#which i doubt i will. ive burned them into my memory

[cleverpaws]

making a quick masterpost (not rlly long enough to be called that but errm) of everything i use + know are used to make funny graphics/banners for pinned posts/etc

for the sparkley glittery text gifs:

some of them don't work anymore and i think it looks weird on mobile but i love it sm

cool text:

what it says on the tin. if u didn't know where people were getting the flaming text. this is where

word art:

this is the one everyone used for text in weird surreal memes 5 years ago and i don't use it as much as i did in 2020 but. sometimes

and ofc blinkies which i think most people know but:

tbh i personally don't really like blinkies that much but i know a lot of people do so feel free. just b careful bc im pretty sure they can trigger photosensitive epilepsy ?? basically i would say put them under a cut with a flash warning i think. that may also apply to the glitter text but jurys out on that one idk

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 22}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: With a plan set in motion, it immediately begins to fall apart at the seams. Maldovan is proving to be one of the planets you face some of your most devastating hardships on, and you're not sure you can survive it intact this time.

Word Count: 10.8k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, death, "on screen" death, din raises his voice one (1) time, argumentative language, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, reader is being held captive against her will, talk of self-harm, references to past self-harm, mentions of IV ports and shots, glossed over references to surgical procedures, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, reader has one (1) absolutely feral moment, those are all the big ones!

A/N: this marks the end of my all original content arc!! i'm so proud of myself and i hope this doesn't emotionally destroy you too much, oops (p.s. special shoutout to @sawymredfox for the lovely moodboard that helped to inspire me this chapter)

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Everything was too bright, even through your closed eyes. It was as if you were underneath a spot light, trained on you, making your entire body feel overheated and almost burning. You tried not to cry out, to hold in the sound as the sensation became too much and your body convulsed, and your eyes flew open.

The memory of killing your intended flooded your mind, the one of you biting into a truffle so strong you could feel the smooth give of the melting chocolate on your lips and tongue. The viscous sensation of the sugary warmth thick on your cotton-like tongue. But it was a bed you woke up in, in the same room as the one your mother had made up for you in the infirmary. She was nowhere to be seen, there was no medic or droid around either. You were alone.

The monitor you were hooked up to wasn’t reading anything, you’re breathing so shallow and the heartrate almost nonexistent. The poison had worked, it allowed for the plan to go through, now all you had to do was knock out the guard, grab your bag and meet up with Din in your room. The escape route was to sneak out under the guise of being a servant, alongside him still in his disguise.

To rush without drawing attention across the city and toward the shipyard, where Cara and ad’ika were waiting. It had been at your insistence that the little one be as far away from your mother once you had regained your sense of self, there was no chance you would take of her getting her hands on him. He had fussed, sensing you so close by when the news was told to him. But even his loud wails and cries couldn’t change your mind, his safety was paramount.

You look for the file, reading the summary at the end of it pronouncing your passing. That you had perished to the symptoms of the poison administered to you. The orders to burn your body not uncommon for someone of royalty, the culture of Maldovan is to honor those in death by allowing them to untether from their bodies to ascend to the afterlife. The order given in the signature of the king and queen, scrawled into the file directly.

It’s your ticket out of here, to run as you saw fit. To escape from the environment in which you had been sold into.

As quickly as you can manage, you exchange the cream sleeping robes you had been dressed in for the dark ones of a guard. Muscles protest the twisting and movements of dressing, sore from the currents that had raced through your body, the poison that had no doubt affected you more than you anticipated.

Arms protesting as you wrap your hair up to conceal it underneath a cover, a leather band holding it in place, another pin allowing for the remaining fabric to drape over your face. With only your eyes visible, you don’t waste any time before making your way through hallways and to the room you agreed to meet up with Din.

The only thing you intended was to retrieve the bag you had stored in the back of your closet. A small collection of clothing and things you could had come to care about while constricted in the life your mother had tried to trap you in.

It may be questionable, the meaning behind it, but the ring Prince Cala had gifted you was beautiful and made your heart flutter for some reason. It was the perfect embodiment of all that you loved should you be given the choice to pick such a piece of jewelry. All polished sterling silver, delicate pastel emeralds lined up in a small cluster of three. You couldn’t bear to part with it, even with the brand associated with it. The way it allowed for the things that happened on this planet to live brightly in your mind and memory.

Perhaps it was because the only way the Prince would know what you would like…was because your mother had to have told him. A small understanding of who you really were beneath all that she forced you into and to mold to, a true part of yourself she had seen and remembered even in her manipulation.

You recall the discussion of removing it to hide it away in the bag, Din’s confusion at such a notion.

‘His lips are soft against your own despite the slight roughness to them from being chapped, from his earnest attempts at being everything you needed the past few months. His own needs falling by the wayside, his own routines holding little to no meaning if it didn’t have to do with ensuring your comfortability or protection.

Cara indulged in all the servants’ quarters had to offer, something she admitted to you on one of your walks, not only to keep up pretenses now that your memory had returned, but a small bubble of time to allow Din to rest. Ad’ika in your arms and cooing along to the sound of your voice every so often, big, beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with admiration as he holds a hand over the middle of your chest.

“Mesh’la,” His voice is a low groan, igniting a smoldering fire beneath your skin. Despite everything, despite all the damage caused by your mother, your body still reacted to him as it had begun to before your kidnapping. Despite the last encounter you two shared…

“My armor, your armor, your weapon. It’s all aboard the ship, down at the docking yard.”

“No, you’re still wanted. I don’t…I can’t bear the thought of you getting captured, they would execute you, this world doles out punishments quickly.” You tighten the grip you’ve got on his wrists, nudging the bronze braces further down his arms, revealing more of his skin for your eyes should they open. But you keep them closed, not wanting to see him for the first time in such circumstances, in a desperate attempt at connection before all chances of it could be lost to you both.

You don’t jolt when he presses to you as much as the bars allow him, the front of his body hot against yours, just as his lips close in around your bottom one. His fingers dig into your hairline, nails scraping gently as he tilts your head just a fraction, deepening the kiss. You can’t help the small sound that escapes your lungs on an exhale, fed into his parted mouth from your own. He swallows it down, giving you one in return when your tongue touches to his.

You startle slightly, overcome by the forward action. By the heat you could feel coming off of him as he responds to your touches in much the same way you are to his. His fingers pull lightly at your hair, holding you in place to prevent you from moving out of reach, it’s intoxicating the way he’s moving against you. Small traces of his tongue along your bottom lip, a chaste kiss to it, to your upper lip, to the tip of your nose and each cheek. His forehead rests against yours as he simply shares air with you now.

Maker, you wish you could see the needy, open expression he’s surely sporting. The furrow of a strong brow, full lips swollen from exchanging kisses, cheeks flushed from emotion and need. You wanted to see it, with everything in your being, but not this way. Not this setting, not while you were anywhere but aboard his ship. His sanctuary. Your sanctuary.

“Din,” You pant, hands moving to grip at his elbows, practically begging him to hold onto you. Just for another moment, another breath, another lifetime.

“San, I promise you….this will be the last time you’re at the mercy of someone else. I swear to you, you will be free, at any cost. I will spend the rest of my life ensuring your freedom, let me, ner k’arta. Even if I  don’t understand the reasoning behind certain things, you are the most important.”

He lingers, until the sun sets and hour signals the shift he had traded with another coming to an end. He doesn’t leave space until a handmaiden descends the stairs. With her is a tray of dinner covered by a domed lid. The smell of caf wafting from the covered mug beside it.’

You turn at the sound of your door opening, your given term of endearment shaped on your lips but your entire expression steels when you see the form of your mother in the doorway. Or at least, that’s who you see when the figure is too small to be Din, a servant that distorted in your vision. The effects of the poison making themselves known in the blurring of colors and sunlight being too bright.

Shaking your head, you realize its your secondary handmaiden. No doubt instructed to begin cleaning the remnants of you from the room. She gasps, startled by your presence though you’re sure she doesn’t recognize you beneath the cover.

“Apologies, I was unaware another was sent to clear the Princess’s room.”

“Was told to gather the valuables, to return to the Queen for safe keeping. I will be gone in a second.”

She’s quiet as she watches you mentally go through the things you need and what’s in the bag, tossing one of the straps over your shoulders before you bowing to her and departing from the room. You make it down the hall a few paces, mind jumbled as you realize Din is late. There’s no sign of him in the hallway nor those that lead to the one your bedroom is located in. Your answer as to why is found in the form of you someone suddenly grabbing at your robes to pull you into a room as you pass the doorway. There’s a slight prick of a needle in you neck and with a shiver from the cold liquid inside, you know exactly who it is.

“Your Mandalorian didn’t expect me to wake up, that much was obvious.” Your mother laughed bitterly as she fastened the cuffs around you, the chains connected them clinking as she did so. The poison and the sting of the sedative make you move slowly, muscles tired and barely functioning. “Managed to sedate him, though he took a lot more than you typically do. I suppose it makes sense, he’s such a big man.” She scoffs at the thought of him, of downing him as she claims. Your heart seizes, worry clouding your mind as she and the sedative work together to immobilize you.

“Bet you let him defile you, in anyway he chose to, didn’t you, my darling? Probably thought it was love, that it was consensual. But he’s using you, just like the others. The Jedi who took you away, who let you fall victim to an attack that eradicated them. To the Mandalorian you claimed protected you in the aftermath, the one who wouldn’t return you home to me. To the Empire who held you captive, demanded things from you until it corrupted you. Changed you into someone you never would’ve become. He’s using you, just the same. Wants to own you, control you, keep you all to himself. Your body and your power the only thing he sees in you.”

Anger and resentment make the energy around you swirl, feeling it more so than a light twinge but a full force all around you ripe for manipulation. Reaching out your mind, you focus it on the chains being pulled taut as your arms are fastened behind your back. She’s moving to fasten the ones about your ankles together when the first one clicks open, the mechanism inside broken. You shove at her next, tossing her off of you and into the other wall.

The chains wrapped around your body were short, the links of them only a few dozen as you free yourself from the hold of your mother. Her own body weak from the poison and the collision of her back to the wall, allowing you to distance yourself from her. To gain a few feet of space as you begin to careen down the hallway. But she follows, far too quickly for comfort once she manages to find her balance.

Footsteps heavy, you feel the sedative try and take ahold of you, but you fight it off. Focusing inward to try and thwart it, negate in in a small bout of healing. Your mind worries for Din, for his own safety. What if your mother had told the guards of his true identity? Would they already have him held in the dungeons, his sentence being doled out? The entire plan of killing and escaping fallen on his shoulders and the blame placed on him?

No thoughts were running through your head other than to get to her quarters, but as you approach the hall, there’s a fear that he’s not there. The bag in your hand grows heavy as your hunch it proved correct, he’s no where to be seen inside her large room. As she’s rounding the hallway herself, slower than you but no less determined, she sees the end of your robe disappear around the other side of the long hall.

Back to the medical wing, you think as you move as quickly as you can down the stairs, far too many of them for you to move at a faster pace. You didn’t want to risk tripping on your tensing muscles. As soon as your boots make contact with even ground once again, you’re careening down a wide hallway, the servants back rooms and paths the goal to travel across the grounds without drawing any more attention.

A distraction never hurt anyone, you reasoned as you dug a hand into the bag for a small round disk. It feels alive in your palm as you nearly slid into the dining hall, the destruction of it paramount to call for servants and guards alike to the scene, to keep everyone in the main part of the palace. To ensure you time to find Din and make the call to Cara for an emergency escape right from the grounds. You trusted her skills, her ability to get the ship low enough for you to load an unconscious Din and then yourself with minimal firepower. All the focus would surely be on the dining hall, the ruined wedding, the craze of your mother claiming her whatever story she concocts.

The three high-pitched chirps of the grav charge you recognized from Din’s weaponry echoed in your ear as you planted it along the ornate door the second your mother was rushing through it after you. The dining hall had been transformed into an extravagant set up for the ceremony. Rows of chairs lined up, beautiful collections of flowers adorning each column, lanterns set up high and in vast numbers, the candles in them unlit. But it all lays in disarray now, covered in debris.

“San!” You heard Din’s voice through the dust and floating debris, but the ringing in your ears drowned it out much the same way the drugs still in your system convinced you it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, your mother, she already ensured his death with nothing but a single word. Hoping to crush the very last bit of your heart and will to fight. The only thing on your mind was survival. He was too far, he was fast and he was skilled beyond many but he was down the hall based on the way his voice echoed to reach you.

You called back, hoping that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, the term of endearment echoing back to let him know your precise whereabout should he really be searching for you. But you were sure it would be too late; your mother was already surging up from the blast. Her body covered in ash, dust billowing off of her as she moved as quickly as she could.

You spied the remote on the ground but instead of rushing toward it, you went for your mother who was still sprawled on the ground from the force of the detonation. She roused slightly but burst into movement when she saw you heading straight for her with anger in your eyes. As soon as she scrambled to her feet, you whipped your hand out to send a piece of broken pipe across the room and into her legs.

“San, please, you’re not angry with me! It’s him! He’s the one whose done all this!” She shouted as she regained her footing and tried to flee out into the hallway, she dove for the remote when she spotted it abandoned on the floor. You were already swinging your chains, gathering momentum and just as she broke the threshold you threw it out. The chains wrapped around her middle and you pulled as hard as you could.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Din’s form burst into the entryway, his entire body moving lethargically. He was fighting the sedative; he was fighting it to search for you. His voice called out again, as his head swayed slightly. The

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself as her body collided with yours just as she pressed the trigger on the remote, she had managed to get in her grip, just standing back up from reaching for it as you closed in. The shock was debilitating, originating at the crown of your head, pulsing in your temples and flying across your body to ignite your very nerves on fire. The chains around your wrists, making it even worse, the electricity feeding off of itself for a long moment. You gripped your mother’s body tight to you, the shock transferring to her as well.

Din shouts out your name, louder than you’d ever heard him speak before. But it barely registered over the scratch of your own voice torn from your throat as you cried out.

You both fell to the ground, your teeth gritting so hard you feared your jaw would break.

As soon as you were able to, you rolled over to pin your mother’s rousing form, the chains clinking around you, the metal heavy where your muscles braced against it. She was blinking up at you, her own body no doubt feeling the dangerous effects of the electrocution. Faintly aware of quick steps thundering in the hall, you didn’t dare look away from the woman beneath you as your hands came up to bunch at the front of her robes.

“You will control me no longer!” Using your shaking limbs, you lift her up by the front of them and slam her back down to the ground. Voice wrecked and trilling.

“S-San, ple-please.” She coughed, voice broken as she tried to reason with you, her breathing labored and her mind still with her.

“No!” You couldn’t help but lift her slightly off the ground only to slam her back down to collide with the lavish and polished floor again and again. “You- have- done- nothing- but- take advantage of me my entire life! You had no right to be that way toward me, to do the things you did to me. Your own flesh and blood! Your only family, your only child! I’ve known more kindness from strangers, from those who don’t even know me!”

“I only did it to protect you!” She cries her own words, sweet voice no longer pitched high in an act but raspy as you recalled it being as a child, the voice that haunted your waking hours just as much as your sleeping ones. Pleading with you, the dynamic completely turned now. But there was no reasoning with you, even if Din were to approach you now, even if your old protector Akiz rose from the dead to ask you to show mercy- you could not.

