do?” “The Temple of the Fist?” “Still there,” X’shasi told him. “I’m told it’s dangerous. The coeurls have gone feral, some of the other guardians ...” “Then I would want to clear out the Temple.” “All this time, you kept the faith?” X’shasi asked, her ears perking. She could feel the amethyst cabochons of her earrings sway slightly with the motion. “That’s dangerous.” “Nobody in my unit knew what the tattoos meant,” Wystan said. “Patch him up, Fray,” X’shasi said. “You’re making a mistake,” the dark knight told her, but knelt to close the gash. The wound closed, leaving a pale scar that marred the dark ink. “I don’t think I am,” she said, offering Wystan her hand. “Ditch your uniform as soon as you can,” X’shasi told him. “There are caravans in Revenant’s Toll run by the House of Splendors—Rowena has a post in the Reach—and you could sign on to guard one. Don’t let them pay you in scrip, and don’t tell anyone you were an Imperial,” X’shasi told him. “I’ll come check on you when I get back, make sure you’re where you said.” “And if you’re not,” Fray threatened, “we’ll correct tonight’s oversight.” “I—I’ll be there,” Wystan said, pale with fear. “You had better.”

“Why do you think I told you to go to the Castrum?” Fray asked her as they returned to their camp. It was undisturbed. Anthea had curled up in a bed of grasses, head tucked under her wing for warmth. “I don’t know,” X’shasi admitted. She sat down beside the pit, and as Fray built a fire, X’shasi unsheathed the greatsword and laid it across her lap, oiling a cloth and beginning to wipe down the blade. “Did you hear the voice?” “No.” “I didn’t think you would. Not under those circumstances.” “Is that what you were trying to do?” Shasi asked. The light of embers flickered over the blade. “Make me hear it again?” “Let you hear it again,” Fray told her. “There is … a practice, a ritual, known to us as dark knights which allows us to connect with the hidden parts of our soul. The pain, the fear, the anger that most keep hidden, that is what drives us. You felt that, at least.” She thought of the sudden burst of strength that had come upon her when she remembered the execution in the menagerie, and she nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Good. Then there is still hope. When you perform the ritual of communion, you strengthen your ability to connect with that part of yourself, and—perhaps--you will hear the voice more clearly. But,” he said. “But?” “But the first part of communion is bloodshed.” “I see,” she said. “If you push yourself to the limits of your ability in a fight,” Fray said, “you will feel yourself truly alive. I know this, and you know this.” She lifted her head from her task to look at him, blinking once, slowly. “Yes,” she said unsurely, unnerved by that truth laid bare. “What do you think the voice is?” Fray asked her. “I don’t know,” she said.” “Some dark knights say it is a source of guidance. That it will lead us to someone we’re destined to protect. Knowing that … don’t you want to hear it again?” X’shasi looked back down at the sword with a sigh. “I think,” she said, “the person I was destined to protect is gone already.”

On the far side of the mountain range, in the northern reaches of Thanalan, they found much more acceptable targets. Voidsent had blood enough to satisfy the needs of Fray’s ritual, and in the shadow of Dalamud’s Talons, Fray and X’shasi stood together.

“Close your eyes,” he bid her, “and give me your hands.” She shot him a look, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a smile, but X’shasi did as he bid her. His gauntlets were cool against her palms, but his grasp was gentle. “Breath deep,” he said. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Let it fill you, from root to core to crown.” She did, and could smell the ozone of ambient aether from the crystalline structures around them. “Slower,” he said. The wind carried the scent of ceruleum from the Bluefog fields. She felt the chill of the night air in her lungs, and was glad of the reprieve. “Slower,” Fray murmured, and though his voice was softer she could still hear the rumbling quality at its core. “Feel the night around you, be enveloped in its darkness. Listen to my voice,” he said. “And to your heartbeat.” She could hear its murmur beneath it all—beneath Fray’s grave-soil whisper and the distant chatter of coblyns. “Listen for the other,” he said.

Despite his grasp on her hands, she felt as though she slipped away from him, away from Thanalan, too light for her body. She felt as though she floated just above the surface of an ocean deep and vast, the sound of its currents the whispered prayers of a thousand petitioners. The thin skin of reality kept her from understanding that susurrus as she drifted. Shasi pressed against that membrane, slipped through, and at last could hear.

The pain, said the voice. The neverending pain of flesh and soul … I cannot long endure. One threat ends and another arises. War is a hunger never satisfied, and I must brave its jaws. Again and again. It suffocates me. How can I save them?

Then the voice was lost among the maelstrom of whispers, and she felt Fray’s hands in her own, the pounding of her heart, the way she gasped for breath as though she, too, suffocated. He stepped in to steady her, folding an arm about her shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he said. “I heard it,” X’shasi said, voice ragged. “Whoever they are, they’re in pain. In danger.” “But not dead yet.” “Can you really teach me to protect them?” “I can,” Fray said. “Then, please. Stay with me,” X’shasi begged him. “Teach me. Teach me to be a dark knight.”

[msdoctorwho]

Fire Meet Gasoline, Ch. 8

Extensive Research

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461255/chapters/34064117

And I can barely breathe When you’re here loving me Fire meet gasoline Fire meet gasoline Burn with me tonight -Sia

All warfare is based on deception. -Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”

The chamber powered down into silence, but his pulse thrummed restlessly in his ears. He’d pushed well past his usual time and was still brimming with nervous energy.  

It had only happened once. Would he resume his old routine as though nothing had changed, or would he go instead and show her what it was to be with him when he wasn’t at half-strength?

He was in the air outside her balcony before he knew it, watching the curtains ripple outward in the night wind.

Still he hesitated, and as usual, she made his mind up for him. She stepped outside, only a silhouette against the warm glow within. Curving shadows and flickering hair, she was the next best thing to naked in a wrap so insubstantial light shone straight through it.

Red.

It drew him like a beacon, a tractor beam with an irresistible pull, until his hands found her waist, his mouth searching for hers.

He came at her like a moth to a flame, but she knew it was her wings getting singed, playing with fire, latching onto a thing that would never wholly be hers.

Tonight. Tonight is enough.

He meant to overwhelm her with his onslaught, and he did. She could barely breathe beneath the assault of his kiss. Payback was a bitch. His iron grip trapped her against him, prisoner to the demand of his erection.

She rolled her hips against the steel of him, stoking her own fire, until he moaned in her mouth. She didn’t know he’d floated them to the bed until she felt the silk at her back.

It was everything he’d wanted, his hands full of her against a field of red. He spread her hair so he could see it, twist his hands in it, pull on it, as he captured her neck. Licking, biting, claiming.

He was no master at this, but she was so reactive to every touch it was easy to learn her, to keep her just on the edge, as long as he wanted. He made her come once, quickly, just so he could have her begging for hours afterward.

It was torture, she knew he was getting off on tormenting her, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t deserved it, and it was such a sweet agony.

“Please, Vegeta,” she gasped, the way she knew he wanted, almost sobbing in need.

“Please what, woman?” he growled, his fingers slipping away from where she needed them, a deliberate tease.

She finally decided that enough was enough. It wasn’t fair that he remain so composed while she was near-hysterical from want. She shoved at the waist of his training shorts until he obliged her, until they were skin to skin together.

She took retribution with her mouth, tasting him, tormenting him, giving no quarter. He dug his heels into the bed, muscles straining, unable to muffle the animal sounds she wrenched from his throat.

He twisted his hands into the sheets, not trusting himself to touch her hair, not right now.

“Fuck,” he rasped, inspiring her to try harder, hollowing her cheeks, pulling him deeper.

“Stop. Stop!” he commanded her, desperate.

Pulling her off of him, he flipped her onto her back, the fire of his gaze so intense it seared the image onto her brain forever. She’d waited her whole life to be wanted like this.

At last he pressed her into the mattress, pinning her with his full weight as he breached her.

“Yes,” she cried, pulling at him, but he would not be moved any faster, keeping his movement torturously slow, deliberate, making her feel every inch.

In his unearthly strength she found the freedom to struggle, to writhe and push back against his invasion, with no effect on his pace but amplifying her own ecstasy. She beat her fist on his shoulder, and he grunted, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

He was losing himself, losing touch with everything that was not the inferno of her eyes or the breath-stealing grasp of her body.

“Do it,” she demanded. Imperial, glorious. “Ignite.” The Saiyan military command to power up.

He pulled her hair sharply, a reprimand, but switched on his aura as she wanted. When the surge hit her, she convulsed, crying out, biting into his shoulder. Brimming with his power, her weak human teeth managed to break skin, marking him, claiming him, and she didn’t even know it. He refused to think about it. It meant nothing.

There was only this fire, this moment. Now.

The electricity licking through his veins heightened everything, sending him over the edge as her muscles locked around him, her screaming sweet in his ears.

And then, there was nothing but the hammering of her weak human heart under his ear, her hands in his hair, the taste of her sweat. The air held the heaviness of ozone and sex, a waning storm, lulling him to sleep on the rolling wave of her breath.

For a while, it was the best existence he’d ever had. He trained as hard as he wanted, he ate his fill, and he spent the rest of his hours learning the contour of her hips in the dark, the strength of her hands around him, the butterfly-wing brush of her lips on his skin.

He slept like he’d never had nightmares. He took rest days without grumbling, watching his power grow. Not enough, not nearly enough, but better progress than before.

He should have been concerned. In any other circumstance he’d have been near-insane with desperation to make it happen faster, somehow, now. But he found himself able to focus, to relax as much as he’d ever been able to, because her confidence in him was absolute. She never doubted he would ascend, never minimized the importance of it, never spoke in terms of “if” -- only “when.” Her belief was contagious, and he let it bolster him.

She convinced him to take her to the ocean, one rest day. The idea held no appeal for him, but he had to admit, once they were there, that the ebb and flow of the surf was soothing, the sun pleasant on his skin.

“Isn’t this nice, Vegeta?” She stretched, pulling her bikini taut against her body almost obscenely, and he knew she knew it.

He grunted in response.

“Have you ever been to the ocean?” she continued. “Just to hang out, I mean, not to kill a planet of fish or something.”

Her ability to joke about genocide surprised him. He supposed it was her attempt to get him to talk about his past without immersing both of them in the morass of uncertain agency and morality. He would not talk about it often, preferably never at all.

He decide to indulge her in this, a relatively safe topic. “Once. We didn’t get much leave. Raditz and Nappa dragged me to some galactic resort to chase tail.” He paused, frowning. “Literally, the locals were supposed to be Saiyan-like, with tails.”

“You don’t sound like you had fun.”

“I was too young to appreciate the appeal.”

“Ah.”

“I killed a lot of fish.”

“I imagine you did.” The image of a small Vegeta and his conquered mountain of fish made her smile, until she realized at that age he’d already amassed a body count beyond her imagination. Not for the first time, she hated Frieza, she hated his father.

“It was all right. Nappa showed me how to cook them. We didn’t get fresh food a lot in space.”

They sat in silence a while, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare arm while he wanted to squirm away.

“You know, if you wanted to--” she searched in vain for a word like apologize in Saiyan and came up wanting. “--make amends, or something, we could wish them back.”

“What?” He was caught completely off-guard.

“It sounds like maybe you feel a tiny bit bad about vaporizing Nappa.”

He didn’t respond. Unwilling to confirm, unable to deny.

Sensing his discomfort with the conversation, she let it drop. “Just think about it.”

He made a noncommittal grunt.

“Maybe one of them’s a better conversationalist,” she muttered darkly, and for that he zapped her.

She smacked him ineffectually, smiling in spite of herself.

When the sun began to set, she sat up and asked, “Hey, do you want to see some of what I’ve recovered lately?”

He honestly didn’t know. “Like what?”

“Art, mostly.” She dug her tablet out of her bag.

The image she showed him was the mural in the Great Hall where his father’s throne sat, the throne that should have been his one day, and it hit him like a direct shot to the chest.

She put it away, quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t need to see it. But it’s good to know it still exists somewhere.”

She nodded, uncertain of his mood, saying nothing.

He toyed with the condensation on his beverage, with its ridiculous paper umbrella. “He erased us from existence. Purged every record of our history and culture, made it a crime to possess any remnant or reminder of who we were.”

He looked at her, and his fathomless gaze pulled at her soul, pulling her toward him, until her head rested on his shoulder.

He said into her hair, “It may not seem like it, but I do appreciate your work.”

An age of silence passed, while they watched the sun set. The dying light painted everything red, almost reminding him of home.

“Why, Bulma?”

“Why what?” she asked, unnerved and pleased by her name on his lips.

“Why, everything?” The increasing darkness (and probably liquor) loosened his tongue. “Why did you invite me to live with you? Why help me train? Why...this?” The implied subtext was: Why would you give yourself to one like me?

She took a long time answering, considering carefully. “When we wished you back, I felt responsible. You didn’t ask to be trapped on Earth with us. Where else could I have sent you?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “And you were cute.”

He remembered her saying that. His face was on fire, even now, even after he’d been balls-deep in her, had her legs wrapped around his head as he tasted her heat, had her lips circling his cock.

She went on, oblivious, “I wanted to help you train, because you reminded me of myself. I believe you can surpass Goku. You have the drive, the knowledge, the heritage. It’s already yours.”

His throat tightened at the open regard she expressed for him, even above her precious Goku.

But he didn’t understand. “Why would you want to help me kill Kakarot?”

She smiled at him then, indulgently. “You aren’t going to kill Goku,” she said, amused. “Why would you do that?”

He thought the answer was fairly clear.

She continued, “When you surpass him, who else will rise up and challenge you? Who will nip at your heels, inspiring you to keep training to stay on top?”

Her arms tightened around him, as she shivered a bit in the evening breeze. “Wouldn’t you be bored without him?”

Why was she always right? Of course he’d be bored. Purposeless. Aimless. Adrift.

“As for this,” she paused, almost shy, voice gone soft. “Well, I like you. I really like you, the person you are when you’re allowed to be free.” Her eyes were the boundless freedom of cerulean sky, a limitless emotion he could not name.

He didn’t respond, only easily gathered her up in one arm and their things in the other, and took her home before she got too chilled.

Had anyone ever said such a thing to him before?

The problem with announcing a master scheme of seduction and then executing it with consummate skill is that any unforeseen result will not be accepted as unintentional.

“You’re what?” he screeched.

“You heard me,” she said, eerily calm.

“You don’t seem all that surprised,” he accused.

“I’ve had a few days of throwing up to get used to the idea,” she snarked.

“This was all part of your strategy, wasn’t it? A plan to tether me to this backwater mudball?” He was incensed, a consuming anger stoked by fear and loss of control.

