#the murderous rat-like creature rides again ....

[masterangst]

Be Worth Something

Summary: Tav (named Axel) gives Astarion a present, and Astarion sucks it up and returns the kindness by learning to comfort someone else.

Pairing: Astarion × Tav (MxM)

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, a bit unedited

A/N: This is a bit self indulgent. Just a scene I imagined occurring between Astarion and my Tav sometime in Act 3 after Cazador. Also this is for Whump October (it's October somewhere).

No. 31: Emptiness | Setbacks | Take it easy

Gortash was dead. Cazador was dead.

The band of weirdos were getting closer and closer to confronting the source of the little creatures taking their brains for a ride. Everyone agrees it's a good idea to rid themselves of the problem. Astarion would agree as well. He had no interest in becoming a mind flayer. He had his body taken from him once, sure to the hells was not going to let that happen again.

However, unlike the others. Astarion would not be set completely free. Each day felt like a ticking clock towards his shackles back to the shadows and good gods did that not fill him with dread.

"Astarion, freetra starta den lun." Axel's deep voice cuts through the thoughts in Astarion's head. The ranger waits for Astarion's red eyes to meet his piercing gray ones before he smiles warmly. "I have a surprise for you."

Catching himself, Astarion performs a smile. "A surprise? For me?" He clicks his tongue, pretending to be shocked. "How adorably sweet of you."

Axel's chest rumbles with a stifled laugh. "Well, what can I say," Axel's calloused hand guides Astarion's to his soft lips, his eyes looking longingly into Astarion's, "I love to spoil you." If Astarion's heart could still beat, he's sure it would have skipped one.

He had confessed his love for the leader of their group. For the one who had stuck with him no matter what. The stubborn and goofy man who loved the color blue so he made his entire attire blue and somehow made it look good. Astarion told the man he loved him and yet he still is not used to this. Before he would throw back some flirty banter and try not to think about it, but Astarion promised himself he would try harder for Axel. That he would try his hardest to be more genuine.

He still doesn't know what he's doing.

"Is it an excuse for me to not attend this event?" Astarion asks as Axel drags him away and up the stairs of the Elfsong.

Axel smirks over his shoulder, "Oh, yes."

Astarion can't help but smirk back, "My, aren't you a playful little mouse."

Axel snorts with a scoff. "I like to think I'm more of a wolf."

"Don't go telling that to Shadowheart, darling."

Axel stops outside an unfamiliar door and spins on his heels to face Astarion. There is a devilish look on his face. One that intrigues Astarion, and makes him nervous.

"Close your eyes, Starta." Again with that name. A common thing the man likes to call him. The phrase, freetra starta den Lun, has been Axel's version of "darling" it seems. Frustrating considering Astarion has no idea what it means.

With a huff, Astarion does as he is told like a good boy. "If you are leading me to my ultimate death, this is quite an inconvenient time for it."

"Is there a convenient time to get murdered?" The sound of the door creaks open. The faint aromas of lavender, mint, and roses fill the moist air. There's a heat radiating from the side of the room and Astarion knows what is waiting for him before he even opens his eyes.

"You can open your eyes now." A steaming tub of freshly poured water, lined with books, wine, flowers and various soaps presents themselves to him.

The quip dies on Astarion's tongue, like a rat caught in a trap. Instead his expression turns to confusion. "What is this?"

Axel smiles, "I thought you might enjoy some peace and quiet instead of loud drinking. So I found some books for you. I'm not sure if you'd like them, but then I wasn't sure what you might want. I also bought some soaps for ya, I noticed you liked more earthy, flowery smells, so I picked out some of those. I hope you like one of them."

Astarion cups his lover's warm cheek, smiling at the way the otherwise stoic and few words man rambles when he gets nervous. Can hear the way Axel's heart pounds in his chest. Worry plaguing his features. How could he be so worried about something so thoughtful? Did he think Astarion would hate this gift?

"This is too kind." This is true. Axel was always too kind to Astarion. It twisted his insides more than a knife ever could.

To think. Astarion would get his revenge, walk in the sun, and be gifted a man who wanted nothing from him other than Astarion to be happy. He didn't believe such a person existed until Axel.

Axel's features relax and he leans in to press a short kiss to Astarion's lips. When he pulls away Astarion's stomach tightens in anticipation. A gross part of himself awaits for something. He tries to convince himself he doesn't know what it is, but Astarion does. He told Axel he loved him, but has yet to hear the half-elf say it back. Astarion hates how desperate he is to hear it. When was the last time someone said it to him and meant it? Said it not in post ecstasy?

"Not really." Axel shrugs nonchalantly on purpose to tease him specifically. Astarion pouts and drops his hand.

Axel chuckles and cups Astarion's cheeks, "Enjoy yourself. If you need anything…well better tell me now because I'll be downstairs." Axel grins, probably believing he's the funniest man to walk Faerun.

It isn't until Axel steps past Astarion does he realize what the man said. "You aren't staying?"

"I promised Haslin I'd best him in drinking. I can't let him down."

Astarion scoffs and shakes his head. "Wouldn't it be more fun?" Astarion tries again, gesturing towards the tub as he backs away with a button already off his coat.

Axel's eyes roam Astarion's body with appreciation, before stopping at his eyes with warmth. "This is your relaxation, meg louvè. Enjoy it." With that Axel slips out the room, leaving Astarion alone.

Astarion scowls at the romantic display, nauseated even. All of this and just for him and him alone? He could trick himself into thinking he was royalty if it wasn't for the distant roar of the people a floor below.

Astarion sighs and tears his armor off him and chucks it into the corner. His previous thoughts sour the relaxation he's meant to feel when he enters the tub. This act is just another reason why the upcoming battle terrifies him. He already can't offer anything to Axel, but to add in not being able to walk alongside him in the sun? To force Axel to walk the shadows as Astarion will; and soon.

Astarion sighs and eases into the tub. He scans the array of options and lands on lavender and smiles. Sometimes I can't tell if I hate that man or love him.

….

Time was lost on Astarion. He soaked in the tub until he was practically the same temperature as a human and then until the water was cold. He moved on to drying off and laying on the luxury bed with a book in hand. Flipped through some of that until the noise downstairs turned into a stampede of wild animals, shaking the very bed itself.

Curiosity tugged at his skin. Despite his best effort he couldn't stop himself from wondering what fun the others could be having. Drinking, partying, letting the atmosphere carry away your burdens. Astarion isn't a virgin to the wild of a late night tavern, but he can't remember a time he partaken without the heavy dread of knowing it would lead to the demise of some poor fool wanting to use him for temporary bliss.

This time would be different. Cazador is dead.

It was a fact that still felt so foreign.

Besides, he's bored.

Astarion freshens up and strides downstairs to meet the excitable crowd head on. Elfsong was one of Astarion's prowl sites, but he never saw the tavern quite like this. The room stunk with the smell of beer, sweat, and weirdly blood. The closer he got to the center of the mass, the more he began to recognize one source of it. The familiar sweetness from his tasty treat himself, Axel.

The ranger's face was cut on the arch of his brow. Blood had dried where it streamed down the side of his face. His lip was split and his chin bruised, but Axel still wore a beaming smile on his face.

"You're alone for five minutes and already got yourself in trouble." Astarion clicks his tongue. "Quite embarrassing, darling."

Axel holds up a finger to silence Astarion, his movements sluggish. "Don't flirt with me. I'm taken." His voice is quite clear for a man clearly drunk. Axel doesn't seem to notice it's Astarion he's speaking to either, the man's eyes are too focused on the men arm wrestling in the corner. Something stirred inside Astarion's undead heart. Taken. Astarion quite likes the sound of that.

Astarion flashes his signature grin. "Darling, do you not even recognize your own lover? I feel I should be sad?" He fakes a pout.

Astarion's chest squeezes an unbearable amount of feeling into him the moment Axel's eyes immediately melt into complete admiration when he turns and looks at Astarion. Has any creature in existence ever been gazed upon with such purity, such love and adoration? Clerics live to serve their gods they have chosen. They devote themselves completely to their god, body and soul. But is this what the gods feel when their devotees look to them. When they are prayed to? Or are they not nearly as lucky? Astarion turned down being a god in favor of being his pathetic self, but in that tiny moment he imagines he must have been one.

Axel places his hands over his heart, his face screwed up in agonizing fondness. "Oh, Astarion. Meg Starta. How beautiful you look in this lighting." There's a lightness in Axel's voice that's not normally there, his breath reeking of ale. Astarion grimaces, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy the peppered kisses Axel gives his face.

"You may want to take him upstairs." Wyll whispers into Astarion's ear from behind. Axel gets distracted by Haslin, joining the large man at the bar like a moth to a flame.

"He seems to still be enjoying himself." Astarion shrugs, his face plastered with a sly smile.

Wyll snorts, "That may be the problem my pale friend. He has drank twice as much as any of us and already lost in a boxing match. He might need some rest now." Something on Wylls face makes Astarion squint at him. There is something else the man wants to say to him.

"Is that all?" Astarion raises a brow, trying to hide his curiosity behind a veil of annoyance.

Wyll glances over at Axel and Haslin before lowering his voice so only Astarion could hear. "If I didn't know any better. I'd say Axel was looking forward to losing."

Astarion wanted to scoff. To laugh in Wylls face for such an absurd idea. "The man who refuses to lose to anything? I doubt it, perhaps that last eye of yours is failing you."

Wyll shrugs, "I've seen Axel throw punches. He's not the strongest, but he's quick. He was definitely holding back, even if he is drunk." Wylls face droops into worry. "I'm just saying. Maybe it's best if he lays down. Before he burns himself up."

Astarion was not good at emotions. Whether they be his own or others. He was not like Wyll or Haslin. He's not the best at comforting, but that never stopped him from trying even if it meant for him to fail. He could just play it off as a joke later.

Axel never seemed to need to be comforted. His emotions were held tighter than Astarion's, and if he was feeling something he was very honest and straight-forward with it. Most days, most nights..actually every time it's Axel comforting Astarion. Reassuring him, loving him, comforting him.

Even now, Axel looks happy. His flushed cheeks stained red, but has a lazy smile on his face as Haslin speaks to him. A sudden creeping feeling comes up from the shadows in Astarion's mind. Am I the last to know what's going on with him?

He has seen how close Axel is with Karlach. Had discovered a small bit of details about Axel through her or Haslin more than anything from Axel's mouth himself. A part of him wondered if Axel truly trusted him, surely he must if Axel claims to care for him. Then why hasn't he said I love you back?

The doubt was settling in. Astarion was weak to it at the best of times, why would he expect to be strong to it now. Anytime his self loathing led him down a desolate path, Axel always was there to be a guiding hand back to the light. For now Astarion will push those thoughts away and help his lover to bed like he knows someone much kinder than him would do.

He tugs on Axel's sleeve, perhaps a little too rough as Axel stumbles a bit into Astarion. "Time for bed, my love." Astarion bites back his growing annoyance and keeps up his smile.

Axel groans in protest, like a child whining. "Oh, alright. Whatever you wish." Axel let's Astarion lead him back to the room. Astarion is more than pleased to be away from such pounding noise. He didn't realize how loud it was down there until they reached the tranquil silence of their shared room for the night. Up here Astarion could think more clearly; though he can't tell if that's a good thing or not.

Axel shuffles in behind Astarion, heading straight for the bed and collapsing partly on top without care. Astarion rolls his eyes, "You still have your shoes on you big oaf." Axel only responds with a muffled groan and then silence. He's clearly not asleep.

Astarion huffs and kneels down to yank the boots off himself. He will not have this bed soiled, not when he only gets it once. Axel is lucky he doesn't chop his feet off instead.

Astarion kicks his own off and settles them down nicely by the foot of the bed. He sighs and plops down on the edge besides Axel and crosses his arms over his chest with a pout.

Axel stirs and turns over, glancing at Astarion before sitting up. "You look beautiful tonight."

The irritation Astarion felt eases away slightly at those words. Still, that doesn't stop him from feeling whatever strange concoction was brewing in his chest.

"Flattery won't win you anything tonight, darling."

Axel doesn't acknowledge those words. He rubs his head and winces when he feels the cut above his brow. Astarion's eyes widen for a moment and he sighs as he dampens a towel. Astarion sits by Axel's side and presses the cloth to his lover's face.

Axel doesn't even wince. There's something distant in his eyes. Astarion recognizes that look. He would say he has seen it in the mirror when he sees himself, but Astarion can not see himself anymore. That doesn't stop him from knowing. There was something that Axel said to Astarion once. "I know that look, because I'm familiar with it."

Again, Astarion knows he's not the best when it comes to the nursing part of whatever it is they are. For 200 years he's had no one to nurture him, he has forgotten how those muscles work. But he wants nothing more than to be there the same as Axel has. To provide him with something when all he could think about earlier is how he was lacking in that department. Astarion wanted to see him smile.

"Love, you should be more careful with this pretty face of yours. I'd hate to see it ruined." Astarion purrs.

Axel chuckles and scratches his neck, "Ah, I've been through worse." At least he seems aware enough. Not too far gone it seems, which is good.

Wylls words come back to Astarion and the curiosity eats away at him again. He thinks of how he can spin his words into a pretty picture. Astarion fakes a chuckle and a little wave, "It almost seems like you were trying to lose." Astarion laughs.

Axel snorts and shrugs, "Most times I fight in a bar I lose. That's the point." Darkness is creeping into Axel's eyes. Emptiness like a black void. Astarion is unfamiliar with this Axel. Perhaps even unaware this side of his lover existed. Was this Axel's real self or was it the alcohol making his brain fuzzy and tired? Either way, the confession left Astarion feeling uneasy.

Astarion thought more carefully on how to phrase his words and instead decided to take a page from Axel's (or anyone else's) book and ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Axel shook his head, "No." That was his usual response. Axel didn't talk about himself or his past. He told stories of beasts and his brother when the group was around the campfire, but those were adventure stories. Axel revealed his mother was a druid to Haslin and that's the most intimate detail Astarion knows. Other than arbitrary details like favorite places or colors or animals.

Astarion couldn't help the words that flowed out of his mouth. "Why do you not like telling me about yourself?" And just like that, fear gnawed at his stomach. He could only stare at Axel with uncomfortable vulnerability, awaiting for the horrible truth to carve another poem into his back.

Axel suddenly springs up, marching over to the vanity with his fists clenched tightly. "Because I have nothing worth telling. My stories aren't worth telling. I'm not worth knowing!" Axel yells, his face full of fury uncommon on his features. He seems to catch his temper and sighs as his body relaxes just enough to calm his voice. "Why can't you understand that?" Axel speaks more to himself than to Astarion.

Astarion was taken aback by the sudden outburst. He has only ever seen anger on Axel during a battle against an enemy, never towards anyone else. Axel is disgustingly kind and empathic. Calm and poised most of the time when he's not being goofy. Astarion isn't sure how to respond. "Axel."

Axel looks into the mirror and Astarion can see his lover's face through it. Axel grimaces and looks away. "I hate feeling like this. I don't know why it's coming up now. Emptiness. Of course I lost that fight. Who holds back on fighting?" Axel spits over his shoulder, the frustration back on his features. "That man should have knocked me out. Most of them do."

Astarion's face twists in sadness. To think Axel would seek out pain in such a way, and to learn he's sought it out before. Astarion wants to reach out to him, but Axel isn't done.

"My life has been kind to me, so why would I insult you by bringing it up? I am not rich, or powerful. I am not exciting. I am boring. I am a boring lover. I am foolish and dumb. You deserve so much more." Axel's face turns from anger to anguish. "You deserve someone exciting. You have the freedom to find that person and I know you will."

Axel hangs his head and shakes it. "And I will not hate you for it. I could never hate you. You deserve someone who isn't like this." Axel gestures to himself. "I have nothing to offer. You think you are the only person who feels unworthy? Feels they offer nothing? I can't even offer you the freedom to explore. How selfish I am to know you deserve more yet keeps you to myself."

Axel looks in the mirror again and the anger returns. "You wish to see yourself in the mirror and I only wish to rid myself of such a burden." Axel rips the mirror from the vanity in a flurry of rage, the mirror shattering into a million pieces.

Axel takes in a deep breath and looks at the mess he's created. His face crumbles and his voice shakes and wavers as tears prick his eyes. "I'm a failure. You deserve someone better. Take it," Axel pinches his nose as a tear falls down his cheek, "take it from someone who loves you. I will not say it knowing it'd cement you to me. I can not. I do not deserve anyone's love, but I can't bear the thought of losing someone else. If you were to leave and I have said it, the pain would be too real."

Axel's chest lurches with a sob. "I… I don't know what is wrong with me. Why, why are these feelings coming back to me? I have a responsibility to you and the others and yet I'm failing once again. Is this why I'm alive, to continue to fail?" Axel crumbled to his knees, his hand catching himself, but on the shards of glass. Astarion smells the blood, but Axel doesn't seem to notice the pain.

Astarion feels numb. His chest hurts, if his heart could still beat it would be breaking. How could Axel feel so unworthy, when he was arguably the only one bringing anything to the table? That's the second time Axel has referred to himself as unexciting. The first time being when Axel declared he didn't need another lover and that he wished for Astarion to not have one either. That if Astarion wished to have that option, then he should end it.

Everything else Axel said was working slowly over in Astarion's mind. He knows some of that was not for him. That something else darkens Axel's mind, but the half-elf is not in the state to elaborate.

Astarion kneels down gently by Axel's side, guiding the man's chin up to face him. Axel's face is a mess of tears and his eyes are heavy with fatigue and fear. Astarion can hear how fast Axel's heart is beating, like the sound of a war drum.

Astarion doesn't say anything other than, "take it easy." His honeyed words are lost to him. For now he guides his lover back to the bed and licks up the blood on Axel's hand before pulling out a healing potion for him to drink. Axel's chest is still heaving, but the tears have stopped. Now he sits mindless as Astarion guides him. The display is unnerving for Astarion, but he knows he must fight through it.

When Axel's face clears up, Astarion cups his cheeks and brings his lips to Axel's. It's tender and Astarion tries all his might to put every ounce of his feelings into it.

"Listen to me." Axel looks into Astarion's eyes. "Why would I want someone else, when I didn't even know I needed you? You are not boring. And you have not failed me. Or the others. I'm not afraid of your darkness. You are worth knowing. I want to know everything. You think anything you could tell me would shock me?" Astarion huffs with a sad smile. He grows serious. "This will pass. And I will still be here when it does. I love you."

Axel swallows and smiles. "Freetra starta den lun. Meg louvè. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you."

Astarion scoffs, but not with malice, but in sadness. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who struggles with this. If anything it brings me closer to you. Your burdens are mine to bear, just as you have carried mine. It's the least I could do."

Axel buries his head in the crook of Astarion's neck. He takes a long sniffle and Astarion can feel Axel's lips twist into a smile. "Lavender. I knew you'd go for that one." Axel's hot breath on Astarion's skin makes his body flutter in a way he has never experienced until he met Axel.

Astarion kisses the top of Axel's head. "You know me too well."

Axel hums and wraps his arms around Astarion's waist, digging his nose deeper into the crook. "Smells amazing on you." Axel groans as he takes another sniffle and Astarion can smell the desire now replacing the anguish in Axel. It almost makes Astarion laugh when he's suddenly reminded how drunk Axel actually is.

Axel doesn't try anything. He simply seems content just holding Astarion in bears grip. The warm intimate feeling is comforting, despite the guilt of knowing it was him who was meant to comfort Axel. Seeing an opportunity, however, Astarion asks. "My love?"

Axel hums and it vibrates against Astarion's skin. If his body was capable of it, he'd get goose bumps. "You have been using those phrases of yours since our first confession. Yet it is in a language I do not understand." Astarion is hoping he can lead Axel to the ledge and the drunk man can take the leap himself. He's afraid if he asks him full on, Axel will deny him the knowledge. He usually does, stating "that's the point, darling".

Axel shrugs. "It's Jotun. It means my star and moon. Is that the one? The other means, my love." Astarion's body blossoms with warmth, disgusting happiness he can't help but cringe at.

What sweet phrases. Am I truly his star and moon?

"I didn't want to tell you, because I was embarrassed. I didn't want to scare you off and I thought I would if you knew how much I was falling in love with you." Axel said, muffled against Astarion's skin. Astarion remembers Axel's words. I will not say it knowing it'd cement you to me.

Astarion forces Axel to look at him. Now Axel's eyes are hazy with half sleep and Astarion can't help but think he looks absolutely adorable. "Tell me you love me." Astarion all but demands.

Axel smiles tiredly. "I love you." And he means it. Astarion smiles and tucks Axel into bed, holding him close. Though, mostly because Axel refuses to let go.

Suddenly the fears of what the future holds seem less scary now that he knows Axel loves him as well. It seems Axel isn't the perfect untouchable thing he saw him as. And that only makes Astarion's longing for him grow.

Cazador believed flawed things were an abomination. Astarion disagrees. As much as he claims to hate the weak and flawed. Flawed things are much more beautiful. And to know he doesn't have to carry that burden alone. That makes it all worth it. Even perhaps giving up the sun. Because Axel is worth it.

#bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion brainrot #astarion with a male Tav #also Astarion being the one that comforts is sweet #maybe ooc? #i dont quite think so #baldur’s gate 3 #i have a problem #whump prompt #whump October #whumptober #also there is no dnd dictionary for Jotun #so i used fae #shush #hope you liked it! #oh #astarion

[philtstone]

Chapters: 7/8 Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, Kamala Khan & Sam Wilson, Eli Bradley & Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson & Sarah Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sarah Wilson, John Walker & Sam Wilson (Marvel), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sam Wilson & Helmut Zemo, Miles Morales & Peter Parker, Joaquín Torres & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & AJ Wilson, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker Characters: Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes, Sarah Wilson, Kamala Khan, Peter Parker, Eli Bradley, AJ Wilson, Cass Wilson, John Walker, Background & Cameo Characters, Helmut Zemo, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Yelena Belova, Miles Morales, Joaquín Torres, Alpine (Marvel), Valentina Allegra de Fontaine Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, The Arcane AU(TM), what it actually is is the 'vander from arcane vibing with his bar and foster children' au, Canon Divergence - Post-Episode: s01e06 One World One People (The Falcon and the Winter Soldier), Canon-Typical Violence, anway ... sam wilson my beloved, u deserve more fics focused on u, alas; the first one i wrote was this one, Fluff and Angst, Team as Family, Slow Burn, but only for the plot; all the relationships are nice and established, Sam Wilson-centric, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, and some sarahbucky bc u all know who i am :), tldr the world ends and sam and bucky adopt some super kids, sci-fi and fantasy elements, Blood and Injury, Action/Suspense, most of the blood and injury and violence descriptions are for ch 7 Summary:

In which the world ends, Sam Wilson opens a bar with his best friend, accidentally adopts some children (also with his best friend), and figures out how to grieve his own life and move forward, not necessarily in that order.

**

Chapter 7 Excerpt:

“Well, he’s still alive, anyway.”

Bucky, Sam thinks, mute and a little desperate. He can hear broken glass drag over the floor with a low crunching noise under Bucky’s body, which seems to be leaving a smear of slick red blood in its wake. Sam’s head is pounding too hard to identify where it’s coming from. He can barely see him for all that something has moved into his line of sight and is hulking over Bucky’s prone body. Maybe some guy in a mech suit, Sam’s brain supplies helplessly – were all the old Iron Man armours destroyed? 

“For Christ’s sake,” says the voice. “Don’t be disgusting about it, you’re not a carnivore. Turn him over.”

In the span of a heartbeat, Sam feels like he has been plunged into a living nightmare.

finally, explanations!

featuring some classic villain monologues, flight metaphors, and sam being both hero and dumbass in one

a slight content warning for descriptions of violence and blood/injury in this one -- i really wasn't sure if it was enough to take the rating of the whole fic from t to m, and i asked like 3 different people about it all who gave me varied answers, so if you read anything and feel super strongly about it, feel free to gently tell me and i'll update tags accordingly. it's genuinely not anything worst than canon in terms of violence level, but there's something intimate about reading things described in text that you just don't get in brief camera shots, so i remain unsure if i am overly sensitive or not sensitive enough.

only one chapter left! just the fact that i have gotten this far is an insane milestone to me. this is officially the longest fic ive ever written, and the first time i've set up and resolved any kind of plot. thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting; your encouragement has meant the world to me.

for those of you who have seen arcane ... i hope i was able to finally live up to the "arcane au" title slapped on the tin. for those of you who haven't, i hope this plot resolution (dont worry -- theres more to come) was satisfying!

#my writing #the arcane au #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #john walker #sam x bucky #sarahbucky #valentina allegra de fontaine #madame hydra #marvel #the murderous rat-like creature rides again .... #fatws #fatws fic #arcane league of legends #arcane act 1 #YES i went there #INSANELY NERVOUS AND INSANELY EXCITED. BABYS FIRST PLOT FIC

[fazfacts]

DIALTOWN: PHONE DATING SIM SENTENCE STARTERS.

more to come, probably. i didn’t even make it through half of the screenshots i had saved with these :’)

contains very mild spoilers for chapter 3 & suggestive content!

❝ L-Love?! What on God's green earth is THAT?! ❞

❝ Is this "love" thing a type of feeling? I don't really do those, thanks. ❞

❝ I don't want to piss behind any of your rides this year. ❞

❝ You flirt like I'd imagine Mothman would. ❞

❝ Darn. I hate it when I do that. ❞

❝ Fudge. I have $0. ❞

❝ I'd stroll in there, 'n' give 'em the ol' RAZZLE-DAZZLE. ❞

❝ I'm sure I could find a way to...c o n v i n c e them... ;) ❞

❝ Hi, [____]...you look nice today ;) ❞

❝ So, [____]...you have any plans for later today? ;) ❞

❝ I demand to speak to your manager. ❞

❝ Rules, SCHMULES! I don't LIKE rules. I like ANARCHY. ❞

❝ I don't like your LIP, [____]. ❞

❝ I SEEK AN A U D I E N C E. ❞

❝ I piss, bossman. It's what I do. ❞

❝ LET ME INNNNNN! ❞

❝ I REFUSE TO LEARN ANY LESSONS. ❞

❝ Hi, never say that again. ❞

❝ Sowwy... ❞

❝ AND THAT. DON'T EVER SAY "[____]" AGAIN. YOU STOP THAT. ❞

❝ No offense, but I find you mildly upsetting to gawk at! ❞

❝ It's hip to fuck monsters. ❞

❝ I will die before I let you make an omelette with my unborn babies. ❞

❝ I'm a parent, [____]. A PARENT. ❞

❝ HHHHHHHHHHH [Acute Hemorrhaging] ❞

❝ THIS HAS BEEN A TRULY GHASTLY EXPERIENCE. ❞

❝ I fear intimacy, so I push my loved ones away from me with wanton hostility. ❞

❝ Haha, printer go BRRR. ❞

❝ We do live in a society, yes. ❞

❝ Bold of you to assume that I can count. ❞

❝ I would consider half a turnip a lot of money. ❞

❝ Enjoy spending a month in prison. ❞

❝ Okay, so...y'know how gambling is ALWAYS a wise idea? ❞

❝ That sounds fun! I like risks! ❞

❝ Ah, rats...do ALL fun things require money?! ❞

❝ C-Can you give ME therapy? ❞

❝ Oh, no, I just...HAVE to stop you- ❞

❝ You should REALLY not be alive. ❞

❝ ...Bite me. ❞

❝ I'm going to have nightmares about you tonight. ❞

❝ Just for that, I'm laying my eggs on one of your busiest rides. ❞

❝ EGGS. ❞

❝ MY BABIES. ❞

❝ [DEFENSIVE NEANDERTHAL GRUNTING] ❞

❝ They're, uhhh, beautiful? ❞

❝ [PROUD NEANDERTHAL GRUNTING] ❞

❝ FUCK, OH FUCK. ❞

❝ Never use the word [____] around me again, thanks. ❞

❝ I AM A WOUNDED FERAL ANIMAL. ❞

❝ Ya can't rot, if ya don't actually exist. :) ❞

❝ I aim to one day draw Bigfoot out in the open. ❞

❝ Alright, [____], I've got good news and bad news. ❞

❝ I am DUMBFOUNDED. ❞

❝ POPPYCOCK, IT'LL WORK. ❞

❝ Do you know what "man-hunt" means? ❞

❝ I AM A CREATURE. ❞

❝ I AM FAMOUS FOR MY SCREEEECH. ❞

❝ Oh, [____] - I have to insist you don't do this. ❞

❝ FUCK YOU, I DO WHAT I WANT. ❞

❝ If I wanna think outside the box, this is how I'll do it. ❞

❝ This won't end well. ❞

❝ This WILL end well. ❞

❝ So...how's prison? ❞

❝ PLEASE don't do this, [____]. ❞

❝ NOW I KNOW WH-WHY...PEOPLE KEPT TELLING ME NOT TO DRINK THEIR PRINTER INK... ❞

❝ I...don't want any part in this. ❞

❝ Yuck! It's always morals, morals, MORALS with you! ❞

❝ [Literal ape noise] ❞

❝ Ah, fuck, this isn't gonna work. ❞

❝ Oh, c'mon! You've been a negative-nelly all day! ❞

❝ [____], do you wanna learn how to snap necks? ❞

❝ I'll side with the ape-judgment on this one. ❞

❝ Bigfoot doesn't care. ❞

❝ ...Oh, NOW you've done it, you little shit. ❞

❝ ET TU, BIGFOOT? ❞

❝ Do you think Bigfoot can drive? ❞

❝ Best not leave it MOMENTS AFTER A PUBLIC AND GRUESOME MURDER to find out for certain. ❞

❝ Oh, I'm SURE Bigfoot can drive. ❞

❝ Okay...THIS...this, I can USE. ❞

❝ I DON'T LIKE THIS. ❞

❝ If someone irritates you or insults how you park your pick-up truck, you wrap your finger around the trigger and fire shots indiscriminately! ❞

❝ Yes, [____], a war criminal is a bad thing to be. ❞

❝ Thank you. I found it in the trash. ❞

❝ Poifect... ❞

❝ Oh, I just found him in the nearby woods, just chillin'. ❞

❝ YOU'LL GET YER 'NANA WHEN THE JOB IS DONE. ❞

❝ That, shit-child, is SAS-MOTHERFUCKING-SQUATCH. ❞

❝ PAL, IF ONE OF US GETS TO FUCK LIKE BIGFOOT, IT'LL BE ME. ❞

❝ You don't have to squat at home, but you can't squat here. ❞

❝ ARE you some kind of funky alien? ❞

❝ Just between you and me...I'm TOTALLY a human. ❞

❝ I take it full nudity might be a touch too lewd? ❞

❝ Welcome to Casa de la Meme. ❞

❝ Feel free to piss anywhere that isn't my box-bed. ❞

❝ Fib not to me, or consequences there shalt...be. ❞

❝ Oh, boo hoo, did SOMEONE GET SWEATY FROM VISUALIZING OGRE WEENUS? ❞

❝ That's a...personal question. ❞

❝ ...Are you making fun of me? ❞

❝ My life is a stain... ❞

❝ Also, nice pun. ❞

❝ Ah, shit. That's right. I can't read. ❞

❝ Well, maybe I just don't like eye contact. ❞

❝ ...It's KINDA gun-shaped. ❞

❝ Yeah, see, when you say it out loud - ❞

❝ This plan is FAR better. [Evil teeth-baring chimpanzee grin] ❞

❝ MOVE EVEN AN INCH, AND I'LL SQUIRT! ❞

❝ [THREATENING GURGLING] ❞

❝ Nope. Fuck this noise. I'mma just bounce. ❞

❝ It's egg-time. ❞

❝ If I found a used bandy-aid on the ground, I'd INSTANTLY consume it. ❞

❝ MY BROKEN FRENCH IS A METAPHOR FOR YOUR BROKEN FEMURS. ❞

❝ FUCK, I AM WOUNDED. ❞

❝ This couldn't be SIMPLER, you denim-laden BUM. ❞

❝ Ourrrghhh...I've shit meself...I've shit meself and I'm dying... ❞

❝ I'VE SHAT MESELF. I'VE SHAT MESELF AND I'M DYING. ❞

❝ I HAVE SOILED MY BRITCHES, AND I'M DYING. ❞

❝ That about summed it up, really. ❞

❝ When we are done here today...you WILL have ALL the training you need to successfully murder and DEVOUR [____]. ❞

❝ DEVOUR. ❞

❝ Gee wiz. Don't get all mushy on me, man. ❞

❝ ye, it aight ❞

❝ Maybe the allure of the dude's toilet water is just too much for the poor guy... ❞

❝ Hey, I'M feral! It's not such a bad life! ❞

❝ To be clear, I'm threatening to SHOOT you. ❞

❝ I AM THREATENING TO SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD WITH A SHOTGUN. ❞

❝ IT'S NOT COFFEE. ❞

❝ IT'S A BULLET. I AM NOT OFFERING YOU COFFEE. ❞

❝ ...You're a pretty lousy host, then. ❞

❝ Lord, give me strength... ❞

❝ I'm a freak, just like you! ❞

❝ BABA WANTS IN. ❞

❝ Bold of you to assume I'm capable of complex thought. ❞

❝ ...Bold of you to assume I've ever been to school. ❞

❝ BOOO! ❞

❝ WHAT THE HELL, PARDNER?! ❞

❝ For... [raspy cough] for the banter... ❞

❝ Alright, I feel MUCH less sorry after hearing you speak again. ❞

❝ As a man of honor, I URGE you to change your last words to something less...THAT. ❞

❝ I'd just give ANYTHING to see the look on their face when they open the package with a dead-me inside. ❞

❝ Oh...hello, Satan... ❞

❝ If you let me in, I can suck something ELSE dry... ;) ❞

❝ Ooh! Ooh! That's why I got kicked outta town! ❞

❝ Right. Signs can't stop me because I can't read. ❞

❝ I hate every single one of them. ❞

#dialtown #sentence starters #rp prompts #rp memes #ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ #dialtown spoilers /

[shtern-and-art]

I have more questions because it's no longer 4am lmao.

Does Skeppy fear any animals? I just wanna know if there's any sweet moments of Skeppy clinging to Bad whilst he tries to calm him down.

I'm guessing Bad still hates things like littering and woodcutters but would he ever act particularly strongly about it or would he have more control?

I like how Rat seems to tolerate Skeppy because Bad likes him but would she ever get jealous if Skeppy started pettting another dog?

I have a horrifying image of Bad just spider climbing up a tree to fetch Skeppy. I don't know why but I feel like dude wouldn't even need branches lmao.

What other supernatural creatures/people do they come across? Were there any that were especially dangerous and did they befriend any?

Is Bad much physically stronger than Skeppy? I keep thinking of Skeppy being a little shaz and Bad just one-arm picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder XD.

Does Bad ever get nightmares of the day he became the forest spirit?

How far would Skeppy take stealing? Would he steal something he knows the owner has genuine attachment to? Would he do everything in his power to steal something for Bad even if it means getting hurt?

Who's more likely to protect the other?

Skeppy just minding his business looking at one of Bad's textbooks, turns his head and Bad's just having a tea party with a freaking bear. Surprised the man hasn't had a heart attack yet XD.

What's your favourite thing to imagine them doing?

