#ive probably peaked with this chapter and the rest of the month will be a flop

[iellarenuodolorian]

Mandoctober Day 9

Darksaber

Summary: The first part of this prompt is dedicated to what we actually know about the Darksaber from the cartoon shows. After the “〰️”is when my AU takes over and I get carried away with how it came to be in a certain someone’s possession.

Words: 3.5k (YIKES sorry ya’ll I got carried away!)

Warnings: war, death, fighting, angst (mild), scattered fluff

Pairing: Din DjarinxF!mandalorian reader

~2BBY

The strangest event had happened. Bo-Katan had returned to your clan with a new gift. It was the Darksaber.

As you stared at the silver hilt in Bo’s hands, you tried to remember what you knew about this legendary weapon.

It was created centuries ago by Tarre Vizsla, the only Mandalorian to ever be part of the Jedi Order. The Jedi must have been different back then for Vizsla to agree to be one of them. No Mandalorian these days would agree to such atrocity. Tarre used his skills as a Jedi to bring peace to the war torn Mandalorians and for the first time in centuries Mandalorians knew what peace was. But that peace did not last, because after Tarre died, the peace he had worked so hard to build was torn apart and Mandalorians were at war with each other again.

After Vizsla died, the Jedi kept his saber in their temple, as a relic. House Vizsla “liberated” it from the hands of the Jedi, and the Darksaber became a symbol of leadership to all Mandalorians after Vizsla had wielded it for so long and lead the Mandalorians to peace. That wasn’t to say that whoever wielded the Darksaber was fit to always be Mand’alor.  Anyone who wished could challenge them to combat for the right to be Mand’alor. Mandalorians had always believed only the strongest should lead, and only the strongest should wield such a relic.

House Vizsla had kept the Darksaber in their clan for many years, and the next Vizsla to have a history with the Darksaber was Pre Vizsla. During the Clone War, he created a group of Mandalorians who believed in the old ways, not the pacifist ways of Duchess Satine and her followers. Vizsla and his group he named the Death Watch, Kyr’tsad, were a rogue group of lawless killers who obeyed no one and only followed Pre because he brought them glory in combat. The goal of Death Watch was to liberate Mandalore from their pacifist enemies and restore the mando’ade to Mandalore. Originally Death Watch aligned themselves with the Sepratists, but after many failed attempts to take Mandalore back Death Watch the alliance is broken and Death Watch sets out to try and build their own army.

Death Watch stumbled upon two Sith brothers, Pre makes the mistake of thinking that because these brothers are Sith they could be allies and be joined by their hatred of Jedi. Little does Pre know that Maul is only using Death Watch to start his own crime syndicate, Crimson Dawn. Maul has his own agenda which does NOT include taking back Mandalore in a timely manner.

When Pre realizes this, he challenges Maul to a fight, that he ultimately loses. Bo had told you this part of the story because she had been close with Pre, once upon a time. Watching Maul kill Pre was horrifying for Bo and because she believed no outsider, aruetii, should rule and wield the Darksaber, she deserted and took a handful of loyal Mandalorians with her.

Bo returned to Mandalore with her nephew to break her sister out of jail, but with no small amount of convincing from her nephew, Korkie Kryze. The small group only managed to escape to the edge of the city of Sundari where Satine managed to send a transmission to Master Kenobi with a plea for help. Master Kenobi showed up some time later, only to also fail in his attempt to save Satine, and Master Kenobi was forced to watch as Maul killed Satine with the Darksaber. Bo and the Nite Owls helped Master Kenobi to escape and told him to tell the Jedi Council what has happened but to keep the Republic from sending troops to occupy Mandalore.

After many years of recruiting loyal Mandalorians to her cause, Bo set out with a small group of her loyal Nite Owls to find a Jedi she had met years before when she was part of Death Watch. Bo had hoped that if she could find this Jedi she could use said Jedi to recruit help from the Jedi council to take back Mandalore from Maul. Bo and the Nite Owls eventually found this Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, and recruited her to train in the Mandalorian ways. Ahsoka eventually agreed to talk with her old Masters, Kenobi and Skywalker, and see if there was a way to send troops to Mandalore to capture Maul.

Ahsoka was given command of half of the 501st Legion, and the Siege of Mandalore started. It was a long and bloody six months, with neither side making any sort of gain. Maul eluded capture again and again, and finally, after most of Sundari was in flames, was Maul finally captured. Except the Darksaber was nowhere to be found. Maul must have hidden it somewhere only he knew, and now this ancient relic that could unite all the Mandalorian clans was lost, possibly forever.

The Force works in mysterious ways, you could testify to that from your own life experiences, and the Darksaber was not lost forever. A member of House Wren, Clan Vizsla, had come across a shrine on the planet Dathomir dedicated to the late Duchess Satine, and on a pedestal was the Darksaber. Having stolen the saber from Dathomir, this member of House Wren was reluctant to learn to wield it. She knew the responsibility and power it carried and felt that she didn’t deserve it. But after accepting who she could be, Sabine Wren accepted that the Darksaber had come to her for a reason. Sabine was dedicated to the Rebellion, and knew she could not divide her loyalties between her Mandalorian family and her Rebellion family. She passed on the Darksaber to Bo-Katan to unite the clans and to take back Mandalore.

〰️

Bo-Katan traveled to some of the larger clans to ask for warriors to come out of hiding and to take back their home with her. Many joined, only some stayed behind to protect those too young to fight and to pass the Mandalorian culture on to the next generation.

Many thousands of Mandalorians gathered Carlac to form the army that would take back Mandalore. You were an anxious mess, knowing at some point Din Djarin would show up and you would be able to see him again after more than a year of being apart. In the last decade you had only managed to spend a few days with him once a year, in a cold dark corner of space hiding from the rest of the Galaxy in stolen moments of passion. The passion was like a supernova, burning hot and bright for a short period of time, only to implode into a black hole with the loneliness and depression of being separated again after such a short time.

It was two days before the attack was to take place, and you were going over plans and cleaning your armor and weapons. You had spent the day training and catching up with Ailyn to distract yourself from the fact that Din still had not come to join the attack group. Ailyn had to end the session early, you were taking all your frustrations out on her. You were so focused on polishing your helmet and checking the wiring in your HUD you failed to notice someone sneaking into your tent. You whirled, blaster aimed, ready to tackle the intruder when he threw his hands up shouting “Hey, its just me! Udesii.”

“Jare’la di’kut.” You lowered your blaster and sighed to yourself in frustration. You watched Din take his helmet off and gently toss it onto your makeshift cot. His arms reached for you at the same time as yours and you wrapped each other in the tightest of embraces, holding on to each other for as long as possible, afraid this was only a dream.

Din began pressing kisses into your neck, as your hands found his curls, gently tugging and pushing the curls around. Din kissed his way up your jaw, and finally his lips found yours. Not wasting any time you eagerly pushed your tongue against his lips, just begging to taste him. It had been so long and you had almost forgotten what his kisses were like.

After you had finished reacquainting your mouths with each other, armor was removed and set at the end of your bed. You had gone out for food and brought it back to your tent, so you and Din could share a meal in peace and catch up.

“How are things going with the Bounty Hunters Guild these days?” You asked him.

“Work is work.” He shrugged as he took another bite. “I keep busy, nothing is too challenging. Sometimes it's almost too easy. But then I remember I’m getting older, and my back loves to remind me of that fact.” You laughed at his statement, almost spitting out your bite of food.

“You are not old! Because if you are old, then so am I and I am NOT ready to accept that fact of life. We are just hitting our prime!”

The rest of the meal was spent with Din telling stories about some of his more, eventful, bounties while you shared that you had not been doing much but traveling to the different hidden clans making sure they had enough supplies and that no one was trying to kill each other. Bo-Katan had given her Nite Owls the task of making sure the clans were taken care of in hiding.

It was late when you had finished telling your stories, so you curled up next to Din under the blankets. Using his shoulder as a pillow, you curled up next to him trying to be as close to him as possible. You would only have tonight to enjoy him as much as possible, tomorrow night everyone was to load up and head out to make the jump to Mandalore. You played with his hair until if put both of you to sleep, and for just one gloriously perfect night, you slept peacefully.

You wished you could always wake up to Din in the morning, his bed head was legendary. You weren’t sure if it was from sleeping, you playing with it in your sleep, or both. Either way his face in the soft morning light made you wish for just a moment that you both had different lives and that it was possible for you to always wake up like this.

The day was spent doing some light training with Ailyn and Din, making sure everyone’s weapons were functioning at 110%, armor was polished and functioning properly, and everyone’s munitions belts fully stocked with charges and spare power packs. When everything was as ready as it could be, you, Din and Ailyn went to your respective ships to start the pre-flight checklist. Your secure comlink connection to Din’s helmet kept you entertained through the checklist as you talked about silly memories to keep you distracted from the nerves of the coming battle. It was entirely possible that one of both of you would not return from this mission.

You were leading the squadron of Gauntlet fighters to the underground tunnels in Sundari. Your group was tasked with taking the tunnels while Ailyn was taking a group to secure the loading docks. Bo-Katan was taking another group to the Palace to capture Saxon, and secure the throne.

