#who works so hard to become a monster to make himself and others safe

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Just saw a post that said kevin day work harder than anyone else because if he cannot be loved he will be needed and can I just say Andrew minyard?

[visionsofmagic]

◜ mk1 men breaking the bed/headboard while fucking you ◞

▸ characters: bi-han, syzoth, liu kang, raiden, kuai liang, johnny cage, tomas◂ ▸wc: 4k+ [wow]

▸ tags¬es: REQUESTED by @luvv4lurd. drabble but long (like very long), fluff, nsfw, breaking, licking, ropes, inappropriate usage of power/abilities, humiliation, rudeness, rough, biting, power, begging, fingering, swearing, monster fucking (kind of), power play, pet names, calling god/goddess, possessiveness, protectiveness & more in the work, enjoy! [didn’t want to write this long & I am not sure whether @luvv4lurd wanted it to be this long but couldn’t hold myself, they’re so cute! hope all of you like it, have fun!]◂ ▸ m.

BI-HAN doesn’t care about hurting you that much, yet, he gives you a safe word to make him stop when it is needed. clearly, he wants to fuck you well enough so that he can show you only he can fuck you like this. this goal of his brings him to an edge that he put your body down on the bed, ass up, cock thrusting deep inside your walls as your body jolts forward and backward in sync with his cock’s rhythm going in and out of your pussy full of cum - since you have cum like two times already.

he’s a bit rougher than he is usually because he heard a few other lin kuei’s members talking about you - how they are mesmerized by your presence whenever you come into view, however, they complained about how they can’t talk to you because you’re always with the grandmaster, sub-zero.

that moment, he decided to fuck you hard enough to make you have difficulties with walking, making everyone realize who fucked you - their grandmaster - they will know who you belong to and that was why he is rough right now.

you don’t complain though, well, until he makes you scream his title - “my - ohh - my grandmaster!” he loses his mind, releasing his power; hands get colder as ice appears on them from fingertips to the arm, and since his hands on the headboard, to hold it tight and fucking you with a great strength, it covers with ice, making the surface so easy to break into pieces and this is exactly what happens.

the headboard breaks into countless pieces, the room’s temperature going down in an instant, your eyes widen but bi han gains his mind’s control, hands turning to normal as they touch your waist, sending a chill down your spine with their coldness - bi han begins to fuck you harder as if it’s even possible, blaming you.

“see what you made me do whore? it’s only because of you! have to get a new one now, but you should pay for what you have caused pretty slut and you will pay by giving this beautiful wet pussy to me - to the rightful owner of it. will fuck you until you can’t walk for the next week, my dumb whore.” 

SYZOTH tries his best not to use any of his strengths during the make-up sessions you share - getting intimate yet shy while doing it. he wants you to stay healthy even after the sex, only maybe some of the marks on your body that he likes to leave. however, sometimes you become a brat, acting naughty, trying to play with his nerves of pleasure and instincts enough to make him go rougher, and since he doesn’t want to hurt you, his hands find the sides of the bed while he’s fucking you with the position of missionary, green innocent eyes focusing on your face that full of cries, parted lips, half-closed eyes watching him with such delight he wants to prove himself further – wants to fuck you so good that your body cannot forget about it in the following days until the day he fucks you again.

and he loses himself when a hand grips him by the hair, pulling his face down at your level, ear to ear, you say in a whisper which is followed by a little moan afterward, “cmon pretty boy, I know you can do better than – ohhh – this!”

who is to decline your offer? who he is to hold himself still instead of fucking you harder – better?

syzoth whimpers at your words, he lets your legs hug his bare back, hands wrapping his neck as his hands begin to hold the surface of the bedsides tighter to find a balance after shoving his dick into your wider pussy rapidly than before, roughness and lust dripping from heart to body within actions.

“oohhh –“ he moans in sync with you, “tell me how good it is my love, please, please –“ he stops himself from crying by biting down your shoulder a few times, listening to your cries mixed with both pain and pleasure with full attention, and when you praise him, his edge comes, making him lose himself, and letting his nature form in some parts of his body; a tail appears on his back, it wags on its own – eyes turn darker green – and hands are covered with the skin of his true form, all green until it reaches to the arms.

all feelings double when his strength rises, weight becomes hard to endure, dick bigger – definitely rougher, going in and out of your aching yet wet pussy, and you reach climax at the same time – the exact time when a few crack sounds are heard, causing you to look into each other’s face – looking both excited and peaceful because of reaching the climax and shocked when the bed break into two, its middle swallows your bodies as syzoth hold you from the back from an instant, turn you around so that his back meets with the rigid surface of the floor under the bed.

hands on your back, hugging, turning into human form, and tail disappears as he looks at you with innocent and shy eyes as if you’re not lying down on the ground, inside a broken bed, cums still dripping.

“I’m so sorry y/n – but it – it was too much for me to handle. my love, how can I make you forgive me? I will do anything for you – just say it and I will show how sorry I am but please don’t judge me. I can’t hold my thoughts together when I have your pretty pussy.”

LIU KANG can be the steadiest person – or a god but you don’t know any other god aside from him, but not in bed, no, never. he is that steady, straightforward, gentle, cute, and all these kinds of things under the lights of daylight, however, when it turns into a dark sky when you visit him in his room – or you in yours, exchanging a few words, questions only to begin to fuck after the formality.

it’s not that he uses you as his fucktoy – yes, it feels like it because it turns you on, but no, he’s in love with you – so deeply that he loses his mind whenever he sees you, and when it comes to getting intimate, oh, he forgets about the timeline he has created entirely, focusing on you – your pretty face he likes to watch, your magnificent body he finds as the most beautiful thing on all realms, your voice that comes into his ears as prays while you moan his name and even his title whenever you feel like it, and oh, your delicious pussy that neither his fingers, his tongue nor his dick will ever get bored of – it will be such disrespectful thing to be bored when you open your legs wider to him, showing your pink pussy that begs for his caring and affection – that he gives you what you want right away.

he’s a god, yes, but he can kneel in front of you if it is needed – to eat you out, or even to beg you.

on a night, when he lets you do whatever you wanna do with him, you chose to ride him in order to show him how you love his dick so much as he watched you from below, making you feel so powerful because of having the god of fire, liu kang, under you – moaning your name, eyes blurry, a bit of fire travels on his shoulder since he hasn’t logical side in the brain, no longer when you ride him so good – it feels as if you’re his goddess and you can’t deny that it doesn’t turn you on just by thinking about it.

smiling widely, you let yourself get the pleasure at the highest level, so, you throw your head back, and hands travel on your body from hair to shoulders, from breasts to abdomen, from there to your ass – literally exhibiting your own body to liu kang while bouncing on his lap – pussy clench around his length whenever you sit down only to rise up and repeat the action rapidly, riding him, fucking him.

and liu kang’s last logical side screams him not to hold you – because if he does it, he is sure he will break you into pieces. he doesn’t want to hurt you, especially when he witnesses the sight in front of him – breathtaking, making him lose the balance of his strength. instead of holding you, he grips the headboard behind him as he sits there, having you on his lap – watching you riding him beautifully.

then, you look down, and chuckle, “let your goddess take you to the stars, pretty boy.”

he never had this kind of situation with any other person, so, when you reflect his own words with yours – ‘let your god take you to the stars, pretty girl’ – he really sees stars, hands get tighter, and he breaks the bed with his power of strength and fire, moaning your name loudly, “aggh – y/n!” as he cums hard into your warm walls.

the moment he opens his eyes once again, he sees your smirking face first, one of your soft fingers travels on his cheek as you kneel down closer, “oh, couldn’t pretty boy resist it and cum in an instant?” you chuckle, mocking him, “where is the god of fire, huh? maybe, you should be the one who calls me goddess instead.”

he doesn’t waste a moment, holding you from the waist, he closes the gap between your bodies – nose to nose, white eyes devour yours only by looking at them intensely, and he smirks – darker than yours, radiating fire.

“darlin’, you are already my goddess but you need to learn who you belong to. don’t worry, the lesson you will have now will be enough to make you remember it to no longer forget about it. I will teach you personally while fucking you on this broken bed.”

RAIDEN is a stranger to his own power that has been given by liu kang to fight with it to protect the earthrealm, however, now it sticks with raiden every second of the day and night, and he can’t leave it even while fucking you.

he says he should get used to it in every situation. he’s shy about it while saying it but you know that there are other reasons behind the desire to bring his lightning power into the bed ‘cause, that way, he can send a tickling jolt to your body – even to your pussy, making your pleasure rise up, wanting him to continue what he’s doing.

he knows you like it too – how he can’t anyway? you love seeing his eyes turning to light blue from time to time, love to let it flow through your skin, sending chills down your spine, getting you closer to the edge.

raiden discovers your kink contains electricity accidentally, and in a weird situation when he forgets to leave his amulet bonded to his hand while getting intimate with you.

he doesn’t realize holding it even when he goes hotter as he lowers down on your body, kissing every inch of you, reaching your exposed pussy soaking wet to the ground because of his gentle, slow yet effective approaches. he’s so gentle with you that he literally begs to taste your cum in his mouth.

letting him, you lean onto the headboard, wide open legs meeting with his soft-looking eyes, making him whimper at the sight.

you look so pretty that even after having your cum in his mouth, he can’t stop - he says he wants to thank you for letting him eat you out passionately by hovering over you, hands find the headboard behind you as he thrusts into your wet and fleshy pussy again and again with a pace driving you mad.

you scream how good he’s making you - to make it double, he uses some electricity that flows through your body without even noticing it, and the sudden sensation makes you clench around his length, swallowing it entirely, giving raiden a heart attack because of the pleasure he has never felt before, and it ends up with him using his strong muscles to hold himself in balance by gripping the headboard harder, making it crumble and break into pieces in a second.

to protect you from the falling pieces of it, he lowers down, covering your body within his but it makes all things go worse – or better as you say afterward; his cock reaches the end of your pussy, and it even becomes visible on your abdomen – and the scream, moans you made causing raiden to lose his mind – he begins to thrust into you, balls hitting your ass, forehead touches yours, eyes turn into light blue when you look at them.

“you have no idea how beautiful you look right now, my love. so – so beautiful. I am so sorry to break the bed but I can’t stop now. how can I? your pussy begs for me to continue fucking you. ohhh – it feels so good. I am offering myself to you as a forgiveness gift.”

KUAI LIANG is a man who lives to give you, his beloved lover, what you deserve – the whole world, as he believes. loving doing the things you want, he’s no longer a gentleman in bed as the bond you share grows more powerful as well as the intimate sessions you have an increase in passion and trust.

he becomes rougher when you need him to be. being such a needy lover for him, you choose to trust him enough to let him have you in ways you can never imagine on your own because he looks fragile from the outside – he still is but not when you get into the bed after a long and exhausted day, ready to find your peaceful hours, inside each other’s arms which turns into a hot moment since you can never resist the urge of getting closer – he turns into a beast, you can see the sparkes he has inside his eyes – reflection of the fire he has within his soul and body.

on one of the nights you become lustful for each other, kuai has you on your knees, ass up in the air, and your second cum’s juice flows through his thick warm cock onto your inner thighs and ass, however, he can’t focus on the mess you’re making because all his attention is on your wrists which are roped with his kusarigama – it has no kama yet the coldness of metal chains around your wrists are enough to send you chills since kuai’s entire body radiates warmness.

holding your wrist, he increases the pleasure you are getting from the way he fucks you into the mattress, moans coming from you mixing with the swears and praises he says between his rapid breaths, dripping sweats and moans – only you can make him so weak, so fragile yet powerful at the same time – it causes him to try to prove himself to you in a greater way that you can never forget about it, that your body screams his markings.

the sound that is created by the lewd sounds of his thrusts hitting your soaked clit build twist feelings inside your stomach that is pushed down onto the bed as his left hand holds the wrists that have chained while the free one is put on the headboard’s edge, holding it tightly because he needs to find a source of stability to stay still but it doesn’t work – not when he finds this new angle amusing, begins to shove his dick into your warm walls faster, then, when his climax hit, the solid tool cracks – collapsing.

when he comes to his senses, getting off his high, he realizes what he has made.

he looks a bit guilty, eyes finding yours, his face has an expression of a man who seeks forgiveness yet he seems to enjoy it, and he smiles when you chuckle, joking about how he can easily turn into a madman only because of having you like this.

as he agrees, he caresses your hair, hands playing with the chain to open it. he turns your body over, hugging you from the shoulder, he still doesn’t take his dick off of you.

“’m so sorry honey, didn’t mean to break the bed but weren’t it the head of the bed, I would break you – was so good – you feel so good. fixing it will be the first duty for me after I get more of you – can I? please say that I can because I need you – one more baby, please, give me one more. promise I will be more cautious with our surroundings. don’t want to get you hurt. you will only get pleasure until we’re done, my love.”

JOHNNY CAGE can be the most reckless fucker in the whole timeline. interested in you only, he loses the last logical side of his brain – if he has any when he has you in different situations yet each one of them is as effective as the others.

being energetic, having almost superhuman strength, and going wild in sex, he is sure unreliable while fucking. creating a sense of fear with excitement in your abdomen, ideas rush into your mind as you think about what he will do differently this time in every intimate moment. his uniqueness can be pointed out even while fucking you or letting you fuck him.

he’s also loud, talkative, preferring to let you know that you feel wonderful, perfectly taking his dick – or him, entirely, destroying his mind because of the beauty you have as lust cages him like a chain.

he seems like a madman too with his mind full of thoughts about how he can turn the sex you have into something more bustling, catchy, and entertaining for the two of you, maybe a little more for you ‘cause he prefers to be an unforgettable lover. he addresses you as his queen, and he is determined to prove himself right by treating you as one.

to do this, he tries to get his ideas turn into realities while fucking you.

not caring about your surroundings, not thinking consequences of being unconcerned, not realizing what he has done until his highness’ effects of being pussy drunk decrease. the reality hit his face when he saw the world around him, you still under him, mind dizzy, mouth dry because of moaning non-stop, eyes half-closed as you looked up at his face, cries cleaning your heated face.

the bed, worth a million dollars he chose to fuck you onto, now has a broken headboard – the pieces falling onto the floor and the bed’s soft white fabric. the memories of the moment before rushes into his mind as he looks at the broken material inside his fisted hands; he understands that he is the one that caused this. he fucked your wide-open pussy so mindlessly that when he gripped the head to find something to hold on to, he broke it without realizing it. 

as you still soak wet with your cum, and his own getting out of you, he jokes about the situation; chuckling while pointing out the power he has enough to break the bed’s head in one movement, showing it to you with such proudness you roll your eyes – this time not because of his dick, but because of his silliness.

he puts his hands on your sides, smirking down at you, winking, and having no shyness about breaking the bed.

“oh princess, it was worth a million dollars but doesn’t matter. you are worth more than anything in entire timelines. to have your pussy, I can break all of ‘em pretty. but can we appreciate how strong I am? ‘is all because of how good you’re makin’ me feel – ohh, pretty lady, making my mind go crazy like that – ‘is because of you that I broke it, but, what about we break the couch too? wanna do it – wanna break it too while eating you out. c'mon princess, gotta fuck you in every piece of furniture in this house.”

