#also is there anything more painful in the world than the way rex looks at echo in that scene jesus christ

[raayllum]

The thing (or one of the things) about Ezran in early S7 is that while he's not being unreasonable, he is being hypocritical and unproductive ("You forgave Zubeia"). 7x01 is his breaking point after seasons of trying to keep everyone else together and weathering each conflict in as most an unaffected manner as possible, and he quite simply couldn't do it anymore.

Zubeia sent an assassin to kill your father? You long for your mother so deeply, you don't know your dad is dead yet, you do everything you can to get Zym back home because you love him (you can literally see through his eyes) and because it's the best chance for peace. Forgive her for killing your father and trying to kill you because she was grieving and Zym's dad for killing your mother because he's dead and they miss him. Put all your anger in a box at the one person who actually did kill him, because Zubeia saw her baby and changed her mind, and your found family sister (who is also missing) defected and spared your life that night, and he didn't.

Deny the ugly truths as long as you can by focusing on peace ("I ignored something that was true. I denied something that is undeniable"). Why should you have to acknowledge anger? Can't you just get past that? And then you can't, with the picture. (Then you can't, later, with yourself.)

Rayla comes back and Callum is fighting with her? Forgive and welcome her back unconditionally and try to counsel Callum through his big feelings. Rinse and repeat when Soren and then Zym goes missing. Advocate for and refuse to give up on Rex Igneous until he sends you sprawling into a wall.

Take on the responsibility of negotiating with the dragons. With Finnegrin (you offer up your hand, and so do your friends, your family). Talk your brother out of a more violent solution, and Rayla sides with you. She does again about hiding with the pearl and you save each other's lives. You look after home while she and Callum leave to save the world, and tell Soren the hard truth and deal with Viren till you don't. You try to spare Karim and his forces. You believe in peace. You believe in breaking the cycle.

"I am a king, and as a king, I choose love over strength."

"King of what? King of ashes?"

Ezran looks at what two years of trying to do the right peaceful thing has earned him — a destroyed kingdom while he was away — and he desperately, angrily, grasps at any semblance of control. This can't be all it was for. He feels like he's failed as a king, and is therefore a bad king. He needs to punish Sol Regem for it, but he can't. It needs to be Runaan's 'fault' because Runaan made him a king, even though keeping Runaan chained up in the Banther Lodge basement doesn't do anything but keep another family (Rayla's family) apart and make him feel in control. His pendulum swings so hard and strong, the target of his anger constantly changing to the most recent wound stacked upon themselves. After 7x02, he's not visibly angry at Runaan again until the finale; he's angrier at Callum than he is at Rayla because he thought he had control over his brother ("Callum. High Mage. We need you at this council meeting") even if that shouldn't be the goal or the focus at all anyway.

Callum doesn't betray him just because of Rayla, but because Ezran is perpetuating the cycle in a way that is antithetical to everything all three of them have striven to break, which is exactly what Callum points out to him. (If Rayla had surrendered or Callum had stayed, they just all likely would've been arrested, as it's unlikely Rayla and Runaan would've made it in the boat with Callum's magic, either. Would that have made Ezran, or anyone, feel better, hunting down his brother and friends, bringing them back in chains? No, and only Aanya is brave enough to say it out loud after Ez proves he values his bond with his brother / Callum's life over destroying Runaan's and Rayla's by proxy.)

"Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else."

What would killing or imprisoning Runaan (again) really have done?

"Hasn't he already been punished enough? Viren trapped him in a cursed coin for years. It's time to set him free." / "How much suffering is enough to pay for the mistakes we've made? No amount of suffering, yours or mine, will ever bring him back."

("As a father, I have a selfish wish, and that is for you and Ezran to be... free.")

"A life for a life. Is that justice?"

We also see that his scene with Runaan is one of the very last in the season. It's been months, if not nine, before Ezran was ready to have that conversation, ready to do with Runaan what he willingly did with Aaravos ("A king must look into the face and hear the words of those he judges"). A few days or a week by Callum's estimate wouldn't have been enough.

Ezran set Terry free to see if they could really trust him. He refused to do the same with Runaan even when it was causing clear pain and fracturing within his own family unit, nor did Runaan come to Katolis to face justice; it was just happenstance. But in Runaan being freed, he was then able to choose to come back to face Ezran's verdict. And then Ezran makes his own conscious choice.

"I'm going to forgive you. I don't know how, but I have to try."

He told everyone else that they had to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss in their hearts while also holding love. It was hard before. It was hard now. But he has to try.

(Nor does Harrow being in the bird erase the two years of mourning hell that Ezran went through, remove the crown from his brow, make things with Runaan any easier tbh, or mean he's 100% getting his father back.)

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Six: Endurance

Chapter WC: 8,685

A/N: This chapter was supposed to just be about the boys, but I couldn't help but throw in a little extra treat. Also I'm going to put up a poll about the cover of this fic today, please vote if you can!

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Hyperspace, 21 BBY

After a whirlwind of meetings and introductions, and far too much talking, you were finally aboard the Oracle and on your way to Bothawui. You’d never in your life met so many people in such a short time, and while you were sure some would argue that was part of being a general, you couldn't help but feel drained and exhausted by the constant barrage of faces and names.

Thankfully, Booker was there to help, acting as a buffer between you and the rest of the world. He was surprisingly good at it, keeping everyone at arm's length while still making it seem like you were the friendliest and most approachable general anyone had ever met. It was a skill you had no idea he possessed, and one you were more than happy to take advantage of. The men respected him, and as far as you could tell, they didn't resent your presence. Even if you were starting to become undeniably cranky and snappy.

After a day and a half, however, things had finally begun to settle down, and the routine had started to take hold. You were still meeting and greeting and making friends, but the constant barrage of faces was finally becoming manageable, and the ship's crew and officers had stopped jumping at the chance to shake your hand. And while the men were still eager to introduce themselves, the novelty of a new general had begun to wear off. Which was a relief, considering how little sleep you'd gotten in the last forty-eight hours.

"What about green?" Booker asks, his gaze never leaving the datapad in his hands. "That would look good."

You give a noncommittal hum from somewhere in your chest and shift in your seat, trying desperately to get comfortable. The two of you have been in the conference room for the better part of the evening, discussing everything from supplies to battle strategies. And while you were enjoying his company and the chance to talk, it's getting late, and your body is screaming at you to rest.

“That’s fine,” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

“Or maybe something darker. Black?”

“Great.”

You close your eyes and lean back, the soft whirring of the ventilation system a welcome distraction. You listen to the gentle rhythm, the sound slowly fading into the background as your thoughts begin to drift.

The last couple of days had gone by in a blur, and it was only now that you were finally able to slow down and catch your breath. There had been a dozen meetings, a hundred questions, and a thousand decisions, and it was starting to take its toll. You hadn't realized exactly how much planning went into war until now, and the grey hairs starting to sprout from Obi-Wan's temples are beginning to make a lot more sense to you.

Your thoughts turn to him, and you can't help but wonder how he's doing. The two of you had spoken a few times, the conversation focused more on your respective divisions and the status of the war than anything else. You’d tried to keep the tone light, avoiding the topic of what had happened between the two of you. But even the briefest mention of Rex had caused a flash of sadness to pass over his face, and a twinge of guilt had twisted your gut.

The two of you were struggling, but both of you were trying your best to move past it. That was all that mattered. At least for now.

As for Rex, you'd messaged him a few times since you left, but the two of you had yet to have a chance to comm each other. The men had kept you busy, and he'd had his hands full with the 501st. As much as it pained you to admit, the distance was probably for the best. At least until you figured out exactly what it was that you were doing. Or rather, what it was that you were not doing.

“…And I was thinking I could paint a giant target on my armor and put myself on the front line. What do you think about that, sir?"

You blink, snapping back to the present, the image of Rex's face fading away. You glance at Booker to see he's staring at you, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Uh, sorry, what was that?" you ask. Booker lets out a dramatic sigh and sets his datapad on the table.

"I was just saying how nice it is to have a general who listens," he drawls. "Really pays attention to every single word."

"I'm listening," you mumble, stifling a yawn.

"Right," he replies. He crosses his arms, his gaze never leaving your face. "You're tired."

"I'm fine," you tell him. The lie is weak, even to your own ears, and you let out a frustrated groan, running a hand over your face. "Okay, yeah, I'm tired. Sorry. I just—"

"Need some sleep?" Booker finishes, his voice gentle. You shake your head, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes.

"No, no," you mutter. "It's fine. We can keep going."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and gives you a look. It’s not quite a glare, but it's close, and it’s so like Rex that it's startling. For a second, you're thrown back to the night in your quarters, Rex kneeling in front of you, the two of you staring at each other as he gently coaxed you into letting him take care of you. Then his words, his reminder to focus on your men and not your demons, ring through your mind. And suddenly, you're feeling a little less stubborn. A little more open to listening.

"Fine," you grumble, crossing your arms. "What do you want?"

"For you to get some rest," he says. You frown, and he holds up a hand, his expression shifting to a stern look. "Sir, you've been up for 16 hours.”

“I haven’t—“

“I’ve been keeping track," he tells you, cutting you off. "And as much as I enjoy your company, the men need you well-rested and alert. Not half-dead and sleep deprived."

Your jaw clenches, the urge to argue rising, but you force it back down. You know he's right, and the fact that he's willing to call you out on it, no matter how gently, is a testament to his character. And as much as you hate to admit it, you can feel the fatigue beginning to creep in, the desire to curl up and hide tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

You give a small sigh, and he flashes you a smile.

"Alright," you relent. "I'll turn in."

You stand and stretch, letting out a soft groan. Your spine pops, and you roll your shoulders, working the kinks out of your neck. You can't help but feel a little embarrassed by the fact that Booker has been keeping tabs on your habits, and while part of you wants to call him out for it, the other part of you is grateful for the concern. And you suppose that a man who's always looking out for his brothers will most likely be just as vigilant about looking out for his superior officers. Just as Rex was. Is. Will be.

The thought of the Captain sends a stab of pain through your chest, and you grimace, forcing the memory aside.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else?" you ask. You gesture towards the datapad on the table. "There's still a lot we have to go through."

"I'm sure. Besides, I'd rather you be well-rested for drills tomorrow."

You frown, the comment catching you off guard. "Drills? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says as he stands and walks around the table, stopping beside you. "Figured it'd be a good idea. Get a feel for the men. See how they perform."

"I don't—"

"You're their commanding officer, sir," he interrupts, and he rests a hand on your shoulder. "You need to know what they're capable of. So do I. And the best way to find out is by putting them through their paces. That way, we can make sure they're prepared."

His tone is light, almost teasing, but his words are serious, and there's a glint in his eye that leaves no room for argument. And as much as you want to protest, the truth is that he's right. You need to see the men in action, to test their abilities. To see where their strengths and weaknesses lie. And the only way to do that is by testing them yourself.

You let out a resigned sigh and offer a small, grateful smile.

"I guess I'm gonna need to get some rest, huh?"

"That's the plan," Booker says. His hand slides off your shoulder, and he reaches over, picking up the datapad. "C’mon. I’ll walk you back to your quarters."

The two of you start down the hall, and Booker continues to fill you in on the details, his words fading into the background as your mind starts to drift. You're barely listening, and the only thing you can focus on is the gentle rumble of his voice and the sound of his footsteps beside you.

He seems different somehow, a little more serious, a little more thoughtful. You can tell the reality of command is settling over him, and while you're sure he's struggling with the responsibility, you can't help but be impressed by his composure. It's as if his personality has shifted, the uncertain, reckless cadet morphing into a more serious, responsible soldier. He's taking his role seriously, and the thought is comforting.

As the two of you round the corner, your comm chimes, the sudden sound making you jump. You stop and pull the device out, checking the message.

Rex: Hey. How's it going?

Your heart stutters in your chest, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the screen. Then, with a sharp breath, you type out a response, your fingers flying across the keys.

You: Good. Busy. Tired. But good. You?

Rex’s answer comes almost immediately.

Rex: Same. Glad to hear it's going well.

There's a pause, and a new message appears.

Rex: Can we talk?

Your heart leaps into your throat, and a flood of emotions wash over you. Excitement, anxiety, fear, anticipation, they all crash over you, a tidal wave threatening to drown you.

You type out a response, hesitating before hitting send.

You: Of course.

Another message pops up.

Rex: Comm me in 15 minutes. Don't forget.

You let out a quiet laugh, and you glance up, realizing Booker is staring at you, a small smile on his face. You flush, embarrassed, and you slide the comm back into your pocket, clearing your throat.

"Sorry," you mutter. "That was a friend."

"A friend, huh?" Booker asks, his tone teasing.

"Yes, a friend," you reply, giving him a sharp look.

"Well, your friend should have waited until morning," he tells you. "You need rest."

"He knows," you say, your voice softer than intended. Booker raises an eyebrow, and he glances at the pocket where your comm is sitting. Then his expression changes, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"Ah," he says. "I get it."

You feel your cheeks burn, and you turn, continuing down the hall. He's following, his strides long and easy. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, and the urge to snap at him is strong. But the truth is, you don't have the energy, and you're too focused on the promise of speaking with Rex to care.

You turn down another corridor, and Booker falls back into step beside you. He’s still watching you, but he doesn't speak, and you're thankful for the respite. You need a few moments to compose yourself, to collect your thoughts, to calm the flurry of emotions running rampant through your body.

Finally, you come to a stop in front of the door leading to your quarters, and you turn, looking up at him.

"Thank you," you tell him, your tone sincere. He grins, and he gives a slight nod.

"You're welcome, sir," he says. "Get some rest. Try not to stay up too late."

"What—"

Booker turns on his heel, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Have a good night, sir. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Before you can respond, he's gone, disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the empty hallway. For a moment, all you can do is stare, and it's only the sudden chime of the chronometer that snaps you out of it. You pull the comm out of your pocket and unlock the door, stepping into your quarters and typing a quick message.

You: I'm here. Are you ready?

A response appears a few seconds later.

Rex: Whenever you are.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of your heart, and you tap the button on the screen, connecting the call. There's a second of static, and then the sound of Rex's voice fills the room, his tone warm and familiar.

"Hi."

The single word is enough to make you smile, and you settle on the edge of your bed, taking a moment to steady yourself.

"Hey," you say. "It's good to hear your voice."

"You too," he replies. There's a slight hesitation, and you can hear the sound of him taking a breath. Then, a hint of worry in his tone. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," you reply. You let out a quiet laugh. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You've been busy," he replies. There's another pause, and the air shifts, a feeling of apprehension falling over the conversation. "I didn't want to interrupt. Thought you might be getting tired of hearing from me."

"I'm never tired of hearing from you," you tell him, and the words are out of your mouth before you realize what you're saying. You blush, heat spreading across your face, and you're glad he can't see you. "I mean...it's nice. Talking to you."

You wince at the words, a flash of embarrassment rushing through you. That didn't come out right, either. You've barely said anything and you've already made a mess of things. And if the awkward silence coming from the comm is any indication, he's not taking it well.

But as the moment stretches, a spark of frustration ignites inside of you. It's not as if anything has changed between the two of you. Yes, the conversation is a bit uncomfortable, but that's only because you're trying so hard to keep things platonic. If you'd simply act natural, relax, let the conversation flow naturally, it wouldn't be so hard.

You take a deep breath and let the annoyance fade, replacing it with determination. You're not going to let this become a barrier between the two of you. If he can talk to you as a friend, so can you. And if that's all you can be, well, that's fine.

Besides, there's no reason why the two of you can't enjoy each other's company. Even if it's not quite what you want, even if it's not the kind of relationship you crave, the time spent together is still meaningful. It still matters. It's still something that brings you both comfort and joy.

And if the friendship is enough, well, that's better than nothing.

"I agree," Rex says, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, and you can almost hear the smile in his words. "Even if you do sound tired."

You roll your eyes, letting out a scoff as you lean down and start to undo the buckles on your boots. "I'm not that tired."

"Sure," he drawls.

"I'm not," you reply, a slight note of indignation in your voice.

"Then why are you taking off your boots?"

You pause, caught off guard by the question. "How did—?"

"I can hear the buckles," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's pretty loud."

You let out a quiet sigh, your cheeks burning, and you set your boots aside. Your armor comes next, then your belt and tabards. The weight disappears from your shoulders, and you lean back, lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"Alright, maybe I'm a little tired," you admit. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of the mattress against your back.

"Just a little," he teases.

"Shut up," you mumble, a small grin on your face. "You know you're just as bad."

"I never claimed otherwise," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "How're things? The new legion treating you well?"

You close your eyes and let out a quiet hum, shifting into a more comfortable position. You can hear the concern in his voice, and you're glad that he's checking up on you. Even if it's for a brief moment.

"They're great," you answer, your voice soft. "A little eager, but that's expected. We're working through it."

Rex chuckles. "Sounds about right. Give 'em a few weeks. They'll figure it out."

"I hope so," you reply.

There's a moment of silence, and you find yourself drifting, the warmth and safety of your quarters lulling you into a sense of comfort. You yawn, your body sinking deeper into the bed, the weariness of the past few days beginning to catch up to you. You know you should get ready for bed, should take a shower and brush your teeth and change into something more comfortable, but the thought of moving is too exhausting.

"I can let you go, if you want," Rex offers, and the hint of reluctance in his voice makes you smile. "I know you're tired."

"No, I'm fine," you say. You open your eyes, blinking away the fatigue. "I'd rather talk to you. Even if I'm half-asleep."

Rex lets out a soft chuckle. "That doesn't bode well for the conversation."

"Doesn't matter," you murmur. "I like talking to you."

There's a pause, and you can practically hear the surprise in his voice. "Yeah?"

You let out a snort, and you roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up over yourself. "Yes, Rex, I like talking to you. A lot."

The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you're suddenly grateful that he can't see the blush that spreads across your face. You wince, the embarrassment hitting you full force. Maybe the lack of sleep is affecting you more than you thought. You should have kept your mouth shut. At least until you weren't half-delirious.

"I like talking to you too," Rex replies, his voice soft.

"Good," you say. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, settling in. "Then let's talk. Tell me how the 501st is doing."

Rex begins to tell you about the men, his voice low and soothing. The new men he picked up on Kamino, his concerns about their training, the adjustments he's made to the command structure. He keeps the details light, avoiding anything too technical, and his words drift through the room, lulling you into a drowsy, contented state.

After a while, he trails off, and a moment of silence settles over the call.

"Are you still awake?"

"Mhm," you murmur, the sound muffled by the pillow. "Just resting my eyes."

"Right," he says, the doubt in his voice apparent. There's another pause, and you can hear him shift, his breath catching slightly. "Do you... do you mind if I keep talking?"

You give a slight shake of your head. "No, not at all."

"Alright," he says. Another pause, and the hesitance is back. As if he's worried about saying something wrong. Something that will break the spell. "I don't want to keep you up."

"I'm listening," you assure him.

He lets out a quiet sigh, and he falls silent. For a moment, you wonder if the call has dropped, or if the connection is bad, or if the battery on his comm has died. But just as the thought enters your mind, his voice cuts through the darkness, soft and gentle.

"I've missed you," he admits. "More than I expected."

Your chest tightens, and you open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. It's strange, how a few words can cause such a visceral reaction, but the feeling is undeniable. It's as if a part of you is waking up, stretching, reaching for something.

It's only been a few days since you've seen him, but the longing is already setting in. The need to see his face. Hear his voice. Feel his presence. It's a need that grows stronger with every passing moment.

"I've missed you too," you reply, your voice a whisper. "More than I probably should."

Rex lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah."

There's another moment of silence, and you find yourself drifting, your thoughts beginning to slow. It's only the sound of his voice that keeps you from falling asleep, and you can't help but wonder if he's doing the same. If he's staying awake just to listen to the sound of your breathing.

"Are you still with me?" he asks.

"Yeah," you mumble, turning onto your side. You adjust the pillow, propping it up, and curl onto your side, hugging the soft fabric. You can feel sleep starting to claim you, and you're not sure how long you'll be able to fight it. "I'm here."

"You should get some sleep," he says, his voice gentle. "You're gonna need it."

You hum softly, closing your eyes and letting the darkness consume you. "Only if you promise to stay with me. Until I fall asleep."

There's a brief pause, and a wave of self-consciousness rushes through you. But before the doubt can take root, he speaks.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, his voice warm. You can hear the smile in his words, and the tightness in your chest loosens, a feeling of calm washing over you. "Close your eyes. Get comfortable."

You let out a quiet hum and obey, snuggling deeper into the blankets, pulling the sheets up around your shoulders. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He's lying in bed too, just as tired and worn out as you are, his comm tucked under his ear.

