#for thousands of years with no end in sight no matter how hard you fight. The fighting in the end means nothing. The violence means nothing.

[bumblingbabooshka]

A Star Trek Novel called “Pocket Full of Lies” really has NO business going so hard.

[stuffeddrawer]

cw: alcohol, throwing up bc of alcohol word count: 1068 MDNI

⁽ᵖᵒˢᵗ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳ ⁻ ᵃˢᵐᵒᵈᵉᵘˢ⁻ᵖˢᵈ⁾

You’re used to being on the outside, looking through glass containing delicate and well curated friendships. You’ve tried, God knows you’ve tried, to get out there, to try and befriend others, have what they have, but you’re always the ‘oh, yeah’ the afterthought, if not outright forgotten.

You live alone, with a dog that seems more interested in the food you eat rather than you yourself.  You don’t have any friends, save for the one that you met online years ago, but they live in another country altogether. You know they have their own group of friends, and you’re okay with that – you’re elated for them. You know it’s hard for them to make friends, but they still seem to have an easier time than you do. It’s almost as though you’ve forgotten how to even talk to people outside of work.

In short, you’re a loner.

A loner who somehow ended up at your boss’ house for a party. You’re still trying to figure that one out. They’ve invited your coworkers, obviously, and friends of their own that they’ve curated throughout the years. You’re all close in age, there’s no awkwardness felt watching one another drink and get drunk. There’s no wincing or judgement when one has a shot, and the other sips on wine.

You’re a loner who’s plastered themself into the corner, slightly overwhelmed by both the music and the people, trying to figure out how to even talk to them. Again, that creeping feeling roars in your chest – You’ve gone and forgotten how to talk to people, haven’t you? Your brain tells you. You wince without making too much of a face, more of a shudder, as if fighting off a sudden chill when the entire house feels like it jumped up by ten degrees.

You’re a loner who’s somehow caught the attention of not one, not two, not even three, but four pairs of eyes, and you haven’t noticed how they’re all looking at you. Albeit in turns, but to them, you’re stunning, like a breath of fresh air even when it feels like you yourself are suffocating under all this noise, stuck between a wall and your coworker’s drunk boyfriend who seems to be flirting with the monstera plant next to you. You try not to laugh. You fail to suppress a giggle, which only seems to make the four pairs of eyes light up at the sight of that smile, even though it’s small, on your lips.

You’ve never been a social person – maybe that’s why you have no friends, save for the one in your pocket, living a thousand miles away. You’ve never been a social person, yet somehow you’ve managed to end up with someone’s arm around your broad shoulders, keeping you close and grounded. He smells like citrus, smells bright – explosive. His cheerful and charming smile distracting you from the insane noise that seems to have only gotten louder the more and more people drank. Your coworker’s boyfriend isn’t slick with how he throws up in the soil. Poor plant.

You’re not a social person, yet somehow you’ve managed to wrangle possibly the most prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on, in a damn ball cap no less, and he’s serving you your next drink – just a simple beer, but it’s enough for you right now. You’re too hot and flushed to be enjoying anything else, really you should be drinking water, but the way this man dotes on you, those big brown eyes of his staring at you as if you’re the only one who’s ever mattered, is making you a little dizzy. Not the alcohol, certainly not that. You’ve not nearly had enough. You’ve never had someone look at you the way he is.

You’re the least social person out there, but there’s something about the way that this man with mutton chops has his hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of a crowded area of the house to someplace more open. There’s something different about that kind, quokka-like smile of his. Where one might see it as condescending, you only see it as a silent question, asking if you’re alright, waiting, patiently, almost. If you weren’t so on guard, if you weren’t so tense and uncomfortable with the amount of people here, with how rowdy these people were, people you work with, you’d be swept off your feet. Which is exactly what this man is, these men are trying to do.

You’re not a social person at all, but somehow, sitting outside with this masked stranger, this burly stoic man, is calming and slowly the conversation begins to flow easily, starting with what you do, what your average day to day is, and somehow you end up giggling at a few of his dry jokes that no one really seems to laugh at. You’re not a social person, no, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a wickedly dry sense of humour – you get his. The air might be chilly but surprisingly, you’re comfortable, warm. Seen.

You’re definitely not the most social person in the universe, yet somehow, you’re walking out of that party with four new numbers, four new names, four new friends. You’re a loner who’s walking out of that work-house-weird stupid coworker’s-boyfriend-flirted-with-and-threw-up-in-the-monstera-plant party with a big fat smile on your face, more energised walking out of it than you went in. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing at Johnny’s dumb jokes. You’re a little tipsy from the drinks Kyle made you, but also ensured you had plenty of water and something in your stomach. You still feel John’s hand on your lower back, and you can still feel Simon’s presence next to you, offering silent comfort.

You’re not the most social person out there. You’re a loner. You stay alone, live alone, cook for one, and have a small amount of dishes to clean, just for yourself. Food goes bad before you get a chance to finish it, always making more for lunches, forgetting you’re pretty much a loner.

You’re not so much that same loner anymore when you’re waking up on a lazy Sunday morning with all four of those men in your new Alaskan king-sized bed, each of them pressing lazy morning kisses to each other's heads, groggy “g’mornings”, gruff huffs at being woken up. You’re happy you’re not so much of a loner anymore.

[diamond-champagne]

7. Do You Miss Me?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: None that I know of but please let me know!

a/n: We're kind of approaching the end so please give me requests on what I should write next! Thanks for the love, besties <3 It means more than yous know!

New Years Eve

The balloons and confetti fill the air while bottles of booze litter the table. The UConn Womens’ Basketball team; along with the rest of the UConn athletes, have taken their New Year's festivities to a club. It’s loud and packed. It makes the perfect distraction which is what Azzi needs. 

After her nauseating conversation with Caroline, the curly-haired girl was left to face the truth about her relationship with Paige. It’s fragile but teetering. Every interaction pushes it closer to being destroyed; yet it sits on edge, slightly wobbly, but intact. Azzi knows she’s to blame for the current state of their friendship. Though they’ve had rough patches, she never thought it would get this bad. The pair haven’t had a real conversation in weeks; both doing everything they could to avoid the other. In the three conversations they have had, they argue. It’s exhausting, but Azzi is grateful for the disagreements. It means that there’s still some fight left in Paige. Some fight left for them.

Despite how happy she is to be fighting with the blonde, she wishes that they were making up more. The brown-eyed girl has missed her counterpart over the last month. The two don’t have designated time to spend together anymore, don’t go out of their way to borrow the other’s clothes, or simply just cuddle. Azzi misses Paige. It’s not a new concept as their entire friendship is based on missing each other but Azzi is desperate to have the blue-eyed girl near her. She misses the presence of her best friend more than anything. 

She wonders if Paige misses her too. 

Though she imagines that the blonde-haired girl doesn’t because across the club, Paige is making her way to Cameron. Azzi watches as the football player notices the blonde making her way to him. Azzi watches as she slips into the space next to him; pressing her side into his as his arm snakes around her shoulders protectively.

It’s a nauseating sight that results in Azzi throwing back her shot and quickly ordering another one. And another one. And another one. 

“You should slow down,” Caroline says as she sits down next to Azzi.​​ The sentiment, while appreciated, does nothing to deter the curly-haired girl from ordering another shot. She’s being irresponsible, this much she knows, but she needs to forget. She needs to not feel. “It’s New Years Eve. I’m allowed to get drunk.” the girl grumbles out. It’s hard over the music but her teammate hears every word. “You are,” Caroline agrees, “But New Years isn’t why you’re sitting at the bar, drinking alone.”

Azzi turns to face the couple on the other side of the club. She watches as they talk to one of the football player’s teammates. Paige laughs at something and throws her head back. Azzi wonders if Cam loves that sound the way she does. Or does he prefer her giggle that she probably lets out when they engage in banter? 

These thoughts and more occupy the curly-haired girl’s mind more than she’d care to admit. The thoughts alone are suffocating but to watch is like dying a thousand deaths. So Azzi doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, she downs her shot before heading to the floor to dance. The younger girl isn’t sure how long. All she knows is that Waka Flocka turned into Pitbull which turned into Lady Gaga. It doesn’t matter though, because Paige is still connected at the hip to Cam, and Azzi still wishes that was her instead. 

-

Azzi is drunk. The younger girl is standing in the club bathroom with 30 minutes to midnight trying to get herself together. She came in to use the bathroom but that proved to be difficult when she couldn’t even stand straight. The basketball player eventually got that much figured out but couldn’t really do much else besides hold onto the sink for balance. 

The brown-haired girl had just about gotten a hold on herself when a group of girls walk in. Two immediately head towards the big mirror by the sink Azzi is currently occupying. The other two girls head into the stalls but the conversation between the group never falters; which is the only reason Azzi is able identify one the girls as Riley. In fact, the volleyball player is looking at her through the mirror. 

Azzi is drunk but she isn’t drunk enough for this. She supposes she can’t be surprised. Riley is a volleyball player and most of the UConn athletes are at this club tonight. Still, seeing your ex that broke up with you because of your feelings for your best friend who you still aren’t with is very uncomfortable. Talking to them even more so.

“Hi, Az-”

“Hey, Rile-”

They both start but before laughing. The tensitiy in the air lessens and the athletes watch as the other’s body relaxes. Suddenly, talking to each other isn’t that bad but then again, it could be the alcohol. 

“How are you?” Azzi asks.

“I’m good. How are you? How’s Paige?” Riley replies. The answer must reveal itself on Azzi’s face though, because the volleyball player’s eyes widen before she snaps her head in the direction of the taller girl. “You aren’t together?”

The basketball player shakes her head no and Riley’s eyes widen even more. “Listen, I know I said a lot of things that night but I never would have imagined that you two didn’t figure it out.” Azzi laughs in response. “Well, it doesn’t help that she asked if I have feelings for her and I walked out of her apartment.” The statement earns her a slap on the arm and a scolding from the shorter athlete next to her. 

“Why would you do that? It’s obvious that you do!”

“I’m scared,” Azzi starts. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that allows her to be this open because her next words have never been spoken. “I’m fucking terrifed of loving her. I’m terrified of her loving me. Every single time I look into her eyes, she’s got these intense emotions pooling in them and I don’t know how to handle that. Paige looks at me like I’m her forever. She looks at melike I can hang the stars and the moon. Fuck, she’s just so intense and sometimes I worry about it being too much. Sometimes I worry about being too little.” 

“You’re a coward, a liar, and a thief.” Riley states. She says it even toned and softly as if all three of those words were not insults of some kind. 

“Excuse me?” Azzi exclaims. The insult clearly catching her off guard. 

“It’s the truth,” Riley shrugs. “You’re a coward, a liar, and a thief. Until you begin to work on that, allowing yourself to be happy will be hard. You’re self sabotaging and you don’t even know it.”

The basketball player isn’t exactly sure how to respond. She watches as her ex moves toward the bathroom door before turning around.

“Once you figure it out, I hope you get everything you want.” and then she’s out the door. Azzi shakes her head and checks her phone for the time. She tries not to give what Riley said another thought, at least not while she’s this intoxicated. 

There’s five minutes until midnight. 

Azzi walks out of the bathroom and heads towards the section occupied by her teammates, and Cam. A bitter feeling creeps up Azzi’s throat and invades her senses. Would Paige kiss him at midnight? It’s a thought that produces sickening images in the younger girls’ mind. Though as she reaches the section, all she can hear is her ex’s voice in the back of her mind.

I hope you get everything you want.

While she isn’t sober enough to work out whatever Riley thinks she needs to, Azzi can accept that she should after whatever she wants. It is a new year afterall. 

The words repeat themselves as the girls flood the floor along with the other athletes to start the countdown. Azzi can feel the tequila and adrenaline pumping through her veins as she watches Paige separate herself from the football player to be with their friends. 

10

Should she do it? Azzi thinks she passes through the club to get to Paige.

9

Maybe she shouldn’t. She continues walking anyway.

8

Coward. Azzi gets closer.

7

Liar. And closer.

6

I hope you get everything you want this year. 

5

They’re standing face to face.

4

Azzi pulls Paige closer.

3

“What are you doing?” Paige exclaimed

2

“Getting everything I want” 

1

Happy New Year!

Azzi crashes her lips onto Paige.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[voltronisanobsession]

Late night thought ( listened to video games ldr)

Being star crossed lovers with Percy. Being soulmates throughout many lifetimes, fate will never let the two of you be together.

