#i just idk grief has been consuming me lately

[sonego]

.

#actually the reason why i said goodnight and was ready to go to bed but i still hadn't is that i got sad abt my cat #and i couldn't move from the couch for half an hour i was petrified by grief #i still can't believe i will never cuddle with him again. like ever ever #it's horrible to even think about for 2 seconds let alone spend half an hour doing that #i feel mynheart so heavy in my chest like there's a massive rock on it #doesn't certainly help that yday my doctor gave me an appointment for next year and it'll be on what'd be my grandma's bday #which i guess is good cause that means i won't forget about it #but it's also making me think of her and especially lately i feel so.. idk. sad i guess #i think of her and feel like a void a hole in my chest #bc i forgot so much. so so much. it's been so long #i just idk grief has been consuming me lately #sounds dramatic what can i say i feel like everything is missing nothing makes sense i am not a person life is a waiting room i can't leave #i'm in bed now listening to eden hoping i'll fall asleep soon and sleep well

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Mentions of attempted sexual assault, death, child death, certain amounts of grief, mentions of incestual marriages (It's ancient Egypt, y'all c'mon) canon divergence/merging

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Hah! Betcha I had y'all convinced it was Khonshu creeping through the window, didn't I? :D But also yeah, there's gonna be some inaccuracies here and there while I merge the show and comics (hello, it's fanfiction, duh) Also we get more backstory on Jezebel! Also idk why but this chapter feels off to me, maybe I'll be able to comprehend better (and possibly make edits) once I've had some sleep!

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu

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Chapter 5:

Pomegranates

"And you're positive it's her?"

Jezebel gripped at the inside of her wrist, knuckles white. She swore she could feel the scales burning her palm.

"I know it's her. It has to be." She affirms.

Zephyr croaked from his perch nearby at the man who stood in a darkened corner of the room.

His hands clasped behind his back, his stark white suit stood out from the rest of him (save for the bots of golden button-up that peaked from beneath his collar). A cleanly shaven head, tanned skin and dark, piercing eyes fixing Jezebel with an intense glare from behind his glasses.

"Jezebel, there is no such thing, really, as knowing, and at the same time thinking something has to be what you want it to be."

"Yehya..." She hissed through her teeth, pressing her fingertips to her temple.

"I don't... I can't explain it to you. You don't understand. I know it's her. I don't know how I do, but... I just do. Trust me, okay?" She looked up at him, her brows softly pinched in a plea.

"I would never do anything to cause Him harm. If I ever did I would sooner kill myself. This could... This could lift Him up, Yehya..." She said to him.

"If it wasn't for your intervention, as well as Khonshu's... I would be dead like almost all of Ammit's blind followers. I would rather my heart serve the Moon, than serve the Soul-Eater."

"Well, Jake Lockley saw to that loose end being tied." Yehya Badr sighed, his posture slumping somewhat as he paced.

He looked at the small golden idol depicting Khonshu, the moon disc proudly displayed upon his head, and his gaze softened.

"Yes, He seems rather keen on utilizing Jake, lately. Whether or not Marc knows about him I cannot say, yet. I must admit, I missed Khonshu's voice whilst he was away, dealing with Spector's insistence on letting his alter, Steven Grant live a "normal" life..." His fingers brushed the base of the statue.

"I just wish he came to me for help. One Fist isn't enough to defend the world."

"It is a war on more than one front. Two Fists means He has more than one weapon to defend the innocent in different places." Jezebel said, sipping her spicy tea.

"Perhaps Khonshu kept you here to carry out his will in his absence? He trusts you enough, believes in your abilities enough that he doesn't need to hang over your shoulders like he does with that Spector fellow and his... brothers."

"Maybe you're right." Yehya said, tilting his head as her turned to look at her again.

"But we're getting off track." He moved to sit in the chair across from her, gingerly holding the teacup in his large hand as he sipped silently.

"You've seen her?" Jezebel asked, quirking a brow.

"Yes. And frankly, she looks like death. She looks like she isn't sleeping, or eating. I'm honestly curious as to when was the last time she saw a doctor."

"There's a reason for that." Jezebel set her cup on the small plate with a clink.

"And that is..." He asked, raising an eyebrow in return.

"She came to me almost a week ago, now. She's been having what she assumed were dreams, but from the little context she's been able to disclose they sound like... visions."

"And these dreams only happened after..."

"She's had them her whole life. They've gotten more intense, more disturbing to her after I gave her the statue and told her to pray to Khonshu for protection."

She reached out to the crystal ball in the middle of the table and waved her hand over it. Briefly, an image of the moon swirled in its depths, before vanishing.

She showed him the conversation she'd had with you, the things you said happened, what you dreamt and what happened to the man who tried to rape you.

Yehya's brow furrowed deeply as he listened, absorbing every detail before the images in the crystal vanished.

"...That does sound concerning. You... Do you think Khonshu himself saved her? Directly?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Jezebel sighed. "She can't ascertain any details of her dreams for me to build more, and well... Given that it has been so long, perhaps she has access to magic, like I do. It can explain some of the things she dreams, her "feeling" as she describes it... Things change, though that body isn't the original, who is to say she doesn't have a gift for magic in this life?"

"You're a mystic. A priestess. This woman... She cleans offices." He said skeptically, leaning back in the chair.

"Merit was simply the cousin of a wealthy man." Jezebel said, her gaze narrowing sharply. "She was a scholar, a scribe. That isn't much higher than a cleaner, these days."

"...A scribe with the ear and arm of a god." He murmured.

He met her gaze with his own.

"But you don't know for certain."

"It... It might not be Merit. It could be someone else, but I just..." Jezebel ran a hand through her hair.

"I feel it, Yehya. Inside me. I feel a connection to her, and it's one I haven't felt since..."

Yehya reached out and touched her hand in a comforting gesture, knowing the subject was a tense one for her.

"I know." He said. Then, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes with a sigh that he exhaled slowly.

"I will investigate, watch this woman from afar. I will see if there is any truth to your suspicions. And if there is, I must watch her, ensure she is kept safe so history does not repeat itself."

"...Maybe she can tell us who killed her." She whispered softly.

Yehya's head snapped to look at her. "Whoever it was is most likely long dead."

"But if they aren't... Justice might finally be dealt. He can finally have closure to the mystery." She insisted, tapping the table with her fingers.

"Perhaps." He conceded.

Yet again, Jezebel astounded him.

"Has Khonshu mentioned any changes with Merit's tomb?" She asked him. "Has anybody found it?"

"No, it is tucked so far away within the desert and hidden with magic. The previous Fists did well to conceal her tomb and keep her safe. Khonshu would certainly have mentioned if interlopers had raided the place."

"Good. Maybe one day..."

Yehya made a dry chuckle.

"If this woman is Merit. Maybe. But who wants to visit their own grave?"

"You'd be surprised, Yehya." Jezebel smiled, sipping her tea.

"Graveyards are often haunted. By the living and the dead. Some by choice."

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You pulled at the hem of your apron beneath the table, nerves frayed and body exhausted.

When was the last time you ate? You ate this morning, right? You were sure of it.

You had honey and bread, with some dates.

Or... did you? Was that another dream, too?

But, wait...

You hadn't slept. At all. You were so sleep deprived that the line between the waking and sleeping world were blurred so well that you were jumpy, seeing things even when you were awake.

You would be walking down the street and all of a sudden you'd be on a cliff, overlooking some kind of town, or a city, the stars and moon shining high above you. You stopped yourself before you fell over the edge, or a large hand on your shoulder jerked you back.

Yeah, when you snapped out of it you saw you had almost been hit by a car and a cyclist pulled you back to safety before you got turned into street pizza.

You were dreaming even when you were awake, it seemed.

Right now, a horrid pit was in your stomach, your nerves tangled and twisted violently together. You had been up for nearly three days. You knew that legally you were insane once you'd gone past the 72 hour marker. But you were just so afraid to sleep because of your dreams that you just... You couldn't. You couldn't stand it.

And here you were, in your boss's office. Not just the guy in charge of the cleaners, but the whole building itself.

It was currently 9:27 am, your old, beat up watch told you.

You raised your eyes to look at your reflection in the small mirror on his desk, and squeezed your eyes shut.

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The incense filled the air, the smell coming in off the Nile and the blooms around it being carried on the wind, straight into your house.

You hummed as you looked into your golden mirror, applying with great care and practice your kohl eyeliner, applying your wings; being careful not to poke yourself with the stick. Then, you begin drawing out your eyebrows, the end slope following the curve of your wings.

You take a moment to admire yourself, smiling proudly at the turquoise coloring you'd applied on your eyes, and how well it complimented your looks, highlighting the blackness of your liner, and stood out starkly against your darkened skin.

Setting the kohl stick down, you grab the reed with the red ochre attached and begin to daintily apply it to your lips, giving yourself a nice red tint.

Once finished with that, you placed your used tools on your makeup pallet.

When you were finished applying your makeup, you set down your mirror and reached out to your cosmetics box, and grabbed a small ivory pot and opened it and dipped your fingers in the scented oil, dabbing it on your wrists and throat, rubbing it into your skin in gentle circles, the spice and sweetness mixing together into an intoxicating scent.

You run your hand over your shaved scalp, feeling the fuzzy beginnings of new hair growth start to form. You frowned.

Ugh, you'd have to shave it again when it got too long. You did not want to risk getting infested with lice.

You would cross that road when you came to it.

You stand, and go over to the chest at the foot of your bed, trying to decide on what to wear, as you were still only clad in your small trappings that only covered your nethers.

It was rather hot today, the heat already stifling in the early morning.

So, you decided on your beaded dress. A garment that left little to the imagination, yes, but given the summer heat many opted for the most breezy and comfortable clothing available in their wardrobes, the richer ladies opting for beads to accentuate their beauty.

You grab the garment and slide it over yourself, beads tinkling as you do so. The upper edge lay on your ribs below your breasts, the straps coming up and over your shoulders to cover your breasts (barely, given the style of beading).

Once clothed, you walk back over to your vanity and grab the golden and beaded neck collar your father gifted to you a week before he died. It was your favorite piece, depicting the face of your mother, who, passed away not long after your younger brother, whom had drowned when playing in the Nile. His body had gotten swept away in the currents and it was a full day before they fished him from the waters.

Your mother mourned painfully, loudly... Her cries, you felt, could still be heard even in your dreams as a girl...

Your father told you the pain of losing him was simply too much, and the Gods decided they couldn't keep her separated from her younger child any longer; that her prayers and desperate cries for her son broke the very heart of Anubis himself, so they showed mercy and claimed her early so she could reunite with your brother and ease her suffering.

After your father's death, the golden collar had been modified at your request, showing a depiction of both your father and brother as well, happily holding onto one another in Sekhet-Aaru.

The only members left of your family were you and your cousin, whom your father once tried to marry you off to. You declined, and surprisingly your father accepted. Mostly because your cousin had already expressed an interest in the daughter from another noble family, one closely related to the royal line. Your cousin graciously allowed you to live with her and his new family, mostly because you and his wife had become steadfast and loyal friends, especially after you helped her through the birth of their daughter. Your cousin exalted her birth and graciously left lavish offerings to Taweret and Hathor as thanks for their protection during the pregnancy and birth.

You sighed wistfully at the thought of family. Your parents would never see you wed, or have children of your own. Your father passed away three seasons ago, leaving you the last of his line.

The collar had always allowed you to feel their embrace, even if it was only by the cold of the soft metal and beadwork.

You sigh once more at the sentiment and go to put in your heavy turquoise earrings (to match your makeup and the beads on your dress). Then it was the ivory bracelets on your wrist, and the simple silver anklet that hung over your foot, the cold material soothing you.

It had been a recent gift from your lover. It pleasantly surprised you, you honestly hadn't expected him to be one for gifts such as these.

Inside the anklet were carvings depicting a poem of sorts dedicated to you.

"To my love,

Without you I would have no sky.

There would be no inky black to hang the stars,

The jewels of the night.

Or for the Moon to rest and shine down upon you."

You giggled as you reached for your crimped wig, sliding it comfortably into place before applying the gold and silver chains you hung as a sort of extra ornamentation. After that, you reached for your linen shawl and draped it over your shoulders, tucking it in so it concealed yourself just a bit more conservatively than your dress on its own did.

Afterwards you slipped on your most comfortable sandals and grabbed your basket, as well as whatever items you would need to trade for things you'd need or like. Sure, you could have the servants do the shopping, but then you'd never get out of the house, save for when your lover whisked you away into the night.

You wanted to feel the sun on your skin, as blistering as it was, feel the breeze on your face; feel the atmosphere of a bustling market.

You pause to look at the altar across from your bed, where the incense burned and your offerings lay.

You wondered if you should shed these clothes once you got back from the market, or from the Palace this evening.

You certainly had an excuse, it was hot, after all.

He would come tonight, your lover. And already you knew what the night would entail once the two of you embraced.

Before you leave your room, you lean over and kiss the statue on the altar, smiling happily.

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You jerk your head up with a start and blink when you see your boss sitting in front of you, looking concerned.

You glanced down to your watch.

9:32 AM.

It felt like hours you had been in that dream. Maybe less, but it sure felt like a while. But it had only been a few minutes. Did you nod off when you weren't paying attention..?

He repeated your name again, and you cleared your throat.

"Y-yes sir?" You asked meekly.

"I've received several concerns from your coworkers about you." He sighed, opening the file and flicking through the papers.

"You've been a loyal employee, you've almost never missed a day since you were hired..." He continued to list off the hood things you'd done since coming to work, there.

However that icy, nagging feeling in your gut wouldn't go away.

"But the concerns are regarding your well-being. At first I paid them no mind, until I saw you with my own eyes." His bushy brows furrowed deeply, a frown crinkling his salt-and-pepper beard.

"Alec is a good friend of mine, and he as well told me how you've been feeling. He also told me recently about a man who has been spotted in the vicinity, watching you through the windows."

"Th-that was one time..." You peep.

"Well, given everything that's happened to you, kid... I'd rather not risk it." He scribbled something down in one of the binders on his desk, before hastily typing on his computer.

"As of this second, you're on your PTO."

You felt your mental train derail as you blinked dumbly at him.

"But--"

"No buts, missy. You're obviously not well, and I can't have you passing out on the job or falling down stairs. That's dangerous to your health and my company's reputation. You've racked up enough time to..." He blinked outrageously.

"...You've worked long enough that you could take a few months off work. For now, I'm giving you just two. You need to see a doctor, and get help."

He locked his gray eyes with yours.

"I think you got narcolepsy, kid. I had an aunt who had it when I was a kid. It's not good, that's what got her killed. Passed out at the wheel and got into a wreck."

He stood up from his chair, walked over to you, and rested his hand on your shoulder, fixing you with a gaze most would save for their child or grandchild.

"Trust me, kid. You're one of the best cleaners I've ever hired. Probably the smartest, though Alec tries, bless his soul. The man has admitted he's never been the sharpest tack in the box..." He chuckled a bit. "I'd hate to lose you to your health, of all things. It'd be easier to handle if you were poached out by some other company."

Your jaw hung, opening and closing but you couldn't think of words to say.

"Go on, kid. I have a meeting to get to. Go home, eat something, and take a nap."

As you were gently ushered out of his office, you were left in the quiet ambience of the sterile hallway, the buzzing of the lights above droning endlessly into your ears.

Great.

Just great.

What the hell were you supposed to do for two months?

Maybe... you could conduct some more research. Learn more about Egypt, keep writing your dreams down, and go see Jezebel again...

But first things first... You had to figure out why your hands wouldn't stop tingling.

That would have to wait. At this point you didn't care if you didn't get well-rested.

You needed sleep.

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Chapter 6: Link

#khonshu x you #khonshu x reader #khonshu moon knight #khonshu #moon knight #yehya badr #my writing #khonsu #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley

[howaboutcastiel]

Won’t Somebody Help Me Chase the Shadows Away?

(Din Djarin x Cobb Vanth, post season 2 canon divergence.) Content warnings for angst, depression, and heat exhaustion. Word count: like 7k idk it’s long as fuck.

Din has nothing left but a broken Creed and a misplaced Saber. Perhaps, what he needs to heal is someone equally as broken to care for.

There was nothing but silence once the door to the elevator sealed. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the Mandalorian to make the first move. Cara at least had the respect for Din to keep her eyes on the floor, and Fennec joined on her cue. Bo-Katan never let her gaze break from Gideon’s unconscious body. Koska looked to her leader for guidance, but Lady Kryze had no instruction to give her. They all knew it was up to Din to move forward from here. 

But Din couldn’t move. He knew if he so much as allowed himself to breathe, he would fall apart. Already, the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, leaving dread to take its place as the realization set in. 

The Child was gone. 

His head throbbed, likely from repeated blows from the dark trooper, and the rest of his body wasn’t feeling great, either. It wasn’t that Din was unused to being injured in battle, but he had certainly taken one hit too many to his head this time. He could feel his eyes struggling to focus—and not just because of the tears that welled but refused to fall. His breath was shaky, not just from panic and grief, and each sharp inhale prodded his ribs like a fire poker. The eerie silence stretched on and on until something had to give. Din knew it was him that was giving. 

His helmet tumbled from his hands, clanking loudly on the floor and rolling to a stop two paces away. In the back of his mind, Din understood that he should pick it up—that he should replace the helmet and cover his face. But it was too late for that now. His buy’ce was removed, and he had removed it. His Creed was broken. And as he knelt to chase the beskar with shaky hands, the title rang in his ears. 

Dar’manda. 

Apostate. 

Traitor.

He couldn’t put it back on, even if he wanted to. As it was, the helmet lay just out of his reach and his legs would not carry him any further. His head was properly pounding and his heart was in a similar rhythm. Din’s shaky breaths had sunk into silent sobs. His chest wouldn’t take air. All he could feel was pain. It was fruitless—the subconscious effort to steady himself on his knees, to push himself back up. He fell forward as spots and stars invaded his vision. Someone, perhaps Cara, called out to him as his chest hit the floor. 

The last thought before the darkness wholly consumed him, a dull-toned mantra in his ears. 

There was nothing left for him now. 

~~•~~

When he woke, it was slowly at first, then with a start. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened. He hadn’t dreamt, hadn’t thought or felt anything at all since his unceremonious collapse on the imperial cruiser. 

Now, all Din could feel was pain. 

The first thing he noticed was that his helmet had been replaced—a thoughtful gesture, even if it was in vain. Din’s visor helped him adjust to the light of the bunk. He couldn’t say for sure whose bunk, on what ship, but his best guess was that he was lying in Boba Fett’s quarters on the Slave I. The thin cot was similar to Din’s own on the Crest, another cornerstone in his life that he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to mourn. His limbs were heavy and his neck protested when he tried to lift his head, but that was nothing compared to the dull ache behind his left eye that spread across the entire side of his skull. In spite of himself, he groaned at the pain, and the vibration of his chest served to reveal a similar ache in his abdomen. 

The groan caught in his throat and died as a low, choked noise. Din held his breath until he could be sure that breathing was a tolerable feeling. A hoarse whine escaped his lips on the exhale, drawing the attention of company he was unaware that he had. 

“Try not to exert yourself,” the familiar voice warned. Boba extended his hand to Din’s chest, a silent order to stay still. “We’ll be arriving on Tatooine soon. You should rest until then.”

“What happened?” Din croaked, his tongue dry and raw. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, my friend. That’s quite a loaded question.”

Din grimaced and tried again. “Where are the others?”

Boba clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a sound of deliberation. 

“Fennec is in the cockpit,” he explained. “Marshal Dune elected to wait for Republic reinforcements to aid her transport of Moff Gideon into custody. As for the other mandalorians, it’s difficult to say. I assume they wanted to deal with Republic officers about as much as Fennec and I did. They left fairly quickly after your collapse.”