For a moment, neither of you speak, and the quiet that surrounds you is comforting, a blanket of calm settling over the room. It's nice, being able to simply exist, to be alone with each other, no words needed. And while it's not exactly the same as being in the same place, being in the same bed, it's enough. For now.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a low rumble. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mhm."

"Do you think..." He trails off, his words fading. You open your eyes and peer at the comm, waiting for him to continue. When he does, his voice is hesitant. "Do you think the war will ever end?"

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink, trying to process his words. In truth, you're not sure if the war will ever end. There's a part of you that hopes so, a part of you that wants peace more than anything, but there's a darker, more cynical part of you that's beginning to doubt it. That's beginning to wonder if the fighting will ever end. Or if the galaxy will be trapped in a never-ending cycle of war and destruction.

You let out a small sigh, closing your eyes once more.

"I don't know," you murmur. "But I hope so."

"Yeah," Rex replies, his tone distant. "Me too."

There's a brief silence, and you can hear the sound of fabric shifting. You imagine him rolling onto his side, adjusting his blankets, getting comfortable. Then he clears his throat, his voice barely audible.

"If it does end, though, I..." He trails off, and a slight note of uncertainty creeps into his tone. "I mean, will we...?"

He doesn't finish, and the question hangs in the air, unspoken. Will we still see each other? Will we stay friends? Will we still talk? Will we still care about each other? The thoughts race through your mind, and a knot forms in your stomach, the possibilities making you dizzy. You can't bear the thought of losing him, of losing what you have, and the mere idea of him not being a part of your life makes your chest ache.

The truth is, you need him. You need him in a way that's different from anyone else. A way that's beyond the platonic, beyond the physical, beyond the romantic. You need him because he understands you. He sees you. And the thought of being without him, of not having him by your side, of not hearing his voice, is too much to bear.

The reality of it is enough to snap you out of your stupor, and a rush of courage flows through you.

"I hope so," you whisper, the words barely audible. "I want us to."

A soft laugh escapes him, and you can almost hear the relief in his voice.

"Good," he murmurs. "So do I."

"Good," you sigh. You close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to finally pull you under, and the sound of his breathing washes over you, carrying you deeper into the darkness.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, how long the call lasts, or if he even stays awake. But the last thing you remember before the blackness claims you is the gentle hum of his voice, the quiet, steady rhythm lulling you to sleep.

Your comm is still on when you wake in the morning. It lies face up on your pillow, and when you check it, the screen is still active, the call still connected. You smile and bring the device closer, and when you hear the sound of a soft snore, your heart stutters. He's still there. He stayed.

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, staring at the comm, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. Then, as carefully as possible, you tap the button on the side, disconnecting the call. The screen goes dark, and the sound cuts off, leaving you alone in the silence.

You set the comm aside, and as you climb out of bed, you can't help but wonder how many more moments like this you'll get to have. How many more late-night calls, how many more stolen hours. How many more nights spent curled up next to the comm, his voice filling the air.

You know the answer, and it's not a pleasant one. You're going to be on the front lines, constantly in motion, constantly fighting. And if the war drags on, as it seems likely to, the two of you will be spread apart, the distance between you increasing exponentially. And even if somehow the universe sees fit to grant the two of you a respite, there's no guarantee that it will last. No guarantee that it will allow you the chance to truly enjoy each other's company.

You stand, shaking the thoughts away. It doesn't matter. What's done is done. And whatever happens, whatever the future holds, the two of you will make it work. You have to. Because the alternative is too painful to contemplate.

And if the only time the two of you can spend together is in the form of a few stolen moments, a few late-night conversations, a few whispered words, well, that's better than nothing.

With a sigh, you haul yourself out of bed, determined to start the day with a clean slate. It's going to be a long one, and the last thing you need is to let the negativity consume you. So, you push the doubts and fears and worries aside and get dressed, the familiar routine calming your nerves.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, and a quick trip to the mess hall, you make your way to the hangar. There’s a commotion as the troops work together to clear out the space, and a flurry of activity fills the air, the sound of metal boots echoing throughout the room.

Booker is standing near the entrance, a datapad in hand. Like most of the men, he’s dressed in the lower half of his armor, leaving the black undersuit visible. He glances up as you approach, and a grin spreads across his face, his eyes bright.

"Good morning, sir," he greets, his voice loud enough to be heard over the din.

"Good morning," you reply, and you give him a tired smile. "You're chipper today."

He laughs and sets the datapad on a nearby crate, crossing his arms. "I'm always chipper, sir. Just like you're always grumpy."

You glare at him, but the look only makes him laugh.

"C'mon," he says, jerking his head towards the open space. "We're ready to go."

You follow him across the hangar, weaving through the sea of troopers, and a moment later, the two of you are standing in the middle of the room, the men forming a large circle around you. There's a hush as the group gathers, and Booker turns, addressing the troops.

"Listen up!" he calls, his voice booming through the room. The men immediately straighten, their attention focused on the pair of you. "Today, we'll be conducting drills. Hand-to-hand combat and weapons training."

You step forward, and you raise your voice, addressing the men. "I know most of you have had basic training, but today will be different. Today, I want to see what you can do. Who has the fastest reaction times. Who has the best accuracy. Who can take a hit and keep going. We'll go through each of the weapons, and we'll spar. Everyone. Even me."

You pause, allowing the men to absorb your words.

"It's important that you're well-prepared," you continue. "Because once we reach the battlefield, there's no room for error. Every second, every movement, counts. So, let's get to work."

The men immediately scramble to various stations, grabbing blasters and helmets and other equipment. You watch as they work together, passing gear between each other. They're efficient and organized, and the sight is enough to ease some of the pressure. At least you know these men will be able to handle themselves.

After a few minutes, everyone is suited up, and the hangar is filled with the hum of blasters and the sound of shouting. You glance at Booker, and you share a knowing smile. Then, without another word, the two of you move, heading towards the nearest station.

It's a good three hours before the first break is called, and by the time it is, the entire hangar is hot and sweaty and exhausted. The men gather around, their chests heaving, their faces covered in grime. And, while some are showing signs of weariness, most are smiling and joking with each other, their spirits high.

You're leaning against the wall, sipping water and watching the troops, and Booker is sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands resting behind his head. The two of you watch as a few soldiers begin to spar, and the rest gather around, cheering them on.

"They're doing well," Booker observes, his voice soft.

You nod, watching as a trooper manages to land a kick, sending his opponent staggering. The sound of their laughter fills the air, and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah," you agree. "They're a good group."

The two of you fall silent, and you find yourself thinking about Rex, wondering how his men are doing. Wondering how he's doing. The image of his face, the soft sound of his voice, fills your mind, and the memory is enough to send a warm tingle down your spine.

"So," Booker begins, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance at him, raising an eyebrow, and he gives you a look. "Still regretting that promotion?"

You roll your eyes and turn, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. You stare at the floor as you consider his question. After a moment, you give a slight shake of your head, letting out a quiet laugh.

"No," you admit. "Not anymore."

Booker smiles, his eyes sparkling. "Good."

The larger of the two clones lands a solid hit, sending his opponent to the ground, and you wince at the sound of impact. But the men are laughing, and a few seconds later, they're helping their fallen comrade to his feet, clapping him on the back. Blood streams from his nose, but he doesn't seem to care, a wide grin on his face as one of the men steps forward and ruffles his hair.

"Is that Dash?" you ask, pointing at the clone with the bloodied face. Booker glances over, and his expression softens.

"Yeah," he replies. "That's him."

The clone looks over at the sound of his name, and his face lights up, a wide smile spreading across his face. He raises a hand in a wave, and you give a small nod, acknowledging the gesture. You'd forgotten how young he was. You hadn't seen him since the battle of Kamino, and the memory of him standing before you, his hands twisting nervously, is suddenly fresh in your mind. He's taller now, more confident, but there's still a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

"How's he doing?" you murmur to Booker, turning your head so that the men can't see your lips move.

"He's good," Booker answers, his voice low. "He's got a lot of potential."

You nod, watching as Dash takes a few steps forward, stopping in front of the two of you. The rest of the men disperse, returning to their sparring and their shooting, and the three of you are left alone.

Dash's smile is a little less enthusiastic now, and a light flush creeps across his face. He stands awkwardly, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet shifting nervously.

"General," he greets, giving a slight nod. "It's an honor."

"How are you, Dash?" you ask, keeping your tone friendly.

"I'm good, sir," he replies. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and it comes away smeared with blood. "You?"

You give him a smile, trying to hide the concern on your face. "I'm fine. Are you alright? Your nose is bleeding."

Dash blinks, seemingly surprised, and he brings his hand up, pressing a finger to his nose. It comes away red, and he glances at his hand with a frown. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and after a moment, he simply shrugs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, looking embarrassed.

"Hey," Booker cuts in. "Why don't you take a seat?"

He pats the spot next to him, and Dash nods, sinking to the floor. You settle beside him, your back against the wall, and you hand him a towel. He takes it gratefully, pressing the cloth to his nose.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice muffled.

"No problem," you tell him. You glance at his face, studying the injury. His nose isn't broken, and the bleeding has slowed, but the bruise is already starting to form. "Who were you fighting?"

"Screwball," Dash answers, gesturing to the clone. The man in question is currently sparring with another trooper, and the two of them are locked in a fierce battle. You watch, impressed, as Screwball manages to knock his opponent's feet out from under him, and a few seconds later, the soldier is on his back, the larger clone straddling his chest.

Dash lets out a snort, and he shakes his head.

"That was fast," he mutters. "He's good."

"He is," you agree, your eyes never leaving the fight. Screwball has managed to pin his opponent, and he's using his weight to his advantage, holding the man in place. After a moment, the soldier slumps, signaling his surrender, and Screwball leaps to his feet, a broad grin on his face.

"You're not so bad, yourself," you add, glancing at Dash. He meets your gaze, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You held your own."

His cheeks turn a deep red, and he ducks his head, a soft laugh escaping him. You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder, and his blush darkens.

"Thanks, sir," he mumbles.

"Just telling the truth," you say, shrugging. "You're leaving yourself open, though."

Dash's eyebrows furrow, and he turns his attention to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Your left side," you explain. "You're leaving it open. If your opponent is fast enough, they'll be able to get a shot in. Like this."

You swing your leg out, and the tip of your boot connects with his ribs. It's a gentle kick, but he flinches, hissing in pain. He doubles over, clutching his side, and you offer an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," you say. "I didn't mean to hit that hard."

"It's fine," Dash says, his voice strained.

"Try again," you instruct, getting to your feet. Dash takes a deep breath, and he rolls his shoulders, shaking out his limbs. He plants his feet, his fists clenched, and he squares his shoulders, ready for the next blow. You take a step back, and you swing your leg, aiming for his right side this time.

He doesn't flinch, and he's able to block the kick, his forearm connecting with your shin. He grunts, and you grin, impressed.

"Good," you tell him, taking a step back. "Better. Now, try the same thing, but switch sides."

He nods, and he plants his feet again, his arms held loosely at his sides. This time, he's quicker, and he's able to deflect your kick, his hand coming up and grabbing your ankle. You yelp as he twists, yanking your foot off the ground, though the maneuver doesn't catch you off guard. You let your body fall, landing on the ground, and you twist your leg, freeing yourself from his grasp.

You leap back to your feet, and the two of you begin a series of kicks and blocks, your bodies moving in sync. The other troopers stop to watch, and a few of them begin cheering, encouraging Dash to keep going. After a few minutes, you slow, and the two of you circle each other, panting. Dash's nose has stopped bleeding, and his eyes are bright, a wild grin on his face.

"Not bad," you pant, a smile on your own face.

"Not bad?" Dash echoes. "I think I won."

"In your dreams," you scoff. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, and you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "Again. You're still leaving yourself open."

Dash frowns, and he glances down, studying his posture. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head, and after a moment, his expression changes, his face brightening. He moves his left arm, tucking it behind his back, and he takes a defensive stance, his hands up.

"Like this?" he asks, his eyes shining.

"Exactly," you reply, a note of approval in your tone. "Now, try blocking me again."

He nods, and you lunge, swinging your leg. His arm snaps up, and he blocks the kick, a loud grunt escaping him. You pull your foot back, and he takes a step forward, his arms raised. The two of you continue the exercise, blocking and dodging, until finally, you decide to end the fight with a final move. 

You feint, and Dash reacts, his eyes narrowing. He blocks your kick, but his guard is down, and you take advantage, grabbing his arm and yanking him off-balance. He lets out a startled yelp as you twist, using your momentum to pull him over your shoulder, and a second later, he's on his back, blinking up at you. 

The room erupts into cheers, and you extend a hand, helping him to his feet. His face is flushed, but his eyes are bright, and he grins, shaking his head.

"Wow," he says, a little breathless. "You're fast."

"So are you," you reply. You dust your hands off and give him a wink. "Keep practicing, and you might actually stand a chance against me."

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks still pink.

"I'll do my best, sir," he promises.

"Good," you tell him. You glance around, and a small crowd has formed, the men watching the two of you. You raise your voice, addressing the group. "Alright, everyone! Back to work! Let's go!"

The men scatter, and the two of you watch as they return to their training, the hangar filled with the sound of their voices and their laughter. Dash turns too, but Booker catches his arm, holding him in place as another clone emerges from the group, striding towards the three of you. You recognize Wise instantly by the sour look on his face, and you can't help but smirk.

You'd been more than a little surprised to learn that Wise had volunteered to be the chief medic of the 419th Brigade. Not that you doubted his abilities. He'd certainly shown his worth as a skilled healer, his knowledge of anatomy and physiology rivaling that of the Kaminoans, but a part of you had assumed Kamino would want to keep him. It wasn't every day a clone with his talents walked out of the facility.

Yet, here he was. And for some reason, his presence made you feel better. Like maybe if he was here, it meant something. Like maybe you weren't completely screwed.

"You okay, Wise?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Wise shoots you a glare, and he crosses his arms, his expression sour.

"This place is a goddamn zoo," he grumbles. He points at Dash's face, the blood still visible despite the attempt to wipe it away. "What happened to you?"

Dash shrugs. "Sparring."

Wise snorts derisively, and he reaches out, grabbing Dash by the chin. He tilts the clone's head to the side, examining the wound, and his eyes narrow.

"I told you not to do anything stupid," he grumbles.

Dash grins and shrugs again, clearly not bothered by Wise's scolding.

"It was a good fight," he replies, a slight note of pride in his voice. "I learned a lot."

Wise rolls his eyes and releases his hold on the younger clone. He turns to you, giving you a slight nod, and you raise an eyebrow, surprised by his show of respect.

"General," he says. His voice is gruff, and there's a hint of hesitation in his tone. "Can I talk to you? Privately?"

Your eyebrows furrow, and you exchange a confused glance with Booker.

"Sure," you reply, turning your attention to the medic. He jerks his head towards the far side of the hangar, and the two of you start walking, leaving Booker and Dash behind.

As soon as the two of you are out of earshot, Wise stops, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I wanted to apologize," he says, his tone low.

"For what?"

"For the way I treated you," he answers, meeting your gaze. His eyes are filled with regret, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. "Back on Kamino."

You blink, taken aback by his admission. It's not as if you were a stranger to rude behavior, and compared to what you'd endured and dished out over your lifetime, Wise's attitude had barely registered. If anything, it had been a bit refreshing. The fact that he felt the need to apologize, however, is unexpected.

You study his expression, searching for a hint of sarcasm, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. There isn't any.

"It's fine," you assure him. "I didn't exactly make a great first impression, either."

He lets out a huff of air, and he gives a small shake of his head.

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "You're the General. It wasn't my place."

There's a long pause, and you lean against the wall, watching as the troops begin their exercises once more. You can feel his eyes on you, and after a moment, you turn, meeting his gaze.

"How did you end up here, anyway?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Wise snorts and leans beside you, crossing his arms across his chest and resting his back against the wall. He lets out a short sigh, and his gaze falls, focusing on the floor.

"The longnecks weren't thrilled," he admits, his voice low. "But they didn't really have a choice. Commander Booker and Captain Rex had spoken on my behalf, and the GAR had approved my transfer."

"And you're okay with that?"

He gives a noncommittal shrug, his expression thoughtful.

"It's better than scrubbing floors and being under constant surveillance," he says. He shoots a glance in your direction, and his lips twitch. "And as far as generals go, you're not so bad."

You can't help but laugh, and you nudge him gently.

"Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence," you reply, grinning. You tilt your head, giving him a playful look. "So, we're friends now, right?"

Wise scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile creeps across his face.

"Hardly," he mutters, and he turns, his eyes scanning the hangar. He clears his throat, his voice returning to its usual gruffness. "Now, get back to work, General. Some of us have actual things to do."

Wise pushes away from the wall, heading back towards Dash and Booker, and you follow, the two of you falling into step. As the distance between the group and yourselves lessens, the medic's demeanor shifts, and his usual scowl is firmly in place. Dash seems immune to the effect of his glare, too focused on the conversation he's having with Booker. A conversation that, judging by the blush on his cheeks, seems to involve you.

"Green is good, but I think she would look better in yellow," Dash says, his voice hushed. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, kid," Booker replies. "I'm not sure if yellow is her color."

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Dash glances over, catching sight of Wise, and he grins. "Hey, Wise, what color would you say the General looks best in?"

"Don't drag me into this," Wise grumbles. He comes to a stop beside the pair, and his gaze lands on you. You raise an eyebrow, silently asking him the question, and his expression is completely deadpan. "Yellow."

He gives a short nod to you and Booker, his gaze lingering for a moment, before striding past, disappearing into the sea of troops. You watch him go, unable to hide the smirk on your face, and Booker's expression is one of pure shock. Dash, meanwhile, looks pleased. Very, very pleased.

"Um..." he begins. He clears his throat, and his eyes dart to Booker, his expression hopeful. "Commander?"

Booker blinks, and his lips twitch. He claps Dash on the shoulder, and the younger clone nearly buckles, a sharp gasp escaping him.

"Dash thinks our color should be yellow," he announces, and Dash lets out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. You raise an eyebrow, and Booker gives a noncommittal shrug. "Personally, I think it's a little bright, but..."

"Yellow's not bad," you concede, glancing around the hangar. Anything would be better than the white and gray you were currently surrounded by. "We could probably do with a little color around here."

Dash studies you for a few moments longer, and his eyes light up, a broad grin splitting his face. He turns on his heel and rushes to the nearest trooper, and he begins speaking rapidly, pointing in your direction. The soldier nods, and a moment later, he's jogging off, disappearing into the crowd.

"What are they doing?" you ask, glancing at Booker.

"Not sure," he replies. "But I'm guessing the kid's got an idea."

The two of you watch as Dash speaks to another clone, this one older and taller. After a brief conversation, the man nods, and the pair begin making their way through the hangar, stopping in front of various squads. They speak to the soldiers, gesturing towards you, and a few minutes later, the men begin nodding, some of them even laughing. When Dash is finished, he hurries back towards you, his eyes shining.

"Well?" you ask, and he flashes a broad grin.

"It's settled, sir," he announces, his chest puffed out.

"Oh?"

"Gold," he replies. He nods, as if agreeing with his own words. "Definitely gold."

A surprised laugh escapes you. The Force must be playing a trick on you. There was no other explanation for it. Because it seemed that, somehow, the universe had aligned itself to bring the clones of the 419th together, all for the sole purpose of giving you a headache.

"Gold," you repeat, and Dash nods, a slight look of concern on his face.

"Yes, sir," he says, his voice quiet. "Is that...is that alright?"

"Why?" you ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of your tone. "Where did you get the idea?"

"It's because of your lightsaber," Dash tells you. He points at your waist, and your gaze drifts down to the weapon attached to your belt. "It's yellow. Or gold, really. We should match."

"My lightsaber?" you echo, staring at him. His cheeks flush, and he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, yeah," he mutters. He drops his hand, and his eyes land on your saber. "The way it lights up the room...it's like...it's like it's filled with the sun itself."

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Instead, you stand there, stunned, an unexpected swell of emotion rising within you. You don't know why, but his words, his sentiment, touches you. In a way you never would've imagined.

It's a strange feeling. You're not used to it, and you're not entirely sure how to process it. No one has ever compared your lightsaber to the sun before. Your yellow blade is one more thing that's different from most other Jedi. Another piece of evidence to mark you as an outsider. For Dash to see something else, something unique and special, is...nice. Nice and unexpected.

"Okay," you say softly, giving him a small smile. "Gold it is."

A few of the men let out cheers, and Booker claps his hands, raising his voice.

"Alright," he calls. "Back to work!"

