#in one panel i have been slain

[itspeanutlove]

HE BABY!!!!!

[bardandbear]

The Dread Wolf Follows

Something interesting I've noticed is that much of the artwork depicting Solas/Fen'harel not only has the two as distinct entities, but usually the dark wolf appears as a threatening, looming over Solas or even in opposition to him. Obviously we have The Tower as his non-romanced tarot entry, but much of the Trespasser and pre-release content follows this pattern too.

The only time the wolf is depicted without Solas in the image is his own unfinished fresco in Skyhold. The wolf-like creature here matches the Solas/Fen'harel fresco we got in Trespasser with the same belly markings, so I think it is safe to assume they are the same creature. Interestingly, it isn't actually shown killing the dragon (Mythal), but almost mourning her.

While the simple and popular explanation for the wolf is that it's Solas's elvhen god animal form, I do wonder if the separation is actually more deliberate, especially after reading The Callback in Tevinter Nights. Spoilers for Tevinter Nights and DA4 story details released in the promotional material below the cut:

But here, unfinished, was the outline of a beast that stood over both dragon and sword. This was not the battle, or the victory. This was after. And the beast was not a dragon. The outline alone might have allowed that assumption, but now, filling with black and red, it was something other. The creature was reptilian, but also canine. The snout was blunted and toothy, but edges came to a point in houndlike ears. As the mass of plaster filled the shape, it began to rise, revealing scales and tail, and paws with talons. It looked like two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass, then viewed together, their forms confused. A wolf that had absorbed a dragon, and now stood crooked over all. [...] The limb folded into the creature’s layers, each movement adding to the rasping sound. It rose to its full height, as high as the panels would’ve allowed, and bellowed its name so loud that dust fell from the walls. “I am Regret!”

The regret that has spawned from Solas's room in Skyhold takes the form of a wolf/dragon demon of regret, and later sees a 'glimmer' when it is slain that it pursues. We also know from various DA4 story spoilers that regret is a major theme of the DA4, and that Solas's regret in particular will be a focus to the point where we will actively fight them (presumably in similar spirit/demon form).

For a long time, Solas has been running from regret, barely outpacing it with new plans to fix things that inevitably feed the emotion. Literally, figuratively, metaphysically it has been following him for millennia. It takes the form of the wolf because Solas hates what he has had to do in the dread wolf's name, he hates that his legacy has been further corrupted by it, he is haunted by the dread wolf. The dread wolf is regret, always one step behind him, the tower that threatens to crush him, the reminder of what he's done and what he must do. While it remains, he can never just be Solas. I really hope the 'good' ending is finally freeing him from its shadow.

[grimfalcon746]

Jacob the Vicious: Chapter 2

This is part two to a story i started a while ago. Part 1 linked below Part 1

***

Demons Flee when Good Men Go to War

"What does that mean?" One warrior asked their captain.

"I'm not sure. Terralia, you have any idea?" The captain asked.

"No. Jacob never mentioned anything of the sort." Terralia replied.

Another ship had landed while the warriors were searching the wreckage. As the occupants of the other ship entered the cargo hold, one warrior grabbed Terralia, dragging her into the cockpit, he stood guard over the priestess while the other warriors received the aliens.

"Who are you." The alien demanded.

The alien stood tall, around nine feet, and was the shortest of the six. His orange skin was mostly hidden by his armor. The weapons the band carries were swords and clubs. No projectile weapons among them. These men were Vilguls, who had sworn off firearms and similar weapons in terms of man to man combat. Their ships still used them, as was necessary in terms of vessel warfare, however they preferred to disable enemy ships, and attack hand to hand, rather then rely on their ships weapons. It is easy to see why, with four arms and brute force, not many could go hand to hand with them. They loved the thrill of the fight.

It was rare of the Vilguls to attack humans, but the contract had been worth it. Twenty-five million standard credits. One human vessel may not be much of a threat to the Vilguls, however they knew the humans tendency for revenge. Still Twenty-five million standard credits was enough for them to take the risk.

The captain answered the Vilguls question. "We are warriors from the nearby village, investigating the crash."

"Warriors, you say." The alien responded, a smile creeping onto his lips. Grabbing a club and a sword from their holsters, he approached the warriors.

"We do not mean to fight you." The captain assured.

"Fight. Don't fight. Death will be the same either way.

Realizing these aliens were not going to allow anyone to live, Terralia made a break for the control panel.

"Terralia, What are you doing?" Her guard whispered.

"Activating the distress beacon. Hopefully there is another ship close." Terralia replied. "After that I will climb out the broken window, once I make the treeline, you should follow suit."

"I will cover you from here, but I will not join you. My squad needs my help." The guard replied.

In the time it took Terralia to activate the distress beacon and climb out the window, the Captain had already been slain. The second in command was locked into combat with the Vilgul leader now, losing badly. His dominant arm had been broken in three places and his chest had been crushed.

"We got a runner." Another Vilgul called out.

"Go ahead." The Vilgul leader commanded.

A bit of panic crept into the guard as he turned to see where Terralia was. He let a breath of relief out, as Terralia was almost at the treeline, they would never catch her. She knew those woods like the back of her hand, with all the time she spent with Jacob in them. They would never find her once she was made the treeline.

Standing over the beaten soldier, the Vilgul leader raised his club. Taking delight in the moment before finishing off an enemy. As the club came down, it was deflected by the blade of Terralia's guard. The club slammed into the ships floor hard, as the guard swung for the leg. The Vilguls leg collapsed as the blade cut into the flesh.

The guard backed off, as the Vilgul had squared off to him.

"You should have gone for the kill." The Vilgul mocked. "Your comrade is going to die anyways." Taking a moment to inspect the wound on his leg, a mere flesh wound, he continued. "It has been some time since someone had been able to draw blood on me. Our skin is thick, and strong. Your blade must be exceptionally sharp."

Without responding the guard attacked again. His sword being blocked with every thrust, as he did not have the element of surprise this time. The Vilgul was having fun, toying with his opponent, until the guard spat in his eye. As he recoiled from the wad of spit in his eye, the guard thrust the blade at his throat.

Deflecting the blade with his sword, the Vilgul brought the club down hard on the shaft of the sword, breaking the sword near the hilt. Not to be deterred the guard thrust the blade at the face of the Vilgul. The plate helmet got knocked off, as the blade dug a gash along the side his face, causing him to stumble back.

"I like you." The Vilgul complimented, not even reacting to the blood coming from his face. "Your sword shattered, and you cut me with the fractured remains. You should join us, you can live as a pet on our ship. See the other planets, learn to fight like a real warrior. How about it?"

"I'd sooner die!" The guard shot, charging the Vilgul again.

The club collided with his skull before he even knew it had been swung. Bone fractured and brain matter spattered the area with the single blow. Before the body had even dropped the Vilgul had already turned back towards the wounded enemy. Finishing him off with one more swing, he wiped the blood from his face.

"Kill the rest." Came the command, as he picked his helmet up, putting it back on his head.

Slaughter. That's the only way to describe what happened next. The warriors were dead before they could even draw their weapons, their corpses mangled with the brute force of the attack. The Vilgul leader made his way to the cockpit. Finding all crew accounted for and dead he left the ship, with his comrades in tow.

"I lost them sir." The Vilgul who had chased Terralia admitted as he returned.

"There is a village nearby." The leader said. "We will attack it to try and draw them out. Failing that we will scorch everything for 100 kilometers."

"Is that really necessary?" One Vilgul asked.

"We just killed humans. Do not forget what they are like. We can not afford to leave any alive who can identify us." He replied.

The sun was rising, as the Vilguls hit the village. The first few villages died quickly, as they were mere farmers. Their friends and family went running to the village to send word of the attack. The captain had to stop his men from chasing them down.

"Remember the objective. The louder we are, the more likely we draw the one who ran away home." He commanded.

As word spread through the village, the Vilguls could not believe what they were seeing. Instead of fleeing into the woods, the villagers gathered in a single structure in the village center. Those who could not fight taking shelter inside, as the warriors surrounded it to protect those inside. This was going to be easier than they thought.

While this was going on, another ship had landed near the wreckage. A small ship, carrying a band of ten humans. Terralia watched from the treeline, not sure if she should approach or not, as two entered the wreckage to investigate. As they came out of the ship, the rest left the safety of their own ship to meet with those who had investigated the wreck.

"Jacob!" Terralia called from the treeline.

"Stand down." Jacob ordered as the other men brought their rifles up towards the noise. "That ones friendly."

"We were investigating the wreckage when these aliens attacked. They have four arms, orange skin and are larger than any other species I've seen. They left in the direction of my village." Terralia blurted, in a mild panic.

"That sounds like Vilguls." One of Jacob's men said.

"Load up." Jacob ordered. "We are hunting Vilguls.

"Be careful!" Terralia warned. "They killed my warriors without any effort at all."

"We are aware of them." Jacob reassured her. "We will be fine."

As the crew finished loading up, they met Jacob at the treeline. Once they all gathered, Jacob spoke. "I know these woods well. I will be moving fast to catch up with the Vilguls before they do too much damage to the village. Stay close or you will get lost.

Sprinting through the woods with his team in tow, they made it to the village in a fraction of the time the Vilguls took to make the same trip. Several warriors around the village center had already been slain. Their mangled corpses laying around the Vilguls, who were toying with several more. The sniper of Jacob's team climbed a watchtower, setting up as over-watch as the rest of the team proceeded towards the Vilguls.

One village warrior was on the ground, a Vilgul standing on each arm, ensuring he could not defend himself, as the leader brought his club up with an evil grin.

Jacob's gunshots cracked through the still air, as the Vilgul standing on one of the warriors arms dropped. The rest scattered, recognizing the sound of gunshots. The rest of the team open fired as they fled for cover, in total four of the six had been killed before they made cover. Jacob and his team then approached the village warriors.

"How bad is it?" Jacob asked.

"Ten dead here, we also sent a team to the wreckage to investigate that has not returned." One warrior informed Jacob.

"That team is dead, except for Terralia." Jacob updated him.

"That makes fifteen dead then." The warrior said solemnly.

As Jacob talked with the warrior, one of the remaining Vilguls had circled around, and came out from behind a building behind the team. Charging in with a weapon in each hand, The Vilgul had intended to slaughter all the humans before they even knew he was there. The sniper killed him before he even made it within range, dropping the corpse behind the team who barely reacted. They had, after all, turned their back to entice that kind of an attack.

"It could take a while to find the last one in the village." Jacob's comrade pointed out.

"The warriors could help search." The village warrior offered.

"No, they would just pick your warriors off, or worse go after the villages in the shelter. I have a better idea," Jacob replied, grabbing his radio, he walked away from his team, throwing his assault rifle to the ground. "All men stand down."

Pulling short spear and a shaft off of holders on his back, Jacob screwed the two together, making a long spear. He then called out loudly. "Vilgul, You have to know you are going to die here! However, I know your kind likes a good fight. Come out and face me, I will give you a fight with my spear."

"Your men will shoot me as soon as I step out." The Vilgul called back.

"I have ordered them to stand down. You will have your fight." Jacob reassured.

"Do we shoot him when he comes out?" One of Jacob's men asked their lieutenant quietly.

"No. He ordered us to stand down." The Lieutenant replied.

"He really want's to fight a Vilgul hand to hand?" The soldier asked.

"You know why he was given a captain rank as soon as he joint the XIV Regiment?" The lieutenant asked, chuckling.

"No?" The soldier replied.

"His name carries that much weight." Came the reply. "That is Jacob, the Viscous."

"Oh come on, that is a myth." The soldier replied in disbelief.

"I thought so too. However, apparently not. You are looking at a man who killed fifteen Vilguls on Sade 57 with nothing but a rock in a sock." The lieutenant said.

The men stared in disbelief at that information, as the Vilgul leader came out to face Jacob. Equipping a large shield in his left two arms, and a sword and club in his right two arms, the Vilgul squared off against Jacob.

Opening his mouth to speak, Jacob cut him off with a thrust of the spear, aiming straight for his face. Knocking the spear to the side with the shield, Jacob spun the spear, striking the side of the shield with the back in, trying to knock the shield out of the Vilguls hands. Failing to do so, Jacob shoved the shaft into the torso of the Vilgul several times. The force of the blows causing the Vilgul to loosen his grip on the shield, Jacob was then able to strike the shield again, knocking it out of his enemies hands.

Spinning the spear so the blade was in the front again, Jacob trust again, this time aiming for the torso. Knocking the spear away with his sword, the Vilgul swapped the club to the left hand, swinging it towards Jacob. Blocking the blow with the shaft of the spear, Jacob was knocked back at least five feet, before stumbling back another couple steps to regain his balance.

The Vilgul had charged at Jacob at that point, swinging his sword in an effort to decapitate Jacob with one swing. Ducking the Sword, Jacob swung the shaft of his spear, catching him in the wound the warrior had given him on his leg earlier. The force of the blow easily buckled the leg of his enemy, who, for a moment, dropped his guard. Swinging the tip of the spear in the helmet, Jacob knocked it off his opponents head, causing another deep wound to the face of the Vilgul. Pulling the spear back, Jacob thrust again, aiming for the face of his opponent.

Knocking the spear away with both weapons, the Vilgul punched Jacob in the stomach. All the air left his body, even as his armor absorbed most of the blow. Nearly losing his grip on his spear, Jacob tightened his grasp on it, as the Vilgul got up and body checked him back. Landing on his back, Jacob rolled away from his opponent who had charged him. Drawing his sidearm, Jacob took aim.

Six shots fired from his sidearm, one in to each of the limbs of his opponent. Collapsing to the ground dropping his weapons, the Vilgul looked up just in time to see Jacob shoving the spear at his face. Grabbing the shaft of the spear with all four hands, he managed to stop the spear after it had dug through his cheek and pressed to the back of his throat. Stepping forward, Jacob jumped off the arm of the Vilgul, kicking him in the face as he rose. The force of the kick loosened his grip on the shaft slightly, then with the added force of gravity, Jacob was able to drive the spear all the way down through the body of the Vilgul. As the tip left the butt of his opponent, Jacob drove it into the ground, pinning him in place.

A few minutes of struggling was futile, before the Vilgul succumbed to the wound, going limp.

"I was wondering if you were going to use your sidearm." One of Jacobs men said.

"Didn't really need it, but the fight was dragging on to long." Jacob replied.

The village cleaned everything up, gathering their fallen to honor them with ceremony. Jacob and his men lingered on the outskirts of the village for a bit, Jacob catching up with the villagers, Terralia among them. Just as he was about to depart, Terralia asked him about the slogan from the ship, also printed on the chest of Jacob's armor.

"It's the slogan of the XIV Regiment." Jacob informed her. "A mercenary group I joined after leaving here."

"I don't care what the other species say." One elder said to him. "You, and your kind are always welcome here. This is only our second encounter with humans, and we have been helped tremendously both times. Other species clearly only fear you as they are looking for a fight."

"I appreciate that. I will spread the word through the other human fleets." Jacob replied. "There are so few places we can stop with the reputation of our species."

With their final goodbye's said, Jacob and his team left the planet once again. Wondering if his business was truly done, or if fate would bring him back to this place yet again. Only time would tell.

[spitinsideme]

*falls through the ceiling*

YOU

*pointing at u pointing at u pointing at u*

you.... you!!!!! I have something to say to you!!! you beautiful lesbian that draws good!!!!! I've got somethin to say!!!!!

you have drawn not one!!! but two!!! of the sweetest gosh darn scenes of pomni and ragatha that I have ever seen!!!! and I have something to say about that!!!! here it comes!!! watch out!!!!!

*deep breath explodes deep breath explodes deep breath*

SPITINSIDE ME YOUVE DONE IT AGAIN woooOoaaaaAaaAAAARRRRGGGGH

*falls through the same ceiling again*

*your art has caused me to break continuity itself*

I'm talking about!!!! number one!!! ragatha giving pomni a forehead kiss!!! the expressions and absolute love they share in those four panels are on point!!!!

and!!! number TWO!!!! pomni!!! comforting ragatha!!!!! its so AGKGKHLGKHGHKGLHL. ITS SO GOOD. ITS SO HECKIN GOOD. I LOVE IT. THE TENDERNESS. BEING THERE FOR SOMEONE EVEN WHEN YOU DONT KNOW HOW. THATS WHAT ITS ALL ABOUT!!!!!!! HA HA!!!!!!

another piece you made which I also fucking love that I *have* to mention: maid au with pomni comforting ragatha after a long day!!! that piece makes me go!!! insane!!!! infinite power!!!!!! WAHHHHH

*fallls through the ceiling again*

ahem. anyways. yep. I just wanted to say you're fuckin amazing and you have succeeded in killing me over and over with your art. and I have never been happier to be slain by these two adorable lesbians. you're super cool. hope you're doing well!! peacee

DETAIA !!!!OHMUGOD !!!! HI !!!! HI DETAIA !!!! SCREAMING AND SHAKING AND JUMLING UP AND DOWN IN JOY !!! I AM SOGLAD YOU LIKE THE DRAWINGS YOU GET IT !!I READ YOUR TAGS ON THE COMFORTING RAGATHA ONE AND YESS !! YOUBGET IT !!! THE TENDERNESS THE FEELING THE ROMANCE THE VULNERABILITY OF TRYING, OF TRYONG TO HELP SOMEONE DEPITE KNLWING YOU DIND IT DIFFICULT, THE LOVE YOU HAVE TO HAVE FOR AOMEONE TO LET THEM TOUCH YOU WHEN YOU ARE NOT UAED TO IT, BIT KNLWING ITLL HELP THEM !!!!! YOU UNDERSTAND IT !!!! THATS WHAT ITS ALL ABOIT ITS ALL ABOIT TRYONG ITS ALL ABOIT DOING YOUR BEST EVEN IF YOU DONT KNOW HOW TO BECAUSE YPU LOVE THEM AND YOU PUT THEM BEFORE YOU IN SITUATIONS WHERE THEY NEED YOU !!!

detaia i think i tell you this every single time you send me an ask, but i love and i look flrward to your tags every single time, i literally make art and i go god, i hope detaia will like this one and write a poem in the tags becaus of how much they love it and the feelings and everyrhinf, i think that the best thing that has comw out of me making art od two silly hirla who got like 2hat ? 5 ninites together ? is that you enjly it so much tp weite so many tags of it. i litwrally lpve when anyone wrotwa anything abour my art when they reblog it, but i especially love your tags under ir and your thoights and feelings of it. thwyre great, i apprwxiate then very much and you are the best

i will continue to make art, and you seem to like the comforting ones and the softer ones mkre so i will draw th3m more soft and wholsome and just in love ... thank you for rveryrhing ❤️❤️❤️

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part X

Chapter summary: Vengeance looks good on you.

tags: robogore, gore, violence, body horror, death, cannibalism/siphonism

word count: 6588

previous chapter is here, start is here, next is here.

fic below cut!