Din nodded, his hand darting up to his helmet as the motion sent pain through his head. 

Boba’s voice turned softer. “There will be more comfortable quarters for you in Mos Espa, and there are medical droids in the city that can tend to your injuries.”

Din’s throat was as dry as the Dune Sea. “I don’t need to see a med droid.”

Boba chuckled. 

“I must disagree, considering that Marshall Dune had to aid me in carrying your unconscious body to my bunk.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted. 

Fett’s smile dropped, replaced with something akin to a scolding expression. “I believe that you have some degree of head trauma, Mandalorian. Frankly, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up at all. I don’t think it wise for you to take your chances without proper treatment. Let the droid have a once-over, at least.”

Din chewed the inside of his lip. He hardly had the energy to argue about it. 

“Alright,” he conceded. A once-over wouldn’t hurt him. Boba’s hand rose slowly from his chest as he reached for something out of Din’s view. “Thank you,” he added hoarsely. 

Fett shook his head, bringing a cup of water into Din’s line of sight. “It’s not necessary. You remember, we had an agreement.”

Slowly, Din rose against the wall of the bunk until he could prop himself on his elbows. His body screamed at him as he moved, but the physical damage was the least of Din’s worries. Boba looked at him confusedly, assuming the man would need help bringing water to his lips, while understanding at least somewhat the cultural meaning of removing his buy’ce. Din didn’t allow him to be conflicted for long, reaching his hand to the clasp of his helmet and fumbling it over his head with a shaky, weak grip. 

No point in keeping it on, anyway. 

“You fulfilled our agreement.” Din didn’t raise his head to meet Boba’s eye at first. He could feel the heat on his cheeks and absently wondered if his complexion allowed for a visible flush. He kept his voice steady. “That didn’t include ensuring my safety after the child’s was secured. You could have left me to fend for myself on Gideon’s cruiser. It would have saved you a great deal of trouble.”

He lifted his head until he could see Boba staring back down at him, patience written on his face and the cup extended to him. Din’s cheeks burned impossibly hot, and he reached a trembling hand up to take the water. 

“So thank you, Fett.”

In return, Boba nodded and smiled as softly as Din assumed he was capable. His hand followed Din’s all the way to his lips, ensuring the cup didn’t fall from his grasp when he tilted it to his mouth. He swallowed down the full contents of the cup between two breaths, letting the excess drip from the corners of his lips as he gulped it as fast as he could. 

Boba sat the empty glass back where he had gotten it. “You can thank me by doing whatever the medical droids instruct you to. Don’t let my great deal of trouble be in vain, you understand?”

“Yes,” Din affirmed. He had no idea what he must look like to Boba, but he could feel the corners of his mouth pulling into a nervous smile. The man stared back at him with a mostly-blank expression. 

“Rest now, ad’ika,” Boba instructed, rising from his seat. “Fennec and I will be in the cockpit, should you require our attention before we arrive.”

Din called out when Boba was just out of view. 

“Wait.”

“What is it?” He asked after a pause, having stopped in his path. 

He swallowed hard. 

“Why did you choose to help me?” 

The man responded from beyond Din’s line of sight, the tone of his voice as unreadable as his unseen expression. 

“It seemed the obvious choice to make. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re a man of great honor. I would not leave you to die at the Empire’s hand. Not if it’s within my power to stop it.”

Din nodded in understanding—a gesture he might have realized Boba couldn’t see, if not for the state of his mind. 

“I have the feeling you would have done the same in my position,” he finished before closing the door to the quarters behind him—

—leaving Din by himself in the narrow cabin. 

The silence enveloped Din in an instant. More than that, the true lack of company sat in his chest heavier than it had in decades. He was truly alone this time, like never before. No ship. No home. No Creed. No covert.

No kid. 

No family. 

Nothing left for him. 

His body ached, but Din couldn’t tell if the cruel discomfort came from his injuries or his loss. The feelings all ran together in his mind, burning and aching and stabbing and sensations he couldn’t find a way to describe. All he could really tell was that he was hurting. 

Perhaps Boba was right. Maybe Din had hit his head too hard this time, maybe he was concussed, or worse. Maybe his brain was swollen or bleeding inside. Maybe, if he followed orders and laid his head back down on the pillow, he might not wake up again. And maybe that was for the best.

He surveyed the cramped living space. It wasn’t much, but it was spacious compared to Din’s bunk on The Razor Crest. He could tell that Boba had carved out each inch of the quarters for himself, adapting the ship to his own meager needs as any other hunter would. It felt oddly familiar, like a mirror-image of Din’s own life not too long ago. It was obvious, then, why the other bounty hunter had aided him. Boba Fett had seen the very same reflection in Din. The two of them had a sort of understanding, a mutual respect. Perhaps that meant Boba had some idea of the pain that Din was feeling now. 

Perhaps, if he did, Din could feel less alone. 

He peered out the window across from the bunk. It was hard to see much of anything through the opening, even more difficult thanks to the pounding inside of Din’s skull that made his vision almost double. The expected image of stars and empty space did little to quell Din’s confusion, but at the corner of the window, he could see a thin rim of orange. 

Tatooine. That’s where they were headed, Fett had told him. Already the details were starting to fade from Din’s mind as he tried and failed to stay focused on anything at all. A lingering dread accompanied the ache in his chest and the pain in his head, but the rest of it melted away from Din’s brain the longer he sat on the cot. Some warning thought he’d already forgotten made him hesitant to lay down. His eyelids were heavy. 

The throbbing in his left ear ebbed and flowed with his heartbeat. For a while, he controlled his breathing as a means to keep the worst of the pain at bay. Images of the last few days replayed in his mind. Somewhere, the order of things had been jumbled. Somehow, the pain had traded its space for a bit of confusion. Things were getting harder to hold onto in his mind, and Din could feel himself wandering. He kept counting his breaths.  

He had no idea how long he had sat there. Din couldn’t say what time he’d woken up, or even how long it had been since he’d collapsed on the cruiser. No thoughts would stick in his brain for long enough to focus. The more time he spent trying to grab his bearings, the more they seemed to slip from his hold. 

From muscle memory, he slipped his buy’ce back over his head before laying down. His eyes wandered to the only space they hadn’t yet focused—the foot of Boba’s bed. The neon blue numbers of an alarm clock stared back at him, set to the Standard Time Units of Coruscant. Typical of any traveler who spent more time off world than anywhere else, a way to keep track of a daily routine without day and night cycles to help. 

16:00. Time to feed Grogu. 

Din glanced around, confused. Where was the little guy? It was time for his afternoon meal. Now that Din thought about it, he himself was quite hungry. When was the last time he had eaten? He glanced at the clock again.

1600. 

Grogu must be ravenous by now. 

He couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore. He needed to get up. He needed to—needed to cook for the child. Din’s limbs were too heavy, his chest was sore. Why couldn’t he remember where the kid had gone? Why was he so damn sore and heavy? He pried his eyes open again. 

16:07. 

He laughed to himself. Surely Grogu would be fussy by now. Maybe he was still having his mid-day nap. Come to think of it, Din was tired, too. 

Maybe he should rest for a while. 

He let himself relax, ignoring the alarm bells in the back of his mind. Everything was fine. Grogu would wake him up when he was hungry, wouldn’t he?

Unless he wouldn’t. Unless he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t there, was he?

Right. Din was alone. 

Din felt himself drifting at the edge of sleep. Something told him he couldn’t exactly be sure if he would wake up again, but that wasn’t alarming. Something was waiting for him, wherever they were going. He would deal with that when the time came, and it would be okay. 

And if he didn’t wake up? 

Well, that would be okay, too. 

So he let himself sink into sleep. 

He did manage to dream, this time, but not for the better. An empty void would have treated him kinder than the nightmares his mind conjured up. They were recurring, but no less distressing. Din’s worst fears often played on repeat in his mind. This time, though? Screaming himself awake did nothing to ease him into relief. It felt as though the reality he had woken to was just as grim of a fate. 

The next two days went by in a blur, slower at some moments than other ones. According to the med droids, Din’s concussion was fairly severe, but with the help of bacta spray and a few weeks of rest, he would make a full recovery. His ribs were bruised, his left wrist sprained and his knees more than busted, but nothing was broken. After the initial check-up and bacta infusion, Din refused any further treatment. 

The physical discomfort was grounding and, more importantly, distracting. 

He wasn’t ready to confront what had happened just yet. Din was unprepared to think about his future and unwilling to mourn his losses. Grief, at this point, was an old friend as much as the blood and bruises were, but he knew somehow that this time would be harder than the rest. Sometimes, the injury in his head was kind enough to let Din forget. Every little while, for an hour or so at a time, he would find himself at peace. He could sit at the window inside his meager Mos Espa lodging and watch the vendors in the marketplace. He could pick at the rations and fruits Boba brought to his door. For a few precious moments, Din was unaware of just how dreadfully alone he had come to be. Then, slowly and inevitably, the hurt would set in, and it all would rush back. The child, the ship, the blade at his side that put a target on his back. He’d remember the cold air on his exposed face as he told young Grogu to do what he couldn’t do himself. 

“Don’t be afraid.”

How the hell was he meant to do that?

Eventually, the head wound had run its course. There was nothing left to distract Din Djarin from the hand he’d been dealt. And it really, truly was a rotten hand. For a week, he stayed locked away in the single-room quarters he had rented in the city. He didn’t sleep, and didn’t eat. More than once, he found himself in the refresher trying to expel all the bile in his stomach, but nothing came up after the first wave of sickness. Din stared at the ceiling for hours. He watched the street vendors and children playing in the middle of the city. Din did everything he could do to become a passenger in his own body, if for no other reason but to push the pain away for a single, fleeting moment longer. There was only one thing that he couldn’t hold back. One thing he could not will himself to watch from afar. 

For days, he cried. 

Silent tears rolled down his face until there was no moisture left to fall. Sobs wracked his body at odd hours of the day and caused him to choke on his breath. Din screamed and wailed and drowned in his own salty tears on the driest planet in the galaxy. He cried until his body refused to cry more, and even then, dry sobs exhausted him into dreamless sleeps or vivid nightmares. 

After so many days, he had overstayed his welcome. The innkeeper sent him out on his way, cursing him for the damage he’d done to his room in fits of hysterics, and for staying for twice as long as he’d paid for. Boba had invited him more than once to stay in his newly-acquired palace, but Din had refused. Whatever was next for him, he knew Boba Fett could not help him find it, no matter how much the two of them had in common.

He wandered. 

The tuskens didn’t ask many questions, but even so, Din refused to stay with a tribe for more than a night or two. He made his way across the Dune Sea on foot, wearing the helmet for protection from the sun as though he had any right to keep it on. It wasn’t as if he had any belongings to carry on his back. The only items left to Din’s name were the clothes he was wearing, the beskar spear, and the darksaber he hadn’t meant to win. All of it was out of place, armor and weapons for a man who would be king. And Din Djarin, of all people, would never be king. 

Din couldn’t lay claim to the throne of a world he had just abandoned. He couldn’t rule with a blade never meant to be his, and he surely could not unite his people after breaking the Creed and betraying his covert. The only thing keeping him from dumping it all in a hole in the desert, was the fact that it was safer in his hands than those of a runner or Pyke. 

So he carried the blade, the spear, and the armor. He camped with one tribe of tuskens, then another, then more. On odd nights, he’d lay alone in the sand, not so much as setting a fire for warmth once the twin suns had set. Part of him wished that the dunes would swallow him whole. He wished that the cold would settle in his bones and whisk him away in the night. Din stared up at the stars and searched for a reason to keep moving forward. He tried to tell himself that the child was safer now, better suited for life with those of his own kind. It did nothing to quell the pain in his chest, or the sinking feeling of being alone. 

He had no tears left to waste in the desert. 

Din had no idea how many nights had passed. Perhaps a week, perhaps two or more. It didn’t matter much to him. Time seemed to pass him by without any discretion. Finally, he stopped looking for tribes to camp alongside him. He stopped digging for melons, and he stopped charting the sea for sandstorms to avoid. He laid himself underneath the twin suns and didn’t get back up. There was nothing to pull him back up. 

With hands that were shaking from thirst and exhaustion, he pulled off his buy’ce and sprawled out in the sand. The sunlight burned his skin and blinded his eyes, and the dune sea cradled his head with grit and stickiness, but Din didn’t move from his spot. 

For what felt like hours, he let the heat consume him. He drifted between sleep and consciousness, welcoming nightmares and pleasant dreams alike. After a while, the sun didn’t bother him, and he figured his body was finally ready to give up its fight. He was almost at peace with the thought of it, too, until the sound of a speeder ripped him from his mind. 

Someone was calling out to him, a voice muddled and far-away, but somehow familiar. Something covered his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Fingers dug into his cheeks and cold liquid—water, unmistakably—trickled into his mouth. He coughed as his raw throat struggled to accept the drink. The voice sounded satisfied. 

He sat like that, sipping water in the shade, for a moment. His head slowly made its way down from the clouds, and the voice in his ear became clearer. Din opened his eyes to see nothing but blobs of color, beige and white and gray… and red. A small sea of red, right in front of his eyes. The voice continued to whisper to him, soft and patient, and finally he recognized it. If Din had the strength or the air in his chest, he might have laughed. 

“Keep on drinkin’ that, partner.” The marshal of Mos Pelgo instructed him. Din pawed absently at the hand still cradling his jaw. “The hell are you doing out here in your lonesome? Gonna dry right up underneath these suns.”

Din’s tongue felt like sand. “Vanth,” he rasped between sips of water. 

“Just take it easy,” the voice continued to soothe. “Must be in pretty rough shape to have shed the bucket, I s’pose. I was half inclined to think you weren’t even human under there.” 

Din furrowed his brow, trying to focus his eyes. 

“‘M human.”

“I see that,” Cobb chuckled lightly. His hand moved behind Din’s head to pull him out of the sand. “How long you been layin’ out here?”

The marshal’s hand was soft against his neck. “I don’t know.”

Vanth tutted. “Better get you back to town, then. You think you can stand for a minute?”

“I can stand,” Din responded, despite the fact that his head still felt like it was six feet under. Cobb was beginning to look more like a man than sloppy streaks of color in his vision, and Din let him push him up to a sitting position. He fumbled around for his helmet, shaking the sand from inside of it. He wouldn’t admit that he felt too weak to lift it, but Vanth seemed to notice it anyway. 

Thin fingers came to cup the outside of Din’s gloved hands, and together the two of them managed to return Din’s buy’ce to his head. His visor helped to further hone his struggling vision. Din’s eyes fell immediately to Cobb’s. 

‘How bright,’ he thought of those eyes. ‘Much too kind to be looking at me.’

“Let me help you to my speeder.” Cobb braced himself to pull Din’s weight up from the ground. “Get you outta the suns for a while.”

Din couldn’t really be bothered to argue. At this point, he would follow directions from Cobb if it meant the path of least resistance. Today didn’t seem his day to waste away in the desert, and Din figured at least that Cobb was the next best man on the planet to be handling any of his beskar.

“How’d you find me?” Din grumbled as he all but crawled to the speeder with Cobb’s support. 

“I didn’t,” the marshal replied. His bike wasn’t equipped with a trailer for cargo, so he sat Din against the seat of the speeder and settled between his legs in front of him. “You’ve all but wandered into my town on your own, mandalorian.”

He nodded his head toward a collection of shapes in the distance, what Din could only assume was the outline of Mos Pelgo. When he made no effort to secure himself, Cobb took Din’s arms by the wrists and wrapped them tight around his belly. Without the armor, Cobb was even slimmer than Din had remembered. The marshal’s thin body was all but surrounded by Din’s, and he reckoned that they couldn’t be more secure in their shared seat on the speeder. 

With another chuckle, Cobb turned the ignition and gripped the handles. Din barely resisted the urge to lean his head on the marshal’s shoulder, tired as he was. He didn’t quite know what Vanth found so funny, not until he mumbled to himself before accelerating the bike to its coasting speed. 

“Seems like you’re the one who found me.”

The sound of the speeder drowning out Cobb’s voice, Din was left with little to distract him from the weight of the marshal against his chest. A surprisingly light and gentle weight, if Din was being honest, but stunning nonetheless. He had grown accustomed to Grogu’s body against his chest—or his hip, or his neck, or wherever else the little womp rat decided to cling to him. He was barely as heavy as Din’s helmet was, and no bigger, either. Still, the touch of his child was cherished by Din every moment. Now, in hindsight, more than ever. 

But this touch was different. Grogu was some kind of warm-blooded, sure, but he was a child, and he seemed closer to amphibian than human. Cobb’s body was warm, and it pressed against Din from his calves to his throat. Where the beskar didn’t cover, he could feel the heat of the marshal against him. Din could not remember the last time someone had touched him like this. Besides the occasional handshake, Din’s experience with touch in the last decades was almost exclusively violence. Cobb… Cobb had touched his face. Bare skin on skin, and unbelievably gentle. Even under the helmet, he could still feel the ghost of thin fingers pressed against his jaw, coaxing his lips open to sneak him a drink. 

The ride into town was quick. Vanth hadn’t been lying—Din had managed to collapse just minutes away from Mos Pelgo. Of the few townsfolk wandering the streets, every one of them turned their heads at the image of the mandalorian sharing a speeder with their marshal. Din’s armor alone drew many onlookers in the most mundane circumstances. Limp as a hutt and clinging to Cobb like a frightened child? He figured he must be the strangest sight these people had seen in a while. 

Then again, he also figured Mos Pelgo had seen its fair share of strange. 

He hesitated to let go of Cobb when the speeder slid to a halt. Din couldn’t say why he found it so hard to loosen his grip, but he chalked it up to still being untrusting of his own stability. At least he could stand on his own, now that the water had helped clear his head. Marshal Vanth helped him off of the bike and slipped an arm around his waist for a bit of support. 

“Reckon you don’t want to draw a crowd,” Cobb hummed like a question. 

Din shook his head. “Not particularly.”

He led him to an unfamiliar building, a single-family house not too far from the cantina. 

Cobb smiled. “Guess I’ll have to take you home then, won’t I? Not much of a nurse myself, but it’ll just be the two of us.”

Din nodded. He’d never seen the marshal’s home before, but he knew that anything was better than staying outside. The two of them had camped with the tuskens when Din was last in town, and not that he had any idea of what to expect, but Din was still surprised when Cobb led him up the steps and into the cozy living quarters. 

Like most other structures on Tatooine, the home was built of sandstone. Rather than dug underground to protect from the heat, Cobb’s home was on the same level as the town’s businesses. Natural light illuminated the front room, frosted glass windows providing some privacy while leaving the space bright and open to the suns. The furniture was sparse and wonky. If Din had to guess, it looked to be mostly comprised of recycled materials. It made sense—Cobb didn’t seem the type to waste much of anything.  A dainty kitchen lined the right side of the living space, split away from the lounge by a narrow hallway that Din assumed led to the ‘fresher and bedroom. In total, the space was no larger than Din’s own quarters on the crest, but Cobb had somehow made it seem homey and warm, rather than claustrophobic and utilitarian. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Cobb instructed as he dropped Din onto his couch. He didn’t have to be told twice. “I’ll be right back with some food and water. Heat exhaustion’s a stubborn bastard to deal with, so I’m gonna have to ask you to take off some of that armor, if that’s alright.”

Din hummed a sound of begrudged assent, fumbling with the clasp of his chest plate as Cobb’s footsteps retreated to the kitchen across the room. 

Vanth had already seen his face, anyway. What good was hiding the rest of him? 

