#drawn from memory and loose references...

[ochibrochi]

been rewatching batman tas and felt nostalgic for my original blorbo!!!!! 🦇

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[muzaktomyears]

In 1980 Peter Brown, a former assistant to Brian Epstein who later ran Apple Corps, managed the Beatles and was best man at John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s wedding, started work on the definitive account of the Beatles. With the American author Steven Gaines, he spoke to the three surviving band members alongside wives, girlfriends, managers, friends, hangers-on and everyone else in the Fabs’ universe. The book promised to be the last word in Beatles history. Then in 1983 The Love You Make was published, and all hell broke loose.

“They were furious,” recalls Gaines, 78, still sounding pained at the memory. “Paul and Linda tore the book apart and burned it in the fireplace, page by page. There was an omerta, a code of silence around the Beatles, and they didn’t think anyone would come forward to tell the truth. But Queenie, Brian Epstein’s mother, told us above all else to be honest.”

“Even she didn’t think we would be quite so honest,” adds Brown, 87, his upper-crust English tones still in place after five decades in New York.

Why did The Love You Make, retitled by Beatles fans as The Muck You Rake, incite such strong feelings? The suggestion of an affair between Lennon and Epstein on a holiday to Barcelona in April 1963, only three weeks after the birth of Lennon’s son Julian, had something to do with it, but more significantly it was taken as a betrayal by a trusted insider. Brown and Gaines locked the recordings in a bank vault and never looked at them again — until now.

“Very good question,” Brown says, when I ask why he and Gaines have decided to publish All You Need Is Love, an oral history made up of the interview transcripts from which The Love You Make was drawn. He is speaking from the Manhattan apartment on Central Park West where he has lived since 1971. “When [Peter Jackson’s documentary] Get Back came out, a journalist from The New York Times wanted me to talk. I told him I hadn’t talked about the Beatles since the book was published and suggested he go to someone else. He said, ‘There isn’t anyone else. Paul, Ringo and you are the only ones left.’ And I thought, do I have a responsibility to clear it all up, once and for all?”

After the death of Epstein in 1967, Brown assumed the day-to-day responsibilities of managing the Beatles and Apple Corps. He had on his desk a red telephone whose number was known only to the four Beatles. Unsurprisingly, given his insider status, the interviews make for fascinating reading. Paul McCartney, yet to be asked the same questions about the Beatles thousands of times over, is remarkably unguarded. Asked by Gaines if the other Beatles were anti-Linda, he replies: “I should think so. Like we were anti-Yoko.” On the image the Fabs had for being good boys on tour, he says, “You are kidding,” before going on to reference a notorious incident involving members of Led Zeppelin, a groupie and a mud shark, concluding: “No, not in the least bit celibate. We just didn’t do it with fish.”

Ono, speaking in the spring of 1981, not long after Lennon was killed in December 1980, reveals that she didn’t sleep with Lennon for the first two years of their relationship — “John didn’t know how to make a move” — and claims that she was blamed by the Beatles camp, George Harrison in particular, for getting Lennon onto heroin in 1969. “Everything we did in those days, anything that was wrong, was my responsibility,” she tells Gaines. But everyone, from the Beatles’ notorious late-period manager Allen Klein to the Greek electronics wizard/hustler “Magic” Alex Mardas — “the Mordred of the Beatles’ Camelot” according to Brown — has their own version of events.

Going through the transcripts reminded Gaines of the long shadow cast by Lennon. “I didn’t realise how sensitive the other Beatles were to John’s opinion,” he says, speaking from his home in the Hamptons, Long Island. “Paul worried about what John would say [in the event Lennon died before being interviewed] and was still longing for his friendship. George said that John didn’t read his autobiography because it was called I, Me, Mine. Those interviews were done before John’s death and Paul’s heart was broken, even then. It wasn’t just the break-up of the Beatles. It was more personal than that.”

From around 1968, the transcripts reveal how the key Beatles duo started to come apart. McCartney’s enthusiasm was only getting stronger. But Lennon grew increasingly bored and disillusioned. “You have to remember that John wasn’t in love with his wife Cynthia,” Gaines says by way of explanation. “He wanted to get away from the life he was leading and that’s why he started to experiment with drugs, all the way up to heroin.”

Brown says Ono was, and probably still is, a distant, mysterious character, exactly the kind of person Lennon was looking for, having done the right thing and married the sensible, quiet Cynthia after she discovered she was pregnant with Julian in 1963. “John told me about meeting this woman, and how frustrated he was that he couldn’t get to know her better; he couldn’t take her to lunch because it would cause gossip. I gave him the key to my apartment so he and Yoko could be together in private and thought, naturally, they were going there to f***. When I went home that evening, the apartment was untouched. They did nothing more than sit on the sofa and talk. That’s what they wanted: to know each other.”

Regarding the long-held, unfair suggestion that Ono broke up the Beatles, Gaines says: “Yoko came along at the right moment to light the fuse, but the dynamite was already packed. They resented her, she was difficult to understand and had a deep effect on John, but they were getting more and more unhappy with each other and needed to have their own lives. As people in the interviews say again and again, [the split] was bound to happen.”

It was Brown who in May 1968 introduced McCartney to Linda Eastman, an ambitious young American photographer whom he knew from his business trips to New York, when she came to London on an assignment to shoot the Rolling Stones. “I was having dinner with Paul at the Bag O’ Nails [a club in Soho] when she turned up, so I introduced them and he was obviously taken with her,” Brown recalls. “The following Friday, May 19, we were holding a party for 12 top photographers at Brian Epstein’s house in London when she walked in. Paul says I didn’t introduce him to his wife … but I did.”

If the book has a villain it is Klein, the New York accountant who took over management of the Beatles and sacked everyone around them, much to McCartney’s horror. As Brown puts it: “He was a hideous person. He even looked like a crook: sloppy and fat, always wearing sneakers and sweatshirts. Everything he didn’t like was ‘for shit’.”

You wonder why Lennon fell for him. “The interviews suggest it is because Allen Klein offered Yoko a million dollars for her movie project,” Gaines says. “She was enticed and John would do anything Yoko said.”

“I asked Mick Jagger to come over and explain to the four Beatles who this Allen Klein was,” Brown remembers. “And John, in his wonderful way, had Klein turn up to the same meeting, which was deeply embarrassing. It made Mick very uncomfortable too.”

Epstein, the man who saw the Beatles’ potential in the first place, is a central figure in All You Need Is Love. It includes a transcript of a recording of him from 1966, not used for the original book. It was in the possession of Epstein’s attorney Nat Weiss, and seemingly made by Epstein to mark the end of the Beatles’ final tour. He claims not only that Lennon felt remorse for the infamous comment on the Beatles being bigger than Jesus — “What upset John more than anything else was that hundreds of people were hurt by that” — but that the Beatles would tour once more. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t appear in public again,” Epstein claims. They never did, unless you count that rooftop performance on January 30, 1969.

“Brian was driving them around the north of England in his car for a year,” Brown remembers of the early days. “This Jewish guy from Liverpool, who was gay, was with these guys who had been hanging around in Hamburg, so both had interesting backgrounds. They understood each other.”

For Gaines, a self-described “gay Jewish boy from Brooklyn”, Epstein is at the heart of the story. “Brian never felt the love of a real relationship. Then he found the Beatles. Everyone thought it would be just another of his phases, but he had tremendous feelings for John, both sexual and intellectual, and that’s what really pushed him. If there was one thing that started the whole thing off, it was Brian’s love for John Lennon.”

That love affair was the contentious issue of the original book. In his interview, McCartney says of Lennon going to Spain with Epstein: “What was John doing, manipulating this manager of ours? Sucking up to him, going on holiday, becoming his special friend.” It wasn’t the suggestion of a homosexual relationship that was troubling McCartney, but the balance of power tilting in Lennon’s direction.

“Paul wanted to be in charge, and he deserved to be because he was the motor, the driving force,” Gaines says. “Paul felt that John would steal away the power. He felt threatened by John’s relationship with Brian.”

“Paul always wanted to be active,” Brown adds. “After Brian’s death the world had to be carried on. Who was going to do that? It wasn’t going to be John, George or Ringo. Brian was my best friend and I was very upset [at his death]. I had to go to the court to convince the magistrate that it wasn’t a suicide, and the following day Paul set up a meeting so we could discuss what we would do next. I said we’d do it next week, and he said, ‘No, it has to be now.’ He was right.”

How did Brown and Gaines feel about the horrified reaction to the book, not just from fans but the Beatles themselves? “The world has changed,” Gaines says, by way of answer. “Now, after all these years, hopefully people can see it as a truthful, loving and gentle book.” It has been decades since Brown spoke to the surviving Beatles and he has not contacted them about this new publication.

What the interviews really capture in eye-opening detail is the story of four young men who became a phenomenon, then had to deal with the fallout as the dream ended. On December 31, 1970, the day McCartney sued the other three to dissolve the partnership, Brown handed in his resignation as the Beatles’ day-to-day manager and officer of Apple Corps. Ringo Starr said to him: “You didn’t want to be a nursemaid any more, and half the time the babies wouldn’t listen to you anyway.” Brown moved to New York and became chief executive officer of the Robert Stigwood Organisation. But the Beatles never fully left him, and in the wake of Get Back — and the news that Sam Mendes is to direct four biopics, one on each Beatle — he decided he had one last job.

“We have finished our responsibilities,” Brown says with quiet authority. “It is the end of the story.”

EXTRACTS

‘It’s like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!’

Paul McCartney on the Beatles signing Allen Klein as manager against his wishes

[John Lennon] said, “I’m going with [Allen] Klein, what do you want to do about it?” and I kind of said, “I don’t think I will, that’s my roll.” Then George and Ringo said, “Yeah, we’ll go with John.” Which was their roll. But that was pretty much how it always ended up, the three of them wanted to do stuff, and I was always the fly in the ointment, I was always the one dragging his heels. John used to accuse me of stalling. In fact, there was one classic little meeting when we were recording Abbey Road. It was a Friday evening session, and I was sitting there, and I’d heard a rumour from Neil [Aspinall, road manager] or someone that there was something funny going around. So we got to the session, and Klein came in. To me, he was like a sort of demon that would always haunt my dreams. He got to me. Really, it was like I’d been dreaming of him as a dentist. Anyway, so at this meeting, everyone said, “You’re going to stall for ever now, we know you, you don’t even want to do it on Monday.” And I said, “Well, so what? It’s not a big deal, it’s our prerogative and it could wait a few more days.” They said, “Oh no, typical of you, all that stalling and what. Got to do it now.” I said, “Well, I’m not going to. I demand at least the weekend. I’ll look at it, and on Monday. This is supposed to be a recording session, after all.” I dug me heels in, and they said, “Right, well, we’re going to vote it.” I said, “No, you’ll never get Ringo to.” I looked at Ringo, and he kind of gave me this sick look like, yeah, I’m going with them. Then I said, “Well, this is like bloody Julius Caesar, and I’m being stabbed in the back!”

‘You don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team’

Paul McCartney on Yoko Ono

Give Yoko a lot . . . that was basically what John and Yoko wanted, recognition for Yoko. We found her sitting on our amps, and like a football team, an all-male thing, you really don’t like to see a chick in the middle of the team. It’s a disturbing thing, they think it throws them off the game or whatever it was, and these were the reasons that I thought, well, this is crazy, we’re gonna have Yoko in the group next. Looking at it now, I feel a bit sorry for her because, if only I had been able to understand what the situation was and think, wait a minute, here’s a girl who’s not had enough attention. I can now not make this into a major crisis and just sort of say, “Sure, what harm is she doing on the amps?” I know they would have really loved me. You know, we didn’t like Yoko at first, and people did call her ugly and stuff, and that must be hard for someone who loves someone and is so passionately in love with them, but I still can’t — I’m still trying to see his point of view. What was the point of all that? They’re very suspicious people [Lennon and Ono], and one of the things that hurt me out of the whole affair, was that we’d come all that way together, and out of either a fault in my character, or out of lack of understanding in their character, I’d still never managed to impress upon them that I wasn’t trying to screw them. I don’t think that I have to this day.

How Cynthia Lennon was driven to drink — at an ashram

Alexis ‘Magic Alex’ Mardas on Ono’s love letters to Lennon

Alexis Mardas was also known as Magic Alex, a name John bestowed on him because he was so taken with Alex’s inventions. Alex was handsome, charming, and a charlatan. (He sued The [New York] Times in Britain for calling him a charlatan and settled out of court. He’s dead now.)

[The Maharishi] was fooling around with several American girls. The Maharishi was making all of us eat vegetarian food, very poorly cooked, but he was eating chicken. No alcohol was allowed in the camp. I had to smuggle alcohol in because Cynthia wanted to drink. Cynthia was very depressed. John was receiving letters from Yoko Ono. Yoko was planning to win John. She was writing very poetic and very romantic letters. I remember those letters because John was coming to me with the letters, and Yoko was saying to John that “I’m a cloud in the sky, and, when you read this letter, turn your head and look in the sky, and if you see a small cloud, this is Yoko. Away from you but watching you.” Poor Cynthia was prepared to do absolutely everything to win John. She was not even allowed to visit the house where John was staying. She was longing for a drink. Now, drinks, they were strictly prohibited in the ashram, but when it was discovered that Maharishi had a drink, I said, “Just a second, at least equal.”

‘He’s become so nasty’

George Harrison on reaching out to John Lennon

What’s wrong with John, he’s become so nasty. It sounds like he hasn’t moved an inch from where he was five or six years ago. I sent Ringo, John, and Paul all a copy of my book. I got a call from Paul. He called me up just to say how much he liked it. I shouldn’t have called it I Me Mine, because that title was a bit much. I sent a copy to John. I’m wondering if he’s actually received it, if he’s received it, he probably doesn’t like it or something offends him about it.

‘I told John that ... it was just a nice feeling’

Yoko Ono advising John Lennon how to take heroin

George said I put John on H, and it wasn’t true at all. I mean, John wouldn’t take anything unless he wanted to do it. When I went to Paris [before I met John], I just had a sniff of it and it was a beautiful feeling. Because the amount was small, I didn’t even get sick. It was just a nice feeling. So I told John that. When you take it properly — properly is not the right word — but when you really snort it, then you get sick right away if you’re not used to it. So I think maybe because I said it wasn’t a bad experience, maybe that had something to do with it, I don’t know. But I mean so, he kept saying, “Tell me how it was?” Why was he asking? That was sort of a preliminary because he wanted to take it, that’s why he was asking. And that’s how we did it. We never injected. Never.

‘It was time’

Ringo Starr on the end of the Beatles

Ringo Starr: Well, I’m pleased it happened because in so many ways, I’m glad it’s not going now. It was time. Things last only so long. Steven Gaines: The Rolling Stones are [still] going. Ringo Starr: Yeah, but they’re old men.

(source)

[dewdrops-whammy-bar]

random request/idea… what if water ghouls have hyper sensitive skin. Hickeys are extra good, biting hurts more, etc etc. And Rain in particular really likes collars and chains… so when they get tugged, or pulled, and the metal scratches him he loves it.

You’re right, Rain SHOULD be collared. I’m a huge fan of masochist Rainy so ofc I had to make it fun and nasty like that. Also sorry for the cliffhanger at the end there, HOWEVER I may write a continuation at some point.

