#'trivializing war and violence' thing

[faerygardenparty]

I think its really funny how people got mad at the story of 28 years later and are calling it disappointing, probably because it didn't have much to do with war and killing zombies and was overall a much more contained story about a kid and his dying mother, which is funny considering the first movie in the series was a fairly contained story about a group of survivors trying to find peace in the apocalypse, 28 days is known for its eerie, quiet shots of Jim walking around a completely empty London and the apocalypse "ends" from natural causes by the end of the film, it's only in 28 weeks where themes of war really come in and there's a reason why it's the least popular of the series, it's filled with explosions and huge action set pieces yet the most memorable part of the story is the family drama in the beginning of the movie

It's also funny to me because 28 years itself seems to be saying "why are we trivializing death and celebrating war? why are we teaching young boys to behave violently?" the heavily stylized, flashy zombie killing scenes go away once Spike steps out on his own, the movie emphasizes the teachings of Spike's dad and the town as being wrong so he chooses to go against them, it's only once he goes off on his own that he learns the reality of death, I think the themes of war and violence are gonna make a return in the next two movies as the underlying theme of this trilogy as a whole but for this movie it was important for Spike to learn this lesson about death in a way that wasn't flashy or loud

[tedwardremus]

Criticizing Lily Potter and calling her "stupid" for becoming pregnant at a young age overlooks several key facts:

1. Lily was not a teenage mother. Harry was born in July 1980, and Lily was 20 years old at the time. While that is young by some modern standards, she was legally and socially an adult, married by choice, and fully capable of making life decisions.

2. Reproductive justice supports her choice. Fundamental to reproductive justice is the belief that every person should have the right to make decisions about their own body, including if, when, and how to start a family. Lily chose to have a child with the man she loved. She had the means, the support, and the agency to make that decision. Undermining that choice is a denial of her autonomy and maturity.

3. People build families even in times of war. It is historically and globally common for people to create families amidst uncertainty, violence, and upheaval. Through war, drought, unrest, economic depression, love and family, and life persist. It is a very real thing that happens in the real world and we should not insult people who make the choices to have a family in conflict but protect their right to do so and work on creating a safer world for al families to exist.

4. Lily’s motherhood is central to the story’s moral core. Her sacrificial love, choosing to die to protect her child, is  the cornerstone of the entire series. Without that act of love, there is no protection, no Boy Who Lived, and no story.

5. Harry overcoming his complex grief is part of his coming-of-age arc. Throughout the series, Harry wrestles with the loss of his parents, feeling grief for people he never got to know. What sets Harry apart from Voldemort is his ability to process that pain with compassion. He learns to forgive the adults who failed him—Dumbledore, Sirius, even Snape—and chooses to love them in spite of their flaws.

Rather than allowing his grief to consume him, Harry finds strength in it. He chooses life, builds a future, and creates the kind of family he was denied.

To reduce Lily to a "stupid girl who shouldn’t have had a child" trivializes Harry’s journey.

[kitkatorin]

RAAAAAA FIRST PART OF THE TARN FIC IS DONE

I think I'll post it in about 3 parts. Full thing will be on AO3 at some point. Just hoping I can get these random ideas I have into a cohesive storyline.

Also I hope I wrote the Cybertronian reader bit ok ;;;; never really done it in a published work before

「ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ」

ᴛᴀʀɴ x ᴄʏʙᴇʀᴛʀᴏɴɪᴀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Part 1/?

Word Count: 2.8k

SFW (for now 👀)

Cybertronian GN Reader, Decepticon aligned

CW: Violence, mentions of death, torture, coercion/subjugation, mind control if you squint, Tarn monologuing

---

A lot can happen in a couple million years, especially when it's primarily occupied by war. Some things you can recall as if they happened in the last cycle, others were filtered out by your central processor as trivial information that wasn't even worth the effort of digging back up. Sure, you may not have always operated impeccably to all of the Decepticon ideals to the nanobyte in all that span of time, but you at least considered yourself generally loyal to the cause since Declaration Day.

So Primus only knows how you ended up on The List. Well, Primus and the Decepticon Justice Division, of course.

The lonely outpost you were surviving out of with your ragtag group of fellow 'Cons was overrun first with sheer panic at the sight of the Peaceful Tyranny on the short range scanners. There was no talk of fighting back, no negotiating. Maybe running, hiding, or escaping if that was even possible. But those desperate prospects quickly dissipated when the ruthless enforcers were first sighted treading down the halls.

You were forced to experience the horrors you only heard as hushed rumors. You watched your comrades - one by one - slashed, gutted, and mutilated in unimaginable fashions. How many did Megatron's posse victimize to learn just how far they can go with their creative, tortuous theatrics? One was savagely stripped of their plating and kept conscious enough to witness the evisceration of their own inner components. Another had their limbs shredded like junkyard scrap in the bladed chest cavity of the one called Tesarus. One was left to convulse in agony as their faceplate was gouged by the deathmask belonging to another named Vos. The last was incinerated in a furnace interred in Helex's torso, leaving barely a pile of smelted slag in their memory.

The sheer intensity of the experience skewed your chronosense, confusing moments for eternities watching your friends suffer until their sparks were eventually extinguished and what little was left of their bodies littered the room. By some obscure methodology or maybe a cruel twist of fate, you were the last one to remain barely functional, though you didn't expect that to last much longer. You laid with your faceplate pressed against the cool floor while searing electrical burns pervaded your frame. Somewhere in your peripherals, heavy pedes treaded around you in a slow, calculated pace. Your systems were long since exhausted to even bother identifying the source, but they eventually crossed into view.

"Such a pitiful state you find yourself in." It was Tarn who spoke as he stood over you. You figured this was his personalized monologue to you before your own demise, as even your spark seemed to shudder within its chamber just at the sound of his slate-smooth voice. "Self-preservation is such a capricious thing. It is undeniable, of course, that we possess the innate drive to mitigate any threats to our life. But what place does it serve in the struggle of morality? One may think that fleeing to fight another day grants the future prospect of redemption, that they can somehow still prove themselves valuable to the cause in another way." Tarn paced meditatively before stopping directly in front of you. He took a moment to scan your weakened frame through malicious crimson optics.

"When we align ourselves with the Decepticon cause, do we not commit our usefulness to Megatron's will? We aim to put our faith in his decrees without fallacy, for doing so ensures that our service in life or our sacrifice in honorable death in a defining moment of loyalty furthers the Decepticon creed."

Your spark increasingly resonated to a precarious frequency as he spoke; panic quickly flooded over you, but your body could do little to rectify it. Tarn clasped his servos behind his back and languidly approached you, taking in the fear that permeated your electromagnetic field.

"You would let existential fears override your determination to serve a cause greater than yourself. Your undirected retreat - your cowardly act of self-preservation - was a foolish exhibition of defiance. And look where that defiance brought you now. True, it may have provided you the opportunity to fight again under the Decepticon name. But since then, could you claim that your spark was truly devoted to the cause if you were able to selfishly defy those direct orders?"

Your spark now felt like it was on the verge of combustion. What started as a buzzing hum grew to a deafening ringing in your audials. It burned so viciously in your thoraxal cavity that you wished you could rip your spark out from its own casing. Through all of the brutal torture for however long it lasted, your final undoing would seem to come through Tarn's vicious sermon.

Through the warnings of imminent termination that crowded your visual displays, you saw Tarn stoop on one knee in front of you. The Decepticon insignia mask that he sported was mere centihics from your faceplate, and the glaring optics that peered from within locked with your faltering gaze. He paused with an unsettling silence, perhaps deciding what words he would use to finalize your execution. He had your dwindling spark within his clutches, and at any moment, he could decide to snuff it out. Throughout all these cycles and everything you experienced within them, you never envisioned your end would be a slow and excruciating torture at the hands of someone who wore the same symbol you had proudly branded on your chassis as their face. Regardless, your fate felt sealed as your spark seized with a terminal finality from Tarn's influence, like his digits were closing its grasp on your very life force.

"Though... perhaps your efforts of self preservation has afforded you a second chance at proving your usefulness." Clawed digits delicately grazed beneath your mandibular plate before clasping the sides your chin and angling your helm just enough to force what little focus you had left to conjure solely on him. "After all, redefining one's function beyond their perceived form is a cornerstone to the foundation of all that we fight for."

The noose on your life eased, though it still loomed over you with Tarn's intimidating presence. He removed his hand from where he was holding your faceplate, letting your helm fall back to the floor.

"Immobilize this miscreant and prep them for transport." Tarn stood up to his full height as he issued the command. He cast his gaze down to you and the pathetic state he left you in at his pedes before turning and walking away without another word.

It didn't take long for you to come to the regrettable conclusion that termination might have been better than whatever new plans Tarn now had in store for you. But those thoughts were quickly cut short as cackles of electricity erupted around you and almost instantly followed by overwhelming energy burning through circuits. The image of Tarn striding away was the last thing you saw before your overcharged systems went dark.

---

Indistinct monophonic noise first filtered through your audial feed before gradually recalibrating to stereo fields. What was first nondesrcipt noise was actually a mixture of the lulling hum of running engines and... music? Yes, it was some kind of vaguely recognizable music that was playing, but your processing power was more focused on rebooting your systems than identifying the melody.

As the sounds droned on, your internal visual display became more organized, and external spectrums sharpened to a coherent view. You were on the floor of a fairly lit room, appearing to be an office or personal quarters judging by the furnishings that were immediately visible. There was a moderately sized desk directly ahead of you, and while your optics continued to adjust from the reset, you were slowly able to identify neat stacks of data pad volumes and other memorabilia.

There were several badges of varying sizes - mostly Decepticon, but you saw a few red Autobot insignias in some places - and trophies of a more personal design. Empty sockets of a cranial chamber perched on the edge of the desk met your gaze, and when you recognized what was staring back at you, you jolted in shock. Your awakening tactile sensors alerted you to unexpected resistance - your servos were restrained in front of you by inhibitors.

"Ah, you're back online." The sound of that hauntingly familiar voice sent a wave of dread through your reawakening circuits. Before that, you could have tried to convince yourself that this was all a terrible nightmare, but the undeniable reality was that you were still functional and helplessly bound in Tarn's presence.

"I was beginning to think that Kaon went a little overboard with the voltage." Tarn sat behind the desk, data pad in one hand as he casually propped his helm with the other. Dull pain washed over you as you tried to readjust yourself to see him better. His optics rose from the slate's contents to watch you struggle.

"I had a chance to go through your personnel file, and I must say, you have quite the record." Tarn placed the pad upon one of the orderly stacks and then pushed it slightly by its side to align it near perfectly among the others. His demeanor was ominously relaxed as he had apparently waited patiently for you to reactivate. "If not for a few instances of poor judgment, you would have made an exemplary Decepticon among your ranks."

You didn't want this overly casual conversation with someone who had brought you to death's door. It just further puzzled you as to why he would even keep you alive. The question of "why" and the need to know what he had planned for you formed in your processor, but only distorted static, barely recognizable as any comprehensible words, came stumbling out as you tried to speak them. You still forced yourself to talk despite the initial embarrassment, thinking the lingering malfunction would clear up so you could eventually voice your concerned confusion. Tarn observed your pitiful attempts with an unwavering stare, almost seeming amused by your efforts.

"What's wrong, little dissident? Glitches in your vocalizer?" He chuckled as he leisurely rose from his chair. "It should pass in time, though I do hope you realize that nothing you could possibly say can change your current circumstances." He passively let his digits glide along the desk's surface as he moved before you.

"You should feel honored - as your old companions lay as little more than rusting piles of scrap in a crumbling outpost, you were allowed to remain functional for just a bit longer." With a fluent sweep of his arm, Tarn gestured to the rest of the room you had yet to visualize. "And to be among relics of our celebrated legacy despite your tainted reputation... truly an act of undeserved clemency."

Your stiff actuators were slow to respond, but you managed to turn your head to observe the other sides of the room. Various campaign banners lined one wall, some in pristine condition, others tattered and torn from use on the front lines. You recognized most, but a handful were unknown to you. Beneath them, requisitioned weapons and tools - some still attached to the severed limbs of their previous owners - were displayed on pedestals and in glass cases. Your optics tentatively gazed over the rest of the room that was adorned like a disturbing museum. Even whole lifeless frames were suspended on the walls like any other decorative piece. All the while, soft, decietfully soothing music continued to play in the background. It served as an apathetic attempt at counteracting the horrors you saw, only to further compound your growing unease. It was somewhat of a relief when Tarn resumed so that your attention was drawn away from the morbid furnishings, but that was extremely short-lived.

"Do not think that you are pardoned. You were specifically ordered to hold the line in that critical operation, but you choosing instead to retreat out of fear cost precious time and energy thay could have been focused elsewhere. Your transgression is inexcusable."

He passed in front of you and stood before a large window to your left. The cold, dark expanse of space was displayed beyond, but the glass reflected Tarn's form within it. Though his gaze was directed outward, the angle of the reflection made it seem like he never lost sight of you.

"But I saw fit to reinculcate your understanding of the Decepticon ideology prior to your exacting your sentence." Tarn turned his helm toward you so that his gaze pierced you from the side of his optics. "After all, it does no good if a sinner does not truly understand the gravity of the sin for which they are punished."

Tarn moved away from the window and paced back toward his desk, passing in front of you again. "The ruthlessness that the Decepticons have become known for is ultimately rooted in a focal aspiration - achieving progressive change through decisive action." He stopped for a moment, pedes fixed in place with an upright, dignified posture that gave the impression that he was directing a philosophical discussion among academy students instead of sociopathically preaching a doctrine to an audience of one.

"Think of how society would have been without Megatron's revolution - stagnant, oppressive, self-destructive. Without his call for change, a call for action, we would be suffocating ourselves in a broken system."

As he continued, you were helplessly inclined to listen. But instead of filling you with the fear that your spark would be extinguished in a mere moment, a numbing daze washed over you that made your lingering anxieties virtually irrelevant. It was like being infused with a sedative prior to an operation, except that your life was not in the hands of a trusted medical professional - you could be subjected to untold machinations of Tarn's design. You were powerless to do anything, and as he carried on in a tone that seemed to effortlessly harmonize with the persisting music, the less you cared.

"Megatron's influence has called many to the cause over the millennia, resonating with those who felt dissatisfied and victimized by blatant injustice." Tarn shifted his optics to the stack of data pads again. "So many individuals, rallied behind the ambition of one..." He let the thought fade with silence, then his gaze suddenly snapped back to you, his frame following as he turned to face you directly.

"I'm willing to think that despite your grevious shortcomings, you still have the capacity to understand loyalty and obedience."

Tarn began moving towards you in an unhurried pace, and you instinctively stiffened like cornered prey as he drew closer.

"Your traitorous legacy could have ended along with your compatriots. But that would have been too fleeting, a viable opportunity would have been wasted."