The troopers scatter, and the noise level in the hangar returns to normal, the sound of laughter and friendly banter filling the air. Booker gives a satisfied nod before he turns to you, his expression serious.

"You okay?" he asks, lowering his voice. "You look like you're about to cry."

You glare at him, though the effect is lost. There's a stinging in your eyes that you can't quite shake, and you turn your head, pretending to study the troops. You take a deep breath, pushing the feelings aside, and a few seconds later, you manage to regain control.

"I'm fine," you reply, a hint of annoyance in your tone. You turn back to Booker, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. You roll your eyes. "And I don't cry."

He snorts and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the men. The two of you stand in companionable silence, watching as the squad leaders guide their troops through the motions. A short distance away, Dash is practicing his sparring skills with Screwball, a smile on his face.

After a while, you glance at Booker, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I think we'll be alright," you murmur.

Booker's gaze remains focused on the men, but his expression softens, and the corner of his mouth curves upward.

"Yeah," he agrees, and he nudges you gently. "We will."

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[egsproductions]

Ember's Ghost Squad: Importance of Artistic Spirituality and what "TCC" tends to get wrong (Essay)

When Andrew made EGS (Ember's Ghost Squad) She poured her emotions into her work, Reflecting her inner world. World of her desires where she could be who she truly was, With those she truly wanted to be with.

Of course, This all led to the tragedy of June 8, 2017, Where 3 people lost their lives by her hand.

But before it all went to that far with her, Before she let that inner abyss end her earthly journey, She left countless of fairly good advice on how to find one's purpose and how she wished to be viewed as after her passing.

Such as, Viewing and identifying herself as her Cartoon Ghost form, Andrew Blaze, She despised her human name "Randy Stair" and her human form, This shows fairly advanced spiritual thinking of understanding that our soul is ultimately shapeless until we mold it as we please. Just as humanly bodies were created by what many Christians and Gnostic believe being the God (Or Rex Mundi/Demiurge). A higher being (Soul/God) Can create a lesser form of it's pure self. And "breathe" life upon them by giving them a story, Personality, Passion.

(Of course there's evolution theory and all but i like symbolism of Spirituality so calm down lol, However you view it, It can be taken in more scientific way of our genes being the "god" in this situation)

However, Of course in Andrew's case, She did make a mistake of letting her earthly emotions take control of her during her life, Which led to unnecessary death and destruction, Unforgivable in many ways, But the points she made, Can still be used for good, After all, She wished people would study her so that spirals like these could be avoided in the future.

A being with conscience such as us, Gifted ability to create art, And create things, Andrew put large amount of her energy into EGS, Which clearly still radiates to this day, Inspiring more people to view their spiritual form in similar fashion.

EGS was ultimately her story, Reflecting from the funny comedic beginnings to her ultimate grim demise in her crime. Her final EGS Animation "westborough high massacre", While unfinished, Showcases her duality of thinking, Especially starting with her darkest desires of hurt and pain, And her weird obsession with Columbine, But at the middle point, Shifting to optimistic speech about life and purpose, Encouraging the viewers to live on.

She knew how people would view her after her death, As monster, Ghoul.. Demon? Perhaps even rightfully so to an extend. But she also wanted to tell a tale that we ultimately choose our paths, What our souls creates, And how we show it to the world.

Since EGS, Was Andrew's own story, And she wished people to be themselves, To be the best they can be, It is one of the main reasons why my EGS Universe is much wider than that of Andrew's, As i'm telling my story, If i were to just copy Andrew's art exactly, Copy her way of writing, I would be totally disrespecting the message she sent out to the world.

Just like Andrew used songs of "Send Request" Because she felt connection with their songs, I'm in other hand using Songs and Story elements from IRIS Of Will Ryan (DAGames)

It's why i'm also using characters from Creepypasta, And Hell Girl (Anime) Because those things are important to me, And reflect my world which i want people to see as i see. It's the entire point of my IRIS, An eye that exists outside our time and space, Eye that sees everything that can be perceived, And as long as you view everything trough it's oneness, You can create anything.

But enough about me. And even Andrew herself. And to focus more on certain.. "Fanbases" Such as "TCC" which claims to care and follow Andrew's case. These people are unfortunately twisting and taking away from Andrew's story in a a way she probably never wanted it to go.

TCC Does all these:

-Admire Andrew's human looks/Call her cute.

-Believe she was trans. (She was spiritual, And believed in being female Ghost, Some could possibly call it delusion as well, But she certainly wasn't trans, She pondered if she were, But never came to the conclusion)

-Barely care at all about EGS. (Andrew's personal most important creation)

-Draw her as her human self.

-Care far too much about pronouns (I get it, I call Andrew She/Her because i understand her decision with identifying as female soul, However Andrew didn't lose her mind with not being called those pronouns, In fact for the majority of her videos, She was fine with using He/Him when talking about herself in third person, She accepted her human life as a male even if she hated it.)

---

These are all things, Andrew disagreed with.

Now i'm not here to advocate that these people should change their ways, Internet is far too vast for me to have any control over, I do just wish they would think. Especially since they claim to be very into Andrew's case, Even downright claiming to "Love" her.

Well.. That's good? But please, Show that "Love" with your acts, If your acts are just shallow and surface level, Focused on "Cuteness/Boy/Girlfriend Material" I doubt your "Love" And dedication quite greatly.

For it seems that all you TCC people wish, Is someone to mold, To be your perfect material to obsess over, It is not another person you should mold into something to love, But yourself! Remember that.

---

Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Fᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴏɴ, Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ Hᴏʟʏ Gʜᴏsᴛ. Mᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜ sᴇᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ IRIS, Mᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏɴᴇs ʙᴇ sᴛʀᴏɴɢ ᴀs Gᴏʟɪᴀᴛʜ's. Pᴇᴀᴄᴇ ʙʏ ᴛʜʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ, Hᴀᴠᴏᴋ Bᴇ Tʜʏ Gᴀᴍᴇ.

[gasha40k]

This post will be more of a progress update than an exhibition of anything I’ve finished, so I’ll start with the most interesting stuff.

Here’s the first of hopefully eventually many pieces of Thunderbearers commissions! This piece, depicting a nondescript Thunderbearers Astartes—maybe a Sergeant—locked in combat with a nondescript Goffs Nob, was commissioned from the lovely Picklld, who you can find on Twitter and Reddit. They were an absolute joy to commission. Incredibly patient, incredibly cooperative, and incredibly creative! They absolutely nailed the Thunderbearers look with very minimal input, and the pose, lighting, and detailing are all undoubtably fantastic.

There’s a lot about this piece that I really appreciate even beyond the novelty of my guys being art now. I think Picklld absolutely excels at utilizing extreme values to create dramatic compositions, and they have a deft eye for detail. The battle damage on the Astartes power armor tells the tale of a long-embattled warrior, the inscriptions on his hip, fluttering purity seals, and still-burning backpack candles visually professing his monastic devotion to the Chapter. His bold, aggressive pose professes the signature Thunderbearers battle fury as he dives headfirst into close combat with a Nob, the buzzing killsaw framing the Marine’s figure like the halo of a venerated saint. The Ork, too, looks suitably bestial, his snarling jaw held together by a brutal metal similar to that which his terrifying power klaw is made of. The jaw prosthetic and head stitches imply that this Ork isn’t one to succumb to any injury as menial as a decimated jaw or an exploded head. A skull and tallies on his weapon of choice supports an air of monstrous veterancy, perhaps counting the most worthy of opponents that he’s felled over doubtless years of gory combat.

Rex Manticore faces down Bladeguard Squad Cambarn during the Second Battle of Deadside Pass

As a brief aside, the Ork’s power klaw and killsaw abomination is a little reference to a rivalry that my Lieutenant, Simon Sadrian, formed with the Goffs Warboss, Rex Manticore, during the Calthradia Crusade. Sadrian and Manticore have waged pitched battles at the same location three times now, each one taking place in the mountainous region that acts as the main passageway from the Calthradian beachhead onto the plateau, and subsequently into the mainland. This region is called Deadside Pass, and its rocky cliffs have been forever stained with the blood of Astartes and Ork alike. In each of these battles, Rex and Sadrian met in hand-to-hand combat. While the Ork in the commission isn’t necessarily Rex, he also isn’t necessarily… not.

In conclusion, I’m incredibly satisfied with this art. It’s sick as fuck and I’ll very likely be commissioning the artist again in the future.

Moving from drawing to painting, I finally swung by my local Games Workshop and grabbed my classic 2002 Daemon Prince. This model is a few firsts for me. It’s my first resin model, and man, resin is obnoxious. It’s not horribly dysfunctional, it’s just uncomfortably soft, and a total pain in the ass to clip from the sprue.

This is also the first time I’ve ever attempted to paint in subassemblies. This is a really nice and rare model, so I’d like it to stand out on the tabletop. Since I didn’t have any paper clips, I ended up using, like, matches or incense sticks or some shit to prime the pieces. Sub assemblies are very… strange to me, and I’m not really sure I like doing them. Building a model to completion before priming and painting it kinda scratches my brain better, but I understand why this would be a more efficient way to paint a model, especially a big fancy one.

A layer of Khorne Red washed with Agrax Earthshade, cleaned with another layer of Khorne Red, and then brightened with Mephiston Red, making him the same color as the rest of my World Eaters

Speaking of painting, tackling this thing’s color scheme has been a little bit of a challenge. The GW version of the model has a lot of advanced techniques to it, things that are undoubtedly beyond my skill level, like some really gorgeous blending between the Prince’s skin and the armor. Because that’s far beyond my ability at this point, I’m gonna try and paint it the best I can using the stuff I’ve learned. That means mostly color layering and excessive use of washes. Whoops.

In regards to the actual color scheme, black armor wouldn’t really work for a World Eaters Daemon Prince, so despite my desire to keep my World Eaters as “vanilla” as possible, I’m gonna swap up the colors of the model. I think I’m going to try and emulate the scheme of the new Prince on my Prince. Black skin, red armor, and bronze trim, which is quintessential World Eaters. A new scheme on a classic model, and an homage to the modernized (actually good) Daemon Prince model, since I like the new one but much prefer the old shitty one because it was in Dawn of War.

I’ve got a few more things to talk about, but not many, so next post will be a short one.

[why-am-i-here-someone-save-me]

Eyes

Note: The following fic has no beta; we dyin like Rex Lapis. Also I’m forcefully dragging @nicebonescomrade into this because they know the full pain behind this writing. :’)

The first time you awoke it was in panic.

Thoughts had been sluggish and scrambled, practically overwhelmed by the sudden rush of sensations. How long had it been since you last felt? You had no clue. While a part of you had been certain that this was not the first time you’ve experienced this situation, when you tried to recall when you had, nothing came to mind. Every one of your senses seemed to be hypercharged, the smallest of things feeling impossibly huge in magnitude. The faint light shining through your closed eyelids seemed blinding, the air felt like frozen daggers as you’d breathed, and the blanket, or what you’d assumed is one, that was atop of you felt like it weighed entire planets.

It was all too much, and by the time you’d returned to unconsciousness, you had gladly embraced the lack of feeling.

The second time you awaken it is in confusion.

No longer did things seem overwhelming, but no matter how hard you tried, you could not recall anything distinct.

“I know you’re awake. There’s no use pretending to still be asleep.”

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes flying open, only to wince at the brightness of the surroundings. After a few moments, the light becomes a bit more bearable. With your eyes having adjusted, you can finally see the source of the voice. A stranger sits beside the bed you lie in, an expression of disinterest on his face. But what you find yourself unable to look away from are his eyes. They are a deep purple color, a shade which feels both foreign, yet somehow also familiar.

They are beautiful.

You do not feel safe looking at them.

The stranger’s eyes seem to study you. “Hm? You look like you don’t recognize me. Well, I’ll let that slide this time I suppose, seeing as you clearly aren’t in any good condition.” Despite the words he says, his voice sounds more amused than anything. His eyes continue to burn into you, making your skin crawl. Suppressing a tiny shudder, you finally tear your eyes away from his, opting instead to look at your surroundings in a thinly veiled attempt to ignore his examining gaze.

You do not like the way he looks at you.

“So then, you don’t remember me, but what do you remember?” Silence is the only response he receives. Annoyance flashes in the man’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he hides it once again. “Do you even remember your own name? Surely you at least haven’t forgotten that.” Yet again he’s met with silence, albeit this time it’s because he’s correct, something he seems to pick up on. A sigh of exasperation comes from him. “[Name]. Your name is [Name]. Do you seriously not remember anything? Tch. Clearly I overestimated your mental strength.” His words change to muttering, and before you can even begin to try to decipher the words, there is a cold prick on the side of your neck. The world goes dark moments later.

The third time you awaken, you wish you hadn’t.

The moment you open your eyes, you know something has changed. You feel different.

You feel wrong.

A shudder runs through you. Half recalled memories swirl through your thoughts, holding answers just barely out of reach as if taunting you.

You hear the door open, and a few seconds later the same man from before comes into view. Upon meeting your gaze, a satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “You’re awake again. Good. I was starting to get annoyed. At least you’re up now. Remember anything yet?” You don’t answer his question. But it seems he doesn’t care about that, as he merely continues speaking. “Regardless, I’m going to find a way to make you recall. After all, you aren’t able to do much to stop me.” The stranger laughs darkly, and your eyes widen in fear. You had been suspicious before, but now you were certain.

This man is dangerous.

He notices the expression on your face and his smirk only grows. Your instincts are screaming at you that you need to run, that you have to get away from this person and now. But there is nowhere to run. You shudder as the man places his hand under your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to face him. His hands are cold, unnaturally so. It feels as though the freezing chill of his touch spreads to every part of you, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. But this only seems to amuse the stranger, his satisfied smirk growing yet again. “Are you cold [Name]? You’ll get used to it soon. Right now, let’s see if I can trigger that memory of yours shall we?”

He leans closer and you panic, realizing you can’t get away from him. You can feel yourself trembling as you feel his cold breath brush across your ear. The grip on your chin prevents you from reeling back, leaving you trapped.

You don’t like this.

It reminds you of something.

You don’t want to remember what it was.

You don’t want to remember.

You freeze as a name bursts to the forefront of your mind.

“I told you before [Name], you are mine. Did you honestly think that I would let you escape from me? Of course not. When I said you were mine for eternity I meant it, but you just had to go and test me didn’t you? Well, I hope that brief reprieve was worth it, because now that I have you again, not even death will be able to separate us. You’ll be staying right by my side forever [Name].”

You remember him.

You had finally managed to escape to the one place he couldn’t follow you.

“I don’t expect you to be excited about this. Not yet anyways. Eventually you’ll come to appreciate the immortality I’ve given you. With how stubborn you are, I don’t expect it to be anytime soon. But I can wait. We have all of eternity for you to learn to love me [Name].”

Tears begin to run down your face as Scaramouche moves to face you. You catch sight of your reflection in his eyes and something inside of you breaks.

Your reflection’s eyes shine deep purple.

[knightprincess]

Always (Crosshair x Jedi Reader) Part 29

Warning: Major character(s) death. Tissues advised 

Words: 2.2K A/N: Just the epilogue to go after this. May the force be with you x 

"Are you sure about this?" questioned Rex, looking to (Y/N) as they landed on Dathomir once again. The former Jedi Knight, known galaxy wide as the Princess, looked to the captain, uncertainty in her own eyes. She knew Vader was on her home world, finally curiosity had gotten the better of him. Finally she had gotten his attention. Rex knew better than most, how much (Y/N) had hope her best friend and his former General was okay, he'd somehow escaped the massacre and gone into hiding. Something he'd hoped for too. Although he had also forced himself to acknowledge the alternative. Anakin Skywalker was dead as the imperial files suggested.

"I have to know. I just hope my instincts are wrong this time" voiced (Y/N), noticing the look the pair of Rex and Echo shared. Both could hear the pain lacing through her voice. Both could hear the dread, fear and uncertainty ringing in her voice, despite her best attempts to hide them. "If anything goes wrong, run and rejoin with the others" added the former Jedi Knight, closing her eyes and swallowing the lump beginning to form in her throat. Stepping from the Ghost Marauder shortly after, her lightsaber at the ready, as she expected trouble. After all it was unwise for one to face a Sith Lord and not expect trouble or a trap.

Echo followed along behind, her words stinging in a way few others had before. Her order wasn't as it appeared to be. It was her subtly saying, if something went wrong she would give them the time to escape, even if that cost her own life. Something the Arc Trooper found himself uncomfortable with. She expected the worst to happen but didn't say why. Even Rex seemed uncomfortable with the idea, although his attention was temporarily on his communicator, where Hunter's smokey voice uttered some incoherent words.

"I've been waiting for you" came a mechanical voice. The owner of which seemed to be hiding within the ruins of the nearby temple, as proven by (Y/N)'s attention being directed towards it. Ignoring the forgotten battlefield the trio found themselves in the middle of, even now years after the Night Sister massacre, droid parts still scattered the baron lands, a few scorched and dead trees dotted here and there.

"What happened here?" quested Echo, noticing both B1 and 2 battle droids scattered, some had been mangled, while others had a strikes similar to the ones Omega's bow would cause, blasted upon them. Dotted among the droids were bodies, the fallen Night Sister's whom hadn't been spared the courtesy of a proper burial. The forgotten battlefield also serving as a cemetery.

"Grievous, attack and destroyed the clans during the last year of the war. Like the Jedi, what remain of the sisters are scattered across the galaxy. The brothers did what they could to honor them, but they mainly protect Merrin now" replied (Y/N), recalling when she'd asked the same question to Maul upon returning home again. She'd always believed the Night Sisters were invincible. After all they had the power to raise the dead if they felt threatened. "The emperor's orders" whispered (Y/N), yet another reason why she'd never support the Empire. Another reason she was determined to help bring it down.

As if waiting for the best moment for a dramatic entrance. An intimidating figure appeared from the shadows of the old temple, accompanied by deep, mechanical breathing. His black cape blowing behind him, as he slowly advanced towards them. (Y/N) didn't move, instead become more determined, even if her previous serious expression and turned into one of sadness. As if she'd just realize something. Echo and Rex took up defensive stances, ready to fight should they need to, both of them aiming their guns towards the unknown mechanical figure.

"It can't be" whispered (Y/N), not igniting her lightsaber. She was determined this wouldn't end in a duel, although she suspected that was likely what would happen anyway. "Rex, Echo, troopers west side" spoke the princess, upon attuning her senses once more, quickly realizing the trap, and refusing to allow Rex and Echo to go down with her. Instead she sent them to the troopers, giving them there best chance at surviving at the same time. "What happened to you, Anakin?" shakingly questioned the former Jedi Knight, still in disbelief the Sith Lord before her, the fist of the Empire, was none other than her former best friend, the chosen one.

"Anakin Skywalker was weak" responded the Sith Lord with malice in his mechanical voice, the eyes of his mask making it appear as if they were empty voids into an endless abyss. "I killed him" effortlessly added Darth Vader, looking to the woman whom had asked so many questions before, the woman whom he suspected already knew the truth but had denied it. Vader soon stepped towards the Princess, his masters orders in the forefront of his mind. Retrieve and return her to empire. Although the Sith apprentice was beginning to see that was going to be a far more difficult task than original thought. It was clear the Princess wasn't going anywhere willingly.

"My master has been looking for you since your escape. He will be pleased with your return" uttered the mechanical voice, deep and unbroken. The words direct, bringing (Y/N) from her trance of sadness as all her memories over powered her. She soon shook her head, pushing the overwhelming feelings away, concentrating on the Sith Lord before her, the man to have once been her best friend.

"I wont return to the Empire. I refuse to be another porn in the Emperor's game. I wont turn my back on the people who need me" voiced (Y/N) with anger and hatred stinging her voice. She hated the Emperor for taking almost everything she cared for and loved away, she hated the empire for what it was and what it stood for. For reminding her of the people she lost when the republic and order fell at the end of the war.

"Then you will die" uttered the mechanical voice, that drowned out the softness Anakin once had.

"So be it" replied (Y/N) with absolute as she ignited her own lightsaber. Noticing the Havoc Marauder land nearby, something that only served to ignite her determination even more. She had to protect her small squad and Rex. She had to protect Omega. She had to protect her family and lover.

Within a split second, their lightsabers clashed. Vader's red one smashing against her own one with hatred but also restraint. Where as (Y/N)'s blue duel bladed one serving to protect her from the strike and also make it more difficult for Vader to catch her off guard. There duel reminiscent of the one Obi-wan had once spoke of all those years ago on Naboo. The duel that had cost his master's life and brought the Sith's return to light. Although this time the roles were somewhat reversed, she the Jedi Knight had the duel bladed lightsaber, where as the now Sith Lord held a singleton.