By the time Cobb returned to the couch with a tray full of meats, jams, and bread, Din was down to his helmet and the bottom half of his flightsuit. His undershirt clung to his chest, soaked through with sweat, and he had neither the strength nor the steadiness to lift his hips and shimmy out of his pants. Cobb balanced the tray on the arm of the couch, his grimace out of place on his usually-bright face. 

“You must’ve been out there longer than I thought.” He watched for a moment as Din’s chest rose and fell with struggling breaths. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’, friend?” 

In response, Din shook his head. He honestly didn’t know, but he really wasn’t hungry anyway. In fact, his stomach did nothing but churn at the sight of the food in front of him. 

“What in the world were you doing out there?”

He was too tired to fish for a lie, but there was no way that Din could admit that he had voluntarily laid down to die in the desert. Instead, he elected not to answer at all. Cobb didn’t seem one to pry, curious as he was. He brought his hand up to Din’s neck. 

“You aren’t running too hot,” he thought aloud. “And you’re still sweating. I think we can rule out heat stroke, at the very least, but you’re still in rough shape. If I had some ice to spare, it would be ideal, but we’ll have to settle for lukewarm water. I’ll bring you something lighter to change into while I wash your flightsuit.”

Instead of saying thank you, Din merely nodded his head. He wasn’t sure how he felt about eating the marshal’s food—about drinking his water reserves and wearing his clothes. It was not in Din’s nature to ask for things, and he sure as hell wasn’t accustomed to being cared for. He felt like a bit of a burden. Part of him would rather have died in the sands. 

There wasn’t much he could do about it, though. He didn’t want to leave, that was for sure, and even if he did, he was much too tired. It seemed Vanth was going to show his hospitality whether Din asked for it or not. He was going to offer him food and rest and comfort and company. 

As it seemed, Cobb Vanth was going to make sure Din wasn’t alone, if just for one day.

And as much as Din knew he didn’t deserve the attention, who was he to protest? 

Cobb stared at him, waiting for some kind of movement that Din was too tired to accomplish. After a minute, he cleared his throat. “Do I need to help you outta the rest of it?”

Oh, right. 

Din sighed. “Don’t need help,” he mumbled. 

“Is it a modesty thing? You want me to leave the room while you change into somethin?” Cobb pushed himself up to walk away from the couch. He waited for an answer, but Din hadn’t responded. It looked as though even breathing at all was a chore for the man. “Mando?”

The moniker drew some response. 

“Don’t… call me…” he barely pushed the words out. 

Cobb shook his head and settled back in front of him. If he was too weak to talk and too tired to move, he sure as hell couldn’t finish getting undressed on his own. Drinking more water would require help, too, considering the helmet had once again been replaced. Cobb cleared his throat to dawn his official marshal voice. 

“We get you feelin’ better, you can tell me your name, and I’ll call you that instead.” He knelt down in front of the mandalorian, picking at the knot in the lace of his boots. “Now. I’m gonna get you changed outta these clothes, cool ya off and get some more water in you. You can let me do it now, or I can wait until the heat knocks you out and I’ll have to force water down your throat. That seems harder on both of us, though, don’t it? I suggest you go with the former.”

Din made a pathetic noise, like a whimper that couldn’t quite make it up out of his chest. He turned his head downward to Cobb. 

“Just do it.”

“Always been a smart man,” the marshal praised. He made quick work of untying Din’s boots and tugging them off, followed by his socks. He sat the shoes next to the discarded armor and threw the socks with Din’s gloves. His attention turned to the helmet after that. His hand hesitated on the clasp of the seal, even though Cobb was sure that it had to come off. “Feels like I’m not supposed to be doing this. I need to look away or something?”

“S’fine,” Din huffed. His hand came up weakly to urge Cobb’s forward. “Doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

Even with his permission, Cobb couldn’t help averting his eyes as the helmet slipped off. He placed it with the rest of the beskar, lingering on the pile of armor for as long as he could before it felt unnatural. When he turned back to Din, the man’s eyes were closed and his mouth slightly parted. Cobb would’ve guessed him asleep, if not for the way his chest jolted with his breath, now closer to panting than anything. 

Cobb was… intrigued. He’d only spent a couple days with the man, but he’d often wondered what he looked like under there. After all, despite their brief time together, the mandalorian had managed to change Cobb’s life significantly and in more ways than one. He had thought a lot about him since their parting. He hadn’t paid much attention when he found him lying out in the desert—checking his pulse had seemed more important. Now, though? Cobb was almost ogling. 

He wasn’t as young as the marshal would have expected. This man looked forty years old, give or take a few, and the Mando he knew had moved with the agility of someone half that age. His skin was paler than Cobb’s—he reckoned it didn’t see a lot of time in any sunlight—but something about the tone told him that it would be darker than his if given the chance to tan. His lips were full and plump, his nose was strong and pointed with a scar on the bridge. Only thing Cobb couldn’t see from here was the color of the man’s eyes. He would worry about that later, though, perhaps when he’d regained his strength enough to hold them open. 

“Not to be forward,” Cobb started, “but I’m gonna take your pants off now, partner. Quickest way to get you cooled down is to get you uncovered.”

Din hummed, a noise that had no particular meaning, but Cobb figured he would stop him if he felt violated. If he didn’t get Mando cooled down soon, it wouldn’t matter how uncomfortable he was, anyway. Cobb pried at the buttons of the flight suit, loosening the pants as much as he could before tugging them off of the barely-conscious man. He elected to leave the boxers and undershirt on, for now. Mando could change into drier clothes when he had the strength for it himself. Having a half-naked man passed out on Cobb’s couch was enough of a challenge on its own. 

He stopped himself from using the title, settling on a tentative “Darlin’” before he could think of something better. 

It didn’t matter much. The man gave no answer. 

“I know you’re tired. You need to drink somethin’.”

The mandalorians hand twitched at his side. He grumbled something incoherent. His eyes flickered open for less than a second, then closed again. 

So, they were brown. 

“Come on, partner. One more cup of water, and I’ll leave ya alone.” Cobb relaxed a bit when his hand moved toward the tray, but the man clearly wasn’t in any shape to be feeding himself. 

Cobb took a cup from the tray, filling it with water from one of the bottles he’d grabbed from reserve. He guided it gently into Mando’s hands, then wrapped one of his own around the digits to guide it to his mouth. With his other hand, the marshal propped Din’s head up far enough to drink. This time, he opened his mouth without prompting when the cup got within inches of his face. It didn’t take long for the cup to come empty. 

The mandalorian panted for breath. He gave a small nod of thanks, what Cobb assumed was all he could muster. 

“I think you’re out of immediate danger, but I wanna keep an eye on you for the evenin’. I need to go tell the deputy I’ll be off for the rest of the day, and I’ll grab ice from Taanti if he’s got some to spare. You’re welcome to sleep for now, if you want. I’ll set some dry clothes for you on the table here.”

Another nod, this time with what Cobb could have sworn was a hint of a tired smile, and the mandalorian was out. His chest steadied to an even rise and fall and his head fell back against the couch at an awkward angle. He must have been truly exhausted, and Cobb knew from experience that he would be damn near delirious, even without heat stroke. Best to let him sleep through it, for now, and Cobb would help him come out of the worst of it when they both had more strength. 

Cobb pulled a dry shirt and shorts from his wardrobe, sat them on the table as promised, and walked out the door. 

~~•~~

Gotta say, idk if this is what people wanted when they saw my WIP tease but this is what you’re gettin

#din djarin #cobb vanth #dincobb #din x cobb #din djarin x cobb vanth #the mandalorian #star wars the mandalorian #mando

[sasster]

Lover

Here, listen to the song. It’ll set the atmosphere. Idk if a google doc is necessary but here In which the Embalmer talks about his feelings. --

It's rare that the Embalmer finds his home as silent as it has been the last few days. But with Muiren and Reaper tending to their duties, Benjin adjusting to his new school schedule, and Ghosts occupied by his matesprit, he has found that the silence is no longer welcomed. Thoughts nag at him, like hands that reach out from the ether in an attempt to drag him back into the dark with them. Truths left ignored, for however many countless sweeps, freshly unearthed, the only thing to keep him company.

He ghosts near the wall in the front room that houses the altars of his late partners and lets his gaze sweep over the two fixtures before he sets the two cups of tea intended for them on their respective shelves. Pu'er for Tiamat and berry hibiscus for Chamae. It feels wrong that he does not have a third cup of hot chocolate to put on the now empty space next to Chamaes offerings, but to whom would it be?

“It must be just as strange for the two of you. His sudden absence.” Though he speaks with a small amount of humor, his voice is sad. Broken. When the sound hits his ears, he is momentarily grateful that he is alone. “But what was I to do? Leave it up as he lives and breathes?”

Thanat shakes his head, as though responding to a whisper only he could hear.

“Regardless of my feelings, he has been revived.”

Then he pauses, tired eyes taking in all that they can of the displays. Chamaes smiles back at him with a toothy grin that lights up the room even behind the glass that entombs it. Tiamat fixes him with a stern stare, the intensity of which is no duller than the real thing. The pair of moirails would never sit through such a display of self pity, but today they allow him his grief.

Thanat sighs.

“I am thrilled that he is finding meaning with this second chance at life, of course I am.” Something wraps itself around his voice, causing it to come out strangled. Tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. “I would not begrudge him his freedom. Not again.”

The reaper swallows, no stranger to the dead being the only audience privy to his stronger emotions. He finds himself slumping forward, just a bit to rest his head against the shrine intended for offerings to Tiamat and lets out a shuddering breath. For a moment, he can almost feel his arms snake around him, and he sways in place the same way they did so many sweeps in the past.

A self imposed isolation was never the correct response for his crimes, yet it was easier than facing a world that his great loves left behind. It is not often that Thanat yearns for the touch of another, yet the ache all but consumes him.

“I would not force him to be with me, no. That monster was buried alongside him.” The open air welcomes his declaration, though he knew well that it could have also gone unsaid. “I will be just as happy to see his face only one time before he denounces us as I would be if he ran in through those doors and into my arms.”

#long post #thanat #coko writes sometimes #it was going to be uhhhh..... this was gonna be the thanfuse reunion but i changed my mind #so uhm HAVE THIS INSTEAD <3 #idk i feel like it doesn't need a read more #it's not as long as literally anything else i've written fo this silly little quarter of an arc

[dumblildog]

Why I don't sell content :3

"Do you do OF?"

"No."

"You should."

This conversation keeps happening with people. I used to sell content before OF was a thing. I'd definitely do it again if I looked like that still. I have so many fucking scars now I'm just.. idk plus I'm as pale as bb vampire so it's just a gross contrast on my skin. I have this overwhelming amount of self hate especially about how I look. If my last relationship wasn't a sexless lonely cage of self doubt and hate I probably wouldn't be sooo hateful but like having someone look at you dead face and say "I'm as attracted to you as I can be" it's like huh.. what's the point.. when someone doesn't want you for so long for years.. but also won't let you go when you beg for it you just let go of yourself in so many different ways. I lost all grips of myself and now I just dont recognize who or what I am. I was already so lost before that relationship just a lil drug addict with no money & horrible self destructive habits. I'm so surprised I didn't die that spring with my daily habits. For so long I survived off nothing but substances, self harm, and sex. I was having so many adventures and got second hand affection from the attention my actions brought me but I still was just so so lonely. I gripped onto the first person who wanted something more than my body my bed or my connections. I didn't see what he was using me for before it was too late. I stopped doing drugs anything anyone would offer, drinking anything I'd get my hands on, stopped smoking anything and everything I could light. Gross mixed bowls and cigarettes turned to nothing but green and dabs. Alcohol and nothing but coffee and espresso turned into simple teas, coffees so much water. From eating a few times a week went to having full meals sometimes more than once a day. I stopped cutting and burning myself and started wearing glitter. I got a job, then two, then three. Parties, bars, mosh pits, basement shows, trespassing, staying up to see the sunrise turned into movies, car rides, museums, and early bedtimes for tomorrows responsibilities. Handfuls of roommates and people in and out of my bed at all hours turned into a one bedroom apartment and a bed shared with only one. Tho I quickly left that bed for the couch and slept there most nights. My life was so different but I was still so lost and empty. I thought I had what I wanted but when the person you're sharing your life with doesn't want you back.. the emptiness is so all consuming. I changed and the depression and agoraphobia got so much worse. So much isolation. My body changed my habits changed. Now I'm just plagued with chronic nightmares and the emptiness. I'm free from the grips of the lonely relationship but I lost myself day after day to 4 years. Tho I've learned so much about myself in that loneliness. I know what I'd like now and what I want but my body and brain are so fucking gone it's so out of reach and I don't feel like I can do it on my own. Everything in me tells me I'm wrong and if I was this or that maybe just maybe I'll be happy or loved. Then the echos of my past lovers cruel words bounce around that empty space in my chest and remind me that even through out all those different versions of myself I still wasn't enough for any of them to actually want me. They lied, cheated, hit, hurt, hid, and then left. No one has ever wanted me for more than a thrill or a self fulfillment. I myself, I've never been first choice to anyone friendships family lovers... it's hard to be my first choice and with little to no support or recourses and with a broken body and brain it's hard to change and reach for anything. I feel like a burden on those I love and I'm not really living for anything but sparing them the grief and guilt of my suicide.

I'm tired of this existence.

I'm tired.

#thinking thoughts

[jesuisgourde]

under a readmore because it’s yet another ramble about Richey and this book that has been stewing in my brain and I just need to get it out but it’s probably not very coherent and also discusses potentially triggering topics

I’ve been trying to put my finger on this as I’ve been reading this book, about why the way they pretty much ignore his mental illness is so weird to me. I mean obviously they’re very unempathetic about it and it sort of feels like they’re saying he did it to himself or whatever, but that’s not what I’m thinking about because I know that’s just absolute bullshit.

I think the treatment of Richey in this book is very different from the way the band treat the subject because something that always comes up in interviews is how the rest of the band were aware of Richey’s struggle but felt helpless and just didn’t really know what to do or how to help him, and often they talk about how they felt he was operating on a completely different plane from them. Whereas the book, aside from the mention of his first attempted suicide and subsequent hospitalisation, doesn’t really seem to consider his mental health problems that relevant? But at the same time they specifically presented anecdotes that made him seem Really Crazy. And then they turn round and ignore it.

Which is like. Just so weird. Especially because if you list off the various anecdotes and events from late 93 onward, include the new stuff given by this book, it certainly adds up quite clearly to some sort of breakdown or mental distress or something.

As I was driving to work today I was thinking about some of the stories or comments that come up about Richey pretty ubiquitously when Nicky gets interviewed. First of all this book gives like a single sentence to the fact that one of the main reasons the late 94 tour was cancelled is because Richey had some sort of episode and was banging his head on the wall saying “I want to go home” which idk should be an indication that things are going badly. It’s just so odd that pretty much everything seems to gloss over that episode in particular. Not to mention not too long before that episode he’d already slashed his chest too and needed a bunch of stitches. So like clearly he was not well.

But also Nicky always talks about how by the end of 94 Richey wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, was smoking a million cigarettes a day and drinking absurd amounts of coffee, and more than anything he mentions how much Richey was consuming in terms of media, reading like 6 books a week and watching loads of films and reading the news all the time and obsessing over tiny details and calling Nicky at weird hours to ask weird questions and stuff. And then this book gives anecdotes about him having anxiety about leaving the house and intrusive thoughts of self harm and things like that. Idk it sounds like dysphoric mania to me, like the mixed state where you have symptoms of mania and depression at the same time. Plus an episode of dysphoric mania means you have a higher risk of suicide.

I think the issue I have with this book re: all of this stuff is that it ignores whatever obvious pain and struggle and turmoil Richey was going through in favour of a conclusion that is more satisfying for the people who are left behind. Maybe it’s to avoid feeling guilty about not helping him? (Because they also do a lot of blaming of the band for not helping him, even though they very much did.) But even then to some extent a) the treatment he was given clearly was not a match for him and b) you can’t really force someone to change or get better or move in a different direction if they don’t want to. It just baffles me that this book and other various sources give us all these events of alcoholism, breakdown, attempted suicide, traumatizing hospitalisation, rehab and then straight back to touring without better coping mechanisms, severe self harm, anorexia, insomnia, withdrawal, severe anxiety, some sort of mania or something, plus grief from the death of a childhood pet and (alleged) breakup, and general tensions/insecurities about the band and such, and the conclusion they come to is some sort of long-planned disappearance. And not some sort of mental breakdown or psychotic break or other psychological crisis due to long term untreated/badly treated mental illness and stress resulting in completing the suicide that had been attempted/rehearsed 6 months prior.

Specifically the head-bashing is what I’m stuck on re: this book’s dismissal of his problems because many people self-harm all the time as a sort of regulatory coping mechanism (if there’s such a phrase, but y’all know what I mean) and while it’s not healthy, ultimately, it’s not necessarily an indication of a severe and immediate issue, whereas bashing your head repeatedly into a wall until your face bleeds is much more severe behaviour.

Also I’m a little surprised no one has made the connection between Richey’s behaviour at the time and some sort of mania or mixed state. The “functioning on a different plane” thing fits here too because like yeah he was very very smart but he was also phoning Nick up with bizarre questions and doing erratic things and the JFPL lyrics are so stuffed with ideas it definitely feels like some sort of on-the-edge-of-a-break type of mania in text.

I think the biggest problem this book has is that the writers cannot seem to comprehend suicidal ideation. They can’t seem to put themselves in the shoes of someone going through severe mental health problems, who has had his unhealthy coping mechanisms taken away from him but was given nothing concrete to replace them, who is feeling bad about his place in the band and the burden on his friends, who is going through grief and stress and depression and anxiety and perhaps a mixed mania, to an even greater degree than when he attempted suicide the first time. Put yourself in those shoes and it’s pretty obvious what conclusion someone going through all that would come to.

Like I said this is just rambling and I don’t think I really have a place to put any of these thoughts in my writeup but it’s just a nail I’m stuck on I guess because this book so intensely wants to pretend Richey’s struggles weren’t that bad or that if they were bad, the band didn’t do enough to help or whatever. My issue is that it doesn’t seem to be able to acknowledge severe mental illness as a real, high percentage of possibility option. A sort of “well my [relation] has all these symptoms but he isn’t like those other crazy people, he’s not that bad” situation of denial or whatever.

This ramble doesn’t have a conclusion or anything it’s just me putting thoughts down but yeah this book is so bizarre and just can’t seem to comprehend the concept severe mental health issues and suicide as a result of those problems.

#squash rambles #uhhh tw for self harm suicide etc all the stuff that general comes with discussion of richey #feel free to respond with thoughts if you have them this was just me spitting this brain train out in one go #wt writeup

[sorefear]

fun fact: i’m not doing well!

i’ve never been one to cope well…period…but when it comes to wanting ppl to stay it hurts the most! i still don’t think i’m lonely because those feelings r just tooooo persistent, cloudy, and all consuming for me to believe the grief i feel now is any type of crazy diagnosis but yes i do feel bad about this lack of true friends ive made during college. the fall semester is always tumultuous for many many reasons on ALL sides and id never blame anyone for flaking during this period. however, i’m literally met with the same dilema that they are all gone. no one has stayed or even crossed any boundaries. maybe a lack of trying on my part? yeah maybe it’s me. idk tho i jump on every opportunity (im so pathetic lmao) to let people in as much as i have the capacity too and it really does work!!! but only for the semester. once everyones comfy in their homes for break why wouldn’t I be an after thought? tis the season to care for family and friends, yk the REAL ones. well thats certainly me too but also i crave the possibility with the ppl i believed to be really close with. maybe we were never that close. maybe we all really are just acquaintances from college :/. i can’t accept that. it’s been easier to accept but as of late i can’t fathom that ALL/EVERYBODY ive ever talked to was not really a potential true friend…cuz jesus christ that pool would be deep, with f*cking everyone!! i know so many are also ,on top of that, off limits because of particular life barriers like age, finance, family trouble, mental health, time, deaths, priorities, etc etc. oooooooh i think i’ll always be asking for time to stop so i can enjoy my friends and “family.” life happens. and it sucks!