He lowered himself to kneel over you, as if he were studying you like some fascinating specimen. He was just above eye level as you timorously shrunk back from him in apprehension. Perhaps he was studying you - with those glaring crimson optics burning straight through you - maybe he was able to see the parts of you that weren't publicized in a service record. Maybe he could discern the secrets you thought were locked and hidden away. And as your dorsal plates pressed flush against the wall you shrunk back to, that overwhelming helplessness flooded your systems again. It felt like everything was laid bare for Tarn to exploit; no matter how much armor you had, you felt entirely stripped down to the point where he could see the cables and wires lacing through your protoform. With nowhere to retreat to, Tarn minimized what little space remained between the two of you, bringing his upper half so dangerously close that his subtle passive venting swept across your dermal receptors.

"I intend to impress upon you the very essence of servitude, so you will understand clearly just how gravely you've disgraced Lord Megatron." Tarn's voice couldn't have been louder than a hushed murmur, but it echoed within your own mind like a persistent thought, reverberating with an undeniable intensity that drowned out all other possible notions.

The words "obedience," "loyalty," and "servitude" in Tarn's entrancing voice ricocheted in your cortex to the point that you perceived nothing else beyond that. Or simply because the only other source of sound had automatically deactivated.

"Ah, it seems we've reached the end of the suite." Tarn just barely turned his face in the vague direction of his desk, referring to the now silenced device that was playing his choice musical pieces throughout his discourse.

"How timely." He returned his icy attention to you. "I was thinking it was about time to indulge in a different musical number."

---

Part 2

[slytherin-pen]

Heartbreak Anniversary

pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader

word count 1.8k

warnings: canon typical violence, injury, cursing

tags: no use of y/n, gn!reader, marked one!reader, set during FW, angst then hurt/comfort, hea

summary: It’s you and Bodhi’s anniversary but unfortunately the upcoming rebellion takes precedent over such trivial things. You’re heartbroken and furious…until Bodhi comes back injured.

a/n: written for day 1 of Bodhi Week @empyreanevents

Bodhi Masterlist

You’d been counting down the days. Not because you needed the reminder—it had practically been carved into your heart—but because you were so excited. One year. One full year of surviving war and everything else life throws at the two of you side by side.

Today was your anniversary, and you had plans to make today extra special. Starting with breakfast in bed, courtesy of Violet using her breakfast duties to sneak you two trays of food before other cadets rummaged through it all.

Next would be a picnic for lunch, accompanied by your dragons. Then finishing the evening with a candlelit dinner on the roof where’d you give him the gift you bought. It wasn’t perfect. Ideally, the two of you would be able to take the day off and spend the whole day together, but when attending a war college you had to take what you could get.

You were adjusting the stray hairs that fell out of your braid when there was a light knock on your door, and it opened to reveal Bodhi. You smiled at him through your reflection in the mirror, but it quickly fell when you noticed his somber expression.

You turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” he said, his face tight with urgency.

You felt your heart sink. “But it’s our anniversary.”

“I know, baby,” he said, approaching you and grabbing your hands. “But Xaden needs me. Garrick can’t sneak away today and Xaden needs backup when he meets with the fliers.”

“What about Imogen? Or Heaton, or Emery? Anyone but you.”

Bodhi grimaced. “They went last night and the night before. They need a break, and it would be suspicious if the same three riders—marked ones—are gone at the same time two days in a row.”

“But, Bodhi.” You want to throttle yourself for the whiny tone of your voice, but you can’t help it. You’re desperate. You’re watching all of your plans burn to ash in front of your eyes. “Why can’t it be rescheduled? It’s our anniversary. We somehow survived one whole year, not just our relationship but us.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he sighed. “You know how impatient fliers can be. We can’t wait. I’ll try to come home as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, and let him give you a quick kiss before he’s out the door chasing after his cousin.

You sat on your bed staring at the cracks in the paint, the emptiness of the room feeling like a wide open chasm now that he’s gone.

The sadness slowly turned to rage. With each passing hour, every moment that your eyes darted to the door only to find it empty, it built.

You snapped at a cadet who bumped into you as you walked into the dining hall, causing Violet to side-eye you from her spot next to you. Later, when another cadet in Battle Brief made a joke about you missing your boyfriend, Ridoc of all people shot him a deadly look and slashed his hand across his neck. A silent warning. Shut up. Not today.

You left the lecture hall, your chair nearly falling over as you shot out of it, boots echoing down the corridor. It was better this way. Your friends didn’t deserve your second-hand anger. You’d do what was expected of you and keep interactions to a minimum, and hopefully, Bodhi would be back before you lashed out at someone else.

The rest of the day was a blur of classes and sparring matches. Every little grievance acted as kindling to your fury. During a challenge, your opponent had tapped out, but in your adrenaline-induced haze, he looked a little like Xaden. You didn’t get off of him. Instead, you pushed down on him harder, fighting the urge to bash his skull into the mat.

It wasn’t until Garrick walked onto the mat and started pulling you up by your armpits that you finally let the cadet go.

You stormed out of the gym, Garrick on your heels.

He called your name. “Would you—just wait up!”

“What?” you snapped, turning around to face him. You were breathing heavily, not just from exertion but from the rage in your chest, consuming your every thought and breath.

“You’re upset, I get it. But you can’t do shit like that. You know better than to draw attention to yourself, especially when two of our own are trying to get away with something that’s considered treason,” he said, pointedly looking at the rebellion relic peeking out from under your long sleeve.

He was right. Damn it, you knew he was right. But the ugly beast inside you did not care. It wanted to curse him out, curse this whole rebellion, and everything else that takes Bodhi away from you.

You swallowed it down as best you could. “I’m sorry, Gare. It won’t happen again,” you said, your voice coming out a little harsher than intended, but Garrick took it in stride, dipping his chin in acceptance before turning around and walking back toward the gym.

By the time you reached your room that night, you were vibrating with the need to break something. You scrubbed your face, ripped off your jacket, and pulled on your softest nightgown. You were debating whether or not to scream into your pillow when the knock came—hard and frantic.

You wrenched the door open to find a breathless Garrick. “Come with me. Now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Is it—?” you whispered, heart already sprinting ahead.

“Infirmary. It’s bad.”

You threw on a robe and your slippers before bolting out the door behind Garrick.

You didn’t feel your feet hit the ground as you ran.

Down stairwells, around corridors, past startled cadets and confused officers.

Your eyes found him as soon as you breached the doorway. He was stretched across a cot, unmoving, pale, and though you couldn’t see the color of the blood seeping out him, his leathers were shining with it.

An anguished cry escaped your throat.

You surged forward.

“No—wait!” Garrick caught you around the waist just in time. “You’ll be in the way—let the healers work—let them save him!”

You’d barely noticed them hovering and flitting around Bodhi. You still fought Garrick. Kicked and clawed and thrashed, desperate to be close to your boyfriend. But the healers were hunched over his torso, their hands moving rapidly with gauze to staunch the bleeding, sweat pouring down their faces.

Your blood thundered in your ears, your body trembling with helplessness. And then your gaze landed on him.

Xaden.

Standing silent in the corner, arms crossed, jaw like stone. No blood on him. Not a scratch.

You snapped.

You crossed the room in a blur, grabbing fistfuls of his flight leathers and shoving him against the stone wall so hard his head thunked against it.

“What the fuck happened!” you screamed, teeth bared. “You dragged him out on our anniversary and now he’s dying—what the hell did you do?!”

Xaden didn’t flinch. He didn’t shove you off, though you both know he could if he wanted to. He didn’t defend himself verbally either. He let you shove him again. Let his head smack the wall twice more, as if he welcomed the pain. His face was cold, unreadable, but his silence only fueled your rage.

“I hope it was fucking worth it,” you hissed. “I knew this would happen. He fucking worships you while you treat him like some spare dagger in your belt, you piece of—”

You barely hear your name being croaked from across the room, but your ears are attuned to the sound of his voice, no matter how weak it may be.

You spun around so fast your neck cracked.

“Bodhi?” you gasped.

The healers had moved aside, packing up their supplies. He was blessedly stitched up and bandaged now. He was so pale, with cracked lips and bloodshot eyes that you could tell were taking tremendous effort to keep open.

“Hi,” he rasped, “mo ghràdh.”

You stumbled toward him and fell to your knees beside the cot, grabbing his hand with both of yours.

“I hate you,” you whispered, tears spilling freely now. “I hate you and Xaden and every god who let this happen.”

He smiled. The bastard smiled. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, his voice gravely with dryness.

You cursed him in rapid Tyrrish, words that made the nearest healer blink in shock. Then you squeezed his hand hard enough to make him wince before you accepted the cup of water from Garrick and brought it to Bodhi’s lips.

“Don’t stress yourself out, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” you said fiercely. “But when you are, you better run for the fucking hills because I’m kicking your ass for scaring me like this.”

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, your head resting on the edge of the cot, your hand tangled in his. The room slowly emptied around you until it was just the two of you in the quiet.

“Come here,” he said softly.

You blinked. “Bodhi, no—”

“Please,” he whispered. “Just… please.”

With a sigh of surrender, you climbed up beside him, moving slowly. He hissed at the movement but pulled you closer, his arm weakly slung around your waist.

You both exhaled at the same time, your bodies finally in sync again.

“What happened?” you murmured.

He grunted. “Met with some fliers. Wasn’t expecting trouble. They brought friends. Not the friendly kind.”

You stiffened. “Fucking hell,” you growled. “How dare they? I get things are stressful for them but have they never heard the phrase ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’? I swear to the gods, I’m going on the next run and I’ll teach them a lesson about hurting my boyfriend.”

“Hey,” he said, brushing a finger along your cheek.

You weren’t done. “I mean seriously, I’ll ask Dìon to char them to dust or—”

“Love.”

You blinked.

“Let’s save the revenge plot for tomorrow,” he said gently. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, for many reasons. But right now, I just want to lay here with you while the pain tonics kick in.”

You bit your lip, your fury dimming.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “But tomorrow I want names.”

He chuckled—then winced. “Deal. I’ll even have Garrick get you a lineup of cadets to pummel to quench your thirst for blood.”

You sighed dreamily, resting your head carefully against his chest. “You know me so well.”

“Of course I do. You’re the love of my life.”

“Don’t think sweet talking and bribing me is going to help you get away with this. You still have a reckoning coming once you heal,” you admonished.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he teased.

He kissed your temple, slow and tired, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your cheek—uneven, slow, but there. And that was enough. For now.

[mimiaguilar-bansheebender]

I don’t know if anyone outside LATAM knows that Mexico is at war (again) with the French 🤭 Last time, it was about a bakery, this time? We are mad about the movie Emilia Perez.

It has become a whole movement that ended up with the creation of a “revenge film” called “Johanne Sacreblu” which you should 100% watch and it’s available on YouTube.

Emilia Perez is a movie that tells the story about a narco that decided to become a woman (all okey till there) but then she has a change of heart and decides to “help” the families of the victims of violence and disappearances by Narco-activities, to reclaim their bodies… in a musical? While making her never pay for her crimes? Trivializing the struggle of thousands?? Ending up as a martyr? And portraying a very stereotypical and not at all true view of Mexico? Also made by a french man? No one, but one girl in the cast is from Mexico! And the script and songs were written in french and then translated to Spanish, so nothing sounds okey and there’s a lot of things that don’t make sense! And the director said he didn’t need to investigate because everyone knew enough about Mexico …. And it is receiving Praise and awards everywhere and Latins are like, why?? What???

So, go ahead and watch “Johanne Sacreblu” and laugh a bit :)

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER ELEVEN

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks, implied past SA “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

THURSDAY APRIL 26TH 2024 MEXICO, 9000 HOURS

"You're fucking unbelievable."

You hop out of the back of the truck, boots hitting the grass with a thud as you continue down the hill towards the line of bodies further down below.  It hurts, sends shockwaves through your broken ribs, but you grit your teeth and bare it.  Simon's remark falls on stubborn ears as he strides after you, his hand barely catching the sleeve of your uniform before you yank your arm away and pick up your pace.  In the distance, thunder rumbles across the humid, dark sky—hot and foreboding.

"Angel, seriously," he calls again, jogging to catch up with you.  "You're gonna—"

"I can take care of myself."

"Your lung is punctured."

"It's not."

"It is," He raises his voice.  "Cut the bullshit and sit down."

You turn to face him, annoyed.

"I'm still walking, aren't I?"  You raise your hands before letting them fall back to your sides as your hoarse voice cuts over the sound of grass in the wind.  "I'm not gonna let those bodies just rot."

"They're bodies.  Dead ones."  He replies, stern.  "Doesn't matter what they look like---they'll get funerals either way."

His apathy towards his own dead subordinates makes your stomach twist in disgust.  What the hell?  Was he really that uncaring?  Did he not care about other people at all?  Had war really changed him that much?  Or was he always this way, and you just hadn't worked with him enough to see his true colors?

You talk through your teeth. "You're a sick bastard, Ghost."

"My concern is with those still walking, keeping my men alive."  He bites back.  "That includes you.”

"Are you that fucking dense?"  You snap back; voice raspy with the strain of being pinned beneath a rifle the night before.  It hurts to yell, but so does everything else.  "I'm the C.O., here.  Those are my men out there that I failed, and I'll be damned if they don't make it back to their families for proper funerals, Lieutenant."

"You're no good to them if you're fuckin' dead too, you know."

"The battle's over, Ghost.  We lost. It doesn't fucking matter what I am.”

Your statement strikes something in him; you know it does because there’s an underlying statement there.  About his absence, about what happened, about how he feels about you.

He hesitates as he stands there, expression tight with frustration, before he shakes his head.

"Of course it fucking matters what you are!"  he yells to you, padding through the grass after you again.  "Do you even hear yourself right now, love?”

Anger bubbles hot and deep with the pain in your chest.

"Stop."  The bite in your tone surprises even yourself as you point an accusing finger at him.  "Stop fucking calling me that.  You don't fucking get to call me that, and you don't get to worry."

Something that might be the closest thing to anger you've seen from him yet flits across his face as his shoulders tense.  You’ve argued before—about trivial things, really—at camp Viking.  But you’ve never seen him actually mad.

You figure it's harder to yell at him this way, when your biting comments reach an actual face instead of an armored mask.  Cold raindrops poke your shoulders and dot dark circles on Simon's shoulders.  

"You get to order me around," he says, voice still low.  Even now, he's still soft with you. "When you’re in the right state of mind.”

Anger flares deep and relentless in your gut.  Thunder rumbles across the desert, clouds dark and angry on the horizon as the rain begins to fall steadily. Your hands clench at your sides as your voice becomes a hiss.  The rain is freezing.  "So, what, my orders don't matter?"

He just stares at you, crooked nose scrunching in a scowl.  Stubborn, the bastard doesn't budge.  “No.”

You stomp up to him, finger in his face and fire in your veins.

"I didn't work myself into a fucking grave for this title," you hiss between your teeth.  "Just for you to appear out of the blue and handle me like I'm still your fragile little broken subordinate."

His gaze narrows down at you.  Damn him, because he's not at all phased by your attempt to reprimand him. 

"Don't sit there and act like this is just about ranks, Angel."

