#yet deserved if were looking at it from a lore angle????

[rainbowgod666]

Me as a child: there is absolutely no real way anything metaphysical has anything even "resembling" genitalia, or reproductive organs at all. For the entities in question do not Reproduce Like That

The humble hazbin hotel fandom on R34:

[kyberblade]

Back To You (Din x Reader) - Part 19

A/N: Well, it’s here. You all voted, and it’s one monolithic chapter. I can’t believe we’re here. 😭 We still have so much coming up for these guys, but this first part is done and it’s been a year and I have EMOTIONS!!!! 😮‍💨🥺 Thank you all for everything. It’s been an honor to go on this journey with all of you, and I can’t wait for all the rest of the stories this little clan has coming up! We just have nostalgia in this one, throwbacks, badassery, lots of feelings and fun…. It’s a good time for all. I’ve had this final scene written since almost day one. I’m so excited it’s finally here. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it! There will still be an epilogue for this story, too, so we’re not totally done, yet. (Also, once again, there is some lore in this that @writerlyhabits wrote in a fantastic short, and I loved it so much, I asked if I could use it.)

(This takes place right where the other one left off and goes to the end of episode 2x8/16, The Rescue.)

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Swearing. Space swearing. Grogu is a menace. Arguing? Mando’a. Show dialogue, so spoilers? (But if you’re here, you know how this works.) Lots of angst. Tears. Brief mention of injury. Reader is having a Tough Time™️ mentally, but it’s discussed and processed. The F-word but it’s in Mando’a so does it really count?

Word count: 21,386 (I said what I said.)

As always, thanks to @grippingbeskar for encouraging me, looking over this for me, and being the one to introduce me to Din fanfiction in the first place, getting me hooked. You are fantastic and I always love our chats.

And for @fordo-kixed-rex, you deserve so much more than a shoutout for reading all 75 million iterations of this massive chapter from start to finish, and helping me in between. You’re a real one, friend. This series would not have gotten this far without you.

And @deceiver-of-gods for helping me with the Mando’a!

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

Xxx

You woke to the ship swinging wildly side to side, the sound of blaster fire filling every space of the vacant cargo hold. Din was no longer behind you, just the cold lonely steel of Boba’s ship, but there was something wadded up underneath your head as a makeshift pillow. It was soft, and smelled of your Mandalorian. Lifting your head, blinking blearily against the soft lights of the deck, you looked around, catching the fabric of Din’s cowl as it fell from behind your head and down into your lap.

“What’s going on?”

Fennec helped you to your feet, both of you stumbling slightly to the left as the ship tilted at a precarious angle, her hand holding on to you even after you were up to help both of you maintain your balance. Din’s cowl was still clutched tightly in your other hand.

“Found Doctor Pershing. He’s on an Imperial transport, we’re attempting to enter negotiations for his release.” She smiled wryly. “They aren’t going so well.”

The ship turned sharply to the right, causing you and Fennec to release one another. She gripped the bottom of a nearby seat to avoid flying across the deck, but your hands were full with the cowl, and you went sliding across the deck on your side from the steep angle. 

Cara attempted to grab you as you slid by where she too was gripping a nearby seat, grabbing on to the fabric of the cowl for a brief second before it slipped through her fingers. “It’s just as elusive as the man who wears it,” she grumbled, making you grin despite the situation.

The ship finally started to even out slightly, enough that you weren’t sliding, but your feet still propelled you forward from the dangerous angle. “The old man flies like a-”

Din caught your hand before you could go any further, pulling you into him where he was against the wall, hanging on to a cargo net.

You looked up at him, breathing heavily after stumbling for your life across the deck. “Well, he flies like you.”

Din grunted at the slight, making you grin. “Thanks, shiny.”

He only nodded once, his grip on your upper arm adjusting slightly.

“Oh!” Reaching up, you attached his cowl back around his shoulders. “And thanks for that, too.”

He nodded again. “You always complain about needing your Mandalorian pillow, so I figured it was the next best thing.”

Fennec snorted in amusement at the same time Cara moaned an, “Ew, guys!”

The ship entered a roll, all of you clinging to something and muttering curses. Once it leveled back out, you glared at the hatch that led to the cockpit. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you doing? Mesh’la?” Din tried to reach after you, but you ignored him, climbing the ladder and stepping into the cockpit once the doors slid open.

“Hey. Flyboy.”

“I’m busy, ad’ika,” Boba said through gritted teeth, his modulator making the words sound even thinner as he pulled the trigger yet again, the shots whizzing past the transport in front of him. 

“You missed.”

If he was a clone, and they were the troopers…. Who were always dismal shots…. You grinned. 

“So is that just something in the clone/trooper genetics? Missing things by a mile?”

“It was a warning shot,” he grumbled, turning his visor your way ever so slightly before turning back to the viewport. “And troopers aren’t clones anymore. If they were, we’d all be in trouble.”

The grin pulled higher up the side of your face. “I see.” Arms crossing over your chest, you took a step closer to him. “Well warn them faster, grandpa, you’re nearly murdering your crew with these maneuvers. You didn’t give us any warning.”

“Have to strap you all down like ade,” he mumbled, chuckling softly as he shook his head, probably picturing it. (“Children.”)

Reaching forward, you flipped a switch on the console, sending a blast from his ion cannons right into the rear of the transport, making it go dead on impact.

Leaning down so your head was beside the bounty hunter’s, you smirked. “That was my warning shot.”

Grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, Boba leaned in and pressed the button for comms. “Lower your shields, disengage all transponders, prepare for boarding.”

The ship rose slowly in front of the transport, the pilot, copilot, and Doctor Pershing all watching it rise through the viewport with a gradual tilt of their heads further and further back until they were out of sight. 

Boba hovered over the hatch, pressing a few buttons on the console as he mumbled, “Easy as….” A loud thud accompanied by a violent jerk caused you to stumble through the cockpit, grabbing the back of his chair for stability.

With a huff, you turned your head to glare at the side of his visor. “You were saying?”

“I never finished the sentence. Maybe I was going to say it was something complicated.”

“Osi'kyr,” you grumbled, pushing off of his chair. “Would be easier to pet a nexu.” (Strong exclamation of dismay.)

“I’ve actually pet a nexu once,” Boba mused, flicking a switch before leaning back in his chair.

“Of course you have.” You didn’t bother turning back to face him as you left the cockpit to rejoin the others. A small smile turned up your features at the sound of his laugh behind you. 

Xxx

Sitting on the deck of Boba’s ship, your mind began to wander. Staying upbeat and engaged was easy…. For a time. Until you really let your thoughts go down the roads they wanted to, with memories of the kid playing on a loop, especially the one of him being taken from practically right out of your hands.

Within just a few steps, from the bottom of the ladder to the cockpit to the seat you were perched on in the middle of the deck, a dark cloud had taken over your mind, and you didn’t feel like fighting it right now.

You hung back while Din and Cara boarded the Imperial transport to get Doctor Pershing. The whole thing took less than two minutes, but from your seat, you could hear the entire exchange. Fennec watched you closely from her seat across the aisle from you. 

“What?” You asked her after a moment of loaded staring.

“Nothing,” she shook her head with a shrug. “You’ve just been quiet the last few days is all.”

“Compared to what? I only met you a few days ago.”

A blaster shot fired, and a body thudded to the floor, causing both you and Fennec to lean slightly to peer through the opening to see what was going on. She leaned forward while you leaned back. But a quick glance at the opening showed both of your friends still standing firmly with their weapons drawn, so you assumed it was one of the Imps turning on the other. 

Cowards.

Both of you sitting back how you had been, you turned your attention back on one another as if nothing had happened. 

Fennec went on as if simply talking about the weather. “True. But before everything with the kid went down, you seemed….”

Brows knit, one arching in question, you bobbed your head at her to continue. “Go on….”

“Better.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you looked at the ground. “I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you looked up at her again, peering up through your lashes. It felt safer than looking straight at her. “I’m on a strange ship with strangers and everything is-”

“Strange?”

Lifting your head to look at her straight on, your face fell flat. “Different.” You glared. “A member of my clan was taken. It’s not the same as missing someone, it’s more like a piece of yourself is gone.”

“I understand,” she offered softly. “I just don’t want you to slip away in the process.”

“Slip away?”

She sighed, looking down at the floor. “Sometimes….” Her gaze pulled back up to meet yours confidently, something softening once your eyes met again. “Sometimes when we let something consume us - grief, loss, a goal - it’s easy to get buried in all the things you let slide along the way.”

You felt the clouds begin to break, a ray of sunshine beginning to shine through. “What…. What have I let slide?”

She looked off to the side, as if the words she needed were hidden somewhere in the cargo hold. “Honestly?” She met your eyes. “Yourself.”

“It was my fault-”

“It happened.” Leaning forward, she left no room for question as she put a hand on your upper arm. “All that matters now is how you fix it.”

Suddenly a blaster shot fired, another body thudded to the ground, and a man started yelping in pain. Turning toward the opening where the ship was docked to the transport, you stood up and took a few steps closer, nearly running into Cara as she stomped past you.

“That was my warning shot,” she mumbled, stuffing her blaster into its holster on her hip.

Looking back at the opening, you saw Din staring after her in concern, his shoulders rising and falling in a heavy sigh as he watched his friends fall a little further apart. 

Rushing into the transport, you put your hands on the shoulders of the man, startling him.

He tried to back away from you, looking up with wide eyes, but you held him in place firmly.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re Doctor Pershing, right?”

He nodded, wincing at the motion and cradling his right ear.

“Mind if I take a look?”

Slowly lowering his hand, he gently shook his head, turning slightly to offer you a better angle. “Your angry friend shot my captor- something I’m grateful for, don’t get me wrong- just…. It was a bit close to my ear.”

“It ruptured your eardrum, didn’t it?”

He nodded hesitantly. “Some bacta should help. If we get to it soon.”

You smiled. “I have something better than bacta.”

“Wha-”

Reaching out, you placed your hand over his ear, making him wince and try to pull away from you. Holding him in place with your other hand on his shoulder, you took a deep breath, doing what you had done for Din back on Morak, and mending his injury. “Sorry about my friend. She can get a little hot headed. I’m sure she’ll apologize in a little bit, but for now….” You pulled your hand away, lowering your voice since he could now hear again out of that side, “I’ll just have to do. There. All better.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, an attempt at words but only a croak coming out in disbelief. Finally he was able to mutter, “How?”

You’d almost expected him to ask why, but as he asked how instead, you understood. He may have studied the workings of the Force, and understood it on a molecular level, but that didn’t mean he truly knew its capabilities. Plus, he’d only ever been exposed to a truly dark and twisted side of things, one that was selfish and manipulative. That side would never reach out and heal just for the sake of it. They’d reach out a hand just to strike you further down. Or make sure you stayed there.

“Friends take care of each other. I’d call us friends, wouldn’t you?” He nodded hesitantly, eyes darting to the Mandalorian hovering behind you before coming back to you. “And you’re going to help us find the kid, aren’t you?” He nodded again, making you smile a bit broader. “That’s it then. We help you, you help us.” 

You got to your feet, standing beside Din, and helping Pershing to his feet. Once he was standing, though, you didn’t let go of his hand, making sure he met your gaze as you held his hand a bit too tight. “But if anything goes wrong…. I can’t make any promises about my friend out there. As you’ve already seen, she’s a bit of a loose canon. Can’t really tell what she’ll do if she gets upset.”

Eyes wide, Pershing nodded in understanding, eyes flitting between you and Din rapidly, then darted where Cara had disappeared before landing back on you. “Understood.”

Xxx

Fennec’s talk had caused the clouds to break, but your mind was still overcast and dreary; thoughts dark and dismal pulling you into another spiral you were fighting hard to stay on the edge of, and not get sucked down under. So far you’d kept your head above water, but with every kick to tread and stay up, you were getting more and more tired.

Staring out one of the side viewports of Boba’s ship, you watched the stars crawl lazily by, as your arms crossed over your chest held you tight. The soft clink of beskar clad steps came up behind you, the looming hover of the cool metal just out of reach as he stood a mere breath away brought a soothing wash over your skin.

“You’re not going to say anything?” You mumbled after a long moment of silence.

“Mmm-mmm,” he hummed, the gentle shake of his head causing the fabric of his cowl to brush the back of your head. 

“Thank you.” A deep breath. “Why not?”

“Do you want me to?”

You shrugged. “Not particularly.” You smirked at his huff of laughter. “Everyone else has, though. Including you. Just figured we’d come full circle and it was your turn again.”

He shrugged this time, the motion jostling him a bit closer, just enough that he was barely touching you. “You’re going to feel what you feel. I can’t change that by telling you over and over that I think it's wrong.”

“But you do?”

He sighed. “Mesh’la….” He closed the last breath of distance between you, pressing his chest along your spine. “I’ve said my piece. You know how I feel, what I think. Me beating you over the head with it like Peli adjusting something on the Crest isn’t gonna change anything.” His modulator lowered down beside your ear. “All I can do is stay here and keep fighting alongside you, hopefully beating whatever is winning in that head of yours…. Because it’s wrong. And I hate what it’s doing to you.”

You smiled to yourself. “It’s just me up here.”

“That’s not the full you. That’s the broken you. I know because….” He sighed. “Because I’m a little bit broken, too.”

The silence sat comfortably between you for a long moment. When you finally spoke again, your voice was soft, but felt harsh in the new quiet you’d found.

“How are you not falling apart?”

“Who says I’m not?” He didn’t miss a beat.

You let out a snort, a sardonic chuckle chasing after it as you shook your head gently. “That’s not fair, you have armor to hold you together.”

“It’s not the armor.” His voice was quiet, but he spoke with a conviction that made your breath catch in your chest.

Your conversation from back on Coruscant came back to you.

“I’m sorry I scared you, years ago.”

“What do you-”

“You’re right. You do wear armor. And I can only imagine how it felt to have something break past those defenses.” 

It was nearly silent as you studied his visor, your reflection staring back at you in the low light. The only sounds were Grogu’s snoring, the muted drone of traffic several levels up, the quiet lull of street noises from below, and both of your quiet breaths.

“I hope you know you don’t have to keep wearing it for me.” Your eyes flitted between his, despite the visor. Somehow you knew. “If you want to, that’s okay. I understand. That’s part of who you are. But….” You took a surprisingly shaky breath, and his hand came to rest on your hip, his thumb tracing soothing patterns while he waited for you to finish. You had to screw your eyes shut to focus on the last few words. “But I just wanted you to know. I’d be your armor if you needed- wanted me to.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, the darkness so much easier to hide in. How ironic, since you had just offered him a way out of something similar.

The next thing you knew, the cool touch of beskar against your forehead for the third time tonight made you take in a shuddering breath.

“I’d like that,” you heard him rumble lowly, making you smile. 

A long moment passed with just the two of you and shared space before you finally opened your eyes. “What’s going on in there, Tin Can?”

Din huffed out a soft laugh as he gave your hip a gentle squeeze. “I can’t decide which is prettier armor. You or beskar.”

Your arched brows of curiosity fell flat along with your tone. “Really?”