Both Rain and Swiss are trans in this (Swiss is implied but it’s there), Rain’s downstairs is referred to as a cunt, his tits are mentioned, and he has a tentacle in place of a clit. I love freaky water ghoul anatomy.

-Slip chain-

Rating: M

Pairing: Swiss/Rain (t4t)

Words: ~900

Includes: Gill play, pain play, masochist Rain, transmasc Rain, transmasc Swiss, collar/chain play, mention of bruising/marking, tentacle clit, Rain’s tentacle is referred to with she/her cause why not

“When did you get this?” Swiss asks, running the silver chain through his fingers. The jewelry in question is a slip chain, a length of chain with a ring on each end. The chain would be looped through one of the rings like a slipknot, creating a necklace that could be tightened by pulling the loose end. Rain had ordered it online on a whim, having been drawn to the triangular rings that echoed the symbol of his element.

“A few days ago.” Rain shrugs. “You like it?” A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as Swiss examines the metal. He tips his head back against Swiss’s shoulder and snuggles closer where they’re cuddling on the den couch.

“I do. It suits you.” Swiss gently tugs on the loose end of the chain. The necklace tightens slightly, cool metal sliding over Rain’s skin. The water ghoul’s breath hitches, his gills flexing just slightly. From the way Swiss’s mouth splits into a grin, he’d definitely noticed.

“Oh?” The multighoul asks teasingly. He pulls the chain a little harder and Rain can’t help but whimper as it drags over his sensitive gills. He feels heat pooling in his belly and presses his thighs together. “I think you’re liking this a little too much.”

“Maybe,” Rain replies shakily. It’s almost embarrassing how worked up he is already just from having his necklace played with. “Feels nice.”

“Just nice?” Swiss asks. He uses the arm trapped under Rain to pull him onto his lap. Rain shivers as he feels the casual strength in the multi’s grip. His mind helpfully provides a memory of Swiss’s forearms flexing as he manhandled Rain into a mating press and if Rain wasn’t wet before, he is now. He shifts so he’s straddling one of Swiss’s thighs.

“Mmmm, maybe a little more than nice.” Rain leans in and scrapes his teeth over the sensitive pseudo-gills on Swiss’s neck. The multi gasps and grabs at Rain’s thighs. “It’s almost like that, but smoother.”

“Should I keep doing it?” Swiss asks. His smirk says he already knows the answer, but Rain gives him his best sweet, doe-eyed pout anyway.

“Please?” He asks, dropping his voice to a slightly raspy coo. Swiss’s pupils blow wide and he pulls the chain with a growl. The necklace tightens all the way, now pressing deliciously against Rain’s gills. The delicate slits flutter and flex, displaying flashes of pretty purple frills inside. Rain can feel his tentacle starting to peek out of her sheath and rocks his hips against Swiss’s thigh.

“So easy.” Swiss chuckles, his free hand popping open the button of Rain’s jeans. “Didn’t know all I needed to do to turn you into a needy mess was to play with your jewelry a little bit.”

“Please,” Rain begs again. “Tighter.”

Swiss loops the chain around his hand and yanks, jolting Rain forward and knocking their horns together. Rain doesn’t even realize what’s happened until his gills flare open in response to the rough motion.

The cool metal of the chain slides against the inside of his gills and Rain keens. It’s intense, a little painful on the tender skin, but Rain’s cunt drools in his pants. His tentacle, fully extended now, squirms upwards and peeks out of the waistband of his boxers.

“Well, hello.” Swiss coos at the tentacle, ignoring Rain’s whines for attention. “Come out to play?” He lets her wrap around his fingers and pets along her sensitive underside with his thumb. Rain shudders and whimpers, each minute movement of his neck pressing the chain deeper into his gills.

“Swiss- please-“ Rain pants. His head is swimming. He rocks against the multi’s thigh.

“Please what?” Swiss replies and Rain makes a choked little moan as the chain shifts again.

“Please- fuck me and- and pull on the chain too. Use my biggest toy, force it in- please, I can take it, want it to hurt.” Rain babbles. The words just spill out of his mouth and if he weren’t so wrecked already he might’ve been a bit embarrassed by them. Fortunately, Swiss growls and grins with his inhumanly sharp teeth and suddenly Rain is being scooped up effortlessly. The chain falls slack but his gills still flutter and squeeze around it.

“You want to play rough, huh?” Swiss growls as he strides toward Rain’s bedroom. “Want me to bruise you up, too? Mark up those pretty tits?”

“Mmm-mhm, please.” Rain pants, wrapping his legs around Swiss’s hips and pressing his face into his neck. He yelps as Swiss drops him onto his bed and slams the bedroom door shut with his tail.

Swiss joins him on the bed after shedding his shirt and kisses him surprisingly softly. He pulls back and presses his forehead to Rain’s.

“Stoplight system?” He asks, gold eyes glowing slightly in the shadow between their faces.

“Yeah.” Rain nods and goes in for another kiss. Swiss gives the chain a little tug again and he whines.

“Perfect.” Swiss purrs, swiping his rough tongue over one of Rain’s gill slits. “Gonna make you scream, baby.”

Rain shudders and mewls, fingers burying themselves in Swiss’s locs. Teeth scrape his neck again and he prepares himself for a looooong night.

[niteshade925]

April 12, Xi'an, China, Daci'en Temple/大慈恩寺 and the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda/大雁塔 (Part 3 - History):

The entrance to the Xuanzang Memorial Hall:

Xuanzang/玄奘 (602 - 664 AD; birthname Chen Yi/陈祎) was a famous Chinese monk, scholar, and translator who journeyed throughout Central Asia and India to bring Buddhist sutras from India and translate them into Chinese. He was also the founder of the Consciousness-Only School/唯识宗 of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism.

A statue of Xuanzang in the memorial hall:

Xuanzang's 17-year journey from Chang'an (Xi'an) to India and back drawn out on a map. The route he took to India is in red, and the return route he took back to Chang'an is in green. On his way he traveled through many kingdoms in Central Asia and India, and he would later compile his experiences into the work known as Records of the Western Regions/《大唐西域记》. This work is still very important for historians and archaeologists studying Central Asian and Indian history, because it gives locations of important sites, such as the ruins of Nalanda monastery (phonetically translated as 那烂陀寺 in Chinese) in modern day Bihar. The Ming-era novel Journey to the West/《西游记》 was also very loosely based on this work; more specifically, the novel was based on folk tales about Xuanzang's travels, which was in turn loosely and partially based on Xuanzang's experiences recorded in this book.

(Metal?) wall murals and a giant wood relief depicting Xuanzang's early life and his journey to India and back (generally viewed in order from left to right since it's a continuous narrative):

Biography of the Tang Dynasty Buddhist Tripitaka Master Xuanzang of the Great Ci'en Temple/《大慈恩寺三藏法师传》 (alternatively translated simply as "The Life of Xuanzang"), written by Xuanzang's disciple Huili/慧立 in 688 AD.

An artifact not strictly related to Xuanzang: Ritual Confession of Mercy Temple/《慈悲道场忏法》, a Buddhist repentance work/忏文 written for Emperor Wu of Liang (464 - 549 AD) for the purpose of conducting a "ritual of transcendence" (called 超度; I could not find an English translation for this so this is my own translation) for the emperor's deceased wife. This particular version was printed in Ming dynasty in 1608.

Ceiling of the memorial hall, decorated with Sanskrit characters:

The second exhibition hall also has wall murals and a giant wood relief, this time depicting Xuanzang's life after returning to China:

Xuanzang has stated that the purpose of his journey was to bring back Buddhist sutras in their original Sanskrit, so that the integrity of the original texts may be better preserved in future translations and a more faithful interpretation of the sutras may be achieved. When he returned from India in 645 AD, he brought back with him 657 Buddhist texts in Sanskrit, and with support from Emperor Taizong of Tang, he proceeded to translate these texts into Chinese with his team of translators.

Daci'en Temple still preserves less than 20 leaves of the original palm leaf manuscript/贝叶经 brought to China by Xuanzang. I didn't get to see these artifacts myself, but just for reference, here are some potato quality pictures I've found online:

Below is a part of a (Ming-era? Not sure) printed copy of the Mahā-prajñāpāramitā Sūtra (《大般若经》 or 《大般若波罗蜜多经》 in Chinese), which was translated into the Chinese text seen here by Xuanzang and his team:

Part of Complete Translations by Master Xuanzang/《玄奘法师译撰全集》:

A view of the exhibited part of the collection of works that were either by Xuanzang or written about Xuanzang. Being an aspiring translator myself and knowing that these were works connected to a great translator who lived 1300+ years ago, there is just a feeling of awe here that can't be described properly in words...

There's also the twin steles associated with Xuanzang at the foot of the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda. The stele on the west (below left) was written from right to left, composed by Emperor Taizong of Tang Li Shimin/唐太宗 李世民, while the stele on the east (below right) was written from left to right, and was composed by Emperor Gaozong of Tang Li Zhi/唐高宗 李治 (the two emperors are father and son). The calligraphy for both steles was provided by Chancellor Chu Suiliang/中书令 褚遂良. Both steles gave an account of Xuanzang's life and praised him for his achievements, and both were erected in 653 AD. Since I didn't go into the pagoda, I didn't see these two steles (I believe one of them isn't at the pagoda anymore? It might be at Beilin Museum now), so here are pictures of the ink rubbings from Open Museum (open in new tab to view the full image):

And finally, some fun souvenirs from the gift shop! These are tiny incense pellet holders topped with the twelve zodiac animals

A funny greeting card that translates to "And We miss you too" (朕 is a first person pronoun used exclusively by emperors to refer to themselves; today many people use 朕 to jokingly refer to themselves)

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Artistic S/O Headcanons

[Inside Out 2] Valentina [Val] Ortiz x Female Reader

Summary: General and romantic headcanons for Val with an artistic female S/O.

Word Count: 1.19k Content + Warnings: None Category: Fluff || Headcanons

[A/N]: This was fun to write! I included general artist stuff like sketching and painting, but I also included Reader being a musical artist and if Reader likes to write.

Enjoy!

Personally, I like to think that Val has an artistic side herself

Whenever she’s not practicing or training for hockey, she’s curled up somewhere sketching or painting whatever comes to mind

I like to think she’s a pretty decent artist too

So when she learns that her S/O is also into art, she’s thrilled

She’ll come to you most of the time for advice or ideas on a piece, especially if you’re at a higher skill level than she is

Sometimes there’ll be days where you’re hanging out alone together and just sitting close to each other while you both draw

If she isn’t in the mood to sketch or paint, or if she just doesn’t have any ideas, she’ll either lean against your shoulder to watch you work, or she’ll settle behind you and pull your back into her chest so she can hold you

When in the latter position, her arms will rest comfortably around your waist without getting in the way and her head will plant itself gently against your shoulder so she can peer over and watch you work

She’ll throw in plenty of compliments here and there about whatever it is you’re working on

If you’re looking for inspiration or encouragement, she’ll provide it for you somehow

If you like to sketch people and she sees that you’ve drawn her, she’ll get uncharacteristically sheepish, telling you that you made her look so good in your style and that she feels honored you chose her as your model

Definitely likes to do that challenge where you trade off drawings every five minutes and add something random to it until it’s a finished piece

I can either see her as having a really loose, relaxed style, or a unique abstract style where she focuses more on the angular sides of things

Regardless of her own style, she 100% likes to doodle you from time to time, especially if you’re nearby and she can use you for reference instead of going based off of memory

If she doesn’t draw or anything, then she’ll happily ask you to give her quick lessons here and there

Though, most of the time she just stares lovingly at you, adoring how passionate you are about your craft and how easily you can explain things to her (even if she’s not necessarily listening)

If you don’t have your sketchbook or anything solid to draw on, she’ll offer you one of her arms and a few pens or markers so you can doodle something random on her skin

She likes the feeling of you holding her arm so still and tracing random patterns or shapes against her skin, and she often gets lost in a daze just watching you draw on her

When you finish, she’ll keep her sleeves rolled up. Partially to let the ink dry, but mainly to show off what you’ve drawn on her

Not sure if she’d be the type to get tattoos, but if she ever did get one, she would go to you immediately to help her design one

If you ever enter your pieces into competitions or shows for school or otherwise, she’s going to be your #1 supporter the entire time. Even if you don’t get first place, she’s cheering you on and offering you every ounce of encouragement she has in her body

You’re always there to cheer her on during her hockey matches, so she likes to return the favor, even if it’s just a small competition

If you ever open commissions, she’s the first one to buy one from you, and she’ll continue to buy one from you at least once or twice a month

She’ll bring it up to her team and gladly show off your work, telling them you’re open for commissions

They all also buy a piece from you each time, wanting to support you almost as much as Val does herself

Her teammates adore you with all of their hearts, and they love how happy you make Val, so they want to return the favor and let you know that they admire and appreciate you

Val absolutely spam-likes your posts if you have an art account. That, and she’ll post each and every one on her story with compliments (as well as lowkey bragging that she has such a creative and talented girlfriend)

Will 100% pose or model for you if you want her to, though she’ll crack plenty of flirty jokes throughout your process, wanting to see you smile as you work

If you’re just wanting to have a chill session where you’re just drawing (separately or together), she’ll put on music in the background, occasionally singing along with it if she knows it

Speaking of music:

If you’re more of a musical artist, she’s absolutely wanting to listen to whatever you make, even if it’s just something as simple as a beat

If you play any instruments or sing, she’s sitting right by your side or holding you from behind as she listens to you play or sing

I can see her having a pretty voice, so if she were to ever sing with you, she’d likely make harmonies or duets sounds great

Definitely listens to any music you make and will support you all the way if you choose to try and make it into a career

There’ll definitely be mini concerts in the kitchen or while listening to music together while cleaning the place, and she always makes sure you know just how beautiful your voice is

She’ll help you come up with lyrics or melodies if you need it

To make sure you know she’s being genuine with her support, she’ll throw in specific things she likes about your art, musical or not, so it doesn’t sound like a vague, generic compliment

She’d compliment how bold your strokes are when painting or sketching, how specific features of a face or item you doodle look stunning, how captivating the color palette you chose is, etc.

She’d also compliment how smooth your voice is if you’re singing, how catchy the melody you came up with is, how the chords you chose match the tone of the song perfectly, and so on and so forth

If you like to write stories, she’s reading each one the moment you tell her she can

Writing a book? She’s there whenever you need help coming up with a scene or a plot point

Typing up a random short story to get the creative juices flowing? She’s listing out potential names for characters and describing things that could catch the reader’s attention

She’ll help you develop your own writing style over time and will celebrate every little victory with you, even if it’s something as simple as finishing a chapter or scene you were struggling with

Overall, she’s an incredibly supportive girlfriend to her artistic S/O, and she absolutely wants everyone to know just how incredibly talented you are. She joins in regardless of how good she is at drawing, painting, sculpting, singing, making music, writing, etc. because she loves making sure you know that she’s just as passionate about your interests as you are

[deathbyclown]

Cotton Candy Clown Pairing: Buggy x Crocodile Rating: Explicit Words: 5200

Summary: Buggy is the birthday gift for Crocodile!

Notes: This is an established relationship. Buggy is dressed in a corset, tights and heels. I make a passing reference to Croc being trans, but he has a dick. Crocodile calls Buggy ‘sweet boy’ and ‘good boy’ if that’s not ur thing.

