#there's a war raging all around him and he goes sit on a hill

[adhd-merlin]

arthur: being a king sucks. I wish I lived on a farm. normal merlin fans: he's a cottagecore girlie (◠‿◠✿) me: henry vi behaviour

[blu3-ja3]

What is a mother without violence? Without scorn or ire, hatred or venom? What is a mother who can't protect her young? In nature it's known to never mess with a mother bear when she has cubs, a wolf with her pups, or heifer with her calf. We do not fault a magpie for protecting her nest nor a goose for chasing away children from her nest. For what is a mother without vengeance?

Maevis O'Connor isn't a violent woman, acting first with care and kindness. Even towards the most hardened of soldiers on base, always a gentle hand and soft voice from her. She treats these soldiers, these men who have killed hundreds with precision and ease, with such love and care. She's forgiving almost to a fault, even when they do the same stupid maneuvers over and over again. Rushing head long into dangerous situations. She forgives them and helps them. So when the 141 has to interact with Graves again after Las Almas they were expecting Doc to be the one holding the peace.

Instead Ghost has to grab the second captain and pull her away. As soon as the man appeared in the intelligence tent she lunged towards him ready to murder, almost grabbing him. But Ghost was quick to react, Roach, Gaz, and Soap were stunned and Captain Price moved to hold O'Connor's shoulder.

"Why the hell is he here?" There's venom in her voice, like she plans to kill the man if she was let go of. She was asking towards Laswell but never once took her eyes from Graves. Even as Laswell explained the same stupid shit to her, because a soldier can't be tried as a war criminal if he was given an order from his superior to do so.

"I was just following my orders Captain, surely you understand?" And Soap is the one to react getting right into the man's face breathing heavily with rage in his eyes "Just give me the order Doc, I'll show him what following orders looks like," but Price puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him away.

It takes a bit for them to get through the briefing with Laswell, even longer to get into gear and onto the boeing. O'Connor just stares daggers into Graves, even as she holds conversation with Soap about him possibly designing her next tattoo to finish her sleeve.

When the mission progresses she's distant and rude towards him but subtly, if you didn't know better it would seem O'Conner was back to her kind-hearted self, but there was subtlety to her venom. It was more so what she didn't do than what she did do, always checking in with the team by name but never checking in with Graves always forcing him give updates on his own.

The mission goes well, only minor scrapes and the worst is a bruise on Gaz from tumbling down a hill while making their way towards extraction. Doc takes care of everyone but never once moving towards Graves, only tossing him a bandage to cover the cut on his cheek.

"Thanks Doc for all the help! Doing a wonder-," Graves voice drips with sarcasm before he's cut off as O'Connor wheels on him. She's right in his face towering over the man forcing him to look up to her, she's only a few inches shorter than Ghost.

"You can make do with what I give you. You're a big boy so deal with it, unless you want me to give you a proper wound for me to tend to? No? Then handle your shit yourself Graves. And never call me Doc, it's either Doctor O'Connor or Captain O'Connor understood boy." O'Connor is quiet but it's even more quiet around them so everyone can hear O'Conner over the comms.

She sits down next to Roach and goes about checking his cuts and scrapes, cleaning and tending to them with such care it nearly gives everyone whiplash.

They land and tell Laswell about the details of the operation and what they recovered. They're given to go ahead and are dismissed to go back to home base. As soon as everyone is out of the tent there's a loud crack as Ghost rounds on Graves throwing punch, hard and fast, to the man's face. Three more to his stomach and gut, each punch punctuated by Ghost's voice.

CRACK! "For Las Almas"

CRACK! "For Alejandro and his men"

CRACK! "For shooting Johnny"

CRACK! "For shooting me"

No one moves to stop Ghost nor to grab Graves as he drops to his knees, face already swelling and spit out some blood and possibly a tooth.

"Captain Price I'll meet you at the yard at 0600 for punishment due to insubordination" Ghost rumbles, satisfaction evident in his voice.

"No need, I'm sure cleaning the mess hall and kitchen with the staff will be plenty of punishment enough... Maevis you may want to check on Graves, he might need some assistance." Price said walking away from the tent.

"Eh the bastards fine, just ice it and don't talk for a day. You'll be doing everyone a favor," She smiles and waves her hand walking off with the rest of 141.

Once back on base O'Connor pulled Ghost and Soap into a hug, saying she's proud of them for not putting the man down like a rabid animal despite how much they probably wanted to. Ghost does end up cleaning the mess and kitchen but with Soap's help.

Roach is the one to approach Doc after dinner, she's in her office reorganizing her many pouches and her main pack.

"Captain? You okay? You seemed pretty angry today, don't think we've seen you so pissed. Not even when you were mad at the Lieutenant," he spoke fast and trailing off, like if he didn't say it all at once she'd send him out.

O'Connor turns to the boy, just holding eye contact with him for a minute before speaking, "You are all my boys and I don't like when you get hurt. I especially don't like when that hurt causes you to wake from terrors in the night. And if there's a person who can be blamed for that hurt I will make their life a living hell." She pauses before saying "I'm sorry if I scared you boys I'll do my best to not get that angry again..."

"No need for that Doc, we were just shocked is all ma'am" Gaz says from behind Roach "It's not often we get to see the Bloody part of Bloody Mother Hen," there's a smile and chuckles from the joke.

For what is a Mother without furry towards those who hurt her young?

COD Master List

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 26, part two

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Content note: This episode has a lot of lightning, but this post does not have lightning flashes--I’m using mostly stills for those parts, or I’ve snipped out the unfriendly frames before giffing.

Qing-Jie

Having successfully ruined Jin Guangshan’s party plan to get the Yin Tiger seal, Wei Wuxian dashes off to tell Wen Qing where her brother is. She hops up to hit the road with him, but then sorta-faints because she’s starving. In a rare moment of tenderness between these two, he catches her and gently sits her down again. 

Normally they’re busy out-toughing each other, both before and after this moment, but right now Wen Qing is openly vulnerable. Wei Wuxian responds to that, predictably, with all of his kindness and with his usual slew of unwise, impossible-to-keep promises.

As she eats the bread he’s brought her--a parallel to an important piece of bread in his early life--he says they have to believe in Wen Ning’s survival. Cut to: Wen Ning, not surviving. 

I mean, yes, yes, he’s only mostly dead, but he’s never going to be fully alive again, so.  

24 Hour Party People

Back at the party, Jin Guangyao, deliberately, I think, goes to offer his pops a drink while his pops is still super furious and looking for someone to take it out on. The servant lady is like, better you than me, pal, and helps JGY get his drink ready. Pops, predictably, knocks the drink onto Jin Guangyao.

(more behind the cut)

Lan Xichen is standing by with a hanky and a face full of worry. Lan Xichen is so Lanny that he thinks JGY needs to go change clothes after getting clear alcohol spilled on him, rather than just letting it evaporate and smelling pleasantly of booze for the rest of the evening like a normal party guest. 

JGY launches into a criticism of Wei Wuxian, which Lan Wangji listens to very carefully, frowning. Lan Xichen, Nie Huasang and Jiang Cheng listen as well, and don’t speak up. 

A Clear Conscience

Then Lan Wangji *literally* steps out of his brother’s shadow, and speaks in defense of Wei Wuxian. This right here is Lan Wangji’s turning point, as far as I’m concerned. Xichen is gazing at JGY, totally on board with JGY’s spin of the situation, and his shadow falls away from Lan Wangji’s face as LWJ steps forward.

Lan Wangji says, isn’t what WWX said true? JGY puts on his customer service smile and says that the truth isn’t something you’re supposed to go around saying out loud. 

I’d like to say this is what’s wrong with cultivator society but this is really a universal human thing; every society has rules about upsetting the social order, and they are very frequently at odds with basic compassion and morality. 

Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng stay silent but Lan Xichen goes and throws Wei Wuxian under the bus carriage, saying his character has changed. 

Lan Wangji nods decisively at this, and bows to Lan Xichen, silently asking permission to follow Wei Wuxian. Lan Xichen grants permission, telling Lan Wangji to do his best. Lan Xichen probably thinks he and Lan Wangji are in agreement, in this moment, but that nod of Lan Wangji’s was nothing of the kind.

That nod was Lan Wangji agreeing with himself; he is going to try to bring Wei Wuxian back but he is also going to listen to him.  Meanwhile Lan Xichen is tying himself in knots to appease Jin Guangyao. The divergence between the brothers will just grow, from this point onwards.

Lan Wangji leaves to go follow his boyfriend conscience, while Jiang Cheng continues to silently listen to the commentary of others, and gets so mad he crushes a wine cup.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night.

Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian arrive at the prison camp, and the first person they encounter is Granny, with a defaced Wen Banner in her hand and Wen Yuan on her back. 

Whenever I read a meta or a fic that talks about how the juniors are so sweet partly because they are “untouched by the war” I want to point to this moment. A-Yuan endures an absolute truckload of war trauma by the time he’s four years old, and while Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji both deserve a lot of credit for saving him at great risk to themselves, Granny and Uncle Four are the first heroes of A-Yuan’s story. His kind, mellow personality has a lot in common with theirs. 

This is followed by an eternity of Wen Qing running around asking if anyone’s seen her brother. Eventually Wei Wuxian gets tired of this and gathers the guards together, threatening them with Chenqing. 

He doesn’t need to play it; just holding it up has every Jin dude instantly kneeling and scared. 

The guards send him and Wen Qing go to a giant field of corpses, where Wen Qing runs around checking to see if any of them is her brother. Wei Wuxian starts off kind of detached and angry, but eventually snaps out of it, tucks away his flute and starts helping her to search. 

Wen Qing finds Wen Ning, mostly-dead with a lure flag speared into his belly. Wei Wuxian grimly takes in the situation from across the field of corpses. 

When he arrives at Wen Qing’s side he sees this talisman in Wen Ning’s hand. 

This is the talisman that Wei Wuxian made for Wen Ning back in Gusu summer school, before the war. It’s the one that Wen Ning was wearing at his waist when they met up after the massacre of Lotus Pier. It’s supposed to literally protect Wen Ning from having his spiritual consciousness snatched, as well as being a symbol of Wei Wuxian’s sense of responsibility for, and affection for, Wen Ning. 

Wei Wuxian, understandably, loses his shit at this point. Less understandably, he is about to decide that the best way to express his sorrow and rage is to re-animate the corpse of his friend, right in front of the corpse’s sister. Like, seriously, dude. Dude. 

Ghost General

This super-questionable decision leads to one of the most badass sequences in the show, which is unfortunately chock full of lightning flashes, so not everyone can watch it. Wei Wuxian and his flute and swirls of resentful energy come marching out of the darkness of the corpse field, back to the guards. 

The guards have decided to slaughter all of the prisoners and then run away, which would be a good plan except they should really have skipped right to the running away part of things. When Wei Wuxian accuses them of killing the prisoner in the corpse field, they claim that the Wens have a habit of falling off of a hill and dying. Wei Wuxian can relate. 

At this point Wei Wuxian summons up Wen Ning 2.0, ultra badass edition, who comes flying through the air with his odd, straight-armed fighting stance and cool solid-black eyes and rock-and-roll hair. 

Soundtrack: *Four Sticks*

Wen Ning proceeds to whale on the guards and scare the shit out of his relatives.

Then Wen Qing shows up and begs Wei Wuxian to stop. She explains that Wen Ning is only mostly dead. Like, if he was fully dead would she be okay with this? 

Wei Wuxian tries to reel Wen Ning in and realizes that he is not actually in control of Wen Ning. Ok, see, right from the first day of Wen Ning 2.0, WWX is aware that his control is iffy. Why does he think he’s going to be able to control him later? 

Anyway, this is where we learn Wen Ning’s grown-up name is Wen Qionglin. Wei Wuxian yells this name, and Wen Ning looks up like a cat hearing the “food noise,” and then proceeds to get control of himself. 

This is such a nice symbolic moment, that will be replayed later in the temple, when Wen Ning saves Jin Ling from Baxia. 

Wen Ning has a remote-code-execution OS vulnerability throughout the story; his soul is at risk of being stolen, and he is magically controlled by Wei Wuxian, Xue Yang, Su She, and Baxia.  Meanwhile Wen Qing, Wei Wuxian, and random kids on the street mostly treat him as a child, despite his clear adult capabilities. Wen Ning’s journey in The Untamed is at least partly about asserting his full adulthood, and his ability to overcome magical control is directly connected to that journey.  

After getting Wen Ning to chill, Wei Wuxian calls the floating resentful energy back into his own body, which looks about as comfortable as swallowing a burp. 

On the plus side, apparently resentful energy keeps your hair dry even when it’s raining.

Wei Wuxian should take a page from the guards’ book and slaughter all the Jin witnesses to this situation, but he decides to be the better person and let them live. They go running off down the road, where they encounter Lan Wangji and give him the 411, saying that Wei Wuxian resurrected dead people.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian collects Wen Qing--half-fainted, again, in an echo of the start of their journey--and collects the Dafan Mountain Wen group, who are hiding, wisely. When they see Wen Ning, Uncle Four and some others start to freak out, but Wei Wuxian tells them that fierce corpses are cool, and they all grab horses and mount up.

Where Are You Going?

Lan Wangji is waiting for them, nonconfrontationally indulging in some visual poetry while he waits. 

In a show where every prop is exquisitely, carefully designed to enhance our understanding character, his Gusu-toned umbrella reveals surprising red and yellow threads woven in, right above his eye line as he looks at Wei Wuxian. 

Wei Wuxian speaks first, saying “you came to stop me?” Lan Wangji doesn’t answer, but asks him where he’s going. Then Lan Wangji warns him that he’s about to abandon orthodoxy forever, if he follows through. 

Wei Wuxian challenges this idea of orthodoxy, asking if Lan Wangji remembers the promise they made together, back in Gusu. It’s worth noting that they both appear to think of it as a co-promise, even though Lan Wangji didn’t speak aloud at the time. 

The conversation will continue in the next episode, because what’s better than a rainy romantic cliffhanger?

Soundtrack: Four Sticks by Led Zeppelin

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 2 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Read Part 1 Part 3

Rhys returns to the fields of the Spring Court the next evening. And the next, and the next, and the next, true as the moon rising. He teases and grumbles about it sometimes, but if he's honest, Feyre has become the very best part of his day.

The breeze that ruffles the wildflowers surrounding them is easy and soft, and so is Feyre. She is generous with her touch, letting her fingertips touch his shoulders and stroke in his hair like leaves landing. Rhys can’t get enough. Because it is always Spring, the evenings are balmy and warm, and by nightfall Feyre goes back to the manor on the hill. Feyre likes to tell him that she tires of him, but Rhys realises eventually that she has a curfew.

“Let me come with you,” he says one evening. It’s been a month and Rhys has just made a particularly good bargain: a story for a kiss.

“Okay,” Rhys had said, lying back amongst the flowers. Feyre remains sitting up, and is threading a daisy crown for the High Lord. “I’ll tell you the story about how I met my two brothers, Cassian and Azriel. Hopefully you’ll get to meet them one day.”

Feyre snorted. “Not while my father’s still alive.” Rhys smiled gently and continued.

“When I was a child I was put into an Illyrian training camp, in the heritage of my mother’s family, and the only ones who fit in less than I did were Cass and Az.”

“What’s an Illyrian?” Feyre interrupted.

“A warrior race from the mountains of the Night Court.”

“And your mother was an Illyrian? You look like High Fae.”

Rhys smiled then, and did something that he never thought he’d do. He didn’t know why he felt so at ease with Feyre. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time he came to see her here, it was only the two of them in the field, and that made it feel like it was only the two of them in the world.

He rolled onto his stomach, arms folded under his chin, and unfurled his bat-like wings. He spread them lazily and gracefully, and watched her face change from shock to awe to delight as they stretched to be as tall as she where she was sitting.

“Rhys they’re beautiful,” she breathed, reaching one hand forward. Then she pulled back as if remembering herself, and glanced sidelong at him. “May I?” she asked. And again, Rhys surprised himself by nodding his assent. The only time his wings had ever been touched was when they got bruised in a brawl.

Feyre very gently stroked her fingers down his left wing, and Rhys shuddered beneath her touch.

“Sorry,” she said. Rhys’s mouth quirked.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“It… it looked like that wasn’t very comfortable for you. Does it hurt?”

“No it doesn’t hurt,” Rhys laughed, bumping her with the talon at the top of his wing's arch.

She smiled her relief, and stroked him again, and Rhys’s laugh choked off into a moan that had him biting down on his lip. Goosebumps rolled down his arms, and he tried not to let Feyre see how much her touch affected him.

“I’ll take that kiss now,” he said, and before she could argue he rolled around and pulled her into his arms. Feyre landed on his chest and smiled as he kissed her. His wings curled lightly around them both, making her feel even closer. Rhys licked at her lips in askance, and she let him sweep his tongue across hers before she pushed him off, laughing and landing back in the grass with him.

“No,” Feyre says. She places the crown delicately on Rhys's head, and looks pleased with the effect.

Rhys runs a finger from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Please let me. I’d love to see where you live.”

“Where I live, or just where I sleep?" Feyre challenges. Rhys flashes her a wicked grin.

“That too.”

“No.”

"I'll owe you a favour."

"You already owe me a favour."

"For what?"

"For making you king of the daisies." Feyre gestures, and the flowers nuzzle their heads against his elbows. Rhys nods magnanimously at them, then fixes his amethyst eyes on Feyre.

“Why not?” he asks softly.

“Because my father would skin you the second you walked through the front door.” Feyre nips the skin of his neck with her teeth to make a point.

Rhys huffs. “My father's been dead over a decade. Old men can hold a grudge.”

Feyre shifts. “It’s not just that. He… he doesn’t like anyone, Rhys. I told you. He’s very protective, and he gets upset when people come too near me. I’m not supposed to cross the forest line.”

“But… we’re on the other side of the forest.”

Now it’s Feyre’s turn to grin. “The flowers miss me," she says. She runs her fingers through the stalks. Then pokes him in the chest. "And they'd miss you too if you were a rug in my father's study."

“Well then come visit me,” Rhys presses. “You’d love it at the Night Court. The stars have as many secrets as the flowers do.”

It's a thought Rhys can't get out of his mind. As long as Feyre stays in this field, she's just a daydream. But then he gets home and nothing feels as real as Feyre does, and he's been sleepwalking through Velaris.

“Rhys.”

“And you could actually meet the people I tell you about.”

“Rhysand.”

“And you wouldn’t have anyone telling you what to do or where to go or who you could see.”

Feyre waits. “Are you done?”

Rhys sighs. “Yeah I’m done.”

“Rhys you know I can’t.”