Out of nowhere blaster bolts effortless flew past (Y/N). They would have hit Vader had he not moved to deflect them, he seemed just as taken back by the fire as she did. Although the former Jedi Knight had the advantage of knowing whom had fired them, although his position was anyone's guess. From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) noticed Hunter running after Omega, whom was heading in her direction. Vader too noticing the pair, quickly he deflected Hunter's blaster bolts and Omega's shots, redirecting them at Crosshair's position.

"Cross!" yelled (Y/N), feeling her heart drop, as fear of losing him for good clenched at her from the inside out. Vader's soon redirected some of the bolts back at Hunter and Omega, a few of them in her direction, as if attempting to force her to choose between whom got her attention. Him or the pair of clones. Relief soon washed over (Y/N), upon hearing Crosshair respond to Tech with a snide comment. With that (Y/N) launched at Vader again, determined to protect those she had left, no matter that cost of doing so.

"Run Omega" called (Y/N), calling for her apprentice to run, even when the young girl was attempting to fight at her side. Although the former Jedi Knight appreciated what Omega was trying to do, she was also well aware the younger clone didn't have the skills needed to fight against a Sith Lord. This was one of the occasions where (Y/N) hoped Omega would act with her head instead of heart. "Hunter, get her out of here" yelled (Y/N), her determination reignited to ensure Omega's survival, something she appeared to share with the others there.

Once again blaster bolts took Vader's attention off of (Y/N), although this time coming from Echo, who made no effort to hide. Crosshair had since come down from his perch, helping Tech and Wrecker nearby, while Rex redirected his attention to ensuring Omega's was safely stowed away aboard one of the ships. Tech soon joined in the effort at Hunter's order, the Sargent turning back in a effort to retrieve (Y/N) too, refusing to leave another behind. Refusing to allow his family to be broken again.

"(Y/N)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Screamed Crosshair, his screams gut-wrenching as his heart sank and began to crack and break. Without a second thought he ran towards her. As did Hunter. Both of them had bared witness to (Y/N)'s lightsaber being destroyed, they'd both helplessly watched as she'd been struck down by Vader. In the confusion, Echo had been struck by enemy fire, leaving Wrecker to hold the front on his own. As if a sign of mercy, Vader called off the troopers under his command, he'd been about to walk away when both Crosshair and Hunter began firing upon him again, just like before the Sith Lord effortlessly deflected each bolt.

"Crosshair, get to (Y/N). I'll handle him" ordered the Sargent, knowing none of them would be focusing right now, least of all Crosshair. Whom had just had his heart torn from his chest and shredded before him. Despite Hunter's best efforts, he wasn't a match for the Sith Lord, something the enhanced clone was well aware of. "Get out of here!" yelled the protective clone, knowing Echo was injured. He knew Crosshair wouldn't leave (Y/N) and he wasn't about to leave Crosshair again. "GO TECH"

Mere moments after those words left Hunter's lips, he'd been struck by the blaster bolts being deflected back at him. Crosshair once again calling out for another he loved, his voice even more broken than before. In his arms was his beloved (Y/N), she hadn't responded to him, she'd only lay motionless in his arms, seemingly peaceful. Vader on the other hand left, ignoring Crosshair as if he wasn't even there, walking away after if he hadn't just shattered someone's world and ripped away a reason for living.

Slowly Crosshair dragged (Y/N) with him, tired and heartbroken. Slowly he made his way over to Hunter, his brother still alive, although fading quickly. Maul had appeared now, helping by pulling Hunter just a little closer, his own heart breaking to see his daughter had fallen. Gently Maul took her hand, willing to her to wake up, even when he knew she was already gone. The Marauder reappeared shortly after, Omega being the first off the ship with tears in her eyes, Rex and Tech following behind trying their hardest to keep it together, as Wrecker appeared carrying Echo.

"Hunter" softly called Omega, running to his side. "No, not you too. I can't lose you please, we can get you back to the ship. We can get you help" cried Omega, her vision going blurry from the tears flooding her cheeks. She'd already been forced to say goodbye to Echo, (Y/N) she hadn't gotten the chance to. She didn't want to lose Hunter, not now, not ever. Maul placed a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort in a similar way to how he did with (Y/N) as a child. Omega soon reached out for Hunter's hand, as Crosshair wrapped (Y/N) in his own arms. Rex doing a similar thing with Echo, his brother whom had gone through hell and back.

"They're at peace now" whispered Maul, as Hunter's struggle to survive come to an end. "Bury them together" added the former Sith Lord, turning his attention to his only child. Seeing how peaceful she looked despite the large gash going from her shoulder to hip. She looked as if she was sleeping, finally free from all her pain and torment, finally her nightmare was over. "Remember this young apprentice, they'll always be with you, in here. One day we'll all see them again" whispered the grieving father, placing a hand over Omega's heart as he spoke. Making an effort to wipe away her tears and offer her some sort of comfort.

"Why did you leave me Cyar'ika" tearfully spoke Crosshair, his beloved weapon discarded at his side, his heart broken as he felt his world shatter. Whenever he'd thought about the future, (Y/N) had always been apart of it. Now she'd been ripped away, his reason for fighting was gone. What else did he have left to fight for now. His brothers wouldn't trust him again, Omega likely hated him at this point. Echo the brother to have fought for him had joined his Runi in peaceful death. Tech and Wrecker would be lost without Hunter, as would Omega, although she could fall back on Rex and now Maul. All Crosshair felt he had left now was the need for revenge. He wanted vengeance, the Empire had now taken everything from him. What more could he lose.

Masterlist 

[nightingaelic]

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

[janecrockeyre]

scum villain is a greek tragedy disguised as a regular tragedy disguised as a comedy disguised as a danmei

this is going to be long, and this is only PART ONE.

a.k.a, Analysing the plot of Scum Villain’s Self Saving System through Aristotle’s Poetics, because I Have Mental Issues

Part One: Introduction and the Tragic Hero

Scum Villain’s Self Saving System is a tragedy disguised as a comedy, unless you’re Shen Yuan, in which case it’s a mixture of a romance and a survival horror. It's a fever dream. It's a horrible, terrible book that made me feel new undiscovered emotions when I finished reading it. 

The thing is... SVSSS shares characteristics with some of the most famous tragedies in the West, such as Oedipus Rex, Medea, Antigone, the Oresteia... if you haven’t read these, I’ll explain everything. But the gist of my argument is this: SVSSS is the perfect tragedy. In triplicate. 

Tragedy as a genre is old as balls and so it has meant slightly different things to different people over the last few thousand years. I'll be focusing on ancient Greek tragedy, which was performed at the yearly Festival of Dionysus in Athens during the 500-350s BC (give or take a hundred years). Aristotle, when writing about this very specific subset of tragedy, had no idea that one day Scum Villain would be written, and then that I would be using his work as a way to look at Shen Qingqiu’s Funky Transmigration Mistake. Anyway!

Greek tragedy greatly influenced European dramatic tradition. I have a lot of opinions about white academics idolising and upholding the classics as the "paragon of culture" but I'll withhold them for now. I have no idea if MXTX has read Greek tragedy or not, so don't take this as me saying they are writing it. 

In my opinion, tragedy is a universal human constant. We are surrounded by pain and hurt and none of it makes any sense, so we seek to process that pain through drama, art, literature, etc. We want to understand why pain happens, and how it happens, and try to make sense of the senseless. The universe is cold and cruel and random. Tragedy eases some of that pain. 

On that note: Just because I am analysing Scum Villain through a Greek lens doesn't mean that it was written that way. I'm pasting an interpretation onto the book when there's probably a very rich and deep history of Chinese tragedy that I just don't know about. If you ever want to talk about that, please, god, hit me up, I would love to learn about it!! 

Anyway, tragedy. MXTX is excellent at it! Mo Dao Zu Shi? Painful dynastic family tragedy. Heaven Official's Blessing? Mostly romance, but she managed to get that pure pain in there, huh? 

But in my opinion, Scum Villain holds the crown for the most tragic of her stories. MDZS was more of a mystery. TGCF was more of a romance. Neither of them shy away from their tragic elements. 

Scum Villain would fit right in between the work of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus. How? Let me show you. Join me on my mystery tour into the world of "Aristotle Analyses Danmei..."

Part One: The Tragic Hero

What is a tragic hero? Generally, Greek tragic heroes are united by the same key characteristics. He must be imperfect, having a "fatal flaw" of some kind. He must have something to lose. And he must go from fortune to misfortune thanks to that fatal flaw. 

There are two (technically three) tragic protagonists in SVSSS and all of them are tragic in different but formulaic ways. Each protagonist has their own version of “hamartia” or a “fatal flaw”. 

Actually, hamartia isn’t necessarily a flaw - rather, it is a thing which makes the audience pity and fear for them, a careful imperfection, a point of weakness in the character’s morality or reasoning that allows for bad things to happen to them. For example, in Oedipus Rex, the king Oedipus has a “fatal flaw” of always wanting to find the truth, but this isn’t exactly a flaw, right? Note: this flaw can be completely unwitting, as we see with Shen Yuan. It can also be something that the protagonist is born with, some kind of trait from birth or very young. 

Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan’s “hamartia” is his rigid adherence to fate and his inability to read a situation as anything but how he thinks it ought to be. He believes that Bingmei will grow into Bingge, and it takes several years, two deaths, and some truly traumatising sex to convince him otherwise. 

Shen Jiu

Shen Jiu’s fatal flaw is his cruelty. It is his own sadistic treatment and abuse of Binghe which directly leads to his eventual dismemberment. This is kind of a no-brainer. Of course, it isn't all that simple, and as an audience we pity him for his cruelty as much as we fear it because we know it comes from his own abuse as a child. This just makes him even more tragic. Delicious. 

Luo Binghe

Luo Binghe’s fatal flaw is a complicated mix of things. It is his position as the “protagonist” which compels him to act in certain ways and be forced to suffer. It is his half-demonic heritage, something entirely out of his control, which sets in motion his tragic reversal of fortune when he gets yeeted into the Abyss. He also, much like Shen Yuan, has the propensity to jump to conclusions and somehow make 2 + 2 = 5. 

As well as having their respective “flaws”, all three protagonists match the rough outline of a good tragic hero in another way: they are in a position of great wealth and power. Even when you split the different characters into different “versions”, this still holds true. Yes, Luo Binghe is raised a commoner by a washerwoman foster mother, but his dad is an emperor and he also ends up becoming an emperor himself. 

Yes, Shen Jiu is an ex-slave and a victim of abuse himself, but Shen Qingqiu is a powerful peak lord with an entire mountain’s worth of resources at his back. 

Shen Yuan is a second generation new money rich kid. 

Bingge is a stereotypical protagonist with a golden finger. Bingmei is a treasured and loved disciple with a good reputation and a privileged seat by his shizun’s side. 

In a tragedy, having this kind of good fortune at the beginning of your story is dangerous. Chaucer says that tragedy is (badly translated into modern english) “a certain story / of him that stood in great prosperity / and falls out of high degree / into misery, and ends up wretchedly”. If we follow this line of thinking, a good tragedy is about someone who has a lot to lose, losing everything because of one fatal point of weakness that they fail to address or understand. 

If we look at Shakespeare, this is what makes King Lear such a fantastic tragic protagonist. He is a king in control of most of England, who from his own lack of wisdom and excess of pride, decides to split his kingdom apart to give to his daughters, favouring his murderous, double crossing progeny, and condemning his only actually filial daughter to death. He loses his kingdom, his mind, and his beloved daughter, all because of his own stupidity.

This brings us to:

Part Two: Peripeteia

This reversal of fortunes is called peripeteia. It is the moment where the entire plot shifts, and the hero’s fortunes go from good to bad. Think of it like one of those magic eye puzzles, where you stare at the image until a 3D shark appears, except you realise the shark was always there, you just couldn't ever see it, waiting for you, hungry, deadly, always lurking just behind that delightful pattern of random blue squiggles. 

Each tragic hero has their own moment of peripeteia in SVSSS, sometimes several:

Shen Qingqiu

In the original PIDW, SQQ’s peripeteia presumably occurs when he finds out that Bingge didn’t perish in the Abyss but has actually been training hard to come and pay him back. There’s really not much I’m interested in saying here - as a villain, OG!SQQ is cut and dry, and the audience doesn’t really feel any pity or fear for him. As Shen Yuan often mentions, what the audience feels when they see OG!SQQ is bloodlust and sick satisfaction. There is also the trial at Huan Hua Palace, which I will talk about in Shen Yuan’s section. 

Shen Yuan (SQQ 2.0)

One of SY’s most poggers moment of peripeteia is the glorious, terrifying section between hearing Binghe for the first time after the Abyss moment, and getting shoved into the Water Prison. 

“Behind him, a low and soft voice came: “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu’s neck felt stiff as he slowly turned his head. Luo Binghe’s face was the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

The scariest thing about it was that the expression on his face was not cold at all. His smile wasn’t sharp like a knife. Rather, it showed a kind of bone-deep gentleness and amiability.”

This is the moment of true horror for Shen Yuan, because he knows what happens next: the plot unfurls before him, inevitable and painful, and he knows that death awaits him at Luo Binghe's hands (lol). Compare it with the bone deep certainty with which he faces his own downfall during the sham of a trial later in the chapter (I’ve bolded the important part):

“In the original work, Qiu Haitang’s appearance signified only one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s complete fall from grace. [...] Shen Qingqiu’s heart streamed with tears. Great Master… I know you’re doing this for my own good, but I’ll actually suffer if she speaks her words clearly. This truly is the saying “not frightened of doing a shameful deed, just afraid the ghost (consequences) will come knocking”!”

After the peripeteia is usually the denouement where the plot wraps up and the threads are all tied together leaving no loose ends, but because this tragedy isn’t Shen Yuan’s but the former Shen Jiu’s, it’s impossible to finish. 

Shen Yuan cannot provide the meaningful answers that the narrative demands because 1) he doesn’t have any memory of doing anything, and 2) he wasn’t the person who did them. Narratively, he cannot follow the same path as the former SQQ because he lacks the same fatal flaw: cruelty. 

This is why Binghe doesn’t kill him - because he loves him, rather than despises him. And this is why Shen Yuan has to sacrifice himself and die for Luo Binghe in order to save him from Xin Mo: because the narrative demands that denouement follows peripeteia, and SQQ’s fate is in the hands of the narrative. 

(Side note: I believe that this literal death also represents the death of OG!SQQ's tragic arc. The body that committed all those crimes must die to satisfy the narrative. SQQ must die, like burning down a forest, so that new growth can sprout from the ashes. After this, Shen Yuan's story has more room to develop instead.)

It must happen to show Bingmei that SQQ loves him too. And this brings us to Bingmei.

Bingmei

Bingmei has two succinct moments of utter downfall. The first is a literal fall - his flaw, his demonic heritage, leads his beloved shizun to throw him down into the Abyss. From his point of view, SQQ is punishing him simply for the status of his birth. He rapidly goes from being loved and cherished unconditionally, to being the victim of an assassination attempt. 

He realises that he is totally unlovable: that for the crimes of his species that he never had a hand in, he must pay the price as well: that his shizun is so righteous that no matter what love there was between them, if SQQ sees a demon, he will kill it. Even if that demon is Bingmei. 

The second moment is when SQQ dies for him. Again, from his point of view, he was chasing after a man who was struggling to see him as a human being. Shen Qingqiu’s death makes Bingmei realise that he has been completely misunderstanding his shizun: that SQQ would literally die for him, the ultimate act of self sacrifice from love: that SQQ loved him despite his demon heritage. 

Much like King Lear holding the corpse of his daughter and wailing in sheer grief and pain because he did this, he caused this, Bingmei gets to hold his shizun's cold body and cry his eyes out and know that it was his fault. (Kind of.)

(Yes, I’m bringing Shakespeare into this, no I am not justifying myself)

Maybe I'm a bit sadistic, but that scene slaps. Let me show you a comparison of scenes so you get the picture. 

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

[...]

 KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

Dies

Versus this scene in SVSSS: 

Luo Binghe turned a deaf ear to everything else, greatly agitated and at a loss of what to do. He was still holding Shen Qingqiu’s body, which was rapidly cooling down. It seemed like he wanted to call for him loudly and forcefully shake him awake, yet he didn’t dare to, as if he was afraid of being scolded. He said slowly, “Shizun?”

[...]

Luo Binghe involuntarily held Shen Qingqiu closer.

He said in a small voice, “I was wrong, Shizun, I really… know that I was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to kill you…”

PAIN. SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL PAIN. Yes, I know Shakespeare isn’t Athenian, but he was inspired by the good old stuff and he also knew how to write a perfect tragedy on his own terms. Anyway. I’ll find more Greek examples later.

This post was a bit all over the place, but I hope it has been fun to read. Part Two will be coming At Some Point, Who Knows When. This is a bit messy and unedited, but hey, I’m not getting paid or graded, so you can eat any typos or errors. Unless you’re here to talk to me about Chinese tragedy, in which case, please pull up a seat, let me get you a drink, make yourself at home.

ps: if you want to retweet this, here is the promo tweet!

[aminiatureworld]

Burden

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: None

Premise: Xiao fell in love with your goodness, with your selflessness and generosity towards others. Perhaps, however, in doing so he had misunderstood your own complexities.

In which the reader feels they are a burden.

Author’s Note: I feel like I should note that there are going to be some relatively extreme emotions, mostly negative. I don’t feel like it’s enough or specific enough to be given a warning, but if anyone wants to tell me to tag it for something I will gladly. That being said I’m pretty proud of this one

Xiao

Ever since your first interaction you had been helping Xiao. It had seemed so natural, even then, even when nothing seemed natural about interacting with a human, those strange people from who Xiao must always be separated. Yet there you were, asking if this perfect stranger was alright. And there Xiao was, suddenly seeing his world opening up before him.

Perhaps it was for this reason that your relationship had developed in the way it had. To Xiao your selflessness, your never ending kindness, the fact that you would stop to help someone regardless of circumstance, all of that was normal. It was innate in your personality, and perhaps that was why Xiao never questioned what effect having that kind of personality might have on you. It is easy to assume that a kind and selfless person is also one with a short memory. After all, how could they stand it otherwise?

So when the first, barely noticeable, traces of that burden which Xiao saw so often began to swirl around you the yaksha’s initial reaction was that of utter panic. Was this not the exact reason that Xiao had chosen to disconnect himself from humanity? Was this not proof, right before him, that the chains he carried could not be contained. Though Xiao generally thought of humans as vaguely useless, deserving of protection because Rex Lapis proclaimed it be so, the idea of harming any one of them with the legacy of his own sins, it was something that he could never stomach, no matter how many times he feigned apathy. That you should be the person upon who his burdens should be transferred, how could he bear it?

Of course a small, more logical, part of him urged the adeptus to stop and think. The miasma that Xiao attracted in such high concentration was everywhere, and humans were not exempt from this burden by themselves. After all, did humanity not channel great evil as well as good? Did not the most ordinary human, dejected by their lot in life, become swarmed by little wisps of evil? Yet those were other, ordinary humans. Ordinary humans couldn’t understand the sheer capability to love that you seemed to possess. No, if Xiao could sense such a miasma around you then it was surely his fault.

Still the idea of leaving you was something quite painful to Xiao, to the adeptus who had so recently learned what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. He told himself that it was best to leave immediately, best to disappear with the wind and never look back. Yet a part of him couldn’t seem to bear the idea; and that was the part that won out as Xiao approached you later in the day, as if in a desperate last attempt to prove himself wrong.

“Are you alright?”

“Xiao!” You jumped slightly, having evidently been lost in thought. Smiling widely you shook your head. “Of course I’m alright! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” Xiao paused for a moment as the idea of telling you what was going on flitted through his head. Almost immediately the thought was squashed. After all, would the knowledge not worry you more? “I was just asking.”

“Well thank you Xiao, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Still,” your smile never faltered. “You deserve thanks for what you do nonetheless.”

Xiao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, tried to block out the emotions that crashed over him like great waves as you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Was this not a good thing? After all, if Xiao was what cause this miasma to float around you, then was that not your salvation? Xiao knew how easy it was to drown in the burdens that one must shoulder. He knew how easy it was for humans to sink to the bottom of their despair and never once more emerge for water. Why should it not be a blessing that you would never have to fight to keep your head up, to keep yourself from a life full of burdens? Why, why did it hurt so much?

