#i struggled with the armor perspective and also making everything but his hair look like they were sunk down

[chromapipeweed]

Day 1: Elves

Not sure if Oropher actually became part of the marshes or not (I need to reread everything this year) but it was a really fun idea to draw.

@secondageweek

[ramzawrites]

Hey, so I'm having a really rough time rn (dealing with bs from my friend group, we have to take my really old dog to the vet today bc we found blood in her pee and we're scared that she won't make it this time, I'm struggling with my mental health, I'm just kinda goin thru it rn ig) so I would love a comfort fic with the sbi maybe with the reader as their sibling where the reader is the one that always comforts the fam, but hides their emotions until (1/2, very sorry about splitting it)

(2/2) something happens that makes the reader have a full on breakdown? I'll leave the rest to you, it can be a good or bad ending, headcanons or one shots, anything. You can ignore this request if you want/if it makes you uncomfortable. Please don't feel pressured/guilt tripped to write anything from this, your mental health comes first and I'm sure you're already really busy. Reminder to eat something today if you haven't yet and get a drink of water <3

We are family - Reader and SBI!Brothers

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Wilbur, Technoblade, Tommy, (mentioned) Niki, (mentioned) Schlatt

Warnings: n/a

Series: a request <3

Summary: Y/N came back from an errand and surprises their brothers with their weird behavior. Trying to put on their usual smile, trying to hide away their real emotions but their brothers know them better than they inititally suspected. They could immediately tell that something must have happened.

Words count: 2060

Authors Note: I’m so sorry this took so long! I hope you and your dog are doing better! 💙 I wish I could give you more than words of encouragement and that I managed to get faster to this request, I apologize Please make sure to take care of yourself, alright? Take time for yourself to deal with the stress and anxiety! Make sure to stay hydrated and remember to eat! Even if it’s just something small!

Once again I apologize for the long wait, I felt really bad already and then I kinda put it off because I felt bad.

adhd hit hard again and haven’t checked for typos yet, but will get on it as soon as I can o7

On another note if you want to read another comfort fic; I have a small series called “A Painful Reminder” which is more angsty but the 2nd part is more about the comfort, if that is something for you 

Living in the SMP was chaotic, turbulent and at times downright painful.

Most people tended to gravitate to one cause or other people to deal with this. Holding on to something so they don’t get pulled under. Get buried beneath the chaos and the violence.

So having people like Y/N around was like a godsend. They were one of the few people that seemed to be able to withstand the constant waves of misfortune and stand strong. Be the rock to hold onto when everything got too overwhelming.

Wilbur, Technoblade and Tommy loved their sibling for it.

After Wilbur and Tommy got exiled with Y/N out of L’Manberg, they were there and cheered both of their siblings up. Immediately making plans on how to set up a safe home and collecting ideas on how to get back. They were the one who managed to get a message out to Technoblade and asked him to visit them. Maybe help them.

Wilbur often jokingly said that Y/N was the glue that held the family together, to which they would always reply with the warmest of smiles “I’m glad.”

And what he said was true. Whenever the family fell on hard times and they began to drift apart it was Y/N who pulled all of them back. Pulling them back to reality and giving solutions for their problems if needed.

Sitting down with Wilbur when things got to much. Listening to his thoughts and worries, letting his emotion run freely without judgement. While they looked worried for him, their comforting smile never faltered. Offering him solutions to problems if he wanted it, otherwise they gave him the chance to just air his own thoughts out. To be angry with him. Sad with him.

Working with Tommy on his own projects. Listening to his ideas and giving him a different perspective that could improve some things but also respecting it when Tommy wanted to do this his way. And while he liked to brag and pretend that some things didn’t hit him that hard, they were still patiently listening to him as he spoke about his own pain in a more roundabout way. Telling him that he was not alone and making him feel heard.

Talking to Technoblade whenever the voices got too loud or out of hand again. He would just walk over to them and nudge them away, asking them to talk about something, no matter what. He just needed to hear their voice and be able to concentrate on it. Tune out the garbled voices in his head with a familiar sound that calmed him down no matter what. Leaning against them, slowly falling asleep as Y/N told all about how they were happily working on their own farm and what shenanigans they got up to.

Y/N really was like the warm sun on a cold day. Warming them up and protecting them.

Yes, Y/N was strong. So strong that even Technoblade considered them stronger than him. Maybe not physically but mentally and emotionally.

A clanging of metal rung through the cave. Techno was training with Wilbur while Tommy was just watching. Cheering on Techno.

It wasn’t an unusual situation and something Y/N expected to see as they made their way down the staircase. Wilbur in full iron armor and weapon while Techno just fought back with his own iron sword.

“Hey, Y/N! Welcome back!” Wilbur breathed out. Sweat running down the side of his face as he stopped attacking his brother.

The three men looked happily over to their sibling who slowly walked towards them but soon their expressions fell. Something was off about Y/N and it confused the three.

Their smile was as always plastered on their face but it looked strained. Their eyes wide open, trying to look sincere and loving but the glassy look of them gave off a different picture.

“Y/N? You okay?” Tommy asked as he stood up from the ground. Taking a step closer to them which made them in return stop in their tracks.

Y/N was hugging themself, shakily opening up their mouth to answer but nothing came out. It was then when Techno got very aware of how they were shaking in general.

This all seemed so wrong. This shouldn’t be possible. It just didn’t seem to register fully inside their minds.

Wilbur made sure to get rid off his sword and armor as fast as he could, walking over to his sibling, trying to get a better look at them but they just avoided his gaze.

Staring at the ground, slowly shaking their head “It’s- It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t. You really aren’t. What happened? Did they find you?” Techno asked, his voice full with worry. A bit of anger hidden as well.

Y/N had their own little farm in order to support Pogtopia. The potatoes from Techno were great but variety is important after all. Though they also had an abundance of wheat they usually tried to smuggle into Manberg for Niki. Trying to help her out as much as possible with her taxes and work.

This time Y/N nodded “They did… It’s fine though. I’m fine. I’m not hurt. It’s all good.”

Wilbur’s frown deepened “Usually when people have to be so adamant about being okay something isn’t alright.”

Tommy nodded, supporting his statement only to whisper to himself “Adamant? What does-“

But Wilbur continued “We are your family, talk to us.”

Y/N licked their chapped lips “I’m-“

The tears finally escaped their eyes and begun streaming down their face. Sobbing they fell down on the ground. Wilbur immediately followed suit, laying his arm around them and pulling them against his chest. His hand flew up to their head and begun going through their hair, trying to calm them down. Humming a soft tune from their childhood.

It was the first time in their lives they saw Y/N break down like that and it was quite frankly shocking.

Unsure what to do with himself Tommy squatted down “Um, uh, what- what happened?”

Techno was still gripping the iron sword in his hand. Pacing up and down. Manberg found them? What the hell did they do to make Y/N break down like that? His own sibling! Whatever it was he would make sure to pay it back a thousand times over.

“Tommy can you grab them some water?” Wilbur laid his chin on top of Y/N’s head, rubbing circles now on their back.

He didn’t even hesitate, jumping up to run towards one of the chests with food items that Y/N had always ready for them. Grabbing a water bottle and running back over. Happy that he could do something else besides staring.

Tommy then pushed the bottle towards Y/N who gratefully took it, putting some space between them and Wilbur as they drank some of the cold liquid which helped them to calm down.

“You ready to tell us what happened?” Techno stopped pacing around. His gaze purely trained on his crying sibling. Anger still rising in him just like the voices.

Screaming things like “Technosib! How dare they hurt them! Protect them! I love Y/N so much! Why would anyone hurt Y/N! They always help us! Let’s help them for a change! Technosib! Let’s go out and fight them! Yeah! Blood for the Blood God and Y/N!”

Y/N’s voice was still wavering and a bit scratchy from their sobbing as they begun speaking “Hey, hey! Techno don’t concentrate on the voices. Listen to me. It’s all good.”

This somehow made Techno angry. He threw the sword away and finally knelt down next to them as well so his face was on the same eye level as theirs “Stop. Please. Stop thinking about us for one second. Stop trying to not make us uncomfortable or worried! Tell us what happened! Please.”

He was basically begging at the last part. All his worry packed into it.

“Yeah, honestly you trying to make sure everything is okay for us makes us even more worried.” It surprised the others a bit that this came from Tommy but he was correct.

Tears fell down their face again “I- I was just delivering more wheat to Niki and someone must have followed me. They followed me back to my farm and- and- they burned my fields down. There were explosions. I- it was just my farm. I did not harm. Just, why does it always have to end like this. Why do all the good things always end like this. Why can’t this place let something be. There is always something.”

The farm was so important to Y/N. It was their little project they put so much sweat, love and work into. It was their home away from home. A place to retreat and enjoy some peace. This obviously was devastating. It was their one thing they had for themself. The one thing that wasn’t there for anyone else but them.

It was also clear that this seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back and it broke the three a bit that they only now seemed to notice this. That it took that long and their whole farm being destroyed for the realize this was heartbreaking.

“Who?” Techno urged but Y/N shook their head.

“I don’t know. Everything went so fast and I tried to save as much as I could but- but it’s all gone. It’s all gone.” Their voice jumped up an octave at the end, burying their face against Wilbur’s shoulder again. Silently sobbing.

It should have been impossible but Wilbur’s frown deepened and his expression turned more grim “Don’t worry. We will get back at them. We will get our revenge. They will see firsthand what they did to you, I promise.”

Shocked Y/N looked up, their red and puffy eyes wide open “Wil, that’s not what I- no revenge. There is already too much misery going around I just want this to stop. I just want all of us being able to live in peace.”

Wilbur should have known that Y/N was too good natured for that but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so angry. Angry at Schlatt and Manberg. That they went for him was one thing but to go out of their way to treat Y/N like this? Let’s just say he put it on the list in bold letters with reasonings on why he will get back at the Manberg faction.

“Listen Y/N.” Techno begun, his voice now calm again “Stop it. Just for once think about yourself. Stop thinking about others for once. You are also worthy of the same care you give us. Let us at least help rebuild your farm. You always help us with our projects, let us help you with yours.”

Tommy seemed to lit up at that “That sounds like a good idea! We could build towers around your new farm and make sure no one gets in! We could put down traps and all!”

He really wasn’t sure how to react but that was at least something he could do for them. As the past General’s right hand man, this should be something he can do. If he couldn’t protect his sibling how could he ever hope to get L’Manberg back.

Wilbur seemed to think about it for a bit but agreed “Yeah, how does that sound?” Though the dark glint in his eyes stayed. The cogs in head still running off with his own thoughts.

“You guys would? Since when can you guys build?” a dry laugh escaped them but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Both Tommy and Wilbur looked almost appalled at that claim while Techno just shrugged and nodded. Just looking around Pogtopia was more functioning than good looking after all. Y/N tried to pretty it up a bit but usually something always happened around here.

“Also Y/N, please talk to us more. Don’t bottle everything up. Please. We worry a lot about you and we love you. You always do so much for us, let us do the same.” Wilbur pushed Y/N a bit off of him and looked them deep into their eyes, hoping that this would really hammer in that this was a genuine plea.

As a respone Y/N wiped the tears off their face “I understand. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Don’t try just do it.”

[beskarhearts]

Vencuyot (Din Djarin x reader)

source: @isetthetone​

Connection series Pt. 11

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, fighting, total sleazy douche bag

Word count: over 8.5 K

Summary: Din and you finally get started on helping the kid find his kind.

Notes: Alright, we are finally going into the events of season two! Each episode will probably be about 2-3 chapters. And I’m also planning right now on how to incorporate original scenes while also kind of following the overarching story line from season two. I am very excited to see how you guys like it!

Previous Part ____ Next Part

____________________________________________________

“You’re good with him.”

You smile warmly at Din, holding the child’s little body against your chest to which he let out a string of joyful noises that pulled at your heart strings. You looked down quickly to see the child’s eyes look up at you, his little hand beginning to pull of strands of your hair. He always loved to play with it, sometimes to tug at it or yank it, but most of the times he’d just run his three tiny fingers through it like it was the most fascinating thing. You looked back up to Din, who watched the two of you with his helmet tilted slightly. You couldn’t see his expression but you’d like to think you knew him well enough to know he was smiling underneath the helmet.

Moments like these were nice. The kind of moments where you, Din, and the kid just sat together in the hull of the Crest, letting the ship guide you guys through hyperspace as the three of you just relaxed. It was domestic and pure and everything you and Din deserved. 

“Yeah. I guess I kind of am.” You quietly admitted. You never wanted to brag about the way you were able to care for the child. Yes, it was part of your job around here. But Din also helped and a small part of you always saw the child as Dins, and solely Dins. Din had been the one to find him and protect him. He was the one who made an oath to find his kind, putting his Creed and life at risk to do it. It had been just been the two of them for a while before you came along. So yes, you were good with the kid, but you never wanted to overstep a boundary and claim the kid as your own. Even in spite of the way a maternal wave washed over you each time you saw the child coo at you or reach for you. The way a sleepy smile would pop onto his face when he woke up and saw you. The way some nights he would just need to be held by you for a while before feeling safe and secure enough to go to bed. In spite of all those things that made you feel special, you still wanted to show respect to their relationship.

“You definitely are.” Din paused, sitting forward a little more before continuing. “Is it cause of some... Jedi thing?”

You smiled at the way Din spoke about anything Jedi related. You were the first to admit you weren’t the most educated about Jedi history but Din was absolutely clueless. You supposed that made sense considering the rift between Mandalorians and Jedi’s but it still made you chuckle whenever he tried to speak about the matter. “I don’t know, to be honest. I think sometimes I just can feel what he needs or sense when something is wrong. I don’t know if it’s a Jedi thing or just a m-” you cut yourself off, trapping the words in your mouth before they slip out.

“Just a what?” Din asked and you shook your head quickly.

“Oh nothing, it was just a silly thing.”

Din sighed, reaching forward and brushing his hand against your knee. “What was it, cyar’ika?”

“I was going to say a mother thing. But not cause I’m the kids mom or anything. It was dumb because I’m totally not. I’m just-“

“Stop.” You physically bring your lips together to stop yourself from rambling. “I might not know much but I know the kid sees you as a mother.”

You smiled warmly, looking down at the child in your lap who continue to play with strands of hair, not paying much attention to the conversation being had. “Yeah?”

Din nodded. “Of course. And you are a good one.”

You tried to look away from Din, not wanting him to see the way your face flushed from the compliment or the way your eyes started to water from the sincerity of it. You truly loved the child, probably a bit too much. And maybe you shouldn’t look at him like a son considering what you knew was bound to happen, but you didn’t contemplate the pain you would one day feel at his possible departure. As far as you knew, this was your family and you were going to enjoy it for as long as possible. And that meant treating the kid like your own because even if you selfishly wanted to build a wall up, you knew the child needed a parental figure in his life. He was only a small child after all, one who had already been through enough and hidden away for so long. So you figured you could do this for him. You could show him love and compassion, how it feels to be protected by someone who cares for you. It was a job Din did extraordinarily well, something you don’t think he even realized he did. And you were damned to do your best by the kid. Even if in the end it hurt yourself. Because wasn’t that one of the biggestc, yet also inevitable, sacrifices of a parent?

“Thank you.” you whispered out and the kid finally looked a you then, showing you the hair in his hands to which you nodded. He dropped the hair before picking it back up, seeming satisfied by the feeling of the strands slipping through his fingertips.

“Do you ever. I don’t know. Want... some?”

You glance up a Din, your eyebrows shooting up at the way he awkwardly fumbled with his words. Din was usually a very clear man so you knew if he was struggling to express himself, it must be new territory for him. “Want what?”

Din didn’t bother to verbally answer, simply directing his head towards the kid. You let out a small ‘oh’ once understanding what he was getting at. “Kids?” You clarified to which the Mandalorian firmly nodded.

Your heart skipped in your chest at the thought. Maker, kids. You hadn't considered the idea of having kids in so long. For many years, it seemed an impossible task. Having a child meant allowing someone in, which was not something you excelled in. You also never found yourself too invested in the prospect of having kids of your own. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, though Jakku was never teeming with them. Kids were fine. You often found them to be funny, like little drunken adults just wandering around. And you could t deny that they were cute (though you would argue the child in your lap was even cuter than human children). But when you looked in the mirror before, you never saw a woman who could be a mother. It just wasn’t part of your personality. You had watched your own mother for so long and you loved her, but you hadn’t been similar to her at all, you two often having differing opinions. But your mother had seemed like such the picture-perfect mom to you and if you were nothing like her, how could you be a mom?

But now things were different. You were a different person than you used to be (a better one as well you would argue). And that was due to Din. Having allowed yourself to open up to someone taught you a lot of things about relationships, communication, and trust. And now there was someone in your life who you could kind of invision a future with. A very rocky, unclear future but a future nonetheless.

The kid also changed your perspective. When you met the child, you instantly felt a connection to him. You wanted to grab his small little body and hold him close, make him smile. It was like this instinctual side of you kicked in, a side you didn’t know you even had. And now you liked it. You liked caring for him and being there for important things. You loved to way he had begun to expand the way he communicated , whether that be with his facial expressions or noises. You loved that when he first woke up in the morning and saw either you or Din, a sleepy little smile would form that made your morning instantly better. You loved when he would giggle when you did something stupid or silly. You even liked when he needed your help, when his grabby hands reached out for something he wanted. Watching him grow was like a gift. So now the idea of kids sounded exponentially more appealing than it ever had before.

“I never really used to. Was never that type of person really. But now... yeah. Maybe one day.” You said the last part with a sheepish shrug. You didn’t know what one day meant, even to you. You had sworn to stick by Din, even once the kid was gone. And though there was no label and nothing official, there was clearly something happening between the two of you. You were certainly a little more than friends, though you didn’t want to jump to any assumptions and make a fool of yourself.

But you couldn’t help the way your heart nearly jumped out of your chest at the thought of having kids with Din. You already knew he was paternal. You didn’t need to see beneath the armor to see the way he looked at the kid. He treated him like a son and did an exceptionally good job at protecting him and making him feel safe. And sometime, when you were with the kid and Din walked into the room, you could feel this rush of love wash over you, almost like you were feeling what the kid felt. You felt this immense sense of belonging and love, a type of admiration you couldn’t even begin to describe. He looked up to him in a way a kid is truly meant to look up to their dad. There was no doubt in your mind that Din would be a great father.

You cleared your throat and looked up at Din. “What about you?”

“Absolutely.” The answer didn't shock you too much in particular. It was the speed at which he answered. He hadn’t taken a second to even think about it or contemplate it. The answer had just leapt out of his mouth as soon as you had finished speaking. You couldn’t help the way you grinned at him but felt it drop slowly as he let out a loud sigh, his helmet dropping down. “But I don’t know if that’s even possible.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean?”

“This life isn’t right for a kid. And I’m just not the kind of person.”

“Woah, that’s not true. Have you seen yourself with the kid?” You reached a hand out to rest on his leg, reassuringly squeezing it. His helmet finally lifted up a little but you could still see the way his body slightly dropped. “You would be a great dad, Din Djarin.”

“A Mandalorian isn’t the greatest dad.” You could definitely understand where Din was coming from. Life for Din was unstable, tumultuous. His whole job required a certain level of danger that he had to willingly accept every day. Definitely not the most conducive for raising a child.

But you had always imagined Din settling down one day, not even with you per say but just in general. He deserved that. Out of all the people you could imagine, he was one who deserved to find a home somewhere, marry someone, have a peaceful life with what he wanted. Now that you considered it, you didn’t even know if that was a possibility. “Is the whole Mandalorian thing a life time commitment or do you eventually retire?”

“I never really thought about it. I just figured I’d keep going until...well, let’s just say Mandalorians don’t have the greatest track record.”

Your stomach lurched at the meaning behind Dins answer. A job that was a game between life and death meant one of two things, you either lived or died. And you expected that eventually death caught up to the Mandalorians, no matter how strong or unshakeable they appeared. Your heart broke for Din. He had been living his days just working, expecting his life to be cut short because of the life he lived, the job he had, the armor he bore. You squeezed his leg even tighter, forcing him to look at you directly. You stared right into his visor, hoping you were making eye contact with him. “I’m here now. And I’m going to make sure you live a long life. A good one.”

Din just stared back at you, responding with a small jerk of the head. “Okay.”

You nodded in response before smiling, try to lighten the situation. “Good. So you better come up with a retirement plan, old man.”

Din chuckled at you, shaking his head jokingly. “Will do.” You grinned at him but felt it drop slightly as Din continued on. “We need to start looking for the kid’s kind.”

You knew this moment was coming and soon. You and Din had already spent too long playing house, justifying it with excuses like you were trying to come up with a good plan or you were letting time pass so things could calm down. But you and Din both knew the truth deep down. Things weren’t going to calm down and no good plan would be formed without starting somewhere. 

You looked back down at the kid, who just gurgled as he saw your attention land upon him. Sometimes you thought he was too young for training, even though he was fifty. He was just a baby. A child. You had only received a sliver of training and that had been some of the most intense work you had ever done. You couldn’t imagine the same little child in your lap, the one whose most prized possession was a metal ball and who cried when he couldn’t eat a butterfly, was supposed to become a Jedi. But you also understood that you couldn’t even attempt to understand his full potential and just how truly powerful he was. And the earlier he started harnessing it, the better. Sometimes you wish you had been taught earlier. You understood what it felt like to be younger and capable of something you couldn’t understand. It was terrifying sometimes and other times just plain confusing. 

You looked back up at Din. “Yeah. We do.”

“We need a plan.”

“We don’t even know where to start, Din.” 

“Do you know of any... Jedi places?”

You laughed at his question. “No. I’m afraid I will be of no help to you in that regard. I barely know any more about Jedi’s than you do.”