“You asked.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Okay. Moment’s over.” You pushed away from him, your hands already resting on his chest pressing him onto his back in the process.

“Mesh’la, come on. I was only teasing,” Din protested over a laugh, reaching a hand after you as you got under the covers.

You looked up at him, unimpressed. “If you say, ‘we both know it’s the beskar’, joke or not, so help me, a bad bed roll will be the least of your back pain worries.”

His hand recoiled slightly as if you had burned him. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You smirked. “I thought so.”

Turning, arms still cradling your upper half, you tilted your head back to look at him straight on. Staring into his visor, your reflection the only thing looking back at you, it took everything you had to fight the sinking feeling in your gut. “Din, I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

He crowded further into your space, making your head tilt back even more. “Do what?”

“Keep going. I know I have to, and I will for the kid, for you, but…. I feel like I’m about to break.”

“Then break.” His arms slowly came around your waist.

“What?” Brows knit in confusion, you blinked up at his visor.

“Go ahead and fall. I’ll catch you.”

“Din-”

“Remember on Tatooine when you decided to use the Force to shoot the packets?” You nodded. “It zapped you so fast you couldn’t hardly stand up, but I stood right there behind you, and kept you up, until it was too much. Then-”

“You let me fall.” Smiling softly, you leaned your face into his cowl taking a much needed deep breath, what felt like the first in a while. He smelled like plasma, and smoke, faintly of Morak, something simply him, and….. home. 

Suddenly the air didn’t feel so oppressive, gravity wasn’t pushing you down so hard. Unwinding your arms from around yourself, they found their way around Din, holding him tight. They found their way home, knowing exactly where to go.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed into your hair, his grip around you cinching tighter. “I let you fall back into me, then I made sure you were safe until you were ready to try again.”

“How did I end up with someone like you in my life?” You mumbled the words lazily into his cowl, the corners of your mouth curving further up.

The smile on his face was evident in his tone. “You’re a really great bartender.”

Xxx

Din was able to track Bo-Katan and Koska down on some backwater planet you didn’t even know the name of. At this point it didn’t really matter, they were all bleeding together. You just wanted to get a team together and get the kid. And if that included killing or maiming a Moff in the process…. Well that was just fine with you. Anyone who would steal and torture a child deserved the absolute worst punishment. Especially if that child was Grogu. Was yours.

Walking into the local cantina, you hovered behind Din and Boba, all three of you standing tall as the patrons started to notice you one by one. Conversations went silent, laughter dying out as they realized who exactly had darkened their doorway. They began to flee the building, some of them being sly about it, others just blatantly running past, but no one wanted to linger when two more bodies in beskar walked through the door.

One or two pointed to the saber on your hip, and a sense of pride swelled in your chest. Let them see. You may not have a suit of beskar, but a saber carried just as much infamy. Hopefully it kept more of the Gideon’s of the galaxy away from you and yours.

The cantina slowly emptied until it was just Bo-Katan and Koska eating at a table on the far end and your little party of three. A handful of patrons had waited until the bounty hunters had walked all the way through the establishment before they bolted, jostling you where you stood, still by the door. 

Leaning against the frame, arms across your chest, you sighed as a Rodian inched past you cautiously, and you swore a wary smile was tugging up one side of his face but you knew that was impossible.

“I need your help.” Din’s voice was gruff.

Bo-Katan sighed. “Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters.” She wasn’t wearing her helmet, and neither was Koska, so nothing was there to hide the annoyance on her face as she turned toward your little party of three. Her eyes flicked up and down Boba before landing back on Din’s visor. “Some of us serve a higher purpose.”

“They took the child,” Din explained in a heavy tone, the hesitance in his words slowing them down to something almost broken. Reluctant.

That got her attention. “Who?” To her credit, her features melted into genuine concern, the wheels in her head already turning to plot a rescue.

Din answered without a moment's hesitation, his voice once again the low, confident growl you were used to. “Moff Gideon.”

You made your way further into the cantina, leaning on your right shoulder against the pillar beside Din, nodding once to Bo-Katan when she met your eyes.

She returned the gesture before her gaze fell down to the knife on your belt and a fond smile briefly turned up her features before it melted away just as fast. “You’ll never find him.” She turned back toward her plate of food, Koska doing the same beside her. 

Boba turned to look at you, his head tilting to the side in explanation instead of speaking, then lifted his visor toward Din. “We don’t need these two. Let’s get outta here.”

Bo-Katan’s attention immediately snapped toward the green set of beskar, her body angling toward him as she spoke. “You are not a Mandalorian.”

“Never said I was.” Boba only turned his head to peer at her across his shoulder. The movement was almost lazy, and it made you want to snicker. His voice was somewhat bored, and you leaned your head back into the pillar, settling in for the show.

“I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk,” Koska finally piped up, directing her sarcastic comment toward Boba.

This made you push off the pillar, your arms coming to rest on your hips near your belt laden with weapons. Keeping your eyes on the other Mandalorian, you stayed back when Boba subtly held his arm out to stop you. This was his fight. 

Sidling up to their table, he chuckled dryly. “Well if that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy.” He pulled up short when Koska got to her feet and stood right in his face. “Easy there, little one.”

Stepping closer the minuscule amount left between them, her nose practically brushing against his visor, she issued further threats as her head bobbed side to side for emphasis. “You’ll be talking through the window of a bacta tank.”

Your hand slowly lowered to your blaster hanging in the holster on your belt.

Bo-Katan held out her hand toward the two Mandalorians, her tone exasperated. “All right, easy. Save it for the Imps.”

Lowering your hand off of your blaster, you straightened your spine as Koska sat back down in her seat, and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Din thankfully moved the subject along. “We have his coordinates.”

The look of surprise on Bo-Katan’s face was priceless. “You can bring me to Moff Gideon?”

“The Moff has a light cruiser. It could be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore.”

“You gotta be kidding me. Mandalore?” Boba turned to Din. Taking the few steps back toward the shiny Mandalorian, his voice had taken on disbelief. “The Empire turned that planet to glass.”

Bo-Katan was seething. “You are a disgrace to your armor.”

At that point you tuned out. Anything else was just going to upset you. Boba was your friend, and Bo-Katan was needed to get to Gideon. You’d pick a fight if you kept listening to her hurling insults about him being a clone, but you took a page out of Boba’s book, and let it roll off your back. 

All sound faded out for a moment, the silence so loud it was distracting. You stared blankly at the wall behind everyone.

Din settled into the pillar beside you, leaning against his left shoulder, and drawing you out of your trance. Smiling softly at the tilt of his head and heavy sigh that followed, you arched a brow at him in question. 

His shoulders rose and fell with another sigh, the words coming out on the exasperated breath. “Might as well get comfy.”

Your brow tilted further up into your hairline, the corner of your mouth trying to match it. “Why? What’s happening?”

Koska was thrown into a nearby table by Boba, the stone shattering under the impact, sending dust and rubble skittering across the floor.

“Mandalorian argument,” Din grunted.

“Doesn’t an argument usually involve words?” You asked, settling your spine against the pillar, watching as Koska and Boba exchanged blows.

Leaning his head to his left toward you, you tilted yours to the right to meet him in the middle. “This is a special dialect of Mando’a,” Din teased.

Both of you split apart almost lazily as Koska’s feet flew into the pillar, ran across its surface while her jet pack ignited and sent her head over heels in a flip, Boba’s head locked in her grip the whole way.

You came back together as if nothing had happened, resuming your previous positions as the green beskar landed on the ground with a thud, popping up just as fast and two opposing flamethrowers ignited, meeting in the middle in a shower of flames.  

“Enough! Both of you!” Bo-Katan barked in annoyance.

When the fires didn’t go out, you rolled your eyes, pushing off the pillar and flipping over the wall of heat, igniting your saber and making it zing off your vambrace.

Their flames sputtered to a halt as sparks flew from your armor. Bo-Katan bowed her head to you once in thanks, her eyes wide. You returned it, a tight smile on your face as you disengaged the blade. 

Bo-Katan continued pointedly, eyes flicking between the two Mandalorians. “If we had shown half that spine to the Empire we would’ve never lost our planet.” She turned to Din. “We will help you. In exchange, we will keep that ship to retake Mandalore. If you should manage to finish your quest, I would have you reconsider joining our efforts. Mandalorians have been in exile from our home world for far too long.”

“Fair enough.” You could tell Din was just saying what she wanted to hear. He had no intentions of joining her cause. It made you smile softly. Ever the diplomat…. Give or take some aggressive negotiations.

“One more thing. Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me. It is an ancient weapon that can cut through anything.” Her eyes fell to the hilt of your saber now hung back on your belt as you made your way back to Din’s side. 

“Almost anything.” Koska looked at you pointedly before turning her gaze to Bo-Katan.

“It cannot cut through pure beskar.” Bo-Katan held Koska’s stare, then her eyes fell to your vambraces before they returned to Din. “But then your riduur already gave us an example of that.” Before you could say anything she continued. “I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine. With the Darksaber restored to me, Mandalore will finally be within reach.” (“Partner.”)

Your head began to swim again. So much rested on one man. Kriffing Moff Gideon. The restoration of Mandalore, the reunion of a clan, the mending of your heart…. It was all becoming a bit overwhelming. All it took was one little thing going wrong, and…. Just one thing….

Din peered down at her, his voice stable and calm. “Help me rescue the child and you can have whatever you want. He is my only priority.”

That shouldn’t hurt like it did. You knew he meant it only in the sense of her eagerness to fight Moff Gideon, but you couldn’t help but take it personally. It burrowed down under your skin and stung more than a prick from your training remote.

What did you expect?

It was always the kid.

You knew that.

You were always second.

Suck it up and move on. 

The voices in your head made you angry, and what’s worse, sounded a lot like you. There was no kyber to blame, no unseen force pulling at strings…. It was just your messed up brain.

You had to get out of there. Din would understand. He probably saw you as a liability already anyway. 

A shuddering breath filled your lungs as you took a step backwards towards the door. That last thought made you sad.

If there was one thing you never wanted, it was to be a burden for him. But looking back, that’s all you’d ever been. He’d had to teach you, feed you, house you…. There’s not a moment where he wasn’t devoting his time to keeping an eye on you. He gave the kid more freedom than you.

Turning, you strode out of the cantina, ignoring Din’s calls at your back.

“Mesh’la!”

Finally a gloved hand wrapped around your elbow, pulling you to a stop, but not before you ripped your arm out of his hold.

Rounding on him, you turned to stare at his visor with a flat expression and took a step backward. “What?”

He slowed to a stop about a foot away from you. “I should be asking you the same thing!”

“So much is riding on this one man. Everything…. If just one thing goes wrong…. And I don’t…. I don’t know what I would do if….” Arms crossed over your chest, you held his gaze. “I just finally put it together, Din. He’s your only priority, you said it yourself. I’m nothing but a burden here. I can’t teach the kid, you have to teach me everything, from flying the ship to fixing it to defending myself…. You never let me out of your sight! It’s like…. I finally got it. I’m a liability, so I’ll just go.”

Turning, you didn’t even make it a step before you froze again at the sound of his voice.

“Mesh’la….” When you wouldn’t turn around, he continued. “I don’t let you out of my sight because I can’t.” You scoffed. “I don’t want to. You’re the first thing I want to see each morning and the last thing before I fall asleep.” His voice got closer. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I don’t want to sleep, because I don’t want to miss a second.” He drew closer still. “Yeah, I’d call you a liability, but for the first time, I’m willing to have a target on my back if that means I get you in my life. You’re a liability because if you left, I don’t know what I would do.”

You huffed. “What, you can’t find someone else to watch the kid?”

“I can’t find someone else to make me laugh.” Din didn’t miss a beat. He continued down his list as if it was ready made on the tip of his tongue. “To put all the blasters in the weapons locker backwards because they know it annoys me. I can’t find someone else who’s had me in a chokehold from the moment I saw them. I don’t like people, you know that. But I really, really-”

“Tolerate me?”

You didn’t have to turn around to know his weight had shifted to one leg, his head tilted to the side in disbelief. “Yeah. That’s it. I tolerate you. I tolerate you bad.” 

You couldn’t help the chuckle as you rolled your eyes.

His voice was closer when he spoke again, the gravel of the planet crunching underfoot as he drifted slowly nearer to you. “I tolerate you a lot. All the time. You walk in the cockpit and it’s just like the first time I saw you all over again. You make me act like an idiot.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Well, at least we can agree on that.”

“My brain stops. I forget what I’m doing.” His chest was pressed along your spine now, his hands on your upper arms, modulator by your ear as he went on. “It’s dangerous. So yeah, you’re a liability.” His grip on your arms tightened. “Good thing I’m in indestructible armor.”

The snort of laughter fell out before you could stop it, more coming out to meet it as soft chuckles buzzed out of his chest and along your skin as he closed his arms around your upper body, pulling you tightly to him. 

“Gar cuyi ner aliit. Ni kar'tayli darasuum gar. Gar cuyi ner mir'sheb bal gar utreekov kar'tayli darasuum gar, cyar’ika.” His voice was low and quiet, but happy. (“You are my family. I love you. You are my smartass, and your idiot loves you, darling.”)

Lifting your hands up to rest on his still around you, you couldn’t fight the grin crawling up your face. “Bal gar mir'sheb kar'tayli darasuum gar.” (“And your smartass loves you.”)

His helmet pressed into the crook of your neck, the buzz of his modulator tickling your skin. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I should have phrased what I said to Bo differently.” He groaned softly. “Ni cuyi gar utreekov, partayli?” (“I am your idiot, remember?”)

You turned in his hold, pressing your forehead to his. “Ni kar'tayli. Ni kar'tayli gar. Gar cuyi ner kar'ta, partayli?” You sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m just so on edge since everything with the kid, and I…. Thank you for understanding. And thank you for fighting for me, Tin Can. Even though it’s not much of a risk with that indestructible armor.” Your eyes flew open, looking at the T of his visor through your lashes and cocking one eyebrow skeptically. (“I know. I know you. You are my heart, remember?”)

“Shi par gar,” he whispered, his voice tight with an obvious smile. (“Only for you.”)

Xxx

Once everyone boarded Boba’s ship, a plan started to form. Before the group huddled around the holotable, you noticed Koska quietly complimenting some of the weapons stowed in a cluttered corner of the deck. You smiled softly as she and Boba fell into a brief amicable conversation about how he acquired the items, their scuffle back in the cantina long forgotten.

With a roll of your eyes you continued toward the rest of the party. Mandalorians.

Din stood at the back of the group as usual, hands tightly gripping his belt as he watched the others set up the display. The leather of his gloves creaked in protest with every flex of his hands against the thick strip of material around his waist.

Leaning into his side, you pretended to adjust his bandolier, speaking softly so only he could hear. “You okay?”

His visor turned down toward you in question, so you silently slid your hand down toward the hand closest to you, prying it from his hip and slipping your fingers through his with a gentle squeeze.

He let out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah. Sorry. Just…. We’re almost there.”

You turned your head so you were facing the wall behind you, keeping the conversation completely private. “Din Djarin nervous?” Your eyes flicked up to meet the T of his visor, along with a smirk. “Well that’s a first.”