TOMAS is not like his brothers – he is not like the rest of the men at all. he’s a lover who puts your well-being before anyone else, including his desires, and passionate when it comes to that decision in times he has you inside his arms, standing naked from head to toe, giving yourself completely to the man you trust the most, you love the most.

his fragile manner doesn’t let him go hard on you even if you want him to do so. afraid of hurting you even a little bit prevents him from becoming rougher and harsh to you. he listens to all your pleases, begging him to fuck you harder, wanting him to believe he can never harm you, yet, he chooses to stay still even when you act so bratty, trying to get into his nerves, making him let it go.

tomas, being a cute shy boyfriend, delicate when the matter is you, stays determined for a long time ‘'til the day you plan everything out and make him lose his gentle manner, causing the loss’s emptiness to be completed with the new one – greed.

the greed he has for you builds up from his deep soul to show itself through his actions after he sees you sitting on the bed, on your knees, the dress you wear is thin and represents the color of tomas’ armor, the delightful body underneath it is visible to his widened eyes, looking innocently yet devilishly to his eyes, smiling widely as you rise your hand for him to hold and get into the bed with you.

who he is to resist? his determination is not that great – and both of you realize it when tomas gets into the bed, a moment later, when his cock meets with your already soaked and prepared pussy after he fingers you, he feels warmness, fire building within his body, making him want to devour you, unlike the times you had before, he’s a bit dizzy now.

he moans your name over and over again, lips curl only to moan, whimper, and beg for more. you let him though, saying he can get what he needs – you say he can use your body for his pleasure, and when he finally admits it feels euphoric to go rough on you, moans coming out of your pretty pink lips like a melody to his ears, encouraging him further.

he grips you from the waist while fucking you; he uses your body as he pleases, moving your body front to back, his thrusts meet with your walls in mid-air, earning rhythmic moans from both of you.

throwing his head back, he decides to hold the bed under your body because he realizes the red marks on your waist due to the grip he has on there. when his hands reach for the mattress, he grips the white covers strongly, hands turn into fists, and those fists hit the bed’s rigid surface – the bed breaks into two the moment he cum carelessly into you after you praise him, call him your good boy.

he swears for the first time, eyes closed shut, his cum meets with yours, forehead connects with your chest as you hug him from the shoulders.

breathing deeply into your breasts, warmness flows from his breaths to your exposed skin, smoke appearing on the curves of his body slowly, and you feel his tears because of both pleasure he has felt and quilt coming from breaking the bed, making your bodies go lower a little bit.

“oh, I’m so sorry, so so sorry, didn’t mean to – I – I just want to prove myself and get lost when you moan my name like that, calling me your good – ohh – boy. ‘m so sorry my goddess, please, forgive me. wanna say it will not repeated but I can’t – it felt so good that I wanna do it again – right now. my love, would you let me do it again? say yes, and I will be a very very good boy for you – only for my goddess.”

what a journey of rut! here's a cake for you because you deserve it after reading this, bearing it with me! 🍰

❤️ tagging: @lookingforgoodthings , @snowprincesa1 [taglist]

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Big Guy Big Belly

König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.

At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 

Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 

He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.

Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.

It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.

See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ‘you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.

Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.

If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.

The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?

But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.

He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.

All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.

[hihomeghere]

Dreams | Arthur Morgan/Reader

Word Count : 1.1k Summary : Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you Warnings/tags : Cursing, fluff, mention of infidelity, just Arthur being a sweet guy <3

He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t be having these thoughts, because all they are just dreams. They’re never going to become a reality. Not when they’re constantly on the move, running from place to place. He sees the way it affects Jack, poor kid, not knowing what the hell is going on. And his daddy doesn’t exactly help him understand. 

He can’t even say he would be a better father, he wasn’t before. 

Hell you two ain’t even married yet, and he’s not that much of a fool. Not anymore. His regret for not marrying Eliza weighs heavily on him most days, even if he didn’t love her in that way. Now you on the other hand, he loves you more than anything. More than this stupid gang, more than life itself. He would happily lay down his life if he knew you would be happy, safe. 

When these thoughts enter his head, he can’t say. His days sort of blend together, making it hard to pinpoint. Although seeing you interact with Jack doesn’t help. 

You are so sweet, so motherly, hell you even mother the younger folks in the gang. Soft touches, kind words, but internally strong. You have all the qualities he finds attractive in a woman. Somehow you fell for him just as hard as he fell for you. 

But he ain’t a fool, he knows this ain’t the right time or place. So instead he writes down all these dreams in his journal, his safe place. The place where he can say anything without being judged. He dreams of little girls, he didn’t know how to interact with Isaac. Too afraid of being his own father. Girls seem less daunting, and a little you would be perfect. He already has one angel, what’s one more?

He comes up with the name while north of Brandywine Drop. The bright purple flowers caught his eye just off the trail.

Violet.

Violet Beatrice Morgan.

His heart sings, scribbling the name down in the margins of his journal. He finds himself writing VM in his journal, smiling foolishly to himself. It’s beautiful, his precious flower. 

It’s not like you meant to snoop. You were looking for Arthur, since he was nowhere to be found. You entered his tent, which in reality wasn’t much of a tent at all, finding his journal open. You walked over to it, looking over the worn page. There were the normal doodles he drew, along with his flowing hand writing. But one thing stood out to you, a pair of initials circled by hearts. VM.

You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t think of anyone you knew with the initials VM. Those definitely weren’t your initials either. 

With your curiosity peaked you flipped through a couple more pages. VM was written everywhere, along with those damn little hearts. 

You felt that little green monster grow inside you the further you looked into his journal. Biting your cheek so hard you could taste blood. It did nothing to quench the fire inside of you. 

“Darlin?” Arthur called walking into the so-called tent. You dropped the journal back onto the table, turning to face him. “There you are.” He grinned walking towards you.

“Here I am.” You said forcing a smile.

“Hosea said you were looking for me.” He said softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "Anything you need?”

“Must have forgot.” You said with a noncommittal shrug, “I ought to get back to work.” You nod walking past him. Arthur furrowed his brow at your attitude. Did he say something to offend you?

Then his eyes fall onto his open journal. His stomach drops at the sight. Jesus, you saw. You saw all of it. You were probably thinking the worst, seeing the initial surrounded by hearts. How was he gonna fix this?

You stomped off to the edge of camp, trying to wrack your brain as to who this VM could be. And why was Arthur drawing hearts beside the initials? Maybe you had this all wrong, Arthur would never do anything to hurt you. He was a good man, a man you could trust. Wasn't he?

“Y/n!” He called trailing behind you, a crestfallen expression on his face. You stopped at the tree lining, biting your lip as you turned to face him. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I-“ He sighed looking down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a low curse. 

“Who is she?” You asked clenching your jaw. He furrowed his brows looking up at you.

“What?” He asked, his hands settling on his hips.

“VM, the girl you keep drawing hearts around. Who is she?” You were blunt, something he loved so much. Always telling it like it is, never leaving him to guess your feelings. A small smile spread on his face, which only made you more mad. “Seriously, you think this is funny?” You hissed, taking a step towards him. Arthur only had one choice, to tell you the truth. 

“Violet.” He said softly, reaching for you. “Violet Morgan.” You let him wrap his hand around your forearm, pulling you close to his chest.

“Who is Violet Morgan?” You asked, swallowing thickly. He sighed, looking off to the side, wetting his lips.

“She’s uh-“ He shook his head, a nervous smile on his lips. “She’s not exactly real, not yet at least.” He said. 

You shook your head, brows knitted together, “Not real? The hell you mean, not real?”

“I-“ He rubbed the back of his neck looking down, “It’s uh- shit.”

“Spit it out Morgan.” You huff throwing your arms up. 

“I thought of a name,” He explained, “A name for a girl if we- if we have one some day.” He said with a shrug, his cheeks flushed, almost as though he had been in a scuffle. 

Oh.

If we have one some day. 

“Oh Arthur.” You said softly, a smile spreading across your face. Feeling suddenly very foolish for doubting your man. “That's so sweet.” You took a step forward, tilting his face up to look at you. 

“Yeah?” He asked, looping his fingers in his gun belt. 

“Yeah.” You repeated, nodding. “Jesus you had me scared you were gonna tell me you found someone else.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Never. There ain’t no one else in this goddamn world that could replace you.” He said his hand reached up to cup your face. “You’re uh- you’re it for me darlin.” His bright blue eyes peered into yours, love and affection pouring out in his expression. 

“When we have our girl.” You said brushing away a stray strand of honey brown hair, “Violet will be a perfect name.” He grinned, wrapping a hand around your waist.

“Guess it’s settled then.” He said as he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

[fumifooms]

I don’t like minimizing the importance and gravity of Laios and Toshiro’s fight into just being a childish squabble, even if to a degree it is framed that way, because to both of them it has a lot of personal significance and emotional weight and runs very deep to their characters… The fight isn’t nothing it’s a LOT, they made up but it’s not something easy to express and to get over for either of them which makes it all the more meaningful! I’m on both sides but there very much are sides, there’s no "they’re both having a ball, Toshiro and Laios hand in hand yay" side to the fight, that comes after

The fight with Toshiro WAS very scary to Laios, almost existentially so, but it’s moreso the "I thought I’d made a friend!!" bit and my god. My god actually

Like it’s not "just" about oh his friend liking him less than he thought, THAT IS SO MUCH. It’s a bond he thought he had being a lie it’s all the time and moments spent together either being a lie from his perspective or marred now looking back. It’s not only being upset at Toshiro for lying but upset at himself that he’s so easy to fool, it’s being upset that there’s something so wrong with you that you can’t even tell if your "close buddy" even actually likes you or not, it’s like. Holding my head. He can’t trust his own vision of events that happened do you see. There’s always this film of distrust that it could be a lie that should be there when he interacts with people there’s always this sense of cloak and dagger to expect backstabs out of nowhere because you CAN’T see it coming you CAN’T you CAN’T there’s something about you which makes it impossible so you CAN’T-

He’s so scared of not being able to read people. He knows it’s a weak spot he has, he’s always known. All of these bits are centered around social expectations and betrayals, the assumption that he doesn’t belong either in society or with other humans.

And Laios’ level of awareness is actually sort of complex to analyze, but it’s there, there’s how out of him and Falin he was the one sensitive to the ~aura of hatred~ he felt from the townspeople, there’s of course his nightmares whispering to him about the mocking looks, and how yeah actually he realizes that his gold stripper coworker was taking advantage of him. There’s of course the Winged Lion speech about his trauma and how he fundamentally mistrusts/dislikes humans to some deep seated degree, this distrust that he still keeps under control always. There’s how pre-canon he often wanted to suggest eating monsters but never worked up the courage to bring it up with the others. There’s how he gets across as stoic when he isn’t being enthusiastic…… We don’t know how aware and wary he is exactly in the moment but we do know he has some anxiety around social stuff, and looking back he does notice and aughh augh, the sense you have to hide yourself to not get hurt and be on your guard and shit and.

When you don’t know what to look out for and when to look out for it, the general ‘common sense’ of not always trusting people or noticing when someone’s messing with you becomes hypervigilance in social settings

"Man they really know what you hate huh". Being socially unaware literally plagues him, he knows, he knows it so well.

It’s so quick that it’s almost hard to digest how literal and blatant Laios summoning his monster to crush all the people who’ve hurt him is. His literal go-to coping mechanism for comfort in his literal monster-induced emotionally intense nightmares, saving him by taking away the upsetting element (the humans)

"Monsters are his coping fantasy, where they can whisk him away from humanity, all the hurt it’s caused him and its arbitrary rules" with the subtlety of a brick. Monsters are his comfort safe zone "because they kill humans" yes but no it’s because he pits them as the guardians against humans who to him are in the role of the agressors. To him they represent freedom from the shackles of what it means to be part of humanity, a fundamentally social species

[nmakii]

I CANT HELP IT! IM SORRY but we know Al dies in his late 30s early 40s so we can assume he at least got to watch his kids grow up into young adults? What happens when Al dies and reader is “set free?” Only to figure out her children aren’t all who they seem to be? I can see reader’s son possibly becoming a corrupt detective/cop and perhaps her daughter gets into fashion or becoming a teacher? Im not sure what Emi’s future might be but im very curious on your thoughts!

UH OH, SHE’S LOSING HER CONTROL!

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!!]

— and when it seemed like there was no more hope, the monster of the house was slain.

and so, 12 years passed by like a breeze. despite being trapped in this hellhole called home, it was all worth it. for the children, all of it was worth it. noah, just 22 and he’s already a fine policeman, keeping the people in line. and the family treasure, emilia— aged 15, and yet a smart little girl. starting her own little farm outside, from cotton to potatoes, and keeping the family afloat. such wonderful kids, it’s a miracle alastor’s manipulations didn’t rub off on them.

1933, times were tough— the stock market crashed, the bank had failed, and everyone was living off of rations. thankfully, radios gained more popularity, and alastor had profited off of it, making sure his little family was fed with a roof over their heads— he seemed to not only enjoy the newfound wealth, but also the suffering in the streets... suitable for a monster such as himself. and while he worked, you and emilia had used the cotton from her farm to create and sell dresses, your own little effort to the community.

still, that didn’t change the hell that was outside your little safe haven. it wasn’t rare for young men to knock on your door, begging for work. and while your heart felt for them, it couldn’t change what alastor had in mind for them. he’d bring them in— down into the basement. and that very night, suddenly there was meat on the table.

you knew what he did, you weren’t an idiot. he gave you that man’s flesh. but, you did what you had to do. for the children, so that they’re well-nourished. and against your better judgement, you followed through, serving what seemed to be a steak. your husband seemed to love your ultimate submissiveness, one way or the other, you’d give into his ways. although it made your stomach churn, the very thought of eating the poor man, it was hard to live during these times, it was what had to be done.

and, it was why you let your children on a hunting trip with him. “little emi’s first trip! you excited, lil’ sis?” noah laughed, patting his sister on the head. “don’t do that, you’ll mess up my hair!” emilia frowned back. alastor laughed at the two as he held you by the waist, “oh, those two!” he mused, looking back to face you. “we’ll be home in time for dinner, my love. i love you so very much!” he smiled, kissing you all over. you hated whenever he did that— when he acted like he’d done nothing wrong, yet you didn’t fight back. what point was there to it? 15 years, and he’s managed to keep you in this house, there was no more use in fighting back.

“okay. just keep them safe, alastor.” you said as he pressed his nose against your’s. he smiled against your lips and laid onto you one final kiss. “don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear. i’ll protect them with my life.”

and, that was the last time you saw him.

when your children came home, they looked frightened. “m..momma…” emilia whimpered. “oh, baby, what’s wrong? where’s dad?” you asked, running towards them to make sure they were safe. “…ma…” noah let out. “dad’s dead…” he said, ashamed to look you in the eye. “he’s… dead..?” you asked, dazed. “momma! i-i didn’t mean to!” your daughter cried, pulling you closer to hug. “you didn’t mean to..? emi, what happened?” you pulled your daughter far away enough to see her teary-eyed face.

“…i shot dad…” she said, hiccuping in-between words. your eyes widened at her words. “d-dad was on his knees in the dirt, so i thought he was a deer ‘n i shot him…” she explained, wiping her tears. “momma, i don’t wanna go to jail.” she cried out. “don’t worry, baby. you won’t go to jail. you didn’t mean to…” you kissed her on the forehead.

standing up properly, you looked your son in the eyes, wet as he tried to hold his tears back. “baby, i need you to show me where dad is, i’ll take care of it.” you said. “y-yeah, ok, momma… i’ll take you there…” he nodded his head. “emi, go prepare dinner while i’m gone. momma will take care of this mess.” you told her as she nodded her head.

when you arrived, alastor’s body was mangled beyond recognition, the only way you knew it was him was by the clothes he wore— it must have been someone’s hunting dogs, that means it’s possible somebody already discovered the body, and is headed to the police station. the only possible reason alastor could have been here and on his knees, as emilia said, must have been to dispose of a body. so, the ground beneath you must have a corpse. only the lord knows how many bodies alastor could’ve hidden here. but then, you had an idea.

but, first, you had to check. you dug the dirt below alastor’s body. and lo and behold, was the corpse of noah’s friend-turned-enemy, kenneth. “d…did dad kill ken..?” noah asked, afraid of the answer. “i suppose he did.” you said, frowning over your own answer. did the years truly turn you as heartless as him..? “now, noah… if you don’t want your sister to be locked away in a correctional facility, you’ll help me. understand?” you asked, speaking for the first time with a strict tone. “y-yes, momma…” he said as he pushed back in about 3 feet of dirt. he helped you lower his father’s mangled corpse into the grave, pushing back the remaining 3 feet of dirt.

“now, dear… i need you to head back to your station and see if any hunters reported a corpse in the forest, okay? and, make sure those police dogs you have sniff this area, so that they can find dad…” you said to him, explaining your plan. “yeah, okay, momma… i don’t want little emi going to jail…” he said. this was wrong, but it was to protect your family. for the children, right? you won’t let alastor ruin the family even in his death. if those cops found out that emilia killed alastor, they’d try to punish her for all of his crimes as well.

and with that, you returned home. and when noah came back, he returned triumphant. “they bought it, momma. don’t you worry, emi. no cops are gonna take you away. if they try, i’ll kill ‘em” he assured her, hugging his little sister as the weight on her shoulders fell.

this is good, right? even though it resulted in alastor’s death, all three of you are free from his manipulations. and, yes, you framed an innocent hunter— but, it was to protect the family. after all, you raised such wonderful kids, they don’t deserve to go to jail. they’re so kind, they’d dirty their hands for each other. and… that’s a good thing, isn’t it? they’re loyal to their family.

but then, the guilt finally started to settle in.

and it weighed on your shoulders when they finally lowered alastor’s casket into the ground.