“You never protected me, you’ve only hurt me. Over and over and over again. Every time you chose to load up the needles, every time you closed the shackles on my wrists and ankles, every time you locked me away in the dark with no way to even know I was alive! You made me want to end my live, mother!”

“I didn’t mean- I only wanted-“

“You made me so unaware of everything, I didn’t even know I was a person!” You were shouting at the top of your lungs now, for all to hear. The small crowd of servants and the people dressed in decorated robes surrounding Din in the doorway. Everyone unsure of what to do, of how to break the scene up. But when Din’s figure tried to, he suddenly halted as if there was an invisible barrier preventing him from entering the room. “You treated me as harshly as those that corrupted me!”

“I sold you to give you a better life, to give us a better life! One I couldn’t give to you on an armor’s earnings. It was for your own good. The things I did were for all for your own good, San, you have to believe me!”

Your knuckles popped as you curled your hands around her throat, the flesh and tendons forming to your tight grip. Her own hands scrabbled at any part of you she could reach but you ignored the dig of her nails into your arms, into the base of your neck, eyes locked with hers as they widened in fear and desperation.

“I won’t let you, I won’t let you, not anymore!” You snarled, teeth bared and emotions raw as you watched her gurgle your name, voice tapering off and turning raspy the longer you held to her. Your own shaking and distorted, hoarse from the power behind your shouted words. The same power you felt flooding your veins was all your own, no influence of the Force. You could feel her, the energy of her very being waver, fade, the light going from her eyes as her hands fell limp to her sides.

Tears sprouted from your eyes, falling onto her slack face as her lips tried to form your name one last time. When her last breath left her chest, your hands loosened thought you didn’t remove them. The fear of her suddenly springing up and turning the tables on you all to real even as you took in the way her slightly parted lips were slack, the spittle and splotchy red patches decorating the skin of her face and neck. Her golden skin tainted and marred, just like that about your wrists, about your ankles, about your heart.

Bowing, you nudged the crown of your head underneath her chin, hands moving down to her shoulders, tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body as you nuzzle into the body of the woman who was supposed to love you, support you, help you navigate the world. The woman who had failed you in every conceivable way, who had taken what little parts of you had survived the events of your life. All of the power and fight leaves your body, energy drained and muscles slack.

All you can do is weep.

You didn’t jump when a hand settles on your back, when the warmth of it seeps into the layers of fabric and into your skin. A comforting weight, a familiar weight. Din.

“Vaabir nayc ku'rukar, bic cuyir shi ni.  Ner kar'ta, gedet'ye, vi linibar at ba'slanar.  Ogir cuyir naas olar par mhi payt.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he speaks softly to you. As he calls you back to the room, to the time, to him.

Do not startle. My heart, please, we need to leave. There is nothing left for us here.

“Val cuyir dar.” You rasp out, voice strained and small. So much like a child lost in a crowd and searching for someone, anyone to help them get back home.

She’s gone.

“Ni kar'taylir, San.  Vi…vi linibar to-"

I know, San. We…we need to-

“Ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh!” You lift your head, eyes meeting Din’s with a fierce desperation. The meaning of your actions settling in as you feel the body beneath you. “Val may ganar let ni slanar, val may ganar harmed ni, a ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh.  Liser't ba'slanar kaysh baar olar, ogir. Ogir cuyir kebise vi vaabir! Bat K'ath.  Val- val deserve at nari bat.”

I can't leave her! She may have let me go, she may have harmed me, but I can't leave her. Can't leave her body here, there...there are things we do! On K'ath. She- she deserves to move on peacefully.

He’s suddenly turning his back on you, broadsword held up in defense as two figures approach. They’re surrounded by more guards dressed exactly like him, like you. Dark billowing robes, though their hands remain gripped around handles of their own weapons. The steps of so many approaching falling on his ears alone, you are too lost in your grief, too focused on the woman who lays dead before you. Because of you.

“Stand down, we do not wish to harm her. Nor you.” A woman’s strong voice, cadence lilted in the way that conveyed a high standing. Her robes were shining in the sun filtering in from the tall, arching windows in the room. The colored, faceted glass at the top allowing for prisms of color to splash over the room even as dust continues to settle. Highlighting the damage done by the grav charge. Tables and chairs strewn about, petals from flowers littered over everything. Glass glittered about, as did the remnants of stone columns, two of which hadn’t been able to withstand the explosion. The perfect set up for what was supposed to be a joyous union, shattered down to the very details.

“Aliit, the queen commands you. Heed her words.” Another servant tempered, bridging the gap between the man standing guard before you and those that commanded all of the planet.

“The only words I follow are hers and those of my Creed.” He spares a glance back at you over his shoulder. The confidence in his stance and the conviction in his words pulls you to your feet. You gaze around him, eyes landing on the two figures standing before him. The depictions of them cast in oil paint and in holo nets the only time you’ve seen them, but you would recognize them anywhere. The king and queen of Maldovan.

The people who had been set to become your family.

The people whose son you murdered with your bare hands.

And they stand before you and Din, hands up and placating even though they just witnessed you strangle your own flesh and blood.

Instincts of flight light you up from the tips of your toes to the still aching crown of your head. Though you do not move, you simply stand behind Din, who is poised for a fight. Ready to defend you, to protect you, to ensure your freedom now that your mother’s clutches can no longer control you. You stand still and strong behind him, to match his devotion and willingness to face a potential new threat head on.

“San of K’ath.” The man steps forward, the golden jewelry adorned around his neck and the clasps on his ceremonial belt jingling as he bows at the waist toward you behind Din’s large frame. “We want to express our deepest apologies for the tragedies you’ve encountered while here in our home. From the way you were coerced here against your will to the attempt on your life just last night.”

“We want to extend the offer to undo any medical procedures your mother conducted alongside our medic. There are locked files on our system, we can only assume they worked together willingly. As well as offer you the suite in which you’ve occupied for however much time you require to recover. We humbly request peace from this point on, your skills are beyond anything we wish to fight against. Should you wish to leave this moment, we would allow you to. The contents of your room are yours, the gifts given to you for the union ceremony are yours. Should you want for any of it.” The queen bows as well, her headpiece secured over braided hair glinting in the sunlight.

“You are the Mandalorian, the one Lena had requested we put a bounty on.” The king rises from his bow, eyes focusing on the stance Din holds, the way your fingers had wrapped around the back of his robes. A question, his words are not. But a fact that is now out in the open. His fierce protectiveness, the manner in which he had held back guards that followed in his movements about the palace in his attempts to locate you, the way he holds himself, shields most of who he is from all to see.

They can see the was you hold yourself, how you had nearly effortlessly taken out the threat your mother had revealed herself to be. The use of the Force minimal, but still seen by those who had crowded the entrance to the damaged hall, called forth in haste by the grav charge you had deployed. It is obvious now, the strength you possess yourself, the skills you had hidden away in order to play the part of a willing daughter until a moment for your escape made itself known. Two trained and skilled individuals that now have no reason to hold back. The glimpse of freedom right in front of you both, yours to take, to defend with everything you had.

“She had said you were part of the people who had hunted her since her younger days. A threat that always lurked around the corner. But- that is false. From the way you’ve gravitated to her since your arrival, you’re bonded. A pair that cannot be separated. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” Your answer was immediate. “He’s…he’s my-“

“We are to be joined, according to my religion. Should she still want that after this ordeal.” Din fills the silence when your words falter. When the conviction in them at labeling what he is to you in Basic fails you.

“I see,” The queen looks between you both. “Then the proposal to wed you to our son was ill-intentioned. Stolen away from one you love for another of status. The culture of others is so foreign to us, we couldn’t imagine taking the happiness of our child away. Even if he…had incongruities.”

“The poison, it was an attempt on both your lives. We can only assume it was politically motivated. We will not discuss it here in the open.” The queen’s eyes connect with yours and you nod your head to let her know you’re not just listening, but understanding too. The Medic, the one they employed. They place the blame for all that has happened with him, with your mother. She sees the betrayal for what it is, a plan to infiltrate her family.

“We…we need a moment. If that’s...amenable.” Your fingers tighten where they are wrapped in the fabrics flowing from Din’s broad back, falling in layers from his shoulders. There’s…there’s so much to discuss, to decide. It’s not what you had expected, when your mother had all but chained you up one last time and tried to lead you back to the medical wing. There’s no telling what she had planned to do but…the kindness of the two people before you is genuine. You can sense it, there is no underlying scheme to get you to remain here. No game they are playing, simply extending honest hospitality and understanding of what you’ve been through.

“That is perfectly acceptable. We understand that this- it’s a jarring shift from just this morning. We will step into the hall to give you some privacy.”

You can’t help but feel anxious as you follow them to the medical wing, a hushed exchange of words with Din revealing that he too knew your mother had something implanted into your temples. A control device to shock you, should you step out of line or display powers. Your charts easy to hack into with the clearance code he had seen a droid enter during his time trialing after your mother the night before.

Cara is called back to the grounds, both by Din on the comm link he’s got hidden just inside his outer layer and the guards patrolling the docking yard. She and ad’ika are accepted immediately, the two of them escorted to the medical wing where you wait with Din. Plush chairs and a long couch surround a low table, food served to ease your nerves, to show that they will still provide for you despite what has been revealed.

“Everything’s okay, little one.” You let him burrow his face into the crook of your neck, small body barely a weight against your chest as you held him to you. He wasn’t making a sound, but you could tell he was trying to connect with you mentally. It was fuzzy, your body strained and exhausted so you gently shushed him and patted a gentle hand on his small back. “I can feel you trying to, but let’s wait until I’m a little more in control, okay? Don’t want you to stumble across anything bad in my mind.”

He just nuzzles closer, the point of his little nose cold as he presses it to your neck.

“He’s trying to ‘connect’?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot right now. Those shocks really- they didn’t do any damage but my mind isn’t strong enough to put up walls should he be poking around in there. Don’t want him to stumble into any bad memories or thoughts.”

“Are you…having ‘bad thoughts’?” Din’s tips his voice low, eyes focusing on you as he stands between where you are perched and the door. On the defensive should something happen, even now.

“Yes and no. I’m not…Din, I’m trying to be okay. But it’s going to take some time for me to be.”

“I understand, I just worry. You- you deserve to feel safe and protected. To be at peace.”

“I’ll feel better once these transmitters are removed,” You try not to raise your voice though the emotion flares through you. The anger and hurt and betrayal of your own flesh and blood submitting you to something so controlling. It was already a hard enough reality to accept that she was willing to keep you in chains that would shock you should you move suddenly, but to implant something into your very head to do the same? To control with a remote should she see any sign of defiance in you from the twitch of an eyebrow to the raising of a singular finger?

It’s a vile thought, the things she had been comfortable in doing to control you, to keep tabs on you. To get it removed, the transmitters as well as a blood transfusion to rid your system of the poison and subsequent sedative, it would be a lot to undergo but you were willing to. For your peace of mind as well as a healthy reboot.

The recovery takes a few days, the faint cuts in your temples healing quickly and painlessly with the aid of bacta patches, with the tender and caring hands of a replacement medic. The one who had worked alongside your mother jailed for his corruption and manipulation. It didn’t matter that you were no longer intending to fold yourself into the royal family, you had been a part of it while engaged to Prince Cala. The principle of the matter stood firm, you had been important, of high standing, the princess at the time- there was no forgiving the man’s actions.

Din remains close, during your recovery. The suite you had resided in is where your little group set up for the time being. Din opted to sleep atop the couch across the pair of chairs clustered around the low table opposite the room from the bed. Ad’ika resting with you in the large bed or alone when his tiredness grew into an afternoon nap. Cara was quick to take the fainting couch in the closet, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy but still remain in close quarters.

She didn’t want to part from either of you just yet, to ensure that everything would be okay. That there wouldn’t be any need to transport one of you to another place. Or both back to Nevarro and then you somewhere else, either your home planet or Tatooine where your hideaway was.

The ashes of your mother, are condensed into a small ceramic box, detailed with gold over a black base coat. It’s heavy in your hand as you stare at it, mind blank and eyes losing focus and blurring the longer you stare at it. Din is standing beside the door, Cara having left the room with ad’ika at the arrival of the queen. She had wanted to hand it directly to you, her words quiet as she explained that it is customary to place the remains in gilded boxes and display them alongside photos of the deceased.

You listen solemnly, words failing you when she asks after your own customs. You tell her of the ones you know of Manda’lor. Your own from K’ath lost in your memory, something you don’t recall witnessing during your first years on the oceanic planet. It had never been something discussed or explained by your mother, questions of your father always bubbled up to the surface but had never been voiced. Not when it was as if he never existed in the first place.

She sits with you for a while, asking after how you’re feeling. If you needed anything from her at that moment, that the cooks are ready to prepare whatever you wanted should you ask. You thank her for her kindness, for her generosity, genuine feelings of admiration and appreciation for her the way she’s folded you under her wing. Her eyes shine as she takes your hands in hers and simply holds them. A lamentation for her son missing out on being the same way for her is the only depressive thought she’s voiced over his death. Her and the king both place the blame of it on the medic and your mother, something you did not correct.

It felt…wrong to lie to her. She was obviously conflicted over the actions of her son and the willingness he displayed to go along with the plan to use the lack of your memories to instill false ones into your mind. The influence of your mother strong on him for reasons she wished to know, but never would. Her son was gone, so many questions would remained unanswered, though the compassion she’s shown you a sliver of obvious as she dressed in mourning robes and does not leave the palace. The fact that you did not feel guilt for ending his life spoke volumes of your own thoughts on the matter, but you wouldn’t add to her turmoil nor disturb it.

With a quick dab of a folded cloth underneath her eyes, she’s clears her throat to explain that clearance has already been set for you to depart when you wish to.

You thank her again, standing when she does. Her hands twitch as if she wants to reach out, but she reads the way you tense at the mere suggestion of it. She bows instead, you return the gesture and that’s the last you see of the woman.

The question of where to go hangs in the air. Both parties sure of voicing it lest the answer be something they are unable to agree with. But they would willingly take you to wherever you choose to go, giving you back the freedom you nearly lost once more.

“I would like,” You clear your throat at your voice falters on the words, packing the ship had been a silent affair. The guards stacking three crates of your belongings as well as supplying you with a token of their symbol that would grant you instant access into their air space. The invitation was offered despite the fragility of the connection, born of remorse and a wish to make things right, for you to stay at one of the few seaside homes they keep up should you want to return and enjoy in the offerings of the city. “I would like to go to Tatooine. To retrieve something from my hide away there. If that’s…if that’s amenable.”

“Tatooine it is, then.” Cara treks up the ramp, cracking her knuckles as she goes. Din is silent beside you, eyes ever watching closely. Though there is something hidden behind them you can’t quite make out and refuse to reach further into his mind to figure out, not wanting to impinge on his privacy.