"Then what is this about?!"  You exclaim, voice cracking with emotion.  "Please, enlighten me!"

"You think I want to see you dead?  You think you've never once crossed my mind since I left?”  He retaliates.  “You think I can sit there and watch you kill yourself?”

"Bullshit!"

"I wish it was!"  He laughs bitterly, "I wish it fuckin' was, mate."

"Then how come you never said so?  How come you never acknowledged it?  Did it all—did Christmas day—mean nothing to you?”

“No!”

“Then why didn’t you fucking kiss me?!”

At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re saying.  You’re just desperate for a reaction, any reaction.  Desperate for any sort of answer or sign of emotion from him—a sign that he cared.  Your only goal being to sink your teeth as deep as you can into his flesh.  To get under his skin and make a home there like he did to you all those years ago.

And it works, because the Lieutenant actually flinches.

It’s barely perceivable. A twitch in his cheeks, the slight raising of his brows, his foot shifting to take a steadying step back.  He looks away and shakes his head, speechless.  Hurt, for once, because you’ve taken a weak spot and gone for the kill.  

The sound of the rain fills the silence, chilling your bones and spreading gooseflesh across sweaty skin.  Regret washes over you like a blistering hot tidal wave, realizing what you've said.  How unfair you’ve been.

You reach out, “Shit, Simon, I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” he holds a hand up and you stop in your tracks. 

You purse your lips and drop your hand to your side.  You take as deep of a breath in as your one working lung allows you and look away, lifting your face to the rain in hopes it’ll cool the burn of tears that threaten to spill.  

Simon lets out a defeated breath of his own and changes the subject.

“I’ll take over moving the bodies,” he says in that half-stern, half-soft way you remember.  “You head inside.  Fix yourself like I showed you, get dry, lay down, and stay there."

You swallow thickly, screwing your eyes shut tight.  You want to say more, want to apologize…want everything to go back to normal.  You want to run away and never face him again and you want to turn and hug him.  You have no idea which you want to do more, and even less so what he wants.  If he dreams of that same life you wanted with him; safe and free.  If he wants a house somewhere warm and far away, free from the military.  If he’s ever yearned for domesticality like you have.

You don’t think you’ve ever really known what he wants.

You let out another long breath and swallow heavily.  Turning to where his hand reaches out for you, you take it, and he guides your shaky legs back towards the truck.

“Okay,” you say, quiet and teary, as you lean your weight against him in defeat.  “Okay.”

[germiyahu]

"If you describe a horrific and detailed act of racism committed by an IDF soldier or a Kahanist or other anti Arab extremist (say Baruch Goldstein's massacre), you'll find that a huge majority of Jews condemn him, his philosophy, his actions, denounce him and consider him a poor practitioner of Judaism"

No they don't, that's the whole fucking point.

Whenever IDF soldiers kill Palestinians the only reaction from Israelis you would get is them bringing up how military service is mandatory in Israel so you can't be mad at the soldier, how this is an extremely complex two-sided "conflict" where both sides are equally wrong and equally victims, how everything is the fault of the entire government of Hamas and Bibi (but just Bibi, they will never hold anyone else in the government accountable) and gaslighting people into believing that this is an isolated incident that doesn't normally happen and that the Israeli committing the crime will actually face any type of justice.

And this assuming that they would even acknowledge a crime has been committed instead of calling it "blood libel" and using what happens as a segue to talk about anti-semitism even more.

So you clearly don't know any Jews because Baruch Goldstein is one of the least controversial figures in Jewish history to condemn. Like, he probably has defenders in Israel but they're definitely a pretty small minority, and you'd be very hard pressed to find any diaspora Jews who approve of his crimes.

And aside from that, because yes people do defend the IDF when they are presented with similarly horrific sounding stories... but look what happens, most of these stories turn out to be exaggerated or completely false to begin with! This isn't about starry-eyed Jewish supremacy vs Muslims just doing an oopsie and they had good reasons for it, this is about truth. That's the key element. It's a little ridiculous to whine that Jews won't full throatedly condemn bombing a hospital and killing 500 people when that turned out to be a lie!

Baruch Goldstein was a terrorist, he factually provably committed horrific crimes. Osama Bin Laden was also a terrorist, he factually provably orchestrated horrific crimes. If you ask the average Jew to defend the former, they'd be equally as uncomfortable as if you asked the average Muslim to defend the latter. There are always going to be braindead terrorism fanboys in both groups, duh. I'm talking about the average person.

And here you are, deciding that no, the average Jew is a savage devotee to terrorism and genocide, just like every other Jew Hater online. It's becoming a bit stale. See that last part in particular, this is about a deep envious rage you feel that Jewish people "get away" with doing/thinking/saying "The Bad Thing" and you feel a need to bring them down a peg. You frame a very real thing (like blood libel is not trivial and Jewish people do not actually talk about it frivolously), as a privilege, a cheat code. You're jealous because you probably belong to a demographic that can't "milk" it's own historic oppression and tragedy, so you feel that Jews shouldn't "get" to.

But this is the real world, where exaggerating the alleged crimes of Jews is demonstrably linked with an increase in antisemitic rhetoric (check), harassment of Jews and Jewish institutions (check), and even violence (they just thwarted a planned terrorist attack in Brooklyn, very much the last roadblock to a liberated Palestine).

Anyway my point was that if you zoom out to more and more abstract concepts, a greater percentage of both Jewish and Muslim populations will probably support them. And I think it's telling that "a Jewish state founded on war and large violent population transfers" has a higher moral burden on it than "a Muslim state founded on war and large violent population transfers."

Ask a Muslim if they support "Pakistan exists" and how many would disagree? Realistically? But you dare act disgusted and shocked that a similar number and percentage of Jews support "Israel exists"? My entire question is why "This is a country that has done bad things and it exists amid ethnic conflict" is even on par with "this niche cult within a giant religion (literally they admitted to it) did a massacre on civilians."

If that's the moral equivalence then we're done here. I'm not playing games like that.

[lesb0]

Recently I've had to read over Artemisia Gentileschi's rape trial again. it never gets easier. a genius painter, yes, but also a vulnerable illiterate teenaged girl attempting to defend herself in Papal Roman court. She won by testifying to the sexual violence she'd endured repeatedly for a year by having her hands, her most valuable possession, tortured. In 16th century Rome, the persecution of rapes relied on two factors: which man the woman was legally owned by, and whether or not she screamed for help. Agostino Tassi, the depraved painter and rapist, gagged and bound her, so she proved she was unable to scream.

The messages about Sabrina Carpenter that I am getting are so incompatible with all the feminist posts I've made on here. it's unthinkable to me that women aren't able to conceptualize that ANY display, regardless of authorial intent or lyrical messaging that she will reveal in the future, of male subjugation and oppression and sexual domination of women is bad, because it is a visual representation precedented by the particularly extreme patriarchal atrocity of raping and murdering women. Her album cover doesn't get to exist in a vaccum where only her female fans will engage with it. There is s a WAR on women and we don't need our visual and pop music culture to trivialize it into an inside joke.

Men commit misogynistic domestic abuse and femicides because they sexually get off to it. Men do not do that when engaging in sexual kinks with each other, and neither do two women. Liking hard sex and kinks is not something that leads to death, rape, births, hospitalizations, domestic abuse, and murders when same sex couples are doing this. Sexualized MISOGYNY is the thing that people should get rightfully angry about without it being considered a grand feminist statement to condemn it.

[formula-nyoom]

Stars Racing Past-1

Summary: Dispute between the Republic and Trade Federations had not been going well. Sent to try and negotiate, Jedi Masters Sebastian Vettel and Kimi Räikkönen end up crash landing on the desert planet of Tatooine. The last thing they expect to find is a young girl that may be prophesized to bring balance to The Force

Warnings: Violence, Minor character death, mentions of/implied abuse, slavery

A/N: This got away from me, fast. Like I thought this would be one single thing but it’s multiple chapters now and I’m not upset by that.  This is inspired by @fangirl-dot-com Across The Universe fic. Go check them out, they have written some amazing fic series. All relationships in this fic series(except for one) are meant to be platonic and going off this fic's inspiration the reader is meant to be female. Happy Star Wars Day and I hope you enjoy this first chapter in my new series!

~~~

Seb always prided himself on being a master negotiator. But to say the Trade Federation wasn’t willing to negotiate was an understatement.

It was a simple task. The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic had requested that Seb and his fellow Jedi Master, Master Kimi Räikkönen, try to negotiate with the leader of the Trade Federation in hopes of stopping their blockade of the planet Naboo. He told Kimi the negotiations would be short. Seb expected them to come to a mutual agreement and settle things peacefully. What Seb didn’t expect was for the leader of the Trade Federation to try and kill them.

 “You were right, Seb. The negotiations were short.” Kimi said as he and Seb deflected blaster fire with their lightsabers. 

“I didn’t expect them to resort to violence.” Seb told his companion as he sent a blaster bolt back at a battle droid. The two continued to back up down the hallway as the battle droids continued to advance.

“Unless you think they’ll be open to talking again, I think we should head back to the ship and get out of here.” Kimi said, outstretching his hand and using The Force to send a couple battle droids toppling over.

 “Agreed.” Seb nodded, doing the same before the two Jedi took off towards the direction of their parked ship. 

Elsewhere, the Trade Federation’s Leader watched from the control room as the two Jedi made their way to the docking bay. He let out a frustrated yell.

 “They’re going to escape!” He exclaimed, before turning to a projection displayed on his navigation table of a floating head with a hood covering the person’s face. “You said they would be easy to kill!”

“I never said that they would be easy to kill. I expected the Chancellor to send someone else for such a trivial matter.” The hooded person said, though he did not seem shocked or frustrated at the current circumstance. He actually seemed to smile. 

“Send out my apprentice then, if you simply can’t handle two Jedi.” The hooded man said. The Trade Federation Leader looked over at another hooded figure that was in the room with him. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at them but swallowed it down with snarl.

 “Go after them and make sure they don’t escape!” He ordered the hood figure. The hooded figure silently got up and left the room. The hologram let out a chuckle.

 “Why so frustrated? I assure you, you will get what you want.” He said. The Trade Federation Leader ignored the hologram, focusing back on the camera footage in front of him. 

Entering the docking bay, Seb and Kimi quickly made their way to their ship, with Kimi making haste on getting them out of there. Moments later, Kimi was navigating their SF-16 out of the docking bay and straight towards the stars. But their escape attempt did not go unnoticed, as almost a dozen enemy fighter ships launched after them. Kimi did his best to navigate the now oncoming fire from the fighters.

 “Remind me why we didn’t take the ship that had weapon artillery with it?” Kimi asked

“Because we were tasked with a diplomatic mission. I at least thought our ship wouldn’t have to resort to violence.” Seb shot back. He lurched to the side as Kimi made a sharp left to avoid an oncoming fighter. It was easy to tell that these fighters were being manned by the same battle droids they had previously encountered. Despite them being robotic, they weren’t very smart when it came to ship navigation or artillery, as they missed the SF-16 multiple times and Kimi was able to navigate their ship in a way to lead the enemy fighters to actually crash into one another. 

 “Besides, who really needs weapons when you’re behind the wheel, Räikkönen.” Seb smiled. Kimi didn’t even spare Seb a glance as he maintained concentration on getting them out and away from all the fighting. There were only a few fighter ships left, enough to where Kimi could make the jump to lightspeed safely and not have to worry about being followed. But one fighter was giving him difficulty, causing him to have to constantly dodge its incoming fire.

The ship didn’t move in the same way others did, no it seemed to move like it was being operated by a humanoid instead of one of the Federation’s battle droids. 

 “I’m having difficulty trying to shake this one.” Kimi said as he swerved the ship again to avoid the fighter’s incoming fire.

“Do you think we can jump to lightspeed and deal with them if they follow?”

 “It’s possible but it’s risky.” The ship suddenly jerked forward as it was struck by a shot from the fighter chasing them.

“Well we either keep going until they lose interest or we jump to lightspeed now and hope they don’t follow.” Seb said, lurching again as Kimi tried to avoid another hit. He was unsuccessful. 

Wordlessly, Kimi began to chart their lightspeed jump and entered their desired destination of Corusant. Just as Kimi hit the switch for lightspeed, their ship jerked as it was hit by more oncoming fire. Lights were now flashing and warnings were blaring on various screens. The ship continued to shake and it soon became very clear that their hyperspeed jump was going to send them somewhere that wasn’t their desired destination. The stars in front of them began to blur and stretch out before the ship gave one final shake and disappeared from the current star system.

But not without taking another ship with it.

~~~

The air on the desert planet was hot and dry. That was what Seb was met with when he first stepped out after the ship’s crash landing. Seb wouldn’t say crashed exactly. Kimi was able to land the ship in one piece and everything seemed to be fine, but Kimi was still looking over to see what exactly was damaged. Seb had decided to see what their surroundings were like or see if he could spot anyone nearby to help.

“The ship’s hyperdrive is busted.” Kimi said as he stepped out to join Seb in assessing their surroundings.

 “Is there a way to fix it?”

“Not with anything we currently have. The good news is that our navigation still works so we know which planet we’re on. Tatoonie.” Kimi told him. Seb looked at the sand dunes that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. It was just sand for miles on end.

 “Well I suppose we could pick one direction and go until we find any form of civilization. From what I’ve heard of Tatoonie, it’s not a complete desert wasteland.” Seb told Kimi.

“Do you think that’s wise? Tatooine is on the edge of the Republic star system. Whatever civilization we may find may not be welcome to us.”

 “I think as long as we stick together and trust in The Force, we’ll be fine.” Seb told Kimi as the two set out.

It took roughly an hour of walking before Seb and Kimi came across a settlement known as Mos Espa. Not many people gave the two men glances, either accustomed to travelers coming in and out or they didn’t want anything to do with the two men. But others gave them glares or simply just stared at them. Maybe those people were looking for a fight. 

 “Do you think we should ask around?” Seb asked Kimi

“I don’t know if the locals would be very welcoming to us.” Kimi said as he made eye contact with a particularly rough looking man, who sneered before going about his business.

Something in Seb started to stir as he and Kimi moved further into town. It was very faint, as if pricking on the edge of his senses but too far to fully grasp. But he welcomed the feeling, for he thought it may be helpful. And it was, as it led Seb and Kimi to a shop that may have the ship parts they needed without them having to ask anyone for help. 

The feeling that faintly stirred in Seb’s gut seemed to triple the second his foot crossed the shop’s threshold. This feeling seemed to only be felt inward, but also seemed to hover around his arms, legs and head. It was a very familiar feeling, one that he spent his life channeling. The Force. Seb felt it around him, but also that it was somewhere farther in the shop, he just couldn’t hone in on exactly where it was coming from.

 “What can I help you with?” A woman said as she stood behind a counter polishing a piece of metal. Seb hadn’t even realized she was there til she spoke. Kimi nudged Seb's side, obviously wanting him to do the talking. 

 “Hello.” Seb greeted the woman with a smile. She didn’t look up at Seb, a scowl forming on her face. “Me and my compatriot’s ship has a broken hyper driver and I’m wondering if you may have the parts necessary for us to fix it.”

