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hesbuckcompton-baby · 3 months

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I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1

AO3

Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group

Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee

The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.

Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.

Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.

Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.

Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.

"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.

"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."

"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.

"You coming for drinks?"

"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."

"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."

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The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.

"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.

"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.

"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.

"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.

"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"

"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"

There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"

She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"

"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"

Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."

With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."

She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.

"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.

"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.

Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"

Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.

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Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.

"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.

"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"

"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.

"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.

"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.

"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.

"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."

"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."

She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.

John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."

The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.

"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.

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It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.

"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."

"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"

"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.

"Can I call you Fran?"

"Only if you want to die."

"Fair enough."

As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.

"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.

"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.

"Did you win?"

"Of course."

"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.

It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.

"George?" She whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.

"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.

I'm not that short.

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The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.

A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.

"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.

"Mornin'."

"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"

"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."

She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"

"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."

"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.

"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.

"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"

"Stratford."

"I... do not know where that is."

"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."

"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.

"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."

"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.

As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.

"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."

"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.

"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."

John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."

Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"

"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."

A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."

Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.

"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."

"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.

"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"

"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."

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The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.

Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.

Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.

"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.

"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.

"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."

Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"

"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."

"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."

Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"

"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"

She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"

Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.

"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.

Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.

"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.

"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.

"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.

"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.

"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.

"All good."

"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"See you later," Frankie affirmed.

"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.

"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.

The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.

"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.

"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.

From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.

"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.

"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.

"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.

"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"

"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."

#masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #mota oc #hbo war #john egan #gale cleven #ken lemmons #rosie rosenthal x oc #oc: frankie #mota #fic | i'm your man #oc: george

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not-alpharious · 11 months

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The Fire Warrior novelization is wild

For anyone who doesn’t know, Fire Warrior was a game from 2003 where you play as a Tau Fire Warrior trying to rescue a kidnapped ethereal before it’s revealed that the planetary governor that kidnapped the ethereal was secretly a chaos cultist and you have to deal with that too.

What’s more unusual though is that the game actually had a novel tie in and it’s wild. It’s not perfect obviously, there’s a lot of parts where it skips from the main character, Shas’la Kais, starting to do something to after it’s been done with maybe a fight scene with the boss. But to be fair it is a novelization of the game and constant variations “He then turned the hallway and shot some guys” would get old fast.

What’s even more wild is that the book treats everything you do in game as something Kais actually does. As a result Kais becomes this freakishly hyper competent killing machine fueled almost purely by daddy issues. Like he is a genuine blood drenched cryptid and there’s practically no characters that aren’t at least slightly terrified of him. And that is not an exaggeration.

Like from everyone else’s perspective Kais is just a fresh recruit on his first ever battlefield and out of nowhere he’s gunning down hundreds of guardsmen. He takes out a tank with a hijacked imperial turret, kills an attack helicopter single handedly, saves the ethereal completely by himself from a heavily fortified prison, two shots a space marine, fights off two attempted boardings of his ship (which includes killing four more space marines completely by himself), counterboards the Imperial ship where he kills even more space marines and even more hundreds of guardsmen crippled the ship with a bomb and nearly kills the entire command crew all by himself, fights off a demonic invasion in the ship while completely lost to his blood rage, cripples the imperial ship even more, killing who knows how many CSM and demons the entire time, solos a chaos dreadnought, goes back to the planet to kill even more chaos marines and demons, fights his way through a titan to blow it up, solos a warp spawn, and a demon prince, falls to Khorne for a bit and eventually even kills a greater demon.

Within the book the entire time he’s doing all this he never has a mech or supplies, he’s constantly forced to fight God with guns and ammo he’s scavenged from the countless corpses he’s left in his wake. He rocks up to the Tau ship in orbit before he sneaks into the prison literally drenched in human blood and there’s nothing they can do about it because he’s basically the single best person at killing in their entire army at this point

These are all the things he does in the book because he does them in the game and it’s a just amazing to see the rest of the world react to this video game character played straight. Usually in other game novelizations, the sheer number of enemies your guy kills is usually brought way down and is just chalked up to the enemy numbers being inflated in the game for the sake of gameplay. But Fire Warrior decided to say fuck that, our blorbo really is just this much of a hyper competent war criminal and you should fear for your IRL life.

And honestly?

I don’t think I could respect them more for that decision.

#tau empire #fire warrior #shas’la kai my psychotic beloved #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #I honestly kind of wish they made him canon so that he Tau could just have this random doomslayer who gets pointed in a direction to kill

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inky-duchess · 5 months

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Locations in The Lost Prince - Kuzgrad

When we pass the tall iron gates of Kuzgrad, I am filled with that once familiar feeling of foreboding. It is the old chill that had always awaited me at the Imperial Palace, a reminder of the ghosts that once inhabited this place. I stifle a shiver as I step from the car, looking up at the old, craggy grey face of the ancient building, unable to throw off the sense of being surveyed from the empty windows. But this place is not the Imperial Palace, a sprawl of Vasily might, no this place is darker and far more ancient, the very stones embedded with their blood, their dead, their essence. This place is older than all of the places I have ever or could ever known put together.

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But there is no name for the little palace at sits in his shadow. It has had a hundred in the last thousand years but none of them have last the course. Veins of crumbling cobbled walls betray its ancient roots against the smooth skin of modern, smoothed facades. Turrets rise straight as lances, onion-capped and bearded with ivy. Blind gargoyles and fanciful beasts preside overhead, spotted with lichen and webbed with frost. The windows are still in their frames, the diamond panes yellowed with age.

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Less a palace and more a house. Grandpapa always gently corrected me when I called this place a palace. Father would gruffly remind me that palaces were our vast homes in Bevulsk, Corzberg, Kosken, Derm, the Imperial Palace and Tamolasyn. Kuzgrad was merely a large manor estate compared to them.

A pair of stone wolves flank the door, watchful and blind. The door is ajar, cracked open a span of mere inches.

The shriek of the hinges sends a judder up my arm. Light brushes across the dust-coated floor, falling on the indents of fresh footprints made hours ago. The windows have been clumsily boarded up, the light fixtures and frames on the wall draped with ragged sheets. Nothing has been removed, only hidden from prying eyes.

(images made with AI)

TLP Taglist

@reignnyx @writinglyra @pressedpapyrus @serpentarii @thevintagelover @seas-dubh @dameschnee123 @donutwithinadonut @mikaelsona @giuliawritesanddoeskpop @sunaora @mayawritesbooks @veneritia @trapped-inadystopianovel @hysteriwah @mothertaemresa @rise-again-2001 @underwoodinc @seamaiden @writer-somewhat @lord-fallen @writingoflarka @ashen-crest @pen-and-inks @strawstories @nerdygoblin @ortolon @chigyowastaken @residentofthedisc @elysianluv @lividdreamz @ladywithoringes @imawriternotamathematician @writeblrfantasy @ginghampearlsnsweettea @spicysequoia @ethereal-puppet @carmensapientia @snapdragoncrown @thats-my-type-writer @intellectualintelligent @ezra-ezra-ezra @rosemarys-for-remembrance @looking-for-the-stories @asingledropofwinter @queengiuliettafirstlady @gwensparlour @miladydreams @iespeciallyme @princess-summershine

#I wanted to try see if I could bring you all there for just a moment #It's not quite right but it's close enough #The lost prince #The lost prince taglist #Tlp taglist #Tlp wip #Wip: tlp #The lost prince locations #Locations of TLP #My wip #writing #writeblr #writer #spilled words #ask answered questions #writers #WorldBuilding #Tlp WorldBuilding

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thenightfolknetwork · 6 months

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Shortly after my 7th untimely demise, I came into a bit of money, and decided to spend it on a small 19th-century estate. It’s a gorgeous house, complete with turrets and everything. The turrets were, ah, fully collapsed when I first arrived, and the rest of the house wasn’t in much better shape, but I knew it was a fixer-upper and was confident I could handle it. And I was right! There were certainly some surprises along the way, but a few months ago, I was finally able to start moving in.