AO3 Link

This was it, weeks of planning had finally come to fruition. Buggy waited impatiently in Crocodile’s room, pacing the floor, fiddling with his outfit, arranging and rearranging pillows and decorations. He had everything perfect and he could barely contain his excitement. He couldn’t wait to see Crocodile’s reaction.

It was Crocodile’s birthday and for once Buggy genuinely tried to do something nice for him. The two of them had been kinda dating for a while now, their relationship deep enough that Crocodile gave him a fantastically flashy birthday bash back in August. He had such an amazing time that he wanted to return the favor. So, in order to plan a birthday that was as equally flashy, he did something rare: he paid close attention to someone else. He watched and listened and kept notes of all the things that Crocodile liked, what made him smile or laugh, or look at Buggy with that soft gaze when he thought Buggy did something sweet or cute.

And with all of that information stored away, Buggy made the greatest flashiest birthday present ever! He created an intricate scavenger hunt where each clue was something related to what Crocodile liked, each discovery leading him to his prize: Buggy! And not just everyday average Buggy! No! For such a special occasion he put together a special outfit, the kind of stuff he knew would drive Crocodile wild! Every choice he made was because he had seen Crocodile react to it in some way. One such reaction was when Buggy had returned to their room wearing his tights after some tightrope and contortion work and Crocodile couldn’t stop staring. He called Buggy over and ran his hand over Buggy’s thighs, squeezing and rubbing, working his way between Buggy’s legs, cupping him. He had Buggy bent over with those tights pulled down just over his ass before he could even react.

With that in mind, his outfit for tonight was a silky pink corset, with a huge bow in the back, easily undone with a single pull, light blue tights (only tights), and chunky pink heels. He had his hair lightly curled, tussled, and soft, loose over his shoulders. He completed his look with satiny white gloves, bright pink lips, light blue eyeshadow, and hearts drawn in matching colors on his cheeks. He had everything perfect, cute and sweet looking. Crocodile had called him sweet for the first time when he wore these colors, called him a cotton candy clown and spent the evening kissing and tasting him from head to toe. Buggy’s skin warmed at the memory, as if he could still feel his lips on him.

He fiddled with the lube and condoms he prepared at the bedside table. Crocodile had been diligent about using the condoms but Buggy had begged him on several occasions not to use them. Perhaps he could convince him tonight. He kept them out anyway.

Buggy made sure he was clean, stretched, and fully slick so he would be ready for anything. Maybe Crocodile would surprise him and ask Buggy to top tonight but, based off of the last time he wore tights, he made sure he was well and properly stretched.

Crocodile was taking a long time to return to his bedroom, and Buggy felt cold in his skimpy outfit. So he grabbed one of Crocodile’s spare coats from his wardrobe and put it on, feeling like he had shrunk. His hands weren’t even close to the cuffs of the sleeves, and the tail dragged behind him like a bridal train. He snickered at the thought and flopped onto Crocodile’s armchair. He arranged himself into what he hoped was an alluring pose, his legs bent underneath of him, Crocodile’s coat wrapped around his shoulders, ready to be thrown open as soon as Crocodile walked through the door. He adjusted his hair, making sure it framed his face and fell over top of the coat.

Buggy nearly dozed off in his wait, too nervous to leave his spot for fear of missing out on Crocodile. His head nodded forward but he sat straight up as soon as he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Buggy threw open the coat, adjusted his hair and crossed his ankles to show off his heels.

Crocodile opened the door with a little more force than normal, the sudden breeze generated from it made Buggy’s hair sway against his shoulders. He had a gleam in his eye, and Buggy could tell by his body language that he was enjoying himself. He was obviously pleased that he solved Buggy’s scavenger hunt if the self-satisfied smile on his face was anything to go by.

Crocodile stilled as soon as his eyes met Buggy’s, his gaze sliding from his face to his feet. Buggy practically preened over Crocodile’s appreciation, giving him a seductive smile. Within a few steps he was right in front of Buggy, forcing him to look straight up. Crocodile reached forward, his thumb skimming Buggy’s cheek as he curled his fingers around a lock of blue hair.

“You’re my prize hmm?” Crocodile murmured, bending forward slightly, his fingers trailing down Buggy’s neck to his clavicle.

Buggy sighed, purposefully looking up at Crocodile through his eyelashes. He grabbed Crocodiles hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, leaving a smear of pink lipstick.

“Happy Birthday, Croccy~” Buggy said with a grin, breaking in half and floating up to wrap his arms around Crocodile’s neck, kissing him on his cheek next to his ear. He moved his bottom half off of the chair and with his top half pushed Crocodile down into his armchair. Crocodile threaded his fingers through Buggy’s hair and pulled his head back slightly, pressing a warm smoky kiss to Buggy’s lips.

Buggy pulled away with a coy smile but Crocodile wouldn’t let him go, holding onto his head.

“Crocodile! Let me go!! I have a performance to show you!! Let me do it and then you can do me!” Buggy said with a wink.

Crocodile grimaced and rolled his eyes but let go of Buggy who re-attached and stood with his back to Crocodile. He tapped his foot for a few beats, before starting the little dance he put together just a few days before. It was a loose sort of thing, more to tease Crocodile rather than to impress him. It was mostly gyrating, but Crocodile seemed to appreciate it all the same, watching him intently with his chin on his hand, his elbow on the armrest, his legs spread, his hook in his lap.

Buggy gave him a fanged grin and moved closer, close enough for Crocodile to touch. He swayed his hips, bending over and touched his toes. Crocodile let out a breath through his nose and Buggy felt his cold hook pull at his thigh, dragging him closer. He pulled Buggy onto his lap, his half-hard dick pressing against Buggy’s ass. Buggy broke in half, turning around and moving up to Crocodile’s face, slinging his arms around his shoulders.

“Did you like my dance?” Buggy asked, his gloved fingers brushing the back of Crocodile’s neck.

Crocodile huffed, a small smile on his lips. “Not bad. I’ll show you how much I enjoyed it.” Crocodile’s hand squeezed his ass and thigh, his head bending to mouth at Buggy’s neck.

Buggy whimpered, lifting his hips, wanting to feel more of Crocodile’s touch. His lips trailed down Buggy’s chest, stopping at the edge of the corset. Buggy rolled his hips, pressing his ass down, grinding against Crocodile. He captured Buggy’s lips in another kiss, their mouths moving over one another with warm and slick kisses. Buggy’s lips parted and Crocodile matched him, pushing his tongue into Buggy’s waiting mouth. Buggy moaned around his tongue, hips moving faster, his hands fisting Crocodile’s shirt.

Crocodile lifted Buggy, breaking their kiss, standing from the armchair and carried the split pieces of Buggy in his arms over to the bed. He let the top half of Buggy fall off to the side while he grabbed Buggy’s legs, bending over the bed, laying on his stomach to mouth at Buggy’s thighs.

Buggy opened his mouth to speak but a squawk came out instead because Crocodile pulled him closer and pushed his face into Buggy’s crotch. His tongue ran over Buggy’s half-hard cock, the hot wet sensation of his tongue barely dulled by the sheer tights. Buggy gasped, his hands flying to Crocodile’s hair.

Buggy whimpered as Crocodile wrapped his lips around Buggy’s growing cock, as much as he could through the thin barrier. He licked and sucked, making the fabric damp, cooling as soon as his mouth left to suck a different spot. The sensations were strange but not unwelcome, making Buggy’s cock pulse and twitch with every breath from Crocodile. Each warm press of Crocodile’s mouth felt like it wasn’t enough, just teasing him.

“Croccy.~” Buggy whined. Crocodile’s eyes flicked up to look at him, his mouth still working. Buggy bit at his lips, probably smearing his lipstick onto his teeth, but the sight of Crocodile between his legs like this was breathtaking.

“Can I take off the tights now? I wanna feel your mouth.” Buggy pouted, over acting in the way that often got him what he wanted when it came to Crocodile.

Crocodile lifted his head and leaned up to press a kiss to Buggy’s lips, soft and sweet.

“No.” He breathed. He grabbed Buggy around the middle and picked him up, flipping him facedown onto the bed.

“Wait, what!?” Buggy pushed up onto his hands and knees but Crocodile forced his top half down, biting at his soft ass. Buggy gasped at the feeling of his teeth grazing the tights, moaning as Crocodile spread Buggy’s cheeks and tongued at his hole. He pressed his face deeper in between Buggy’s cheeks, his tongue swirling, writhing against him. Buggy felt like he was going to go crazy, feeling stifled, like he was caged, his cock desperate to be free, his body aching to feel Crocodile’s mouth directly on his skin.

“P-please” he stuttered out, trembling as Crocodile cupped him through tights, tongue still lapping firmly at his hole. Crocodile’s hand moved up to his ass and Buggy heard a rip. His head popped up to see what happened and dropped it with a groan as Crocodile licked a long filthy stripe between his cheeks, his tongue feeling especially hot and wet on his bare skin. Crocodile sucked at his rim, pushing his tongue into the tight ring. Buggy moaned and clawed at the blankets under him. It felt so good but he needed more, desperately so.

He wiggled his ass on his tongue, making Crocodile moan, his grip tightening around his hip. Buggy turned his top half to look at Crocodile, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up at him from over Buggy’s ass with disheveled hair and darkened eyes. Buggy paused, his mind blank for a moment before remembering why he turned around in the first place. With his best pout, pulling out all the stops to try and get his way, he begged Crocodile, “Can you please fuck me now?,” Buggy wiggled his ass again and Crocodile bit him, sucking the squishy flesh.

“You’re so impatient.” He grumbled, unbuckling his pants, pulling out his hard cock, not bothering to take off any of his clothes. Buggy whimpered at the sight of it, more than ready take him.

“You give me this nice gift and then you don’t let me enjoy it.” Crocodile said lowly, pulling Buggy to the edge of the bed so his legs could dangle. He reached over to the nightstand with the lube and condoms.

“W-wait! Croccy, baby, don’t you wanna fuck me without a condom?” Buggy offered, his hands plucking the condom out of Crocodile’s hand. Crocodile stopped him but didn’t move, as if he was thinking about it. Buggy had him!!

Buggy’s top half floated over to him and he wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Wouldn’t it feel good to fuck me raw? You could cum inside me, fill me up, cum all over my ass.” Buggy kissed his cheek and tucked his face into his neck, his hand easily sliding out from Crocodile’s grip, taking the condom away.

“I want it so badly. I want to feel you.” Buggy mouthed at his throat, his tongue sliding over Crocodile’s pulse point.

Crocodile let out a trembling breath, his hook pulling Buggy’s face away.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me afterward when you have to clean up the mess that you asked for.”  He said sounding annoyed, but Crocodile’s cheeks were pink, his eyes dark, eager.

He returned to Buggy’s legs, still dangling on the bed, and squeezed lube over his ass, pouring some onto his cock, tossing the bottle on the bed. He stroked himself, making himself slick. Buggy watched, hugging onto Crocodile’s back, unable to pull his eyes away from Crocodile’s hand stroking himself. He rubbed his cock between Buggy’s cheeks, slapping it against his hole. Buggy shivered in pleasure and anticipation, clutching onto Crocodile’s shoulders, mesmerized by the sight of himself.

He pushed into Buggy, the stretch familiar to him now, more pleasure than pain, unlike the first few times he bottomed for Crocodile. He watched with bated breath, his mouth agape, watching his own ass get spread open by Crocodile’s thick cock. Buggy groaned as Crocodile pushed all the way in, his eyes fluttering closed as soon as Crocodile bottomed out. He felt so good, his hot naked flesh felt satisfying, the lack of a barrier would be worth the mess later.

Crocodile’s cock filled him so completely, it reached so deep inside of him, pushed against every pleasant and unpleasant part of him until he was nothing but raw sensation. And it was always so overwhelming, but Buggy had come to enjoy that feeling, of being pushed to his limits. And it seemed Crocodile liked pushing him too; his grip, his bites, his thrusts, everything more powerful and unrestrained every time they had sex. It seemed like he was testing how much Buggy could take, and Buggy wanted to know that too.

“You made yourself nice and wet for me.” Crocodile slowly thrust in and out, enjoying the slick, tight feeling of Buggy’s ass. Buggy couldn’t speak, his mouth hanging open as he focused on the feeling of Crocodile’s hips gradually increasing their pace.

“My sweet boy.” He thrust in sharply, making Buggy cry out. Crocodile chuckled softly, his hand kneading Buggy’s ass, still partially covered by his tights. Buggy whimpered and nodded, panting into Crocodile’s shoulder, his cock pulsing.

“I wanna be so good for you, wanna make you cum inside me.” Buggy said into his shirt, his words muffled. But Crocodile heard it all.

He pulled Buggy’s top half around and pinned him to the bed, his back hitting the firm mattress, Crocodile hovering just above him, still deep inside of Buggy.

“You drive me wild.” He said huskily against Buggy’s lips, kissing him deeply, his tongue thick in Buggy’s smaller mouth. Buggy moaned into the kiss, his fingers sinking into Crocodile’s hair, keeping him close.

Crocodile’s hips moved faster, his thrusts forceful, making Buggy cry out into his mouth. Buggy’s cock ached, leaking against the already damp tights. He was trapped, wanting desperately to be free from the restrictive fabric.

“Baby, let my cock free, please.”

“No. I want you to cum all over yourself.” Crocodile panted, nipping Buggy’s chin, kissing along his throat.

Buggy groaned, his hands sliding over Crocodile’s back, spreading his legs, trying to adjust his cock, wanting to rut into the bed but the tights kept him close to his thigh. He could barely get any friction and Crocodile continued to ignore Buggy’s cock, sucking his neck.

“Please, please, please!” Buggy begged, his cock aching, the feeling of Crocodile’s mouth on his neck going straight down. Crocodile ignored him, mouth moving to the other side, sucking hard enough that Buggy would definitely have dark bruises on his neck. Buggy moaned, his hands gripping Crocodile’s hair.

“Croccyyyyyy! I need it, please.” Buggy cried, feeling like he wanted to burst out of his skin. Everything was starting to become so intense.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He growled into his skin, mouthing his neck and shoulder. “Such a good boy, getting dolled up for me, taking my cock, begging me for more.”

“Yes, all yours, I’m your good boy.” Buggy rushed out, as if he’s said the phrase a hundred times before.

He bit down onto Buggy’s shoulder, his hips slapping against Buggy’s ass with the force of his thrusts.

“Mmm, baby!” Buggy whined, arching his back, heat curling in his belly.

Crocodile groaned, reaching his hand under Buggy, finally giving him the friction he needed.

“Oh god, yes, don’t stop.” Buggy gasped, Crocodile latched onto his neck as he rubbed Buggy through his tights, pounding into him. Buggy was overwhelmed by sensation, moaning and writhing under Crocodile. His eyes rolled back in his head as he came, spilling in his tights, the feeling hot and slick as it pooled around him.

“Fuck, that’s it.” Crocodile groaned, squeezing his hand over Buggy’s wet spot, rubbing it over his tights and Buggy’s wilting cock.

Buggy whimpered and whined, feeling overstimulated, but he wanted to hold out for Crocodile, wanted to help him finish.

