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prfctparis · 1 year

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Operation: Get the Corrie Guards Some Supplies

AO3 Link

summary: Zariza learns that the Coruscant Guard gets less supplies than their siblings who are out at the front lines. She decides to do something about it.

a/n: i started this two years ago & i’m only just now finishing it. anyway – have more my star wars au and my oc zariza :)

"What in the karking sith-hells do you mean you don't have enough supplies to help your siblings?" Zariza incredulously asks. She's following the clone medic around, using the hours of not having padawan classes as time to get to know some of the clones better – more specifically, the Corries, as she's heard some of the 187th guys call them – like she has been doing more and more whenever on leave.

It honestly started out as bringing a 'Sorry You Guys Had to Arrest Me and My Friends and then Witness Me Yell at My Master' apology gift (AKA multiple containers of the best candy and snacks she could find) a few months ago. Then gradually, she began to stop by and check on them for no other reason than the fact that she wanted to – just for the heck of it. Now she almost knows them as well as she does the men in her and Master Mace's battalion. Sometimes Bitty tags along or Elvira (they both came with her to bring the apology gift, seeing as they also got arrested), or sometimes even her other friend Ashlee.

Commander Fox mostly just tolerates her, where as Stone and Thorn have let her follow them around when they aren't on duty. Or even when they are, and they are positive no one will get in trouble for it. Once in a while Fox lets her sit in his office and meditate, which is nice. She's pretty sure it also helps him relax during the extremely stressful days but he isn't willing to admit it, and Zariza isn't about to make him.

More often than not, though, Zariza can be found greeting the shinies if there are any, helping the medics (or anyone, really) with minuscule tasks, and happily spending time with the men off duty. There are all stoic and extremely professional when on the job (which, yeah, is most of the time, and that's a little concerning but also a thought for a other time), but Zariza has helped them have fun when not working by bringing a few games that they can easily hide if and when necessary.

Unfortunately, today none of her friends tagged along for various reasons she can't be bothered to remember at the moment, and now she is on her way with Pat, one of the medics, to get the medical supplies that have arrived.

Which brings them to their current conversation.

The fact that the Corrie Guards don't get as many supplies as the others is almost incomprehensible in her mind. It's also news that immediately gets her riled up.

Pat gives her look – or, she assumes they do. Their helmet is currently on, but the way it tilts gives her some idea of the expression they're wearing. "I thought Jedi didn't cuss?" they ask, instead of replying to her question.

Zariza pauses and then shrugs. "Some do, most don't. Anakin was a bad influence about it growing up, and honestly Master Mace isn't much better. He likes to act like he is, though.”

The medic hums, sounding genuinely interested in that information.

Maybe they are trying to derail the topic, get her mind off of the absurd news of the Guard medics not getting enough supplies to do their jobs. It doesn't work. "But Pat," she stresses, "The medical supplies! You're apart of the GAR, right? They have to give you enough!"

"Technically, they don't have to do anything for us," Pat tells her. They refrain from saying that the clones are all property. Last time someone did that around the little Jedi, she went on a tangent about living sentients and slaves and then meditated in Fox's office long past night fall; General Windu had to come get her.

(Although, witnessing Fox step into his office only to step back out half a second later with extreme confusion on his face was priceless. Stone has a holopic.)

"The Senate believes that because we are stationed on Coruscant, that we need less supplies than our vod’e fighting on the front lines," Pat explains more. "They think it's safer, or something along those lines."

"The Senate doesn't know shit." She pauses, thinking. "...Senator Amidala excluded."

Pat can't help the snort that leaves their mouth.

"Do you at least try to ask for more?" Zariza then asks.

"Yes."

She grunts, clearly upset. "That's not fair."

"Life typically isn't. War, even more so."

Zariza frowns to herself. "Trust me, I know that." The two of them stop, and Pat opens the door they are now in front of. Inside, the containers of the medical supplies, along with everything else the Guard needs regular shipments of, are stacked on top of each other. At first glance, it looks as though there should be enough for the Corries. But she knows better now. "I just wish there was something I could do."

Pat lands a hand on her shoulder. "Kid, just knowing you want to help is more than we can ask for."

She looks at them, frown still in place. "Don't take this the wrong way, but that's kinda pitiful."

They heave a sigh, squeezing her shoulder once before letting it fall. "...Yeah. I know." They shake their head and finally step inside the room. "Come on, now. Let's get everything back to the medbay. I don't want the head medic on our shebs’e for being slow."

+++

Zariza barges into the 187th barracks without any preamble. It happens so suddenly that a few of the men who had been previously relaxing startle into sitting positions, or just down right fall off of their bunks.

Her steps falter and she winces. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

One of them groans from the floor. "It's alright, Command'ika."

Spite walks over to her. "What's got you in a hurry?" he asks, raising an eyebrow when Zariza continues to speed walk through the bunks. He follows her immediately.

"Where's Bitty?" she asks instead of answering.

Spite sighs quietly. "If this is going to get either of you arrested again–."

"No illegal podracing in the lower levels, I promise," she interrupts. "I was just curious about what Anakin saw in it. Never meant to get in trouble."

"Excuse me for having a hard time believing that, sir," Spite says as respectfully as he can.

She shrugs, head swiveling as she looks for the clones' youngest in the 187th. "You probably have a right not to." She huffs, stopping in her tracks. "Seriously, where is he?" Spinning on her heel, she looks up at him with her hands on her hips.

Spite raises an eyebrow again.

"Near the back with Mayhem," one of the soldiers on a nearby bunk says.

Zariza beams. "Thank you, Mak!"

Mak chuckles as she hurries over to the other clones, shrugging at Spite when he sends him an unimpressed look. "What, vod? Afraid this will be the day you lose the bet?"

Spite shakes his head. "It's not happening until the end of the war, I promise you."

"You're both full of osik! It's not happening at all. They're just friends."

"Any day now, I say. They're spending more and more time together."

"Thank you, Exx!" Mak exclaims.

The shiny who spoke right before Exx goes to speak again, but Spite subtly signs for them to pause the conversation as the two teenagers get close. The two walk side by side, their pace fast but not as hurried as Zariza had been minutes earlier. It's not long at all until their conversation can be heard by Spite and the others nearby.

"—just saying that anytime we go out, something chaotic happens. First the incident with that Pantoran's pet, then we got lost in a different district, and then we got arrested–."

"Okay, okay, I get it! But we're just going to the Temple and the Room of a Thousand fountains to meet up with some other padawans. Chaos free!"

When she grins reassuringly, the (biologically) sixteen year old boy pins her with the most skeptical expression Spite has ever seen on him. "You're planning something," he states after a second.

Zariza relents, "Maybe, but–."

"Oh, my gods–."

The two walk by, hardly noticing them, and belatedly shout a goodbye at the barrack's door before it closes completely.

Mak smiles. It's good to see the kids happy; the war has been beating all of their shebs’e as of late, and the death of Commander Ponds lowered all of the kids' morales – Zariza, Bitty, and a lot the shinies. Thankfully, they have been acting more like themselves as the weeks go by.

"Ponds would love to see them hanging out so much," Exx says.

Mak hums in agreement.

"Way to bring down the mood," someone om a different bunk close by mumbles bitterly.

"Guys," Spite tiredly calls out before an argument can break out. "Not tonight. Please."

It's only quiet for a moment.

One of the newer shinies, either brave or stupid, cautiously asks, "...So, is now the time to ask why Bitty ages normally?"

Spite can only sigh.

+++

Mace Windu and Obi-Wan Kenobi are walking through the halls as they converse about mundane things, when they witness Mace's padawan learner, the teen clone, Obi-Wan's padawan learner as well as his grandpadawan, and then Plo's padawan all run by and turn down the nearest corner. The two Masters Jedi share a quick glance before following their path at a much calmer yet still quick pace. They turn the corner just in time to see the five teens hurry into the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

"Did either of you see Ahsoka come this way?" Anakin's voice meet their ears as he hurries to them, slightly out of breath and a bit bewildered. He stops on the other side of Obi-Wan. "Zari, Bitty, Pytir, and Elvira just ran by and dragged her away with them."

"Yes. They went into the Room of a Thousand Fountains," Mace responds. He looks at the young Knight. "Do you have any idea what your sister is planning?"

"Not this time," Anakin sighs, close to a grumble.

"Well," Obi-Wan starts hopefully, "it can't be too bad if they are in the Temple."

Mace gives Obi-Wan a dry look. "Kenobi. You and I both know that has not stopped either Skywalker before."

"Now hold on–."

Obi-Wan nods and sighs. "Yes, that is quite true, unfortunately."

"Hey!" Anakin grunts and crosses his arms. "I've matured," he argued, and is quickly met with matching looks of slight disbelief, though Anakin can tell that Obi-Wan is also amused.

"I suggest we just leave them to it," Mace eventually says, which surprises both of the other men but Anakin is the only one who lets it show completely; Obi-Wan's features smooth out. "For now, at least. I trust that we will be able to sense something if anything does go wrong."

Obi-Wan and Anakin agree after a moment's thought. Surely, despite the Skywalker trait of causing trouble no matter what won't make too much of an appearance tonight, and it's not like any of them don't have a way to check up on their respective padawans. Bitty and Elvira, not so much – but surely...

Hopefully whatever they are doing will be mild.

+++

Turns out, planning various ways to get the Corrie Guards more medical supplies without alerting the Senate of anything isn't as easy or as quick as Zariza first wants to believe.

Once she has explained everything to Ahsoka, Elvira, Pytir, and Bitty, they all begin to throw out ideas on what to do and how to do them, and whether or not the entire thing should be a surprise. Zariza immediately argues that it shouldn't. She and Fox don't talk often, most of her time with the other commander is when she's meditating, after all, but she does plan on asking how he would feel about getting him and his brothers more of the things they needed. Plus, she's pretty sure if they sprung this on him as a surprise, then Fox might see it as some sort of charity work – and not in the good way. He seems like that type of person to take it the wrong way, even though they all mean well.

Zariza wants to avoid that.

They stay in the Room of a Thousand Fountains for three hours that night, simply bouncing ideas off of one another. The only solid plan they have is to eventually get their Masters and then the clone commanders of their battalions and legions in on the plan. Maybe somehow get Master Quinlan Vos, too. He works with the Guard for Shadow work sometimes, so hopefully he will be willing to help. It's not too soon after they make up that part of the barely-there-plan when Bitty has to leave back to the barracks, and when Elvira gets a message from Master Plo Koon that they have to leave the next morning to an unknown Outer Rim planet.

("At least it's not Tatooine," Zariza tells her best friend.

Elvira scrunches her nose. "From the stories you've told me, I have to agree."

She smirks to herself and says, "Oh, you should definitely ask Anakin for more stories. Mention the amount of sand," and then turns around to walk off with Bitty back to the barracks.

The message she receives on her comm an hour and a half later from her brother demanding "why the kriff did Elvira just ask me about the karking sand on that sith-damned planet" has her barely holding back laughter when she eats a late dinner with Masters Mace and Depa.)

+++

"So, can I ask why you want to do this for the Corries?" Bitty asks two days later.

They are in hyperspace, off to some place that is being relentlessly attacked by Separatists, and Zariza and Bitty are sitting side by side in a small break room still trying to come up with a solid enough plan before telling anyone else. Sometimes they commtext the others. Zariza should probably be studying for a test she has to take in her negotiations class once they are back on Coruscant, and Bitty should probably be studying one of the many medical holopads the medics gave him to make sure he isn't behind on any knowledge, but instead they are casually playing a miniaturized version of dejarik on her 'pad while they think of how to best go about getting more supplies for the Corries.

Zariza doesn't immediately respond. She moves one of her characters, eliminating two of Bitty's, and he cusses under his breath in Mando'a.

She takes in a steady breath. "So. You... You know how I was a slave?"

He falters. He cautiously glances at her, and then back at the game, pushing the curls off of his forehead when he runs a hand through his hair. "Um. Yeah. It's in your med files," he says. "Even though I'm just a medical assistant to Stitch and them, I have to know your background so I don't, like, traumatize or hurt you any more if I ever need to help the others. I mean, I don't know everything like Stitch has to, but I know some things." Then, awkwardly and because he may be kind of rambling, "Twice, right?"

"Yeah," is all Zariza can say for a moment.

Bitty stays quiet after that. The clones who know that she had been a slave know that it's a...delicate topic, for lack of better words. Something she hardly brings it up with anyone other than Mace and her brother and the mind-healer she's required to talk to regularly. Rarely does she bring it up willingly with anyone else. So, this is unexpected.

He kind of wants to take his original question back, tell her to forget it and that she doesn't have to give him an answer if she doesn't want to. But he doesn't get the chance to.

"Slaves don't get medical help," she finally says, just after Bitty makes a move on dejarik. One of the holomonsters move forward, but nothing else happens. She doesn't take her turn just yet. "If someone gets hurt, we have to rely on each other to take care of each other. Or, uh," her brows furrow, "they do."

Slowly, he nods. "What if– what if someone needs medical help, though?" Bitty haltingly asks despite his better judgement.

She shrugs, expression a bit detached. When she speaks, her voice is equally so. "Dep– ...The slavers don't do anything, mostly just let them die if the wound's bad enough. At those times, the slaves either miraculously live, or don’t. Mercy killings aren't uncommon among them." Dark eyes stare at the game but they're unfocused.

Bitty kind of hates himself for not shutting up.

He fidgets for a moment but then moves to get into a better sitting position – not so accidentally bumping into Zariza during the process. The jostling makes her take in a short yet sharp quiet breath in, and she shakes her head, reaching to make the next move in the holochess game.

"Your brothers not getting the supplies they need..." She sounds more like herself then, even if her voice is still quiet, and she isn't staring through the holomonsters anymore. Rather, she's watching them. "It puts a bad taste in my mouth, so to speak. If I can do something to help, I will."

"You will. I know it," Bitty tells her, and he sounds so sure about it to even his own ears. Zariza finally tears her gaze away from the game and at him. He grimaces. "Just like how I know you're going to beat me in this game again."

She smiles, and settles back in her seat. "If you'd just let me teach you–."

"Nope, no way, I can do it without anyone's help."

"Say that to the past ten times you've lost."

"I think you're gaining an ego."

"I think you're just a sore loser."

"I think you should both be studying," Spite's voice breaks up the bantering as he enters the break room, heading straight for the caf. Both teenagers jump in their seats and turn around on the small, uncomfortable couch to look at the man.

Bitty glowers at him. "Rude."

"Can we finish this round of dejarik first?" Zariza politely asks.

Spite nods with a shrug. "Sure. General Windu is expecting you at one of the training decks in two hours to practice your katas, Commander."

It's Zariza's turn to nod. "Alright. Thanks for telling me." She turns back around, and Bitty begrudgingly does as well – but not without flipping his brother off.

Spite returns the action and plops in one of the chairs across from the couch, caf in hand and bucket at his feet. "Bitty's losing, right?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Good."

"Hey–!"

+++

The plan ends up being this: take an nondescript, little enough amount from the supplies left over missions and campaigns to the Guard. An amount that won't be suspicious when counting how much is left for later restocking. The battalions and legions will take turns bringing the contraband, as Ahsoka has started to begin to describe it, and make the one sided trade in an area that has no cameras or anything of the like because Zariza is pretty sure this might be illegal in the Senate's eyes.

And, well. As much as she doesn't like the Senate, she doesn't want to be arrested a second time or somehow get the Corrie Guards in trouble.

The padawans tell their Masters of the plan, finally, and Bitty tells Spite once Zariza has told Master Mace, and it's not too long after that Commanders Cody and Wolffe and Captain Rex get told of the plan as well. They all have to think on it, which isn't surprising.

If they disagree, Zariza isn't above figuring out a way to do this by herself.

Anakin, though, is on board immediately, which doesn't shock her in the slightest. So is Commander Cody, which does surprise her but maybe it shouldn't, and Commander Wolffe and Master Jedi Plo Koon only have to think about it for an hour before they're both talking more in depth with Elvira about the plan. Obi-Wan is in on it for sure the next day, and then Rex agrees to join in, and soon enough it's only Mace and Spite who have yet to give a definitive answer.

+++

Mace sits down in the grass next to his padawan a week after her talk with Bitty in the break room, during a lull in the current battle. Zariza has a blaster bolt burn on her hip, a cut above her brow, and she's beyond dirty and ashy from fighting for so long. Mace isn't much better, having gotten hit in both the shoulder and foot rather than letting the bolts get the clones.

This particular fight against the Separatists on this particular planet is taking days to win. Even young Bitty, who is usually ordered to stay on the ship, is planet side to help. All hands on deck are needed to care for the wounded.

Everyone is equally tired, and Mace knows that Zariza can tell both through the bond and how he lets himself slouch that he wants this battle to end as much as she does.

"You care a lot," Mace says after a few minutes of silence between them. "I admire that."

Zariza looks at him, and through the Force bond there's a flash of surprise that's otherwise hidden outwardly. It's obvious not what she's been expecting him to say.

"It also means you get attached easier than others, and paired with your stubbornness, it can be dangerous. The same thing goes for your brother, I'm aware," he tells her. "But I won't be getting into that tonight. What I want to say, my padawan, is that I love how you care about the clones. I hope you know that I care about them, too." When she nods, he continues, "I have meditated on it, and I have also talked with Spite, Plo, Kenobi, and Commander Cody each, and between what the Commanders have both shared, it's obvious that their brothers are not as safe from immediate danger as the Senate believes.