As often happens with these sorts of properties, there were some pre-existing tenants that weren’t listed on the contract. My bedroom has an enchanted mirror permanently bound to the wall, the stables house twin 11-year-old ghosts, the kitchen has a automatically-refilling bowl of perpetually fresh apples, and the library fireplace foretells visions of doom—not to mention Stain, the black cat (…I’m pretty sure she’s just a regular cat, but she’s still very much a figure of the property).

It’s. So. Much fun. I was worried I’d get lonely! But now, I can get ready for the day while having a lovely chat with the mirror, snag an apple from the kitchen, go read a book in the library and tell the fireplace that they’re looking particularly unnerving this afternoon, and then chop vegetables for dinner while supervising the kids’ potion-making—I usually don’t care for children, but these two are delightfully precocious, and it’s been a while since I’ve had apprentices. And Stain—she’s wrapped around my shoulders while I write this—she looks like she got hit by a car! She’s adorable.

We all have our spats, but the estate is big enough for us to have our own spaces, and we’re all doing our best to ~communicate~, as you like to say. It’s going swimmingly. Except.

Like most old properties, the house has collected a fair amount of dust over time. In this case, though, all those dust bunnies turned… sentient. Overall, they’re perfectly pleasant to the rest of us, but like to be left to their own devices and aren’t keen on doing what others want. I certainly won’t be judging them for it.

However, while the estate was left to fall into disrepair, the rifts that developed were—are—oh, how do I say this. Well. I probably shouldn’t beat around the bush. I’m having, er, dust bunny gang wars? In my house? And I am fed up with it! The mirror needs cleaning twice a day, the apples have to be washed before eating, Stain’s getting frankly concerning hairballs, and the twins—! Actually, they seem to be rather well-adjusted. I think they may be betting on the fights with the fireplace.

Anyway. As for me, in most of the house, the turf allotments are pretty stable. Not so for the room directly under my bedroom. Practically every other day in there’s a dust bath, and I just can’t sleep with all of the snapping and coordinated dancing and bloodcurdling screams going on.

I’d like to be able to finish moving in to my home. I was even hoping to set up my spinning wheel in that room, but I can’t expose all of those loose fibers to the dust. I am very literally losing sleep over this. What should I do?

Oh, reader. What a frustrating situation! I would like to commend you for your commitment to sharing your home with its previous occupants, and in your success at building a home together you can all enjoy. At least, most of the time.

I understand that the dust bunny population prefer to keep to themselves and enjoy their own autonomy. And I think you're right to respect that preference, to a degree. But their behaviour is now infringing unacceptably on the peace and comfort of your home's other residence. Enough is enough.

Your first step it to try and open lines of communication between yourself and the bunnies. A simple communication ritual should suffice. Set yourself up with a talking board and few candles, and see if you can encourage the bunnies to speak to you directly.

If you're thinking this sounds rather similar to methods used to contact the more antisocial members of the spirit community, you'd be correct. You are trying to speak to sentient dust, and statistically speaking, household dust is largely composed of dead skin cells. A little light necromancy should see you well on your way to negotiating a lasting peace.

As with any peace negotiation, there will be compromises. Before you start this process, think carefully about what you are and aren't willing to give up – and what it is, precisely, you're asking for.

Are you trying to claim the spare room as your own territory, or declaring it a no man's land? Do you intend to act as an intermediary between dust bunny factions, mediating for a broader peace, or are you simply trying to put limits on how these factions behave in the shared spaces of your home?

With clarity of purpose and a commitment to communication and compromise, I think you'll be able to find your way to a solution that works for everyone. If no solution is forthcoming, you might consider a small show of force to encourage co-operation. A new vacuum cleaner, featured in a prominent position in the contested territory, for example.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies #this one was a lot of fun lmao #i love the idea of dust bunny gang warfare including musical numbers

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casual-violinist-fangirl · 3 days

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I Will be Here, Don't You Cry - 4,971 Words

Two fics in one day?! She must have written this instead of doing any work...

Set after the reunion in A Different Approach. This is a Hunter and Omega father-daughter fluff/hurt/comfort fest!

This is pretty much canon compliant, however there is an AU time-hop to the end of Season 3 at the end.

As always, the link to my AO3 is here and the link to my masterlist on tumblr is here.

Thank you so much for reading and for your support! I really appreciate it!

--------

In hindsight, Hunter should have checked her over before she went to sleep; that had been his first mistake.

Omega had clung to Hunter’s side, still sniffling as they walked back towards the Marauder. Hunter had wanted to bask in the warmth of having her back for longer, but realistically he knew that they needed to leave before the Empire managed to track the ship Crosshair and Omega had arrived in.

Speaking of Crosshair…

The clone had been silent since disembarking the cargo shuttle. He had walked back over to his siblings, trying not to break his cold expression on his approach. Hunter had looked him up and down, nodding his thanks.

After all, despite their differences, he had brought Omega home.

Once on board the ship, it dawned on Hunter that Crosshair hadn’t seen it since they had converted the gunner’s mount to Omega’s room… and they had kept her room almost exactly as it had been left.

This was mostly down to the fact that Hunter hadn’t been able to stomach going anywhere the gunner’s mount during the little girl’s absence. It held too many memories of laughter and smiles and bedtime stories. Even when they had needed the ship’s canons, it had been Wrecker who’d had to enter the turret.

Glancing down to where Omega still had her arms wrapped around one of his, he couldn’t help but smile at the overwhelmingly warm feeling that filled him. Despite it all, she had made it back to them. Back to him.

He choked back his emotion, clearing his throat before asking Wrecker to start up the engines. Crosshair glanced silently around the cabin before his eyes fixed on something. He inhaled sharply, his face pinching in pain. Hunter followed his brother’s gaze and his heart ached when he saw Tech’s smashed goggles still sat on the shelf. Another thing he hadn’t been able to go near. The pain the goggles held still egged down on the sergeant, and he made a point of crouching down in front of Omega.

“You hungry, kid?” he asked as the ship began to power up. Almost on cue, Omega’s stomach grumbled and she laughed shyly before nodding.

“I guess I am,” she admitted. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten… we just wanted to get back to you.”

Hunter nodded, sending Crosshair a questioning glance. The sniper frowned, but his face softened slightly when Omega turned to him with one of her disarming smiles.

“Batcher needs something too,” he commented, not unkindly. Hunter looked down at the hound, nodding at his brother’s comment.

“We might have something she can eat,” he replied. The conversation was short. Sharp. Tense.

Hunter supposed he should count himself lucky that Crosshair had spoken to him at all… though had he really been speaking to Omega? Who knew… hopefully that would clear up with time.

Wrecker guided the ship into hyperspace before setting the controls to autopilot and spinning around in his chair. The cockpit was still empty apart from him and his heart sank slightly at that; he was happy to have Omega back, thrilled even. The little girl lit up every room she entered and he couldn’t wait for things to go back to how they were… or sort of how they were. Wrecker supposed things would never be the same now that Tech was gone.

Maybe Crosshair would re-join them? He wouldn’t go back to the Empire, not after spending time imprisoned there. Wrecker had missed his brother. He was the only one who would admit it, but he was secretly glad that the sniper was back with them. Hunter was suspicious, Wrecker could tell, but then Hunter had been going crazy ever since Omega had disappeared.

Wrecker had been forced to sedate him once just to get him to rest. Hunter had taken a hint after that.

Sighing, Wrecker stood from his seat and exited the cockpit. He was met by an almost surreal sight upon entering the cabin.

Hunter was sat at the navi-computer, a ration bar in his hand; that filled Wrecker with relief. He hadn’t failed to notice the weight his brother had lost in the past six months (another thing he had constantly nagged him about). As it turned out, Omega had noticed too. She nibbled on her own ration bar, tear tracks clear on her face, glancing up at Hunter every now and then to make sure that her brother (father?) was in fact eating.