“And that’s a lie,” Din grumbled. “You do all kinds of things that make me nervous.”

“Aw,” blinking your eyes an absurd number of times, you rested your free hand on his chest. “That’s sweet.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” he groused. “I meant things like cooking and fighting. Just normal, everyday things.”

Patting his chest plate a few times, a tight smile pulled up your features. “I know.” With one last squeeze of his hand, you leaned in and whispered, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Din swallowed roughly. “See? Things like that.”

A holo of a massive ship spun in front of Bo-Katan’s face, painting her features in a soft blue glow. “This is Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. In the old days it would carry a crew of several hundred. Now it operates with a tiny fraction of that.” She smiled smugly as she watched the hologram spin.

“Your assessment is misleading.” All eyes turned to the soft voice of Doctor Pershing where he sat perched in a seat right in front of you. He may be soft spoken, but he wasn’t afraid to speak up, and you admired that.

Placing your free hand on his shoulder, you smiled down at him reassuringly when he glanced up your way, nodding once to encourage him to go on. 

“Oh, great. An objective opinion.”

Cutting your eyes Cara’s way, you made sure to shoot her a look through narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. She only shrugged in return, sending your eyes rolling.

“This isn’t subterfuge. I assure you.”

“Let him speak.” Bo-Katan’s interest surprised you, but the more you thought about it, it really didn’t. If the information he had was true, it affected every aspect of her plan.

Pershing let out a sigh. Relief washed over his face, his shoulders rounding forward as he let out the breath. “There’s a garrison of dark troopers on board. They’re the ones who abducted the child.”

That seemed to get Din’s attention. “How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?”

Now that he was back under the scrutiny of a beskar gaze, Pershing sat up a little straighter, hesitating slightly, his eyes fixed on the floor. You didn’t blame him. Those visors were intimidating. “These are third-generation design. They are no longer suits. The human inside was the final weakness to be solved. They’re droids.”

“Where are they bivouacked?” Fennec’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, making you tilt your head at her curiously. 

Pershing got to his feet, shooting you a glance, his face pulled into a tight expression before he focused solely on the holo, pressing a short series of buttons. “They’re held in cold storage in this cargo bay. They draw too much power to be kept at ready.”

“How long to power up?”

“A few minutes, perhaps.” Pershing’s tone never flustered. You half expected him to crack after a few minutes, but he truly was just a soft, kind, well intentioned man stuck in the middle of a horrible situation. 

He didn’t even crack when Din asked him another question. 

“Where is the child being held?”

He just pushed another button, the holo filtering through layouts until it settled on the one he wanted, and he began to explain. “This is the brig. He’s being held here under armed guard.”

Pershing turned back to look at you once again, and you nodded, offering him a smile which he was quick to return before settling back into his seat.

Bo-Katan wasted no time. “Very well. We split into two parties.”

“We go alone,” Din was quick to interject, his hand gently squeezing yours.

“Fine,” she said after a moment, shifting her weight, then launching into the rest of the plan. 

You didn’t pay any attention. You probably should have but you couldn’t.

Turning your head toward the wall once again, you stood on your tiptoes to get closer to Din’s ear. He tilted his head slightly to meet you halfway. You opened your mouth to say something snarky, a joke of some sort, but your breath caught in your throat, making you swallow instead. 

Din turned his head to look at you, and it was all you could do to hold the gaze of his visor.

Letting out a quiet huff of air, you whispered a “Thank you,” before your voice stopped working altogether, the emotions lodged in your throat a formidable foe.

The cold touch of his beskar came to rest on your forehead for only a moment before he was turning back to continue listening to the plan. I guess it’s good one of us was, you thought with a snort.

His voice pulled you back into the conversation. “And us?”

Bo-Katan turned to face him, in full planning mode. “We’ll be misdirection. Once we draw a crowd, you slip through the shadows, get the kid.”

“Those dark troopers? They’re gonna be a real skank in the scud pie.”

“Oh, Cara. Ever the optimist,” you sighed, walking over to a seat next to Pershing and plopping down beside him.

“It’s not my fault the Imps are using super droids now!”

“Didn’t say it was….” You massaged the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.

“So what do you suggest? We just wave you at them and they go flyin’?”

Your hand fell to your lap with a slap. “That’s not how the Force works, and you know it.” A smirk started up your face. “But I could throw you at them, knock a few over….”

Cara tilted her head at you, features pulled tight in annoyance.

“Can you two do this later?” Fennec sighed.

“Oh, so it’s okay for two Mandalorians to destroy the inside of a building on a whim, but I can’t insult my friend with a verbal jab when I want?”

“Basically…. Yeah.”

Both you and Cara gave Fennec the look.

“Their bay is on the way to the brig.” Bo-Katan changed the subject pointedly, her gaze flicking between the three of you before finally landing on Pershing. “Can they make it there before they deploy?”

He seemed to mull it over for a moment. “It’s possible.”

“Here.” Fennec pulled something off of the side of Pershing’s uniform and offered it to Din. “Take his code cylinder and seal off their holding bay. Anyone else, we can handle.”

You tilted your head back to look up at Din where he stood behind you, a mischievous smirk crawling up your features. “They ask for a face to scan this time, let me handle it…. Brown eyes.”

He shook his head at you before turning back to the group. “We’ll meet at the bridge.”

Xxx

The ship bumped gently through hyperspace, blue and silver streaks casting everyone in dancing shadows. It was unusually silent in the cockpit of the stolen Imperial shuttle, everyone’s mind on their tasks ahead. 

When Bo-Katan finally spoke, though her tone was quiet, the sound of a voice made you jump. Din snorted in amusement where he stood beside you, the laughter only growing when you reached out to shove his shoulder in annoyance.

“I can’t believe you,” you mumbled. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Don’t be funny, then,” he countered dryly, turning his visor down toward you.

Glaring up at him, you couldn’t help the quick twitch upward of your lips, opting instead to try and hide it with a roll of your eyes as you focused back on what Bo-Katan was saying.

“Moff Gideon is mine. Got it?”

“Not if he’s mine first,” you mumbled.

Cara stopped cleaning her rifle, and that was how you knew she meant business. “He’s ex-ISB. He’s got a lot of information.” She set the rifle in her lap. Your eyes went wide. She was serious. “I need him alive.”

Bo-Katan sighed, shifting her weight in her seat as she pressed a few buttons on the controls. “I don’t care what happens to him as long as he surrenders to me.”

“Prepare to exit jump space.” Boba’s voice over the comms made you smile. He was on his ship with doctor Pershing. 

“We could freeze him,” Boba offered when the question of what to do with Pershing came up.

You leaned in close to him, ignoring his skeptical expression from his seat opposite your own. “Your carbonite chamber is broken, remember?” Tilting your head, you narrowed your eyes. “Or are you just getting that old, old man?”

Boba turned to you with wide eyes. “He doesn’t know that,” he hissed, jerking his head subtly toward Pershing. 

The man was sitting just a few feet away, trying to give the impression of not listening in to a conversation about his fate.

“For what it’s worth,” he finally chimed in, holding up one finger and swallowing roughly before going on. “I-I d-d-don’t think c-carbonite is n-necessary.”

Boba sighed as Pershing turned to look at the two of you. After a long pause, Boba gestured with one hand for the man to go on. “And why is that?”

“Um.”

“Very compelling.” Boba looked at you pointedly.

The snort of laughter that escaped you in a huff caught you off guard, but the snickering that followed it didn’t. Leaning forward in your chair, you put your hand on Boba’s shoulder, ignoring the way he arched a brow and looked at it like it was a broken hyperdrive. “Come on, friend. It won’t be a problem. Because like you and I, he is also a friend. And friends help each other, don’t they?” Boba slowly lifted his head to hold your gaze once again, simply staring at you, his brows flat and unamused. You gave his shoulder a little shake, and your voice a slight edge. “Don’t they.”

He sighed. 

You smiled, releasing your vice-like grip on his pauldron back to something more forgiving. “They at least don’t freeze each other in carbonite.”

Boba hummed in thought, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve never met some of my friends.”

As your hand fell into your lap, you stared at him, smile stuck on your face in disbelief. You blinked once, twice. “What?”

“Copy that.” Bo-Katan smiled softly. “Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock. And your shots have to look convincing.”

Boba huffed out a laugh. “Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.”

“Watch out for those deck cannons.” 

Looking at Bo-Katan with wide eyes, your eyebrows narrowed in confusion before you looked up into Din’s visor, one brow rising into your hairline. “Well. That bridge was mended fast,” you muttered under your breath. 

Din simply shrugged one shoulder in response, his head shaking slightly as if to say, “Don’t look at me, I’m just as confused as you are.” 

Probably more, you thought with a grin as you turned back toward the viewport.

Boba muttered something under his breath. Then his voice softened, an undercurrent of something almost concerned painting his tone. “Don’t worry about me. Just be careful in there.”

“You be careful out here, old man.” Your words whispered for only yourself to hear, a tight smile pulled up your face when Fennec snorted out a soft laugh to your left. Her eyes met yours, a gentle shake of her head her only response before she focused back out the viewport. 

Silence settled once again throughout the cabin, this one a bit more tense than the first. It was time. On the other side of this jump lay uncertainty and conflict…. But it also held your heart. You were one stop away from healing. And for some reason that made you grip the handle by your head tighter. 

Koska’s soft countdown pulled you back into the moment at hand. “Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one…”

The ship lurched, sending you stumbling forward slightly as the streams of hyperspace slid into streaks of silver stars. Gideon’s light cruiser loomed through the viewport, filling the space from end to end and growing as the ship approached it rapidly.

Boba shot at the shuttle in bursts, both ships weaving back and forth as the bolts narrowly missed the hull.

You could almost hear Boba’s voice in your head. “That was my warning shot.”

Bo-Katan called out a fake mayday, asking for help from the cruiser, but everyone exchanged a nervous look when a response came back to clear the way for TIE support.

As she tried to call the bluff, heading straight for the landing bay as planned while yelling something else into the comms, you shifted your weight to avoid falling as she took a particularly aggressive turn to the right. The quick upward motion of the ship that followed knocked the wind out of you with a huff.

“I hope she fights better than she flys,” you leaned toward Din, grumbling about Bo-Katan and groaning as she swerved again, sending you stumbling into his chest.

His arms wrapped around your waist, one of them reaching up to grab onto the handle for stabilization as he peered down at you with a slight tilt of his head. “This feels familiar.”

A snort of laughter had you tucking your face into his cowl with another groan. “Yeah, it’s almost like we need to make better friends, or at least some who fly with some sense of survival.”

“We haven’t died yet.”

“Yet is the key word there.”

Streaks of green from TIE fighter blasts shot past the viewport, illuminating the cabin on their way past.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the nearest enemy ship, reaching out through the Force in an attempt to send it spiraling through space when a hand on your shoulder stopped you short. Blinking your eyes open, you turned down toward the grip to find a gloved hand holding you tight.

“Uh-uh,” Din’s voice was low, similar to the way he admonished the child. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I was just….”

“You were just nothing. Nope. I don’t wanna hear it, mesh’la.”

Arms crossed over your chest as you faced forward, you cut your eyes to the side to glare at him. “You’re no fun.”

He nodded once in agreement, not even bothering to look your way. “I’m the absolute worst.”

Before you could respond, the ship lurched again, the mechanical whirr of the wings folding in for landing vibrating the floor under your feet. 

“Hang on!” Fennec yelled, holding on to the bottom of her seat as if bracing for impact.

A quick glance through the viewport showed sparks beginning to fly as the transport touched down inside the cruiser with a massive jolt.

Din held you close with one arm, the handle overhead with the other. You gripped his cowl with both hands as if your life depended on it.

Reaching out with the Force one more time, you searched for the other half of this elaborate plot to get onboard the cruiser, feeling him just on the edge of your awareness before he blipped out altogether. “Boba’s clear,” you breathed on a sigh.

The ship came to a shuddering halt, the screech of metal on metal filling the air along with a thick smoke that obscured most everything.

“Leave some for us,” you mumbled to Bo-Katan as she passed by you toward the lowering ramp, blasters drawn and ready.

You couldn’t see her face because of her helmet, but you could tell from her tone that she was smirking. “I’m not making any promises.”

The first wave waited for as many of the enemy to surround the downed transport before they stormed the hangar, the bay a storm of blaster bolts raining down and jet packs sounding off. 

The sounds of troopers screaming and issuing hollow threats grew further and further away, until they reached the other end of the hangar, finally coming to an abrupt end with a single shot. It was over almost faster than it had begun, silence filling the hangar after a matter of moments.

Both you and Din hung back in the cockpit, watching the whole thing on a display until the party disappeared through a door on the other side of the hangar.

“We’re clear,” Bo-Katan’s voice filled the transport from the comm on your hip. “Give us two minutes then go.”

Din pushed a button on the side of his helmet to reply. “Copy that.” He began to follow you toward the ramp. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Bo-Katan snorted. “This is the Way.”

Xxx

Din POV

Din chuckled as he came to a stop a few feet behind you, simply watching in silence. The thick smoke almost concealed you even just the short distance in front of him, but it was just thin enough that it swirled around you in some sort of eerie embrace that kept you still in his sights. 

If he was being honest, that’s how things had felt lately since the kid had gone - hazy and unclear. But there was always you somewhere in the middle of all the muddle to grab his hand and pull him through.

If he was being brutally honest…. That was how things had always been with you. Not just lately. Not just sometimes. From the time he met you, everything else seemed to slip into a fog and if it wasn’t for your guiding hand, he’d truly be lost.

It wasn’t that he quit finding joy in other things in life.

But those things meant nothing now if he couldn’t share them with you. Somehow. If he couldn’t find a way to bring them, or himself, back to you.

Din smiled and sighed quietly to himself, walking the last few steps silently.

There was time for all of this later, right now…. He had to get the kid.

You both had to get the kid.

This clan of three had been a clan of two for too long.

Xxx

Normal POV

Standing at the top of the ramp, arms crossed, a smirk crawled up your face.

“What are you doing?” Din’s voice behind you didn’t startle you for once, making the turn of your lips grow.

Trilling the fingers of your right hand, you watched the smoke tendrils near the bottom of the ramp curl and unfurl as you manipulated them slowly; the smile on your face going nowhere anytime soon.

“Having fun.” Tilting your head back to look at him with a broad grin, your fingers still moving in slow swirls, you chuckled softly at his amused sigh and gentle shake of his head. “What? Is there something else I’m meant to be doing?”

“Scoping out the hang-”

“It’s clear.” The smirk returned as you straightened your head to scan the docking bay. “Not a single life form left after our first wave went through. Well, aside from one.”

“Where?” Din drew his blaster, head instantly on a swivel as he surveyed the hangar.

“Right…. Here.” You sent the smoke swirling around him, making him swat at it, batting it away with an annoyed groan as you laughed. “Then again, could be a false reading. Been told bounty hunters are heartless.”

Din grunted, holstering his blaster as he closed the distance between you. “Oh, I’ve gotta heart. Want me to prove it?”

You laughed as your back hit the frame of the opening at the top of the ramp, Din crowding into your space. “I know you do, I know you do. I was only teasing. Kriff, you’re so easy to mess with sometimes.” 

