#quinlin certainly did

[bookwyrminspiration]

hey (shirtless alden👇)

he and quinlin were doing some cognate training 🥰

[graylinesspam]

One of these days Ahsoka was really gonna have to confront the fact that explosions were very high up her list of strategies. And wasn't that a bit dramatic?

---

Or basically the jailbreak scene from THE suicide squad but make it Star Wars.

His metal caf cup fell to the floor with a clatter, the last swig of cold liquid staining the floor. Cody’s heart was in his throat. Obi-wan’s face shone on the other side of the blue holoprojection; shock in the part of his mouth.

No one else in the room was moving, consumed by the advertisement being played by the holo-table. The foreground showed a pyke flanked by two Black Sun operatives. The Pyke was moving his hand in beckoning gestures as he droned on in his guttural language. Translations scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

And in the background of the video, slowly making her way to the center of attention as the recorder zoomed in, was Ahsoka, suspended from the ceiling in electric shackles. Her long red dress had been torn to tatters and her head hung limply.

One of the Black Suns gripped her by the back lek and yanked her head back so that the camera could capture her unconscious face. One eye was swollen shut and there was blood smeared in an indiscernible pattern across her face. In this low definition, it was hard to tell where she was wounded. Her face was almost misshapen from the swelling.

More text scrolled across the screen as the Pyke jabbered on in what counted as excitement for their species.

Cody’s fist slammed onto the table disrupting the holo in a waving blue blur. “They’re auctioning her?” he demanded.

Obi-wan’s hands had tucked themselves into his sleeves to hide the fact that he was gripping himself by the elbows. “So it seems,” he replied in a strained manner.

“We cannot let this happen.” Cody insisted. Several of the men surrounding them made noises of agreement.

“I’m afraid, as Ahsoka is no longer a member of the military, We’ll need council approval, even the Chancellor’s approval to use military powers to retrieve her.”

“Sir, you know as well as I do that there's no way we’ll be able to stop the vode from going after her. If we don’t organize this, it will happen anyway, and the loss could be greater.”

“I know that Cody. I’ll contact the council. See if I can appeal to them.”

The rescue of Ahsoka Tano was not a mission that was easy to sell. The council was torn between guilt for turning on her and bitterness that she left them. Several times the matter was almost sent higher up the chain for senate approval. But ultimately it was the amount of information that she possessed that turned their minds.

Coming off of the mess with Quinlin and Ventress they certainly did not want Dooku to get his hands on another highly trained jedi with a vendetta against the order. The kind of Sith that Ahsoka could make sent a shiver of dread down the backs of every Jedi master.

She had been a premiere padawan. A prodigy in terms of combat skill and the development of her own inherent ability. For another member of Yoda’s impressive lineage to fall to the dark side.

It would be a disaster. And it would do considerable damage to Obi-wan and Anakin.

And that was before considering the amount of information she had about the Republic’s military movements, their bases, hyperspace routes, tactics, and supply routes. She may be able to single-handedly topple the war in their enemy’s favor.

So the council ruled in favor of rescuing Ahsoka Tano. What they planned to do with her afterward was to be seen.

They had to find her first. Tracking the transmission was useless. Black Sun was too clever for that. But they could track all the major recipients of that broadcast. Money began changing hands. They were following the transactions as they were set in motion. It seemed everyone from flesh traders to Trandoshan hunters were bidding on her. She made a lot of enemies in her short time in the galaxy. And even more admirers which was never a good thing when you were a beautiful young woman.

Everyone could tell, however, that the auction was stalling. They were waiting to see if the separatist or the Republic would put a bid in. It was unlikely that the Republic could get the authority to do so in time, even if they were inclined to. But the separatists, at least the leader of the movement, Count Dooku, was able to make whatever decisions he saw fit with his own finances.

The splicers tracking the broadcast and splicing through the Pike’s network thanked every star in the galaxy that the separatists were dragging their feet, since it gave them more time to find her.

The puzzle piece that busted open the case was an old report of Blacksun scavengers harassing ships exiting the Kessel run. They’d been pursued by authorities and were chased back to a small base on the planet Randa. An uninhabited little rock in the Kessel system not far from Ord Mantel.

It took some digging to find proper aerial photographs from that planet but when they did the base was clearly visible.

It wasn’t much more than a duracrete box from what they could tell, but it would do fine to hold a hostage for a long period of time.

With even more long needless debates happening amongst the jedi and the Admirals Cody had his men gearing up for the extraction. Master Windu had briefly argued that his clones were far better trained in infil and exfil but a soft word from Ponds silenced him on the matter.

Absolutely no clone out of blue armor would have been able to talk their way into this mission if it hadn’t been Cody. The 501st were currently deployed deep in the belly of the war. It was the only way they would have been occupied enough to miss this. And as much as he was grateful for that, Cody would never be able to look his brother in the face again if he didn’t personally go to retrieve his vod’ika.

Besides, they didn’t want to waste any more time waiting for an elite squad. If Cody, as the marshal commander, was not elite enough for this mission, then he should hang up his helmet. He was going to bring Ahsoka home, no matter what.

Ahsoka woke to a terribly loud buzzing. Electricity always grated on her hearing when it was exposed so closely to her montrals. She was also displeased to notice that both her arms were asleep and her back burned in a way that indicated strain.

She cracked her eyes open as far as the swelling would allow. The room she was in was dimly lit but for the holocamera shining a searing beam of light directly into her eyes. She winced at that and her movement caught the attention of whoever was holding her here. A Pyke, with a big ugly gold helmet, was chittering at her in its unpleasant language. It chortled a little laugh as it leaned close and grasped her chin, tilting her face for the recorder.