Crosshair was slumped in a chair further back and it became clear quite quickly that Hunter had given him two ration bars. Wrecker didn’t blame him, Crosshair looked as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks… maybe he hadn’t. Who were they to know?

The hound… Batcher, sat curled up at Crosshair’s feet and occasionally the sniper would reach down and scratch her ears. He always had been soft when it came to animals (not that he would ever admit it).

The group sat in silence, and it weighed heavily on all of them. Ration bars eaten, Hunter turned to Omega once more.

“Fancy the ‘fresher?” he asked, taking in her mud-stained face and dirty hair. She nodded, hissing as she stood and stretched. As she headed to the ‘fresher, she paused suddenly.

“I won’t have any clean clothes that fit,” she muttered, almost embarrassed. Hunter cringed. How could he have forgotten? Standing as well, he went to his bunk before rummaging around in his crate. Before long he fond what he was looking for and pulled it out.

“These’ll be on the big side, but they’re clean and warm,” he offered out a pair of his old blacks from when he was a cadet. Omega’s face lit up at the sight of them and she grabbed them before thanking him quickly and rushing into the ‘fresher. Before long the sound of water hissing through the pipes could be heard.

The silence that enveloped the three brothers now that Omega was gone felt even worse than before. Wrecker glanced as Hunter busied himself once more with the navi-computer; Crosshair made a point of looking around the ship, taking every tiny change since he had last been on board.

Their silence went on this way until the ‘fresher door hissed open once more and Omega bounded out.

She looked exhausted to put it lightly. Now that the dirt was gone from her face you could make out the dark circles under her eyes. When was the last time she had slept? Hunter mused to himself. He pushed that thought to one side as he glanced over at Crosshair.

“Your turn, if you want,” he said shortly. The sniper nodded curtly before standing and making his own way into the ‘fresher. He swooped by his old crate on the way and grabbed a set of blacks. He had no armour to wear with them currently, but anything would be better than the prison uniform and stolen clothes from Lau.

All of a sudden, Omega let out a loud yawn, making both Hunter and Wrecker chuckle.

“Bed time?” the sergeant suggested with a fond smile that he only ever reserved for her. She nodded, though their was an air of reluctance about her as she padded over to the gunner’s mount and started to climb the ladder. She turned froze in her tracks before scuttling back down and running over to Wrecker. She wrapped him in a quick hug, which he returned, before making her way to Hunter. Wrapping her arms around him as well, she mumbled something into his middle that only he could hear.

“Of course,” he replied, following her as she made her way back to the tower. Omega seemed more relaxed this time, scaling the ladder and clambering into her bedroll. Hunter climbed after her, perching on the edge of the gunner’s mount and reaching over to turn on the string of lights. Wrecker couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he shifted out of his seat and back into the cockpit. He could give the pair a little bit of privacy he supposed.

Hunter pulled Omega’s blanket up to her chin like he had done six months ago, before before everything had gone so horribly wrong. She smiled like she had done then, shuffling further into the blankets and holding Lula and Trooper close.

“Glad to have you back, kid,” Hunter eventually said, cursing internally as he heard his voice croak. Omega’s eyes filled with tears once more, but she smiled a watery smile.

“I don’t want to wake up and this all be a dream,” she whispered, a hint of fear in her voice; it broke Hunter’s heart that even though she was far away from wherever she was held captive, it was still haunting her.

“You don’t need to worry about going back there,” he soothed. “You’re back and we’re going home. That’s all we need to think about right now.” The sergeant stifled a yawn of his own, making Omega giggle.

“Maybe you should be getting sleep too,” she commented slyly. So her sense of humour had returned… that was a relief.

“Maybe I will,” Hunter replied, pulling face that made Omega giggle even more. She yawned all of a sudden, her eyes drooping as exhaustion took over again.

In a moment of bravery, Hunter swooped down and pressed a gentle kiss against Omega’s forehead.

“Missed ya, kid,” he said quietly as he began to climb back down the ladder. “Sleep well.”

Once he reached the bottom of the ladder, he reached up and turned the string of lights off before shutting the curtain to the gunner’s mount. Omega shuffled quietly before all movement stopped and her breathing began to even out. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

Hunter perched on his bunk, pondering over his own exhaustion; he wasn’t entirely sure when he last slept. Even though Wrecker was constantly nagging him and he tried his best to rest, sleeping had not come easily during Omega’s absence. Perhaps knowing that she was back and safe would help him relax, he pondered as he felt his eyes grow heavy.

Maybe he should stay awake just in case she needed him, he absently thought as his head began to feel warm and fuzzy, sleep inviting him in.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for him to fall asleep, but he was out cold and enjoying a dreamless sleep before too long.

——

Shuffling was the sound that woke him, and he shouldn’t have been surprised really. The Marauder had gone from having only two people on it to having five occupants, of course noise was going to be the thing that woke him up.

Hunter’s head felt foggy and if he didn’t know better, he’d think that he was hungover; realistically he knew that he only felt this way because he had been in a deep sleep after not resting for too long. He had every intention of rolling over and going back to sleep when another sound entered his consciousness.

A sniffle.

Who was crying? Now alert, the clone sat up as quietly as possible. If someone was upset he didn’t want to startle them. Hunter glanced around the dark cabin, glad for his enhanced sight as he did so. Crosshair was the first person he thought of, always one to hide his emotions until he was out from everyone’s watchful gaze. He glanced across at the sniper and was surprised to see him out cold, snoring lightly. He imagined this was the comfiest he had been in a long time, the safest he had felt in a long time… he was probably making the most of it.

Batcher was curled up underneath Crosshair’s bunk, also breathing heavily; of course Omega had managed to gain a put dog during her time imprisoned. Hunter didn’t really know why he was surprised.

He could also hear Wrecker’s familiar snores, which ruled out his other brother as the source of the crying sounds… which only left one person.

“Omega?” he whispered as he quietly climbed out of his bunk and padded across the cabin. He paused before pulling back the curtain, not wanting to intrude on her privacy. Another sniffle, frustrated and desperate made him forget privacy and he pulled the curtain to one side.

The little girl in question was indeed the one crying; she had fresh tear tracks on her face and a scowl across her features. Hunter glanced down at what she was holding, raising an eyebrow when he spotted her hair tie and… her hairbrush. Only her hairbrush was broken, a couple of the teeth missing.

Omega almost looked a little betrayed when she spotted Hunter, but that look left her quickly as her shoulders sagged and a small sob left her. He had been quick to react, taking in the whole situation quickly. Hunter lay two gentle hands over hers, prying the brush and the hair tie out of them.

“Having problems with your hair?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Judging from the broken brush and the scraggly dead hair still attached to the hair tie, she was having more than just ‘problems’ with he hair. She nodded, the offending hair falling around her face as she did so.

“It hurts to brush…” she trailed off in an ashamed whisper. “I thought I could just deal with it but the brush got stuck and I pulled it too hard.” Reaching back into her hair, Hunter could tell she was trying to find the missing teeth from the brush. “And then it broke,” she finished, her eyes filling with tears once more as she began to sniffle again.

Anger coarse through Hunter. He had spent time training Omega on how to look after he hair when she had been with them before, and it seemed as though she had just been neglected and handed a hair tie when she was dumped on Tantiss.

He didn’t let his anger show though, as he offered his arms out she she barrelled into them; he took a small step back to steady himself but caught her and gently pulled her down from the gunner’s mount. With her still in his arms, he carried her quietly through to the cockpit.

Once there, he set her down on one of the chairs. Crouching in front of her like he had when he promised she was never going back to Kamino, he held the sides of the chair and smiled reassuringly at her.

“Want my help?” he asked gently; he wasn’t going to push her into it, but he wanted to help her if he could… and hair was sort of one of his areas of expertise.

Thankfully, Omega nodded, and Hunter nodded before standing and setting to work find what he needed.