“I know. Look just… promise me that you’ll come one day, okay? Even if you have to wait till ol’ Tambourine’s dead and buried." He gives her a smile to sweeten the deal. "Promise me you’ll come see the Night Court.”

Feyre's smile is so sad Rhys feels it under his ribs. “And what will you give me, young Kingling?” she asks softly. “What will you offer in return?”

“Everything,” Rhys whispers, much more serious than he had intended. “Anything and everything you want.”

Feyre looks at him with leagues in her eyes, and says, “Just a kiss will do.” And Rhys obliges.

“Do you know,” he tells he between kisses, "every time I kiss you I think I'll feel relieved. But the wanting just gets worse. How are you so soft?”

“How are you so hard?” Feyre asks, then blushes deeply when Rhys gives her a look. “Your chest. I meant your chest, you’re like a solid wall.” Rhys stares at her.

“The latter, because my father too was a glutton for punishment. I’ve trained everyday since I was eight years old.” He traces the shape of her cheekbone, and then her lower lip. “The former, well, for that I blame you.”

Rhys shifts his hips and indeed he is hard all over, from the muscles in his abdomen, and lower. Feyre shivers a little as she feels the press of him between her legs, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders. “So are we friends yet, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks her, the words blowing hot against her lips. Feyre laughs huskily, and the sound makes him twitch under her hips. Now that he has drawn attention to the evident pressure between them, he’s sure Feyre feels it.

“Do you think I do this with my friends?” Feyre asks him, and presses her next kiss under his jaw. Rhys groans and slides his hands around her waist, heels sliding in the grass.

“Probably not?” Rhys gasps, feeling every inch of her body on his.

“Just kidding,” Feyre says. “I don’t have any friends.”

Rhys can’t think of what to say to that. “Kiss me again,” he tells her.

“What will you give me this time?” Feyre asks, still very much on top of him. Rhys stares into her lovely eyes, and tries to see what she’s keeping behind her smile.

“A kiss in return,” he says quietly, because the best way to pay for a kiss is in kind.

Feyre folds her fingers with his, and leans down. And Rhys finds himself thinking that he wants this, of course he wants this, but he does also want to be her friend. That he wants her to have friends.

And then he thinks very little at all because now Feyre is straddling his lap and she’s got her tongue in his mouth and his blood is singing in his veins.

Rhys slides his hands up Feyre’s back and under her hair. He flips them smoothly so that she’s on her back and his wings are flaring, and when he finds her hands again, stalks of flowers brush their entangled fingers. Feyre is liquid and pliant beneath him, and although they’ve kissed dozens of times before, this is something new between them.

"You're making the daisies blush," Feyre whispers, and she looks like an angel beneath him.

Rhys makes a shaky exhale. He is half hungry, and half scared that she’ll push him away at any second. Touching Feyre is like catching a sparrow- sometimes she’s flying so sure and fast he can barely keep up, and other times she’s skittering away from him. He can never be quite sure of her, but then again, he’s rather enjoying the chase.

Feyre’s hands tangle in his hair when he kisses her again. They pull at the roots and Rhys begins to lose it. He’s only got so much careful in him, and if she keeps going like this…

At that moment Rhys is grabbed from behind. Rough hands seize him by the wings and throw him off of Feyre. Rhys hits the ground, then immediately rolls up into a crouch with his teeth bared. He’s already in a rage from the contact with his wings, half feral and looking for his attacker.

He does not expect to see the High Lord of the Spring Court snarling right back at him.

“You little fuck,” Tamlin growls. “You come into my land and assault my daughter. You have exactly three seconds to be gone before I tear you limb from limb.”

“Father!” Feyre says sharply. He rounds on her.

“And you. I gave you very clear instructions on where you are to be at any given time. I’ll deal with you later.” He waves his hand and Feyre is winnowed, with time only to meet Rhys’s eyes before she’s gone.

“Fuck you,” Rhys spits.

“Leave, pup,” Tamlin tells him. “This is my Court and you are in violation of my rules. If I see you again I will kill you, and I will have no qualms about doing so.”

Rhys growls, but he knows Tamlin is right. He can’t attack him in on his own land without starting an all out war. Rhys kicks at the ground savagely, then winnows.

****

MASTERLIST

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[pparkerpoetry]

Heart of Gears and Gold

Summary: "Morally, Nook knew that eavesdropping was wrong. He’d been coded to do what was right, all the time, consistently, so of course he knew that listening in on a conversation he wasn’t involved in was wrong, but he was concerned. He was concerned about Sam, who looked as if he was deteriorating into nothing. He was concerned about Ranboo, who’s scars on his face were looking more prominent. Most of all, though, he was worried about Tommy. He hadn’t heard anything from Tommy in ages, and it just wasn’t like him to go silent for that long."

-or-

Nook wasn't made with a heart or the capacity to love, but he does it anyway.

Tommy goes missing, they tell him that it's a vacation.

Sam Nook needs to know the truth.

____________

i made this yesterday but i forgot to post it here, so...

___________

Sam Nook was the result of redbull and the determination to be better on a Friday night as Awesamdude fought off the remnants of a hangover. He hadn’t even been named, really, and had been sitting in a corner growing cobwebs since he’d been made. Awesamdude had intended for him to stay there, because what was the need for a little robot pal in a land where fires raged and wars were waged every other month, at best? No, the world was a cruel one, and it was no place for Sam Nook. 

The cobwebs were dusted away one day, long after his creation. Or so it seemed. Time passed slowly when Nook spent his days in the dark of a closet. 

Nook wasn’t sure why he’d been put into use, initially, but Sam had the habit of talking while he worked on improving and upgrading his body. Nook was meant to help a child named Tommy, who Sam spoke of very fondly. The days in the workshop passed and Nook learned about the child.

Tommy didn’t have a good past, Nook discovered. He’d been raised on fields of blood and taught how to fight instead of which manners to use when. He’d been given a sword instead of a toy and told to survive instead of learning how to grow and to cope. Tommy was made of iron and steel, and though Nook knew it was all metaphorical, he couldn’t help but feel happy that there was someone like him.

Sam was nice. Sam just didn’t know how much of a genius he was, and since he had no clue that his robot was aware, instead of being truly able to speak, Nook was trapped in a little metal cage, stuck and still. 

The day that Nook was given a voice? 

He wouldn’t stop using it. It wasn’t a human voice, but it was unique. He liked it. It was his own, and Nook liked having something for himself. It wasn’t long before Sam sent him off to monitor Tommy’s healing, his recovering, his lessons on responsibility.

Nook had been given a voice, but he had never been given a heart. So why was it that he cared so much? He wasn’t sure. But he liked Tommy. Tommy was conflicted, and hurt, and Nook knew how gentle to be so that Tommy would trust him but wouldn’t take advantage of him. He wasn’t quite able to fathom the power he held, being so close to Tommy, but he knew that if that power had fallen into the wrong hands another time, Nook never would have been improved. What need is there for a babysitter when there is no baby?

He didn’t like thinking about death. It was one of the things he was confused about, and though many things fell under that category, Nook didn’t like death. Tommy spoke of death sometimes. Of his older brother who wasn’t really his brother, but it felt like it, because we were really close and always had each other’s backs- Nook thought that Tommy’s words were an awfully long way to say that he was still grieving. He didn’t mind. His job was to help Tommy, not to fix someone that didn’t need fixing, but support.

Tommy spoke of death a lot. It wasn’t always about Wilbur (Nook learned at one point that Wilbur was the name of the older brother. He thought it was Technoblade, but when he mentioned it to Sam, Sam had said Technoblade was still alive. How many brothers did Tommy have?), and Nook liked death even less when Tommy spoke about death in relation to himself. Nook didn’t want to think of Tommy dead. Tommy was his friend, and he would always be there for Tommy. Wasn’t that enough?

Of course, Nook knew that there was more than the simple life that he led. He never had to sleep, he just sat on his charging station overnight while he waited for the sun and for the child that always bounded up the hill as soon as the light hit the land, eyes dull and face sunken. Tommy had his bad days, so Nook always kept easier tasks on the side to give him. 

Oh, the chest needs organizing. Oh, the hotel needs an infinite water source. Oh-

Tommy never caught on. Nook made sure of it, and although there was one bad day that he’d given Tommy a real task (I need hearts of the sea-), he made sure to be careful with the teen. No loud noises, no sudden movements, no being over-top-nice. Tommy had triggers. He’d asked Sam once why Tommy was so jumpy, but Sam’s eyes had turned dark and he had left. Nook didn’t ask anymore, but he figured it had something to do with the prisoner contained in the prison that loomed ominously in the distance. 

The prison made Nook uneasy.

Days had passed by, and he grew more protective of Tommy. He wasn’t supposed to. Nook’s whole existence was to help Tommy, yes, but not to this extent. Once or twice Nook wondered if he was becoming more alive, but he didn’t want to think about it. Humanity hurt, and he had heard tales of pain more than anything. Nightmares that plagued their minds, or the injuries that they did to each other-

Jack Manifold was someone to be wary around. He’d tried to kill Tommy a few times, and though he was skilled in playing it off as a joke, Nook didn’t miss the fury that burned behind the multi-colored sunglasses. 

Badboyhalo was another on Nook’s mental list of… enemies? No, that wasn’t the right word. What was the right word? Maybe he’d ask Sam. Or Tommy. But Tommy said Jack was a friend, so what was his opinion on Bad? 

Nook had learned that Bad was on the side of the crimson vines that edged their way onto the property. Nook wasn’t programmed to show fear, but he wasn’t created with a capacity for love, either. 

The egg scared him.

As much as he hated to admit it, the egg terrified him. It got Bad into places he shouldn’t have been able to. 

Puffy was a good one, though. Nook liked her smile. She was always nice to Tommy and while she wasn’t as good at hiding her pain as she thought, she helped others. Nook didn’t know what had happened to make her so sad, but everyone was sad those days. Puffy, Nook decided, would get a discount if she ever bought a room at the Big Innit Hotel.

Nook’s days were simple. In the mornings, he’d get off of his charging station and head to the hotel, getting a few hours of building in without Sam if he finished charging early enough. Some days, Tommy would come running after that, other days he’d walk, others he didn’t show at all. Nook didn’t like the days that passed by without the familiar mop of blond hair and the loud swears that he had to hide a laugh at. 

Tommy made Nook feel alive, and some days, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

After Sam and himself finished the hotel, Nook had been excited. Tommy had been looking forward to this for ages, and he hoped that it was good enough.

Nook didn’t like the feeling of doubt that wormed its way through his gears. He hadn’t been programmed to doubt anything, he reminded himself, and code didn’t lie. Humans lied.

One morning, Nook was just loitering around the hotel, since he’d had a lot of free time since the build had been completed. He’d been without purpose before, but this was different. He could do whatever he wanted, but he just wanted to help Tommy. There was still a lot of healing to do.

Speak of the devil, Tommy came sprinting up to where Nook stood. “I thought I’d find you here, Big Man!” Tommy grinned. “I just wanted to say hi before I go to the prison.”

Nook turned quickly. HELLO TOMMYINNIT. I WOULD NOT RECOMMEND GOING TO THE PRISON. I DO NOT LIKE IT.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “You never liked it. Just one last time, alright? Then I can catch a break, and I dunno, maybe I’ll take a vacation.” He laughed. “Can you imagine? I’ve never had a vacation before. I’d probably just wake up and think I got exiled again.”

YOU MAY GO IF YOU WISH, Nook nodded anxiously, BUT I WISH YOU WOULDN’T. IT MAKES ME UNEASY.

Tommy snorted and started walking away. He waved, and was still smiling. Nook thought he looked almost like a kid again, not some soldier who was tired of life. “Bye, Nook! I’ll catch you later!”

Sam didn’t show up that day to monitor the hotel, nor the next day, so Nook took that to mean that the job was over. He was almost sad, but he caught himself. He hadn’t been made to be sad. Only to help.

Nook tried to find Tommy, but he wasn’t at his house, which he thought was a little odd, but he didn’t mind. Maybe today would finally be the day he got to listen and observe the birds. They were peculiar creatures, birds were. 

He hadn’t meant to spend all day and all night watching the birds, but once he saw them, he’d wandered to a nearby stream to look at the fish, then to the little cricket that had been hopping around…

When he got back to the hotel, for he hadn’t gotten Sam to move his charging station and he was very, very low, the large sign he’d put up was taken down, and another took its place. He couldn’t read what it said, but he didn’t have time to look at it yet. He figured it was just something Tommy put up, so he went to charge.

The next morning, he saw the name, clear and bold. JACK MANIFOLD, he muttered, YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU TAMPERED WITH THE HOTEL.

Sure, Tommy had mentioned a few days ago that he wanted to hire Jack, but this was too far.

“Oh, hey, Sam Nook.” Jack himself stood by the entrance. “Hope you don’t mind the rebranding. I’m taking over while Tommy’s, uh, on vacation.”

Nook wanted to yell, but he remembered the kind greeting that he was confined to. HELLO, JACK MANIFOLD. I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL,- he didn’t wait for a response -BUT YES, I DO MIND THE REBRANDING. WHEN TOMMY RETURNS FROM HIS VACATION, IF THAT IS WHERE HE IS, THEN HE WILL BE VERY DISPLEASED.

He didn’t understand why he felt so angry at Jack, so Nook replaced the sign and took another day off. Sam still hadn’t showed up, so he took a journey to the portal that Tommy had told him about. It shone brightly, and he liked it, but he didn’t dare pass through. Not without someone by his side. 

Time passed quicker than he realized, and before he knew it, the purple sheen darkened with the shadows of night. Nook didn’t want to go back yet, so he stayed out. He walked to where he’d heard a new member had settled down, and he liked the flowers there. He stayed there for a while.

When he woke up, Nook was at his charging station. There was a sign that told him he’d shut down while in the flower field, so someone carried him back. No signature was on the note, but when he journeyed up to the hotel, he had an inkling of an idea.

There were more signs. The large one, advertising the hotel, was different, hand-drawn, but Nook wasn’t mad about that. Apparently, Jack had changed it before Puffy put it back. Nook decided that if Puffy ever got into trouble, he’d defend her. She was one of the good ones on this server of murderers and authorities. 

Jack showed his face again.

HELLO JACK MANIFOLD, Nook greeted. I REALLY WISH YOU WOULD STOP CHANGING THE APPEARANCE OF THE BIG INNIT HOTEL SIGN. TOMMY WON’T BE PLEASED, WHEN HE RETURNS, AND I SHOULD LIKE YOU TO REMAIN AN EMPLOYEE.

Nook brushed over the fact that he’d told his first lie. Jack called for more attention- he looked cheerful, but not completely so, if was a conflicted cheerfulness. Today was not the day to antagonize him, Nook decided. He was hurting. Why? Nook wasn’t sure.

I AM GOING TO LEAVE, Nook announced, AND WHEN I COME BACK, I WANT THE SIGN TO BE THE SAME.

Jack didn’t respond.

Nook spent the day exploring, just wandering, and he couldn’t shake the loss that he felt. He wasn’t lost, though. He knew where he was. 

It was late before he remembered to go back before his battery died somewhere no one would find him, but as Nook walked back, Puffy was burning a part of the path.

HELLO CAPTAIN PUFFY! He smiled. Today had been a good day. HOW ARE YOU TODAY?

When she turned to respond, her eyes were red. Something was wrong. “Hey, Nook.” She said blankly, watching the flames as her eyes welled up with tears.

WHY ARE YOU CRYING? He questioned. HAS BADBOYHALO UPSET YOU? SHOULD I TAKE CARE OF HIM FOR YOU?

Puffy chuckled, but there was no feeling behind it. “No, Nook. Bad’s fine for now. I’ll deal with him later.”

SO HE HAS UPSET YOU? Nook tilted his head. THEN WHY BURN THE PATH? I AM SORRY, BUT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

“That’s fine. You should probably head back, though. Don’t let your battery run out.” Puffy sniffled as she wiped her sleeve across her nose.

Nook made a soft sound. IF YOU EVER NEED A BREAK, FEEL FREE TO STOP BY THE BIG INNIT HOTEL. DON’T TELL TOMMY, BUT I INTEND TO GIVE YOU A SIGNIFICANT DISCOUNT. YOU DESERVE IT, CAPTAIN PUFFY.

It hadn’t been the right thing to say. She started crying harder, so Nook left her to mourn whatever had happened. It wasn’t his place to pry.

Weird things kept happening. Quackity had visited that night, too, but Jack pulled him away from hotel property to chat. And then the next day, more people stopped by the Hotel. They didn’t buy a room, though. They just stared. Some in pity, at him, but mostly in sadness.

A rival inn had popped up, and Nook was excited. He’d be able to convince Tommy to get upgrades easier this way, now. Tommy just had to get back. He missed Tommy.

Sam visited, finally. Nook noticed the devastated look on his face, but it was common those days. He wondered if there had been another war he didn’t know about.

HELLO, AWESAMDUDE! DO YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION ON WHEN TOMMY RETURNS? Nook asked eagerly. I WISH TO BEGIN UPGRADES SOON.

Sam looked like he might cry. “No, Nook, Tommy, uh-” He paused, as if changing what he was going to say. “No, He said he was going to be gone a while, though. You might want to start upgrades by yourself. I’ve got prison business to deal with.”

Nook remembered his conversation with Tommy. DID TOMMY HAVE A GOOD VISIT AT THE PRISON? HE TOLD ME HE WAS GOING, BUT HE DIDN’T MENTION HIS VACATION. 

As if distracted, Sam hesitated. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. The visit went okay.”

DREAM PLAYED NICE? He asked, just to make sure (ah, yes, his favorite discovery of recent days. Dream was the one in the prison, the one responsible for Tommy’s sorrow).

Sam froze. “I gotta go, Nook, I might be by later, but don’t count on it. And- yeah,” he hid a sob, “Dream played nice.”

Nook had the feeling that Sam was hiding something from him. And so began a new feeling for the android: Hurt.

He tried to notice things more, but eventually, it was staring him in the face. Like when he went inside of the hotel the next night to find Badboyhalo and his egg group having a party. Puffy was with him, and she began yelling at them, but Nook took over. He drew himself to his full height, which wasn’t that much, but he was still taller than everyone in the room.

BADBOYHALO, he thundered, and he wasn’t used to speaking so loudly. I EXPECT YOU HAVE GOOD REASON TO BE HERE, OR I WILL HAVE TO ASK YOU TO LEAVE. He laid a hand on the hilt of his sword and he summoned the most fearsome look he could manage.

The demon paused before speaking. Everyone had been, when speaking to him. He wanted to know why, but this wasn’t the right moment. “Hey, Nook. Yeah, we were just… celebrating.”

CELEBRATING WHAT, EXACTLY?

“Oh. Well, it’s Jack’s birthday! We figured that Jack was Tommy’s friend so he wouldn’t mind us having a party here.”