During the night, Xiao would leave during the night. After all, you deserved one last evening of happiness, if the yaksha could even believe that he brought you happiness. Or maybe it was for his sake that he refused to leave before the world was plunged into darkness. Maybe it was simply that Xiao could no longer imagine a world without you, and that such nightmares came out easier at night. Lying on top of the roof, eyes closed, ears focused on the familiar tread of your feet, Xiao willed himself not to think. He could regret when he was far away from you, when you were once more safe. For now he could only follow that ritual which had so long kept him sane, kept him from joining his brethren. For now he thought only of the contract he had once made.

The sound of your feet on the ground below came all too soon, as the sun finally began its descent across the heavens in earnest. Keeping his eyes closed, as if to stall the darkness for a little longer, Xiao took a deep breath in. He needed to steel himself for this evening; if not, well, Xiao had no wish to cry for the first time in a millennia.

Only once these thoughts finished flitting around in his head did the yaksha finally recognize the change in your footfall. Usually you were very light on your feet, dashing this way and that, stopping to ask Goldet or Yanxiao some mundane question, inquiring after the old lady who had basically set up permanent residence on the bottom floor of the Inn. This time, however, you seemed to drag, as if you were indeed carrying something very heavy. Alarm flashing through him, Xiao willed himself into perfect stillness. He wished to hear more, wished to understand what had caused such a change in you.

What he certainly hadn’t expected was the labored breathing of someone seconds away from tears.

The moment Xiao heard the door to your room close the sobbing began in earnest. Though you certainly seemed to be trying your hardest to hide your tears the sound of your muffled sobs rang through Xiao like a siren, flaring up every bit of alarm he had to offer. Jumping off of the roof Xiao catapulted his way through the hallways of the Inn, not bothering to hide his presence to the few, very confused, residents that were out. Reaching your room he didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before grabbing the knob and opening the door.

Your head snapped up, eyes a mixture of dark emotions as you stared at him. For a moment you seemed ready to flee, to run and hide somewhere, or perhaps to throw him out. However almost immediately you seemed to sink back into yourself, and though Xiao could still sense your distress, at least the initial shock of his arrival seemed to have passed as quickly as it would otherwise.

“Xiao! I, I didn’t expect you. I, could, could you leave? I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want to be seen right now.” It was all you could get out before another round of sobs wracked through your body.

Trying to remember what you had done for so many people, for himself, Xiao grabbed the pitcher that sat at one of the tables in the room. Pouring some water into a glass he crept towards you as softly as possible, hoping that he could convey his worries in these odd, brusque actions. He knew that he didn’t have the talent you had to comfort people, knew that all his gestures of kindness inevitably came out cramped and awkward. Nevertheless he shoved the glass into your hands, staring just past you as you tentatively downed the water. Taking the glass from you Xiao then reached out one of his palms to you. His relief when you placed your own palm on top of his was indescribable.

“I guess you probably would like an explanation,” you rasped out.

Xiao said nothing, waiting for you to act on your own. If he knew anything the yaksha knew that attempting to force the truth out of anyone would never worked. Hadn’t his own years as a pariah taught him that.

“It’s just,” you finally continued, taking in deep, labored breaths. “It’s just so hard. It’s so hard Xiao, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stand it?”

“Stand the… the hurt!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you went to grab the handkerchief that you left on your nightstand. You always needed one with you, as your eyes stung terribly whenever you began to cry. Xiao said nothing as you sobbed once more, only moving to draw small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“It hurts so much, to see other people. To hear their problems. Not that it’s their fault, or that I don’t want to help them. I do, I really do. I look at all the people suffering near me and I just want to take all their burdens and give it to myself, after all they don’t deserve all their sufferings. But it’s so hard Xiao, it’s so hard to take on people’s burdens, even a little bit. And I feel so selfish when I think that, so selfish and so worthless. How can I say that? But it’s true, it’s really, really true. And when I think about that, when I think about all the other people suffering worse than me, it just makes me feel so horribly selfish. Like, like all my problems are so stupid and selfish and telling others would only hurt them, and didn’t I want to take everyone else’s burdens away? I’m so stupid. And it just, it hurts.”

Xiao sat there quietly once more, waiting as you cried. At one point you seemed to collapse in on yourself, leaning against his shoulder as if to support yourself. Only then did Xiao allow himself to move. Carding his hands through your hair he said nothing, he merely waited.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. You already have enough burdens, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining to you of all people. I, if you want you can tell me if something is wrong. I mean, you always can, I, just. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“My burdens are my own,” Xiao replied softly, finally letting the emotions swirling through him try to string together as words. “It has nothing to do with you. It never will. You, you should come to me when you feel burdened.”

“But then I’m only passing my problems onto you!”

“I told you, my chains are my own. They are the payment for my contract. They aren’t what you tell me or push on me. If you feel these burdens then give to me. That is my duty.”

“But Xiao, I, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“How can you say something so stupid,” Xiao scoffed. Bringing his hand to your cheek he sighed softly. “You will never be a problem. You will always be dear to me. Let me help you. You help so many humans. I want to help you.”

“I, I don’t know,” you spoke, voice faltering.

Though Xiao could still feel the tension in the air, could still see the miasma which swirled around you, there was something fragile about it. It was as if Xiao could reach through the tangled threads and pull them away, if only he could find a way to do so. Stroking your cheek softly Xiao pressed his forehead to yours. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. After a few moments he heard you do the same.

The rest of the evening Xiao stayed vigilant by your side, listening as you finally let yourself say all the things that had been weighing down upon you. It was painful, listening to you. Xiao constantly had to fight the urge to tell you how wrong you were, how much you mattered and how far he would go to bring you all the happiness he could possible gather in his stained hands. Still he said nothing, for if you had taught him anything it was that simply listening could do infinitely more than promising to fight or trying to shoulder each burden as you lay them out in the daylight.

Eventually you grew exhausted, a combination of the crying and the talking and the reliving. As Xiao listened to your breath even out, softly shifting your head from leaning on his shoulder to resting in his lap, the yaksha thought about all that had happened.

Xiao had assumed that you were somehow above all the humans around you. Purer, gentler, kinder. He hadn’t stopped to think how that might have affected you. Now that he knew that wasn’t true, now that Xiao knew how deeply you felt, how sometimes your mind too chased after darkness or found itself struggling to keep above water, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d missed something before. Perhaps you shouldered these burdens and perhaps you were just as human as the rest. You were still kind, kind and selfless and utterly beautiful. And Xiao still loved you in a way that continued to burn brightly through his soul.

[sameheart-sameblood]

All To Myself

(gif by @captainrexs​)

pairing: captain rex x f!reader

summary: bath time with rex usually means trying to get him to relax, but tonight it's your turn to let him help you out

words: 3.1 k

warnings: 18+, smut, bathtime shenanigans (f receiving), rex being the giver we all know he is

a/n: this is purely self-indulgent as i love baths. i would give up all my earthly possessions to take one with rex. this is my first attempt at smut (which is probably obvious lol). kind of didn’t want to release this but got tired of it staring at me whenever i opened word

read on ao3!

Your evenings were usually spent alone. At first, that had bothered you. Rex had come into your life and you wanted nothing more than to be in his presence. The calmness and kindness he exuded was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Being around him made you crave his presence all the more, like spice coursing through your system. You knew his job meant he was needed off planet most of the time. But was it really too much to ask that you see him occasionally while he was back on Coruscant? 

As your relationship went on, you got used to it. Being numb to the canceled dinners and missed special occasions was just what seemed in store for someone who loved a captain in the GAR. Which is why you barely batted an eyelash when he had commed you earlier in the day, rushing an apology about not being able to see you that evening. You might be resigned to the fact that Rex’s life was his job but it still didn’t make it easier to stomach the thought of another night alone. 

The two of you had planned an evening on the town, dinner and dancing. Well, at least you dancing while Rex swayed self-consciously next to you. He hated it and yet he never tried to talk you out of going. It was one of the many things you loved about him. It was these things you remembered when your loneliness got the best of you. So what if Rex couldn’t always be around? Whenever he was with you he made you feel like the only person in the world. 

You contemplate calling your friends to see if they’d like to join you for your planned activities. But you’re feeling sorry for yourself and if you can’t be with Rex, then you’d rather just be by yourself. You decide to keep things simple and take a bath. The thought instantly puts you in a better mood. It’s one of your favorite past-times. 

******

When Rex had first seen your bath routine, he’d been in shock. As someone who was usually only afforded about two minutes to bathe, the thought of taking an hours long bath blew his mind. You’d insisted he try it for himself. He watched as you drew him a bath of his own, adjusting the temperature just right and properly dissolving a few handfuls of epsom salts. 

Before leaving him, you’d dimmed the lights, lit a few sweet smelling candles and turned on some light background music. Lowering himself into the tub, Rex thought the experience might be alright. But after a minute, he was ready to get out. He had tried to understand it, really he had. But as someone always on the go, he couldn’t easily relax, constantly fighting the feeling he should be doing something. 

He didn’t begrudge you taking your baths. After all, he saw how happy they made you and he wanted nothing more than to see you content. But for a soldier, the experience felt like an indulgence he didn’t deserve. 

He had shyly called you back into the bathroom. “I don’t think I’m doing it right, love.” You’d gone in to find him sitting there, looking confused, as if expecting something more to happen. “There’s no wrong way to take a bath, Rex.” Sitting down next on the edge of the porcelain, you’d motioned for him to keep trying. He’d sat back, shoulders tensed towards his ears, staring straight ahead, eyes wide, his whole body on alert. 

You had to stifle a laugh as you watched. “Ok, apparently you have found a wrong way to take a bath.” He’d looked so forlorn at his failure that you had no choice but to shed your clothes and get in, taking a more hands on approach to showing him how to relax. He’d liked baths much more after that…

******

Easing yourself into the water makes you instantly relax. Knowing you’ll most likely spend the rest of the night in here, you make sure to get everything prepared that you might need. Feeling cheeky, you also bring over of your favorite vibrator. You’re not going to be getting any from Rex tonight, so might as well try to have some fun. 

You get to catch up on the book you’re reading, feeling satisfied when you finish the last page. Settling back, you let your mind wander, hands playing at the surface of the water. An accidental glide over your breast sparks something in your belly. You pause, then do it again, imagining it’s Rex’s larger, calloused hand teasing you. You grab the vibrator, placing it next to you. 

Before you delve in, you turn the water on to return some of the warmth the bath has lost. 

Over the roar of the tap, you don’t hear the door open. Someone clears their throat and you whip your head towards the noise. Rex greets you, shoulders slumped with fatigue. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

And you must look scared too, you’re eyes double their usual size. You glance at the vibrator, wondering if you have time to hide it. Rex isn’t against your use of toys, in fact he encourages them. But you’re still embarrassed at being caught just about to put it to use. He follows your eyes, his own widening slightly. 

“Ah, so it was going to be that kind of bath?” He chuckles, expression darkening slightly as you squirm under his gaze. He just stands there, looking at you. Oh, he’s actually expecting an answer. “Well, I just figured, you weren’t going to be home, and I was bored and lonely and…” 

You’re rambling now but you can’t stop, even as you watch him slowly remove his armor. He does so tantalizingly slow, nodding along with mock sympathy as you continue. 

“I thought I would be alone for the night and I missed you so much, Rex, honey, I miss you.” 

His face softens at your wavering tone, your sincerity written all over your face. He finishes stacking his armor neatly in the corner. “I missed you too.” He strips out of his blacks, folding them as you openly gawk at him. He allows himself a smirk at your neediness. Finally ridding himself of his clothing, he kneels down next to the bath. He runs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m here now. You don’t need to be lonely anymore.”

That night you had first introduced him to proper bath-time, you’d sat behind him, guiding him on just how to really relax. But tonight, he wants you to be taken care of. He motions for you to scooch forward, then sinks in behind you, groaning softly. You settle into each other, just reveling in the closeness for a moment.

Rex exhales a ragged breath and you feel some of the tension go out of his body. “Tough day?” He pulls you closer, your back pressed to his chest. “Just the usual. Nothing I can’t handle.” You know him well enough now to hear the pain in his tone. He feels you tense, knowing you want to ask him to elaborate, always trying to solve his problems. Rex rubs your arms slowly, soothing you “Not to worry. Everything’ll be fine.”

Rex’s hands continue their hypnotic rubbing. Up and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You allow yourself to relax once again but don’t let the matter drop. “You had a long day, Rex. Let me help you unwind.” You try and get out of the bath so you can switch places. But he’s having none of it. He holds you gently in place. “Taking care of you will help me relax, love.”

When you had first gotten together and he would say these kinds of things to you, it was hard to believe him. Could he truly be this selfless? It felt in some way like you were taking advantage of him. As your relationship progressed, you’d come to see that he truly meant things like that. Rex had many love languages but his favorite was acts of service.

Sighing in defeat, you settle back against him. He chuckles at your small sounds of mock protest. Rex nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent of pine and Alderaanian blossoms. For a moment, he breathes you in, forgetting about the world. But as his eyes slowly open, he’s greeted by the sight of your long abandoned vibrator. Rex reaches for it, toying with it. You see what he’s doing and turn towards him. “It’s ok. I’m fine. Let’s just lay here.” 

Your captain may be tired but he’ll be damned if he doesn't fall asleep knowing you've been satisfied. “That’s right. You just lay there. Let me do the work.” The tiny thing clicks on, a buzzing filling the room. Rex lowers it into the water, the vibrations sending out tiny ripples. He pauses hovering above where you need him most. 

“What do you think of when you use this?” You’re so caught off guard by the question that you only let out a confused garble. He gives your thigh a squeeze, chuckling at the state you’re already in. “I haven’t even started yet, love. Use your words.”

After that, there’s no hesitation. “You.” The word comes out in a needy rasp. Rex is right. He hasn't even touched you yet and your body is already wound up so tightly in anticipation that you’re sure you might combust at any moment. “It’s always you, Rex.” You can’t see but his face softens, still so surprised someone would ever care for him like that. 

He rewards you with a lingering kiss on your shoulder and lowers the toy to your already swollen clit. You jolt at the sensation, body automatically trying to get away from it. Rex’s free arm tightens around you, forcing you to stay still and power through the first few seconds of overstimulation. You’re still whimpering, but you soon relax, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. 

He studies your face, your eyes screwed tight and mouth slightly agape. “Is this what you needed?” All you can do is nod but he prompts you to continue, rubbing the vibrator slowly up and down through your folds. Gasping at the new sensation, your eyes pop open to meet his. “I-I…” The arm that had been holding you tightly against him loosens. His hand moves to your breast, massaging gently.

It’s been so long since you’ve had time to take things this slow. Usually he’s only got a few minutes free, leaving time for a rushed rendezvous and nothing more. But tonight you have him all to yourself. No comms beeping to steal his attention, no duty calling him away. It’s as if there’s nothing outside of these four walls and you know it’s an opportunity that won’t come along often. 

Your head lolls to the side as he continues his ministrations. The coil in your belly is tightening quickly but you fight against it, needing something different. Your voice eventually resurfaces, your words on the tail end of a moan. “I- I need you!” Urging life back into your limbs that have since turned to jelly is difficult. But you manage to move your hand to cover his, clicking off the vibrator. 

Rex stills for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. Turning your head to look at him, you see his confusion. You reach up to stroke his face, eyes pleading with him. After a moment, you see him understand. It’s something you always want, without fail. He smiles down at you, leaning over you to gently press his lips to yours. 

The vibrator is quickly abandoned on the side of the tub. With both hands free, Rex can really touch you, hands roaming about at his leisure. You sigh contently as his rough fingers trail along the sides of your body, then upwards to tease your nipples. The embers in your belly that had dimmed slightly are now burning brightly once again. He senses this and lowers a hand to your clit. 

At first, he just runs his fingers through your folds. He doesn’t mean to tease, he just hasn’t been able to feel you, to truly appreciate you in so long. But your whine pulls him out of his trance and he begins to rub circles that leave you gasping for air. He begins slowly, making sure you're happy with the direction things are going. 

Rex holds in his chuckle as he peers down at you. Your head has once again tipped back against him. But now, your face has gone slack, no tightness or tenseness to be found. Only pleasure. His free hand moves between your breasts, squeezing, massaging and tugging, making sure neither is neglected. He sees just how much your chest is heaving and decides to give you your reward. You’ve been so patient for him. 

His hand tugs at your thigh, pulling you out of your daze. “What are you - “ He lifts your leg and hooks it over the edge of the tub, spreading you wider for better access. You moan pitifully as the hand that had been rubbing circles delves back in. There’s so much more of you he can touch now and it makes you tremble. He beams down at you proudly, seeing how much this slight change is bringing you closer to the edge. 

You're tensing under him, back beginning to bow. Your sudden movement brings attention to his erection that’s been slowly growing. He can’t help when he automatically begins to grind against you. But Rex knows you well enough now to realize he only has a few more seconds before you're toppling into oblivion. His release can wait. 

Abandoning your breast, his hand slides up to your neck, applying the slightest pressure. You keen at the feeling. It’s not a show of dominance. It’s Rex reminding you that he’s there for you, a comforting presence that makes you feel perpetually taken care of. 

You twist your neck so you can gape up at him. The hand on your clit continues it’s work, doubling down its efforts. Throughout the experience, you’d been gripping the sides of the tub for dear life. But now, you bring one up to cover Rex’s hand that’s enclosed around your neck. Even through your haze of lust, your heart aches at the pure love radiating from his eyes. 

You're too far gone, unable to form words. All you can do is moan and hope he can decipher it. If you weren't in such a compromising position you would have to laugh. Asking someone to be able to decipher your desires without words. But thankfully Rex knows you like the back of his hand. He knows what you're asking, what last thing you need to make you let go. Loosening his grip on your neck, he uses it to hold your face, crashing your lips together. 

The kiss doesn’t break, even as you writhe under him. You try to turn away from him as you come, but he holds you to him, needing to feel you as much as you needed to feel him. The water is sloshing over the sides of the tub, your once full bath almost halfway empty. Rex breaks the kiss, letting the aftershocks of your release play out. 

He rubs soothingly against your thighs, watching as you twitch. You collapse onto him, finally beginning to break through the fog. The ability to form a coherent sentence seems to have left you. All you can manage is a weak sigh of his name. It’s the only thing you can remember and, in all honesty, you’d die a happy woman if that was the only thing you could utter for the rest of your life. 

“Was that what you needed, love?” Rex nuzzles into your neck as you chuckle. “Apparently more than I realized.” The rubbing at your sides pauses. You look to Rex to see what’s wrong and find his face twisted with guilt. “This isn’t right. If I can’t give you the attention you need then I don’t deserve you.” This isn’t the first time you've had this conversation and you're sure it wont be the last. 

But you’re happy to reassure your lover, as many times as you need to. “You give me everything I need, Rex. You’re smart, brave, funny, kind, supportive, sexy.” He lowers his eyes at the last word, smiling demurely. “I don’t know how I got so lucky. You give me everything and so much more. And I mean, if you don’t believe me, just look.” You laugh, gesturing at your bathroom, now in a state of disrepair, water on the floor, shampoo and soap bottles scattered, candles burnt down to messy puddles. 

Rex chuckles but looks contrite, rubbing his neck shyly. “Guess we got a little carried away.” He’s already made you come once, and spectacularly at that. But just the sight of him has those butterflies in your belly stirring to life again. You bat your eyelashes. “Now will you let me take care of you?” He closes his eyes, sighing tiredly. His cock, still hard against your back is evidence enough, but his muscles sag with fatigue.

“I want you more than anything. But I think I have just enough energy to clean this mess and then fall into bed.” Shaking your head, you gently extricate yourself from his arms. You stand on shaky legs as you hold out your hand for him. “Everything else can wait. Let me show you how much I missed you, Captain.” 

His eyes widen, lust beginning to cloud his gaze. You don’t use his title often, knowing how riled up it gets him to hear the word fall from your lips. But you need the big guns tonight, refusing to leave him wanting. Rex grabs for you and lets you lead him through the ruined bathroom and into your bedroom. 

He takes one last look at the state you’re leaving the room in. “But we should really clean this…” You lead him to the bed and softly push him down on to it. He looks up at you with doe eyes as you straddle his hips. “We will, honey. But no sense cleaning up now when we’re just about to make another mess.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 318: On Your Left

Previously on BnHA: The Hawksquad+Lurkers were all “well this sucks” and sat around a bit talking about how maybe they should actually come up with a new plan that is actually good, but then in the end they were like “nah.” Deku was all, “THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE ME THAT PULLS BENEATH THE SURFACE!! CONSUMING, CONFUSING!! THIS LACK OF SELF CONTROL I FEAR IS NEVERENDING. IT’S HAUNTING HOW I CANT SEEM TO FIND MYSELF AGAIN. MY WALLS ARE CLOSING IN.” Just, literally that whole entire song. All Might was all “Deku you should take care of yourself, try eating a thing,” and Deku was all “BYE, ALL MIGHT,” and just LEFT. He left!!! What the fuck!!!