He could feel Omega’s eyes on him as he moved around the cockpit, looking for various things that would help him. Eventually he sat down in the chair opposite hers, comb, brush and spray bottle in hand. He gestured for her to turn around in her seat, and eventually she was sat facing the back of the chair. The sergeant examined the back of her head without touching it at first, not wanting to cause her more discomfort than he had to…

… he quickly realised that he had a long job ahead of him.

The top layer of Omega’s hair looked relatively well brushed, even if it had only been with her fingers, but when that was moved to one side, a clump about the size of his fist rested at the nape of her neck where her ponytail had been.

Hunter breathed in slowly, trying not to let on how angry he was at her captors. Taking the clump in his hand, he examined it; it was made up of matted knots, dead hair, dead skin, what looked like leaves and twigs and… the missing teeth of the hairbrush.

“Who did your hair on Tantiss?” he asked gently as he set down his tools and picked up the spray bottle.

“No one,” came the meek reply. “I tried to brush it with my fingers… but that only worked for so long. When it started getting too long, Emerie gave me a hair tie.”

Hunter made a mental note to ask about this Emerie later, but for now he turned his focus back to the task at hand. Once her hair was suitably wet, he put the spray bottle down and picked up the comb. As gently as possible he started to tease the knots out of the bottom of the clump, hoping that he didn’t pull out too much of her hair in the process.

Occasionally Omega would hiss in pain and Hunter would mutter an apology and offer her a break, but other than that the pair sat in comfortable silence as the night wore on. It wasn’t until it was nearly the third hour of Hunter working on her hair that she quietly piped up.

“You look tired,” she commented softly, playing with her hands as they lay in her lap. Hunter froze for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for the little girl to notice. “You’ve been sleeping, right?”

Kriff, how was this kid so perceptive? Hunter considered how to respond before he realised that he’d left it too long and needed to think of something to say that wouldn’t worry her…

“It was… difficult to relax properly when we were trying to figure out where you were,” he eventually admitted, and Omega’s shoulders tensed.

That was an understatement, really. The truth was that Hunter had driven himself to the brink of exhaustion more times than he was comfortable with and Wrecker had been forced to sedate him at one point. He hadn’t been proud of that moment.

Now that he thought about it, he’d been acting like a mad man over the past six months, driven to crazy, risky actions by his grief and guilt. He really needed to apologise to Wrecker, who had bore the brunt of his pain-riddled temper. He could think of countless moments where he had dragged them into crazy plans that would have almost certainly ended in death had it not been for Wrecker’s sensible thinking.

Omega didn’t say anything for a while, almost seeming to sense his guilt. Just when Hunter thought that she wasn’t going to say anything else at all, she suddenly spoke again.

“You should get some sleep,” she replied lightly, but he could hear the worry in her voice. He almost laughed; he should be the one worrying about her, not the other way around.

“I will once we’re back on Pabu,” he responded, only for Omega’s shoulders to tense up again. She wiggled her head away from Hunter’s grasp and turned to face her brother.

“You need to sleep.” she had a frown on her face now, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Hunter knew that face; that was the face he used to use to get her to go to bed.

“Omega…” he sighed, resting his arms down by his sides. Sure he had been dead to the world before her crying had woken him, but he had been due a power nap. Now he’d probably be able to stay awake all the way through the rest of their journey.

The little girl wasn’t having any of that, it seemed.

“You’re going to sleep as soon as we’re done here.” It was an order, not a suggestion and the child nodded before turning around once more and allowing him to resume his work.

“Sir, yes sir,” Hunter grumbled as he picked up the comb once more.

——

An hour or so later, and Hunter was working through the last of the knots. Omegas’ hair would need another wash and brush in the morning, but it shouldn’t be anywhere near as difficult or lengthy a process.

“You’re all good, kid,” he said; his voice croaked slightly with exhaustion and his eyes felt heavy again. Maybe a kip would do him some good…

… there was no response from Omega, and Hunter realised that she had dozed off in the chair as he’d been brushing her hair. He sighed and tried to gently manoeuvre her out of the position, only for her to suddenly yelp and start thrashing.

“NO!” she cried, eyes snapping open, but not focusing. “I won’t go back there! Hunter!” Omega collapsed in a heap as Hunter tried grasp her before she hit the floor. Taking a few shuddering breaths, she seemed to realise just where she was and glanced around the cockpit of the ship. Upon spotting Hunter, she lunged for him wrapping her trembling arms around him and refusing to let him go. He was forced to crouch down to her level, joining her on the floor of the cockpit as he held her close; she clambered into his lap allowing him to wrap his arms around her fully and whisper soothing words into her hair.

Eventually, when her breathing had evened out a little more, he glanced down at the child. She was clinging to his blacks, her head nestled into his chest in a way that he’d never really held her before. Sure, she’d given him hugs that he’d awkwardly tried to return in the past but this new sense of closeness was alien to him. Alien and yet it felt as though it should have been this way all along.

“I don’t want this to be fake,” she whispered hoarsely. “I don’t want to wake up and be back there and be faced with another day in that place.”

Hunter nodded before resting his chin on the top of her head.

“You’re safe, ad’ika,” he replied. He’d learned the term from Tech, who had teased him once about how Omega had seemed more like a daughter than a sister.

Omega froze in his embrace and glanced up at him. She knew what it meant, clearly, from the look in her eyes. They shone with yet more unshed tears but instead of a sad look on her face, the ghost of a smile crossed her features.

“You really mean that?” she asked. Hunter blanched, but nodded, trying to remain calm. People had always mistaken him for Omega’s father and he had spent so long denying that he was… it had only been since her disappearance that he had come to terms with the fact:

Omega was his kid.

There was no denying it now, the girl knew what he thought and now all he had to do was wait for her rejection. What was he thinking? He couldn’t be a father to her, he couldn’t promise to keep her safe when he’d lost her.

He was drawn out of his spiral by arms being thrown around his neck.

“I’m glad you do,” she whispered just loudly enough for him to hear, and Hunter found that he was having to blink back tears. Omega pulled away from the hug and smiled at him before a large yawn practically split her face in two. Hunter chuckled.

“Tired?” he asked, and she nodded, though a look of fear passed over her face. Hunter frowned; he never wanted to see his little girl look scared again if he could help it.

“Omega?” he asked, concern laving his voice. The child chewed her bottom lip nervously.

“I…” she trailed off, running her hand through he newly brushed hair. “I don’t want to be on my own,” she said quietly, looking a little embarrassed. Hunter nodded and briefly paused before scooping her up and carrying her back into the cabin. He set her down on his bunk gently before crouching down and putting the hairbrush and spray bottle away.

“You could always stay her tonight?” he suggested, glancing up at his kid. She nodded keenly before shuffling back on the bunk and pressing herself against the wall of the cabin. Hunter ditched the last of his armour before clambering into the bunk himself, pulling the blankets over them both.

The pair shuffled for a moment, adjusting to sharing a bunk designed for one person, but before long Omega was cuddled against her father figure, a handful of his blacks clutched tightly in her grip. Her breathing began to slow as she eased into a (hopefully) deep sleep, but before she did she whispered something just you enough for Hunter to hear.

“Night, buir.”

So Tech had been teaching Omega some Mando’a too, it seemed. Hunter’s breath caught in his throat as he heard the term, but smiled at the warmth that spread through him

“G’night, ad’ika.”

He knew in that moment, that as long as he had his little girl, he could face down anything else that happened to their family unit. Anything at all.

——

Weeks later, he was sore and exhausted as he searched the rubble of Tantiss, desperately searching for signs of Omega. The last thing any of them had been expecting was for the Zillo beast to break loose and collapse the mountain-base. It had made swift work of the labs before running off in search of more chaos to cause… leaving the survivors to search the rubble.

Echo had caught up with them not long ago, battered and bruised but very much alive. He had dragged a bedraggled scientist with him (Hunter learned that this was Emerie), claiming that the pair of them had been trying to free Omega and the other children (others?!) in the vault before the chaos had begun.