Is Bsd an adrenaline junky? Or is he scared of more dangerous things like bungee jumping and mountain climbing.

What would their reactions be to rollercoasters?

Do they have a favourite date-night activity?

Everytime I think of this au it brightens my mood!! Thank you for making something so heartwarming!! <3

Glad to see you again :D And yaay, questions!

My pen pressure broke again, I can't finish any sketches for this ask rn, but here's a couple of old messy designs.

1) Comforting and nightmares

Skeppy has a normal, I’d even say adequate level of fear towards wild animals, whilst Bad has it in negative numbers. And, yes, this fun juxtaposition leads to a lot of unfortunate moments of Skeppy nearly dying from heart attack when some of Bad’s animal friends show up unexpectedly, or Bad goes all out for his tea-parties with wild bears or smth.

So, yes, sometimes the comforting hugs are necessary! And no, none of them ever play up the dramaticness of the situation just to drag out the nice comforting moment They do n o t. That’d be very silly and unnecessary, and will deserve a lot of teasing. So, it’s all serious. Not only for the first couple minutes. Yes.

But If you’re looking for comfort-after-actual-hurt – Bad does have to hold and comfort Skeppy, when the stress of trying to not fuck up the good stuff around him gets too strong. And after the nightmares where they are hated and chased by people. Those dreams do not come often, but when they do, Bad is there to hold Skeppy, whisper in his hair that he is alright, that they’re both alright, and that they can handle everything that’s going on right now.

And Bad himself, well. After leaving the town, his nightmares about the night of the ritual stopped almost completely. They come rarely, only when the anxiety gets really bad. Before, in the forest, Bad had them pretty often. It’s one of the reasons he mostly slept not as himself, but in the minds of the animals.

2) Littering

Bad will not maim someone for not getting a candy wrapper in a trashcan, especially if there are people around. But if someone leaves a big mess in the nature, or even (*gasp*) does it regularly, Bad can and will try and teach them a lesson. As in: pull a cautionary (and probably slightly terrifying) prank on the misbehaving person.

It doesn’t always work out as Bad intended, and may even scare some people off anything relating to nature for good, but, according to Bad, it’s still “a fun and useful little hobby to have :3”.

3) Rat

Rat takes a looong time to warm up to any other animals that infringe on her territory. And Skeppy might be a little shit (and his own rights for Bad are debatable) but he is Rat’s territory still (by approximation from Bad). So, she can gatekeep Skeppy a little bit. Not as much as she does Bad, but the man gotta know his place – Rat comes before other dogs for him too.

4) Tree climbing and strength

Oh, Bad can an will climb down a tree like a full-on creepy creature he is: head down, using only his claws, with Skeppy tucked under one arm. Maybe not even upside down, if Skeppy is lucky, and wasn’t too annoying about wanting to stay up on the tree for the night :D

5) Meeting other spn creatures

Oh, that’s a big question (: Yes, they do meet other cryptids, befriend some, and get in trouble with some, and deal with a handful of new and old spn troubles :D

I always thought that Bad and Skeppy’s life after the main story can make a series of short stories (or one big episodic one) dealing with exactly that: the guys traveling around, meeting other cryptids, learning more about themselves and the world, trying to build a life between human and supernatural crisis going on. Just like In The Dark it can based on the mix between the real life and the minecraft-verse events.

I wanted to focus more on finishing the main story first, though, so these stories are not as sought through, I didn’t even write down any of them yet :D

But if you have more concrete questions, ideas, or suggestions (about a specific person, or a specific thing happening) – write me, I’ll think about it, and how it can work with the theme and worldbuilding I have in mind.

6) Stealing + Protectiveness

Skeppy can sometimes forget about, ahem, moral principles, or human decency… emphasis oh “human”. He’s nature and different worldview it gives, it seeps through in his life and actions even more with age. Especially after he’s been away from actual people for a long while. So, I guess, he might at times steal something that is very important to someone, or do something that could be considered weird or rude in general.

And if Bad really needs something, or is in danger – all rules are down. If there is no one to reality check Skeppy, he might proceed to walk on heads, and commit risky and reckless crimes just to help or save Bad.

They both are quite bad with that, the protecting each other thing. Bad, tho, can be more fiscally violent in his protectiveness.

7) Adrenaline and rollercoasters

Well, it’s not that Bad likes adrenaline specifically, he’s just very curious, likes to try new things, and is almost unkillable. So he can just- just go for everything that’s interesting for him with reckless abandon, and if it goes wrong – welp. Bones can heal limbs can regrow, and the cool abandoned caves will not explore themselves. He’ll have to learn to ease up with lack of selfcare though. Because Bad can’t always leave Skeppy to fend for himself, while he heals, and Skeppy does NOT like seeing Bad getting hurt so much, and not caring about himself at all.

This probably comes back to Bad dealing with his spn nature and learning to make peace between it and himself. And to his anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

And hey, it’s the same for Skeppy and his lack of adequate moral compass at times :D

There will be a lot of tension and growing they’d have to do in regards to all this.

Also Skeppy is the one who’s really into chasing the thrills :D Man spent nearly half a year annoying probably-murderous-forest-spirit just for little not-boring fun, jeez :DD

Rollercoasters are a no go, tho. They go up in the air, real high, and, once again, Skeppy and highs do not mix, they do not mingle, they will not have tea parties (with or without bears). Unless, of course, Skeppy really needs to prove something. Then he’ll go on a ride, and die an honorable death, and will never admit he screamed all the way through it.

8) Dates

(*insert an innuendo from Skeppy here*) But, ahm, actually I’d say they love going on picnics: getting food, and hanging around in the nature for a while.

And I honestly donno what I like to think about the most… I just really enjoy the vibe and the atmosphere of the whole story, and how Bad and Skeppy interact in general.

It all is a real delight to write about :D

---

In The Dark - masterpost

#mcyt #mcyt fanart #badboyhalo #skeppy #skephalo #In The Dark #shtern talks #..... #dang i talk a lot don't i #:DDDD #but really #getting these asks getting to write more about this AU - always makes my day

[beskarberry]

The Roar of Thunder

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 12, Book Two Finale

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

He couldn’t console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybe…

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

<- Previous

Rating: Extra Explicit

Word count: 24.2k SORRY

Content warnings: *deep breath* Dark themes, self loathing, depression, thoughts of suicide, implied parental abuse, drug induced abductions, use of needles, auditory and visual hallucinations, extremely graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, stupid amounts of murder. Oh, and smut! Yay!

A/N: THE EPIC CONCLUSION (???) OF BARGAINING WITH BESKAR! Holy shit I can't believe we've made it this far! I know those tags are super fucking intimidating but there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it's just a very long, dark ass tunnel and you're gonna have to work to get there! THANK YOU ALL so much for joining me on this wildass ride that I already said I was finished with once before lol. There's a lot that I'm leaving off with so there's a very good chance I'll come back to this story in the future, but for now, enjoy!

The Crest had been silent before, for years actually, but never like this.

When it had only been him aboard the old gunship, long before the child and much longer before you, silence had been the Mandalorian’s only companion. In the wake of betrayal, the eerie quiet of hyperspace had returned like a plague; creeping in on innumerable, chitinous legs through the Razor’s solid walls, taking up space like something alive.

Or maybe something dead.

Silence was heavy, viscous and rotting in Mando’s ears. It slithered through his ear canals and down his throat, seeping over his heart like melted tar. It hurt, the silence. Somehow both burning like acid and freezing like ice in his chest and it hurt. It made his bones ache. It made his ears ring in place of the lack of noise, the lack of life and love that he had grown so fond of.

But the silence was better, a hundred, thousand times better than the crying.

Grogu wailed whenever he was awake, sobbing and choking on the tears that streaked down from his cosmic eyes and stopped up his teensy tinsey nose with snot. The little terror never made so much noise in all his life, and he would frequently cry so hard he would tire himself out and fall into a fretful, restless sleep. Din would try everything he could think of, holding the baby, rocking him and shushing him as sweetly as a mountain of metal could; but the child only cried harder for his efforts.

The child wouldn’t eat, barely slept, and wept relentlessly. Din’s shattered heart broke a thousand more times with each fitful sob that tore it’s way out of the tiny toothy mouth of his adopted son, and every day that it continued he thought the agony would kill him.

He knew why Grogu was so heartbroken, though he refused to accept it, still tasting the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue. Dirty Imp. He wanted to be so angry, he still was, but the exhaustion of trying to comfort his son drained every ounce of fight from the mighty warrior’s body. Din’s decision was final, even if it was starting to feel like the worst decision he’d ever made in his entire life. He wasn’t going to let any goddamn Imps near his son, no matter how lovely they were, how beautiful… how wonderful.

Grogu was just going to have to get over it.

But...what if he never does?

Din was cradling the child against his bare shoulder, trying, and failing, for the thousandth time that week to get Grogu to calm down. The Mandalorian rocked slowly, holding the child’s head to his shoulder and petting him softly, running his thumbs over his ears in the way that used to make the little beastie coo and hum. Made him close his eyes and sleep. If… if he could just get the child to sleep, to relax, maybe he could think straight.

When she was here, what would she do? Din didn’t want to think about the monster that he had let into his life, let into his heart, but he couldn’t stop the train of thought as it left his mental station. She would sing. She would sing him a lullaby and he would conk right out. They were his favorite. He groaned, blinking up at the hazy cabin lights as if the Maker was up there with better answers.

They were my favorite, too.

Din sighed heavily against the weeping creature he loved so dearly, then started to hum one of the songs he thought he remembered. Low and slow, a deep, rumbling baritone that once was as warm as honey, but now felt cold, lifeless and dull.

There was the briefest of respites in the child’s crying, only to pick back up with a vengeance at the memory of his lost buir’s lullabies. Assaulted by the uptick in the wailing, Din wracked his brain for the words to those songs. Stars, there were so many, but there was one that sort of… stuck.

“Hey, womp rat, let me see you.” Din pulled the soggy baby from his shoulder, fishing the edge of his cloak around to wipe the child’s flooded eyes. “There he is. Um, how does it go… I have sailed the… no that’s not… I went sailing in the midnight sea, something something…navigator... wait, please don’t cry. Fuck.”

Singing wasn’t one of his strong points, no matter how many times you had told him he had a lovely voice, soft and dark and velvety. No, it was you whose voice was spun from gold, not his. You had brought music into his world, that very first day, sitting in the passenger seat with the child in your lap you had broken into a star-shanty that dissolved every barrier the Mandalorian had erected around his heart and sang love into his world.

Your voice wasn’t just powerful, it was a siege weapon.

Nothing had ever had that kind of power over him, made him want to rip his helmet from his skull and throw it overboard just to hear your voice as it was meant to be heard in all its glory. And then when he had gotten to hear it clear and true, without the modulation of his audio intake processors, he knew he would never hear anything more beautiful again in his entire life.

His Starsong.

Din tried to bring himself back to the very first song, something about a navigator, guiding a mighty ship through the stars. So long ago, when Grogu had fallen asleep from your lullaby and you were just humming the last verses, you had caught Din staring at you and abruptly cut the song short; thinking that the Mandalorian was ready to slit your throat for being so close to his precious cargo. It wasn’t until later, after a victorious but near-fatal hunt that you had been asked to finish it.

You were cradled against his side, tucked into the crook of his arm with your head on his chest, tired and breathless from critical bloodloss and a foolish bout of lovemaking. You had nearly died, and his son had saved your life, given you back to him like a precious keepsake. Din had felt your breathing slow way down, watched your eyes close from behind his visor, and suddenly he just had to know.

How does the song end?

Mmm? Why, do you need a lullaby too?

No, just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.

Din stopped rocking the child, struck fast by the memory. Grogu was starting to tire himself out, but the tears still flowed, dampening the flack under his squishy baby face.

When you leave.

He had made a deal with you, one hunt and you were off the hook, spared from carbonite and the Guild’s vengeance; but everything about you enchanted him so much that he nearly broke his own Creed just to feel your body against his, feel your lips on his face, your hands in his hair. Even before he heard your singing his ears had fallen in love with your voice. Maker, the sounds that you had made; the soft little pants, the choked cries, the moans. He had to have you.

He had to hear you.

Ensorcelled by your siren tongue he took you for himself, gave himself to you in the sacred way his Creed demanded should have come after riduurok, but he didn’t care. The first time he filled you was heaven, an addiction more fixing than spice. In that moment he was too far gone to try to explain to you that The Way dictated he was bound to you now as your protector, but would have understood if you had told him no. Told him to leave you alone, let you get back to your life. But you had only sunk your claws deeper, given yourself more, entwining yourself with him more closely than the beskar that had been forged around him.

When you leave.

You’d become protective and caring and dangerous, a weaponized testament to the love you’d grown for your two boys. You hunted with the fury of thunderstorms, defended your kin with your own life, loved them like no one else ever had and it was beautiful. Din’s foundling became your foundling, and soon you’d become the foundling’s buir, bound to his little clan by the sacred ceremony of riddurok. Indivisible, inseparable. A pack, a clan, a family.

A lie.

A dirty, filthy, soul crushing lie.

A fucking Imp had been right under his nose, in his fucking bed, whispering in his ear that he was loved, that he meant something. Anger burned behind his eyes at the memories that he once cherished, making their corners sting. Grogu picked up on it instantly, his almost-closed eyes flying back open with another shriek. Din gave up. He couldn’t take it anymore. The child was gently lowered to his pram, still sniveling but at least tired enough that maybe he would fall asleep soon.

With squinty, flooded eyes the baby glared up at his adopted father, his ears nearly falling off his head with how droopy they were. He sank his adorable little talons into the fabric of Din’s wrist, keeping him hostage so the tiny green terror could break his fathers heart just one more time.

“Bubu?”

“Yes?”

Grogu grumbled with a scowl, looking away from Din’s exhausted face, trying to find somebody else. “Bubu.”

Din had heard the baby use the shorthand of buir for the first time when he was storming up the Crest’s ladder after abandoning you on Elgon Station, hatred and disgust deafening him to the sound of his son's first almost-word. When he was blasting away from the sudden starcruiser, he had heard the baby shouting the sweet phrase over and over and over again, his little voice choked with desperation; and he knew that it wasn’t meant for him.

It was meant for you.

Din shook his head, unhooking Grogu from his sleeve. ”Sorry kid, It’s just me now.” Fighting the mist forming in his eyes, he closed the lid, sealing the pram with an ugly hiss at yet another betrayal. Sorry kid.

For everything.

Exhausted and broken, Din flopped down in the little sleeping nook that he had once shared with you, sinking into the bedroll. The Tatooinian bed roll. You had picked up the soft, plush foam mattress on your shopping excursion through the desert bazaar, spitting fire about the quality of the bed he had grown used to.

It was your bed roll.

Din was too tired to yank the thing off and shred it like he had been meaning to, at least that’s what he had been telling himself for the last few cycles. The reality was that it still smelled faintly of you, a scent that was losing its strength with each passing jump through hyperspace. Sleep made him just as restless as his son usually was now, often waking him up in a flop sweat that was slowly replacing the scent in the mattress with wallowing anguish.

Not even an hour after he had laid down he woke up in one such panic, sweat turning to ice on his brow and down the expanse of his chest, and on instinct he reached for you.

But you weren’t there.

When you leave… her. You left her, Djarin. You left her behind. Left her to die. It’s your own fault.

Agony and despair and guilt were his only bedfellows now, grinding against his ribs and chewing through the lining of his stomach. He reached up for one of the thin, utilitarian blankets that he kept in the mesh netting high above his head, maybe more to wipe the sweat off than for comfort. Comfort had tricked him and told him lies. Comfort had made him weak, made him blind to the insurgence that laid next to him at night. Comfort was not something he deserved.

The threadbare blanket fell down from its spot, bringing something else down with it.

Bantha wool.

Growling, Did made to throw the fleecy thing away, hoping it would take his painful memories with it, but the smell of you was all over it. Strong as if you were right there with him, as if he held you in his arms again.

He stopped fighting, hugging the desert fabric to his chest and burying his face in it, breathing in the scent of you as if without it he would suffocate and die. He held the air in, feeling it flow through the serrated hole where his heart used to be. The breath in his lungs let itself out, ragged and broken and threatening.

Alone in his little bunk, the best hunter in the parsec swallowed his sobs down, terrified of waking the baby. The scent of you brought him back to that moment, the moment that he’d snapped. You’d been trying to tell him something, but he had been consumed by his anger, blinded by his hatred of the Empire and the threat that it posed to his son and the memories of what it had done to his people. The Empire that you served.

His body shook at the memory of your confession, I am not an Imp! That’s not who I am anymore! You’d shouted, no, roared, concealing the usage of some kind of… interference device that must have been hidden on your person. His visor had flickered and his audio processors blew, nearly deafening him with feedback. The damage done to his helmet was extensive, and like nothing he’d ever seen, the wires and microchips crushed by some phantasmal force. It took days for him to repair, but it was a welcome distraction from his painful memories.

That’s not who I am any more.

Din chewed his lip so hard he tasted blood, sucking it back down as not to stain the cherished blanket. Did I make a mistake? No. An Imp doesn’t change its plasticast… does it? Even… even one as strong and beautiful as her. He breathed the scent of you in deep, curling up on his cot until his knees touched the wall, digging up yet another tainted memory.

The memory of him kneeling before you, of him asking for your hand.

You don’t know me! You’d sobbed, waving around a sword of pure beskar inches from his throat. You don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve done!

You’d told him right then and there that you weren’t to be trusted, but... it was too late.

He was in love.

Bedazzled in a pair of opalized fangs far too lavish for such a warrior, he’d sank to his knees at your feet, asking for your hand, or your judgement.

You may now ask him to swear his oaths, and should they please you, you may remove his helmet. However, should he dishonor you, you may remove his head.

It was almost unfair, such an ultimatum of love or death.

You broke every single vow you swore to her, Djarin. How are you any better than an Imp? She loved you, and you threw her out like garbage. You purged that love from your life, forsaking the one that you called ner jate’kara, your guiding star. Without her, you will die in the darkness that you have brought upon yourself.

Without love there was only death left for him, though there wasn’t a single being in this parsec that would be capable of killing him…

Except-

Himself.

The brakes had long gone out on his mental trains, and horrifying clarity wrenched his eyes open in the darkness of the bunk. Maybe death would feel better than the heartbreak he was suffering from now. Maybe giving himself up to the cold embrace of the void would feel less damning, less crushing.

To leave this universe on his own volition, and not on the valorous battlefield, was considered the lowest form of dishonor a Mandalorian could endure. Dar’manda. But… that’s what he was. An honorless cur, an oathbreaker. Though his bond to you had been rendered completely fucking worthless, he was still bound to the baby as his father.

Though...maybe…

Maybe he shouldn’t be.

He couldn’t console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybe…

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

To his people, his real people like he was supposed to do eons ago.

What is it?

It is a foundling. And by Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.

Din had taken that last line to heart. The last memory he had of his own father still haunted his nightmares, the image of his parent’s eyes glassy with frightened tears as they closed the bunker door over him right before the droid army took their lives.

Decades later an opportunity had been presented to him, an opportunity to give this child a father to grow up with; though the child would likely live for centuries after Din died from either old age or, more likely, a bullet hole. His unknown people had not been good enough to protect the baby, to keep him out of harm's way and out of the grasp of the Empire, but a Mandalorian would be.

Or, so he had told himself.

Somewhere out in the vastness of space were potentially more little green creatures that were missing one of their own, and he had selfishly stolen Grogu away from them to live out his fantasy of being a father.

No.

It wasn’t right, it hadn’t been from the start.

And now he was being punished for it.

One more hunt, one last credit haul to fuel his ship up, and he would return the baby to his people, giving Grogu’s real parents every cent he had left in the most desperate hope that they would forgive him. Forgive him for stealing a child.

And then.

Then it would be over.

There would be nothing left for him.

As if there was anything left for him now.

~

It took a couple of cycles to convince yourself that it wasn’t a nightmare, and even longer to come to terms with your waking reality. Your wayward journey through the stars was over just as quickly as it had begun, and you were right back at square one where you had started.

Inside of you a dull, constant ache had settled in the spot where your heart used to be, bitter and stinging against the anger that was growing in your ribs and the nausea festering in your guts. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing the rage-twisted face of the man you had thought you loved, thought you trusted; the image worse than any nightmare. You ran through the scenario over and over and over until it drove you to silent, secretive tears.

Years of learning to track, hunt, and kill quarry was only a blip on your mental radar compared to the memories you had made with the Mandalorian and his son during the short time you had known them. You wanted to remember the good things, like the sweet laughter of the child or even the funny, gross-ish noises that Din made when he ate. Anything but those furious, hateful eyes and bared teeth, but that was all you saw whenever you so much as blinked.

Behind your closed eyes was the face of rage, but when your eyes were open it was even harder to convince yourself this was your reality, because you kept seeing… something. A flicker here, a flash of blue there. The feeling that someone was standing next to you when you were in an empty room, as rare as that was now that you were back under the ever-watchful eye of the Admiral.

Though your eyes were playing tricks on you, that wasn’t the strangest thing you’d noticed about the old dragon. Aside from the Admiral there wasn’t a single member of the skeletal crew that you recognized, though almost all of them wore some form of duraplast covering their faces. Every bilgerat you had grown up with had vanished, as well as most of the officers that you’d actually grown to like, including Chief Wellers, the engineering deck staffed with more droids now than people.

It was strange to say the least, and lonely, being left with only one recognizable face that you loathed. The unfamiliar officers glared at you while you were being led up the Wyvern’s wide entryway days ago, making judgemental passes at your hunt-fucked attire. To better match the remaining crew you were stripped of your gear and weapons and given a fresh, beige-and-black uniform that rode up under your arms and chaffed your thighs. And to add insult to injury you had even been given a stupid little hat to top it off. You hated it, but at least it had pockets. Pockets full of secrets.

Wrapped up in the red silk kerchief that you had stolen on Canto Bight, the pair of beloved fossils weighed heavy against your thigh, a piercing reminder of another life. Why are you keeping them? He left you, dumbass. He’s not coming back. True as that may be, you weren’t ready to let go, the wound was still too fresh, too recent. You missed those strange boys from the stars, and the tiny collection of trinkets was all you had left of a life that had actually meant something to you.

A set of beskar ear cuffs, a red pocket square, and a pair of krayt’s teeth.

An entire lifetime sitting in the palms of your hands.

You had one in your hand now, the opalized bone glittering under fluorescent lights while you used it to pick at the undersides of your nails, the priceless gemstones reduced to cleaning tools. Glancing up at the ship's clock you calculated how long you had before Forescythe would come around to ‘wake you’, as if you’d slept at all in the last three days.

The Wyvern’s Tongue was surprisingly still docked at the station you had been abandoned on, a scorching reminder of your trauma every time you passed a porthole or walked the bridge, stuck to the Admiral’s side like he had you on a leash. It was difficult to tell what they were loading the ship up with, but every time you saw the station you caught another massive skiff-load of something with the word HAZARDOUS in big yellow letters being hauled aboard from one of the other starships that had docked nearby.

You heard footsteps outside your spartan quarters, getting closer then fading away. Stormtrooper. Though you weren’t being kept prisoner, exactly, the constant vigil between the Admiral and the troopers left you little-to-no privacy, with only the smallests gaps in their overlaps. The rotation of the guards through the hallways was militant with its timing, and it wouldn’t be much longer before you had all of their routes memorized.

The long-strided gait of the Admiral echoed far down the hallway, and you snuck your fangs into your pockets so you could make yourself presentable. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot. Barely a courtesy knock was given before the detestable man was letting himself into your room, running through the day’s itinerary after a hastily given ‘Good morning, Sparrow.’

Sparrow. Your deadname was dropped frequently, scalding your steeled ears each time, though rarely was it said with anything short of admiration. You almost wanted to be scolded, and you should have been for dissenting for as long as you did, but the way the Admiral talked to you was friendly, dangerously friendly; and the sweet-talking only made you resent him more.

“Today is the last day we will be docked at Elgon, we’ve nearly finished loading up on the...supplies, and will be in hyperspace soon. This old girl’s been fitted with an updated hyperdrive, so we’ll make the trip to our destination in good time.” You nodded, avoiding conversation. It was best that you spoke to him as little as possible to perpetuate the lie that you had become tone deaf, and you could tell that it drove him insane. Good, fuck your shit to hell. He gestured for you to follow him on his rounds, walking alongside him like an obedient puppy. “Come along, little bird, there is much for us to do today.”

“Yessir.”

He froze and turned back at you, a pouty face stretched grossly across his gaunt features. “Now now, Sparrow, I know you’re upset that you’re not my comms officer anymore, but you’re home again, you can drop the formalities when we’re in private.” He crossed the short distance to you, placing his hands on your shoulder and digging his thumbs into the deep-set bruises that he couldn’t see. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

You wished you could vomit on command, spew acid like a voxyn and melt the Admiral's face clean off, peel his smile right off of his skull. You knew what he wanted, but you would rather cut off your own tongue than give it to him. But you knew what would happen if he didn’t get what he wanted, your skin crawling at repressed memories. He left you no choice.

“Yes… father.”

“There, doesn’t that sound better? Almost makes me feel like you never even left.”

No it wasn’t better, it was horrid. You forced your face to stay neutral, but behind your eyes you were seething. It must have been the anger welling up inside you that made you see something flicker over the Admiral’s shoulder. Something that definitely wasn’t there.

You were going to get off of this ship if it fucking killed you.

~

Of course it had to be Tatooine.

The dirtball of a planet lit up the viewport in front of Din, bathing the cockpit in sickly, lemon-yellow light. The Crest slid easily through the thin atmosphere on well-tuned wings, coasting over the infinitely stretching desert until the familiar skyline of Mos Eisley rose into view.

Mando took the old gunship in with rehearsed accuracy, alighting gracefully on the landing pad in the center of hangar 3-5, though not even the roar of the Razor’s engines could drown out the high pitched argument already echoing around the circular space.

“You gotta lotta nerve showing up here again, Mando!” Peli barked, tapping her foot like a disgruntled hare when the Mandalorian started down the ramp. She took a big breath to really launch into a tirade when she saw the foundling, with his huge sad eyes and limply drooping ears. “What… what’s wrong with the baby? Is’ee sick or somethin’?” Din started to hand her the child, but she raised her arms defensively. “Look, he’s cute’n all but I-I don’t need a sick kid on my hands.”

“He’s not sick, he’s... fine.” Din said in a low, level voice, devoid of almost all emotion. Somewhat reluctantly the mechanic took Grogu from him, and the little green baby curled up in a ball of sadness, hiding his head under her chin.

“Alright, if you say so. I don’t mind watchin’ him as long as he don’t upchuck on my jumpsuit.” She glanced past the iron giant’s shoulders, her eyebrows raised almost comically. “Where’s the other one? You get rid of her finally?” Din was still for a moment, then gave a single, slow nod. “Good. Bout time someone turned that Imp in. I’m tellin’ ya, she cheated at sabbac like-”

“How did you know she was an Imp?” Mando asked, suddenly alive.

“I have my ways.” She chided. Din cocked his head vehemently above stiffened shoulders. “Alright alright don’t look at me like that, geez. When she showed up here it was in a Shimian pleasure cruiser, y’know one of those fancy, expensive lookin’ ones. Obviously stolen. She wanted me to take it, even offered to pay me just to take it off’er hands, but I wasn’t gonna fall for that. She had alotta credits too, almost enough to talk me into it, almost! That’s when she pulled out an Imperial officer’s insignia, pure aurodium and easily worth a fortune.”

Peli paused to adjust Grogu, smoothing a wayward ear out of her face. “If she’d’a picked it off a corpse there’s no way she would’a kept it. Nuh-uh, would’a sold that baby the first chance she got. Nah, it meant something to her once, or maybe it was just the last bargaining chip she had, I don’t know.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Either way, I took the token an’ fenced the ship, made alotta cash that day. If she didn’t cheat at sabacc so damn much I’d invite her over more often!” The mechanic snorted a laugh, then a serious look crossed her face. “Hey, um, Mando… you weren’t… you weren’t too rough with her, were ya? When you turned her in? She wasn’t a bad egg, y’know. Bit snarky but- ”

Leather fists creaked at the end of armored wrists, trying to strangle the pain that was constricting his heart. “Can you watch the child or not?”

Surprised by his harsh tone, Peli nodded quickly and watched the Mandalorian spin around on his heel and storm back up the ramp into the Crest without another word. The confused mechanic looked down to Grogu with a playful scowl. “What’s his deal, huh, womp rat?” The child cooed sadly, hiding his face. “Oh, that bad, huh? Wanna tell me about it over some bantha burgers? They’re fresh! C’mon, you look like you’re wasting away, dad not feeding you right?”

“Pa..tu...”

With the child’s care secured, Din started his preparations for the hunt. Dressing-down was second nature to him, and going through the motions helped him clear his mind, tune him into his natural state of being. At the armory, he popped fresh cartridges into his blasters, refilled the slug-strap that crossed his chest, and picked out a handful of vibroblades.

He reached into the bottom of the locker, trying to dig out a whetstone when he heard the sweet ringing of ironsong where his wrist armor chimed against a beskar mask. He’d stashed the engagement present as far down in the armory as he could, somewhere that it would remain hidden, somewhere that it couldn’t stare back at him; the eyeless visage glaring daggers of judgement straight through his skull.

Oathbreaker.

Growling, he shoved the slab of steel out of the way, knocking it into something else in the bottom of the armory: Imp guns.

He stopped digging for a moment, cocking his helmet at the collection of grimey, rust-ridden armaments that were dirtying up the bottom of the cabinet. Din pulled one of the standard-issue blasters up into the slanted daylight coming in from the open door, turning it over in his hands. The guns had been collected on Nevarro from a decrepit squad of stormtroopers caught harassing townspeople for information on the missing mandos.

Stormtroopers that you had killed.

Imps killing Imps? That… doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill her own people? He shook his head. Why would they abduct children or blow up planets? Killing their own isn’t that far-fetched. He tossed the blaster back into the locker, covering the beskar faceplate with the rest of the Imp accessories until it was back out of sight.

Finished with arming himself, he took a deep breath and held it in his chest for as long as he could, letting it out slow and steady. He fished the singular bounty fob from his belt, the tracking light flashing with a rhythmic candor. Nearby, but not close. That means they’re probably in town.

This will be easy.

~

The hour was late, or as late as it could be in a place where ‘day’ and ‘night’ were only concepts represented by the arms of a clock, but it was perfect for what you needed to do. You were dressed and your pockets were stuffed, bag slung over your shoulder exactly as it had been the first time you’d ran away from home. Five fifteen, three minutes before the next pass of guards.

Your plan was flawless. The Wyvern’s labyrinthian hallways and service spaces would lead you to the hangar bay just as they had years ago, it was just a matter of doing so unseen. If you played your cards right you would miss each and every patrol until you could snag another interceptor and get the hell outta dodge. The Wyvern was scheduled to disembark Elgon at oh-seven-hundred, making this your last chance to escape before the ship was swallowed by the stars.

Five sixteen.

Patting your front pockets where your fangs were hidden, you paced the room, running through the pathway again and again. Straight down the hallway past the guard quarters, left at the galley. Unscrew the loose air vent at the end of the breezeway and take that to the main air shaft ‘til you reach the mid deck, then it’s a straight shot-

D̵̫͊o̷n̸’t̷ lea̸̒ve̷.

You stopped your pacing and blinked, glancing around the room for the source of the voice. When you saw no one, you sighed and rubbed your temples. Not this shit again. The incessant voice of your nightmares had stopped being scary and started being just downright annoying. You’d started to get good at ignoring the sound, though it just loved keeping you up at night.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

Five seventeen. Your shoulders crackled when you rolled them, trying to loosen the bruised tissue that the Mandalorian had put in their joints. Asshole. You were about to start counting seconds when you heard the troopers boots echoing faintly from down the hallway. Right on t-

D̷͊o̶n̵͗’̴̕t̷͛ ̵͔͘ḻ̷̛eav̵e!

“Fuck off, spooky.” You hissed to no one in particular. “I’m blowin’ this popsicle stand and ain’t no goddamn ghost gonna keep me here a minute longer.” The bootsteps got louder until they were right outside your door, then continued down the hallway.

Five eighteen on the dot. You waited until the footfalls disappeared entirely, then snuck your way out through the bulkhead door, careful not to make a sound. The long, low-lit corridors echoed with the whirring innards of the Wyvern, but nothing else. Not even your bootsteps.

Much quieter than the ghosts that haunted your dreams, you slinked down the hallway, past the closed door of the guard quarters, hugging the wall by the galley until the five twenty-one patrol passed, then flew to the air vent on the far side of the kitchen.

A knife would have worked better, but a fossil fang was good enough to undo the corner screws that kept the grate in place. You slipped down the air duct right before the five-twenty-three patrol rounded the far corner. Waiting until they passed so they wouldn’t hear you, you belly-crawled down the narrow shaft until you dropped into the main air supply.

Wind rushed around you, delivering precious oxygen to every corner of the ship, but even over the near-howling gales you could still hear Spooky giving you a ration of crap.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve! ̵͒S̷tay̴ ̸̔st̷͐ay ̴s̷t̵̂a̷y̵̾ s̷͂ta̵̍y

“You fucking suck!” You spat, hobbling through the just-too-short-to-stand-up ventilation. “Keep your damn pie hole shut unless you have something useful to-”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

You hit the brakes, possibly sacrificing precious time. “Who, Forescythe? He’s gotta get his beauty rest, that old fuck’ll be down at least til-”

N̵͒ò̶, n̴o̸t̶ ̴̓hi̵m, Din.

Ice coagulated in your veins before it was replaced with molten rage. “Oh. Oh ho HO.” You laughed, barely keeping your voice down. “Now… now you’ve done it, Spook. Now I know you’re not real, and I’m just completely batshit! Off my rocker!” You soldiered on, a manic grin on your face. “He is definetly not fucking coming. And if you’d been paying attention you’d know that too.”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming!

“Blow me.” You hustled through the ductwork until you were above the entryway to the hangar. The interceptor bay was on its own air supply in case a magcon failed and vacuumed all the air out, a separate system from the one you were in now. That way the rest of the ship would still have precious oxygen in the event of catastrophe, all you had to do now was get through the door.

The five-thirty-five trooper plodded sleepily along, tilting his egghead back to sip at a steaming mug of caf. What is the point of having a guard rotation if they’re not even awake. Once he’d rounded the corner you set to work on the air vent, quickly spinning the threaded ends of the screws around between your fingers until they clattered to the floor far below.

Carefully you moved the grate out of the way and dropped to the decking in front of the hangar door. Bingo! You dashed to the access panel, slapping your hand on the wide palm reader. Go go go go! The blue laser light slid back and forth, back and forth, lazily reading your fingerprints. Come on!!!

The panel went red. ENTRY DENIED.

“Cocksucker!” You slapped the screen, demanding it take another reading, but instead it flashed another line of text: SPW-7042 PRE-EXISTING MEDICAL CONDITION DETECTED, ENTRY BARRED DUE TO HAZARDOUS RHYDONIUM EXPOSURE.

“‘Scuse me?!” you poked at the screen like an geriatric Gungan, “The hell do you mean rhydonium? What fucking lunatic loads a starship up with rhydonium?! Whatever, fuck your rhydonium nonsense you big goddamn hunk of junk, let me through!”