Nook didn’t mention that Jack wasn’t even there. He didn’t mention how confused he was, or how much he wanted to know what was going on, but he made sure they left. He wished Jack a happy birthday when he walked by, but Jack had just given him a puzzled look.

Nook added it to the growing list of things that people were hiding things from him. His list of people he trusted was growing thinner.

It didn’t take long for him to discover why. 

He’d been walking back to the hotel, just to check if Tommy had gotten back, when distantly, he heard Sam and Ranboo talking. Ranboo was a peculiar subject, Nook had decided. He was also conflicted, and always showed signs of regret whenever he spoke of Tommy with Nook.  Nook wasn’t quite sure why, but he’d find out soon enough.

Morally, Nook knew that eavesdropping was wrong. He’d been coded to do what was right, all the time, consistently, so of course he knew that listening in on a conversation he wasn’t involved in was wrong, but he was concerned. He was concerned about Sam, who looked as if he was deteriorating into nothing. He was concerned about Ranboo, who’s scars on his face were looking more prominent. Most of all, though, he was worried about Tommy. He hadn’t heard anything from Tommy in ages, and it just wasn’t like him to go silent for that long.

He was doing the right thing.

Sam sounded near tears, even though it was clear he’d just been sobbing. “I couldn’t stop it, Ranboo. He just, I got into the cell and he was just laughing, I was yelling at him and he was just laughing, in my face-”

“He was laughing?” Ranboo whispered.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “And then- oh, god. I had to carry his body out of the cell, and his eyes just stared at me. They stared at me, and he was so quiet,” Sam covered his mouth to hide another sob, “And the blood, the blood got everywhere-”

Nook’s eyes widened. Someone had died in the prison? Who?

“There was no way you could have let him out?” Ranboo asked, but Nook knew that his anger was gone, replaced with the cold emptiness that hope left when it disappeared. 

“No, Ranboo,” Sam whispered. “Because if Dream had held him on that bridge, threatening his life if he wasn’t let out, then I wouldn’t have had a choice. I wouldn’t have had the courage to leave him in the cell. I’d have freed Dream.”

Nook thought for a moment. Who did Sam love enough to let Dream out for? He didn’t like any of the options on the list. 

Sam continued. “And the worst part of it- The worst part is that every time I see Nook, I have to act as if Tommy’s still alive and having a great time, I have to act as if it wasn’t my fault that Tommy is dead, I have to act as if Tommy’s dead eyes don’t haunt me every time I try to sleep because I coded him to be loyal to Tommy and I don’t what he’ll do if he discovers he’s gone.”

What?

Nook left. He didn’t want to hear this conversation. It wasn’t true, was it? It couldn’t be.

It made a lot of sense.

Nook went to his charging station, and when he opened his eyes the next morning, everything seemed a little duller.

Puffy was out, and Nook couldn’t help but feel hurt that yes, even she had hid this from him. Or maybe not. He didn’t know if it was true.

What was she- oh. She was building a memorial. It was cobblestone, of course, with a picture of a disc in the middle. 

Who Are You Building That For? Nook asked, and was surprised to hear his voice sound…

“Whoa, Nook, are you okay?” Puffy asked. Her eyes hadn’t gotten any less red, “You sound sad.”

Who? Nook asked, even though he already knew the answer. Who Died, Puffy? You Wouldn’t Lie, Right?

“Nook,” Puffy sighed, but he interrupted.

why didn’t you tell me that dream killed tommy? Nook asked, his high pitched voice now soft and quiet. 

“Sam-”

Sam Wasn’t Sure I Could Be Trusted. Nook shrugged. He couldn’t be bothered to defend himself when all that he felt was frustration. He was coded to build and protect, but damn if he didn’t want to destroy the entire server.

He walked away, pretending not to hear Puffy calling out for him.

Mechanically, (he almost laughed at that thought. Mechanical- he was.) he began to tear down the Big Innit Hotel. Why? Well-

“Nook?” Sam shouted from below the hotel. His voice cracked. “Are you alright?”

Nook went down to the first floor. He was already a pretty good way into the hotel dismantling. HELLO, AWESAMDUDE. He said coldly, almost liking the way Sam flinched away. WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE, TODAY?

Sam sighed, but his breath was unsteady. “So, you found out. Are you okay?”

I AM ANGRY, Nook said simply. THAT SUCH A YOUNG LIFE WAS TAKEN. I AM ANGRY THAT DREAM STILL LIVES.

“Well, I can’t just-”

KILL HIM? Nook asked. Taunted, almost. WHY NOT? WHAT’S STOPPING YOU? OR ME? TELL ME, SAM, WHAT IS STOPPING ME FROM GOING AGAINST MY CODING COMPLETELY? PUFFY IS BARGAINING, YOU LET IT SADDEN YOU, TUBBO MAY STILL BE IN DENIAL BY PUSHING HIMSELF BACK INTO LOGIC AND RANBOO MAY HAVE ACCEPTED IT, BUT TELL ME, AWESAMDUDE, WOULD YOU BELIEVE ME IF I TOLD YOU THAT I WAS SO ANGRY THAT I DOUBT IT IS POSSIBLE TO CALM ME DOWN? WOULD YOU BELIEVE IN MY ANGER IF I TORE DOWN THIS ENTIRE HOTEL, THEN TOOK THE SERVER WITH IT? MAKE NO MISTAKE, SAM, I AM NOT GOING AGAINST ALL THAT YOU CREATED ME TO BE. I AM LOYAL TO TOMMY FIRST AND FOREMOST, SO TELL ME, WHAT AM I, NOW THAT HE’S GONE?

Sam didn’t answer. Nook could tell he was crying, but he couldn’t feel anything except rage.

I AM FREE, Nook yelled, and his voice shook. I AM FREE OF THE ATTACHMENT THAT KEPT ME DOCILE. I AM FREE OF EVERYTHING THAT I LIVED FOR, SO WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO? WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO, SAM? TELL ME, BECAUSE I DO NOT KNOW.

Sam looked at him. He looked just about as lost as Nook felt. “I- I don’t know, Nook. You weren’t the only one that lost him, but… I think I could let you visit Dream, if you… if you want to yell at him, or something. I owe it to you.”

Nook deflated. YOU DO NOT OWE ME, AWESAMDUDE. YOU HAVE GIFTED ME WITH LIFE, BUT IF YOU ARE OKAY WITH IT, I WOULD LIKE TO SEE DREAM. I PROMISE I WON’T KILL HIM TOO MUCH.

Sam managed a weak smile at the joke. “I know you’ll try your best. If you do, though, I won’t be that choked up.”

___________

Nook liked the look of fear on Dream’s face. He wasn’t supposed to- he was supposed to protect, he was supposed to care, he was supposed to do all of the things that he had done when Tommy was alive, but then, in that moment,

He wanted blood.

By all means, it should have been comical, he knew what his voice sounded like, but Dream looked terrified, and it wasn’t an act. Nook would know, he’s spent his entire life deciphering whatever Tommy was hiding. No, Dream is scared, and he is scared to show it.

Nook latches onto that uncertainty.

you killed him, Nook growls. This has been going on for a while. you killed him and i want nothing more than to make you pay.

Dream shouldn’t have been so affected by the yelling, but a quote from his mother echoed in his brain.

“Be afraid if someone peaceful takes up arms. Being kind is a strength, not a weakness, and should they go against you, you will not win.”

Dream tried to push down the terror rising in him, instead holding onto how bored he was. He wanted something new. “I’ll bring him back! I’ll get the book and I’ll bring him back, if it’s worth so much to you.”

Nook glared at him. YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THAT YOU DON’T NEED A BOOK, DREAMWASTAKEN. WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU MADE IT UP. BRING HIM BACK, AND MAYBE I WILL SPARE YOU.

“Sam wouldn’t let you kill me,” Dream tried,  but there was doubt in his mind. He sighed, and lifted a hand.

Just like that, there is another being in the cell. A floating one. Not a ghost, but a god. XD, he was called, and he had the power to do anything.

“Yes?” The god asked, and Dream sighed again. He hated not being in control.

“Bring the kid back.”

“So you can kill him again?” XD asked, unamused, and Nook wonders how many times this has happened before.

NO, Nook objected. SO THAT I CAN STOP THIS SERVER’S MISERY AND BRING BACK THE CHILD THAT DIED TOO YOUNG.

XD hummed. “You’re interesting. What are you? You aren’t quite human, you aren’t quite android. You’re an in-between. Curious.”

IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT I AM, JUST WHAT YOU CAN DO. Nook said. ARE YOU GOING TO BRING HIM BACK OR NOT?

And, just like that, there’s Tommy. He’s got a black eye and he’s shaking, like he’s expecting to be killed again, but when he saw Sam Nook he ran.

“Sam Nook?” He whispered, as Nook gathered him into a hug. “Is this real?”

IT’S REAL. Nook reassured. I’M NOT GOING TO LET THEM HURT YOU ANY LONGER. ANY OF THEM.

Sam was already crying, but he started sobbing once Tommy came into sight, murmuring apologies and promises and anything that he can do to show how sorry he is. “I’m sorry, Tommy, I’m so sorry,”

Tommy was crying too. Nook could only stand and watch. “It’s okay, big man, really. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

The rest of the server got back their hope that day, but Nook? Nook got Tommy, and he got days on the roof of the rebuilt hotel with him, chatting about everything and nothing, and he got emotions, and maybe, throughout it all, as he smiled fondly as Tommy bickered with Ranboo, maybe humanity was worth the pain it brought.

[kiriluvbot]

pros of shipping rare pairs: you have to make your own content, creative freedom, less ship wars

cons: you have to make your own content

so here i am, making my own content. also, manga spoilers ahead.

—

seroroki, post war arc, in the hospital

—

nothing felt real.

not the uncomfortable plastic seat beneath him, not the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, not the ticking clock on the wall. most certainly not the school uniform clinging almost too tightly to his skin.

he was aware of every loose string of thread, of the sickly scent of sterilizer in the air, of the voices humming in tune with the lights. a door slammed to his left and he flinched.

“we can’t reach them, i don't know what’s going on—“

the battle against all for one and shigaraki ended only a few days ago, but it felt like no time at all and all the time in the world had passed. the number one hero, endeavor, had nearly been killed. half of hanta’s classmates were in hospital beds, unconscious or barely able to speak.

“endeavor, he—he’s down!”

the world had been turned upside down. hero society as everyone knew it was falling apart of the seams. heroes were dead. civilians. classmates. dead. cities were flattened, disintegrated or on fire. the very earth seemed to be crumbling.

“that—that thing. it’s coming this way. we have to move. sero—“

hanta sero wanted to be a hero. hanta wanted to be a hero dammit, but when the time came, what could he do? what could his quirk do? he was not strong enough, not fast enough, not smart enough. he applied to the best hero school in the world and trained until he felt like he was going to die and it was not enough.

the whole thing had felt like some terrible nightmare. the worst nightmare, worst case scenario, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. not as shigaraki during a whole city to dust, not as giantomachia flattened an entire forest, not as endeavor was knocked clear out of the sky. not as their friends lay on the ground dead or dying, not as civilians cried out for help under rubble, not as the bad guys slipped away like they were in no hurry at all.

“just—be careful out there, hanta. please.”

“sero, bub, come on.”

“come back to me in one piece. okay, shoto? promise me.”

a hand rests gently on sero’s shoulder. it makes him jump, immediately turning to search for the source. sero finds it’s just smiling kirishima, red hair down and framing his tired eyes. his heart races as another door shuts a little too hard.

“is it time?” sero’s voice sounds dry and foreign to himself.

“yeah,” kirishima replies. “let’s go see todoroki.”

the name alone is nearly enough to send sero buckling to the floor.

“shoto—where is he? why can’t i see him?”

“you need to calm down, kid. we’ve got everything under control.”

“tell me he’s going to be okay. tell me!”

sero is hardly aware of his own footsteps as a nurse leads them through a maze of blinding white halls. he’s numb and hyper aware all at the same time and it’s awful.

as soon as they’d gotten word that todoroki was awake, a small group consisting of sero, kirishima, satou, momo, and jirou left immediately to go see him. no word on bakugo yet, or midoriya. the three idiots dived head first into the worst of the battle. sero hadn’t known until hours later. he briefly recalls the dull look in kirishima’s eyes, how he merely clammed up and went silent. sero hadn't reacted quite the same. he only remembers falling to his knees, begging for answers.

not much comes to mind after that.

sero wishes now that he could see todoroki alone, that he could scoop him up and run away to some imaginary land where villains and heroes didn’t exist. where they could be safe.

he also considers turning tail and running back to his dorm and never leaving again. sero wasn’t sure how he could stand seeing todoroki in whatever state he was in—

“i am touya todoroki, the eldest son of endeavor.”

the flames, the smell of burnt—

the nurse leading them says, “his voice isn’t completely back yet, but he’s awake and doing well. just be careful, please.”

then the door opens. kirishima leads the way and sero finds he’s okay with that, because he’s quickly realizing that he’s not at all prepared. not even close.

shoto todoroki is leaned up on his bed, wrapped almost entirely in bandages. his baby blue hospital gown is too big for him; it dips off one shoulder. nearly his entire face is bandaged, his right arm, his chest too, it seems. what skin can be seen is dull, but his eyes are not. they shine with unshed tears that sero can see even from this distance.

“todoroki,” kirishima starts. “so glad to see you, man.”

the others chime in, smiling softly and hiding their hands behind their back, keeping a vice like grip on their self control. sero finds, for the first time ever, he can’t say a damn thing.

todoroki opens his mouth. the sound that comes out is horrible and broken, but he rasps out a simple hey, guys.

“you’re gonna need a full time translator,” kirishima jokes, and sero’s lip quirks despite the heaviness in the air.

and after a while, one by one, this little group dissipates. kirishima and sero are left, and then kirishima goes, too. his hand finds sero’s shoulder once more, and he shoots a see you later at todoroki before exiting.

and then it’s just them. sero and todoroki.

just like it’d been before this whole shit show started.

legs tangled, fingers entwined, promises made, confessions unsaid.

“hanta—“ that voice comes out again, raspy and shattered. “i—“

“you came back to us in one piece,” sero says, interrupting. “please don’t start to apologize.”

what he doesn’t say is: i didn't tell you before we left—i didn’t tell you because i was scared. and for a bit i thought i’d never see you again. for a bit i thought i was going to die. i thought you were going to—

sero sits on the bed, todoroki’s legs just barely a ghost behind him. this lighting makes him look paler than usual, makes his scar stand out, makes his hair look like fresh—

stop.

todoroki doesn’t even know where to start. he was sure he was going to die on the battlefield. he was sure he was going to die in dabi’s—no, touya’s arms. he was sure his brother was going to kill him.

when todoroki woke, all he could remember was the sheer terror he felt on that hill, his supposedly dead brother right in front of him, dancing like a mad man, laughing hysterically. it was like everything had been ripped out from underneath todoroki. he had become very unsure of everything he knew about himself, about his father, about his whole family at that moment. even more unsure than he’d been previously.

as much as todoroki wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that dabi was nothing but a meddling lunatic, the sensible part of him knew it was true.

endeavor may be number one hero but he had not succeeded at a single thing except making a monster out of his first born. the rest, well—you know how the story goes.

the truth made todoroki feel tainted, stained. it made him feel contaimniated and heavy and like maybe—maybe he should’ve let dabi finish the job. maybe, by killing shoto, touya would finally be free of whatever he had weighing on him. get rid of the thing that replaced him.

it had been on todoroki’s mind since he woke up. the truth would rage through the world like wildfire. endeavor would be scorned. shoto would forever been stuck in the shadow of his failures. he’d never be free—never—

sero grabs his hand.

sero watches as todoroki grimaces, turns his face away. he watches as todoroki starts to guard himself, starts to clam up—

todoroki pulls his hand free.

“sho—“

“you should go,” todoroki hisses. even as he speaks them, he regrets every word. it all comes out wrong and harsh, rough around the edges.

what he doesn’t say is: you’re too good for me, hanta. why can’t you see that? why can’t you see i’ll only ever weigh you down? my family’s a disaster, i’m a mess, and you’re—you’re you.

there’s a pause. the air is heavy. sero’s hand is cold. he watches as todoroki avoids his gaze, as more tears well in his eyes. nothing feels real.

“you—what?”

“hanta,” todoroki whispers. “go. please.”

and it’s like the world is ending, all over again. if he hadn’t been sitting, sero might have collapsed at the knees again. he wonders briefly if his ears need to get checked, if he heard him correctly, if the world really is ending.

and to make it so much worse, todoroki says, “you deserve better, dammit.” his voice barely raises a single octave. “don't want you getting dragged down because of me. ‘cause of my family.”

he says me like it’s poison on his tongue.

todoroki pulls into himself completely, pulling entirely out of sero’s orbit, leaving the room icy and feeling nearly empty. sero isn’t sure exactly what he’s feeling, but he knows it must be something close to anger. his brows knit together as he tries to keep a tight leash on his emotions, but sometimes even hanta sero loses control.

sero stands so fast his vision blurs for half a second. todoroki looks meek and small beneath him, hands clamped together, eyes dull and face wrapped up. sero’s heart beats all the way down to his toes, the room closing in on him slowly. it’s iciness seeps into his bones, fear and anger and confusion simmering in his veins.

“you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think i’m gonna let you shove me away so easily,” sero cuts out, ignoring the bewildered look on todoroki’s face. “i know you’re hurting, shoto. and i know you're strong, but you don’t have to do this on your own.” sero unclenches his fists but god, his chest feels tight. “we’re just kids, dammit! you don’t have to carry all this weight, just let me help you. let me be here for you!”

“hanta—“

“i’m here because i—“ you know, sho, i really— “because i care about you.”

the room seemed to shrink in that very short time period, sero’s chest heaving with all the things he didn’t say, all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do. he’d spent nearly every single day in the past year-ish by todoroki’s side, training, laughing, sharing manga. he’d grown close to someone who seemed so untouchable when he first met him. sero got to be there as todoroki brought down his own walls, came out of his own shell, became someone todoroki himself could be proud of.

and now this idiot wanted to push sero away? because he deserves better? because todoroki didn’t want sero to see the ugly truth of his family history? because todoroki thought he himself was too much for sero?

“just trying to protect you,” todoroki mutters, not daring to look away from sero’s face. not yet. “i’ll only—“

“don’t—“ sero snaps. “don’t say it. you know it’s not true. you know it isn’t.”

todoroki finally breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to his hands. his shoulders heave as he takes a shaky breath. if he could just get it into hanta’s thick skull that he hung the stars, that he was a god send, an angel on earth, that todoroki was unworthy and undeserving of someone like him—

todoroki doesn’t have time to reel in the tears as they start to fall. slowly at first, then all at once like the dam had finally broken. sero is at his side in an instant, like todoroki hadn’t just told him to leave, like todoroki didn't just try to make it obvious he’s undeserving of someone as kind and caring as sero. and here sero is, further proving that point as he sits carefully on the bed and gently takes todoroki’s face in his hands, fingers ghosting over bandages. the touch is searing and unbearable and not enough all at once.