That was the last time she’d trust an Autobot. That was what Puncture told herself as she walked along the seabed, prize clenched in her right claw, servos of her left twitching in anticipation. Behind her, folded up like a cube puzzle, were the remains of the Autobot she’d dispatched.

For such a large opponent he’d been a shockingly easy fight. He was almost as big as she was, and after listening to him announce himself, she’d felt quite eager about engaging. An Autobot who came equipped with war weapons and wanted to fight honorably would have to be something worth investing her time in, she’d thought. 

She’d been right, in a way. He’d definitely been partially worth it. Their clash hadn’t bored her to tears like the others she’d slain. She’d ambushed him, gotten the first hit, and displaced his staff with a brutal swipe. He’d fired straight into her chest, but her armor had held, and what might have been a fatal shot once had only left a particularly irksome gouge instead. From there she’d tackled him over the bridge, using the body of the Seeker to knock him off his balance, and shoved him below the water. 

That had been a mistake–the staff had electrified the water. They’d both spasmed as the current ran through them, causing her to seize and him to squirm. 

It had been an uproar of foam and splashing. She’d seen him trembling on spasming knees.At the sound of his T-Cog activating she’d snarled.

Oh Pit no. You don’t escape me that easily. 

She’d lunged, wrapping her claws around the tail of his alt mode as he’d launched out of the spaceship window. Her weight had thrown him off balance, sent him immediately spiraling downwards. They’d crashed into the trees together, uprooting the cages and creating a rain of dead organics. 

She’d landed on her back and struggled to flip over for a moment, immediately chastising herself for her weakness. In The Pit the seconds she’d taken would have been enough to kill her. To be a proper gladiator, proud, strong, and undefeated, she couldn’t risk leaving herself vulnerable for even a second. 

But with her luck, the Autobot hadn’t taken advantage of that. He’d crashed nearby and staggered on one knee, gritting his dentae and threatening to keel over. Still, as she’d bared her claws and approached, he’d glared and pointed his blaster again, a panel on his shoulder opening to reveal missile launchers. 

Impressive, she’d thought. Something that could actually hurt her. But even as he’d prepared to launch them, it was apparent to her that he was in pain. She could take advantage of that. 

“You don’t win this,” she’d said, circling around him like a shark. Beneath her mask, venom broiled. “Surrender, Autobot, and I’ll make your death quick.” 

“I can’t,” he said back, keeping his blaster trained on her. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Monsters like you don’t belong on this planet.” 

“Is that so.” And her mask had vertically split, releasing a wave of venom as she buzzed out a roar. 

It had hit his eyes. He’d screamed and staggered back, blaster firing rapidly as he tried to wipe the stuff off. That had been her opening. 

And from there she’d pinned him beneath the water, dug her claws into his helm, and prepared to claim her trophy. 

That was when she’d paused. The Autobot below her was a cargo plane, and a large one at that. He was big enough to carry her and the Seeker. Under almost every other circumstance Puncture would have killed him and moved on with her day, but the circumstances she’d found herself in were special. 

Namely, she was alone, out of touch, and grounded on a planet she knew nothing of. And here, out of the ether, Primus had delivered her a mode of transportation that only put up a little bit of a fight. If she killed him, she’d have to manually transform and fly him, and she knew nothing of piloting. 

So instead of claiming her helm trophy, Puncture had decided she would take the entire Autobot. All it had taken was piercing her claws straight into his brain and demanding access to his navigation systems. And don’t even think about calling for help, or flying to an Autobot base. 

She’d pinched his brain between her claws, just for effect. 

On the way out she’d cast a final look at the ship that had imprisoned her for so long and flipped it off. Something had been moving in there, but it wasn’t her problem. A flightless Seeker had no place in the Decepticon cause. This was just natural selection at its finest.

It had all been going so well until he’d decided to crash himself into the ocean. The navigation systems she’d hacked told her the island they were heading to was important. Surely it had to have something she could use, like Energon, or a working space bridge. Before she could confirm what that was, though, the Autobot had offed himself, so for all she knew he’d marked this place falsely and she was walking into a dead zone. 

She supposed that was what she got for trusting an Autobot. Self-sacrificing fools, the lot of them. 

At least she’d made it out with a trophy. His helm leaked pink Energon into the blue ocean water around her, leaving a trail behind her as she marched for the island they’d been flying to. There were no guarantees this place was worth anything, unfortunately, but she’d take dry land as opposed to the vast ocean. 

An orange glare was cast over the surface of the ocean water as she approached it. Before her helm even breached, she could guess as to why. Breaking the surface of the water, her suspicions were promptly confirmed: the island before her was a pyro of flame and stone. 

It was a small thing, only a few miles at max. Beginning with a beach surrounded by jagged boulders, the land quickly turned into a sheer rock face, upon the top of which grew dozens of green organics. They were all blackened crisps, shedding their ash to the pale beach below and turning it gray with soot. 

And upon that beach there was an Autobot. As Puncture breached the water fully, trophy clutched in her right claw, her systems performed a quick scan over the femme awaiting her. She was a standard issue female Autobot, gray and black in color (whether that was from soot or not she could only guess). In one hand she held a military rifle, the kind designed to fire heavy bolts that would pierce through any armor class. 

Good. An actual weapon that would sting. Pain was the best teacher, after all, and once she’d ripped it from the Autobot’s corpse, she could make use of it herself. 

There was only one off thing about the Autobot: she had no Autobrand displayed anywhere on her body. Odd.

The Autobot suddenly trained her rifle and Puncture paused in her step. Ocean waves licked at her cadulens. As the wind picked up, it brought a hot and dry gust with it, dotting the water around her with soot. 

“Hell–”

“Gimme yer name,” the Autobot said, her voice low and dangerous. Her servo was tight around the rifle’s trigger, barrel pointed for Puncture’s helm. “I wanna know who took my best friend from me.”

Puncture scoffed, raising the helm in her claws. “Your best friend? This honorable fool was a bot you considered an equal?” She laughed. “Well don’t just stand there!” 

And with a flick of her wrist she sent his helm flying through the air to embed itself on the beach. 

“Fetch.”

The Autobot’s optics widened with rage, rifle shaking in her hands. But she didn’t fire. Not yet. 

“Tell. Me. Your. Name.” She growled. “Or I’ll rip it from the fried remains of your brain.”

“Hm! Puncture. I am Puncture of The Pit.” She leaned forward for emphasis, spreading her claws. “I am of the highest standing in my home and have sent far stronger than you to the Afterspark, Autobot. Not only were they bigger…” she took a step, “and more equipped…” and another, “and fitted with powers to bail them out of what fights they couldn’t handle, they were paid to fight to the death, and had eliminated every bot they had come across. Until. They. Met. Me.” 

The Autobot fired. A streak of laserbolt sheared one of her antennae off. Her systems immediately screamed a damage report and were promptly suppressed. Puncture’s optics glowed slightly as the Autobot reloaded, aiming again before she could gain any ground. 

“You stay right there,” she threatened. “Be a shame to blast your helm off ‘fore I’m done fryin’ it.”

She huffed, narrowing her optics. “Oh really? You think you can do it, Autobot? You think you’ll be any different from your allies? From your friend?” 

“You don’t know me.”

“And you don’t know me.”

She kept her distance, circling around the Autobot, clearing the water and making it onto sand. A rush on such uneven terrain would give her several new injuries, and with the gouge the cargo plane had given her, a well-aimed blast could be fatal. Yet all she needed to do was to grab this Autobot once and it would be over. She calculated the risk of a charge  as the wind picked up again, bringing a few flames between them. 

The Autobot kept her rifle trained the entire time, never losing focus. She noted that there was something about her hands that seemed off–unlike average Cybertronians, her servos had pads on the end of them. Wires ran their length and down her arm, vanishing into the crook of her elbow. 

It would probably be beneficial not to let her make physical contact, then. Years of facing unknown opponents in the arena had told her that before a charge, one must never underestimate their opponent. Years of killing Autobots in the field like they were turbofoxes had dulled that instinct a bit, but observing the fearlessness of this particular one was giving her pause. No one who couldn’t back it up stood so fearlessly against their foe. 

Her optics were slightly unfocused. She was crunching numbers while watching Puncture, yet her aim never wavered and her grip remained steady. This was no fresh recruit. 

Oh, this would be fun. They were both dancing around one another, waiting for an opening, a weakness. If she charged, she risked injury without any form of aid, possibly ending in death. If the Autobot charged, if she fired and missed, if she didn’t hit the fatal wound, she risked death. 

The prospect was so exciting to her she almost began to buzz.

Her pede kicked against the helm of the Autobot she’d killed, and Puncture stopped in her circling. Casting a quick glance downwards, she had an idea. 

“Tell me, Autobot!” she declared, gesturing with a claw. “What was his name? You were so eager for mine. Was he even worth a designation? Or did he die a nobody?”

“You ain’t worth his name.” Her tone remained even. “I know what you’re doin’. Tryin’ to rile me up. Tryin’ to get an openin’. You ain’t gettin’ that, gladiator.” 

“Not fool enough for emotions, Autobot?” She smirked. “Good. I hate an opponent who kills themselves with their mistakes. Failing to take advantage of openings, failing to punish faults, failing to make that vital first move, and most importantly of all, failing…” 

Her claw hooked the edge of the Autobot helm and, in a single motion, she launched it at the Autobot. 

“TO FIGHT DIRTY!” 

And she charged. 

The Autobot dodged to the side, discharging her rifle as Puncture swiped where she had just stood. The bolt singed into the left of her chassis, smoke curling as she opened her mask and spat forth a wave of venom. Swift as a turbofox the Autobot raised her rifle to the oncoming wave and moved back, blocking the majority of droplets with its sacrifice. The metal began to melt as she flipped a switch on the side and threw it straight for Puncture’s helm. 

She raised her claw to block the projectile right as it exploded. A flash of pink was all she saw as the blast knocked her back, smashing her against the rock face. Her systems buzzed with damage reports as her vision momentarily glitched. 

And the Autobot was on her in a millisecond, punching her clean in the face. Blunt pain exploded in her faceplate, worsened when her helm smacked against the stone again. It struck her again, again, again, aga–

She didn’t need her vision to grab the fist about to hit her again, crushing it with ease between her claws. Through the sounds of twisting metal she heard the Autobot hiss. Her other claw was at her waist in a second, deadly tips poking against wires with only the slightest press. 

“Was that all?” She taunted, turning to face the Autobot again. Her vision was slightly blurred, but she could make out the rage in her optics. “You wasted your opening to punch me in the face, instead of going for the spark?”

The Autobot roared, free arm punching clean through her visor. The pads on her servos tapped onto her inner working all at once and an electrical current ran through her. Puncture’s vision suddenly failed, her systems forcibly redirected into her memory banks. 

And she was no longer on the beach. She stood in a dark alley, the buildings around her forming walls so great she could not see their ends. Before her the path stretched into endless darkness. Behind her was the clamor of death itself.

The walls all closed in at once. Puncture grunted and slammed her claws against them, holding them off with brute force alone. The clamoring behind her grew louder and the path before her began to fall away. 

She risked a look back. 

Rapidly approaching was a creature made of wires and sharp points. Burning flames formed its spark and poured over its broken chassis. Its faceplate had been torn up, exposing its skeletal understructure. Tentacles formed from spines burst from its back, each tipped with claws sharp enough to tear steel. And as she met its yellow eyes, she felt the spark in her chest skip a beat. 

The walls closed in even tighter. Her arms creaked with strain, pain shooting through her body. The ground beneath her feet was threatening to crumble at any moment. 

If she gave up, she’d be crushed. If she held on, she’d either fall or be eaten. Perhaps both at once. That thing was gaining distance fast. Its claws scraped the metal eagerly. And yet despite it all…

She wasn’t afraid. Her systems were screaming for her to be. But she wasn’t.

She couldn’t be. It was the first thing they took. Fighters who were afraid would run. Fighters who were afraid would hesitate. Fighters who were afraid made poor entertainment. If you felt fear, you didn’t make it in The Pit. 

She remembered the day it was taken from her as clearly as she remembered coming online. The overlord had gripped her by her chin and told her to hold still. She’d watched his fingers open and turn into drills. And with no anesthesia, he’d drilled straight into her brain. 

The scraping that had echoed through her mind would never leave her. As it rang through her head, the entire world melted away. Suddenly she was standing on the metallic surface of a brain, and over her hovered the largest drill she’d ever seen. It spun, shrieking with anticipation as it approached her. 

Her pedes were frozen. Looking down she saw hundreds of holes from which Energon poured. Floating within the pools like flecks of soot were parts, familiar parts painted with the colors of bots she’d once known. 

Brilliant silver wings, brilliant silver claws. Delicate glassy eyes and a chain woven from the finest tungsten available. Massive hands, massive enough to crush a bots chassis between them. An eyepatch that hid the scar given for insubordination. Two life chords split around a large helm that connected to a brain delicately held between dentae. And in the midst of it all…

Her own head, empty and devoid of substance. Not the ugly Insecticon one attached to her shoulders. No, it was her. The real her, with her two curved horns and trifecta of spikes. There were her two red eyes, glassy and always broken from fighting. There were her dermas and her dented cheek and the uneven curve on the left of her helm that resulted from Sparks trying and failing to give her a new style. 

The drill was just above her head. Not her real one. The one she inhabited now, by no choice of her own. She looked at her claws and found they were melting. Her entire body was melting. 

The body that she had been given, that she never wanted, that entrapped her like a cocoon, was melting away.

And in the face of death, she laughed. 

The drill collided with her helm and splattered the world with its droplets. Yet still her laugh echoed through the space with its gurgle. As her body fell away, taking her mind with it, she laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

There was nothing else she could do. 

—--

Even as the shocks ran up her arms and the pain began to fry her wires from the inside out, Channel continued to torture her prisoner. It was her last resort and by Primus would she make it count. If it killed them both, she didn’t care. If it ruined her forever, she didn’t care. Puncture would pay for killing Uptick. It would pay for taking the last thread of her joy away. She’d take its name and erase it from history and die with the knowledge that while Uptick would live on in someone’s memory, Puncture was gone forever. 

But damn, was it a fighter. Anyone else would have died from spark failure following incredible stressing of the mind–she would know. It wasn’t the first time she’d killed someone by doing this. 

That was what had locked her onto Cybertron. She could kill anyone, small, large, weak, strong, impossibly defensive, impossibly offensive. One touch, and their death was guaranteed. 

One touch, and she could take away pain. One touch, and she could take away fear. One touch, and she could make her patients as happy as their forging day. And this war had turned her into a machine whose greatest power was killing. 

Damn them all. Damn them for ruining her. Damn them for ruining Uptick. Damn them for sending Rotors to his death for information that would prove useless in the grand scheme of things. Damn them for leaving her entire regiment to die on that field, to die on a foreign planet, and taking the Ark to hide away for four million years. Damn Optimus Prime for dying so foolishly playing hero. And damn the Matrix for picking someone so incompetent and apathetic he couldn’t even be bothered to visit Earth after being endowed. 

This entire war was so pointless. What were they fighting against? The future of their own species? Whether they drove other planets to extinction under the guise of defending them from Decepticons, burying their organics beneath gunfire and rushing pedes, or conquered them in the name of cyberforming, they were still eliminating entire worlds in the name of Cybertron. Earth was just another rock that would be fought upon, crushed into dirt, and abandoned when neither side could find use for it anymore. 

She’d seen it happen with hundreds of other planets. She’d seen how pointless the fighting had become. Energon was always in short supply. No Matrix endowments would fix that. And whether it was made peacefully or violently, it would drain the resources of other planets during its creation.

If they did not crush a planet beneath their bodies they would drain it for its fuel. One way or another, everything her kind touched died. 

Perhaps she was just the personification of that. And here, on the planet where the war was supposedly decided, she was dying in her final attempt to end the fighting. 

Oh, how ironic it all was. 

Her systems blared warnings. The claw around her waist gripped tighter, breaking wires and bending plating. Her body was so hot the wind now had a chill to it. But no matter what, she would kill this Decepticon. 

For Globetrotter. 

A shriek suddenly sounded through the air. It was a sound so familiar to her, one that always sent a bolt of fear down her spine. It was a sound that portended a barrage of laser fire. It was a sound that promised a chase on foot after her alt mode was disabled. It came in threes, and was often accompanied by laughter. 

It was the roar of a Seeker’s engine. And it was rapidly growing louder. 

What was it that Uptick had said? He couldn’t take them. He couldn’t take either of them. 

The one beneath her was only one of them. 

Fear ran down her spine as charged lightning. She looked over her shoulder, optics scanning the sky in terror. And there, piercing through the air like a needle, was the green and pink shape of the Seeker. 

Her focus broke. Channel tore her servos from Puncture’s helm and squirmed desperately in its grip. Her danger sensor was shrieking so loud it almost drowned out the roar of the engines, system flaring with hundreds of warnings. Red covered her vision, blaring over and over as the Seeker drew closer. 

The Rainmaker. Acid Storm. The remembrance of acidic droplets melting her plating helped her tear her broken arm off, leaving behind a mess of sparking wires. One blockade gone, one to go. But she could not tear off her hips so easily. 

And even if she could, she would not make it far. He was here. 