Din nodded and you knew he was slightly disappointed, but not upset. You understood that feeling. Sometimes you wished you were better or knew something so you knew how to help out. But you had also accepted that you were who you were and nothing would change that.

“I need to find other Mandalorians. I was told they could help me.”

“Well, where are the Mandalorians?”

“I don’t know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “How do you not know? You guys don’t have like some meet up spot or something?”

Din chuckled, now finding your lack of knowledge about Mandalorians as funny as you find his lack of knowledge about Jedis. “They are called coverts and they are in secret locations for safety. There was one on Nevarro but that got exposed.”

“So you have no clue where any are?”

“No.”

You huffed. “Well then, what do we do?”

“I know some people who might know information about where Mandalorians are. We can start there.”

You nodded. “I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“So once we find a Jedi, we just hand him over? That’s it?” You found that to be such a bizarre thought. Jedi’s were supposed to be peacemakers but that hadn’t stopped a fair share of them from becoming Siths instead. How were you supposed to meet someone and just trust them enough right away to hand the child over? What if this person just took advantage of him or worse, handed him over to Gideon for a large prize?

“I don’t know how this works at all. We need to just find out more information before we get to that.”

“And what if we can’t find one?”

“I made a promise. He is under my care and I vowed to bring him to his kind. I will make sure it happens, no matter how long it takes.”

You admired Din’s dedication. You had never met an individual who was so devoted, whether that be devoted to his Creed or to the child or yourself. It was so admirable and you believed every word that came out of his mouth. 

“You are a good man, Din.”

Din just nodded in response and you wondered if he ever believed you when you said that. You meant it with every part of your being but you don’t think he ever looked in the mirror and saw the man you saw. Saw the kind heart and the beautiful soul that laid hidden beneath all his armor. You just wanted to spend all your days showing him that, hoping one day he would see it. Look past the helmet and the job and see who he was. 

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“What are we going to do after all of this?” The question had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks now. You knew Din had said he wanted you to stay. And you knew your relationship had now progressed, though neither of you had placed any binding label on it.  Those were great things and you were thrilled by them but you didn’t know what that would entail for you guys.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when we find the kid a place to go, what do we do? Are you going back to bounty hunting? I mean can you even do that after you took the kid back?”

Din’s helmet tilted and you knew he was deep in thought. Part of you hoped he couldn’t and you felt selfish for it. You knew that was what Mandalorians did. They worked, endlessly. But you couldn’t imagine finding somewhere for the kid to go and then Din working night and day to catch bounties, traveling through the galaxy from one place to the next for the rest of his days. You wanted him to be able to relax, to live a life that he had never even thought to envision. A life where he could have kids when he wanted to or could just live in peace. 

“If you could go to any planet, where would you go?”

You brought your head back, staring at Din with a perplexed expression. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just tell me.”

You thought before remembering a planet Mai had told you about. “Sesid. Mai said she read about it once. There is supposed to be so much ocean that you can’t walk anywhere where you don’t have a view of it. And where you don’t see blue, it is supposed to be so green with so many trees and plants.”

“Then we will go there.”

You let out a laugh. “Din, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know exactly what will happen after all of this. But I know I want to be with you. So once we find the kid a place to go, you and I will go to Sesid.”

You smiled up at him. You still didn’t know if that was even possible but you didn’t want to think about what would realistically happen. You wanted to believe, if only for this moment, that Din and you would help the kid and then be together, somewhere beautiful and happy. “Okay. Sesid it is.”

Din nodded in agreement. “I do know one thing for sure, though.

“What?”

Din leaned towards you, close enough that if he weren’t wearing the helmet you could kiss him. You leaned against him, your forehead tapping against the helmet. “I am going to do whatever I can to make you happy.”

__________

Once night fell, the two fell into their new routine. They didn’t discuss it but it kind of just fell in place. As soon as the child’s eyes slid closed, Din grabbed onto her, pulling her to crawl into his bed, the cot on the floor she used to sleep on being long forgotten now. 

Din shuffled in next to her, closing the hatch to the cot and removing his helmet immediately after. Part of him wished so much that he could have a light on, just so he could see her face when she was laid in his bed, next to him. But for now, being able to feel her beside him was more than he could ever ask her. 

Din rested his body against the padding of the thin mattress, feeling her immediately shuffle into him. Her head sat to rest on his shoulder and he could feel her breath tickle his neck. One of her arms wrapped around his chest, clinging on like it was a life preserver. Her legs tangled with his and she let out a loud sigh once she finally rested comfortably into him, letting the shape of his body contour into hers. “You are very comfortable, y’know?” She mumbled happily and Din felt a small smile grow on his face. He loved this. Loved the way she clung onto him and the way she hummed as he wrapped an arm around around her back, tracing her spine over her shirt with his finger tips. 

“Yeah?” He responded, feeling himself turn his head in her direction. He couldn’t see her, only the silhouette of her body if he focused enough. 

“Mmhhm.” She hummed and Din brought his lips down to kiss the top of her head. Her head tilted up in response and she brought her lips against his, allowing the two to mold together. Din couldn’t believe he had gone this long without kissing her. Whenever he did, it felt so divinely perfect in a way he couldn’t even begin to describe. It was warm and thrilling but also made Din feel safe in a way he never had before. Like no matter what happened, he would be okay as long as she was there.  He had never felt that way with anybody else before, besides his parents so long ago. Nobody had ever wormed their way into his heart like she had. 

She eventually pulled away, her breathing a little heavier than before, and rested her head back into her previous position, nuzzling into him. “Where are we headed now?” 

“A planet on the outer rim. I know someone who might be able to help me find other Mandalorians.” 

“A friend?”

Din couldn’t help the small chuckle that came out. “No. He is an old gangster. Gor Karesh is his name.”

“Oh, lovely. Old gangsters are my favorite.”

“Oh really?”

She let out a giggle at the jab and he could hear the grin on her lips. “Oh yeah. You better hope he doesn’t win me over cause I might just stay with him instead.”

Din narrowed his eyes, not understanding what she meant. “You aren’t seeing him.”

She paused for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Yes, I am. I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t want you coming. You’ll be safer in the Crest.”

“Din, last time you left me alone in the Crest, a man ended up dead.” She didn’t say it with anger or annoyance. Din didn’t detect any harshness in the words. It was just said very matter-of-factly, reminding Din of himself. But it still didn’t stop the way his heart dropped into his stomach at her rebuttal. She wasn’t wrong. Last time she had begged him to come and he had refused, all in the name of protecting her. But he had seen where that ended and he didn’t want a repeat of it.

As much as it pained him, she was right. Din wanted nothing more than to protect her and keep her safe. But in a galaxy like this, with a man like Moff Gideon hunting for him, nothing was safe. It was all inherently dangerous. And Din knew she was more than capable. She was smart and strong. She could stand her own but he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of pushing her into danger directly. It felt like a betrayal to the promise he had made to protect both her and the kid. “Okay.”

She nodded her head against him. “I’ll be fine. You know, I might even be an advantage. I’m pretty smart.”

“I know you are, sweet one.” 

“Well then, we will be fine. We’ve got your crazy Mando strength, the kids hand thing, and my quick-witted humor. It should go very smoothly.” Her body started shaking slightly with laughter and Din couldn’t help but to join in with her. He couldn’t remember the last time anything in his life had gone smoothly and he expected this to be no exception. 

Once the laughing stopped, she rested her hand on his chest, right over his heart, and patted softly. “Really though. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

Din nodded, feeling slightly better with her reassurances. She was probably right. It would be okay especially with her there. Din had never really worked with anyone before but everything was different now. She was his rock and he trusted her. She pressed a small kiss onto his jaw and he could feel her smile into it. 

“Din, this is perfect but I am going to be a pain in the ass.”

“What is it?”

“I’m freezing my ass off.” 

Din let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It was probably from all the years he spent in hyperspace, but he was never cold while she managed to somehow always be cold. Even with his body heat and the one blanket over them, he could feel the goosebumps on her skin as he ran a hand over her arm. “You are always cold.”

She huffed. “It’s not my fault you are cold blooded and that this ship is colder than Hoth itself.”

“Where did your blanket go?”

“I think it’s still in my bag. I haven’t gone through it since I got back from Jakku.”

Din started to shuffle, pulling away from her to which she let out a loud whine. “Let me put on my helmet and I’ll grab it for you.”

She sighed contently at him and Din slipped the helmet on his head before opening the door to the cot. Some light from the hull of the ship reached his bed and he could see her face just slightly illuminated, a sleepy, lopsided smile on her face. She looked right back up at him. “Did I ever tell you that you are my hero?”

Din shook his head before slipping out of the bed. He walked over to a corner of the hull, where her bag had been sitting for days now. He bent down, opening it and saw the blanket on the top, with a small piece of folded paper with her name sprawled on it. He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his fingers. “What is this?” he asked out of curiosity, not opening it.

“What is it?” She said, not bothering to get up to look.

“I think it’s a letter.” He looked back just in time to see her head pop up slightly. She furrowed her eyebrows before beginning to slip out of the bed, wrapping the blanket around her body. 

“What does it say?”

“Just has your name on it.” 

She eventually stumbled over to him and he reached his hand up, offering the letter to her. She reached a hand out from under the blanket, grabbing onto it and reading the writing on the front. “That is Mai’s handwriting.” 

She brought her other hand out, the blanket resting on her shoulders and arms, and began to unfold the piece of paper. Din looked up at her as she began to read. He sat silently, even as her face dropped into a blank stare and her face paled. She suddenly folded the paper up, shaking her head. “What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. But I can’t read it right now.” He saw the way her chest was heaving and how her eyes were frantically moving around, as if she was trying to follow something that wasn’t there. 

“Sweet one?”

“It’s something about my family. That’s as far as I got.” Din stood up and looked down at her. She didn’t look at him, her face twisting up as she frantically shook her head as if begging someone to stop. “I can’t do this. I’m am finally okay with everything and I don’t need to read something that will just mess with me.”

“But what if it is something important?”

“If none of them told me and I didn’t find out for this many years, I am sure it can wait.” She scrunched the paper up in her hands, tossing it into the opening of her bag. “Besides, we have to focus on the kid. This can wait. He can’t.”

Din slowly nodded and she forced a smile onto her face. He hated when she did this, when she buried everything in and just put on a smile. He knew it was how she coped and he could identify with that. He was similar, but instead of smiling, he buried everything down and then hunted a bounty to forget. 

Instead of pushing her, he held up the blanket that was still grasped in his hand. She looked at it and chuckled. “Maybe I can sleep now since I won’t be freezing.”

“Are you okay?” Din couldn’t help but to ask. 

“I will be as long as you come keep me warm.” Her hand reached out for one of his and tugged him over. “Let’s go to bed.”

__________

“Well, this is just such a beautiful place. We should come back one day when we are really able to enjoy the sights and sounds.” You sarcastically mumbled, arms protectively held over your chest as you looked all around you. The walls surrounded you, all of which covered in a plethora of graffiti, parts of them crumbling into pieces. The outer rim was not a pleasant place in general, you knew that. But you had finally landed on the planet where Koresh was supposed to be and as soon as you stepped outside the Crest, you just knew it was a real shit hole. And walking through the streets of whatever town you were just confirmed it. 

It was completely dark outside, almost totally silent. You didn’t see any other people around, except for pairs of red glowing eyes that hid in dark corners and made the child whimper. You looked back to the child, who was sitting in his pram that floated beside you. His small ears tucked in slightly on himself and he buried himself into the pram slightly, big eyes looking all around. Looking over at Din, you didn’t detect any sense of unease. He was on what you’d like to call Mando mode. His head was aiming straight forward, attention on the path in front of him. He stood tall and straight, seeming like such an intimidating figure even in such a shady place. He was completely silent, not speaking. He didn’t like to talk much in public and you weren’t sure if it was because he was uncomfortable to do so or if it was a matter of maintaining a reputation that made others cower in fear.

You let out a sigh at his lack of response until you turn the corner, coming to a door. You see the first individual of the night, a Twi’lek standing guard who stares back at the Mandalorian. He doesn’t greet the two of you with anything but a harsh expression. So much for a welcome.

“I’m here to see Gor Koresh.” Din directed, his voice sounding strong through the modulator. Despite the demand, the Twi’lek still doesn’t speak, just looking over at you before his eyes landed on the Child. The kid looked up at him, cooing slightly.

The man looked away, moving aside and pushing the door open for you to pass through. “Enjoy the fights.” was all he said as you and Din entered. As soon as you walked into the building, you felt your face scrunch up. The place smelled like ale and blood strongly, slapping you in the face as soon as you stepped through the door frame.  You walked down some stairs, studying the scene in front of you. Crowds of humans and creatures, some of which you didn’t recognize, sat or stood amongst benches, yelling loudly and banging their fists. You saw some woman sitting besides the men, some looking less impressed by the entertainment than their counterparts and others looking just as engrossed as the others. In the center of the room sat a platform where two Gamorreans were fighting wildly. They were both fearsome creatures with less than desirable faces. They snarled and huffed, though the sound was drowned out by the yelling in several different alien languages that filled the room.

Din strolled over to a bench, seeming unbothered by the scene before him and not in any way distracted by the environment. He plopped down onto a booth, next to a Abyssin you assumed to be the man of the hour, Koresh. He stood out from the crowd, his body draped in richer fabrics and a large ring on one of his chubby green fingers. You sat down next to Din, watching as the child’s pram hovered right beside you.

The Abyssin didn’t seem bothered or intimidated by Din’s presence. He was s gangster, probably used to having bounty hunters around. Probably hired a few himself, perhaps had one or two come after him even. “You know this is no place for a child.” He spoke, his gaze landing on the child and you for just a moment before going back to the fight, his eye glistening with excitement as he appeared totally enamored by the barbaric nature of it.

“Wherever I go, he goes.” You almost wanted to smile at Din’s response. It sounded intimidating coming from him, but you knew the sentiment and honestly behind it. You refrained from doing so, keeping a blank face and trying to keep your gaze on Gor Koresh. You weren’t much for watching fighting, finding it dull and tasteless, though you couldn’t help but to find the banging and rumbling to be distracting.

Koresh just let a chuckle out. “So I’ve heard.”

“I’ve been quested to bring him to his kind. If I can locate other Mandalorians, they can help guide me. I’m told you know where to find them.” You weren’t surprised by Din’s directness or lack of small talk. This was just the kind of man he was, part of it being him and part of it being due to the armor he wore.

The man let out a sigh. “It’s uncouth to talk business immediately. Just enjoy the entertainment.” The creature finally tore his sight away from the fight, giving you a fleeting glance as a smile curved his lips. You knew that smile very well, had seen many men and creatures wear it before. And usually, it didn’t end well for them. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend? She is quite the beauty.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyebrows raised and face scrunched up in slight disgust. He couldn’t even try to be a little subtle, or at the least more original.. You let out a sigh and looked at him, even though his attention was back on the fight. “How about you just help us?”

Din didn’t turn to look back at you but you saw the way one of his fists clenched. This was his domain and he wasn’t used to others being with him while he worked. And you didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, but you also weren’t going to let this man look at you like that. You wanted to say a lot more, but knew your mouth could get you in trouble and decided to leave it at that.

The Abyssin let out a huff. “Didn’t know you kept women around. Or children too.” The words were directed at Mando, him not bothering to respond to you directly. You wanted to say something but jumped slightly at the sound of loud clanging. The child cooed in distress as you looked at the fight. The two Gamorreans were clanging their axes together, one of which knocking the other to the ground. Cheers rang through the ground but Koresh looked rather annoyed.

“Bah! My Gamorrean’s not doing well. Kill him! Finish him!” An axe was brought down to the fallen warrior, who dodged just in time to avoid the slamming down of the blade.  Koresh smiled just barely at the sight before glancing at Din. “Do you gamble, Mando?”

You couldn’t imagine Din being a gambler. It seemed so unlike him, almost against the ideas he held close to his heart. He wasn’t one to trust luck. He depended on himself and nothing else. “Not when I can avoid it.” He responded.

“What about you, sweetheart? Do you gamble?”

You rolled your eyes at the question. “No. I don’t.”

“I do. Which is why I’m the rich one here.” Koresh responded, letting out a chuckle at his own jab. “How about this? I’ll bet you the information you seek that this Gamorrean’s going to die within the next minute and a half...and all you have to put up in exchange is your shiny beskar armor.”

You felt your eyes widen slightly. You knew Din could handle this creep and you knew that beskar was worth a lot. It was no wonder Koresh wanted it. But you couldn’t imagine Din would be willing to put it on a silly bet based purely on luck. You couldn’t help but to scoff in response. “His armor isn’t on the table.”

Koresh smiled at your harsh response. “Okay. How about we bet the woman then? Wouldn’t mind a new friend.”

Din for the first time looked over at you for just a second, seeing the way your jaw locked. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was angry by the way he moved. He turned over, looking back at the man. His fist was clenched against his lap but he didn’t bite the bait, just calmly responding. “I’m prepared to pay you for the information. I’m not leaving my fate, or hers, up to chance.”

“Nor am I.” In a flash, his hands reaches into his coat, whipping out a blaster at a surprisingly quick speed. A shot rings out in the building, one of the Gamorreans dropping dead, his axe clanging down beside him. You hear gasps and a cry ring out from the audience at the sudden end of the fight. Your head whips over to Koresh, just in time to see several men rise from the bench behind him, all of them whipping out guns that aim right at Din’s head. You felt your chest squeeze up slightly, panic settling into your bones. But Din just remained seated, even as the crowd yelled and rushed out of the stadium from all directions and Koresh rose from his seat, his own blaster aimed at the helmet. You couldn’t help but to wonder how he could always remain so calm. You felt your hand itch towards the blaster on your hip, but you didn’t know what you would do with it. One blaster against a handful of men, all with their own loaded guns, wasn’t a fair fight by a long shot. Trying to do anything might just get you and Din killed immediately so you waited, seeing how Din handled it.

Koresh laughed at your panicked expression. “Thank you for coming to me. Normally, I have to seek out remnants of you Mandalorians in your hidden hives to harvest your precious shiny shells.” You felt rage bloom within you as you realized what this mans job was, your eyes widening in anger. He made money off ruining people’s lives, ripping the amor that means the world to the Mandalorians off of them with no regard for human decency. No wonder he was so rich. “Beskar’s value continues to rise. I’ve grown quite fond of it. Give it to me now or I will peel it off your corpse. And then take your woman as my new companion.” He chuckled once again, his eyes running down your body with a disgusting smile.

“Tell me where the Mandalorians are and I’ll walk out of here without killing you.“ Din, please, please know what you are doing. You trusted Din and you knew some stories of what he has done, though he never wanted to talk about it too much or seem like he was bragging. Din was an annoyingly humble man and it made it hard to find out just what exactly he was capable of. You knew that he was strong, unnaturally so, and you had seen him in action before. But you hadn’t seen enough to know what he was truly able to do. And you couldn’t help the way your heart slammed in your chest, even upon hearing his confident voice make the demand.

Koresh’s face dropped slightly. “I thought you said you weren’t a gambler...”

That was when you saw it out of the corner of your eye. You had completely forgotten about his whistling birds, him having explained it to you weeks ago when you almost hit a button that triggered it. The child must have also sensed what was about to happen, reaching out quickly to hit the button that closed the lid to the pram, sinking into it before the lid closed.  You figured he had the right idea but you just let your hand hover over the blaster, waiting for the next move. 

“I’m not.” Din said. Suddenly, the whistling birds shot out, instantly hitting all four of the henchmen and causing them to drop immediately to the floor.  You feel Din’s arm reach out, pushing you away, and you brought your own leg up to kick the pram back, already knowing what was going to happen next.

The Gamorrean who had been on the platform recovering, rises up, snarling. You see as he was ready to jump down, onto Din. But Din scoots over to the side, causing the large creature to slam down onto the bench, the wood under him cracking and splitting open. You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips as you saw him pass out instantly. “Now that was too easy.” You chuckled.

Your hand instantly reaches for your blaster as you look away from the fallen fighter. The Twi’lek from the entrance of the building reached for Din, grabbing him from behind. You rise up the blaster quicker than you ever had before, firing off a shot that hit the guard right in the neck, causing him to release Din and drop down to the ground, joining the others. Three people run after Din as Koresh rushed out of the building, trying to escape while you two were distracted by the fighting. You turned to check on the kid, finding the pram still closed before running towards the exit.

You had just made it out the exit when you heard footsteps charging behind you, to find one of the Zabraks that was attacking Din coming after you now. A  You raised your blaster but found it to be no use when the creature dropped dead before your finger could even pull the trigger, revealing a blade sticking out of his back as he landed face down on the dirty ground. Your head whipped up to find Din behind him, only pausing for a moment to look you over for any damage before charging towards Koresh.

You followed closely behind, only to stumble into his back when the Mandalorian stopped dead in his tracks, your body falling into the metal of his armor and clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. In what seemed to be a flash, Koresh had his legs stuck in Din’s grappling hook and his whole body was being lifted up by a street lamp. Din didn’t stop until the mans body was dangling upside down, his head only a few feet above the ground.

Din stepped forward, facing the creature who now looked absolutely terrified. Part of you wanted to laugh at the sight but instead you stepped forward and glared at him. The man started swaying, trying to break out of the hooks with no luck. “All right, stop, stop!” He yelled out, looking at Din. “I’ll tell you where he is. But you must give me your word that you won’t kill me.”

“I promise you will not die by my hand. Now, where is the Mandalorian you know of?“ Your eyebrow raised at the odd wording of Din’s answer until you saw the red eyes that lined the streets start caving in slowly, seeming to stare into the scene before them. My hand, he had said.

Karesh let out a groan. “Tatooine.”

“What?” you and Din both said out-loud and the man just let out another groan, face twisted in discomfort.

“The Mando I know of is on Tatooine.“ he repeated.

