#ending not canon compliant

[aduckinpain]

The Sunset clashes on waves of Cobalt

Tags: Character study style writing, Hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Pure Soukoku, Everything in chronological order, Dazai Osamu's in character existential crisis, They're in love, Dazai's obsession with Chuuya's corruption, his obsession with chuuya honestly.

Word Count: 7.3k

This is also on AO3 by roianamustang (me).

Life is finicky. Evasive. Confusing. A fluke. Something, created from nearly nothing, by pure chance. It’s involuntary. You wake up one day, only to acknowledge your newly discovered existence by at least 2 years. Your lungs expand, your heart beats, your blood rushes, your ears hear and your eyes see. And your mind runs. It runs and runs, it runs out of breath. It searches for more, information flooding from every crevice.

Life is important, according to every living being. Even the most miniscule little creature will value it over anything else, whether that be by running, hiding or fighting. Even plants reach for the sun in hopes of waking up the next morning.

Dazai Osamu reached for the Sun when he was five and it burned. Leaving trails in its wake. 

Life is a continuous string of events that emerges by chance. It has variables so intricate, they can’t be calculated. Time, variety, coincidence. Fate. It starts unknown, and it ends the same.

Depending on where you live, people can live a healthy 80 years, and die peacefully in their bed, surrounded by loved ones. Yet, one lifetime is not enough.

We enter this world unwillingly, so why do we fight so hard for it?

Why are we so scared of death? Of the unknown?

How can you love life so much, that you fear the end of it?

What’s so unique about monotony and routines?

At the end of the day humans are mammals. Their ability to produce milk and have hair puts them in another category, while their capability of thought and intelligence, puts them in another rank. 

And still, our reason for living is to just not die. Survival, something every other creature on this earth, prioritizes.

So he doesn’t get it. 

Things can be pretty, things can be sacred, they can be fun, loving, but they are all temporary. Most of the emotions a human being feels in a lifetime are neutrality and anxiety, stress, fear, sadness, nostalgia and melancholy. Happiness and excitement, in its purest form are the rarest, with sudden entrances and premature disappearances. They’re hard to find, hard to replicate, hard to give. 

And at the end of it all, you die and everything is forgotten. You are a machine run by tubes and liquid that shuts off and that is it.

The world with all of its colors is bleak, the humans vary physically yet act similarly, predictably, and life dies.

But normal people don’t think like this. Normal people don’t stare at their ceiling willing themselves to drink water or eat food. Normal people don’t burn when others touch them. They don’t numb when their surroundings become too much. They don’t hate. 

They care and they love and they find meanings in everything.

Dazai doesn't.

Dazai hurts.

Why can’t he just be normal and meaningless and random and flitting and living and dead? 

Why can’t he be human?

What is he?

15 years of Dazai’s life have passed and he can confidently say that he has effectively erased his first 10 and blurred the last 5.

It all comes to a shocking halt, or more accurately, a start, when one moment he was walking in the empty, dusty streets of Suribachi City, with its secrets and rats, and the next he was…not?

Air escaped his lungs so fast, Dazai couldn’t even process the ever moving environment. 

Blink.

He blinked and he saw blue.

He blinked again, and he saw waves of cobalt crashing upon the sunset’s rays.

Or more realistically crashing into him.

A foot holding him down and the other kicking his face, Dazai Osamu breathed and felt air enter his blood for the first time since he was born.

The sun shone. 

And so did his eye.

His heart filled with oxygen. Beating steadily for the first time.

When Mori told him ‘Nothing dangerous’, he of course didn’t believe it. And looking at the bright red head of hair next to him, so tiny, so miniscule, so small, compact, microscopi-

“The fuck you looking at?”

Blue turned to him, glaringly darker and in the background he was very aware of the noise leaving its mouth. 

He just didn’t care to listen.

Nakahara Chuuya. 15 years old and yet, here he stood. The leader of The Sheep. So loud. So present in such a small body, as if it couldn’t contain him. As if it held death and destruction, and life.

Even by Dazai’s own standards, he wasn’t stupid. Chuuya was dangerous. To what extent he’s not sure yet, still willing to push some more buttons, to see some more outcomes, but still at the very least, he is very strong. And while he would love to pester Mori about this sudden mission, something was holding him back.

The next thing Dazai knows the gun is getting kicked out of his hand.

Blink.

And another blink. His eye captures life and Dazai Osamu jerks in its hold.

‘In other words, the suicidal maniac wants to live.’

‘I’ve come to think its worth trying.’

Because of you was left unspoken and yet to be understood by either one of them.

With Randou dead, Dazai had already started putting other plans in motion. 

Nakahara Chuuya lost a bet after all, he now needed to pay the price.

Looking at him now, on top of rocks, rubble around him, water rising and waves crashing, never getting close to that blue of his, breath stuttering, eyes hurt. 

Dazai had never seen something more human.

He wanted that.

He wanted Chuuya.

Dazai wanted Chuuya.

Odasaku was quiet. As a man yes, but also as a presence. Odasaku was a blank slate willing to hand you the pen, write on him and react accordingly. He did not uphold expectations or even judgment. 

Dazai liked Odasaku. 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend to sleep with the man’s presence next to him.

Odasaku listened and answered in seemingly normal replies that sometimes caught Dazai by surprise. So when he had ranted about Nakahara Chuuya to him the last thing he had expected was the man to say that ‘Nakahara seems like a nice guy then yeah?’. 

A small moment of quiet had made Oda turn, locking eyes with the fifteen year old. 

And he halted.

Dazai made some sort of noise of surprise and frustration and went through another round of ranting, screeching, he wasn’t sure at this point, all of it to properly make Odasaku understand the vile creature he had been stuck with babysitting.

He could keep yapping all he wanted, cause Oda Sakunosuke had never in his life met a kid like Dazai Osamu. 

And until now, Oda Sakunosuke had never seen that singular brown orb turn caramel with light. 

He had never seen Dazai Osamu look so alive before. 

Smiling, he continued listening to the annoyed voice of the boy next to him.

Seemingly out of spite, in Dazai’s eye at least, Odasaku, very out of character just replied with an outrageous statement that Dazai could not allow to even exist, never mind be thought, even worse be stated to the air surrounding him.

‘You really like this guy huh?’

And the cycle repeated.

As it would for the next 3 years.

Arahabaki, the lab, the Flags, Verlaine. If he couldn’t have a break, he can’t imagine what it is like for Chuuya. Well, if he cared enough in the first place.

Dazai is a notorious liar. He knows that, after all, he did perfect the skill on his own. However, in this moment, after all of these fights and new revelations, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t just tired. Having to deal with Verlaine’s corruption activation and planning for counter attacks was a new challenge, yes, but one he would have enjoyed more if his dog wouldn’t be the center of them in the first place.

If Dazai was tired, Chuuya was exhausted. 

And grieving.

He’d watched Chuuya fight, watched him anger, rage. But after the Sheep, he didn’t think he’d ever watch him break.

Following the beeping red light of his tracker, that he'd placed in Chuuya’s shoes, of course without his knowledge, the last thing he had expected was to be led to the Mafia’s transportation unit. 

Walking in, the echo of the weird fancy shoes that were given to him collided with the walls of the garage. The lights flickered in certain spots, almost as if on purpose.

It was so quiet, he’d imagine that if a feather fell, it would still be heard. 

Which is what confused him.

Nakahara Chuuya was not a quiet person. He was loud, deafening and present at all times. Everything he did was flashy, deliberately or not. 

‘Finding Chuuya is always easy. If you head towards whatever is making the loudest noise, he’ll be there.’

So either his tracker:

a) didn’t work

b) was found and eaten by his dog

Or

c) Chuuya was like dying or something.

The echo halted along with every other noise when he stepped into the small side room. 

He blinked again. Life was flickering.

Anything. 

He would do anything for it to be one of those options.

He would do anything just to have Chuuya rise to his feet.

He would do anything just to have him stop crying.

Dazai was frozen there. For the first time in a long while he felt powerless. He knew what to do when he was feeling this way but he’d never do those things to Chuuya.

Chuuya just stood there, sitting against an obnoxious pink motorcycle, heaving. 

And yet, he was quiet.

You could barely hear his breath stuttering, almost as if he just wanted the ground to swallow him whole, his existence to stop, to just disappear. He seemed so out of it, that he hadn’t even noticed Dazai just standing there.

Feeling his brain reboot, Dazai went to work. He’d treat this like a mission if he had to.

Chuuya liked touch. Not with just anyone no, however one of his main ways of expressing affection and care always seemed to be with vague caresses. Or punches.

But whenever Dazai got like this, he hated touch.

Brows furrowed in confusion, he tried racking his brain for a solution. He’d do both.

Making his steps loud and clear allowed him to be processed by Chuuya’s already small, but now hindered brain. Dazai took off his jacket and lowered to the ground, putting himself between the wall and Chuuya, taking off Chuuya’s hat and wrapping him head to toe. 

Chuuya had somehow gone even more quiet, and now he’d gotten tense. He can’t have that, so Dazai, for the first time in his life, hugged.

He closed his arms around the small frame and hoped.

A minute passed, maybe two, before he felt Chuuya deflate. He didn’t try to stop him from crying, that wouldn’t help, he just held him closer, allowing the weight of the smaller body to push him towards the wall behind his back.

The man- no the boy in his arms kept shaking and Dazai just didn’t know what to do. Reluctantly, scared to do anything wrong, he let his right hand rake through the now freed red locks and pushed his head closer to his own shoulder, this way Chuuya wouldn’t get even more tired.

A gasp of air, a gulp, a sharp intake and the words coming next broke Dazai’s already dead heart.

Why?

Why?

Why me?

What did I do?

I'm sorry. I’m sorry, I'm sorry, please just stop.

Because if Dazai had to name the most human person he’d met, he’d always say Chuuya.

If Dazai had to name the most raw showcase of human range, he’d always say Chuuya.

If Dazai had to name a person, he’d always say Chuuya.

Not your fault Chuuya, it never is.

He won’t hurt like this ever again.

Dazai will make sure of it. Nothing has the right to hurt his Chuuya like this, not even him.

Molten brown had turned dark and Dazai Osamu made a promise to himself.

He never made promises, they required you to stay alive.

But this one was the first one. 

The first one he’ll make sure to bring to his grave.

The entrance to Dazai’s office has a dark oak door, engraved with vines that curl on its edges. Its handle is typical Mafia gold. The office itself is nothing special, he made sure of it. Pristine, dark plates built his floor, almost mockingly, a carpet lay over them, right in the middle and a dark red Chesterfield sofa stood to the side of a small table. If he had to give it a color it would be deoxygenated blood. Or Corruption swirls. He certainly liked one more than the other. 

Today Mori sounded weird.

-er than usual.

Dazai makes a point to not use this office, but today it awaited him with a small stack of papers smack dab into the middle of his wooden empty desk. No pen in sight. This document wasn’t paperwork, it was information.

It would be ironic to say he had a bad feeling about it as some people would argue he’s got those all the time and they overwhelmed him. Some would argue he isn’t capable of feeling them in the first place. Both arguments are stated in late nights between missions and a very talkative red blob in his (read: Chuuya’s) apartment. 

Its quiet in this office, his shoes echo and he’s distinctly aware of the air around him colliding with his skin. A quick look around with his eye showed no signs of a trap.

Mimic.

A guerrilla organization from Europe that escaped to Japan after committing a war-crime sometime during the past global war. Mori wanted them dead. Or at least that’s what he said. But this apparent important information of a highly dangerous organization was not given to Soukoku.

No, it was given to the low-leveled grunt worker, Oda Sakunosuke. 

It was given to Odasaku.

Skimming through the documents, Dazai swiftly left the office.

He would never see it again.

Odasaku was quiet. As a man yes, but also as a presence. Odasaku was a blank slate willing to hand you the pen, write on him and react accordingly. He did not uphold expectations or even judgment. 

Dazai liked Odasaku. 

And at this point he could safely claim that new information had been updated in his Odasaku file.

Odasaku, throughout the years, cared for Dazai.

Now, Dazai cared for Odasaku.

The longest of nights, when he didn’t want a loud distraction or bloodied floors, he texted Oda. He would always answer, they’d meet up and they’d stay quiet. Just in the presence of the other. 

Dazai always felt safe and against his better judgment, understood by Chuuya, but being near Chuuya meant that at some point vulnerability would rear its ugly head, on those days Dazai just wanted a known space with a comforting presence. Odasaku was just that.

Chuuya was warm and bright and alive. He tethered Dazai to the concept of a human being. But sometimes Dazai just wanted an empty, fuzzy head. Sometimes the only exception of touch for Dazai was not what he wanted at the moment. So he searched for long nights and useless topics followed by silences and burning drinks or scalding curry.

Dazai found his constants for however many more years he’d survive this Earth.

The narrative was written and he felt content enough.

So why did the story change?

It had been a close call, a stroke of luck you could even call it, saving Odasaku in time the first time. And it has and will always be a lost cause convincing the man to kill instead of flee. 