1891 — 1933

loving husband and father

he will be missed by all who knew him

the monster was finally gone.

[opal-kitty333]

So, I like Horror Sans, and being a nerd, I've been thinking about him a lot during my recovery with brain damage. A lot of people treat his wounds like brain damage, giving him memory problems, chronic headaches/migraines, speaking difficulties, fugue states, just issues collecting his thoughts. All understandable and reasonable symptoms, but there's something about just what truly horrific, completely life altering, brain damage to such an extent can do to a person that hasn't been explored very much. Yes, he doesn’t technically have a brain, but considering someone with head trauma like him would be in a comatose like start for weeks to a month, we can choke up him taking that hit like he did and being able to walk and talk to that. Plus, we can take inspiration from real injury and science and have wiggle room for it to not be 100% accurate. Anyway-

This is Phineas Gage.

It is one of the earliest extreme cases of brain damage where the patient survived while psychology as a scientific practice was getting on it's feet. If you've taken a psychology class, you've heard of him. He was a railroad worker foreman who had a rod blown through his skull in an accident, destroy most of his frontal lobe.

If you don’t know what the frontal lobe is it's where your ability to reason and make decisions, the ability to control your muscles voluntarily, and your ability to process knew information and recall old information. It's well known for being the part of your brain that inputs logic, the part gives you the ability to remember what happened last time you picked a fight with someone, so instead you choose to walk away despite how much your want to punch them for being a prick.

As I stated before, this man was a foreman, well known for keeping a level head, being responsible, and hard working. After the injury, that completely changed. Everyone agreed he was barely recognizable as himself. He was impulsive, prone to extreme mood swings, impatient, making massive plans only to almost immediately abandon them, and generally seemed to have no control over his desires or ability to distinguish between a want or a need.

Now, let's look at Horror.

I'd say it's safe to say his frontal lobe but also part of his parietal lobe would be utterly fucked. Your parietal lobe controls your ability to process sensory information (mostly touch) and to understand not only where you and your body is, but to process the world around you. You see a massive enough tent, some clowns running around, the right music, and your parietal lobe is what does the work to label that as a circus.

To have these two structures damaged, or the closest equivalent in a monster, would radically alter Sans' personality, his ability to move, his understanding of the context around him, and connect with others.

He'd become rather self centered on his own desires and beliefs, struggling to even have the patients let alone the want to give other people the time of day. His actions would be impulsive, made on his emotions in the present moment and with little concerns other than the immediate consequences. He'd be prone to loud outbursts, not just rage, but any other emotions like sadness or glee with little ability to realize how he's acting may be overblown or inappropriate. Not only could his ability to put his thoughts into words be a struggle, but his ability to say those words could be affected as well. He'd be very present focused, with pass relations or responsibility mattering little as he keeps marching to the beat of his own drum.

That is, if he could march. He'd not only struggle to know where his limbs are or what he's touching, but his sense of balance would be awful. He'd likely have a constant wobble, having to go slowly and potentially hold onto or lean on things if he wanted to move quickly. God forbid how much he'd bump into furniture or trip and struggle actually grab onto something to catch himself. It's entirely possible he'd have difficulty reading and writing or confusing his left and right regularly. He'd need more time to process a situation and could very easily misidentify what's actually going on could likely lead to him acting even more unpredictable as the world around him is so much more dangerous and he's struggling to fully understand what everyone is doing and trying to keep two steps ahead of everyone around him.

But here's the thing. The brain is also incredibly adaptable in ways your wouldn't believe. Phineas Gage slowly recovered over time. He died twelve years after the incident from epilepsy but over time he slowly regaining his social skills and general functionality. He picked up a job as a stage coach four years after the indecent even. He was never quite the same person he was before, but he wasn't doomed to be what he first was after the indecent.

Imagine what this kind of thing could mean for Sans. Not only would the betrayal cut deep enough and the world falling apart put him through trauma that would shred the soul, but people he trust literally damaged his ability to think logically and control his impulses. Of course he's going to lash out, focus on doing anything he can to survive with little respect for what anyone else thinks. Even forcing his brother to do things and refusing to listen to him unless given no other option. All while he thinks the biggest problems after the indecent is how much his head hurts, how his memory is shot, that it's harder or even down right painful to think, and how he's struggling to cling to his independence while never having the patience or resources to give himself the ability to heal. He doesn't even realize how much he's changed. If you point it out Sans would likely get defensive and aggressive, or brush it off as everyone underground being awful people out to eat each other alive.

But then he gets out to the surface. He gets stable food, a safe place to live. His brother is recovering and as the years pass his mind can finally start pulling itself together and healing, finally. Sans begins to regain his ability to think critically on his own actions and others, his emotional outburst and vindictive behavior start to wind down and fade. He's able to think and start sifting through all the shit he remembers.

The guilt of what he did, the people he hurt for no reason other than pettiness. The stupid decisions he made that hurt himself and/or Papyrus in the long run. All the hindsight he has now. Imagine how much he would bury those memories and thoughts. Justifying everything he could and insisting he had reasons, or that it's just how it was and that everyone was as awful and cruel he was. Or just accepting that what Undyne had done to him and the famine after had ruined him, broken and rotted all the good he had and left him vile and malicious. That he'll never have a chance to truly be who he was before.

[lucywritesagain]

All of the stories will be updated soon with links

Last updated: August 8th 2024 Navigation

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Loki’s first Christmas

Creating a family: You and Loki are trying to have a baby, but it’s harder than it seems.

Ordinary Life for an Ordinary Prince : As a former prince of Asgard it is hard for Loki to adjust to his new lifestyle which consists of working and being tired all the time. Thankfully, you are there to make things better.

Forever?: You and Loki have been together for two years. Are you willing to make it forever?

Kintsugi: Every scar has a story, but does it mean you should hate them?

Exquisite: When your insecurities show up Loki is there to remind you of your beauty

Please forgive me:Loki wants to keep you safe but you don’t like their methods

Welcome to Asgard: You visit Asgard and meet Frigga who quickly notices the way Loki looks at you

True colors: As a healer your job was to take care of the staff in the palace but when the younger prince comes to you in the middle of the night a secret is revealed and bad choices are made.

Best friends fur-ever: Loki brings home a tiny cat who quickly steals both of your hearts

Jackie and Wilson: Loki used to hate Midgardians but something changed when he met you

Silent love confessions: Loki says something they didn’t mean for you to hear.

Ace of hearts:  Loki invited you to her apartment to celebrate the day of love, hoping to take your relationship to the next level but your date went in a different direction.

Querencia:  After months of hard work you have finally achieved what you dreamed of. Loki is happy because of your success but how do you explain a god that you don’t quite share the enthusiasm?

The only one that matters: It’s a party at the tower and Loki can’t help but to feel insecure about your relatiomship with them.

New year, new love: Your boyfriend left you for another woman but Loki is there to pick up the broken pieces. During that time your crush on the god becomes something more but your own insecurities won’t let you make the first move.

While I breathe, I hope: You were sent on a mission with Loki as your partner but things didn’t go as planned.

Battlescars: Loki knocks on your door, bringing with him a sense of urgency. Something has gone wrong. What is it? How do you handle it? Is Loki coming to you first, or are you the last resort.

The beginning of something great: You and Loki celebrate the god’s birthday and you have a very important question to ask them

A lesson in ice skating:  We have read so many times about Loki teaching the Reader how to ice skate but what if this time it’t the god of mischief himself needs help. In other words you take Loki ice skating and it resolves in, well, you will need to read it to find out <insert wink face>

Halloween: Loki agreed to go trick or treating with Peter and finally starts to believe he deserves to be called a hero

Broken mirrors: During one of his depressive episodes Loki wonders if someone like him would ever be worthy of you. Will your love be enough to keep him alive?

My Silly Midgardian:  Loki’s friend/crush has the flu. Loki having no knowledge  about midgardian diseases panics and tries his best to make her feel better.

Sunflower: Loki couldn’t understand what was so spacial about sunflowers. Why you found them so beautiful and magestic. After all it was just a plant, wasn’t it?

The one with the pillow fort and lovestruck God:  You and Loki decided to build a pillow fort

Could a human love a monster :  Loki is again in a spirale of negative thoughts but can your feeling for him change the way he sees himself

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Coffee scented love: After a long day at work you come home to your favourite trickster

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[dairy-farmer]

Another stalker/civilian Au~!

Its an Au where Bruce get thrown into some multi-verse adventure with a few other Batmen, not long into his grief spiral? And between Climactic Battles(tm) they try to tell him to be... less harsh, on his Tim? Because they know he is them. He won't listen if they say Be Nice. He's raging and full of grief.

And he's like? Tim? Timothy Drake. The neighbors child who should be in Morocco, THAT Tim?

Yep. He becomes your next Robin. They ALL tell him. Because *various explanations basicly boiling down too "you publicly lose your shit in grief"*. And? Bruce has time to work through his immediate, VIOLENT denial? While on that adventure?

Comes back having reached a stage of "Absolutely Not. No More Robins." Not because it's TIM, but because he refuses to lose another kid? But ALSO? He's now Hyper Aware of this kid?

That's HIS kid.

He has to PROTECT that kid from trying to become Robin. From trying to join the Caped lifestyle. So he, now that he's no longer risking just destroying just HIMSELF, drags himself together. Painfully, slowly, and with help, but he does it. Is he okay? Not remotely. But he slowly gets functioning again.

Twitchs everytime Tim looks too hard in his direction. Seems too concerned.

He carefully manipulates Tim's school to offer better and better distractions. Opportunities for growth and too entice. Photography, engineering, languages, skating, game creation. Anything.

He monitors Tim too and from school. Stops purse snatching and petty crimes far before Tim ever sees them. Makes SURE there will never be any call to action for his boy. No great tragedy.

Then, of course, the universe (as it tends too) spits on his efforts in mockery. Tim's parent are kidnapped, killed, by a madman. He is orphaned, like Bruce was. Left with too much wealth and few to protect him from those who would take it. It's like looking into a mirror of the past.

He steps up.

His lawyers vicious, the will, a forgery they'll never be able to prove is fake. They KNOW it is. Because they destroyed the original. However, his fake is better then theirs. His lawyers far more bloodthirsty. He sees most of the Drake Industries board in jail by the end of the month.

But... Timothy Drake is not his son. He's his foster child.

One who avoids him.

Who chokes on the secrets he KNOWS, but doesn't know, Bruce knows he knows. Who mourns his parents. Who's trying to hold on to the shreds of his life. Bruce watches him through the Manor cameras and obsesses. So small. So sad. They have both lost so much.

It is almost... perverse, the weight that lifts from Bruce's shoulders, when he drags his weary body back to the cave each night. After brutal patrols and the untold horrors man visits upon man. And he can just? Flip on the cameras. Find Tim. Curled warm and soft, safe and alive, in his bed. Playing some game, later then he should, as young men do. Sneaking a snack.

The living representation of what he's fighting for.

But Dick comes back, raging through and misunderstanding. Thinks Tim is Robin. Lashes out. The shouting echoes. By the time everything is cleared up, Tim has already quietly found himself a boarding school abroad. Dick is devastated. Feels like a monster. Bruce wants to refuse. But whispers of another break out on TOP of League of Assassins agents being spotted lurking around?

He hates it, but agrees.

It's a miserable slog of time after that. Report cards and updates the only highlights. A crime lord that turns out to be his dead son appears. A BIOLOGICAL Son that hounds him to be Robin appears. Eventually Tim returns. Technically, aged out of the foster system.

As though Bruce would ever let go so easily.

He welcomes him home at the airport. His boy, grown into his slender frame and delicate features. Wants to drive him to the Manor but drives him to the upper class apartment Tim has bought himself instead.

Adjusts his patrol routes mentally.

Learns, through his planted cameras, that Tim's schoolmates have been a TERRIBLE influence. Casual nudity, sprawling hedonistic nights of take-out and wine, and most concerning? Mentions of "hook ups" he will be missing, over the phone. Bruce is appalled. How did he MISS this?

Sure, Tim cleans up well. Presents himself as reserved if flirtatious in the boardroom. Is now working to seize control of his birthright. But... but...!

Bruce is conflicted. But can not tear his eyes away, as he reviews the surveillance from the Welcome Home gala he threw for Tim. Was it coincidence? Or intentional. That every "hot young thing", as it were, that Tim pulled into a side room to fuck him throughout the night. Was the civilian identity of a Cape?

Bruce, as he tends to, gets obsessed. Watches as Tim is fucked by hooks and lovers alike. As he pleasures himself in his home, works in his office, commutes to and from work.

Maybe it gets weird. Because of course it does. Maybe Damian volunteers, after noticing his Father's obsession, in hopes of gaining som of that attention for himself. Seduces Drake. Finds they have a lot in common. Fucks him knowing his Father is watching. Realizes he is IN to that. That he enjoys the murmured commands of his Father in his ear, telling him how best to earn his approval.

Maybe it's just Bruce. Who finally shows up as Batman. And they pretend. That Tim doesn't know. That Bruce doesn't know he knows. And Bruce rocks his world.

However it ends? Tim is a kept man. Batmans secret civilian lover. And he gets WEIRD about it~☆

-🐼🐼🐼

it would be just like bruce to get weird over it especially since, whether he realized it or not, he's formed a pretty severe complex over tim 😩😩😩

[candyskiez]

so important to me that ritsu is the weakest natural psychic we see outside of the awakening lab. that whether by inexperience or simply not having as much raw power (solid evidence for both but i like him not having raw power), he simply doesn’t have the same strength that the others in the main cast have! and that it’s enough, because he wanted psychic powers so he wouldn’t be afraid of ???%, and then realizes he doesn’t have to be. even at full strength, he’s not strong enough to stand against shigeo for more than a moment, but it DOESNT MATTER. bc he has enough to help people. to protect the body improvement club from getting hurt. enough to use his wits and the power he can use to hold his own, and keep up with the likes of shou and teru through his resourcefulness. how the talents he cared so little about turned into something he could be proud of! and how he did all that with basically just telekinesis and barriers, none of teru’s cool techniques or mob’s raw power! and how despite being outclassed on paper, ritsu can hold his own against serious threats! catch shou’s attention! and most importantly of all, he can help his big brother!

(sorry. sucker for characters with relatively little raw power who make up for it in other ways)

POINTS AT THIS!!!! POINTS AT THIS SO HARD!!!!

Ritsu thought for so long that the only way he could be safe was to be more dangerous than his brother. All his worth was on his physical strength as a literal trauma response, because in his mind that was the only way to be safe. But once he finds his safety he can actually exit survival mode and care about other things. Him being a weaker esper does not make him a Lesser one. Yk. Physical strength ≠ worth. People are not defined by their talents. Y'know how you talked about how for so long he was defined solely by his achievements and being normal (the lack of what he wanted, of having psychic powers), and even once he finally got powers they weren't like Mob. How much he judged the awakening lab kids for not being as strong as Mob. How much he judged himself for not being as strong as Mob. Thinking about how he tried to self destruct to make himself stronger. How people will do that with sacrificing their mental health to advance in school or work so much, that probably carried over from how he became such a good student to how he viewed training at All. How he awakened his powers from feeling horrible about himself but gained CONTROL over them by being honest with himself and letting himself feel. By being able to see the good in himself and Mob. By admitting what it is. It was trauma. They weren't monsters. They weren't enemies. They were just traumatized as fuck. And this scary part of Mob wasn't actually just something scary. This was just trauma and fucked up emotions. It wasn't about becoming stronger it was about FINALLY stopping trying to be like his brother. He stops trying to be Dangerous, he stops being a doormat, he doesn't sit still and let ???% "hurt" (I really don't believe ???% was going to hurt him, at least not on purpose, he might've accidentally hurt him though with how bad his powers were going haywire, yikes) him to snap him out of it, he takes control over his own life. He wanted agency so so bad for so long and how he gets it isn't by becoming dangerous or becoming like Mob, it's by finally reflecting on the source of all his anger and pain and feelings of helplessness and letting himself SEE his brother and do you HEAR ME. He tried to get agency with physical strength but strength wasn't what would fix the problem!!! Do you GET ME. This is so scattered sorry. I barely slept last night. But like. Do you get me.