In every lifetime, one of you will bare the burden of knowing everything, from being destined soulmates, to all your past lives, to the terrible fate your relationship always succumbs to end. Reader happens to be the one carrying the weight in the current pjo universe timeline.

Knowing basically everything about him, you try so hard to not fall for Percy. Your heart breaks when you first meet him, Percy already stumbling over his words at the mere sight of you. The connection is strong between the two of you, but you want nothing more than to runaway.

You already know how this story will end. But you can’t help falling for him all over again, getting to know this new version of him, seeing the similarities from his past lives shining in him. Admiring his new traits that make your heart beat fast.

Spending more time with him, he falls for you just the same. He feels a pull to you, his body igniting with life whenever he was around you. Your wide smile, caring hands on his face, and sweet voice instantly offering him comfort.

He’s so comfortable being himself around you that it almost surprises him. You read him like an open book.

Everything is just easier with you. He feels like he’s known you his entire life.

I think the hardest part for you is whether to tell him or not. Keep him in the dark of your guys’ destiny, or ruin what beautiful relationship has blossomed in the time you’ve known each other.

Chiron might know what you two are, simply because he may have met you guys hundreds of years ago, in a different lifetime. He feels pity for you as you struggle to distance yourself from Percy.

Believing that leaving him will break what fate has in store for you, Percy can’t let go. You’re like his other half. You’ve been there for him through thick and thin and now you just want to leave?

He won’t let you go until you give him a good reason. He can’t let you go. Percy is in too deep to watch you walk away from what you guys have. What you won’t let happen.

And it’s at this where you let everything out. Pain and tears are released, watching with despair as Percy struggles to accept what you say.

“We can’t be together Percy! Everything, everything will always ruin us. It’s been written in the stars for thousands of years, we will always fail. Just for loving each other.”

Of course to make this more dramatic, Percy will definitely get a vision of some sort showing him your fates as star crossed lovers.

“That’s not- it can’t be true. That’s not FAIR! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how Percy. I didn’t know how.”

A lot of tears are shed that night. But just as much comfort is present. There’s no way to reverse your meeting, your fates are now permanently entwined. The only thing guys can do is hope to overcome your terrible fate.

Nights are filled with sweet whisperings. You guys would lay in silence, admiring each other as the stars shone bright in the dark sky. Each others soul in tune with the others emotions, walls are crumbled between the two of you.

Moments like these make up for all the pain and suffering that you both have went through. Gentle kisses on your face, Percy promises you’ll make it through anything, together. You caress his face, wearing a bittersweet smile.

But alas, nothing can change the fate of star crossed lovers. Stumbling across a monster during a quest, this is where the end begins.

Unlike anything he’s every seen, Percy can’t fight off the monster. No matter how many times he gets up, each time weaker than the last, the monster won’t die. It isn’t until it speaks that everything makes sense.

“A sacrifice must be made.”

A sick feeling is instantaneous between the two of you. Eyes wide in fear, you look to Percy. Despite the beating he took, he’s never looked as beautiful as he did now. You vowed to remember this moment of the boy in your next life.

Percy wanted to fight, he didn’t want to give up. He was angry, scared. He believed he could change your fates.

“Percy.”

“We have to try y/n! I can’t do this without you, please. I need you.”

“I love you. I loved you in the past, I love you right now, and I will always fall in love with you in the future. We’ll see each other again.”

He can’t stop you as you make your way to the monster. Fate works against him, keeping his body frozen and in place as he cries for you. Cries for your pasts. Cries for the emptiness he’ll have to endure once your gone.

It’s quick and swift, your death. You welcome it with bitterness, Percy’s crying breaking your resolve, but you have to continue. You’ll see your lover again.

Percy mourns everyday for you. He misses the soft whisperings you spoke that filled the dead of night in his cabin.

He mourns the life you both could’ve had if fate had not been so cruel to tear you apart every time. He’s forced to live a life without his other half once again.

He’ll miss the way you held his face, miss the way you made him laugh, miss the way you made him feel. He spends everyday living and remembering the memories of you.

Once the time comes, Percy welcomes death with open arms, reunited with you for a short moment until you’re both sent onto your new lives, starting the cycle all over again.

[fox-bright]

I'm playing TotK again, and wondering. After all is said and done, villain routed, battle won--do you think Zelda ever prays to Hylia again?

I mean, imagine being her.

You devote yourself with fervor to the worship of your grandmother goddess, she whose golden blood runs through you. You know, you know that she is real; her mark is visible everywhere on the face of the world. You meditate and you sacrifice and you pray, you pray so constantly that it comes and goes like breathing. Waiting for the still small voice your mother told you stories about, before she died; waiting for the touch of a golden hand. For comfort. For purpose. For peace.

And all you get, ever, is silence. Not even the quiet of a held breath, the hollow ears-ringing of an empty room.

And then Calamity comes. And you do everything you can, and it's laughable how quickly your defenses break. A straw against a sword. Your army dies, most of them in the first few minutes of the fight. And your family dies, your father, aunts and uncles, cousins every one destroyed inside the same forty-five minutes. And your friends die, everyone who pledged themselves to you--they die first, and in pain, in full view of their people.

(And then their souls are trapped for a century, waiting for you to finally fulfill your fucking promises.)

Your warrior, your most devoted, your silent watcher, dies in your arms.

And then She comes to you. A drop of Her spirit, too little, too late, only just enough to preserve your knight until his body could be healed. And you scrape together every other bit of power you can summon and every scrap of knowledge you've ever managed to learn about wards and magical defense, and you walk into hell, and you curl around the devil and you go to sleep for a century.

And you have some power, now! Enough to fight him when he wakes. Enough to put him down, for a little while. And you think, maybe it's over, you can gather up your scattered people and rebuild at long last. And you start, and you get five or seven years at it before the real enemy shows up.

And again, you do what you have to do.

And again, you sacrifice...everything. All you have. More than you knew you could, because at least when you petted the devil to sleep for a century you were still yourself. Now you have to lose even that, and for an unimaginable amount of time. What's a century next to a hundred millennia? What's the eyelid-flicker of your mortal life, that mere couple of decades--you don't even notice decades anymore. Centuries are seasons to you now.

And here's the real bitch of the problem, that could only become clear to you from this height; you could never get Her attention in that mortal lifetime because you'd already been in perfect communion with Her for scores of thousands of years before you were born. Because anyone who is Goddess-touched gets torn out of time, and good luck putting your feet squarely on any forward-stretching path ever again.

Because the Dragon of Light is never out of Her sight, not ever, not for an instant, and what does some bit of chaff, some mortal mite, have in comparison to that accord?

What do you think it's like, to realize that the reason everyone you ever cared about died, was because they already had? Because when you went back, the ever-watchful eyes of Hylia learned everything you knew, and would not act to change it?

What do you think it's like, to know that no matter how hard you struggled, every single bit of effort you ever put toward saving the world was wasted? That there was nothing, nothing you could have done? If you'd known, you could have told them all to get away from you, and that's the only way you could have saved them. But you didn't know, and She didn't warn you, did she. No matter how much you abased yourself, begging for knowledge or aid.

And now at the end of all of it, returned again for a second time to her little, mortal self, tiny body, tiny lifespan, how do you think Zelda feels? She's been Goddess-ridden for longer than every civilization on her planet has existed. She has had Hylia's voice in her ears for every moment of eons. She has access to knowledge now that not one of her line of Priestess Queens has ever imagined.

But I think. If I were Zelda. I'd get my feet squarely back on the ground, and I'd commune with Her one last time, and I'd tell Her. "You got what you needed from me. And I guess I got what I needed from you. So we can call it even; we're quits. I'm done. I'll leave the key under the mat."

[sukoshininja]

Outta Time

"We're not gonna make it."

Lance gritted his teeth as he held his breath as he lined up the sights and delivered a clean headshot. He did not come this far to have it end here. He would see this through.  "We're gonna make it. We have to."

"Lance."

It was just his name. But something about the way it was said. Just one word, but the sadness, acceptance, and firm finality of it. It was the truth, and it hit him hard enough that he lowered his rifle a hair. 

No. He shook his head and repositioned the barrel along his cheekbone. No, they could fight this, they could still make it out. "We just gotta--"

"Lance."

Now inflected with brokenness, a pathetic urgency. Suddenly he had to remember how to breathe. He missed his next two shots.  

"They won't, not while we're still inside."

But the funny thing was, somewhere in his mind he knew that wasn't true. They had waited so long for a chance like this, a chance that they were never going to get again. His comrades, they'd have no choice. He knew it but chose to believe they would wait anyway. Because if he didn't--

"Lance." 

Oh. He knew a spirit shattering when he heard it. His lungs were convulsing. Was he breathing?  His hands were trembling so hard he could barely hold his gun. 

A hand reached out and guided the gun down. "It's over."

Lance wrenched his attention away from the advancing enemy to see the most devastating thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Keith looked at him so tenderly, tears running streaks down his face that was mussed with grime and blood. So this is what giving up looked like. 

"Breathe, Lance."

Casualties were a part of this great game known as war. They all knew it could come at any moment. But for some reason Lance didn't think the day would come when his card would be up.

Why was Keith holding him so tight? What were those sounds? Like a dying sheep. Wait. That was him. Oh he was sobbing. Screaming. 

Keith cradled his head against his chest.

"It mattered. Everything mattered," he whispered, soft and soothing despite coming from his cracked lips. "If nothing else, you matter to me."

There was a weight on Lance's chest, making it so that he had to gasp for breath. His heart to beat so fast he was sure it would burst. The corners of his vision started to fade to black as all the sounds closed in around him. 

Only Keith's rough voice, quiet and calming made a lifeline that Lance desperately grasped for, keeping himself afloat. 

"Holy shit. We're gonna die, and you'll never know because I never told you."

Lance's tongue felt too big for his mouth, dead weight and useless. Somehow, he managed to ask "Told me what."

"That your smile lights up the universe more than a thousand suns. That everything sucks to the point that somedays I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, but I do, because I get to see you, and when I'm with you everything is a little less awful. That I break every time you look at her."

Lance was able to focus his eyes. Too bright lights. It took all he was to look into those impossibly beautiful, red-rimmed watery eyes. 

"Lance I lo--"

*   *   *

They won.

Ten thousand years of oppression had come to an end with that blast.

Allura and Coran clung to each other as they watched the waves of radiation wipe out the end of the empire.

Hunk stood as still as a statue. Tears streaking down his cheeks. 

"They were still down there," Pidge whispered as they collapsed to their knees on the cold floor. 

It took everything in Shiro to keep his intestines from emptying out his mouth. The bile was there, bitter and biting.

It was necessary. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. That's what they would say. He would be applauded. A hero. But only the people in this room would see it as it really was:  a choice.

A choice that was easier than it should have been. Cruelly quick and almost as thoughtless. He had the rest of his life to mourn. He hoped it wasn't long.

my whumptober masterlist

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 2: Does the Devil Have a Heart

Summary: Tommy has resolved to stay away from Lucy. But developing circumstances may mean that being close to him is the safest that she can hope to be.

Word Count: 3,763

Warnings: Stalking (not Tommy), past sexual assault, and sexual content.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Part

Chapter 3: Come to Me

“Tommy.”

His head turned at the sound of John’s voice, his younger brother jogging to catch up to him.

“What is it?”

“Danny had another meltdown.”

Tommy jammed his eyes shut, fighting back the desire to scream. It was far too early to be developing a stress-induced headache already. 

“Is he alright?”

John shrugged. “Not sure. He rushed off pretty fast.”

“Did he hurt anyone?”

“No. He said he was going to go see the horses down at the yard.”

Tommy nodded. “I told him he could visit the filly we have there whenever he likes. It seems to help,” he sighed. “I’ll go check on him. Tell Polly I’ll be a few minutes late to my meeting with her.”

“Sure.”

He watched John run off in the direction of the betting shop, then groaned, stuffing his hands into his pockets and picking his way towards the yard. 

On his approach towards the stables, he heard the hum of voices and quickened his pace, suddenly alarmed at the realization that if Danny had gone into the stables while in a fit, Lucy may not realize how volatile he could be and try to approach him. If he wasn’t in his right mind, he could hurt her. 

“I didn’t know that Charlie Strong had taken on a new stablehand.”

At the sound of Danny’s voice, Tommy slowed his gait, still inching closer to the entryway of the stables. 