“Inside, please, I need it. Cum inside me, mark me.” Buggy panted out between moans, his hands gripping Crocodile’s shoulders. Crocodile moaned into Buggy’s neck, hips stuttering, and then Buggy felt it, the hot gush of cum, thick spurts filling him up, leaking out around Crocodile’s cock.

Crocodile pressed his face into Buggy’s shoulder, catching his breath. Buggy just laid there, too tired to move, but starting to become uncomfortable in his wet sticky tights. He squirmed a little, trying to move out of his wet spot, but it was on his skin, clinging to him.

Crocodile slowly pressed soft kisses to his tender neck, his breath fanning out from his nose over his skin as he traveled upward. He hovered over Buggy, looking over his face, and Buggy watched him, hands moving to cup his cheeks. Buggy broke out into a smile as his thumb trailed over Crocodile’s bright pink lip, Buggy’s lipstick smeared all over his mouth.

“You look so cute.” Buggy cooed, grinning up at Crocodile as he wrapped his arms behind his neck.

Crocodile huffed, meeting Buggy’s lips in another kiss. “You’re cute. My cute cotton candy clown.” He murmured, kissing the heart on his cheek, nuzzling his face into his neck. Buggy’s heart swelled and he held Crocodile a little tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. This was special. He could recognize that. Crocodile wouldn’t act like this with just anyone, wouldn’t show this side of himself to anyone. This was only for Buggy; the cuddling, the tender words, the compliments. It was only for him, and he buzzed with pride.

“Let’s get cleaned up, I want to finish unwrapping my gift.” He rumbled into Buggy’s ear, the heat from Crocodile’s words sending a tingle over his skin.

“Yes, please.” Buggy held onto Crocodile as he lifted the two of them off of the bed. Buggy corrected his bottom half, wrapping his legs around Crocodile’s middle, his body too wide for him to cross his ankles. He put his hooked arm under Buggy’s exposed butt and held him, walking the both of them to the bathroom.

He set Buggy down on the ground in front of the bathroom counter, making him face the mirror. Surprisingly Buggy’s makeup still looked pretty good, the only smudges were around his lips, bright pink smeared up to his cheek, or perhaps it was just the kiss marks from Crocodile.

Crocodile pulled Buggy’s hair back over his shoulder, kissing the exposed skin. Buggy sighed in pleasure, letting Crocodile trail his hand and hook over his back and down his sides, fingers pulling at the large bow holding together his corset. Crocodile looked at Buggy through the mirror, undoing the bow and pulling the corset loose, pulling it up past Buggy’s arms and over his head, setting it on the counter.

Crocodile’s hand went to his chest, fingers trailing over his nipples, hardening over the exposure to the air and Crocodile’s touch. His hook held Buggy’s hair out of the way as he crouched down, mouthing at his neck and shoulder, fingers circling his nipple. Buggy gripped the counter, his breaths becoming shorter, Crocodile stoking his arousal back to life. Buggy held his lips together, a small whine building in his throat as Crocodile pinched and tugged his nipple, his hot tongue laving over his neck. Buggy couldn’t take his eyes off of Crocodile, who was watching him with obvious pleasure, his eyes shining.

His fingers slid across his chest to play with his other nipple, teeth grazing his shoulder, biting down at his meatiest part. Buggy’s whine broke past his lips, his spent cock trying to come back to life.

“Mmm” Crocodile’s voice rumbled in his chest, his hand sliding down Buggy’s abdomen to the waistband of his split tights, fingers hooking into and pulling them down, the fabric of it wetly pulling away from his barely swollen cock.

Crocodile’s breath hitched, abandoning the tights in favor of playing with Buggy’s cock, his large hand cupping him before running the residual cum up and down his flaccid shaft with his thumb and forefinger.

“Hnnnn, too much! Ah ah.” Buggy gasped, his hand grabbing Crocodile’s wrist, squirming away from him as Crocodile’s thumb rubbed at his sensitive head. His body responded though, his cock swelling within Crocodile’s grasp.

“Good boy.” Crocodile rumbled in his ear. He sank down further, sitting on his knees, hunched over, working at the small buckles on Buggy’s heels. Buggy sighed in relief, not sure how much teasing he could take at the moment.

Buggy yelped when Crocodile nipped his soft cheek, his lips following, kissing over the spot before moving over and sinking his teeth into Buggy’s plush flesh again. He freed Buggy’s foot, and moved to the other side, his face moving to Buggy’s other cheek, biting and kissing him as his hand worked at the buckle.

He helped Buggy step out of both of his shoes and his tights, leaving Buggy totally naked. He tried to turn around, to help Crocodile undress but Crocodile stood swiftly and lifted him by his hips, bending him over the countertop, his hard cock rubbing against his ass.

Buggy whimpered, looking up at Crocodile from the mirror, whose eyes watched Buggy’s ass. The counter was hard, unforgiving, digging into his hips, into all the hard bony parts of him. Crocodile didn’t keep him there for long, seeming to get his fill after pushing his cock between the cleft of a Buggy’s ass, squeezing his cheeks together and rutting between them.

He let Buggy go, turning him around and kissing his mouth, pushing his tongue in, tasting him.

“Start the shower while I get undressed.” He ordered, standing straight and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Yes, sir.” Buggy said breathlessly, hurrying over and turning the knobs, making sure the water was nice and warm before he stepped in. Buggy stood there for a few moments unsure of what he wanted to do. He grabbed the soap and mindlessly started lathering it, hands swiping along himself, hissing at the burns and aches he felt as his hands travelled over his body.

Crocodile stepped in behind him, into the spray of water, totally naked now, making Buggy stop and stare. He had seen this a few times now, Crocodile totally bare, but it still felt special. His body was covered in scars, scars from battle, from childhood, from his top surgery, all before his devil fruit abilities. Crocodile had told him only the source of a few scars in passing, when they were lying in bed and Buggy’s fingers traced the long stitched lines. But it was enough for Buggy to get the picture. His childhood was painful, a fight for survival.

“You gonna keep staring? Or do you wanna help me wash my body?” Crocodile looked like he was annoyed but Buggy could tell he was enjoying the attention. They were similar in that way, they liked attention, but in different ways. Buggy liked the loud praise, the thousands of voices chanting his name, but Crocodile liked the private kind. The intimate setting, where he drew you in, made you focus on him.

“You’re so sexy, baby.” Buggy murmured, bringing soapy hands to rub over his thick chest. “I can’t help but be distracted by your body.”

Crocodile sighed, his hand resting on Buggy’s shoulder as he washed Crocodile, his hands moving slowly down, until they met his hard dick. Buggy wrapped his hands around him, not looking up, lathering the soap over the hard shaft, using the slick glide to stroke him, twisting his hands as he jerked his cock. Crocodile groaned, gripping the back of Buggy’s neck. His hand slid down his back, his fingers pushing between his cheeks, pushing his fingertip into him, slick lube and cum squelching out of him.

“I wanna fuck your messy little hole. Do you want that? Want me to fill you up again?” He panted, hips jumping.

“Yes.” Buggy breathed, moaning as his finger sunk deeper into him.

“Of course you do. My sweet boy wants me to use my birthday gift til it breaks, doesn’t he?” He husked into his ear, curling two fingers into Buggy, searching for his prostate.

Buggy gripped Crocodile’s arms, gasping as his fingers brushed over it, giving him sparks of intense pleasure before the fingers disappeared.

“Y-yeah. Hah- I want you to fuck me until I scream.”

Crocodile turned them around, rinsing off the soap then put his back to the shower spray, blocking it from reaching Buggy. Buggy stared up at him, glancing at his massive cock jutting out. Crocodile scooped him up, holding his hips with his hand and his forearm. Buggy gasped, breaking in half, wrapping his arms and legs around him. Crocodile guided him onto his cock, his tip catching his hole and slowly pushed in.

Buggy groaned, his cock twitching as Crocodile filled him, stretching him until he bottomed out.

“So good. Your tight little ass feels so good.” Crocodile panted, slowly lifting Buggy before slamming him back down.

“Oh fuck!” Buggy cried out, clutching onto Crocodile as he bounced him up and down on his cock. Each slam into him was toe-curling, the sensations overwhelming. Buggy moaned into his shoulder, his cock rubbing against Crocodile’s belly with every movement, giving him stimulation from both ends.

He broke his legs away from his lower half, letting Crocodile use his ass freely, loving the feeling of being used like this. Crocodile picked up the pace, groaning, his hips thrusting to meet Buggy’s ass as he pushed him down onto his cock.

“Good boy.” Crocodile growled, “helping me use what’s mine.”

“Yeah” Buggy moaned, shuddering, eyes sliding closed, spilling white stripes of cum over Crocodile’s belly.

“Mmmm, feels good, doesn’t it?” Crocodile murmured into his ear, slowing his pace, sliding Buggy up and down his cock with more care, making him feel every inch, every ridge and bump and vein, and enjoying the slick hot feeling of Buggy’s ass in turn.

“Mmmhmm” Buggy grit his teeth, every sensation was too much, he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin. There was no way he could cum anymore, his ass was done! But he couldn’t get a word out, his body trembling so violently he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

Crocodile started moving faster, tilting Buggy’s hips back just slightly, making it feel tighter for Crocodile. But the change in angle and speed had Buggy seeing stars, had him crying out, had tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, closed so tightly shut it was beginning to ache.

He clawed at Crocodile’s back, his nails digging into his skin, a rarity, but the water made every contact real. There was no sand to disperse Buggy’s grasping fingertips, no sand to disperse the pain.

Crocodile groaned at the sharp contact, hips stuttering, then he slammed Buggy down hard on his cock, his mouth finding his neck and biting down. Buggy clawed harder at Crocodile’s back, crying out, screaming as his ass met Crocodile’s hips with hard slaps, his thick cock re-arranging his guts, grazing over his prostate with every thrust.

Buggy’s flaccid cock twitched, thin watery spurts of cum oozed out as he sobbed into Crocodile’s shoulder, slumping against him, his vision darkening.

Buggy felt Crocodile cum inside of him, the hot wet sensation making him gasp, his hands weakly gripping his back.

“So perfect. My sweet boy. You did such a good job.” Crocodile said softly into his damp hair, pulling Buggy off of his cock, and cradling him close as Buggy put himself back together.

Buggy just made a sound in his throat, keeping his eyes closed as he laid his head on Crocodile's shoulder and let himself be held. Crocodile brought them both into the warm spray of water, cooler than before, but Crocodile turned up the knob as hot as it would go. Buggy sighed in pleasure at the hot water washing over his head and skin, the change in temperature making him very aware of his bruised and tender spots.

Crocodile washed the both of them as he held Buggy, dragging a soapy hand over his back and butt and thighs, apologizing as he pushed a finger into him and scooped out the cum, letting it get rinsed away. That was really the only uncomfortable part, the rest of the shower just made Buggy sink further into Crocodile, too sleepy and tired to do anything but loosely hold onto him.

Crocodile turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried both of them, not setting down Buggy for a moment as he did his best to towel them off. He brought Buggy back into the room, grabbed his thick fluffy robe from his wardrobe and wrapped Buggy up. Crocodile almost never used the robe, and Buggy was surprised he held onto it, since he usually got rid of things he wasn’t using. But he had a feeling Crocodile kept it around just because Buggy liked to wear it. It was far too large, but that was what Buggy liked about it. It was soft and big enough to engulf him entirely. And it smelled just like Crocodile.

Buggy sighed in pleasure, wiggling around in the soft robe, loving the feeling of it on his bare skin. Crocodile brought him to the bed, made sure he was wrapped in his robe, and then tucked them under the covers. He turned off the lights and they lay there, Buggy starting to fall asleep, with Crocodile tracing his fingers over his face, so soft, so gentle, like a butterfly wing. Buggy was nearly gone, but he was awake enough to feel Crocodile kiss his forehead and say “I love you. Thank you for the gift.”

Buggy fell asleep with a smile on his face.

[herrscherofmagic]

i've spent nearly 47 hours over the last ten days drawing nothing but kiana (and hov)

yeah.

anyways, since I've had about enough of drawing Kiana for the rest of my life (/hj) I'm gonna put a pause on this project; but I'll turn it from a sprint into a marathon and try and work on it occasionally instead of all at once

I want to draw other things again x-x

Close-ups of the drawings below, as well as the reference image set, and some other misc. thoughts

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Portraits drawn from imagination

Started the process by trying to draw Kiana's head from imagination; then after each drawing I'd pause, look at some references, see what mistakes I made, then put away the references and drew from imagination (and referring to previous drawings) again. I also took breaks at two points to practice drawing eyes & hair before going back to drawing Kiana

For the last 4 portraits, I'd draw a head from imagination as a warm-up to a drawing session, and then do another head much later on instead of doing it immediately. Around halfway through this "phase" I started the other phases at random points, and finished this portion of the process in the first ~10-15 hours of drawing time. The rest of the time was split across the other exercises

Also I gave her an angry expression because I felt it was the easiest for me to do from memory since I've drawn HoV more than just "Kiana" herself. I also used a boring level 3/4 view without much perspective because it forced me to really make sure I was doing everything accurately and with care.

Basically my thinking was that if I could make a boring level 3/4 portrait look good enough, then I'd have no trouble getting it to look good in other perspectives. That seemed to be true when I got to the stage where I was doing expression practice and had to deal with more head tilt and other perspectives, lol

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Studies of still images from screenshots of gameplay, character art, and stills from animated shorts

Did rough sketches first, then drew with solid color over the sketches on a separate layer. not much else to say here, lol

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Full-bodies

Started with an anatomy model loosely based on the proportions of Kiana's in-game model, and then two attempts at doing full-body drawings from imagination before realizing that it's bloody insane to try and do that much detail from imagination and I have much better things to do with my life than that x-x

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Color studies

yaaaay color! yippee!

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Action sketches/"gesture" drawings

"Gesture" is in quotes because I was way too slow with these for it to really count as proper gesture drawing, imo. But the intention was to start with gesture, and I got closer to that as I went on.

It's way too tempting to start adding detail so I had to metaphysically slap myself with a frying pan to keep myself from getting derailed by that >.>

To get references for this, I did screen recording of gameplay on the PC with OBS studios, then used DaVinci Resolve to play back the recordings.

On PC, when using the mouse controls you can hold the camera fairly still when doing an attack sequence, making it awesome for getting unique angles. For instance, when I recorded Void Drifter's attacks, I was able to get at least 4 different PoVs of her attacks: from the left, the right, behind & above, and in front & below.

Unfortunately, though, it was a bit of a hassle to get good recordings because I had to go into an actual combat stage to record it instead of being able to use an empty testing stage.

With DaVinci Resolve I could "split" clips to make cuts in the timeline that let me easily mark the spots where different attack sequences started, and I could also easily play it in .5x speed to help me figure out how the animations were going from one set of frames to another.

Plus if you close the program after saving, when you open it up again it remembers which frame you were last on and takes you straight there, making it easy to continue from one day to another.

I used White Comet, Herrscher of the Void, and Void Drifter attack animations here, but I also did recordings of Knight Moonbeam and Herrscher of Flamescion, and I might give those a try someday.