A third line of text ticked across the screen: CONDITION: PREGNANT.

You BARKED you laughed so hard. “Wooooow, that starfuel must be fuckin’ with your circuits, shitscraps, I’ve been chipped since I was thirteen. Ain’t nobody home.” Loud footsteps echoed further down the hallway, times up. Cursing silently, you poked at the screen until the faulty reading cleared, then booked it in the opposite direction of the incoming trooper. Your plan to escape had been thwarted by the Wyvern’s garbage security protocols, and without another way through you were stuck until the ship made it out of hyperspace.

In a week.

~

Somebody had once equated Mos Eisley to a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and the description couldn’t possibly be more on the nose. A multitude of shady market-goers hustled and bustled down the desert streets, kicking up sand and dust as they went. The Tatooinian bazaar was one of the few places that the Mandalorian blended in, amid the multitude of colorful characters the armored hunter was practically invisible.

Din ambled through the streets, not even trying to be sneaky, though behind his beskar he was suspicious of everyone that passed him by. He wasn’t too concerned about his last bounty, almost nonchalantly making his way to the cantina where the bail jumper would certainly be at with their nose buried in either a deck of cards or a shot of spotchka. Or both.

It was easy to follow the street signs to the local dive bar, making him feel almost lazy with how little effort this would take. Feeling bored almost to the point of pessimism, he took a deep breath, the filtered air bringing with it the smell of street food.

He stopped, holding the air in his lungs before forcing it out quickly, taking another handful of deep sniffs. Though he wasn’t eating much these days, or sleeping, or anything else that humans needed to do in order to function properly, the aroma of whatever was being cooked distracted him until it had his full, undivided attention.

Din followed his nose off of the path he was taking to the cantina, his helmet tilting back slightly with each strong inhalation, taking him down the busy main street until he spotted the source of the familiar spice.

Over a large fire a spit was turning with what looked like oversized root vegetables, slathered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. Mando cocked his bucket at the rotisserie, ignoring the chef that was trying to hassle him into buying something, trying to figure out what was so familiar about it.

Then it hit him.

You.

Many moons ago, he’d watched you book it out of the safety of the hangar and dash towards the delicious street food while the Mandalorian began picking off the hunters that were still chasing you. You’d barely even looked up from your meal as the bounty hunter dragged a squirming Trandoshan down an alleyway and slit it’s scaly throat. It wasn’t until a whole drop through hyperspace later that Din had found out that you had bought him one of the grilled veggies as well. Before you even knew his name.

Mando, you never ate your breakfast.

You… got me breakfast?

Yes? I said I would.

Thank you… you’re very kind.

And don’t you forget it!

The memory flooded his synapses with forgotten joy before being replaced with scalding fury. He shook his head, storming off down the busy main road, dead set now on finding his quarry. How dare you let that fucking Imp continue to distract you. Get to work.

The doors to the cantina nearly broke off when the living locomotive plowed through them, barging his way through the sleazy patrons towards the bar. Lively music and inhalant smoke hung heavy in the air, shrouding the far corners of the saloon and the secrets they may have kept hidden.

Din was too annoyed with himself to properly check his surroundings, but whatever, it’s just Mos Eisley, he could whip every fucko in this joint with his hands tied behind his back if it struck his fancy. He strode up to the bartender with an air of disgruntled confidence so strong it rivaled the smoky atmosphere with its potency. The Mandalorian fished the final bounty puck out of his many pockets and slammed it down on the counter, its holoprojection wavering in the heady smog.

“Have you seen this man?” Din snapped at the bartender, pointing at the weasley-looking face of the bail jumper shining above the counter.

The barkeep, a shaggy-looking Toydarian with a torn wing, eyed the beskar clad warrior suspiciously. “Hmm. Can’ta’ say’a have.'' he huffed, clearly lying.

“Are you sure?” Din asked, sliding a couple of credits over the counter. “Maybe this will jog your memory.” The Toydarian snatched the coins off the counter with shovel-clawed fingers, stowing them away on his belt.

He leaned forward, the acrid smell of alcohol and rotting teeth quickly overpowering the stench of tobacco. “Maybe I see’s ‘im, maybes I don’t…” Another couple of credits clinked to the counter and immediately vanished from view. “Ya, I see’s ‘im.” He stroked his thickly bristled chin, seemingly deep in thought. “You know what? You’a seem’a like a good guy, why don’t’a I take’a you to ‘im, hmm? Come come come.”

The creature’s wings flapped unevenly as he rose off the stepstool he was using behind the bar, floating through the cantina towards a door obscured by an ornate drapery. Din started to follow, but stopped, feeling his hackles rise on the back of his neck. Should I actually follow this guy? Maybe it’s a trap. He pulled the fob out from his belt just enough that he could see the blinking light flashing quicker than before. I’ll be fine, let’s just get this over with.

The Toydarian opened the door behind the curtain, and immediately the reek of Spice wafted up from the hidden cellar. Drug den, great. That would make sense, what better way to spend your bail money than Huttese Spice, wasting away in the dark. Cautiously he made his way down the stone steps, the light of the cantina fading away as the door started to close behind him. Before it shut, he knew he heard the barkeep mutter something under his breath.

“Coo ya maya stupa…” You weak minded fool.

Din whirled at the insult, but the door had already slammed shut, echoing loudly through the hollow passageway. Cursing, Mando continued down the stairs into the spice den, the aroma of the coveted drug growing stronger with each step until it was making him nauseous. At the foot of the stairs was a low, poorly lit room, the stucco ceiling strung over with dark purple lanterns that steeped the den in near-darkness. Strewn about the floor, the inebriated lounged on pillows or rugs, or even the bare stone, plumes of narcotic smoke dancing over their shadowy faces, obscuring most from view.

Pulling the fob out again, he hovered the tracking device over each intoxicated body, waiting for the light to change green. His search took him further and further into the basement until he had to switch on his headlamp just to be able to see. At the farthest end of the room the last possible person was slumped against the wall, and the hunter crossed the remaining distance to the limp figure, grabbing them roughly by the shoulder and hauling them into the light.

The dead man’s withered head snapped from its twiggy neck and rolled away into the dark, making Din nearly throw the corpse to the ground, the body rattling in the manacles that chained it to the wall. Startled, he backed away quickly, too quickly, backing into something sharp. He tried to whirl around on his sudden assailant, but the stabbing pain of an addict’s needle immediately pierced through the thick layers of his duraweave and into his flesh.

Reacting on fear more than training, he lashed out wildly, firing his blaster with one hand and his flame thrower with the other. The wall of fire lit the cellar up brighter than daylight, illuminating the alien faces of the falsely-inebriated attackers that had been lying in wait for the barkeep to send another fool into their trap. Fearing for his life, for his son, Din battled his way through the many hands grabbing at him, but even in his fury he started to feel his pulse slowing down, reacting to the heavy dose of Spice he had been pricked with.

The room began to spin, his eyes began to lose sight, and it wasn’t until his skull cracked against the dirty floor that he realized his helmet had been removed in the fray, damning him forever in the eyes of his Creed. As the world began to fade away he felt himself get kicked over onto his face and a pair of cuffs locked around his wrists.

“Skocha-kloonkee, the Imps’a gonna pay’a lot’sa money for you, mister bucket man. Hehehe, should’a known better than’a to go into a spicehole alone.”

Before Din lost consciousness entirely, his spiked mind conjured up an image of you, lounging in the passenger seat with Grogu seated on your lap, watching the stars streak by overhead. He tried to reach you, his arms straining weakly against his fetters, trying to touch the memory of you one last time. You turned to him and smiled, holding the baby’s fat little paw up and waving it at him.

“Beans, say bye-bye to papa.”

~

The hour was still early, but you were already dressed in your stupid little monkey suit, ears clad in your empty beskar cuffs, pockets full of fabric and fangs; backpack abandoned entirely to avoid suspicion. Today you would be finding out where the Wyvern was destined for when she left port, but you didn’t really care. All that mattered was that the hangar doors would be open during the myriad of activities.

Today was your chance to escape.

*Beep!* Dropping from hyperspace in: one hour.

The navigational warning chimed throughout the expansive corridors of the Wyvern, echoing pragmatically in your spartan room, and you danced a little jig with excitement. Toodle-oo, fuckos! Consider this popsicle stand: blown!

In your abysmally small quarters the fresher area left much to be desired, but the Admiral had at least done you the decency of giving you a private room with it’s own washing space, as tiny as it was. The shower, sink, and potty all shared the same square footage, and the mirror on the wall was barely big enough to fit your face.

You were working on your appearance now, making yourself presentable before father dearest came around. The more you looked like you had accepted your position as crewmate, the less likely he was to notice you go missing when you slipped away. You combed your hair with your fingers, brushing it back as to more easily seat the dumb little hat on your head. Turning away from the mirror, you picked the hat up off the sink and started to put it on, but nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw someone else's eyes staring back at you.

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve.

Angrily you stomped your foot, startled by the flickering, faceless apparition that wasn’t physically there when you turned around. “Shit balls of motherfucking hell! I can’t get off‘a this ship fast enough! I can’t get away from you fast enough!” You smushed your hat on your head, glaring at the bluish, indeterminate figure.

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“Listen here, you ectoplasmic bitch.” You hissed with fury, stabbing your pointer finger at the warped image in the aluminum. “I don’t know who you are, or where you’re getting your ‘information’ from, but he ain’t coming!” The deep-cut wounds of heartbreak that had started to scar over split open again, spilling fresh sorrow down over your ribs. “I-I don’t need him anyway. I can handle this myself.”

He n̵ee̵d̶s y̵ó̴̧u̶.

“Bullshit!” You stormed away from the mirror while the Wyvern’s antique wiring faulted overhead, making the fluorescent lights flicker and allowing the shadows to reveal the space where the phantom was standing; casting a faint, ghastly aura on the corners of the room. Snatching a fang from your pocket you whirled on the void, brandishing the pointy end at where a throat might be. “Who’d’ya think you are, anyway, huh? Acting like you know what’s best for me? Telling me that Din’s gonna come back? Ain’t no knight-in-shining-beskar coming for me and I’m sick of you telling me otherwise!”

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with your games! Your lies! Show yourself, you spookyass motherfucker! Show me who you really are!”

Sweat began to bead on your brow, anger and heartbreak and venom coursing hotly through your veins until it was pulsating behind your eyes. You grabbed the second fang, ready to sink your teeth into the incessant phantom, their edges cutting into the marks they had already put on your palms once before. To any onlookers you would have appeared like a madwoman, brandishing glittering fossils at empty space, your lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to strike.

“I said show yourself!”

Out went the lights.

And in came the ghosts.

Though the bulbs overhead had blacked out completely, the room was radiating with the light of the sudden crowd, the masses of shimmering specters appearing to go on endlessly throughout a space bigger than your room, bigger even than the Wyvern herself, stretching well beyond the edges of infinity. Farther and farther and farther until your eyes couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

There. Were. Billions.

You blinked fast, your breath catching in your lungs until you were nearly hyperventilating, feeling claustrophobic amid the incorporeal congregation. The sweat on your brow turned to ice, your eyes darting between every face, every person, every body, seeing them clearly for the first time.

Some of them wore elaborate robes, some of them were dressed like peasants, and even more distressing were a collection of beskar plated warriors, their visors glowing with otherworldly light. There were species you were familiar with, and many many more that you weren’t. Some of them were even wearing white duraplast, their eggshells cracked to reveal the glowing eyes underneath.

Some of them you recognized.

“We are the victims of the Empire. The citizens of Alderaan, of Jedha, Scarif, Mandalore and countless others. The Republic we once served turned its back on us, and then its weapons, eradicating the very people that brought it into being.”

Many voices spoke at once, the cacophony of it resonating in your skull until you were clawing at your ears, nearly dropping your impromptu daggers to protect yourself from the skull-splitting noise.

“You must stop it from happening again, but you can not do so alone. Only with your soulmate at your side will you save the people from the vindication of the Empire.”

Hot tears stung at your eyes, flooding out from a place of fear and anger. “Soulmate? SOULMATE?! Bullshit! Bullshit bulllshit bullshit! Din is not my soulmate, if he was then he wouldn’t have left me here rot! Dumped me on the Empire’s front fucking door like yesterday’s garbage! Not that I can even blame him anymore, who could ever love an Imp? We are monsters!”

“You are not an Imp, Tra’laar. You are something far greater than they will ever be.”

The sound of your gifted name hurt in your chest more than the broiling hatred that bubbled underneath your broken heart, taking you down to your knees. In front of you, a pair of specters knelt down to your level, a man and a woman in intricately embroidered red robes. The woman’s eyes were warm and adoring, and the way her cheeks rolled high almost made you feel calm, maybe even loved. The man’s aquiline nose stood out beautifully above his radiant smile, giving you the impression that this was a man who would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loved.

They looked hauntingly familiar.

The woman reached for your hand, and you felt her. You felt her holding you, as if she were really there, her dainty fingers brushing over where the fang was biting into your skin, fading away the pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was still smiling, looking at you like someone seeing the stars for the very first time.

“You are Hope Incarnate.”

You bolted upright from your little cot, gasping for air until your throat was so dry it felt like fire. Sweat streaked over your brow and down the dip of your spine, soaking the sheets under you. With wild, bloodshot eyes you searched around your closet-sized room for any trace of the phantoms, but even in the dim night light you could tell you were alone. Angry with yourself, you slammed a fist into the steel wall, furious that you had been duped by hyperspace yet again.

The pain of striking the unforgiving hull stung more than you thought it should. Flipping on the lights, you gasped when you looked at your palms, the healed krayt bites red with fresh blood. It had been days since you sliced your palms on their edges, pounding on the bottom of the Razor Crests ramp, and the skin had long since closed up. But now it was as fresh as the day they had been cut, weeping crimson.

I have got to get off of this ship.

It took the remainder of the hour to compose yourself, getting out of your sweat-soaked pajamas and tending to your wounds; but at least Spooky and Friends let you be. Your mind replayed the omen on repeat until you were certain that you had completely lost your mind. No such thing as ghosts. You are tired, you are stressed, and you are completely absolutely one hundred percent bonkers. Fuck this entire noise.

Dressed in your stupid little outfit, for real this time, you sat at the edge of your bed until the the Wyvern’s navigational warning sounded again, giving you only a moment before the ship was dropped out of hyperspace. Eager to get the fuck out, you ran out of your room so quickly that you nearly smashed into the Admiral as he was coming around. “Ah, good morning, Sparrow. I see you’re eager to start the day. Come, I need you on the bridge.”

Obediently you followed along behind Forescythe without a word, letting the imposing captain carve a swath through the multitude of scurrying crewmates as you made your way to the flight deck. When the blast doors opened on the wide, triangular space, your eyes went right over the heads of the officers and out the window to the bright yellow world hanging beneath the ship.

“Is that… Is that Tatooine?”

“How very observant of you. Yes, it is indeed, though it won’t be for much longer.”

Whispers hissed at your eardrums, you must stop it from happening again. “What do you mean?”

The Admiral chuckled, the sound grating like nails on chalkboard. “It’s been hard keeping this secret from you, little bird, but you know how much I love surprises! Oh, look, here comes the rest of the fleet.” He nodded towards the transparisteel as another, smaller starcruiser came into view. Then another, and another, and another until there were at least a dozen titanium daggers hovering in a semi-circle that spanned out on either side of the Wyvern like wings.

“The Empire has been busy since you left,” he scolded, folding his arms behind his back like some kind of skeletal vulture. “The Death Star is obsolete, though the mere idea of a supermassive planet destroyer was folly from the beginning, taking decades to build and almost as long to fire. No more, now we can vaporize an entire world with just one single ship.” He gestured with a flourish, blind to the color draining from your face. “The Wyvern will be at the forefront of the Empire’s destructive capabilities, and lucky you, you will have the honor of a front row seat. What a pity it is that you cannot serenade Tatooine’s demise with one of your songs.”

Stinging bile crept up your throat, threatening to send you into a panic. “Th-there’s people down there. How can you justify killing so many innocents?”

Forecythe scoffed, “Innocents?! On that dirtball of a planet? Inconceivable. The Maker will thank us for wiping it off of the face-” His monologue was interrupted by a hailing beacon lighting up on the communication officer's holodeck. The officer in your old seat answered the incoming transmission, talking to whoever was on the other line through their headset.

“Sir, they’ve located the target.”

“Excellent! And on Tatooine, no less. How ironic. Have the target transported to the receiving hangar so we may make their acquaintance.”

You’d long since become numb to the Admiral’s prattling, your mind racing to find a way to stop Tatooine from being wiped off the map. The ugly little hunk of rock had done you no favors, but that wasn’t an excuse to add more names to the list of dead. You were startled when you were addressed again.

“Come along, little bird, I have a gift for you.” Forescythe said with a crooked smile. If he was trying to be genuine, the effect was entirely lost upon you, his gummy smile reminding you of the forgotten captain’s corpse you’d discovered on Endor. I don’t want anything from you, monster. You flashed him a pair of raised eyebrows in response, and he turned on his heel, waving for you to follow. Whatever the distraction was would at least buy you some time.

You dutifully walked alongside the Admiral through the ship towards the balcony that oversaw the receiving bay. The hangar was swarming with troopers and officers alike, eagerly anticipating the transport unit that was easing itself through the magcon field. The bloated tick of a ship billowed with steam as its landing gear deployed, and soon the short access ramp was angling to the ground. Out first stepped a pair of troopers, their guns drawn on the open door.

Then, out stepped a man.

He was cuffed with his arms behind his back, escorted by another pair of troopers manhandling him down the ramp. Blood poured freely from a wound on his scalp, matting his dark brown curls and pooling in the exposed recess of his eyes. His gait was unsteady, though he was still futilely trying to wrest himself free of the troopers as they marched him through the hangar. You nearly puked your heart out at the sight.

Din.

The Admiral laughed proudly, “They’ve caught that damned mando that everyone’s been on about, though I’m not entirely sure why Moff Gideon struggled so much to catch him, or even what he wanted from such a loathsome creature. There’s nothing of value on him except maybe his armor.” A vile glint sparked in the man’s eyes. “It will be so much fun to peel it off.”

You barely heard his words over the sound of your heartbeat thundering violently through your ears. No.. no no no no no. Another egghead disembarked from the transport, carrying Din’s helmet like an empty garbage can. You swallowed around the cotton growing in your mouth, fumbling for words. “They took his helmet off...”

“Indeed. Being uncrowned is the greatest dishonor you can inflict on one of those wretched things, it renders them worse than dead in the eyes of their cult. After we remove Tatooine from the sky we should-”

“Before.” You interrupted, your voice cold and level, far cry from the hurricane of turmoil you were choking down. “Before we attack Tatooine. I want... I want to tear his armor off, and then I want him to watch. As punishment for stealing my ship.”

The Admiral’s wicked grin sent shivers down your spine, and you knew your lie had taken root. “Very well! Oh Sparrow, it’s so good to have you back aboard. I’d always wondered if you’d taken after me.” Disgust welled up in your guts at the pride beaming off the vile man, but at least you were going to get close to Din.

And do… what, exactly?

The tall man leaned over the balcony railing, shouting down at the guards. “Take the prisoner to the bridge, and make him… comfortable. Wouldn’t want him to miss the show!” Behind you Forescythe turned on his heel and set off back towards the bridge, and you cast a wary glance down at the prisoner below. Din’s bloody head hung limpy, but when it swung your way his blackened eyes caught you, glaring daggers through your soul before one of the guards cold-clocked him between his shoulder blades.

If Din’s here then where’s Grogu? You watched the transport unit, scanning for signs of life, but it appeared to be empty. Ok, maybe they didn’t get him. Your already sickened heart did a violent backflip in your chest, or maybe they did and took him somewhere else, or worse, left him for dead. Din and the guards disappeared through a sliding bulkhead, and you sprang to life to hurry in the Admiral’s footsteps.

When you arrived at the bridge, the stormtroopers had already magnetized Din’s cuffed wrists to the wall, dangling him just far enough off the floor that he couldn’t support his weight properly with his legs. The blood clouding his eyes dripped down the length of his nose and over his lips, staining his teeth crimson. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, hinting at a broken rib or two; but worst of all were his eyes. Bared for all to see, violating his Creed with every Imperial gaze that fell on his uncovered face, and yet the pools of bloodied earth were locked to only one other pair.

Yours.

“Looks like he remembers you.” Forescythe said with a villainous laugh, striding slowly over to the manacled Mandalorian. “My my, would you look at him, he is quite impressive, or at least he was”. The Admiral hovered just out of Din’s kicking range, cocking his head like a raptor eyeing a weak little mouse. “See this marking?” he said, pointing a bony finger at the mudhorn on Din’s pauldron. “They only get these when they become clan leaders. This one’s probably got a whole nest somewhere, breeding like rats. Is that what Moff Gideon was after, hmm? The rest of your bucket headed zealots?”

Din growled, the timbre of it so low and threatening you felt a chill run down your spine. He shouldn’t be here. Though you were still furious with him for what he did to you, you knew this wasn’t a fate that he deserved. Doesn’t he though? Doesn’t he deserve exactly what he did to me? Bile burned in the back of your throat. No, nobody deserves this, not even him.

Forescythe chuckled darkly at the Mandalorian’s weak show of bravado. “I was there, you know, when they gave the order to eviscerate that pathetic excuse for a planet.” Yellowed teeth shined under cold, soulless eyes in a smile that could freeze blood. “I was one of the first commanders to get to… test out the kyber crystal technology that eventually led to the creation of the Death Star. They made me a captain for it, commissioned a Corellian ship for me and everything.” He leaned in close to Din, grinning wickedly at the warrior’s seething anger. “Doesn’t Mandalore look so pretty now, all turned to glass?”

“Demagolka!”

The admiral scoffed at the searing insult, nodding to one of the guards. An electric prod crackled to life in the trooper’s grip before it was being stabbed into Din’s unarmored side, making him cry out in pain.

“No!” You shrieked, immediately covering your incriminating piehole. Fuck.

-flicker flick-

Forescythe glanced up at the sputtering lights, then slowly, maliciously down to you. He scrutinized you a moment, then readdressed the guard, not taking his eyes away from your failing facade.

“Again.”

-czzt cRaCK cRAcK CRACK!!-

You ground your molars into paste trying to keep yourself from screaming, but tears pricking in the corners of your eyes gave away your distress, and when the Admiral signaled the guard a third time it became unbearable.

“Stop it!” You roared through snarling teeth, ignoring the faulty lighting and the feel of the ship quake underneath you.

Forescythe’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “I knew it.” he hissed, his lips curling upwards in a serpentis sneer. “I knew that voice of yours was special, but I never realized you needed a catalyst in order to unlock your potential. Does this... upset you?” He snapped his fingers at the guard, sending another bolt of electricity through Din’s body and bringing more angry tears to your eyes.

“Stop hurting him! I’ll.. I’ll do whatever you want just let him go!” You yanked the cuffs off of your ears and cast them on the floor, the sound of beskar on durasteel jingling like loose change. “I’ll… I’ll sing. Whatever you want, just stop hurting him!”

“Oh, no... we’re well past that now, little bird.” Forescythe loomed over you, an evil glint in his eye. “Now that I know I didn’t waste all those years training your voice, we’re going to take it for a little spin.”

Little miss well-behaved evaporated from your roster of characters, replaced with the big bad bitch you knew and loved. “I’m not doing a goddamn thing. I don’t know what you’re on about, you old shitbag, but you don’t control me. I’m not afraid of you!” you growled, snarling like a rabid nexu.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior officer, bilgerat.” Boney fingers snatched you by the collar of your uniform. “You think I pulled you from the scuppers because of your pretty little songs? No, Sparrow, I knew there was more to you than that. I knew it when I heard your voice through three whole decks of durasteel, and I knew it when you tried to rip your own ears off after we blew up Alderaan.” Forescythe hauled you to him, breathing gross old-man breath in your face. “You didn’t just watch it get erased from the maps, you felt it die. You felt it through the Force.”

You spat in his face, earning yourself a stinging backhand. “Ungrateful brat. I made you, I can unmake you.” The ship quaked again beneath your feet, and the lights in the helm went off, turning the wide, triangular space red under the emergency lights. “That’s it, you feel it again now, don’t you?” The dark crimson lights sank shadows under the Admiral’s eyes, highlighting the bones of his skull, confronting you with the grinning face of death.

From behind the collection of stormtroopers a weak, grating voice called out. “L-let… let her… go…” Din called weakly before he was electrocuted again.

“I said stop hurting him!” You barked, your words so steeped in anger they almost weren’t your own, like someone else was speaking through you.

Forescythe laughed, villainous and wicked. “There it is! Yes! Does that mando mean something to you, girl?”

“Go t̶o he̵ll!” Your voice no longer belonged to you, it was the voice of your nightmares, many tongues speaking at once, spewing toxically from your throat. Around you the air became thick with energy, making the hair on your arms stand on end.

“Now now, Sparrow, is that any way to talk to your father?”

“You are n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪ť̶ my FÀ̷̜TH̵E̴͘R!” The energy in the air became palpable, tangible, burning through your veins and setting your fingertips ablaze with crackling firepower. The Admiral reeled from the burn, dropping your collar and backing away from you with confused, frightened eyes. You clenched your fists so hard your nails dug into the skin of your palms, drawing blood from the marks of the krayt’s teeth. “And that is n̸͈͆ȏ̷̪t my n̶a̷m̸e̵.”

Fear was replaced with undeserving pride, spreading a pearly grin across Forescythe’s gaunt, haunting visage. “That’s it! That’s it, Sparrow! Look at yourself! Look at your hands!” he screamed, pointing at the blisters that were starting to form along your arms. “There is power within you! Let me help you discover it! Help you use it to raise the Empire to its former glory!” He stretched a claw-like hand to you, “Join me, Sparrow, and together we will rule the entire galaxy!”

“THAT IS N̴̻̑O̶T̵̒ ̶M̸̆Y̴ N̷À̷̜M̶E̵!” You screamed, the fury of a thousand voices knocking Forescythe and the guards down to the unsteady ground and sending the officers running for cover. The burning in your fingertips turned to raw power, sparking lightning from your hands. Electricity danced over the metal decking, snapping at the Admiral’s frantic heels like vicious, bloodthirsty dogs. You didn’t see the firepower you were generating, your eyes burning with hateful tears.

You crossed the room on vengeful steps to where the Wyvern’s captain was scrambling to find his footing, snaps of plasmatic energy crackling underfoot with each stride. You hefted the vile man up the wall by his neck until his feet were off the ground, choking and squirming in your grip.

“What’s wrong, captain?” You purred with as much benevolence as an abused circus tiger. “Are you trying to sing for me? I bet your voice sounds so prĕ̴tty̵͝. Go on then, sing me a song.” Terror shined in the whites of his eyes, blood oozing from their corners and out of his ears, dripping hotly over where your fists closed around his throat.

“You can not hide who you are, Sparrow, you’ll always be a worthless scupperbrat without my help. You need me.”

You thrashed Forescythe against one of the consoles, crushing his windpipe under your voltaic claws. “I'm not going to TELL YOU Ā̷̡̲̤̊͒G̶̓A̶̛̫I̶N̵̳̓̋!!.” You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, quick like a frightened rabbit caught in the claws of a mighty, savage beast.

And it felt good.

Energy crackled over his skin where your hands met his flesh, making him writhe in pain from the scorching burn. Under your cataclysmic deathgrip you felt the man laugh, ugly, strained belts of air that made the boiling in your blood rage like molten lava. “Pray tell then, bilgerat, who do you think you are?”

You bared your teeth and smiled, dangerous and threatening. You inhaled, bringing every ounce of air in the room into your tormented lungs, ready to breathe dragonfire.

“I

AM

TR̸̻̰̮̘͘A̷͎̜͔̭͋̽’̸̯͙͖͍̟̾̿̆͐̐͠͝LḀ̵̞̈́́̂̕͝ͅA̶̧̧̠̪͝A̶͎̝̠͖̿̀̇̅̈͜Ă̵͙͎̰̪̿͘A̸̼̥̰̙̱̭̗͆Ȧ̸͙͕̺̫̂̚R̴̨̻̉̊̒́R̷̡̛͕̮̋͊̉͝R̸̫̗̹̻̈̋̃!̴̼͖͕̯̟̖͐̐̽!̴͚͐́͛̂!̵̘̺̮̔͌͊̌̀̓͜ͅ!̶̟̱̹͙͎̀”̵͇̖͙̌̈͠͝

Hate and anger flowed through you in a pyroclast of scorn, erupting from your wicked maw in a firestorm of blinding energy. Your banshee screech overpowered Forescythe’s own terrified screams, but his terror was short lived as the force of your rage started to make the flesh of his face quiver, ripple, and tear until it was peeling off, revealing meat, then bone.

When only a ghastly skull was staring back at you did you silence your scream, dropping the Admiral’s faceless corpse to the floor. You wheeled back around in time for one of the rising stormtroopers to goad you with the electric prod, making you wail. The pained cry tore at the raw meat of your throat until your voice evaporated entirely, taking your siren strength with it. You stole a krayt fang from your pocket and drove it upwards into the soft spot at the edge of the trooper’s helmet, carving downward and splitting their jugular wide open.

Finding the other fang you lashed out with reckless fury, sinking your teeth into the meat of the second guard, blood splashing out over your hands. The third guard didn’t stand a chance as they were caught in your whirlwind of carnage, their blood spilling to the floor with that of their crewmates.

Surrounded by your kills, breath heaving in your chest, you turned your enraged eyes on the man still chained to the wall. Din’s bootheels scooted out from under him, struggling to get away from the blood splattered banshee that was glaring him down.

He looked so helpless, so… vulnerable. You remembered his hateful words, his malicious actions, the heartbreak that was still so fresh and stinging in your chest.

The coppery tang of blood hung heavy in the air, burning in your nose and fueling the rage that surged through your veins. He left you. He left you for dead. He took everything from you. He took your heart and your home…

And your son.

“Where is he?” You seethed, numb to the hot splashes of blood pouring over your hands, from both your killstreak and the charred gashes that streaked down the length of your forearms where the meat of your flesh had melded with the duraweave of your uniform.

“S-safe. He’s safe.” Din stammered, “What… what are you?” His bloodied brow furrowed, “What’s wrong with your eyes?!”

Confused, you glanced at his chestplate where two white-blue lights were shining back at you, and realized with horror that it was your own reflection. The world around you finally started to sink in: the dark red lights, the still-warm corpses, the splatter of viscera on the console that had once been the Admiral’s face.

The klaxon blaring overhead.

Whatever phantom force you wielded dissipated like mist, nearly taking you to your knees as it left. You fell more than leaned over Din to his cuffs, fumbling with the unlocking mechanism until he was freed. “Don’t think this m-means that… that I… woo, that I forgive you, ya big fuckin’ jerk.” You were starting to feel woozy, making you wonder if this was how Grogu felt whenever he used his funky baby powers. “The ships got… got some kinda weapon on it, ‘nother planet popper. I gotta fi-fi-find some way to… to stop it.”

“The hell do you mean ‘popper’?

You flailed your arms around in a grand gesture, sending droplets of scarlet flying “Kaboom!”

“Fuck! Grogu’s down there! Millions of people are down there!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Din tried to wipe the blood that had pooled around his eyes with the back of one armored hand, but the beskar did little to help clear it away. You grumbled and scooted closer on your knees, trading the fangs for the red silk cloth in your pocket and going right for his orbits. He recoiled from your touch, and instinctively you hissed at him to hold still. Reluctantly, he obeyed, watching you with distrust until he spotted what was in your hand.

“You kept that?”

Shrugging, you dabbed harshly around his eyes until they were as clear as you could get them. “Kept a lotta things.” The talking and the cleaning was making you exhausted, and you sank back on your haunches, nearly falling over into the sprawling pool of blood.

Din caught you before you fell, holding you gently, but even his careful touch burned like acid on your rendered flesh. In the corner of your eye you caught his brows fly high when he clocked your wounds, his breath catching when he saw the whitish tint of bone. “You need bacta...”

You ignored him, glancing around the room for a solution to your predicament when one presented itself to you. Under the smear of gore that had been belittling you just moments prior, the ruined console of the main power controls flashed a desperate warning:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. DANGER! UNSTABLE TEMPERATURES DETECTED!

Oh the irony. Sparks danced from the shattered screen, raining down over the bloodied skull of the murdered captain and catching in his empty sockets, glaring back at you. You forced a laugh. “That’s what you get for tryna mess with me, you sick fuck! Gonna blow your own ratsnest sky high!” Your laughter knocked you off your haunches and into Din’s arms, leaning on him heavily.

Looking up at him you smiled, though his face was a disaster, fear and blood etched into his handsome features. It befuddled you that you could still see his face. “Where’s your bucket?”

Din scoffed, “This entire ship saw me without it, not to mention the shitheads on Tatooine that sold me out. I can’t put it back on.”

“There won’t be anyone left alive to remember your face after the ship blows. How’s that for a loophole, eh?” He scrutinized you a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded. It took a great deal of effort for him to pull both himself and your boneless body up from the floor, and even more strength to stumble over to where his helmet had been stashed, sinking the metal over his head and pocketing the beskar cuffs that laid close by.

The impenetrable beskar slid into place not a moment too soon, his visor flickering to life right as the blast doors to the bridge slid wide, opening on a platoon of troopers.

The eggheads fired with reckless abandon into the delicate consoles of the bridge, aiming for the malnourished Mandalorian and his bloodrending banshee. Even in such a sad state, Din was still faster, whirling you behind his blaster-proof body and setting off the salvo of whistling birds from his vambrace; obliterating each and every Imp in sight.

Hugged to his chest, you blinked at the pile of corpses, then glared at the one who had slain them. “Why don’t you use that fucker more often?”

Din ignored you and blasted the door controls apart, locking the two of you in before dragging you both over to one of the escape pods that dotted the prow. Behind your fleeing duo the console was flashing even faster:

WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. EXPLOSION IMMINENT! DANGER!

Din set you carefully on your own two feet so he could pry the door to the escape hatch open. The little, single-seated pod was just barely big enough to fit the Mandalorian as he backed into it, his arms outstretched to take you.

You started to squeeze in with him when something out the window caught your eye, and your heart sank through your boots at the harsh reminder that Forescythe had been named Admiral because he now controlled a fleet. The dozen or so starships hovered ominously on either side of the Wyvern, their points aimed right towards Tatooine, poised to make the killing blow.

Din growled at you “Come on, you’ll fit. We gotta go before this damn thing blows!”

You turned up to him slowly with glassy eyes. “I… can’t. The other ships…”

“Fuck’em!”

“No!!” you screamed, dimming the lights. “If I don’t do something about them then Tatooine is still lost!” You pushed away from him and stumbled back through the bridge, your eyes going from console to console until you spotted the flashing light on the comms station. Hand-over-hand you dragged yourself over to your once-prestigious seat, flopping down in the familiar chair and slamming the frequency wide open.

“Come in Wyvern, this is Jabberwocky, what’s your emergency, over?”

“The weapon’s unstable! I repeat! The weapon is unstable! Abort mission! Abort mission! Scramble all ships! I repeat! Scramble all ships!!”

“Who the hell are you? You’re not the Admiral!”