Hands on his chest, you tried to push him off. Grunting in frustration when he didn’t move, you arched a brow and peered up into his visor, a soft laugh tumbling out despite yourself. “Hey. Shiny. Let me go. We have work to do. Little green kid. This big?” You held up your hands between you for reference. “Eats everything in sight? Cute as can be and stubborn as a tooka under threat of a bath?” 

Din just kept staring down at you, his head tilted slightly to the right. You pushed on his chest again with another grin. “Remember him? Hey!”

“There she is.”

You huffed out a breath in confusion as you stared up into his visor. “What?” 

“You’re laughing again. Smiling. You should do that more often.”

Staring over his shoulder absently, you realized you felt content for the first time in a while. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Meeting the T of his visor, you felt a smile climb your face like it was the most natural thing. “I guess it’s because the kid is so much closer for the first time since he was taken. I can feel him, Din. It’s like a part of me that was missing is whole again.”

“You can sense him?” He sounded breathless.

You nodded.

“Is he alright?” He was almost hesitant, but hopeful nonetheless.

Reaching out to wrap yourself around the familiar aura, you felt your soul begin to mend its broken parts. A soft laugh tumbled out as you felt a streak of mischief you knew all too well, followed by hunger, then love.

“He’s going to be okay.”

Xxx

Moving around the cruiser was easy, the team that went ahead of you drawing most of the attention of the crew that remained.

You and Din slinked through the hallways like shadows, evading the few troopers you came across without issue. 

An abandoned blaster in one lone hallway caught your attention; without thinking, you went to step out into the corridor to get it, stopping short when the neckline of your shirt cinched tight around your neck. Sputtering, you were jerked back into a beskar wall by a lone, gloved finger in the back of your collar.

“What the hell, Din?!” You hissed as you reached up to tear your top out of his tight grip.

His other hand came up to cover your mouth as two troopers walked by at the end of the hall. The hand in your shirt slipped down around your waist to pull you both further back into the shadows.

“You could have just said something,” you mumbled against his palm, rolling your eyes at his world weary sigh. With a flick of your wrist, you summoned the blaster to you from its spot on a lone crate across the corridor. Turning it over in your hands as you examined it, you hummed softly in thought. “Can you let me go now please?” His hand was still over your mouth so the words were completely jumbled.

“Will you stop trying to cross the street like a drunken baby wookie?”

You sighed into his hand, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “It’s a hallway, not a street, Din.”

“You’re not helping your case, mesh’la.”

You flipped the blaster to stun. “Does that help my case?”

Din heaved another sigh, lowering his hand and nudging you forward out of the alcove. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

As a smirk crawled up your face, you followed after him.

“Why have you become so violent?” He mumbled.

“I’ve learned from the best,” smirk melting into a grin, you jammed the blaster into the back of your pants.

Din turned down a hall on the left, then the right, before going straight down another long corridor. Every surface was shiny and reflective. Sterile. You wanted out of here as fast as possible.

Din groaned quietly. “Why do I feel you’re not talking about me?”

Both of you answered his question in unison. “Cara.” You nodded while his head tilted to the side before straightening.

Another left turn.

“Now see,” he mused, stopping to check the layout on the nav in his helmet. “I was going to say Fennec.”

Straight.

Your face twisted in thought. “I could see that…. She-”

He pulled you into a little alcove just as another two troopers walked by, causing you to collide with his chest with a soft thud. The troopers stopped at the sound, peering down the hall you were tucked just out of sight in, making the two of you press further into the wall and by extension, one another. Holding a finger up to your lips, you waited for Din to nod in acknowledgment before staring blankly at the wall next to his shoulder, deep in focus. 

After a moment, both troopers jumped slightly, looking behind them, then ambled off in search of the phantom sound you’d caused down the hall.

“I can’t believe you jumped,” one said.

“You did, too!” The other protested.

“Did not. I was just trying to turn around before you did.”

“Sure,” his friend said sarcastically.

“You know what,” the first one started. “If you don’t stop coming after me, I’m going to tell the Moff about the time you….”

Their voices faded around the corner, soft sounds of bickering trailing to nothing after a few moments.

Din chuckled, looking down at you, but made no effort to move. “You’re very handy to have around.”

You smirked. “Thank you.”

Xxx

A short while later, after just a few twists and turns, you came around a corner that had Din pressing a button on the side of his helmet to pull up his nav, his blaster drawn in the other hand. 

“This is it,” he mumbled, reaching down and pulling out the code cylinder from his belt. Glancing at a panel on the wall a short ways down the hall by a set of doors, his steps picked up as he hurried toward the controls, breaking into a sprint with a sudden, “No. No!” when the doors began to hiss open.

He clicked it in just in time, sending the doors the opposite way, but not quite fast enough for his liking. In a split second he had shifted his weight and began to fire his blaster through the small crack still left open between the two doors. 

You thought it all was over until two hands, two mechanical hands, the same hands you'd seen wrapped around the child on Tython, slipped through the remaining sliver left between the doors and pried them open.

Despite Din’s relentless open fire, the droid continued forward, pulling one arm back and punching Din square in the front of his helmet which sent him flying back into the wall. The droid then opened the doors enough to slip through before they slammed shut behind it.

Menacing red eyes stared lifelessly as it stalked closer to Din.

“Hey, bolt brain!”

The droid turned its head to look at you with a mechanical whirr, and you wasted no time. Charging toward your opponent, you did the attack that was second nature now. It was instinct. 

“Not today, grease breath,” you mumbled as you leapt into the air, wrapping your legs around the neck of the droid in an attempt to take it down.

But instead of both of you going down in a pile of limbs, the droid reached up, grabbed your thigh in its inhumanly tight grip, pulled you from its shoulders, and flung you to the floor as if you weighed nothing. 

The hallway sped by in streaks of dull shine, your skin screeching across the floor until you finally came to a stop several yards away. Nothing was really processing in your mind at that point past, “Well, that didn’t work.”

Suddenly it was like fire was shooting up your leg. Looking down at your thigh near where the droid had grabbed you, there was a tear in your pants, and underneath that a deep, angry gash that looked almost like a burn.

Din had kept firing at the droid while you made your attack, and it seemed a blaster bolt had ricocheted off of the monster and nicked your leg. The more you thought about it, the more it began to hurt. Pain radiated into your lower back and down into your foot, a hiss of discomfort passing through your tightly drawn lips. Biting back a moan, your jaw ticked to the side as you ground your teeth through another wave of agony.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on any of this, even though it had all occurred in just a matter of seconds.

The droid had already set its sights back on Din and had lifted him up against the wall by his throat, holding him in place as it released punch after punch into his visor.

Your only comfort was that his beskar was sure to hold up.

“Din!” You cried out, pushing up onto your palms, the movement causing a new wave of pain to shoot through your leg. Grimacing as you looked down at the wound, your attention was pulled over your shoulder as the platoon of dark troopers left in the bay began to pound on the doors to try and get through.

Turning back toward Din, you reached out as much focus you could offer right now, the wound tugging at the edges of your consciousness and making the lights in the corridor go blurry. The wall behind his head collapsed and a gas line began to fill the hallway with a cloud of the noxious fumes. He was suddenly sending energy down toward his flamethrower, so you withdrew from your mind and engaged your vambrace as well. 

The two pillars of flame met in the middle, dousing the droid in fire and sparks, but it didn’t even seem to slow it down at all. It just looked down at its body as the mechanics moaned and groaned under the heat, then lifted its head back up to look at Din before throwing him down the hall as the droid’s body somehow put out the flames. 

“Din!” You cried out again, anger boiling in your stomach as you watched him slide across the floor and could do nothing to help him. “Dank farrik!”

He was right under the panel and reached up to pull the handle to eject the rest of the dark troopers, but just as his fingers touched the metal, the droid grabbed his leg and tugged him back to the other side of the hall. It took a few steps toward him, then leaned back on one leg and kicked Din in the chest, sending him sliding further down the corridor.

As the droid opened fire at the beskar clad warrior, and Din returned the favor with his whistling birds, you took the opportunity to crawl and get your back up against the wall next to the panel. Relaxing into the durasteel for just a breath, you focused and reached out with the Force, flipping the lever with an unseen hand.

It struggled at first, flickering against the wall as if it didn’t want to move despite your clear intentions for it to just go. The transparisteel at the top of the door between you and the dark troopers cracked from top to bottom. One more hit and they were coming through. As one of the droids reared back to deliver a final punch, the handle flipped, sounding an alarm and opening the bay doors at the back of the area, sucking them all out into space. 

Smirk on your face, you looked up and watched as the dark troopers were pulled away from the small window at the top of the door. “Bye, you sons of-”

You were cut off by the sound of beskar through metal. Turning your head, you looked to find the droid crumbling into a pile of sparks and broken parts at Din’s feet, the beskar spear firmly in his hands. Reattaching the spear to his back, he let out a breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort before he turned his head and saw you perched on the floor.

He was quick to rush over to you, crumbling himself to land on his knees at your side, his hands a contradiction as they trembled, moving slowly toward the wound on your thigh. “Did I?”

“Ricochet,” you corrected him quickly. “When I jumped the droid. Got me good. Just…. Just help me up.”

His shoulder went under your arm immediately as he got you to your feet. “You should head to the bridge. I’ll find the brig, get the kid, and-”

“No.” He met your eyes with his visor, and you held his gaze, eyebrows raised in challenge as you tilted your head to the side. “Din, no. He’s part of my clan, too. I’m coming with you.”

He sighed. “Mesh’la….”

Standing up straighter, trying to take more weight on your bad leg, you stumbled a few steps away from him, or at least attempted to. He didn't let you get but a few inches away before his arm was back around your torso again in support. “At least I didn’t shoot you!”

“I didn’t shoot you,” he grumbled, adjusting your weight against his side. 

Staring at the side of his helmet in a deadpan, you couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t even a scuff mark from where the droid had unleashed its fury. That settled you a bit. But not enough to calm your annoyance. “You shot me.”

He rolled his head in exasperation. “It bounced off the death droid.” Turning as a unit, you both began down the hall toward the brig, Din carrying the brunt of your weight on his shoulder.

You snorted a laugh. “According to you, all droids are death droids.”

“Not the point- Don’t change the subject!”

Now you were snickering. “I didn’t.” Clutching his cowl in your hand thrown around his neck, you gave him a gentle, playful shake. “You shot me, he’s my family, too, so I’m coming. End of story. Now let's go.” You tried to walk a little faster, but with a Mandalorian literally strapped to your hip, it didn’t work very well.

After a few steps down the hall, Din spoke softly. “Bolt brain?”

Turning your head, you found his visor studying your face. “Well I couldn’t exactly call it Tin Can, that’s already taken, isn’t it?”

He nodded before you both continued down the corridor, walking in silence.

“I’m sorry I used your name.” The sigh was second nature now. Just part of being friends with the Mandalorian.

He looked at you. “I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked over his visor, every curve and angle spectacularly unaffected from the fight.

Din’s head tilted to the side affectionately, his voice soft. “Yeah.” Coming to a stop, he held your gaze for a quiet moment. “You…. I want…. Use it from now on.”

All you could do was nod.

The two of you turned your focus back forward to once again hobble towards the brig.

It was another minute or so before he spoke again. “I liked grease breath.”

“Really?”

He was obviously smiling. “Yeah.”

Xxx

It took a bit longer because of your injury, but you eventually made it to the brig, only one cell indicating a life form.

You could sense him, and it brought a smile to your face, but you could also sense a…. The smile began to melt just as Din waved his hand over the panel to open the door. “Wait,” you tried, but it was too late.

Pushing off of his side, you stood on your own despite the pain. Din looked to you in question before turning toward the cell once the door was open, his shoulders tensed in understanding.

On the bench in the cell sat Grogu waiting patiently in tiny little binders. Standing beside the kid was a man you could only assume was Gideon, a saber drawn and held precariously close over Grogu’s head. You’d seen enough Imperial officials on Coruscant to be able to read the rank on his uniform.

Din had his blaster drawn in an instant, taking aim the only words needed as he held the gaze of the Moff.

“Ah ah ah,” Gideon chided with a smug smirk, waving the saber over the kid’s head. Any closer and the little hairs on his head would begin to singe. It made your blood boil. If he hurt a hair on his head…. “Drop the blaster. Slowly.” Once Din had done what he’d asked, he gestured to you. “And the one you stole back in the hallway.”

You froze, hands inches from gripping the new blaster tucked into the back of your pants. How did he know? Tossing it aggressively onto the floor next to Din’s with a sneer, you cocked your hip to the side and crossed your arms over your chest, fingernails digging into your biceps to distract you from the pain in your leg.

“Now kick them over to me.” Din held his arm out to keep you in place, knowing you’d probably try to lob them at the Moff with a well placed kick. He nudged them gently across the floor toward the man. “Very nice.”

“Give me the kid.” Din’s voice was gruff and down to business, no room for messing around.

“The kid is just fine where he is.” Angling the saber back and forth, admiring it as he waved it slightly over the kid’s head again, a small smile climbed Gideon’s face. He met your eyes. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan.” His gaze flicked to Din, noticing how he shifted his weight just slightly. “Yes. I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything. Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo.”

With a flick of your left wrist, your vambrace whirred to life. “I haven’t used mine.”

Din held out his arm again to hold you back. “Where is this going?”

You reluctantly disengaged the vambrace, studying the saber as the Moff spoke. It was like nothing you’d ever seen. The blade was black with brilliant white energy crackling along the edges, almost giving it the appearance of lightning on a dark night. It hummed at a different frequency than other sabers, you noticed, and the blade had a different shape than you’d ever seen, almost coming to a point at the end. It was truly beautiful, and you could see why it would be something to war over. 

But it didn’t hold your interest nearly as much as the tiny little green face that sat just beside it. The giant eyes blinking slowly up at you in love and trust despite the situation. Not a hint of fear coming off of him. How did you deserve a love like that? How had that come into your life?

“Almost done, ad’ika,” you sent to him through your mind.

His ears perked up at the sound of your voice in his head, but then his features twisted up in concern, eyes falling down to your wound before coming back up to meet your gaze.

“I’ll be okay. Let’s just get out of here first, okay?”

Grogu grunted softly, unamused, but turned his attention back to the Moff, and you did, too.

“You keep it. I just want the kid,” Din was saying, indicating the saber. You think.

You really needed to pay more attention, you groaned to yourself.

Gideon nodded. “Very well. I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood.” His what? “All I wanted was to study his blood.” A bad feeling ran down your spine. “This child is extremely gifted…. and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.” He really thought this was an okay thing to be doing…. “I see your bond with him.” That was abrupt. “Take him, but you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways.” This didn’t feel right, but nothing on this ship did.

Arms crossed over your chest, you scoffed. “Gladly.”

Din turned to you, his voice low. “Go to the bridge.”

Your head snapped to the side to look at him. “What?” Did you just hear him right? Surely he didn’t…. There’s no way…. 