[privateairventstowhine]

I keep thinking about “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” and i understand what it’s saying. That to have experienced love is and of itself is a gift rather than living without it, but in my life right now… it feels like a curse. My highschool social life and first three years of college were the best my social life has ever been. I never had close friends as a kid and i didnt really let myself feel too badly about it because it was my normal. Now that ive experienced such a profound love and the support of a large network of friends, i feel like im tipping off the edge without them. Due to some of my own actions, getting out of the routine of school, not having a job, and growing tensions in my living situation; where i used to have around 8 people at a time to talk with and hangout with, i now seem to only have two. I am deeply grateful for the 2 i have, but the gaping wound wont close. I feel so empty all the time and im left rotting in my own skull about my regrets and and my grief. And i feel with the 2 thag r left, since im so depressed and burnt out, ive become so boring to talk to. Lately i havent been saying much at all. And a day or two ago i was really close to ending things. The thing that kept me from doing it tho was that i didnt want to leave them with 9 months of unpaid rent on my part. I know people love me but right now i just feel like im worthless and in fact worse than worthless, harmful. I feel like i keep making people uncomfortable or doing the wrong things. Idk how to help myself because my medication doesnt seem to be working and therapy us fine but it’s not helping to quite this feeling. Im so sad all the time and can only quiet it by consuming media or getting high. I miss the people ive grown apart from or who don’t want to put the effort in to talk with me anymore. Ive tried reaching out to old friends but everything feels different now. Im just so tired. Im so tired of existing like this and remembering better times. For a few years i felt so supported and so happy. Now it’s gone and i dont know how to keep going knowing i lost it for one reason or another. I feel myself hurtling toward ending things and i dont know how to stop it or what kind of help i could even get. I looked up burial prices in my hometown. I dont want to be institutionalized because i fear it’ll make me worse but a part of me also doesnt want the option of ending things to be taken away. I know so many people with suicidal ideation or who have attempted… i feel so weak for not being able to help myself. So pathetic. I just want the pain to stop. I want to stop thinking and stop feeling and stop remembering. Please. I pray sometimes something will happen to me so im not the one to do it. Isnt that awful.

#vent

[highpope]

pieced together pt. one

posting here too because not that many people have seen it also sorry for the weird spacing idk what’s going on

JJ Maybank x pogue reader - season 2 fic

spoiler warning!

You laid in bed watching the rain hit your windows, the radio downstairs faintly describes the fate of the world. You can’t make out complete sentences without straining, but you have heard enough from the last few days to know there were no updates about John B and Sarah. The radio has been on for days on end, your parents not wanting to miss any possible update about your friends or the storm that seemed never-ending. It was like it rained for years. It was a constant reminder of the night your two best friends were driven out into the storm and everything changed. You could hear Shoupe’s words in the back of your mind, “we lost ‘em' ' on a constant loop. You could see Kiara’s face and JJ’s hands and Pope’s heart shatter. Like all the stars had come falling down and you were the only one left to pick up all the pieces. You prayed this was all a nightmare. You could wake up and not only would they both be here, but you’d all be safe. You would give up the gold a hundred times over if it meant John B and Sarah would be home.

Both Pope and Kie’s parents had called your mom every night since that day. When she thought you were asleep, she would creep down the stairs and sit in the kitchen and cry, praying they had some good news. Something that could take away some of the pain you were in. But she couldn’t, no one could. You had to hear half the town talk about John B like he was a murderer like he kidnapped Sarah like he was some delusional kid from the cut. All while you knew the Cameron’s were roaming free and receiving sympathy for what they’re going through. It made you sick to think about. They had a private funeral for Sarah. People gave their condolences and spoke so kindly about her. They scoffed at her recent behavior and her newfound friendship from “those dirty pogues.”

Sometime around day two, your mom came into your room asking if you had heard from JJ. He had been with the Heyward’s up until that morning when he’d completely disappeared.

For a second, you felt something other than grief, knowing he had been with Pope and not his dad, but that was short-lived. You tried to imagine how peaceful it would have been under different circumstances, a world in which he was always safe. One where Luke Maybank had no control over his life. You wanted to get lost in that daydream, live in that alternative reality for a while. He wouldn’t have to keep a duffel bag full of clothes and cash under your bed for when things got bad. He wouldn’t have to know how to do stitches on himself or how to pop a dislocated shoulder back in place. He’d be safe. He’d be happy. She asked again if you had heard from JJ, snapping you back to reality. (you had not). You watched as her forehead creased and her lips straightened into a thin line, like something in her had broken too.

She hurts just as much as you do. At first, you contributed that to her not being able to take away your pain, which is part of it. But you later realized she’s lost a person, too. You had known John B since grade school, there were pictures of the group of you sitting on your swing set in your backyard at age nine. Ones of you, JJ, John B, and Pope asleep in your living room after attempting to build a fort. He stayed for dinners and birthday parties. She watched us grow up, every first day of school, soccer game, fishing tournament. Our families had somehow combined over the years. Not only does your mom hurt for you, but she lost a child. And that weight is heavier than anything.

You stopped crying by day three. Nothing left. You were completely and utterly numb but consumed by loss all at the same time. You hadn’t initially worried about JJ. He did this. He disappeared for a little, to clear his head, but he always came back. He never stayed away for more than three days. That’s how long it took for him to feel balanced again, maybe less, but never more. He said it was because he couldn’t get a burger as good as the ones at The Wreck anywhere else in the world, but you knew how much he loved the outer banks and the people there. You also knew that he’d never leave without you. And if he absolutely had to, he would at least say goodbye. He had to, he promised. You held on to that every time his phone went straight to voicemail. And when days four and five came and went and you still haven’t heard from him, you were worried. He should’ve crawled through your window in yesterday’s clothes with a few more scratches on his arm than he left with, but his eyes would glow a little brighter and he would still smile when you insisted he spends the night. So, when you cracked your window open and slept with your bedside lamp on (so that he could see the light from outside) and he still wasn’t there when you awoke, your mourning turned into something else. You sent a few texts, in case he somehow got them, but you were doubtful.

You didn’t know what it was like to live without him. There wasn’t a time in your life you could remember when you and JJ weren’t attached at the hip. Sometime around kindergarten, you two became inseparable, ultimately meeting John B and Pope as you got older and Kie when you all got to junior high. There was a weird couple of months around third grade where he decided girls had cooties, but it was short-lived because when JJ realized that meant you couldn’t be friends anymore he thought it was dumb and started coming over again. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when your relationship changed, the lines between friendship and something more merging and becoming blurred. If you had to, for you it was the start of sophomore year. Something changed when you were together, even just sitting in silence was comfortable and exciting. Eyes started lingering, touches became more frequent, and then one day you were just together. It’s been the same since. You think back to the first time you kissed like a couple. It definitely hadn’t been the first time the two of you had ever kissed. You were sure there had been at least one during your childhood and you vividly remember a New Year’s Eve party and a couple of games of truth or dare. But this time it was different. There was something behind it.

You and JJ sat side by side in the hammock outside of John B’s. He was smoking while using his one leg to rock the two of you slowly back and forth. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and pay attention to whatever story was being told. JJ must have noticed because he wrapped an arm around you, inviting you to lay on his chest.

This wasn’t uncommon between you. JJ was always physically affectionate toward the people he cared about and you had no problem reciprocating. You stayed just like that until it was just the two of you left outside.

JJ shifted slightly under your weight causing you to wake up. “Shit, sorry. You okay?” he asked, tossing the tip of the blunt into the fire.

You nodded, “mhm.” You looked around, realizing how dark it had gotten, “You could’ve woken me up! It’s late.”

“You looked peaceful.”

You pretended to clutch your heart, “JJ Maybank being nice? Dare I say sweet?”

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. He was smiling at you like you were the funniest person in the world.

“ No, no. You care about me,” you joked, poking his chest with your finger, “you loooove me.”

“ Yeah?” he challenged, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said, your breath suddenly catching in your throat.

“What if I do?” He asked, but it wasn’t a question. His face was serious, a glimmer of hope in his crystal eyes.

You look slightly from his eyes to his lips. If JJ noticed he didn’t lead on. He just slowly bridged the gap between you, your noses brushing for a moment before your lips connected. It was slow and careful, not wanting to push too far, but all the same, wanting to completely unravel the other. His hand cupped your cheek, his rings cold against your flushed face as you leaned into the kiss.

You heard faint screams and cheers from inside the chateau and Pope’s “Finally!” echo out. You could feel him smiling and soon enough you were both laughing. You had finally come together and nothing would take that away.

On day six, the rain stopped and the world carried on as normal. You wanted to yell at every person you saw. How could anyone feel so neutral about anything that happened in the last week? The sheriff was dead, there was a murderer on the loose, your two best friends were gone, and your boyfriend was missing. But yeah, go ahead and go to the grocery store like any other Wednesday morning. Someone tell the earth, it’s not supposed to keep spinning after the world ends.

You were lying on your bed, staring at your ceiling as you tried to fall asleep, a breeze flowed through your window and your lamp illuminated the room. All you could hear were cicadas and the wind rustling through the trees until you heard your window creak and slide open. You tried to process everything all at once, your eyes scanning over every part of his body, trying to meet his eyes. He was wearing the same clothes he had on the last time you saw him. There was dirt under his fingernails and his face was puffy from crying. His lip was cracked and covered in dry blood and bruises littered his jaw and hands. You could cry at the mere sight of him. Before either of you could speak, you collided.

You held his head to your chest and placed kisses on his hairline. You tried to wipe your tears before he could see them, but it was no use. The two of you were a tangle of arms and legs, of broken hearts and misguided minds, so desperately trying to tell the other it was going to be okay without believing it yourself.

“I miss him so much,” he sobbed. Your heart fell to your stomach and everything you had pushed down the past few days came rushing back.

“Me too,” you breathed. JJ’s arms wrapped around your stomach and he buried his head into your neck. You stayed like this for what felt like hours, thinking that if you held on long enough the two of you wouldn’t fall apart.

You heard your door open slightly and you quickly turned your head to see your mom stood there, tears brimming her eyes. You can visibly see her shoulders relax as she lets out a sigh. Your door closes softly as if not to disturb you both. You hear her on the other side of the door, “he’s here. He’s okay.”

“My dad’s gone,” he murmured into your neck.

You can physically feel your heart break for the boy in your arms and the younger version of him, trying to find a space he belongs and mourning the only one he ever found. You want so badly to hold him together, paint all of his scars golden. To remind him how much people love him, how much you love him, but no words come out.

“Guess he finally picked up and left, son of a bitch” His voice wobbled, “I went back, uh, that night to find the necklace John B gave me.”

He pulled away so he could talk directly to you. You cupped his cheeks and swiped the tears with your thumbs before they could fall. He laughed dryly, remembering, “Climbed through my bedroom window and everything. It should’ve taken two minutes tops but it wasn’t on my dresser like I thought it was. I tore my room apart looking for it. And then my dad came home and heard me, uh he was not happy to see me, as you can imagine.”

“Did he hurt you?” you ask, moving farther away from him to make sure he wasn’t bleeding or worse.

He grabs your hands and brings them to his chest, “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Is that where you were? The past few days,”

He nods, “yeah. I woke up the next day and he was gone. I was just going to get my stuff and go, but I don't know. Something wasn’t right.” He pauses to gather his thoughts, “They all really do leave, huh?”

“Don’t say that,” you urge.

“I’m just-”

“No. Do not think like that. None of this is your fault. Your dad is a fucking awful person for not loving you like you need to be loved. Like you deserve to be loved. And John B-” your voice cracks, “John B would never leave us if he didn’t have to and, and you have me. I couldn’t ever leave you. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself

He kisses your knuckles, “I know, I know. He just has so much power over the way I think.”

“But you know. You know you are nothing like him.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes.

“These past few days, J. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“Never.” He pushes his lips to yours, urgent and longing. You move your hands to his head, bringing him closer, trying to pour yourself into him.

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #obx fic #rudy pankow #pope heyward #jonathan daviss #john b routledge #chase stokes #kiara carerra #madison bailey #sarah cameron #madelyn cline #obx fics #outer banks spoilers #obx s 2 #jj x reader #jj obx #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x reader

[chokemeanakin]

idk if you do like song request sorta things, but could you do a fic based on the song "night bus" by gabrielle alpin? especially the "suddenly i know that i'm on my way home to you for the last time" part--maybe an angsty sort of thing where the reader and anakin's relationship gets discovered and she gets sent away or smth? idk i couldn't stop thinking ab it last night and i have no motivation to write it myself and i love your writing so maybe?? tysm!

Oh sis this was so much fun to write. Even though it is sad... idk i liked getting in the feels. Anyway I hope it meets your expectations. If it didn’t, well, pls write it yourself and tag me! I’d love to see what your vision was ❤️🤗

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

WC: 1.8k

Night Bus - Anakin x gn Reader angst

You swore this would never be you. You promised yourself it would last. If two people love each other, there should be no reason you couldn’t be together.

That’s childish thinking, you tugged your jacket tighter around you. Your boots dragged through the grey sludge of the sidewalk, remnants from a lazy downpour of wet snow a few hours before. Your mind whirled and stomach churned as the streetlights began blinking on one by one, the markets closing up for the night. 

It should have been a peaceful thing, but you felt sick. With each step closer to your destination, you felt as though a current was dragging you back, the darkness closing in around you. You knew as soon as you reached him, it would be for the last time. Your fairytale would come to an end, and as you walked through the bitter streets of Coruscant on your way to the Jedi temple, you prepared yourself to say goodbye to your prince charming. 

“It’s selfish, what you’re doing,” Master Windu had hissed at you. You were still reeling from his admittance that he knew about your and Anakin’s relationship. You had been so careful to keep it a secret, you had no idea how he found out. 

“Obi-Wan told you,” your lips felt like rubber.

“He did not,” Mace leveled his gaze at you. “He knows, I’m sure of it. But he respects Anakin too much to give him away like that. A flaw on his part, which will be dealt with later.”

Your head was swimming. What did this mean for you? For Anakin? For the both of you together? Obviously you knew what was next, but your mind couldn’t wrap around it, couldn’t accept it.

“You need to let him go,” Mace declared, not a hint of mercy detected. 

“I can’t.”

“Then he needs to let you go.”

“He won’t.”

“Then you will be the fall of the Jedi!” His sudden outburst made you flinch. Your heart beat fast, blood swishing in your ears. His body was still as a statue, but his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with an anger that was barely under control. Master Windu was of the more… pessimistic Jedi, but you had never really seen him lose control so completely. Now, you could see he was overwhelmingly stressed. No, not stressed-- panicked. 

“He needs me,” you replied shakily, unwilling to stand down. Anakin had made it clear over and over again that if you just said the word, he would leave the Order for you. The only reason he was still here was because you wouldn’t let him abandon his purpose for you. Windu may think you would be the downfall of the Jedi, but you were the reason it hadn’t completely fallen yet.

“You’re a poison to him.”

It looked like neither of you would be backing down. Windu saw this, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, he strolled to his seat, and then motioned for you to take the one beside him.

“Let me explain myself,” his voice was much calmer now, but the hard look in his eyes remained. “Anakin is important. Not just to the Jedi, but to the balance of life itself.”

“He never asked for any of that.”

“But he still is,” Windu argued. “There’s no changing that fact. He is powerful. He has potential. And he’s unstable. He was before he met you, and he is now-- even more so.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of how he feels about you.”

You clenched your fists and glared at Windu. “How could being in love ever be a bad thing?”

“Love is an attachment. When one is attached to something, it can be taken away. When it is taken away, it breeds anger and hate and resentment, a path to the dar--”

“Oh, spare me the lecture,” you spit. “I know of your Jedi laws and morals. Now tell me why our love is so forbidden if all it’s bringing him is happiness and peace?”

“For now. It’s happiness and peace for now, because it’s new. I should have stepped in sooner, should have stopped it before it was too late. But with the start of the war, I lost sight of it, got too distracted…” Windu shook his head. “If you end it now, he’ll be able to move on. The damage won’t be permanent.”

“I don’t understand,” your chest stung. 

“He loves you. Any Jedi can sense that. And you love him, too.” You couldn’t meet Windu’s gaze. “If something happens to you, and you are taken away from him, or-- Force forbid-- you die, it will break him. He will be consumed by anger and hatred and he will fall to the dark side. His emotions are strong, far too strong to be handled easily. If Anakin goes to the darkside, the Jedi will be no match for the Sith. We will perish, and the war will be lost, and so will any semblance of peace that exists in this life.”

Mace’s tone softened as he saw the tears build up in your eyes. “This path is inevitable, and it needs to be prevented. The only way we can be sure is to remove you from his life. It was a mistake letting you two get so close, and the Council takes full responsibility. But now, you must let him go.”

“How certain are you,” you forced the words from your aching throat. “How certain are you of this future?”

“Yoda had a vision.”

Your breath left you like a balloon deflating. You were glad you were sitting now, because you didn’t think your legs could handle the weight as you felt your world crumble around you. Anakin’s smiling face flashed through your mind, and a tear trailed down your face.

“You have until sunrise to leave Coruscant,” Mace’s tone was back to authoritative, formal and commanding, leaving no room for argument. “You can never return. Not as long as Anakin is here. You may never come in contact with him ever again.”

“And who’s going to stop me if I do? Who’s going to stop him?”

“If you have any respect for every innocent living being in this galaxy, you will do what needs to be done. Now go. You have a job to do.”

You swore you could hear your heart drop and shatter to the ground in a million tiny pieces as you stood from that chair and walked out of the council room. You spent the day mulling over your conversation, crying, pacing, and pulling at your hair. You tried to think of anything you could do to be with Anakin-- pretend to leave him and be even more secretive, get a different identity so you could stay on Coruscant, run away together. You knew he would if you asked.

But deep down, you knew Windu was right. The Jedi needed Anakin, and you were his weakness. If Anakin left, or fell to the dark side because of you, it would be the end of the galaxy. Just because it wasn’t a possibility now, doesn’t mean it wasn’t one in the future. Yoda had a vision, after all, and the fear in Windu’s eyes told you it was serious. 

Now here you were, walking to Anakin’s place to spend one last night with him before you had to leave him. Forever. Your body ached from the cold, the grief, and from packing your belongings all afternoon. You could barely form words as you booked a ship off the planet for early next morning. Then, you had numbly pulled on your jacket and boots, and began your trek to Anakin one last time. 

Cars whizzed overhead, the honking distant in your hollow ears. You were shaking, but not from the cold, as you caught sight of the Jedi temple ahead. The entrance was only a few feet away. You just had to walk through the door, sneak down the hallway, and you’d be there. He’d open the door, offer you a blinding smile, pull you inside, and warm you up with a drink and a kiss. You would put something on the holonet like you always did, just for background noise, and lay down on the bed and just be together. Talk, or kiss, or hold each other. Feel his laugh vibrate through your body because he was pressed so close to you, watch his curls bounce as he shook his head, listen to the soft sounds of him sleeping. The moonlight always made him look like some sort of space prince as it glistened off his cheekbones, painting him in a pale blue. You would trace your fingertips along his face, and he would pretend to still be asleep as he smiled and kissed your fingertips. So happy, so at peace, so in love--

You stopped in your tracks.

I can’t do this.

