#this is supreme brainrot here

[fireboos99]

I literally do not have anything smart to say here, this drawing literally only happened because my siblings were telling me I should post my brainrot doodles on here, and my anxiety-ridden ass couldn't do it, and decided the only solution was to spend days (read: the entire latter end of April) working on a proper drawing because "if I'm going to post anything on tumblr, it better be a full-ass drawing"

[auroblaze]

Sonic Frontiers DLC dropped and since then I've been consumed and obsessed to put it lightly, that on spare times at work I stopped to doodle down what I thought The End could've been like 👀👉👈

More thoughts in depth about the final boss after the cut:

Okay so here's the thing, I went into the final battle expecting it to be like the one from the base game but with, more ( like most of us did I assume). The fact is, while technically it was like that, I found myself missing some details I liked from the original one, such as obviously The End's speech and the overall vibe... heck I made a three pages comic about it, so SOMETHING was done right there, otherwise it wouldn't have me inspired at all.

The new final battle was still a great spectacle to me, mind you! It genuinely hyped me through the whole run! I simply was expecting The End to eventually reveal it's...not even true form I guess, because it says to have multiple incarnations and I think that kind of makes sense. But A different form from the gigantic moon would've been pretty dope to see nontheless. From the trailer I was sure that the "seven arms possessed Supreme" was gonna take the place of regular Supreme. I didn't quite get why The End would use Supreme again since the first time clearly didn't work..? I mean the battle was still amazing but frankly there are many choices in the story I didn't understand djfhgdg... I hope the next title puts some more effort on the story too because they are really *so close*!

I started to think that, since the game proposes you as island/level bosses the Titans... as something different (as it usually works for the final battles in sonic games) it could have worked that The End was gonna fight Sonic at his level, almost his size. I mean the game is clearly full of anime references so this wouldn't have been that much weird to see lmao.

The last picture in this post was actually the first bunch of sketches I did before the release of the DLC. At first I imagined The End as like, an alien death's-head hawkmoth (Acherontia atropos if u prefer) that could shapeshift in different adversaries based on Sonic's memories, right because of its speech to him about "seeing into his mind" and all his past challenges. I wanted also to add another anime influence on his appearence by making it kind of like the Anti-Spiral boss from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann.

The sketches AFTER the DLC are also various other ideas from the brainrot sjghdf, it's mostly The End picking the Ancients' technology design as mockery, and Sonic going all-out continues to be a thing because that genuinely slapped👀👀👀

[hana-no-seiiki]

I’m watching kardashians new season (i guess i dont have enough drama in my life💀) and i was thinking…

What about yandere family x reader BUT they have same kind of reality tv show?

I just think it would be interesting to see how they would act/how fans would like y/n and the family🤷🏻‍♀️

And the family can be as big/small you want.

Ps.i really love your stories. Keep up the good work🫶🏻

You. You don’t know how much I’ve been having a brainrot over Yandere rich family / Yandere platonic kardashians (mostly as a young teen). How dare you send an ask like this when I’ve moved on? How dare you-

But yeah this is a great idea OMFG WHAT IF YANBOYLOSER (AND BY EXTENSION AMIR) (YANTSUN FOR NEW READERS) IS FROM THE FAMILY-

TW/CW: Yandere and Toxic Family themes. Abuse/Neglect. My capitalisation Is EverywheRe. Horny Siblings. Stepcest(?) Adoptedcest(?) Pseudocest(?) transphobia (not from characters but from society)

The Qasem Clan was notorious to say the least. They used to be known for churning out talents, changers of society and the industries they so choose to venture into. Now they were just a bunch of hopeless, talentless folks with too much money in their hands.

All of them except you.

Granted, you’re an adopted child. The matriarch of the family thought you to be ‘too cute to be in an orphanage’ and stole you away during one of her various charity events she’d attend for the sake of face and bragging rights.

The paternal grandparents didn’t like you too much at the beginning. After realizing that they spoiled their children and grandchildren too much too late, they have grown to be tired and soulless creatures. Often throwing you to lessons because they were much to apathetic to bother with a child that wasn’t of their own blood. It was only when you excelled in literally every single class that they suddenly started pouring love and attention all over you. However the Yandere (and I mean the unhealthy part of it), comes when you realize that all this newfound attention will crumble the moment you fail — not to mention how creepy it is when they started to erase whatever made you look different from the family. The only people stopping them being the yan! matriarch who didn’t want them messing with the reason she adopted you in the first place.

but yeah because of them you’re known as the “qasem’s saving grace” and many people worship the group you walk on. it’s great and all. expectations of being completely perfect aside.

yan! siblings range from being horny to being absolute degenerates towards you. the eldest loves to grope you all over and absolutely despises it when your attention is not on them. but whenever it is, they’ll be off fucking some random stranger in front of you just to make you jealous. they’re completely in it for the chase, and get turned off when you show even the slightest hint of reciprocation. they’d be rich from the amount of sex tapes they have alone. though platonically speaking they’re pretty great actually. a lot of fans made compilations titled “[y/n] and [eldest name] being normal siblings for once” or [eldest name] being [y/n] biggest fan” for when you they show genuine love and interest in what you do.

middle child aka boyloser supreme here is the current heir to the qasem riches. why? because he’s a masochist- okay not really because of just that- he’s a hardworker despite his title and often gets high grades but because that wasn’t really extraordinary in the clan he never got attention for it. what he did get attention for was being depressed and being ‘not presentable’ or ‘filthy’. even then he’s still pretty smart and hasn’t impregnated half the town like the eldest so he’s been entrusted with the riches (also he can’t exactly impregnate since his cock is non existent… yes he has a bussy)

reality tv show wise he was kind of forgotten and/or only known for being somewhat smart until he transitioned and society being society made that a controversy and his only personality trait. until people realized that he’s just so much hotter all of a sudden as a boy? gender euphoria does things to people. a lot of edits between you and him feature the man staring at you from afar. or hiding his arousal that he gets from your existence.

there are many more siblings and other fam members in mind (particularly screeching over the maternal grandparents, I’ll add them if I get more asks to this) but i need to go sleep soon so we’re skipping to youngest child.

you know him, you love him.

it’s yan! tsun!. yeah the boy is spoiled to the max. he somehow spends a million bucks per week (probably on Taylor Swift merch). he swears he doesn’t want to fuck you but he already has a million sex toys modeled after your pp or pps if you’re intersex, whatever it is. the only reason he hasn’t commissioned an accurate wax doll of you is cause he’s afraid it’ll suddenly fall out of the corner of his walk in closet through all those designer clothes and into the eyes of the camera men (he doesn’t care much about his fans/the viewers cause they’re faceless as far as he knows). like eldest he has his wholesome moments when tells you not to worry too much about the show or how you present. though it’s mostly off camera, a lot of fans see how close you are. he also shows his support subtlely when it comes to scandals, like boyloser’s for example wherein he started wearing “feminine” clothes and slaying in them just to slam on those people with paper thin, fragile as glass masculinity.

…but yeah there’s a clip that went viral of him sniffing your clothes.

(will definitely add the women of the family one day….) (most likely if I get another request for this or if this goes big yuh)

[xenocorner]

Here's some little christmas gifts for some amazing mutuals that have made this year a whole lot more bearable with their amazing content and their amazing interactions and just being amazing in general :']

Long post ahead so divider here to spare your scrolling. (I am also probably gonna get a bit sappy so if that makes you cringe: you've been warned lol)

@lilbitofmac Thank you for being my introduction to the fandom here on tumblr :'''D I really think I wouldn't have stuck around if it weren't for your initial warmth and encouragement. Your Tony remains my fave Tony I go feral over your art orz I may or may not have the clingy ironstrange drawing as a phone wallpaper-

Hope next year is kinder on you man! I know we don't really talk outside of tags/replies, but if you ever need smthn I can help with my inbox is always there.

@strxngetimes I'm just tagging this one blog because I don't want to spam all your other blogs lmao. Thank you for sharing your interpretations of the characters with us, not only the rps with other muses but also the headcanons and brainrot. It's always such a pleasure both to see you on the timeline writing with other muses and on the inbox with the disaster man.

I specially like how you include his Cloak in the mix and give it a personality- I absolutely adore the Cloak :'') So here's it being all clingy to the disaster man. Hope to see more of you having fun with all ur muses in the coming year :D

@starkkawajiri Pretty art!! Hilarious and heart wrenching character interactions!!! I love your designs and lore building so much. Fanboying over the same disaster man and making him suffer always brings a smile to my face. I've wanted to draw your Strange for a while now, so this was also the perfect excuse, I love him so much you have no idea-

Can't wait to see more of your amazing designs and lore stuff for this AU! (and anything else you create next year :])

@nekojetto I think your Strange is the purest Strange there is and the fact that it's based off Supreme makes that so much more impressive. Your animatics are simply breath taking, and whenever I go back to check your concepts and sketches for character interactions I always get a smile on my face :D

I'm sorry I haven't gotten to the collab just yet :'') Plz know I still have it in mind, haven't forgotten about it and am still just as excited to finally get to it as I was the first day!

@infiniteeight8 Your words make me cry and laugh so much all the time :'') You write the disaster men so beautifully both in serious, fluffy, angsty and funny situations. Reading ur stuff keeps the creative juices flowing!

I remember you liked the vampire Stephen prompt you were sent, so here's some of that, even if it's more halloween-y than christmas-y.

[pjofancalledbelle]

please, please, please~ Leo Valdez x Aphrodite reader

A/N: Guess who's back on the writing grind.... ME! Btw get ready for a yapfest just skip it.

Idk if anyone actually wants these cause my silly posts that take me two mintuets to read gets more interactions but whatever. I wanna try and make these look pretty but i dont know how so I'll have research cause it's killing me how ugly how ugly it is. Also I wanna say IM A MINOR I DO NOT WRITE SMUT! Thats just cause i got a smut request but i literally don't feel comfortable writing it or putting it online so sorry yall. Anyway here's your daily dose of Leo content cause he's bad boy supreme.

Warnings~ cringy and brainrot use, swearing

contents~ Leo's a loveable idiot that uses brainrot like his life depends on it.

word count~ 390

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🤍~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Urm... what the sigma?" Is what your boyfriend said as you walked into bunker 9. You weren't sure what he meant when he said stuff like that but it was embarrassing. Ever since he'd figured out how to make phones that didn't alert monsters of your whereabouts he'd ranked his screen time up to 9 hours and kept saying odd terms.

"What does that meannnnn?" You ask quickly walking into the bunker before anyone could possibly see you, the prettiest and friendliest, child of Aphrodite hanging around bunker nine and in extension Leo. You weren't ashamed of him... no more worried about what would happen if he ended up calling it off. Piper was the only one who knew about this little thing going on because your other half siblings that someone would have to have bad taste and judgement to date him. However, all the sneaking around ended today when Leo expressed how it felt being kept like a secret.

"It means your the alpha skibdi rizzler of my heart." He said putting his little tinkering project down and wrapping his arms around your waist beaming at you with a twinkle in his brown eyes. Normal boyfriends would call their partner darling or baby but you didn't have normal you had Leo. Scrawny, mischievous Leo.

At first, you lean into his arms but then you notice all the oil on him and playfully shove him away as one of his dirty hands come up to cup your cheek. "Hey, watch the money maker, Valdez. If you ruin my outfit I will cry . And your weird terms still make zero sense." You say not being able to help the smile that came across your lips. Gods, he was cute covered in oil and when he was ruining it with his brainrot vocab.

Pouting, Leo moved back and grabbed a rag to clean himself off, he was so ready for today you were half expecting him to burst out singing 'for the first time in forever' like Anna in frozen. "Fine, fine. So... you ready to tell the world your dating the one and only Leo Valdez?" He asked in a cocky tone as he leaned on his workbench trying to hide the childlike excitement that you could tell was brewing under the service.