Acid Storm banked up as he shot over the beach, backflipping to transform back. He did it without the deadly grace of his kind, landing heavily on two damaged pedes. His wings were inverted, just as she’d seen in Starburst’s memories, and his front completely stained with Energon. But unlike in Starburst’s memories, the gray of death had crept into his servos, his side was torn open and bleeding out its own T-Cog, and his face was gone. 

All she could see of it were two glowing white optics. 

“Get. Off. Of. Him.” He threatened. Channel raised an arm in surrender. It wasn’t enough. “Only I get to kill him.”

“Look, I ain’t know what you two got goin’ on, but I–”

“SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” Acid Storm staggered forward, clawing at his arm, pulling off what looked like a spine. With each step he moved mysterious gears on it, unfolding the decoration into a familiar shape. 

A sniper rifle. It was the ugliest one she’d ever seen, but if there was one thing she knew about unnatural looking weapons, it was that they were often more dangerous than the proper ones.

Channel gritted her teeth and strained against the claws keeping her in place. Her body shrieked from the damage the movement inflicted. 

Acid Storm seemed to find amusement in that. “What’s wrong?” He asked, a giggle in his voice. “Are you scared of me? But I’m just a little Seeker, aren’t I? A little nobody?”

“I ain’t–” 

“SHUT THE FRAG UP!” The rifle was complete now, and pointed straight at her helm. His arms were shaking, but despite it all he was smiling. At least, she thought he was. It was difficult to tell with the lack of a faceplate. “You don’t talk unless I say you do. Got that, Autobot scum?”

When she gave no answer he went on. “You really think you’ve won this planet, don’t you? You really think we’re all dead? You run around on the land like you own the place. And all the while you pretend, saying these organics are your friends.” His laugh sounded pained. “And what do I do? Where am I forced to hide? Beneath the ocean, for cycles. While you play with these WORTHLESS organics.” 

He suddenly gagged, spitting out a stream of thin, water diluted Energon. 

“ALL BECAUSE I���M A SEEKER! You…you left me! You LEFT ME! THEY ALL LEFT ME!” 

He was screaming now. 

“They think I’m so worthless! They all think I’m weak! Autobot, Decepticon! Ally, enemy! Well I’LL show you who’s weak! I’ll show you ALL!” 

He moved his hand from the trigger on his rifle and dug his servos into his chassis, pulling at the broken cockpit as if attempting to rip it open. 

“Do you want to know something, Autobot? How old do you think I am? Speak.”

Channel arched an optical ridge. “A Seeker, huh? Anywhere from four million t–”

“WRONG!” He fired. 

The laser bolt that missed her by several feet hit the stone and exploded with so much force that shards buried themselves in the sand on the other side of the beach. Her audials momentarily broke. The Seeker trembled as if his spark was threatening to burst. 

“I’m only one million. Such a small number, right?” He leaned forward, tilting his head as he made eye contact. “Do you know how many I’ve killed, in that time?”

She didn’t answer, afraid that this time, he wouldn’t miss. But beyond that, her optics detected movement at the edge of the cliff. A hand with five long needles was running along the stone, tracking Acid Storm’s movements perfectly.

“Tell me, Autobot. Do you know about the Haumerian Massacre?”

The Haumerian Massacre. She knew it well. Following the disappearance of the Ark, the Autobots had split into several groups and retreated to four separate planets near Cybertron. The Haumerian Massacre was the name coined for the disappearance of one of those groups. 

But there was a problem. 

“That…that was 3.5 million years ago.” 

Despite his lack of a face, the Seeker smiled. 

“Do you believe in the Afterspark, Autobot?”

“I–”

“Don’t. Because trust me when I say this: I’ve been. There is life after death. But it isn’t what you think.” He clawed even more at his cockpit. She caught a glimpse of something that looked mechanical where his spark chamber should have been. “Do you want to know what it’s like?”

She didn’t get the chance to answer. Puncture stirred beneath her, claws flexing against her already damaged waist. Channel screamed in pain. The Seeker hissed, training his rifle on Puncture’s helm instead. 

And from the ridge above them, the thing in the pyre leaped. 

It all happened at once. The blazing, half melted thing landed on Acid Storm, taking him to the floor as its tentacles pierced into his plating. He screamed with an agony so rich she disabled her audials, which kept her from hearing everyone else’s as his side suddenly lit up. Bolts of white energy shot out from him and connected with them all. 

It was a pain so great her systems momentarily offlined. She shrieked with all she had left in her, her T-cog seizing and her functions grinding to a halt. An endless stream of warnings told her about the glitches running rampant through her system. Overheat was inevitable. Her body broke, and after all these years, finally rejected her. 

As if decapitated by an invisible scythe, Channel’s head fell clean off her body, landing on the sand besides Puncture’s massive form. 

Then it unfolded itself into a tiny, black robot, whose Autobot insignia was on her back. She looked around in terror at the writhing mass before her and the massive monster trembling behind her. And with the desperation that drives parents to eat their young, she bolted into the ocean, leaving behind the titans who’d so cruelly decided her fate. 

—----

She’d practically torn her T-Cog out, but she didn’t care. Invert grabbed the tentacle spasming above her and rose to her feet, planting her pedes as she swung with the force of her whole body. The thing slammed into the rock face behind her. Bending to grab her rifle with one hand, she twisted her T-Cog even more. Energy was flowing from her into it, and each streak made it contort even more. 

Her legs no longer felt ready to collapse. Her arms no longer felt numb. The rage pumping through her must have deafened the side effects. Or perhaps death was so close to her now, its effects no longer hindered her. Whatever the case, Invert didn’t care. Her ability was working to her benefit, and she would not pass up this opportunity. 

“Feel my pain. Feel my pain,” she spat. “I’ll take you down with me, and we’ll both die horrible deaths, and I’ll come back in that tub of sentio metallico while your body smelts into someone’s next part, isn’t that nice? Won’t that be so nice?”

She purged more watery energon as she approached the thing. By consuming what had seeped into the swamp and sucking from every drying wire in the dead Autobots, she’d acquired enough fuel to fly. It had been filthy and humiliating, even more than being awoken by the shocks from that Autobot’s weapon while he struggled with Puncture. She’d been unable to speak, unable to ask for help or congratulate her ally. 

And then said ally had left her, like her previous allies had, like Shockwave had, like her trine had, like the Autobots had. That was all any of them ever did. She was just a thing to be thrown away and abandoned. 

And she’d had enough. 

The monster was all wires and twisted plating. It sparkchamber was exposed as it rolled on its back, arching from the energy pouring into it. Removing her hand from her T-Cog, she trained her rifle on its vital organ.

Which was when it truly hit her: she wasn’t in pain. 

The last time she’d used her ability, it had completely incapacitated her. The pain had been almost unbearable. And when it was done, her frame had felt cold. 

That was how it had always been. In the million years she’d had her ability, it had never once left her unscathed.

She looked to her servos and saw they were completely gray. So were her forearms. It was spreading, and soon she’d have to abandon this frame as well. But despite the death literally crawling over her, she wasn’t in pain. 

What development was this? 

Despite the fact that her T-Cog was practically hanging out of her side, she felt it shift of its own will. Looking to her wings, she saw they’d moved to a proper upright position.

In the million years he’d spent studying her, Shockwave hadn’t once managed to fix her wings. And yet here, on this beach, after using the ability he blamed on her inversion, they’d miraculously fixed themselves. 

It was a shock so great her rage melted, and her fingers suddenly felt much weaker on the trigger than they had a moment ago. She stared down at the still creature in the sand, the thing that had somehow caused this miracle. 

As far as monsters went, it was a poor excuse. Skeletal in nature, its warped and jagged plating covered onto only the essentials. Its abdomen had been replaced with what looked like clear glass, displaying an empty chamber full of glowing liquid. On its head were the remnants of a blue helm, now cut into a three-fold crest, the middle of which held a large cracked jewel. From its shoulders and back sprouted six tentacles which resembled spines. Four were tipped with deadly claws, but two bore purple hands.

Its optics opened. They were yellow and surprisingly alive. As they fell on her they widened with fear. The creature suddenly animated and scrambled back, two of its tentacles wrapping around itself. 

“Who are you!? Where am I?! What–” It raised a hand defensively, then stared at the appendage in horror. “What…what…happened to me?!”

She furrowed her optical ridges. “You attacked me, and I shocked you. Who are you? No, what are you? Why aren’t you inanimate on the floor?”

“I-I don’t know! What’s going on!?” 

The Insecticon groaned. Invert turned cold eyes on him. 

“You.” 

His one optic was onlining, indicated by the red glow behind his broken visor. There was a hole in his head where the Autobot had punched clean into it. He turned his head slightly, focusing on Invert. 

“See…ker…” he said weakly. “You’re…alive…”

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “Did you really thing–”

“Your…ability…sucks.” He laughed weakly. “Frag…you.”

Invert growled. “Frag you too, glitch. Oh, and before I kill you? I saved your life. No matter how strong you think you are, a Seeker is the one who saved your aft.” She spat a pink blob on his side. “Deal with it.”

 “Wait,” the creature cut in, “who are you? Both of you! Why are you aiming a rifle at him?! No one needs to die, we can–”

The ocean suddenly exploded. Invert jerked back, looking to the source as a massive cargo plane burst forth from the waves, soaring into the sky. The Autobot insignia was emblazoned on its side. 

They all watched as the plane shot over the island and disappeared, the roar of its engines slowly fading away beyond the crackling of organics. Even the fire was dying down now, having consumed what it could of the island and leveling out into a fine layer of ash. 

She frowned, turning her attention back to the Insecticon, then the creature. If an Autobot had just escaped the island, they’d be back with more. She had limited time to escape the island and return to Victory. This time, however, it wouldn’t be to wait. 

No, frag that. They’d left her behind on Earth. To the Decepticon cause she was nothing but a worthless, weak Seeker. There was only one ‘Con who saw any worth in her, even if it was the worst kind, and he was lightyears away, still waiting on Cybertron. 

Cybertron, where ‘Cons like her ruled and Energon was at least available in rations beyond a single cube. Frag Earth. The Autobots could have this planet. 

She huffed and approached the Insecticon, keeping her rifle trained on his head. 

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I think it’ll be fine to leave you here. The Autobots can always use a few more prisoners.” 

She could feel his glare. Invert didn’t care. He could rot in an Autobot cell for the rest of his days. It was a far worse fate than death, and he would know it. Death was a mercy. There was no fate crueler than its denial. 

“But first, you’re going to pay your due.” 

Her Energon levels were less than half, and she’d need more to return to Victory. There were several singes on his plating that, if she hit them hard enough, they’d leak. One looked like it could be fatal if she struck it hard enough. His face was bleeding from the hole in it. She could take her pick of wounds…

If only they weren’t too kind for someone like him.

Turning the dial on her rifle down, she aimed at his shoulder and fired. The bolt pierced clean through him and several feet into the stone. The arm fell away and Energon poured from its source. 

Invert didn’t even need to kneel to bring her intake to the source. She could feel the hate radiating from him and taste it in the bitterness of his processed fuel. Good. That was what the strongest Decepticons were made of. 

Only when she’d drank her fill did she back off and give him an impish smile. 

“You might wanna get that looked at, if you ever find someone stupid enough to care about you.” 

Then she turned back to the creature, the strange thing that had stabilized her, given her proper wings, and taken away her pain. Of course she had to take it with her. Something about it filled a piece in her that was missing, or perhaps took away the excess she suffered from. More study, as Shockwave would say, was needed. She couldn’t let this blessing escape her, even if it had tried to kill her. 

It backed away from her as she approached, trying to give it a friendly smile. Was something wrong with her face? It looked so scared. 

“Why are you backing off? I’m trying to help you,” she said. “Cmon, get up. I’m going to get us off this island. There’s a way better place for us eight hours from here.”

“I...uh…I don’t really…trust…you…” It said, tentacles wavering uncertainly. She rolled her eyes. 

“Okay, let’s get names out of the way then. I’m Invert. Who are you?”

“Um…Luster.” He looked at the brand on her wings. “You’re a Decepticon.”

“Yes, I am. It’s the winning team. And what are you? A monster in the middle of nowhere?”

He looked at his hands, tentacles sagging. 

“Look, allegiance doesn’t matter right now. Do you want to rot on this island with no Energon and no friends, or do you want to come with me and have a chance at getting off this awful rock?”

“Off this awful rock?”

“Off this planet! We’re going back to Cybertron. Frag Earth, this place is awful. The Autobots can keep it. Have you ever met an Autobot? They’re a bunch of sappy idiots. And if they want to play with these gross organics all day, they can have it!”

“I…yes, they…they can have it,” he echoed, shakily moving to his feet. They were too thin to support his weight and almost immediately gave out. Instead, the tentacles on his lower back came to his rescue, bracing against the ground to let him walk. 

He was like a newly forged sparkling. She found it charming. “Alright then, Luster, ever flown in a jet?”

“Uh…no.” 

“Well, you’re about to learn!” She ordered herself to transform, letting the natural feeling that had always felt so unnatural wash over her like a gentle wave. No longer was it a tide of confusion, balance problems, and navigation issues. Her body felt normal, natural, and proper, even though it wasn’t hers. 

She cheerfully popped her broken cockpit, sending its last few glass shards flying. “Now get in!”

Luster cringed at the sight, even more so when a glass shard hit him. He was hesitant, looking around at the island, at the Insecticon, at the sky, as if he expected rescue to come at any given moment. Only when she fired up her engines in warning did he finally move, carrying himself to her cockpit, looking in warily, and finally clambering in. 

He was so light she could forget he was there. Good, it meant she’d have an easy flight.

“Alright, hold on, my seat belts don’t work and if you fall out I can’t guarantee I’ll catch you in time!”

“Wait, wha–”

Her cockpit closed and her engines powered up, and with the ease befitting a proper Seeker, not a half-formed failure who couldn’t even take off without help, Invert shot into the air. 

The charred island and its sole occupant were left behind. 

[solemn-siren]

Savior of scratchcraft

I’ve been toying around with a version of my persona but as a resident in Storm’s port city and I came up with a concept of a potion maker who is too busy for the life of her to take care of herself and isn’t very good at anything outside of potions.

I came up with this short story concept of alchemist!Siren’s failed attempt at getting dragon’s breath and the god who had to save her… again.

Tw: violence, injury, near death?

To make tipped arrows you need lingering potions, and to make lingering potions you need dragon’s breath.

Siren was just hoping that the diamonds she spend buying end crystals from Jor was worth the amount of pain she had to go through just to get dragon’s breath.

Buying end crystals was only the easy part. When you live in a port city under the eyes of a god and you make potions, you’re already in the perfect spot to rake in diamonds. When you knew how to read the market and predict what customers want, that was how she rose to the top.

She still had plenty left to go around to bulk orders of other ingredients.

She did not have enough to make better gear.

So here she was, in the end, with the dragon she summoned, with no armor. Just her elytra and her bow and tons of glass bottles.

The end crystals atop the obsidian pillars were perhaps the easiest to deal with. All she had to do was fly above the endless sea of void, take aim, and let loose her arrow at the deadly crystal.

The dragon was not.

If she was skilled enough she would’ve captured the acidic fireballs it shot and collected the dragon’s breath within it. Alas, she had already been warned enough times about danger so she decided to not do anything about it.

The dragon hovered above the end portal, its silver claws perched atop the bedrock structure. It reared its head back, and Siren grabbed as many bottles as she could in one hand and a rocket in the other, landing on one of the obsidian pillars, she waited for the dragon to make its move.

“Any second now…”

The ended dragon let out a large breath attack, with nearby endermen fleeing from the cone of draconian energy. Lingering behind where the cone went, was an ether like cloud of its breath.

“Bingo.”

Siren fired her rocket, diving down from her obsidian pillar and towards the dragon. Bringing out the bottles in her hand, she passed it through the ether cloud before using another rocket to take off into the air, soaring above the obsidian pillars.

The bottles were now filled with dragon’s breath, and before any could escape Siren closed the bottles. She had made this special glass bottle for ‘dragon breath’ hunting purposes. They could close quickly with only one flick of her fingers and she could close multiple at once.

Putting the dragon’s breath away, she thought to herself. She had about a stack and a half of bottles left to go.

Can’t be that hard? Right?

Unfortunately the dragon had stopped perching atop the portal and was now behind Siren, its wings sending gale force winds below her.

“You got to be kidding me-“

The dragon shot its fire at Siren, landed dead center on the alchemist who was sent flying into one of the obsidian pillars.

Snap. There went her elytra. If she had a sword or a pick maybe she could slow her fall. She had none of those, so she was doomed to fall onto the end stone below with a splat.

“Ow.”

She flicked her wrist, bringing up a holographic panel. Majority of the hearts that had shown up were black and shattered, just one half of the last heart remained, glowing dimly.

“Half a heart. I’m dead.”

She had absolutely nothing to regenerate her own hearts.

“Maybe I will accept death for once.”

She didn’t hear the thundering sound of the ended dragon being slain or the nearby endermen suddenly acting off for their kind.

She only realized it all when she saw a line of lightning darting between the obsidian pillars before coming down in front of her. The lightning quickly transformed into a tall endermen with silver armor.

Stormlordzeus, the god who built the port city, the god they worshipped.

And her savior.

Again.

Even the endermen around him bowed down and began to chant in galactic as he stood up to his full height. The armor he wore began to shift, completely removed by magic and revealing his hoodie attire.

“…Hi there.” Siren said, raising one hand and slowly waving. Storm glared down, his teal green pearl eyes resembling the eyes of ender in the over world portal.

“You realize we’re in the double digits now right?” He asked, still menacingly staring down at her. “I keep telling you, you can just pay someone else to go get dragon’s breath for you, not go get them yourself! What made you think you could do this?”

Siren shrugged, it was her thing at this rate.

“Wait how did you know I was in the end?” she asked, still staring at the holographic half a heart.

“You don’t do a good job of hiding where you are.” Storm answered, crouching down to her level. “Jor told me you bought end crystals from him, the exact number needed to summon the dragon. And you only have one good reason for summoning the ender dragon.”

You know, he had a point.

“So? What did the dragon do to you?”

“Fireball.” Siren answered, pointing to the singed ends of her hair. Although it was ebony black, several ends of her hair was singed a magic pink, because this wasn’t any kind of fire, it was magical fire.