It had been a close call, a stroke of luck you could even call it, saving Odasaku in time the second time. An extra wound added from Ango’s betrayal. 

If he could do it twice, what was a third time?

A bullet was shot. A body was falling.

So why were his hands warm? Why did they match the color of his sofa?

Why did it have to be Odasaku?

He found out about the kids but it was too late.

He found out about the motive but it was too late.

He figured out Mori’s plan.

It was too late.

You won’t find it.

Be on the side that saves people.

If both sides are the same, become a good man.

It’s pretty fady after that.

Contacting Ango was easy.

Burying Odasaku wasn’t.

Dazai Osamu, Demon Prodigy, youngest Port Mafia Executive, existed no more.

The only loose thread he had, was his other half on the other side of the world waiting to finish a mission.

He’d leave that thread sewn in.

He’d plant a bomb. 

He’d send a message.

He’d go into hiding for two years.

And for now, he’d live.

In the blink of an eye, Dazai Osamu had disappeared. 

People exist to save themselves.

A year and a half had already passed but it's not like Dazai had a concept of time anyways. The hiding and the erasure was easy. The boredom was not. Boredom brewed silences. Silences happened alone now. Being alone let his head be free. Or trapped he’d say, is the better description of it. 

It was raining today. Enough to keep the ground wet. Being in hiding didn’t really allow Dazai to wander but no one was looking for him under a lone tree, leaning on a gravestone in the middle of a field, so he let himself have this. 

He leaned his head on the stone. The rain wasn’t just heavy enough to keep the ground wet but also to drench him completely, but the sound of it was almost comforting in a way. The sky a uniform gray spanning into the horizon boringly, something it rarely does. 

The bomb had taken a bit to be processed by the slug’s brain, but it was successfully understood. For the first time in a while Dazai had reached out his hand first and let Chuuya make the decision. Contact would be hard, dangerous and almost non-existent, but he was willing to try. 

Of course after an even longer period of silence, because if Chuuya was one thing, it was petty.

So every now and then, on an anniversary or birthday, a mysterious little bouquet of Red Camellias would show up on the red head’s door.

A symbol of death yes, but that of a noble one. Sacred, godly. Left to the hands of a God of Calamity.

Unwavering loyalty.

Trust.

And every now and then, on an anniversary or birthday, something would be awaiting Dazai right next to the door. Whether that be a set or freshly rolled bandages or a gaming console.

A sigh left his lungs, uncovered irises following its trail disappear into thin air.

He got a soda before coming here, a funny joke he thinks Odasaku would chuckle with. Laughing just by yourself is just sad at this point.

S. Oda engraved in stone, buried in soil, clawing his head.

He’d use that as an excuse for the extra weight slipping from his eyes. 

Beige felt weird on him. It had been Odasaku’s signature color and Dazai was wearing it in tribute to that but it felt weird on him. 

Nevertheless, this wasn’t about him.

He climbed the stairs of a fairly new Detective Agency. He could almost feel the nerves, if he’d let himself feel in the first place.

The door opened almost dramatically, and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the nearly white tiles. 

“You’re here.”

Before him stood an older man with horrifically gray hair. The Boss of this thing then. Coffee brown eyes took in everything around him. There were three more people there.

A man sat behind a desk with curiously shut eyes and an insane amount of candy lay in front of him. That one was dangerous, he knew things and knew that Dazai knew he knew things.

A woman stood by the side of what looked like to be the inside of an infirmary, he knew of Yosano, or more accurately, of the consequences of her existence.

The most normal one of all had to be this one blonde man who looked like he’d blow a fuse if something didn’t go his way. Perfect, he’d need one of those.

Blinking for a moment, Dazai almost went into autopilot.

This would be different.

Everything Dazai did was deliberate. The only thing that could either act exactly according to his plan or be entirely unpredictable comes in the form of a small, small, horribly dressed, fancy street magician with a choker, that is currently walking, very loudly down the Port Mafia’s basement stairs. 

And oh, did Dazai miss this. 

Sure, during his hiding he may have gone once or twice to look at the slumbering, probably drunk at the time, man in front of him. But seeing Chuuya Nakahara subdued by slumber is like missing the Sun behind dark thick clouds. 

Chuuya spoke and he answered on instinct mostly. A knife at his throat and Dazai Osamu hadn’t felt alive in years with no contact from blue hues. 

A punch, a kick, the ground crumbled beneath his feet, Dazai didn’t care he was just about ready to kneel at this point. 

A sharp movement from the man in front of him made him pause. That was as much as a question, statement and reminder Chuuya would give him. This was Port Mafia territory, the hand holding the deck here was Mori.

They snapped back into their roles quickly, but he just couldn’t resist making that joke.

And if he saw Chuuya smile while climbing the stairs he can’t say, because for the first time in 4 years Dazai Osamu laughed and his heart started beating again.

Contrary to popular belief, Dazai didn't mind kids. In fact they always seemed increasingly intrigued by his presence. Odasaku’s orphans seemed absolutely delighted when he showed up.

Yumeno Kyusaku, better known as ‘Q’, was honestly not any different. Dazai had recruited them, finding resemblance to his own situation and past. 

However Q was not Dazai. They were just a kid. A small child with an incredibly dangerous ability and puppeteer, being pulled from one direction to the other only to be returned to a cold, desolate room at the end of the day, alone.

So to be completely honest, he didn't mind this mission. Or at the very least, he didn’t mind this mission’s goal. The variables needed for it to succeed however, were not, as you would say, one of his greater fortés. Technically it was his greatest.

Heavy, determined, meaningful footsteps fell into silence on his left side. A flash of red, contrasted by dark, gloomy clothes, stood beside him, calm.

Who's he kidding? Since when was Chuuya ever quiet, nevertheless calm. Well, towards him anyways.

“Are we just gonna stare at the door and wither away, or should we get a move on already?” Glaring blues had turned toward him. He could always feel their presence.

Dazai had no interest indulging a loud, yapping dog, so with an exaggerated sigh and some kind words exclaimed, that definitely did not have him nearly lose an arm and a leg, they entered the weird cottage-house-situation-thing.

Their steps immediately fall into sync and echo throughout the empty walls, while Dazai's heart sang and asked and wanted. 

4 years of quiet actions and no contact, the yearning reaching every crevice of his mind at every second. One meeting and a truce and comfort had finally arrived at his doorstep, again. 

As he, of course, sidestepped a kick aimed at his head.

Glancing slightly to his side, even the bland stone walls seemed to shine and sparkle. Banter jumped off each stair along with them.

“The only thing I like about you is your taste in shoes.” A slight pause and the other pair of steps stood still for a second.

“You think?” Was said sarcastically with a slight shine of hope hidden underneath it, as if anything would change in these 4 years. 

“Just kidding, of course.” Before even finishing the sentence, a crash and a yell were heard. Giggles collided with the surrounding bricks. 

They were Soukoku after all, they knew each other from the inside out.

Whatever this thing was, it definitely was not human. It didn’t even seem made. Every limb, or more accurately, goo, that was cut off would regenerate in seconds. So while Chuuya was doing his job as the brawn of the duo, Dazai, as the brain, was supposed to be planning ahead.

But he was stuck.

Was this it?

The downfall of the deadliest duo in Yokohama, possibly Japan, and in Dazai’s humble opinion, the World?

Had they changed so much?

He had two constants in life and one had already left him, he couldn’t lose this one.

As if sensing his turmoil, a slight kick to his feet made him blink rapidly. Turning towards the ginger he locked eyes with the annoyed glare decorating his face.

He could practically hear ‘Stop with the theatrics already’ with a small chihuahua animated right beside it.

Before he could get a full sentence out Dazai was slammed vigorously at the trunk of a tree. Vision whitening for a good second, his hearing quickly came back to the rushing footsteps and dare he say, panicked voice of Chuuya.

Coughing blood he slowly tried to rise up. “Those tentacles sure are strange.” Confusion showed itself on the shorter man’s face. “I can't disable them.”

“Bullshit. Is that even possible?” brows lifting upwards, Dazai could see Chuuya trying to grasp the situation.

The thing that works about Sokouku isn’t just the cards up their sleeves, Dazai’s capabilities and Chuuya’s prowess. No, it's more of this. Of looks being exchanged, the air between them still, no words to break it. It's this weird connection, that no matter how many times Dazai tried to replicate, run away from or find, it would lead back to a penthouse and blood money and his first reason to live.

Grinning in a way he hasn’t in a long time, Dazai could feel the adrenaline building up. “All right. Let’s do things the old way.”

Letting his eyes wonder about on the other man’s features, always searching, he asks. “How about Operation Shame and Toad?” A miniscule movement of the redhead’s left brow already had given his answer.

“What is this, Rain beyond the Window?” Chuuya put his hand on his hips, slightly leaning on one side. ”It’s more like The Lie of the Fake Flowers.”

Fond delight brewed in his chest, leaking when he could finally say the others name face to face after such a long time. “Chuuya, when have my tactics ever been wrong?

The fight went on for about 3 minutes and 49 seconds. A monster arose and so did a choice.

Whenever you ask that of me, it’s never really a choice.

Dazai watched with a bated breath as the other half of Double Black slowly slid down his gloves, letting them fall on the ground below. 

He thinks that if Chuuya had at least hesitated, let himself have a moment, Dazai would be just a normal man with a normal reaction. 

4 years later and his partner’s blind trust towards him managed to sever his eyes and clutch his heart. He’d never manage to replicate the pure exhilarated feeling he gets near the man he's known since he was 15. 

As lines fell from soft lips, red markings started traveling up Chuuya’s face. 

O’ granters of dark disgrace,

need not wake me again

It seems that alongside Dazai, a god was awaiting for the same thing.

When Corruption was first triggered, they were dead men on a mission to the underworld. Two fifteen year olds with too much power and responsibility over their shoulder, in their hands, dripping over their head, falling down the tiles of the Port Mafia territory. They’d shaken hands with Death so many times already, ready to surrender to its clutches. But if there was one thing— one person who always seemed to look at Death in the eye and crumble its skull into pieces, it would be Chuuya.

It was beautiful.

The air around it came to a stop as if the man, the god, before him could change the direction of that and more with a flick of his wrist.

Destruction reigned a victor in the remains of anyone or anything that could gather the courage to go against it, most of them being oblivious men in insignificant organizations. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Blood dripped down onto the ground staining it, feeding it.

Mortality looked beautiful on Chuuya.

And it danced in between Dazai’s ropes of bandages.

Nakahara Chuuya was a phenomenon a normal man would witness once in his life before succumbing to death, and Dazai Osamu was blessed to have him on the tips of his fingers and in the depths of his withering soul.

Touching the floating man’s wrist shortly thereafter silenced the god, trapping it in its cage of human ribs and indomitable spirit.

Looking down at the man on his lap, Dazai allowed himself a moment of want, tracing down the nose bridge. It was honestly unfair, the lab didn’t have to make him pretty.

Slowly folding Chuuya’s coat and finding his stupid hat was slightly harder considering the state of the environment around them, but he managed as always. 

Now came the hard part. Throughout their time as a duo, any time Corruption was activated, Dazai had two jobs.

Save Chuuya and bring him home safely.

However after his defection from the Mafia, he couldn’t exactly do that, as it would be considered kidnapping.  

But he could wait a little bit more. Until he would hear Hirotsu’s men running towards the designated coordinates. 

So he let himself have this and if you asked him after two bottles of Sake and a night of no sleep, Dazai Osamu might admit that he missed Nakahara Chuuya.

One last stroke of his fingers on the other’s eyelids, feeling his long eyelashes beneath his fingertips and promises whispered in quiet ears, and Dazai left the forest.

He never made promises, they required you to stay alive.

But it seems he can’t seem to stop making them when a certain man slumbers rent free in his troubled mind. Strong and untouchable even amidst the chaos in his brain.

Dead Apple, the ADA, Fyodor, Shibusawa, Corruption.

Chuuya.

Chuuya.

Chuuya.

When was it ever not Chuuya?

A sharp pain flooded his senses, making Dazai cough the blood out of his mouth and open his eyes. A smile immediately followed. The view before him could rival centuries of human art.

‘You used Corruption, believing in me?

How beautiful.’

To anyone else, it would be insanity. 

Gigantic ability merging dragon shows up and renders every human with gifts useless. People flee and fight and die. 

In their case, Dazai sends a message and Chuuya, as always, understands.

No matter the encryption or the complexity of it, the choice was sent and explained and was always followed through.

Because who else would put the lives of a country on past intertwined hands and shared breaths?

Who else would see the afterlife and jump at it in pure trust that it would be fleeting?

Who else but Dazai and Chuuya.

Chuuya and Dazai.

Soukoku.

Double Black.

Scariest and strongest duo in Yokohama and possibly more.

One soul, two bodies.

One human, one not.

Depending on who you ask about it, they'd have conflicting answers, but in the end, it never mattered.

Brushing away the red locks from Chuuya’s face, Dazai looked at the sky and smiled.