"mhm, just don't embarrass me mother fucker."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🤍~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N~ Hope you liked this my requets are open and I'm working on getting the ones I got before I had a tiny mental breakdown. (I'm fine just geography.) So read them in and give me anything I could improve on. I think I'll write some to save for if I get like that again or go through writers block.

[dandylovesturtles]

just a little drabble thing

I know I have stuff to work on but in my defense, I've done writing on both my projects today so leave me alone with my brainrot

this is absolutely the fault of @intotheelliwoods and the brainrot their Leo losing an arm anyway art has given me. Please go check out that post and the linked comic and give it all the likes and reblogs SERIOUSLY.

okay here's a thing byyyyeeee

He sees the ball out of his peripheral vision, before he even hears Mikey yell, "Heads up!" He reaches to catch it, but it smacks into the side of his head anyway, and it's only once it collides that he realizes.

It hit his right side. He'd reached with a hand that wasn't there anymore.

It's just a rubber ball that Mikey had been kicking around. It didn't hurt where it made contact, just bounced off his head harmlessly before dropping to the floor and rolling away. Nothing to be upset about. And yet...

Something sad and ugly twists in his gut.

"Whoops! Sorry, Leo!" Mikey's voice pulls his attention. He's holding the ball now and looking at Leo and Leo wishes he wouldn't. "Didn't mean to hit you."

"You didn't, that was on purpose. I've been working on my headers!" The joke rolls out of him with such practiced ease he doesn't even have to think about it. He's grinning and he hopes nothing shows on his face.

It's such a little, stupid thing and he has no reason to be upset so why is his chest burning?

"...Everything okay?" asks Mikey, looking at him too closely now, and Leo is struck by the urge to push him away so he'll stop, an urge he quickly pushes down because wow, dramatic much?

What is he going to say? "I couldn't catch the ball and now I want to cry about it"? What is he, five?

"Just thinking I want to get some snacks," he lies, backing away from Mikey toward the lair's exit. "Be back in a few. Hey, if you want something, text me!"

"Leo!" Mikey calls after him, but he's already running through the tunnels like the coward he is.

...

"...Hey Leon."

Leo peeks up around his knees. Leonardo is standing over him, so big and tall and imposing. Leo isn't sure how it's possible that he ever gets that big.

He's not wearing his arm, and Leo's eyes linger on the missing piece before sinking back down to his own legs, pulled up to his chest.

"How'd you find me?"

He hears an amused huff. "You think I'd forget where I used to do my teenage angsting?"

"Who's angsting? Not me. I'm angst free."

There's some shuffling, and then he feels a warm weight on his left side.

"You remember what I said? You can tell me anything."

"There's nothing to tell," he tries. When there's no response, he tacks on, "It's stupid anyway."

"How about you tell me what it is, and then I'll decide if I think it's stupid?"

Leo hesitates, reaching over and fiddling with one of his bandages out of habit. Leonardo is quiet, and patient, and Leo hates how it works on him every time.

"...Mikey kicked a ball at me. Probably not on purpose." Not that he would mind if it had been on purpose, actually, because Pizza Supreme knows he's thrown many a thing at his brothers in his life, but that isn't the point. "And I tried to catch it but... I tried to use my right arm, before I remembered, oh yeah, don't got one of those anymore."

"Okay." Leonardo's voice is measured. "What part of that is supposed to be stupid?"

"That it didn't even hurt but I'm out here "teenage angsting" anyway?"

"Okay, poor choice of words. That's my bad." Leonardo leans into him, and Leo doesn't pull back. "Sounds to me like you aren't upset about the ball. Sounds like you're upset about your arm."

"Yeah, well, I spent weeks being sad about that. I'd like for it to be over, please."

"Unfortunately I don't think it works like that, Mini Me. Grief moves at its own pace. Trust me on that."

Leo pulls his head up, fixing his older counterpart with a stare. "You don't seem bothered by it anymore. How'd you manage that?"

He gets a shrug in return. "I don't think you should use my reaction to gauge your own."

"Why not? We're literally the same person."

"We stopped being the same person the day you stopped the invasion."

Leo isn't sure that's true.

Perhaps sensing that such is the case, Leonardo sighs and continues. "I've had longer to get used to it than you. Eventually, your body starts to adjust to make up for it. Plus, I was older than you when it happened, and I'd already lost... things that made an arm feel like nothing by comparison."

Leo shudders at that, and Leonardo reaches with his arm, giving Leo's shoulder a comforting rub.

"It took time, though. And it still trips me up sometimes. My body forgets and tries to reach with an arm that isn't there. The robot arm doesn't help with adjusting."

He can't help but smile at that, just a little. "But it's so cool."

"Damn straight it's cool. Can't wait to see what Donnie's got cooking up for you."

"Raph nixed the flamethrower attachment."

"He's probably already added it, you just have to swear not to tell."

Leo snickers, and Leonardo laughs along.

"One way we're still the same," Leonardo says when they're quiet again, "is that we aren't good at being kind to ourself. But you're going to have bad days, and you're going to have days where the little things feel insurmountable. And I'm asking you on those days to be kind to yourself."

The sad, ugly thing in Leo's gut is still there, but he feels better anyway, staring at the wall of the tunnel with Leonardo's weight still at his side. Be kind to himself, huh?

"...Seems like you could use the same advice, old man."

Leonardo chuckles, reaching over to give his head a light cuff. "Yeah, yeah. Let's try to learn together."

[ithseem]

Can I get some advice? I just booted up Tokyo Debunker and they're asking me who I wanna save and I assume this is the part where I pick my first romance option so I don't know who to pick.

The problem is there are so many people to choose from and I have a type but cannot for the life of me figure out what it is. So based on these characters who live rent free in my head, who should I pick?

(You don't have to answer if you don't want to or aren't super far into the game. I'm just curious)

:D

YAY! Someone to brainrot about Tokyo Debunker with. Based on your favourites, here's a list of characters I think you might like:

Kaito Fuji (boyfailure supreme) Lucas (Luca) Errant (best knight) Alan Mido (Autistic-coded himbo of a team mom) Rui Mizuki (flert) Haru Sagara (team mom of Jabberwock dorm) Tohma Ishibashi (Suspicious like Jade) Haku Kusanagi (flert)

I hope I narrowed it down somewhat

[astralscrivener]

Hi someone who went absolutely wild for DSN back in high school here. WHAT does that mean??!

it means that as soon as i graduate grad school in a month it’s over for you specifically

Image IDs:

[Image 1: a screenshot of four Spotify playlists, titled "i'll soar the endless skies for only one...," "falling through a dark sunrise," "i have seen an empire falling," "whenever stars go down and galaxie..."]

[Image 2: a screenshot of a Notion database titled "fic tracker," with the following fics:

stealing our own place in the sun, with the tags "klance," "adashi," "romellura," "multi-chapter," and "voltron: legendary defender"

dark sunrise, with the tags "endless skies," "klance," "lancelot," "multi-chapter," and "voltron: legendary defender"

empire falling, with the tags "endless skies," "klance," "lancelot," "multi-chapter," and "voltron: legendary defender"

galaxies ignite, with the tags "endless skies," "klance," "lancelot," "multi-chapter," and "voltron: legendary defender"]

[Image 3: a Discord screenshot:

necromancer gender stealer: wanting to keep my mouth shut about what im doing versus the unending urge to infodump

deus ex robert: 👀👀👀👀

necromancer gender stealer: DEEP SIGH. OK]

[Image 4: a Discord screenshot:

necromancer gender stealer: started a dsn reread with mar and uh oh besties the brainrot is back]

[Image 5: a Discord screenshot:

necromancer gender stealer: i WILL i love exploring mama's boy lance being The Sharpshooter and then he's like . who am i killing, really]

[Image 6: a Discord screenshot:

necromancer gender stealer: one of my biggest regrets of DSN is that allura got space momified a little bc i was following along w the popular fanon....not anymore !!]

[Image 7: a Discord screenshot:

necromancer gender stealer: and what if they kiss covered in blood. what then

random guard #8 apologist: Says a lot about me that i got this notif and came sprinting Oh I'm backreading rn this fucks so supremely]

[Image 8: a Discord screenshot:

Mar: Oh we ARE getting more messy this time 😈 Messy messy messy

necromancer gender stealer: i love MESS]

{Image 9: a Discord screenshot: necromancer gender stealer: shouldve gone to bed like 3 hours ago bc ive done nothing but w/e [a screenshot of a writing program, which reads: "I'm Galra," Keith blurted. Hunk rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Congratulations."]

Mar: [voltron end credits play]]

[Image 10: a Discord screenshot necromancer gender stealer, replying to a message that could not be loaded: get back in the torment nexus boy]

End IDs.

[carry-the-sky]

wip whenever!! tagged by my loves @ninzied and @majicmarker ♡♡

more gomens bc the brainrot appears to be terminal!!! have some 'crowley gets erased from the book of life' snippets that i may or may not attempt to wrestle into an actual fic:

At that moment, a book appears in Muriel’s hands. “Ah!” they exclaim, holding it aloft. “See?”  Aziraphale does see. He’d recognize that well-worn cover anywhere; that’s his diary. He says as much to Muriel, plucking it from their hands quickly.  “Di-ary?” they ask. Aziraphale feels his face flush. “It’s a book that one writes their private thoughts in. Generally speaking, it’s not meant to be read by…others.”  “Oh, I didn’t read it! I didn’t even know it existed until this morning, when it appeared on your desk. Gave me quite the fright!”  “It appeared on my desk…this morning?” That makes no sense. The diary is— was always on his desk in the bookshop. He’s certain that’s where he left it when he came to Heaven.  Muriel smiles brightly. “This morning, yes. I was tidying up, doing a bit of diving— sorry, dusting. I always mix those two up. Anyways, I was dusting, and it just appeared on your desk. Then it vanished. And now here it is again!” “Are any of the other books disappearing?”  “No, just this one! I checked before I came here.” Muriel pauses. Then their eyes go wide with concern. “Why, should they be?” “Oh, no,” Aziraphale says, thumbing through the diary. “No, this is highly…” he trails off, coming to an entry he’s never seen before. “Irregular.”  That’s unmistakably his handwriting, but he can’t for the life of him recall writing any of the words on the page. Last month, Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh… Muriel sidles up to him. “Supreme Archangel? Are you alright?” Their brow furrows when Aziraphale turns the diary in their direction. “What’s a Crow-ley?”  “I have no Heavenly idea,” Aziraphale mumbles. Crowley. He turns the word over in his head. It’s utterly foreign to him, and yet he has the strangest sensation that it’s…not. Down on Earth, in his bookshop, he would sometimes go into the backroom or upstairs to the loft and completely forget why he was there or what he was doing. It wasn’t until he retraced his steps that his brain helpfully supplied that he was searching for his reading glasses, which were in fact on his head the entire time. This feels a bit like that.

tagging! @heidiamalia, @onebatch2batch, @heartonfirewrites, @bisexualchrissycunningham, @hangon-silvergirl, @garglyswoof and anyone else who wants to play!

[rocketslacker]

I got tagged by @soul-cairn in like December and then forgor 💀But! Here's my top albums for last year! On the top we have albums that are "newer" additions to my ever-growing hoard of music. Most I knew already but hadn't gotten brainrot about.

Good Kid 3 by Good Kid - Easy pick and #1 in Last.FM just in general. A lot of my scheming this year has been w this one, my enjoyment of it skyrocketed much more in November but. Still. Fave here is probably First Rate Town, but it's very hard to choose. Mimi's Delivery Service and No Time To Explain are also great. They all go hard. In A Million Years by Last Dinosaurs - Last Dinosaurs in general has been very present in my playlists this year, the vibes are immaculate. Fave her is probably Zoom right now, but it zooms between that, Andy, and Sunday Night. Ground - I'm cheating w this one since it's technically a single rn, but it just genuinely changed my brain chemistry like nothing else had done in a few years. Banger. Middle is albums that have just been here year after year. Centésimo Humano by Mad Tree - Akaiitori tagged below introduced me to these guys and I haven't been safe ever since. Alquimia will always reign supreme, but I listened to a lot of La Ciudad Y El Humo and Rubí this year. Fear Is Fleeting by Puppet - MY BELOVED !!! Much like Ground altered my brain chemistry, this completely rewired my braincells. Like this just goes so hard, this is my EP, this is my everything. Fave here is Killing Giants by Puppet & Murtagh ft Richard Caddock !!! But also listened to a lot of Listen to the Storm. Immersion by Pendulum - There's always a lot of Pendulum, but I was surprised it was higher up than In Silico this year. I did listen to a lot of Encoder and Watercolour.