The pain was building up again. You thought your heart had already shattered, but the ghost of it kept cracking. Something awful was breaking in your chest with each breath, each second, each step toward your goodbye. There was no way you could face him and be okay tonight. The tears were already making an appearance.

“You need to let him go,” Windu’s voice battled your sorrow. “You will be the fall of the Jedi.”

The breath you took was like swallowing razor blades as the cold air filled your lungs. Steadying yourself on the wall of the temple, you pushed your way past the entrance and entered the main hall. The familiar smell worsened your nausea, and you kept your hood up and head down as you walked the familiar path down the hall, taking the elevator up, and then crossing the last hallway before you found his door.

You schooled your features and shoved down the swirling tempest threatening to spill out of you. Once your hands stopped trembling, you brought a fist up and knocked on the door.

Anakin opened the door. He was smiling brilliantly, blue eyes sparkling in the light. The image of his face falling, eyes clouding over in confusion and hurt as he searched for you the next morning and found you gone flashed through your mind. You knew he would never stop searching for you. This is not what he would have wanted. But Mace was right-- he would heal, in time, and he could live the life he was supposed to live; as a Jedi, a General, and the Chosen One. 

“Anakin,” you forced yourself to smile. “Hi.”

His smile turned from charming to soft, hands immediately moving to pull you into his room for the last time. “You’re freezing, my love. Let’s get you warmed up, I already made you something to drink.”

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin angst #anakin x reader angst #anakin fic #star wars prequels

[nerdimpact]

Xiao x S/O, and their Anemo Vision

So, in this discord I’m in, we were fooling around with discussion about the Visions themselves. If a Vision wielder died, what would happen to the Vision? Would It disintegrate? Become just useless shiny rocks? Kept as mementos by their families, buried with their corpses, left to become just another cor lapis-esque rock, or taken as trophies by the murderers and victors or a fight? Or collected by temple maidens? Absorbed into the Statues of the Seven?

A fellow simp told me they saw somewhere that, apparently, Ownerless Visions CAN be reactivated by resonating with someone else, hence their huge price in the market. It kinda makes sense, since apparently Ningguang found one and was ready to sell it before it resonated with her so she was forced to regretfully keep the Vision. 

But you know what, it’s ANGST TIME.

Prompt/Summary: Xiao’s Anemo Vision has accompanied him for over three millennia and been his main source of power for so long, so much that almost nobody remembers Xiao - Alatus - for the deadly Adepti arts he used to wield in times before the Archon War. Only Morax and Barbatos remember that his Anemo Vision used to be someone else’s. 

AKA That AU where Xiao’s natural and original Adepti Powers (or his Anemo Vision) are his Elemental Burst, while his Anemo Vision belongs to a Lover that died in the Archon War. 

See below for the scenarios I prepared.

After their death, Xiao takes up their Anemo Vision and forces himself to integrate those powers within himself (idk if he had an Anemo Vision of his own, since some of the adepti DON’T but still have powers). This could be one of the reasons that his Elemental Burst saps away at his life, either for forcibly mixing two different powers or forcing himself to mainly rely on an alternate source of power from his own. 

There are two main scenarios in this angst writing piece of mine:

Alatus (Xiao) is the one who kills his lover. In his BG, he apparently becomes controlled by another Archon and is forced into killing innocent people, which could include this lover of his. After killing them, he keeps their Anemo Vision (since his “Master” doesn’t care what he does with his trinkets) with him.  In this case, he either becomes enraged, vengeful, bitter and consumed by hatred that he becomes self-destructive while being under their control OR adapts himself into causing immense collateral damage (to kill himself, his “allies” and his current Archon Master ‘accidentally’). Or two, he just... breaks. Becomes an emotionless killing machine that awaits for the day of his death, or awaits for a day where he has the chance to witness the death of the Archon Master, either by someone else’s hands or his own.  Morax kills the Archon and liberates Alatus, who wishes for nothing more than his own death and continues to be self-destructive, thus, cue a contract to keep Alatus alive, which he loathes at first, until Morax brings Barbatos along one day and asks him to reactivate Alatus’ lover’s Anemo Vision. Alatus forsakes his own Anemo Vision (I assume he had his own, unless he didn’t, like the other adepti aside from Ganyu - who is Cryo - and just had adepti arts) and takes up his dead lover’s Anemo Vision.  Forcing himself to take another’s power while he still had his own causes Xiao’s own skills and abilities to become detrimental to his own life force, but he can’t bring himself to stop, and by the time he has mellowed a tiny bit millennias years later (ex. current timeline in Genshin Impact), it isn’t something he can - nor wants to - change anymore. 

Alatus (Xiao) isn’t the one to kill them, his lover becomes just another casualty of war, but he still goes crazy with grief, guilt, hatred and madness when he learns of it. It might not have been right away, but he learns of it, and goes... not quite insane, but close to it. He still becomes self-destructive, still becomes guilty and full of self-loathing for not being there and for being a tool to the faction that kills them, but his vengeance outweighs his own self-loathing and suicidal tendencies and he causes larger collateral damage to his faction more in hopes to wipe them all out. He is punished (borderline tortured) for it of course, but he won’t stop because his lover is dead and it’s all their (his) fault, and his faction won’t put him out of their collective misery because Alatus is one of their strongest pawns. He laughs and laughs and laughs the day Morax kills the Archon Master. Then he vanishes and goes looking for his dead lover’s corpse and possessions. In this case, it takes longer for Morax and Alatus to form a contract because the latter is consumed with an obsession to kill all the demons and to look for the possessions of his lover, who didn’t die in front of him, and thus, he doesn’t know where they are. Their hometown was probably burned down already, so Alatus is only living on the futile hope of at least finding their possessions, corpse, or Anemo Vision (which would still have been something left behind after their death). Alatus causes more collateral damage obsessively killing the factions of the war and searching for it. (it’s a race against time for Morax in this case, because if Alatus finds their Anemo Vision in the hands of someone else.... It’s fine if it’s in the hands of an oblivious civilian or an innocent human, but a political human? A war general? A soldier? Or worse, an auction? Boy, Alatus rage.) Alatus only insignificantly calms down when Barbatos comes along. Morax asks Barbatos to procure and locate their dead lover’s Anemo Vision. Morax bullies Barbatos into reactivating it for Alatus on the condition that he stop his rampages and enters a contract of a Guardian Yaksha. This binds him to a contract that will minimise the collateral damage he causes in order to protect Liyue, but something that wouldn’t impede him from obsessively killing the demons and factions of the Archon War. Morax doesn’t force Alatus to accept the contract, but he doesn’t need to, Alatus accepts willingly because what they offer - reactivating his lover’s vision - is something too tempting for him, and they DID find their Anemo Vision. He accepts, no matter how it would destroy him in the end.  (And it does - Xiao cannot use his own powers anymore without them sapping at his life-force, without the pain, without feeling two different powers/Visions clashing inside him.) This version of Xiao is less suicidal, but holds a far deeper grudge against those of the Archon War and mourns his lover’s death just as deeply.

To be fair, Morax and Barbatos probably didn’t realise Alatus would rip out his own Anemo Vision and take up his dead lover’s for his own. After they realised it, it was already too late.

(alternatively, XIao’s former powers have become so corrupted and become something sinister and darker and start to sap away at his life if he uses his former Anemo Vision, so taking his lover’s Anemo Vision isn’t his original idea, but something Morax/Barbatos came up with. 

So in this case, he still possesses his lover’s Anemo Vision and uses it most of the time or it becomes something that calms him and his powers down, while his original powers are his Burst, which still continues to sap away his HP/life if he uses it.)

Alatus/Xiao is grateful to Morax and Barbatos. A lot. 

Ehe~

#genshin impact #xiao #alatus #lmao I couldn't stop once this idea set in #I love Xiao ok #don't be wrong #but angst is my jam q-q #and horniness #I just want Xiao to come..... #I'm at 50 pity pulls and too scared to continue

[phantom-curve]

find the strength, find the melody pt. 7

lmfao I love how I posted an update 2 days ago like “this fic will have sporadic posts! idk when they’re coming!” and then I spent the last two days writing this. when that insomnia inspiration hits ya gotta just go with it!

this chapter went in a completely different direction than I had planned on soooo yeah...honestly not sure where this is gonna end up! the characters from my OC novel that I’m loosely basing this story around didn’t have a connection before they ran into each other so when Julie gave me this I almost cut it because I genuinely wasn’t sure where it was going. I think I’ve almost figured it out and I’m pretty sure I know how this will end. and now we all get to laugh at me together because it’s definitely gonna be more than 3-4 chapters. it might even be more than 6. Luke’s POV will have roughly the same amount of chapters I think, possibly longer because boy oh boy does he have A LOT to say (most of it about Julie). fair warning: this one has an awkward cut off because of the way I need to set up the next chapter. sorry about that.

and now something I probably should be embarrassed to admit: I don’t remember writing the part where I managed to sneak an “I’ve Got The Music” reference in so now we know for sure this show has infiltrated my brain. it’s fine, I’m fine, at least I WILL BE WHEN WE GET A S2!!!! KENNY!!!! SAVE ME HERE!!! MAKE MY UNHINGED OBSESSIONS WORTH IT!!!!!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder​, @kat-maybe-not​, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist​​

It was no small miracle that Julie made it through the afternoon without Ray asking for details about her supposed ‘plan’ to play with the Sunset Curve boys. She didn’t think she would have been able to pull off spinning a story quite as well as Luke had earlier. She had expected at least a small amount of interrogating about when she had started playing again, but apparently the news that she was playing at all, let alone with other people in front of an audience, was enough for Ray to ignore all of the other plot holes involved in this scheme. He seemed to have almost forgotten the meeting with Principal Lessa entirely, humming on the drive home, kissing her forehead and turning her loose to freak out alone in her room while he sat down to work on his computer in the dining room. Julie took full advantage of the time alone to restlessly pace her room and send Flynn a 911 text. Her bestie’s contact photo lit up the phone screen 30 seconds later.

“Okay, I’m hiding in the basement girl’s bathroom, so you’ve got exactly 5 minutes before I get too grossed out to stay here.”

Julie’s chest loosened at the sound of Flynn’s comforting voice. There wasn’t anyone else in the world that loved her the way Flynn did. It was reassuring and made it easy for Julie to let loose.

“Lessa told Dad about the music program and then You-Know-Who ambushed us outside of her office and basically forced me to agree to perform with them.”

“Voldemort was at Los Feliz?!”

Flynn’s gasp was overflowing with sarcasm.

“Flynn!” Julie whined. “Be serious! Luke showed up out of nowhere again! And he did the thing again! The charming his way into getting what he wants thing! And now I have to play with his freaking band! What the hell am I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. When Flynn spoke again her voice was softer, more serious.

“You don’t have to play with them, Jules. You can tell them no, and they’ll have no choice but to respect that. The only person who can make you do anything is you. But...I kinda think you might want to play with them.”

“What?! No!”

Julie’s exclamation was a second late. Flynn didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Julie sighed.

“Okay fine. There’s something about Luke that makes me want to play again. Are you happy? He gave mom’s song back to me when I thought it was lost forever. He’s the only person who’s heard me perform it, and he...no one else has ever made me feel that good about my music before.”

Julie thanked her lucky stars Flynn wasn’t in the room to see her blush. There was a long moment of contemplative silence on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, there was that extra note of take-no-shit in Flynn’s voice that made Julie sit up and really listen.

“I think you should give it a chance. Who knows, maybe this is some sort of sign from your mom. You said it was a miracle he would have even found that song in the first place. You said it felt like she was there with you when you were playing. Maybe she made sure it would find its way back to you when you were ready for it.”

Julie didn’t say anything, just worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. It had felt a little too perfect to be just a coincidence. The way Luke kept appearing in her life at the exact moments she needed him someone or something to help her keep moving forward. Flynn sighed.

“Look, I’m not saying it is your mom. But I’m not saying there’s not some kind of greater power out there that keeps pushing the two of you together. I think you should give it a chance. If nothing else, you can get back in the music program and we can bring Double Trouble to life in time for our Junior Showcase!”

Julie couldn’t help laughing. Her eyes felt misty, love for her best friend welling up in her heart.

“I never agreed to that name you know. But thanks, Flynn. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now. I gotta get the fuck out of this grimy ass bathroom. Love you, bye!”

Flynn waited for her to return the sentiment before hanging up.  Julie flopped back on her bed, letting her breath out in a loud whoosh as she hit the comforter. A glance at her phone told her she only had a couple hours until Luke and the other boys would be out of school and on their way to her house. She tried her best to ignore the way that thought made her stomach roll with a type of nervousness she would rather not name. It was easier to blame it on nerves over playing with new people rather than nerves over playing with Luke. Except...now that she actually thought about it, she had played with Luke before. Her head spun, eyes fluttering shut as she remembered the one music class she had shared with Luke last year.

She had only been a freshman, stuck in a lowly Introduction to Composition class. It was supposed to be for new songwriters. Julie had a little more experience than the rest of the class, after all she’d been kind of composing with her mom for a few years now, so when it had been time to write a duet for their final big project she had gotten paired up with the classmate whose skill level most matched hers. It was supposed to be a way for them to challenge each other and grow as writers instead of one person doing most of the work. Julie had been paired with Luke.

He’d been a grumbly sophomore, held back for failing his last semester of Intro to Comp the year before. He had been stuck there only for the second semester, forced to double up between their class and his second year Composition class. Julie hadn’t been all that excited about partnering with him. He hadn’t really seemed to care about the class at all, and even though Julie also sometimes felt like it was holding her back a little bit, she never once voiced that thought. It was a privileged mindset, and Julie was well aware that she had an advantage over her classmates since her mother was a professional songwriter. Luke, on the other hand, had made it well known that he felt like he was wasting his time just waiting to get through the semester so he could move up to the Advanced Composition class that he felt he truly belonged in. Julie could usually do no more than roll her eyes in those moments.

It was true that Luke was talented. His guitar playing was impressive, his lyrics were heartfelt and sometimes even downright poetic. Julie just didn’t think anyone deserved specific things in life because they happened to be naturally talented at something. Their songwriting experience had been...interesting to say the least. And short. It had ended abruptly when Julie’s mother had died 5 days later. In the end, they’d only worked together for two 40-minute class periods before she had been lost in the fog of grief that consumed her in the weeks following the loss of her mom.

Julie shot up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t even fully remember what had happened with the half-finished song they had been working on. Errant notes echoed in her head, like a song that had only existed in dreams until now. She absently wondered if Luke had held onto that as well. It was no wonder she had kept that particular memory suppressed all this time. That time in her life had been particularly painful. Luke had been gentle with her though. Almost all traces of his typical arrogance gone in the two short class periods they’d had to work together. He had kept things light, steering their songwriting in the direction of a rock ballad more than a true duet. Julie hadn’t minded. She had been floating through classes by then anyway, on edge every second she was away from her mom’s bedside. It had been easier to work on something that didn’t have as many sappy emotions attached to it.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. No wonder Luke had been so sweet with her. He must have had a front row seat to her breakdown throughout the last year. She hadn’t even realized it. Had never before seen the way he watched her from a distance, checked in on her during class. She should have. Now that she was thinking about it, trying to identify every instance, she could name a million. How had she missed it for so long? How had he gone so long without saying anything? The Luke she remembered was terrible at keeping his mouth shut. He had always been ready to speak his mind, never afraid to start a discourse. It didn’t track that he had been holding himself back. Unless...it was more about her musical ability than anything else. She remembered now; Luke had been thrilled to partner with her for the duet. He had made some remark about how her sound was the perfect complement to his. Maybe he only cared about the ways they would mesh as songwriters. She could only hope that’s what his words had meant.

She felt more secure in her footing as a musician when it came to dealing with Luke than she ever had as a simple teenaged girl. If it was just about the music she could compartmentalize better, keep herself from getting too emotionally invested. Music had always been a safe zone, neutral. She breathed in and out deeply, remembering the technique Dr. Turner had taught her to slow her breathing and recenter her mind. She could do this. It was just about the music. They would play a song together, Julie would get back into the music program, and life would move forward much in the way it had before. Except Julie would actually participate in class this time. She had the music back in her soul, she wasn’t ever going to let it go again. On her next exhale, she heard the doorbell ring. Showtime. Julie zipped down the stairs, ripping open the door before her dad had a chance to get more than three feet away from his computer. Luke, Alex and Reggie all stumbled back a step as she tumbled outside, pulling the front door shut behind her. The three teenaged boys shared a look.

“Studio. Now.”

Julie raced down the path to her mom’s studio before they could react, not even waiting to see if they followed her. If they were smart, if they truly wanted to do this, they would. She hauled the garage doors open, only turning around when she had the piano at her back. The wood felt warm and solid, almost like she had her mom as a support behind her instead of an instrument. The boys appeared seconds later, Luke leading the way. He stopped a couple feet inside of the studio, studying her with wide open earnest eyes. She let out a deep breath. Reggie spoke up before she could get a word out.

“Woah, Julie, this studio is so cool! It’s like a tiny home! A musical tiny home in a botanical garden!!”

His green eyes were wide, expression awed as he spun to take in the space that Julie and her mom had spent countless hours turning into theirs.

“How did you get chairs on the ceiling?! Are you, like, a witch and a siren?!! Man, you and your mom must have made some serious magic in here.”

Luke’s arm shot out faster than lightening to backhand Reggie’s bicep. Reggie cringed away, a soft owww! just barely audible over the loud sigh Alex let out as he buried his face in his hands. Reggie shrugged, looking back and forth between his bandmates before giving Julie a confused yet apologetic glance. What had he said wrong this time? The giggle that bubbled out of her was as unexpected as it was welcomed. Warmth blazed in her heart, memories of the time she had spent in here with her mom washing over her with a kind of hazy bliss she hadn’t ever experienced before. She gazed at Reggie, letting that same feeling of motherly love from the night before fill her up. It was all she could do not to react to Luke’s jaw dropping when she gave Reggie a soft smile.

“We did. We made so much magic in here.”

The words were gentle and filled with a kind of genuine love that overshadowed all other feelings of awkward nervousness. Alex and Luke relaxed instantly, Reggie’s face losing all traces of uncertainty as he beamed at her with a smile so large it almost looked painful. Julie couldn’t help but let herself return it, just a little bit. The silence that settled between them was more comfortable, the tense moment from earlier broken. Julie studied the boys in front of her. She hadn’t ever thought of them as friends per se. They knew each other, would say hi if they encountered one another outside the walls of the high school, but at the same time, they didn’t actually know each other. Julie’s little run in with Luke the night before had made that painfully obvious. She wasn’t really sure what to make of them.

“Are you guys actually serious about this whole Showcase scheme? Did Luke even tell you about his dumb plan?”

“Hey! That plan is genius. Even your dad agreed. He seems pretty cool.”

Julie couldn’t help the fond way she rolled her eyes. Alex was quick to reassure her that they did, in fact, know about the plan.

“Not that I actually think it’s a particularly well thought out plan.” He stated with a lingering glare at Luke’s back.

The planner in question did his best to ignore the skeptical look on Julie’s face.

“Julie, you really don’t deserve to be out of the music program.” Reggie’s voice was soft and sincere. “You have the voice of an angel. If we can help convinced Ms. Harrison and Principal Lessa to give you your spot back it will be so worth it. And even if we don’t, it’ll be worth the looks on their faces when we rock the pants off that crowd!”

Julie laughed in spite of herself, slightly reassured even as she chewed nervously on her lip. Luke took a few bouncy steps forward, pulling her attention to him completely. His eyes locked on hers and she was sure she was drowning, throat tightening at the look he was giving her.

“You got this. I wouldn’t have come up with this idea if I didn’t believe it 100%.”

Honestly, that was what scared her the most about it.