She sneered at the foul little thing and tried to pull her head back.

It retaliated with a swift punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her.

Ahsoka wheezed as she struggled to draw in air but it gave her a minute to asses her surroundings too. There was one more sentient in the room, a big burly guard with black sun tattoos on his neck. Just two then.

Ahsoka jerked in her restraints and snarled as soon as she had the air in her lungs to do it with.

The Pyke stepped close again to taunt her in a language she didn’t speak, she took the opportunity to sweep the feet out from under the short creature and send him sprawling to the ground. Disoriented from the water in his helmet moving so abruptly, he had no defense ready when Ahsoka slammed the heel of her stiletto into the glass eye of the helmet and shattered it, she could feel her shoe skewer soft flesh beneath and as he struggled away he broke the heel from her shoe leaving it lodged into his face.

She’d been leaning down to concentrate on the creature on the floor but as the bigger thug approached, Ahsoka bent at the knees and lept gaining height on the tall thug as he lunged to grab her by the neck. His open hand ineffectually collided with her chest as her legs wrapped around his torso and brought him in close to her body. At this distance and from this height it was no problem for her to aim for the black smudge of a tattoo over his windpipe and clamp down on it with her teeth.

A Togruta’s teeth were nothing to scoff at. Ahsoka tore the tattoo right off his neck and took a sizable chunk of flesh with it. As the second man dropped to the ground Ahsoka spat out her mouthful grimacing at the taste.

Taking a moment to gather herself she toed off her strappy heels with a bit of a struggle. Formal attire was not ideal clothing for a kidnapping.

With her bare feet she stretched her toes out to the still writhing Pike’s side and slammed her heel into his ribs, he collapsed down from his knees to his side once more and Ahsoka awkwardly stepped onto the little collection of buttons and lights on his wrist, rolling the pressure of her foot around until she pressed the right button and her bindings dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

Once there she could slam her cuffed hands down onto the Pike’s face once again disorienting him and buying her time to retrieve the bindings key from the Black sun’s now dead body. Hands freed and swiping a blaster off the waistband of the idiot who hadn’t bothered to draw it on her Ahsoka aimed it at the Pyke’s head and finally put his writhing to an end.

She didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten there. So she went over the information that she did know. She’d been attending a gala last she remembered. Then she woke up here, with a Pyke and a black sun. Oh and a recorder.

Ahsoka glanced back up at it unsure if she was still in frame or not.

Oh well, it isn’t like she’s never had an audience before.

Black Sun operatives almost never work alone. There’s got to be at least one more. Probably closer to five if this was a high-profile job where they’d been hired by the Pikes

So she readied her blaster as she slammed her hand onto the door’s sensor pad. Two guards stand on the other side of the door and Ahsoka has to fire on both of them before the door has finished opening. Both struggle to reach for their weapons before jerking violently and collapsing to the floor.

She’s no sharpshooter so it takes a couple of shots each to put them down even at this close range. She shoves down the familiar frustration at being left without her preferred weapons. There are probably countless guards and gang members left between her and the exit. And now there’s been blasterfire, so she has to move quickly.

Ahsoka shoves through the next door and into a short hallway; the grey stone walls dim but for a light at the end. When she reaches the end she realizes the light is coming from above. She is in a small atrium with windows over her head and connecting hallways in all directions. She takes a step back towards the hall she just exit and counts the others. Four plus hers makes five. Which way does she go?

That question quickly starts to matter less than the pound of boots on the ground towards her. The sounds echoed from all around her; impossible for her to tell what direction they were coming from.

She retreats further back towards the other guards that she killed and pilfers their blasters off of them as well. She’s far outnumbered here and she’ll need all the plasma power she can muster.

She settles down beside the open door, hoping to use this short hallway as a choke point. There are no other ways into the area outside of her cell, if they wanted to come get her they’d need to converge here.

She didn’t need to wait long before thugs started to enter her hall with their blasters already drawn.

Ahsoka leaned around the doorway and opened fire into the hall. Several enemies dropped to the ground bleeding or dead, and several more retreated back into the wider atrium to escape. As they ducked away Ahsoka made sure to fire again at those downed to make sure they’d stay that way.

These kinds of stalemates, the ones where both sides would wait for the other to peak out, they wasted time. The last thing she needed was to give them the time to call in reinforcements until she really was overwhelmed.

She needed a quick way to break out of here. Ahsoka looked down at her blasters and had a terrible idea. Thinking quickly she removed the power pack and the gas canister from one of the blasters and just a power pack from another. Gas canisters were almost indestructible from the outside They were as tough as beskar. You couldn’t even shoot one to explode it. But nonetheless, the gas inside was highly reactive. All blasters came standard with surge and shock protection to keep the power pack from accidentally igniting them.

But she’d seen before, mostly empty or defective gas canisters get off gassed so they could be disposed of without accidentally exploding anything. It was one of the more dangerous responsibilities of owning a blaster. If you screwed it up at all your face could be burned off.

Ahsoka scooted closer to one of the downed guards and retrieved a pair of binders from his belt She stripped the insulation from the connector point of both power packs and pressed the exposed metal together, immediately an acrid metallic smell began to fill the air. She secured the two pieces together with one cuff of the binders.

There were boots approaching her again and Ahsoka had to use the last blaster to shoot the approaching mirilian down.

She retreated again before the enemies retaliating blasts could hit her.