Storm shook his head in disappointment. “It’s magical injury isn’t it…” he muttered, looking away. “Can you walk?”

Siren raised up the holographic half a heart.

Storm stared at the faintly glowing heart in shock. “Half a heart?!” He shouted, spooking the nearby endermen. “You were lucky, but don’t rely on it too much from now on okay? I’m carrying you back all the way to the port, free of charge, but if I hear that you’re in the end again-“

“-there’s an even worse punishment waiting for you.”

“Alright I get it.” Siren groaned, taking Storm’s hand as the god helped her back onto her feet. It was disorienting and slightly uncomfortable to stand on two legs again, but she couldn’t fly back because her elytra was broken, the splintered wood and phantom membrane scattered on the end stone.

“Still the savior of scratchcraft aren’t you?” She added as the endermen parted from the god as they walked towards the portal. “You’re still the same, god or not.”

“Shut up.” Storm grumbled, but she had a point. As long as the scratchcrafters, the citizens of his city, and the world bowed down before him, he would protect them all until his last breath.

[squids-comics]

Now that the first comic strip is out, I think it's time I share the first comic script I ever published: John Landwalker Issue One!!

Page One:

Panel one, top third of page:

The story opens with our hero, John Landwalker, riding through a forest on horseback. John is a knight dressed head to toe in an iron suit of armor, with a large, bucket like helmet hiding his face. On his back he carries a large golden Warhammer and a silver trident. Both have intricate carvings inlaid in them. The sunlight reveals lots of wear on both the weapons and armour, implying heavy use. At his side is a dagger wrapped in a leather sheath. His chestnut coloured horse gallops through the forest at a fast pace.

Panel two, bottom two thirds of page:

John arrives at a tall, stone castle. He looks up in awe, although his expressionless bucket does little to showcase this. At the gate wait dozens of knights, hauling treasure and wanted criminals and trophies from slain beasts inside with them. One knight stands out from the rest. He is the only one without a helmet. His long, blonde hair blows behind him in the breeze. 

Page Two:

Panel one, top left sixth of page:

John stands inside a castle hallway, waiting outside a large, oak door. All the other knights have already gone about their business and left, leaving him to wait alone. John is then beckoned in by someone calling his name.

Speech bubble: "Sir John Landwalker!"

Panel two, top right sixth of page:

John enters the door before tripping over his own feet and landing on his hands and knees. He tries to play it off as a really low bow.

John: "Your majesty."

Panel three, bottom two thirds of page:

A king sits upon a throne of gold, raised several steps above John. He is visually displeased, both in posture and facial expression, by the sight of John. He looks bored. He wears a large, gold, jewel encrusted crown and the finest clothes woven from the finest silks. His silk robes are red, with a lavender accent. He has dark brown hair, neatly brushed under his crown. At the bottom of the steps stands a snide looking man, the one who called John in. He holds a lengthy scroll containing the names of all the kingdoms knights. Although he is dressed like a noble, his robes are nowhere near as nice as the kings. It is clear he put effort into his long black hair, brushing it and styling it, but it's still coated in a thin layer of grease. John continues to hold his forehead to the floor, too afraid to look up.

King: "What gold have you claimed for your kingdom?"

John: "None your highness."

King: "What beasts have you slain?"

John: "None your highness."

King: "What criminals have you brought to justice?"

John: "None your highness."

King: "What lands have you claimed for your kingdom?"

John: "None your highness."

Page Three:

Panel one, full page:

Close up of the king as he leans forwards towards John, a look of disgust on his face.

King: "Then what, pray tell, have you been doing?"

Page Four:

Panel one, top left sixth of page:

John raises his head to look at the king, before averting his gaze elsewhere.

John: "I've been working in the fields. With the farmers."

Panel two, top right corner, roughly one sixth of page:

The king recoils in shock, holding his hand to his chest.

King: "In the fields!? with the common folk?! One of my men!? Whatever for?"

Panel three, middle left sixth of page:

John climbs to his feet. One arm hangs at his side while the other grips it tightly. He still does not dare look at the king directly.

John: "Well, the farming season has been rough. With the poor weather, and the animals stealing whatever crops do grow. They need all the help they can get to provide enough food for your feasts."

Panel four, middle right sixth of page:

The king rises to his feet, face red with anger. His hands are clenched into fists.

King: "My feasts? My feasts!? You say that as if it's my fault. Those peasants are at fault! If they worked harder they would not need the help of one of my men!!"

Panel five, bottom left sixth of page: 

All signs of fear melt from John, as a sudden rage boils over within him. He clenches his fists, puffs out his chest, and looks directly into the kings eyes.

John: "Do not speak ill of your own people, when you yourself do not know the hardships they face! Many go hungry each night so you can live your lavish life of royalty!"

Panel six, bottom right sixth of page:

The king seems momentarily taken aback that anyone would dare talk back to him. He falls back into his throne, a look of bewilderment and moderate amusement stretched across his face. The man at the bottom of the stairs looks up at the king to offer support.

King: "You dare speak to your king in that tone? Have you forgotten your place? Cenric!"

Man at the bottom of the stairs: "Yes, my liege?"

King: "When did we enlist this jester in the kingdom's knights? Was it long ago? Perhaps senility is starting to overtake them?"

Page Five:

Panel one, top third of page:

Cenric consults the scroll he's holding. The King talks from off panel.

Cenric: "...About three month sire."

King: "Three months? Wait... are you..."

Panel two, rest of page:

The king leans forward in his throne once more, unable to stop a look of joy from spreading across his face, a look Cenric shares. The "camera" focuses on them as John sheepishly backs into the corner of the panel.

King: "You were the squire who so desperately wanted to serve the kingdom, despite having no skill at all."

[ruiniel]

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Count: 1.7K

Rating: 🔞

Chapter Tags & Warnings: POV Second Person, POV Tsugikuni Michikatsu, Blood

On AO3

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part IX

VIII.

You’d paced back and forth for the remainder of the night, preferring the outside to the mess your home had become. The persistent reek of spilled entrails was enough to keep you out for a lifetime, but at some point you’d have to do something about it. 

Let the daylight in.

You tried gathering your resolve a few times, but never made it past the threshold to your own house.

All because of him! This had become the mantra you kept chanting to yourself, while unable to avoid the sense his own words made: why would he send something like that here, if he’d intended to come himself? What use would you have been to him dead, considering what he wanted?

As a frigid gust blows through the trees, you shiver, hugging your arms around your middle. You’d not noticed before, but now you do: your yukata is stained with blood at the front, down your chest to your abdomen. It must’ve happened when he was holding you as you gave him blood, which means you’re covered in his own. 

As you stare, the dark red becomes lighter, and looking up you see the same happening to the skies. The blush of dawn is meek, but morning is sure to arrive. You turn around, a heavy sigh leaving your chest, still trapped in the turmoil of the previous night, with thought after thought shimmying to the forefront like night moths. The matter is, he did help preserve your life… again. And then you paid him back—you’re even. You feel you owe him nothing else, and he did agree to keep away from now on.

A peculiar sensation stirs your nerves when you remember the careful way his lips pressed against your wrist, the slow movement of his jaw and tongue as he took what he needed. For such a gruesome act, this time you felt no rush of forcefulness from him and it was nothing like the previous time. Your cheeks feel hot despite the cool predawn air, and your heartbeat thrums harder through your body. It must be the lack of sleep and weakness in the aftermath. Your shadow blackens against the paper and wooden lattice work frame of the shoji panel. Moving forward, you remember his words, and slide it open. 

It’s a clear day, and fresh sunlight bursts inside the space where the creatures lay—one having fallen unconscious, the other in pieces. Your gaze lingers on the less grisly sight of the two. The man lying on the floor is just as you left him hours ago. He looks awful with his hair disheveled, his throat and chest smeared in brownish red. 

Just as you cautiously close in, a strange sound distracts you, and your gaze follows the source.

The body of the demon he’d slain is… breaking apart?

In the day’s light, limbs and all shrivel in an instant and dissipate into black smoke like a nefarious offering. Stunned, you watch the bloodstains on the floor evaporating, and in the end, apart from the toppled pieces of furniture, it’s as though nothing had ever happened. 

So this… is what he meant?

The thought comes just as a low moan reaches your ears and, sure enough, you look to the source. The light mostly doesn’t reach where he’s sprawled on the floor, but half of his face is turned towards it, cut by the sun. The sound of scorching flesh accompanies the wounds like fire burns spreading on his forehead and cheek, but his eyes stay closed even as his fingers cramp uselessly at his sides. 

In the next heartbeat, you run over, taking a hold of both his wrists and dragging him completely into a shaded corner of the room. He’s heavier than you thought, but you make do. You rise, watching the searing burns slowly recede as new skin is formed.

Even after all you’ve seen in just one night, the sight feels surreal. Your gaze trails to his throat. The area is smeared with blood, and there’s not much you can tell from here. No answers will come from his own mouth either, since he still lies there, ghastly pale, appearing as one dead.

What to do? What do I do?

Some time passes before you take a decision, your feet padding towards the bedroom.

Light forms shapes before him, taking space in his vision. He tries to focus, but can’t, falling into oblivion again. When it happens again, the shapes are more defined. A face, hands upon him. Both are so recognizable, the movements so known to him, and a deeply buried regret writhes within. The shapes fade once more.

He hates it, hates being in this state. 

When he again feels his own body tense and his consciousness returns, on reflex, his hand snatches the wrist of another reaching for him.

He blinks, and reality finally settles. He pulls on the wrist without thought, and strands of hair brush against his chest. A hiss reaches him, and a voice. “It hurts! Let… go…”

He stares at the owner of the voice, finding your wary face, eyebrows knit in discomfort. You’d been kneeling by his side, it seems… what are you doing here? 

Oh, yes. 

It burns when he breathes. The first change he notices is his vitality—it has returned. There is no more constant pain, no reminder of a humiliation four centuries old. When he reaches for his throat, there is no open gash. 

It worked. 

He recalls the previous night, detail after detail joined like the pieces of a broken mirror. And once the image is complete, he sees the most important fragment. He tells himself it cannot be, and yet, when he gazes at you now, he… he… 

He looks at himself, finding his upper body is bare.

“Where… are my…”

“Please let go, you’re bruising my arm!” 

He releases you as if burnt. 

“Your clothing was drenched in blood,” you say, rubbing at your wrist and looking anywhere but at him. “I… I thought it best to remove it lest it stain other things.”

Sure enough, a quilted blanket covers him—when he tosses it aside, his hakama are undone but still in place, but he’s never been this disheveled in all his days. If it were anyone else, their head would be rolling outside in the garden by now. But you… you…

The audacity coupled with your sense of practicality mellows his displeasure, and besides… this feels awfully, hauntingly familiar. 

He slowly turns to the side and tries to rise, propped on one elbow. You’re still not looking at him as you continue, pointing at a bundle by his head. He looks, finding a spread black kimono and a folded white undershirt on the floor. “You can… try these if you wish. They belonged to my… my father.”

“... gratitude.”

He asks no more, though it appears his neck and hands have been scrubbed clean of blood as well. Haltingly, he rises even as you turn away. 

Once dressed, he stares at your figure, now standing before the open panels of your old house, gazing outside. 

Why? Why now, after so many years? The question has no answer. You’re standing in the light, where he cannot reach.

“You may wait here until evening falls, if you need to,” you say.  

He doesn’t need to. One thought and he���d be back at the fortress. And yet... “You’ve been exceedingly gracious. I see the remains have dispersed,” he says. 

You nod. “I saw how it happens. I understand what you meant now.”

“Hm, yes.”

You slide the panel shut, then turn to him, speaking with forced calm. “I’ll make tea.”

“Wait.” 

You look at him. “...?”

“... your blade. The one you were holding last night. May I see it?”

Hesitation crosses your features. “I…” 

You trail off, however, turning and walking towards him, stepping past him, to where said weapon is set on its stand. You return and present it to him.

He doesn’t take it. He merely stares at the designs on the scabbard, their shape, at you.

He balls the hands at his sides into fists to control a loathsome tremor rushing through his body like lightning. 

You run a finger over the scabbard. “It is… a family heirloom. It was carried through generations so far back not even my parents could say for certain to whom it belonged originally.”

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” is all he says.

Seeing that he’ll make no other remarks nor reach out for it, you return the blade to its place, then head over to make that tea.

As you kneel, occupied with your task, he soundlessly follows. 

“You mentioned hundreds of years.”

“Pardon?” he asks, distracted. His hands still shake, heedless of his attempts at control. 

“Last time… you said you… you’ve been like this for hundreds of years.”

“That is true.”

His own blade has appeared in his hand as a reminder shoots through his bones.

Whatever it is that keeps you from your duties... Get rid of it. 

“Which means, you were once human,” you continue, your back still turned.

“Correct.”

He raises his sword with both hands. One slash, a single, clean slash. A swift end, and he’d be free. If he does not do this now, the weakness you represent might cause unexpected havoc. It would interfere with his goal. It already does. 

You sense nothing—his movements are as sleek and silent as stream water. 

“You must’ve had a name, then.”

The blade is set in his hands, ready to strike. “I did. But… it does not matter anymore. I am no longer that person.”

“Still…” You tell him your own name. “What about yours?”

His eyes burn. Images flood their way in. A weeping willow, its branches swaying in the wind. Gentle hands. A face, now smiling, now caught in the throes of pain or longing, now weeping.

One slash. His breath is stuck in his throat. “... Tsugikuni Michikatsu,” he says through gritted teeth. “That was my name.”

You’re silent for a moment, then your lips part on the word. “... Michikatsu.”

Like a holy seal to his powers, that forgotten name spoken in your voice turns his knees weak, and his arms won’t move. His gaze roams to your bandaged wrist. 

“A good name,” you murmur. 

With a suppressed growl, he whirls around, fluidly sheathing his sword at the same time. You turn the next moment, having sensed a shift in the air. Tea in hand, you stare at his back in bewilderment as he stalks away.

Part IX

[kudosmyhero]

Batman (vol. 1) #307: Dark Messenger of Mercy

Read Date: November 27, 2022 Cover Date: January 1979 ● Writer: Len Wein ● Penciler: John Calnan ● Inker: Dick Giordano ● Colorist: Glynis Oliver ● Letterer: Ben Oda ● Editor: Julius Schwartz ◦ E. Nelson Bridwell ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● pg 2 - did Batman pose for that near life-size poster? To avoid graininess in a picture that size, you'd want bright studio lights and low ISO film… which tells me Batman went to a studio and posed heroically. That's my head canon now. ● pg 3 - Lucius! <3 (apparently his first appearance, according to the podcast!) ● I love reading the app on panel-by-panel because things like that lovely sunset sneak up on me ● (I just wish the DC app had the option to view the full page in addition to panel-by-panel like the Marvel app has) ● (and fix that screen rotation, DC! Jesus.) ● pg 5 - I like this guy's cranberry-colored suit. It works somehow. ● pg 6 - sputters GORDON ACTUALLY SAW BATMAN LEAVE ● pg 8 - the woman in pink looks delightful ● pg 9 - I love them all ● pg 13 - spill it, Quentin! ● pg 14 - I bet I know who that gloved hand belongs to… ● pg 14 - I've never seen Batman go out with visible bandages before now. It seems like it's a vulnerability that he would normally try his best to hide ● pg 17 - how tf did I not see that coming?

👏👏👏

Synopsis: A bag lady in a subway is murdered by poisoned gold coins laid on her eyes by a mysterious "benefactor" who kills her to release her from her squalid existence. After finishing business matters concerning Wayne Enterprises with the second in command, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne retreats to his apartment at twilight and learns about the ghastly murder from Alfred. Changing to Batman, he goes to the GCPD Headquarters, where he learns from Quentin Conroy, who files a complaint with Commissioner Gordon that the coins have been stolen from his late father's priceless collection.

Batman prowls the Gotham streets to look for the killer and finds a band of homeless people, led by Shamrock, a friend of the murder victim. During the visit he saves one of their number from being slain by the coin-killer, whom they recognize as John Francis Conroy, aka "Limehouse Jack", but the killer escapes. The street people tell Batman that Conroy disappeared from their group fifteen years ago. Batman confronts Quentin Conroy and learns that Limehouse Jack was his father. The elder Conroy succumbed to job pressure, left his family, and took to the streets. Though Conroy claims his father is dead, Batman is not so sure.

Later, masquerading as a panhandler, Batman traps and battles Limehouse Jack with the help of the street dwellers. Limehouse Jack proves to be Quentin Conroy, whose motivation was to "give (the street dwellers) peace!" Later, after Conroy is taken in, Batman tells Gordon that Conroy's shoe soles gave him away. One heel was worn away more than the other, and, though Conroy did not limp, "Limehouse Jack" certainly did.

(https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman_Vol_1_307)

Fan Art: batman by Morriperkele

Accompanying Podcast: ● The Overlooked Dark Knight - episode 07

[roscoebarnes3]

Wharlest Jackson Jr. to join panel to discuss his family’s story on ‘American Reckoning’

Wharlest Jackson Jr.

Event hosted by Syracuse University College of Law

NATCHEZ, Miss. – Wharlest Jackson Jr. will be traveling to Syracuse University to join a panel discussion on the PBS Frontline documentary, “American Reckoning,” his sister, Denise Jackson Ford, announced Monday. He will discuss, among other things, the experiences of his family during the civil rights movement in Natchez in the 1960s.

Wharlest Jr. and Ford are the children of slain civil rights leader Wharlest Jackson Sr. Their father died when his truck was reportedly bombed by members of the Ku Klux Klan in Natchez, on Feb. 27, 1967. No one was ever charged with his racially-motivated murder, and the case remains unsolved.

“American Reckoning” is a documentary that chronicles the life and death of Wharlest Sr. It first aired in February 2022. The film features both Wharlest Jr. and Ford. It follows their family’s efforts to find out what happened to Wharlest Sr. and who was responsible for his murder. The film also examines the history of white supremacy in Natchez.

The upcoming program, which is hosted by  Syracuse University College of Law, is set for Tuesday, March 28, at Melanie Gray Ceremonial Courtroom, Dineen Hall on the school campus, according to a school flyer.