The galloping of horses’ heels chips away at Dazai Osamu’s thoughts. The Decay of Angels with Fyodor at its head will always be a danger. To be fair to the demon, everything with him in the center of it would always be a danger to itself and others. 

After the Sacramental Bow Award was given to the agency, the greatest work they had had was 

Mushitarou Oguri and his Perfect Murder ability. The case had stumped Ranpo, even if it was for about 2 minutes, and had proven itself a challenge and an award. However the last words that Mushitarou guy said, more accurately screamed, at them had been ringing in Dazai’s and Ranpo’s heads.

‘The Detective Agency is about to get a huge job offer! Don’t accept it! If you do, it’ll be the end of the Agency! You hear me? Don’t you dare accept—’

A man had fallen into step next to him, watching the race. Dazai particularly hates small talk but he’d learned to act a long time ago. 

Not just that but something was off.

In the blink of an eye and a twitch of a smile,

‘You won’t have tomorrow, former Port Mafia Executive, Dazai Osamu.’

Meursault Prison opened its doors and the Detective Agency plunged to its doom.

The Agency was framed and named a terrorist organization. That wasn’t the worst of it either, from what Ango had informed him, the world had seen the whole thing. On live television.

They had seen the execution of more than 10 political figures, their bodies cut right in half. A rising reputation had changed at the drop of a hat. 

Sighing deeply, he couldn’t help but think that he still had it worse than the others. Turning his head towards his left, he locked eyes with the thing across his cell. Fyodor Dostoevsky stood there, a permanent, horrendous smile on his disgusting face.

Honestly, he couldn’t wait for Chuuya.

Dazai’s big secret to communicating with the outside world was, ironically, his heart. His immediate point of contact was , as always, Ango Sakaguchi. 

When he was 15, one bright, sunny day, Dazai was bored. When tinkering around Mori’s office and bothering said man, did not bring him any more joy, he let himself bend over one of the many tables filled with medicine. Purple orbs flickered towards him for a moment, before a small, in Dazai’s opinion and many others, repulsing, smile showed on the face of its beholder.

Morse code was old news and bored thoughts to Dazai, but a new option was introduced.

With this in mind, when the vampire outbreak broke, Dazai was one of the first people to find out. 

Leaning on the small table, blinking, can only do so much for a grown man. “Maybe it’s time to do the thing.”

“The thing?” The thump of the book closing would’ve echoed if they weren’t in an ability protected prison.

Before Dazai could fully explain his, obviously, genius plan, the ground opened and swallowed him whole.

Literally.

Breathe in, breathe out, expand, contract, pump. Silence is noisy, until your vision sees bright flashing lights and your ears hear loud, blaring alarms.

Warning! Warning!

Intruder in the Level One Delivery Bay!

Anti-Gifted Fast Response Squad Hecatoncheires has been eliminated!

Neither the poison in his blood, nor the commotion on the outside managed to increase Dazai’s beats per minute. 

The shaking of the building and Fyodor’s smile didn’t manage to either. 

The sight of bright red locks did.

An angel whispered in my ear.

‘Chuuya, it looks like this is goodbye.’

As if. If that ever happened, they’d both be gone. 

‘It’s a shame it had to happen this way.’

It’ll never happen like this. Not on his watch.

‘It’s been seven years since we met. ‘

Feels like forever. It’ll always feel like that when Dazai started living on that very same day they met.

‘We never did get along, did we?’

Bullshit and they both know it.

‘But, come to think of it now, there were times where we understood each other.’

Every day, every hour, minute, second. Dazai’s lungs breathed the same air as Chuuya's on the chance that he could always be engulfed by his presence.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything Anyway… Goodbye!’

It was getting a bit too gay anyways. Even by his own standards.

Breaking bones hurt. Walking hurt. A bullet in your shoulder hurt.

Everything hurt. Dazai hates pain.

The tapping of fancy dress shoes were not lost in his delayed, post-blood lost brain.

A sigh slipped out before he managed to catch it, but if Dazai was one thing, he was but a yapper at heart.

This has to finish soon anyway, that horrid misty red did nothing to Chuuya’s composition. 

Blue was nice, he missed blue.

A bang ricocheted off the prison walls and Dazai’s head fell.

Power of friendship his ass. It was more on the realm of homosexuality.

From then on things happened slightly in a blur. Sigma was still asleep, Fyodor was a fresh smoothie, Gogol, or whatever his name was, was gay, he guessed.

And Chuuya was fine. He had taken off those horrendous contact lenses and was currently trying to pull out the fake teeth Dazai gave him.

Should’ve known better than to use the glue in the box, as it was insanely easy to exchange for a stronger, not water soluble glue.

But now Dazai was tired. So, so tired. So he let himself be caught by unrelenting, familiar arms and he closed his eyes.

Life is finicky. Evasive. Confusing. A fluke. Something, created from nearly nothing, by pure chance. It’s involuntary.

Life is important, according to every living being. 

We enter this world unwillingly, yet we fight so hard for it.

And at the end of it all, you die and everything is forgotten. You are a machine run by tubes and liquid that shuts off and that is it.

But is it really that easy?

Human beings' evolution stemmed from the ability to be conscious and aware of the fact that they are alive. Because in reality we are not just a machine run by tubes and liquids. We feel too much and think too little and live too hard.

We fight for survival to the point where we start thinking, is it worth it?

But normal people don’t think like this. Normal people don’t stare at their ceiling willing themselves to drink water or eat food. Normal people don’t burn when others touch them. They don’t numb when their surroundings become too much. They don’t hate. 

They care and they love and they find meanings in everything.

And so does Dazai.

It took him a bit. It took him actually trying to see, that he does.

Why can’t he just be normal and meaningless and random and flitting and living and dead? 

But he is. Isn’t he?

Why can’t he be human?

What is he?

What else can a creature with this much awareness, curiosity and confusion be?

Nothing really changed, not really. He just gained experience. And lost some.

Walking turned out to be harder than you remembered when one of your legs is utterly fucked. 

Left.

Right. 

Left.

Right. 

Slip.

Hold.

Or at least try to. Close your eyes, brace for impact. A well-oiled machine of repetition. 

He’s used to that, after all the human body learns ways to cope everyday.

Before Dazai’s face kissed the broken tiles of the prison, he was…..floating?

A singular brown orb slowly opened taking in the environment around him. His head felt fuzzy.

Gray tiles turned to smithereens contrasted expensive inky shoes. Following the line of, admittedly, short legs, the puke green jacket emerged forth an expression of disgust on his own face. It reminded him of stupid, white fluffy animals and bloody betrayals. 

Before he managed to follow the tendril of red laying on a shoulder, a black glove shoved itself on his face. On instinct he opened his left eye and followed the trailing finger currently smoothing the space between his eyebrows.

“You look incredibly stupid right now.” Snapping his eyes to the source of the voice Dazai blinked.

When no answer was exclaimed, a tilt of the head was translated and understood by both parties. Chuuya let him take it in for a bit, as he was now stupidly aware of everything. Almost as if he knew it before Dazai’s own body, the gloved hand pressed itself again. 

A scarlet eyebrow arose and Dazai blinked in approval. The hand previously holding his expressions hostage snapped. Ow echoed through the prison walls, a pout quickly forming.

Rolling his eyes, Chuuya quickly, almost instinctively started pulling him on his back. “Oh shut up, you big baby.”

“But Chuuya, you would dare hurt an injured hero!”

Blah, blah, blah.

Dazai couldn’t tell what that conversation was for the life of him but he doesn’t need to, not with Chuuya. On his best attempt to be conspicuous he put his face on the shorter man’s junction between his shoulder and neck, and slowly rubbed against it, a small smile emerging. Somehow even though the ginger went through each horrendous trial that he did, he could smell the insanely expensive products he used on his hair. Closing his eyes Dazai felt the rhythmic sound of each step, allowing himself to be safe in the only place he’s ever been. Before succumbing to slumber he felt a reassuring squeeze on his thighs.

And if another pair of lips stretched to accommodate a small smile in return, that was only for Chuuya to know.

Let’s go home.

The sun stretched languidly, filtering itself through the curtains of a penthouse. Its walls built on blood money and memories and two people, awake, aware and human.

Tangled limbs transacted warmth as Dazai felt his awaken. Arms coiled around his head blocking any sound the city could make, while fingers thread through his hair. If he closed his eyes now, he’d just fall back asleep. Clenching his own arms reminded him of the human shaped lump engrained on his person. Small puffs of breath slightly hit his head from above. His head was so quiet. His heart calm. This time Dazai didn't burn.

A small pull on his hair made him turn to one side, letting himself gaze at the view before him. It was truly unfair that something so small could be this pretty. 

Almost as if sensing his train of thought, another slightly stronger pull tugged his head back.  He let himself be the picture of innocence, all big honeyed eyes and pouting lips. His own mirrored blues squinted slightly and the man under him scoffed. 

The next time safe hands touched him, they pulled him towards warm skies and melted ice. Softened lips met his chapped ones and they lingered there for a while. The time for frantic breaths and sharpened moves passed when they were young and fearful, and may return in scattered forms in the future, but not today.

Angled forms and the slide of lips and shared sighs were a dance form they’d perfected the second they locked eyes. A hand pulled on Dazai’s neck and he let go.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that there was one absolute in this universe. One absolute that transcended human perception of science and the world.

Where there was Chuuya there’d be Dazai.

Where there was a Dazai there’d be Chuuya.

And so, the clouds glide, the winds hollow, flowers awaken and sleep, opening their petals, and people go about their day, exchanging words for carbon dioxide and laughs for oxygen.

And so, two human beings entangle through the most intimate ways human beings can. Existing next to each other through memories and unknown futures.

One coin, two sides. 

One soul, two people.

A house merged with safety and turned into a home. A home moved and grew legs and a heart and a brain and red locks and cobalt eyes and strong arms and Dazai walked in and never left.

Odasaku would be proud.

Odasaku is proud.

-End-

I will be writing my analysis on some of the things that may be confusing:

Any time Dazai's eyes are mentioned as singular or plural is deliberate. I am referencing his time in the mafia and his obscured view of the world.

Any repetition of sentences or paragraphs is also deliberate an example being Odasaku's description and most importantly, the beginning and the ending of the fic.

I have not yet read Stormbringer, however I have severely spoiled myself. That is why I only briefly caught onto its story and focused more on its consequences.

‘Finding Chuuya is always easy. If you head towards whatever is making the loudest noise, he’ll be there.’ is a quote Dazai used in the light novels.

Promises are extremely important as it shows Dazai on the cusp of finding a reason to live.

In the prison Dazai communicated with morse code by controlling his heartbeat.

When walking in the prison I wrote Slip after he took his right step and his next step would've been his left, which was broken.

Dazai's unknown origins have convinced me that he at the very least was abused by Mori, if not his parents. When I write 'Close your eyes, brace for impact. A well-oiled machine of repetition. He’s used to that, after all the human body learns ways to cope everyday.', I mean it as him flinching and expecting the pain.

Stupid white animals and bloody betrayals means The Sheep, as Chuuya's jacket when he showed up in the prison was nearly identical to the one where he was 15.

It was not my intention to insinuate sex at the end but I don't see why it can't be, so when I say entangelment of limb in the most intimate way humans can, it is up to you to decide.

The end is closure on Dazai's end with Odasaku, but if you want and believe so also Odasaku's spirit.

The title 'The Sunset clashes on waves of Cobalt' Is just Chuuya. His hair clashing with his eyes. Blue is also Dazai's color.

Soukoku have unironically probably kept me alive in certain moments, so I've always wanted to write for them, however I needed it to be at least good. Hopefully this is that.

As for my other fic about them, I am planning on rewriting it as it's honestly so, in kinder words, satisfactory to the way I write now.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or likes!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my main masterlist. Including: Soukoku, Moon knight, Formula 1 Lestappen, Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[henreyettah]

First tlt comic pls be kind to me

Edit: made a very minuscule change. Might take a trained eye to see it (hint)

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[ittgirl23]

I think the most heartbreaking type of fanfictions in the marauders fandom isn’t the canon compliant ones. I think it’s the ones where they change everything and still ends the same way.

Ones where Regulus runs away with Sirius and still ends up with the dark mark. Ones where there is no war, but James and Lily still end up dead. Ones where Remus isn’t a werewolf but Sirius still betrays him beyond comprehension.

It breaks my heart so much that I can’t read it, but I also love it.

[starmocha]

I don't normally share active wips, but since I mentioned in a previous post how Lost Oasis has a scene similar to one I had written in a wip I've been working on, I've decided to share it. I may scrap it or I may rework it to align more with the canon material.