“‘m sorry,” todoroki chokes out. “sorry, sorry. hanta—“

sero lifts todoroki’s face ever so slowly, and todoroki finally sees the redness of his dark eyes, the bottom lashes clumped together from a cry that might have happened just before he got here. todoroki can’t seem to get a handle on his own tears, can’t seem to reel in his uneven breathing, can’t seem to stamp out the shaking nerves dancing up his arms. grief rages inside him, grief and guilty and that same achy breaky loneliness todoroki hadn’t felt in so many months.

“please, shoto,” sero whispers, so close todoroki can’t even breathe. “everything is a mess right now but please. let me stay by your side. don't—“ his throat catches, “—don't shut me out, okay?”

“someday you’re gonna realize you don’t have to carry the weight of the universe all on your own, todoroki.”

“sero—“

sunset colors begin to pour in through cracked curtains, washing them in gentle warmth. sero’s gaze doesn’t waver, his touch doesn’t disappear. he’s light and he’s holy—pure and too kind. todoroki wraps hesitant hands around sero’s wrists, trying his hardest to reign in his tears. he lets their foreheads press together slowly, carefully.

promises are made, confessions stay unspoken. todoroki doesn’t let go, not again, not ever.

—

[letsunity]

Not Afraid - Chapter 4

Summery -  

The Bad Batch go to Tatooine to resupply and avoid the Empire. As per the usual, Omega gets separated from the group. Fortunately for her, Krayt's Claw just so happens to be nearby. Bossk and Embo guide her to Boba Fett, who takes interest in why the Kaminoans want her. It's a reluctant partnership, with the Bad Batch having to rely on Krayt's Claw to navigate non-military life.

With some wandering around, Bossk managed to get them a job.

It wasn't anything big, but the pay was good enough - They could get rations, fuel, the essentials.

According to the client, someone is stealing from local farmers. All they have to do is catch them, get their reward and move on. With Hunter's tracking, it shouldn't be a difficult task to complete. They were only dealing with a thief, so Omega would be fine to tag along, which she was happy about.

Seeing how excited she was to join was sweet.

"Don't expect anything, laddies and lady. It goes to plan if you don't have one!" Bossk hissed, cocking his blaster with a grin.

"That doesn't make any sense," Echo countered, pulling a face at the reptile.

"Because you're thinking like a soldier," Bossk smirked, flicking Echo's head. "Plans seldom work. All you need is explosives, knowing what you're doing and instinct. Trust yourself, your abilities, and retreat to bring back more explosives."

"Sounds great!" Wrecker agreed, itching to blow something up. "You guys can get the col illegal stuff, right? We can make things go boom?" The reptile snorted, equally happy about explosions.

With them so happy, Hunter was curious about something. Why didn't they rent speeders to this location; why walk?

The only reason would be that Boba wanted them to see something.

"You wanna see something cool?" Boba asked Omega, having a confident smirk on his face.

He whistled loudly, changing the tune with a harsh rhythm like he was imitating a call. Bossk already knew, rolling his reptilian eyes at his nephew. He knew that it was to give the squirt something special, but still, he was showing off.

Omega waited, uncertain of why he made that noise. While waiting, she saw a wolf-like creature climb atop a hill. Several others appeared, though far darker than the main one. The white one slowly stalked towards them, sniffing warily.

Boba knelt, lightly guiding her hand out and upwards. There was tingling at her fingertips like there was an electrical charge coursing through her. The titanic canid stepped to her, their wet black nose brushing against her palm. In that brief touch, there was the spark of connection.

She could feel it, and it could feel her. It lowered its head into her hand, making eye contact through the helmet.

The wolf grunted towards Wrecker, Echo and Hunter, shaking their head. It grumbled, making several sounds towards them as the other wolves began to run away. With a stamp of its reptile-like paw, it barked and ran off, leaving them confused.

"The centre returned makes seven; burnt comes and makes it six. Anguished are the five, particularly the four. Soon to be three, suddenly two. One shines through, seven again," Bossk translated, thinking over the cryptic warning.

"That's incredibly ominous," Hunter stated, unsure of what to make of that.

"You always get stuff like that from them. It's part of their cryptic 'future sight' or whatever they call it," Boba shrugged, not overly bothered. "Other than the ominous warnings, they're cool to meet. Get them some Wookie meat, and they love you; they're obsessed with it."

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

This new Empire seemed interesting. It didn't affect the Bounty Hunter's Guild, but it could prove profitable.

"Cad Bane. Am I right?" asked some stiff-upper-lip rookie.

Bane didn't care about them, not bothering to remember their name. Admiral Ram-whatever, it wasn't important.

"I prefer meeting on planets without incontinent clouds, Admiral. I don't like rain," Bane hissed, his distorted voice shivering the blank human. Humans had a habit of looking similar to one another. "My price is doubled for that alone."

"I understand, Mister Bane. I can assure you that you'll be incredibly well paid for," said Admiral Rampart, sitting across from the Duros. "There is a bounty on a child named Omega."

"Don't bother. That little brat Boba's probably already involved. At least with his father, you could make a deal, but the boy is annoyingly stubborn."

The kid wasn't popular because of that and was a pain in Bane's ass. His commitment to his rules was somewhat admirable, but it wasn't practical. Even with his little club, the jobs he'll get won't do him much good. He's not going to amount to much in the future.

"You misunderstand, Mister Bane. The Kaminoans want to capture her, and I suspect it's to encourage Tarkin to keep the cloning program. I want you to stop it."

"As I said, it's not worth the time. It doesn't matter where I go; the brat will follow. I'd lead him straight to you, meaning I lose credits."

"I don't want you to capture her, Mister Bane. I want you to kill her."

"Now, that's far simpler. That's triple my pay, but if you'd like, I'll bring you the skin like a rug."

"No, I only need her eliminated. The cloning program must end. To assist you, I'll have my best team to work alongside you. CT-9904 will follow your orders without question, and the other three will follow his example. If this 'Boba' gets in the way, kill him."

"Bounty hunter's aren't allowed to kill each other. I can certainly maim him, though. Give me some credits upfront, some immunity, and I'll bring you her head on a platter."

This was going to be easy.

With the weird female clone out of the picture, project War Mantle will be ahead of schedule. The Empire can grow and prosper without the expensive republican remnants. Unfortunately for this Bane fellow, he couldn't be in the picture afterwards. When the girl was dead, 9904 will kill the hunter as well.

Nobody will know that she existed or mattered. Even with this 'Boba' character, he doubted that things would go wrong. It's only a matter of time.

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

Meeting the wolves were amazing; the white one was soft and warm.

Omega liked the feeling of the grass against her hands, picking a few to inspect them.

While fascinated by the blades of green, she failed to see a nearby Loth-cat. It hissed and lunged at her, its fur raised and bristled.

Instinctively, Hunter aimed his blaster at the animal. It growled, the creature deceptively savage. Boba got on one knee and took some dried meat from his pocket, encouraging the animal to approach.

It hesitantly stepped forward, its pupils widening. It licked his hand then took the meat, backing away from whence it came. It climbed down a hole, poking its head back up again some moments later. Three minuscule heads popped up, chirping at the newcomers. It's only a mother protecting her kits.

Wrecker got down, wanting to have a go as well. Boba handed him some meat, motioning for it to come again. This time, one of the kits investigated, sniffing the food. The mother joined, then the other two kittens.

The family of feral animals chewed the meat, unusually passive and docile.

Omega lightly stroked one of the kittens, amazed by the feeling of their fur. Wrecker grinned, his gloved hand licked by the other two kits.

"Can we keep 'em?" Wrecker begged, looking at Hunter with puppy eyes.

"This is their home," Hunter answered, letting him down easy. "This is where they want to be, so this is where they'll stay."

First, it was reading their emotions, and now communicating with animals. It stank of force-sensitivity, even though he doubted it.

They skipped back into their hole, chirping at them as they passed. Omega waved goodbye, excited to see even more animals.

"How do you do that?" She asked, eager to learn it herself.

"Instinct. Mandalorians are raised from birth to trust themselves, to trust what their gut tells them. It told me that she was only protecting her babies, nothing malicious. You'll learn someday."

"I want to meet all kinds of creatures!"

"There's no limit to what you'll see in this galaxy, Megs," Bossk assured, ruffling the helmet she wore. "So long as Dad Batch are right next to ya."

"We're not the Dad Batch," Echo corrected, although he didn't sound so certain.

"Dad Batch or Bro Batch, either's good with me!" Wrecker smiled, slapping Bossk's shoulder. "We need a fight!" The Trandoshan snarled in agreement, eager to bruise the clone.

They were only a few minutes away from the farm, and in three hours, dusk would begin to set. The more Hunter hung with these odd pair, the more they grew on him. They were capable of skinning folk alive but having that protecting Omega was alright.

Boba was showing Omega a lot of things, even giving her his helmet. He was only three or four years older than her; he had a lot to teach. He was good with kids, too, something Hunter was still learning.

Then there was Bossk's nickname, Dad Batch. Hunter was mimicking what Cut did, so was he being a father to Omega? He never thought of being a parent before, but the past two weeks were unexpected. Maybe he could be a dad to her, be someone to look after her as she deserved.

Not only would Hunter learn a lot about being a mercenary, but interacting with children, too.

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

Saw looked over the bodies, the stench of burnt flesh searing his nostrils. His face scrunched in rage, practically seizing with pure rage.

"I'm sorry, sir, but none survived," Lorc sighed, shaking his head. "They were all wiped out. Not just that, but the dead trooper's wounds are the same as our departed. Friendly fire, presumably."

"Which damned clone was it?"

"That's the issue. It wasn't a clone; it was a random guy in clone armour," Edrio continued, confusing the man. "We've estimated five to have been shot by precise skills matching a clone. The rest were random people. The damage indicates a distance, probably a sniper."

"I know who did it," Saw spat, looking away from the burned bodies. "And we're going to make him pay for it. I want the Bad Batch; I want the one that killed these people as though they were swine. We'll make him suffer for this."

"He and the empire, sir," Mari agreed, charging her rifle.

Saw would destroy this empire, even if it killed him.

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

The farmer was both overjoyed and miserable.

The thief stole food and much of his equipment, most of which she can't replace due to financial struggles. Bossk terrified his Tooka cat, and Wrecker kept bumping his head on the ceiling. Being the second smallest, Boba wasn't concerned with the Toydarian's accommodations.

"Every night, the loth-rat takes more and more. I've set up traps, boobytraps, I even bought a droid, but they stole all of it!" She cried, hovering in distress. "I need them gone. I don't care what you do with them, so long as they leave us be."

"How're you going to pay?" Bossk asked, getting an elbow to the side from Echo. "If you want to afford rations, this is how."

"The local farmers have pitched in. The most we can do is fifteen thousand credits," she sighed, slowly drifting onto a chair. "Our crops haven't done well this year. That war has stripped the galaxy of life; even the planets are too exhausted from it."

"We'll take half," Boba decided, much to Bossk's annoyance. "Lothal's yaim par pirates bal smugglers. Vi ne'waadas eyn sur'haai olar," he added in a strange language, getting a grunt in response.

From the sounds of it, that was Mando'a, the tongue of Mandalorians. Hunter wasn't the best at languages; Tech was more specialised for that.

"By the light of Lothal's moons, you're a blessing to this valley," she whimpered, wiping her eyes. "We wish you luck on this bounty, Fetts."

Plural?

"I'm his uncle," Bossk explained to the confused four, patting Boba's shoulder and glancing at the Toydarian. "We'll make sure that they won't come again."

And so, the quest is on. Find the thief, get paid and get the hell off of Lothal. Omega was happy to be tagging along, asking about boobytraps and the sort. Wrecker picked her up, concerned that she was getting tired from the walking.

Echo would rather have stayed with Highslinger, but walking alone at night wasn't a good idea. Bossk took notice of his hesitancy, snorting for the clone's attention.

"I'm assuming it's all Techno Union?" Echo nodded at the question, the lack of feeling in his 'legs' creeping through his spine. What was left of 'his' spine. "We know a gal who can help with that. She fixes Dengar and Highslinger up after jobs. A friend of Omega's is a friend of ours."

"I'll have to take you up on that. I'd be happier to leave this all back on Skako Minor."

"We can blow it up if that'll ease the anguish."

"Did I hear blow up?" Wrecker interrupted, practically shaking from excitement. "What's going boom?"

"Nothing for now," Echo sighed, shaking his head. "You're going to drop Omega."

"I'm fine!" She assured, gripping onto Wrecker's armour. "Your eyes are pretty."

"Thank you," Bossk said, making a mixture of a chirp and purr in response. "You're a lovely young lady yourself. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Lil Mega."

Ever since meeting Hunter, things just got better for Omega. She had Clone Force 99 and now Krayt's Claw, an odd but loving family of misfits. They made her feel special, more than just a mere assistant or failed experiment. Bossk talked to her like she was an equal, as did the others.

Being around them only added to the coldness of Kamino. They didn't show nearly the compassion Bossk did, and he'd only known her two days or so. Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Tech were more family than the Kaminoans ever were, and she wanted it to stay that way.

Even though Crosshair was under the chip, she wanted to get to know him. The lads missed him, and she wanted to know who he really was. Not what the chip made him into or was making him do.

With Boba and his gang, it should be a whole lot easier to help him.

Far away, sitting atop a pile of stones, Fennec lowered her rifle.

[beelspillowpet]

The Brothers with Depression

Oh man this is gonna be hard to write but here we go...!

CONTENT WARNING!!!

~

Lucifer

He probably is actually just depressed. He was pretty good at hiding the effects of the Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup for long enough anyways.

Just like with the Syrup, Lucifer eventually caves. He locks himself in his study (or room) and warns his brothers that there will be serious consequences for disturbing him.

He turns up the music in whichever room and just loses himself in his emotions. Not only is it difficult to keep the secret of Lilith from his brothers, but to bare the responsibility after the war, along with all the work Lord Diavolo shovels on to him, ON TOP of having to deal with the nonsense that happens on a daily?

Lucifer is depressed, and he’s a very tired and sad man. However, due to his pride, thankfully he is far from doing anything drastic. Everyone needs a good cry from time to time, and that’s just how Lucifer is.

Mammon

Depressed? Mammon? You betcha!

I mean, if you listen to your brothers constantly drag your name through the mud for centuries, you’re bound to have it get to you eventually too. Even Satan looks down on him, and he’s supposed to be stronger than him!

He doesn’t like to show how much it truly bothers him, so when he gets in those moods he either goes out, or locks himself in his room. Sometimes he thinks that he should have died instead of Lilith, but those thoughts are gone as quickly as they come.

Being the second oldest is rough, but no one else could fit that role better than The GREAT Mammon! He’ll bounce back quickly and dish out the insults as they come. He recognizes he’s something like a punching bag for his family, and it’s better they do that than actively be depressed.

Leviathan

Depressed ™

Not just about the Lilith situation, but he’s always been lonely. Even when he’s around people he loves and who love him back. He was envious of how much love Lilith got, even going so far as to say they all loved her more than him. He never says this though.

Leviathan’s depression probably comes from knowing that how he feels and what he wants out of love and life itself can be unrealistic. Life is unfair and cruel for a socially awkward shut-in Otaku, and the odds of him finding that happiness decrease by the day.

However, nothing makes him feel better like his brothers spending time doing things he likes. Mammon stopping by to play video games, the brothers all sitting together playing TSL Monopoly (even though Mammon always wins, ugh. The greedy bastard.) are some of his fondest memories in recent times.

Satan

He personally wouldn’t describe it as “depression” but more like Hills and Valleys. In secret though, he is sort of depressed.

He can’t compare to the history of most of his brothers. They fought in a war, and lost someone beloved. He thinks it’s poetic in a way that he was created. Perhaps he’s the replacement for Lilith?

That thought is dashed quickly, as his brain reminds him of the real circumstances of his birth. He loathes Lucifer with all his angry heart, and wishes he could have been born under normal circumstances.

He’s mostly sure that with the power of knowledge, he can overcome the short-comings of his birth. But sometimes he can’t help but feel like he’s wasting his time, and will always be in Lucifer’s shadow.

Asmodeus

Like Satan, he wouldn’t describe himself as depressed. But what upsets him is far from shallow.

He’s sick and tired of everyone seeing him as this lustful sexy icon. Well- that’s not entirely true. He revels in it, in all the attention from the cute men and women who see him. He just wishes that wasn’t all they see in him.

He has feelings- a LOT of them actually- and it can be exhausting going out religiously, and hooking up with your incubus, or witch every other night. Sometimes he just wants someone to hold him and remind him that he’s beautiful, even when he’s crying.

Asmo is very dependent on Lavender scented oils and the likes to help him get to sleep at night. When his anxiety over comes him he thinks about how he doesn’t want to be the Avatar of Lust anymore and it plagues his brain. He figures he’s tired and needs to recharge. It’s a fear everyone can see, but never talks about.

Beelzebub

Definitely. He’s responsible for the death of his little sister Lilith. He saw the light leave her eyes as she was shot out of the sky. He saw the fear as she began to fall, while gripping Belphie.

He’s certain Belphie will never forgive him, even thousands of years later. Instead of talking about it though, he eats his problems away. When meal time is interrupted, he flies into a rage over it. The others think it’s his Gluttony, but in reality its the irritability radiating off his anxiety and depression.

He takes to working out and playing sports to feel better. Especially after binge eating so much. It makes him feel big and strong, and when he wraps his arms around his brothers he feels like he’s protecting them from the world.

Life is far from easy for Beel, but he’s taking little steps on his own to feel better. He probably meditates, surprisingly enough! Something Asmo taught him about, and they both do from time to time. You can bet he does yoga too!

Belphegor

OH YEAH. He DEFINITELY has depression.

His younger sister died as a result of his twin brother choosing him instead. In his misguided eyes, it’s his fault Lilith was killed, and regrets being born for it.

He has awful sleeping problems, because the thoughts of Lilith’s last moments plague him. He’s addicted to sleep medication, though doesn’t abuse it often- just when he needs it. (truly)

He feels as though all his brothers blame him secretly too. They’re frightened of his capabilities, especially after killing MC. While things turned out okay, sometimes his mind supplies him with the thought that this is all a façade, and eventually they’ll get tired of lying to him that everything is okay. Fully believes he’s a monster, and nothing can change that.