Last but not least, bottom three are albums that have been in my radar and I have been listening to for a while, but didn't get attached to until 2023. Danger Days by My Chemical Romance - A classic. Listened to it so much while working on stuff, I still can't name much of the songs from it since I was often away from the screen, but Planetary Go remained stuck in my head for a long time. I Know You Know Who I Am by Puppet - I'm still not too attached to a lot of the songs here, but it still broke through to my top 10. Here, my favourite would be Good Day, and My Own Thing. Yokohama always holds a special place in my heart. No Mal Que Dure Una Vida by Lika Nova - Also got introduced by Akaiitori, i got super bad brainrot during the summer with Manos Al Fuego and No Me Dejes Caer.

Tagging: @akaiitori @foolish-spectre @ovytia @incorrigiblyindecent @literalfuckingdragon @ayahoes AND everyone else who wants to do it!

[atlas-hope]

AZIRAPHALE'S PLAYLIST (2)

Since I’m joyfully suffering from an immense amount of Good Omens brainrot, I’ve been collecting all of my Thoughts™ regarding the list of songs that Prime gave us before Season 2 came out. Now that these songs (and the events of S2) have been churning around in my brain for a few weeks, I feel like I’m able to put my thoughts into words. This will be a series of posts!

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

I had to look up a translation of this song (since I don’t speak French), but I am SO glad that I did. Without the translation, this is just another vintage-sounding song that fits Aziraphale’s aesthetic. WITH the translation, it reveals deeper implications.

First off, the title itself translates to “No, I Regret Nothing.” Aziraphale has never been one who experiences overwhelming regret, even when he’s made a supposedly unwise decision. Even if he thinks he’s going to get dragged to Hell. Even when he’s too late (like with Wee Morag). Even if he goes to heaven to become the Supreme Archangel.

Now I’m going to focus on the lyrics themselves:

There are a LOT of things to unpack here. First off, there’s the repetition that the singer regrets nothing that she’s done, even taking into account the good and bad things that have happened. It’s a carefree, c'est la vie attitude that Aziraphale is rather famous for, especially after Season 2. (Note: I am of the opinion that Aziraphale was VERY AWARE of the danger around him in S2; he just chose to pretend it didn’t exist by acting as if he was in a Jane Austen novel.)

Now that I’ve addressed the first four verses, we can get to the more… alarming ones. “I set fire to my memories. My troubles, my pleasures, I don’t need them anymore.” Oh, boy. The reference to MEMORIES in particular sets off alarm bells in my head. We already know that Heaven has a Thing for erasing the memories of problematic angels, no matter their status. Will Aziraphale’s memories get tampered with in Season 3? Have they ALREADY been tampered with? Will Aziraphale put his memories in a safe place—like Gabriel did—in Season 3, in order to protect them from the Metatron? Will he become willing to withstand the stark bareness of Heaven without his memories? There are a lot of unanswered questions within those lines.

Here are the rest of the lyrics:

Of course, those first two verses immediately make me think of the dreaded Final Fifteen. I don’t think I have to elaborate. (T-T) The next few verses are just repetitions of the verses I analyzed above. However, the last verse ends on a VERY hopeful note: “Because my life, because my joy, today… it begins with you!” Since Good Omens is a comedy (and since Neil Gaiman has assured us), I am 100% certain it will end on a happy, peaceful note in a South Downs cottage.

tl;dr: This old song reflects Aziraphale’s c’est la vie, remorseless attitude. It also throws around some hints about potential memory alteration. Overall, it ends on a joyful, hopeful note that reaffirms that Crowley and Aziraphale will eventually be happy together.

| PREVIOUS || NEXT |

[thetantiger]

I'm gonna copy-paste a giant analysis of Frost's character and her relationships throughout her life that I put in my discord server with my friends because I like it lol

Btw the song this analysis is about/referring to is All You Wanna Do from the SIX musical by Aimie Atkinson

Copy-pasted analysis under the cut

Okay so I actually wanted to talk about this song a bit because I think it is a remarkably fitting Frost song and here's why. I'm going to be explaining this by talking about individual sects of lyrics

Okay so the song is six minutes long and very lyric heavy so I'm just going to be referring to different parts of the song as Guys 1, 2, 3 and 4, 'cause the song goes through 4 different guys and how shitty each relationship was one after the other, and who these guys are when it comes to Frost in particular

GUY 1: It's complicated. So there's a portion of Frost's backstory that I only came up with recently and haven't been able to really weave into any plans, but it's like a vent piece for how my own mom is. Frost's parents are actually alive, and she was told they were dead when she was raised in Acherus in order to make her feel hopeless about any sort of life outside of service to Arthas. Frost's dad left a long time ago but her mother sexualized her as a teenager ("And ever since I was a child, I'd make the boys go wild") and encouraged her to pursue men inappropriately older than her as a form of fake empowerment ("He was 23, and I was 13 going on 30"). Frost was groomed to be hypersexual by her mom, in summary. And that leads us to..

GUY 2: Tucker, of course Frost (or Fauna at the time) didn't just waltz into Goldshire out of nowhere. Frost's mom (who I'm thinking to name Doelina) pressured her to pursue sex work and that led Frost straight to Tucker, because if you're being pressured into that shit (and groomed to pursue it from a young age) you don't exactly get the opportunity to double-check if where you're going is safe. Anyway, about Tucker: "Serious, stern and slow / Gets what he wants, and he won't take no" I think that's a perfect descriptor of when Tucker is actually in his element. When he's not he's shown as floundering and foolish and unserious because I try to capture that he's not some over the top, big brain megavillain, deep down (like other people like him) he's actually just a fucking idiot and a control freak. When he is in his element though (being, controlling the people around and under him) he has an iron grip on things "Spilled ink all over the parchment, my wrist was so tired / Still I came back the next day as he required" Tucker sucks at reciprocation, but he's great at manipulation! "And I know this is it / He just cares so much, this one's legit / We have a real connection / I'm sure this time is different" ...OOF.

GUY 3: Arthas (hear me out) NOT IN A SEXUAL SENSE, obviously. Frost didn't fuck Arthas motherfucking Menethil. As a matter of fact this section and the last section, at least in my own head for the purpose of how this connects to Frost, pivots from sex pretty hard and more focuses on a general sense of being used; which, if you're a Death Knight under Arthas Menethil, is a pretty unshakeable feeling! "Tall, large, Henry the Eighth / Supreme Head of the Church of England / Globally revered" "Gave me duties in court and he swears it's true / That without me, he doesn't know what he'd do" ("ah yes i love my death knights. yeah you're my favorite little pogchamp soldiers. send you to die wdym what are you talking about hahahaha") "This is the place for me / I'm finally where I'm meant to be" Frost was manipulated into believing death and pestilence and mass murder and all that was her only purpose, as most Death Knights were. Frost also has been suffering from amnesia as a result of brainrot and doesn't remember her past before Goldshire except in vague, foggy slices, but she still carries the subconscious effect of trauma and felt a general out of place feeling except in Acherus for the longest time. "With Henry, it isn't easy / His temper's short, and his mates are sleazy / Except for this one courtier"

GUY 4: Maxwell! "He's a really nice guy, just so sincere" Again, pivoting from the sex aspect of the song pretty hard, because that wasn't the problem in Frost and Max's relationship (I mean, you could make the argument that Frost values sex in a relationship greatly while Max gestures vaguely doesn't, but you'd be overestimating how much of a breaking point this was in comparison to other issues). I'd also like to explicitly state that I don't label Max and Frost's relationship as abuse in any form, or in any direction, but it was certainly toxic on both of their ends. "So sweet, makes sure that I'm okay / And we hang out loads when the King's away / This guy finally" If you were there to see the early days of Frostwell this stings. Frost and Max actually did have good chemistry, and did connect well and had a lot of fun together, and were as close and as much of a team as any of the modern ships currently are. It lured Frost into a.. sense of security. "And there's nothing more to it" And then that's the exact problem. There was nothing more to it. It was "let's hang out for 5 minutes and then I end up half-dead at your doorstep 6 weeks later." This is exactly WHEN it happens for Frost. When she loses faith. She expected this grand, cosmic epiphany.. and never got it. Eventually Frostwell just.. fell out. Flaked off into pieces one by one over a timeline of little things. And GOD that's tragic, but they simply grew to be separate people. "I thought this time was different / Why did I think he'd be different? / But it's never, ever different" Ow. "When will enough be enough?" ("When will enough [time away from me] be enough?) "Don't care if you don't please me"

And then the song ends, but Frost's romance arcs doesn't so let me talk about Fracques a bit. Frost set herself up for disappointment again in EVERY aspect. Frost realized she had feelings for Jacques when.. well, when they had sex, and she cheated on Maxwell. It felt like a break free moment of some sort of dullness that's hung over Frost her whole life, but in retrospect Frost realizes this was just built-up spite towards Maxwell for them growing apart, which she's worked on since then. She recognizes that she wasn't just magically blessed with amnesia and forgot she was engaged to Max at the time, but that she was perfectly aware of what she was doing and went with it anyway. And she did it because it felt like a punch back to a life that'd beaten her this whole time, but again, Frost realizes that landed right on Maxwell who, even if they'd grown distant and had arguments and this and that, was not at fault for like 85% of that pent up frustration and didn't deserve to be that target. BUT BACK TO JACQUES Again Frost put herself into what could've easily been an extremely dangerous situation. Imagine if Jacques had like,, any other characteristics. Take Tucker's personality and put it into Jacques's body for like a second. This could've easily been AWFUL for Frost because she convinced herself Jacques was some sort of magical key to freedom. If Jacques was manipulative, or abusive, or what have you, isolating Frost could've been ridiculously easy. She relied on him for her own self worth and sexual gratification. But then that didn't happen. Frost's repeated toxic relationships kind of built up this giant expectation of who would finally be "THE ONE." Movie-star romantic scenes of proposing in front of fireworks surrounded by roses with an orchestra in the back and all that jazz. Again, she expected some cosmic (gettit) epiphany. And then that didn't happen either. Jacques was.. sweet. And.. normal. And.. remarkably easy to talk to.

It wasn't some giant moment that solved everything, but rather a consistent, warm feeling over a longer timeline. And she felt.. happy about that? That threw her for a LOOP for a while. Frost's life has been so dramatic that she expected something to "fix" her, or for something that finally went right for her to be equally dramatic and then it wasn't. And she LIKED THAT. HUH??? She straight up didn't understand but over time she came to appreciate uneventfulness. A breath after a life of holding it. And then she struggled with feeling like she didn't deserve to have that breath. After all, she's been told all her life she was a bad person. First just general slutshaming, then abuse from Tucker specifically, and then her warcrimes as a Death Knight under Arthas, and then cheating on Max (which actually weighs on her the most, fun fact [sub-explanation is she still HELLA cares about Max and considers him a close-friend and personally believes she is responsible for some trust issues he has which may or may not be true but ANYWAY THIS IS ABOUT FRACQUES]). She's not "fit" to be somebody's other half. She's not "fit" to be married, to be someone's wife. And then Jacques wifed her up anyway. So now Frost is just kind of in this.. limbo at the moment, slowly accepting that.. maybe she's not as terrible as she thinks she is.