Bulma had had enough. “Come the fuck on, Your Highness.” That particular Saiyan term for royalty was never used to the monarch’s face, and he knew she knew that.

She stabbed a finger into his chest, hissing, “The day Bulma Brief gets herself knocked up to hold on to a man is the day I nuke us all into orbit myself!” Her eyes were a firestorm.

He shoved her hand away. “You low-class, flightless, whore!”

She was not surprised Saiyans considered ‘flightless’ a worse insult than ‘whore.’

Her gaze narrowed. “How exactly am I the only one at fault here? We’ve well established even royal prudes like you know how babies are made!”

He spluttered, “You made a poor wager if you expected a Saiyan prince to stick around and raise your half-breed spawn!”

She laughed in incredulity. “No one would take a bet on any Saiyan sticking around to be a father.” Her arms flung wide. “You lot stick your babies in pods and shoot them into space!”

She refused to release him from the hold of her gaze. “And then when they get hurt on their ‘mission’ and forget what they’re supposed to do, somehow it’s their fault? Have you ever thought about what it was like for Goku?”

She was furious. “He lived like an animal until an old man found him, and then the first time he turned Oozaru he killed the only person who cared about him. I don’t think he’s loved anything with more than half his heart since.”

The last thing he wanted to feel now, or ever, was empathy for Kakarot. “Love is weakness!” he spat. “This was a mistake, it’s all a mistake.”

He blasted a hole in her wall, overflowing with rage, needing to direct it somewhere. “I’ll never ascend here, not with you and all of these distractions.”

Powder settled around them, and the flame of her fury had gone cold, iced-over, immovable as a glacier. "Maybe you are right," she said, a blast of winter.

She was the queen, and him the supplicant. She extended an arm, indulgently regal. He felt low before her disdain, and hated her for it. “There’s the door,” she said. “The pod’s got a full tank. No one’s stopping you.”

Some part of him wanted her to try, but she had already walked away.

[chocobutt-trash]

Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice

aka A VERY BELATED VALENTINES DRABBLE for the fifth and final winner of the valentines lucky draw! @chocobro-hijinks​, this one’s for you. So terribly sorry it was so delayed, but I hope the fact I got somewhat carried away makes up for it :D

Warnings: not a lot, really. Some language. Strange, I know.

Read on Archive of Our Own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910430

Or read below the cut:

The air glistened with the fallout of a thousand golden sparks. Remnant strips of metal and machinery lay about in disarray, and in the cracks and the corners, small fires burned themselves out into smoulders. The fighting had lasted hours, and now the Prince and the Advisor sat at a makeshift campsite, trying to regain their strength before the turmoil started once again. Prince, yes, Ignis thought, but the man beside him was not Ignis’s prince. It was decidedly aggravating, too, when the man was hell-bent on peppering their sparse conversation with little digs.

           ‘Don’t call me “boy” when we’re more or less the same age,’ Ignis said softly.

           ‘I’m six years your senior,’ Ravus replied stiffly.

           Ignis propped his glasses further up on his nose and watched the white-haired man who was — heavens forbid — six years his senior, didn’t he know, crouch on the dry carbon earth and brush dust off his pearl-shaded overcoat.

           ‘Six years means little in an age where the Empire casts its shadow over decades. As well you know.’

           ‘You know nothing of the Empire. And I’ll call you boy if I so wish. Being hand to an incompetent princeling is not enough to impress me.’

           ‘As if I’m trying to.’

           The sparks came to settle. Ravus glowered. Ignis simmered away as quietly as the soup he was stirring.

           He picked up the spices. Ravus was still glowering. Another moment’s consideration, and Ignis threw an extra dash of chilli into the soup. Well, extra was putting it rather lightly. It was an unholy amount of chilli powder. His years of training under a diplomatic school had rendered his stomach like iron and his palate strong enough to withstand even the most pungent of spices — for how could one be a Royal Advisor with any degree of efficacy if one could not handle foreign cuisine with utter aplomb? — and he doubted Ravus had received the same level of training under the fist of the Empire.

           Perhaps an extra hot chilli soup would still the dear Tenebraean prince’s tongue. At least, for a little while.

           He barely spoke at all as he finished up the food preparations, and as he dished out the meal, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of Ravus’s stomach growling uncomfortably.

           ‘So you do have human parts, still,’ Ignis murmured, and his snide joke was not lost on the man, who accepted the soup with his Magitek prosthetic extended.

           ‘Shut up.’

           ‘I mean no disrespect.’

           ‘Of course you don’t.’

           Something about the ridiculousness of their current situation made Ignis start to laugh, and then, to his surprise, Ravus laughed too. They stopped after only a few seconds, both a little embarrassed, a little caught out by their rare moment of weakness.

           Then, the soup. The attack happened with a whimper and not a bang, a slow increase in spice level that hit at full force only after numerous spoonfuls had already been taken. First, a sniff. Then a watering of the eyes. A look of confusion, a twitch of the facial muscles, and then the rapid, ferocious breathing that meant the heat had increased.

           ‘Astrals, what the — what the hell’d you put in this?’ Ravus swallowed far too fast, clapping a hand to his mouth and smacking his lips in distress.

           Ignis merely smiled serenely, swallowing his own mouthful without breaking face. Ravus flustered around for some water, and Ignis let him find it on his own. It was quite entertaining to watch.

           ‘It’s a Leiden speciality,’ he said. ‘Prairie style soup. With no dearth of chilli peppers.’

           Ravus swore.

           ‘It’s… a bit hot for my taste.’

           Ignis did not say learn how to handle it. Like me. He didn’t need to. Everything he wanted to say was spoken in the stare he reserved for the pale man sitting before him, skin now flushed pink with the spice overload.

           Now the moment of weakness returned as they both began to laugh again. Perhaps it was the oddity of the entire situation, getting to them. The whole escapade was ridiculous, and they had been thrust together with little ceremony and little say in the matter.

           It would be a lie to say Ignis wasn’t growing quite fond of the ill-mannered prince. They both found themselves in similar situations, serving different nations with the same level of determination, in order to protect the ones they loved. He was actually finding he had … quite a bit of respect for Ravus.

           Funny, how things worked out.

           And now he felt a little guilty about the soup.

           Ravus stopped sniggering and finished the rest of the water. ‘If you want more, you’ll have to head back to the stockpile yourself,’ he muttered.

           Now Ignis’s smile was softer. ‘If that’s the case, so be it.’

           They settled into something akin to a comfortable silence after that. Ignis took the time to clean his shoes, and Ravus removed his overcoat to rub at his shoulders.

           It was only when Ravus removed the Magitek prosthetic from his shoulder fitting that Ignis realised just how much the battle had affected him. The tendons around the joint were pulled taut as bowstrings, while the muscles seemed all bunched up and solid as rock. It looked painful. It looked uncomfortable, and must be in no small part due to the extra effort of maintaining the prosthetic. If that stayed the way it was, Ravus would be at a disadvantage when the troops returned.

           ‘Perhaps you should allow me to relieve some of that tension. I have been trained in massage, you know.’

           Ravus’s reply was acid sharp. ‘I think not.’

           ‘Come now—’

           ‘Ugh, don’t talk like that, you sound like Ardyn.’

           Ignis doubted he could draw his mouth into any worse of a grimace. But, more telling was the look of distaste Ravus was currently shooting him. It seemed that, between them, there was no love lost for the dear old Chancellor.

           ‘It seems we’ve found something we can both agree on, then.’

           ‘And what is that?’

           ‘That the Imperial Chancellor is a complete and utter prick.’

           No sooner had the curse left his mouth than Ravus choked out a laugh.

           ‘It’s … strange, hearing you swear.’

           ‘I can say more. Did you miss all the times I shouted bloody hell out on the battlefield, there?’

           ‘I think I was a bit too preoccupied with the task at hand,’ Ravus shot back, and the sharpness was back in his voice, but there, below the surface, was still the wry camaraderie. It was … actually quite cute. ‘And yes. Seems we agree.’

           The idea Ignis was getting was partly in response to the growing heat in his groin, and partly in response to the increasing feeling he had that the two of them had a … well, a spark of sorts, going.

           ‘I really do think we should work out that tension, though. I am rather talented.’ Ignis gave him a pointed look, one that indicated without a shadow of a doubt the kind of tension he was thinking of. And it caught Ravus off-guard, that much was clear by the sudden parting of his lips, the innocent look that crossed his face that seemed so out of place there. Then those white-as-snow eyebrows furrowed. It seemed fury was an acceptable fallback when he felt out of control, and that only made Ignis wonder — if he felt out of control, did that mean he was… keen on the idea?

           ‘Is this the sort of thing you engage in with you dear Chosen King, now?’

           A flash of anger crossed Ignis’s face. He was all heated and riled up, yes, but that didn’t mean Ravus could trash talk Noctis like that. ‘Don’t you dare insult the Crown Prince!’

           ‘I shall insult him all I like.’

           ‘You know, you really are insufferable—’

           Ravus silenced him with a sudden kiss. It was rushed enough that their lips were smashed together with an urgency that made Ignis wonder if another Magitek mech wasn’t on its way in the distance. Another second and Ignis would not have been able to look to check, because Ravus’s fervent, angry movements knocked his glasses clean off his face. The frustration, the stress from the fighting, all of it reached a peak and Ignis kissed back just as hard. It was almost enough to make him laugh once again, because it felt a little like a contest. One would push and the other would push back. Ever evenly matched.

           Then the heat in his veins grew too strong and his hands joined in the action, spreading their way over Ravus’s half-undressed upper body, feeling every knot of muscle and sinew and pressing, stroking, as if appraising the man’s strength. As for Ravus, he had his one hand at the side of Ignis’s face, holding him like a prize while his mouth stayed claiming, claiming and possessing every inch of flesh it could find.

           The hardness in Ignis’s pants only increased when Ravus let his hand slip down to Ignis’s throat. A subtle threat, and a tantalising one. Ignis smirked into the next kiss, and dared him to grip harder. Then, hands spread across Ravus shoulder blades, he pulled the taller man in, falling back against the floor.

           Well, Ignis had learned one thing. Ravus could handle the heat after all.

[askbranwen]

4. A drabble in which my muse dies on the battlefield. (For the Angst, do it!)

(So apparently I decided to make this one a goddamn novel. Brace for that angst.)

The first sign of trouble was Raana's voice when she voxed in.

"Squad Raana requesting support - Shit! Heavy contact!"

Raana was unflappable, a professional soldier through and through. Over the vox she was always level-headed, a collected cool voice. But something had changed that and now she was shouting and swearing as the vox was overcome with static.

Branwen and Kaedes were the first to respond to the call, perhaps deciding that the Shadow Captain and Moritat Prime were enough to deal with whatever threat that Raana had encountered.

Neither of them had expected a Leviathan Dreadnought.

The hulking walker was half again as large as a Contemptor-pattern, daubed in the cuneiform-scripted red of the Word Bearers Legion. One arm ended in a wicked looking pincer claw, while the other hefted a massive four-barreled cannon that boomed deafeningly. High caliber shells sprayed the ruined building where Raana's squad had found cover, and Branwen winced as three Raven Guard died in wet explosions of armor and meat.

"An airstrike would be lovely right now, dear." Kaedes grunted, crouching against a spar of debris.

Branwen sighed. "Stop calling me that - and we can't. They've got a damned Deredeo set up that's been driving off anything short of a Thunderhawk. And before you ask, Ligeria is not available." She spared a glance at the building, but snapped back into cover as a volkite beam washed past.

Of course it has volkite calivers.

"Well, shit." Kaedes grinned, reaching down to his belt to pull a melta charge from it. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."

Branwen nodded, unholstering a charge of her own. She keyed her vox. "Raana, pull your squad back. We'll take care of this. ETA on a Support Squad is two minutes."

She looked back to Kaedes, trying to shake the gut feeling that things were about to go incredibly wrong. There was no time for that - not on the battlefield where every moment mattered.

"Alright, I go high, you go low. Stick to cover, for the Emperor's sake."

Kaedes smirked. That damn roguish smirk. She felt herself smile in response.

"You'd better come out of this breathing, babe." He said.

She kissed him, a quick and rough exchange between two warriors, full of adrenaline and tempting death.

"That's the last time you call me babe."

And with that, she fired her jump pack and was airborne. Kaedes took off at a low run, keeping to the strewn rubble and destroyed buildings as he looped around the opposite side of the Leviathan. From her vantage point, Branwen spied the remnants of Raana's squad, four Astartes leaving the rear entrance of their makeshift bunker and falling back to safety.

Then the Leviathan noticed her. With an unintelligible roar, the crimson beast brought it's storm cannon to bear. Branwen had been ready for this, tossing a shroud bomb towards the dreadnought that exploded in a storm of thermal smoke and electronic-fouling metal fragments.

All the same, the dreadnought fired and the sky was filled with whickering anti-vehicle rounds. Branwen was pushed to her limits - rolling, diving and accelerating with her flight pack as tracers missed her by inches, causing the energy field of her Iron Halo to fizzle with blue hexagonal patterns.

Just a few more seconds...

Suddenly, a new noise accompanied the world-ending crash of the Leviathan storm cannons - the distinctive thunderclap of a pair of Fulcrum Hand Cannons. Kaedes was firing, unloading shot after shot into the dreadnought in an attempt to distract it. He was rewarded with a spray of sparks from the pincer-arm's elbow joint and a pained shriek.

"What are you doing?!" Branwen yelled over the vox, as much to herself as to Kaedes.

The Leviathan jerked it's storm cannon towards the Moritat just as Branwen swooped in. Chest-mounted volkite cannons fired reflexively, but a quick burst of thrust from Branwen's jump pack brought her up and out of the line of fire, beams searing into the sky. She landed on top of the Dreadnought on one knee, hands already working to prime the melta bomb and activate its' magnetic clamps.

The Leviathan roared again, another static-laced blurt of Colchisian as it swatted at Branwen with it's pincer claw. The blow was clumsy though, a combination of the damaged elbow joint and the fact that the machine was never designed to fight targets that were on top of it, and she ducked the assault, leaning back to plant the melta charge on the reactor housing on the rear of the Dreadnought.

Just as Branwen was about to leap free, the Leviathan's storm cannon fired. It was a quick burst, less than a half-second but over the vox she heard a noise that made her stomach drop out.

Kaedes Nex let out a loud exclamation of pain.

She froze, looking up in horror from her vantage point to the alleyway where the Moritat had been standing. It was ravaged by cannon-fire. Blood painted the building walls.