[smallnico]

when you made the comic about wyll saying that thing about orin i liked that the him inside his thought bubble didnt have the post-transformation horns and eye. a thoughtful little touch, it made me contemplate the ghost of his character arc (sorry if this is rude to the developers its just how i feel.) i also thought the comic was good overall. thanks ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

AUH NO THANK YOU <333

yeah i'm so glad people noticed and enjoyed that detail!! i love wyll so dearly and i also (with love to larian for everything they Did do) think he suffered a bit from the last-ish minute changes they made to his character. they were necessary changes, and they made him who he is today, but he didn't get as much thorough and layered development as some of the other companions did. he and karlach are both in this camp lmao, and i believe for the same reason. they didn't become who they are until pretty late in the development process, unlike someone like astarion, who's been himself since very early on.

all this to say, i love wyll and i am determined to explore what is there as best as i can, and i fucking love taking little details and pulling them out. wyll is a confident person who outwardly states that 'self-doubt' is one of the most dangerous monsters a person could fight, and he tends to double down on his confident persona every time something happens to rattle that confidence. moments like the tiefling party illustrate this for me very clearly -- if you wander around with him in the emerald grove post-devilification, a lot of key npcs will say to the effect of "wyll, what in the fuck happened to you", or react with fear and uncertainty. they're willing to accept it given any amount of time and thought, but there's not nothing to his worry that people see him as a monster, and of course, he's already been through the trauma of that same snap judgement by his father, so. he puts on a brave face and keeps his distance from the people he fears he makes uncomfortable, because what else are you going to do? enforce your own uncertain presence in front of regular, good people who are just... trying to live their lives? having a good time at a party? they don't want to be scared. you've been working your whole life to try and keep people like them safe so they don't have to feel scared or unsafe. you are getting in the way. this isn't for you. you aren't welcome here. it does no good to argue that point when you could just keep your chin up and leave.

of course, that's sad as hell, are you fucking kidding me? wyll deserves better than that, but he won't accept better because he's not the type to ask for grace or patience from others, and he's from a background where he's not confident he will receive it -- his father's grace is one thing, but think for a second about how he talks about ulder ravengard's personal history as well: ravengard sr. is the son of a tradesman serving a role meant for patriars. i don't doubt that all that comes with its own baggage and passed-down high standards. as soon as ravengard sr. let his guard down, you know a flock of upper-class baldurians was just waiting to tear him apart for it, because you see them do the same thing to gortash even though he's literally mind-controlling several of them. i don't doubt that ulder ravengard instilled in wyll a driving need to not only be better than other men, surer than other men, more dependable, reliable, with more sterling integrity than other men at all costs, remember the words of balduran, memorize the values of the city, love baldur's gate more than other men, be ready to face them and prove these things to them at all times because they are always testing you. it's hard to have the most demanded of you at all times, and it can create the kind of man wyll is: a man who sees self-doubt and hesitation as a monster, worse than a mind flayer or a devil. and he knows from experience (again, from ulder ravengard himself) that flagging for a second, not being able to explain yourself sufficiently to the people around you, is enough to get you cast out and shunned forever.

but it's not possible for a human being to live like that. they're impossible standards for a reason. wyll has a flawless facade of confidence, but he's not immune to self-doubt and angst under the surface, and this comes out when you play as him or investigate some of the details he drops in a regular tav/durge playthrough, and his devil transformation really does shake his confidence. look:

all of a sudden he's using 'i guess' and 'maybe' and 'could' and 'i might', more uncertain language, to say nothing of what he's actually saying. he's been put in a position where he thinks people will never see the wyll underneath again unless he asks it of them, something he has been conditioned to never expect people to do -- if you have to ask, you're not projecting a solid enough image of confidence and skill and good leadership. then there's the sheer body horror and dysmorphia of minding your own business and one day your boss physically transforms you into a monster forever. wyll is trying so hard at any given moment to not let it bother him, but it so clearly does, and it would bother anyone -- but wyll ravengard is supposed to be better than anyone, better than a normal man. he lives inside stories of heroes and hyperbolic idioms, Things One Says about Heroes, because he's never been allowed to be a normal man. he had to sneak out of the house to play hopscotch with lower city kids. to me that says everything. he has been taught to lead an idealized existence free of doubt, but that just means he's gotten very good at hiding his doubts and anxieties, his inconsistencies, his human error. he has so much trouble facing the fact that he also experiences internal conflict, just like anyone.

he spares karlach because she's an innocent, because it's the right thing to do, but he struggles with making that decision because he knows it's going to hurt him, and he refuses for a long time to admit that to himself, much less anyone else, because it makes him feel lesser. it makes him feel like the worst person on the planet to admit that he was afraid for his own life, essentially staring down the barrel of a gun to say no to mizora when faced with an innocent in need of protection, even though he wouldn't dream of even making a good person mildly uncomfortable for two minutes while they get used to the way he looks.

part of my vision for wyll's development is just, him getting a little bolder with the things he says, because we all know he says some out of pocket shit for no reason, and part of why that is so funny to me is because he says those things with all the confidence of a train barrelling forward, because of course he does, he's wyll ravengard, he has to be everything to everyone, he can't do something as human as cringe or twitch an eye and go 'ah. nope, that's not what i meant' when he blurts out something thoughtless, or something that sounded better in his head. i like the idea of turning into a monster being the thing that eventually makes him more comfortable with being human. part of letting your guard down around your friends is saying stuff you think they'd get a kick out of even if it doesn't fit the perfect image of the hero you're trying to be, or saying something that comes out wrong and letting yourself cringe when it wasn't received the way you wanted it to be. letting yourself let go of the idealized version of yourself and trusting your friends enough to know that they won't think less of you for it, because they still know you would rather die than let an innocent person get hurt, even if you do feel scared for yourself in the process.

tl;dr yeah i like to depict wyll slightly awkward and nervous. let the man be a human being and vulnerable for god's sakes he's been through enough. i love him

[rosesradio]

would you write a Jason Percy pov, that is if Jason was at chb from the beginning?

sure i'll talk about this :-)

so this is a scenario in which jason is not abandoned at the wolf house, but thalia would still run away, taking him with her. they would still meet luke, then annabeth. (realizing now that if this was canon, the retconning of the ages would be more obvious, because jason's like 2 & annabeth's like 7, but whatever it's fine. i guess we can just simplify things & say that jason's 6, a year younger than annabeth & percy the way he is in HoO). (don't talk to me about character ages i have a headache already lmaoo)

i'd be curious to see if jason being there impacts luke's arc at all. of course, you still have the May Castellan Episodes of Cursed Fate of it all that prompted luke to run away in the first place, but still. having jason there would make things harder—another child means another hungry mouth to feed. plus, luke is already parentified enough (thalia is too ofc) with annabeth. still, he can't help but feel the need to look after jason. he looks like a luke mini-me, and watching him & annabeth play together in the lull between monster attacks & life on the run warms his heart in a way. it gives him purpose.

that being said, would luke still become bitter and pick fights on the way to camp? perhaps it's inevitable...or perhaps jason becomes injured, they lag behind, and thalia faces the same fate. luke can't be mad at the kid, even if he holds a bit of resentment, so he turns towards (or away from) the gods to blame. something something you can't turn away from prophecies something something

& then ofc you have jason at camp, mourning his sister & training in her honor. he's still wolf-like, too—it seems inherent for roman demigods, regardless of if they end up at the wolf house. in fits of anger he tears into training dummies with hands & teeth, insistent he can do the same to monsters (he can, in due time). he longs to prove himself, to prove his sister's sacrifice was worth it to get him to camp safely.

zeus, in an effort to dismiss things per usual, doesn't claim him. it's jupiter's problem, after all. luke tries to argue in favor of jason going to the zeus cabin, though chiron is unsure. a god siring two demigod children with the same mortal parent is rare. in fact, it's more common to have two kids have the same mortal parent, but two different godly parents. chiron wants to wait and see what the gods will do, and the gods do nothing.

that is, until around when jason turns 11. zeus's lightning bolt is stolen, & he's desperate. he claims jason, urging him to find the theif...and pointing his blame towards percy.

thus the greatest enemies to lovers storyline of all time is born. or whatever

of course, there's a part of jason that's hard-wired, roman-wired despite his upbringing (nature vs nurture) to tear into percy like a wolf.

this is not the way of things at camp.

percy must be given a quest, a chance to prove himself, & jason & annabeth must go with him as personal witnesses to his innocence (grover gets to have a lovely vacation). despite a lot of butting heads, it's on this quest that jason realizes that percy actually is innocent (he is truly, deeply clueless about how the whole Being a Demigod thing works). he realizes that percy's not that bad of a guy. he's loyal to his quest mates to a fault, willing to sacrifice himself for them even if they hate each other.

& then they meet the deadline. & they go back to camp. & jason starts thinking a lot about how loyal he was to zeus at the drop of a hat, when he didn't even claim him until he needed him.

& then luke betrays the camp. he beytrays percy. but he's luke, the guy who took care of him since he was six years old. the guy who continued to take care of him even after thalia didn't make it.

maybe he has a point about the gods.

but maybe percy, in his goodness, in his bravery & honesty, has a point to remain loyal to the camp.

so which side is jason to choose?

[meoproject]

Beriith's aging! For fun. And loredump I guess.

I kept the exact years vague because I keep going back on how old Beriith is/how long-lived his race is... I can't really make up my mind, so any definite number I've ever given as his age needs to be taken with a grain of salt because it's probably not relevant anymore. I know the Goet (Beriith's species) are longer lived than say, elves, but I haven't really decided how long-lived exactly, I don't want any humanoid species in setting to have average age over 500 even if this is a fantasy setting... and uhh I haven't really decided how they'd age anyway (though as a reminder, all the loner lived species in this setting age like humans until young adulthood for my convenience, so I can say "5 yr old Beriith" and he would actually be comparable to a five-year-old human child). All I know I want Beriith to be a dilf for a while still because to me... that is peak.

Also I'm planning on making one for Val too. She's probably going to have 1 or 2 less "age stages" because she's younger, but there's still a lot I wanna talk about when it comes to her past, so!

Anyway. Sorry this is long.

CHILDHOOD: Beriith is an only child. Even as a young child, he is serious and stubborn. His parents are two craftsmen/artists: his father does pottery and other assorted clayware, while his mother creates jewelry. They have a small shop and workspace attached to the house they live in, and also travel to fairs and markets to sell their wares. They hope that their child will grow up to take interest in either of their crafts and continue the family business in some form. As a young child, Beriith does not care about pottery or jewelry, even if his parents try to encourage him.

When he is about seven or eight years old, his family is part of a traveling caravan, enroute to a more distant marketplace, and they get attacked by a monster. A traveling warrior happens to be nearby, and single-handedly kills the monster, saving the lives of many. Beriith sees the whole fight and knows instantly what he wants from life. 

TEENAGER: Beriith's parents are against him training to become a swordsman. They love their son but don't understand why he'd rather do that than focus on art or creativity. A family friend convinces them to let Beriith become a local retired guardsman apprentice: the friend reasons that the boy will either become fed up with the hard physical work required and come back, or he excels, and Beriith's parents wouldn't be able to keep him home anyway, not long term. So, eventually, they relent and let Beriith go.

Under the guidance of an experienced warrior, Beriith indeed excels at his training. In his late teens, Beriith enlists into a local chapter of road guardsmen. While this sounds boring to the uninitiated, road guards are in charge of making sure the roads are safe to travel on... so they mostly fight and hunt monsters that get too close to roads or towns. His parents are sad to see him leave his hometown, and while he occasionally writes to them, he becomes distant from his parents almost by accident.

As a teenager Beriith hits a growth spurt before filling in, as some teenagers do, and there are awkward few summers where he is almost a full head taller than most other people he knows, while still a gangly teenager. I'll also take him until young adulthood, until his horns are fully grown. During this stage he hasn't fully internalized the size of his horns either, and awkwardly knocking into things with his horns is a sad but funny reality.

YOUNG ADULT: Beriith's young adulthood is good. He makes through the ranks fast, and is a reliable, loyal worker who is willing to push himself and also inspire others around him to try their best as well. He is skilled on the field, able to make split-second decisions on the fly, he is strong and dangerous. He is still serious and has a dry and sarcastic sense of humor, but during this time he has close friends and is generally well-liked by his peers. He starts a serious relationship with a woman named Paimona, who matches his energy well, and people around them think they will get married in the future and start a family. He continues to be distant from his parents (who have taken an apprentice) but he occasionally visits and writes to them still.

But things don't stay good forever. Gradually, as Beriith becomes older, he starts to take his work too seriously. He takes on more responsibilities; he's on the field as often as he can, and when he isn't, he does paperwork and administrative work. Or he's training. Or planning. Eventually, his friends get tired of being rejected, and largely leave Beriith to his own devices. His relationship with Pima suffers as well, and eventually Beriith breaks off their relationship over conflicting interests -- she wants a family and children, he wants to work and no children.

Having distanced most of his friends, Beriith focuses solely on work. He might've been heading towards a burnout, and perhaps his life would've turned around if he truly had experienced and gotten over it; maybe he would've healed and learned the importance of having friends and family around him. This never happens. Because a civil war breaks out, derailing everything.

ADULT: The monarchist faction of the Goet wants to reinstate the royal line that was dethroned several generations ago. This sparks a bloody civil war between the monarchists and people's union (an anti-monarchist faction who do not want to return to the days of royalty ruling over) that will take somewhat long time to resolve. Beriith serves on the people's union's side -- most of his peers share his values, and fight on the same side. But some do become monarchists, and Beriith must fight - and kill - several of them during the war.

The war keeps Beriith busy. It's not non-stop action, there are times when the civil war goes somewhat cold, or at least cooler, and there are moments of normalcy even during it. Beriith starts another serious relationship, with a woman named Vapula, who is a soldier like he is. She gets killed in combat later in the war, after making a rash decision, and Beriith develops horrible guilt over her death. Eventually, the people's union's forces the monarchist faction to back down. The monarchist's leadership is forced into exile, and a painful and slow rebuilding of the country begins. Beriith hopes to return to his pre-war work, but for a while he works as a manual laborer, helping to rebuild infrastructure.

At some point, he visits his parents, their hometown having survived the war relatively untouched. At this point they've basically adopted the apprentice they took, and he is more like the is the son they wanted, rather than Beriith, the son they had, but never really understood. The meeting is awkward. His parents have planned to give their business to their apprentice, and Beriith feels more like an outsider than anything. Beriith leaves feeling awkward, and while he doesn't know it, this is the last time he'll ever see or talk to his parents.

Beriith never gets to properly get back to his work, because not too soon after the civil war ends, the neighboring nation of the pseudomonarchia invade.

OLDER ADULT: The Pseudomonarchia invasion is worse than the civil war was. The exiled monarchist leadership collaborates with the invading force, giving them access to some intel and insider information. The Goet forces are scattered and unprepared, still recovering from the civil war. The Pseudomonarchia take over lands, but are willing to let the Goet stay, if they agree to become underclass. Some stay, but most choose to fight back and, eventually as the war becomes hopeless, flee. Beriith works in more organized military efforts, but also occasionally splinters off to work alone, utilizing his experience with the terrain and nature to guide refugee groups.

At some point during the war, Beriith is taken to a POW camp (pictured) where he spends about six months until a revolt lets him and several others escape. The camp isn't the worst it could be, but there is forced labor (it's re-education through labor kind of a camp) and while they actually get fed, it's not enough to let Beriith keep his bulk, so he actually loses muscle mass during this time, and this is pretty much the low point of his life.  Even after escaping, he is particularly unhinged, and spends the tail end of the war being dangerous, unpredictable and on so many uppers to keep himself upright.

Eventually, the Pseudomonarchia take over most of the Goet lands. The survivors either move to refugee settlements in nearby friendly areas, or are pushed to small territories unclaimed by the Pseudomonarchia. Most people alive during this time have lost friends and family, and there is currently little hope of any attempts at reclaiming land. The survivors start building new communities in areas they have settled in.

CURRENT: Beriith as he is in "current" time. After the war ended (though there are still occasional conflicts around the "new" border, so ended is perhaps a wrong word), Beriith lives in a community near the Northern Gnomish border. He has a house there but spends little time there. Suffering from an intense survivor's guilt he finds it hard to stay with his kin, and so he decides to become a traveling swordsman, working mainly as a bodyguard around the [name pending, but basically fantasy europe]. He has undiagnosed PTSD from his experiences, and he manages however he can (often not well).