She quickly retrieved the firing pin from the disassembled blaster and carefully pressed it into the nozzle of the gas canister. The smell of gas is strong enough that she has to hold her breath as she clamps the other end of the binders around the canister.

The power pack has burned through the first layer of metal now and any moment it will spark into an electrical fire. She has to throw her little bomb as far down the hallway as she can.

She takes a steadying breath before reeling her arm back and leaning into the doorway, She force propels it as far as she can, over the heads of the thugs and down an opposing hallway. Dodging the next spattering of bolts Ahsoka throws herself to the ground and crawls quickly back toward her cell, The metal door squeaks as she slams it shut behind herself and scrambles even further into the room.

The explosion is sudden and spectacular. She’d been on battlefields with shells hitting the ground from aerial strikes and from cannon armaments. But this? This is like a volcanic eruption. A molten hot wave of air wrecks everything around her. The metal door is blown off its hinges.

It takes her time to right herself. The air is thin from the explosion eating up all the available oxygen and she’s grateful to the skylight she’d seen earlier, it’s likely been blown clean off and letting the atmosphere rush back into the space where it’d all been eaten up.

Her dress, formerly wide and flouncy and crimson red had been singed in a strange way making the outermost layer melt in on it’s self and shrink. And the color had been streaked with black at the knees from touching the floor.

In fact, all surfaces have been thoroughly singed. Black carbon scaring mar the stone around her. The dead bodies she’d left behind have been blown apart and burned black. Even the ground is too hot to touch. So Ahsoka scurries over to where she can see a pair of boots, whose feet are still laced in them.

She can hunt bare foot just fine but the ground would singer her feet if she tried, so she resigns herself quickly to the borrowed boots.

When she walks back through the doorway, what’s left of the atrium and the surrounding hallways is just a crater. There’s nothing left here that could even resemble a weapon. It’s the sight of the fallen walls and the exposed rock that finally reveals to her that she’d been underground this whole time.

She continues through the wreckage into what appears to be another hallway, long this time with proper metal prison cells lining the walls. From one cell ahead a black sun operative jumps out with his blaster drawn on her. Ahsoka reacts quickly grabbing his arm aiming it to the side and punching him squarely in the nose. As his head reels back she realizes how young he is. 15 maybe 16. He drops his blaster out of surprise and pain. She takes pity on the kid and slams him into the cell door jarring him terribly. She swipes the knife from his belt and throws him in, slamming the bars shut.

Acquiring another blaster was somewhat advantageous even if this pathetic little pistol had such low plasma power. And not a moment too soon as another armed thug rushed into the hallway. Unfortunately, he also looked very young.

That bleeding jedi heart would get her killed one of these days.

She grabbed the barrel of her own blaster with her non-dominant hand and used the other to grab him by the firing arm. She turned her body yanking him into her back and slammed her elbow into his face. When he dropped his blaster she reared her arm back and slammed the butt of her blaster into his head. Then she rolled him into the cell beside the other, who was hissing and spitting at her.

She was looking for the exit now. Ready to get the hell out of this fuckin pit.

She rushed out into the next room and found it was a hoard. Crates were piled in the center with various valuable-looking goods stacked atop them. Ahsoka thought she saw some vibroblades and even some fancy rifles. What caught her attention in the worst way was the wookie pelt. Laid out like an akul pelt. Sadness rose in her as she stepped closer.

Laying across the spread pelt was something else. It was long and made of Wroshyr wood from Kasyyyk. She could tell by the color and the pattern of the grain. On both ends it was capped with a long metal casing that ended it a spike at one end and a flattened spearhead at the other. She’d never heard of wookies using spears before. The closest thing she knew of was a war staff.

Maybe this was from some small tribe with obscure traditions. Or maybe this individual simply didn’t live by the traditional ways of his people.

Either way, Ahsoka was grateful to come across such a weapon. Though different from her separated twin blades, there was still a lot of familiarity between the techniques used to wield them.

And there’s something more than that. On her home planet, any good hunter's weapon of choice was a spear. Sure they had arrows and hunting blasters and the like, but a spear was the most versatile and ideal weapon for hunting in the grasslands. Ahsoka herself had trained with one briefly before the war started. But she hadn’t been home in some time.

Still, it felt right to find a weapon so like that of her people waiting for her in a place like this, when she was most in need of one.

She hefts the weapon up, it’s nearly as tall as she is well-worn wood grain as soft as leather against her palms. The metal cappings are in gold and they shine in the dim lighting as if polished to a mirror shine.

The girth is almost too thick for her hands. Certainly wider than her saber hilts had been. But on rare occasions, she had been forced to train with Anakin’s saber, and the thickness of that hilt coupled with the wide metal grips had nearly torn her palms to shreds. There were calluses there now that held onto the wood well.

She spins the spear slowly between her hands, getting a feel for the weight of it. At least the weapon is balanced, despite the different metal ends the weight is distributed evenly and it twirls with little resistance between her palms.

She can hear shouting ahead, whatever is left of the blacksuns that hadn’t been stationed near her cell and thus dispatched by her explosion are starting to rally themselves. She can hear them opening an armory of sorts, the metallic sounds of blasters being loaded are familiar enough that she could recognize it without the context of the moment.

So Ahsoka spins the spear until half of it is tucked under one arm and sticking out behind her. She marches resolutely through the last two dim storage rooms until she swings a door open and finds herself in a large open room.

Across from her is a group of various sentients. Black sun tattoos are the only similarity between them. Well, that and the look they give her as they raise their blasters.