As soon as your group came out of hyperspace, something in your mind was screaming, “trap!!” The recon and intel that had been gathered for weeks before the mission had to be accurate, there was no way that the Empire could have changed anything in such a short amount of time. You would have to trust your training, which was more like automatic reflexes, and trust Bo-Katan and her strategy.

Suddenly, a Star Destroyer came out of hyperspace on your port side. I have a bad feeling about this, you thought to yourself as swarms of TIEs came streaming out of the Destroyer.

Bo-Katan’s voice sounded over your speakers, “All fighters head for the surface! Only engage if you have to. We need as many troops on the ground as we can get!”

After dozens of close calls, minimal damage, and only one Gauntlet lost along the way, your team made it to the surface. Your thoughts momentarily wandered to Din, wondering if he had managed to make it to the surface with Bo. He was part of her group responsible for taking the Palace. But you had to focus leading your own group through the tunnels so that you could set as many traps for later when Imperial troops were fleeing.

The Imperials were more than prepared for your attack on the tunnels. The nagging feeling in your mind that something was just wrong kept pushing its way to the front of your thoughts. You were met with squads of stormtroopers at every junction in the tunnels, and it was taking far too long to try and flank them to get around and to the central drain that would lead to the surface of Sundari. You knew the surviving members of your group would need to be split between reinforcing the loading docks and helping to secure the Palace. But something was just wrong about the entire situation. The stormtroopers seemed to know every move before you even made it. If you didn’t know better you would have said that whoever was leading them had a book on Mandalorian tactics and had studied it very well.

After what felt like days of fighting, your group had finally reached the main tunnel that led to the surface. With your comm working again, you reached out to Ailyn to see how her fight was going at the docks. Her group had things held down for now, but Ailyn had not heard from Bo-Katan in hours. She should have checked in by now with a report, good or bad. And that was when the nagging feeling hit home. Something had gone terribly wrong in the Palace, and the two people who meant the most to you in the Galaxy were stuck in the trap. You had to come up with a plan, but what?

You couldn’t just charge into the Palace, shooting at anything that moved and being a one woman show. The Mand’alor was in there, probably held captive by Saxon, and surrounded by troopers. Ailyn pulled up a holo of the Palace, and together the leaders of the four squads that were going to pull off this rescue mission.

With a plan in place, you took your squad on the long route to the throne room. Ailyn was going to create a distraction with an attack at the front, one squad served as the backup for any team that needed extra firepower, while the last squad was being saved as the last effort to save the mission.

You were amazed at how many troopers were stationed in the palace, far more than there should have been after the estimate you had added up in your head from your own experience in the tunnels and from what Ailyn had told you from the docks. The only way that there could have been this many troops to reinforce the original recon numbers was if a Moff or someone higher than that in High Command had pulled strings to make sure Mandalore did not fall.

The nagging feeling in your mind only grew stronger the closer to the throne room that your squad came. You knew Din was still alive, and you hoped that Bo-Katan was alive too. Without her the clans would surely fall into civil war again, and this time it would be a civil war that ended the Mandalorian culture.

Upon finally reaching the doors to the throne room, both yours and Ailyn’s squads stormed the room, taking out the troopers stationed around the spacious room with ease.

Your eyes fell to the throne, and the man sitting on it. That man was not Tiber Saxon. Who was this man with dark hair and dark skin, and black stormtrooper armor?

“My name is Moff Gideon.” A baritone voice drawled. “You may remember me from years past as the Imperial Security Bureau Agent in charge of rounding up and executing Mandalorian traitors to the Empire. As you can see I managed to escape from that pitiful prison the Rebels tried to hold me in. You do not know the extent of the powers I have, nor the powerful friends I have in high places. You have underestimated me. And now you will pay for your costly mistake.”

He ignited the Darksaber, and held it to Bo-Katan’s neck. “Lay down your weapons and surrender if you want your precious Mand’alor to live. I have no qualms using this blade to kill her, and the rest of you for that matter.”

With a glance at Ailyn, you knew that your final contingency plan was going to be called into action. Din wasn’t too far away, with a jump and a quick burst of your jetpack, you should be able to protect him from what was about to happen.

“Lower your weapons. Now.” More troopers began filing in from behind the throne, and slowly you and Ailyn signaled to your troops to set their blasters on the floor. The audio sensors in your helmet had picked up the sound of the jetpacks of the fourth squad, and your jump to protect Din had to be timed perfectly or it would give the whole plan away. 3… 2… 1…. JUMP!

You wrapped Din up in your arms and curled your body around him as much as possible to protect him from the missiles that were being sent into the throne room from the Mandalorians outside. Ailyn made a jump similar to yours  for Bo-Katan, and in the chaos of the dust and blaster bolts the Mandalorians made their escape.

Back on the base at Carlac, you and Ailyn sat down to talk about what happened with Bo-Katan. She would need several days rest before she could be moved back to her clan’s hiding spot.

“Who was that man and how did he manage to defeat us so easily?” You asked her.

“Many years ago, in the first Siege of Mandalore, when we asked the Republic for help in dethroning Maul we made the mistake of thinking the Republic was on the right side. It turns out we only made it easier for the Empire to occupy Mandalore after the Clone War ended. Gideon was put in place to oversee the submission of Mandalorians to the Empire. When we refused, we were imprisoned and killed. Gideon spent his time interrogating his prisoners before he would kill them, so he could learn as much as possible about us to make it easier for him to wipe us out. And now he possesses the Darksaber. I fear Mandalore is lost, for without the Darksaber to unite the clans there will be civil war again. We must go into deeper hiding, to protect ourselves, our families, and our way of life.”

After saying goodnight, you and Ailyn left Bo to sleep for the night. Tomorrow would come and be a new day to look at the problems facing the Mandalorians.

You told Ailyn you wanted to check on Din before heading to your tent, and admitted you would probably end up staying with him for the night.

As you walked into his room, you saw he was already asleep. The droid had told you outside that he would be fine, his wounds had already been healed with some bacta slave. The only injury that would require a bit longer to heal was the broken ribs. You walked over to his side, and kissed his head brushing a few curls off to the side and running your fingers through to the ends a few times. Tears formed in your eyes as you thought about everything that had happened the last few days, and how you could have lost him. You refused to let more than one tear fall though, because he was here and everything was going to be fine.

You pulled up a chair next to his bed, and laid your head on your arms next to his legs, and wrapped your hands around his and fell asleep with your face next to his hand.

In your dreams, you had visions of a man in silver beskar’gam, wielding the Darksaber. He felt familiar to you in the way that dreams tend to blur the line between reality and dreamland, but in dreamland grasping at familiarity is like trying to smell colors in reality.

Aruetii- traitor, foreigner, or outsider [ah-roo-AY-tee]

Mand’alor- sole ruler [MAHN-dah-lor]

Mando’ade- sons and/or daughters of Mandalore [mando-AH-day]

Kyr’tsad- Death Watch (lit. Death Society) [KEERT-sahd]

Udesii- take it easy/calm down/relax [oo-DAY-see]

Jare’la di’kut- you’re asking for it dumbass [jah-RAY-lah DEE-koot]

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

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Thank you for taking the time to read my silly little story!! It mean the world to me 💙💙

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here! 

Inspiration tag for the story! 

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out! 

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

                                       Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth. 

February 1st. 

It’s Harry’s birthday today. 

He’s 29. Shit. 

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly. 

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive? 

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right. 

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly. 

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send. 

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is. 

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene. 

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone. 

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

+

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me. 

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads. 

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite. 

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap. 

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply. 

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part. 

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast. 

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner. 

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up. 

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to. 

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork. 

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit. 

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back. 

+

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?” 

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here. 

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving. 

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up. 

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation. 

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways. 

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say. 

A name. 

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time. 

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody. 

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for. 

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching. 

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright��� just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes. 

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots. 

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long. 

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams. 

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest. 

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile. 

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does. 

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second. 

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin. 

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer. 

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?” 

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room. 

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander. 

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails? 

Wait, you’re an uncle? 

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things. 

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me. 

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice. 

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue. 

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut. 

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile. 

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you. 

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him. 

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away. 

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-. 

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that. 

For the rest of day. 

Week. 

Maybe even, month. 

+

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread. 

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes. 

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head. 

My break is over at 1:30. 

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back. 

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall. 

So she won’t mind. 

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now. 

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public. 

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery. 

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks. 

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that. 

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here. 

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made. 

I just fell a little bit harder. Again. 

+

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me. 

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter. 

Options, options, options. 

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door. 

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door. 

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing. 

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again. 

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.  

It rings and it rings. 

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg. 

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears. 

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting. 

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

 The worries.

The uncertainty. 

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it. 

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem. 

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words. 

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now. 

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins. 

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away. 

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid. 

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans. 

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen. 

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words. 

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in. 

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?” 

No answer. 

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body. 

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face. 

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet. 

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands. 

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us. 

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with. 

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together. 

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room. 

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles. 

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him. 

+

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one. 

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.  

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him. 

Me

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat. 

