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netherfeildren · 1 year ago

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The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VIII : Melpomene

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; Descriptions of depression; Jealousy; Possessive behavior; Rough sex

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one for a really, really long time.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VIII : MELOPMENE

When is it polite to let go of someone’s arm after you grab it?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

You’re in the dark cavernous lair of your master, and he is there too, chained, beaten. Helmetless.

Horror.

A flash of brown hair, you blink away – no, no, don’t look.

That terrible voice, terrible for its harrowing familiarity, telling you that you’ll never escape, that you can run from your past, but you cannot run from yourself, from the thing that you are. Your desires, your attempts at reform are futile when you were born poisoned.

But no, no, I wasn’t – I wasn't born poisoned. I was benevolent and good, darkness made me a fiend.

I had a mother and a father.

A flash of his eyes – No, no – don’t go in there. That isn’t for you.

Are you afraid?

Terrified.

And then the brilliant spark of a lightsaber spearing you through the belly – burning so bright hot it’s almost like ice, a burning gone to numbness, a burning gone to madness.

You look up, and the saber is through Din’s chest then. The bright red of the plasma mixes and mingles with the dark crimson of his blood, and the helmet is gone, destroyed beneath the fist of a darker power, his face is right there, right there, right there, your last chance to look–

You wake with a start to the sight of his slow shifting back beneath a thin undershirt. The fabric, soft and worn, and you can almost taste the scent of his skin you know it holds. The shining curve of the back of his helmet.

The ouroboros of your own demise… but never his. No matter what, no matter anything.

“Din.”

He turns immediately, blaster and an old oil rag in hand. “Cyar’ika–” voice full of concern, just at your tone. He’s already setting the blaster down.

“I had a bad dream.”

He stands without comment, going into the fresher, you listen to the water run, the lights go out, and then he’s there, sliding beneath the blankets into the cocoon of your bed, skin bare and warm. He pulls you into his arms, the safest place in the entire galaxy, and there are tears in your eyes and a fracture spanning like a spider’s web through your heart. You feel the soft press of his mouth at your hairline, slow moving, the deep inhale as he takes in your scent. “What was it, cyare? Tell me.” His rough hand finds its way up the back of your shirt, another beneath the edge of your underwear to grasp at the soft swell of your bottom and pull you further into him.

You shake your head, “I don’t know,” lie, “Something terrible,” truth. You think of the first lie you’d ever told him, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before, and you wonder if there will ever be a day that he’ll look back on all this, this time of yours together, and regret it, resent it, hate you.

He presses your head into the space beneath his chin and lets out a deep breath you feel fan and flutter around you, the wide expanding of his strong chest. “I’m here. It’s alright now.” He’s here. It’s alright now.

“Promise me–” you say suddenly.

And his answer is immediate and without hesitation when he says: “Anything.” But what promise you need you can’t say exactly – stay, don’t leave me, love me.

He’s beneath you, inside of you, sleeping beside you so that you can always feel the press of his belly into your naked back, the dig of his fingers into your softness, his hot breath against the back of your neck. Your whole lives seeming to have intertwined in an inextricable way, and still, it’s not enough. Still, there’s something panicked humming beneath your skin, sending your blood to boiling, your heart running away from you. You run your palm up his chest and over the thick mass of his shoulder, hugging yourself to him tighter. He’s here, he’s here, he’s real and alive, and you are your own sick ouroboros again and again and again. Eternally destroying and recreating yourself, the things around you.

But you could never destroy him, of that you’re certain. You’d do the worst, end yourself before you could ever hurt Din, and you realize, with something like finality or fate or the end of myth, that time is no longer on your side.

He decides to take you back to Nevarro after Maldo Kreis. Angry, furious, with himself that his grand idea to take you to the hot baths had seemed to do more harm than good in the end, for some reason he could not, for the life of him, come to understand. You were suffused with a melancholy he could not fight, no matter what he seemed to do, blue and somber, in a way he’d not seen you before. In a way that terrified him. Worst of all, the fact that he could so easily see through your attempts to fight it off for him, trying to distract him with your voice and your mouth and your cunt from the wan truth of you. The sound of your silence hurt him, the dark marks stained beneath your eyes gone dull and lifeless which worried him like nothing else. Distracted and tired and clinging to him in nervous fright constantly, childlike in your fragile vulnerability. And Din, he watched you with a focused obsession, tracked you and took stock of all your movements and moods and habits and expressions, with an intensity that would have probably perturbed you had you the wherewithal to pay more attention, but your mind was gone so far away, eyes vacant, energy low, nights full of terrors and panic.

He thought he understood, the reminder of your past the attack had brought on had to be something more than difficult. It was difficult for him to only imagine it, and he’d not been the one to live it. But there was more… there was him, he could see it in the way you clung to him, desperately, with panic, but your eyes… there was a distance in them too, a wariness when you looked at him, something like an apology and a newfound darkness he could tell was well known to yourself but new to him. He feared that you were discovering something about yourself in relation to him that you couldn’t fathom, as if he were a reminder that you’d been subject to the will of another for so long, your whole life, and you couldn’t again allow yourself to fall under the subjugation of another thing, feeling, something you were unprepared for, had not expected.

And another, irrational, not entirely easily controlled part, the part that sometimes forewent strategy and patience and charged into a fight, guns blazing, wanted to grip you by the shoulders, take your face in hand and shake you, demand you tell him what was wrong so he could just fix it. He was sure he could fix anything that came your way, fix anything you needed, do anything you needed, be anything you needed. He could, he could, he knew he could if only you gave him the chance.

“Will you be alright here for a while? I’ll be just over there – with Karga.” He points over to the dim corner of Nevarro’s cantina where the Guild master Greef Karga sits jovially hooting and drinking and guffawing Mandalorian, Mandalorian at the top of his lungs, trying to get Din’s attention. He’d heard something of a shouted girlfriend and I was sure he was a droid which Din was choosing to ignore, too consumed with the vacant look on your face as he cups the soft skin of your cheeks, the heat of your skin suffusing the leather of his gloves. There is a gauntness to you that hadn’t been there a few days ago, no matter how much food he tried to ply you with, and Din’s stomach churns and flips with nerves like he’s never experienced before. You nod your head slowly up at him, eyes huge and dry and lashes so long they make his heart pinch and throb. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs once more, low and urgent through the modulator, but you remain silent, only nuzzling your cheek into his palm, tilting your head further into his touch. He sighs, so full of aggravation and impotence, “I’ll be quick,” he tells you before turning on his heel towards Karga.

He’d decided he was going to tell him he’d be taking a short break from the Guild. He’d look for local work here and stick a cork in taking bounties. You were tired, anxious, you needed rest. He’d find a nice, calm place for the two of you to take up in for a few days, a few weeks, however long you need. And he knows you need it. Din knows of the things you need. Din knows you. As you’d weaved through the busy streets of Nevarro, the gaggle of various Outer Rim tongues sounding around you, you’d clung to him, nervous and jumpy, a vein of paranoia stiffening your muscles, flooding you with apprehension, your tiny fingers entwined between his thick leather clad ones so tightly he was sure it must’ve hurt you. He’d tried to huddle you beneath his arm, nestled into his side with a calming hand on your waist, but he knew your peace was put on. He knew there was something making you scared, something you weren’t saying out loud. And it was his responsibility to know what you needed, to give you what you needed, and any sort of failure in that regard was entirely unacceptable. He was failing you right now, and he needed to rectify it as soon as he could. Staying put for a while seemed like the right first step.

The man slips into the seat next to you as soon as Din turns his back. You turn in your seat, flagging down the barkeep and ignoring the peering gaze you can feel flicking against your face as the man, not very inconspicuously, inspects you. Your eyes flash towards him quickly, immediately clocking him as a non threat and deciding to ignore him, but you catch the surprised widening of his eyes as he takes stock of your own, the bi-colored shock of them.

“Whoa–those’re really somethin’.” Human, but has a strange accent, nothing you’ve heard before, and you give him a non-committal hum. “Sad though…” He adds as an afterthought, resting his elbow on the edge of the bar to cup his chin in his palm. He strokes two fingers along the scruff of his jaw contemplatively.

Your eyes jump back to his face, “Excuse me?” He has a shock of white blonde hair nestled at the front of his hairline.

“Got the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, pretty.”

“Sad?” You spit, offended.

“Sad,” he nods his head solemnly, mouth twisting in a wry half smile. The twang of his accent cuts off the ends of his words. “What’s got you so blue?” And although you comprehend what the words he’s saying are… you don’t understand. You feel yourself shaking your head, frown marring your brow. “Aren’t you sad?” He presses. His voice sounds too full of air, breathy or unnaturally round or something too strange for you to name. You decide you don’t like it. There’s something knowing in the way he spits them out. Something like wisdom.

You blink furiously, give a fractional shake of your head, “No…” like a question. “I don’t think so. Not sad. More– more,” You don’t know why you’re speaking to him. You should turn the other way, find another seat, go get Din, but the words keep coming. Something about that fucking accent, the way his face is designed to stretch over his bones. Din isn’t going to like it if he sees you talking to a stranger. But you give another fast shake of your head, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. No, sad isn’t what you are. You turn back to look at him, eyes wide and understanding now, “I’m angry.” Terror had made you cruel for so long, but you still held the capacity for softness, he had shown you that. Sadness at times too, perhaps. But now, no… sad wasn’t what you were at the dawn of your realization. At the reality of what would happen here soon. You are angry, you think: I am just a girl, but I am also angry. Maker, I am also angry. Your unfocused eyes look back at him, wide and maybe terrified. Shocked at the true sight of what it is you’ve been carrying around in your heart these past few days, after the Thalassians, after the reality of loving Din. Because you do, you love him, you love him, you love him, and you’re so fucking angry. You’re in love with him, and you’d do anything for him, give anything for him. And you don’t think that you know how to love someone without swallowing them, without destroying them, and you also know that you could never do that to Din. Not to him. And you’re angry that this is your truth. That this is what you are, what you’d been made. He doesn’t deserve an angry sort of love, and yet, it’s the only sort you have to give him.

The stranger hums like he understands, taking a long sip of his Spotchka, nodding appreciatively at you or the liquor, you can’t tell. But he understands, you can tell for some reason. “The Mandalorian is yours?” He tips his head then turns to peer over his shoulder where you know Din is doing business, a smarmy little smirk blooming over white teeth. His incisor is chipped, there’s something charming about the imperfection, and you think you need to change your earlier appraisal, there is something dangerous about him. You can’t tell what, maybe something conniving or deceitful, like a snake, and perhaps, not a danger towards you, but still… there’s something there.

You turn now too, to look towards where he’s speaking with Karga. He stands so tall, a gleaming spire of beskar and strength. Wholly untouchable as if there were some invisible boundary separating him from lesser men. You can’t answer his question. The reply lodged in your throat like a thorn. Desire is about vanishing, and you want him more than anything. But is he yours? He would give himself to you surely. Without thought or question. Perhaps, in his mind, he already had. But there’s something about that which you know is wrong. Like the saber. Like the Thalassian planted seed. And so what is it about a person deserving a thing? What is it about absolution? You can so desire it – again like vanishing – but that desire is… what? So unattainable sometimes, non-existent. Just because you want a thing doesn't mean it’s possible, real, yours. The strange man asks again, “Is he yours?”

And so you tell the only truth that you think is real in terms of Din, “He would be.” But can he be? He frowns, but with a smile, folding his face in such a way that you can’t one hundred percent tell what it is he’s trying to express, his eyes roving your face as if he’s never seen such a creature. He probably hasn’t.

“I think you’re lyin’.”

“I’m not.”

“You are sad–” he interrupts, “You just don’t realize that’s what it is yet. Anger’s good at masking sadness, doesn't mean it’s not there no more. ” You’re about to tell him to fuck off before you tear through his mind because who in the Maker does this little man think he is, when a huge, leather wrapped fist slams down onto the bar’s surface between the two of you, sending the glassware and fellow cantina patrons to jostling and yelping.

“Fuck off,” he says for you instead, growled through what you can tell are gritted, gnashing teeth. Reading your mind like always. The stranger jerks back with a laugh and a howl. Din’s other hand comes up to wrap gently around your throat, stroking softly at your thrumming pulse, a sign of possessive ownership.

“Well, hello to you too, Mandalorian,” the stranger says, tipping his chin, giving a flourished little salute, suave and calm and entirely provoking.

“You’ve got three seconds to move before I make you move.”

“Oh, he’s a real hoot, isn’t he?” The man says to you, ignoring the tower of aggressively looming beskar, all riled testosterone and possessive protectiveness.

“Do you not enjoy having your head attached to your shoulders?”

You roll your eyes up at Din, the stranger was annoyingly perceptive and brazen, but entirely harmless as well, no need for all these theatrics. “Ignore him – he’s only half civilized,” you say, placing a soothing palm against the armor over his belly.

“You know, one doesn’t much often see Mandalorian’s anymore,” he says conversationally. Not very good at reading social cues, this one. You take a small sip of the tea you’d ordered, leaning back into Din’s abdomen, settling in to watch how he handles this.

“My people are scattered across the galaxy now. It isn’t safe for us to converge out in the open,” monotone and serious, in that way of his. The complete opposite of this man’s casual, melodic voice like a teasing song.

“We kill that which we cannot tame. It’s the way of men.”

“Lesser men, perhaps.”

He nods concedingly, “Perhaps,” and swallows his glass down full, looking at you, eyes full of laughter, over the brim. “What a little liar you are, pretty. He is…” yours, and there’s laughter in his voice and his mouth and his movements too, not just his eyes. “Well, it’s been swell. We’ll be seein’ you, I think.” He winks at you as he slip hops off his stool, landing on straight locked knees with a little jolt. “And don’t you let her lie to you too,” he tells Din. Something about the man is nothing but provoking, riling the beskar bound ball of tension at your back into fury. You lean your head back against his chest, not acknowledging the other man’s farewell or that last remark as he slithers off. No need to poke the beast further. Din moves out from behind you, taking the stranger's seat, seething as he forces you to take the first word with his silence.

“Stop your sulking. He approached me.”

“Of course he approached you. And I'm not sulking,” he sulks.

“Oh, no?” You snort. “My mistake.”

“You smile for that di’kut, but not for me?” He demands, probably even stomping his foot a little bit which you’d normally find funny, but instead, wipes the laugh off your face.

“I do smile for you, Din,” you say in a small, hurt voice, and he wants to gnash his teeth and howl and do something entirely uncivilized, barbaric, even. That bantha shit sliding in to chat you up the second he’d turn his back. Din finds, with a lot less shame than he probably should have, that he absolutely hates when other men approach you, doesn’t much care, either, what that makes him. He can’t blame them, of course, eyes of pure magic like the ones looking up at him are hard to ignore, harder to walk away from. That doesn’t mean he can’t throw a fit over it. “And I wasn’t smiling for him.” He huffs, looking out at the rest of the dim cantina. Karga had taken his decision with good natured humor, understanding by the way Din’s head kept subtly turning in your direction that there was something more pressing that needs his attention and care at this moment. But your eyes look so hurt, like he’d said the worst thing possible at the worst time possible, he backtracks immediately, “I’m just kidding, it was a bad joke, cyare. I know you weren’t smiling at him.” But the hurt look doesn’t go away, and he feels, a little bit, like he’s going to throw up. “If I admit I’m an ass, will you give me a smile?” He tries to laugh, gives the gem of your earring a little tickle, and you try to return the gesture so limp he can’t even pretend to believe it.

You shake your head, giving up your false smile with a sigh, “How many pucks did you get?” And his heart beats faster than an X-wing. You aren’t going to like this, but he’ll be firm, stand his ground. This is what’s best.

“I didn’t get any,” he tells you slowly.

You blink a slow, confused blink. “What do you mean you didn’t get any? Why not?”

“I told Greef I’m taking a break.” You pull your hand back from the hold he’d had on it, expression going cool and icy, the bright eyes, the one like a scream going dim as a whisper. This is what’s best, Din knows it, he’s sure of it.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice is very small, very almost hurt again.

“I think it’s what’s best for now. We need a break.” He sees your shoulder jerk. “I– I need a break. I told you, I’m tired. You’re tired–”

“I’m not tired.”

