#the Shadow Broker has many eyes

[felassan]

Just saw that a Dragon Age Cook Book is set to release end of next year and wanted to share that, haven’t read about it anywhere yet- maybe it wasn’t announced? The new releases sure are increasing 👀 Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook Publisher: Insight Editions (December 31, 2023), Length: 176 pages, ISBN13: 9798886630060 source. Simon and Schuster

hello! OOH, great find!! tysm for stopping by to share it, it's much appreciated. and they sure are 👀 let's take a look!!

The Official Dragon Age Cookbook

List Price $34.99, release date December 31, 2023

Travel to the far culinary corners of Thedas inside the thrilling Dragon Age universe with the only officially licensed Dragon Age cookbook! Featuring over 60 recipes that are accessible at any skill level, this cookbook is the perfect way to bring the culinary traditions of Thedas into your kitchen.

Take a culinary journey through the rich and diverse landscape of Dragon Age, where you can prepare and enjoy delicious and accessible recipes that bring iconic locales and fan-favorite characters to life. This officially licensed cookbook features over 60 recipes for every occasion, whether you’re dining with friends at the Hanged Man, stopping for sustenance on the road with the Grey Wardens, or planning an elaborate banquet in the Orlesian Empire.

Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook includes step-by-step instructions and beautiful full-color photography that will transport you from the Anderfels to Ferelden and back again. Prepare recipes inspired by beloved companions such as Fenris, Cassandra, and Morrigan, and set your table with canonical cuisine found throughout the games! As diverse and flavorful as the continent of Thedas itself, this cookbook is an essential addition to every fan’s bookshelf and kitchen.

60+ RECIPES FOR EVERY OCCASION: From enticing, easy-to-make appetizers to hearty spreads that could feed the entire Inquisition, you’ll have incredible recipes to share with companions and celebrate any victory.

EXPERIENCE DRAGON AGE LIKE NEVER BEFORE: Relive favorite characters, quests, locations, and scenes from the Dragon Age franchise, brought to life through enticing food and drinks tied to the franchise’s sprawling and diverse world.

AN IMMERSIVE FANTASY EXPERIENCE MADE REAL: Full-color photography and flavorful lore will bring the Dragon Age world into your home and help ensure success in the kitchen.

THE PERFECT GIFT FOR FANS: Created in partnership with BioWare, this treasure trove of Dragon Age lore and recipes is a must-have collectible for die-hard fans and newcomers alike.

omgggg

[source]

[sky-kiss]

Hi love!

Okay so we all know I love your writing, especially for Raphael.

How about a scenario where Tav is in mortal peril and Korilla is NOT around/able to bail them out. Raphael has to do it himself. Well, he doesn't "have" to, but he will.

_________

A/N: MY QUEEN. I will do my best. Think this is the first time I've done a Tav who is DOWN BAD (in more ways than one).

_________

Korilla never failed him. 

It made it all the more shocking when the dwarf appeared at his side, stinking of sweat and brimstone. Her robe, ever flattering, was torn at the shoulder, and the slightly sweet, slightly sick, stink of burnt flesh filled the Devil’s Den. He reached out a hand on instinct, stabilizing her swaying form. The deal he’d been brokering fell by the wayside. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, all too familiar. His carefully laid plans might come apart at the seams. He felt invisible hands pulling at his stitches. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Korilla shook her head. “Your project…your mouse.” She winced. “Got in over her pretty head.” His warlock squeezed his wrist, “Raphael, I couldn’t…” She’d failed to protect his asset. “I kept them off her, but…”

The weight, curling, twisting; fate was determined to spite him again. And beneath that, more insidious, a second thought. Rage. Something had dared to touch her; something had maimed his pet. 

The cambion bowed to his guests, lips pursed. “My associate here, lovely as she is, shall have to entertain you for a moment. Beg pardon, my dears.” 

Raphael snapped his fingers. 

_________

Pain blossomed through her side. Tav staggered back a step, bringing her weapon up to intercept the blow. The blade doesn’t break the skin; she managed to stop that much. The impact…she’s less fortunate. Her muscles screamed, something tearing in her shoulder. 

She’d been stupid. Stupid and shortsighted…

All she’d wanted was a moment's peace. Tav had slipped from the party’s shared room at the Elfsong, determined to watch the sunset in silence. As dearly as she loved her friends, they could be loud and opinionated. After months on the road, with no privacy or distance, she figured she’d earned that much. 

Bhaal’s cultists were waiting. If it’d only been a handful, she could have handled herself. It’d been more, so many more. An inane thought chased through her head as she danced out of the way of another strike: how many changelings were left in Baldur’s Gate? How many Bhaal cultists did Orin have? It seemed excessive. 

Dozens. There were dozens of the damned creatures. For every cultist she killed, another three seemed to arise, like some hellish parody of the hydra. Tav was tired. One of them moved behind her, knife flashing in the dying light. Fresh pain as the blade tore through the muscles in her calf. She screamed. No, no, no, she had to keep moving. They couldn’t hobble her; she couldn’t…

“How dare you.” 

She barely recognized the voice. She was aware of his heat before anything else; the cambion appeared beside her in a wash of flame, catching her attacker by the throat. Panic flashed across the changeling’s face, the briefest hint of emotion before Raphael’s claws tightened their hold. A warm spray of blood coated her face as he tore its throat free, leaving it choking through the ruin of flesh. 

“Insolent creatures! You would touch what is mine?”

They tripped back, almost as one. Tav stared up at her savior, confused, vision swimming. The cambion, red, so red, fire and blood, his right-wing curled around her shoulders. Cherries and sulfur fill her nostrils, too sweet for the night air. Too soft in the face of his fury. Raphael snapped his fingers, and the air around them seemingly combusted. Hellfire consumed her would-be killers. Tendrils of shadow and flame consumed every ounce of flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a black mark on the streets. 

She blinked, staring up at him. Raphael’s eyes continued to blaze, his jaw set. He dusted a nonexistent speck of dust from his sleeve, lips curling in a sneer. “Strange, I expected the god of murder to employ hardier thralls.” 

Tav swallowed. Her throat burned. “Stealthy.” 

“Hmm?” 

She tried again, struggling to her feet. Raphael caught her elbow. Tav tried to ignore the press of his claws, itching, so full of potential, and the heat of his skin. It had to be the blood loss. His eyes glowed in the half-light. “Orin isn’t looking for hardy. They just need to be quick enough, quiet enough, to catch their victims off guard.” She frowned. “Tonight, they were.” 

“Yes.” The lowness of his voice chased along her nerves like a caress. “Are you bold or stupid, pet? The city wants you dead, and here you are.” He motioned to the darkness surrounding them, the alley nearly bereft of light. "A little mouse, alone in the dark."

She scoffed. “I needed…I wanted a moment to myself. Is that too much to ask?” His gaze flicked to the scorched flagstones, brow arched. Tav shook her head. “Regardless, thank you. It…” she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Thank you. For saving me.” 

“I sold myself as such, did I not? A friend and savior?” 

Tav smiled. “Truth be told, I didn’t believe you.” 

“And you’re more clever for it, sweetling.” 

Color flared in her cheeks. He was too close for this. Too close, too sweet-smelling, too handsome, and too much. The air in her lungs felt overheated and stagnant by comparison. The blood loss, undoubtedly. Tav chewed her lower lip. “Did you…Raphael, before the…did you call me yours?”  

His eyes narrowed. “Careful, pet.” It’s an answer in itself. Raphael extended his free hand to her. “Come. The devil shall return his erstwhile heroine to her companions.”

“I can make it back on my own.”

The severity of his expression left no room for argument. “No, you’ve lost the benefit of the doubt. I shall leave you safely in your bed. Not before.” 

She hated the flare of heat in her belly. Raphael's hand settled at the small of her back, wings curling more closely as he whispered the incantation to return them to her room. Weak as it may be, she wrapped her arms around him. 

The devil said nothing. But he bent, pressed nearer. Solid and strong, smelling of cherries and fire. Some part of her wondered what he would do if she kissed him.

Tav was saved from any potential embarrassment. Raphael left her at her bedside, bowing, smirking as if he’d followed the line of her thoughts. The damned creature took her left hand and kissed her knuckles. 

And then he was gone in a swirl of fire and ash. 

[mothiir]

eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 3, Omega DLC:

-This DLC is fairly meh for me. It has many interesting concepts, but it primarily plays out as a long extended corridor shooter. That gets old fast.

That’s disappointing as Omega in ME2 adds a lot of flavor and lore to the Mass Effect universe. I would have loved to have seen more of that in the DLC.

Instead, you mostly just shoot your way through environments that are slightly different than the main game. There’s barely any additional world building.

-The excuse to have Shepard leave their squad mates behind is weak.

Aria has objections to them? Really? Aria, the queen of Omega has objections to what – a couple of Alliance soldiers, a turian ex-vigilante, an AI, the Shadow Broker (everyone else knows, I’m sure Aria does), and possibly a quarian Admiral?

Given the forces she’s up against, she should be insisting that they all tag along.

-I think one of the reasons Aria insisted Shepard come with her was for the psychological factor. It’d be a huge boost to the morale of the Omega people to know that Shepard had come to free them.

However, it’s hard to say for sure because after showing off Shepard to Petrovsky that angle is dropped. You’d think Aria would make a bigger deal of mentioning Shepard, say, in her speech to the Omega people about half way through the game.

-I do love how Aria is dead set on taking the station back or die trying. Her initial plan was to crash into it!

-Look, the upgraded defenses suck now but you’ll appreciate them once they’re yours.

-Why does Batarian State Arms have a shop on Omega? Given it’s a lawless station in the Terminus Systems, seems an odd location for a branch.

-Shepard asking about the rendezvous point and Aria answering is one of the most difficult parts of the DLC to swallow. Both are incredibly stupid. They must have known it was possible they were under surveillance.

If Aria had just kept quiet, a good chunk of the fighting could have been avoided.

-The game just throws medi-gel at you during this entire DLC. I gained multiple levels, and I credit at least one or two of those to the medi-gel alone.

-And here we see Cerberus’ human supremacist beliefs in full color. Nonhumans must be supervised, armed nonhumans will be shot on sight… Lovely.

The game keeps insisting Petrovsky has a code and is honorable, but I’m not seeing too many redeeming factors.

-Ugh. I’m not a fan of the female turian design. Why are their eyes shaped differently? Why is there skin around their eyes? Why doesn’t their crest cover their head? The crest serves a functional purpose on turians. It protects them them from the sun. It should be the same on males and females. The eyes are sunk into the crest to protect them.

For my sanity I assume this is a result of turians being dispersed across colony worlds for so long and crests can vary greatly across males and females.

As for the eyes… Ugh.

I suppose I should be grateful that the Bioware didn’t give them breasts. Bare minimum.

-That said, I do love Nyreen herself. She’s a fantastic character and it’s a shame she does not survive the DLC.

-Aria and Nyreen must have been very, very close for Aria to show her so many of her secrets.

Perhaps since Nyreen “oozes virtue” Aria felt she could be trusted with them.

-And Nyreen stayed behind even after they broke up, and managed to slip under Aria’s radar. Very impressive.

-I love the injured Talons. They remind me a lot of cats with the way they curl in on themselves.

For giant clawed birds they’re surprisingly cute.

-What’s up with the face paint on so many of the turian Talons?

Turian face paint is supposed to colony markings. However, many have paint that looks similar to the Talons symbol.

I suppose it’s possible that some take on gang markings to symbolize that they’ve abandoned loyalty to their world and belong to their gang now.

Very odd thing for Nyreen to do, however. And you’d think if her paint had changed that Aria would remark on it.

-The Talons include humans as well. Good. Hopefully in the future Omega will remember that not all humans were with Cerberus.

-I quite like the gun salute Talons do to Nyreen. Is that the only time the game features it?

-Aria’s midgame speech is okay. Not great, not awful.

Kirrahe’s hold the line speech was better.

-Aria’s a cynic, but she seems to want to believe in a better world. Why else would she have grown so close to Nyreen?

And while she bitches, she listens to a paragon Shepard.

-Nyreen says that when her biotics manifested she was practically locked away.

I’d love to know more about turian biotics. The game mentions that they’re isolated from other turians; I bet they have a very interesting subculture.

Such subcultures are often insular. How well do late developing biotics integrate into it? Is that one of the reasons Nyreen became so frustrated?

-Aria says the war will start when the force field comes down. Nyreen says the war started months ago.

Well, that’s probably the closes ME3 will ever come to giving us a time frame. The war takes at least a few months.

-Aria’s willing to sacrifice multiple wards to bring the force fields down. Not surprising, but disappointing.

Petrovsky attempts to use this to persuade me that Aria shouldn’t be in charge, but given the whole “human supremacy” agenda he has he can go fuck himself.

At least Aria’s equally shitty to everyone.

-I hate disabling the bombs. Easily the hardest part of the DLC.

And given my game crashed on the first attempt, it apparently agrees.

-Aaand we learn that Cerberus has been converting people into adjutants with control implants so they can create an army of them. Because of course they have. Cerberus loves trying to control monsters.

Petrovsky has a code, my ass.

-And what is with adjutants being able to convert any being into another adjutant via a virus?

The game just glosses over this, but that sounds very important.

It’s definitely Reaper adjacent, at least. It reminds me of the virus the Collectors spread on Omega.

-There’s a turian labeled as a “civilian” in full armor.

Did the team that created the Omega DLC just not have access to the casual wear assets for turians?

-The mad prophet is a nice call back.

I’d have loved to have seen the Patriarch, too. He should have been leading his own resistance cell.

-Nyreen dying is a damn shame. Excellently done, but I’d have preferred if she lived. She provided a nice balance to Aria.

-In the final battle, the Afterlife doors opened at some point. I charged through them to kill the enemy and the doors closed behind me. Couldn’t reopen them.

Bizarre bug I’ve never heard of before.

Game didn’t even crash. I had to reload my last save.

-If Petrovsky weren’t such a smug bastard, I’d let him live.

As it is, bastard’s dead.

You shouldn’t experiment on people.

-Aria’s ending speech is much better than the mid game speech.

Especially the last line – “We are Omega”.

Very good contrast to her ME2 line “I am Omega”.

[oonajaeadira]

LOSING MY RELIGION: CHAPTER 13: THE EXCHANGE

Rating: Mature for series, lighter for this chapter.

Pairing: Post Season 2 Din Djarin x force sensitive reader (fem, post-Order 66 Jedi). Soft, slow burn on both sides, internal struggles and feels. Alternating POV.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, culture shock/differences, Din pushing authority a bit, jealousy, and a whole lot of private feelings burning hot in a public place. A/N: If you’re still reading, thank you so much for your patience. I had to do a little soul searching and make the decision to let Din and Little Bird follow the path that the story calls for. It took me a while to let canon go, but this chapter hit me very unexpectedly. There are beats in this story that weren’t there when I first mapped it out and surprised the hell out of me when I realized where it was leading. The road ahead is a little twisty for Din and LB, but the story always goes where it needs to, when it needs to.

Senaar’ika = Little bird.

There’s more Mando’a spoken, but the translation is eventually given in the storytelling.

Summary: You and Din broker a very important exchange.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up at my MASTERLIST

←-Previous Chapter 12: The Camp

________________

PART 1: DIN DJARIN

Your helmet stands out among the others down below and Din tracks your path through the Tusken camp from his perch on an outcropping of a cliff face above. You’re not going to like this, but it’s the best solution he’s got.

“We’re on a mission here to acquire some resources and take someone into custody,” he explains to his comrade. “The negotiations aren’t something I can hurry along. How much time can you give us.”