Anyway mega analysis of Frost over

[the-loaf-of-calamity]

Sonic Frontiers Titans Relationship HCs (because yes)

So, the Titan Brainrot is real again and I want to write more stuff for them, I have returned to share some minor headcanons for the Titans in a more romantic / platonic (take it any way you want, they’re also gender-neutral!) scenario based off of my personalities for them. Here we go!  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Giganto : Not the most affectionate out of the quartet but he does enjoy your company more than the other inhabitants of the island, although he does remain kind of emotionally cold at first. Once Giganto warms up to you more though, he will soften up and will bring you into multiple talks about the history of the island, facts about the wildlife of the island, and all sorts of nerdy stuff that comes to mind as you were perched on his shoulder, listening in to his various rambles of everything he knew about with a happy look on your face. - Wyvern : The most affectionate out of quartet, Wyvern absolutely loves having you around the island as he lets out a happy little chitter n’ chuff (he would even try to chitter out your name) whenever he sees you out n’ about in his main territory. Despite the major size difference between you and Wyvern, he’s usually very careful whenever he gives you a whole lot of affection, whether it be nuzzles or hugs he still wants to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally smush you into a pancake. Wyvern wouldn’t really let you hop on him since he’s worries that you may slip off without him knowing so he usually remains either completely grounded whenever you would visit or perched on the tower whenever he invites you for a nice stargazing session, especially on Starfall nights. You and Wyvern would blab the night away, at least until you fall asleep as he makes sure to protect you at all costs. - Knight : Prideful yet still has a heart of gold, he’s very kind towards you and even gives out some helpful tips for a humble traveler such as yourself whenever you roll about his area, even pulls out a joke or two just to get a chuckle out of you. He loves to have a nice chat with you, although he doesn’t ramble as much as Giganto does when it comes to chats. Knight still remains rather prideful and shows off quite often by skating around, doing tricks with his main weapon, or even the occasional flex. Although you are impressed by his actions, you watch from a distance as you know that if one trick went wrong that it would probably lead to some not so good stuff. Knight remains oblivious no matter how many times you warn him that he needs to be more careful, but you still enjoy hanging around him no matter what. You’re just lucky that he’s good at what he does, that’s for sure. - Supreme : Supreme is usually too busy to even spend time with you, but whenever he does have free time though he would regularly spend it in the nearby flower field on Ouranos Island. The two of you would usually have a small chat about what happened during the day, although neither of you would talk for long as Supreme merely just chilled there without a thought in his head. You would follow suit and watched the clouds floating by above, spurring a small cloud watching session while pointing out various shapes and objects formed by the puffy white clouds. But Supreme couldn’t stay for long as he had more responsibilities to deal with, he would then depart to take care of his duties but not without a small headpat before heading out. You wish that he could spend some more time with you, although you aren’t super bitter about it. He is the big boss after all, so he’s bound to have a lot of stuff to do, but it still would be nice to spend just a little more time with him... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- And those are the dumb little relationship headcanons for them, I hope y’all like them as I much as I liked writing them!

[mediocremelatonin235]

Sam doesn't know how to drive and Divus very politely offers to help him with his own car.

Divus: "Let's do this pup, first I'm going to give you a demonstration".

IM DYING HE ABSOLUTELY WOULD!!!

He starts driving and the next thing you know he gets sued for property damages. He goes way too fast and has ran over a pedestrian or two…

At this point he loves his boyfriend but he also likes living so he just takes the bus or uses his motorcycle ( I head cannon that he has one) whenever he can.

OR

He has fun with Divus’s reckless driving and is learning along with him and having a good time as well. ( Or it would just be yelling and arguing about driving —> speaking from personal experience here I am learning how to drive currently it’s scary )

So in either scenario Sam is truly not safe. So he tries to avoid a scenario with Divus teaching him how to drive whenever he can.

Divus: Let’s go on a romantic drive this time?

Sam: Actually… let’s just go on my motorcycle around town? Is that better?

Though Divus turns into a sad puppy most of the time, it’s cute but not worth risking his life over.

BONUS SENARIO W/ STAFF MEMBERS:

Divus: Alright! It’s settled I am teaching Sam how to drive!

Mozus: You have 50+ parking tickets sitting right on top of your desk. Are you sure you are qualified to do this?

Vargas: Not to mention you almost went to court for almost hitting a pedestrian TWICE!

Divus: Still… my license hasn’t been revoked! I can still drive!!

Vargas, to Sam: Between you and me you are better off learning from someone else or you risk dying.

Trein: I agree with Vargas for once. He is way too reckless.

Divus: if I wasn’t to reckless I would be a stuffed shirt like you and get old and wrinkly by 50.

Trein: Don’t even start…

Sam: I’m going to leave now since you guys are at each other’s throats

Vargas: I’m coming with you

[dragon-grunkle]

impearl

So uh. This is the Jedi dragon story I keep mentioning. It’s uh, large. If anyone reads this the whole way through, I’ll probably cry, or something.

What do you need to know about Star Wars to understand this? Not a whole lot. If you know who the Jedi are you’re already halfway there. Get a quick synopsis of Order 66 and you should be set. There’s a lot of pearlcatcher lore worked into this, on the Flight Rising side of stuff.

Content Warnings: General Star Wars levels of violence, Order 66-related deaths, panic attacks, and repeated use of imagery relating to throwing up.

Final Word Count: 10,651

A snippet to hopefully catch interest:

She drifts.

Her dreams are chaotic and fragmented. She drowns in black tar, sinks in it, all the way up to her neck, all the way until her feet no longer touch the bottom, all the way until she's pulled under and it's like she's swimming in a sea of memories.

Her own memories. Those of others. Memories that have yet to be had.

Someone calls her name. No - not her name, Her name. Lightweaver.

She remembers things she'd thought lost. Sornieth. Sore-nee-eth. Her homeworld. Was that it? No, she...elsewhere. Flashes of light. Flashes of flight. Pearls...pearl-something. Pearl-eater? No. Pearlescent. Pearlite. Pearlize. Impearl.

Imperial.

She wakes.

For the past few months, she's heard whisperings around the temple. More and more apprentices are being knighted, and she thinks she might be next.

She's not ready. She's certain of it, but everyone else seems to think otherwise. Some of the newer knights - those she used to train with as younglings - clasp her on the shoulder as they pass by, a moment of solidarity in the tumbling chaos of war. But their eyes always hold something else within them, something that tastes like a warning. Even her master looks at her differently now, with eyes tinged with sadness, like every time he looks at her might be the very last time he sees her. It's unsettling, not the least of which because he has never seemed so attached to her before.

Many years ago he'd been preparing to become a temple guard. Something changed between then and now that ended with him at the rank of master rather than sentinel, but he'd never lost the sense of ultimate detachment he learned in those years. For as long as she'd known him, he held her at arm's length. She respected him, and he her in return, but she had always known he was not one to turn to for comfort. For that she could talk to fellow padawans and other masters, and he knew about this, but direct involvement in personal affairs was not his way, and so he stayed at a distance and kept it that way for as long as she'd been his apprentice.

It's never strained their relationship as master and padawan until now.

Now he's starting to say things like "I have nothing more to teach you," and "You have done well," and worst of all, "I am proud of you," and it's confusing her, it's getting in her head and she's certain he can feel it boiling off her but he won't say anything, never has and never will, but she can feel his sense of sorrow-regret-fear and she shouldn't, shouldn't be able to feel that from him not because she's incapable of sensing the emotions of others through the Force but because he has never made himself open to her like that, and it's scaring her and she hates it. The more she worries about it, the more often she wakes to little dribbles of blackened spit on her chin and tiny shards of glass in her pillow, so she takes to avoiding him, because she knows what's coming and she doesn't want to hear it, even if she doesn't want to know why she doesn't want to other than that it’s stressing her out and she's afraid that one day she won't wake up and they'll find her with midnight-colored gunk clogging her airway. But that's not the real reason and she knows it. It's about why she doesn't feel ready when she's trained for this her entire life, when there are younger knights than her running around right now saving the galaxy, why she feels incapable when -

She's not. She's not incapable. She knows that. She knows. Doesn’t she?

So why is she so afraid?

---

Everything changes on the eve of her twentieth birthday - or hatchday, as it were.

She feels her master reach out to her through the Force and hears him whisper, It is time, and a deep thread of panic needles its way through her gut, because she knows it's not time and she knows she's not ready and this isn't right.

At that exact moment, a great swell of horror-despair-pain lances through the Force, so overwhelming in its power that it causes her to double over and retch, oily black ooze crawling its way up her throat as it always does in moments like these. For a half second she thinks it's her own fear doing this. Then the static in her ears dissipates and she hears the sirens - and the screams.

Her head pounds and her jaw aches from how hard she's clenching it, and she needs to clean her face off or the substance will crystallize and she'll never be able to get it off, but she ignores all of it and forces herself up off her bunk and through the corridors, her feet taking her where she needs to go.

This morning she expected to be called to the High Council Chamber to be knighted. This is not that. As much as she's dreaded being knighted, she knows that this is much, much worse - whatever ‘this’ is. The closer she gets, the stronger the sense of dread becomes, until it feels like something is physically reaching inside of her and rending her organs by hand, and she has to stop and lean up against a wall to steady herself.

It's a good thing she does. A moment later a tidal wave of unfiltered terror comes crashing down on her and she sinks to her knees, wanting to mash her head into the wall beside her just to make it stop. But it's not her head - it's her heart that's twisting, and she can do nothing to stop it except grit her teeth harder, until she swears her fangs must be nothing but blunt little nubs, and that's when she sees him.

Up ahead around the bend - not far, but far enough that he doesn't see her - the Chamber doors slide open and a figure wrapped in black steps out. She feels acid in her throat at the sight of him, and at the despicable things she knows that blisteringly blue saber of his has done, and at the horror that this day has become. Suddenly she can't breathe, she's choking, this is it, her nightmare has come true and she's coughing up more black than she's ever seen before, black black black until it consumes her vision and -

Her arms fail her. They can no longer hold the weight of her body and her mind and her heart breaking all at once, and she collapses in a puddle of ink. The temple burns around her, but she wakes for none of it, feeling too much of everything for any physical sensation to reach her.

---

Sometime later she wakes, and night has fallen on Coruscant. It's as close to dark as this planet can approximate, which isn't very dark at all.

Her unease is so infinite that the pit of her stomach feels like it's fallen out from beneath her. She works her jaw and finds it sticky. If she doesn't get this gunk off soon her mouth will be sealed shut forever, and then she won't be able to ask what happened and she'll starve to death - if she isn't killed before then. The clones or the fire will reach her at some point, and she suspects it'll be the latter first, based on how warm it is in here and how cloying the smell of smoke is even now, after the worst of the flames have burnt out. Her hands are difficult to peel off the floor. From the consistency of the sludge coating them, she surmises she's been laying here for quite some time. A few hours, at least. The sleeves of her robes aren't clean at this point, but they're better than nothing, so she uses them to clean as much black off her mouth as she can. It's not great, but it'll do for now.

She's stalling and she knows it. Finally she forces herself to redirect her eyes from the cracked and burnt window she's been staring out of and back into the corridor where she'd collapsed, and swallows quietly, pinching her eyes shut almost as soon as they land.

There are bodies scattered around the chamber doors.

Masters, apprentices, younglings alike - all of them slain with the same brutal efficiency. She hopes that, if their deaths were inevitable, then they were at least quick.

She can't process it. All this loss - the sadness, the pure and unabating anguish that now taints the very temple itself - it's too much for her. She wants to go back to sleep, to wake up as if this were some horrific nightmare, but the slick burn of tar crawling up her throat forces her to acknowledge that it is not, that this is real and she cannot stay here, lest she would like to join the others with this hallway as her final resting place.

She considers it for a moment. Resting forever sounds nice.

It sounds like giving in.

She gets up.

---

She hadn't noticed it before, but somewhere along the way she must've twisted or sprained or even broken her ankle. It forces her to limp now, and maybe that's a good thing because it makes her move slow and cautious when all she wants to do is run, run, run until she can't anymore, but she needs to be careful if she wants to get out of here alive.