“We don’t even have anything prepared.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, unsteady and wavering. Luke took a few more steps towards her, Reggie and Alex ghosting along silently a few feet behind him. Julie didn’t even notice, so laser focused on the brunette boy in the cut-up tank top in front of her. She watched his muscles flex as he reached into his back pocket, flicking out a piece of folded up paper in a move scarily reminiscent of when he had given her mom’s song back to her. He bit his lip, head ducking a little to be closer to hers as he unfolded the worn sheets of scrappy notebook paper. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, focusing on the messy handwriting in front of her.

“I thought you would say that.”

The smile on his face was so soft and sweet it should have been illegal.

“It’s called ‘Bright’. It’s a Sunset Curve song that we never performed because it’s missing something. Look,” his bare shoulder brushed hers as he shifted to point at the notes, warmth seeping through the thin material of her t-shirt, “it’s perfect for your range. I was thinking, if we add a little bit of piano here and here,” fire blazed a path up her arm as his fingers traced along the opening notes and chorus, forearm flexing against her own, bare skin brushing in teasing licks, “it’ll be perfect.”

Julie forced herself to focus on what he was saying, eyes roving across the paper. She hummed a little under her breath, hearing what he described in her head. His eyes lit up when he saw her get it, feet springing up and down as he dipped even closer towards her and started to sing.

We will rise, through the night

You and I

We will fight to shine together

Bright forever

His voice vibrated in her chest, the sound filling her with an emotion she couldn’t fully identify. Alex and Reggie bobbed along behind him, Reggie’s fingers plucking out the baseline on an invisible guitar while Alex nodded along to an unseen beat. Julie could envision the way the song would sound with a complete band, could practically see herself fitting seamlessly into the mix with her piano and vocals. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she joined in, reading the lyrics off of the page.

And rise through the night,

You and I

We will fight to shine together

“Go up high.”

Luke cut in, fingers twirling towards the ceiling. Julie automatically made the adjustment in notes to harmonize her voice with his for the last line, holding the final syllable for a beat longer than him.

Bright forever

“Yes!”

Luke’s arm pumped up and down, bicep flexing and distracting Julie momentarily. She dropped her head shyly, trying to hide her blush. When her cheeks cooled a moment later she looked back up at the boy in front of her. His eyes were glowing, smile stretched a mile wide as he stared at her. Unconditional belief in her was practically oozing from his pores. She felt her face soften as their eyes locked, giving him her own sweet smile that was meant just for the two of them. She thanked him with a gentle murmur, heart melting as he simply bit his lower lip and nodded.

A throat cleared in the background, and Julie was snapped out of their private bubble by the sound. Her entire face felt engulfed in flames as she looked over Luke’s shoulder to see Alex and Reggie still standing a few paces behind him. Reggie’s face was bright, his sunshine temperament back in full force. Alex was a little more guarded, but he was giving her an encouraging smile and there was cautious optimism swimming in his sage green eyes as he fiddled with one of his drumsticks. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in one smooth exhale. The same sort of peacefulness from the night before settled over her.

“Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this.”

Luke’s whoop was so loud both her and Alex jumped. Reggie raced forward with a cheer to sling one arm around Luke’s shoulders and the other around Julie’s, pulling them so close to his chest that their noses nearly touched. Julie saw the blush staining Luke’s cheeks and felt her own warm to match. Alex coughed again.

“Reg, c’mon. Let it settle for just a sec before you go all human octopus on the poor girl.”

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jules!!”

Reggie released both of them quickly. Julie flicked her gaze between the three boys, enjoying the glimpses at their band dynamic. Alex’s words had sounded a bit exasperated, but there was a fondness running through them as well. He gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes at Reggie’s abrupt movements and reached his own long arm out to pull the dark-haired boy close.

“Help me unload the van? I still don’t trust our little Lukey boy with my kit.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

Luke sounded downright offended. The dark look Alex leveled at him in response had Julie choking back a laugh with a badly disguised cough. Clearly once of whatever he did was enough. Luke pouted, arms flexing as they crossed over his chest.

“You put your foot through my bass drum, and you think that isn’t reason enough not to trust you with it ever again?”

Luke sputtered, eyes flicking to Julie and back to Alex as his ears reddened.

“I told you I didn’t see it!”

“It’s the biggest part of the kit, dumbass. Literally the hardest thing to miss.”

Alex’s voice was as unimpressed as it was dismissive. Luke threw his hands in the air as the other boys headed out of the studio, laughing amongst themselves. It was clear this was a regular argument between the two, no heat or anger left in it, only a loving sort of tease. Like the way Carlos still brought up that time she accidentally gave him a concussion double-bouncing him off of their neighbor’s trampoline when he wanted something from her. Or the way her Tía would still laugh as she remembered the time her mom had almost gotten them both arrested for a bar fight on her 21st birthday, Ray affectionately filling in the parts that she tried to leave out. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This wasn’t just a band, wasn’t just a ragtag trio of friends. These guys were brothers. This was a family. And they were letting her into that intimate circle.

The thought was both humbling and nerve-wracking. This Showcase was a big deal. It wasn’t just some school assignment. This could impact their future as a band career-wise. They were all trusting her with this, fully believing in her, or at least, fully believing in Luke’s faith in her abilities. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever believed in her like that. Not anyone that hadn’t known her since she was in diapers. Her head swam, knees feeling a bit weak. She stumbled her way over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a barely audible huff. Luke was in front of her instantly, crouched down so they were face to face. His hands twitched in his lap, but he didn’t reach for her.

“Hey. Julie. Breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, zeroing in on nothing more than his face. After a few seconds she realized he was breathing in and out slowly, just loud enough for her to hear over the jumble of thoughts running amok in her brain. She matched her own inhales and exhales to his, the room slowly coming back into focus as her head cleared. He gave her one of those soft smiles she was starting to think of as hers.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But I wouldn’t have stopped you in school if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. I heard you last night. I listened to you for years before last night.”

His chin dropped in embarrassment for just a second before he pulled his gaze back up to hers. Julie felt like she was on the edge of a cliff. Not for the first time she wished she knew how long this version of Luke had been lurking under the surface. It took everything in her not to let herself step off that ledge and fall.

“Music is in your soul. It’s a part of you. Not everyone is like that, but you are. Your life without music...”

He tapered off like the thought was physically painful to him, eyebrows furrowing in a slight wince.

“Living without music would be like living in a world without stars: dark and empty and uninspired. You deserve galaxies, Julie. You deserve the chance to shine exactly like the star you are, and the world deserves the chance to hear you. Please, just...have a little faith?”

She saw it then. As he gazed at her with those bottomless ocean eyes, with that special smile on his lips and sincerity bleeding through every word, she knew. Luke was like her. Luke got it. In a way that no one else except her mom ever had. That’s what this was. They were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin. And that feeling? The wind rushing through her hair and stealing her breath away while her limbs all turned to jelly feeling? That was definitely her falling head over heels off of the cliff and into Luke Patterson completely.

“Okay.”

She breathed out, and his answering smile set off the butterflies she thought had finally left her stomach. He stood up and held a hand out to her, easily pulling her to her feet in one smooth movement.

“You know,” his smile turned rueful, “eventually you’re gonna have to answer one of my questions with something other than ‘okay’. That’s a pretty passive word, and I’m not really a passive type of person. I wanna start hearing some ‘hell yeah’s and ‘awesome’s pretty soon.”

Julie rolled her eyes, moving away from Luke to set up her keyboard. He gave her a bouncy little shrug of his shoulders, and she let the levity of his joke wash over her, releasing the last bit of nerves. She could do this. Luke believed in her. Her mom believed in her. Hell, Alex and Reggie believed in her and she barely even knew them. She could do this, just like her mom had said.

Noise from the other boys making their way up the driveway had her rushing to pull both doors to the studio open so they could haul in Alex’s drum kit. The three of them left together to grab amps and guitars, Julie finishing the rest of the set up in the garage. Before she had time to overthink things or freak out again, they were all settled into their spots and Alex was counting down for their first run through. Fingers against the keys, Julie breathed out, opened her mouth, and began to play.

#love how I didn't even change the line where Luke calls her a star again #there is actually a user on here with a really intricate and fascinating siren/witch hybrid theory about Julie #that's what inspired that line #missmitchieg I am lookin at you #also have you noticed all the dumb ghosty puns and references I keep dropping? #it started as a little inside joke to myself and now I don't even realize I'm doing it #also also all of the little personal stories in this chapter have happened to me or my friends #personal easter eggs because I can't not leave lil bits of myself in everything I write #Mads writes #find the strength find the melody #julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #jukebox #julie and the phantoms fic #jatp fic #juke fic #palina #julie x luke #luke x julie

[loyally-unfaithful]

desolation!au (lunatic!kaede au)

summary: in canon, kotetsu manages to restore barnaby's memory at the last second, but what if it didn't work? what if kaede ex machina never got the chance to save her father at the top of the apollon media tower and restore the other heroes' memories? in fact, what if she never knew they were being brainwashed in the first place?what if kotetsu died that day?

basically me developing my idea of an au where, consumed by anger and grief, kaede seeks lunatic to help her in carrying her revenge and murdering her father's killer.

illustration of lunatic!kaede is attached at the very end of the fic :3

a/n: tbh, i was watching tiger & bunny w/ my friends and at some point i thought about kaede being lunatic's student because i just want to see her start shit and it wasn't anything much at first, just small headcanons here and little doodles there. but then idk , i made a little sketch and it all snowballed from there.

i ended up developing this au and have become quite invested in it.  

i’m aware the format looks like cat shit on mobile, im sorry. if it’s super disruptive to the reading experience, feel free to refer to the ao3 version (links are in my desc).

alternate names lmao

lunatic!kaede! au

cats-on-the-moon!au

revenge girl!au

revenge-girl-out-for-revenge!au

vendetta! au

synopsis

follows the same storyline up until the memory loss arc, where the au experiences a massive canon divergence.

kotetsu receives a chance to escape after being aided by lunatic, and, not letting his unsuccessful attempt at making his friends remember his true identity deter him, he gathered them at the top of the apollon media tower. he tries again to make them remember that he is wild tiger, and not a murderer, but much like in canon the rest of the group do not believe him—though some falter briefly. unlike canon, however, is that kaede ex machina does not appear in time to unleash maverick’s next power that she copied to restore everyone’s memories.

she does make an attempt to reach the tower where her father is taking a stand, but she does not encounter maverick and on her way up the roof the elevator stops—as it should during emergencies... without her interference, the rest of the hero team overpower kotetsu who is smashed through the roof and lands into saito’s lab. realising that the latter doesn’t remember who he was either, kotetsu quickly grabs his suit and motorbike to try to escape and regroup with ben. the rest of the heroes rush to go after him, though some (blue rose, etc) are more hesitant than others (rock bison, etc). on the way down they [the heroes] find kaede and become preoccupied with her. they’re experiencing an emergency but the child refuses to leave, so some of the heroes have their hands full handling her.

during this, the cameras continue to follow kotetsu. in the end, barnaby pursues kotetsu on his own vehicle and they fight at the bridge where they first teamed up. kaede can follow what is currently happening as the event is broadcasted and grows increasingly hysterical, screaming that she needs to be there and that they’re [blue rose, sky high, etc] supposed to be helping her dad, not pursue him. at some point before the final blow, the feed cuts—the camera probably got hit by chunks of armour or other sort of debris.

the fight follows canon up until barnaby intends on delivering the final kick

« so this is it, eh? take care lil’ bunny…»

this time, the kick connects.

at this point kaede is inconsolable, not being able to handle the fact that the broadcast cut and she can’t check her father’s condition in real time anymore. the heroes’ attempt at getting her to speak or to tell them who her guardian is is met with choked sobs and no response.

there’s two way i see her finding out about her father’s defeat, and subsequent death:

the least traumatic, but still traumatic option: the feed was the last time she ever saw her father. the heroes only hear that « the criminal has been captured/dealt with by barnaby » on their private channel so they slowly excuse themselves and disperse, leaving kaede alone. some of the security guards approach her, trying to get a number to contact but eventually learn that she wasn’t speaking and let her sit there for a bit before calling the authorities.

the intensely traumatic “whoa you ruined a perfectly good 10-11 year old” option: as kaede grows increasingly distressed and the heroes try to keep her under control, she sees members of staff trying to cart something off discreetly. she gets a quick glance on what is being carried and recognises the hand poking out under the large tarp covering the rest of the body. it had her father’s wedding band, which he continued to wear, and upon realising what had happened, she immediately goes catatonic and wouldn’t react to the heroes anymore.

she either sits in the empty building until very late at night, sits outside on the bus stop with no intention of getting on simply watching the last of the buses disappear in the horizon, or waits at the police station with no intention of telling them who to call.

she eventually reaches the conclusion that her father will probably never come back as he died on her own and breaks down.

much like option 1) she sits in the empty building, waiting for someone who will never return.

in both options, ben ex machina (yes kaede got demoted in this au im sorry) finds her and explains to her that he was her father’s boss. this gained her attention somewhat, and she let him drive her back home after he told her that her grandmother has been frantically contacting ben after realising that kaede wouldn’t pick up.

during all this, she remains silent and out of it, still not fully accepting that her father wasn’t coming back home: kaede knows it’s no use to wait for her father anymore, but doesn’t outwardly admit the fact just in case he really is alive. she knows she’s just lying to herself.

on their way back to the kaburagi home, ben explains to her that he tried to get on that bridge as fast as possible to intercept the two, but only arrived after barnaby had left the scene. he doesn’t go into much detail, but does give her the few things he had found and recognised was kotetsu’s:

the tiger emblem that he kept this whole time

the two matching christmas pins that (unknowingly to both ben and kaede) he shared with his former partner

the first sound kaede makes in a long time is more wracking sobs as she clutches the small objects.

she passes out sometimes during transit, and wakes up the next afternoon in her room, the memorabilia safe in her pocket.

the next day, hero tv, and the organisations that funds it, refuses to make an official statement on kotetsu’s whereabouts after being intercepted by barnaby—they know that the latter murdered kotetsu, but they avoid the question in order to save his and the company’s reputation. they would answer something like:

kotetsu running away

being imprisoned for 250 years, with no visitors.

accidentally got himself killed

for the most part, the general populace accepted this outcome and thanked the diligent work of the heroes, but kaede and her family know better. kotetsu wasn’t the type to just leave, and he wouldn’t have committed murder in the first place. this official statement further cemented the fact that kotetsu had died—been killed. within sternbild, another powerful figure also doubted the credibility of the statement. yuri would literally see the red flags, but the situation really isn’t in his favour and he doesn’t know where to even tackle this. he’d need to do more digging up before planning out his attack.

kaede concludes (correctly) that barnaby was behind her father’s death, and possessed with anger and hatred, decided that she will get revenge one way or another and prove her father’s innocence.

basic plot

headcanon form now, because it’s more convenient.

the lead-up:

during the few days/weeks that followed, she barely went out of her room unless necessary. 

she barely ate, even ignoring the flan pudding she adored so much. 

in her self-imposed isolation, she marinates in her own grief, which turns into anger and hatred. 

at first she regrets not having spent more time with her father and reaching out to him, instead of expecting kotetsu to do that for her. 

but the focus slowly shifts to wanting to make kotetsu’s murderer suffer as he has made her dad suffer. 

you know what, throw in the rest of the heroes. 

they should’ve been kotetsu’s friend and believed him instead of pursuing him relentlessly: they’re complicit too and should be punished accordingly.

it’s important to note that, since kaede didn’t interact with maverick and inherit his next power, she doesn’t know that the heroes have been brainwashed. 

she just thinks that they’re secretly an evil group posing to be heroes.

she loses faith in them, and their flawed justice that got her father killed

she wants to avenge her father and prove his innocence so badly, but doesn’t know how or where to begin. the odds are stacked against her, since only her family and a few people here and there believe in kotetsu’s innocence.

while she’s holed up in her room, she mindlessly replays the video clips that featured her dad over and over again until she memorised every single word and committed her father’s movements to memory. 

one day, as she flips through the different collectibles and magazines that featured him, she came across one such issue which showcased a different type of “hero”: the sanctioner with blue flames.

the vigilante who’s idea of justice was becoming more and more appealing to kaede the more she thought about it.

she’s seen the clips, how his next power allowed him to continually keep up with the 100 power duo. how it always allowed him to have the upper hand and to deliver his justice. 

kaede wants that kind of strength, that kind of power, to avenge her father.

she resolves herself to find or contact the vigilante no matter how, though that seemed to be a complicated enough task in and of itself.

kaede figures that when she does find him, she’ll either get him to work with her to get her revenge or copy his power if he refuses.

her searches prove more or less fruitless tho since lunatic can't be found when he doesn't want to be found lmao

after a few weeks/months, she grows disheartened and becomes rather depressed again.

the actual encounter:

i don’t have an actually have a concrete idea on how they met and how kaede convinced yuri to work with her, just a bunch of possibilities going from plausible to straight up crack

one way she could meet him is by bumping into judge petrov when she’s tagging along with her fam to try and claim kotetsu’s body.

the intent was to go to sternbild to recover kotetsu so that they can bury him in the family grave (and rejoin tomoe), but since the city refuses to acknowledge that kotetsu is dead and admit that a hero killed a person, the kaburagi fam can’t get his body back.

very sad times, maybe after the unsuccessful hearing kaede cries and rlly begs to be able to get her father back, and grabs hold of yuri to make her point come across or something.

do you even see a judge when you try to claim a criminal’s body? idk it’s probably illegal to make physical contact w a judge but kaede is only bby so maybe she won't go to jail? i don’t know i’m dum

anyway, he’d probably carefully peel the child off of him and say something vaguely sympathetic before going wherever the hell judges go after trial? court? i know nothing about the legal system and it shows

uh oh skin to skin contact

kaede unwittingly copies his power and moves on with her day. it wasn’t until she came home and felt a burst of anger that she noticed that??? she can summon blue flames??? like lunatic does??? except she doesn’t recall meeting him at all???

she puts two and two together and susses yuri out

or instead of literally harassing him in court

maybe she just stumbles on lunatic because his favourite hobbies are standing ominously on roofs and killing murderers, in that order.

kaede: why is there a funny looking scarecrow on the roof…???

kaede: hoLY HECK

how she manages to get lunatic on her side is more convoluted

one way would be her going back to the city and confronting yuri about it. of course, he’d deny her claim until she gets angry enough and her eyes light up. 

yuri’s like “oh sHIT”. 

she could threaten him by saying that if he won’t help her then she will just seek her revenge by herself. 

yuri doesn’t want her to do anything rash and cause him to get in hot water because he rlly doesn't want to deal w/ the aftermath. also he doesn’t want to like, see a whole child get hurt :(

so i guess he’s like, “this is my lot in life now”, and accepts to take her as his apprentice so long as she doesn’t cause any trouble

that was the peaceful route

kaede could also fight fire with fire

just hound down lunatic instead of yuri and when she finds him it’s on sight. chuck a whole fireball to catch his attention and demand that he takes her as his apprentice. idk maybe threaten to fight him mono e mono unless he complies. 

lunatic would probably just ghost her lmao 

but she’d continue to show up whenever he’s raring to kill a murderer so maybe he’ll accept because it’s getting more disruptive if he doesn’t

if anything, her persistence would impress him somewhat: she’s determined, and even when she’s only had the flames for like, what? 3 days? she can already control it well enough to shoot projectiles. she has potential and would be a helpful ally instead of burdening him.

the chaotic crackhead route is for kaede to somehow get her hands on yuri’s address and bully him until he listens to her

just show up outside his room at 3 am, eyes glowing, floating 3 feet from the ground. hell, t-pose outside his window. 

terrorise him.