Today on BnHA: Endeavor is all, “maybe if Deku didn’t listen to All Might he’ll listen to me instead.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t listen to Endeavor]” because, well, yeah. The Vestiges are all, “surprisingly, even we are a little concerned -- maybe you should get some rest, kid.” Deku is all, “((Ò ‸ Ó)).” The Vestiges are all, “holy shit.” Deku is all, “[wanders the ruined city streets terrifying the populace on account of him looking like Shelob had a baby with one of the Nazgul].” Some shriveled-up puppeteer villain asshole is all, “HORIKOSHI SAID IT’S MY TURN TO ATTACK DEKU TODAY SO I AM GOING TO SUMMON MY FRIGHTENED HELPLESS ATTACK MOB!!” Kacchan is all “WHADDYA MEAN THEY FOUND THE NERD!!! -- oh wait, that’s me, I found him. I found the nerd, you guys.” And just in time, too. I was about to owe a whole lot of people a whole lot of dollars.

so I have been super good about spoilers this week as always, but let me tell you guys, for the past 36 hours my dash filters have basically been nonstop “manga spoilers” this and “bnha 318” that, and so I’m coming in with a fair amount of hype here. your move, Horikoshi

oh, good! they got Endeavor to call Deku to try to talk him out of it. what a great and wonderful plan

“listen up kid, you haven’t slept since March and you are basically a walking biohazard right now, I’m just telling it like it is. didn’t you get shot like three times?? and there was a whole thing about how you urgently needed medical attention?? and supposedly we gave it to you, but I mean you haven’t even changed your clothes and don’t seem to have any fresh bandages or anything, so did we?? did we, really?? and also we all got blown up yesterday, so yeah.” hmm he’s making some reasonable points here you guys, but you sure do go on and on, Endeavor

oh he says foreign aid is finally on its way! I’m sure they’ll be very helpful. I mean in fairness they can hardly be worse than the home-grown heroes at this point

hey Enji, could you maybe try appealing to Deku the sixteen-year-old human boy, as opposed to Deku The World’s Last Hope? he does have value beyond his quirk. I know that’s always been an incredibly difficult concept for you to grasp, but could you maybe TRY, jesus

and also we’re worried about you as a person?? you’re just a kid and you’re pushing yourself way too hard?? you were going to say that part next, right. why the hell didn’t Hawks make this call instead

“don’t worry about me... I’m completely fine” Deku you do understand that saying it over and over again doesn’t actually make it true

and again with the rush!! all the rush rush rush!! we’re running out of time, we can’t let AFO and Tomura keep getting stronger, I have to end this now, there’s no time to rest, etc. etc. etc. just the constant pressure of this whole big countdown on top of everything else

holy shit, you KNOW it’s bad when even the Vestiges are telling him to chill

these guys are basically the walking talking embodiments of self-sacrifice; if even they’re telling him he needs to take five, then he must seriously be like half a step away from death’s door

OH SHIT LMAO

DIDN’T EVEN LET HIM FINISH HIS SENTENCE BEFORE HE SENT HIM INTO THE FUCKING SHADOW REALM WITH THAT FUCKING LOOK. HOLY FUCK. DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO DIE TWICE. SHIT

(ETA: so I’m pretty sure this was just Danger Sense activating and so he cut them off to go do more hero stuff, but I’m gonna go ahead and stick to my original interpretation anyway lol.)

anyway so how’s everybody doing. we all good? En, you good? Banjou? Shino? I’m imagining you guys all curled up in a little ball on the floor right now lol. can’t say I blame you though, no shame

lmaoooooooooooo

“SHEESH.” sheesh indeed, lmao. “what in the FUCK was that”

see, this is why y’all need Kacchan. you need someone who’s not going to back down from him no matter what. if it’s a matter of out-stubborning Midoriya fucking Izuku, then there’s only one other person on the planet capable of that, and we all know it. don’t pretend like you don’t. I am not going to shut up about this! we’ve had our hurt so now what about SOME COMFORT, DAMMIT

“I’m afraid that he’s becoming influenced by my conscience” nah are you kidding Nana this is all 100% made-in-Japan pure original Deku right here

see, Banjou gets it. “that kid, he’s totally going on his own.” exactly. this was so inevitable it was basically scientific law

“well I for one don’t see the problem with Deku being so obsessed with saving everyone else that he pushes himself until his body and soul literally fall apart” okay, whose speech bubbles are these?? we’re about to have words

lol of course

well you always did prefer the direct route didn’t you. but even you can’t possibly think this is okay lol

dark AU!Kacchan please tell us more about your badass doomed timeline in which everything went to shit and you apparently had the same character arc that Deku is having right now except it somehow made you sexier instead of turning you into a rabid t-rex. I have so many questions

oh so now you want to help??? well -- good, actually. sorry if that sounded offended just now lol

(ETA: so at first when I got to the end of this chapter I was wondering if Katsuki B. had somehow summoned his alternate-universe counterpart through trippy OFA space telepathy lol. but in the original Japanese there’s no reference to “we”, so this appears to be a mistranslation. this line should probably read more like “if there’s something/someone out there that would be able to complement/complete the current Midoriya Izuku [it would be]…” which, oh hello, is that Horikoshi once again reaffirming that Deku and Bakugou complete each other lol. “guess what guys, the Vestiges ship it too" heck yeah. they know what’s up!)

look how admiring his boyfriends are. HORIKOSHI GIVE US THE REST OF THIS BACKSTORY ALREADY GODDAMMIT

“meanwhile somewhere in the depths of the ruined city, Deku was having a dance-off with the villains”

I like how the villains all have this “AHH WHAT THE FUCK” kind of body language to them lol. I mean if it were me, and an eldritch horror suddenly clawed its way from the shadows with its writhing glowy tentacles and pants-shitting nuclear death stare, I would probably just die on the spot. no need to stick around. only pain awaits

lol for a minute I thought this was Can’t Ya See-kun and I was like “WHAT A FASCINATING CROSSING OF PATHS” but it’s just some random girl

he seems genuinely confused lol

Deku it’s because you look like something that crawled out of a sewer drain, sweetheart

lol they just took his word for it?

so trusting. even though they’re immediately hauling ass anyway just to be safe lmao

“my appearance is frightening to others” no shit Deku it’s because you look like a fucking alien exorcism. you look like a Lich that got caught up in an oil spill my dude

NO NOT THE CHOSEN ONE ANGST AGAIN

I RAN OUT OF ESSAY JUICE FOR THIS ALREADY HORIKOSHI!! I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT IT FOR MONTHS NOW WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG!! BUT ANYWAYS, GOOD!! I MEAN, BAD, THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY. BUT YES

“ENJOY THIS MONTAGE OF DEKU BATTLING A RANDOM KAIJU AND WANDERING THE WOODS LIKE A DERANGED GREEN BABA YAGA” okay yes but sir, exactly how much longer is this going to go on. if it’s a matter of you wanting to make sure we get it, let me assure you that aside from a few stray chuunis who think that Deku embracing the Darkness is the coolest thing he’s ever done, all of us here in fandom fully comprehend that this is Not Good

-- OH SO IT’S LIKE THAT

really. with the flashbacks to his loved ones’ smiling faces and everything. not even gonna try to aim above the belt, huh

AND NO KACCHAN??! NO CLASSMATES?!?! IS HE PURPOSELY NOT THINKING OF THEM??? OR ARE THEY BEING SAVED FOR THE NEXT PAGE??? SO HELP ME, IF THE NEXT PART OF THIS SENTENCE IS “CAN PROTECT THEM”, OR EVEN WORSE, “CAN SEE THEIR SMILING FACES AGAIN”, I...

WHAT DID I JUST SAY

(ETA: my man did Sero and Kaminari fucking dirty lmao. I miss their smiling faces too omg.)

the sheer, unparalleled irony of him saying this while he stands there looking like the gargoyle demon from Fantasia got crossed with an umbrella that got struck by lightning. Deku :(

oi who the fuck is this clown

is he controlling this mob with his evil hair. “what if I made an exhausted, running-on-fumes Deku battle a brainwashed mob at Ground Zero.” Horikoshi do you just have like a checklist of horrible things you want to do to your protagonist

easy there Sasori

well joke’s on you buddy because he’s apparently “completely fine”, so

“here’s to hoping that you know more about AFO’s location than the others” jesus christ Deku you really have hung your mercy out to dry huh

now he’s forcing his mob of terrified prisoners to attack Deku ahhhh. sucks to be them. at least they’re not being controlled by bees

so Deku is saying that Sasori’s control can be broken with “physical trauma.” similar to Shinsou’s quirk I guess. but so does that mean he’s gonna have to hurt them? ( •﹏•)

NO NOT MORE SAD EYES

“DEATH BY EMPATHY!!!” HORIKOSHI NO

fuck. he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out

this is what happens when you nerf a character’s self-preservation stats in favor of spamming their bone-breaking stats instead. NOW ACCEPTING BRAIN CELL DONATIONS FOR A BOY IN NEED!! with your loving generosity we can hopefully help him live to the ripe old age of seventeen

OMGFGGG

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[grabs your hands] ლ(*꒪ヮ꒪*)ლ [swings you in a circle] へ(ﾟ◇ﾟへ)

THASSSSSSSS WHATSSSSSSS UPPPPPPPPPP

HORIKOSHI REALLY SAID FUCK THAT MASK (ノ°ο°)ノ YOU FINALLY LEARNED!! IT’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!!

JUST FOR YOU KACCHAN, HORIKOSHI LEFT THIS ONE BAD GUY WHO’S STILL WEAK TO FIRE. GOD BLESS

IT’S YOUR COUNTERPART, KATSUKI B!!!! HOW WE DOIN OVER THERE IN THE TRIPPY COSMIC OFA SPACE REALM LOL. DO WE BELIEVE YET, FANDOM???

LIGHTS!!!!

INSTANT RESULTS!!! IT’S SUPER EFFECTIVE!!!

(ETA: imagine what this must look like to Deku though. he’s been caught up in this dark cloud of despair and exhaustion that’s been building up over... I’m gonna go ahead and say “weeks”, because yeah. and now he finds himself here, in the place where All Might’s legacy ended and the torch was passed to him. and the world is in ruins, and he’s surrounded by frightened people who are all trying to hurt him -- because who isn’t trying to hurt him, these days -- and he’s scrambling to figure this all out, but meanwhile the weariness is finally starting to catch up to him, and so he’s basically just standing there in a fog of complete and utter misery.

and then all of a sudden through that haze, he hears the one voice that’s more familiar than any other that he knows. like, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was just imagining it at first. Kacchan showing up to save him right when he’s at his most desperate and feeling the most alone. Kacchan, showing up to save him.

this is the person he always looked up to as a child (to be fair he was quite a strange child lmao). the person who was even closer to him than All Might. the person he always thought was amazing. and bam, here he is now. appearing in the sky out of nowhere to one-shot the bad guy with a single blast (which, btw, that was his armor-piercing attack too lmao dslkjlk take it easy there kiddo). like, that must have felt absolutely surreal to him, especially coming at a time when he’s already half-delirious and barely hanging on to reality. he must have really thought that he was losing it there for a second.

but he’s really there. it really is him. and for this brief moment -- before the rest of the situation catches up to him, and he remembers about all of the fucked-up AFO stuff, and remembers why he was so afraid and why he was pushing everyone away -- for just this one brief moment, he’s too exhausted and stunned to do anything except to just react. just stands there, looking up at him in awe.

and you know, it almost reminds me of...

just. you guys. the character development. the freaking character development. someone who brings reassurance. someone who shows up and makes you think, “oh, it’s all going to be okay now, because [person] is here.” the role reversals. the growth. the payoff!! because who is the one person who always had faith that Kacchan would one day grow up to become an amazing hero like that. WHO IS IT. YOU ALREADY KNOW.

omg. anyways, bless you Horikoshi, my feels which have been on backorder since fucking September have finally arrived lmao. yes, good, thank you. worth the wait. it is always, always worth the wait. fuck yeah.)

“LOWFRIES” SO YOU’RE TELLING ME THE WHOLE GANG IS HERE, AHHHHHHHH (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ )

BEAUTIFUL. WONDERFUL. SENSATIONAL. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT JUMP IS ON BREAK NEXT WEEK. THIS RIGHT HERE WILL SUSTAIN ME

[arty-chase]

Graveyard Siblings (5)

[Masterlink] (PART 1) (PART 4)

-----

Mari and Cass sometimes switch their suits as they have the same body type. Cass would sometimes go out in full Hellbat gear and give the appearance that Hellbat is out more often than she actually is.

So Orphan/Black Bat also sometimes uses guns.

This also helps with concealing secret identities. Maria was rescued by Hellbat from Joker’s Henchmen. (Vicki Vale was getting sus of the new Wayne and Hellbat.)

Unfortunately since Hellbat rarely comes out and she had already made all of her appearance for the month and it wasn’t a busy weekend, the public had come to the conclusion that Hellbat has a crush on the newest Wayne.

Basically everyone thought that Mari has a crush on herself. Which led to some teasing and escalated to Mari announcing that Jason had a crush on Red Hood on live TV.

It didn’t help that a video of Red Hood and Jason re-enacting Romeo and Juliet with Jason on his apartment balcony and Red Hood on the roof was posted on the internet a few days later. (Thank you, Trixx and Tim’s awesome video editing skills)

Sadly, it was taken down 24 hours later. (Tim and the others have multiple copies of it, on the cloud or hardware, hidden around in the manor and their respective safehouses in the US.)

Some people kidnapped Jason to hopefully gain leverage over the Red Hood and to their dismay and nightmares for years to come, Hellbat came instead.

One lucky and incredibly brave reporter asked why she was there instead of her brother.

Mari being a little shit, “Red Hood may be a tough and scary guy but when it comes to his feelings, my brother is a chicken.”

Pictures of Jason tackling Hellbat somehow never made it into any papers.

The criminal underworld hasn’t taken a hint and Jason has been kidnapped a few more times.

Other times Jason was kidnapped:

Robin: Red Hood made a fool of himself in front of Todd recently and he doesn’t dare to show his face.

Spoiler: He was taking too damn long checking his hair even though I told him that no one was going to see it under his helmet and he was so offended that he is currently sulking in the bathroom.

Red Robin: Red Hood can’t think straight when he is around Jason. I mean have you seen the dude.

Arsenal*during a rare visit to Gotham*: Red Hood owes me one now.

Dick finally ends it by going out as Red Hood and rescuing Jason. Gotham is happy that Redson (Red Hood x Jason) ship has finally sailed.

-------

Kate, Babs, Cass, Steph and Mari were out on Mari’s first girls’ night since her move to the manor.

This is set a little after she came back from Paris with Jason.

They watched rom-com movies, did hair and nails, gossip about the superhero community and bitch and vent to each other.

Marinette off-handedly mentioned the crazy shits she had done during her stint as Ladybug. It started with asking about the T-rex in the Batcave and she mentions jumping into the mouth of a live one before.

Everyone in the room was shocked and after a few more questions, it was obvious that she was very reckless and self-sacrificing. Yep, she was going to fit into this crazy family just fine.

And Holy Shit. There is so much trauma packed into this kid. She needs lots of therapy.

Babs finally decided that they all needed to get out and have some fun. All in their respective suits and they went out.

Joined by Harley, Ivy and Selina.

Plagg came along because I want Plagg to meet Selina.

It was a chaotic night and it was a miracle that Bruce didn’t find out about what the girls did.

-------

Batman and Red Hood were on patrol together when Selina jumped in front of them.

“Hello, Boys”

“What do you want, Catwoman?”

“I want to meet my new prodigy, Kitty Noire.”

Cue Marinette jumping down from her hiding spot, transformed with the Black Cat Miraculous. “Hiya.”

Red Hood carries her like a potato sack and points his gun at the other two.

“Nope, she’s my sister and I called dibs. I adopted her. She’s off limits.”

“Legally, she’s mine.” Batman coughed out.

“I did it first. Emotionally. She’s my emotional support sister. You have plenty kids already, B and Selina, get your own.”

“Hey, I am still here and can hear you.”- Maria

-------

Alya was worried for Lila. She had been acting weirdly for the past month.

She looked very out of sorts. Her clothes weren’t in order and her hair was in disarray. She had bags under her eyes and her eyes looked wild. Lila didn’t look like herself at all.

She jumped at any sound and flinched at really sudden movements.

Alya tried to find out what was wrong with Lila and received vague answers.

One time Lila said that Marinette is to blame.

Alya reaches the somewhat right conclusion that Marinette was haunting Lila and hurting her because Lila used to come to school with bruises and claims that Marinette did it.

Alya goes to Marinette’s grave to desecrate it. (Yeah, go anger the ghost that is haunting someone.)

Unfortunately, the moment she tries to do something, the sky turns dark, clouds appear and the wind begins whipping. A Lightning strike near her and there was a cloaked figure beside her with a scythe.

All Alya saw from the figure was the blood-red lips in a very sharp grin and glowing blue eyes, raising the scythe high before she ran away. The scythe swiped the air where her head once was.

Alya didn’t get far before she tripped and blacked out.

When she woke up, she found herself in the hospital with no idea how she got there.

She was told that somebody found her with a concussion in the park and took her to the hospital.

------

The next one on Mari’s hit list was Natalie.

She wasn’t as involved in the whole thing like Lila, Adrien or Gabriel but she still did it anyways.

Her punishment is a little mild compared to the others and was more of a warning to Gabriel.

Natalie woke up in the middle of the night to see a not-so-dead Ladybug sitting on her vanity chair with the moonlight from the windows illuminating her body and her neck. Her suit was torn exactly like the day of that battle with blood dripping down her arms and from her open wounds. The shadows kept her face hidden but glowing blue eyes stared at her.

Natalie was scared at first. But she regained her normal cool composure.

“I assume you are here to extract your revenge for aiding in your unfortunate demise. But before you kill me, I regret my part in my entire thing and I apologize for everything I have done against you even though I knew it was wrong.”

“At least you show remorse over what you have done. Visiting my grave when even my parents didn’t and leaving flowers. I love those purple hyacinths by the way. Did you know that they mean sorry in the language of the flowers?”

“Why are you stalling my death? Just kill me already.”

“Madam Sancouer. You just played a minor role in my downfall compared to what Adrien and Lila Rossi did to me. And you showed more guilt over your actions than they ever did and Adrien claimed to have loved me. And like I have told the Bats, Death is too swift of a punishment.”

“Who are the bats?”

“None of your concern. You should be more concerned about yourself.”

“Lila sees the ghosts of her past and they haunt her. Adrien is in a living nightmare and has no control over his actions and is despised by everyone. What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, since you show some guilt over your actions, let me tell you a little secret. I am not dead. Not really. I mean I did die. But there was a spell in the grimoire that revived me. It took a few days to work.”

Marinette changed to her normal form. It was a little jarring to see an older Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting on her vanity chair like it was a throne. The Ladybug suit and the wounds were gone. She looked a little familiar.

“Why are you telling me this? What was the point?” Natalie faltered as she wondered why the girl looked familiar. Marinette moved closer and her face was fully illuminated by the moonlight.

“I intend to take everything by which I mean everything from Gabriel Agreste for what he did.”

“M. Agreste just wanted his wife back. You just gave him your Miraculous, you would still have everything.”

“What difference would it make? Sure I had friends and family before but they turned out to be disappointing. I might have become a famous designer like I dreamed of and can't achieve because I died. Besides, he never said about wanting his wife to come back in his tedious monologues. For all we knew back then, he wanted them for world domination. He showed that he would end the world for them. For kwamis’ sake, he nearly started World War III, just for a pair of earring and a ring. He was willing to kill me to have her back. No wait, he did that too. If he actually read the translated grimoire or asked the Guardian or at least someone with magic for help instead or maybe used his head and made some who can heal as his champion using the Butterfly, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. Face it, Mme Sancour, your boss is a power-hungry and very controlling maniac who is also thankfully an idiot.”

“But- he- he just-. You are just a child, what do you know? M. Agreste knew what he was doing.”

“A child who had a normal life up until he tried to ruin it with his idiotic schemes and hiring Lila to do it. A child who had to fight a war on her own.”

“I am sorry you had to go through that but I doubt you and your little revenge rampage is going to solve anything.”

Ghostly Chains wrapped around Natalie’s body, squeezing tight like it was squeezing the life out of her.