"And so because of that," he says with a barely there smile, "I will help you with this plan of yours."

Zariza blinks a few times, rapidly, and grins. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," he deadpans. His expression cracks into a smile, though, as Zariza can't hold in her laughter. "Plo and I will also be trying our best to talk the Senate into giving the Guard more supplies. I might ask your brother to speak to Senator Amidala for clues as to how to go about doing so. Lastly, Kenobi will be speaking with Vos, to see if he has more insight on how the Coruscant Guards are fairing with their limited supplies. Hopefully this will end up being a short term thing."

She fidgets, smile wide and all teeth, and she's clearly debating something in her head. Mace almost questions her, but stops himself right when Zariza gets a determined glint in her eyes and throws herself at him. Her arms wrap around his torso and her head settles just under her chin. Mace is frozen for all of half a second, and then he hugs her back. He rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head, the training bond singing with warmth in the Force.

"Thanks, Window," she mutters into his robes.

He smiles. "Of course, little one."

+++

Here is what Fox knows about Zariza Skywalker:

1) She is somehow related to General Skywalker. Whether she's his sister, or cousin, or not related biologically but chose for some reason to have his last name, he doesn't know. And he doesn't plan on asking.

2) As much as she is quiet and kind and polite, she's sometimes also chaotic and snappish and loud. A living contradiction. He thinks it has something to do with General Mace Windu being her Jedi Master that she isn't more rambunctious like General Skywalker. (The stories he's heard from both Cody and Rex are...something, that's for sure.)

3) She doesn't trust the Senate – or something similar. He doesn't know fine the details, but Thire has witnessed her roll her eyes at Senator Orn Free Ta behind the twi'lek's back and then mutter how he's a "disgusting piece of bantha fodder." Fox has no idea what a bantha is, but he's inclined to agree, anyway.

4) She likes befriending his siblings. They like befriending her, too. They all love how she always asks for their names, not their numbers, and makes sure to use them. Of course other Jedi do the same, but a few still use numbers when someone hasn't chosen a name. The little Skywalker doesn't. She even helps some of them try out different names, and makes suggestions when they ask.

(There's also a rumor, one Fox doesn't know how to feel about. If what he heard from Wolffe, who heard from Cody, who heard from Rex, who heard from Grey, who heard from Ponds, who had heard from Spite is true...then the vod'ika who got experimented on to age normally has a crush on her. It might be reciprocated. Part of Fox wants to approve, but his little brother liking someone who is technically his CO sets off warning bells in his head.)

And the newest information: 5) as a padawan, General Skywalker accidentally let loose a murder droid within the Jedi Temple, and Commander Skywalker, as an initiate, attached a flesh eating plant to it for, in Quinlan's words, "shits and giggles."

"I'm sorry," Fox starts, having trouble processing what the Jedi just said. Maybe the lack of sleep is finally catching up. "They did what."

Quinlan shrugs, nonchalant as always, and holds his hands with his palms facing Fox. "I said what I said, Foxy. Murder droid, flesh eating plant – that's literally all I know. Obes told me about it since I hadn't been at the Temple at the time, and he didn't give me the full story."

He has...so many questions. Too many to say his usual dispute about being called 'Foxy'.

"But speaking of the little Skywalker," Quinlan begins and Fox doesn't get a chance to articulate any of the thoughts running through his mind, "She's coming by here to ask you about something."

"When?" The dread is already forming in his gut. If this somehow ends with a flesh eating plant being involved–

A soft knock on his office door sounds.

"Now, apparently," Quinlan says.

Fox gives him a dry look. "You don't even know it's her."

"Force signature." As if that's supposed to be the explanation.

Hells, Jedi are too vague sometimes.

"...Right," he sighs. He doesn't bother putting on his bucket. "Come in!"

The door to his office slides open, and Commander Skywalker steps in. Her appearance takes him by surprise. Visibly tired, a white bandage pokes out from under her sleeveless Jedi tunic, and her curly dark brown hair that's usually down is in a loose nerftail. She's also still wearing the pieces of armor her battalion gave her to wear on her forearms, chest, knees, and calves – all obviously hastily cleaned. With the way she's standing, it's clear that she has a few or so injuries hidden beneath her clothes, but there's a cut on her brow and some sort of wound on the back of her hand, covered by bandages and bacta.

Fox notices that last one as she presses the button on the wall that closes his door manually, when it doesn't close automatically.

Quinlan swears. "Geez, kid, did you just come from a campaign?"

"Yes, actually," says Commander Skywalker. "It wasn't an easy one."

"You couldn't have, oh, I dunno, gone to your quarters at the Temple and rest first?"

She makes a face like Quinlan is the weird one. "No. This is more important."

Quinlan doesn't reply for a moment. Just stares at the teenager and the stubborn tilt of her chin that practically screams she's not backing down anytime soon, even to a non-Force user.

Another reason she probably gets along with his siblings. They're all stubborn pieces of fodder.

Quinlan sighs. "Yeah, I know, squirt. But I'm staying, and when you're done here I'm taking you back to the Temple. Sith-hells, where even is Windu? Why isn't he here?"

"He's debriefing with the Council and the Chancellor, right now."

"Ah," he says. “Don’t blame you for coming here, then.”

"Commander Skywalker," Fox finally gets a chance to speak. "Here to commandeer my office and meditate in the corner again?"

She smiles kindly. "No, not this time. But if you want me to stop that, I will."

Fox almost raises an eyebrow in disbelief, but stops when he remembers his bucket isn't on his head. "It's all right. I don't mind it, too much," he says. As if he could say no if it wasn't. "Vos, here, was just telling me you had a question."

Her eyes cut over to Quinlan before staying on Fox. She begins to fold her hands in front of her, but then must have registered the fact she doesn’t have on her usual Jedi cloak, and opts for folding them behind her back. Akin to a soldier at ease.

Fox keeps his face blank as he thinks: oh – she's nervous. But what about?

Commander Skywalker clears her throat. "So. The other day – or, uh. Well, it's closer to half a month ago, I think. Anyway, I was with Pat to help them bring in a shipment of general medical supplies when they told me that the Guard doesn't get as much as they should."

Fox can’t hold back his brows from furrowing together. Where is the kid going with this? "And if I say we do get enough and Pat was just being dramatic?" he asks, because he's not about to have this turn into some pity thing.

"Then I will say I know that you're lying," she says. Just like that. No hesitation. Straight to the point, and blunt, and that stubborn chin tilt is back and aimed at him, this time.

It surprises him so much that it no doubt shows on his face.

"My friend, Elvira, has done the math. She's figured out how much supplies of medicine, bacta, and rations each battalion and legion needs. The ones out in field have enough, or just so. The Coruscant Guard gets less than a regular sized battalion, which is absurd because you are one of the largest legions and you're on Coruscant, so it shouldn't be too hard to give you the right amount of supplies, but instead you get less because apparently the Senate thinks nothing bad happens here to you guys.

"Protests here get violent – not always, but enough where it's not a surprise when one of your siblings get hurt doing their job protecting Coruscant. The criminal underworld on this planet isn't exactly a walk in the park. The Senate Building is regularly attacked, along with the senators themselves, and you and your siblings are the ones taking the fire, protecting everyone. It's a daily thing. I would bet my right arm that you rarely get leave, and the people in charge of you suck – the Chancellor included.

"If anything, the Coruscant Guard should be getting at least more supplies than a regular sized legion. You don't. It's... Its not fair."

The impassioned speech is half rant, half facts, wrapped around a veiled sense of frustration and anger and something else Fox can’t quite decipher. Commander Skywalker had looked away by the end. Her eyes cut to the side away from him and Quinlan, face tilted in the same direction a little bit, with furrowed brows and an expression that once again tells Fox she is angry but trying to stay calm.

Fox gets the impression, now, that this only isn't a delicate conversation for himself but for her as well. Unwillingly, his eyes fall to her neck, which bears scars reminiscent of a shock collar, or something similar, that aren't more than a year old, at least. They're usually hidden by a shirt with a longer neckline, or somewhat covered by her cloak. This isn't the first time he's noticing them, but is the first time he's gotten a good look.

It has Fox's first instinct to snap at the girl that this isn't her business to fall away.

He looks away before she notices, and gathers his thoughts together.

"I doubt you're saying all of this just to say it," Fox says. Then, with a subtle steadying breath, "You are not wrong. We don't...get as much of the things we need as we should. But we manage. We have to."

"Well, you shouldn't have to," she says hotly.

He silently agrees.

Commander Skywalker takes in a calming breath, and finally turns her head so she's facing him again. The heated anger has diminished somewhat from her eyes, but it's still there. Her tone, though, is back to being hesitant and nervous when she speaks again, "I... I have a plan. To get you and your siblings more supplies. But I won't do it if you don't want me to. It involves going behind the Senate's backs, so it's likely on the illegal side of things. But, like I said, it won't happen without your approval. It's your choice."

It's your choice.

Fox doesn't think he's heard those words uttered to him before. It kind of makes his brain malfunction for a second.

His choice. His siblings' choice.

"...I need to think about it."

+++

"You're joking," Thorn says, later that night at 79's after Fox updates him and the other Corrie Commanders on what happened. They only have a few hours of time off before they need to high-tail it back to their job.

"I'm not."

"Holy kriff."

"Why?" Stone questions. "I mean. I know she's a nice Jedi shiny and all, so it doesn't surprise me, to an extent, but what does she get out of it?"

"She's a Jedi," Thire says. "They're selfless, or that's what others say. She's not expecting anything in return."

Fox stays quiet as they continue to talk. A few minutes later, he's getting up and stalking the bar for 187th's newest Commander and battalion's medic. Ten minutes later, he's back at the shared table with Spite and Stitch in tow. He takes his original seat back beside Stone but Stitch shoves at them so he can have room to sit, while Spite squeezes in the booth on the other side with Thorn and Thire.

"She told you, I'm guessing," is Spite's first words after getting kidnapped from his own group – Mayhem and Knuckles, while trying to simultaneously drag Bitty away from the area of the bar with alcoholic drinks, stare at them in confusion and suspicion.

"Yes. Why does she want to help?" It's not so much a question as it is a demand.

Stitch rolls his eyes.

Thire says, "Need I repeat: she's a Jedi."

"You didn't ask her that yourself?" asks Stitch.

"No," Fox admits. "Getting told I actually have a choice for once sort of..." He waves a hand in the air, still a bit flabbergasted.

"Broke your brain?" Spite suggests.

"The most choice we have is whether or not we choose to paint our armor. Having the choice to say yes or no to more supplies, illegally acquired or not, is something else."

"I'm leaning towards 'no', honestly," Thorn admits. "What if the plan, whatever it is, fails? We'll be the ones taking the heat of it. And how can we know she's trustworthy? This is a kid we're talking about. A shiny, basically."

“Our Command’ika would never put you guys in trouble intentionally,” Spite says – a little defensively, Fox notices.

“I know that, but she’s still a shiny.” He gestures over to where Mayhem is carrying out Bitty on his shoulder, Knuckles laughing as the kid tries to get out of the other’s hold. “They don’t make the smartest decisions.”

“What about helping you guys is stupid?”

“Maybe the sneaking behind the Senate’s backs part,” Stone whispers intently, leaning forward so they can hear. “We work directly with the Chancellor. How the kriff is this going to get passed him?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s the Jedi!” Spite whispers just as intense. “She isn’t planning on doing this by herself – she has spoken with me, and General Windu, Kenobi, Skywalker, and Koon and their commanders. They all want to help.”

Thire runs a hand over his head. “I will admit, I want to say yes, but… I’m worried there’s a catch.”

“There isn’t one,” Stitch speaks up for the first time. Everyone looks at him. “Yes, she is a Jedi shiny, and because of that she is naturally compelled to help anyone and everyone without fault. But that isn’t the only reason for her. I won’t tell you, because it’s her choice to tell you guys and I won’t be the one to tell it in her place, but please trust me when I say she only has you and the rest of our vod’e in the Guard in her best interest.”

“And the others?” asks Fox.

“They just care,” answers Spite. “It’s hard to explain, and to accept. Even I’m still baffled by how much General Windu cares for every single one of us in the battalion. But I trust him and Commander Skywalker with my life, and the lives of our vod’e who are stationed under them, as well.”

Stitch nods. “If it came down it, I would put my trust in the other Generals as well, because General Windu trusts them and I trust him.”

Silence falls over the table.

Fox still needs to think about it.

+++

It takes another few days, but when Zariza gets told by Bitty that Fox wants to speak with her after one of her padawan tests, she hurries over as fast as she can, dragging Bitty with her. They make it there in record time.

Fox is sitting at his desk with his helmet off, looking worn and exhausted as always. Stacks of holopads and flimsiwork cover his desk, and she spots a stack of at least three used throw away caf cups. He has a fourth in one hand and a stylus for the ‘pad he’s working on in the other.

She’s fully expecting him to decline the offer. So, after pleasantries and polite greetings when they enter Fox’s office, she isn’t caught off guard when he tells them, “I can’t say yes to your offer.”

There’s still a little disappointment in her, though. “Oh,” she says. “That– I understand.”

“What? But Fox–” Bitty starts.

Fox shakes his head. Setting down the stylus and caf, he leans forward with intent. “No, I don’t think you do,” he interrupts. “Commander. Bitty. Listen to what I’m saying. I can’t say yes.”

Bitty scowls at his brother. “Yes, we get that–”

It clicks for Zariza immediately, right then. Oh. She knows what is happening.

“I understand,” she says, less disappointed and more, well, understanding. “That’s okay.”

Bitty rounds on her. “What? But all the planning we did!” He looks at Fox imploringly. “Don’t you want help, Fox?”

Fox sighs. “Bitty, please tell me your brain isn’t as small as your body.”

“Hey! I’m average height for a clone, you shabuir.”

The man rolls his eyes.

“Bitty, it’s okay,” Zariza says. “He can’t say yes. That’s fine.”

“Then why can’t he just say…” The heat in his eyes dwindle as he trails off, and widen in realization. “Oh.”

Zariza faces the other Commander. “Thank you for giving me your answer, Fox. We will respect your wishes.”

“That’s all I ask, Commander,” he says. “Now leave. I have flimsiwork to do, and the other Corrie commanders distract me enough as is.”

+++

Zariza races outside to the Temple speeder she might have highjacked. And no, she does not have a license for one yet. Climbing into the driver’s side, she starts the speeder, and Bitty gets into the passenger side.

“So, to be make sure I understand: we are still helping the Corries,” Bitty says as the engine starts.

She grins wide. “Yep! Let’s go tell the others.”

He nods. “Okay. But please don’t speed, I don’t want to get arrest—” he gets cut off by his own yelp as Zariza presses her foot in the gas.

“Sorry!” she shouts, not sounding an ounce apologetic as she smirks. “Foot slipped.”

Bitty half heartedly glares at her. “You’re lucky I like you.”

+++

“Fox can’t say yes because he works so close with Chancellor, because if he did say yes and Chancellor Palpatine found out, then that would be bad for everyone but extra bad for Fox. But Fox isn’t saying yes, but he also isn’t saying no, which in a round about means that he is giving us the green light to help the Corrie Guards out without actually saying yes. Make sense?”

Pytir and Ahsoka, the only two who were planet side because Elvira and Plo Koon are out with their legion again, stare at Zariza as they process her words.

“Yeah, it took me a second to realize what he was doing,” Bitty admits from Zariza’s side.

“Slaves did this all the time,” she tells them. “Affirm something in a way that sounds like you’re saying no but aren’t, to avoid trouble from masters, or whoever else is in charge.”

Bitty nods. “My vod’e do it back on Kamino, too.”

Pytir, a young pantoran boy and Obi-Wan’s newest padawan, asks, “Like probable deniability?”

“Plausible deniability,” Zariza kindly corrects, “but yes, exactly.”

“So if the Chancellor does find out and asks Fox about it, he’s not going to get in trouble,” Ahsoka says. “That’s so smart!”

“And that means the others can’t know,” Bitty says, looking at them all. Worry is starting to etch into his features. “I want to help my vod’e, but I don’t want to be the reason Chancellor Palpatine sends off the Corries for decommissioning.”

“Then we don’t let anyone else find out,” says Pytir.

+++

Pat doesn’t notice the influx of supplies at first.

They just think their vod’e are finally beginning to get injured less. An extra box of bacta patches here, another package of bandages there… It’s not a lot, but he notices. And the number in left over supplies at the end of the month increases to where they have just enough instead of too little.

They ask one of the Commanders if they asked for more supplies and it got confirmed. Each one denies it. Each one sounds like they know something he doesn’t.

It isn’t until after a brutal attack on the Senate building when they start piecing things together.

The medics don’t lose their vod’e to lack of supplies or the dreaded mercy killings. They lose them to life threatening wounds and blood loss and kill shots. At one point, Pat is doing his damn best to patch up one vod before he dies, even though he knows they don’t have enough supplies to do so, but–

They do. There are enough supplies to get his vod stable. Enough to patch him up.

They even have a few extra.

…They have extra.