she’d play loud music or shout at him day in day out 

she may even follow him to work and just pester him

constantly asking him to mentor her so she can have her revenge, poking and prodding about his secret night job as lunatic

kaede will leave mama petrov alone this doesn’t concern her

her beef isn’t w mama petrov

ever since that encounter, yuri has not known peace

yuri has 2 ghosts to deal with 

that’s 2 too many

he’s gonna take one out

the minimum age of criminal responsibility in japan is 14, while in new york it’s 18 (thanks google)

take your pick

kaede is 10-11

so either way yuri can’t take her to jail for harassment 

she’s coming out of this scott free

he snaps and literally begs her to stfu if he follows her wish :b:lease

he hasn’t slept for 34 days

regardless, kaede will come out victorious and yuri is now stuck with a child 

on a more serious note, yuri’s and kaede’s agenda are the same and it just so happens that their goals align. he has been suss since day one ever since the kotetsu debacle.

in hindsight maverick really should’ve brainwashed the only judge, the person in charge of the justice bureau, the curator who has access to the hero’s files

maybe i’m jumping to conclusion

for all i know maybe maverick also attempted to invite yuri to that announcement “party” thing

but yuri was like 

« no ? fuck off »

and went on his way

yuri wants to look oddly menacing in his basement dungeon thing 

and maverick brushed it off because he didn’t think yuri was lunatic, or a next one the first place

we know that yuri learns that maverick is behind all of this and is probably a next on his own, but decides against taking action. i suppose in canon because he knows it’s not his battle to see through, but in the au maybe because he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. also he kinda injured his arm after being shot by H-01, so he doesn’t want to fight with a handicap.

he doesn’t want to take any rash action and cause more problems for himself.

potentially putting his whole secret identity scheme in jeopardy.

he chooses to take a moment to regroup and plan his actual attack. he couldn’t take on 7 heroes and 1 android at once, and risk getting brainwashed too.

at first, even if working together seem to only benefit kaede, the situation also gives yuri some strategic advantages. 

like once he finds out that kaede’s power is a mimic ability, not the flame ability. i feel like he’d find that hella useful

also kaede is a child who’s also basically a nobody in sternbild. she can infiltrate spaces he can’t, and not raise any suspicion.

  possible denouements:

i see 3 major endings possible, with secondary endings which is just a one of the 3 major endings with some slight changes:

1. all sinners must die ending

pretty self explanatory. kaede gets her revenge: with the help of lunatic she kills barnaby and maverick, potentially killing or maiming the rest of the heroes. her father has been avenged, but the city is more or less in a panic because there are no more heroes to protect them. “faith” in the vigilante, or at least in kaede, plummets because they attacked “innocent” people. it’s possible that she brings her father’s framing to light (but not that the heroes were brainwashed), though it’s doubtful that she gets the chance after causing such an uproar.

kaede probably never learns the truth: that the heroes were brainwashed.

this may or may not leave kaede incredibly bitter and nihilistic, as even though she got her revenge she doesn’t feel any satisfaction or sense of closure. she doesn’t get any form of catharsis and probably still has a difficult time moving on and coping with her grief. the city of sternbild adopts a very cold atmosphere and regains a strong distrust towards nexts, kaede may or may not continue to be a vigilante as she’s still trapped in grief limbo, yuri has to deal with the messy aftermath.

overall, it’s probably the worst possible ending.

of schemes and double agents ending

a kinda slow burn route, i suppose? in this ending, kaede realises that the heroes are being manipulated unlike in the previous one. she decides to restore the hero’s memories one by one and getting them to secretly help her. i don’t think she could recruit everyone, but i’m thinking about those like blue rose, who seemed to remember somewhat after kotetsu’s speech thing. kaede could slowly remind them, and despite initial mistrust and animosity they would come round and realise there was a huge discrepancy in their memory.

outright rebelling against maverick would be rash and the heroes risk being brainwashed once more, so they figure they would pull the strings somewhat and provide kaede/lunatic with internal knowledge to help them.

in the epic showdownTM, when the heroes and kaede finally have a face off, barnaby (and those who weren’t approached by kaede) would experience quite a curveball: those who regained their memories would side with kaede.

safety in solitude ending

in this ending, kaede works alone (with lunatic) without having recruited the other heroes even after realising they’ve been brainwashed. perhaps because it’d be too risky just in case they get brainwashed again or that they don’t agree with the vigilante’s idea and rat them out, whatever the reason may be the duo works alone.

this will lead into an even more epic showdownTM where it’s 2 v. 8: even though the stakes are not in the duo’s favour they somehow manage to come triumphant? or maybe the heroes regain their memories one by one and decide to stop fighting, even though they don’t exactly join the duo’s side.

constants:

maverick dies. lunatic kills him. i doubt many are against the idea though.

barnaby’s memories would be the last one she “restores”: (courtesy of my friend) it would probably go something like, in a burst of anger she jumps him and gets his hundred power. as she punches at him, she tearfully confronts him about how her father must’ve felt in his last moments and how much kotetsu seemed to adore him back when he was alive.

if bunny dies (ending 2/ending 3) kaede would not feel as angry and cynical, but more regretful or grievous. she’d probably stop using her next powers to do much anything (instead of continuing to be a vigilante like in ending 1). she’ll move on eventually, with more than less difficulty. the city of sternbild is on edge, but continue to place their faith on heroes.

if bunny lives (ending 2/ending 3), kaede would get a stronger sense of closure as she would be able to dialogue with bunny. barnaby would however, feel unending grief once he realises what he has done. 

regardless if bunny is dead or not, the truth is revealed to the general public along with maverick’s scheme and true intent in ending 2 and 3. so basically canon episode 25 ending except more angst and kotetsu is dead a while ago

not a constant… but it’s possible that because of lunatic’s whole code being “kill murderers and those who protect them” he’d be displeased with kaede choosing to spare bunny. maybe he’s the last boss… kaede and bunny defeat lunatic with 100 power, much like barnaby used to do with kotetsu?... nah that’s too messy and honestly i prefer lunatic and kaede to remain on peaceful terms lmao

lunatic’s satisfied with killing maverick, he’ll back off of this one—barnaby was manipulated anyway. so technically... it wasn’t his conscious decision nor his fault???

basically i don’t want kaede to fight her mentor figure, but i’m merely acknowledging the possibility.

actually…

maybe he walks up towards barnaby, the other heroes too beat up to do anything but watch while kaede remains by barnaby’s side

and lunatic just stands ominously in front of bunny, looking like he’s about to shoot him

but then he turns away

« hmph, how ridiculous. repent for the rest of your life, barnaby brooks jr. »

and then lunatic disappears in a flash, leaving a singed mark—the only proof that he had stood there.

heck, remember how she recovered the christmas pins? she could chuck those angrily at barnaby’s general direction to put emphasis.

kaede knows she’ll never be able to bring her father back, but she’d manage her grief easier. if barnaby lives, kaede would probably become a hero to honor her father and to use her power for good as her father would’ve wanted her to do.

miscellaneous

headcanons in no particular order, certainly not chronological. crack, fluff, angst, just whatever comes to mind. for ease of reading, i will try to organise them thematically.

relationships

tiger x bunny

rest in peace king, you will be missed.

kotetsu ded so the gay cannot be, rip in species.

but i’m putting this here because prior to the brainwashing they do be kinda gay tho, and even if kaede doesn’t know the exact nature of the relationship between the two she knows that her father was very fond of barnaby and cared for him deeply.

lunatic | yuri petrov & kaede

this au is pretty lunatic & kaede centric, because well,,, kotetsu kicked the bucket, and barnaby and the heroes are considered the villains here

i see lunatic and kaede having a mentor-student kind of relationship, that can be fluffy sometimes a found family trope could eventually be established, but that’s super delicate

on another note, if you really want to fuck up your 11 year old because you absolutely want to give kaede the worst possible outcomes for some reason, she could—as a young child who has lost both her parents at a very young age—develop an unhealthy dependence on this [lunatic] new authority figure. she might incorrectly interpret his concern for familial care, etc… but i’m not even going there, that’s too messy.

tbh the real tragedy would be kaede imprinting on yuri’s garbage sense of fashion… the secret to dressing well died with kotetsu.

idk if i should explicit this, but just in case: this is not a romantic ship please don’t come for my throat. literally this au was created because i wanted to see kaede start shit—just go absolutely feral and start chaos lmao

i would like snapshots of him teaching her how to control the flames better but also look out for her general well being because this kid has issues. basically give me a montage of yuri mentoring kaede and slowly becoming fond of her or give me death:

lunatic probably made his own costume so? i’d like to imagine yuri takes the time to make one for kaede too?? also he makes sure it wooshes cool in the wind and idk, flammable enough to allow her to burn the cape off before she attacks???

just yuri hand sewing some apparels for kaede uwu

also give me vaguely domestic yuri or give me death

also mayhaps, gives kaede affirming headpats?

like if she performs well and her mastery over her powers improves in leaps and bounds? or when she finally unlocks a skill she’s been struggling with for a bit?? just a proud head pat and a well-intentioned-but-cold-sounding « well done »???

maybe when kaede first actually learns how to use her powers, her emotions might get the best of her or maybe she’s plain nervous because fire = danger and scary. 

and it shows because the flames grow more erratic and out of her control, and yuri grows very concerned for her well being because he doesn’t want her to get burnt like he did when he first awakened his power.

before it all degenerates, he helps calm her down and prevent his house from burning down. or wherever he goes to when he’s doing lunatic stuff…

a dungeon ?

his basement ?

my basement don’t look like that

we know where all the judge money is going: renovating the basement

much like her mentor, when she gets rlly angry her eyes burst into flames. to prevent her from getting into trouble by accidentally activating her power and injuring someone or simply revealing her identity, yuri would teach her grounding exercises or anchoring phrases that he himself uses.

idk just teach her breathing techniques to ease her anxiety or a mantra to recite if she feels like she’s gonna set someone on fire

also idk if i should give kaede a different weapon from lunatic (i know i will because the crossbow is lunatic’s aesthetic, and his only), but i like to imagine yuri teaching her how to shoot crossbows and her becoming oddly proficient at it

grandma kaburagi wondering why kaede has wicked aim all of the sudden

tbh kaede would just shoot w her hands. just pew pew finger. 

or she does the kamehameha thing she did w blue rose’s power lmao

at first he kinda sees being responsible for her as a bit of a chore and annoying, but maybe he slowly grows fond of her and idk, dotes on her. 

protecc the bby

help her do her homework

« i’ve only had kaede for a day and a half. but if anything happened to her, i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. »

on the flipside, at first kaede thought that yuri is hecking weird, man. just creepy suspicious prosecutor dude who she allies with because revenge girl rlly wants revenge

but he grows on her and kaede thinks he’s not so bad after all. an good authority figure whom she respects and cares for 

she still probably thinks he’s hella weird tho

kinda weird but also sometimes kinda cool 

eccentric but like in a good way

like your weird neighbour henry who means well despite what he says sometimes 

kaede would learn his corny cool catchphrases and repeat them when she’s out and about as a vigilante. 

just adopt/mimic his speech pattern of saying things slowly for more oomph

gotta do the whole code of justice and thanatos speech before she bombards barnaby with flaming arrows

yuri feels oddly proud

they’re both probably hella protective over each other tho. because that’s just kaede’s personality and yuri feels responsible for the safety of this child that he has been entrusted with.

children love sweets right? yuri secretly likes sweets. they can share sweets after setting murderers on fire uwu

idk man i just want some good mentor-apprentice relationship

it doesn’t have to always be angst

we can have fluff

maybe they can learn from each other and be semi-functional human beings 

that thing where the apprentice’s outfit is like directly taken from their mentor’s but also vaguely different. i want that.

sometimes the real revenge is the friends you make along the way uwu

  school + domestic life

ok so like

kaede gets big depressed because duh your dad just got murdered by his partner 

and she rlly misses him and wished she was more understanding back then. she wished she spent more time w him back when he was alive

but it’s too late now and that makes her big depressed

so i feel like for the first few weeks/months after her father’s death, kaede wouldn’t go to school?? and i feel like her grandmother would understand and just like

not pester her about it and let her sort out her emotions first before talking to kaede about the elephant in the room

but also like, the school board also agrees to wait it out because the parents are kinda iffy about what has transpired

to be fair, oriental town is probably one of those small towns where everyone knows each other? so the parents/adults who know kotetsu are like??? kotetsu wouldn’t kill a person??

but the children who are more connected to the media and don’t know him personally believe that kotetsu murdered someone and deserved to be “arrested”? because why would you doubt hero tv and the heroes, they’re the good guys after all.

so when kaede found it within herself to finally go back to school, she has a rude awakening and learns that words travel fast in a small community

the other kids, not knowing any better, believed that kotetsu is a criminal w their whole chest and started all kinds of rumours on kaede

when she went to class she was greeted w her desk being pushed far away from the rest of the class, the other students steering clear from her

all sorts of nasty things were carved/marked with a sharpie on her locker and table—some others stuck paper with w the word “murderer” on it

kaede lost most of her friends and the rest of the classmates avoided her like the plague as they say vile things about her and her father

« look she’s back »

they don’t even try to hide the fact or bother to mask their voice and speak in a hushed whisper. 

« they said her father killed someone, who knows what she could do »

so kaede hears everything.

« don’t get close to her, or we might end up finding your body in a ditch »

kaede doesn’t follow through, but sometimes she thinks about running away from school to escape the bullying.

« come to think of it, she was always weird wasn’t she? she’s so creepy! »

maybe at some point it gets so disruptive that kaede can’t have a functional or healthy school life due to the constant harassment and alienation, so the school board agreed to let kaede do the rest of the year through online classes or homeschooling

in a way this works out very well for kaede, because it allows her more freetime to do vigilante stuff and she gets to avoid people’s gaze. 

she’s grown to dislike them, the scornful gaze of her peers and the pity from the adults.

the student’s parents always come to apologise to her, but for some reason their pity infuriates her to no end.

sadly this means that kaede isn’t as cheerful as before and becomes more closed off and reserved :(

kaede would continue to do ice skating tho

because it’s her passion

but also because she’s obstinate like that

« oh the others don’t want me here? they hate me?? they think i don’t belong on the ice??? they can go stick it, i’m gonna be amazing out of spite! »

at home kaede becomes even more protective over her grandmother, as seeing as she’s being homeschooled means she gets to spend more time w her and help her out with the housework

idk the blue flames could be handy for doing housework

oh the stove won’t light up? oh you’re gonna go get a different lighter? nice this is a convenient time to use my next power to spark the stove! when grandma is back kaede is just like « look i got it to light up, guess u didn’t have to go through all that trouble huh? » :D

since the fire doesn’t burn indiscriminately, could she, theoretically, control the heat/where it burns to make laundry dry faster???

kaede nearly gets a heart attack seeing the new scarecrow for grandma’s cabbage patch, but turns out she just found kaede’s vigilante costume laying around and didn’t think twice about it 

bonus points of grandma uses lunatic himself as a scarecrow

lunatic would make an incredible scarecrow fight me

despite not being able to retrieve kotetsu’s body to bury him with tomoe, kaede often visits their family grave and the shrine in kotetsu’s room and bring them flowers. 

she knows she’s just talking to air, but she likes to recount her day to her parents. about whatever she’s up to, and keeping them updated on everyone’s condition: grandma and uncle are doing well. grandma is still healthy thank god, while uncle sometimes like to joke about how his store is terribly quiet now without kotetsu around.

she tells them the whole truth, how she found lunatic and was going to avenge her father. that she was going to prove his innocence to everyone, if it was the last thing she’ll ever do.

in a bittersweet way, it comforts her somewhat that her father is finally with his wife again and that they’re both watching over her.

  of next powers and secret identities

to this day, kaede is the only one who knows about yuri’s secret identity

they’re both complicit in this secret matter

schemes 

this continues even after the endings 

even if she became a hero she’d refuse to reveal lunatic’s real identity

it’s a matter of principle

she will always hold a great deal of respect for her mentor 

schemes

on another note, i’m fixing kaede’s next power because it’s too broken and is kinda inconvenient lmao: in this au she needs actual skin-to-skin contact to assimilate someone else’s next power, so if the individual is wearing gloves or touching clothes it won’t work.

adding on to this, kaede starts wearing gloves when she’s up and about so that she can limit the amount of nexts she may unknowingly make contact with and keep her current ability [blue fire].

the power would be super useful tho. like you can make yourself disappear into a puff of flames,,, so theoretically if kaede finds herself in a situation she’d rather not be in she can just ghost you irl

« y’all ugly. boom. »

remember how kaede’s room is filled to the brim w barnaby merch???

great for target practice and for letting out your anger

also to dramatically scribble out the eyes in black sharpie to get the revenge girl aesthetic 

oh man she’ll probably be sad that she snipped her father off from that one picture with barnaby 

in that regard her attitude towards bunny will take a complete 180

she used to think the world of him, but now all she thinks about is crushing him under her heel

also, i know she’d imitate lunatic’s whole speech thing, but what if she repeated her father’s catchphrase to provoke barnaby?

also in homage of her dad ofc

« it’s time to let out a wild roar! »

*strikes pose*

*angery barnaby noises*

what if as time goes on it gets increasingly harder and harder to hide the fact that kaede is a vigilante. 

like at first, her family is like “oh she’s grieving in her own way, let’s give her some space” and they’re surprised by how well kaede is taking it because she’s so calm, even if she’s more distant 

while kaede sneaks out at night to start shit

and her grandmother starts to notice how she seems more alert and jumpy, or sleep deprived. how kaede seemed to be hiding bruises and injuries, and tries to clean her wounds herself late at night. 

when asked kaede would deny everything and say she doesn’t use her next powers anymore because it freaks her out

but grandma is suss

she concerned for her granddaughter

maybe she doesn’t know about kaede’s secret identity but maybe she finds out she’s been meeting with yuri

a grandma beats up a man in his late 20s-mid 30s on live television 

maybe at some point the heroes learn kaede’s real age, or assume correctly that she’s barely a teen and they’re like

is lunatic forcing you to do this ?

you don’t have to do something you don’t want to

it’s not too late for you if you give up

when rlly this was all kaede’s choice in the first place, not even lunatic’s

and that assumption rlly makes kaede angry, because their inactivity led to her father’s death and forced her hands

so it’s not their place to act like they’re concerned for her and her safety

just rlly distrust and dislike the heroes 

has a strong disdain for them

real talk, but kaede doesn’t know that the heroes were brainwashed. that’s why she’s able to be so ruthless against them, because she thinks they’re evil and working for some big conspiracy while playing a helpful and friendly front.

but when/if she does learn the truth? the kotetsu factor jumps out.

they aren’t acting as if they were the good guys, they rlly think that they are because to them they just took out another criminal and not their longtime friend.

she’ll have an inner conflict. because on one hand, the heroes don’t know any better and are being manipulated so it would be cruel to punish them so harshly. on the other hand, they got her dad killed and for that she wants to inflict them as much pain and grief as they have caused her.

the kotetsu factor would keep her going tho. now she’s determined to not only clear her father’s name, but also restore everyone’s memory, because it’s the right thing to do.

but now everytime she has to face them and fight, she feels a slight hesitancy and feels sorry for them.

mayhaps blue rose as double agent ???

origami got big double agent potential, but he wasn’t having any of kotetsu’s shit so alas

another important character we gotta talk about: h-01

hear me out

so the android isn’t built with a voice box so it can’t speak. it don’t got any acoustics. but because of maverick’s brainwashing, when the heroes talk to the empty air they hear “tiger’s” response, which is purely borne from their own psychosis.

h-01: …

barnaby: perfect idea tiger, you can cover me

or

rock bison: who is that guy?

h-01: …

rock bison: yeah they look very suspicious to me too…

or

or

h-01: …

barnaby: i know!

anyway, it’s very weird and surreal to watch

just the heroes having a very one sided conversation

lunatic and kaede don’t know what to make of it and finds it really bizarre, because they know the android isn’t saying anything at all

yet the heroes are convinced he’s communicating with them

so maybe if kaede manages to restore someone’s memory, they start to notice that “tiger” doesn’t actually talk. he never did this whole time.

and it gets hard to come up with a response and pretend he answered them. 

the restored heroes also find it super creepy how it’s just silent and watching, how the others seem to think that the robot can speak.

maybe this will cause some suspicion amongst the heroes (who will brush it off) and maverick, and the restored hero will have to pretend to still be brainwashed to not get manipulated a second time

basically h-01 is creepy and just generally not fun to be around

illustration

edit: thank you @kyarymell​ for cleaning the sketch up on photoshop ;w;

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

#tiger & bunny #kaede kaburagi #yuri petrov #kotetsu t. kaburagi #barnaby brooks jr #taibani #wild tiger #au #falselywrites #im oddly invested inthis silly au #i just #want to see kaede start chaos #and yuri being a mentor figure #i am easily pleased #pls #i'll probably make a reference of kaede sooner or later... #desolation!au

[cockroachmotherfucker10]

hi, idk if this is okay but here goes... this blog's really helped me a lot in recovery from AN. i've been doing well lately. since diagnosis, i've been on my own with this bc the mental health system in my country is broken. i guess my question is, do you have any tips for continuing recovery during grief? a really close friend has just passed and i can't get myself to stomach even a bite. i just don't know what to do, i'm lost. thanks in advance, it's okay if you don't reply to this, really.