Fennec sits with one knee popped up and stares into the distance out over the dunes, her eyes squinting more in calculation than from the bright suns on the sand. She’s a warrior he’s come to respect–a renegade turned team-player--even beyond her capabilities that could land her easily among the best of Mandalorian soldiers and make her a queen among bounty hunters, she’s evolved beyond her need for the Empire. Her ready repayment for a life saved, her loyalty to Boba Fett–and, by extension, himself–is noble in a way he can truly admire. “I can hail at first light tomorrow.”

“The whole day? That’s generous.”

With a half chuckle, the ex-assassin absently tosses away a stone she’s been rolling between her fingers, letting it clack over the clifftop. “What can I say? One of my many qualities.”

Even as his mind works, Din’s absent focus stays on you in the shadow of the rock face, sitting with the child he assumes is the force-sensitive. For some reason, he thought the child would be smaller, but he looks to be halfway to adulthood by his height. Definitely not gonna fit on the speeder with both of you. “The mechanic. Peli Motto. She’s unharmed?”

“Fine for now. They’re keeping her under lockdown but they’re not torturing her.”

“Good,” he huffs with a sardonic laugh. If Peli has guards set on her, then they’re the ones who are probably begging for release right about now. Tapping a few buttons on his vambrace and checking his nav for coordinates and distances, he calculates the time it will take to pack up, get to the drop off, and arrive at the Palace. Of course there will be a pit stop to refuel the speeder, get in a midday meal, exchange pleasantries, ask for favors….

“This would be a whole lot easier if she’d come out to us.”

“Wouldn’t it though. No dice, Mando. Boss hailed back–Bo won’t open herself up to attack. Insists on meeting at the Palace.” Her black eyes glitter behind the open slice of her helmet. “If you want to get in some target practice, we could stash your partner and the quarry somewhere in town and take down the garrison, grab the ship and go. Avoid her completely. Could be fun.”

“It’s only dragging this scenario out. She’s not going to let this go. She’ll just follow us somewhere else; somewhere I don’t have options.”

“I suppose the boss wouldn’t like me disobeying an order either. Ah well,” she sighs back onto her elbows, “buys your friend a little vacation, hm?”

Dank farrik. You’re not going to like this.

To be honest, he doesn’t either.

“You didn’t catch the name of her companion? And it’s not Koska?”

Laying back onto the sun-warmed rock and closing her eyes as her head lands in the cradle of her hands, Fennec hums in thought. “No, it sounds like Koska might be leading the garrison at the docking bay. The Mando that came with Bo Katan definitely isn’t her.”

“Hmm. First light then. I appreciate your help.”

Stretching out like a cat, content to take in the morning suns after a cold evening in the desert, Fennec has nowhere to go and nothing to do as long as Din isn’t following her back to the Palace. “Patience is a virtue. Bo Katan can use the lesson.”

________________

PART 2: YOU

“That’s good, Uli-ah. Now can you do both stones at once? Try to swap their positions.”

Taking refuge in the shadows by the cliff face and sitting in the sand across from the Tusken foundling, you watch as two pieces of desert shale lift from their positions by the boy’s knees, come together in the air and bump only a little awkwardly before passing at nose level. One of them drops and breaks while the other makes its way to its new spot.

It’s hard.

“Yes, it is, and you almost did it. That’s actually very very good. You must practice often.”

No. I’m not allowed. It frightens the mothers. I make things dance for the other kids sometimes if the mothers can’t see.

“You keep bringing up ‘the mothers.’ Is one of them yours?”

They all are.

“The children are raised by the clan.”

Drawing his knees up and under his chin, Uli-ah hugs himself in tight, burying his face, becoming a little desert-colored ball. It’s not that he goes silent as much as he shows you ideas, images, emotions, everything you need to understand that he is not assigned to one family like the other children are. Uli-ah does not answer to one set of parents or any one mother or father in particular. He is protected by everyone but advocated for by nobody. He learns as part of a group, but is never given wisdom as passed down from parent to child.

He is alone in a crowd.

It’s a wonder that the child hasn’t grown to be dispondend or wild, surprising that he’s quiet and respectful. But it isn’t that he’s neglected or uncared for. Din’s words from the night before begin to stir. The Tuskens aren’t like Mandalorians. He’ll never be paired and never asked to join the fire. He will never truly be one of them.

“How old are you, Uli-ah? How long have you lived among the clan?”

He doesn’t lift his head, his fingers only dig into the cloth of his leg coverings.

Five years I think. There have been five water cycles.

Only five? This tall, gangly, capable child? The answer slams into you and before you can control your surprise it rebounds on him, his hands balling up in fists as yet another adult finds him strange and unusual.

“Hey, hey, hey, friend,” reaching over to his shaking shoulder and laying a warm hand upon it, “it’s okay. That’s a good answer. You’ve learned so much in your young life, I’m only surprised you’re not a little older. You’re very smart and talented for your age.”

The touch, your tone, your praise causes him to bring his head slowly up, his helmet shielding his expression, but his sinking shoulders telling you all you need to know.

“I know some other younglings like you, with abilities like yours. They go to a school for people like us. I could take you to them if that’s what you’d like. But you’d have to leave your home behind. Everything will be new. It’s a long way from here.”

I don’t know what a school is.

“It’s a place where you learn. A training place where someone teaches you how to master your skills. Would you like that?”

Stillness. You can sense a little turmoil, all his thoughts tumbling around without a good tried-and-true way to organize them. This is why the Jedi used to take them as babies; it’s a lot to ask any child. Too young in their development and they’re bonded to their family. Old enough to make the decision and it may be too late to hone their abilities. Five though. Five is so young for such a big decision.

I...would like that. Except….

Uli-ah’s helmet spans slowly, taking in the camp, the sands, the wavering heat at the horizon…

Is it…hotter there? It’s so hot here. Sometimes I can’t breathe.

Is that what he’s worried about? “It’s warm there, but there’s water. Green things. Trees. I suppose you’ve never seen trees. They’re hard to explain–”

I remember trees.

Something about this violently shifts your heart. To be so young and still have fleeting memories of a different place, perhaps a home he once knew….and you find yourself putting your arms around the young force-sensitive, taking no offense to the fact that he does not have any experience of how to embrace you back. ________________

“Well? What did you find out, Captain?”

The midday Tusken meal is taken in the privacy of their tents and that means bringing two bowls of black melon gruel back to your campsite. Din’s made a makeshift lean-to out of your blankets and the speeder–a place to have a little shelter from the high suns and to remove your helmets for the meal–and you hand the bowls off under a flap so that you can crouch and crawl through to the snug space, taking a seat knee to knee with him in the cooler patch of shaded desert.

The surprise is that his helmet already rests in the sand by his hip. His jaw is set, his eye determined. He holds the bowls patiently, waiting as you remove your own bucket.

Something tells you you’re not going to like what he has to say.

“Bo Katan Kryze is here on Tatooine. She’s holed up in the local tradelord’s palace with some of her followers and she has others posted at our docking bay with the Crest in custody.”

“Peli–” you start, but he shakes his head, handing your bowl over.

“She’s okay. They’re just not letting her leave the terminal.”

Suddenly, you couldn’t be less hungry. “Why is Kryze here? For you?”

“Mmyeah,” he says, smacking his lips and squinting after a sip of the bitter broth. “Technically, she’s probably here for the Darksaber. Been tracking us for a while.”

“I thought you told her you weren’t going to fight her.”

“I’m not. But I have to go. She’s causing trouble until I get there. I’m not going to inconvenience my friends over this. I’ve got to go and deal with it.”

There a quick spike of bitterness in your gut from something other than the melon gruel. But you don’t need to feel anything from him to sense his irritation as a valley forms between his eyebrows and he downs more of the broth.

Joining him in your silent meal, watching him as he keeps his eyes on the bowl, you know him too well. There’s something he’s not telling you; it’s best to just keep sipping until he gains the courage. It takes longer than you expect and it’s not until he puts down the empty bowl that he meets your eyes. “You’re not coming with me.”

“What? You’re just going to leave me here? Din, the Darksaber–”

“No,” is what he says, but what he means is Quiet. Let me speak. “The kid you’re talking to. Tell me what’s happening there first.”

Damn. You can sense your Mandalorian is begging you with his whole being to cooperate, and the last thing you want is a fight. “You’re right. He’ll never be one of them. They’ve adopted him into their numbers but not into a family. He’s got an astounding amount of ability and talent for his age...and that’s another thing. He says he’s only five.”

“What?” Shock washes over him in a mirror of your own. “Huh. So. Not human then.”

“No. Being so tall, I thought maybe Kaminoan, but too many fingers. Maybe Weequay. Possibly Wookiee, but I can’t imagine living under all that covering and fur besides. Although he did say it was too hot here…” Stay on topic. “He’s open to going to Luke’s school.”

He sighs. His eyes close and squeeze. The news is expected, but not favored.

“That means we’re back on the clock,” he grumbles as he locks his gaze to yours again. “So it’s my job to make sure you’re both safe. I’m not leaving you here with the Tuskens and I’m not bringing the kid into a palace crawling with power hungry Mandalorians. We’re taking a detour to a mining settlement. I have a friend there. Maybe he can give you two a place to stay for a night or more.”

“Din, why–”

“Speeder won’t carry us all, so Fennec’s gonna help us out. We head out at first light. I’ve already spoken to the elders about that pearl–”

“Wait. You need me with you. That saber–”

“Senaar’ika.” Din doesn’t speak Mando’a often. His whisper stills your tongue. “I’ve spoken to the elders about the pearl. They have an imperfect one they’re prepared to trade if you’re willing to build a saber for them.” When you blink incredulously he explains, “I showed them the Darksaber and what it can do. They can use it for cutting. For defense. It makes glass from the sand and lights fires. It would be a valuable tool for them. I know…” he swallows, “I know it’s an insult to your order. To make a lightsaber for…base reasons…”

It’s risky, putting such a powerful weapon in the hands of those not trained to use it. They could badly harm someone. Or wield it to embolden an attack on innocents. But perhaps you could temper it, shorten the blade, make sure it can’t be used to cause too much harm….

“I’ll do it.” It’s a rough trade, but it will do. And you’re glad to see that he nods, relieved, quick to take up your offer. “Depending on the size of the pearl, a shard of it could power many lightsabers. And I’m happy to make something that’s useful to them.”

“Good. Then while you’re doing that, I’ll negotiate for the child.” He holds up a hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I know. But the women of this clan don’t have final say and you’re not allowed to talk with the men. Trust me. I know what they need to hear.”

If the burn in your cheeks didn’t signal frustration as he takes the lead away from you, then your frown most certainly does. But he’s right. He’s right about everything. Except…

“I don’t want you to leave me behind in the mining settlement. I know you can wield that saber, Din, but my being with you will boost your power with it. It feeds so highly on your emotions. Having someone you love nearby can only help…”

“I understand,” he says, softly. He’s already replacing his helmet, readying himself to go retrieve the pearl so you can get to work. “But you don’t have to be standing next to me to be the one thing I can’t stop thinking about, Little Bird.”

And he slips out of the makeshift shelter, leaving you with cold broth and a pounding heart. ________________

The pearl is about the size of Din’s fist, definitely from a young krayt, and it takes you a little time to figure out how to fracture it without wasting any. Your own lightsaber is up to the task to hew a sliver of it away and you’re able to ascertain that even this small portion holds enough force energy to power a short blade. It will be more unstable than your own kyber, but less mercurial than the Darksaber; a fine beginner’s blade if not a tad loud.

The new utility saber is a good tool, sturdy, powerful. You’re adjusting the final resonance when Din rounds the speeder bike. He’s been gone a good part of the day and the suns sit on his shoulders, winking off his armor, causing you to squint up at him even through your visor to ask, “Well? How’d it go?”

Settling into one hip, his hands come up to rest on his belt and he juts the chin of his helmet at the weapon in your hand. “You got enough to make another one?”

“That’s their offer?”

“That’s their offer.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh as you lock in the final calibrations, your neck and shoulders aching from working half the afternoon on a blanket in the baking sands. “Yeah. More than enough parts. Time though, that’s another issue. I just,” one last twist of the mico-spanner, a click as the final panel fits into place, you toss the finished hilt to him, “I can’t believe that a little boy is worth the same amount to them as a dragon’s gut rock.”

Din catches the piece, ignites the blade, turns it, twists it through the air to hear its low feral howling, then hits the power switch, dimming its vibrating emerald light. “Well, not even as much. Pearl cost us one of these and the rest of our water.” When you make a face he adds, “We should be fine until we reach Mos Pelgo. We can get more there.”

“The water’s not the detail I’m unhappy about.”

Taking a quiet assessment of the mess in front of you–the scattered scrap metal and bits of pearl, the wires and tools and sand, always so much sand–the realization that you’ll have to start all over again and work into the evening is suddenly exhausting.

Even if he's not a force-user, you can see that Din picks up on this and you close your eyes as he moves around and takes a seat on the blanket behind you. After removing your pauldrons, his gloved fingers work into your shoulders and neck, deliciously limbering you, stretching out all the constriction, smoothing down all the coils. Even if it is more military restoration than it is gentle relaxation, it’s what he knows, his way of giving care.

A water bladder lands in your lap. “You haven’t been drinking.”

He’s right. And you take a long draw as his hands pull and prod your muscles, untangling the mess you’ve made of them, letting him heal you and do his bit to protect you from as much hurt as he can.

It isn’t the touch you truly long for–his gloves and your flight suit keep his fingertips from gliding over your skin, your helmets prevent his lips from kissing the back of your neck, beskar and leather cover the chest you so badly would like to sink back into. The way he has twisted your fingers in his own, or dragged his nose behind your ear, or leveraged your thigh with one of his own… It seems a sin that you are being given the gift of his touch and his care and yet, greedy and selfish, you would wish for more.

But perhaps you’re not the only selfish one here. His hands finally flatten out, firm kneading becomes gentle soothing, palms eventually sliding down to cradle your elbows as the ting of his helmet meets the back of your own, and you feel the broad frame behind you slowly fill with air and expel it in a fashion that, had it carried sound, may have been a soft whine.

How gracefully your hearts dance together. How far you’ve both traveled to meet here in this place.

“You should take a break; get up and move around.” Flaying himself from you, Din stands and holds out a gentle hand, beckoning. “Come on. I’d like to meet the kid.”

________________

Uli-ah works with a few of the other children, almost completely swallowed in bantha fur as they hold up one of the beast’s feet while a herder inspects it. Once that foot has been deemed healthy, the children race to the next foot, jostling and braying laughter as they vie for space to help pick up the next paw while the bantha merely shifts its weight and chews its cud.

Din sits by your side in the hot sand, waiting quietly while the children and the herder finish their task, and then Uli-ah runs your way, ending in a skid on his knees as he comes to a stop almost in your lap.

The elders say I’m going away with you.

“That’s right. We will be leaving at first light tomorrow. Are you ready for an adventure?”

The child bounces on his knees, braying his own kind of laughter, not quite Tusken, but certainly not human.

“I guess that’s a yes,” you laugh, then point to Din. “This is our Captain. He’ll be with us. He flies the ship and protects us.”

The bouncing stops then, and Uli-ah makes a half move, as if he’s going to hide from the Mandalorian behind you, except that Din’s hands cut through the air as he speaks.

“I’ll make sure. You’re safe.”

There’s a slow, renewed interest from Uli-ah as he realizes that he can communicate with this stranger and he raises his own hands into gesture.

You can speak with your hands.

Din chuckles, signs back. “Yes. I’ve talked with your people. For a long time.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes over the boy, some kind of calm knowledge that “his people” are changing, that you and Din will be his people soon.

Then his hands clap and flutter excitedly–

I’m going to go to school!!!!