[gffa]

YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO BEAR WITH ME ON THE LENGTH OF THIS BECAUSE I HAVE SOME FEELINGS AND ALSO   I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL, OKAY.  THE HILL OF HOW MUCH I LOVE OBI-WAN KENOBI AND YOU HAVE PROVIDED ME WITH A CHANCE TO YELL ABOUT THIS, sorry not sorry. Obi-Wan is definitely not an emotionless robot!  It takes me all of five minutes to put together a collection just from the movies of Obi-Wan expressing emotion all over the place, from worry to frustration to happiness to gut wrenching sorrow to anger to joy to pride. You can look at any one of these gifs and see exactly what Obi-Wan is feeling and showing:

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to vomit his feelings everywhere–and the idea that, if he doesn’t, he’s expressing himself “wrong” doesn’t sit very well with me, especially as someone who may be effusive and feelings-vomity on-line, but in my personal life, I’m a lot more reserved and I don’t express myself in the same way. And that’s fine.  I’m fine!  Other people like this are fine!  Obi-Wan is fine!  He has feelings, he expresses them in the way that works for himself and he’s generally pretty fine with others being who they are as well--the only time he gets after Anakin is when he’s literally a boiling rage pot that’s about to explode. Which leads to:  Of course Obi-Wan tries to help Anakin and says nice things to him! I was rereading Obi-Wan & Anakin and noticed a whole lot of praise in just those five issues!

Praise!  Easily given and warmly meant and it’s not exactly a rare occurrence! Also in Revenge of the Sith:

That wasn’t exactly dragged out of Obi-Wan in that scene, he said it very easily and very warmly and there’s every indication that this was not rare, especially given all the other examples in canon to go with it! As for helping Anakin--he does that, too. In Age of the Republic - Obi-Wan Kenobi, when Anakin gets upset about feeling like Obi-Wan doesn’t want him around, Obi-Wan makes a point to specifically talk to him, to tell Anakin about what he was going through and help Anakin understand.  He talks about himself and his own experiences as well!

They resolve their issues (especially away from Palpatine’s influence) and understand each other better, that Obi-Wan shows warmth and honesty and kindness to Anakin and gets the same back, they were good together. Same for in Age of the Republic - Anakin Skywalker, when Anakin is struggling with the war (as they all are), Obi-Wan approaches him and has an honest conversation with him and praises Anakin (as well as, at the end of the issue, he gives full credit to Anakin’s hard work is what gave those people a real chance). Again, it’s easy to see what emotions Obi-Wan is going through here, just as much as it’s easy to see that he’s proud of Anakin and the person he’s worked so hard to become:

Obi-Wan also does this in The Clone Wars, at multiple points, like when Anakin is about to boil over because of Rush Clovis and Padme, Obi-Wan goes to talk to him (Anakin is the one who pushes him away, though, clearly regrets how he lashes out, but doesn’t call Obi-Wan back), tries to help him:

And also Attack of the Clones! Obi-Wan is RIGHT THERE, asking after Anakin, asking him about how he looks tired and if he’s sleeping:

That is the face of someone who is concerned for Anakin, who is here and listening to what Anakin has to say.  His advice about dreams passing in time (because Anakin doesn’t say he had a vision, he doesn’t say his mother was in trouble in those dreams, only that he’s dreaming about her) is actually really good advice, based on what Obi-Wan knows of the situation. It’s Anakin who changes the subject rather than explain more, by saying he’d rather dream of Padme. This scene, btw, is framed with two other important scenes: - Anakin sweating and panicking while they’re on their way to see Padme, where Obi-Wan makes a ridiculous comment (that there’s no way he actually believed) that yanks Anakin right out of his anxiety spiral and helps him calm down - Anakin starts to spiral again when Padme says he’ll always be that little boy to her, that he’s upset she didn’t seem glad to see him at all, so Obi-Wan is like, “Be mindful of your feelings, Anakin.  But she was pleased to see us.” to cheer Anakin up. As for the Council scene--Obi-Wan is absolutely on Anakin’s side there.  Being on someone’s side isn’t just blindly agreeing with them, it’s looking out for them!  It’s telling them, no, don’t make a scene here, it’s not the right time, instead of just letting them make the situation worse. Anakin was being unwilling to see why the Council was reacting this way--no, he hadn’t earned being a Master (if he was that close to going off the deep end the way he we see he actually does over the course of the next few days, he was not ready to be a Jedi Master in anything but physical skills and that’s leaving out the emotional/mental having your shit together part, which is a really important part!) and so Obi-Wan was getting him to calm the fuck down and think about this whole thing.  Like, that’s the whole point of their conversation afterwards--Anakin swears he didn’t ask Palpatine for this, but Obi-Wan says, “But it's what you wanted. Your friendship with Chancellor Palpatine seems to have paid off.” and Obi-Wan’s right about the way this looks really shady and they have to move carefully here. One of the most frustrating things about Anakin--and I say this with affection and love, because I love him so much--is that he has difficulties not being resentful of anything taking priority over personal loyalty, even when Obi-Wan is being loyal to him by looking out for him in a bigger picture sort of way.  Blindly supporting someone is just enabling them, but finding the balance between when they need praise and when they need to be told to get their shit together, that’s a real friendship. Especially when Obi-Wan so very clearly loves Anakin, like, just look at that guy!  It’s written all over his face!  The entire climax of ROTS wouldn’t have had any emotional impact if we didn’t already understand that of course Obi-Wan loved him and that we could see it in the way he interacted with Anakin.

[thebluelemontree]

I know GRRM has previously stated that ADwD!Tyrion is at his lowest point, but I find it very hard to see how he will ever redeem himself given what he has done and what he has participated in. Do you believe readers gloss over the tragedies he faces i.e. slavery, the Tysha revelation, and do you see path for redemption?

I think with the fandom in general there does seem to be a proportional relationship to the amount of careful consideration people give their problematic favs versus how little they give to a character that is decidedly not their fav. Full disclosure: Tyrion is not one of my favs. There are moments I don’t like him and I don’t personally connect with him. He’s deliberately written to be someone most readers will wrestle with. Out of all the POVs, he’s probably the most psychologically complex and fraught with a minefield of trauma-induced hot buttons. As we know, profound trauma and horrific family dynamics rarely produce saintly victims who suffer beautifully, quietly, and always behave magnanimously. I am by no means an expert on Tyrion; however, I do know he definitely started out as a good person. Early AGOT Tyrion is a pretty decent fellow who validated Jon’s feelings of anger and resentment and designed a saddle to accommodate Bran’s disability for no other reason than he just empathized with them both. Even later on, he does stand up for Sansa against Joffrey’s cruelty, even though their marriage was a miserable farce and act of war against her family. Sansa seems to bear no personal ill-will toward him despite it. I think we should leave room for the possibility the impression he made with small kindnesses in the beginning could come back around to foster peace and mutual forgiveness between the Starks and Lannisters toward the end. 

But before that he was a sweet, loving kid until he was brutally disabused of the notion that anyone could possibly love him. I can’t imagine anything worse than your own father violently raping by proxy two innocent kids for the crime of his son being happy and believing for one single second that he was loved for himself. He’s experienced a lifetime of continuous physical, sexual, mental, and verbal abuse on top of ableist bigotry and repeated scapegoating that nearly cost him his life more than once. For all his dark gray, unlikable moments, it’s actually kind of a miracle that Tyrion still retains what goodness he does have when he could have been totally fucked up beyond repair, without any pity or compassion left in him, and hating all of humanity with every fiber of his being.   

GRRM does a good job of delivering blow after intensifying blow leading up to the moment he snaps and murders Tywin and Shae.There’s the overwhelming stress of the trial for the regicide he was framed for, one where his guilt and conviction is a foregone conclusion. The public humiliation and betrayal of Shae’s false testimony where his sexuality is served up for mockery. The people of KL are literally bloodthirsty and cheering for his death. There’s the momentary hope and crushing defeat of Oberyn Martell championing him in the trial by combat. Then finally Jaime drops the Tysha bomb. I mean, wow... it’s a lot. It’s totally understandable why he goes to the Hand’s tower to confront his father instead of escaping immediately. Personally, I don’t think he has to be sorry about killing Tywin at all. That pile of excrement had it coming and deserved a painful, ignoble death on the shitter at minimum. Shae is the only one there that has enough mitigating factors to say she definitely didn’t deserve to be strangled to death, though I get how it happened in the heat of the moment under intense mental duress. I think he needs to atone for that one, and I say that as someone who thinks Shae is a callous, conniving, greedy, low-level bloodsucker without any redeeming qualities. Yet, killing either of them, especially Tywin, didn’t bring Tyrion any peace or satisfaction whatsoever. Kinslaying is still up there with the most cursed of transgressions. It’s major part of his spiral into the tormented abyss we see in ADWD.  

It’s been a long time since I read ADWD as it’s not my favorite part of the series, so my memory of all the details is not the best. And like I said, I am not an expert on Tyrion. The general impression I get is that Tyrion thinks that he thinks he hates humanity and he’s finally become the monster everyone believed him to be. So he rages against practically everything and everyone. He certainly harbors a hatred for the people of KL and the sister sitting on the throne. There is a high probability he acts upon those feelings and helps usher in a catastrophic tragedy out of vengeance. Just as an example, he is aware of the wildfire cache sitting under KL and that knowledge can be used in a really bad way. Might be that crossing a point of no return, which may feel glorious in the moment, is ironically the thing that causes him to recoil in horror and regret after the dust settles. Consider Tyrion’s dream about the duality of himself: 

That night Tyrion Lannister dreamed of a battle that turned the hills of Westeros as red as blood. He was in the midst of it, dealing death with an axe as big as he was, fighting side by side with Barristan the Bold and Bittersteel as dragons wheeled across the sky above them. In the dream he had two heads, both noseless. His father led the enemy, so he slew him once again. Then he killed his brother, Jaime, hacking at his face until it was a red ruin, laughing every time he struck a blow. Only when the fight was finished did he realize that his second head was weeping.

If the two heads are both noseless, then they are both present day Tyrion. There are two sides of him right now that are equally capable of reveling in bloody vengeance and weeping for someone he still loves even though they wounded him deeply. 

Then what? Well, the thing about hitting your lowest point is that you can either dwell there until you fatally self-destruct or you can find your way back up. Granted, ADWD Tyrion is in a dark place, but there’s still space to get even darker for at least a little while in TWOW. It is possible Tyrion spends the rest of his life atoning for his worst actions during this period, using his intellectual gifts (even the parts that are Tywin writ small) to serve the needs of the people he has harmed. And it does make good story sense for someone who grew to hate humanity for very understandable reasons still found it in himself to care about it enough to save it. Even sacrifice himself for it if necessary since there’s a strong possibility he is a dragon rider. Since all signs seem to point to him ultimately playing a heroic role against the Others, we can rule out the idea that he just says good riddance to bad rubbish and laughs while the world ends. That has to mean something, right? 

There is always a path for redemption for anyone who sees the wrong of what they’ve done, has heartfelt remorse, and commits themselves to meaningful and lasting change. It’s not really about forgiveness at all, although that sometimes happens alongside redemption and it’s certainly easier for people to forgive once they see change. Redemption is work the character must do themselves for the right reasons. It’s not a status granted to them by other people. In fact, it’s probably more sincere when someone decides to do right anyway even if no one ever thinks better of them. If Tyrion (or any other character) is unforgivable to you, then the best worst thing that could happen is that they have to live a long life and spend all of it repaying their karmic debt. Even if he’s not my fav or your fav, a lot of people out there still do relate to him and the things he’s been through. A lot of people are not okay and not good victims from the trauma they’ve suffered. Fiction with redemption that is possible for anyone gives people hope that they could be better too, and there’s no other instance in the books that makes me think GRRM is cynical about redemption. The only way redemption isn’t happening for Tyrion is if he choses not pursue it. 

[themagicmistress]

Heere’s an excerpt from the first draft of ‘Flowers, Soft Beneath My Heels.’ Scrapped most of it, but I liked this scene! Soo, here it is

~

Rumblecusp is a nice place. The sky is clear and has been most of the days they’ve been here. The air is still and windless save the light breezes that simply ruffle the tree leaves.

Despite the relative peace of the environment, which on any other day would be idyllic, her view of the town is one of slight chaos, and in a different way than it had been last night. People are angry, stone-faced and yelling at each other, faces darkened with rage. Yelling is fine. She has a feeling they’re just doing it to do something instead of nothing in their situation. Some, however, wander through the village with lost faces, looking pleadingly up at the sky as if for answers. It has none to give them, she knows. The Moonweaver has said her piece.

But Yasha’s not looking for trouble, or any of the previous followers of the not-god. She peers curiously around the village, trying to call back to mind the location Anola had told her to go looking for.

She has to knock on a few doors and then awkwardly backtrack as she’s met with more than one tear-streaked face until Yasha finds an older man with a long wispy beard and weary black eyes.

“No alcohol here,” he says roughly and goes to slam the door. She wedges her toe between it and the frame before he can. His eyebrows fly nearly to his hairline. “Of course,” says the man she really hopes is Kresh, “I could always reconsider.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Yasha reassures and he leans back from her a bit. “I’m not going to hurt you,” She says more insistently and Kresh nods quickly. She stifles a sigh. “Look, I’m just looking to buy something nice for a friend and Anola said you were the person to go to.”

The pressure on her foot lessens and the door swings open. “Oh,” his face is sheepish, “Something sweet, right?”

“Yes,” Yasha tells him. Her heels ache and her heart’s still hopping a half-beat too fast from the earlier scare. She wants to be safe beneath the protection of the dome, her friends breathing warm beside her.

The candies are twenty-five gold, a bit more than mainland prices, but well worth it.

She sticks her head into the dome and there’s a second of relief as she sees them all sitting next to each other, not having moved an inch. 

“Jester?” Yasha makes sure her voice is quiet with Beau leaning against Caleb’s shoulder, the two of them having dozed off. “Can I talk to you?”

Jester looks up from underneath Fjord’s arm, who doesn’t appear to notice his own slow attempts to pull her closer. “Sure, what do you want?”

She hesitates. “Just about stuff. Stuff that happened today.” The cleric’s face falls and for a second Yasha feels bad but she didn’t want Nott or the others to bug the tiefling about the candies.

“Oh. Coming.”

They don’t go far from the dome, Jester’s steps short and hurried. She’s also reluctant to go far, to stray more than she needs to.

Yasha pulls out the small sack out and hands it to her. “Here. I thought you’d like these and I also thought you’d prefer to not share, so… here I am giving them to you away from the others.”

The moment Jester figures out what the rock-like amber stones are, her face lights up. “Yasha!” she gasps, and her face breaks into a grin, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Well, I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and tonight was a lot. So.” She rubs the back of her neck. “You deserve it.” 

Jester pops one into her mouth and groans and her stomach does a split-second drop as she thinks oh-no-I-messed-up before she realizes it’s a happy noise.

“These are so good!” Jester shoves the bag back into her hands, “They’re really sweet and sorta crunchy at the same time. Holy cow, I can’t believe you got these here, Yasha, because when we leave I’m never gonna be able to get them again.” Her words are a little garbled with the candy in her mouth, but then she gives a pointed look to the bag. “What are you waiting for, are you going to eat one already or not?”

“They’re for you,” she refutes.

“Yeah, but I want you to have one, so eat it,” she tells her flatly. Yasha eats the candy. 

It’s a little caramelly and it melts in her mouth, with tiny hints of vanilla, all flavours she only knows because of Jester. It spreads in her teeth, sticky but pleasing, and in the center is a hard middle she discovers is a nut as she grinds it between her molars.

The tiefling’s fingers are deft, plucking candy after candy from the bag. They don’t shake and her friend’s demeanor remains unbothered by the night’s events.

What had her face looked like, fingers clenched around green robes, eyes teary toward liquid moonlight? She can only see what Jester shows her now. Someone delighted, maybe a little too delighted, by a simple gift of confectionery. Yasha only knows how she felt, watching a friend drift into the sky, glittering with chains like early morning dew on spiderwebs. Her pulse drumming in her ears, a war drum, teeth clenched, sword clenched, and useless.

Would that she could fell a god for her friend, but Yasha has never been able to claim herself saviour.

“Wanna ‘nother?” Jester offers, face curious now. She swallows. “How are you, Yasha?”

She blinks, taken aback. “I’m fine. Jester, are you okay? That’s— that was a lot up there.”

The answer is immediate. “I’m—” Jester stops. Frowns. “I’m fine too. You don’t need to worry about me, Yasha. I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

That’s one way of looking at it. She got what she wanted, so all the other stuff, herself gone forever, separated from her friends, the Traveler, didn’t matter. A rationalization, driven by necessity, like the kind Yasha made in battle. Help Beau before she’s impaled on those spikes below her instead of helping Fjord, it’s fine Caduceus is right there next to him, and don’t waste any effort on that last guy Caleb’s about to torch. A different kind of survival, the kind where you swath your hurts in anything that makes it stop just so that the raw and aching parts of you can shrivel and die inside your chest. Whether that means smiles or bloody fists.

“I don’t think you wanted this,” she says softly. “Things suck. And they’re going to keep being like that.”

Jester’s lips press together very tightly. She doesn’t look at her. Yasha has never thought of any of her friends as delicate, but now, she thinks that’s the problem. They’re strong. All of them. Strong enough to fight false gods and save villages and reverse death. Strong enough to face horrors most would never dream, and then lose. Someday, she fears they’ll go charging in somewhere they shouldn’t, into a chamber of laughing mouths, swallowing her whole. A clouded night and a clear moon leaving them devastated beneath it, one less to their number.

Not tonight. But it was close enough that her mind instinctively shies away from it.

“You ever think that maybe you put too-high expectations on someone without knowing it,” Jester says, breaking the silence. She tugs at the sleeves of her high-priestess outfit, “And then they try to live up to what you want them to be, but they can’t and then it goes wrong and you know that when it does it’s because of you and kind of really your fault? Like you were the one to set them up for failure in the first place?” It all comes out in a rush, her voice wobbling on the edge of tears as she rambles. “D’you ever feel like that, Yasha?”

There’s a tumultuous set to the lines of her mouth, pulled back into a grimace, too stiff for smiling, too desperate for frowning. What do you say to something like that and how can she say it with Jester looking at her like she knows the answer to her question, the plea she’s making. How do I make it right?

She licks her lips, still sticky-sweet.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I know,” she whispers. And then, softly, an admission of guilt, “but I would have left you guys. I would have.” Jester chuckles. “How did this happen? I didn’t mean— I mean, how did I even make him a god?”

Yasha doesn’t know anymore than she does how to make Jester feel better now. To reassure her this wasn’t her fault, at its core, none of it. “I don’t know.”

“No. That’s alright.” No words have ever sounded so small.