She's still considering if that's what she wants - to be alive. Is it worth it, now? Is it worth it at this point, with so many lost forever? Half of her thinks that she should let this place become her tomb, like it has for so many others. Her other half - the half from the waist down - disagrees, if the way her legs keep moving in spite of her mind and her pain is any indication.

She makes it two thirds of the way to the hangar bay before she comes across a single clone. He seems strangely mindless, wandering about bumping into walls like a headless tip-yip, and she knocks him out without hesitation, slamming him with a quick and judicious Force push. For a moment he hangs there, up against the wall, and she considers keeping him there just a little longer, just until his airway constricts and the light in him gives out, just to make sure he really won’t be coming back -

A bone-deep chill runs through her. It's not a physical sensation. Though it's something she's only experienced a few times before, the memory of what it does to a person is enough to shake her out of it and make her let go. A thin line of black spit drips onto the cool marble floor, and she pushes onward.

There are a few more clones patrolling the area, more awake than their wayward brother, but these too she dispatches with ease - except she doesn't manage to get the last one before he comms in for backup. She's surprised at how little resistance she's encountered so far, but she supposes the rest of them must've moved on, gone to find more Jedi to kill, and they'd left only a few to guard this now-forsaken place. They must've missed her in the thick of things, seen her lying prone on the ground and counted her among the dead.

It's the last turn before the hangar now, and she hears the uniform click-clack-clicking of trooper boots on their way.

A day ago, the sound wouldn’t have been anything worth noticing. It might even have been comforting - familiar, if nothing else. Now it signals her doom.

She slips out into the hangar and hides behind a metal support structure, counting the seconds until the troopers arrive. Her fingers brush against the hilt of her lightsaber hanging at her belt. The Force is in such disarray around her that she fears she may not be able to wield it effectively now. 

Before, when she reached out with the Force, the temple blazed with life. When she does so now, all she feels is emptiness. There is still life if she reaches out beyond the temple walls, of course, but the Force doesn't flow with them as it does the Jedi. If the Force is as a river then the citizens of Coruscant are like stones sitting at the bottom: it flows through them, guides them, yes, but they have no say in the matter, and many never realize it is even happening. But inside the temple, the Force always eddied and twisted in different ways, creating subtly different currents with each individual Jedi. Now there is nothing. It's as if...no, the river is still there, it hasn't dried up. It feels stagnant, a polluted feeling clinging to its depths, but at the same time it is roiling under the surface, uneven with no one left to guide it.

Except her.

Except her, and the twenty or more clone troopers headed directly for her.

Their presence in the Force is muted at the best of times, as it is with all those who are not Force-sensitive. Doubly so for clones, who leave a signature so faint as to be almost unnoticeable when not actively sought out. Now the rock analogy is more fitting than ever; she can barely sense them at all, despite stretching her awareness as far as it'll go. It's hard to tell exactly how many are approaching like this, but it's a lot.

Twenty is more than she was expecting, and that's being optimistic. She can't take them all, and she curses herself for not moving further from the door when she had the chance. All the ships in the hangar are either gone or too badly ruined to be of use to her, but she could've at least used the opportunity to get a little further away. Except she didn't, and now the troopers are almost upon her. She doesn't need the Force to be able to locate them now; they're so close that she can hear them talking to one another.

She doesn't think about it. She knows this is going to give her position away, but she does it regardless, hoping that it might buy her some time. The golden blade of her lightsaber springs from its hilt. Immediately, the clones' chatter increases and their footsteps pick up, but only one blaster bolt makes it through the doorway before it slides shut, the mechanisms that hold it open failing. It won't be long before they blast through, though, so she wrenches the blade from the ruined access panel and begins to climb.

She has never flown under her own power before. Her wings are useless for full-on flight, but they're perfect for helping her climb up this support beam. A few pushes here and there help keep weight off her injured ankle, and occasionally she even hooks her thumb-claws into the beam and uses her wings to pull herself up. It looks frantic and uncoordinated, but it's efficient, and soon she's pulling herself up onto the catwalk. The ladder to this section has already been blown out, so the clones can't get to her here unless they climb. In theory, with the advantage of the high ground, she might be able to stop them before they ever reach her by cutting off their access point - but that’s in theory. The clones are far, far smarter than most people think. They're inventive, and will no doubt find a way to either get themselves up or get her down. They also almost certainly have backup, and she can't stay here for long. Whatever and whoever they send to catch her will no doubt be worse than clone troopers.

She races across the platform to where it connects to another, higher catwalk and begins to climb that too. There's a ladder this time, which she's grateful for in her ascent, but it can't stay. She takes the time to slash with her lightsaber before moving on.

And just in time, too - the clones have arrived. Had she not ignited her blade when she did, she might not have been able to deflect the first few bolts. Even with their minds numbed over like this, the clones are still terrifyingly accurate. As hard as she tries, she can't deflect all of them. A few of her redirects land solid hits, but eventually a lucky bolt catches her in the wing, scoring a hole straight through the membrane. She cries out and stumbles backwards, tripping over her own tail and landing directly on her injured foot. It crunches. If it wasn't broken before, it is now. Her lightsaber flies out of her hand too, tumbling off the catwalk onto the ground below, and a harsh jolt courses through her upon its landing. She can feel the crystal inside dislodge from its matrix. Even if she were to summon it back, it would be useless, and she doesn't have time to fix the alignment.

The clones are still shooting at her. Somehow, aside from the initial shot to the wing, she hasn't been struck yet, but that won't last forever. In fact, if she strains her ears - over the sound of blaster bolts screaming past, over her own breathing - she can hear the beeping of a detonator. She risks a look over the edge of the catwalk. Keeping herself as flat to the grating as possible isn't enough to prevent a stray bolt from singing her hair, but a quick glance is all she needs to confirm where they've planted the bomb: on the pillar directly below her.

---

It's a bad idea.

It's a horrible, idiotic, stupid idea, but what choice does she have?

When that beam blows out - and it will, she doesn't doubt that, it won't take much more than one good hit - she'll go crashing down with it. If the fall doesn't kill her, or the explosion doesn't catch her, the clones will. There's no guarantee that this won't kill her either, but it's the best chance she's got, and it'll at least take out a few troopers with her.

There's only a split second left before the detonator's timer runs out. A split second is all she needs. She pulls through the Force and slides her lightsaber over, right next to the pillar that she knows is about to explode.

The bomb goes off. The platform lurches and begins to lilt forward. Heat seeps upward through the corrugated metal grating she's sitting on, which becomes unbearably hot. Then the fireball abruptly turns inward on itself, and she knows what's coming. It worked. Her satisfaction is grim with the knowledge that this will be her downfall too.

It's difficult to stand on her one working foot, what with the way the platform is leaning, but she pushes herself up and braces. The explosion leaps out again, concentrated and amplified by the kyber crystal in her saber until it's a pure white wave of blistering heat that catches all the troopers below within its circumference.

It's more than she hoped for - and it's rushing towards her too.

---

Fly.

The voice startles her into action. Without hesitation, she snaps open her wings and leaps off the edge. For one horrible moment she sinks, feeling the air catch on that stupid new hole in her wing, and she wonders why he told her to jump. She wonders why she listened.

Then a scorching updraft catches her and rockets her forward and up, up and over the wreckage below. The speed is too much for her. At the last second, she manages to angle herself towards one of the open landing platforms, narrowly avoiding the wall. At first she thinks this is where she's going to have to land, but as she passes the threshold and shoots out into the open air, she realizes her momentum is too great and if she tries to angle herself down now, she'll crash and break even more bones than she already has. Her shoulders scream as she pulls against the wind, angling her wings so that the air catches under them more and sends her careening upward. She's used her wings to glide many times before, but never like this. Never so fast, so freely, so urgently. They are always a last resort, but never like this.

There's a whistling coming from her right. It's the hole in her wing. It's still searing with pain, especially now with the tension in her wings pulling it wider, but it'll hold. Probably, anyway. It's not as bad as her foot, at least, and it's not as bad as she thinks her back might be tomorrow - if she lives that long.

She risks one last glance behind her as she glides away from the temple, and her heart skips at the sight of it up in smoke. There is a distinct lack of speeders flying by. Were the citizens told to stay away, or did they feel it too? Did they feel the cold radiating off this structure even as it burned? Did they feel the pain, the terror, the rage and the suffering? Even someone as Force-sensitive as a rock must've felt something, she thinks, if it was strong enough to put her out like that.

Her glance turns into a look turns into staring, and it takes her a moment to realize the sensation of her stomach hollowing out isn't just because she feels like her soul has left her body but because she is quite literally falling, her left wing dipping down and her right angling up after spending too long looking behind her instead of watching where she's going. The wind no longer catches under her wings, and she's pitching down while panic rises in her throat, and she's about to fall into an active speeder lane and she has no idea what to do and -

Her body moves ahead of her sluggish, lagging, overtaxed mind. Her wings beat hard, either of their own accord or perhaps by instinct, at first frantic and trying too hard to compensate for her utter lack of a brain, and then too little as her thoughts catch up and she overcorrects. Finally she figures it out - exactly how often she needs to push her wings down in order to keep flying - flying, not gliding, flying - at the same height she is now. Every time she sinks far enough she gives a swift downstroke and levels out again. Counting the seconds between strokes gives her something to focus her mind on and she sinks into the rhythm of it, feeling down two three four five push and down two three... It's sloppy and she has no finer control over where she's going but oh - she never imagined her wings would take her anywhere but down.

It'd be exhilarating if not for the ominous sense of being watched that keeps her moving forward.

She's leveled out enough now that she thinks she can glide for a few minutes without having to use her wings again, but she's too exposed here, so she leans carefully to the left and pitches into a controlled turn that brings her wingtip less than a foot from the building beside her. Flying may be new to her, but gliding is not, and as long as she doesn't move her wings the controls are the same, so slipping under the cover of the building is easy for her. Fewer speeders can see her here, and well - how often do the drivers look where they're going anyway? How often do they expect to see a person flying alone, under their own power, passing silently above them? Never, that's how often. A few police speeders pass by, lights and sirens on. She holds her breath, but they don't see her either, obscured by the shadows of the night and the building's overhang.

By now the temple has disappeared into the distance, obscured by thick smog and endless highrises, and though she still sees the temple's image on billboards throughout the city, these don't make her start heaving midair like the sight of the real thing would do. Images are comfortably null in the Force, if still unpleasant to look at with the knowledge of what they represent.

She knows she can't count on it now, and soon the events of today are going to catch up to her and she'll probably break down and come back with black oil gumming up her maw, but for now she's starting to feel a glimmer of hope. For now, she lets her mind drift, feeling more than thinking what she needs to do to keep aloft. For now, she is safe.

---

It's not until she wakes up that she realizes she ever fell asleep. 

And that she fell asleep while flying.

She doesn't remember if she crashed or if she glided to safety. Is she safe? Her brain registers information in pieces, and the last ones it picks up are what her senses tell her about the location. White. Sterile. Her nose catches bacta. Her ears sense monitors beeping. A droid, softly clicking and whirring. She's laying down in...a bed? Medbay. Hospital.

Hopefully they don't know who she is. News coverage of the event was scattered from what she could glean off the holoscreens she flew by, so she doesn't have a solid grasp on what the citizens of Coruscant do or don't know regarding the attack. If her identity, her chain code was scanned, then it could easily be looked up by - the Republic. The Republic could look her up and track her here and she'd be dead.

It's getting hard to breathe, and she does what she can to keep from coughing tar up onto the sheets until she sees the trash receptacle next to her bed. Her movements are clumsy and jerk at the line inserted at her elbow, which she hadn't even noticed before now, but she manages to grab the bin before her mouth inevitably opens and gunk spews out of her. Someone had wiped her face off before this, and she's undoing all their hard work. Pity.