“I want to…I would appreciate the…um…” You trail off, feeling so offput by the way he’s focused solely on you. You know he doesn’t mean to put you on edge by doing it, used to doing so behind the visor of his helmet. He’s well-meaning with his intentions but you feel very much like a specimen under supervision, your every move giving away information on internal workings. “Maker, I’m sorry. I c-can’t think with your eyes boring into me so plainly.”

“I didn’t mean to unnerve you.”

“No, I know. I just…feel vulnerable and like you’re waiting for me to make a run for it or something.”

“You don’t have to leave with us if you don’t want to. You can…take one of the ships they offered you and go on your own. You don’t owe us anything for-“

“I-I don’t…I don’t want to be alone anymore, Din.” You whisper, feeling the thickness of your tongue in your throat as tears prick behind your eyes. You think back to traveling alongside Akiz, how much you felt like it was the right thing to do, like he was the right person to place your faith in. To care about and be cared for in return, a truly selfless person who had done so much to ensure your protection and safety, someone you had tried your best to do in return. The same feeling you had alongside Din, though there was that…additional layer of connection that sprouted warmth in your entire body and made your heart both beat rapidly and calm. “I want- I want to go with you. I want you. If that’s…if you still-“

“I do,” He breaths out, hands reaching for your own fidgeting ones. The heavy pendant revealed as he opens his fist to you, the shining beskar catching both the light and your breath. He had found it, going through the contents of the medical wing, when he had figured out what the medic had done to you at the request of your mother. “I didn’t…I was waiting for a moment alone. But yes, San, I-I do want you, beside me, traveling with me, anything you are comfortable with.”

“I had hoped she kept it,” You reach a hesitant hand out for it but think better of it at the last second, pulling your hand back and flattening in against the center of your chest. “But it’s yours, you…you should keep it. It was stolen from me, I can’t be trusted with it.”

“Mesh’la- San, I want you to have it.” He steps close and offers it once more. “I gifted it to you, it is yours.”

“I…I like the thought of carrying around something that once belonged to you,” You admit almost shyly, he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the admittance, at the willingness to share such a thing with him, even no, especially now. He feels the fabric covering his mouth shift as his lips twitch when you look up at him with wide eyes, your hand uncurling to accept it.

“Everything I have, is yours as well. I make that promise to you.”

The ship is an blend of quiet beeps and the low hum of the engines as they power the craft to move through hyperspace. You don’t let go from where you gripped tight to Din’s hand as he sits beside you, nor the hold you have on ad’ika as the child sits securely in your lap. Everything is still in the control room as the glowing blues and greens move over the glass paneling of the vantage deck. Cara is staring down at the controls, her head hung slightly.

“I reset the security protocols when I left,” Din speaks into the silence, hoping to put his own mind at ease. Everything is okay….you’re onboard the ship with him, wanting to travel with him, wanting to be at his side. Though he doesn’t know in what capacity just yet. But he could…he had to be patient. You endured so much the last few months, the last year since he had first stumbled upon you chained up in that compound. He could wait for you to approach him, to speak with him about the things you both agreed needed to be discussed. To open your mind and hear to him even if his is beating rapidly each time you suck in a deep breath or stutter our a question you wouldn’t have asked before.

He really…dislikes the idea of thinking of things and before and after. But the reality is that you both went through something, you more so than him. Way worse than him, your own autonomy stolen from you along with the very memories that make you who you are. The death of your mother, even knowing it was the only true way to be free, was going to weigh heavily on you. Greif and loss were not linear, you would feel it for the rest of your life. The levels of it waning and cresting much like the waves you admire every time the ocean is near. And he would stand by your side through it all, as long as you let him. As long as you wanted him to.

“I’ll be catching a ride back to Nevarro, once we land.” Cara announces, taking the quiet moment for herself. “I’m truly glad I could help to get you back, San. But there’s a lot that needs to be tended to, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, of course. You have responsibilities and things that require your attention.”

“That’s not to say I regret how long it took to find you,” she turns to pin you with a somewhat pinched expression. Her eyes giving away her trepidation, even if her smile is small on her lips. “I just feel like there’s a whole lot you two need to hash out and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

The jump would take only a few hours, Cara further explaining her choice to return to Nevarro and her responsibilities. With the assurance that she would eradicate any other calls for your capture, dispute them herself if need be and that there would be a plot of land with each of your names on it should you choose to lay low. That you both have a place to return to, should you want for one.

You thank her for everything as you share an embrace with her, her own arms tight around you. She’ presses a kiss to your cheek, a smirk on her lips as she pulls back.

“He’s an alright guy, that one.” She nods to where Din is standing beside Pelli, ad’ika’s small body between the two of them as he inspects a droid no bigger than him. “He just got confused it all, I hope you two can work it out.”

“Be safe, please leave contact of your return. I’m sure we’ll be back at some point.”

Travel to home planet of K’ath is mapped out and set into the panel, a quick jump to light speed signals the journey has begun. Din had yet to put his armor back on, sensing you need to see him for who he is, not the wall of armor he typically is. His soft edges exposed to you in your low moment, someone to reach for and find a hand or a shoulder unobstructed by protective leather and hard beskar.

It’s quiet, but you could hear the faint sounds of Din’s rumbling voice as he lulled ad’ika to sleep in the hammock strung up in the small hold space. You’re laying in the moderate bunk space

The second he steps through the door, before it can shut behind him completely, you’re surging forward from where you’re perched on the very edge of the bed. Your hands reaching for his face, fingers curling into the cowl and mask, pulling the fabric down and pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss.

His reaction is instant, his own hands coming up to cup your face and flatten on the small of your back, his head tilting just so to deepen the kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His stubble is a scratching tickle against your face, but you don’t care. His bottom lip is between yours and you pull back to catch your breath, realizing that you can’t see even a twinkle of light reflected in his eyes as the bunk is in total darkness, the door shut behind him.

He whispers your name as he takes a breath of his own, pressing his lips to yours firmly. They’re so soft, so plush, they feel like nothing you’ve ever had against your skin. All fond softness and genuine intention, a true kiss in the very definition of the word. Your hands move up to shove the band of fabric keeping his head cover in place. Both the leather and soft cotton fall to the floor, his curls exposed for you to dig your fingers into.

“I-I want to see, but, Din. I can’t…I can’t make the vows to you.” You part from him for a moment, wanting to be honest, wanting to voice your thoughts.

He’s loosening his hold on you, beginning to pull away and your heart stutters. You rush to explain it further to him, the feelings tangled up inside you.

“I can’t make the vows to you right now, I….I want to. Someday. Everything is too fresh, it’s all- jumbled in my head. I want to be yours, I want you to be mine. Maker, I want that more than anything, but the idea of reciting vows right now…it-it- Din, it’s too much.” You hiccup, grasping at his shoulders so tight your nails dug into the shoulders of his robes.

He pulls you back into him, closing the small gap that had formed as he loosened his hold on you. He clings to you just as you do to him, noses touching and sharing breath. You know he wouldn’t demand anything of you, whether you voice concern or trepidation or not.

“I want you to see, even if you don’t have intentions to make the vows. I…want to be seen by you, even if it means breaking my Creed.” He pressed closed lips to yours, simply feeling you. “You are what is important.”

“I wish to see you, more than anything.” You whisper, the feel of his facial hair sending sparks to flare low in your stomach. Your fingers are still in his hair, though now they are running through the thick tresses to calm you both. “I just- can’t right now. It’s- too much, Din. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize, I will never force you to do anything. I promise that to you. But please, mesh’la, let me feel you, let me hold you. I’ve- I’ve-“

“I’ve missed you too,” You read his thoughts and repeat them to him, they are the same you’ve been having. The kisses slow down, become openmouthed as desire flourishes and heat sparks in both your bodies. He’s running his hands down either side of your neck, your shoulders. Down your back to grip you tight around the waist, fingers digging into the fabric at your hips. The robes still in place that you hadn’t yet removed, too anxious to speak with him once the little one went down for the night.

He tugs you closer, letting you feel the swell of him between his legs. The sensation dizzies you, the weight of it against your hip, though he doesn’t move against you, simply holds you close. You lower your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he bends his knees and grips you behind the thighs, lifting you without a second thought. The weight of his becomes trapped between your legs wrapped around his waist, pressed right over the softness that had developed in your lower middle. It’s a heady sensation, pulling a soft sigh from you.

He groans into the kiss, at the feel of you clinging to him. Taking slow steps toward the cot so as to not jostle you. But it all simmers when he leans down to rest you atop the covers. The stifling mood bubbles as his eyes adjust to see the faintest outline of you caressing your hands down his arms and to the fastened front of his robes. The air is warm on his skin as he lets you undress him, soft fingers pushing the fabric from his body with great care not to poke or prod any sore spots. He hadn’t been doing any of the fighting but the care and sensitivity you showed made his heart soften and a sigh escape his chest.

Your hands still at his waist, the belt and harness for his broadsword cool to the exploring tips of your fingers. The blade isn’t in place, removed for him to pilot the ship and safe in the control room. The clink of the clasps being undone causes him to twitch and you barely manage to stifle a huff of laughter before you’re tugging his trousers down his slim hips. The front of them catches but he doesn’t move to or breathe a word of argument as you drag the fabric down until it falls to collect at his feet, completely mesmerized by your slow actions. Leaving him in just his undercover.

The mood tempers even more when you lean forward and press your face to his middle, feeling the softness of the hair that adorns his middle, cheek to his warm skin as you loosely wrap your arms around him. He no doubt feels the heavy breathes you take in and exhale, centering yourself and focusing on the feel of him, the very real man in front of you. The one who had come looking for you, to rescue from those who had stolen you away…the one who had caused you to run in the first place.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Din’s hands cup the back of your head and along the back of one of your shoulders.

“Mesh’la,” He heaves a deep breath, unsure of how to voice the incessant thoughts since the moment you had stormed out of the bunk back on the Crest. He says your name, voice giving way the emotions he’s consumed by as his voice falters. You lean back, pulling him along with you. After a few moments of shifting and moving together, you’re both on your sides. Facing each other while wrapped up in each other’s arms. One of your legs thrown over his hip to keep him close, one of his wide palms cupping your cheek, heads resting on the pillows.

He whispers his apologies to you, over and over again, his lips brushing over your face to pepper kisses along every spot he can reach. He whispers his thoughts to you as best as he can explain, how he felt in that moment, how he was unsure of how to navigate such a delicate matter, how he was more than willing to make it up to you until everything was right once again. You whisper back assurances that everything is okay, that you’ve both made mistakes in that moment. That he is okay, and you are okay, that you are okay together.

“I will wait, until you are ready. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His forehead connects with yours, his nose brushing yours as he confesses to you in a moment not born of panic or on the brink of death as he had done before. You return the words in a moment of full clarity, not on the cusp of sleep as you had done before. Both of you professing for the other to hear, to take to heart, to carry with you a better memory of the words.

I love you.

The land is disturbed before you, dug into deep and the ceramic box placed into the well wrapped up in delicate chainmail, covered back up with a few words spoken softly. A language not recognized by those beside you. Who had helped you to make the thought a reality. Allowed you the closure you so desperately sought after.

Crashing waves fill the crisp, salted air all around you. Enveloping you and transporting you to a moment in time you would much rather be in. The time of standing at the shore and watching the waves rush to kiss the sand, whitewash foaming up and making mesmerizing shapes as the bubbles fizzle out.

A small hand of your own dug into the damp sand to feel each little grain, the air filling your lungs and your back warm as you sit in the lap of your mother. Her arms around you, nothing separating you from her as she holds you steadfast to watch the sun dip below the horizon.

You knock your head back to look up at her with a gummy smile, some teeth missing while others wiggle, wile others slowly grow into place. Hair a mess of dark waves and curls as the evening breeze whips through the tresses. She smiles beautifully back down at you, her features soft and rosy. A giggle bursts from you as she ducks down to press a firm kiss to the middle of your forehead. Once, twice, three times.

She can’t hold in the soft laughter as she gazes into your eyes, seeing the world through them in how wide and bright they are. The call of gulls doing nothing to divert her attention as you purse your lips and mimic the kiss before giggling again and looking back to the vast ocean before you both. The water so close to tall reeds of grass your home is surrounded by, the smell of dinner simmering on the stove wafting in the air as it nears readiness.

“I love you, my darling. I will always love you.”

Closing your eyes as they begin to sting, you feel the memory slip away from you as you stand amidst the same tall reeds of grass now, overgrown and wild. The sand still just as pale and shimmery as it had always been. It all hushes around you as you move about, your skin feeling the energy in everything around you, the whispers of it as you feel the long-lost attachment to the woman in your memory flare up.

You weren’t sure what happened to her, what altered her so resolutely. What drove her to do the things she did, what things festered inside of her and turned her into a stranger who bore the look and face of your mother. But you promised yourself that you would never treat someone born of your own body the same way, should you ever find your identity shifting and taking on the facet of ‘mother’. Even with the all too familiar clutches of corruption you could recall as clearly as the sight of the ocean before you, the chilled breeze whipping around the ends of your dark robes, you wouldn’t succumb to it again. You would use your powers to protect, to ensure a long life, to ensure a happy life.

The sand dipped beside you as Din settled down at your side. His robes matched yours, his armor and helmet still aboard the ship. Eyes watching you closely, he turned to face the ocean when you didn’t meet his gaze.  All he could do in that moment was reach his left hand out in search of yours and pull you to rest between his propped-up legs. Willingly, you moved with him, leaning to rest your back into his warm and sturdy chest. The painful thoughts of how life had once been so simple quieted as you felt ease flow through you at his touch.

Little chirps and huffs of exertion announced ad’ika as he climbed out of the bag resting in the sand at Din’s hip. The small child shuffling and climbing over limbs to settle in your lap like you were in Din’s.

Ad’ika knocked his head back to gaze up at you with his wide, brown eyes. He coos as you look down at him with a soft smile. Bowing over him slightly, you touch your forehead gently to his own, feeling the velvety texture of his soft skin and fair hairs there. His giggle ignites something in you, a devotion springing to life deep inside of you. A shared past, shared experiences and struggles bonding you to the older being in your lap. He’s got so much more time than you do, but you vow to ensure that as long as you’re breathing, he will know love and peace.

“You will know love, ad’ika. I swear it to you.” You murmur into his soft skin, earning another giggle that flows into the air to mingle with the sound of gulls overhead.

His little face ducks out from underneath you, gaze going back to the ocean. Before you know it, he’s pushing up and away, running as best his little legs can manage over the sand until it smooths out on the shoreline. The waves reach for him but he stands just out of their touch, turning to hold out a claw to you with a question in his eyes.

“Gar aalar guuror yaim, ner kar'ta.  Nayc vaii has ru'aalar guuror yaim par a munit ca'nara ni sheber olar sa adiik.  Ni'm glad at aalar bic tug'yc, ti gar bintar.” You whisper as you lean back a little further, prompting a huff from the child watching you closely. Din’s arms wrap around you securely, making sure to not irritate your sore muscles. He’s gazing down at you with eyes so soft it makes your stomach swoop and your breath leave you quickly. Craning up slightly, you press your lips to the bump of his nose, hidden beneath his cowl and mask. His eyes are closed when you open your own back up.

You feel like home, my heart. Nowhere has felt like home since I sat in this very spot as a child. I’m glad to feel it again.