Then, suddenly, one time when he is actually visiting his own home, he gets magically whisked away by a summoning ritual gone wrong and finds himself bound to the service of a certain mage...

[vitanithepure]

I'm getting back into the groove with my writing after a short period of totally forgetting how to form coherent words, and my mind instantly went to my BG3 comfort pairing. That being Gale/Astarion, or bloodweave if you prefer, if anyone reading this is new to my tiny space on tumblr.

And I remember seeing people wonder why choose this ship when it's obviously "not gonna work". Usually in unposted anons I got, and usually in a very much more passive-aggressive tone, but whatever. It just got me wondering why do I like them together so much? Because I just saw them and went "yeah, that's it, they fit" without considering why.

Because yeah, I agree, that at first glance it's a weird pair to ship. They have those surface level differences:

streetsmarts vs booksmarts

improviser vs planner

flirty vs seeking connection

indifferent vs caring

(wanted to say extrovert vs introvert but that was just Astarion fooling me, yet again, into believing he really is as outgoing as he leads on. Sneaky vampire.)

But the beauty of BG3 characters lies in their complexity, and in that one doesn't need to dig that deep to find similarities that amazingly make each of them…shippable with each other. The themes they got going on in their personal stories just reflect each other so well done.

So we have those two men, both servants to beings indefinitely more powerful than them. One unwilling, the other quite the opposite, but both deeply mistreated. Both carry their shares of scars, both physical and not.

They both seek power because of this, and no other origin companions share this trait with them. They want it to gain freedom and regain agency in their lives. And this is what I love the most about this pairing - that quest for power can lead to so many different outcomes and I am inspired by all of them. I can't name my favorite, because there is beauty to be found in each. Even if it's fleeting, giving way to tragedy down the line. I enjoy a good dose of that angst as well, not gonna lie.

They can both forgo their quest for power completely, find what they are looking for in each other. Astarion will always be safe with Gale, and Gale will find that lifetime commitment he craves so much with Astarion. And imagine how hard Gale will look for a way for his lover to enjoy the sun again? To what lengths he would go to for this alone? And how Astarion would be not letting his beloved wizard to hurt himself in the process? But at the same time, being right next to him, believing in him? In them?

Or they could go batshit crazy with power and it's fine, too. They become powerful together. True, it requires a bit of headcanoning here, but since when did this stop ships from happening? It also is true that one becomes a monster, the other indifferent with time, but the years they spend together? The wild devotion they will have for each other? The burning passion that you never know if it will consume them or just explode and burn out?

And there are a few dynamics in between! What if Astarion ascends, but Gale doesn't? What if it's the other way around? What if one regrets their decision? And I love exploring this, and I'll always root for the dorky wizard who has so much love to give to this stray vampire spawn that has enough holes in his soul to let it sip in, slowly but steadily.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One point Five.

pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C 

word count: 12K 

chapter summary: Din and Marathel both struggle with the truth, Marathel tells a story about an old friend, and Din goes clothes shopping. 

warnings:  ALL THE ANGST, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse and SA, mention of murder and infanticide, mention of child SA, self-harm, mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***    

You Were Marked: Masterlist  

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Marathel felt completely incapable of speech.  A Captain stood before her, and she was convinced that he was there take her away, that there was another Hold somewhere out there like her old Hold, with another Hunter and another Duke and another Bishop, and there was no way in Frith she would ever go back into a Hold to become a Diwhyn and be beaten for existing and kicked for being female and her hair pulled out for not obeying whatever a male desired to inflict upon her, and she wanted to scream no  but the only noise she could make was a gurgling sound in her throat as she pulled on Din’s arm. 

Din could feel the pull of her hand, the tremble of her arm, could practically smell the fear radiating from her, and he turned towards her, wondering if she was going to fight, flee, or freeze.  He carefully gripped her hand on his arm, wrapping his fingers around the heel of her thumb, which he hoped would prevent her from slipping away.  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa,” he said softly.  Her eyes, with pupils dilated to nearly the size of her irises, flicked to his visor.  “Don’t be afraid,” said Din, in a tone he would use with Grogu.  “It will be all right.”  Marathel shook her head and pulled even harder.  “I know this man, Captain Teva.  He’s a …” She whimpered and shut her eyes tight as he said Captain, and he realized why she was panicking.  “No, ma’mwsh ha’laa.  No.  He’s not a Captain like that Elder monster.  It’s a title, it’s his rank; this is a good man.  He has helped me before.  I believe he is here to help you. Will you trust me?”  To Teva’s credit, he did not interrupt or step in; he merely stood still and softened his expression, waiting.   

Ya-Bito stepped in to create a barrier between Marathel and Teva.  “Sir, you are trespassing in a secure ward, and you are upsetting my patient.” 

Doctor Dine’ and two others Din didn’t recognize came forward from behind the New Republic officers.  Doctor Dine’ said, “They are not trespassing; they have the hospital’s permission to speak to this patient.” Just behind them was Siewan, who caught Marathel’s eye, mouthing I’m sorry.   

“Dwy’tu’ar!” spat Marathel.  “You said I’d be safe!  You … pinky swore, you …” She wrenched her hand free from Din’s, leaned against the wall, and covered her face.  Din gently touched her arm, but she shied away, which hurt Din’s heart in a way he didn’t expect.   

“I’m sorry, my mesh’la …” began Din, surprising both Marathel and himself.  Her heart leapt at the endearment, but figured it was only a force of habit, and then sank deep into despair.  Who can I trust?  These doctors, these nurses?  Can I even trust Din? 

The voices of the Dahls came to her again, sinister and so frighteningly loud.  You can’t trust anyone who says they’re going to help you. You don’t deserve help.  You are worthless, you stupid whore cu—… 

“I have had enough of you!” whispered Marathel, pressing her fists into her temples, pulling hard on her hair.  For a few moments all she could hear was her own breath going in and out, and then a new voice, this one calm and quiet: 

The only one you can trust right now is yourself, old girl.  And the truth is, you will have to tell your story many, many times.  You owe it to the four women who died for you, that you tell people what was done to every female in that Hold. If you don’t, you will hate yourself even more.     

She took one last deep breath, exhaled, and straightened up, muttering, “I’ll speak to this … Captain …” 

Din nodded and began, “I’ll be right there with you …” 

“No can do, Mando.  My specific orders are to keep you two separated,” said Teva. 

Din turned back to Teva.  “Excuse me?” 

“Lady ap Bishop goes with these doctors and officers; you’re with me.  Let’s go.” 

“That doesn’t work for me.” 

“Can’t be helped.  This is the way, Mando.”   

Din glared at Teva, who at least looked apologetic.  He turned back to Marathel, who stood there, staring at the floor, looking sad and lost and … alone.  He squeezed her arm and said, “It will be all right.”  She shrugged and looked away.  He dropped his hand and said to Teva, “Let’s go.”  The little group broke up into two factions:  Marathel went with the doctors and the female officers, and Din went the opposite direction with Teva and another man who said he represented the hospital.  As he passed Siewan, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed on Marathel’s behalf.  He muttered to Teva, “So how’d you find us?  I slingshot those holos …” 

“We sent away teams to both Unmanarall and here long before that, Mando.  We put a tracker on your ship.” 

Haar’chak.  “Nice to hear that things haven’t changed much since the Rebellion.” 

“I have a wife and little daughters, Mando; you can’t just drop hypotheticals about a planet like that one and expect me to leave it alone.”  They came to a small conference room and went inside.  As the hospital rep shut the door and frosted the windows, Teva said, “Look. I appreciate the fact you figured out where they came from, originally.  We just want to get some official findings on paper before involving the Lew’elan Parliament.”  He motioned for Din to sit.  “The reports I’m getting so far from the crew on the ground are exceptionally distressing. The women that remain run the gamut from suicidal to murderous to …” Teva sighed, unable to think of a word. 

“Propositional?” Din thought of the little Hold girl, who had offered her body to him, and shuddered. 

“You could have warned me.” 

“If you’d read the damn report that I sent with the holos, you would have seen that I recommended sending only female human scouts.  They’re terrified of everything else.” 

“So, Mando, tell me why that is.” 

Din did his best.  Answer the question and offer nothing, as buir would say. Unsure of what answers Marathel would give, he briefly described receiving a tip through the Unreliable Mercenary Grapevine (leaving Karga out for … reasons) about a sub-ether call for a bounty hunter, using an old unrecognizable language with sketchy coordinates. He glossed over the fact that he lived in her house for a full six days, the fact that Marathel had a … bond with the Dahls, and especially the fact that bond made Marathel screw his brains out.  Unfortunately, Teva wasn’t impressed. 

“A bounty, to return a woman, who lived within walking distance from the guys who wanted her back?  That makes no sense.” 

Din shrugged. “I don’t judge.  It was a job.” 

“You got paid?” 

“A few Old Republic coins.  Not worth much.” 

“Then why not just grab her and drag her up to those guys right when you got there?” asked Teva. 

“They also wanted eggs.” 

“Eggs?” 

“Dahl eggs.” 

“Those things lay eggs?” 

Din tilted his helmet, and thought fondly of Marathel as he replied, “Of course they lay eggs.  What else would they do?”   

Teva asked, “So … what?  You just hung out at her house until the eggs showed up?” 

Din shrugged.  “It was only a couple days.” 

“Long enough to … well, ‘fuck her’ as the remaining women say.  No, wait, I have that wrong,” said Teva, scrolling through his holopad.  “She fucked you, and her intended Elder got mighty pissed.”  Din sat silently, unmoving.  “Do you deny that?” 

“What she specifically said was ‘I took him’ …” 

Teva raised an eyebrow.  “And did she ‘take you’?” 

Din tilted his helmet and glared at Teva for half a minute before he continued. “Her saying that did make her intended Elder — who was also her biological father — mighty pissed, yes.” 

“Enough to … how did they put it? Make a Belwhyn out of her.   So, you just left her there to be raped and tortured?  Got your bounty and took off?” 

Din did his best to say evenly, “I made a grave mistake by allowing them to take her into the Hold.  When I attempted to rectify that, I was beaten unconscious.” 

Teva nodded.  “That was confirmed by the woman Klelia ap Duke, or, as my ground crew called her, the crazy blonde with the fireplace poker.”  Din frowned at the choice of words under his helmet.  “So, you were unconscious but were tended to by four women from the Hold: Olba ap Captain, Lorica ap Bishop, Tymfy ap Hunter, and Hylma ap Duke.  These are the same women who brought out the injured Marathel and something called a … marchwyl?” 

“A beskar hammer.” 

“Are you still in possession of this hammer?” 

Sort of.  “No.” 

“Why’d the women bring her out to you?” 

“I … Olba asked me to take her for help.  Olba raised Marathel from infancy and was her adoptive mother. Normally, when a woman is … made a Belwhyn, it is a death sentence.  But since I had come from elsewhere, and had a ship …” 

“Where’d you take her?” Din remained silent.  “Why did you bring her back?” 

“She …” Din couldn’t continue. 

Teva tilted his head.  “She what?” 

“She told me to.” 

After another hour, Din felt like he’d been run backwards through his mother’s old wringer clothes washer.  Whether Teva got the answers he wanted, Din didn’t care.  He said only as much as he felt he could without inviting any more questions, leaving out Grogu entirely, and only speaking of the Dahls as weird, ugly critters howling off in the distance. Teva didn’t want to leave that alone, though.  “These Dahls … the women of the Hold all seem to agree that Marathel could control them.” 

Din shrugged. “Marathel lived alone among them for thirty years.  Maybe she tamed a few of them.  Maybe they just liked her and saw her as part of their pack.” 

“Any explanation why these critters would suddenly rise up, enter the Hold, and rip only the males to pieces?” 

“They have good taste?” 

Teva pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh before changing the subject.  Din was willing to speak about the physical evidence of the brutality that he’d witnessed on Marathel’s body, and the torturous Dilimgau. Those were important matters, not the actions of freaky goat-lizard-cat things that did the galaxy a favor, in Din’s opinion.  

Teva folded his hands and took a breath before asking, “Describe this Dilimgau to me.” 

Din swallowed and said, “It was a cylindrical tube of metal, slightly flared on one end.  The surface was studded with sharp points.  It had been … inserted into Marathel’s vagina, and then … kicked into place by the Captain, according to a little girl of the Hold, who then asked me if I would be her Elder and offered to fellate me.” 

Teva blanched.  “Sweet baby Jawas …” 

The hospital rep — not a doctor, but a bean counter, by the look of him — whispered, “I think I’ve heard enough,” and left. 

Din continued, “The women removed the Dilimgau from her on my ship when they were trying to render aid.  The screams that I heard from Marathel when they did that ... I have never heard such agony.  Then, Lorica ap Bishop threw it at my feet, blaming me for Marathel’s injuries. Marathel later told me that it was the only one, and it was never cleaned, so flesh would rot on it, and it was used as a deterrent for misbehavior from the women.  Marathel developed sepsis directly because of that … thing.” 

“Where is it now?” 

“I’m going to assume that since you tracked my ship, you have also searched it.  There is a divot on my floor from where both she and I beat the shab out of it with a hammer, and then I shot it out the airlock so she could blast it to bits with my ship’s lasers.” 

Teva sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands.  “Well, I can appreciate that action.”  He drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, looking over his notes.  “But the rest of this situation … this is all a pile of bantha shit, Mando. It makes no kriffing sense! You said yourself you didn’t make any money on this venture.  You probably went broke ferrying this woman back and forth; why would any mercenary put himself in that position?”  Din did not answer.  “You’ve given me nothing here!  Why did she go into that Hold of her own will?  Why did you take her away from there?  Why did you take her back?  Why did you leave her there?  Why did you suddenly go back to get her?  Why didn’t you bring up the situation there to the New Republic before now?” 

“I’ll answer the last question first,” said Din, picking imaginary lint off his glove.  “Primitive culture, blah, blah, blah.” 

“So, what about the rest of it?” 

Din sighed.  “You really want to know?” 

“Yes, dammit!” 

“Off the record?” 

Teva folded up his holopad and shoved it back in his bag.  “Off the record.” 

“None of your kriffing business.”  Din stood up and moved towards the door. 

“Mando …” Din turned back to Teva.  “If her story is dramatically different than yours, we’re going to have to do this all over again.” 

Din ground his teeth for a moment.  “Are you going to extradite her back to Lew’el?” 

Teva shook his head.  “We’re not going to.  The high magistrates of Lew’el might. After all, she is allegedly responsible for the deaths of 142 men, children, and infants of Lew’el descent.  Does she wish to go to Lew’el?” 

Din shook his head.  “We haven’t had an opportunity to speak on much of anything.  She was in bad shape and required surgery; she only woke up a couple hours ago.”  Teva nodded and stood as well.  “Are the remaining women being removed?  Taken to Lew’el?” 

“Probably.  Not sure yet.  A lot of paperwork must be done before that.  It’s still a triage situation right now.”  Teva cleared his throat.  “Look, Mando … I had to interrogate you because the situation on Unmanrall is so kriffing horrible.  And weird.  None of us can wrap our heads around how horrible that place is.  You did a good thing, helping Marathel, alerting us to the situation in that Hold.  If it had been me in your boots… I don’t know.  I don’t know what I would have done.”  Din said nothing, but opened the door.  “What does your … pet think of her?” 

“My …?  Oh.  He loves her.”   

“What about you?” 

Din paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t answer.  He stepped out and saw Siewan sitting on a chair in the corridor, holding Marathel’s blanket on her lap.  Din turned back to Teva and said, “By the way, get your kriffing tracker and your people off my ship.” Teva and Din squared off for a moment.  Then Teva nodded and went back up the corridor. 

Once he’d gone, Siewan stood and came up to Din.  “Mando, I promise you; it wasn’t me. It was nurse Brey that alerted authorities.”  She sighed.  “He doesn’t quite get it, that some situations need time to let the victim work some things out themselves.  That they need … a damned moment to wrap their heads around what they’ve endured.”  She handed him the blanket.  “Marathel won’t want to see me; she believes I’ve betrayed her. She called me something, did you hear it?  Something like …” 

“Like doo-ih-tuh-air?  Yes, I heard it.” 