“The Admiral is dead, the damn rhydonium has been leaking radiation into the water supply and the fuel lines! The damn thing’s gonna blow! Save yourselves!”

“Seriously?! I mean, roger! Aborting mission!” You watched with a big, shit-eating grin on your face as the surrounding ships winked out of existence, disappearing into hyperspace. The rhydonium’s warning screen was flashing faster than a bounty fob now, and it wouldn’t be long before it blew the old dragon sky high.

“Ok, let’s go, please!” Din pleaded, trying to urge you to the escape pod. You leaned back heavily in the officer’s chair, the edges of your sight going dark as exsanguination took its toll. Raising your arm, you watched with a silly look on your face while you flexed your fingers, the tendons squirming over your exposed bones beneath what was left of your char broiled flesh. Most disgustingly of all was the shiny piece of metal on your palm, the Admiral’s aurodium insignia lodged in the sundered krayt bite, fused to your flesh from the heat of your rage.

Haha, gross.

“Why… why are you even still here? Go on, escape!” You sneered at him, still angry.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” he said, crossing the room with his hand stuffed under his ribs, trying to hold himself together. “I’m not leaving you behind again.”

You strained a laugh, the noise grating in your shriveled throat. “Y’don’t need me, y’made that perfectly fuckin’ clear. Leave me to die with the rest of the scum. Besides.” You chuckled, raising your withered hand so the emergency lights danced over the gold plating your palm. “I’m the captain now, and the captain should go down with the ship.”

There was nothing left for you outside of the Wyvern anyway, maybe it was time for you to join Spooky and Friends for good. The Empire would surely hunt you down for your crimes, an even more vehement organization than the Guild, and that would only put Din and Grogu in even more danger than they had been when they still called you family. On a dragon you had risen to the stars, how fitting it would be that on a dragon would you leave them. Poetic, really.

Din cast a worried glance at the rhydonium thermometer. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Tilting your head back until your skull met the headrest, you relaxed and closed your eyes, feeling the hot drip drip drip of blood running down your arms and pooling at your feet. “Why bother? Why do you even care what happens to me?”

With enormous difficulty he pulled his helmet back off, leaning in close to you. You flinched when two armor plated hands came up under your face, gently lifting you by your chin until you were met with his eyes. Even in the crimson-soaked lights his enormous honeywells shined with more depth than any ocean, glittering with stars.

“Because I still lo-”

*kaBOOM!!!*

Somewhere in the bowels of the ship the overheated ore blew its top, shearing the ship in twain. Din was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion, nearly dropping his helmet to hold on tightly to the arm rests of your chair. He threw the bucket haphazardly back over his head and scooped you into his arms, roaring in your ears about how stubborn you were sometimes. Under his boots the dying dragon began to angle towards the planet below, starting her final journey to meet the ground.

Din hustled to the escape pod, backing into it and hugging you to his chest, pressing you against the hexagonal divot in his beskar that you missed so much. The little hatch slid closed, sliding over your backside and squishing you up against the Mandalorian. Your guts did a nasty flip-flop as you were launched into space, dropping you towards the planet below.

Before you lost consciousness, whether from the blood loss or the inertia, or just plain old exhaustion, you squinted out the tiny transparisteel window at the ship you’d left behind. The front half of the Wyvern’s Tongue was just starting to break the atmosphere, a colossal blade pointed straight at Tatooine's sprawling desert landscape, breaking apart as it lost the battle with the desert planet’s robust sky.

Breaking the sound barrier, dragonfire erupted around its bow as it tore through the dusty air, sending tendrils of flame fanning in its wake. It was falling fast, but the sheer size of it made it appear to be sinking in slow motion, almost like a dream.

Maybe it was a dream, you thought as you felt the plated arms of your podmate tighten around you, his gloved hands burying into your hair as you plummeted towards terra firma. There was a good chance you wouldn’t survive landing, it was an Imperial built shuttle after all, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

The roar of atmospheric reentry drowned out any words you may have said to each other, any last words of wisdom or heartfelt apologies would be forever lost to the winds of time, so you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him back; a final act of forgiveness before the darkness took you.

~

Far away from the sinking ship, the tiny capsule skittered over the sand dunes like one would skip a stone over a lake, bouncing over the sand until it lodged itself in the side of a hill. The hatch door launched off, sliding away from the two bodies it had protected. Raising his bucket, Din watched as the Wyvern met the ground, the enormous beast of the ship blocking out the suns as it crumpled into the dunes. Dragonfire erupted around the monstrosity, consuming it in a column of flame and ash that whipped up a sandstorm to rival any fallout.

Against his chest plate you laid limply, making it difficult for the Mandalorian to roll you underneath his body. He boxed you in with his arms and legs, putting himself between you and the oncoming sandstorm as it bore down on your pod. Gritting his teeth behind the visor, he curled over top of you while the deadly storm roared overhead, determined to keep you safe if it was the last thing he did.

The desert sands whipped over his back, flinging superheated shrapnel and massive chunks of durasteel flying as if they were toys. Din held your body to his, just waiting for the fallout to crush you both dead, or the sands to blow you away; but an eternity later the storm passed, leaving you both unharmed. Exhausted and in agony, the Mandalorian shook the sand from his back and hauled your near-lifeless body from the newly carved dune, brushing the dirt from your face. “Tra’laar? Are you ok? Can you hear me?”

No answer.

He tugged a glove off and stuffed his fingers up under your jaw, hunting for a pulse. Your heartbeat was weak, but steadfast, and he sighed heavily with relief. “This is all my fault. I never should have left you behind, cyare! Please… please wake up!” Kneeling over you, he ran his hand down your face, gently brushing away the grit stuck to your skin. When you still didn’t respond he dug his arms under you and hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the feel of his broken ribs grinding together. With you in his arms for what he knew could be the last time, he set off across the dunes towards the city on the horizon.

~

A warm desert breeze passed softly over you, the first herald of the Tatooinian dawn coming up over the mountains to burn away the mist that hung in the air. It felt nice on your skin, gentle and promising as the new day. It would be so nice to lie like this forever, eyes closed, stretched out and comfortable, basking in the double sunlight. Your eyelids were so heavy, but as much as you would like to laze about til the stars fell down, you knew you had slept long enough.

Slowly, achingly slowly you started to pry your lids open, the world around you blurry and faded. Turning your head was a chore, and was accomplished more through the aid of gravity than muscle. At your side you saw two blurry figures, their features distorted by the haze behind your eyes, but to you they looked like a man and a woman, both wearing intricate red robes like the people in your premonitions.

The familiar lady leaned over you, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your sticky brow. Her radiant smile shined with love and adoration, rivaling the warmth of the twin suns themselves. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if it was already in your ears.

It’s time to wake up now, Starsong. He’s waiting for you.

The stranger smiled and glanced over at the man who was sitting down in a little chair next to whatever you were laying on. You followed his eyes to where he was holding your hand, quizzically furrowing your brow at his forwardness and giving yourself a headache that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

When you opened them again, the man in the chair was replaced by a different character, this one dressed head to toe in beskar and bandoliers, his helmeted head tilted forward until it was resting on his chest plate, slowly rising and falling in time with his breath. Even in his sleep he was drawing languid circles on your palm with his thumb, his fingers twitching slightly to hold yours closer.

“...Din?”

The fingers on the back of your hand squeezed tight as he bolted upright, nearly jumping out of his seat and frightening the attending nurse droid. “Hey, you’re awake! Are you alright? How are you feeling?” The Mandalorian asked frantically, taking your bandaged hand in both of his and clutching it to his chest.

“What… what’dya mean how am I fe- oh.” You looked down at yourself, finding the long glowing tubes of bacta needles sticking from your other arm between long strips of gauze, making you immediately nauseous. A leather gloved hand came up and caught your face, pulling you back over to meet his infinitely black visor.

“It’s ok, cyar’ika, nothing’s missing, just keep your eyes on me. You were in bad shape when I got you here, but the infirmary had e-bacta infusions on hand. You’re healing up well! They were able to remove the metal piece from your hand and debride the duraweave from your burns, and most of the skin on your arms has already grown-”

“Ok ok ok enough!” you grumbled, starting to feel sick. You leaned back against the cot, relaxing into the feel of a gentle hand brushing over your cheek and down the side of your neck. Din’s caresses made you hum from his comfort, but your hums soon turned to growls. “Din, why am I still alive? I should have gone down with the ship.”

The hands withdrew immediately back to the lap of their owner. “I… I couldn’t let you.”

Your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, adding fresh agony to your growing migraine. “Fuck do you mean couldn’t let me, You don’t get to ‘let me’ do anything! How dare you act like you care!” You hissed with a sting in your voice. “Why do you even give a shit what happens to me?”

“Because!” He barked, fidgeting with his gloves, watching his own yellow tips go round while he twiddled his thumbs, searching for the right words to say. “Because I… because Grogu would never forgive me if I had let you die.”

Something about that last line made your heart ache, maybe it was the reminder of losing your son, or maybe it was the way that Din was clearly trying to hide deeper feelings. “I’m surprised he’s not in here, wouldn’t have to waste credits on bacta then.”

“He tried to heal you, but something about your wounds wouldn’t let him. I-I can’t explain it but… but he tried.” Din’s helmet snapped away from you, fixating on something of interest on the bare stucco wall. “He tried and tried until he passed out, then woke up and tried again. It was too much for him, I-I c-couldn’t keep letting him run himself dry.” Din sighed, letting his shoulders droop. “...He misses you.”

Sorrow and fury nearly broke the circuits of the heart monitor, summoning the nurse droid to come check your lines. You ignored the fussing robot to interrogate the Mandalorian further. “Why? Didn’t you tell him I’m a traitor? Didn’t you explain to him that I’m a lying, filthy Imp?” Your teeth flashed in a snarl. “Didn’t you tell him I’m not part of your clan anymore?”

Din’s laugh startled you, “The day that boy listens to me is the day the universe collapses in on itself. You’re the only one he ever listened to.” Fidgety hands toyed with the strap that crossed over the widest plate of beskar, fingers stopping at each slug to set them perfectly in line as if they weren’t already. “I can’t get him to eat, or sleep, it’s almost like I’m not even there. He… he cries nonstop, especially when he’s looking for you...”

You blinked at the itching in the corners of your eyes, your tear ducts having long since dried out. Though he was talking about Grogu, you knew by the guilt that steeped his words that the little green terror wasn’t the only one suffering from the Mandalorian’s decision to abandon you.

“He… he needs you…” Din trailed off, slowly tilting his visor over at you again, his hands stilling. “I…”

Din paused, letting the unspoken words hang heavily in the air, bringing with them a silence that would rival the infinite void of space. The nurse droid seemed to fade away, followed shortly by the beeping heart monitor, then the walls, then all of Mos Eisley, consumed by the roar of silence.

You could hear it though, the sound of those three little words that would change everything. Three tiny, insignificant words that even ghosts knew how to use. Powerful in their simplicity. You stared at where his eyes should be, imagining his furrowed brows, his tear-streaked cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching as they fought the floodgates that threatened to burst.

Just say it, Din, say what you need to say. Fix what you have broken.

“I...I’ll go get him.” Swallowing around your dry tongue, you nodded, dropping your gaze to the floor. So close. Din stood and brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes, “There’s someone else who wants to meet you as well, if it’s alright.”

“Who?” There wasn’t a single living being in all the galaxy that you wanted to see right now besides Grogu, plus you doubted there was anyone you knew who would want to see you anyway.

“Um… someone who’s been looking for him. His… people.”

You felt your heavy heart sink right out through your spine, dropping like a slab of raw meat onto the dusty hospital floor. “His… h-his people? Does… does that mean he’s going ho-”

“Just hang on, ok?” Din rose hastily and sped from the room, leaving a thick aura of unanswered questions in his wake. When he returned, he gestured to someone behind him, indicating that it was safe to enter your room. A young man with tousled blond hair and long black robes crossed the threshold to the medbay, but you couldn’t care less about who he was or what he looked like, because your eyes were locked to the little green baby he was carrying.

“Bubu!!!” Grogu cried, flailing in the man's arms until he was brought closer.

“BEANS!” you reached out with your good arm to take the squirming little monster, hugging him to your chest while he sobbed.

“Bububububububu…” He babbled, tears streaking down from his cosmic eyes while he patted your cheeks and dug claws into your skin. You curled up on your side and hugged the baby close to your chest, ignoring the dampening fabric beneath you as your own tears trickled down onto the threadbare sheets. You tried to comfort him by kissing his wrinkly head between choked sobs and carefully smoothing his ears, but the joy of having your baby back only made you cry even harder.

“Boo-boo? Wh-what… what’s he trying..?”

“Buir.” Din answered, his voice strong with reverence. “He is trying to say buir.” You burrowed your face against the shaky baby and reached out towards Din’s voice until you found his hand.

“Thank you.” You whispered between tears. “I thought I’d never see him again.” You pried your flooded eyes away from Grogu to glance up at the stranger standing politely in the corner, remembering what Din had said about Grogu’s people. “Who’s mister sunshine over there with the cute boots?”

The young man smiled and bowed slightly. “My name is Luke Skywalker, I came to investigate a disturbance in the Force that led me here. When I met Grogu I thought it may have been him reaching out to me, but now that I am standing in the same room as you, I realize that you are the source of the shockwave that I felt.”

You cradled Grogu against your chest, “The Force? Isn’t that just a saying the New Republic uses? Live long and prosper, may the force be with you, to infinity and beyond, blah blah blah...”

Luke laughed, “It is, but the Force is very real. It is the life energy that flows through all living things, even after they have passed on.” The young man crossed the room to your little trio, his robes and cape swishing dramatically with each step. “Tell me what happened to the ship that crashed out on the dunes, something tells me you were involved?”

You recounted your tale, from your hyperspace premonitions to your whispering nightmares, describing the ghosts you’ve seen and heard. You held up your arms for him to look at the damage the lightning had done, and pointed to your throat when you told him how you shouted the admiral apart. He listened intently and without interruption until you were telling him about the rhydonium bomb that blew the ship to smithereens. “And then I woke up here.”

“That’s fascinating, I’ve only read about Thunderfuries in the ancient texts, I never thought I'd meet one in real life, they’re exceptionally rare. Some scholars have even described them as mythological. Their charismatic voices have been described as ‘more powerful than a siren's song and a thousand times more deadly, able to lull insomniacs to sleep or shout the stars down from the sky.’”

You kissed Grogu’s head and propped yourself up on your elbow. “How come it's only manifesting now? I mean, I’ve had some weird shit happen in my life but never like that.”

“You’ve probably used it before without realizing it. Have you ever been so mad your voice changed? Or convinced someone with an unbelievable lie? Maybe even called someone back from the brink of death?” You nodded at each of his questions, feeling the color drain from your face. “Your powers may become more volatile when you’re threatened, or when someone important to you is in danger, a catalyst, if you will. May I have your permission to touch you?”

You shrugged, not really caring, but Din stiffened visibly at your side before backing away to let the man through. Luke placed his left hand on your forehead and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Yes, the Force is strong with you.” He moved down to your throat, touching your larynx softly. “Even stronger here, I’m willing to bet that the midi-chlorian count around this area is where it is highest, but I still feel something else.” He palpated your sternum though your ratty hospital gown, then your stomach, and finally the bottom of your belly, making you flinch. “Here. There is something here as well. It’s faint but-”

“No…”

“Your youngling…”

“NO.” You shouted, making the man recoil from the energy you gave off. “Not you too! First that damn robot and now this dude. I am not pregnant, I'm chipped! I’ve been chipped since I was a teenager. Get that damn nurse droid over here and I’ll prove it!” You barked at the droid organizing the bacta. “C’mere and scan me!”

The animatronic healer rolled over to you, a long scanner unfolding from it’s chassis. A hologenic light flickered over you, scanning up and down your body, making an extra pass over your abdomen that beeped when it had completed its investigation. “I-am-sorry-miss, but-your-chip-appears-to-be-missing.”

“MISSING?! The hell do you mean…” You trailed off, too many thoughts hitting you at once until one of them struck you like a bell. “Hoth. I probably left it on Hoth. Fan fucking tastic.” Oblivious to the needles in your skin you squished your eyeballs under your palms and slid your fingers into your hair, trying to yank it out.

When you opened your eyes back up you flinched from the collection of boys staring at you. Luke looked respectfully embarrassed, Grogu’s eyes were full of stars, but Din looked like he’d been frozen in time, not even breathing. He managed to croak out a single word: “Ch-chip?”

“Yeah, my standard-issue contraceptive implant’s probably sitting in a pile of goo in that fucky cave. You must be packin’ some pretty potent spunk to have already knocked me up.”

“Con... con-con-con… c-con..tra-”

“Din?”

“C-con…” Din short circuited and fell silent, his mental cogwheels grinding to a halt. A heavy silence filled the small infirmary for a time before he was moving with agonizing slowness. He brought one hand up and set it so gently on your tummy that it was almost non-existent. “...Mine?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost fell out of your skull. “Yeah bucket boy, ain’t nobody else got to tap this.” You shimmied in a terrible attempt at seduction, bobbing your bacta lines more than your boobies. He nodded solemnly, still trying to reboot, but the silence gave the poor sidelined Skywalker a chance to speak.

“Congratulations, I think. If it’s alright I would like to speak frankly.” You shrugged and nodded, not waiting for Din.exe to come back online. “Yours and Grogu’s Force powers are very special, but also very dangerous. While it shows that you both have extraordinary talent, without training that talent will go to waste, or worse, could fall into the wrong hands. With your permission I would like to take you both to the Jedi Temple where you can learn to master your abilities.”

You started to try to sit up, struggling against the pain that still permeated your body, but Din sprang to life, helping to ease you comfortably to a seated position with Grogu on your knee. Setting your hand on your collar bone you rubbed at your throat. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I dunno jack shit about this Force whatsit, but it was pretty cool to melt Forescythe's face like that. If I go with you, will you teach me how to do that without burning my arms off?”

“The lightning is a byproduct of the Dark Side of the force, it is only manifested through hatred and anger. The more you use it, the more it will destroy you.”

“Oh...”

“I will teach you how to use the Light Side, which is achieved through patience and dedication.” He laughed, “And also won’t burn your arms off.”

“What’d’ya think, Beans, you wanna go to school?” Grogu chirped sweetly in your arms, rubbing at his eyes with fat little paws, then yawned. “I’ll take that as a yes. Alright, sunshine, it’s a deal, ain’t nowhere else for me to go anyways.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Once you have made a full recovery we will be on our way. It was nice to meet you as well, Mandalorian. May the Force be with you always.” The nice young man bowed slightly before turning on his heel and heading out the door, his cape billowing behind him as he went.

Grogu curled into a ball on your lap and fell asleep faster than you’d ever seen, and carefully you brushed your hand over his ears. “Poor baby, so sleepy. You rest now, you’ve earned it.” A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by tiny snores. When you looked up from the sweet little baby you were surprised to see Din’s visor locked on you from where he sat, frozen solid. “Well, bucketboy? You gonna say something?”

Wordlessly he started digging into the pouches on his belt, fishing around until he pulled the remains of a microchip out into the dusty sunlight. Although it was nearly crushed beyond recognition, you knew by its broken legs and shattered insignia that it was all that was left of your contraceptive implant. Fresh, scalding rage bubbled in your chest at the sight. “Din… Why do you have that?”

“I found it that night on the Sunskate when you sent me to find you some soap. It was in the canister we used to capture the egg-pod-thing. I should have told you about right away but… but I was worried that maybe the pirates planted it there. Then I got it into my head that it had come from you and… and…”

“And what?!”

“And I’m sorry!” He cried in a strained whisper, careful not to wake the blessedly sleeping baby. “I don’t expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it, but… but I’m sorry.” His modulated voice cracked with something, maybe faulty wiring, maybe tears. “If… if I’d just asked you about it from the start none of this would have happened.” He gestured vaguely at all of you, sitting at the end of the cot in your shabby gown, your bare feet swinging freely. “I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“You’re only saying that because you stuck a bun in my oven.”

“No, what I did was wrong, it was cowardly.” his visor snapped up to meet your eyes, “I have dishonored you and myself. I broke every vow I made to you without giving you a chance to explain. I shot at you, I shot at my wife.” His voice faded away, weighed down by shame. “I am a monster.” His helmet tilted away from you towards the ground, studying his boots.

You thought for a moment, watching the warrior coming to terms with his own judgement. Licking your dry lips, you asked him coldly: “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Try to shoot me.”

He turned away from you shamefully, “Because you were… b-because I decided that you were a threat.”

“A threat to who? To you?”

“No.” he paused, his breath hitching in his lungs. “A threat to… to Grogu.”

“That’s what I thought.” You chided, cocking a brow at him when he turned to face you again. “You saw a threat to your son and you acted, though maybe you could have, oh I dunno, listened to me before you went off your rocker.” His hands twiddled with the edges of his legplates, his eyes avoiding your gaze. You readjusted the bundle on your lap, tucking his goofy potato sack robe under his butt. “If I thought you were a threat, I would’a shot you too.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No, it doesn't, though I probably shouldn’t have been keeping secrets from you.” Now it was your turn to look away, turning your gaze up to the stucco ceiling where maybe the Maker was watching you. “However, if you hadn’t broken my heart and dumped me on the Empire’s doorstep then I’m guessing Tatooine wouldn’t be here anymore, or whatever planet they decided to fuck over. So I guess…”

“You don’t need to justify it. What I did was wrong and hateful.” He scootched the little chair closer to your side until his knees bumped against the cot’s edge, barely inches away from your own. “If you never want to see me again, I- I would... understand. I wish you and Grogu the best with your training. And the youngling too if… if you decide to keep it.”

His visor sank back to the floor before he was pulling himself to his feet, making to leave you and take his guilty conscience with him, but you caught his hand before he got too far. He whirled around, gawking at you with that big metal bird impression that he does so well.

“What do you mean if? Why wouldn’t I keep it?”

You heard something rattle behind his modulator, accompanied by the strained quake in his shoulders. “I can’t force you to, or even ask you to. I know you said you w-weren’t ready for children, and to have to raise one alone would be-”

“What makes you think I would be alone?” You squeezed his captured hand, running your thumb over his knuckles. Din cautiously stepped closer, brushing his hand over Grogu’s wrinkly little head.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. You’ll have Grogu and Luke to look after you. The boy seems trustworthy enough, and once you master your powers-.”

“That’s not what I mean, Din.” You tugged on his hand, scrounging up the courage to find out the truth, even if you had to use a crowbar to get it. “What… what were you going to say to me, before the rhydonium blew?”

His armored shoulders rose with a sudden intake of breath, going stiff while the air stuck in his lungs. His response came out slowly. “Does... does it matter?”

“If it didn’t, would I be asking?”

Yellowed fingertips flashed in the fresh dawnlight filtering in through the infirmary window, fidgeting on the ends of armored wrists. Din squared his shoulders and stood straight and proud, his modulated voice giving away his timidness. “I...”

“Yes..?”

“I…” he took your hand in both of his, careful not to upset the bacta lines growing from your flesh or the precious bundle swaddled on your lap. “I… I still love you.”

You cocked your ear at him and waggled your brows. “What? I didn’t-”

“I still love you!” Din fell to his knees in front of you with a mighty racket of metal and munitions that shockingly didn’t wake Grogu. “I love you, cyare, I need you! I love the sound of your voice and the warmth of your smile. I love the way you laugh, the way you cry. I love that you terrify me like no one ever has. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, the way your fingers used to tangle in my hair when we slept together.” He carefully lifted your hand until your knuckles rested on the brow of his helmet, “I miss you, beautiful creature of the stars. I would give anything to have you back again.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You pondered a moment, letting him wallow in his guilt until you could hear his breath getting ragged from the suspense. “Alright, give me your ears.”

“You... want me to cut them off?”

“Pfft, no, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.” You said with a laugh. “I want you to listen.” You pulled your hand away from the cool metal of his forehead to pick at the bacta tubes on your other arm. “I was an Imp, but not because I wanted to be. When I was a child I was stowed away on the Wyvern before it left Corellia’s port, which happened often enough on that skughole of a planet that there was a name for us. We were called bilgerats.” You met his visor, watching the way his head cocked to the side. “The Empire adopted me, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Like… like a foundling?”

“Mmhmm. When the captain decided that I had potential, or apparently magic, he gave me a name and a real job, but it was never my choice. I chose to leave them behind. I chose to become a hunter. I chose…” You paused, flitting your eyes between the corners of his visor where you knew his eyes were, wishing that you could see them for yourself. “I chose to love you.”

A broken sob rattled his helmet as his composure started to break down, his hands coming up to caress gently at your cheek. You held your hand over the back of his, leaning into his palm. He took a series of deep, desperate breaths before he found his voice again. “C-could you e-ever love me again?”

“Only if you promise to never dump my ass over stupid misunderstandings again, think you could do that for me?” He couldn’t speak, he just nodded so fast his helmet almost flew off. Laughing, you stretched your arm out to him, careful not to lose the foundling on your lap. Din clambered up from the floor so fast his boots nearly went out from under him, plowing into your chest with a hug so fierce you felt your ribs creak. “I sure hope so, tinman, because I still love you too.”

Not even the dry desert air could stop your tears anymore, and you let them flow freely into the fabric of Din’s cowl, burying your face between his shoulder and the edge of his helmet while he hugged you like his life depended on it. The sharp metal cut your skin and made you frustrated that he even still had the damn bucket on. “Din can you take your helmet off? There’s nobody here but the droid. I want to see you.” He shook his head ‘no’, dragging his palms over your back, his leather gloves snagging on the ties that held your gown closed. “Can we go somewhere you can take it off? Maybe… maybe somewhere more comfortable?”

“You’re in no shape to move.”

“Please?”

He hated it when you begged, or maybe he fucking loved it, either way he was nodding and rising to his feet, stuffing your collection of trinkets into his many pouches. He cast a suspicious glance at the nursebot before helping you pull the bacta lines free. Immediately the attending droid started to protest, but was met with the business end of a blaster. Din cocked his helmet arrogantly, a mused laugh sneaking through his modulator.

“We’re checking out.”

~

You were giggling like a schoolgirl as you were carried up the ramp into the Crest by the Mandalorian, cradling Mr. Sleepy against your chest. The armored warrior set you down gently on the edge of the bed, jabbing at his vambrace to close the ramp. You sniffed the musty air, crinkling your nose. “Holy shit what is that smell?! No wonder the kid can’t sleep, It stinks in here! Open a window!” The singular transparisteel viewport didn’t ‘open’, but the ventilation did, and soon slightly-less-stinky desert breezes circulated through the cabin. “That’s better, now off with your damn head!”

“Alright alright.” Din chided, fishing for the edge of his helmet and pulling the offending beskar away, setting it down gently on a nearby crate. Though the blood had been washed from his hair days ago, a crudely placed cauterizer burn still shined red with swelling, but that was only the start of his worrying features. His hair was unkempt and ratty, his eyes sunken and hollow, even more than they had been when you’d seen him uncrowned aboard the Wyvern. His shaggy facial hair did a poor job of hiding his pale, nearly translucent skin.

But his smile, his adorable, lopsided smile was exactly as you remembered it, rolling the swells of his cheeks right up into his deep brown eyes. Dazzling canines caught the hazy cabin light while he beamed at you sheepishly, his eyes glancing at your face then bashfully away, aware that he must look terrible.

Carefully you set the foundling down on the bed by your side, brushing a wayward ear from his face before reaching out to the baby’s father. Gloveless hands found your cheeks, his touch more cautious than if he were handling porcelain, pulling you into a long awaited kiss.

Din kissed you like it was the very first time, chapped lips brushing yours softly, tentatively, like he was afraid that touching you would wake him from this dream. The dream of having you in his arms again. You slid your bandaged hands up his armored shoulders until you were at his scruffy jaw, pulling him closer.

At the feel of gauze on his skin he pulled away, worry etched into the creases around his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, maybe we should wait til-” Huffing, you dug your hands into his messy hair, dragging him back to you and kissing him so hard you felt your teeth knock together. He inhaled with surprise before melting into your hands, tilting his head to chase the taste of you deeper.

The bristles of his mustache tickled at your nose, but you were too lost in his love to notice, tangling your fingers in the curls that hung at the back of his neck. The hands at your cheeks glided down to your shoulders, then your sides, then around to your back, deftly picking apart the knots that held your ugly gown together. He pulled away from you again, “May I?”

You nodded and laughed, “Please, it’s itchy! Though I’m pretty sure half of Mos Eisley already saw my hooha flappin’ in the breeze today. Hey what happened to that cantina on the corner? They used to have the best spotchka…”

“No idea. Must have been a big fire though…” He laughed at his own poorly-veiled lie, kissing at your jawline while he tugged the last knot free. The ratty hospital gown fluttered to the floor unnoticed, the two of you lost in each other’s eyes. Though you were naked save for your bandages, he couldn’t take his off of your face, reverence stretched across his features. “Is… do you think what the nice man said is true? That you’re… um…”

His versatile hands that could snap necks like twigs or tear flesh asunder came up to settle gently on your belly, rubbing softly back and forth and sending scalding heat to your cheeks. You shied away from him, studying the cabin wall like the secrets of the universe were written there. Flustered, you found your voice, “I don’t know, maybe. Pretty early to tell, but he was right about everything else. Probably right about that, too.”

He caught your embarrassment and withdrew. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… If you don’t… I’ll support any decision you-”

You silenced him with a finger on his lips. “No, I want to. I’m just… I’m scared.” You hugged yourself regardless of the warm desert breeze, fingertips fiddling with the edges of the gauze that rode up to your elbows. Nestled against your thigh you saw Grogu twitch in his sleep, half sunk into the smelly Tatooinian bed roll, his sweet little smile matching your own. “You’re such a good dad, Din, like you were made to be one. But…” You brushed your hand over the foundling's supersized ears, “But I don’t think I'd make a good mom.”

“You already are.” Din whispered with more conviction than you’d ever heard, his hand finding your chin to tilt your eyes back to him. “You always have been. From the day you met Grogu you’ve been his mother. You’re strong, and fearless, and terrifying.” He smiled when you laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear for you. “But you’re also loving, and sweet, and compassionate. And did I mention you’re the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life?”

You giggled again, rolling forward until your brow met with his. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not. I think you’ll be amazing.” He kissed you again, stronger than before, breathing in deeply with the scent of you, of his mate. “I know you will.” You studied his face a moment and nodded, feeling your breath hitch threateningly in your throat. Din heard your hidden distress and backed away, tearing his remaining armor off and gently setting it next to his helmet until he was bare chested before you, a large bacta patch holding his broken bones together.

He dove towards you with passion, his chest pressed to yours, his kiss hungry but gentle. Though his flesh was warm and inviting against your own, your fingers quickly found where his ribs were showing through his sides, rippled like a washboard from not eating properly. You made a mental note to grab some of those roasted taters you liked so much later, but for now you let yourself get lost in the Mandalorian’s touch.

Though his hands were careful, you could tell that there was a hidden desperation behind his movements, his touches frantic to confirm that you were really here. His fingers slid up your back to tangle in your hair, holding you close while he experimentally licked his tongue into your mouth, eager to meet your own. A wide, calloused hand braced on your thigh, supporting his ever-growing weight over top of you. You hummed into his mouth and patted his chest, asking him to give you space.

He looked at you quizzically, but before he could start another long winded string of apologies you nodded down to where Grogu was sleeping peacefully. By the look on his little princely face it had been a long time since he’d slept so well, and though you knew he deserved his rest, he was very much in the way of what you and Din were after.

Maybe it was the bacta still flowing through your system, or maybe it was the fact that you’d survived yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps it was true what the ghosts in your visions had said, that the man before you really was your soulmate, destined to return to you again and again. Either way your body craved him, flooding your belly with heat at the sight of the robust warrior that would rather let himself waste away than live a day without you in it.

You needed him.

And he needed you.

Right now.

You scooched off the end of the bed, covered the baby with a thin blanket, and slid yourself into Din’s arms, kissing your way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He shivered under you, groaning with pleasure until you reached his ear, nipping at his earlobe where you whispered: “Do you remember the first time you made love to me?”

He growled, the low timbre of it making your skin prickle with goosebumps. “How could I forget?” His scruff brushed your cheek as he nuzzled you, dragging his teeth along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his palms squeezing into your hips. You took a slow step backwards, luring him to follow until your knees bumped against a crate, a subtle laugh escaping your lips when you plopped down on it. Din fumbled for the sleeping cubby controls until he found the button that closed the protective door, shielding the foundling from your erotic courtship dance.

Not an inch of space remained between the two of you when he pressed his body to you again, slotting his mouth to yours, hands gripping the stubborn crate to support his slow, demanding ruts against your heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, catching your heels in the pockets of his duraweave pants, trying to kick them off. His rich laugh rumbled against your chest, reverberating in the warmth flooding in your heart, and pussy. “Please, riddur’ika, let me take care of you.”

Lost in the kisses that he was planting down the length of your chest, he didn’t see your brows furrow at him. “Do… do you still get to call me that?”

He froze, his lips poised just above your pebbled nipple, so close to getting a taste of you. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That...that is your choice to make.” His pleading eyes looked up to you, so big and full of sadness you almost cried. “I would… I would like to again, but only if-”

“Yes.” you pleaded, running your fingers through his hair, skimming the long, jagged scar. “Yes, please, don’t ever stop calling me that.”

“Ner riddur.” He moaned, sucking the tip of your breast into his hot wet mouth, arms coiling around your waist. The hastily renewed vow tumbled from his lips in between each languid roll of his tongue, mumbled like a prayer to your altar of forgiveness. You sighed and arched your back into his affections, gasping when one of his nimble hands snaked around your front and sank into your folds.

Stars you’d missed this, you’d missed him. Missed the way his lips sought every inch of your chest, missed the way his fingers curled perfectly against the spongy spot hidden in your walls, drawing beautiful gasps from your parted lips. You’d even missed the way he ran his mouth, spilling muffled praises against your skin between greedy laps of his tongue.

He released your swollen bud with a pop of his lips, kissing down the softness of your tummy. You leaned back until the cool metal of the crate met your spine, offering yourself to him fully. Din’s whiskered kisses ticked at your sensitive middle, each one slower and more deliberate than the last until he was just below your belly button. The fingers buried inside you slowed, rubbing careful circles that couldn’t distract you from the loving way his lips met your skin, his kisses lingering.

“Mine.” he whispered with a secretive giggle, his unoccupied arm scooping under the small of your back, holding you steady. He kissed you once more, then pressed his entire face into your belly, rubbing his scruff over the tender flesh, almost like he was scenting you.

Still speared on his fingers, legs flung wide to accommodate him, you lifted your head to get a better look at his foolishness. “Tinman…?”

“I’m sorry, I just.” He planted his chin on your pubic bone, slipping his fingers out and smiling up at you with adoration in his eyes. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Really? After all the times you said you wanted to breed me, you’re flummoxed that you’ve actually gotten me pregnant?”

Din popped up like a whack-a-mole at the magic word, a hundred emotions spread across his face. “S-say that again.”

“Breed me?”

“No!”

“Flummoxed?” His brows sank with frustration over his lust-blown eyes, making you laugh. “Fine fine. Din.” You propped yourself up fully, your knees hugging his chest where he was kneeling between your legs. With his head in your palms you brushed your thumbs over his cheeks, reveling in the way he was waiting on bated breath for your words. “Din, I’m pregnant.”