The squad were frantically pulling apart the rubble in search of any sign that the children were alive when Emerie let out a pained gasp. Hunter’s head shot up and he ran over to where the woman was standing.

In her hands she was holding what he could only describe as a straw version of Lula, dirty and coming apart…

“This belonged to Eva,” Emerie stammered as she looked around. Hunter realised that this must be one of the children’s names. If Eva was buried under this pile of rubble, maybe Omega could be too. The pair of them crouched and began to dig at the rubble that surrounded the area. Hunter could feel the tears filling his eyes as they got deeper. What if she wasn’t here? What if, after only just realising that he was in fact Omega’s father, he was going to have that ripped away from him?

“Buir!”

Hunter’s head shot up. He yanked his helmet off, looking around as he tried to place the voice. Suddenly, there she was. She was filthy, covered from head to toe in dust and dirt, but she was grinning as though she had just won a prize.

He wasted no time running towards her, vaguely registering the other children that she was stood with. They looked a little startled as Hunter swept Omega into his arms and held her close.

He burst into tears as he held her, gripping onto her like his life depended on it.

“Omega,” he uttered through ragged breaths, relishing in the fact that his little girl held him close.

“Buir,” she replied softly, her own voice thick with emotion. He set her down before holding her at arm’s length and checking her over.

“Are you okay?” he asked almost frantically, looking her up and down. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

She shook her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. This reminded him so much of when she had found them the first time around.

“It’s over,” she choked out, and Hunter nodded, glancing at the rubble around them.

“It’s over,” he soothed as he pulled her back into a hug.

——

The Marauder was gone. A new ship had taken it’s place, provided by Rex and his men as they turned up to evacuate the Batch, Emerie, the children and any surviving clones. Hunter and Emerie had both agreed to help the children find their homes again, seeing as Eva and Sami couldn’t recall their home planets (they had been so young when they’d been taken) and Jax knew the planet name but couldn’t remember the town. Barryn had no way of communicating his home planet, which presented its own challenge.

The Firebird, their new ship, was… very full at the moment. It had two bunk rooms, unlike the Marauder, and one of those had been allocated to the kids whilst they were staying on board. The other was slept in by Hunter and his brothers. Emerie opted to sleep in the common room, still wary and unsure of her newfound freedom. No one questioned it.

That night, Wrecker was on watch when Hunter heard the soft patter of feet across the short hallway to the cabin he was currently sharing with Crosshair and Echo. He rolled his eyes fondly, knowing exactly who was coming in.

The door hissed open only to reveal Omega stood in Hunter’s blacks (still too big for her) and shivering in the cold night air. She crept across the room to Hunter’s bunk, where he rolled over and shifted, moving the blanket so that she could climb in. Omega still opted to wedge herself between Hunter and the wall of the room, holding not his blacks like they were a lifeline. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead as the pair of them drifted into a light sleep.

“Love you, buir.”

“Love you too, ad’ika. Sweet dreams.”

Who knew how long their ship would be more like a boarding house for tiny Jedi, but Hunter couldn’t care less. He would offer to house and feed all of the kids in the universe as long as he got to see his little girl smiling and happy each day.

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inthemiddle0feverywhere · 2 months

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Bad Batch Season 3 Episode 5 (scattered) thoughts and first impressions (ramblings)

Major spoilers under the cut

This one is also very long because mannnnnnn did I love this episode and omg do I have big feelings about it

Also yes I do love each member of tbb but in case it’s not obvious I’m a crosshair girlie. Have been since I first heard his voice in season 7 of tcw so this is gonna be very crosshair centric (because he finally has screen time and more than like 2 speaking lines this season!!)

Lula! 🥰🥰

Is Omega in a supply closet? Whatever better than her barren room at the lab

Ah nope her old “room” the gun turret 🥰🥰

A glimpse of mornings on board the marauder: peaceful boys and caf 🥹 probably only peaceful again now that omega is home

This is Omega’s best look omg the the crocheted vest??? I wanna cosplay her now or actually just wear this outfit fr

At first I was so annoyed they kept crosshair in this ugly ass outfit but I honestly think it’s because even though it’s warm on Pabu he’s always cold because he’s so skinny now (well he always was lean but this is a testament to how much weight he lost as a prisoner) They keep trying to feed him fruit and my man keeps using it as target practice 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

I honestly love when they show scenes through like either a scope or helmet visor. Like I really love seeing what they’re seeing. In this case AZI (so happy they took him from Cids bar- sorry “parlor”….it was a dive bar)

He’s so mad at his hand 😭 my poor baby he really should let AZI look at it. What do we think it is? Nerve damage? I imagine it feels tingly like when your foot falls asleep.

I love that Batcher loves him!! Animals know good people. He’s a good man Savannah! 😭😭😭 and he likes Batcher too and anyone that’s kind to animals is ok by me.

Ugh Crosshair teaching Omega about being a sniper 🥰🥰😭🥰😭🥰 one day she’s just gonna pop out with a sick trick shot lmao

Shouldn’t have given him his rifle??? Sir it’s an extension of him, it’s like you gave him back one of his body parts

“Omega trusts him and that’s good enough for me” Wrecker!!! My sweet boy!! Big man and even bigger heart. He’s now kinda caught in the middle he wants to be cool with Crosshair again but doesn’t want to betray Hunter they’ve been through a lot just the 2 of them these past several months. Crosshair and Hunter are like parents in the middle of a divorce 😭

53%???? Fuckkkkkkk way worse than we thought

Echo!!!!! Yay mom came home!

“No hug for me” screaming crying throwing up! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 💔💔💔💔he’s disguising it as sarcasm but he wants it, he wants a hug! SOMEBODY HUG HIM DAMMIT! I volunteer!!! Please

Omega between her 2 dads 🥰 (Though is Crosshair more wine aunt vibes sometimes?) And batcher by Crosshair’s feet of course

Yummmmm I bet Pabu has banging sushi 🍣 Love Wrecker being an unbothered king enjoying his sush🥰

😭😭😭😭😭 Crosshair’s face when Echo mentioned Tech. He knows. He knows he fell or perished (shh no 🤡) trying to save him. They’re twins and he lost his other half and I’m devastated!! 😭

Haaaaa welcome to parenting a teenager Hunter!!!

Are Hunter’s eyes green all of a sudden?

Crosshair being the voice of reason?? I love seeing this side of him. I HC that since he is silent and highly observant he was a voice reason often for the batch. (Can we please get a series of TBB during the clone wars?? Or like when they were cadets or something. We only see them in 4 episodes in tcw and they were just an insane suicide squad who hated regs and didn’t follow orders or have anyone in charge of them like I wanna see their adventures and their dynamic and how they are when they have downtime! Please lucasfilmmmmmm 🙇‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️)

“I’m older than you are, little brother” 😂😂😂 and she got crosshair to chuckle lol ugh I love their dynamic so much. They are really feeding us rn (please don’t take it away)

Omg he’s so brave bringing them back there! To that freaking ice planet where nothing but trauma happened for Crosshair. I know he probably wished he would never have to go back there again but he knows this will help so he goes anyway

The old armor!!!! Helllllll frickinnnn yeaaaaaa (he’s so hot in armor omg I have a headache)

“Take a guesssssss” 🥵

“He started it” 😂😂 major youngest sibling energy

Mayday’s helmet! 💔💔💔💔 somebody sedate me!! 😭

Why can’t Hunter sense the Wyrm?

TOOTHPICK!!! Wrecker defo kept his toothpicks in the armor case 🥰

Frickin ice vulture always an omen. (Animals seem to really like Crosshair though even the scary ones)

“I know you” 😭 I know Hunter meant it in a “I know you’re sneaky and closed off and I’m expecting the worst from you right now ” but it just hit me harder than that. “I know you”- you’re my brother, the youngest I’ve known you since the day you were born. “I know you- I know there’s more to your silence I know your still waters run way deeper than you let on.” “I’m your brother- I know you talk to me I know you”❤️‍🩹

Oh shitttttt thems are fightin words yes let it out everyone

“I’ll do it! 😁” Wreckerrrr I love you

Hunter’s fast af boi!