A knock on the med room’s door pulls Pat from inspecting the last box. No one else needs medical attention, and it’s just… Sitting there. Unused. Not needed until further notice.

Pat turns to face the door; their head medic is busy speaking to another patient. They aren’t that surprised to see the Jedi shinies and the young clone that have begun to frequent this place, but he is surprised by the medium sized boxes a few are carrying.

“Hey, Pat,” Zariza greets with a smile. “How is everything?”

“Hey, kids,” he says. “Everything is good as it can be. We lost way less men than my fellow medics and I thought we would.”

Her smile widens, and the others smile as well. “That’s great.”

Bitty holds up the box he has. “We brought some pick-me-ups,” he tells them. “Little goodie bags, or that’s what they call them.”

“They’re just bags of candy, and tiny hand held games to keep your siblings entertained a little while they’re stuck here,” Elvira explains.

“We thought you guys might appreciate it after the chaos that happened at the Senate building,” says Zariza. ‘Chaos’ is putting it lightly. “Usually these are for the younglings at the Temple after a Life Day celebration but the Council agreed you guys need something good, so… Goodies.”

There’s a stinging in Pat’s eyes, and they are wholeheartedly glad that their bucket hides their face. They don’t need a vod’ika witnessing them tear up. It’s been a very stressful twenty-four hours, okay?

“Goodies,” they echo. The kids nod.

“Aw, c’mon, Pat, you’re not gonna send them away, are you?” asks one of their vod’e a medical cot, leg wrapped in a cast and bandages around his head. “We deserve the goodies!”

They shake their head. “No, I’m not. Come on – I’ll help hand them out.”

The three of them quickly get to it, splitting up to make things go faster. The head medic makes a vaguely annoyed noise as Bitty passes him, but it gets cut off halfway when the the young clone places a little bag from the box into the medic’s hand. With the helmet on, Pat can’t see his face. He would bet, though, that there is some amount of confusion on it.

“Don’t question it,” Pat tells him as he hands out a few of the little bags as well.

“…I’m too exhausted for this,” he mutters. “Thanks, Bit’ika.”

Bitty makes a face at the name but says, “You’re welcome.”

Zariza sends him a teasing grin as she says, “Aw, Bit’ika. That’s cute.”

The teen’s face darkens. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it and Pat catches a smile begin to form just as he turns his back to them.

Elvira rolls her eyes with her own smile. “Zari,” the zabrak sighs.

“What?”

The two best friends stare at each other. Elvira shakes her head. “You’re hopeless.”

Zariza’s face twisted into slight offense. “What the kriff did I do?”

“Hopeless,” she repeats.

They continue like that, and Pat listens and watches and smiles to themself. The mood of the atmosphere before they came in had been low and saddened and dull. Now? The atmosphere is brighter, and even a few of Pat’s vod’e are speaking and lightly laughing along with the teenagers.

Pat walks back over to the box of extra supplies that have to be used to rest his feet. Zariza comes over a few minutes later, box half empty, and sits down too. She hands them a bag and they take it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why we are getting a gradual influx of supplies, do you?” asks Pat.

Zariza shakes her head. “Sorry, Pat. I can’t say that I do.”

They eye her. Runs her words through their head. Then, they let out a breathy chuckle. “Okay.” Lifting the little goodie bag, they shake it a little, listening to the small candies and hand held game clacking together.

“I do know that a few members of the Council are speaking with Senator Amidala to find a way to get you more supplies – not just for medical,” she tells him. “It might take a while, but… We’re trying.”

Pat feels like crying again. They really need some sleep. They’ve been up for 48 hours straight.

“Thank you,” they say sincerely and meaningfully. “I think you’re saving more of my siblings than you realize – even with these little bags.”

“A little kindness goes a long way,” she says.

They look at her again, curious. “Is that a Jedi saying?”

“No,” she says, then corrects herself, “Well, maybe, in a way. But my mom always told me that when I was really little. We… I was born into slavery, so there wasn’t a lot of kindness to begin with, and so we did our best to be kind to each other.”

“Thank the universe for your mom,” Pat hums.

A comfortable silence falls over them. It doesn’t last long, because a conversation they had with Fox pops into their head. A question is burning at the tip of their tongue, and he just has to know the answer.

“So, is the rumor that you might have a crush on Bitty true?”

Her head whips around to look at them so fast, they immediately become concerned for her neck. “There’s a what about what?!”

Pat busts out laughing.

#star wars au #star wars fanfiction #star wars oc #commander fox #clone wars oc #coruscant guard #oc: zariza #oc: bitty #bc he makes appearances in this #take the fear that i don’t need #my writing

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darlingbudsofrae · 3 years

Text

Allison Reynolds Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

I know I pretty much start every single one of this series with this but I love Allison Reynolds.

I can’t explain why when she doesn’t even appear that much on the books (a sad travesty, really, that all the girls didn’t really appear that much in the books)

But I just see a fanart and I’ll be like, oh wow, y’know?

Like is that weird? I think that’s weird.

Before we go to uncharted territory, let’s appreciate our one and only Allison Jaimaca Reynolds.

Let’s start with the bets. Allison mostly always (or is it just always) wins bets.

I think she has a really sharp eye for things and is just generally good at reading the room, but also- it’s because she listens.

When Renee tells everyone who asks back when they thought her and Andrew had a thing, Allison was the only one who really listened when Renee says it wasn’t going to happen.

I think the reason why I love Allison the way that I do is because I feel this connection with her character and she’s just a character I really admire.

So, Allison was hospitalized for bulimia when she was in high school because of the pressure placed on her by her parents of needing to conform to the toxic beauty standards society set for women.

Playing exy means gaining muscles, and because it wasn’t really ideal for a girl to be too buff because gods society cannot give us a break-

She starved herself.

When I learned that, I legit cried. Like oh shit.

Also, can we talk about how Allison literally gave up her inheritance for exy?

Like, billions of dollars of inheritance.

I think most people have this notion that out of all the foxes, Allison is the one that doesn’t seem to belong with the foxes because her past is not as gruesome or as detailed as the others.

This personally pisses me off because why are we ranking people’s traumas?

Also, I find it adorable that Allison actually learned exy from her grandfather- he’s the one who taught her how to play.

She’s actually really good at exy, and I think people forget that in place for her haughty personality or just because pretty is often associated with her.

Like Wymack wouldn’t really recruit her if she wasn’t- there’s two requirements for Wymack to consider someone- (1) great play, and (2) problem kid/horrible past.

Allison filled both.

I just think Allison is such an icon- like this is a pretty obvious message at this point but because society is infested with misogyny and all that crap it’s forgotten but-

Who says you can’t both be girly and into sports?

I’m going to go on a limb here but I love Allison Reynolds because she is something the writers of Mean Girls (cult classic) did not explore.

SPOILER FOR MEAN GIRLS: At the end of the film, Regina George got into sports for therapy (which she was good at) but gave up all the pink and the things considered hyperfeminine that she dons during the beginning of the movie.

Allison Reynolds? Girl dresses like she’s an IG model and plays stickball wickedly, how about that?

Like again, you can both be feminine and into sports and it pisses me off how the movie industry slash books paint the girly girl as the villain or how she has to give up her femininity to be good.

The fact that Allison is always described to be into fashion, makeup, dresses/looks her best every time, and plays exy competently- that’s awesome. I love that for her.

What an effing badass.

Also, Nicky might’ve called her a “catty bitch” (which kinda triggered me in the wrong way because just out of all the words in the dictionary- why) and while her words sting, Allison tells the truth as it is- or at least, as how she sees it.

And I admire that.

Like, we admire Neil for saying whatever the fudge he wants and I love Neil for that too but Allison also does say whatever she wants regardless and I think some even hate her for it and it’s just not appreciated enough?

Allison Reynolds isn’t really appreciated enough, TBH.

She’s confident, competent, strong-willed, and tenacious.

“They want to break my toy? So what? I’ll buy another one. Maybe I’ll buy two. Fuck them if they think this will hurt me.”

I just love her so much- what a damn queen.

#i just realize i ended dan's kevin's and allison's the same way #cuz they're all my queens and they're just so badass #all for the game #all for the angst #aftg #aftg appreciation post #The foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #the king's men #nora sakavic #allison reynolds #aftg allison #aftg appreciation hours #no really i find it funny how much i love allison when she didn't really appear that much #like yeah she had her bad times but honestly which of the foxes didn't had one?#she's just my queen #raeraegoaway

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mrs-cavill-wife · 3 years

Text

Forbidden Witch (2/?)

Pairing: Charles Brandon X Female Reader

Warning: Fantasy. Language. Forbidden Love. Tell me if I miss something.

Author's Note: This one is REALLY long chapter but here comes Charles Brandon, calm your tits! Hope you guys like it, if you do, please reblog it! I'm all ears to feedback and suggestions, thank you! DM or comment if you want to be on tag lists of Forbidden Witch!

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites @rmtndew

Riding for a few minutes, the boy was fun, he had many stories but I was grateful when he stopped chattering. I think this adventure exhausted him.

We arrived in Aluma and it was not difficult to find the castle, in a short time, we were well in freight for the construction. Aretuza was a beautiful place, but I had never seen such a magnificent castle, it was big, people were probably lost there. I approached the entrance and came across three soldiers, who immediately aimed the spears at me.

"Stop! Who's coming over there?"

I looked at them alerting them to stay quiet and I got off the horse slowly, the little prince was already asleep and I didn't want to find him. I think almost turning into monster food was a great experience, he needed to rest.

"Tsc-tsc. I don't think that's how you supposed to treat a lady. Especially when she saved and is in charge of the safety of her future king."

One of them approached to look closely and then looked at the others.

"Go, fast! Let your majesties know, Prince Eric has been found."

One of them ran inside the door, faster than a fox and I, even with the little boy, still had to wait outside. I looked at the blondie, and he slept soundly, hugging my Atlas, as if je were the most comfortable of the mattresses. Which is probably something he must have. Based on the aesthetics of the Castle, they must have everything from the good and the best, and even more.

"Eric! My little warrior!"

A voice, clearly desperate, screamed and, faster than her guard, the queen approached. A beautiful lady, blonde, thin but with curves, a beautiful green dress with gold details that matched with her hazel eyes and, of course, a simple but remarkable crown with rubies on the top of her head.

She approached me and the little boy, affectionately touching her face and then brushing her hair with her fingers. Her features were clear, pure happiness, relief and tears that I think, have been there since the little boy ran away. Eric woke up quickly with his mother touch and smiled softly, still tired.

She grabbed the boy, without caring about his soaked clothes, giving him a giant bear hug while sobbing.

"Oh my little prince, why? You know how worried your Mom is when you run away like that."

She said now looking at him with teary red eyes. I have to admit I felt bad for her.

"I think I'll have to put soldiers in to watch you again"

Again? Yeah, he didn't lie, and by the nickname "little warrior", I think he was really a little adventurer and a big runaway kid.

"Mom, I'm sorry and I'm fine. The witch saved me. Without her, I would be monster dinner right now."

Said the little troublemaker and after the brief moment of mother and son, the queen noticed me, gave a big smile and I bowed in respect, but she soon shook her head and held my hand.

"You, my young lady, no need to bow. You saved my son, my greatest treasure, you don't know how grateful I am. What's your name?"

I didn't knew exactly what to say. I looked at Eric and he just smiled comforting me.

"Oh.. your majesty.. I'm Cassandra, Cassandra of Boudicca.. and I just.. I just did what any sensible person would do."

"One way or another, me and your majesty, the king, we are very grateful, and by the way the king would love to meet you."

Meet me? Oh Lord, I can't say no to a queen, right? She's being so sweet with me but I'm even dressed properly to meet a king?

"My queen.. I.. well.."

"No no, I'll be offended if you refuse"

I sighed and nodded. The soldiers led the way and the queen took me into the huge castle, holding my right hand and with her son by the side, but within minutes he ran into a room with large wooden doors, apparently the throne room.

I thought we would get in there but the queen is still walking and I had no choice but to follow. We arrived at a door, it was opened and it was a beautiful room, with a huge bed that would probably fit three people, a nice balcony, a dressing table, a shelf with some books. The queen took me to the room on, had a huge mirror, a beautiful bathtub, prepared with some foam and next to it, a black girl with a simple dress, braided hair and a beautiful smile.

"This is Juliette, one of my chaperones, she's a wonderful lady, she will help you bathe and get ready."

The lady Juliette bowed at me and I looked surprised at the queen.

"Your majesty, that's not necessary, I.."

She cutted me before I could say something more.

"Darling, you can call me Madeline and maybe it's not necessary but I asked my man to treat your beautiful horse and I think you need too, besides.."

She grabbed a little cloth and gently rubbed under my nose wiping it. Something a mother would do. And I saw a little of blood when she pull away the cloth. Fire spells always consume a lot of my strength, occasionally, my nose would start bleeding and on the worst situation, I would pass out.

"..You look very exhausted, please, let my lady help you.."

Alright, maybe I need it and won't hurt, right?

I nodded causing the Queen and her lady to smile widely at me.

"Huh.. At least, lady Juliette, can she let me take care of my bath? By myself, please? I don't want to be disrespectful to your kindly, but I'm not used to undressing in front of anyone."

The queen smiled softly and nodded at Juliette and soon, she were our of bathroom.

"Darlin, one question. What's your favorite color?"

"Black!?"

I answered a little confused and she left me alone in the bathroom. I undressed and went into the warm water.

I would not feel comfortable naked in someone's presence, at all, even if I were a man.. I imagine that some people think I can be experient, I admit that I have a beautiful body, at least I think that I'm beautiful, attracts many masculine looks, I have been courted but always by men who saw me with a piece of meat or out of curiosity to know what spell a witch knows how to do between four walls. Pathetic.

The truth is that I have never been with a man, I have never fallen in love. When I was younger, I used to imagine what my future husband would be like. I imagined your details, I remember everything I liked.. He would be a tall man, defined body, fair, strong, sweet, romantic, noble, fair skin, blue eyes like the sky in a spring morning, dark hair like the night, short or maybe curly, lips chubby that would always leave me wanting more, hands that when..

Oh my God, stop Cassandra, you're not a teen anymore.. and it's not going to happen.

I blew away those stupid thoughts and got up from bathtub, grabbed a towel and wrapped around my body. When i arrived on room, I meet Lady Juliette, holding a box and next to her, on the bed, a simple, but for my eyes, a really gorgeous black dress.

"Oh my God, that's..?"

Lady Juliette laughed softly and opened the box, revealing a necklace.

"The queen want you to wear this for tonight. She thought you would like the style and it's also a gift for saving her son"

I don't wanted to sounds dramatic but it's beautiful, the dress, the necklace. I grabbed the dress and ran back to bathroom to get dressed. I admired myself on the mirror for a second and quickly, Juliette was behind me, helping me with the necklace.

"By your smile, I see you approved. The queen will love to know. Your majesties await for you on the throne room, I'll lead the way."

I nodded and followed Juliette to the throne room

Charles Brandon POV

Another beautiful morning. I woke up and rubbed my eyes, yawned getting up and wearing a shirt. I went to the window, opened the curtains and let the sunlight in. Oh, fresh air. Honestly, I could not have chosen a better place to be my home, in freight to a beautiful and immense river, around the splendid nature, far from the city, that noise makes me crazy, horses running, people screaming, songs out of tune, poor people begging for help and old "relationships" knocking on my door. That's peace right here.

I looked to the side. Seeing my wife, Phoebe and my little princess, my daughter Mackenzie. Christ, she is growing up so fast, she is only six years old now but she is a very smart little girl, loves to read, write and draw. She is the most special thing in the world for me.

I remember when Phoebe told me she was pregnant, four weeks after our wedding. I have always been a man who lives in the present, the now. But at that moment, I cared about the future, about me, about being a better man, something I never was and my wife suffered a lot from it, she would pretend to don't mind sleeping all alone almost every night, pretended not see me arriving late, often drunk, lipstick and sweat on my skin. Today I don't like to talk but, loyalty was never on my list of tasks, not before Phoebe give me someone so innocent, so sweet and pure, someone who depended on me. There's a Charles Brandon before Mackenzie, and another Charles Brandon after Mackenzie, and long before that, long before I met Phoebe, I was just a farmer's son.

How do I become Duke? Well, I was always in love with horses and swords, my father died when I was little and my mother was a queen's lady. I practically lived in the castle because of my mother's work, and this work, gave me a chance to see the soldiers training, fighting, riding, I just loved it and the captain ended up realizing my admiration, despite my young age, I became a helper, simply started carrying things, gave a little help with the horses. My dedication took me far, in a short time I cleaned the armor and then I was sharpening and testing the swords and when I really became a man, after my mother died of natural causes, with the blessing of King Edward, I became knights, soldier, one of the best.

Going to war was incredible for me, it seems sick but I liked to cut off heads, tear apart, see blood and defend the kingdom that treated me like a son. King Edward had a best friend, a king from a distant continent. King Alexander. On one of his visits, there was a feast, and that's when we met. That same night, there was an ambush in the castle and unfortunately, the king in which I served since I was a child, was murdered, as well as several soldiers, I remained standing, even injured and saved King Alexander.