Screening of the film will begin at 5:30 p.m. and be followed by a panel discussion and reception. The entire program is free and open to the public. It will be livestreamed at https://syracuseuniversity.zoom.us/j/92970999388

Ford said she is grateful to SU for this opportunity. “Syracuse University Cold Case Studies has always been there to support our family along with the students who are involved in their research and education,” she said. “We want to support Syracuse University.”

In addition to Wharlest Jr., other panelists will include Paula Johnson, professor of Law and director of the Cold Case Justice Initiative, and Brad Lichtenstein, film producer. Chanelle Benz, assistant professor of Creative Writing in the SU department of English, will serve as moderator.

For Ford, her brother’s participation in the program is another opportunity for her family to stand and be proud of their father’s contributions, especially his sacrifice to the civil rights movement.

“To walk like a giant in the footsteps of those who have gone on before us, I walk with my father today,” she said. “I am always elated when an event happens to memorialize my father. He stood for our city and state. I am proud of Wharlest Sr..”

For more information, contact Professor Paula Johnson by email at pcjohnso@syr.edu

The film can be viewed at pbs.org/video/american-reckoning-assg68/

[abybweisse]

This panel from ch50, oddly enough, might help support my theory that Polaris is a butler from Vincent's household. Tanaka was already steward then, according to the household information in ch151, and he probably trained those butlers (the blond headed butler and the similar looking assistant butler). And one of them is prominently shown in ch134, having been slain by the attackers.

Ch151, ch134:

Undertaker says Vincent's body was burned to ashes, but he doesn't say anything about bodies elsewhere in the manor. They might have been burned, to some extent, but maybe not to ashes.

And later, Polaris says he's "a butler, even in death" and that he mourns the loss of his master. He's afraid of losing his master "again", so I think he sees "Lord Ciel" as his master from before, or at least as the heir to his former master. And staff called the twin boys their "young masters" even back then, so....

Ch169:

What Tanaka says about how a butler should outlive his master might really have some bearing on Polaris' identity. Polaris probably failed at that lesson, taught by Tanaka, because the butlers might have been dead before Vincent and Rachel (and they didn't know the fates of the twins), and they each might have died regretting it. Would make for good "episodes", wouldn't it? Undertaker would check the cinematic records of any body that was intact enough to still contain them. If a butler proved to have cinematic records suggesting he'd be loyal as an advanced bizarre doll, then Undertaker would want to keep and "revive" that servant... right?

Tanaka took his word too seriously and outlived two Phantomhive generations like he is probably going to see the end of phantomhive lineage with ciel 😭 .

[rinnysmuses]

[IM JUST STILL NOT FUCKING OVER THIS]

[vukovich]

Draco wins a reality TV competition, dealer’s choice, and Harry is a huge fan, desperate to get Draco’s attention.

Confirmed Bachelor Island

Harry settled in to watch Draco the season finale of Bachelor Island. Most people would sit down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn to spy on watch their teenage crush favorite show, but Harry preferred watching it on his mobile, naked alone in bed with the covers pulled up to his neck.

He was well aware of the watch party at the Leaky. The producers probably didn't know they'd accidentally tapped into a new market by casting a wizard. Maybe the producers were wizards. Harry didn't care about anyone behind the scenes enough to find out.

No, his attention was on the man he'd snogged after no less than fifteen Quidditch games Draco Malfoy. Whether Malfoy was on the show for money he didn't need, fame he'd certainly abuse, or women he had no use for, Harry wasn't sure. But he looked good in a white shirt and khakis.

The finale was being broadcast live, and the cameras were wobbly. Lights were strung under canvas panels in a makeshift outdoor ceiling. The artificial light dampened the Los Angeles light pollution in the background. Draco sat at a small table with a pile of long-stemmed roses, legs casually crossed. He picked invisible lint off of his trousers as the show host peppered him with questions.

"If you could bring back any of the women eliminated early on, who would it be and why?"

Draco sighed, gaze fixed on his knee. "Emily. She was going to teach me about different varieties of garlic, and we never got around to it."

The camera switched to the host, who wiped the befuddlement off his face and continued. He lobbed question after question at Draco, who brushed them off with disaffected ease.

"And finally," the host said, "is there anyone back home we should expect jealous emails from?"

Draco's smile fell somewhere between wry and bitter. "Uhm, I suppose you could say there's a green-eyed monster I wish I'd slain."

Harry dropped his mobile, and it clattered to the floor. He fumbled for it, accidentally closed the app, and by the time he righted himself, his mobile, and his glasses, he had a half-autocompleted text pecked out to Hermione that read "I can have to go now."

Harry stared at it for a moment. Autocomplete wasn't a Magic 8-Ball, but it wasn't nothing, either.

He deleted the text and replaced it with "I'm gonna do something stupid. Cover me." and sent it.

He opened the app back up to the show, which had gone to commercial break, and took his wand from the nightstand. He might get away with this, and he might not. It might work, and it might not. It might backfire horribly, and it might... blow up in his face even worse.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sighed out, "Expecto Patronum."

He opened his eyes to find his stag scuffing an immaterial hoof against his comforter. It watched him, waiting. It'd been ages since he'd sent a message via Patronus. He leaned forward and whispered to it, then envisioned sending it.

Not just sending it to Hogwarts, or to France, or even merely across the Atlantic. He envisioned sending it straight through the ground below him, lightning fast like radiation, through the core of the earth itself to pop up in California.

The stag huffed and disappeared in a glowing swirl and staticky crackle, like the glittery fireworks that spray out from the edges at the end of the show.

Harry snuggled back down in bed, curled on his side, and watched as a commercial for life insurance ended, and Draco filled the screen again. The pile of roses next to him was down to two.

The host greeted the camera with a salesman's smile, then it panned to another table where two women sat. He walked over, nattering about nothing until he reached them.

The one with glossy black hair flipped it behind her. "I would, of course, be so excited to..."

She trailed off, gaze straying from the host. Her eyes tracked something near Draco, and the camera wobbled and blurred.

A woman shrieked.

The camera crashed to the ground.

All Harry could see was a pair of brown oxfords on the brick patio, casting stark shadows in harsh white light. Feet ran past the camera, but the brown oxfords didn't move. Someone screamed something about aliens, and someone else yelled about the FBI.

The set went silent, nothing on screen but a pair of shoes.

Then, Draco spoke. "Hm. Go on, then."

Harry's voice came through his mobile. Through millions of mobiles and televisions. In thousands of homes, and bars. His voice rang out in the Leaky while all of his friends watched.

"Malfoy, you know where to find me, you cunt."

Harry held his breath through the following silence.

Draco cleared his throat. "As, apparently, do you."

[archetypal-archivist]

Tommyinnit and Hermitcraft- Heartstone

So this builds off of the whole "Tommy has somehow found himself on Hermitcraft after the exile arc" thing that got really popular with @redorich and @petrichormeraki on tumblr. Basically it's an excuse to give Tommy therapy and 20+ parent figures. One thing that's a common thread in those stories is that Tommy is shocked that Hermitcraft has infinite respawns and all of the hermits are quick to reassure him that he really won't perma-die in their world. And I had the thought- well, what if he wasn't in their world anymore? And thus came forth 1500+ words of angst~

It begins like this. Evil X is stuck in the void, alone and with no one to talk to. He misses daylight, he misses touch, he misses hearing voices other than his own. One day, he sees something get shot through the void as if by slingshot, leaving a trail of code in its wake, tethering the whatever it is back the way it came. This is Tommy, and while he begins to get adjusted to Hermitcraft and company, Evil X watches as the string of code begins to imprint itself into the void, and eventually learns that he can interact with it, albeit only on the most superficial of levels. On Tommy's end, he slowly begins to heal from his time spent in the war zone that is the Dream SMP, making fast friends with Grian and several of the other hermits in the process. He goes pranking with his newest, winged older brother figure, laughs at the antics of Impulse, Tango, and Zedaph, builds a cobblestone tower with BDubs, etc. But for all that he's healing, such a process isn't linear. No one on the server can truly understand just what sort of stuff he has been through, and so he often finds himself alone, trying to deal with his wildest emotions by talking to himself.

One day, however, a little voice in his head starts talking back. It's rough and gravelly and not very nice at first, but it's faint enough that he chalks it up to his imagination and moves on with his life. He follows Stress around like a duckling for a day, plays squire for Welsknight, and has a roaring panic attack after an unfortunate spar with False leads to him getting flashbacks to the Pit with Technoblade. He retreats back to his tower for a good cry, and in the midst of his tears, he hears the voice again. This time it's a bit nicer, sounding unsure and a bit panicky as it tries to encourage him to stop crying, god this is awkward, kid, it'll be fine. Wait, are you a kid? You seem tall for a munchkin.

This time, Tommy knows that it isn't his imagination, but half of his old server seemed to have voices in their heads so he really isn't all that alarmed that he seemed to have developed one of his own too. And he does something that no one else does when Evil X reaches out- he starts talking back. It's rough going, at first, especially since both of them have abrasive personalities, but eventually they settle into a rough estimation of friendship that means more to them then they are willing to say. From Evil X's perspective, this is the first time someone has actually listened to him and hasn't been turned away by his violent streak, his bad manners, and lack of proper social skills. For Tommy, this is a chance to vent to someone who seems to understand his pain. It helps that neither of them are inclined to ask too many questions. Tommy, on his part, has no clue that Evil X is an actual person and not a voice in his head, while Evil X can't bring himself to ask why Tommy has left a trail of code in the void and why it's all so glitched. He especially fears asking about the perma-death clause that seems to naturally have occurred in his code.

He will come to regret this choice.

The day is like any other, at first. He begins his day with a slice of sweet melon and then flies off to whatever hermits are awake at the time to "share a meal with them." Really, it started as an excuse to make sure that Tommy was eating at least one meal day, even in his most dissociative of states, but has since turned into an opportunity to eat weird things in front of people to see their reactions. (Etho is his favorite. He's always up early and half the time, asks to try a bite of whatever Tommy is having. They both agree that spider eyes taste a lot like sour boba.) From there it's off to the shopping district to restock his dirt shop and claim his share of the profits from the hole-digging service he runs with Grian. After that, there's just enough time to complete an order or two and collect more cobble and dirt before he has to meet up with Grian to go on their biweekly End Busting session. The two usually have a lot of fun as they go about it, Tommy jokingly shoving Grian off the platform only for his adopted brother to catch himself and fly up to join him on the narrow platform spanning the emptiness once again. Every once in a while, Grian mock-threatens to do the same in return, but he knows better than to actually attempt it after he did it once and had had to catch Tommy when he started screaming and even after they had gotten back to solid ground, he wouldn't stop for the better part of half an hour.

On habits die hard, after all. Tommy may have been told time and time again by everyone on the server that infinite respawns are a thing, yes really, but he still has a hard time believing it. He actually has a rather insane number of levels racked up- even more than Xisuma, which is impressive- because in all the months that he has been on Hermitcraft, he hasn't died once. It's a combination of survival skills taught to him by Philza and his own paranoia which has kept him alive for so long, and most of the hermits agree that it is rather impressive, if not entirely healthy for him to be so scared of dying. (Doc once offered to kill him as evidence that yes, it really is safe here and you will respawn, but for all that death by crazy redstone machine might of been cool, Tommy took a hard pass on that. Grian low key took exception to Doc offering to kill his adopted little brother, really man? Not cool.)

Anyway, Grian and Tommy meet up in the End and start off bridging with the insane amount of cobble that Tommy has stored up. Usually Tommy is in front, placing the stones, and Grian is in back, watching out for any sign of a slip up, but this time they decide to switch it up a bit, head in a new direction, play around with who's doing what this time. It ends... poorly. They bridge out into the black, on and on and on, farther into the void than they ever have before. Slowly, the islands of floating white stone stop appearing with such frequency, but they become larger in size and stranger in shape. Every once in a while Grian will see what he swears to be a glowing white mountain of Endstone in the distance, although Tommy calls bullshit each and every time. They chalk it all up to bad luck and going nuts from boredom, but really, neither one of them knows how to quit while they're ahead. As the islands disappear altogether and all that remains to orient themselves is the tenuous lifeline of cobblestone beneath their feet, the unthinkable happens.

Grian slips. And Tommy, taught compassion by the very world that will now kill him, reaches out to save him.

For one, brief moment, the two brothers clasp hands- and then Grian's weight pulls Tommy right over the edge and down, down, down into the void below.

Grian fell out of the world.

Tommy fell out of the world... and into a new one.

----

Xisuma wakes up late that day. He's been doing that a lot, if he's honest, given how late he's staying up most nights finishing up builds and the like. Those hours of sleep have to come from somewhere, after all, and he's far from an early bird. He gives into the impulse to relax a bit, drinking some tea sweetened with just enough honey to rot his teeth, and then heads off to his computer room to start up his duties as admin for the day. It's the red lights that alert him to something being wrong, and at first, he thinks it's just one of hermits' cam accounts being buggy again. Perhaps it got shut off while the hermit was bridging through the void and the hermit in question simply hadn't retrieved it yet? But who would name their cam account Tommyinnit? The looming dread sits cold in his gut as he flicks his fingers to open up his admin panel... Best to check, just in case.

The death messages are clear enough- Keralis had just perished to a ravager yesterday, likely Tango's from Decked Out if he had to guess. Zedaph had been slain by a piglin twenty minutes ago. And Grian and Tommy had fallen into the void. But if that were the case... why had only one of them respawned?

On Grian's part, he comes to with a lingering chill deep in his bones and an awful headache. The bed underneath him is warm and the sheets are a soft rosy color, likely one of the ones in Scar's magical village if the persistent smell of spruce is anything to go by. He winces against the light filtering through the window and turns to the side, squinting at where Tommy had placed his blue bed right next to his, apology on his lips for his stupid mistake. The sheets are undisturbed. Huh. That's weird, he could have sworn that he and Tommy had set their respawn points at the same time. Maybe Tommy had just forgotten and he was back in his base or at spawn? Grian rises to his feet slowly, giving his body time to adjust to the colors and sounds of the Overworld, then flaps his wings and takes off to go looking for his Tommy.

He doesn't find him.

---

The reactions to Tommy's "death" are many and varied, although for the most part, the hermits are split into two camps- those that think Tommy is gone for good, and those that think he may still be out there somewhere. For the first few days of Tommy's disappearance, most everyone is in the latter camp. Xisuma spends hours upon hours scanning the code, becoming increasingly more frazzled and terrified as his lack of sleep gets to him. Tango and Doc join him in the endeavor, although none of them have any luck or are able to spot the piece of code that caused the problem. No additions, no changes to the text, nothing. Grian leads the other team, those who set out on foot and one wing and with pick in hand to scour the world for their youngest charge, taken from them too soon. They begin in a grid pattern, setting out in ones and twos to search the whole world, but as the distance increases, the neat, orderly flyovers turn into frenzied boosting as panic starts to get the better of them. Some of them hold onto their composure better than others, but Grian ends up flying over the same patch of forest three times because he can't see for his tears. False, Impulse, Welsknight, and Beef cross the Nether, fighting their way into Bastion after Bastion and leaving Nether portals in their wake. In their tracks comes the fliers- Grian, Ren, Iskall, and BDubs. Each one takes a portal and does a sweep through the corresponding patch of Overworld before picking a direction to continue the search. Cubfan, iJevin, and Scar take to the seas, Mumbo, Stress, xB, and Zedaph to the End, Etho down into the depths of the caves below. Strangely enough, there are a few hermits who don't join the search- Keralis, who got the unlucky task of taking care of Xisuma and the others searching through the code, Tinfoilchef, who doesn't provide a reason but everyone gives him a pass because of his age, and Joe Hills and Zombie Cleo, who refuse to explain themselves.

Eventually, the searches dry up. Eventually, some of the hermits admit defeat. Hundreds of thousands of blocks out from spawn, down to the bedrock below, beneath sea and sky and every place that lacks the sun. How far is too far? For Xisuma, enough is enough. Tommy is dead. The search is over.

He stops looking. And soon, others do the same.

And the tone of the server... shifts.

For the first time that any of them can remember, a person has perma-died. Sure, they've all heard the rumors, of servers where infinite respawns is not the norm, of servers where the world glitched and a creeper is supercharged enough to damage a player down to their code. But they'd never thought that one of their own would be on the receiving end of such a curse. And to the hermits, the possibility of dying themselves suddenly becomes all too real. The constant flying is the first to go, and for those that insist on it anyway (outside of Grian, who has wings), checking the elytras' durability becomes more than just a habit. Eating spider eyes and other junk is out of the question, now it's golden apples or nothing. The Nether is all but abandoned, as is the End, and everyone on the server either groups up so that they are never alone, or retreats into their bases, becoming true hermits befitting of their server's name.

The joy that had once been so characteristic of the server is gone, and in the hearts of all, there lingers the dread that any one of them might be next- although, there are still those that hold on to hope that Tommy may not be as gone as he seems.

---

The hermits who think Tommy is dead for good and have stopped searching: Doc, Etho, Xisuma, Welsknight, Grian, BDubs, Cubfan, TinfoilChef, Stress, False, Iskall.

The hermits who think Tommy is still out there, alive if still missing, and that the search should continue: Keralis, Mumbo, Tango, Vintage Beef, Impulse, Zedaph, Joe Hills, Zombie Cleo, Scar, Rendog, xB.

Doc and Etho are old. They don't like to admit it, but they've been around since the beginning, back when players were first learning how to jump servers and communicator technology was undergoing its first upgrade. They've seen a lot and know well by now that dead is dead. Tommy is dead. All that is left to do is mourn and move on, and they have shed their tears already. Call them cold for it, but in the face of a kind of drive that can keep a man going after his entire server has burnt down around his ears (Mindcrack will be missed), they know they need to keep moving forward. There are enough broken messes on the server these days, and it is through their efforts that shops remain stocked and the torches don't burn out. They hold onto normalcy with an iron grip and hope that some day, the rest of the hermits will join them in rationality.