“She said it before, right when she first woke up.  I was sitting with her in recovery, talking to her like I normally would.  Saying things like, wake up now, you need to wake up.  But then I said, wake up, Mando is worried about you, and she screamed that word.  Do you have any idea what that means?” 

Din remembered hearing the word as well; Marathel had said it while in a semi-conscious state aboard the Crest.  He was holding her, his bare skin against hers, trying to get her warm as she’d carried on a one-sided Oldtalk conversation.  “Marathel speaks a dialect of an ancient language.  It’s befuddled a couple protocol droids so far.  It’s rather colorful.  She once told me to rhaff codieh.” 

“Which means?” 

“‘Piss up a rope.’” 

Siewan laughed.  “Damn, I like her.”  Me too, thought Din.  Me too.  The two of them started walking back towards Marathel’s room.  “What else has she called you?” 

“Oh … let me see … tymffod, which means ‘asshole’, cigpell pudyn, which means … ‘meatball dick’ …” Siewan laughed so hard she snorted.  “And then there was gwyr’dwp bai.  ‘Stupid brat boy’, apparently.” 

“What did you do to earn these epithets?” 

“Exist in her presence.”   

Siewan laughed again.  “Ya-Bito said you have a pet name for her.  What was it?  Mah-moosh hah-lah?  Is that from her language too?” 

“It is.  It means ‘wounded acorn.’  I was actually …” Din let his voice trail off.   

Siewan looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  When he didn’t, they walked in silence before running into Ya-Bito. “They’re still in there, and that Captain Teva just joined them,” she said, nodding her head towards a closed door.  “They took a short break a little while ago.” 

Din asked, “How did Marathel seem?” 

Ya-Bito considered his question for a moment, then replied, “Quietly stoic.”  That sounds bad, thought Din.  As if she’d heard his thought, the green-skinned nurse said, “It worried me.  She’s trying too hard to keep her emotions bottled up. It seems to me she desperately needs to talk about her trauma, but she either won’t or can’t.  I think you’re the only person she seems to fully trust, but …” 

“But, what?” 

I think she is heartbroken over you, thought Ya-Bito.  Out loud, she said, “I think Marathel has decided she must build a fortress around herself to survive.  What are your plans for her when she is released?” 

“I … haven’t fully figured that out yet,” said Din. 

Siewan, who had been looking at Marathel’s chart, said, “Well, you better figure it out quick.  Her chart says that she seems well enough — physically — to be released tomorrow.  If she can keep herself out of the psych ward, that is.  You brought her in wearing only that blanket.  Can you bring her something to wear for when she leaves?” 

Din thought about her bag, remembering that the only other clothes she had were a set of those blue clothes that he hated seeing her in, and those were soiled from fixing the hyperdrive console.  “Could she not … just leave with what she’s wearing now?” 

Din had never in his life received such withering looks as the nurses before him were giving. He believed that his beskar helmet might melt from the fire in their eyes.  “I … uh … what do you suggest?” 

The two women said together, “Mise-Tusil.” 

Din grabbed his weapons from the trauma center lockers, made a quick run to the Crest, and was now walking across the footbridge that spanned over the busy traffic on the Strip below.  As he walked with the throng of tourists, he looked up this Mise-Tusil on his holopad.  Apparently, it was quite the swank and well-loved department store of Canto Bight.  It was, however, about 8 klicks away, and Din did not want to be gone too long.  He’d already left Grogu in childcare for far too long today, and now he was fretting over Marathel’s mental state.  He didn’t know what Canto’s laws about involuntary psychiatric commitment were, but he felt that the nurses were trying to tell him — without telling him — that Marathel was straddling an emotional crevasse that she could fall into at any moment. 

And yet, they send me shopping?  Haar’chak. 

Well, who in blue fuck else is going to get things for her, Djarin? She has practically nothing! 

Din figured clothes were clothes, so he walked into the first shop he saw that featured female mannequins in the window.  Naturally, he drew a lot of interested glances as he entered.  The shop featured loud music and shiny displays of even shinier clothing.  Hoping for something appropriate, he went straight to the counter, behind which a not-so-young woman with enormous yellow hair and far too precise makeup stood.  Woof, thought Din.  This is one hard-looking woman.   She thrust her enhanced cleavage back at him with a smile.  “Help you with something, metal man?” 

“I’m looking for a set of clothing for a woman.  Something soft and comfortable, please.” 

“Well, I’m sure we can find you something that fits the bill,” said the saleswoman, with a voice that sounded like she ate death sticks instead of smoking them.  She led Din to a display next to the lingerie department.  “Comfortable, you say?  Perhaps, something like … this?” She held up a strappy short — dress? — that looked about as comfortable as the rigging that held Marathel up in his fresher on the Crest, but nowhere near as practical. 

Din tilted his helmet.  “I believe I said soft and comfortable.” 

The yellow-haired woman pouted her over-lined and painted poofy lips, saying, “But this is the sort of thing I like to wear when I want to get comfortable ... with someone special … who has big guns.” She reached out with a long, painted claw and ran it down his vambrace. 

Nope, thought Din, drawing his arm away.  “I would prefer something that the woman in question could wear as she leaves the hospital.  Soft comfortable pants, and a shirt, something easy to wear.” 

“Oh, well, then perhaps something more in our athleisure line, then.  We have some great stuff if the woman is busty like me.”  Yellowhair led him with her hotpants-clad flat ass towards the center of the store, where a redheaded woman — this one simply dressed and nowhere near as overly made-up as the yellow-haired woman — carefully folded stacks of simple shirts in a myriad of colors.  “What do you think?  Something in a nice blue, perhaps?  Or hot pink?” 

“I like the yellow one,” said Din, nodding at the shirt the redhead was currently folding. 

This apparently tickled the yellow-haired tart, who sidled up against Din’s side and cooed, “Ooh, my favorite color! Well, metal man, I knew you at least had some good taste.” 

As Din side-stepped slightly away from Madam Yellowhair Hotpants, the other saleswoman said, “It is a pretty yellow, but I know that this top is a bit on the sheer side, and really form-fitting.”   

Yellowhair said, “It looks terrible on her, but it fits my form just fine.” 

Din caught a slight eyeroll from the redhead, who said, “I recommend this.  The fabric is very soft, and more substantial.”  She held up a shirt with a slightly scooped neckline in a dusky purple that reminded Din of twilight on Unmanarall.  He nodded in approval.  “What size does she wear?” 

“I’m honestly not sure.  She’s a … slightly larger woman,” said Din, reaching into the bag he carried, which held Marathel���s blue clothing. 

Yellowhair scoffed.  “Is she fat?  We don’t carry things for fat people here.  They don’t deserve to have clothing like this …” 

Din, fully annoyed now, turned to Yellowhair BitchFace and snapped, “You are excessively rude.  And ugly. I would prefer to not speak to you further.” 

Yellowhair blanched and spat, “You can’t speak to me like that!  My husband owns this shop!” 

“Then he has my complete sympathy, believe me.” 

“What … you … walking dustbin!  Peckerhead Mandalorian!  Your dick probably wouldn’t fill my left ear anyway!” Yellowhair stomped towards the front door.  “I’m going for a caf,” she screeched as she threw the door open and left.   

Din turned back to the redhead, who was obviously amused by the exchange.  “Please, excuse my behavior.” 

She laughed.  “Excuse, nothing.  She’s an utter bitch.  You made my day.” 

“Is she going to cause you trouble?” 

The redhead, who had freckles and a pretty smile, said, “Nah.  She’s only wife seven of ten.  And the only one he makes work!”  Din chuckled. “So … did you have something there I can look at the size?”  Din held up the blue shirt.  “Well, unfortunately, it’s true, we don’t have anything that will fit your lady.  This place does fit only skinny people.  I recommend Mise-Tusil.  That’s where I shop.” 

“Then why do you work here?” 

She laughed.  “I get an employee discount, and my kids love these clothes.  My cousin works at Mise-Tusil; let me see if she’s working today.”  She tapped into a holopad for a few moments.  “Yes, she’s there now.  Take this token; it gets you a quickcart ride up there. Ask for Dursi.  She’s expecting you.” 

Din took the token.  “Thank you.  You’ve been very kind.  Again, I apologize for causing trouble.” 

“Please, no worries.  I won’t see her for the rest of the day.  When she says I’m going for a caf what she really means is glug glug glug!” crowed the redhead, holding up an imaginary bottle to her mouth.  With a laugh, she sent Din on his way. 

Din stepped up to the line of quickcarts —which were little more than a droid on wheels — and got in.  He dropped the token in the appropriate slot and programmed his destination on the screen.  As the cart zipped off, he felt utterly ridiculous, riding this rolling crate that seemed only slightly larger than a scooter for a toddler.  As he was wondering if Grogu would enjoy such a toy, the cart stopped suddenly, making Din lurch forward in his seat.  “You have arrived,” chirped the cart from a tinny speaker.   

Din stepped out and looked at the impressive brass-and-glass edifice before him.  Mise-Tusil, the sign read in illuminated letters in an elegant font.  Din walked inside, the glass doors hissing. Here, he was greeted by fine marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and the sound of a musical trio playing pleasant music, music not unlike what he and Marathel danced to aboard the Crest.  Well, this place smells expensive, thought Din. 

A young Omwati man came forward and said, “Welcome to Mise-Tusil, sir.  How may I be of service?” 

“I am here to meet with a Miss Dursi,” replied Din. 

“Of course, sir, I will let her know you are here. May I offer you a caf, or tea?” Din simply tilted his head, and the Omwati said, “Well, sir, if you would be so kind as to wait here, Dursi will be with you shortly.”  

Din nodded his thanks and stood, waiting, feeling again like a ragged, drunken hobo standing somewhere so posh. At least they’re letting me hang on to my weapons, he thought as an amazingly stunning woman approached him.  She looked quite exotic, taller than he but with a broader build, her skin deeply colored as rich black velvet night but with bright golden eyes and teeth, dressed in a classically cut pantsuit as scarlet as every sin Din never had the nerve to commit.  “Mi- …” Din’s voice box failed him, and he had to clear his throat.  “Miss Dursi?” 

“Sir Mandalorian!  Please, it’s just Dursi.” 

“In that case, it’s just Mando.” 

“Excellent! I am so pleased to meet you.  Please, come with me.”  Din dutifully fell in step beside Dursi as she led him to the top floor of the store.  “I understand that you’re looking for some clothing for a plus-sized woman?” 

“I am.  She is scheduled to be released from the medical center tomorrow.  I would like to find something appropriate for her.” 

Dursi led him to a tall table in the center of her department.  “I am sorry to hear that she is hospitalized, but I’m glad to hear she is well enough to leave there soon.  It is a very good medical center; I know they take very good care of their patients.  What is her name?” 

“Marathel.” 

“What a beautiful name.  Tell me about her.” 

Din was surprised that she was asking about Marathel, as opposed to starting to find clothing immediately.  “I don’t know her size, but I do have some clothing of hers …” 

“That’s excellent and very helpful, but please tell me about Marathel.”  Din just looked at Dursi, unsure what she wanted to know.  She asked, “What does she look like?” 

“She’s … uh … she’s tall, almost my height.  She’s between 45 and 50 years old.  She’s, well, heavyset, but not overly so.  She has very pale skin and silver hair and eyes.” Din was kicking himself for not being able to describe Marathel in more eloquent terms.  He felt like he was giving a description to a marshal for a suspect in a crime. 

Dursi smiled indulgently.  “What is she like as a person?” 

“She is … kind.  And caring.  Generous. Generous of her time and talents.  Smarter than she’ll give herself credit for.  Always thinking of others first, wanting to please.  But … she’s fragile, and … sad.”  

 Dursi tilted her head and smiled.  “And she’s in the hospital.  I won’t ask why; that is none of my business. But here is a question I always like to ask about a lady I’m assisting: does she realize that she is beautiful?” 

Din’s throat felt thick at the profound question.  He thought of Marathel standing in her hut in that yellow dress, looking shocked and embarrassed that Grogu had woken him up by jumping nearly right on his groin.  That was the … the first morning after.  She chose to wear a dress when she’d only ever worn utilitarian clothing.  She … maybe wanted to look pretty for me. 

Din remembered that Dursi was waiting for an answer.  “No.  No, I don’t think she does.” 

“So, I’m hearing that Marathel needs clothes that give her comfort, as well as give her some confidence, some elegance, some pride in herself,” said Dursi. 

“Erm … sure.” 

Dursi laughed.  “And I’m hearing that you, Mando, are way out of your comfort zone.  You have something of hers in the bag?”   

“Uh, yes … here,” said Din, handing over the blue pants and shirt.  “Be careful; they are soiled with engine grease.” 

Dursi chuckled and pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box under the table.  “Thanks for the warning.”  She spread the shirt out, gave it a cursory look, and said, “Well, this is dreadful.  Does it fit her?” 

“Sort of?” said Din with a grimace.  “I mean, it is big enough for her, but it’s …” 

“The fabric is stiff and doesn’t hang well.  Tell me, is Marathel more of a rounded shape or curvy?” Din tilted his helmet.  “Does she have a definitive waist?” 

“Well … yes.” 

“Fuller on top?” Din blushed and nodded. “Any tummy?  Is her, ah … aft section also on the fuller side?” she asked, chuckling at her own joke. 

Din shifted side to side on his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and said quietly, “Erm … both.” 

It’s a good thing this guy is a Mandalorian, thought Dursi.  He’s so embarrassed I can see steam coming out from under that helmet. She unfolded the pants and saw pins holding the waistband a little tighter.  “Well, that answers that question.  Your Marathel is curvy.” 

“I hate those pants,” blurted Din.  “They are too big on her, and all those pockets make her look bigger than she is.” 

“So Marathel has nice legs?” 

“Her legs are wonderful,” said Din before he even realized he said a word, and he froze. 

Dursi grinned.  “And were the pants too long or short?” 

“Too long, actually.  She had to roll them up.” 

“Excellent to know!  I can get a measurement off these, then.”  Dursi pulled out her tailor’s tape and deftly took several measurements, jotting the numbers down on a pad. She then took another look inside the bag and pulled out a purple top and green vest that Din had never seen before.  “Well, these are quite nice.  How do these fit her?” 

“I have no idea.” 

Dursi hummed and kept looking through the bag.  “Oh, good, she does have some undergarments.  She pulled out a folded bra and pair of underpants, grinned at Din, and said, “Don’t worry; I won’t ask you how well these fit.”  She noted the sizes on her pad and put the items away.  “I think we might have enough information now to find her something.”  She folded the blue clothes and began to place them back in the bag. 

“Could you … would you just please toss those out?  They’re soiled, they’re dreadful — as you say — and I honestly would rather not see them on her again,” said Din. 

Dursi frowned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.  “These clothes belong to Marathel; do they not?  If they are her clothes, only she should have the power to get rid of them.  Do not take her power away.” 

Din felt as small as he used to as a child, when his father would ask him the Five Whys of Root Cause Analysis. He rocked back on his heels and muttered, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Dursi lightened her expression.  “My goodness, Mando.  I’m not going to morally censure you; I’m only reminding you that Marathel has her own mind.  Lighten up a little, for the love of Frith.” 

Din’s head snapped up.  “What did you just say?” 

“Did I say ‘Frith’?  Holy loth-cats, I haven’t said that for years.”  Dursi chuckled.  “My cousin, Meejil, the one that sent you here?  Well, we’re not actually cousins, but we grew up next door to each other.  Her great-grandmother told us these stories from her childhood about a rabbity-kind of creature called Frith.  Silly children’s stories from the planet Great-Nan came from; what was the name of it …?” 

“Was it Lew’el?” 

“Yes, Lew’el!  I had forgotten all about that.  I even had the books as a child. I read those …” 

“Books?” 

“Oh, yes.  A whole series of stories.  Great-Nan insisted they were ancient stories told for hundreds of years, back when they spoke a different old language, before Basic.” 

Din couldn’t believe his ears. “Do you … would you please write down the name of one of these books?” 

Dursi wrote one down immediately and handed the note to Din.  “And there you are. Enough of that; let’s go pick out some things for Marathel.” 

In the end, Din was exceptionally relieved that he’d finally come here.  Dursi was so efficient that they’d picked out a few essentials for Marathel in a trice.  They’d found two comfortable tops — one in a similar dusky purple to the one he’d seen in the other shop, and one in a russet-red color that he never would have chosen for her.   