The joy that radiated off of this man could have knocked the suns from the sky if they were any closer, his laughter so full of hope and happiness you couldn’t help laughing along. This was how it should have been presented, not flickering across a screen or coming from a polite stranger. Just this, the two of you alone together, both of you looking like complete garbage and not even caring.

No, in that moment you were the two most beautiful creatures the Universe had ever made, painted so brightly in excitement and love that it was blinding. Din kissed your palms, his face already starting to bubble over with emotion. “I’m… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Mhmm, now c’mere, give mama some sugar.” You hauled his beautifully wrecked face up to yours, kissing him deeply. His tongue was sloppy, needy, spearing into your mouth between groans of pleasure. You heard the fumble of buckles and zippers, then the flump of pants hitting the floor. His heavy cock bobbed against your belly, leaving kisses of precum above the womb it had filled. You rocked your hips, trying to notch him in your slick folds, but his fingers met your cunt again, scissoring you open.

“I said I wanted to take care of you, buir’ika.” He groaned into your mouth before disappearing down your body and burying his face between your legs. Din’s wicked tongue spun delicious circles around your engorged bean, slurping and sucking away as if it was the only thing he’d ever eat again. You were just starting to feel the knot tightening in your guts when his dutiful mouth slowed, licking experimentally into your cunt, humming curiously.

“Wh-what? What is it?” You panted, rocking your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself on his face.

“You taste different.” He caught your questioning groan and shook his head, the motion making you convulse with need. “Not bad different, just different. Sweeter.” There were a plethora of excuses you could have made, maybe it was that he’d just forgotten how you’d tasted, or maybe it was the fact that you’d been living on Imp food. It couldn’t possibly already be from your changing hormones.

Could it?

Nothing but cries of pleasure made their way past your lips when he dove back to his feast, pulsing his expert fingers against your core and spiraling you towards devastation. Locked to his face, you squirmed on his tongue until he brought you the stars, your pent-up orgasm soaking his scruff and dribbling down his chin. Greedily he lapped your arousal away, humming at the taste. You’d barely gotten a chance to catch your breath before he was rising to his feet, angling his throbbing cock up into you and stretching you full.

“Din!” You whined, your cries swallowed by his mouth on yours, letting you taste your own release. Shit he’s right, I do taste good! His kisses became messy, then lost all together, his head falling from yours to bury against the crook of your shoulder. His cock eased itself out, making you feel every ridge, every vein before it was slamming back into the cradle of your body, the sound of him fucking you resounding wetly throughout the hold.

“Riddur’ika” he moaned into your skin, sinking his sharp teeth into the meat of your neck to mark you as his once again; leaving a blooming patchwork of welts in his wake. With his teeth holding you in place he started giving you what you both so desperately needed, pounding deeply into your flooding cunt. Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and strain, his hips snapping with frantic, frenzied thrusts. It was all you could do to hold on.

Eyes closed, lips parted, head lolling back, you were consumed by his passion; digging your nails into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood. Under your fingertips his muscles coiled and bunched, rippling with each powerful thrust, his cock demanding to be swallowed whole.

Your weeping wellspring sucked up every inch of him, drawing him all the way inside to the gates of your precious womb. The head of his cock bumped haphazardly against your cervix, his length shifting the ring of muscle even deeper into your body, the delicious stretch making you obscenely wetter.

Releasing your captured throat, the Mandalorian leaned back from you, throwing your legs over his shoulders so that there was nothing to stop him from burying himself to the hilt. Each ragged thrust scraped his curls over your sensitive clit and sent his cock spearing into something devastating inside. You cried out from the force of it, your muscles squeezing around his girth as you were catapulted towards ecstacy’s edge.

“That’s it, mesh’la, soak my cock. Claim me as yours!” His oaken voice sent you spinning, obeying his command and drenching his swollen member in your divine nectar. He groaned at your fluttering muscles, your silken folds caressing him and drawing his own gushing orgasm from him. Under your calves you could feel him straining to keep from shouting the heavens down, his face contorted almost painfully while he painted your insides with rope after rope of hot, potent baby batter.

Broken panting echoed in the tiny space of the Razor Crest’s interior, carried by the wisps of desert air breezing in through the ventilation. Din fell heavily forward, his sweat-streaked chest just inches from your heaving breasts, barely giving you room to breathe. Slowly he sank further down, the skin of his abdomen sticking to your belly, then your chest, sealing you together. His hands found your face, brushing the hair from your sticky brow and planting a kiss there, paving the way for him to rest his forehead against yours in sacred unity.

Hot breath mingled in the space between your mouths, bringing with it the spice of lovers bodies, a mix of lust and sweat and adoration, flooding your synapses like an addiction. Though he would happily let himself melt into your body the threat of crushing you underneath him made his exhausted arms shake, especially now that you were harboring precious cargo.

He butted his head against yours once more before pulling himself upright, offering a hand to you. You took his gentle gesture, but the shift in gravity made your soaked cunt gush with your combined cum, oozing down the side of the crate and pooling on the floor. Din couldn’t help himself, his agile fingers sneaking down to your wrecked pussy, stretching it around his fingertips and watching his pearly conquest slip out of you.

Humming with adoration, Din took you by your elbows, careful not to upset your bandages, and hugged you close. The Mandalorian felt like a furnace pressed against you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine and giving you conflicting goosebumps. “You’re so beautiful, mesh’la.” He purred, nuzzling into your neck. “There can be no other as beautiful as you.”

“Yet.” You chided, turning to meet his confused eyes. Stealing one of his hands you pushed his palm to your belly, laughing when he put your puzzle together.

“Our baby…” He cooed, still mystified by the concept. “Our baby will be beautiful, and terrifying if their mother is anything to go by.”

“Rude.” you barked, tugging playfully on his ear. He chuckled, splaying his wide palms over your belly, rubbing tenderly and no doubt imagining you all full and round with his warriors, your breasts heavy with milk, your skin glowing. His spent cock twitched between you, making him flush red. You laughed at his thoughts clearly plastered across his face. “I wonder what they’ll be like, the child of an Imp and a Mand-”

“You are not an Imp.” He retorted with ruinous conviction. “That’s not who you are anymore. You proved that when you sank an entire star destroyer to protect the people of Tatooine.” His hands cupped your face, holding you where his big beautiful eyes could see you, really see you. “I’m sorry that I let your past blind me to how much I love you, but now I see you for who you really are.” He kissed your forehead again, a slow, meaningful kiss that conveyed all the words he couldn’t find. Stars glittered in his lashes when he met your eyes again. “You’re not an Imp, cyare, you are a Mandalorian.”

Some kind of noise busted its way out your throat, maybe a laugh, maybe a sob. Either way you were shaking your head. “Thank you, but I’m not a Mandalorian either according to the Jedi boy.”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi. Your son is a gremlin and your husband is an ass. I think you can be whatever you want. What was it that he called you?”

“A Thunderfury!”

“A Thunderfury!” He waved his hand dramatically, his eyes shining bright. You snickered at his antics, the melodic sound inviting him to spin you around in his arms, your thighs slicking with lovespunk as you danced. Instantly you wanted the fresher, but your heels knocked against his belt on the floor, making something in the pockets jingle. Bending down, you rifled through the many pouches until you found the one that had your things: two krayt teeth, one blood-stained rag, a pair of beskar cuffs, and surprisingly one other item.

An aurodium insignia.

“This was the Admirals.” You groaned, turning the half-melted token over in the light. Disgust overwhelmed you, and for a moment you considered opening the ramp door and chucking the emblem out into the hangar. Peli could probably find a buyer for it, but another thought snuck its way into your frontal lobe, spreading a grin over your face. “How much beskar do you think this will buy me?”

Din’s brows nearly shot off into space. “The insignia of a high ranking Imperial officer that you slaughtered? As much as you want, a full set even, but what about the Jedi? He’s supposed to take you-”

“But daaaaaad, I need a new outfit for the first day of school! Besides, I can't show up saying I’m a mando when I don’t have any beskar! Also I think the scary sewer queen would kill you if you didn’t tell her we’re expecting.”

“You’re absolutely right, but you do have some beskar.” Din padded over to the armory, throwing munitions and gear out of the way until your faceplate was brought into the light. “I think this belongs to you.”

You took the beloved slab of steel gingerly, turning it over in your hands. Din found the beskar cuffs and lovingly set them over each of your ears. When you set the armor on your face, the visor automatically flashed to life, presenting you with a fireball of a man standing before you, his chest and cheeks burning scarlet. Rolling the iron to your crown, you grabbed the krayt fangs from the pile and handed them to him. “And these belong to you.”

The opalescent Impkillers looked tiny in his wide hands, their whitish shimmer almost glowing in the cabin light. He nodded and thanked you, sniffling back his emotions, trying to remain steadfast as though you couldn’t see right through him. His fingers tightened over the sharp teeth, their edges creasing his callouses. “I’m going to miss you while you’re away.”

Just like that your beautiful, illustrious moment was cast in a dark, cold shadow. “Away? You’re going with me, right?”

“I don’t know if I can. I’m not a sorcerer like you or Grogu, and I’ll have to do something to earn credits for the baby. You go to school, grow our child. I’ll find work, there’s always bount-”

“Woah woah woah. Abso-fuckin-lutely not! You’re coming with us! I’m not going through this pregnancy or my forcefuckery without you.”

“The boy flew an X-wing here, there’s not exactly room-”

“Then we’ll get the coordinates for the school and just… meet him there? You said you’re never leaving me behind again, well I’m not leaving you behind either, ya big fuckin’ jerk.”

“I don’t think he’s going to just give you that information. What makes you think you can convince him?”

“First of all, something tells me he’s desperate, and secondly,” You planted your feet wide, ignoring your sticky, cumsoaked thighs and jabbing your fists to your hips, beskar crown glittering like royalty and making Din realize that one of these days he was going to have to tell you that as an Alor’s wife, you were technically were.

“I’m Tra’laar, the Thunderfury!” You roared, channeling your Force power to make the Crest shake on it’s fat little legs. Dins wide eyes were a stark contrast to your beaming smile, but the sound of scratching and chirping caught your ears before either of you could say something.

The sleeping cubby’s drophatch slid out of the way, revealing the disheveled little baby. Grogu glared at the two of you, rubbing his squinty eyes and squeaking on about how you’d interrupted his beauty sleep. Giggling, you took the baby in your arms and sat down on the bed, cradling him against your bare chest. “Aw I’m sorry, Booger, I got carried away.”

Snuggling the child, you were surprised when Din came over to you with a warm washcloth, offering to clean his mess from your thighs. You held Grogu close so his eyes were covered while Din tended to your needs, gently wiping the evidence of your reforged bond away.

When you were as clean as he could get you, you thanked him and scooted back up the bed, resting your weary head on the bunched-up bantha wool at the back of the cubby. You cooed at the fussing baby. “Do you need a lullaby, sweetie? I need to practice before bucket-baby comes. Would that be ok?” Grogu’s enormous eyes seemed to light up even in the dark recess of the alcove, his little head bobbing with a nod.

“He’s missed your songs, cyare.” Din hummed, crawling into the bed with you, laying so that he faced you and his son. You shot him a cynical glance, but he didn’t shy away. “I’ve missed your songs as well. I-if your voice hurts too much, it’s fine, we can-”

“I’ve missed singing to you as well, and to your son.”

“Our son. Just like it will be our baby. I’ll never make that mistake again, you have my word, and should I ever break it again I want you to put a bullet in my skull.” You were about to protest that last line, but his stern glare told you he wasn’t joking, so you nodded, agreeing to his terms.

“Anything in particular you want me to sing for you, husband?”

He smiled, running his hand over your bandages until his fingers tangled with your own, dancing lightly over the foundling’s forehead. “There was one a long time ago, it was the very first one you ever sang to Grogu, before he even had a name. Something about a navigator?”

“Of course.” You played with his fingers and cleared your throat, dropping your voice into a low whisper like you’d done a hundred times before.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

Across from you Din’s eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep so he could listen to you for as long as possible. You nestled closer to him until your foreheads bumped together, your faces curled towards the child that was already starting to drift back into his afternoon nap.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We’ve stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by.”

Neither of your boys made it to the last line, so overcome with stress-induced exhaustion that they were both sailing off to dreamland on the words of your song. Later you could find Mr. Sunshine and sort this whole Jedi nonsense out, but regardless of what the stranger wanted you weren’t going anywhere if Din couldn’t be by your side, the two of you having already suffered enough apart, missing your soulmates.

No, come what may, your clan of three, soon four, would not be splitting up again. Come hell or high water, you were in this together.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #bargaining with beskar #bwb

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

Let me tell you about my Saab III

Let me tell you about my Saab. I was turning over moon rocks, the wreck of Moonbase 4 still sending plumes of black smoke up into the atmosphere, the orbital flares glowing red to indicate to the shuttles that containment had been breached and that the cleansing fires of the Nuclear Protection Network ought to soon be rained down mercifully upon the surviving population for the good of us all. I was alone with just my thoughts and a fully charged plasma carbine when into my field of vision hopped a moon creature. Not just any moon creature. Half Time Slim, the trickiest moon rat this side of the Sea of Tranquility. Slim was a piece of work. A real fuck. A tricky fucking piece of shit, was Half Time Slim. You couldn't talk to Half Time Slim without leaving the conversation a hundred bucks lighter. You couldn't enter a deal with him without the point of a knife cuddling up to your windpipe. You couldn't think about the guy without tossing and turning in your bed. The very last thing I wanted sliding in front of my space helmet from stage right was Half Time Slim. But here he was.

"You've had your eyes on my Saab for a while, human," he croaked. This was an understatement. He'd seen me tenderly massaging chrome oil into its paintwork while it was parked outside the former Moonbase 4's former tavern and nearly killed me over it. He knew I'd do anything for it. Not to have it, just to care for it. I'd do anything it needed. I was putty in its angular silver chassis. But time wasn't on my side.

"In a hurry, Slim," I told him, dropping the moon rock I was holding and sliding its Helium-4 crystals into my saddlebag. "No time to talk chariots." He shook his head smugly. "You'll never make it to the perimeter on foot now, human," he said. I looked up. I couldn't see the shuttles on account of the smoke but with sudden grim clarity I realised he was probably right. I'd scavenged too long. There might be only half an hour until every unprotected molecule in the AtmoDome was incinerated. There might be less.

"So what's the play, Slim?" I asked. "This isn't a donation, is it?" He laughed a horrible gluggy little wet laugh, like a chunk of gristle being sucked down a drain. "You want my Saab," he said, "and I want a keycard for the anti-atmosphere turret to keep the shuttles off long enough for some associates of mine to prise open the Moonbase 4 bunker." I gasped. What he was talking about was mass murder. The anti-atmosphere turrets would bring down the unsuspecting NPN shuttles with no resistance. It would take six hours for the gunships in high orbit to arrive on the scene - all the time in the world for Slim's goons to break in and lay waste to the Earth Federation diplomats cowering in the bunker.

"Tell me why I shouldn't ventilate you now," I snapped, pointing my plasma carbine at him. He laughed again.

"Because I own the only Saab on the moon, and you'll never have it," he croaked. He knew my weakness.

"Take me to it," I said. He led me to a squat hangar in the shadow of the flight tower and there it was: silver, angular, perfect. The car of my dreams. Overhead a sexy mutant model on a holobillboard nodded encouragingly as I reached for my wallet. I tossed him the keycard and hopped behind the wheel. "The very best of luck to you, Slim," I said, roaring out of the hangar towards the interbase highway. As I hit the tarmac I floored it. I'd given him the wrong keycard, and he probably suspected it, and he was probably scanning it right now and as soon as he did he'd be after me. He probably EXPECTED me to give him the wrong keycard. He probably never intended to really part with his Saab. Up ahead the tunnel under the crater lip loomed, and I swerved off onto unsealed moondust. If I was him the tunnel's where I'd plant my goons to recover the Saab and kill the driver. I gunned it up the steep incline. At the top I wrenched the handbrake and looked back. A line of hoverbikes raced up the interbase, but it was impossible to say whether they were Slim's. Then I caught the yellow spark of a missile erupting from the barrel of a pocket launcher. Guess it wasn't impossible.

Overhead, three huge pod-shaped shuttles were slowly swiveling into formation, spacing evenly to extract maximum efficiency from their nuclear payload. Ten minutes, optimistically. And now I had a missile to I'd need to outmanoeuvre. I revved the engine and screeched out over the lip of the crater, only to find a cliff instead of a slope.

Slowly, gracefully, my Saab drifted down 40, 50, 60 metres onto the floor of the crater. I braced myself for impact. When it came it wasn't pretty. My head smashed onto the fine black leather of the steering wheel. Blood cascaded into my eyes and onto the gorgeous black plastic cupholder. I saw stars. I saw flames. I scrambled to undo the seatbelt, then realised the flames weren't from my Saab. Ahead, the missile had exploded harmlessly on moon rocks. With an aching head I turned the ignition and drove. I joined back up with the interbase. Behind me, the hoverbikes swung into view. I swung my carbine out the window and squeezed off a few rounds. One of the goons exploded into green goop. I was reminded of a tender memory from my childhood. My mother calmly helping my brother and I tuck our legs up into a small oxygen vest compartment and closing the doors with a sweet smile. The moment before they clicked together I saw a sliver of her profile turn a beautiful bottle green as a bandit's plasma round struck her. Then she was gone. Up ahead the moondust churned on either side of the highway as a gyrocopter landed. Well, shit. It was Half Time Slim.

"Out of the car, pal," he ordered through a megaphone. Not an option. The edge of the AtmoDome was still a five minute drive away. An unbearable slog on foot through the moondust.

"Forget it, Slim," I yelled back. "I know you'll never goop the car." I revved the engine.

"I'm giving you a chance," Slim called. "There's a kill switch. I could have ejected you long ago. But you have something I need." It was a good story, but I wasn't in the market for good. I needed perfect. "And what is that, Slim?" I shouted back. He paused for a moment, and I realised. I was all he had. Like me he'd left his plan too late. He'd counted on sitting out the coming atomic firestorm in the bunker, and he thought he had time enough for me to betray our deal. But he'd miscalculated. Now he needed a ride out of here.

"Moon rats don't get evac clearance, human," he shouted over the noise of his copter. "Let me in and we'll call it even." I didn't even think about it. Help a fellow creature escape vaporization? That was one thing. But help one who'd shank me and toss my body out onto the highway the second we were clear of the AtmoDome perimeter, all for payback and a little memento of Swedish auto engineering? No deal. I floored it. He hit the kill switch and my body was sucked upwards to the sunroof but I'd already lashed one hand to the wheel with a jumper lead. With my free hand I reached down and leaned on the gas. The car jumped forward. A minute later the vacuum closed up and I slumped back into the seat. A kilometre to the edge. Slim's copter was right overhead, but the ceiling was getting lower with every passing second. Then he was zooming ahead, landing the thing right in front of the perimeter gate, climbing out hands raised imploringly, except there was a grenade in one of them but I was already in moondust, swerving around him, through the automatic gates with his face a mask of insane rage as the rolling cloud of dust smashed him into the AtmoDome force field. A second later I was wincing and cowering as the blast from the simultaneous nuke drop, brighter than the sun, smashed and roiled against the inside of the dome. Not a lick of heat escaped. That's how I got my Saab.

#story time #Let me tell you about my Saab

[theroundbartable]

Dragon Island

“Absolutely not.” Sometimes, Arthur Pendragon was not only a prat, he was a downright Clotpole. Not that Merlin ever failed to mention it.

“Arthur, I am going with you!”

“And what exactly can YOU do against dragons, Merlin? This is THE dragon Island! My father has been searching for this place for over a decade! There are rumors that there will be dragon lord's there as well! Do you even know how many knights have died since the purge started? Since my father fought these monsters and erased them from this part of the world? If we find this Island, we can end this war! But this is too dangerous for a servant. I can not waste my time consoling you, when the sea is making you sick, Merlin. I have battle strategies to discuss.”

Merlin huffed and crossed his arms. They were standing at the shore, far far away from Camelot. Uther Pendragon had a ship army remaining here in position. He regularly send out spies to find the home island of the dragon lords. Not that there were any actual dragon lords with dragon lord powers left. They were wiped out in the war. But their families remained. Those who valued their traditions and taught each other magic. But weren't the first son's and therefore had none of the abilities their kind was so proud of. But magic was another reason to have them wiped out.

About a week ago, one of Uther's spies had found a trace that lead them to an underwater cave. Barely shallow enough to have a narrow boat sail through. They had found runes engraved in the walls. And the spy was pretty ecstatic that this MUST be the entrance to the secret island.

Well... Since Arthur was the only knight known to have actually killed a dragon (which he didn't), his father found it absolutely logical to send his only son and heir on another suicide mission. Into unknown terrain, with unknown enemies and not one dragon, but a whole army of those impossible-to-kill-except-you're-a-dragon-lord creatures.

It was truly perfect. Arthur could finally proof his worth as crown prince.... again. And almost die.... again. Heroically of course. Uther was a genius.

And apparently Arthur was just as smart, because the idiot prince had decided to go on that mission WITHOUT Merlin. The only ACTUAL dragon lord left in the entire known universe. Not that they knew about that.

“Just so you know – I do NOT get sea sick. And I already know how to use the sails and stuff. Will and I often went out with the fisher of our town. Other than you who grew up in a fancy Castle with perfect temperature in every single room and hundreds of servants working for you. You may train, but you have NO idea how to deal with the weather, with the tides. You barely know how to dress yourself!”, as Merlin exclaimed the last part, he could basically feel the steam of anger from Arthur's nostrils flaring at him, while a few knights were snickering behind them.

The knights were, by the way, currently occupied readying the boat.

“Fishing on a boat and Sailing on the open sea is totally different.”, Arthur argued, causing Merlin to roll his eyes and facepalm himself. “Fisher's... sail, Sire.”, he muttered, causing Arthur to frown as if that confused him for some reason.

“I don't care. You cannot stop me. I'll come with you.”, Merlin's expression was final.

“I'm the crown prince of Camelot, Merlin. You have to do what I say.”

“I never listen to what you say. Why would I start now?”

In the end, Gwaine and Leon were ordered to drag Merlin away from the boat. All while Arthur ignored the very obvious argument (provided by Merlin and confirmed by at least two other knights), that he NEEDED Merlin. If as a servant or a navigator or maybe a warning radar for obvious danger that Arthur was certain to ignore. He NEEDED him. So, Merlin would definitely find a way.

“Hey, buddy. I gottcha.”, Gwaine winked at him, while Merlin was still trying to make up a perfect strategy, how he could sneak on the ship. Merlin blinked up at him, while Leon just rolled his eyes and pretended not to listen. “What?”, Merlin asked, confused.

“I got a few barrels of water and wine and stuff for the ride. Leon and I have already prepared an empty one for you. You get in and we'll sneak you on.” Merlin had never wanted to hug Gwaine more. “Thank you!!!!”, he beamed at them. “Wait, Leon? You're IN on the plan? You're not going to rat me out to Arthur, are you?”

Gwaine cackled. “It was HIS idea.”

“Huh?”, Merlin looked at the blond knight in confusion.

Leon was still looking away, as if embarrassed by his treason. “If you're not there, Arthur will focus all his attention on US. And I did not sign up for this.”, he was frowning. As if he was already dreading the following days.

“But... how long have I to stay in the barrel? I mean... If I step out too soon, Arthur will insist to turn around.”

“I can survive five days of Arthur being a whirlwind of emotions. You have FIVE days. Gwaine will sneak you out at night. Lancelot has agreed to help. I can distract Arthur, until you're in. Other than that, I was never involved.”, Leon was grimacing the entire time. He seemed exhausted, as if he had already had five different yet similar arguments today and wanted to throttle someone.

“Wow, thank you Leon.”, Merlin looked at him amazed. But Leon's frown only darkened. “Don't thank him.”, Gwaine whispered. “He originally asked, if we could dress you up like him, so he can stay in Camelot and have a vacation until we're back. You may not get sea sick. But HE does.”

“Why.... And he's still allowed on the ship? Wait, why don't we try that? Doesn't sound like a too bad plan. If Leon's sea sick anyway, people would leave him alone to suffer in silence, right?”

Leon sighed with exasperation. “As if that ever stopped Arthur from discussing battle strategies.”, he made a dramatic pause. “If I don't make it -”, Leon made a sound that reminded Merlin of a creaking door. “It was nice knowing you.”

“Don't be so dramatic, Leon.”, Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Honestly, what's with you? Since Uther announced this mission, you've been nothing but a drama queen.”, he scolded. Leon pouted a little. “I'm being realistic if anythikng. If the sea doesn't drown us, we don't freeze to death or a sudden storm destroys our boat, and we don't get horribly lost in that strange cave and starve to death, then we arrive on an island full of dragons who probably hate Arthur for killing the great Dragon. And being the son of a man who ordered the murder of all dragon kind. Not to mention him indirectly causing the death of the last dragon Lord as well. So we either die, or we die. I'm just planning ahead.”

“So dramatic.”, Gwaine mumbled. But Merlin frowned. Leon got a valid point.

“Be positive. What if we meet a bunch of mermaids?”, Gwaine winked at Leon. Leon frowned even further. “Which kind?” “The hot kind, duh.” “Which is?” Gwaine blinked. “Not this again. You're no fun.”

“No, no, Gwaine. Go ahead. Tell me. Which is the hot kind of mermaid? The Siren one's that lure you in with magic voices and then drown you, so they can rape your dead bodies and make more Sirenbaby's; The manatee's that only start to look appealing when you're so starved and Vitamin C deprived that you start hallucinating right before you pass out and die or the classic one's with boobs and a fish tails that make NO SENSE in their anatomy. Which I will be hearing you complain about for days. When all I want is peace and quiet.”, Leon closed his eyes – yet again- dramatically.

Gwaine was about to open his mouth to counter, when Leon added: “Also, we're knights of Camelot and mermaids are magical creatures. It's your job to kill them, regardless of how hot they seem to you.”

With that, Leon had set Gwaine's brain check mate and left him and Merlin standing there with their mouths comically wide open. Half in shock, half with laughter and amazement. “Holy shit, I think he's finally lost it.”, Gwaine laughed as he watched Leon slump down at the next tree and saying goodbye to the dry unshakable ground.

“Maybe we should ask George to come as well. Or convince Arthur to get him off the ship.”, Merlin muttered. After all, Leon was always a lot calmer when George was around. Maybe because George didn't bully him, did what he was told and was also a good person to be quiet with. George also seemed to prefer Leon as the one ordering him around, because Leon wasn't chatting endlessly. He was precise in his orders and didn't talk around the bush. They got along well. Because they didn't have to get along at all. They had the ultimate work-efficient dynamic. It was horrifying.

“Are you kidding? This will be hilarious.”, Gwaine grinned.

“Don't you think Leon deserves a break?”, Merlin asked, still startled by Leon's obvious irritation. “From work? Yes. From me? NEVER!”, Gwaine winked again. And Merlin already pitied the poor knight.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leon was indeed... sick. The moment the ships left the haven, Leon was slumped over the reeling and holding on for his life. He was suspiciously green in the face and tried to avoid Arthur. Who was continuously ignoring Leon's condition and decided to ask him for how many days they had planned to be on sea. How many weapons they had and discussed whether or not they were actually suitable to kill dragons. And if there was enough food and water and so on and so forth.

He did not realize that the barrel Gwaine had decided to sit on had a few holes in it, that should not be there, were wine in it. Gwaine was chatting with Lancelot and occasionally Merlin, albeit in third person like... “I wonder what Merlin would think of this.”, and then get a hushed answer from underneath him.

The sea was relatively calm for the first three days. And Elyan, who was assigned to steer the ship, had no trouble finding the right path. Arthur seemed content too and left Leon alone on day two.

Leon was hardly eating. And if he ever did, he puked it out ten minutes later. By the third day, he was leaning against the reeling once again. Eyes closed with an obvious headache and ready to drink poison to free him from his misery.

Merlin was still sitting inside the barrel. Except for at night, when Lancelot would let him out, while Gwaine annoyed the prince. It worked surprisingly well. Yet, Merlin was a bit worried. Not necessarily to be found out. That was kind of part of the plan. No... By the way Arthur behaved.

The first two days, it was hardly noticeable. Arthur had focused on talking to Leon. Or Elyan or Gwaine and Lancelot. But after they had run out of conversational topic, Arthur had started to isolate himself. Merlin could see him through the holes of his hiding place. He was often standing at the reeling and staring out towards the horizon. He was eerily quiet. And appeared to be melancholic. If not slightly sad.

“Hey, Merlin.”, Lancelot whispered at an afternoon on day four. Merlin was still shocked that his disguise had apparently worked well so far. Then again, Arthur was terrifyingly oblivious to most of his secrets. “Can't you like... use magic to heal Leon's sickness?”

Of course. If anyone had it bad these days it was Sir Leon. Gwaine was currently occupied with drinking. Otherwise Lancelot would not have dared mention Merlin's illegal existence to him. “Do you think that's wise? What if they all notice? After all, Leon has been sick for three days now. If he was suddenly fine, wouldn't they ask?”

“And you think they'd explain it with magic? Merlin. Leon could have just gotten used to the sea. I'm sure no one will notice.”

“Are you sure?”, Merlin asked back and tried to focus on Leon's pitiful form. “I'm positive. Even if they think it's magic, they don't even know you're here. And what sorcerer would just appear on this ship, just to heal Leon?” “Good point.”

Merlin took a shuddering breath, as he strained himself to look through the barrel once again. Leon had his eyes closed and he was breathing harshly. Arthur was standing right next to him. Deep in thought. As if on cue, he suddenly straightened up, pushed himself from the reeling and went under deck.

Merlin nodded to himself. And then whispered a silent spell in Leon's reaction. There was a flash of gold for barely a second. But in that moment, Leon opened his eyes and looked at Merlin. Merlin froze. They locked eyes. Merlin caught his breath. “Lancelot. I think he saw.”, Merlin muttered, panic was slowly sinking in, along with the realization of the situation. Lancelot frowned. “What?”, he asked. “Lance, I think he knows.” “Merlin, stop mumbling. I'm certain you're imagining things.”

Leon's eyes flickered shut for a second and he took a deep breath. Then he held his head in slight irritation, before looking in Merlin's direction again. He ….. sighed in relieve. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Still holding his head, as he took a deep breath. He nodded at Merlin. Like he was... thanking him? Was Merlin really imagining this? But Leon smiled, stretched himself and rubbed at the dark circles under his sleepless eyes. As if to say: “finally.”

Soon enough, he was gone as well. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head to himself, while Lancelot had a firm hand on his barrel.

---------------------------------------

It was night, when Merlin was finally let out of his barrel. The knights were asleep. All but the one on watch. Which was Gwaine, fortunately. Meaning, Merlin could safely leave the barrel, chat with him and eat in peace. He had slept through the day mostly. He trusted that Lancelot and Gwaine would stop anyone from opening this particular barrel during the day.

And if anyone got to close, he could always hear one of them say, this was the “victory wine.” Like this was the finest wine of them all and reserved for the day they managed to defeat the dragon lords. It was a good excuse. Albeit difficult to maintain, because nobody believed Gwaine could hold himself back from wine for that long.

Either way, for now it was fine. Merlin's legs were dangling off the watch tower, while Gwaine leaned against the rod behind him. The sails were up, because the wind was in their favor.

It was then, that suddenly, someone crawled up from under deck.

Even in the dim moonlight, Merlin could make out the shine of Arthur's armor. Everyone had already told him, wearing armor on a boat was absolutely insane. If he ever fell off the boat, he'd drown immediately. Because the weight would just drag him down. But the clotpole was too stubborn to listen. And right now it was as useful as a warning signal to them. 'Why is he up?', was all Merlin could think, as he nearly shrieked through Gwaine's mindless chatter and hid underneath a blanket that lay around behind them. Gwaine, surprised at his reaction, finally noticed the prince as well and waved at him, while Arthur gave him a startled expression. Merlin could have kicked Gwaine for drawing Arthur's attention to them.

“Gwaine? What are you doing?”

Gwaine rose both his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, I'm on watch. You know. Talking to myself. Looking at the stars. Nice weather out, don't you think?”, he laughed suspiciously.

Arthur frowned and sighed, before climbing up the ladder with a sigh. He shook his head, as if used to these antics and hardly caring for them at all. Merlin hurried to shuffle behind Gwaine, so that Arthur wouldn't notice him. And Gwaine did his best to position himself in a way that Merlin was mostly covered by his frame. In a practiced manner, Merlin steeled his heart and his breathing and went completely still. A method he had accustomed to during his time out in the barrel.

By the time Arthur got up to them, Merlin might as well have vanished. That's how invisible he was. Though, to himself, he felt extremely obvious.

“So, er... Sire. Can't sleep?”, Gwaine asked. It was pretty late. Too late to still be up. Too early to have woken up again. Gwaine pat the ground beside him, so Arthur could sit down. It would be suspicious if he send him away. But Merlin was certain Gwaine did it to taunt him. “Not really.”, Arthur said and yawned. If Merlin could see through the blanket, he would see that the circles under Arthur's eyes were nearly as dark as Leon's had been.

His voice didn't really leave room for conversation. He sounded tired, as if he really didn't want to talk. And despite Gwaine's usual annoyance, he didn't press the matter. He hummed instead. For one, because it was Gwaine. Who would he be, if he wasn't drinking ale and doing noisy things all the time? However, this also served the purpose of covering up all unintentional noises Merlin could have made in the dead silence of the still night. It was too still. But they weren't used to the ever changing weather of the sea. Else, they would have been alarmed.

“It's funny.”, Arthur said after a moment of hummed silence. “What is, Sire?” “I would have thought Merlin would have sneaked on to the ship and come out by now.”

Gwaine laughed comically. Startled by the sudden comment. Arthur ignored him, but Merlin nearly smacked Gwaine for that obvious reaction.

“Well. That surely sounds like Merlin. But we would have found him in no time.”, Gwaine assured him.

“Yeah I know. Still.”, Arthur sighed and shook his head, before running a hand through his face. “I mean... Now that he's not here, I can't stop thinking that I basically left him alone with my father. You know my father. If Merlin doesn't behave, the king will certainly have him flogged. Or worse. I mean... he has these moments when he accuses random people to be sorcerers. What if I left him to one of those antics? Did I make a mistake leaving him home?”

Arthur sounded worried and he was suddenly found playing with his own hands.

Gwaine opened his mouth in surprise. “Huh?”, he asked. “I thought you didn't want him to come? ”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “He's still saver with my father than he is raiding a dragon infested island with us, isn't he?” That was.... an actual question. Not a rhetoric one, like one would expect. No. Arthur was seriously asking. His tone was probably supposed to be rhetoric, but he sounded too emotional. Too concerned. Too guilty.

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. Merlin's heart stilled. “Since when are you so worried about Merlin?”, Gwaine asked and sat up straight. After all... Arthur had never really shown his emotional side to Gwaine. Not like this. Not verbally. There would be lots of teasing, surely. Later on, of course. And Arthur should know that. But Arthur was sleep deprived and concerned and he needed to vent. That may not be wise. But since when do people do reasonable things?