Batcher is actually ripped af 💪

Ok petition that Cross doesn’t yell anymore it doesn’t suit him at all lmaoooo

Poor Wrecker yes it’s always ALWAYS a huge monster 😭

“Fantastic” 😂😂😂

Omg this is a roller coaster of emotions! Crosshair being soft with Batcher, the nodding! Ugh nothing like fending off a giant ice wyrm to bring bros back together

He’s so pretty shut up I know his head is shaped like a lightbulb

AAHH THERES THE HUG 🥰

progress 😌

“I thought I was being a good soldier 😔” * *pterodactyl screeching *

Welp Im deceased, fed and nurtured but dead at the same time.

Thank you thank you thank you for these past few episodes. Us Crosshair girlies were really in pain seasons 1 and 2

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professionalscrublord · 1 month

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Magnetized Joints / Torso Twist

For sick action-figure movement.

Hacked up some minis and affixed magnets in the joints for some movement. Now you can track torso twists physically on the board. And swing the axe arm for shits n' giggles.

Honestly starting was a little nerve-wracking since it's the first time I'd set out to willingly damage a model. Normally I baby them and cringe if I drop them.

Pictured: Hand drill, magnets, wharncliffe knife I'm using cause I didn't bother getting a hobby knife, and a serrated kitchen knife I was using as a saw until I cracked and got the lil Tamiya craft saws on the right.

Here's the poor Axman, after a few rounds of sawing at it and soaking the joint in superglue un-cure, either the glue dissolved enough or the plastic softened enough to where I could twist the joint apart.

Left: Bushwacker with magnets top and bottom, also Axman axe arm taken off. Then Nightstar with the same. On the right: how I kept the magnets + greenstuff to make sure I didn't put them in backwards. Needed dabs of superglue under the magnets to keep them from pulling each other out of the greenstuff.

Hacked off the Bushwacker's triangular shoulder missiles and sculpted on a PROPER X-shaped LRM-5 launcher from MechWarrior 3, *Ahem*. (I'm sure they made the change for ease of plastic casting or something.) Axman got a bit taller cause I misjudged the magnet depth too shallow, filled in some greenstuff to hide the magnet again.

Joints before+after priming Platemail Silver. On the right: the Exterminator's legs are drying held in the assembly stand because his leg/hip joint twisted off before his waist joint did...

KGC-010 mod. Cut off the Large Laser, modeled some flush-mounted particle cannons surrounded with SRM-6 launchers, and spiky cooling vanes poking out the back.

Left: Extra articulation on the Black Knight to make him Monty-Python compatible. "I'll bite yer legs off!" Note the head's Small Laser. Right: BL-6-KNT further modded into a BL-9 "Clanbuster" variant: Cut SL from head and glued to CT, modeled an axe out of greenstuff. Held upside down while the glue was drying and greenstuff was curing, because otherwise it started to droop from the weight of the axe head.

Side note: Apparently the BL-9 has a "Sword-shaped Hatchet". Hatchet according to record sheet, Sword according to lore. This must be some easter egg from the early days of melee weapons before Swords got their own rules or something. I got got. Reminds me of how the King Crab just has bog-standard hand actuators instead of Claws that were only added to the rules way after its time.

KGC's LL reused to create an infantry mortar emplacement, in a ring of sandbags.

One last glamour shot showing all the converted minis twisting. Didn't forget about that triangular LRM-5 from the Bushwacker, did you? Created a stationary defense turret with it to the left of the mortar, modeled some other missiles and gun barrels using greenstuff and a 3d Pen. The one on the right is entirely scratch-built.

Now I have to decide how I want to paint them.

#battletech #mechwarrior #art #scifi #military #mecha #sculpting #modding #miniatures #tabletop #wargaming

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caffitch · 2 months

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ok ok so a um… bus yeah. uh left aperture with umm,, lets say three? people? wait uh all the humans are dead hm. turrets. three turrets boarded.. and then left aperture. and at the testing chambers three of those weighted cubes got on,

somehow. but i mean those are different? compared to those turrets they arent as uhahaha.. "advanced" yknow?? theyre like half as "persony" you could say. so one and a half people, which is three, cubes.

and at manufacturing two of the things fall off could be the turrets, or the cubes uh, just dont look to hard into it- so how many passengers do we have?? um. none. no passengers! because theres no buses or roads or anything in aperture...

#wheatley #cirno #portal2 #wheatley portal #shitpost #shitty doodle #touhou reference #wheatley in a dress #yumyum

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kingofsummer93 · 4 months

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Once Cursed, Twice Shy

Part 2 of my gift to @velidewrites for @acotargiftexchange!

Summary:

Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.

Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.

And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.

Inspired by the Ex Hex by Rachel Hawkins.

Chapter 2: A Stumble Through the Flames

Ao3 Chapter 1

A/N: Let me know if you'd like to be added to or removed from my tag list!

Present Day, Yorkshire

Lucien stared at the imposing manor in front of him, its many windows as dark as the memories this place dredged up. The dark stone walls crawled with ivy, turrets reaching for the sky proudly. Even though he couldn’t see it from where he stood he could picture the overgrown, neglected garden woven through with narrow pathways, and the sloping hills that lead to the woods beyond. There were rumors about those woods- whispers of werewolves and magpies, legends about children getting lost and never being found. It was all nonsense, of course. The only monsters around here lived in the manor house.

Ironically those supposedly cursed woods had been where Lucien had felt most at home when he was a child. He had spent countless hours in his youth memorizing the twists and turns of the dense paths until he could have found his way home blindfolded. Inside the manor there was perpetual silence, but it was anything but a comfortable one. It was a brittle silence, one that could snap at any moment and lead to something even worse. The forest, by contrast, was never still. There was something comforting about the quiet energy of the woods- the rustle of underbrush, the distant call of an animal.

There would be no traipsing through the woods today, however. Lucien exhaled a deep breath, as though the house he was facing was a prison he was willingly entering and not his childhood home.

In some ways, he supposed, it was both. Except he had the added benefit of not knowing why the hell he’d be summoned here. At least in prison he’d know what to expect.

As he walked up the wide stone steps flanked by gargoyles he could have sworn their eyes followed him. He had hated them since he was a child, unnerved by the carved eyes that seemed to judge him and find him lacking.

Failure, one said, flame curling out of its stone mouth.

Weak, said another, claw-tipped hands gripping the pillar it appraised him from.

Cursed, declared a third, its wings spread wide as if poised to take flight.

If Lucien had the luxury of wings he would have flown out of this hellhole a long time ago.

The front doors opened and closed on a phantom wind as he stepped inside, shutting him into the gloom of his past.

He’d managed to stay away for a full year, this time. He would have gotten away with longer, were it not for this summons- and the yearning to see his mother in the flesh. Talking to her through a scribing board was not the same, and the guilt he felt for all but abandoning her was made worse by the way her face shone with happiness every time he called.

She was the only reason he hadn’t cut all ties to this wretched family, if he was honest. If it wasn’t for her he would have cut his losses and ran as far as he could. Probably with a different last name.

These summons always followed a predictable pattern, and this one was no different. A stiff family dinner, followed by some sort of announcement that included either an assignment for one of them, or, on occasion, a punishment. For Lucien it was usually more of the latter and less of the former.

Dread coiled in his stomach. Surely he couldn’t have done anything to deserve his father’s wrath this time? He couldn’t think of anything, but then again, he and his father had very different ideas of what deserved punishment.

“So,” Kalan drawled as the dinner plates were replaced with desert, “still living in homeless shelters?”

His twin sniggered from across the table, his mirth quickly turning into a cough as Eris narrowed his gaze on the pair. “Watch it,” his elder brother warned.