Then the melta charge detonated, taking the Leviathan Dreadnought with it. The explosion threw Branwen clear, rupturing the forcefield of her Iron Halo but doing no further damage. She came down hard on her front, but barely took a moment to look back at the burning wreck or catch her breath. She was already up and running down the alley to where the Moritat Prime had fallen.

It was much worse than she could have imagined.

Kaedes was slumped against a half-fallen wall that was now pock-marked with foot-wide craters. His legs - left at the thigh and right at the knee ended in ragged bloody strips. His right arm was a mess of tangled armor and tissue from a glancing blow. Worst of all, one of the storm-cannon shells had passed through his torso, leaving a wide smoking hole in his breastplate. Somehow, he had still managed to keep a grip on his hand cannons.

Despite it all, he still gave Branwen his roguish grin as he saw her. His eyes were tired, his mouth flecked with blood.

"Bran." He choked out, good hand resting his Fulcrum Cannon down to take her hand. "You get the bastard?"

"You stupid arsehole." Branwen stammered, fumbling for a field kit for all the good it would do. "I got him alright. Just stay with me, Kaedes. You're gonna be fine."

She keyed her comm. "Medic! I need CASEVAC here!" She yelled, finally producing a painkiller injector from a belt pouch. Kaedes pushed it away.

"Too late for that, love." He rasped. "Dread was shooting at you. Got pissed off. If he hit you..." That damned grin again. "You'd probably look like this, or worse. 'Least it didn't hit my face." His laugh descended into a fit of bloody coughing.

Branwen could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She was holding his hand tight now, staring into his eyes. Their focus was fading fast.

"Just hang on, alright?" Branwen urged him, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She needed to hold it together, they were in the middle of a battle and Astartes were relying on her. "Addi's almost here, she'll get you patched up. You just gotta stay with me a bit longer, okay Kaed? Can you do that?"

"You're a shitty liar, Bran. Too honest." Kaedes smiled weakly. That got a choked combination of a sob and laugh from Branwen. His eyes suddenly focused once more, becoming intent as he reached down for his Hand Cannons. Even with his mangled arm, he spun the weapons to present them handle-first towards Branwen.

"Don't need these anymore. Not where I'm going."

Branwen swallowed hard, staring back at him. She took hold of the weapons, then leaned in, kissing him hard. She ignored her leaking eyes and the taste of blood on Kaedes's mouth. She broke the kiss after a long, lingering moment, pressing her forehead to his. His breathing was very quiet now.

"I love you, Kaedes Nex." She whispered.

The Moritat Prime breathed his last a second later, a smile on his face.

-

Apothecary Addivaria was too late.

She had been en route with the support unit when the Captain's frantic vox-call came through, and took off as fast as her power armor would carry her. She left the careful advance of the squad and stealth behind, sprinting to where her heads-up display marked Branwen.

She passed Raana and the exhausted remnants of her squad, moving to link up with reinforcements. Further on, the burning wreck of a Leviathan Dreadnought, shell casings strewn about it in a radial pattern.

She came to a stop in the shell-pocked alleyway where Kaedes Nex's body sat. Branwen sat next to him, her head on his shoulder, crying softly.

Addi hung her head, shamed. She instinctively took a step towards Branwen. She was the Shadow Captain that looked out for them all, Addi's friend for more than half a century.

"Captain," She mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

Addi knelt down next to her Captain. Branwen had been there since Lycaeus, someone to look up to, someone that any Astartes in the Shadow Force could rely on. She had to help in any way she could - her skills as a Medicae were sadly irrelevant now. Reaching into her armor, she fished out a small brass aquila and a tattered book.

"May I pray for him?" Addi had never asked this before, she knew Branwen did not believe as she did. In fact, Branwen had urged the Apothecary to abandon her beliefs, that it transgressed against the Imperial Truth. Addi didn't know why she asked, only that it needed to be done.

To her surprise, the Shadow Captain nodded, her pauldrons heaving.

"Be at peace, warrior of the Imperium." Addivaria began, reading from the little worn book from a page she had marked and dog-eared many times over. "The God-Emperor presents you with this gift of peace, of rest from this war unending. Your sins from this world are absolved as your pain ends, and you will ascend from this mortal world to the place He has set aside for you. Rest now, for your fight has ended."

@ask-the-moritatprime

[thesong-spectre]

Tales of Azden: Enslaved by a Sorcereress

ONE

Ashidavar Ruins, Somewhere in Cyrodil, 15th Day of the Evening Star

Azden Riseri valued what little light the orange flames of his torch made down the seemingly endless dark corridor. Usually a retched stench seeped into these kinds of places from damp corners and the moisture that outside air swept through cracks and holes in the walls. Naturally rats would squeak and scutter against the floors and spiders made homes near the delicious morsels. And at this point of his life Azden had seen so many skeletons that he could draw a perfectly detailed one from memory. But none of these things were present within the cramped spaces of Ashidavar Ruins. And that worried Azden beyond imagining.

As a self-proclaimed artifact hunter, Azden took great value and pride in knowing his stuff. In digging up the past so others can admire history in the present, in discovering the secrets of Tamriel’s greatest magi, or gripping onto the last remnants of the dwarves. But here, it was like the rooms were perfectly preserved all save for the eerie darkness. He could hear his own heartbeat, it bothered him.

The young Redguard turned the gaze of his unique violet eyes, the one’s he had since that magical incident, and directed it toward the faint white light of snow a few meters behind him that hinted at the entrance. He wanted to remember it one last time before he stepped deeper into the shadows. He ran a hand through his short but curly black hair and took a deep breath. 20 years of age, six feet tall, broad-shoulder and strong athletic figure, and yet these simple walls made him think at any moment this place would crush him and his puny mortal form. His special cloth weave jacket and black pants and boots no longer felt so protective, even though both had stopped a good arrow or two in their past.

The further he descended into darkness the weaker his torch got. But he sensed no chill in the air, nor moisture from the snowfall outside. Maybe the shadows tickled and grabbed at his light? Slowly pulling apart the beacon he held so close to himself, only caring to distance it enough to not burn his skin. Ashidivar ruins, ‘The living evils of the Black Mage’ That’s how the commoners described it. The informant’s story hadn’t been far off from that. He hadn’t had much time to read into this Black Mage, but apparently some long time ago, how time was usually written, a Breton adept in a strange necromancy had founded a haven for himself. More of a temple where he and his acolytes and worshippers had lived, terrorizing locals for years. Kidnapping people and bringing them into his haven to do experiments and what not, dark things, evil things. No one knew for sure because no one had ever stepped involuntarily in and made it back out. The place was sure built more like a prison than a temple. Deep underground rooms lined equally along an endless corridor…

For his own sanity, Azden prayed the corridor had an end. For his own safety, he gripped a spear tight in his right hand in case the gods didn’t answer. No creature had come within a mile of the broken stone arches on the hilltop outside, the doorway had not a vine intertwined in iron grates. The life outside must’ve known about the death within, Azden started to think it would’ve been better to heed the warnings. His eyes almost shot open when a new light appeared a not far walk ahead, a soft purple glow. The darkness of the corridor slowly spread thin and finally fell to the torchlight once more. Azden increased the pace of his steps, yearning to be away from the possible horrors of the accursed darkness.

A chamber. One for arcane and occult practices of some sort, filled with dusty destroyed tomes and broken remains of many researcher’s tools. One’s Azden had never seen anything like before. But the stunning item, the thing he came to receive, his reward for braveness or stupidity, he always which one later, sat on the floor in the room. A tablet of some strange metal, shiny like cleaned steel but fine feeling and looking like a silk, whatever it was didn’t come from this plane. Multiple symbols were engraved onto it, letting out the soft glow that reminded him of the color in his eyes, a discomforting thought. Any time he discovered something with strong magic presence he felt hesitant to take it. The tablet must have been the length of a nightstand and the width of a table, yet it weighed nothing and felt natural to hold. He stared at it, maybe a bit too long. It barely fit in his backpack, but it fit.

Azden walked back toward the entrance, not bothering to take anymore items with him. Quick and efficient this time around. Some placed shouldn’t be poked around in. Though maybe it was the relief that he could leave task free, but for a moment the darkness of that same corridor felt inviting. Nice even, and the subjects of his work within it. The king would pay for his treach—

Wait, what was he thinking about!? Azden gulped and shook his head, the darkness held weight once more. He would bring this curse to that Imperial buyer and he would be rid of it soon. Enjoying a cold drink, warm meal, and soft bed at the closest inn before nightfall, yeah.

At least, that was the plan.

Dead Man’s Drink, Cyrodil, 15th day of the Evening Star

The sorcereress’ patience grew thin with every wavering moment that she had to seduce the drunken fool that gave answers with half-sense to them. It would have been much easier to read his mind and then blast him away with a firebolt. But the unwanted attention would ruin all of the delicacies put into her elaborate plans. She sighed to herself and gave a seductive and manipulating look that boasted the beauty of the Dunmer, or any of the elven races in which they were blessed to have. Her hands to her chin in an innocent girl façade with her arms purposefully placed to squeeze the size of her breasts a bit further out of her wine-strewn tunic than usual, she pretended to be wooed by the Imperial that stank of ale breath and cheese. Ugh. Just remember what you’re doing this for, what’s on the line.

“I would love to hear more about how you saved a town from goblins once Kornir, but I must ask you another question,” The sorceress implied. She was young, even in Dunmer lifespan, for humans’ years she would be about 24, which looked more of 18 to many folks who weren’t an elf. And she used the youth of her body and voice to her advantage.

“Please do,” He half slurred the words.

“This Redguard, this, Azden, will he be returning here?”

“Why of course, I am paying him for the job after all. Though to be honest I may cut his pay a bit, it’s taking much longer than I thought.” Kornir took a swig of ale from his tankard.

“So, he should have been back by now?”

“I think so. Tell me uh, Sylvia was it? Why’s a pretty thang like you so interested in dusty ruins anyway?” He asked with a tad of suspicion. No amount of seduction in the world could get between an Imperial and their coin.

She almost cast a spell at him for disrespecting her with such an insulting title as ‘thang.’ Though she forced an innocent smile and replied, “Sylviana Lietgrei. And it’s just family business you could say. And I think males who involve themselves with such dangerous work are attractive.” The last word almost rolled off of her tongue and into Kornir’s heart. She even touched his hand for a moment as a distracting tease. In truth, the sorceress took pride and joy in being able to bend men to her will so easily, a fun part of the already rewarding job of being a sorceress for the Lietgrei bloodline.

“Well you’re more than welcome to stick around and see how the rest of my job goes, Sylviana.”

It didn’t sound right when he said her name, most people could not pronounce the intricacies of elven tongues. It seemed she had more waiting to do. At least she would have it soon. And an even better thought, she could be out of this dump soon.

Yes, the delicacies of her plan were all coming together. By next night she would be back at her home, Myrwatch, within the deeps of Skyrim, being praised and rewarded for her work. Gaining power. Yes. This day would be a good one.

A forest too thick, somewhere in Cyrodil, the 15th of the Evening Star

Searing hot pain, that’s what it was. Azden had experienced many wounds in his dangerous but amazing life as a self-proclaimed artifact hunter, and had the scars on his young muscled body to prove it. But nothing compared to the still bleeding gash across his chest from the ethereal looking blade of, whatever the hell those things chasing him were! And in the cold and snow of all environments.

He had been five minutes out of the ruins with the tablet in his hands because it made an odd humming sound. He heard something, like air warping and suddenly a skeletal faced but heavy armored creature stood above him, some sword of purple flames found its way against his bare skin. It hurt more now than it did those moments ago. His spear found its way through the creature’s chest, slaying it into an ash pile of magic residue. But four more warps later and he ran for his life.

Gods the pain.

What kind of sensation was this? Two potions of healing he downed now, and the pain intensified as he attempted to cure it. But survival had been a skill he held high since childhood, since he was an orphan in the unforgiving place of Hammerfell, he would not give up.

His feet gave him distance fast. Their lack of feet took them to him faster.

“They don’t give up,” He muttered and stopped to breath. He could not outrun them that much was clear. But the pain across his chest was fuel to his fire, he could distract them. Na illusion would be needed, a shaping of reality. Not many illusionists could pull of such amazing and tiring tricks such as shaping of the world itself instead of a single mind. Luckily for Azden, he had the best teacher.

Using what Magicka he could, he bended the nearby thickets and trees to look that of an impenetrable vine wall of sorts. A mile in each direction, which would be impossible in the geography of the woods. But that’s the point.

He stopped to look at what was real, seeing the four horrors become still and angered. One let out a blood-curdling scream, but they truly fell for it. Adonis forgot about all his physical limitations and pushed on into a sprint away from his now stumped pursuers. They wouldn’t be stumped for long, he just needed to get out of the area by then.

After a little while he found himself back at Dead Man’s drink, the inn placed in the middle of nowhere as far as Cyrodil civilization went. Not many people were around except for the common traveler or two. When he stepped inside the building it was more or less the same with the number of customers. Most of everyone slept from drink or had been too intoxicated to acre about his sudden entrance. Most except for the Imperial and…a Dunmer? An exceptionally beautiful one at that, but most elves were when compared to the other races in the room.

Adonis’s healing potions had taken some effect, the bleeding wound now a partially sealed one. Still open enough to catch a nasty cold though. The pain never decreased in intensity, the opposite actually, the more it healed, the more it hurt. Dark and Deep, Adonis thought the swore. He took a seat at the table with his contractor and the gorgeous woman and took a moment to breathe.

“By the gods man, what happened to you!? And what took you so long?” Kornir asked in surprise.

“Your tablet summoned some visitors. I escaped them, and honestly I don’t know if they gave up chase or not.” Azden’s voice was soft-spoken and silvery, even in a stressful time. The Dunmer on his right fell shocked by the pleasantness of his voice, he had a special accent. Like one of someone who spoke many languages and therefore developed a beautifully conflicted tone.

“Visitors? What kind of visitors?”

“Ghastly I would say.” Azden looked to the woman on his right. “I’m Azden Riseri by the way.” He greeted assuming she had business with the Imperial as well.

He intrigued her for some reason she could not explain. She forgot to greet herself, truly.

“Listen, Kornir, this tablet, I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think you should be buying this sort of thing.”

Kornir slammed his tankard on the table. “Hey, I’m already docking your pay for how late you’ve been. Don’t try to smoot talk me into giving you more coin by pretending you’re doing me some favor!” He complained.

“W-what? N-no I don’t care about the coin! Look, the things chasing me are connected to this tablet somehow. It’s dangerous,” Azden attempted to warn the drunken fool.