There are six that she can see in front of her. Although just to the left of the group there's an open door that must be the armory. Who knows how many more are inside.

As they take aim, she takes a defensive stance, turning mostly to the side so less of her body is easy to target even as lowers her center and braces the spear against her chest.

The first two blasts are easily absorbed by the spear, so easily that it prompts her enemies to advance faster than she anticipated. She turns on the balls of her feet and swings the spear decisively the end tipped with a blade slices through a man's throat blood spraying in an arc as she continues the moment of her turn and jabs the spiked end into another’s chest.

Now this is the smooth rhythm of a fight that she’d missed.

All of this fighting with blasters and explosives has been grating on her. The fluid swing of a blade is what she’d always been meant for.

Pulling her spear free of his chest she whips the spear around again in a quick upward arc slicing his belly open. Her second opponent falls clutching his gaping abdomen.

She must dodge blaster shots again as the other four fan out trying to surround her but she is faster and more experienced than them. Ahsoka dodges quickly to the left and pins one woman’s foot to the floor as she tries to back away; then slams her elbow into her face. Releasing her foot causes the woman to crumble to the floor and a well-placed stab of the spike ends her life.

The others are approaching together now, trying to hem her in. Ahsoka responds with a wide sweep of the blade grazing all of them. Choosing one target she flicks the blade over their extremities slicing them shallowly. They stumble in retreat aiming their blaster at her chest.

She dodges and two blasts are exchanged the opponent in front of her and the one who’d been aiming behind her fall to each other's blasts.

One remains and as comfortable with the killing as Ahsoka has become in the war, she’s never relished it. She slices the old man’s throat open with a viscous jab of the blade letting her spear point fall with the body and aim itself at his chest. Two wounds in less minutes and he is dead.

It’s an unfortunate fate but Ahsoka cannot afford to mourn the deaths of men intent on killing her, not in a galaxy this cold. So she turns her eyes and her mind away from the deed as soon as it’s finished.

There are no more enemies cowering in the weapons store.

She wanders through the door at the far end of the room and finds a set of steep stairs. The walls are softer with soil rather than stone. She must be reaching the surface now. Up the stairs is a dank room with a single folding chair and a buzzing light affixed to the ceiling. It smells like a cellar but the way the light shines through the cracks in the walls makes her think it’s probably more like a shed. She’s on the surface now, finally. There’s one wooden door between her and freedom and Ahsoka doesn’t hesitate to brace her hand against it and push it open.

On the other side is nothing that she expected to see.

A black visor tilts back suddenly in surprise at coming face to face with her. Standing close enough to not allow her to step out of the door is a clone, but not just any clone, because even with the pale green moonlight Ahsoka can identify his armor with no thought at all

“Ahsoka?” he demands as if she shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, yeah, Cody what are you doing?” She asks bewildered.

“We-” Cody cuts off, incredulity coloring his entire countenance, “We were going to rescue you.” By the end of his statement Cody sounds resigned in that way he usually does when he finds himself forced to cooperate with one of Anakin’s inane plans. Baffled yet resigned.

All around her troopers in yellow armor move from their positions surrounding the dingy little surface building and gather with her and their Commander. The bemusement in their demeanor brought an unexpected note of joy to her chest. Her hand follows it resting lightly over her heart and a grin stretches across her face.

“Awe. Me? Cody, you were gonna rescue me?”

“Yes.” Cody sighs hand rubbing uselessly against the brow of his helmet. “We had to fight with the council and the navy board to get the clearance too,” his tone had migrated into irritation now.

“Well I can go back inside, you can still do it.”

“Get to the ship Tano,” He bites out.

Cody steps back to allow her through. She gathers the tatters of her fluffy red skirt in one fist and hefts her bloody spear in the other. Cody gives her a once over noting all the singe marks and slashes; bruises hiding under soot streaks. “Did you blow your way out?”

Ahsoka casts him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you see the crater on your way in?”

[aphelea]

my eclipsed sun

Ao3

the quinlin & tiergan arguing fic!

Summary: Tiergan and Quinlin, in the wake of Alden's mind break, and the guilt and anger that lingers.

Tags: @cogaytes @lgbtqforeverything @give-me-caffeine @gay-otlc @bookwyrminspiration @winterfireice @arsonistblue @moonelight

“No.”

Quinlin’s shimmering form glares at Tiergan through the hologram screen of his Imparter. His hair—usually gelled back into a smooth ponytail—is haphazardly tied up into a loose bun, the shorter pieces falling wildly around his ashen face. 

Tiergan raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I can guess,” Quinlin replies, rolling his eyes. “It isn’t like you have a habit of hailing me for social calls.”

“No, I suppose not,” Tiergan muses. “Still, you can’t possibly know—”

Quinlin laughs dryly, effectively ending Tiergan’s statement halfway. “You’re going to ask if I want to see him,” he says, scowling at the screen. “I don’t.”

“Fine,” Tiergan says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t care what Quinlin does with his time. Even when he firmly believes that Quinlin’s decision is entirely ridiculous. “Though, you knew him best—”

“And what good does that do me?” Quinlin snaps. “He’s gone already; there’s nothing I can do to save him. You know as well as I do that it’s pointless to try and reverse a break.”

Tiergan sighs. “It’s not about reversing it. The healers simply said it may be useful to try and understand what’s happening inside his mind while the pieces are still large enough to do so.” He’s completely bullshitting at this point. But Fitz, Biana, and Alvar need someone who can actually help them at Everglen, right now, and there’s no chance that either Tiergan or Della will be able to fulfill that role. 