“I’m new. Sort of,” Lucy responded. Tommy swallowed hard. Even though he’d heard her speak on a good many occasions by now, the sound of her voice still had an effect on him.

“Are you from around here? Birmingham, I mean. I hadn’t seen you around before.”

Lucy hesitated only a fraction. Tommy couldn’t blame her for not being overly eager to talk about London. “Yes.”

“I thought as much when I heard your accent.”

Tommy finally made his way to the doorway of the stables, standing near one side of it, hiding in the shadows. Not that it mattered, they both had their backs to him and didn’t notice his arrival. 

Danny was standing at the front of the stall housing the filly, his hand stroking carefully through her mane while she snorted and watched him with kind dark eyes. Lucy was standing beside him, an empty bucket clutched in one hand, head cocked with sympathy. She took a cautious step towards Danny, resting her hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Danny glanced over at her, a little smile on his lips. “I am now, thanks. Being around the horses always helps.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed, irrational jealousy sparking in his chest. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Lucy’s hand rested on Danny’s shoulder. The part of him–that he would never in a thousand years admit existed–that was starved and longing for any kind of kind, gentle physical contact ached. 

“Here,” Lucy reached into her pocket, then held out her hand, dropping a few sugarcubes into Danny’s palm. “She likes them,” she nodded to the filly. Danny chuckled, holding the sugar out for the horse to eagerly munch on. “If you’re sure you’re alright, I have to get back to work,” she said not kindly. Danny nodded.

“Right. It was nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You too, Danny,” she gave him a small pat on the shoulder, hefting her bucket and heading in the opposite direction from where Tommy was standing, to the exit on the other end of the stable. Tommy watched her until she was out of sight.

Turning his gaze back upon Danny, all it took was him taking a step forward, purposefully dragging his shoe a little against the ground so that Danny would hear him, for Danny to glance over at him. He smiled sheepishly. 

“Hullo, Tom. Sorry, I was just…”

“I know,” his voice came out colder than he intended. “John told me.”

Danny looked down at his shoes, then angled his head in the direction Lucy had disappeared in. “She seems nice.”

Tommy pursed his lips, eyes narrowing once more. “I think it’s about time you returned home to your wife, don’t you think, Danny?”

Danny’s eyes darted up to his, momentarily looking hurt, and Tommy immediately felt bad as he watched his friend shuffle past him and towards the exit of the yard. With a small groan, he tilted his head up. 

The filly in the stable whinnied, as if sensing his distress, and he reached out a hand to stroke her soft snout. 

“How the fuck did we get here, eh?” he mumbled to her. She just looked back at him, those dark eyes comprehending more than he could possibly have known.   

∗ ∗ ∗

That night, he laid in his bed, on his back with his arm tucked under his head, staring despondently at the ceiling.

His heart ached. 

He had learned, over time, to get used to the loneliness. The feeling of emptiness. It was just part of the curse of who he was. The cost of cleverness and ambition.

After Greta, he had vowed never to love again. Had hardened his heart to it. And then the war came, and took more pieces of him. Hollowed him out. He did not know how to escape the protective armor he had wrapped himself in to shield himself from the horrors he had seen in France. There had always been a distance between him and his family that he could never fully explain. Even from the time he was little, it was as if they knew that he was different from them, and treated him accordingly. Like he wasn’t entirely one of them. Like he was other. 

Only his mother treated him as an equal. But Mum had been gone a long, long time, now. 

Ever since the war, that distance between him and his family had widened into a chasm that he had no idea how to cross. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to, anymore. Even with John and Arthur, while their war-time traumas seemed to have brought them closer, it only seemed to distance Tommy even further from them. He tried not to be bitter over that. 

He told himself that it was better: being alone. Safer. 

It had not taken him long after returning home from France to accept that he would always be alone.

Yet still, a part of him longed for comfort. For companionship. And not the kind that could be bought. He had considered calling on Lizzie for a distraction that evening. But he’d found that, especially as of late, his rendezvous with her only left him feeling more lonely than he already did.

There were nights where even he, the Devil of Birmingham, longed to just be held and loved. To have someone to stroke his hair and brush away his tears and tell him everything was alright after he woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare. Someone to tell, unfiltered, about his day and the new ideas that were constantly whirling within his head. Someone to buy flowers for. 

He crushed his eyes shut. Behind them, he saw red hair and sunset brown eyes.

Get out of my head.

She probably didn’t even know who he was. And if she did, she would only know the version of Tommy that prowled the streets of Small Heath at night. Who made deals in back alleys and sliced those who displeased him with a razor. It was very likely that she was scared of him.

I made him feel like a creep; like the absolute scum of the earth to continue to think about her as often as he did. As if she needed any more men chasing after her when they’d already caused her so much pain. 

It did not matter that his thoughts of her were innocent–okay, fine, mostly innocent, but he did not want to ponder that more than he had to; it made him feel even more terrible and disgusted with himself than he already did–or how badly he wanted to know her. Not just the things he’d read in her file. He wanted to know what made her laugh. What her favorite flower was. What books she liked to read.

All knowledge that he could never allow himself to have. He would not hurt this woman who had already been through hell and back out of a selfish ache to cease the loneliness consuming him from the inside out.

His love was a poison. Best to keep it away from her. 

When he opened his eyes, he realized that he was crying. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Word got out, somehow, regarding what had happened to Lucy in London. It started with whispers, and then spread like wildfire throughout most of the city. When he found out, Tommy had just about raised the roof of his office after dragging in Skudboat and the other men who had assisted in running the background checks on Lucy. After he’d read the file, Tommy had sworn all of the men involved to secrecy. The purpose of the checks had been to make sure she wasn’t some spy or thief come to ruin them. He had no intention of dredging up this poor woman’s horrific past and making it public knowledge. She was trying to start afresh here. He would not impede that.  

It wasn’t any of his men who spilled, that was a fact he was confident in after the rather rough rounds of verbal questioning he put them all through. So that meant that it had to be someone else. 

Worry itched in the back of his mind like a spider crawling across the skin. Something was wrong, though he didn’t entirely know yet. 

He’d ordered Skudboat and the boys to find the source of the information. Perhaps in a couple days he would have an answer.

In the meantime, he cast what he hoped to be somewhat of a protective shield over her, ordering the removal of the tongues of any who continued to gossip about what had happened to her. Hopefully that would contain the damage to her reputation at least a little. 

“How is she?” he asked Charlie unprompted one evening, staring into the roaring bonfire he and Curly had going. Charlie shrugged from his seat, taking a sip of his pint. 

“She’s been quiet.”

Tommy nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the flames. Charlie shifted.

“If you ask me, I think she could use a friend.”

Tommy jammed his eyes shut. “For fuck’s sake…”

“I’m serious, Tom. I think you could help her as much as she could help you.”

He opened his eyes, fixing Charlie with a stern, challenging look. “Does she even know who I am?”

Charlie snorted, rolling his eyes. “Of course she does, you daft idiot, you’re around here at least a good dozen times a week. ‘Sides, there’s not a soul in Small Heath who doesn’t know your name by now, Thomas.”

Tommy shook his head. That wasn’t what he meant. He considered the wording. 

“Does she know what I am?”  

Charlie hesitated, jaw working as he considered the question carefully. Tommy remained staring into the flames. As if expecting to see visions appear within them. His mother had always insisted that she could see the future in the fire. 

“Yes,” Charlie said finally. “I think she does.”

“You ‘think?’” he quoted back. Charlie shot him an unimpressed look. 

“She knows. She’s too smart for her own good, that one,” the unimpressed look became pointed. “Like you.”

Tommy turned the statement over in his head. All this time, he’d been watching her…it was not too much a stretch that, perhaps, she had been watching him too. 

In front of him, the flames continued to dance. 

On his walk back home, he passed by the pub he’d spotted her out drinking with some of the local girls previously. When he glanced in through the window, he was met with a sight that was a stark difference to the one he’d seen the last time. 

Lucy was huddled alone in a corner booth, a glass of whiskey in front of her. She had one hand curled around it, fingers fidgeting with each other. Her shoulders were hunched in, making her tiny frame appear even smaller than she already was. Her eyes were fixed on another table in the pub, staring with a look of deep sorrow and loneliness. 

Tommy recognized the look immediately; it was the same one he often wore.

He followed her gaze across the pub, to where the group of women, the same ones Tommy had seen her with before, were all seated together at a table, laughing and joking with each other.

He felt something in his chest twist in sympathy for the red-head, eyes snapping back to hers just in time to see her wiping hastily at her cheeks, downing her drink and rising from her booth, grabbing her coat and making hastily for the door. The smiles on the women’s faces all dropped when they saw her approaching, replaced by hostile glares and disgusted sneers. Lucy strode right on past them. The second she had stepped out through the door, the women were leaning in closer to each other, whispering, then giggling.

Tommy turned away, sliding his hands into his pockets and continuing his walk back to his flat, frowning.

He had been happy to see Lucy had seemed to be making friends. Shame that had all gone to hell. 

She could use a friend, Charlie’s words echoed back to him. He shook the thought away. As if. He’d make an utterly abysmal friend. Better to stay away. Better to let her find her own way…

And if she doesn’t? 

He chewed on his lower lip at that. Would he really be able to stand by and watch her be lonely and miserable forever? 

He realized, in quiet horror and suppressed hope, the to that question, he did not have a definitive answer.

∗ ∗ ∗

It was a day like any other. Tommy was lingering at the yard, sitting with Charlie by the river, smoking and talking while they watched Curly fiddle with the boat.

Tommy’s eyes cast lazily across the water, one leg crossed lazily in front of the other, his hat casting a shadow over his eyes when he lowered his head just so. 

His instincts suddenly pricked, twisting and itching in silent warning that something was wrong. Tommy frowned, sitting up a little in his seat, gaze sharpening from the lazy way he’d been glancing around just a moment ago. 

His eyes landed on Lucy, standing near the edge of the river, her face white as a sheet. 

He followed her gaze across the cut to land on a man standing there, hands shoved in his pockets and staring at her, huge, cruel grin stretching wide across his face. 

Tommy froze when he caught sight of his face, instantly recognizing him as one of the men in the photographs of Lucy’s attackers in London. 

Fuck.

He debated rising from his seat, drawing his revolver, and firing upon the man then and there. But that may draw too much attention. And who knows if the man had brought any reinforcements with him. 

He had been aware that Lucy’s father and Matthew Sutton had put up a reward in London for anyone who came forward with information regarding Lucy’s whereabouts. He’d had his boys suppress any information about it, but apparently, with whispers about her past spreading, somewhere it must have come out and someone ratted on her. 

Probably one of those women at the pub, if he had to guess. 

Tommy kept his eyes trained on the man, mentally daring him to come closer. To try to enter the yard. If he did, he and Charlie would happily welcome into one of the warehouses. The one where meathooks hung from the ceiling. And blood–not from any animal–stained the floor. 

But the man made no move to approach, and eventually stepped back, fading away into the fog. Tommy bit back his disappointment, and looked back at Lucy. 

She was still staring at the place where one of her attackers had been standing. Still pale as a ghost, fiddling with the cheap rings she wore on her fingers. A nervous habit, he had noticed. She was trembling, and when she turned her head a little so Tommy could more easily see her eyes, he saw that she looked to be on the verge of tears.

Gripping tightly to the broom she’d been about to return to the shed, she started to move in uneven, shaky steps. And as she did, her eyes, as if drawn by an invisible string, darted to his.  

The terror he saw in them cracked something within him.

They had found her. And based on the hefty reward being offered for any information on her, it was obvious that they weren’t going to stop. They would keep coming for her. She would never be safe so long as they breathed. 

But he could not march into London and murder a handful of Sabini’s men. It would mean all-out war. A war that they were not yet strong enough to have a chance of winning. 

But…if she were an official member of the Peaky Blinders, it would be harder for them to just waltz into Small Heath and take her. Not impossible, but more difficult. Sabini would certainly be less likely to back them on it. 

And the other civilians in Birmingham would certainly think twice about trying to give her up to them.

And, if they did try to take her, the Blinders would be more than justified in defending her. With violence, if they had to. 

Tommy’s brows pinched with his thoughts, the gears in his mind spinning faster and faster. 

She would be good at the job he had in mind for her. He knew she would. 

And, despite everything, every horrific, monstrous thing he’d done. What he was…

She would be safer with him than with those bastards who’d already left her scarred and brutalized. 

He would be careful with her, he vowed. He would not let anyone hurt her. Not ever. Not even himself. 