“Just show mt eh damn thing.”

Azden sighed, but did just that. Placing the behemoth of runes on strange material on the table. Kornir raised a brow at the glowing symbols. Sylviana stared mesmerized at it. Finally, what she came for sat right in front of her. She didn’t want to waste anymore time in this foul place.

“Now, let’s talk about pri—”

A gust of flames threw both Kornir and Azden off balance and watching Sylviana. “Actually, I’ll be taking it for free. And if anyone argues I will burn them to a crisp.”

“Hey, what’s going on over there, don’t make me call the guards!” The innkeeper shouted. A lightning bolt striking a bottle next to his hand shut him up.

“Damnit! I should’ve known not to trust a pretty face!’ Kornir cursed aloud.

“Listen, you don’t know how dangerous that tablet is. If you take it, you’ll get hurt, surely!” Azden pleaded to her.

“I’ll let that insult to my power pass this once because you are cute, but do it again and I’ll have to hurt you.”

Azden blushed at her sudden compliment and threat, it was quite confusing. Kornir was cursing himself to death, but staying quiet enough to not become a charred corpse or pile of ash. Azden saw the woman gaze at him, as if she contemplated something. She made her mind up.

“You, Azden Riseri, put the tablet back in your bag. Slowly, try anything and I’ll kill you,” she demanded. He did as she asked, but could not tell where this all was headed. “Now, I will be taking the tablet, and you with me.”

“What! Why!?” Azden and Kornir asked in perfect unison.

“Because I said I will. I need no more explaining than that. Unless you’d rather die?” She asked him.

“It’ll take more than some spell to slay me,” he grunted almost.

She laughed. “Naïve and cute, this should be fun. Not by my spell Redguard. No, no, no. That mark across your chest. Let me guess. It hurts oh so much, the more you make an attempt to bind it.” Her voice had a victorious tone.

“H-how did you know that?” A stunned expression ran across his face.

Sylviana had smooth dark-purple skin, curves in all the right places, especially her juicy and attractive thighs, hips, and chest, long flowing milky white hair like spider-silk, and sharp yet elegant crimson eyes. Azden hated how much her form messed with his heart as she stepped closer to him. Her index finger traced his wound, bringing a wince from him that caused her to smile.

“Because I know a lot of things Azden Riseri. Things you could only dream of learning as you delve in dirty and blood-filled dungeons all day long. I, Sylviana Lietgrei, daughter of Morigsi Lietgrei, am a powerful and intelligent being. And you will learn to fear me in the upcoming days,” She softly whispered into his ear. The tickling sensation of her breath being what Azden dared felt pleasant had she not been threatening his life. To think that those soft and plump lips had been so close to his skin…

NO! What am I thinking!?

“So, as I said I will be taking you with me.”

“What makes you think I’ll come with you?”

She laughed again. A harsh thing to do to someone in a time like that. A tease that he had no power or control. That he had no chance. It scared him as much as those dark hallways of Ashidavar had. “Because even if you had a choice, I’m the only person you know, this I’m sure of, that can save your life from your wound and now, your new and powerful foe.”

That last word put him on edge. What foe did he make grabbing that tome? What exactly did he pull himself into? Azden could not argue with those words, so he spoke no more.

Before more could be said the door kicked open. Someone screamed and fell as a corpse into the room. An ethereal blade in their chest. No way. They found where he was. Two of the, things, floated into the room, more of flew with incredible speed. Azden reached for his spear, but Sylviana had put fire near his face, a warning to what would happen if her grabbed it. Two lightning bolts, more like one that jumped, quickly dispatched of the two creatures.

“Come with me or piss me off and make me drag you. Trust me, it’s healthier for you to obey me.” Sylviana waited for his response.

Azden glanced at Kornir and the corpse on the floor. With a sigh he left his spear on the ground and followed the Dunmer. She led them out to her beautiful black horse and got on its saddle, then waited for Azden. The same woman who threatened his life had been the same one who said she could save it. What was really going on? He got on with her and they rode out. For a moment he thought himself an idiot for nor fighting her. But then turned to see twenty of the creatures descending upon the small inn. Everyone would be slaughtered. And this Sylviana probably could care less.

Sylviana had rode all night to keep distance from the Scourge beasts. Simple yet effective creations. Killed as easy as a bandit, but able to clear out a town of commoners. This Dark Mage must have been quite the person to employ the common use of such mocked creatures. The seductive, powerful, strong, and capable sorceress chuckled in victory. She had the tome and the cutest guy she had ever seen too all to herself. And the most interesting guy as well. Violet eyes in a human, that was new. She loved that detail about him. Azden had been quiet the entire night, part of the creature’s blade magic was energy sapping, he could probably barely stay awake. The fact that he did stay awake all night showed how little he trusted her. He didn’t have too, he just had to obey.

She stopped the horse on the road for a while just to stretch her legs, but also to do more mischievous things. Azden sat facing the treeline, just staying awake and alive. Thinking about the odd events that happened to him in such little time. The life of a self-proclaimed artifact hunter proved daily to be a challenging and interesting one, but he loved it. Like anything in life, it came with pros and cons. He wasn’t sure what to label this part of the job. Vexing?

“Azden, get off the horse and face me,” Sylviana stated in that demanding tone.

Too tired to argue or feel anyway about it, he did just that. The cut on his chest still searing with pain. Sylviana held long strands of silk in her hands with a grin that spoke danger to Azden.

“I’m going to bind your hands and feet, then gag you. You are going to let me.”

“What! NO! WHY?!” He argued, now more awake than he had been.

“Because I said so. And if that is not enough for you, though it should be, the only way I’ll save your life is if you agree to this. It is the only way I can trust you won’t attack me or run.”

“I shall not be bound and made defenseless.”

“Then I will force you to be.” A grin crept across her face. A firebolt formed in her hands. Azden warded it away.

“So, the boy knows a spell or two. How cute.” But for a moment he disappeared. Invisibility spell? Really, what does he take me for, some fool? She walked around the close trees for a minute. A smile on her face. “I can hear your breathing. That wound must be getting unbearable. I could help you with that. If you obey me.”

“I’m not your slave,” He responded, appearing behind her.

“You will be, after you owe me your life,” she giggled.

So that was her plan. That’s why she brought him along, to make him as slave. Azden walked behind a tree. She followed to see nothing. And come to think of it the forest itself looked odd, wasn’t that tree on the other side…

Suddenly, a hand came for her head in an attempt to knock her unconscious, only being saved by exceptional hearing that allowed her to hear the swishing of the air. Azden’s hand missed and hit her shoulder instead, it didn’t feel good. She didn’t look happy.

“Clever illusionist!” She summoned an arm and hand of some odd energy and grabbed Azden by the throat with it, lifting him off the ground.

His lack of air made the chest pain even worse somehow. That iron grip around his throat. Azden kicked and thrashed but could not break free from this spell.

“You are going to regret that. I am going to give you one last chance. You push tour luck Azden Riseri. Defy me again and experience pain much beyond that of your chest wound, a slow agonizing death. I could play with you, take the air from your lungs, then give it back. Over and over til I tire of the game. You don’t know true power yet or fear. I could treat you well and be kind, but you must learn to be like the lowly creature you are and obey me!” She almost shouted in anger now. She hadn’t meant to get like this. She was losing control.

Azden could not reply. Only feel his lungs begin to burn with the lack of oxygen. Only be at the mercy of this cruel and wicked person. She dropped him, he gasped for precious air as he slowly massaged his own throat to make sure it hadn’t been crushed.

Sylviana put a hand on her hip and waited for something. Life or death.

Azden glared for a few moments. But too weak to fight, he put out his wrists so she could easily access them. “Kierna moertu makta thir nena,” He spoke in a different tongue.

Sylviana tilted her head. “You speak the language of my people?”

He hadn’t notice. An old habit from being with his best friend. “Yes.” This tone of his voice sounded cold, calculating, dangerous and sharp. Sylviana was taken aback by it. Maybe it was needed to bind him.

“Well you are right. You don’t have a choice.”

Myrwatch, Swamps of Hjaalmarch, 16th of the Evening Star

Azden did not talk or fight the entire trip. Even as they crossed into the freezing lands of Skyrim and its holds, as they went through woods, mountains, and swamps, he could not fight. He felt weak. He tried to stay awake, but just like his wound, the more he fought exhaustion, the more it overcame him. The more he tried to fight her, the more powerful she seemed to be. The more he ignored the tome, the more it loomed in his dreams and thoughts. Was he truly doomed to a destiny of loss and submission? Or was this just another rough patch in the road. ‘The obstacle is the path’ Virezi used to say. ‘What you throw into a fire is fuel for the fire’

Well some paths aren’t meant to be taken, and water sure as hell ain’t fuel for a fire.

The thought didn’t help as snow fell from all directions. Is Skyrim always some frozen hellscape of bandits, war, and Dragons!? He hadn’t seen one yet, but hopefully such creatures don’t actually exist. Or at least come close. But with his recent luck, becoming dragon food would probably be a better fate.

Myrwatch she kept saying. Talking to the man who could not talk back, Myrwatch this and that. Her lovely home, her lovely mother. Her show-off sister. Seemed Sylviana didn’t care for her sibling. Maybe that would help later on? Nah, probably not. The horse stopped again. The small vibration pushed pain onto his chest. He grunted.

“You must be tired, and hungry, and thirsty. You poor thing,” the Dunmer teased. Azden just let the words pass through his head, no point in giving her more satisfaction of his struggling reaction. He was beyond tired; he hadn’t eaten in a day or drank anything. And with the gag around his mouth he could not capture a couple snowflakes for refreshment. All the while she had made sure to give herself proper nourishment the days ride. She pulled him off the horse, he did not struggle. Azden had not been completely broken or even bent. But as a survivalist he knew to save energy where he could. No point of being prideful if you can’t live to feel pride.

She pulled her waterskin from the saddle of the horse and a small pack that had fresh juicy berries and fruits, Grapes and plums. She ate one and drank a bit of water, making sure Azden saw every bit of it as she licked juice from her plump lips.

“Tell you what Azden Riseri, you have not given me trouble for a day now. I think you deserve at least this much.”

A glimmer of hope filled his still vibrant violet eyes. She teased to reach for his gag, then stopped.

“But you still never paid for that little stunt you pulled earlier. You are a big strong man; you could have seriously hurt my arm you know?” She chuckled. His eyes never left the waterskin or fruits. “If I take this gag off, you must beg me exactly as I tell you to for this. Ok?”

He barely nodded, but the embarrassment did fill his thoughts.

She removed the gag and saw the emotionless yet tired expression of his face. What she imagined most philosophers looked like all the time. “Now, repeat after me. Oh, great Sylviana, my soon to be savior and master, please allow me a taste of your food.”

He cringed at the sentence, but his belly would hurt more than his pride if he hadn’t gotten any food in this frozen place. “Oh, great Sylviana, my soon to be savior and…master, please allow me a, uhm!” He was interrupted when she shoved a grape in his mouth. A sudden lewd look on her face, she was enjoying this, a lot. She gave him a few grapes, then an entire plum. He hungered for more, but would not put himself in more trouble to complain about it.

“Now, for the water.”

“Really? Must I do it for both?”

She began to recoil the water away. He sighed.

“Repeat. Oh, mistress Sylviana,” she began with a smirk, “please fill my stomach with the life liquid in your possession.”

Maybe he could quickly swallow some snow off the ground? Better than giving her that kind of sentence. He couldn’t do it. Say such a thing. How could she make him?

“Well, I’m waiting.”

“I-I”

“I-I-I” She mocked his stutter. “I don’t remember it starting with I.”

He swallowed any emotion he felt. Turning into that calm and collected him he usually was, except those times he hadn’t been in anything like this. “Oh…mistress Sylviana.”

She put a finger to his mouth. “Again.”

“Oh… mistress Sylviana”

“Louder.”

“OH—”

“Just the M-word.”

“Mistress.”

“Louder!” She exclaimed with glee as if this was a new discovery. She loved to hear him call her that. A bit too much, or maybe not enough.

“Mistress Sylviana!” He shouted what he could manage.

“One last time!” She clapped

“MISTRESS SYLVIANA!” That time had been of many things. Frustration, anger, sadness, but also a bit of relief. Ultimately, catharsis.

“Yes, yes! I love it so!” She knelt in front of him and let him drink of the waterskin. She let him have the entirety of what remained for being such a submissive boy. His face blushed, hers did more. Azden felt the coolness of the life liquid enter his being. He would never take it for granted again. He felt odd, yet…a little bit turned on at once. He hoped this would be the only and last time he felt such a confusing emotion.

When he drank it all she smiled at him. He had to face away; he could he look at her after such an embarrassing moment!? Sylviana lightly took his chin and made him face her. She gazed inro those violet eyes that she wanted to belong to her forever. Then her lips pressed against his. Azden felt shock, pleasure, and comfort. He felt comfort from his captor. Huh. They were so soft and inviting, the nicest thing he felt in a while. He hated to admit it, but his flesh yearned to kiss her more, to feel her lips again. She giggled.

Slowly Azden’s eyes began to close. Exhaustion finally won. The last thing he saw as a smiling beauty, and a dangerous devil as he passed out in the snow. All in all, it seemed his future and destiny would revolve around this woman somehow. Maybe, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing?

[jynappreciationsquad]

Blood Of Our Fathers

Read on AO3

Her first impression of Galen Erso was primal: a physical warmth, a scent she had known since the beginning of time, a gentle voice, eyes like hers. Jyn was his Stardust, as well as Mama’s.

After he'd been ripped away from her, Saw became… more than a mentor if not quite her father. She had no parents, she barely had a name. A fighter, a Partisan, didn’t need one.

Her first impression of Saw, her first lasting one that is — because when she'd had met him at four, she had been too young to label the Onderonian as anything more than “friend” — was of his voice and his dark hand pulling her out of the cave she hid in. His dark brown hot hand had gripped her alabaster arm, firm, but not bruising.

Saw Gerrera didn't have the time for the occasional cuddling Galen had once bestowed upon her, nor the inclination. It didn't mean he wasn't attentive, though, in his own way: he never left her training to others, and she could always come to him whenever for advice. Hers was the voice most likely to reach him, and he always gave her more food than the rest of the insurgents.

Like with Galen, it's the little gestures that mattered the most.

Saw kept her for months with him at night. He didn't sung her songs, or read stories, or even did as much as kiss her goodnight, but he made sure to be here when she fell asleep. He didn't comfort her when she had nightmares, exactly, but he slept nearby on a cot, and that was enough. On her birthday, he'd always got her something: a honeyed cake, a knife, new boots, even books about engineering.