“We both just need to settle for a time, I think. This is what’s best. And this is what we’re doing.” He’s rambling, tongue tied, heart beating too fast, worried and afraid and so in love with you that if he can’t fix this he’s sure he’ll die. He’s sure it’ll be the end of the world because he knows – Din knows that something’s wrong. He looks back at your face, and it’s so grave, so gaunt and small and easily breakable, “I think this is what’s best for us right now, cyar'ika. Don’t you?”

“No,” you shake your head furiously, try and stand up off your seat, but he clamps a big hand over your shoulder, forces you to stay in place and you bare your teeth at him. “Let go–”

“No, we’re going to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk. This– this isn’t– I didn't want you to do this. I don’t need you to do this for me. I’m fine. If you aren’t then that’s your problem. But I’m fine, and I don’t need any fucking rest or to get trapped here in this backwater shithole. No– no.” You try and force your way to standing again, and he presses you down, goes to his feet instead to loom over you. Entirely in a panic now. You’re so angry. You’re so angry and looking at him like… in no way you’ve ever looked at him before. And once again, he’s miscalculated. This was the wrong move. A push in the wrong direction.

“Okay, hold on– just… hold on. I didn't– I didn’t mean to insinuate… or–” He can’t get his head on straight, his tongue to work, can’t think of the right thing to say, the right way to make it all be okay between the two of you again, to make that dark shadow leave your eyes. “I just thought if we had some time to ourselves that it’d be–” You wilt like a flower, a long sigh like a whimper leaving your body, seeming to take all your strength with it. A felled weed tramped beneath his overbearing boot. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the pucks. It was a bad idea,” he says even though he knows it isn’t, even though he knows he’s telling the both of you a lie. You simply turn away from him, a thrumming pulse fluttering in the muscle of your jaw. But your eyes are dry, almost flinty, but dry, and so at least, he tells himself, he hasn't made you cry.

You’re up and out of your seat before he can even make it all the way back to you after he’d gone back to Karga with his tail tucked between his legs to retrieve his pucks, and fuck this, you have no reason to be angry with him. He’d been well intentioned, he’d been– what? Trying to mend a sinking ship. He calls your name low as you weave through the busy cantina, men turning to look at your ass as you go which has him snarling, hackles raised as he passes them, stomping after you. He calls your name again, and he watches the jerk of your head, as if you want to turn back to him but won’t let yourself and that makes him fucking angry. You’re running away, you’re running away, and he feels so helpless to stop you, like the two of you’ll be trapped in this constant chase for the rest of your lives.

Din has never been one to give in easily to his anger, but he gives into it now. Watching the line of your steel straight back scampering ahead of him, every so often your head jerks slightly to the side to check that he’s still there, slinking after you, stuck in the chase once again, as if you don’t trust the tether of your power that’s always there between the two of you to tell you that he’s still here following. As if you aren’t sure, don’t know that he’ll always be here. That there’s nowhere else for him to be or go after all this, after you. The Crest comes into sight and his heart beats so hard he’s nauseous, sweating beneath his helm. You quicken your steps, and he lengthens his, gains on you until he’s practically breathing down your neck, looming behind you, your movements jerky and jittery. And as soon as your foot makes first contact with the gangplank his hand is shooting up quick as a viper to clamp down around the back of your nape and pressing you forward so that you’re stumbling, held up only by his guiding grip, and shoving you into the open hatch, following at your heels and slamming his fist against the security mechanism, locking the two of you inside. He’s on you before you can even think to turn around, ripping your cloak from around your shoulders and shoving you up against the durasteel wall, pinning you there like some sort of trapped butterfly. “If you want to fight, cyar'ika, I’ll pretend we’re fighting. You only have to say so,” he bends his head to say, right at your ear, his other hand digging beneath the edge of your trousers and pulling them down along with your underwear over the swell of your ass, baring you to his gaze. You struggle, spitting and hissing, but don’t tell him to stop, don’t tell him no. He slides his palm between your legs, “Wet little cunt,” he grunts, pushing two of his leather clad fingers inside of you, immediately going deep, fucking you hard, jostling them back and forth inside of you to listen to the wet rattle of your cunt for him. “Feral little thing. Are you going to tell me you don’t want it? That you’re angry with me? Did you like that boy? Is that it?” And you arch your hips, a ragged moan and no, no, Din, I do want it. I don’t want to fight, please. He pulls his fingers from you with a wet sucking noise, lands a sharp stinging slap to your ass, listening to the pretty sound of you whine and keen for him, and he’s so fucking angry and hard. There’s something electric and aggravated and upset inside of him. Something that feels wrong and on the verge of something terrible. Another slap, another, pressing you harder into the wall so that you’re forced up onto your tiptoes. He opens his own trousers, pullings his sticky tipped erection out and fists it tightly, punishing in his grip, jacks it once, twice, and he’s bending at the knees, notching at the mouth of your cunt and pressing all the way inside to the end of you. He feels the bump at your cervix and the resulting cry when it hurts just a little too much, swings his hips back and does it again and again and again. Fucks you with a brutal edge he knows’ll make you cry, but that you’ll like nonetheless, want more, harder. “H– how’re you always so soft and so wet and so pretty for me? Huh? Always so ready to get my soft cunt nice and fucked, right? Always ready to let me in and ride you however I need? Right, little one? Say yes. I want to hear you say, yes, Din.”

Yes, Din.

“I just want what’s best for you–” he tells you, a continuation of your earlier conversation he doesn’t need to remind you of, and then more spitting and hissing and struggling from you, riling your anger up again. He pulls his gloves from his hand with the edge of his teeth and gives you his palm to gnaw on like the rabid thing he knows he’s turned you into. Sharp little teeth immediately savaging into the flesh of his palm as soon as he wraps his hand over your mouth, tugs your head back so that he can look down into your eyes from above, all the while his balls slap wetly against your cunt, jolting you forward, making you cry and spasm around his cock.

Once, when you’d thought he’d been asleep, he’d heard you tell him he was like a god in the shape of a man, and that you’d always thought that was supposed to be you. Din never feels more like a god among men than when he’s riding your cunt, balls deep inside of you.

“I need to come,” slips your warbled moan against his palm, spit slicked and tear stained.

“What you need is to be fucking grateful and take it how I say,” he snarls, riding you harder, watching the rebound of your ass against his pelvis on every thrust inside, the way the slick root of his cock splits you open, the drag of your walls against him when he pulls out just to snap back in. He grunts and whimpers and tries to make you understand without words that if you leave him he’ll die, that he needs you to be okay, that he’ll do anything. He has the sinking, clawing feeling that you’re not going to listen. Why does it feel like all you’re doing is saying goodbye to me? And he’s so fucking angry he wants to cry. Angry and afraid and helpless, a small child once again watching his whole world go away from him. Entirely without choices or home.

“Do you want my come?”

“Yes, yes, I want it so badly,” and your tears roll over his fingers, lose themselves in the cracks between.

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, come inside me, Din–” please, please, please. “Fill me up.” He tightens his hold on you, harsher than he should, rips open the front of your tunic and twists your breast tightly in his grip, presses you up and into the wall so that he’s pretty sure your toes leave the ground and grinds the tip of his spitting cock at the mouth of your womb while you go tight as a fist, the best thing he’s ever felt in his entire life, the only thing that matters, vision going white to black to nothing and fills you with his come, feels you suck and milk him with your cunt. He pins you there with his hips, pants as if he’d just fought for his life, for something he knows he can’t keep. That was maybe never meant to be entirely his. He realizes, like a surprise in that very moment, the thought occurring to him out of nothing, that he’s never seen the true, pure color of your eyes unburdened by the helmet. Open and staring at him, only him, and he regrets it bitterly, knows then that he could have done so much more. It’s some sort of curse, some sort of punishment, this realization. “What’s best for me is to please you,” he tells you. Just so that you know. Just so that he’s sure it’s been said out loud. So that it’s there.

“You know that no matter what, I’m always yours,” And because you’ve said it out loud, he supposes it must be true.

“Where does your next adventure take you?”

He cocks his head to the side, pauses the cleaning of his blaster, dallying while the pre-flight checks work. The curve of the helmet gleams so bright for one second it almost blinds you, and you shut your eyes tight, open them again. “Further into the outer rim. Karga’s given us a tricky one this time.”

Us.

You’re quiet for a beat, letting him pretend – face trying to prevent itself from fracturing, wavering, by sheer force of will. “I think, I’m afraid– I think all my adventures will be over very soon.”

“Why’s that?” Slow and measured, your last game here at this moment.

“Oh…” you tilt your head side to side, let the sin you’re about to commit, simmer and slide between your ears. “The wrong choices – made over and over again.”

Another beat of silence, perhaps, trying to measure where you’re trying to take this, trying to hold off. He resumes his task. “That’s a shame.”

Do you ever kiss?

No.

That’s a shame.

You smile briefly, a whole other girl ago, “Perhaps, you’d have taken me away on all of yours, forever. I would have liked it, you know? With you, I might have liked it forever.”

He freezes now, his favored silence – the impenetrable facade of his helmet like a dark yawning pit come to swallow you whole. You know his intention is to bend you to his will, force your hand into something easier for him to understand, to face. You close your eyes and lean your head back humming. “Yes, I think I'd have liked it quite a lot, actually.”

“Cyar’ika,” he murmurs, and he already knows, so what’s the point in being brave or honorable? “Spit it out.”

“What do you mean?” Playing difficult and obstinate, playing the fucking coward, you do not open your eyes, do not give him the respect or consideration he deserves looking him in the eye while you break him. You see the rest of your life branching out before you, behind your closed lids, like the branches of a shuura tree. The branch before this moment, heavy with the fruit of your potential, your togetherness, and the branch alone, after, empty of him. There is a part of you that screams that this is a mistake, that you will regret this for the rest of your days. You continue anyway.

“Stop playing fucking games with me.” He knows you too well now, your eyes snap open, too much risk.

“This has been fun, but don’t you think it’s about to have run its course? It was never supposed to be forever. And– you– you have plans. If you want to stay… that isn’t what I want.” The words burn like acid, like the worst thing you’ve ever done. All lies. You watch his left shoulder jerk back as if you’d struck him, shot him.

“Say it.”

Your belly twists with nausea. “Say what?” A cold sweat sprouts across the back of your neck, and your face feels aflame with heat, you think you’re about to be sick. You try for another smile.

“Tell me you’re leaving me.”

“Don’t be–”

“Fucking tell me. Tell me you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“I think this is enough.” You cannot, you cannot say those words. It would be too great a lie to tell, even for you. And you have already lied to him so much.

“Coward,” he spits. Truth. At least one of you still possesses the capacity for such a thing.

“Perhaps.”

“And what? You’re just going to be alone again? This is what you want?”

You’re choking on your own breath. “That–” you clear your throat, “No.”

“No? Fucking look at me.”

You snap your head back towards him, the terrible darkness of his visor, and for one moment you feel so fucking angry that you can’t look in his eyes right now. “What do you want from me? I can’t give you what you want. I can’t. I don’t have it in me. I am not sorry.” Lie, lie, fucking lie.

“Cyar’ika, please, why don’t we just–” He stands, moving towards you.

You cut him off, take a step back, away. “No, Din. I’m ready to move on. There’s no reason to draw this out. We both knew it had to end eventually. We want different things.” You’d always known how it would end. You always know how everything will end.

“After everything? After all this? That’s pathetic. It’s sad.” You’re pathetic, is what he surely means, but he moves towards you again, the subtle inclination of his body towards yours as if he were trying to absorb the last of your touch just once more.

“Why? Coming from you? You’ve always been alone? Why is it sad for me?”

“Because– because we– I don’t…I don’t want that for you. And we have–”

You can’t hear him say it. The proverbial we, you both wish this could have been.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” And there are tears in your voice, tears in your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks, and there is anguish in his own voice when he begs, “Then tell me, tell me everything, and I’ll help you bear whatever burden you think you must carry on your own.”An impossibility, for worse than anything else, worse than him hating you for your lies or your evasions or your secrecy, for running, what would be worse than anything else would be for him to hate you for what you really are. The truth would be death-dealing. You’d not survive it.

You give him the full weight of your gaze – one last look. Brilliant and strong and intelligent. So brave. A good man – this is a good man before you, honest and true, and he deserves better than you. You refuse to let him think he could love a thing like you. Someone who has done the things you’ve done. This too shall pass.

And then one last bit of truth: “I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you. There’s nothing to be sad about. I’ve never really lived,” But then again, another lie, for with him, you had.

“But you deserve the chance to. By the Maker, you still ought to. If you believe in me then stay with me. Fucking stay. Don’t leave me,” the words spit through clenched, furious teeth and he sounds like he’d cry if he could, and you feel as if you’ll die if he does. You can’t acknowledge it. There’s a star of red, in the vast darkness of you, bleeding out, fractures in the ice of your heart. That desperate wretched thing that so desperately wants to live. You gather your satchell which you’d hidden from him by your feet behind a crate. Ready to flee as soon as you possibly could. Nothing but a coward and ghoul.

“This is what I want. You have to give it to me,” and then returning his own words back to him, “You can’t say no to me, you can’t tell me no,” and even as you say the words, there is a part of you shocked, howling that he isn’t keeping you by force. Hurt by it. You want him to wrestle you to the floor of the Crest and chain you to himself. And it’s irrational and ridiculous, for you are the one that’s doing this, the maker of your own demise like always, this is what you’d told yourself you want, what is necessary. And yet you’re still hurt, still shocked.

You turn towards the open hatch. “Don’t get yourself killed,” you hear yourself say with your back to him, words you’d said to him once before, what seems so long ago now after all this. After the two of you. A whole other girl, creature, monster.

“Would you care if I did? Die?” Voice full of venom and hurt and smallness. “It’s amazing to me that one person can have the ability to be so singularly selfish. What about me? What about what I want?” You wish he’d hit you, take up his blaster against you, anything else, but you know he’ll give you what you ask for nonetheless. He can’t say no to you, you’d made a deal of sorts, with those words, after all. He knows what you are and what you are not, and he has always understood the things you need. And you wish that you were anything other than this, anything but what you were made to be. That you could have so wholly changed yourself that you could forsake every terrible thing that you’ve ever held within you to make you into the venomous little thing that you are. You beg him with your mind, your heart, your tears to not let you leave, to not abandon you. To not heed your poisoned words, your vile heart, your uncaring actions. Please, please, Din, see me for what I really am. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was made like this. I have been broken beyond repair, and I am sorry.

Instead and cowardly: “Or do. I don’t give a shit. I don’t plan on coming back here anyways.” You ignore the rest. What he wants is inconsequential in this instance because he wants the wrong thing. He cannot want you to keep. You are not a thing to be kept – too savage, too broken, too dark. One day he’ll see this and thank you for what you’re doing now.

But despite this moment of self awareness, on the back end of that thought comes the whisper: Don’t leave me. I’m sorry.

But he does not see, and he goes anyway.

The two of you part ways and beyond the pain of anything else you’ve endured, the abyss of the dark, the loneliness, the pain inflicted by hands crueler than you could ever dream of being, this hurts more than all the rest.

You’re still there, pretending you’re not waiting for him, months later.

He does not return. And you are left blind to the fact that for a long time to come, he will be on a mission of his own – with a little boy, special and magical beyond even your own imagination.

Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din

As if you’d lost a limb, a chunk of your heart ripped from you. You miss him so much it makes you want to die.

Time passes anyway.

You are afraid that you will think of him forever, for the rest of your life, and you are afraid that you will never be in the same place again.

Time passes anyway.

It is two years before you see your Mandalorian again.

[END OF PART I]

Interlude

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#TCC fic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal characters

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derww · 19 days ago

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DAY 28: POSESSION

CW: Death, violence, religious themes

He wakes up and feels a knife by his throat.

Firstly he panics, but then sees the person holding it and it's Mapicc – in Spoke's body, but it's still Mapicc. After that, he calms down instantly.

– Pina colada, - he says and the weight on his neck disappears. Mapicc nods and pulls a knife away.

– Welcome back, Zam.