“Gar cuyir ner yaim, shi sa ni cuy' at gar. Sa munit sa gar vercopaanir par, mesh’la.” His words are soft, barely audible over the cresting waves. But you hear them, and they settle into your heart. Another kiss is pressed to his hidden face before you disentangle yourself from him with an airy laugh. Your robes bounce and flow all around you as you approach the child, feigning looking out at the water until the last moment, and you’ve closed the distance. Your sudden scoop of his small body startles laughter from him and you’re twirling effortlessly in the shallows as you hold him up in the air.

You are my home, just as I am to you. For as long as you wish, mesh’la.

Din watches from where the sand begins to slope, far enough from the water’s edge to not get sprinkled as the waves meet the shore but enough so to step in should something happen. You know he can see the small smile on your lips and hear the ringing of your combined laughter as you splash about in the cool water, never going in past your calves. Ad’ika is enjoying the way you dip him just at the waves receive, pulling him up to your chest when they flow toward you, little claws reaching for it below him.

His happiness infectious as you soon begin to commit the moment to your memory, tumbling the edges of old ones so they aren’t so sharp anymore.

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[raisinushigher]

hi im just gonna put my thoughts on every clone high ship i can think of here

jfgogh - i think its cute. i can definitely see jfk like uplifting gogh and him falling in love over like the most basic display of kindness and jfk just being like “haha woah there guy i didnt mean it like that” but then he realises he Does

gogh x gandhi - LOTS of mixed feelings on this one but it is pretty interesting truth be told. like, the way gogh didnt just sit back and take what gandhi did to him and instead retaliated, i like that, i like the thought of two tiny guys having the most unnecessarily intense rivalry ever, but i know that isn’t really the way the ship is portrayed often rather than wholesome stuff . you interpret ships however you want though

gfk i think is the name for it - im so sorry as a gandhabe connoisseur i know how annoying it is when people say this about a ship that absolutely entraps you but i think jfk and gandhi are more accurate together as just silly friends who see eachother like once a month. jfk casually brings up a girl hes dating (or rather just having sex with frequently) and gandhi is like wait what happened to the other one? like hes very out of the loop but he listens and they both hype eachother up a lot

ceasgogh, gogh x christo, ceaser x christo, whether it’s any of those seperately or polyamory - i love this one so very much for literally no reason. maybe its like a nostalgia thing cuz i remember people talking about them sometimes in 2020 and being like Aw that’s cute but idk something about them feels so like. objectively correct. like yep that’s the little background trio standing together in an episode as they should be

abefk i think - i like it!! even though it’s barely known apart from jokingly i really like the classic 2000s rivalry between a nice boy and an asshole jock thing that was going on between them before ponce’s death, i admit i miss their interactions. i miss how theyd refer to eachother with their last names. also the part in season 2 episode 6 where they both were recalling memories of the grassy knoll and abe went “i used to get food thrown at me” and jfk continued “i used to be the one throwing that food”. i like them

joanabe - i know this one is like barely a ship but i still need to talk about them badly. their friendship is so important to me. the way its always been them whether it’s joan crushing on abe or the other way around, they’re just so special to eachother in any and every way, and both struggle with the choice of helping the other or doing things that hurt the other but ultimately raise their chances of getting together. tbh im so interested in whats gonna happen with them in the finale, and in the next seasons bc i doubt their back and forth crush thing is gonna last the ENTIRE show like itll be getting a new sort of premise or main character focus which im excited for

joanfk - some of the fanart is absolutely adorable COUGH COUGH ORT SMORT COUG but its just not for me man. biggest two factors as to why i dislike it being how it overtook the fandom, and how to me they just never had any substance. they have a fun dynamic and the season 1 finale was sweet but idk it just never affected me that much. also bc i always knew it was gonna crash and burn. like that is not a stable couple as cute as it is sometimes. like at all. and im happy episode 7 finally addressed it

abe x cleo - again, not really a fondly talked about ship, but they are pretty dear to me. it’s the way cleo was clearly playing with abe at the start but actually saw the charm in him and was actually upset when he finally digested his feelings for joan… i really hope they’re gonna be good friends in the future bc episode 7 seemed to be sort of a start for that friendship and them learning to be ok around eachother after the finale…

joan x cleo - ive always been scared to talk about this one bc some people see them as sisters, which i Really dont. they never acted in a sisterly way at all, and the living together thing lasted for like what. one episode. so i doubt it had any affect on how they view their relationship. but again absolutely fair if it makes you uncomfortable for this reason! but yeah i do like them. very very good trope and there can be some really cute stuff done with them dynamic wise

gandhabe my heart and soul my romeo and juliet my sun and moon my red and blue - AUGHGGGGG MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE. EVER. IN THE WHOLE SHOW FOR EVER they just have such sweet interactions and everything they do they do with the other in mind and i want them to have an emotional reunion in the season 3 finale sO SHRGFRHRVRRRRR RR RBR R R R. RR R. sorry this is mostly incoherent screaming rather than actual words I just DUCIGJGN LVOE GANDHABEEEEE EEYEHEEE THEYRE END GAME!! THEY ARE END GAME WHETHER ITS AS FRIENDS OR ROMANTICALLY RHEY ARE THE ONES

ok now onto the ones involving the new gen clones

harriucius - i like them its the second het ship in the show ive ever actually liked!! they just both go so well in so many ways, they both have almost the exact same struggles and cope in similar ways, but harriet has more of a hands on attitude with her problems, while confucius tends to avoid things. im VERY interested in how their relationship will go and i dont really think anything’s gonna happen to them bc i cant picture the show pairing either of them up with anyone else (mostly confucius tbh 😭)

joanharriet - i WISH this one was more acknowledged by the fandom like i think its the least popular one at least involving the newbies.. can you tell im a sucker for ships that are literally just two close friends who love eachother more than anything. lol. when i think of them i think of episode 5 which makes me extremely happy. like look me in the eyes and tell me that was not an absolutely beautiful wonderfully wrapped episode

johnfucius - gonna be honest i dont like this one. i know this is a really rich thing to say while talking about clone high season 2 but it just felt rushed, and especially with how they barely did anything after sleepover. like they were literally crying both of them being like OMG I FINALLY HAVE A FRIEND!! and then they proceed to have the most stale interactions with the most notable one being in the next episode and it’s literally just confucius encouraging jfk to avoid his problems like he does. not really good. but again if you enjoy them all the power to you, im happy you found something you like that hasn’t been ruined and seems pretty docile and chill compared to all the other ones :o) it’s very much a mostly fandom based ship

kahlopatra - BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL. I HAVE NO WORDS JUST BEAUTIFUL. there definitely was a lack of suspense like based off the intro and the slight buildup throughout the series BUT that literally doesn’t matter. out of every canon couple they are the absolute cutest im obsessed with the effect they have on eachother. especially on cleos side of things like ahhh!!!! she found someone she actually connects to genuinely!!!! i am so happy for her!!!!!!

tophucius - not much about this one its just pretty fun and silly . i feel bad for the people who thought something big was gonna be going on w them but the small details peppered in about them in sleepover were nice. i always liked how when confucius saw that topher typed your instead of you’re, he went “i thought so” like to me that confirms they do this all the time and they know it’s them. also really funny to imagine them being sworn enemies online but when they actually see eachother in school theyre Like oh shit hey man what’s up! hope youre well! like not even through gritted teeth or anything they’re just so chill irl for no reason

abetoph - Sigh i sure did save this one for last. while im a lot less comfortable with it now i still love thinking of them pre episode 8 and i do think their relationship is just ever so slightly more interesting now with the added double crossing n shit added to it. but im also sad they’ll never be the way they were may 24th to june 14th again . that specific time period of them is so comforting to me for no reason, all the memes and running jokes in the fandom involving them, all the wholesome fan work of them sleeping in tophers bed, watching stuff on tophers computer together, abe being tophers voice of the reason and the one person he actually likes, it’s just so … man. We Could Have Had It All. i love them for ever.

thank you so much for listening

[transbian-vergil]

ive started putting Words to Paper as it were with my writing project that i haven't named

There was a girl whose name was long forgotten. She didn't know where she came from, or where she was going. She didn't know where she was, either; the world around her nothing more than an inky void, a darkness that stretched beyond her and into the infinite. She could not even see her own outstretched hand, or the ground upon which she stood. Indeed, there was nothing at all for the nameless girl to find her bearings, or decide which way to go, for she knew that she had to go somewhere. It was difficult for her to say how she knew, only that there was a deep sense of urgency welling inside of her. It didn't matter which direction she chose. Forward or backward, left or right, as long as she didn't stay put. It was with no small amount of hesitation that she took her first step, and was delighted to find herself still on solid ground, rather than plummeting into the abyss. She took her next step, and then the next, one foot after the other she wandered forward into the darkness.

And so she continued, ever forward, into the nothingness surrounding her. In this space there was no sound, and she could hear neither footsteps as she walked nor the breath that she drew. There was neither moon nor stars, and she doubted there was a sun to rise, bringing glorious daylight to the abyss she tread. There was no sensation at all but the chilling cold, even the passage of time fell far out of her reach. What ate at the nameless girl the most, however, was that she couldn't remember anything else. She knew the sun and moon existed, yet couldn't be sure if she had ever seen them with her own eyes. She knew that her boots made a sound when they hit the earth with each step, but couldn't say what sound it was they made. She knew of minutes and hours, days and weeks, but how long did they feel, and how many of them had passed since she last saw anything?

The nameless girl continued like this until her legs burned, until every step took an exhaustive effort. When her legs finally gave out from underneath her, and she collapsed in a heap on the icy cold ground, it was almost a relief. It took only a few moments of stillness for the dread to well back up inside her heart. She knew, without a doubt, that she had to get back up. She had to keep moving. She also knew that she couldn't. No amount of willpower could lift her to her feet, and she certainly tried.

It was there that the nameless girl first saw the fire. Little more than a faint glow in the distance, a flickering candlelight. And it did not stay faint nor little, steadily it began to grow. Bigger, brighter, fiercer, until it engulfed the sky. The cold was washed away in it's tidal wave of burning heat, and the nameless girl had to shield her eyes from the flames.

"Find her," The fire roared, "Find her and all will be revealed."

The sight burned itself into the nameless girl's memory, and remained even after she opened her eyes.

[snoutbleed]

THE EARTH SPITS WHAT SHOULD BE RETURNED

A chapter story for LAID TO WASTE, an occult setting. Mature content ahead.

"Something is in the dirt...unfortunately, it's not my enemies."

My belated contribution for Halloween is this fic for a setting I write when I need a break from my WIP. Sadly, I couldn't finish this in time, but here's the first chapter—the rest will come periodically this month. Thank you for your continued support and patience.

Chapter I ❯ ✫ Chapter II ❯ THE RESPITE Chapter III ❯ THE MESSAGE Chapter IV ❯ Coming Soon Chapter V ❯ Coming Soon

I - THE SPRINT

(847 words)

Maddox excavated the secret he buried with the worms. His hand got caught in a strap and he shoveled a sigil-patterned pack out the trench. When he opened the zipper, a maroon light beamed memories into his eyes: he remembered wading into rivers in his youth and submerging his forearms until he felt the leeches sting. He always welcomed parasites—and protected them too.

For once, he asked himself why but pain wormed through his brain. Maddox cringed at the message from above—it beckoned certainty, so he shook off the ache with an approving nod. After that, he looked over his shoulder, hesitantly thanked his lord, then made haste into the wilderness. Turns out, he always lacked the headspace to backtrack. He threw fate to the trees.

Old pine towered over the hound. The leaves were shrouded in the night, and he couldn’t shake off the uncanny sensation that the woods were after him too. Behind him, rays of light danced in the forest. They were accompanied by shouting, growing louder in their chase.

There was no direction BUT forward. Maddox raced through the brush, pushing away shrubbery and branches with calloused hands. He winced through the stings. And his burning legs, too: his aching body screamed for him to stop running but he wouldn’t listen, for his heart thumped out of fear as well.

Personal choices were always posed as mistakes, such as the “mistake” of running. Such a personal choice he made many moons ago came back and inflicted a searing pain - burning, screeching sensations he could induce a fraction of by gliding his tongue across the scar tissue where four of his fangs once stood. The hound’s mouth was marred with his mistakes, but he lived to feel the residual aches. He couldn’t stop caressing the mottled gums, each stroke adding tension to his grimace. They were reminders of the life he got to continue living. In a way, the pain proved comforting. Memories of pliers and sigils erased any doubt that backtracking was a better option, and what the road offered were choices for him to make, no matter the cost.

The forbidden goods he fled with sealed the deal—his coffin as well. No amount of teeth could make up for biting, and then tearing off the hand that fed him. The only certainty was death, which made the void-like wilderness tempting to run into, but at least he didn’t wear a proverbial collar and leash. Every step his heart wheezed for wind was another breath for himself.

Now, the orders came from his mind: run, keep running.

If he could stand, he could walk, and if he could walk, he could run—that was his philosophy. It was enough to put distance between him and the light show. There was no room to think about the road beyond with the hunters on his tail taking up headspace. Maddox could worry about that after, but he’s no stranger to constructing nearsighted plans.

The burrowing headache lectured that choice was always in his hands. For every order he received to pull the trigger and hurt one of his own, there was a choice not to, even if it meant execution. Maddox knew the right escape route for when it was time to run from his choices. He didn’t know better than to avoid getting into his circumstance many years ago, however.

Divine punishment finally caught up with Maddox in the form of a root, which his foot proceeded to get caught on. He instinctively raised the pack to his chest and held onto it for dear life. He fell, then furled down a hill. The dog shielded the pack with his body and yelped on the way down. “Was it all for nothing?” his mind asked after crashing at the bottom of the ravine.

Maddox stopped moving just this once. Despite that, his heart raced faster than before—outpacing the distant shouts. His nails dug into the bag, blessing it with pleas as he carefully uncurled himself. On the ground, panting and pleading with shaky breath, he unzipped the pack and burrowed into fabrics. A soft light beamed at the end of the tunnel and highlighted the worry on his ghastly features.

At the end, there was a glass tube of orange liquid bearing sigils on its opaque ends. Its soft glow illuminated the first grin Maddox allowed in a lifetime as he gently unearthed the container, then bore witness to a fist-sized leech swimming in the substance. The hound stared fondly at the parasite like it was his baby. He smudged his finger on the glass and that little guy homed in on the opposite side.

The worm opened a mouth with several tiny teeth, proceeding to suck on the glass where flesh kissed. His smile grew but faded when the distant shouts gave orders to search in his direction. After a few more pecks, he let go and reburied the tube in the cushioned pack.

He recuperated, brushed nature off his coat, and continued his mad dash into the shadows. Safety in the unknown.

The leeches move onto their next meal in CHAPTER II...