“I’ve spent much time on Tatooine. I’ve never seen a Mandalorian there.“ Din responded, tilting his helmet just slightly as if thinking, mulling over in his mind whether or not the man was lying to you. You trusted Din, but Tatooine also seemed like it wouldn’t be the most surprising place for a bounty hunter to be. That planet didn’t have the greatest reputation, lots of sleaze bags and criminals roaming around there from what you heard. Wouldn’t be the most shocking thing for a Mandalorian to be there, whether for work or just because of the environment.

“My information is good, I tell you. The city of Mos Pelgo. I swear it by the Gotra!” Another groan left his lips, even louder this time. You rolled your eyes and looked over at Din.

The Mandalorian stood still before giving you a slight nod. “Tatooine it is, then.”

You brought your hand to your waist to grab the knife strapped to it, preparing to cut the man down when Din’s hand reached out for your wrist, holding it still. You looked up at him, waiting for an explanation but he only stared down at you, shaking his head just the slightest bit. You let go of the handle of the knife, leaving it at your side, and looked back at Koresh who looked back at you two expectantly. You saw the red eyes still there, still glowing in the darkness behind him ominously.

Din let go of your wrist and turned, starting to walk down the street with the pram following behind him. Part of you felt like you should cut down the gangster, until you remembered how he made his living. Ruining the lives of other Mandalorians just for some beskar to make him a richer man that he already is. Instead of cutting him, you gave him the sweetest smile you could muster to which his face scrunched up in confusion. “Koresh, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

You began to walk away, following after Din who slowed his pace for you to catch up when the Abyssin started to thrash wildly, panic settling into every pore of his body. “Wait! You can’t leave me like this!”

You turned back one last time and glared at him. “And you can’t take off a Mandalorians helmet. Yet you did. Many times.”

The man continued to scream, the red eyes caving in on him as you looked back at Din, catching up with him. You heard begging and screaming from behind you, but drowned it out. Part of you felt like you should feel guilty. But he had threatened Din. Ruined lives for money.

There was no guilt, no sadness at what was happening in this very moment. Instead you just felt like your body was energized, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through you. You had spent so much time now on the Crest with Din, and before that you were just on Yungbrii. You had to fight off a couple creeps here and there, but nothing like that. Nothing that made blood course through your body and your heart pound in your ears. You found you could understand why some people found this addicting, why some people chose to be bounty hunters. It was thrilling in a way you’d never felt before.

You glanced over at Din, studying him. He looked completely unbothered and maybe that was because you couldn’t see his face, but you had a feeling the grizzly attack behind him brought him no sense of upset or guilt. You imagined he felt what you were feeling but ten times stronger. The Mandalorians were his people, his clan, and they had been attacked by the selfish monster. You couldn’t help but to wonder if he had any attention of letting Koresh go, even if he hadn’t attacked the two of you.

Shaking away your thoughts, you spoke loudly over the noises behind you which were now slowly drowning away as you continued on. “Where are we headed now?”

“Tatooine.” he responded and you nodded. You supposed it was the right place to start, even if Din didn’t know of any Mandalorians there. “You are okay, right? Nothing is hurt?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that grew on your face at the way his tone softened, the way his whole figure relaxed. You found it amazing how he could change from bad-ass, killer Mandalorian to your soft, caring Din so quickly.

“Yeah. I am fine. You okay?” Din only nodded in response. You looked away from him, to the path in front of you before speaking again. “You know, I have to admit something.”

Din continued walking, staring into the environment around him. “What, cyar’ika?”

“I don’t know if this sounds bad, but that was kind of fun.” You smiled up at him.

Din stopped walking for just a moment, looking over at you and you could hear a chuckle pass through the modulator. “You did well.”

You winked at him before continuing to walk on, the Mandalorians boots crunching behind you as he followed. “Told you I was handy. Now let’s go find this Mandalorian.”

Tag List: @ilikethoseodds @dindaddy @poguesvixen @starspangledwidow @fangirlalexia @the-scandalorian @ka-x-in @keepcalmandblogstuff @the-lady-of-stars @orneryscandalousevil @spaghetti-666 @afootnoteinyourhappiness @the-darkempress @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @dee-vn @eury-dice3 @rb4writers @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @lxdyred @queen-since-97 @honey-hi @periptil

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 55- Hell’s Chosen

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally? 

Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)

________________________________

All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.” 

“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past. 

“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.” 

“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”

Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”

The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…” 

“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind. 

Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin. 

Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together. 

Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his. 

But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian. 

Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.

Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia. 

So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group. 

“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers. 

“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes. 

“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is. 

“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop. 

It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”

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

All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.” 

“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care. 

A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.” 

“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them. 

Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?” 

X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.” 

“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.” 

“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls. 

“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.” 

X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded. 

But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes. 

And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”

[something-tofightfor]

Magnetic; Din’s POV - Part 1 (Chapters 1-2)

Pairing: None.

Word Count: 4,400

Rating: None, really. This is pretty general. Din’s thinking about women, but it’s not graphic in any way. 

Summary: Din’s adjusting to life on Mandalore as the Mand’alor, but his mind is constantly elsewhere. After a year, he receives a transmission from Luke Skywalker that changes everything. 

Author’s note:

Hello friends! As I’ve been writing Magnetic, I’ve realized that I want to take a look at things from Din’s perspective. I’m not sure that I’ll cover everything in the story this way, but there are certain moments (especially ones coming up) that you’ll definitely benefit from being in the man’s head while reading.  These will always come after the corresponding parts of the story, because I want you, as a reader to experience things first ... but I promise, these will make things that happen in the main storyline make more sense.  IDK. Maybe this is dumb. Maybe no one cares ... but I do. And I think that since Din spends so much time in his own head, we should too. 

If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know - it’s open.

His favorite part of the day was returning to his quarters and locking the door behind him. Even though his schedule wasn’t exactly full, the Mandalorian was usually exhausted by the end of the day - especially when those days extended well into the nighttime hours. And when she’s here? It’s worse. 

 He stood at the foot of his bed, carefully removing his armor piece by piece and stacking it on the shelving that was built into the wall behind him. Working his way down his body - beginning with the pauldrons on his shoulders, the man saved his helmet for last - as he always did - hesitating before removing it, but not because he didn’t want to. Did I forget anything? He sighed, pressing the button on the bottom edge and lifting the beskar from his head, taking two steps and setting it down on the the table next to his pillow without looking down. No. After the reluctant removal on Morak and the no-hesitation answer to Grogu’s silent request on the light cruiser, the man found that taking his helmet off came easier for him both in private and in front of those that had previously seen his face. Though that number was still small enough to count on two hands, it was more people than he’d ever thought would see him for who he was: not the stoic, beskar encased warrior he presented to the galaxy, but the emotional man that he’d pretended didn’t exist for the better part of his life. But it was for the kid. All of it. 

 Undoing the closures on his flight suit, he stepped out of it and tossed it into the bin full of clothing leaning against the wall and raised both arms, stretching. There was no reason for him to spend each day fully armored, but for him, it was as much a habit as reciting the four most important words of his creed had become. This is the Way. 

 The area of Mandalore they occupied wasn’t dangerous, at least in the sense that they had to worry about an attack from others. Despite the fact that there were Mandalorians and residents of the planet’s larger cities that were still sympathetic to the Imperial remnants, no one paid any mind to their small group taking over an outpost hours by ship or speeder from the capital city of Sundari. It was an arrangement that worked for him, but he knew that others in his group were growing tired of the waiting and planning, Bo-Katan included. Mandalorians were few in number, but he’d met many more of them than he ever thought could exist in the months spent on the planet’s surface. Some were like him, keeping their faces covered at all times; a few of them had even been members of the Nevarro covert. Others were like Bo-Katan and Koska and Axe; they’d sworn the Creed but still showed their faces. It was a lot for the man to come to terms with, but as he too had removed his helmet and exposed his face to other living things, he knew that it wasn’t his place to judge the way that they lived their lives. After all, under the beskar, we’re all just … 

 He sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and then dragging one hand down over his mouth and chin, stroking the short beard he’d allowed to grow. It was new for him, like most things on Mandalore were, but with no worry of unending fighting and constantly chasing bounties, there was no need for him to worry as much about the comfort level of spending long, difficult hours beneath the helmet. He’d let his hair grow, too, the ends curling down and around his ears and against his neck. Even Cara had commented on it the last time she’d visited the planet to update them on Nevarro’s progress, and he hadn’t been able to hold back the quiet laugh or keep the blush from rising to his cheeks at her words - the surprisingly positive reaction to his ‘new look’. Just a man. He sighed. Even though I hate it. 

 In the year since Grogu had left with the Jedi, the Mandalorian had learned many things about himself and about the galaxy, but he was still coming to terms with the way it felt for others to see his reactions to their words. Used to hiding behind the visor, each day was another learning experience for him - but they were also the reason he hadn’t committed to taking the helmet off for good. No one was pressuring him to, and it wasn’t even true that the other Mandalorians needed to see his face to trust him, to believe in him, but he knew that it would have helped. I’m not ready yet. Closing his eyes, he bit down on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth. For the first few months, he’d dealt with the raging loneliness he felt by hunting more bounties, Karga hesitant but in the end willing to give him more pucks. He’d also found ways to keep busy that had nothing to do with bounties and everything to do with the most basic human needs and desires. 

 He’d spent countless hours in the company of women - other Mandalorians, a Twi’lek that had reminded him too much of Xi’an for him to go through with anything, Morganians, Kiffar, a few human women on Coruscant and Naboo … but none of them filled the empty spaces in his chest or his mind in quite the same way the Child had. They were distractions - nothing more - and even though they sought him out more frequently and warmed up to him more easily when they knew he was the Mand’alor, it still meant nothing to him. Mand’alor. He scoffed at the word, laying back on the bed and folding an arm beneath his head. The word still struck him each time he thought or heard it. It was his title - rightful because of the battle he’d fought and won with Gideon, but still not one that he wanted. But the galaxy - and the Way of the Mandalore didn’t care what a single man wanted. So he dutifully spent each day with the blade clipped to his belt, though he’d only ignited it a few times following the light cruiser and wasn’t comfortable using it. I will be. It will happen. He learned more about the planet and the people and their history, and he spent time with Bo-Katan and her crew, took an active part in the planning for their future. The ultimate goal was to retake Sundari, but that couldn’t happen until they were truly ready, and all corners of the galaxy had been searched for others to join their cause. It was a waiting game, and one thing that the Mandalorian was good at was waiting. 

 He’d waited for his parents to come back and rescue him from the bunker. He’d waited for bounties to show themselves. Waited for the repercussions of rescuing the kid from the Client and the doctor. Waited for the day when his quest came to an end and he reunited Grogu with his kind. 

 But the waiting on Mandalore - for whatever would come next - was truly wearing on Din. Maybe if it was my home, then I … But he sighed, turning his head to the side at the sight of a blinking red light reflecting off of the shining surface of his helmet. Who would leave a message? Din sat up again, reaching for the device on the tabletop and pulling it into his lap. Cara would have tried the ship. I just talked to Bo-Katan. Karga wouldn’t… Frowning into the darkness, he pressed play. There was silence for a few seconds, but then at the sound of the voice coming through the small speaker, the Mandalorian swore under his breath, fatigue all but gone. Skywalker. “”I’m hoping this message reaches you, Mandalorian. This isn’t an update like the others I’ve sent. This is …” There was a long pause and Din heard a slow exhale. “This is different.” Different? Is the kid… “Grogu’s been struggling. Not physically, but … mentally. We - the other Jedi Masters - have talked about it, and agree that he needs to see you again, to spend time with you. It’s been a year since you’ve seen each other, and we… I think that it’ll help him one way or another.” Luke paused again and Din lowered his face into his hands, the tips of his fingers gripping the ends of his hair tightly. This isn’t … he … the kid… I… “And I don’t mean a few days, either. I’m thinking long term. You know how to reach me, Mandalorian. I’ll be waiting.” The transmission cut off there, the light going dark. But Din saw none of it, his eyes closed and hands still in place. Seeing … seeing the kid again? Can I? Should I? He raised his head, looking up and into the darkness. He wanted to; there was no question about it. The seed had been planted - if Luke and the other Jedi thought that Grogu needed time away, time spent with him, who was he to say no? But … He looked around the room, sparsely furnished - barely more welcoming than the sleeping quarters on the Razor Crest or the Razor II - and groaned. Can’t bring the kid here right away, can I? There was too much to consider; Bo-Katan’s plans, Din’s responsibilities, the future of an entire race of people and their planet… but each of those things was no more important to him than the last, especially at the thought of Grogu’s wide eyes looking up at him and his weight settled against the crook of Din’s arm. It’s something to think about, Din admitted to himself as he put the device back onto the table and laid back, the arm back beneath his head. Just to think about it. Like always, it took him long minutes to fall asleep, and when he finally did, his dreams were filled with the sound of Grogu’s quiet coos. --- But upon waking up the following morning, Din realized that no matter how much he wanted to see Grogu in person again, he had to do what was right for the kid. Even if it means… He dressed slowly, pulling on his armor piece by piece, saving the helmet for last again. Once dressed, he sat back on the edge of the bed and picked up the device, turning it over in his hands. I need to do this. Switching it from recording audio to a video reply, the man set the device down, squaring his shoulders and spoke out loud, commanding it to begin recording. 

 “Master Skywalker. My quest was to bring Grogu to his kind, and that’s what I did.” He paused, thankful that his face was hidden, along with the trembling of his upper lip. “When you came and took him from Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, I completed that quest. He was … he is safe with you, with the Jedi. You’ve updated me on his progress, and I thank you for that, but …” His shoulders slumped, and even though he had to fight to get the next words out, he managed. “This is The Way. I don’t want to …dank farrik.” Lowering his helmet toward his chest, he finally continued. “I just want what’s best for the kid. That’s all I …” Say it. You have to say it. “You know how to reach me. I’ll be waiting.” 

 But he hadn’t said what he needed to. 

 It wasn’t an answer - Din knew that. It wasn’t an outright refusal - he knew that, too. But it was an out for Skywalker, proof that the Mandalorian wasn’t as selfish as he felt, as willing to drop everything and fly to wherever he needed to be to see the kid again. But I am. I just needed to… He didn’t give himself a chance to second guess the words he’d spoken, instead typing in the necessary information and sending the transmission. Before the device had beeped to confirm, Din was already heading for the door, needing to face the day and deal with whatever was expected of him, keeping his mind from the device … and any possible response. This is the Way. 

 ---  

 His resolve only lasted until the middle of the night, Din finally returning to his quarters and beginning the ritual of removing the armor from his body. He didn’t even look at the table until it was time to take the helmet off, and he froze at the sight of another blinking light. Skywalker sent a message back. He hesitated then, hand held above the device, and without speaking, Din turned to the shelving on the far wall, his hand digging into the pouch on his belt, fingers curling around the familiar spherical shape there. Did I ruin everything, kid? Is Skywalker going to tell me that the offer isn’t… The metal cool against his palm, Din once again walked the short distance to the bed, keeping the knob held tightly in one hand and grabbing for the comm device with the other. “Only one way to find out.” 

 The quiet of the room gave him the ability to hear each of the Jedi’s words clearly, the man not stumbling over them a single time. Mandalorian. If you’re willing to listen before you make your decision, there’s someone here much more convincing than me. It’ll only take a few minutes, but I know you’ll want to hear it. I don’t know you well, but I know what it sounds like when someone says things that they don’t really believe. It doesn’t even need to be a holo message, just … let me call you. It was simple; Din knew it, and yet he didn’t want to believe that there was still a chance that he’d be reunited with Grogu in the near future. He’d half expected the man’s response to be in agreement; yes, you did what you were supposed to. The kid might miss you, but he really is better here. You’re right. But instead, there’d been a slight note of surprise in the Jedi’s voice, especially as he’d mentioned the other person he wanted Din to talk to. But who could it be? I haven’t … haven’t talked to the kid this whole time. He wouldn’t… But Din didn’t know what the Jedi had planned, and that worried him more than he wanted to admit. But why? He squeezed the ball again and then set it down next to the beskar of his helmet, staring at the two pieces of metal. Before the Razor Crest had been blown up, he hadn’t known that Grogu’s favorite toy was made of the same metal that he wore for protection. He’d assumed it was durasteel, but when he’d unearthed it from the ashes, right alongside the new spear, he’d made the connection. He didn’t know if the kid had been drawn to it because he connected beskar with the man himself, but in the months since he’d last seen the child, the thought comforted Din. At least he has the pendant. Din’s eyes closed, remembering the final moments on the light cruiser’s bridge. Alright, pal. It's time to go. Don't be afraid.  He’d been trying to remain strong for the kid, but Din had also been speaking to himself - and the coercion hadn’t worked. He’d been afraid to lose the child - his child, for good. He’d been afraid of what came next for him and Mandalore. He’d been worried about what it meant to go back to his solo existence, even with the addition of people like Fennec and Cara and Boba Fett - even Peli had crossed his mind then. But mostly, he’d focused on the way it felt to see those huge eyes staring at him until the last possible second. I'll see you again. I promise. For a few seconds - time that stretched out into an eternity, Din had imagined that he could hear the kid speaking back to him. Don’t want to go. But have to. See you again.  They were short, broken sentences, similar to those that children used, but Din later realized that he’d imagined them, because it was what he’d wanted to hear. But if I call him back, I might … The man swallowed hard, reaching for the device before he allowed himself to think about it, and pressed the record button without switching the holo on. “Skywalker. I’ll listen. I don’t …. I don’t know what the time difference is between where I am and where you are, but if you call within the next eight hours, I’ll answer. Otherwise … we’ll need to figure something else out.” He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. “I’ll … as long as it’s not the kid you want me to talk to, I’ll listen.” He repeated the direct connection procedure for the device and then sent the message, keeping it switched on while he picked up the ball and laid back, head against the pillow. Din was nervous, but with the message sent, he was calmer than he had been the entire day, and it gave him a chance to think back to the time he’d spent with Bo-Katan and Koska, the women talking excitedly about a small clan that had made contact, and what it meant. He agreed that the more Mandalorians they knew to exist, the better. 

 He hadn’t heard from all of the members of the Covert, but surprisingly, many of them had survived Gideon’s attack on Nevarro and the breach of their underground sanctuary. Paz was alive, as was the Armorer. Many of the foundlings were accounted for - and that was something that brought Din relief beyond words. This was true not only as the Mand’alor, but as someone that had lived and learned side by side with them. They’d lost a great deal of beskar in abandoning the tunnels, but Din had it on good authority that the pieces that had been recovered were slowly being removed from Nevarro a few at a time, transported to the Armorer’s new forge location in secret. She wasn’t the only one skilled with the metal, but she was the only one Din trusted, and as angry as that seemed to make Bo-Katan, he refused to budge on who he allowed to touch the precious metal. It’s the right call. I… know where it is, and I know that she can’t… use it against me. 

 The woman hadn’t given him any outright reason to mistrust her, but her attitude toward him since he’d shown up with the Moff and Darksaber in tow had made him pause. Din’s circle of trust was small, and though she’d proven helpful, she hadn’t quite worked her way into it in the months they’d known each other. It bothered her much more than it bothered him, but he tried not to think about it. Especially when I could be … thinking about the kid. Din’s thoughts went to Grogu and Skywalker, the child’s reaction to seeing the droid that the man had with him, the way the doors closing behind the two of them had felt like someone was squeezing his chest, while at the same time, there’d be a small kernel of hope buried there. He’d kept it buried but hadn’t let it die, and with each report from the Jedi, the pressure had decreased slightly. He’s doing well, or … he was. He’s learning, he’s with his own … But Din’s thoughts were interrupted with the insistent beeping of the device, and he shot up in the bed, fingers still closed around the beskar sphere. He hadn’t expected the reply to come so soon, but knowing that the Jedi was on the other end of the line, he was more excited than nervous. Just want to know what … what he has to say. Din took a deep breath, making sure that the video switch was still off and then answered the call, taking another long, slow breath to calm himself. They’re too many parsecs away, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

 “Hello? Are -” The Jedi replied, and Din continued, wanting to get the conversation going before he had time to overthink it. “I didn’t think you’d call. I wasn’t -” But Skywalker spoke quickly, too, no pretense before reminding him that he had someone for the Mandalorian to talk to. However, at the revelation that that someone was female, Din felt his eyes narrow, head cocking to one side. What? He was determined to begin the conversation in control, and so without hesitation, he focused his eyes on the comm device, slipping into the voice he used with the people he was trying to get information from. “Tell me your name.” The first time he heard your voice - even though it was through a tiny speaker - Din was surprised by confidence in it, the way you replied back to him immediately. You answered his questions with honesty, at least as far as he could tell, and the longer the conversation went on, the more certain Din was that Skywalker knew him better than he’d thought. The kid… the kid probably… they must talk too. He smiled at the thought, absently scratching the cheek that Grogu had laid his hand on, but when you revealed that the kid snuck into your room at night, the Mandalorian had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from reacting audibly. Dank farrik. “I thought he had to complete his training before he leaves the Academy, before he can become a Jedi, so why are you -” You didn’t get to answer that, Skywalker interjecting with similar words to the ones from his initial transmission, and Din began thinking. He wanted to agree to seeing the kid, but instead of saying that, he heard another denial leaving his lips, only cut off by your words. “If he stays here, his attachment to you might change his life, Mandalorian.” It was another simple, straightforward sentence, but hearing it, another joly passed through Din’s body. Skywalker said something about attachment on the light cruiser. So did Ahsoka on Corvus. Din knew that they were attached to each other, that was more about simply caring for the kid, but hearing someone else - someone that had spent just as much time with Grogu as Din had saying the same thing finally got through to him. That, compounded with the admission that Grogo reenacted bounty hunts with you and the others at the Academy often had Din’s lips pressed tightly together, almost to the point of pain. He misses me. He thinks of me. But what really impacted him was hearing the word aliit come through the speaker, reaching his ears in your voice. She shouldn’t know Mando’a. Hearing that, it… Instead of replying directly to that, Din voiced another denial, head shaking back and forth and eyes squeezing shut. Seeing him would be … But with the rounded sphere still in his hand, Din’s eyes opened, brow furrowed. No, you know what? I want this. Why shouldn’t I? 