Me

Goodnight 

+

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath. 

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier. 

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes. 

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words. 

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice. 

[sw-losthope]

Star Wars Episode IV: Lost Hope

Act 1 | Chapter 4

Hello, lovelies! Here’s chapter 4, happy reading!

Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Luke hadn’t been expecting any visitors -- least of all the old hermit his uncle had told him to stay away from -- but as he settled the airspeeder to a rest and pulled the power converters from the seat next to him, he noticed Ben Kenobi and his aunt and uncle making their way out of the burrow.

“Uncle Owen! I swung by the Tosche Station and got those power converters like you wanted!” Luke hefted the cells into his arms and lugged the batteries over to the group. As he got closer, he noticed the grim expression on his uncle’s face, and his aunt wiping her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, still cradling the converters.

“Nothing,” Lars answered gruffly, “we were just showing Ben here the way out.”

“But it’s almost nightfall, isn’t it dangerous for him to go out by himself?” Luke didn’t know the hermit well but he knew he wasn’t okay with someone getting ambushed by a pack of tuskens, “Shouldn’t he stay the night?”

Lars tried to say no, but Beru cut him off.

“Luke is right, dear,” She turned to the old man and gestured back down, “Please excuse us, it seems we lost track of time. Thank goodness for Luke.”

“Thank goodness indeed,” The hermit gave Luke a slight nod before turning away. Luke watched Ben walk back in, his aunt following after. Owen stood where he was, a look of frustration and worry angling his face.

“I’m going to set these down in the garage,” Luke told his uncle, moving past him as the weight of the converters began to strain his back. He stopped as Lars placed a hand on his shoulder and turned his nephew to face him.

Owen looked into Luke’s eyes for a long time. An unmistakable tone of desperation and irritation tinted his voice, Luke hadn’t seen his uncle this upset since the tusken raid that took out one of the vaporators a few months back. 

“You’re a farmer, Luke. Whatever that old kook downstairs tries to feed you, don’t buy into it. Your father wanted you to be safe with us, and I’m not about to let some balding wizard spit in the face of your father’s wishes.”

Lars held his nephew there for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. “Go set down those converters, we’ll deal with ‘em in the morning...together,” With a quick pat on Luke’s back, Owen headed down the stairs, leaving Skywalker to wonder just what was going on.

It took Luke about ten minutes to heave the power converters down to the garage, but he gave himself a good twenty to catch his breath and let all his sweat dry up. While he dried off, Luke took a seat on the red R5 unit he and his uncle had bought a day or so ago. A restraining bolt kept it from moving and making noise, so Luke filled the silence himself.

“What had all that been about up there, do you think?” Luke asked the nonresponsive droid, “I’m not as blind as a mynock, I can tell something’s happening.” He stood up and ran his hands through his blonde hair, shaking his head in frustration.

He let out a long groan, “And what had all that stuff been about my dad? Do you think Old Ben knows something about him?” He sat down cross-legged next to the droid, his hair ruffled and matted with sweat.

Resting his head against the red astromech, Luke cooled the left side of his face on the cold metal, “I saw Biggs earlier...Biggs Darklighter, do you know him?”

No response.

“Yeah, well,” Luke answered himself. “You will soon. Wanna know why?” His voice turned to a whisper as he peaked around the room as if someone would be listening in, “he’s leaving the Academy to go to Bestine and join the Rebellion.”

A huge grin crossed Luke’s face as he said the last word, “The Rebellion! It’s crazy, right?” Unable to stay still with his sudden surge of energy, Luke stood up, “I told him that it sounded crazy and that it’ll probably be a longshot if he ever comes across them, but I know he will…”

Luke’s voice grew soft.

“If anyone can find the Rebels...it’s Biggs. He can do anything; he’s almost as good a pilot as me,” His smile dropped as he sat in front of the restrained astromech. Thinking about his childhood friend going off to fight in a war seemed bigger than anything Luke had ever imagined on Tatooine. His best friend gone amongst the stars Luke could only dream of getting to. The thought of Biggs getting shot at, or captured, or worse...

“I know you can’t hear me, but,” His voice was barely audible as he pressed his forehead against the droid and closed his eyes, “I’m gonna be right behind you, Darklighter. Don’t get yourself killed before I find you. Uncle Owen won’t keep me past this season, and when I get to the Academy...I’m going to catch up to you in no time, I prom--”

“Luke!” Aunt Beru’s call broke the farmboy’s train of thought, and he stood alert as if he had been caught trying to steal a scavenger’s ration portions, “Luke, come up for dinner!”

Realizing he hadn’t been overheard, Luke let out a long sigh. Placing his hand on the droid’s circular head, Luke gazed at his reflection on the dusty metal, “I’ll get that bolt off, Red. Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you -- that’s a promise!”

With that, Luke made his way up the steps, turning off the lights in the garage. In the quiet darkness of the repair station, R5-D4 let out a low whirr of gratitude before powering down.

Dinner was uncomfortably silent. Luke was the only one really looking up from his food, so he was the only one who could see the furtive looks being traded between his aunt and uncle. The back and forth seemed to play like an argument, and as Aunt Beru let out a long breath, Luke could tell his uncle had won.

Aunt Beru rose, her plate almost completely untouched, “Let me clear the table,” she gathered her plate and Uncle Owen’s, making her way over to Luke’s. Just as she reached out to take Luke’s plate, Beru let out a panicked shout. She had tripped, and the two full plates of food she had been carrying fell out of her hands and towards Luke.

Skywalker flinched and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

It never came.

Opening his eyes, Luke saw the two plates and their contents a few inches from his face...floating in midair. His mouth dropped in utter amazement, and he turned his head to see if everyone else could see what was happening. It turns out they did, and Uncle Owen looked even more furious than ever.

“I said none of your magic in my house, Jedi!” Owen shouted, he stood up and slammed his hand on the table.

“Jedi?” Luke said dimly, looking at Old Ben who had his hand outstretched towards the floating plates. With a wave of his hand, the plates moved through the air and sat on the table, their contents following suit, only a little worse for wear.

“I want you out of my home this instant!” Owen hollered, “You’re not taking Luke, so get it through that rancor-thick head of yours. You hear me?”

Ben opened his eyes and stood, his voice calm, “Forgive me, Lars, but that decision is Luke’s.”

Owen took a step towards the old man, standing in his face.

“I said he ain’t going anywhere. I’m not gonna let you get my nephew caught up in some crazy space war, so you’d best be making your way home -- you’ll have about an hour before nightfall.”

Ben stood his ground, his expression not changing as his eyes went from Owen to Luke and then back to Owen, “As you wish.”

The old hermit put his hood on as he moved past Lars towards the door.

“Wait!” He turned at the sound of Luke’s voice, “You’re a Jedi?”

The old man smiled, a small one, “I am.”

“Did you fight in the Clone Wars?” Luke asked, his eyes lighting up.

“Luke --,” His uncle tried to growl, but Ben cut him off.

“I was a general in the war,” The old man said, lowering his hood again, “just like your father.”

A gasp came from Beru as she covered her mouth. Owen gave the old Jedi a dark glare.

“But,” Luke was the only one who wasn’t silent, “my father wasn’t a Jedi….He was a navigator on a spice freighter…,” He looked to his aunt and uncle, both of whom didn’t look him in the eye, “Right?”

“That’s right,” Owen snarled, “your father was a navigator and he died a navigator.”

“Your father,” Ben said plainly, seemingly ignoring the animosity in Lars’ voice, “was a Jedi Knight, Luke. One of the greatest, and my closest friend.”

“Is that true?” Luke asked incredulously. No one responded. “Is that true?” He demanded, standing up.

“Yes…,” Beru choked out from behind her hand.

“Beru!” Owen snapped.

“No, Owen….He deserves to know,” she wasn’t going to give this time. Beru put a hand on Luke’s shoulder and he turned to face her. His eyes were full of disbelief.

“Luke... Your father was a Jedi, but he died fighting in the war -- a war just like the one going on now. All the Jedi died because they were reckless. We tried to keep you from that life because only pain exists for people like that. Please, you have to believe us, Luke.”

Skywalker stepped back from her, looking back and forth between his aunt and uncle. “How could you all keep that from me?” tears formed as his voice got more and more upset, “You’ve been lying to me about my life since the beginning...and if it weren’t for Ben, you guys probably wouldn’t have even bothered telling me the truth, would you?”

Luke glared at his uncle, “And you probably would have kept me here as a farm hand for the rest of my life. No academy or piloting for me, just,” He gestured around himself, “vaporators and sand. Is that what you wanted?”

“We wanted to keep you safe, Luke,” Beru pleaded, “It was the only way, please--!”

“Just stop!” Luke yelled. Everyone was looking at him. His breathing was heavy and his face was hot, “Stop lying.”

A hush fell over the room, as the young Skywalker caught his breath. He looked up, his gaze going directly to Ben. “My father,” Luke asked quietly, “If he was a Jedi, could I be one too?”

Owen and Beru both looked at one another as the old hermit spoke.

“You could be an even greater Jedi than your father, Luke,” Ben took a step back into the room, “but it is not a choice to be made out of anger or betrayal.” Skywalker’s eyes dropped slightly.