–before he tosses himself backward onto the sand in a moment of youthful glee.

You don’t know what lifts your heart more, this display of joy, or the sound of Din’s quiet laughter–light and welcoming and calm–coming through the comm.

In the morning every mother in the clan will touch the child’s head as they pass by him in a line. All the men will gather in a group and shout a message of farewell before turning back to their herd. But on the back of the speeder, it is you that Uli-ah will hold tightly. And even before that, it is Din who will help him get situated on the seat, check him over to make sure he’s secure, pat him kindly on the back, and tell him there’s nothing to fear.

Your Mandalorian’s come to understand that there are some who can see through the beskar to the good man underneath. And you can see he’s starting to believe it himself.

Some beliefs, it seems, can take a long time to crack. But belief can also nourish a man in the desert and show a warrior that his milder moments can house another form of strength.

Ahsoka really did choose well for you. And the Darksaber chose well for itself.

________________

It’s taking all of your concentration to keep the speeder bike at a steady velocity as you whip through the canyon. What you wouldn’t do for a cup of caf.

The second saber build had gone smoother than the first since you had duplicates of many of the same pieces and were able to put something together more easily, but you’d still worked past twilight and then there was packing up the speeder and joining the group for evening meal….

After that, you’d lain awake, curled into Din, listening to his shallow breathing, trying to come up with a valid argument for going with him, each excuse a play more desperate than the one before it. You actually entertained the thought of removing the kyber from the Darksaber while he slept--your most clever plan yet. Except for the fact that the weapon was entirely sealed and getting into it would cause more damage than your honor would let you make.

He’s the Mand’alor. The High Leader. Whether he likes it or not, if he won’t fight or let anyone best him, then he must take up the mantle. If the Mandalorians are gathering, he can’t fail to steer their ship. There’s so much he has to learn about the weapon. Also so much he has to learn about asking for assistance. You think there has to be someone who can tell him this, make him understand how much his level head and moral compass and loyalty to his people are needed. Someone who can teach him to wield the instrument of his leadership….

But your hour of denial is over. Because there is someone.

It’s you.

But who are you to him? You are not his advisor. Not a member of his sect. Not even his…for lack of a better word…queen….

“Used the wrong word. Called you my queen instead of woman. I tried to correct myself and they asked me who you ruled over.”

“Ah. And you said, ‘just me.’”

“Yep.’”

“What did I say about burning out the repulsors, Little Bird?” Din’s voice cuts through your thoughts into your earpiece, bringing your focus back to the task at hand, and you ease off on the throttle so Fennec’s speeder can catch up to yours.

From the moment the suns broke the horizon, Uli-ah has been attached to you–literally refusing to loosen his clutch of your flight suit–the realization sinking in that he’s leaving behind everything he’s ever known and keeping close to the best constant he has. So it only made sense that he’d ride with you, and Din would pair with Fennec.

She’s an intimidating one, Fennec Shand. Din mentioned that she’d been an assassin for hire in the Imperial days, that he’s never known anyone who can beat her skill or match her tenacity. And you believe him; she has eyes like a lothcat and a body like a loaded pulse rifle, always watching, seemingly always ready to strike. But there’s a sparkle to her too, an allure that draws you in like bait for the snare.

He’s known her longer than you. The bond between them is strong. A bond between friends, between warriors. You can sense his high regard for her. He’s holding onto her waist so nonchalantly…

Well this is a new feeling. You shake it off and find a constructive distraction.

“How are you doing back there, padawan?”

This is fun! It goes so fast! What’s a padawan?

“It’s an old word. It means you are in training to be a master of the powers you have. The old word for those powers was ‘force,’ and they called the masters Jedi.”

You are Jedi?

“Well. Something like that.” Leaning the speeder around a curve in the canyon, you similarly bend the subject. “You’re going to join other kids like you. I can’t wait for you to meet Shiari and Grogu. They’re gonna be so happy to have a new friend.”

It would be easy to miss it over the whine of the speeder bike–a soft sigh. You keep forgetting that the comm is open. And any mention of Grogu is always bittersweet for Din.

He misses the little one so much. It’s evident that he’s happy that Grogu’s safe and learning, that he’s where things are best for him. But it still twists your heart. Din went from being alone to being a father at hyper warp–taking to it like a Gungan to water–and something about that makes you smile.

Grogu’s ability to charm the mighty warrior. Din’s sleeping heart opening for him, blooming like a hundred-year codaflower in Grogu’s warm spring. Except for the danger of his lifestyle, Din makes a good father. Any kid would be lucky to have him. Even beyond your feelings for him, his devotion makes it an honor to be serving the mission with him.

“Little Bird.”

Oops. “Sorry. Just wanna get there, I guess,” your excuse is accompanied  by the return to a manageable speed. Again.

“We’ll be hitting Mos Pelgo soon. Don’t tear up the town on your way in.”

“Telling me what not to do only tests my willful streak, Your Highness.”

“I’m aware.” There’s a low warning in his voice, but also a smirk. “I’m willing to make it an order if that’s the motivation you need.”

Slowly swiveling your visor in his direction, you watch as he does the same to you. A playful tease.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

And without turning away, you punch the throttle, defiantly taking the lead, Uli-ah roaring in excitement behind you even as he holds on for dear life. ________________

Mos Pelgo is a quiet settlement, barely big enough to be called anything other than an outpost. Moisture farms flicker in and out of the distance through the waves of heat in a constellation surrounding a one-street center, a short line of earthen structures topped in domes and rods, connected by a boardwalk lifted off the dusty path. The few dust-coated people out and about stop and stare as you coast by, involuntarily shrinking back away from the path. Not that you can blame them. They seem peaceful and it’s not surprising that they might be startled by a band of armored strangers coming in, a Tusken in their mix. Din mentioned that the townsfolk might be wary of Tuskens, but assured that his friend Cobb would vouch for the kid.

What he didn’t tell you is that once they saw his armor, they would lift their hands in a friendly wave. It seems they know him here.

Pulling up outside a cantina, the four of you peel yourselves from your seats with varying degrees of stretching and sighing, your spine aching to be upright and your feet thankful for a chance to be on solid ground. Din and Fennec head up the stairs and you start to follow, but there’s a tug at your elbow.

Is this the school?

“Not yet. We have to travel a long long way, but the Captain has to do a job first and he can’t protect us for the next couple of days. We’re going to stay here with a friend where it’s safe.”

If a Tusken mask can look baleful, Uli-ah achieves it with a long, slow look up and down the settlement path.

“Hey. I promised you a school and you’re going to get one. We might not get there for a while, but you’ll be with me the whole way and guess what.”

You’ll teach me?

“You bet I will. I told you you were smart. You wanna go inside and see if our new friend is there?”

Yes.

Steps are a new concept and Uli-ah takes a cautious step up, and up again, bringing one foot up to meet the other before continuing onto the next. At the top, he considers the short flight of two whole stairs, then steps back down and down. Then he takes the steps one at a time, up and down. Once he runs up a third time you catch him around the shoulders before he can give it another go and give him a playful jostle, guiding him inside as he squeezes his fists in victorious joy.

After the glare of the desert, it’s comparatively dark in the cantina, so you instinctively pull off your helmet.

This is your first mistake.

And sets off a chain of events.

Uli-ah, not accustomed to your helmetless face, stops behind you in the entryway.

Mother, you’re–

He shrieks.

It’s unsafe, mother!

Before you can course correct–calm him or apologize for shifting culture so quickly or even take the time to correct his default of name for you–the Weequay behind the counter reacts fiercely to the the child, pointing and shouting–

“Out! We don’t want trouble here! We have a pact! Out!”

“No, wait–” Din turns sharply to the barkeep, but the damage has been done and the child bolts awkwardly from the cantina out into the light, smashing his shoulder against the port frame as he goes and wailing his way down the boardwalk.

You make a quick gesture to Din as you follow–it’s okay, I’ll get him–and leave your Mandalorian to locating his friend.

By the time you get eyes on him, Uli-ah’s a couple of buildings away–poor boy must be so confused right now–when a tall, old man steps out from one of them, seemingly summoned by the commotion, and the two collide, the boy falling off the boardwalk into the dust, then trying to scramble backward, all heels and palms and elbows.

The man’s good natured, going after the boy and trying to help him up, but it only scares him more. “Whoa there. Hey. Hey there, kid, it’s alright. I’m not tryin’ to hurt you.” Once he gets the boy up and starts dusting him off, Uli-ah struggles to break free, but the man easily holds him, kneeling down to the kid’s level to keep from being a threat. “Hey hey hey. It’s okay. You lost son? Where’s your tribe?”

“I’m so sorry. He’s under my care.” As you converge with them and take Uli-ah’s hand, the child turns and slams into you, hiding his face in your side, holding on with shaking hands. “It’s okay, padawan. Nothing’s gonna happen to you if you stick with me, okay?”

Your second mistake was assuming the man is elderly on account of his grey hair and beard, but when you hold a hand out to help him up, you’re greeted by lively dark eyes and a particularly wry and charming grin. Oh yes, he takes your hand, but puts no weight on it as he stands, only holds it firmly, a handshake that is warm but…unending.

“Ma’am,” he says respectfully, but with a rather rakish sparkle to it, and you catch sight of the stripes on his belt. A Republic Ranger. A welcome sight out here for you, but might cause problems for Din. “You and your friend are new faces around here. I’m the marshal. How can I assist you?”

“I’m, ah, I’m,” stars, that’s some smile. ”I’m here with my partner and his associate. We’re looking for a friend of his. There was a misunderstanding at the cantina and my charge here got a little scared.”

“Well, let’s go see if we can sort this out. If I might escort you…” Instead of releasing your hand, he draws it smoothly under and around his forearm, and in your shock–a little bemused, a little offended–your final mistake is allowing it. And so in this manner, you arrive back at the Cantina, arm in arm with the marshal, pulling Uli-ah along by the hand.

“There he is,” the Weequay nods to your trio as two helmets turn.

“Heard there was a misunderstanding in here with this pretty lady and the young one, is that the way of things, Weequay?”

“Yes, Marshal, my misunderstanding. Won’t happen again.”

The marshal, nodding, turns his attention to Din and Fennec. “Welcome back, Mando. These two belong to you?”

Ah. So you’ve run into the man Din was looking for. All should be well, but something feels off. Din stands still, squared to the three of you, feet in a wide, stable stance. His answer is taking a long time to come. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was in confrontation mode, as if he was going to have to make a tactical move at any second. It’s easy to assume for a moment that perhaps these two aren’t as friendly as you were led to believe.

But the assumption and the tension break as the Mandalorian steps forward to the marshal, each clasping the others’ forearm in a brotherly handshake, “Vanth” and “Mando” exchanged with nods, and a bonus smile on Cobb’s part. Friends indeed then.

Stretching out with your feelings though, there’s an anomaly rolling around in Din, something faintly protective. Something that’s bitten off by his terse, “Yes. These two are mine.”

When the marshal drops your hand and swaggers loose and lanky over to a nearby table, it’s only then that Din’s muscles relax, that he shifts slowly to one hip, that his hand leaves off the habitual hover near his blaster and hooks itself into his belt.

It’s all you can do not to gape.

You’ve never seen Din jealous before.

But that seems to be melting swiftly as he takes a seat by his friend. Cobb Vanth orders a full round from the proprietor, and leans forward over the table, grinning a whole galaxy full of teeth in the mirror of Din’s visor and declares, “Sure would like to know what skugbunny you followed to find yourself all the way out here again.”

________________

Fennec stands in the light, her svelte figure like a knife stuck in the sand, finding less commotion outside where she can send a communique to her boss. You can hardly blame her; Cobb is a loud talker and Uli-ah has found distraction in a pair of sabacc dice which he throws over and over, clattering across the table as he plays a game he’s making up on the spot, cheating against himself every once in a while with a subtle force push of a die, although you’re the only one who notices.

After his economical explanation to Cobb, Din passes his glass to you, something he does often now in public places, allowing you to drink what he cannot. “What I’m looking for is shelter for my partner and her charge here. Refills on supplies. Fuel. I’m willing to pay.”

“So what’s the favor then?” The marshal squints, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“I want no harm to come to these two,” Din says, tilting his helmet in your direction. “I’m bound to protect them, but I need to go take care of something. Should be back within a day.”

“So you’re looking for a security detail,” he says, finishing the cup. “You got it. No problem. I’ll look after them personally.” A cheeky wink punctuates the offer.

That odd twinge rises in Din again, like smoke from a too hot fire, and you lay a hand on his knee under the table. “Uli-ah and I won’t cause you any trouble, marshal. This seems like a peaceful place you keep here. We should be able to manage alright.”

Cobb misinterprets your polite decline of babysitting as an act of humble courtesy. “It’s no trouble at all, ma’am. We don’t have any public lodgings here in Freetown, but I’ve got a room. It’s yours. Nowhere safer.”

There’s nothing to say that wouldn’t seem rude.

“That’s…very generous. The boy and I are grateful for a place to stay.”

“Right then,” Cobb slaps his hand on the table, using it to push him up off his chair. “I’ll go scare up some water reserves for your journey.”

There’s silence at the table when he leaves, broken only by the rattle of dice on its surface as Uli-ah tries over and over again to break his top score. Din stares off after the marshal, but hesitates to follow. Something’s on his mind.

You wager a guess.

“Din. We’ll be okay. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m not…jealous.”

You squeeze his knee. “This could all be avoided if you let us come with you–”

“No.” He finally draws in a long breath, exhales, and turns the visor to you. “I want you safe. You’ll stay here. That’s an order.”

“An…order?”

“We’re on the job and I call the shots when it comes to your safety.”

“Yes, but–”

There’s movement outside at the speeders, a woody thud and scrape as a water camtono is deposited and then picked up from the boardwalk.

He doesn’t let you finish, standing and holding out a hand to help you up. “I’ve got to get the supplies packed in.”

Something’s turned off in him. The courtesy’s there, but he’s doing his best to control his emotions....

To hide them from you.

“Come on, Uli-ah. We’ll see the Captain off and then we’re going to stay with Marshal Vanth for a couple of days, okay?” By the time you tear the youngling away from his new toys, the corner of Din’s cape is disappearing out the door.

Kriff. This is bad. Something’s wrong and he can’t leave like this. He can’t take this uncertainty with him.

Taking a seat on a crate while they prep Fennec’s speeder, you just stay out of the way and observe. Cobb chatters cheerfully at the assassin, bringing out supplies from the storehouse, exchanging old tarps for new, handing over a fuel hose. But Din keeps out of the conversation, silently busies himself with a last minute tune up of the vehicle.

He’s removed his packs from Fennec’s bike–both to facilitate a more strategic repack and to access a panel behind one of the side compartments–and they sit propped up against the boardwalk nearby.

That’s it.

There’s something you need to do.

Sidling over to his packs and reaching out with your feelings, you search for the thrum of kyber. There it is. It’s easy to locate the Darksaber and extract it from the pack. You place it in your lap, covering it with the end of your tunic.

Uli-ah’s found some whomp rats living under the boardwalk and you watch as he plays with them, running to one side when they do, and trying to beat them to the other side when they change course.

After a short while, Din closes up the hatches and reattaches the spanner to its flank seating. Then he makes his way over to you, silently retrieves his packs, and returns to the speeder, taking a long time tying them down.

It’s only when everything’s ready to go and there’s nothing more to keep him away, he comes back and lays a hand on your cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Leaning into his hand and trapping it with one of your own, you hold up the Darksaber with the other. “You need to concentrate, Din.” His short, frustrated sigh only pushes your resolve further. “You’re not the only one with a duty of care, mister. This blade is tricky and you need all the help you can get.”

“I’ll be okay, Little Bird.”