She didn't know when he switched from merely calling her child to calling her his, period. She didn't mind. They were their own family, this hardened warrior and the tiny green-eyed girl from Force knew where.

Among the Partisans, she'd learned to survive by any means necessary, messing with the Empire in every capacity she could. Saw had tried to shelter her as much as possible from the gruesomer reality of the guerilla he led. But at twelve she came back to him almost soaked in blood, eyes empty and her braids a tangled mess of soot, dust and —

His ire has always been legendary. He made her sit in his tent like she was eight again, and she'd been too dumbstruck to realize what he had in mind. Of their little group, nine people came back with Jyn, including two of the oldest brothers in arms of Saw, from back when he fought during the Clone Wars. He killed them all with his bare hands, in retaliation for bringing Jyn without his consent. She was that important to him.

She should have been horrified, perhaps, when he came back to her as bloody as she was, but she didn't. He took the effort to sit on his knees in front of her, and since he already had to rely on a stick to walk, by that point, it wasn't a small thing. They were at eye-level, his black eyes burning like an inferno against her green watered ones, that were swimming, sinking into an endless lake of remorse. His dark brown hot hand, still moist with blood of others gripped her alabaster red painted ones, firmly, but not bruising.

And like he'd done on Lah'mu, he pulled her out of her mental cave, pulling her against him. He smelt of iron and smoke and sweat, like she did, and her tears slowly wet his collarbones. He didn't mind. He held her tighter, never saying anything, even if the position must have killed him. She felt him breath her in, like she breathed him.

Slowly, as her tears dried, his callused hand came in her hair, got struck. She'd had grimaced, went to the vibro-blade hidden in her boot. He stopped her with a gesture. Got painstakingly to his feet, and put water in a basin and found a rag.

He unraveled her childhood braids with surprising deft fingers while Jyn had her heart to her throat again. Once he deemed her hair passably clean, he spoke with an even rougher voice than usual:

“My sister Steela had hair like you my child.”

“She did?”

“Yes, a long time ago. She loved to have it braided, talked me into doing it for her.”

She had tried to picture this, a young Saw and his breaded sister, but found she couldn't. Hair was an hindrance to a soldier, the remnant of a childhood meaningless to her now. Saw smiled a little wishfully, like he heard her thoughts, and added, almost sweetly:

“You just can't sever your hair like that, all right? Let me do this for you at least.”

The offer was unexpected, and she'd gaped at him for a second, well, because ruthless Saw Gerrera just asked to cut her hair? But she heard the underlying message of, you're family, let me take care of you, and suddenly, she who didn't felt enough a moment ago was overwhelmed by emotion.

He cut her hair into an even, kinda wavy blob, which felt liberating, but pocketed the remaining hair. Jyn pretended not to notice.

“New hairstyle, new name, my girl. We've called you Jyn long enough.”

It was true. Jyn Erso had become Jyn Dawn pretty early on, because Erso was a too easily recognizable name, but she didn't feel like being Jyn anymore. Jyn didn't know what it was like to watch the light go out of someone’s eyes. She'd killed before, but it had always had been in an abstract, impersonal way, through sabotaging or putting bombs. Now she knew and there was no going back. Jyn had to die too.

“Can I take your name this time, Saw?”

She knew he'd say no, and why he would. Rationally, she knew that in some ways being Saw Gerrera’s daughter was a greater danger than being linked back to imperial scientist Galen Erso. Nonetheless, he was the one who had raised her, not the man she inherited half of her genetics from. Risking a glance at his bloody nails then at her own, she thought wryly that they were literally bound by blood, if not from the inside. Indeed, the separatist only replied:

“You're already a Gerrera to me, child. It should be enough for you.”

It was, really, and she still smiled at his refusal, because that alone was a declaration. In the end, she begrudgingly agreed to be called Kestrel Dawn. Kestrel was his mother’s name, he told her. It meant dream, and he thought it fitting because they all dreamt about a freed Galaxy.

She went on fighting, until this faithful mission on Tamsye Prime where he finally did the unthinkable. He abandoned her.

"He knows who you really are. A secret like that, once exposed, cannot be hidden again."

"You're coming back for me, right? Promise?"

"Go! Run!"

Well, to be fair, Saw didn't promise anything, but that brought her little consolation.

It hurt more than Galen's defection, truth to be told. Because while she was born to the Erso lineage, she has grown into the Gerrera one, more than any other Partisan animated by the cause. She first fought because he did, now that he's not with her, that he let her down, she didn't know who she could be and what was worth fighting for anymore. Besides, it was the second time she was abandoned by her father, twice too many.

Of course, she managed. Learned to hate him because that was easier than loving a man who didn't love her enough. He sank faster without her though, physically and mentally. He knew it had to be done, for her sake, but it still ate away at him. He went back to not caring about anything except the success of the Partisans, but still kept the girl’s braid on him always.

They finally met each other again at the world’s end, for NiJedha had been about to self destruct, with both the Empire and the Partisans and the Rebels and the worn out civilians, all concentrated in the Holy City. The resentment and bitterness and cruelty weren't as sharp as they had expected. There was little time for that, between her deal with the Rebellion, the Empire’s shadow and Galen's message. Papa.

It left her bereft, shaken and prostrate on the floor, only Saw didn't pull his hand out for her this time around. He couldn't, and maybe he wouldn't anyway. She knew better than this, because he raised her not to be swayed by anything, particularly not her parents. Only the cause had mattered to him, really, not her:

"You care not about the cause?"

"The cause? Seriously? The Alliance, the Rebels, whatever it is you're calling yourself these days, all it's ever brought me is pain."

She had gazed upon his robotic corpse — he had no true body anymore — and found that underneath, she still cared. He gazed at her matured features, looking weak, unbearably relieved, if not regretful enough and she hoped that underneath, he was proud of her, for surviving, for being here in spite of everything.

Him dying at her hand would have been a lovely way to go but she loved him too much for that, it seems. Against all odds, she tried to make his useless body come with her. The impulse they had to reach out to each other was still here. Cassian was bodily dragging her back to the ship as the Catacombs of Cadera crumbled around him.

“Save the dream!”

Save their dream, save Kestrel — save herself — was the true meaning of his last words. Despite the awful rumbling around and his altered voice, it struck her as fast as lightening as Cassian drug her out of there. The nightmarish annihilation of the Holy City and the ship going to hyperdrive prevented her from witnessing Saw’s last moments, but her muscles burned with wanting to run back to him still. Maybe he told her the truth when he said he thought of her every day… he certainly thought of her on his last. She struggled to swallow back her sobs.

The grief of everyone's face was plain to see — even Kaytoo Esso seemed subdued — at the loss of the city, the temple, the people… but Jyn Erso didn't have to be Jedhan to feel devastated. Even if Cassian knew where Galen was, she has already lost the man she thought of as a father, without even setting things right with him; all she'd meant to say, all she could have heard from the man who raised her was lost, in specs of dusty regrets trapped within her mind forever.

She tried to get past that, schooled her features under a scornful mask, and considered she wasn't the only one to have lost everything. The least she could was pulling herself out of her apathy to do right by Saw and start making a difference again.

Everyone believed her, even if the Holo was lost in the ashes, along with the memory of Saw Gererra and his Partisans. The current survivors in the ship had a mission to attend to now, a message that had to be transmitted.

Even if it meant facing the entire Rebel high command or Papa again, Jyn Erso wouldn't back down: she's still a Gerrera, in her heart.

[texanredrose]

Tex, if you do one of those buisness aus, so help me world, there better be a lesbean in a suit.

*bangs fist on table* I FINALLY FINISHED THIS… well… the first part, at least. Thanks to @fallintolife for developing this universe with for me. Also, @cass-burger and @maburito, here y’all go. Business AU now affectionately nicknamed Joint Venture. And thank you, anon, for the suggestion!

Yang sighed, squinting at the computer screen and rereading the proposal for the fifth time. Something felt off about it- entirely too accommodating, no blatantly ambiguous wording, no footnote to turn to an obscure page for some loophole- and she’d become adept at noticing when all the standard hallmarks of greed were absent. It often meant a more cutting clause lay buried somewhere in the text but she couldn’t, for the life of her, find it. Normally, she’d stop any task that threatened to get her this frustrated, but she simply couldn’t, not with the project deadline looming on the horizon. The entire floor consisted of harried office workers doing their best to finalize the details and she- being the CEO’s intern- had her own responsibilities to ensure everything would go off without a hitch. Which meant she had to find the blasted thing, and the quicker the better.

Probably anyone who’d known Yang Xiao Long in high school might be absolutely shocked at the turn her life had taken. A tri-sport athlete who got a full ride on her boxing skills wouldn’t strike many as the type to become a paper pusher, yet here she sat, pouring over contracts for Remnant’s largest dust company, and busting her ass every day to make sure she impressed her boss, which was no small feat.

Winter Schnee, eldest of the Schnee siblings and current CEO, redefined the concept of a ‘take no shit’ attitude. Tall, elegant, with piercing blue eyes and a perpetual resting bitch face that could make even the blonde’s usual brash confidence falter, the woman radiated an aura of unquestionable power and authority unlike anything Yang had ever seen before. Her business acumen tended towards the ruthless side, a by product of military training that served her well in many other ways, too, but she could definitely be compassionate and treated her employees fairly- even the Faunus ones, a decision that broke the mold from her father’s practices and earned her quite a bit of flak from stodgy old curmudgeons on the board at first. But Winter was a compelling force, especially when she had her younger sister and COO, Weiss, backing her up. Where the elder had laser focused remarks and an imposing demeanor, the second born child of the Schnee line had a razor sharp wit ready to explode at a moment’s notice. Between them, they could intimidate just about anyone into bending to their whims, and had used that clout for several social gatherings to walk back their father’s previous policies and improve trading and commerce within their sector, relinquishing the iron clad grip they had on the monopoly to allow new blood to enter the scene.

When it came right down to it, that glimmer of hope constituted the sole reason she’d even taken the internship at all. Ever since they were kids, Ruby had two distinct passions: being the hero and tinkering with weapons. What better way to combine them than open a weapons shop that catered to everything a Hunter could want? Although she had her own Hunter License and could go slay the Grimm to her heart’s content herself, four years at Beacon Combat Academy had given her a real drive to create better weapons than the hand-me-downs she saw her classmates using, improving the Hunters’ overall capabilities and hopefully one day eradicating the Grimm threat entirely. Her little sis always had a pretty good head on her shoulders, able to see the bigger picture, and she had no desire to jack up the prices so they could get rich. Just enough to break even, or maybe a little extra, would be enough for her, considering the rather ludicrous sums she got from the kingdoms for killing Grimm.

However, seeing as Ruby dedicated herself to learning about weapons and Grimm and Dust, if she wanted to see her little sister’s dream come true, Yang would have to schlep through the boring stuff that businesses entailed, like negotiating contracts, learning business laws, and getting a sweet reference and/or deal with the biggest Dust company on the planet. That meant finding this thrice damned clause if it was the last thing she did!

“Knock knock.”

Yang blinked, concentration broken even as a smile came to her lips. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Who is it?”

“Please, could we not-”

“Is it a broken pencil?” She pushed off with her feet, causing the office chair to swirl around so she could look at the entrance to her little cubicle. Her desk sat on the west side of the floor, directly in front of her boss’ temporary office, with a little partition blocking her view from everyone else. The opening to her small space was on the side facing Winter’s office door, a thick plane of one-way glass separating the CEO from everyone else. Usually, they would be at the very top of the building- the floor that housed only Weiss’ and Winter’s offices and yet managed to take up the entire floor anyway- but both the CEO and the COO had decided the very nature of this particular project and all the moving pieces required more direct supervision. The move had caused quite a bit of fuss among the poor bastards who worked on the floor, but they eventually came to realize that the big, scary, Ice Queen and Ice Princess duo were more concerned about getting the job done without running anyone ragged than obsessing over the cleanliness of one’s desk.

Despite knowing full well how this would end, the Faunus’ ears perked up in curiosity. “A broken pencil?”

“Ah, nevermind.” She shrugged, an apologetic smirk on her lips. “It’s pointless.”

Almost immediately, Blake rolled her eyes, a hand coming up to cover her face as she sighed in deep disappointment. “Why do I set myself up for these things? After four years of living with you…”

“One would think you’d have developed a sense of humor!” The blonde finished for her best friend, laughing while sitting back in her chair, trying her hardest to be mindful of her skirt. Personally, she preferred suits or dresses- if she wanted to be really fancy- but a little variety in her wardrobe couldn’t hurt her chances, not that they were particularly noteworthy anyway. Crossing one leg over the other, she cocked her head to the side and gave the Faunus a once over. “Trying something a little different today?”

Between the two of them, Blake always tended more towards the traditionally feminine side. Maybe it came from how long she wore a bow in her hair to hide the feline ears marking her heritage and her penchant for eye shadow but, for whatever reason, dresses and skirts seemed to be more up her alley than Yang’s when it came to formal attire. Yet, today, she was sporting a rather flattering black pantsuit with purple pinstripes ensemble that made her eyes positively pop. Not to mention she wore her usually long, flowing black hair up in as tight a bun as her mane could be wrangled into, exposing her slender neck, made all the more obvious when she shrugged. “I thought it might work.”

The blonde let out a low whistle, lilac eyes scanning her best friend’s form for a second time. “You saying she hasn’t done anything with you wearing that?”

“Nothing,” the Faunus replied with a weary sigh. “I’m beginning to give up hope.”

They were both in a pretty terrible situation. On the one hand, they needed their internships to go well for obvious reasons- Yang had a sister’s dream to make reality and Blake had the hopes of her entire family riding on securing a good standing relationship with the new and improved Schnee Dust Company. That’s a lot of pressure to be the best interns the CEO and COO could hope for, respectively. But on the other… their bosses were hot. Colder than ice in their business dealings, imperious in their looks, downright flawless in their beauty, and Winter got every gear in the blonde’s motor spinning at full speed. The same could be said for Blake in reference to Weiss, the Faunus having lamented more than once that, had they just gotten the other’s position, perhaps every work day wouldn’t feel like walking a razor’s edge between their responsibilities and their desires.

It would be easier if they could be overt. Drop a few pick-up lines, bat their eyelashes, maybe even be bold enough to outright ask the women on dates. But, seeing as that would create a conflict of interest- something neither could afford given their aforementioned responsibilities- they were left to count lingering looks and brief brushes as their only victories. Conversely, if there was no interest to be found, then at least they would know; Yang had been through the wringer a time or two for hitting on straight chicks, so she already had a patented apology system worked out that resulted in nine women out of ten being flattered by her interest, even if they didn’t swing that way. Blake, always being the more hesitant- she would say ‘selective’- of the two, hadn’t quite reached that point, and hoped things never got to it.