It cannot be said that everything is fine with Mapicc himself too: he has never been able to get used to the inability to see clearly beyond his nose, the desire of this pathetic body to complete deformation and the continuing flow of the inaccessible but too great power of God in the blood. His center of gravity had been knocked down, and Spoke's twin blades, instead of the falcata destroyed in the explosion, were too light for the comfort and lingering blows. Zam gives him his saber, taken from the corpse, but even it lies wrong in insufficiently material fingers.

It's a coinflip every time – who will wake up, who is responsible. Zam was stronger, more tenacious, but Spep was also breaking through from time to time. They were afraid that one day it would be Minute who would wake up. It never happened but they couldn't afford to let their attention wane. Their worst enemy in the middle of their base is a death sentence.

Sleepwalking, Zam was unstable in his activity and could pass out half a step away. But he refused to give up – he wrestled control for himself, adapted to the sword from Minute's corpse, and moved step by step.

Jumper was standing against them. And two immortal gods with their wings torn off. Void and chunkban were the only ways to solve the problem, and they burned too many Ashes bookbans to deal with them themselves. At least while they have another option.

Mapicc had to learn to identify each of them by vague figures, Zam had to study how to faint safely, and Ro had to withstand the loads and fight over and over and over again. Only Clown looks as always, but even his hands are gradually starting to tremble.

Jumper is chosen by the gods, and they feed her with divine apples and crown her with a laurel wreath, and black and purple and red ribbons are woven into her cropped hair. She has no shortage of armor, she always has the exp bottles and golden apples, she almost creates potions out of thin air and never removes bright pink elytras. But she is still mortal. Unlike Ash and Squiddo, Jumper is still mortal.

Zam refuses to sleep. As long as the body belongs to him, he uses it, no matter how exhausted it is. Spep's body is not his own, it is weaker and more vulnerable, it is not hardened in endless battles and days of grinding, and one day Zam exhausts it so much that Spep who wakes up in his own body next cannot even move a limb.

They manage to push Squiddo into the void, but before that, she point-by-point blows up Mapicc on the spot. This time it's Zam who has to grieve for his dead partner, but he just doesn't have time for it. He and Ro have to climb out of another chunkban, and he is knocked out almost immediately after. The next time he wakes up, it's Clown who's holding him and asking for the password. Zam thinks wearily that he would like to cry.

Instead of two gods, there is only one now – and Jumper, she is still here, angel wings and one more ribbon in her hair – and Ash is noticeably gloomy, carrying a bible of saving the world under his arm. In such a man, with pointed facial features and dark eyes, black lightning burns from the Bhaal sunk deep into the skin are especially noticeable.

This time, Ash throws an inventory ban at Clown, and Clown doesn't even have time to say anything. While Ro cuts Jumper off, Zam writes a first book for the bookban with unnaturally icy fingers and then breaks the shulker on the build limit right above Ash. When he finally gets down and reunites with Ro, he can barely stand on his feet, and Ro, taking on some of the weight, brings him back to their base. Home. Zam's pupils roll up halfway through, but he finally falls asleep only inside the base. Ro leaves him on the bed, making sure he doesn't break his neck or swallow his own tongue, and only then allows himself to take a break.

This is... Exhausting. It wasn't the first time Ro had been involved in a war, but never before had it demanded to give it his all. This war had been going on for a month, and every new day was full of deadly dangers and demanded to give everything for the sake of a ghostly chance to achieve something.

But they almost did it. Jumper was left completely alone. Neither Squiddo nor Ash will be able to help her, and the world border is so small that they can always find her. And Branzy still hasn't revealed himself as their ally...

Just a little more, and he can finally get it over with. Kill Jumper. Destroy the world. Retire. See Mapicc again. He nods to himself. Take a rest, and then end the world, reminds Ro to himself, and then passes out.

Zam wakes up before Ro does. He moves with both mechanical and slightly awkward movements. For some reason, there is no pupil in his whitened iris.

#cw death #cw violence #cw religious themes #princezam #roshambogames #mapicc #d.fics #lifestealtober2024 #fanfiction #only 2 more to go

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snipsnipsnippy · 6 months ago

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Can I just talk about Leia’s lightsaber? For probably a long time..

First, I want to say aesthetically she’s gorgeous. She’s so unique. She’s so sleek. She looks like a Jedi masterpiece.

But goddamn does she suck to use.

So to start from the top, we see this beautiful legacy through Leia’s saber. We have the thin neck and rings calling back to Obi-Wan/Luke’s second saber and the vertical grips calling back to Anakin/Luke/the “Skywalker saber”. And we’re told it’s made of silver and copper with mother of pearl?! which just screams Padmé and Breha to me. I love how certain details of a character’s lineage pass through their sabers. Just beautiful.

And obviously because I love Leia and her lightsaber is beautiful I bought one of these but specifically to use, not to display. And oh boy. The amount of blood I have spilled on this saber is terrible, and no I don’t mean hurting someone else. This is my own literal actual blood from getting sliced and diced by this hilt.

Because those vertical grips are the worst ever idea to put on a handheld weapon. The reason they worked on Anakin’s is because they’re straight and thick and chunky and, most importantly, blunt. The whole feminizing sleek-ifying thing they did with Leia’s - while stunning - renders it useless because the grip is curved and those edges and corners are all hard and sharp. One slip, and it will slice your hand. Not to mention just all over make it uncomfortable to use.

And this is one of those beautifully deep things Star Wars has just stumbled into creating because I don’t think it was ever intended or thought about much more than making a pretty prop.

But it is absolutely poetic that Leia’s lightsaber, representing her journey into the Force, is genuinely something that causes her pain despite bringing her closer to her family. Her entire history with the Force is written into this one tool, which she built with her own hands, and yet wielding this tool is only going to harm her and lead her down a painful and treacherous path that no amount of skill or care can save her from. And for her then to walk away from this because it is too difficult to bear or because her family was telling her that her role is elsewhere in a field that she loves that loves her back is just the most perfectly illustrated piece of Leia’s story.

In short, I absolutely hate this lightsaber, but because of that, I absolutely love the story it tells.

#leia organa #star wars #star wars meta #anakin skywalker #luke skywalker #ben solo #lightsaber #like kind of a headcanon #snippys headcanons no one asked for #l

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hannibalzero · 8 months ago

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WITH MY WHOLE HEART

Vaderwan au wip. Attempt number 2

(a reminder)

Maybe I'm just overthinking it? Please let me know?

🐰❤️🐰❤️

Anakin put his knife away, looking at the crude little heart with an A + O in the middle of the old oak tree in the emperors courtyard. He looked to the other little boy beside him and gave a smile taking his hand.

“Do you have to go, Anakin?” Obi-Wan lower lip was wobbling as he looked down holding Anakin’s hand tightly, desperately trying not to cry now. “I know its a great honor to be chosen as a page, under my uncle Qui-Gon-Jinn. But I’m going to miss you.” Obi-Wan looked into Anakin’s blue eyes.

“I do, I can’t be a servant forever. Mom needs me, plus when I come back as a knight? We can be together.” Anakin excitedly explained to the other nine year old boy. “Don’t cry Obi, it won’t be that long.” He encouraged.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a crying type of child, he only cried when something was desperately upsetting. “Bu-but, You’ll have to become a Darth knight! So much so that the emperor’s hunting hounds. The most elite of his knights.” Obi-Wan was balling using his long sleeves to wipe his eyes, the way all children did.

Anakin hugged Obi-Wan tightly helping the prince sooth himself.

“Then that’s what I’ll do, I’ll become a sith. Gane my title as a Darth and come back to you.” Anakin pressed their foreheads together. “I promise.” He vowed to the little prince with the copper hair.

Chewing his lip for a moment, Obi-Wan locked eyes with Anakin. “You’re supposed to seal promises with a kiss.” Obi-Wan informed with that know it all prince tone of voice. “I promise that I will wait for you Anakin.” Obi-Wan gave Anakin a simple child like kiss as he ripped a button off his soft green play dress.

A copper button with a running rabbit was place into Anakin’s hand.

“I promise” Anakin held button close to his chest….

That little copper button had been with Anakin, now Darth Vader for seventeen years.

Vader had the button on a thin chain around his neck, the running rabbit that was impressed onto the copper was hardly there. Worn down from years of him wearing the button. It was hard to believe how small the button was, or how big it used to feel in his hand.

He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the copper, or smith it into something else. Because every time he looked at the little round copper, he would think of the smell of jasmine. Being in the shade of that old oak tree, and the sweet little kiss that he had shared with Prince Obi-Wan Kenobi.

In a way? Vader considered that kiss to be the end of his boyhood.

After that little kiss, life as a knights page started. Magics, saber training, battles, negations, dragon taming, the loss of his right arm, War and glory.

The emperors attention and approval.

Anakin had earned his title as a Darth, one of the three hunting hounds of Emperor Sidious.

His favorite.

Anakin Skywalker was now Darth Vader, rider of excautor the largest of dragons in the empires control.

Vader’s control.

#star wars #obikin #obi wan kenobi #my writing #anakin skywalker #fanfic #vaderkin #vaderwan #with my whole heart au #feedback please #to dumb #pulling out my hair #writing is hard

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synapsid-taxonomy · 10 months ago

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On Smilodon mouth tissue

Keep in mind through this entire post that this is pretty rough and I don't specifically study sabercats. But we might as well take a closer look at the controversial Smilodon lip and gum tissue and see what it'd look like step-by-step. Let's start with a Smilodon skull (real fossil, not cast) with articulated sabers. Keep in mind the tip of this saber is broken off.

You can pretty clearly see the division between the enamel-covered portion of the teeth and the cementum. In modern felids, this cementoenamel junction is roughly where the gum line ends, and this is also what Riviere and Wheeler 2005 concluded for Smilodon. So if we take that and apply a gumline to this skull, it looks like this:

Now that looks like a pretty deep gumline! The full canines of Smilodon don't necessarily need to be covered by lips; even though they are covered by enamel, it's a very thin coating that doesn't require extensive hydration. This is also the case with the fangs of musk deer and Chinese water deer, who have their canines hanging on the outside of the mouth. These fanged deer, as well as tusked synapsids like walruses and Tiarajudens, have canines that project far beyond the bottom of the lower jaw (see below for the alternative) - and none have the massive bloodhound lips you may see around for Smilodon.

The gums, however, would need to be hydrated and covered by the lips. So that pink line could be an indicator of the minimum extent of the lip margin. But what I notice about these gumline comparisons is that we're looking only at the skull. If you bring in Smilodon's mandible and articulate it so that the mouth is closed...

The gumline doesn't go below the margin of the lower jaw. So the upper lips would not need to droop beyond the margin of the lower jaw. And as discussed above, the rest of the canines wouldn't necessarily need to be covered. Goodbye bloodhound Smilodon. This is consistent with how the lips do not droop beyond the margin of the mandible in any "saber-toothed" animal. Fanged deer and walruses have exposed canines. Clouded leopards keep their impressively-sized canines in the mouth; while the lips are relatively big, they don't droop over the lower jaw...

And saber-toothed animals that aren't smilodontines - including other true sabercats like Homotherium - don't actually have teeth that project beyond the bottom of the lower jaw (accounting for tooth slippage). Most of them have a deepened "chin" that follows the sabers. So it's possible, if not likely, that these animals simply had sabers covered by the soft tissue of the lower jaw when the mouth was closed. That would keep the teeth and gums moist regardless of how far down the gums went. Even if the teeth were exposed, the upper lips still wouldn't need to go very far down to keep the gums moist (you can see where the cementoenamel joint is on the Eusmilus skull replica in the lower right).

(top: Homotherium; bottom left, Thylacosmilus)

Now let's take the rigorous reconstruction of Smilodon from Turner et al. 2011 - and overlay it over the image above, to see if "traditional" Smilodon lips would cover all of this expanded gumline or not.

That looks like a pretty close match, I'd say! Being generous (and looking at clouded leopards as a very rough guide), I can see the margin of the upper lip maybe going like this. Lippier than usually pictured, but not shockingly so.

So not much would change.

Now, why would Smilodon need such deep gums? Simple - the longer a tooth is, the easier it is to break off. So more extensive gum tissue would help stabilize the sabers in the mouth. Which makes sense. The current model for sabercat predation is that they would subdue prey using their beefy muscled forelimbs, and only use the sabers at the end for the killing neck-puncturing bite. Don't wanna break them beforehand.

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fruitkingfrog · 1 year ago

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[ID: A full page drawing of Orion holding Lightray, Orion’s hands are under his legs and Lightray is playing with Orion’s hair, they are looking into eachothers eyes and smiling. Behind them is a rainbow Mother box inspired circuit pattern, with seventeen alternate universe versions of them in the various borders and fifteen much smaller alternate universe versions of them over the borders. The word "Multiverse" is framed in dots on the frame on the left. End ID]

late 2021 Lightrion week day 6 - Alternate Universe! &

New Gods November 2023 - Week 4, Day 4: Alternate Realities!

once upon a time it was said that only one version of the New Gods exist across all Earths, but its rarely reflected after that. Most of these AUs are canon, some after 1/2 canon (featuring only one of the duo), and some are my own ideas :D This december is going on three years since I got into New Gods!

commission info & ko-fi links available on my pinned post♥!

♥ reblogs appreciated! do not repost/edit/etc

Closeups, detailed IDs under cut:

[ID: Box one: Orion and Lightray from DC, depicted as anthro cartoon dogs from the neck up. There is a purple background with black kirby krackle behind them.

Box two: Thorion and Bald’r with their foreheads pressed together, smiling and looking into eachothers eyes. Their hands are clasped in front of Bald’rs shoulder. Thorion has shoulderlength blond hair and wing-like ears on his helmet, which exposes his face. Bald’r has black hair, and wears a blue cape over his armour.

Box three: Lightray as a Blue Lantern holding off an attack from Orion as a Red Lantern. Orion is snarling, striking at Lightray with claws and spitting red acid. Lightray is smiling at him, reaching out one arm and holding Orion’s wrist in the other. Blue and Red kirby krackle surround each of them.

Box four: Two anthropomorphic dinosaurs, one is red, blue, and yellow with a spiky back and saber-teeth, he is wearing a helmet. The second is a white and yellow pterodactyl with a red and black symbol painted on his chest.

Box five: Two mech suits, Orion’s slightly in front of Lightray’s. Orion’s has his helmet, a pink face, blue collar, and red shoulders. Lightray’s behind him has his gold headpiece and flames coming from the top. Orion and Lightray sit side by side on the shoulder of Orion’s mech, faced away from viewer. Lightray is reaching over to Orion’s thigh and they are watching a sunset together.

Box six: Hunter and Neon Black, two men closely resembling Orion and Lightray, but with thicker armour and darker clothes. Hunter is turned away but looking over his shoulder, while Neon Black is pressed into his chest and smiling.

Box seven: Orion and Lightray based on the style of Mike Mignola, Lightray is thin and wearing a white top with a gold V mark, and long gold gloves that reach up his arms. Orion has a low cut red shirt and blue shoulderpads. He and Lightray are smiling at eachother.

Box eight: Future State Orion with a matching Lightray, their heads are pressed together and they're holding eachother's faces and smiling. Orion has pink skin and flaming hair, Lightray is similar, both have gold headpieces resembling their usual counterparts.

Box nine: The top of two mock-Simpsons style figures, one with a red/black bowlcut and one with orange hair and a silver headpiece with a "v" on it, meant to be Obrian and Flightrisk from Radioactive Man.

Box ten: Lightray faced away from the viewer, glaring at Orion, who is lacking a helmet and has long, wild hair. Orion has a darker outfit based on his Gods and Monsters uniform, with a silver harness. Barda is next to him in an outfit similar to her regular one, she looks concerned and is reaching to pull Orion back. Behind them are buildings from New Genesis.

Box eleven: Orion's death scene from Gods and Monsters, Lightray is holding Orion back while Highfather's staff kills him.

Box twelve: Orion standing with his hand by his hip, Lightray is flying by his side and smiling with his hands raised, drawn in a Jack Kirby inspired style.

Box thirteen: Young Justice Orion looking back at Lightray, who is smiling at him.

Box fourteen: A sketchy drawing of Lightray and Orion, using unused New 52 designs. Lightay has goggles and red gloves, Orion's helmet has more pieces to it and his top is sleeveless.