[funnywormz]

whats ur opinion on jean vicquemare? like. his relationship w harry n whatnot

ohhh jean is such a fascinating and complex character........ likewise with his relationship with harry. i am gonna put my thoughts under the cut so i don't annoy anyone too much with a long rant lol

i think jean, much like many other characters in disco elysium, is a shitty person but not without good intentions. he's got a pretty abrasive and callous personality at times, and we do get hints that he's harmed and mistreated people through his role at the rcm. but regardless of that, he's still a deeply fascinating character. in himself, he can be relatable and pitiable and unintentionally hilarious to me at times. but a lot of my interest in him comes from his dynamic with harry.

to me ive always interpreted his relationship with harry as a platonic but nonetheless deeply close and codependent one, at least before martinaise......... i think that maybe jean once looked up to harry, and even when he realises what harry is actually like, he still admires his can-opening abilities and tenacity. over the years they would have had to have a deep understanding of one another to solve so many cases together. jean does seem to genuinely care abt harry.

jean has clearly grown burnt out and tired with dealing with harry over all of these years. but i also think that at least harry's dumpster fire of a life/personality was something that was familiar to him, something he understood. throughout the game, the player has the potential to make harry "better", to lead him to choices which are better for himself and others.

it's clear that jean believes harry's behaviour in-game is a passing phase/completely fake, which is interesting. obviously it's probably a logical inference based on things he's seen harry do before, he knows that harry will go through phases of trying to get better only to crash and burn, and he knows that harry is capable of being manipulative. but i think it's also a form of wishful thinking.

a drunk, unhinged harrier is something jean knows very well, and it's the "version" of harry that he's always seen. this "new" harry, while still being the same person, is also very different. he doesn't recognise jean, he doesn't laugh at his jokes, he doesn't react as intended to jean's insults or jabs at him. he's also doing better (although this depends on how you play the game ofc).

i can't help but wonder how that makes jean feel. probably a bit left behind. harry gets to completely shed his old life, to move on and become something better, while jean is stuck dealing with all of the bullshit and emotional baggage the old harry left him with. i doubt that it feels very fair from his perspective. it probably feels like harry ditched him, left him holding the bag and bounced.

i also think that there's an aspect of mourning to their relationship now. the old harry was shitty, sure, but he was jean's friend and they understood each other very deeply. now that harry is just. gone. he's basically dead. but also harry is still there right in front of him, and he's different now, he's better, and yet jean can't help but miss the old harry, feel like he lost him. he's mourning someone who's still alive. someone who's right there in front of him. the old harry, and all of their memories together, are gone forever, and yet he can't rlly process it properly because harry is still there. fucked up.

those are basically my thoughts abt their relationship. i think it was deeply unhealthy for both of them and it's probably better for jean's mental health to have a less toxically codependent friendship with harry. but nonetheless there was a strong friendship there which is gone now........... sorry these thoughts aren't very well collected or articulated lol i hope you enjoyed reading them anyways

[reginrokkr]

◟༺✧༻◞ Teyvat chapter storyline preview: Travail —Chinese translation script—

The war has already begun— a continuation of the previous war. The gods encase the outlines of "desire" in seven types of brilliant light. With this, they demonstrate that their authority can be exceeded. Yet smoldering remains lie buried underneath the foundations of reality as a warning to those who overstep their bounds:

"That divine throne in the high heavens was never a seat reserved for you from the start."

But oh, you who oversteps your bounds, do not stop walking here. For none can watch the fire burn from the other side of the river. Watch...

—Act. Prologue: Mondstadt. Mea libertas meus canor (My freedom is my song)—

For the giant dragon who guarded the city of freedom for thousands of years. Doubts about [the concept of] "freedom" have begun to surface. A "freedom" that was ordered by a god— can it still be called freedom?

—Act. I: Liyue. Ruat caelum fiat pactum (Let the contract be made, though the heavens fall)—

In an audience of many, the God of Contracts was assassinated. At the very end, he shall sign a contract to end all contracts.

—Act. II: Inazuma. Perpetua perennis impervia (Perpetual, perennial, impervious)—

Under the immortal Shogun, the era of the Sakoku Decree ordered by the Shogunate sees no end. The god who pursues "Eternity"— What kind of eternity does she find within the eyes of ordinary mortals?

—Act. III: Sumeru. Sub floreis lumen sagacitatis (Under the flowery light of sagacity)—

Wisdom is the enemy of the God of Wisdom. Knowledge is a bait floating on the surface of the sea of ignorance. In the city of learning, the scholars are pushing for foolishness, and the god's wisdom has raised no objections to this.

—Act. IV: Fontaine. Iustitia omnia vincit (Justice defeats all)—

The God of Justice is an ardent admirer of all the farces that take place in the courtroom, even yearning to judge her fellow gods. But one thing is very clear to her: the Heavenly Principles are the one thing she cannot make her enemy.

—Act. V: Natlan. Surge vir fortis I natam victoriam (Rise, O strong man, and go to your destined victory)—

The rules of war are carved into the bodies of all living things: The defeated become embers of the fires of war, while the victors will reignite. The God of War confides this secret with the Traveler, because she has reasons for doing so.

—Act. VI: Snezhnaya. Ducam regina mea gloria haud pluribus impar (Let me lead my queen to near unmatched glory)—

She is a god whom no one will love ever again; She is a god who will never love anyone again. The reason why people follow her Is because they believe one day she will finally be able to raise a flag of rebellion against the Heavenly Principles.

In an eternity with neither beginning nor end, humans shall live a peaceful life without dreams. But in the blind spot of the gods' gaze, there are still people who want to dream.

—Act. ▇▇: Khaenri'ah. The dream yet to be dreamed—

All humans have that innate quality which makes them human; We are not the residue left behind from filtering out those who were "chosen by the gods." From beyond this world, we will obtain the power to reject this world.

Now, you who have traversed heaven and earth— Your travels and journey have ended, But you have yet to cross the final doorway. If you have understood the purpose of your travels, then come forward. Defeat me, command me to step aside, and prove to me that you are more suitable than me to rescue her. After that, go forth spin all the threads of fate anew.

My memory has already suffered too much erosion, but I will always remember, that she also loves these flowers.

[wngweis]

last rb. my photography days... lost all my files with my old phone and my laptop that won’t turn on. i just have some little left in this one now. didn’t even flinch when i deactivated ig 2 years ago. alll those photosssss. lost. to think i was serious about photography and studied it even... truly everything is a phase. sure. but ive also learned so much through it. everything in life is a teacher.

as for archiving and documenting..... hmm, i don’t feel at all bad that i lost those photos. the memories of me shooting them are in my head. naturally, i can not remember every given there were a lot of activities, situations, and places i were at during those days, but the crucial shootings i had are definitely stored there in my head. especially the people i shot. (crazy i used to be that person. so open... to work and communicate... that i worked with people..... i genuinely feel like ive lived through different lives.....

those few photos that i still keep in this phone i look at occasionally. just a bittersweet and a nostalgic feeling that at a point i had a burning sensation to make myself a real photographer, and then the perfectionists' tendencies i have ruined it for me.

my approach at it was candind photography at most, but there is still so much to work around. or at least is how i polluted myself. plus, candid photography is not smth to look forward to as a carrier in our country. since everything comes with direction.

simply, maybe it wasn’t meant for me.

this girlie that i was simultaneously beginning with, though, is such a pro now. she’s one of the most progressive photographers in the country, and i truly think deserved! cos to stick to smth through the difficulties is the hardest. which im sure she had her doubts at times, too. she just persisted with her dream that’s all. and i ending up just being the last shaky leaf on a dying tree, i suppose.

on the brighter side, i landed a noble job right after. which too occasionally eats on my psyche & on my nerves, but i think it is a very humane profession to do. + i have a lot more free time to write, as ive picked up writing right after i gave up photography.... cos seriously, if i don’t create, i feel like my brain is rotting at places.

ultimately, you just shift and steer your dreams in a different direction & look, seek, eventually find them, and sit with them quietly in the corner. finding enjoyment in creative outlets is the most important. it is ours to continuously search for ways to feed our curiosities. hobbies are a must. they open so many doors in our minds.

[steveezekiel]

THE STEPS THROUGH WHICH A BURDEN IS ACCOMPLISHED

[Leadership style of Nehemiah 3]

17 And I [Nehemiah] said to them, Ye see the distress that we are in, that Jerusalem lies waste, and its gates are burned with fire. Come, and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach.

18 AND I TOLD THEM OF THE HAND OF MY GOD WHICH HAD BEEN GOOD UPON ME; as also of the king’s words which he had said unto me. AND THEY SAID, LET US RISE UP AND BUILD. AND THEY STRENGTHENED THEIR HANDS FOR THE GOOD WORK."

Nehemiah 2:17,18 (DARBY)

• In the interpretation of the Burden, that is, the sharing of the vision, and the plans through which the Burden would be accomplished.

IF you had done your homework properly, in terms of prayer and proper planning, God would touch the hearts of the people to buy into the vision assigned you (Exodus 35:21; Nehemiah 2:18; Luke 24:45; Acts 16:14).

- If the vision were from God, it would not lack men and money. God would back every vision given by Him, with provision (Nehemiah 2:8,9).

- When you lacked provision, money, it means something is wrong:

(i) It could be the vision was not properly received from God.

(ii) Also it could be you are not doing the work aright, that is, you have not been going about it, in line with the pattern given you by God (Hebrews 8:5).

(iii) It could be, the timing was wrong, you have been going ahead of God or lagging behind (Acts 7:23-29).

(iv) Another plausible reason is, You might have not prayed enough to dislodge the enemy, remove the veil in the mind of the people that would work with you (1 Corinthians 4:3,4), or those who will give their substance or resources—money and time (Luke 8:1-3).

- The people responded positively because Nehemiah had done his homework properly, especially in the place of prayer and fasting (Nehemiah 1:4).

- No vision will materialize, become a reality, without thorough prayer and fasting before the commencement.

• Do not look at their faces: "DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THEIR FACES, FOR I AM WITH YOU TO DELIVER YOU,” SAYS THE LORD" (Jeremiah 1:8 NKJV).

- Know that: Some people's faces would not encourage you.

BEWARE of these five FS: Friends, Family, Foes, Facts, and Faces of the people:

"But when Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem the Arab heard of our plan, THEY SCOFFED CONTEMPTUOUSLY. “What are you doing? Are you rebelling against the king?” they asked" (Nehemiah 2:19 NLT).

- You should be unperturbed about whoever's reaction when you let out your plan—the vision.

- You must have the conviction that God is with you, you are not alone, and you are on the assignment sent you by God:

"I [Nehemiah] replied, “THE GOD OF HEAVEN WILL HELP US SUCCEED. We, his servants, will start rebuilding this wall. But you have no share, legal right, or historic claim in Jerusalem" (Nehemiah 2:20 NLT).

- The truth is, your vision might not make any sense to some people. Albeit, If the vision was given you by God, forget about them, you will succeed in the assignment—regardless of their predispositions towards it.

- That is the reason why you have to be strongly convinced of what God has called you to do. If you were not convinced, the devil could raise "giants" to intimidate you, to cause you to doubt.

- In every Canaan land apportioned you, there are Giants there to cause you to doubt and lose your faith in God (Numbers 13:33).

- Giants are there to tell you that the vision cannot be materialized or be accomplished—be a reality.

• Be sure of your God. Nehemiah said: “THE GOD OF HEAVEN WILL HELP US SUCCEED" (Nehemiah 2:20).

- To be sure of your God:

(a) Remember the battles which God has fought and won for you in the past (1 Samuel 17:34-37).

(b) Consider God's favour on your life and ministry, the favour which you had received in your walk with Him.

(c) Keep in your mind and let it be fresh in your memory, the encounter you had with God that led to the birth of the vision (Nehemiah 2:8,18).

(d) Always remember the marching order; the mandate given you, plus the promises of blessings attached to it.

(e) Let your fellowship, communion with God, the Holy Spirit, remains intact. THERE must be a special bond between you and God.

(f) Receive from God, a Word for each day: "But He answered and said, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, BUT BY EVERY WORD THAT PROCEEDS FROM THE MOUTH OF GOD' ” (Matthew 4:4 NKJV).

- The statement does mean you have to receive the Word daily from Him. YESTERDAY'S Word might not be okay for today, it has to be a daily fresh Manna from heaven. Yesterday manna has gone stale! Manna has to be gathered daily! (Exodus 16:4).

• People gave themselves to the task of building the wall of Jerusalem, the Burden or vision given to Nehemiah.

- If your vision is from the LORD, He will give the impetus, the energy, to the people, to run with it (Habakkuk 2:1,2).

- God has the hearts of men in His hand:

"THE KING’S HEART is in the HAND of the LORD, Like the rivers of water; HE TURNS IT WHEREVER HE WISHES" (Proverbs 21:1 NKJV).

- God is able to direct and touch the hearts of the people to buy into your vision and cause them to run with it.

HE will touch them to favour the assignment, give their Time, Money, and Whatever resources needed to fulfil the assignment.

- When God sent you to embark on a journey, project, assignment, He would have gone ahead of you to prepare the heart of the people—waiting to receive you.

• About the self

BEFORE I moved to Ghana; when God spoke to me about taking our Leadership Training Programme which we normally have for church workers and leaders to the Nation.

I WAS contemplating about the pastor I knew there, on how he would feel about receiving me and assisting in reaching out to the churches there. I eventually contacted him, and he agreed to receive me.

WHEN I got there, he said, at the close of the year before this incident, God showed him in a vision that I was in Ghana and I needed help which he offered in that Revelation. When he told me this, it serves as another proof that my journey there was of the Lord.

• Therefore, take a step now about whatever vision God has given you.

- Before you were sent by God, He must have prepared the mind of the people where you are going, to receive you and help in the fulfillment of the vision:

"The Lord answered me: “Write down the vision; WRITE IT CLEARLY ON CLAY TABLETS SO WHOEVER READS IT CAN RUN TO TELL OTHERS" (Habakkuk 2:2 (New Century Version).

THE Writing, reading, and running with the vision go together.

- The People gave themselves to the task of rebuilding the wall of Jerusalem because Nehemiah took a step to share the vision with them and they ran with it (Nehemiah 2:17,18; 3:1-22).

• You will not fail in Jesus' name.

Peace!

TO BE CONTINUED

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

[demifiendrsa]

Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin | Announcement Teaser Trailer

Japanese version

It’ll launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, and PC in 2022.

A demo—Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin Trial Version—-will launch for PlayStation 5 today and be available through June 24, 2021 at 7:59 p.m. PT / 10:59 p.m. ET. A survey will follow from June 13, 2021 through June 30, 2021, accessible from the menu screen of the demo.

Logos

Key visual

Character renders

Overview and Developer comments

About the Game

Final Fantasy VII Remake veterans Tetsuya Nomura and Kazushige Nojima join forces with Team Ninja from KOei Tecmo Games to deliver a bold new vision for Final Fantasy. Get your first look at Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin . Coming to PlayStation 5, PlayStation 4, Xbox Series X|S, Xbox One, and PC in 2022.

With the memory of their struggle buried deep in their hearts…

Jack and his allies, Ash and Jed, burn with resolve to defeat Chaos as they throw open the gates to the Chaos Shrine. Yet doubts remain—are they truly the Warriors of Light the prophecy foretold?

Step into a world of dark fantasy and revel in the exhilarating, action-packed battles!

Trial version available on PlayStation 5 until June 24th, 2021.