After all that, King Edward gave me a lot of support. He knew it was a big loss for me, I lost a lot of friends and he knew that King Alexander was almost like a father to me. He knew of my dedication and love for the royal guard, for being a soldier and he invited me to be part of his soldiers. I was reluctant but after thinking a lot, I really had nothing else, nothing to lose so, the next day, I am already on my way to Aluma, his kingdom. There I met his wife, he told me they were trying to have a baby, they hoped it was a boy, an heir, I honestly, I always thought it was bullshit but I wouldn't say that, I was treated like a son.

For a few years, I exercised my place in the royal guard, I became a captain, and of course, the title attracted several lovers. Redheads, brunettes, blondes, fair skin, black skin, a whole meal full of colors and tastes.. each dawn I got up from a different bed, and "finally", I met Phoebe, a young lady, from a noble family. At first, it was just a carnal thing but it ended up becoming a passion, and soon, we were married. Being a captain, having a wife and being a party boy. My favorite things in life, but they were colliding. Phoebe suffered from wondering if I would return alive from a battle and the other night, she slept alone while I had fun with some harlot. It got to the point where I realized that it couldn't be like that anymore, I had affection for the woman who woke up more than I want in me, so I made the decision to relinquish my post as captain of the royal guard. King Alexander tried to insist that I stay, it's true that we ended up becoming great friends but he ended up understanding my decision.

As a thank you for years of loyalty to him and his best friend, he gave me a title and his best builders would build my home, wherever I wanted. I chose, Sullfolk, a beautiful continent, full of nature. I became Charles Brandon, the Duke of Sullfolk.

"Daddy?"

I leave my daydreams of the past, hearing that sweet voice of my dear Mackenzie. I looked at the bed and saw her with a sleepy face and a smile in my direction. I walked over, sitting next to her on the bed and placing a kiss on her messy hair.

"Good morning, sunshine. how did my little princess sleep?"

"Good daddy, are we traveling today, right?"

I laughed softly nodding at her. Since King Alexander sent a letter, inviting me and my family to Aluma, my little Mackenzie is not holding on to happiness, she would ask me every night, "When are we going? It's closer daddy?".

It would be her first trip, she would know the place of my stories that she loved to hear. It would be a visit, it had been a few years since Alexandre and I had seen each other and he said he would prepare a banquet, talk about the old days, it would be fun for my family, a chance for Mackenzie to know a new place and Phoebe would review the place where he was born. In fact, we were all in stasis.

"I'll get ready and tell our servants to put our breakfast. Wake up your mother and meet me in the dining room. After we eat, we go to the road."

She smiled widely causing me the same action of affection and I left the room.

#henrycavill rp #henry cavill x female reader #charles brandon x you #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Warriors in Red Armor

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Chapter Four

Nora I

Nora was in one of the nicer cells. She didn't like to brag, but she had been arrested often enough to know the difference. And she had the cell to herself, which was new and different. Normally, the Corrie Guard shoved as many beings into each cell as they could manage without crushing anyone.

Soon enough, some of the more violent members of Clone Rights filled the surrounding cells. Even then, Nora's cell remained single-occupancy.

"You gonna get us outta this one, Czajak?" a male Bothan named Esk Meh'reer asked through the transparisteel barrier.

"Of course, Meh'reer," Nora said with a scoff. "We didn't even do anything. This one'll be easier than any of the other times."

"Well, you didn't do anything," Meh'reer told her with a grin. "We may have defaced some property after we saw you get arrested. Nothing too bad, though. Just tore down some signs. Oh, actually, I'm pretty sure Gadi threw a bench."

Nora rolled her eyes at the mention of the exuberant Lasat. "Gadi always throws something. I think she cares more about throwing stuff around than she does about getting rights for clones, but at least she's on our side."

"Hey, our cells share a wall!" Gadi cheered, pushing herself out of the crowd as if she had been summoned. "Want me to see if I can throw this bed?"

"Probably not, Gadi," Nora discouraged. "It'll be a lot harder to fight the charges if we start breaking things inside of the precinct."

"Aw, you'll be able to get us out of it," Gadi told her. "You're the best lawyer on Coruscant!"

Nora chuckled and shook her head, choosing not to tell her fellow protesters that she may not be a lawyer much longer if she kept doing this. Her boss had already threatened to demote her after he had found out about her work. Was it a bad thing that she had a tendency to defend protesters pro bono?

"Nora Czajak," a clone trooper announced, opening the door to Nora's cell. "You're being charged, come with me."

Surprise made Nora slow. The charges were almost never filed this quickly. She had been arrested less than twelve hours ago! Still, the sooner she knew how bad things were going to be, the sooner she could start forming a defense for herself and the others. Gamely, she rose and followed the trooper, admiring his red-accented armor as she went.

When she stepped from the room, cheers erupted from the surrounding cells.

"Go, Nora!"

"Give 'em hell!"

"Pinch that guy's ass while you're in there!"

"Gadi…" Nora sighed to fight back a chuckle. The temptation to laugh grew worse when she turned and found that the trooper had stopped and was staring at her. She couldn't see through his helmet, obviously, but she would have bet that he looked less than thrilled. With her most professional lawyer smile, she said, "Following you, sir."

He shook his head a little bit and kept walking. They passed another red-accented trooper as they walked, and he leaned in a bit to place his helmet's speakers next to Nora's ear. "If you pinch Thorn's shebs, I'll transfer you twenty credits."

"Will that be worth the jail time for harassment, though?" she asked with a conspiratorial grin.

He shrugged. "It would be for me."

"Thire, leave her alone," her escort - presumably Thorn - ordered. "I have to take her to see Stone."

Stone was one of Nora's favorite troopers, and she didn't even need Thorn's guidance to find her way to his office. Thorn gave a polite knock on the door. "Nora Czajak for you, Commander."

"Stone! How are you? Did you redecorate the office?" Nora asked, breezing into the office like it was her own.

Stone blinked at her. "Of course I didn't redecorate. When would I have redecorated? You were here last week."

"That is a difficult point to argue," she conceded.

"I'm sure you'll figure out a way," Stone said dryly. "Thank you, Commander Thorn."

As soon as Thorn had left, Nora crossed her legs comfortably and leaned forward to stare at Stone. "So, what's it going to be this time, Commander? A fine, some jail time..?"

"Neither," Stone told her shortly, crossing his arms over his chest. It would have looked more natural if he weren't in full armor - minus the helmet - but Nora had to admit that there was something intimidating about the dull crack of plastoid meeting plastoid. "Command has decided that fines don't seem to work for you. And every time you spend more than a few days in jail, you come out with more violent followers for your Clone Rights group. Then those followers trash the city even worse in your next demonstration. It's a vicious cycle."

"Mm, such a conundrum," Nora agreed. "What's the solution, Stone?"

"Community service."

Now, it was Nora's turn to blink in confusion. "Community service? My sentence is community service?"

"Yeah, a hundred hours of it," he said, shaking his head a bit.

"And- what about the others? What are they getting sentenced to?"

"Community service," Stone repeated, sounding almost as confused as she was. "All of the demonstrators we arrested are serving time. Not as much as you, but it'll all be community service."

Nora opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Stone, this is stupid. What is going on? Community service is for parking violations and cursing at shop-keepers. You have us dead to rights on destruction of property, disturbing the peace, and intention to incite a riot. What are you doing?"

"Are you asking for a harsher punishment?" Stone asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Of course not!" she snapped. "It's just suspicious. Since when does the Coruscant Guard let violations like this slide?"

"Since today," he said with a shrug. "Orders straight from Head Commander Fox himself."

"Head Commander Fox?" Nora asked, distracted by the mention of the clone trooper she had met the previous night. He had been willing to debate her in a cruiser on the way back to the precinct. His method of forming an argument had been clumsy, but his points had been valid. It was a welcome distraction from the unpleasantness of the march's end. And here she was, finding out that Fox was actually the commander in charge of the other commanders. "What was a Head Commander of the GAR doing babysitting a Clone Rights march?"

"Maybe he wanted to come see your model behavior first-hand," Stone told her sarcastically. At Nora's sharp look, he relented. "Fine. Commander Fox doesn't pass duties along. He does everything he asks his men to do. That includes supervising marches, pulling patrols, and booking troublemakers."

Ignoring the pointed implication that she was a troublemaker, Nora changed the subject. "Who is going to be supervising my community service hours?"

"That'll be…" Stone consulted a page in front of him before answering - though how he found a single piece of flimsi in the disaster zone that was his desk was beyond Nora. "Trooper Beam. He's in charge of community service efforts. Poor evaar is gonna have his work cut out for him, supervising your protesters."

"That has to be about seventy people," she argued. "One trooper can't supervise all of us."

"That's his job," Stone said with a shrug.

Nora leaned back, lost in thought. "You know, it would be terrible of me to expect one trooper to supervise all of the arrested Clone Rights members and all one-hundred hours of my own community service. I should really request to be assigned to another Coruscant Guard trooper."

"Who were you thinking?" Stone's voice was filled with wariness.

Nora peered thoughtfully around the room. The morning sunlight didn't even reach this part of Coruscant. Instead, the light from a nearby holo-ad provided the only outside light in the commander's office.

When she felt Stone staring at her impatiently, Nora smirked and answered, "Why, Head Commander Fox, of course."

---

Fox II

It had been a long night, and it promised to be an even longer day. Fox was already on his second set of stims, and he still had an estimated twenty hours before he could think about collapsing in his quarters.

At that particular moment, he was talking to Sergeant Hound about some woman the sergeant was processing. He was trying, anyway. Fox's attention was far away. Part of him was trying to calculate how long it had been since he had last slept while the rest of him was trying to calculate how long he had until he could sleep again.

"So, what do you think, Commander?" Hound asked, bringing Fox's attention back to him.

"You know I trust you, Hound," Fox told the trooper, patting him on the shoulder. "Do what you think is best."

"Really? Thank you, sir!" Hound said, face brightening.

Briefly wondering what he had just agreed to, Fox turned away and was immediately met with Commander Stone beckoning him over.

"Sir, I need you to come speak with the woman I'm sentencing."

"You know you're the one in charge of sentencing, Commander Stone," Fox reminded.

"I know, sir, but she's requesting that you oversee her community service personally," Stone told him.

Fox's brows lifted before he could stop the expression. "And that is Trooper Beam's area." Honestly, what was the point of dividing the Coruscant Guard into departments if everyone was going to ask him to do their job anyway?

"Yes, sir, but…" Stone sighed, looking more defeated than Fox had ever seen him. "Can you please come tell her that? She won't take my refusal as a proper answer."

Fox shook his head, but started for Stone's office. "Who is this woman?"

"Nora Czajak."

"Kriff, no," Fox refused before he could think better of it.

"You're lucky I'm not easily offended, Head Commander," Czajak said, appearing in the doorway of Stone's office.

"I won't oversee your community service," Fox snapped.

"Maybe you should step inside, Commander," Stone wearily advised. "She has a full argument ready."

Well, he could at least hear her out. Fox entered Stone's office, immediately feeling as though a trap had been sprung when the other commander shut the door - with himself on the outside. Fox cracked the door open enough to peer out. "Stone, aren't you coming?"

"Kriff, no, Commander," Stone denied. "I'm going to get some caf and maybe some alcohol. Good luck."

When Fox turned back around, he found that Nora had seated herself in Stone's chair behind the Commander's desk. Everything was a power game for her. Since he refused to give her the satisfaction of asking her to leave the seat, Fox walked to the transparisteel window beside her. He peered outside, as if an advertisement for nerf steaks was the most interesting thing he had seen all day.

"I still won't oversee your community service," Fox's tone was blunt.

"You look like hell," Czajak's tone was also blunt, and he almost turned to look at her, but caught himself in time. "Don't you sleep?"

Even the mention of sleep was enough to make his eyes burn. "I'm a busy man, Czajak. Too busy for sleep and too busy to supervise community service hours."

"Maybe you should sit down before you fall down, Commander."

He scoffed, still staring out of the window. "I don't need your pity."

A moment later, a hard bump against the back of his knees had Fox falling backward into a chair he vaguely recognized as the one that sat behind Stone's desk. Czajak stepped around him, shaking her head, and sat down in a guest chair. Fox frowned. She had given up a position of power, the implied high ground in this office.

"I think you should be the one to oversee my community service," she started.

"I disagree," Fox countered.

"You are the one who decided that community service was the right answer for members of Clone Rights who were arrested, yes?" He nodded, already searching for the trap in her question. "How is it fair for you to put that much work on your trooper in charge of overseeing it? He didn't ask for so much responsibility."

Why was this woman always fighting to infantilize him and his brothers? "I assure you, Beam is fully capable of withstanding the stress."

"Well, I would hate to put him in such a bad position," Czajak mused. "I probably would feel so guilty that I would skip all my community service appointments."

"Then you'll be arrested for failure to appear."

"And I'll be sentenced to jail time, in which I will gain more followers," she said with a satisfied smile. "That's the fear, correct?"

Kriffing Stone and his running mouth. Fox gritted his teeth. "If you fail to appear for appointments, I will take the appropriate measures to ensure that you pay your debt to society."

"I'm sure you would," Czajak agreed easily. Too easily. "However, would it not be more simple to agree to oversee my community service yourself? We could avoid all of the unpleasantness for the low price of one-hundred hours of your time."

"You couldn't afford that low price," Fox snorted.

Czajak's eyes glinted in amusement. "How about this, then? Your men rave about your leadership and how you never ask them to do anything you wouldn't be willing to do yourself. I know most of your men consider me to be the worst of the worst. I received the highest number of required community service hours. By taking on the responsibility of… well, of me, you would be proving that your willingness to do all aspects of the job is true in every situation."

Fox's head ached as he tried to find a way of refuting her point. It was a solid argument and she knew it from the way she was smiling at him. He suddenly understood why Commander Stone had refused to come to this part of the meeting.

"Fine," he ground out, voice low and harsh. "I'll oversee your community service. I don't know why you're being so insistent about it, but it won't be fun. You'll show up when and where I tell you, and stay as long as I deem fit. And if I hear a single complaint from you, I'll toss you in a cell, new followers be karked. Understood?"

"Perfectly, Commander," Czajak agreed. She was all demure compliance now that she had gotten her way. "Please notify me with the details of our first meeting."

"Consider yourself dismissed," Fox growled at her.

Czajak winked and rose to leave. As she opened the door, Fox heard Chase say, "Ouch! That one pinched me!"

"We talked about this, Gadi!" Nora lectured, leaving Stone's door to close behind her.

Fox rubbed at the lines between his brows. For his own sake, he took a moment to breathe before he had to go deal with whatever that was about.

---

Ransom I

"Okay, the Commander said I was cleared to deal with you as I see fit."

The sentence may have been worded as a threat, but Ransom could sense no malice in the trooper's tone. It didn't matter either way. She had been arrested too many times to count. There was nothing this pleasant-faced officer could do that would frighten her. Well, short of throwing her to his massiff. Even then, she was certain that she would do a great deal of damage before it could take her down.

"Whoa, what's with that face?" he asked, and Ransom immediately smoothed her expression.

"Just waiting for this to be over."

"I also treasure our time together," he smiled, reaching out a hand as if to pat her on the arm. Ransom was a comical distance away, seated on the other side of a wide desk, and she raised one eyebrow in his direction.

"Good news is that I think I've finally located your file," he said, not deterred by her lack of response. He hadn't been all day, actually. Ransom wasn't willing to work with him at all. She believed that he shouldn't need to read through a history of her life to know that the alterations to her cybernetics were illegal and needed to be removed or licensed. Instead, the trooper - who had cheerfully introduced himself several times as Sergeant Hound - had used a biometric scan to track her file.

"Ransom," Hound read from the display. He stared at her for a long moment, dark brows furrowed. "Your name is Ransom?"

"Your name is Hound," she fired back immediately. "Are you sure you want to start this fight?"

"Yeah, but most civvies have a last name."

"Why would I need a last name?" Ransom asked with a frown. "To keep from being confused with all of the other cybernetically-altered Coruscanti women named Ransom?"

"...That's true," Hound conceded. He turned his attention back to the screen and Ransom tensed a bit at what he would find. She braced herself for any number of unpleasant responses. In the past, she had seen everything from pity to awe to disgust, but he simply scanned through the documents - she had a lot of them - and nodded. "Well, you're being charged with disturbing the peace, but that isn't worth jail time or any significant fine. The Head Commander has been on a real community service kick lately, so we'll get you signed up for some of that."

"I'd rather take the jail time," Ransom spat out.

"No you wouldn't," Hound said seriously. "The jail is rough. Full of unsavory characters, terrible food, bad lighting. Plus, your job wouldn't take too kindly to you spending time in jail. None of them ever do. Don't you want to keep working at…" he checked the screen again, "...Red Squad?"

"Red Squad wouldn't fire me for being in jail," Ransom assured him.

"You can't know that for sure," Hound argued. "Trust me, community service is the better way to go."

"I do know for sure, actually," Ransom argued, unsure of why she was pressing the issue.

"Why, you sleeping with the boss or something?" he asked, tossing the datapad to land on the desk's surface.

Ransom smirked a bit at that. "Only in the occasional dry season. I am the boss. Owner, actually. I run Red Squad."

Hound laughed at that, and it was such a rich, cheerful sound that Ransom almost didn't mind that he was laughing at her. Almost.