“I was all for sparing you, you know. If you had actually listened to my side of the story, you would have spared from my ‘little revenge rampage’. This is going to be a little painful. Sorry about that.” In a tone that was definitely not sorry.

Pain coursed through Natalie’s body. Her skin crawled and itched as pitch back feathers grew out of it. Her bones turned to dust and reformed.

Where Natalie Sancour once was, there was a raven.

An omen of death and destruction for one Gabriel Agreste.

Marinette leaned down towards the raven. Natalie tried to peck her eye out but Marinette held the beak in a firm grip.

“Ah. ah ah. Luckily for you this is temporary. Mostly. Every night, you will assume this shape and each night the longer you will stay in this form. Slowly counting down the days until Gabriel’s downfall. Since you love helping him so much, you are going to help him know how long he has to live. The night you are a raven from sunset to sunrise, that sunrise starts the day Gabriel Agreste will be utterly destroyed.”

She released the beak and headed towards the window.

"Send him my regards."

With that, she was gone.

(Part 6)

[ohmykazuha]

7 reasons to love Zhongli

a/n: I'M SORRY AAAAAAAAA. the original idea was drawn by my friend ray, @/kageyumii on instagram. she's a lovely person and you can go check her out! therefore, idea credits not from me. i have her permission to write this :o) also pls dont let this flop huhu

warnings: TW/CW: angst, death

char.: platonic xiao + zhongli [father figure zhongli]

notes: i made xiao a touch more childlike here, and not just stone faced. he may be ooc. zhongli may also be ooc here. screams. also: please try to read through the whole thing! i know it's a bit lengthy but i worked really hard on this TuT

xiao's pov:

While I am able to see demons, I tend to be able to see other things as well – non-humanoid things. One day, I woke up with the ability to see numbers above people's heads. Though I wasn't quite sure what it represented at first, I kept seeing them all around me.

I remember that Lumine had more than 25,000+ on her forehead. On the other hand, Childe had 19,047. As each day passed, the number decreased. I didn't know what it represented, so I never exactly gave a thought about it... I had other things on my mind, anyway.

However... the person who has the least amount of numbers.. is my Xiansheng, Zhongli. I've been serving him for as long as I can remember, after he had released my contract from my old master. I saw him as my father figure, and there were many reasons why I loved Zhongli.

Reason number 1:

Zhongli is Zealous of the world around him.

"Little one, look at this. Isn't it wonderful?" He asked, a gentle smile gracing his tired face and a finger pointed at a blue butterfly. Zhongli outstretched his hand and the butterfly landed on his palm.

"Yes, Xiansheng. It's pretty." I replied. He carefully led the butterfly onto my palm, the creature twitching and eventually flying away.

"Haha, it's alright. There are many butterflies here. We can find another one."

There was the number 7 embedded on his forehead.

the next day..

Reason number 2:

Zhongli is always Helpful – not just to me, but to others around him.

"Mr Zhongli!" The eccentric director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlour ran towards us. We were on another walk that day.

"Do you need something, Hu Tao?" Xiansheng asked, not unkindly.

"I may have gotten into trouble with the millelith. Again. I"m sorry, I didn't mean it!" Hu Tao pouted.

"Alright, alright. Let's go talk to JiaYi and see if we can figure something out." He signed.

There was the number 6 embedded on his forehead.

the next day...

Reason number 3:

Zhongli is always Optimistic. No matter what.

"Xiansheng... help. It hurts." I sobbed softly, Xiansheng stroking my back. My karmic debt was high, and so was the pain that came from it.

"It'll be alright, Xiao. I promise. One day, the pain will finally stop." My body trembled against his, his body heat warming my cold one.

"It hasn't stopped... for centuries. Please, make it stop." I begged. He held me close, my shaking body held still in his gentle grip. He was the one that I went to for everything, and I trusted him with my life.

"It'll be okay, little one. It'll be okay."

There was the number 5 embedded on his forehead.

the next day..

Reason number 4:

Zhongli has really Nice hugs.

"Xiansheng.. do you think Liyue will be okay? After Osial and the passing of Rex Lapis?" I asked. My anxiety flared up after trying to protect Lumine and the entirety of Liyue after what happened with Childe and Osial. And what had happened at the Rite of Descension.

"I have faith in the Qixing and the adepti. It will be alright." He wrapped an arm around me.

I'm not a tactile person, but Zhongli seems to get me in a way no one else does. It's... strange. It's as if I can trust him with everything in my life – I'm safe.

"Alright then. If anything, everyone's here to help out. Call my name, and I will be there."

There was the number 4 embedded on his forehead.

the next day...

Reason number 5:

Zhongli is a Good listener.

"Do you... do you think I'm overreacting to this? Forgive my abrasiveness, but I don't know what I should be doing in terms of her. Forget her? Keep her closer than before? Argh, these mortal feelings... they astound me." I growled softly. The traveler has been... good to me, lately. Feelings have grown and our bond has tightened.

"No, it's alright. It's natural. The two of you have spent a lot of time together lately, it's only natural that you start liking her more and more. Whether it be platonic or romantic."

"Isn't it strange, though? That we adepti are still capable of feeling things we need not feel?"

"No, it isn't. You can have feelings for them, Xiao. It's perfectly alright to do so." He smiled.

There was the number 3 embedded on his forehead.

the next day...

Reason number 6:

Zhongli is Laid back and he takes things slowly.

"Xiansheng, we need to go. The others are waiting for us." I looked at him. We had stopped at a teahouse for a while now, and I was itching to go. I couldn't sit still for long.. not when others needed my help. Mortals were fragile, after all.

"It's alright, Xiao. We should take our time – intricate beauties don't come often after all." He replied, pouring himself another cup.

"Are you sure? It would be nightfall by the time we come back to Wangshuu Inn."

"Then we will come back at nightfall. Calm down, Xiao. The monsters aren't going anywhere." He chuckled, bringing the cup to his lips again.

We spent the rest of the evening at the teahouse, and indeed came back at nightfall. It was alright, though – Xiansheng kept stopping to point out the butterflies and lizards and squirrels.

I noticed that there was the number 2 on his forehead.

the next day...

Reason number 7:

Zhongli is an Ideal leader.

"What do we do now?" I asked, bandaging my wounds. A mitachurl had attacked us at Cujie Slope, and had wounded us rather badly. Xiansheng and I barely had any energy left.

"Don't worry. I'll teleport us back – focus on bandaging your wounds. If untreated properly, it may cause you even more pain."

With that, he teleported us away, back to Liyue Harbour. Baizhu immediately ran out to get us, me wincing in pain.

"It's okay, Xiao. Can you stand for me?" Zhongli helped me up, supporting my shoulder.

It took a few hours for my leg to heal, but Baizhu and Qiqi managed to heal it as much as possible. Zhongli stayed by my side through it all, though.

I saw a number 1 on his forehead.

"Xiansheng... did you know that you have a number on your forehead? I've been seeing them since last month... it's been decreasing by each day. Do you know what it is?"

"Hm? What number is it today?"

"1... I think I want to tell you something, Xiansheng. Seven letters... seven precious letters."

"You can tell me tomorrow. Rest well, Xiao."

the next day...

Xiansheng and I fought side by side, attacking hilichurls and plunging our polearms into mitachurls. However, something unordinary struck my eyes. The numbers weren't on his forehead anymore. The '1' embedded into his skin was gone. I stared at it, confused – and that was my mistake.

"Xiao, watch out!" Zhongli cried.

Everything became a blur as I was thrust aside, and the mitachurl's weapon was plunged into his chest.

"No!" I screamed – Zhongli, Zhongli, I'm sorry! I was careless! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid – I'm sorry! I watched helplessly as Zhongli laid there, panting and breaths tumbling out of his mouth.

Screaming with rage, I struck the monster one last time, the being disintegrating into fine dust.

"Zhongli, Xiansheng, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful, I should have been alert, I'm so sorry!" I sobbed, hunching over his body.

"Shh, Xiao. It is alright." He looked up at me, smiling gently.

"But it's not! You're dying, and it's my fault, Xiansheng. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! If I could take the blade, I would!"

"Xiao. Listen to me. I knew that this day would eventually come, and I'm glad that it was me, not you. You still have a life ahead of you. And I think I realised what the numbers meant. Those were the days I had left." Zhongli reached up to stroke my cheek.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! If only I had realised it sooner, I could have- I should have done something!

"I think... I might rest now, little one. Our time has been enjoyable – do not forget me, alright? Shh, do not be troubled. None of this is your fault, Celestia has called me back home. It will be alright. Goodbye, Xiao. Thank you."

"Good.. goodbye, Xiansheng. Thank you." I pressed my forehead to his as his body went cold and limp on mine. That's it. He was gone. Centuries of memories with him would replay in my mind from then on.

Seven letters, Xiansheng.

I love you.

Those were my seven letters to you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

wooooo thanks for sticking until the end! it was pretty long! sigh i hit xiao with another angst afhjskgfkdj im sorry TuT pls don't let this flop, like/rb if you liked this! fluff fic out tmr <3

taglist: @bookuya, @dilucbar, @starglitterz, @cherubbic, @noirkkat, @the-gayest-sky-kid, @shxnosuke, @eternism, @icappa @almondto-fu, @gnyuvile , @chichikoi @simplyxsinned, @mikachuarts

[hellothere-generalangsty]

Fives - Anchor

Pairing: Fives x reader

Word Count: 1450 words

CW/ TW: Angst; mourning/loss, death, letter, anniversary, pain, brooding, it’s very heavy and sensitive so please proceed with caution and let me know if I didn’t TW something you deemed necessary; also a bit more hopeful/ light toward the end because my heart couldn’t handle that much sadness tonight

Tags: @chaoticvampirejedi @loth-wolffe @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @tacticalsparkles @imalovernotahater @canwestayinthisdream @wakeupjackthisisntfair @namesmox @badbatch-simp24 @lightning-wolffe @maddieskywalker @for-the-love-of-clones @m-e-w-117 @99squad

@ladykatakuri @firelordillyria @andiebell2023

Notes: I guess I missed him a lot tonight… Sorry for the pain

Some elements included in this fic are inspired from chats I had with @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s ; thank you little moon for being an inspiration to me 🌙

Iridescent - Linkin Park

.

0000.

Happy anniversary Fives.

Though I don’t see how it could be happy, when you’re everywhere but here. I never grew used to your absence, I never could; not when you’re haunting my every move, haunting this place and this world, finding your way back to me through faint memories and thousand of faces walking up to my office every day, asking me about my day and if I feel well.

I have to look at the ghost of you, every single time, and lie.

“I’m fine. What can I do for you?”

And I hear your voice again, and again. It tells me about the pain running through your back, the nightmares hitting harder than usual, and the fear eating you alive every time you get out of your hard, cold bed.

But it’s not you. It never is. I never could be.

I stopped buying your shampoo. I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the bottle we had in the shower. It’s still there, hidden somewhere in the bathroom, waiting to be emptied and thrown away carelessly, in such a mundane way one could so easily forget about it. But I can’t throw it away; it’s not mundane anymore.

I hid the jewels too, except for the bracelet. I hate to wear it, but I hate even more to put it away. I just feel…I feel naked when I don’t have it, and empty when I do. I can’t help but see you – feel you – through the shades of blue and black. What was once the purest blessing turned into the worst curse, and I can’t break it. I almost did – breaking the bracelet. I almost did.

I could if I really wanted to; but then I would lose you again, and I just…

I gave your aprons to the boys. I couldn’t stand to see them, neatly hanging in the kitchen. They were silly anyway, and I had no use for them. I’m a doctor after all, not a cook.

I published my thesis on the clones’ rights, and it is being presented to the Senate by Senator Amidala as we speak. I told her I wouldn’t be able to be there for her discourse, and she simply hugged me. I wish she hadn’t.

0527.

It’s been a year, yet it feels like yesterday. Everyone moved on; everyone but me, and I can’t help but be mad. I am mad that they forgot so easily about you, that they brushed you off as “another collateral damage”, another…clone. It’s the way they say it when they try to comfort me.

You were more than a clone. More than a soldier, and more than a man.

You were Fives.

You were my anchor, and I was your ocean.

I miss the way you said it. Coming home to me, tired, features drained and eyes darkened by the horrors of your latest campaign; but always soft and caring through the hoarseness of your voice as you whispered it against my skin. You always found a way to be there for me; for everyone, even when you were losing yourself in your own prison.

I am mad at you because of that. Because you couldn’t stand back for once, be egoistic and think of yourself instead of trying to play the hero in the dark. They killed you because you didn’t wait, not even when I asked you – begged you to. I am so angry because I called you an idiot, and all you could answer me was “I love you too, my ocean. My anchor.”

You didn’t even let me say it back.

1134.

I am mad at myself. You trusted me enough to tell me everything, and you knew I would believe you. And when you tried to do something about it, I called you an idiot. I wasn’t even there with you; I should have been there with you. I could have saved you.

Fives…

I remember the first time you came home. At the time, it was still “my place”, but the moment you stepped in it stopped being mine only. I always told you to come by if you needed; and the one time you did, we ended up laughing so hard the neighbour had to knock at the door. But it felt good. I guess that day I gave you a part of myself, and you carried it with you ever since. I suppose it died with you, too.

I know I shouldn’t be so broody; I can almost hear you, your chuckles filling the room, your hands pressing down my shoulders as you tell me “it’s a celebration, smile for me!”; and the smell of that shampoo tickling my nose as you come close to lay a kiss on my cheek…

But now the only thing I can feel are the tears, and that twisting ache in my chest, burning my skin and ripping my lungs apart. I can’t even breathe correctly anymore, I…

1745.

I’m sorry I had you waiting.

I fell asleep on the table, and woke up because of the cold. It’s always cold in here now. I borrowed one of your old sweatshirt - I hope you don’t mind. I kept them. I almost gave them to the boys, along with the aprons; but then I thought they could always come in handy.

They do. When days like today happens; days where I feel too lonely, where I miss you too much and it just feels too cold, I slip into one and hold it so close to me it almost feels like you’re here. My arms become yours, your faint perfume comes back to me fresh and soft, and I sometimes swear I can feel your warmth against my skin. I close my eyes when I do that, and it stops being a dream for a second.

For just a second, you’re back. You never truly left.

And when I open my eyes again; when I realise what it is all about, I still feel you. I see the bracelet, smell the black tissue, watch one of these B movie we used to laugh at and somehow I feel the best and worst I’ve felt in a long time.

I wish you were here. I wish I could tell you how much I missed you and how beautiful you are; if I could hold you tight, one last time... I didn’t even get to hug you one last time. I didn’t know it would be it; else I wouldn’t have let you go.

Echo is supposed to come around today. He told me he would. He didn’t forget about you either, you know. Neither did Rex, or Jesse, or Kix. Your vode didn’t forget about you. They always make sure to keep you alive, tell everyone about you and remember them of who you were.

Echo always says you’re his best friend. He never uses the past tense. I can’t blame him; I still say you’re the love of my life whenever people ask me. I guess we know deep down these things will never change. We don’t want it to change.

Wait, someone knocked.

2226.

When was the last time we laughed like that? For once, we turned the tears into something better; lighter. I’m sure you would be proud of us.

Of course, you would be proud of us.

It almost feels good to see you through Echo; to find glimpses of you in his smile, the faint spark in his eyes when he retells your best pranks, and the way he chuckles...I almost feel at home right now. With you. Not quite, but close enough.

Enough to make me smile, for the first time today.

Echo says hi. He’s watching me writing to you. He asked me to tell you that Rex lit a candle for you this morning, and the boys had a little something for you; but I can’t know what; apparently I “wouldn’t understand anyway”. So I hope – we hope – that you liked it.  We’re probably going to watch a bad movie and mock the poor acting until we fall asleep, and tomorrow we will…We’ll probably think of you again, but hopefully there won’t be as much tears as today.

I guess it’s a battle worth fighting. Not for the Republic or the Greater Good; not for the Senate or the Chancellor. Not for the Jedis or the Galaxy.

No, it’s a battle we fight for you, Fives. Let us be your anchor, for once, and rest easy now, because more than anything or anyone else out there… you deserve it.

2359.

Happy anniversary Fives.

I love you too, my Anchor.

 - Your Ocean.

[darthzero22]

I can't lose you

Echo x Reader 

You lost Echo once, you weren't going to lose him again. You were capable of doing anything to keep him by your side, it was almost a miracle that he was with you again.

Warning: mention of blood, angst, comfort 

Added to the Masterlist

You didn't want to remember that time where you lost Echo in the Citadel, where you thought you lost your world, and where your life was never the same again. But there were nights when you woke up suddenly sweating, nightmares made you relive that moment, and you thought you were in your room alone again, without his company, but fortunately it was no longer like that. You had Echo back, by miracle, and he always calmed you down and made you understand that he was with you, that the past was just that... The past. 

You had Echo back, and you promised yourself not to lose him again.

On every mission with your squad, when it required splitting up into groups, you always went with Echo because you two made a very good team, but that was more than clear because you had been together for a long time. You were made for each other.  Happiness was the only thing you felt now since he came back into your life. But at the same time you felt guilt for not having looked for him, for not having that feeling that he was still alive as Rex had. 

“Oh, no! We’re not going to do that” Echo said. 

“Why not?” you smiled. 

You were inside the Marauder waiting for Hunter's signal so you could leave and start the mission.    

“Because we did it the last time, cyare. Besides, I don't think Tech will let you pilot the ship again” 

“He does not appreciate my skills as a pilot” 

“Pilot skills?” he smiles. 

“Are you going to make fun of me too?”

“Me? Never” Echo moves closer to you and places his lips on your forehead in a kiss.“You have a lot of talents, I was just saying that maybe being a pilot is not...”

“My thing?” you smile again. 

“Well, I...”

“I know what you meant” you caress his cheek. “But last time you had fun when I piloted the ship”

“Hmm” Echo, seeing your eyes, your smile, practically your beautiful face, couldn't say no to you. Besides it was true what you said, so he sighs and puts on a smile.  “It was fun, yes"

“Then I will steal the ship” you joked. Then you gave him a kiss on the corner of his lips. “

Echo could have said something, probably returned the kiss in a proper way, but Hunter's voice over your communicators prevented him from doing it. Still, before you leave the ship, he gives you a kiss on the cheek and your smile gets bigger because of it. You were ready for the mission. 

“When we get back, I'm going to steal the ship”

“Oh, no! You won't” he touches you with his scomp link on your abdomen and that tickled you slightly. 

“Hey!” you laugh a little. “Fine, fine. You win”

“How it has to be” he smiled. 

An hour passed, but in truth you thought it was much longer. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. The droids surprised you by appearing in a location you didn't expect and one of them, a B2, was going to shoot Echo, so you didn't think twice and put yourself between the shot and his body, getting shot in the arm. For a moment everything clouded over for you due to the horrible pain you felt for a moment, you even fell to the ground from the impact of the shot, but you managed to hear Echo's desperate cry calling out to you. 

“Y/N!!” Echo shot the B2 droid and then kneels down next to you, to help you straighten your back. “Why...? Why did you do that!?” 

“I can't lose you again, Echo...” you hiss from the pain in your arm. “I can't....”

Echo couldn't speak because he got a lump in his throat when you said that. His heart was beating fast, not only because he was scared, but also because he knew that you were capable of giving up your life in order not to lose him again. He shakes his head after seeing blood on your arm and helps you up, but you didn't expect him to hold you and lift you in his arms. 

“Hunter, I'm going to the ship! Y/N has been shot!” 

Echo didn't wait for any answer, in fact he ignored Hunter if he had said anything, and he never walked so fast in his life. Your arm hurt a lot, but you tried not to complain about it, and above all you were not going to fall unconscious. You felt the blood in your wound, but before you knew it you were already on a table in the Marauder, and you saw Echo looking for what was needed to heal you. 

“Echo, Echo!" you could see that he was very desperate. “Calm down! You're altered, you can't think like that! I'm fine. No...”

“You're not fine, Y/N! You've been shot!” he looks at you. You didn't know if you had ever seen those eyes on him, which was between a mixture of anger, sadness and desperation. “And I'm not going to let you suffer! Not again...”

Not again. Did Echo feel guilty? He sounded that way. But what did he feel guilty about? Not protecting you or "dying"? From the way he said those words it seemed that he felt guilty about leaving you alone after his accident at the Citadel, and you didn't know why. 

“Echo...”