Quinlin’s lips curl at the statement. “And, what, you think I would be better suited to the task than you?” It’s about as close to a compliment as Quinlin has ever offered him. 

“It’s certainly no secret that you and he were…close,” Tiergan replies, with a slight chuckle. “I seem to recall that day in school, when we found you—”

“ Shockingly , the things a person does at seventeen are not exactly relevant for the rest of their life,” Quinlin interrupts, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “And, regardless, the only reason I’ve survived being inside a broken mind before is that I had my Cognate by my side.”

Tiergan pointedly decides to avoid thinking about the owner of the broken mind that Quinlin refers to.  

“You know the situation I’m referring to, of course,” Quinlin continues. 

Ah, but Tiergan should have realised that Quinlin is incapable of leaving well enough alone. 

“Don’t bring Prentice into this.”

“And here I thought you had begun the discussion of our shattered ex-lovers,” Quinlin replies. Somehow, amidst everything, the man has the audacity to look smug as he speaks, as if it isn’t his ex-lover, his best friend lying half-conscious in the bed beside Tiergan. 

Tiergan’s patience is wearing thin; of course, he knows every conversation with Quinlin is like this, the two searching for any way to get under the other’s skin, tossing blades with every scathing remark thrown. “There is no our, Quinlin. I’m nothing like you. And Alden could have only dreamt of being as good a man as Prentice.”

Quinlin raises an eyebrow. “Speaking ill of the dead, are we?”

“Is it really speaking ill if the man wholly deserves it?” Tiergan replies. He can match the fire in Quinlin’s eyes easily; they’ve been playing this game for decades. “And he’s hardly dead, yet, Quinlin. Have some faith, at least.”

Quinlin scoffs. “Faith?” he repeats. “What faith can I have? The moment Alden laid eyes on Prentice in that godforsaken cell, he was already beyond saving. I’m not foolish enough to believe that a miracle will occur.”

Tiergan is about to return with another scathing remark, when Quinlin’s words process fully in his mind. “How did you know he saw Prentice?” he asks, low and careful. There’s no way Quinlin could possibly know; Tiergan himself had only just gleaned the information from Sophie yesterday morning. (He almost wishes he hadn’t asked her—he can’t quite make sense of the mix of satisfaction and guilt curling in his gut, yet, at the thought that the mere sight of Prentice could have caused this mess.) 

Quinlin stutters and stumbles over his next few words, which itself offers Tiergan all the answers he needs. “It wasn’t hard to infer,” he says, but his eyes are shifting and somehow, Tiergan can’t quite believe him. 

“He visited you,” Tiergan guesses, and the situation feels achingly familiar. “He knew what was coming, and he wanted you to hear it all from him.” 

Quinlin looks away with a haunted expression. “I told him—” He pauses, then seems to remember who he’s speaking to. “Well. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You know that’s classified Council information, what he told you,” Tiergan notes, and there’s something strangely satisfying about being on this end of the conversation, for once. “Technically, you should both be arrested for that.”

Quinlin rolls his eyes. “As if you’re any paragon of law-abiding citizenship.” 

“And yet, you still can’t prove enough to arrest me.”

“I certainly could, if I wanted to,” Quinlin counters. “But have you considered that I simply don’t want you Exiled?” 

Tiergan…isn’t sure what to say to that. Of course, it’s a preposterous idea—why wouldn’t Quinlin want him Exiled, a two-for-two completion of his mission from long ago? 

“Though I suppose you must think I deserve this,” Quinlin says, with a dry chuckle. “Equal pain for pain I delivered you.”

“ Equal ?” Tiergan scoffs. “In what universe? Alden is only facing the consequences of his own rash actions. Prentice was innocent.” 

He expects Quinlin to take the bait once more, to snap back and continue the never-ending cycle of insults that has followed both of them since their Foxfire days But instead he quietly looks away, a pained expression on his face, and asks,  “Was he really, though?”

Tiergan frowns. “What?”

“Prentice,” he repeats. “Was he really as innocent as you claim?” 

Tiergan stays carefully silent, at that. It’s too early to give away anything, not with Sophie as weak as she is. And this is information Quinlin is already well aware of, anyway—anyone could have seen how secretive Tiergan and Prentice were, all those years ago. And Quinlin and Alden had seen through them far too well. 

Quinlin laughs dryly, ending a long moment of shared, tense silence. “Of course. The same answer as always. Because you know as well as I do—”

“Fuck off.”

Quinlin pauses, and raises an eyebrow. “You know, you’re really doing a horrible job of convincing me to come see him.” 

Oh. Right.  

“You’ve given me your answer. I don’t care enough about either of your lives to bother arguing about it.” It’s a blatant lie, and Tiergan hopes that Quinlin won’t call his bluff. But, alas, he is not so lucky. 

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be calling. You wouldn’t even be at Everglen,” Quinlin counters, with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose I should be grateful that you’re taking care of him, even after everything.” Tiergan takes an absurd amount of joy in the fact that Quinlin squirms at the attempt at gratitude—although it’s entirely unfounded. 

“Don’t invent kindness that isn’t there, Quinlin. I’m here for Sophie, and for Fitz, Biana, and Alvar—the children you’ve left behind.” 

Quinlin steps away, as if taken aback. “Well, we can’t all take in every lost child that shows up at our doorstep. They’re not my responsibility.” 