“I'm not worried.”, Arthur denied immediately. Gwaine raised an eyebrow. Which Arthur noticed. “Look -”, Arthur started. “I couldn't take Merlin with us on this trip. Merlin is a servant and he's always unarmed-”

“That never stopped you from taking him on hunts.”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows now.

Arthur groaned. “That's different. We're knights. We can protect him from bandits. Dragon's are.... a whole different story. I faced one and I passed out and I still don't know HOW we survived. I know I killed it, but it was incredibly close. And this mission... I'm not sure we'll make it.”, Arthur let his head sink.

Gwaine paused for a moment. “Wait... you think we'll all die?”, he asked, eyes wide and suddenly terrified. “Of course not.”, Arthur said absently. But it was clearly a lie. “Jesus. You're in a good mood.”, Gwaine mumbled to himself. For the first time, he sounded worried too.

“So... you left Merlin in Camelot because -”

“I don't want him to die.”, Arthur confessed. Albeit reluctantly. “But … you said you thought he'd be here?”, Gwaine pointed out. Arthur breathed. Then he turned to look at Gwaine. “Is it selfish to wish he had ignored my orders?”

Gwaine blinked. “Huh?” To be fair, he had wanted to tease Arthur about the fact that nothing Arthur just said opposed the idea that he was – indeed – worried about Merlin in any way. But that last comment confused him and changed the focus of this conversation.

“I don't want him to die with us. But -”, Arthur bit his lip. “If I die, I'd rather die at his side. Is that weird?”

Gwaine glanced at the blanket, where Merlin strained his ears to hear every word Arthur was saying. Merlin's breathing was getting rigid. This conversation.... was unusual. Very... unusual for Arthur.

Gwaine blinked, then he forced himself to grin and make a more joyous expression. As he always did. Because positive energy was his thing. “Now now, princess.”, he put an arm around Arthur shoulder, which Arthur let him do with a disapproving frown. “Sounds like someone here got a small crush on our dear Merlin.”

Merlin fought the urge to kick him yet again, worried that this would reveal him from underneath the blanket. Gwaine was clearly overdoing it. He was clearly out to annoy Arthur. Merlin knew that. And he really wanted Gwaine to stop. This was humiliating and mean.

Arthur stared at Gwaine. At the laughing face. The poking and joking and attempt at humiliating him expression. But Arthur's stare didn't waver. And Gwaine's expression lost itself on the realization that he actually hit a mark.

“Wait – seriously?”, he asked and pulled his arm back. Merlin behind him froze. Merlin's inner turmoil was at Gwaine's antics. He had been so focused on cursing Gwaine, that he was completely startled by that sentence. He had not expected for Arthur to just.... not deny it. Which was basically a confession. Merlin's eyes widened. And he stared at the blindness in front of him. Once again, he was completely still. 'Huh?', he thought.

“You think it's weird.”, Arthur turned away, still fumbling with his hands. And had the little snide remark from Gwaine not been, maybe they could have pretended this sentence didn't mean so much. That this was simply about hoping his friend was here. That they just continued their conversation from before, without the additional information that Arthur – indeed – liked Merlin more than he ought to.

“I- what? No!”, Gwaine was quick to retaliate. “Of course not. I'm just surprised, is all. I mean... it's Merlin.”

“And?”, Arthur was frowning. As if ready to defend his friend. Which in itself was news to Merlin. Since when did Arthur defend him behind his back? Either way, this was Merlin they were talking about. And it was Gwaine he was talking about him with. There was no need to get defensive. “I didn't think you'd admit it! Especially to me.” The 'everyone loves Merlin, so of course I'm not surprised' was left unsaid. Needless to say. It was only Merlin who didn't recognize that implication.

Arthur let his shoulders slump. “Yeah well. If we're dying anyway, even you teasing me and telling everyone can't make it worse.”

“First of all. Rude. You underestimate me, Sire. You have no idea what I'm capable of. Second of all. Why are you all so dramatic these days? First Leon, now you? We haven't even arrived at the island yet and you're all planning our funerals! Who is to say we even find the island? Or the dragons?”, Gwaine flailed his arms, before putting a soft hand on Arthur's tense shoulders. His tone turned soft. Very unlike Gwaine. But it was not the first time he had worn that expression. He'd acted like this before. Tender and soft and fond. Mostly for Merlin, because Merlin was his first and therefore best friend. And he worried about him too. “And last, but not least. You'll see Merlin again, Sire. And even if he found out, he wouldn't tease you for this. Merlin has a good heart.”

Arthur looked up. Surprised by the comforting tone of Gwaine's voice. After all, Gwaine was not exactly the go to type, when it came down to emotions.

People often underestimate the clown friend. Radiating joy and fun doesn't always come from ignorance and obliviousness. It doesn't always mean they are secretly depressed either. Often, these kind of people have gone through much more than they let on. Often, they have learned to deal with their own emotions and come to the conclusion that having fun, being truly blissful brightens not only the world of others. It brightens their own as well. That doesn't make them less empathetic. It doesn't make them less understanding. Quite the contrary. They have a deep understanding of such situations and decided not to take it seriously. Because not everything has to be. And sometimes it's smarter not to think about stuff too deeply.

“You think?” Arthur's own voice was strangely hopeful. Like knowing he'd see Merlin again was all that mattered. Like the other comfort about surviving wasn't nearly as helpful. Or dare say, important.

“I'm certain.”, Gwaine grinned knowingly. Arthur smiled in relief at that. There was a pause between them, before Arthur added. “If you ever tell him about this conversation, I'll drown you in the ocean.”

Gwaine laughed at that. “No promises, princess.” Truth is, he could. He could easily promise it. But he wouldn't be Gwaine if he said that. It would be too obvious that he was hiding something as well. Arthur laughed.

“Nuts?”, Gwaine asked, suddenly and held out a can full of salted nuts. Startled by the question, Arthur almost bend over from laughing. “You're unbelievable.”, Arthur shook his head. Suddenly embarrassed that he confessed all this to Gwaine. But he accepted the nuts anyway.

The rest of the night was spend almost quietly. Which wasn't for long and Gwaine did his best to just distract Arthur. Which meant, it was just Gwaine and Arthur chatting about Merlin. It was mostly Gwaine. Because Gwaine's mindless babbling often meant talking positively about Arthur's servant. Arthur was already used to this.

For once though, Arthur was just as deeply into the conversation. “I think, if Merlin was here, he'd feel guilty.”

“Why is that?”, Gwaine asked, encouraging Arthur to continue. He barely concealed his grin, because Merlin was witness to all of this. Unable to move which would lead to exposure.

“Well... the last dragon lord died for him. And now we're visiting the last remains of his culture. Even if they have magic. I can't imagine Merlin be anything but devastated, when he meets them. I suppose the idiot would apologize to them. Like it was in any way his fault! Merlin can be such an idiot sometimes. One would think he wants to die, so often as he drinks poison for others or jumps into mid battle, unarmed. I'm honestly glad he has the decency to hide most of the time, while we handle things. I don't think I'd be able to concentrate on fighting, if he just -”, Arthur exhaled a deep breath and flailed his arms to imply Merlin running into knifes. “He's too brave for his own good.”

“Merlin is the bravest.”

“The bravest man I ever met.”, Arthur agreed and got a chuckled clap on his shoulder for that. “Look at you, Sire. Saying all these nice things about Merlin. Wait till I tell him about it.”

Arthur immediately recoiled. “Seriously, don't.”

“Why? What's so bad about him knowing that you care?”, Gwaine frowned in amusement. Thinking, that Arthur was just shy.

“He knows that I care. I'm pretty damn obvious about it. No need to put any more attention to it.”

Gwaine scoffed in disbelieve. “YOU? Obvious that you CARE? Really? This is what you call obvious?”

“What do you mean?”, Arthur frowned, honestly confused, while Merlin was trying to breathe even slower. Because somehow Arthur had shifted closer to the blanket. A hand was put on it. If Arthur himself made the wrong move, he'd accidentally pull the blanket off of him.

“Arthur. I don't think Merlin even knows you appreciate him at all.”

Arthur was stunned with silence. “You're joking.” Merlin blinked underneath the blanket. Just what on earth was Arthur talking about?

Gwaine stared at him. “Sire... what exactly do you understand about being obvious about this?”

Arthur frowned. “Well... Erm. I'm the prince of Camelot. My father has never allowed me to have friends that are not royal enough to be of knightly status. Merlin is a servant. Yet, he's my best friend.”

Gwaine stared back at him. “Have you told him that?”

Arthur blinked. “No... because my father would ground me, if I ever did. But I have...”, he slowly swayed to the side, searching for the right words. “I treat him like a knight. I take him on hunts where servants are not allowed. I used to punch him, too, like I would a knight, to cheer him up. Though I stopped that, because he said he doesn't like it. And I mean... I stopped. I wouldn't do that for just anyone!

My guards have been ordered to let him into my room, even if I ordered them to let no one in. If I don't want him around, I have to tell them that specially. I er... let him steal my food. He loves blackberries. So do I, but he doesn't need to know that.

He's always insulting me or my father behind his back, but I don't really throw him in the stocks for that. Which I should. That kind of talk is treason. He could be hanged for that, you know?

I give him unnecessary chores, just so he has a reason to hang out with me. And he doesn't get punished, though what he does is a really shabby job. Now that I think about it, I think I mostly pay him for insulting me.

I've defended him in front of my father. I have used my word as knight for him more than once. I have trusted him with my life and drank poison because he told me it was a good idea. Or because the choice was either him or myself. And I trusted him with the antidote or with taking my royal seal back to Camelot to whoever I want to precede me. I have saved his life and protected him in battle...”, at this point, Arthur was counting on his fingers and it looked like he was about to go on for hours.

However, Gwaine looked at him oddly, which made Arthur pause as soon as he noticed. “What?”, he asked, clearly confused with Gwaine's reaction.

“Well... just. I see what you mean.”, Gwaine was talking slowly. Realizing that yes... from Arthur's point of view, all of that was actually extraordinary behavior. But for anyone else... “But you do realize that most of that is just... Look. The things you describe...

Half of the stuff happens behind his back, which you don't tell him. So how would he know? Other stuff is like.... Merlin probably thinks he's just stealing your stuff. Defending someone innocent is not something you do for someone you like. It's something you do for strangers, if their life depends on it. It's something Merlin himself would do for anyone.

And... treating him like a person when he argues with you and taking him seriously is hardly an expression of love, Arthur. I know in your position that's different. But to anyone else. Jesus christ, how do I put this?

The only extraordinary thing about all this, is you risking your life for him. Which he would do for you – for anyone really – without even thinking. And YOU would die for your own people too. I hardly think he sees a difference in your behavior towards him and your general behavior to your people.

Merlin would risk his life for anyone. He doesn't even demand thanks for it.

What you do, is... for a prince.... extremely … er... let's say affectionate. But for Merlin, it's... how do I put it … less than the minimum.”

Arthur blinked. Finally Merlin shifted underneath the blanket. His eyes blinking rapidly now. Gwaine was right. This WAS how he saw things. But the way Arthur described the way he acted.... that wasn't just Arthur trying his best to be a good prince or person. This was Arthur trying his hardest to show he cared! Cared for Merlin! Merlin felt... touched? Kind of. The crush thing aside. That was a whole different level of work in process. (1) He felt his own face heat up with the knowledge that these things... These things that Merlin had guessed were normal for Arthur... that Arthur had done them on purpose. That he had actually thought about Merlin to make sure he was cared for. That this was a far as he could push himself and did it despite the risk of being scolded by his father.

Arthur's mouth was open now. Unable to retort or add on to his previous examples. “But -”

“You do know, Merlin still doesn't believe us, when we tell him that you risked your life getting him a flower, because he thinks we're messing with him, right?”

“That's ridiculous. That flower was needed for an antidote! What is there to doubt about it?”, Arthur exclaimed, almost furious. Merlin shuddered in surprise. 'Huh?', he thought to himself, his face flushing hard.

“Yeah. I know. He does not.”, Gwaine nodded eagerly.

“But... I thought I was so obvious? I mean... Even my father noticed! He's told me I was getting too close to Merlin. So I tried to hold back, but... I thought Merlin knew.”, Arthur appeared shocked. Like someone had just turned his entire world upside down.

“The king noticed?”, Gwaine raised both eyebrows in shock.

“Yes, I mean. When I came back with that flower, he threw me in the dungeons for it. He keeps reminding me that I'm not supposed to be friends with Merlin. He keeps offering me new servants! I've turned down five offers last week!”

Gwaine's mouth dropped open. “Woow.”, he made impressed. “If Uther thinks THAT's a lot. What kind of childhood did you have?”

Arthur looked up, surprised. “I dunno? A normal one I guess? I mean. I didn't have a mom and my father was always busy and Morgana and I were fighting all the time, so....”

Gwaine's eyes squished a little. “Have you ever even been hugged?”, he asked with suspicion.

Arthur straightened his back. “I'm.... not supposed to get close to people until I get married.”, he muttered. Gwaine stared and his mouth dropped open again. “I meant Uther. Did you father never hug you?”

“Was he supposed to do that?”

Gwaine's jaw dropped. “And here I always thought you just were a stuck up royal like anyone else. But your father abandoned you. No wonder you have no idea how to deal with emotions.” Arthur flushed and tried to retort, but then he closed his mouth. Embarrassed.

Gwaine hurried to correct himself. “I mean... considering all this, you're doing a lot, actually. You're a good man, Arthur. I wouldn't be your knight, if I didn't think you were worth dying for. Just. God damn it, I'm getting so mad right now. Your father is an asshole. I mean, I already knew that. But holy shit.”

Arthur frowned. “Don't talk about my father like this!”, he growled, but Gwaine stopped him again. “Nope. You don't get to decide that. You're in denial. He abandoned you. He keeps sending you on quests that could get you killed. He didn't even show you that he cares if you come back!”

“He cried when he thought I was dead though!”, Arthur commented, remembering the troll Catrina accident.

Gwaine blinked. “Good to know where he draws the line. What the fuck, Arthur.”

Arthur bit his lips. He felt defensive for his father. But... wasn't it bad... that he couldn't see a single flaw in Gwaine's accusation?

“Merlin is your exact opposite, you know.”, Gwaine suddenly said and slowly patted Arthur's shoulder. This time highly aware of the fact that this was probably the closest contact Arthur allowed for anyone. Apart from the fact that Arthur had a crush on Merlin and Merlin was the guy who dressed him.... Let's not get into that.

“I know.”

“He grew up with a mom who hugged him every day. Arthur, Merlin is the most affectionate person I know. He's extremely emotional and he's not afraid to show it.”

“I know.”, Arthur said again, but this time softer.

“Compared to that your way of dealing with things probably looks more like you're pushing him away.”

Arthur's head sank and his shoulders dropped. He grabbed the blanket tighter. “I know.”, he said yet again. Frustrated this time. 'I'm trying.', he didn't say, but they all knew it.

“You should talk to him.”

“I know.”, Arthur was defeated.

It was quiet between them once again and Arthur stared out on the sea. And from the distance, you could see the first sun rays of the day illuminate the wooden deck of the ship. Arthur stared at it, as long as it was possible to look into the direction. While Gwaine watched him with worry. Gwaine had almost forgotten Merlin was still there. Merlin, who was trying his hardest to appear invisible. And quiet. And still. Nobody could hear his loud heart beat, but Merlin himself. Though he could swear someone had to notice at some point.

“Rise and shine.”, Arthur suddenly said and smiled to himself. For the first time, the conversation went beyond Gwaine's understanding and he could just stare at him in confusion.

But Merlin could hear what Arthur was actually saying. It was the sentence Merlin always woke Arthur up with. In this context, it meant, Arthur was thinking of that. Of early mornings and Merlin in it. The way his smile slowly fell, Merlin could feel that Arthur was actually missing him. And hoping he was here. Unaware that his wish had already come true.

It took Merlin everything he had in himself, to not jump up from underneath the blanket and just hug him to death. Which he now knew would equal a marriage proposal to Arthur. Oh god, all those love potion incidents …. where Arthur hugged and kissed random women. The boy must have had a mental breakdown afterwards. Now that Merlin thought of it, Arthur used to behave really strange after those incidents.

Meaning, he wouldn't talk to anyone. He would excuse himself a lot. Would be anxious around everyone he was forced to talk to. And he'd be especially awkward around Merlin. Merlin's eyes widened once again with a start and it paralyzed him as he realized precisely WHY that had been. He flushed. And he was glad Arthur couldn't see him like this.

“Sire?”, Gwaine finally asked, still uncharacteristically gentle. Arthur shook his head. “Nothing. I'll go back to sleep. Leon should be up soon. I think he's already feeling much better.” Arthur sighed and pushed himself up. He let go of the blanket, making Merlin exhale a deep breath. Then he took the ladder down again.

One last time, he was stopped by Gwaine. “Wait, Arthur.”

Arthur stopped for a moment. “What is it?”, he asked.

“You like Merlin right? As in, you're in love with him.”

Arthur flushed, but he answered with a hesitant “yes.”. Which was like a major blow in Merlin's guts. Because being in love was an entirely different thing than having a crush. And yet, to have this confirmed... Merlin struggled to breathe.

“What will you do, if he doesn't like you back?”

There was a pause. A heavy one. Then Arthur sighed. “Gwaine... It's not like anything can happen between us anyway. Even if Merlin did like me back. I can't tell him. Merlin is the best friend I have. I couldn't bear to loose him. I won't let anything or anyone, not my father, not a potential wife, not even my own feelings get in the way of that. I won't ruin what we have. I couldn't live with myself.” And with that, he disappeared under deck. Leaving Gwaine behind, completely stunned.

Finally, Merlin pulled the blanket off of himself and dramatically breathed the fresh air around him. It had started to get really stuffy under that.

Gwaine turned around, almost startled. As if he had truly forgotten that Merlin had been there. They looked at each other for a moment. Unsure what to say.

--------------------------------------------

The storm hit the boat without any warning. Maybe, if they had known about the “calm before the storm”, they would have noticed that there was – indeed – a warning. But they didn't. Because Uther didn't care that these knights had no idea about sailing. Or rather, most of them. The one's who did know about it, had been asleep, as Arthur had assigned none of them to keep watch.

They were lucky they made it in time to get the sails in. But as soon as the storm was raging, they had to hold on to everything for dear life. They had no time to fixate any of their belongings to the ship. Which meant that now, barrels and bottles and cups and knifes and anything they had lying about, was now thrown around their ears.

Those who had the great misfortune to get knocked out by a barrel, got thrown of the ship. But through all that, you couldn't hear the screams and the shouts. The storm was so loud, it deafened everything that was further than two steps away.

In a strange way, the storm came over them silently. Merlin had never managed to get back into his barrel. But he had shushed Gwaine to bind himself to the watchtower. The entire thing was about to be blown off, was it not for Merlin's magic.

In fact, while Gwaine closed his eyes, praying the storm to be over, Merlin used his magic to keep his friends safe. Albeit, there were too many of them. He couldn't safe everyone. But he DID manage to keep Arthur safe. Who was running around in that blasted armor and shouting orders to his subordinates. He was not lucky to be okay. He was lucky to have Merlin to keep him that way.

That was, until Merlin saw his own barrel being thrown off the ship. And Lancelot saw it. But Lancelot didn't know Merlin wasn't in there. Oh fucking hell no.

Lancelot screamed his name. And he managed to shout so loud, that Arthur turned around, totally confused why one of his knights would shout out the name of his servant in the middle of a storm. But Arthur, foolish, kind, love deprived Arthur, made the connection. And when Lancelot shouted at him to explain that Merlin was supposed to be IN that barrel that was now about to drown on the ocean. Arthur did the most foolish thing a prince could do.

He gave Leon the authority.... and – in a panic- jumped after Merlin.

Who was not in that barrel, but on the watch tower. Who watched and stared and couldn't believe what he saw. Because Arthur had just JUMPED of the ship for him. Fully armed with his sword and knife and wearing armor.

'That fucking idiot.”, Merlin mouthed and now panic washed over him as well. In a moment decision, Merlin yelled at Gwaine to stay where he was. And then he slid down the ladder. Not even bothering to use the steps. His hands already burned from the heat of the fraction. And splinters of the cold wood edged into his skin. But he didn't give a damn.

He ran over the deck, seeing panicked and confused faces everywhere and then he directly jumped after Arthur.

The storm wouldn't stop for another five hours. Thanks to Merlin, the casualties were little to none. But even after the storm had calmed and the sea lay still around them, while the knights tried to catch their breath.... Merlin and Arthur could not be found among the wrecks. And Leon's headache was returning. (1) The sentence: work in process is a mix of work in progress and processing something. I found that creative. It’s intentional :)

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First (you are here) <<Masterlist >> Next

#merlin tv #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #fanfiction #my writing #I'll try to post here too now #dragon island #chapter 1 #The calm before the storm #merthur #merlin #arthur #freya #edit later

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 60: The Scar

Heat blazed down on them with such ferocity, it rained sand for a moment as they each rolled to cover their eyes along with the general downpour their landing caused. Most of them sat up spitting it out and ruffling it from their clothes and hair. Sirius got the misfortune of landing in water, and came up coughing through sea spray with a clump of seaweed in his hair.

For a worrying moment as he staggered to his feet back towards shore, he wondered if he'd pissed himself. Then he realized the water was simply that warm, far more than the lake at school had ever been. The view he caught sight of was breathtaking, more exotic than anything he'd ever seen in his life. The deciduous trees seemed to reach through to the heavens, the light mist coating their skin was as warm as the sun still shining powerfully through the clouds to cast down on a makeshift lean-too laid out upon a granite shore. Tropical birds roosted right above it further providing shade and almost making it look completely blended into the shadows if he wasn't looking directly at it.

Then he saw Peter taking off his shoes and stuffing his school robes into his bag, sweat already appearing on him like the others, and he bitterly remembered what would drive him to this place. Harry had no reason to be here, unless the Dursleys had gone mental and taken him on some extravagant vacation. He however had last been mentioned fleeing the country, and his own godson, because of him. This seemed a likely, remote, place he would have landed.

Cursing and muttering the entire time he went splashing through the water, fighting the impulse to go over to him once more and throttle him for being a two-faced cad the whole time they'd known him, by the time he'd waded back to shore the others had all gotten semi-comfortable, but clearly feared stripping too far down even in the glaring sun. Who knew where they'd end up next, Antarctica?

Regulus was shaking his legs through the sand like he'd had the jelly-leg jinx placed upon him as he wandered over to Peter and began trying to talk to him again. Rather wishing he had pissed himself than watch that, he saw Longbottom wiping sweat from his eyes and giving the girls an unhappy look as they went towards the shade of the trees and scratched unhappily at his skin.

Sirius was still wearing his Wimborne Wasp jersey, and the pants of his school robes and didn't feel the need to show off farther, unlike Prongs who had stripped down to his boxers unrepentant and was now running laps in the shore waiting for Sirius to finish approaching.

"I could have bloody drowned out there while you were showing off!" He shouted upon approach.

"Nah, Moony would have saved you," James waved off, keeping his eyes on Evans, who was with Smith heading towards the lean-too in a casual stroll, eyes traveling along for the book he supposed, or taking it all in. He was still doing the latter.

Sirius tried to exchange an exasperated look with said friend, but he had a very strained smile in place it took Sirius a second to process. He wouldn't meet his eyes, and in fact his face looked slightly more than flushed. Sirius was about to start preening as he realized his wet clothes clung to him damn near as much as Prongs showing off, but it also showed off the darkening stains of blood anew trickling down his side and painting the water. He muttered a curse and began reapplying the charms. Prongs was only fairing slightly better, the marks slashed across him were newly scabbed as well, and a fresh stain only a few paces away showed Peter had likely gone through much the same upon their new landing again.

All three of them nearly jumped out of their new skin when they heard the startled yelps of the girls.

James was fastest again, even never having run on sand before didn't seem to deter him, but before the others could scramble over to see what monster was on this island with them, they could also hear him laughing. By the time they jogged into the thrown together shelter, it was to see him in a spectacular bow to Buckbeak, the girls fighting back the sweat running into their eyes as they did the same.

The Hippogriff graciously did so in return, even if he did click his beak in agitation upon the new arrivals. James merely came forward and patted his beak for comfort. "Looks like you kept along a buddy Padfoot."

"And he's kept our ride safe," Alice noted the book in the piled leaves clearly meant for a nest.

Remus winced upon hearing the chapter title, he'd had enough Scars to last his lifetime, and elbowed his way back out of the suddenly crowded space. Peter stumbled over his feet and nearly crashed to the ground as he tried to get out of his way. Remus stopped on instinct, even reached out to help catch him without thinking twice, then he saw the nick in his ear that would never regrow. Shoving blindly past everything else, he made his way back to the unforgiving sun.

He felt James and Sirius following him, but did not want to turn around and face them. Their comforting words, their promise they didn't blame him. None of that erased the harm he'd done to them, and would inevitably do again. How could he blame Peter for some future deeds of his when his actions still held garish marks on them all?

Surprisingly short on breath, he stopped only a few paces into the shaded trees and leaned against the nearest one, soaking in the warmth while he could. It wasn't just their casual dismissal of him nearly being a murderer. It was also his intended victims, how none of them had even so much as looked at him since it happened. It was the numb shock he still couldn't get out of his brain that Peter had it in him to someday be the cause of this future they were living through. Maybe not now, but the fact that he hadn't been able to deny it to James' face left his mind spinning so fast he thought he was going to be sick again.

"Ynoom ecalp siht evol d'uoy."

Remus kept his eyes closed, even as he scowled in confusion. That was Sirius' voice, but unless he was trying to make him laugh from sheer randomness, that hadn't made a lick of sense.

"Suolaej os eb dluow sgnorp."

Then he did open his eyes, only to see Sirius and James right next to him, looking as baffled as he felt and glancing around wearily, wands drawn. Remus didn't blame them, but something about what he was hearing tugged at his memory. It didn't sound like any language he knew, but-

"Rats live on no evil star."

He looked up, to see a bright-eyed bird staring very intently at him. "Oh," he gasped in surprise, finally cluing the other two in. "Looks like an emordnilap found us."

"A what?" James asked in surprise.

"I remember Kettleburn mentioning these," Sirius agreed as he smiled at the beast. "They speak backward for you. Though I don't recall ever having said any of that."

The bird clicked its beak upon Sirius speaking, turning attention directly to him, and then recited, "Taht fo yna dias gnivah reve llacer t'nod I hguoht .Uoy rof drawkcab kaeps yeht."

"Fascinating," James muttered at once. "Looks like Sirius, err, the Sirius on the run here and not mine," he needlessly gave him a playful shove, nearly overbalancing him as he grinned at the bird, "a friend."

"I like him," Sirius agreed at once.

"Mih ekil I."

His grin only grew. "Can I keep her Prongs? I want to name her Ava."

"Ava mih eman ot tnaw I, sgnorp mih peek I nac."

James merely went cross eyed as the bird continued to jabber away, he wasn't particularly impressed. It was massive for one, even as she fluttered down to land on Padfoot's head it was nearly double the size of any owl he'd seen, with a beak the size of his face in a rainbow of colors. The sleek black feathers were large enough he wouldn't be surprised if there were some fancy emordnilap quills out there, and the claws were giving him nervous ticks even as gently as they were clearly being on his best friends head.

Sirius lifted his arm, and Ava obligingly stepped onto that instead, still staring at him intently.

"I wouldn't recommend it Pads," James decided. "Maybe when we get out of this mess we can come back and get you your own, but this one might get hurt along for now."

Sirius pouted but seemed to agree, even before Remus added, "Besides, you've already got Buggle. I hardly see you needing two birds."

"I could cross-breed them!" Sirius suddenly said in excitement, cocking his head to the side and hearing the book already flesh out his idea. "You see, I'll bet this is the one I've been sending letters to Harry, mix the two birds together and who knows what would happen."

"You're turning into Hagrid," James grumbled, but was over shouted by the bird saying in one long speech, "Neppah dluow tahw swonk ohw dna rehtegot sdrib owt eht xim ,yrrah ot srettel gnidnes neeb ev'I eno eht si siht teb ll'I ,ees uoy! Meht deerb-ssorc dluoc I."

Remus shook his head slowly, fighting back a smile now at Sirius' far too pleased expression. "Well, it's certainly as noisy as you. I always said if you weren't a dog you'd be some sort of bird, though I always imagine you more of a peacock."

Sirius sniffed, and now with an impish grin in place said perfectly clearly right next to the bird, "and I always said I wanted to be a duck! They're awesome creatures, can fly, swim, and walk, not to mention-"

James reached over and smothered his mouth before he could go on a whole rants worth. The bird blinked for only a moment before saying back what Sirius had managed to get out.

"Noitnem ot ton ,klaw dna ,miws ,ylf nac ,serutaerc emosewa er'yeht !Kcud a eb ot detnaw I dias syawla I dna-"

Remus was pleasantly surprised to find that once he'd stopped snickering at the pair, his head wasn't spinning so much. The two had done it again, but it didn't completely erase the empty gap he was sure the other two felt about this newest experience. Guilt was already pouring in he hadn't said anything to Peter since it happened, but he didn't even know what to say. It should be nothing to forgive what he hadn't even done yet, but now he was afraid. If he ever looked him in the eye again, would he always see this future lingering over his head?

Jerking his head sharply from side to side, rather than letting his stomach plunge farther into despair, he instead held his arm out hopefully. Ava appraised him for a moment before hopping over, and Remus nearly buckled under the weight. He hadn't been expecting the bird to be so heavy, for as casually as Sirius was holding her. Then he thought for a moment, and grinned as he told the bird, "Step on no pets."

Her large black eyes seemed to appraise him for some time, before repeating back now in his voice, "Step on no pets."

James and Sirius burst in surprised laughter. "How'd you come up with that so quickly!" James protested slightly. The chapter was winding down now, and his mind was scrambling frantically to see if he could try the same rather than dwell on everything Harry was.

"Just something I realized a while back, never thought it would have any practical use," Remus shrugged with a smug grin. "I'm wondering how long it took Sirius to come up with that rats live on no evil star thing," he finished with an uneasy wince, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Sirius turned away, but not before Remus had seen the boiling anger once more. He used his wand to blast bark away from a tree, startling Ava who flapped her wings in protest and nearly bit Remus' neck off.

"Oh, wait, I've got something," James said quickly and peaceably. He held his arm out and bounced hopefully on his heels for the bird. She didn't seem particularly happy about it, but finally, after some coaxing from Sirius who had slowly turned back around and smiled at the bird, Ava did indeed move onto Prongs' jiggling arm.

James looked very intently at the bird, and then pointed at the mouth of the tent. "Pretty please, tell that redhead, Snave thgirla?"

The emordnilap clicked her beak in response, and then took off.

"That wasn't a sentence," Remus frowned in confusion as he tried to work out what James had said. He didn't get much time to think about it, as he heard Alice call a warning she was on the last sentence. They all scrambled to get their things back on, he wasn't even sure if Evans had gotten the message before they were gone.

HPHPHPHP

My favorite palindrome is Go Hang A Salami, I’m A Lasagna Hog. Let me know yours!

Fun fact about this chapter, I tried to figure out which tropical bird JK was imagining when writing this so I could say Sirius was there, but the largest species of owl can be up to ten pounds. The largest tropical birds are only five pounds. So what she was imagining I've no clue, as even the smallest tropical bird should fit through any window an owl can. Hell, Hedwig is comparatively larger than toucans, if we're talking wing size and body mass.

Personally, I always thought she meant a toucan and just grossly overestimated how big they were, so I just went with that and magically enlarged them. After all, if this world has one of the 'stupidest' species of birds delivering messages, who's to say they don't have other modified versions of our animals.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Wolfstar #Jilly #palindrome #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

[agoracactus]

Pt.5 - “We will be there to stop her if she tries anything.”

Sorry and not sorry for slipping in the Stark motto, i saw an opportunity and i took it lmao

also for the next few chapters (including this one) its gonna be heavy book content so um spoil alert?

this one is so short idk what to say 

Pt.1  Pt.2  Pt.3  Pt.4  Pt.4.5

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 2764

Warnings: lack of proofread, language (like, a lot), blood

Tag list: @theojuicee

§

Something wasn’t right.

Either your memory or this world. You weren’t exactly sure which, but you knew something wasn’t going according to the script when you saw that giant disgusting spider-like creature emerged.

It wasn’t easy to take down- none of them was. But you two manage to kill that bastard without getting hurt.

You watched Geralt dragging the dead giant bug out to somewhere dry with a grimace.

“Can we not go?” “What?” “I know where you’re taking that shit. Please don’t. I don’t like that place.” “We need money, y/n. Winter is coming.” he looked at you like you were a kid throwing tantrum. “We can hunt- I can hunt! Every other village is fine just not this one please!” “Is this about the books you read back home?” “...No?” you turned away your gaze, “...It’s a gut feeling thing, that place got bad Fengshui.” “Stop being ridiculous, you’ll be fine.” You rolled your eyes at his back and mumbled, “Sure, I’ll be fine.”

§

You put up a long face riding behind Geralt- more specifically behind a donkey with the dead bug on its back. And your expression was even gloomier when you noticed the curious crowd gathering behind.

You came close to what seemed like the alderman’s house. You hopped off of the horse and was about to follow Geralt going into the house when you saw someone in the crowd sneakingly trying to lift up a corner of the blanket. “-Hey!” you slapped the man’s hand, “That’s rude!” You glared at the crowd, you were in no mood to be friendly to these people, and crossed your arms, guarding the dead bug like a bouncer at the night club.

Shortly after, Geralt came out with the alderman. He showed him the corpse, asked for a reward. The alderman shushed away the crowd and lead you back into his house.

“What’s wrong with her?” the alderman finished his jug of beer, nodded towards you. You, sitting right next to Geralt, feeling offended by the alderman obviously ignoring you, snorted, “I hate bugs.”

And this town. You thought to yourself.

The alderman told Geralt that there’s no reward, and offered him the room in the attic. “But I only got one spare room.” the alderman glanced at you. “It’s fine, we share a room.” Geralt said, finishing his drink. You held up one hand before the alderman can put on a surprising look, “We just share a bed, nothing more.” You didn’t notice Geralt giving you a side-eye. “If that’s fine with you two.” the alderman shrugged, “By the way, just between us, don't do what you did during supper last time in front of Libushe again.” “You mean when I threw my fork at the rat?” “No. I mean when you hit it, even in the dark.” “You hit a rat with the fork in the dark?” you turned to Geralt, very intrigued. Geralt paused for a second, drawn to your sparkling eyes- the stars he couldn't unsee after the night at the wedding. “Yes, and we are not going to have that again.” the alderman announced, breaking your gaze.

§

Geralt stopped you at the door when you were going to follow the guard and the alderman to the tower where that disgusting Stregobor lived.

“You should stay.” “What? Why?” “You look like you are up for murder.” “Maybe I am.” you narrowed your eyes, thinking about what the wizard did and what he got Geralt into.

Oh yeah, you would not hesitate to pull that trigger.

“No.” Geralt said firmly, but in a low voice, “We can’t have you murdering the town wizard.” “...Fine, no murdering, this time.” “Just stay here, I’ll be back soon.” he walked away.