 If he’d thought about it, there were multiple reasons why reconnecting with Grogu was a bad idea, but he could only turn the Jedi - and you - down so many times before it became impossible - or, even worse, the refusals were accepted. There’s no one chasing him right now. There’s no more danger than usual for me. There’s… 

 Din blinked again at the revelation that the reunion could last months, asking who’d be escorting Grogu back to the Mandalorian, and another surprised huff left his lips as you admitted that it would be you. But that means… “Are you a Jedi?” He asked the question before he could stop himself, listening intently for your answer, and the following explanation.

She’s not a Jedi, but she does care about the kid. I … I hear it. I believe it. That surprised him, but Din didn’t want to second guess you. You’d been persuasive throughout the conversation, even before the admissions you’d made, honest instead of trying to pretend that you were something that you weren’t. Complicated? I wonder what … Instead of continuing that thought, Din’s attention snapped back to you and Skywalker, the details falling into place as the discussion continued. He’d have a week to get things in order, to contact Cara and Karga, arranging the arrival on Nevarro. He’d need at least a few days to convince Bo-Katan that leaving Mandalore for months was the right call. It is. He was still speaking to you and the Jedi, but Din’s mind was on everything that he needed to do to get ready to leave. I’ll need to start in the morning. The conversation wound down, and as Din reminded you that you’d need to be ready to leave and meet him in a week, you sighed, the sound loud, even through the speaker. “That’s fine, Mandalorian. More than fine.” You were being short with him, but it didn’t seem to because you wanted to be; you were doing what was best for the situation. She’s leaving her life there to come … here with him. He blinked, telling you that he looked forward to Nevarro, and then the conversation ended, the room going quiet. 

 His thoughts were on Grogu - whether or not he’d grown out of his robe, if he was speaking yet, if he was more confident with his power - but they were also on the trip itself, and on the fact that once again, he’d be going from being alone to having others with him. And this time, it’s not … short term. 

 It was longer than he’d ever hoped for, he realized as he lifted to sphere up and over his face, the smooth surface gleaming as the filtered moonlight coming in through the window hit it. I’ll finally get to give this back. He smiled at the thought, and for the first time in the year that he’d been separated from Grogu, Din fell asleep quickly, no dreams of the kid peering over the Jedi’s shoulder keeping him awake. 

---

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star  @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks

[palimpsessed]

Steel Yourself

That morning in Las Vegas when Simon gets his hair cut has been in the back of my mind for over a year, and the recent Wayward Son anniversary reread and lots of talk about hair in the server, brought it front and center. So I decided I had some thoughts and I wanted to get them out.

I asked myself a lot why Simon did this one thing at this one moment. He's let his hair grow out for a long time, probably since the summer before eighth year, or at least the summer after Watford. He's even told us: "I haven't cared enough to get a haircut."

But when Simon does cut his hair, he's still in the same bad place mentally. He still doesn't see himself in a positive light. So why the change? And why this change?

For me, it all comes down to the timing. Timing is very important in terms of Simon's hair. Throughout Simon's life, you could tell the time of year by the length of his hair. At the start of every summer, he shaved his head, and the rest of the year, he grew it out. When Simon starts at Watford, his hair is still fairly short from the previous summer: "A Trojan 11-year-old with baggy jeans and a shaved head." (This is also the look sported by the Insidious Humdrum, which Simon created shortly before being "discovered" by the Mage and taken to Watford.)

Why does the length of his hair matter? Because the shorter it is, the more vulnerable Simon is. (And I don't mean like Samson losing all his strength when his hair was cut off.)

Simon spends months completely unprotected and cut off from all contact every summer. Those summer months in the care homes, exiled from the World of Mages, and the first 11 years of his life, Simon is at his most vulnerable. He doesn't have a family or access to his friends when he's in care. He can't really use or practice his magic. And he's left open to attack from pretty much any magickal or dark creature who feels like trying their luck. (See: fit goblin cabbie and suspected bonety hunter/pervert from the beginning of Carry On.) (Simon has more than one price on his head by the time he's eighteen. And the Humdrum could attack anytime. And the Mage's enemies could hunt him down to get their revenge on the Mage.)

The only person Simon is able to contact during the summers is the Mage, and I think we can all agree that makes him significantly less safe than if he was completely cut off.

Simon is most vulnerable in summer and that's when his hair is the shortest. The drastic change, the rude awakening of being thrust back into the Normal world alone at the end of each school year is perfectly signified by Simon cutting off all of his hair. (Also, undercuts: half-shaved, half-grown. Simon, composed of halves: Normal world/World of Mages; Chosen One/Insidious Humdrum; limitless wells of magic/inability to Speak; dragon/human.)

Once Simon is back at Watford, his hair grows in; the longer he's there, the longer it gets. The more months he spends back at Watford--the only true home he's ever had, surrounded by the only people who love him--the more security he has, and the less vulnerable he becomes.

Are the summer haircuts a necessity of living in a group home "with seven other discards"? Or just something Simon does on his own? It's not really made clear, but Simon does say "I shave it", which implies some degree of agency. I don't think it's uncommon to want to change one's hair (style or color) when life gets overwhelming. (2020, anyone?) It's a great and safe way to exert control over life and self when other things feel out of control. The thing about Simon is that he has never had control over his life; that's part of what makes him so vulnerable the years he spent in care, the years he was the Mage's personal boy soldier, the years he was groomed as Baz's enemy and the Chosen One born to take down the Insidious Humdrum. The length of Simon's hair seems to be the one thing he has control over.

When Simon is most vulnerable, he cuts his hair. In his case, it's an act of defiance, of agency. Cutting his hair is a way for him to be strong, to take control.

Let's move forward in time now to Wayward Son.

Even though he's left Watford and childhood and defeated "the big baddie[s]", Simon is still struggling through a life out of his control. He has wings, a tail, and no magic. He has no direction because he thinks he was born to die. He's burdened with years and years and years of trauma that he can't find a way to avoid or properly confront and he's decided to just stop trying to do either one.

Simon starts the book at his lowest point. And his hair seems to be at its longest, even though he's also at his most vulnerable. How does this tie into the point I'm trying to make?

Simon is not taking agency in his life; he's "lying on the sofa". Life is out of control again, but Simon hasn't shaved his head this time because he's given up trying to fight back.

I think subconsciously, Simon is now trying to use his longer hair as a kind of emotional armor. Short hair has been associated throughout his life with his most vulnerable state (and the Humdrum). Simon is essentially trying to build up a sort of physical barrier to the trauma that's constantly pushing in on him; trauma that he is trying his best to run from, to not face (including quitting therapy and telling his therapist that he prefers to have his brain close "off painful corridors"). Simon tells us that he hasn't "cared enough to get a haircut", but the implications seem to be much deeper than a lack of care.

We first see the hair-as-armor technique with Baz. Baz uses most aspects of his appearance as a way to craft his careful image of control. It's a skill he intentionally adopted from Malcolm. Baz practices his facial expressions and posture in the mirror to make sure that he's able to hide his emotions from the outside world. He cares about fashion, and puts on an expensive suit when he's going into a dangerous situation the way others would put on armor. Up until Simon kisses Baz in the woods, Baz's hair is kept carefully slicked back like a "gangster...or a black-and-white movie vampire". That scene in the woods is incredibly pivotal, but not just from a SnowBaz perspective. That's the moment that Baz hits his lowest point. He's convinced he's failed at finding his mother's murderer (and we all know Baz top-of-the-class Pitch doesn't handle failure well), and he's confronted, and been taunted by, the very monsters that he's been trying his whole life to deny he's one of. He doesn't care that Simon is there to witness his breakdown; he runs off into the woods and sets the fire he hopes will kill him.

That moment in the woods is one of just a few times that Baz allows himself to be vulnerable in front of Simon. And Simon is sure to comment on the state of Baz's hair when it's not neat and tidy. (Simon is very helpful.) There's the moment Baz finds out how Natasha really died ("His hair is in his eyes"), then after sharing magic out on the lawn with the dragon ("His hair falls forward"), which leads to them sharing magic on Baz's bed later that same day. These are incredibly integral steps along the way to Simon and Baz's truce and romance. Baz has to let down his guard so that Simon can see his humanity, his vulnerability, and recognize his own feelings, feelings that he's kept buried down deep because he's believed that Baz hates him and wants to kill him (and we all know what Simon does with painful thoughts). Each instance leads up to that kiss in the woods, after which Simon talks about the way Baz's "hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead". Simon and Baz spend that night kissing and sleeping in each other's arms; they talk for the first time ever about their feelings for each other. Baz's hair is loose and wavy and not slicked back because he's let his guard down, he's let Simon in, he's let himself be vulnerable. And one of the first things Simon does when he kisses Baz is slide his hand into Baz's hair and mess it up; after kissing, this seems to be top of his list "of all the things [he's] always wanted to do to Baz".

And what does Baz do later on Christmas Eve, when he's getting ready for dinner after Simon leaves with Penny and Agatha? He slicks his hair back. It doesn't evade Simon's notice, either. (Nothing about Baz evades Simon's notice.) He "wish[es]" Baz wouldn't slick his hair back, because "it looks better when it's loose and falling around his face". Simon wants Baz to be vulnerable around him, and Baz was trying to put his armor back up when he was convinced that Simon wouldn’t come back.

Baz has more hair in Wayward Son. (I'm not even going to touch the body hair thing, so calm yourselves.) His hair is longer than it was at Watford, and he's able to grow a beard. Simon sees Baz's new, softer look as illustrative of Baz's maturity, self-assurance, and attractiveness, reasons that Baz is too good for him. ("He's coming into himself. And I'm coming apart.") But what Simon fails to recognize is that, as in Carry On, Baz's softer hair is actually illustrative of his emotional vulnerability.

Between Carry On and Wayward Son, Baz, like Simon, has grown out his hair, and he seems to prefer wearing it loose. He isn't the same boy he was in school; he has everything he ever wanted (Simon), so he can let down his guard. They're supposed to be living the happy ending neither one of them ever thought they'd get to have. He doesn't need to protect himself anymore, because he isn't living with the constant fear of being outed one way or another in a boarding school without escape. (He does still have to live with the fear of being outed as a vampire, but that concern has to be much less immediate now that he's outside of the only place that mages live together. He's under far less scrutiny in London and at university and far less likely to be discovered.)

And yet, Baz isn't happy, he isn't secure. He thinks he's going to lose Simon, that maybe he's already lost him. Baz now struggles to get his hair back under control (just like Christmas Eve), and their ill-fated road trip conspires against him at every turn. Baz's hair gets blown to hell when the convertible top breaks; Simon compares him to Mozart, then Baz compares himself to a member of a "hair metal band"; he can't use magic to tidy his hair, and even wetting it only gets him to a Bucks Fizz or Wham! equivalent; his hair gets "bushy and matted" in their fight with Jeff Arnold and his posse; Simon tells Baz not to ride in the back of Shepard’s truck because of “what the wind does to [his] hair”. (Remember the scene in the back of the truck? Yeah. Very emotional.) Baz's emotional turmoil is reflected in his diminishing physical condition throughout their trip. He finally lands on using his mother's scarf as a means of keeping his hair under control. He's trying to reclaim some of his emotional armor, because, as he tells us: "Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you're this happy. And it hurts to look at you when you're depressed. There's no safe time for me to see you. Nothing about you that doesn't tear my heart from my chest and leave it breakable outside my body."

Baz is in pain. He's trying to hold himself together and his hair is the perfect metaphor for this. The fact that he uses his mother's scarf to keep it under control harkens back to his method of aping Malcolm in Carry On. He turns to his parents for the means of bolstering his armor in the face of vulnerability (which we see play out much more overtly when Baz later contemplates calling Malcolm, and calling Fiona, for help with the NowNext).

(Side note about Baz's family. Want to talk about hair showing emotional vulnerability? How about Malcolm going white after Natasha died? The man is broken by his first wife's death and he never recovers emotionally, even though he's remarried and had four more children. He still can't express any emotion toward Natasha's son. Also, Fiona. With her natural white streak dead center in the front of her hair? Fiona is an absolute wreck of a human. She's volatile and self-destructive and vindictive and was also shattered by Natasha's death and before that, Nico's Turning. Both Malcolm and Fiona are permanently marked with signs of their emotional trauma with their white hair.)

I think post-Humdrum Simon has taken a page out of Baz's book, having always seen him as self-assured and completely in control in a way Simon never was. He's internalized the hair-as-armor technique as a misguided way to insulate himself from his pain, growing it out instead of cutting it off (with his "new length" being a physical representation of the barrier he's trying to make around all of the painful things in his head).

This obviously doesn't work. Simon isn't fooling anyone, not even himself.

In Carry On, Simon shaves his hair to exert control, and Baz slicks back his hair to project control. In Wayward Son, Simon uses his longer hair as a kind of shield against looking vulnerable, and Baz's longer hair reflects his vulnerability.

Wayward Son ends with Simon still in a very vulnerable state. If Simon thinks of short hair as being linked with vulnerability, and long hair like armor, then why did he decide to cut his hair in Vegas?

Because he did care enough to get a haircut; he cared enough to make himself vulnerable.

Why?

Because he's in love with Baz and he can't tell him, so he cuts his hair to show him.

Simon is being brave. He's taking a step and he's exposing himself in a way he's been too scared to do for a long time. Which is the crux of all of this: allowing himself to be vulnerable is actually a kind of strength.

The night before Simon gets his hair cut, Baz meets Lamb. Simon listens to Lamb flirt with Baz, and Baz sort of flirt back with Lamb, for hours, and can't do anything about it. When he does finally intervene, he sees them together, and he thinks Baz and Lamb are going to kiss. He thinks Baz wants someone else. He thinks Baz wants to break up with him. (He already did think so, yes, but at this point of the book, Simon has started to convince himself that they're "getting by".)

The night culminates in one of Baz's lowest points, drunk and draining birds in the hotel bath, bloodstained and forced to face the brutal reality that is his life as a vampire with three witnesses, one of whom is the love of his life. Baz doesn't ever want Simon to see him drink. He has to tell Simon more than once to leave the bathroom to try to maintain some part of his dignity and to keep Simon from continuing to watch (because Simon wants to watch).

This is Baz at his most vulnerable, and Simon is there for all of it. Again. And he wants so badly to be with Baz. But Simon is a mess and can't articulate his feelings. So he goes out and gets an expensive haircut to show Baz that he does care. He finally cares enough to get a haircut (to exercise agency over himself and his life). This is his way of trying to fight for Baz. It's completely off the mark (use your words, Simon) but it's sweet and it's well-intentioned. And it's brave.

Simon has two things in life that he's clinging to with all the power he has left in him: Baz and Penny. And that morning in Vegas, he's probably contemplating the possibility that he's going to lose Baz. (And, unless they get a break, Agatha.--Again.)

TL;DR: Simon cuts his hair, to try to get some control over his out-of-control life, to make an effort for his boyfriend, to try to bring back the part of himself from Watford who was a hero who could take on anything with his undercut ("and a belly full of magic"). It's vulnerability, but it's also strength.

Shaved or tousled, Simon Snow, I hope you get your well-deserved happy ending with Baz, and Penny, and Agatha, and Shepard. And therapy. Please, please, please therapy.

[adastra121]

Green Thumbs

Book: The Elementalists

Pairing: Beckett Harrington x Wood-Att MC (I didn’t specify a gender)

Summary: Beckett struggles with a Wood magick spell, so the Wood-Attuned MC helps him understand a bit better.

A/N: So this is a short fluffy one-shot of Beckett and MC that I started writing when The Elementalists first came out (yeah, as you can tell I’m often really late with things). I had the idea when I read a line about Metal magick and Wood magick being opposites and I really wanted to explore how magick worked and why an Attuned of one type would have trouble with the other. Obviously, I didn’t expect to see something like that happen in the books, because it would be difficult to code with differently Attuned MCs, but this is how I imagined a scenario where Beckett is struggling with Wood magick and a Wood-Att MC helps him grow as an Attuned (as Wood-Atts do uwu). Also, this is told in second person from Beckett’s perspective.

Beckett could feel the frustration building up as the potted plant wilted yet again after he performed the spell. He’d always had difficulty with Wood magick, but he had been working at this spell for over an hour. This was just getting ridiculous. And it wasn’t so much that he was killing the plants, rather, the plants simply refused to work with him. Like they knew exactly what the spell intended and, by virtue of it being something Beckett wanted to happen, decided to do the exact opposite.

“Beckett,” your voice chimed from right beside him. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Didn’t you say it was natural for Metal-Atts to have trouble with Wood magick?”

“Well, yes, I did say such a thing, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out a frustrated sigh. “Not for a Harrington. It shouldn’t be…and if I cannot master even a basic Wood magick spell like this…”

“It doesn’t make you any less of a brilliant Attuned,” you cut him off, slipping your hand in his and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Beckett felt the flush creep up his neck when his eyes landed on your bright smile, before he glanced away and awkwardly cleared his throat. One would think that after all this time together, he would get used to your random displays of physical affection. But no, of course, Beckett would still get flustered around you like some school boy around his crush. It didn’t help that you loved to tease him about it as well, even more so after you two decided to get into a romantic relationship. Luckily for him, you decided to spare him the teasing and get straight to the feedback.

“Wood magick and Metal magick are opposites,” you continued. “It makes sense why an Attuned specializing in one would find the other difficult. I know it took me a while to get Metal magick down.” You let out a little laugh to yourself. “Or any magick, for that matter.”

Beckett bit back a smile. “And how did you get around it?”

“Well, let’s see…” You hum for a moment, tapping your chin as you thought, lips pursed in an adorable pout. Honestly, how could you make such unsolicited comments all the time about his own “cuteness” when you acted like this?

“The way I see it,” you said, drawing him out of his thoughts, “Metal magick calls for mastery of the self. And it suits you perfectly. You are always striving to be better. Always pushing yourself to your full potential. And you rely on nobody but yourself to get to where you are. It actually amazes me how much you have accomplished, how you are so willing to go even further.”

Beckett didn’t think his face could grow any warmer, yet you seemed to love proving him wrong. His heart warmed with immense affection at your praise, every word filled with more sincerity and openness than he’d thought possible. How could you be so open, so willing to share your heart with everyone around you? With someone like him?

He couldn’t understand. Perhaps that was his problem.

“Wood magick, however, is not self-reliant,” you continued, turning your gaze to the potted plant. “You are not bending and moulding a form to the best of your ability. You are guiding a living thing. It requires you to listen, cooperate, and most importantly, trust. You need to trust that you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

Your eyes caught his for a moment, and he could have sworn he saw something flicker across their brilliance. A hint of knowing…reassurance. Were you still talking about magick? However, as quickly as that unspoken message played out in your bright gaze, your attention shifted back to the plant before you.

Beckett watched, inexplicably enraptured by your magick brought the wilted plant back upright. Your magick…it didn’t demand control over the plant, didn’t bend it to your will. It was patient, trusting, and…warm. Just as warm as it had been the first time he truly felt it.

One of the leaves continued to extend towards you, towards your open palm. Enraptured with his own curiosity, Beckett was wondering what sort of complicated spell you were preparing to demonstrate when you simply met the leaf with your palm. “High five!”

He paused, blinking a couple times, before letting out a groan.

“I have finally done it—I have failed the Harrington name,” he murmured. “I’ve resorted to asking for help from a Wood-Att who has not only just recently been introduced to magick, but also uses the art for handshakes with houseplants.”

“Oh, no need for the dramatics, you dork,” you beamed, sidling up behind him. “Let’s start small and build from there. Kind of like relationships.”

You placed your hands around his, your magick still so inviting and warm like sunshine, and he realized then that you were sharing your magick with him. Not so much in a way that lends him your power, though, you weren’t giving him the materials to build something great. It was more like you were leading him along a dance, magick guiding him into a certain direction but also listening to his magick, his heart. You were always frighteningly good at that, reading his heart.

He didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

“It’s okay. It will listen to you. Don’t force it, just let it respond to you in its own way.”

Beckett nodded, taking in a deep breath and letting his eyes drift shut to relax. It was strange, he realized. He never felt more vulnerable than when he was around you. You were always so open and free with your thoughts, your feelings, with your love. One would think that made you too trusting, naïve, defenseless to anyone who wanted to hurt you — in fact Beckett did think exactly that before you became friends. That was when he realized that as much as you allowed him to know more about you, he was letting himself be known as well. All his failures, his insecurities, his weaknesses. It went both ways.

And being known — having people know not only your name, not only your pride and accomplishments, but knowing and seeing you — was a terrifying thing. With you, he couldn’t hide behind any of those, he had no shield, no armor. He always thought that one would be weak without them. But you had long known that wasn’t true.

It had never occurred to Beckett that an open, unguarded heart could have been hurt before. He’d always thought it was a result of never experiencing pain. But that wasn’t true. Your openness and kindness weren’t out of naivety, they were a choice — one that took strength, resilience, and so much bravery. You chose to open yourself to the world because you knew before he did that there was more to vulnerability than weakness. There was joy and friendship and growth. There was love.

You made him vulnerable…and you made him stronger.

It was a simple thing to place his trust in you.

“Beckett, open your eyes,” you whispered, breath brushing against his ear.

He did as you told, and saw a leafy tendril reaching out toward his hand, brushing tenderly against his fingers. Beckett breathed out an incredulous laugh.