This wip is basically an intimate (emotional and sexual) Sylus/Reader sexy domestic slice of life fluff, because I have needs. Really bad needs. 🥺👉👈

The scent of your peach body wash had become more familiar each night, the sweet fragrance clung to Sylus’ body after every shower when he would climb into bed with you. Your hands traversed his bare torso, gliding over smooth skin as you furrowed your brows. “Like what you see?” he teased, but when you didn’t react, Sylus reached out, lifting your chin to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s wrong?” “You don’t have any scars,” you murmured, your hands still skimming over his body in examination. “You sound disappointed,” Sylus quipped with a deep chuckle, but he paused almost immediately when you looked up, staring at him with a worried expression. He was quiet briefly before speaking more seriously, “A benefit of my Evol, if you will.” “Then…how many times have you been injured?” “Does it matter?” he looked at you with a gentle smile, reaching out to tuck strands of your hair behind your ear. You appreciated the affectionate gesture, but it didn’t mask the fact that he was pointedly ignoring your question. You nodded firmly, refusing to let this conversation end. Sylus looked conflicted. “It’s a good thing you can’t see any scars,” he insisted. You touched his bicep. “Were you injured here?” He sighed, and nodded. “Yes.” You looked frantically around his body before your hand randomly touched his right shoulder. “Here?” “Yes.” Your mind continued to race with increasing anxious thoughts. You touched his thigh. Sylus nodded. You reached up and touched his chest, your hand near his heart. You paused, your face paling, already knowing the answer to this one. It had all happened so quickly, and even now you could still feel your finger pulling that trigger. Sylus grabbed your wrist, pulling away. “Don’t think about it,” he said firmly, “I did it.” “But…” His hands held your face, pulling you to him, capturing your lips to swallow your words. You felt like you were choking, his kisses suffocating you as your mind was in turmoil from both the guilt of what you did and the painful knowledge of never knowing how often he was injured or how severe they were. Sylus broke the kiss when he felt you sobbing against him. He looked at you with concern, not understanding what had led the two of you to this point. Instinctively, he pulled you into his lap, surprised when you lay against him almost instantly, your arms wrapped around his body, cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel the trembles in your body, knowing you were barely keeping your emotions in check. “I’m not hurt,” he said, fingers already threading through your hair as comfort. “I know,” you whispered back, tightening your hold around him. You could barely keep your voice steady, afraid that just one wrong word could break this dam and unleash all of the tears you were holding back. “But,” he started, peering down at the top of your head, “this is nice.” You looked up curiously, meeting his soft crimson gaze. He leaned down, his warm breath ghosted over your lips, making you shiver even more in his embrace. “Having you worried about me,” he said, elaborating further, “Caring about me.” Sylus drew your lips to his again, this time gentler, more tender. You responded, hearing a pleased hum from him as his hands moved down your body. “Sylus—” He guided your hands back to his body. “I just hate to see you cry over me, sweetheart.” You blinked back your tears. [INSERT EMOTIONAL COMFORT SEX SCENE I HAVEN’T WRITTEN YET LMAO]

[evasive-anon]

Jason was having a pretty OK time with the league of assassins, sure getting dunked in a lazarus pit sucked and Bruce turned out to be a scumbag who didn't care about him, but at least he isn't dead. He even liked most of the new skills he was learning there so on the whole being with the league seemed like a pretty good deal to him until Talia woke him up in the middle of the night and left him alone with two child assassins.

Or, a demon twins AU where when Talia realizes her father intends to have her boys fight to the death takes action first by deciding to take all her kids and leave the league. Talia either dies or is separated from them in the initial escape and now Jason just has a bag of supplies and a letter from Talia explaining the plan to get to Gotham. Jason has to get himself and two 7 year olds out of the Himalayas, across a desert, and over 12k miles to Gotham. Only now the league members hunting them down want them dead or worse and Jason isn't too confident that B will accept them given their kill counts.

Featuring:

Good Mom Talia. she loves her kids. Did she teach them to kill? Sure, but that's an important life skill.

Single Teen Mom Jason. He's the oldest and in charge but he also will not answer any questions about The Plan™ given he isn't committed to Talia's but also doesn't have a set alternative. Oscillates between looking forward to just dumping his new little brothers with Bruce so they'll be his problem and thinking of just moving somewhere random in the US and keeping them based entirely on how cute vs annoying they are at that time. Didn't realize how much he relied on Talia to help him with things until she is gone. He's really trying his best but he wasn't all that emotionally stable before this so hang in there.

Angry Smol Dami. He's still drinking the LoS punch and really dislikes that he is now considered a traitor. Can't stand that Jason won't answer any of his very relevant questions. Is actually very scared but will not show it. Misses his mom. Didn't even know he had siblings until his mom yoinked him out of bed that night and brought him to Jason and Danny and started all this. Physically the stronger twin. Thinks Danny is dragging them down in fights and also may blame him a bit because clearly his mother only did all this to spare him.

Danny, reincarnated with limited access to his memories and powers. Has been trying to keep his powers a secret. Talia knew about them but never told anyone but she may have hinted at it in her letter to Jason. Not the strongest physically but very good at stealth and social interactions. Didn't know he had and older brother or twin before Jason woke him up at Talia's instruction that night. Thinks Damian is mean and has faith Jason knows what he's doing even if that is very much untrue.

[tervaneula]

“Dad?” 

Splinter is currently sitting on his bed, preparing to turn in for the night. He puts away the pillow he was fluffing up and turns to look towards the doorway of his room. 

“Yes, Blue?” 

Leo doesn’t answer, instead shuffling next to Splinter and sitting down on the floor, leaning his side against the bed. He lifts his face to look up at him. 

“I’m… just tired, dad,” he says, attempting to make light of it with a smile but his voice breaks in the end and that’s all it takes for Splinter to pull Leo into his lap, and as if on instinct the boy buries his face into the rat’s robes. He sobs, and Splinter feels his heart twinge with yet another crack. 

“Oh, oh baby Blue, it is alright,” he murmurs, petting his son’s shell and the back of his head. He knows Leo hasn’t been sleeping again and he had hoped it would pass, like it always does, but for it to go on so long that it gets this bad… Now, this settles it. No more training, no patrols, no strenuous activities aside from rhythm games for at least a week. 

All of his kids could benefit from a break, actually, and Splinter is glad that this is a fact – Leo won’t be singled out if they all are on a holiday of sorts. Brilliant. He knows he’s never been the perfect father, far from it, but he’s trying to do his best for his children and this time is no different. First thing tomorrow morning, he is going to tell his family of their impromptu vacation, and then take them out to Run of the Mill for pizza. 

It’s a great plan. 

Surfacing back to the present from his thoughts, Splinter realises that his musings must have taken longer than he thought because the turtle in his lap is now snoring quietly. With a soft chuckle, Splinter reaches back to grab his comforter and gently wraps it around Leo’s shoulders. He doesn’t mind acting as a pillow for his blue son and while he himself would be uncomfortable like that, partly on the floor, he’s witnessed enough turtle piles to know that the position is no hardship for Leo. 

He keeps petting the blanketed shell, leans back and lets his butt fall asleep, too. 

Just how he likes it. 

[juniemunie]

Puss and Death interacting in the Forever After Timeline cause THE POSSIBILITIES ARE SO FUN

And smth with 'plot' that I'll prooobably expand on later, maybe-

[saintbennetts]

I love angst and I love pain but I cannot read "Neil died in Baltimore" fics. they genuinely make me sick to my stomach because he just didn't deserve it. he did not deserve to die terrified and alone and nameless. He deserved a life. a family. a future.

And Andrew? God. It would have destroyed him. He would have blamed himself for releasing Neil from their deal. He did not deserve to lose the one person who could pull him back from the edge. After everything he went through? fuck that.

It's too much. AFTG might be a mess but at least we got a happy ending. I cannot stomach the alternative.

[muttakutagawa]

pov the man you treated like god who gave your life meaning is never coming home

i hope you die. i hope we both die.

[navy-leader]

Decided to call this AU Heaven's Underpass so thatll b the tag i use 2 include these designs in 👍

[danisbrainrot]

jackie taylor x reader

how have I not written about her yet??? anyways, doing the lord's work (aka what shauna should have done).

everyone stood in shock, watching as jackie stormed out of the room after her explosive argument with shauna. you glanced at the door and back at shauna, unsure whether or not to chase after her or stay and comfort your friend.

tai was by shauna's side immediately, comforting her as the girl sobbed into her chest. still, none of the girls made a move to follow jackie outside.

you weren't stupid. it was hard not to notice how it was getting colder recently, or how all the animals were stocking up and going into hibernation. you knew winter was just around the corner, and feared that jackie could fall prey to it.

you didn't want to be that girl who followed after her, since shauna was a good friend to you and you didn't want to show her you were picking sides. however, you knew that if you didn't do something, no one else would; jackie was one of the most stubborn people you'd ever met, she wasn't going to come inside on her own volition. no, she'd have to be convinced.

at first, you found yourself standing above coach ben, who was still shocked from watching the argument unfold. "coach, you need to do something about that. jackie can't sleep outside," you whisper, glancing back to see if anyone was watching you.

he shook his head, "sorry, but I don't want to get involved in you girls' arguments," he replies, groaning softly as he moves to readjust himself into a better position.

"you're an adult. jackie will listen to you," you beg, but to no avail. ben shakes his head and refuses again, forcing you to look elsewhere. your eyes land on nat, who—granted held a bit of disdain for your captain—would surely see the consequences of leaving jackie outside to freeze.

however, you were no longer sure when travis pulls her in and whispers something in her ear; they both glance towards the door and you knew they'd be no help.

you stared out the window, watching jackie's pathetic attempt at starting a fire with pity. she really wasn't made for the wilderness, that was obvious. it was clear from day one she wouldn't contribute much, since all she'd done was complain, whinge and refuse to help with the chores. but you still remember the sweet and inspiring team captain on your soccer team; you can't help wonder what went wrong.

finally having enough, you quickly slipped outside, going unnoticed by no one. you'd take the dirty glares and rude comments if it meant coercing jackie back inside. you always listened to your gut rather than what people had to say, and right now, your gut was yelling at you to go talk to her.

jackie's gaze lingers on you as you sit beside her. after a beat of silence, she crosses her arms over her and chest and says, "if shauna sent you out here—"

"no one sent me out here," you reply, watching the flickering flames about to go out. it's silent again as you work up the nerve to beg her to come inside and she tried to work out why you were talking to her.

jackie sniffles, trying to hide the fact she'd been crying; it doesn't matter, since you can tell from her red eyes. "she's my best friend and she hates me," jackie mumbles, resting her arms against her legs and her chin on her lap. you're silent, happy to listen to jackie vent—it was for the best, because you weren't going to pretend to know anything about her relationship with shauna. "and you know what's the stupidest part? I don't even love jeff. . . I don't know if I even like him. she broke my heart and I don't know why."

"talk to her about it—and I mean talk, not argue," you reply earnestly, not sure how else someone was supposed to react to this situation. "you feel betrayed, and she feels overshadowed. you still have time to sort this out. fuck! we're in the woods and no one's coming to find us. you have plenty of time to tell her how you feel," jackie looks up at you with tears in her eyes. she's lost for words, and you smile at her gently, assuring yourself that she'd listen.

she shakes her head and sits up, however, making your smile fade. "no, she doesn't want to talk to me right now," jackie mumbles, kicking at one of the stones and accidentally sending it flying into the fire. "and I don't want to talk to her," she adds hastily, making you raise your eyebrow questioningly, "she's in the wrong, I shouldn't have to apologise to her," you roll you eyes at her stubbornness.

"fine, but I'm not leaving until you're inside with me," you snap. you watch her rub her arms up and down, and notice how chill the weather had gotten. was it always like this at night? how did jackie expect to survive through the night. "come on, jackie. I don't want to wake up in the morning to you looking like a smurf."

jackie burst into laughter, making you join too. "god, I'll be fine. don't worry. no frosty the snowman here," she promises. but you're no stranger to the cold. to snow. "I'll be alright, I just can't stand to look at her right now."

it falls quiet again, as you both mull over what she said. you can't help yourself, fearing the worst, you blurt out, "dying isn't worth it, y'know," she raises her eyebrows, "jackie taylor, you're the pettiest person I know. . . but to freeze out here because you're mad at shauna? that's a lot, even for you," you softly explain.

jackie scoffs, rolling her eyes before shivering again, "oh my god, I'm not going to die out here. I have a blanket, I'm wearing a jacket and a roaring. . . well, not roaring, but I have a fire," she points out. "it's not just gonna randomly snow in the middle of the night," you sigh, realising that she was convinced. there was no bringing her inside—and it was getting cold, even for you.

you bite your bottom lip, getting up to kiss her on the forehead. "I love you, okay? I don't want anything bad to happen to you," she looks up at you in shock, "come inside when you're ready, but please, don't stay out here all night. if not because of the weather, then because the wolves that attacked van are close by," she nods, and turns to face the weak fire again as you walk off.