“Being a Jedi, Luke, is about compassion,” A warmth seemed to permeate the room as the white-haired hermit spoke, “It’s about forgiveness. The first steps will be hard, but you must face them if you ever hope to become a Jedi.”

Ben turned and walked up the steps leaving Skywalker with his aunt and uncle. For a while, no one spoke. The calm the Jedi had brought when he spoke had faded and all that was left was the anger and tension.

Luke went first.

“I’m going to become a Jedi like my father,” He declared, Owen didn’t look at him.

“Uncle, I...I think I understand why you’d lie to me, but I need to follow my own path. Staying on the farm my whole life? I can’t do that….All of my friends are gone, Biggs is gone. Everyone’s growing up and making something of themselves and seeing the galaxy, and I --I just don’t want to be left behind.”

“Luke,” His uncle responded, his blue eyes finally meeting Luke’s, “not this way.” He shook his head slightly, “I promise, the end of this season, I’ll take you to the Academy -- you can sign up, you can be with your friends, just…,” His voice cracked, “don't go like this, not with him.”

They held one another at that moment for a long time, but after taking a shaky breath and wiping his eyes, Luke came to his decision.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I love you,” He looked to his aunt, “Both of you. Thank you for everything. For taking care of me; raising me, keeping me safe, teaching me to pilot and cook and look out for myself. Thank you ...but if I don’t go now,” his voice trailed off and he looked back to his uncle who was silently pleading with him, “I don’t think I ever will.”

Walking to the door, Luke placed a hand on the frame and turned back to his family.

“I’ll come back,” He managed. “I promise.”

With that, Luke Skywalker made his way out of the dining room--out of the burrow he called home -- towards the old Jedi and the future that was now ahead of him.

End of chapter four

beginning / back / next

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 53 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Snowbound

"So ... I have a question."

Rory glanced up from her paperwork at the sound of Kaaras' curious voice. She was huddled next to the big hearth in the main hall, using the other end of Varric's table to get up to date on everything she needed to read and sign off on.

A heavy snow-storm had descended on Skyhold, burying the courtyard in drifts three feet deep, and that was nothing compared with what the storm had done outside the fortress. Skysend was virtually indistinguishable from the rest of the plateau from up here, the drifts so deep that people had taken to carving tunnels through them rather than trying to shovel the excess out of their way. Thankfully, they'd only had one patient in the tents that were still serving as the infirmary for the time being, and he had been relatively easy to move to the armory. There were plans to restore the roof of one of the outbuildings next to the tavern and turn it into a real infirmary, but for now, they were having to make do. No one was doing any manual work until the storm had passed over them.

With nothing else to do, and a firm insistence from everyone around her to stay indoors and not do anything silly, she'd given in and set to catching up on her paperwork, though there would invariably be more to do once contact was reestablished with the city and the world beyond it. She wasn't the only one who had sought refuge in the hall - Cullen was working at a table near the dais at the far end, since their bedroom was now inches deep in snow and the tower itself too cold to work in. Blackwall had fled the stables when it became clear that Master Dennet and his people were going to barricade the doors and wait out the storm, and was even now polishing his sword with his pouch of silks for that purpose. Cassandra, deprived of her usual spot in the upper courtyard, was absorbed in her book, re-reading Swords and Shields, Vol IV, for the umpteenth time. At the other end of the table Rory was sitting at, Varric was going over his correspondence, swearing quietly to himself every time he had to add a note or sign his name to something.

They were all stuck in here together for the foreseeable future, at least the next few hours, and until the roads cleared, there would be no venturing forth from Skyhold, either. Unfortunately, that also meant that the expected guests would not be arriving anytime soon. Despite the fact that no mention had been made of it, Rory knew Hawke was on his way, and Evelyn's family were due to arrive any day, too. With luck, both parties had found somewhere to hole up until the passes cleared. She didn't want to think about Evy's noble parents stuck in a tent in weather like this.

"A question about what?" she asked, setting her quill aside as Kaaras parked himself on a stool next to the fire.

He glanced cautiously at Varric, and lowered his voice further. "How do you woo someone?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Rory stared at him for a moment, her mind caught up in manifests and supply lists. Then the penny dropped. "You mean courting?" she ventured, needing a little clarification.

He nodded, his snapped horn catching the firelight. The truncated curl had healed nicely in the month or so since Haven had fallen, the horn itself slowly beginning to seal over the delicate tissues left open to the air. He wore that break with pride, too, a sign of what he had survived against the odds.

"She likes me," he murmured to her, inching closer until he was leaning on the table, his head bowed toward her own. "At least I think she does. She almost said so. But she doesn't think I can give her what she really wants. She says she wants the ideal, whatever that is, and something about flowers and poetry and candles ... What is that about?"

Wow, that conversation happened sooner than I was expecting it. But then, in the games, that conversation depended on the Inquisitor completing a silly amount of FedEx quests, in Rory's opinion, just to trigger the cutscene. It made sense that Cassandra might bite the bullet sooner in real life. Faced with this question, however, Rory found herself drawing a blank. She just didn't remember all the ins and outs of Cassandra's romance. More than half a year without a refresher in all things Dragon Age, and she was starting to forget the important things that were going to happen.

"Look," she said thoughtfully, taking Kaaras' marked hand in hers, absently testing the tender flesh of his palm with her fingertips. "You've read Swords and Shields, haven't you?"

He frowned, shaking his head. "Dorian said it was garbage," the Qunari Inquisitor admitted awkwardly.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Garbage or not, it's got all the ingredients of the romance Cassandra yearns for," she told her friend pointedly. "It's got the larger than life hero - that's you. It's got the damsel in distress - that's her, despite all evidence to the contrary. Cassandra wants to be swept off her feet, she wants to be romanced. So what she wants is for you to prove that she's worth all the embarrassment of recreating a fantasy for. She knows it isn't like that really, but it's still what she wants."

"But why want something that she knows is embarrassing?" Kaaras pressed, deeply confused by the female brain in his experience. "What's wrong with just admitting she likes me back?"

"I ... have no idea how to explain it to you," Rory admitted, frustrated with her own lack of creativity here. "Ask Josephine? She has a better handle on where you can get all the things you'll need, too. And besides, you're already on the right lines. When Varric finishes that chapter, you can give it to her, and she'll know you consider her someone worth making an effort for. Believe me, Kaaras, you're going to have to put work into proving to her that you're in this for the long haul. If you're not, back off now, while you still have your testicles intact."

He winced just at the thought of that, but the message seemed to have gotten through. "All right, so I should ask Josephine where to get all the ... romance stuff," he muttered, apparently filing this away in the back of his mind. "And you'll tell me what to do with it, right?"

"If you can't work it out for yourself, of course I will," she promised, turning her eyes down to the glowing green scar on his palm.

Her brows knitted together worriedly - it was noticeably longer than it had been when he'd first fallen from the Fade, though not by more than half an inch. But still ... the Anchor was growing. That was more than enough to worry her, even without knowing where that growth would eventually take him. She seriously hoped that Solas was slightly less of a dick in real life than he was in the games. Maybe Fen'Harel would let his friend keep the arm, if it was possible. She hoped it was possible. Her fingertips stroked gently along the raised mark.

"Is it still hurting you?" she asked softly.

Kaaras' frown changed from confusion to annoyance as he shook his head. "Not so much anymore," he assured her quietly, his eyes on the tracing touch of her fingertips. "It flares up near rifts, and near those Veil artifact things Solas wanted us to activate, but I wouldn't say it hurts anymore. Maybe I'm just used to it."

"Maybe," Rory mused thoughtfully. "Still using the ointment?"

He fidgeted awkwardly. "I, um ... I ran out, in the Fallow Mire," he confessed with a guilty cast to his expression. "And then Haven was attacked, and you've been very busy, Ror."

"Kaaras ..." She sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "This is my job. You're not taking up my time needlessly when you have a need for what I can do. I'll get you some more of the ointment. The least I can do to help is keep that scar from splitting with all the rough handling it gets."

"Thanks, Ror."

It was strange, to see that boyish smile in a face that was already carrying more burdens than it had when they'd first met. But Kaaras was a good man - better than many - and he deserved some relief from those burdens. She hoped he would follow through on his courtship of Cassandra. They both needed a way to relieve their tensions, and doing it together would be a load off everyone's mind. With both warriors currently trapped inside with little room to spar, their ability to get annoyed was ramped up to incalculable levels.

"So, Varric ..." Kaaras raised his head, leaning along the length of the table to prod the dwarf in the shoulder. "Is your bird coming, or what?"

Varric winced, rubbing his shoulder. "Say it a little louder, I don't think Cassandra heard you," he complained, glancing toward the Seeker. Rory couldn't blame him - that relationship was a little more antagonistic than she had really expected it to be. "He's coming, all right? With friends, in case someone around here decides to arrest him."