You glared at his back, wanted to catch up on him, or sneakingly follow behind. But you know it won’t help with anything. It’s not like that sneaky bastard would let you into his tower. You sat down at the door, resting your head on your palm.

You thought this won’t be happening. You already met Jaskier. How can Blavekin still be happening? That’s not right!

You considered the possibility of telling Geralt what would happen, but then decided it won’t make any difference. You have known Geralt long enough to know, he’s a hero at heart, no matter how hard he’s denying it. Knowing the future or not, he will do what his heart tells him to.

Maybe you should find a way to sneak up the tower and kill that piece of shit wasting all the oxygen being alive, and bring his head to Renfri before anything could happen? But you’re no spiderman, how can you get into a magic tower?

You buried your head between your knees, and let out a frustrating groan.

Then you stood up.

Maybe you can find Renfri first, talk to her, or tell her to leave, or tell her you can help?... You’ll wing it. You’ll stop all this shit that has nothing to do with your witcher.

You’ll be the Butcher if you have to.

§

You asked a few people where can you find the town’s inn- it wasn’t easy when you didn’t remember the actual name for the inn. You went to two wrong places before seeing Geralt and the alderman.

“Hey!” you ran up to them, “Where are you going?” It came out as a harsh question. The alderman answered, “The Golden Court! A group of people is here seeking for trouble, that’s not allowed-” “Don’t go!” your gaze hasn’t left Geralt’s face, “This is my once in a lifetime wish. Don’t, go.” “...Once in a lifetime wish?” “I’ll never ask you to do anything again. Let’s just leave, there’s no reward anyway! Don’t talk to Renfri, you don’t have to be in the middle of all these, it has nothing to do with you.” “...”

You two had a silent staring contest in the middle of the street.

“Well? Are we going?” the alderman finally broke the silence, “We need to stop her before she hurt our wizard!” “...No.” Geralt said, then broke the gaze, “Send your guards to give her a warning.” “Wha- But-” “She hasn’t done anything, Caldemeyn. We will be there to stop her if she tries anything, for now, let’s go back to your lovely wife.” “I hope you are right, Geralt. Very well, we’ll go back.”

§

The dinner was great. Libushe cooked a grand meal for you. There was a lot of drinking and laughing at the table. You kept an eye out, wanted to spot some rat for Geralt to hit, but didn’t see any. Libushe might go through a great deal getting rid of those to prevent the scene from happening again.

The night was quiet. People went to sleep extra early for the market tomorrow. Libushe brought one last jug of beer to the table and went to bed. Geralt and the alderman were talking more quietly now. You had your chin in your hand, dozing off to the story about how Geralt fought one of those monsters.

“Y/n, go to bed.” Geralt paused from the story, gently shook your shoulder to wake you up. “...What?..No I’m listening...” “You knew the story already, you were there.” “...I wanna hear it from you-” you said with a big yawn. “Go to bad, stop being childish.” “..I’m not childish you’re childish...” you grimaced, but slowly getting up from the table, “...We’re leaving tomorrow right?” you couldn't even keep your eyes open. “First thing in the morning, I promise. Now go to bed.” You nodded, stumbled upstairs.

You opened the door to the attic room. “...Hello?” you quietly said to the dark, rubbing your eyes.

No response.

You waited for two more seconds, then shrugged.

Renfri isn’t here. You stopped her from telling Geralt her side of the story. He won’t get involved.

You lay down in bed. Before you can have more thoughts on this, you fell asleep.

§

There was a scream.

You couldn’t be sure if it was in your dream, you’ve been slipping in and out of it all night. You felt like you were awake and asleep at the same time. When you were finally sitting up in bed, with the sense of drowsiness still lurking in your head, you looked beside you.

The other side of the bed was untouched.

You heard the racket outside.

You jumped out of bed, cursing, grabbing the pistol and rushed downstairs. You almost tripped at the front door, but you caught your balance. then ran towards the source of the noise.

But it was too late.

You pushed through the crowd, only to see him standing, back towards you, motionless.

“...Geralt..” you said under your breath, ran straight towards him.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” you scanned his body before finally setting your gaze on his face. You saw his eyes, and what’s written in there. You felt the pain in your chest.

You heard the sound of the staff tapping against the stone.

You turned your head to look at the girl lying against the cold hard stone.

“We’ll take her to the tower for an autopsy.” you heard that old bastard said.

You aimed the gun straight at him when the witcher had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Don’t, fucking, touch her.” you said between your teeth. “And who might you be, young lady?” You took a shot a few inches away from his feet, “Next one would be between your eyes.” you said coldly. The old man looked at the hole in the ground, the shining blade in the witcher’s hand and the look on your face. “As you wish.” he turned away.

Stones came flying in your direction. You watched the man in front of you made a sign with his hands to prevent the attacks from hurting both of you. You felt your throat tightened.

You heard the alderman’s voice. But you couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All you can see was his eyes. Then you heard those words --- ‘never come back’. You saw him ever so slowly turning and walking away. For a moment you thought your feet were nailed to the ground.

Rage erupted from deep within you.

“...Oh don’t worry we won’t.” you heard yourself said, glaring at the alderman, then turned to the crowd. “We will never come back. In fact, you better pray for no monster ever trouble your life, you don’t deserve saving, none of you are!” you raised your voice with every word coming out of your mouth, in the end you were practically screaming, “And I hope there will be monsters overtaking this fucking town and murder all your men rape all the women so all you have is fucking monsters’ FUCKING BABIES!!”

§

The camp was set somewhere near the river, you can hear the water trickling through the woods.

You were calmer than when you just left the town, the boiling rage has now become something thick and heavy, like a witch brew with tar-like texture, slowly cooking in your chest.

Geralt was stoking the fire with a stick, the orange light flickering on his face, but not in his eyes. You quietly rubbed the barrel of your shotgun with a piece of cloth.

“...The Butcher of Blavekin. That’s what you were talking about...”

He was so quiet you almost lost the words to the crackling fire.

“...If anyone ever dares to say that name I’ll put a bullet through their miserable brain.” you said ferociously. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Just don’t.” his eyes never left the fire.

You set the gun down on your knees, “...You don’t deserve it.” you said quietly.

“...”

The witch brew in your chest suddenly burst and boiled again.

“Look at me!” you jumped up on your feet, “You are not! Whatever you think you are, no matter how many stupid proofs you have for yourself, you are not! You did what you can! That’s all! There’s no right or wrong or good or evil! You saved the fucking innocents!”

“...”

You hate it when you’re mad, the emotion always makes you cry. Makes your rage seems weak and pathetic.

You quickly wiped away the tears off your cheeks, looked away into the dark, took a deep breath to steady yourself.

You looked toward him once more. He��s still staring at the fire.

“...There are people who love you and care about you dearly.” You spoke slowly, word by word, hoping you could send these trembling words into his stubborn mind, “I do, so does Jaskier. And your brothers at Kaer Morhen, and Vesemier. And there will be more...I just hope you know that, and maybe one day you will join us and learn to love yourself.” you finished your speech and walked away.

“...Where are you going?” “To fucking shoot some fucking fish!” you yelled back in frustration, wiped your face again but the tears were uncontrollable.

§

Sitting by the running river, you held your knees close to your chest, listening to the rippling in the dark. Your eyes were puffy after a good cry, you sniffed, feeling the cool breeze giving you goosebumps.

You heard footsteps coming up behind, knowing it’s the witcher trying not to startle you- as he could move in absolute slience. You didn’t move.

The footstep stopped a few feet away behind you. None of you spoke. You listened to the rustling of the trees.

“...Did you, um, find any fish?” he broke the silence. “Pff, like my human eyes can see anything in this light.” you sniffed, couldn’t stop yourself being sarcastic. He didn’t reply. You immediately felt bad.

You stood up, head low, walked towards him, stopped just half an arm’s length away. He didn’t move. You looked up at him.

“Can I have a hug?” He blinked. “...Why?” “Cuz I think you need one too.” “...”

You took advantage of his silence and took a step forward, slid your arms around his waist and rested your forehead on his shoulder. You felt he grew uneasy, he just stood there awkwardly, didnt know what to do with his arms.

Standing there, surrounded by the sound of the night forest, and the warmth from another body, you were finally relaxed.

“...Are you hungry?” his voice was quiet like he’s scared to speak up. “...Yeah.” “I got some cheese and bacon in the bag.” “...Where did you get- Did you stole food from the alderman?” you backed away slightly to look at him. “And a fork.” he looked rather proud. You blinked in disbelief, then burst into laughter.

“Awesome! Let's go hit something with that fork!”

You saw, in the dim light, the witcher finally showed a faint smile.

§

You bolted upright when the door opened. Your eyes immediately shot to the man sleeping in bed.

“Don’t worry dear, he’s going to be alright.” “...Good morning Nenneke.” you gave her a sheepish smile, let go of Geralt’s hand- which you’ve been holding tightly on to all night- stood up from the wooden stool. “Go get some breakfast, I can take care of him.” “Alright.” you couldn’t stop a yawn, stretched your stiffened back from sleeping on your arms at the side of the bed all night.

It’s been like this for the past three days. You worried about him so much you couldn't sleep well. You know that he’s a superhuman underwent some crazy experiments, he won’t die that easily. But there was so much blood, he was in such terrible fever for days.

You remembered when you rushed out immediately after you heard the third crow, and found him laying on the ground, drenched in blood. And you remembered pressing on his wound, feeling the warm liquid oozing out through the gaps of your fingers. You remember you were panicking so much you couldn’t remember anything else.

Because you can’t ever be sure about what would happen now. Anything can change from what you knew.

Like when you met the beautiful Yennefer.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #97

Date: 2nd of July, 2028

Dear Diary, 

Well, summer is officially here and I have come back home. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to just sleep in, to linger and explore in my dreams, and then spend my days playing outside with Puck and Cornelius and the rats, from sunup to sundown. I have a nice stack of books to get through this summer, but I haven’t touched them yet because I just want to spend the first little bit not using my brain as much as possible. 

Little Lamplight has an event happening right now, I haven’t gone yet but I probably will. I want to say hi to my friends and see what’s going on! Anyways, let me catch you up on how the year ended before we talk about summer any more than I already have. 

Towards the end of exams, I had a really nice moment with Marigold and Everett where we danced and twirled in the rain until we were dizzy and then we just laid in it. It was very cathartic. I love the rain so much, I wish we’d get more thunderstorms. 

The Champion’s Feast happened, and there was smoked salmon which made me really happy, but then some drama happened. The Champions were supposed to give their speeches, but then they got interrupted when it came out that they had proof that their acting headmaster was the one behind Golovin’s murder, and then it was this whole thing and we had to evacuate the halls, there was something about that tall dark-haired Durmstrang girl being tortured and held hostage in his cabin on their ship? Anyways, the Ministry came and arrested him, there was a lot of fighting and anger. 

And then the next day was the task. There was this muddy bog sort of thing surrounding a forest, and at the center of the forest was a phoenix surrounded by a ring of fire. And there were so many traps! Lars got into the forest and the ring of fire first. The champions had to shed everything but their wand and the clothes on their back, but they didn’t know they were being followed by a pogrebin which prevented them from keeping forward. Lars’ revealed itself when he got frustrated and knelt down, so he eliminated it and moved forward. And then he went into this… Celestial, ethereal mirror world, where he encountered himself in a mirror and got asked all these personal questions. 

In the end, he couldn’t answer the questions properly and fought his way out. Then, he ended up at this bridge thing, where the cup was, and he got the cup before anyone else and then appeared in the sky with all these fireworks, so Durmstrang won in the end! Golovin’s ghost showed up and partied with his students, before vanishing at the end of the night, at peace I think! It was very emotional. 

Down below, where Elliott and Cardan were, though… Cardan had the hardest time getting into the forest, and Elliott couldn’t get past the phoenix because of his own pogrebin. Cardan ended up casting something on Elliott, and then the two started fighting. They all got taken back to their tents and… That was that! 

Slytherin ended up winning the house cup, though, and I’m actually quite happy about that. I think Elliott deserved that win, and I feel like he and Professor Rask do a really good job with the Slytherins. I hate seeing people perpetuate stereotypes about the houses, you know? Snakes are clever, and it made me really happy to see that cleverness put to work to bring their house pride! (Plus now I get to see the colour green every time I walk into the Great Hall and that makes me really happy, it’s my favourite colour.) 

Oh, I also started colouring my hair bright, unnatural colours even before school ended. It was pink for awhile, and now it’s blue. I didn’t get stopped by any professors or prefects or anything. Maybe I’ll keep doing this next year… We shall see. 

Anyways, we then said goodbye to the schools. There was… a lot of crying. It’s going to be so weird, going into next year without them. The school will feel… Emptier. Less interesting. I have a couple ideas for things to do to make things a little more fun, though. It’ll be interesting and… I can’t believe I’m going into my third year… And Mari and Talula and Bobby and that whole group are going into their fifth years. It’s wild to me. 

I sat with Bobby on the train ride home, and we ate candy and played exploding snap. I fell asleep on his shoulder. It was really nice, and we’re going to play Dungeons and Dragons this summer. Dad got me an adventurer’s guide book that he thought I’d like, so I might try my hand at being a dungeon master? It’s called Candlekeep Mysteries and it’s got a lot to do with the Feywild! So I’m really excited about it. And I want to go watch Bobby play rugby. 

Lately I’ve been reading a lot about the Fae and Irish mythology and lore about them, and I’ve been drawing a bit, too. I’m so glad that it’s summer. I feel like I can breathe again. I’m not sure what it was about this year that drained me as badly as it did, I didn’t really do anything. But maybe that’s what it was - I wasn’t drawing or writing or even really hanging out with my friends. I should try to change that next year, and maybe it’ll be better? 

Oh, there was one other thing, before I go. I had a really weird, vivid dream. It was like I was floating in the ocean, and I could see the moon in a clear sky. She was so huge, and it felt like the ocean was carrying me towards her. And then I started to sink, and I was very aware of a large creature being in the water with me, which is like, my nightmare. I hate swimming with creatures! So I started to panic, and then I started to drown, and there was all this loud crashing… I think there was other things happening, and it was so vivid at the time, but the memories broke into pieces the moment I woke up and kinda just faded away, instantly. 

I had more nightmares that night, too, but they felt different and I remembered them perfectly. I don’t want to talk about those, though. In a nutshell, it was just me being worried about Puck, but he’s perfectly fine and laying in bed with me. Anyways, it’s about time I get the day started, so I’m gonna go.

Much love, Everly

[ Flickr ]

[ Eve’s Wiki Page ] 

[philtstone]

i think this whole fic is going to be an exercise in finding the most unhinged single sentence statements on marvel wiki and working them into a semblance of coherency

#zainab sent me this and i got excited about the latter half and forgot to read the first part of the sentence #im screaming #'after briefly switching bodies' #this is by far not the worst one im using #the murderous rat-like creature rides again etc etc #also i realized this morning that i have no idea what a church floorplan looks like. so to google we go #phil.txt #my writing #the arcane au rip

[thomasstalsworth]

Too Old ... Moray II

[ Prior Chapter ]

“... What the fuck?”

Moray set down his spyglass, letting it rest a moment at his hip. The telescoping device gave off a very distinct ‘schhwp!’ sound as it collapsed. With the crisp, Spring late-night air of Stormwind all around, he took a moment to rationally determine if what he had just seen was accurate. He was not a man who was beyond questioning his senses when it was logical. There was a significant amount of stress going around, and he certainly had the Red Fleet on his mind. But that did not mean anyone with a red corsair’s vest and burn scars was …

‘Schhwp!’

Spyglass back upon his eyeball, he looked again to the harbour below -- particularly one of the southern moorings where a minor coalition of buccaneers were carousing. Well, perhaps not carousing. He generally thought of carousing as dice, cards, gambling, an abundance of ethanol compounds of varying flavors and fermentations, and oftentimes individuals of favorable amorality.

The men he currently had within the scope of his spyglass looked more like they were devising. Perhaps it could be said that they were planning -- scheming even. The sentiment was unlawful.

And the one amidst the center of the scheming, face cast only with half-light from the meager oil lanterns of the southern harbour moorings -- he had a scar. Not any scar, as it was not anything to be surprised for to see a sailing man with a scar. Mangled flesh was a point of pride and boast for any humanoid of Azeroth’s various ocean-faring organizations. Moray was not above it himself. He took a well of pride for his calloused hands, split knuckles, and rope-torn limbs.

But this man, scheming amidst a crew of carob and claret clad buccaneers, had a scar on his face. Now he tried to hide it, to credit. A burlap mask that looked as if it reeked of male sweat and spittle was tugged up over his nostrils. But it did not hide from Moray’s spyglass the distinctive upper-reaches of a burn-scar. A handprint upon the man’s face, fingers curled over the eye and brow.

Men of the Reverend.

He collapsed the spyglass and stole it away inside the pocket of his trousers.

There were clear rules at play. He was under the bidden order of his Captain to ‘assess and report’. Such notions and exactitude of word were not done without intention. He was no man to breach order even under dire circumstances. Logic, order and the reason of the hierarchy of command were present to his soul even when the call to arms was estranged. Such as when the foe was Abbidas Bonnet, Eighth of the Brethren Pirate Lords and there was no crew complement nor vessel to command against such a demonic creature. Only himself and his Captain -- and she was not exactly nearby.

Of course the notion came quite immediately to his mind to simply ‘phone in’. He had given her a single-channel gnomecorder, and carried one himself to match, for a reason. But unfortunately Moray was still a man, and despite being a rather stoic and rigid man of rules and ordinance, he was still a man. And men had the most frustrating ability to rationalize otherwise worrisome actions.

Given the time of late evening, and the fact that his Captain had said quite specifically she was going back to Westfall only perhaps a half of an hour earlier, Moray felt quite sure in assuming that she was currently on horseback. It would be silly to try to contact her through gnomecorder. She must be riding. It was doubtful she would even be able to hear the buzzing device in a saddlebag. Yes, yes that made sense.

He stowed his spyglass onto his hip. ‘Assess and report’ was his ordered task. He was going to assess the fel out of those pirates -- and he could report on whatever was left of them.

From Lion’s Rest to the tawny, spume-soaked reaches of the southern harbour was a reasonable expanse of distance. Stormwind City only grew larger every day. But he had the boon of long legs and an internal vigor. Yes it had been damaged somewhat from his scarring and the long process of healing -- of which, by doctoral direction was technically still on-going -- from his torture at the hands of the Reverend, but all the same. It would not take him long.

There was nothing remarkable about him. At least, not externally. He found his pride and measure to be personal; an internal liberty and polished independence of spirit. There was nothing remarkable about him in appearance, and he found that quite useful. Certainly in the cosmopolitan cityscape of Stormwind -- almost doubly so in the evenings, he had found -- he did not ‘stick out’.

This was helpful for him, as he wanted to move as quickly and efficiently as possible without drawing attention. En route to the harbour, passing the Cathedral District of the city, he was harried briefly as the City Watch seemed to be making an arrest. For what reason he could not assume, but perhaps it had something to do with the man in purple and black robes and the various demonic constructs that accompanied him.

The city certainly had changed since the reconstruction. To him it was still New Stormwind.

But onward he went, and down the barrier sea walls of the harbour. Thankfully the lamplighters of the city had yet to reignite many of the oil lamps on the pathway down. He found himself appreciating the laziness of the union in that moment, ‘tap-tap-tap!’ing his way down the many, many steps it took to reach the harbourway proper.

Now if there was one thing that Emett Moray found he could claim some mastery of, it was a sense of direction. This was not a surprising fact for him to explain to any person, as it usually came after mentioning his decades of sailing experience. Oddly enough, knowing what direction you are going was a strong skill to put on one’s resume in a naval employ.

Thus -- owing to his propensity for mastery of sensing direction -- it was no trouble for him to find the coalition of conniving corsairs. In truth such a title of profession was being generous. No doubt the men were rapacious murderers. Those who followed the creed and call of the Red Lord had a tendency to such behavior. That only gave Moray more confidence in his actions.

The pirates had formed a tight semi-circle near one of the southern moorings. To any frequent traveler or employee of the Stormwind harbourways, it was quite well known not only how massive the docks were and how many dockheads were constructed, but how the general sense of lawfulness tended to degrade the closer you got to the southern shorehead.

Indeed, ever since the burning of Teldrassil, the southernmost dock had fallen into a state of constant cloak-and-dagger. With no vessels regularly ferrying travelers to and from the northern end of Kalimdor with subsidy from the Crown well …

Smugglers, deviants, freebooters and otherwise less-than-lawful elements were, by nature, opportunistic.

The sensation of half-lit oil lamps and a cloudy, half-moon sky were not lost on Moray. As he crept down to the southern harbourway and toward where the men of the Reverend were speaking in hushed tone, Moray kept a keen awareness of his surroundings. Good that he did, too, as he almost stumbled onto an alchemical deal occurring between a Kaldorei man and a pair of gnomes. He studiously avoided them, circling around a few pallets of unmarked cargo.

Once he was within earshot of the pirates, he ducked his girthy frame low. There were benefits to possessing a ‘lower center of gravity’, even at his otherwise impressive height. He had the ‘drustblood’, as some people called it. There was no helping his enormity. But behind a stack of rain-bubbled lumber he settled himself in, eavesdropping.

“... afterward you’ll regroup in the woods north of the city outskirts, past the farmsteads. With the catacombs taken care of, we can lay down and wait until she is in the city again.”

The burned man, his face cast in a scar, spoke to the rest. Catacombs? Moray knew of no crypts within the city of Stormwind beyond those which consumed a spiderweb beneath the Cathedral. What were they --

“Did the Reverend say when she would return?”

A dissenting voice, questioning the burlap and burned man.

“You question him? -- She will return. The sight is fickle and only the Lord can command it reliably. She will return and when she does we will track her back to her rat’s nest.”

‘Assess and report’. He could recall his Captain’s words quite clearly. Indeed, even through the slush of the southern harbour sound and air, above the voice of the damned creatures of the Red Lord’s reverend, he could hear her voice. He chose to ignore that particular auditory acumen.

Rising suddenly from behind the stack of lumber, Moray unhooked his boarding axe from his hip. There was a ‘scccckrt!’ as the rigging rope that was his belt came undone, unlooping his weapon from its holding at his hip. He took the massive, broad-headed axe in both hands. With a two-handed hammer-throw overhead, he hurled the weapon into the spinal column of the nearest pirate.

That got their attention.

The lighting was poor, he knew that. With only a few oil lamps overhead along the harbourway giving even the slightest flicker of orange-hued light, Moray felt confident. With his axe buried four or five inches deep in the spine of one of the pirates, he only had six more to contend with. Unfair odds in truth -- perhaps if they had more reinforcements things would be even.

Immediately he ducked behind the stack of rain-warped lumber. Back to the assembly of boards and spars, he flattened himself, waiting.

True to form as ravenous, murderous creatures of the wide ocean -- they predictably came after him. He counted on that rather foolhardy nature. Although he was only one foe against them, a discerning mind was far more useful than multiplicative limbs.

The first man around the corner of the lumber pile was rammed against a split board.

Moray had quite sizable hands. Paws of such rancor and stature that he could, often, reliably get his entire mitt around the face of a regular man. ‘Drustblood’ they called it. He called it big fucking hands. The first pirate around the lumber pile he took by the jaw, beating him against a split board from the lumber pile until his front palette was gouged and murky. He dropped the man like a bloody pork chop.

The next ‘buccaneer’ tried to spear-tackle Moray. Running in hard around the corner of the pile of discarded wood, he rammed himself against Moray’s hull. Unfortunately for the pirate and his violent intention, Moray did not move. Indeed, he simply glanced down at the tawny, zealous creature currently trying to wrangle his substantial form with a curious brow.

“.. Did you want another try?” Moray spoke to his would-be wrestler.

With a jerk of his arms and flex of muscle, the pirate tried to move the vengeful first mate. It did not work terribly well, resulting in little more than a scuttling of spare earth beneath them as the pirate ended up running in place.

With a sigh, Moray loft both hands, fingers interlaced into one fist, and collapsed his limbs onto the back of the pirate’s neck. Like a sack of grain from the back of a cart -- he went down.

The remaining five -- they used a small portion of their frontal lobe to realize that perhaps ganging up on the immediate foe was the surest course of action.

Moving backwards to avoid the onslaught of five zealous, piratical creatures of malcontent, Moray started to path himself back and around the lumber pile. As he moved, they made earnest intention to assault his person. That came in the form, mostly, of sharp steel. Now while he was, by all accounts, a rather large and thickened man -- he could still move swiftly when occasion called for it.

Attempted murder was one of those times.

Without his boarding axe, the commonplace weapon at his hip, he was defenseless to parry. But large limbs allowed for a certain degree of intimidation. He swung his arms and legs about, statured as a brawler in the ring. Where there were five of them each bearing steel and -- presumably -- pyroclastic capability, he had the forward-foot in the fight. Killing two so quickly was a good call.

Moving around the pile of disparate lumber, spars and planking arms, Moray started to back himself toward the southern dockhead. There were no other souls about, or at least the dim oil lamps on the clouded night suggested so. He kept the give encroaching pirates at bay with a serious of swift movements, powerful body language, and more than a little grunting.

But eventually he ran out of dock.

With his back to the open ocean behind, foaming waters churning under the fresh-heeled wood and steel rivets, he had nowhere to go. The burned man stood at the front of the group of pirates, servants of the Red Lord and his chosen Reverend. The man shunt his mask, peeling it off with two fingers to reveal the burn-scar upon his face. A searing-hot hand to cover one half of his features, the fingers curled around his brow and temple.

“Take his legs -- leave him alive. He knows something, I can tell.”

If nothing else, Moray took offense at the man’s raspy voice. He spoke as if he was uncaring for the manner in which he was heard. Such disregard for the social decorum and order offended the good, first mate. He cared for how he was heard and spoke accordingly. To see language so flagrantly cast aside harmed him.

But he had a more immediate problem than conversational norms.

Five men with a rising blood and a potency for divine fire -- not to mention their sharp armings of steel -- were more than a match for his scarred limbs. He ground his teeth, recalling how he had been tasked to ‘assess and report’. Well he had assessed, and found the situation worrying for the safety and health of his Captain.

Now he had to report.

With an eye to the five men encroaching on him as he ran out of dockhead to back upon, boots scuttling to the edge where the frothing waters of the Great Sea met the Stormwind dock in the late-evening darkness, Moray spoke a small settling of .. prayer.

“.. Alright, I know I have not spoken to you in awhile. I have not listened either. I am sorry for that -- but I could really use a hand here, Momma.”

It had been … years? … since he had spoken to her. The great mother who had guided him along his life in so many ways. Who he gave offerings and respect to, even if not by name, everytime he worked atop a vessel who weighed anchor. But need was need, and earnest heart was earnest heart and --

A sudden thrumming sound ate up the air. The five pirates bearing down on him paused some dozen feet away, just out of reach of their sharpened steel and sour-hearted fire. The thrumming, drumming, roaring beat of sound grew and grew until --

A massive wave of dark, frothing water from the night-time sea rushed over the dockhead and hurled the five pirates back, soaking and stealing from them their vigorous air. Each man was hurled so far and with such force as to crack their bodies against the cargo, dockheads and post that made up the wooden walkway. Consciousness was not a strength of which they could hold to any longer. It was quite a boon to the first mate.

Of course he was, obviously, soaking wet.

While the wave of frothing water had part to keep from throwing him dozens of feet across the dock as well as the pirates, it had still managed to drench him from head to toe in freezing, Spring-evening water.

He ran his tongue inside his lip, spitting out a gout of saltwater.

“.. Thanks, Mom.”

He took a short moment to reacquaint himself with a world wherein he was not in immediate, mortal danger before hustling down the dock. The goal was not to escape -- no, that was far from his intent. Those pirates had some sense of intelligence, and no doubt a portion of it would be on their persons. He grasped them each in turn, rummaging through their belongings and persons for anything remotely related to the Red Lord or one particular Abighail Atwater ….

Now it was important to understand the manner in which water reacted to parchment and ink. The pairing  were not amiable to one another. Take a well-written accord of some kind made in ink upon a vellum of even moderate capacity and introduce a deluge of frigid harbour water? … Well, legibility became suspect.

And so it was that Moray removed some kind of missive from the belt holdings of the scarred leader of the pirates. It clearly had some import, given his possession of it and the way it which it had been folded into the cycling of his breeches. But -- it was soaking wet. And there was not exactly an abundance of keen lighting with which to try and determine the writing by.

Oh -- and the mild concern of the bells of the city watch.

With the good men and women of the Stormwind Patrol coming in hot on the heels of his bout of -- justified -- combat, Moray grasped what pieces of useful evidence he could. With a final rock of his fist against the jaw of the burned man, no doubt a tool of the Reverend, Moray turned and leapt into the waters of the harbour. There were many ways to avoid the consternation of the Stormwind city watch -- suffusing oneself ten feet underwater tended to work quite well.

It was some time later, finally coming ashore from swimming South of the harbour that he reached dry land. Heaving himself onto the bare, sandy beach -- one he knew was close by, even without the Moon’s light to guide him -- Moray laid back with a huff and paused to take in air. He was tired, that much was obvious. The beach was below the cliffside that bore Lion’s Rest, and he looked up from his rest, back against the fisherman’s sands, to peer up at the marbled railway which he had stood upon with his spyglass not two hours hence.

Positioned as a starfish upon the wet sands, cloudy evening sky above and the waning sound of the city patrol’s bells ringing in the distance, he took stock.

The Reverend had men in Stormwind. They were searching for something, presumably in the catacombs of the Cathedral. Once that was acquired they intended to -- presumably -- lay in wait and track his Captain back to her homestead, whatever it may be, in Westfall.

Not ideal.

Reaching into his trouser pocket, sodden as it was, he retrieved his gnomecorder. It was, as one could imagine, soaking wet -- and inoperable. ‘Assess and report’. Well he had managed one half of that, at least.

With the water-damaged communicator in hand, he fell back against the sand.

“.. Fuck.”

@abighail-atwater​ (mentioned)

#Canon #Too Old

[sirbadgerduke]

Retrospective Thought: Top Ten Games of The Year 2019

Another year down and just on the horizon beckons another year into the light, and this year was a real wild ride for games. From triumphant returns ala Devil May Cry V to huge disasters ala Anthem. What is a defacto truth though; there’s plenty of great games that came out this year, and can only make us wonder what is brewing for the new start of a new decade. As we close out the 2010s and enter the 2020s, I think we should look back on the great games that came out in 2019. Obviously this is MY list of games that I LOVED playing this year, I haven’t played every game to ever come out this year so there’s bound to be a favourite or two of yours not on this list. I respect you either disagreeing or agreeing with me. So here goes, the Ten Games of the Year. Honourable Mentions: The Surge 2, Mortal Kombat 11, Monster Hunter World: Iceborne, Blasphemous, Oninaki, My Friend Pedro, Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3:The Black Order, Dusk Diver, Daemon X Machina, Death Stranding, MediEvil Remake, Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.

10) Plague Tale: Innocence(PS4/XBO/PC) This title is very much a sleeper hit in my opinion, a game published by Focus Home Interactive, who have been killing it in the “AA Experience” space of games with the likes of Styx, Greedfall, etc and Plague Tale, is a game worth checking out. You play as Amicia De Rune, who must protect her younger brother, Hugo, from Inquisition guards, villagers and a deadly swarm of plague carrying rats during 14th century France. The story slowly builds drama, tension and atmosphere with a fantastic setting that is surprisingly overlooked for more contemporary settings and locales, the idea of making Rats(for most of the game mind you) as this unstoppable almost “supernatural” force is both genius and frightening. Above all else the characters are well written, many parts believable and many parts relatable, you’ll be feeling their trials and tribulations as you go through the games 17 lengthy chapters. The gameplay is surprisingly both solid and janky at times; taking on a stealth system that mostly works well, you gradually gain a number of tools to deal with both human and vermin obstacles all the while with a small number of bosses that feel more like a mix of combat and puzzle solving. The game is worth picking up if you’re craving a smaller, less busywork heavy kinda game.

9) Astral Chain(Nintendo Switch) Platinum Games is one of my favourite Action Game developers currently in the industry; they make great combat systems with deep mechanics all the while adding more depth than you initially thought could possibly be able. While it’s not on the same level as NieR: Automata, Astral Chain continues the trend of Platinum Games nailing their signature style of gameplay; over the top whacky combat with anime as hell storytelling. This time you play a cop of a special police division that focuses on investigating the Astral Realm with your own Jojo-like Stand called a Legion. You’ll go on missions to battle these weird creatures, investigate the areas, even helping people and picking up litter(yeah, really) all the while slowly opening up your repertoire of Legions at your disposal. This is standard “Goofball anime nonsense mixed with badass tier combat and gameplay” that you either love or hate from Plat. While it’s not the deepest combat system out of their library, it is a rather interesting and fun premise with the combat focus being on the switching between Legions and their placement on the battlefield, the game offers its own level of depth, even if its a pond compared to the likes of Bayonetta 2 and NieR: Automata. If you want an anime as fuck, fun romp, Astral Chain is for you.

8) Code Vein(PS4/XBO/PC) The Soulsborne-like clone fad is a weird beast to look back on; while some heavy hitters have come out of it(NioH, Surge to some extent, hell Hollow Knight,Jedi Fallen Order) there’s been some real stinkers( Lords of The Fallen, again, Surge to some extent), it seems to have caught the industry hard as you could easily find at least one clone you’ll like and one you despise. Code Vein is a very weird Souls-like game in that it’s focus isn’t really a particular gameplay mechanic they introduce into it, or even how it offers “loot” but more on its focus on a narrative and characters. You play as a nameless revenant that wakes up with amnesia and a pretty white haired but barely clothed girl. It’s your duty to collect blood beads to keep your hunger sated. As you explore and push on the story opens up, introducing new characters and locales with a enough variety to keep you interested. Gameplay wise? Combat is solid, it’s admittedly very soulsy, so love it or hate it, that’s how it does things, plus you have the option of having a CP controlled companion with you on your journey to help alleviate some of the difficulty. Where the game shines in gameplay is it’s endless combinations and build opportunities, allowing you to really cater to a unique playstyle best suited for you or a more typically fantasy build if you so choose. Bosses, however are a huge mixed bag of good, bad and just outright frustrating. If you really want an Anime Souls-like, you would do yourself a huge disservice to miss out on this one.  

7) Outer Worlds(PS4/XBO/PC) Obsidian Entertainment does a really good job on making some great RPG titles. From KOTOR2 to Fallout: New Vegas and even their own IPs like Pillars of Eternity 1 and 2, Outer Worlds is no exception among this collection. While the game is set in an alternative future, you are awakened by a mad scientist named Phineas Welles from cryosleep only to find that most of the passengers are still in hibernation aboard a colony ship. The game features several factions and a branching story that reacts to the player's choices. The writing is pretty damn great, witty and intriguing, something severely lacking in later day Fallout titles. Outer Worlds is pretty much a Fallout Game without the fallout licence only it builds from New Vegas’ strengths rather than let it get muddled down with Bethesda’s weaknesses. It even comes with it’s own take on the VATS system. The gameplay is solid, it’s just New Vegas but better, whilst in the grand scheme of things? It’s not the thing that will win you over in the long run. If you’re a Fallout Fan sick of the current trend Bethesda is in or whether you’re looking for a great Space Adventure, Outer Worlds is not the best choice, it’s Spacer’s Choice!

