#SOBBING WEEPING CRYING THROWING UP CLAWING AT THE WALL

[vrachis]

joky sjit i actually. lost my mind on this ohmygod sev u never ever FUCKING MISS holy shit this was so sweet im so ill about it

you’re seven years old and barefoot on the beach of yaoguang shoal with sand between your toes and salt-brushed wind in your hair when ningguang makes her first and only promise to you.

“when we grow up, i’ll marry you.”

the words are big, heavy on her child’s tongue but she speaks them with conviction nonetheless. her hands are laced with yours, your small fingers slotting perfectly with one another. the sunset makes her eyes glow like how you imagine the amber does at jueyun karst. you’re too young, too childish to really understand the weight of her vow—but you nod with a smile, squeezing her hands tighter.

“i’ll wait for you,” you say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. it’s a foolish hope, because you know that ningguang knows you better than you even know yourself. she returns your smile with one of her own, her hand never leaving yours as you walk back to your village, the sunset at your backs. the light paints ningguang in gold, and you can’t help but think at seven years old that this is how things should be—hand in hand with the girl you know you love before you even knew the meaning of the word, barefoot together in the sand.

you’re seven years old when you learn how things should be, but you’re fifteen years old when you learn how things are.

ningguang leaves for the city. she tells you before she goes, of course, holds you close as you weep selfishly into her shoulder. her hands are gentle as she sifts them through your hair, along your scalp and down the nape of your neck before wrapping around your slim, hunger-carved shoulders. i have to go, she’d said, or else how will i afford our wedding? and you’d wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter at all what kind of wedding you had, as long as she stayed with you—that all the riches in the world are worthless without her. but for as much as she knows you, you know her, and you know that ningguang is not to be deterred once she sets her mind on something, so you send her off with a delicately packed mora meat and a prayer in your heart that she’ll come back soon.

you’re fifteen years old when you learn how things are, and you’re twenty-one years old when you learn how things will be.

it’s been six years since ningguang left. even in the backwater village you call home, tales of ningguang’s exploits reach your ears. how she runs circles around liyue’s businessmen and businesswomen, how she effortlessly finds her place amidst liyue’s social elite, how she’s rising, rising, rising like an unstoppable eclipsing star. she keeps writing to you, always keeping you updated on her progress, and you always write back, filling your letters with the mundanity of your day-to-day life—about the way the glaze lillies have been blooming, or about the way everyone around you says you’d make a fine wife.

my parents are getting restless, you confess in one letter. i’m getting older, and they think i should get married soon.

the reply that returns the next week is simple, but succint. i haven’t forgotten. wait for me, please. and you know she hasn’t, which is why it kills you when your new husband forbids you from ever writing to her again. you weep yourself to sleep on your side of the bed for the next week following your wedding night. the distress of wondering—if ningguang is worried, if she’s upset, or worse, if she’s hurt by you—drives you near insane to the point you worry yourself sick. your husband only tells you to stop holding on to naive childhood promises and perform your duties as a wife. it is the only thing you are good for, now.

you’re twenty-one years old when you learn how things will be, but you’re twenty-nine when you learn that things can change.

in the years you have been married, your husband has grown—not in character, but in wealth. he is rich enough, now, to take you and himself from your village and to the big city to further his business. a small spark flickers to life in your chest that you might see her again, but it fizzles out when your husband makes it clear that you are just to stay at home. you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything other than the house, he’d said. i’ll give you everything you need. and you know better than to argue with him, so you resign yourself to staying at home, spending your days gazing up at that palace in the sky and wondering if its lady even remembers you—or if she, like you, has decided to let go of naive childhood promises. after all, she has the world now, can see it from the edges of her floating sanctuary. what need has she of the memory of being barefoot in the sand at seven years old?

(selfishly, you pray she hasn’t forgotten, even if she has no need for remembrance. you pray she chooses to remember.)

change comes when a woman in a white fur jacket and the prettiest emerald eyes you’ve ever seen breaks into your house. it’s certainly a very unorthodox meeting, and you come dangerously close to throwing the knife you were using to finely dice some cabbage at her. the woman only laughs, nimbly prying it from your hands and setting it on the counter. before you can even ask her what in rex lapis’s name she’s doing in your house, she says the words that make your blood run cold.

the tianquan wants to see you.

ningguang wants to see you.

the woman promptly leaves after delivering her message and additionally telling you not to breath a word of it to your husband, leaving you standing in your kitchen reeling from the shock. the mora meat you were working on putting together is forgotten as you swallow your nerves and take the chance you’ve waited nine years for. you’re nearly sick with it by the time you’ve ascended to the jade chamber in all of its opulence, feeling like you stick out like a sore thumb.

but the moment you see ningguang again, everything else fades to white noise. archons, she’s as beautiful as the day you last saw her. she was lovely dressed in commoner’s clothes, and she is just as lovely dressed in finery no doubt worth more than a year’s worth of your rent. she will never be anything other than lovely in your eyes.

“it’s been a while,” she says softly, the first to break the silence. you nearly cry at finally hearing her voice again. instead, you stifle it with a wet chuckle.

“only took fourteen years.”

ningguang manages a small laugh, lips curving upward in a smile you know—you remember—is reserved only for you. she offers you a seat by her desk, and two secretaries file in to place a tea set down by both of you, before disappearing as quickly as they came. and then ningguang is telling you about the real reason she asked to see you; your husband, as you are quite unsurprised, is involved with some sort of fraud, and the prosecution—the tianquan’s office—needs a witness. namely, you. after all, who better than the wife of the man himself? you try not to let your disappointment show, though, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking her if she remembers—or worse, if she missed you. your conversation with her is pure business, and when you descend from the chamber later, it’s only with the taste of sweet tea on your tongue and half your heart; the other half you seem to have left with her, up in the clouds.

your husband, to his displeasure and rage, finds himself in millelith custody the very next day. and the very next week, you, to your pleasure and joy, find yourself lacking a husband. the millelith who take him away politely point you to an office down the street ran by a pink-haired half-adeptus, who takes care of your divorce affairs with a cheery smile in less than four days. you’re both scared and impressed—is this just how people move in the big city…? you don’t have time to dwell on the question, because unfortunately, without your husband you are also without your income, and without your income you are also without your house. which would be a very big problem; were it not for the fact that ningguang once again invites you to the jade chamber, but this time, to stay with her. you nearly decline because of the sheer insanity of the request, but the part of your heart there with her wins out. you relent, and now, you find yourself playing house with the tianquan of the liyue qixing.

it’s almost frightening, how quickly you fall back into old habits. ningguang, you find, hasn’t changed much. she is still whip-smart, still as cunning as she is devious, but she is still just as kind as she was before. something in you aches viscerally when you see the way she speaks with the children, offering them candies and goodies as she goes. (things neither of you had the luxury in indulging as children.) you smile and tell her, you haven’t changed at all. she only looks at you and returns it with, have you? the answer eluded you at the time, but thinking about it more, you would say that yes, i have. but the parts that loved you never did.

(you don’t say this out loud, of course. it’s too early, and the chasm of years between you both yawns achingly large. but by the glint of her eyes, you think she knows. and if she didn’t, the time and care she spent relearning you would have told her as well.)

since you’re not sure how long ningguang will let you stay, you decide to make the most of it. you’re almost thankful for the nine dull years you spent with your former husband—since at the very least, it taught you how to be a half decent wife. it’s all you’re good for now, after all. ningguang’s meals are cooked by you, and you’re the one who brings her tea in the afternoons and evenings. you talk with her over your cups like nothing ever happened, and you walk with her round the perimeter of the jade chamber as the sun sets, her hand close enough to hold. rumors dance in the wind like dandelions about the tianquan’s new companion; some call you an old friend, others, a lover. the answer is somehow both, yet neither. she is everything to you, and more.

(and you are everything to her and more. the infinte she has been searching for her whole life is right there in your eyes. it always has been.)

you’re twenty nine years old when you realise things can change, and you’re thirty years old when you remember how things should be.

ningguang takes a rare day off, and invites you on a little excursion to yaoguang shoal. it’s been a year since you started living with her. a year since you’ve been freed from a man you never loved, and a year since you’ve come to realise that it’s because you’re still in love with ningguang—and that perhaps, you never stopped. it’s not as difficult as an epiphany to come to terms with, but it does make your chest ache every time you look at her. especially now, in this place, where the waves carry salt-brushed wind and memories of a distant time. the sun hangs low in the sky, and ningguang is kicking off her heels, barefoot in the sand. all of a sudden you’re seven years old again, watching her watch the waves and wondering if her eyes glow the same like the amber at jueyun karst. you slip your own footwear off too, standing by her side in the sand, the water lapping at your ankles. she speaks first.

“i still remember,” she murmurs, and your heart catches in your throat. when she looks at you, it’s with all the bare innocence she looked at you with twenty-three years ago. “do you?”

“of course,” you answer, without a beat of hesitation. “how could i forget?” how could i forget you?

ningguang smiles. “then you remember what i promised you here?”

“yes,” you breathe. “i remember.”

the woman before you exhales, the sound nearly drowned out by the sigh of the waves as they crash onto the shore. her geo vision glimmers, and a crystalline box manifests in her hands—her hands that tremble as they open it, revealing a simple golden band inside. “will you forgive me for taking so long?�� she whispers, and you clasp your hands over her own, steadying them. you rest your forehead against hers, caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“i would have waited for you forever, ningguang.”

she exhales again. catches her breath. “then, will you let me fulfill my promise and marry me?”

you answer her with the only possible answer, catching her lips in a kiss twenty-three years in the making.

yes.

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,000+, 840+, 1,060+, 810+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Koby, Helmeppo, Smoker

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here. Sorry for any grammatical errors, this was written on my phone and it's been formatting very odd lately. Please read the warnings. Art link

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

“Aww, baby,” your voice mocks him, looking down from your position sitting firmly straddling his lap, “You look so cute like this.” He groans at your quip, his brows furrowing and lips parted and panting. Lifting yourself up over him, you slowly and steadily roll your hips over his cock, sucking his weeping tip into your heat. 

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his cheeks dusting with a shade of pink as he was held captive between your legs. Your grinding, writhing and lewd moaning had all other thoughts flee from his mind. All he wanted was to watch you bounce on his cock, spreading your slick down his shaft until he watched you shake in pure ecstasy. 

Rocking your body harder atop him, he desperately clawed at the flesh of your hips and bucks his cock into you with reckless abandon. All he can hear is your soft giggles down at him, taunting him with your joy. You coo at him, encouraging him by meeting his thrusts as he repeatedly, harshly, buries himself within you.

“Don’t… h-hah… Don’t call me cute,” he growled through guttural and feral moans, desperately chasing his high with you continuing to ride his cock. The blunt tip slams deep within you, immediate contact prompting you to see stars in your vision and cry out at his vicious momentum. Choosing to taunt him further, you pry your chest away from his and splay your fingers over his chest. 

“Why? You... mnngh… gonna show me who’s boss?” you smirk down at him, viciously riding him and prompting him to cry out in shock at your movements, “Gonna reprimand me formally, cutey? Gonna tell me to stop?”

“Don't stop. Don't stop!” He sobbed in desperation, the feeling of your grinding causing tears to form from the corners of his eyes. He sheathed himself deep within your abdomen, overcome by his need to use your body to chase his own high. 

“Feels too good, hmm?” you pout down at him before curling your lips up into a cruel smirk, “Gonna cum already? I bet you look real cute when you cum.” He growled up at you, reaching one hand up to cup your cheek and draw you down into a bruising and bullying kiss. You squeak in surprise in his mouth as he flips you onto your back in a hasty drop against the mattress below. 

He grabs your left ankle, throwing it over his shoulder and rails his throbbing cock within you deeper. You cry out at the change, his lips not leaving yours as his pace quickens. The hurried snap of his hips slapping yours had a sickening, slick sound reverberating in the room. His lips pant against your own as he feels closer to his release.

“S-Stop calling me c-cute,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back as he felt your walls contract around his throbbing cock, “I’m your s-superior officer, brat.” He bullied your body with his shaft, your cries music to his ears as he felt your body spasm and sucked him in further. 

“D-Doesn't make you any less cute, sir,” you whined up at him, looking through your eyelashes at him. You praised him, clawing at his hips and his back as he quickened his pace further, “That’s it, cutey, show me who’s boss.” He growled at your taunt, hand flying up to cradle the back of your head and tugging firmly on your hair. 

Just as he was about to bark his command to stop mocking him, his eyes went black with lust as he watched your brows rise to the peak of your forehead. Your eyes rolled back as your face contorted in ecstasy, your body sucking him deep within you with beckoning contractions.

“I’m c-cumming,” you mewl, your orgasm crashing over you in encumbering waves that had you drowning in pleasure, “I-I’m cumming so hard.” Your cries immediately prompt him to spill his own high deep within you, your body milking his cock with your rhythmic contractions. You whined his name, your praises falling freely from your lips as you began to go limp beneath him. 

“Fuck,” he barked, his movements becoming sloppy and languid as he buried himself to the hilt within you, “Fucking take it. Take it.” His expulsion of sticky cum splashed in ropes deep in your overstimulated and abused cunt. His breath caught in his chest as he groaned with every pulse of release within your body, chanting your name like a prayer.

He memorized your face, the soft dewy flush on your cheeks and parted lips in the afterglow of your high. Your smile was hypnotic, your eyes holding nothing but love and adoration for him as you looked up into his face. As he smiled and leaned down to claim your lips beneath his, the image dissipated in a waft of scentless smoke. His shock was evident on his face, his desperation to feel your body had him clawing at the position you were laying prior with his heart ringing frantically within his ears. 

“No, no, no,” he stuttered into the darkness, looking around the empty space for where you were moments prior, his heart screaming for you as he snapped his head around to search for you, “Where are you? Where are you?” 

“Where are you?” His eyes snapped open as his body sprung up from its recline. His breath was heavy and labored, his eyes wide and frantic before he realized what had happened. With a soft gasp followed by a choked, embarrassed groan, he peers down to his stomach and witnesses a damp patch of sticky cum seep into his pants. 

His cock twitched, his knob bobbing against the material of his uniform pajamas as it began to deflate beneath the fabric. Cringing with a soft tint of pink on his cheeks, he opened the waistband of his pants and growled at himself for his lack of discipline. The pearlescent release coating his cock, pooling down his shaft and leaking down his balls within his underwear, had him immediately angry at himself as he whispers a soft curse. 

“Fuck...”

Koby

He cringes at his own cursing, shaking his head as he looks down at his abdomen before snapping the elastic back against his stomach. Drawing his fingers up to his face, he pinches his brow and huffs out a soft groan while massaging his face. He looks over to the remainder of the cots in the shared-living space at the marine base, quietly surveying the sleeping bodies for any signs of wake. 

Eyes focussing on your hammock, he notices your chest rise and fall in steady momentum. Your breathing was deep, your sleep was peaceful, and Koby was wracked with guilt at thinking about an ensign serving beneath his command as a muse for pleasure in his dreams. Your sultry cries haunted him, his mind running away with him every time he shut his eyes to blink. 

He laid back down, curling over in his cot and crossed his arms over his chest. His brows knit in a deep frown as he chastised himself for his intrusive thoughts. Tossing and turning, he was unable to fall back asleep due to the sensation of his warm release cooling in a sticky pool against his skin beneath his briefs. 

“Awe, baby,” your voice mocked in his mind, his restless slumber worsening, “So pretty, captain. Show me who's boss, Koby,” he shook his head of your voice, drawing his forearms over his ears and scrunching his eyes tightly shut. 

The image of your blissful face looking up at him with adoration and love before dissipating burnt his mind. His heart hammered in his chest as he felt the loss of your illusionary form in his arms. 

He snuck a peek at you over his shoulder, noticing you remained blissfully ignorant of his lustful thoughts as you slept soundly beside your fellow marines. His craving for you caused him to pout, his eyes round and shameful. Deciding to get up and clean himself up, he did so before relieving the night watch shift from duties to take over for himself above deck. 

The following morning, you strolled onto the deck and assumed you were to take over the duties from the cadet attending overnight. Your shock at being met by your pink-haired captain was evident in your eyes, following him with curiosity but otherwise choosing to remain professional in your stature. 

“Captain,” you stated quietly, clicking your heels together as he turned to face you, “I am here to relieve you, sir.” You could’ve sworn a subtle pink blush flashed on his cheeks, but the warmth of the sun shining on the deck may have been the cause for such a hue. 

“I-I-...” Koby stuttered over his words, his eyes wide and teeth almost chattering. You slipped your stance into ease as you awaited his orders. “...Good morning, Ensign.” Your brows furrowed, cocking your head to the side as you eyed him wearily. 

“Good morning, sir,” you responded in a low and slow tone, “I know it is not my place, but is everything okay with you? You seem… out of sorts?” A soft, sheepish sigh fell from his lips as he rubbed the back of his head anxiously. 

“I had something keeping me awake last night, couldn’t rest,” he uttered through a straight, joyless smile. His eyes opened, gazing deep into your own as his smile turned more genuine. “Forgive me for asking, just in case it’s something you’re not comfortable with,” he began to stutter and stumble over his words, “We’ve got some shore leave coming up, and I was wondering if you might be interested in sharing a meal together.” 

Your eyes widened, quickly eyeing your captain over. His gaze never left you, but his smile began to nervously twitch as he waited for your response. Your smile grew up to light up on your cheeks in immediate joy. 

“I would love to, captain,” you responded kindly, “With Helmeppo and the other officers, or just us?” 

“Just us, ensign,” he clarified with a soft wave of his hands and a warm smile, “Maybe we could drop the titles and you could call me ‘Koby’, if you’re comfortable with that?” Your smile widens and your heart begins beating hard within your chest. 

“I would like that very much, Koby,” you admitted. He reached his hand out towards you, taking your own within his palm and fingers. His hands felt warm, a soft tingle in his grip and apprehensive to show you favoritism and affection so openly. Holding his eyes over the soft touch he gave to you, the pink flush drew itself up to his cheeks once more. 

“It’s a date then,” he confirmed softly, his smile growing as he drew his eyes up to meet with yours. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it with a soft cough. “All the best with your shift,” he gulped, testing your name over his tongue as he saluted you as he walked away from you. 

“Sweet dreams, Koby,” you responded, assuming he was on his way to attempt to sleep once more.

You didn’t notice the stumble in his step and the deep crimson drawing up his neck and littering his face with it. He was immediately drawn back to his illusionary night muse, your well-wishes for his slumber having his mind repeat sections of his dream in a taunting echo.

Gulping back his shame and shaking his head to rid him of his thoughts, he continued on his shift with a pep in his step at getting to know you further over a meal together.

Helmeppo

He growled at himself, balling his hands into fists and thumping them down at his sides. The disgust he had in his own mind for distorting the image of you in his dreams had him livid, his heart twisting with guilt and anguish. 

“I am a swordsman!” he harshly whispered to himself, his scowl deepening as his fury rose, “I am disciplined, and I shouldn’t allow pleasures and my own desires to dissuade my mission to-.” His monologue was cut off with a small rap at his door, his eyes immediately looking up to seek out its source. 

Without thinking much of the stain lingering within his undergarments and pooling down his legs, he sprang up and hastily turned the knob and flung his door inwards. His anger was written in a low grimace, his blue eyes enraged and wide in fury. 

“What do you-..!?” his barked question was halted as soon as his unshrouded eyes met with your own, looking up at him with concern and worry, “...-oh.” His lips immediately slit against his face in a thin line, his anger dissipating and filled with concern at your presence by his door.

“What are you doing here, ensign?” Helmeppo asked you, his voice quiet and cautious, “You should be asleep down the hall in your room. Why are you-?”

“-I heard you, sir,” you immediately relayed to him, “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I thought it was better I checked in on you than the others.” His face immediately had a large blush spread up his face, gulping back a large mouthful of the dried lump forming in his throat. 

“Y-You heard…” Helmeppo stuttered, his lip almost betraying him in a soft quiver. You searched his eyes, leaning your body closer to him with an outstretched hand intended for comfort. His confusion knit his brows in a deep frown, his lips parting as he was shocked by the tenderness you were presenting out to him. 

Did you hear him whimper your name as he came untouched? Did you hear the way he cried for you, imagining your body beneath his as he chased his own ecstasy deep within your slick heat? Did you hear the way he mourned your loss as he awoke without you? 

“I heard you wake from your nightmare, sir,” you halted his swirling thoughts, “I assumed the worst, expected you were experiencing the trauma of being kidnapped by your father and threatened with death by his axe-hand,” you relayed to him openly and honestly, “I thought you might need a friend.” 

His expression immediately softened, unused to such kindness being shown to him other than under the traineeship of Garp and Bogard, or confiding in his friend turned Captain, Koby. As he gazed at you, his mind momentarily swelled with the illusion of your face depicting warmth in bliss - immediately shaking away those thoughts to focus on the real you. A soft smile twitched on his lips as he leaned against the wall beside the door. 

“And why would you grant me friendship, ensign?” he asked, stunned by your words, “What have I done to deserve this offer of an ear to whisper my trauma into?” He attempted to keep a straight face as he felt the slick cum begin to tickle from the corner of his uniform briefs and down the inside of his thighs, praying that you wouldn’t look at his gray uniform sweatpants and notice the trail. 

“Captain Koby is away from base without you,” you noted, flickering your eyes between his, “And the Vice-Admiral and his second in command have not been to this base in the past few months. Forgive me for assuming you would enjoy some company,” you gave him a polite nod, looking to the floor and holding your eyes there while you awaited his response. 

Clicking his tongue at you, he stepped forward and raised his hand to your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes once more. He was hoping he was oozing enough confidence in his gaze to halt you from looking at the ooze beginning to trail down to his knee. 

“I appreciate your offer, ensign. Truly,” he nodded, ensuring he held your gaze as he began to internally quiver in fear, “I have been a little…” he winced at his next few words, scolding himself before uttering quietly, “...pent up lately. I think I need to train a little harder, or go for a run.”

“I’d be happy to offer you company on your run, sir,” you admit to him with a soft smile, “I have also felt a little pent up lately. I feel like it would be more appropriate to run than to find reprieve at the bottom of a rum bottle,” you shake your head as you wince your own confession to him, “Or in the arms of an overnight lover, if I’m being truly honest with you.” 

His eyes widen at your confession, his jaw falling slack at your admittance. He took another gulp at the dryness gathering in his throat as he flickered his eyes to the floor. He argued with himself as he avoided your gaze, managing to find the words and the courage to ask you a question that was gnawing at him the moment he felt anxious at the thought of losing you when he woke. 

“If you’re looking for an overnight lover, I’d-...” his suggestion caught in his mouth, prompting a sharp cough to form behind his lips, “...I’d offer to aid you with that, if you’re interested. Unless you’d prefer a run, I could use a run after the night I had. I’m sorry if my suggestion is overstepping, I would never aim to make you uncomfortable at the base if you’re not wanting this kind of attention from me-.” 

His rambling was halted by your warm lips pressing against his, his shock prompting a whimpered gasp to cry into your lips. He immediately warmed to the kiss, ushering you into his room and slamming the door shut behind you. Your smile was pressing against his lips, your squeak of joy prompting him to smile as he lifted you up to circle your hips over his waist had him immediately smitten.

Helmeppo was then plagued with another issue that chipped at the back of his mind. How was he going to clean up the memory of his dreams leaking down his pant leg before creating new ones within your arms? As you clasped your arms firmly around his neck and deepened the kiss with your tongue, he simply no longer cared. 

Smoker

His fury down turned his lips in a rough grimace, his teeth clenching hard in a rough grind. He shook his head, immediately stepping out of his bed towards his bathroom. He filled his sink with fresh, cool water, splashing it over his face and allowing the icy droplets to pry him from his prior vision. 

“So cute, Captain,” your voice mewled at him in a playful jest within his mind's eye, “So, so pretty when you blush for me. How much cuter do you get when you cum, hm?” He growled at the image, splashing water over his neck and letting it trickle down his shirt behind him. 

“Cute?” He barked at his reflection, staring his steely orbs at his scarred face, “Cute?” His disgust at the distorted image of you giggling down at him over his lap had him ignited in fury. 

“‘M not cute,” he huffs at himself, nose wrinkling up at the thought. He looked down to his waist, his gray sweatpants beginning to dampen with his release seeping into them. 

“Gonna reprimand me, Captain?” your spectral taunt called to him, “Gonna show me who's boss, Smoker?” His cock twitched in interest, his teeth gritting tighter at the prospect of putting you in your place. 

The way your uniform clung to your body had his imagination run wild with him. You were a desk-bound marine, your ability to catalogue with expert precision and haste had your services highly sought after. He was the lucky captain that landed you in his office, seeing your smile each morning, smelling your sweet perfume and hearing your laugh throughout the day, only to see your kind wave at the end of your shift as you left. 

You had never given his mind any cause to lust for you, but it lusted regardless. He was consumed by the way your body would feel wrapped around his cock, hearing the smile in your laugh, and feeling the way your walls would beckon him within them with your slick arousal shepherding the way. 

At that thought, he turned on the shower and switched it to the coldest temperature it could go. Peeling off his clothes with a grunt of disgust at himself, he stepped into the shower and allowed the coolness to drift down his body. In a desperate attempt to cool his raging thoughts, he gripped his cock in a cruel strangle. 