“Don’t say that, Blakey.” She propped her head up on one fist, resting her elbow in the chair’s armrest. “Our internship’s almost over. There’s still the 'go for broke’ plan, if everything else fails.”

“I don’t know, Yang.” Crossing her arms over her chest, the Faunus leaned against the partition, careful not to crinkle the manila folder in her off hand. “Maybe we should just quit while we’re ahead. Go… I dunno, hit the bar or something.”

“Now, I know you’re getting into your own head when you are the one suggesting we spend a night in a loud bar instead of a book store.” She frowned, getting up and putting a consoling hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “Keep your chin up, Belladonna. Even if you’re right and they are straight, or just not interested, we aren’t going out to get hammered like a couple of clueless chumps.”

“Oh, is that right?” One black brow arched up. “And what’s your plan for getting over this entire mess?”

“Simple.” She smiled. “We grab to go from that sushi place you like, hunker down in my living room, and eat our weight in ice cream while watching Love Letter from Vale on repeat until we both slip into a food coma or fall asleep crying, whichever comes first. Like perfectly well adjusted adults.”

Although she was expecting some manner of ridiculous response- hey, she did know who she was dealing with, after all- Blake still let out a surprised laugh, amusement shining clear in her eyes as she shoved at the blonde’s shoulder. “You goofball. Can’t you take anything serious?”

“Hey.” Her smile stretched wider. “Where’s the fun in that?”

From the other side of the one way glass, Winter Schnee watched her intern closely. Perhaps a little… too closely.

She sat behind her temporary desk, having appropriated an unused one from a vacant corner office rather than have the movers they kept on retainer haul hers down from the top floor. Her relocation didn’t affect any meetings she held and purely served to make communications between the various project leads, their teams, and the executives easier, given how much was riding on the whole deal going through. One would think that, as the premiere Dust supplier in Remnant, they could dictate their terms to the kingdoms to suit their needs, but ever since she and Weiss had forged a new way ahead for their family’s company, throwing their weight around to get their way was reserved for the causes that truly deserved it, not day-to-day business.

One would think that managing the company would consume all her hours, every thought put towards second guessing and triple guessing the movements of anyone who might stand to profit if the SDC took a nosedive, but she actually had a surprising amount of free time. The team working for her operated like a well oiled machine, the brightest minds applying themselves wholeheartedly to tackling any task she threw their way, and with her sister ready to check over her shoulder with a fresh set of eyes, they effectively recovered from the severe hit their 'radical’ policies caused, sitting now with a higher profit margin and cleaner consciences than a year ago, and their diversified employee base had wrought many, many returns.

Unfortunately, there came a steep downside, too, that caught her entirely by surprise. And- her eyes narrowed as a familiar figure approached her intern’s desk- she wasn’t the only one.

Already, her hand moved to intercept the call she knew was coming, hitting the blinking speaker button before the ringer could even sound. “Why must you vex me so?”

“Because I cannot focus and these expenditure reports won’t audit themselves,” her sister replied, the edges of her voice sounded frazzled. “It’s your turn to be distracted.”

“I can’t say I blame you, Weiss.” Her lips turned down at the corners, eyeing the Faunus’ clean, crisp suit as she stepped up and knocked on the partition separating her intern’s desk space from the rest of the floor. They’d thought offering internships to the local universities would be a good step in building rapport among the up-and-coming business leaders of the new age, one free of the archaic traditions of their father’s time. It certainly helped open their doors to aspiring Faunus graduates, many of whom applied to the specialty departments and improved efficiency in unexpected places purely from longstanding habits adopted on Menagerie. Limited resources spawned unique methods of minimizing waste and, all in all, the improved diversity was a boon in every way… except when unexpected complications arose. “But I’m not sure you’ll be able to get much done if you divide your attention between the audits and talking to me.”

“Sister, I don’t ask much or often, please.” The shuffling of papers and clacking of a keyboard could just barely be heard over the phone line. “I’m quite certain I’ll explode at this rate and you aren’t faring much better, I’d imagine.”

She wished she could play the role of the calm, patient, supportive elder sister at that moment. However, both of them knew better than that. “Very well, you first.”

“She’s perfect.” Weiss lamented over the phone, practically growling out the words. “She listens to The Sterlings, she has strong opinions and she’s exceptionally articulate in expressing them, she’s always current on world events, she has no problems speaking her mind, her ears are adorable, I think I’ve gotten lost in her eyes at least three times today alone, and have I mentioned that she’s possibly the most kindhearted person I’ve ever met?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Winter replied, despite there being no need. It helped distract her from the display just outside her office, on the other side of the glass, where her intern just happened to be flirting with Weiss’ intern. The blonde was laughing about something or other, mirth shining bright in those vivid lilac eyes as she leaned back, one leg crossing over the other, bringing that nearly skin tight skirt just a bit higher up muscled thighs. The modest heels she wore made her calves look fantastic while standing, true, but even seated there was such latent power on display, strength packed and ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

“Blake Belladonna is intelligent, charming, sweet- the list goes on, and ends with 'entirely straight’.” A dull sounded from the other side of the line. “Why? Just… just, why?”

“I have sincere reason to doubt that.” The woman pushed back from her desk, stalking around it so she could lean back against the hard wood, arms crossing over her chest as her gaze never once deviated. How her sister could continue to be so emphatic about such an obviously incorrect conclusion remained beyond her comprehension. “Have you never watched them interact?”

The question itself served no point except to vent the frustration mounting within her as she watched Yang leaned back in her chair, lilac eyes flicking approvingly over her fellow intern’s form. On paper, she didn’t look too terribly different from any other applicant for the internship- a student athlete with the physical prowess to become a full fledged Huntress while also possessing a keen intellect, maintaining high marks throughout university while also earning a few sports titles on the side- but it truly came down to the part of Winter that personally enjoyed disproving age old adages. The moment she saw the attached photo of Yang Xiao Long, with her luscious, wild blonde locks, shining lilac eyes, and beautiful smile that distracted from the slightly crooked nose, the CEO recognized the untapped vein of potential for the SDC and like-minded businesses lying in wait. For far too long had the stuffy elite thought a pretty face could hold nothing more than meeting dates and perhaps a to do list, leaving positions like CEO open to only the masculine or those dictated by birth to bear the title; to have someone so conventionally attractive working directly under her would surely give the younger woman a leg up on the competition, encourage her to persevere where others might falter. She certainly had the determination, that much was evidenced by her grueling course schedule piled on top of her workout routine.

“I think you might be reading too much into it.” Her sister sounded nearly despondent. “They seem more friendly than romantic.”

Both interns shifted, their postures relaxing as always. They were so… comfortable around each other, and she didn’t miss the way Yang got up and reached out towards Blake, contact between them a staple of every interaction. She bit her lip lightly for a moment, watching as whatever momentary unpleasantness they were discussing gave way to more laughter. “They’ve got to be fucking.”

“Winter!” Her sister- caught between frustration and scandal- snapped across the line. “For one thing, that’s hardly a fitting topic for discussion and, quite frankly, I know that’s not the case.”

“And what makes you so certain?” Winter watched as the blonde leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms just under her ample chest and highlighting not only the soft curves concealed by her blouse but the rigid muscles of her arms as well, the fabric pulling taunt against her skin. Something her counterpart seemed to notice too, reaching out to lightly pull on one cuff.

“I found out Blake’s boyfriend’s name is Sun.” Weiss sighed. “They’ve been together a while, apparently.”

The woman hummed, mulling over this new information while she watched, the vile sensation curling in the pit of her gut at once entirely obvious yet something she didn’t want to name quite yet, if only so she could convince herself she was above such pettiness.

“I’m serious, Yang, you’re going to rip that shirt,” Blake said, shaking her head as her ears laid back. “Maybe you should lay off the curls for a little while.”

“Aw, c'mon, I can’t disrespect the armory like that!” She laughed, quickly curling both hands into fists as she pumped her arms- only briefly though. The Faunus wasn’t wrong, after all, and she could practically feel the seams protesting her movements. “But, yeah, I grabbed the wrong one this morning. Too busy looking at what matched, totally missed the fact that I outgrew this one years ago.”

“It’s a shame; the cream color really brings out your eyes.” Her lips quirked into a smirk. “But I’m guessing your luck is about as good as mine.”

Yang sighed, crossing her arms again. “Yeah. I mean, I get it, but I thought I would’ve gotten at least a second glance when I came in this morning.” Wanting to distract herself with the cursed blessing of her boss’ obliviousness regarding every flirtatious attempt she made, the blonde hit on another common topic they discussed. “Hey, how’s Sunny Boy doing, by the way? He found a job yet?”

“He’s got an interview this week, actually. I had to let Weiss know that I might be a little late; I promised I’d give him a ride.” Her expression pinched into one of mild annoyance. “I really hope this one goes well. He’s a great friend and all but I’m not sure I can put up with his habits as a roommate much longer. I swear- if I find one more banana peel in the shower, I’m going to kick him out.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that.” She cocked her head to the side, lowering her voice to strike a balance between supportive and chiding. “You two have been besties for twenty years and he hit a rough patch. Even if it drives you insane in the meantime, you’d let him keep crashing on your couch until he’s back on his feet.”

“You have more faith in my patience than I do.” Blake chuckled with a shake of her head. “At any rate, if this falls through, he’s applying to more places today. I told him to stop wearing open shirts to the interviews might improve his chances but… you know how he is. Plus, he keeps inviting Neptune over, and I’m not sure how much more 'bro-tastic movie marathons’ I can take.”

“Well, if you ever need to retreat to somewhere with less testosterone, you can always crash at my place.” She smiled wide. “It would be like college all over again!”

Her best friend rolled her eyes fondly. “If you’re done being ridiculous, Weiss wanted me to touch base with you about our latest trip to Mistral. She’s auditing the expenditure reports and we need to verify our charges.” Her eyes narrowed. “You did keep the receipts, right?”

“Yeah, I got 'em here, somewhere.” Yang turned around, shuffling through the papers on her desk before snapping her fingers, some niggling reminder popping into her head to check the bottom right drawer of her desk. As she leaned over to sift through it, she flicked her hair over her left shoulder, so she could glance back at the Faunus, who was also leaning over with her ears cocked forward in interest. Somewhere in those amber eyes, she could see the urge to joke about the blonde’s less than stellar organizing system, but Blake refrained by the barest margins. “Oh, hey, when’s that big, super important meeting with the kingdom council, again? Winter’s given me, like, three reminders and I keep spacing the date.”

“It’s next Tuesday.” A little chuckle fell from her lips, the interns exchanging a knowing look. “They’re going to be insufferable over the weekend, you know.”

“Eh, we’ll talk 'em through it.” She smiled, pushing to the side the uneasiness that immediately rose in her. The moment they’d finalized this report, she’d have to dive back into the contract; there was a huge difference between knowing she needed to turn in her annotations on Thursday and realizing that the deal would be sealed the following week. The blonde would have to double down hard on dissecting the text if she wanted to be on time- which meant Wednesday morning at the latest, because Winter would pour over it for two days herself before accepting it and moving forward. It took a while for her to understand that the double- and triple-checking of everything she handed in stemmed not from a lack of confidence in her abilities on her boss’ part but, simply, the fact that every Schnee tended towards obsessive perfectionism that could probably qualify as intense anxiety, if they would ever own up to it. Thankfully, both interns had learned a thing or two about dealing with the executive’s tendencies, and each had their personally tailored list of how to reassure the CEO and COO that every ’t’ was crossed, every 'i’ dotted, and every stone set in place. “If there’s one thing we can actually get across to them, it’s that we’ve got this deal on lock.” At least, they would, no doubt about it. But first, the receipts, which she’d found tucked into an envelope in the drawer. “Alright, so, what do you have?”

Winter bit into her knuckle, pinching her brows together and growling around the digit. “They have to be dating.”

“Blake. Has. A boyfriend.”

She watched the blonde bend over, searching for something within her desk, and the way her counterpart stepped over, looking down as if to offer assistance but refraining. The CEO couldn’t see where her gaze remained trained but she wouldn’t blame the Faunus for sneaking a peek at the way Yang’s skirt rode up just a little, clinging to the curve of her rear. Nothing indecent, of course; while she wouldn’t be so delusional as to claim Yang particularly cared for 'classy’ actions, the woman had the sense enough to conduct herself in an appropriate way at all times, though she did… bend the rules every now and again. Like throwing a wink in at the end of an affirmative response, or making absolutely abysmal puns that never failed to put cracks in Winter’s armor, or nodding off during a meeting when it ran longer than two hours- a few dozen moments flitting through her mind’s eye where Yang had exhibited some action, some mannerism that would’ve driven her father to frown severely at best or fire the blonde at worst. Each contributed to the larger picture, this portrait of a woman who would stop at nothing to achieve her ends and do it all with a smile on her lips and a swagger in her step, brimming with confidence while also showing vulnerability freely, like just then when she ducked her head at a comment Blake made. The woman’s sense of humor, her charismatic demeanor, her firm embrace on the duality of organized chaos, a sharp mind hidden beneath firm muscle and a disarming smile. She could be exacting when the situation called for it but clueless and clumsy the next, vacillating between strong enough to move desks around herself and dropping things for apparently no reason other than them slipping from her grip- she was just so dynamic and vibrant. How could one person be so much, all the time?

“And I refuse to entertain the notion she could be unfaithful. It’s just… not like her. Unless- perhaps it’s one of those… polyamorous relationships? The two of them and this… Sun character? That’s a thing, right?”

The elder Schnee bit harder into her knuckle as the two interns seemingly began pouring over receipts and the file Weiss sent over, Blake leaning over Yang’s shoulder as the two examined everything on the desk. They stood awfully close together and one could make the excuse it made comparing the receipts to the report easier, but Winter could see the way the Faunus leaned against her counterpart’s frame, allowing her weight to rest against the woman’s slightly larger form. That sort of contact spoke of an intimacy that went far beyond coworkers or acquaintances, indicating they’d spent many hours in close proximity to one another, invading the other’s space without so much as a word of complaint.

Naturally, as lovers would.

“That would make everything fit…” Weiss sighed, more shuffling of papers and clacking of keys accompanying her voice. “But it still seems like a stretch. It’s more likely you’re reading their interactions entirely wrong.”