"Your name is Ransom, no last name, and you own and run a business called 'Red Squad'. Are you secretly a clone trooper?"

"If I ran a squad, wouldn't that mean I outranked you?" Ransom fired back.

"Probably," he said, seeming unconcerned. "It would make you a captain, at least."

"Well, I already have a better-regulation haircut than you," she tried again. She had yet to see a member of the GAR rise to the bait about ranks - particularly the implication that a civilian outranked them - but clone troopers were notoriously fastidious about their appearance.

Hound raked a hand through his too-long hair and grinned at her. "Yeah, it's been a while since I visited the barber. Is my hair distracting you?"

"Hardly," Ransom snorted, pressing away the spark that had lit her belly at his waggling eyebrows.

"Good, then let's talk about your community service," he said. "Normally, you would be in the care of Trooper Beam, but he's recently experienced a flood of requests. I have it on good authority that he has some three thousand hours of community service to oversee after today, so I'll take care of supervising your hours. I'm thinking forty should be more than enough for something as minor as disturbing the peace. Give me your comlink information and I'll contact you for scheduling."

Ransom felt her eyes fly wide before she could bite back the response. "No."

"No?" Hound asked with a pouty sort of frown.

"You're an ARF trooper," she tried again.

Hound beamed warmly at her. "Great job! The average civilian doesn't even know what an ARF trooper is, let alone how to recognize one."

"I'm not an average civilian," Ransom told him, the response flat. "But my point is that you're an ARF. I don't want to do any community service that has to do with massiffs."

His dark eyes softened and warmed with understanding, and Ransom hated it. She didn't want - didn't need - anyone's pity. In her irritation, she lashed out. "So throw me in jail if you want to, bucket head, but I refuse to work with those beasts."

"Hey, I get it," he sympathized, face still kind. Ransom wanted to put her fist through it.

"No, you really don't," she snarled. "I'll-"

"Everything okay in here?" another trooper asked, ducking into the small office.

"Yeah, just chatting," Hound said easily, as if Ransom hadn't been in the middle of threatening him. "What are you up to, Stone?"

"Head Commander's in my office with the Czajak woman," he explained. "I needed to lie low."

"Makes sense to me," Hound gave a sympathetic grimace. "Ransom and I are going over community service options. You're usually in charge of bookings. Care to explain the process?"

"Oh, uh…" Stone hesitated. Ransom would bet that he hadn't expected Hound to actually need help. "We try to match civilians with their skills and interests."

"So you wouldn't force someone to work with an animal they have a strong dislike towards?" Ransom asked sharply, full of skepticism.

"Absolutely not," Stone answered with finality. "And if you mean the massiffs, a lot of civvies are uncomfortable around them. They're not even an option for community service, so there's no worry about that."

"Thank you, Stone!" Hound said, voice cheerful. Looking more than a bit confused, Stone gave a short nod and left. "Feel better?"

"If you knew working with massiffs wasn't an option, why didn't you tell me that?" Ransom crossed her arms over her chest.

"It seemed like you weren't really interested in listening to me," he said with a shrug.

"So you won't need my comlink information after all," she summarized.

"Now, no one said that," Hound hedged. "I can still supervise your community service."

"How?"

"Hey, I do other work around here!" he said, clearly defensive. "I can trade shifts around, pick up some duties cleaning streets or… working with- um, old people..?"

"I think I'll pass," Ransom told him with a snort.

"Suit yourself," Hound shrugged. "In that case, I'll still be the one supervising the licensing process for those cybernetic alterations."

Ransom was ready to argue, but something about the look in his eyes warned that he wouldn't give in so easily. Telling herself she would get a new frequency as soon as she was done registering the alterations, Ransom gave Hound the information he needed. She couldn't leave the precinct soon enough.

---

A/N - There! A full chapter without one Hound POV! Are you proud of me? I'm proud of me. And with this chapter, we've set up all of our couples! Though I might end up having to make a one-shot or side fic with Stone since I love him. This is also one of the longer chapters of this story, so congrats for getting through it!

#Warriors in Red Armor #star wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw #star wars fanfiction #coruscant guard #commander fox #commander thorn #commander thire #sergeant hound #clone troopers deserve better #more to come

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years

Note

[Right on the top of the letter is a sighing girl drawn]

I really thought I could rest a few days before leaving. Like last time, ya know? I could've been more prepared. Didn't even get the call yet.

But I guess you're right. Exactly when you figured it out Jake did, too. (With a little bit help of goldie. They sent him the Tumblr conversation. The whole conversation. Without any comment.)

So yeah, either the MWAF knows where I work or (and that is a scary thought) even is there somehow sometimes.

Jake wanted me to promise to not go back there, but I couldn't. At least not for now. I want to go back there once, for now I shouldn't be in danger. At least not if he goes the same way as last time.

I should get a call from him later that day. And tomorrow I should find the raven note on my desk (after my lunch break). Later that day I saw the first time a guy with a mask. Then again the morning after I took the picture I sent TSB.

And that same evening I started hiding.

So I thought I still had some time...But it seems that isn't the case.

I would love to take Max, even though he can be a real asshole sometimes, but I don't believe that is clever. [The writing becomes shaky, almost unreadable to the end of the sentence]

I don't know anything anymore, just that I don't want all of this to happen again...

[Here are many ink blots, as if a pen was thrown on the paper]

Sorry..Sorry about that. My door bell started ringing. Surprise surprise, my idiot of a cousin. (I still love him though. Even if I'll never forgive him that he stole designs of me. Urgh. Sorry, nervous.)

He thought I acted weird when we texted earlier and my boss wanted him to check up on me.

What does a nervous little fox Liska do? (Little fox is a nickname he gave me when we were little xD I somtimes start using it when we're both in a weird situation)

He almost called the police, thinking I was in some weird 'abusive relationship' with, and I quite, "this Jake asshole".

It seems someone wrote him a text. An unknown number.

I already texted Jake about that..Any my guess is that the MWAF realised that he couldn't hack Jake anymore. So he tries different ways.

But it's fine now, I think I could convince him that everyone was okay. Even though now I have to take vacation with him. He wants to go tomorrow afternoon if I don't want him to call my parents. Why? That if I'm lying I'm not in danger anymore.

I mean, he's not fully wrong. Just that he doesn't have the facts right. (Which he couldn't. I'm still surprised that me being a suspect of kidnapping Hannah or helping a wanted hacker didn't go beyond Duskwood. But that's good.)

Oh and also, Jake just answered, he thinks it's good if I just go with Max in the moment. I think he stalked his Facebook profile. (Max did taekwondo for many years. Facebook tells his story)

But yeah, I am very sorry if this is an unsorted letter, not much happened and still many unsaid thoughts crossed my mind.

Liska🐾🔥

Ps. Also Jake wants me to thank the both of you for taking care of me when he couldn't. And still doing it.

And that I say that he's still not pleased with my decision to go to work tomorrow.

Lis,

So, Goldie's really taking more of an active role, now. I sort of thought they were finished until we massively fuck up again, but I guess they just don't want us to ask them questions or something. Interesting.

I wonder if that means the TSB timeline is still continuing

So the raven note on your desk comes tomorrow? I really wouldn't assume you're safe 'til then, but I guess if your Jake can't convince you, no one can XD

Still. Maybe now-ish would be a good time to take a long trip somewhere sunny. And crowded. Preferably with as many people as possible, who will notice if you go missing.

This is not going to happen again. We have several Jakes and two fairly smart people plus me helping you, PLUS an entity on your side, PLUS the advantage of knowing AND HAVING DOCUMENTATION on exactly how the previous timeline went. All we have to do is figure out a place you'll be safe, and bam, we're done.

...That's a pretty good opportunity, honestly. I agree with your Jake, you should go with your cousin. Though I'm curious what exactly the MWAF said to your cousin that convinced him that you were in danger. You might want to make sure that, a., the MWAF didn't suggest a location and you're not going there, b., your cousin turns off GPS tracking on his phone or just leaves it at home, and c., that your cousin doesn't post pictures of you on social media wherever you go.

Don't worry about the letter not being neat and stuff, I don't care too much about that. As long as

One sec Jessys texting me

Nothing important, she's still trying to test if I've been kidnapped or not without saying it outright. I lost my train of thought from earlier. Oh well.

You're welcome, Jake :) And I definitely emphasize with you on that one -_-

Passing the letter over to my Jake now.

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hello, Lis.

Your workplace is very clearly an unsafe environment, but upon reflection and having read ahead and read Max's offer, I believe you actually should go into work, at least for the day. It will give less of our cards away to the enemy. However, do be vigilant. We know that our actions have already changed the timeline to at least some extent, the breadth of which is still unclear.

I am not entirely sure what the kidnapper would gain from having your cousin watching carefully over you in the window of time the kidnapper would have taken to track you down, however. Could it be possible that Goldie was the one to send your cousin the message, rather than the kidnapper?

I concur with Yuvon that the previous timeline's events will not repeat, however, for the exact same reasons she listed, though I will edit it slightly: we have three Jakes and three intelligent people working on the case, including Yuvon. I think I may need to speak with her about this.

Most of the advice I would have given about precautions for the vacation with your cousin has already been covered by Yuvon :)

You are welcome, Jake.

I noticed that in my agitation from your last letter, I accidentally skimmed over some key points. My apologies. I'll answer them now.

I will attempt to find a good point to bring up the matter with her, but she is busy enough trying to mitigate the concerns of the "Crow Crew" that I do not think that should be done at the current moment.

While I am... fond of the "underlying desire" theory, I do not, on reflection, believe it. The fact that she would subconsciously choose me, rather than a family member or a friend she has known longer than myself, seems unlikely. Especially not when she had been quite incensed at me very, very recently. It simply makes no sense.

Though, admittedly, if the situation was reversed, she would likely be

The stasis wavering is both good and bad news. It has been both a benefit and a detriment thus far. Ensure that the group does not draw the kidnapper's ire instead, without alerting them that you are in danger, should they break loose of the stasis alone. Until then, based on the results from Yuvon previously contacting them, I suggest you avoid contact unless they open communication first.

Good luck, Lis and Jake.

—Jake & Yuvon

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #lis

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interestsofabookwormbitch · 3 years

Text

Season 1 Episode 7

Watching episode 7 before I work on school.

Ooh! Year of the crash. Interesting. Not much happened but still

I need to pause for a minute to let it load, so, the crash. Is that alien gonna play an important role? Something about them gonna matter, or was that simply to show what happened then?

Ok, one note, you don't always move through the five stages in order. Just saying. Also more armor mentioned.

Oh Jenna I am worried about what she's gonna end up doing. And why does Max have that tattooed in himself? Seems kinda on the nose.

Yeah, ok, so a couple of things. That definitely gonna raise suspicion Max, fear of doctors is probably the best excuse he could make though (and technically true) hey maybe once they're all on the same team Kyle can deal with the medical aspect of things.

Oh, that sucks. What happened to her mom?

Max is gonna be in hot water for a while huh?

Oh Isobel. I feel bad for her, she's so lost and confused and probably scared right now. And in no way is Liz wrong for how she's reacting, I just can't help but sympathize with Isobel here.

Maybe this is the Canadian in me, but Alex mentioning not running a marathon with his amputation immediately makes me think of Terry Fox. This is a very unimportant tidbit I shared, but hey, Terry Fox is a Canadian hero, so it's pretty understandable I'd think of him.

Ok. Well, I didn't think we'd get to calling Liz out. But I mean, I guess to them she came back and just sort of ghosts them. Like, Rosa died 10 years ago, so as far as Alex and Maria are aware, she's had a lot of time to process this. Right?

Honestly Liz probably needed that. She definitely needs to reforge some happy and healthy connections.

Oh, her mom isn't even like crazy and right. She's just crazy crazy.

Oof. That always sucks with mistaking names. But also "you got hot" like she doesn't look the exact same. Lmao.

This really does suck, cause like Isobel doesn't want to hurt anyone else, but she has to worry about doing just that because of these black outs. Michael says he won't let it happen again but that won't really comfort her.

Maria is the type of girl to throw her energy out there and try not to let others see she's hurting cause she's supposed to be the fun one. You can't always be the fun one.

Does he actually remember nothing or is he faking? I assume he's faking actually.

Also Max is off duty, which is surprising because cops never face consequences unless there's a huge public outcry. (Sorry sorry. This is a show. Of course that's gonna be different)

Oh my god I hate this guy. Racist asshole. But I do believe he doesn't remember now. Fuck him, he's useless. All he's doing it making Jenna dig into this whole alien thing, which I am worrying about due to her connection to Manes right now

She keeps calling her Rosa and it's getting awkward.

Ow. Looks like his dad? Really not pulling punches. Lol. Though I am interested in seeing what she says.

Omg! So I 100% believe she is actually reading auras, and that's cool. That being said, how could he know that was from another world? Whether she's right or wrong, he really had no way of knowing.

I don't know how to feel, the crazy character who knows more than anyone can understand is great, but it's also so frustrating, cause you just wish they were sane enough to explain everything properly.

Max is harsh, and still angry at them, which I can see, but it hurts especially after last episode seeing how much they cared about each other.

Oof. I didn't know he was even aware of Alex and Michael. Yes, let's think of it that way. Ok yeah. So at least there's some understanding I guess....? I'm trying to optimistic, I want them to get along again, but it feels like it's gonna be a while.

Maria is going through so much right now and I cannot imagine.

"Full range of motion" he says wincing. Lmao

Oof, two fights going on with Isobel, three if you count internal conflict. She's really going through it. The only person she can rely on right now is Michael.

Ouch, Max that's kinda rude ngl. Like that's your sister your talking about. Not really loving him for this, and I know he's hurt, but still.

Changing the girl to a dog. Best save. Lmao

Ooh. This is gonna be a messy read. Aw, ok, not messy so much as sad! I'm not ok. This us what Liz wants for Rosa and uts painful

Buffering again, so I paused, and caught that Noah has a framed picture of Isobel in his office even though they're fighting right now. Idk if that means anything or if im just bored and pointing thing out while I sit here waiting for the show to load, but you know

Ah shit. Can't even go after Wyatt. Why does this little racist cockroach keep escaping punishment.

Oh! Rosa knew! I can't believe Isobel told her. Interesting.

Ok, an end to Jenna/Max. Ngl I'm happy to see it go.

😲. She's working with Manes now! We'll fuck her then.

Ok, so her sister is in danger, and that's why she's doing this. Fair, but also I'm worried about this, and really just wish she'd stay away

Ok just straight up confronting him. I thought be sneakier about it. Guess not.

Oof. She keeps talking about alien movies, and it's definitely throwing Liz through a loop

Max wtf! Dude needs to take a chill pill. I mean, I agree that guy needs to go, but don't risk yourself for it.

Liz, I do appreciate the honesty, but wtf? Girl please. Ok, the weapon thing is annoying, BUT, I know it's not exactly uncalled for. I really wish she wouldn't though.

Ok, she explained it, and it does make sense. I still don't like it. See I think my problem with Liz is her actions are almost always the logical course of action to take, which makes it really hard to argue with what she's doing, even if I don't like it.

Ok, well at least Max is coming to make up. That's good.

Of course it's Alex that messes him up, that's also exactly why Max said it. Despite Max saying they're not siblings in that moment (which we know isn't really the case. Not emotionally), that is the most sibling thing to do. When you're fighting, like really fighting, you don't pull punches. You go for what you know will hurt. Real fights honestly don't happen all that often, but in TV they're way more frequent.

Also Michael is low-key in denial that Isobel could hurt someone again, which I get. That's family. He doesn't want to believe she could do it again, but they do need to prepare for it just in case.

Oh leaving. That's drastic. Ok, yeah, I guess the alien poison would prompt that. Idk, I didn't see it coming, but I probably should have. Like it won't come to pass, but still. Should've expected the idea to pop up.

Ok, yeah, they really do be thinking they all know what's best for each other. Chasing Liz out for Max, hiding the murder from Isobel. They definitely need to quit it.

I also don't know how comfortable I am with Isobel taking that injection. Literally no idea what could happen there. None. It's untested, she would be the test subject. But I get why she would want to.

I feel bad for her though. "Dark Willow" I love that though. Buffy is a great show.

Anyways that was kinda sad.

Michael drinking to deal with his feelings. With Maria though. I'm not sure how I feel about where this could lead. Gonna be honest things could go in a direction I do not want (not that it would last I have been motivated to watch through later season spoilers afterall). Just huggin and comforting is good though, I like them as friends.

Ok, Noah is a good husband though. Like it sucks that he's so in the dark, but even with that he tries so hard to be supportive.

Liz, I am glad she's getting rid of it, but also low-key nervous that it is gonna have come in handy at some later point. Still, this is good of her I think.

Ok, this is good, we're keeping the Chekhov's Gun without the bad moral implications. I like that, but now this makes me nervous it's gonna backfire and be used in a bad way. See. There really is no winning here.

Jenna is piecing it all together and I don't like this at all because she just gave him up to Manes.

#rnm liveblog #roswell new mexico

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danganronpa87 · 5 years

Text

The Prologue.

"Where am I..?"