6) Greedfall(PS4/XBO/PC) Oh Spiders, Spiders, Spiders. This dev company has steadily grown strong from game to game. From it’s rocky beginnings with Of Orcs and Men and Bound by Flame to the almost good Technomancer, Spiders have, in my honest opinion, have found their major hit and boy has it been a hit for Focus Home Interactive. You begin as De Sardet, a human who’s sent with his cousin to govern newly discovered island, neutral in the varying factions and war that is happening all the while you seek to find out more about the this mysterious illness that plagues the De Sardet family, so that you can cure Greedfall, honestly, is such a weird game to come out in 2019 but one I do not regret having played at all. It’s reminiscent of old Bioware titles like Mass Effect 1 and Dragon Age: Origins; the gameplay is solid and fun allowing you a nice enough variety to go deep as you want whilst having a rather engaging story and narrative that is populated with companions that all have very different opinions and often clash with one another’s. It feels like a game that should’ve been released back in 2010 from Bioware, in a good way obviously. While it’s not graphically impressive, the art style is really nice and the world is both intriguing and bleak. Worthy a look into if you’re seeking that old bioware-esque flair that’s seriously missing from Latter Day Bioware.

5) Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice(PS4/XBO/PC) One of my all time favourite games is a From Software developed title by the name of Bloodborne, which is also my all time favourite PS-Exclusive. My hype for Sekiro was almost reaching the moon since the teaser was shown back in 2018, a chance to travel to Japan with that Souls-like style if you will. Only it’s the least Souls games in the Souls style of games that is developed by the originators of the brand. The focus here, is less on builds, blocking and dodging and more about your posture, parrying and loadouts and the gameplay absolutely, masterfully services that to a T.The Bosses are some of the best in the series, almost better than Bloodborne’s roster, but with the addition of mini bosses that roster is pretty huge(for better or for worse). You take the role of Sekiro, a ninja who’s service is needed by Kuro, a bearer of the Dragon’s Heritage; power/curse that grants anyone they deem worthy with immortality, however, when they die and resurrect it runs the risk of infecting people with Dragon Rot. The more narrative focus is a nice change of pace in my opinion and with the added blend of japanese history with mythology giving it a rather rich and surprisingly lived in world. Sekiro is definitely worth getting if you fancy yourself more dueling style gameplay.

4) Judgment(PS4) Ryu Ga Gotoku Studios have become another of my favourite game devs in recent years. Their work on the Yakuza Franchise is a blessing for a revamping of a classic Adventure/Savage Beat’em’up Hybrid, though they’ve since become the most popular and one of very few to exist. Judgment is a sorta separate entity/spin-off to the mainline franchise but still somehow connected(Unlike the great Fist of The North Star: Lost Paradise title.) to the Yakuza story in a much smaller degree. You play as Yagami, a private detective who was once a renowned lawyer until he was disgraced by one his star client who went on to murder another victim despite being found innocent. That’s as much as I can say about the story since the game is essentially a Crime Drama/Mystery with a little bit of Yakuza DNA. The cast of characters are all great, the villains make you want to absolutely bring them down a peg and the good guys really makes you root for them to win and push through the struggles. As is with Yakuza, the meat and potatoes of the series, the gameplay, is on point. Continuing the savage Brawler system but extending it into a more personalised style for Yagami, with his own heat moves and skills to boot, it’s fantastic and absolutely a treat to pull off combats, especially switching between all three of the styles. The Boss battles are a sweet as all hell, especially Cane Guy, who’s probably the most anime as fuck character you face of against. Buy it if you love Yakuza and crave for more, or if you’re new to the style of games.  

3) Resident Evil 2: Remake(PS4/XBO/PC) Survival Horror is a genre that seems to struggle, with the occasional surprise hit that everyone gets behind. With that in mind, Resident Evil 2 Remake is a fantastic survival horror game that brings back the franchise to its roots and redoing them with a great, brand new shine and paint. Resident Evil 2 Remake puts you in the shoes of Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy during the Racoon City Incident, while Claire searches for her brother and Leon goes to his first day on the job at RCPD, despite being told not, they must survive and avoid the monstrosities that roam the city, zombies, Lickers and the big bad Tyrant himself Mr X. A very nice remix of an old formula that gives it some new life, RE2R has impeccable atmosphere, tension and horror, half being brought to you via exploring and solving puzzles and the other half from Mr X himself who stalks you down with a purpose; to take out any survivors in Racoon City. Gameplay is super solid, and surprisingly does not make the game a pushover, solid shooting mechanics with some great puzzle mechanics and ofcourse exploration whilst not being an open world make this a title worth having in your collection. Whether you’re a survival horror fan, RE fan, Old Skool style RE fan, you’ll do yourself a massive disservice not picking this gem up.

2) Devil May Cry V(PS4/XBO/PC) Honestly, you can just call 2019 the Year of Capcom’s return to form, by nailing it with RE2, MHW in 2018 and obviously Iceborne later in year, it was only time that DMCV would come out between those mammoths titles. After the disastrous ReBoot, everyone including me too were sure that DMC was put back in the ice for good. That’s of course before DMCV’s triumphant teaser at E3. Devil May Cry V continues the story of Sparda’s progeny, Dante as he helps out returning upstart Nero and intriguing newcomer V as they take on the new Demon King; Urizen. This game is absolutely fantastic and I can’t fanboy over it enough. The story, while simple and easy to follow, has great character development and pacing, bring characters into their arcs in ups and downs that steadily build up to a final confrontation that just might be my new favourite boss battle of all time. The gameplay! The gameplay, is, to put it bluntly; absolutely sublime. From Dante’s weapon variety and DT craziness to Nero’s new gadgets in the form of his robotic arms to the weird Summoner-style gameplay of V, the game is its most diverse gameplay wise and not once feeling janky and sluggish at all. The Boss Battles are all fun and really bring something to the gameplay to both push and test you to your limit. Devil May Cry may just be one of my all time fave franchises and to see it return so triumphantly? Actually brings a tear to my eye. A must, must, MUST buy if I’ve ever played one.

1) Control(PS4/XBO/PC EGS Exclusive) Aaaah, Remedy, bringing such classics like Max Payne and Alan Wake into this world, Microsoft did you dirty with Quantum Break. So where did it leave them to go? To spiral into the weird worlds of Stephen King, Cosmic horror and the SCP Foundation for inspiration, to which Control is born, a phenomenal Third Person Shooter Metroidvania-esque game with a solid narrative and a beautiful visual and art design. You are Jesse Faden, a person of interest that has been searching for the Federal Bureau of Control since an incident with them when she was young had taken her brother. I really don’t want to say more than that, it’s better for you to experience the story for yourself. Narratively speaking? It has some great SCP-esque world building and lore with a solid to really good story that’s pacing 80% of the time really well. Gameplay and visuals with music are essentially where this game shines for me. Solid as hell shooting mechanics with some really badass powers helps to bring this game alive, but you don’t have all those powers from the get go, they are steadily paced throughout to make sure you’re not vastly overpowered or underpowered, it’s rather nice actually. Visuals and music are sublime, both together make for some truly memorable moments and areas. As stated, this is a Metroidvania and so has a lot of isms associated with that style; locked off area you’ll obviously return to with new powers to explore further, a semi-open world map, etc. I can’t sing this game’s praises enough, I think this might’ve just beaten out Alan Wake for my favourite Remedy game. Absolutely get this game NOW. So there’s my top ten list to round out 2019, a truly great year of great games. I’m honestly really excited to see what comes out in 2020, as it looks to be quite literally STACKED with potentially great(and shite) games. Hope you all had a spiffn’ new years, and here’s to 2020, let’s see what’s in store for us now!

#From Software #soulsborne #souls #sekiro #Remedy Entertainment #control #code vein #bandai #capcom #resident evil #resident evil 2 #remake #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #Dante Sparda #Nero Sparda #claire redfield #leon kennedy #obsidian entertainment #outer worlds #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza #judgment #spiders studio #greedfall #focus home interactive #a plague tale #plague tale innocence #platinum games #astral chain

[midnight-watch-committee]

Story 1: what happened to Sheridan

Journalism, second period of the day, 9:34 in the morning., June 22nd, 2018.

There was a tv on in the class room, we always had the news on in there to help us, "a free cheat sheet if you use it right" as Mr. Haddison would call it. Every now and again people would be mildly interested in what was happening: law suits, politics, and murder for the morbid. A sudden gasp escaped from the girl next to me. Her name was Beth and if you saw her, you’d probably expect her to be a computer club kid. A headband kept her bright orange hair that almost looked fake from falling into her rounded, golden framed glasses, she was the youngest person in this room by about five minutes and she made sure you knew when you walked in, her sporadic and adventure seeking personality was as wild as the bright stickers on her laptop and pins on her shirt which told you every fandom she was in. She tapped me quickly on the shoulder, which was met by a cold “I’m busy,” but her insistent tapping eventually made me cave, as I looked up to what was shocking her, I realized why she gasped so loudly. “How do you lose an entire town?!” I said, or rather screamed. My friend Mikey quickly covered my mouth, expecting me to scream more about something or other, but I was more in shock than anything.  Mikey slowly moved his hand off my mouth and wiped it on his letterman jacket, “Could you be any louder?” he asks sarcastically, which I feel tempted to test but decide against it. Sheridan, Wyoming...”it was just there five minutes ago”, according to one of the people interviewed, a man who left town to grab a prescription from a nearby pharmacy. “Hey, Mike, how far is that” I asked. “Not crazy far-Juni, do you have another stupid idea?” he answered, already knowing what I was gonna say, “Just one...” I respond. “Dumb ideas? Like what, going to the crater formerly known as Sheridan? Juni, it’s gone, I’m sure the police are-” Beth started before getting shot a “shut the fuck up” look from Mikey. “What are the cops gonna do? IT’S GONE! If they plan on arresting us for looking at a hole in the ground, I’m sure a court will easily rule in our favor.” I spit out. “Jeez, fine! If you two are going, I’m tagging along to make sure you idiots don’t get hurt.” Beth said whipping out her phone “What time should I expect Mr. Can’t drive for shit to show up?” Mikey let out a chuckle. Not his “I found that funny” chuckle but a forced one, the kind you do when your sister tells a really bad joke but your mom shot you a look. “8:30, ditch the pink, we’re trespassing and we can’t repeat the O’Reily house incident.” She gave me a thumbs up, punched it into her phone and went back to her work.

The Vallen residence, 8:20 at night.

I looked in the mirror one last time, my jet-black hair an absolute mess but not like I’d ever bother fixing it. I decided to settle on a blue baseball cap to hide the rat’s nest. A black sleeveless jacket and torn blue jeans were my only real protection from anyone spotting my pale ass from a mile away. I checked the film on my grandfather’s, well mine now, camera. I gently trailed my finger over the weird markings that surround the outside of the camera. I heard my phone go off from the other room and darted over to it, slipping it in my jacket pocket and making a break for the door, pulling up my black face mask and hoping in the back of Mikey’s dark red pickup truck. He had some cheerleader girl up front with him and they clearly seemed to be taking a while so I gave the roof a few rough slaps. He rolled his window down and snapped “How many times do I have to say stop doing that before you fucking stop?” I rolled my eyes and laid down as we pulled off. I shot Beth a text letting her know we were on our way and took a nap for the 30 minuets it took to get to her place, she hopped in and checked to make sure I was still alive, trying to keep me awake so I was ready to do my job. I was the group photographer, Mike was the muscle and Beth was our pretty face who got everyone’s attention, I’d do more up-front stuff if it wasn’t for my social anxiety so for now that goes to Beth. “Did you check the film?” she asked, to which I nodded. “Good, good...how do I look?” I crack a smile and give her the trademark Beth Thumbs up ™, curving my thumb slightly to copy hers. She rolled her eyes and made sure her recorder was still working. There was something about the way the light hit her and the look in her eyes that left me stunned. Click! I snapped a quick picture of her and waved the film around, checking it. Perfect. I slipped it into my jacket pocket hoping she didn’t see me take it as the truck comes up on what was Sheridan.

Sheridan, Wyoming 8:50 at night.

We slowed to a halt a few inches away from the crater. “God, does he want us to get stuck in there?” I mumbled to Beth before hoping out, tapped on the window and gestured for him to back up. The vehicle rolled back and just as quickly as he reversed, he slammed down on the breaks, most likely giving poor Beth a major concussion. Mikey got out from the front, telling Sherri or Cherri or Cherry or whatever her name was to wait there, Beth started her audio recorder and we started our search. We walked around the perimeter of Former Sheridan, snapping photos of weird shaped rocks that seemed placed by something to hold the dirt back from reaching the middle and flowers that were left in the crater by those who thought everyone there was dead already, sitting in between all those flowers were four glowing blue rocks. “We should go in.” I blurt out, “I mean, when have we ever been scared to go into something? We’ve been in hospitals during outbreaks for Christ's sake!” Beth and Mikey look at each other, have a quick whisper debate that seems to end in Beth winning and sends Mikey back to the truck to grab some climbing equipment and set it up at the spot we were standing near. Beth offered me the rope and I accepted, sliding down all the way to the bottom of the crater, about 15 feet deep. “what the- HEY GUYS GET DOWN HERE!” I shouted, and started snapping pictures of a hole dug into the side of the crater...no, dug is wrong. There were bite marks on the outside of the hole. As if provoked by my camera, a gray, eight legged, slimy, insect shaped...CREATURE came charging out. It’s lack of eyes was amplified by it snarling, four toothed jaw. If you took of the tail of a scorpion and made it the size of a small building, you’d have this thing. The creature started stomping around the crater screeching. Legs brought up dust, chomping it up in the air. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Beth screamed down into the hole and honestly, I didn’t know. I snapped a few more quick photos and broke for the rope, not wanting to be down there any longer. On my way up, I noticed the writing on the outside of the camera glowing, now readable as “Midnight watch committee.” As whatever the fuck that was screeched after us, we hoped in the truck and booked it, leaving cheer girl in wonder as to what we saw down there but we didn’t even have the sanity in that moment to describe it,.

Vallen residence, Midnight.

This thing was like something right out of some old country children’s tale. “Wait a minute...” I thought to myself, I flung open every filing cabinet in the attic, trying to find the old book my grandfather use to read to me from. My mom always hated it and time and time again told him to not read it to me, but he never listened. “The world’s a scary place,” he would say “nothing wrong with teaching her what to expect.” After maybe the 500th cabinet filled with pitch blackness, my hands bumped into the large leather-bound book. I blew the dust off it, remembering the last time I had ever had this read to me was when my mom was still alive. As if like magic, I open the book up to a random page and saw exactly what I was looking for, “The Earth Eater.” My jaw dropped reading everything in there, all the lives it had taken...but what really threw me off was...the book mentioned Sheridan’s disappearance. Did the author know? Was this some kind of joke? I set the book down on my Grandfather’s dark colored oak desk and went to bed, my mind still racing.

Bus ride from Vallen residence to Big Horn high school, 6:15, June 23rd, 2018

It was a cold early morning, but if you were up then, even in the pitch blackness, you would’ve seen the way the ground exploded near us as the Earth Eater rose from the ground, sending the bus flying. It felt like everything happened so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. I got sent flying into the seat next to me, like many others, and hit my arm against the seat hard enough to hear a loud cracking sound. It felt like every single nerve in my body dedicated itself to making me feel nothing but pain in my arm at that moment, as I tried to move it, I realized just how badly it had truly broken. The creature charged toward the bus, its none existent eyes locked on me I imagine, and for one last desperate attempt to make a story out of this, I pointed my camera at it the best I could through a window. A soft Click! Filled the air, followed by a vrrr as the camera pushed out a Polaroid, by the time the photo had made it to me, Earth Eater was gone, back to maybe one day return from whence it went, or maybe not at all.

#writing #story #surrelsim #short story #midnight watch committee #horror #lgbtq

[nozomijoestar]

Pt. 1 of my LL! x TMA crossover is finally here. Crossposted on my FF.net!

TWs: Gore, warfare, being buried alive, body horror

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With the world plunged into the apocalypse of never-ending fear thanks to The Eye and The Archivist, two stories intertwine. Statements of Nozomi Tojo later the entity called The One Alone- pre and post mortem of humanity. Recorded direct from subject.

------

“The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers. It doesn’t need to tell you lies. It waits for the lies you tell yourself.”

There is a wind that rides amidst the expanse bare of clouds that dares to call itself a sky still. It rolls ever onwards like a wave beneath the ever shifting Eyes; the Eyes with presence to match the same that crowns a panopticon. The tower it calls home stands higher than anything conceivable by Man. Though she has tried escape she knows there is nowhere on this barren land it cannot be seen. The gaze of the Beholder sees those who suffer in sacrifice below; it too sees the servants, the avatars, of its fellow Entities revel in a Hell once thought promised to one devotee or another now open for all. She is reminded of the amusement parks she yearned to step foot in as a child until it made her sick.

She is reminded it sees always through her disembodied form. It knows where none other should know; ever thirsty for the forbidden and beyond boundaries The Eye (The Beholder, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, names are irrelevant in its pursuits. They are attempts to describe an aspect of what people called impossible.) sips her essence with precision a mosquito could envy. The fog that is and is not her whenever she molds it to a human shape whips about in fury. It is tainting her loneliness. It wants to dip its finger in her blissful isolation just as it has every other monstrosity made manifest.

Her Entity is a kind being, an understanding one that divides the Who from They into an intimacy; one so singular and gentle to allow those within it to banish all others. She can still remember the first time grasping it brought her to tears. Both it and she cannot escape what it is to be known. Not now in the presence of that damned thing which exists to play voyeur. She looks down.

The trench that scars the earth and stretches beyond the horizon marks the domain The Slaughter calls a feeding ground. Even as high as she is the stench of cordite, gunpowder, gore, and all that tears apart wafts into her. Within the trench figures once store clerks, families, businessmen, teachers, students, children, fire enough bullets and shells to massacre what was once Tokyo. Each cracks sharper than thunder while the rat-a-tat-tat from infinite machine guns never stops. In between the gun nests slump people lost within war that is not satisfied with surface destruction and swallows the mind. They are worse than those casualties who scream, in their silence.

On the fetid breeze bagpipes in a mockery of ‘Scotland the Brave’ wail enough to vibrate No Man’s Land. She can spy the tanks advancing ever forwards peppered by shrapnel; flayed bodies can vaguely be made out strapped to their armor. The edges of her fog wiggle in place of a shudder. Neither now nor in her meaningless days as feed, as human, had butchery in any form brought anything from her but nausea. From that barren hell a bulky creature towered over its victims; it made way for her as their eyes locked.

She knows this monster well no matter how tiny the ribs spiked out its chest appear at this distance. It stamped its clawed bloody foot and snarled. Its teeth glistened red in a multitude of fangs arranged row after row like a shark mouth. The pointed shoulder blades protruding out its back drip viscera; she knows it has fed. Feeding is all it can do now; she knows it laments the conveniences a human form had after all. That like her it loathes having the terror it creates tainted under The Eye’s ruling gaze. Its face comprised of exposed wounds for flesh and two smaller faces twisted in pain on its neck, glares at her unflinching. Its black and orange pupiled eyes are beady as if carved from revulsion, from hate. Around them no soldiers aim and the tools of war bend paths to avoid harm. The monster shouts in a growl that booms over the din of murder.

“Forsaken! Have you come to strut and brag again you little shit? Making fun of me showing up like that are you?-“

The Slaughter avatar’s insults fell on empty air; she glided onward without a destination. Suddenly several stones passed through her leaving holes that reformed instantly. Not a glance did she spare back; U’ral-whatever-her-name-was could shout her distain till her throat bled. The One Alone would not stoop as weak as her to hold reservations about their paradise.

On this ride no one would get off.

She stopped above a circle of candy colored lights that formed the outline of a carousel. A few meters around its dim shine run shadowed shapes. Shape is the best word she has to describe those frantic wretches who pile atop each other; their fingers peel faces reused again and again among their number. They long to no more ask themselves Who Am I? but know beneath the ache they will never be whole.

They could have counted her among them, once. Almost.

Though reason reminded her it’d been months those days, the idea there’d been a time before, was impossible. Had she always been what she’d embraced or had her human shell been her true home? Some days before the opening of the Door she was ashamed to still ponder it.  Not in this world however; here she at last knew her peace. The edges of her form swirled outward. She continued to watch. The Stranger’s victims continued their frenzy as another face was for the taking. Cries of triumph clashed with envious screams not unlike the battle-shouts of one brought under Slaughter.

If she squinted she made out the current victor. The teenage girl bolts across the fairgrounds in a random direction; her red-orange hair waved in its ragged bob cut like a dancing flame. Where once she had pale skin and…had they been yellow eyes? The One Alone saw her now a shambling thing that slapped its prize atop a carmine skull. Something in her puzzled to think she remembered the girl’s face, and yet nothing of her name. Nothing of what their connection had been in another life.

Not a fiber of her cared to linger longer; yet as she made to leave one final sight stopped her. This time the name and everything with it returned. Kotori busied herself on a cross-stitch of skin and sinew when she saw The One Alone above. Did she too remember? Did she know who they both once were? Even if she did The One Alone couldn’t bring herself to care. It would be unnecessary and in a way always had been. She had never existed. Kotori’s eyes gave her a look filled with the briefest solidarity, before the indifference reclaimed her. The blessings of The Stranger have created fissures along her skin; it ceased to be skin so much as it resembled a potato weak enough to tug, in its fragility.

Not for the last time she feels the deep, deep truth twist her at the chance that in another world, she joined in the stitching. Disgust shook her fog at the idea of companionship looming before her. A semblance of sympathy even if in the imagination; avatars do not trust. Not each other. The smartest ones, her, saw trust for the waiting betrayal it was. For the lie it had been since the moment she was born.

She flies beyond the circus of the damned toward a thundering in the distance.  At the passing over a spot of darkness that stretches miles, she swallows the urge to stare. It is a black void so absolute it cannot cast shadows; nor can any bottom to its depth be found as though you’ve entered the essence of nothingness. Eli was there. She felt the knowledge wash over her like rain. Eli was there, transformed into something that drowned her victims into obscurity.  This was a comforting thought; their domains weren’t too unalike.

It’s enough to almost make her wish Eli had joined The Lonely. She smothers it before it can bloom further. The Dark chooses its chosen and there is nothing she can do. She is alone, as she was meant to be. Ahead the thundering slams into her ears snapping her from ruminating. Niko appeared no bigger than a dot from this high. The shovel she pointed above her head reflected the Eyes that’d replaced the sun on its blade. Above her a pink man with shriveled skin stuffed into his suit smiled. It was knowing and unbothered; he stared down as calm as if he were choosing a sandwich. Simon Fairchild.

Of course The Vast would entertain a challenge from The Buried. The space around him appeared more than air; his very presence distorts that not bound to earth. His true distance away is impossible to gauge, he is both forever distant yet under only sky, a neighbor. She watches his wisplike white hair flap in the breeze. His calm slides into amusement. Niko’s curses and yells have grown louder now. She stops at what serves best for not too close; she observes.  

None of it is productive. Niko, poor desperate, witless Niko still clung to a blanket stitched from emotions. If she was an annoyance in the old world, now she was insufferable. She remained a prisoner as she’d always been. She’d been a prisoner of her desires, slave to her circumstance, yet another decimal point on a statistic. Yes The One Alone remembers those days before they’d embraced their natures; however faint the memories Niko had been a worm inching for the sky, for escape. Anything was better than bills and so many mouths to feed with so few helping hands. She notices the pockmark of holes littering the ground around Niko’s feet.

There are at least a hundred here. A hundred other worms that’d cherished denial at the crushing that finally bound them physically. They would never know the suffocation of an illusion of control as Niko does. They will smell rancid air and gargle on sod in those depths; they will wonder why them. There will be no answer; no release for their attempts at freedom. It is not the freeing isolation she has accepted. You weren’t even allowed to enjoy it; you couldn’t if you didn’t embrace it. She hears the curses grow louder followed by an earth splitting crack.  

Indeed the ground dents under Niko’s tap against it. A chorus of screams ring as one at another tear in the soil. The worms that’d never lived neither as humans nor now were rattled within their prisons. Simon answered the challenge and so their game at which Fear dominated the other began another wasteful chapter. Though it wasn’t her domain she felt a faint pulse spinning in the bottomless emptiness of the Falling Titan. If Simon knew she saw into his world he didn’t show it.

Honoka was there among his captives, falling, and falling. Falling with a soundless scream against the whipping winds; she was begging like the rest for a splat, for some grounded, definite end. Silly fool, nothing in this world had an end anymore. Once Honoka had been marked by The Vast; had she accepted it Simon might’ve welcomed another for his kind. The One Alone laughed in a sound near breathless and let her fog curl. Avatars serving the same master; they’d have torn each other apart.

One remained the superior number; alone the greatest of words.

Niko’s voice calls after her as she fades from view.

“…Nozomi! Always watching like a creep huh?”

The name reaches her faster than an arrow and pierces the impenetrable within her. It nests in what remains to be called her soul. It was a poison, a gate however small to expose the person long dead within her. To call out to what had been defined by failure, naivety, and longing.

The One Alone shudders as fog might. She makes her own way until silence embraces her tight.

#the magnus archives #love live! #my writing #after 10k years lol #lonely!nozomi

[master-sass-blast]

Whole list for Ellie, pls!!!!

Can diddly do, darling! Going under a cut, because again, Longe.

What is their favourite food: Mac and cheese. Cheesy potatoes. Pizza. Really, any combination of cheese and carbs.

Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal: She’s not a fan of seagulls. Stupid fucking sky rats.

What do they wear to bed: Whatever. Actual pajamas, leggings and shirt, t shirt and gym shorts, whatever works.

Do they like cuddling: Yes, but she doesn’t initiate much after losing her family due to dealing with the trauma from that.

Do they have a secret handshake with anyone: She has one with Leo that changes every time they do it. It mostly exists to annoy Zach.

What do they look like: Ellie is a Very Petite, 13 year old girl, with pale skin, a round face, round, dark brown eyes, a button nose, pouty lips, and stick straight, pitch black hair. She’s too cute to be a mini-vessel of anger and murder.

Do they like chocolate: Yes. She loves chocolate. She’ll straight up eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Frank nearly has a coronary over her dietary habits, but he doesn’t have room to complain because he eats stuff straight out of a can with his Ka-bar.

What are their good and bad traits: Ellie is innovative, creative, and determined, but also aggressive, headstrong to the point of being difficult to work with, and steps past a lot of rules in order to “experiment” with different ideas.

Do they have any artistic talent: She plays the violin and eventually winds up taking dance classes and theater classes with Leo as a way to “keep her brain happy” (at the suggestion of David), but that’s about it.

What is their favourite room to be in, in the house they live in: Once Ellie, Frank, and Karen finally settle in a house? The dining room. They all spend the most time together there.

Do they believe in luck: No. There’s coincidence and probability, but luck in and of itself cannot be scientifically proven. Besides, luck is for people who don’t believe in effort.

Can they do magic: Real magic? No. Sleight of hand magic? Also no.

Do they believe in dragons: As a possible, past existing creature? The common media depictions had to come from somewhere.

What is a pet peeve of theirs: Being talked down to. She can’t stand it. She’s smart, she knows she’s smart, and she will be spoken to as such, thank you very much.

What was the last thing they cried about: In the order of the story? Being adopted by Frank and Karen, though she does get weepy over losing her family (as is natural).

What is their sexuality: She’s a babby gay, and later identifies as a lesbian when she’s older.

Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend: Leo Lieberman. They bond while Frank helps David keep an eye on his family, over their mutual love for academics and learning things, and from there they’re just... *crosses fingers* like that.

Have they ever been in a romantic relationship: Yes. Ellie and Leo do wind up dating (once they’re older, which probably won’t be covered in the story, but their mutual interest is hinted at).

What does their relationship with their family look like? Are they close? Distant? Ect: Before her biological family’s passing, she was closest with one her four brothers, Andrew, who was closest to her in age at 21. She was relatively close with her other siblings, save for her sister, whom she is heavily estranged from. Her biological mother died when she was two, and her biological father abused her by exploiting her intellect and mutation set for his own gain, but it takes Ellie a while to recognize that. Post being adopted by Frank and Karen, she’s closer to Frank due to having spent more time with him, but she still loves Karen dearly.

Do they have a pet: In the “good ending,” they get a black and white pitbull named Oreo.

Do they have a familiar: Still dunno what that is, so no.

Are they a supernatural being: Nope.

How do they usually wear their hair: Ellie’s hairstyle changes throughout the story/series. It’s longer at the beginning, then she shaves her head when Frank does (because she asks and he figures there’s no harm so he helps her shave her head), then grows it out longer on the top like he does in S2 of the Punisher, then wears it as an angled bob for S3 of Daredevil, and by the end of the story it’s about shoulder-length again. Eventually, she settles on switching between on longer on the top, shorter sides and the angled bob as her favorites.

Can they play an instrument? If so, what instrument and what can they play: The violin, and she plays just about anything on it.

What type a high schooler are/were they: Ellie graduated high school at the age of nine, so... yeah.

Have they ever been in a physical fight before? If so, with who? Who won: Several. It comes with the territory with being Frank’s “sidekick.” She wins most of them, though does take some notable loses to Billy Russo and Agent Pointdexter.

What is their favourite holiday: Halloween. Hands down.

If they could have one wish, what would they wish for: She doesn’t necessarily believe in wishes, since they usually create various paradoxes.

Do they wants kids? If they already have kids, do they want more: She’s too young to consider having kids during the story, but when she gets older she decides she doesn’t necessarily want any.

Do they have a job: She’s thirteen, so no.

Do they know how to drive: Yes. Her biological father made a point of teaching her how to handle just about any vehicle or craft.

Do they get stressed out easily: Not really. She has her snapping points (being talked down to, people she cares about getting hurt, etc), but all in all she’s pretty easy going.

Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it: She dyes it magenta when she’s sixteen with Karen’s help and LOVES it.

Have they ever broken the law: Yes. Many times. So many times.

Do they own a plant: Ellie and Frank both fall into the category of “would kill a plastic plant, somehow,” so no.

Have they ever rode a horse before: No.

What is their favorite gif: Don’t have an answer for this, so pass.

Do they get along with others easily: Not really. Ellie can run the end of being argumentative and superior, so she can be difficult to get along with at times.

Do they have any tattoos: Nope.

If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly: She has to look like the most innocent, adorable, non-murdery teenage ever. Round face, button nose, big, round eyes, pouty lips, whole nine yards. Very pale skin, very dark hair, very dark eyes.

What is their favourite breed of dog: Ellie hasn’t met a dog she didn’t like.

Do they live with anyone? If so, who: Frank, at the beginning of the story, and then Frank and Karen at the end.

Where is their dream vacation: Ellie traveled a lot when she was younger due to her biological dad’s line of “work,” so she’s seen good chunks of the world. She’d probably enjoy going back to France or Iceland the most, though.

Do they know more than one language: Yes. Ellie speaks English, German, Mandarin, Japanese, Spanish, and Arabic fluently, and is conversational in French and Italian.

Are they a quick learner: Extremely.

Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win: Not really. Her biological father had her more focused on studying as much as she could, so she didn’t enter any contests growing up.

If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with: She’d stick close to Frank, Karen, Curtis, and the Liebermans.

What does their room look like: In the “good ending,” Ellie’s room is painted shades of purple and blue, and has a desk with a chair, a dresser, and a double bed in it.

If they could have an extinct animal for a pet, what would they have: Probably a Dodo bird.

If they got called out by someone, what would they do: Argue with them. Ellie’s “flight mode” was replaced with extra fight.

Have they ever shot a gun before: Yes.

Have they ever been axe throwing: No.

What is something that they want but can’t have: The ability to kill the worst billionaires of the world and redistribute their funds to those who need them, and that’s only because there’s no way to do that without getting caught and getting other people in trouble.

Do they know how to fish: No.

What is something they always wanted to do but too scared: Scuba diving.

Do they own their own baby pictures: No.

What makes them standout among others: The way she speaks. She’s very intense in her voice and how she talks, which draws a lot of attention.

Do they like to show off: Yes. One hundred percent. She likes the praise.

What is their favourite song: It changes, but one of her consistent faves is “I Love It” by Icona Pop.

What would be their dream vehicle: Stealth bomber jet.

What is their favourite book: Percy Jackson series.

Who, in their opinion, makes the best food: Karen. Frank eats MREs like they’re going out of style.

Are they approachable: She looks it, but she doesn’t talk it.

Did they ever change their appearance: Yeah. She goes through a few phases of figuring out what style suits her best as she grows up.

What makes them smile: Dumb jokes, making Frank, Karen, and Leo laugh, and fail compilations.

Do they like glowsticks: Sure. Who doesn’t?

What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile: Seeing/talking to Leo.

Are they a day or night person: Night.

Are they allergic to anything: Nope.

What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them: She’s a spitfire, and she challenges Frank to come out of his shell more.

Who is their ride or die: Frank, Karen, Curtis, and the Lieberman family.

Do they currently have a significant other? If not, are they going to get one later one: She and Leo date when they’re older, but that probably won’t be featured in any of the stories.

What attracts them to another person: Intelligence, humor, and willingness to question rules, ethics, and morals.

Who is one person that can always make them laugh: Leo Lieberman.

Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home: No.

Who would be their cuddle buddy: Leo is her first go to, but Frank and Karen also step up when she needs/wants it.

Who would cheer them up after a long day: Probably Frank, Karen, or Leo.

If they had a nightmare, who would they run to: Frank or Karen. They understand having the types of nightmares that she has.

What object to the care for the most: A phone built for her by her deceased brother, Andrew.

Do they like other people’s children: Eh, not really.

How would they react if someone broke into their home: Kill the intruder.

Does anyone make them have butterflies in their stomach: Leo Lieberman.

What is something that they are good at: Aside from her innate talents, she’s good at crossword puzzles.

What is their neutral expression: She looks like an adorable woodland fairy.

Do they like to cook: Not really.

What is something they can’t leave home without: The phone her brother built for her. It has access to her family’s private satellite network, their stores of information and blackmail data, and their private bank accounts.

Who is someone that they rely on: Frank. Ellie relies on him for protection (despite her abilities, she’s still thirteen) and companionship.

Do they liked to be tickled: Only by Leo.

Have they ever been a sword fight before: Yes.

What is a joke that they would find funny: Any dumb pun in existence.

Do they have a place that can go and turn off their brain: The Lieberman’s house. She really just gets to be a kid there.

What was their childhood like: Kinda tragic, considering her family’s death and the abuse she took from her biological father and sister.

What are they like as an adult: Ellie comes out well-adjusted, all things considered. She does land in the anti-social personality disorder spectrum, but she’s high-functioning and can blend in with society, for the most part. She does wind up picking up the Punisher mantle when Frank retires, citing that “someone needs to purge the city of its scum” as her reason.

Do they take criticism well: If it’s well founded? Sure. If it isn’t? Absolutely not.

Have they ever jumped out of a plane: No.

Who do they like to make jokes with: Frank, Karen, and Leo.

Have you ever drawn them before? If you are comfortable with it, would you post a picture: I have, but I don’t have anything of her I want to post yet.

#sass answers #the duckling verse #ellen 'ellie' long