"wait!" she calls out, standing up and chasing after you. your body fills with warmth as you silently rejoice at convincing her to come inside. "what do you mean you love me?"

you froze in your spot, feeling your heart race and your cheeks fill with heat. "I think you know," you reply, hoping that if she didn't feel the same way, she'd assume you were talking platonically.

jackie stares at you, breathing heavily, before she pulls you into a hug. "thank you, for caring enough to come out here," she whispers. you smile softly in return; she leans into you, kissing you gently on the lips. you were in shock for a moment, in complete disbelief that jackie liked you that way—that she liked girls that way. soon, you realised that the kiss was real, and that she wanted you; savouring the sweet moment, you mourned the loss of her lips on your own. "wow, your lips are so warm," you laugh at her, glancing back at the cabin ready to grab her hand when she flinched out of your grasp. "I'm not ready yet. . . stay out here with me?"

you nod, joining her to sit on the log again. you added some kindling to the fire as she snuggled up close to you. it was nice to feel her this close, and know she liked you back—even if it seemed like it was because she was lonely. it didn't matter to you, however, as you focused instead on the way she relied on you for warmth, and the way the flames danced.

after what felt like half an hour (but was closer to two hours) you notice the lights turning off, "it's cold, I'm going back inside," you announce.

jackie nods, "okay. I'll just be a little longer," she replies, shooting you a reassuring smile. you kiss her forehead again, and take sullen steps towards the cabin.

you glance at her once again, tempted to drag her inside, kicking and screaming, but you decide to leave her be. you receive dirty glares when you come back inside. you feel even smaller knowing you'd failed to bring her back in, so it was for nothing.

you accidentally lock eyes with mari, before glancing back at the ground. once you reached the fireplace to warm up, that's when the comments began. "of course you'd chase after jackie," mari snipes, shaking her head.

"it's so cold outside! I was worried she'd actually sleep out there and freeze," you reply, defending yourself.

you heard tai scoff, and looked for shauna, only to find her missing. "she chose to go outside," van mumbles, staring at the floor to avoid your gaze. you stare at her in disbelief.

you glance around the room, seeing no one agree with you—not even misty. nat and travis stared at the ground, also avoiding your eyes. "guys, now is not the time to be petty, she could've been in serious danger," you cry. no one responds, and you can't help but groan and roll your eyes.

"we saw you kiss her," misty announces. you look taken aback, but don't say anything. "three times," she adds, and you bite back the retort you were ready to sling at her.

instead you walk towards your bed, slipping under the sheets and pretending like you didn't notice everyone's gaze on you. eventually, tai heads upstairs and you hear everyone shuffle into their beds—but still no jackie.

your eyelids grow heavy, and as they do, you could swear you hear a door creak open. you smile in your dreamy state, knowing that jackie had finally come back inside. . .

"no, no, no, no, no!" shauna screams, jumping over you and racing outside. you jolt awake, your heart racing as you look around at all the confused faces of the girls. suddenly, it occurs to you, jackie's not one of them.

scrambling to your feet, you and tai are the first ones out the door after shauna. you have no idea why she's carrying on when you finally realise the ground had changed from green to white overnight. shauna was hunched over something in the snow, which at first glance, looked like a log.

it takes you a minute to process the scene in front of you; when it does, it feels like you've been hit by a train. your stomach drops and you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

shauna was on her hands and knees, screaming and crying while shaking her best friend. "jackie, wake up!" she wails. tai is by her side immediately, holding onto her and trying to comfort her.

your hand flies to your mouth as you begin to sob as well. no, no! this isn't right! jackie came inside last night! I heard her! you can't help but think. you could've sworn the door was opened. . . but here jackie was, covered in a blanket of snow, as you fell to your knees and mourned the girl you'd had a crush on since middle school.

you feel a pair of arms on your shoulders, as you lean into them for comfort, letting your tears run freely. you couldn't stand to look at the sight anymore without feeling guilty. you'd done everything you could, but was that truly enough? you should've done more! you should've dragged her inside! slapped some sense into shauna or the coach! you should have stayed by her side! tried harder to convince her! or at least kept her warm all night!

but you didn't, and you knew that would haunt you til your dying breath.

[localcanadiancreature62]

Heyyyy we're almost at the end of Fiddtober. I luckily finished everything last minute before the month ends lolll. Fiddtober Day 19-31. Also,i merged Binary and Computer into one frame btw.

[darth-kote]

The Bug Collector - Codywan, (~10.5k words, rated t-m for descriptions of fear and slight violence)

𓇢𓆸

The very first time Cody lays eyes on his general, he also happens to be met with a sharp glean in his visor: a ray of light bouncing off the silk of a spider's web that had been set up in the tree behind the Jedi, similar to the way the rest of Cody's men are setting up camp just east. He's thankful his helmet's over his head so his darting eyes don't act as a dead giveaway to his distraction. First impressions last, the voice of Alpha reminds him, causing him to straighten his back and stand at attention. "CT-2224, Sir." He needs to be good at this, to make his general happy. He doesn't want to think about what Nala Se might do to him if he isn't up to her standards. "Reporting for duty. The rest of the men are unloading the weaponry and setting our post." He maintains his posture, and his eyes never leave the spider for long. That is until his Jedi turns around to face him.

"Ah, good." The man before him had seemed smaller to Cody before; with a brown cloak draped over his figure, he'd been almost formless. But now, the hood has been pushed back, revealing a full head of hair the color of a... well, Cody didn't know what to compare it to. It was unlike any clone Cody had met; he imagined a wild beast would be proud to don the mane. It's like gold and blood and iron. His eyes, oppositely, are like pools – not raging waves, but crystal clear, calm pools. "I've been awaiting your arrival." Cody is brought back to the moment by a kind smile, the sort that has only ever been offered by his little brothers when they wanted his attention. "It's good to meet you, eh.."

"CT-2224." He reminds his general.

And there it is again, that smile. Cody hadn't said anything to earn that, and the sense of confusion must somehow become apparent to his Jedi, as he explains. "I remember the number the Kaminoans gave you, yes. But is there something else you'd like to be called?" Cody understands the prior hesitation now, and he feels like a reject clone for being so slow to compute. Now, though, he is left torn between the fear Nala Se has instilled in him and the Jedi's magnetic draw. It feels like a hand has been extended toward him even though they are still separated by meters. The spider still rests, fat, in its web, and Cody is relieved.

Cody swallows, tipping his chin down in contemplation. He knows the Jedi has no facial features to go by - only his body language, which he is mostly thankful for. The name Cody, Kote... it is something only his brothers call him by, and never within earshot of an outsider. He isn't sure if he should trust the Jedi general so quickly, especially with something so close to his heart. But he figures that if he is blindly willing to die for the man, he'd better kriffing know his name first. He deserves a proper prayer said for him when if he dies, at least. "Cody."

Now, the Jedi's face contorts with a wide, toothy grin. "Beautiful. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Cody." The name rolls off his tongue like it's the most natural thing, and it causes something inside the clone's gut to quiver. He's used to the number assigned to him, the awkwardness and mismatch he feels in his bones when someone uses it in conversation – like his body knows the label is a restriction. It feels like what he imagines a restraining bolt to feel like on a droid, intrusive and cold. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," he says and holds out his hand.

Cody gathers the sing-song to be the Jedi's name, and he grasps the held-out extremity without hesitation. He smiles back at the man despite the expression's lack of reception, feeling welcome in every sense of the word.

𓆙

Cody's gut instinct had been right. Obi-Wan has proven himself quite trustworthy to the clones and to Cody himself. He's been the general's right hand for just short of one standard year now, and the battles they've fought together have been hard on both of them. Cody has seen many brothers come and go, just as Obi-Wan has witnessed more Jedi fall than he ever brings up in conversation with Cody. They've deliquesced into a comfortable dynamic nurtured by long meetings in each other's quarters, shared laughter in the depths of hyperspace, and acts of utter selflessness.

Obi-Wan prays over the bodies of Kote's brothers, entertains their questions about his jetii lifestyle, and even encourages them to create a culture of their own. All of this proves he sees them as equals – as living beings that are connected to the Force despite what anyone else might try to have them believe. He once told Cody, to his face and without a drop of hesitation, that he deserves to be humanized. It shouldn't have kept him awake as long as it had the night he'd heard it... but he'd be lying if he said it didn't gain the Jedi his utmost respect. Of course, the Jedi treats just about every living thing with complete care, which Cody never forgets after getting the shab off Geonosis.

"No, no. Sir," He says disapprovingly, helmet cradled in his arm as he enters Obi-Wan's quarters to restrategize for the next campaign. A heavily fortified glass container sits atop the general's desk, and the Jedi is in front of it, watching the contents squirm and thrash intently. Cody chuckles dryly, then, "Tell me I'm dreaming. It's just a... bad dream." He carries on talking to himself, trying to soothe the pit of anxiety that's starting to form in his chest. He's never mentioned his fear of bugs outright; it's pathetic that the Republic's "finest clone" could have a fear as maladaptive as his. Besides, blasters usually made them easier to deal with. The worst is when they (the bugs) come into his territory.

"Not a dream, Cody," Obi-Wan replies, causing a new wave of worry to wash over the clone from head to toe. What if it gets out? What if it bites him? Or worse, his jetii or brothers?

"Don't let your worries get the best of you." Kenobi turns around in his chair, and Cody can see his hair and beard aren't as well-groomed as they might typically be in the war room or when he prepares to speak to the Council. In no way is he a mess (Cody doubts that's even possible.), but he is in a more defenseless state than Cody has ever seen. The marshal commander can tell from the stray flame-like hairs and the verging-on-bloodshot eyes that his Jedi has been sitting over the desk for some time. "This," he motions back to the jar behind him, "is one of the worms used by the Geonosian Queen to... force her will upon her people. I'm sure that if we can return it to Coruscant, research could be done to reverse its effects."

Cody is now squatting low near the wall, his eyes going back and forth between Obi-Wan and the grotesque being beside him. "There's not much difference between us and them, you know." The Jedi's words catch Cody off guard. Sometimes, the general has a way of knowing exactly where his commander's thoughts are. He's heard, time and time again, that the Jedi don't have mind-reading abilities, but when Kenobi pulls something like this, he has a hard time not getting suspicious.

"As far as I'm concerned, we are very different from it. It crawled into... brains, Sir. I saw it, we both did. My brothers they-"

"Weren't themselves, yes." Cody watches the Jedi rise from his chair and waltz to the kettle atop his counter across the room. "I'm not saying they're harmless; nothing alive is. I would just like to have more research done on it, in case something like this happens again. This worm may be the key to similar cases in the future." Cody nods, trying to see from Obi-Wan's perspective.

They both stay quiet for a moment, the only sounds filling the bedchamber being the water starting to boil for tea and the brain worm's slimy squirming. It seems rather docile in the container, but Cody knows that if Grievous were to intercept them, the jar would surely be knocked over and the bug released. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, not wanting to think about what if. He is here, sitting safely on the floor of his general's quarters, back against the wall, armor on, his helmet less than an arm's length away if he were to need it.

"I won't let it out of my sight," Obi-Wan once again breaks his reverie, stepping closer and offering a mug of steaming liquid. Cody has tried it a couple of times, and he prefers caf's stronger bite to tea's mellow kiss, but he is glad to have something in his hands to keep him grounded – to warm his lips, which had started to tingle from the coldness of space. Cody sips it, forcing his facial muscles not to give away his disdain for the beverage, and he makes sure to thank the Jedi standing above him. "I assure you, it'll reach the capital without any of us being harmed." He says it with such conviction that Cody begins to feel the knots in his stomach unravel, just loosely. And there is a lilt in Obi-Wan's tone that causes Cody to feel warm inside, and in a distinct way that is not from the tea. He takes another sip before setting it down to grab his datapad.

Obi-Wan chuckles as Cody glues his eyes to the screen. Something about the general vowing, no matter how indirectly, to protect his brothers and himself... makes Cody feel like a pile of macerated fruit: sweet, sticky, sickly. He reminds himself that any Jedi would do the same, it isn't in their Code to stand by when tragedy strikes, after all.

"Now, then, Commander," Obi-Wan sits on the floor beside him, his datapad and tea in hand. "Let's begin."

𓆨

Cody loves being on Coruscant. It's never been where he sees his future when he's done being a soldier, but he finds it much more endearing than the vacuum he's usually surrounded by. There are people, music, literature. And since the entire planet has been terraformed into a city, there is hardly ever a bug in sight, at least not the non-sentient kind that have a way of immobilizing him in fear. Hardly.

Things reach a breaking point one day when the Commander goes for his helmet and watches a long silver centipede climb up the side and make itself at home within. He retracts his hand as if it had been burned by hot coals, and he backs away from the geometric face he's used to associating with his identity. He doesn't like the juxtaposition, the fear striking him at the thought of approaching a bucket that's protected him from so much.

Cody could admit that he hasn't always been the luckiest man, but this? It's starting to feel like the Force is toying with him.

There's no room in Cody's mind for logic now, and he can feel his heart beginning to pick up its pace. He hates how his body reacts when he sees a measly, killable bug. He wants to be courageous enough to take it outside and set it on the ground like Waxer or Trapper would, or the follow-through to put the creature out of its misery like Hardcase had demonstrated many times when they happened to be on a mission together. He's too cowardly to proceed with gentleness and too empathetic to proceed with malice. Cody sighs, keeping his eye on the helmet as he backs himself into the corner. His comm, luckily, is attached to his armor, and he needs only flick his wrist to reach out to a savior.