Haunted by your moans and cries for him, his shaft swelled and knob shined with the hurried rush of blood. He girdled his shaft within his fist, attempting to choke back the thought of you to no avail.

“C’mon, baby,” his mind conjured your taunt within the cool steam rising from the shower, “I need you, sir. Fuck me. I bet you could make me behave if you just give in.” He began to pump his cock, huffing out pants with every rough piston. 

“Shut up, brat,” he whispered in a gruff wince, “I'll f-fucking show you.” He beat his shaft harder, feeling the veins beneath swell and protrude within his palm. His translucent cum began to bead at the slit in his knob as his jaw fell slack. 

“C-Captain Smoker, please can I cum on your cock?” Your spectral image conjured for him, his cock involuntary twitching at the thought. His nob swelled and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to halt his moans. 

Seeing the dewy, blissed-out sheen on your face, as your spectral form begged for him to satisfy you by answering, had him rolling his hips into his palm and picking up his pace. He squeezed at his tip, circling it down against his shaft as he pictured you asking so beautifully for permission to cum. 

“You want to cum on your captain's cock?” He huffed to his conjured mirage, “You wanna feel good, do ya, brat?” He fisted his palm harder, picturing your walls contracting with the proximity of your own ecstacy. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” he cried out your name, beginning to spill over into his palm, the water pummeling his shoulders from above him, “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Cum for me. Cum for me, baby.” He pictured your face contorting in pleasure, your lips falling into a soft, smiling ‘O’ as he finally gave you permission to cum. 

Ribbons of his hot spend splattered against the shower wall, his guilt seeping in as his bliss tapered out. He groaned for you, picturing your face as you came down from your high and chastising himself for degrading you in his imagination. 

“Fuck,” he whispered his curse, angling the showerhead over the wall to wash it clean of his shame before washing himself with his all in one shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. 

As he concluded his shower and dried himself off with a towel, he took a mental note to do a task for your benefit to satisfy his guilt. Maybe some flowers to highlight your desk, or providing the office with a lunch on his Berry might be appreciated. 

Shaking his head at himself, he wrapped his towel around his waist as he drew out twin cigars and placed them between his teeth. Igniting the end, he smiled as he came to terms with his new infatuation. His new quest was to attempt to woo you, get to know you better, and treat you with the adoration he so desperately craved to give you.

Exhaling with a smile, he muttered to himself with a soft, crackled growl, "I have a lot of work to do."

[shittyelfwriter]

crying sobbing weeping rolling around on the ground passing out waking up throwing up screaming running around on all fours clawing at the walls wailing taking a deep breath getting a drink laying down for a sprite sleep

this was an emotionally taxing journey but what a treat (I especially loved the part where big!Jacqueline yelled at her famjam a lot. Alternate famjam though they be. You tell ‘em girlie. And then also little!Jacqueline did and somewhere out there, Elle shed a single tear and said “that’s my best friend yall”)

holy shit the emotions in this one. if this keeps up at this rate before you know it I’ll make an Elle one shot realizing there is no Jacqueline au. That is so unnecessary but I’d do it for revenge purposes

side bar: super loved the timey wimey mechanics you put in here *taking notes nodding like I am very knowledgeable in such things* the visuals really ate on those. the whole thing to be honest. the Rosehaven descriptions and how it works were incredible I love the CS lore tidbits in all forms

thank you for treating us to this exercise in the full spectrum of human emotion I love Jacqueline Frost very much *holds up a big foam finger thingy with that on it*

Something Angry This Way Comes...

(Jacqueline Dies AU: Part 2! Finally! Read Part 1 HERE >:)

---

Somebody was at her daughter's grave.

This, of course, was a possibility. Winter knew that. Of course it was. After all, she had had aunties and a grandmother and a few little friends here and there. And her father came frequently, too. He always left fresh flowers. So did she. She liked to see them. It gave her a minute sense of relief to know that he was still on this earth with her.

Even if they hadn’t talked in centuries.

She hoped he felt the same when he saw her own offering at the base of the monument that bore the name of the little girl that was taken from them far too soon.

But Wednesday was her day to visit. Wednesday was open court at city hall, which meant that everyone who would visit would be tied up in politics and stuffiness and inquiries and all sorts of bureaucratic nonsense that would keep them busy for the day. And the only other person who would visit was locked away.

Nobody was around.

That’s why she had chosen Wednesdays.

Nobody would be.

But somebody was at her daughter’s grave.

The season sped up, her brow furrowing through a layer of ice as she got closer and closer to the marker. The figure became clearer. A woman. Standing in front of the monument with her hands on her hips. Something gold clutched in her right hand. Clothed in a familiar shade of dark blue. A pile of snow-white hair, perhaps meant to be curls but not quite curling, down to her mid back. Windswept, as though she had just met the wrong side of a north wind on a particularly stormy night.

She was within shouting distance. Winter hadn’t spoken in…quite some time. Not loudly, at least. But she tried. She inhaled; she opened her mouth, about to say EXCUSE ME quite loudly and forcibly and sternly, when something snapped under her foot.

The woman’s shoulders went up; she turned slightly, staring at Winter.

She gasped. The eyes, same colour as hers but a shade or two darker. The nose, an equal mix of hers and Blaise’s, like both kids had had, but not as crooked as his. Her chin, her lips, her hairline—she knew exactly who this woman was. But how? How was it possible—it wasn’t. Not in April, and certainly not this early in the month.

The bouquet fell to the ground; Winter’s hands flew to her mouth, eyes pricking and heart racing as all the pieces clicked into place.

Her daughter was standing at her own grave.

---

This was NOT how her day should have been going. She had not expected to be standing at her own fucking grave when she woke up very much alive this morning.

She was SUPPOSED to be doing a favour for Myles. He had needed a pot to trap some kind of chaos-y shade in because he had accidentally freed it and then promptly broken the pot when he tried to trap it again. The other Legates were preoccupied and he was trying to wrangle it and couldn’t grab a pot while he was chasing the thing, and she had, of course, offered to help. After all, she wasn’t doing much else; it was April, wintery things were tapering off, there were two weeks left before Summer and Winter went on this year’s vacation, and for all intents and purposes she and Jack were done for the first part of the year and quite relieved about it, too. It had been a nasty March and Winter was presently brewing a nasty ice storm for April that Spring was sure to be very, very mad about.

So she started ransacking the manor to find a pot that looked similar enough to the one Myles had described, hoping to finish up fast because it was date night and Dite was taking her to the KEG which, yes, a totally regular ordibeing restaurant, but she loved it. The steak, the atmosphere, and how FANCY it tried to be when it really wasn’t a FANCY restaurant, when you thought about it. She thought it was hilarious (and enjoyed the steak); Dite thought she was hilarious (and enjoyed seeing her ham it up whenever they went).

While she tore through the gallery, Jack had shouted about needing to do a thing for Father Time; she shouted back a see ya, wondering if maybe there were some old vases and such in the basement that would work.

Ten seconds later, a time splinter had appeared in her room, trying it’s very best to kill her, Jack saving her ass in a nick of time, and promptly roping her into the time-related debacle he had found himself dealing with that, SURPRISE, is your problem now too, little flurry!

So off she had gone with him, into the endless expanse of timelines and alternate universes, chasing the time splinter from one universe to the next, trying to lure it to the universe that had created it so they could finally destroy it.

But the stupid sliver had gotten smart.

It had managed to separate the pair, shooting them out in two different universes. They had tried to grab each other before being shot right out of the timestream, but unfortunately both of the frosty Frosts were a little bit on the shorter side and the last thing she had seen before nearly SPLATTING on the frozen solid tundra was her fingers slip right out of her brother’s as he was dragged into a deep purple portal opposite from her, disappearing as she was sucked into her own time portal with a disgusting sounding SLURP.

She had just barely made enough snow to cushion her fall before she was unceremoniously dropped into this freezing cold universe, the portal snapping shut above her.

In her hand, the timepiece had started cracking.

“Oh no. No, no, NO, not THIS shit again,” she said desperately, hoping that when she looked at the time piece it wouldn’t be doing what she thought it was doing—and it was, yep. The purple chrono-quartz below the intricate golden lines snaped and cracked into three pieces, phasing through the time piece with a deep glow and a low thrum to match. The three pieces floated way up into the sky, then blasted forward, much to her dismay.

She watched them disappear over the horizon with a sigh, leaving a trail of purple dust in its wake.

She knew the drill. Something in this universe needed to be fixed before she could try to escape it.

So, with a sigh, she started forward, following the time trail before it disappeared completely.

---

And that’s how, an hour later, she found herself face to face with her own bloody grave.

It was a nice marker, for sure. Blues and yellows with snowflakes etched all over it, a fluffy blanket of the stuff sitting on top of the three peaks a foot or two above her head. Her name was etched into the stone, as clean as though it were carved yesterday, but the date on the stone showed otherwise. She felt her breath hitch in her throat when she read it.

556 CE.

The Day of Darkness.

She had died.

Jack had killed her dead.

“Oh,” she said, quietly. “Fuck.”

She glanced around, awkwardly; it was quiet. Empty. A wind briefly ruffled the vines and ivy twirling up the side of the monument.

The chrono quartz had gone this way. The trail, now gone, had ended right above the monument. Her monument. Her fucking GRAVE.

If she was dead, she was dead. There was no fixing that.

But there was something she did need to fix, and quite frankly, the less time she had to spend in THIS timeline the better. Timelines where she didn’t exist were one thing. But a timeline where she had died? Heebie-jeebies galore.

So, she got to work.

She walked around the monument a few times, careful not to disturb the flowers that had been left at the base. She scrutinized the thing top down, feeling more and more unsettled the longer she searched—but nothing.

The pieces weren’t there.

“But the trail...” she mumbled to herself.

With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair, resting them on her hips. Trail had gone here. Time pieces were not here. Where had they gone, then? Had someone come by and taken them in the hour it had taken her to walk up here? Although, the time pieces could phase through objects. And planes, too. Did the pieces maybe—

There was a crunch; she jumped, startled, her shoulders shooting up.

Someone had joined her.

She turned her head, gasping when she saw who was steadily rushing up the slight incline towards her.

“Winter?!”

The woman, now in front of her, certainly looked like her mother. The small gasp sounded just like her; the height checked out. But her eyes were cold as could be, even colder than she had ever seen when her Winter had been frozen. There was no warmth on her face; her hair, usually thawed and perched in a sort of snowman esque double top bun Jacqueline couldn’t ever figure out, was frozen stiff. Her body was shaking, but her hair did not move. It was in one big, sleek bun; even the sticky-outties she had that Jacqueline had to deal with too were somehow smoothed back and in place (a miracle if there ever was one. There was a reason Jacqueline called them her hair sticky-outties).

“Oh my word,” the woman croaked. “It is you.”

She collapsed to the ground, straight up sobbing, and Jacqueline had never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life. She sighed, gently sitting down on her knees and placing a hand, very carefully, very softly, on her Mother’s knee.

“Well, yes, but also, no.”

Winter’s face shot up. “Of course not. It’s not a convergence date.”

“I gathered. I’ve never seen this place so empty in my life.”

“And you—she—you. You were little when you. When you.”

“Died.”

Winter nodded.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, gesturing back to the date in the stone.

“I don’t understand—”

“That makes two of us,” Jacqueline said. “You don’t happen to have three pieces of chrono quartz on you? Time crystals, I think they’re also called? They would’ve appeared very suddenly about uh,” she reached into her pocket and pulled something long and flat out. “An hour or so ago?”

Stunned into silence still, unsure what to even do or say, choking on all the emotions in her throat, Winter shook her head no.

“Dang. That would’ve made this way easier.”

“Made what easier? I don’t understand,” she said, smothering the emotions and finding her voice. “What is going on? I’d thank you kindly to explain it to me,” Winter snapped, still shaking a bit. “Who are you?”

“Jacqueline. Jacqueline Frost. Your daughter. That’s who I am. But I’m not from this timeline,” she answered, thrusting her hand back into her pocket and rummaging about. She pulled out a long, light blue, leather wallet, and cracked one of three sides open. She slid it onto Winter’s lap, pointing at the photo in the clear pocket on front, usually reserved for a licence. “This is the timeline I’m from. See? There’s me. And you and Dad,” she said, pointing to the couple above her.

Hands shaky, Winter reached out and brought the wallet up to her face. She could scarce recognize the couple in the photo. Blaise was laughing, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He held her tightly, his suit molten, his hair living up to his namesake (she missed his fiery locks). The woman beside him was even more unrecognizable. Warm. Not frozen at all. Her hair a messy double bun, with her own laugh lines to match his. They held onto each other tightly. She could almost feel the ghost of his warm embrace, the surety that came with one of his hugs.

And there was the woman in front of her. Her daughter, her baby girl. Grinning with snow falling down her face, a pale hand having smooshed a snowball right onto the top of her head as the photo was snapped. Winter glanced over, briefly, to the figure beside this Jacqueline.

That was her baby boy.

Beside her. Alive and well. Both of them alive and well.

She looked up at Jacqueline, her eyes wide. “It is you. But it isn’t. And this is how we are, where you come from?”

Jacqueline nodded, gently pushing Winter’s thumbs down. “And there’s more of us.”

Winter looked back down, moving her thumbs the rest of the way. “Oh.”

Below the two eldest were a pair of twins, most certainly. Both took after Blaise; both had fiery hair, and both were making the silliest faces you could possibly imagine. Fingers stretching the mouth of the girl, her tongue sticking out. The boy blowing a raspberry, making little bunny ears behind the girl’s head.

“Oh, look at them. Little spitfires. We always wanted to have more kids.”

“I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t get involved, I should just find my shit and get out of here, but holy shit, I need to know. What happened to you?” Jacqueline asked, gently sliding the wallet out of her mother’s hands.

“I—we—oh. Oh, I don’t quite know, come to think of it. Nobody’s ever asked,” she said, another sob escaping. “I—we. It. Everything was so—” she flailed her hands in the air a bit, trying desperately to find the words she wanted to say.

“It’s okay, take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Not until I find those crystals,” she said, glancing surreptitiously at the monument behind her with a frown.

“He killed you,” she finally said, her breath hitching. “You died in my arms. There was nothing we could do. The storm…it…we couldn’t get to the Springs in time and you. You died.” She pressed the base of her palms to her eyes with a shaky inhale. “He ran. Your Father and I laid you to rest. We watched your little tiny body pop off into Rosehaven. And then we had to face what would come next.”

“Both kids gone in different ways,” Jacqueline mused, looking thoughtful.

Winter nodded, without looking up. The icy white dress she wore blurred beneath her tears. She sniffled. “Yes. And your father, he had to find your brother. But he couldn’t bring himself to start, he was feeling so much—and he hardened his heart not long after I did the same to myself.”

“Oh,” Jacqueline said, realizing what had probably happened. Blaise was a very dutiful sprite, though very emotional. And she had heard the stories from the both of them, about the war of succession, and how Blaise had tried, fruitlessly, to reason with him, not wanting to hurt his brother—but learning that if he wanted to end it, do what needed to be done…he’d have to put aside those feelings to focus on the task at hand.

And so he had.

“We drifted, I suppose. We didn’t talk; he threw himself into trying to bring you justice,” Winter said, gently laying her hand on Jacqueline’s cheek. Her breath hitched again; Jacqueline brought up her shoulder, squishing Winter’s hand between it and her cheek with a soft smile.

“That wasn’t going to bring me back,” Jacqueline said softly.

“That’s what I told him!” Winter said with a huff. “He didn’t reply. A conversation with him was rare. So, I found solace in the mountains. And eventually I made them my home,” she said, with a helpless little shrug.

“So I died, and you ran off to the mountains and became the new Snow Queen.”

"I suppose...yes. I did.”

“Why not come see me on a convergence? They aren’t rare. They happen once or twice a year.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to. Neither of us could.”

Jacqueline stood up. “So let me get this straight,” she said, her prior annoyance coming right back, with a slight pinch of anger dusted on top. “I died, and instead of supporting each other and sharing your grief, you and Blaise both decided to harden your hearts and run away from home? And you didn’t come to see me?!”

“Your father didn’t run away from home,” Winter said, standing up gracefully and folding her hands in front of her. “He’s still there.”

“But he ran away from his home,” Jacqueline said, pointing at Winter’s heart. “And so did you. All the way up in the mountains! And you left me alone, waiting?!”

“I visit you every week!” Winter snapped. “So does your father!”

“You visit my MARKER! NOT my ME! I can guarantee you, Winter, that that little girl sat and waited on the other side for the very first convergence after she passed, hoping to see her Mom and Dad and Brother again.”

“HOW could you KNOW that?!”

“BECAUSE I AM HER! And I may not have died, but when this,” she said, gesturing violently at the date on the stone, “happened to me, and I recovered BECAUSE you and Dad worked together to keep me stable UNTIL you could blaze a trail to the springs, I waited! Every day, for so long, I sat and waited and hoped that he’d come back but he didn’t. And now, now, I’m learning, that not only did he not come back, nor did my PARENTS?!” Jacqueline let out a little squawk of rage, stomping around this version of her Mother. “She’s still a little four-hundred-year-old girl over there! Do YOU think she understands all THIS?!” Jacqueline said, gesturing at all of Winter. “NO! SHE DOESN’T because I DIDN’T until I was like, fourteen hundred! And she doesn’t get that luxury. She doesn’t get to grow up and figure it out herself, so the LEAST you COULD’VE done was gone to visit her during a goddess damned convergence!”

Winter was stunned. What horrible things to say, she thought. But they were true. And Jacqueline was right. Winter felt…lost. More so than usual. A lot of. Things. Were coming to the surface and she was utterly speechless.

“Nothing to say? That’s not surprising, you’re about as frosted up as they come, eh Mom? I’ll leave you to your fake visit, then,” Jacqueline said, stomping back down the way Winter had come up, a trail of frost sprawling out from her boot every time one hit the ground.

“Wait! Jacqueline! Where are you going?!”

“HOME,” she said angrily, flashing one last frustrated look back up at Winter before disappearing on the spot.

Winter was left to her solitude once more. Alone. She should have been relieved.

But she wasn’t.

“Home…” she murmured to herself. She gasped, eyes growing wide. “Oh dear,” she said, setting off after Jacqueline.

---

How had this day gotten so out of control?!

She couldn’t believe what she had seen. First her own grave, then a mother so far lost in her grief she was barely recognizable? And learning what had happened? The Convergences existed for a reason—to see the loved ones you had lost, if only for a brief night. It was a nice time! It was fun! Roseterra glowed and would be filled with both the living magibeans and the dead, laughing and catching up and talking about what they had missed on both ends of the things, and god if she had died, she knew she would’ve waited in the hopes she’d see Mom and Dad and Jack again and—

“Oh my gods. Jacqueline. FOCUS,” she said to herself, as she pushed open the rusty gates and stomped up the pathway. The roses were sad. Wilting, but not dead. The ground looked weird, not covered in snow but frozen solid. The Manor loomed ahead. Pristine as the day it was painted white. Not a scorch mark in sight. The windows were dark and cold; not a single light was on. Her home, usually cheery and loud and happy, was cold. Cold, dark, and empty.

“This is all sorts of fucked up,” she said out loud.

What was she going to do today originally? Oh yeah! Find a pot, trap a. Thingy, then enjoy a steak at the Keg with the love of her life. Perfect day! Would have been a PERFECT day!

But now she had seen her own grave, confronted her lost in grief mother, yelled at her for ignoring her daughter even though she was dead, and was now stomping up the derelict stairs to the front porch of Frost Manor, the wooden deck boards greying, not a single piece of colourful mismatched patio furniture in her sights. What even was this place?

She didn’t bother to knock; she tried the door.

It wasn’t locked.

The door swung in with a creak, a cold gust of wind blowing down the hallways. It echoed, a low hum throughout the empty halls. The ghost of what could have been. The windowpanes rattled; the cobwebs, built up over time, gently waved in the draft. She ran a finger along one of the shoe racks as she closed the door, a trail left in the dust.

She walked in, the metallic clink of her boots echoing throughout the cold marble hall. The door to the front room with the window she waited under was closed shut. Ha, she thought, the symbolism not lost on her.

The blue parlour was closed, too; she tried the handle. Locked. Made her way into the kitchen.

It looked lived in. It was cleaner than the rest of the house. The plants that Spring kept giving them still sat in their perches, but they had seen much better days, most certainly; and there were less of them than she remembered. She stepped around the table (noting that the leaf had been taken out and it had been brought down to its smallest possible size) and poked her head into the living room.

Empty. Pristine. Dusty. Cobwebby. Severe lack of throws and cushions.

“Oh, Dad. What have you done,” she mused, leaving the doorway and heading back out into the hall. She glanced up the stairs. It was dark as ever up there, the draft howling down the steps. She shoved past, beelining to the other side of the steps.

Ballroom. Library. Closed. No light.

But the office…the dullest glow under the crack.

She stepped carefully; lightly, like the first few snowflakes that slowly drifted in on the wind, landing on the ground softly. Quietly. She placed her hand on the doorknob. She frowned. Maybe…just to be safe.

She knocked; her fist flattening, splayed out on the door.

There was no answer.

She turned the knob, opening the door a crack. Peeking one eye in, she glanced around.

The fireplace was on, but not roaring. The embers softly cackled, the fire out of food. Jacqueline stepped through the door, glancing around the office. The firewood was right where he kept it, back at home.

She grabbed a couple of smaller logs, not quite twigs but not quite sticks, and gently lay them in the fireplace. She may not have been able to create fire, but Blaise sure as shit made sure his kids could start fires regardless of their elemental backgrounds.

The flames licked the logs hungrily, the simmer becoming a crackle. Satisfied, Jacqueline moved away from the fireplace, trailing her fingers on the solid mahogany trim of the desk as she surveyed the office.

It was certainly lived in, that’s for sure. The chair was worn, the cushion in dire need of reupholstering. The desk was a tidy mess, piles of paper stacked neatly. Orderly. It was a stark difference from her dad’s office back at home, with papers laying around all over the place, pens and quills beside half written notes, the coaster sporting rings from numerous warm drinks.

The coaster on this Blaise’s desk was too clean. Far too clean.

There was a thunk out in the hall. The door slammed shut; a heavy footfall approaching. Jacqueline gasped, turning quickly to face the door. The coaster went flying, hitting the mantle as loud as it possibly could, and falling to the ground with a clatter, making sure to do three flips before settling for MAXIMUM NOISE, of course. Just her luck on this fine, fine, day.

“Who’s there?” a voice said. It was familiar, but also…not. It was gruffer than usual; a little hoarse. And there wasn’t much warmth. Yeah, a weird sentiment, but when her dad spoke, you could just feel a sort of warmth, usually. She backed up, behind the desk, finding herself shifting into a defensive stance and unsure why.

“I heard you drop the coaster,” he said, his footsteps coming towards the office. “Final warning. Who’s. There.”

The door was shoved open, and Jacqueline gasped once again, this time, in surprise.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” she said, equal parts confused and almost…disgusted, the same time that Blaise growled and said, “Who the hell do you think you are?!”

It wasn’t that he looked bad. He just didn’t look like Blaise. Like, he did but he didn’t. Granted, Jacqueline had never actually seen what a frozen summer sprite looked like. Or I guess stony, she thought, as she quickly eyed him up and down, still in her defensive stance.

His fiery hair was out, but not the usual greying-orange. It was dark. Ashen. Grey flakes drifted down every so often. It was a fire that had burnt completely, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. His usual molten suit was dark as obsidian. Like lava that had rapidly cooled. His face was lined, but not in the way she was used to; he looked frownier than he did at home, his smile lines faint as could be. Though she could make out the faint crinkles of crow’s feet still near his eyes. It should’ve been a welcome sight, you know? Like, maybe her Dad was still in there somewhere.

But it was not. It only made her feel more unsettled.

“Like, did someone like, set you on fire with fire that wasn’t like, fire you’re fireproofed to? Is that ash coming off of your HEAD?!”

“I don’t answer to you,” Blaise said, taking another step into the office. “You answer to me. You’ve broken into my house.”

“You left the door unlocked! I’d hardly call that breaking and entering.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“I know who you look like, but that’s not possible. There’s no way. Tell me, is this a trick? Is he trying something? Centuries without a peep, and now this? Was he biding his time? You sound just like him.” He took a step closer with each question, Jacqueline stepping back with each of his steps. He rounded the desk as she rounded the other side, the door now behind her. “You have ten seconds,” he said, with a fierce air of finality.

Jacqueline inhaled, shoved her hands in her pockets, and spoke very, very fast.

“I am exactly who you think I am but also not quite! I’m not from this timeline, I’m from a different one and I have proof, here you GO,” she said, tossing her wallet at the ashen man in front of her. “And please don’t burn it. It has all my ID in it. Which is kind of important. I still get carded at the LCBCS.”

Blaise looked up at her, his orange eyes stony. Suspicious. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, but he humoured her; he had been presented with evidence, after all. Fair is fair. He watched her wearily, cracking open the wallet without looking.

“Clear pocket. Right on the first fold.”

“Hands where I can see them,” he growled.

“Alright, alright, chill,” Jacqueline said, putting her hands up and glaring right back. “Take a looksie. See for yourself.”

Only when her hands were above her head did Blaise glance down at the photo.