But it was important–not for the plan, but for him–that she was the one to come to him.

It had to be her choice, in the end. He would not force anything upon her.

Tilting his head, he raised his cigarette to his lips, still meeting her eyes, though he doubted that she could see his with the angle his cap was sitting at atop his head, shadow hiding them from view. 

The unspoken connection between them seemed to hum to life and he finally reached out to it. All it seemed to take was his silent acknowledgement of its presence, and he felt it pierce through his armor like it was nothing, coiling around him within it, warm and nestled safe beside him. 

Tentatively, he pushed a thought towards her: a gentle, coaxing chat. 

Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.  

∗ ∗ ∗

He lingered in the yard for the rest of the day. In case the man attempted to come back.

Lucy didn’t try to approach him throughout the day, and he tried hard to hide his disappointment over that. 

It was getting dark by the time she left the yard. Tommy wondered if she was scared to go home, fearful that the man would be waiting for her at her flat.

It was a thought that had seeped into his own mind throughout the day, and he made a mental note to tell Arthur to take some of their boys and do a sweep of her place and the city to make sure that the man hadn’t lingered anywhere. 

Keeping to the shadows, he followed her at a distance, eyes wide open and searching for anyone or anything that might jump out and try to grab her. His brows creased together when she turned left instead of right at an intersection, heading in the opposite direction that her flat was located. 

Cocking his head curiously, he continued to follow. She tugged her coat tighter around herself, head tipping back a moment to look up at the moon, rising higher and higher into the sky with every passing minute. He noticed that one of her hands was settled within her bag, and smirked. 

Smart girl.

Even without the other current threats to her safety, walking about alone at night wasn’t safe for a single woman. 

But having a gun hidden away in one’s purse did have a tendency to scare off a good many would-be attackers or harassers. 

Of course, tonight she wasn’t alone. Though she couldn’t possibly have known that. 

She took another turn, and he paused a moment, recognizing the route she was taking and where she was going. His eyebrow raised. 

It was common knowledge that he often went to the Garrison after hours for a drink. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with his brothers. 

Maybe she was intending to come to him after all. 

He gave his head a sharp shake, trying not to get his hopes up too much. It was just as likely that she was looking for a change of scenery from the other pub she’d been frequenting. 

When she got closer to the entrance of the Garrison, she hesitated, swallowing hard and fidgeting. Tommy slipped, silent as a black cat, into the alley behind her, leaning his shoulder against one of the cool brick walls.

Lucy was biting her lip, eyes squinting as if trying to make out who was inside the pub through the windows. 

Yes, definitely here for him. 

Tommy wetted his lips, then parted them, and hesitated. The moment that he spoke, there would be no turning back. For either of them.

Lucy moved from foot to foot, the light from the lamppost she was beneath illuminating her hair, the bright red like a fucking beacon. Those big brown eyes offering him something he was in equal parts terrified of, and aching for. 

He had called to her, and she came to him. Willingly. On her own. She knew what he was, and yet she came all the same. 

Perhaps, I do not have to be completely alone, after all. 

He had never been all too good at resisting temptation, and that thought…that thought was perhaps the greatest temptation of all. 

He parted his lips, and spoke. 

“Hello, love.”

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[practically-an-x-man]

Whump wheel for Eris?👀

Hell yeah!! My best little whumpee, let's see what pops up for them...

Whump wheel landed on.... Hypothermia! Interesting.

The Whump Wheel

____ Deep Freeze

Word Count: 3.2k Tags: whump, hypothermia (duh), frostbite, medical issues, injuries, gunshot wounds

Crossposted on AO3 ____

Gunshots flared out behind them, the bullets whizzing past Eris’ ears. One burned across his thigh - a graze, more heat than impact - but he brushed it aside. He could, and had, run through much worse. 

Rick was ahead by only a few steps, his gun slung over his shoulder. He’d run out of bullets three hallways back, and now the machine was nothing better than an exceptionally expensive battering ram. Eris had thought, more than once now, about doubling back and attacking their pursuers head-on. But by her count there were six, all with guns, and personal history was enough to tell her that being pumped with enough lead could kill her. And then there was the matter of Rick, that leaving his side meant leaving him vulnerable. 

Rick was running in the hopes of an exit. Eris was just running in the hopes of a corner - just a moment in which their enemies lost sight, a moment when Rick wasn’t endangered by the straightaway, a moment to double back and strike hard. 

“There. Doorway.” Rick panted, lifting a hand towards the end of the hall. He sped up, and Eris could practically sense the plan in his mind: he’d duck inside, a moment’s shielding behind the door, and Eris would weed out the pursuers. 

But his mind raced ahead, and his stride slowed just the slightest bit. The door was too heavy, too solid. That was not a door to any sort of escape, even temporary. 

“Wait, it’s-”

A bullet struck her thigh, two more her unprotected back. Eris staggered, losing their voice as the pain washed over them. A thousand years, and the pain never softened - they just got better at fighting through it. He finally found breath and opened his mouth to try again-

Brightness flared in the back of his skull. 

Then it all shut down. 

____ She started awake at once, gasping and fumbling for whatever was around her. Senses flickered in and out - pain, brightness, a cold so deep she could smell it - and then a rough hand closed around her scrabbling fingers. Eris stilled. Safe. For the moment. 

“-elcome–ck. Wa–arting to–ink I’d–os–or good.” He only caught fragments, scattered syllables as broken neurons fired and misfired inside his head. All Eris could do was groan, feeling flickers of pain as his tissues finished weaving themselves back together. The same rough hand stroked their hair, matted with blood and tissue though it was.

“I got–est of–ullets out.” 

“Mm?”

“I got the rest of the bullets out.” Rick murmured, running his fingers delicately across the broken skin on her back and thigh for emphasis. Goosebumps rose in wake of the touch, and Eris shivered. 

“How… long…” he croaked, waiting for the last of his synapses to settle back into place. He cleared his throat and tried again, “How long was I out?”

“Couple minutes.”

Eris managed a nod, then gingerly reached around and probed at the back of his head. Still a little tender, the bone semi-spongy as his cells went through rapid ossification, but it would do. Carefully, slowly, he sat up. He’d dealt with enough brain injuries to know that they were hell-and-a-half, even with her healing factor. 

She blinked at the room around her, trying to translate what she saw into conscious thought as her brain lagged a step or two behind. A whirring unit attached to the ceiling - three fans, dark and spinning. Metal shelving lining the walls. Eris reached out a hand and brushed their fingers down the paleness of one wall, and nearly flinched at the shock of cold. Pure ice. Perhaps there was a real wall under there somewhere, buried under layers of frozen condensation. 

“You were right.” Rick muttered, “It wasn’t an exit. But they were shooting, and you were out, so-”

“So you dragged me into an industrial freezer?”

“Did you see another door?” he fired back just as quickly, and Eris huffed. He was right. If he’d have hesitated, they’d both be down, and Rick certainly couldn’t heal from a headshot the way they could.

“Fine. These things are built with release hatches anyway, right around-” She reached around the side of the door, searching for a button or switch that would pop it open. Instead his fingertips found rough concrete, and Eris blinked. That was… foreign. It certainly hadn’t come with the rest of the freezer, with its sea of endless steel. Realization struck him the moment later, and he growled like a wild animal. 

“Motherfuckers!” 

“What?” 

“They sealed over the release. The door won’t open from this side without it.” Already the cold was starting to bite into her skin, and she frowned. Her newly-repaired brain was spinning with thoughts. A sealed-over release hatch meant they’d been planning this, had been herding them down the hall knowing it was a trap. On the plus side, that would mean they hadn’t stuck around - or even if they’d posted a man at the door just in case Eris found a way through it, a single scout would hardly be enough to slow him down. If nothing else, he could count on a simple enough escape once he got out of here. 

But he had to get out.

With time, they could chip through the concrete enough to flip the release hatch. Or attack the hinges of the door directly, wrench it open at the source. But now they were on a time crunch - to get the door open before the cold shut their body down. Healing factor would delay the process (though not as much as he’d like, coming off of a headshot and three other bullet wounds), but hypothermia was hypothermia. Eventually their body would give in. And that wasn’t even accounting for-

“You’re not shivering.” 

Rick slipped his hand up his sleeve and pulled out something small and square. He tossed it to Eris. The object was warm, on the verge of being hot, and filled with something grainy. 

“Chemical heat pack.” he explained, and gestured to his pack, “One in each sleeve, one in each boot, and I’ve got two more I’m saving. Plus you got really warm when you were healing.”

Eris nodded, already factoring that into her estimates for time, and tossed the pack back over to Rick. He promptly tucked it back into his sleeve.

“You want the other two?” he asked. 

“No. Save them. I’m fine.” 

She scooped her spear off the floor of the freezer, already fighting hard to ignore the way her body was already beginning to shiver, and wiped the half-frozen blood off the blade. He jammed it into the base of the hinge, driving the blade in as deep as it would go- though that was only about a half-inch, for the moment. Eris hitched himself further up over the shaft of the spear, using his weight to put more force onto the blade. It didn’t budge. 

“Don’t just sit there, Flag. You wanna get out of here or not?”

To his credit, he got right up. He placed himself behind them, found a grip on the spear, and pressed in with as much force as he could manage. Eris’ body jolted as the blade sank in another inch, enchanted metal beginning to carve into near-frozen steel…

The wooden haft snapped with an echoing crack, and the two of them went sprawling across the floor. 

“Fuck!” Eris howled, grimacing at the way the word reverberated back to her. She picked herself back up and peered at the spear: the blade was still lodged deep in the door hinge, with only an inch or two of splintering wood where the rest had broken off. Angrily, he gave it a fierce kick. It drove the blade in a little deeper, but not deep enough- and that still wasn’t accounting for the top hinge, which was already set to be a tougher battle.

But what other options were there? The only other weapon he had on him was little more than a pocket knife. Maybe by now someone had noticed their absence, was already looking for them, but Eris didn’t like those odds. Either he kept working at the hinges, or he sat down and accepted death. It was a Hobson’s choice, hardly a choice at all. 

Rick watched for a minute or two, as Eris kicked at the spearhead in an attempt to drive it in like a chisel, then finally stepped back and took his seat against the wall. By now, Eris noticed, he was shivering despite the heat packs. Time was already sliding away from him.

It didn’t matter that she was working hard. The cold still sank in deep, thickened her blood into tar and froze her bones into crystal. Each strike against the spearhead rattled her entire body, until she thought the next strike might shatter her like a block of ice.

Finally he had to pause, just for a moment, and a rippling shudder hit him so strongly he nearly fell over where he stood. This was the stage where his body was fighting the cold, healing factor kicking into overdrive. And they could tell it was losing. The blood in their hair had frozen into chunks, rattling against each other every time Eris turned.

“C’mere.” Rick said, holding out his arms. Eris shook his head. 

“I’m f-fine. Need to keep working.”

“T-take a break. Warm up.” 

“Can’t. Once I st-stop, it’ll be harder to get going again.” She could already feel herself slowing down, exertion or no. Trembling in every limb, every strike against the spearhead weaker than the last, and her focus was beginning to wane. Healing factor or not, she wasn’t built for cold climates. Themyscira’s winters were mild, to say the least. She hadn’t even seen a real snowfall until she left the place. And he didn’t have the same sort of body mass to hold in heat, not like Rick did. 

“Okay, then- then warm me up.” Rick tried, and this time Eris heard the shivering rattle underneath his voice. That made him relent, despite every other warning in his mind. He gave the spearhead one more kick, with whatever strength he had left, then slid into that familiar space between Rick’s arms. 

“J-Jesus, wartime, you’re freezing.” he said, running his palms vigorously over their back and shoulders in an effort to warm them up. It didn’t help much. Eris ducked their face against his chest, trying to ignore how cold his skin already felt. 

“You’re not- not much better. Th-th-those heat packs wear off yet?”

“While ago, yeah.”

“And you did- didn’t tell me?” 

“I’m f-fine.” Rick insisted, though he was shivering so violently it looked painful. Eris twisted around, looking at him for a long, scrutinizing moment. 

“Your lips are blue.”

“Hm. Kiss it better?” he mumbled. Eris didn’t know how he could still find humor in a situation like this. Or maybe the cold had just gotten to his brain, and he was so loopy he didn’t know where he was anymore. 

She hoped it was the first one.