You couldn't say more because Echo removes the part of your clothing to keep your arm uncovered, and to be able to see your wound. It was a horrible wound, but nothing he couldn't heal, so he begins to treat it. He was so focused that not even your voice was able to distract him, so you preferred not to speak and simply tried not to complain, but every now and then you hissed and moaned from the pain. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, cyare... It’s okay” his voice was never so soft. “You are strong... You can handle this, I know it"

“Yeah... Kriff... I don't know why, but right now I can hear Fives making fun of me..." you chuckle a little. “Sorry...”

You rarely mentioned Fives after what happened. Echo suffered a lot, you didn't want to remind him that he had lost his brother, but he always told you not to worry about it. Despite the certainty of his words, you didn't want to hurt him in any way.

“Don't apologize. I miss him too"

You hiss as Echo gives you an injection, most likely with the medicine needed to alleviate your pain, and with that he begins to put a bandage on your arm. He was always so careful, as if you were the most fragile thing in the galaxy. But even though he was careful and knew what he was doing, you could feel his hand trembling. He hadn't recovered from the shock when he saw the droid shoot at you. 

“Echo...” you hold his hand when he finishes bandaging your arm, and caress it gently. “I'm fine now, thanks to you... Relax" 

“I can’t! I can't believe you almost gave up your life to save me”

“And I would do it again... I can't lose you, Echo, I really can't! I couldn't bear it...”

“And you think I could bear your death!?”

That made you keep quiet. Echo suffered a lot, clearly he was not going to be able to bear your death, and today he almost felt that. He realized he yelled at you, so he closes his eyes tightly for a moment. 

“Sorry... I didn't mean to yell at you, cyare, it's just...”

“I know” you get down from the table and approach him, resting your hand on his cheek. “But there's something I don't like"

“And what is it?”

“I can see in your eyes that you feel guilty, not just about this, but about something else... Is it because of the Citadel?”

You were always afraid to mention that, but at some point you had to say it. Echo opens his eyes for a second in surprise, he never thought you would realize it, but it was foolish to believe that because you knew him perfectly well. He lowers his head, his eyes looking at the floor, but you gently grab his chin and make him look you in the eye again. 

“Echo... Please, it’s true?”

“Yes... That's true”

“But why? Why do you feel guilty? That wasn't...”

“Because I promised not to leave your side. That day I promised to come back to you and I didn't!”

“It's not your fault! Echo, I think you died... Technically you died. It's clearly not your fault! It's my fault for not going to look for you, for not having that feeling that Rex had...”

“What? No! It's not your fault!”

“I should have been by your side and I didn't...”

Echo rests her hand on your waist to bring you closer to his body, so that your faces are close to each other.

“Cyare, listen, it's not your fault. Today I thought I almost lost you because of me... I've lost a lot in my life, okay? Not just parts of my body. I can handle a lot of things, but I can't handle losing you, you understand? I can't!”

The second Echo finished speaking, you break the closeness between your faces to join your mouth with his. He reciprocates without hesitation, now bringing his hand to the back of your neck, and you bring one of your hands to his chest. You wanted to show him that you were okay, and that loving kiss showed it perfectly. When you separated to recover your breath, Echo is the one who initiates the kiss, but now making it a little more passionate and showing how much he loved you, how much he desired you. 

Echo indeed lost a lot of things, but he didn't lose you.

When you separate from the kiss, you didn't care about your injured arm, so you hug him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. Echo brings his hand on your back to start caressing it, and rests his cheek on your head.

“You're my life, Echo... I lost you once. I won't lose you again”

You feel Echo's hand pressed against your clothes, on your back, and you hear him sigh. His breathing hitches, so you make the embrace a little tighter.

“I don't deserve you, cyare.... I don't know how someone like you is still with me...”

“Don’t think that... I love you, and you that”

“I love you too, more than anything in this galaxy”

When you looked at him, Echo again puts his mouth with yours, and again you start kissing. The kiss was deep, loving and a little passionate. Thanks to it, you showed how much you loved each other. 

“We can still steal the ship" you said after the kiss. 

“No, cyare" he laughs a little. 

“I know, I know" you smiled. 

A love that never disappeared and will never disappear.

[tennessoui]

1. Soulmates AU please! It is definitely my guilty pleasure trope

hello im only three months ish late maybe four but this is also 3.4k long and it's just wild i mean we're talking soul mates, superheroes, rushed world building, superhero names this is a trip this is something i wrote after waking up from a four hour nap this ever had a chance and also it's sad

1. Soul Mates (+ 42. Star Crossed Lovers)

“You shouldn’t have come,” Obi-Wan says harshly, pulling the children--they’re just goddamn children--into his apartment and slamming the door behind them. “Did anyone see you?”

The children--all four of them--stay quiet. Obi-Wan wants to wring their necks. He knows why they’re here. He’d rather them die on the streets than suffer through what they’re obviously here about.

But if that were really true, he would have just left them on his doorstep.

“Did anyone see you?” he asks again.

“Not that we noticed,” one of the girls in the middle says. Shili, dressed in a blue and white striped sensible jumpsuit and sporty cape. The leader of the new generation of superheroes and she sounds like she hasn’t even hit puberty yet.

Obi-Wan is suddenly very, very tired.

“Kam,” Shili gestures to the person next to her and a little behind, a tall boy with a helmet covering his face and white and blue armor covering the rest of him, “says he didn’t pick up anything with his sensors. We were safe. We’re not trying to get you caught, sir. We just need to talk to you.”

“You could kick us out,” the other girl points out, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s not even bothering to wear a domino mask, but Obi-Wan doubts very much he’s looking at her real appearance. She’s Mirial, of course.

Which makes the other boy in a padded white and orange suit Mando. Four of the fifty or so remaining Jedi superheroes are in his house.

Obi-Wan sighs and turns to pad down the hallway. “Shoes off,” he calls behind his shoulder. “And does anyone want any tea?”

“No thank you,” Shili responds politely, falling into step behind him.

“Sit,” he tells them roughly when he notices the four of them standing awkwardly in his cramped dining room. “Sit down.”

He puts the kettle on anyway, and bangs around the cabinets for a few seconds to find an unopened bag of chips and a sleeve of probably stale cookies.

He doesn’t have much else to offer them though. Not now.

Weren’t you the one always telling me to eat my vegetables? A laughing voice murmurs into his ear. Look at you now.

Obi-Wan has to stand for a second in his small and dirty kitchen, chips clutched in one hand and cookies in the other, and breathe for an impossibly long moment.

This is why he had not wanted to ever see another Jedi in his life. All they brought with them were questions and ghosts.

Obi-Wan has enough of those as it is.

The kettle goes off and he pours the hot water into his mug. The cowardly part of him that hasn’t faced a fight in ten years now wants to wait here until the tea has finished steeping and then think of a thousand other excuses to not ever leave the kitchen again. He's good at thinking of excuses. He calls them reasons and lives his life with them.

But he has always known someone would eventually come looking for answers. That had always been one of the prices he knew he would eventually have to pay.

He notices immediately upon entering the dining room that they’ve saved him a seat, if it counts as saving someone a seat when they’ve rearranged the chairs so one is on one side of the table and the other two are squeezed opposite it.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought snacks to my own interrogation,” he says blithely, depositing them onto the table in front of the children.

Kamino stares intently at them for a second, and then nods once to Shili, who reaches out to open the bag of chips. In a show of good faith, she takes one and eats it. Obi-Wan can’t see her eyes underneath the white lenses of her domino mask, but he’s quite sure she hasn’t stopped looking at him once.

“Are you sure you do not want tea, now we have established I am not going to poison you?” he asks, crossing his ankles and taking a sip from his own mug.

“It’s a bit too warm out there for hot tea,” Mirial says disdainfully, looking at her nails. “You know, what with the world on fire.”

“But I’d take an iced one, if you have it,” Shili leans forward.

Obi-Wan pauses, drink halfway to his mouth.

He sets it down gently on the wood of his table. “Ah. Going straight in, aren’t we?”

“There’s not much time for anything else,” Mando says, and at least he sounds a bit apologetic.

“A weighty statement from someone who can manipulate time itself,” Obi-Wan hums.

“Only for a few seconds,” Mando mutters behind his helmet, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That’s because you don’t have much in the way of training, young man,” Obi-Wan tells him gently with a hint of steel behind it “Back in my day--”

He cuts himself off. He doesn’t know why. Clearly, they know who he used to be. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here. He’s really just delaying the inevitable, but his throat feels tight. This truth, so long unspoken, is hard to drag into his mouth. And yet, every second he doesn’t speak it, it’s bashing itself to death against the backs of his teeth.

“Would you like us to tell you what we’ve found out about your days?” Mirial asks, looking up from her nails. “Would that make it easier for you, Ilum?”

“Meer--” Shili starts to say, reaching out to touch the girl’s arm, rein her in, but it’s too late.

The planes of Mirial’s face change and shift and suddenly for the first time in ten years, Anakin Skywalker is sitting across from him. “Would you like to talk about the old days, or would you like me to talk about the old days?” Mirial in Anakin’s smooth baritone asks.

It’s cruel. It’s so cruel that for a second Obi-Wan wishes his heart could just stop from the pain of it all. “Please put that away,” he tells the tabletop coldly. “And please. Do not call me that.”

“Meer,” Shili murmurs, and there’s a shift in the air.

When Obi-Wan looks back up, Mirial is back to the way she always appears in press releases, green skin and all. “That was a decent impression,” he tells her. She bristles at the perceived slight, but he holds up his hand. “But when I knew him, his eyes weren’t gold. They were blue.”

“Mustafar has had golden eyes since he joined the Imps,” Mirial argues back in a way that reminds Obi-Wan of another young teenager, who never could learn how to take criticism well.

“And he was someone else before then,” he tells the girl. “He had another name and he had a mother and he had a soulmate and a--fiancee and everything.”

His hands have started to shake, so he clasps the mug tightly, though it burns him.

“Tell us,” Shili insists forcefully but compassionately. Obi-Wan had wondered before why they had chosen to make the girl whose only ability is to fly the leader of the newest Jedi team, but it must be that. It must be her compassion. “Please. You’re the only one who can.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “I know. I’m the only one who is left. But if I am to demask myself, I will not do it to a table of strangers.”

The children turn to look at each other. Kamino cocks his head at Shili, who inclines her own head. Mirial shrugs. Mando shakes his head once, but Shili seems to override him, because she turns back to Obi-Wan and takes off her domino mask.

“My name is Ahsoka Tano,” she says, stumbling over the name. Obi-Wan wonders how many times she’s unmasked herself before. “Or Shili.”

She nudges Mirial, who sighs. “I’m Barriss,” she tells him grudgingly.

Kamino takes off his helmet to reveal a strong-jawed boy with a blond buzzcut. “His name is Rex,” Ahsoka says. “He can’t speak except through minds.”

Obi-Wan blinks in surprise at this. He had known that Kamino had an advanced sense of the senses, could tell something’s molecular makeup just by looking at it, could smell a gas leak from two miles away, etcetera, etcetera, but he hadn’t known the boy could communicate telepathically as well.

“And I’m his twin,” Mando sighs, taking off his own helmet and revealing a startlingly similar face, marred by a scar just across his temple. “Cody.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Obi-Wan tells them, drumming his fingers on the table. “You know already. I fought under the name Ilum. I could--”

He searches for words to describe his own powers, and settles instead on a demonstration. With a flick of his hand, the liquid in the mug rises and freezes into a miniature wave, suspended in the air.

He lets the ice drop into the mug, and inclines his head to Ahsoka. “Iced tea?” he asks wryly.

“Tell us about Mustafar,” Mando demands. What a heavy thing to carry, Obi-Wan finds himself thinking. The knowledge of all that time.

What Obi-Wan wouldn’t give to be ten years younger again. Not to even change anything, though he would be stupid to not try to. But to just enjoy the moment for what it had been in the end: just a moment.

“We didn’t call him that then,” Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “We called him Iego in uniform, and Anakin in civvies.

“He was...radiant. In battle and off the field. I was the leader of our team for six years until Anakin came along. And I just knew as soon as I saw him that he would take everything from me. But he wouldn’t have had to take it. I would have given it to him right then.”

“I didn’t think he was that attractive,” Ahsoka mumbles, and then slaps a hand over her mouth as if afraid she’s spoken out of turn and ruined the story so completely that Obi-Wan won’t say anything else.

Instead, Obi-Wan laughs but it doesn’t sound much like a laugh at all. “Well, to each is his own, of course,” he says when he thinks the hysteria has worn off. “And finding out he carried my soul mark certainly helped.”

The room is blissfully silent, which Obi-Wan is beyond thankful for. He just wants to let those never-before admitted truths hang in the air, just for a few more seconds. He almost wants to say them again actually. Anakin Skywalker is my soulmate. Anakin Skywalker carries the same mark I carry, and he always has.

“But…” Barriss says slowly, “But Mustafar’s soulmark is on his neck.”

“It’s not,” Obi-Wan murmurs, staring at the wall behind their heads. “What he has on his neck is an ice burn scar in the shape of a hand. In the shape of my hand. His actual soul mark is on his mid-back, right over his spine.”

“You tried to kill your soulmate?” Ahsoka gasps, looking horrified.

Obi-Wan smiles with no joy behind it. “I tried to save the world,” he corrects her gently.

“You said earlier…” Cody speaks up. “That Mustafar--that Anakin had a fiancee. It wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits. “I never told him. I...couldn’t. I wanted to wait I suppose. I. Well. My soulmark is identical to his, but it’s on my thigh. And. You know what they say about a soulmatch whose marks aren’t in the same spot.” “Star crossed,” Ahsoka whispers.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirms. “I decided to wait. I was a few years older than him, he had so much to learn, he needed a friend more than he needed a soulmate. I had a long list of reasons, all as iron-clad as the next. But they were excuses. I was afraid. This man, my soulmate, could control fire and sunlight itself. He burned with passion, shone with power. And I...I was cold. Too pragmatic, too quick to criticize when he needed praise. The marks were just marks. Maybe they fit together, maybe they matched. But I was terrified that we wouldn’t.

“And by the time I thought to tell him, he came to find me instead. He was in love, he said. He had been seeing a girl for months and was going to ask her to marry him. And I suppose I must have asked about his soulmate, because he told me he would rather never know his soulmate, if knowing meant losing her.”

So. So Obi-Wan had let him go, though that part doesn’t make for a good story. He had distanced himself as much as he could get away with, which is not much really, seeing as how Iego and Ilum fought best when they fought together.

But in the end, his heartbreak had been too much, even for someone as cold as Obi-Wan had been known to be. He’d put in for a temporary transfer. A remedial medical leave, a Jedi-sanctioned sabbatical so he could ostensibly connect with himself and his powers. Nothing longer than a year.

You’ll miss the wedding, Anakin had told him, heartbreak shining in his own eyes.

But his heartbreak had been nothing compared to Obi-Wan’s, and so he had left. He had needed to. It had felt like rending his soul in two, but he had.

Two weeks into his stay at a different Jedi training base, Obi-Wan had died in an explosion. “That hadn’t been Jedi sanctioned,” he tells the children in front of him wryly. “We thought it was an accident at the time, but there were too many coincidences. Too many casualties.” But Obi-Wan’s death had been the only casualty Anakin had felt. It hadn’t mattered that someone had managed to restart his heart only a few minutes later. He had died. He had died and Anakin had felt his soulmate die. He had burned his fiancee in his own uncontrollable agony. She had not survived Obi-Wan’s death, even though Obi-Wan himself had.

“I...I don’t know what happened. Still. It’s been years and I have thought of little else. She may have been standing too close to him when it happened. Or...the house may have caught on fire and she was trapped inside. Or...I don’t know. I don’t know,” he spreads his hands palm up on the table and looks at the faces of the children.

He sighs and continues. There is so little left in the story now. “The Jedi Order decided to tell the press that there had been no survivors, though there had been a few. We couldn’t know if the Imperials were behind the attack or not, so we had to be careful. The survivor’s families were told, and their soulmates. Officially, I had no family. I had...no soulmate. They didn’t tell anyone I had survived. Ilum died in that explosion. Still to this day, he's dead.

“Anakin had always been absurdly powerful...and dangerous. He’d killed the love of his life, had felt his soulmate dying, and then...heard that I too had died. The first two had destabilized him, but my death and the Jedi Order’s staunch rejection of his request to see my body, to give me a funeral...it made him even more vulnerable to outside manipulation.”

“The Imperials….” Cody murmurs.

Obi-Wan nods, lip curling up. “The Imperials,” he agrees. “The timeline is fuzzy. I spent a good part of these weeks partially dead, one foot in both worlds. I didn’t know what was going on. When I was well enough to watch the news, the Jedi told me there was a new super villain working with the Imperials, going by the name Mustafar. I trained to kill him as he was helping the Imps decimate the Jedi. All of my old team was dead. Anakin was missing. I didn’t--”

He cuts himself off and runs a hand down his face. The children are waiting on his words. He’s telling them why they’re fighting wars adults should be fighting. He’s telling them why they’re out in the field after only a month or less of training. He’s trying to tell them why he isn’t out there fighting with them, but he knows already they won’t accept his excuses.

They shouldn’t have to.

“They gave me a new uniform and a new name,” Obi-Wan picks up the story. “Hoth. And I went off to kill my soulmate.”

“But you didn’t,” Barriss says, and she sounds vaguely confused and vaguely accusatory.

“I almost did,” Obi-Wan admits, like it’s a sin, like it's salvation. “Everything about him was different. He was not the passionate but warm boy I had known. He was a forest fire. A volcano. And Mustafar’s fighting style was completely different from Iego’s. I only realized it was Anakin--my Anakin--when I managed to knock his mask off. I had my hand around his throat, but when I realized who I was fighting...I let go. I couldn’t kill him. Even after everything he did. Even knowing...knowing Iego was gone.”

The dining room is silent for a second, before three voices burst out angrily at once.

“Why aren’t you helping the Jedi?” Ahsoka asks the loudest. “Hoth--Ilum, Obi-Wan. We need you. Mustafar--the Imperials...they’re not going to stop. They’ve killed so many Jedi. We need you to help us.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. “I cannot.”

“You used to be a hero,” Barriss accuses. “Now what are you? A hollowed out, sad man.”

“I was never a hero,” he snaps. “I followed orders. Anyone can do that.”

“You were the best,” Cody says quietly, cutting Obi-Wan to the bone. “You led the Geonosis team for six years. I studied you in class. You were...the best.”

“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan disagrees just as quietly. “But perhaps you all are.”

“You haven’t even told us any weakness we could use against him in battle!” Barriss shouts, standing up suddenly, which causes the chair to clatter over. “You’ve been no help at all! I’m leaving, this is a waste of time!”

“Barriss--!” Ahsoka cries after the girl, grabbing her discarded mask and taking after her.

Cody opens his mouth and then closes it. He jams the helmet back onto his head. “The soulmark. You said it’s on his hip?”

Obi-Wan smiles mirthlessly. Cody is trying to see if he can catch him in a lie, if this is actually good tactical information or not. “It’s a few inches below his shoulder blades, right over his spine.”

Cody nods once and then files out, leaving Obi-Wan alone in the room with the silent, still helmetless Rex.

“I just told him how to kill my supervillain soulmate,” Obi-Wan tells Rex, even though he’s really talking to himself. “Soulmarks, even dead ones, are extremely sensitive. If Anakin had hit me with his fire on my other thigh, I would be dead. Not just crippled. Muscle, young man, doesn’t grow back easily.”

He rubs a hand over the leg in question, staring down at the uneven way his pants lay over the old injury. It aches from the walking he’s forced it to do today, from trying to walk normally im front of these powerful strangers.

Rex taps the table to get him to look up, and then gestures to his own eyes.

“I?” Obi-Wan asks, confused.

Rex rolls his eyes and then mimes writing something.

“Ah, there should be a pen and pad in the kitchen?” he trails off as the teenager goes to retrieve the aforementioned things.

It takes a second longer than it should, and he comes out carrying just a slip of paper with his helmet forced back onto his head.

With a flick of his fingers, the paper’s lying on the table and Rex is following his teammates out the door and out of Obi-Wan’s apartment and hopefully out of his life forever.

Curious, Obi-Wan grabs the note and unfolds it to read.

We thought Musta. had yel. eyes because all the top Imps have yel. eyes. But if Ankn had blue eyes, then mybe none of the imps should have yel eyes.

No one knows what sidious power is -> what if it’s mind control?

Obi-Wan puts the note down onto the table with shaking hands. He wishes desperately he had never read it.

Because those words plant a seed of hope in his chest he isn’t sure he’ll be able to live without now.

What if Anakin--his Anakin--what if he’s in there still? What if Obi-Wan had abandoned him to ten years of brainwashing and mind control with not much of a fight at all?

But more pressingly, what if there’s hope for him? For both of them? Still, after all this time?