His breath hitched. He tried to take it all in at once; all six figures. He glanced back up as he reached the middle, matching the young woman in the photo below him with the young woman looking a little more pissed off with each passing second in front of him. The Jack look, as Winter once called it, when he saw his eldest beside this version of Jacqueline. And below them, below the frosty pair, was a fiery pair, making goofy faces. Summer sprites. Like him.

Twins.

“They get along?”

“Too well some days, which would be worrying if they didn’t occasionally tackle each other down for a quick little fistfight. But like, they’re not going to start a war, since we both know that that’s what you’re thinking about, eh?”

Blaise didn’t reply. He glanced back down at the photo. He snapped his fingers, a little flame appearing on his pointer finger. He touched it to the wick of the candle beside him, surveying the photo in better light. Winter. His darling wife. Toasty warm and laughing, looking up at him with all the love in the world. The flame flickered; he looked at the man beside her. Lit up like the goat in Sweden during the holiday season, all smiles and laughter. He tilted the photo. The glare from the candlelight obscured it, his own stony face looking back at him instead.

He fell back into his seat, shoving the wallet across the desk as he collapsed, holding his head in both hands, completely messing up his ashy hair.

“What is going on here.”

Jacqueline put down her hands, heading over to the east side of the office. “Well, in the timeline I’m from, I survived,” she said, dragging over the spare chair. “You and Mom staunched the bleeding and stabilized me. Kept a close eye on me until you could get to the springs and finish the healing process. You, mostly. Once the wounds were taken care of, Mom passed right out,” she finished, the chair stopping in front of his desk. “But right when it happened, you worked together. And you both saved me. Amazing what happens when you work together, instead of, you know, hiding away from one another and hardening your hearts and not talking ever at all and ALSO, not VISITING ME!”

“HEY. I visit you every day! Except Wednesdays. Town Hall is on Wednesdays.”

“And convergences,” Jacqueline snapped, slamming her hands on the desk before sitting down on the chair, surveying Blaise with a very, angry look. “You don’t come on the one day you could actually see me. What the fuck, man.”

“Watch your language, missy. You may be from a different timeline, but I’m still your father.”

“You’re actually nothing like my Blaise,” Jacqueline said with a sniff, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “He—”

“SAVED you. I get it. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“No. I mean yeah, he did. But no. He was there for his family. Looks to me like you haven’t been. They needed you, Blaise. And you did this instead. And I know for a fact that you needed them, too.”

“I—” Blaise stopped, opening and closing his mouth. He frowned, clasping his hands together and placing them in front of his face, lost for words.

“Mhmm. Yeah. That’s what I thought,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Look, I won’t be all up in your, uh, ash for too long, Blaise,” she said. “I came for one thing. Well, two things, actually.”

“What, to yell?”

“No, that just comes with the territory. I am a very angry sprite. It’s very inconvenient most days.”

“You inherited my temper, I see.”

“Regrettably,” Jacqueline said, scrunching her face. “But that’s not important right now. What I need to know is why the hell. This!” she said, gesturing to him. “Why did you do this?”

Blaise’s posture, up until then, had been immaculate. But when the ghost of his daughter demanded to know why this had happened, his shoulders fell; his back slouched, his stony façade turned sad. “You were murdered,” he simply said. “By my son. Your own brother. I couldn’t let him go unpunished! You died. But he was—he is my son. But you were—are—my daughter! My emotions were blinding me to what needed to be done, once again, and so I—”

“Got stoned.”

Blaise frowned. “Har-har,” he said, unlaughingly.

“I don’t like puns,” Jacqueline clarified.

“A shame,” Blaise said back. “That was a good one.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Jacqueline snapped back. “So you did this, and then went on a whole catch me if you can kind of journey with Jack?”

“He needed to be brought to justice! You needed justice!”

“DID I?” Jacqueline demanded, shooting out of her seat. The chair teetered behind her briefly, choosing not to fall over. “Because I am DEAD. I don’t need ANYTHING when I’m DEAD, Dad. And here’s the thing, right? We’re not ordibeings. We’re MAGIBEINGS. And our afterlife actually lets us VISIT WITH THE DEAD ON CERTAIN DAYS! YEARLY! SOMETIMES TWICE A YEAR! So instead of going to see me on a convergence, you decided you knew what I needed and just, just, became obsessed with this chase and for what? I’M not the one who needed justice. You thought that I did. That you did. But that’s not what you needed and we both know that, don’t we?”

“How could you know all of this?”

“Because I AM Jacqueline! I am that little girl who died in her mother’s arms, but I didn’t die! And do you know what I did when I got better, Dad? Hmm? I WAITED. I waited for my brother to come home, and he never did. So I can guarantee that your little girl waited convergence after convergence, hoping to see you and Mom and even JACK, but none of you came! None of you came! You left her waiting. Left ME waiting!”

“We couldn’t—I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to go and face you after all that had happened—”

“Save it. I’m not the one who needs to hear it. She is. And she’s not here. I am.”

She took a deep breath in, composing herself, pushing off the desk and heading towards the door.

“I’m going to go now before I EXPLODE. Just one more thing before I go,” she said, turning around. “You wouldn’t happen to have come into possession of three time crystals about, oh, an hour and a half or so ago?”

“Some what?”

“That’s a no, then? UGH. Lady damn it ALL,” she said, stomping down the hall.

“Jacqueline, wait!” Blaise called after her, rushing to catch up with her. “Where are you going?”

“I have one more place to check for those time crystals. You and I both know where I’m headed next,” she said, a literal icy undercurrent in her voice. “Tell me where you put him.”

“I—you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“Like hell it is! I can handle myself, and you know that if you don’t tell me I’ll find out one way or the other, Blaise. So tell me. Where. Did. You. Put. Him.”

Blaise sighed. “We built an entire prison just for him. The rehabilitation programs at the Pen did nothing for him; he refused to even try. He escaped multiple times, and each and every time I was there, ready to find out how and stop it from ever happening again. One too many escapes later, and the Assembly decided to fund a whole new prison just for him. A solitary. That’s what we’ve called it. The Solitary. It’s in the East.”

“Oh my goddess of the springs. A whole ass prison just for him? This is the worst timeline I have been in today. I hate it here. Right, I’m gonna head out and do that, and you know what you’re going to do? YOU’RE going to go to your wife and give her a hug, for Frost’s sake! You need your loved ones, Blaise. Stop being stupid.”

And before he could reply, she stomped out the front door and poofed into a shower of light blue sparks and snowflakes, disappearing.

“Jacqueline!” he shouted, though he knew his efforts were in vain.

She was long gone.

The shout echoed. But it sounded…off. It sounded…

It wasn’t his voice.

He stepped out onto the porch. A figure stood by the gates. Graceful; shapely.

He’d recognize her anywhere.

“Winter?” he said, quietly.

“Blaise,” she replied, just as quietly.

Something had changed. Something shifted. They both stared across the path at each other, the winds howling.

They ran.

They both ran, beelining down the path, crashing into a familiar, comforting embrace. She still smelt the same; Blaise pressed her head close to his chest, breathing her in deeply. And he was still so sturdy; his hugs were still so very comforting, Winter was happy to learn, as she pressed herself against his chest, her ear on his heart. Hearing it beat.

“I’m so sorry,” they both said at the same time, still hugging one another.

“I don’t know why I didn’t open up,” Blaise said. “I’m sorry. I should have shared with you. I should have supported you.”

“And I you,” Winter said, squeezing him tighter. “I’ve had the strangest encounter today, and I... I needed you. Need you. Miss you.”

Blaise sighed, content, squeezing her tightly. “And I you. Tell me something, Winter. Did you see an adult Jacqueline today?”

“I did,” she said, pushing herself off his chest to look up at his face. She placed her palm on his cheek, rubbing it softly with her thumb. She smiled. “Did you?”

“I did, too,” he said, placing his chin on top of her head. The tinniest peck pressed onto his neck. His heart fluttered; sparks drifted up from his head. “She yelled at me. A lot.”

“She yelled at me, too. But she said some things that got me thinking, and brought it all back. As if seeing our fully grown dead daughter wasn’t enough, she was also. Oh. There’s this phrase the winds have whispered to me...ah! Yes. She was spitting facts, and all of that brought everything back. I don’t know why I shied away from you, darling. I needed you. I need you. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Now Blaise pulled away, his large hand on Winter’s small face. He gave her a warm smile, rubbing her cheek as well. “Not as sorry as I am. I need you, too. So much. I love you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “And I’m sorry for pulling away and throwing myself into the stupid game of cat and mouse Jack and I played—oh. Oh shit,” Blaise said, blanching.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Jacqueline. She's heading his way,” Blaise said, squeezing Winter’s arms. “We need to hurry. I don’t know what she’s planning on doing, but if she’s headed towards him...”

“There is no way that could possibly be good,” Winter agreed, rushing after Blaise, the two heading east as fast as they could.

---

Deny it all as he might, she’s still always just there.

It was very irritating.

She’s stopped giggling; there’s no whispers of whoops or silly sounds anymore. She’s just there, looking sad, and he brings the book closer to his face so he doesn’t have to see the ghost he trapped in the Solitary with him. The Solitary. He really oughta think of a better name.

But he just doesn’t have the energy, the drive, the…whatever.

There was a reason he froze the place solid and stayed put.

He tried to focus on his book. Reading the same sentence, over and over. He exhaled, annoyed, putting the book down and expecting to see her in front of him.

But she’s gone. There are no flickers of white or quick wisps of messy dark hair turning a corner.

It’s empty. The wind blows through the area, mournfully. Even with the furniture he had gotten, the other odds and ends, it is still loud and echoey. He sighed.

Creak.

What was that?

He strained his ears. The creaking was getting louder, shifting into a loud CRACK, somewhere above him. He looked up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

The ceiling was splitting.

“What?” he croaked, his voice not as hoarse as you’d expect.

Down the hall, there was a smack. A bang. A shink or two. A thunk against the wall, and a low groan.

“Marcel?” he called out.

Footsteps were approaching, but they didn’t sound familiar. They’re boots. There’s a weird metal click to them. He shot up, hands aglow, ready for whatever. Whoever was coming his way.

But nothing could've prepared him for who stepped through the tunnel.

She was an inch or two shorter than him; very much most definitely a winter sprite. She stopped in the doorway, looking at him unimpressed, an eyebrow raised. He found himself backing up; he could see the similar features, and his thoughts drifted back to the ghost of the small girl he was always seeing. Add a touch of roundness and a bit of baby fat and unfreeze the hair, and, well.

It’s her. It’s one hundred percent her.

“Marcel’s DEAD,” she said.

“What?” Jack asked, what little colour there was in his face draining.

“Ha! I’m kidding. He’ll be fine,” she replied with a small, impish smile. It dropped suddenly; she squinted. “Probably. So quick question for you, Jack,” she continued, walking right up to him without a care in the world. “Was the several meters of ice to keep people out? Or keep you in? Because let me tell you, it was a shit job. I cracked through it easily.”

“You can’t be here,” he heard himself saying. “You shouldn’t be here! You…I…”

“YEAH. I am AWARE. You killed me dead. This is the FOURTH TIME TODAY someone has REMINDED ME, as if you can easily shake coming face to face with your own damn grave marker,” she said with a huff. “So what’s you’re deal? I’m surprised you let yourself get captured. My GOD you look frosty,” she finished, right beside him now. She knocked on his frozen spikes.

“Hey! Cut it out,” he snapped, pushing her hand away.

“No need to be nippy,” she sassed back, hands on her hips.

Jack straight up recoiled. He was pretty damn positive now: the sprite in front of him was his long dead sister. A little younger than she would’ve been now, had she survived. Had she lived. Had he not…killed her. He backed up a few steps, the edge of the plush seat hitting the back of his knees.

All the thoughts, all the feelings, all of the things he had wondered that he had pushed down down down came screaming up to the surface as he collapsed into his chair.

For once in his life, he found himself utterly speechless.

“Okay, so I’m going to guess you’ve just been living in denial,” his sister said, not a ghost but actually real, and alive, and in front of him. “You sit there and process, I don’t plan on being long. I’ve about HAD IT up to HERE,” she half yelled, putting her hand high above her head, “with this AWFUL timeline. You know how my day started, Jack? I just needed to find a pot for Myles. That’s it! To trap a little chaotic shade! And NOW I’ve been pulled into yet ANOTHER alternate universe, and goddess above, I thought the one where Bernard and I were a THING was bad, this one is by FAR worse!” she said, her arms crossed at her chest briefly before she dropped them, the ground around her cracking in response. “I’ve already tried Mom, and Dad, and if you don’t have what I need then I am going to have to do something very, very crazy that only one other person I know of has done before and lived to tell the tale. Did three time crystals, little purple-ish quartz looking things, appear around you about, uh,” she pulled something out of her pocket and squinted at it. “Three hours ago?”

Still speechless, Jack shook his head no.

“Goddess damn it ALL!” his very alive, very angry little sister said, throwing her hands down and stomping her foot. The cracks below her deepened. “I have a GIRLFRIEND, I don’t have the option to seduce a powerful castor right now!”

“You have a girlfriend?” Jack found himself asking.

“What, you got a problem with that?”

“No, of course not, I—”

“Yeah, I know dude. I’ve met some of your partners,” she said with a smirk that made Jack blush a bit and clear his throat. “Some of them are real cool. There’s one that Fiera’s like, determined to fight for some reason that’s very baffling to all of us—”

“Who’s Fiera?”

“Oh. Right,” Jacqueline says. “I died so the twins never came around, right. Here you go,” she said, throwing a long leather object his way.

Snatching it clean out of the air, he flipped open the unbuttoned side, coming face to face with a wallet sized family photo.

“Fiera’s the girl on fire, and Fino’s her twin, the boy who is also on fire. The universe I come from, where I survive, they exist.”

Jack stared at the him in the photo, happily smooshing a pile of snow on his Jacqueline’s head, their younger siblings below them making funny faces, and their parents above them, together, lost in each other’s eyes. He felt a pang in his chest as he came to the quiet realization that, oh. He kind of. He kind of missed them.

A pale hand stretched out in his peripheral. He glanced over; Jacqueline had her hand out, looking unimpressed. “Wallet please,” she said.

He snapped it closed, passing it back to her.

“Thank you,” she said, shoving it back in her pocket. She turned on her heel, heading back out the way she came.

“Wait! Don’t. Don’t go yet,” he said, unsure why but knowing he couldn’t let her leave just yet.

She stopped in the doorway, standing still; head tilted.

“I didn’t—I never meant to. It wasn’t my intent—” he took a deep breath. “You know, right? You know it wasn’t. That I didn’t. That I—”

“Never wanted to hurt me,” she said softly, still not turning around. “It was an accident. You were having a big emotions night and your powers were going crazy, and your hand slipped. Yeah. I know. You told me. That is, my you told me.”

His shoulders sagged; he could feel something...wet trailing down his cheeks. He touched his cheek, brushing away tear tracks of all things.

His sister watches. For the briefest of moments, as their gazes meet, the fury falls away. She looks so very concerned, and he can see her hands twitch upwards, not in defence or offence but as though she wanted to reach out and give him comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice barely a whisper.

And then it’s gone. The fury is back. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring. “It’s not me who needs to hear that,” she replied, rage withheld. “It’s her.”

And for a moment, he feels her. The little ghost he trapped in the solitary with him. He whips around.

A flicker of white.

A tress of dark hair, disappearing round the bend.

He turns back around.

The other ghost, the real one, is gone.

---

Stepping over the unconscious guards and hopping out of the Jacquie-sized crack in the ice she had made, Jacqueline stopped, bending over, hands on her knees.

She could feel herself breathing very fast. Her heart was racing; there was a nasty heat behind her eyes. She wanted so badly to just stop, and cry, and sob, because holy shit. Holy FUCKING shit. This day is so. What the fuck. This TIMELINE is so. What the fuck.

“OKAY Jacqueline,” she said out loud, snapping back up. “Focus.”

Her voice sounded heavy. She took a deep breath in; held it a bit, staring at the tips of her fingers before finally exhaling. “We can have a nice long frustrated cry later, when we’re NOT trying to escape the JACQUELINE DIES timeline.”

Another deep breath. Her hands pressed together, in front of her face. Her nose scrunched, forehead wrinkling as she thought of her next steps.

“I need to break into Rosehaven,” she mused, tapping her lips. “Which means, off to the east I go! I’ve got a wicked old witch to see. But first!”

Turning around, Jacqueline rested her palms on the icy walls beside her exit. With a fierce look of concentration, hands aglow, the ice beneath her grew, covering the dent she made, a smooth patch appearing right over the jagged, pointy, inside out job.

“There we go,” she said, surveying her work, hands on her hips. “All patched up! Now onto the hard part,” she thought out loud, turning to face the mountains in the distance.

Two sharp peeks protruded in the night, a little structure on the tip of each one. The cliffs below them were dotted with hundreds of other huts and shacks and cottages, windows glowing in the dark, foliage twirling all over the settlement.

She took a step towards the skyline. Then another. On the third step, she disappeared, a bright flash of light blue light in the quickly darkening evening.

---

Something felt...different.

Jack tried to go back to his book and his plush chair, but found that for once, he was unable to shove all the feelings deep, deep down and go about his not-so-merry way. They were coming up; his insides were on fire. His cheeks wouldn’t stop getting wet.

Everything he had held back for years was coming up, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

He stepped out into the hall. Tentatively. Sort of surprised but not quite when nothing happened.

The barrier seemed to be down.

The guards were slumped against the walls, carefully placed in somewhat comfortable positions. Their weapons were abandoned; Jack waved his hand, a north wind billowing through the hall. It picked up the weapons, and, at his command, tossed them deep, deep, deep into his personal quarters.

A quick scan of the guards. They seemed okay; a little worse for the wear, but Jack didn’t see any blood or broken bones.

“Marcel?” he asked, crouching beside the guard closest to the door. He waved his hand in front of Marcel’s face.

The man groaned, unmoving.

Fine. Probably. Just like she had said.

Standing back up, Jack frowned, deep in thought.

He needed to move, to act, to do something.

But what?

He figured he had a few minutes, if he was lucky, before the guards get back up and were able to recast the barrier again. He stepped back; something rolled under his heel, crunching.

Marcel’s wand, snapped in two.

Well, so much for the barrier, then.

Alright. Good. More time to, to think. To decide. To figure something out.

He thinks back to the angry ghost. Something she had said. There was something there that had his fae senses screaming. A quick run through their conversation until—

I have a GIRLFRIEND, I don’t have the option to seduce a powerful castor right now!

“Oh no,” Jack said, paling.

He knew exactly what she was going to do.

But she’s dead! If this version of her were to try it...

“She’ll be trapped,” Jack realized.

With that in mind, his decision was easy as could be. He couldn’t save her then.

But he could save her now.

He straightened. Shook out his arms; his shoulders. His fingers crack. He lifts a foot, then slams it into the ground.

Around him, the prison shuddered. It began to shake. The fault lines she had left grew larger. Chips of ice rained down around him. He sliced a hand through the air. The walls on his right began to splinter and fracture, the light within growing dim as the place rumbled. He sliced his other hand through the air, the walls on his left mirroring their reflections.

He moved both arms up again, and sliced them both down through the air with a whoosh.

The walls didn’t just break.

They shattered.

The ceiling came down, the ice chunks bouncing off of the air above Jack, slamming into the ground around him.

In seconds, the entire icy exterior crumbled, the walls he had frozen so long ago coming down with it.

Outside, the sky is dark. Reddish purplish. The sun is going down in the distance. The air is fresh, if a little cold, and sharp. He inhales it, deeply. It’s wintry. Quite odd for the Eastern Province, but Autumn was known to have a bit of a chill, and Jack was certain that his presence here had effected the weather patterns a good amount, too.

Besides, what was a little more oddness? This whole day had been weird already, and it was only going to get weirder.

He stood still until the prison finished crumbling around him. The guards were unscathed; chunks headed their way magically redirected themselves, landing away from them. It’s the least, Jack thought, that he can do for them. After all, they had been very kind to him, and they hadn’t needed to be at all. Not for him. a criminal; a murderer. Of sisters. His own sister.

"Snap out of it, Jack!" he scolded himself, shaking his head and turning on the spot.

Onto business, he thought, straightening his jacket. Doing up a button and readjusting his cuff links. Glancing wearily at the pointy mountains in the distance.

There is only one castor he knows of that will happily help Jacqueline.

The same one who had helped him centuries ago.

Ice and dust drifting about, the Witch's Peaks in his sights, Jack made his way forward, determined.

But three steps in, a tiny gasp reached his ears.

He stopped dead in his tracks, tilting his head; listening.

Something…someone was there.

And though it was just a tiny little gasp, it rang familiar. So very familiar.

But that wouldn’t make sense, Jack thought. She wouldn’t be here. It couldn’t be…

“JACK!”

Him too?

Okay, now he was a little scared.

He turned on his heel, looking behind him. Two figures stood together in the distance. One was calling for him; a loud, recognizable voice. He could make out the shape of his palm up against his mouth, his other hand clasped tightly in the hand of the woman beside him. A whole head or so shorter than him, her other hand was in front of her mouth, gently hovering above a shocked ‘o’.

“JACK!” he called again.

“Dad?” Jack said, quietly. “Mom?”

The dust rippled between them. The air finally cleared, revealing Blaise and Winter, his parents, standing hand in hand a short distance away, staring at him with unreadable expressions, as rooted in place as he was.

---

“Look. Gwen. I already TOLD you, I don’t know WHY there’s such an uptick in chaos right now! NOR do I know WHY the air tastes like dark magic!”

“That is BULL and you know it, Cheri.”

“I would LOVE to take credit for this, but I have no idea what this is, girlie. And you know I’m telling the truth! Your goody-goody magic can sense it.”

“Okay, yes, but you’ve messed with it before! and you LOVE lying it's one of your FAVOURITE things!”

“It really is, but listen. Gwen. I’m using your name. not your little nickname. Obviously, I’m being legit right now. Look, don’t get your tutu in a twist, alright? I’ll look into it and if it’s bad bad, I’ll take care of it!”

The door to a small room opened, a witch swathed in black and red waltzing in, huge fuck-off combat boots clunking on the hardwood floor. With a roll of her eyes, she tossed her hat onto the mantle and stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the woman perched on her desk.

“Your Grand Darkness,” the woman purred, saccharine, miming a curtsy while staying seated.

Cheri recognized her instantly. She smirked. “Ou. This is gonna be good.”

She turned on her heel, Gwen smacking right into her chest.

“CHERI!”

“Sorry Glenda, I’m a bit busy right now,” she said, shoving the tulle covered witch out the door. “We’ll chat later, a-buh-bye,” she finished with a wave, the door slamming shut behind her.

“CHERI!” Gwen shouted from the other side as Cheri cackled, sliding her broomstick through the door handle. She turned around, a feral grin on her face as she surveyed the woman perched on her desk, ignoring the jiggling of the handle and frustrated yells from the other side of the door.

“So you're my little trouble maker today, aren’t ya?” she asked, sauntering up to the desk and surveying the sprite, chin resting on her knuckles.

“Guilty as charged,” the sprite said, hopping down off the desk. Oh, she was tiny. “Look, your darkness, I don’t have much time. And I’m in a very happy, committed relationship with a literal goddess, so seducing you for help is like, out of the question.”

“Oh shit, a goddess? Which one?”

“Pleasure,” the sprite replied, lickity-split. “Greek.”

“Ha-HA, nice one! Up top,” Cheri replied, holding up a hand.

The sprite flushed, but, grinning, high-fived her back.

“Thanks for not leaving me hanging there, girl,” Cheri said, walking around the sprite and looking her up and down. “That would've been awkward. Would’ve had to cover by turning you into a toad or something,” she added, throwing herself into her seat, her feet landing on the desk. “Now I also don’t have much time. The chaos in the air today is ripe for the picking and I have yet to do that, thanks to politics, yuck. So, cut to the chase.”

“I need to break into Rosehaven,” she said.

“Deja vu!”

“Yeah, I know, don’t remind me. Short and sweet or long and complex?”

“Short and sweet baby.”

“Great! I’m from another timeline, and I’m trapped here until I can find the time crystals that power my way home,” she said, shaking a small, golden object in her hand. “Rosehaven is the last place I could think of them being, and I need to get in there and get them back because let me tell you, your Darkness, if I have to stay in this timeline for one second longer? I am going to burst into flames and just EXPLODE.”

Cheri laughed. “You're cute,” she said, recrossing her feet. “I can get you there. But what do you have to offer in exchange?”

“Even more chaos than is presently brewing,” the sprite said with a clever smirk. “In three hours I’ve managed to completely throw off every single Frost, leading to the chaos you’re sensing right now. If I’ve played my cards right, and if I manage to pull this last bit off, the chaos will straight up triple.” She frowned. “That is, if I remember magical chaos theory correctly. I didn’t pay much attention in world magics class,” she admitted with a silly little grin, scratching the back of her head. “And, it’ll piss off a lot of magibeans.”

“Glenda too?”

“Oh, her lightness especially.”

Cheri cackled. “Count me IN,” she said, hopping up and rummaging around the shelves packed FULL of ingredients and artifacts. “One plane shift coming right up.”

“Thank the fucking goddess,” the sprite said, relieved.

“Fair warning, though,” Cheri said over her shoulder, lobbing all sorts of shit into her cauldron. “You're already there, technically. There's a good chance you may get stuck. Rosehaven will let you in, but getting out? Hmm.”