I awoke on what seemed to be a bed. The sheets were only draped over me, and the mattress and covers were a milk white in color. I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. This wasn't home... Taking notice of the chipped, white walls, I stepped out of the bed. Glancing back at it.. it was.. a hospital bed?! Had I gotten injured? I could only feel a slight ache in the back of my head.. so why was I in the hospital? I decided to think this over as I looked at the walls again, looking up and seeing a small monitor. Huh..

It didn't look like a TV or anything of the sorts, but it was definitely misplaced in this abandoned-looking hospital room. It felt off somehow. I turned to the door, putting my hand on the silver, metallic handle, and slowly opened it. I was met with a dark, reddish walled hallway, doors with silver plates lining the whole hall. I turned to face my own door, noticing my own nameplate.

Retku Sovyak

Ultimate Violinist

A dark grey case was leaning against the wall, which I immediately recognized as my signature viola. Picking it up and sliding the strap over my head, I looked out down the dark hallway. I could see a dim light at the end, along with more doors with nameplates.

Shinto Kobayashi. Takeshi Kohima. Honoma Ochi. Zekou Nakamura.

I didn't take notice of any of the Ultimates, only the names. I guess other people were here too... for some odd reason, this was a little comforting. I kept reading the names as I walked down the hall, the light getting closer and closer as I made my way through. Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.

"Greetings. I assume you don't know where we are either?"

Turning around, I was met with a young woman, maybe in her highschool years with long, dark brown hair in a loose bun that fell over her shoulder. She wore a golden coat, the edges coming down to her calf-length skirt. A noticeable scar fell over one of her jade green eyes, her softly tanned skin shining in the dim light. "Siandi Fukuhara. Ultimate Traveler." She held out her hand for a handshake, making me jump slightly before I took her hand. Her voice had a strange accent... "Sovyak. Retku Sovyak. I'm the Ultimate Violinist.." Shaking Siandi's hand, I smiled warmly. "And to answer your question, no. I just woke up here and I have no idea of how I got here or why."

Siandi nodded. "The same with me.. by the way. I do like your accent. Russian? Such a beautiful place, Russia.." She smiled, looking down at me. "Your Japanese is a little off. Not in a bad way or anything, it just intrigued me." I nodded, taking the compliment. "Thank you.. I've lived in Russia almost my whole life. I only came here to come to Hope's Peak. But this isn't it.. it reminds me of a hospital."

"You would not be wrong. This is a hospital. It looks abandoned, too. Look at the walls." She put her finger on the wall, gesturing to the chipped paint. "It seems nobody has been here for a long time.." Her focus had seemed to suddenly shift from me. "Anyway... I best get to exploring. I don't want to be here without knowing what's around." Shooting a small smile towards me, Fukuhara turned and disappeared down the hallway.

I sighed quietly to myself, looking at her door. It wasn't any different from the others I'd seen. It displayed her name, and her Ultimate talent... She must've been a Hope's Peak student then. Maybe I could find other people here...?

Suddenly, there was a sharp click, as if an intercom had turned on. I jumped again, and quickly glanced around, trying to find the source of said sound.

"Would everyone please make their way to the day room? Thank you!~"

The intercom clicked off as the singsong voice finished talking. The day room, huh...? Maybe I should listen... after all, it could explain why I was here in the first place.

××××××××××

As I entered the day room, all eyes were turned to me. In front of me stood a group of maybe about 17 others, including Siandi from earlier. "Sovyak-san! You've arrived." She smiled. "You mentioned you were an Ultimate, right? Everyone else here also said they were going to Hope's Peak... they remember walking to class one day, and then... they blacked out and woke up here."

Hearing those words... made my blood turn ice cold. We were kidnapped?? But... why? And why in an abandoned hospital...?

A boy with bright blue hair and taped together glasses approached. "Uhm... sorry if I'm bothering you, but you're the eighteenth student, right?" He pushed his glasses up, looking at me with curiousness. "Siandi said that she'd counted up 18 nameplates in total. So... there are 17 of us here. And now you. What's your name? I'm Kune Hayashi. Ultimate Blogger! You might've heard of me."

This guy... was a little overbearing.

I introduced myself. "I'm sorry... but I don't believe I've heard of you before..." Nervously chuckling, I looked away. As I said this, Kune looked surprised. "What?! You've never heard of me?? I run one of the most watched vlogs in all of Japan! I blog about everything... from cooking to daily life!" He put his hands on his hips, looking up at me proudly. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Another boy walked over to his side. He had glasses as well, his reddish orange hair messy and unkempt. His nose was slightly red and covered in freckles. A camera hung loose from his neck. "Yeah... he's right." He shyly looked away, but smiled as Kune hugged him. "You're the best.. Oh! You! Retku! This is my boyfriend. Oakley Yokota, the one and only Ultimate Photographer!"

Oakley laughed lightly. "Thank you, Kune... but... did you wake up in a strange room too? A hospital room...?" I nodded. I had... Maybe everyone else had as well?

"I'm... going to go back to the others. You coming, Kune..?" He asked. Kune nodded, and off the two went. After they ran off, I looked around for any sort of clue to why we were here. And why eighteen of us? Surely, if we were kidnapped, that amount seems rather high...

Click, click, click.

The sound of soft footsteps echoed through the now empty halls, confused chatter rising up among the group. I stayed silent... but what I saw next was something I never expected to see. A small, monochrome fox... standing on two legs. It almost looked like a plushie of some sort...

"Greetings, everyone. I am your leader, Monoshima."

Everyone began to discuss again, the fox raising his hand to get everyone to calm down.

"I'm sure you are all confused. But don't worry, there is a way for people to escape. All it takes is a little... murder."

Murder?! I glance to Siandi with an unsure look, and she returns the gaze. I hear a soft whimper break the apprehensive silence. When I turn to face the source of the sound, I'm met with another blue-haired boy holding a redhead close to his chest. Aww...

"...Anyway. The game is simple. If you want to escape, you must kill another student, no matter the method. Then, we will participate in a class trial. If the culprit, the 'blackened,' is discovered, then only they will be punished. If you all come to the wrong conclusion, however..."

Monoshima dragged a claw along his neck menacingly, hinting at what would happen. I'm pretty sure we all understood. Turning on his heel, Monoshima left, leaving us in panic and uncertainty.

"S-so... h-he's expecting us to... k-k-kill..?" The redhead from earlier, still being held, spoke out. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. The poor boy looked so terrified.... but to be honest, we all most likely were. "Hey... Zekou... I'll protect you..." The guy holding the crying boy's voice was soft, comforting, pleasing on the ears..

"Neru n-no-! You'll g-get hurt-!" Zekou looked up at him, biting his lip. "...Get hurt?" Siandi decided to butt in, raising an eyebrow skeptically at the two. "I-it's... kinda p-personal..." Zekou looked away, tugging at his grey hoodie sleeves nervously.

"Let's... calm down, alright...?" I tried my hand at easing everyone's nerves. "I'm sure... we'll be fine..."

"Mhm... I'm going to go look around more. Goodbye, everyone." Siandi turned to leave. More people began following her, including Neru, who simply scooped up the smaller boy with ease. After everyone headed out, there were maybe about... five people in the room, including myself. A girl with a long, beautiful dress, a small boy in overalls, a guy hiding in his hoodie, and a tall, somewhat intimidating doctor...?

Suddenly, the girl approached me. "Hello... I think I should introduce myself." She gave me a warm smile. "My name is Shou Mori. Ultimate Ballroom Dancer. And you?" Despite our situation, she remained calm and composed. It was impressive, almost. "I'm Retku Sovyak... the Ultimate Violinist." Shou smiled again. "It's a pleasure to meet you. See you around." With that, she gave a curtsey, and left the room. She seemed nice enough... though, it was difficult to determine who could end up falling victim to the lure of escape the time we've had here.

I decided to head back out into my own room, giving a small wave to the other three before heading back. I was honestly tired... and the weight of this information did not help at all. A killing game, huh...? I've been through a lot... but I never expected to he forced into a killing game.

I set my viola right by the door, and flopped on the bed after kicking off my shoes. My eyes closed as soon as I hit the pillow... And I fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

#danganronpa 87 #87 #masked lies #danganronpa #fanganronpa #fangan #prolouge

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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 6 years

Text

A New Lease on Life - #52, Absolutes pt. 1

52: Absolutes 1 - Crossing Worlds is Impossible

Return to Willsdale, Part 1/4.

A disclaimer for this chapter, Folks. I normally make a habit of confronting the proverbial elephants in the room in this story and especially focus on acknowledging the gritty and unpleasant sides of reality to balance out the fluffy mushy stuff, but this one has more than usual. Honestly, it's liable to upset a few folks, but I stand by it…and, unfortunately, it's true.

There's a lot to be loved about Missouri, especially southern Missouri and the Ozark Mountains, but there's a lot of unpleasant stuff here, too. I've been all over this state and have yet to find a single part of it that doesn't reek from agriculture and idiots cooking meth. The weather's unpredictable and the people even more so. The list of embarrassments goes on forever, but just like it, so does the list of positives—we have the most biologically diverse ecosystem of any US state, and our conservation department is rated among the highest. There are plenty of ignorant hicks, but there are just as many—if not MORE—honest, genuine, and amiable people to be found among them. Despite the difficulties we face from calling this state home—high heat and humidity, crazy weather, rocky dirt and susceptibility to tornadoes, droughts, floods, earthquakes, AND fallout-storms from hurricanes hitting the Gulf, AND at least one (inactive) volcano—many who call this state home do so by choice rather than by necessity—we live here, love here, and thrive here against all odds.

Anyhoo. That said, when you read the unpleasant sides of Willsdale—unpleasant sides common to many Missouri small towns AND much of the state—please also keep in mind the positives you'll also read. Don't let the ugly stuff scare you off—if you give MO a chance to prove herself, by gor, she will. She IS the "Show-Me State" after all, and this chapter's dedicated to her. ;)

Lastly, the next four chapters are going to be way more OC-centric than previous ones—the only canon you'll be seeing for the most part is Donnie and you're mostly going to be seeing Amber and her family. Those are the primary reasons these chapters have been a PitA to get cranked out quickly enough. These chapters ARE, unfortunately, vital to the ongoing plot-line and will provide answers to a few ongoing questions, so please be patient. As of Chapter 56, we'll be back to the usual routine and variety. That said, hope y'all enjoy!

Check out the official "Return to Willsdale" playlist on Spotify!

Suggested Listening: The Rasmus "No Fear," Nickelback "Far Away"

Another world, Willsdale, Missouri

Day 1

The first thing to register was blindingly bright light; the second was an unparalleled stench that tripped Donnie's gag reflex. By the time he was sure exhaling wouldn't lead to vomiting, the yawning portal behind them was fading into crumbling, soot-stained brick. At his side, Amber cringed, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Crime-in-it'ly!"~ she swore clapping both hands over her nose and mouth. "I don't remember it smellin' this bad!"

"This place normally stinks?" Don asked dubiously through his own hand.

"Unfortunately," Amber admitted with a wince, "yeah. Willsdale's a farmin' town, an' the state it's in is often called the 'meth capital of the country.' The Missouri Ozarks are a beautiful an' amazing place, but there're enough morons cookin' crank to make the whole state reek." Still grimacing from the oppressive odor in the air, she warily scanned their surroundings for any sign they were spotted. Nothing—no one was in the area as she expected, and the area was far too remote for anyone to ever be nearby—but one thing was definitely off about the area dappled with sunlight from above and shadow from neighboring trees.

In utter disbelief, she stared at the ruins around them—barely visible concrete foundations, a few scattered stones, a pile of moldering wooden shake siding… "What happened to this place?" she muttered as she wandered around inspecting the faint remnants of the former residence. "This ain't right…there was still a whole wall left last I saw—an' that pile'a wood was a shed, still half-standin'! What—" Having turned a full circle, she fell short, staring in befuddlement at the queasy mutant half-crumpled in front of the only standing remnant of the long-burned cabin: the fireplace. "Oi," Amber muttered with a crooked grin. "Harry Potter, eat yer heart out!"

"Really, Amber?" Donnie muttered dryly. "You seriously went there?"

"Well, someone had to," she teased with a shit-eating grin, but that grin faded into confusion as she scanned their fog-hung surroundings more closely. "Still," she remarked approaching the stand of trees just beyond the ruins. "Somethin' just ain't right here…" As Donnie slowly acclimated to the stinking, humid air and wandered over to her, the brunette solemnly came to a stop at the base of an odd tree. Sharp, menacing thorns littering the trunk and branches, palmate branches of odd round leaves, long bunches of small pinkish-white blooms dangling like grapes on the vine…she reached up and caught one of the bunches in her fingertips, easily twisting off a single tiny bloom.

"This is…this is a Black Locust," she muttered, face pinched in bewilderment as she inspected it closely. "But…but they—it shouldn't—!" Before Donnie could get out a single word, she bolted—sprinting through the thick tree-cover off into the distance with a surety of step that only living in the hills could bring.

"Amber, wait!" he called out taking off in pursuit. Even with the way well-lit, he struggled to find his footing—the earth was hilly and rocky, thick with years' worth of fallen leaves and debris and marshy from recent rains. It seemed every step he stumbled over a rock, a hole, an up-thrust tree root, or even just an uneven patch of turf. "Amber, slow down—hold up!"

Unhearing, drowning in dismay and disbelief, Amber sprinted through the close-growing Locust trees, ducking thorny branches and side-stepping fallen limbs. All around her were signs she recognized—signs that made no sense considering how much time had passed since her death. The massive grove of Black Locust trees was almost a carpet of pale, pendulous blooms, interspersed with flowering Pawpaws and pink-decked Redbuds. Fog hung heavy along the ground, every now and then interrupted by blooming umbrella-shaped may-apples. Off in the distance, familiar wildlife called—woodpeckers hammering and knocking, the musical trilling of Gray Tree Frogs, the raspy comb-striking bark of a grey fox posturing for its mate—No…no, this couldn't be, it wasn't possible, it—

"Amber!" Donnie's sudden shout finally broke the horrified brunette from her thoughts and she turned to acknowledge him. The very sight of him, scratched and bleeding from the thorny trees and slightly limping from a possibly cramping ankle, reminded her that he wasn't used to the terrain—he was used to the city and this hilly, rocky deathtrap she was familiar with wasn't easy for non-natives to navigate.

"Sorry," she muttered carefully picking a few stick-weed seeds and bramble twigs from his suspenders and mask. "Something doesn't make sense, Dee…I don't understand it." He waited patiently, for once unable to fill in the blanks she left him. "Black Locusts, May-Apples, Pawpaws, an' Redbuds bloomin', tree frogs singin'…"* She scoffed scanning the overgrown tree stand around her. "None'a that happens 'til late spring, early summer, but when we left home, it was late fall! I've been in yer world about ten months, Dee, it should be about February, here! There ought'a be ice-storms all over the place an' it ought'a be too cold fer much to be bloomin'!" A pair of strong hands latched onto her shoulders, grounding her.

"Honey," Donatello reminded gently, "breathe." It took a moment to see his point, during which she could do nothing but stare at him in dismay, but she finally conceded. "Now," the mutant continued in a low, calming tone, "maybe time moves differently between different worlds. What exactly has you so worried about us arriving in Spring?" She avoided his eyes, glancing nervously to the patches of hazy sky visible between the trees overhead.

"If…If I'm readin' all this right," she explained, "then it's probably May…" Haunted green eyes met Donnie's again. "Willsdale's smack-dab in the middle'a tornado alley, Dee, an' May's the middle'a the first tornado season!"

"Wait, the first one?" he asked finally releasing her.

"Yeah." Amber reached up to her shoulder to latch onto one of her braids, only to remember she left her hair in a tail instead of braiding it, and her hand instead fell to tightly grip her opposite wrist. "Officially there's only one season, Spring, but unofficially there's a second, shorter one in Fall—anytime ya got enough hot an' cold air collidin' durin' the transitional seasons, ya got a chance of tornadoes. I'm…Dee, I'm not ready fer another May yet…"

The unspoken, hidden between the lines out of embarrassment and shame, hit Donnie like a sucker punch. "May fifteenth," he muttered under his breath, unable to meet her eyes. "You died on May fifteenth." He tugged at his neck. "Surely we didn't…arrive before then? –or shortly after?"

"No," Amber acknowledged weakly. "World-hoppin's weird enough, no way can time travel be possible. That's just ridiculous…but so's the idea that I've only been dead a few weeks." She shuddered at the very thought and turned to lead him up a steep forested hill to the North. "Aaron's place isn't far, just outwith~ the edges of the Locust grove…if we haul-arse, we'll make it out in no time. Stay close an' ya won't stumble as much." After only a few paces through the underbrush, a harsh, raspy chittering noise split the air echoing as though coming from every direction—something almost like a dog coughing, rapid-fire scoffs interspersed with wheezing ku-ku-ku-KWAAAY-KWAAAY calls. Several more followed in swift succession from seemingly every direction and Donnie nervously scanned the surrounding area for the source.

"What on earth?" Donnie muttered, his brow furrowed in irritated confusion. "That's an annoying bird call!"

"'S not birds," Amber explained with a teasing smile. "Jus' squirrels cussin'. Ya never gotten bawled out by a squirrel before?" It took a moment for him to register that she was teasing him, then he gave a sheepish grin.