“Not your responsibility?” Tiergan scoffs. “All you do is break minds and break families and leave destruction in your wake, and somehow, I’m always the one to pick up the pieces. I don’t recall you being any help when I took in Wylie—when I could barely muster up the energy to leave my bedroom in the mornings, and then suddenly I had an entire child to take care of all alone —”

“I understand your frustration, Tiergan, but I really think you should blame Prentice for your son’s plight, not Alden and I. After all, I certainly didn’t make the decision to put allegiance to a group of rebels above my love for my family. Mr. Endal’s situation is, unfortunately, the natural consequence of poor decision-making.”

Tiergan itches to lunge for the hologram and strangle the man, but for civility’s sake he settles for a sharp glare and a scowl. “I could say the same about Alden.”

A long beat follows, in which Quinlin appears to cycle through every possible emotion at once. “Yes,” he agrees, though his lips seem to recoil at the words. “I suppose you could.”

And then a tense silence hangs over then—a rare sight, after years and years of endless quips and muttered insults, a constant stream of petty noise directed toward one another. Tiergan opens his mouth to speak—but before he can do so, Quinlin leans over and shuts the call with a scowl.

And suddenly the room is empty, save for Tiergan and the man he’d once declared his enemy, drooling on the sheets. “Well?” Tiergan asks, partly to Alden, and partly to the memory of a lover, long-gone. “Was it worth it? Was it worth ruining him? Do you know how much I—”  He forces himself to stop, because this isn’tPrentice, this is ten years later, with old wounds reopened. “Thank you for giving him a proper goodbye, at least. It’s more than I ever had.”

Alden, predictably, stays silent, and Tiergan wants to scream—but he settles instead for throwing his imparter at the wall, imagining all of his grief in holograms of silver mist, dissolving in the air. Quinlin’s taunts. Wylie’s missed hails. Leto’s face, revealing the news.

As the device lands, it cracks into hundreds of glistening shards, and Tiergan can’t help but smile. 

[aphelea]

serenade (tierden)

@gay-otlc @aroace-dadwinstan

Summary: Tiergan attempts to hide from a ball. Alden Vacker, son of the host and Tiergan's classmate, finds him instead.

(Basically: Tierden angst ft. Quinlin)

“May I have this dance?”

Alden’s face was shrouded in shadows, his eyes illuminated only by the balefire lamp hanging overhead. He had to shout to be heard over the din of the crowded reception hall—the very crowd Tiergan had been attempting to avoid. 

“You may not,” Tiergan answered, stepping aside to allow Alden to pass through the hall and into the moonlit grounds. He cursed himself for keeping such a lackluster hiding place. Of course, it was only a matter of time before someone from the ball caught up to him. He was lucky it was only the Vacker heir – a boy he knew far too well for his own liking – and not, perhaps, either of their fathers or another nobleman appearing to scold him for his disappearance. “And you may go.”

Alden remained where he stood. He offered Tiergan an arm with a familiar, impish smile, and said, “I would not be a gentleman if I left you here to drown in your sorrows.”

“I wasn’t aware you were ever a gentleman, Alden,” Tiergan responded, batting away his outstretched arm. “And I’m certainly not drowning in my sorrows.”

Alden shrugged. “If that’s what you choose to believe.”

“I’m not—oh, forget it.” Tiergan rose to his feet, his full height towering over Alden. Alden did not seem in the least bit fazed; instead, he looked up into Tiergan’s eyes with an amused expression and stepped forward. 

“Is this your agreement?” Alden asked, and Tiergan sighed. 

“I refuse to return to that stuffy room you call a reception hall,” he replied, well aware that he wasn’t quite answering Alden’s question. 

Sometimes, it was better to keep boys like him on their toes. 

Alden smiled and swept a stray hair from Tiergan’s forehead, his fingers ever so lightly brushing against skin. “And I will not make you do so,” he promised. “I confess I was running away from that wretched hall, myself.” He stepped forward, taking Tiergan’s hands in his own, and spoke softly, “Dance with me here, Tiergan.”

Tiergan’s breath caught in his throat. “There’s no music,” he protested lightly, unable to bring himself to move his hand. He wanted to bottle the feeling rising in his chest now and bathe in it every night like some spell of protection; wanted to drink in the sight of the boy in front of him instead of Youth each morning like it would save him and make him who he was. There was nothing and there was Alden, and there was danger in the hall mere minutes away but he did not mind. He protested only for consistency’s sake, but really it was meaningless. 

“And?” Alden asked, placing his other hand on Tiergan’s shoulder. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“No,” Tiergan echoed. “I suppose not.” Instinctively, he placed his free hand on Alden’s waist, as he had done so many times during his lessons as a child. He’d dealt with those mind-numbing lessons, then, by imagining somebody else in his arms in place of his tutors, somebody who would look up at him with the same expression Alden offers him now. 

“You’re sure that your mother isn’t coming this way?” Tiergan asked as Alden stepped closer, so close that his breath was cool on Tiergan’s cheek. 

“I’m certain,” Alden replied as they began to sway to an imaginary rhythm. “My parents are occupied with their responsibilities as hosts.” 

Tiergan raised an eyebrow. “And shouldn’t you be doing the same?” 

Alden’s teal eyes glinted with amusement. “I’m occupied with making sure our guests are feeling satisfied.” He grinned, and Tiergan’s heart skipped a beat. “Well. Only one guest, of course.” 

“Oh?” Tiergan asked, pulling Alden in closer. “I certainly hope you don’t mean me.”