Rory felt her interest suddenly peak. Hawke is bringing friends with him? Which friends? She let her ability to eavesdrop fade as she considered this question, ostensibly studying the page in front of her. Probably not Aveline, she's busy keeping Kirkwall under control. Sebastian's the Prince of Starkhaven, so he doesn't have the leisure to come along. Isabela's got a ship; I don't even know if Carver's alive; Anders is definitely dead. So ... oh, good grief. She had to hastily turn a laugh into an extended coughing fit. Merrill and Fenris. Oh, joy. It would be a miracle if Skyhold was still standing after that visit.

Her coughing, however, drew the attention of her husband from the other end of the room. Abandoning his work, Cullen took the length of the hall in just a few strides, snatching up a cup of water as he passed the longer table where the nobles were passing the time. Dropping to his knee beside Rory, he laid his hand gently at her back.

"Easy, sweeting," he murmured to her, apparently unconcerned that Kaaras and Varric had a first-rate view of his caring for his wife. "Breathe."

Blushing in embarrassment at how badly her cover-up was backfiring on her, Rory did as she was told, letting him guide her into sipping the water slowly. "I'm fine, really," she promised. "Honestly, something got caught in my throat, that's all."

He searched her eyes, a vague hint in his expression that he had noticed her deception but didn't quite understand why she wasn't being truthful. She smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips against his cheek, murmuring to him as she did so.

"I had a thought about Hawke," she told him in a tone carefully calculated for his ears alone. "I'll tell you later."

As she drew back, she saw the comprehension in Cullen's eyes, the suspicion fading as he stroked the flyaway hairs from her brow. "The sooner we get that roof fixed, the better," he admitted reluctantly. "I am not looking forward to bedding down in here with everyone else tonight."

"Oh, Curly, you're going to break my heart," Varric drawled, unable to let that go by without comment. "We're as much a part of your marriage as you are. We should get to experience everything with you."

"Yeah, we're not going to give you anything like that to write about," Rory interjected with a low laugh. The thought of even attempting to discreetly fuck her husband when they were sharing the main hall with a good third of Skyhold's population was, oddly enough, non-conducive to the creation of arousal.

"Not even a few sounds, so I can get it just right?" the dwarven storyteller teased.

Cullen scowled at him. "My wife is not fodder for your books, Varric," he pointed out sternly.

"Oh, give it up, Curly," Varric chuckled. "I've been writing about you two since it began. Just haven't published it yet."

"And you won't," Cullen told him, somehow managing to forget the cardinal rule when talking to Varric Tethras - never tell him he can't do something.

"And I might not, if something better comes along," was the dwarf's only concession to the commander's flaring temper.

Rory laid her hands gently over Cullen's. "Something better will come along," she promised her husband, raising a brow at Varric pointedly. "If someone gets on with his part of the deal."

"I'm working on it," Varric protested easily, glancing up at Kaaras, who was reading his manuscript over his shoulder. "Thought you didn't like romances, Beanstalk?"

The Inquisitor shrugged. "I might learn to like them?"

"Uh-huh. And the Seeker might learn not to believe everything I say," Varric grinned back at him, nudging the big man away from his elbow.

"Maybe if you were a little nicer to her, she'd be a little nicer to you," Kaaras pointed out, making Rory smile with how easily he came to Cassandra's defense.

She wasn't going to intercede in this conversation, though, even if someone offered to pay her. She liked everyone involved; she didn't really want any of them to decide they didn't like her, just because she defended the wrong person at the wrong time. Instead, she looked to Cullen, still on his knee beside her.

"I promise, I'm fine, love," she assured him. "Coughing a little does not make me an invalid. All right?"

"Take a break soon," he told her, drawing his gloved thumb over her cheekbone tenderly. "You've been at this table too long."

She raised a brow in amused indignation. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, somewhat?"

Cullen rolled his eyes at her, rubbing his neck as he rose to his feet. "I am supposed to be joining Dorian in the library in a short while," he informed her. "I believe you should come with me."

"Oh, all right," she conceded with teasing reluctance. With the storm blowing outside, there were very few places she could go, anyway. "Only if I get to curl up in his comfy chair and read while you're both discussing the finer points of Tevinter literature."

The secret beauty of his hidden smile warmed whiskey-lit eyes as he looked down at her, squeezing her hand affectionately. "I look forward to the image that will present," he told her, as much a promise to make certain Dorian gave up that armchair of his for a little while as anything else he might have said.

As Cullen strode away, returning to his temporary desk and Rylen swearing over whatever it was he was reading, Kaaras grinned at Rory. "And that isn't romance, huh?" he asked in amusement.

"Not the way you need to know it, no," she told him with a low laugh of her own. "Go and ask Dorian to find you some reference books, you big baby. Then you can go and read with her."

"I might just do that." The Qunari rose to his feet, bending almost double to pat her midriff affectionately. "See you later, baby."

Varric caught Rory's resigned glance. "Let me guess ... he talks more to the baby than to you," he smirked, laughing out loud at the mild scowl he got in return.

"Anyone would think it was his," she admitted, her mood brightening as the dwarf's laughter died. "Mind you, in this place, I need never worry if the kid wanders off. You're all more excited about this than I am."

"Oh, I'm not," Varric assured her. "I'll read to it, but that's about it. I don't do babies."

"You know, that's actually pretty encouraging." Rory laughed softly, nodding to him as she picked up her quill once again. At least there was someone here who didn't look at her and instantly imagine the baby. She had a feeling that tendency was only going to get worse as the months went on.

And if she'd worked it out correctly ... she was going to give birth around the same time as the Inquisition laid siege to Adamant. Oh, yeah. Great timing, Rory.

[artificialqueens]

Cradle Part 5 (Trixya/Thorgy x Violet)

Author’s note: I really wanted to include a picture collage and I hope I’m doing it correctly (if not just let me know at the-artificial-Vanguard and I will resubmit Tiff.) Thank you all for your encouragement on my previous chapters (it really means a lot to me!) and I’m sorry to keep you all in suspense…again! From V.

Katya was still totally unprepared to walk into Violet’s room in the ICU. He saw them even before they stepped into the room since the whole front wall facing a bustling nurses desk was glass.

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach and swayed on the spot, Lee had to grab his arm to keep him steady. He was frozen in the doorway for a moment until he made himself cross the threshold. “One foot, two foot, right, left, right, left.” He thought as he avoided looking at Vi again until Lee had sat him down in a chair.

“It’s ok Katya, you can look at them, you can talk to them too.” Lee coaxed. “Do you want a minute alone?”

“N..n..no! Please stay!” Tears springing into his eyes as he held onto her like she was his baby blanket and he was 4 again. She managed to reach around and pull up the only other chair to sit beside him.

Then Katya allowed himself to look. Violet was so tiny, the bed seemed to be swallowing them whole. One of their legs was propped up, a small swatch of bandage peaked out from under the generic blue gown. There was tubing from drains of some sort peaking out from the sheets, two by their knee and one by their waist. Little balls filled with crimson fluid.

Katya’s vision doubled so he looked away. Violet had an IV in their hand, the clear tubing going to a huge network of pumps for various bags of liquids big and small, all dripping at different rates into his lifeless friend’s veins.

A yellow catheter bag peaked out from the end of the bed. For the amount of times Trix and him joked about caths on UNHhhh, seeing one in real life was terrifying.

Violet’s head was covered in a thick layer of gauze, their dark hair flowing out of the very top along with a myriad of colour coded wires that were plugged into a box attached to a machine that showed mesmerizing waves of lines. They had slender oxygen tubing on their face that was taped on the gauze around their head since it covered their ears where the tubing would generally sit. The machine beside that was one that Katya knew, more wires came out from the top of their gown going to the machine that was monitoring their heart.

The thick blue band of a blood pressure cuff buzzed to life, making him jump and squeeze Lee’s hand harder for a second.

He looked at her and tried to let go but she just smiled softly and put her other hand on his, “it’s ok Katya. I don’t mind. Really I don’t!”

Katya’s eyes wandered around again, never quite resting in one place for long. Violet looked so damn pale, almost as white as the sheets that filled the room with the faint, unmistakable scent of bleach.

They sat in silence, apart from the cacophony of beeping machines, that stretched on and on that felt like 3 days but was only 20 minutes. Katya pulled out of his careening thoughts by the door rolling open and a nurse peaking in.

“Hi, sorry but it’s time for you to go, you can come back in 40 minutes.”

“Can’t I stay?” Katya whispered, knowing the answer but feeling like he had to ask. He felt like Violet might be frightened when they woke up all alone. They would wake up though, right? He thought.

“Katya?” Lee said, shaking his hand, “did you hear me?”

He shook his head like a dog that just came from being in the water, it seemed appropriate since he was so overwhelmed he felt like he was drowning. His throat feeling like it was closing in.

“No sorry, what?” He squawked and made a conscious effort to stay grounded in the present instead of being washed away by the sea of his worries again.

“We can’t stay, soon the doctors will be coming in to check on them and they will need space to work but then we should be able to get an update about their condition when we come back. Ok?” Lee coaxed Katya out of the chair, still holding on to the queen incase he became unsteady again. Katya looked slightly green and Lee wondered if he was going to be sick. She lead him out to the waiting room and plunked him down on a chair.