It's a long minute before she stops, and the sides of the can are completely coated in sludge by the end of it. Her breaths come uneven and ragged. It's only after she lifts her head that she begins to notice other details about the room: the way the walls aren't perfectly white but have dirt and grime settled into the corners, the way the screen displaying her vitals fritzes out every few seconds, and the way the dented medical droid's wheel creaks every third turn as it approaches her.

"Are you alright?" it asks, pausing at the foot of the bed. It's carrying a tray with what she assumes is water and some ration bars.

No, she wants to say. I just watched my entire society burn, felt every single one of them die, betrayed by those we trusted, and I am being hunted. I am the furthest thing from alright. 

She doesn't say it. "I'm better," she says instead, which seems true enough. Her back and shoulders are sore, as expected, but her foot doesn't feel like it's about to explode and her wing feels alright too. "Who are you?"

"I am PT-2901," the droid titters in response, dipping its head. She notes the slight bobble in its movement, like the axle there hasn't been greased for a long time. "You may call me Peetee." It wheels over to her and sets the tray down on the table beside her.

"Thanks...Peetee."

"You are welcome. May I ask who you are?"

Her jaw locks up. Her fingers tighten on the trash can, threatening to tear the plastic liner. How much do they already know?

She must be taking too long, because Peetee speaks up first, its voice a rough approximation of soothing. "That's alright. We don't need your true name. At least an alias, so that we have something to call you." It pauses. "And pronouns, please."

She relaxes slightly. That's...reassuring, maybe. Polite droids mean...well. It could mean anything. She's probably not in police custody, anyway. The few times she's come across them, police droids have been business-like and efficient, verging on rude, and leave no room for pleasantries. She's never met a police medical droid before, but she can imagine it'd be much the same with those as well; she's pretty sure they wouldn't ask for her pronouns.

She racks her brain, trying to think of an alias she can use that won't link her back to the Jedi. For a moment she considers using her master's name, but the second it gets entered in any system, they'll know who she is.

Unbidden, a moment returns to her. 

---

She sat on her father's lap, huddled into his tunic. A loud boom echoed through the sky and shook the windows of their house. She shrieked and burrowed further into his clothes.

"Shhh, it's alright," he soothed. "Don't worry. The gods will protect us."

"Who are they?" she asked between sobs, too afraid to open her eyes.

"They are the Eleven. They watch over our world and protect it from all manner of evil."

"Eleven? That's so many."

"I know. Would you like to hear about just one for now?"

"Will it help?"

"I hope so."

"Okay."

Father began his tale. He told her of the Beginning, the First Age, and the nothing that was Before. He told her how the gods came to be, briefly touching on the names of the other ten before telling her about the one they serve - the one who granted them yellow eyes like the color of the sky at dawn, and magic like glistening sunlight.

He told her of the god's brilliant light, of Her shining courage in battle, of Her splendor and Her beauty. He told her about the Shade - not enough to frighten her, but enough to color the story - and likened the storm to it. Then he told her that after every storm, an arc holding every shade of Her light burst across the heavens, to remind them that She is still with them and watching over. He told her that Light always reigns supreme over the Darkness, and to always look for it even when all hope seems lost.

"Look," he said, and at first she thought he was still telling a story. Then he nudged her shoulder, and she turned to look out the window. The sky was still dark, but not as much as before, and the rain and thunder was abating. It was less frightening like this, especially now that she knew about Her.

At that very moment, things changed. Golden skies burst from behind gray clouds, revealing the sun in shades of orange and yellow, and just as Father said, a beam of light containing every color imaginable sprung forth, reaching from one end of the sky to the other.

She gasped and turned to face him. "Papa - it's Her! Just like you said, it's Her!"

He chuckled and nuzzled her fondly. "I know. Beautiful, isn't it? Just like you.

"My little Lightweaver..."

---

It's been a long time since she thought about this memory, one from before the temple. How many years has it been since she last thought of her father and the planet she came from? She doesn't remember its name now, if she ever knew it, and had never known his. He was always just Father to her. She barely even remembers what he looked like, just that he looked like her. She thinks he might have had golden hair, but she's not certain. It doesn't matter. What she does remember is the story, and it's enough to give her what she needs.

The name doesn’t translate well into Basic, so she does her best to approximate. "Sunspinner," she decides. "And uh. She and her, please."

Peetee dips its head again and wheels backwards towards the door. "Thank you. I will inform Kaaduu that you are awake. Please wait here, ma'am."

She doesn't get a chance to ask who Kaaduu is before it rolls out the exit. She'd assume a doctor, but why leave out the title if that's the case? Whoever it is, hopefully they'll let her go without trouble. As nice as it is that they've patched her up, she needs to be on the move again soon, and fighting her way out isn't an appealing prospect. Her bones itch beneath her skin, both from lingering pain and general unease. She reaches for the water and takes a sip. It helps with the acidic feeling biting at her throat, and then she registers that she's hungry too, so she eats one of the ration bars. It's as bland as it looks and a little stale, so she sips more water to help soften it. It still doesn't taste very good, but it does help, and by the time she's done she feels a little more settled.

There's a knocking at the door frame. It's open - was never closed to begin with - but the person waiting there waits for her to look at them before entering.

It's a trandoshan, with patterned orange scales and a simple white tunic. "Greetings, Sunspinner. I'm Kaaduu. They and them."

"Are you a doctor?"

Kaaduu shakes their head. "No. But I am a healer." As if sensing her next question before she says it, they add, "You're in our clinic on Level 4302."

Her eyes bug out. That...was almost a thousand levels down. How had she gotten here? Had she fallen this whole way? How had she survived? Had she been taken? What happened?

Out of nowhere, Kaaduu is at her side and gripping her hands, counting and telling her to breathe. She must've lost a few seconds. Black threatens to crawl up her throat again, and she fumbles for the bin. Predicting her needs, Kaaduu hands it to her. Though she doesn't hack anything up, the feeling still takes a minute to go away.

"Easy there. What happened, if you don't mind me asking? What level are you from?"

She weighs her options. If she gives away something Kaaduu doesn't already know, she could be turned over. They seem kind, but she can't afford to trust freely. "Farther up," she decides. "How did you find me?"

Kaaduu shakes their head. "I didn't. My assistant did. I sent him out to bring back supplies and he came back with you. He said he saw someone carrying you, but they disappeared. I can't make sense of it."

"...Can I speak to him? Your assistant."

Kaaduu nods and taps a button on their wrist gauntlet. A light flashes. Moments later, a young human boy, probably around thirteen or so, sticks his head around the corner. "You needed me?" he asks, holding up his wrist to show the matching light on his gauntlet.

"Yes. Vestan, this is Sunspinner. She was hoping to ask you some questions about how she got here."

"Oh. I...don't know how much help I'll be," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps fully into the room. "I just...I turned a corner and there you were. There was...a figure. Almost glowing, kinda transparent. It's like they weren't really there. I blinked and they were gone. You looked hurt and you didn't wake up so I…" He motions with his arms, indicating that he'd picked her up and placed her on something - a transport cart. She could piece together the rest.

"Sorry. That's all there is to tell."

"Is that enough?" Kaaduu asks her. She nods and they dismiss the boy, who offers a sheepish grin and disappears around the corner again.

"So? Anything useful?"

Her silence is enough of an answer for Kaaduu. They press a button on their gauntlet and the door slides shut. She tenses momentarily, eyes automatically scanning for escape routes, but there are none.

"You're from - you're one of them, right? I can help you get out of here. Vestan still needs to pick up supplies tomorrow. There'll be a cargo ship leaving from the dockyards that you can slip aboard."

Startled, she furrows her brows. Kaaduu knows, and they're...helping her? She gapes at them. "Why?"

The trandoshan's eyes flick towards the door. "The boy. He's like you."

She reaches out - and immediately pulls back when she feels her presence brush up on another's. It's true. "But - why wasn't he…?"

They offer a wan smile. "The galaxy is large. Your Order is few. There are trillions of beings on this planet alone - is it really so unbelievable that one small child would slip past them?"

Elsewhere, maybe. On Coruscant, the very home of the Jedi, not so much. She tells them this. Kaaduu only shakes their head.

"It's my understanding that there are certain...requirements a child must meet to be trained as a Jedi," they say. "Age and ability, mostly, from what I've heard. Vestan...didn't meet those standards."

She can only look away. She remembers this from when the Jedi came for her. They tested her ability to lift a few stones, then told her to say goodbye to her father. Her response to that had been measured too. That was the last she ever saw of him, and the pain of leaving faded along with her memory of him.

Reminding herself to unclench her jaw, she looks at them. "How did you know?"

"Well, Vestan could tell, but he's a bit dense sometimes. I don't think he's realized exactly why it is he was drawn to you. As for me…" They gesture to her robes, which she belatedly realizes have been folded at the foot of her bed this entire time. Well - folded is a generous word for it. The nacre-coated sleeves are calcified and stiff to the point of being unbending; it's no wonder they took them off her. Instead she's dressed in a white cotton shirt and soft pants, not unlike what Kaaduu themself wears, which makes her think the clothes might belong to them. Special slits have been cut into the sides of the shirt for her wings - a courtesy she hadn’t been expecting.

"That and the whole…you know." They point to a spot by their cheek. Her hands trace a path to the corresponding spot on her own face. Fingers land in the fur lining her cheeks - and her padawan braid. Heat floods her face. How had she missed that? At least Kaaduu can't see her blushing, since her scales give nothing away. 

They give her a warm smile and a light clap on the shoulder. She tenses again at the touch, but relaxes quicker this time, which Kaaduu seems to appreciate. "It's late. You should rest," they say. "There's a sink here if you need it. Fresher across the hall, but try not to get up if you can avoid it. You're quite dehydrated and we'd like to keep that drip in you if we can. Tap this button if you need help. Peetee will check on you through the night, but he won't wake you."

The door opens and closes, and then she's alone in the dark. To no one in particular, she says, "Thank you."

---

She drifts.

Her dreams are chaotic and fragmented. She drowns in black tar, sinks in it, all the way up to her neck, all the way until her feet no longer touch the bottom, all the way until she's pulled under and it's like she's swimming in a sea of memories.

Her own memories. Those of others. Memories that have yet to be had.

Someone calls her name. No - not her name, Her name. Lightweaver. 

She remembers things she'd thought lost. Sornieth. Sore-nee-eth. Her homeworld. Was that it? No, she...elsewhere. Flashes of light. Flashes of flight. Pearls...pearl-something. Pearl-eater? No. Pearlescent. Pearlite. Pearlize. Impearl.

Imperial.

She wakes.

---

The room is dim. She takes in long, gasping breaths, trying to remember what her master taught her about meditation and failing terribly. She thinks of Kaaduu and their technique, and fails at this too. She reaches for the water by her side, but her shaking hand hits the call button instead and knocks the glass over too, spilling water across the floor. It's enough to snap her out of it.

She's cursing her incompetence when the door opens, but it's not Kaaduu who enters. Vestan steps in instead.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asks. Concern broadcasts off him like a generator. She clamps down on her connection to the Force, because she knows he doesn't realize he's even doing this and if she doesn't do something to stop feeling it so much it'll overwhelm her. To have this boy, this stranger feel so deeply concerned over her well-being - it's a lot, right now.

"I'm fine. Just hit the button on accident. Don't worry about it."

"If you say so," he says, unconvinced. He checks the monitor just long enough to know that her vitals are still okay, then moves to step out of the room, but he pauses in the entryway.

He crosses over to her in a few quick steps, places something soft in her lap, and backs off again. In the dark, she can't quite make out what it is. A plush toy, of a sort, but what creature it represents she can't tell.

"It's a bantha," Vestan says. "They're from Tatooine."

Maybe he's younger than she thought, if he still has one of these and carries it with him out of bed. It's clear that giving it to her was unplanned: an afterthought, but not one he regrets. Or maybe he just doesn't care what others his age would say about it. He's not embarrassed. In fact, he's very certain this will help her.

"Thank you," she says, unsure of what she's supposed to say to that.