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Facial expressions practice

Started with the set of rough sketches (first image), then did some expression practice from imagination (second and third images) to try and get used to how the proportions of the face change slightly with movement of the eyebrows/eyelids/jaw, since the shape of the eyes and mouth is especially important when doing stylized faces (like the anime style that HI3rd uses)

Then this morning I started working through the original rough sketches and developing them one-by-one, getting through 8 before I decided to call it quits and wrap up the project for now

So the facial expression practice pretty much the culmination of all my practice. All the practice with proportions, the contours & forms of the hair, monochromatic shading, line quality, shape design, etc.

This was also one of the few times I've ever taken stylized references and actually adapted them to some extent instead of directly copying them!

This is especially noticeable in the hair, where I used a more standard style for the hair, in contrast with the variety of hairstyles and shapes used in the various manga references (i.e. black-and-white Escape from Nagazora Kiana's messy hair vs the neat and solid hair in the colored Gratitude Arc, AE Invasion, and Moon Shadow Kiana)

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Reference images

[c0rvidbones]

Fem!Durge Paladin x Gale

When the Durge finds out what she once was, and an Oath that was unintentionally broken.

My Durge, Daekrana (Or Dana to those she cares for) did not handle the news of who she once was well. Not hours before, her Oath to the Raven Queen had been broken, and she was already unwell.

Contains: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, allusion/reference to animal death

Be gentle I have never posted anything on here for this before <3

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Dana felt sick to her stomach when her eyes fell over the letter she found. It was her own handwriting. And what it said was truly horrifying. Gale, Karlach, and Astarion kept a loose watch as she poked through the littered texts of the desk, but it was Gale who saw his lover's hands trembling. Moreso than they already had been when she had been overtaken by the Urge earlier and broke her oath. That gutted feeling already had her a bit compromised, but otherwise unharmed - Dana had said she would fix it that evening as there were far more important matters to deal with.

Gale leans slightly to peek over Dana's head - it isn't hard, his paladin is awfully short for an elf - but she crumpled the letter and shoved it in her bag before he could see Anything other than the hue of the ink. Red like blood. He was curious, but Dana's now Severe expression and more-pallid-than-usual complexion told him not to pry yet.

She would turn and motion for the others, the scale of her armour making sufficient noise for them to hear and turn to see the sign. They follow, and onward they proceeded through the colony. Dana stayed silent the entire fight, her expression hard, cold, a thick wall of defensive mask thrown up to shield herself from this mental strain.

Defeating Ketheric and then the avatar of Myrkul was quick work for her and Karlach, both dealing significantly heavy damage with their respective weapons and combined strengths of Rages and Smites.

It was immediately after the battle and evacuation with Aylin to the main halls of Moonrise that the elf would toss her hammer aside in an unusual outburst of emotion, quickly walking away from her party and Outside of the halls, her hands coming up and pulling her braids and ponytail out in an anxious Fit. She stayed within the light of the moonlanterns, but just barely. Just at the edges. She stared off into the shadow-cursed lands, her hair let down for the first time in a long time, her eyes glazed with a mix of tormented agonies and dejected acceptance. She drops into a crouch, her feet staying firmly planted but hugging her knees to her chest, her forehead pressed to her forearms.

She could Feel Gale standing nearby. He didn't pry, didn't speak. He instead knelt beside his lover and slid an arm around her, cautious in the event she shied away but warmed when he felt her shoulder lightly lean into him.

No tears fell, but she was grateful for the company. He didn't quite know what was going on, but he would be here all the same. He does know when to be quiet, contrary to popular belief, and he stays with her as she mentally processed whatever she was thinking of.

It had been a two-for-one. Hours before she found that letter, she had come across Steelclaw, she had tried to grasp at memories and instead had grasped the feline's head in her hands and... well. She felt sick thinking about it. And little would let her forget the ripping sensation of her oath being broken and the vision of the first Oathbreaker knight. A piece of her still feels missing, and now she can't even find the words to get her oath repaired.

After a few drawn moments, she forcibly takes a deep breath, lightly shrugging Gale's hand from her shoulder and standing, her back turning as she starts putting her hair back up into its ponytail and braids, already walking back into the towers. Gale frowns, a little hurt but willing to look past it for sake of knowing this just isn't what Dana usually acts like. He tails her inside, watching her fetch her hammer and stow it on her back where she always carries it, her expression carefully blank as she listens to Dame Aylin and Isobel's reuniting.

After returning to camp, Dana would approach the black knight that uptook residence not far from Gale's camp, and before the knight could speak, she had gently taken the armoured undead by the wrist - another surprise, as she seemed to loathe touch from anyone other than Gale, with the lone exception being a hug from Karlach when she had finally fixed her engine - and wordlessly lead the knight to the most isolated part of the camp. She was still in sight of everyone, and the knight's posture seemed as formal as ever. Yet nobody could hear the first words she spoke when her lips parted save for the knight himself.

"I will accept the title of oathbreaker. I... deserve. The fall."

The knight paused, aware that she was perhaps making the agreement as a self inflicted punishment, but he would nod and lift a hand, his firelight eyes dimming as he speaks the words to induct her.

Hours later, she still won't speak, even as she sets up her part of Gale's tent, and though her paladin auras are still active... one feels new. Like her allies are stronger when close to her.

She lies beside Gale, not initially seeking contact, but after a few breaths, she hesitantly slips her hand into his. Not mad at him, and trying her hardest to not let her emotions rip her away from him. Gale squeezes her hand, his voice soft and concerned, "Did you want to talk about it?" Dana shook her head, her blue-black eyes closing, her brows knitting. Gale tries a different tactic, "I can wait. But holding on to what troubles you is never healthy. I... just want you to remember I'm here for you, alright?" She nods, and after another moment, turns to her side and pull's Gale's arm around her before draping her arm around his waist, pushing her head into his chest. He kisses her forehead and folds her into his arms without another word, lacing his fingers through her hair. She sinks into a trance quickly, and Gale is quick to follow in sleep.

The next day is a horrible and gutwrenching series of events for Dana - the Emperor, Wyrm's Crossing's state, the poor blacksmith replaced by the changeling woman as well as the dryad, and the Circus of Last Days' whole fiasco. That night she chose to rest alone, and was awoken by her wretched little butler of a beast. She spoke with very few syllables and a bounty of irate glares, yet what broke her in full was the mention of what she was at last. Her eyes were wide with horror, and even after sending the butler away, she couldn't fall back into a rest. Her first reaction was to go to the knight again, this time her voice weak and watery, tears threatening to claim her. "How. How did I become a paladin. When I am this. Have I broken my Oath before? How many times have we met, knight?"

He answered calmly. "Who you are does not bar you from chosen paths in life. You have broken it before, and resworn it before. We have met plenty of times. It will always be up to you if it is the last."

Shaking her head, her heart splintering, she called off everything for that day to linger in camp, feeling like a ghost. She would find her way to Gale by nightfall, waiting for him to come into his own tent, standing with her slight and trembling frame looking like a mess, her symbol to the Raven Queen clutched desperately in her hands. Gale looked surprised and wary at first, hesitating before closing the tent flap behind himself and casting a security spell. To keep people from hearing Dana and himself, but prepared to break it should she lose control as she had all those nights ago.

Instead, he's greeted with - at last, once again - her voice. Though it's strained and weak, and barely holding back tears. "Gale," She's already shaking like a leaf, and his wariness shifts into genuine alarm. She sounds desperate, on the verge of a dangerous despair that she can't escape without help. He's in front of her in a heartbeat, his arms slipping around her waist, and hers slide under his to cling to him. Her strength feels returned at least, though it's so unnerving to see the usually calm and level headed paladin shattering like she has been. Gut-wrenching sobs escape her small frame as she presses her face into his chest, and he slowly sinks into a kneeling position with her in his arms, keeping her close

Even as she weeps, her words are a jumbled, mottled mess that Gale can blessedly understand. "Gale, I'm a much worse person than I thought I was, how did I ever swear an oath, how did I ever serve the Raven Queen, how did I ever end up with kind people on all sides while I'm a revolting monster?" He soothed a hand up and down her back, his voice gentle and as reassuring as he can muster.

"Dana, my love, you're not a monst—"

"I AM! GALE —" Her voice is far louder than she intends, pulling herself out of his arms with a reluctant force, her arms wrapping around her as she bows her head. Refusing comfort. Her voice crumbles, "I. I'm — a Bhaalspawn, Gale, and not just any Bhaalspawn, but the one that started the Absolute Cult. If the former was not enough to condemn me, then the latter would. I'm sickened by myself, I - I was horrible. I was a monster — AM, a monster, gods," She groans, burying her face in her hands, pressing the small raven skull to her skin, "I did so many terrible things, why would y—"

She gasps, as if the next touch burned, but Gale had pushed her hands from her face to force her to look him in the eye. Tear-stained cheeks flush as he presses a kiss to her lips to silence her fears and spiralling, and when he breaks it, he presses his forehead to hers with a fire in those soft brown eyes of his, her own still wide in shock. "Daekrana. You are a vastly different person from who you were then. You have fought and resisted every violent thought and impulse until you thought you were safe. You slipped, and you have mourned your mistake. Admittedly, you being a Bhaalspawn is a surprise, but you can't chase me away that easily. Who you were was a monster, sure, but is that who you are now? The woman who fought the goblins, convinced Khaga she was wrong, saved the myconids, the gnomes, the Harpers, the tieflings?Would you call those the actions of a monster?" His smile is genuine and sweet, her expression glassy with awe and a new wave of tears. She shakes her head just a little, and his smile softens a touch, though no less loving. "You've been terribly strong and brave, my love. I assume this is what was eating you alive for the past few days - please. Allow yourself to be weak with me. I can be strong enough for the both of us, at least for a little while."

A weak bubbled laugh escapes her, as she allows Gale to bring her back into his arms. "Strong in the mental sense. I can still carry you around. You hardly weigh anything to me." The fact she was able to tease him meant she believed it, and he chuckled, though a flush still found his face as she slid close enough to settle in his lap.

"True, though if you didn't wear the world's heaviest armour and carry an oversized hammer everywhere, I could still probably carry you. Your height makes you less cumbersome in my arms than I assumedly am in yours, love." He still sounds fond and sweet, and Dana sinks into him, relieved by his comforting embrace.

[i3utterflyeffect]

Can you explain your time-travel au?

I fell asleep this one time.

And then the au existed. With so much lore. Sounds epic though

claps hands in delight. okay so how do i explain this..........

somehow, (post-showdown+avm, pre-vic) alan gets sent back in time (or as i called it it's more accurately Karmic Multiverse Displacement) and becomes a stick drawn by his past self not long after victim's creation! he's unable to talk unlike SC, and is forced to survive through his previous self's torment! he has powers, but they're much more weak and uncontrolled than Chosen's at the time.

his program name is untitled-3 (3 is a reference to his username, noogai3!) so i call him by untitled! similar rules to nightshade

he tries his best to escape with Chosen and destroy User!Alan's PC, but they both ended up tamed and trapped on the computer. he does his best to free them as soon as possible though! so chosen and he might get out a year or so earlier at most.

Dark is still pretty much the same..... they're made to kill Chosen, spared by Chosen and Untitled, and the three destroy the computer and escape into the outernet.

things are peaceful for a while, but Dark and Chosen are destroying the outernet behind Untitled's back. Chosen decides pretty quickly that they don't want to do this anymore, but Dark kind of just continues to wreak havoc. Untitled finds out about this, and once the two find out about the Virabots, all hell kind of breaks loose, because Untitled is EXTREMELY upset with Dark, and completely freaks out when Dark sends the Virus, because he's completely worried about the CG.

he goes to rescue them immediately with Chosen, and ends up returning and confronting Dark with them. I've thought about it and I kind of like the idea another anon suggested where he brings the pencil for back-up-- but of course, things go badly, and he ends up being incapacitated with Chosen.

this means he's forced to watch not only the CG get killed by Dark, but he also watches Dark die! yes he sees SC's laserbeams, but unlike Chosen he realizes they don't know this when he sees their reaction!

he ends up visiting the CG a lot and spending time with them, even though he's very embarrassed by them idolizing him because he saved them and tells them. to please. uh. not?

his knowledge runs out around here, though! he isn't able to warn Chosen or tell them that SC doesn't know how to use their powers!!

ofc, with the memory reader, victim finds out what happened to him, and decides to use their immediate newfound knowledge and power for evil and also erasing alan from the timeline. they don't know how to do it yet but they WILL

anyway that's the au. it's just 'what if the pain was neverending and the crushing guilt of your actions never faded because you constantly witness its effects'

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 4: Arrival (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: mention of slavery, mention of character deaths, reference to life-threatening danger, sleep deprivation, sorrow, angst, stern Mace, fluff, banter, some reader/Anakin bonding :) and worried Obi :(

Summary: The days leading up to your arrival have been cumbersome for both you and Anakin— the two of you struggle together with these life-altering changes thrust in front of you by the Galaxy. As the group reaches Coruscant, new revelations are made that further urge Obi-Wan to meet with The Council as soon as possible: to discuss your discovery, and its consequences.

Song Inspo: Rabbit Heart (Raise it Up) — Florence + The Machine

Words: 6.1K

A/n: Ahhhh!! You all are so lovely. Hope you like this chapter. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts in the comments (and message if you'd like to be on the taglist!)

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Series Masterlist

Hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action — Ralph Ellison

“A war…”

Anakin’s hand loosely tilted a throttle lever to the right as the shuttle approached Coruscant only a few thousand kilometers away. Its spherical body crept into the viewport like a loth-cat poised for attack while your voice filled the cabin.

The peaceful lull of space gave the young Jedi a moment to glance back at the conversation taking place. He looked beyond Ahsoka, who was cozied up in the shuttle seat directly behind him, legs thrown over an armrest and a Datapad resting comfortably against her knees. As she typed away, you sat beside her quizzically, eyes fixed in an aimless direction with a cheek resting gently on your fingertips in thought.

You’d inquired twelve hours into the trip about galactic events that occurred during your last ten years of total isolation, and it took the remaining two days for Obi-Wan to provide you with a very abbreviated version. The wise Jedi spent much time on The Order’s growth throughout the years and various blips in the peace, like the Invasion of Naboo. Only in the last few hours did he arrive at the topic of the Separatist war. Your shock at being for so long completely unaware of the galactic battles taking place was palpable.

Anakin delved deeper into his memories of the last few days in this cramped, rickety shuttle as it traversed from the Outer Ring across the galaxy. Specifically, those late nights in which he chose to keep the ship off autopilot and fly it manually, long after Master Kenobi and Ahsoka had fallen asleep in the back.

In the dimmed lighting, his mind still rushed with questions about your discovery. He had anxiety about what your sudden appearance in his life meant, and frustrations from not being informed of your existence. So Anakin decided it would be easier to manipulate the bird’s mechanisms himself. To keep his mind from wandering too far into further misgivings.

On both such quiet evenings, he recalled your restlessness. You shuffled aimlessly in the rear cabin, from your back to your side, and after a few seconds, to your stomach with a defeated plonk. Eventually, after many noisy readjustments, he’d hear an exasperated sigh before you’d roll over and rise to your feet. He’d sense you quietly sneak up behind the co-pilot’s seat and, each night, you’d unceremoniously plop down beside him, leaning back with arms crossed and staring out the viewport as if it was just the lullaby you’d needed.