The ICU waiting room was much nicer than the surgical main waiting room they were in last night and this morning before they were let on the ward. It had much more comfortable sofa’s and recliner chairs that folded out into beds for family who didn’t want to be too far away from their seriously ill family. There was a big washroom attached that had a separate shower room. There was a large screen TV that was turned to a sitcom of some form, magazines peppered the tables. A coffee pot on a little counter in the corner. Anything to try to keep family members distracted since they had to spend so much time waiting til they could see their loved ones again. Katya was still holding her hand tightly, looking shell shocked, which was understandable, and still very green.

“Will you be ok if I leave the room for a second Katya?” He just nodded, swallowing thickly. She ran out of the room and to the supply closet, sticking a few barf bags in her purse and then stopped by her locker to grab some anti nausea and Acetaminophen (Paracetamol) just incase. She was gone 5 minutes maximum and came back to a pacing, panicked looking Katya. She ran up to him.

“Katya, are you ok? Sit down here.” She said, pulling him down beside her on the sofa. She knew a panic attack when she saw one. Katya was hyperventilating, his nostrils flaring and face getting redder by the second. “Ok Katya, close your eyes. Put your face between your knees and take in some nice, deep breaths. That’s it. Just like that.” Lee rubbed Katya’s back as his gasps for air turned into panting to breathing calmly.

He sat up again, wiped his sweaty brow and sighed deeply. “Thanks Lee. I don’t know what I would be doing without you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me Katya, I am happy to help. I feel like I know you even though I just saw you on TV once a week over a year ago. You were and are so open with your life and you’ve helped a lot of people, me included.”

Katya laughed and quipped sarcastically, “yeah my hot mess-ness really helped a lotta people. I’m so glad I could help you and others. I’m nothing special though, just a man and his demons publically on display. Step right up! See the freak!!” Katya ended up sounding more bitter than he meant and winced. What the fuck was he thinking? He just effectively called this lovely person who has been looking after him when she didn’t have to a freak. His chin started to wobble with oncoming tears.  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that in that way.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with being a freak? Le freak c’est chic!” She said with a little laugh, quickly diffusing Katya’s impending meltdown.

“Thank you!”

“You are more than welcome Katya. Honestly.”

“Please call me Brian. I mean when you meet Trixie, you should probably call me Katya because otherwise everyone gets way too confused. You know, with both of us being Brians.”

“Trixie’s coming?”

“Yeah, it’s been on the down low but Trix and I have been dating for 7 or 8 months now. Please don’t tell anyone!” He begged.

“No. Of course I won’t Kat..er…Brian.”

“Maybe we should go find Thorgy and Acid. I know Thorgy’s first name is Shane but I’ll have to look up his last name.”

Katya was reaching for his phone when Lee blurted, “Galligan. It’s Shane Galligan.” Followed by her putting her hand up to her mouth and turning beet red. Stifling a little giggle.

“What? How did you know that? Spill it gurl!”

Lee still had her hand over her mouth but her eyes were crinkled up in a smile, she shook her head and mumbled from behind her hand, “no, it’s too embarrassing!” She muffled a giggle.

“Try me.”

Katya didn’t get a chance to wheedle it out of her as a woman in a white coat turned the corner into the room and called his name.

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

[whatif-animagineblog]

Summary: This story is still based off this prompt. If you have been here before you know what’s going on. If not go and read part one which is linked in the author notes.

Warnings: Sickness, angst, some mildly strong language. 

Pairing: Bones/Reader (Predetermined) 

A/N: So chapter 2! I’m glad I got such a great response from the first one! If you missed it here is the link to part one! I’m having a great time writing this and we aren’t done yet!

Word Count: 1674

Three months. Three long aggravating months since your husband discovered your son had Xenopolycythemia and there had been no change. Which was good in this case, you often mused. The need for phlebotomies was an every few days occurrence. You often slept on the cot with Leonard unless M’Benga insisted you slept on a real bed. David was stable.

You were walking into the medbay when you heard the familiar sound of crying, hoarse desperate crying. It must’ve been a phlebotomy day. But, you heard something different on top of the shrill cry, a deep baritone trying to be soothing.

“Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, Go to sleep little baby. When you wake, you shall have, All the pretty little horses.” As you crept into the private room you saw Leonard bouncing your child hand rubbing the small sobbing back. His eyes were eyes closed, walking in small circles. “Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, Go to sleep my little baby,”  The crying began to subside but was still so loud and heartbreaking. “Come on buddy, you gotta rest. David,” your husband sighed as he sat on the cot, still rubbing his back. The small boy in footie pajamas started to hiccup as the teas finally subsided. “There you go pal,” he murmured as you walked in to sit by him.

“How are my boys,” you asked as Leonard peaked at you.

“Good, good. Should have known that would work. Worked on Jo, that and you are my sunshine, and weirdly the Irish lullaby.” You smiled as he shifted your boy so he was laying in his arms. You leaned on your husband. It was oddly relaxing. It felt normal. What a normal family with a 7-month baby would do.

That same day he stopped eating. That was a ‘not so good’ sign according to your husband. You tried to entice the small boy, gently prodding the small mouth with soft food or a bottle. Begging him to take a bite, a nibble, as sip, anything. Nothing. Len threw out a request for a bag of total parenteral nutrition. When Christine came at you and your son with a bag of a milky substance and a set of tubes and needles. You instinctively curled him away from her, then you felt Len’s hand on your shoulder.  You glanced up and he gave you a knowing look. “It’s okay, Y/n. He’s not eating. We need to get nutrients in him so he can fight.” He snaked his gentle hands around your son, carefully prying him from your grasp.

You didn’t want to let go,”Just let me try one more time. Leonard. Please.”

“Y/n, We have to do this. He’ll be alright.” You finally let go, a hand reaching subconsciously as he moved from you. Len moved him to the biobed, he started the IV himself, soothing the now few tears that came.

It wasn’t fair to you. Babies David’s age were supposed to be starting on solid foods. Learning that it’s fun to play with and throw your food at mommy and daddy. Starting to figure out that their gibberish means something. But David wasn’t getting that luxury. No. He got poked and prodded, blood drawn, scans taken. Cried desperately, not understanding why his mother and father never did a thing to stop the pain. He didn’t get to play and have no worries, he slept. He slept while his lethargic body over produced his blood cells.

M’Benga made you and Len go to the mess hall to eat. Insisted being out among others would prevent a fish bowl effect. Leonard barely agreed, stating, “I know you’re right, Geoff, but.”

“No buts Leonard. It’ll be good for you and Y/N. Take a few laps too. Take a breath and a step back.”

“How can I take a breath when my child is dying?” You snapped and Geoff recoiled You had been mostly quiet through this whole ordeal. Taking it all in stride. But how dare he? How dare he tell you to ‘take it easy’! Your child was dying from a mutated form of a rare blood-born disease. Which, until now, had no known history of being genetic. Probably, because no one lives long enough to worry about procreation after they contracted the disease. You couldn’t ‘take a step back.’ You needed to be on the front lines of this war, fighting with your son.

“Y/n,” M’Benga started softly. “I know what you are thinking that if you take a breather you’ll fail your son. You can’t help him if you are sick too. The way you two are going you won’t be any help to anyone.” You opened your mouth to protest, “Go, doctor’s orders.”

“I’m the CMO,” Leonard chided with a soft laugh.

“Not while you are compromised like this. Christine and I are in charge. And she agrees with me.”

“I do,” came a soft chime from the other side of the Medical-bay.

The walk down to the mess hall was a quiet one. You held hands, Leonard’s thumb rubbing soft circles into the top of yours. It was a quiet dinner, both of you picked at the food. You had nothing to really talk about. Your days were the same. Crying, tests, scans, the occasional blood draw, barely sleeping, rarely eating. It was all blurring together as one long unending day.

You watched the other crewmembers mull about, talking laughing, living life. While you felt stationary. Despite what M’Benga said you felt more isolated out there then you did in Medbay. You felt stuck in a fishbowl, swimming in the same areas, the same circle day in and day out. Some days you swam higher when you could make your son laugh. Others, like today, you sawm down towards a worse condition. You hadn’t talked much to anyone since, because all you wanted to talk about, all you could talk about was your son. You had also decided to keep this matter private, you didn’t need the pity of crewmen you never knew. Watch them receding in their eyes during the conversation about what this sickness entailed. Almost immediately regretting the status updates. You saw that in Jim’s eyes sometimes when talking to Leonard, it was minuscule, it was mostly fear for his best friend.  And even though they didn’t know, ignorant to the whole thing, you felt an anger. They just kept going on and smiling why two decks above them your son was suffering.

You were quiet in your room, lying next to your husband on your back. Both staring at the ceiling. It was fine until you heard Leonard’s breathing became uneven, you turned your head to see tears spilling down his red cheeks. He took in a shuddering breath as he placed his hands over his eyes. “Len,” you whispered. You leaned over him and placed a hand on his chest. “Leonard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed out. His voice broken, and weak. “This is all my fault, y/n. It’s all my fault.” His whole body was shaking, his face is contorted in agony.

“Leo,” you whimpered feeling tears forming in your own eyes. “Don’t say that. Please. It’s not your fault!” Leonard sat up, trying to catch his breath in sobbing gasps. Shaking his head, messing up the brown locks even more.