He took the smallest step toward you, his hand coming out to rest lightly on your elbow. “You’re injured, we’re almost done here….” His grip tightened, your wide eyes falling down to study his steady touch before quickly pulling back up to his visor. “Go to the bridge and tell them to get the ship ready. We have a deal to honor.” His thumb traced your upper arm once before his touch fell away, the ghost of his fingers trailing down to take your hand in his. “Once I have the kid, I’ll meet you all back on the transport and we’ll go home.”

Words weren’t working in your head. Nothing was working right now. Say something. “But-” 

“Mesh’la.” For some reason, you felt if you could see his eyes, they would be pleading. “Go. Now. Please.” Din’s hand released yours, the heat from his fingers wrapped around your own evaporating almost instantly in the cold, lifeless interior of the cruiser, haunting you with its memory.

Taking a few steps backwards, ignoring the pain shooting through your leg, you stepped into the hallway, pausing for a moment to stare at Grogu, then Din before turning and starting toward the bridge. You were tempted to glare at the Moff, but he wasn’t worth your time.

You were just about to round the corner when you heard the zing of kyber on beskar.

Without hesitation you turned and ran back toward the room, your wound forgotten as you charged for the door. “Din!”

The Mandalorian backed out of the doorway blocking blow after blow from the Darksaber, the Moff unrelenting in his attacks.

Din finally gained some ground and got his feet under him, gaining some distance between himself and Gideon, enough to right himself and pull his beskar spear as he slowly circled the Moff.

Stop.

A voice you didn’t recognize echoed through your head, ringing as if it were a hammer striking steel.

Stop. No. 

It echoed like it was in a cavern and not on a cruiser.

This is the Way.

As you skidded to a stop in the middle of the hall, you called out his name again. “Din!” You were behind him, but he didn’t turn to look at you, the only indication he heard you his shoulders tensing at the sound of your voice.

Ad. (“Daughter.”)

What was that voice?! And now it was speaking Mando’a?

“Go,” Din ordered gruffly. 

Slanar. (“Go.”)

You wanted to roll your eyes as the voice agreed with your Mandalorian. Of course it did.

“No.”

Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur. (“Today is a good day for someone else to die.”)

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the Darksaber was talking to you…. Before you could really focus on the blade in the Moff’s hand, Din was moving again. 

“Go,” he yelled again, raising the spear to strike at Gideon, sparks flying on impact. “Now!” He blocked a few more blows from the saber before they leaned into each other, the heat from the kyber causing the spear to turn red hot.

Ret’urcye mhi. (“Maybe we’ll meet again.”)

Okay, mysterious voice. You win this round. You and the Tin Can.

Grunting in frustration, you turned on your heel and ran as fast as you could to the bridge. As you charged through the doors, you held up your hands as at least four blasters were aimed at you. “It’s me, it’s me. Only me.”

“Where’s-”

“Back there,” you grimaced, gesturing over your shoulder with your thumb before you collapsed to the floor clutching your leg.

Cara and Fennec were quick to help you over to a chair, propping your injured leg up on a seat across from you, while Koska sealed the doors and Bo-Katan checked surveillance in the halls.

“I don’t see them,” she said, filtering through several feeds.

“What happened?” Cara asked.

“Blaster ricocheted and got me. We found Gideon and the kid, they made a deal.”

“A deal?”

You nodded to Fennec, grimacing as you clutched the wound on your leg tight.

“He wants us off the ship in exchange for the kid. Mando- Din told me to leave and come here, let you all know we’ll meet back on the transport. Then next thing I know I hear Gideon going at him with the Darksaber-”

“And you didn’t help him?”

You glared at Cara. “Of course I kriffing tried to. Dank farrik, Cara, What else do you think I would do, just sit and watch? Run back here faster? Some other third option?” She rolled her eyes at you, leaning against the console at her back. You sighed, relaxing in your seat, head lolling back and hand coming up to cover your eyes. “He told me to go. Again.” Letting your hand fall down to your lap with a plop, you looked between your two friends. “So I did.” You shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Fennec offered softly. “He’s only trying to keep you and the kid safe.”

“Yeah, well I am pretty good at that myself,” you grumbled. Before anyone could say anything, you screwed up your face like you’d eaten something sour. “I know, I know.” Arms coming to cross over your chest, you pouted like a petulant child. “It’s not the same.” 

“At the end of the day, what matters is that you’re both able to come home. Does it matter how that happens? Who does the saving?”

All three of you turned your heads over to look at Bo-Katan in unison.

She wouldn’t hold your gazes for long, her eyes falling back to the screen with the surveillance feed. “He’s here at the door…. With the Moff.” She looked at you pointedly, her voice softer and a smile tugging up her face. “And the kid.”

You sat up straight, turning toward the entrance as you waited for the doors to hiss open. Koska punched the button, stepping to the side to give you an unobstructed view, and you could have sworn a soft huff of laughter passed through her modulator.

As soon as Din came through the doors, the kid in one arm, the Darksaber ignited and extended down to the side in the other, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was like all the air was sucked out. You almost had to glance around and make sure a stray blaster bolt hadn't pierced the viewport and caused a slow leak.

Power radiated off of him as his grip tightened around the hilt of the weapon, his gloves creaking in protest against the pressure while he followed behind Gideon who’s wrists were bound with binders at his front.

The Moff’s eyes were downcast, but they landed on you briefly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine. Sitting up a bit straighter, not wanting to let him win any satisfaction, you grunted in pain slightly when the stretch pulled on the wound on your thigh. Letting a short breath out through your nose to cover the pain, you suddenly forgot all about it when the corner of Gideon’s mouth quirked up in amusement at your suffering.

“The droids miss far less than the troopers,” he mumbled as he passed by you, letting out an annoyed huff as Din nudged him forward toward the rest of the party with a push that was a little more forceful than necessary. 

Din turned his attention toward you, his helmet doing a quick once over from your head down to the floor and back up again. When he saw your leg propped up on the seat in front of where you sat, he disengaged the saber and hurried over to you, kneeling at your side and ignoring your protests.

“I’m fine. Din, I’m fine.” You sighed as he set the saber down on the floor, gently placing Grogu in your lap and inspecting the wound up close. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he grumbled, reaching for a medkit tucked under one of the stations next to you.

“No, stop it,” you tried to push his hands away as he went to set the kit on your uninjured thigh beside the kid. “Ma- Din, no.”

“Mesh’la,” he sighed, flipping the top of the kit open, groaning in annoyance when you flipped it back shut with an unseen force.

He kept opening it, a total of two more times, only for you to slam it shut again, this time applying a little extra pressure to keep him from being able to open it again. 

“I’m fine.”

His forehead came to rest on your knee where he knelt in front of you, a heavy sigh rounding his shoulders. 

“Mesh’la….”

“Will you just look at it, you overgrown Tin Can?” You couldn’t help the amusement coloring your tone.

Din lifted his head to look up at you. “I did. It’s-” Turning his gaze down to the small tear in your pants from the blaster bolt, he realized the wound was no longer red and angry, no longer open, but neatly mended skin, fresh and healed. “….gone. It’s gone.” Pulling his visor back up toward your face, tilted slightly in question, you shook your head in answer before looking down at Grogu, smile widening slightly.

Looking between the two of you, Grogu let out an unimpressed grunt before he climbed up onto the control panel at your side, scrambling over your lap and arm of your chair in the process.

Whispers began to circle you, faint and indecisive. You looked down to the hilt of your saber accusingly, but it sat quiet, contentedly on your hip almost as if the kyber was sleeping. The voices surged, making you inhale sharply through your nose to try and not draw attention to yourself, when you realized they were coming from the saber in Din’s hand.

Standing near the front of the bridge, Din gave one of his signature sighs as he turned his attention from the Moff, extending the saber with one hand. He was offering it to Bo-Katan. “And now it belongs to her.”

We belong to no one, the voices surged again, clear as the smirk on Moff Gideon’s face as he watched the exchange between beskar warriors.

Unlike back in the hallway, it wasn’t just a singular voice, it was many. It was different. But there wasn’t time to sit and dwell on the variances between the voices in your head. Shaking your head gently, you focused back on the whispers currently curling into your mind.

They weren’t modulated, but you felt as if the voices belonged to those of Mandalorians past, as if the blade spoke for Mandalore. And in a way, you guess it did. If it had chosen the Mandalorian people, that kyber spoke for a nation. Suddenly it made the taunting voice of your own blade seem small. Insignificant.

Your kyber didn’t like that, didn’t like being pushed to the side, being made to feel small, and started to hum, the vibrations filling your mind with an annoying frequency you couldn’t shake.

It spoke for Mandalorians.

So why was it speaking to you?

Before you fully registered what you were doing, you found your feet had carried you closer to the Moff, something in his demeanor not sitting quite right in the back of your mind. This was too easy. 

The pull of the Darksaber drew you further in, its gentle ebb and flow of energy washing softly over you like cresting waves. It was every bit like Mandalorians, at least the ones you knew. Rough around the edges, intimidating and brilliant. But its aura was also soft, and somewhat inviting if you knew where to look. Underneath the rough exterior and harsh lines it offered a warmth unlike any other…. Like a certain beskar clad bounty hunter you knew.

No voices came anymore, but the hum morphed into a steady pulse, almost like a heartbeat, the higher pitch of your purple kyber beating in tandem with the low thrum of the dark blade.

The hum faded slightly to the background as an alarm started blaring at one of the stations, pulling all eyes over toward the sound.

“The ray shields have been breached. We’re being boarded,” Fennec said, going over to the console and disengaging the alarm, her eyes wide on the screen.

“How many life forms?” Bo-Katan asked, walking toward the station.

No matter how far you reached out, you didn’t feel any life forms beyond this ship. And that thought made your gut sink. “None,” you mumbled to yourself.

Fennec turned to the group, swallowing roughly. “None.”

Everyone sprung into action, the slap of footsteps on the deck echoing in your head. The hollow thud thud thud of each boot fall ricocheting in your ears made it seem like the space was spinning slowly. 

Din picked up Grogu and set him on the floor by the nearest console, leaning up against its side. “Don’t worry, kid. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The air was tense as everyone stood in silence once they’d reached their positions. It sounded strange when Fennec called out an order. “Seal the blast doors.” Her voice a stark contrast to the low drone of the ship.

All eyes were on the door once you pressed the button and the extra layer slipped between you and the dark troopers. It was only a matter of time before- 

Then Koska said what you’d all been dreading. “They’re here.” Glancing at the small screen, she turned back toward the door, lifting her blaster higher.

It was odd to know an enemy awaited you so closely and yet you could sense nothing. Not a flicker, or a spark, or a-

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The metal door moaned under the pressure, and began to crumple in the center from the repeated strikes of the dark troopers’ fists. 

Blow after blow, the durasteel bent further, nearly separating in the center to reveal your enemy on the other side. 

Every pair of feet shifted nervously, trigger fingers twitched with each thud. 

You saw Cara toss her head to the side slightly, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before they flew back open as she rolled her shoulders back.

Bo-Katan held two blasters up at the ready, and for all accounts seemed steady. But you saw the shallow breaths she was taking. You knew how to read the body beneath the beskar.

No one in here thought they were walking out. 

At least, not all of you.

There has to be a way, you thought, turning toward Gideon. 

He was grinning.

“Make them stop,” you ordered gruffly, never lowering your blaster from its aim at the door.

As Gideon began to laugh, you made a split second decision and turned your blaster on him, switching it to stun mode. But he didn’t know that, you just wanted him to hear the whir of the mechanics as it came to life, a very clear threat to make him sweat.

The Moff surveyed the team surrounding himself and the Mandalorian, all weapons besides your own drawn and pointed at the doors as the constant thud thud thud of the dark troopers banged against the durasteel. But he only smiled wider as he looked at the crumpling steel, then at Din pointedly, completely ignoring you. “You have an impressive fire team protecting you. But I think we all know, after a valiant stand, everyone in this room will be dead…. but me…. and the child.” His eyes landed on you again, and it seemed like something went unsaid, but you didn’t get the chance to press him on it.

Rolling your eyes, you glared at him. “Can someone please shut him up?” 

An alarm began to beep from one of the consoles, a ship through the viewport catching your eye. 

Koska went over to turn off the alert. “An X-wing.”

Letting out a huff, Cara adjusted the rifle braced on her shoulder. “One X-wing? Great. We’re saved.”

After closing the distance between herself and another console, Bo-Katan pressed a button and spoke into the built in comm. “Incoming craft, identify yourself.”

Grogu had perked up the moment the ship had flown by, and it had made your spine straighten, too. When his tiny eyes met yours across the room, you smiled softly, lowering your blaster before switching it to safety and holstering it once again. 

Nodding to the child, you both tilted your head almost as if you heard something and smiled a bit more broadly. “I feel it, too, kid.”

Fennec spoke quietly, her voice a mixture of hope, but also wariness. “Why did they stop?”

That’s when you realized the steady thump thump thump of the dark troopers had gone silent. A glance at the screen on one of the consoles showed they all stood facing away from the door. They were ready. Waiting. 

Din looked at you, hands on your hips easily as you held the kids' gaze, then at Grogu, his large eyes blinking slowly but wide and alert as he looked up at you, and Din realized you both were completely at ease. Then he turned to Gideon, holstering his own blaster. 

Seeing the Mandalorian put down his weapons after a cue from a bartender and a baby, you couldn’t help the grin on your face as you looked down at the Moff, your voice quiet. “It’s over.”

Gideon scoffed. “It’s one X-wing.”

Taking a step closer, you shook your head, your voice a tad firmer. “It’s done.”

Bo-Katan lowered her blasters as she went to the console with the screen. She watched in silence as a lone figure emerged from the X-wing, ignited a saber and began to clear out the dark troopers. “A Jedi?”

The smugness melted off of Gideon’s face, and it made something in your chest pull tight in satisfaction. “What’s the plan now, Moff? Didn’t plan for a laser sword?”

Gideon hummed in thought. “Didn't account for two….”

Turning your attention back on the now silent door, everything seemed to stretch out. Time elongated, a second was like a minute, the space in front of you once only feet suddenly looked like miles. Nothing looked right, everything felt off, and you realized you heard absolutely nothing at all. No chatter, no alarms, no calming breaths as one of your friends stabilized their blasters.

Something was about to happen. 

The voices and the hum surged once again, tumbling back into your consciousness along with every other sound from the deck. They began to spread out, time almost seeming to slow further with them, and a low thrum filled the space in between. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and everything in your body told you to turn back around and face Gideon.

Turning as fast as you could, but what seemed so slowly, like you were moving through water, you saw the Moff pull a blaster and fire off a few shots at Bo-Katan, bolts of light ricocheting off her beskar left and right before she fell to the ground.

Reaching out, you sensed she wasn’t injured, so you kept eyes on the Moff, everything slowing down further as he turned to take aim at Grogu. 

But this time it was different. While everything else slowed, it was like you were moving incredibly fast.

You could sense the intent of the others before they acted, so you knew Din was going to dive in front of the kid to block the bolts with his armor, Cara was going to disarm him, and Fennec would make sure he didn’t move with the end of her blaster aimed strategically at him.

The scene resumed normal speed to your mind, everyone playing their part to a T. Din slid in front of the kid, shots bouncing off his armor, and every set of eyes on the deck was aimed at the Moff as he froze, blaster still pointed toward Din.