“Not if you leave in the state you’re in. I know you’re not angry at me, but you’re uncomfortable leaving me here and you can’t leave like that. This weapon,” you whisper urgently, pressing the hilt into his palm, “won't listen to you unless your feelings are sharp. You’ll need its emotional boost to tap its whole potential and gain mastery over it. I can’t send you off like this. I won’t. I need you to know you have nothing to worry about.”

He’s silent for a moment, choosing his words. “I’m not worried. Not about you.”

He means it, you can hear it, but he’s still not content with leaving you. It’s not just another man finding you attractive, there’s something in him that’s warring. Not quite fear, something closer to insecurity, confusion…

...and you realize that he hasn’t grappled with feelings like this before.

Then it’s time. Set him up for success.

You’ll do anything to help him, to protect him.

To ensure he uses this weapon with love.

This won’t be difficult.

On the contrary, it’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made.

Placing one hand over his on the saber, and the other on his breastplate right above his heart, you look him calm in the eye and pour all your confidence and affection into the words–

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

________________

PART 3: DIN

The way you bravely face challenges. How you deftly handle your weapon. The way you inject a sense of playfulness into his orbit, your entry into his world a lively ignition to what feels like a whole new epoch in his life.

Life before your arrival, and life after. Not many have affected him like this. Changed his mind and heart like this. He can only think of one other.

But this connection is different from the bond he shares with Grogu. This one is unique, it comforts and calms him, makes him feel worthy as a man and a Mandalorian, meets him as an equal and captures his wonder in ways he wouldn’t have anticipated.

You never cease to amaze him. Even now.

He has witnessed Mandalorian courtships out of the periphery of his everyday life, seemingly never taking much notice, believing it was never meant for him.

But he did take note. Secretly. Resigned. He noticed those who grew up together and took their time. He noticed couples that seemed to range from rivals to friends to bonded in the matter of days. There didn’t seem to be a pattern, no guidelines on the right way to find your partner, or how long it might take to declare a joining.

With you… he doesn’t know what you might expect from him. Din doesn’t quite understand your old creed–the rejection of attachments–how tightly you hold it and how much of it you’ve already broken for him.

Because he loves you. In a way that’s perplexing. Your love came to him, and his to you, meeting in the middle of the battlefield. But there was no skirmish, no treaties, just a foregoing of pretense, and open arms.

Simple. Beautiful. Like everything you do.

Perhaps he felt like he was betraying that simplicity–that openness, that trust–when Vanth rounded the doorway wearing you and your new foundling on his arm. It wasn’t as simple as jealousy and a twist of the heart, but the hot flash of possession that flamed behind the beskar, growling from deep within him.

Attachment.

Mine.

While he was grateful and happy to claim you as his own as far as you gave yourself, to protect you and serve you, to meet your affection with his own, he had no right to chain you to him, to claim you so thoroughly that you could not be free in order to flourish. He would never ask you to form an attachment that would fracture your faith.

He didn’t and doesn’t think for a moment that you have any interest in Vanth. Or anyone but himself.

But the flash of emotion was dangerous. Selfish. Not the kind of love you deserve.

And yet, you still accept it. You perceive it because you know him. And you accept it.

And now you’re speaking words that are not only true…they’ve been true from the beginning of this whole damn venture.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You repeat the words, only a little worry sneaking into your voice now because he hasn’t answered you, hasn’t spoken…dank farrik, how long has he been standing here in shock?

How long has he believed he would never receive those words?

All that’s necessary is a repetition.

It’s only words.

But it’s everything.

Which is what he’s always wanted to give you.

So he makes the exchange. Quietly. Simply. Sincerely.

"We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

And he can feel it. He can feel the love and concern you have for him. He can feel your trust. It pushes into him like a warm wave, flowing through all the way back to the beginning. The throughline of that first night he walked you home–I’ll be your armor–to the moment when he outfitted you with some of your own, to now as you use your whole self to send him off with armor more resilient than beskar and a reminder when he wields the saber just who gave him that gift.

Clutching your hand at his chest, he squeezes tightly as the wave washes back through him, gritting his teeth behind the visor, the emotions silently taking their toll.

To everyone else, the armor says he is a stoic warrior, his silence is his strength.

But standing here, now, in front of you, he might as well be unmasked, might as well be naked and screaming; he knows your heart can sense the riot in his, even if you can’t see his face.

There’s quiet on the street. Uli-ah’s stopped playing with the womp rats and stands staring from a distance. Fennec and Vanth are waiting for him at the speeder. And yet, he can’t seem to move, can’t seem to leave you.

So you lay hands on his helmet and pull him closer, gently tapping your forehead against the cold metal. “Go. The sooner you go, the sooner you come back to me.” ________________

They’ve lost a little time, but by the position of the suns, they should still make the palace by nightfall.

“So Fett’s taken over the crime syndicate?”

“Not quite,” Fennec shouts over the roar of her speeder and the rush of the wind. “Boba’s interested in striking a deal with Madame Garza in Mos Espa. Going to set up protections. Territories. Wants to undo some wrongs he’s made in the past.”

That’s noble. He’s an odd man, Fett. Unpredictable. But there’s no reason Din can see for saying it out loud, and so he reserves his words, focuses instead on the shifting sands.

“That was a tense parting with your partner back there,” Fennec pokes, taking advantage of the silence.

“Yeah. Riduurok.”

“Is that serious?”

“From what I’ve been told, it can be.”

Fennec deftly maneuvers the speeder around a small minefield of rocky outcroppings before turning her head over her shoulder and side-eyeing him curiously through the slit in her helmet, “From what you’ve been told–?”

“I don’t know,” Din says, his vocoder barely audible over the slur of the world going by, not caring much who hears it other than himself, “I’ve never heard anyone else actually speak those words. There aren’t usually witnesses at a Mandalorian wedding.” ________________

To be continued.

[galaxyedging]

Vampire Javier Peña x F!reader

WC:1.8k

Warnings: Smut, swearing, the usual vampire stuff.

Following on from this.

Summary: Javier finds out that his new condition doesn't change his work life as much as he thought it would. It does, however, have massive repercussions in his home life.

Vampiros en Colombia

After Javier's 'sick leave' ended, with Claudia paying him a visit and being completely unsurprised by his condition. ("Honestly Peña, that way you whore around these streets I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner.") he was sent back to work. 

It turns out coke had some competition for the best selling drug in Colombia. Blood, human or vampire, sold pretty damn well too. Vampire blood gave humans temporary vampire-like qualities. It heightened the senses and reflexes. It gave the user increased strength and stamina. We all know the one thing that sells best in all the world so it was instantly marketed as a sex drug. 

The taste of human blood was as varied as humans themselves. Everything from blood type, where they grew up, vaccinations, smoker/non-smoker, everything, affect the taste of it. Blood brokers kept a register of all the humans that donated. Javier had been surprised at how little blood it took to keep him going. A small vial a day could keep a vampire alive. Of course, some people just love to over indulge. They could order more vials or pay more to drink straight from the source.

As with any highly sought after commodity, there were unethical practices. Some people were snatched off the streets, mainly women, to work in the many places that offered blood from the source, usually along with sexual services too. Unofficially, each Casa de Sangre had to have a record of all their active donors, including a photograph and if they consented to sexual activity or not. This was only unofficial because no one wanted to go on record about the growing vampire population of Colombia. Least of all the vampires themselves. Who had spent centuries happily living in the shadows. Contrary to the myth vampires weren't complete animals. 

Javier had been assigned to search a Casa de Sangre. Armed with the pictures of all consenting members and a, honest to goodness, wooden stake. The air was thick and humid. The smell of blood and sex hung heavy as he made his way up the dark, narrow stairs. The team was small, three men, well, two men, one vampire. They entered quietly so as to not show their hand. Javier listened intently for any sounds of distress. There were none that he could hear. The sounds he did hear went straight to his cock. He was half hard before he even entered the first room. Behind the door to his right he could hear a man grunting and begging for more. The sight that met him had him straining in his jeans. A beautiful full figured woman was riding a man. Her heavy tits and pillowly thighs jiggled pleasant as she bounced on his cock. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy as the man beneath her alternated between begging and licking the blood from her wrist. His free hand squeezing a handful of her breast, the ample flesh spilling out from between his fingers. Once Javier was satisfied that the woman was registered he left. The couple barely acknowledged him the whole time he was there. 

Standing in the hallway he adjusted himself, hissing at the temporary relief he felt at his own touch. Taking a breath he tried to calm himself. He always did have a healthy sex drive but since the change it had gone through the roof. Just the lingering scent of you on his clothes was enough to get him going. The older vampires he has spoken to assure him that it would settle down. Right now he wished it would. He was miles away from your wet heat and craving it. 

The next room didn't help either. A beautiful vampire stood naked next to the bed. He was younger than Javier, his skin was darker, his hair was shinier and curlier, his body was more muscular, it shimmered with sweat. His deep brown eyes locked with Javier's as his tongue ran up the arm of the man who was on his knees in front of him currently sucking his dick. In a blur of movement he had the man up and bent over the bed. His eyes never seemed to leave Javier's as he fucked the human underneath him like a rag doll. The man came hard yet the vampire seemed unaffected. He carried on pounding him, eyes locked with Javier as if the show was an invitation.

Knowing his current predicament, you had given him permission to seek his release with others if you couldn't keep up. Even with the heat creeping up his spine at the thought of the young vampire relieving the ache in the cock, he couldn't bring himself to step further in the room. He only wanted you. 

Ticking off the human on his register, he made his way to the rest of his team. The couple of minutes he spent handing over his info felt like a lifetime. Eventually he got into his car and with a spin of the wheel he pointed it in your direction. His watch showed three AM as he approached your door. Maybe he should just go to his own apartment, not that he spends much time there nowadays. He hovers outside your door, listening to your deep, settled breathing. 

Since the change some of his darker thoughts have become a little louder. All perfectly normal, he had been told. An animal instinct had been awoken. Vampires are essential humans just higher on the food chain. Even if most of them choose to, and can, live happily with humans, that predatory instinct is still there. He thought about you asleep. Your body spread out soft and pliant. He wondered if he could sheath himself inside you before you woke. Would your body be as welcoming asleep as it was awake? Would your pussy greedily pull him in deeper? Before he could think his actions through the tip of his cock was nestled at your entrance. You were still leaking cum from his earlier attention. He moaned as breached you ever so slightly.

"Javi?" Your voice was thick with sleep. 

"Need it." Was all he could reply as he slowly pushed in deeper. "Please let me."

In response your shuffled down the bed to move your head from the headboard. Sinking onto his cock in the process. "Fuck, Baby. Best pussy I've ever had. You open up so well for me every damn time." A deep moan that trails off into a growl emanates from his chest as he bottoms out. 

"Even when you were asleep it was so welcoming." His fingers began to dig into your hips as he lifted them to thrust into you as the angle that makes your eyelashes flutter.

"Or maybe that's what you want. For your body to be pliant for me to use. Would you like that? For me to use your pussy to relieve the ache in my balls. Huh?" The way you clenched around him made his knees quake.

To his shame, Javier didn't really know what you liked in the bedroom beyond him eating you out. He always got you across the finish line before he spilled inside you but he was well practised in that. He didn't take note of anything that particularly got you excited. After drinking from you and having you gush on his tongue, he was so worked up all he could only focus on his own release. 

"Is that what you want for me to use you like a whore?" He spat as his pace picked up. 

"Yes, Javi!" Your hands were wrapped around the spindles of your headboard at this point. Holding on for dear life as Javi lifted you even higher. He was now on his knees with your legs around his hips pounding into you relentlessly. 

A selfish need to drag the moment out hit him. Pulling out he flipped you on to all fours before spearing you on his length again. 

"At least the whores I usually fuck like this do it for money. You're even worse. You only do it to be filled with my big cock. You're just a cockwhore." 

Out of nowhere he brought his hand down on your ass cheek. The action even surprised him.

Even more surprising was when you moaned. "More, Javi. Please!"

He landed two more blows before he felt you getting close. He suddenly felt the urge to drink from you as you came. Post orgasm blood tasted fucking amazing. He could only imagine how good you'd taste hitting your peak. Looking at your exposed neck in the tiny nightgown you wore to bed he swears he can see your pulse pounding. He'd never drank from anywhere apart from your thigh. He thought about the other places he should drink from. Lapping at your nipples as blood trickles over them. Sinking his teeth into the meat of your ass, the one he couldn't take his eyes off as you moved around the office. Fuck, he loved it. He loved everything about you. Not that he'd said it over the last couple of months that you had been practically living together.

"Javi, I'm close. Don't stop." At this point you were practically fucking yourself on his cock. This side of you was turning him on like crazy. He could feel himself hurtling towards the edge. Being rough with you stirred something inside him that he was afraid to look too closely at. It rose to the surface but he kept it in his peripheral.

"Use me Javi. Cum inside me…..bite me." You tilted your head to expose your neck for him. He knew he had to be careful, it was easier to drink too much from the neck. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you but the darker side of him pushed him on. One of his large hands spread over your neglected tits as the other came up to hold your head in place. 

"Yes, Javi. Oh, god, Javi!" Your release dripped over his cock as your blood dripped onto his tongue. 

Moaning, he tightened his grip on you as he painted your walls. Thanks to his new state Javi had been able to cum multiple times and still stay hard. This time it felt like he was cumming multiple times all at once. His cum dripped out of you onto the sheets below. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the taste of you. He couldn't get enough. The blood that he couldn't catch in his mouth ran down your breasts. He couldn't wait to clean you with his tongue. He was so caught up in how you made him feel the words just slipped out.  "I love you."

He wasn't sure what response he was expecting, it wasn't the silence he was currently receiving. It took him a beat to realise why you were so silent as you went limp in his arms.

Tags @kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle

[nyxneon]

We said, Hob and drugs and general debauchery. It's my jam.

Warning for drug use, alcohol, suggestive sexual themes.

First part is here:

The second half of 1989 is an uninterrupted blur of coke, drunken blackouts and casual sex. Which in itself is nothing really new, because Hob has never been one to deny himself the pleasures of lust and intoxication, but this time something is different.

There is something nagging at him, a worry, that had been dormant for the past one hundred years. The sense of an ending.

Mid June, Hob boards a plane to Greece, hiding his blood-shot eyes from the bored gazes of other British tourists behind a fashionable pair of Ray-Bans.

He spends two weeks in Mykonos, never stumbling out of bed before 3 in the afternoon, spending his nights partying with as many hot people as humanly possible. It's a whirlwind of amyl nitrate and E, and Hob loses himself in a crowd of willing bodies, sun-tanned Americans and West Germans with bleach-blond hair, mostly on the buff side, equally high and looking for a good time.

There seems to be a reason behind his current preference for tanned skin, blond hair and muscles... a reason Hob doesn't really want to investigate at present.

(But it's always at the back of his mind, a shadow in the corner of his eyes. Like black ink spilled. He's there. And at the same time, he's not. And what if he never comes back? What then?)

Back in England at the beginning of July, one night Hob ends up getting into his first real fight in a very long time.

Just out of a pub, Hob is jumped by a man. Surely he thought Hob was some kind of posh pansy, an easy target with an elegant suit, a nice watch and a fat wallet.

The bloke is shorter than Hob, deceptively slight, sinewy and most likely not entirely sober. And most importantly,  he has a knife.

But the problem is, Hob is not a good person. At least, he hasn't always been one: he has killed people, and done some even worse things besides.