“Working for youth shelters. Managing them, as you very well know. You’ll be sorry to hear that I’m able to keep a roof over my head without anyone’s help.” Unlike the rest of you, he silently added. It was a dangerous jab, but if his father heard he didn’t seem to care. Yet.

“Lucien’s been in Australia,” his mother said proudly, reaching out to grab his hand affectionately. Lucien could feel the bones in her fingers, so brittle he might be able to snap them just by squeezing. She was so thin, even more than last time he saw her.

“Australia?” Liam prodded, stupidly. “Why would you go to that hellhole?”

Lucien cleared his throat, willing himself not to rise to the bait. It was possible that Liam was too stupid to remember, and wasn’t being malicious, but it stung all the same.

“With the regulations their magical government has been drafting, a lot of young witches have been struggling, and it’s not safe for them on the streets. I have connections there, so it seemed a good place to focus since the London branches have been running smoothly.”

“What the hell kind of connections do you have in Australia?” Kalan asked, looking truly baffled.

“Kalan,” Eris warned.

But it was too late. By now all six of his brothers and, regrettably, his father, were all staring at him. His mother’s hand tightened around his.

Lucien took a deep breath through his nose. Losing his temper would do him no good, he was painfully aware of that, but damn if his good-for-nothing brothers didn’t make it difficult.

“Because of my wife,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. His hands were shaking, making the fork he was holding clank against his plate. He dropped it with a clatter. “Remember her? Or I guess you wouldn’t, considering she was never allowed to come here.”

The silence that fell was deafening. It seemed to press around him, buzzing in his ears and crawling down his throat until he thought he might suffocate.

“Darling-”

“Don’t bother, Lillian,” his father snapped, cutting her off. Lucien stiffened but refused to meet his father’s hateful gaze. “If he insists on mourning the likes of her there’s nothing we can say to change his mind.”

Lucien laughed bitterly. The likes of her. Jes had been a better person than any of them combined, but things like that hardly mattered to his family. It didn’t matter that she had been kind, and loving, with a soul as generous as it was wild. The only thing that mattered was that she wasn’t a true witch. Her great-great-grandmother had been a witch, but the magic had petered out over the generations until the only thing that was left for Jess to inherit was her ancestor’s bold, unusual coloring, and eyes that could see particularly well in the dark.

Lucien had hardly cared about her lack of magic. How could he, given his own predicament? In the end when her blood had flowed it had been just as red as anybody else’s. They were all mortal, no matter how much they liked to delude themselves with talk of bloodlines and magic purity. They all bled the same.

“You know what? If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go now.” He pushed his chair back with a screech of wood on stone. His face burned with the combination of humiliation and rage that being around his family always kindled. The hurt that he knew would be on his mother’s face only made him feel worse. “It’s been a pleasure, as always.”

“Lucien, please stay,” his mother implored, her voice like a balm to his raw nerves.

He turned to her, clutching both her too-thin hands in one of his own. “I’m sorry, I just…” He swallowed hard as his father sighed impatiently behind him.

“We’re not done here. Sit down.”

Lucien whirled to look at his father, a biting retort on the tip of his tongue, but the look of cruel amusement in his father’s cold amber eyes made him freeze. He sat back down, if only because he knew if he didn’t he wouldn’t be the only one suffering Beron’s wrath. His mother didn’t need to bear any more consequences for his bad decisions.

“Christmas Solstice is coming up,” his father announced, his gaze still fixed on Lucien. At this his brothers perked up, distracted from the momentary entertainment of Lucien’s torment. “It’s time once again for one of us to go to Maple Glen to power up the ley lines.”

Lucien reflexively locked eyes with Eris. His brother was as coolly unruffled as ever, though there was something in his gaze that sent ice trickling down Lucien’s spine. If he hadn’t known that Eris wasn’t capable of such an emotion he might have thought his brother looked afraid.

Lucien couldn’t make sense of it. Powering up the ley lines was routine business, usually handled by Eris. It was seen as an honor- and so, naturally, he had never been asked to do it. The only time he’d ever even seen the village was when he’d accompanied Eris on his bi-yearly trip a decade earlier.

Not that he particularly cared to think about that- or to return to Maple Glen, for that matter.

As the silence dragged on Lucien became acutely aware of his father’s gaze still focused on him. Realization hit him like a slap in the face, and for a moment he was so stunned he forgot to hold his tongue.

“You’re sending me to Maple Glen?” It was so surprising he couldn’t wrap his mind around the implication. One thing was clear, though- whatever his father’s motivations were, this was neither a kindness nor an honor.

The twins scoffed in unison, launching into protests and jeers.

“Surely not!”

“Don’t be daft!”

“Shut it,” Eris growled.

“Indeed,” Beron drawled, leaning back in his chair as if this was immensely amusing to him. “It’s high time you make yourself useful to this family, don’t you think?”

Lucien swallowed thickly, his palms suddenly sweating. He had his own motivations for staying away from Maple Glen, but apart from that…

“What if he can’t?” Branlar blurted, looking equal parts baffled and outraged. “He can barely light a fire! How is he supposed to power the ley lines?”

And there it was, delivered with the tact and stealth of a battering ram.

“Fuck right off, yeah?” Lucien growled.

They all knew his outrage was mostly for show. Because in fact he could barely light a fire, and it usually left him drained enough to need a nap afterwards. It was his family’s greatest shame- the fact that he, a Vanserra, could barely wield more magic than a carnival magician. That the flame he had once manipulated without so much as breaking a sweat now left him physically drained, the inferno that used to course through his veins reduced to mere embers.

It hadn’t always been this way. He’d once been just as powerful as his brothers, if not more so. Flame, spells, air and light manipulation- it had all come so easily to him. And then, ten years ago, it had dwindled, like a tap being slowly turned off until only occasional drops remained.

He’d sought help from witches all over the world, had performed all manners of spells and cleansings and curse-breaking rituals he could find. None of it has worked. Some said he was cursed, or unlucky. His father liked to say that he was simply weak.

Lucien had despaired at first, desperate to find a cure and get his magic back. It had felt like not being able to breathe, the absence of magic like a phantom pain that kept him up at night.

Until he’d met Jes. Being with her made him forget to mourn his lost magic. She was magic, a new, wonderful brand of it that he couldn’t get enough of. Her laughter was a bonfire, her touch a spell, and he was bewitched by her from the start.

And then she’d been taken away from him. Like everything good in his life always was. He should have known it couldn’t last, really.

He should have stayed away from her, kept her safe from his bad luck. Just as he’d chosen to do with Maple Glen. That way he would have been broken-hearted, but maybe she’d still be alive.

“Father,” Eris started carefully, “powering the ley lines is quite taxing, are you quite sure…” Something about his careful tone told Lucien this wasn’t the first time he’d argued with their father about it. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted.

Beron waved dismissively. “He’s a Vanserra. We’ve been doing this for centuries. Why shouldn’t he be able to?” The warning was clear. This wasn’t just a test, but an ultimatum- if he failed, he likely wouldn’t be welcomed here again.

Lucien chanced a glance at his mother. Her eyes, so like his own, were strangely calm. She reached for him again, and though her grip was still brittle, this time it came with a warmth that spread like a cloak over his skin.

He wasn’t just a Vanserra. It was her flame that he and his brothers wielded, and that power still flowed through his veins. No matter how badly he’d always fit in with his brothers, he would always be her son. And he’d be damned if he let his hateful father keep him away from her.

“Fine,” Lucien snapped. “I’ll go to Maple Glen. I went with Eris once, I watched him do it.”

“It’s hardly the same-“

“I said I’d do it, alright?” he snapped.

Even if it meant going back to the one place he swore he’d never step foot in again.

Even if it meant seeing her again.

Present Day- Maple Glen

Elain adjusted the beaded shawl around her shoulders as the customer seated across from her fiddled nervously.