"Come in, General?" His breath is shallow, wary that his most minute movement could trigger the crawler to come for him. He feels sweat at the back of his neck. After a moment of static: "Obi-Wan?" It has to be him. Sure, it might be embarrassing to admit the reason for the urgency in his voice, but he couldn't tell a brother. They'd never see him the same; he is supposed to be strong so that they could be too, and he's sure he would no longer be a respectable Marshal Commander if this secret were to reach the lower ranks. Or worse, Nala Se.

An uncontrollable shiver runs down his spine, just as the voice he'd been hoping to hear crackles over the commlink, tinny but familiar. "Cody? I apologize for the delay – Jedi business," the words are so casual that the clone almost forgets his urgent business that needs tending to. "Are you there, Commander?"

Cody shakes himself and feels his muscles tense when he sees the bucket teeter as the centipede's weight shifts toward the visor. He forces himself not to take his eyes away, despite the tide of nausea that rises in his throat. "Yes. I... ran into a bit of a problem, Sir. Would you mind stopping at the barracks?" The quiver in his voice causes him to screw his eyes tightly shut, disturbed by the loss of composure. He feels pathetic and weak, and secretly wishes they were on the battlefield so he could prove that he has the mettle to withstand more than most.

Obi-Wan is silent on the other end for a moment, the ambiance of the Coruscanti streets being the only sound resounding over the speaker. "Of course. In fact, I was already headed there." Cody feels the pressure in his ribcage begin to ease just slightly. He doesn't care to ask what business Obi-Wan was originally coming to take care of; all that matters is that he's en route, and the bug would soon be removed from his space.

When his Jedi does arrive, Cody is still standing firmly in the corner. The door opens without quiet hiss, and the two men meet eyes from across the small room. Cody can see the question on his general's face – the singular cocked brow and his twitching lips are the only signals he needs. At first glance, the room looks completely typical: nothing is knocked around or broken, all of Cody's belongings are still there, and, of course, Cody himself stands unharmed. A flash of what seems like surprise enters the Jedi's eyes as he takes in the sight, as if he had been expecting much worse. "Well," Kenobi begins, a relieved chuckle in his tone, "I've certainly seen you in worse condition."

Cody tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which are still flooded with dread. "My helmet," he points to it, hand unsteady, "get it out." It sounds desperate because it is, and he watches the Jedi's face shift into a more curious expression, thick eyebrows knitting together as he steps toward the center of the room.

Cody backs himself into the wall and watches as the Jedi carefully walks toward the overturned bucket. When he's right above it, a flicker of delight enters his eyes, and a smile dances on his lips. Of course. He nearly reaches to touch the kriffing thing but seems to remember Cody's presence because he turns to meet the clone's eyes. "Cody?"

The commander swallows hard, his throat dry and taut; he hates whatever it is in his brain that pulls such a reaction from him. "I'm terrified." His voice is breathy and nearly gone. It's an admission at its core, and Cody feels vulnerable like never before.

"That's why I'm here." The statement is matter-of-fact as though it is Obi-Wan's sole purpose to save Cody from his fear. He takes an empty jar from the counter, tilting the helmet slightly and calmly until the centipede topples over due to gravity, its legs and antennae nearly indistinguishable as they tap on the glass. As soon as it's in the jar, a lid is secured on top. "I'll release her in the garden. She'll serve us well there. Better than in here, surely." He smiles and looks through the convex glass with what seems to be admiration.

Once his curiosity has been quenched, he slips the jar into the folds of his robe and turns to face his commander again. Cody is silent. The Jedi had made it look so easy. Probably because it is easy. Cody is the outlier here, not everyone else. He is humiliated at how he'd behaved, and even more so because he still wouldn't deem his helmet safe to wear if anyone were to ask. A thorough cleaning will certainly be in order once he is alone again. He feels ashamed and frustrated. "Thank you," is all he says.

Instead of accepting the words at face value, Obi-Wan offers a hand to the man. "We all have something we're afraid of, Cody. But you mustn't let your fear rule you. It's no way to live." The words are brimming with understanding, and it makes Cody wonder what it is the Sith-slaying jetii could possibly be afraid of.

Rather than prying, he somberly takes the Jedi's hand and queries, "How do I overcome it?" He's warmed by the smile that is given in response. Obi-Wan guides Cody to sit at long last.

"You won't like what I have to say," Obi-Wan shifts his weight and crosses his arms, looking at Cody with a sliver of a challenge in his eyes. "It takes being around the things that fill you with fear to overcome them – realizing the endless possibilities in your head cannot all occur in reality. It's something we Jedi focus on heavily in our training. Allowing fear to rule encourages the Dark Side to prevail. You see, our fears can lead us to impulsivity, greed, and suffering. When we overcome them, we can make decisions with a clear mind and heart."

Cody understands. Or at least he thinks he's beginning to.

A yawn suddenly erupts from his chest, the cortisol thrumming through him. He looks around, a last defensive move, to make sure no other bugs have made their way inside somehow.

"I'll leave you to rest," the general smiles, his hair tousled handsomely. As he makes his way toward the door, just as it slides open at his suggestion, he leaves Cody with this: "If you should need my heroics again, Commander, don't hesitate." And then the room lost all its warmth, just the barracks of another sad soldier.

𐀔

Cody takes a deep breath in as he looks out over the rolling green hills and valleys of Kiros before him. The Togruta colonists, now safely out of Separatist hands, are being trained in basic combat by none other than Cody and his brothers. Whether it is by their own choice or the Republic's, the marshal commander isn't sure, but he's glad to know he won't be leaving them defenseless.

He has been on planets similar to Kiros before, practically unaltered by the people who inhabit them, although it is rare for him to have the downtime to explore his surroundings. He usually does so only to gain intel or perform recon. It's typically a strategic necessity alone. But before and after training, which finishes in the early evening, Cody finds he is free to fill his time however he chooses.

The thing is, he's never been granted this freedom before, and if he isn't careful, he might find himself standing in one spot for hours just contemplating his next move. The vacant holes in his schedule could be debilitating, but he quickly fills his time with busy work and solo missions of little actual importance.

Before any of his brothers, he rises with the star on the eastern horizon, much before their designated hours thanks to the planet's axial tilt. He's grateful to have a tent to himself when, by the second week, he doesn't stop waking in a cold sweat, the tendrils of his nightmare lingering in his mind. The ghostly sensation of some insect crawling over his skin cannot be erased from his memory.

He doesn't attempt to go back to sleep like he had done the first several nights. Why suffer with the silence and his rampant mind when there was plenty to distract him outside?

He rises from his cot and glances at the reflection of his face in the visor of his helmet as he passes it; he won't go without it, but first, caf. He taps the button on the dispenser settled atop a crate, the smell of the brewing beans making him instantly more alert.

On this particular day, he plans to trek across the river surrounding the Togruta settlement to explore the bank and nearby plains; he wants to be sure no Separatist weaponry or droids have been left behind. At least that's the make-believe errand he's assigned himself since he doesn't operate well without one.

Once his tin cup is empty, he sets it upside down to drain like he does each morning whether on Coruscant, The Negotiator, or even Kiros, apparently. He slips his bucket on, the world muffling as the last of his senses are stripped away, then steps into the foggy morning air. Training would not take place since the colonists have decided to spend the day mourning those whose lives were stolen from the galaxy not so long ago. The Jedi and the Clones agreed it was the least they could do to give them space to grieve, though the latter's opinion didn't much matter to the Republic when deciding how its property would be utilized. Fortunately, Obi-Wan's position in the Council had swayed the Chancellor's the Senate's decision to give them all a day of rest.

The clouds hang low as Cody moves through the camp, his brothers sleeping bodies all around him. It is undeniable that he feels responsible for them and assumes the role of their protector with no hesitation, but it also feels nice to know they are all safe and that his wandering off for a few hours at most would do no damage. He deserves it, though it is difficult to remember that fact at times.

Snoring and the creaky shifting of weight begin to ebb into the ambient sounds of the planet granting them fleeting sanctum from the war. Cody is thankful - if not for himself, then for his brothers and their jetii. They deserve a moment of relative peace.

As he follows the dirt path that leads outside the perimeter of the colony, he notices the birds of the planet are perched in the trees above his head, their sleepy cooing not yet turned to morning chirps. He appreciates the colors of their feathers, the purples and blues of which he had no knowledge to draw from to make a fair comparison. He allows himself to lean into the small smile blossoming over his face as he continues to walk on, the moat-like river's babbling becoming louder with each step.

When he pushes through a final stretch of overgrown grass and comes to the water's edge, he surveys his surroundings like any good soldier. The river flows quickly, splashing the banks and wetting the top of his boot, but he knows it is not strong enough to keep him from crossing. He ensures his blaster is safely secured to his person before stepping into the current.

He can feel the water pushing against the plastoid as he takes slow, steady steps, and it flows freely into his armor once the gaps above his calves and thighs are below the waterline. Despite the shocking cold, Cody grits his teeth and trudges through the lapping stream until his knees hit the opposite bank. He turns around and rests awkwardly on his backplate until most of the water has vacated his suit. He stares at the sky, the dark greens and grays beginning to bleed into a sobering yellow. He stands with the rallying of the sun.

Once firmly on his feet, he begins to search the ground for any mines or other traps possibly placed by Separatists and never removed or detonated. He goes on for a few meters, spotting nothing, which he'd expected. Dooku had taken what he came for and left. This is simply Cody's excuse to wander.

He comes to the cliff's edge, and he feels beckoned closer until he can crane his neck to see directly below. The land is ripe and green. He muses about how his stomach remains unflinching despite the drop he could take at any moment, while an arachnid or any of its peers would send chills down his spine. He stares out over the precipice longer than he'd allow if he were on a mission with his brothers. But now, as Kiros' sun lends its warmth to the dirt and animals, he removes his helmet and takes a deep breath in, savoring the crisp air as it enters his lungs unfiltered.

It's then, as his peripheral vision is filled in, that he sees a distant hunched silhouette to his right, veiled by high-growing flora and the fading morning mist. The brown cloak, down on the figure's shoulders and hanging like a crescent down its back, reveals a muss of red hair. Cody's heart leaps into his throat, wanting to call out the Jedi's name instinctively. He fights the urge and instead makes his way quietly toward where the man sits, settled on a rock beneath a shady tree with his legs crossed. He doesn't intend to surprise him – assumes it to be impossible. He is instinctively pulled toward his Jedi's presence and wishes to be nearer, by some logic he doesn't quite understand. Perhaps it's because he is one of the only people to treat his brothers and himself with any consideration.

Perhaps it has something to do with the Force. He doesn't question it, opting to blindly follow orders instead.

He leans against the trunk of the tree, the twisted bark something Cody has never seen before. But the sight he truly cares about has nothing to do with the vegetation. And the sight below the cliffs has long been forgotten.

He stares unashamedly at Obi-Wan, remembering other times he has seen the man in the same position. In most instances, Cody had walked into the general's quarters to find him on the floor, unmoving and absolutely focused. On what, he never knew, nor did he venture to ask. His facial muscles always seem relaxed when he is in this state, and the beauty of it is something Cody has never craved to disturb. Each time, he retreats to the bed or the kitchen chair as he gives the Jedi space to rouse on his own, sometimes dozing off to sleep as he waits, but prepared to work when his name is spoken in that familiar soothing timbre.

Standing here now, he takes shallow breaths, almost afraid he will give his presence away if he inhales too greedily. He feels like he's watching something private while still struggling to find the strength to look away. He wonders if Obi-Wan can feel his eyes on him, has since the first time he caught him like this. Something in Cody knows it's useless to ask, just something his ego brings up to numb the guilt of partaking in such intimate acts as watching his Jedi for a summation of hours. To convince the shame to recede, he tells himself that the purpose of his creation had been to keep an eye on the man, to protect him; for he is a key element to the Republic's agenda.

He feels a hot blade of frustration slice through him at the realization that the man leaving the camp had not been on his radar. Especially at such hours, when no one was awake to accompany him. Perhaps the nightmare hadn't been such a nuisance since it had led him to discover Obi-Wan.

A shift in movement between them catches Cody's eye, and he forces himself to look down to see the abdomen of a plump bee sticking out from the center of one of the horn-shaped flowers scattered about the meadow. Its striped orange and black coloring is like a bright ember against the bruise-hued flowers it swims in. The commander's heart rate spikes helplessly, and he freezes like he has since Geonosis.

"Breathe, dear," Obi-Wan's voice, as Cody has come accustomed to, pulls him back to the world around him and out of his mind. His eyes remain on the pollinator as it dances from flower to flower, her sistren nowhere to be seen. At least it's not an entire swarm. The voice of his Jedi, ever calm and guiding, fills Cody with a warmth no sun could compete with. Despite the wretched bug before him, he tears his attention away from where it rests to find those blue eyes piercing into him as if they were made from the same power source as the lightsaber stowed at his hip, not mere mortal cells. He sighs in relief at the sensation that washes over him.