Stress too has a comparatively healthy approach to all of this. She doesn't want it to be true, god no, but so far everything is pointing in the direction of Tommy being dead for good. She eats a couple dozen bowls of ice cream, has a some good cries, doesn't leave her base for a week, and even afterwards she can't bring herself to wear pink for a while. But she's mourning. She's accepted things. She lets her heart break, and as time passes, she lets herself heal. And that's enough for her.

Scar is of the opinion that Tommy is still out there, and while he clings to that hope with all his might, it's fragile and Cub just knows that his best friend is going to be cut to pieces when that hope inevitably breaks. So he takes Scar aside for a quiet conversation, to break his heart before the world can break it for him. Afterwards, Scar stops talking about Tommy as if he's coming back, but his smile is never as bright as it was before. And Cub's heart breaks too.

Team ZIT swings the exact opposite way as the rest and are firmly of the belief that permadeath is impossible and thus Tommy must be alive. The three of them aren’t known for their impulse control at the best of times, and with so many hermits having given up, the trio is rightfully vicious about the fact that the others, in their eyes, have abandoned their friend. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango all kind of feed into one another and start doing lots of dangerous stunts, as if daring the universe to permakill them and prove them wrong. If one of them does something, the other two join in and escalate things, which gets impossibly dangerous very, very fast. Tango is furious, Impulse is bitter, and Zedaph is straight up heartbroken that his other friends would give up on another of their number. They do things like fly incredibly high, go cliff jumping in the Nether only to catch themselves at the last minute, and sprint across the End bridges. If they have doubts, they never voice them. Even when Tango feels like he’s burning up from the inside and wonders at his newfound hate. Even when Impulse is utterly terrified but goes along with things anyway because Tango is doing it and he can’t bear to leave a friend alone. Even when Zedaph looks at his friends and can’t help but feel scared of and for these strangers wearing the faces he knows so well. Even then.

Team ZIT often gets dragged into and starts lots of screaming fights with the other hermits who believe Tommy is dead, especially Doc, BDubs, xB, and False. False especially gets vicious, as while pvp is no longer permitted on the server, her tongue is as sharp as any blade. She believes firmly that the others are trampling on Tommy’s memory by insisting that he isn’t dead and she is determined to make them stop. And if they refuse to give up their foolishness? Well, all she might have left is her words but with them she will make them bleed.

xB and Vintage Beef are as close to neutral as you are going to get from those that get into regular arguments. xB thinks Tommy is dead until proven otherwise, while Beef thinks the exact reverse. As some of the more chill hermits, they often get dragged in to play negotiator so that the fights don’t turn physical. And some days, when someone says something particularly hurtful, they’ll close themselves up in one of xB’s bunkers and drink until they can no longer remember why they ought to be enemies. It’s hardly healthy, but they both agree that it’s better this way. Better to forget than to hurt, after all.

Grian is… somewhat the same. Sort of. He was traumatized by Tommy, the boy he adopted as his little brother, dying before his eyes, and he can’t help but blame himself. That is, when he can remember that Tommy is dead at all. After the fall, Grian’s mind was badly broken and he couldn’t accept that his little brother was dead for the longest time. He fell into two weeks of deep depression, barely eating or drinking, and eventually Iskall came and took care of him when he realized that he hadn’t seen his buddy in ages. Iskall nursed Grian back to health, only to feel his heart shatter in his breast when Grian turned to him, eyes feverishly bright and tone childlike, asking where Tommy was. The winged man’s mind couldn’t cope with the loss so it had shut down entirely, making him forget the tragedy that had occured. Iskall had deflected then, frantically trying to figure out what to say, but after a few days of Grian wandering about in a dreamlike state, his memory came back to him and he collapsed in on himself once more. The winged hermit is now locked in a loop of this, while poor Iskall is stuck trying to keep his friend alive and relatively sane.

Iskall, for his part, thinks Tommy is well and truly dead. In part because of his own certainty, in part because anything else would be even crueler for Grian. He doesn’t resent his friend for his break downs, just quietly bundles him up and clutches him close, coaxing him to eat and bathe, to put down the guilt and realize that it’ll be okay, the world won’t end with Tommy gone. He gently tries to nudge Grian down that path of acceptance of Tommy’s fate, and though he faces many setbacks, he tackles each one with a special kind of patience born of platonic love. They’re bros, despite everything. It’s only right.

Mumbo is, weirdly enough, on the side of Tommy being alive. Iskall doesn’t exactly approve and while he and Mumbo sometimes get into whispered arguments over it, they try to keep their little disagreements from Grian. Both of them only want to see their friend happy again, and will do just about anything to make it happen. For Mumbo, this means putting together crazy redstone contraptions to try and find Tommy again, as he’s certain that Grian’s little brother is still out there somewhere- and he has a piece that might prove it. Iskall comes over one day, face drawn and haggard from a night of soothing Grian through another set of screaming nightmares, only to find Mumbo waist high in redstone wiring, all hooked up to a strange portal design that looks too much like Doc’s infinity portal from season 6 for comfort. At the top of the arch is Tommy’s compass, needle whirling about like a hurricane, and while the portal isn’t lit, it does give off a faint blue-black glow. Iskall is frightened that Mumbo is tampering with something that could get him killed and Mumbo rushes to reassure him that no, the compass was specifically linked to Tommy so if Tommy was really dead, it would have been reset, right? He’s merely borrowing that tie to try and figure out where the two ends lead. Iskall is less than sure about this, especially since Mumbo is just as drawn and pale as he is, if a bit more covered in redstone, but they agree that fighting is pointless. They care about each other and about Grian too much to put any of them through that sort of pain- and besides, there’s more than enough fighting on the server already.

Ren too thinks that Tommy is alive and he is one of the ones who gets into regular fights. He’s a lover, not a fighter, but something about this whole situation just burns him up. When the pressure gets too much, he goes flying, tracing over those old familiar trails they searched so long ago, trying to see if there is anything they missed. There never is.

Welsknight has made his peace with Tomy’s death, though the server tends to forget that he and Tommy were closer than most. He alone knew that Tommy was once upon a time a boy called Theseus (a name given to him shyly when Tommy had asked him if there were any great heroes with that name that didn’t die). He alone knew Tommy’s love for horses, or that he would spend hours whispering horror stories to them when he thought no one would hear. Tommy was his squire, and although he had accepted the tragedy, he still wept for the hurt it brought him. He alone knew of the little grave he had dug under the willow tree in his castle courtyard and the headstone he had placed there, engraved with Tommy’s true name, death date, and supposed date of birth. He couldn’t have been more than 17, and perhaps that was what hurt the most. Every morning at dawn, Welsknight brings a bouquet of flowers to that little grave and says a prayer before disappearing into the morning fog. The flowers are always the same- forget me nots, for remembrance, violets, for devotion, and clover. (Think of me).

Tinfoilchef stays out of it- always has and always will. He’s too old to rush about searching or to feel as wildly as the others do. He feels, of course, but more so as the mountain does, steady and strong despite the winds that tear at its surface. Tommy is dead, but then, so are many of the people he has known in his life. It’s best to just keep plodding along.

BDubs is a mess. He had never spoken of it, but long before he had come to hermitcraft, he had had a daughter- a beautiful baby girl whose heart was too big for her chest, and she had died for that difference. He had grieved for years, but eventually the peace of the hermitcraft server had left him soothed, if a bit different than before. Tommy had been another chance at fatherhood, not that he could ever bear to call the teen that, even in the privacy of his own mind. Instead, he had taught the kid to build cobblestone towers that weren’t entirely offensive (if shaped a bit oddly) and had been the first to volunteer any time Grian was out and Tommy needed a place to spend the night when the nightmares were particularly fierce. They had so many fun sleepovers like that, and staring at those awful cobble towers in the distance, BDubs can’t help but bawl his eyes out at the memories. He waffles between taking the towers down or leaving them up- they really are ugly, and the feelings in his chest that they inspire are even more so, but somehow, he can’t bear to see them gone. Instead, he dries his eyes, flies off to grab a shulker of cobble, and sets about adding a few more to their number. A final remembrance for the boy he would have gladly claimed as his own, if only he hadn’t been too late. (He ends up building a lot more than a few).

Joe and Cleo are somehow the only ones who are actually neutral in the whole mess. Whenever they are asked their opinion on if Tommy is truly dead or not, the pair simply smile mysteriously and refuse to comment. Joe always seems to know more than he lets on and Cleo is his closest confidant, after all. Despite the anger and tears directed their way for refusing to commit to either side, the two keep their silence. (They know the truth of the matter, after all. Everything will be okay in time).

Xisuma has given up. Tommy is dead, and there is nothing he can do but spend days and days going over the code with a fine tooth comb, trying to find the glitch that cut the life of their youngest member short. Keralis takes it upon himself to take care of his long time friend, but it’s not an easy task, not when the other is so determined to make sure that such an incident never happens again. And Keralis can’t find it in himself to complain, especially since he is laboring under the impression that Xisuma agrees that Tommy is still out there and is trying to find him. It is only when Keralis mentions it in an aside, thanking the admin for his dedication, that Xisuma breaks the illusion and explains. Tommy isn’t just dead, he says tiredly, his very presence is well and truly wiped from the world’s code. All that is left of him is the faint impression his code had left behind, and trying to read it and understand what went wrong is a bit like trying to read small letters that have been drawn out in dry sand. Even for a voidwalker like himself such a task is near impossible, and Xisuma can only do so much. The needs of the many above the needs of the few- best to secure those he can now than worry over those that are gone beyond his reach. And Keralis can’t help but look at his friend with new eyes, a fleeting sense of betrayal in his heart. He had thought better of his Shishwammy, and he says as much. 

He cries while Xisuma watches on in solemn, mournful silence.

---

TBC  :)

[tanyawritesstories]

Frozen Miracles | The Mandalorian x reader

My first Din piece! I wrote this awhile ago before season 2 ended and only now am publishing it. Hope you enjoy 😊

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, pregnant reader, detailed descriptions of birth, Din frustration, the child isn't chaotic for once

•••

He stood watching the Krayt Dragon meat roast, waiting for Peli to get done talking to his informant. He shuffled around impatiently, watching as the child stared longingly at his dinner.

Needless to say, Din was frustrated. The only lead he had on finding others like him had evaporated the second that marshal removed his helmet. He knew immediately that all the time and energy he spent getting to this point was a waste. By the end of that journey he had: saved a community, restored peace between cultures, slain a dragon, and acquired the imposter’s armor to return it to it’s rightful owners. It was by no means an unsuccessful mission, it just wasn’t the outcome he expected.

He was snapped out of his reverie by Peli shouting at her droid. She approached, telling him about the nearby covert within the sector. He absorbed her words, committing them to memory and hoping that this lead was more promising.

“I just have one favor to ask,” Peli added. Din merely turned his head towards her to show he was listening. “There is someone who needs a ride off this planet.”

His hands returned to their place on his hips, “What’s that gonna cost me? I’m not a taxi service.”

“I know, I know,” she said, “But they’re willing to pay you to take them to the nearest civilized planet.”

He sighed softly, looking at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“No hyperdrive.”

His helmet snapped to look at her. “No, that’s a deal breaker. Hyperspace is the only thing keeping me safe. I can’t do it.” He gestured.

Peli sighed right back, putting her hands on her hips. “Look, the nearest habitable planet isn’t far away. Surely you can manage that? They won’t be difficult.”

“Why no light speed? What’s the reason for it?”

Peli turned and beckoned whoever this passenger was to come out from her office. Din didn’t know what he expected but it certainly wasn’t who came walking into the hangar.

A woman stepped out into the sand, looking cautiously at the two of them. She looked young, quite a bit younger than him. She was dressed in tan clothes, a floor-length skirt and a poncho that looked a few sizes too big, it hid the outline of her frame and made her look like she was drowning in the clothing. A thin sheet of cloth was draped on top of her head, falling over her shoulders like a veil, tied loosely under her chin, leaving her collarbone exposed and some of her hair visible.

Peli waved her over and the young woman slowly approached. Peli put her arm on the woman’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Her husband died eight months ago and she wants to get off Tatooine and start over somewhere new,” she explained.

“Why me? There are transports that can carry passengers,” he replied.

“She doesn’t trust them and she said you seemed safe,” Peli answered for the woman, who still hadn’t spoken a word.

Din’s silence left an unspoken question lingering in the air. What makes her think I’m safe? The woman seemed to sense this and began signing with her hands, using hand signals that Din could decipher.

I’ve read about Mandalorians before, and you have a child. You seem trustworthy.

“She says you seem trustworthy because you have a child with you,” Peli translated, “And she’s read about Mandalorians before.”

“Why can't she talk?” He asked.

“She hasn’t spoken since her husband was killed. I’ve known her for years, she used to talk all the time, she was really happy,” Peli said, a sympathetic expression coming to her face. The young woman looked at the ground, her face was emotionless and cold. She looked void of all happiness, empty and hollow, her lips set in a straight line that hadn’t curved into a smile in a long time.

“You never told me the reason for no hyperdrive,” he restated.

Peli and the woman made eye contact and the older woman nodded to her. The younger woman slowly lifted the bottom of her poncho to expose her swollen stomach. She was pregnant.

“Hyperspace could harm the baby, even kill it. She just wants to get off this planet, too many memories of her husband," Peli explained for the woman.

Din turned away, contemplating and weighing his options. The sound of credits jingling together made him turn to face them again. The young woman held a small, worn leather pouch out to him. He took it in his hands and opened it, revealing a large amount of credits.

"How much is this?"

The woman began to sign and Peli watched in order to translate, not knowing Din already knew what she was saying.

It's 5,000 credits. It's all I have.

"Five thousand credits," Peli said, "It's all that she has left."

He looked between her and the pouch of credits, closing it and tucking it into his belt. "Alright, let's go."

The young woman turned to Peli and gave her a quick hug before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

Din watched her as she disappeared within the metal hull of his ship.

"Hey."

Din turned back to Peli, who had begun gnawing on a piece of meat.

"Take care of her," the older mechanic said, "She's been through a lot. Don't get me wrong, she's tough, but that baby is the only good thing in her life right now."

He nodded, letting her know he had heard her words. He turned again to look at where she had entered his ship, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.

~~~~

He settled the Razor Crest into space and set a course to the nearest safe planet, a moon called Nexlar. Despite it being close it would still take several hours to get there, especially without the use of hyperspace.

His passenger had decided to wander down into the hull as soon as the ship was stable. He tried to stop her but it was of no use.

He climbed down the ladder and turned to face his bunk, pressing the control panel letting the door slide up.

"Kid?"

He turned around to look for the little green troublemaker, only to find him standing on a crate next to which their guest was sitting on the floor. Her back was to Mando as he watched her feed his miniature companion pieces of a juicy pink fruit. He took silent steps towards them and observed their interaction.

The child cooed and giggled happily with each morsel of food she fed him. He always ate so much, Din swore his stomach was a bottomless pit.

He watched the expressions on her face, however small they were. She didn't look as helpless or as sad. She almost looked happy and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch up when the child reached out for her.

She continued to feed him until she didn't have any more, holding her hands up to show the youngling that she was empty handed. The child made a sad whining sound, his ears drooping in disappointment and her eyebrows reacted with sadness at seeing him upset. She reached out and pressed a feather light touch to his little green cheek before picking him up and setting him down on the floor.

She must have seen Mando’s boots when she put the kid down, as she jumped back in surprise, a little gasp escaping her lips.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he said calmly. Even with him being slow and calm she still pushed herself away from him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” It took him a second to realize that she might think he doesn’t understand her. He didn’t exactly make it known that he knew her every word back at the hangar. So he took to her form of communication, signing with his hands as well.

Thank you for feeding him.

He could see the gears turning in her head through the expressions on her face. Starting on shock going to realization then to relief and maybe something akin to thankfulness.

You are welcome. I read that that specific fruit was healthy for children. She signed back.

“What’s your name?” he asked out loud. She signed individual letters until it spelled her name. “Y/N, is that right?” She nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up into a small smirk again.

“I’m going to hit the rack, why don’t you head up to the cockpit and try to get some sleep. That chair is much comfier than the floor.”

She began to get up but with most of her weight in the front she was having trouble. Din bent and reached out, grabbing onto her elbows and helping her to stand. She grunted with the effort of trying to stand while being pregnant. She held onto her stomach when she had made it to her feet, wincing in what was either pain or discomfort. Din made sure she could stand on her own before letting her go and watching to make sure she got up the ladder alright. He retrieved the child and set him down in his hammock before crawling beneath his hanging bed and laying down to get some rest himself.

~~~~

Din was woken up by the blaring alarm sounding from the cockpit. He rushed out of his bed and up the ladder, planting himself in his chair and flicking off the alarm. He turned to see the woman- Y/N - with a concerned look on her face, staring out the viewport. He followed her gaze to see the two X-wing fighters on either side of his ship. They were comming him.

He answered reluctantly, giving them the information they needed and hoping they would then leave him alone.

They didn't.

He was doing his best but wasn't good at lying under pressure. There was still some hope he could get out of this confrontation. That was until they asked about the prison.

Din forced the Crest into a dive towards the unknown planet they were currently above. He heard her gasp from behind him and brace herself against the walls. He was trying to lose them, he knew he couldn't outrun them.

"Hold on!" He said, veering towards an opening in the frozen cliffside.

He shot around the corner and disappeared into the cave, praying that the X-wings didn't see him. One of the engines hit against the side of the cave as it got narrower. He was going to have to put it down, there was no other option. The keel of the ship hit the ground and they slid, spinning until they were facing the opposite direction. Din was trying his best to get the thing under control but he was losing fast.

The Crest went over a rut in the ice and was launched several meters high before it crashed down to level ground again. Finally stopping when the stern collided hard with a solid wall of ice. They were all jolted forwards in their seats and their backs hit the chairs as it stopped.

Din rapidly hit switches and pressed buttons trying to discover the state of his ship, he got no reaction from his vessel but continued to try regardless. The woman groaned and he turned to look at her. She laid her head against the wall, her face contorted into an expression of pain. Both her arms were wrapped around her enlarged middle, her hands trembling.

The open comm crackled as the faint voices of the X-wing pilots faded out of range. Din tried more controls, failing to notice that his passenger had unbuckled herself and moved to try and check on his child.