Box fifteen: Highfather Orion from The Dark Side leaning into a kiss from Lightray, who is playing with his hair.

Box sixteen: Batman Beyond Lightray looking worried at Orion, who is faced away from the camera. Lightray has his eye injury and bandage, Orion is maskless.

Box seventeen: New 52 Orion and Lightray relaxing on the grass. Lightray is pressed into Orion's side with a knee over his stomach. They're smiling at eachother.

Final image: Several small figures, showing Lightray and Orion together as they appear in Scribblenauts, New 52, Source of Freedom, The Dark Side, Mike Mignola, Lantern corps, DC Mech, and Dark Multiverse. Lightray from Superman/Batman: Generations and Earth-51, and Orion as his 80's costume, Kenner Super Powers, two Lego forms, and his clone from The Great Darkness saga.

END ID]

1: Orihound and Lightstray from the New Dogs (Earth C-Minus). Inspired by the art in their first/only appearance Captain Carrot and the Final Ark #3, by Scott Shaw, Scott Koblish, Tom Luth, and Drew Moore.

2: Thorion and Bald’r the Lightbringer of the New Asgods (Amalgam Earth). Inspired by the art .

3: Lightray and Orion as members of the Lantern corps, designed by me. In this universe, an Apokolips-raised Orion loses all sense of control when given the red ring and decimates the population of Apokolips, then turns on Atrocitus for manipulating his mind. Seeing a threat to all Lantern Corps, Lightray of New Genesis volunteers to defeat Orion and retrieve his ring. Lightray’s design is based on his formal wear from volume 3, Orion’s is based on his rebirth uniform. OK i dont know if they can work out in this one honestly i just thought it’d be cool, theoretically

4. Lightraydactyl and Orionodon, designed by me. The JL fighting Darkseid instead of Orion is a pet peeve of mine, but Jurassic League didnt even leave room for the New Gods to exist. i love the dinosaurs comic though Lightray was pretty straightforward, Orion’s design took inspiration from Darklyoseid’s canon design by Juan Gedeon, a sabertooth tiger (for Tigra), and Orion’s main universe costume for the colours.

5. Orion and Lightray Mechs. DC Mech killed Orion off in issue one boooooo! but it did mean i didnt have to design my own for his (Lightray's is mine though). This was inspired by one of the covers for Pacific Rim, because I will be thinking about a pacrim AU for them forever now.

6. Hunter and Neon Black. These guys aren’t actually LR and Orion, just two random inmates disguised as evil versions of them iirc, but I liked Neon Black’s design.

7. Orion and Lightray, Mike Mignola’s scrapped 1990′s New Gods animated film designs.

8: Orion and Lightray from Future State: Green Lantern, Lightray was designed by me.

9: O’Brian and Flightrisk of the New Guards from Radioactive Man.

10. Orion and Lightray (and Barda) from a personal AU of mine, using designs inspired by the Gods and Monsters film.

11. Just the Gods and Monsters death scene, to break things up.

12. Orion and Lightray inspired by Jack Kirby’s art.

13. Young Justice.

14. Scrapped New 52 Lightray and Jim Lee’s unused Orion design.

15. DCAU/Batman Beyond

16. Superman: The Dark Side. I was going to make Lightray transparent at first, like ambiguously a hallucination or a ghost or something but i didnt like how it looked all that much.

17. New 52 - I sometimes like to imagine these guys are from like a Pocket dimension modeled after the Fourth World, where everyone is shallow and awful like n52 canon/fandom perception.

18. Minis - Scribblenauts, Lightray's older appearance in Superman/Batman: Generations (he has an earlier appearance similar to his main universe suit, but with a yellow tone), New 52, Source of Freedom Orion plus the miscoloured Lightray that appears twice, The Dark Side, Earth-51 Lightray, 1977 Orion, Mignola again, Kenner Super Powers Orion, Lantern Corps AU, Orion effigy from The Great Darkness Saga, both Lego Orions, original illustration colours, DC mech, and Dark Multiverse: Flashpoint.

a few months ago i got to finish with this very long term project :D thank you to everyone who encouraged me with kind words while working on this :D The final Lightrion week pic is finished and ready to post whenever i get around to it.

#fourth world #lightrion #lightray #orion #dc #dc comics #new gods #dc fanart #lightrion week #new gods november #dc comics au #multiverse #dc multiverse #zoo crew #dcau #young justice #new 52 #gods and monsters #dc mech

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inkformyblood · 1 year ago

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miss you when i see the sun (CWFKB #3)

Fill for "Sticky Kiss" for @codywanfirstkissbingo! Tatooine Husbands

The vaporater groans through another automated maintenance cycle, a flash of lights along the side flickering orange and then, regrettably, red. Cody twists the wrench round in his palm, the crack in the wooden handle cutting into his skin before he adjusts it, and crouches back down on his haunches. Sweat prickles along the nape of his neck, soaking into the hood he’s drawn up over his head as the suns crept higher in the sky, and there’s a scratch in his throat that’s been demanding to be addressed for nearly as long. He swallows, a click echoing in the confines of his thoughts like a blaster hitting empty, fired again and again and again, and—

Vaporater. The vaporater is broken. He is fixing it. Obi-Wan is in town and will be back soon.

Cody isn’t at war, not anymore.

He tugs the panel open once more, revealing a heavy network of gears, some slowly rotating in place but the majority are still, shuddering in their casing. A thin stream of smoke pools forth from one of the lower sections, the scent thick despite appearances and Cody coughs, smacking his hand against the control panel to turn the vaporater off. On the back of his tongue, the scent lingers, purely mechanical in nature, and it is that thought that bothers Cody more than having to be out here, a speck in a desert that still remembers it used to be an ocean and has been cultivating a resentment for an eternity. It had been a lifetime since Cody had first gone into combat, but he remembers the way a droid twitched when it fell, a splutter of sparks like a final gasp falling from the hole Cody had just shot into it. It smelt the same.

Cody shoves the wrench against the sticking gear, rising up onto his knees to press his body weight against the thin lever, already a little broken, a little make-do and he should be more careful with it but his thoughts tangle up in the heavy footsteps of an enemy that’s been decommissioned for decades, and he pushes. The gear gives way, the crack in the handle widens, and Cody hits the control switch once more. The lights flicker orange then green.

“Cody!”

Cody turns, a twinge of pain in his back, an answering echo in his knee, and shades his eyes. Obi-Wan raises his hand in greeting, lopsided due to the heavy pack balanced on his hip. He’s thrown his cloak back and his hair catches the sunlight, turning the silver brushed through his temples a deep golden hue. His grin is wide, unrestrained and beautiful, Cody’s heart stuttering to an abrupt halt and restarting when Obi-Wan reaches him, leaning down to wrap his free arm around Cody’s shoulders in a tight embrace. His skin is flushed and his breath is strained but he hums as Cody reaches up to squeeze Obi-Wan’s hand with his own.

“Did you fix it?” Obi-Wan shifts his pack with a grunt, tipping his head to one side — closer to Cody, some strands of his hair falling free to brush against Cody’s forehead and he’s surrounded, comforted right down to his bones, worn thin as they are.

Cody nods, flicking the panel closed and dropping the wrench back into the toolbox. The crack in the handle gleams bright in the sunlight, a dark line bitten into his palm and he curls his hand into a fist. “I think so. Temporarily at least.”

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan stands uneasily, bracing himself against Cody’s shoulder as he halts part of the way. His lip curls, his eyes wide and focused on nothing except the pain lancing up and down his spine. The moment passes, it always does, and Obi-Wan relaxes into his stance. There’s a ghost of his saber at his hip and his hand lingers before he adjusts the pack once more. “Shall we go inside? I have something for you.”

“You didn’t need to,” Cody says reflexively, every reaction braided into his genes rewired to the life he has found himself in, the space he had carved out a section of his skull and defected from his purpose to find. There’s something warm in his chest despite his denial, a ember he has carried and nursed ever since he’d turned on his heel in the sterile stretch of a command deck and bumped into the man who would be his General, his Jedi, his Obi-Wan.

He’d never said anything, but, as Obi-Wan holds his hand out for Cody to take, perfectly in step with each other, even now, both older than they had ever thought possible, he doesn’t think he needs to. Obi-Wan knows, they both know. All that remains is the first step.

“I wanted to,” Obi-Wan says. His hand lingers in Cody’s, the pads of his fingers rough and the calluses across the stretch of his palm catching on the topography of Cody’s skin, and he pulls away as they step across the threshold into their home.

Cody sighs, peeling the sodden fabric from his head and scrubbing a hand over his head to try and knock some of the sand free as he lingers in the entryway. The hut is cool, dappled in shadow as Obi-Wan draws the slats back on the small window overlooking the huddled kitchen and shoulders his pack onto the table. The wood groans beneath the weight and Cody moves over, snapping the fastenings open.

“There.” Obi-Wan points to the package resting on top of everything else. It’s small and lovingly wrapped in a cloth patterned with geometric lines crossing over each other. “I hope it isn’t squashed, I tried so hard to make sure it was safe.”

Cody nods, his mouth dry, his mind empty except for a distant ringing as he picks up the package. There’s a heft to it despite the small size and his fingers slip as he begins to pick at the knot, drawing the fabric free. Beyond him, Obi-Wan begins to unpack the bag, the gentle rustling of packages filling the quiet sanctuary of their home. The fabric falls free and Cody blinks up at Obi-Wan.

“Fruit?”

Obi-Wan nods, rocking back onto his heels, his hands clasped in front of him. His thumb worries over the knuckle of his opposite hand and he chews on the inside of his cheek before he answers. “Do you like it?”

Cody blinks past a haze of tears — he’s a soldier, he’s cut a chip out of his brain without anything in his chest except rage, and he’s mourned more losses than he could remember even with enhancements, but a fruit from Kamino in the middle of a desert is enough to break him completely — and nods, lowering his head. He raises the fruit to his mouth and bites down. Juice floods his mouth, escaping down his cheeks and onto the fabric and he chases after it, tasting a home he never thought he would know again.

Sniffing, he glances up at Obi-Wan, carefully turned away at the sink, busying himself with the already clean dishware. “Thank you.” He chews, swallows, and presses his thumb to the edge of the bitten section, watching the flesh dimple beneath his touch, a rush of dark liquid flooding his nails. “Have you ever had this before?”

“I haven’t.” Obi-Wan places the cup he had been holding back onto the counter.

“Come here. Try some.”

“Cody—”

“Please.” Cody holds out his hands, the fruit cupped between his palms and it is the same shade of blue as Obi-Wan’s eyes, just as beautiful as he was the first day Cody met him. Obi-Wan chews his way around a chuckle and walks over. He cups his hands beneath Cody’s and raises the fruit to his mouth, taking a small bite. It sounds wet and Obi-Wan raises his head, his mouth stained dark, and Cody leans forward to kiss him. Obi-Wan sighs, tipping his head to deepen the kiss, and it’s sticky with juice, tasting sweet and Cody should have done this so much sooner.

#codywan #star wars #cwfkb #cwfkb2023 #codywan first kiss bingo #codywan first kiss bingo 2023 #my writing #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #tatooine husbands #fanfic

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layla4567 · 1 year ago

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May the force be with you

Cal Kestis x GN reader

Summary: Y/N has started to have feelings for Cal but doesn't know how to confess, maybe a love letter will help.

Warnings: Fluff time 😎

A/N: Hello, I apologize for not having included the "readmore" before (in fact I don't know if I did it correctly because they had never asked me before) and another apology if the story is not very accurate to the Star Wars universe (I'm not into it )

• • • • • • •

Maybe you always had those feelings for your friend. From the first minute you saw that red head and freckles like a strawberry. Yes, that must have been it. These feelings were not new, but even so in recent times they have intensified. Oh, yes indeed.

It all started in the last most recent mission. They were on the Mantis trying to look for the tombs of the three wise men. The map already had the exact coordinates, the destination was Dathomir. They got off the ship and headed towards some dark caves. It was wet and Cal had to light the way with his saber. You were lagging behind and the shadows were wrapping around you like a thin gauze, you ran in fear to his side and squeezed his hand, Cal turned his head towards you in surprise but then gave you a warm smile. He knew you were scared of the dark.

The faithful BD1 was clinging to Cal's shoulder. We went deeper and in a moment the place seemed more illuminated, the walls were no longer rocks but fat roots that rose from the floor to the ceiling. BD1 made a beep and quickly got off the redhead's shoulder and ran towards some kind of climbing wall and stopped looking at both of you.

"Looks like here is". Said the freckled boy with his hands on his hips looking up.

The white droid made an affirmative metallic noise, Cal smiled widely.

"Okay little one, hop on"

The boy stretched out his arm and the small droid climbed up to him to cling to his back. Then he saw you without stopping smiling

"Ladies first"

Cal extended his arm like a gentleman inviting you in as you bowed briefly, laughing. You held on tightly to the wall and started climbing it with Cal underneath you. He tried not to look up, blushing slightly. When you reached the top you saw him climb and with each step the muscles in his arms flexed and bulged, you had to shake your head to concentrate on something else.

Unfortunately the route did not end there, they had to cross to the other side and climb a wall that reached another rock. You approached the edge, you thought about whether you could jump but the gap was very long, you swallowed worriedly. Cal came to your side, reassuring you.

"Hey don't worry, I'm here with you"

His closeness and his affectionate squeeze on your arm made your cheeks redden and a chill ran down your neck. Of course he had no idea about all these sensations that were going through your body.

"I'll cross first, so you can see how I did it, okay?"

He offered generously and you nodded. For him it was easy, he was much more agile and flexible than you. Even when he was a simple worker he could jump and do pirouettes, you can't. With the grace and ease of a monkey he arrived at the other side in a second, then he looked at you with a nod of head inviting you to cross. You were still afraid, you tried to see how he did it but it had been so fast. Seeing that you were hesitant, Cal shouted at you, encouraging you.

"Nothing will happen to you, trust me, if you fall I'll catch you."

Those words, that simple phrase melted your heart. Now you were sure, you were in love with him. The tenderness with which he said that made you want Cal in your life more than ever so he could protect you. A little calmer you approached the wall and after steadying your feet you began to move to the right, always concentrating on not looking down. Don'tlookdowndon'tlookdown. Cal followed your every movement with religious attention, prepared for any possible fall. When you were about a meter from the edge of the other rock Cal advised you to try to push yourself to the right and jump. Your face contorted into a mask of terror, jump? Was he crazy or what?

"Just trust me!"

Of course you trusted him, you would even trust him with the most powerful weapon because you knew he wouldn't hurt you with it. You took a deep breath and followed his advice. You took a clean and jerk with your entire body flexed and jumped to the right, stretching your entire body and your arms trying to grab the edge of the rock. With horror you saw how your fingers barely touched the surface and you began to fall. An anguished scream calling your friend's name came from your throat, tearing the silence of the place. The freckled man quickly positioned himself at the edge of the rock as if his life depended on it and held you firmly by the wrists. The two of you looked at each other for a few seconds while your body hung and swung in the air. You were scared, but Cal was frowning with effort and huffing, but he couldn't stop a mocking smile from appearing at the corner of his lips.

"I promised you I'd catch you didn't I?"

A nervous smile appeared on your face. Very carefully he lifted you up and placed a hand on your back so you could sit up. Being so close to him created revolutions in your head and hormones. His gaze inspecting you up and down for possible injuries as he asked you over and over again if you were okay made you feel weak, your legs felt weak as if at any moment they could shake and fall with your knees hitting the cold, hard floor as you hugged his waist and you gave him looks with the eyes of a lost puppy, drunk, needy, desirous and burning with love saying "I am yours"

As your breathing quickened slightly Cal seemed satisfied with his inspection and they continued on their way with BD1 in the lead. You were still a little distracted by all your intoxicating and somewhat lewd thoughts about your friend that you didn't realize he was walking away so you shook your head and trotted after him.