“Th-think this is the only circumstance that advice could- could actually help,” Eris replied, and leaned in to make good on that promise. If it helped, it helped. And if nothing else, they didn’t want to freeze to death before they got another chance. 

He knew he should’ve gotten right back up. Maybe he couldn’t break through the hinges, but he’d be damned if he died without trying. They needed to get moving again. The longer they waited, the harder it would be to…

But she found herself curling into Rick’s chest, the last spark of warmth amidst the cold. Breaking through the hinges was useless. She’d seen it from the beginning. He’d never get through so much steel before he froze to death, and he cost himself precious time and energy by trying. Now it all came down to the whims of the universe, if rescue would come in time to spare their lives.

“Out of all the ways I th-thought I’d go out…” Eris mumbled, tucking his knees to his chest in an attempt to preserve that last bloom of heat between his ribs. 

“We’ll be f-fine.” Rick replied, though he didn’t sound like he really believed it, “Someone will… will c-come find us.”

Eris just shook their head. Shivering racked their body in waves, and they could feel the same from Rick right beside him. His skin had gone pale too, and rough with prickling goosebumps. Neither of them were dressed for the cold - not when they’d been sent to Cuba, that was for damn sure.

They reached for Rick’s hands, unprotected from the cold. Already his knuckles were pink and swollen, and Eris fought the urge to grimace at the thought. Rick’s fingers were cold, the skin under his fingernails tinted vaguely blue. Eris wondered how long it would be before he was in real danger of frostbite - with the modern world, and its many advances in temperature control, it had been a long time since she’d witnessed it firsthand. She folded her fingers around his own, hoping to share a little of her warmth. 

“What do you think?” Rick murmured, some time later.  Eris lifted his head just enough to shoot him a vaguely confused look. He let out a dry, humorless laugh before he continued, “Think I’ll start losing fingers first, or toes?”

“Mm. No. It’ll be- be your nose and ears f-first. And cheeks. Everyone for- forgets about those.”

“Hm. Th-think you’d still want me without my good l-looks?”

“I duh- dunno. You’d b-be a lot less pretty without your nose.”

“You sh-sure?” Rick asked, with the same low ripple of humor, “C-cause I know you like that- that guy in the new ap- ’pocalypse show…”

“It’s the accent.” Eris muttered, though they found a faint smile creeping onto their face. Vague contentment swirled deep within their chest. He almost didn’t feel the cold. Maybe he’d gotten used to it. 

“The accent, the hat, the f-fact that he’s good with a g-gun… sound like s-someone you know?”

“Don’t get- get cocky, cowboy.”

“Just pr-provin’ my point.”

“Sh-shut up.” 

Rick laughed a little, deep in his chest. It sounded weary. He shifted just a little, and pressed his frigid lips to Eris’ temple. They could still feel him shivering, though it had shifted from a harsh shudder to a weak, tight trembling. That was probably a bad sign. 

How long had they been in here? Ten minutes? Twenty? Longer?

Surely someone must have noticed by now. Surely someone was on the way - DuBois, or Harley, one of those who seemed to care about Rick nearly as much as Eris did. They, with their dogged loyalty, wouldn’t leave without him. It was just a matter of time before that great heavy door swung open, and warm air rushed in.

In the old days, hypothermia would be treated with a good warm bath, and several cups of hot, sweetened tea to warm the insides. Eris didn’t know what the new procedures were. He wasn’t sure it mattered. They had to be more effective than they were in the old days, whatever they were. Maybe that meant they had a few more minutes to spare.

“Y’know what would… would feel really good r’now?” Rick mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. The chattering of his teeth had stopped, but now he slurred his words like a drunk. His head leaned heavily against Eris’ own, as if he didn't have the strength to even hold it upright.

This was bad. Eris knew this was bad. They knew, from the back of their mind, that this was about the time they needed to prod him up for a few jumping jacks, a lap or two around the freezer, get the blood flowing again… but they couldn’t muster the energy to get moving. 

Keep him talking. That was something. However bad it was that he wasn't moving, it would be worse if he were unconscious. That much… that much she could manage. 

“What?”

“Nice… nice long soak in a hot tub. R’even jus’... jus’ going home n’ snuggling in bed. Would be nice.”

“Yeah. That sounds good. Let’s do it.” Maybe he was slurring his words too. He couldn't tell. It didn't really make a difference. “Soon as we get out of here. Straight home. Straight to bed. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rick sighed, and his arms tightened around them just for a moment, “Yeah… that would be good.”

And with that, his grip went slack and the weight of his body fell heavy against them. Eris jolted up, a spark of renewed energy coaxing them to twist around and look at him. His skin was pale, almost blue, puffy and swollen in places. Splashes of crimson decorated his face, darker across his nose and cheeks. He was still breathing, but the rhythm was slow and weak. 

“No, no, hey-” Eris mumbled, reaching for him in a desperate attempt to rouse him, “Rick- hey, talk to me. Keep talking, cowboy. Tell me the rest.”

Rick’s eyelids flickered at the sound of her voice, and he took in a sharper breath.

“The rest…?”

“Yeah. The rest. What are we… what are we gonna do next?”

“Mm. Maybe food… order some food. Some’n hot.”

“Soup?”

“Yeah. Tomato soup. N’ grilled cheese. Like m’mom used t’make.”

“That sounds nice, cowboy. Really nice.” Eris sighed, and ran their thumbs along his red, swollen knuckles, “We’ll get you warmed up soon.”

He didn’t respond to that, and Eris realized a moment later that he’d lapsed back into unconsciousness. This was a losing battle. She could feel the situation slipping out of her grasp, trickling between her fingers like a handful of sand. He hated this feeling. What he wouldn’t give for something he could slash down, the problem solved with nothing more than a blade and a spray of blood. Sitting here, waiting for death, felt all too much like giving up.

She ducked her head against his chest, counting every weak heartbeat she heard. Her fingers had curled into arthritic claws, still wrapped around Rick’s hands. Exhaustion dragged at her all the same, but she was determined not to let her eyes fall closed. 

Something crept at the back of his mind, more intuition than anything else. Eris forced his mind to churn a little faster. Something… something behind the door. Footsteps. Voices. 

With the last of their strength, they twisted, and kicked one leg out at the door. The first strike caught the jamb, and sent a shockwave of pain rattling up through their entire body. Eris tried again. This one caught the door itself, with a heavy metallic thud like a dampened gong. 

On the other side, the scuffling and chattering grew louder. Eris drew his legs back up to his chest, the last of his energy spent. He let out a shuddering breath, clinging with his frozen fingers to Rick’s unconscious form. 

“I told you, cowboy,” they whispered, “We’ll get you warmed up soon.”

And the door swung open.

[wheredostarsgowhenyoudie]

Wooooh. Just finished The Last Immortal. :) :) :)

And since it is completed, I am now allowed to give spoilers from the novel Shen Yin or Hidden God by Xing Ling hahahhaa. Gosh, you don't know how much I wanted to fangirl with someone over this hahha!!

Thing is, I love the drama! I love the story and many more things about it.

But dang it, because the novel is even more heartbreaking.

WARNING: NOVEL SPOILERS BELOW. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. (Many things are not included/changed in the drama, so this may seem unfamiliar.)

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Disclaimer: Let it be said that it was very, very hard to find good english translations for this novel. I had to endure reading robot and google translation. XD

The points below are spoilers I noted from what I understood of what I have read.

Low and behold...

1) Yuan Qi's sacrifice

🪷A thousand years ago, when Yuan Qi used the spirit sword to punish A Yin, Yuan Qi had already been dead.

See, the power of chaos can bring the immortal souls to life. So when Gu Jin became a god, he used his power to ensure the reborn of everyone they lost on Daze Mountain. He did it at the expense of his own life.

Feng Yin learned this too late.

2) The last battles

🪷Feng Yin joined the contest for the role of heavenly empress. Ajiu disguised himself to join it with her. They were together fighting Hua Shu and Hua Mo.

While this was happening, Yuan Qi was using all he has to seal the purgatory. Bibo was with him, his heart breaking at learning that Yuan Qi only had a body because of the Spirit Sword. All that he was seeing was nothing but a piece of a soul still fighting to save the three realms.

His friend Yuan Qi had long been gone. The power of chaos was no more.

Now, these next parts are from the epilogues.

3) Feng Yin's Dreams

🪷After Yuan Qi's death, Feng Yin keeps dreaming about him. In those dreams, Yuan Qi will tell her, "As long as you're here, I will always be by your side. Believe me, I will never leave you."

4) Ayin's forgotten lifetimes

Did you ever wonder what happened to Ayin in all those lifetimes she had lived in her tribulations?

Remember in the drama how Yuan Qi visited every reborn immortal from Daze Mountain but they couldn't seem to remember him?

🪷 In Shen Yin, that piece of Yuan Qi that clings with A Yin, the very part of him that saved himself in the drama, that piece had been with Ayin in every lifetime in all the tribulations that she had.

In every lifetime that she lived, there was a person who had been a constant, always with her, always looking after her, always trying to save her and failing no matter how hard he tried.

He always looked after her from one lifetime to another. But at every end, he took away her memories of him.

5) Feng Yin goes to the god realm

🪷Feng Yin forced her way into the god realm to plead Gu Jin's parents for help.

But Shang Gu just told her that Yuan Qi is her own flesh and blood. If she could save him, she would have done so already. She told Feng Yin to go back as it wasn't her time to enter the god realm yet.

6) Uncle Devil God

🪷 The devil god appeared before Feng Yin. He said he's there to sight see. Oh, and he also wants to save his eldest nephew, Yuan Qi, who doesn't even look at him.

Feng Yin had no qualms believing the devil god if he says he can really save Yuan Qi. It made the devil god very amused.

The devil god was kind enough to reveal the fact that long ago, when Feng Yin's souls were scattered into the world, Yuan Qi took a piece of his soul for her. And this soul has been with her all along. The power of chaos had been with her affecting her karma in every reincarnation. Yuan Qi's soul and Feng Yin's soul were intertwined. So if she lives, then he would not die.

When Feng Yin asked him why he's telling her all these, the devil god answered that many years ago, a man told him that a devil is a devil and will never be recognized by all spirit and is meant to temper the spirits. He believed all these and so he played his role. But Feng Yin showed him that fate can be changed, and so he wants to give it a try.

Feng Yin used that piece to revive Yuan Qi.

7) Scheming true god in-laws

🪷Meanwhile, in the god realm, Bai Jue is asking Sang gu why she didn't just tell Feng Yin that Yuan Qi could be saved when she came for them.

Shang Gu replied that the son (P.S. she actually calls Yuan Qi 'bastard' lol) is just like his father. He lives as he says and dies at he says. She also wanted to teach her daughter-in-law (aka Feng Yin).

They could not help teasing each other, as always. It was cute haha.

8) Yuan Qi and Feng Yin's married life

🪷In the novel, they had a daughter and Yuan Qi calls her princess. They banter about who she takes after, and Feng Yin asks him who is more important, her or their daughter? XD

When said daughter goes missing, the hint is for them to look where there are handsome immortals. Hahhahaa.

She totally took after them.

Shen Yin link:

Epilogue link:

NOTE: Before you freak out, those links are Chinese and Indonesian. YES, I KNOW. I did say I had to read robot and google translate lol. So to read it in your language, log in to google. Open the link in mobile. At the upper right of the google tab, click on the three consecutive dots and select 'Translate' (to English or whatever language you need it translated).

Enjoy! :)

[yuurivoice]

Just wanted to say that even though I do avoid exploring any tags related to me, I do absolutely recognize and appreciate a ton of you who regularly post awesome art, headcanons, and memes.

A lot of that is thanks to people sharing those fun, awesome things! Reblogs where I end up seeing them on mutuals blogs and stuff helps, so share and gas each other up!

There are people in this community that have been here for years, who have seen this entire corner of the internet shift and grow for better or worse. The OGs who have been around before I ever made this blog know how far the community has come, how much it's stayed the same, and how much it has changed. And I've grown along with it. My aspirations and hopes and creativity has evolved so much from just doing silly little posts as an anime twink to having a full blown web series.

Despite that growth, I am still just a guy trying to tell his stories and make some voices while doing it. I have a small team around me, and without them this would be even more difficult than it already is. We're not corporate, we're independent artists and freelancers and creatives just trying to do cool stuff, and are lucky enough that something worked.