You threw your arms around him, wrapping him in a warm, giddy embrace. “You did it! I knew you could!”

He was at a loss for words, choosing instead to watch your smiling face, your eyes filled with pride in him, in a way that was somehow worth more than all the awards in the world combined. He only wished you would pull him in closer.

Something suddenly wrapped around his arm and yanked him out of your embrace. “Gah!”

And then he found himself entangled in the vines of the plant, leaves tickling his skin, gently swaying as if he was being cradled.

“Oops,” you said, chuckling at the display of open affection. “I forgot to warn you how enthusiastically they can respond to you once you’ve formed a bond. Alright, buddy, you can let him go now. Thanks for the help.”

You stroked a hand along the stem, which relaxed under your touch and eventually dropped Beckett back onto his feet. His face was flushed a bright red in embarrassment as he attempted to straighten out his clothes.

“I think I’ll stop here for now. As much as I would love to continue cuddling the university’s flora, I do have other classes to study for.”

He sent an apologetic look to the plant as if to say “no offense.”

…God, you might be rubbing off on him a little too much.

“They don’t usually react like this one you’ve gained their trust,” you mumbled, rubbing your chin thoughtfully. “What were you thinking about before it pulled you in?”

How much I wanted to sink deeper into your embrace until I’m forever lost in your warmth and affection. “Er, I was just…nervous, I suppose,” he fibbed, feeling his face warm yet again as he stuttered.

“Well, whatever that was about, you still performed the spell successfully! And the plant seems to like you,” you said. Your smile turned mischievous, a bit too pleased, and Beckett knew what that look usually meant. “I knew you’d grow on each other eventually.”

“…If that was intended to be a Wood magick joke, I am breaking up with you.”

The plant beside them shuddered as if agreeing with him about his partner’s corny humour. You let out a bright giggle and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Nah, you wouldn’t. I’ve grown on you, too.”

At that, Beckett allowed himself a fond smile, even as you were already turned away, starting off in the direction of the library.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly to no one in particular. “You have.”

You looked over your shoulder with a radiant smile that, Beckett was starting to realize, he couldn’t remember his life without.

“Come on, Harrington, Wood magick’s not the only attunement we have to review!”

[grimmseye]

Tandem

Read on Ao3 Here

Rating: Gen

Fandom: She-ra

Relationships: Hordak & Entrapta, Hordak/Entrapta (pre-relationship

Chapter Characters: Hordak, Entrapta

Chapter Tags/Warnings: This is just 1500+ words of Hordak’s thoughts about Entrapta, Pre-Season 2

(Disclaimer: remember that Hordak is both an imperial soldier and a cult survivor. This is also before he and Entrapta have really started building their relationship. His narration is told through that lens. )

— — — — — — — —

Years of sifting through the Horde’s administrative detritus had not made the job any more bearable for him. Even when Shadow Weaver had been keeping operations smooth, there was a certain portion of work that had to fall on his head, plans and projects needing review before they could be dismissed or approved of.

It was aggravating work, with one new exception. When he reached the file with telltale oil smudges on it, he could already feel the weight of his armor ease. There was a quickness to his movements as he flipped the file open — certainly not eagerness, but anticipation. For once, the weight of the file pleased him rather than had Hordak biting back groans.

Entrapta’s projects were the only things that brought him any mental stimulation these days. He took a cursory flip through the first packet, ears perking as he spotted the first draft of her blueprints. For once, she wasn’t offering new weapons to deploy, but rather a more espionage-focused design: something small that could scope out their targets before they sent any troops to seize new territory.

It was delicate work, and deeply time consuming. He settled in to read in more detail, making a note to himself to grant her a more direct line of contact to him. From now on, Entrapta’s projects should be sent through communication pads, to be vetted by the only person in the Fright Zone who could offer worthwhile criticism. Two pages in, he could tell notes from those who had reviewed it before were utterly worthless, all questions and conjecture with no understanding of what it was that they demanded. It was worthless to insist she work faster if there wasn’t a method to do so.

There was one, potentially, but not a single of the previous readers had mentioned it.

Hordak created a document on his communications pad and set a stylus to the screen. He got several lines into his writing before he had to stop, giving a faint sneer. His armor weighed his limbs, making his writing sloppy, and regardless...

He tapped his nails along the edge of his throne. As excellent as Entrapta’s reports were, she did not receive the same work with enthusiasm. Audio recordings were her preferred means of reference if he recalled correctly, remembering a delay in her work when she'd first began working on his bots. When he'd inquired about it, she'd mentioned something along the lines of struggling to digest the information. A vocal repetition and a recording of the instructions had been enough to get her back on schedule.

A moment’s deliberation sent to the security feeds, ensuring Entrapta was in her lab before he flicked on a monitor. Through his screen, it gave an overhead of Entrapta at her workbench, looking to be setting up to get to work. Good. He wouldn’t be able to interrupt her if she were doing something delicate.

He lifted his chin before announcing himself with a call of, “Princess Entrapta.”

She straightened up at once, head swiveling before she caught sight of the monitor, gawking for a moment before breaking into a smile and calling out, “Hello!”

She’d forgotten to bow. Again. He pushed a breath through his teeth, finding that the urge to demand proper respect felt oddly diluted for Entrapta. Whether or not she bowed had yet to compromise her work. Instead he skipped to the point: “I received your newest blueprints. The design is promising, if… inefficient.”

Entrapta clapped her hands together, looking excited before the words caught up with her. “Oh, I know. I’ll need to develop a prototype to get a real sense of what materials I’ll need and how much time it’ll take —” As she spoke, her words grew quick, almost snappish. “— But right now the estimated time per drone is much longer than I’d like, let alone viable for regular use.” Her hair frizzed out, bristling not unlike a cat’s. A clear sign of displeasure.

He lingered in that for a moment, then spoke. “I have a suggestion,” He said, appreciating how she perked up at once. It was gratifying to work with someone who knew what they were doing, and even understood what he was doing — at least as far as an upbringing on this planet allowed. “There is a synthetic compound we produce here in the Fright Zone that may work as a substitute for what you intend to use: adamantine. It should have the strength to support this device even in sheer pieces.”

She listened to him speak, interrupting only once to ask if she could run a recorder. Once again, he found satisfaction in that. He rarely had trouble with being listened to — with the exception of Entrapta, all knew to bow in his presence, to not speak while he was speaking. He had fear, and respect, and obedience, he had created a facsimile of the true Horde, successful in his emulation of Horde Prime. And yet, while Princess Entrapta did not fear him or even always obey him, she heard him in a way no other creature on Etheria had before. She challenged him, even, and as irritating as her insubordination could be, there was value in an alternative perspective.

Truly, she was impressive. Despite being a princess, Entrapta had taken well to life in the Fright Zone. Everything he knew of the Etherian princesses suggested inordinate wealth and luxury that would not lend itself to the Horde’s lifestyle. The primary kingdoms were disorganized and self-serving, lacking unity and loyalty to any but themselves, excising that which they found displeasing and then stuffing their castles with unneeded opulence. Here, closest thing to luxury Entrapta had been provided was her own room, something all ranking officers were granted. And yet he’d heard none of the anticipated whining, just a snippet of her voice from Imp about the brown nutrition bars being unfavorable in texture, even once cut into smaller cubes.

He wasn’t sure he could count her among the ranks of the princesses at all, and that was entirely favorable. Dryl had such organization and stability that even in their princess’ absence, the small nation ran like clockwork. It seemed almost entirely self-sufficient, and what necessary trade was denied to them after allying with the Horde could be supplemented.

Again, he berated himself for not considering Dryl’s value. It seemed that like the other nations of this planet, he’d vastly underestimated its value, and Princess Entrapta’s value most of all.

At some point, their conversation drifted off track, to the materials Dryl itself mined and then stories of what Entrapta had found beneath the earth, the First Ones’ tech she was so enamored with.

“Their power sources are more efficient than any Etherian technology I’ve seen,” Entrapta breathed, her chin cupped in her hands. “One crystal,” she framed her thumb and forefinger approximately an inch apart, “could have enough energy to fuel one of your Skiffs for a full day of flight, longer if you stop to let it replenish — because that’s what makes them so amazing, they don’t run out of power. I think eventually they might exhaust their capability for storage but I have yet to prove it, but in the meantime they seem endlessly capable of recharging their own energy, potentially by harnessing the latent magic in Etheria’s atmosphere.”

Sometimes it could become difficult to keep up with the pace of her voice, when her words began to run into one another and she took great gasps as she ran out of breath. And yet, the subject held his attention, ears perked forward with fascination.

“If we were able to collect such crystals…” Even that much energy would be insufficient for his portal machine, but to collect a great quantity —

“That’s the trouble,” Entrapta sighed, deflating. “I’ve rarely found these crystals intact.”

Disappointment weighed heavy in Hordak’s chest, then curled into anger. He’d hardly known about it for a moment, and already his hope —

He slammed his fist down on his throne. Hordak glanced at the clock, realizing half an hour had slid by without his noticing. This entire thing had been — “A waste of my time.”

“I disagree!” Entrapta’s rebuttal made his eyes narrow. Still, he knew to listen to his officers when they spoke — even to Shadow Weaver, who had to walk through elaborate metaphors and tangents before she ever got to the point. Though perhaps he should have listened less to her. The very premise of her arrival should have served a warning — seeking revenge did not sow loyalty.

Unlike Entrapta, who worked for her discoveries, for possibility rather than vengeance on the fools who had left her for dead.

So he did not silence her as she continued, “Your input was quite valuable! If you could have some of that material sent to my lab, I’ll be sure to attempt a prototype using it and see if it will be a good substitute.”

His ears relaxed from their flattened position. Hordak glanced away from the screen for just a moment, taking a breath to calm his frustrations. “Of course. I will see it is done.” He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “That is all. You are dismissed, Princess Entrapta.”

“Okay!” She smiled. “It was nice talking with you! We should do this again!”

His finger hesitated over a button. Hordak inclined his head, half of a nod before he ended the transmission.

The quiet that followed left him with a strange feeling: reluctance to continue his work, the want to shift it aside and perhaps pull up his records on Dryl to read more on what Entrapta had told him. Instead he took his pad, putting in two orders: one to deliver a shipment of adamantine to Entrapta’s lab, the other opening a direct line to her own communicator.

Just in case she wanted to consult his opinion once again.

[tcstu]

January’s Honorable Mentions

This month’s piece generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous tales buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening in this scene. If you enjoy one of the Honorable Mentions below, please let the writer know. I’m sure they would love to hear from you.

As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart​​. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:

January 2020

May 2019

January 2019

The piece for this month was titled, “Hide and Seek.” Here it is along with the Honorable Mentions for this month:

(These entries are listed in the order they were received and do not reflect a system of ranking.)

Untitled

Written by: @emilyelizabethfowl​

Ten

She couldn’t tell whether the breeze she felt came from nature or from Its wings.

Nine

At least she didn’t have to worry about the smell betraying her hiding spot.

Eight

Sound, however, was a different matter entirely.

Seven

But her legs were starting to feel numb…

Six

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to move them, just a little, would it?

Five

Just a teeny tiny little bit…

Four

Slowly, carefully, she stretched her left leg.

Three

Then, bringing it back, she stretched out her right one.

Two

But she did it too fast, too carelessly.

One

Losing balance, she fell down. Her elbow knocked into the giant sheet of metal she was hiding under, the sound carrying far.  

Zero

Barely seconds later, giant talons dented the metal, ripping it away easily.

Found you!

Aw, shucks.

She stood up, turning to face the creature.

“Best three out of five?” she offered.

It’s already past your bedtime. A deal is a deal.

Ah well. It was worth a try. She climbed the creature’s back, clinging tightly to the feathers longer than she was tall.

She’d win their next game for sure!

“Eleanor And The Great Bird”

Written by: @evanthenerd83​

“Do not move,” Eleanor whispers to herself, thin frame curled inward.

The flapping of wings drowns out her panicked breathing. Dust swirls around. Bits and pieces rain down, and they sound like bullet casings striking metal.

Eleanor could recognize the sound anywhere. It is as familiar as her grandfather’s wartime movies. Black and white visions of the dead.

“Do not move,” Eleanor reminds herself, eyes scanning the words scratched into the steel.

The great bird passes overhead, and the entire shard shakes with its might. She bites her lip. A moment of terrible silence.

It is circling around. Coming back.

“Do… not… move,” Eleanor repeats, unaware that it doesn’t matter.

The shelter is just a jagged piece of roof. It isn’t big enough to hide her, not all of her. Not her shadow.

And unfortunately, the sun is burning in her direction.

The great bird has locked on.

The great bird makes one last turn…

Sit Com

Created by @daalseth​ ( Doug Aalseth )

"Ma!!" came the anguished cry.

"What is it?" replied his mother, her voice drenched in fatigue.

"Billy smashed up my 172 scale model Medieval Human Village."

"Now Tommy..."

"It wasn't me," shouted Billy. "I wouldn't do nothing with your stupid model."

"Yes it was," shouted Tommy waving his wing at the table. "That's your feather laying right there."

"Nuh-huh."

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-huh."

Their mother rubbed a talon against her throbbing forehead. It was going to be a long day. Maybe it was time to just kick the little bastards out of the nest? She looked at the two chicks arguing. "No," she said softly, "I'll give it one more day."

“Whatever It Takes”

Written by: @winterrose42​

I dug my fingers deep into the ground as I curled tighter into myself, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain effort to concentrate. This had to work- in the end it’s all I could do, whatever God that’s left forgive me. I could feel the beast looming impossibly large behind me, breath wuffing over the ruined plains like winds before a storm. A low growl thundered from its throat and I dug harder even as my fingernails protested and bent from the dirt being shoved underneath them. I couldn’t fail. I had to find them, and to do that I needed to make it out alive. To do that…

I felt it suddenly, claws slicing easily into the dirt deep enough that I’m sure someone could make a bomb shelter of it later. The tips of its heavy wings brushed the uneven ground, dragging stone and steel along as they swayed in rest. Feeling the pull of its head was the worst; it had seen me that much I knew, darting from toppled building to ruined tower to hastily put up shelter as  fast as my legs could carry me had not been fast enough. It’s great shriek had nearly deafened me as it shook the earth landing just a few yards away from where I had crouched. The few warriors who had gathered to head off the beast- they all knew in their hearts they hadn’t a chance of making it.

That’s what I kept telling myself as the beast’s arm raised and came crashing down to sweep away fallen debris and lean to steel sheets and scattered weapons, armor and men alike, leaving them to try and bury themselves yet again. Collect their wits and reorganize perhaps. I couldn’t afford to give them that chance. Setting everything in motion the wings swept back, the arms came up, the eyes focused forward, sharp beak opening wide with vocal chords straining to make its signature call- and so it was done.

All at once I severed the connection, feeling impossibly small and weak and useless once again as the ground shook like an earthquake with the speed at which the beast fell, screaming its indignation at being puppeted for as long as it had, intelligent eyes snapping forward to those running for better cover, myself sitting still and forgotten for the moment in light of more easily accessed prey. I covered my ears and closed my eyes, whispering out a prayer of forgiveness to carry on the artificial wind for those who cared to hear it.

Eventually the shaking ceased, noise quieted, beast placated if only for a moment making it possible to crawl out and stand up though I dared not turn around. Sticking to the irrational belief that my imagined carnage was worse and therefore I was absolved of blame I squared my shoulders and turned west.

I had survived and would continue to do so through whatever means necessary. I would survive. And I would find them.

Maran-do

Written by: @spoldhamindieauthor​ (S.P. Oldham)

Maran huddled beneath the toppled roof of a ruined dwelling, sitting now upon the ground, broken and battered. All of the buildings in this tiny hamlet told a similar story; one of destruction and wrath.

Maran heaved a silent sigh. He had sent out Maran-do, his mind partner, when the day was still bright, her task to bring down anyone he had not dispatched. Very few would be daring enough to try to evade her. It would take a remarkable being indeed to slip past Maran-do unnoticed, avoiding her wicked talons. He had never known it happen yet.

Maran-do hung in the air now like a dark, oppressive shadow. She had been the foretelling of death for so many souls, Maran had long since stopped counting.

He had never imagined she would foretell his own death, too. Maran frowned, trying to recall such a thing happening before. What could possibly cause a mind-partner to turn upon its host? It was unheard of.

He knew the tiniest movement would be enough to alert her to his whereabouts. Resisting the urge to break cover and run, Maran struggled with ordering his thoughts. That was the biggest problem. Maran-do was inside his head as well as outside it. She knew his own mind better than he knew it himself.

How could he possibly escape? Wherever he went, Maran-do would go with him. Why had she turned on him? In a rare moment of self-pity, Maran gave a sniff.

It was enough. He could feel the air outside shifting, darkness looming over his hiding place like an unstoppable, oncoming storm. For the briefest instant, Maran felt the terror and utter helplessness so many had known before.

A large talon tapped impatiently before him. Inside his head, the words ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’ blossomed into life like clouds of puffed smoke, Maran-do taunting him with his own phrase.

“Why?” Maran breathed, “Why do you turn upon me?”

More words of smoke, ‘I am to be mind-partner to a greater one than you, little Maran,’ using the childhood endearment, ‘Your mind is weak. You take much pleasure from death and killing. I belong to a greater mind than yours,’ she repeated.

She raised her foot. Maran flinched as, above him, the beams and planks of the rough wooden roof began to splinter. Instinctively he crouched, making himself smaller, as if he could avoid being crushed.

He had just enough time to wonder how she could survive without his mind to host her. Then he was gone; snuffed out like a bare candle in a blizzard.

Maran-do stretched her wings, letting out a silent shriek as her head turned to the west. A new host awaited her, a new name forming in her mind even as she rose from the earth. A path of flight was shown to her fathomless mind, stretching like an umbilical cord across the skies.

Maran was dead.

So was Maran-do.

Tethered

Written by: @wildler

I heard the spirits before I saw them—their strangled moans carrying through the smoke-stained air. Carys whinnied beneath me, her ears twitching in all directions.

“Easy girl,” I murmured, stroking her neck. “Only a little further. Should be the next clearing.”

The sound continued, growing stronger as we pushed closer to where the village was rumoured to be. I tugged the hood of my cloak from my head, sweat sticking my hair to my neck. It seemed my limited healing skills had arrived too late to be of use—but my other skills—well, perhaps I would return to the king with something more substantial than rumours at last.

We entered the clearing, the devastation hitting me like a sword to the gut. Homes had been scalped, gutted and burned. Their charred remains left crumbling into the earth. Spirits inhabited the ruins. Flickers of human outlines that cried out as they relived their violent, final moments of existence. Their fear keeping them tethered to this plane.

I dismounted Carys and pressed my hands to the ground, shuddering as the sweat on my neck turned cold. A haze of panic blanketed the site like thick smoke, making it impossible to get a sense of the events leading to its ruin. I sank my fingers into the soil and focused my will, trying again.

Sounds and smells came rushing at me, distorted screams on a hot jet of air. My eyes sprang open to find the spirits staring in eerie silence, their gaze passing right through me to something on the horizon.

I heard the presence before I saw it—a monstrous shriek carried on a blast of flame.  It was an end too terrifying and binding to escape.

And so, I relive it again.

[4res]

30 Days of Ares - Daily Devotion

___________________________________________________

this particular entry will be me catching up and continuing my commitment, so day 12-16! so many mental health set backs and troubles but Mars prevails.. just have to keep getting back up and back up.. Day 12 - Places Associated With This Deity and Their Worship

Day 13 - What Modern Cultural Issues Are Close To This Deity's Heart?

Day 14 - Has Worship of This Deity Changed In Modern Times?

Day 15 - Any Mundane Practices Associated With This Deity? Day 16 - How Do You Think This Deity Represents the Values of Their Pantheon and Cultural Origins?

Day 12 - Places Associated With This Deity and Their Worship

culturally, places like Thebes, Sparta, and Macedonia were closely related to Ares, and to Mars there was a sacred place in Rome called "Campus Martius" where a large area was dedicated to an altar for Mars, as well as a pasture for horses.. places infected by great periods of war seem to have erected large areas in Ares' name in places where soldiers would gather, or city boundaries, places they believed needed a call for the invocation of Mars.. and this seems to be culturally standard, that temples or altars to Gods of War were found in places where war itself could be found, or fight or struggle anticipated

Day 13 & 14 - What Modern Cultural Issues Are Close To This Deity's Heart? Has Worship of This Deity Changed In Modern Times?

in my Heart, Ares is one of the main God energies i consider most culturally relevant at this point in our time on Earth.. topics like human rights, protesting, our right to THRIVE vs survive have engaged us all in an internal and external fight to survive.. where we must all be soldiers of our own lives and serve tirelessly just to keep ourselves guarded in a world that rapidly encroaches on our human rights, basic needs, and personal space/freedom

i suppose this also answers question 14.. the face of our fight has changed. here in modern America.. i am not a solider. i do not serve nor would i serve this country or engage in any type of fight against others for it. and yet i live in a country most known externally for our occupations, war presence, and outright oppressions through cruel and unusual means. i am disconnected with the God of War that the ancient people knew, where War was a major part of their lives.. which is in itself, a genuine privilege

so modernly, as a person who is transgender, chronically ill, and suffers from mental health issues my fight happens on the inside of my mind, body, and spirit.. so i engage with Ares from my Heart. the energy of Mars is so abused by War but.. that is another prompt i suppose

Day 15 - Any Mundane Practices Associated With This Deity?

everything i do i can see the hand of Ares/Tyr in, the word "mundane" always makes me giggle a little. there is such special spirituality in even small things like running a bath and washing our hair in the water, and making food and lighting candles. i feel Ares deeply in moments where i am forced to assert my physical space or safety, and i feel him when i am cooking dinner or washing my body.. so.. i guess to me, everything i do is a mundane dance associated with Mars!

hold your space..