The woman sighed.

 “(Y/N)!” She yelled for someone, as if ordering an employee, still not looking up from what she was polishing. As the moments passed, Sebastian felt the presence of The Force increase, as if it was getting closer, before a curtain was swept aside and a young girl stepped into the room. The presence of the Force was now almost overwhelming. It radiated from the girl as if it made up almost every fiber of her being. 

“Yes?” The girl quietly spoke.

 “These men need new parts to fix a hyper drive. Get the parts for them.” The woman ordered, motioning her head in the direction of Seb and Kimi. The girl nodded before looking at the two men. She stared at them, but Seb couldn’t tell if she was sensing them same thing that he was.

 “Follow me.” She said before turning around and heading behind the curtain again. Seb and Kimi glanced at each other before following the girl. They entered a room lined with rows of crates filled with various mechanical parts. Whether it be for a ship or droid, this room seemed to have it all. 

“Do you need a completely new hyper drive or just certain parts to fix it?” The girl asked as she grabbed an empty crate.

 “Just a couple of parts. The hyperdrive isn’t completely destroyed, but the main parts are non-functional.” Kimi explained. 

“Did you overload it or get into a scuffle? Some of the scrappers around here talk about getting into ship fights with pirates.” The girl said as she grabbed a part from a nearby bin and placed it into the empty crate.

 “We did get shot at by a ship if that gives you a good idea of the state of our hyperdrive.” Seb said. The girl grabbed another part before glancing at the two men again.

“Are you guys pirates?” She asked

 “We’re peacekeepers. My name is Sebastian and this is my friend Kimi.” Seb said. At that, the girl turned around to get a full look at the two men. She looked at them curiously before her eyes landed on the lightsaber peeking out from under Seb’s cloak.

 “Are you two…Jedi?” She quietly asked.

“You’ve heard of the Jedi?” Seb asked. Trying to hone back in on the feeling, Seb could feel the girl carry an air of nervousness as she fidgeted with the crate in her hands.

 “Stories of the Jedi make their way out here from the people that come by. The depictions of the Jedi differ from person to person.” She said, now looking at the floor.

“What have you heard?” Seb asked. The girl turned around, focusing on grabbing a part from a high shelf.

 “Some say they’re mystical people that fight with laser swords for the good of others. Others say that they can make people and objects float with just a thought.”

The girl stood on the tips of her toes as she tried to grasp at the part that laid on a shelf much too high for her to properly reach. Kimi was about to assist her when the part suddenly flew into her hand. Both Seb and Kimi felt a wave of the Force emanate off the girl as she placed the part into the crate. She turned back towards the two men. 

 “What was your name again?” Seb asked.

“(Y/N).” The girl said. Seb walked closer to the girl, kneeling a bit to be eye level with the girl.

 “Do you know anything about The Force, (Y/N).” Seb asked. The girl hesitated before nodding her head.

“Yea. It’s the main reason Mr and Mrs (L/N) bought me.” (Y/N) said, continuing to look at the floor. Seb was shocked. 

 “You’re a slave.” Kimi said behind him. (Y/N) glared at him.

 “I’m not a slave. I’m a person.” She said, there was now an air of defiance around her.

  “(Y/N), what do you mean The Force is the reason Mr and Mrs (L/N) bought you?” Seb gently asked.

“The…the trader who originally owned me, he only supplied people with ‘force sensitive’ kids, that’s what he referred to us as. Mr and Mrs (L/N) wanted me because I would make it easier to help around the shop.” (Y/N) explained.

Seb took in the girl’s appearance. The clothes she wore seemed to be a bit too big. A mixture of dirt and bruises littered her arms. Seb looked at her face and saw how young she was. She couldn’t be more than 11 years old.

 “Are they nice people?” He quietly asked. (Y/N) now gripped the crate tightly and was about to speak when-

“(Y/N)! Hurry it up! There’s repairs you’ve got to help with!” The woman at the front of the store, Mrs (L/N) as Seb and Kimi now knew as, yelled. (Y/N) flinched.

 “I’ll be right there!” She yelled back. She tightly clutched the crate full of parts, heading over to another shelf and grabbing one more part before heading back to the front. Seb and Kimi watched her as the curtain fell back down.

 “You felt it too, right?” Seb asked Kimi.

“Yes.” Kimi said.

 “Do you think she could be The One?” Seb asked.

“It’s very much possible. The Force seems to flow through her like a running river.” Kimi said. “But she could just be very in tune with it too. That prophecy is centuries old. It could still just be fiction.”

 “But we’re both in agreement that this is a terrible environment for her to be in, right?”

Kimi nodded.

“Do you think you’ll be able to negotiate to convince the woman to let (Y/N) come with us back to The Temple? Or will we have to use a different method?” He asked.

 “Always negotiate first. I don’t want to have to resort to tricks like that unless absolutely necessary.” Seb said before drawing the curtain back and stepping back into the front of the store.

The woman was still at the front counter, now taking parts out of the crate (Y/N) had previously carried and jotted down numbers on a pad of paper. (Y/N) now stood at a repair table that was in the corner, next to a man. (Y/N) briefly glanced at Kimi and Seb as she held a pair of wires for the man to solder together. Seb walked up to the counter.

“How much for the hyperdrive parts and the girl?” Seb asked. He hated the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Referring to a living person as just some object to buy disgusted him, but it was necessary in hopes of being able to get (Y/N) out of her current situation. He needed to use his negotiation skills to the best of his abilities for this to work. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be on Seb now. 

 “She’s not for sale.” The man said, putting his tool down and placing a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder, gripping a bit too tight. Seb wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the wince of pain that showed on (Y/N)’s face. 

 “I have the credits. To pay for both the parts and the girl.” Seb said calmly, turning his attention to the man. The man walked over to Seb.

 “The parts are for sale. The girl isn’t.” The man said, getting into Seb’s face. 

 “I employ you to reconsider.” Seb adjusted his cloak to reveal his lightsaber.

“You’re threatening me, Jedi." The man spat. “You may think you hold authority but your kind aren’t welcome here. Now either make your purchase or get out!”

Negotiating wasn’t working for Seb for the second time today. There was something else Seb could try, but he knew that if it backfired then he and Kimi wouldn’t get the girl or the hyper drive parts. And Kimi and him sadly knew which one was more important at the moment. Kimi was right that it could just be some prophecy collecting dust back at the Temple. Seb glared at the man before sighing.

 “We’ll take the parts.” Seb said, he turned around and placed an amount of credits on the counter. He didn’t dare glance at the woman as she handed him the parts. As him and Kimi left, Seb turned around to get one last look at the girl. He looked at the girl, heartbroken, as she wore a look of both devastation and resignation. The only other way to get her out of this situation were not the ways of the Jedi. He knew that the only other peaceful option he had was to leave without her and hope that he could find a way to come back and get her out of there properly.

 “May the Force be with you, (Y/N).” Seb said. He then turned around and left the parts shop.

Seb trusted that The Force would allow for his path to cross with the girl again. 

~~~

(Y/N) couldn’t tell if the stars were brighter or dimmer tonight as she glanced up at the night sky. She hoped they would be brighter, considering the encounter with the two men she had today. They were a nice change from the regular people she encountered on Tatoonie. They were nice. Something about them made (Y/N) feel safe. And Sebastian asked if he could buy her, but (Y/N) could tell it wasn’t in a malicious way, he wanted to get (Y/N) out of her bad circumstances. But it didn’t work and Sebastian and Kimi had to leave. 

(Y/N) looked from the stars to the speeder she was repairing as she continued to think about the two Jedi. She had heard stories about how the Jedi fought to bring peace and good to those around them. She wished Sebastian had fought a bit harder to allow her to leave with them, either with words or the weapon strapped to his belt. But then again, (Y/N) never expected anyone to stand up for her. She was just a slave to two cruel people. (Y/N) looked back up at the stars. They were definitely dimmer tonight. 

“We’re closed!” (Y/N) heard Mr (L/N) yell from inside the repair shop. (Y/N) went back to repairing the speeder. It was probably just a late night traveler who needed their ship fixed. (Y/N) knew they would unfortunately need to wait till tomorrow to get any type of part or repairs. Mr and Mrs (L/N) were strict with their business hours. They were strict with a lot of things. 

“I already told your two buddies who came in here earlier that your kind aren’t welcome here!” (Y/N) turned around so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. Did Sebastian and Kimi come back for her? She quickly placed her tools down and headed back inside the repair shop.

 “My husband already told you, we’re closed!” Mrs (L/N) voice drifted from the entryway as (Y/N) peaked her head out to see who they were talking to. A figure dressed all in black stood at the entrance, a hood covering his face. He held a weapon in his hand. It looked similar to the one Sebastian and Kimi had, but more sinister. There was one other thing about the figure that (Y/N) could sense. His presence was like Sebeastian and Kimi’s, but it didn’t seem friendly at all. It felt dark and sinister like the weapon he held in his hand. He reminded her of a phantom.

The figure ignited his weapon, casting a red hue over the dark room as a bright red blade made of light appeared out of the end of the weapon. (Y/N) felt a chill run down her spine.

 “You think that scares me?” Mr (L/N) asked, walking over to the figure. “I told you we’re clos-”

The bright red blade skewered straight through Mr (L/N)’s chest as the figure cut off the man speaking. (Y/N) let out a gasp as Mrs (L/N) let out a scream. The figure withdrew his weapon from the man’s chest and the body fell to the floor. Mrs (L/N) continued to scream but was quickly silenced as the figure advanced on her and struck her down with his blade. Her body crumpled to the floor next to her husband. (Y/N) stood frozen in shock and fear as she stared at the two bodies. Even if they weren’t good people, (Y/N) would have never wished them to be dead. But now they were. She was brought out of her thoughts as she made eye contact with the figure. Sinister yellow eyes stared back at her (e/c) ones. 

Run!

(Y/N) felt as if the universe was screaming at her but she didn’t need to be told twice as she turned around and bolted in the direction of her speeder. She had no doubt that the figure was following behind her and she tried to send various shelves crashing down behind her in hopes of slowing him down. Some of them she didn’t even touch and yet they fell anyway. 

Scrambling onto the speeder, (Y/N) didn’t have time to worry about if it was fully repaired or not, she just continuously turned the key and pleaded with the universe that the speeder would start. On the third turn the speeder’s engine sputtered and roared to life. (Y/N) quickly looked behind her to see the figure shove a fallen shelf out of the way and advance towards her. Adrenaline rushed through the girl’s body as she desperately pushed down on the gas pedal and started to speed away from the figure and out into the desert before her. (Y/N) didn’t have time to worry about not having goggles, or gear or anything for that matter as sand dunes barrelled past her vision. She only focused on trying to breathe and getting far away from the phantom that was chasing her. 

On top of the mixture of fear, adrenaline, and panic, (Y/N) felt something else. Something pulling her in a certain direction and (Y/N) decided to trust it, hoping it would lead her to help or safety. 

~~~

Kimi had hoped he could get the repairs done before nightfall, but the sun had set long ago as he continued to fix the hyperdrive. Seb on the other hand had managed to contact the Order back on Coruscant and update them on their current situation.

“Unfortunately, the Trade Federation was not up for negotiating and we ended up crash landing on the planet known as Tatoonie after they tried to shoot us down. Kimi’s currently fixing the hyperdrive and we should be able to depart shortly.” Seb explained. In front of him was a small hologram of an older gentleman wearing similar robes to Seb and Kimi’s as he sat in a chair.

 “I’m sorry the negotiations didn’t work out but I’m happy to hear that you two are alive,” The man said.

 “There’s something else, Fernando.” Seb said. “Do you remember that prophecy? About one that will bring balance to The Force?”

The man nodded, but shrugged his shoulders.

 “Yes, but that prophecy hasn’t been spoken about in a long time.” He said. Seb’s eyes glanced out the ship’s front window, staring out at the sand dunes before shifting his attention back to Fernando.

“I believe that me and Kimi may have found them here on Tatooine. A girl who’s about 11 years old.”

 “And how can you be so certain?” Fernando asked.

“Her presence with the Force is something I’ve never felt before. And she used it with such subtlety and ease that not many untrained in The Force could manage” Seb said. “Unfortunately her “owners” wouldn’t let her come with us. I hate the idea of leaving her behind, especially with her current living circumstances, but The Jedi don’t hold much authority here on Tatooine.”

Fernando started to explain something about Tatoonie not having much of a government for the Republic to warrant sending Jedi to help with the planet’s matters, but Seb’s eyes and ears were more focused on the sand dunes outside. There was a distant roar from something Seb couldn’t identify, but as he squinted he saw something appear on the horizon. It seemed to get bigger and bigger as Seb realized it was heading in the direction of their ship. As it continued to get closer and closer, Seb felt the same feeling he felt when he and Kimi first entered Mos Espa.

 “Fernando, I need to call you back.” Seb said, ending the call before the man could respond as he hurriedly exited the SF-16. 

By now Seb could make out what was coming towards the ship: someone on a speeder. He didn’t need to wait for it to get closer to identify who was on the speeder. He knew it was (Y/N). But as her speeder got closer, so too did something else as Seb noticed another speeder chasing behind her. (Y/N) seemed to be miles ahead of the person chasing her, but Seb knew that miles could turn into seconds quickly.

 “(Y/N)!” Seb called out to her, waving his hands in hopes of encouraging the girl to go faster. (Y/N) didn’t need any encouragement, pressing her foot harder on the throttle as soon as her eyes landed on Seb. But as her speeder got closer, the person chasing (Y/N) threw out his hand in front of him. Suddenly (Y/N)’s speeder took a nose dive into the sand, sending the girl flying and crashing into the sand.

By now, Seb’s yelling had caused Kimi to step outside the ship to see what warranted the commotion. He noticed the girl in the sand and then the speeder with a black robed figure getting closer and closer to her.

 “Seb, get to the girl and get back to the ship. I’ll slow the other one down.” Kimi directed before taking off towards the two. Seb didn’t have time to question his friend as he took off towards the girl.

(Y/N) wiped the sand from her eyes as she tried to get up, but the daze from being sent flying off a moving speeder did not shake easily. She managed to find her bearings and sat up but then remembered why she was all the way out in the middle of the desert in the first place and quickly looked behind her to see the speeder that was chasing her come closer and closer. (Y/N) tried to scramble up into a standing position, but her franticness made her feet continually sink into the sand. Just as the figure was getting to be seconds away from the girl, his own speeder took a nosedive. But instead of being sent forward, he was sent flying backwards. The figure managed to plant his feet in the stand and skidded back, still standing.

 “(Y/N)!” A hand landed on (Y/N)’s shoulder and she looked to see Sebastian next to her. (Y/N) felt relief flow through her at the sight of the man.

“Sebastian! He’s after me! I don’t know what he wants but he killed them! They’re dead!” (Y/N) exclaimed as she clutched Seb’s arm. 