The second time Cal gave you butterflies in your stomach (without him even knowing) was in Kashyyyk. A holocron had guided us there for the same reason, to find information about the Zaffo. Already on the ship we were preparing to land, Cal put on some of his ponchos because that day was cooler, you didn't want to be a weirdo who spies on people but you couldn't help but look askance when he put on his poncho in front of you. It looked so cute on him. They jumped off the Mantis that had already boarded and landed on the ground. It was a quite jungle place full of bushes and wild plants. You headed again to a kind of cave but this time illuminated because it had no roof, Cal and BD1 never left your side. You could see that there was a giant spider web on the ground, how disgusting.

"Be careful, there may be giant spiders here." Cal said, pointing to the spider web that you had seen and a look of concern tried to appear on your face but you suppressed it.

Another time you had to climb a wall, by this time you had already practiced jumping and climbing so you could handle this. When they reached the top they saw a kind of machine that Cal touched with his hand and a long rope was deployed above you, a zip line.

"BD1 would you do the honors?"

Cal looked at the droid that was on the ground, when it did a small cartwheel and then jumped on the redhead, Cal laughed amused.

"Wait, wait, do the honors for what?" You asked suspiciously and confused.

"Oh right, I hadn't told you. We will cross to the other side with the help of BD1"

The freckled redhead pointed to his little droid friend and he jumped up to grab the cable. BD1 beeped letting them know it was ready and waiting for them to grab onto it. You stepped back, if there was something that scared you more than the darkness it was heights, you had a lot of vertigo. Cal turned to look at you and saw you so serious and scared that he approached you worriedly to take your hand. And there the butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. He guided you towards the zip line slowly with tenderness, love and patience as if you were a child.

"Come, hold on to me." Cal raised your arms to put them behind his shoulders. My God, you felt like you were going to faint. You shyly wrapped your arms around his neck as he wrapped his strong arm around your waist, pressing you closer to him, you gasped in surprise.

"I'm sorry". He said modestly

"No!, I mean, It-It's ok"

Your head was on the opposite side of his, looking back and although you couldn't see his face you felt him smile in amusement.

"Alright, are you ready?"

Resting your head in the crook of his neck you nodded wordlessly. He affirmed his grip and when he told BD1 that they were ready you closed your eyes squeezing them. BD1 moved quickly and soon you felt that your feet were no longer touching the ground, you screamed scared but you knew that nothing would happen to you having Cal by your side. You opened your eyes a little and adrenaline invaded you, your hair was shaking from the speed and your breathing was short, you felt a rollercoaster in your stomach. When they reached the other side you felt a little dizzy as you got out of Cal's arms, you staggered a little still in shock and he quickly grabbed you by the shoulders.

"all in order?"

Cal looked at you attentively looking for any sign of discomfort but you were smiling almost laughing, the zip line ride had been more exciting than you thought and soon fear gave way to excitement. You looked at him and nodded, your hair was messy. He laughed and gently smoothed your rebellious locks that were sticking to your face, gently brushing them aside. The soft touch of his fingertips on your face and forehead sent an electric current again, this time throughout your spine. And damn, he didn't even know it and maybe he never will.

And here you were now, sitting at the desk in your room with BD1 staring at you sitting on the table to one side and with an old paper like a papyrus and a pencil in your hand and your mind blank. You sighed frustrated, you thought it was time to confess to Cal but you weren't good at talking, expressing your feelings. When you wanted to speak to him you couldn't find the right words. But you were better at writing than talking, a love letter would be an easier way to put your feelings in order without the pressure of seeing Cal face to face. Or so you thought. You still didn't know how to start the letter.

Dearest Cal

You huffed in annoyance, it was too formal. After all, he was your friend, not a stranger. You tapped the tip of your pencil against your head, thinking of new ideas. BD1 next to you had no idea what you were doing, you certainly didn't understand his language but it wasn't difficult to figure out what he was saying since the white droid looked with his head tilted at the paper and then looked at you.

"I'm writing a letter to Cal." BD1 looked at you as if waiting for an explanation.

"Yes, to Cal. A...love letter". The little droid jumped excitedly, you laughed.

"It's been a while since I had to confess my feelings to him but I didn't feel up to it, so I thought a letter would be easier. But don't tell him anything, promise."

BD1 nodded his head standing firm which made you smile tenderly. You closed your eyes and exhaled air through your mouth. You decided you wouldn't think so much and just let the pencil guide your hand. After letting your emotions and thoughts flow, the letter looked more or less like this

Cal I hope this letter reaches you on time and is not too late. I can no longer hide what I feel for you, I think I like you. And not as a friend, I really like you. I don't intend for you to feel the same way about me, I just wanted to let out what I feel and clear my mind and heart. Your always friend, Y/N

You put your pencil down shakily as you folded the paper into four. With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you could only hope that Cal wouldn't take it the wrong way, and even better, if he also felt the same as you. Suddenly you heard footsteps behind you and your friend's voice calling for his company droid. Pale, you quickly and clumsily shoved the paper into your pocket just before Cal entered your room.

"Hey here you are, I looked for you all over the ship!". He came up behind you as you turned around in your seat with a forced smile, dying of nerves inside. On the other hand the droid gave a happy beep. Cal noticed you and added, smiling.

"And it's good to see you too, we'll wait for you for dinner"

You responded that you would be there with an awkward laugh. Cal walked away from your room and you breathed a sigh of relief again, BD1 was still attentive to you.

"Here, take this to Cal, leave it in his room where he can see it please. I'm counting on you."

You handed him the folded letter and as if he were an agent on a special mission, the little robot ran towards the freckled man's room without being seen. You stood up laughing but then the smile faded from your face. What if Cal didn't feel the same way? You tried to push away those harmful thoughts. You took a deep breath to calm yourself and bravely left your room. And may the force be with you

The dinner was exquisite, the atmosphere was warm and familiar. It really felt like a united family. Cal couldn't stop making jokes and you laughed at everything he said or did with dreamy eyes. This did not escape Cere's attention, of course. After dinner you offered to wash the dishes with her.

"It seems like you and Cal get along well." She said casually

You stood looking at her confused with a plate in her hand and the sponge in the other dripping soapy water.

"Cal gets along with everyone, he's like that.". You said downplaying it

"Yes, but I could notice that he spends more time with you or looks at you in a peculiar way. Mmh, I wonder why that is?"

"What? Seriously?"

You couldn't help the astonishment that formed all over your face and voice. Cere had made you fall into her trap.

"Ah, I knew it! You like him, kid!"

"Whaaat? Me? pftt, I don't think so"

You cleared your throat and forced a strangely high-pitched voice that wanted to sound disinterested. But Cere wasn't stupid and placed a hand on your shoulder.

"I meant it. I've seen how Cal gets closer to you than the rest. Talk to him, I think the feeling could be mutual"

This fanned the flame of hope within your heart. You thanked him and went outside to practice with your cane. Cal was already in his room. You remembered the letter. You trembled nervously and ran out of the ship.

The sky was a beautiful twilight orange color. The afternoon breeze made your hair wave. You firmly gripped your staff and began to swing it in your hand, attacking and blocking an invisible opponent. Meanwhile Cal was sitting on his bed thinking about resting for a while when he saw a paper on his nightstand. He took it and unfolded it, when he began to read his heart began to accelerate. He quickly searched the entire ship looking for you, seeing you practicing outside he decided to approach. You were trying to spin your cane in front of you and wave it at the sides of your body but you were hitting yourself or dropping the cane.

"You're doing it wrong"

His deep voice behind you made you jump and throw the cane onto the grass. Laughing, he approached you and with the Force he attracted the cane that you dropped to his hand. He always boasted about his gift. Cal stood behind you, pressing his body against your back. Your breath hitched for a moment. He placed the cane in your hands, taking you by the elbow and guiding your arms forward. His head was close to your neck and tilted forward a little so he could see your hands. His chest pressed against your back made your ears turn red.

"Hold the cane firmly and do it like this"

His breath tickled your neck and shoulder and made you feel electricity. Cal guided your hands by placing his on top of yours. His hands larger than yours maintained firm but gentle contact and together they moved as if they were a single wave, as if they were practicing a dance learned by heart. When you were finally able to do the maneuver you wanted to do with your cane, he congratulated you without leaving you and you turned your head to look at him happily. When you turned to look ahead he took advantage of this and got closer to your ear.

"I already read your letter"

His whispered voice near your ear made your mind go blank and you worriedly bit your bottom lip hard. You turned to face him with your eyes lowered.

"Yeah about that, I-"

Cal grabbed your cheek forcing you to look at him, you could feel your cheeks burning as you opened your eyes enormously.

"Shh, You don't have to say anything. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I was afraid, afraid that it wouldn't be reciprocated. You are the sweetest being in the galaxy and when I'm with you I feel complete and I didn't want to-"

You started talking so fast and you were getting so nervous that Cal closed the distance by grabbing your cheeks with both hands and crashing his lips against yours. It was a tender kiss, his shy lips barely touched yours for fear that you would reject him. He broke the kiss, looking at you expectantly.

"Don't stop." You exalted with drunken love eyes and his lips

Cal placed his hands on your hips and you moved your hands up to the collar of his shirt, deepening the kiss. Now his mouth covered much of yours with more confidence, but it was still delicate like everything about him. From the ship Cere looked mischievously from the window

• • • • • • •

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vincess-princess · 4 months ago

Text

in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 19

Word count: 3740 Warnings: blood, guts, etc. A/N: let's pretend there hasn't been nearly a month between the chapters. i like to have some writing in reserve when i post, so i usually write a little bit in advance. and writing has been especially hard lately

Vince climbed through the hatch and looked around. Nausea rose up his throat, his breakfast almost spilling out.

The deck was a bloodbath. Bodies were strewn around, missing limbs, heads, guts spilling out. Right by the hatch thin-legged Tom looked at the sky with unseeing eyes, his throat slashed so deep his head and neck were held together by a sliver of skin. An unfamiliar man lay nearby, his arm nearby slashed neatly off his body, still grasping at his saber. A smell of blood and smoke hung in the air.

Well, Vince’s guess about the assault seemed to be correct. And the Shout crew were the ones left standing. Well, some of them. Most were sitting or lying down, Izzy fussing around them like a mother hen. But the majority seemed to be alive – for now, at least.

“Oh, hey Vince!” he heard a familiar voice from behind his back. He turned around and saw Duff. With one hand he was pressing a rag to the deep cut on his forehead, with the other – holding Slash by the shoulders. Slash seemed to be unable to step on his foot and groaned every time Duff made a movement. Duff led him to a crate by the board and unceremoniously dropped him on it. “You made it, man! We saw two Metallicos climbing down the hatch and thought you were done for.”

“Apparently not.” Vince headed towards the two pirates. “What in the fresh hell happened here?”

“Fucking Metallicos. Thought they could fool us, take us by surprise. Well, they are no more.” Slash pursed his lips. “Should’a trained better.”

“No damn privateer has an ounce of honor. Though, what else could we expect from the king’s whores?” Duff continued.

“You were attacked by privateers?” Vince blinked.

“More like heinously betrayed,” Slash grumbled. “I knew from the start there was something fishy here. Metallicos and cooperation? Unheard of. I wonder how the captain even believed them.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re short of gold at the moment. But he wanted more, apparently.”

“Wait – cooperated?” Vince tried to clarify.

“Yeah. Hetfield offered Sixx to take over a Dutch ship carrying spices to Americas. Promised a huge profit. We board it, eliminate the crew – the Dutch are poor slaves anyways – and then his men attack us! Of course, once we realised what was happening, they didn’t stand a chance. But they got a few of our boys by surprise.” Duff sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got both Hetfield’s ship and the spices, so I guess we’re winning here.”

Hetfield. That was the man the Baldie and Three Fingers mentioned when they came to the galley. He gave them Vince’s description – and, apparently, told them to search for him on the ship. How did he get to know Vince was here? And more, why did he need him? Could he recognize him on sight? Or maybe the Whartons put out a call for Vince’s rescue together with the description?

A lump formed in Vince’s throat. Those men could have come to save him. His family surely offered a big award for his rescue – Metallicos would absolutely want to cash in on it. And if they were privateers, maybe the Crown itself had a say in the matter. What if Vince’s rescue was one of the reasons they attacked the Shout crew?

And he killed them. Killed them with his own hands. Sure, they were a bit nasty, but that didn’t mean anything, right? A privateer is still a pirate, serving the king or not. And pirates weren’t the most well-bred kind.

“Dude, you alright?” Duff frowned. “You look like you’re gonna drop dead.”

“Yeah,” Vince heard himself saying, “yeah. I just need to sit down. I just need to… sit down.”

On shaky legs he shuffled away from the two friends and lowered himself on the deck. He killed his saviors with his own hands. He killed his own chance at rescue.

The air was filled with moans and yelling, Izzy gave commands somewhere in the distance, pirates hurried by. It was all a background noise to Vince. The thought gnawed at him, consumed him piece by piece. He was doomed to stay on the Shout till the end of his days.

He wasn’t allowed to wallow in his misery for long.

“Oh, here you are!” Tommy came up to him, his now bandaged hand hanging off his chest on a dirty rag. “We need to get rid of all these damn corpses onboard, and you’re among the only ones who’s almost unscathed. Robbin will help you.” He pointed at a grim blonde man with an eye patch crouching before one of the corpses. Vince hadn’t spoken to him before, and Robbin didn’t seem too eager to communicate either.

Vince rolled his eyes. “So I’m not a man enough to fight but a man enough to drag around corpses.”

“We didn’t let you fight not because we think you can’t,” Tommy replied sharply. “We’ve seen you in practice. There’s a different reason.”

“What reason?”

“You’ll get to know it someday. But for now, you’ll have to make do with what you have.”

“Did these privateers want to rescue me?” Vince asked directly. He didn’t doubt Tommy would lie to him, but maybe he could see a clue in the face of the first mate.

But Tommy just grinned wide. “Not everything is about you, princess. These bastards, may they burn in hell, wanted our loot. And now they don’t want anything because dead people don’t need things.”

Vince sighed. Tommy wasn’t as easy to crack as Mick. Or maybe Vince just didn’t know him well enough. “What about corpses of the crew?”

“We’ll bury them with honor, so just drag them to the center of the deck. Izzy will give you some sheets to cover them with. Wait, are you bleeding?”

Vince showed him the gash in his forearm he got from the pirate. It slowly but surely soaked his sleeve in dark-red.

“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll call Izzy, he’ll patch you up in a moment. I think he’s done with the heaviest cases already. And then – corpses!”

Tommy strolled away. He was energetic and high-strung, as if the battle excitement still hadn’t let him go and he had nowhere to pour it into.

Izzy came with his usual bottle of vodka and a bundle of rags.

“Not as bad as it could be,” he murmured, pouring vodka all over the gash. “I’ve heard you took out two of Hetfield’s bastards all by yourself. Nice work.”

“Thanks.” Vince felt a tinge of pride. News spread fast, apparently.

Izzy dabbed a rag on the edges of the wound, wiped the blood that trickled down Vince’s arm and bandaged the gash.

“All done. You’re good to go.”

“Thanks. A lot of work today, huh?”

Izzy sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

He left. Vince glanced at grim Robbin that he was supposed to dispose of corpses with. He didn’t look one bit friendlier, but Vince surely wasn’t going to do everything alone.

Robbin didn’t answer his greeting, but did follow him to the first corpse. Guts that were spilling out of its stomach dragged on the deck behind it. The corpse sunk with a loud splash, and the water went wine-red in that spot for a second.

Getting the two corpses out of the galley up the hatch was an especially excruciating ordeal. Robbin on the deck pulled them upwards while Vince pushed them up from down below. The Baldie’s guts dripped all over his shirt, and Three Fingers’ boots left a trace on his cheek, and Vince, sweaty and dirty by the end of it, regretted killing them a hundred times over. Should have cut off their arms or something so they could walk out on their own and bleed out on deck.

At some point Vince lost count of how many spilled guts and cracked skulls and cut off limbs he saw that day. By the end of it he got numb and tired enough to not care. He only hoped they wouldn’t make him scrub the deck as well.

There were four corpses of the crew which Vince and Robbin arranged at the center of the deck and covered with white sheets. Soon the sheets were peppered with little red spots, but the corpses weren’t bleeding anymore so it didn’t go beyond that. Vince’s muscles were ringing with exertion and his legs were shaking – all those pirates sure ate too much for his liking.