Day 16 - How Do You Think This Deity Represents the Values of Their Pantheon and Cultural Origins?

oh dear. i think Ares was put through the wringer in ancient Greece, where conflict in Sparta and Athens really painted a grim image of his energy.. and in Rome you have the Fatherly energy of Ares coming in, but an equal focus on battle

Gods of War were built to represent a solider, or the face of what battle looked like at the time (armor, weapons, family values, etc) and in their mythology we gain insight as to how people interacted with their energy.. or how they attempted to avoid it

Ares not only represents the time in which he was most present in his clothing and his mythology, but also in HOW he was worshiped and honestly - how he was feared, or seen as brutish and foolish

i feel each depiction of a God of War is simply a different cultural perspective on the same energy!

i would love Love Love to see how a "modern" 2021 Ares would look to so many.. or how Ares would look from the perspective of a solider and then from the perspective from someone fighting an internal battle.. in what ways do they change? in what ways are they similar?

[nishaapologist]

Proved You Right (Fallout 4, Sarah Lyons/NB!LW - First Sentinel AU)

a small note: this mentions having a basement in Home Plate, but that’s actually because i have a mod that lets me stick basements down to have a bit more space to breathe. for the sake of I Did It In My Game So It Counts, there’s also a basement in this au too! so yeah. anyway have this gay shit.

(sarah’s pronouns are she/her, rookie’s are they/them)

—

“This probably comes as, like, no surprise, but man... I love this city.”

Finding out there was a balcony, of sorts, on the roof of Sarah’s home in Diamond City — home plate, as they call it, which was a name that’d flown right over Sarah’s head until Rookie had gleefully explained the term — had been a pleasant surprise when Sarah had thrown down the two-thousand or so caps to buy the place, clambering up the rickety old ladder to the roof on her first inspection of the house only to find herself in a little sitting area that overlooked the market. She hadn’t made great use of it right away, more interested in the basement underneath that would later become her new base(ment) of operations in the Commonwealth, but then Rookie had shown up to Diamond City on the coattails of a local merchant, and now they spend near every evening sitting in the shell of an old caravan that’s been welded down to the corrugated sheets of the roof, drinking lukewarm beer as they listen to Myrna holler anti-synth slogans, or quietly singing along to songs on the radio until exhaustion makes all the words collapse into mumbles.

It’s a moment of peace, of relaxation, in a time increasingly fraught with battles and tension, and Sarah actually looks forward to tinkering with weapons or armour on her lap at the end of the day, Rookie beside her and resting on an old sunlounger as they hum along to the radio. It helps to put things into perspective, rather than grinding herself down to a sliver as — many years ago — she would have always done.

“I mean, I don’t like the mayor, or his whole ‘no-ghouls’ bullshit or anything,” they quickly add when Sarah glances up from under her eyelashes, head bowed as she turns the extended magazine of a 10-mil pistol about in her hand. Back in the Citadel, over a decade ago, weapon modding was never really a thing Sarah had needed to do, but it turns out that after years of maintaining Power Armor she has quite the knack for it. It’s just a bit more fiddly than she’s used to, is all. “But I really like everything else. The people, mostly. The market. The stands. All that stuff.”

Sarah snorts under her breath, squinting back down as the sunlight slowly dims on the horizon, a cool evening ushering in a breeze and making the hairs on her arms prickle. Spring is approaching the Commonwealth, the months quick to pass, and soon the most hardy of trees will be flush with life again, Ragstag fawns wobbling on unsteady legs, Yao Guai slowly waking from hibernation. It’s a new year, and 2288 is already shaping up to be an exciting one. “You sure that’s not just ‘cause we’re on a baseball field? Pitch?” Sarah screws up her nose. “Stadium?”

“Baseball park?” Rookie offers, though there’s no surety in their voice. “We called it the baseball diamond back in the Vault, since that was pretty much all we had space for.”

“Baseball diamond, then. You sure it’s not ‘cause of that? Isn’t this, like, your wildest dream, or whatever?”

Rookie kicks one leg out at Sarah, too far away for their foot to even hope of landing anywhere near her, but she jerks backwards to dodge it anyway, laughing at their grimace as they retract their foot. “Oh, please! I have bigger dreams than arguing with Moe fuckin’ Cronin about how ass-backwards he got his baseball rules!”

That first argument with Moe had been quite the spectacle, and one Sarah knows Diamond City won’t forget any time soon; Rookie had been checking out his stock with wide eyes, giving each bat a practice swing to feel the weight and heft as it arced around, and when he’d leant down to tell them how crazy Pre-War baseball had been — one team would beat the other team to death with things called Baseball Bats, and the best bats were called Swatters — Rookie had given him a public dressing-down that even Sarah had sidled away from, lest Rookie’s faithful bat, grasped in increasingly irate hands, accidentally found an arc directly into her skull by mistake. It had ended most excitingly with a lot of swears, intervention from the guards, and Rookie’s solemn declaration that they were never gonna buy bats from ‘such a dipshit’, and even now they and Moe glare daggers at each other from across the market, much to Sarah’s ongoing amusement with the whole thing.

As if remembering the same incident, Rookie takes a swig of beer, glowering off at the floodlights that shine down onto the city. “At least Alex agrees with me about him. This shit’s a dying art, apparently.”

Sarah pauses for a moment, and she can’t help the way her gaze tracks towards the far stands, glancing through one of the glassless windows to where ramshackle abodes sit, suspended, above the common rabble. Alex — or the Sole Survivor as some call her now, after her story about the Vault got published for hundreds of eyes to see, and for many more mouths to gossip about — had been granted a house in the upper stands by Mayor McDonough out of the kindness (or manipulation) of his heart, offering her a safe place to adapt to the new and unforgiving world she’d found herself in. Since they’d met, Sarah had struggled to get much more out of her than single-syllable words and pleas for her to find her son, but it was only when Rookie had shown up that her sturdy, Pre-War walls had finally begun to crumble, just a little.

Really, it’s because they’re a Vaultie, too — different experiments be damned — and it helps that they’re someone who was also thrown into the topsy-turvy world of the wastes with nary an idea for the horrors within. They might not quite be out of time, but they do understand being out of place, and when it turned out that Alex is (or, perhaps was) quite the baseball buff herself, they’d forged a connection that made her, initially, a little warmer. Nowadays, Alex is very nearly sociable.

But she still very much keeps to herself, and it’s enough to have Sarah worry. She sees a lot, maybe too much, of Rookie in her — back when they met in Chevy Chase, still new to this world — to be strictly comfortable leaving her to her own devices, but there’s not much else to be done. It’ll take years before she’ll ever really adapt, Rookie had said, years until she can really grapple with the world she doesn’t know. It’s just tough shit.

“Yeah,” Sarah murmurs absently, drawing herself from her rabbithole of thoughts, and Rookie follows her eyeline carefully, knowing exactly where she’s looking. “Well, hey. I guess you have to think of it this way; you and Alex make up two people who know how to play baseball, right? How many more do you need for a full team?”

Rookie laughs at that, sombre face breaking out into a toothy grin, and they slide even further down the lounger as their hat slips over their eyebrows. “Hah! Find me six more Vaulties, and then we’ll really be talking. I’ll be able to hit the first homerun in two-hundred fuckin’ years.”

“Wait,” Sarah says with a frown, doing the maths. Even to her ears, it doesn’t seem to add up right. “Only eight people? You sure?”

Rookie snorts, and then they reach up to take their hat off with a lazy pluck, eyeing Sarah up seconds before her vision goes dark as it’s tossed, haphazardly, onto her head and over her eyes.

“Baby,” Rookie coos fondly as she splutters, nearly dropping the magazine to the ground whilst she scrambles to whip it off her head. “Bold of you to think you can worm your way out of being our pitcher.”

The hat gets launched back at Rookie’s face, the brim making a dull impact on the bridge of their nose, and their shout of pain and laughter echoes right across the city.

[zombiesbecrazy]

strangers and lost ones

Summary: Magic, Bruce had long since decided, was frustratingly random and he very little patience for it.

AO3

Note: This stemmed out of the batfam discord server and a conversation about neonatal abstinence syndrome and then it got wildly out of hand. This is for @helplesslynerdy and @androbeaurepaire, because the conversation inspired this fic. Andro also made awesome art that inspired this fic, which you can find and love and appreciate HERE

Magic, Bruce had long since decided, was frustratingly random and he very little patience for it. From an outsider perspective he could appreciate the artform; the skill, talent and dedication it took magic users told hone their craft to accomplish great things, but as a man dressed up in armour currently trying to outsmart someone who could conjure things out of nothing and rain lightning down from the skies it was just exhausting, especially after having spent days tracking down the offender only for them to slip through dimensions to disappear.

This was the fourth time he had tracked down Klarion in the past five months and at this point part of Bruce was hoping that he would just get tired of this game of cat and mouse that they’ve been playing and just stay in his own damn dimension for a while to give Bruce time to test the prototype he and Zatanna had been working on to seal access between the two worlds.

Klarion cackled as he opened the doorway to his home, casting out a final curse causing yellow sparks to blast around the field, before he and Teekl escaped through his portal back to Witch World. Again.

Bruce ducked and dodged, missing the spell by inches, but he heard a shout behind him, Jason’s familiar yelp of surprise when something caught him unaware, and his heart jumped into his throat and sank into his stomach at the same time and he turned and ran to where his back up for the evening had been fighting from.

But they weren’t there. Not exactly.

Instead of Red Hood and Nightwing, Bruce found a baby and a small child, curled up together on the forest floor in tiny, maskless versions of their uniforms, somehow less armor and more like footie pyjamas, but easily recognizable. Bruce crouched down and picked up tiny baby, Jason, who now that Bruce was closer to him, was even younger than originally thought at first glimpse, days old at best. Bruce had held babies before, countless of times both as Bruce, where people seemed to thrust them into his arms for photo ops, and as Batman, when people always wanted to pull them away because they had just been rescued, but he had never held one with this much personal meaning to him before. He had missed all of his kids at this age, when they were absolutely helpless and dependent on others in the world for everything beyond breathing. Jason was so small that Bruce could barely even notice the weight in his arms, less than five pounds and impossibly fragile, and all he could do was coo in attempt to settle the trembling baby.

He directed his attention to the older boy and Dick was staring at him with wide blue eyes, sitting back on his hands and feet like a crab and schooched farther away from Bruce, just out of arms reach, as soon as Bruce attempted to get closer.

Had Klarion somehow de-aged them twenty years? It made sense based on the apparent age of them. Jason’s twentieth birthday had been mere days ago and as much as it was terrifying to have a newborn baby in his arms, Bruce had to let out a sigh of relief because it was a good thing Tim, Cass or Damian weren’t there because Bruce wasn’t sure what would have happened then. “Dick?” It wasn’t a common event, but de-aging was something that had been known to happen, and there were two regular ways that it seemed to go. The person either retained their memories from their time as an adult and was just trapped in a younger version of their body or their minds were regressed along with their body back to their corresponding developmental stage. Both weren’t without their challenges, but only one of the two targets could tell him which it was, because even if Jason’s adult mind was in the baby, he wasn’t able to communicate it. “Can you tell me how old you are, chum?”

The child stared at him for a moment longer before holding up a shaking hand with four fingers extended. Four tiny and delicate fingers that he then closed again tight and curled up into a tight ball, eyes darting around quickly, looking at the forest clearing they were in in bewilderment before looking back to Bruce and sucking in a quaking breath that shook on every part of the inhale. The child, his son, was terrified and confused and did not remember that he was a twenty four year old superhero at all.

“I don’t know where my parents are,” whispered Dick, voice high and soft, and tears started dripping down his cheeks. He struggled to swallow and took another deep breath. “I think I’m lost.”

Bruce’s heart shattered at the words, not just at the verbal confirmation that Dick and Jason had reverted twenty years in mind as well as body, but that Dick sounded so scared. It wasn’t an emotion that Dick often let show as an adult and seeing it now, so open and raw, had Bruce wanting more than anything to wrap him up in his arms and assure him that everything would be alright but he couldn’t because four year old Dick, who appeared to be teetering on the edge of a very much deserved meltdown, didn’t know Bruce at all and probably wouldn’t react well to that at all.

“I know, Dick.” A lot of kids, even those who had toys of him and knew that he wouldn’t hurt them, found the Batman costume terrifying in person, especially the mask, so pulled off the cowl and gave his hair a shake so that Dick would be able to see his face, a small attempt to let him know that he wasn’t a monster but Dick’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. Bruce huffed out a short breath, and looked at the ground, because of course Dick didn’t bat an eye at the mask. At four he would have spent his whole life travelling with Haly’s, surrounded by people in costumes and masks. He tried again. “My name is Bruce and I’m going to look after you for them while they are gone.”

The small boy finally looked away and buried his face into his knees, and his little body shook. “But I don’t know you,” he finally mumbled. “I’m not supposed to go with strangers.”

Something snapped into place for Bruce. Of course the child knew that he shouldn’t go with strangers, especially with travelling from place to place it would have been something repeated over and over again by his parents, but it was also very possible that because of that lifestyle, Dick had never been left alone with a stranger at all. Never had a babysitter that he hadn’t grown up with, hadn’t been dropped off at daycare or first day of school. Bruce was quite possibly the first stranger that Dick had ever met in person and not just seen from a distance in a circus crowd. “I understand, and that is very smart, but I can’t leave you here all by yourself.” Dick’s head rose from his knees, face red and a mess of tears, and he looked around the field again before settling back on Bruce, but didn’t say anything. “I’ll take you back to my house and we’ll wait for your parents there.” He didn’t know if that was going to work, if four year old Dick would ask how they would get in contact with his parents, how they would know where to find him. Bruce rocked the baby in his arms gently, and tilted his chin down at him. “You can help me look after Jason.”

Dick’s eyes dropped and then widened, apparently not having registered that Bruce was holding a baby in his arms before with everything else that he was trying to absorb. He uncurled from his ball and leaned a little closer to Bruce, trying to look at the tiny version of the brother that he didn’t know he had. "Is he lost too?"

"I think so."

Dick straightened up, squared is tiny shoulders in resolve and rearranged his face into a smaller version of one Bruce knew quite well on Dick; fierce protection. It frankly looked adorable on a small child in a pyjama version of the Nightwing costume. "I'll take care of him." I don't know you but I'll protect the baby. "Do you know my dad?" Dick asked, not taking his eyes off Jason.

“I’ve never met him,” Bruce admitted because it felt like a test more than it did genuine curiosity. He could have lied, said that he did know John Grayson if for some reason that made Dick feel better about him, and fake his way through whatever questions Dick followed up with, but it didn’t seem right to lie to him any more than was necessary. “But I do know Mr. Haly, if that helps any.”

That seemed to catch Dick’s attention back and he looked up at Bruce again, still uncertain but a little more at ease, tension easing from his frame. “You know Pop?” He slid closer to Bruce, finally back within reach, close enough that if he wanted to, Bruce could reach out and run his hand through Dick’s soft hair.

“I do.”

That seemed to be the deciding factor for Dick, because he got to his feet and held out his hand to Bruce. “Okay. You can look after me until Mama comes.” He was still scared, as he absolutely should be, but between wanting to look out for the baby and Bruce saying that he knew Pop Haly was enough to make him feel like going with a strange man was a better option than staying alone in an empty forest. As glad as he was the Dick had agreed to go with him without a fight and he didn’t have to drag him kicking and screaming to the car, it made Bruce nervous how easy it was to convince the child to got with a strangers in a scary costume into a car, with only the slightest of prompting. It was terrifying how much trust was being placed in his hands. Bruce got to his feet, made sure that Jason was snug and secure in his arm and held Dick’s tiny hand and led him back to where they had left the car.

They got to the car and Dick stopped short, looking at it in awe. “Your car is cool!”

“Thank you. My son named it the Batmobile.”

“You have kids?”

“I do. Five, but they are mostly all grown up now.” Or they were usually all mostly grown up at least.

Bruce paused at the car and tried to think about logistics. The car had taken a lot of damage earlier in the night as they had been chasing down Klarion and the autopilot function was offline and the steering column was malfunctioning and he was going to need both hands to drive home, which left the problem of what to do with Jason. Considering all of his options, he looked down at Dick. “Have you ever held a baby before?”

“Once, but she was bigger.” Dick bit his lower lip and looked at the baby in Bruce’s arms. “He’s really little.”

“He’s brand new,” and probably a premie. Bruce detached his cape and laid it on the hood of the car before carefully laying Jason in the middle before wrapping him tight into a burrito wrap. This was a terrible idea, but it was the best that he had right now if he was going to be able to drive back to the cave. “I’m going to need you to do a very important job for me, Dick. Climb into the backseat and put the seat belt on.” If he was going to drive with a four year old holding a newborn without car seats in a car that was absolutely not street legal, they were going to sit in the backseat even if it was only for some pretense of safe decisions. Dick climbed in, Bruce resisting the urge to give him a boost, and pulled the belt across him. “Do you need help with the buckle?”

“No, I can do it.” It took him a few tries, but he got it locked in place and smiled up at Bruce triumphantly.

“Good job,” Bruce said and then smiled as Dick kicked his legs against the seat at the praise. “Now, I’m going to put Jason in your lap and you are going to hold him like this.” Bruce arranged Dick and Jason in a way that was going to be the best that he could do in the moment. “Can you hold onto him like this until we get to my house? Keep him safe in the car?”

“I can do that.” He looked down at the tiny baby. “I’ll keep you safe, Jason.” His head snapped back up to Bruce, expression serious and dour, like it did when Dick saw an unexpected bomb as an adult. “What if he cries?”

“Just remember that it isn’t anything you’ve done. Babies this small mostly just cry when they are hungry and we’ll get food for him at my house.” He looked at his first two children in the car, curled up together in a way that in his wildest dreams he never thought he’d get to see and fought the urge to take out his phone for a picture, knowing that the cameras in the car would cover that for him. “If something happens and you think you need to let go, tell me and I’ll stop the car right away to help you, alright?” Dick nodded and tightened his arms up around Jason, either so that he could be sure that he had him or that he could show Bruce that he was taking his job seriously, Bruce wasn’t sure, but it was as good as it was going to get.

He slipped into the front seat, frowned as the engine turned over in a struggling way, but managed to get on the road without a lot of issues. He’s glad that he hadn’t tried to drive while holding Jason because the steering was even worse than he had thought, pulling severely to the right and he had to overcompensate to keep the car straight on the road. He was headed back towards Bristol, driving through the heights of Gotham, under the speed limit, when a call came through from the cave.

“Master Bruce? Is everything alright.”

“Things are,” he shook his head as he tried to sum up what happened before he settled on “complicated.” He looked at Dick in the rear view mirror and saw that he was being watched with interest. He didn’t know how to best explain to Alfred without potentially frightening tiny ears not understanding properly what was going on before he decided to be honest, but while using big words and hope that Dick didn’t understand what they meant. “There has been a mystical chronological regression anomaly in regards to Nightwing and Red Hood. I’ve found two unattended minors and I am transporting them home now. My new young friend Dick is listening from the backseat. He’s doing a very good job of holding on baby Jason for me.” He saw Dick beam at the praise, but kept looking at Jason’s face.

Several seconds passed in silence before Alfred responded. “That explains the changes in their vitals, I suppose,” Alfred muttered, more to himself than Bruce, and it sounded like he was looking something up on the monitors, keys clicking quickly in the background. “They are both unharmed?”

“It seems so.” Dick hadn’t said anything about any injuries and Jason hadn’t been crying at all, but he hadn’t actually checked either of them out physically, instead choosing to get out of the field.

Alfred hummed and there was more typing and clicking on his end of the line. “In that case we may need to take a look at Master Jason in the med bay when you arrive. Nothing to be alarmed about, but I’d like to examine him thoroughly to be certain.”

Minutes later, Bruce drove into the cave and Alfred rushed over to meet them in the parking area as the car shut down and the automatic doors opened. Bruce got out and came around to Dick’s side where Alfred was already crouched down and introducing himself.

“Hello, Master Dick. My name is Alfred. I heard that you were looking after the baby.” Dick nodded, but said nothing, maybe nervous again now that they had arrived at their destination and in the face of yet another unknown stranger. “Would you be willing to let me take him? I would like to give him a medical exam to make sure he is healthy.”

Dick’s arms tightened around Jason. “Will you hurt him?” The little voice shook, fear back in his eyes as he looked to Bruce before turning back to Alfred’s kind face.

“I’m going to use a needle to take a little of his blood and it will pinch, so he may cry, but no.”

“Like a doctor?”

“Yes, my boy. Exactly like that.” The small boy looked at Alfred inquisitively, trying to discern about whether he should let him take Jason or not, but Jason took that moment to let out a sharp cry and Dick loosened his grip in surprise. He nodded quickly at Alfred, who scooped him up in a practiced and steady way, rubbing his back through the cape burrito. “You can come watch over him while I do the examination.” Dick unclipped his seat belt and clambered out of the car, determined on following Alfred. He got a few feet away from the car and then ran back and grabbed Bruce’s hand and tugged him along after Alfred.

Alfred laid Jason down on the bed, and unwrapped the cape, and took in Jason’s appearance and then looked down at Dick before turning to Bruce. “Did you stop on the way home and buy… costumes?”

Bruce shrugged, because yes, he had noticed that they were in kid versions of their costumes, but hadn’t really had a chance to think too much about it. “No, it’s what they were in when it happened.”

“How peculiar,” Alfred mused as he unbuttoned Jason’s Red Hood onesie, when he paused and chuckled. “He’s even wearing a nappy.”

Bruce and Dick watched as Alfred did his examination, warming the stethoscope with his hands before listening to his heart and letting Dick listen to the beat as well, gently feeling his muscle tone, and as he had told Dick he would, taking a sample of his blood, which Jason chirped at, but didn’t actually cry and Bruce didn’t know if that was good or bad based on Alfred’s expression.