He’d peer at you, noticing your subtly sunk in eyes, before once again making the same comment.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

And after a few drawn-out moments filled with only the silent hum of the shuttle’s engines, he’d ask a question. Nothing grandeur or serious. Just anything to lead to a conversation. To pass the time.

“Have you ever thought about where you’d want to visit? After leaving Hoth?” He spoke lowly.

And your head cocked with an imaginative gaze stuck ahead before answering with a small smile.

“I’ve always wanted to play grav-ball, and I’ve heard Nubia has some of the best teams. So probably there.”

Anakin nodded approvingly. “Coruscant has them too.”

And your smile widened as you twisted toward him. “Really?”

Then your interest was piqued. And you’d continue the conversation or make some completely unrelated, lighthearted query. Either way, the two of you would talk for hours during those calm nights in the old, decrepit shuttle.

It was during these late-night talks, that Anakin had the chance to uncover more of who you were. He brushed away at your sentiments, uncovering your interests like hidden gems while simultaneously sharing his own. The both of you seemed to have a great deal in common.

And that helped ease his mind.

Anakin turned back to the controls to prepare the shuttle for approach as it neared the planet’s gravitational pull, shutting off the main ion drives.

“And the Jedi as Generals? Controlling an army of clones?”

He watched as you shook your head and sighed, pressing your lips together as if mourning a memory.

“I always thought The Order was built to preserve peace in the Galaxy. Qui-Gon always made that clear. The Jedi were protectors, not stokers of conflict.”

“The Jedi have always been and will prevail as keepers of the peace.” Obi-Wan clarified.

His stance held firm behind the co-pilots seats, leaning against it with arms crossed as he analyzed your reactions carefully.

“We act in this war to do just that. The cohesiveness and strength of The Republic would be destroyed if The Separatist Alliance remained. You know as well as most from your studies that an existence like The Old Republic would act as an open cut to agents of the Dark Side.”

Anakin noticed as your eyes misted over in a dazed fashion.

“Forces like Maul…” You murmured.

Exhaling soberly, Anakin digested your solemn expression. Watching your mind struggle to process this newfound mountain of information was bringing back his own troubling memories from his youth. He never was the strongest enthusiast for change, and some of the most extreme adjustments he’d made involved similar exposure to newly dire circumstances. Whether that be learning he’d be hungry for another day, or of some plan to sell him off to another slave owner like cheap merchandise.

As a boy, he found himself best distracted from these circumstances by a new tinkering project, or by those rare moments of frivolity in such tumultuous times.

Yet here he was, already focusing his mind on fiddling with the outdated shuttle in front of him as he had done for the past few days. An expression of levity seemed to be the next logical step, he thought.

“Well, remember?” He grinned at you lightheartedly. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore. Master Kenobi put him in his place.”

Anakin observed as the corner of your mouth twitched upwards, stirring his own to take a wider stance. The momentary lift in your spirits was short-lived, although, as your lost eyes lifted from the floor, disoriented by your mind.

“It’s almost poetic.” You mused, a rueful chuckle falling from your lips. “The very beings my Master protected me from destroyed him in the end.”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan who stroked his beard inquisitively as he mulled over your words in profound concentration. His narrowed gaze briefly met Anakin’s as if searching his irises for an answer to some distant, dubious puzzle.

The former Padawan raised a brow at his Master’s countenance, silently asking what he did to warrant such an expression. Then, Obi-Wan’s lips abruptly parted in realization as he spun back toward you. Anakin took that as his cue to refocus his energy on the rapidly approaching planet whose gravitational field pulled them forward, marking the bird at only a hundred kilometers away.

“Qui-Gon did protect you…” Obi-Wan suspired earnestly as if hearing his own words for the very first time.

He gesticulated with a hand. “His final moments, his face, is forever etched into my mind.”

Kenobi’s sentence broke off. The pensive Jedi opened and closed his mouth a few times while he formulated his thoughts, as if questioning the significance of each word.

“In the thousands of times I’ve gone over his death, I was always taken by the complete peace, the confidence, with which he entered The Force.”

He paused once more, lips tugged upward and eyes glossed in wonder.

“It was because of you.”

Anakin spun fully around, facing the two of you as Obi-Wan dotted that final claim. He noticed your head shoot up at them from its lulled position.

“What do you mean?” You inquired, your eyes adrift in a sea of perceptible perturbation.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Anakin piped up bewildered.

He prayed to the Maker that his former Master wasn’t in any way implying that you had anything to do with his Qui-Gon’s death.

Yet Obi-Wan was undeterred by the assortment of sentiments swirling around him.

“When he first discovered that Maul was a Sith.” He began excitedly. “He must have realized the threat to you. Yes, he was protecting you from the Sith for most of your life, but The Order hadn’t encountered them for a thousand years. And yet, he appeared before Qui-Gon on Tatooine, and then…Naboo.”

Obi-Wan exhaled, letting his arms fall to each side as you leaned forward, watching him intently with hands now clasped firmly beneath your jaw.

Anakin could tell that your silver stare intimated even his former Master. He watched as the Master Negotiator not so subtly eyed the hull’s roof to escape your gaze.

“It is possible, that tracking you down was part of Maul’s mission. He may have discovered your connection to Qui-Gon.”

Kenobi sighed, stroking his chin. “Our former Master likely came to the same conclusion.”

Anakin saw as Obi-Wan’s eyes fell to connect intensely with yours, a smile lingered on the bearded Jedi’s features as his eyes creased in tranquility.

“You should find solace in the fact that you made his final moments most comforting. His death ensured that the Sith would never discover your whereabouts. I’m sure that gave him peace.”

For the first time today, Anakin registered a twinkle in your radiantly silver eyes as you silently thanked the older Jedi with a lift in your cheeks, leaning back into your seat comfortably.

The Chosen One glanced between the two of you as the gaze held. He knew Qui-Gon’s death weighed heavily on Kenobi’s soul. It strongly influenced his choices on the battlefield, and stuck to him like Chewstim during meditation sessions. Yet Anakin rarely heard Obi-Wan discuss the experience. Let alone with serenity blooming from his features like a Tarisian rose that had just escaped a long, winter hibernation.

Your mutual connection to Qui-Gon seemed to help heal these old wounds, and Anakin was grateful for that.

“Enough with the sappiness, Master,” Anakin exclaimed with a lively lilt, breaking the tension as he spun back toward the shuttle’s controls.

Obi-Wan shot Anakin an annoyed look. The teasing Jedi pushed a throttle lever down before programming the shuttle for atmospheric reentry on the left control set.

“I think Silvey would much rather take in our arrival.”

Anakin didn’t need to reach into the force to sense your amused brow’s rapid surge upwards. Obi-Wan stepped around the co-pilot’s seat, shaking his head in surrender as he settled into the chair, smoothing out his robe on either side.

“You sure know how to ruin a moment, Sky-Guy.” Ahsoka pipped up.

Her gaze remained fixed on the Datapad. Yet her comment only amplified his mischievousness.

“Silvey?” Anakin heard you question with feigned indignation as he entered the final commands into the shuttle interface, engaging the secondary thrusters.

The spirited Jedi snatched the navigational lever, pushing it down to lead the craft into Coruscant’s exosphere before glancing over his shoulder at your postured displeasure. He smirked as your eyes met, forcing a dampened smile to surface on your own countenance.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I could spot your silver eyes from a million parsecs away. It’s only fitting.” He defended.

Then, a particularly tantalizing observation entered his thoughts.

“Would you prefer Shorty?”

You chucked darkly, squinting at The Chosen One with a challenging glare as he brought the shuttle’s nose into a deeper dive.

Your lips pursed upwards. “If looks could kill, Anakin. If looks could kill…”

The pilot beamed at your playful remark. “Well, at least take a break from stabbing me with those freakishly sparkly things.” He quipped, waving you away. “You’re missing the view.”

Out of the corner of his focused stare, Anakin observed your head rise. You were immediately taken by Coruscant’s giant mass, a faded blue and gray planet with billions of lights forming golden circles that were interconnected like a geometric map. Your mouth loosened in astonishment with each glossy orb stuck to the viewport. He noticed you lean forward, as if pulled by some unknown force, resting your elbows on each knee with your chin fitted on clasped hands.

Satiated by your raised spirits, Anakin refocused on the throttle, pushing it down further to bring the shuttle into Coruscant’s baby blue troposphere. The ship began to quiver as the hull took the brunt of the friction.

For a few turbulent seconds, his vision was blocked by the vast array of rounded, white clouds. The cabin’s heat intensified as the edges of the viewport started to burn a fiery red.

But soon, the shuttle broke through the white veil’s final wisps, displaying the towering cityscape, which rolled like jagged hills and consumed the viewport. The sun was beginning its final crawl to dusk, filling the sky with a deep orange fire whose smoke billowed into dark blues and purples. The streams of light illuminated the busy skylanes, resembling the endless march of Endorian ant colonies. They brought life to Coruscant’s still landmarks.

“It’s beautiful.”

Anakin covertly peaked at you, registering the astonishment plastered on your face. He assumed for a being that’s only known endless snow banks and harsh winters all their life, that this experience would be terribly intimidating, terrifying even.

He thought back briefly to ten years prior. When he first came to Coruscant, he was petrified. Scared of this new environment. Of this added drastic change to his life.

But he was mostly afraid for his mother. For her fate back on Tatooine. Under Watto’s thumb, only to be bought by Lars, and then…

It permeated his being. Haunted him for years. Pulled at his heart with the constant mass of a planet, swinging like a pendulum with each reminder, each ache. And, still, he carries it with him today. But now, with a deeper anger. A stronger guilt.

But you seemed to take it all in with grace.

And Anakin admired that.

The Temple swiftly grew into view as the shuttle descended. The heat surrounding the hull began to recede. Anakin rolled the lever, bringing the shuttle in for a curved landing. He aligned the ship with one of the protruding hangars, the whole of which he believed resembled an upside-down lollipop. At least when he was a youngling.

After thumbing a few buttons on the control panel to release the landing gear, Anakin pressed the lever down, encouraging the craft to speed to the circular platform nose first. He turned the throttle once more to the right, slowing the ship by aligning its door with the hangar entrance, allowing for a slow, final descent.

The ship jostled slightly as it met the landing pad, signaling Anakin to begin a systems-wide power down, staring at the main control panel.

Another happy landing.

As he flicked off the last switch to power down the engines, Anakin felt an audible rumble from within, compelling him to focus on the sudden ache in his stomach.

It had been a while since he had a good meal with the back-to-back missions and low stock of ration bars. Not that he ever considered that bantha fodder food.

Usually after a long away mission, he would grab a speeder from The Temple and take a quick trip to the Senate Building. He’d roam the halls nonchalantly, chest puffed to signal an air of importance, like he had a very official reason to be there. Then, he would ‘aimlessly’ stroll to Padmé’s office.

Once he arrived with a covert knock at the door, Padmé would welcome him inside with a warmhearted smile. He would then spend some time resting on one of her guest seats meant for senatorial colleagues, attempting to entertain himself with the mechanisms of his saber’s hilt. But it wasn’t long until he began to distract Padmé from her work, eventually convincing her to call it an early night. The two of them would grab a meal in her spacious Coruscanti apartment that overlooked The Temple from a few miles away. But he was never intrigued by that view. His eyes remained fixed on her.

Yet despite all this daydreaming, Skywalker knew his wife was still on Naboo, managing the consequences of donating a vast array of medical supplies to another planet. Her responsibilities on her home world exponentially swelled in the last few months, so he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d next see her.

No one knew when they’d see each other next during wartime. Or if they would ever meet again.

If these musings indicated anything, it was that Anakin eagerly hoped to spend some downtime with the people he was closest to. No war planning. No cargo transports. No battle charges. Just a nice meal and entertaining conversation. And he knew just who he wanted to spend that time with.

Anakin stood, stretching his arms into a spin just in time to witness the very person he hoped to talk to swing her legs back over the seat they were sprawled out on before jumping up and charging for the door.

“What’s got you in such a rush?” He called after Ahsoka as she jostled the shuttle door open.

The orange light of the setting sun invaded the ship with a jolt, casting large shadows on the scattered groups of hangar workers, the closest of which approached the ship to take it off Anakin’s hands once the final three passengers exited.

She leaped out, landing delicately on the tips of her toes before turning into a backward jog.

“If I don’t finish this physics paper by midnight, Master Plo Koon is gonna kill me!” She yelled, shaking her datapad in the air. “Catch you later!”

Anakin’s gaze followed her sprinting form down the hangar’s walkway until she disappeared into the inner bay behind a small cruiser.

“Ok.” Anakin huffed before facing the two remaining Jedi with a grin. “At least the three of us can grab dinner.”

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I’m afraid the two of you will have to enjoy without me,” Obi-Wan admitted as he glanced at Anakin. “The Council likely planned an emergency meeting concerning the recall of the Jedi from the front lines. I need to check in immediately.”

Anakin’s smile faltered. He inwardly groaned at Kenobi’s resolute dedication to rules and regulations. He was sure The Council could have waited half an hour, but Anakin knew Obi-Wan’s mind was set.

Obi-Wan twisted on his heels to face you. “I will also inform them about you.”

“Shouldn’t I be there then?” You questioned.

All hope of eating with one of his traveling companions drained from Anakin’s spirit. Maybe he could meet with one of them later instead, he thought. He supposed he could put off food for a bit, perhaps continue on that pilot droid project he hadn’t had a chance to work on for a while. But then he’d probably need to take a quick trip to Level 1782. Last time Anakin checked, he was low on spare parts.

“No,” Obi-Wan claimed.

Skywalker’s ears perked at that.

“That will not be necessary. They will likely need to confer without your presence for now.”

You silently agreed as Anakin internally sighed in relief.

Obi-Wan nodded to the both of you before turning to the hangar walkway, hurriedly traipsing toward his exit.

Anakin took a more leisurely pace in the same direction as you followed behind. An uncomfortable silence took hold as he guided the both of you into the inner hangar. The bustling noise of your surroundings amplified the awkwardness as the two of you closed in on the larger groups of hangar workers, barking out loud commands and using various tools, like sonorously whirring drills, to update or fix the conglomerate of crafts that idly scattered the zone.

Anakin felt his nose begin to tickle, perhaps from distant smoke. But he was too worried that it may prolong the uncomfortably fresh turf between the two of you if he tried to scratch it.

“So…” You spoke somewhat unsure of yourself. “What is there to do that’s fun around here?”

Anakin’s whole body froze, stopping dead in his tracks from eager surprise as if he were caught in a carbon-freezing chamber. He spun toward you, immediately seizing your shoulders with a steady clasp.

“What did you say?” He asked intently, excitement radiating up his spine and diffusing to his fingertips.

He observed your figure stiffen slightly at his agile animation. You raised a questioning brow as you opened your mouth with a hesitant pause, seemingly unsure if you should ask again.

“Do Jedi raised in The Order…not do anything….leisurely?”

The confident Jedi chuckled coolly while throwing an arm around your shoulder as you both exited the hanger into The Temple, pivoting to stroll down the hall opposite from Obi-Wan’s trail.

“I think we are going to get along very well, Silvey.” He hummed self-assuredly.

You rolled your eyes. “Not if you keep calling me that.”

“I promise you, you’re not gonna mind that nickname after I show you one of the most leisurely activities on all of Coruscant.” He assured.