When they were done, he and Robbin plopped down on the deck in a spot clean of blood to take a breath. For the first time Robbin looked Vince in the eyes and gave him a barely noticeable nod. Vince must have done well in the eyes of the pirate.

Just as he settled to have some rest and watch the sunset, he saw Mick approach him in big strides with a determined expression on his face.

“Here you are!” he said. “I need you in the galley. Dinner isn’t gonna cook itself.”

“Oh, come on,” Vince moaned, hiding his head between his knees. “I just spent two hours dragging corpses around, can I have some rest at least?”

“You’ll have to answer to all the hungry crewmates then. C’mon, c’mon.” Mick pulled on his sleeve. With a groan, Vince rose from the deck, shook off dirt from his irreparably ruined pants and followed Mick.

***

Blood soaked into the wooden floor of the galley, and the floor was cold and wet under Vince’s bare feet. He already dirtied his feet on the deck, so it didn’t bother him much. The blood on his pants and shirt already started to harden and stink, and Vince disposed of the shirt – it was ruined beyond repair anyway. The breeches weren’t much more pleasant to stay in, but he couldn’t walk around the ship naked. He hadn’t fallen so low yet.

“Which one of them broke her?” Mick suddenly asked as he lit up a lamp.

“The one with three fingers.”

“The one whose stomach you cut open?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he suffer? Or did he die quickly?”

“One doesn’t negate the other.”

Mick sighed. “Yeah, that’s true.”

He pulled out a rag, poured some water on it and gave it to Vince.

“Wipe yourself up. I don’t want all that blood to get into the food.”

“Do you, by any chance, have another shirt you don’t need?” Vince asked, wiping blood off his chest. It dried up and stuck to the skin, and he had to rub it hard to get rid of it.

“Nah, kid, you took the last one.”

“But I can’t just walk around like that.”

“You very much can. It’s not like it’s too cold for that, and no one cares about that bony chest of yours.”

“I care.”

“That’s your problem. C’mon, we need to get to work. Hungry pirates after a fight are no good to deal with.”

Mick decided on regular porridge: it was quick and filling and required low effort. Muttering went across the crew when they presented them with a pot of porridge instead of meat, but the hunger prevailed. Soon quiet descended on the deck, and it was even quieter than usual during dinner: no one was eager to make jokes and talk much that day.

Nikki dined on deck with Tommy a bit away from the crew. Vince feared even to look in his direction: what if he triggered the captain with a mere glance? He was extremely enraged at him today in the galley for no reason. Well, Nikki had some reason he thought up, something related to that Hetfield man whose crew they defeated. Did he suspect Vince had something to do with their betrayal? But why? He didn’t even see any of them before those two barged into the galley, let alone speak to them.

As the dinner neared its end, Nikki rose to his feet.

“Friends,” he said loudly, attracting everyone’s attention. “Crewmates. Let us honor our dead.”

He stood over the four corpses Vince and Robbin laid on deck. A speech followed, something along the lines of “we shared our bread, our beer and our battles”, reminding of each of the dead’s merits, recalling fun times together. Vince didn’t listen very closely – he didn’t know any of the dead. Besides, if he thought too much about what Nikki would say over his dead body, his heart would probably burst.

At the end everyone applauded very solemnly, and the corpses were gently descended into the water, with much more care than what Vince and Robbin applied. As everything was done, Nikki wished everyone good night and retired to his cabin, not sparing Vince a single look. It was a relief.

The one to spare more looks than Vince would like to was Tommy this time. Already slightly drunk, he came up to Vince, plopped on the bench next to him and invitingly patted his knee.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Vince heaved a heavy sigh. He wasn’t as afraid of Tommy as of Nikki, but all his touches and pinches and smiles were not pleasant to say the least. Tommy hadn’t done anything of the sort to Vince yet – but Vince had a feeling it wouldn’t last for long.

“C’mon. Don’t make me wait.” Tommy’s voice hardened.

Vince looked around. Nobody but Mick noticed it, and Mick was assiduously looking away. There wouldn’t be any help from him.

“I haven’t finished my porridge.” Vince pointed at his half-finished plate.

“So?”

Vince bit his lip. Yeah, Tommy probably wouldn’t hit him too hard for disobeying, a smack on the head at worst. But he was also treated Vince pretty well (compared to Nikki, at least), and Vince didn’t want to lose his favor.

So he set down his plate, rose from the bench and walked up to Tommy. His moment of hesitation was cut short as Tommy pulled him onto his knees with his healthy arm. Incredible how much strength there was in those lanky limbs of his.

Vince wriggled on his knees a bit, trying to get more comfortable – if that was possible in such a pose. No one looked in their direction, but it was still only a question of time.

“That’s right, darling, get comfy,” Tommy said in his ear, hugging him with his healthy arm and drawing closer. Blood rushed to Vince’s ears, and he dropped his head, hoping that his hair would shield him from Tommy’s eyes, would help him keep his shame to himself. But Tommy didn’t let him.

“It’s alright,” he said, tucking Vince’s hair behind his ears. “We’re not doing anything, right? Just sitting there enjoying each other’s company.”

“Definitely not me,” Vince murmured, quietly but loud enough for Tommy to hear him – and grin in response.

“That’s the princess I know. Your obedience made me a bit wary.”

He pressed Vince’s head against his chest. For the uninformed they could look like a pair of lovers. Thankfully, the whole ship was informed enough, and the glances they were getting were quickly averted. That didn’t decrease the shame pooling in Vince’s stomach, but at least they didn’t stare openly.

“How you doing?” Tommy continued like there was nothing happening. “Was that, what, the second fight in your life?”

“Yes.”

“Were you scared? I was scared at my second fight. I was barely eighteen, and there were all those grown men brandishing sabers and guns. The smoke, the blood… We fought, we won, and I spent the night puking over the board from sheer stress.”

Well, even seasoned pirates had their first fights, Vince reasoned. He didn’t understand why Tommy was telling him this, though. What was his purpose? Get him all soft and trusting and then break it all – or let Nikki do it – to hurt him even more?

“I’m fine.” More scared of Nikki, he wanted to add but didn’t.

“Yeah, I see how you’re fine. Quiet, suspiciously obedient, and, oh, look at those shaking hands. That’s a fella who is totally fine.” Tommy cupped Vince’s chin and turned his head to face him. Vince looked him in the eyes defiantly – see, I’m not scared, not of you, not of anyone else.

“I have killed before,” he said. “Two of your men, to be clear. And two today. That makes a count of four.”

“That’s a solid count for a non-pirate. I killed only nineteen people, which, at ten years of experience, isn’t much. Nikki’s count is twice as high.”

“Only?!” Vince choked on his own saliva. “And do you mean Nikki killed nearly forty?”

“Well, he says so. He might embellish the number a bit, but I think it’s pretty accurate.”

Forty kills… forty people dead at the hands of the captain. He took lives like he took his morning beer – quickly, easily and ruthlessly. Killing Vince would probably be like snapping fingers to him. It was probably how it all would end. The question was not if, but when.

“You’ve been pirating for ten years?” Vince decided to change the topic. Tommy seemed benevolent enough to share some information. “But you don’t look much over twenty. How old were you when you started?”

“Do I look that young?” Tommy pouted. “I’m twenty-five already. Maybe twenty-six. My parents weren’t sure on an exact date. So… fifteen, I guess?”

“Some crew took you in at fifteen?”

“Me and Nikki, yeah. I was a cabin-boy. Not in the way you are now a cabin-boy, though. Hey!” Vince poked him in his hurt arm, and Tommy jabbed him with his elbow in response. Vince tried to use this momentary hassle to wrestle free, but Tommy’s grip was unyielding. He gave up and continued the conversation.

“And Nikki?”

“He was a bit older, so he qualified as a sailor. Nineteen, maybe?”

“So he’s now twenty-nine.” Vince examined Tommy’s face, looking for a joke, but there was not a sign of it even on Tommy’s eternally-grinning face. He must be serious.

“You sure know how to count.”

“Only twenty-nine, and already a captain of his own ship? How come?”

“Oh, that’s a long story. Let’s just say: a whole lot of blood got spilled.”

Tommy talked about it light-heartedly, but a shiver ran down Vince’s spine. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details. On the other hand, it was always useful to know who you were dealing with…

“That’s probably because he gets angry often,” he said. “Sometimes without a reason. Like at me today.”

“Today?” Tommy suddenly got very serious. “Oh yeah, he was mighty pissed, and as much as I explained to him that you couldn’t possibly conspire with Metallicos – on account of you having never talked to a single one of them in your life – he still, I think, somewhat believes it. So you be careful around him for the next couple days. Try not to piss him off too much.”

So Nikki thought for some reason that Vince conspired with those enemy pirates of whose existence he learned a couple days ago and hadn’t seen till today? And even Tommy couldn’t convince him otherwise? Great, just great. Nikki didn’t look like a person who would let an emotion subside by itself; he was the one to make it everyone else’s problem. Vince’s problem, in particular.

“It seems me merely breathing already pisses him off,” Vince murmured.

“Well, sometimes you can be rather annoying just standing there with that expression of yours.”

“What expression?” Vince blinked in confusion. He might have let a grimace or two slip through, but usually tried not to let his emotions spill onto the surface. He wasn’t sure if he was successful in it, though.

“Well, that expression. When you pout and look from underneath your lashes. Like you’re all high and mighty and we’re just ants under your feet.” Tommy pinched his cheek. “Get rid of that noble residue, Vinnie, or finding friends on here will be extremely difficult.”

“I’m not doing that! At least, not on purpose!” Vince pushed Tommy’s hand away. In return Tommy grabbed him by the jaw, dug his nails into the skin on Vince’s cheeks and pulled his face very close to his.

“Don’t do that.” His hot breath blew over Vince’s face. “Or I might get angry too. And you wouldn’t like it.”

Yes, Vince had to agree, he wouldn’t like it. If Tommy didn’t lie – and he probably didn’t, seeing how he was defending Vince at the galley – he tried to talk sense into Nikki on Vince’s behalf. With questionable results, but it counted. And Vince didn’t want to lose an – it was hard to admit, but he had to – an ally.

“Sorry,” he said as clearly as Tommy’s hand on his jaw allowed him too. Which was not really clear, but Tommy understood him.

“That’s better. Now, let’s try again.” He pinched Vince’s cheek a second time, now much more painfully. Vince gritted his teeth and said and did nothing.

Tommy was satisfied. “Good boy,” he said. “Now give me a kiss and you can go. On the cheek, don’t worry,” he added, laughing at Vince’s miserable expression.

It didn’t make the situation much better, but Vince wanted to get away way more than he wanted to give the motherfucker a piece of his mind. He quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, his lips burning from the touch to the warm skin, and slid off Tommy’s knees the moment he released his grip. He couldn’t see Tommy watching his retreat, but he knew the asshole was laughing.

“Hey, Vince!” he heard Mick’s voice. “Where you going? We ain’t done here.”

Mick made him gather all the plates from the crewmates and only after that permitted to go to the galley with an additional ordeal of washing the dishes. But Vince was happy to, as long as he was away from all the pirates, and especially Tommy. He wasn’t violent, or cruel, or particularly unpleasant today, but Vince felt sticky all over from all those little touches and small taunts. It took him all his willpower to ignore them, and now he was tired and empty and just wanted to crawl under his blanket.

He did, eventually, after all the dishes and a couple other errands from Mick were done, and passed out of sheer exhaustion the moment his head hit his rolled-up rag that served as his pillow.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #motley crue fanfiction #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #my writing #in darkness shall you be reborn #motley crue fanfic #vinikki #pirate au #ive been planning on posting this chap for a while but kept postponing #because work drained all my energy

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hopefullyakotelife · 1 month ago

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A small snippet of a Cal Kestis time travel AU

Haven't figured out all of the details yet but I've been thinking about this for a while now

Red light flashed across the glass, highlighting the fish behind it for just a second too long that it distracted Cal. Purely on instinct did he take a step to the side, barely avoiding the burn. And yet he felt the heat, heard the sizzling of his sleeve. He could feel the weight of all that water, pressing down on them. The air was thin, cold but he was still sweating. He had exhausted himself. Of course Cal had expected that his fight with Trilla would be…would be…but to face Darth Vader? No sign, no warning, not even a hunch from the force. He hadn't been prepared to face this nightmare. Cere was dead. How was he supposed to survive this? To survive on his own after this? He barely survived the first time! And the force…the force wasn’t on his side. He took another step to the side, Darth Vader swinging for him. His steps echoed in the small corridor. The red saber swung at him another time and for a fraction of a second Cal believed he’d heard the echoes of past screams, of the pain this saber had inflicted on others. Dread, hot and painful in his stomach, let Cal know that he won’t leave this corridor. The anger, the wrath, coming from Vader was heavier than the water pressure and Cal leaned back before the saber could cut through his chest. Cal wanted to cry. He should be a padawan. Should be walking through the halls of the temple. Not..not this, not here. He wasn’t ready to face this opponent. And it only took one mistake for Cal to realize this. He stumbled, slipping over a wet metal plate- and the saber swung down. His own saber, turned off and dropping to the floor with a Clink! His hands reached for his neck as he stumbled further backwards.

@ninjababypowpow @hastalavistabyebye

What do you think?

#sw #cal kestis #newest wip #jedi survivor #jedi suvivor spoilers

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average-transdalorian · 5 months ago

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Y’know, something interesting to me about The Acolyte’s lightsabers is that they’re all so….. beefy

Like, those are some very thick lightsaber handles! I can’t find any good screenshots, but even Kelnacca’s saber looks that size in Jecki’s hands, which is interesting given that a 7’1 Wookie would probably have a significantly larger lightsaber than default

But then, compare those to the OT and Prequel lightsabers

(From left to right: half of Maul’s, Qui-gon’s, Obi-wan’s first, Anakin’s from ANH to TLJ, Vader’s, and Luke’s)

These are also decently thick too, except for Anakin’s, but they aren’t quite so thick as the ones in The Acolyte

Obi-wan’s AotC-ANH lightsaber here looks to be fairly thin as well, especially at that prolonged neck

So, why is that? I have no clue what the reason there would be in-universe, but I think that maybe, the actual props are able to project the blades we see? I mean, that’s what I HOPE the reason is, because that would mean that lightsabers with good-looking blades might be available to have within our lifetime! :DDDD

#star wars #the acolyte #star wars the acolyte #this i say

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 6 months ago

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this is NOT the next update for what to do when they dig you up, but it IS something almost as good, because i FINALLY finished a fic that's been sitting in my gdocs for, like... literal years?

---

Unburning A Burned Bridge Tags: De-Aging, Super Complicated Feelings, Angst, Finding Out Your Future Might Kinda Suck, Do-Overs, Open-Ended

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

At the sound of the commotion outside, Nie Huaisang and Nie Hengbai both looked up from the map they'd been studying.

"I'll go see what’s going on," Nie Hengbai rumbled, grabbing his saber from beside his chair as he got up. "Way things've been going this week, I wouldn't be surprised if some idiot pissed off a nest of gui and came running here with them on his heels."

Nie Huaisang snorted and returned to his notes as the other man left, absently tapping the handle of his brush against the paper as he considered the next addition.

At the sound of heavy footsteps returning, he looked up, then blinked in confusion at the look on his distant uncle's face. “What is it?”

"You... ah, you better come see this for yourself."

Still lost and now wary, Nie Huaisang frowned, then pushed himself to his feet and followed.

There were indeed unexpected guests in the courtyard.

And, quite frankly, he would have rather dealt with angry gui than the knot of gold-robed cultivators.

There were a handful of his own servants and healers clustered nearby as well, with an irate Liu Feng and a bristling Zhang Min in the lead. He noticed that Zhang Min was holding a very small hand, her stance shielding the owner of it from view, particularly that of the Jin disciples that kept tossing them glances and then muttering amongst themselves and snickering.

The itchy feeling of ‘wrongness’ that had bloomed at the back of his neck as he'd left the study grew larger.

Not really giving a damn that it made him look like a poor host, he went to his people first. "What's all this?"

"Zongzhu," Liu Feng said as they all saluted, looking relieved to see him. "These Jin say they were traveling to visit a merchant northeast of here who wished to expand his business into Lanling when they were attacked by a creature of unknown origin. Only one of them was actually injured by the beast, but... well..."