“I’m hoping the time nonsense helps with that,” the sprite replied nonchalantly. “And honestly? Given the choice, I’d rather be stuck THERE than HERE in this timeline. I’ll take my chances, your darkness.”

Cheri laughed. “A sprite after my own heart.”

---

Time passed.

Maybe minutes, maybe seconds; maybe hours.

The parents stared at their son. The son stared at his parents. The dust cleared, exposing them all to one another. Mother and father looking particularly icy and ashen; son looking just as icy, if not more, than mother.

It’s Jack who speaks first, unsurprisingly.

“I know what this looks like, but it’s really not,” he found himself saying, trying very hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. “We can play chase later, you can bring me in again or whatever, I literally do not care, because there is something WAY more important that I need to be doing in a general that-away direction,” he said, pointing towards the rocky crags in the distance that hid Roseterra. “I don’t want to do this the hard way, but I will if I have to!”

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” Blaise shouts across the way.

“I—wait. WHAT?”

The tension, the readiness for battle, the urge to run away, all of it leaves at once. Jack stood, dumbfounded, unsure what to do with himself.

Blaise and Winter shared a look and, with a slight nod, gently walked towards him hand in hand.

Run says his brain.

Don’t, says his heart.

He stays.

Soon enough, they’re face to face. My god they’re old, Jack thinks.

Blaise and Winter think the same thing as they come face to face with their son.

Jack blinks.

They blink back.

Winter opens her mouth to speak; the words die before they can even come out. Unable to say much of anything at that precise moment, she squeezed Blaise’s hand. He nodded.

“Are you okay Jack?” he asked again.

“I—uh.”

Jack looked around, the remnants of the icy walls crystallized around them. The guards have yet to stir; his furniture and possessions are littered about as the wind blows, papers fluttering. The Solitary has been obliterated.

“Mostly.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” Winter finally says. Her eyes are shiny.

“I—okay. WHAT is HAPPENING.”

“We were worried about what she might have done.”

“She—Jacqueline? You guys saw her too?!”

They both nodded.

“Thank the LADY. Look, we don’t have time right now to unpack all of this. We need to go,” Jack says, starting forward.

“Jack, wait.”

“Go where?!”

“To Roseterra!”

Now it’s their turn to be dumbfounded.

Annoyed and short on time, Jack let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know you won’t believe me and that’s fine. But that was her! It was Jacqueline! And she’s about to do something so incredibly stupid and if I don’t go after her right now, immediately, she’s gone! And I can’t…I can’t let that happen again,” he says, voice cracking. “I couldn’t save her then, but maybe I can now!” Jack admits. “I…I didn’t want…I never…I didn’t mean to…”

And he feels tears running down his cheeks. How embarrassing, he thought to himself, sniffing and trying to dry the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, he’s warm. Very, very warm.

“I know,” Blaise says, quietly, in his ear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I loved her,” Jack finds himself saying into his dad’s chest, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. A usually effortless task that’s really not working for him today. “I never wanted to hurt her and when I did, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, darling,” Winter says. Jack can feel her arms around him now too. “It’s alright. What’s done is done,” she says, soothingly. “We can’t undo it.”

“But we can help you now,” Blaise said, letting up from the hug. “Whatever you need. We'll help. We're here with you.”

“Winter’s right,” Jack said, lifting his head off of Blaise. “We can’t bring her back. I wish I could! I’d give anything to make it right. But there isn’t anything I can do. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I’ve done enough,” Jack said.

Blaise chuckled, his hairline glowing.

“But what I can do is this. Because somewhere out there is another Jack, who has his Jacqueline; another Winter and Blaise who have her, too! And I don’t want them to lose her. I don’t want them to go through everything we’ve gone through,” Jack said, gesturing around him.

“What is she planning on doing?” Blaise asked, bewildered.

“The thing she travelled with, it has pieces. She was looking for them, and if she visited all of us and we didn’t have them, then there’s only one place left to look.”

Blaise paled. “She’s going to make the jump?”

“One HUNDRED percent. She means business, I mean, look what she did to the guards! To MARCEL!”

“She did that?” Winter asked, eyes widening.

“Uh, yeah,” Jack said, the duh left unspoken but in the air.

“Is it weird that I’m proud?” Winter asked.

“No,” Blaise said. “I am too.”

“It’s impressive,” Jack agreed. “RIGHT! WE HAVE TO GO,” he shouted, rushing forward. "We've wasted enough time as is, best to try and head her off at Roseterra! Cheri's probably already gotten her everything she needs—"

“Jack, wait! Hold on a second—how does he still have this much energy,” Blaise asked Winter, exasperated.

She laughed. “I’ll grab him,” she said, lifting a finger.

A pile of snow shot up in front of Jack. He slammed directly into it. It pushed him back gently, spinning him around to face his parents.

“What,” he snapped.

“Just don’t move for a second,” Blaise said, lifting his palms. They glowed; between them, his staff appeared. He placed it on the ground, uttered a few words, and boom! A circle appeared around Jack.

He glanced down at it, watching the runes and sigils appear in the circle. There were a lot. He grimaced.

With one last incantation, Blaise lifted his staff and slammed it into the ground. The small symbols and shapes cracked, disappearing until the circle was empty. It faded into the ground, Jack feeling lighter than he had in centuries.

“What was all THAT?!” he asked, equal parts offended on his own behalf, and impressed that it took that many enchantments to keep him imprisoned.

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaise said, a couple of sparks popping off of his ashen head. His roots seemed to be glowing now too. “Let’s go save your sister, yeah?”

And with that, the trio rushed off.

---

They made it, but not soon enough.

They slid to a stop, dust flying as Jacqueline turned to level them all with the same icy glare. Below her, the ground was shifting, shimmering and glittering. In her left hand, she held a glass object. In her right, a piece of chalk.

“Jacqueline, don’t!” Jack said, stepping forward.

She let out one single, sharp HA. “I do what I want, Jack,” she said, coldly. Looking them all dead in the eye one at a time, she dropped the glass ball onto the ground, right into the shimmering circle.

It shattered, and a pink cloud poofed up. The writing on the monument blurred, a small portal opening up, wider and wider until it was as tall as she was. A bright light surrounded her. Jack held up an arm, shielding himself from the light while still trying to keep a visual on Jacqueline. Behind him, Blaise grabbed Winter. She hid her eyes in his chest, while he, similarly to Jack, shielded his own.

They stood, watching helplessly, as the silhouette of Jacqueline stepped into the portal, disappearing.

It snapped shut, the glow diminishing.

All three of them moved forward, only to be stopped by some sort of unseen forcefield.

“Oh dear,” Winter said, as she watched the two men try and break through it. She tilted her head, the north winds blowing. “I’m afraid that won’t work, dears,” she said.

“What do you MEAN it won’t work? We gotta do SOMETHING!”

“We’re going to lose her AGAIN, Winter!”

“Rosehaven has placed the barrier there. It doesn’t want us to interfere. It’s up to her now.”

“And what, we’re just supposed to stand here and wait?!” Jack asked.

“Precisely,” Winter said, the winds blowing happily behind her.

“And what do we do in the meantime? Talk?!” Blaise asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Winter said, chipper.

Both men looked at each other, distraught.

---

The light was very pink. Blinding, nearly. It smelt like flowers. It felt…amazing. Like she was safe; like everything would be okay. She was home.

Her anger, frustration, annoyance, and fear all disappeared as she came to a very sudden stop.

She opened her eyes.

It was still very pink.

She seemed to be in some kind of large, stone gazebo. Vines twirled up it, a leafy canopy hanging down around her. Flowers bloomed. A fountain trickled somewhere nearby. In front of her stood a podium.

“Welcome to Rosehaven,” said an ethereal voice. “Name, please?”

“Jacqueline Winter Frost,” she said. “Here to see one Jacqueline Winter Frost, if you please.”

The hooded figure looked up, perplexed. Their head tilted under the hood; the material gently creasing. “How curious,” they said, gliding over to Jacqueline. “You are here again, and yet, you are already here.”

Jacqueline looked right into the darkness within the figure's hood. She pulled the time piece out of her pocket.

They recoiled. “Well now, that explains it,” they said. There was a swirl of petals and their hood fell back, revealing a pale face, messy dark hair in a pixie cut of all things, and very familiar brown eyes. They danced with all sorts of warm hues. Red. Orange. Yellow. Like fallen leaves. “May I?” they asked gesturing to the time piece.

Jacqueline nodded. She placed it flat in her palm and held it out for the Hollow.

“Time magic. Well, the good news is you’re safe from being stuck,” they said with a knowing smile. “Here, hold onto that.”

“And the bad news?”

“Hmm?”

“You said the good news. Usually that means there’s bad news to follow?”

“Yes. Well, as the Hollow charged with guarding the entrance, I can’t just let you in, of course.”

Jacqueline sighed. “Oh, gosh. Is it riddles?  I am very bad at riddles. I hope it isn’t riddles. I’d say combat but we’d be locked in combat forever, wouldn’t we? Cant fight to the death in the afterlife, can we?”

The Hollow laughed. “Nothing so severe and no riddles for you, snowflake. I have a very simple question you must answer for me.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.”

“How’s Autumn?”

Jacqueline blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Autumn? Your Aunt? How is she.”

“I don’t know. This isn’t my timeline. I have no idea how any of my aunts are—”

“I only need to know about Autumn. Your Autumn.”

“My Autumn?”

The Hollow nodded. “I committed a crime, you see. I brought the light life that gave your aunt breath over to Harvest. That is not the duty I was charged with by the goddess. I was supposed to take life, not give it. So, I was punished with door duty.”

“Door duty? For such a steep crime?” Jacqueline asked.

“It was fated,” the Hollow said with a wink. “I am Hollow Eve. Autumn is as much my daughter as she is Harvest’s. We like to know how she’s getting on, in every timeline.”

“This happens a lot then?”

“Nope! Not at all! This is the first time a Frost from another timeline has found their way in here. Carpe diem,” she said with a knowing smile. “How is she back at home?”

Jacqueline blinked. “Oh! Well. She’s doing quite alright,” Jacqueline said, recalling when they last talked. “She recently got into Bones. It’s a show, not the actual bones. That only happens around Halloween. Anyway, she binged that and loved it! She’s still trying to see if she can yield anything from the scar, but no luck yet. She thinks she’s getting close, but she thinks that every year,” Jacqueline said fondly.

“Bones. I shall look into that show I think. Come then, Jacqueline. I will take you to see Jacqueline. We can walk and talk,” they said, gliding over to the exit. “I will grant you safe passage throughout Rosehaven, and back again.”

“Huh,” Jacqueline said. “This was easier than I thought.”

“She was expecting you.”

“That rambunctious little bugger, I knew it. It’s just what I would do.”

Eve laughed. “Fated,” she said, once again. “Come along then, snowflake. Right this way. It’s tea time. Impeccable timing.”

“Fated, even?” Jacqueline teased back.

Eve laughed. “Indeed! Now you're getting it. Let’s get a move on. And tell me more about my child, if you please.”

“Sure,” Jacqueline said, more than happy to talk about her aunt, though it was harder than she had expected.

Not that she didn’t know much about Autumn; they talked regularly, as she did with all three aunts. No, it was just…Rosehaven was beautiful. And as they walked, Jacqueline was enthralled with it, trying to take it all in while sharing all her favourite Aunt Autumn stories. Her multi-tasking skills were not to be found today.

The hills rolled out, impossibly far; the pink sky was bright. Flowers were all over the place, blowing in a breeze that smelt like all of her favourite things: freshly baked cake. Snow. Dite. The beach. Trees towered high, the oddest creatures popping in and out of them, flitting through the sky, over branches, and winding between their feet. Fun little houses dotted the landscape, dwellings matching each magibean that sat, lounging; basking. Playing instruments, working with magic both alone and with their neighbours, explosions of sparkles happening both near and far as magic sprouted up all around them. The pathways sprawled out in the distance, leading to lush forests, jungles; desert, even! And far off in the distance, mountains; a tall, lonely castle, a sharp contrast off in the horizon to the warm and cozy dwellings that surrounded them.

Jacqueline had actually stopped to frown at it for but a moment, as Eve told her not to dwell for too long and come along, if you’d please. And tell me more about Halloween, if you’d be so kind.

And so, the pair continued on through Rosehaven; Jacqueline trying fruitlessly to take in as much detail as possible while telling Eve all about her daughter. Aunt Autumn. They delighted in all the stories Jacqueline shared, as they wound through the lush expanse, Eve practically sparkling the more she heard of Autumn.

Finally, the path widened, the trees growing taller and wider, covered in vines, flowers all over the place. Water trickled in the distance; they walked under a natural stone archway, coming into a beautiful garden. Butterflies fluttered about, the sweetest of scents tickling her nose. The woods and stones and vines and flowers wound together tightly, forming all natural furnishings. At the centre of it all, a stone. A stone that was both devoid of colour and all the colours at once; sparkling faintly, magic shimmering around it.

Just behind this stone was a table. Made of wood and bark, and surrounded by stumps shaped like chairs, a beautiful spread of treats and sweets sat. A teapot glinted in the light, steam coming out of the spout. Four cups sat in saucers, two filled, two more waiting. At the top of this round table sat a woman.

She looked old; ancient, even. Her hair was long, the green still making itself known through the grey. Leaves sat at the top of her braids, turning into flowers, then back to leaves again. Colourful leaves, trailing into frost at the very bottom. Her multiple braids clinked together as she nodded along, green eyes soft, paying rapt attention to her small companion, a soft smile on her dark face.

Her companion stood on her stump chair, talking animatedly and bouncing in place as she used her whole entire body to describe something. Her pigtails bounce as she grinned, blue eyes sparkling, flyaway hairs decorated with snowy beads, a little flower tying each braid off at the end.

Eve cleared her throat.

Both figures stopped talking, turning to look at the pair. The little sprite grinned, bouncing in place once again. The old woman smiled, head tilted.

“Hello, Eve,” she said, her voice soft and loud, sounding like rushing water but also like a soft breeze. It hit Jacqueline, then, exactly who she’d come face to face with. The little gasp slipped out, much to her dismay. The tiny sprite giggled about it. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mother Gaia. Mistress Frost. You have a visitor,” they said, bowing deeply, and gesturing towards Jacqueline. Flushing, Jacqueline curtseyed deeply. “One Mistress Frost,” Eve said.

“Mother Gaia, it’s an honour,” Jacqueline said, reverent, not sure how long she should bow for.

The woman chuckled. “There’s no need for formalities, dear. Up you go. There we go. Now, I don’t think I have to introduce my companion to you, do I?”

The child giggled. So did the young woman.

“No,” she said.

“We’re good! We know each other!” the child said, bouncing in place. She turned to her older self, meeting the woman’s fierce gaze with one of her own.

“Do you have them?” Jacqueline asked.

With a small smile, she opened her little fist. In it, three pieces of glowing chrono-quartz sat, charged and ready to go.

“Oh thank the goddess,” Jacqueline said, relieved.

“Did you bring me what I wanted?”

“I think the heck I did,” Jacqueline replied, grinning. “May I sit?”

“Please do,” Mother Gaia said, gesturing to the stumps. “Eve?”

“I’ll float, thank you.”

“Have some tea, darling,” Mother Gaia said. Not waiting for an answer, she waved her hand. The pot poured out a cup, cream pouring in along with some honey. The saucer and cup floated, then, landing right in front of Eve’s outstretched hands.

“Thank you, Mother Gaia.”

“Of course. Now then. What have you been up to, my dear?”

“All sorts of nonsense,” Jacqueline said with a sigh, slumping in her seat. Elbow on the table, she held her head, taking a moment to rest. “Chased all three of them down to find those,” she said, pointing lazily at her child self’s hands.

“Are they coming?” the child asked, hope glinting in her big blue eyes.

“I did you one even better, Jacqueline,” she replied, selecting a brownie off the snack tray. “They’re here.

“HERE?!”

“Like, outside, but yes, they are. All three of them.”

“ALL of them?”

“Even Jack.”

The little girl brightened at that, bouncing in her seat again. “Yay! Thank you,” she said, earnestly.

“Of course. Riled them up real good, too,” she added, taking a bite out of her brownie.

“Very much so,” said Gaia. “I can feel the chaos from here.”

“Well you gotta do what you gotta do,” both Jacquelines said, one around a mouthful of brownie. They stopped and looked at each other, blinking, and immediately laughing.

Gaia smiled. “I hope the little one didn’t cause you too much trouble,” Gaia said, booping little Jacquie’s nose fondly. The child let out a teehee.

“She absolutely did,” Jacqueline said, her child self giggling fully now and plopping down in her seat. “You sent me on a goose chase and a HALF girl! Dang! And this on top of the day I have had,” she said, grabbing a tiny cupcake off the platter and peeling off the wrapper. “I was supposed to help a friend find a thing, and then these time shenanigans happened and then I found myself looking at my own GRAVE! I’ve had to yell at my parents and visit my brother in PRISON for KILLING me,” she said, eating the cupcake whole. “I mean, I figured I’d probably visit him in prison more than once in our lifetimes, BUT FOR MURDER? OF MY ME? Would much rather do that visit ALIVE, thank you kindly. Uh, no offence,” she said, embarrassed, glancing around the table as she swallowed the cupcake.

“None at all,” Gaia said.

“I’ve no concept of life,” Eve said. “I simply exist.”

“I’ve been like this for FOREVER! It’s allllll good, Jacqueline,” said the kid, patting her hand.

“I just. I have had a very long day and really want to go home and get a hug from my girlfriend and—”

“WE HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?! WHO? WHAT’S SHE LIKE? IS SHE PRETTY? STRONG? CAN SHE THROW ME? CAN SHE THROW YOU?! CAN SHE THROW US BOTH?”

“Yes to all of that,” Jacqueline said.

“I’m so cool,” kid Jacqueline said, grinning at Gaia.

“The coolest, I'd say,” Gaia said, grinning back. “Now then. Finish up your tea. Have some as well, Jacqueline; you’ll need this particular blend for the journey ahead.”

“Oh?”

“Special properties. They’ll make the planar shift less…cumbersome on the way out.”

“Cumbersome?”

“It was nice coming in,” Eve said. “But it’s quite the opposite going out. This should help. And since you told me what I needed to know, you have my blessing to take as long as you need. I’ll make sure the portal closes when you’re ready,” Eve added, directing the last bit at tiny Jacqueline.

“Got it,” she said, with a determined nod. “Are you coming too, Gram?”

“No child. I’m much too old to be making these planar shifts. I’ll be right here waiting for you to get back and tell me all about it,” she said, eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled.

Tiny Jacqueline smiled, hopping off her seat and right into Gaia’s arms in a hug.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing the matriarch.

“Of course,” she said, squeezing back.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eve said. “Both of you.”

And so, finishing their tea, the two of them got up. Thanking Gaia once again, Jacqueline waited beside Eve, hand outstretched to her child self. “Shall we?”

“Yes please,” Jacqueline said with a grin, taking her hand.

“Then let’s go,” she replied.

Hand in hand, the two sprites started forward, Eve gliding in front of them, leading them back to the lobby, as they called it. Once they had gotten under the gazebo, the vines snapped, cascading down from the roof and blocking the entrances. With creaks and groans, the vines grew larger and larger, entangling amongst themselves to keep from easily being breached.

“Not to worry; this happens with break-ins. I’ll take care of things here. The two of you,” she said, placing a hand over the spot Jacqueline had appeared in upon her arrival, “Do what you need to do, okay?”

“Sure,” Jacqueline said. Beside her, kid Jacqueline scooted closer, grabbing her arm with both hands and tugging.

“Psst,” she said. “Down here.”

Jacqueline sunk down, worry creasing her face. “Yes?”

“What if…what if they’re not there no more? What if we go out there and they’re gone? I…” she sniffled, her lips wobbling.

“Oh, hey now, kiddo. It’s okay,” Jacqueline said, picking herself up and seating her on her leg. “They will be there; I promise. And if they’re not,” she looked left, looked right, and came right up to her ear. “I’ll hunt them down for you myself. Just for you. Okay?”

Eyes wide and teary, the child nodded. “Okay,” she said. Reaching over, she grabbed Jacqueline’s other arm, pulling her hand up to her face. In her palm, she dropped the chrono-quartz. “I’m ready,” she said, sliding off of Jacqueline’s knee and grabbing her hand.

Behind them, there was a sort of fwoom. A bright light filled the lobby, the portal home opening up for them. Glancing back down at her younger self, Jacqueline stepped forward.

“Ready? For sure?”

“Yeah!”

“Then let’s go.”

And, keeping her younger self behind her, Jacqueline stepped back through the portal.

---

Tuckered out, the three sprites sat, backs against the barrier that would not drop. It had been nearly an hour; they had talked. They had waited. They had come to the realization that they hadn't had to run all day. They could've poofed.

Suddenly, a low thrum.

They shot up, Jack throwing himself in front of his parents and watching as the portal that had closed up opened once again. A silhouette appeared; tall. A mess of hair. She stepped forward. Behind her, her arm still in the portal, she gave something a gentle tug.

A second silhouette popped out. Shorter; smaller. Hair braided.

All three gasped.

The light cleared. Looking a lot less angry now was the older Jacqueline they had come across today, hand in hand with the little girl they thought they had lost, looking as perky and happy as she always had, if a bit translucent and shimmery.

They stared at her. Jack wide-eyed. Winter crying behind her hands. Blaise tearing up.

It was Jack who, yet again, broke the silence.

“Jacqueline?”

The little girl ran, then, closing the distance very fast. She hopped up, slamming right into her brother’s chest with enough force to knock him down. He barely had time to recover before her arms were around his chest, squeezing the life out of him with a hug.

“I missed you,” she said, squishing him very tightly. Jack blinked for a moment, before squishing her back just as tight, if not more.

“I am so, so sorry Jacqueline, I never meant to hurt you! To, to kill you! It was an accident. I love you. I’d never hurt you, not. Not knowingly. Not like this.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, still holding on tight. “I forgive you. It was an accident,” she said, finally letting Jack go. “But what I DON’T forgive you for is NOT coming to SEE ME!”

Still sitting on Jack’s legs, she huffed, crossing her tiny arms. “I waited! I waited the whole time to see you guys! Every single converse-convert-converge—”

“Convergence,” Jack and not dead Jacqueline both said at the same time.

“Yeah! That! I waited for you and mom and dad, but you never came,” she said, turning to look up at her parents. “None of you came. Why’d you leave me all alone?”

When Jack and Blaise didn’t respond, Winter spoke up.

"We messed up," she said, sinking down to the floor, looking at her little baby girl. She reached out, gently caressing her baby’s face. Rubbing away the tears with the pad of her thumb. “We made a very big mistake. We tried to save you, and when we couldn’t…”

“We turned away from each other,” Blaise admitted, sinking down now too.

“We ran away,” Jack added, frowning at the floor. “I…I don’t know about mom and dad, but it seemed easier to run than to face up to what had happened. To deal with it. And, and thinking of going to see you…what would I have even said?”

“Well I think you’re doing okay right now,” Jacqueline said, softening a little.

Jack grinned. “Thanks, Jacqueline.”

“Anytime, boss,” she said, saluting very silly like. Jack chuckled.

“I think we all hurt you a little bit, didn’t we?” Winter asked. “Not coming to see you. Doing what we thought best.”

“What we thought you’d want,” Blaise added.

“All I wanted was to see you guys. I didn’t want you to run away from each other. I just wanted to see you all together and maybe sometimes still be there too,” she admitted, poking her lil’ fingers together. “I’m DEAD. You can’t change that. Not by running away or playing chase or anything silly like that.”

“I know,” Winter said, swooping Jacqueline up off of Jack’s legs. "We know." Pulling her in close, Winter gave her child a big squeeze. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s okay, mommy,” she said, hugging Winter tightly. She looked up at Blaise over her shoulder. With a smile, she stuck her little arms up.

Blaise grabbed her so fast, crushing her against him. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, gruffly. He let out a sob. “I thought I knew what you wanted, but it wasn’t about what I thought. I was wrong. We were wrong. I’m sorry, Jacqueline, so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay daddy,” she croaked, enjoying the warmth that came with the territory. “I’m just glad you were all still here when I got here. I was afraid you’d all have left. That maybe you didn’t…you didn’t want to see me.”

“What?”

“Jacqueline Winter Frost!”

“We’d never!”

“Well you all did a very bad no good awful job showing that,” she said with a pout, wiggling out of Blaise’s arms and plopping on the ground, crossing her little arms. “Do better.”

Up by the grave marker, Jacqueline chuckled. Get their asses, Jacquie, she thought, pulling out the empty time piece. It had a slight glow to it. She pulled out the chrono-quartz. They also had a slight glow. Almost there, she thought, placing them into the face.

“Don’t you worry your little head off,” Jack said, grandly, poking the very top of said little head. “We’ll do better now. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Jack said.

“We all do,” Blaise agreed, Winter nodding enthusiastically beside him.

The tiny sprite’s eyes grew big, her lip wobbling before breaking out in a huge smile. “YAY!” she said, jumping around, trying to hug all three of her family members at once.