Developer Comments

Tetsuya Nomura – Creative Producer

The initial concept for Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin came up around the time following the release of Dissidia 012[duodecim] Final Fantasy. I was thinking to myself about making my next game into one that featured action elements in which locations are conquered, rather than the kind with battles against characters. Some time passed without anything coming of it, but separately I was also thinking to myself about another plan for a new series of Final Fantasy titles revolving around “the story of an angry man”. Even more time passed, at which point I received a request for a new plan, so I combined these two ideas to come up with this.

While it is Final Fantasy, it feels different—but there’s no doubt that the blood ofFinal Fantasy runs through its veins.

We’ve undertaken the challenge of finding this difficult middle ground for this mature and stylish title.

We need a little time until we’re able to complete it, and while the battle system is a bloody one, it does links to the story, so I hope you’ll use this opportunity to give it a try.

Kazushige Nojima – Story and Scenario

“It’s not a hope or a dream. It’s like a hunger. A thirst.”

When I wrote this line, I felt like the story had been brought to life.

What drives them to want to defeat Chaos as much as they do? What, then, are their hopes and dreams?

It was in this moment that what used to be fragments and pieces of story came together in a powerful way. The story that I wrote—in what seemed like a single breath after penning that line—is Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin. I think it turned out to be quite a memorable story that accompanies a game which prominently features brutal imagery.

Please enjoy!

Jin Fujiwara – Producer (Square Enix)

True to its label as “a bold new vision,” this title is full of new undertakings that draw a clear distinction between it and previous Final Fantasy series titles. I can’t divulge too many details at this stage, but we prepared a glimpse of these ambitions within the trial version, including the title’s direction and overall image, so please enjoy.

I believe that the feedback we receive from all of you around the world is very important as we improve upon the title even further. Please send us your thoughts through the trial version survey or through social media.

I’m already looking forward to the day I’ll be able to play this title with you.

Daisuke Inoue – Director (Square Enix)

This is a title that has been developed with the goal of bringing something new to sit alongside the many Final Fantasy titles in the series. I think it could be considered a side story in terms of how it is positioned.

There may be some people who were disappointed that this announcement was not a new, numbered title in the series, but this game contains ambitions within that even a mainline title may not have been able to achieve.

Grounded and challenging action created by Team Ninja. Our protagonist, sprayed with blood as he literally rips apart, throws, and pulverizing his enemies. The way he looks is almost as if—

Well, we have prepared this trial version with hopes of having players experience this new flavor that the title brings with it, even if just a little bit. As we are still in development, I think there may be some areas that are not perfect and may be that way for a while to come, but I hope you’ll enjoy the trial version regardless.

Additionally, please let us know your thoughts on the game, whether it be positives or negative that you noticed—we will make great use of this feedback as we continue development.

Fumihiko Yasuda – Head of Team Ninja, Producer (Koei Tecmo Games)

Playing Final Fantasy IV 30 years ago is what made me aspire towards a career in the gaming industry, so I always hoped that someday I could be involved in the Final Fantasy series. When Team Ninja was working on Dissidia Final Fantasy, I was in charge of a different section, which meant that every night I filled my pillow with tears. I’m truly happy to be involved with a new Final Fantasy, and a title connected to its Origin at that.

Using the feedback that the players provide after playing the trial version, all of us at Team NINJA will work to make this a title that meets the expectations of not only action game fans, but also Final Fantasy series fans around the world!

Hiroya Usuda – Director (Koei Tecmo Games)

I grew up playing Final Fantasy since I was very young, so it is a great honor to have the opportunity to be involved with this title. Furthermore, I’m truly excited that Team NINJA is able to deliver the first full-on action game in the Final Fantasy series to the world.

In this trial version, we’ve made specific demo-oriented adjustments so that players of all styles will be able to enjoy it—we have incorporated elements such as multiple jobs and weapon types, adjustable difficulty levels, and great replayability. Please let us know your thoughts and feedback once you have given it a try!

Nobumichi Kumabe – Director (Koei Tecmo Games)

I’m glad we were able to announce this new Final Fantasy game—an action game in which Jack, a Warrior of Light(?), lays waste to monsters while being bathed in the spray of their blood. I’m a huge fan of the Final Fantasy series myself, so I’m going to work hard towards release so that this blood-stained Jack can become a hero!

This is a title developed with the characteristic Team Ninja level of difficulty in mind, but once you start getting the hang of it, you’ll be able to defeat enemies in an exhilarating and satisfying way. I hope you will replay the trial version many times and try out the various weapons and abilities available.

The difficulty level can be changed as well, so one recommendation I have is to start playing on an easier difficulty and gradually raise it higher for a challenge!

Demo overview

The Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin Trial Version was also announced during the showcase, which gives players the opportunity to experience a taste of the full game centering on Jack and his allies—Ash and Jed—as they throw open the gates to the Chaos Shrine. Burning with the resolve to defeat Chaos, and with the memories of their struggle buried deep in their hearts, are they the foretold Warriors of Light?

Players of the Stranger of Paradise: Final Fantasy Origin Trial Version can explore this dark fantasy world as they battle an array of iconic monsters from the Final Fantasy series, using powerful spells and abilities from a sample of jobs including warrior, dragoon and black mage.

[tales-unique]

FAULTS OF THE HEART IV

Chapter 4

“It’s healing nicely,” Alucard hums, nimble fingers gently tracing the puckered scar on your shoulder, looking for any problematic signs. “I still get some stiffness in it,” you acknowledge with a small laugh, “but at least I can use my arm again!” It's been a long, tiring road to recovery, but you have finally completed it. Your arm is no longer useless, wrapped up in bandages. Now it’s almost as good as before. You can even use a bow, which means that you are now ready to leave the castle, and Alucard, behind.

A frown darkens your expression at the thought; you’ve become quite fond of him in the time you’ve been there and he seems to have warmed to you too. “Is something wrong?” Alucard’s voice is gentle, his brow furrowed. He’s pulled back his hand, probably assuming that he’s the source of your souring mood. “Oh,” you force a smile, waving your hand dismissively, “no, not really. It’s fine.” Alucard sees through the flimsy lie easily and embarrassment colours your cheeks a dusty pink when he fixes you with a deadpan stare. You tug your sleeve back into place, looking away from him. You press back against the counter top you’re leaning against, distracting yourself by staring at a cracked tile on the wall. Soft afternoon light filters through the kitchen window, painting him in beautiful golden light; it does nothing to help you in that moment. “You know that doesn’t work on me,” he chides, circling around to face you. He’s grown bolder around you as of late, challenging you more often, and though it forces you to confront your emotions you rather like this side of him. He’s healing just as much as you are and you feel content knowing that you’re a part of that process. Rolling your eyes at his remark you cross your arms sulkily over your chest, eyes turning to stare at the floor in one last ditch attempt to make him drop it. It could really use a scrub, you think. It only delays the inevitable as he stands unmoved, shifting in his stance to lean against the counter too. He’s in it for the long haul, so you have no choice but to give in. “What’s wrong?” He asks again when you look at him miserably. “Now that my shoulder is better, there’s no real reason for me to be here anymore,” you murmur wistfully. You knew it would come to this eventually, yet you never seemed to make peace with it. You thought you had, but it turned out to be nothing more than a silly facade to try and hide the fact you didn’t want to leave. Alucard is silent, but the look of shock on his face speaks volumes. He hadn’t even considered the idea that you would leave. Like you, he had fallen into the routine of navigating around you and your ways, as if you had always been there at the castle. It’s just so easy and even when he had tried to fight it he found himself becoming even more compelled by you. “I suppose so,” he answers finally, crestfallen. A lump forms in your throat when you look at him, seeing how dejected he appears. “I’m sorry.” It’s pitiful, but you don’t know what else to say. To impose yourself further on him and his hospitality after he had already saved your life just seemed selfish and yet it felt as equally unkind to simply abandon him. He chuckles, a sad, sardonic sound beneath its silken lilt. “There’s no need to be,” he states, oddly cold despite the softness of his voice, “after all, there’s no reason for you to stay anymore is there?” It hurts. You don’t want it to and you know that you have no right to be but it penetrates deep, twisting and taking root inside. “No,” your whisper, scared your voice will break, “I guess not.” Confused, Alucard regards your drop in mood. He had anticipated that you would be happy to finally be able to continue on with your life, no longer bound to him or the castle for care of your injury. Yet here you stand, trying so hard to keep yourself from breaking. Your eyes glisten and you catch your lip between your teeth; all telltale signs. Alucard realizes with alarming clarity that he’s upset you, because you don’t want to leave. Just like he doesn’t want you to go, either. It was defensive, to lash out, and all it’s done is serve as further reasoning for you to remove yourself from his life. He’s such an idiot. “Wait,” he suddenly says and it breaks his heart, as dead as he had considered it to be, when you look at him with such a forlorn expression. You aren’t sure what to expect but you force yourself not to hope, knowing that it could and most likely would bite you. So you’re pleasantly surprised when it’s not what you anticipated at all. “Do you,” he starts, awkwardly, voice alight with

trepidation, “not want to go?” With wide eyes you regard him, startled. Hearing it out in the open so brazenly has your mind stuttering, your body stiff. Of course it was true, but that wasn’t what had you shocked. It was the fact that, for a brief moment, you saw relief flash in his eyes. But maybe you were wrong. Or maybe he was wrong. You stare at one another in silence, neither able to break the stalemate of truths exposed. In such a relatively short time you’d both grown accustomed to each other's presence and, if you were being completely honest, you were scared to leave the safety of the castle. Out there you were just one woman, no allies, no home, nothing. It’s sobering to know that your situation hadn’t changed since the first time he had asked you about leaving, what you would do and where would you go once you were healed and you’re not quite sure you’re ready to admit how pathetic it made you feel. “No,” you swallow thickly, blinking away stubborn tears, “I don’t.” You remind him of a child, afraid. You’re trying to make yourself as small as you can, no doubt hoping that the ground would open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole. It stirs something in him, the memory of a feeling brought on by your plight; the night that his mother was burned alive and his father turned his back on humanity as a whole. The same feeling he felt when Sumi and Taka betrayed him. Lost. A sorrowful, imploring look flits across Alucard's face and his fingers itch, wanting to offer you comfort. His mother would run her fingers through his hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement to help lift his spirits. “Then you don’t have to go anywhere.” Alucard offers instead, afraid of what such tenderness may invite. Your warmth still set him on edge, but slowly and surely he was coming around to the idea of being as he once was; open and inviting without the need to guard himself. If there was anyone he could see himself opening up to again it would be you. “I have been ignorant to your situation,” he sighs, looking away in shame, “I should have known how difficult it is to pick up the pieces of one's life after they’ve been shattered, especially without help. I’m— I’m sorry.” It’s a quiet admission, shrouded in misery and mystery. He had yet to reveal much about himself, but you could fathom that he had been the receiver of much sorrow in his lifetime so far from the darkness he carried with him like a ball and chain. It tugged at your heart to see him so isolated from the very world itself, threatening to tear it apart. You quickly swipe at your eyes, trying in vain to banish the tears that broke free, warm trails lining your cheeks. “Don’t be, Alucard,” you inhale deeply, trying to ground yourself. You can’t stand the sudden look of guilt on his face for making you cry. “I should have told you about how I felt,” your voice trembles and you scowl at yourself, feeling silly, “I should have been honest instead of hiding it away like an idiot.” Crossing your arms tightly over your chest you try to focus on something else, though it’s hard when all you can see blurs with your tears. You angrily wipe at them, frustrated, until your hands are gently taken away by his, the grasp warm and comforting. “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs, looking over your face with a gentle expression. Your mouth is slightly parted with shock and your eyes, rimmed red and shimmering, are wide and locked onto him. “I think you’re so very human.” The tenderness in which the words are said, and the endearing meaning behind them, sends your heart soaring and you can’t help the smile that comes to your lips. A soft, breathless laugh passes your lips with ease, the tension leaving your shoulders. Your tears start anew and for a moment Alucard thinks he’s done something wrong, but from the way your laughter mingles with your shaky breaths he knows that isn’t the case. He, too, smiles at the warmth seeping back into you, the dark melancholy that had hung over you like a veil lifting and he lets go of your hands slowly. Neither of you comment on the way

you long for the contact to return; the simple, fragile bond inspiring a sense of yearning. “Are you alright?” He asks once you seem to have regained control of yourself, your tears having stopped and your gentle peels of laughter melting away. “I am,” you hum, looking at him with an intense fondness that he had seldom seen before. You are so bright in that moment, all because he has given you a place to belong, and it gives him hope. If only his father could have had such a chance, perhaps things may have turned out differently for him.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Promise Status, Broken

Warnings: fake death, blood, taking shirt off, drugging, hospital setting, needles,conditioned response, mention of torture

He plunged the knife into Hero's abdomen and pressed. He pressed until the hilt was hardly visible under the layer of blood that pooled around the open wound. He pressed until Hero's stuttering breaths stopped.

And he let the dead body fall to the ground with a thump. Villain put his boot onto Hero's dull face and kicked. She didn't deserve kindness, dead or alive. Villain pulled the knife out.

Suddenly, the dark shed that he committed the long overdue murder was infiltrated by an eerie white glow.

"Hero," came a breathless gasp. Then the shocked voice changed into a professional order, "Hands up where I can see them!" A gun clicked.

Villain slowly turned around. His smug attitude and cockiness was apparent as he held the bloody knife deftly between his fingers. The blood dripped to the ground with a splatter.

"Drop the weapon," a young police officer yelled. "Drop it."

Villain smirked. The police officer was so tiny. Villain was muscular and very agile. He could've just tossed the knife and mortally wound the officer if it wasn't for the sudden flash of white in the back of his head.

Villain collasped forward, falling onto his side. He blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness and stars. The dark room seemed even darker like a black abyss. The moonlight he saw earlier was all muddled into a blob.

Through his swimming vision, Villain saw the young police officer swoop down to pluck the prey off the ground. He cradled Villain's lolling head with a fake concerned look on his face. Villain blinked, squinted, did everything in his power to focus on the young face.

The officer must've realized Villain's effort because he said, "Do you know who I am?" Villain shook his head. To him, it was an effort, an effort that cost the room to tilt and Villain to sway. But in reality, it was the weakest thing.

"Recognize me now?" The officer said in a deeper voice. Villain's brain very slowly placed the voice with the face of Hero's sidekick.

"Sidekick," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Sidekick rubbed the side of Villain's head. It sent a new flare of heated pain through his body, centering on his head. Villain tried to jerk himself away, managing to break free of Sidekick's grasp. The only thing it added up to, however, was two more arms catching him before he toppled to the ground.

"Dizzy?" Sidekick said in a babyish tone. Villain didn't answer. Everything burned and ached and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

"You just murdered Hero, Villain, why?" Sidekick asked.

Villain's cognitive skills weren't one hundred percent, so his tongue spoke before his damaged mind had a chance to catch up.

"P-promise... m' status... broken," Villain whispered. He just wanted to fall backwards and die. Oh, would that be sweet. But the arms supporting him kept him up and awake as nails dug into his skin. It was a new sensation, one Villain never experienced before. Nails into the skin.