It's a matter of seconds, and Hob is not a well-off City broker with manicured hands anymore. He's a 14th century mercenary who has been into more tavern fights that he cares to remember, not counting the real thing in battle and he goes berserk on the mugger. But it's 1989 and Hob has to stop himself from killing the idiot with his bare hands because there are security cameras, after all, and the pub where he paid with his credit card is just round the corner. It's not the 17th century anymore, when you could literally gut someone who just looked you the wrong way and then go back to order another round for yourself.

Hob walks back to his car with bloody knuckles and and his nice tan blazer torn up, only mildly bothered by the whole thing.

(That time, in 1789, some poor sod had pulled a knife on him too, and how good it had felt, showing off in front of his Stranger. It had put him in a mood... )

[stormikins]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

I was tagged by @swaps55 yesterday and I did make a draft on my phone so i can fix formatting on desktop to then post on Wednesday... obviously that plan didn't come to fruition lol

Anyways! I haven't truly put new words on the page in a couple days but I'm sure the last thing I wrote is the interim between Shepard's death and then resurrection where Joker gets headhunted by Cerberus. It's not very fleshed out, in fact its mainly dialogue but here it is:

“You honestly think I’ll let a terrorist organization keep Shepard’s body?” Joker retorts. “Are you actually insane?” “Who’s going to believe you?” Joker rears back at the woman's words. “The Alliance doesn’t even believe you about the Reaper threat, they’re definitely not going to believe you about this. Besides,” she waves a hand. “It’s not like they would care.” “What?” “They didn’t even bother to find her body, Mr. Moreau. We recovered it from the Blue Suns.” “What the shit— you’re lying.” “I’m not. The Blue Suns were contracted to retrieve it for the Shadow Broker.” “Why would they want it?” The woman shrugs. “Their motives are unknown at this time.” Joker snorts and rolls his eyes. “But its doubtful their intentions were pure.” “And yours are?” The woman has been perfectly controlled this entire time, but he can still pick out how she looks at him like he’s being difficult. It’s an expression he’s been on the receiving end many times, but now all it does is piss him off. “We want to give Shepard the tools and resources needed to stop the Reapers.”

no pressure tags: @nowandthane

[ruvviks]

Chapter >> 19 [x] Characters >> ??? Total >> 7.7k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention, death mention, family / parents, injury mention, smoking

‘More information has been released on the explosions in Charter Hill from a few days ago. The office building in question was supposedly in use as a hideout by the infamous fixer known as “the Broker” on the streets. The explosion itself did minimal damage, but most of the building has been consumed by the fire that broke out on the lower levels.

The NCPD has yet to confirm the number of casualties though emphasizes that no innocent civilians have been caught in the crossfire. The Broker has presumably died on the premises. Their mercenaries have scattered across town and thus far, no further incidents have been reported.

It appears that peace has finally returned to the streets of Night City. And with that, the weather.’

It was the end of August.

The streets were dark. A pitch black sky hung over Night City, heavy rainfall threatening to pour down and a hint of static in the air though not quite enough yet for a full storm to break loose. Nearing the evening hours- the sweet spot right before rush hour where the whole city seemed to be holding its breath, roads left eerily abandoned as restaurants and bars began opening their doors and people packed up their things to leave work and go home.

The run-down apartment building cast a dark shadow on the streets of the Glen, curtains of windows behind bars and grids closed and apartments left unilluminated and cold. The graffiti-covered entrance hall was abandoned- the sound of heels clacking softly on the faded and cracked tiles leading up to the concrete staircase, a single bright fluorescent ceiling light flickering and swaying from a strong breeze blowing in from the hall.

It was one of the older buildings in town. Its initial purpose had been to become a beautiful and bright home to working class families- affordable housing close to work, with stable electricity and HVAC and everything else needed to be able to live comfortably and safely raise a kid or two.

An idea, a dream; exactly how many projects in Night City often started, a vision easy enough to make reality yet halted halfway through because of financial reasons, corporate interference, gang territory expansion, a cyberpsycho incident, economic or political interests or a cocktail of several- or all- of those reasons.

Which is how the building had instead ended up as a derelict ruin with barely working electricity and apartments in the possession of shady owners- some going for triple the rent it was worth and others cheap but in such poor condition one might as well be sleeping on the streets.

Home, sweet home.

The seventh floor stood entirely abandoned, its apartments burnt down after a fire a few years back. All except one; in the far back, safely tucked away from the main street and overlooking the outskirts of Vista Del Rey, though the windows had not been cleaned in who knows how long leaving not much outside to see.

It was small, cozy. A single room apartment with a tiny bathroom in the corner, the door only half in its hinges and never repaired. It held barely any furniture, an old couch with coffee table that missed a leg marking the living room with a mattress on the floor behind it as bed, and a small kitchen on the left next to the front door made out of mismatched cabinets and an old oven and stove that looked like it was as old as time itself.

Despite the clear absence of a resident, the place was not as dirty as it could have been. Recently dusted and the kitchen counter was clean, fridge in working order running on an external generator and stocked with basic foods and some liquors. A safehouse, presumably; or at least a temporary refuge for someone who needed desperately to hide, or simply needed the solitude from time to time.

Cold, grayish blue eyes slowly trailed the dark room, the silence inside nearly deafening. Who had known Night City could be so quiet? Everything else was so far away, an aura of loneliness weighing down on the stuffy interior air making it harder to breathe. Searching hand found a light switch- flicked it on, and a string of colored lights along the top of the window on the other side of the room turned on, bathing the apartment in a soft, reddish pink glow.

Home, sweet home.

It did not feel like it.

He slowly took off his coat, holding it under his arm as he carefully walked further into the room. Ran his free hand through his short, slicked back hair- it was a little damp, still, caused by the humidity outside as well as inside, and he exhaled a little sharper than he had meant for as he quickly dried his hand on his pants.

The place made him uncomfortable, despite the warm and inviting atmosphere the colored lights created. It was too heavy with history- too much hardship had happened between those four decrepit walls and too much of it lingered still and it left him with so many questions; questions he clearly already knew the answers for, but questions that would not leave him alone either way.

Matvey had lived in an apartment like that himself, too.

Many, many years ago; when he had been in his early twenties, only recently escaped his parents’ home, struggling to find balance in the multitude of aspects of his life and struggling to get by.

His eyes trailed the walls, over pictures that had been left there, faded by the decade that had passed but showing people, friends, at parties and roaming the Night City streets after dark, smiling brightly at the camera with closed eyes and scrunched up noses.

And his gaze lingered on one boy in particular, present in nearly all of them- bleached blond hair that reached his waist, some freckles covering his forehead and cheekbones, pale grayish blue eyes above a wide smile, and a small gap between his front teeth.

Oh, Vitali.

Matvey carefully took one of the pictures from the wall, only barely able to contain his irregular breathing and heartbeat as he slowly scanned the faces of both his son and someone unfamiliar next to him; a boy with light brown hair and golden eyes, face full of piercings and a tattoo peeking out of his shirt on his neck.

They were kissing in the picture. Matvey had never even gotten the chance to meet him.

The howling of the wind outside made him shiver while he quickly put the picture back, hairs on his arms standing up straight as the cool breeze blew through cracks and holes in the outer wall of the apartment.

It did not feel right to stand there. It did not feel right to exist in the space Vitali had once existed in, struggling to get by, struggling to survive in a city that was so desperately trying to swallow him whole. And if Matvey could go back in time to change it- any of it-

But it was far too late for that now.

‘Vitali?’

Matvey stood motionless as he watched his son enter the house- flashlight of his phone illuminating the dark hallway- coming home from one of his classmates’ infamous parties while Matvey himself was already getting ready to go to work.

‘Party lasted a little longer than I had thought,’ Vitali instantly blurted out, and Matvey glanced at his watch; nearly five in the morning, and Vitali would have school in only a few hours- but most importantly, Nadya had not even given him permission to go in the first place.

Matvey lowered himself on the couch and exhaled sharply, the memories washing over him like a tidal wave slamming itself into the coastline. Memories of an easier time; but now he was not so sure anymore, wondering if it had truly been as simple as he had always thought, wondering if perhaps his own judgment was clouded, unreliable.

Matvey slowly walked closer to Vitali, trying to think of anything to say; scold him, perhaps, punish him for his recklessness and misbehavior-

But something stopped him from doing so.

Something on Vitali’s face- the way his eyes widened the second his father began moving closer, the way he clearly tried to find the right words to say- the way he swayed on his legs and could barely keep his phone in his hand and the way his eyes almost glossed over when Matvey got close enough-

He simply reached out and plucked a half smoked cigarette out of his son’s hair.

Nadya had not needed to know.

The lights along the wall and ceiling lightly flickered as another strong wind caused the glass of the window to rattle in its frame. A late afternoon dust storm blowing in from the Badlands, leaving the city streets in a thin layer of sand once it would settle down again; the one time anyone would be glad to have a roof above their head, no matter how run-down.

Matvey clasped his hands together, frown decorating the upper half of his face, the howling of the wind the only thing breaking through the silence surrounding him alongside the ringing in his ears the explosions from a few days earlier had left him with-

His eyes fluttered shut and a shaky exhale left his chest.

Oh, Vitali.

It had not been worth it.

Months of planning, months of fighting- months of losing sight of what was right and what was wrong and everything in between and most of all losing sight of what it had all been for in the first place. Revenge? Trying to prove a point? Trying to be good enough for a woman who had lost interest somewhere down the line, to the point she had started to become more of a stranger to him than his own wife?

And where had it led him?

Where had it all led any of them?

‘Perimeter is clear. You should be safe here.’

The familiar voice was comforting, in a way.

It sounded different now; the years had not been kind to him, but still Vitali had grown up to become a fine looking young man radiating more confidence than he had ever done at any point in his childhood, and Matvey would be lying if he said he was not proud of his son for getting to the point in his life he was at now.

He opened his eyes again and watched as Vitali entered the apartment, cane lightly clacking on the old wooden floorboards with every step he took. His eyes trailed the room- though too fast for anyone to be able to fully take in any of the smaller details, and the white-knuckled balled fist along his body told Matvey he would rather be anywhere else.

‘Thank you, for this,’ Matvey quietly said in Russian, but Vitali cut him off with a single shake of his head. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes- gaze fixed on the photos on the wall as he took a step back, wincing lightly and putting his hand over the patched up wound in his side.

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he coldly replied. ‘Words mean nothing. Not anymore.’

Matvey understood.

Nothing he could say would set things right. Nothing he could say would change what had happened, would make it all go away- and as far as Vitali was concerned this could easily be part of his plan, still, trying to get closer to him in a vastly different way; try to gain his trust and strike when everyone would least expect it to come out victorious at the end of it all either way.

It would have been a genius plan, Matvey had to admit- well within his capabilities too, he could have pulled it off.

But that was not who he was.

Not anymore.

‘You have- a long way to go,’ Vitali quietly continued, taking out his cigarette case, flicking one out and carefully lighting it, the flame of his lighter softly illuminating the space around him.

‘Make things right. Somehow. Prove to me that you are better without Nadya. And I can’t help you with any of that, so- good luck figuring it out for yourself. I have nothing to win or lose in any of this anymore, so do whatever you feel like doing.’

A nonchalance to his voice, but the words he spoke were heavy. As if all of it was a burden to him- and Matvey knew exactly why, having had enough interactions with Vitali’s friends thus far to know that they did not fully support his son’s decision.

His actions would speak louder than words.

Of course Vitali did not know that Matvey had come with him to that tiny ripperdoc shop- Viktor, I believe his name is- and had stayed with him all that time, refusing to sleep, agreeing to let himself be handcuffed as humiliating as it was just to ease others’ minds.

Of course he didn’t know that Matvey had helped that fixer, Rogue, put together a fake profile for the Broker to get that poor excuse of a Council’s attention away from the both of them entirely and to make sure the NCPD had a name to settle on to put the case to rest in their archives, never to be seen ever again.

And of course he didn’t know that Matvey had willingly allowed some netrunner he could not remember the name of wipe his own entire existence from Arasaka’s database, to make sure they would never find out the truth but at the same time rendering him incapable of ever returning to the corporation, even if he for whichever reason so desperately wanted to.

But what difference would it make if he knew?

‘I won’t let you down,’ Matvey finally answered, lowering his gaze to the ground. Not out of shame, or dishonesty- but if anything out of fear, fear of what he would see on his son’s face, fear of his words being taken with a grain of salt despite how heavy they weighed on his tongue, despite how sincerely he meant them, and he clenched his fists on his lap as a sharp exhale left his body.

A long way to go.

But at least Matvey knew where to start.

‘Hey, Vito.’

The interior of Misty’s shop was comfortably warm, gently illuminated by a few lit candles scattered around. A welcoming sight as always- the interior colorfully decorated but not too clashing or too bright on the eyes, and Vitali would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel at home.

She hadn’t closed yet; though no one else was inside at that time of day, most of Little China’s residents seeking shelter from the dust storm passing over elsewhere in either the Megabuilding or one of its many diners or restaurants. Misty herself was stood behind the counter, leaning on top with her elbows and softly humming a song.

Vitali wiped his feet on the doormat and quickly took off his mask and glasses, stuffing them in the pocket of his long coat before giving Misty a wave and a smile as he walked closer. She smiled back at him in return; and reached out to ruffle his hair the second he got within her reach, sand and dust falling out of it like snowflakes and sticking to his clothes on the way down.

‘Is Vitya still here?’ he asked, setting his cane down beside him and leaning on the counter as well, eyes fixed on the deck of tarot cards in Misty’s hands she was shuffling.

‘Of course,’ was the response, as usual. ‘City never sleeps.’

‘Neither does he, it seems.’

‘And neither do you.’

Vitali scoffed, a smile lingering on his face as he lowered his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. He couldn’t even argue with her; had not slept at all last night despite recovering from a shot that could have killed him- that should have killed him- only a few days ago.

‘Got time for a reading?’ Misty asked, reaching out to place her hand on Vitali’s before he could pull back to make his way outside, to get to Viktor’s shop. ‘Startin’ to become kind of a tradition at this point, I think.’

‘Hm- with V, maybe.’

Vitali paused, reaching out to the tarot deck in his friend’s hands- she fanned them out near automatically for him, a slightly questioning look in her eyes- and he picked one out, turning it between his fingers and clicking his tongue upon seeing the result.

‘Your cards do not like me very much,’ he finished his sentence with a wink and a smile, and he grabbed his cane again while dropping the tarot card labeled “death” face up on the counter as he made his way around it through the back door of the esoterica.

He had walked down those stairs many, many times before; knew the route to Viktor’s ripperdoc clinic as intimately as the route between his office and his home. Perhaps even more so- visits albeit sparingly going back years in time to long before his time as a fixer, long before he had moved into the penthouse he lived in now.

The familiar smell of sharp disinfectant entered his nose halfway down the steps. The familiar struggle to open the gate to get inside- the familiar sight of Viktor mid drying his hands on a hand towel on the other side of the room, giving him a warm smile as he slowly walked over.

‘Was wondering when you’d show your face again. How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Vitali bluntly answered, closing the gate behind him. ‘My whole body wants to lay down in bed and never get out, my skull feels cracked and I have not had an appetite since I woke up, but- what can you do.’

Viktor reached out- a gesture that nearly caused Vitali to flinch, a rush of adrenaline locking up the muscles in his neck- and gently cupped his cheek, slightly tilting his head around as he checked his eyes; then placed his hand on Vitali’s forehead, a soft hum that could have both been of approval as well as disapproval leaving his throat.

‘It’ll settle soon enough,’ he finally spoke. ‘You were-’ A pause. ‘You were close to-’

‘I know, Vik,’ Vitali quickly interrupted the old ripperdoc. ‘I know.’

Vitali could not remember much of any of it anymore.