"You're welcome," he says, and then disappears with the hallway light.

---

Somehow, the stuffed bantha helps. She wakes several more times throughout the night, plagued by disjointed dreams and visions, but every time she does she remembers the toy and clutches it until the lingering memories peter off and she can rest again. Each time, she's able to fall asleep again quicker. Sometimes Peetee is there when she wakes, sometimes not, but true to Kaaduu's word, he never interacts with her, and, crucially, he never mentions the toy either.

It's not very Jedi of her to allow a physical object to calm her like this. She should meditate or center herself or use any one of the multitude of techniques she's learned over the years to ground herself. Without fail, however, the Jedi methods don't work and she resorts to the bantha every time. 

As long as she doesn't think about why that is, it's fine. She can allow herself one night of lapsing. If it helps her sleep and recover, it's fine.

It's fine. It's not, but it's fine.

At some point, she wakes and doesn't fall back asleep. She stares into the darkness, fingers falling into the repetitive motion of stroking the bantha's synthetic fur, until she registers that the room is gradually getting brighter. Simulated sunrise, she thinks. Does it match with the actual time on Coruscant, or is it the middle of the night on the surface? Down here, without any viewscreens of the surface, she'd never know, and it wouldn't matter. Coruscant never sleeps; there's always someone awake.

After some time of doing this - sitting and watching the lights turn on - Peetee rolls in and announces that it is oh-six hundred hours. He informs her that Kaaduu will be by shortly, and that she and Vestan will need to leave at seven if she wants to catch that cargo ship. Maybe it is morning after all. He gives her a tray with fresh water and a nutrient packet this time, instead of the ration bars, and then retreats, allowing her to eat in private.

The nutrient packet is somewhat better than the ration bars. At least the soupy mash inside isn't dry, and it tastes like something too, even if that something is only the vaguest hint of imitation meiloorun. It's still disgusting though, and she chases it down with water. 

After, Kaaduu enters, holding a cloth bag. "This is for you. It's got some ration bars and extra clothes, plus a few other things. Toiletries, for the most part." They pause and glance to the door. It seems they don't want Vestan listening in. They continue in a quieter voice. "There's a blaster at the bottom. It's not very powerful and it doesn't have many charges, but it should get you out of a tight spot. There's a knife too just in case."

In spite of the fact that she just drank a full glass of water, her mouth runs dry. This is too much kindness. "How can I repay you?" she asks, knowing full well that she has nothing to offer.

"You don't need to. Just stay safe. You'll be off in a few minutes. Stay sharp," they say.

---

She could just untie it.

She could wet it down, comb it out with her fingers and make it lie somewhat flat with the rest of her hair. That would be easier, she thinks, than getting rid of it entirely. But she digs the knife out of the bag anyway and holds it as close to her cheek as she dares. It's going to look uneven, but it's for the best. This way, she won't be tempted to rebraid it, and no one will see the telltale signs of where it had been either. True, she could braid another section, after she's safe, but she won't. It wouldn't be right. Not that this is either - she hasn't been knighted, still doesn't feel ready to be, but her master is dead along with everyone else, and that's reason enough for her to do this. There's no one left to knight her even if that's what she wanted - which it isn't. She just can't bear the thought of being a padawan still. Not after everything.

Before she can doubt herself any further, she yanks. The knife slides through her hair like bantha butter, and the braid rests in her hand.

She shoves it into the trash receptacle, the sides of which are now encrusted with shimmering opalescence, and drowns it under a fresh layer of tar.

---

She takes the pistol out of the bag before they leave and tucks it inside her robes, which remain at the end of the bed.

It's hard for her to leave the clothing behind, but she has to do it in order to retain her anonymity.  Giving up parts of her Jedi identity is a necessity at this point, like removing the braid. That, at least, is easy to rationalize, even if her doubts about the way she went about doing it are resurfacing.

The blaster causes much less internal strife. Although she appreciates the thought, it isn't something she's willing to compromise on. With no lightsaber and only a knife to defend herself, it would be a good idea to take it, but... she's already given up enough of herself today.

Renouncing the Jedi entirely is not something she intends to do.

The weapon stays at the clinic on Level 4302.

---

It’s a long way up to the docking bay. A lift takes them most of the way there, and when they arrive, it’s nearly empty. No one asks why the tiny medical clinic a thousand levels down has an extra helper today. Vestan tells her that they do this fairly often - find strangers in need of a way out, take them in, and send them on their way in the back of a cargo freighter. He says they never get caught, youthful idealism making him certain, but he has no way of knowing what happens once the ships leave. She tries not to let it bother her.

They enter and exit several times with various supply crates, and on the last trip she just...doesn't come back out. Vestan is long gone by the time the ramp closes, and no one bothered to interact with them earlier, so the crew is none the wiser that she didn't leave with him. She hides behind some other crates, but no one comes to check.

She has no idea where this freighter is headed and she doesn't care so long as it's not here. After a long while, the ship lurches and moves into orbit, awaiting permission to leave. It's as if nothing has happened for these people - which she supposes is true. Like Kaaduu said, the Jedi numbered in the mere thousands compared to the trillions who inhabit this planet alone, and the chances that the events of yesterday have affected this cargo pilot in any tangible way are slim. Another indeterminate period of time passes - shorter than the first, but still long enough to set her on edge - and then the world lurches, the telltale jerk of a ship entering hyperspace.

At last.

At last she's on her way out of this nightmare.

At last her memories catch up to her mind, and she breaks.

She keeps her sobbing as quiet as she can. It's a good thing she's had practice. Occasionally a sound slips out, but it's always masked by the sound of crates shifting in the hull, and isn't enough to draw anyone out of the crew compartment.

She's crying and she can't stop. There's no stuffed bantha to sink her fingers in. Kaaduu isn't here to steady her breathing. Her master can't distract her with training exercises. There's no end in sight. Not to her tears, not to her sorrow, not to this horrible awful insane sequence of events. It's still happening and she can do nothing, has no say in any of it, and she has never felt more incapable in her life.

Feeling incapable is nothing new to her. Feeling it to this degree is - unusual.

If she was faster, she could've protected the younglings. If she'd paid more attention, she could've reached her master, wherever he was. If she was smarter, she could've thought of a better way out of the Temple. If she was better, she could've stopped herself from even thinking about choking that clone to death. If she was stronger, she could've…

Could've what?

Done something. Done anything.

She's weak. She's incapable. She'll get caught. She'll be turned in for the bounty she knows is on her head and that of every other Jedi who escaped. She'll be tortured and imprisoned and killed and there'll be nothing she can do because she's a slow, absentminded, stupid little wretch.

No wonder her master never told her he was proud of her. Why would he be? He must've been embarrassed to have such a terrible padawan. Except for that one time that he did say he was proud of her, which must've been a mistake.

To think - Master Kanda Ibora, bastion of Jedi non-attachment principles, who walked the line between sentinel and soldier, and his disappointing little padawan who let physical items soothe her to sleep. She cries harder at that, at the thought that she's letting him down and breaking all of his expectations. All the lessons, the training, the wisdom he'd impressed upon her - wasted on her worthless, incompetent brain.

Her throat burns.

A sharp wedge of anxiety drives itself into her stomach. If she leaks black sludge now, it will get everywhere. The pilots and workers will see when they land and look for the cause. They’ll be able to track her. She thinks about getting up and finding someplace to dump it - an empty crate, perhaps - but her legs are too weak to stand and she's too scared to leave her hiding place. She considers the bag. It's cloth. It will leak, and the rest of her things, the very nice things she was gifted, will be ruined. There's nowhere else. She's out of options and out of time.

She tries to swallow it down, as she has many times before, knowing that it won't work, that it has never worked before, and yet still hoping that it will this time. 

The oil recedes. Her head spins. She's never been able to swallow it before. Why now? She pants hard. Her head spins. The ship spins. Are they spinning? No. Her eyes. Her eyes are spinning in their sockets. Her head spins.

She closes her eyes.

---

Okeli.

Master?

Yes.

I'm sorry.

What for?

Everything.

Why?

I wasn't enough.

Then I am the one who is sorry.

But...why?

Because it was never my intention to make you feel that you are not enough.

No - no you didn't, you didn't, it's me, it's my fault, you didn't -

But I did.

Not on purpose!

No. Never. But I did, and I am sorry.

No, no no no no, it's not - you shouldn't - I can't -

Be at ease, young one. You did exactly as you were supposed to. What more could any of us have done? 

Something. Anything.

You survived. That is enough.

I lost my lightsaber. I lost you. I lost - everything.

As did we all. But you gained something as well. You flew.

I...yes. I did.

So fly now, and make your own way.

I don't want to forget what you taught me.

You will not. But...my apprentice, some of what I taught you...some of it was not right.

You taught me to be a Jedi.

I did. But I also taught you that you could not rely on me. That you were inadequate, that you were unprepared, that you were too sentimental. Intentionally or not, that is what I taught you: if not through lessons, then through my words and actions. If anything, padawan, it is I who was not enough.

You were, though. Enough, I mean.

And I am proud of you.

You mean that?

Always.

Thank you, Master.

And thank you, apprentice, for teaching me as well.

Me? What could I have taught you?

…

Master?

…

...Master…?

---

The ship exits hyperspace, and she wakes.

The world around her shifts from the strange weightless not-weightless moving not-moving half-state of hyperspace to the sudden realness of actual space. Traveling through the inertia of not-quite-reality always makes her feel off-kilter. She doesn't remember the dream encounter at first; having to adjust muddles her already fatigued mind, and as she wakes, splinters of a conversation start to return.

Master -

...but survive...

So fly now...

...own way - enough -

She rubs at her aching skull, at a pressure point just behind her eyes. Remembering is...difficult, but not impossible. It just takes time. It will come to her, as it always does, but not right away.

They're still flying, approaching orbit. That means there should be plenty of time to adjust and prepare for her escape before they descend into the atmosphere. She reaches over to double-check her bag and stops with her hand hovering over the strap.

Force visions always end with her waking in a puddle of sticky black dribble. One as intense as that should've left a veritable ocean of mire beneath her, coating every nearby surface and all her limbs. But her fingers aren't stained with black - there's not a hint of it anywhere. Her matte brown scales are as clean as ever. With her other hand, she reaches up and feels at her face. Nothing there either, not even a little bit speckling her mouth.

A second realization hits her. Usually she has trouble breathing afterwards, a thick syrupy feeling preventing her from getting enough air. There's a prickling sensation at the back of her throat, but it's dry as bone, and breathing is easy.

The prickling increases as she focuses on it. Something - something is stuck there, lodged in her windpipe like a bad piece of food, like a - a croaker in her throat, where had she heard that expression before? Not the Jedi. Not Coruscant. Nowhere she's familiar with - anymore, at least. The prickling turns into stinging turns into biting and tearing and stabbing. Her throat feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out. Whatever it is that's stuck there, she needs to get it out now, it hurts so much. It's burning, it's burning and she wants to cough, but if she does she'll alert the crew.

Her heart races. Tears obscure her vision. As quietly as she can, she tries clearing her throat, and the object inside her moves the tiniest bit. The pain abates just a pinch. Little by little, bit by bit, she repeats the process. Over and over again she flexes her throat and coughs into her hand and huffs and pants and it's exhausting her, but she has to do it to get it out. It's almost loose, almost unstuck.

One final push and it's free. Her throat feels raw but it's done. It rests on her tongue now, a tiny sharp object she estimates is just over two inches long. She's careful to breathe through her nose so she doesn't inhale it by accident and start the whole thing over again. Its edges are uneven and the ends of it sharp enough to draw blood when she probes it with her tongue. She's shaking still, and afraid to draw it out of her mouth.

What is it? How did it end up in her throat? She'd trusted Kaaduu, hadn't noticed anything unusual in the ration bars, but what if they'd slipped something in her while she was asleep? No, impossible. She feels guilty for thinking it. And anyway, this item is rough and definitely not man-made. Her best guess is that it's a piece of debris she swallowed somehow - maybe when she fell from the sky.