Sidekick's once serious face turned into one of pure childish curiosity. "Walk," he sneered. "We are walking to the car."

Villain felt himself being lifted onto his feet. Then, he felt all of his weight relying on those two support beams. He swayed, determined to stay upright.

Dizziness once again ran its course as Villain stepped forward- one teetering step at a time. He let out a groan, and a moan, and a whimper, and a- the list goes on.

Villain did not remember stepping into the car. The second his body touched the seat, he was out. Sidekick had to move his head so that he wouldn't break his neck going over a bump. He sighed and stared sadly at the poor Villain's head. It was necessary, very necessary, or Hero wouldn't have been able to escape.

"Thank you," came a pained voice. Sidekick spun around to see Hero limping forward. She had her hand protectively covering a bruise on her stomach. Sidekick sighed in relief and embraced her. The extra padding and fake blood worked well.

"I should be thanking you," Sidekick laughed. "If you didn't hit him, I would be dead."

Hero's happy face contorted into a much more serious expression.

"Why did you make Villain walk like that?" She asked. It was very rude, and practically unnecessary. She couldn't help but think that Sidekick wanted to offend Villain. She glanced at the sleeping, limp figure in the back of the car. Villain's blood from a nasty gash that Hero caused with a metal bar, pooled around him. She grimaced in guilt.

"Hero?" Sidekick asked.

"You never answered my question," Hero snapped. She ignored the painful bruise and glared at her sidekick.

"If we didn't have that protection on, you would be dead," Sidekick defended himself.

Hero scoffed and said, "Don't make excuses for your actions. We both know that it wasn't his fault that he turned out like this."

"He could've control his emotions, turned to goodness, not anger," Sidekick pointed out and pursed his lips. "He's not the innocent one."

Hero closed her eyes shut for a moment, replaying a memory that haunted her for a long time.

"I promise to always be there for you," Hero told Villain as she hugged him under the stars when they were nineteen, three years ago.

"Promise?" Villain's sweet voice cracked, absent of the usual sarcasm. Of course, he wasn't a villain then.

"I promise."

The next week, Villain was kidnapped by Supervillain.

"Don't look for him Hero, he's as good as dead anyways," her sidekick told her. Sidekick always saw the practical side of everything, so Hero assumed he was right.

The next year, Hero stumbled upon a broken body in an alleyway. Her heart lurched as she examimed the countless injuries. Broken ribs and nose, bruises littered the torso and his lungs struggled to take a breath. Hero tentatively pushed the skinny arm of his face and she gasped in horror. It was Villain.

Villain was alive, not dead.

Hero didn't hesitate to lift Villain's severely underweight body up and bring him to a hospital. She sat by his bed until he woke up a couple days later. She was beyond exhaustion at this point, and was so relieved to see Villain conscious that she nearly broke down in tears.

But a small, weak voice stopped her emotions from letting loose.

"Promise status," Villain murmured, his eyes already closing. Hero didn't register the words right away, she just tried to shake Villain awake. "Broken," he finished his sentence. Only then did Hero realize the meaning. She never looked for Villain. She just left him for dead, assuming the worse. After Villain's eyes slid closed, she noticed how conditioned the sentence was. It wasn't even a complete sentence. More like a robot repeating its task over and over, "Cycle One, Complete. Cycle Two, Begin. Cycle One..."

Hero, knowing she really shouldn't, laid her head on the bed, too tired to stay awake anymore. She hated the way Villain spoke to her, but was ecstatic to know he could wake up. So she slept.

Maybe two hours later, she woke to Villain scrambling up in fear. All the monitors started screaming. Without thinking, Hero pressed the HELP button, which only added to the piercing noise.

"Villain, hey, hey," Hero tried to soothe, which only resulted in Villain jerking back so hard that the IV ripped from his arm. Blood splattered everywhere, but that was the least of Hero's worries. Villain's hands went up to his mouth, yanking the oxygen mask off. In one split second, the previous rage settled into a slight panic. His chest heaved, unable to breathe properly.

Shortly after, the nurses rushed in with a syringe that contained a clear liquid.

"What is that?" Hero asked, instinctively stepping between the nurse and the terrified Villain.

The nurse hesitated before replying, "We need to calm him down before he hurts himself and others. It's just a sedative."

Hero shakily stepped out of the way. She felt useless watching the nurse inject Villain with the needle. She felt useless seeing his eyes widen in fear.

After a few minutes, the wildness in Villain's eyes were replaced with a tired look. His muscles loosened and relaxed as his breathing deepened. Another nurse rushed in with an oxygen mask.

Very soon, Villain's eyelids slipped completely shut. Hero and the nurse slowly lowered him into the bed.

The nurse laid their hand on Hero's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. When she left, Hero sunk down into her chair and took Villain's hand in her's. She brought her finger to the bandage that covered his wrist and rubbed it. She thought of how she just left him to suffer under Supervillain's wrath. It wasn't fair.

A horrid thought struck her. What if Villain wouldn't trust her anymore? He already seemed to be terrified of her. However, that could also be due to the hospital setting.

"Hero!"

Sidekick's voice dragged Hero from her flashback and so did the repetitive snaps of his fingers.

"Oh sorry," Hero gave a half-smile and walked to where Villain was sleeping. She sat down next to him, crunching his legs so she could fit.

"Are you seriously sitting back there?" Sidekick asked, leaning against the open door.

"Yes," Hero said, bringing Villain's feet onto her lap. "Of course." When she saw the look on Sidekick's face, she added, "He can't do much at the moment."

Sidekick still gave her a doubtful look, but jogged over to the driver's side and hopped in. Hero shut the door.

They drove in silence until they reached Hero's base. It was a small buidling, but had a couple cells, medic lab, and many bedrooms. It was mainly known for the gorgeous decor, both outside and indoors.

Hero and Sidekick worked together to bring Villain into one of the medic rooms. When Sidekick rushed to find Doctor, Hero took the time to examine Villain's physical health other than the bloody wound on his head.

Hero gingerly lifted his shirt, but then put it back, too scared to actually see what was under there. When Villain was discharged from the hospital, the doctors told her that the psychological healing would take awhile, especially since he would be reminded everyday with the scars. She took a deep breath and looked.

The criss-crossed scars made her want to vomit. They lined his muscles, putting unnecessary dents into the perfectly lined abs. Trying to ignore the marks, she tried to find the positive things. He was much more physically in shape than she had ever seen. All the lost weight was returned to him.

Footsteps sounded so she put his shirt back, trying to dispel the image now engraved in her mind.

"You whacked him hard," Doctor commented, examining Villain's head. "But he should be able to recover with minimal damage, but we will see. I do want to take tests and do a scan when he wakes up." Doctor cocked his head and then asked, "Is he better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he recovered from Supervillain? The last time I saw him-"

"No," Sidekick interrupted. "He was trying to kill Hero."

Yeah cause we let him, Hero thought, but remained silent.

"Hmm," Doctor mumbled. "Expect confusion for a couple days." Then he left.

Sidekick and Hero hovered over Villain's bed, silently. Hero recognized that things seemed to be more quiet between them, but didn't dwell on it.

After a moment or two, Sidekick left, leaving Hero alone. Again.

She sat next to Villain and held his hand like she did a couple years ago. It was the same setting, just a different hospital.

Suddenly, Villain's hand jerked away from Hero's touch. She looked up at him, fear coursing through her body. He just tried to kill me, she told herself over and over.

"Promise status, broken," Villain said. "Promise status, broke. Promise status, broken! Promise, promise..." Villain voice trailed off as he looked around the room. "Promise status, broken," he whispered and closed his eyes. Hero gently shook him.

He looked at her, evil eyes meeting righteous eyes. Hero couldn't help but feel yet another twinge of guilt.

Villain, in his delirious state, could not recognize the figure in front of him. She was pretty, was all he could think, and the same words. "Promise status, broken," was the only thing his tongue allowed him to say. Nothing made sense, nothing at all.

But what didn't make sense the most was when the girl leaned forward and took Villain's head in her hands. He wanted to recoil backwards and escape the misery, but she was stronger and the blinding headache made little things impossible.

"Don't worry. I am gonna fix you up... I promise."

[reveriequill-rai]

Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe. 

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults 

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-


I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.  

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

[arctic-comet]

Osblaine week 2021, Day 2: Lyrics

Over the last several weeks, I have carefully curated a playlist for Osblaine. The final total length of the playlist is 2 hours and 53 minutes.

The playlist can be found HERE

Click "Keep Reading" if you're interested in the introduction, commentary, more graphics and the full tracklist.

For full disclosure, I have to give some of the credit to my amazing fellow Osblaine fangirls @dystopiandramaqueen, @splitscreen and everyone who participated in a certain conversation for the original inspiration and even bringing up some of the songs.

You should look at the playlist in five parts: one section for each season that's aired and one section for the future (because I like to end things on a hopeful note).

The playlist contains a lot of the following:

Music from movie and TV soundtracks

Instrumental music

Remixes

Classics and covers of classics

Country music. I blame Florida. My sincerest apologies.

Some of the songs were chosen because they reminded me of a certain Osblaine scene, and some of them aren't specific to particular scenes but chosen for the general Osblaine vibe. And most of the movie/TV music I chose have been used for couples that remind me of Nick and June.

Part I- Season 1, first 12 songs of the playlist:

Forbidden Love- Abel Korzeniowski, Jasper Randall, The Hollywood Studio Symphony (Romeo & Juliet)

Fireflies- Owl City

Echoes in Rain- Enya

My Ghost- Glass Pear (Bones)

Daring to Hope- Anne Dudley (Poldark)

Everytime We Touch- Cascada

1000 Times- Sara Bareilles

Too Good At Goodbyes- Sam Smith

In Case You Don't Live Forever- Ben Platt

To Find You- Cast of Sing Street, Brenock O’Connor

She- Elvis Costello (Notting Hill)

Miracle- Instrumental- Cö Shu Nie

Hanging By A Moment- Lifehouse

Commentary:

The first instrumental song IMO works as an intro for their entire love story.

The next two songs are more about having the right vibe. It's a little ambiguous and dark because that's how their life is in Gilead.

Leave my door open just a crack

Please take me away from here

'Cause I feel like such an insomniac

Please take me away from here

Why do I tire of counting sheep?

Please take me away from here

When I'm far too tired to fall asleep

***

Wait for the sun

Watching the sky

Black as a crow

Night passes by

Taking the stars

So far away

Everything flows

Here comes another new day

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

***

"My Ghost" is June's POV before they sleep together, wondering if she can trust Nick:

Who can you trust, in this place?

And whom can I put my faith?

If you're real, then show me now,

Who you are

The last two songs are for episode 1x10, for both Nick’s reaction to June’s pregnancy and the beginning of her first escape attempt (arranged by Nick).

She may be the face I can't forget The trace of pleasure or regret May be my treasure or the price I have to pay She may be the song that summer sings Maybe the chill that autumn brings Maybe a hundred different things Within the measure of a day

Part II- Season 2, next 10 songs:

Love Will Keep Us Alive- Eagles

So Easy- Phillip Phillips

Incomplete- James Bay

Rewrite the Stars- The Piano Guys (The Greatest Showman)

I’ll Be Your Shelter- Taylor Dayne

Love Never Fails- Brandon Heath

P.S. I Love You- 05:11- John Powell (P.S. I Love You)

It's A Girl- Mychel Danna (The Time Traveler's Wife)

I'll Stand By You- Josh Groban, Helene Fischer

The Miracle of Love- Eurythmics

Commentary:

The first four songs cover June’s escape attempt and the time they share at the Boston Globe.

"Incomplete" is Nick's POV from when she's on the run and he knows she'll be gone from his life soon. He lives in the moment.

I don't wanna look down

I don't want us to break up in the clouds

All I want is to stay us, to stay with you now

"I'll Be Your Shelter" is for when June's mental health is at its lowest point and he goes to Serena to beg for her to get June help.

What you need is a friend to count on

What you got baby you got someone

Who will stay when the rain is fallin'

And won't let it fall on you

P.S. I Love You takes me back to episode 2.09, Nick’s selflessness in the episode and of course the scene where after telling June that Luke loves her, he tells her that he loves her too, despite believing she probably doesn’t feel the same way.

It's A Girl makes me think of the beautiful moment they share during June's false labor when he helps her out of the van and they climb the steps together.

I’ll Stand By You is for 2.10, Nick holding June after she was heartbroken over Hannah and over what the Waterfords did to her and clinging onto him.

Part III- Season 3, next 6 songs:

Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close- Alexandre Desplat (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)

All I Ask- Adele

Never Enough- Loren Allred (The Greatest Showman)

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever- Taylor Swift, ZAYN (Fifty Shades Darker)

Love is Gone- SLANDER, Dylan Matthew

Constellations- The Oh Hellos

Commentary:

For obvious reasons, it was extremely difficult to pick songs for this season.

The first (instrumental) song is for the beginning of the season with June coming back to the Waterford house and them then saying goodbye to each other on the street.

All I Ask, Never Enough, I Don't Wanna Live Forever and Love Is Gone are for their night together in June’s room at Lawrence’s (the one we didn’t get to see sigh). They know it's possible it's all they'll ever have, and they'll take it, but it'll never be enough.

I will leave my heart at the door I won't say a word They've all been said before, you know So why don't we just play pretend? Like we're not scared of what's coming next Or scared of having nothing left

Look, don't get me wrong I know there is no tomorrow All I ask is

If this is my last night with you Hold me like I'm more than just a friend Give me a memory I can use Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do It matters how this ends 'Cause what if I never love again?

***

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

Towers of gold are still too little

These hands could hold the world but it'll

Never be enough

Never be enough

***

I'm sorry, don't leave me, I want you here with me

I know that your love is gone

I can't breathe, I'm so weak, I know this isn't easy

Don't tell me that your love is gone

That your love is gone

"Constellations" is for their long separation and the doubts that I'm sure plagued them both during it. Would they ever see each other again?

Part IV- S4, next 12 songs:

All of Me- John Legend

(Everything I do) I Do It For You- Bryan Adams

Iris- Natalie Taylor (City of Angels)

She Was Like A Bright Light- Hans Zimmer, Rupert Greyson-Williams (Winter’s Tale)

Noah's Last Letter- Aaron Zigman (The Notebook)

What’s In The Middle- the bird and the bee (Bones)

ivy- Taylor Swift

Footprints in the Sand- Leona Lewis

Remember Me (Lullaby)- Gael Garcia Bernal, Gabriella Flores (Coco)

On The Nature Of Daylight- Max Richter

My Heart Will Go On- Basil Jose (Titanic)

The Story- Sara Ramirez (Grey's Anatomy)

Commentary:

There were sooo many songs I wanted to include in part IV, but I controlled myself and ended up with this particular dozen.

"She Was Like A Bright Light" and "Noah’s Last Letter" are an instrumental double punch to the gut for Nick’s time in Gilead during episodes 4.07-4.09. The first one is meant for when he finds out June made it to Canada, and the 2nd for is for when he starts to gather info on Hannah to give to June.

"What’s in the Middle" and "ivy" are June’s POV of episodes 4.07-4.09.