 “Come on. We need to get you inside!” He quickly helped her up and ushered her towards the ship as Kimi unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and slowly stalked towards the figure, who ignited his red bladed lightsaber. 

 “Here, sit down.” Seb ushered the girl to one of the seats on the ship once they were inside. “Take some deep breaths. Are you hurt?”

The girl shook her head.

 “Ok. That’s good to hear.” Seb gave the girl’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then regretted it when the girl winced and quickly let out an apology. Seb looked over his shoulder to see that Kimi was now engaged in combat with the phantom figure. Seb focused on the red lightsaber that swung and deflected Kimi’s attacks and he knew that they needed to get away quickly.

 “Buckle up. We’re getting you out of here.” Seb said to the girl before heading over the console to power up the ship. Seb hoped that Kimi had finished fixing the hyperdrive because they were going to need to use it very soon. 

(Y/N) fumbled with the seatbelt before managing to click it into place. (Y/N) chanced  a glance out the ship’s open door and saw Kimi fighting the phantom-like figure that had chased her. Kimi’s blue lightsaber clashed with the figure’s red one as he swung and easily dodged the phantom’s incoming attacks. (Y/N) was in awe at the Jedi’s combat abilities as Kimi feinted his attack in time to almost land a solid hit. But the phantom seemed to be just as quick and was able to side step out of the way.

By now, Seb had fully powered up the ship and got it ready for take off. He ran to the open door and called out to Kimi.

“Kimi! Come on!” Seb yelled. Kimi deflected an incoming slash from the phantom and thrusted his hand out in front of him, sending the figure flying backwards before he turned around and ran towards the ship. Seb was already in his seat, buckling himself in by the time Kimi shut the door and got into the pilot’s seat. 

 “Did you fix the hyperdrive?” Seb asked.

“We don’t have time to worry about that right now.” Kimi said as the ship lifted off the ground and Kimi piloted it towards the night sky. (Y/N) clutched the edge of her seat tightly as she felt the effects of G-Force caused by the steady ascension through Tatoonie’s atmosphere, her heart still hammering in her chest. The ship rose higher and higher until it was far enough away from the phantom and Tatoonie’s own gravity as the ship now floated amongst the stars.

(Y/N)’ stared ahead and leaned forward in her seat. Stretching out into the vast infinity of the universe, she’d never seen this many stars in her life. Tatoonie made the stars feel so far away. But now, as she sat in this ship, with two men who just saved her life, (Y/N) had never been so close to the stars until now. It was beautiful

Sebastian looked at the awe struck girl as she took in the view in front of her and he couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it.” He quietly said. “I marvel at it every time I lay my eyes on the stars.”

 “They’re so much brighter from up here.” She whispered, her eyes still filled with stars. There was peaceful silence between the three for a couple of moments before Kimi placed his hand on the hyperdrive accelerator.

 “Moment of truth.” He said, pushing the stick forward. (Y/N) watched as the stars began to bleed together into lines, stretching faster and faster as the ship dipped forward and everything felt like it was being pulled before the SF-16 blinked out and away from Tatooine.  

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 4

Action sequence time baby let's gooooooo

Thank you guys so much for all the support so far. This one took a little longer to cook because fight scenes take ages to choreograph lol.

If you missed the previous part, you can catch up here :)

A lot for explicit violence in this one, including blood and gore, so be prepared for that. Also, I spent ages researching Dark Eldar weaponry, but it's all so wacky and weird that I just kinda did my own thing? I know I know, it's kinda lazy, but I've already twisted the lore so much for this story already, what's the harm in a little more?

Aside from that, apologies for spelling and grammar errors, I hope you enjoy and as always, thanks for reading!

Ellicent yelps in surprise as Gadriel grabs her. When she glimpses the Dark Eldar skiff, though, it quickly becomes a snarl "Severus!" she hisses. "Severus, you fucking rat! You-"

The screeching song of metal clanging against metal drowns out the rest of her furious cries.

Shredder rounds. Fist sized shells packed with razor-sharp monofilaments and the prefered weapons for this particular war band. Their function is in the name: to shred. Everything. From flesh and bone to steel and concrete. And, if the grimace on Gadriel's face is anything to go by, even space marine ceramite.

Just beyond his right shoulder, Ellicent spots the skiff again. It's hovering, now. Flanks split open like misplaced mouths, spewing scores of Dark Eldar raiders. Their armour is black and sleek; all crossing belts and studded leather. Except the studs aren't studs at all, but are rather chunks of skull and spinal bones. And the leather... Throne. Some of their chest pieces still have hair. Still have faces. Ellicent feels her stomach tie itself into knots.

The xenos still on the skiff cease their rain of fire as their melee force joins the fray. The latter hits the rooftop running. Gnarled spears and serrated blades flash in their taloned hands. Their long, elven faces are twisted into wicked grins. Some of them shriek in bloodlust and ecstasy.

Ellicent sets her jaw. "Turn left, Gadriel!"

Without hesitation, he does as she says. Twisting his hips, keeping a hold on Ellicent as he does. A trio of Dark Eldar are in front of her now. Screeching in delight with their weapons raised. Ellicent lifts her gauss canon towards them. With a cry of her own, she squeezes the trigger with her entire hand. The necron weapon cracks like a sonic boom. A lance of green energy- blinding, sparking, pulsing- explodes from its barrel at the speed of light. It hits the centre-most raider in the chest. For a moment his squeals turn agonising. Then, he says nothing at all. The beam devours him whole, blowing his body apart before stripping the pieces of their very atoms. It leaves no remains. Not even a pile of ash.

Alarmed, his comrades scatter, but Ellicent is on them like a hawk. Two more times, she fires. And two more times, a xenos is obliterated. She releases the trigger. Her gauss canon whines at her as if in disappointment.

Above her head, she hears Gadriel laughing.

His voice sounds different, now. Mechanical. Modulated. Ellicent glances up to find his face is now covered by a red Astartes' helm. The sight startles her a little. "Holy Terra," he says. "I'm glad you didn't hit me with that thing."

At first, the comment makes Ellicent wince. Then, she hears the smile in his voice.

He's joking. Seems like such a trivial thing, especially now. But even so, Ellicent can't help the warmth she feels inside at the realisation.

All around them, the Dark Eldar raiders circle them like sharks, no less blood-thirsty, but definately wary now. Their skiff continues to orbit overhead and its shredder fire has started up again. But it's not aimed at them anymore. It's aiming behind them. From that same direction, Ellicent hears the periodic bellow of a bolter.

The other Ultramarine. It has to be. What had Gadriel called him again?

Titus.

Gadriel releases the arm he'd had pinned across her middle, returning Ellicent to her feet. She hears a sword unsheath, an energy field activate. In her peripherals, she glimpses his power sword in one of his hands.

He stands at her back. His armour and undersuit are rough against her skin.

They're also wet...

"Are you bleeding?" she asks.

"I was. But no longer."

Despite herself, Ellicent's chest tightens. "Are you alright?"

Gadriel's response is a growl. "Dont worry about me. Focus on looking after yourself."

Ellicent stifles a growl of her own. You don't need to tell me; that's all I've been doing for the last fifty years.

Limber as they are, the Dark Eldar are still impossibly quick. They don't sprint so much as glide across the floor, and when they duck and dodge, their bodies are literal blurs.

Ellicent fires her gauss cannon again. She tags one on the arm. In a flurry of screams and green light, the limb evaporates, all the way up to the creature's shoulder. The raider collapses to the ground, writhing and wailing. The sight makes Ellicent grin. The Dark Eldar are infamous for deriving pleasure from pain; not just other's but their own, too. Looks like atomisation, though is too excruciating a pain even for the likes of them.

Holding down the trigger this time, Ellicent swings the weapon from left to right, carving into the incoming raiders with a continuous spray of lethal anti-matter. Three more fall victim to its fire, but one- a long-legged male in nothing but a skin loin cloth- manages to slip through. He's getting close. Too close. If Ellicent were to fire on him now, she'd risk catch herself in the blast. Taking her hand off the trigger, Ellicent grips both of the canon's handles tight. As the naked raider cocks his arm back to slash at her, she drops low. Putting every ounce of body weight and cybernetic strength behind the swing as she can, Ellicent slams the barrel of her gauss canon into the alien's groin. The xenos goes down like a corpse, howling in pain and fury. Before he can rise, Ellicent raises her necronian leg high and slams her foot into his head. Bone and blood spray as her metal heel plunges through his skull. When she lifts her foot again, her heel and sole are both splattered with pulverised brain matter.

A roar at her back catches her attention. She spins just in time to see Gadriel cleave one of his attackers in half with his power sword. Another, he punches in the chest with his free hand. The alien's body explodes as if it'd just been hit with a tank round.

Ellicent watches him with shock on her face. She's seen and fought enough space marines in her time to have overcome the transhuman dread that the sight of them afflicts in mortals. But seeing these things in Gadriel- her Gadriel- it brings that sickly feeling surging right back.

It unsettles her. Throws her off-balance and out-of-focus. It lasts only a second. But in that same second, for reasons unknown, the Dark Eldar skiff steers its sights away from Titus and back to her. And Ellicent realises it too late.

Releasing her gauss canon, she drops to one knee and throws up her robotic arm. She angles it across her head and chest, trying to shield her most vital parts. It's pointless, she knows. Even if she manages to spare her heart or brain, the shredders will just cut the rest of her to ribbons. But it's all Ellicent can think to do. She has to try. She can't just-

An enormous ceramite hand grabs her around the waist and yanks her out of the way.

"Head down!" Gadriel yells. Dropping his sword, he hugs her to his chest with both arms and crouches on one knee. His ceramite screams as the shredders make impact. Ellicent pictures their bladed edges biting through the plate and sawing into the undersuit beneath. Sparks fill through the air. The stench of burning metal is almost sickening. Ellicent squeezes her eyes shut. She shimmies her arms free from where they're pinned against Gadriel's midriff and covers her ears.

Her breath hitches. Her hands; they feel wet and sticky.

Is that...

Reopening her eyes, Ellicent looks at her palms. All over her arms, from her finger tips up to her biceps, she's streaked with human blood. Same as down her front, where she's pressed into Gadriel's torso.

Ellicent's throat tightens.

Gadriel.

She can't see his face from behind his helmet. Its slanted red eyes make it look like he's glaring with rage. But his grip isn't as strong as it had been before, and with every third or fourth shredder that hits, she hears him winces.

The knot in Ellicent's throat winds tighter. "We can't stay here!" she cries. "We've got to move!"

"And go where?" he grunts. The thinness of his voice only confirms what she'd already feared.

"Get me a shot at the skiff. I can take it down."

"You expose yourself like that and you'll be dead in a second."

"I've got to try!"

"Don't you dare."

"If I don't, they'll tear you-"

"I said no, Ellie!" Gadriel shouts.

It's then the shredder suddenly stops again. Still holding onto Ellicent, Gadriel looks over his shoulder.

"What?" she asks.

"Oh Throne," he mutters.

As the curse leaves his mouth, his body lurches forwards and his voice devolves into a pained groan.

"Gadriel?" Ellicent grasps his sides of his helmet with both hands. "Hey! Are you okay?"

Gadriel falls to one knee. Releasing one of his arms from around her to catch himself. Ellicent takes the chance to wrestle free from his grasp. Quickly, she scans him up and down. What she finds makes her stomach drop.

It's an impaler. A two-pronged, ship-mounted harpoon weapon, one the Dark Eldar typically reserve for taking out vehicles or skewering heavy armour. And they've just shot Gadriel with one. Speared him in the back and straight through his right side. Blood pours from both wounds in a torrent. Already, it's made a pool on the floor.

"Oh no..."

Ellicent runs back to him. Grabs his helmet again as if she were cupping his cheeks. "No, no, no, no!"

"Ellie..." His voice cracks like broken glass. It brings tears to Ellicent's eyes. "Listen to me. You... you have to..."

"Shut your mouth," Ellicent growls. Before he can argue with her, she steps away from him. Aiming her gauss canon at the sky, hunting for the skiff. She finds it, but never gets the chance to fire. The raiders are waiting for her. The second she's out of Gadriel's protective shadow, they're on her. Kicking out her legs. Ripping her weapon from her hands. Slamming her face into the floor, then a club into the back of her head. The last thing she sees is Gadriel. Kneeled over, covered in blood, a monstrous alien spear sticking out of his ribs. A scream tears through her throat. The sound is the truest embodiment of fury and grief.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel dreams of steel and blood. The stench of hot iron. The taste of copper. A haze of blinding light and shredded nerve endings.

He doesn't know where he is, how much time has passed. He doesn't even know if he's still alive.

And what about Titus? What happened to him? And Ellie-

Oh Throne. Ellie...

The haze suddenly dissolves. All at once, his senses return. They do so with startling clarity. The smell of hot iron is replaced by that of dampness and decay. His ears ring with the high-pitched hum of an alien engine. He suddenly remembers he has eyes and gingerly, opens them one by one.

A single, white lamp illuminated the entire space around him. Black metal surrounds him, save for the walls on his left and directly in front of him, which instead are made from thick heavy bars. The air is humid and warm, like the inside of a beast's stomach. The stench is nauseating. Gadriel reaches for his helmet to turn on its filters. Instead of ceramite, however, his fingers brush his bare cheek.

My armour...

He looks at his hands. His gauntlets are gone, too, along with every other piece of ceramite plate he'd been wearing. All that remains is his black undersuit.

They've captured me. The thought sends dread spiking through Gadriel's veins. Very few of the brothers he's met have fought the Dark Eldar, and fewer still have been captured and survived to tell the tale. But those few he does know told him about it. What they said had stayed with him right up to this very day.

I have to get out of here, he thinks. Planting his palms on the floor and pushing himself to his feet. I have to find Ellie and Titus, and get us all-

A spear of agony pierces Gadriel's right side and pained roar rips from his throat. He falls back against the wall, breathing hard and fast. Thick bands of sweat are pouring off his brow.

Tentatively, he touches his side. His finger come back slick with fresh blood.

Gadriel bares his teeth. That's right, he thinks bitterly. I'd almost forgotten.

The fresh blood, however, is deeply concerning. The moment the harpoon had been removed, his larraman cells should have sealed the wound closed tight. Wiping his hands on his thigh, Gadriel presses them to his stomach, chest and left side. Once against, his palms return bloody.

It's not just the spear wound; the cuts and gashes from the shredders haven't sealed either.

Gadriel's vision starts darkening again. His head now pounds in time with his injuries. It could just be his panicked mind playing tricks, but it feels an awful lot like he's about to loose consciousness again.

Shit. Not good. This is not good.

"Gadriel? Is that you?"

His vision suddenly clears. Gadriel looks up, peers through the bar wall separating his cell from the one next door . In the corner closest to the back edge, a shadow moves. Unfurling into the silhouette of a woman, crouching in front of the bars and gripping them with one hand.

"Yes it is," Ellie says quietly. In the low light, her eyes twinkle like a cat's. "It's really you."

With a grimace, Gadriel pushes off from the wall. His hearts are soaring, but in his current state, he can manage is sitting a little straighter. "Ellie! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Just have a sore head. They hit me pretty hard."