Alden laughed, a sound beautiful enough to replace any need for music. “Well, I’d hate to be keeping another special guest waiting.”

“You think I’m special?” Tiergan replied, feigning confusion. He was well used to Alden’s attempts at flattery. He was usually loath to let them affect him this much, but it was late, and as such it was impossible to hide the heat rising to his cheeks at Alden’s proximity. 

Tiergan recalled the first time he’d seen Alden deliberately try to flirt with him – one day, during a particularly tumultuous shared Telepathy session (as they’d always walked the fine line between being at each other’s throats and at each other’s lips), their mentor had exited the room in a huff while Alden and Tiergan argued for the fourth time that day. It had taken them a few moments to realize their position, at the time – Tiergan, in his irritation, had pushed his way into Alden’s space, and Alden had simply smirked as he did now. 

That was the first time they kissed. It was unfortunately not the last. 

And yet, they still walked the fine line. 

It was obvious by the way that Alden dropped his arms and scrambled backwards the moment the sound of footsteps echoed on the steps behind them, how his almost affectionate expression towards Tiergan melted away into that of disgust as another figure emerged from the shadows, glancing between the two of them with confusion. 

“Your mother is looking for you,” Quinlin Sonden said, crossing his arms and eyeing them both with suspicion. “I’ve had to bear the brunt of her interrogation for the past ten minutes.”

Alden ran a hand through his hair. “Oh. My apologies.”

“It’s alright.” Quinlin’s eyes finally landed on Tiergan, who was attempting to hide in the shadows. “What exactly were you doing out here? Was he giving you trouble, Alden?”

Tiergan scoffed. “I only give him what he deserves.”

Quinlin rolled his eyes. “You aren’t as clever as you think. Perhaps if you spent less of your time being angry about everything–”

“–I’m not angry about everything!” Tiergan cut in, angrily. 

Alden rolled his eyes and stalked away, not bothering to cast Tiergan a second glance. “Leave him, Quinlin.”

Quinlin waited until Alden had rounded the corner, and then grabbed Tiergan’s wrist tightly. “Watch yourself,” Quinlin hissed, gaze harsh. “I won’t have you infecting him with your ridiculous ideas. Alden is a Vacker, and a damn good one at that. You can never have him.”

Tiergan stared at him for a long, hard moment. Finally, he replied, “Neither can you, Quinlin.” 

Quinlin sucked in a breath and released his suffocating grip on Tiergan’s arm. “I’ve long accepted that who I am is not who I need to be. I’ve learnt to keep my mouth shut. I think it’s high time you do the same.”

“Over my dead fucking body.” Tiergan replied, holding Quinlin’s gaze with a steely resolve. 

Quinlin sighed. “Then so be it.”

Tiergan turned away. “So be it.” 

Quinlin moved to walk away, then paused. “You cannot change him, Tiergan,” he said, sorrow evident in his eyes. “Alden sees you as a phase of teenage rebellion, nothing more. There is a reason you two were unable to become Cognates.”

“I’m well aware,” Tiergan said through gritted teeth. “And what makes you think I don’t see him as the same?” 

Quinlin’s lips curled into a mournful frown, but he said nothing as he walked away. 

And soon, Tiergan was left alone beneath the balefire lamps, with nothing but his own tumultuous thoughts and a memory of a man he couldn’t be sure if he hated or loved. 

Quinlin was right. Tiergan did not have the strength to change the deep rooted beliefs Alden held about the workings of the elven world. Alden refused to look beyond its glimmering facade, into the lying eyes of each and every Councillor. 

But Tiergan was certain that he couldn’t be the only one with his views on the world. He simply had to venture out and find the others. 

And maybe, if he was lucky, find someone he could truly rely on.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Liora killed Alvar

dusk (Fintan arson bf) killed Kesler, so quinlin killed dusk, so Fintan killed livvy

Cassius just randomly started talking about hair gel

Sophie and Fitz are getting (platonic) relationship therapy bc they sorta hate each other now

White blonde fathers with empath abilities and glowing statues of themselves in their 200+ story houses and insist on people calling them Lord with oily smiles are out here inserting themselves places no one wants them yet again :/, like we do not care about your hair gel thoughts, you blister

That aside, there is so much going on in such a short amount of space but one of the first things that popped into my head was why did Quinlin kill Dusk over Kesler's death? They're not exactly close, so either in this alternate version of keeper they're much closer, or this was a situation where he was just the person there when it happened and acted without thought.

I think more than just Sophie and Fitz are going to need therapy in this situation if so many murders are being committed. I hope Sophie and Fitz work it out though as I love their dynamic!

Also shout out to Fintan for being queer and murderous, that's certainly something!

[aphelea]

my smoking gun

quinlin/alden and tiergan/prentice

summary: basically tiergan and quinlin threaten each other and bond over their ridiculous secret pining over their best friends.

tw: homophobia(not from them specifically!), mentions of outing, and generally threatening each other

-

Quinlin had expected Tiergan to be angry, once the job was done. He’d anticipated a monster of rage to show up at his doorstep one night, seething and maybe screaming at Quinlin for what he had done.

What he had not expected, however, was to walk into his apartment in the middle of the night to find Tiergan sitting quietly on his couch, shuffling playing cards with a bored expression.

“Tiergan?” Quinlin asked, causing him to raise an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing in my house? And in the middle of the night?”

Tiergan shrugged as he dealt out cards along the coffee table. “I’m here to visit a very close friend.”

Quinlin felt a warning hand on his shoulder, which he promptly shook away. “We aren’t friends.”