"What's In The Middle" has more of an angry and confused vibe, and June was definitely both in episodes 7 and 8.

Losing your head is such a common theme

All your brains are falling out, falling out the open seams

Where is the heart, is the heart of the matter

I will empty out my skull of all this useless chatter

On the other hand, "ivy" has this haunted vibe, but there's also reverence and acceptance, which she begins to achieve in episode 9.

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered in you

The next three songs are of course all for their reunion in 4.09, and I couldn’t resist including the song that was actually played in the scene.

"The Story" draws the season to a close nicely, with June understanding that her current needs are different from what they used to be and that there’s someone who understands her completely (and it’s not Luke).

You see the smile that's on my mouth

It's hiding the words that don't come out

And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed

They don't know my head is a mess

No, they don't know who I really am

And they don't know what I've been through like you do

And I was made for you

Part V- Season 5 and Beyond, the last 6 songs

Secret Love Song- Little Mix, Jason Derulo

Burn With You- Lea Michele

The Bones- Maren Morris

Feels Like Home- Auli'i Carvalho, Keegan DeWitt

Love Will Find A Way- Piano Covers (Lion King II)

Like I'll Never Love You Again- Carrie Underwood

“Secret Love Song” is a more angsty tune about a love that’s still kept a secret like June and Nick’s love (as far as most people are concerned). Now that they’ve already made out in front of the man who raped and abused June and made Nick watch him do that, I want to believe they can let go of the secrecy in S5, at least when it comes to a few people.

I'm living for that day Someday Can I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor? I wish that we could be like that Why can't we it be like that? Cause I'm yours, I'm yours Why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor? I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? Cause I'm yours Why can't I say that I'm in love? I wanna shout it from the rooftops I wish that it could be like that Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours Why can't we be like that? Wish we could be like that

***

“Bones” is about a relationship with a strong foundation, which IMO they do have. It will carry them in the future, too. They’re more into each other now than ever before and especially June is coming to terms with how strong that love is. They’ll weather any storm.

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter

Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter

Let it break 'cause you and I remain the same

When there ain't a crack in the foundation

Baby, I know any storm we're facing

Will blow right over while we stay put

The house don't fall when the bones are good

***

“Feels Like Home” is more hopeful. Their home is with each other and I hope that’s something that will be explored more in the future.

Take me, I'm ready

Go slow but go steady

To a place that we can call our own

I wanna know what feels like home

***

“Like I’ll Never Love You Again” is a good conclusion for the playlist. It’s hopeful and a testament to an epic love.

I wanna love you like the rain on a roof

Stronger than a bottle of a hundred ten proof

I wanna take love to places that love has never been

Yeah, I wanna love you like I'll never love you again

And I'll love you again

Oh, and again

[infjammin]

Mexico

This is my first published work! A Spencer Reid x Reader oneshot. The team travels to Mexico for a mush needed vacation from the bureau. Will profiling skills be enough to keep an agent safe? 

The music reached the ears of those outside the club. Loud and drunken shouts accompanied the upbeat club music as the two girls entered.

Prentiss found Morgan as soon as she walked in. Offering her a drink, she downed it in under a minute, no doubt it’d be the first of many for them that night.

Walking to the bar, I ordered a virgin Shirley temple, I had already been drunk that day and had decided long ago to play it safe. I smiled at Emily and Morgan, watching them line up the salt and limes on the table. Drinking the sweet and syrupy drink, I felt a hand slowly creep around the small of my back. Goosebumps lined my arms as I immediately turned around to see who violated my personal space. A sly grin dripping with underlying intentions rested on the face of Rick. His unwelcome attention had been directed towards Prentiss and I all weekend, and his lingering hand was just one of the many attempts. A vacation can only last so long, I guess.

“Hey baby, I didn’t see you at the pool earlier today. Where were you?” A smile protruded, slowly creeping up his face as he took me in.

“I didn’t feel so well, I had a few too many drinks,” I laughed uncomfortably hoping he would sense my tone and leave. Emily looked up from a shot and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, here’s another one, maybe this will loosen you up a bit, huh?”

His breath reeked of Fireball and was hot on my face. I backed against the seat of my chair as I gave Emily a reassuring nod while she walked with Morgan to dance.

“No thanks, I’ve gotta find my friend.”

I slid out of my barstool and made my way through the crowd to meet Prentiss on the dancefloor.

The lights and the music overwhelmed my senses, but I absorbed it all. This was the only time I would get to be in Mexico and I wasn’t going to waste it. The unit had been overwhelmed with cases the past few months and this two-week vacation couldn’t have come at a better time. With the Reaper going MIA, the bureau thought it best to take some time away from the case.  

I instinctively looked around and saw Spencer at the bar. I froze and couldn’t help but admire

the way in which he held himself- slight hesitancy behind the charming demeanor he bore.  His easy eyes and soft smile could make any girl speechless and giddy.

He turned just in time to see me staring, lifting his hand to wave. I caught myself smiling and forced myself to wave back before I did anything stupid. I threw myself back into the rhythm laughing carelessly with Emily.

Time flew by as the music began to blend together in the seamless rhythm of motion. A tap on my shoulder from a bartender told me the boy at the bar sent a Shirley Temple over. I glanced back to see Spencer as he scanned the crowd locking eyes with me. He quickly looked down and turned around. I accepted the drink happily as Emily hit my arm.

“Looks like pretty boy is more upfront than we thought huh?”

We giggled as I kept dancing with my drink in hand.

The room began to melt into a kaleidoscope of color as the music seemed to pound the sides of my skull. I stopped for a moment to clear my head, hoping to shake off whatever vertigo I might have gotten from the ocean that day. Walking over to the bar in hopes of ordering a water, Spencer came over and gently placed his hand right below my shoulder.

“Are you okay? You seem a little woozy”, his eyes flooded with concern, “here, come sit down for a minute okay?”

Leading me to a chair on the outskirts of the dance floor, he sat me down, bracing my shoulders while he crouched down to make eye contact with me. Even though the whole room was spinning, it didn’t take much to keep focus on him.

“I’m gonna get you a water okay?”

“Okay”

I smiled as he walked away but couldn’t shake the feeling that was starting to creep up on me and swallow my consciousness. Everything blurred into shapeless forms while my body felt as though it was made out of bricks and weights.

“Here, come on and we can get you in something more comfortable”

I felt a hand grab my arm and lead me to the exit of the club. Stumbling over my feet, I turned and saw Spencer leaving the bar with a water in hand. Confusion visible on my face as I tried to piece together who the man with such a strong hold on my arm was.

Who is taking me away from the bar? And who is taking me away from Spencer?

I noticed the arm had moved around me and clutched me close to their body, hard and with no room to escape. The abrasive cloth of a jacket met my skin as the metal zipper dug into my side.  I looked up at the face, a complexion shrouded by shadows and street lamps.

“Let’s get you somewhere comfy baby”

My head swirled, thinking back to the drink from who I thought was Spence.

Rick never left the bar. I could feel his eyes boring into my back while Emily and I laughed and danced. He was there when I ordered my original Shirley temple and not Spencer. Oh my God, it wasn’t Spencer.

It wasn’t Spencer.

Panic flooded me as I tried to push myself away but found to have little to no strength against him. My hits held no power against his determined frame. I could barely speak without a weird slur obstructing anything I tried to say.

“Please let me go back to my friends”, I whimpered out.

His grip grew tighter as I tried to turn around to get someone, anyone’s attention.

I tried to dig my feet into the ground but wobbled over them instead. He was practically dragging me further and further away from the team, and closer and closer to who knows

what.

Panic and fear overtook my whole body; heavy breathing and frantic looking to find some way to break away from his hold.

“Please, please let me go back to my friends. I can give you money instead if you just let me go back.”

I knew money meant nothing to this man, I knew what his goal was back at the bar. I almost wished my skills as a profiler were that of when I first joined. It’d be better to not know who he was as he tore me away from my friends.

Tears dared to prick my eyes as I imagined what he was going to do to me, my mind filling with the horror stories of girls in clubs and foreign countries that other units in the bureau had dealt with.

I rolled my head to turn back to the bar. My head hung over my shoulder, hair blocking my view of what lay behind me. Figures emerged from the bar, doors slamming open into the warm breeze that drifted through the resort. I could hear them scream my name in panicked and frightful voices.

Were they real? Had I hoped so hard for some kind of miracle that it had somehow manifested behind me?

I tried so hard to break free of his grasp. I squirmed and wiggled with all the strength I had, yet still he held me firm against him. As Rick picked up his stride, my vision blurred to the point of muted colors as I faintly heard running towards Rick and me. My feet dragged behind me and I struggled to stay upright.

“Get off of her!”

I felt myself being pulled into someone’s arms as I fell to the ground. Familiar smells engulfed my senses, immediately providing me with some form of comfort.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

“Why were you dragging her out of the club?”

“Sure looks like you care about this whore-”

The black spots that had dotted my vision finally overtook it as the heavy darkness overwhelmed my body. The last thing I heard was a loud crack and a thud against the pavement.

My eyes fluttered open as bright light burned and blinded my vision. My head throbbed from the sudden sensory overload. Memories flooded back to me as my eyes widened with panic. I tried to sit up but was immediately met with hands pushing me back down. The blinding light obstructed those who held me down, resulting in a view of faceless figures.

“Get off of me!”

I felt my leg connect with what felt like ribs as I scratched my face.

“It’s okay! Please don’t hurt yourself. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

My eyes slowly adjusted to the room as I began to make out the faces of my team. Concern and worry all too apparent on their faces. Tears brimmed my eyes as I began to remember more from last night. Tears threatened to surface as I struggled to keep composure.

“What did he do to me? Oh my god what’d he do to me?”

“You’re okay, we caught him leaving with you before he could do anything to you”

Morgan gave me a smile and put a hand on my shoulder, “you’re going to feel a bit weird for a while, but we got a doctor in here to help you. He put you on an IV and some minor pain meds.”

I looked down as my fingers traced the unnoticed IV going into my arm. I noticed the bruises on my arm in the shape of fingers. The deep red and purple marks brought more tears to my eyes.

“He roofied me, didn’t he?”

“He did but we don’t know how, Hotch and Emily say they only saw you drinking one drink at the bar you ordered and the drink Reid sent over”

Reid turned towards Morgan confused, “I never sent her a drink.”

“But we both saw you-,” Emily retorted.

“No, I thought Spencer had sent me a drink, but I realized Rick did when he was dragging me

out.”

I paused for a moment, “What happened after I blacked out?”

Morgan spoke up saying, “Rossi found him dragging you out and we all ran after you. Reid and Hotch got you away from him while Emily tried to pick you up off the ground.”

I looked into Spencer’s face, the only one I really wanted to see, and thanked God for him. Concern clouded his face but a small hint of relief sparked in his eyes as he gave me a small reassuring smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Emily leaned over me to my ear and whispered. “Reid left Rick with a broken nose and a swollen lip before Morgan had to pull him off.”

The door swung open, everyone’s heads turning to see who barged in with no warning.

“OH MY-what happened to my beautiful treasure?! Who did this to her?”

Garcia ran to the hospital bed, grabbing my cheeks as she inspected my face for any damage.

Plenty of damage here, babe.

Morgan grabbed Garcia’s arms, looking up at everyone.

“Why don’t we give her some time to rest? We’ll be right next door okay?”

Everyone stood up to exit before Spencer spoke up.

“Can we talk for a bit by ourselves?”

Hotch glanced at Morgan with a questioning look, which he met with a nod of approval.

“Sure, but make it quick okay?”

Reid nodded in understanding as he got up to sit on the bed next to me. The water in my hand rocked in waves in the cup as I tried to subside my shaking hands. I put it back down in defeat.

Not meeting Spencer’s eyes, I asked, “Can you hold it for me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

He slowly tipped the water up so I could take a small sip. It stung at first, but the water provided some relief and calm. He put the cup back down and lifted his eyes to meet mine. He might be an FBI agent, but there was nothing subtle about the way he scooted closer to me on the bed.

“How do you feel?”

“Well, a little nauseous and I have a really weird headache. My whole body feels heavy too…is your hand okay?”

He glanced down at his hand which had begun to bruise as well, quickly covering it up.

“My hand’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t keep a better eye on you.”

“No Reid, it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong last night. I promise. Besides, it’s not your job to watch over me.”

I grabbed his hands as I gave a reassuring laugh and gave them a squeeze.

“Why did you think the drink was from me?”

I looked down at my hands, mortified at the natural blush giving away my reasoning from last night.

“When I had looked over to the bar when I got the drink, you looked at me at the exact same time. And I thought that you were trying to flirt.”, I looked up in embarrassment to see his reaction. He met my gaze.

“Well to be honest, that’s not how I’d flirt with you.”

“I’m just glad y’all got me before he did anything. I thought I saw you as we walked out the door but I couldn’t yell to get you. I didn’t know whether I was imagining the help I wanted so badly.”

I cast my eyes down and clutched the sheets with such ferocity my knuckles turned white.

Violent sobs escaped me and my body shook as I tried to control my tears. I never showed this kind of emotion at work, my intensity helped me get through our cases.

I can’t break.

“Hey, don’t cry, okay?”, he shushed me as he crawled closer to me and held me. He rocked me as his hands ran gently through my hair. I buried myself into his chest as far as I could and tightened my fists around his shirt, trying to pull him closer than he already was. I found comfort in his warmth and heartbeat. I drew my legs into my body and tried as hard as I could to wrap myself up into a ball inside of his embrace.

Disappear. Just close it up and disappear like you know how.

Spencer pulled my face away from his tear ridden shirt to meet my eyes.

“I know you’re going to wall yourself away, I’ve seen you do it at work. You can’t shut down on us when you’re the one being hurt. You can’t do that okay? We are here as a team, and we’re leaving as a team. Don’t think for one second we’re going to let you isolate yourself.”

I hiccupped trying to hold back my tears. Spencer placed his hand on my face, using a thumb to wipe away my tears. He rubbed my cheek with his thumb and gave me a comforting smile.

“I’m here okay? I’m right here for you.”

I smiled through my mist of tears and rested my forehead on his. He clutched the hair on the back of my head as he moved to kiss my forehead.

We never had this kind of connection at work. Nothing this…intimate. We silently acknowledged our mutual admiration for each other, but never let it develop past that. We were both young in the bureau, we couldn’t compromise our reputations. But, as we held each other’s stare, I couldn’t help but wonder whether we couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

His eyes flicked briefly down to my lips and back up to my eyes searching for a response. We moved closer to each other, moving both his hands to my face and me balling his shirt in a fist.

The air hung around us in a silent curtain, shielding us from the worries that would be of concern when we left the room. But nothing seemed to matter as I held his intense gaze. Was it a moment of weakness or strength that finally pushed us to meet in the middle?

Our lips met, a connection born from built up tension and desire. As we deepened our kiss, I moved my hand to cup his face, entwining my fingers with his hair. His hand moved to the small of my back, pulling me closer into the heated embrace.

We pulled away, a sharp intake of breath calling us back into reality. But as we both ran through the multitudes of possibilities, I took his hand in mine and squeezed, giving him a small smile.

I can’t worry about what the future might hold when I have him right in front of me.