“How have you been?!” Winter asked suddenly, grabbing Jacqueline and squishing her tightly. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” she replied, hugging back. “It’s very nice where I am! Very pink though. I stay with Gaia. She’s real nice and looks lots like Mother Nature and lets me call her Gram. She makes really good tea and always has sweets and...”

Jacqueline sighed, relieved as she watched her child self go on and on about Rosehaven and how everything had been for her on the other side. There was a click and a whir; she glanced down. The watch was ready. The cracks had sealed, the time chunk once again in one piece. Clicking the knob at the top, she watched as the arrows whirred, and the purple turned blue.

“Got him,” she said to herself, relieved, pressing down on the face of the timepiece.

In front of her, a deep purple portal opened. Shoulders sagging, she stepped forward, glad to leave when all of a sudden there was a tug on her skirt.

“Hmm?”

She looked down. Kid Jacqueline stood beside her with a soft smile, hands behind her back.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she said, rushing forward and hugging her legs.

“Awwh,” Jacqueline couldn’t help but say. She bent down, squishing her dead self tightly. “You’re welcome. Give them hell, okay? And one more thing.”

The child blinked, letting herself be picked up by herself. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry you died,” she said, face falling.

The child in her arms giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s okay. I can’t change that. And you can’t, either. Nothing can bring me back completely. But you did me a big help,” she said.

“A big help?” Jacqueline asked, the corner of her lips twitching.

“Yeah! You helped me help them and now we can make a difference. Look! Lookit!”

Tightening her grip on her kid self, Jacqueline looked down at her parents and brother. They were chatting, standing up now; waiting patiently for Jacqueline to head back their way. Blaise and Winter were deep in conversation. Jack said something; the pair laughed, Blaise’s hair actually smouldering. Jack glanced up their way, head tilted.

“GIVE ME TWO MORE SECONDS!” the tiny child yelled, turning back to her adult self. “This is all I ever wanted,” she said, throwing her little arms around Jacqueline’s neck.

“I know,” Jacqueline said, squishing her tight. “Me too. I’m glad I could help.”

“Me too!” she said, pulling out of the hug.

“And if they EVER act out of sorts again, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into them.”

The child laughed. “Okay!”

“Alright,” Jacqueline said, and, with one last squeeze, released little Jacquie. “Off you go,” she said, watching as little Jacqueline ran down the incline, waving at her.

“BYE JACQUELINE! TRAVEL SAFE! I HOPE YOU WIN!”

“Me too,” Jacqueline said, waving back and stepping foot into the portal. The watch was ready; and so was she.

She glanced behind her once more. Jacqueline hopped up into the air, throwing herself at her parents. Blaise was teary eyed; she latched onto his neck like a little koala, Blaise, grabbing his wife and son and squishing them, too. There was cracking; a pop. Blaise’s hair lit up.

With one last deep breath, Jacqueline hopped into the portal, watching as it slowly closed on the four Frosts hugging one another very tightly, basking in Blaise's firelight before she was yanked into the time stream, the watch glowing and pushing her through to the proper timeline.

---

The portal shut; the angry ghost was gone, leaving them with the ghost they had missed the most. Jack watched it shut, wiggling his way out of the hug.

Or at least, trying to.

“So, uh. Not to ruin the moment or anything,” Jack said, Blaise not letting go. “But um. What now? Where should I go?”

“House arrest seems our only recourse,” Blaise said, sternly. “Your Mother and I can keep a close eye on you there. What do you think?”

Jack blinked, taken aback. He smiled; small, soft. "I think I'd like that."

[cherryjuicegf]

the way it ends

for @geraskeferbingo prompt: too good to be true || geraskefer, pov jaskier, 1.5k, T, angst, hallucinations, implied/referenced torture

ao3

When Jaskier wakes, a faint light seeps inside the room from the corridor.

He squints as it reaches his eyes, blinds him. He doesn't remember how long it has been since he last saw light, since he last had the barest hint of hope blooming inside him. Probably long enough, if he thought about the aching of his heart. Probably too long.

There are two figures standing on the door. Insinctively, he recoils. He has grown used to it, it's always two figures, one to carry him and one to strike down if he dares to resist. As if he has any chance resisting. As if he hasn't accepted that he wouldn't get out of this place alive. He laughs to himself as the figures continue standing there. He has played with death, countless times, and he has lost. He has nothing to wait for now. No rescue, no miracle, no ray of light. Only the final blow.

And yet, the light doesn't fade.

The figures approach, and it's not an armor they're wearing, at least not the one he expects. No, there's something gentle in their form, something painfully familiar and he lets out a breath and curls to himself more, afraid, afraid to hope, afraid to believe. They had played with his mind so many times, this can't be different. This can't be real.

He is afraid to believe, to hope, he.

He knows, if he does, if he's proved wrong, he won't be able to bear it. There's already a suffocating weight on his chest, like someone stepping on him and never going away. If he's proved wrong, the weight will suffocate him, push him down, harder still. And he has barely any breaths to spare.

And yet, and yet.

Achingly familiar. The silhouettes, the wild curls, the imposing posture. The scent, lilac, gooseberries, and he thinks he will faint. And that sweet, rough, whispering voice that reaches his ears. "Jaskier."

It can't be. It can't be a dream. It's too real, too bright. He's too weak to hold back, even if succumbing will end him. So he lets out a gasp, and sits up, and cries, not in the way he does when they hit him, break him, and throw him in the corner, but in the way he did, once, moments before he fell into the arms of his lovers. "Geralt!"

And then, oh, then. Then strong arms are around him, and violet eyes are piercing him, and he's too lost to realize and they're too drenched in light for him to see them properly, but he knows, by the way he fits into Geralt's arms, by the way a sharp, honey dripping voice says, "It's alright, Jaskier," and Yennefer looks at him like it's the most natural thing in the world, coming for him, loving him.

And he clings, and sobs and shakes, this can't be a dream, this can't be a dream, too good, too desperate to be a dream. "I missed you," he says between sobs and chokes and Geralt smiles at him. He closes his eyes, feels Yennefer's hands on him searching, finding, the hurt, the wounds, and even though she searches there are wounds that are still bleeding open and will not close, not ever. His own hope is a wound, his love and longing, and the stabs that their eyes mark on his skin, these are wounds too. And yet, oh how sweet is their blood, how welcomed their bleeding.

Yennefer searches, and heals, and yet he feels no pain, not anymore. And if he was able to think, if he was able to see past the white veil that covers them both as though refusing to render his hope requited, he would know, it can't be. It can't be that he, half-dead, stumbling precariously on the land of the living, feels no pain, absurdly healed, as though by his own relief, by his own hesitant joy.

He's tired of being hesitant, being afraid. He's tired of leaving evrything behind, leving his own self behind in order to go through whatever this torture would bring forth next time. Exhausted. There, into their arms, drowning in the sea of their eyes, murmuring the song of their voices, there he knows he can rest.

He hears his own mind laughing at him.

"You're here," he whispers and this voice that hadn't come out in speech but screams all this time, now feels foreign on his tongue. Should his voice feel foreign? Geralt smiles again, smiles too much, too wide. "You came."

Yennefer's eyes glint, too bright, too big. "Of course we came for you," and her voice rings in his ears, makes him wince and, again, he recoils. Why, why, why. Yennefer tilts her head and suddenly, her voice sounds distant, cold. "Did you think we'd leave you alone?"

Alone.

Jaskier's mind is twirling. Alone, alone, alone.

Yennefer's eyes are glowing now, and Geralt is laughing and his hands are holding him too tight, suffocating and he can't breathe and they fade, the light brighter and brighter and that veil, oh, covering them still, and they look at him and laugh and laugh and laugh and he screams.

He hears a voice and he knows that voice, he knows it's not Geralt or Yennefer's, it's the voice of that mage, the one he had seen the few times his eyes were open. And yet it comes out of Geralt's mouth, outworldy, terrrifying. "You're alone, Jaskier. No one is coming for you."

He weeps and cries and pleads, "No, no, no, please, come back," and he runs and stumbles and crawls into the light and yet still drowning into the darkness, the one that pulls him back, sucks him to the bottom, "NO, don't leave me, I didn't say anything, please, I love you, please," and the figures are on the door again, drenched in light, laughing and he drowns and chokes and slips into the void, that same voice wailing into his ears, no one is coming, alone, alone, no one, you're alone, you're alone, alone, alone, alone.

And then, falling in agony, he screams one last time, and sinks into darkness.

When Jaskier woke, the room was dark.

He opened his eyes but he didn't need to squint, for there was no light. Only the bricks, and the despair, and that glooming pain that towered over him, invaded his body, his mind, made him shake and tremble.

He looked around the room as though he didn't know where he was, as though he could ever forget. He couldn't. Even after death, he knew, he would remember, for death was the only certain ending for him in this place. For the barest of seconds, he deemed the irony poetic. He would remember his torture, but the faces of his lovers were already blurry in his mind, covered by this light and this veil that never let him get close to them. He had. He had felt them. He had heard them. They had come for him, of course they would. That's what Yennefer said.

But now he was alone.

And as the realization settled in his mind, he whimpered and wrapped his arms around himself, broken fingers clawing on tattered shirt. No one would come. The wall was cold and damp behind him. A dream, a dream, everything, a dream once more. He gasped, tears welling in his eyes, and fell, crawled, until he reached the corner. There, between two walls, he could at least pretend someone was holding him. If he closed his eyes hard enough.

He shouldn't cry. He had no reason to, he knew this would happen. And water wasn't spare at the moment.

He should've known. Too good, too desperate to be true.

He shouldn't cry. And yet, defeated, drained, devoured by his own hope, he rested his head on the wall, pulled his knees to his chest, and closed his eyes. And let his tears fall. Let the sobs wrack his body, even though the barest move sent a wave of pain through him, made him numb.

Alone. No one would come. He couldn't blame them, they couldn't have known. He wasn't angry. He would die. He thought, dehydration would make for a quicker death. He thought he had to cry more. He knew he would die, he wanted to, for this suffering to end.

But, oh, what he wouldn't give to die in the arms of his loved ones.

He would give his life. It's all he had left anyway.

The door of the cell opened with a bang and two figues stood tall, but he didn't jump. He was used to it. Instead, as if by instinct, he recoiled. Hid his head inside his knees, and waited. He had found a game, to deceive himself. The hands that would grip him and send him on the ground writhing, he would pretend they were Geralt's. The voice that would lull him to nightmares and illusions, he would pretend it was Yennefer's.

The pain was sweeter then, he had discovered. And how sweet, how morbid, to endure the pain for one's love. At least then, he remembered he loved them.

At least then, he wasn't alone.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

a hard dom hitoshi pls?? maybe some rewarding in the end...

SAY NO MORE.

•Love Me Like You•

Summary: Just some Daddy Hitoshi being a hard dom, then getting real sweet.

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Dom Hitoshi, Sub reader, Daddy kink (shocking I know), light bondage, impact play, creampie, unprotected sex, mild degradation, mild dumbification, a dash of spit play.

Word Count: 1,816

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Your thighs tremble, unreliable as you kneel. Your wrists ache, bound behind you for what has felt like eternity. Still, you don't move. You sit pretty and shake. 

   Hitoshi's hot breath is on your neck, one hand grasps your hip as the other adjusts the vibrator he's holding against your clit. 

   Your head falls forward and you sniffle against his sweat slicked shoulder. Your cunt honest to god hurts as it clamps around his painfully hard cock.

   Hitoshi came home in a particularly sadistic mood. A very unique kind, though. Whenever he was in this mood, he would usually have your whole body bound, mouth gagged, and your pussy brutalized. Today, however, it was slightly different. 

   Today he was full of authority, he wanted you to obey according to your own free will, he wanted you to be good for the sake of being good. He didn't want you bound, he wanted to feel you squirm, watch you twitch, make you hurt. 

   "D-Daddy, please." You roll your head on his shoulder, crying into his neck as the hand on your hip tightens. 

   "No." His voice is short, harsh, unyielding. 

   You nod and whimper, body driven mad by how long he's had you hanging off the edge. You straddle his lap, impaled by his length as he works his toy against your clit. 

   "Do you really need more? Are you really that fucking greedy?" His voice rumbles in his chest, dripping with disdain. 

   You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off with a harsh slap to your ass. You choke out a moan, the sting only making you tighten around him, only pushing you closer to the ecstasy he won't let you taste. 

   "Oh baby, I love the way that pussy tells me what you like." He lets out a breathy, condescending laugh before striking you again. 

   "You like that, little one? You like it when I bust your ass for you?" He smooths his hand over the reddened skin, chuckling when you let out a gentle sob as he flicks the speed of the vibrator up. 

   "I- C-Can't hold it." Your body jolts as you stutter out the confession, feeling the first flutters of your orgasm, cursing your disobedient body. 

   "That's a damn shame." He says thoughtfully. 

   Then, just as your body is about to ignite, he rips the vibrator away, then he plants his hand on your chest and pushes you off of his lap. 

   "You were behaving so well, you just had to ruin it, didn't you?" He crawls over you as you collapse onto your back, arms bending uncomfortably behind you. 

   "I'm sorry! Fuck- I'm sorry, it felt too good, it felt too good." Hot tears soak your face as you thrash on the mattress.

   He grabs your jaw with a crushing grip. His eyes are wild, full of rage and impatience. 

   "Then you tell me, you tell me when it feels too good. You do not cum without fucking permission, you got that, slut?" His words drip from his lips like venom, biting and melting your skin. 

   "Yes s-sir." You sniffle, searching his face for even an ounce of mercy. 

   He pulls his hand away a little too fast, only to crack the back of his hand across your face. Your head whips to the side, you can't catch your breath or focus, you barely feel his hands hook under your knees as he pushes your legs up and apart. 

   "You didn't fucking earn this." He says before lining himself up with your dripping cunt, he pushes in with a low groan. 

   His fingers gorge themselves on your legs, his eyes devour your quaking form. You're nothing but clay to him, soft and moldable, anything he wants you to be.

   "What do you say?" He asks, leaning against the backs of your thighs as he settles your legs over each shoulder. 

  "Tha-ank you." Your breath catches when he sinks all the way in, kissing your most sensitive spots with the tip of his thick length. 

   "Is that it, kitten? That the spot that gets you all fucked up?" His tone is mocking as he pulls his hips back. You nod frantically, desperate for him to fill you again. 

   And he does. 

   He fucks into you recklessly, he doesn't hold back in the slightest. He watches you cry and squirm and beg, and he fucking loves it. 

   Your body lights up, every inch of you catches fire as he breathes fire into your limbs. Every thrust in sends new shocks of pleasure to your very soul. All you can do is lay there and take it, especially with your arms bound and your legs so well contained by his body. 

   "You're so well behaved when you've got a cock inside you." He teases, turning his face so he can mouth at your calf. 

   "I wanna be good- wanna be good for you." You admit between sobs and moans, fisting at the sheets behind your back as he decimates your core. 

   Something in him snaps then, something depraved, something feral. He throws your legs off of his shoulders before grabbing you by the hips and flipping you onto your front suddenly. 

   You let him throw you around like the ragdoll you are, whimpering as you push yourself up onto your knees, keeping your back arched how he likes. 

   He growls as his hands slide up the backs of your thighs, his breath is hot on your pussy, taunting you with what could be. 

   "You're a good little whore when you want to be." He spits onto your clit with malice. 

   You turn your head so you can glance back at him, he runs his fingers up through the mess he's made between your legs. His eyes stay on yours as his middle finger plays at your clit, chuckling when you jump and whine. 

   "Beg me for it." He breathes, giving a confident nod down to his pretty dick. 

   "Please- I need it, I'll stay just like this, I'll take it, I promise I'll be so good just please let me have your cock." You blabber, only slightly worried it might be overkill, but your body is screaming for him. 

   His eyebrows raise and his lip twitches into an amused smirk. 

   "You sure look pretty when you're falling apart." He muses as he settles behind you, lining himself up with your hole once again. 

   "Please, please, please." The last plea is a broken, shredded cry. It rips from your throat with a sob as he finally sinks in again, ridding you of the emptiness you feel without him. 

   "You're a terrible little thing." He sighs, his nonchalant tone contrasting harshly with the urgent way he thrusts into you. 

   His pace is immediately merciless, the angle is brilliant, the sensation makes your skin run hot. Your toes curl and your wrists tug at the binds, your body desperate for the kind of freedom only Hitoshi can provide. 

   "Beg. Me. For. It." He barks out, cracking a palm down against your ass. 

   "I feel that cunt squeezin' me, don't you dare cum without asking. Learn a damn lesson for once." He sneers. 

   "P-please, Daddy please, lemme cum on your cock, lemme cum." You gasp out, trying with everything you have to hold off the electric euphoria creeping up your spine. 

   He grabs your wrists with one hand, and your hair with the other. He leans back slightly and lifts your torso up with him, suspending your upper body off of the bed as he hammers away at your weeping center. 

   "Do it, cum on that cock, cum on that fucking cock." His words become hurried and unsteady as he inches towards his own undoing. 

   And then it all shatters. The two of you cry and groan and grab as you fall apart, your sexes pulse and flutter in time, heat consumes you both and it's everything. 

   "That's my girl, that's a good girl." He praises as his hips stutter, slowing into an easy roll as he works you through your orgasms. 

   He lowers you down again as your walls continue to contract around his length as he fills you up beautifully, making you feel so impossibly complete. 

   His mouth is hot and sloppy as he kisses down your spine, making you shiver and arch into him. 

   "You did so good, you're so damn good for me." He smiles against your skin, reveling in the tightness of your cunt around him. 

   His hands work at the binds on your wrists, freeing them almost immediately. You sigh at the relief, letting them fall down as the rest of your body collapses. 

   "Easy, I gotcha." Hitoshi whispers, hands on your sides as he lays you down and slides out of you. 

   He's pulling you into his chest instantly, issing the top of your head as his hands rub soothing lines up and down your sweat soaked back. 

   "Baby, that was so perfect, you were so perfect." He says between soft kisses. 

   "I'm sorry I almost came without permission, it just felt so good." You say, hands clawing at his skin as you bury your face into his neck. 

   "Hey, listen to me." He says sternly, one hand coming up to hold you cheek and force you to make eye contact. 

   "You're not in trouble, I just needed you to listen, you listened so well afterwards." He reassures you. His eyes are soft now, honest and full of safety. 

   "I'd say you even deserve a back rub for being such a good girl." He says, a smile playing at his lips when you light up at the suggestion. 

   "Please?" You ask, voice sweet and eyes full of hope, it makes his heart melt. 

   "Anything, whatever you need." He promises, he gets you settled on the bed after he cleans you with a warm cloth. 

   He throws on a pair of basketball shorts before he straddles the backs of your thighs. You cross your aching arms under your head so you can watch him work. He looks so stunning, all milky skin and lavender hues as, it's absolutely mesmerizing. 

   "Thank you, Daddy." You sigh as he presses his lotion covered hands into your tight muscles. 

   He smoothes and rubs, working every bit of pain and tension out of you. 

   "Thank you, for being so damn good, kitten." 

   He takes his time with you, capable hands work with soft lips as he loves the aches out of your body. He brings you back down so sweetly, easing you into such a warm fuzzy headspace. Soon, your wrapped in his clothes, drifting into sleep as he whispers sweet nothings into your freshly washed hair. 

   Hitoshi is nothing short of heaven on earth, you're sure of that. He could be so rough, so demanding, but god he could be so soft, so caring. You love him for that, you always will.

[yinyeu]

CRYING WEEPING THROWING UP HEAVING SOBBING WAILING CLAWING AT THE WALLS IN AGONY

[goferwashere]

sobbing crying weeping throwing up shitting my pants gripping and clawing at the walls biting and screaming and

u dummy of course it’s me… who else would be awesome enough to use the explosion emoji… come on now… Mweheheh (NOW DRAW SOMETHING 👹)

-🧡💥

I GOT THIS ASK LIKE TWO DAYS AGO WHEN I WAS IMPERSONATING U i apologize 4 being late and also ..... i guesssss im srry 4 trying to steal ur identity too .. but HOW DARE U DEMAND ME TO DRAW SOMETHING !! did it anyway tho cuz whateva ... 🩷🩷

this is basically scribbles but u get what u get and u don't throw a fit ;; based off this silly calico critters meme i saw cuz it reminded me of how RB is like 3 feet tall and Gary almost looks shorter ? and my monito is taller but still within the 3 feet range so i thought this was sooo them core 🩷

og under cut !! love you & thank u for the silly ass ask ✝️🩷

hehez

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Nothing But A Scratch

Ivar x Princess reader

Word Count: 3155

Warnings: Tiny mention of violence, a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, Ivar may be out of character (Shrugs).

Summary: Ivar is wounded during battle.

My entry for @maggiescarborough’s 400 Followers Writing Challenge! Congratulations Sophie! 😊❤️For some reason, I always write more than 2k for your challenges 😂

I’m not exactly sure what to say about this. I struggled quite a bit writing it. I’m really hard on myself 😅Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Prompt: The character gets seriously hurt.

According to google translate (An unreliable source, I know), moron in Russian is Debil.

Thanks to @shannygoatgruff​ for beta reading

...

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself.

The enemy sword was swift, the blade slicing through his armor and deep into the flesh of his belly.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when blood began to pour from his wound and past his lips, the adrenaline pushing him forward.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when he swayed on his feet, his crutch no longer of use to him.

It was nothing but a scratch, he told himself, when his legs twisted, and his body collided with the muddy ground, completely vulnerable and surrounded by his enemies.

…

Ivar dreamed.

He dreamed of Kattegat in the days of his youth, back when he trailed behind his older brothers through the dirt with his hands, only to come to the painful realization that he would never be like them. He dreamed of his mother and her tears, his pride separating them despite how much she pleaded for him not to go.

He dreamed of the salty waters of the Northern Sea and the unforgiving winds that destroyed their ship, splintering it to pieces. He dreamed of Ràn dragging him into the depths of her dark abyss, collecting another prize for her realm of the drowned.

He dreamed of England’s sandy shores, of land ready for the taking, and of the weak-minded men who ruled over it. He dreamed of little Prince Alfred, now a King, holding out his hand to offer him friendship in the form of a chess piece.

He dreamed of Ragnar in the way he remembered best, tired, and decrepit in his final days, a hermit, and yet, in his eyes, he was still the greatest man who ever lived.

It is not your time yet, Ragnar told him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.

He dreamed of Kiev and its massive wooden gates, golden palace walls, and luxurious Byzantine silks. He dreamed of the ambitious Prince Oleg, and of sweet, sweet, Igor. He dreamed of emotionless puppets made to stand with perfect posture while he still struggled to keep up with his own.

He dreamed of the Rus princess with the mysterious umber eyes, always seeking him out in a room. He dreamed of her dark hair hidden under white and gold silks, and of the jewels that adorned her neck and wrists, as befitting a princess.

He dreamed of her smile, never fully reaching her eyes, and of the way her fingers stroked his cheek at night when the fires burned bright against the darkness when her maids kept close watch outside her door.

He dreamed of the smooth expanse of her skin, of her gasps of delight, and her moans of pleasure. He dreamed of her mouth on his, the urgency they both felt as she left crescent moon shapes over his shoulders, clinging on to the precious time that seemed to slip away.

He dreamed of the day he stole her away from her brother, away from the shelter of the Kievan court, and into the safety of his arms. She watched her brother die that day, by the hands of her own nephew, her dark eyes glossing over, but never daring to let the tears fall.

He dreamed of making her his wife, of her in a crown of wildflowers and the sun illuminating the different shades of her hair.

He dreamed of her smile, finally reaching her eyes.

He could hear her calling out to him, begging for him to come to her.

Ivar, please, she cried, Wake up.

He tried searching for her, arm outstretched and fingers reaching in futile attempts. It was impossible, his body fighting through what felt like tar. He sunk deeper into the darkness, away from her soothing voice, and into Ràn’s abyss where Ivar the Boneless was forgotten.

…

It had been a week before he had shown any signs of consciousness.

7 days of fever, chills, and silence that had him teetering between Midgard and Valhalla.

For 7 days his army laid low after their truce with the Saxon king. For all the attacks Wessex had endured from the Northmen, he valued peace over war, forgiveness over vengeance. A true Christian king.

Alfred was not ruthless.

For 7 days the heathen army waited impatiently, wondering whether the youngest son of Ragnar was to survive, or whether a funeral was to be organized. Some believed he would die. Of course, the wound he received at the hands of a Saxon warrior was a deadly one. A deep gash across his stomach had been opened to infection, causing the fever to take hold of him the first few nights. His legs, more shattered than ever, would make surviving seemingly impossible.

But still, they waited.

The former princess of Kiev waited by his side, as still as a statue of a saint. She kept watch over him at night when the rest of the army was asleep, feeling more lost than she ever did in her brother’s court. She prayed for his soul rigorously, cross clutched tightly in her hand, hard enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

7 days of uncertainty, of prayer and fasting, of fear and loneliness. 7 days of hope and hopelessness, surrounded by untrustworthy men.

But still, she waited.

…

It was the dead of night when Ivar broke from his delirium.

He wasn’t on the battlefield anymore. He couldn’t hear the screams of his fellow warriors, the clashing of sword against sword, nor could he smell the scent of iron spewing from the blood of both enemy and ally. It was just...darkness.

Perhaps he was in Valhalla, he thought, though if that were true, then the stories were wrong. It was rather underwhelming.