“Drop it!” Fennec barked, her rifle whirring to life as she took aim, Koska and Cara following suit.

After a quick glance around, Gideon pushed the barrel of the blaster up under his chin.

“Oh no you don’t,” you muttered, starting forward.

But before he could pull the trigger, Cara had knocked it out of his hands with the butt of her rifle, then whacked him in the face for good measure.

Moving faster than the air around you, you were at his side, towering over him with your saber drawn. Tip of the blade at his throat in seconds, you let out a long breath as all the voices and hums silenced themselves at once.

“Did you account for three?”

As soon as you ignited the blade, all the chitter and humming stopped. The quiet drone of the ship flying through space and the beep of consoles sounded so much louder than before as you focused on the tight expression of the Moff.

Gideon glanced at you down the length of the blade, fear in his eyes, but also something cocky. “Just as I thought,” he mumbled.

Before you could ask what in the hell he meant, the kid cooed near the screen displaying the rogue Jedi clearing out the ship, pulling your attention away for just a moment. It was such a relief to have him back in your line of sight again, you almost forgot about the villain at your feet. Almost.

Gideon continued to stare at you, the smirk on his face crawling ever higher, while the amusement in his eyes unnerved you.

“What?” You muttered lowly, trying not to draw the attention of everyone in the party to what felt like a private conversation.

The smirk melted into a broad grin, which in turn pulled your brows further together in question.

“Nothing. I’ve just had a realization, is all,” the Moff mused. “When all of this is over, and the dark troopers have left me the only one standing…. Perhaps I can be convinced to include you in the deal, as well.”

Your eyes narrowed to slits, the end of your saber getting just enough closer to his skin that any facial hairs would shrivel away from the heat. It followed him up as Gideon got back to his feet with a groan, Din stepping in to make sure the binders around his wrists were fastened extra tight. 

“You still think this is going to go your way?” Grip adjusting on the hilt of your saber, fingers stretching then tightening into a sturdier hold, you grinned as the Moff glanced down at the purple blade and swallowed tightly.  Letting out a huff of air, you held his gaze once it pulled back up to yours. “Fine. I’ll play. And why would I want that?”

Despite his nerves, his grin took a wicked turn. “You seem the type to be on the winning side.”

In a matter of moments you’d disengaged your saber, and closed the few steps left between you. A quick jab of your elbow to his chest knocked the wind out of him, then you flipped it in your hand to jam the butt of the hilt against Gideon’s temple, knocking him to the ground; the toe of your boot landed a swift kick near his spine, squarely to his left kidney to keep him down as he tried to scramble back up.

“You’re right,” you said plainly, looking down at him as the rest of the deck looked on in silence. “I am on the winning side.” Leaning down closer toward his face, you enjoyed how he shrunk away slightly. “It’s just not yours.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he grumbled, trying to get back upright. Struggling with his bound hands, his cape twisted over his shoulder obstructed his view, which only got worse as he tried to bat it away with his joined palms. The press of Fennec’s rifle into his spine made him still, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a defeated huff through his nose.

You stayed close to his face, a smug smile turning up your features. “Jokes on you, Moff. I’m not sure of anything.”

Din sighed heavily off to your left, and you could just make out his head shaking in your peripherals, hand cradling his forehead as it continued to rock back and forth.

“Well I am,” Cara said calmly. “And we’re all gonna die if we don’t come up with a plan to fight these walking gear boxes.”

“We don’t need a plan, Cara. It’s being taken care of.” You pointed to the screen.

“One X-wing?” She scoffed. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing that.” Her weight shifted to one side. “We need any ideas to beat these-”

“You can’t,” Gideon laughed. He turned to the side and spit out a mouthful of blood from when Cara had bashed him with her rifle. When he smiled, his teeth were covered in streaks of red, making his threat all the more menacing. He turned to look at Din pointedly. “You had your hands full with one…. Let’s see how you do against a platoon.”

You’d never seen Mandalorians look uneasy, but as you glanced around the deck, every set of beskar was shifting their weight side to side uncomfortably, sharing looks you didn’t like the sound of.

Turning back toward the screen, a sneer started up your face. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Moff, but it looks like you’re a few droids short of a platoon.”

Gideon was suddenly at your ear, but still on the floor at your feet. His words mumbled into his shoulder somehow reached you as if he was right next to you. “I’m trying not to take this personally, girl, but you need to make a choice. All of your friends are about to die. You can either join them, or join me. The kid and yourself would be safe…. Well looked after. I’d just…. Need a small donation of blood from time to time.”

Your eyes widened as you looked down at him. Meeting his gaze, he smirked.

“In the scheme of things, it’s a small price to pay.”

You jerked him up with an unseen force, holding him nearly nose to nose as you gripped your hands in the front of his cape to pull him down to your eye level. Every blaster in the room whirled to aim at the two of you, the whirr of charging mechanics filling the bridge. “The only price I’m willing to pay, Moff, is you at the end of a rope.” 

The man only blinked at you. You saw red.

Your hands clenched his cape so tightly you were surprised you didn’t hear the sound of stitches ripping under the pressure. Tugging him further down, you made him meet you eye to eye. “Now leave my friends and my family alone, you ass.” With a good shove, you pushed him backwards into Cara’s waiting grasp. “Usen'ye, shabuir.” (“Go away, fucker.”)

“The Mando’a language always fascinated me,” he mused, holding your gaze as he taunted. “So many words for such a stoic people. Too bad it’s dying out just like its speakers….”

You were closing the distance between you in an instant. “Ib'tuur jatne tuur gar kyr'amur.” (“Today is a good day for you to die.”)

Din stepped forward, catching your arm with his hand and stopped you short.

Gideon was grinning like a fool. “That’s not a good way to treat someone offering you an out….”

“You’re not offering me an out. You’re offering me a prison.”

“I’m offering you a way to walk off of this ship.”

Wrestling your arm free from Din’s hold - it wasn’t hard, he didn’t put up much resistance - you closed the final step between Gideon and yourself, toe to toe with him in an instant. Without hesitation you dropped to your haunches, extending one leg and spun. Swiping your leg under his, you dropped him back down to the floor with a thump.

Back on your feet faster than anyone could blink, you stared down at the floundering Imperial. “Sorry. Can’t offer you the same courtesy.” You shrugged. “Ni'duraa.” (“I look down on you.”)

Gideon huffed through his nose in annoyance, glaring up at you, but his voice remained calm, and somehow that was worse. “There was a time there was honor among Jedi.” He rolled from his side onto his back, propped up on his elbows.

“I am no Jedi.”

He nodded once, eyes staring across the bridge in thought. “And what of the Mandalorian Creed, where is your honor from that?” Gideons eyes landed back on yours, something in them sparking like he thought he’d won. Like a tooka with a scurrier.

“I am not Mandalorian.”

The Moff’s face crumpled in frustration, and he let out a huff. “Then what-”

You’d had enough. Taking a step closer so the tips of your boots touched the soles of his, you straightened your spine as you glowered down at him. You felt all the other bodies in the room shifting closer to you, whether for support or back up, you didn’t know, but it was appreciated all the same. Closest on your left was Din, the glint of beskar coming into your peripheral and causing the side of your mouth to twitch up. He was just close enough that his upper arm brushed yours. And you knew it was his way of saying “I’m here” without having to say a word.

“No matter what I am, you do not deserve my honor, Gideon. You deserve less than my absolute worst. You tried to destroy my home. You tried to tear apart my family and took my son. You’ve had a bounty on my head for months, and tried to get me killed time and time again. Not to mention whatever sick and twisted things happened in that base back on Nevarro…. I could go on, but you’re not worth the air it’d take to say it all. You deserve less. Less than the least I can give.”

Gideon smirked. “Passionate words for someone proclaiming to care so little.”

This time you smirked, and it made his falter. “That’s the problem. I care too much. But you don’t deserve any of it. I won’t let you. You’ve stolen enough from me. That ends now.”

“And she’s a bartender,” Fennec leaned in to say. “That above all is what matters most in my book.”

Turning your gaze up to look at your friend, brows arched as you shook your head good naturedly, you let your weight shift to one side. “You just want that drink I owe you.”

She shrugged, a smirk working its way up her face now. It seemed to be contagious. “Wouldn’t say no….”

Grogu cooed, resting his hand on the screen as the Jedi waded through the dark troopers as if they were nothing. Quietly moving to stand behind him, you placed your hand on his back gently, rubbing it in soothing circles as you lowered to your haunches to be on his level. “Yeah. I know. I feel it too, kid.”

Din was perched on one knee in front of the console, just to your left. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost sad. “Is it….”

You nodded, eyes never leaving the child. “One of the good ones, Din.”

He hesitated, his head tilting to the side as he looked at his ward. “So Grogu would be safe?”

The quiet warble in his voice pulled your gaze to his visor briefly, but just like always, the hard steel gave nothing away he didn’t want it to.

You looked back at the kid, hand coming up to rub the back of his tiny head. “He’d be with his own kind.” Bringing your hand back down to rest on his small back, you resumed the soothing circles before you stilled, staring at the screen. 

You were looking at the one who would take the kid away from you. After everything you’d just done to get him back. He was here. In your hands, your clan was complete and now it was about to be…. He was going to….

After your thumb traced absent patterns against his tiny, scratchy robes, you let your hand fall back to your lap, clutched tightly in your other.

Din’s visor turned back to you. “That’s not what I asked.” He sounded like he understood, but he also sounded confused, which made you smile softly. That was normal for this subject matter. 

Keeping your eyes on Grogu, you nodded once again, your voice every bit as soft as Din’s had been. “He’d finally get the training he needs. That he deserves.”

Din sighed heavily, his weight shifting slightly. “Mesh’la….” The one leg came up, and he rocked back on his heels so he was crouched beside you.

You continued. “Green sabers are consulars. They are wise. Think things through. This one should make a fine teacher if they adhere to any of the old ways-”

Din’s hand came to rest on yours still clutched tightly in your lap, his voice low in understanding. “Mesh’la, that’s not what I asked.”

Lifting your eyes from where they fell to study his hand on yours, you looked at Din as a sad smile twisted up the side of your face. “I know.” Swallowing roughly, you blinked back tears as you turned back to Grogu. The child was easier to face, yet your heart broke a little bit more each time you saw him. When you spoke again, your voice was barely more than a whisper. “But that’s the only answer I have to give.”

The Jedi was at the door now, taking out the last of the droids, while you and Din shared a long, loaded look over the top of Grogu’s head.

Once everything fell silent, Din turned his gaze down onto the child for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Din got to his feet, scooping up the kid, and turned toward the front of the bridge. “Open the doors.”

When no one moved, he strode calmly toward the entrance, setting Grogu down on the console you’d been sitting in front of when he’d come in. “I said, open the doors.”

Fennec slightly rolled her head in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

Din pushed the proper button on the console, and the doors hissed open, revealing a shadowy figure in a cloud of smoke that had a green tint and the soft hum of a saber.

My dream…. You blinked rapidly as flashes of your dream on Boba’s ship replaced the scene in front of you, and they were so close it was hard to distinguish one from the other. It hadn’t been a dream. It was a vision. But then if…. The fight outside the cantina. That meant…. What else had you seen? As the saber disengaged you remembered in a flash reaching for the shadow of the child and he had turned to smoke through your fingers. Gone.

Turning to look at Grogu, you knew where this was going, and your gut sank down to the lower decks below your feet. You knew from the moment you saw the X-wing, if you were being honest, had felt it like the kid had, but…. You could hope, couldn’t you?

The figure emerged from the smoke, tossing their hood back, and suddenly having a form instead of a shadow made this all too real.

You’d just gotten him back.

And now he was about to leave again.

This wasn’t fair.

The hood now pulled back, you saw a young man about your age, blonde somewhat unkempt hair, and kind eyes that seemed to see right through you. It was hard to tell, but the longer you stared, it seemed like he had scars on his face, and curiosity from your days behind the bar nearly got the better of you to ask where they came from. His entire aura was kind and peaceful, a good match for Grogu, but something underneath hinted at something…. haunted. He was plagued by something bigger than him, something he could never shake…. But it seemed to have made him stronger.

Din stepped forward. “Are you a Jedi?” You couldn’t blame him. He’d defaulted into protective father mode. He was just making sure the child would be safe. 

“I am.” The Jedi extended a hand toward Grogu as he peeked around the chair in front of the console Din had set him on. “Come, little one.”

Din hesitated. “He doesn’t want to go with you.” He almost sounded hopeful, and that was nearly as heartbreaking as what you knew was coming.

“He wants your permission,” the Jedi corrected softly. “He is strong with the Force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the child…. but he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Din turned to look at you over his shoulder, and it was all you could do to nod in confirmation. He turned back toward Grogu and went to get him out of the chair.

While Din stooped to pick up the child, suddenly a voice filled your mind. “And what about you, young one? Are you not coming, too?” Lifting your eyes to meet the Jedi’s you saw him focusing on the man in beskar and his tiny ward, only shooting you a fleeting glance before looking away yet again. “I sensed another. I know it’s you. You’re strong with the ways of the Force, like your little friend here. But I also sense much fear, much turmoil in you…. Without training, that will only fester and grow into something I fear you will not be able to contain.”

Shaking your head almost imperceptibly, you reached out into his mind, smiling softly in satisfaction when his eyes met yours briefly in surprise. “Thank you for your concern, Master, but I’ve made it this far on my own. The Force hasn’t abandoned me yet.”

Making your way over to stand at Din’s side, one hand resting on his pauldron to stabilize yourself, you smiled down at Grogu softly. Glancing at the Jedi out of the corner of your eye, you saw him looking at you.

The Jedi returned the smile. “Call me Luke. And it isn’t fear of abandonment that concerns me. It’s the opposite, actually. I fear it will overwhelm you, twist you into something you hardly recognize.”

Din held Grogu in front of him so that they were able to look at one another. His voice was soft and heavily affected, but you could tell he was trying to be strong. “Hey, go on. That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind.”

Glancing up at Din, you smiled softly before it quickly melted back towards a frown, your eyes falling back onto the child.

“I’ll see you again.” His voice was broken. “I promise.”

The kid reached up, placing his hand on the right side of Din’s helmet as he blinked his big eyes slowly. You had to look down at the ground to collect yourself. It was easy to forget Grogu was actually older than everyone on this ship until he did something like this, and let a little bit of that wisdom of his years shine through in his eyes. He may not be able to speak yet, but his eyes spoke volumes.

As he looked at Din, words surrounded you.

I see you. I know you. I love you. Thank you. I’m going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Take care of each other. And something along the lines of Don’t forget to tell Peli I’ll miss her.

You opened your mouth to tell Din everything the kid was saying, but Grogu must have done you one better and passed it on to you both, because after a moment of stuttered breathing, Din reached up and removed his helmet.

Mouth snapping shut, your eyes immediately fell to his chest plate, wide before you blinked back tears. Then they returned to Grogu, a sense of calm washing over you once again.

You kept your eyes on the kid, not daring to look up at Din’s face, his cape clutched tightly in your right hand as your left cradled Grogu’s back. “As long as I have this, I’m not too worried about that.”