“It is,” he cried. “It’s all my fault! I’m the one who caught the damn disease. I gave it to my son. I passed it on to him. I’m the reason why he’s dying! H-how can you still be speaking to me? W-Why aren’t you mad?” Leonard had a hand balling up his shirt on his body. Those now nervous, legendary hands twisting and pulling on the material.

“Because I love you. And because hating you would add unnecessary work to this hard time.” You ran a hand along his back, making small circles. “Lee, you had no control over this. I could never be mad over this.” You kissed his cheek gently, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m killing our kid. I’m killing him,” Bones pulled away. Tears still falling thickly. You kissed him. You knew that wouldn't solve the problem, but it would solve the immediate sobbing.You couldn’t bare it. Seeing him so broken, shattered your already injured heart. You melted at the feeling of his lips melting into yours. It was slow and passionate. The way he held your neck, rubbing a thumb over your pulse point, sent all the love he wanted to express into your body. It had been a long while since you two had been more intimate than a hug or a peck on each other’s cheek.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, pulling away. “Leonard Horatio McCoy you are not a fault. I love you more than anything. You wouldn’t cause harm if you could help it. This isn’t you, this is just life being an asshole. I don’t blame you.” You held his face firmly, forcing him to look at you. “I promised you that I be with you no matter what. I’m still with you. Please, don’t blame yourself. This is hard enough without you beating yourself up. Please, Len.”

“I love you, so much you know that darlin’,” Leonard finally spoke, changing the subject. You realized what he was doing but decided it was best to let it go. When he was ready, you would talk about it again. “I love you so much, and I am so scared. I still haven’t heard much from the labs.”

“Me either,” you mumbled, pecking his lips. Leonard yawned, a big wide powerful yawn. You often teased him about it. Claiming that he looked like a lion. “Let’s get some sleep. We need it to be strong tomorrow. For David.” You commented as you snuggled down into the blankets.

“For David,” he parroted back, his voice still cracking, tears still lined in his eyes. Holding you close to his body before you both fell into an exhausted sleep.

TAGS: @outside-the-government @feelmyroarrrr @answer-the-sirens @yourtropegirl @starshiphufflebadger @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @trekken81 @bkwrm523 @imaginestartrek @imaginenterprise @wificrazymisfit @athena1138 @ucy161 @thebassoonerthebabetter @emmkolenn @medicatemedrmccoy @mamawasabi  @kaitymccoy123

If you want to join the Tag Team let me know! If I forgot you I am so sorry I got a lot of tag request so if i missed you message me again.

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 30 September 2019

Quick Bits:

Absolute Carnage: The Immortal Hulk #1 is an absolute must if you’re reading The Immortal Hulk, even if you’re not following Absolute Carnage. Though it does deal with how Hulk is working with the rest of the gang in the event, here Al Ewing, Felipe Andrade, Chris O’Halloran, and Travis Lanham elaborate on how Bruce’s alters work, including an appearance from a much-missed old friend, and deals with some ongoing plot points like Betty’s change, Ross’ status, and Jones’ recuperation.

| Published by Marvel

Batman #80 starts the turn for the “City of Bane” arc as John Romita Jr., Klaus Janson, and Tomeu Morey come aboard for the art duties, and Batman and Catwoman return to Gotham. I really like the stylization here, it fits the overall shift in direction and it’s just nice to see Romita and Janson back together.

| Published by DC Comics

Berserker Unbound #3 is another brilliant issue of this series from Jeff Lemire, Mike Deodato Jr., Frank Martin, and Steve Wands. This one gets to the heart of the existential crisis that the Mongrel King is having in a time that neither he understands or understands him. Though, there are some nice attempts at communication and some great character moments.

| Published by Dark Horse

Birthright #40 is pretty huge as it essentially rounds out the current Mastema arc. Joshua Williamson, Andrei Bressan, Adriano Lucas, and Pat Brosseau make a pretty dramatic turn here, with some interesting ramifications.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Black Cat #5 delivers a fairly funny conclusion to this heist as Felicia and her crew have to overcome Blastaar. Jed MacKay, Travel Foreman, Brian Reber, and Ferran Delgado are consistently giving us an entertaining and compelling story here with an ongoing narrative broken into discrete, separate pieces that can ultimately be enjoyed on their own.

| Published by Marvel

Black Terror #1 features a rather unique take on the character, and on superheroics in general, from Max Bemis, Matt Gaudio, Brittany Pezzillo, and Taylor Esposito. This explores what happens when the Black Terror hangs up his boots, self-medicates for his problems, and begins to suffer withdrawal from the superhero business. It’s all rather...disturbing, but still entertaining.

| Published by Dynamite

Breaklands #2 starts building up the cast as Kasa falls in with a number of other people to help and rescue her brother. Though there are elements of familiar post-apocalypse narratives here, what Justin Jordan, Tyasseta, Sarah Stern, and Rachel Deering are creating here feels incredibly fresh and different.

| Published by Justin Jordan

Canto #5 is fairly action-packed as Canto and crew bring the fight to the Furies. It’s a different change of pace here, but we still get some intriguing symbolism and advancement of the fable narrative in rather inventive ways. David M. Booher, Drew Zucker, Vittorio Astone, and Deron Bennett are driving us towards the end here and I feel like it’s going to be a big one.

| Published by IDW

Contagion #1 is probably going to get some comparisons to Marvel Zombies and DCeased, running through similar horror territories, but it doesn’t really matter. While the elements may familiar, it’s still an entertaining start to this series from Ed Brisson, Rogê Antônio, Veronica Gandini, and Cory Petit.

| Published by Marvel

Copra #1 begins a second volume of Michael Fiffe’s previously self-published series, dropping us into the middle of action, picking up where the last series left off. While it is at least initially a bit confusing, Fiffe does include plenty of information, including an issue-by-issue breakdown of the previous series, to get people up to speed. It’s basically ‘80s-inspired superheroics.

| Published by Image

Daredevil #12 is more magnificence. Chip Zdarsky, Marco Checchetto, Nolan Woodard, and Clayton Cowles continue “Through Fear” as Matt has an...unfortunate confrontation with crooked cops beating up a Daredevil stand-in and Fisk has a meeting with the rich “elite”. I really quite like the parallels of both of them falling back on old/new tricks.

| Published by Marvel

Dark Ark: After the Flood #1 begins the very welcome next chapter in this story from Cullen Bunn, Juan Doe, and Dave Sharpe, picking up on what’s been going on after landfall. There’s also some really interesting revelations about Kahlee’s past.

| Published by AfterShock

DCeased #5 is the big penultimate issue, giving us hope as two sanctuaries are established. And then... Tom Taylor, Trevor Hairsine, Stefano Gaudiano, Rain Beredo, and Saida Temofonte give us another chilling story here with some very heartbreaking moments.

| Published by DC Comics

Die #8 keeps the pressure on, Kieron Gillen, Stephanie Hans, and Clayton Cowles continuing to hammer at your emotions as they explore the party even further. This one gives us a bit of a deeper look into our Grief Knight, Matt, and it’s amazing that the bleakness is almost oppressive.

| Published by Image

Doctor Strange #20 is kind of a bizarre end to this series as it transitions over to Doctor Strange, Surgeon Supreme later this year. As he searches out ways to implement his newly recovered dexterity, Strange teams-up with Kanna for what feels like one last adventure with her, against the nefarious Cyb(not equal)rdSmPhp (seriously, those symbols may “look” like Cyberdemon, but that’s not what it means) and his master. Great art from Javier Pina and Brian Reber.

| Published by Marvel

Doom Patrol: Weight of the Worlds #4 is another weird one as the team travels to Destiny Beach and Flex Mentallo runs into his old crew. Gerard Way, Jeremy Lambert, Nick Pitarra, Tamra Bonvillain, and Simon Bowland give us an interesting tale of magical muscle mystery here as they try to bring magic back to the beach.

| Published by DC Comics / Young Animal

Dungeons & Dragons: A Darkened Wish #3 gets to the heart of what caused Rayonde to turn in the future and shows what changed between the party. It gets pretty dark as the “darkened wish” plays out. Gorgeous artwork from Tess Fowler and Jay Fotos.

| Published by IDW

Everything #2 keeps building the mystery of this story, layering on even more strange events and deaths that keep you guessing. Christopher Cantwell, INJ Culbard, and Steve Wands are crafting a weird horror story here that’s rather unique. There are elements here that feel like Twin Peaks and Fargo, mixed with Vertigo, Love & Rockets, Stray Bullets, and the works of Daniel Clowes and Charles Burns, but at the same time something wholly its own.

| Published by Dark Horse / Berger Books

Fantastic Four #15 introduces us to Unparalleled, the heroes of the planet Spyre, in this second part of “Point of Origin”. Dan Slott, Paco Medina, Bob Quinn, Jesus Aburtov, and Joe Caramagna give us an interesting take on the Fantastic Four here as invading alien monsters, complete with monster dialogue, and it’s neat to see them from a different perspective.