Zhang Min stepped aside, revealing the child she'd been hiding.

Aside from being very pale and a bit unsteady on his feet, the boy didn't immediately look like he'd been wounded by any kind of monster, but when he finally lifted his his head from where he’d been hunched over and staring at the ground anxiously, Nie Huaisang involuntarily took a sharp breath as their eyes met and he realized that it was Jin Guangyao looking back at him.

He recovered quickly, or at least was able to make it seem like he had, and tapped his closed fan against his mouth as he glanced over at the Jin disciples who still didn't seem to give a shit about their associate's confusing condition.

"It's getting close to dinner," he said, tone purposely just a little bit too pleasant in a way that all of his people were familiar with. "Please make the kitchens aware we will be having guests and have rooms made ready."

Nie Hengbai set his jaw in annoyance, but then gave a sharp nod and walked off towards the visiting cultivators, two servants at his heels and two more heading off towards the kitchens.

"Not you, little peony," Nie Huaisang said when Jin Guangyao -Or was he Meng Yao again now?- let go of Zhang Min's hand and started to follow.

The boy blinked up at him, wide-eyed and starting to tremble just a little as he shifted to an even more defensive posture. "A- am I in trouble? They said-"

Nie Huaisang decidedly did not want to know what the other Jins had told the boy, especially if one of them had been responsible for the flash of a bruise he'd spotted ringing a thin wrist.

"Not at all.” Not for this, anyway. “I want you to go with these fine people to the infirmary," he said with as comforting a smile as he could muster. "So that they can check you for other injuries."

"Okay," the boy mumbled, though still clearly frightened. "And then can I go home?"

Hm. Well, this was as good a time as any to find out whether or not his memory had been affected as well as his body. "That depends. Where is home for you?"

The boy flinched and looked down at the ground. Apparently answering that question had gone badly already. "The Red-Lit Orchid," he said. "It's a-"

"A brothel in Yunping," Nie Huaisang replied. "Where your mother worked until she passed shortly after your thirteenth birthday."

The boy's head snapped up, what little color his face had still had draining away. "How do you- you can't know-"

"Zongzhu-"

Nie Huaisang tilted his head in acknowledgement to Liu Feng, but continued, unconsciously gentling his tone. "You told me this yourself when you were eighteen to my fourteen, Yao-er."

"Then... then when they made fun of me for... for… not being…" The boy's legs buckled and Nie Huaisang, Liu Feng, and Zhang Min all reflexively lunged to catch him.

"That's enough for now, Zongzhu," Liu Feng chided again. "Let us make sure his health is stable before you speak with him any more."

Nie Huaisang bit back a sigh, but nodded and stepped back.

He watched as the healers carried Meng Yao -and he was fairly certain now that they were dealing with Meng Yao, not just a smaller Jin Guangyao- out of the courtyard, then tucked his fan into his belt and pulled a tiny talisman out of his sleeve to send a very fast message to Lan Xichen.

—

Lan Xichen sat with his hands folded and the tips of his forefingers pressed to his mouth, eyebrows drawn together in consternation. Never in his life had Nie Huaisang seen the man rest his elbows on a table, and yet here he was, all hunched over.

“I confess,” he said after finally pulling himself together enough to sit up straight and pick up his teacup, “that when I got your note, I thought this was a joke of extremely poor taste. Had I not remembered that A-Yao was supposed to be traveling in this area, I might have discarded it.”

He was fully aware that he had spent the better part of nine months intentionally making himself an annoyance to hide his investigation, but the fact that Lan Xichen’s opinion of him had so quickly sunk so low as to suspect he’d pull a prank this stupidly absurd stung.

Nie Huaisang bit back the unkind words that settled themselves on his tongue, using a sip from his own cup to wash them away. “I take it, then, that you have not seen anything like this in your sect’s incident reports before,” he said instead.

“Certainly nothing in remotely recent history. I’ve already sent a message to Shufu to ask that someone check the records older than fifty years. Is he-”

A rap on the door made Lan Xichen pause, and they both turned to find one of the healers had arrived, Meng Yao at her heels.

The clothes the boy had arrived at the Unclean Realms in had been of much lower quality than Nie Huaisang was used to seeing him in these days; plain and threadbare and not at all suited for the cold weather that was beginning to blow in as the seasons changed. It had only made sense to give him something else to wear until the curse was broken.

And no matter what his people might have thought when they’d recognized the clothing, it had only been because the boy was too undersized to fit even the smallest disciple robes that he’d pulled his own childhood ones out of storage.

Nothing more than that.

When Meng Yao stepped out from behind his escort and stiffly started to bow to them both, Nie Huaisang quickly motioned with his fan to an empty cushion in front of a teacup and a bowl of steamed egg with spicy pork belly and gai lan. “None of that’s necessary, Yao-er, just come eat. This is Lan Xichen. You used to know him as Er-ge.”

Meng Yao visibly had to stop himself from scrunching his nose in doubt. “Did I really?”

“You did,” Lan Xichen said after shaking off the daze that seeing Meng Yao’s condition again had revived. “You were sworn brothers with me and-”

“Someone who isn’t here right now,” Nie Huaisang cut in, giving the other man a sharp look.

Fortunately, Lan Xichen took the hint, and while Meng Yao was clearly somewhere between curious and concerned, he was also clearly well-versed enough in dealing with adults to know when he shouldn’t press.

He sat down to eat.

As they resumed the discussion of what to look for in the Lan sect libraries, Nie Huaisang noticed out of the corner of his eye that Meng Yao had subtly scooted his cushion and food closer to his side of the table.

—

“I don’t want to go,” Meng Yao said so very quietly as he hunched in on himself, as if afraid of getting a swat across the ears for complaining.

“You won’t be going with the Jins,” Nie Huaisang said.

Although he’d decided it would be a good idea to send Qin Su a note about her fiance’s current predicament, he wasn’t about to let that bunch of jackasses take the boy off into the wilderness between their sects. If Jin-zongzhu wanted him back, he could send a more trustworthy envoy to the Cloud Recesses. “You’ll be going with Er-ge.”

Meng Yao pressed his lips tightly closed and gave the tiniest shake of his head.

Nie Huaisang frowned. “Yao-er, why not? He’s your favorite person. Has been for years, even before you le-” He cut off quickly, the words sticking in his throat.

No. Absolutely not. He was not going to say the words and have to deal with the tidal wave of emotion.

“You like him very much,” he managed to passably force out instead.

Another head shake.

Hm. “Come with me,” he said, offering a hand. He couldn’t help the slightest flinch when Meng Yao took hold, but quickly suppressed it and hoped the boy hadn’t noticed as they headed to his aviary. Zhihua and the goldfinch twins Shan and Shen immediately flapped over to greet them as soon as he opened the door.

Their demanding squawks drew the boy out of his nervous funk just a tiny bit, the smallest smile emerging on his face as he watched them flutter around Nie Huaisang’s hands before finally perching.

“Alright, Yao-er,” Nie Huaisang said, putting Shan on Meng Yao’s shoulder and demonstrating how the finch liked to be petted. “Nobody outside can hear us, so why don’t you tell me what’s got you upset?”

“I… I want to stay here. Where it’s safe.”

Nie Huaisang was very proud of himself for not choking on his own tongue in surprise.

Safe?

Here?

With him?

He was pretty sure the gods were laughing at him right at that moment. There was no other explanation! This child, who was actually the man who’d destroyed his family, thought his home was the safest place to be!

“Are you okay?” Meng Yao asked, expression worried.

Zhihua fluttered to rest herself in the collar of his robes and butted her head against his jaw, soothing his frazzled nerves. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then scratched between her wings. “Thank you. Good girl.”

“Good girl!” she repeated cheerily.

“I’m fine,” he said to answer Meng Yao’s question, not caring how much of an obvious lie it was. “And you would be just as safe in the Cloud Recesses. Safer, probably, since it’s pretty boring there.”

“I don’t know that. What if I go, and you’re wrong? What if they hate me like… like…” Meng Yao started to tremble. “I’ll be good. I’ll work hard! Just don’t- don’t make me-”

…Oh.

Now he understood.

Tossed from the brothel to the sneering disciples, from one abusive situation to another, the boy was afraid to put down the first shield he’d found, even if it would be for a potentially better one.

Nie Huaisang swallowed hard, then took another deep breath and let it out. “Alright... Alright. I’ll let Er-ge know you want to stay here while he does his research,” he said, squishing the little voice in the back of his mind that howled in anger at the idea of keeping Meng Yao around. “We’ll revisit this when he’s found some potential solutions, hm? Maybe you’ll have changed your mind by then. For now, I suppose we should get you settled.”

—

He opened the door to the bedroom and went in, then found he’d lost his little shadow.

Nie Huaisang looked back over his shoulder to find Meng Yao hovering nervously in the doorway, hands clenched into the folds of his borrowed robe. “Is something wrong?”

He got a sharp head shake in return, but the boy otherwise didn't move.

“Yao-er, if you don’t like this room-”

“It’s fine!” the boy practically squeaked, staring down at the floor.

Concern welled up prickly and sharp in his chest despite his efforts to quell it. He went back and crouched down, and Meng Yao’s hands were shaking when he took hold of them. “Hey,” he said gently, rubbing a thumb across thin knuckles. “You’re not going to get in trouble just because you don’t like the room.”

“Promise?”

That same little voice in the back of his head snarled, and once again he clamped a mental hand over its jaws.

“I promise. This is the safe place, right?”

Meng Yao nodded, then pulled a hand free to wipe his eyes. “It’s too big,” he finally confessed after a few more moments of hesitation.

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, then looked around the room. It was a little bigger than the usual servant quarters a few hallways over, true, but the grown Meng Yao had lived in it with no proble-

He winced. This Meng Yao was only a few days out of the brothel, where he’d probably shared a room with his mother at the very least, if not more residents. “Too big,” he agreed. “We’ll find you one that fits better, okay?”

“Okay.”

He didn’t want to put the boy somewhere he couldn't keep an eye on him, but a smaller room… ah. “Why don’t we see if my work room is a good fit? If you like it, I can move the furniture out and put in a bed and such.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take your space.”

This child.

“It’s fine,” he said with a smile that he almost felt. “I… haven’t actually used it in awhile-” or replaced the things Da-ge had burnt, “-so it will be easy to clear.”

A fidget, a squirm, and then Meng Yao squeezed the hand he was still holding. “Okay,” he said again, very quietly, and they left his old room behind.

—

Meng Yao had learned a great many survival skills growing up in the brothel.

Watching and fawning had been the first, and while the latter had been enough to keep the Jin cultivators from immediately killing him or abandoning him deep in the woods, it had quickly become apparent that he didn't need to use it on Nie-zongzhu.

Nie-zongzhu, who was clearly sharper and knew more about his grown self than the Jin cultivators had led him to believe.

Nie-zongzhu, who spoke to him kindly and made sure he was warmly clothed and decently fed, and let him play with birds, and had rearranged two whole rooms to give him somewhere he felt safe to sleep.

Nie-zongzhu, who flinched when touched and told many lies and wore many masks to hide many secrets.

Even as Meng Yao tried to observe and take in everything around him, he found that he learned the most by watching Nie-zongzhu.

And that even if he hadn't been learning anything, he couldn't help but watch Nie-zongzhu. Some of the things the man had said implied that they had been friends when he had been an adult. Though a pretty lady who'd come to visit had introduced herself to him as his grown self's betrothed, Qin Su, he often found himself wondering if maybe they had been...

But he would always push that trail of thought to the back of his mind, and just keep watching and learning.

—

He... wasn't sure he liked a lot of the things he was learning.

Like when a response to Nie-zongzhu's letters arrived from the Jin sect, and Meng Yao watched the man's face momentarily twist in disgust as he read it and tossed it into the fire, then forced his ire to calm before he turned to inform Meng Yao he wouldn't be leaving the Unclean Realms until the age curse was broken.

Or when Lan-zongzhu briefly visited to report on his efforts to track down the curse and a cure, and Meng Yao watched the two sect leaders uncomfortably dance around the subject of that letter, and a mysteriously not-present 'Da-ge', only catching small snatches of the conversation when one or the other forgot to keep their voices low.

He didn't like the way Nie-zongzhu would occasionally glance at him when the man thought he wasn't watching, and those green eyes would flicker with something like anger and fear.

Something like being trapped in a room with a snake. And he was the snake to be afraid of.

—

Nothing ever seemed to come of it.

Outside of the flinches and the glances, Nie-zongzhu was as kind to him as ever.

Spoiled him, even, compared to the Jins or the brothels. He was never short on books to read or things to eat or feathered creatures to make friends with. Once they'd gotten used to seeing him instead of his adult shape, most of the sect barely paid him mind, except for the healers and the kitchen staff, who were always checking up on his health or offering him treats.

But as the winter winds and heavy snows began to set in, so did the unease.

Meng Yao frequently found himself waking in the night, unused to the howl. Every time he did, he would creep over to peek out his cracked open bedroom door.

And every time he did, he would see Nie-zongzhu pacing the halls in bare feet and thin night clothes, heedless of the chill turning his skin pale. Heedless of anything except the 'Da-ge' he kept murmuring to, despite there being no one else present but an unnoticed Meng Yao.

He knew he should stop watching. He knew that, like many times before, he wouldn't like what he would learn if he didn’t.

He couldn't.

Slipping out of his room and softly closing the door behind him, he silently followed Nie-zongzhu on his addled wanderings, only stopping short when he saw what was in the room the man finally entered.

Funeral tablets.

Breath hitching in his throat, Meng Yao ducked back behind the door frame, briefly considering fleeing back to his room before he could be caught committing such an egregious trespass.

A soft sob made him stay, and he watched and watched and watched as Nie-zongzhu slumped to his knees in front of one specific tablet that was too far away for him to read.

"I can't do this, Da-ge," Nie-zongzhu rasped just loudly enough to be heard. "I know what I should do. I know who he is. I know we meant nothing to him. But, Da-ge, I-"

Meng Yao's heart leapt into his throat. He had wondered, of course, if the reason Nie-zongzhu spoke to thin air was because of... but still…

And... 'he'. 'Him.' Was that... him? Or, rather, the him that he'd been as a grown up?

Mind reeling, he quickly and quietly fled from his post outside the family hall, back towards his bedroom.

He had thought that his adult self had been friends with Nie-zongzhu... maybe even more at one point...

But had... had his adult self done something to hurt Nie-zongzhu? The more he thought about it, the more he pieced together all that he had observed, it seemed the answer was 'yes,' and yet that didn't make sense at all.

The missing piece seemed to be why. Even with the fear and the anger, Nie-zongzhu was sweeter to him than anyone other than his mother had ever been. Surely he had been even more so before whatever had brought on those negative emotions... so… why?

Did it have to do with 'Da-ge'? His father? His betrothed?

Did he really want to know the answers to those questions?

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if he really wanted to be his old grown-up self again. It was evident something had gone deeply wrong with his efforts to join his father, if the other cultivators in the sect were so comfortable treating him so badly and Nie-zongzhu had been so irritated by whatever his father had to say about his condition.

And while Qin Su was pretty and nice and had been very encouraging during her visit, the idea of marriage was... well, maybe that wasn't the best measure. Obviously he had been fine with that as a grown-up, so-

But did he really want to go back to being the kind of person who would leave someone like Nie-zongzhu wandering the halls talking to ghosts? Angry at him? Afraid of him?

Nie-zongzhu, who pretended not to notice when the kitchen aunties gave him sweets, and always made sure he had plenty of writing and drawing materials, and let him watch the training grounds as long as he wanted?

Was... whatever life he had as a grown up worth it?

—

The question dogged him into uneasy sleep, and the next day, and the next night.

After a week of barely sleeping and thinking and watching Nie-zongzhu be concerned about his barely sleeping...

Meng Yao decided no. It couldn't possibly be worth it.

Nie-zongzhu didn't flinch as badly as he used to when Meng Yao tugged on his sleeve, but his smile was still a little weak when he looked down.

"What is it, Yao-er?"

Meng Yao swallowed hard and gathered his nerves. "Could... could you tell Lan-zongzhu he doesn't have to keep searching for a cure?"