I've failed so much over the course of my life. You see the results of things, and for the most part are incredibly kind and supportive. Thousands upon thousands have appreciated my work in one way or another, and that's a dream come true for me. I never bothered wanting anything more in my life than to share stories with people. I didn't have a bucket list, or many aspirations. I was at a dead end and ready to just give up. That mentality and the time spent going in circles did a lot of damage over time.

But you found me, whether it was 6 years ago or a week ago, and whatever support and vibes you've sent my way have mattered. I won't ever lose sight of that.

I wanted to say that because I know I am not as ingrained into my own community as an active participant and that may make me seem distant, or stuck up, or something. It's not for any sort of disdain or lack of appreciation though, it's just me, and trying to keep my head clear.

You don't get an instruction manual when you're suddenly a niche internet micro celebrity. They don't tell you about scrolling through fan art at 3am and then seeing the nastiest, most mean spirited, bad faith takes about your work you've ever seen. Shit is weird, man. And it's not for me, because I give way too much of a shit about my art, and that's a flaw. My skin has gotten thicker over the years, but what happens on days when your mental health is in the shitter? Weeks where I've been fighting my demons and losing can't afford me the grace to step on a weird internet landmine brought on by the symptoms of being a creative trying and failing and succeeding all at once in a world where everyone on the internet has an opinion they want to shout into the void.

And people can do that! It's my responsibility to look after myself and set those boundaries for my own comfort, not anyone's fault for just doing their thing on the internet, ya know? Once you put yourself out there, you have to accept that people are gonna people. Same irl, shit, I've been a fat kid my whole life, I'm certainly no stranger to people being obscenely rude for no reason other than they like the sound of their own voice.

I just wanted y'all to know that even though we're well beyond the "little internet family" vibes that some creators foster, I'm not up in some ivory tower (ha, said the thing) looking down like a curmudgeon. I am rooting especially hard for all the fellow creatives out there on their own journeys, wanting to share their passion and dreams with the world as well. I want you to win, and succeed, and find fulfillment with whatever drives you to make things.

Guess I was in my feelings a little bit and just wanted to say that I do see many of you and am thankful you've allowed me to play some kind of role in entertaining, comforting, or inspiring you. That means the world to me.

[thehollowrp]

“tell me, atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?”

× name: razah dejarin × age: 50 × gender identity: cis man × sexuality: demisexual/demiromantic × face claim: idris elba × faction: the flow × element: earth × district: crozer haven × traits: steadfast, altruistic, conscientious, stoic, immutable, placid

BLURB

a thousand years it feels like you've been waiting to see the sun rise again over the world, frozen in ice and a dusty relic beneath a falling of earth and leaves but you have never faltered. you are steady when the world shakes and you will continue to hold everything upon your shoulders with nary a shrug and if no one ever knows how much you've bled for them that is fine by you: you don't do it for glory.

BIO

coming into existence some five millennia ago, razah dejarin had bore witness  and been victim to the ruination of the foundation, being around 40 years old during the time of its occurrence. although currently a fact unspoken & unknown, razah had a family of his own once—a headstrong but loving wife and a mischievous but spritely daughter. both had fallen victim to the disastrous events that marked the end of the foundation, as well as the beginning to razah’s eternal repentance for having failed to protect the ones he had cherished the most.

his search for redemption had led him to trilane woods where he’d lived and stayed as a recluse for most of his days. sensitive to the earth he was, razah felt something malignant budding in the woods. he had taken it upon himself to stop, or at least curb, the growing maleficence threatening to overrun the forest. a thankless and demanding job, it was also the best and only way he knew to help the people, being the last line of defense. no one had an inkling of exactly who he was, only recognized as the “hooded figure” of trilane and not even by birth name or face. he would wordlessly help those who’d unwittingly get themselves lost in the woods, not asking for anything in exchange even though he might’ve very well just saved their lives. 

it was in this isolated pursuit that he had inadvertently discovered his unique talent: the ability to channel more than one element. other than this primary element, he had mastered fire during his stay in trilane woods, his earthy proclivity tempering what would otherwise be a feral element. he had never felt the need nor the call to master any more than that—albeit he does dabble in the moon element for the purposes of his hunt in the woods—as he believes in the old adage of absolute power corrupts. 

such was razah’s days, fighting a silent and solitary battle, until he was faced with the cold hard truth that he in solus could not withstand whatever wickedness was continuing to fester in the woods despite his best efforts. after getting convinced to relocate to caelberk, he also joined the flow to enlist their help in researching the corruption in the woods and, most especially, figuring out the root of it all which has eluded him for many a year. he had yet to give up on his self-given quest that started years ago and would still go on excursions to the highly dangerous area to try and cleanse it. only this time, he isn’t so alone anymore. 

with the death of the mason bringing inevitable chaos and unbalance to their world, razah’s attention on trilane woods splits as he gets unwittingly dragged into the wars of the factions. somehow, he is aware of a greater threat lying elsewhere—although not exactly what or who—and a civil war is the last thing that they needed. while he continues to advocate for it in his own way, it is paid no heed by most. razah fears a second foundation might be coming and he’d give anything to prevent that from happening, even his life.

CONNECTIONS

harmonia ↪ a thousand lives you’ve seen together it didn’t matter that you two never really had any reason to converse, at some point the age of a person within the realm of the hollow becomes so that the people you remember by sight are fewer and further between. you see harmonia with the eyes of someone who has witnessed as many horrors as one another and are trying to keep your heads above water. whether this friendship will evolve into anything more than a passing fancy is anyone’s guess, even yours.

ourea ↪ leaves casting shadows on the forest floor happenstance brought you two together: a moment of her being lost in the woods and stumbling upon your relative hermitage with the soft, doe-like gaze of a woman new to the world though she could not have been too young. you saw in her a reflection of your failings — the people you lost, the things you failed to complete — and after months of her showing up to pepper you with questions about the earth element and, in all honesty, just generally being your space... you found family. she is the only thing you have that comes close to what you had and you will stop at nothing to keep her safe.

pallas ↪ an unwanted fire in the dark you see them as they see you, but you also see them seeing you when they think you cannot. you trust very few people and they would be at the bottom of the untrustworthy barrel. you know there is something off about them, but are hard pressed to prove it outright. you will continue to try, because everyone knows when fire meets earth you get something completely different and rare.

pinterest — playlist

[randomfuxkingstories]

*based in and off the PJO universe with fantasy added*

“you can’t make the decision for me or take it away from me Al-, Gods dammit we are fated mates!” he shouts, not angry but desperate. he takes a deep breath then continues.

“you keep saying that we won’t last long, but if that were true the Gods wouldn’t have made us fated mates.”

she turns to the man she loved. he was not human but he was also not a demigod.

“you don’t understand yet but you will.”

he scoffs at her angrily, “please i beg of you, stop speaking in riddles and just tell me what you mean”

he looks into her eyes and notices tears that begin to form - she had never cried.

“i’m going to die soon.”

and just like that, his world had ended.

“what do you mean? are you sick? how could you be sick, your father is a royal fae and your mother is the Goddess Hecate. there’s no way you could be sick, please tell me you are not sick!”

“i’m not sick.”

“then how are you dying?”

she takes a deep breath and grabs his hand. they now stand at the top of the hill, looking down at the camp.

the sight was beautiful. there was a full moon high up, with the stars shining beautifully, their lights reflecting from the lake. the hill was a part of a meadow, with lush flora - flowers of all kinds, tall and wild grass and trees so large and beautiful there was no way they weren’t there for hundreds of years.

his beloved mate standing there, holding his hand and wearing the bracelet he had gotten her. she was wearing one of his hoodies (he remembers when she introduced him to hoodies on their trip in the mortal realm) with her hair loose (it never is).

had this been a different conversation, the night would have been as beautiful as the sight.

“take a look at the camp”, she reaches her hand to his face and turns his head slightly. “tell me, how many adults do you see?”

he looks and searches, but he can’t find any.

“every year, plenty of demigod children walk into camp, and yet the only adults in this camp are Chiron and Mr. D. do you know why?”

he looks at her, waiting for her to answer - Gods know he couldn’t.

“we’re all our own little Greek tragedies. all our stories end in an untimely death - no matter how hard we fight. the Gods claim that demigods are the result of love, but they are just breeding soldiers”, she looks away from him and turns to the camp.

“when you pray to the Gods, you get assistance. when we pray to the Gods, they steer us closer to our deaths. we all have our own stories, each intricate and filled with betrayal, love, friendship and each ends in our death - an early death”

she turn back to him, and there are tears starting to fall down his cheeks. she wipes them away, smiles slightly and holds his face in the palm of her hands.

“i am not dying of disease, my love. i am dying because i exist when i shouldn’t. this is the debt i have to pay because the Gods were reckless. i want to spend thousands of full moons with you, i want us to have a wedding, i want us to kidnap all the animals we can together and i want to rule with you but i cannot because my existence was cursed the minute i was born and i cannot bear to curse you as well”.

they are both crying now, nothing able to hold back their tears.

“if i have another life after i die, my love, i will seek you out so that we may have at least one life together - but this life won’t be it”

he chokes back a sob, shaking his head. he looks down and breathes roughly before suddenly calming.

he looks back into her eyes. his are determined and set.

“i accept your curse - i will die without you, regardless if it is because you leave me now or later.”

he cups her cheeks now, and brings his forehead to hers.

“i will also fight your curse, because i refuse to let you go without a fight.”

and then he kisses her. hard, yet gentle - full of passion, promise and most importantly, full of tomorrow.

[heiseidominantation]

Heisei Project -Another Side- "Izanami Suppression Military History Another"

Writer: Zips, Illustration: Heiwa, Background: No.734

"...I don't like this. I just came to the dojo to find something I left behind."

Hirokina looked at me in amazement in the moonlight coming in through the window. I wonder when he started to look like this at me.

"Are you going to win and run as you are!?"

This was the last chance, though the dojo's rules prohibited private relations. I couldn't let him go like this.

I held up a bamboo sword and pointed the engraving point at Hirokina's eyebrows. Hirokina's eyebrows moved for a moment.

I've never beaten Hirokina in swordplay this year. We had trained together since we were young, but at some point, the difference in ability began to widen, and now we couldn't understand it. I've lost a lot of height, too.

"Hurry up and hold this sword..."

Hirokina opened his mouth with his stunned eyes intact.

"I knew Sana was training yourself like this, but... no matter how hard you try, there's something you can't overcome."

Yes, no matter how hard I trained, I couldn't beat Hirokina.

I still didn't feel like I could win this last battle. Actually, I lost to him the day before yesterday. But he's leaving this dojo today... I've always lost, but I had to win at the very end.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Get ready!"

I threw a bamboo sword at Hirokina, and before he could hold it, I began to pause.

But maybe I would lose. He couldn't catch a bamboo sword that was thrown suddenly, but I was probably going to lose. If I thought I was finally done, I would probably lose even though I was holding the tip of my sword. All my swords wouldn't strike Hirokina, even if I simulated all kinds of sword muscles.

Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose. Lose.

There was no pattern in my attacks, and I only drove the bamboo sword hard. However, all of this was passed by Hirokina.

Whether I won or lost, it was the last time I would ever have a sword-to-sword fight with him, and when I thought about how many thousands of things I had been repeating every day, I got angry at Hirokina for not being serious about the last battle.

"Hit me! You can't compete with me!"

No, was this feeling anger? Maybe it was frustration because Hirokina wasn't fighting back. Or maybe it was the loneliness of losing a close friend. Anyway, I didn't think I could sort out this feeling right now. Eventually, the intense emotions made my vision go out of my sight, and an intense look came down.

It was an instant from there. I couldn't react because Hirokina got involved all at once, so I got a blow in the torso and stopped breathing because of the intensity of my stomach. Hirokina held me as I was about to fall down and put out his free hand to my back. I managed to get my breath back, but my consciousness just pulled out.

It was probably only for a moment that I had fainted. Hirokina was still standing next to me.

"—That was too much of a surprise even for you, wasn't it...?"

As I rolled to the end of the dojo, I couldn't understand the look Hirokina gave me in the moonlight. I'm glad I didn't know. He must have been looking at me again with his dumbfounded eyes.

"I-I... really wanted to beat you no matter what..."

My voice rose in spite of myself, and my throat grew hot as if it had been tightened. The surprise was indeed a little cowardly.

"Haha."

Hirokina murmured as if he laughed briefly.

"Sana will never beat me."

He was leaving this dojo today. I couldn't beat him. We couldn't even sharpen our blades together anymore.

I couldn't beat him. It was frustrating, after all.