You glanced at Anakin with lifted features. “But I thought you were hungry.” You teased

Anakin scoffed. “Food can wait. Now, tell me, Silvey.” Anakin dreamed as he patted your shoulder. “Did Qui-Gonn ever tell you about the Wicko District?”

—

General Kenobi maintained his nimble gait down the primary walkway to the High Council Chamber. His robes billowed as he passed an abundance of lounging Jedi, some conversing to the sides or keeping a moderate pace as they made their way to an unknown destination on either side of him.

Soon into his journey, Obi-Wan crossed paths with his old mentor Master Cin Drallig, followed by a group of twelve rowdy younglings whose voices bounced off the temple walls. Maybe they were asking questions, or telling a story, but the bearded Jedi couldn’t tell. Each utterance overlapped like a cacophony of crashing speeders.

Yet almost immediately, they noticed his presence, twirling away from each other to respectfully greet one of their long-held role models.

“Hello, Master!”

“Hello, younglings.” General Kenobi smiled.

He looked back to Master Dralli, catching his tired, yet fulfilled stare. They each exchanged a dutiful, yet brisk nod before continuing on their respective paths.

Obi-Wan always felt dwarfed by the massive olive-gray pillars that buttressed The Temple’s lofty ceilings. As a youngling, the golden archways seemed to stretch out endlessly in each direction, giving the effect of an infinite mirror when he passed under them. When he aged, however, Obi-Wan learned to better understand the structure’s finite nature, yet he was still taken by its capacious essence. Each hall resembled a palace built thousands of years ago by Mandallian Giants, specifically constructed for their wide gates and broad shoulders. And it would coax his imagination into its unyielding grasp.

He remembers spending too much time simply sitting crossed in these halls during his youth. The youngling would rest his eyelids to visualize the giants’ roaring tramps shake the coral- and lilac-marble floors in succeeding thundering booms.

As Obi-Wan turned a corner, tread crossing onto the ocean blue carpet of the inner Temple, he reminisced about the time Qui-Gon caught him red-handed in the middle of one of these fantasies. It was many years before the late Jedi took him on as a Padawan.

Qui-Gon would always engage with the younglings when possible. He had a habit of outwardly encouraging all initiates in their studies, especially those who struggled with their training and emotional discipline. But he would also silently approve those rare moments in which a young Jedi took a moment to themselves. Whether that be exploring the Coruscanti entertainment district, playing Sabacc, or Obi-Wan’s respite of choice, daydreaming.

With eyes shrouded in darkness, he could almost smell the sweaty towering creature. Its footsteps sounded like cracks of lighting, and he could feel the room’s imperceptible rise in temperature from the creature’s sudden presence. If he really focused, its colossal, green-muscled foot would nearly breach the void in his sight, creeping from the corner of his left eyelid. The hair on his arms prickled at the beast’s sudden proximity.

“Meditating are you?”

The young Kenobi’s eyes sprung open, cheeks reddening as his eyes locked with the wise Jedi before him.

“Uhh, yes…Master.”

And Qui-Gon simply smiled.

Obi-Wan’s worries momentarily lifted at the memory, delight gracing his features. But that instant disappeared from his mind as quickly as it arrived. The Jedi refocused on the task ahead, passing one of the large Sage Master statues that shined like freshly polished copper to his right as The Council meeting room entered his vision.

Just outside the Chamber door stood Master Windu, leaning with his arm against the wall beside him as he continued his deep discussion with Master Yoda, who rested in his flying chair. The two of them spoke softly, and from Windu’s creased brows, General Kenobi could tell that it was serious. A few groups of Jedi Masters similarly congregated around the door, talking lowly. Kenobi could sense heightened anxiety trailing the air.

As he approached, Obi-Wan caught the corner of Mace’s eye. He turned to General Kenobi, offering a curt nod at his arrival as Yoda reoriented his seat toward the newly arrived.

“Late you are, Master Kenobi.”

“I apologize for the delay.” Obi-Wan relayed sincerely. “Our shuttle experienced some unexpected complications.”

Yoda hummed deeply at Obi-Wan’s words, indicating his acceptance of this explanation to Mace before taking his chair on a measured stroll down the walkway, back in the direction from whence Obi-Wan came. Windu and Kenobi shortly followed in step.

“The Council has already met to discuss the issue of recalling the Jedi.” Master Windu began as the trio ambled down the hallway. “We have suffered a communications incursion by the Separatists.”

Obi-Wan was astounded, brows furrowing in confusion as he absentmindedly rubbed his jaw.

“A breach in our secure transmissions…How is that possible?” He exclaimed.

“Unsure, we are,” Yoda answered. “Investigate, our specialists will.”

Mace addressed the troubled Jedi. “A number of troops stationed in obscure outer regions of multi-planetary battle sites were ambushed in the last few weeks. The only way they could have been discovered would be if their COMMs were tapped into. It is possible that the Separatists have somehow obtained some of our transmitter codes or found some other flaw in the communications system. Because we cannot use our wrist comms or holopads to send sensitive information to communicate this development, we’ve recalled the Jedi.”

“Continue the battles, the clones will. Send out Jedi temporarily with verbal directions for troops, we must.

“Until communications are secured.” Windu clarified. “The 212th and 501st have already received new instructions for a less critical mission on Aleen.”

Obi-Wan hummed in contemplation. “And how long do you believe this situation will last?”

Mace exhaled. “We won’t know until technicians look further into the issue. But it may be weeks, months.”

Obi-Wan stroked his beard as he ruminated about this concerning development. He trusted Commander Cody with his life, but still knew it would be difficult for the 212th to address more delicate missions in the near future without timely information from The Temple or even inter-troop comms.

“Concerned, we all are,” Yoda reassured, likely sensing General Kenobi’s unease.

“The Council will be informing all active Jedi in the Great Hall tomorrow morning. Make sure Anakin and his Padawan are present. And here.”

Windu reached into the right pocket of his robe, pulling out what Obi-Wan thought was a wrist comm, yet it seemed bulkier. An extra layer of wiring was hidden in an additional panel stuck underneath the control layer. Most notable was the thin, silver line of steel that encircled the device, something the General hadn’t seen on a comm before. He took it, feeling the mass in his palm. It felt cold, heavy, with a rusted button and weak indicator light.

He thought it ancient.

“It’s a comm from the old Temple emergency system. It’s completely separate from our current communications system so messages from these devices to regular comms will be secure. There are only enough for one per council member.”

Obi-Wan thanked the Master as he switched his current wrist link with the replacement, placing the former in his robe’s pocket.

“Still careful, we must be.”

Mace added. “Only use it to ask for meetings, not to share sensitive data.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “On the topic of sensitivity, I must inform you of a development.”

He breathed deeply, exhaling in a short burst as he gathered his complicated memories about you to present to The Council leaders.

“In our delay, Anakin, his Padawan, and I were on Hoth for a short time, where we met a being living alone on the planet’s surface.”

The two Jedi Masters listened intently as he continued.

“I discovered them to be a Gray Jedi, trained by Master Qui-Gonn himself. They claim to be The Guardian, a figure that is a part of The Chosen One prophecy, but was expected to be trained outside The Order. They are tasked with Anakin’s protection and guidance so that he may achieve his destiny. Their journey begins when dark forces threaten this fate.”

Mace’s eyes narrowed. “This is a bold claim, Master Kenobi. If anything, it sounds like a Separatist trick.”

Then, as soft as their nimble footfalls, Yoda uttered your name under his breath.

Obi-Wan’s head swiveled toward the Grand Master. “You know them?”

The shorter Jedi sighed, leaning back in his chair as his eyes glazed over in deep reflection.

“Gone, I thought they were, a long time ago.”

Mace’s brows raised as he turned to Yoda. “You know of this individual, Master?”

He nodded gravely, a light grunt resonated from his esophagus.

“Discovered them as an infant twenty-five years ago, I did. Kept a close eye on them, I had.” He sighed. “Killed by a dark power a year later, their parents were. Believed they died as well, I did.”

The Grand Master eyed General Kenobi carefully, as if the bearded Jedi made a mistake in his recollection.

“Interested to learn they are alive, I am.”

“A dark power…” Obi-Wan mused. “Master, do you believe a Sith may have been responsible? I have been theorizing that Maul’s presence on Tatooine could have had more than one motive.”

“Discovered their presence, you believe he did?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “And their connection to Qui-Gon.”

He paused, counting the years in his head.

“But Maul would have been too young when their parents passed.”

“The rule of two…” Mace hummed.

“A Master, then.” Yoda declared.

“Then The Guardian’s presence suggests that Maul may not be the last Sith,” Windu revealed. “If it’s true that their appearance suggests a new threat from the Dark Side.”

“During the Battle of Geonosis, discovered that Dooku may be a Sith, I did.” Yoga established. “Great darkness, I sensed in him.”

“Then he is the Sith Lord?” Mace speculated.

Obi-Wan agreed. “He would have been quite capable of taking their parents’ lives over two decades ago.”

“It would also explain The Guardian’s survival, if Dooku’s late Padawan discovered his plans and partially thwarted them before they were carried out,” Mace suggested.

“Informed The Council, Qui-Gon would have, if believed Dooku was a Sith, he had. Much we still do not know, there is.”

Windu exhaled, placing his middle and index finger against his right temple and thinking deeply about his next words.

“I would like to meet this Guardian myself.” He gestured to Kenobi. “Tomorrow in the Sparring Arena after the Great Hall announcement. It is important for The Council to determine whether they have the necessary physical and mental abilities, and the appropriate connection to the Force, to be a Jedi Knight. To join The Order. Otherwise, leaving them outside the purview of The Order could have dire consequences. That is if they are even prepared to fulfill such a destiny after nearly a decade of isolation.”

“Of course, Master.” Obi-Wan acknowledged. “But from what little I’ve seen, they seem quite capable of holding their own.”

Windu’s stare held firm. “Respectfully, Master Kenobi, I will be the one to determine that.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze fell. “Understood.”

He didn’t take the Master’s tone personally. Windu’s conformist nature and deep dislike for any Jedi activity conducted beyond the domain of The Council likely made his discovery of The Guardian prophecy an unwelcome one. Obi-Wan only hoped that Master Windu would still treat you as any other Jedi when testing your abilities. He remembers the wise Master’s negative reaction to Anakin’s discovery, due to his age at the time Qui-Gon requested that he be trained. You were much older than 10-year-old Ani, so he was convinced that would pose a problem for the talented swordsman.

And this was not the best time for you to be meeting resistance from The Order that you trained your whole life to serve so to continue its millennia-long mission of preserving the peace through light. The Master Negotiator didn’t need to employ his strong conversation skills to discern how the past few days’ overwhelming changes had been affecting you. That, in addition to learning of your Master’s passing, had made you restless on the journey here. It was hard to ignore, even while he settled in repose each night, your twisted form which struggled to sleep.

He empathized with you deeply.

The General was also, in some measure, apprehensive about the inevitable clash of personalities. He found you kind, considerate, but also unafraid to speak your mind, or express your inner sentiments. He admired Master Windu since he was a boy, but his no-nonsense approach? His uncompromising mental discipline and austere lessons? It would surely cause a collision of temperaments.

“A different name, they must go by,” Yoda announced.

Obi-Wan’s gaze rose curiously at this. “Master?”

“Know they are alive, Dooku cannot.”

“Nor any other actor of the Dark Side. Nor the Separatists.” Windu interjected. “Their existence could pose a significant weakness to the Republic’s image of enduring peace and light. If Separatist forces discover The Guardian’s identity and purpose from their birth name, they may believe that the destruction of a specific Jedi could leave us vulnerable.”

He paused, turning to Yoda to verify his conclusions, who languidly blinked in concurrence.

Mace’s peer twisted back toward Kenobi. “If dark forces found them once through their birth name, they can again.”

The Grand Master nodded in agreement. “Destroy The Guardian, they may otherwise try.”

Obi-Wan’s heart dropped at the notion. It was clear that your identity needed to be protected from these powerfully dark forces, lest you meet the same fate as your parents.

If your mission was to guard and guide Anakin, his former Padawan, and dear friend, then the determined Jedi believed it to be his personal assignment to aid you in that destiny. Now he knew that hiding your identity to the best of his ability would be part of that task. The side of the light needed you, and Obi-Wan’s deep connection to it and his cavernous desire to continue Qui-Gon’s decades-long efforts meant only one thing— he needed to protect you too.

“Anakin gave them a nickname.” The General recalled, head tilted and eyes scanning up an idle column as he thought back. “Silvey, if memory serves.”

Windu's brows raised, unsurprised.

“Then Silvey they’ll remain,” he concluded.

Yoda hummed, his disconcertion bubbling to the surface with lips creased in a downward turn. “Their true name, only the three of us, Anakin, and little Ahsoka will know. Kept secret, their identity must be. Inform The Council of the prophecy, we shall, once communications are refortified. But within the council, it must stay.”

Master Windu mumbled in unanimity. “We must not entertain any notion of emerging Sith. Not among the Jedi, nor publicly.”

“I understand the delicacy of the situation and will act accordingly,” Obi-Wan assured.

The bearded Jedi halted, turning to the elders before leaning into a slight obeisance. The other Masters slowed to a halt.

“If you will excuse me, Masters, I hope to find my travel companions before they divulge any information about The Guardian’s identity.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi,” Windu stated as he bowed adieu, Yoda following suit from his floating chair.

And with that, Obi-Wan turned away to begin his search for you, Anakin, and Ahsoka.

As the General quickened his stride down that long, colossally immortal walkway, he wondered where he might find the three of you. Ahsoka was probably in the Jedi Archives around the corner, assuming she was continuing her work on that paper for Master Plo Koon. So he decided to start there. He assumed you and Anakin were stationed in the refectory closest to the hangar, remembering the previously mentioned dinner plans,

Or maybe it would be better to try the refractory first, Obi-Wan thought. If experience served true, Anakin would not stay silent about your discovery for long. He hastened his pace while mumbling these plans under his breath.

“Yes, the refractory first.”

Taglist

@js-favnanadoongi

@panandinpain0

[moment--ary]

how do you keep your faces for characters so consistent in different expressions/pieces? do you have specific references for any of them or are they imagined whole cloth?

a combination of reference and referencing yourself! the more you draw a character the more reference you're making for yourself for the future and the more muscle memory you're building. being conscious of what features you attribute to each character, exaggerating them a little bit like a caricature. once I've drawn a character once I always have the/a previous drawing I've done of them to hand along with pose references. I personally also like not having reference for everything though as I kinda enjoy things being a little off/out of proportion, i think that's part of what leaves room for your own style to come through (and makes drawing more of a learning exercise rather than just observational) but I definitely focus most/spend most time on the faces and let everything else be a bit loose from there.

[bigbysinterposinghand]

random things about my collaborative minecraft setting that you didnt know (and now you do)

- Herobrine exists as a manifestation of hubris, and is a splinter of Steve. He has all of Steve's memories up until the point he splintered off, but is technically a separate person.

- All of the default skins (Alex, Steve, Zuri, etc.) were real people who had an immense impact on the world's history, including some of them having killed god-level entities and others becoming god-level entities.

- One of whom is now The Nameless One. From Minecraft Dungeons. This will come back up later.

- The Wither exists as one half of a whole, the other being The Flourish, who is made from regular sand and regular skulls. This entity is seen as one of the most terrifying things in the world. It was based on a meme.