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie sect #lan xichen #though he's really a cameo #fanfic

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iambrengo · 2 months ago

Text

Story: Ice, Fire, Shock

Short story centered around my two characters: Matío and Tazzia

Content Warning: Violence/Blood

The small pigeons perched on the railing fluttered away as Matío walked by, knocking built-up snow loose. The sound of rustling leaves were drowned out by freezing wind as he gained altitude. The usual trek up the scaffolding was now a painful hike, having to trudge through snow and ice.

“Hylia’s sake. Almost t’ere…”

Matío checked himself and his gear several times along the way; he really couldn’t afford to be unprepared today. Of all days, especially, since he agreed to help the ailing, freezing Rito Village. He continued to circle the pillar that the village was built upon, yanking his scarf to his face when the wind was fighting against him. Whenever it wasn’t, his eyes would center on an orange, flickering glow just around the corner. The home where he agreed to meet up with a group, tasked to plan out a safe route to gather food outside of the village perimeters.

Matío gripped the post as he swerved around and rushed into the building. A fire was blazing in the center which the hylian wasted no time basking in its heat. He took a deep breath, soothing his lungs with warm air. His focus was on the sudden change in temperature for a moment. When he opened his eyes, he finally noticed the other person in the building with him. Like the fireplace, she was orange, glowing, and the sight of her made Matío feel warm inside.

“Glad you made it safely, Matty,” the Rito woman said.

“Tazzia…”

Even the hushed sound of the Rito’s voice felt like a soft flame against frozen ears. It lured him in until he was close enough to nuzzle his head into her neck. They exchanged a long hug which the hylian took gratefully, mostly because her feathers were soft enough to ward away the cold. Like Matío, Tazzia was all bundled up in winter gear. Even her feathery body wasn’t enough to stave off the cold completely.

“How're ya holdin’ up, lass?” Matío asked with his head still under her beak.

“I’m fine,” Tazzia replied. “I’m surprised you were able to arrive on time.”

”I’m jus’ as shocked, t’e blizzard ain’t gettin’ any better.”

He settled down next to Tazzia, taking his backpack off and checking his gear one more time. Basic survival gear, small rations, more bladed objects than any man would ever need. It didn’t stop there as Matio unclipped his tool belt which held both his prized saber and dagger, both fashioned from the horns of lizalfos. He could get by without some of his other gear, but even Tazzia knew that those two blades never left his side.

”Whe’e are t’e ot’ers?” Matio asked.

”Hm?”

”Whe’e are t’e ot’ers?”

”I’m sorry-“

”Where. Are. The. Others.” Matío clarified.

Tazzia chuckled before she answered. “They’re here. Just helping around at other houses; They’ll be over in a moment. Did you hear that we might be getting help from the Hylian champion, too?”

Matío stopped checking his gear and turned to her.

”Link?”

”Yep.”

”Hm…a’ight then.”

“You don’t sound so enthused,” Tazzia tilted her head in which Matío went back to his backpack.

”Oh no, I’m grateful for sure. Never met the bloke, is all. Only heard tales an’ hearsay,” Matío went on, turning his attention to his swords. “Ey certainly hope he got more t’an jus’ a title an’ story t’ show.”

Tazzia’s brow flicked up at him. ”You have a lot of guts to speak so… honestly about the supposed legendary swordsman.”

”Ye got guts, too, for describin’ him as a “supposed,” legendary swordsman.” Matío laughed at his own remark. “So what if he got a title, I’ll believe his skills when I see it.”

Tazzia couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Such a loving, charming, handsome man she saw him as, blanketed by a thin layer of ego, garnished with a shit-eating grin. Tazzia understood whenever her Rito friends said she could “do better”, but their version of better was her version of lame. Something about his honesty tickled her fancy, like it was almost rare to come by, nowadays. Many couldn’t compare to who Matío was as a person, no matter how dense he could be at times.

”Oh, that reminds me!” Tazzia exclaimed. “Look what I found earlier today.”

Matío stopped what he was doing to give her his attention. He was met with the orange Rito holding a sword in her hand. Similar in shape to his curved saber but much shorter, nearly half its length. Instead of a soft blue, it was dark gray steel. Most would see it as a small side-arm. Very few would recognize the shape and where it came from. For Matío, he recognized it as his old sword.

”I’ve been lookin’ e’erywhere for this damn thing!” Matío took the blade from her hand, looking all around it. “Whe’e did you find this?”

”Under my hammock,” Tazzia answered him. “I remembered you lost it after our night together, right before the upheaval hit. Remember?”

”Can’t ever forget t’at,” Matío snickered before he put the blade down and leaned in to kiss Tazzia on the tip of her beak. “It’s surprisingly in good condition, all t’ings considered. T’ank you, babe.”

“Of course, hun…” she gave him one final kiss before she turned her attention to her own backpack, making sure she was equally as prepared. Matío, in turn, kept his eyes on the blade. He felt a strange ache in his hand as he held it, which he was only able to get rid of when he held the blade in a reverse grip, the tip pointing away from him. This way, the blade felt much more comfortable; much more… familiar.

Blade held in a reverse grip, footsteps silent as ever, covered by the darkness of night.

Matío crouched down between two fellow Yiga, all of them sneaking their way through the alleyways of a small village. Every subtle noise made them each perk up like stray cats. His breath was slow, but heavy, trapped behind a white mask bearing the heretical symbol of the clan.

”Ye still haven’t told me who t’e mark is.” Matío whispered.

“The usual,” the Yiga in front of him replied, ”Just somebody who failed to hold their end of the deal.”

”Again?”

”Yep. They promised us the location of the swordsman, and we’ve been waiting for too long.”

”So… what’s the plan?”

The Yiga turned to him and took out a small tinderbox. His face was completely covered, like Matío’s, but he could still tell there was an evil smile behind that mask.

”We set an example,” the Yiga snickered. Matío gazed at the tinderbox, squinting behind his mask.

“Jus’ the mark’s place, right?” Matío asked, which the Yiga replied with a nod. Understanding their mission, he reached to grab the tinderbox.

Matío yelled as he yanked his hand away from the fire pit, a piece of burnt firewood falling out of his hand and back into the pit. A trail of smoke followed as he gripped his wrist, seeing the wood burnt through his snow glove and reached his skin. Tazzia, in response to his yelling, dropped everything and rushed over to him.

”What did you do?!” Tazzia asked with worry.

”Nothin’!” Matío immediately replied out of anger. “Was jus’ tryin’ to stoke th’ fire.” They both saw his glove had a large hold in the palm and his skin underneath was red from the burn.

”Take your glove off.” Tazzia commanded. “You burnt your hand.”

“Oh, I did? yer so insightful,” Matío jested as he took his glove off. The damage was pretty clear, his palm and a few spots on his fingers were red and blistering. Tazzia was getting some quick treatment ready, a nearby bucket and a container of water taken from her bag. He wasn’t paying attention to her, however. His eyes were fixed on his hand. He tried to ignore the pain the best he could. His mind fogged up as time began to slow around him.

“Matío.”

He gripped his wrist, “Matío” splotches of blood across his fingers. Standing alone in the street, surrounded by burning buildings. “Matío” He couldn’t hear any screams from the ruins, but he knew they were there.

“Matío.”

All he could hear was sizzling wood, crumbling dirt, a distant ringing, “Matío.” someone calling out to him. A crying command “Matío” for him to fall back, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. “Matío” He stared blankly into the distance, the carnage around him, the results of his actions, bled into a collage “Matío” of orange, red and black.

Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío Matío

“Matío!”

A feathery hand pressed against his chest. His eyes fluttered as he was brought back into the world. He felt his hand begin to burn again.

”You okay, Matty?” Tazzia asked with concern, making Matío pause for a moment. ”You look like you blanked out.”

“Yeah.” He replied with his normal tone, now that he was back to reality. “Neve’mind that. Jus’ tried to ignore t’e pain, is all.”

Tazzia gave him a look of curiosity and worry, but she moved on. She grabbed his hand and pludged it into a small bucket of water. He seethed as the pain came back, but he kept his hand in her control.

”Keep it in there, don’t take it out unless you need to,” Tazzia instructed.

”Yeah yeah, gotcha,” Matío said.

”Will you be okay to help us with that hand?”

”I’ll be fine, lass. You don’ need to worry ‘bout me.”

Matío averted his gaze, but he knew she still had her eyes on him and he knew she didn’t believe him.

“Matty,” Tazzia said with a somber tone. “You can talk to me after we’re done helping the village today… If you’d like, of course.”

The benefit of knowing and loving him for this long was that she knew things about him that many others didn’t. Secrets, history, regrets, she was one of the few that he ever disclosed these things to. Matío was lucky that he places his trust in the right person because, despite it all, her beak was sealed.

”Yeah, sure,” Matío said. “Later.”

She placed her wing against Matío back. He nodded and remained still as Tazzia kissed him on the cheek. The burning pain turned to stinging, which allowed him to manage it better. While she left him alone at the bucket so she could finalize her gear, he was alone with his thoughts again.

End

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#oc #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #zelda #Writing #creative writing #rito #rito village #rito oc #hylian #hylian oc #loz

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melishade · 4 months ago

Note

Man that chapter was interesting in a sense of overwhelming emotion

Damn ...

Wanna hear 'What could have been' over the ending?

youtube

Armin and Mikasa’s backs slammed into the ground as everyone was blown back by the blue explosion of the centipede like creature. Mikasa stabbed her sword into the ground before grabbing Armin’s hand to prevent the two of them from being thrown further away. Mikasa felt her scarf being pulled away from the force before flying off of her body completely. Mikasa looked behind her to see the scarf catch fire from some debris and ash and burn away completely. Meanwhile, Annie had managed to shield Hanji, Levi, and Erwin with her titan body. The centipede let out a loud, unholy scream before it crumbled away and turned to dust.

When everything settled, smoke was the only thing that was present. Erwin coughed up what got in his lungs before noticing that something was wrong. Erwin turned to see Annie’s titan form crumble and collapse on the ground. The titan body began to evaporate into thin air, leaving only Annie in its place. Erwin gasped when he saw that the markings on Annie’s face were fading.

Sasha was recovering from the blast with Connie’s body in tow. She gasped when she realized that Ymir was the one who protected them from harm.

“Ymir,” Sasha spoke as Ymir’s titan form suddenly collapsed and began to turn to dust. Ymir stood on her own two feet, feeling the sides of her neck and gasping when she realized that her gills were gone.

“What…what’s happening?” Ymir asked her.

Sasha’s attention drifted to the Colossal Titans and saw that they were beginning to crumble into thin air and turn to dust. “I…I think it’s over.”

Meanwhile, the Predacons stopped attacking the Colossal Titans when they realized that they were starting to turn to dust. They growled to each other in confusion before flying off to find the Nemesis. Willy and Kenshin stared in disbelief on the monitors of the ship as the Colossal Titans were crumbling before their very eyes.

“What’s going on?” Kenshin asked Ratchet.

“The energy these beings are emitting is dropping immensely,” Ratchet answered.

“Doc…I have visual,” Wheeljack informed in an uneasy tone. Wheeljack transmitted the visuals to them, and they all stared in horror at the sight of the explosion.

Optimus forced himself to stand up, clinging to his wounded and bleeding side. He was in pain, agonizing pain. But he wanted to know. Was he here? Where was he? Optimus stared in horror as he saw Eren’s body and decapitated head begin to crumble away. Optimus took a step forward to try and search the remains for anything, but his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, using the Star Saber as a means to support his body to stay upright.

“Hey humans! Anyone!” someone called through the comm. link, “The Colossal Titans are disappearing everywhere! What happened?!”

Erwin activated the comm. link and spoke as if he were on autopilot. “Report this to the world: Eren Jaeger was slain by Optimus Prime. With the Star Saber, he eliminated him and the rest of the titans from existence. Because of Optimus Prime, humanity is now free from the reign of the titans.”

Knockout turned his attention to Ratchet, who’s main concern was Optimus’ condition. Meanwhile, Willy felt his body trembling and stared at his hands. The Eldians…they were free? He was free from the power of the titans?

“This isn’t a joke, right?” Kenshin asked in disbelief.

“I don’t think so,” Ratchet answered him.

Optimus had lubricant brimming in his optics as he watched Eren’s bones crumble into pieces and be blown away by the wind. His blood on the Star Saber was turning into thin air. He wanted to reach out for his remains, but he was too weak to even try, putting all his energy into supporting his own weight.

Eren looked Optimus in shock. "You...you know?"

Optimus looked at Eren in confusion. "Hm?"

"You know about the outside world?!" Eren demanded.

Eren…Eren was gone.

Optimus nodded his head. "I have been granted permission to train you."

"Yes!" Eren cheered.

The boy he met all those years ago, determined and hopeful.

Optimus nodded his head in understanding before adjusting Eren on his shoulders and walking towards the castle. Optimus heard Eren sigh in slight irritation as he felt him adjust his head on his shoulder.

"My body hurts like hell," Eren remarked.

"It will usually hurt the first time around, but your body will get used to it in due time," Optimus explained.

He wanted to slay the titans and live his life as freely as possible.

"Optimus...why is the world so cruel?" Eren asked.

"I do not know," Optimus answered.

Eren didn't say anything before he continued crying and trembling. He kept on muttering why to himself before suddenly feeling a hand on his back. He kept crying as he was pulled into a gentle hug before clutching the fabric from the shirt. After that he just kept crying in the shirt before falling asleep.

But it was a reality he was denied.

"How could I tell them that I ate my own father?" Eren retorted, his voice cracking, "They would've been disgusted by me; they would've hated me. You're probably disgusted with me right now, aren't you?"

"Eren-,"

"I'm just a pathetic monster with a stupid dream," Eren declared.

Optimus helped him. Optimus trained him. Optimus loved him as he was his own son. But…he was gone.

“…thank you, dad,” Eren spoke in a tired voice.

Eren was dead and nothing of his existence remained on this world.

“Because it is my choice,” Optimus answered, “This is the path that I chose of my own volition, and I have no regrets with that. I love you, Eren. I love you as if you were my own. Never forget that.”

Like a dam, the tears burst from Eren’s eyes. They poured down his face and stained the holoform hands holding him, but neither him nor Optimus cared. Eren was just…overwhelmed. Optimus usually kept his emotions in check, refrained from saying anything with such sentimentality. But this? Optimus just said that he was his son. That he cared for him, and that he loved him. Eren openly wept, and wanted to dry his tears, but Optimus pulled him into a tight hug in response. Optimus rested a hand on the back of Eren’s head while Eren’s gripped tightened on the holoform jacket. Sobs wracked his body and tears stained the jacket, but Optimus refused to let go.

“O-optimus,” Eren words were slightly muffled, “Dad, I-,”

“It is alright,” Optimus reassured, “I will be by your side, as long as time allows.”

He was gone forever, and Optimus was the one who killed him.

Optimus let his tears fall freely before he raised his helm and screamed out in sorrow and agony to the heavens. The Autobots watched in shock, never seeing their leader display this kind of emotion before, while the Survey Corps were grieving about their own loss to completely understand the situation.

Megatron felt his body shutting down on him, and his mind was moving in and out of consciousness. But he could hear it. He could hear the heartbroken sound of Optimus’ screaming and he closed his optics in exhaustion and contempt. He knew he should’ve killed Eren when he had the opportunity. There were so many things he could’ve done differently, but it was too late now. Eren got the path he wanted and humanity was saved, but at what cost?

Optimus felt exhaustion hit him hard, causing him to let go of the Star Saber and collapse on the ground. The dagger in his side fell apart as he stared at the sky that was beginning to part. He…remembered that sky. He somehow remembered seeing it when he arrived on this world all those years ago. He could hear others yelling, screaming in panic, but his audio receptors were failing him. His entire body was experiencing system failures. Everything was failing him. If death claimed him right now, he would allow it. He was just so…tired.

Optimus’ helm fell to the side, and he could’ve sworn he saw a vision of a single blue flower before his world was plunged into darkness.

(When I first wrote the original draft for the ending back in 2019, the song was going to be Rue's Farewell from the Hunger Games. But this is so much better.)

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