“That’s what worries me.” Your eyes pulled to Luke’s in question. “Things change.”

Eyes back on the child, you smiled as he peered up at you with a soft coo. “Some don’t.”

Grogu reached out toward the Mandalorian once again, his small hand touching the side of his cheek that no longer bore a helmet.

While you wouldn’t pull your eyes up to see the look on Din’s face, you felt everything you needed to. The room surged with love and calm, peace…. But also a great deal of sadness and longing. The mix was coming from both of them.

This was exactly what the kid needed, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Din called him his son around you once or twice, as did you, but you knew deep down he struggled with the technicalities of that relationship. Their bond was something deeper, more than just father and son, and he knew that. But Din was nowhere close to admitting that yet, and you couldn’t tell if it was that that hurt him more, or the impending absence of the child.

Either way, it swelled low in his gut, simmering in the background as he put on a brave face for his tiny ward.

“All right, pal. It’s time to go.” Grogu whined softly, his ears drooping down toward his shoulders as he peered up at Din. “Don’t be afraid.”

You felt Din’s eyes land on you, the child’s following shortly after. As you peered down into his big wide eyes, tears began to brim in your own. Reaching out and tracing the line of his ear with your finger, pinching the end lightly when you got there, you brought your finger to his small clawed hand, smiling and letting out a breath when he grasped it tightly. With a shaky inhale, you repeated the words you’d said when you thought he was staying with Ahsoka, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I would run for my life a thousand times over if it meant I got to know you again.”

Din lowered to his haunches, setting Grogu on the floor before rising back to his full height. You half expected to see him jerk his head toward the Jedi to motion the kid across, but he just looked at Luke, then down at Grogu, his head tilting slightly as the child clung to his boot and gazed up at him. 

It was a wonder you saw anything as he moved in your peripherals, tears blurring your vision as you stared down at the kid. 

Grogu’s soft babbles filled the cabin, making your heart hurt just as much as the Mandalorian’s responding silence.

The beeps of an astromech droid came from behind the Jedi, pulling Grogu’s attention away from his caretaker, and you let out a soft breath in relief. Din’s hand found its way into your left hand, clutching it tightly while your right still grasped at his cape to keep you upright.

“Last chance, young one,” Luke’s voice drifted into your mind once again. Looking at him, he didn’t even look at you, he watched Grogu and the droid, nodding to the Mandalorian after a moment. Once Grogu ambled over toward the Droid who bleeped and blooped at him, Luke stooped down to pick up the child, lifting back to his full height. Finally, he met your gaze.

“My answer is the same.” You squeezed Din’s hand.

Standing beside him, just slightly behind, you clutched his cape tightly in your hand to ground yourself. His hair in your peripherals was dark, curly, a mess atop his head you wanted to reach up and shuffle into submission.

You kept your eyes straight ahead on the kid in the arms of the Jedi, not allowing yourself to be the reason he broke his Creed. Technically he’d already broken it, removing his helmet for Grogu, but that didn’t mean anyone else could just walk up and stare. No matter how badly you wanted to.

He turned his head just slightly and you saw the dusting of facial hair out of the corner of your eye, grays mixed in with the dark. It suited him.

“Be careful, then.” Your eyes flicked back up to meet Luke’s as he continued. “Be mindful. I fear for the turmoil I see twisting away in you….”

With a small nod of his head, Luke held Din’s gaze once again. “May the Force be with you.” The Jedi’s eyes fell to yours briefly before landing back on the child. “Beware your attachments, young one. They can be your downfall. Even the best Jedi have fallen because of them.”

“You sound like a friend of mine….”

He turned to walk away with Grogu, but not before you caught the smirk starting up his face. “They sound wise.”

“She is. A Jedi herself, actually. Or used to be. Ahsoka Tano, taught me how to jump-” You shook your head. “It’s not important.” You huffed, shaking your head again when you saw Din turn to look at you out of the corner of your eye. “I meant she talks in riddles.” 

“Every great Jedi does.”

“So I’m learning.” You grinned. Looking into Grogu’s eyes one more time as you waited for the door to close, you winked at him, a soft grin pulling up your face. “Goodbye, kid. Don’t eat all the frogs.” He blinked at you with a gentle huff. “Be good.”

You could swear he smiled gently as he tilted his head to the side. He knew what you meant. Be good, yes, don’t cause trouble, but also be good, do your best. Show them what you’ve got.

Images of that first dream the two of you shared flashed through your mind. In the Temple where you covered him, your shadow giving him hope in a dark time, the vision giving you hope on your own difficult days.

“Kar'taylir darasuum. I’ll always love you. I have since before we met, ad’ika.” (“To know in the heart forever.”)

Din lifted his chin in acknowledgment toward the child, the motion blurring in your peripherals through unshed tears right before the elevator slid closed.

You hesitated, taking in a sharp breath before whispering one last word through the Force. “Goodbye.”

As the elevator at the end of the hallway closed, shutting off the last chapter of his story, Din let out a sigh.

Repeating your words from earlier when you first sensed Grogu on the cruiser, they now felt hollow somewhere deep in your chest as you sensed him drifting further away. “He’s going to be okay.” Silence hung heavy in the air, filling the void in your heart with cold, vacant fingers that gripped it tight. “We’re going to be okay.”

Din nodded once, the motion stilted in your peripherals, his voice quiet. “I know.”

Darting your eyes down to his helmet on the floor, you bent down and picked it up, gripping the cool beskar tightly as you stared down at it, careful to not look at his reflection on its shiny surface as he turned toward you.

The rest of the party shuffled out of the bridge, Cara dragging a mumbling Gideon with her. You tried to look at him, but Din’s hand on your chin pulled you back toward him before you could. Swallowing roughly, you stared at his chest piece, blinking once, twice before Bo-Katan’s voice made you let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I’ve programmed the ship to land on- Well, that’s not important. Our temporary base of operations until we take back Mandalore. Things are about to change now that you have the Darksaber. We….” She sighed. “We should talk.” After a moment of silence, she started walking out of the room. “We’ll be back on the transport. Meet us there when you’re ready to head…. Wherever it is you’re headed.”

The door slid closed after her, leaving the two of you alone in the bridge, surrounded by silence, aside from a few beeping panels as the ship slipped through space.

You could feel Din’s eyes on you, his hand still gently under your chin as he tried to tip your head back to look up at him.

Shutting your eyes quickly as he angled your head back, you kept them closed tightly, extending his helmet toward him. “Here.”

The weight of the helmet was removed from your hands wordlessly, before you heard the thud of it resting on the floor again, your eyebrow cocking in question. 

Your breath caught in your chest when his own warm breaths fanned across your face, dangerously close to where you’d thought about him being too many times. Out of instinct your hands wound up into his cowl to pull him the last few inches closer until you were basically one being, every bit of him a part of every bit of you.

Continuing up around his neck, your hands tentatively curled up into his hair, threading through the mess and earning a heavy sigh against your face, his forehead falling against yours softly.

Unable to help yourself, your hands continued exploring, pulling forward onto his face, mapping his features under your fingertips. Holding his cheeks in your hands, you smiled, a soft laugh of relief breaking through before suddenly the distance disappeared and his lips were on yours.

It was tentative and chaste, every bit what a first kiss usually is, but conveyed so much more than you expected, making your breath stop altogether. 

Pulling apart tentatively, lips still ghosting over one another’s, something passed in the silence, an unspoken understanding, before you both surged forward into a deeper kiss, letting it say everything that needed to be said. Everything that was being felt, every burden and elation. The sadness and relief. The complete and utter peace. It was consuming and yet not enough all at once.

Separating just enough to keep your foreheads joined, you took a deep, shaking breath, swallowing roughly as you kept your eyes closed tight, a smile beginning to twist its way back up your face. Still cradling his cheeks, his hands on your hips kept you held close, his thumbs tracing lazily back and forth.

He speaks, and your world stops. Your breathing turns rapid, your heart is about to climb out of your chest, and your stomach twists in some weightless way.

“Open your eyes, mesh’la.”

You’d heard his voice unmodulated many times, but for some reason, this time it caught you off guard, and you couldn’t find the words to respond. 

You pulled away just a bit, mouth opening and closing but nothing came out. Your eyebrows narrowed in confusion, eyes still tightly closed.

Din reached up and put his gloved hands over yours on his face gently, pressing them down, threading his fingers through yours and clutching them tightly, the leather of his gloves creaking as he did. He spoke quietly, his voice nearly a whisper as he said it again, almost pleadingly.

“Open your eyes.”

Xxx

Tags to come!

[ganondoodle]

i am so extremely confused on how you can acknowledge belly dancing not needing to be sexual yet. still insist that nintendo is sexualizing young gerudo with the attire. the makeup, heels and how impractical it is to wear the shit they wear in the desert i understand. im not defending those design mistakes. but??? jfc.

oh. so, assuming you are the same anon as before, you WERE asking in bad faith then, or are intentionally missunderstanding what im saying, got it, and now you are trying to twist my words around to fit your little narrative about me being the problem and not mega corporation uwu nintendo with a history of racism (to which this issue is extremely attached to)

so, since you apparently didnt understand what i said, and didnt watch the video i attached either, bc that goes into detail of everything as well, im gonna spell it out once more, and i will even EMPHASIZE words like THIS, so its easier to understand, just for you <3

i did NOT say that the 'belly dance' outfit doesnt NEED to be sexual, i SAID it is/was not sexual IN ITS ORIGIN, BUT was TURNED INTO what boils down to nothing else but a sexy strippers outfit by western people and has been used as NOTHING BUT sexual for decades in the vast majority of media of all kind-

which MEANS, that although in ORIGIN it might not have been sexual, the unfortunate PROBLEM is that through its extreme popularization as such you now have to assume IT IS sexual, bc that is pretty much ALWAYS the intent, people dont even know it as anything but a sexual thing

and before you can even say the "well maybe they didnt intent it a such" blah blah, this is NOT SOLELY about the outfit itself being the only problem here, its the whole package, even if they DID have good intentions or did it subconsciously (which, mind you, should also tell you just how much this kind of picture of middle eastern people has been spread, how common it is to see them like this that its what most people actually think they are like) it nevertheless sends a certain message, and again, ITS THE WHOLE FUCKING PACKAGE, everything, from outfit, to design elements, to dialog, to lore, to even camera angles, you cannot view it as a seperate thing bc it is, inherently, not able to be seperated from everything, its as if you took an incredibly racist caricature, zoomed in and said "LOOK they used a realistic kind of skin tone, its totally not racist!!"

you also called these design decisions "mistakes", but they are not, in fact mistakes, a mistake is when you notice after posting a drawing that you forgot to color in a strand of hair, however, ALL of these design and writing decisions are deliberate, they had to sit down, in a giant team of people, to come up with it, then proceed to design and write it, approve it, make it, and ship it, and saw no problem with it, which is a problem

now, im not saying nintendo personally is telling you "its ok to fuck kids", but things have meanings, and if you are making something, ESPECIALLY using something that isnt of your own culture, you should think about things, and what meanings a thing can have attached to, they are a giant corporation, not a single, very uninformed at best- or very racist at worst, human being, they have the means to do research, but they did not do it or think its fine, maybe even good, which deserves to be called out

i am a big, and longtime, zelda fan, but beign a fan of something doesnt mean you cannot criticise it, or aknowledge that its in many ways flawed, part of being a fan is being able to recognize things that are bad and demand better

if you send me another ask spouting bullshit or purposefully missunderstanding what im saying im gonna punt you into the filthy barrel of blocked porn bots, bc i dont have anon messages enabled to receive shit like this but to allow people who might be too shy to send normal asks to talk to me.

jfc.

[townofcadence]

Echoes of the past (drop the lore tristan)

Echoes of the Past

It rained long before he reached the base of the mountain, before he could see the castle perched precariously on it’s stupid cliche place, on the cliff-side over the ocean. He had been as careful as he had a mind to be on the descent, and only slipped once. It showed in the way mud caked his blond hair. But the rain was a comfort, like the shower he had yet to take. It wasn’t enough to feel better, but it was more than he’d had the chance to have at this point, and he’d fucking take it.

The air around him felt like it rose several degrees and buzzed with static, when he looked back the way he’d come. His bag was heavy with everything worth taking, except for what he wanted to see end up lost forever. A few dozen new spellbooks and magical objects sat in his bag now.

He took out one of the tomes, when he’d found suitable shelter. The trek had taken him closer to the cliffs the castle clung to, and he utilized an overhang of earth as shelter from the torrent. Lightning flashed as he flipped open the book, like it was aiming for dramatic affect.

He looked through the pages until he found the spell he wanted. The one he’d found weeks ago.

The one He fucking deserved.

The words on the page blurred. He swiped at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and then jerked his hand to fling the tears away. His fangs bit into his lower lip, leaving a sharp sting to remind him what was real.

He was here, now, in this moment, looking up at that fucking place with a solid, leathery book in his hand, fire in his chest, and a storm pelting the earth and grass and trees around him. He could hear the crashing waves this close, along this path by the sea, and he could hear the bursts of thunder before the sky lit up. This was real. He was free, and he’d make sure that even if that fucking thing was gone, everything else went with it.

Sparks and glimmering lights flickered around him like willow wisps and arcing bolts. His shoulders ached as he gazed at damaged flagstone, the dilapidated masonry, and the crumbling walls of brick. His eyes were drawn to the tower, and to where he knew that ballroom rested, out of sight at this angle.

His back screamed, and his head split with pain and his teeth sunk lower into his lip, with the molten steel bubbling inside him. His fingers dug into the supple deerskin of the spell-book in his hands. His eyes lit up, aglow as thunder rumbled both above him, and inside his chest. Bile rose in his throat just as hot, and he fought the urge for those nails to bite into his own skin just to ground him. Ghosting memories coil in his chest with the feelings, tighter and tighter until it loosed fresh tears, lighting the alcove with soft golds and greens. He could see lights flickering at either sides of his eyes in his peripheries, and the way his hair seems to shift with invisible wind as he glared at that fucking kingdom by the sea. His thoughts shifted, twisted, came out like they were his and not, as his fingertips turned almost black from the grip he had on the book.

Let the memory of this place never rest. Let it lay forgotten, but not in peace.

The thought was paired with a flourish as he opened the book to the page he wanted. His back seared with flame all the more, and his fingers shook like his frame did as he scanned the page.

He needed skin, surface to draw on.

He ripped his shirt over his head after he’d read through what he needed, and brought his hand up to his face when the fabric laid at his feet next to his bags. While the prosthetic held the book aloft enough for him to read, he sank his fang deep into his thumb. It bled sparkling gold with shimmering swirls. It smeared on his mouth and along his palm. The blood came in thicker streaks when he pulled his fang free, and a tap of the index of the same hand wet the fingertip. Eyes darting between the book and his finger, he began to draw on his exposed skin.

This spell wasn’t for the faint of heart. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pleasant. But that was what absolute ruin was about. Destroying something so thoroughly it could never recover, could never be bought cheaply. But in rare moments, it was worth the cost.