"I saw," Gadriel says. He swallows as a surge of acidic bile fills his mouth at the memory. "But you are otherwise unharmed?"

Ellie hesitates for a moment. Her silence is almost confused. "Yes," she eventually replies. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Gadriel sighs in tangible relief. "Thank the Emperor for that."

"What about you?" Ellie asks.

Gadriel grits his teeth in a rueful smile. "I think the bastards might’ve tagged me," he says.

Ellie isn't amused by his poor attempt at humour. "How bad is it?"

"It's not good," he admits.

"Can you move?"

"Probably. The bleeding hasn't stopped, though. Even though it should've."

"It's poison," says Ellie. "Kills larraman cells. They coat their projectiles with it. Meant to make space marines bleed to death."

Gadriel looks at his hands. The pounding in his head grows tenfold. "Well. Isn't that just great..."

"Yup." He hears shuffling as Ellie changes position. Sitting on thefloor now, she rests her left side on the bars separating her cell from his, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Gadriel asks her.

"Oh yeah," Ellie says. "Only the most cursed, ugly pain-ridden ship in this entire system." The dryness in her voice borders on resignation. "Welcome to the Dark Star."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If the ending feels a bit abrupt that's because it is lol. I was writing this part, and it just kinda kept going and I realised it was gonna be way WAY too long. So I split it into two :)

Anyway, thank you so much for reading everyone. Part 5 is coming soon <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[kynimdraws]

Is it gay to camp with ur bf and ur ex?

To see the story drabbles the prev part is here (all entries tagged under "#Hunter and the Mask Verse Story") Yone design ref for this verse can be seen in detail here

Let's find out under the cut lmao

Over a week had passed since they started their long trek through the desert to reach Nazumah. There had been some encounters with stray Bacci and dune hounds, which were taken care of relatively quickly. It was also fascinating for Yone to see K'sante in action: in the dense forests of Ionia he was far more careful about his swings with the ntofos. But in the vast dunes of Shurima, he seemed more in his element. The power and grace of his moves just seemed to belong here. Of course Yone's soul-sword techniques were sufficient to dispatch foes as well.

During one of the nights (K'sante figured that it would take another day or two to reach the outskirts around Nazumah), they suddenly find a relatively large party pass by. K'sante and Yone tense, since it was initially unknown whether this traveling group was friend or foe until…

"Tope!" K'sante calls after recognizing his former lover.

The two embrace and laugh, and the tension disappears immediately from everyone. The two parties set up camp.

"Traveling by night too? So not a hunt, I presume? Where are you headed?"

"No hunt. And I was about to go to Nazumah to warn the council there about…suspicious activity at the Sun Disc."

Tope informs that through Taliyah, there has been some unrest between Xerath's Magus cult and Azir's newly built Empire following. While the independent Shurima nations were aware of this building conflict due to the increased activity of soldiers, cultists, and Baccai…there never have been full on war.

"While I would just let those two fight until both no longer walk this earth, their violence might bleed into innocent tribes and nations that want nothing to do with them. And there are tales of Azir's descendant that may be able to sway the crazy emperor, and I wanted to recruit able-bodied people for the cause."

K'sante nods. His mother, who was one of the Nazumah councilwomen that ran the city-state, would surely agree with Tope's plan. But instead of assuming it was much better for them to get an audience with the netire council.

"Then I will help, and I will be guessing Nazumah will also support. With me and you, and others at our side…we will be unstoppable!"

Then the two men chatter about trivial things, mostly catch up with one another. Throughout this Yone quietly listens in, somehow finding himself sitting between them. He would have been content just being an observer, but Tope was not the type to let that pass.

"So, who is your travel companion K'sante? He isn't Shuriman that is for sure."

"Ah, about that…"

Tope holds up his hand, a signal for stop K'sante from talking.

"I know you are a great storyteller, but I want the stranger to answer."

Yone chuckles at that, and concedes. With SOME interjections from K'sante, Yone retells how the two had met and now are traveling back. Tope in the meanwhile that brought out some palm wine that was shared between the three.

"I see," Tope finally remarks after the storytime ends. "I am glad you found good company with K'sante. By the way did you know…"

Before K'sante would stop him, Tope started talking about some of his adventures with the man. Yone is very amused by much of them, especially whenever K'sante would awkwardly say how much of a reckless idiot he used to be in those earlier times.

As they finally settle to rest for the day, K'sante claims he needed to sleep early and steps out from the campfire. Seeing that Yone was not quite ready to join K'sante, Tope comes closer to talk to the man in private.

"So…how do you like him?"

Yone starts.

"What do you mean?"

"A man does not merely follow another man to his homeland just for saving him. You could have just stayed back in Ionia. To remain as good friends. But it seems there is something more than that."

Tope smiled warmly. Yone meanwhile felt a bit awkward, especially given how Tope was…K'sante's former lover. He just looks away and stays silent.

"For the record, I was not making fun of you," Tope starts up the conversation again. "I think you are good for him. He is not perfect, but I can see that he cares and is a better man especially towards you."

He laughs a little.

"If anything, it is quite funny seeing him tiptoe around you like you are a frightened dune gazelle, because he is usually much more direct about his feelings. I was surprised he introduced you as just a 'friend' after hearing all you went through."

"Oh?" Yone finally responds.

"K'sante is like a desert storm sometimes, he will just charge and say his piece. But with you…he is being gentle. As if he wants you to say something first. I think even if you reject him, he'll respect your decision."

Tope chuckles again, pouring the last of the palm wine for both.

"A toast, to whatever path you take in your life. Regardless of how you go with K'sante, knowing what you know now."

Yone nods and toasts to Tope's health in return. Finally the two eventually turn in for sleep.

[hero-israel]

Same anon who asked about Gaza post 2005 and pre war. I want to know were they just laughing at dumb westerners that they took advantage of? Was it all a scam? Or was it an elite living on the backs of a brainwashed underclass who lived in poverty? Did these formerly comfortable Gazans buy into the martyrdom thing or was that only for the poor? Because if they did it kind of makes me believe that to the average rich to middle class Gazan it's not death before dishonor but death before discomfort. Like they're happy to die as martyrs but G-d forbid they have to eat canned food. Because that's just bizarre to me. .

Is it true that they're willing to die, that they love death more than Israel loves life? But that the average Israeli soldier is willing to suffer for their survival and cause in a way most Hamas members aren't?

The hardest-core apocalyptic fundies in the leadership (and certainly everybody pulling the strings from a safe distance in Iran and Qatar) believe in martyrdom and eternal war. I believe the average Gazan is likely to both hate Jews and also to not want to be killed or surrounded by violence, and that's a position I can accept.

We also need to bear in mind the very high likelihood that Hamas never thought they could make Oct. 7 as big as it was, and wound up with a "catastrophic success".

I have mentioned here repeatedly that Netanyahu weakened Israel militarily. In his desperation to avoid whatever trivial prison sentence comes with his trivial crimes, he pushed through a judicial overhaul plan that tore society apart, and he could only be defended by a coalition with the West Bank Race Riots Party which set about eagerly causing more West Bank race riots. With all eyes focused on totally avoidable protests and riots, the army was redeployed away from Gaza. I was losing sleep all through 2023 fearing something like that would happen - it was too obvious that Israel was distracted, even to a layman like me. Probably not a coincidence that they also struck during the period when the U.S. Congress was paralyzed and couldn't choose a Speaker.

But even Hamas surely could not have anticipated the complete failure of the IDF, that some towns would see no defenders arrive for 12+ hours. It's a small country - you could probably cross it on a pogo stick in 12 hours.

I could totally see them planning to kill 100 and kidnap 7, then found themselves with the opportunity to kill thousands and kidnap hundreds. Drunk with victory, they took it to a level beyond Israel possibly negotiating, beyond Gaza possibly left standing.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

The Great War

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Betrayal is a wound that never truly heals. She thought she was protecting him. He thought she was his. But in the end, war doesn’t leave survivors—only ghosts.

Inspired by: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Matt’s knuckles were bruised like violets. He barely registered the pain as his fist met the wall of his apartment, the impact rattling through his bones. The room was silent except for his ragged breathing, but his mind was deafening. It played the moment over and over again—the moment he knew.

The night had been quiet—too quiet.

Matt stood on the rooftop, the weight of Hell’s Kitchen pressing down on him like it always did. The city breathed beneath him, its pulse steady, familiar. But something was off. He felt it before he heard it—a shift in the air, the faintest rustle of fabric, the whisper of movement.

Then, an attack.

The first blow came fast. He twisted, barely dodging the blade aimed at his ribs, countering with a strike that his opponent managed to deflect. Whoever they were, they were skilled—quick, precise.

A game of shadow and violence unfolded between them, movements sharp and fluid. A well-placed kick knocked him back, his boots scraping against the edge of the rooftop. Matt steadied himself, fists clenched, his breath coming hard and fast.

Then he heard it.

A sound so familiar it sent a shiver down his spine.

The sharp inhale of breath, the subtle shift of weight, the exact way you exhaled before attacking again.

No.

He faltered, just for a second. Enough for you to strike. Your leg swept under him, sending him to the ground. Before he could react, you were on top of him, straddling his waist, a blade pressed against his throat.

He reached up, grasping your wrist, pushing back against the pressure. His breathing was ragged, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

It can’t be.

But then you made a sound—half a grunt, half a growl of frustration. One he knew. One he had heard a hundred times before in heated debates, in whispered laughter, in the moments you thought no one was listening.

The confirmation gutted him.

With a surge of strength, he flipped you over, pinning you down. Your knife clattered to the ground, forgotten. His gloved hand gripped your mask, fingers digging into the fabric as he tore it away.

And there you were.

Eyes wide, lips parted, face exposed under the pale glow of the city lights.

The betrayal hit him harder than any punch ever had.

"You?" His voice was raw, almost hoarse.

It turned into something bigger.

Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I’d been betrayed.

He didn’t see you anymore. Not the person in front of him. Instead, his mind reeled back, unbidden, to a moment burned into his memory—the moment he knew he loved you.

A warm summer night. Laughter between shared drinks. The scent of your perfume mingling with the city air. Your fingers brushing against his as you argued over some trivial thing neither of you actually cared about. The way you had looked at him then, with trust, with something dangerously close to devotion.

That was the moment. That was when he knew.

And now, here you were, pinned beneath him in a different kind of battle, your face exposed, your silence a confession louder than any words.

His grip tightened. "Who sent you?" His entire body locked like a coil ready to snap.

You swallowed hard but didn’t speak.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Was any of it real?"

Your breath hitched. "Matt—"

"Don’t." His voice was low, cold. He could feel the world narrowing around him, feel the weight of every lie you had ever told pressing down on his ribs like a vice.

You were still beneath him, body tense, breath shaky. But he could hear your heart pounding. Could hear the answer you wouldn’t say.

And suddenly, everything between you unraveled.

Your breath shuddered, and for the first time since this began, you let the words slip through your lips. "I had no choice, Matt."

His grip on your wrists didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened. "You always have a choice."

Your throat felt tight, your pulse hammering against his palm where he held you down. "No, I didn’t. If I refused, they would have sent someone else. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate. Someone who wouldn’t—" You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. "I was going to lose you either way. At least this way, I could control it. I could protect you."

Matt’s breath hitched. He could hear the sincerity in your voice, the tremble of truth buried beneath layers of betrayal. But it didn’t change the fact that you had still gone through with it. That you had still turned against him.

He let go of your wrists suddenly, like the touch of your skin burned him. He pushed himself back, away from you, as if needing the space to process, to breathe.

"You thought this was protecting me?" His voice was hoarse, raw with something unspoken. "You thought trying to kill me yourself was better than letting someone else try?"

You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you could hold yourself together. "I thought... if I did it, I could find a way out. A way to make sure it wouldn’t happen. But there was no winning this. Not for me. Not for you."

His jaw clenched, muscles tightening beneath bruised skin. "And what about us?"

A sharp, broken laugh escaped your lips. "Us? There was never going to be an 'us,' Matt. Not with the lives we lead. You just refused to see it."

Silence stretched between you, suffocating in its weight.

Then, without thinking, without warning, Matt surged forward, capturing your lips with his. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet—it was desperate, raw, a collision of grief and fury and something deeper neither of you wanted to name. For a moment, he let himself believe this was real, that this wasn’t the end, that somehow, in this fleeting moment, he could hold onto something that had already slipped through his fingers.

But the betrayal lingered on your skin, soaked into your touch, poisoning every second of it. And when he pulled back, breath heavy, eyes dark, he knew what had to be done.

His grip shifted. One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back just slightly, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat. The other gripped the knife still pressed between you, his fingers curling around the hilt like a final decision. His jaw tightened, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can’t live with this."

The blade slid between your ribs before you could answer. But you didn’t need to—your eyes locked onto his, unwavering, even as the pain bloomed across your body. A quiet sound escaped your lips, not just of surprise or pain, but something deeper. Acceptance.

Matt caught you as you sagged against him, lowering you carefully to the rooftop, cradling you even as your blood soaked into his gloves. His breath came in shuddering gasps, his forehead pressing against yours as if grounding himself in the finality of what he’d done.

Your fingers curled weakly around his wrist, a ghost of a touch. Your lips parted, but no words came. Only your gaze remained, locked onto his, reflecting something that made his stomach turn—understanding. As if you’d always known it would end this way.

His own breath shook as he pressed his forehead against yours. He could hear your heartbeat faltering, the rhythm slowing, fading. And for the first time in a long time, Matt Murdock prayed.

But there was no mercy left in this war.

The moment your fingers slipped from his, he knew—this was a sin he would never be forgiven for.

Matt barely remembered the next few days. He worked cases. He put his mask on at night. He bled. He fought. He came home to an empty apartment, sat in the dark, and listened to nothing.

But he knew it wasn’t really nothing.

Because he could still hear the way your voice had trembled when you said his name. He could still feel the weight of your body beneath him, not fighting anymore, just... waiting.

It had never been a clean fight. Not with you. Not with the way you had made him trust you, made him believe in you. Not with the way you had touched him, kissed him, held him like he was something worth keeping.

And now? Now there was nothing left but the wreckage of it all.

He wanted to let it go. To shut the door, burn the bridge, and never think of you again.

But he couldn’t. Because no matter how much he hated you for it—

You were still the one he had reached for, all throughout the great war.

[looselyreadymade]

Part 18: Traitor

Falling into an AU; Reader AFAB x HH 

TW: threats, swearing, mild torture, sex acts, anxiety, grief, depression, panic, drugs, violence, MODERATE gore, reader x Alastor, emotional distress, TWO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS

POV: The King's side of things

Lucifer had to use his sorcery on the lock to Alastor’s room to bring him fresh supplies. 

The ex-Overlord remained in bed, facing the window, room encased in darkness. The illusionary forest was overgrown, dull and neglected. Nil creatures roamed to the hotel room through it in recent days.  