He remembered feeling the cool night air on his skin, the very same slight breeze that had later caused the fire inside the building to spread rapidly from floor to floor. He remembered being lifted into a car- being held by several people at once, staring up through the half opened car window to the dark sky and heavy clouds and the blinding city lights flashing by.

They had brought him there. To Viktor’s shop. He had no longer been conscious by then, and it had taken him a while to wake up after being stabilized; and even then he could still not remember when and how exactly he had gotten home, and the previous day was by that hour also mostly a blur to him.

Vitali’s gaze met Viktor’s again and he instantly took notice of the expectant look in his eyes; no words leaving his lips, but the question was crystal clear to him either way. And in hindsight, Vitali was not entirely sure anymore why he had gone to Vik’s in the first place, when there was really not much else to say.

‘I brought him to the safehouse today,’ Vitali sheepishly said, fumbling with the handle of his cane and lowering his gaze to the floor. ‘He will be staying there for- well, I don’t know. Until he has figured out what to do next, I suppose.’

‘Good.’ Short response. Vitali nearly wished he had just gone home instead. ‘Did it ease your mind?’

He absently nodded, Viktor’s words taking a moment to settle in his brain and as they did the light bobbing faltered and faded into a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he reached out to grab a chair from beside him and he slowly sat down.

‘I thought it would, but… I don’t know anymore,’ he answered honestly, barely able to look Viktor in the eye as the man sat down on his own stool nearby and wheeled closer. A comforting move- and Vitali’s heartbeat settled down a little as it happened, glad he did not have to cut the conversation short.

‘Did I-?’ he started, frowning as he reconsidered his words and momentarily searched for something else to say. ‘Shouldn’t I have-’

‘Hey- no. Don’t start doubtin’ yourself now, kid.’

The soothing tone of Viktor’s voice seemed everlasting with his patience, and Vitali closed his eyes and dropped his head as the ripperdoc put a reassuring hand on his wrist.

‘Not after everything you’ve been through,’ he added to the statement, and fuck, how Vitali wished he hadn’t- if he had just made a couple of different decisions somewhere along the way then he wouldn’t have had to-

‘But what if I was wrong?’ Vitali blurted out, the words lingering inside his head for much longer than necessary and rendering him unable to keep his mouth shut, like many times before. ‘What if-’

‘You’ve made plenty of mistakes in your life, V,’ Viktor immediately interrupted him. ‘Just like all of us. Just like me.’

Well, that was unexpected.

Vitali frowned and looked back up, Viktor slightly averting his gaze to a point right behind Vitali to not have to look him in the eyes.

‘One of my biggest mistakes?’ he continued, a sudden instability to his voice that had not been there before and he gave Vitali’s wrist a soft squeeze. ‘Not listenin’ to you. Trying to tell you to not join Arasaka after you’d already let me know there was no changing your mind. Pushing you away like that.’

Vitali could not help but wonder how long the other man had been sitting on that one.

Wind blew in from up the stairs, rattling the gate behind them and causing the orange cat curled up in a little makeshift bed next to it to jump up, hiss, and skitter across the floor to sit between Vitali’s legs instead. He absently reached down to give him a few scratches on the head- Jack, he believed Viktor had named him- and used the moment to let the words settle in his head again.

Fuck, he was tired.

‘You were right,’ he finally replied, vividly remembering how desperately Viktor had tried to convince him to not sell his soul to the corporation so many years ago.

‘Doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong,’ Viktor cut him off again with a single shake of his head. ‘I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me.’

‘You’re not my dad, Vik.’

‘But he wasn’t there either, was he now?’

Silence washed over the room and a pang of anger tightened Vitali’s chest; though he managed to shrug it off with ease, knowing the frustration was unnecessary since Viktor was merely stating facts. He lowered his gaze again, staring at Jack who was slapping his ankles and attempting to bite through one of his shoes- and for some reason it caused a small smile to take shape on his face, despite the rest of the circumstances he’d found himself in.

‘Look, kid,’ Viktor quietly said, ‘I can’t tell you whether you made the right call or not. Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what I would’ve done. But I trust your judgment. And I’m not gonna let history repeat itself.’

‘What if I am wrong?’

‘Then we’ll find out soon enough. What else are you gonna do about it now?’

He was right.

Of course he was- what else was there for Vitali to do? He could lock Matvey up, and then what? Accidentally turn him into a second Ravager because of it? He was not leaving the man to his own devices. Was not trapping him but would keep an eye on him either way, make sure the things that had happened would never ever happen again-

‘Every decision you’ve made along the way has led us here. You did the best you could.’ Viktor stood up again, giving Vitali a gentle pat on his shoulder before turning around to tend to the mess on his desk, grabbing a stack of papers and shoving it into one of the drawers.

‘You’re just one man, Vito,’ he continued, ‘and you know what? Him too. What’s wrong with this city is that too many folks have this- this “kill who you can kill” mindset. Let’s be honest here, what real difference would it have made to take this one man’s life?’

‘Others have died along the way,’ Vitali bluntly fired back, reaching down and barely reacting when Jack instantly attacked his fingers, pupils dilating upon spotting Vitali’s rings and trying to pull one off his hand. ‘It would’ve been better to save them.’

‘And you tried, didn’t you? Had you killed him, would things have been different? Who else would have lived? Who else would have died?’

It was impossible to say.

Too many external factors at play- Ravager and Dupoint as rogue variables, as well as each and every single one of his father’s mercs. Nadya’s influence had changed so much; what would she have done if Vitali had successfully killed Matvey at any point in time? Would she still have wanted to remain on the sidelines?

‘Sometimes, living is a punishment,’ Viktor suddenly quietly said and Vitali looked back up at him, needing a second to realize he himself had stood up as well and had followed Viktor further into the room.

‘The human mind punishes itself more than enough- and death just… puts an end to that. It’s what makes it so appealing to some when life gets very difficult for them.’

His words were carefully chosen and Vitali could feel his chest tighten again, a lump in his throat making it harder to swallow. He knew Viktor was just putting out general statements, but he couldn’t help but take notice of the slightly targeted remarks dripping down from between the lines, the backside of a coin presented to him visible through a reflective surface behind it.

‘I don’t think the others understand,’ Vitali absently mumbled, a poor attempt at changing the subject.

‘And I don’t think that matters all that much,’ was the ripperdoc’s straightforward response. ‘Nothing’s been forgiven. Nothing’s been forgotten. You simply spared his life and gave him a temporary place to stay, an opportunity to better himself. What he does with that is out of your control.’

He made it sound so easy.

Vitali rarely worried about his reputation among others, knowing very well he could not satisfy everyone and attempting to do that would be as useless as trying to rid Night City of all crime. Sure, he tried his best to stay on the good side of at least the Council- even during all of this he had done nothing to anger them on purpose- but he did not let his worries about it stop him from doing what he felt was best for the situation, or for the parties involved.

But accusations were starting to stack up rather rapidly now. The belief some had he had joined Arasaka again for a while- unaware of the brainwashing, or simply refusing to believe it had happened- the belief some had he was the Broker himself, and now the doubts people had in him because of the outright refusal to kill his father despite the man being just one person in the bigger picture of things.

‘Do you think it will work out?’ Vitali carefully asked, watching as Viktor began setting some tools back on a shelf- and for a split second he was twenty years old again, swaying on his feet with his head completely elsewhere begging Viktor to tell him it would all be okay, to tell him it would be worth it, only to be met with deafening silence and an averted gaze.

‘Of course it will, kid,’ Viktor quietly said and an involuntarily, relieved sigh left Vitali’s chest.

‘It always does.’

Everything would fall in place in time. Viktor was right- of course he was. Vitali had no idea how long it would take, what it would take, but he wasn’t one to give up so easily and neither were any of his friends and for any of them to walk away now after everything they had been through together would be the most unrealistic scenario he could think of.

Of course it would be fine, in the end.

‘Can’t say I’ll ever like him, though,’ Viktor suddenly jokingly added to his statement. ‘But- s’pose we can coexist in peace.’

Vitali huffed in response, taking a step back to lean against the wall. ‘Can you imagine.’

‘Not in a million years.’

They were quiet for a moment, Vitali’s mind wandering off a little as he considered the possibility.

‘I mean,’ he quickly added- not entirely sure why he felt the need to, but it was already too late to stop the words from leaving his lips- ‘he’s a boxer. Like me. Like you.’

Viktor stopped what he was doing to turn to Vitali, and in his eyes where Vitali had expected to find judgment he instead found a softness that gave him just enough courage to keep talking.

‘Makes the worst jokes I’ve ever heard,’ he softly continued, ‘worse than Mikhail, if you can believe it. We used to… We used to watch those horrible hospital tv shows together every Sunday night when Nadya wasn’t home. We would rank all the male doctors from most to least attractive… We never settled on a winner.’

His voice finally trailed off and so did his gaze, glossy eyes trailing over the concrete floor and settling on a small stain near Viktor’s feet.

‘I’m sorry, this is- this is probably too soon, I didn’t mean-’

‘No such thing as too soon.’ Soothing, still, despite it all, like the strong hand he reached out and rested reassuringly on Vitali’s shoulder.. ‘You’ve had to carry that with you for years. Through all of this.’

He had.

Not at any point in time had Vitali stopped seeing Matvey as his father.

‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ he mumbled, and his eyes fluttered shut when Viktor stepped forward and pulled him in for a hug, a sense of comfort washing over him and taking away any worries he’d had when he had entered the shop.

‘You think things will go back to how they used to be?’

‘No,’ Viktor replied without hesitation, but his voice lacked any hostility.

‘Absolutely not. And that’s for the best.’

The penthouse was not yet dark when Vitali came home, a couple of lights from the living room dimly illuminating the hallway leading up to the front door. A welcoming sight; his years in solitude had not done him well and Vitali would be forever glad to no longer have to live alone.

Mikhail and Vincent were curled up on the couch together under a blanket, quietly laughing about a joke one of them had made. The TV was still on, and Vitali’s eyes trailed over the coffee table- drinks and the remnants of snacks scattered across the marble tabletop.

Movie night. He had missed it a lot in the past few months.

‘Hey baby,’ Vincent said as Vitali walked closer and he reached out to gently grab both of Vitali's hands to drag him on the couch next to him. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Good,’ Vitali answered, leaning in to press a soft, slightly hesitant kiss on the corner of Vincent’s mouth. ‘Good, I think. He’s at the safehouse, everything is settled. For now.’

A short pause, as he sucked in a shallow breath and took a moment to scan both their faces. Vincent had not stopped smiling since he had entered, still looking up at him with a sleepy look in his eyes; but Mikhail refused to make eye contact, visibly biting the inside of his cheek as he instead played with Vincent’s hair. He was notably holding back all of his tics.

‘And here?’ Vitali quietly asked, gaze lingering on Mikhail a little longer until he finally looked up to answer.

‘Rogue called,’ he said. ‘Council has…mostly calmed down by now. The fake profile and “evidence” was enough to convince them and- well, streets are mostly back to normal. Which is really all they ever wanted in the first place.’

‘No ties to me? Or my-’ He stopped to swallow his words. ‘Or to Matvey?’

‘None at all,’ Vincent replied, and carefully brushed some of Vitali’s hair out of his face. ‘Don’t expect an apology from them, but- it’s over now.’

Vitali huffed. ‘All I ever wanted.’

It would do him good to finally no longer have to deal with them. The feeling of their eyes on his back had been a constant annoyance throughout the whole ordeal and all of that could have so easily been prevented if they had simply listened to him from the start.

But Vitali found it was best not to dwell on the Council’s behavior and decisions for too long. As Vincent rightfully said- expecting an apology would be as stupid as expecting to get any financial compensation or support from them for the resources and supplies lost along the way.

At least it would secure his spot out of their direct line of fire during the next Council meeting, whenever that would be. The thought alone already made him shudder- he’d never been all too fond of the gatherings in the first place, but they had gotten significantly worse since, well, recent developments.

‘What about Rogue?’ he finally asked, pushing his own thoughts aside.

‘Mostly just sounded very relieved that it is all over now,’ Mikhail said, shrugging as he grabbed the TV remote to turn off the still rolling credits from whatever movie they’d watched. ‘Will you- Will you go see her?’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No.’

‘Then I should probably just stay out of her way for a while. Best for all of us.’

That finally got a smile out of Mikhail, glancing over to look at Vincent who had kept his mouth shut but was furiously nodding and Vitali gave him a playful poke in his side, causing his boyfriend to snort and accidentally headbutt Mikhail in the arm in his delayed attempt at dodging.

‘You know what we should do?’ Mikhail asked, playful sparkle in his eyes as he jokingly pulled Vincent closer to hold him in a headlock. ‘Go on vacation. Get out of town for a little bit.’

‘Hmm- Sounds lovely,’ Vitali said with a smile, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up on the couch as he moved closer to the both of them and allowed Vincent to drag him in for a hug. ‘Where to?’

‘Panam and Judes are going back to Arizona for a while, meet up with Saul and the others there,’ Vincent said, holding on to Mikhail’s arm with one hand and placing the other on Vitali’s waist. ‘Could go with ‘em- or the east coast.’ He glanced up to look at Mikhail. ‘You still got family there?’

‘I do.’ His eyes briefly lingered on Vincent before moving back to Vitali, and a few soft clicks of his tongue left his lips before he continued. ‘They still want to meet you, by the way.’

Vitali softly smiled back and lowered his gaze, chest tightening a little as Mikhail spoke. He had often mentioned his extended family in their childhood; had often asked Vitali to come with him one day, and how Vitali had wanted to but had never been allowed to travel outside of town because of Nadya and her general dislike of his friend.

Things are different now. She’s not here.

He couldn’t help but wonder where she was, though. If she was doing well.

‘I’m going to bed, important day tomorrow at office.’

Mikhail finally let go of Vincent and kissed him on the head, then reached out to ruffle Vitali’s hair- receiving a fake groan in return as response- and he leaned in to give him a hug, hands on the back of Vitali’s head and running in circles on his back as Vitali dropped his head in the crook of Mikhail’s neck and briefly closed his eyes.

Everything is fine. You’ve not ruined anything.

Mikhail gave him a kiss on his temple and then finally got up from the couch, stretching and yawning before making his way toward the hallway on their left.

‘Good night, you two.’

‘Night,’ Vitali replied in unison with Vincent, who immediately mumbled ‘jinx’ after it and instantly received another poke between his ribs from Vitali. He giggled and shuffled closer, pressing his face against Vitali’s shoulder as he carefully wrapped his arms around his waist.

‘Took you long to get home,’ he murmured against Vitali’s neck, softly pressing his lips against his skin.

‘Had some things to do,’ Vitali absently replied and hooked his arm under Vincent’s leg to pull him on his lap, quickly glancing into the hallway to check if Mikhail was out of sight.

‘Nothin’ I wouldn’t do, I hope?’

Not a surprising question- and Vitali could not blame him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it; stopping by a bar on the way there, or on the way home, couple shots wouldn’t hurt him- on a surface level, at least- and at least it would cause his anxiety to settle down for the time being.

But he couldn’t do that to Vincent. Not again.

‘I went to see Vitya,’ he quietly explained himself, gently cupping Vincent’s cheek to make him look up at him, and gave him another soft smile. ‘That’s all.’

Vincent blinked a few times and then leaned in to Vitali’s touch, cheek pressing against his palm- slightly turned his head to kiss it, before turning back and gently fixing the collar of Vitali’s shirt for him. Keeping his hands busy; he was nervous.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, one of his fingers hooking into Vitali’s shirt a little bit and brushing past his collarbone. ‘Shouldn't've doubted you.’

‘Hey,’ Vitali gently interrupted him and placed his hands over Vincent’s, waiting until his attention was back on him. ‘It’s okay. I get it.’