But no, he was not in Valhalla either, not by the scent at least. It smelled of dried herbs, and of that revolting root the Rus princess often drank as a tea. What was it again? Ginseng?—

And then he forced his eyes to open, lashes ripping apart after spending days glued together.

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he felt as if he were suffocating under the pile of furs thrown over him. His heart was beating erratically, nearly bursting from the confines of his chest as his body fought to stabilize itself.

He wheezed, his throat feeling dryer than the deserts of the Silk Road. His tongue darted out in an attempt to wet his cracked lips with little success.

Moving was an issue. He couldn’t. It hurt.

His attempt to sit up failed as a yelp ripped free from his lips, croaky and in pure agony. He fell back against the makeshift cot with a grunt.

The pain was excruciating, hot, and vicious in his lower abdomen, like a raven fighting to claw its way in. His legs, though always in a fragile state, felt worse than they had in the years since adopting the use of his braces and crutch.

He struggled to crane his neck, quick to map out his surroundings as best he could. He was in his own tent, that much was evident, as he always had it specifically set to his liking. His weapons were laid out in a corner, along with his ruined armor, crutch, and leg braces. The useless things landed him in a cot, fighting for survival.

“My love?” Her voice was enough to calm his wild heart, his neck snapping in the direction of her voice.

The princess’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from what he could only assume had been days of weeping. Beside her was a steaming cup of tea, producing that horrible smell of Ginseng that made him want to gag. When had she the time to steal the root before they left Novgorod?

Wrapped around her wrist was her gold beaded rosary, bright and shining in the candlelight. She held the cross tightly in her small fist, knuckles white from the pressure. He wondered how long she had sat by his side, praying, waiting for him to recover.

Her fingers dropped the cross, her soft hands reaching for him. Ivar could feel her hot tears drip over his bare chest as she leaned over him.

“Ivar—” She choked his name, sobs already taking hold of her body as she cupped his warm face, “You’re awake! Thank God!” More tears poured from her eyes as her mouth quivered. She lowered herself to her knees, grabbing his hand and placing kisses on the surface.

Ivar wanted to wrap her in his arms, to tell her he was fine, that the gods have not taken him yet, but his arms felt as fragile as his legs, weak from days of disuse. Instead, he brings his fingertips to her flushed cheeks, forcing her to look up at him.

“Hey,” He croaked out, using his thumb to catch another falling tear before running his fingers through her hair, “Stop crying, please, love.” His voice was not much more than a whisper. He sounded more like an old toad than a human, but it was enough to bring her weeping down to mere whimpering.

“It has been days, I thought perhaps…” She trailed off, sniffling before continuing, “I feared the worst.”

The princess was far more worried for his well-being than he ever was.

Ivar was quite content with the idea of falling in battle and ascending to Valhalla. She had not agreed with such sentiments.

It is not your time yet, his father had said to him, the world is at your feet. Be ruthless.

“It is not my time yet,” He repeated Ragnar’s words, his hand continuing gentle motions through her soft hair, “Valhalla will have to wait a little longer, hmm?”

“Valhalla,” She hiccups, shaking her head, not fully understanding the Viking fascination with death, “Not with the way you throw yourself in battle.” She mutters, wiping her eyes.

She stood, going to the far side of the tent to fetch a bucket with a wooden ladle. She brings a hefty scoop of water to his lips, holding his head up carefully to aid him.

He drank like a mad man, the water running past his chin and down his neck.

“Debil,” She chastised him lovingly in her native tongue, eyes still moist, “Idiot. Where were your warriors?”

“Fighting for themselves,” He gasps, the cold water soothing the dryness of his throat, “Or have you forgotten the ways of war?” He croaks, his lips curling into a smile.

“What would I know of war, my love?” She offers, setting the bucket and the ladle aside once he had his fill, “Or have you forgotten I was but a sheltered princess.” She tried to make a joke of it, but she only sounded miserable saying such words. She brings a hand to smooth down his wild hair, braids unraveling into a long-twisted mess.

“In war,” Ivar begins, eyes fluttering as her nails scratched at his scalp, “You either survive or die.”

“And I suppose you wanted to die then?” A bitter tone was followed by a bitter smile. He cleared his throat, his tired eyes watching how her expression shifted through so many emotions.

His reply was honest. “If that is what the gods intended for me, then so be it. It would have been an honor.”

“What honor is there in taking me from my home, and leaving me to live out my life away from my own family and amongst men I do not know?” She snapped, though the anger was short-lived, and she lowered her eyes.

She was intrigued by Ivar from the moment she had set eyes on him, like a moth to a flame. She was happy to have left with him, happy to have relinquished her title and to have left such a sour life behind. Ivar offered her freedom, adventure, and love, things she never understood the meaning of in Kiev, but she was a fool to believe he was invincible. She had seen him rally crowds to chant his name, had seen his strengths despite his weaknesses, and yet, he bleeds red as every other man does. War takes the lives of men, and Ivar was not immune to such a fate. He welcomed it.

“You are all I have in this world, Ivar.” She spoke gently, as she did when he dreamed of her. Her fingers shifted to trace over the dark lines inked upon his heated skin. The fever had barely broken, but at least he was conscious now. “Please, my love, all I ask is that you stay alive.” Her lips quivered, “I do not think my heart could bear to see you like this again.”

Ivar felt his heart sink.

He knew she wasn’t made to live in a war camp amongst warriors. She was born into a life of gold and silver, into luxury that so many others could only dream of, and yet, she chose to go with him, a fallen king with worthless legs and a heart as dark as coal. He once had the world at his feet. He would do it all again, for her. He had to.

“Do you regret it?” He finally asked though something within him feared her answer.

“Regret what?”

“Regret leaving Kiev with me?” He reiterated, observing her features for any hint of disappointment.

“No,” The response was immediate and without hesitation, “I have been happier with you than I have been all my years in that palace.” She sighs, her hair creating a barrier between them when she lowered her head, “Oleg was not a good man.” Her words were laced in sorrow. Her brother's death still weighed heavy on her heart.

“You deserve more than this,” He said, eyes closing for a moment before bringing them back to her. Her dark brows curved up in a worrisome expression he’d seen on her many times before. “You have given up so much for me, a lonely cripple,” He chuckles when she made noises of protest, “Only the gods know why.” She considers him in silence, noting how unreal the blue of his irises were.

“Ivar?” She questioned, setting her palm on his warm chest and over his heart, silently thankful it was finally beating at a normal pace.

“You’re a princess, my love. The battlefield is no place for you.” He places his hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze.

“All I ask of you is to stay alive.” She spoke softly, her lips curving into a smile, though it wasn’t enough to reach her eyes. “I will not ask you for anything else.” She feared being alone, and rightfully so. She’d been alone all her life in the Kievan court, as expressionless and empty as those Byzantine puppets Oleg was so fond of, donning smiles that never reached her eyes.

“My sweet girl,” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “Come, I wish to embrace you.” Planting both hands firmly on the sides of the cot, he forces himself into a seated position, groaning all the while, feeling the fire burn in the pit of his belly. He grunts, eyes screwed tight as he forced himself upright.

“Ivar!” She scolds, more worried than anything else, “Stop moving! You’ll fester your wound.” She peels off the furs to reveal the gauze wrapped tightly around his mind section, the once white cloth now stained red. “Christ. I must call the healer.”

“Don’t,” Ivar pants, tugging her wrist and quickly bringing her to his side, “Please. I wish for a few minutes to ourselves before I must face the world in this weak state. Grant me this one thing, hm?”

“But your wound—”

“What, this?” He jerks his chin down toward his abdomen with a tired smile, “It is nothing but a scratch.”

“Ivar.” She warned him.

“Princess.” The amusement was clear in his tone, artfully masking his pain. He gripped her waist, tugging her forward and into his arms with a grunt. She smelled of the English forest and of summer blossoms. “I will never leave you.” He mutters the promise into her waist, still ignoring the pain, “I will give you everything you deserve, my love.”

“What of your army?” She questions quietly, fingers dancing over his bicep, “And the Saxon king? Your brother tells me he seeks peace.” Ivar scoffs.

“And he shall get it...for now.” He concludes with an angry twitch of his brow.

“What do you intend to do?” She laid her cheek over the messy strands of his chestnut brown hair.

“Recover, and take you away from this miserable land I should have never brought you to in the first place.”

“Oh, Ivar,” He felt her plant a kiss upon his hair, “I belong wherever you are.” He grunts, gripping her tightly as if she would slip right through his fingers like sand.

“Marry me.” He mutters into her soft linen dress, suddenly feeling as shy as he did when he was a boy.

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.” He said, louder this time, needier, a plea falling from his lips as he tightened his hold on her. He shifts his head to look at her, imagining her with a crown of wildflowers nestled in her soft tresses. Her eyes grew round at his statement, lips parted as if to speak.

“Truly?” She asks, “Or has the fever gone to your head?” Ivar rolled his eyes fondly.

“Why would I bother asking you if I did not mean it, hmm?” His chin lightly grazed her abdomen as he peeked up at her through his lashes. “I will make you a queen, lay the world at your feet if you allow me.”

How many tears could this woman produce? He thought though he was more than satisfied knowing they were tears of joy when she erupted in giggles.

“I accept,” She wiped her eyes before arching down to place a kiss on his lips, “But, under one condition.”

“Oh?” Ivar pulls away from her, brows raised, “Go on, what is it?”

“You must drink the ginseng tea,” She offers, taking the lukewarm tea and offering it to him, “The healers would prescribe it to Oleg whenever he came back wounded from battle. It will revive your strength and clear your body of infection.” Ivar eyes the cup wearily, nose flaring at the abhorrent smell. He didn’t like it.

“It smells horrid.” He complained.

“You fight battles against fearsome enemies, and yet, are too afraid to drink an herbal tonic?” She scoffs. Ivar narrows his eyes, considers her words before muttering under his breath.

“...Very well.” He takes the cup from her, face pinched after taking a sip, “Are you satisfied now? Will you marry me?” She nods fervently, her hands laced together in her joy. A blinding smile settled on her lips like never before.

It finally reached her eyes.

...

@heavenly1927​ @didiintheblog​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux​ @shannygoatgruff​ @inforapound​ @walkxthexmoon​ @hecohansen31​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @peachyboneless​ @fuchsiagrasshopper​ @pomegranates-and-blood​

[beskarberry]

The Roar of Thunder

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 12, Book Two Finale

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

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

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

<- Previous

Rating: Extra Explicit

Word count: 24.2k SORRY

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

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

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

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

Or maybe something dead.

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

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

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

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

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

Grogu was just going to have to get over it.

But...what if he never does?

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

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

They were my favorite, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Starsong.

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

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

How does the song end?

Mmm? Why, do you need a lullaby too?

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

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

When you leave.

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

He had to hear you.

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

When you leave.

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

A lie.

A dirty, filthy, soul crushing lie.

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

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

“Bubu?”

“Yes?”

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

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

It was meant for you.

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

For everything.

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

It was your bed roll.

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

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

But you weren’t there.

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

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

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

Bantha wool.

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

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

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

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

That’s not who I am any more.

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

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

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

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

He was in love.

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

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

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

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

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

Except-

Himself.

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

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

Though...maybe…

Maybe he shouldn’t be.

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

Maybe he should take Grogu home.

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

What is it?

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

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

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

Or, so he had told himself.

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

No.

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

And now he was being punished for it.

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

And then.

Then it would be over.

There would be nothing left for him.

As if there was anything left for him now.

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An entire lifetime sitting in the palms of your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

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

“Yes… father.”

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

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

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

~

Of course it had to be Tatooine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pa..tu...”

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

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

Oathbreaker.

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

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

Stormtroopers that you had killed.

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

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

This will be easy.

~

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

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

Five sixteen.

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

D̵̫͊o̷n̸’t̷ lea̸̒ve̷.

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

Who needs sleep, anyway?

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

D̷͊o̶n̵͗’̴̕t̷͛ ̵͔͘ḻ̷̛eav̵e!

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

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

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

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

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

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve! ̵͒S̷tay̴ ̸̔st̷͐ay ̴s̷t̵̂a̷y̵̾ s̷͂ta̵̍y

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

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

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

N̵͒ò̶, n̴o̸t̶ ̴̓hi̵m, Din.

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

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming!

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

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

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

The panel went red. ENTRY DENIED.

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

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

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

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

In a week.

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it hit him.

You.

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

Mando, you never ate your breakfast.

You… got me breakfast?

Yes? I said I would.

Thank you… you’re very kind.

And don’t you forget it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beans, say bye-bye to papa.”

~

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

Today was your chance to escape.

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

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

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

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

Yo̷u̵ ca̴n̷̎not le̸̪̕a̵ve.

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

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

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

He n̵ee̵d̶s y̵ó̴̧u̶.

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

H̴e’̴̓s ̴̉c̶̍oming.

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

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

“I said show yourself!”

Out went the lights.

And in came the ghosts.

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

There. Were. Billions.

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

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

Some of them you recognized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They looked hauntingly familiar.

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

“You are Hope Incarnate.”

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

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

I have got to get off of this ship.

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

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

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

“Is that… Is that Tatooine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir, they’ve located the target.”

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

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

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

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

Then, out stepped a man.

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

And do… what, exactly?

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

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

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

Yours.

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

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

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

“Demagolka!”

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

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

-flicker flick-

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

“Again.”

-czzt cRaCK cRAcK CRACK!!-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it felt good.

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

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

“I

AM

TR̸̻̰̮̘͘A̷͎̜͔̭͋̽’̸̯͙͖͍̟̾̿̆͐̐͠͝LḀ̵̞̈́́̂̕͝ͅA̶̧̧̠̪͝A̶͎̝̠͖̿̀̇̅̈͜Ă̵͙͎̰̪̿͘A̸̼̥̰̙̱̭̗͆Ȧ̸͙͕̺̫̂̚R̴̨̻̉̊̒́R̷̡̛͕̮̋͊̉͝R̸̫̗̹̻̈̋̃!̴̼͖͕̯̟̖͐̐̽!̴͚͐́͛̂!̵̘̺̮̔͌͊̌̀̓͜ͅ!̶̟̱̹͙͎̀”̵͇̖͙̌̈͠͝

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your son.

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

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

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

The klaxon blaring overhead.

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

“The hell do you mean ‘popper’?

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

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

“Yeah, no shit.”

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

“You kept that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck’em!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Haha, gross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I still lo-”

*kaBOOM!!!*

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

No answer.

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Din?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…”

“Your youngling…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Con... con-con-con… c-con..tra-”

“Din?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what?!”

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

“Try to shoot me.”

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

“A threat to who? To you?”

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

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

“That doesn’t make it right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If it didn’t, would I be asking?”

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

“Yes..?”

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

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

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

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

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

“You... want me to cut them off?”

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

“Like… like a foundling?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re in no shape to move.”

“Please?”

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

“We’re checking out.”

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed him.

And he needed you.

Right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Breed me?”

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A Thunderfury!”

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

An aurodium insignia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

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

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

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

<-Previous

TAGLIST

@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kaermorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia @simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackd0gdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @jasmincita @sunnnygiiirl123 @beskarboobs @doin-stuff @marvelranger

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 5 - FINAL]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: you have... NO IDEA how long i have been sitting on this one. Just... wow okay. And this is just the beginning, wait till you see the cabin scene 👀 Edit: tell me why I had the main chorus of Timber Feat. Ke$ha in my head on infinite loop while writing the fight scene 🤦‍♀️ LMAO

⚠️: asphyxiation [aka suffocation], several mentions of blood, and graphic (?) depictions of violence throughout. Also, long chapter

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"MAX! LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

Everyone watched stilled, with pounding hearts as Billy's billowing cries echoed out across the weight room. No one more so than Max. He had barely taken his eyes off of her and his voice fell into a weakened plea.

"Let me out,"

And then it was gone. Replaced with a malice-filled hiss that was beginning to feel a little too familiar for their liking. One by one his eyes flicker between the party members with a twitch in his eye as he began to shift, eyes darting past their shoulders and sweeping the room before his next glare.

"You kids," he pants, each breath like swallowing smoke. "you think..." he was swallowing embers. "this is funny?"

Mike and Lucas share a nervous glance.

Another heaving breath, the flames now licking his lungs.

"You kids think this is some kind of sick prank, huh?" With a snarl, he rears his head back and spits on the glass. "YOU LITTLE SHITS THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!"

Anxiously, Max eyes Will from where he stands beside El and he meets her gaze. The two seem to share the same thought. It was working.

But the sauna's prisoner had caught on, and as the fire was rekindled in his veins, he shifted nervously again; eyes darting once more around the room before landing on the two.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" They all flinch when he throws himself against the window in a fury. He was growing more frantic. And he wasn't stopping. "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!" He pressed his nose against the glass, showcasing his darkening eyes. "OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!"

The fire was now ablaze, the blood in his veins felt as if it was actually boiling, cooking him from the inside out and he finally collapsed on the sauna floor with a groan. Will took that as his cue and raced to the thermometer on the wall where the needle rested at the end.

"We're at two-twenty,"

When he returned to El's side, a great wail reverberates from within the sauna followed by a great many thumps.

"It's not my fault," he weeps, catching them all by surprise. "It's not my fault, it's not my fault, Max. I promise it's not my fault."

With a pounding and aching heart, Max crept towards the sauna door. Many eyes darted after her, fearfully, dealing between her and the only barrier protecting her from what lay inside.

"What's not your fault, Billy?" She asks.

When she peers behind the foggy glass, her heart threatens to split in two; he sits before her on the tile floor, beads of sweat blending with his tears and his hands glued together in plea as he looks up at her.

"I've done things, Max," he sobs, his voice threatening to break. "Really b... bad things and I didn't mean to."

As Billy peers up at his sister now, he can feel himself slipping again. He tries so hard to hold onto that sliver of himself, drifting away into the dark. His hands wring together as he pleads, his nails raking into his skin to stop himself - to stop Him - from winning.

His sanity was slipping and everything in him was screaming for him to do violent, inhumane things to the girl before him but he fought it. Billy knew he didn't have much time, and it was getting harder to think. And Billy spat the words from his tongue before he considers the repercussions from the shadow.

"He made me do it,"

Max was certain she knew the answer now. She knew it even as she stood in the living room facing her brother just twenty-four hours ago. But she had let herself believe the tempting lie over the bitter truth that the Shadow Monster had not gotten Billy. But she knew she had to. And so she asked.

"Who made you do it?"

Fear flashed in his eyes as he wept. He looked as something was trying to stop him, and Max knew very well something was, but he managed the words anyway; unknown to all, his final warning. The words that confirmed all their darkest fears and chilled their bones.

"I don't know, it was like a shadow. A giant shadow,"

Y/n's heart leaps into her throat, and her brows knit together in a curious frown when she sees El and Will meet eyes in matching grave expressions. They share a knowing look and nod, and silently they form a wall, herding Y/n behind them. It was likely they had made a prior agreement, she realizes, but her worries still remained on her other best friend inches from the glass.

"Please, Max," Billy weeps.

"What did he make you do?" Max asks through a wavering voice.

"It's not my fault," He cries suddenly, sinking into the sauna bench. "okay, Max?! Please! Please!"

At the sound of his broken cries, Max's eyes squeeze shut, and hot tears slide down her cheeks as she faces the small window. Her heart is torn, but she tries to remain strong.

"Please, believe me, Max! I tried to stop him, okay? I did."

He's trying even now, but the darkness is closing in. Her tearful face is blurring from his vision and he's losing the grip on his body without realizing it. He can already feel the shadow breaking free from his hold when his arm creeps across the tile floor without his permission.

"Please, believe me, Max. Please believe me,"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she reaches out to Billy; her hand on the glass and speaks through her breaking voice.

"Billy, it's gonna be okay,"

The darkness was spreading to his vision, closing in on his sister and he knew he had only moments. They had only moments. There was no telling when the shadow would let him resurface. As Billy disappeared, he spoke what little warning he could before the shadow stole his voice.

"Max please..." -get away, his mind screams. But the words didn't come. Go away. Get out while you can.

She hadn't heard him. It was too late. The hand that lied hidden beneath the sauna bench, had already found a weapon.

"It's gonna be okay, we want to help you," Max swears through stinging tears.

His fingers curl around the broken and jagged tile.

"We want to help you. You just have to talk to us, okay? You have to talk us."

All too well indeed. He felt it even now.

Will's eyes had never left the sauna door, drilling holes through the glass even when the man had collapsed to the ground. Billy's haunted cries had reached Will in a way it never could the others. He knew the feeling all too well.

An unnatural chill zapped the air despite the muggy atmosphere and his whole body seized up. His hair stood on end and the skin over his body tightened, goosebumps breaking out out all over his skin.

He's activated.

-"What?"

-"What?"

Will has little time to look at Mike and Y/n and realize he had uttered the words aloud before looking back to Max.

"Max, get away from the door," he cautions.

Taken by surprise at his sudden request, Max hesitates. "What?"

"GET AWAY FROM FROM THE DOOR! NOW!"

Max had barely heeded Will's warning when the glass burst inches from her face as Billy hurled his arm through the window. El jumped back, sweeping both her arms in an effort to protect her friends. And with miraculous timing, Max had dove to the left just in time to escape the confetti of glass shards but her arm had not been so lucky.

While he had dropped his tile shard his hand had caught her bandaged forearm in his iron grasp and yanked. She yelped in pain, using the traction of her shoes against the linoleum to keep herself away.

"LET ME OUT, YOU BITCH!" He howls, tugging her arm as she attempts to pry and claw her way free. "I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU!"

"NO!" Came the sudden angered cry of Y/n Henderson as she forcibly broke free from the wall El and Will had created. She pushed their shoulders aside and sprinted forward, throwing her hand out before her. "LET HER GO!"

A powerful blasts burst forth from her palm and Billy cried out, yanking his hand back. He withered for only a moment, a loud hissing breath sucked in from between his clenched teeth as he visibly shook in anger. His hair was still dripping and it hung like a dark curtain over his eyes, but she could see it - they all could. The whites of his eyes were harder and harder to see as he looked upon his festering arm.

Max had scrambled away from the wall, back into the safety of El and Y/n's protection but Y/n didn't flinch.

He was pissed, but so was she.

In an instant, he throws his head up to look at her, his drenched curls landing on top of his head and draping over his seething face. His darkened eyes locked on her, his gritted teeth clenched so hard his entire body shook with fury. His expression finally matched his eyes from the previous night and confirmed to Y/n it had been the Mind Flayer to have spoken to her at Heather's. Never Billy.

What followed next, had unfolded all at once.

His screams return and he bangs his fist against the door once before yanking out the lead pipe and chucking it at Y/n.

She ducks just in time, and El swipes it out of the way, sending it flying into the wall with the flick of her head before it could hurt any of the others. And Lucas releases the pull on his wrist rocket he had trained on the man since he scrambled to load it when the glass first broke.

With an audible snap, the ammo was released and sent flying into its target; crashing into Billy's forehead.

A second time he was sent tumbling to the sauna floor, disappearing from their view with an even louder thump.

"Y/n, come on!" Lucas cried.

She wasted no time, scurrying back to the safety of her friends who engulfed her into their surrounding figures. Their heads all snap towards the ceilings when the hum of the lights grow stronger and everything begins to flicker.

Billy's insides churn with a disgruntled choke, his mouth spitting out fluids as he comes to. With a groan, his body spits and writhes on the floor. The icy storm in his veins spreading. And festering.

Joined shoulder to shoulder, the huddled party backed up in one circle. Each of them faced away from one another, looking around worriedly as the rows of florescent lights flicker violently above them. They all close in on Y/n in a protective stance.

Billy's body twisted and thrashed on the tile floor as he attempted to heave himself up to his feet. The grip of the Mind Flayer had broken free from the barriers of his mind and was coursing all throughout his body, the dark mass staining the very blood in his veins and poisoning his system. Dark lesions broke out all over his back and arms, and black veins rippled out under his skin, all across his body as he clutched the wall. Throwing back his head, Billy released an inhuman, agonized wail before charging for the door.

A second time they all jumped, and a second time El's arms swept out to protect her friends - finally including her Max. Their horror-stricken eyes were fixed on the door as Will inched closer to Y/n, and Max spoke through a fearful waver.

"He can't get out, can he?" She frets as he barrels into the door a second time, the chains testing the pipe anchored to the wall.

Fear gripped his heart and Lucas shook his head, voice filled with doubt in his own words. "No way. No. Way,"

"Y/n, get back," El orders in a flat voice, her tilted head unblinking on the door. "Go with Will."

Y/n gawked over El's shoulder, frantically looking between the door, her best friend, and a pleading Will who grabbed for her hand.

"What? No! No, bullshit! We agreed!"

"Y/n, come on," Will urged, tugging a little harder on her hand.

It grew hot under his touch and she ripped it from his grasp. "No. I need to do this," Y/n cried, her head whipping back and forth between her boyfriend and the fraying thread that was the bowing sauna pipe; the last defense holding back the Mind Flayer's newest host.

The door stopped moving and one split, heart-stopping moment a thunderous cry barreled out deep from within Billy's chest.

The door was thrown open, the pipe bursting from the wall and expelling puffs of steam as Billy tumbled through the open door. The Party jumped back in shrieks, El on the front lines pushing everyone behind her, even still.