Something must’ve caught her intern’s attention, the blonde going stock still for a moment before hurriedly pushing the little receipts aside to claw through the papers on her desk, desperately searching for something amid the chaos that seemed to constantly surround Yang Xiao Long. She found it almost immediately, hunching her shoulders as she examined the papers intensely, all the while her counterpart straightened up and backed away a step, knowing when to let the woman work. Seeing Yang in action- a whirlwind of focused intent bearing down on whosoever was foolish enough to stand in her way- usually brought a smile to her lips, recognizing in the other woman the same determination that she herself had towards accomplishing her tasks. They went about it different ways- usually, Winter would begin issuing orders in her crisp, military fashion while the blonde seemed more inclined to attend to things personally- but she could respect such passion in motion.

She probably looked even better when working out, that same fire lighting in those devastatingly attractive lilac eyes.

“You stopped listening to me, didn’t you? Or did you mute me again?”

Pulling her knuckle away from her mouth, the elder snapped off a quick response, ignoring the non sequitur inherent in her words. “Weiss, do you have any idea what Yang is wearing today?”

There was a moment of silence before the frustration came back to her sister’s voice. “Winter, I know full well you can see what Blake is wearing, so you tell me- are either of us really faring any better than the other?”

Gritting her teeth, the CEO watched as her intern suddenly stood straight up, fist pumping the air before leaning over and pulling her counterpart close enough to plant a kiss on the Faunus’ forehead. “No.”

“Yang, what was that for?” Blake raised a quizzical brow, more than adjusted to her quirks by this point but curious nonetheless.

Honestly, she was far too ecstatic to really care about how ridiculous she looked right then, dancing in place while holding their receipt from the Mistrali hotel the four had stayed at during their business trip. “I finally figured it out! Why this contract seems too good to be true!” Interest caught, the Faunus leaned over, looking at the paper herself. “See, the council has a standing contract with a specific hotel chain for a discounted rate, but I didn’t make the connection until just now!” She pulled the relevant section of the contract over so her friend could see, setting the hotel receipt they were both just reviewing next to it. “I figured, no big deal, ya know, we don’t stay overnight when the meeting’s within the borders anyway, but they’ve got branches all over Remnant under different names.” She pointed towards the trademark in the bottom corner of the receipt, the same name as on the contract. “According to the contract, part of our obligation would be to honor the kingdom’s standing agreements, so we’d have to use this chain whenever we traveled to see the other mine sites or negotiate with the other kingdoms, and we’d be liable for any charges incurred.”

The Faunus hummed. “Not seeing the issue yet.”

She quickly started scrabbling through the mess of papers, looking for the one she needed. “Well, that contract has a specification- where did it, oh, here we go- see? Only a certain amount of nights are allotted per year before the council has to pay double to offset labor and accommodations. But with how often we travel-”

Feline ears perked up as realization dawned in amber eyes. “We’d burn up the allotments and they’d shunt the excess charges to us or sue for breach of contract.”

Yang smiled, tapping her finger against the paper to accentuate her point. “All this knowing they’ll get a cut of the pie anyway from taxes, because the main chain is just two blocks down Fifth.”

“That’s sneaky.” Blake’s lips lifted in a small smirk, begrudging respect reflecting in her expression. When navigating the treacherous minefield that constituted the cutthroat business world, one had to acknowledge the more clever pitfalls when they appeared, or risk getting fooled later on down the line. “And it wouldn’t be for another six months at least that we realized it, which would be after the initial exit clause closes.”

“Exactly!” Grabbing a red pen from the holder on her desk, she circled the hotel chain, quickly skimming down the rest of the contract and circling various other vendors as she came across them. “I bet if I did a little more digging, I’d find they have other contracts that would screw us over like this, too. I knew this was too good to be true!” Finally, she could assemble a decent review of the contract and pass it off to Winter, allowing the CEO to begin outlining the drafts she wanted for amendments to protect the SDC’s interests. Pride and excitement coursed through her, practically sending her into a tizzy purely from the rush of picturing the look on her boss’ face when she handed in the report. While the blonde might not be able to catch the woman’s eye in a romantic sense, earning a small smile for a job well done quite nearly made up for that. “Thanks for the boost, Blake; talk about good timing!”

Her friend chuckled, holding out her hand. “A lucky coincidence. Here, give me the receipts and I’ll-” A buzzing stopped her short, one hand digging into the pocket of her jacket and pulling out her scroll. As amber eyes read over the text she’d received, her shoulders and ears slumped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What’s up?” Quickly scribbling out an arrow to mark her place, Yang turned her attention to the Faunus, concern pinching her brow.

With a frustrated sigh, Blake gave her an annoyed look, ears creating a flat line across the top of her head. “Remember when you brought the dog back to the dorms that one time?”

“You mean Zwei? My dog?” She couldn’t help the grin that came to her lips. There were few times during their friendship when she thought the Faunus might consider outright murdering her in her sleep, and bringing the family dog to college for a visit certainly topped the list.

“Yes.” She flipped the scroll around. “Look what Sun just sent me.”

Blonde brows raised in surprise at the little tabby kitten, quite obviously kneading the comforter on the feline Faunus’ bed mercilessly. “Aw, but it’s a cute kitty!”

“And my apartment doesn’t allow pets!” With an aggravated shake of her head, Blake began furiously tapping out a reply. “I swear, he doesn’t think things through, ever. The last thing I need right now is getting slapped with a warning for breaking the complex’s policies.” Her scroll buzzed again and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great, now he’s guilt tripping me.”

“C'mon, Blakey, just tell him to take that kitten over to Neptune’s or something; if he really wants to keep the little guy, he can pick 'em up after he gets his own place.”

“I’m trying.” Blake pressed her lips into a thin line. “He knows I want a pet, but right now isn’t a good time. I need to find a new apartment first, and-

She straightened up, nudging the Faunus’ shoulders with her fist to pull her attention away from madly typing into her scroll. “Hey, how about pizza at my place? I could bust out the old '64 and we could play some Smash Brothers like old times. Get your mind off the roommate troubles.”

For a moment, it looked like she’d be shot down, but slowly the stress seemed to slide away. “You know what? That sounds great.” Yang could hear and see the door opening out of the corner of her eye but kept her attention focused on her friend’s relaxing posture, a reassuring smile on her lips. “Your place, say seven o'clock?”

“We could just leave straight from here!” Her smiled pulled wider but she tried to cut off the conversation quickly, considering Winter was just now stepping out of her office, likely to follow up on her assessment of the contract. The CEO didn’t seem to mind if she discussed personal matters at work from time to time, but there was an unspoken rule that she had to keep on top of her daily tasks in the process. “That work for you?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Yang.” Blake gave her a grateful smile before collecting up the manila folder and the receipts, turning to nod politely at the CEO as she stepped out. “Ms. Schnee.”

The blonde probably should’ve acknowledged her boss, too. Unfortunately, every synapse in her brain shorted out at the same moment as her eyes grew wide. She had already seen the woman that morning- and experienced the exact same mental overload of 'oh wow she’s hot’ and a continuous mantra of 'oh shit oh shit oh shit’ being the only things in her head- but now she wished she’d prepared herself mentally for when it would, of course, inevitably happen again.

Winter Schnee always looked good, that much the blonde had accepted as one of those things that shouldn’t be possible yet was, but today she looked killer. A crisp white suit in pseudo-military design, with the pants tucked into thigh high black boots and a coat held closed by a single button at her waist, the long tails trailing behind her while the front opened up, practically putting the dark blue vest on display, especially the way the ensemble framed her chest. And if that wasn’t enough, she even had a little yellow tulip bud tucked into the breast pocket, just above the Schnee’s emblem stitched in cool grey, a splash of color that drew the eye… well… she should probably look up. White locks were bound in a bun atop her head, not quite as severe looking as the framed photographs of her time in the Atlesian military but damn close, bangs framing those sharp, piercing blue eyes that fell on her with all the weight of a Goliath, the sheer power of her aura silencing any and every thought- even her ability to breath for a moment.

“Miss Belladonna, Miss Xiao Long. Please. Don’t let me interrupt.” The words, spoken in that pointed, well enunciated tone she used whenever she was trying to hide anxiety, snapped the blonde out of her stupor rather effectively. Here they were, a week out from an important deadline, and she was getting lost in how hopelessly attracted she was to her boss!

“Oh, M-miss Schnee, uh, I was just working on the report on the council contract,” she said, turning around and quickly scrabbling together the various papers. “I need to do a little more digging, but Blake helped me find an indemnification clause they tried to sneak past us.”

“Regarding Dust shipments, I assume.” The CEO’s lips lifted slightly in a smirk; the SDC hadn’t missed a shipment deadline since the sibling duo took the reins of the company, the amount of terrorist activity working against them drastically reduced once they started making headway in protecting their Faunus employees.

“Actually, third party vendors.” She put the relevant pages on top of the stack and turned it over to the now surprised and curious woman, who immediately set about reading through the red marked passages. “Guess the color scheme confused them; it looks like they’re trying to set us up to be their sugar mamas.”

Mentally, she smacked a hand to her forehead, somewhat mollified when she caught sight of Blake doing that exact motion behind the CEO’s back. The self admonishment by proxy would have to do for now, seeing as blue eyes immediately flicked up to meet her gaze. “Sugar… mamas?” Her pale lips pressed into a thin line- full lips, kissable lips, lips she really wanted to taste- before she nodded, favoring the blonde with a small grin. “So it would seem. Excellent work, Miss Xiao Long. When can I expect the full report?”

“After lunch,” she replied a bit quickly, a tad bit too eager and belatedly realizing that she still had to cross reference all the vendors, following the bread crumbs throughout all of Remnant and double checking everything through kingdom records. “A-at the earliest, I mean. But, uh, definitely by the end of the day, Ma'am.”

Winter frowned, handing back the red inked contract. “I’m afraid that won’t do.” The blonde blinked, worry lancing through her chest at the thought she might’ve let her boss down. “There’s entirely too much left for you to sort through for that to be feasible, not unless you work through lunch and stay late, which you’ll be doing neither.” Her gaze briefly flicked over her shoulder to where Blake stood. “I’ll let Weiss know that both of you are to be out of this building by four thirty at the latest, seeing as you have… plans.” The pause before the last word seemed laden with something, though Yang couldn’t begin to decipher what with how quickly Winter continued. “As for lunch, Weiss and I have reservations at a restaurant just a flew blocks over. I will be amending them to accommodate the two of you joining us.”

The words brooked no room for argument and Yang let out a surprised chuckle, trying very hard not to react too strong this time. She had to keep her cool for just a bit longer; their internship was just a few more weeks. “Well, I- I appreciate that, but, uh, we wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense.” The CEO waved off her concerns. “I know quite well that if I leave you to your own devices, you’ll work through lunch without even realizing it. Someone has to ensure you eat.”

“Thanks boss.” A wide smile stretched her lips, lilac eyes flicking over to her best friend. It wasn’t often they spent lunch with their respective executive, so the prospect appealed to both of them; maybe in a more relaxed environment, they could push the boundaries just a little. Because, honestly, she really wanted to know the woman’s favorite color, purely because if things got down to the wire and she thought she stood even a ghost of a chance, she wasn’t about to waste her 'go for broke’ shot on anything less than her absolute best. “What’s the place called? I can-”

“You can continue with what you were doing.” Winter nodded, looking over towards the Faunus, who had schooled her expression into one of polite interest the moment she noticed the motion. “Both of you can. I will attend the arrangements myself.”

With that, the woman disappeared back into her office, shutting her door and allowing the best friends to relax entirely. At least, in theory, anyway.

Naturally, the blonde said the first thing to come to her mind. “If I just… laid myself out in front of her door like a rug, do you think she’d step on me? Because I suddenly think I might be into that, all memes aside.”

“You dork.” Blake sighed, rubbing at her temple. “We’re hopeless. Sugar mamas, really?”

With a heavy sigh the moment the door closed, Winter trudged through her office until she reached her desk, bracing herself against the sturdy wood with both arms. Several emotions swirled in her head and tugged her every which way- a strange pain in her chest, a touch of nausea, a weakness in her knees- but she managed to compose herself.

Mostly.

“Well?” Weiss’ anxious voice intoned from the speaker. “Did you invite them to lunch?”

That was the plan. A last minute plan hatched to get a little space, perhaps open avenues to casual conversation that had nothing to do with work. Learn a bit more about their interns while maintaining their professional facades- dinner meetings, after all, came with the trade- and they were foolhardy enough to think it a good idea.

And it backfired spectacularly.

“Yes,” she said, turning around and slumping against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest and proceeding to do something she hadn’t since she was eight. Winter Schnee, CEO of one of-if not the- most powerful companies in Remnant, eldest daughter, decorated military officer, certified huntress… pouted. “They have a date tonight.”

Silence.

“They what?” Her younger sister’s voice, caught between incredulous and heartbroken, filled the space briefly but long enough to drive the static from between her ears.

“I overheard them finalizing their plans. They’re going to Yang’s after work.” Marshaling her thoughts, the woman shook her head slowly, coming to terms with this new information. She couldn’t even take solace in being right; instead, she just felt… hollow, empty, and that wouldn’t do. She wasn’t a child, after all, and the corporate world held too many dangers for her to afford such distractions, anyway.

“Oh.” A long pause. “I was… so sure. Maybe…” The listless shuffling of paper- she could imagine just how lost Weiss looked right then, trying to puzzle through her conflicting emotions. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. At least- at least they seem… you know… good for each other.”

“Right.” She straightened up, smoothing out her jacket before walking around to reclaim her chair. Although the… distraction wasn’t a pleasant one, she now felt entirely capable of throwing herself back into her work. “However, I think taking them to lunch is still a good idea. Despite our personal failings in remaining professionally detached, they’ve been two of the best employees we’ve ever had working directly under us.”

“That’s… true.” Her sister seemed slower in recovering and, honestly, it didn’t surprise her. Comparatively, Weiss had less experience in such matters, lacking the years her elder spent in the military meeting new people and maturing in that sense, remaining dedicated to her studies in order to take the COO position at such a young age. The woman was the same age as their interns, after all, and had held the position for two years already; there simply wasn’t time for much of a personal life. She’d fleetingly admitted to an unobtainable crush or two over the years- the famous huntress Pyrrha Nikos came to mind- but they were few and far between, always with the added benefit of distance and improbability to keep heartache to a minimum. However, she’d always been resilient, and she seemed to shake off the lingering melancholy after a few more moments to get her thoughts in order. “And their internships end in three weeks. Once we finalize this agreement, we have the quarterly review and then we’ll part ways.”