She thinks of Zuala. She’s always thinking, at least a little, about Zuala, but right now she thinks of her pulling them up the side of a hill, a little ways away from the tribe, about the way her fingers had fit neatly between Yasha’s own and how the last thing she remembers before leaving Xhorhas is the sound of thunder.

“You ever think,” Yasha repeats slowly, “people choose to leave because of you? Or not you personally, but because of your decisions, the choices you make. And when you think back, you realize if you had done something different, they might not have chosen to leave at all?” Jester listens in rapt silence and then her mouth opens into a horrified little ‘o’ and Yasha forges on. “And then, if they’re going to leave, should I just go first so I don’t have to watch them do it?”

“Yasha, we’re not going to leave you,” Jester says, almost demanding, voice cracking with the remnants of tears swallowed back.

“No, I know. But I’ve always left you guys,” She says, the night cold against the back of her throat. “And today, you almost left us. You weren’t going to come back from that. We would have gone to get you, but would you have tried to come back to us?”

“Of course!”

“Even if it meant leaving behind the Traveler?” Yasha asks, “Even if it meant letting him take his punishment?”

Jester bites her lower lip and Yasha watches as a brief conflict plays out across her body, fists clenching and unclenching. “That’s not a fair question. I can’t answer that.” She says it like an apology.

Yasha takes a breath and accepts it. She expects nothing less from her, the girl who painted flowers in her room, who stakes her whole self on what she would do for her friends.

She can taste iron and bitter wind like dread in her mouth. “That’s okay. Just— just don’t leave in the first place. We would be sad without you. I’m not even sure what we would do. Probably just mope around all day. Get nothing done.” There’s a ring of truth to the words that hit too close to home to be even remotely funny.

Then, there are arms around her, enveloping and warm. “I’m not going anywhere.” The words are muffled against her chest, likely to hide the quiet sound of rasping around more tears.

“Don’t leave,” Yasha says.

“Do you think,” Jester asks, “ having to ask all these questions is worth it because at least now I have more family to keep worrying about?”

There used to be a hollow in her heart, one that now purrs in some kind of satisfaction and she allows it it’s victory. “Yeah. In a weird way, I’m kind of glad to have someone to leave.” The arms grow tighter around her and Yasha squeezes back comfortingly. “I don’t want to, don’t get me wrong, but if I didn’t have anyone to leave,” She hesitates, “I’d just be running away. If I leave, I know someone will miss me. I would exist in my absence.”

“I would miss you. Beau would definitely.” Jester pulls back, the rim of her eyes a little darker than before.

Her lips curve into a smile without her prompting, though she can’t quite bring herself to care. ““I have no plans to go anywhere unless it’s where the rest of you are all headed.”

“Good.”

The cleric is stiller, and though she hadn’t seemed outright distraught in the dome earlier, now she seems steadier. A port in the storm rather than the raging waves themselves, standing firm instead crashing out and into herself over and over.

“Does asking these questions help you usually?”

Jester shows the nearly-empty velvet bag of candy to Yasha who notices she has to almost unclench her fingers from their stiff position around it. “Not nearly as much as the candies.”

“You think,” she echoes in a mimicry of their earlier conversation, “you’re ready to head back?”

“Yeah. Yasha?” Jester asks, tucking away the little bag.

“Thank you.”

“You’re important to me,” Yasha tells her and finds a little more joy in the soft smile that graces Jester’s mouth as she does. “Thank you for staying.”

She keeps her eyes on her friend’s back, her steps not quite the light skip they are usually, but lighter now. A part of her wishes she could take their group and bundle them away from the world, cruel and unfair to the best of them. Another part looks at the sea line, just barely visible over the tips of forest trees, and wonders how long into the night she would have to trek to make it there before the others wake. If Yasha squints, she can see a tiny light somewhere between the waves. A lighthouse on the shore, maybe, or a star touching down where the horizon meets the sea.

Ahead of her, Jester runs her fingers through the little velvet bag Yasha had given her over and over again like she can’t help but remind herself of the gift. A smile still rests on her lips.

[pinehutch]

(this was longer than I thought, so cw: parental death, a bit of medical stuff, covid mentions (social, not personal or family experiences), grief)

I'm tired and unfocused tonight, and I know why.

I am thinking about how one year ago, I was worried but coping, unsure but proceeding. I knew I would need help and asked for it; I took the notes, I made the phone calls, I looked up "elder care" and "covid safety autoimmune" and "will kit," and I felt my anticipatory grief, and my fear of failing in this, too, and my trust and cautious hope that things would - as I had been told - get better. A year ago I had space inside me to set my relief (that I could keep working, that I could stay safe and keep others safe, and look after my dad; that people were making art to get through the changes) alongside my worry (for everything, everyone, the world).

Here, the swelling of a heart watching videos of apartment buildings bursting into songs.

Here, the fear and the anger for what would be lost to the virus.

Here, at home, learning about the swelling of just one whole heart, lungs, kidneys, all of it, a body drowning in itself.

Here, at home (not the hospital, it's not safe, it isn't safe), sprouting tomatoes and plans for how to Fix Things. How to solve the problem.

***

Ten days ago I drove to the lab where I go for bloodwork every two months. It's routine, to make sure that the things I do to keep my body from going to war against my joints aren't causing any other problems. It's routine in the sense that it used to be routine, and then I fell out of the habit over the last year, and hadn't been since January of 2020.

The path to the lab goes past the hospital, the same hospital dad was in the first time, and for a split second I saw the building through the same eyes that I had last year. Fifteen months ago, when I would walk through the dry, hot hallways to the cardiac ward, when that was a thing a person could do, and I sat with my often-distant father and he told me again about the fear he had felt (on his bad days) or his John Grisham novel (on his good days), and then I would go back to the parking lot and cry in my car and curl around my phone for comfort.

He went home, that time, and no he didn't need anything, he was doing fine, not to worry. And I got a cold, and then he got the flu, and then covid came and we were all in quarantine, and high-risk the lot of us, and so the last time I saw my father was in the hospital where he eventually died, two months later.

The building sits on top of a hill, and when I noticed it on the way to the lab I nearly missed my turn.

***

One year ago, though, I went to bed (probably later than I should, as ever, thanks for the terrible sleep habits, dad) having received all the right assurances that he would be released in a couple of days and being told that I would need to be extremely careful with all of the covid protocols to pick him up. I was anxious about where I would find a mask, in early April of last year, and about the caregiving and advocacy I'd been asked to do. People were saying things like "don't expect to be back in the office until the fall." The world was not without worry, but I didn't have that worry, that specific fear.

So I went to bed, as ever, with my phone on silent. Absolutely unthinking. A reflex, a standard practice. At 3:30 in the morning there was nothing to hear when the hospital called.

***

My mother tells a story about when her dad died. August, windows open in hope of a breeze. She had a three-month-old baby who slept beautifully through the night. She woke up to the curtains moving on a still night, and thought 'oh, dad's here.'

Her stepmother called early in the morning, but she already knew.

***

I woke up, one-year-minus-five-hours-ago, and there were voicemails. A text from my mom. When my stepmother had called, being the second contact at the hospital, she left a voicemail. And then I knew. And I'd failed; I didn't even know the phone was ringing.

***

The plan I'd been growing, to Help, to Care Better, to Fix Things: it wouldn't have been worth anything, because he died when he wasn't supposed to. It's really, really easy for me to see failure here; it's taken me the better part of a year to see past it.

Grief is a slog. There's no shortcut or speedrun, and it takes its place at the table beside all the small and great joys and rages and griefs and loves that have come before it and after it. Sometimes it sits at your right hand and monopolizes the conversation; sometimes it fades into the background noise while you smile over your cup and make eyes at joy or righteous anger or desire. And god, trying to understand where to situate that personal grief when you also live in the world? For not-all-but-most of 2020, grief sat beside me at the table and droned its tiresome, grey banalities in my ear until I could scarcely hear anything else. (There were bright spots, I promise: I know and love some wonderful people.) But honestly? Honestly, I didn't have my good cry, my really ugly sob until Christmas Day.

Things are better, now. There are still dark moments. There are stories I still flinch away from, songs I won't listen to just yet. And I mean, it's one in the morning and I've been typing this sad tumblr post on my phone for an hour.

But: I also made the appointment at the lab. I followed up on other doctor's visits, for me. I've been eating well, keeping the windows open on warm days, cleaning, moving my body. Socializing in the ways that we socialize, now. Trying to lean back from the yawning mouths of grief and guilt, not to throw myself in. Trying to feed myself, I suppose.

Tomorrow, I'll make some phone calls. My brother, my mom, my dad's widow. There will be solemn moments in the day, and times when I get tired and grumpy and feel like I'm being asked to perform sadness, but I'll do it. I'll be a voice in the world, and alive. And I'm sure we'll do this every April 7, for as long as we remember to. And at some point we won't, and that will be fine, too.

It's well past the time that I should sleep, and I will have my phone on silent (god, obviously), and if tomorrow is like any other of the last many, many days, I'll wake up to little thoughts and notes from people who I love, who love me. It's a slog, sure, but I have some company, and some places to rest.

(Wendy Cope was right, folks: I love you. I'm glad I exist.)

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Honor.”

So translating my own language is a bitch. Yes I know I don’t have to do it, but also it is more fun that way. Although I added in translations for everyone accept on one or two parts on purpose. But you can still enjoy it, no need to worry. you don’t need to know the language to read this!

Also this is an action scene so it’s cool. Go on read it :) 

You know that feeling where you studied for an exam and you thought that you knew the material, but then you get into the exam and it turns out you had no idea what you were doing? 

Yeah, this is nothing like that.

Well, I mean it kind of is, but the result of screwing up is death and not a stern talking to from your parents about being more focused. Then again, perhaps I would get a stern talking to form Hijan.

When we crest over the hill --not gonna lie-- I feel like I’m going to shat myself. Granted loose bowels has never been a problem of mine, generally I have a pretty impressive butt clenching ability, you sort of have to as a fighter pilot, but this is a whole different level of terrifying.

It’s like one of those old movies where the hero is tied up by his hands hooked onto a rail line in a slaughterhouse and they are watching as the spinning blades slowly get closer and closer to their junk. 

What I am saying is it’s like walking towards a meat grinder. The Drev are aggressive and violent spinning blades at each other, four arms flailing as they crash into teach other with the clattering of steel. Right in front of my eyes I watch as one of our clam members is violently speared through the throat after a minute slip up with his form work.

HE falls to the ground wide eyed and choking.

His opponent nods before continuing on his way.

Holy shit! Fuck! 

Shit Shit shit!

“Nahasinsazh!” 

Our group breaks into a slow job, and then into a full out sprint. I struggle to keep up, but surprisingly I manage to keep time. The Drev are bigger and stronger, but I'm smaller and more nimble, and I navigate the rocks faster. I make sure not to be at the front. I know that I won't be able to take that first hit.

The fighting line rises up in my vision.

And then the world erupts around me.

The first clash is so violent that I more than expectit to rent the earth and shake the very foundations to where I stand. A shape looms over me and I duck just in time for a spear to go cything past my head. My maneuver is followed by an absolute eruption of steel on steel. Hijan catches his spear on the shaft of her weapon and violently shoves him back. I see an opening to attack, but then that moment is gone.

I

I’m not sure If i can just kill someone like that.

“Tsata!  Laza  tach Zheengish!” Fight or yourclan 

I’m still not sure about the clan, but…. I can do anything for Hijan.

My feet skidd over bare rock as a spear cuts towards my head. I dodge to the side again and Hijan takes the brunt of the force, but I use her distraction to rush inwards thrusting my spear point forward. 

I feel it as it cuts through flesh, a jolting ripping sensation that vibrates up through the shaft of the spear and then into my hands.

The Drev warrior looks up at me with surprise on his face as I draw the spear from the wound and orange icor begins pouring down his front. Looking at his eyes, he doest sem scared, merely shocked. A shco which is replaced with…

Satisfaction 

Peace 

Hope? 

I don’t know as I am drawn away from him a moment later and into the tide of the battle.

My feet pass over rough hewn stone as Hijan and I fight her acting as the muscle while I act as the spearhead. 

Things are working out for the most part though my heart pounds in my ears making it difficult to hear anything but the pulsing of my own blood. HIjan turns to catch another spear with hers, and I turn to take the offensive when I hear a war cry from behind me. I turn eyes widening just in time as a spear point trusts towards my head. I throw myself to the side as the massive leaf blade bites into the ground where I just stood.

The hulking silver goliath stands over me his wide orange eyes filled with battle rage.

He swings his spear again, and the tip of the spear scythes past my stomach casting sparks as it goes.

I roll backwards landing on my back in the moss and rolling to the side only to gain my feet.

I look around for Hijan, but don’t Immediately see her.

The battle cry comes again, and I turn watching as another wild swing rockets towards my head.

He is using stone technique. It is slow and precise but when it hits it hits like a freight train. I raise my spear at the last moment, and when that downward momentum makes contact, I am plowed right into the dirt. The stele of my armor cracks against the stone and I can feel the ground give way under my shoulders and back. The power is incredible like getting hit by a speeding bullet train/ 

I have no idea how I manage to block it, and hold him off me.

His beak is just inches from my face, his wide orange eyes staring. 

He presses downward with all his might, and I scream as I try to push him off me.

I watch him flinch as the power of my voice vibrates his ears.

Hmm, gonna have to remember that for later… if there is a later.

My arms tremble as I hold him away fro me. If he gets smart and stops pushing and just strikes I am done for.

I need a distraction.

Ah that’s a good idea.

I spit directly into his eye.

He was not expecting that one bit and reels back in shock.

I kick him square in the fork of the legs. I am not entirely sure if Drev have balls. I mean I heard their reproduction is similar to that of humans, so It can’t have been a nice feeling, and he doesn’t seem to like it leaping back onto his feet and staggering backwards. I come at him again, darting towards his side.

My hands are still throbbing from the last impact, my fingers are almost numb.

I catch him on the back of the knee and he roars in pain and panic crippling is far worse than death to a drev, however in his fear, I only make him more angry, he lunges for me, so fast and so wild that I barely have time to dodge out of the way.

I hit the ground again, spending way too much time here. The spar is thrust towards me. It cut s into the ground at my side. Near my shoulder

And between my knees as I scramble backwards.

I kick the shaft of the spear catching him off balance standing as…. A spear sprouts through the center of his chest. I can hear the horrible crunching noise the ripping of flesh as the spear is drawn back out, and he falls dead to the ground.

Hijan holds up her weapon covered in orange blood.

I am breathing hard.

She steps forward and I scramble up into  her shadow. We are back together again, and like before we are back as a unit, cutting through the whirling crowd with near impunity.

But I  can see that the battle isn’t going well, at least not for our side.

Hijan and I are now surrounded. Three of them and only two of us.

I didn’t actually believe I was going to die here.

But why hadn’t I thought that 

It was a distinct possibility.

I realized at that moment that maybe I hadn’t had the respect for their culture that I should have. Did I think it was just some kind of fun game, go down for a little fun and then come hoe with some cool stories to tell. No, I was entering a warzone. I had made myself part of a clan and that meant that I had to either ride or die with it.

All around us comes the screaming of the dying and the moaning of the near dead. Bodies litter the ground, the air above us is filled with the little white moss spores kicked up like a cloud of dust.

Hijan and I retreated falling up against a short rock face. Pink moss climbs up it’s side.

Three attackers come in fast. I block one and she blocks the other, but the third spear catches her hard on one of her back armored plates.

My blood runs cold as I hear hijan scream in agony.

I spin on the spot kicking the third attacker away.

Hijan is on the ground, she isn’t bleeding but a spear is headed straight towards her chest.

I fully admit that I don’t feel adrenaline rushes easily.

I think it is a product of my flight training, but at that moment I don’t think. The world around me goes red my vision tightening to a single point blac around the edges.

My lips go light and it feels as if my entire body is held up by a thousand balloons or a gravity generator making me less than half my weight but twice as strong.

Before I know it I have leaped in font of the downward cut catching the blade on my spear. Metal rings, sparks fly.

Three more spears come in contact with the shaft of my weapon.

I see their eyes widen their bodies falter.

As one single human holds all three of them off. My vision darkens, goes even more read as I hear Hijan behind me. I  remember who I am protecting, and I scream. Power like nothing I had ever felt surges through my body. The kind of power that can rip your body in half if you're not careful enough.

And I throw them off me.

Three Drev weigh almost three hundred or more pounds each, and I throw them off me. Two of them stagger away and trip backwards, and one of them is lifted half a foot from the ground and thrown more than two feet backwards.

All the muscles in my body are on ire, my legs to my back to my shoulders and biceps.

Even the muscles in my chest and abs are screaming.

And then it hits.

I am going in for another attack when a second wave of our Drev come barreling through. They take over the field like a tidal wave absolutely demolishing any who stand in their way.

I am left standing in the moss breathing hard, gasping for air.

I look down at myself only now realizing that I am bleeding. I know the blood is mine because it’s red, though I don’t feel anything.

More shuffling on the rocks behind me, and I  turn.

“Hian!” I rush over kneeling next to her as she slowly sits up.

One of her hands is gently clutching the back plate which took the brunt of the impact.

I brush away her hands to look,, though I am not sure what I am looking for.

“Tsa Jirhash?” I prod at the injury 

She winces but brushed me off

“Je je zhe ta’anini.”

I know she is going to live, but I worry she is going to be crippled. I know what that means.

She must see the fear in my eyes for she takes my hand and holds it between two of hers. Her eyes are wrinkled the way that Drev do when they smile.

“Tsa zheengish yahan. zhe leeni.” I feel my face flush just a bit. Her pride in me is…. Well it’s almost overwhelming. I realize now that the battle is over, the adrenaline starts to wear off and my hands begin to shake.

My legs are twitching so badly, that I have to take to my knees so I don’t fall over. My breathing comes in hard gasps.

Pain is returning to me, and I realize why I am bleeding.

There are cuts on my face and parts of my arms where the armor does not exist. The straps that hold on my armor leave deep bruises. My hands throb as do my bones/  Hijan pulls me a bit closer to her examining me herself as I kneel on the moss.

Looking for some cool air, I pull off my helmet letting a cool breeze blow over me.

My throat buns as I look towards the sky. The distant battle is beginning to fade.

As we kneel there on the moss, I turn to watch as our sentinel steps over broken bodies. He is painted in orange and his eyes are bright with the glee of a last battle.

“Lodnajasta.” The two of us bow our heads respectfully as he comes over

He looks down at me with surprise, “Tsa aninish. “ He seems almost impressed, and then he ruins it, “tsa dadarish yahanan huka zhe takasi tsa dee.” you did better than I thought you would.

Well thanks for that bro

I watch his expression fall a bit, and in surprise I turn to find Hijan glowering at him.