With a lumbering breath, the fluorescents still flickering madly above them, Billy rose to his feet to meet eye to eye with the wrong girl. With a fear-inducing glare and an overpowering sense of protectiveness, El had forcibly barricaded herself in between the Mind Flayer and her best friend.

He curled back his teeth, a growl growing in the back of his throat. He was ready to wring her neck but she simply rose a single hand in the air, and the nearest barbell rose with it. In the blink of an eye, Billy was pinned against the brick wall by his neck, gasping for breath.

Everyone watched on in a mixture of shock and awe as El threw another arm up, and the weights sunk deeper into the brick, crumbling them near his head. She was panting for breath, nose dripping with blood but she was determined.

And she wasn't the only one.

"Y/n-!"

But she ignored the Party's cries, as well as the pleas in her gut screaming for her to turn tail and run. But she couldn't stand by and do nothing as El faced it all alone - nor could she sit still when she saw the very monster she had faced the prior year, wearing the very face that plagued her dreams in her last sleep. Y/n Henderson didn't walk away. She couldn't.

Y/n stormed to El's side, throwing her arms up in sync with two large and billowing waves of heat that filled the entire room. Billy howled as the heat consumed him completely, the black veins festering underneath his skin. Across the sauna, Mike and Will watch on in a mixture of awe and worry as El and Y/n stand side by side, their arms extended as they fight with great strain and their guttural cries begin to blend.

Tears pricked Will's eyes as he watched the scene unfold, frightened not only for Y/n's life but El's. He truly feared what the Mind Flayer might be capable of in someone like Billy Hargrove. And already he had every right to be.

What came next stole the breath right out of his chest.

With a husky grunt and a terrifying spur of adrenaline, Billy heaved and broke El's telepathic hold, sending the barbell flying for their heads. With matching screams, they throw themselves to the floor, avoiding the otherwise inevitable blunt force trauma by a hair's width. He stormed to their bodies piled together on the floor. Learning his lesson and counting every precious second, Billy grabs a fist full of El's hair and drags her to her feet and off of Y/n's body. She yelps out in pain, clawing to get free but he had already thrown her into the wall she had just pinned him to. Her head collided with the brick and she sunk to the floor, fighting to keep her eyes open and vision clear but she was losing her battle.

Mike and the others cried out to her, unable to reach her but her blurring vision was fixed on the sight of Billy closing in on Y/n's body. She threw her arms up with a vengeful grunt, her skin beginning to glow. The ground begins to shake and all their hopes rise with Y/n as pulls herself onto one wobbly knee. The spidery veins adorned her eyes, lips, and ears, heat pulsing from her palms as her light began to illuminate the weight room.

And like a candle's flame, it was extinguished under Billy's hand.

Her grunts died in her throat when his hand encircled her throat, cutting off all her air. What strength he possessed as Billy Hargrove had doubled with the Mind Flayer and lifted the young girl above his head with ease.

Y/n tried crying for help but her voice was lodged in her throat with the rest of her breath, leaving her no choice but to claw at Billy's arms as she fought for air and freedom. Her legs were finally listening to her brain's signals, kicking and squirming as she tried to reach him or even the ground but they never did, no matter how close she got. Just as she had foreseen.

"Y/N!" The others cried.

She gasped and choked for breath, any whisp of air she could possibly manage between his fingers as she tried to conjure a fight, but she was losing concentration. She was losing air.

All she saw beside the white spots swallowing her vision were the seething eyes of the Mind Flayer peering up at her. And as he watched the life drain from her eyes, he hissed to the one he had been waiting in agony for all these months his final greeting.

"You."

Y/n could barely hear him over the cries of her frantic friends, nor could she barely register the repetitive snap of Lucas's wrist rocket as he sent rocks flying into Billy. But this time, Billy resisted. Out of spite, or with the aid of the Mind Flayer's mutation, none of them knew but with El out cold on the floor and unreachable without crossing through Billy, little options were left.

And Lucas was already running low.

Y/n's hands latched onto Billy's wrist, at first, seemingly trying to pry herself away as she sucked in as much air as she could capture. And as her bulging eyes began to flutter, she manages to speak through choking, gasping breaths.

"Fuck... you."

Latched hands had locked on and began to glow and Billy's eyes fell to her grip. The skin beneath her palms began to sizzle and a agonized cry grew deep within Billy at her searing touch. And yet still he held, but the same could not be said for Y/n. Like El, she was fighting to remain conscious.

And Lucas had run out of ammo.

Lucas and Will seemed to share the same thought as everything had unfolded within an instant. And with an angered cry, Will charged forward just as Lucas chucked his metal wrist rocket at Billy's head.

His grip still iron clad over Y/n's throat, Billy's head whipped to the party as fast as his other hand stopped in front of his face, catching the wrist rocket mid-air. And just in time for Will to reach him. Billy reared his arm back and smacked the butt end of the wrist rocket into the boy's head, knocking him to the ground without ever blinking.

"Will!"

Those that remained stood back, watching terror-stricken as Y/n begins to grow limp, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Tears prick Mike's eyes as the sights surrounding him become too much; one of his best friends dying before his eyes, and the two people he had probably loved most in the world, fading on the floor. And he snaps into action.

He looks around wildly, thanking whatever force was out there that the burst pipe from the sauna was near his feet. He picked it up in an instant, charging forward with a sudden surge of adrenaline, and crashed it into Billy's skull.

Y/n dropped to the floor, gasping for breath as she rolled away from Billy's fallen body. Mike towered over the man as Y/n came to, a vengeful look in his eyes as he swung the pipe back above his head.

"GO TO HELL YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

With all the force he could possibly muster, Mike threw the pipe down at Billy's back but it had stopped inches from his face. In the blink of an eye, Billy had turned, catching it in his single fist with as much ease as the wrist rocket.

Mike gasped in horror as Billy seethes up at him, much too frightened to even flicker to the sight of Y/n wobbling up onto her hands and knees and risk giving her away. She was coughing on every wheezing breath, her lungs and throat burning but she still felt a spark big enough to hold onto.

Will had just started to come to, the sideways vision of the weight room floor showing to him two things: Billy chucking the pipe against the wall with an earsplitting clang and Y/n's heaving chest swallowing desperate, gulping breaths, the blood steadily draining from her face.

He tried to move to her, but his limbs were heavy. All he managed to do was hoist himself up onto his arms as tears fell from his eyes, slowly pulling himself along as the world began to steady. But he never reaches her in time. Billy had begun to rise, and yet the beginnings of a smug smile curled Will's lips as his eyes trailed her across the room.

Anger battled impatience within the Mind Flayer at the unrelenting children, but killing this one - the Wheeler boy - would be easy. At least, it would have been had it not been for the young girl emerging with the two hot blasts of searing heat raining down upon his exposed chest as Y/n unleashed her fury upon him.

A primal scream grew from deep within her belly, ripping up her throat as she circled back around to face him, arms outstretched before her in two taut claws. What little space he had created from himself and the weight room floor had vanished as the blasts intensified with her screams.

The fluorescent lights about their heads were flashing violently now, enunciating the matching veins each opponent bore. The buzzing of the lights was nearly as loud as the rumble of the shaking room and the cracking of the tile that sounded eerily like thunder. The two blurring bursts of energy were pouring from her palms and pinning Billy into the tile so hard the tile floor cracked beneath him.

His screams blended with hers, the light pouring from her skin illuminating his agonized face and she pushed harder. her arms dug closer to his chest and the deep and inhuman voice returned; the voice of the Mind Flayer cried out in pain.

Y/n felt the sudden force of Billy's untouched leg sweep under her own, knocking her off her feet. The Mind Flayer coughed and hacked once more, and threw himself over her as she lied on her back. His hands were around her throat again, yanking her up before slamming her back into the ground.

With the strobing, flickering lights disorienting their already obscured vision the others could barely make out Billy hunched over something on the floor. His haunched, vein painted back nearly in ribbons as blood drizzled down his back like rain on a window. It didn't take them long to put together the pieces, Y/n's name on their weeping tongues as Billy repeatedly threw her back into the tile until she steadily lost consciousness. Finally, after one last gust of power, he thrust her into the tile and releasing her throat. But only to raise one darkening, blistering fist into the air, ready to strike...

Horrified screams tore from their throats, each of them prepared to tackle Billy. Will had finally stumbled to his feet for the first time without falling, ready to do just that but something had stopped him.

Billy froze, growing horrified as he himself began to choke.

A body hidden away in the shadows that had finally fought her way back into consciousness for the sake of her loved ones

There she was in all her glory.

El, rising to her wobbling knees; the sound of Y/n's broken cries and gasping pleas for help that broke through her subconscious mind had been the final push of adrenaline she needed.

Like Y/n, El's grew from deep within as she pulled herself to her feet, arms outstretched. Steadily, Billy's body was pulled off of Y/n's until even his toes had left the ground. He was pulled far away from the young girl's body as El circled him, once again placing herself in between the Mind Flayer and the girl she couldn't lose.

Will took the advantage El had bought for them and closed the remaining gap, collapsing at Y/n's side. He breathed a sigh at unimaginable relief when he saw her chest moving with labored breaths. She was alive. Hoisting Y/n's bloodied head into his folded legs, he returned his worried sights to El just in time to see her give a great roar, hurling her clawed hands to the side and watching as Billy was thrown through the brick wall in an explosion of dust.

El's knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground in exhaustion beside Y/n's limp body. Mike rushed to her side, steadying her arms and looking on with pooling eyes at his waking friend.

Y/n lays in Will's arms on the grounds of the cracked and broken sauna floor, her bloodshot eyes popping out of her skull as she coughs and chokes on what air she hopes to regain. Strenuous marks circle her throat from where she was previously held captive, and specks of blood drip from the back of her skull onto Will's leg. The others begin to crowd around in worry and fear as they jump in to help.

Will cradles her head softly, brushing away the stray hairs from her face as he weeps, desperately wanting to ease her pain though he does not know how. He's doomed to watch her lay suffering, her wails of anguish are strained and hoarse from the Mind Flayer's grip. A similar, deathly grip squeezed the hearts of the rest as they watched her suffer.

With flooded eyes, Will leans down and plants a shaky kiss on her forehead before resting his own against it. Her left hand comes to wrap around his wrist as it still holds her head in place. He breaks away to examine her once more, the puffiness of her swollen cheeks had already subsided a great deal but it was clear she was still in pain. Trembling, she looks out to each of them, her eyes watery and thankful. Reaching out her other hand, it finds El's, and they both let out a sob knowing the other was okay. Each sniffle tore right through his heart, and as if asking for help he looks up at his friends hoping for answers.

But they all stare at her, glassy-eyed and frozen, and that's when it dawns on them; Billy. Each of them, Will included, look frantically to the broken brick wall through which he was thrown. Everyone apart from the young couple on the ground rushed to see the young man, singed and bleeding making his escape into the trees far across the field and into the squalling storm.

Will's gaze is torn back to his lap when he feels Y/n begin to rise. Eagerly, and without hesitation, he helps Y/n to sit up. Tracks of thick tears stream down her face, cleaning her bloodied and dirtied cheeks in their path. His hand finds a home on her back, reflexively trying to run soothing circles into her muscles but she immediately whimpers, flinching. Her back had taken most of the damage, which he realized was preferable to her skull. But still, a plethora of apologies spilled from his lips, his eyes are filled with nothing but worry and heartbreak.

Y/n takes a moment to steady herself, the blood rushing to her head combined with the powerful forces inside her still hard at work as they desperately try to repair the gash in her head. She tries to smile, silently telling him it was okay, but it hardly showed. But Will still knew.

As she attempts to stand - one arm hooked around his shoulder, the other over Lucas's - the energy drains from her quicker than anything she had felt in a long while and when she blinks she realises she is resting her head on Will's shoulder.

Her sobs are weak and drawn out in her taxed state, yet they still demand to be heard even buried in Will's chest. The pain of seeing her this way makes him feel as if he has been torn in two, and yet worse, he knows it's dwarfed in comparison to whatever she is enduring. All he can do is hold her close, and hold her gently, assuring her safety.

Will wishes more than anything to take her pain away, and how cruel of fate to deprive him of this.

With the aid of Will and Lucas, Y/n hobbled to the gaping hole in the brick where Billy had disappeared. Her shoulders rose and fell as she attempted even know to even her breathing, her haunted glare stretching out across the dark and stormy night where the Mind Flayer had made his second escape.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"The girl, was it her?"

Heather's voice cuts through the silence is Brimborne as she sat opposite Billy.

"Yes," he answers with a hiss, eyes darting to the handprints seared into his skin. "Yes it was her, and she knows now. She knows about me. They both do."

Heather's hand and the cool wet handkerchief it holds reaches for his blistered wrists but finds her own entrapped in an instant but neither of them blink.

"She could have killed me." He asserted.

"Yes," she says. "But not us."

She looks out onto the darkened sea of the warehouse, where the very rot of the Mind Flayer had seeded and spread and multiplied. And the numbers were still climbing. Waiting, out in the shadows for their noble sacrifice to the monster of flesh bone known as the Mind Flayer.

Or more specifically, the Mind Flayer's army.

"Not us."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Face the Darkness

Prompt 2 for @greenfiredragonfly's Angstember prompts-- "Go. But I'm not Leaving." This time I've gone for some War in Heaven angst! Technically a slight AU as you'll see in the end, but I'm assuming most of the rest works out as in canon.

--

The Fortress trembled as the ground shifted once more, cracks splitting the desiccated plain in an ever more complex spider web. Solid stone walls vibrated, pouring streams of crushed stone from every corner of the ceiling. The air was thick with dust. Already the loyal forces of Heaven had withdrawn to the distant hills to watch, silent and impassive.

The War had ended. The Fortress of Lucifer had begun its Fall.

The first of the four watchtowers collapsed, shattering across blasted plain. From the wreckage crawled the rebellious angels, bodies already twisting into more animalistic shapes: talons and fangs, scales and gills, rotten flesh and oozing sores.

Outside the walls patrolled guards in solid plate armor wielding swords and spears and whips; in an instant, they descended on the few who had escaped, driving them back towards the gates, towards their fate. More beings inside fought and screamed, clawing at the guards only to be pushed back again and again. Voices raised, accusations shouted at soldiers, at leaders, at God Herself.

The guards were not of the heavenly legions. When Lucifer’s last army was routed, he had declared that all of his rebels would share in his punishment. Those who kept the frightened masses in check had been promised prominent positions as the Lords of their new domain, while the would-be deserters risked punishments more gruesome than anything the enemy had done.

Still, they tried.

Some few managed to pass the final ring of guards, to strike out across the plain that moved and reformed under their feet, cracks and crevices opening wide, whole sections of land suddenly dissolving, raining down into the realm of darkness.

They fled, running across uncertain ground, leaping treacherous drops, praying for forgiveness with every breath, holding out their arms to the loyal armies, beseeching their friends to intercede, to stay the Hand of Judgment.

Those who reached the hills and were welcomed into the protection of Heaven found themselves restored, their flesh returned to normal, bodies untwisted, souls pardoned.

The rest… well, they reached their final destination a little sooner than the rest.

One angel stood alone on a watchtower, eyes scanning the chaos below through a shifting curtain of bright red hair.

The scuff of a footstep, barely audible above the screams. The angel turned slightly—a single glance back—just enough for a glimpse of familiar white feathers.

“Shouldn’t be here,” the angel said, turning back to the destruction.

“Neither should you.”

“This again?” A twist of lips, too bitter to be called a smile. “You’ve already told me what you think. Eons and eons ago.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind.”

The angel clutched at the stone parapet, or tried to; it fell apart, sending another rain of dust towards the frightened crowd below. “And, what, you’re here to offer me salvation? Take my confession and determine if I’m worthy? Enact vengeance for all those I’ve destroyed?”

“My dear friend. I’m here to save you.”

Briefly, there were tears in the angel’s eyes; but already those eyes were changing, restructuring into a new shape. “Don’t deserve it.”

“I say you do.” A soft hand landed on the angel’s shoulder, offering a squeeze of comfort. “There is no wickedness in you. No cruelty. Even at the height of the War’s atrocities, you never lost your kindness. You are only here because you were manipulated by Lucifer, caught in his lies. That is no judgment on you. He could just as easily have swayed me, or Gabriel, or anyone else.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?” With a rumble louder than any thunder, the ground below fractured once more. The fortress rose and fell, another tower crumbling to a chorus of screams. “Come, we don’t have time.”

“What must I do?” The first angel didn’t move, but the second breathed a sigh of relief at the question.

“Cross the plain, no more than that. If you reach the other side, if someone is willing to intercede on your behalf, you will be forgiven.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, my dear, oh, it’s so simple. I will be beside you every step of the way, to guide you, to keep you safe. You can’t possibly fail.”

The angel nodded, still looking down into the broken courtyard. “Tell me this: why me? You could save anyone. Why me?”

A brief, shocked silence. “That’s—why would I…? Because I love you.”

“And what about them?” Down below the future Lords of Darkness moved through the crowds, grabbing weeping angels by the jaw or the neck, inspecting them, claiming their favorites. Torments would begin soon, pains that would become familiar to them all. “They were tricked by Lucifer, the same as me.” One pale, scruffy creature grabbed a trembling, crying being by the hair, dragging them towards a dark door. “Do they deserve this fate because they don’t have the love of a Guardian?”

Flinching, the pale figure pulled back towards the shadows. “That isn’t fair.” Little more than a whisper. “You know they don’t. But I can’t save them. Only you.”

With a deep, shaking breath, the angel finally turned, eyes now glinting gold, pupils stretching into lines. “No. You can’t save me. Not if I don’t want to be saved.”

“What are you talking about?” Hazel eyes shining like earthlight as the darkness closed in. “How can you not—”

“How can I go back? Tell me that! How can I ignore the things I learned? Not everything Lucifer said was a lie, that’s why he was so successful. How can I be happy when I’ve seen things for what they truly are?” In a softer voice: “How can I follow a God who would throw so many away just because they’re unloved?” A sob shook those narrow shoulders, but no tears fell. Never again. “If there’s a way, please, tell me. Because I can’t—”

The entire plain rippled like a wave. Another tower fell, and the one they stood on tilted perilously.

“Dearest, we can talk about this later. We need to go now.”

“Go.” The angel turned back to the courtyard. “But I’m not leaving.”

“No!” The Guardian hauled the angel back, as if ready to fly them both to safety or be destroyed trying. “Don’t—you can’t! Don’t you understand what’s happening? What it all means?”

“Better than you!” The angel turned with a furious growl. “I’ve spent countless ages among them already. I know what they’re like, I know what they’ll do to us, and I don’t want that. But I can’t go back.” Narrow hands reached out, clutching the other’s elbows. “Aziraphale, please understand. I can’t go back. Not with… everything I know…”

They embraced, the Guardian blinking back tears. “You could… you could ask God to take your memories. It would be as if you’d never…”

“I can’t.”

“Not… not even for me?”

“I would forget you, too.”

“But I’ll remember.” Aziraphale leaned back, eyes pleading. “And I will still love you. Nothing will change that.”

“But I will change.” The angel scowled again, though this time not from anger but from the desperate search for words. “It’s… not the memories themselves. I might lose them anyway. I’ve already lost my name; I’m losing my form. I’m Falling. And whatever Falling does to me, whatever I become, I will still be me. But. But to willinglygive up the knowledge I’ve earned. To turn my back on it… I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

The next tremor started, and didn’t end.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale wailed. “But I don’t have to. If… if this will make you happy…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.” One last desperate embrace as the surrounding plain began to crumble. “It’s time. Go.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Aziraphale!” But the Guardian only held the angel tighter. “You—you can’t Fall!”

“I do not believe I will. God knows Her own.”

The outer walls vanished, tumbling into the nothing below, bringing wave after wave of bodies with them. “No, She’ll just rip you out of my arms at the cruelest possible moment.”

“Where you see cruelty, I see kindness. Every second with you is a blessing.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Quiet, love. I’m praying.”

The ground shook, lurched, dropped away—

The Fortress and all within it Fell—

All except two angels, wrapped in each other’s arms. Held aloft by Aziraphale’s wings, they did not Fall but meandered gently downwards.

“What?” The nameless angel looked around in confusion. “How…?”

“I told you. Kindness.” Aziraphale’s eyes were closed. “I asked Her for a few more minutes with you. And a chance to spare you from some of the darkness you must face. I know you don’t think you deserve it, but I think you do. And in the end, that is what mattered.”

“Aziraphale…” Quite without meaning to, the angel smiled in wonder. “I love you.”

When the Guardian’s eyes opened, the tears rolled upwards, leaving a trail of droplets back to Heaven. “I love you, too. And it was worth any price to see you smile again.”

“Price? Wait, what price?”

“All my memories of you.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes. I was quite happy to exchange them to buy you these few minutes of peace and a guarantee that we will meet again. Though I’m afraid after that, things will be up to you.” Aziraphale’s incongruous smile began to fade. “What is it?”

“I… I just… I told you I wouldn’t… and then you…” Golden eyes drifted, staring into the suffocating darkness on every side. “What must you think of me?”

“I think you are the most wonderful being in all Creation. I wish for you to be you, in whatever way feels most genuine, as an angel or… otherwise.” Far below, the Fortress ruins came into view, lit by a strange blue glow. “I think you will have a hard enough time ahead of you without such complicated regrets. And I think,” another tear floating upward, glowing like a distant star, “I truly think, this way things will work out for the best.”

“You’ll forget me! Forget us! Everything we ever talked about, or… or…”

“But you’ll remember.” A gentle kiss on the forehead. “And I will still love you. Nothing will change that.”

The Fortress had landed in a boiling pool of sulfur. Aziraphale carefully set the former angel down on solid ground, a safe distance from the edge, then immediately began to float upwards again.

“Wait!” Desperately clinging to those soft hands, the last bit of comfort in the entire realm. “Don’t go!”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t belong down here anymore than you belong Upstairs. We will meet again in the world to come.”

“But what if… without your memories… you’re different? More like the others?”

“Oh.” For the first time since the Fall, Aziraphale looked troubled. “I suppose you… may see some changes you don’t like…”

“No, not that. I’m not going to love you any less. But… you’ll think I’m just another Enemy.”

“Nonsense. I love you, dear boy. And I have the opportunity to fall in love all over again.” The upward pull began to draw their fingers apart. “Only, I don’t know how long that will take, so… be patient?”

“Aziraphale…”

“Take care of yourself, love.” Their grip on each other failed and Aziraphale drifted away, rising faster and faster. “I will see you again! I promise!”

“Aziraphale!”

Silence, broken only by the stirring of creatures rising from the sulfur and slinking into the shadows.

Hands still warm from the loving touch of an angel, the demon turned to face the darkness.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

I

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

II

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd. 

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.  

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

IV

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away.  It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

__________________________________________

Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

[goldenvoicedminstrel]

realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel. 

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad. 

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture. 

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening. 

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it. 

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song. 

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

 Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls. 

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair. 

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.      

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother. 

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand. 

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger. 

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been.  Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family. 

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it. 

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them.  They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth. 

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

 The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it. 

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

[maariarogers]

what if i’m someone i don’t want around? (excerpt)

Pairing: Seojun x Sujin Summary: Seojun, now an idol, met with an unexpected but familiar face in his new dietitian nutritionist, Kang Sujin. Though they started off rocky during this reunion, they eventually decided best to work together as best as they could. Sujin struggles with her inner demons, and Seojun encounter new ones. During one of the worser nights, both of them seemed to collide. Timeline: Future-fic. Based on this AU. Midway through the plot — an excerpt.

TRIGGER WARNING: Unhealthy coping mechanism, PTSD, abuse mention tw.

.

“What’s your problem?” Seojun doesn’t mean to sound like he does. Which is cruel, demanding, cold. He can’t help it though. She’s been - off, the whole night. Meaner. Which, well, he doesn’t really care for most of the time. It’s become a staple of who she is since he’d known her, all those years ago, and she’d only grown to become more direct ever since they met again.

But to yell at some poor intern girl just because she bumped into her?

Seojun has never tolerated bullies. Couldn’t. Not after what happened to Seyeon.

“Did you throw your manners into the trash?” He demands again, straight through his teeth. Sujin is looking at him with those piercing blank eyes, looking almost like she could muster the courage to become just as angry - but she doesn’t. She looks a little empty, instead. Hollow. “The intern apologised. You didn’t have to yell at her.”

“Right,” She somehow says - her tone clipped. Short. “It’s my fault.”

Seojun says nothing to that. Yeah, it is, he wants to scoff. Wants to roll his eyes and probably scold at her some more. If that had been Gowoon, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Hell, if it’d been Lim Juyeong, the mess that the guy is, (like really, what is Heegyeong-noona and Lim Jugyeong doing with their little brother anyways? Why does Seojun always end up feeling like a babysitter?), he would’ve gotten an earful.

But with Kang Sujin — whatever piece of mind he’d like to give vanish away when he remembers that night. Cheap store-bought beers and her hands trembling when she’s holding the can. I didn’t want to be like my parents. I don’t want to be angry or look away and pretend that something bad isn’t happening. I want - to be good.

He opens his mouth, about to ask if she’s okay, until—

“You should hit me.”

Seojun snaps his eyes straight to her face.

The emptiness from before is replaced now, quite horribly, with this layers of - determination. But not the good kind. No. Maybe it isn’t determination at all. Desperation, he could almost hear something in him echoing the word back. She’s desperate - to be hit? Seojun feels something inside him drops.