‘No, no- it’s- I just-’

‘All of it.’

He almost startled himself with it; but it was the truth.

No amount of attempting to justify himself and his actions would take away the fact it made sense people had started to doubt him somewhere along the way. If anything, Vitali’s stubbornness had made everything ten times more complicated than had been necessary and he was surprised it hadn’t caused any bigger arguments to break out in all the time that had passed.

‘My family has always been complicated,’ he quietly continued, lowering his gaze and softly running his thumbs over Vincent’s hands. ‘I- I don’t expect you to ever understand and I know what it looks like from the outside. I do. And I can’t blame you at all.’

‘Vito-’

‘I don’t know if I’m making a mistake with this.’ A brief pause, a shaky inhale. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen next, what he will do. What I will do. But I just- I couldn’t kill him.’

‘I know, baby.’

Vincent carefully cupped Vitali’s face in both his hands and leaned in- a brief moment of hesitation, as if they’d been sent back in time and suddenly had only been together for maybe a month or two- and kissed him as sweetly as he always did, the familiar taste of his peach chapstick spilling into Vitali’s mouth as he pulled him closer.

Vitali would be lying if he said he hadn’t been scared he would never get to experience that ever again.

‘Suppose it was complicated for him too,’ Vincent quietly continued, slightly pulling back and brushing his nose past Vitali’s, ‘considering- well, you know. And… I won’t fully understand it, but I understand that. Can’t fuckin’ stand my piece of shit oldest brother but if I’d find him bleeding out I- I also- you know. A little different, of course, but- I get it. I do.’

‘I never meant for any of you to get dragged into all of this,’ Vitali mumbled, keeping his eyes closed as he softly pressed his lips against Vincent’s again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You keep apologizing, but none of this is your fault. He started hunting you down- that’s on him.’

‘I should have dealt with things differently-’

‘How?’

Vincent pulled back a little further and Vitali finally opened his eyes, barely able to see his boyfriend through the blur of his own tears.

‘What would you have done differently if you could go back in time?’ Vincent asked, running his thumbs over Vitali’s cheeks. ‘What would you change?’

‘I would… I would’ve…’

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

‘Bit late, don’t you think? Or should I say early?’

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, slowly dropping his head against the front door as he closed it with a soft click and reluctantly turned around to face his father- once again already dressed to leave for work, arms crossed in front of his chest.

‘They really wanted me to be there,’ he quietly mumbled in response, wincing slightly when Matvey reached out to grab his jaw and gently run his thumb past a large bruise on his cheek.

‘I can tell,’ he replied. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Are you alright, at least?’

Vitali clenched his jaw and could not force an answer out of himself.

He wouldn’t have done anything different. And he knew. And he knew that Vincent knew.

Perhaps foolish, or naive- but it had paid off in the end, as messy as it had been. Death happened each and every day in Night City and even fixers weren’t safe from that; a somewhat morbid reminder of that to mercenaries and the Council alike, and if anything it had finally woken them up after who knows how long of being so certain of their own untouchability.

Who knows how it all would have ended, had Vitali done something different? Who would have lived? Who would have died? He was no longer sure what had caused the dominos to fall in the first place- and there had been no way to prevent it from happening, years of events setting it in motion out of itself- and no one had been able to predict where the chain reaction would lead them in the end.

‘Family’s fuckin’ complicated,’ Vincent said, kissing Vitali on the forehead before getting up and walking over into the kitchen to pour the both of them a drink. ‘I’m just glad that it’s over now. And that you’re still with me.’

Vitali absently nodded, gaze wandering off to the large windows along the wall behind him, looking out over the balcony and the pier of Wellsprings, the vast ocean blending in with the dark horizon far outside the city.

And for a brief second, he could feel his entire body freeze, eyes locked onto the darkness ahead and breath caught in his throat; it felt familiar, too familiar, swallowed whole by the endless void with the feeling of eyes staring right back at him, waiting, expectantly.

‘Hey.’

Vincent had walked back to him, concerned frown decorating his brow as he sat back down next to him and gently cupped his cheek to force his gaze away from the ocean and back on him, the warmth of the light above the coffee table causing the uncomfortable feeling in his chest to settle down- but it did not vanish entirely.

‘I love you,’ Vitali quietly said, the words heavy in his mouth as he spoke and he could only barely stop a tear from escaping the corner of his eye when Vincent smiled at him and pulled him closer to his chest, the warmth of his arms finally making Vitali feel at peace again, and at home.

‘And I love you, baby. Not ever gonna change.’

Life in Night City moves fast.

Its endless crowds are an overwhelming presence during every hour of the day, under the sweltering west coast sun as well as under the blinding city lights long after dark. An ever-growing playground for corporations, fixers and fortune seekers alike- the city of dreams that swallows everyone who does not know what they’re getting themselves into whole; without remorse, and without hesitation.

A city where tragedy strikes too often for people to concern themselves with it anymore- most have grown numb after years and years of hearing the same news on the radio, and most know it’s a waste of energy to even try to care. Cut off one head and two take its place; and one seed planted can infect many at once, leaving the source of the problem nearly irrelevant in comparison to what has grown in the meantime.

Impossible to predict and impossible to control. Many have tried- many have failed- from corporations attempting to get inside people’s heads and control their every move from within to a single man taking matters into his own hands to try and rid the streets of its corruption, starting with its intricate network of fixers and mercenaries as a whole.

But in all of that, there are still people who do care. Who choose each other over and over again- who choose life, over and over again- who refuse to be stripped from their humanity and hold on to it as tightly as they hold on to each other through it all.

The city itself might never change. But people can.

That’s what makes us human after all, isn’t it?

[aaltoh]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: black/shores operative , a/alto

path: erudition combat type: wind faction: unknown ( black/shores ) on interactions: honestly a/alto can fit anywhere in the story. any time, any place. he already knows what's happened, has inklings on what's going to happen. he is always willing to part with information for the right price. and can offer his skillsets ( god he's got so many ) too, if the deal strikes him as fair. and if you think he doesn't know at least something about every character on the roster... you're sorely mistaken. a/alto is a skilled gunslinger, who has shown a very strange ability to evaporate into mist in the blink of an eye. he's charming, charismatic, and capable of talking circles around most people. that pleasant, welcoming demeanor makes his actual intent and motive much easier. being that he's an information broker by trade; a/alto is very perceptive, intelligent, and good at reading people. not to say of course he can't be genuinely friendly and great to be around...

he is willing to work with ( and has ) just about anybody. but each member of black shores has a great deal of freedom to operate however they see fit. so long as their aim and their actions continue to align with the organization. so that in mind, a/alto does have morals-- and there are lines he will not cross.

often times, a/alto can be seen traveling with a young girl with pink hair. encore is a staple in his story, and very important to him. and when asked he will keep it very simple; she is in a funny way, like family to him, but not. and though she refers to him as uncle a/alto from time to time-- he definitely takes on a direct parental role when he needs to. but does his best not to overstep.

black shores

just like in wu/wa , the black/shores is an organization who's sole purpose is to protect the universe from major threats. they do so however from the shadows, each one of it's members elusive & enigmatic in nature. again, the group doesn't seem to be picky when it comes to alignment. rather, so long as each member aims for their overarching goal-- they don't seem to care how they go about it. meaning some of the members can range in how violent, aggressive, or passive they are.

no one actually knows about black/shores. the ipc has some info, and they have had dealings with black/shores in the past. but are careful about asking too much. attempts in the past to push the black/shores organization into becoming a branch of the ipc has proven nearly impossible. as the black/shores has information on it's activities & methods that would cause a lot of problems for the ipc as a whole.

naturally, the icp keeps a healthy distance from them. and despite how terribly they wish to subsume black/shores-- they know better than to force it.

the aeon black/shores is aligned with is unknown. but it's assumed by the few who do know of the organization it might be nous, or HooH. and there are some who may believe they were once aligned with ena. a/alto argues the lack of importance in who or what the organization follows. all that matters is they mean to help? right?

galaxy rangers

a/alto has a LOT of dealings with various rangers. they are actually one of his main sources of trade. delivering them information on various locations, materials, people and even security codes or illegal documents. all sorts of things. in return he may ask for money, but sometimes he asks for obscure items-- things only he is likely to find value in. one of his favorite clients actually is boot/hill. not only does he always offer the best deals, but the cowboy has been very consistent in the quality of his work!!! now that's hard to find! once in a while he will offer him a 100% discount if the bounty / job he's doing really piques a/alto's interest.

the icp

he will rarely do business with members of the ipc. and even if he does, he tends to be quite picky, and choosy about who he deals with. bias is partially on me, but the ipc also doesn't seem like a/alto's cup of tea. he's not a fan of how they operate, and it's especially so when you consider how much he knows about it's operations...

[silversiren1101]

What's your favorite character you've played at a table and why?

Have had to think over this one for a looong time because I've played so many characters and only a few I've disliked...

Really though, I think it's Omorose, my pf2e diabolic sorcerer with cleric (Mahathallah) and dandy dedications, a dhampir automaton who is essentially an infernal people-sized EVA unit and a high-femme at that. She was a lawyer in Osirion two thousand years ago and ritually blood sacrificed her children to Mahathallah for a form of immortality, transferring her soul and flesh into an automaton chassis she bought at auction. Now she's a Blood Lord in Geb, and living her unlife to the fullest, her end goal being not The Top but being The Source. She's aiming to be like the Shadow Broker in Mass Effect: knowing everything and everyone and having blackmail and dirt on all that is so long as the price is right. Rather than having a secret identity she's fully public just because of how powerful and untouchable she is.

Lawful Evil is a sweet spot I can play very easily and naturally without table disruption in Good parties, but this is an all Evil table (Blood Lords baby!) and being able to fully lean into that is such a blast. No in-game shame or having to be secretive about using charm and dominate spells, can openly summon as many devils as she wants as bureaucratic aides and guards for the office/home. Murder IS the answer a lot of the time, so long as you discredit your foe enough through the law that the law no longer protects them. SO RP wise, absolute perfect character for me to play.

Mechanically, I actually made a diabolic sorcerer out of spite. The 2e community has a section of grognards that absolutely hates that casters can't cast a single spell and end a fight like in other systems, and that they have to participate in the fight just like everyone else. The Divine spellcasting list especially is NOT a blaster list, it's very support and utility based. AND, on top of that, people complain about summons all the time not being powerhouses on the battlefield... So I made Omorose to prove a point: skill issue. She's 1) a divine sorcerer 2) diabolic so which she does get some more offensive spells she's also saddled with multiple incapacitation bloodline spells 3) focuses heavily on summons.

And she is an absolute monster.

-She can be a full party healer (with Harm AND Heal since we have one living party member)

-She has a ton of party buffs (Heroism, Protection, Fly, Thermal Remedy, Unfettered Movement, Resist Energy)

-She has so so so many debuffs and crowd control options (Bon Mot, Command, Behold the Weave, Crushing Despair, Sanctuary, Ymeri's Mark, Roaring Applause)

-She has utility (Web of Eyes, Charm, Suggestion, Dispel Magic, Enthrall, Sending, Cleanse Affliction)

-Has a lot of big aoe spells (Divine Decree, Tempest of Shades, Cinder Swarm, Hellfire Plume, Fireballs, Floating Flame)

And, because I have read every single devil statblock and pretty much memorized them, can use her summons to the absolute fullest. Devils has a lot of innate damage resistance making them sturdy, and they often have abilities that make them do extra damage against prone, enfeebled, frightened, etc. enemies. The rest of our party just so happens to inflict those conditions often, which translated into my summoned osyluth critting 7 times in a row against an enemy 3 levels higher than him for 50-90 damage each time. Devils ALSO have spells of their own, so a summoned hamatula isn't just flanking and dealing damage he's also casting Harm to heal our front liners. Incredibly powerful and fun.

Anyway yeah, it's a bit funny that the character I made out of spite to prove a point about skill issue is both the most fun AND the most powerful character I've ever played. Omorose Ahnkamen I love you, you walking war crime.

[docgold13]

365 Marvel Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

Team Supplemental - The Night Shift

The WestCoast superhero known as The Shroud came to the conclusion that he would prove a much more effective crimefighter were he to pose as a villain and take on the underworld from within.  To this end, The Shroud gathered a team of costumed villains, many of whom had been the captive of the villain known as The Locksmith.  

Although most of the members of The Shroud’s Night Shift believed they were involved in a criminal endeavor, The Shroud was able to steer them on a course to take down the other criminal factions active in the Los Angeles area.   Based in the Tower of Shadows, The Shroud led the Night Shift into battle against a host of criminal organizations, stealing their wealth and splitting it among themselves. The Shroud also kept careful watch over his team, ensuring that none of the group members preyed on the innocent. Under the Shroud's leadership, the Night Shift even allied with Captain America against the Power Broker.

The Shroud’s chief lieutenant on the team was the former Spider-Woman foe known as Dancer Macabre.  She often acted as leader of the team during times in which The Shroud’s duties took him elsewhere.  During one of these times, Dancer Macabre led the Night Shift in an attack against The West Coast Avengers.  

Not long thereafter, the team was taken over by the villain known as The Hangman, who was actually in league with the demonic entity known as Satannish.  All this resulted in The Night Shift rebelling against The Hangman and joining forces with Dr. Strange and The West Coast Avengers in order to defeat Satannish.  

The squad subsequently disbanded yet a new version of the team later reformed under the leadership of the Superior Spider-Man.  

Members of the team included:

The Shroud

When he was ten years old, Maximiliian Coleridge witnessed his parents gunned down. He dedicated his life to fighting crime, gaining a law degree and studying the Cult of Kali. During his studies, he developed mystical perception and the ability to manipulate aspects of the Darkforce. He became the Shroud and used this costume identity to take down criminals in a very covert manner. He encountered the Fantastic Four and Captain America, and later established a club in Los Angeles called the Cat's Jazz Club, where he could keep watch over the criminal underbelly.

Dancer Macabre

Dansen Macabre was a skilled dancer and priestess of Shiva who visited the Shroud's club in an attempt to kill him because he was empowered by Shiva's rival Kali. This led to an encounter with Spider-Man.

Digger

Roderick Krupp was a grave digger in Los Angeles who encountered the dangerous, haunted mansion called the House of Shadows. He soon moved into the house and from there hosted several late night horror television shows, taking the name ‘Digger.’ After his television shows were cancelled, Roderick started to go insane, believing everyone alive was actually dead. He started to bury people alive, but was apprehended by Jessica Drew and taken into custody.

Skein

A mutant with the ability to control natural fibers, Sybil Dvorak was brought to the United States from her native Rumania by the actor Jason Reed, who promised her fame and fortune, but instead kept her effectively a prisoner in his mansion. Bored, Sybil created a costume and wove delicate wings to become ‘Gyp$y Moth’. She became hedonistic, seeking pleasure and adventure, and when Reed died, his wealth was left to her. She also became an American citizen and encountered Spider-Woman on multiple occasions.

Werewolf by Night

Jack Russell inherited his father's curse of lycanthropy.  He has had many adventures with the criminal and super human communities and joined the Night Shift following his encounter with The Locksmith.  

Needle

Josef Saint was an elderly tailor who was attacked by hoodlums and lost an eye in the process. He grew enraged by this, and developed the ability to paralyze people with a stare. He battled Spider-Woman prior to becoming a member of The Night Shift.

Tatterdemalion

Arnold Paffenroth was bit-part Hollywood actor who could never really catch a break. He eventually became homeless and bitter towards the upper class, which led him to being mind-controlled by Sarnak, who gave him the ragged costume which he would wear as a super villain.  Following encounters with The Werewolf by Night, Ghost Rider and Spider-Woman, The Tatterdemalion ended up a member of The Night Shift.