Raise an eyebrow incredulously as  I turn back to look at the sentinel.

He looks almost apologetic, “Tsa yaheen zhankeel datasajish.” you showed great honor.”

He turns and walks away, his back stiff.

I wait for him to leave before I begin to laugh incredulously and turn to look at my companion, “Hijan. Nin tsa darish.” What did you do!

She looks almost sheepish.”nee nehzhankeelan datadich.” He was being dishonorable 

She had to be insane.

She reminded me way too much of my mother in that moment.My mom would call out the president if he disrespected one of her children, and apparently so too would Hijan

I take her hand and smile, “zhe tatazi zhe tsa rekazi.”

Her eyes wrinkle again and she takes my hand.

Hijan was one of the best people/drev I had ever known.

If anything happened to her I would probably go on a homicidal rampage John Wick style. 

But barring that, I was getting some great ideas.

Sunny needed to meet hijan like yesterday 

[usermischief]

and the fault (is my own)

htgawm au - part 2 (Steo) You can read it on AO3 as well.

——————

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Stiles careens through the courthouse. He’s late. This was so not planned. Not at all.  Jonathan is going to murder him. He’s going to—

“Stiles.” The slick voice of his professor and boss reaches him before Stiles slides around the corner. “Glad you could grace us with your presence.” Jonathan barely reacts to Stiles knocking against then bouncing off the wall. His arm, however, is furious with him. That shit hurt. “I hope there’s a reason for your delay?” It sounds like a question, but it certainly isn’t one. Jonathan doesn’t fuck around. Arriving too late can have some serious consequences on Stiles’ job and studies. “Where’s your suit?”

Yeah, that. Stiles didn’t have time to change into something more court appropriate which Lydia and Theo have taken note of instantly. Her smirk can’t be any more obvious while Theo looks as if his dad just told him he isn’t allowed to drive the family Porsche again. 

“The hunters have been lying about the treaty.” Stiles unfolds the document he’s printed from Brett’s laptop as the guy showered this morning and offers it to Jonathan. This is more important than his outfit.  “There is also a list of every hunter living in or passing through Beacon County.” Stiles briefly glances at Theo, who hasn’t stopped staring at him since he’s arrived. It’s making his skin crawl. “I also found a list of every supernatural creature in the territory. Monroe claims she had permission to pass through Beacon County, but I couldn’t find anything.” He points at the papers in Jonathan’s hands, feeling his excitement bubble up more and more as he continues to go into details. “Based on the treaty, she is already infringing on it by being in Beacon Hills without Satomi Ito and Chris Argent’s permission. We could nail her for that alone, but I also learned that—"

“Mr. Stilinski,” Jonathan interrupts him sharply, and he snaps his mouth shut, stiffening. Although Professor Jonathan Raeken is one of the haughtiest and most unpleasant people he’s ever met, he decided that, as a team, they should call each other by their first names. That he switched to Stiles’ last name isn’t exactly a good sign. 

Ducking his head, Stiles takes a step back. Lydia grabs his hand immediately, squeezing it tightly. She knows full well that if they screwed this up, she is just as responsible as Stiles is. Even more, perhaps, since she’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Not that Stiles is going to rat on her. They’re in this mess together. If she goes, he goes with her, and he knows for a fact that it’s the same the other way around. Still, Jonathan would be fucking stupid if he risked firing Lydia. She’s a genius. They won multiple cases together — even those that seemed impossible to win.

After a few moments of silence, Jonathan looks up from the new evidence. His stern expression relaxes into an almost smooth grin. He pushes his fake glasses up his nose, green eyes flashing with interest. “Do I want to know how you got this?” 

Lydia releases her death grip on his hand, and Stiles lets out a breath. Finally. They’ve been working on this shit for days on end with basically no leads on their main target. Unless Stiles’ gut feeling counted as a lead, which wasn’t the case. Jonathan never failed to remind him. As if Stiles doesn’t know he needs evidence. He’s the sheriff’s son. Law isn’t some mystery to him; despite his proclivity to break it every now and then. Not that anybody needs to know.

Stiles clears his throat. “Probably not.” 

“Very well.” Jonathan studies him over the rim of his glasses. “You truly are a peculiar species,” he says after a moment, folding the evidence to slip it into his briefcase. Something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right with Stiles, but he isn’t going to mention anything. Despite the war raging through Beacon County, the world is still in the dark about the supernatural. Some people don’t like it. Most try to keep it that way. Stiles is one of the few humans in the know who didn’t end up becoming a hunter. He’s more interested in becoming the emissary of a pack. That’s why he decided to study law and wanted to work for Jonathan Raeken. It’s the easiest way to get his feet wet. 

Stiles tugs at his shirt. “I did my job.” 

“You did.” Jonathan pushes his glasses up. “Theodore, would you please bring Stiles home?” It’s not a question. Everybody knows it’s not a question, but Theo likes to ignore the obvious. Which is fair. Stiles never walks on eggshells around his dad whether he's wearing his uniform or not. 

Crossing his arms, Theo glares at his father. "He reeks." 

"Precisely," Jonathan says, gesturing for Lydia to join him. "We're about to win this case, I don't need him sitting inside the courtroom reeking like one of the key witnesses." This wouldn't be a problem if no other werewolf was around, but Satomi herself is present at every hearing. Plus, half of the jury consists of supernatural creatures in order to keep the verdict fair. Smelling like Brett Talbot the same day he is supposed to make his statement isn't exactly the best idea. But it was either that or being too late. 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck.

"Why can't Lydia do it?" Theo is more of a spoiled brat than previously anticipated.

Jonathan isn't having any of this. "Because I say so, and besides, I doubt opening a book again is going to hurt you. Your grades are abysmal." Nothing is worse than a disappointed parent. They know exactly what to say and how to say it. Stiles knows it from his own dad, but Jonathan has a special kind of flavor to his tone. It's clear that he's not saying it out of love. Stiles always knew that their relationship couldn't be compared to his and his dad's relationship, but this isn't what he expected. This is worse.

Lydia slips past him, grinning at Stiles over her shoulder, and follows Jonathan into the courtroom. 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “Listen, I—”

“Don’t,” Theo interrupts him with a growl. “Just don’t.” Something crosses over his face, something raw and painful. It has always been obvious that something isn’t exactly right between Theo and his parents. Even his relationship with his sister is strained. He never offered up any information, and Stiles never bothered to ask. It’s none of his business after all. 

He still feels guilty. 

“Well,” Stiles says, clearing his throat a little, “we should celebrate your genius idea.” It’s hard to tell how successful he is, and Theo looks at him as if he’s lost his marbles. “I’m just saying. Without your idea, we wouldn’t have gotten the information we needed. That call for a toast.” 

Theo stares at him in silence for a few agonizingly long seconds. Eventually, his lips curl into a smile. It’s barely noticeable, and it vanishes almost as fast as it appeared. “It was a team effort.” 

“Right.”

“You still reek,” Theo informs him, turning on his heels, and stalks down the hallway. “It’s disgusting.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles follows him.  

——————

“We should call the police,” Scott informs them for the eighteenth time in the last thirty minutes. Pale-faced and wide-eyed, he stands partly hidden behind a tree. Almost as if he believes that just because he can’t see what’s happening, he isn’t complicit. They are so far past this. There’s no way out.  

Lydia is putting her hair in a tight bun, shaking her head in the process. It’s hard to tell for what reason she is doing it. Her face is a hard mask, eyes blank. Stiles is pretty sure she’s in a state of shock. It’ll be merely a matter of time until she’s going to crash like the rest of them. Although Lydia Martin never has a meltdown. She always has her shit together. Stiles is pretty sure that once she’s losing it, he will not be far behind. 

Not that he needs to see Lydia freaking out to freak out himself. A panic attack has been crawling up his spine for the past hour, and the only reason it hadn’t slapped him across the face is that he has learned how to deal with them in the past ten years. Another reason might be adrenaline. The second he’s alone, things will change drastically. 

Somewhere to his right, Malia is gathering leaves and small branches they can throw over their makeshift grave. 

Theo shovels dirt aside, not really caring where he throws it or who he might hit. “Instead of being a fucking wimp, you could grab the second shovel and help me dig.” His forehead is shining with sweat in the trembling beam of the flashlight.

“We should call the police,” Scott repeats. 

This time, Theo rams the shovel into the loose dirt. He whips his head around to stare at Scott. “You’re dead before you’re going to start dialing.” 

“As if—”

“Don’t test me, McCall!” Theo snarls, grabbing the second shovel and throwing it in Scott’s direction. “Dig.” The authority in his voice almost makes Stiles want to drop the flashlight and get a move on, but Theo reminded him that he would only slow him down. Usually, Stiles would have complained, even though Theo is right. They have three supernatural creatures who can dig this grave three times as fast. He still feels useless, standing here and pointing his flashlight in the general direction of Theo’s feet. 

Scott drags his feet all the way, but he grabs the shovel and walks over to Theo. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles glances at Lydia. With the flashlight still between her teeth, she’s taking off her jewelry. One by one, she puts them in her purse. Her focus remains on the body next to the hole the whole time. Her shoulders are tense. It almost seems as if she expects him to get up again. 

Stiles swallows. “It’s time for a picture,” he says, trying to sound strong, maybe even a little commanding. His voice, however, is barely a whisper. 

Theo looks up regardless. “Whose turn is it?” 

“Ma’ia,” Lydia informs them before taking the flashlight out of her mouth. “She’s the last one.” They decided not to post all their pictures at once, so they could spread them out over the evening. It’s the easiest way to give all of them an alibi. Plus, if people are asked if they saw them, they’re going to agree. Especially when confronted with a picture. Nobody’s gonna doubt them. 

It’s gonna be fine. It has to be fine. 

No.

How the hell can he think this will be fine? They’ve killed someone and are currently trying to hide the body. If this ever gets out, they’re going to have a fun time in jail. Stiles isn’t ready for jail. His dad isn’t going to make it in case he ever goes to jail. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him. Someone has to, or his horrendous diet is going to kill him. 

But they had no other option. He was supernatural. They couldn't just call the police. That's not how this works.

I could've called the police before something happened.

"Okay." Malia wipes her dirty hands on her shorts and pulls out her phone. 

Something is going to happen on our drive home. 

“Tate, take over.” Theo tosses his shovel unceremoniously in her direction and lifts himself out of the almost finished hole. No. Grave. It’s a grave. With only two long strides, Theo is right in front of him. “We’re almost done.” His words are soft. “It’s over soon.” That’s not right. The worst is just going to start. The moments they look over their shoulders will follow soon. They're going to expect the police at every corner. They're going to check the news, waiting for the body to be found. They're going to lose their minds. 

Stiles glances at the body and takes a deep breath.

They killed him. 

"Don't worry," Theo whispers, hand running down his arm before intertwining their fingers. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and Stiles stares at him, selling dryly. "He's never going to touch you again."

[petri808]

Red Strings Cannot Be Broken

@yatoriweek2020​ Soulmates prompt. Gomen, gomen, it’s totally rushed and I since I suck at action scenes, fair warning it’s minimized as much as possible lol and I can’t help but think angst when I write this ship ;-; Aged up, Hiyori is 19. Total idk canon divergence.

Just as Yato, Bishamon and their Shinki’s reach the scene, Father cackles and drives a katana through Hiyori’s corporeal body. “You’re all such gullible idiots! She was always your weakness son. Three years we’ve done this dance and I was always one step ahead.”

The young woman stumbles backwards and collapses, holding onto her stomach. A reddish stain forming, seeping through the fabric and growing in diameter every second that passes by.

“So now what are ya gonna do?” the grinning sorcerer questions. “For betraying me, I will take away everything you love!”

“You sonofabitch!” The stray god screams and makes a move to rush forward.

“There’s no hope for her, see.” The man points the sword back at the dying girl with a menacing smiles. “Poor girl, if only she hadn’t met you.”

“Yato,” Bishamon yells as she takes off towards Father. “You get to Hiyori!”

A battle ensues between the goddess of war and the sorcerer as Yato rushes to the young girls side. He picks her up, cradling her body in tears. “Hiyori, don’t die on me, please!” But it really was too late, for her breathing had ceased and he could find no pulse. “Fuck!!!”

“Yato what are we gonna do?!” Yukine shakes him. “W-We can’t let her just die!” The poor boy was still in agony over his time of betraying the stray god and now the guilt of losing Hiyori was slowly taking hold. Nora stays quiet, hugging to the boy to keep him from doing anything rash.  

“There’s only one thing I can think of…” the man mumbles. As the fight around them escalates, the pair watch a puffkine appear above the body.

Reading off his master, Yukine’s eyes widen. “I-Is that a good idea?!”

“I don’t know.” Her soul didn’t appear as an ayakashi, so that was a promising sign. Yato places her body back on the ground and stands before the floating spirit. There was no way to know for sure what would happen and no time to think it through. Performing his spell, he turns her into a regalia, but instead of giving her his family name of ne, keeps the human name Hiyori and makes her vessel name Majoki.

They watch as the woman they knew as Hiyori manifests, standing before them. “W-Where am I?” She questions the trio. “Who are you?”

Yato grabs hold of her by the arms to keep her from turning around and seeing her body too soon. He smiles. “I know this must be confusing right now, but I just want to tell you before it’s too late…” he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “I love you Hiyori. Soon I pray, it’ll all make sense again, but just remember I love you.” He whispers something the others two couldn’t hear, then pulls away and kisses her hand before releasing them.

He then turns to his Shinki. “Nora, make her see,” is all he quietly says, indicating to the girl to break the seal of the Gods greatest secret.

“But Yato, that might destroy her.”

“I pray it won’t. Please keep her safe for me Nora.” He places a final kiss on Hiyori’s confused cheek. “Come Sekki, we must finish Father right here and now before he does any more damage.”

Yukine transforms into a sword and the pair rush off to assist Bishamon. The boy asks Yato what he’d told Hiyori before they’d left and the God simply answered with, ‘remember me.’ But there was no time to question further. They needed to focus for Father was as skilled as any of them and a powerful sorcerer that could conjure and control ayakashi to attack them. This would be a fight to the death, either theirs or his.

Nora pulls Hiyori away behind some trees, and away from the current fighting. She hesitates for a moment unsure of exactly how to accomplish her task. As Chiki, she could wield the liberation spell that broke the secret, but without it, she would have to trigger it. The strange part was, normally telling a Shinki their true name would do just that, but Yato had given the woman back her real name and it didn’t do anything. Hiyori just appeared to have no memories of her past life.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Nora questions, but receives a ‘no’. “How about Yato, the one who just spoke to you?” Again, the woman pauses, then shakes her head slowly no. “Yukine? The boy?” Nothing.

“That man… that man said he loves me. He sounds sincere, but I don’t remember anything. Were we in a relationship?”

“Sort of. You’ve been together for I think 3 years now. Inseparable, and you loved him too.”

“I did?”

Nora nods her head. “You… you died trying to save him.”

Hiyori’s eyes widen at those words. She was dead?! “I’m dead?!” Her hands fly up to her head, palms flattened against the sides as a suddenly whirling sound rustles in her brain. The noise grew, a myriad of voices, images hurtling through her mind so quickly, she couldn’t process what was happening to her. “No, no, no!”

The young girl grabs hold of the woman’s arms to keep her steady as she starts to shake uncontrollably. “Your name really is Hiyori. Hiyori Iki. You saved the god Yato once from getting hit by a bus and it turned you into a hanyou. After that you two became inseparable. You were with him when you found Yukine.”

“I don’t understand any of this!” Tears pour down the woman’s face. She was utterly confused at what this girl was telling her and yet somehow knew it was all true. How did she know it was true?!

It was a good sign to Nora that Hiyori wasn’t transforming into an ayakashi yet, but as the woman’s mind fought to unlock the secrets of her life, the pain appeared to be excruciating and the risks of being consumed were great. When she herself had learned the truth about her life, for some strange reason it never affected her and that was why she could wield liberation. Yukine too surprisingly had come through the process without completely breaking down.

“Over time, you and Yato grew closer and closer, and you helped him a lot. I believe it’s because of you that he’s completely changed for the better. You and Yukine are his family. Father, the guy they’re fighting now, he’s trying to destroy it all and he killed you because he knew your death could kill Yato too. But the only way to bring you back in a way, was to turn you into a regalia. That gives a lost spirit purpose again.”

Hiyori wanted to scream and run away. This was madness. A god, spirits, bringing back people from the dead?!! She could hear the battle raging just out of her sightline. And this girl. “Who are you then?”

“I’m Nora, one of Yato’s regalia like you. He calls me his little sister. We used to work for Father in the old days but we’ve both been betrayed by him. Yato realized it sooner than I did, but that man was only using us to wage his war with the Gods of Heaven.”

Great now Gods of Heaven as in plural. Hiyori’s head was spinning, and she felt like throwing up. “I love you Hiyori. Soon I pray, it’ll all make sense again.” Is what the man had said and even though her brain was not comprehending everything going on, her heart was telling her to remember it all... To remember... Hiyori gasps, “Remember me…”

A sharp pain shoots through her head, so she cradles it in her hands from the sudden spike. ‘Remember me…’ Hiyori cries out once and her vision goes black.

Hiyori Iki, 19 years old. Born to Sayuri and Takamasa Iki, brother of Masaomi, and born on June 28th. Everything about her life flashes as images in her minds eye. How she’d met Yato at the age of 16 through a near-death experience. Becoming a hanyou, The Far Side, the Gods, everything was rushing back in the blink of an eye.

As quickly as it began, it ended, and a final memory paused like on a movie screen. It was an image of Kofuku holding up the matching making tablets… ‘I— remember…’ Her feelings for Yato had started long before the god of poverty had interceded, but perhaps, that goddesses intervention truly sealed their bond eternally in a red string of fate? ‘That’s right…’ she’s starting to put the connections together. Learning who she really was should have driven her insane. It hurt, but…

Hiyori’s eyes open and finds herself lying on the ground with Nora kneeling beside her.

“Oh, thank the Kami’s you’re back,” the girl breathed out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know what was going on, you just suddenly collapsed again.”

“Thank you, Nora,” she sits ups slowly. “I-I remember who am.”

A strange, invigorating energy was thrumming inside of Hiyori and she wondered if this is what the weapon aspect of a Shinki felt like. But Yukine had never mentioned feeling an odd sensation, and even weirder, she didn’t sense a regular weapon in her soul. The name Yato had given her was not of a normal tool but matched her abilities even while she was still alive.

She turns to Nora, “I need to help Yato. We need to help Yato.”

“There’s nothing we can do unless he calls for us,” the young girl replies. “And he probably wouldn’t want you anywhere near the fighting.”