"Not really – they're usually only in parks, and we don't exactly fit in in the parks." Shortly afterward, they reached the crest of the hill and drew up short. As far as the eye could see, the land bucked and dipped with tall hills, some heavy with trees and others nearly bare of vegetation; between each hill stretched low valleys hung with thick misty fog. About a mile to the northwest lay Willsdale proper centered on the Town Square and surrounded on every side by sprawling farmland and rippling, jutting hills and hollers. Most remarkable of all, up on that hilltop as Amber and Donnie were, they seemed on top of the very world—almost high enough to reach out and touch the blistering surface of the star just above them.

"They say that he got crazy, once, and he tried to touch the sun." Amber's voice, relating borrowed words from her last lifetime, was hushed with wonder. "John Denver was singin' 'bout Colorado, but the meanin's the same here—when the sun rises over the bluffs an' sets over the knobs an' hollers, it seems close enough to reach without the aid of wax wings."

"So this is your home," Donatello remarked in quiet awe. "It's…it's incredible…and it seems almost—almost familiar…"

Amber hesitated a moment, debating asking for an explanation, but ended up deciding against it. "See that white box at the edge of the trees?" she pointed out instead. Donnie nodded, his eyes quickly fixing on a small structure flanked by two smaller outbuildings; it wasn't far off, maybe half a mile away. "That's Aaron's place—we should be there in about fifteen minutes tops if we follow the path right." As they made their way down the steep side of the hilltop, though, Amber's thoughts weren't so much on Donnie or Aaron as on the world they were now in. 'Well O'Brien,' she thought to herself with a slightly snide expression that made Donnie blink in confusion. 'Welcome home…try not ta gitcher arse killed this time.'

The last time Amber was in the dark, shabby trailer home, she, Mercy, and Aaron Willis were piled around his living room with takeout and the two blonds were engaged in a particularly vicious Halo match. That was a lifetime ago—New Year's Eve of 2010, if she recalled correctly—and the room was entirely different. Before, the room was full of clutter but clean; now it reeked of dirty cat-boxes, cheap beer, household garbage, and unwashed bodies and laundry. Other than the towering shelves of water-spotted game cases, the furniture, and an old, cheaply-made flatscreen TV, the room was unusually empty...perhaps, she considered, because Aaron's trailer received heavy damage from the two storms that ended her life in Willsdale. If his belongings were destroyed, he wouldn't have been able to replace much of it; he was among the stubborn sort who believed maintaining insurance was a sure-fire way to end up needing it, then suffered for it when shit hit the fan anyway.

Though he never admitted it aloud, Donatello was appalled, partly because the back door was unlocked and propped open, partly because he saw no less than three cats lounging on the sofa alone, and partly because of the state of the mobile home. Empty beer cans lined the surface of the coffee table like sloppy soldiers blowing a surprise inspection. Empty pizza boxes and beer cartons were stacked on top of the trashcan. Dirty clothes littered the floors and draped over furniture. Amber froze in the doorway to the living room, her eyes instantly locking on the unmoving lump sprawled across the sofa half-buried in cats and a familiar black afghan.

Aaron. Amber hesitated, one foot on the kitchen's grubby peeling linoleum, one foot on the living room's gritty stained carpet, stunned by the sight of her dear friend fallen so far. Finally, she got herself together and crept forward, a cautious glance reminding Donnie to stay in the shadows. "Hey, Numb-Nuts," she greeted the fluffy black tomcat, reaching out to teasingly pat its backside; when it snorted and began ignoring her—his way of accepting her presence—she turned to scratch the perpetually-itchy cheeks of the twin calicoes curled up on the nearer armrest and the couch occupant's hip. "Asshat, Assbutt, you two been takin' care'a Daddy for me?"

"Why're you insulting the cats?" Donnie whispered.

"I'm not," she answered with a cringe. "Those're actually their names…Aaron's a piece'a work.# There should be three more around here somewhere—Kirk's probably patrolling for mice an' Barf-Breath an' Dillweed are a lil' wary of strangers."

"I can't imagine why," the genius muttered in derision. "With a name like that, I'd hide too." Amber rolled her eyes at him—a gesture he interpreted as something like 'preachin' to the choir'—and reached out to shake the shoulder of the body curled up on the sofa.

"Aaron." No response—of course, he stank of stale beer and old vomit, so she wasn't too surprised. She shuddered to think how he managed to reach this point—a level the awkward country boy only ever sunk to after his stepfather died and left Aaron, his mother, and his younger sisters deep in debt and even deeper in medical bills. "Aaron, please wake up."

No response from the man passed out on the sofa. Amber carefully peeled the afghan away from his face only to recoil in disgust; his reddish winter beard was long-since grown into full-on mountain man and his blond corkscrew curls were greasy and matted. 'I take it back,' she considered amidst the aching of her heart, 'he's never been this bad—even after Ron died he still bathed every now and then.' These were desperate times for Aaron Willis…and desperate times called for desperate measure. "Willis! I brought yer favorite pizza an' it's got pickles on it!"

The result was instantaneous. Off-kilter blue eyes shot open wide and their owner gasped in horror, nearly sending Donnie through the roof. Without so much as stopping to grab his perpetually-bent glasses, Aaron vaulted off the sofa, got tangled up in the afghan and hit the floor, fought free, and took off for the dark kitchen like a shot. In the doorway he slowed to a stop, silently taking in the empty room that didn't even remotely smell of pizza; his shoulders slumped, his face fell, and to Amber's complete disbelief, his eyes welled up. The sound of his fist impacting the wall rang through the air; Aaron crumpled to the floor, choking. Without a second thought, Amber stalked toward him and did precisely what she'd been longing to since the last time she dreamed about him: she whacked him upside the head.

"Aaron Elvin Willis!" she barked as he turned to her in absolute disbelief. "What'd I tell yer arse about gettin' tanned~ alone?! Ya can't hold yer liquor worth shite—ya stink'a~ vomit!" Aaron gaped at her, silent, disbelieving; his eye darted around the room, perhaps searching for some proof he was dreaming, then landed on her again, wide and bewildered.

"Amb…O'Brien?" After the false start, the name was soft, hushed, almost reverent despite the disbelief.

"Naw," she scoffed pointedly. "I'm the ghost'a Scotch-snobs past, here ta skelp yer arse fer drinkin' without me. Yes it's me, ya honkin' mink!~" For a moment, nothing happened—Aaron stared at her in disbelief, soaking in the sight of her as though expecting her to vanish into thin air. Finally, he reacted…by poking her in the arm. Unsurprised, Amber crossed her arms, arched an eyebrow at him, and waited for the inevitable freakout when she didn't vanish right before his eyes. The realization that his fingertip impacted something solid was followed by a cascade of emotions playing across his face—joy, fear, despair, then, finally, determination.

Amber would later realize that determined glint in his eyes should have warned her about his intents; for the moment, she was taken completely by surprise, both by his sudden launching himself to his feet and the equally sudden way he planted his lips on hers, latching onto her like he'd never let go. Sputtering and cringing from the feel of his greasy beard and the smell of old vomit and older beer clinging to his clothing, Amber frantically pushed at his chest. Finally, satisfied that she was actually there, he relented and backed away a pace. Massive paws gripping her arms with surprising gentleness, he drew his eyes from hers down to her feet then back up again, reassuring himself that she was unharmed.

"How's this possible?" he asked as she led him back over to the sofa to sit. "Amber, how're ya here? You—ya died! We buried ya!"

"It's a long story," Amber admitted nervously brushing a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear.

"I've got time."

The explanation seemed simple in her head; in reality, it took the better part of an hour. By the time everything was in the clear, Donnie's presence was revealed, and Aaron was off to get himself cleaned up, the sun was beginning its slow descent. His initial return was greeted by a startled shout from Donnie. "Don't diss the white 'fro," Aaron grumbled smushing his bouffant blonde curls flat to his head; in defiance, the locks sprang right back up again. His already dry hair stood out almost straight, surrounding his head with a frizzy woolly puff the size of an inflated beach ball.##

"...right..."

Now, clean if not clean-shaven, the blond stood silently in the doorway, good eye locked on the woman silently loading his dishwasher. "Yer really here," he muttered shuffling over to help her. "I thought…well, ya know what I thought." Amber uttered a wordless sound of agreement and gave him a fond smile. "Ya look different…younger, healthier…" He hazarded a quick once-over and his nose crinkled in distaste. "...skinnier..."

"The body I snatched is younger an' healthier." She shrugged. "Kimber dropped out, ran away, an' joined a gang, but she never got hit by a minivan. Ya win some, ya lose some, right?"

From the doorway, Donatello studied the older man curiously, particularly curious about the blond's pale blue eyes—eyes that were visibly trained on different targets. The genius didn't realize he was caught looking until Aaron turned toward him, pointedly focusing first one eye on him, then the other, then going back again in a 'shifting' motion. Ruddy brown streaked across Donnie's cheeks in embarrassment and he averted his gaze to the floor. "Sorry," the mutant mumbled awkwardly. "Amber never mentioned you have Strabismus…I just wasn't expecting it."^ Aaron smirked, clearly amused by the other's embarrassment over something that didn't really bother him.

"I didn't think it mattered," Amber remarked pausing to elbow Aaron in the side in reminder of his promise to be at least halfway polite. "It's not like he's blind in one eye or something." To her disbelief, the blond blanched, turning to haul another load of plates out of the sink. The Aaron she knew would have had a dozen smartass remarks to follow up with and wouldn't have hesitated to use any; this Aaron was hiding something and she knew exactly what that was. "What?!" she demanded bodily turning him to face her again. "When'd that happen?! When I died ya could still see out'a yer right eye!"

"It was a'ready goin' to shit when ya died, O'Brien," Aaron grumbled at his upset friend. "'bout a year'n a half ago it finished the job." Amber stared at him, brow furrowed in confusion, and shook her head in denial, and Aaron busied himself with breaking down the boxes piled next to the trashcan.

"How's that possible?" Amber asked quietly, glancing to Donnie for confirmation. "That can't be—I haven't even been in his world a whole year!"

Aaron froze. His stubbled throat worked around a swallow, the motion visible now that his facial hair was trimmed back to his usual handlebar-goatee. For a moment he seemed to work himself up to something—seemed to gather his wits and steel his nerves. Eyes weary, he turned back to Amber, setting aside the cardboard to catch her by the shoulders in a steadying, calming grip. "Amber," he professed in all seriousness, "You died two years ago tomorrow…it's May 14th, 2013."

It was bad enough for Amber to think she was back in Willsdale shortly after she died there; to find she arrived just before the second anniversary of her death was almost unbearable. By the time she managed to process this she knew there was only one thing to do—there was only one way to cope with such an insane situation as she was in…getting completely rat-arsed.~

Thus, after a nerve-wracking ride to town on Aaron's handlebars without a helmet, Amber and Aaron crawled into the local watering hole—the Staggering Rat Pub—and seated themselves at a dark corner table. Up at the bar, a pair of dove-grey eyes noticed them, widened in surprise, then darted around the room for some sign their owner was hallucinating. Bhaltair Devon studied the young woman and the older blond in confusion trying to wrap his head around the occurrence, with or without his ponytail of fine white hair. Only the arrival of a familiar face—the solemn green-eyed waitress he hired a couple years back—broke him from his thoughts.

"Yew been by table five yet?" "Bart" asked under his breath. A mere couple years ago, his pronounced brogue would have stunned Kimber Bryant almost as much as finding out she socked a mutant turtle in the jaw during a gang war. After almost two years working for him, though, the other-worlder didn't even bat an eye; after all, Bart's father Glen Devon had a much thicker accent and Kimber herself had a pretty thick Jersey accent before her death – an accent she was attempting to fade just like the twang she eradicated as a teenager. Never let it be said she didn't appreciate a challenge.

"Naw, not yet," Kimber answered with a chagrined half smile. "I had to duck into t'a~ powder room, was just on my way t'ere." Bart waved her off with one hairy mitt, the other snagging a pair of menus from behind the bar he manned.

"Ah've goat'em," he insisted with a reassuring smile. "The young lahss looks a lil' fameliar."~ Before Kimber could question him, he brushed past, headed to Amber and Aaron's table, and set the menus on the old oak surface with a disarming smile. "Ahfternewn, Wellis," he greeted the horrified blond, easily recognizing that Aaron's younger companion was likely kicking him under the table in reminder to keep cool. "Who's yer lahss?"~

"I'm not'is lahss," Amber corrected with a tight smile, unaware that her pronunciation of the word—the use of a flat-a instead of a sharp-a—gave her away completely. She spoke like someone used to the word rather than a local hijacking the term…and her observant uncle recognized it instantly. "I'm just a friend of'is—name's Kimber, I'm from up North." The white-haired older man gave a wide, disarming smile that seemed all crooked upper teeth.

"Funny, tha',"~ he remarked with an easy laugh. "Yew see tha' lovely young'un at the bar? Her name's also Kember, an' she's a Northerner, tew."~ Amber froze, struggling to keep her nerves from showing.

"I-It's a common name up there," she stammered hoping to throw him off. After all, the middle of a bar during the lunch hour wasn't the time or place for a dead woman to reunite with her family, and there was sure to be drama when that reunion occurred. Right now all she wanted was a moment to process the passage of time and enjoy a glass of her favorite poison with her friend. "There were three of us in my graduatin' class alone—drove the professors insane." The staring contest with her uncle spanned a few moments longer, every breath of which passed with the brunette poised for flight. Increasingly frantic, she cringed and added onto the mistruth in hopes of derailing his suspicion with humor. "They ended up callin' us by our last names to keep us straight, so I was just 'Butz.'^^ It was awkward." Finally, Bart gave another wide grin and laughed as though imagining the young woman hiding her face at roll call.

"Ah'll say!" he teased nudging the menus toward them in a silent hint. "Ah'll send the other Kember yer way in a wee bit fer yer orders. Welcome to Wellsdale, Kember Butz, we're glahd to have ye."~ The moment the white-haired owner was out of earshot, Aaron gave Amber a hard kick under the table that made her curse in pain.

"Kimber Butz?!" he demanded accusingly. "Professors?! This ain't Europe—no one here calls'em professors, we call'em teachers!"

"Not everyone does!" Amber insisted feebly, "my…" She fell silent, realizing the truth with dismay.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed sternly. "Yer family called'em professors because yer family ain't from around here. Ya totally blew yer—"

He cut himself off suddenly, eyes locking on the tall, slender redhead approaching their table with a confident sway in her step. "Hey t'ere," she greeted with a coy smile. "Can I take yer order?"

Amber looked up. A pair of glass-shielded grey-green eyes locked with a pair of bottle-greens impeccably lined with smoky eyeliner; the owners of both gaped in disbelief, Amber recognizing the waitress from dreams and the waitress recognizing her from the mirror. The air crackled with tension as the Jersey Nut-Job locked eyes with her old body and the Crazy Celt stared up at the owner of the body she unintentionally snatched. Bewildered by the two women's awkward, intense stare-down, Aaron glanced back and forth between them, searching for answers.

Finally, the stare-down was broken but not in any way Aaron expected. By the time he realized what happened, Amber was already out the front door, sprinting toward his bike like the Jersey Devil was on her heels.

Not twenty minutes after Amber and Aaron headed to the bar for "a sesh,"~ the front door of the trailer wrenched open with a screech and slammed shut so hard the windows rattled. "Remember what I said about time travel bein' ridiculous?" Amber called out to the mutant sprawled out on the lumpy sofa. "It's back on the ta—" Upon seeing the old photo album open on Donnie's lap, propped up by the head of one of the clingy calicoes from the look of it, she pulled a verbal about-face. "What're you doing?"

"Found it under the sofa," the mutant explained with a half shrug. "Your smelly friend doesn't have cable and I couldn't see a router. I got bored."

"The router's in my room," Aaron contradicted with a narrow-eyed scowl that made him closely resemble his cantankerous counterpart. Donnie brushed it off, scooting over for Amber to sit beside him. The moment she did, she caught sight of the page the album was open to…or, rather, the only photo on that page.

"Oh jeez," she groaned, slapping her palm over her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. "Willis, I told ya to burn that photo an' salt the ashes."

"What?" Aaron's expression was entirely innocent—as innocent as Mikey's puppy-dog eyes when the last soda went missing. "It's proof ya had a rack under those tents ya wore."

"I'll say," Donnie muttered glancing from the photo to Amber and back again in contemplation. "Kimber's hair is more brown—here, it's almost auburn." He considered the photo a moment longer, inwardly comparing it to the Amber he only ever saw in his dreams, then closed the album and set it aside. "Now what do you mean time travel's back on the table?" She seemed lost for a moment but soon caught up.

"Kimber's workin' at my uncle's pub," she explained gravely, holding Donnie's eyes over the rims of her glasses. "My uncle hired my counterpart, Dee, an' she recognized me—I mean her—I mean—" She gave up on finding the proper term and gave a 'screw it, you know what I mean' gesture with a loud, frustrated utterance the mutant could only interpret as "GACGH!"~

"Kimber's in this world," he repeated slowly. "She died in 2016…"

"…an' now she's in 2013," Amber acknowledged. "Just like I died in 2011 an' showed up five years later. Whatever's responsible fer this travesty's got a sick sense'a humor." The couple avoided one another's eyes, both considering the impact this new twist would have on their mission. It was already going to be difficult to make sure everyone was safe and get home without being found out, but with Kimber there, too…

"This…complicates things." Amber slumped back into the cat-hair-covered sofa, shaking her head weakly.