Hey! I am so glad this blog could help you, it’s truly an honor! Also I live in America, my healthcare system also sucks ass. Recently had symptoms of kidney infection- couldn’t go to an in person doctor because the only place that took my insurance was closed in my city and they wouldn’t set me an appointment in person, though I tried to get one. Basically just had to tough it out- it sucked. Basically trying to validate you- having shitty healthcare is basically the worst.

As for grief, I am really sorry to hear that your friend passed away. It’s an absolutely horrible thing to go through, for every good memory you had with them you have to remember time and time again that they aren’t here anymore, and that’s a feeling that takes a really long time to become more okay with. Not that it’s the same thing, as everyone’s relationship with grief is different, but I lost a close grandmother on January 30th, 2020. I mourn her everyday, and it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever gone through in my entire life. Still is. I miss her every day, and think about her all the time.

So some words on grief.

1. Cheesy, but it does get better with time.

I read an allegory for grief, and I have found it to be true. Grief is like a big ball inside of a tiny box (which represents you). Every time the ball touches the side of the box- it hurts really bad. You cry, you stare at the wall for hours, you lose your appetite, a lot of things. At first- your ball of grief is huge- and it’s constantly and randomly hitting the sides of the box. For me- the time around my grandmother’s death and funeral, I was completely out of commission. I couldn’t stop crying, and when I did I couldn’t focus on anything. I was completely incompacitated for weeks. But then- over time, the ball of grief gets smaller and smaller, and touches the side of the box less and less. Now, I can think about her without bursting into tears, I look back on my time with her with a sense of nostalgia rather than sharp pain most of the time. Now while my ball of grief is smaller- sometimes it still randomly touches the sides of my box, and I break down crying (hell- I am tearing up now lol). That’s okay. It’s all apart of the process. The grief never fully goes away- but it becomes less and less consuming. This does not mean you love your loved one any less, it just means your body gets better at metabolizing their absence so it hurts less. Also not you can’t force the ball to get smaller before it’s ready to (believe me- I tried). Just let it happen.

2. Express your emotions healthily

Want to know what not to do? Keep your emotions locked into your chest. Especially if you have an ED, it’s important to let yourself cry as hard and as often as you need to. What you don’t get out now will bite you in the ass later. It’s so, so painful. I have never cried so hard in my entire life than I did at my grandmother’s funeral, I couldn’t even get a word of apology out. It felt awful, and vulnerable, and it wasn’t pleasant at all. Crying is not fun, but it was necessary. Afterwards, I felt soooo much better. This is because crying chemically is like letting the extra air out of a balloon about to pop. There is no shame in it. Do it, and do it often. As often as you need, don’t hold it in. Let the pain come, and then when it is ready it will pass. Remember what you don’t process now you most certainly will be forced to process later in the form of chronic pain, worse depression, worse ED symptoms, and worse health. Let it out.

3. There is no wrong way to grieve

So I just spent all that time talking about crying- but it’s also possible that your grief will express itself in other ways, such as feeling numb, or even feeling fine. The key thing is to not judge how your body metabolizes this. Let it do what it needs to do, and do not judge it. To it body will do what it needs to do, fighting it is a pointless uphill battle. Accept it with self compassion, console yourself like a friend would. Tell yourself it’s okay to feel numb, or to cry, or to be okay, etc. let it happen.

4. Reach out for support

Be it from a friend, a family member, or a therapist (or best- all three!) if you feel like it would help you, reach out and talk about how you are feeling, or do something distracting. Mod Lia and I called the night I saw my grandmother for the last time, and we didn’t talk about it much at all. We watched She-ra. That helped a lot. Later I called another friend and talked about how I was feeling. Later I talked about it with Mod Lia, too. And of course my therapist- who helped me process it in a healthy way. On that note, especially with an Ed, if you can, get a therapist. Do it. Better than anybody they will be able to help you find the healthiest way to grieve, and help provide tips and accountability for preventing the worsening of an ED.

5. Tips on not drop kicking your ED behaviors further into hell

Having a schedule for eating (and other necessary activities) really helped me. At certain times, regardless of wether or not I was hungry, I forced myself to eat just because it was food time. Doing this prevents you from slipping into ED behaviors, especially when it is easy to do. Having a therapist or a willing friend to hold you accountable can also help. Express your emotions healthily. Talk to your loved one still, on walks or however. Talk about them in conversation. Do things that remind you of them. Make a memorial for them- whatever that means to you. Allow them to still occupy space in your life, if that feels right. If not, that’s fine. Taking care of yourself is hard, but if you don’t you are going to make it worse for yourself. It’s like puting an ankleweight in when you are already drowning. Take intentional steps (such as setting reminders and alarms) to ensure you take care of yourself, and even see if there are people who would do it with you. Like if you are having a hard time eating, see if a friend will have lunch with you every day at a certain time, or a couple different people (over the phone if need be). Plans, for me, really help me keep it together.

To sum it up, the biggest thing is to not fight the grieving process, set specific schedules for different aspects of self care (with alarms), reach out when you need help, and be patient because it takes time.

There is nothing I can say to make your loss feel better, but it is so hard to lose someone, and I’m sorry you have to go through that. Be patient, don’t expect a ton of productivity out of yourself, and just wait out these unpleasant storms. Thing are never going to feel the same ever again, but eventually you will get used to a new normal, and that doesn’t mean you are doing them an injustice. Keep remembering them, and be patient with yourself.

Best of wishes,

Mod Cass

#mod cass #og post #ask #edrecovery #actually ed #pro recovery #mental health #recovery #ed recovery #grief #dealing with grief

[vangohs]

“fuck off, what have you ever done for me? all the time it’s me who gives, gives, and gives! what did i do to deserve your fucking hate! by being alive? i’m fucking sorry i am! you don’t think that if i could be with my parents, i wouldn’t? i’m grateful that uncle jiāng took me in, that he gave me a home, a family, but i will not be your tragedy! i will not be a weapon you wield against your family, if you have issues speak the fuck up! stop with this passive-aggressive bullshit, it’s not getting you anywhere! do you not see how your words hurt your children?! are you daft, blind, or just plain stupid! can you not see that jiang cheng has grown a complex? he never believes he’s good enough, believes that he needs to be the best to receive some sort of validation from you, from both of you! do you not see the way your argument fray at shijie’s heart, how she weeps for both her parents?! are you so arrogant that you do not see how your family is breaking in front of you!” wei wuxian sneers out, his eyes clouding with rage, it frightens both jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan, they had never seen the child truly angry, upset perhaps, annoyed, certainly, but anger had never been an emotion that they believed they’d be on the receiving end of. it was truly startling for the masters of yunmeng jiang.

“uncle jiang, you hide yourself within the pier and do not confront your wife, you allow her to speak and do not negate her doubts and worries, what sort of husband are you? you clearly love her, and yet you cannot day a damn thing, when will you? when it’s too late? on your deathbed? man the fuck up! speak up! you two are acting like children and dragging the whole damn sect with you! aren’t we supposed to look up to our leaders? what example do you set? all i see is two sorry sights, pathetic!” wei wuxian spits out cruelly, eyes red with a grief unbeknownst to other, his chest hurts, his head throbs, but he cannot bring himself to regret what he’s said. he’s not yet done, “is it truly my fault? uncle jiang, madam yu? is it? if so, i’ll pack up my bags and leave, if i leave will you both be able to get along? will the innesesant fighting stop? will shijie and jiang cheng get their parents back? will you learn to trust each other? will you rely on each other? i need to know, please? i need to know that you’ll be by each other’s side!” wei wuxian pleads hysterically, he drops to his knees and his whole figure trembles, sobs begin to be ripped from his throat, they’re so ugly, so frightening, jiang fengmian and yu ziyuan can do nothing but stare dumbly at their head disciple. both frozen at the sight of his tears, wei wuxian begins to pull at his hair, “if i leave, will you two survive? will you two not die? will you stay by their side? tell me please! i need to know?! i… i, please! don’t die, don’t leave them alone, they were so young, we all left jiang cheng alone, we all leave, and he’s the only one left, it’s my fault, so tell me, tell me to leave! please, i- i don’t want anyone to die, please, please! tell me to go, be happy, i’m sorry, tell them i’m sorry!” he babbles hysterically, wei wuxian’s figure is quickly consumed by tendrils of resentful energy that seemed to surprisingly be enjoyed from himself, quickly, lan xichen pulls out his xiao in order to play the song of ‘clarity’ in hopes of calming down the hysterical wei wuxian, his family can do nothing just stare as he’s tries to stand up, as sobs and frightening cries are ripped from his throat, as his body convulses, as the energy encases him intimately, an embrace that of a lover, it is sickening, frightening, the jiangs can do nothing but watch. watch as their head disciple, someone that’s a part of their family sink to his knees and fall unconscious.

lan wangji, lan xichen, and lan qiren are truly surprised, they had never seen a person that distraught and unhinged, wei wuxian had truly lost any sense of reasoning, his words quick to turn into a pleas, the babbles of a mad man, and yet both twin jades of Lán felt as though there was more to the story, how could someone as bright as wei wuxian be reduced to a mere remnants of who he once was.

“sect leader jiang, i… i’ve no words for what has transpired here, however, it appears wei wuxian isn’t truly himself, i suspect something else is at work, with your permission i’d like to transport him to the medical ward.” lan qiren states, with a cautious tone, the jiangs had just had their entire family ordeal be exposed in front of strangers, however gusu lan did not condone rumors nor did they meddle in business not their own. that was not about to change now, the jiangs would have to figure this whole… mess, out for themselves.

“i… yes, go ahead.” jiang fengmian stumbled on his words, it seemed he was left shocked at what wei wuxian had said, in fact, all the jiangs seemed off, jiang cheng, jiang yanli, and even madam yu were left confused in the wake of wei wuxian’s words.

he sighs, and orders for lan wangji and lan xichen to take wei wuxian’s unconscious body to the medical ward, there was something off about the boy, and he was going to figure out what it was.

he walks in front of his nephews in order to leave the meeting room they’d been in, he takes on last look at the shocked family and concludes that yes, he’s to old for this shit.

i have no words for this?? i’m currently in pain, my back, waist, and thighs hurt a lot and i haven’t been able to do much, this is an accumulation of my rage, my anger, my hurt, idk why i’m upset i just am, and i took it out in here, so read, or don’t, like or don’t i don’t fucking care i’m just so tired.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the founder of diabolism #wei wuxian #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #jiang cheng #angst #madam yu #jiang fengmian #yunmeng family #i’m hurt #hysteria #im so fucking tired #lan qiren #anger problems #im tired #idk #i do this all the time #time travel #drabble #jiang yanli

[scandalsavagefanfic]

May i send some angst? Idk, just,,,, craving for it. I'm not sure if it works? So basically, in UtRH, Bruce almost kills Jason in their confrontation. A fatal wound on his neck to put him off guard, then the explosion happens. But, what if Jay never escaped? What if B turned over one of the concrete that exploded and saw Jay there squirming, trying to stop the bleeding? What if B tries as well, hurriedly trying to patch him up, but in a matter of seconds Jay chokes and looks up at B then stops.

You killed me a little here, my friend. 

The following is the intro to what I expect to be a three or four chapter thing based of this heartbreaking prompt. 

Congratulations. You made me cry.

The Worth of Things (Read on AO3)

Chapter 1: Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand (cont. below the cut)

Words: 1364

Warning: Major Character Death, ALL the angst

He didn’t mean it.

He’d just been so… angry.Angrier than he had ever felt before. Rage washed through his veins hot and redand overpowering. This man stood in front of him claiming to be a dead boy. Adead boy Bruce had loved as his own son. A dead boy who knew the differencebetween right and wrong, who had understood the reason for and followed therules that Bruce had established.

No killing.

And this man who claimed to be that dead boy, who had thatdead boy’s DNA and memories, he stood in front of Bruce and dishonored thememory of that fallen child. Tarnished everything that boy had stood for andbelieved in, everything Bruce stoodfor and believed in. This man claiming to be Jason… Bruce refused to believeit, couldn’t allow him to be that boy. To have that boy taken away from him again.

‘Jason’ gave him a choice, kill the Joker. Or ‘Jason’ woulddo it himself. And the only way Bruce would be able to stop him… would be tochoose the mass murdering clown who tortured and killed his son over thatresurrected son. To injure Jason.

“All you have is a head shot,” Jason had said, “It’s him orme. You have to decide.”

And then he’d counted, and the fury flooded through Bruce’sbody. This was an insult to Jason’s memory, to the boy who’d been his partner,his soldier… his son. And suddenly Bruce couldn’t stand the idea of this Jason. Being here at all. To mockthe child who had died for Batman’s war. Twisting everything to selfish,violent ends.

He had thrown the batarang in a moment of pure, overpoweringhatred. He’s never felt anything like it before in his entire life. Not whenhis parents were killed right before his eyes. Not when Jason was murdered in adirty warehouse in a desert. He hadn’t even been aware he was capable of suchall-consuming contempt.

Even if he hadn’t been aiming for it, known he had hit hismark… the way the blood had erupted would have been clear evidence…

Bruce had open Jason’s artery.

Regret and horror immediately and jarringly replaced therage. His aim has always been true. He hit exactly the spot he was trying to hit.He can’t pretend like he missed. The others would believe him. Dick and Tim andClark… they’d trust him, tell him it was an accident. But Bruce would know,would never be able to convince himself otherwise. He can’t take it back. Hewill never forgive himself. He will never stop hating himself for giving intothat weakness. Or for the fact that it happened with Jason. To Jason.

Because as much as he hates it, as hard as it is to accept,despite his penchant for self-deception, he knows it’s true. He has theevidence. He knows this is his Jason.His son. Angry and in pain but alive. And home.

And bleeding out.

Then, as Bruce stared in shocked horror at what he’d done,as the Joker cackled psychotically, as tears rolled down Jason’s cheeks andmingled with the blood flowing far too quickly from his throat, an explosionsent the building crumbling around them.

Now Bruce tears through the rubble, ignoring the Joker’staunts from where he is pinned down by debris, not caring about the wisdom infrantically shouting Jason’s name as he searches.

Sirens sound in the distance.

Every time he moves a block of concrete or a piece ofdrywall he’s transported to the desert. The light around him stutters fromgrim, Gotham night to bright, hot African day. The rain turns to dust to rainto dust, again and again as he, once more, digs through a destroyed buildingdesperately trying to find Jason before it’s too late… all of it sohorrifically familiar that Bruce feels ill. Feels like he’s going to be sick.

A wave of relief rushes through him when he hears a chockedoff gurgle from a few yards to his left. Thankgod, he thinks as he rushes to the spot. If Jason had—

Bruce’s whole body goes cold as he looms over the mangled formlying, half buried, in wreckage. His mask is torn off, hanging from one temple,the eyes, once pure, rich blue, now flecked with vibrant, unnatural green, arebloodshot and wide. Jason’s jaw works as though he’s trying to say something, lipspressing together before puffing out. Like a ‘b’.

He’s grimy, covered in dust and rock and blood. The pool ofred beneath him drips off the jagged ruins of the building. Jason has lost alot of blood. Too much. And the only major injury Bruce sees is the one he putthere.

He feels like he’s wading through waist high mud. Everymovement feels too slow. He reaches for Jason and it takes a century for hisfingers to cover the gaping slash in his throat. The blood is barely tricklingout now. Most of it has already spilled.

“I’m so sorry,” Brucewhispers, trying to fix it, trying to take it back, “You’ll be alright. Justhold on.”

But in the back ofhis mind… he knows.

Jason, pallid and gray, stares into his soul with dim,watery eyes full of betrayal and loss. His lips still work to say something butall that comes out are soft puffs of “B—b—br…”

He blinks once, slowly, and the tears fall. Then his pupils dilate,the colored irises disappear into bottomless black voids. His lips stop,partially open, and don’t move again. His chest is still.

Jason is still. Too still. Sightless gaze staring intonothing.

Time stops. The moment stretches into eternity.

Suddenly nothing seems real. This is a dream, surely. Anightmare.

Bruce feels the moment everything turns off. Like a switchflipped and the lights went out. He feels empty and cold, doesn’t register thesudden influx of movement and noise as the police arrive and move around,securing the Joker.

He can’t turn away from the lifeless body of the dead boy.His partner, a child who was murdered, taken from the world much too young, achild he put in the line of fire. Hissoldier, a pupil resurrected and returned, hurt and broken, but still, a secondchance.

His son. Who, in a moment of weakness and uncontrollable hysteria,he’s…  

A hand lands on his shoulder and the touch is the onlyreason he hears the words that follow.

“Batman? The EMT’s need to take the body—“

Bruce stands slowly, still dazed, still disbelieving, cradlingJason’s broken, lifeless, body in his arms.

Again.

“Batman?” the officer says again, even more hesitantly, “He…he has to go with the coroner—“

Bruce doesn’t bother looking at the man, doesn’t botherresponding.

He trudges to the Batmobile, crawls in with a difficulty hedoesn’t even notice.

“Home,” he manages to croak weakly, allowing the autopilotto take him back to his sanctuary.

One hand leaves Jason just long enough to rip off the cowlbefore returning. He clutches the body close, rests his forehead againstJason’s, flinching at the lack of warmth.

The icy touch chases away the numbness.

And for the first time in many many years, he weeps. Wet andugly and soul-crushingly deep. He sobs loudly, choking on the anguish thattears his heart open, the emptiness that worms it’s way through him making himwant to vomit. He’s never known real pain. Not until this moment. It’s soexcruciating he can’t breathe.

It builds inside his chest, wave after wave of grief sointense he can’t catch his breath, until it tears down every wall he’s built upover the years.

He was given a second chance, and he threw it away formonster who has slaughtered hundreds. A priceless gift, and he had torched it likeit was worthless.

He cries out, screams in agony as the weight of what he hasdone crashes around him, destroying his world, his life. Everything is gone.Everything is burning around him.

Jason.

His son.

He’s killed his son.

#Jason Todd #bruce wayne #angst #major character death #more angst #no smut #all the angst #I'm dead too #ask