Hey, what does my face look like now?

"Hirokina... Did you find what you forgot...?"

"No..."

"I don't think so."

—I still remembered that day. I haven't seen Hirokina since then, and I couldn't hear rumors of the wind. His friends in the dojo had ceased to mention his name as if they had forgotten him.

But I never forgot him. There was no way I could forget.

For some reason, I was working with others, and I was a little embarrassed by the name "Heisei Snipers", but even in this world, I would continue to wield this sword. If I continued to practice swordsmanship, the day would surely come when we would see each other again.

Could we talk as close friends again then? No, we might meet as enemies.

I'll be the next one to win, so either way is fine with me.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Calm Prompt List

What a blessing to feel your love

Twilight moments with you

Won’t you leave all your fears at the edge of the world

You’re the only one I’d do this for

The demons we’re running from, they are begging to stay

Angel, with the gun in your hand

I only light up when cameras are flashin’

Diggin’ my grave to get a reaction

I’ll give you my permission, you’ll always be forgiven

When you’re craving something sweeter than the words I left in your mouth

Shout out to the old me and everything he showed me

Had to fuck it up before I really got to know me

Never a night alone, anywhere you wanna go

Woke up in the morning wearing someone else’s clothes

Pictures in my phone with people I don’t know

Woke up in the morning, how the hell’d I make it home?

And they wondered how long I could keep it up

But I wondered if I ever, if I’d ever get enough

And I did some shit I never should’ve done

I would do it over now

Look into the mirror, take the punches that I throw

Is it easier to stay? Is it easier to go?

But I know that I’m never, ever gonna change and you know you don’t want it any other way

Why do we always gotta run away?

It’s like we’re looking for the same thing

Yeah, do we really gotta do this now?

I love you so much that I hate you

Right now, it’s so hard to blame you cause you’re so damn beautiful

Every time that you say you’re gonna leave, that’s when you get the very best of me

The hardest part of all is that we’re only built to fall

Some days, you’re the only thing I know

Sometimes, you’re a stranger in my bed

Don’t know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away then beg me to stay

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Fight so dirty, but your love so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Some days, you’re the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You’re looking at me like you don’t know who I am

And I can see it in your face, you’ve got a side you can’t explain

I love it when you wear your hair down over your shoulder

Cause I know where tonight is going

You’re the only one who makes me — Every time we —

You know you are my favorite fantasy

You’re tellin’ me you wanna come over

You’ve got a million reasons to hesitate

But darling, the future is better than yesterday

I wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you

But I’ll build a house out of the mess and all of the broken pieces

I’ll give you the best years

I wanna hold your hair when you drink too much, carry you home when you cannot stand up

I wanna hold your hand while we’re growing up

I love you, you love me, but not in the same way

We fuck and we fight, then you call me a psycho

I walk out the door, but you won’t let me let go

But I can’t forget you and I’ll always let you

I know you think I’m bulletproof but you know how to hurt me too

Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you

You’re the only thing that I think I got right

When the sun goes down we all get lonely

Killing me slow with the words you wrote

I don’t think I like me anymore, will someone tell me who I was before?

Down on my knees, I’ll always follow, I promise you, until the end of time

Can I start another life, with you?

When I wake up in a haze and I haven’t slept in days, you’re a thousand miles away

If you can’t find another reason to stay

I’m gonna always have a lonely heart

I hope you think of me high

I know your friends don’t like me

Today I called to tell you that I’m changing

I need to stop letting me down

Stained hearts trying to find a home, looking for something real

You’re the only one that makes me feel alive

You’re the only one that matters

I don’t wanna kill my time with somebody else

He’s only got half of your heart cause I’ve got the other part

[folkloreguk]

💌🧸 Brother's Best Friend

A/N: Got this request a while ago and now I'm wondering why I've never written this trope before bc this was so fun??? Lmk how you liked it! x

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), smut, size/strength kink??, choking, dom!bias (it’s kinda playful tho), brother's best friend!au, sneaking around, play fighting, lowkey getting caught but not directly?

words: ~ 4.1 k

disclaimer: I don’t mean for the age gap to be gigantic…I’m talking about anything from 1-2 years maximum tbh!!! Anything else would be weird and I’m not about that! They’re also both obviously consenting adults!

[H/N means 'his (bias) name']

In youreyes, your first meeting had been a disaster. The new spider man movie had been released only days ago, and you were adamant on seeing it. And to your luck, your older brother and his best friend had already made plans to watch it together. As a little sister, you were treated like the baby of the family, and it didn’t matter that you were far from being an infant anymore. So naturally, your brother had been condemned by your parents to bring you along. He declared his distaste in your presence by attempting to ignore you, but you were used to that. Just like you were aware of his bad moods, you knew he could change within minutes and magically turn into the sweetest, most caring big brother you could wish for.

Whatever. You didn’t need his approval to enjoy the trip to the movie theater, you told yourself. Had it not been for his best friend, who you hadn’t seen in ages. H/N and you had never properly spoken before, and the last time you saw him he had been an awkward, prepubescent boy who had appeared at your door to pick up your brother for a playdate. There was no trace of immaturity now. Instead, it was you who had morphed into an awkward, shy mess at the sight of him.

His ‘hello’ had a warm and deep melody to it which swooped you up in his aura so suddenly, you had no time to prepare. Had his smile always been this stupidly charming? Hell, it was so bright, you had to meticulously inspect the ground every time he sent a grin your way. When before you hadn’t felt guilty for being a bother, you now sure did. What impression would you leave, trailing behind the older boys like a lost puppy? What would he take you for? The annoying little sister who didn’t have friends of her own? The mood-killer, who wouldn’t understand any of the boys’ inside jokes? The anti-social, weird girl who was obsessed with fictional men, like people loved to belittle teenage girls with normal interests?

As things turned out, his initial opinion of you was quite the opposite. If only you could have spied into his brain, it would have saved you a landslide of worry. Although your brother took up all of H/N’s attention before the movie started, he noticed you a good amount. To be precise, you blew him away at first sight. Your cute laugh won him over in a matter of seconds and he liked that your merch sweater could have been stolen straight out of his own closet. He didn’t want to feel too smug, but the way you diverted your eyes away from him whenever he looked in your direction only boosted his confidence further.

Your brother might have warned him. Stay away from her. She’s off limits for you. But not a thousand vicious, older brothers could have kept him from trying to get to you. It was up to you, after all, whether you wanted him around or not, and not to your brother. From that day on, H/N didn’t skip out on a chance to see you, even if it meant merely an exchange of a few words, or a simple greeting. And to his luck, you turned out to be equally as enraptured by him.

There was something about the untouchable, the forbidden, that attracted him to you even more. Plus, you were simply too precious to forget about. One morning, you dropped off a beanie at his place, which he had left at your house after meeting with your big brother the previous day. When he had asked if he could drive you to school as a thank you, you happily accepted. You had marked that day as the first day of your new life. First, it was harmless flirting. To be honest, you were under the impression he was merely messing with you. Because you were the cute little sister of his best friend. Because you would turn into an awkward shell of a person who had lost all ability to articulate, and your cheeks would burn as if they were on fire, whenever he charmed you.

But the flirting slowly reached newer levels, and before you knew it you were discussing your sexual fantasies over text messages and giving him bedroom eyes as you opened the front door for him. “H/N’s here!” you would then shout to your big brother. Then you would watch the two boys walk off to your brother’s room, pondering why life had to be this way for you. It wasn’t fair. Siblings were supposed to share, right? Why did you have to wait your turn until after midnight, when no one would notice, to spend time with H/N?

But to H/N, the sneaking around in the middle of the night and the secret messages you sent to each other, it all added to the excitement. Surely, there were days on which he wished he could just break the truth to your brother. The impact it could have on their friendship was enough intimidation for him to refrain, though. Things were better off this way, for now.

Today was no exception to your usual lies. When your brother asked if you would go out with him to do some shopping, you had played the victim and feigned a stomachache. Your parents wouldn’t be home all weekend. You’d have been stupid to waste a perfect opportunity like that. Who knew when you could have H/N in your bed the next time? Normally, you were restricted to his car, or to his bed in the dark of night. Yes, those places had something enticing at first glance. But the backseat of a car was only enjoyable for so many clandestine meetings. So today you notified him of your golden opportunity before your brother had even walked out the door.

The moment H/N texted you that he was outside your home, you opened the front door and dragged him to your room.

“Are you in control today, little one?” he asked, closing the bedroom door after you.

“Why are you asking that?” you replied, not wanting to talk at all but rather do so much more productive things.

“I don’t know…perhaps because you haven’t let me say a word since I came through the door,” he said.

“Right. Maybe I’m planning on tying you up, blindfolding you, and torturing you with ice and wax,” you joked in a casual tone, despite not usually requesting such graphic ideas.

“I don’t know if I’d let you do that,” he grinned with raised eyebrows. “Besides, I know you’d rather be at the receiving end of that. It’s a sweet idea, though. If we had some more time…”

“Think you could get away from me if I tied you up?” you said, but he was towering over you with the calmness of a king who knew he reigned over the situation.

“We both know I’m stronger than you, doll,” he said. You didn’t like it when boys called you weak. But you’d let it slide, knowing he was only joking and would never underestimate you outside of the bedroom. He put his lips right up to yours, so you felt his breath on them. His fingers came up to cup your face, but then slowly inched to your neck. When they closed around your neck, putting the slightest amount of pressure on your skin, you whimpered quietly.

“Need reminding?” he asked. As much pent-up frustration you had, and as much as your stomach was flipping upside down from how badly you needed him, you just had to play with him. You knew it would make for more fun.

“I think- “ you started, with a grin. Then you grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him backwards, until he was stumbling. Although caught off guard, he was quick to pull you along with him as he fell onto your bed. You landed on top of him with a small squeal.

“Go on, let’s see who can throw the other off the bed first,” he teased with a superiority that only spurred you on. Then again, you would always be in the mood for the oldest childhood game you had ever known. Only now it wasn’t your brother, but his best friend you were playing against. It added a layer of excitement, and after only seconds, giggles had overtaken you as you struggled in his grip.

“No tickling is allowed,” you said. He nodded obediently with a smirk that told you he might not abide by your rules.

At first, you had attempted to hold him down by his arms. But your legs tangled, and he pushed his chest up against yours, like he was about to flip you over. Your plan seemed to be working only momentarily. You groaned a little as he grabbed your wrists swiftly and held his stance against your attempt to pull his upper body to the side.

“Cute,” he said. That’s when you realized, he was barely struggling, barely trying, even. While you were giving your most, he smirked like he was watching a kitten trying to fight a lion. It was child’s play to him, keeping you in check. Literally. With an annoying expression of amusement on his face, he let you have the upper hand for a while. Then, as if you had never had an ounce of advantage, he turned it around and pulled you into him. His eyes suggested he might just send you tumbling down onto the floor any moment now. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to give up so easily. Taking your chances, you let go of his arms and moved sideways, so you could have your go at pushing him towards the edge of the mattress.

“I don’t think so,” he said. Suddenly, he bear-hugged your body and rolled you both over. Before you could protest or defend yourself, your arm was dangling off the side of your bed and if you had moved a tiny bit further, you would have slid off the bedsheets and right onto your carpet. It was his turn to straddle you now. As if his actions hadn’t been enough declarations of his strength, he pinned your wrists to the bed above your head and gave you a challenging smirk.

“I was going to let you win, doll. But you weren’t trying hard enough,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

What were you going to do? He had you completely immobilized. “Just let it go, then. We get it, you’re super strong and super big and the coolest,” you said.

He seemed to take an instant liking to your declaration. “Say it again. This time minus the eye-rolling, sugar.”

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, trying to avoid the laughter that was threatening to come out. Could he read in your gaze how badly you wanted him to kiss you already? If he could, he wasn’t acting on it. Instead, he bent to the crook of your neck and spoke.

“Does it turn you on that I can overpower you?” his breath fanned your ear and you had to close your eyes to control yourself.

“Yes. Because I trust you,” you answered truthfully. The corner of his lips curled into a cocky grin.

“You know what? I think I’d rather you stay in bed with me instead of throwing you on the floor. There’s so many things we can do up here, isn’t that right, little one?” His lips brushed over your cheek and then over your lips as he spoke. The nickname had always made you weak in the knees and he knew it. When he finally enveloped your lips in a kiss, you swore you could feel an electric spark jump between the two of you. The mellowness of it turned into hunger rapidly, and as soon as his tongue flicked over your bottom lip, you whimpered like you hadn’t seen him in a year.