The Crest lurched forward as the ice underneath it gave way. She stumbled and was thrown into the back of his chair, in turn making him jolt forwards. The entire ship began to move as the ice broke and soon it was falling through. Everything seemed to slow down as the Crest descended into a chasm. It hit the floor with astounding force and noise. It’s occupants were thrown around hard and the last thing Din remembered was the sound, before he was thrown forward and knocked unconscious.

~~~~

He came to, slowly moving his head a little, then his arm, then his whole body. Feeling returned to his limbs as he woke up. How long had he been out? It was freezing and frost had accumulated on his armor. He tried and failed on the controls, the Razor Crest wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

In his haste to figure out what had happened and attempts to find a solution he had forgotten about his passenger. A low groan reminded him that she was there. He turned around in the chair to see her body limp at the foot of the door. The tip of her nose and fingers were tinged a light blue and he noticed the draping had fallen off her head. Her clothes weren’t cut out for the cold, they were thin to combat the hot Tatooine temperatures, she would no doubt freeze to death if she didn't warm up soon.

He only had to take a couple steps to get to her, crouching down and shaking her gently. She opened her eyes and he grabbed under her arms, lifting her up. Even with his thick gloves he could feel how cold she was.

"You're freezing, we need to get you warm. Stay here, I'll find some blankets."

He set her down in a passenger seat and dropped down the ladder to inspect the damage. Luckily, the kid had stayed in his hammock, Din grabbed him and all the blankets he had and returned to the cockpit. She was shaking from the cold and had one hand pressed to her temple the other on her belly.

Din set the kid down in his chair and draped a blanket around the woman. She winced as she pulled her hand away from her head, blood covered her palm.

"You're injured.." he said. "I'll get a medkit, stay there." He dropped into the damaged hull once more, retrieving the medkit and crouching in front of her to check her wound.

"Let me see." He gently pushed her hand away to reveal a cut on her left temple, going into her hair. He inspected it, thankfully it wasn't deep and she appeared to not have suffered too much damage.

She pulled the thin shawl off where it fell on her shoulders and wiped her bloody hand on it. She held it out to him and motioned to her head. "Ok," he said, taking the cloth and carefully wiping away what blood he could. He cleaned her wound before applying a small bacta patch.

"That should do it," he said. He packed the medkit back up and tossed it behind him. She still looked to be in pain, now both her hands were on her stomach. "Is the baby ok?"

She moved her hands around, sighing in relief shortly after, then nodding.

Just kicking. She signed.

Before Din could do anything she took his hand and placed it on her belly. Through her layers and his gloves he could feel the small jolts from the life growing within her. There was something so intimate about it. He felt like it was something he shouldn't be witnessing, it was too personal and he was a stranger. She let go of his hand to sign.

Can you feel it? She asked with a smile.

"Yes," he answered, "that's amazing." Despite having let go of his hand, Din kept it in place, feeling as the rowdy little one settled down.

"I need to patch up the hull, I'll be right back," he bid.

I'll watch him for you. She signed, pointing to the child who was playing with a switch.

"Thank you."

Din set about fixing his ship as much as he could, it was in worse shape than he thought. What felt like a couple hours passed and he stopped to take a break and warm up inside. As he walked back around to the front he noticed footprints in the snow leading towards an opening in the cave wall. He looked inside the ship and saw that the kid was sleeping soundly in his bed, wrapped in blankets. She was the one who had left.

Din followed the footsteps into a path of ice tunnels, looking around cautiously. He touched the side of his helmet whenever he could no longer see her tracks. His HUD illuminating her imprints in thermal colors. He continued to follow for what felt like a long time, how far in here had she gone? He hoped nothing had happened to her.

That hope disappeared when he heard a yell come from further in. Din broke into a run, sprinting towards the noise. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

Y/N was sitting waist deep in a small pool of steaming water. She had stripped off her skirt and was only wearing her shirt which was off white and wet to above her stomach, nearly see through. She was in immense pain, her face contorted into agony. She leaned against the edge of the pool, her head resting on the cold snow. One hand gripping the edge so hard her knuckles turned white, the other on her stomach, which looked to be the source of her pain.

He rushed to her side and kneeled in the snow. "Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, looking her over frantically.

She didn't sign, just put her finger on her stomach then dragged it down and pointed out. It suddenly became obvious what was happening to her.

She was in labor.

Din tried not to panic but he was having a hard time. He had no idea how to handle this situation.

“Uh, what can I do?”

She signed quickly and her hands moved so fast and were so shaky that Din almost couldn’t understand her.

I can do this. I just need you to do one thing.

“What, what do you need me to do?”

Her response was clear.

Catch.

She shifted herself and Din helped her so her legs were pointed towards him. “Uh, um, ok. I think I can do that.” He hoped his voice didn’t come through the modulator as shaky and nervous as he felt like it sounded.

She continued to groan and shout in pain and Din wished he could do more. He hesitated to touch her but wanted to support the woman and give her strength, he gently placed a hand on her bent knee.

"C'mon, you can do this. Remember to breathe," he encouraged.

He also didn't want to look down. The water was murky but shallow and he had briefly glimpsed her lower nudity when she turned towards him. Knowing that he would have to reach down there and literally catch her child soon was making him sweat underneath his armor.

Catch, he was going to have to use his hands. He looked at his gloved hands, the gloves had been everywhere and were no doubt dirty and not safe for a newborn. He couldn't touch her with them. Din took a minute and shucked off his gloves, setting them beside him. He reached over to her pile of discarded clothes and grabbed the blanket she'd had around her, setting it between his legs to place the baby on right away.

He made sure to keep his own breathing steady as he looked down, seeing the head of the baby slowly coming through her opening. He took a deep breath and urged her on, watching in mild horror as the child came through more and more.

Din put his hands into the water and helped get the baby’s shoulder through, as she had instructed him. Part of him wished he hadn’t taken his gloves off as his hands were now coated in slimy liquids.

With a last strong push her baby came all the way out and into Din’s hands. He gasped on reflex, it was smaller than he thought it would be. He quickly raised the baby out of the water and wrapped it in the blanket. He pulled his vibroblade out of his boot, about to cut the cord. He looked to her for permission, getting a nod and a warm smile from the exhausted woman.

He broke through it, finally severing the connection between mother and child. She sat up all the way and reached out to him, Din put the babe in her arms and sat back in the snow, almost as exhausted as her.

He looked over at the woman, cradling her baby against her chest, a huge smile on her face. She looked at him, signing.

It’s a girl.

“Congratulations,” he replied.

Thank you, for everything.

“You’re welcome,” Din sighed. “What are you going to name her?”

The woman thought for a moment before looking at him with a smile.

Mandi, after you.

Din’s eyebrows raised under his helmet. “Me? Why me?”

You helped deliver her. It's the least I can do.

Din stared and she paused, both of them thinking.

I will get you more credits when I'm settled, I know this wasn't part of the deal.

He sighed again. "Don't worry about that right now, we need to get you two back to the Crest." She held her child out to Din and he carefully held the tiny girl in his arms the way she showed him. He turned his back to her so she could dry off and dress, meanwhile also becoming enamored with the baby in his arms. Her small pink face peeked through the warm confines of the blanket, eyes closed, peaceful. It all suddenly became real to him.

This was another man's child that he helped bring into the world. A tiny human that he physically saw come to life in his hands. He felt honored, this experience should have been for someone else, the man she loved. But he was gone and Din was, for now, his replacement in a life changing event. Din reached a bare hand up to touch her cheek. The newborn stirred but didn't open her eyes. He held her tighter, having a sudden urge to protect her and keep her warm and safe. She was only about 20 minutes old and already had Din wrapped around her tiny fingers. This must be the same thing that happened when he'd found his child. Almost like a kind of hypnosis, drawing him in, bringing out a side of him he hadn't known he had.

He heard a pained groan and snow crunching and swiftly turned around, finding the woman was fully clothed and had fallen. She was still recovering and her body was too weak to walk just yet, she had tried and fallen when her limbs gave out. He kneeled beside her and she held his gloves out to him. He thanked her and took the gloves, transferring the child back into her arms. He donned his gloves and tugged off his cape. Since using her blanket for the baby, Y/N was left without anything to keep her warm. Din wrapped his cape around her and picked her up like a bride, carrying her back to the Crest.

Thankfully, his own little one had stayed put the whole time but was now awake and rummaging about. Din set her down on his bed and got her more blankets. He wagered he could get some more repairs done and wandered outside again.

~~~~

The sun was going down and it was getting colder than it already was, Din stepped inside and sealed the ship as well as he could for the night. He walked to his bunk to check on his passengers. He found her laying on her side, fast asleep. Mandi laid in front of her, also asleep. He also found his own son, asleep, on the other side of Mandi. Y/N had an arm lightly wrapped around both children, each of them had ahold of one of her fingers. If it wasn't so cold, he might've melted at the sight. It was so pure, so domestic. Something he never thought he'd see in relation to him. The thought of them all belonging to him passed through his mind briefly. He knew that could never be a possibility, especially for him.

He grabbed some food for himself and made his way up to the cockpit, finally intent on eating something. As soon as he made it up there, he heard a baby crying from below. He quickly made his way back down to find Mandi crying and wiggling around in her mother’s arms. Y/N stirred in her sleep and Din carefully scooped the baby into his arms, not wanting her tired mother to wake up, she needed sleep. Din could watch the baby for a while, he could deal with his child, and he was much worse than Mandi. Din rocked the little girl in his arms until she stopped crying, which wasn’t long. He carefully climbed back into the cockpit and laid the baby in his son’s crib. He wasn’t using it right now. He rocked the floating bed and Mandi’s face softened into calm.

“There you go, all better,” he said softly. He took one hand out of his glove again and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin was smooth and warm against Din’s blaster calloused hands.

“You need some sleep, tiny one, so does your mother. So you’re stuck with me right now.”

Din continued to talk to the tiny girl until he was sure she was sleeping. He then removed his helmet and was finally able to eat. He was nearly finished when he turned to reach across the controls and bumped his helmet, causing it to fall and hit the floor with a loud clang. Mandi was immediately woken up and began crying. Din reacted fast and took the baby into his arms, rocking her again.

"Shh, shh it's ok. I'm here, you're safe."

Din allowed a smile to spread across his exposed face, able to see how precious she was without his helmet in the way. He simply couldn't resist the sight of this perfect little one in his arms. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Just as he pulled back, the little girl opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was shocked for a moment, this was the first time he'd seen her open her eyes and she was looking at him...without his helmet.

Din looked around to find it lying on the floor near his feet. He wondered if this was technically breaking the Creed since he knew the baby would never remember what he looked like. But nevertheless, he picked the Beskar barrier up off the floor and set it on his head. For once, he was hating having to put it back on.

~~~~

Din didn't remember falling asleep in his chair in the cockpit, not to mention with little Mandi cradled against his stomach, also asleep. He looked around, how much time had passed? He wasn't sure. He thought he heard a faint sizzling sound and his helmet enhanced his hearing. It sounded like someone was welding.

Din got up and set Mandi back into the crib without waking her up. He climbed quietly down into the hull and found the kid asleep in his hammock, but the woman was missing. The sizzling sound was louder and came in increments. Din exited the ship, following the noise to the other side of the ship. There he found the woman kneeling in the snow, tools in hand, repairing his ship. He was stunned, she had just given birth not even 24 hours ago and here she was fixing his ship, and doing a great job as well.

He cleared his throat to get her attention and she looked to him and smiled.

"What're you doing out here?"

Fixing the ship.

"I see that," he replied, "You should be inside where it's warmer."

But I can help, Peli taught me everything she knows. Let me help you.

Din sighed. If this woman was right and she could help fix the Crest then he wanted her help, but he also wanted her to stay safe. “Alright, I’ll start on the other side. If we work together we might get this done before nightfall.”

The woman nodded and got back to work, Din grabbed more tools and started on a different part of the ship. They worked, taking breaks when too cold, and made huge progress on the Crest’s repairs.

~~~~

“I think that’s all we can do with the tools we have,” Din surmised, “We need to get to a hangar and have someone finish the rest.”

The woman stood next to him, looking over their work with a proud look on her face. She had fashioned a sash out of a blanket that went across her torso, Mandi was nestled safe inside, held against her mother’s chest. Y/N also had his little womp rat balanced on her hip.

They had welded and wired everything as best as they could, and managed to patch the hole in the hull with spare durasteel panels.

Shall we get off this frozen rock now?

“That sounds good to me,” Din agreed.

They boarded the ship and Din took the kid while Y/N climbed into the cockpit. He went over the hull again before joining her, setting the kid in one of the passenger seats. He turned and saw her in his chair, flipping switches and pressing buttons. The engines roared to life and she checked out the viewport to make sure they were working correctly. He watched her as she got the ship ready for takeoff, another thing he didn’t know she could do. He was pleasantly surprised.

Over the last few days he had learned she was a great mechanic, took amazing care of both the kids, and now he learned she was also a pilot who knew her way around a ship. He put one arm on the headrest of his seat the other on his hip as he watched her expertly handle the machinery. She was just about to grab the steering handles when she stopped herself and looked up at him. She looked apologetic and began signing to him.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t flown a ship in so long I just got excited.

She bowed her head at him and got out of the chair, taking one behind him. He chuckled. “It’s ok, maybe as we get closer to Nexlar I’ll let you pilot.” He looked back in time to see her face light up with excitement. He smiled under his helmet and turned back to get the Crest in the air.

He was able to get out of the cave and back into the blackness of space with more ease than he expected. He breathed a sigh of relief when everything held and he was able to set their course for the destined planet.

She tapped him on the shoulder and signed that she was taking the kids down into the hull to try and get them to sleep. He thanked her and watched as she climbed down the ladder, handing the child to her once she was down.

It must have only been about half an hour before he heard someone calling him.

“Mando!”

The voice was broken and strained, whoever was talking was having a very hard time with it. He turned to face the doors.

“Mando!”

A little louder. It was a woman’s voice, she was talking, calling for him. She called him again, panic in her broken and unused voice.

Din jumped out of his chair and quickly climbed down into the hull. Y/N was standing at the foot of his bunk, staring down the length of the ship. He followed her gaze to see all the storage crates and lose equipment suspended in mid air, floating with nothing holding them.

He walked to his bunk only to see his child sound asleep in his hammock. If it wasn’t him then who…

He looked at Y/N to see her concerned and panic stricken face, they both looked down at the same time. Little Mandi was awake and smiling gleefully, waving her tiny limbs around, the suspended cargo moving with her small motions.

“What’s happening?” Y/N croaked out, scared and worried about her baby.

Din sighed as the information sunk in. Not another one.

[subbing-for-clones]

The Alpha and The Omega Part 3

Alpha Maul x Omega Reader

Word Count: 5k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, talk of slavery, mentions of guns and other various bounty hunting shenanigans

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      Maul didn’t know what to expect when he entered your ship; he had tried not to have any expectations. The main entrance opened up to the cargo bay that took up the whole footprint of the ship. He could see the cryo-freezer and storage in one corner and made a mental note to look into getting one for his own ship; he may not mind the smell of the bodies he collected but he preferred the idea of handing in quarries that weren’t decomposing by the time he turned them in. Labeled crates of food supplies and ammunition lined the walls along with a surprisingly high amount of medical equipment. The center was left open, for training purposes he guessed. He had thought that this layout was fairly standard for a high-ranking hunter and despite his best efforts not to assume what he would find on the upper level he was astonished.

    You obviously lived here full time on the ship you had fondly referred to as the Wolf, the hatch opened up into a hallway from where he could see the door to your cabin left open. He fought the urge to look inside out of respect and followed you through the common area toward the cockpit. He did allow himself to stay a few steps behind you so he could glance around.

    The kitchen had been expanded from a small standard kitchenette to a more comfortable cooking space with a large pantry. A quality wooden table sat off to the side with some kind of potted green fern in its center, rather than a flimsy durasteel counter. Plush rugs of different colors had been scattered along the floor and a doorless closet imbedded in the wall showed massive amounts of folded blankets and extra pillows along with other soft looking comfort items. Post cards from countless planets littered the walls surrounding the space. You had even managed to fit a sofa and bookshelf in one of the corners without making it seem over crowded.

    He didn’t say a word as he sat in the co-pilot’s chair beside you, setting his worn bag on the floor next to him. You had even managed to decorate this space; warm blankets hung over the backs of the chairs and photos of you with other hunters hung on the walls that lacked control panels. Some of the photos were located in bars, others looked like more traditional hunting parties; friends with their arms around each other in front of massive beasts that lay slain. In one, he recognized the Mandalorian he had met on Tatooine pissing into a Sarlacc pit with you laughing boisterously in the side of the frame with your head thrown back. Something in his hindbrain whispered to him.

Omega makes it home.

He blinked his attention back to you when he realized you had said something.

“You alright Maul?” you asked him again when the fog left his eyes.

“Yes, my apologies, I have just never seen a ship like this before.”

“Yeah, I move around a lot so over the years I made it more comfortable. Easier than having a home base like some of the others try to keep, cheaper too,” Maul nodded in understanding before turning back to you once you had broken through the atmosphere and started tapping away at the nav computer.

“Where are we going for the first quarry?”

“We’ve got a runaway wife of some rich wannabe crime lord. Need to bring her back alive for the whole sum or dead for only twenty five percent. Last seen on Anaxes, guess she liked tinkering with the ships back home, probably hiding out as a mechanic or something there. I want the whole purse. I know you like bringing them back cold but I’m not settling for a fraction of the price.”

“Runaway wife should be easy,” he folded his arms as he studied the hologram the puck projected.

“Should be, I’m not worried about her. She’s young and pretty, I’d be shocked if she didn’t have at least a few guys keeping an eye on her; but them we can kill,” you pulled back a lever and the stars stretched around the Wolf throwing the two of you through hyperspace. You leaned back in the chair and kicked your feet up.

“Listen, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I picked her to grab first because I doubt we’re going to run into a situation with her where my life will depend on you not fucking me over,” you turned your head to meet his eyes that were already on you, “I know you’re a dark force wielder and I know you can feel that I am a force user too.”