| Published by Marvel

Forgotten Home #1 is a new digital Comixology Original from Erica Schultz, Marika Cresta, Matt Emmons, and Cardinal Rae. It’s a very nice mix of magic and police procedural, hinging on a vast missing persons case, and family drama.

| Published by Vices Press

Ghost Rider #1 is a spot on return for Johnny Blaze and Danny Ketch, picking up on the recent rumblings throughout the Marvel Universe (though exactly how it fits in with Robbie Reyes and Avengers is yet to be seen), and veering off into wildly interesting new directions. Ed Brisson, Aaron Kuder, Jason Keith, and Joe Caramagna deliver a first issue that should have old school (and oldish new school, I mean Ketch is a 30 year old character now) fans delighted. Even as Danny’s life is a bit of a mess right now.

| Published by Marvel

The Green Lantern #12 is the fairly impressive “season finale” to this series from Grant Morrison, Liam Sharp, Steve Oliff, and Tom Orzechowski before we get a three-month break with Blackstars and then the start of season 2 next year. Some very big revelations here as we find out what all of the disparate parts of this story have been amounting to. It’s interesting as to how epic all of this feels.

| Published by DC Comics

Grendel: Devil’s Odyssey #1 puts a big goofy grin on my face. Aside from blips here and there and the Grendel vs. The Shadow mini-series featuring the original Grendel, Hunter Rose, it’s been almost two decades since we saw the ongoing adventures set in this universe, even longer a story written and illustrated by Matt Wagner (the last one part of canon, Past Prime, was a novel written by Greg Rucka with spot illustrations by Wagner). Like the recent third chapter to Mage, this is a very welcome return. Matt Wagner, Brennan Wagner, and Dave Lanphear take us in an entirely new direction as Grendel Prime is tasked to find humanity a new home.

| Published by Dark Horse

Immortal Hulk #24 closes out the confrontation with Fortean and looks like it’s setting up the next phase for this series (in a two-fold way, both in the immediate future and in the far-flung end of the universe). Al Ewing, Joe Bennett, Ruy José, Belardino Brabo, Marc Deering, Roberto Poggi, Paul Mounts, and Cory Petit continue to work wonders on this series. This issue is horrifying. And perfect.

| Published by Marvel

Joe Golem: Occult Detective - The Conjurors #5 concludes this chapter from Mike Mignola, Christopher Golden, Peter Bergting, Michelle Madsen, and Clem Robins. There’s some very nice Lovecraftian fun here and an ending that sets to fully cap off the upheaval of this series’ status quo.

| Published by Dark Horse

Justice League #33 escalates the “Justice/Doom War” from Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Bruno Redondo, Daniel Sampere, Juan Albarran, Hi-Fi, and Tom Napolitano. The various factions of the League are still fighting across time as Perpetua’s lock on power is looking even more certain. The tension throughout this story is incredible.

| Published DC Comics

Legion of Super-Heroes: Millennium #2 concludes this trek through DC’s future history, stopping in to check on Booster Gold and OMAC, before getting to the main event with the Legion of Super-Heroes themselves. I really hope that the futures seeded here are followed up on. Gorgeous artwork throughout from Nicola Scott, Jim Cheung, rare interior art from Jeff Dekal, leading to Ryan Sook’s Legion.

| Published by DC Comics

Lois Lane #4 continues to move at a fairly slow pace, but it’s allowing for some great character moments like Jon discussing going off to join the Legion and Vic and Renee trying to piece together continuity that doesn’t exist any more. The art from Mike Perkins and Paul Mounts is still worth picking up this series for alone.

| Published by DC Comics

Mountainhead #2 turns things up a notch as everything just gets stranger and a bit more extreme. That odd, not-quite-right atmosphere is perfectly captured by the artwork from Ryan Lee and Doug Garbark.

| Published by IDW

The Necromancer’s Map #2 concludes the bit with the Void Sickness, with some fairly interesting reveals, and throws in some tragic romance while it’s at it. I really quite like how this is pacing along, weaving through details and side bits, while developing Bethany’s larger quest. Beautiful art from Sam Beck and Ellie Wright.

| Published by Vault

No One Left to Fight #4 is stunning. Fico Ossio is delivering the most beautiful art in his career. I mean, just look at it. It’s freaking gorgeous. It also helps that the story from him, Aubrey Sitterson, and Taylor Esposito continues to be incredibly captivating. As we get more old friends and the set up of an old villain’s return.

| Published by Dark Horse

Promethee 13:13 #2 continues this excellent prequel series from Andy Diggle, Shawn Martinbrough, Dave Stewart, and Simon Bowland. The implementation of the conspiracy aspect of the invasion is wonderful to see as the seeds of what’s to come are brought to bear. Gorgeous artwork from Martinbrough and Stewart.

| Published by Delcourt / Soleil

Red Sonja #9 sees Sonja seek out other allies in her quest to defeat Dragan in the form of some rather nasty sorcerers. Mark Russell, Bob Q, Dearbhla Kelly, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou deliver another entertaining chapter here, full of magic and more deceit, that certainly makes things a little bleaker.

| Published by Dynamite

Ruby Falls #1 is a wonderful debut from Ann Nocenti, Flavia Biondi, Lee Loughridge, and Sal Cipriano. This first issue introduces us to Lana, her rather unique dysfunctional family, and the backdrop of the tiny former mining town of Ruby Falls. There’s a mix of fallible memories and a criminal past for the town wanting to be forgotten that is very compelling.

| Published by Dark Horse / Berger Books

Savage Avengers #6 continues Conan’s trek as he and Frank Castle travel across the Savage Land and through ordinary Antarctica, as they try to bring Frank’s family back to America. Gerry Duggan, Kim Jacinto, Tamra Bonvillain, and Travis Lanham deliver a fairly interesting story here, transitional, but still an interesting look at the similarities between Conan and Frank.

| Published by Marvel

Sea of Stars #4 gives us hints of possibly what happened to Kadyn in order to make him the way that he is, while his father fights for his life on another hostile alien planet. I really quite like how Jason Aaron, Dennis Hallum, Stephen Green, Rico Renzi, and Jared K. Fletcher have been progressing this story, building up the characters, and letting explanations out slowly in what feels like a natural progression.

| Published by Image

Seven Days #1 kicks off this event series from Gail Simone, José Luís, Jonas Trinidade, Michelle Madsen, and Saida Temofonte in grand fashion, developing a new threat to the world behind the “event” that kicked off everyone’s powers and transformation. We get a nice team-up of luminaries Noble, Summit, and Accell before everything goes to hell.

| Published by Lion Forge / Catalyst Prime

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader’s Castle #1 is a welcome return of this Halloween anthology series featuring chillers, thrillers, and horrors around the Star Wars Universe. There’s a framing story illustrated by Francesco Francavilla that sets up the theme and reintroduces a character from the first volume, and a central tale illustrated by Megan Levens and Charlie Kirchoff dealing with post Phantom Menace Maul. Both written and letter by Cavan Scott and AndWorld Design respectively. I quite like this format and these stories are highly entertaining.

| Published by IDW

Strange Skies over East Berlin #1 is a riveting beginning from Jeff Loveness, Lisandro Estherren, Patricio Delpeche, and Steve Wands. It starts off behind the Iron Curtain in the heart of Cold War era Germany, with all of the tension and distrust of Russian-controlled East Germany, and it’s ratcheted up higher as a strange light appears as something crashes behind the Wall. The atmosphere is made even more surreal by the almost impressionistic art from Estherren and Delpeche. A great start to this series.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Young Justice #9 continues the team’s confrontation with their evil Earth-3 counterparts, but also gives us a look at Teen Lantern’s origins. André Lima Araújo’s line art during these sequences is worth it alone, but overall I like how Brian Michael Bendis incorporates this into the overall narrative structure.

| Published by DC Comics / Wonder Comics

Other Highlights: Batman/TMNT III #6, Bettie Page Halloween Special, Bizarre Adventures #1, Bury the Lede, Champions #10, Charlie’s Angels vs. Bionic Woman #4, The Dark, Dead Eyes #1, Deathstroke #48, Deep Breaths, The Dreaming #14, Future Foundation #3, gen:Lock #2, Harley Quinn #66, House of X #6, Manifest Destiny #34, Marvel Action: Black Panther #3, Nomen Omen #1, Old Man Quill #10, The Punisher #16, Runaways #25, She Said Destroy #5, Space Bandits #4, Spider-Verse #1, Star Pig #3, Star Wars #72, Star Wars: Doctor Aphra #37, Superman: Up in the Sky #4, Sword Master #4, Thanos: The Infinity Ending, Transformers/Ghostbusters #5, Vengeance of Vampirella #1

Recommended Collections: Edgar Allan Poe’s Snifter of Terror - Volume 1, Giant Days - Volume 11, Immortal Hulk - Volume 1, The Last Space Race - Volume 1, Major X, Mind MGMT - Volume 3: Eraser & The Immortals, Morning in America, Pathfinder - Volume 3: City of Secrets, Stronghold - Volume 1: Primacy, Superman - Volume 1: The Unity Saga - Phantom Earth, The Wicked + The Divine - Volume 9

d. emerson eddy has been trapped by a cat. Please send pizza.