“There are three colors that all women can wear:  purple, red, and teal blue,” said Dursi.  “No matter their skin tone, no matter their size.  Now, obviously, there are shades and tones and tints, but, that russet will put some color in her cheeks.” 

Din believed her and bowed to her expertise.  They also picked out a simple pair of soft jersey pants with a stretchy waist and pockets.  Here, Dursi had more wisdom. “I’m sure you’ve wondered your whole life what the hell do women want?  It’s very simple:  Women want to be treated with respect.  And women want pockets. And that’s it.” 

Din shook his head.  “It is certainly much more complicated than that.” 

“Only if you make it more complicated than that, Mister Man.  Now, let’s get her a few more foundations.” 

It was shortly after that that Din learned what foundations were: underwear, and Dursi took a bit of delight in having Din pick some panties out for Marathel while she searched out a bra in Marathel’s size.  He quickly chose full-coverage briefs in a simple black — he remembered Xi’an always wearing black because black hid a multitude of stains.  He also didn’t want to have Marathel misconstrue anything by picking out a more … brief and revealing style.  Dursi found a simple seamless bralette that had exceptionally soft fabric and hooked in the front so it wouldn’t rub on her damaged skin. She chose a pale pink color, wondering if Din would comment that they didn’t match the underpants.  He did not.  He thought about it, however, wondering if such a thing was allowed.  Xi’an was not quite so endowed as Marathel and rarely wore a bra — which would also be black.  Also, the prostitutes he’d enjoyed tended to be color-coordinated with their foundations, which generally contained one-tenth the fabric of the underwear he had in his hand. 

“This should all do for now, but I expect you to bring your Marathel in once she’s released tomorrow.  This is nowhere near enough for her to start her life over again.” 

“I never said she was.” 

“Mando, considering you brought me mostly soiled clothing and mini bottles of toiletries, I can only assume that what’s in this bag is everything she owns in this galaxy.  I’m not sure what future Marathel is heading towards, but I guarantee that she will need more than this small pile here.  I believe that even you have more clothing in your dirty laundry than what’s right here.  Speaking of …” Dulsi closed Marathel’s bag, then held it in her hands, instead of sliding it across the table to Din.  “I believe I will take home this bag and launder these things for her, so that it will be one less worry for her.  Also, that means she must wear her new clothes and show herself she is beautiful. Besides, I want to meet her.  I think I’ll like her very much.” 

As Dursi was walking Din back to the entrance, he saw a colorful display for the children’s department.  “Do you mind? I think I should see what the well-dressed toddler is wearing this season,” said Din. 

“You have children?  You and Marathel?” 

Din stammered, “No, uh … no.  The boy is a foundling, my traveling companion.  Marathel and I are not a couple.” 

Dursi, who couldn’t keep a Sabacc face if her life depended on it, managed to keep from laughing out loud.  Oh, please, Mando.  If you weren’t besotted with her, you wouldn’t have been so embarrassed by my simple questions.  Still, she asked questions about Grogu’s size and play habits, and located some items for Din to consider.  After a brief look at appropriately-sized clothing, he decided the boy had enough clothing for now.  His eyes did fall on a large, pillow-type stuffed frog nearly Grogu’s size.  Din would never admit it, but he wanted to get toys for Grogu, although he almost never did.  The Crest was too small; and anyway, Grogu seemed to be the type to prefer to play with the box a toy came in.  But the pillow frog was relatively useful as both bedding and a toy, and besides, the kid had been a real trouper lately.   

He purchased the pillow frog, making sure to use his own credit book.  Most of the purchases lately had been on the credit book that was technically Marathel’s.  Captain Teva had been correct: he’d lost practically all his funds on this venture.  He and Marathel would have to chat about that.  She’d said before that she didn’t want the money, but that was before she’d essentially become a fugitive, and she would now need to learn about how to handle finances and take care of herself. 

You also might as well contact Karga; get that ball rolling again.  Things are what they are.  It’s for Marathel’s future, and she needs all the help she can get. 

By this time, Dursi had walked him back to the concierge.  “Thank you, Dursi, for your kindness and expertise.  I am grateful.” 

Dursi held out her lovely hand for Din to take.  “You are most welcome, Mando.  I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.  Here is my direct contact information; please let me know when to expect you and Marathel.” 

“I will.” 

“Please consider also, that we have a fine restaurant here as well as a salon; Marathel may well need some pampering to rejuvenate her soul after a hospital stay.” 

“Perhaps.”  Din was concerned about the costs of such things; he had little experience in these matters, and he didn’t want to overspend Marathel’s money for her.  The clothing seemed to be good quality but was substantially more expensive than what he’d normally buy for himself.  Again, he only had his experience with Xi’an in these matters, and he felt that the first store he’d visited was more her style.  Still, Xi’an had better taste than Yellowhair Hotpants, thank Frith. Damn, that woman was janky.  Belatedly, he asked, “Oh, where do I get tokens for the quickcarts?” 

“There is a vending machine on the other side of the footbridge, or, in your case, I give you one.  No, two, actually.” said Dursi, dropping two tokens into his palm.  “One for tomorrow.” 

“Thank you again.” 

“My pleasure, Mando.” 

Din left Mise-Tusil and walked across the footbridge to catch a quickcart back to the medical center.  On the way, he made a quick detour to purchase some things from a food vendor; he felt that he’d been taking some advantage of the childcare’s snack arsenal.  Hoping that Marathel had finished with the New Republic officers, Din went to the tower where Marathel’s ward was and left his weapons in their lockers before going upstairs, giving no fewer than three spit samples to access Grogu.  He gave a couple of the purchased meals to the childcare workers, collected Grogu, and went back to Marathel’s ward, where he was met by a closed and locked door.   

Siewan was now on duty, and she met Din by the door.  “She finished up about an hour ago.  The shrinks still want to talk to her, but they think she’s run out of spoons and needs a break.” 

“Run out of spoons?” Din rattled his helmet in confusion.  “Do these spoons have something to do with the fork?” 

Now it was Siewan’s turn to be confused.  “Fork? What fork?” 

“Marathel made a point of showing nurse Ya-Bito a fork on her lunch tray.  I had no idea what that meant.” 

“Oh … my.  I need to talk with Ya-Bito,” said Siewan.  “Here, I’ll let you in.  When Ya-Bito brought Marathel back here she immediately went into the fresher.” Siewan swung the door open.  The room was empty, but Din could hear water running.  The gowns Marathel had been wearing were in a pile on the bed along with her blanket.  Siewan went to the cupboard and pulled out towels, two fresh gowns, and a folded padded something that Din didn’t recognize.  Siewan tapped on the door leading to the fresher, calling, “Marathel?  Mando and his little boy are back.”  There was no response.  “May I come in for a moment?  I have towels and fresh gowns for you.”  Din heard a muffled okay from behind the door as he set up Grogu on the chair next to the bed with a box of fried fish nuggets.  Siewan disappeared into the fresher room, saying, “Honey?  Are you doing okay?” 

Din heard Marathel mutter, “I’m okay.  I’m all right.” 

Siewan then said, “I just want you to know that I wasn’t the one who told those authorities about you.  The person who did meant well, but that is not something I would have done without your permission.  I am sorry that you had to go through that against your will.” 

Din heard Marathel sigh.  “It’s okay.” 

“Can I get you anything else?”  Din didn’t hear Marathel answer; she must have shaken her head, because Siewan said, “Okay, then.  If you need some help when you’re done in here, just press that button there, and I’ll come help.” 

“Okay,” Din heard Marathel say flatly, thinking that Marathel sounded about as okay as he’d felt after that Blurrg of Kuiil’s had thrown him for the fourth time.   

Siewan came out of the fresher room and looked at Din, shrugging.  As she passed by him on the way out, she patted his arm and whispered, “Good luck.” 

In the fresher, Marathel was sitting on a hard bench that she’d folded down from the wall.  She rather liked this fresher. It was bigger than the one on Tatooine, and probably three times as large as the one on Din’s ship.  There was no lip to step over to get inside, and the drain seemed to be at one end of the cubicle instead of the middle.  She was curled over, her elbows on her knees as she hugged her shoulders, letting the hot water spray hit her upper back.  She’d unbraided her hair and it had been pushed forward by the water over the top of her head, where it hung nearly to the floor.  When she’d first sat down in here, she’d put the elastic band from her hair around her wrist, and she’d snapped it hard against her skin over and over and over, relishing both the noise and the painful sting it made.  But it visibly abraded her skin after a while.  She didn’t want new wounds where others could see them, so she removed it from her wrist and placed it on the extra fresher stool that sat against the wall. 

She had no idea how long she’d talked to the women in that closed room with her, the doctors and the women in the grey-green uniforms, and then, eventually, that Captain Teva.  She just kept talking and talking, like how she’d spilled her guts to Din on Tatooine. But unlike that time, she kept certain pieces of information to herself.  Certain things were for her memory only.  Certain things were to protect Din and Grogu.   

She didn’t tell them Din’s name, only referring to him as the Bounty Hunter.  She didn’t say Grogu’s name; she didn’t even mention the child at all.  They’d questioned that, for some of the remaining women mentioned a green child, and Marathel shrugged and said, “I don’t know what they’re talking about.” 

They asked, “How many days was he there alone with you?” 

“A couple.” 

“Did you have sexual relations with him?” 

“No.”  She was surprised at how comfortable she was, telling that lie.  But I wasn’t fully myself anyway, so, not quite a lie. 

“Why did you tell the Elders that you did?” 

“So that they would take me into the Hold; that meant the Bounty Hunter would get the coins as a reward.” 

“You knew about the coins?” 

“Yes.” 

“How many coins were there?” 

“I don’t know.  I never saw them.” 

“Where are the coins now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Why did the men of the Hold hurt you so badly?” 

“That’s what men do.  That’s how a Belwhyn is made.” 

“When the Bounty Hunter took you away, do you know where you went?” 

“No.” 

“Why did you want to go back to your home planet?” 

“I was too scared to be anywhere else.” 

“Why did the Bounty Hunter take you back there?” 

“I told him to.” 

“Why did you go back into the Hold, Marathel?” 

“The Elders needed to die.  They’d only ever hurt me, abused me.  They killed the women who helped me.” 

“Did you kill the Elders?” 

“Yes.” 

“All four?” 

“Three of four.  The Duke died before I could get to him.” 

“How many men did you kill?” 

“All the males are dead.” 

“Let me rephrase that, Marathel.  How many men did you directly kill?” 

This took a while.  Marathel closed her eyes and recounted each life she took, starting with the one who caught her staring at the Round Wall, and ending with the Bishop in the courtyard.  She described the manner each one had raped her on the platform, the ways they had abused her, then the manner she’d taken his life, all in great detail.  She also told them about the men that she’d injured but had not died in front of her, like the boys she’d shoved down the stairs, and the underling the Hunter shoved at her.  And then, Talric, who’d cut his own throat.  Once she’d finally finished, the women in the room whispered to each other until Marathel asked, “How many?” 

One of the Republic officers blanched and said, “Thirty-four.” 

“Hmmm,” mused Marathel.  “That many?  I suppose so.  That’s a good portion of the adult males who raped me on that platform.  The little boys who did things to me would have been in the long building.” 

“The little boys and infants that the Dahls ended up killing, yes?” Marathel shrugged.  “Why did the Dahls do that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“How did the Dahls get into the Hold?  It was a walled and gated courtyard.” 

“I left the gate open.” 

“Why did you do that?” 

“So that I could get out.” 

“You intended to escape?” 

Marathel shrugged again.  “If I could.” 

“Did you think you might die?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Did it matter to you if you survived?” 

“Not especially.” 

“Why did the Bounty Hunter come back for you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Marathel, did you know that the Bishop was your father?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you were to be his … Whyn, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“We understand a Whyn to be a concubine, that is, a dedicated sexual … slave, for the lack of a better word.” 

“… Yes.” 

“A Whyn is also tasked with bearing children.  Her father’s children.  Sometimes, her brother’s, or her uncle’s children.  And sometimes, even her son’s children?” 

“That is correct.” 

“And this is done willingly by the girl in question?” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“They would — you would do this of your own free will?” 

“What other way would I have known?” 

“But you know a different way now?” 

“Yes.” 

Such a good girl.  You used to be such a good girl, my sweet girl, until you spread your cunt wide open and became a fucking whore, inbred incestuous monster whore for a criminal who feels nothing for you … 

There was a tap on the door, which startled her, and she was back in the fresher.  She turned her head towards the door, could just see it through her veil of wet hair.  “What?” 

The door opened a tiny bit.  He heard Din’s mechanical voice saying, “It’s me, Marathel. Are you all right?” 

She turned her gaze back to her hanging pendant, watching rivulets of water drain from the clam shell to the tops of her feet, down her toes and towards the drain. “I’m okay.” 

Din, on the other side of the door, looking away from where he’d cracked it open, asked, “What can I do for you?” 

“I’m all right.” 

Din didn’t believe her any more than he believed Xi’an that one time she’d tried to convince him she was pregnant shortly after the land mine incident.  He’d dragged her to a termination center, where it was discovered that she was not pregnant, but had lied to hang on to him, she’d said. He was so different after the land mine injuries, she’d said.   He might have been okay with her catching pregnant, despite his vasectomy by explosion, despite her promising that she had ten-year implants, but the lie had been the last straw.  He’d then told her, shove a blaster up your cunt and ride it straight to hell, bitch, and left her there.  Even she didn’t deserve that, he thought to himself.  That had been the moment their relationship ended, not the land mine blast itself.   

Have I always been such a bastard asshole sonofabitch meatball dick?  A stupid brat boy? 

Din tapped on the door again.  “May I come in?” 

“Suit yourself,” replied Marathel.   

Din opened the door so he could get through.  “I’m averting my eyes.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Din looked at her, sitting hunched over on a bench, her hair hiding her face, the water sheeting down her back, following the lateral scars and dripping off her sides. He scanned the rest of the skin he could see and noticed a series of shallow puncture marks on her thigh.  He pulled up the extra fresher stool next to her and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, mimicking her pose again, stretching the hair band over his gloved fingers.  “I’m sorry about Teva and the Republic officers.” 

“It doesn’t matter.  I suppose I should answer for my crimes sooner than later.” 

“I don’t think you’ve committed any actionable crime, Marathel.” 

“But you’re not in charge of law and order, are you?” 

Din blinked.  “What do you know about law and order?” 

“Cobb told me.  He explained what a marshal was.” 

Cobb, again.  Haar’chak.  “Teva told me that the Republic more than likely won’t seek legal action.  They will, however, bring it up to officials on Lew’el. “ 

“Lew’el.  I think I saw that painted on the Large Round Wall.  I’d been looking at those squiggles my whole life, not knowing there were such a thing as letters, until Cobb showed me.  He … wrote, is that the word?  Wrote my name on a paper and gave it to me.  That’s how I knew they were letters.  Painted on the Large Round Wall.  Then I killed a man for calling me a cunt.  The very first one.  The first one out of thirty-four.  I even thought to myself, would Din love me more, now that I’m a murderer, like he is?  How stupid of me, thinking like that.  Now I know better.” 

Concerned that she was now babbling nonsensically, Din said, “I’m turning off the water, Marathel.”  She only shrugged.  He stood and reached across her back to shut off the spigot.  He took a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, carefully blotting the water off her back and arms.  “Dry off and get warm, Marathel.  I don’t want you to get chilled again.” 

Again? “Okay.” 

“Do you need help getting dressed?” 

“I’m all right.” 

Din stepped out, but remained on the other side of the door, listening.  It was a few minutes before he heard her moving about.  He heard the rustle of towels, her sighing dejectedly, and some muttering that sounded like bloody things as he heard something sliding against her skin.  He then heard a sharp intake of breath and a whispered ow ow ow.  “All right in there?” 

Inside, Marathel had pulled up the hated disposable underwear with one hand but couldn’t manage to get the gowns on.  “My shoulder.  I need some help after all.” 

“May I come in?” 

“Yes.” 

Din opened the door and saw Marathel, back-to, wearing only what he assumed were some kind of hospital underwear and the clam pendant. Under the harsh light in the tiny room, all of her red and half-healed wounds on her back glowed like beacons.  He shut his eyes for a moment, and then took a gown and held it in front of her, unsnapping the shoulder closure so she wouldn’t have to maneuver her arm in a weird position.  Once on, he re-snapped the shoulder closure and tied the two ribbons in back.  He then repeated the same action with the second gown, but as a robe.  He took her by the elbows and led her to the bed, sitting her down.  He found the fuzzy socks and dropped to one knee to put them on her feet.  He stood back up, found her hairbrush, and carefully brushed her hair — it was much less tangled this time around — and braided it just as he had done before, using the hair band at the end. 