Dick had climbed up on the bed beside Jason and was watching everything with interest. Bruce hesitated, but this was probably going to be the best opportunity that he had to change out of the suit, and he still needed to contact Zatanna about the situation. “I’m going to go get changed and shower, Dick. Will you be fine with Alfred until I get back?” Dick shrugged and Bruce bent down to look at him in the eyes, putting a light touch on his shoulder. “I promise that you will be absolutely safe with Alfred. He looked after me when I was your age.”

“Is Alfred your daddy?” Dick asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. Bruce gazed up at Alfred, who was currently doing an examination of Jason’s ears, but listening to the conversation between himself and Dick. Dick was looking uneasy at the idea of Bruce leaving the room, and his little face was threatening to flood with tears again. He had to express to Dick that he trusted Alfred more than anything in the world in a way that he would understand, so he nodded firmly.

“Yes, and I swear he’ll keep you safe.” Dick sniffed said nothing else, seeming to decide that was good enough for him to agree to stay with Alfred while Bruce changed. Bruce leaned in and mock whispered close to Dick’s ear, but so that Alfred could hear as well, “And I happen to know that he has a jar of lollipops that he gives out after he gives someone a needle. Jason’s too small for his, so he will probably give it to you after he’s finished if you ask him nicely.”

“A red one?” Bruce nodded and Dick copied the action before wiping his eyes with his hand. “Okay. Come back soon?”

“Ten minutes.”

Bruce could do a lot with ten minutes. He went back to the locker room, stripped out of the suit, texted Zatanna, showered, threw on some sweats, downed a protein shake and then followed up with Zatanna that she would stop by tomorrow morning for some breakfast and magical evaluations and possible conjuring if the case needed it, however she confirmed what he already knew that more de-aging usually wore off on it’s own over time.

He walked back to the med bay to find Alfred sitting at a chair beside the bed, holding Jason just in his diaper against his chest and rubbing his back in slow circles, while Dick sat on the bed, swinging his legs over the edge, lollipop sitting in his mouth, chattering away at Alfred about tightrope walkers when Dick saw him and froze.

“You look like you lost a fight with a lioness,” he gasped, and Bruce followed his gaze down to his chest where he hadn’t zipped up his hoodie. He had some fresh cuts that weren’t deep enough to suture but needed bandaging and he was mottled with scars from previous exploits. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. It looks worse than it is. Alfred will look after me.”

“Just like you are looking after us?”

“The very same.”

“You have a dinosaur in your house,” Dick remarked randomly, looking out past the limits of the med bay into the rest of the cave. “Do all houses have dinosaurs?”

It was such a calmly asked but bizarre question and it threw Bruce completely off guard, and by the expression on Alfred’s face, did the same to him which meant a lot because Bruce could count the amount of times that he had seen Alfred truly caught unaware during his lifetime on his fingers. “Have... you never been in a house before?” It was something that Bruce had never really considered, and when Dick had moved in when he was eight he hadn’t mentioned anything remotely like that, so Bruce had to assume that by then he had been in a house at least once, but now that he thought about it, not only had Dick never met any strangers before, his entire upbringing had been either on a train or in a caravan. The child had travelled internationally and had more stamps in his passport than most had in a lifetime but had never lived in a stationary residence.

And now he just accepted that Bruce’s house was an underground cave with a dinosaur in it because he had no other frame of reference.

“No,” said Dick, as if was the most obvious answer in the world. “Can I go look at it?”

“Yes, but be careful? Just to the dinosaur and back. Stay where I can see you.” Dick jumped off the bed and then walked towards the dinosaur a little skip in his step.

Despite Bruce’s words to Dick, he didn’t need Alfred for these injuries and was able to reach to the cabinets for the tape and gauze that he needed and set to work on his own injuries in silence. He looked at Alfred as he bandaged himself up, still holding Jason in his arms and caressing his skin, and was troubled by the pinch in Alfred’s face, the way that his eyebrows were drawn in, ever more slightly than they usually did, unless he was upset about something. “Is he okay?”

“His blood work is still running, but he is as I expected.” Alfred frowned, but leaned down to kiss Jason’s small head. “He is dehydrated and has a slight fever, as well as being underweight for his approximated age and I suspect that he was not full term. He’s quiet, which is unusual, but based on what we know of his personal history and the information we do have, I have reason to suspect that he may be dealing with withdrawal.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his chest. “NAS? Even though that was twenty years ago?” His fingers twitched with desire to track down the ones who had hurt their child, his child, in such a way, who had focused through own wants over the well being of their unborn child like that, but Sheila Hayward and Willis Todd were long past punishable for this particular sin and Bruce was going to have to just swallow this rage down and redirect onto things that he could help the current situation. “Jason doesn’t touch drugs. He barely ever drinks.”

“His de-aged body doesn’t appear to know that,” murmured Alfred. “Has he been fussy?”

“No. Barely a peep.” He stared down at the baby nestled against Alfred. He wasn’t sleeping, and Bruce wasn’t sure that he had slept since the entire incident had occurred. He just laid there, lax against Alfred, simply breathing with his eyes cracked open, too young to even see anything besides blurs.

“Well, that is something at least.” Alfred looked out towards the dinosaur, and smiled as he watched Dick walk around it, running his hands across the surface of it as he wandered between the legs which made Bruce snort. It was something so achingly familiar that Dick had always done and never grew out of, dragging his fingertips across all kinds of surfaces and letting the touch translate his environment around him in a way that only made sense to him. It had taken forever to train it out of him when he was Robin, but it was something he still did when he was Dick, without even noticing he was doing it. “Why don’t you and Master Dick get settled while I feed Master Jason and prepare something for a snack and bring it up to your room?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d rather try feeding him for the first time without Master Dick around if it is alright with you. I’m not sure if there will be issues and I’d prefer not to frighten the boy further.” The two of them stood and walked out of the med bay and Dick ran towards them as he saw them move. “And he seems rather fond of you.”

The four of them rode up the elevator to the manor, where they then parted ways with Alfred and Jason headed to the kitchen and Bruce leading Dick to the third floor when he noticed that Dick was no longer beside him. He turned and backtracked and found Dick sitting on the stairs, silent tears painting his cheeks, everything that he had been doing is best to hold in having reached a breaking point and bubbling over. Bruce sat down beside him, trying to figure out what to say or ask, but before he had a chance Dick launched himself at Bruce, climbing fully into his arms and wrapping him in a tight hug as he started sobbing a full force.

There was nothing that Bruce could do other than to hug him back, which only made Dick somehow cry harder which he hadn’t thought was possible. He petted Dick’s hair in a way that he remembered Dike liking when he was a child and hoped that it would have the same effect now, and mumbled reassuring nonsense that everything would be alright.

They sat there for a long time, much longer than Dick’s meltdown had lasted, wrapped up in each others arms, Dick’s tiny hand curled into the fabric of Bruce’s shirt and with Bruce wanting more than anything to be able to be the thing that Dick needed him to be right now but knowing that he was a weak substitute at best.

“My mama and papa aren’t coming tonight, are they?” A small voice asked out of the silence, muffled into the fabric on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid not. Hopefully they’ll be here tomorrow.” Bruce had no idea what to do if this was going to be a long term thing, what he would say to convince Dick that he hadn’t been kidnapped or separated from his parents by force or any other thing, but he could only focus on the now. “It’s okay if you’re scared. You are in a new place, and you don’t know anyone and you miss them. You’ve been very brave.”

“I’m a Flying Grayson. I’m always brave.”

“Very true.” Bruce stood up slowly, carrying Dick carefully in his arms and still holding the hug tight, while continuing the walk up to the bedroom. “How about you and Jason and I have a sleepover tonight in my room so that none of use have to be alone. We’ll get a big pile of blankets and pillows and snacks and watch any movies you want.”

“I don’t have to go to sleep?” Dick wiped his eyes, whether it be from the tears or a self conscious reaction to talking about sleep.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.” He rested his head back against Bruce’s shoulder. “Do you have…” He trailed off into silence, question disappearing.

“Do I have any what, Dick?”

“Stuffed animals?” he whispered hopefully. Of course the child would want a toy for comfort, a familiar face in the middle of chaos even if it wasn’t their own.

And Bruce had something even better.

“I can think of the perfect one for you if you don’t mind that it is used.” He stopped and walked back to the door that they had just passed and adjusted Dick in his arms as he turned the handle and opened the door slowly, flicking on the light. “This is my oldest son’s room. He’s not here right now, but I know that he has some that you can borrow.”

“He won’t mind?” Dick asked carefully, as if he didn’t want to get excited about the idea only to be told that he couldn’t borrow the toy after all.

“Not at all. He’ll be glad that you played with them.” Bruce settled Dick down onto the carpet, and rubbed his back, nudging him forward. “There is one on the bed that I think you might like. It’s his favourite.”

Dick walked up to the bed and let out a giggle. “It’s an elephant!” he whispered, before turning back around to look at Bruce, excitement in his eyes. “I have an elephant like this at home!”

“I thought you might.”

“Are you sure it’s okay? If I use his elephant?”

“Absolutely.” Dick reached for it and hugged his arms around it tight as soon as it was in his grasp, burying his face into the worn fur and Bruce was caught with a sense of deja vu, remembering a slightly older child, but in the same room with the same elephant doing the same motion when he was upset and homesick. “Let’s take it and go to my room and settle in for the night.” He reached a hand out to Dick, and they headed back to Bruce’s room.

They worked to pull blankets and pillows together on Bruce’s big California King bed, building a nest fort hybrid on the mattress until Dick deemed it perfect and snuggled down into the goose down duvet, while Bruce propped himself up against the headboard and stretched his legs out before turning the television on. Dick didn’t know what movie he wanted to watch and Bruce had the suspicion that the Grayson’s may not have had a TV in their trailer so he didn’t have a good idea of what he liked. He was flipping through the options, trying to figure out what movie wouldn’t be potentially triggering for a four year old in Dick’s situation (Tarzan? No. Bambi? Definitely not. Why were all these movies about death and loss? Toy Story? Maybe?) when Alfred tapped a knuckle on the door frame, which startled Dick and had him diving under the covers.

“Master Bruce?”

Alfred entered the room with Jason cradled against him and a picnic basket tucked in the crook of his arm. “There are bottles of formula and snacks for the two of you in there, as well as some other baby supplies that you may need for the evening.” He didn’t say the words exactly, but as he settled the basket onto the bedside table Bruce understood that this was his way of saying that he was going to bed and that it was now Bruce’s turn again.

“Did he eat?”

“Not as much as I would like, but some. He has some issues with suckling but he managed to keep some formula down.” Alfred swayed back and forth, rubbing Jason’s back and looking at the pile of blankets that was Dick before turning back to Bruce. “Skin to skin contact is best for struggling newborns, my boy.”

Bruce stared at him blankly for a few seconds as the words registered and information that he had read on NAS, premature babies and other such illnesses came rushing back. Kangaroo care; skin to skin contact for as long as possible, human touch can help to normalize breathing, heart rate, weight gain, among other things. It was an interesting phenomenon that he had often wondered about but had no way of testing himself. He shrugged off his hoodie, laying it beside him on the bed and reached out for the baby in Alfred’s arms and was reminded again of just how small Jason was as he came to rest on his chest, receiving blanket covering them both.

It was different than before, when there had been a layer of armor between them, now when he could feel the skin on his own, feel Jason’s tiny heart fluttering in his chest, fighting battles so hard from the very start and doing so well.

Bruce was going to do everything in his power to keep this tiny heart safe from harm.

"Do you want for anything, Master Dick?" Alfred asked kindly. Bruce thought for a moment that Dick might says something, but instead shook his head silently and burrowed deeper into the blankets, closer to Bruce's hip, snuggling up against him.

“Thank you, Al.” Alfred nodded and retreated from the room, leaving Bruce, Jason and Dick to along their own devices.

They sat in the quiet for a little while before Bruce started to hear a voice in the general area that Dick was hiding under the blanket. He couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like Dick was having a conversation with somebody. “Are you alright, Dick?”

A tiny head popped up, closely followed by a stuffed elephant, which Bruce only now realised had been the thing that Dick was talking to. Dick shifted up closer and cuddled close enough that his head was resting on Bruce’s stomach as a pillow, but below the bundle that was Jason. “I miss my family.” He confessed, squeezing the elephant tight. Bruce couldn’t see his face, but he could feel wetness under Dick’s face again. “What if they don’t know where to find me?” he whispered.

“Your family will find you Dick. They’ll always find you.” Bruce reached down and ran his hands through Dick’s hair, just as he had a million times before and would do countless times again, and the boy leaned into the touch. “You’ll never be lost again.”

[critical-analysis]

Vax and Keyleth: Opposite Philosophies Attract

Vax and Keyleth is one of the most compelling relationships in the first campaign, but I don't think it's often recognized as such. There's so much going on with these two, their own personal stories, their feelings for each other, the way situations beyond their control effect their relationship, the beliefs they hold and the fears and hopes they each hae that further complicate things for them. They're complex characters in a complex relationship with a slow burn that was entirely based around exploring the conflicts in their mindsets and personalities. There are so, so many interesting things about this relationship that I could explore at depth, and eventually I would certainly like to explore all of them. But today I'm going to focus on one thing: the differences - and perhaps some of the similarities - in their personal philosophies and mindsets.

I think there are a lot of things that Vax and Keyleth do have in common, especially when it comes to their anxieties and issues with self worth. But at the time of their "courtship" there were some really interesting differences in the way they thought about things, the way they thought about the future, what they wanted for their lives, and their general philosophies and thought processes.

There are actually a lot of really interesting thematic differences when it comes to Vax and Keyleth. The visual contrast alone is fascinating: Vax, the rogue, always decked out in dark clothes, dark armor, which became darker and darker as he entered the employ of the goddess of death, and Keyleth, bright red hair, dressed in warm, deep colors, her appearance reflecting the very earth from which she pulled her power. It's a very interesting contrast, and one that flips the usual dark/light contrast a bit. Usually, in fiction, this trope is typified by one party being very dark in their appearance, with the other being very brightly white, or colors very close to white. It's a visual way to set up the good/bad dynamic. But Vax and Keyleth don't quite play into that. There isn't a "good" one and a "bad" one. Their visual contrast speaks to much, much more.

Keyleth gets her power from the earth, which essentially makes her a servant of life. All of the magic she has is drawn from how alive the earth is, the living things around her, the air and the water that keep things alive. She can revive dead earth (and dead people) and bring life back into a destroyed place. Keyleth is a walking personification of the life that flows through nature and the power that comes from it, and it shows in her physical appearance.

Vax, on the other hand, even before he started to serve the Raven Queen, was a personification of something much darker. Before he made his deal he was all about sticking close to the shadows, the darkness as means of protection. Being unnoticed and killing silently. Staying out of the light was a means of survival for him. And then the goddess of death became his patron, making him literally a servant of death, the darkness of the end.

It's very interesting that their general outlook almost seems like it's the opposite of what they should be, given everything stated in the above. Vax does often struggle with his anxieties and his depressive episodes, just as Keyleth does, but there's a lot of hope and faith in Vax. Not just faith in his goddess, but faith in those around him, faith that the decisions he's made will mean something. His relationship with death (and Death) sometimes causes him sadness and worry about what it means for his future, but he's still always hopeful about what that relationship means. That it will keep his sister alive and that she'll go on to live a long, safe, happy life. He has so much faith in Keyleth, her strength, her ability to lead, and so much hope for her future as the leader of her people. His search for something bigger to dedicate himself to, first Sarenrae, then the Raven Queen, is based in the hope that there's something greater out there for him, Confusion and anxiety are often very present things for Vax, in his search for a path, in his constant worry over his sister, but so much of his decision making is based in hope and faith.

Keyleth, on the other hand, struggles so much with being hopeful and having faith. For a long time, when she looks to the future she doesn't see one where she's a competent leader, she's convinced that she'll never be good enough to lead. She sees the centuries that are stretched out ahead of her not as an opportunity or something to be hopeful about, but something that's almost life-ruining to here, something that automatically ends anything good before she can even have it because she can't think about the hope that it might be good, she can only focus on the idea of the pain she'll feel once it's gone.

Keyleth and Vax both have a lot of fear that influences their actions, but while Vax is able to find hope in that fear, Keyleth is just drowning in it.

One of the most blatant philosophical contrasts the two have is in their approach to the gods. Obviously, when it comes to Dungeons and Dragons and Critical Role, the idea of "faith in the gods" is different than the idea would be in real life as gods are just a historical and provable fact of the D&D world. So the idea of not having faith in them doesn't mean thinking they don't exist, it's more in having faith that they care, that they have the world's best interest at heart and that they want to help. While it's true that Vax went all in on the Raven Queen out of necessity, it's clear that he feels a considerable amount of faith in at least the idea that the gods do care and want to help people, as he had started down the path of following Sarenrae before the Raven Queen intercepted. He then puts so much trust in the goddess of death, even as he has worries about what that means for him and what her intentions might be, because he has faith that she cares.

Vax spent a lot of the first campaign feeling sort of lost. Earlier on in the campaign he was searching for a purpose, he wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing as a member of Vox Machina. And after Vex's resurrection and his deal with the Raven Queen, he was confused and unsure what the deal he made meant. In both instances he sought answers, sought his path, in a higher power. Earlier on it was Sarenrae, and then it was the Raven Queen. When unsure about what the future holds, he's willing to turn over his path to a higher power to guide him.

Keyleth is very much the opposite. She spends a lot of the campaign feeling lost as well, though for a very different reason than Vax. While Vax is unsure about what his path is, what the future holds, and whether he'll have a path that matters, Keyleth knows what her path is. She is fully aware of her destiny to become the Voice of the Tempest. It's actually in that knowledge where her uncertainty lies. She's not sure she wants the destiny that has been thrust upon her. She's not sure if she's worthy of it, if she's good enough to lead. She's not sure she wants the long life that comes with it, and that long life makes her uncertain about allowing herself to have other things in her life that she might lose.

But Keyleth has no interest in turning to higher powers when she's in doubt. She has a deep mistrust in the gods. Even before Vox Machina starts to become entangled in the dealings of the gods she's skeptical, citing the things she's seen people do in the name of the gods as her reason for not trusting them. She believe that the gods have anyone's best interest but their own at heart, and she feels that people use the gods as an excuse for their bad behavior. The situation with Vax and the Raven Queen only exacerbates that feeling, as she views it as, in a way, having something taken from her. She also sees the confusion and uncertainty it causes in Vax, and that only makes her more wary of and angry at the gods.

There were ways in which these differences are actually very good for their relationship. Because their experiences with things like destiny and religion, they have a perspective the other doesn't. A good example of this is after Vax communes with the Raven Queen for the first time and he talks to Keyleth outside of the Raven Queen's temple. Keyleth has seen Vax struggling to find he purpose and seeking a destiny, but she knows that having some grand destiny isn't something that's automatically going to bring someone security, happiness, that a destiny doesn't necessarily make someone great, and she tells him that he doesn't need a destiny or a grand purpose to be the incredibly man she fell in love with.

One of the things that makes Vax and Keyleth's relationship so wonderful and healthy is that these stark differences in philosophy don't cause a ton of conflict between them. There is a bit of conflict, as they both try to come to terms with their own destinies and each other's destinies, and what those things mean for their relationship, but ultimately they're able to come to a point where they understand each other and are able to support one another, even if they don't see eye to eye on some of those things. The fact that they do have such vastly different outlooks and philosophies when it comes to these things, and how they spent so much time trying to reconcile all of these things, is one of many things that makes their relationship so much more interesting than I think a lot of fans give it credit for.

[daedricprincessorigin]

I have been encouraged to rewrite my Razum-dar x vestige fic from Raz's perspective. And so I do. Blame the goblin hoblin server.

Raz walked along the beach in the aftermath of the hurricane, checking each body he came across. He had yet to find one with a heartbeat or a single breath left in their body.

A blue flash in the sky. Razum-dar whirled around to look out over the ocean. Something fell out of the sky, landing in the shallow water with a splash. The Khajiit waited for it to wash to shore.

He found it a few feet away and a few minutes later. Or rather, he found *her*.

Razum-dar rolled the unconscious woman onto her back in the sand, relieved as he felt a pulse in her wrist and her neck. He sat back on his knees to get a proper look at her, as well as he could with only the stars and the two moons in the sky.

She was a khajiit, like him, but where his fur was the smooth tan of a lions pelt hers was the striped black and brown of a tiger. Her hair was long, dark brown strands in thicks dreads down her back with colorful stones braided in.

Raz carefully lifted her up in his arms, grunting to himself under his breath with the effort. She may have been a bit shorter than him, but she was well-muscled and armored.

Razum-dar carried her back to the makeshift camp the survivors of the hurricane had put together, and gently set the woman down on a bedroll in a ruined tower, food, water and a lamp beside her sleeping form.

In the morning, he stood a ways away from the tower, by a crumbling wall, waiting. When the woman finally came out, he called out to her.

"Good, you're awake now. This one is Razum-dar. You have him to thank for fishing you out of the ocean." He said. "Now tell this one, how is it that you came to be dropped into the sea in a flash of blue light during a hurricane?"

The woman locked eyes with him. "Ra'jaheeri was trapped in Coldharbor. She escaped through a portal."

Raz's eyebrows raised. "And is that what you will say to the others?"

Her eyes were greener than the leaves of Valenwood or the finest emeralds of Alinor, he thought as she glanced around. Ra'jaheeri looked back at him.

"That this one was a marine, caught by a wave in the hurricane, and separated from her crew and command."

Raz let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in a short laugh. "Good! You lie with confidence, a gleam in your eye! Come my new friend, why don't we see what we can do for each other, hmm?"

And he was gone.