Hesitant, careful, Lucifer approached the bedside table next to Alastor, placing a cool-box of fruit, breads, meaty rice and smoked sausage, cannibal-creole style picky bits.  

The covers shifted slightly as the demon pulled them higher over his head, rejecting the presence of Hell’s King, regardless of his intentions. 

Not pushing him further, Lucifer held the bedroom door open for long enough that Niffty could freshen up the floors, walls, sides and do a quick bug hunt before collecting the still semi-full dishes they had left yesterday. Niffty was the only one Alastor allowed in his room for more than a single minute, though he didn’t tolerate engaging with her. 

Pulling the door shut, they knew it would be locked firm by the next time they walk past. 

The hotel corridors felt eerie, lengthened, as if a liminal space more than ever before. Lucifer still had to accommodate himself to the Hazbin Hotel, despite his best efforts for his daughter. It just wasn’t his palace, complete with all its luxuries. Charlie wouldn’t let him change a thing, though. Not after everything they had all been through. It was sanctuary as it was. 

It wasn’t unusual to see hotel guests milling around the stairwell, popping in and out of rooms or hanging out in the lobby. There had been a shift in energy; far less enthusiasm for redemption, and far more focus on sheltering refugees. 

The Pride Ring’s control over the angel infestation had fully slipped without the mogul of technology. Others came into small facets of power, offering securities and basic programming, though none could compare to the ferocity which drove Vox to success, pioneering Hell’s advancement. The death of such a powerful figure had cost many lives, especially sinners with little to no combat speciality. 

In light of this, the other Overlords had settled into a truce; not from agreement, but from necessity. The Vees had fallen without their core inventive member, leaving Hell exposed and vulnerable to Heaven’s offensive tactics. They managed to form a coalition of sorts, sharing their powers and territories for the time being, until the situation improved. 

Many sinners of the doomsday district had escaped, having lost the thrill of the fights now their entire ring was under siege. Necessity for survival rendered their enjoyment nullified.  

Similarly, the Hellborn populace had often sought homes elsewhere in the rings; many joined Wrath, seeing it as a great place to hide amongst demons who would be able to slaughter angels basically on sight, if given the right weapons. Sloth had also taken in many residents; the ‘ignorance is bliss’ approach appealed to many, many demons.  

With a heavy number of Hellborn leaving and sinners slaughtered, Pride ring’s teeth lost their edge. It was no longer feared as much by angels; conversely, this actually helped the infestation issue. It became too easy, too trivial, unnecessary for the angels to wreak havoc in the dwindling populace. Now, it was mostly attacks that prevented growth and stability, fewer and farther between. 

As such, the ever-present threat of Heaven’s success in the war loomed over Hell like a guillotine. They still needed Hell to exist as a place for sinners, but were overall in control of the populace and strength of the Pride ring especially. 

Lucifer pondered how he had been in attendance at the court hearing for your fate; he knew how assured of their power they felt, how confident they were in domineering over Hell. 

On the morning of the hearing, at approximately One AM, he received a phone call from the court registrar, summoning him to the session. To receive a call from Heaven was shocking enough; they preferred shiny golden letters and fancy ribbons at the best of times. This was urgent enough to disregard their pompous acts. He’d attended immediately, entering a suddenly-appearing portal to the gates of Heaven and being escorted in by his siblings Raphael and Uriel.  

The court held an exclusively high-ranking jury and staff. Many Seraphims were present, along with a number of arch angels and dominions. He was given a few disgusted glances as he was guided into the courtroom; it had been so very long since he had been here, being judged for his own crimes. 

The arguments came thick and fast, the usual manners and facetiousness of Heaven’s highest-ranking angels were disregarded in the pressing issue. A human, in Hell, that had not come from this Universe. Few believed it until Sera had projected her memory, showing the audience proof of the confession. Then it became an onslaught of debate for how this was physically possible. None of the angels came forward with knowledge or guilt regarding the anomaly’s presence. A few had even turned on Lucifer, accusing him of the fault. Lucifer had to fight tooth and nail to defend his innocence, showing his absolute lack of information about the alternative universe. He readily admitted to knowing the anomaly was human; this was not new to the court. The Universe issue was at the forefront of their concern, and yet they still had no further answers, even from him. 

The court had pressed Lucifer for as much information as possible about the anomaly; what he knew, how he knew her, what he had seen of her, what her intentions were, Et Cetera. The interrogation was brutal and incessant, ending with their dissatisfied arguments from Lucifer’s poor expanse of knowledge. Knowing Heaven’s extreme interest and concern with the anomaly, he told every bit of truth he knew about her. It just wasn’t enough. He hadn’t even known anything about her other-universe origin until this meeting. 

At this point there was no conclusion, no clear ruling. All had differing opinions; many wished to dissect the soul of the anomaly, attempt to find new information regarding its creation and reason for being, whether any strings of fate were attached that went beyond this universe. Others wished for her death, removing her from the equation. As they pointed out, she had caused so much of a ripple in their plans just by existing, there was no safe way to allow her to exist here any further, and no-one knew how to access her Universe to put her back, anyway. There were other suggestions, many of them sickening or cruel; only Lucifer attested to her kindness, her innocence, her love for her friends and how hard she sought to protect them. This enraged many of the jurors and the other Seraphims especially as they shut down every argument he threw at them.  

In a final standstill, the jurors were asked to decide between two options; either execute her, decimating her soul, or study her. They would be able to observe her soul’s behaviour, how it interacted with the fates and destinies of other human souls while they investigated how it came to be. To be able to do this, they would place her in a controlled environment; under the close eye of an assigned angel, living on Earth as a human until she dies of any means. They would then be able to examine the passing of her soul into the afterlife, whether this meant being admitted to Heaven, Hell or back to her own universe. They had no idea how to check if it was the latter, just hoping a sign would indicate her departure when she left her human form. 

The gavel slammed as the decision was made; the anomaly was to be extracted from Hell, examined in a secure facility in Heaven with significant exorcist guard support, before being placed in a controlled human Earth environment with an assigned ‘guardian angel’. Reports were to be filed on every significant change in the anomaly’s behaviour, decision making, interests, injuries, relationships, and so forth. The list was exhausting. Lucifer had stared in blank horror at the beings he once cared for, once created and thrived with, watching them decide to desecrate a human soul with unimaginable torture once it left the Earth-bound body, for ‘invaluable learning opportunities’. 

A portal had opened for him to travel back to Hell, directly to his palace. He had been distraught at how much this was going to upset his daughter, who had grown so fond of the little human. Even he had a soft spot for her, and he hardly knew her. 

Lucifer had flown to see Charlie, who had been spending the night with Vaggie after she called, scared and confused. Knocking softly, he’d woken Charlie from sleep and pulled her aside to discuss the revelation. 

She had no idea of the magnitude of the situation; Vaggie had only told her of their friend being tearful and solemn the night before, having disappeared to ‘do something necessary’. Vaggie didn’t have much information beyond this, so thus neither did Charlie. Which made the conversation so, so much harder. She’d broken down, clutching him like a lifeline as she imagined the pain the human soul would go through under angel experimentation. It was a guaranteed afterlife of pure torture, beyond anything even the very worst of Hell could imagine. Lucifer’s only reassurance was that they had enough time, hopefully the rest of the human’s mortal lifetime to figure out some sort of loophole or escape for their friend. In the meantime, they could still focus on the Hazbin Hotel and sheltering the sinners from ongoing attacks. For now, it was a case of relenting to Heaven’s ruling, sending her to Earth for the remainder of her life with a prison-guard-slash-guardian-angel watching her every thought and move. 

That was what led to the most painful goodbye-party they had ever experienced. She’d been so brave, knowing that she’d likely never see any of her loved ones from Hell ever again. The laughter and relaxation she’d portrayed was as much of a performance for her friends as it was an iron shield of denial. Only flickers of pain in her eyes betrayed the truth the three of them knew was coming, until it finally approached Eight PM, summoning time. 

Lucifer had felt the agony of her goodbyes right through his heart. It wasn’t like when he was cast from Heaven; at that time, he knew he was seen as a traitor, feared and hated. This human soul was the exact opposite. Her banishment from Hell was through none of her own actual fault beyond the fact she existed, and that had pissed off the Heavenly order. It was all he could do to not try to run with her, to hide her, to shield her. But he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, all of Heaven would be after them. They could destroy worlds looking for something this valuable. Instead, he offered a final act of kindness until they could find a way to save her; he held her hand. 

They had walked to the embassy, heads held high, stride for stride. Only when he thought she was ready did he let her go, kissing her cheek in blessing. The commotion from their right had distracted him; Angel and Husk were desperately trying to hold back and enraged, terrified or outright insane Alastor from taking on all of Heaven to get the little human back. The sight cracked Lucifer’s resilience just a little more, hearing the powerful Overlord who thought he was the strongest shit in Hell being emotionally broken to pieces at Heaven’s feet. 

Lucifer had stared sadly at the anguished deer-fellow, wishing he could have solved this. He didn’t even see the human fall to the stairs as the bullet struck her spinal cord, killing her instantly. The shock was instantaneous, followed by a rage of chaos and terror. He had tried to shield the body, arguing with the angels to let her be buried here now the soul was gone. He stood directly in front of them, screaming at them, preventing them from interrupting Alastor’s grieving.  

Then came the fight; Hell’s electrical Overlord, the psychotic bastard who had found and tortured her after she was shot at the Goetia palace, was in a death match with Alastor at full power. The two matched so well, there was barely a coin toss between them for who would survive. 

Lucifer continued to battle in words with the angels at the Embassy steps while Alastor and Vox fought, briefly distracted when Alastor came crashing next to him on the steps. In that flash of an instant, the angels had encased the anomaly’s body and disappeared into the Embassy, chased by Charlie and Vaggie who pounded on the magically-sealed glass doors.  

Panicking, with the scene unravelling at a lightspeed pace, he saw Alastor’s weakness as the body disappeared into the Embassy. He was distracted, out of control. Without direction or support, the Radio Demon was never going to survive this.  

As much as he hated the lanky red prick, he had seen the agony on his face as the girl’s body lie on the steps. Whatever Charlie, or her hotel, or the girl had managed to do, something in Alastor had come to the surface that was worth healing. Vox had no such qualities.  

Lucifer stepped into the battle, wings out, in full demonic form. He had no plan, just needed to help Alastor gain the advantage one single time. He would let the infuriated Overlord take care of the rest. One single flame, a beam straight into Vox as he tried to trick Alastor, was all he’d needed. 

The scene was... gory. Sadistic. Agonised. Alastor had decimated the corpse of his enemy, mutilated far beyond reason, releasing all the grief and mourning through his rage. All Lucifer had felt was sorrow, observing Alastor’s head drop over the victim, watching his power leave him as whatever deal he had made was broken. Not really a big surprise that Alastor was on a leash in order to have that much power; it did beg the question of what the terms were, if killing Vox had broken the contract. 

With the angels now gone, the anomaly and assassin dead, the square outside the Embassy held both chaos and bone-deep silence. None of them had said a word as they came over to Alastor in a group, standing by him as Lucifer and Charlie held him up. The life energy seemed to leave Alastor along with his power. His feet barely touched the ground with weak steps as they mostly carried him, head drooping, back to the Hazbin Hotel. 

In his room, most of the furniture and bedding seemed untouched; he hadn’t been there in some time while staying elsewhere. They tried to bring him to the bathroom to help him wash off some of the gore, however were met with the most pathetic feral snarl they had ever heard. Respecting his need to grieve, they left him be for the first few hours. 

Charlie had gone to check on him first, reappearing about an hour later looking defeated. Every so often, about every half a day, someone else would try to speak to him, to bring him water, to encourage him to come down, even just to talk about what happened. The ex-Overlord refused everything, beginning to lock the door once people had left to prevent them entering without urgent need or sorcery. 

Much to their gratitude, Alastor had shown basic signs of self-care after about a week. His water glasses emptied and odd bites of food disappeared, he had even showered and changed, though mostly remained in bed. They collectively had no idea how to help him. 

In the following months, Lucifer observed the aforementioned changes in Hell, noticing the shifts in the war after Vox’s death, how the angels had eased some of their attacks while a lot of the Hellborns in Pride had left. One particular Overlord Rosie had tried to visit Alastor a few times, spending a couple of hours with him before giving up. That was more than he allowed from most. Still, the weak and emotionally defeated demon showed no signs of actual recovery. 

Charlie and Lucifer had included the other Hazbin group in their current investigation; initially, they had avoided telling them the full extent of how difficult it was to find the source of the angel invasion, however now it seemed paramount to have every idea from any source possible. This included a surprising suggestion from Vaggie; to ask the I.M.P. team if they could investigate too, pulling every string from every friend they had. Lucifer didn’t see the value in this as he had already taken Charlie to pressure every one of the other Sins; yet Charlie seemed to agree, hugging Vaggie close as the idea started to flesh out. Their thought process geared towards the concept that if someone powerful was helping angels in and out of Hell undetected, they weren’t going to admit it without being backed into a corner. The best way to do this would be to apply pressure to those who knew the Sins intimately, more so even than the King of Hell. 

Blitzo and his team had watched the assassination and resulting Overlord death live on TV. They had no idea their pal was being essentially deported, let alone about to be assassinated. The whiplash had caught them completely off-guard, rendering their next few missions more sloppy and chaotic than usual. 

They complied with the idea to investigate the Sins with as much leverage as possible; Blitzo volunteered his old best friend Fizzarolli, who caught on extremely quickly to their line of questioning and defended Asmodeus as if his life depended on it. This was when Blitzo reminded Fizz that this wasn’t the only Sin he knew extremely well; Mammon had contracted him for years before Fizz had unceremoniously quit mid-performance. The gaping hole left in Mammon’s repertoire of clowns had near-wrecked the revenue into the Greed capital. That was until the performances changed into weekly bashes, galas and celebrations that became even more renowned than Bee’s. The guest list was metres-long of names, many of them royals and wealthy Hellborns who enjoyed the balcony view and personal chefs at the events while the lower class of demons were served an immense array of alcohol, snacks, treats, drugs and gifts. Fizz had no idea about how the hell Mammon had even managed to kick-start such a series of over-the-top events, how much it would have cost to fund them alone was astronomical, and that was before the parties really got a name for themselves.  

The cogs were turning in Fizz’s mind as he spoke, mapping out the timeline from when the events had kicked off and gained traction in the rings, becoming famous across all of Hell for the lavish extravaganzas. Every. Single. Week. The fireworks display alone would fill the entire night sky with both brilliant explosive colours and a heave of smoke. 

Lucifer asked how Mammon could possibly afford this; last time he’d seen the Sin of Greed, he was bitching constantly about the drop in revenue. Loona interjected, making a sarcastic comment that he was probably making some shady deals elsewhere, given how hard it was to run a party that big; Bee had told her so, anyway. Blitzo asked whether Beelzebub could have possibly been working with Mammon to throw the parties, if there was something good in it for her. Loona laughed the idea off, telling them how even most of Bee’s Hellhound guests had switched to the Greed ring for their weekly parties, ruining her own fun. If anything, she was pissed at her fellow Sin.  