Marathel, who had been silent this whole time, said, “You were the one who braided my hair before, weren’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Marathel.”  Din lifted Marathel from the edge of the bed and placed her in the center, spreading her blanket over her legs.   

Marathel’s eyes fell on Grogu, still sitting in the chair, working his way through the box of fish nuggets.  “Hello, my little Godynferth.  I’ve missed you today.  What are you eating?” 

“Burra fish nuggets.”  Din peered into the box.  “Could’ve left a few for me, kid.” 

Grogu cooed and Force-carried the one remaining fried nugget to Marathel.  She plucked it from the air, saying, “Thank you, love.”  She took a bite and said, “This is awful.” 

“They’re better hot.  Grogu likes them,” shrugged Din.  He took the half-eaten nugget from Marathel, turned his back, lifted his helmet, and popped it into his mouth.  Turning back, he said, “C’mon, you bottomless pit.  Let’s wash those hands.”  He picked up Grogu and took him to the sink.   

Marathel felt her spirits lift slightly, reminded of those simple days on Unmanarall when they were a family.  “Where did you go, anyway?” 

“I went shopping.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I bought you some clothes.” 

Marathel colored.  “You didn’t have to do that.  I had clothes in that bag.” 

Din turned, drying Grogu’s hands.  “They were soiled.  And awful.  They didn’t fit you.” 

“Fennec bought those for me.  And I liked the pockets on those pants.  You didn’t have the right to get rid of them, Bounty Hunter,” snapped Marathel. 

Din blinked.  “I’m … I didn’t … I didn’t throw the blue clothes out, Marathel!  In fact, they’re being laundered by the woman who helped me pick these new things out for you.  I just wanted you to have something clean and comfortable to wear if they release you tomorrow.” 

“If I get released?  The doctors said I …” 

“Ya-Bito and Siewan are worried you may have to go to another ward here in the hospital for at least another three days.  A ward for people with broken minds … Like yours.” 

Marathel sat up and folded her legs under her.  “By myself?” 

“Yes.  Alone.  I couldn’t … we couldn’t be there.  And if you can’t show improvement over three days, you’re kept longer.” 

“But they could help me.” 

“They might be able to.  Maybe find the right … medication, therapy …” 

“Din,” said Marathel, looking straight into his visor.  “Maybe you don’t need to stay.  Maybe you shouldn’t take me with you.” 

Din’s thoughts went back to the sight of the small punctures on her leg.  Punctures in rows of four.  As if they were … the times of a fork.  His heart hitched in his chest, and he sat next to her on her bed.  “You’re hurting yourself?” 

“I don’t know how else to cope, Din.  Ya-Bito said that place — the psych ward — is not a good place to be, but I’m wondering if it might not be a good idea.  And I need the little bit of pain, Din, to direct the pain …” 

Din reached out and cupped her cheek.  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa.  I know the pain.  I’ve had that pain.  But I cannot leave you behind again, even though I … you’re my …” Unable to complete his sentence, Din dropped his hand and shook his head. 

Marathel said quietly, “Tell me what happened, what you experienced, after I ran away from you on Unmanarall.” 

Din took a breath, and began, “I didn’t even know which way you’d gone.  I had taken off my helmet; I didn’t have the monitors and sensors to find you.  I was screaming for you.  Then, Grogu came to me, telling me it was time to leave.  I went up into the ship, and by the time I’d closed the door, I had forgotten you.  I didn’t even remember what planet I was on.  I was compelled to leave, go to Manda’lor. 

“But I somehow remembered that I had forgotten something.  You weren’t quite a memory, not quite gone.  I found a loaf of your bread and I knew it was important.  I caught your scent off one of the blankets and I could almost see your face.  Grogu kept trying to tell me who you were, yelling Mama! And then I kept losing big chunks of time, as if I’d been sleeping for two-four hours, but still awake. 

“And then Cobb sent a holo of you.  It was during the hours that you spent baking bread, but he’d made changes to it.”   He looked through his holopad, bringing up the doctored holo. 

“He was making a recording of me,” said Marathel. “I don’t understand what you mean, though.” 

“Look closely at your image.  He took off your face-wound and given your teeth back.”  Marathel, even though she knew better, reached up and touched her forehead to see if it was miraculously healed.  “He’d never seen you without your injuries.  He said … he wanted to see who I had fallen in love with.” Marathel looked back into his visor, holding her breath. “He also said that if I had left you behind, that he would never forgive me. 

“Seeing your face, how I remembered it, how I still see you … I finally remembered you.  I couldn’t believe I had forgotten you, how I felt about you, how much I loved you.  I knew I had to turn around, come back and find you. 

“And then, it was as if I had been shot through with ice.  I couldn’t breathe, and I was terrified I would forget you again, but it turned out even worse.  I forgot that I loved you. I was calling you ner kar’ta just moments before, and then I had no more feelings for you than I would a stranger.  Marathel, I don’t know what happened.  Even Grogu felt it.  Do you know why that was?  I think you do know.  Please, Marathel …” 

“I will, Din, soon, I promise.  Just tell me the rest first.” 

“I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, then I was instantly on fire.  Not just the bite mark, but my entire left side.  I was in agony.  I fell to the floor, sure that I was having a heart attack.” 

Marathel, who had just resigned herself to the loss of Din’s love, was suddenly confused. “A what?” 

“A heart attack, cardiac arrest. My heart was beating erratically, and then stopped altogether.  I fell unconscious, scaring Grogu half to death, probably.  I managed to call for help, and Captain Teva boarded my ship to provide medical help.  The medic told me I’d shown all the symptoms of a heart attack and a stroke, but without throwing the blood clots that would cause those … That must have been when Rodanthe died.” 

“You fainted?” 

“Well … yes,” said Din, suddenly uncomfortable.  “I mean, you’ve told me that the pain you experience when you lose a Dahl is immeasurable …” 

Marathel was still dubious.  Yes, the death of a Dahl was painful indeed, like being sliced by a dull knife covered in salt, but … “I’ve never fainted.” 

Din tilted his helmet, wondering if Marathel was taking the piss.  “It might have been worse, since it was Rodanthe.” 

“Perhaps it was just wai wchlas.” 

“I beg your pardon?” asked Din. 

“Wai wchlas.  That’s what we called it when the men would get sick.”  

“And what does that mean?” 

“Man flu.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Someone knocked on the door.  Marathel called, “Come in.” 

Siewan entered, carrying a tray.  “Hello, Marathel.  I have your dinner.  I’m sure you don’t feel hungry but try to eat anyway.  You need calories to heal.  Right now, all calories are good calories. Okay?” 

Marathel nodded but didn’t look up.  “Okay.” 

Sensing that she had interrupted an important conversation, Siewan said, “I’ll leave you now.  Buzz if you need anything.”  She left. 

Marathel pulled the rolling table towards her, and sat up, folding her legs under her (criss-cross-berrysauce, she sang in her head) and lifting the cover from her dinner tray.  Some sort of meat and vegetables in sauce over mashed tubers.  A thick slice of toasted bread.  A cup of tea.  Another container of ice cream.  “That all looks halfway decent,” remarked Din. 

“Siewan was right.  I’m truly not hungry.  You should eat it, since Grogu ate your portion too, apparently.” 

“No, Marathel.  I’m fine.  You need to eat.” 

Marathel shrugged, and methodically began to eat, tearing the bread into quarters, working her way slowly across the entrée, not tasting it.  Din watched her hands, realizing he’d rarely watched her eat.  She ate in complete silence, staring at the wall before her, looking at nothing.  The quiet made Din uncomfortable, so he got up and found the shopping bag with the pillow frog. 

“Hey buddy, I got something for you today, too.”  Grogu bleated, and then cooed when Din put the pillow frog in his little hands.  “You like it?  Thought you might.  You’ve been something else, lately … I just thought you might like something soft to crash on.”  As Din sat back down, he noticed Marathel gazing at Grogu with a little smile.   

“What a wonderful thing,” said Marathel.  “Is your new friend going to have a name?” 

“Fawg!” 

“Fawg, of course.  That will be easy to remember.”  Her smile faded, and she went back to her dinner in silence.  The ice cream was pink this time, and tasted like sweet berries, which she liked better than the plain stuff.  She finished her tea.  She then lifted her fork, showing it to Din.  He nodded, and she made a show of placing it on her tray, then pushing the rolling tray away from her.  She sighed deeply, and then turned her head to look at Grogu, who would alternately hug the pillow frog, then pat its plush face, quietly saying Fawg Fawg Fawg.  “I had a friend like Fawg once.  Tymfy made her for me.  She was small, made out of old grey rags she’d sewn together.  She was a lumpy thing.  Probably stuffed with more old grey rags. Shaped like a lump, too.  No arms or legs, no face, but I loved her. I remember the day Tymfy gave her to me.  It was a terrible day.  The Bishop had done something horrible to me for the first time, and I couldn’t stop crying.” 

“Did your friend have a name?” asked Din quietly. 

“I called her Fi’Basha.  That means ‘little me.’  I kept her hidden, because if the boys knew I had her, they’d take her away from me.  Tear her up.  But then, Tymfy had her first baby.  We were changing at the same time, but of course, I wasn’t getting regular, so … Tymfy had a little girl, so I gave Fi’Basha to the baby.  If it’d been a boy, I would’ve kept her.  A boy got enough attention.  Didn’t need a Fi’Basha. 

“Then Olba took me out of the Hold and brought me to the hut. I was so scared and lonely there at first.  In the beginning, Olba would come over more often.  Even the Cyiloggs coming after me was a distraction.  But they stopped trying to take me back.  In the courtyard, before I ... the Bishop finally told me why that was.  It was the Dahls.  They would attack and kill anything male that came near me.  They were protecting me from the men of the Hold.  And Olba stopped coming out so much.  She was probably getting beaten for it, going out to see me but not bringing me back, not coming back to the Hold like a good girl should.  But I was so alone, so I made a new Fi’Basha out of the scraps of fabric Olba brought me.  She was as big as Grogu, and she had arms and a head and a body.  I called her Tym’Basha.” 

“‘Little Tymfy,’” said Din. Marathel nodded.  “Why didn’t she have any legs?  Did you run out of fabric?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “I made myself believe that if she didn’t have legs, no one could hurt her there.  Such a stupid thought.”  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  “By this time, I’d made a drop spindle and my loom.  I spun brown yarn for her hair, and I put brown eyes on her, from tree nut shells.  I wove my own fabric and sewed little dresses for her.  I loved Tymfy, so I wanted Tym’Basha to look like her.   

“But then … Olba said it was silly for me to have Tym’Basha.  I was a full-grown woman, regular or not, and no full-grown woman needed such a childish thing.  So … I took her apart.  Took her apart right back down to all the scraps I’d sewn together.  Then, I took the pile of scraps to the cliff and threw them off the edge. I went back to the hut, and I folded the little dresses and shoved them to the bottom of a basket. 

“Then … however long it was after that … you and Grogu showed up.  The Dahls left you alone and allowed you to come to me.  They killed every other male, but they left you alone.  And when I saw that little pitiful rumpled pile of clothes you had for Grogu, I remembered those little dresses.  I found the dresses and cut them shorter to make those little shirts for Grogu.  I made the jump-ups from whole cloth I had, but the shirts, I made from the dresses.  I saw no point in keeping them in the basket if they would fit Grogu.  And I knew I was going to die anyway, and I loved Grogu, just like I loved Tym’Basha, and …”  

Marathel’s throat closed, and she could no longer speak.  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at her blanket.  Grogu jumped from Din’s lap to the bed, holding up his new pillow Fawg to Marathel.  Marathel timidly took the pillow frog and hugged it tightly while she cried.   

Din stood up and removed his pauldrons, his cuirass, his rerebraces, and his vambraces before climbing into the bed with her.  He drew her back against him, holding her tightly against his chest as he lay back on her pillow.  Grogu climbed up on Din and held on to Marathel’s thumb, both holding her while she wept until she fell asleep against Din’s shoulder, clutching pillow Fawg.  After a while, both Din and Grogu, both so sad for Marathel, dozed off too.  Sometime later, Siewan quietly came into the room to collect the tray.  Smiling at the sleeping trio, she took the tray, turned off the lights, and left, locking the door behind her.  

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two

[goldenstorm0]

Silent Hill/Spy x Family cross over

Spy x Hills? Silent x Family? idk but I'm going to ramble for a moment on my ideas for a crossover

Okay this is mostly based off of silent hill 2, easily my favorite in the series. And I'm not going to try too hard to follow the plotline, will try to fit some characters from sxf into specific slots in sh2 but we are playing loosey goosey here. Also going to concentrate primarily on Yor, I've got plans for Loid and Anya. Lot of headcanons here, but that's how aus work, right?

But Yor wanders into silent hill, looking for her brother, knowing he got himself into trouble but not exactly sure how yet. She stops at the cemetery for a moment, staring at an unmarked grave, thinking about her own parents. How they left her alone to care for child when she was also still a child. She is interrupted by a man, or maybe she accidently scared him, but it breaks her out of thoughts and she moves into the town proper.

She wanders around, quickly realizing there are dangerous monsters. Eventually she finds herself outside the school, seeing a small child run in and following close behind. This place is not a place for a child. But the child quickly disappears and Yor is now stuck inside the school.

Yor dropped out of school when her parents died, needing to find some sort of work to support her and her brother. She was always self conscious about her own intelligence. She not only didn't get the same basic education as her peers, she didn't get any of the formative experiences everyone got. She didn't know how to make friends, interact with other people, how to simply be normal like everyone else.

There are small, child sized monsters attacking her. They are covered in spikes, running at her wildly, doing whatever they can to cut her up. There are larger ones too, faster and sharper.

When Yor started looking for work, she had a surprising amount of help. The adults around her knew of her situation, and although they couldn't afford to take care of the children (they're in a war, money is tight for everyone), they hired her for odd jobs. Taking care of the laundry, cleaning the house, babysitting, grocery shopping. They can't pay much, but they try to find little things to pay her for. At first. But work starts to wind down. More men are being drafted, incomes are disappearing, and soon people are turning Yor away, unable to look her in the eye when they tell her to leave and not bother coming back. Yor start accepting... iffier jobs. Delivering mysterious packages (it's not her business to know), selling random objects she finds (she soon clears out almost everything in her own house, eventually stealing from abandoned houses, no one lives there anymore so who cares), cleaning for... strange men (only when she is desperate, she hates these jobs the most). But even those dry up. And soon she starts considering something else... something she doesn't like. Something she knew she would regret. But her brother needs to eat. And she almost goes through with it. But then she finds the Garden.

The deeper she goes into the school, the bigger the monsters becoming. Soon they start throwing spikes, dripping with blood and covered with broken dried flower buds. They have large hands, grabbing onto her to hold her still while stabbing. But Yor cuts them down all the same. The school is getting dirtier, blood and mud splattered on the floor and walls. She has to kill them, there is a child here and she needs to keep them safe.

She joins the Garden, starting woth a smaller role, either helping with clean up or taking down smaller targets, training unordered in order to get more jobs, better paying jobs. And she's conflicted about this at first. These are people, they have families and friends they are trying to take of. But she is reassured that it's okay. These people are evil, they hurt innocent people. So it's okay to kill them.

The Otherworld is full of wilted flowers, pools of blood, building is falling apart, but she pushes forward. The monsters are covered in thorns, corroded gold and broken roses. But now some of them are wearing uniforms, hiding around corners and throwing out attacks. And she recognizes them.

They look like her brother.

Yuri joined the secret police. One of the most hated organizations. An evil organization that hurts innocent people, tortures them and kills them. She's had a few SSS officials as targets before, she is aware of the corruption there. And now her brother, her sweet, innocent brother, has joined them. And he says it's for her. To protect her.

Eventually she gets to an empty room, safe from the monsters, with a large mirror on one wall. She lies down, staring at her needle. And she thinks. About all of the things she's done over the years. The people she killed, the childhood lost. All to provide and protect her brother. And now she doesn't know what to do. Because, from the way she sees it, her brother joined them. Joined a dangerous group that took away his innocence, who could get him killed, who would never appreciate all that he does. And it hurts.

and that's all I got so far lmao