“First time getting your fortune read?” she asked, giving her voice the breathy, self-important air she always put on when she was working.

“Yeah. I, um…don’t really know what I’m doing here, to be honest with you.”

Neither do I, Elain wanted to tell him, though she could hardly admit that. Instead she smiled at him indulgently.

“Don’t worry, dear. The tea leaves will tell us everything we need to know.”

The man wiped his palms on his jeans, drowned his cup with a wince, and pushed it towards her almost reluctantly. He looked so worried that Elain felt bad taking his money. She often felt bad, but as Vassa liked to remind her, she wasn’t completely scamming people. She did have the power of sight- it just didn’t come in the form of tea leaves and tarot cards. It wasn’t her fault her visions never manifested while she was with a customer.

“Now,” she declared, pulling the cup towards her, “was there something specific you were wondering about?”

The man’s eyes flitted around as though he was embarrassed to meet her gaze. For a second Elain thought he might bolt. That happened sometimes with the more skittish tourists. Too bad she asked for payment upfront.

“Well, yes…” He trailed off, took a breath to steel himself, and launched in. “It’s my wife. She’s…I think she’s hiding something from me.”

Oh. That hit a little close to home.

There was a shuffle of footsteps from outside the curtained area that blocked off Madam Fawn’s Fortune Salon from the rest of the shop, indicating that Vassa had decided to snoop. Damn her and her witchy hearing.

Elain squinted through the thick glasses that gave her eyes an unnatural, bug-like appearance, peering into the tea dregs. “Ok,” she said slowly, careful to keep her voice neutral. “And what makes you think that?”

“Well, she’s always jumpy and defensive, like she thinks I’m about to accuse her of something. She knows all my passwords but she gets mad if I even check the time on her phone…”

Elain’s gut twisted. This was all too familiar for comfort. She squirmed despite herself, and the man’s eyes went wide as he tracked the motion.

“That’s bad, right?” He gulped. “I knew it was bad before even coming here.”

This was the problem with this fortune telling business. It was almost too easy. The customers always ended up doing most of the work for her. Even when she tried to lay out a bright future for them, they always found a way to declare some sort of tragedy before it had even happened.

“Well, not necessarily. What does your wife do for work? I’m seeing a source of outside stress that may have been affecting you both…” she trailed off and peered deeper into the cup, frowning in concentration for good measure.

“Oh. She’s a doctor. Pediatrics.”

Bingo.

“Ahh, yes. Well, this time of year is especially stressful with all the influenza going around, isn’t it? I’m sensing this vacation you’re on was just the thing she needed…”

Ten minutes later the man was thanking her profusely, having been assured that there was no divorce in his future and that his wife was simply stressed at work. Elain kept her polite smile firmly in place until the bells above the shop door jingled with his exit, and then she sagged.

“Poor sod,” she said sadly, locking the door and turning the closed sign.

“Well, she’s definitely cheating on him,” Vassa agreed. The cash register clanged cheerful as she pushed it closed.

“Or she’s a secret witch,” Elain grumbled. She unwrapped the beaded shawl from around her shoulders, transforming back from Madam Fawn- Fortune Teller to Elain Archeron- Broke Witch. Broke, single, approaching thirty, and technically slightly homeless witch, to be exact.

Vassa shot her a dark look. “I thought we weren’t talking about that anymore.”

“We’re not!” Elain grabbed a broom and briskly set about sweeping the stray herbs and detritus from the day, avoiding Vassa’s knowing gaze. “I wonder which one he would react better to, though…”

“Elain!”

Elain threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine.”

Vassa hovered halfway towards the front door, slipping a wool hat over her golden-red curls. “Are you, though?”

“Am I what?” Elain snapped her fingers and her piles of dirt disappeared into thin air. One of the many perks of living in a magic shop was the marked improvement on her spellwork.

“Fine?”

Elain sighed, finally meeting her friend’s eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.” How many times would she have to repeat it before she believed it? “I was just rattled by what that guy said.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Jurian won’t mind!”

Elain grabbed her broom again, shooing Vassa towards the door. “Go, you mother hen! I’m fine!”

Vassa’s bright laughter rang out over the tinkling of the door, and then with a final click Elain was alone, enveloped in silence. Another evening alone, with nothing but her thoughts and a shop full of (mostly) fake magical artifacts to keep her company. The cat skeleton curled up next to the cash register hissed at her, as if affronted she had forgotten him.

“Oh shut up, you pile of bones.”

The cat stretched languidly and then turned away from her, letting out a displeased meowl for good measure.

Of course even an enchanted cat skeleton would reject her. Males of any species always did.

With a sigh she trudged up the stairs towards the tiny apartment above the shop and the empty evening it contained. Even after almost a year of living here she still called it the apartment and not her apartment. It technically belonged to one of the Maple Glen Coven’s elders, who let Elain live there in exchange for her services as a fortune teller for the shop. It had seemed like too good a deal to pass up when Amren had first offered it to her, especially with Vassa occasionally volunteering at the shop. Suddenly they were nineteen again, two young witches with their whole lives ahead of them.

Except that they weren’t, and after almost a year here, Elain felt stuck.

She wasn’t supposed to be living in a tiny, slightly musty apartment above a tourist shop on Main Street. Merlin, she wasn’t supposed to be living in Maple Glen at all.

Deep down she knew there was no shame in coming back home with her tail between her legs, but that’s what it felt like. Shameful, and embarrassing, like she had failed not just herself but other people’s perceptions of her as well.

She was supposed to be living in one of the manor houses on the outskirts of Salem, married to the son of a wealthy local family. Not here, with only a magically enhanced cat skeleton for company.

As soon as Elain’s feet hit the second floor landing, a noise from downstairs made her freeze. A whoosh, followed by the slight tingling sensation that always surrounded magic. She felt it raising the hair on the back of her neck, that awareness of a new source of power reaching out for her own.

Like calls to like.

She crept back down the stairs slowly, her mind racing ahead of her with possibilities. They’d never had a break in, but there was a first time for everything. That rush of power she’d felt, though- that couldn't have come from a townie trying to steal a few decks of tarot cards.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw that the main shop floor was illuminated by a faint green glow, and a warmth was spreading through the darkened room. Elain relaxed as she saw the emerald flames crackling merrily in the hearth behind the cash register. Vassa had probably left something behind once again and decided to Apparate instead of walking back.

Elain crossed her arms and smirked, waiting for her friend to step through the flames, when a sharp inhale behind her made her heart stutter in her chest. She whirled, grabbing her discarded broom and brandishing it like a baton.

“Who’s there?” She tried to sound menacing, but the tremor in her voice was less than convincing. “Vassa? Is that you?”

“Elain?”

She didn't have time to register that the intruder (the male intruder) knew her name before the flames from the hearth fluttered out, smothering them in sudden darkness. From the faint glow of the street lights outside Elain could make out a shape moving in front of her, and she raised her broom higher.

“Where am I? Shit, I can’t see…”

Her heart gave another stutter, except this time it was from the shock of recognition and not fear. There was something familiar about that voice, a deep rumbling timber that she’d never forget as long as she lived. It was the same voice that still occasionally showed up in her dreams, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear. The voice that had made her swoon and laugh in equal measure. The voice that had taught her love, and then heartbreak.

But no, it couldn’t be. Surely she was mistaken. Surely…

Suddenly she very fervently wished that she was being robbed by a townie.

There was a loud crash as the figure stumbled into a display case, sending a shelf full of light-up crystals tumbling to the ground. They lit up as they hit the floor, bathing the room in a technicolor array of jewel-toned light.

Elain blinked in shock as the man’s features came into view, his tall frame frozen as still as she was. Golden-brown skin flashing red, then purple, then blue in the glow of the gaudy crystals. Hair the color of embers that she still remembered the texture of. And those eyes that blazed at once hot and soft, eyes that she had always thought could see right through her to the core of her soul.

“Lucien?”

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