It's not debris. Whatever it is, it's more significant than that. She tries to convince herself otherwise and, as usual, fails.

Her curiosity overcomes her trepidation. She reaches up and takes the item from her mouth.

---

In her hand rests a crystal.

A thousand pastel colors dance inside the vaguely oblong, opaque white stone as she turns it over in her hand, letting its edges catch the low light of the cargo hold. It is beautiful, but she knows what it is. Something cold and dreadful sinks into her gut.

It's not just that it's the same material the black gunk she hacks up hardens into. Worse is the fact that it sings to her.

It calls to her through the Force, a million moments of her life sealed within the gemstone before her. How long has it been in her throat, incubating like some sort of memory parasite? Except it's not that, it's not a parasite, it's her and it's the Force and it's everything she's ever known or will know. It's the culmination of all her knowledge and experiences, up to and beyond the events of the last twenty-four hours. It resonates with her in a way that her previous kyber crystal never did, like it's a part of her very soul.

Maybe it is.

Her whole life, she's never known what the stuff her body produces after intense emotions is. Multiple doctors have looked into it, both Force-sensitive and not, and none of them had any insight on the matter. Without knowing more about her species, they couldn't be certain if this was a defect or something typical for all of them. Some theorized it was a defense mechanism. Others said it was a holdover from those days long past, in which her species might’ve built nests by hand. Whatever the case, they all concluded that she produced it naturally, and that it wasn't harmful outside of some mild discomfort and the mess it made. Officially, it was entered as a chronic condition in her medical files, so that whoever treated her knew what to expect.

Her whole life, she's simply dealt with it, preferring to ignore it where she can and move past it when she can't. Sometimes she goes months without incident, if she's lucky, but it always comes back and she always wipes it up and moves on.

This time is different. This isn't something she can just pretend doesn't exist. She doesn't want it, but she can't get rid of it either. She sighs and slips it into her pocket for safekeeping.

It's over. All she can do now is wait for the ship to land.

---

Getting out is simple compared to the way the last few days have gone. It's almost too easy to slip past the dockworkers and crewmen, but she's not about to look a gift fathier in the mouth. Some other catastrophe will come her way soon, she's sure of it, so she'll take what little reprieve she can get. 

The area is bustling, and going unnoticed among the crowd is easy too. A civilian transport lands at the same time as the freighter, so all she has to do is pretend to be awestruck and she fits right in. It isn't hard - from what she sees already, the planet is breathtaking. Two celestial objects hung overhead when she emerged from the dim interior of the ship; the smaller of the two is setting now, casting odd double-angled shadows drenched in orange and pink across the shipyards. She learns from listening to chatter that this system is called Ubasi III, that it is a popular tourist destination in the winter, and that the second object is a moon rather than a sun, as most of the tourists assume. It catches the light of the real star so strongly that its name in the native tongue of this world means 'little sun'. It reminds her of what her father used to call her - his Little Lightweaver.

Acting on impulse, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the crystal. Pulling it out in the middle of a crowd feels almost sacrilegious, now that the overwhelming wrongness of the initial discovery has faded and she understands a little better what this is. She doesn’t dwell on it. Overall she feels better, lighter, and that extends to this strange little gemstone she's somehow created. That feeling won't last, she knows - she's expecting ups and downs, but for now she can honestly say she's doing alright.

She holds it up to the sky, so that it reflects and refracts the golden light of the little sun as it sets. Infinite colors spring from the crystal's heart, a miniature self-contained prism. It's just like he said: after every storm, a rainbow.

A devaronian man approaches her, interrupting her musings. Ornate silver rings encircle his hand-shaped horns, matching the delicate filigree interwoven between the fibers of his silken robes. "That gemstone is exquisite," he marvels, "How much for it, miss?" 

She laughs. "For this? You could never afford it."

The sharpness of the words leaving her mouth startle her, but it's true. Nothing could convince her to hand this over - not wealth or weapons or worlds. He's affronted, looking her up and down and scowling at her peasant's clothing. All it does is make her laugh harder, until she's almost doubled over and interrupting the foot traffic around them. The man scoffs and moves on, muttering something in another language that she's pretty sure is meant to insult her intelligence.

It's not funny. It isn't. But the idea of someone offering her riches in exchange for something she coughed up after a panic attack and a conversation with a ghost, something that is all but worthless to anyone who isn't her - it's funny. After everything, she needs this.

Breathing comes easier than it has in months - years - after she finishes laughing. She can't remember the last time she found something this amusing. 

Her back still aches. Her ankle still twinges with every step she takes. She can feel a strange breeze that wasn't there before through the new hole in her wing. She's still hollow inside, but she feels less lost - less like she's stumbling.

She flexes her wings. Feels the warmth of the sunlight, breathes the freshness of unfiltered air. It smells - well, terrible, but real. She feels real.

Finally, she feels ready.

[tojisun]

no thoughts just bodyguard!toji

thats so hottt omgg!! sorry it took too long, but here’s a 1.3k words drabble of bodyguard toji in a yakuza au because the brainrot goes hardd

also, this certainly ended up very differently than what i started with but i hope you’ll like it <333

━━━━━━ʕ•㉨•ʔ━━━━━━━

A smirk slides on your lips, curling your indifferent mask into something so conniving. Something so manipulative, it had Naoya’s hackles rising.

But just as quick as the surprise came, it sizzled back into a blank slate. You cannot help but commend him for how quick he was able to school his expression as he forced his tensed shoulders to sag, feigning callousness and detachment. Your eyes slide to his clenched fists where his nails dig into his silk hakama — silent in his anger, controlling the output. Really, he deserves the praise. But you hold your tongue, eyes narrowing in interest.

You wait, unwilling to be the one to break the stand-off. You have never liked the silence, having always needed any white noise to filter your thoughts to deprive them from spiralling. But in this choking room with Naoya? You can wait in silence for eons long.

You have never met the heir of the Zenin clan, but rumours speak louder and they go around faster. From the south, whispered by the plush lips of the Inumakis, they spoke of Zenin Naoya’s impatience; how his sharp mind is overshadowed by his tenuous humility. From the east, rumbled from the archaic drawl of the Kamos was the brat’s brashness; how, while some of his actions are backed by his successes, he has more faults. Why, from the north, exclaimed by the supreme Gojos themselves are Naoya’s countless defeats; how, despite the admiration that he is showered with by the Zenins, he could never come close to the Gojo Satoru. 

And now, it seems, he’s finally found his way to you. Uninvited. Unprompted. Unwanted.

So you wait, unwilling to bow down before the brat.

Naoya breaks.

“Why’s he here?!” He asks, voice rising into a wavering hiss, almost like he is overwhelmed by his anger. Befitting his reputation, the brat stands and points a finger to the man hovering behind you.

You do not even need to look to know who Naoya is talking about. After all, you made sure that he would be present during your meetup with the Zenin heir. 

You hum, leaning forward to pluck your yunomi from the table. The tea has long gone cold, but you raise a dismissing hand toward the maid who stepped forward to replace your cup for a warmer one, after all, you are only drinking to consume time. She bowed before sliding back into the shadows, her green kimono meshing well with the fusuma. 

Naoya is shaking in his anger as he watches you take a leisure sip, a quiet hum purring from your throat in exaggerated delight. You place your cup back down, still smiling even as sharp brown eyes track your movements.

Then, as if taking your free mouth as a signal to go on, Naoya asks once again. “What’s Toji-kun doing here, with you?”

“Well now, that’s just rude,” you tut. “I’m an amazing company. Just ask him.” You smile, this one downright mean, as you tip your head towards Toji. 

Naoya starts, fury melting into nervousness and anticipation and respect, mixing together seamlessly and leaving the Zenin heir to look too young and too naive. You bark out a laugh, shaking your head incredulously.

“Are you serious?” 

Naoya blinks at the sudden rage in your voice. You have only been patronizing, if not outright malicious, as though he was not worth your wrath. But this tone, this one that had Toji straightening behind you, made Naoya nervous. 

It made him feel weak.

“You kicked out Toji from your clan because you felt threatened by him–”

“I didn’t–”

“Don’t interrupt me, boy,” you spat out, levelling Naoya with a hard glare, your eyes glinting under the pale lights. 

Naoya sews his lips shut, teeth gritting and jaw locking. The familiar coiling of shame bursts in his stomach, licking up along his veins until he is flushed.

“You’re too spoiled, is what you are. Satoru already warned you about your loose tongue, and yet here you are, forgetting your place again.” You sigh, shaking your head. 

“You had Toji removed from the clan when you noticed that he was gaining independence, in fear that he could very well overthrow your ‘right.’ I just so happen to pick up the pieces.”

Almost instantly, a yunomi shatters as Naoya slams his hands on the table, mop of dyed hair creating shadows over his bright eyes. “Bullshit! What makes you think that I’ll believe you, huh? For all I know, you made this happen! Maybe you were the one who’s been funding his–”

A resonating slap echoes in the room, cutting off Naoya’s tangent. His trembling hand comes up to feel his swollen cheek, eyes wide in shock as he looks at you with a swarm of emotions bypassing the rings of his irises. You pull your hand back to your being, ignoring the faint stinging of your palm.

“How dare you,” Naoya seethes. His men draw closer, pulling out their guns and pointing them at you. You watch, calm even with the heightened tension, before raising a hand and dismissing the cocked out guns of your own men. There was a moment of silent protests, but ultimately, they holster them back. 

“Naoya,” you begin, sitting back down. “What makes you think I owe you any more explanation?”

He sputters. 

“Toji-kun’s one of us! What else do you need?!”

“This conversation’s going nowhere.” You chuckle, shaking your head in fake amusement. “I’ve already told you that I picked him up when he was disowned, so tell me, is he still really a Zenin?”

Naoya grows silent, not willing to say the answer that is already out in the open. Nevertheless, you no longer have any interest in hearing more from him. You rise from your seat, intent on leaving and walking away.

But things happened too fast, too messily.

Upon seeing your back turned to him, the Zenin brat lunges at you. There is an onslaught of shouts before warning shots are fired as bodies rush to pull you away from Naoya’s claws. You struggled, heady from being pinned to the tatami floors, before turning and seeing a body slam into Naoya, sending him onto the space beside you.

You are pulled from the chaos, the flurry of serving maids and lower-ranked guards forming a circle around you as the others push the fusuma apart to create an exit. 

Blinking bleary eyes, you turn to see Toji pinning the smaller body of Naoya on the tatami, rough palm pushing at the boy’s nape and the other trapping the boy’s thin arms in a grip. Naoya’s legs continue to flounder, but Toji continues to press him down, silently forcing the boy to heel. You turn to Naoya’s men only to see them subdued and tied down by yours, and pride blooms in you.

Finally, Naoya stops wiggling, ending up as a heaving mess whose sharp eyes find yours. They shoot you a glare, and you level him with an unimpressed look.

“A brat’s still a brat, huh, Nao-kun?” Toji asks, voice gruff. You turn to him and Naoya’s attention zips back to Toji. “Your old man knows you goin’ around bein’ a scumbag to clan heads?”

Naoya stills. Toji clicks his tongue.

“Thought so.” Then, he bends down, lips hovering over Naoya’s pierced ears. “Leave before you create more conflict. Need I remind you that an heir has no place here. Not with my lady, and especially not with me here to protect her.” Toji looks at you as he says this, scarred lips pressed together, eyes shining as they convey the depths of his words.

Your lungs burn at seeing his reverence.

. . . . . . . .

(Naoya’s little temper tantrum spreads and, two days later, with the backing of multiple anonymous powers, the old Zenin family crumbles.

From the ashes, Maki Zenin rises.)

━━━━━━ʕ•㉨•ʔ━━━━━━━

yunomi - teacup with no handles

fusuma - sliding panels that are used as walls/doors

tatami floors - mat floors traditionally made of rice straw