Hiyori lifts up her hands and focuses on them, reaching deep within her very essence and feeling the energy burning inside of her. Nora watches in fascination and downright amazed surprise when they begin to glow. She’d become the perfect weapon to defeat a sorcerer.

“I don’t care what Yato thinks,” the woman steels her resolve. “He needs my help.”

With Nora following close behind, Hiyori rushes over to where the Gods were fighting. They see others had joined in the battle. Kofuku & Daikoku. Tenjin, Ebisu, and several others that Father had not yet brought to their knees. Amaterasu and Heaven’s army had already suffered devastating losses prior to this event, and this fight with his son, was Father’s last obstacle. The two girls stand at the top of a hill surveying the battle, and when Yato senses them he turns to look.  

That lapse in focus also catches Father’s attention. He breaks away from one attack and rushes towards Yato.

“Call my name now!!” Hiyori screams to the stray God.

He hadn’t planned on letting Hiyori anywhere near this fight, but overwhelming energy flooding off his Shinki was something he’d never heard of or felt in his life. Without another second of hesitation, he screams, “Majoki!!”

The flash of light from the vessels transformation was not only blinding but sent out a wave of energy that sent Father flying backwards from the shockwave. Even the other Gods stopped what they were doing in confusion. No new weapon manifested in Yato’s hand, only a red tasseled cord wrapped loosely around his neck.

Whatever miko abilities Hiyori had in life were now amplified ten-fold as a Shinki. Her connection to Yato and their love for one another transcended death because of their tied fate and as his regalia turned her into his strongest weapon against this kind of foe. How do you fight a sorcerer? With sorcery.

“Whoa what the hell powers does she have now?!” Yato hears Yukine asking him in his mind. “Even I can feel her!”

“Y-Yeah, even I’m surprised,” the God answers back. It all felt a little strange because it was so different than any other Shinki he’s ever had. Hiyori’s powers didn’t flow from a tool… Yato became the tool.

“Bind his powers Yato. He is nothing without his magic.”

“But how?! That’s a Shinki’s ability not a Gods.”

“You shall wield us,” she responds in his mind with no hesitation. “All you need to do is strike Father once and I will send the power through Sekki. Once he’s wounded my magic will seep through to affect the spell. Then you all attack for he will be a mere human.”

“We can do this Yato,” Yukine responds as well. “As a team.”

“No,” the God breathes out with a smirk, “as a family. Hiki!!!” He pulls his third vessel into the fray.

“Yato what are you thinking, three of us will sap a lot of your energy,” Nora scolds the God.

“Well then we better make this quick!”

“Guys!” He screams at the other Gods. “Let’s back him into a corner fast! I got a plan!”

After being thrown back, Father scrambled to his feet ready to take on the next challenger. With Yato’s call of collaboration, God after God along with their Shinki’s levy a multitude of attacks at the sorcerer forcing him into a defensive. There’s just too many things coming at him to counter. He tries to call ayakashi’s to his aid, but they are either killed off quickly or Hiyori and Nora combine their energies to control the spirits.

Finally, the constant barrage is taking a huge toll on the sorcerer and everyone can sense it. The male is using a significant amount of energy to fight back, and it’s rapidly depleting. A solid blow from Bishamon sends him hurtling into the trunk of a tree. He hits his back hard against it and falls straight down. Then, before he can get to his feet, Yato sweeps in with two solid strikes by Chiki and Sekki, cutting a deep gash over the sorcerers torso.

Father screams in searing pain as he feels the burn of Hiyori’s magic soak into his flesh. “No! No! No! this cannot be!!” It travels outward from the wound until it encompasses his entire body, binding his magic, and sapping any ability beyond a physical confrontation. He sinks to the ground, clutching to his chest and abdomen, in agony. “That bitch!”

“Oi,” Yato narrows his eyes and puts the blade of Sekki to the man’s throat, “don’t call her a bitch just because she out classed you.” It was starting to dawn on the stray God that his meeting Hiyori truly had a purpose.

The man grits his teeth as adrenaline from pain and anger fires through his nerves. “Fuck you!!”

“Tch. You thought you knew me, us so well that you thought you could manipulate things. But you never did old man. Your hate ends now.”

At that moment, the war goddess grabs the fallen sorcerer by the fabric of his yukata and yanks him to his feet. “Heaven has rendered their full judgement upon you. Amaterasu will make your death a painful one I’m sure.” With the help of some of Heaven’s soldiers, the mortally wounded sorcerer is flown away to receive his divine punishment.

Yato releases his Shinki’s and collapses from exhaustion. Thank the Kami’s it was over because he wasn’t sure how much longer he would have lasted. There would be a lot of explaining to do but it could wait. First things first.

“Yukine, Nora, could you two wait for me at Kofuku’s?” the stray god requests of his regalia. “I need to talk to Hiyori.”

“Don’t do anything else crazy!” Yukine shakes his finger, scolding the man.

“Come on,” Nora pushes at her friend. “I doubt she’d let him.”

Once the pair is leaving, he turns back to the woman sitting patiently beside him. “Hiyori…” he felt guilty that he wasn’t able to save her life, and now wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“I don’t blame you,” she takes his hand. “It was my fault for getting in the way.”

“But Father was right, if only you’d never met me… o-or if I’d cut your ties sooner, you’d still be alive.”

“Yato, listen to me.” She cups his cheeks in her hands and holds his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for any of this. I made my choices and you honored my wish. Am I sad that my family won’t be able to see me anymore, of course? They’ll be heart broken, but we both know this was the only way to make my final wish come true because no matter what,” her voice softens into a smile, “I love you too.”

[capricornus-rex]

A Legacy Begun (7)

gif made with screen recorder and gif converter

Chapter 7: Siege of Ilaro | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Prompt/s in play: Anon prompt (in Chapter 1 link) & fic idea

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cassidy went on with her childhood, being more concerned where her toy Binog had gone because her toy Bogling was lonely. There were times that she could wield the Force, only to fetch her toys, but on most days it didn’t happen—though it didn’t upset her, she simply continued on playing house with her stuffed animals that her mother had personally hand-sewn.

The little girl loved it outside, she would run across the grassy meadow of the hilltop while her red hair billowed in the sea breeze. The toy Binog and Bogling always kept her hands full, and they always accompanied her—aside from BD-1—when she goes to sightsee the ocean on one side and the city on the other.

“Bee-woop, trill!”

“BD!”

BD-1 led Cassidy towards a small of flowers that dotted the field, the child plucked one or two, and held them in her free hand while cradling both the Binog and Bogling in one arm. By force of habit, the little droid flashed his scanners at the ones still planted on the ground. He may not yet realize that Cassidy couldn’t understand droidspeak for now, he still happily relayed all his datascans to his little best friend.

“BD, Cassidy, be careful you two!” you called from the distance.

Cal held his head to the sky, the pristine white clouds have greyed and they loomed low above the sea.

“I think a storm’s about to pick up,”

“Maybe in a few,” you concurred.

You beckoned Cassidy and BD-1 to come inside, the girl scooped up the droid in her free arm, carrying him in the same fashion as her toys and waddled towards her mother.

The two of you watched her closely, with the same thought running in the back of your minds tirelessly. It has become a point that your top priority is her safety and having a normal childhood—something neither of you had, no thanks to the war and the Purge.

Cassidy continued to play inside the house, back to her imaginary world with BD. She surveyed the room in search of her Binog, she whimpered for a moment and then transitioned into a squeal.

“Mommy, look! It’s Nog!” She waved the toy Binog in front of you—whom she lovingly called “Nog”—hiding under the living room table.

“There he is! You finally found him,” you played along, taking the Bogling to her other hand. “There, Bog has his friend now.”

“BD, here,” the child waddled to the center space and the little droid scampered along.

They continued on with their game, BD-1 flashed a moving projection of the Nydak—that Cassidy personally hated at face value, even if she’s never seen it in person—and she started making a hero out of the toy Binog, fighting the hologram of the clawed beast that’s ravaging her little world.

Watching your daughter play and daydream away with her toys made your hearts aflutter. You and Cal fondly watched her show off her toys and the scenarios that she makes with them, of course, as parents you encouraged her and played along with her.

Your life as a family was only the beginning.

“I’ll just get back on fixing the speeder outside,”

“Okay,”

Cal stood up from his seat on the couch, took a few steps away but immediately turned around returning to you.

“Oop, I almost forgot,” he crawled on fours, landing mere inches away from you, only to close the narrow gap with a kiss; his lips brushed against you, secretly sucking your bottom lip and running his tongue into your mouth.

Cassidy was disturbed from her role-playing with her toy animals when Cal scooped her chubby face and ravaged her cheeks with his rough, itchy kisses.

“Itchy kisses!” Cal bellowed playfully.

“Agh, no itchy kisses!!” Cassidy squealed while trying to shield her cheeks from Cal’s beard in retaliation. She succeeded in pushing him away, but made up for it by kissing the less hairy part of her daddy’s face.

“I’ll see you two in a bit,”

Cal appeared out of the house, greeted by the distant tide crashing at the foot of the hilltops, the song of the gulls whistling through the cold, heavy breeze. The Kestis homestead had a full view of the capital city but they’re content in their little village.

The salty sea breeze entered his flaring nostrils, fresh air filled his lungs to the brim, he kept finding himself gazing at the thunderclouds in the horizon—but it wasn’t the weather that worried him, it was something else; he knew that you could feel it too, he sensed your uneasiness when the wind had picked up.

In a small shed where most of the Kestis family’s machinery, tech, and communications are, he busied himself in working on the speeder’s chassis sitting on his workbench. Fixing things like he used to in Bracca and after that always distracted him in a good way, it made him worry less and focus more on his objective at hand. Thunder muffled through the walls of the shed, it didn’t startle him but he was quickly reminded how easily loud noises scared Cassidy.

Meanwhile, back in the homestead, the same thunder caused Cassidy to jump in the middle of her playing. She shuffled towards her mother, toys in hand, and BD-1 comforted her by nestling against her leg.

“It’s okay, sweetie, it’s only rain,” you wrapped your arms around the toddler. Knowing and feeling safe, she continued bobbing and waving her toys in the air, unintentionally lifting her Bogling with the Force.

You rested your cheek against Cassidy’s head, stroking her curling locks while she plays and shows you her scenarios that she’s made up with her toys—to which you hum in a soft, affirmative tone as a reply and then she would continue.

This bothersome feeling distracted you, holding Cassidy close gave a sense of calm, but it persisted. Claps of thunder raged on, growing louder and louder as it loomed past the surf; Cal paused and dropped everything on the table, feeling and anticipating for something, expecting the unknown. Cassidy shrieked, startled by the last roar of the thunder—the loudest of all—and scurried deeper into your arms, burying her face into your bosom and tugging the flaps of your jacket to shroud her vision from the storm.

The communications in the shed flickered to life all of a sudden. The satellite picked up and relayed Cere’s transmission from the Mantis.

“Cal, come in. This is Cere from the Mantis,”

“I hear you, Cere,”

“We have a problem,”

It’s as though as anchor had been dropped to the pit of Cal’s stomach. He abandoned his mechanical work and darted uphill back to the cottage. In the middle of the path, four black silhouettes dotted the gray sky; the roaring of their engines’ throttle screeched to the hill, the denizens of the hillside village started pouring out of their homes, discovering the same silhouette cutting through the drizzle.

“What is that?!”

“Is it the Empire!?”

Murmurs and indistinct chatter of the onlookers filled the slope, their white noise mingling with the engine screeches and growing wrath of the storm.

“EVERYBODY, GATHER YOUR FAMILIES AND EVACUATE!!!” Cal bellowed and they immediately picked up the sense of urgency to follow. They scrambled back into their homes in a panic while Cal continued heading back to the cottage.

Stroking your daughter’s head to console her, you cooed to her repeatedly that it was okay; but fear suddenly washed over your being when a sharp, whistling noise followed the raspy screech of a ship engine. It wasn’t something natural.

You can recognize that sound anywhere.

Explosions from the distance rumbled across the land. Ion cannons from TIE Fighters have met their marks. Cal barges into the house, gasping for air as he supported himself leaning against the doorway.

“We have to go!”

In an instant, you sprang from the floor, snatched Cassidy into your arms and rushed to your bedroom. You settled her on the bed, kissing her forehead while she stares at her mother with round, confused eyes. It was fortunate that you had the foresight to pack a bag with your belongings, that way you’re able to spend less time in packing and more time in evacuating. Your lightsaber hilts rolled as you pulled open your drawers, you fished the weapons out of the container and clipped them to your belt.

“Mommy, scared…” Cassidy whimpered.

“It’s okay, honey…” you cupped her face and choked back tears. “It’s just rain.”

“Is everything ready?” Cal popped into the bedroom.

“Yes. Here,” you tossed him his saber. “It’s been a while. Hope you’re not rusty yet.”

Cal painted his signature smug in his face, the cold cylinder fought with the warmth of his palm, his fingers tightened around the hilt as he felt for the grooves and crevices of his sleeve’s design. He gave it a good spin in his hand for old time’s sake and then buckled it to the hook of his belt.

“Greez has the ship fired up, it won’t be long before—”

A cottage was reduced into stones, debris rained over the roof of the house; you urged your husband to move out now, both of your slung backpacks over your shoulders and burst out of your home for three years. You make for the door, cautiously checking if the coast is clear of TIE Fighters.

“The Mantis is in the clearing!” Cal cried. “Go, go, go!”

Holding Cassidy tight and close to you, Cal took the lead and made sure you stayed close. The tricky part was going downhill with a baby in tow while evading meter-long ion cannons from TIE Fighters. The wake of destruction could be seen from where you stand, but there was no time to gawk, you have to keep moving.

“Look, stragglers!” a Stormtrooper alerted.

The troops angled and faced your general direction, by a split second, the projectiles returned to them as Cal banked them away from his wife and daughter. The Kestis family ran towards the woods, striking down the soldiers that stood in their way and pulled the trigger on them.

“We’re close, come on!”

Just when the two of you thought you’re so close, you were proven otherwise when a horde of Stormtroopers and Purge Troopers appeared in the smokescreen of rain. The adversaries armored in black and red, waving the dual-ended electrostaffs in hand, marched forward—imposing the shadow of fear in the raging storm.

“Cal…” the cautionary tone in your voice lowed in your throat, your hand instinctively planted against the back of Cassidy’s swaddled head.

The enemy swarm closes in, Cal stands there frozen and you want to know what’s going on in his mind right now.

“Cal, I don’t think we can take them on,”

The dorsal fin of the Mantis pops out of the horizon, right behind the enemy line—just when they have you cornered, the ship obliterates them with a single release of the twin ion cannons. The Mantis orients itself sideways, the entry ramp unfolds with Cere standing on the other side.

“Get on board!” she cried.

You and Cassidy went first, you buckled your knees and sprang the balls of your feet off the air while embracing your baby tight enough, followed by Cal. The family staggered to the couch, finally affording the moments to catch their breaths. You pulled off the hood of the swaddle to check on Cassidy—she was uninjured but she’s still terrified from the sounds that she couldn’t comprehend.

“Captain, they’re here now!”

Greez didn’t reply, he was too busy prepping the ship for the jump to lightspeed. He cranked the lever and his beloved Mantis darted out of the atmosphere and into deep space, barely eluding the blockade of Star Destroyers.

“Well now, the Empire sure seems to have set their interests on Ilaro,” Cal dryly blurted.

“Had I cracked their transmitters soon enough before the storm interfered, I would’ve warned you sooner,”

“It’s fine, Cere, we’re all right now,” you sighed. “Where are we going? Cerinda?”

“Cerinda has been taken. The Empire has fanned out its fleets in the system and its neighbors. We’re in the middle of a widespread occupation,”

“I don’t suppose you have another place we can crash in now?” Cal chided.

You argued that if the Empire has gone as far as the Outer Rim, it doesn’t really matter now what region of the galaxy you flee to. Bogano may be an option, but it can’t be too obvious. Kashyyyk has peace right now, but only time will tell when the next attack on the planet will occur. Your heart sank as you settled Cassidy on the couch—she still found the comfort of her toys in her hands—while for every planet that you could recall and think of, a “what if” always followed. You decided to narrow down the list to the hopefully-least likely to be invaded by the Empire.

You uttered the name of the planet. Cal, Cere and Merrin turned to you, gawking at you slouched against the seat. You rummaged your backpack, fishing for something until you produced a lime-green holocron in your hands.

“I’ve inherited this holocron from my master a long time ago—this is the first time I’ve used it again after so many years,”

Using the Force to activate the holocron, the golden frame moved in a symmetrical pattern, exposing the crystalline artifact little by little. With the core finally revealed, a hologram recording of your late master fizzled into existence, her voice muffled from the resolution but still rang clear, her face blank as she was speaking to nothingness but delivering a message to many.

You listened intently at the small, figurine-sized projection of your master. One would assume that all these years, you would’ve forgotten her face or her full name; but you’re constantly reminded in more ways than one.

“This is Jedi Master Trianna Geddu. I have personally contained a list of planets that ranges as close as the Core Worlds to someplace as far as the Outer Rim. My purpose for such a list is to provide a safehaven for those in need. These are dark times—not only for the Jedi, but the Republic itself. I can only hope that as time passes after my time of recording this, those planets in the list have remained loyal to what is good and just.”

The projection dissolved and then another replaced it. The list appeared more of a map, stars scattered across the room, filling everyone’s eyes with its glitter—Cassidy was especially enamored by the celestial sight, she cooed and gasped in reaction, aimlessly pointing at the stars and planets in the air.

You stood up, searching the stars for a particular planet until you found a planet with three moons—two on the western hemisphere and one on the eastern—your finger hovered over the moon on the eastern hemisphere.

“I know this place,” Cal murmured, peering over the projection while it rotated—as if it was the real thing—and then the memories were beginning to squirm in his head, he calms himself down to meditate on them.

Images flashed one by one, a few have no particular correlation with one another, but they all transpired within the same place.

“This moon, Zera III, I’ve been here before,” the spherical hologram hovered over the palm of his hand.

“What’s in there, Cal?” you queried.

“A temple, but it wasn’t Jedi. It’s practically desolate,” he concentrated again. “A delta, a mangrove… it’s a forest. Yes, I know that. It’s warm… and… familiar.”

His eyes blinked open, finding himself the target of the stares of the Mantis crew—including his own daughter—you and Cere exchanged glances. You gawked at the moon floating in the space of the ship, you surveyed the rest of the map until you conferred with the crew.

“So, Zera III?” you conferred, bobbing your head to the side.

It feels like you have gone full circle—and a sudden wash of déjà vu.

You were all practically in the same predicament three years ago—conversing with gaping stares, suggestive eyes, and smug smirks, the only difference is that the holocron isn’t destroyed and that you and Cal have a baby.

The Mantis makes way for the moon Zera III.