The Brothers Grimm

Percy and Barton Grimes were corrupt realtors who purchased an old theater in Los Angeles, where they discovered the long-abandoned Brothers Grimm costumes which had been imbued with magical powers. Taking the costumes for themselves as the Brothers Grimm, they fought Iron Man and later Spider-Woman before being captured by The Locksmith.  Thereafter, the pair were recruited into the ranks of The Night Shift.  

Misfit

Jason Roland was a handsome Hollywood actor who struggled to get his break in the industry. He eventually made a deal with a make-up artist who claimed to be an emissary of the devil;  He traded his soul in exchange for success. The make-up artist created a monstrous design for Jason to wear in the film ‘The Demon that Devoured Hollywood,’ which led to Jason's increased popularity. Jason threatened to break off the deal but, on the final day of shooting, he discovered that he was unable to remove his costume, effectively trapping him in a monstrous form.  Now known as The Misfit, he battled Spider-Woman prior to being captured by the Locksmith and subsequently joining The Night Shift.

Waxman

The monstrous Waxman had been a scientist suffering from a rare skin condition.  An experiment meant to cure him instead turned him into the creature composed of a malleable wax-like substance. He appeared at popular clubs throughout Los Angeles disguised as handsome men and seduced women. Bringing them someplace alone, his body turned into a waxy form during a moment of passion and he would smother them to death.  The villain was defeated by Spider-Woman and then imprisoned by Locksmith.  he served for a short time as a member of The Nightshift until he was dealt with more permanently by Moon Knight.  

The Night Shift  first appeared in the pages of Captain America Vol. 1 #330 (1987).

[dalmascan-requiem]

Shadow's Elegy: Repentance

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Why should politics and laws get in the way of justice?

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Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warning: death

Part of FFxivWrite 2023

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FFxivWrite's Day 29 prompt was Contravention. It made me think of Kris's somewhat skewed moral compass--he's not above killing people to enact what his sense of justice is. It's not really surprising, though... that is a Dark Knight more or less in a nutshell.

I am a day late on this one, but I still wanted to get it done and put it live :)

"What happened to the priest?"

Kris's tone is even as he asks. Too even, Tataru notes. It was clear the Viera was holding his anger back--not that she could blame him. The situation with the True Brothers of the Faith was nothing short of harrowing, and one of the priests became desperate enough when cornered to throw a child off the roof of the Vault.

Thank the Twelve Vidofnir caught her before it was too late… The chaos of the situation pulled Kris away from the aftermath, but he was clearly upset about what happened. Wish I had better news.

Tataru takes a moment before responding. "Trying to punish the True Brothers was… difficult, given the tense climate in Ishgard. The Lord Commander was forced to let them all go, including the priest on the roof."

"I see." Kris's voice betrays no emotion. He stares at the fire for a few moments before turning to leave the room. "It has been an eventful day… I need to rest. Have a good night, Tataru."

"Mm." Tataru frowns as she watches him leave. The Warrior of Light's time in Ishgard had left him withdrawn and jaded, and she worried for him. What am I to do, though? It's upsetting for us all… but our hands are tied.

~

It's always so cold… Kris lets out a sigh, looking up at the night sky. Cold in so many ways. It's been a few days since the True Brothers of the Faith tried to overtake the Vault and force Ayermic to stop his efforts to broker peace.

Kris had barely slept since then. He had been spending his nights in taverns and churches alike, looking for information. It's been so long since I've done something like this… good to know I still can, though.

He was surprised at how easy it was to find out more about the priest. Perhaps it was stupidity, or perhaps it was arrogance, but the Elezen made no effort to conceal himself after rebelling against Aymeric.

"Ridiculous…" Kris muttered under his breath. I will resolve it soon, though.

The Viera continues to watch the empty street, waiting patiently. He doesn't have to wait long, though, before he spots someone. Those robes, that face… it's him.

Kris waits until the tall Elezen passes by him before making himself known. "It's about time."

With a start, the priest spins around towards him. "Who are yo--" His voice quickly dies, however, when he lays his eyes on the Warrior of Light. 

Kris's eyes shone with amusement as he takes a slow, deliberate step towards the priest. "What was it you said in the Vault?" He takes another step forward, causing the priest to stumble back slightly. "You would rather die than surrender, was it?"

Another step forward. "You still seem alive to me, priest."

The Elezen finds his voice again, though he starts to inch away from the Viera. "You… you dare threaten me?! Heathen! You came here and tore everything down--and you dare act like I am in the wrong!?"

He doesn't respond, and simply takes another step forward. The priest's indignation turns to fear. "Y-you cannot kill me! Everyone will know it's you! You'll ruin the precious peace that bastard is trying to broker with… with those things! You'll throw all of Ishgard into disarray--"

The priest is cut off as Kris suddenly chuckles. "You find yourself that important? No, I'm afraid you're mistaken." He suddenly lashes out, grabbing the priest by the collar before he's able to get away. "This is simply personal."

It doesn't take much to force the taller man down to Kris's eye level. "What is the point of all this if we do not rid cowardly scum like you from this world? You, who'd try and kill a child for your delusions?"

Kris's tone is eerily devoid of emotion as he pulls a knife out from his jacket.

"No, you will not be missed."

[modulatechaos]

In Darkness (The Mechanical God Dreams) WIP

Planetary Location - [Redacted] - Club Nostramus - 13:35

"I get the distinct impression the guard at the door wasn't happy to see me," Miranda says, voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the thundering bass. Beside her Liara cringes, a sheepish smile flicking across her features. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared and the asari casts her a glance.

"Humans aren't exactly a welcome sight around here," Liara replies, pressing closer to her side as they navigate through the crowd. And it's true, she notes with a cursory glance; Asari, Turian, Salarian, Krogan and more than a few Batarians scattered about, several of them already watching her as she and Liara pick their way across the club.

"I think I may be the only human here," she mutters, thankful suddenly for the gun tucked underneath her coat. "I'm starting to regret letting you talk me into this."

"What happened to 'I always keep my promises?' " Liara asks, pausing outside another door. "Besides you're with me and you're not causing a problem, they can't legally do anything. If anything I bet the people here are wondering if you're…" she trails off and Miranda's eyebrows raise.

"Let them," she mutters. "It'll be easier."

They wouldn't be here long enough for it to matter and she hardly cared what anyone here thought of her.

Liara nods, turning away and hitting the panel to open the door. Miranda follows her through it, forced to duck under the absurd about of…things stacked around the other side. She's careful not to bump any of it, palm ghosting the underside of a particularly hazardously hanging pile of books.

She has more than a few questions.

"Ashi'a-"

"I told you already, Vahna I'll finish it when I finish it, do you have any idea how much shit you have back here-" The voice cuts off. "Oh shit, Liara?" A sputtering of half spoken sentences, most of them in the asari's mother tongue, too fast and too garbled for Miranda's translator to catch them.

"What are you doing here-" another pause as Miranda finally comes around the corner, stilling behind where Liara stands.

Ah.

"What are you doing here with Lawson?!"

"This is your back up?" Miranda says at the same time, biting down on the way the other Asari's low voice cracks in her shock at seeing both of them.

"I didn't know you were working with Cerberus now, Liara," Ashi'a drawls, on guard suddenly, leaning on her forearms. Miranda meets the Asari's eyes, deep purple and filled with the same vexation she recalled from their last meeting.

"I'm not," Liara replies, terse. "I'm working with Miranda, there's a large difference."

"On?" Ashi'a asks and Miranda cuts in.

"Classified."

The ex-commando's attention settles back on her, a tattooed brow quirking in irritation. Miranda smiles, too sharp, unpleasant and lacking. Liara looks between them, sighs.

"We need your help with something," Liara starts, stops, frowns, then corrects herself. "I need your help with something."

"You want me to work with The Illusive Man's favorite attack dog? You know what she did the first time we ever met?"

"If I recall, you attacked me first," Miranda says, stepping off to the side to observe one of the many bottles of liquor stashed on a nearby shelf.

"I kicked your ass into next year, too," Ashi'a says, vaugly smug. "Wasn't your best day."

"Yet I still left with the data we were both after," Miranda replies, selecting a bottle and turning to look at the two Asari. At Liara's questioning stare, she adds, "Del'rafon here threw me down an elevator shaft. Unfortunately for her, she didn't realize it let out on the exact floor we both needed. She chased me through half a city block before I finally got away."

"What kind of data were you after-"

"Classified," Miranda replies, amused with Ashi'a's in unison response. Liara drops the topic, moves on.

"We're going after the Shadow Broker," she says instead, getting to the point of why they were even here on this backwater hellhole of a planet.

[impernaway]

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I got tagged in this by @charaznablescanontoyota so we're just gonna go and see what i have. its pretty much all blaseball though i'm pretty sure. from the most recent working back:

here, there, and elsewhere

Scratch is on first base when the ground around her begins to shiver. Her eyes snap from where Cantus is at home to Vess over at third, barely catching sight of Rivers dropping down and clutching the mound for safety. She doesn’t make eye contact before immateria forces its way up and through the soil, up and over her feet, her legs, her fur, her face, up and up and up-

one step, two step

They face the election down in the Choux, together. It makes his palms itch, eyes flicking up to the giant electronic sign board they use for things like this. The results are going to be available on all their phones, but looking down feels wrong, maybe. Liv wasn’t a player when this happened last time. The Big Garage’s full name still carries the heavy weight of a fraction of the consequences.

a miracle and a blessing

The skies over Miami are full of feedback today. Hahn’s mouth tastes like one of the really fun energy drinks, and her hair is ever-so-slightly standing on end. The clouds in the sky are sparse in number and stutter and flicker here and there, and she and the rest of the Dale have sunglasses hooked into the necks of their jerseys just in case the clouds decide to swap places and leave them suddenly blinded by the sun.

lost in the store (who stole all the signs?)

So. Maybe they could've planned this better. Oh, who is he kidding? This isn't anywhere near the top ten worst case scenarios for going to ILKEA. Sure, they're maybe going a little bit in circles, and maybe they brought two carts and they're both getting kinda full now and they've still not found half of what they were trying to look for, and maybe he and Ivy keep spotting things that Max totally would've loved if xe were here and it makes his heart ache every time it happens, but it's fine! It's totally fine. Liv's got this.

a story told that doesn't really end

For being a thing whose opening led to an unleashing of horrors, the Forbidden Book is a surprisingly plain looking thing.

going, going, gone

Ryan Bluff burns on day 137.

entangled

Season 20 has been interesting so far. Aside from the flooding, there’s been precious little that’s happened so far for him to worry over. A few peanuts here and there, mostly. He’s glad that’s all there’s been! This series is up against the Thieves. It’s a beautiful day for a game - The sky overhead is blue and bright, a few wisps of cloud dotted around and looking terribly distant.

return tickets

It has been a year and seven months too long since Ingo was last seen. Emmet has seen the security footage! His brother was there. The world ripped open and tore below his feet. His brother was gone. He has watched it back again many times. It does not make any more sense than it did the first time.

dance of the nights

“I’m sorry, darling,” the Shadow Broker says, voice odd and distant sounding in his ears. “I didn’t want it to end this way for you. You always were one of my favourites.”

a face for radio

Bentley Finnegan has one hell of a voice, or so people tell him. It wasn't exactly where he planned on taking his career when he was younger. But highschool went how it went - particularly that last year - and he'd walked out of there with a line of chitin rolling down his spine, his chin in the air, and an itch in his fingers. He had nothing to prove. He'd already proven himself, after all. Him and all the rest.

we're gonna go ahead and tag @vryptidart because i think everybody else i know has been tagged already. it turns out it is indeed all blaseball with a single pokemon interlude.

[daneil32786632r]

Real Estate Hot Spots in USA: Top Cities to Buy a Property in 2023

The real estate industry in the US is an essential part of the country’s economy, with a broad range of businesses involved in the buying, selling, developing, and managing of residential and commercial properties. Choosing the accurate location for you is one of the most critical factors in the real estate business, as it can impact the success and profitability of a property investment. Here are some reasons why location is so important:

Demographics: Understanding the local demographic can help determine the type of properties in demand and the best investment for the area.

Economic factors: The local economy, including employment, income levels, and growth, can significantly impact the demand for properties and the long-term viability of an investment.

Accessibility: A well-connected property to transportation, schools, shopping, and other amenities will be more attractive to potential buyers and renters.

Future development: Keep an eye on any future development plans for the area, as this can have a massive impact on the demand for properties and the long-term value of an investment.

Zoning and regulations: It’s essential to understand local zoning laws and regulations, as they can impact the type of properties that can be built and the potential use of the property.

The real estate market can vary greatly depending on location, economic conditions, and demand for housing. However, some areas in the US have consistently attracted attention as promising real estate investment markets.

A powerful tool like Shadow Properties App can instantly help you visit the locations and choose the best properties. It is as simple as typing the city name on the search bar and adding properties to your list among a massive pool of options—similar to tossing groceries in your cart. Saving a significant amount of time, energy, and money. Visit the Shadow Properties App today (https://shadow.properties/ ) and learn everything you can about the functionality and possibilities it provides to brokers, agents, and investors like yourself.

Each of the following cities has its unique advantages for real estate investment. Here are some of the best areas to consider and reasons why these cities may be attractive for real estate businesses:

#1: Seattle, Washington

Seattle has a strong economy and job market driven by the technology sector. The city has a growing population, high demand for housing, and a shortage of available homes, which can be favorable conditions for real estate investment. Seattle is home to many large tech companies and a thriving startup scene, which has fueled a strong demand for residential and commercial real estate. The city is also known for its natural beauty and outdoor recreation opportunities, which make it a desirable place to live.

#2: Austin, Texas

Austin is one of the most flourishing cities in the US, with a strong economy and job market driven by the technology and creative industries. The city’s growth and popularity among millennials have led to an increase in demand for housing, making it a good market for real estate investment. Austin is known for its strong economy, high-tech industry, and vibrant culture, leading to a strong demand for residential and commercial properties. The city’s growing population and robust job market make it an attractive location for real estate investment.

#3: Denver, Colorado

Denver has a strong economy and job market driven by the technology, energy, and healthcare sectors. The city has a growing population, high demand for housing, and a shortage of available homes. Denver has a strong economy, a thriving tech scene, and a high quality of life. The city is known for its outdoor recreation opportunities and its proximity to the mountains, making it a desirable location for many people.

#4: Miami, Florida

Miami has long been a popular destination for real estate investment, thanks to its year-round warm climate, vibrant culture, and growing economy. The city is also a central hub for international business, which has helped boost housing demand. Miami is a popular tourist destination for its beaches, nightlife, and warm weather. The city has a strong economy, a growing population, and a high demand for residential and commercial properties. Miami is also a hub for international business and trade, making it an attractive location for real estate investment.

#5: San Francisco Bay Area, California

The Bay Area, which includes cities like San Francisco, San Jose, and Oakland, has a strong economy and job market driven by the technology sector. The area is known for its high cost of living, and attractive investment opportunities as demand for housing continues to grow. The Bay Area is home to many of the world’s largest tech companies, including Google, Apple, and Facebook. This has led to strong demand for regional residential and commercial properties. The Bay Area is also known for its diverse and vibrant culture, making it a desirable place to live and work.

Conclusion

These are just a few factors that make these attractive city locations for real estate investment. Ultimately, the success of a real estate investment will depend on several factors, including the specific properties and markets, the local economy, and the investor’s goals and strategy. It’s important to note that real estate markets can be dynamic and subject to change, so it’s essential to conduct thorough research and consult with a local expert before making any investment decisions. Use the Shadow App and start finalizing properties today: https://shadow.properties/ before your competitors catch up.