Tiergan scoffed. “I never said I was talking about you.” He finally looked up, a piercing smirk gracing his lips. “Now, your wife, on the other hand…”

Quinlin lunged forward, a variety of colorful thoughts running through his mind, but was stopped by an arm in front of him.

“Calm yourself, Quinlin,” Alden said, stepping out of the shadows and pulling Quinlin closer. “Mr. Alenefar, why are you here?”

Tiergan raised an eyebrow. “Well, why are you here? It’s a little late for the Council’s business.”

“All good Cognates are friends before they are coworkers,” was Alden’s response, and he smiled down at Quinlin. Quinlin, despite himself, smiled warmly in return, and found himself lost in the sea of Alden's teal eyes.

Tiergan coughed, drawing their attention back to the issue at hand. “I see,” he replied, eyebrows raised as he glanced between the two near-embracing men. “Quinlin, may I speak to you? In private?”

Quinlin turned to Alden, who nodded slightly. “Yes,” he said, “but keep it brief, since we are all in desperate need of sleep.”

Once they sat down in his office, Tiergan leaned forward over the desk table. He examined Quinlin for a silent, and rather awkward moment, before speaking. “I wondered,” he began, “why your only argument against Prentice was his involvement with the Bla – with the rebels.”

Quinlin paused, and chose his words carefully. “As far as I was – and am – aware, there was nothing else substantial to accuse him of. He was a model citizen, save for his one fault.”

Tiergan scoffed. “That it certainly one way to view him.” He was quiet for a moment, then continued, “I will say this, Quinlin, and this is not a question, rather a mere observation: you and Alden Vacker are not friends.”

“Of course we are,” Quinlin replied, confused. “We have been since we were children.”

“No, you misunderstand me,” Tiergan said. “You were once friends, but now… Quinlin, it’s as obvious as daylight that you’re in love with the man.”

He wanted more than anything to protest, to deny the accusation thrown at him. But he could not force himself to tell the same lie, even to someone who had every reason to blackmail him with this information. “If you tell a soul,” he threatened as Tiergan smirked, “I will do everything in my power to make sure that you end up right beside your friend in Exile.”

“You understand that only makes it more enticing.”

“I’ll make sure you never see or speak to Prentice ever again,” Quinlin amended, and Tiergan nodded.

After a beat of silence, Tiergan asked, “But why did you do it?”

“Haven’t we been over this?”

Tiergan shook his head. “What I mean is – well, what would you do if someone sent Alden to Exile?”

“Destroy them,” Quinlin immediately replied. “But that’s hardly the same – oh.”

“Indeed,” Tiergan said. “I had not realized you were unaware. I thought – well, never mind.”

Quinlin was quiet for a moment, unsure how much he was even allowed to reveal. “Tiergan,” he began, “I’m not sure if you truly understand why Prentice was guilty.”

Tiergan stood up straight. “What do you mean?”

Quinlin sighed, and made a note to apologize to Alden later. “You know that Prentice was associating with the rebels, yes? He was withholding information on a girl, hidden in the Forbidden Cities, and so we had no choice but to perform the break on him.”

“You had a choice,” Tiergan cut in. “But you both are cowards when it comes to the Council. You would murder if it was under their orders – I wouldn’t be surprised if you already have.”

Quinlin huffed. “You’re veering into treasonous territory, and I would like you to recall that I already have more than enough information about you to get you Exiled.”

Tiergan recoiled. “Hardly! Prentice is as good as a dead man, and even if you were to find proof that he loved me as I do him – good luck with that, by the way – it would only get me fired, at the worst.”

“You misunderstand,” Quinlin replied. “Once one starts looking into Prentice’s affairs, the affairs of his close friend are not far behind. Or rather, the suspicious lack of them.”

Tiergan narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“You’re certainly not subtle about your hatred of the Council, at least between the two of us. And you can’t expect me to believe that your ‘friend’ was such a valuable asset to a group of powerful rebels and yet you are completely innocent.” Quinlin had to give Tiergan some credit: his face stayed perfectly blank throughout the statement, no confirmation or denial present.

“Look,” he finally said, after a long silence, “I don’t like you. But I understand that what you did to Prentice… well, you certainly could have done worse. You destroyed his life, but you could have destroyed Cyrah’s and Wylie’s, too, with the things you know. You could have me Exiled right with him, and I’m sure you know that I could do the same for you.” He stepped back, and glanced around the office. “I have no reason to hurt you, Quinlin, not yet. But rest assured that if you make one wrong move…” He dragged a finger across his throat.

Quinlin stared at him. “Our business is secrets, Tiergan. We deal in them, we trade in them, we keep them close to our chest. So, yes, I may have sabotaged some of Alden’s missions for the Council, and you may have conspired with the rebels, but neither of us have any concrete evidence to prove anything.” He paused, then remembered Alden standing in his living room, likely running his hands through his dark brown hair and pacing worriedly. “And as for our other situation,” he continued, “well, I suppose we really are only hopeless, pining idiots at the end of the day.”

Tiergan scoffed. “At least yours is alive.”

“I’ve apologized for what I did to you, Tiergan, must you keep bringing it up?”

“I don’t forgive you.” Tiergan swiftly turned and walked out of the door, eyes burning with fury. Just before he could slam it shut again, however, he turned to Quinlin. “By the way,” he said, “I wasn’t lying to you, earlier. I came here for Livvy, not for you.” He paused once more before adding, “But I am glad we spoke. It was certainly… eye-opening.”

And with that, he was gone.