- The Pink Wither also exists, and it is called The Whimsy. It has no relation to the Wither.

- The Ender Dragon is capable of asexual reproduction, producting a fertile egg upon her death. This hypothetically can happen any time she dies, including if she is resurrected and then killed again.

- The Slider (from the Aether mod) was originally a Command Block that became self sufficient. The Bronze Dungeon in this setting is an eternal labyrinth with architectural elements from all dimensions.

- The Twilight Forest is canon, and there are elves who are from there. In their first language, they are called drow.

- There is more than one dragon. More specifically, there was an entire society of dragons that went into a deep recession after their monarch, Queen Jean, the Ender Dragon, was killed by a human man named Steve.

- Minecraft Story Mode is, on a technical level, canon to this setting through the MCSM portal hall, where one portal can be found that leads to a trial chamber in Craline near the ingame spawn point.

- In the portal hall, there is also a portal leading to the Minecraft Dungeons canon. This adds a loose connection between Craline and MCD- on top of that, there is a small implication that the Nameless One in MCD and the one in Craline are the same person.

- These two characters are the same person (in this multiverse canon specifically)

- Minecraft Legends is also canon to this setting, but in a different way. The setting of Minecraft Legends is compared to the likes of a shared delusion or dream dimension, where it isn't accessible by willful means, only by being drawn in from something from that world. This led to one character in the setting referencing the three entities met in this game; Foresight, Knowledge, and Action.

- There are vampires and vampyrs, which are two different things, and the distinction is very important.

- There is a group in the Twilight Forest called the Koboldian Bureaucratic Campaign, which is attempting to usurp power in the realm.

- Speaking of which, the Twilight Forest is referred to as the Twilight Realm.

- Asterius, a mushroom minotaur (minoshroom if you will), and the Slider were once intimately close.

- You can technically kill god, more than once, but never in a way that matters.

[candied-boys]

Luke's POV x F! Reader - Part 5

Warning: Dark Content!

Including but not limited to references to prostitution, child neglect and abuse, war and death, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, suicidal ideation, and historically accurate ages for relations. The dark content is almost entirely drawn from/same as Luke's route.

Themes: protection, hurt and comfort, mutual healing, learning to trust, letting yourself feel, and eventually giving into love. Everything is written from Luke's POV.

Part 4

Rain; damp and chill, an uncomfortable draft that inches you further beneath the quilt.

Warmth; cozy and soothing, an irresistible allure that tightens your embrace.

Breath; light and serene, an even cadence that seeps below your collar.

Memories; bleary and muddled, an angelic voice that asks you to stay.

Trepidation; wary and forlorn, an aching that yearns for you to yield to solace.

Rest; cleansing and rejuvenating, an unfamiliar balm that nourishes more than your body.

Oh, right… When I came to, I tried to put her back in bed, but…

She wouldn't let go…

And being wrapped up in her arms felt so…

Safe…

Bewitched, you don't heed the warning telling you to sneak out of bed for her modesty's sake. You dare not break the spell of tranquillity cast by the long-forgotten feeling of being next to someone who cares for you.

Minutes or hours pass as you drift in and out of sleep until you hear a drowsy voice mumble from where she nuzzles into your shirt, “Nnnmm, com…fy…”

What little of her arm she can manage to drape over your shoulder tightens as she wriggles herself up from under your chin. Her eyelids are still heavy when her gaze finds yours, yet the question in her eyes is clear. Your lips tug into a gentle arc, reassuring her you're okay now. A soft smile and a relieved breath reply in kind.

“I'm sorry, Luke,” she murmurs and brushes a few loose strands behind your ear.

“What for?”

“You had that nightmare because you were trying to help me with mine, right?”

Where her hand lingers you cup it in yours and press her palm to your cheek.

“It's not y’r fault. It happens all the time. I'm… used to it.”

Thinking about how frequent the worst ones usually are, you realize belatedly that you haven't had one since you brought her here. Whether you've been fighting back the thoughts or too distracted to be triggered you aren't sure though.

“Would it hurt too much to tell me who you were trying to protect?”

“Was I talkin’ in my sleep?” you frown.

“More like begging and screaming… but yes…”

A hint of that same distress you caught in her eyes last night when you’d finally come back to yourself coaxes your lips to part.

“My sister…”

“Leyla?”

Nodding you continue, “She was killed the same day as y’r family.”

You never imagined on the night you gave into years of anger and an instinct to protect that she'd still be here.

And you never once imagined you'd be lying here with her in your arms a month later telling her everything.

From the strange way your mother hated you to the threadbare teddy sitting on the dresser, one after another the sweetest and worst memories pour forth until the crystals pooling at your lash line spill over. She doesn't bother to dry her own tears as her small hand slips from beneath your palm to thumb away yours instead.

“Was she why you saved me?”

“Probably, yeah. I really don't care about anybody or anythin’ other than her… The whole city could be burnin’ to the ground and I wouldn't even try to help...”

Unspoken questions linger in her eyes as you continue, “But… y’ had that same terrified, pleadin’ look in y'r eyes as she had when I found her buried in the rubble that day… somethin’ just came over me and next thin’ I knew I was outside with you in my arms…”

Petting her hair you soothe the apologetic crease in her brow and a wistful smile tugs at your lips.

“Y’ remind me of her in a lot of ways… Y’re both crybabies, a bit helpless without some guidance, but… when y’ find somethin’ y’ like, the way y’ light up… I just can't help wantin’ to spoil y’…”

I feel needed when with I'm with y’… and I miss that… Maybe that's why I haven't really bothered tryin’ to get rid of y’ or at least find y’ a better place…

“Does it hurt that I remind you of her?”

That longstanding fear taints her eyes and tells you what she wants to hear, but you don't have to lie to make her happy.

Cupping the back of her head in your broad palm and pulling her into your chest, you murmur against her hair, “No, I like it… Taking care of you brings back the good memories and lets me forget the worst — if only for a few hours…”

Hands clenching the front of your shirt, she nuzzles into your embrace, and a muffled whisper seeps up between you.

“You know, I've never felt so safe or loved as when I'm with you, Luke…”

Loved?

Clinging closer and burying her face in your arm she answers your unspoken question, “Even if your kindness is just a reflection of your love for Leyla… even if you don't really see me for me… I know I could never replace her, but as long as you'll let me, I want to feel that love in her place…”

In her place, huh? I'll only be here until I ensure the kingdom falls… but maybe… until then, I could indulge in the sweeter memories… for a little while at least… before I go…

With a playful chuckle you roll the both of you so she's above you and can't hide away anymore. Wide eyes stare down as you tease, “So does that mean y'll finally quit apologizin’ and let me spoil y’ as much as I want?”

Her lips part, but instead of speaking she ends up shaking her head quickly.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” you laugh to match each denial. “If y’ want me to treat y’ like my lil’ sis’ then y're gonna get spoiled rotten, y’ hear?”

“You already spoil me too much, Luke!”

“No I don't. Y’ just never had somebody treat y’ decently. C’mon. Up we get. We're goin’ out!”

An adorable squeak escapes her as you sit up in bed and lift her to stand on the floor at the same time.

“Don't you have work today, Luke?”

“Not anymore, I don't! I'm skippin’ and I'm gonna spend the whole day takin’ y’ everywhere y’ think I haven't noticed y’ wantin’ to go.”

While you throw on your jacket, you listen to her babble away about how you shouldn't do that, especially not just for her, blah blah blah. She doesn't know you've been skipping out on work and school since you went to the military academy in Obsidian ten years ago.

You only go to work to collect information and have some semblance of justification for eventually becoming a “knight”, but even that could be arranged whether you really work hard or not — as long as you have his help.

“I can't hear y’. La la la la la!” you talk over her and slip the kirtle you made her over her head.

“We're goin’ to that cake shop y’ eye every time we're walkin’ home from buyin’ groceries. Yeah, I know y’ think I didn't notice,” you grin and ruffle her hair.

You catch a glitter in her eyes that she tries to quickly hide with a guilty pout, but you poke her forehead before she can say she doesn't know what café you're talking about.

“I'm takin’ y’ whether y’ admit y’ wanna go or not, so y’ better get dressed ’fore I wrap y’ up in my jacket and throw y’ over my shoulder.”

She knows you'd do it too. Running around in a tizzy, she fixes her hair, clothes, and boots in under two minutes. Just in time to slip her little hand into yours and follow you out the door.

Part 6

[ajgrey9647]

Fox's Eye

Path of Hurt for Augusnippets

Day 1: gaslighting/hypnosis/brainwashing (late)

AU of Mind Games and Quad Life - diverges while Red is still living in the palace but having a crisis of identity.

He could just make out the faint, distinctive scent of rain as he inhaled deeply, the cool wind ruffling his shaggy, dark gray hair and the loose material of the shirt he wore in place of the skintight uniform that was his customary attire. Somewhere in the distance, there was a low growl of thunder, the approaching storm clouds heavy in their slowly gathering dance; a brilliant white arc of lightning illuminated their expansive girth. In the ‘before times’, spring would have been just around the corner, the breeze carrying the aroma of fresh earth while young green sprout pushed their way through the dirt.

There was a unique beauty in the chaos, storms often symbolizing a great trial or tribulation, but also serving as a catalyst for powerful transformation.

‘How fitting…’ he mused, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Somewhere, lost in time and place, he’d read a quote about even nature needing to scream. This chapter of his existence, itself one long, drawn-out scream of agony and humiliation, would soon be tapering off to an exhausted whimper. And then, he’d draw new breath, open his swollen, tear-filled eyes, and begin to live…

‘My ‘existence’…an unexpected consequence of psychological torture, a desperate, splintering mind, and a gift from the Grid itself… All of it allowing me to be standing here now.’

Anyone familiar with the lithe man wouldn’t have recognized him as he stood at the window of his alcove. With the newer, less constrictive, modest clothing, black frame glasses, and sane expression on his face, this older man didn’t much resemble the wild, hypersexual human-pet.

The Ghost in the Looking Glass, as Red referred to him, seldom stepped through to take control of their shared, borrowed body, much preferring to keep watch behind the pet’s eyes as days, months, years, all blended together in a tangled mire of an unfair ‘half-life’. However, now time was running out. His canine cousin was in trouble, coming apart at the seams in light of the mounting discrepancies, blatant lies, and obvious facts of reality that for so long he’d been able to ignore or suppress in order to continue the whole charade.

Drakkon was determined to get his dog, hammering the young Jason Scott’s mind with every manipulative, cruel, and coercive psychic battering ram he could imagine. And while the former Red Ranger was strong and stubborn, defying the tyrant’s desires for nearly a year, the fact remained that he was a still just a child, vulnerable to tactics that even grown, hardened men crumbled under.

‘Poor kiddo… He was really a baby…’

Red had given Lord Drakkon his prized pet, the alter created to bear the mantle of living akin to an animal, something humiliating and degrading for a human like Jason. This had been where the Grid stepped in, the residual energy acting like a beacon, alerting the mythical entities that a Ranger was in trouble, that his powers had been stolen, not transferred or willingly given up… With the teen no longer in physical possession of his coin, it made finding him difficult, the ‘tugging on the spider’s web’ coming from a generalized direction but not a definitive location.

Together they’d found the traumatized child, huddled in a quivering ball within the burning ruins of his own psychic interior. The massive, ebony hound with ember eyes that would become Red protectively curled his large body around the boy, soothing him to sleep, while the fox kept careful watch.

And kept watch he had…

The sly, cunning creature watched from behind Red’s eyes, studying the evil Lord Drakkon, learning every nuance and minute detail of his expressions, behaviors, and habits, committing to memory the layout of the palace, of the courtyard and grounds…

Giving gentle nudges to Red, who’d steadily grown sicker, more mentally ill along with his ‘master’, sparking interest in skills and knowledge that would help in surviving alone, hidden away from the world but free.

The fox or ‘Ghost’, who had not yet chosen his name, knew how to grow vegetables, raise farm animals, live off the land… He’d spent close to two decades honing his abilities even as he’d devoured every book in the palace’s library, paying rapt attention to Garrett’s teachings as the old farmer kindly shared his wisdom when Red absconded from home when Drakkon was out…practicing with small potted plants and flowering vines that somehow remained unnoticed by the vile asshole.

There was no way for he or Red to ever return to the Grid, their connection severed once they’d chosen to cross into Jason’s coinless mind, nor would the primary identity be well enough to care for himself, too broken and traumatized to even speak, though he’d tried to engage the human at risk to his (and Red’s) existence.

So, the fox learned how to live in this body, as a person instead of a beast. It was strange at first to look down at his hands and not see his own brown furred paws, to not be able to wag his bushy, orange tail, to be unable to twitch his pointed ears or muzzle.

‘No wonder Red started becoming hysterical… He was finally seeing past the distortion, his unconscious mind putting pieces together.’

The canine was too emotional, unstable, and aggressive now; once he could see the ‘man behind the curtain’, or rather the man behind the dog, he’d remember Jason and what happened to him, leaving him at risk of attempting to attack Drakkon.

‘Which would have been foolish.’

In the twenty years, the fox had been watching him, he’d had to accept that trying to kill the fucker, take his coin, and return their world to normal had the same probability of a snowball’s chance in hell.

‘And death would never be on the table for me… He’d make sure I remained alive.’

Besides, his main objective, Red’s main objective, was to keep Jason safe. He’d always known there would come a time that his master wouldn’t be watching, a time he’d be too distracted or complacent…

When the hidden alter made his move, everything had to be perfect. There would be no second chance. Drakkon must believe that his pet was dead; just running away would only make the tyrant hunt him down, torturing and killing any and all who might hold a shred of information about his location.

‘He’ll never let Jason go… Never stop looking no matter what it takes,’ the fox sighed.

Glancing over his shoulder into the shadowy confines of the hidden alcove, his eye went to the bag he’d already prepared in anticipation of taking off at a moment’s notice.

All he needed was the right opportunity to ‘die’…and not leave a body behind.

[rossithepixie]

rossiiii :3c how did you and aventurine meet . . what were his first thoughts on you and what did you think of him !!

Ahhh hi dilly! It's good to hear from you again 💕

We first meet during his mission on Penacony! At least I think it's our first meeting. I have a weird feeling that maybe we've met before but some of my memories before joining the astral express crew are hazy at the edges.

As for him he's almost certain that he's met me before. But i couldn't be who he thinks I am because jade said everyone who helped him on planet -redacted-* died. It was years ago now anyway and he doesn't see a flicker of recognition on my face. Beyond that his first impression of me is that i'm very earnest and the most trusting of him among the astral express crew. It's endearing. Its even more so when he sees my interactions with other strangers and finds that while i'm polite i'm not nearly as open to interactions and actively shy away from them.

As for my first impression of him I find him to be very attractive and to be a smooth talker, typical impressions of him but beyond that I think he seems a bit sad, a bit distant under all the flamboyance. I'm drawn to him despite the warnings. ( my caution lessens ever further when i learn he's associates with Dr. ratio since i consider him a loose friend from the times he's visited the express ) And once i set my mind to something i'm terribly stubborn and getting to know Avneturine is what I set my mind to.

--

*is in reference to his character story 3 where he asks jade about people who helped him on an unknown planet and she claims they're all dead

I have very involved lore for my Star rail self.