Maul’s top lip pulled up in a snarl and his eyes narrowed, “are you a Jedi then? Have you orchestrated this to trap me?!” the hilt of his saber flew out of his pack and into his hand but he hesitated to ignite it when fear pheromones seeped out of you.

Your scent gave you away but your posture didn’t waver, “I used to be, years ago. I was kicked out of the order when my gene presented,” you chuckled, “my master found me naked and writhing on the floor of my room,” your chuckle had grown to full-fledged laughter, your shoulders shook at the memory all but forgetting the pissed off Alpha at your side.

“I- I still remember the look on his face. Fucking horrified when I had my first heat,” you took a breath and wiped a tear from your eye, “they told me I had to leave before I could even face the trials for my knighthood,” your expression turned slightly solemn, Maul had relaxed in the seat next to you. He didn’t think they would throw out one of their own simply because of a biological mutation.

“I’m not doing this to trap you or anything like that Maul,” you turned again to face him, “Bane helped me out after I lost everything I ever knew. I heard a rumor that you didn’t know you were an Alpha until recently either. I’m just trying to return a favor paid to me.”

Maul turned to watch the stars as they flashed by, dropping his saber back into his pack. He hated the Jedi, he had even hunted a few who had left the order or were kicked out after breaking their precious code; but you were different. Cast out because you didn’t fit into their mold, not unlike him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you caught his attention again, “I don’t dislike all of them. It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them but I don’t plan on burning the temples to the ground. If you want help with a bounty or need some underworld information I’m your girl; if you wanna fuck with the Jedi you’re on your own. You and Cad are the only ones who know about that past and I plan on keeping it that way.”

“I understand.”

You stood and nodded to the door, “come on I’ll show you where to put your gear.”

    He followed you out of the cockpit and into the common area where you pointed to an empty cabinet, “so, Sith are back huh?”

He went rigid as he put his pack with all its contents still inside on the shelf, “why do you assume I am Sith and not just someone who dabbles in the dark side of the force?”

You leaned against the wall and crossed your arms, “I lived my whole life at the temple. I never saw or heard of you or anyone who looked remotely like you there so I know you’re not a fallen Jedi. You have a light saber so you’re also not some self-taught back water force sensitive individual. That only leaves one option.”

“I’m not a Sith anymore, my master thinks I’m dead and much like your own desire to keep your past private; I’d like to keep it that way as well,” his eyes narrowed again. He was equally annoyed and impressed by your deductions and his hind brain spoke again.

Omega is smart.

He was already tired of this intrusive voice in his head. Perhaps it was a mistake to come with you after all. His scent had turned abrasive in your nose and his signature was wavering.

“Hey, calm down there, Alpha I’m not here to mess up what you’ve got going for yourself. I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to slice my head off of my shoulders with that pretty red blade of yours.”

“No, I’m not going to kill you. I just want to make a life for myself.”

“Good,” you turned to another cabinet and pulled out a few extra blankets and a pillow and made up the sofa for him, “you can sleep here, it’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise,” with that you turned away from him and made you way to the cabin.

“Oh, ‘freshers the last door down this hall. Won’t be long until we arrive, rest up if you can,” with that the door hissed behind you and locked, leaving him standing alone in front of the sofa with much to ponder. Even out of your immediate presence, your scent permeated the air around him and wafted out of everything in the room. It was difficult to think, surly not all unmated Omegas were so intoxicating. He shook his head and softly walked down the hall and stepped into the fresher.

    He almost smiled, almost. Why had he expected a standard washroom? Of course you had a full sized -sanistream shower and a deep tub instead of a sonic. Another plush carpet lay underfoot with soft towels hanging on a bar. Various perfumy bath oils and soaps sat on the counter top in a decorative array along with a few candles. He was starting to wonder if you really were the renowned bounty hunter, ‘Meg, he had heard about or an imposter living a lie. He would soon find out. He splashed some cold water on his face before wandering back to the sofa you had made up for him.

    He removed his cloak and kicked off his boots, setting them both to the side before laying down and pulling the blanket over himself. It was soft and warm, more so than anything his master had provided for him. It smelled like you too, he tried not to think about the fact that it gave him incredible comfort and eased both his worry and his tensed muscles. Wrapped in your scent he fell asleep faster than he ever had before in his life.

      You did not find sleep on the way to Anaxes. Despite sinking into your soft bed, despite surrounding yourself with all of your favorite pillows and blankets and even trying to meditate, you could not ease your thrumming heart. Why had this Alpha’s scent been so strong? It made your mouth water and your thighs clench. He had released a new wave of soothing pheromones when he fell asleep and yet they did nothing to calm you. You ached to crawl onto the sofa with him and wrap yourself in his arms, to burry your face into his scent gland and bare your throat for him to… Maker what the fuck? You were disgusted with yourself. An ex-Sith and an ex-Jedi? Gods the trouble that would cause, such wonderful, inebriating trouble.. no.

    You wanted to comm someone to ask them about it. You couldn’t call Zeni or Coth, they had been trying to set you up with a mate for years, they would tell you to just get it over with. Couldn’t call Fett, it had been awkward to say the least since you gently turned down his offer for courtship. You looked over at the hat that you had just hung from your bed post. Maybe Bane could tell you what this was all about? He had had a mate before and wouldn’t give you the same answer as Zeni. You sighed heavily, missing Master Plo’s wise words and wished to hear his voice again. Would it be a terrible idea to make a stop on Coruscant and try to visit when you had fulfilled your current obligation?

    Probably. Maybe not? You huffed frustratedly and buried your face into one of the pillows for the tenth time. Bane, you’d comm Bane when you had a chance after picking up your privately commissioned bounty. Just as you attempted to close your eyes again a quiet beeping rang out from the vambrace you had discarded on your side table. You groaned unabashedly and smacked the button to turn it off. You still had some time and your stomach was grumbling so you didn’t bother to change out of the long shirt and baggy pants you wore. Pride be damned.

    Still, you tried to be quiet when you left your room to put the caf on. Your eyes immediately fell on him. Chest rising and falling steadily, wrapped up in the blanket you had given it, he was clutching it to his nose. The crease in his brow and frown on his lips gone; lost in his slumber. He was handsome when he wasn’t irritated, hell he was handsome when he was too. You watched him for a moment a voice in the back of your mind whispering.

Alpha looks warm

Alpha looks safe

Oh fuck no. You grimaced at your Omega brain that rarely reared her head. You turned and started rummaging around the pantry, working by the light that poured out of the door to your room so you wouldn’t wake him.

      When Maul did wake, it was to the smell of hot caf and cooking meat. He sat up slowly and looked around before he saw you leaning forward over the counter, face lit by a data-pad, sipping out of a steaming mug. Your eyes flashed up and met his, “Caf?” you offered.

    He grunted and nodded his response before standing and making his way behind you, looking through cabinets. You smirked down at your data-pad and without turning to him, held out an empty mug you had gotten for him. He took it with a quiet thank you and filled it. His smokey spice filling your nose in this proximity and without your knowledge, your sweet earthy smell filling his.

    He peered over your shoulder at the data-pad you were reading from. With a sigh you pressed a button to it projected the hologram, desperate for a little space you sidestepped slightly. It showed the blue prints for the assembly yard you suspected she had run off to hide in.

“It’s going to be highly populated,” he stated simply.

“We’re not grabbing her from the assembly line. She may have a price on her head but I’m not keen on the idea of explaining that to everyone and their supervisor.”

“Follow her home after her shift then?” he took a long drink of the caf and plated the both of you some of the meat before sitting at the table. At least he has manners.

“Precisely. Boss said she took a bunch of cash with her so I’m guessing she’s got an apartment outside the complex instead of sleeping in the employee housing. I got an idea where she might be working within the facility…”

    For the next hour the two of you ate as you pointed out where they worked on the simpler components. Based off of her limited knowledge she was most likely working with less complicated, smaller parts of the ships. You had pointed out the where those were and when he asked how you learned this you showed him how to find and read the blue prints and get the shift change schedules. All tools of the trade so to speak.

    You had taken a shower and after landing outside the city, started to gear up in the cargo bay. He watched with a confused look in his eye as you strapped dual blasters into your shoulder holsters and a large knife onto your hip. Pulling on your mid-thigh length coat, you filled one of the pockets on your utility belt with a few darts of different colors and a blow gun on the opposite side.

“Why not just bring your saber?” you must have looked at him like that was the dumbest question he could’ve asked, and it was.

“You’re kidding, right? You are not bringing yours,” you held up your hand and started counting each finger as you spoke, “for one, it’s a highly populated area and we are both in hiding. Two, we’re bringing her in alive and as unharmed as possible. Three, even if we were bringing her in dead, in a low pop area there’s always the chance someone could see and word travels fast. If you’re going to thrive in this line of work, you’re going to have to branch out,” you rummaged through the large locking cabinet before handing him a mid-sized blaster. “It’s set to stun for now,” you pointed to show him how he can set it to kill and got him a knife.

He took them with a growl, “I am quite familiar with other forms of weaponry thank you very much.” You just raised your palms up in mock defeat with a scoff.

      Two days. It took you two days of staking out the assembly facility before you found her. Two days of distracting heavy breathes. Laying so close to him, peering through scopes at entrances during shift changes from rocky terrain had you irritable to say the least. At least he was quiet, kept that damn sultry voice to himself. If he was as affected as you, he had the common sense not to let it show. Little did you know; he was. He kept the sights glued to his face so you couldn’t see how blown his pupils were. You let out and audible sigh of relief when you finally did spot the pretty blonde woman. Her hair tied back and a much too large jumpsuit billowing off of her form. You watched as she mounted a speeder bike and took off away from the complex. You had rented one in town when you first arrived claiming to be in the market for a ship.

    You turned to Maul already at the controls, he simply nodded his head for you to climb on behind him. He didn’t miss how you jumped at the silent command, despite trying to touch him as little as possible. You kept your eyes on her through the electrobinoculars while he navigated from a safe distance behind her. Your free hand was grasping the loose fabric of his tunic at his lower back. Your touch felt electric to him.

    You watched her dismount and silently followed her through the apartment complex, it was run down and had a rusty smell that wafted off the walls. Just before the door could hiss closed behind her your boot caught it, the fail-safe caused it to whoosh open again. As you rushed into the home with Maul on your heels you withdrew your knife and before she could even blink her shock you had spun her around with the blade pressed to her throat.

“Well, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Now why would a woman such as yourself be running from your doting husband?” you taunted her. You weren’t usually so hostile to unaggressive quarries but you were still bristling at the effect that Maul had on you. Some should-be-dead instinct telling you to show him you were strong. She whimpered as Maul smirked and handed you his set of binders before doing a perimeter scan of the apartment.

“P-please don’t take me back to him. I can’t go back. You must understand. I… I know you do!” Your brow creased at her statement before it hit you. Maul was in the back room so his scent wasn’t fogging your mind and with your nose so close to her scent gland there was no mistake. You bound her hands behind her back and pressed your leg to the back of her knees; forcing her down into a kneeling position on the floor.

“Shit,” Maul reentered the room in a hurry at your curse, eyes searching for some kind of trouble. You watched it hit him as hard as it you. Your eyes locked on him as he sniffed the air and pull his top lip back in a snarl. She was another Omega but, she hadn’t been marked. No Alpha’s scent had mixed with her own and you looked at her as confused as Maul did before she turned her attention to him.

“P-please Alpha. Help me, don’t send me back to that- that monster. Please Alpha…” she was trying to shuffle over to where he stood on her knees. Maul had expected her scent to be as strong as yours was to him. Before this woman, you had been the only unmated Omega he had met but she was nowhere near as intoxicating as you had been, as you are. She was annoying, a nuisance, weak. Nothing worth protecting. You reached down and dragged her by her bound hands back to where you had put her and kneeled in front of her.

“What the fuck are you doing married to a beta?” your finger jabbing her sternum in an accusatory manner.

“I’m not his wife! Fucker bought me!” you cringed at the term. Bane had warned you about Omegas being bought and sold but you had yet to run into any of them.

Maul wanted nothing to do with the woman before him, he saw her as a feeble and overly fragile but a fleeting thought of you being taken by slavers and sold to someone else fluttered through his mind.

No one takes Omega

He growled his disgust at the idea. You thought for a moment, weighing your options.

“Where were you taken, before you were sold?” your eyes held her gaze unblinkingly in the dimmed room, Maul had moved to stand closely behind you.

“Trandoshans, they came and took me from a cantina on Tatooine.”

You rolled your eyes at her so hard you risked giving yourself a headache.

“What in the absolute fuck were you doing on Tatooine without an Alpha to protect you?” you stood and paced around the room, “Fucking stupid ‘mega,” you cursed under your breath but loud enough that she could hear you. “You don’t have to be a hunter to know the whole planet is a slaving capital!”

“I know… I know!” she had dissolved to tears and sobbed her lamentations, “please, please don’t take me back to him!”

“Oh shut up!” you returned and slammed your balled fist into her chin, knocking her unconscious. Maul watched with a pleased grin gracing his face, you pointed your finger in his direction still fuming, “don’t you start with me too. Take her on your bike back to the ship. I’ll take her bike. I have to think about this.”

He growled but kept the smirk while he hoisted her up onto his shoulder. He paused just before passing you utterly amused and whispered, “Ah yes, let the anger fuel you,” before he left. You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose.

    You didn’t want to admit it but he was right. These years of faring on your own had been on one hand, great, incredibly fun even. Living outside the code was unrestricting but, on the other hand, you had wondered if your soul had darkened along with everything else. Times were not always good. You honestly wished you cared. You wanted to care so badly but, in all honesty, you didn’t. At this point in your life the force power you carried was just another blaster in your arsenal. Another set of binoculars in your pack. You didn’t, couldn’t let it guide you like it once had.

    To your relief, he had followed your instructions; he had left with her. You took her bike and made your way, a little slowly. Enjoying the fact that you could barely smell him from your current position. You had hoped that you would get used to it but you still hadn’t. ‘The Bitch’ you like to refer to your Omega brain as, her voice just continued to pop up with intrusive thoughts. More so than after being around any other Alpha. You wondered if the woman he carried at the moment had a similar experience.

    The hull was open and Maul had loaded the woman and the bike into the cargo bay. She was starting to stir as you brought the bike up next to his. The fear in her eyes returned as her consciousness did and she started to shriek causing both you and Maul to wince. You grabbed a rag and shoved it into her mouth to stifle her sobs. Once again you knelt down next to her, “Maul, tell her to be quiet so that I can explain something to her.”

“Why would she listen to me?” you rolled your eyes.

“Because you’re an Alpha, a particularly… pungent one as well, I’m assuming she lies on the more subservient spectrum as far as Omegas go, she will obey,” you turned your attention back to the woman, tears streaming down her face. As you had guessed she immediately silenced at his command.

“Now then, listen closely. Nod if you understand me,” the woman nodded still wide eyed at you, “good. I have to take you back. If I don’t the bounty will remain open and someone else will come to collect. You can’t just run off again either. Well, you could, but odds are your ‘husband’ would just rehire me to come pick you up and he pays well so I would take it. You have two options. One, return and play the good wife and deal with whatever comes with it. Two,” you reached into your pack and took out two differently colored capped darts, “I slip these into your bra, you let me freeze you like a good little girl and return you home to collect my pay. After he unfreezes you, you stab him with the green one to knock him out; anywhere in his body. Then inject the black one into his neck to kill him. Once he’s dead you can escape and no one will bother to come looking for you because there will be no one to put a bounty on you.”

She weighed your words heavily and you practiced your patience, truly sympathetic to the woman. You were an exception, Omegas were strong yes but, most were incredibly subservient; even without an Alpha. She mumbled something behind the gag and you scoffed before removing the rag and she gasped.

“I want the darts,” her conviction was steadfast and you breathed a sigh of relief, “put me in the freezer with them and I’ll take care of the rest.”

    You reached your hand into her shirt with a slightly apologetic look while you nestled each dart under an individual breast, she nodded her thanks after you reminded her which was which and helped her to her feet. You gave her one last look before taking the binders off. Maul watched you hesitantly as you guided her into the freezing chamber. She gave you a sad yet thankful smile, it was slight but as you pressed the buttons and activated the gasses it froze on her face. Soon, she’d be free. You guided the block into the freezer storage and locked the door behind her before allowing yourself to ungraciously slide down the wall until your rump hit the floor with a soft thud.

    Almost forgetting you weren’t alone you tossed your hat to the side somewhere and ran your fingers through your hair and rubbed one of your eyes, exhausted from her emotional affliction.

    Maul could smell your distress, his instincts told him to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be alright. That he’d protect you, that he’d never let anyone lay a finger on you. That your fate would never become hers. Instead, he settled for sitting beside you with his legs crossed, without looking at you he spoke, staring down at his feet, “you gave her a way to take her own freedom.”

You hummed, just acknowledging that you heard him and sat next to him in silence for a few minutes. His pheromones were comforting, his presence was soothing and for the first time you didn’t fight the effect they had on you.

Alpha will protect me.

    Once again you shook ‘the bitch’ away and made your way to the cockpit. You flew closer to the shop you rented the bike from and opted to keep the other Omega’s for yourself. While Maul was returning the bike, you pressed a few buttons on your vambrace, calling Bane. Within a few moments the side of his face appeared in the hologram. Blaster fire whizzing by his head.

“You alright ‘Meg?” that raspy voice you loved sounded frustrated with whatever mess he was currently in.

“Yeah I’m fine, listen I got a question for you when you’re not busy.” He took a second to face you head on with a smirk, “What makes you think I’m busy?” as if on que a bolt took the hat right off his head and he cursed. You laughed and shook your head.

“Just contact me soon, don’t die out there old man.” He grunted in response and the hologram dissipated right as Maul was sitting down in the copilot’s chair.

“One down, where to next?” he eyed the comm that Bane had appeared from warily.

“Smuggler fucked over Jabba, a Talz. Last seen heading towards Hoth; no doubt to escape the heat literally and figuratively and hide amongst the Wampa. Can you take us up? I’m starving.” He nodded and took your seat while you headed back to the common area. You doubled over and clutched your stomach, “shit,” the pain all too familiar but coming much too early.

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