"Now I really need that drink."

Memory was a fascinating thing—sounds, smells, sights, all manner of sensation came together to save moments for future recollection. Every now and then, though, the process could go awry, convincing people they recalled something that never happened. This moment was one such instance—a memory without a moment to fall back on.

Soft Spring breezes rippled tasseled grass. Cotton-tail clouds drifted across a field of forget-me-not blue. As far as the eye could see, bunches of white and powder pink blossoms carpeted the hills all the way down to the foggy hollers. Willsdale…this was Amber's Willsdale, the world she came from and the world she just made it back to. Perched tensely in the middle-most branches of a familiar gnarled Pin Oak, she studied the landscape silently, ruminating, recalling a dream she almost forgot.

"Amber?" She startled, losing her grip on her freshly-plaited braid and nearly falling from her limb. Down below, Donatello waited with arms crossed, lips spread into an amused grin. "Now how did you get up there?" the genius asked through a chuckle.

"I climbed, ya silly speccy," she teased back, but her smile fell away. Haven't we been here before? Footsteps lead down to the open front door, but how have I come here once more?^ Easily recognizing that she was lost in thought, Donnie latched onto the lowest branch, swung himself upward, and skillfully made his way up to settle along the limb nearest hers. It took a moment of staring her down in open, obvious worry, but she finally spit it out. "It…it feels like we've done this before."

"It's probably just déjà vu, Braids," Donnie reassured with a small smile. "I know for a fact I've never seen this place before, much less climbed this tree, so the likelihood we have done this before is nil to none." She shot him an mildly irritable glance.

"I know we haven't been here before," she muttered. "It was a dream, months back. You found me here, we were chatting…and you kept playing with your phone." Donnie froze, wide eyes torn from the screen of his cellphone to fix on Amber. …she couldn't have seen him pull it out…could she? The tender scales at the back of his neck tingled, a sensation he mentally compared to what hair standing on end must resemble. "We talked a while," Amber continued nervously without ever noticing him ease his phone back into its pocket, wary eyes fixed on her as though expecting her to spontaneously combust. "A storm hit out'a nowhere…we ran for shelter but…you…"

'Everything will be okay—I swore to protect you, and I will!' Screams—bloodcurdling screams and the sound of an oncoming train. Amber forcibly shook herself from the memory, took a moment to regulate her breathing, and reached out for Donnie's hand. The gentle, encouraging squeeze was just what she needed to regain her grip on the situation. She wasn't the same person she was when she had that nightmare—she was stronger now, capable of stopping panic in its tracks and steering herself back to confidence.

"Even if the first part of the dream was true," she insisted with a wry smile, "the rest was absolute horse-hockey. It's not unheard of for multiple tornadoes to touch down in the same place an' time, but hundreds at once is farkin' ridiculous." Still. Despite her insistence she reached straight above herself—felt for the tree branch Aaron carved the trio's names into as teenagers—but her hand closed over thin air. "Huh?" she muttered turning to investigate. Sure enough, the branch was gone—broken off—and from the weathered, splintered wood at the trunk, it wasn't anytime recent. "That's different, too—limb's gone. Maybe we're not gonna croak after all." At first, all Donnie could manage was staring at her in confusion, but he finally came to the conclusion she was making a morbid joke. "You're about to say this seems like a great place to grow up."

"I wasn't about to say anything," he argued shaking his head. "I was just thinking."

"About?" A trace of muddy red darkened his cheeks.

"That…photo," the embarrassed mutant admitted. "The one in the album from under Aaron's sofa." Amber blushed hotly, cringing into Kimber's cleavage. "You were so worried I'd find out how you looked in this lifetime—worried I'd be disgusted. You know what was on my mind when I found that photo?" Moss green darted toward him—nervous eyes meeting his askance with an obvious question. "How did you manage to get down from that tree limb without breaking your neck, especially with your shirt falling off like that?"

"No idea," Amber laughed nudging him in the side with her elbow. "One minute Aaron was bein' a smartass an' takin' that picture, next minute he was bleedin' an' cryin'." Donnie stared her down suspiciously. "Tree branch broke. I landed on'im. He makes a good pillow." Chuckling at her overly innocent expression, he wrapped one lanky arm around her shoulders; Amber leaned into his one-armed embrace with a sigh. One thing was certain…even with her worries about her family, she was glad to have a chance to show Donnie the world she called her own. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" she asked softly.

"Not a clue," the genius teased and leaned closer to nuzzle into her hair. "I look forward to finding out a little at a time, though…and I suspect it's about as much as I love you." Drowning in sappy feels, Amber tipped her head intent on stealing his lips, but a holler from the house stopped her in her tracks.

"Oi! O'Brien! Nerd!" Aaron stood on the back porch, grinning and waving them over with, not a metal spatula, but a folded takeout menu. "Quit neckin' an' git in here – I ordered pizza!" Another thing, Amber realized with a chuckle, that was different from her dream. At least she wouldn't have to keep Aaron from burning his house down.

Donnie hopped down from his limb and held his arms open to catch her; no matter how far she fell, he always caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, her head leaning on his shoulder, the couple made their way back to Aaron's trailer. About halfway there, Amber paused, turning to scan the skies for a danger not present; recognizing the significance, Donnie squeezed her opposite shoulder. "It's alright, Braids," he reminded his nervous lover triggering an embarrassed blush – a blush he gently nuzzled away. "I'm right here with you—I'll be here every step of the way." Grateful green eyes met his, then turned instead to the setting sun.

"We're doin' a Karate Kid marathon over dinner," Aaron declared as the couple followed him into the kitchen. "No arguments accepted—an' if I catch you two spit-swappin' durin' the movies, I swear, I'm'onna barf in yer laps."

"Aw, but Willis," Amber teased the blond already tearing through the pizza boxes on the table. "We did it all fer the glory of love!" Aaron snorted, his whiskered lips quirking into a smart-assed grin.

"Heh," he sniggered with all the maturity of a ten-year-old. "You said did it." Never again would Amber take Aaron Willis's childish nature for granted; for that reason, she gave him an extra-hard brain-duster, all the while rolling her eyes. However long it would last, it was good to be home.

Day 2, just before dawn

Aaron Willis couldn't recall the last time he was woken by a blood-curdling scream. Was it when his youngest sister dropped by unexpectedly and found him napping on the sofa naked? Was it when Kirk caught a mouse while Amber was staying over and left its furry little carcass on her pillow as an offering? Whenever it happened, he didn't care much—this scream came from his living room where his somewhat-deceased best friend was sleeping on the sofa.

In record time, Aaron yanked on a pair of shorts, smushed his glasses onto his face, and bolted out the door of his bedroom. In the hallway, he froze, taken aback by what he was seeing. Amber and Donatello sat facing each other on the short sofa, the mutant murmuring gentle reassurances as the brunette worked through the dream-triggered panic attack. She inhaled slowly, held her breath, then exhaled twice as slowly, all the while focusing on the sensation of Donnie's fingertips rubbing circles into the skin of her upper back. Once her breathing was steadied and her pulse slowed, Amber tugged Donnie down by his suspenders, stealing his lips in a slow, gentle kiss. Right before Aaron's eyes the genius cupped her salt-shiny cheek in one massive hand and returned that first kiss with several more – each more tender than the last – then followed up with a teasing nose rubbing. Her fears fully calmed, Amber gazed up into Donnie's eyes, beaming like he was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Can you really lose someone you never had? Aaron had no answers…if he ever had Amber to begin with, it was clear that somewhere along the way, he lost her. His whiskered lips slanted downward into a confused frown. Why didn't that realization hurt as much as he thought it should? Perhaps he knew from the beginning that he and Amber weren't good together…perhaps that was why he never told her he loved her. Whatever the answer, he wouldn't find it watching her necking with a supposedly fictional character on his sofa, especially since he was still struggling to wrap his head around that fictional character being not-so-fictional after all. What a mind-fuck his life became.

The blond turned to silently retreat to his room, but at the last moment, looked back. Hazel eyes, veering brown in the dark room, met Aaron's over Amber's hair—Donnie held her tucked into his plastron, a rueful smile at his wide lips. It's alright, that sympathetic expression promised. Don't worry, I'll take care of her. A bit rankled that Donnie thought he needed reassurance—even though he probably did—Aaron rolled his eyes, snorted, and stalked back to his bedroom. The moment the door creaked shut behind him, though, the front disintegrated and left sorrow behind.

He loved Amber, so he let her go…she came back, but when the time came, he'd let her go again. He loved her too much to cage her and he knew he wasn't the one she needed. Still, it hurt that the one she needed was so little like him.

WORDS (Scots, Gaelic, Scottish slang/dialect - SS)

~ Crime-in-it'ly! – actually spelled "criminently," this is a generic (somewhat localized to the Midwest) oath meant to portray disbelief, disgust, etc. The awkward spelling here reflects the way my closest family and I actually pronounce it, and the most common pronunciation in our area. First time I said it around Cold he thought I was talking about the Italian Mafia, LOL!

~ Outwith – SS for 'outside of.' "Outwith the locust grove" means Aaron's home is just beyond the trees.

~ Gettin' tanned / A session/sesh – SS. First, regarding people: getting drunk. Regarding structures or objects: getting/being vandalized. Second: a night out drinking or a visit to a bar.

~ Ya stink'a vomit – Aaron reeks of puke.

~ Naw, I'm the ghost'a Scotch-snobs past, here ta skelp yer arse fer drinkin' without me. Yes, it's me, ya honkin' mink! – 'No, I'm the ghost of (people who enjoy Scotch Whisky way too much for their own good) past, here to (SS, Skelp your arse – swat your butt) for drinking without me! Yes, it's me you (SS, honkin' – smelly/dirty/stinking) (SS, mink – person with poor hygiene)!' The 'ghost of Scotch-snobs past' bit is a direct—and horribly groan-worthy—reference to Scrooged, a modern parody of A Christmas Carol. Specifically Amber's evoking the Ghost of Christmas Past who spent most of her time onscreen beating the crud out of the MC while maintaining a cute, innocent, poisonously sweet smile. It's a HOOT!

~ Getting rat-arsed – SS for getting drunk. This phrase is the origin of the name Bart gave the pub he owns and operates—the Staggering Rat. Needless to say, Amber's exaggerating a little here—after finding out Aaron's been drinking too much she's not going out to get wasted with him, she just needs a break.

~ Ah've goat'em—the young lahss looks a lil' fameliar. – I've got them [ will take care of their orders] – the young lass [SS "lady"] looks a little familiar.

~ Ahfternewn, Wellis, who's yer lahss? – Good afternoon, Willis, who's your lady-friend?

~ Funny, tha'. Yew see tha' lovely young'un at the bar? Her name's also Kember, an' she's a Northerner, tew. – Funny, that. (That's funny/suspicious.) Do you see that lovely young lady at the bar? Her name is also Kimber, and she's a Northerner, (usually from the Northeast) too.

~ Ah'll say! Ah'll send the other Kember yer way in a wee bit fer yer orders. Welcome to Wellsdale, Kember Butz, we're glahd to have yew. – I'll say! I'll send the other Kimber your way in a little while for your orders. Welcome to Willsdale, Kimber Butz, we're glad to have you here.

~ GACGH! – a non-word sound indicating frustration and disgust. Starts like 'gal' and ends with phlegm. You can blame this one on my friend Autumn.

GENERAL RULES

~ Adding 'e or 'is to the end of a word – means he or his

~ Adding 'er to the end of a word – means her

~ Adding 'em or 'eir to the end of a word – means them or their

~ Adding 'a to the end of a word – means of, have, or to, depending on the rest of the sentence. You can generally figure out which one with little difficulty just by considering which word the 'a is added to and the rest of the phrase. (IE, "sort'a - sort of, "should'a" - should have, and "wanna" - want to.

~ Adding 'n to the end of a word - means and, as in Rock'n Roll.

~ Words ending with –in' – This word ends with –ing but has been shortened to portray accent.

~ With Kimber, words beginning with t'– this word actually begins with th- but she's dropping the –h-. examples include t'a – the and t'ere – there.

NOTES

* Explanation of the fauna and flora described here. Black Locust trees have been mentioned previously, they bloom May to June but sometimes last longer, and the wood is incredibly hard, ranked at 7th hardest of any tree in North America, even harder than the infamous hickory family. Locusts can spread by seed but more often, they spread by root suckers creating large groves—this rapid root-spreading can lead to a single tree growing thickets of off-shoot trees that can span miles in each direction. Pawpaw trees are an unsung native fruit tree; they flower March-May and fruit September to October. Eastern Redbuds are a local tree that makes a wonderful blooming Bonsai tree; they burst into bloom late March to May and remain covered with deep pink blooms long before they ever develop leaves. May-Apples are a bizarre wildflower that resembles a tiny green umbrella popping up out of the ground; plants with more than one leaf will bloom with a single white flower and eventually develop a small round fruit underneath that frankly resembles 'plant testicles.' Missouri has a few different varieties of frogs, including the ever-popular Spring Peepers, but the little Grays are most commonly seen tree frogs. I'm not 100% certain but what I've read in my research indicates that Grey foxes are more common in the bootheel region and Missouri Ozarks than Red foxes, which are more common in the rest of the state. Of course, what call "Ky-oats" (proper spelling is 'Coyotes') are spread statewide and normally more common than either breed of fox. Even in urban areas like ours coyotes aren't exactly rare. Lastly, 'stick-weed' isn't so much an actual plant as it is a slang term referring to any wild flora that tends to hitch a ride on passers-by; these species are spread across the world and can be a major PitA to get out of clothing and fur. Some common varieties of 'stick-weeds' or 'stick-tights' include Beggarticks, Spanish Needles, Bur-Marigolds and Water Marigolds, and Tickseeds.

** Quote from "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver. – "He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below. He saw everything as far as you can see, And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun, And he lost a friend but kept his memory."

*** Numbnuts, Asshat, Ass-butt, Barf-Breath, and Dillweed, and Kirk – Alas, this is from experience. My hubby Cold—the nutjob Aaron and Daron are based on—is HORRIBLE at choosing names, but loves cats. When we first met every single one of his dozen-plus housecats and farm-cats was identified by a different insult-name with only one exception, and she was named for the Grim Reaper. Yeah. Guys. Supernatural fans may recognize Ass-butt as Castiel's failed attempt at name-calling, LOL! The last name, Kirk, was Amber's attempt at breaking the 'insult name' trend – it's Scots for 'Church,' chosen because the cat was found at a local church. On a personal note, when Cold and I first met, his mother had a cat named Churchill, or, "Church."

## "Don't diss the white 'fro." - IRL, this is something Cold's known to say since he has the same hair. It's a little off-color but the description is 100% true - he's white but his hair is literally afro-bushy. It's extremely thick and curly, and the combination results in a gravity-defying POOF of blond curls surrounding his head no matter how long he lets it get. For visual, if you've seen the second "Hotel Transylvania" movie, consider the part of the movie where Dennis has his hair slicked back in the middle and it spontaneously SPROINGS back up. Yeah. Cold's hair does that, especially when it's freshly washed. It's a freakin' hoot.

^ Strabismus is a vision problem characterized by the eyes being unable to focus on the same target at the same time, rendering the eyes perpetually crossed or, as in Aaron and my hubby Cold, facing opposite directions. The disorder affects more boys than girls and is caused by a weakness in or differing length in the ligaments that control eye movement and, if caught early enough and effectively treated, it can be reversed. I've read that it can also be surgically corrected but haven't found much on the effectiveness or risks. Because he was lazy about his treatment and his mother didn't push it, Cold is perpetually (as he puts it) "Able to keep one eye on [me] and one on the waitress' ass at the same time." (He's a pig, LOL!) Aaron's 'eye-shifting' here is a common behavior of Cold's, but Cold usually does it simply because someone's making eye contact and he wants to be a smartass. ;) Unfortunately, when you have un-treated Strabismus you eventually learn to 'block out' the signal from your weaker eye in favor of the stronger one, and this can in time be detrimental to your vision. It isn't uncommon for people with Strabismus to eventually lose all vision in their non-preferred eye; in many cases this blindness isn't a matter of the eye but rather the brain—there's physically nothing wrong with their 'bad eye,' the nerves and muscles responsible for receiving signals from that eye atrophy. True to that statement, Cold's bad eye has been growing weaker and weaker over the last twenty years - longer than I've known him - and we suspect he'll be completely unable to use it well before he hits his fifties. It sucks but he's made his peace with it, and even half-blind, he'll still be able to out-game young'uns without trying.

^^ Butz – this is actually a valid surname. It's uncommon in the US and derived from High German bütze meaning 'well or puddle.'

- "Haven't we been here before? Footsteps lead down to note on the door that says I can't stay here anymore." – The line in-story is based on this lyric from "Haven't We Been Here Before?" a track on the Styx album "Kilroy was Here."

- "The Glory of Love" – Song by Peter Cetera, from The Karate Kid Part II. Yes, Cold is actually as immature as Aaron is in this scene, if not worse. My hubby has the mentality of a ten-year-old. -_- Boys...they never grow up.

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