"Come, sit with me." It isn't said in the tone he chooses on the battlefield, but Cody knows an order when he hears one. He maneuvers around the bug and its feast, not wanting to disturb it and get a stinger in his throat or temple. The thought of it dying afterward terrifies him more. The bee drifts closer to Obi-Wan, who watches Cody sit on the stone before him, ignoring the buzzing creature beside him. They are across from one another, but the Jedi is settled above him like a prince among his people, a lecturer with his students. Cody feels a surge of submission, something he is not used to. He knows Obi-Wan sees him as a worthy partner in the combat zone, but he'd have to admit how difficult it is not to feel like a shiny all over again under the other man's gaze. He glances down to study a patch of moss that has grown attached to the boulder supporting his weight.

"See, you've nearly forgotten her already," he smiles and waves his right hand toward the bee, bumbling about in the flowers. "She wants nothing from us, and neither we from her." Cody likes being grouped in with Obi-Wan. "She gets her meal, and we're able to meditate. Harmoniously." The Jedi looks around the space as if there is something Cody isn't seeing.

"Meditate, General?" The word has been used by the jetiise throughout his time around them, but it never held much meaning to Cody. "Is that what you were doing?" His mind returns to the image of Obi-Wan with that tranquil expression.

"Indeed. It's pertinent that we Jedi take the time to clear our minds and refocus. Of course, it's not just us who can practice. Anyone can benefit from quietening the mind..." He trails off like he's thinking of someone else who could use such a practice, and Cody detests the brief but unmistakable burn of jealousy he feels at not being at the forefront.

"Would you ever want to try?" It's what he'd hoped to hear, and now that it's on the table, he's quick to help himself.

Cody nods stiffly, cautious but eager not to disappoint – to be better than whoever had just been on his Jedi's mind. Ideally, traitorously, he'd like to be the only thing on the man's mind. He forces his eyes to stay steady on Obi-Wan. He focuses on the sepia speckles that adorn the jetii's cheeks and nose bridge, noticeably darkened due to the prolonged terrestrial stay. Cody blinks slowly, burning the sight into memory for when they'd return to space and the freckles would go pallid again.

"It's nothing too complex," Obi-Wan begins, his tone becoming that of a wise monk. "Start by closing your eyes." Cody appreciates the air of gentleness and straightens his back instinctively at the words of direction, eyelids clumsily falling shut, the muscles refusing to relax without a fight. Without sight, he can't help the consternation that rises to his ribcage; he only ever closes them to rest to fight the next day. He wouldn't be Marshal Commander of the Galactic Army of the Republic if that weren't the case. And Obi-Wan's recommendation for him to be in the position was enough proof for Cody.

"Perfect."

The word hangs around them for some time, and Cody's mind performs an instant reboot trying to process it. No one's ever used that word concerning him or anything he's done. He knows the Jedi - his Jedi in particular - have a way with words, and he tries to dismiss it as null and void, a mind trick to get Cody to continue complying with this so-called meditation. He inhales, a shaky effort that nearly fails.

"Keep breathing, Cody." He follows orders and exhales before taking another breath in. He tries not to wonder whether Obi-Wan's eyes are also shut, or if he is vigilantly watching his commander do as he says. Then, "Focus on the feeling of your lungs expanding and contracting without effort."

He has never attempted to zero in on something as infinitesimal as his breathing. Even when his helmet's on, the amplified sound of his new ventilation system is consistently overshadowed by what he sees through his visor.

But the trust he holds for Obi-Wan overrides all Kaminoan programming, at least momentarily, and Cody does as he's asked. He breathes in deep to the point his lungs ache beneath his muscles and bones, the dull sort of pain that reminds him he's alive, organic.

A breeze washes over the field, causing the tree's leaves to rustle like an ancient lullaby. The clone exhales as the wind tousles the short-cropped curls ornamenting his head, an unfamiliar but welcome sensation. "Feel what is here and now. The rock holding you up, the wind on your skin." Cody isn't sure, having no visual cues to confirm his suspicion, but he thinks he hears a smile in the general's words.

The thought flees as he mentally reaches out and focuses on the stone's coolness; his perfect posture falters helplessly as his mind unwinds. There's nothing but right here, in this moment with Obi-Wan, who echos this sentiment when he speaks. "There's nothing here for you to fret over, nothing to fix or fear."

Cody's eyebrows twitch as he digests what has been said. Obi-Wan doesn't rush into another teaching point and lets the man sit with the blade of his words plunged into his chest. Cody doesn't know what it means not to scan for tasks that need completing or enemies that require defeating. He feels a tightness in his chest that could rival the grip of a Sarlacc, and an unexpected wetness burns at his lashes.

He isn't sure what the tears mean, and the confusion only draws out a few more. He refuses to open his eyes, remembering the first instruction he'd been given: breathe. He parts his lips, and a breath stumbles through his airway.

As he breathes out softly, he's brought back to the moment and away from the tempest of emotions swirling within. The bee's buzzing has come to a respite, softly emanating what Cody imagines is contentment. He tenses slightly but once again goes back to what Obi-Wan was putting so much effort into teaching him.

He remembers the rock, the breeze, the Jedi before him. The bee is nearly forgotten. His shoulders sag without thinking, the scar on his face shiny with rebirth. He believes he can smell the undertones of the flora, sweet and subtle.

"You're safe. Let the things you notice pass." The discipline finally begins to ease. Obi-Wan doesn't have the same expectations the Kaminoans do, not in this time and place. "You are the only constant, Cody." The tone slips into something personal, so the marshal commander's imagination convinces him, and it compels his heart to clench. He feels it now, an anchor tethering him to this moment - an undeniable focus on the serenity of the man commanding him.

Time passes unnoticed as Cody loses himself in the exercise, a newfound clarity falling over him. The war is distant from this sliver of the galaxy, forgotten and nonexistent; it's just Cody and Obi-Wan. Not even the bee had made it over the threshold with them. He focuses for so long and hard that at some point he realizes he's aware of the Jedi's breathing pattern - the rise and fall as predictable as any moon's. He envisions their breaths being connected, flowing in through one set of lungs as quickly as it exits the other pair, a balance unspoken and natural.

Selfishly, Cody wishes he could remain in this state for the rest of time - or at least until the primary sun Kiros orbits stops burning and folds into a black hole. Logically, externally, he knows his time here is limited - his brothers, the Togruta, and millions more just like them all depended on Cody for something. They're all alright, he thinks, probably still sleeping soundly, not far away. But Cody is still new to releasing control over anything let alone everything.

"How do you know when it's time to stop?" His voice is lower than he intends, nearly breaking like back in his days as an inexperienced cadet. The only real differences now are that scar carved into the side of his face and countless fallen brothers. Hidden deep below his guts and armor is that same irrational, untrained boy.

"You can stop whenever you feel overwhelmed," Obi-Wan states gently, judgment nowhere to be found. "Open your eyes when you need to," he suggests, and Cody does so immediately. He thought it would be like waking from a rare dream and all the peace he'd started to feel would disappear into nothing. He is pleasantly surprised it's not that way at all. He feels lighter than he has in far too long; his mind flashes helplessly back to Geonosis before a deep breath comes in to tame the memory.

He offers a smile of gratitude to his general, who he now notices has a hand half-extended toward the commander's armored one. "Sir?" Had Cody cut his chances of receiving a touch by opening his eyes so quickly?

"I apologize," the jetii practically spits out the phrase, his tone making it clear how honest it is. His hand retracts to rest on his knee like when Cody first joined him. He swears he sees a rose color creep up the man's neck and cheeks as his eyes engage in a careful dance of avoidance.

No. Cody doesn't want to be avoided; he doesn't want to stumble around alone and afraid forever. He knows Obi-Wan won't try it again now that the moment has "passed." But life isn't a neatly edited holo-vid or a novel; it's a messy, complicated, painful battle at times. It requires bravery to get through - stubbornness and determination. Whatever word you choose, Cody doesn't care at this exact moment.

He breathes in and physically reaches out, bursting through the seams of everything he's ever been taught. His hand tenderly rests on the one Obi-Wan had pulled away, the latter's bare knuckles caressing the underside of Cody's gloved palm. It's the most intimate touch they've ever shared, and Cody doesn't require that it ever happen again. He feels blessed that the other man hasn't ordered him to fall back, and he isn't ready to push for more.

Instead of paying mind to the apology Obi-Wan had offered, Cody gives thanks to the man. "You have no idea how much you've done for me." He pauses, trying to find the words. He was specifically designed for war - for death and destruction. He could recite the BlasTech Industries leaflet that had been provided with his DC-15A blaster rifle instantly if someone ordered it because that made him useful. Knowing how to take down hundreds of droids in one fell swoop, how to plan and execute strategies that have earned the Republic victory after victory: these are tasks he was designed to perform well. Emotions, on the other hand, are much more gruesome.

He wants to tell Obi-Wan about the nightmares plaguing him each night or go even further and describe how he hasn't been able to truly relax since the burning red sands of Geonosis bound him to fear. He wants to tell Obi-Wan that he is the one who makes all of it more bearable. "I feel lighter," is where he settles. He nods as he says it, recognizing the truth in the statement.

An unsteady breath escapes him. His eyes are locked onto his Jedi, knowing that much of what Obi-Wan wants to say at any given time can be read through his eyes and actions. The man's face has softened again, eyebrows cocking incrementally with interest, beard twitching from the smile it works to conceal.

"Well, we could make a habit of it - together. It's helped me many times, and Anakin too, if you'll believe it. I know it's daunting when it's new, but you did so well, Cody." The clone easily follows the string of words, filled equally with attempted diversion and outright praise. He feels his flesh get warmer. His blacks are suddenly suffocating.

"I think that would be helpful," he says as he unclenches his jaw, almost afraid to let the full extent of his enthusiasm be known. He glances back down to where their hands meet. Though it may never reoccur - or perhaps for that exact reason - Cody begins to rub a small oval into the thenar muscles in his Jedi's hand. He silently hopes his general will feel the difference the next time he wields his lightsaber. He expects nothing in return; all he's received from the man has been more than enough.

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

Something feels wrong.

Cody stands under the cover of a plant he's never seen before this campaign. It towers like a spindle into the sky, the underside incandescing bright purple. There are hundreds more like it all around him, like a forest of tentacles or insectoid legs emerging from the dirt to trap him there like prey. Umbara is a planet of utter darkness other than the few bioluminescent lifeforms that have evolved with it; Cody is certainly not one of them. Luckily, the night vision built into his helmet is getting him through.

He grits his teeth and tilts his head to glance at Obi-Wan, a few meters to his right in a similar anticipatory stance. His lightsaber is disengaged to minimize foreign lighting that would give their position away. He worries about how limited the jetii's vision might be, knows his general is probably rather unperturbed by the matter. He trusts Cody not to leave him behind in the darkness, just as he would if their situations were reversed.

The rest of the men are closer to the perimeter of the capital city, ensuring no straggling Umbaran soldiers are lying in wait before they begin their assault. The general and commander follow not far behind to cover their tail. Although nothing stands out to him as he listens to his surroundings, Cody can't help the unease that rises in his chest. A deep breath enters his lungs through his ventilator, grounding himself to the present. Focus.

Obi-Wan nods in silence in the direction the rest of their men have headed, signaling that they should keep moving. Cody forces himself to let go of the last of his concerns for Waxer and his platoon; he must trust that they will see each other again on the other side of this long and treacherous battle. Instead, he brings his attention back to where the Jedi's thermal signature had just been through his visor, now another patch of darkness. His heart drops into his stomach, and a splinter of fear pricks his mind at the loss of the man.

"General?" He asks through his commlink before slowly crawling forward through the brush. The sounds of artillery fire descend upon the landscape as his men engage the enemy somewhere further north, distant but near enough Cody feels stuck.

Before he can rationally decide what to do next, an ear-splitting scream rattles through his comm and pierces deep through his armor and into his bones. He knows exactly what it is before he sees it, and the grunt of his jetii that follows right after forces Cody's legs to sprint forward to find where the man had gone. His boots sink into the gray-tinted dirt without thinking, the previous worries about all the vines and Vixus now residing in favor of being brought back to Obi-Wan, who he can hear panting in exhaustion.

Just then, he breaks into a small clearing, the shadows seeming to garner an unfathomable amount of mass. The flora here is impossible to make out, seeming like monsters a child would imagine in the darkness of their closet. The only light comes from the beast pinning his jetii to the ground. The banshee is huge, nearly covering Obi-Wan's entire body with its own. Its biological lighting is green in a way Cody despises, nothing like the lightsabers he's seen some other Jedi carry. It makes him think about the lower levels of Coruscant or a radioactive spill tainting the molecular basis of everything it touches.

Its wings are splayed out around it as if attempting to lift the general's body, but something has stopped it in its tracks. It makes snarling rabid sounds as its mandibles extend and try to shred the flesh of Kenobi's face. Cody freezes as he takes in the scene before him, and he catches sight of the general's face contorting with effort. His hair is a mess around him, sweat beading on his brow. It's now that he realizes the Jedi must be calling on the Living Force to keep the creature at bay.