“Needy, are we?” he asked, running his hand up your sides and underneath your shirt. He could say that again. “Let’s get these off, then.”

The seconds in which you pulled off your clothes and couldn’t hang on his lips and feel his skin on your body should have been considered a form of torture in itself. Then, time always went by so much slower than usually.

When you had both shed off your clothes, he climbed back on top of you. Instead of straddling your hips he was now resting between your legs. There was nothing separating you from him, and it was apparent not only through the body heat that radiated off him. He reached down and whilst peppering kisses on your chest, slid his fingers through your slick arousal that was pooling in your core.

“You’re so wet,” he said in surprise, but couldn’t hide his approval and self-confidence in his voice.

“I know,” you said, rolling your eyes but simultaneously fighting the urge to moan at the smallest of touches he was teasing your with. “I’m so horny. Can’t we skip foreplay?”

“Poor doll,” he said. “I should’ve come over earlier, huh?”

“You know that wasn’t possible,” you said. With a desperate look, you pleaded him silently.

“I wanna taste you,” he said, but your put your hand on his cheek softly.

“Maybe later?” you said. “Please, I need to have you inside of me. Now.”

“You’re extra cute when you’re this needy,” he smiled. “Are there still condoms in your nightstand?”

You nodded and had never moved so fast to open a drawer in your life. Pretending to have any patience left, you waited for him to roll on the rubber.

“I love the way you look at me,” he said. “When you’re waiting for me. Could watch you for hours.”

“God, I hope you won’t. Come here, please?” you replied, making him chuckle. He lined himself up with your core, but then made no inclination to move ahead. His dark eyes and little head tilt told you everything.

“Don’t mess with me anymore,” you whined, reaching for the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Do it. H/N.”

“Beg for it.” His words twisted something in the pit of your stomach. Although you were burning with hunger, you could never say no to him. Then again, you were curious to see what would happen if you did.

“What if I don’t? Don’t you want to fuck me as much as I want it?” you challenged him. Something glinted in his eyes, and you knew you shouldn’t have even brought it up.

“I can always do this,” he said, and you followed his eyes down his body and to where he had wrapped his hand around his cock. Slowly, he jerked himself off, and you weren’t sure he was biting his lip because of the feeling or to discompose you. His small sigh should’ve been caused by you. This wasn’t what you had wanted. His tip was right by your slit. He could’ve pushed his length in so easily, and yet he wasn’t. Debating what to say, you kept your eyes trained on his hard member that looked so delicious in his hands. His deep groans rang in your ears. It didn’t take long for you to cave.

“Fuck. That should be me around you,” you said. “That should be my pussy you’re fucking and not your hands. Please.”

“Isn’t that right?” he said.

“Yes. Please, fuck me. I would feel so much better than your hands, and you know it. Please,” you whined. “I need you right now H/N. Please.”

You added another ‘please’ – for good measure – because the way his tongue darted out and licked his smirking lips could make you say anything if it would get him to fuck you.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” he said. “Think you can take me?”

“Yes, yes-, I can! Please, fuck me,” you said in a waterfall of words, and he chuckled handsomely.

“Good girl,” he said, running a gentle hand over your head. “If it’s too much you let me know.”

“As always.”

The tip of his cock gently pushed into your core, making you hold your breath as he entered you slowly. It caused you to feel every inch with every second. Your brain felt fuzzy, and you sighed gratefully at the relief.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he moaned. The carefulness in his thrusts paired with his moon eyes at you only remained that way for a few seconds. Then, he straightened up and grabbed your hips to drag you in closer. You moaned helplessly when he almost pulled out completely, so slowly it almost made you crazy, only to slam his length into you until his tip brushed against the deepest spot inside of you. It was an action he repeated over and over, until you were reduced to a puddle of desperate whimpers, and you clasped the bedsheets in your hands tightly.

“You like it this way, little one?” he asked. He was apparently finding enjoyment in your reaction. How you could barely keep your eyes open, and when you did, your eyeballs threatened to roll to the back of your head. How your fingers clenched around the closest plushie, and you cradled it against your chest in bliss.

“Yes- fuck,” you said. “Feels so good.”

Of course, right as you said this, he had to change things up. His thrusts turned lazy and messy as he leaned backwards slightly. With an equally lazy demeanor, his thumb flicked over your clit, rubbing circles on it.

“Let me hear you. Say my name,” he said, and you quietly moaned his name. You adored the way it sounded, voiced like this, with barely more than a breath underneath your soft tone. Now and then, his cock slipped out of you, making you clench around nothing and furthermore had you going completely out of your mind. When he would push himself into your opening again, it felt as if it was the first time he was entering you today. Except you felt it repeatedly, each time as incredible as the previous. Your mouth hung open, rendered speechless except for the little moans and whimpers sounding from your throat. There was a familiar knot beginning to form in your stomach, tying firmer with each passing minute.

As if he could read your mind, he decided then he was done with his sweet torture of teasing you to an orgasm. You couldn’t be mad at him, though, because what he had planned was just as perfect, if not better. His hands wandered to their original place on your sides, and he began to snap his hips into yours at a faster pace. A small cry of surprise left your lips, while he only smirked at you through heavy-lidded eyes. Impulsively, you lifted your legs a little, intensifying the feeling of his member roughly dragging through your velvet walls.

“H/N, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“Me too,” he replied, not slowing down for a second.

His broad frame towering over your body was a sight you would never get enough of and his gazes at you were hot enough that they could have stopped your heart in its tracks. A few strands of hair stuck to his forehead and there was a thin sheet of sweat on his neck. It all just made him more breathtaking to you. The slight pain from his nails digging into the skin on your waist was staggering, and you could barely wait to see the masterpiece of marks he would leave tonight.

You were a moaning mess, flying on cloud nine and simultaneously overwhelmed by his treatment of you. It clouded your mind at took over your whole body like you were made for him to fuck you. His length filled up your tight hole and he did it with such force that your whole body rocked into your mattress in a steady, fast-paced rhythm. He let go of your waist then and supported himself on his arm by the side of your head. When his other hand went to your neck you shuddered in anticipation.

“You should see yourself with my hand around your throat,” he said. “So pretty, little one.”

“We can do it in front of a mirror sometime- ,” you suggested, but were cut off at the end of the sentence as his fingers tightened on your neck. Instantly, the effect of it hit you. The lack of oxygen made your head swim in a sea of pleasure and the unrelenting desire to come. Through fluttering eyelids, you peeked up at him. The way he licked his lips and then clenched his jaw, the gorgeous shape of his collarbones and shoulders – you sometimes wondered if he was even real. Every so often he loosened his grip on you. When he did, you took gulps of air and then instantly whined for him to choke you again.

“Let go for me,” he said. “Show me your pretty face when I make you come. I’m fucking you well, aren’t I?”

You nodded as well as you could when he was gripping your throat and you couldn’t breathe properly at the moment. It didn’t matter you couldn’t talk. He was probably not expecting you to answer, either way. In a pleasure-induced trance, you closed your eyes and let it happen, like he had asked it from you. Your hazy consciousness barely registered that he was reaching his high with you. Too overcome were you, with your thighs trembling uncontrollably and your back arching off the mattress. He had let go of your neck and was riding out his own orgasm with sloppy thrusts that only sent you into another frenzy and had you whimpering his name softly. When he had finished too, he slowed down and pulled you into a gentle kiss, rubbing his nose against yours sweetly.

“That was amazing,” he said, and with a blissful hum you nodded. Your lips changed into a pout when he rolled off you and got up. You were tired of sending him back home so quickly. As he discarded the condom in the bin, you put on your most enchanting eyes, so he would have no other choice.

“Stay a little longer, please,” you asked. You knew he wanted to, as well. So although he was aware that your brother could return at any moment, he tumbled back into bed with you.

“Just for a little while,” he said. “Mhm…you’re so perfect to cuddle, baby.” His embrace was warm and his scent comforting, as he hummed a lovely melody. The soft touch of his fingers running through your hair lulled you right into a light sleep. You were awoken rather abruptly, and with half a heart attack.

“Hey Y/N, have you seen my charger- “ your brother’s voice suddenly broke through the silence and you wondered if you would have to pack up and leave the country after this sort of embarrassment.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, knowing well enough it was the dumbest thing you could have said. But who could blame you? You had only woken up two seconds ago.

“Really?” your brother asked. “Because I hear H/N sneak into our house so often lately, I’m starting to wonder if his parents threw him out.”

His tone was surprisingly calm.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” H/N said to your brother. “I thought you’d hate me and that we’d be over as friends.”

“I know I told you once to leave Y/N alone. But now…I guess it’s cool. She’s been in a great mood lately, and if that’s thanks to you, I think I can approve of you two. Although I’m not looking forward to being a third wheel, I think I can get used to it if I try hard enough,” your brother said. You couldn’t believe your ears, and involuntarily smiled like a fool. No more hiding. No more secrets.

“I stole your charger. I’m sorry,” you said then, making your brother roll his eyes. “It’s by the sofa in the living room.”

“Great. I needed a reason to leave anyway,” your brother said. “I might approve of you, but this situation is still too awkward. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, H/N?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the boy in your bed said.

“You’ll see me too!” you added as a joke, as your brother already walked away from the door.

“Unfortunately I will!” your brother shouted, with the unnerving tone only a big brother could possibly muster.

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes

Word count: 5,839

-------------------------

The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.

The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.

What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.

(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)

(Is there?)

When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.

All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.

Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.

This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.

“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”

“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”

“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”

“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.

“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”

“You still haven’t told us your name.”

“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”

“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”

“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t worry about nonentities.”

The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”

Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.

The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”

“I’m older than you!”

“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”

Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”

“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”

Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.

Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.

Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.

“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”

The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.

“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”

Du Crion pauses.

Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.

“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”

“Is there a point to this?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”

Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.

“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”

“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.

“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”

“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.

Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.

Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.

“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”

“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”

“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”

Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”

“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”

Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”

“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”

This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.

“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.

“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”

Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”

The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”

“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.

The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”

“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.

“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”

Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!

The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.

The unknown knight is better.

There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.

The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.

(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)

The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.

Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.

“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.

“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”

“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”

Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.

“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”

“Our ship was also shot down.”

The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.

“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.

Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.

“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”

“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”

The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”

-------------------------

Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.

“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”

“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”

“Buir says you have to go to medical.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”

“They can visit you in medical.”

“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”

“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”

“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”

“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”

Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.

“Is that a blaster wound?”

“No.”

“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”

“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”

“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”

“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”

“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”

Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”

The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”

“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.

The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”

Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.

“I’m just a knight--”

“General Skywalker.”

The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”

Jango’s going to wring his neck.

Right after he calls Shmi.

-------------------------

Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--

“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”

Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.

“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”

Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”

Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”

“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”

“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.

It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.

Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.

“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”

Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.

“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”

A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.

“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”

“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”

“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”

“So?”

The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”

“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”

“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.

“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.

“No, just regular ones.”

Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.

“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”

“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”

The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.

The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”

“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”

“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”

“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.

Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”

The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.

“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.

“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”

“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.

You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.

“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”

Komari dies a little more.

“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”

...oh no.

This one’s pretty.

The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.

“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.

“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”

“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”

Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”

“Well, some manners would be nice.”

“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”

Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.

Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.

“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”

Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”

“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”

“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”

“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”

Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.

“Buir?”

Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...

Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.

“They’re yours?”

That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.

“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”

It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.

“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”

“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”

Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”

Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.

The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.

“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”

“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”

Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Because you’ll lie?”

“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”

“Skywalker.”

“Mereel.”

The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.

Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.

-------------------------

Yan Dooku is having a Day.

He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.

Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.

(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)

(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)

“Hi.”

Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.

He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”

“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”

Child of the king.

He does remember that much from the briefing.

“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”

“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”

“The General is your father, then?”

“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”

“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.

“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”

“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”

“Probably.”

“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”

Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”

“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”

“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”

“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”

That’s... very personal.

“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.

She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”

The words are too old for a girl her size.

“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”

She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”

Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”

It’s a lot of information.

It’s confusing information.

It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.

“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”

“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”

“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.

She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”

“He’s sure of such a thing?”

“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”

Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?”

“No,” she says. “Ben did.”

The six-year-old.

“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.

“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”

Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”

“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”

Right. Togruta.

“And what was your father doing at that age?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”

Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.

That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.

Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.

It’s not confirmation, really, but...

Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.

“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”

“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”

“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”