“What the—”

“Come on,” Sujin comes closer, her eyes growing wide. Insistent. She’s crazy, he thinks in that split second, backing away. “Hit me.”

“Oi, Kang Sujin—”

“What!” She yells then, her voice echoing in that small pantry he manages to drag her in. She’s pushing against him now. Tiny hands in her stupid gloves knocking against his chest. “You’re not man enough? Think I can’t hit you right back? Hit me!”

She’s fucking crazy, Seojun thinks again, this time with more force behind it rather than a simple shock. He grasps at her shoulders - it’s easy, since she’s still small even after all these years, and he towers over her like it’s nothing. But her arms are still flailing, still punching him and shoving.

He shouts back, “Kang Sujin!”

“What,” this time when she snaps right back at him, glaring, it’s as if Seojun’s momentarily back at their school, confronting her in that small space between the class building — all red brick, and hot anger. Although he’s not sure now from where the anger really comes from: his, or hers. “Aren’t you Han Seojun the mad dog? How many gangs have you beaten up in high school, huh? You’ve become weak now? You’re a coward?”

“Kang Sujin, stop,” his voice wavers. Is he terrified? Maybe. Of what - he’s not sure. Not her, not specifically. But the implication behind it. The invitation to be hurt. He’s - seen this somewhere, he thinks.

Maybe it’s in Suho, when he steps into that traffic ages ago.

“Why? Why should I?!” She yells back, her voice bouncing off the walls. Seojun can see a few people and peers peering in. He glares, and they scurry off. “I yelled at the poor girl. She just bumped into me, and I tore her down. I didn’t care about her. I deserve to be punished. I’m horrible.”

“That’s not—”

“I deserve to be hit,” the traces of red in her eyes are brightened now. Enhanced. Seojun can see tears prickling by her eyelashes. Her teeth are clattering together - she’s trembling again. She’s so small and angry and trembling, like a dog shivering from the rain. Seojun feels an ache in him. He doesn’t what it is.

“C-come on ... Come on, Han Seojun—” She grasps his hand.

Brings it to her face.

Seojun could only watch, wide-eyed somehow. Stupid.

Like he’s still stumbling over his Korean alphabets, like he’s that fifth-grader who still wets his bed. Stupid.

“You know you want to. Remember what I did to Jugyeong?” She says again, stubborn. Yes, he does remember. How could he have forgotten? But it’s also so long ago. So many things have happened since. And, moreover, he also remembers her, whispering when she thought he couldn’t hear, Jugyeong was my friend too. “I exposed her. When she trusted me. Did you know that? She trusted me with her bare-face and I told the whole school. That was me.”

“Stop, Kang Sujin.”

“Hit me. Punch me.” He realises, suddenly, that he’s had the hand that she’s holding curled into a fist. Fuck, Seojun curses under his breath, wanting to pull it away, but Sujin’s grip is tighter. Her voice breaks. “C-come on. I deserve it. I’m horrible. I was a bad friend. A bad person. I was— please just hit me.”

“No.” His answer comes resolute, strong.

That seems to switch something inside of her. In an instant, she yells again, coming at him. “Coward!” She shouts, high-pitched, kicking and clawing, but Seojun’s quicker. Years on the street still has him fast on his feet, and he snatches her from the back, pinning her arms to the side.

She’s yelling still, fighting. Her legs are thrashing about. Seojun avoids the bang of her skull, and he shouts too — just so she would hear. Just so she would know.

“I won’t hit you.”

“FUCKING COWARD!”

“Fuck, Sujin—”

“You’re a fucking coward. You think I can’t take you?!”

She probably could. Leave a scratch or two. It’d be bloodied. But that won’t do - and, anyways. What’s the point? Rather than a fight, he just - ... well, he doesn’t know what he wants, but not this. Those nights when he could finally convince her to stay for dinner, maybe. Or those few times when he made her smile, and he feels a little less lonely. And he knows he made her feel the same.

I want to be good, she told him.

He slides down against the door where her struggling has taken him, with Kang Sujin still in his arms. He doesn’t let up. He knows he couldn’t. She’s still fighting against the hold, but it seems as if she knows she’s lost it when they both are on the ground.

Seojun can’t see her face, but she shakes.

He breathes, heavy, and forces out again. “I won’t hit you. Ever.”

Slowly, yet all at once, Seojun hears a wretched sob. Sujin hangs her head, the tips of her black hair touching the knuckles where his hands clutched together across her chest. Seojun lays his head against the door. He sighs.

“Not even back then.” The back of the school. The Lim Jugyeong Bare-face Article. He was angry, yes. But he thinks he doesn’t think he would ever — “So, stop asking me to do it already, will you?”

Sujin is silent, crying.

The sound of it — Seojun doesn’t think he could ever forget. The inhale gasps, the way she holds in her voice, but it leaks in these broken notes anyway, resonating in the air. And all he could hear besides is the slow buzzing of the refrigerator. He’s still holding on to her, staring at the back of her head.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he somehow finds himself saying. He leans forward - kisses the top of that circle where the roots of her hair meet, before he just rests his forehead against it. Waits. Breathes. “I forgive you.”

Sujin shakes some more, weeping.

.

A/N: I still have a vague timeline for this AU, but this scene has been playing in my mind. I’m planning to put the title as “Mail Delivery Failed: Returning Message To Sender” because I really wanted to explore about both of their heartbreaks from pining and/or loving Suho and Jugyeong respectively, even if it’d been about eight years ago in this AU, but yeah. We’ll see.

Thanks for reading!

[bloodypapercut]

something missing (g.w. x reader)

request from @lilyydfg : Hey! Can you please write about reader trying to make george (her boyfriend) feel better and get out of depression after Fred's death? :)

tw: this is heavily centred around feelings of being numb, dejected and hopeless.there are mentions of death and slight mentions of the battle (blood and injuries but not much). please don’t read this if it’ll dampen your mood and if you do read please do so with caution. <3 stay safe lovebugs 

(requests are open)

word count : 2.1k 

    It had been months, but the initial shock never seemed to fade away. It plagued both of them horrifically, but George never fully recovered. The memories repeated themselves in his head, while he slept, worked, ate, laughed, cried, drank, and walked. They were intrusive, relentless, vivid, and unforgiving, they consumed every second of his life, so much so that guilt clawed at the back of his throat. The thought that he got to experience all the things they had promised to do together without his other half left him overwhelmed with grief. Why was it that he got to see the business they had worked so hard for thrive, why did he get to be in a relationship with plans for the future, why did he get to hug his mother and father at the burrow, why did he get to laugh alongside his siblings while Fred was gone, buried in the ground? It didn’t sit right with him, it wasn’t fair.

-----

   After the hours of screaming, crumbling walls, peril, the bodies of those they loved limp and battered on the stone floors, bloody hands, and frantic running they returned home. The silence smothered them, it was inevitable. They were shattered. They couldn’t process what had really happened, surely none of it was real. Fred was just missing, it was the wrong body they saw laying there with a lazy smile still etched on his face, Fred was just playing a cruel prank. They told themselves anything but the truth because deluding yourself feels better than facing what’s really in front of you. It wasn’t until they had finished getting ready for bed that it struck them. They followed the routine that they’d had for years on instinct, brush their teeth, wash their faces, get changed, rush to Fred’s room to say goodnight, but when they found his room empty and undisturbed it became clear that he was really gone. Fred, the loving, goofy, sometimes obnoxious but always kind redhead, the reliable older brother, the loyal best friend, the free-spirited stranger was gone, forever. There would be no more shared birthdays, family photos with his cheerful grin, knitted jumpers with a large golden F laying around, ear-piercing singing, and raucous laughter followed by rushed footsteps. It was all gone, in a matter of a few hours. It was there where George broke the silence, more like shattered it. His sobs were violent and agonizing, his pain was palpable. As he sunk to his knees he hugged Y/N’s legs, clinging onto anything that would ground him. His body shook against her calves and his tears were pooling on the hardwood floor, leaving a puddle where his reflection stared back at him. He aguishly looked back at himself, he hated what he saw, it was just a reminder of what was missing.

“I’m sorry, I need to be alone right now.” He made haste to rush to his office and lock the door. She rushed after him, trailing behind his footsteps but as the door shut in her face and the smashing of frames, ripping of paper, and choked sobs resonated through the door it was clear that that’s what he really needed.  

-----

For months George kept to himself, he seldom spoke of anything that he didn’t need to. He was reserved and feeble, avoiding interacting with people and finishing what he needed to do before heading straight to bed. It was unusual, to say the least, in his mind, there was no George without Fred. A part of him died that day, and it will never come back. He was numb, devoid of any genuine emotions. At any mention of Fred, he’d freeze up and immediately leave the room, if he saw something that reminded him of his older brother he’d snatch it and throw it into a box that he kept hidden under the bed. It was heartbreaking to see someone so vivid and bright suddenly solemn and burnt out. It was shattering to see George force himself to forget about the existence of his best friend to avoid the harsh sting of reality.

    He dealt with all of the pain alone. Whenever he’d wake up in a cold sweat he’d rush out of the room, refusing to look Y/N in the eye. Every nightmare was kept to himself, only to fester in his subconscious. At any offer of consolation or guidance he’d simply shake his head and walk away or offer a hopeless “no,” “I don’t care,” “what difference does it make,” or “I don’t want your help” as he kept his head down. No one knew what he was thinking, no one knew how he was. He remained stoic, afraid that once he confronts his fears that it will all become too real.

    It wasn’t until one night when one of his nightmares felt a little too hostile. It was the kind that plucked at any sense of security you thought you had and left you bare and vulnerable. His chest was weighed down and his breathing was labored. The erratic rise and fall sent the bed into light vibrations.

“Georgie, are you okay?” He remained silent and stared vacantly at the illuminated lamp resting on the vanity across the room. The tears in his eyes and remnants from where they rolled off his cheeks glimmered in the dull glow. She took his silence as a sign that he needed to be alone like he always wanted to be. An ache grew in her chest but she knew he wanted to be alone. She shrugged the blanket off of her legs and kissed his cheek lightly while stroking rogue tendrils of hair off his forehead.

“Do you wanna be alone, love?” She smiled warmly and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, preparing herself to leave the room.

“Stay, please, I can’t do this alone anymore.” The grip on her wrist was relieving and her heart swelled at the thought that George was taking the next step, ready to face what had been haunting him for so long. He continued to cry leaning into her embrace and letting his arms wrap around her waist. His head was against her chest, and she felt his tears soaking through her jumper. Her hand danced up and down the expanse of his back, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that she was there and always will be.

“Let it out Georgie, it’s okay, you’re so strong. Just let it out.” The hold around her waist got tighter and he released all the emotions he had been holding in for so long. His sobs were haunting and lingered in the air. After a couple of minutes, his weeping decrescendoed but didn’t seize. He looked up into her eyes, worried that he was unloading too much onto her by divulging all the feelings he tried to keep so secure.

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, it’s okay. I’m here George, you’re not alone.”

“Before the battle, we were sitting in the garden. The gnomes were running around, they didn’t bother nipping at our ankles like they always do, even they knew how horrible things had become. We were against the fence and he told me,” George paused abruptly and swallowed forcefully, “he told me that it was unlikely that both of us would make it out. I remember laughing and throwing grass at him, but Y/N he knew, we both knew, I was just too scared to admit it. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d seize the days that followed, even if one of us didn’t survive, but how could I go on without him? He died that day for me, he saved me. And even though he made me promise, I just couldn't. I felt so guilty. Every time I find myself smiling or laughing or even being happy in the smallest ways it always reminds me that Fred would never experience it with me. He will never see his first gray hair, or see his children run around the yard, or see how many people loved the things he invented. It’s so crazy to think that when we drank that aging potion in year 6, that that was the only time I’d ever get to see him all old and wrinkly.”

    He became silent as she traced shapes on the expanse of his back and dragged her fingertips along his forearms. Tears slowly welled in his eyes once more with the same urgency streamed down his face. Gently Y/N lifted his head and held it tenderly in her hands, his tears were kissed away by her cushiony lips.

“I really miss him. Not a day goes by where I’m not tortured by his absence. I feel horrible that I’m doing the very thing I swore I wouldn't do, but memories of him haunt me...and I’m letting them. Every time I hear his name or see anything that reminds me of him, it makes me so,” he paused, his hands rubbing at his red eyes in a frantic state, “so fucking angry, so mad and scared and confused and hurt and sick. I feel everything that he always managed to rid me of, but now that he’s gone it’s just so different. I just wish that he’d barge in like he always used to, but he’s gone, and I can’t accept that, I don’t want to.” His sobs echoed throughout the room once again, the unabating raw emotion seeping through every cough and gasp for air. His grip on the ends of Y/N’s jumper was fervent and desperate.

“You don’t have to forget about him.”

“I don’t want to, but it hurts so much because all I’m reminded of is what’s missing when he isn’t around,” he paused and as he did an ignominious expression painted over his face, “Merlin, Y/N I’m so sorry for dragging you into all of this, I’m being so selfish. I must be such a burden.”

“What? Angel, no no please don’t think that. I’m here because I love you, and I care for you. Never apologize for having feelings, you’re allowed to and it’s not something to be ashamed of. I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to, and because you deserve every ounce of love this world has to offer. Okay? Look, I know it’s easier said than done but you truly don’t have to forget him if you don’t want to, you just have to learn to understand what you’re feeling and to act accordingly. I’m here to help you with whatever you think is best. That’s all I want for you, that’s what Fred would want too. So tell me what you want help with, and I’ll be there every single step of the way. Anything to help you, you’re not alone.”

    The room seemed a little less daunting from George’s point of view. Upon hearing the words she uttered so softly and so passionately he felt at ease, and for the first time in a long time without guilt. A new cloak of warmth draped over his shoulders, he didn’t know what to make of it but as he looked up at Y/N and around the cozy room he realized it was acceptance and relief. He quickly summoned the box he kept as his contemptible secret for months. It sat comfortably in front of him on the duvet, it’s presence was overt and consuming, but for once George was okay with that. For once he let the box serve as a reminder of his brother’s presence, not as something to smother it.

    They spent the next hours slowly inspecting each piece in the box, smiling and reminiscing on the memories. It felt like Fred’s presence was flooding back, bringing more color and liveliness to their seemingly dull world. After hours of sitting close together, George let out a yawn and ruffled his hair.

“I’ll run a bath and then we can sleep, okay?” He nodded and Y/N headed to the bathroom, and within minutes she beckoned George to come in. Gingerly he rid himself of his clothes and sat down in the bath, leaning his head against Y/N’s warm chest. She soaked a sponge in the water and slowly dragged it across his tense shoulders, the water cascading down his ridged and freckled back. The sound of the water falling back into the bath and their steady breathing created a peaceful symphony in the room.

“I love you, angel, thank you.”

“I love you too Georgie, I know you’d do the same for me.”

[janekfan]

prompt! (cause ur one of my fav fan writers and i think this is up ur ally): i hc that helen just dumped jon in his office when she rescued him from the circus. maybe when he got back he just took a little while to have a good cry but martin found him in the middle of it and was like "where've you been whats wrong holy shit" and jons just like "hnngh... martin..." (and then maybe later martin is like "oh elias said u were on leave im so sorry" and jons like "elias said WHAT")

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165962

You are so sweet!!! I hope you like it! :D

"I'll be seeing you, Archivist." In a voice so saccharine sweet in such juxtaposition to how empty and ashamed Jon felt twisted up on the floor where she'd dropped him. He tried to focus, to see her, where she was, or was not but she had slipped through her yellow door in a burst of static before he truly understood where he was. It was when his office began to coalesce around him that the tears came, stinging, burning, the idea that he might just be safe here for even a moment catching on the ragged attempt at a breath. Two. Three. Swift. Hyperventilating. No hands, no mannequins, no, no, no stripping, stroking, smoothing, touching.

But he must be silent. Silent if he's to be able to hide in this small bit of sanctuary and he muffled himself, calling upon years of practice crying in the dark alone, and dragged himself under his desk for another degree of separation against the world and its cruelty. Nevermind that he brought this upon himself, he intended to hide from it until the hunger and thirst clawing at his stomach, his throat, forced him from his hiding place. Leaning against the cool wall, Jon pressed a flushed cheek against it, wrapping his arms around his knees and collapsing inwards like a dying star.

No one came for him.

And while he knew he'd burned bridges and sullied relationships with his paranoid investigating the knowing of it ached in his chest, taking up so much room with its constant agony that there was nothing left for anything else and Jon didn't think he'd ever felt more alone in his entire life. It was silly of him to think anyone would look for him and that did nothing to sooth the hurt bubbling up at the thought of being so easy to abandon, so easy to forget. He cried. He cried and cried, nigh hysterical and so, so quietly because his assistants weren't that far away and he couldn’t allow them to see him like this. There wasn't much left of him at the moment and he wouldn't survive Melanie’s cold indifference or Tim's hot anger.

Had his disappearance even been noticed?

The handle of his door squeaked and he clapped trembling hands over his mouth, eyes wide and searching in the dim. Had they found him? Come to take him away again?

Quiet. Be quiet. Like a mouse. Like you did when you were small.

Whatever, whoever it was hummed in a very familiar way, as if they'd glanced around the room and found it wanting. That was fine. He was always found wanting. He'd been so awful to everyone that it was no wonder he was found wanting. They dropped something onto the desk’s surface, and the toes of Martin’s trainers were inches away from Jon's hiding place. He held his breath, closed his eyes tight.

Wished to be found.

Wished to be left alone.

Why wasn’t he leaving?

A whimper escaped, small. Barely there. But it was enough. Martin’s shoes shifted, stepped back.

“I’ve got a, well I’ve got a mug! But it will hurt!” Jon pressed back, curled up, just as Martin’s body blocked the minimal light to his hiding place. It took a few seconds for his face to come into focus.

“Don’t!” Jon flinched from his hand, shouting, the thought of being touched made him want to throw up, made him want to disappear, made him want to run. “Don’t. P’please.”

Martin didn’t know if he truly expected an intruder but he definitely didn’t expect to find Jon cowering away from him, rail thin, expression haunted, and dressed in clothes two sizes too large on him. In a cracked voice he shouted at him when he reached out and in the dim of his hiding place he could make out his wide, terrified eyes, lined with dark shadows and suspiciously wet.

“Alright, alright, Jon.” Martin sat cross legged on the floor instead to watch him ease the smallest amount and drop his forehead to the folded arms balanced on knobby knees with a shaky exhale. “So, haven’t seen you in a while.” His shoulders hitched in a damp laugh, hitched further when he began sobbing. “Oh, oh, Jon.”

“I, I, I--” he was gasping for air, crying too hard to speak, and Martin risked shifting just a little bit forward and talking in a low voice, just for them under the desk.

“Okay, okay. Elias didn’t tell us where you’d gone.” At that, Jon whipped his head to face him, confusion warring with the panic.

“W’what?”

“No one knew where you were.” Big tears slipped down his cheeks and he looked so betrayed, so small, that Martin wanted to wrap him up and protect him from all the awful things he knew were coming.

“I was. The Circus.” He scrubbed his face angrily with his forearm. “Took me. They took me.” He ground the heels of both hands into his eyes as if he could physically stop himself from crying. “They.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, Jon.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t m’mean to.” His bottom lip was trembling, his words thready. “I’m s’sorry. I didn’t want, want.”

“This wasn’t your fault. Of course you didn’t want to be kidnapped off the street.” But he knew how this could look, especially for Tim with his history. The rest of the staff were likely to accuse Jon of pulling some sort of trick or long con. Melanie particularly hadn’t been shy in sharing exactly what she thought of the man weeping only a meter in front of him, hiding under his desk.

“Kept t’touching--” he choked himself off and Martin worried he was going to be sick but he just swallowed reflexively, sucking down great gulps of air, horrified and whispery. “Wouldn’t stop.”

“Jon, you’ve got to breathe. Slowly, okay?” He was going to pass out if he didn’t and Martin wasn’t altogether sure that wouldn’t be a bad thing, caught as he was between extremes, exhausted and strung out. Martin wanted to hold him, let him feel safe if he even could anymore, let him rest for a few minutes without fear of being hunted, chased, cut, burned, kidnapped.

“I’m coming apart. It’s too, it’s too heavy, Martin. I, I, I can’t breathe for the weight of it.” Syllables tripped over each other, manic, frantic, they tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall. “I know, I, I’ve been. Cagey? For lack of a b’better term? No, no, paranoid. I know. It’s. I’ve been, but things keep coming after me. They want to hurt me--have hurt me! And, and, and I. Trust. I don’t trust anyone. Not really. Not really. I can’t? I don’t. I don’t know how.” Thin, quaking fingers ran over innumerable scars unconsciously, tracing them in constellations. “I’m. I’m just so s’sorry and I can’t. I can’t fix it.” He grit his teeth, smothering himself before hanging his head. “I’m so tired, Martin.”

“I can help with that.”

Jon didn’t expect much after his outpouring. He hadn’t meant to say all that, to burden Martin with even more awful things on top of what they’d already experienced, but to his surprise he offered nothing but help and Jon wasn’t altogether sure why he was humoring him. Jon didn’t want to leave the office. He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this. He didn’t think he could take the inevitable and scathing comments. Not right now. Not yet.

“We can make that work.” He smiled, something small and sweet and open, shrugging out of his jumper and holding it out, still keeping his distance. His kindness was a balm, one that he thought might hold the disparate pieces of himself together long enough for him to scrape up the will to hold them together himself. “You’re cold. You’ve had a shock. A, a lot of shocks.” He raised an eyebrow, still with that same soft grin of understanding. “I’ve seen you nick them before.” Jon ducked his head, reaching out for the warm wool still holding remnants of Martin’s body heat and leaned back against the wall. It was almost like a blanket and the thick knit was well worn and pleasant on his hypersensitive skin. The weight of it soothed his frayed nerves and somehow, against all odds, Jon was dragged under a tidal wave of sleep.

Martin stood guard and watched Jon’s heavy lids fall shut over tired eyes as he unspooled under the safety of his desk. He sank lower, sliding down deeper into the jumper until the only visible part of his face was above the scarred bridge of his nose. He’d begun dreaming of something, making small noises and speaking scraps of sentences that were devoured by the dark. Martin scrutinized him in an attempt to discern whether or not the dreams were in fact nightmares, but he seemed alright for the moment and he let himself relax. He passed the time on his phone, wondering for a fleeting moment if anyone in the office realized where he went and ultimately decided that a little time away from the anger and the blame and the helplessness was probably good for him.

“S’a...mmn…” Jon’s face was pulled into a pained grimace, his fingers winding into the wool. “No’st, no!” Jon’s eyes flew open, flecked with unnatural green and blank with terror when he didn’t recognize or remember where he was. He fought with the cable knit swallowing up his body and tangling him up in his confusion. “No! No! No, no, no!” Panicked murmuring filled up his hiding place and he swiped frantically at his arms, trying to tear his way out of the binding constriction. His hands finally met skin but he didn’t recognize it as his own, fingers curling as he clawed dark angry marks from elbow to wrist and when Martin took hold of them in an effort to protect Jon from himself he had to exert incredible strength to keep him pinned, keep him from hurting himself. But he was so scared, bucking and wild and Martin was sure someone was going to burst in here at any moment, surprised that they hadn’t already, and demand answers to questions he couldn’t even begin to parse.

“Jon,” Martin tried, “hey, it’s me, you’re safe, you’re here in the Archives with me. The Archives, Jon.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” The tears were back, caught in his throat and stealing away his pleading voice and Martin hated every entity they’d ever encountered. He hated Elias, he hated whatever was happening here that they were so powerless to prevent.

“Jon, Jon, I’m here. Hush, now, hush, shhh.” Martin tried to hide his own panic behind a calm exterior, wrapping around him when he finally wrenched himself free and swiped at him. He held Jon tight, almost too tight, crushing his arms to his sides until the fight went out of him and he went completely slack, chest heaving, short panting breaths rushing in and out beside Martin’s ear. “That’s right. Okay, okay, I’m sorry, that must have been frightening. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself, I’m so sorry it scared you.” Strung tight as a bowstring and just about ready to snap, it took long minutes before his rabbit-quick heart began to slow and Martin could feel his bones stamping themselves in rigid lines where he was pressed against him. He kept up his nonsensical chatter, smoothing back unruly tangles.

“M’martin?” Barely an exhale as he turned his face into Martin’s neck. “Not, not. Plastic.” And while it didn’t make any sense to Martin, he let Jon have the comfort it gave him, gently loosening his grip, surprised that instead of putting as much distance between them that he could he collapsed inwards, curling into the pocket the curve of Martin’s body made and laying his ear over the rhythm beating beneath it. “Sorry…” His lips didn’t move, the apology carried on a deep, weary sigh.

“No need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Martin ran a hand up and down Jon’s narrow back. He was quiet, calm, as he gathered up handfuls of his shirt and held on tight, a boat unmoored and lost at sea just searching for an anchor.

“Please, I’ve. I’ve no right to ask.” An all over shiver, like a string plucked, and it resonated from Jon and into Martin.

“You can.” He waited for him, giving him the space to speak without feeling any more pressure.

“Please, just a, a moment more?” He hugged him and Jon clutched back, burying his face into his shoulder to block out all else.

“Oh, Jon. Of course. All the time you need.”