Charlie and Lucifer asked questions, drew out timelines and maps on a big sheet, working out who knew who and who benefitted from the parties. The more they talked, the more they realised pretty much every other ring was losing people who were now moving to Greed or at least spending most of their money there enjoying Mammon’s events. He was making major profit, seemingly to no end. The question was: how did he fund the initial parties? 

Blitzo and Stolas set off to try and ask some of their contacts while Loona went to find Bee and Vortex. Millie and Moxxie stayed back, holding the fort and looking after their toddler. Charlie and Lucifer decided to have a go at speaking to the Sin of Greed himself. 

The circus tent had become more of a palace by this point. Lucifer didn’t even recognise the building until he saw the wall-to-floor self-portraits of Mammon laughing, holding drinks, welcoming guests in, throwing money in the air.  

Every so often they would glimpse another bar, another box of fireworks, another chaise lounge. This place was packed to the brim with luxuries and equipment for huge celebrations with thousands of guests in the now massively expanded home. Stairs rounded up to high balconies, sporting rows of flowers and fruit on vines just casually hanging in place. In the centre of the circular palace was the open courtyard where the main event was held, revealing a completely exposed open top that gave a huge, clear view of the Hellish night sky where fireworks would rain magnificently. 

They found Mammon in a private boutique, where sex dolls, toys, gala-themed clothing and an array of trinkets lined the walls. Mammon was throwing actual brick-stacks of cash at a delivery man carrying more boxes of fireworks. 

“Heeeey!! Luci, long time no see, how’s the Big Man?!” He ran (waddled quickly) over to Lucifer, grabbing him in a chokehold and scruffing his hair. Lucifer pushed him off, fake-laughing as he reorganised his appearance, brushing off the sleeves. “Extremely busy, Mamm. You know how crazy Hell has been? Just this week, we had another batch of sinners found dead to angel blades. We thought this was going to hopefully be ending soon now that Adam is dead, but apparently not. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?” 

The puckered mouth and wide eyes told them everything they needed to know. Shit.  

“Listen, aye, you have no fuckin’ right to stride your fuckin’ almighty ass in here and make these huuuge accusations at me, with no fuckin proof. I ain’t got nothin’ to do with the shitty angel highway and i ain’t got shit else to say to you!” 

Lucifer grinned, catching him in the lie. “Mammon! Come on, you know this is everyone’s problem, yours and mine included. If you know someone who knows someone, maybe they could tell me more about the angel highway?” 

Mammon stammered, “What? What’s that? An angel highway? No such thing. PFFFT. You’re going senile mate.” 

“Are you sure? You're the one who said ‘angel highway’ first, i only use the words ‘entry and exit to Hell’. So you do know more about this, perhaps more than you’d care to admit?” 

His face turned a darker green as the anger flared, sputtering half-words as he tried to reach for an excuse. Lucifer interrupted the scrambling Sin; “Listen, pal. I need answers. If you’re not going to share them, I'll have to speak to the Seraphims to see whether they know anything about what’s going on. How... badly will that conversation go, buddy?” 

Sneering, Mammon crossed his arms, defensive. “You fuckin’ dare. You FUCKIN’ dare shithead and I'll kick your fancy ass into the next ring over. You don’t know SHIT. Shut your little mouth and fuck off back to the loser ring with the sewage of human souls.” 

Lucifer growled, squaring up before Charlie jumped in front of him, dragging him away. Lucifer obliged, still staring down Mammon as Charlie called back, “Nooo worries mister Mammon sir! We’re going! Back to Pride! We’ll leave you alone, you seem so busy, thank you for your time, uh, byeee!” 

Rounding the corner Charlie put a finger to her lips, holding her father away from the door. Curious, he let his capable daughter take the lead on how to get the information. They stood by the door listening as Mammon threw a tantrum, yelling and throwing merchandise. The Sin was particularly angry at the risk of Lucifer telling another Seraphim. 

Trying to look casual as they left, they plastered on fake smiles and strode out of the palace. Once far enough away for the doormen to see, they crept around to a side entrance and snuck through service doors, hiding in cupboards and behind curtains on the way like bad detectives. They weren’t caught, thankfully. God knows how though.  

Reaching a storage room for party supplies, they checked through box after box, searching for itemised lists, receipts, itineraries, anything to reveal the source of the party funds. Nothing stood out to them. Charlie called Blitzo to ask how they were getting on; after he shouted down the phone asking if it was really fuckin’ urgent, she confirmed no and hung up as gunshots rained in the speaker. She told Lucifer they were a little busy. Next she tried the number Loona had given her; she answered on the second ring, asking who it was before laughing in relief that it was only the princess of Hell. Loona had slightly better luck with her investigation; Bee hadn’t known anything about how the parties started, only that they were suddenly advertised out of nowhere not too long after Fizzarolli had quit, and the first few parties had hooked almost everyone’s attention for the luxuries and good time. Bee was particularly annoyed at being upstaged at her own speciality. She’d told Loona about the rave reviews, how amazing the night was and how brightly the sky lit with rainbows of brilliant explosions. Loona’s sarcasm carried heavily through the phone as she described the events, unimpressed. Charlie asked her about whether she knew who was funding the first parties; apparently, Bee had no idea, and didn’t really have any suggestions of who to speak to. Lucifer offered to take the phone, asking if Bee was still around to speak to. The voice changed in the speaker as Bee took over.  

The two Sins had always gotten along as brother and sister; rarely ever agreeing, going for years without seeing each other, but had each other’s backs die-hard style. Bee told him about where she usually got her own supplies, and that they weren’t affected at all. Despite how much Mammon was ordering in massive quantities, the availability and consistency of her party gear stayed the same. They agreed this was actually a really useful consideration, as that meant Mammon had an off-Hell supplier. Bee’s goods came from the biggest company in all the rings, straight from Greed itself, and yet wasn’t affected by the Greed Sin’s sudden massive bashes?  

They chatted some more, circling around the same idea that Mammon was definitely in league with Heaven. There was no way Earth could create this many supplies without causing great suspicion in both Heaven and Hell, especially if human souls that knew about it pass away and go to their respective afterlives. They debated the possibility of Lucifer going to Heaven itself and causing yet more drama with a bunch of angels who likely didn’t know about the secret operation. The idea was kaboshed as soon as it was said.  

Charlie tapped her dad on the shoulder as someone jingled the locked door handle. Lucifer whispered “gotta go, bye Bee!” into the phone and hung up, diving behind a pile of confetti bags with Charlie. 

The door unlocked, shedding light into the storage bay; four large, broad demons wheeled in trays of goods, all of which adding to the same stack the Morningstars had already searched. One of Mammon’s assistants followed in, signing off on the paperwork and handing it back. Bingo. Lucifer winked at Charlie before morphing into a mouse and chasing the assistant, dodging the demons and slipping into cracks, out of sight, before giving chase when the coast was clear. The assistant had reported to Mammon in his private dressing room, informing him of the successful order and confirming the increase in security for this week’s event. Lucifer, still a teeny innocent-looking mouse with teeny red padded paws, flexed his ears to follow the conversation. 

The assistant was well within the know. Mammon immediately launched into a complaint about how Luci had threatened him with calling him out, dobbing him in, cutting off his golden goose, and so on. The assistant placated him with bored reassurances, that all they had to do was have a week without angels travelling through the highway so if they did come noseying in, they wouldn’t find anything. Mammon was thrilled at the idea, but also huffed about how he was going to have to break it to ‘that bitch’ about not letting anyone in or out of the highway this week. Lucifer stilled, his fears confirmed; Mammon was allowing the angels into Hell. Profiting off it, even.  

Lucifer scurried out, using the thick curtains as cover while he found his way back to Charlie. He managed to fit under the door, checking the coast was clear before reforming as himself. He brushed off the dust and dirt as Charlie jumped out to hug him, relieved he was okay. He filled her in on what he’d heard and opened a portal back to the Hazbin Hotel to discuss the new information. 

Back at the hotel, all the staff had gathered in Alastor’s room. He sat up in the bed, back against the headboard, scowling at the invasion of privacy. Charlie had pointed out to him that they needed absolute privacy to discuss something ground-breakingly important for the fate of all Hell, and his room was generally avoided at all costs by guests. She didn’t mention how hopeful she was that this would help him feel a bit better, to be involved and to see how hard they were working to stop the angels. She knew, deep down he still cared enough to want to help them, he just had it a bit rough right now. She was sure of it. 

She was wrong, but it still amused him enough to stay awake to listen to their scheming. Their foolish, desperate attempt to trap the Sin into admitting his deal, or to catch him red-handed helping angels in and out. He sighed, thinking how stupid this was. 

Despite how quiet it was, nearly the whole room spun their heads to look at Alastor after he sighed. It was the most emotion they had seen in weeks. 

Charlie spoke up, hesitant, “Al? You okay over there?” 

He side-eyed the closed windows, irritated. It took a few seconds to clear his throat before replying in a dull, regular demon voice, no trace of radio static; “No offence dear Charlotte, however this plan is doomed from the start. There will be nothing to catch as they will cease the transporting of angels until they have a different method, by which point all your efforts will be completely useless. You will be playing cat and mouse with both the Sin of Greed and a frankly militant agent up in Heaven who has been playing you for a long time. This ‘Mammon’ has none of the intellect or wherewithal to pull this depth of genius off. Chances are, he might even get ditched as the guy on the inside if they consider him more of a risk than an ally to the cause. Did you consider any of that, dear?” 

Silence fell as the group considered the blatant accuracy of his words, regardless of how rudely he said them. 

Lucifer smiled a little, forming an idea. “You’re right, though not in any helpful way, bellhop. Mammon is now very much a loose end. He’s going to end up tied in it one way or another. What if we kicked off enough of a stink, caused enough problems at his party that he loses it, thinking that if no one wants to come to the party then he’ll have no excuse to have all those fireworks covering up the tracks? 

“Think of it this way Charlie, if we can get Mammon himself to crack and expose himself as working with an angel warmonger, Heaven would have no choice but to confront whoever’s sending the angels in order to keep their holier-than-thou status!”  

[ariainstars]

Apparently… Star Wars is for “Adults” Now

“Young people today don’t have a fantasy life anymore, not the way we did… All they’ve got is Kojak and Dirty Harry. All the films they see are movies of disasters and insecurity and realistic violence.” (George Lucas)

I am following on social media the enthusiasm caused by the Star Wars series Andor. I haven’t watched all of it yet but personally, I find it cold and bleak. I’m not saying it’s badly made; I just don’t like it. It could be set anywhere on Earth and in any period. It has nothing of the things that made the saga so special, no magic, no family, no hope, faith or love. And yet, countless fans love it.

The argument I keep coming across is that this is “Star Wars for adults”, which is basically like saying that if you don’t get it, it’s because you’re too immature for it.

What irritates me about this that these fans are basically almost all those who couldn’t stop (and don’t stop until today) to hate on The Last Jedi, saying how rotten it is, that Disney Lucasfilm destroyed their childhood etc. The result of all the TLJ bashing is that ever since, the studios are “apologizing” to these bullies first finishing the most beloved, beautiful and successful saga, after 42 years, with a stupid and trivial last chapter like The Rise of Skywalker, and now telling a story rooted in cold realism like Andor. Which, see citation above, was the very last thing the Star Wars creator ever wanted it to be.

The Last Jedi is a fairy tale in perfect Star Wars tradition. I and many other fans loved it, we were enthusiastic about its topics, the magical atmosphere, the development of the characters and the dynamics between them. Many fans not only never saw all of this but believed to be particularly intelligent finding faults in every second of this movie, calling it ridiculous and blasphemous. All because it hadn’t met their expectations by not portraying Luke Skywalker as an invincible, cool and aloof hero.

Tastes are different. Fine. But why say that if you don’t like Andor, the reason must be that you’re not adult enough to understand it? Apparently, these fans are the “grown-up” ones who appreciate cruelty and coldness, while it is implied that who appreciates the wisdom and beauty of a true fairy tale is a childish fool.

The irony is that it was them who spat venom up to sending insults and even death threats to the film studios after The Last Jedi. It’s not us. Who doesn’t love Andor doesn’t hate on it making a biblical drama over a piece of media. While apparently, that kind of behaviour was “adult”. They see absolutely no contradiction there.

Jeez.

I will rather stay in contact with my inner child than spend my time with depressing stuff so I can claim to be “adult”, thank you very much.

[neonmetro]

Neon. . .I miss your art. . .I miss your art a lot. . .( and coughs, Novaturi but anyways )

ALSO, I HOPE YOU'RE DOING SO WELL. MWUAH /SILLY /AFFECTIONATE

I miss sending asks chat, but other than trivial questions, I have no time to ask in-depth things. . .unless it's characters specific, but I'm not sure if you have the answer to those questions

-Ulysses loving anon

WAHHH THANK YOU ULYANON MWUAH... i miss drawing, i miss drawing a lot i'll be back (I'VE BEEN DRAWING JUST NOT TO THE SAME FREQUENCY AS BEFORE AND ITS SO DIREE)

i understand so bad... being busy/stressed/burnt out just gets to you eventually and it lowkey is the worst thing ever... i'll def try to answer those kinds of question i appreciate them a lot!!

here's just a bunch of miscellaneous stuff i drew over the past month(s?) and some lore i whipped up for novaturi... (they'll be added in the doc in... a million years)

worldbuilding lore below

there's a lot of smaller companies who are CONSTANTLY competing with one another to try and become the biggest and overtake one of the corpheads

the most notable ones are vehicle manufacturing and fashion, the only reason WHY they haven't been chosen as corpheads is because both industries are constantly changing and its horrid

currently the only one really powerful enough is a company that specializes in magical girl clothing

magical girl weapons and powers normally do not come w names, people usually come up with them for marketing

war's weapon is named durandal

there are two main consequences of being a magical girl and overworking yourself; overkilling and bloodrespire. overkilling occurs when a magical girl overexerts their own body and abilities, transmorgifying themselves to physically look more like a vagabond. bloodrespiration is when a magical girl consumes an overabundance of blood in a short period of time, to the point where the taste and the power it gives you becomes insatiable, and your worldview shifts into being more akin to a vagabond, only looking to selfishly consume.

those inflicted with bloodrespire are comparable to vampires or werewolves, but unlike vampires, are solely individualistic and are unable to "turn" others into bloodrespirators. bloodrespirators' yearning for blood shifts into an affinity for violence, and the only difference between them and vagabonds is their apperances and the lucidity bloodrespirators have when hunting for blood.

however, while bloodrespirators are unable to "turn" others into vampires, stronger bloodrespirators who still maintain a level of self control have the ability to create "veinreavers." veinreavers are bloodbags, semi-sentient humans and weaker bloodrespirators that were overpowered and bitten by these stronger bloodrespirators, that serve as bait for new prey.

as many other things do, the different districts have different names for the bloodrespire phenomenon, industrial: bloodrespirators, chastise: ichorsin, recreational: devoudreor, denizen: sanguivore