Even in a moment like this, where his life is being threatened so short of notice, he is able to focus enough not to let his fear overtake him, and Cody will never stop admiring it. During the beginning of the war, he had dismissed the man as reckless, and he has kicked himself for it many times since. Now, though, he tries to take a page from the Jedi's book.

He reaches for his blaster rifle, knowing he can't leave Obi-Wan to fight the thing alone any longer. But his hand doesn't land on the metal of his weapon. It continues to swing through the empty air until returning at his hip. He nearly cries out when he feels it isn't at his side. How had it fallen and he not notice? Kriff, perhaps Nala Se should recall and retire him after all. He panics, unsure how to get the banshee to leave his Jedi besides possibly offering himself as bait.

He can hear Obi-Wan's voice, all those months ago now on Kiros, "Breathe, dear."

He isn't sure if it's just a memory surfacing organically in his time of need, or if it's the jetii influencing his mind, but he finds that he doesn't care either way. He does as the Jedi always reminds him and breathes.

There is a metallic hint to the air that enters his lungs and swirls about - different, but nothing he can't get used to if that's what's needed. There is nothing but him in this brief moment, and he is reminded by the Force that he has made it through worse than a banshee and a few shadows. Obi-Wan has survived worse, and with Cody's help, he'll survive this too.

He opens his eyes, not noticing that they'd fallen shut; he remembers a time when he'd stare at a caterpillar or another similar bug for hours when he was particularly on edge and too mortified with himself to ask someone else to handle it. He inhales through his nose; the past does not exist, only now.

He assesses his options, and wonders if he should comm for backup; he knows he won't distract his men for anything. He considers jumping on the creature's back, but he despises the idea of touching it or being carried away to be mauled and eaten alive. Then he sees it, the sheen of the banshee's light reflecting off that cool metal he's had in his hand many times thanks to his general's constant running head-on into the next problem needing to be solved. Cody has always made sure to retrieve and return it to its brandisher.

Now, he bends to wrap his hand around the saber, engaging the crystal without a second thought as he straightens his spine.

He feels a power surge through his body that not even his blaster had ever made him feel. The blue light emanates from the blade like a celestial spirit in his hands, and it causes all the shadows that had surrounded them to recede. The beast trapping Obi-Wan screeches as if its putrid heart has somehow been filled with terror for the first time. Cody chokes on empathy, imagining the beast sitting with that feeling he knows intimately well.

He steps forward, swinging the saber out in front of him, a defensive pose that he hopes will send the banshee running takes over his muscles instinctively. He's never wielded a lightsaber or any other longsword, but he's watched Obi-Wan in battle enough times to be able to imitate some of his confidence.

When the creature remains on top of the general, claws on either side of his head, Cody knows he won't be able to spare its life. He sways the sword, the sounds of it cutting the air almost as comforting as the voice of his Jedi, though not quite as sweet. He swears he feels a swell of pride surround him, choosing not to dwell on how it hadn't come from within. He raises the blade with both hands gripping the hilt, its light dancing across his features as he swings down hard and fast.

Another scream enters his ears, one of pain and regret and death. Cody can't distinguish whether the sound is from the insect or himself. The banshee's leg is sliced clean in half at the joint. Blood and gristle are cauterized by the heat of the blade - even the chosen weapon of the jetiise offers some mercy. The creature wails in presumed agony, losing its balance and falling to the side like a spider-roach sprayed with pesticides. It thrashes and its wings shake, the ordeal more than Cody's senses can handle.

He forces himself to move around it and pull his Jedi out of its reach, the lightsaber having been disengaged but still in his palm. When they're a safe distance away from the bug, Cody finally looks into his general's face. His hair is wet with sweat close to his scalp, utterly exhausted from the Force work. The commander wants nothing more than to tear his helm away from his face and nuzzle into the jetii's temple. He wants to press his lips there and sob a disorderly, chest-racking sob.

Soldiers don't do such things, though, so he settles to press a thumb into the other man's beard. It's a light touch, almost ghostly, and he wishes they were back on Kiros more than ever before.

The Jedi's eyes flicker to his saber, still resting in Cody's right hand. He notices, sitting up and holding it out to the man it belongs to. He feels a jolt of pride as he looks at it, eyes adjusting to the darkness now that the fight has concluded. But it's mixed in with a sense that he'd done something very wrong, like taking a brother's bucket and wearing it as his own.

"Thank you, Cody," his Jedi speaks quietly, his fingers latching around the marshal commander's wrist instead of the lightsaber. Cody swallows at the sensation, aware they should keep moving despite what they've just endured. He nods silently before remembering Obi-Wan's lack of sight.

"Of course," it doesn't exactly translate all of the emotions in his heart, but it does enough for now. At least he thinks so until Kenobi starts to offer him praise after praise.

"This is more than a weapon, Cody," his hand twists to tighten their grips around the helve simultaneously, "and not everyone who wields one knows when to quell their power. You're disciplined in ways the Kaminoans can't comprehend." His tone is admiring, proud. The touch, the words - Cody feels like he'll melt into the dirt below if the Jedi gives him anymore. He can hear and feel his heart pounding against his sternum like a prisoner in Citadel Station, desperate for escape.

He nods and moves his other hand to rest on top of where the two men meet at the lightsaber; it's the thanks he can't vocalize. Obi-Wan's expression is steady whereas Cody's feels unsure and stiff, and he appreciates how understood the jetii always makes him feel. No matter the layers of darkness, armor, and social conditioning (or lack thereof), he appreciates how Obi-Wan always looks at him like a person. He never looks at him like the test-tube experiment gone wrong he often feels like.

"Now, how about we join our men?" General Kenobi asks, that resilient smile creeping over his lips. "They'll be needing our expertise soon, I'm sure." It's an attempt to bring Cody's mood up, and the clone can't help the curt chuckle at the Jedi's cockiness that rears its head more than is technically appropriate for someone so dedicated to the Order. Of course, none of the clones complain; they've learned many of their favorite witticisms from the jetii, and Cody finds it endearing to hear his brothers try to replicate the general's delivery.

He stands first, then pulls Obi-Wan up with little effort since their hands are conveniently clasped together over the lightsaber, which subsequently goes back to its owner.

Both standing, Cody is overwhelmed with relief that he'd been able to do what had been needed to keep the other man alive. He almost goes down the terrible path in his mind that would make him wonder about all the things that could have gone wrong. He manages to catch himself before spiraling out of control, shaking his head and taking a deep breath to clear his thoughts.

As they slip back into the Umbaran flora, Cody follows his general's lead, his gaze firm on the nape of the other man's neck.

𓇙

The suns hang high in the sky, beating down on Cody with relentless heat. He welcomes the burn as he studies the stark shadow of his hand against the eroded stone of Obi-Wan's abode, the darkness of his fingers caked with an off-white plaster. His breathing is coming and going in a steady pattern, only because he has carefully labored it to be that way, helping to keep his mind focused on patching the cracks in the wall.

From the corner of his eye, he sees something dark scuttle a path through the harsh sand. He looks down to find a scorpion rushing by his boot, glinting like a blood-drenched jewel. He narrows his eyes against the particles floating in the wind, watches as the arthropod finds sanctuary in the crevice of a nearby boulder.

He remembers the voice of his general, all the lessons he'd been given. He's ached for that guidance for far too long, and it makes his chest tighten at the memories he's been struggling to keep oppressed since the last time they were face-to-face. Utapau. Order 66. His skull still aches in the spot where it'd been sawn open to remove his implant, his curls starting to grow back to conceal the new scar. He's not used to the silence of his own thoughts without those four haunting words underlying them. Good soldiers follow orders.

A deep breath fills his lungs; his attention is brought back to the task at hand. He fills another fissure in the wall with plaster, smoothing it with the pads of his fingers - he makes sure to be diligent with his work, having no other way to make himself useful in this place. Though things have undeniably changed, Cody can't help the yearning for their bond to return despite having no way to earn it back. He and Obi-Wan had once trusted each other blindly. Yet he had given his brothers the go-ahead to shoot him down; the rather benign nightmares about insects have been replaced with the memory of that day, and Cody knows it's deserved. He is the one who had shattered things while knowing their already-delicate nature.

He risks a glance to his right, finding Obi-Wan kneeling in the nearby shade provided by a makeshift awning, eyes closed, and muscles relaxed. He's meditating. Of course, he is. It's not quite the same as before the fall of the Order, but then again nothing is. His beard is full and a tad scraggly, not having access to the razors, mirrors, and gels he used to take advantage of, and his hair is longer than Cody's ever seen it. He swallows hard as the guilt washes over him like a wave, wondering uselessly if any of this would exist if it weren't for his weakness. He returns to his assignment on the wall, focusing on each breath entering and exiting his lungs.

During the night, the two sit in the confined kitchen of the desert home. A pot of soup simmers over a fire; it isn't a lot, but it's flavorful and comforting compared to the rations Cody's eaten practically his entire life. Their dishes rest on the table as the men sit across from each other, the winds outside audible from where they reside.

"What did I tell you?" The Jedi smiles as he listens to the sound of active weathering, bringing Cody's attention away from the grain in the wood of his spoon. He'd been focusing on trying to stay quiet so as not to disturb the nightly routine of the other man, so it takes him a second to catch up to the conversation.

"Oh," he says, his mouth falling open before closing again. "The sandstorms. Is it a nightly thing this time of year?"

"Most nights, sadly. It's a pain if the walls aren't tended to properly," he sips his soup - choosing to forgo the spoon - which is no longer scalding from the fire. Cody remembers the man's predilection for food on the colder side, and it comforts him to see that hasn't changed. "I've not had the energy recently." The jetii looks down into his bowl, an almost bashful look on his face. Cody recognizes a roundness to the man that hadn't been there during the war, a rosiness to his cheeks when he came home from the market with new fruit for Cody to try that morning. The clone has only been here for a month at most, and Cody can't deny the ease with which Obi-Wan seems to be settling into his new life. Something he can't yet say for himself.

Of course, there had been much time in between, which Cody had not been here for. He doesn't know exactly what Obi-Wan is going through or how he's dealing with it, but he's pleased to hear him laughing more than he ever did during the war. His brow furrows because he remembers thinking neither of them would be able to laugh again after everything that happened.

"Thank you for taking care of it." It's said in such a measured tone that Cody can't pretend to mishear or misinterpret it.

He jerks his chin down toward the table, "Of course, General." As soon as it slips off his tongue, he wants to throw himself into the fire their dinner is cooked on and keeps their bodies warm at night. He expects a scolding - the Empire likes dealing those out much more swiftly on the clones than the Jedi had - but one does not come.

"I don't know how many times I have to remind you to call me Ben before it sticks." A toothy grin lets Cody know he's not in too much trouble, but he digs his nails into his palm as a reminder to himself not to make the mistake again.

"It's my pleasure... to do what I can, Ben." He looks up and meets the man's eyes, that same crystal-like blue he's always known. "I want to make up for what I've done."

The jetii's eyes soften at his words, seeming to know what he means despite the lack of clarity. Cody's heart tightens as the man stands abruptly, his sand-colored robes sweeping the floor. He takes the few short steps to close the distance between them, and he's looking directly into his old commander's face. His hand comes up and the tip of his thumb traces the curve of the clone's scar from where it starts on his forehead and ends at the apple of his cheek. "Cody, none of that was in your control. You must realize that before this guilt consumes you." Obi-Wan bends so that his forehead comes to rest on Cody's, their eyes still locked until the Jedi's slip shut.

The clone can feel his hands beginning to tremble and his throat constricting. He makes fists in an attempt to calm his nerves, but it makes no difference when a tear tickles his lashes and spills over the edge.

"You've come so far," his jetii whispers, their breaths mingling in the dark. And that's all that Cody's battered mind can handle; a thunderous sound rumbles through him, a sob that's waited years to be freed. Tear after hot, burning tear rolls down the man's face, his hands still fisting into nothing at his sides. Obi-Wan covers his knuckles with his palms, reminding him that he's physically not alone. "None of this is because of you. You only did what you believed was right. I have never blamed you for anything that's happened, Cody."

The words cause a heavy weight to lift off his chest, just slightly. He's carried this shame with him for so long, it's hard to convince himself to fully forget all the pain. It'll take time, which seems alright since they have so much of it now. He'll have to meditate more on how things tend to happen for a reason, perhaps with Obi-Wan as his teacher if he'd have him. He nods against the other man, their foreheads still touching, and he breathes in through his nose as the sobs begin to calm.

No sand or scorpions would be bothering them tonight, thanks to Cody. If he has any say in it, and he does, he'll make sure to patch the walls each day so that Obi-Wan sleeps soundly each night until his rapid aging catches up with him and steals his final breath.

[spadefish]

your majesty your cat is carrying fish through the palace again

[onceindece]

Oookay I'm rewatching Harry Potter and I was hard hit by wolfstar and now I'm so regretting it didn't happened earlier. Also now I'm so confused, people actually invented a whole separate fandom... Is there like archive or something with lore of Marauders where I can read about more or less common ocs?? Or should I just read whole Marauders Fandom Wiki??? I'm confused but also awestrucked because that's so cool