“Right.” Winter nodded for her benefit alone, already setting her fingers to the keyboard and diving back into the slew of emails awaiting her attention.

“Right.” A few moments of silence in which she thought the line would disconnect were followed by a small, somewhat defeated sigh of acknowledgement. “I’m… planning on getting a bottle of wine after work. Maybe two.”

“Get two, and double that order.” Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, though she straightened them immediately. She would not allow herself to become bogged down by useless self pity. “We’ll both need it.”

Blake took a surreptitious breath, steeling herself before knocking on the door to the COO’s office. Now that she had confirmed the expenses from their last business trip, Weiss could complete the expenditure report for the finance department and they could both move on to their next task for the day. While Winter and Yang focused their attentions on the impending contract, Weiss and Blake had taken on the standard day-to-day operations, and they still had to review the previous weeks reports from the various mines, not to mention pick which ones they’d be auditing for human- and faunus rights violations.

Her feline ears perked at the quiet but distinct order to enter, quickly slipping into the woman’s office and closing the door behind her. Behind the desk sat Weiss Schnee, second born to the family name, her off center ponytail peeking up and over the triple display screens occupying the majority of her desk space, the tapping of keys only interrupted by the occasional click of a mouse. They’d already spoken a few times that morning- quick notes about their to-do list, aggregating data for the audits, and clarification regarding a less important meeting later that week- but the Faunus still found herself mentally preparing for when she walked around to the side of the desk, allowing her amber eyes to fall on her boss. She didn’t favor the same strict, military style dress her elder sister did; more often than not, she wore skirts and dresses that swirled around pale, creamy thighs and ankles, dipping collars that accented the hollow of her throat and the curve of her-

“Is that the Mistral trip?”

Blake stiffened upon realizing she’d drifted off into her imagination again, silently cursing herself. “Yes, Ma'am. I just confirmed everything with Yang.”

A quick expression passed over the woman’s face- despite being Weiss’ intern, she’d yet to unravel the mystery of her boss’ quick expressions that never seemed to last long enough for her to discern, if they even appeared at all- before she accepted the manila folder, opening it up and quickly glancing at the papers within. “Thank you, Miss Belladonna. Is there anything else?”

The Faunus frowned, trying valiantly to keep her ears from twitching. Weiss wasn’t normally this curt after she’d had her morning coffee and certainly seemed a bit… friendlier before she’d gone over to check the receipts. The woman would at least look her in the eye, as if she truly held Weiss’ undivided attention for those precious moments, but now she felt more like a bothersome fly a second from being batted away. “Uh, did you… want me to get a status check on the Vacuon mines first? Or contact our Vytal branch office regarding their quarterly numbers?”

Usually, the woman would pause, look thoughtful, weigh the estimated time for completion against deadlines, accounting for timezone differences, and decide on a course of action- all in under a minute. This time, the reply was instantaneous. “We need the numbers; the status check can wait until after lunch.”

“Yes, Miss Schnee.” Without another word, Blake left the office, closing the door behind her and frowning. Rather than sit down at her desk and get back to work- wrangling the numbers out of the Vytal branch wouldn’t be easy, seeing as they often waited until the last minute and the reports weren’t technically due until the end of next week- but instead she leaned back against the solid wood, thinking back to just a few hours before.

She’d watched Weiss come in- white skirt swirling with every sharp step, the clack of her heels, those bright blue eyes softer than her sister’s but so entrancing, wait, focus Belladonna- but, now that she thought on it, the woman hadn’t had anything in her hands aside from her briefcase. No to-go bag from the bakery across the street, no pastry wrapped in a paper towel from home, and the doctor’s appointment she’d had that morning probably meant that she hadn’t eaten in a while, if at all.

Forgoing her desk, the Faunus strode towards the break room tucked into the middle of the floor, pouring a little coffee into a paper cup and tasting it herself. While it wouldn’t win any awards, the sharp bite was satisfactory, and she quickly added two packets of sugar and a splash of creamer to the cup before filling it nearly to the brim with coffee and swirling the concoction together with a stir stick. She grabbed a napkin and picked out a donut from the box sitting on a table- plain glaze, since the only other option was a bearclaw or some monstrosity layered with sprinkles- and went back to the COO’s office, carefully rapping her knuckles against the wood without losing either offering.

“Come in.” Pushing into the office, Blake quickly set about returning to the side of the desk and waiting for acknowledgement- the barest flick of those blue eyes her way- before setting down the coffee and donut. The movement seemed to be enough to prompt the woman to pause her work for a moment, watching as both items were set upon her desk. “What’s this for?”

“I… didn’t see you come in with anything this morning.” She took a step back, trying her hardest to will away the light blush rising in her cheeks while her ears trembled from the force of being held still. “It’s not good to skip breakfast.”

For a moment, Weiss did nothing but stare before eventually sighing. “You’re right. I was in a bit of a rush this morning.” She reached out to grab the donut and broke it in half, holding out one side to the intern. “But, here- you usually grab a snack about this time, do you not?”

“I do,” she replied, somewhat cautious.

The woman made a vague gesture, enticing her to take the offered half. “I’d rather not eat it all myself. We have a lunch arrangement soon, after all, and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

Her ears flicked, having caught a distinct consonant sound after the word 'lunch’ that her boss had quickly covered up, but she brushed it off as her nerves playing tricks on her. She hadn’t thought Weiss paid enough attention to her habits to notice she often ran to the vending machines about this time of day, if she hadn’t brought something in with her. Accepting the donut, she quickly took a step towards the door, seeing as her mission was complete. For the time being, at least. “I’ll go get started on those numbers.”

“Thank you, Miss Blake.”

The Faunus stopped, eyes flicking up to meet those steady, sparkling blue ones as her breath caught in her throat. Sure, it wasn’t quite as casual as when anyone else said her name, but… it was the first time the woman hadn’t been entirely formal. “A-anytime, Miss Weiss.”

For a moment, she’d thought the momentary distraction provided by the COO’s use of her name had just condemned her to losing her position entirely- really, calling the woman by name, what was she thinking- but those pale lips curled slightly into a little grin. With no reprimand forthcoming, she quickly left the office, once again leaning back against the door and releasing a deep, satisfied breath of relief. Whatever had the woman in a terse mood, she seemed to improve it, if only a little, which could only mean good things for their lunch da- the lunch their bosses would be treating the interns to, no doubt.

After she got the ball rolling on the numbers, she would text Yang to gush about the way Weiss said her name, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she sat down and got to work.

Within her office, Weiss watched the door close as her intern slipped out, releasing a breath she’d unconsciously held since she’d slipped up. Slowly, she lowered her forehead to the space between her keyboard and the edge of the desk, waiting for the dull thunk of impact before groaning, trying valiantly to ignore the way those amber eyes seemed to light up when she’d accepted the offering, when she’d crossed that invisible line in her mind between professional and personal by uttering the Faunus’ given name, when she seemed just so… happy about something in that quiet way she had.

Eventually, she reached the only logical conclusion left: these three weeks would be the death of her.

A business AU romcom starring Yang “Open Mouth Insert Foot” Xiao Long, Blake “Surrounded By Children” Belladonna, Winter “So Far In Denial She’s Drowning” Schnee, and Weiss “Needs Remedial Romance For Dummies” Schnee. 

I’m getting Weiss and Yang in suits before I let this AU go, I fucking swear it.

[thatbloodycountess]

Home: Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Symbiosis

 It’s going down! I hope you enjoy this chapter and remember, your feedback is always welcome and valued!

 1,590 words

  Gladio took point and charged towards the daemon with a roar, the first swing of his great sword connecting with one leg. Prompto opened fire as Noctis warped behind their target. Ignis flanked it from one side, throwing his daggers with deadly precision. The prince’s sword clocked his target on the back of the head before he warped away as the daemon whirled around.

 Celes aimed and fired upon the giant, ignoring the jarring pain to her right arm from the recoil. Three bullets hit their target before she darted to another position and fired again. She was in awe of the skill her four companions displayed. Each move was fluid and complemented one another flawlessly, it was as if they could predict each other’s movements before they even occurred. Noctis had command of the field and called out orders at the perfect moment.

 The daemon roared and brought his sword down to the ground, the rock splitting upon impact and causing the area to shake violently. Celes lost her balance and fell onto her side. Noctis warped to a nearby rock as Prompto was knocked down flat on his back. Ignis fell to one knee while Gladio held his ground and flung himself at the daemon for another strike. Prompto rolled over and slowly made his way to his knees. A loud mechanical sound caught his attention. His blue eyes lifted to the sky and widened.

 “We have company!”

 An Imperial airship stopped about thirty feet away from them. The rear door opened and about twenty MTs leapt from the craft, their weapons at the ready. Prompto scrambled to his feet as Ignis joined his side. The strategist called for Noctis and Gladio to hold off the daemon and then to Celes. She reloaded her weapon and nodded to him. She took aim and fired, providing the cover Ignis needed to get in close. Prompto followed, spraying the enemy with bullets. Ignis dodged their attacks as easily as he switched between his daggers and pole arm. Celes winced as she continued to fire, a bullet ripping through the neck of her target. The pain in her arm was getting worse. She hadn’t been in such a prolonged battle before and she was beginning to believe that her arm couldn’t take much more. But she couldn’t abandon Noctis and the others.

 Everything around her began to move in slow motion. She spotted Ignis adjust his glasses just before the smoke from a shattered MT obscured his visage. Every bullet Prompto fired was in perfect view and she caught a glimpse of a camera flash. The sounds of the battle began to fade away, being replaced by the sound of her heart beating rapidly. She could hear her blood coursing through her heart, veins, and arteries and out to the rest of her body. Her lungs took in large amounts of oxygen as the grip on her weapon went lax.

 Then everything went black.

  Prompto hissed as the sword sliced his arm. He kicked the MT square in the chest before falling back to reload. He took a quick glance behind him to find Noctis and Gladio still dealing with the daemon. They appeared to be holding their own but with their force cut down to two, it was taking longer than it should. Ignis decapitated his target before switching back to his daggers and moved onto the next, begrudgingly ignoring the hole in his jacket. Dave was going to owe them a huge favor this time. His muscles screamed for reprieve but he pressed on. If they let up even for a moment, the MTs would be on them in a second. It would leave Noctis wide open and they would only get to the prince over his dead body. But even he had to face facts. They were in a tough position, caught between a daemon and a squad of MTs. They situation was becoming bleaker as the moments ticked by.  

 Ignis motioned to strike once more but the MT standing before him crumpled to the ground in a heap, quickly followed by the one behind it. His eyes widened as he spotted Celes grab a sword from the ground and launch herself at another, swinging the blade down hard and splitting it in half. A low growl emitted from her lips as she continued her assault. Prompto immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw her enter the fray. But it wasn’t because of her sudden attack. Ignis took several steps back, gawking at the scene that played out in front of him.

 Celes’ sclera had turned black and her skin an ashy gray color. Her veins had turned black were visible on her skin. Some form of thick liquid oozed from her eyes, staining her face in black streaks. The same substance trickled from her lips. She ripped through the enemy ranks, using their own weapons against them, in a fashion that neither man had ever seen before. It was visceral and brutal, as if she shed her humanity for that of an animal. She almost seemed giddy at causing wanton destruction through the enemy ranks, ignoring the wounds they inflicted on her body. Prompto looked to Ignis for an explanation but the strategist was just as shocked as he was. He almost didn’t hear the deafening roar coming from behind them, signaling the death of the Iron Giant behind them.

 “What the hell is that?” Gladio shouted on his approach.

 The shield was making a beeline towards Celes, obviously mistaking her for a daemon. Ignis managed to stop him as Noctis hobbled up to them, downing a potion on the way. The four men stood frozen, unable to move and almost afraid to breathe, still in utter disbelief. They didn’t understand what was happening. She wielded the blade in her right arm, the scars obscured by the black veins, as if she never suffered her injury.

 The last MT collapsed to the ground with the others, leaving scrap metal and exposed wires behind. Celes stood amongst them still holding her weapon and the growl passing through her lips once more. The black substance reached her collarbone and was beginning to stain her t-shirt. Prompto stared at her in disbelief, his hand reaching towards his wrist where he hid his darkest secret. For the first time, Ignis didn’t know what to do. There was no strategy for something like this. Granted, they barely knew her, having met her only days before. But they couldn’t just put her down.

 The blade she was holding suddenly hit the ground and moments later, her body crumpled to the ground. Ignis moved quickly, weaving his way through the remnants of their enemy and kneeled next to her. His pressed his gloved fingers to her throat.

 “She’s not breathing.”

 He motioned for Prompto to come and help as he appeared to have suffered only minor scrapes compared to Gladio and Noctis. The blonde did as requested. Ignis began chest compressions and instructed Prompto on how to breathe into her mouth. Noctis and Gladio quietly watched them work while keeping an eye out for more daemons. The prince’s mind was reeling. The MTs were after him and an innocent person was dragged into it. His friends were part of the Crownsguard, they were trained for situations like this, but Celes wasn’t. She was a civilian. The words Cor spoke in the Tomb of the Wise rang in his head once again. He was now King of Lucis and it was his duty to protect his people.

 Prompto choked down the panic that threatened to escape as he gently tilted Celes’ head back, pinched her nose shut, and breathed into her mouth twice. Ignis’ usual stoic demeanor was slowly crumbling as the moments dragged on with no signs of life. But he had no intention of giving up just yet. He continued the chest compressions for another thirty count followed by two more breaths from Prompto.

 Celes’ eyes suddenly opened she coughed violently. Her eyes and skin had returned to normal. The black substance was left behind but there was none coming from her eyes or mouth any longer. Prompto’s lips curled into a relieved smile as Ignis breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his shoulders to slump forward a bit. He signaled to Gladio and Noctis that she was alive. Noctis released the breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding as the shield started looking around to see if he could spot a haven.

 “W-What happened?” Celes’ voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper.

 She tried to sit up but Prompto gently ushered her back down, her skin feeling cold and clammy under his touch. Her entire body was shaking. Gladio spotted a plume of near translucent smoke in the air, the telltale sign of a haven. It was about a quarter mile away but close enough to reach on foot. The Regalia was too far away, making it too risky during the night. He gestured to Ignis and the strategist nodded. Ignis removed his jacket and draped it over Celes and stood. Prompto carefully slipped his arms underneath her and picked her up bridal style.

 Noctis’ flashlight reflected off a shiny object about twenty feet to his right, near one of the groups of rocks that littered the area. He followed the light to find Celes’ pistol laying in the dirt. He picked it up and then turned to follow the others towards the haven.