Raz did not fall in love often. He was skilled at feigning it, flirting with contacts and whoever might be willing to give up the information he needed for a night of pleasure. But this was real. And it nearly scared him.

At first, Raz thought it was a mere infatuation that would pass soon enough. But events conspired to keep Ra'jaheeri in his path, working alongside him even. But everything she did just made the feelings stronger.

She was beautiful, yes, but it was so much more than that. That she knew who to trust, and who to watch for. That she could fight as well as the finest agents of the Thalmor, her twin blades flashing and whirling like sand-glass in the wind. That she was intelligent, and could figure out codes as fast as Raz could. She was witty too, bantering back at his jokes and flirting that he hoped to Kenarthi passed as teasing.

Eventually Ayrenn found him muttering to himself and pacing in an abandoned hallway late at night, and pulled him inside a study to talk.

"Raz, what's wrong? I've never seen you this agitated? I thought the threat was over, you and Ra'jaheeri stopped them."

Raz sighed, dropping into a chair. "No, no threat. Unless Raz could be considered one. To himself or to her, this one is not sure."

The Queen's pale eyebrows shot up, and she smirked. "Raz, my old friend..... do tell. Who is this 'she'?"

Razum-dar sighed. "She is beautiful. Capable. Smart. And probably only thinks of this one as a friend."

Ayrenn leaned up against a desk. "Do I know this woman?"

"Yes."

"Hmmmm." She tapped her lip with a finger, and grinned. "Is it Ra'jaheeri?"

His head shot up to stare at her. "How-" he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is Razum-dar that obvious?"

Ayrenn laughed. "Oh, probably just to me. It's adorable, really."

Raz stood back up to glare at her properly. "And you just let him flouder?" His stance shifted to something more playful. "Your best friend in all of Tamriel, and you watched him struggle with something you can see plain as day?"

Ayrenn shrugged. "You are *my* Eye, after all. You are supposed to see what I cannot."

Raz scoffed and rolled his eyes. Then he sighed again. "What is this one supposed to do? He can't just..... flirt with her like he does everyone else. How does he show her that he ....... he cares without seeming like he only gave her the opportunities because he thought she was pretty?"

Ayrenn shook her head slowly. "This is not really my affair, Raz. You are both my Eyes but that does not mean I have the right or ability to play matchmaker between the two of you. It is her choice. Do your best. Be honest. Come now, you've been hailed as one of the most charming men in the world, if you want her how could she say no?"

Razum-dar ran his hands through his short mohawk. "That is what this one is afraid of. That his heart will be broken because she thinks she can't say no."

They didn't speak about that conversation for a long time. Raz went about his business as usual. Stopping threats to Ayrenn and the Dominion, gathering intelligence, the like. The next time he met with Ra'jaheeri was in Reapers March.

He hadn't been avoiding her. Truly. Probably. Maybe. Okay Razum-dar had been avoiding her a bit. He was worried that the next time he saw her it would all come spilling out and she would stop trusting him.

He wasn't *exactly* suprised that she was chosen by the First Mane. He knew she was destined for great things. He just didn't know which.

Razum-dar was there as a witness, along with Ayrenn and the new Silvenar and Green Lady to see the ascension of the new Mane. He didn't see much of what was happening, and that made him nervous. Sitting there in a temple, watching Ra'jaheeri occasionally appear and then flit through another door just as soon as he could blink? That didn't exactly sooth him. He hated not knowing all of what was going on.

After what seemed like an eternity since the last part of the ceremony, a portal opened and she and the new Mane stepped out. Raz nearly sighed in relief, but then he saw Ra'jaheeri's face.

She barely looked at anyone else, just dropped her swords to the ground and nearly ran up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a deathgrip and pressing her forhead into his chest.

*Oh. Please? Please let this be what Raz hopes it is, Bright Moons and Dark Moons please.* He thought.

He guided her out of the ceremony hall full of watching eyes to give her some dignity.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?" He asked, trying to sound calm and reassuring while hoping she couldn't feel how fast his heart was pounding.

"This one loves you. And it took watching you die for her to be brave enough to admit it."

Raz gently guided her down to the floor, sitting right next to her. "You were scared of something so little as that?"

*Wait that came out wrong. Ohhh, Raz really hopes she doesn't think that means he thinks her feelings are insignificant.*

But Ra'jaheeri snorted through her sniffles. "Nothing relating to you is ever small, Raz."

Raz smirked. "Is *that* what made you fell for him, hmm?"

She smacked him on the shoulder, but laughed anyway. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, anyway.

"This one also loves you." Raz said in a near-whisper.

Ra'jaheeri stared at him. "What?"

"From the moment we met." He realized out loud. "This one rescued a beautiful woman and she knows who to trust, who to lie to, and how to lie perfectly? And then it just got worse." He started tracing the tiles on the ground with a claw, his other arm still resting on her shoulders.

"But... why? You could have anyone in Tamriel. You could charm the two moons themselves down to dance for you, and you'd be able to rob them blind as they twirled." She wiped at her face.

Raz smiled. "Were you not just listening? You are right, Raz could have anyone in Tamriel, but he wants the woman who is strong enough to survive Coldharbor, dying countless times, the subterfuge of Altmer court, and still be gentle enough to cry." He lifted a paw to her face and stroked her cheek with a thumb.

Ra'jaheeri looked down. "This one is missing her soul. That is how she can die and come back so many times." She looked back up at him.

Razum-dar frowned. "You do not seem very soulless."

She looked back up at him. "This one is sorry for not telling you."

He shrugged. "The loss of a soul is not exactly something one goes about telling people."

"You don't hate her for being soulless?"

"Raz would be hard-pressed to think of something you could do to make him hate you. And he can think of lots of crazy situations, being a spy and all."

She smiled and leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. Raz wrapped his other arm around her and held her closer.

The door opened, and Ayrenn stepped through with a grin. "Well. It certainly took the two of you long enough!" She said.

"You knew this whole time?!" Ra'jaheeri asked.

The queen laughed. "How could my Eyes be so blind?"

She left, closing the door behind her, and leaving the two of them to themselves.

[chysgoda]

GAME OVER >:3c

From the Game Over prompt

I sat on the steps of the capitol building and watched the shades go about their business in Emet-Selch’s dollhouse of a city. The irony of bringing this battle here tasted like bile but it was the safest place to hold the battle should my attempts at parlay fail yet again. The young heroes, called under false pretenses, had not listened to my pleas for caution. “Ardbert” had torn down my words at every turn, slowly casting my concerns, my weariness in the light of a villain. 

“One fool to another…” I murmured to myself echoing Adbert’s words from years ago. My fingers absently traced the vambrace on my right forearm feeling the quiescent aether that would mold into the shape of a shield when I awoke it. I’d forgone my heavy armor and dressed for the blood sands instead. My lips quirked remembering the black humor of the sands, always make sure you’ll look good as a corpse. And there would be a corpse today, death was an old friend to me and I could feel it hovering near. 

Movement caught my eye and drew it upwards to a grey bird. I watched it with a frown, it was that damned shoebill. I pulled a whetstone from my pack and turned my attention to my blade, no doubt it would find a cozy place to watch. I settled into the ritual of sharpening and caring for my blade. When the grey bird landed in front of me I paused. When it began to change I turned my head, while the shape-shifting was hardly the most disturbing thing I’d seen, I also had no desire to nauseate myself. 

“Art‘imis Chysgoda, the savior of Eorzea, Liberator of Doma and Ala Mhigo, Champion of the Source.” Emet-Selch’s voice was smooth and dramatic as it ever had been in our short acquaintance. He invited himself to sit next to me. “A rather different perspective from this end is it not my dear Warrior.” 

I finished the movement I’d paused in and set the blade aside. “Does Elidibus know that you survived our battle?”

“Given you don’t seem surprised to see me I doubt he would be.” Emet-Selch shrugged. “So you have lived to see yourself become the villain of this doomed star to which you granted a reprieve. Granted, Elidibus helped rather a lot with that. Even mortals don’t forget such debts quite this quickly.”

“You are rather chipper for a man believed to be dead.” I stood to stretch my back and secured my blade’s scabbard to my belt. 

Even sitting Emet Selch did not have to look up far to meet my eyes. He chuckled, “And you lack the appropriate drama to be the final villain of a story.”

I snorted and started to make my way down the over large stairs. Emet-Selch was waiting for me at the bottom smug smirk and spread hands saying that if I had just asked for assistance. I looked him up and down, entertaining the idea of taking out his kneecaps. “I do not intend to be the final villain of this story.”

“No, in the end, it is Hydaelyn that is to be the final villain in the story.” He reached out as if stroke my hair and pulled his hand back as I stepped away from him. “She stopped using the souls of her summoners as her pawns after the third rejoining. Since then she has sought out the souls of those who would make us heartsick-“

I rested my left hand on the hilt of my sword and pulled it so that a few ilms of shining metal gleamed in the blue-green light and the blade would draw easily when I had need of it. “Appeals to a woman who no longer lives will not sway me to your cause Hades.”

“I know my once love.” The air cracked as he snapped. Behind me, I felt a disturbance in the aether and turned to face it. There were two portals from which two black-clad ascians stepped out. 

From behind me, Emet-Selch struck like a snake and a dagger dug into my left side just above the waist. It was a deep wound and one that would kill me slowly. My healing magic would not be enough to heal entirely before a fight. He twisted the dagger viciously before pulling from my side. I lashed out at him, “Coward!” 

Emet-Selch tut-tutted at me as I awkwardly drew my sword. “Were you not the one who called honor in battle merely a way for the powerful to stack the deck? And Hydaelyn is so very good at stacking the deck in her favor and calling it the right thing to do.” 

The three Ascians started circling me widdershins forcing me to move constantly to keep some semblance of an idea of what to expect. Emet-Selch summoned his crystal staff to him and the glowing, red, flowering hovered around his opposite hand and forearm. The other two Ascians summoned weapons as well, one a great sword and the other a short sword and war hammer. I forced myself to breathe evenly, I’d fought injured before, I could do it again. I reversed the grip on my sword and slammed it towards the ground as I bent my will to bring down blades of light around me. The Ascian with the great sword hissed, but there were no other reactions.  

“For millennia the crystal mother has snatched the souls of those dear to us from the very lifestream in a desperate attempt to discourage our great work,” Emet-Selch spoke but I could only half pay attention to his words as I raised my aether shield to deflect the hammer blow from one of the other Ascians. “Deprived us of tangible hope that our plans would come to fruition. Forced our hands to kill the flesh of those we sacrifice everything for.”

Fighting one Ascian with a full strike team of eight was risky. Fighting three by myself was folly. I wove my blade and shield around me, called up spells of defense and maiming. The two weapons masters worked together seamlessly and I could not take the time to cast any kind of spell to knit the flesh Emet Selch had cut. I took a blow from the great sword on my shield but the pressure forced an awkward bend to my knees. I pushed back and sidestepped away from the arc of the sword only to step into the arc of the war hammer. 

I felt time expand. The hammer moved with painful slowness and I simply could not move fast enough. When the hammer caught me it was just above my tail, scales tore and I felt something break. I fell to my knees which then collapsed. Then the pain caught up to me. A blinding knife of pain all through my spine and radiating out from there. The two materially armed Ascians stepped back as I tried to push myself up. It was getting harder to breathe. I was able to raise my upper body with my arms but I could not get my knees up no matter how I strained. 

It was several moments of straining before I realized that I could not feel my tail lashing in agitation as it normally would have. I stopped breathing and focused. I could not feel my tail, or my knees, or my toes. I changed focus, tried to curl my toes in my boots but I could not feel the stretch or contraction of the muscles. I sucked a breath of air in as panic and terror swarmed through my veins like a flash flood I mumbled denial under my breath. Anything else I could defeat or if I couldn’t by myself I would have a friend that could help me. This, there was no mending this. There was no….

Gentle hands with long fingers turned me over on to my back. Emet-Selch caught a flailing fist and trapped it against my side as he wrapped an arm around my ribs and pulled me into his lap. “Shhhhhh… this shall pass soon my dear warrior.”

“I am not your dear warrior,” I snarled, wriggling in his grasp. It did me no good but I couldn’t just give up. 

The hand with the aetheric vine wrapped around it motioned like a stage magician and a purple crystal appeared between his forefinger and thumb. I’d seen its like before in the crystal that Lahabrea had collared Thancred with. I began to struggle more but his arm shifted and fingers dug into the stab wound he’d given me. “Enough Lilith! I will not be forced to do this again! I will not lose you, Hythlodaeus, Idunn, or Ananke to her again! I will not! I will keep you close until the ardor” 

I flinched away from him. There was desperate madness deep in his golden eyes. “I’m not her, she’s gone. Even if you succeed, your Lilith is go-“

“NO!!” I closed my eyes against the rage there. The pain was stealing my will and blood loss was draining my strength to resist. He pressed the cool crystal onto my chest above my heart. “This will be washed away, not even a bad dream to haunt you, after all, is said and done.”

I shook my head in denial, letting tears fall as I felt something hook around my breastbone and tear. I screamed scrambling to hold on to consciousness, to memory as I was being torn away from it. I cursed him in every way I knew. I begged for reprieve. I-

Hades watched as amber veins grew and threaded through the purple crystal. He blocked the Warrior’s screaming out of his mind; this malformed mind would be shucked away from his beloved’s soul shortly. Now that there were nine shards joined together, her soul was weighty enough that he could capture it. When the broken body went slack he stood and vanished the blood from his robes with a snap. He motioned to Fandaniel and Pashtarot to follow and they left the first to its fate. 

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 143:  The Prince for a Prince

"My God…he's the spitting image!"

The soldier the King had brought with him to this little meeting gasped at David. The moment his eyes landed on him, they went wide with amazement. But King George was stoic. He stared wordlessly at the man he'd brought to him just before sundown.

David's choice to come was easy for him to accept, but getting his mother to accept it had been a bit of a trial. Fortunately for him, the shepherd told him to stay out of it and promised he'd go and get her to agree to the notion. That particular conversation they'd had inside. He'd waited outside on that bench for nearly three hours, finishing off the ale in his flask, and wondering if he'd make it home in time for dinner with Belle. Most of the time the house had been quiet. Every now that then he'd hear indistinct shouting, both masculine and feminine. Finally, only a few minutes earlier, David had emerged. Over his shoulder, he had a bag, something like what his father had brought to the castle when he'd seen him, something he was certain was filled with clothes David wouldn't need where he was going. Ruth followed him out.

"The King only needs him for this? This is it?!" she demanded of him, untrustingly. And for good reason. The deal was simple, and it was true, both as he'd presented it and for now. King George had tasked him to retrieve David, he could play the part while his soldiers, who would be the only others who had knowledge of the trick, killed the dragon. After that, they would spread the rumor that the Prince had fallen ill and died, allowing David to return home to his quiet life. It was agreed upon. What he wasn't sharing was the future or Clopin's rumors; he wasn't going to tell George what he knew just so that when this moment arrived, he could honestly answer "that's the deal." They didn't need to know yet that the deal was likely to change. With that, David had hugged his mother and promised he'd be back as soon as possible. She'd wished him luck, sneered once more at him, and then in a puff of red smoke, they were gone.

Now they stood in King George's study, the two of them facing the King and the Captain of the Guard he'd seen earlier. The Captain continued his wide-eyed stare at David, his jaw drooping lower and lower by the second. King George had taken one look at his clothes and hair, one sniff of the farm, and was considerably less impressed.

"Well, did I not promise he would be?!" he asked of the King, despite the promise being made to George. He was judgmental, but quiet. His eyes showed a man utterly conflicted. He'd brought him someone who simultaneously looked and did not look like his son. And he appeared dumbstruck by it.

"So…you're the King?" David questioned, looking at him nervously but with pride as well. What was he planning?

"No!" he inserted before he could say more. "No, no, no, no…he's your father! Remember, you're taking the place of your dear departed brother, who loved and admired his father above all."

Now it was him that David turned his glare upon. "I had a father."

"And now you have another!" he countered before turning back to the King. "Isn't he…charming?!"

The King let out a short but heavy exhale as he broke into laughter. "Needs a haircut," was all he seemed able to state.

"But it's…uncanning!" the soldier breathed, beginning to circle David as if he were a vulture seeking his prey. "Your Majesty, he has muscles soldiers train years for!"

David shrugged. "Comes from working all my life in the fields, baling hay, carrying sheep, building fences…"

"He'll do just fine." The soldier smiled with such admiration that he laughed gleefully. At least one person was happy with the arrangement.

"David is the identical twin of your Prince James. Raised by his mother on a struggling farm, I believe you are familiar with his father, who passed some years ago. He had a bit of a love for the bottle," he announced in a tone that pretended he wasn't.

"My father loved me," David insisted.

"Well, no one said he didn't! He had the wisdom when you were but a baby to save you and your brother by making a deal with me…I'm only saying that he also loved his barman. And!" he inserted as David opened his mouth to argue. "Fortunately for you," he explained, pointing to George and the soldier, " due to a little problem a few years back with a certain warlord we're all familiar with, David has some experience with a sword."

"Yeah, a problem you did nothing about, by the way," David inserted, looking at the King as if he were guilty of murder. He supposed from David's perspective, knowing some of the crimes Bo Peep committed, he was guilty, seeing as how he didn't do anything about her. But David was a good reminder as to why he didn't sell people. It was difficult to convince someone an individual was the answer to all their prayers when they kept accusing the buyer of crimes against humanity. "And…how did you know about that?" David questioned, suddenly crossing his arms over his chest and turning to face him with a smirk on his face. He supposed that meant to make him feel guilty. If he only knew…

"What I know would send chills down your spine," he muttered under his breath, then turned his gaze on the King. As long as he was making veiled threats... "Same for you."

"You've handled a sword?" the soldier questioned, looking him over and ignoring the tension in the room.

David swallowed as he turned his attention back to the man in armor. "Yeah…" he admitted half-heartedly. "A bit, a long time ago, and it was mostly luck."

"Handling a sword like your son was never a requirement of this deal!" he added quickly, lest George think that he hadn't delivered exactly what he'd said he would. "His skill, however great or feeble it may be is simply a perk! I've thrown it in for free!"

"It's good," the soldier nodded. "I can take him, get him trained up a bit, teach him to handle armor and a shield for his own protection. He'll be able to fool Midas all day long."

"Hey this…this is just for now!" David insisted, turning back to him with wide eyes, seeking clarification.

Finally, King George opened his mouth but wary as David was he couldn't imagine anything coming out of that man's mouth that would help this situation.

"Ah-h-h-h!" he hushed, waving a finger in the King's direction. "The boy is right. It is 'just for now' but…go with it, see where this path takes you. You never know where it might lead!"

"I know where it leads," David answered confidently. "Home."

There was a sudden shift in the air, a flicker of energy coming from King George as he looked David over but not as he had been before. He wasn't judging anymore, he'd made up his mind. "It seems you chose well in their infancy," George suddenly stated. "My son would never have been so ignorant of the gifts he was given. How remarkable…I see my son's face buried somewhere beneath that mane, I hear his voice somewhere in that arrogant attitude, but I do not recognize my son. He'll do. He's good for a cheap forgery, but he's nothing like him."

He could have reached out and murdered the King on the spot. Did he have any idea how to seal a deal? It would seem not!

"I'm sorry I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth," David snapped at the insult.

While he was at it, he might have killed David as well.

The pair stared at each other with a natural hatred he'd rarely seen, not even between Regina and Snow. It was hate born of bias and classism. David, raised in a poorly way, had grown up seeing the lush way the royals lived, taking their taxes and filling their halls with gold. He despised the King for everything he was. And the King, in turn, had grown up learning to have respect for politics and the mind games that the upper-class had to work through in order to get where they were and stay where they were. He despised what David was and thought little of him for not picking himself up out of the dirt he was born in. They were natural-born enemies. But enemies that needed each other, one far more than he realized.

"Well then!" he interrupted, stepping between the two. "I guess it'll be hard to get attached," he joked before taking another step forward and planting himself next to the King. "Have the soldier train him up, make him look pretty as your son, see that the dragon is slayed, and after you've made your deal with Midas you can announce that the good Prince James has been struck by the fatal Dragon Pox, an unfortunate side effect of being too close to our scaly friends. If he hears the boy was killed directly because of his encounter with his dragon, then I daresay the King will feel enough responsibility he'll give you all the money your country desires. David here goes home to his mother and his farm and you'll go back to ruling your country, and ne'er the two of you shall meet again! Can we all agree to those terms?"

He looked between the two men again. Though he'd been speaking to the King, he'd intended for David to hear him loud and clear as well. After a short moment of quiet, David finally shrugged. "I will if he will."

"I will if he will," George agreed.

"Good!" he inserted quickly. "I trust you'll take it from here, yes?"

"Yes," the soldier answered. "I'll take him, your Majesty," he inserted. That was when it dawned on him that the soldier was probably just as devoted to this idea working as he was. David accepting this deal assured him of his position and title going forward. That was probably why he treated him as if he was the Prince now. Reaching down to take his bag and ushering him quickly through the servant's halls so that he wouldn't be seen until his hair was cut and he was changed. With the pair of them gone, the temperature in the room dropped significantly. King George wasn't exactly his favorite person in the world to be alone with.

"You have my gratitude for the boy."

"Oh, if only your gratitude was worth weight!" he shrieked with a laugh. "It's not your gratitude I require, just…my price."

"Yes…her exact location is unknown as she tends to move around. But I've written down for you a list of her…clients, shall we say. She mostly caters to royalty though she has been known to slum on a few occasions. I hope it'll be most helpful."

He snatched the paper out of his hand and looked it over. This wasn't exactly what they had agreed to, not at all, but his price, in this case, was secondary. With as much as he had hanging on David, it wasn't as if he could take him back to the farm. It would have to do.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, pocketing the paper. "Enjoy your new son!"