The tears kept streaming down his face. He felt like he was missing pieces. It made his skin itch and buzz and tingle and his head swirl like the reflected golds in his blood. But he bit his lip and drew the sigils and runes along his skin with unerring perfection. It was slow, but something about that felt right. Like drawing out the final moments of this place, so he could savor each moment knowing it would be at his mercy. Just like its master had been.

And just like him, he would show it none.

The sigils glimmer like gold paint on his skin by the time he had finished, swirling symbols glimmering whenever a flash of lightning gave them something to reflect. He could feel damp on his skin from the humidity of the storm, and hear and feel the peppering spray of sea foam and rainfall. He could smell salt and petrichor, and it felt right in his bones. After everything, it all felt like he knew what he had to do.

Some things couldn’t be taken back.

And some things were worth doing regardless.

His voice carried on the wind, clear and sharp to sound over the storm. The volume he wielded started small, muttered spellwork meant for him and him alone to hear, as he began to weave his layers of magic. This was too personal for it to be anything other than intimate. But the longer he stared at the ruins, the longer he thought about his nights there, the bruises on his wrists from restraints, that thing's hands, teeth sinking into his neck, and knife and claw alike carving open his skin—

Something white and hot and molten poured from his skull down his shoulders. His body ripped with a flash of lightning and he screamed— it was pain and it wasn’t. It was primal. It was elemental and indescribable and felt like he was an open wound, a chasm that split down to his soul until the light shone out.

It wasn’t a scream for the coiling wrongness in his chest and limbs and bones. It was for a place he wanted to see turned to dust. It was a rending blood red feeling in his skin and firing along every nerve as he was forced to recall just why he wanted it sundered from the land.

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt and he was not going to let it hurt anyone else, ever again.

His voice thundered louder than the breaking sky as each new word erupted from his lips, booming over the cliffs. He screamed each one, louder than he’d ever been, carrying the agonizing build of a dangerous spell, the excruciating burden of existing and smiling and fighting and pushing and always being there and always protecting everyone and hating what he is, but loving and loving and trying and HURTING, hurting and hurting beyond hurt and nothing to do but pretend it never did so no one asked if he was okay because no answer could ever answer right enough and hurting them was so much worse than carrying this but sometimes it was too much far too much to ask and he wished he would shatter so they could see how broken he was—.

He screamed and it was visceral, primal, coming from his depths. It paired with lightning bolting through every inch of the sky and rending it with shattering light that tore the clouds to nothing.

Each word wasn’t catharsis, but it was something he needed to feel, to feel something at all. He clung to the agony, to the sharpened edge of his sanity, so he wouldn’t feel empty and numb for this moment. This moment was for him. For him to feel everything. He needed it, he needed it so bad, he couldn’t survive without it, even as it took from him like everything else did, taking and taking and carving its cost from his flesh and spirit.

But stars above was it worth feeling his bones break and snap and his skin split and bleed in gashes and to feel his organs twist and writhe until he was dizzy and breathless in pain. It was worth it as his lifeblood pooled down his shirtless chest and at his feet when scars opened anew. It was worth everything, to see that cliffside crack, to hear it rumble, to see that fucking tower sway and wobble, before losing all balance and collapsing into the sea. It was worth it as each new garrote gouged and pierced him, to watch each brick find the water below and vanish, one after another in slow succession, and then rapidly all at once. It was worth it as the entire fucking cliffside that housed the fucking place gave out.

He felt curses unspoken in his chest, triumph in a manic kind of glee, even as flesh tore behind him, and his hair began to grow heavy down his back. At least until it began to float around him, emitting glimmering, glinting light like liquid gold. His eyes still shed tears in an unending flow, but he kept speaking, watching with desperate rage as each piece of that place vanished and tumbled into the waters. Even as he felt each slash, as spectral knives drove themself over his throat until it was mangled, even as his blood poured freely, and painted his lips. Somehow, the words still sounded, and he pushed each one out, mettle undaunted.

It was his to spill now. And he would fucking spill every drop to leave this place erased and fucking forgotten.

Muscles snapped and tendons shred, and he felt torment at his core, one that ached in a way he hated remembering, one that sank in his gut like a sharp edged stone rolled in stained glass, and reminded him of someone else, someone just as— unforgivable.

But he grit his teeth and kept going, kept reading, even as his head split above the temples and something grew, and his shoulders ripped further and something grew, and his fangs sharpened and the sky struck in bolts on the ground of the castle as the last of it gave way.

The pressure in his chest finally broke, and he did scream— pain or gratitude or rage or catharsis, he had no idea. It was too complex. Too much. He felt a slice carve through his heart and chest, running over his throat up to his jaw. Blood sprayed as he gasped for air and hit the ground on all fours. His hair fell in ropes down his back. Feathered wings, black and iridescent with inner feathers of sunset hues, planted on the ground on either side of him to catch his weight.

But even in pain, even drowning and choking and dying and damaged, his eyes never left the water. The cliff-side was gone, flat except for the forest that once surrounded it.

There was a weight he always carried, and for a breath it was a little less, despite the torment and misery wracking his broken frame. The tension left him all at once, leaving him boneless.

It was safe, and that thought was all it took for him to succumb, and collapse in a sprawl in that alcove, a curled ball against the bloodied earth.

Tomorrow he would deal with what he’d done.

But today, he could rest, knowing no one would ever stand where he had, ever again.

[clonerightsagenda]

Continuing with HDM season 2!

Episode 5:

She put a seatbelt on her monkey... please Mrs. Coulter give him a little vest like the stylish yet illegal IKEA monkey.

Taking a few swipes at capitalism lmao. Yes money is our church here.

Someone please get Will some ibuprofen. This kid is going through a double amputation on no pain meds.

Boreal left cool steampunk England and painted his new house realtor gray. He doesn't deserve his wealth

Interuniverse artifact smuggling, guess that's one way to make a quick buck

Is it me or are the gateways a bit yonic

Mary is department chair?? Good for her but also no wonder she's so tired. Mrs. C was clearly impressed by that.

It's time for an alternate universe makeover scene! She should hold up various outfits while the golden monkey nods or shakes his head. Loved her pinching the jeans and holding them up like they were a biohazard.

She ditched her daemon again and claims it's about self-control. Guess we're going with the 'more people who are alienated from themselves can separate' sequel lore.

Ouch re: Mary asking about her doctorate and publications and Mrs. Coulter BSOD'ing realizing she could have been so much more in a world with slightly less structural misogyny. FOMO moment.

Mary attempting to google her, haha

The Shadows didn't tell Mary to smash up her computer! Guess she won't be wanted by the police in the TV version. That makes her postcanon life a little easier. Also she has a really nice house for a professor in a struggling department.

Everyone keeps fucking with Boreal's statues. I almost feel bad for him.

Episode 6:

Brief hint of the angels protecting Mary! Makes sense, it's never clear how she's defended from specters. Also lol at Mary's reaction to Angelica going "we tried to kill Lyra". The show's portraying her a little more sympathetically, especially as the mob violence scene was a lot shorter.

I would be very uncomfortable with a bunch of strange women doing interpretive dance over me. Sorry the healing spell is so much weirder in the tv version Will.

Pan is leaning against his shoulder! Guess it's ok because he's wearing a shirt.

Mrs. Coulter seeing someone who got their soul devoured: I could use this

Love Lord Boreal quietly shutting the door and hiding while she confronts the specters

"If we die, we're of no help" want to bet, two characters who will show up as helpful ghosts later

So we're tying Mrs. Coulter's power over the specters to her separation ability/ability to suppress parts of herself. I guess that's also the angle we'll be taking when she cons Metatron. Yes I accidentally typed angel instead of angle at first. Then I did it again.

Getting poisoned sucks, Boreal, but look at it this way. She could've sicced the specters on you. This way is kinder.

John Parry can psychically command birds. Why? IDK man he just can. Don't worry about it.

[roundboard]

Brutal Orchestra Art Hitlist

Just a list talking about each of the characters that I’ll have to go through drawing in Brutal Orchestra. Will detail plans and thoughts on ones I haven’t done, and reflect on the ones I have :)

Nowak/Bosch

I’m coming for you (two)...

Boyle

Done! Clean and simple inclusion of lore elements with a more interesting pose than I normally go for, really happy with how this one came out!

Hans

Done and dusted, I really did try to see if I could include SOME element of her items and such, but no luck... it cluttered the drawing far too much and there were too many conflicting themes. I tried my best to just elevate a lot of the simpler elements of Hans, and used one of her main abilities as a base for the concept.

Also included the fact her arms look kind of like spindly nerves as that’s how they seemed to be imagined by a lot of the community in canon! I think I made her look really nice and I’m still happy with it.

Burnout

Finished :) Probably my rawest piece yet, mega happy with how visceral I depicted him, as he deserves to be!!

Fennec

Fairly happy with how he turned out! I was trying to vary my angles since I have a habit of drawing characters facing right so I wanted to make sure to introduce some variety to the portraits. Plus, it’ll look even nicer by the end when they’re all lined up next to each other. 

He definitely seems a lot more jungle-y than he would let on but... A lot of his abilities seemed that way so I couldn’t help it. Not like it’s a bad thing, green + blue is a pretty good colour combo

Anton

I was definitely happy with him for a first attempt at this project, especially with how I shaded the mask, but I’m almost definitely going to go back to redo him. In hindsight there isn’t enough Anton swagger going on (minus the finger guns) and I think some element of his rude/skittish/gamble-orientated nature has to be shown off somehow.

Splig

Possibly my strongest work concept wise so far, or it’s tied with Kleiver. I’m really proud of myself for composing it in a way that shows off the Tao symbol they have in one of their attacks, and also demonstrate their syringe attack. It all looks pretty fluid as well. 

Only nitpick I’d have with this one is that it’s much more rough and simple(?) compared to my other works. Though, to be fair, this piece was the shortest to draw out of everything so far (about 2 hours or so)

Pearl

donezo... massive maw angle was definitely a good idea

Thype

My second drawing. Still really happy with the more oil paint-like thing going on for him, but similar to Anton, I feel like I could've shown off more from their lore/attacks. 

I’m less likely to try and to a complete redo like I am for Anton on this one, but I may make some adjustments? We can call it a remaster. Remaster sounds good and professional (which I am)

Griffin

I think I stuffed in as much lore as I could in the drawing (minus the fire, but I feel it would’ve oversaturated it.) My progress on lighting and shadows seems to be improving a good amount!! Excited to translate this skill into future drawings

Arnold

went with a more abstract and rough approach to convey arnold having a bit of a breakdown.. I think it worked really well and definitely a style I’d like to experiment with more in the future

Dmitri

Finally done... mega happy with the fire effects and I’m glad I could up the quality of the background more than just a standard black one or textured one! 

Mung

Mung

LongLiver

Finally managed to unlock him, and despite my initial worry that I wouldn’t be able to do something that creative, I managed it! I’m starting to get more comfortable with simple concepts done with more artistic flair if I can’t figure out a way to include their lore or attacks too much within the drawing itself. I also think this drawing shows off a bit more of my Disco Elysium style roots :) very proud of it!

Clive

Resident badass completed!! There was a point where he looked super bland and his head look way too long (like an egg) so thank god for the glow that was added later on... and the shortening of the skull

Kleiver

Even with the limited colour palette, I’m super super super happy with this one. This piece could’ve been kind of boring with just Kleiver shushing but my inspiration basically screamed out of nowhere that I could have bloodied music trails emanating from the stain on his hammer... Head. It doesn’t really show off his attacks but it shows off his brutality and lore enough that I’m absolutely satisfied with how he turned out. I nailed that hand pretty well too.

Cranes

Incredibly with the more simple and clean approach I took!! my first time trying out rain and such so I was really satisfied with how it turned out

Agon

My spookiest work yet, probably... I still really like this one :) depicted his yelling the best way I knew how! Super abstract but fits him well

Rags

Really really happy with her, I think the shading and colours came out excellent. Managed to fit some good stuff about her concept and item wise as well :) I think my only gripe might be that it’s a little less coherent than it could’ve been, with some of the parts of the drawing being quite dark.

However, I’m still really happy with it!!

SmokeStacks

Did this because some guy on reddit asked for it really nicely, even though SmokeStacks wasn’t even on my radar at the time... But they seemed to like it! I did too. I was initially trying to position SmokeStacks like every other portrait up close, but I realized I really wanted to show off the smoke more than the stacks part so I went ham on making the smoke look spooky and ominous.

He’s meant to be sitting on a pile of trash which is kinda hard to tell but I’m pretty happy with this one too.

Leviat

I like how dynamic and “pop-y” I made this one :) experimented with a style I didn’t do too often and was worried about how I’d handle the mass of flesh/teeth and masks thing but it turned out really nice

Bimini

Put as much for the character as I could into it! I think probably the most “packed” in terms of references so far... I do wish I could’ve done something a bit more with the background though

Gospel

so spacey... so gospel... it’s perfect

Mordrake

Mega happy with this one concept and execution wise :) holds a special place in my heart!

[raininyourblackeyes]

An overview of the functions and purpose of the International Judging System

First of all, I am writing this post to talk about the International Judging System, how it is meant to work and how it is being implemented, as well as my own understanding of the rules as a three year national judge in a super small skating fed (in other words what our judges who are qualified to judge internationally pointed out to me). The goal of this is to discuss the objectivity of the rules and to which degree is that achieved. I will be focusing mostly on the jumps since they are the most talked about when it comes to the scoring discourse.

I will divide this into three parts and it is going to get long. Feel free to disagree, I might end up having a number of people complaining how judge no.X scored their fave at worlds in a few years anyways…

1.   A brief history of ISU’S IJS and what it stands for

Figure skating is an Olympic sport, meaning that its athletes have a chance to compete at the highest level possible. Olympics are a competition with rich history and lore behind them, it is an honour to even get there. And figure skating has been an Olympic sport since before the Games were split into Summer and Winter. It was first conducted at the 1908 Games in London as a sport with 4 disciplines:

·        Men’s singles – won by Ulrich Salchow of Sweden, the inventor of Salchow jump, and the first president of ISU.

·        Men’s special figures – won by Nikolai Panin of Russian Empire

·        Ladies’ singles – won by Madge Syers of Great Britain

·        Pairs – won by Anna Hubler and Heinrich Burger of Germany.

Ice dance made its debut much later, in 1976 at the Innsbruck Games, where the gold was won by Lyudmila Pakhomova and Aleksandr Gorshkov who represented the Soviet Union. If Gorshkov’s name sounds familiar, it should be, he is the president of Russian Figure Skating Federation.

For a competition on that level, there should be no mistakes. There should be no options left on the table to discuss after the competition. Everything has to be transparent and objective, else it does not deserve the title of the Olympic sport. There should be no difference between alpine skiing and figure skating in terms of which one deserves the title of an Olympic sport; in skiing the winner is the fastest competitor, in skating the one with highest scores given by judges accumulated across two days of competition. The only difference between the two is that figure skating has a human factor included.

As we all know, nothing in nature is truly perfect. Just as it is impossible to do an organic synthesis with a yield of 100%, there will always be residual reactants left no matter which purification method we use, it is also impossible for humans to be 100% precise when looking for mistakes with their own eyes. We’re not going to be getting into human eye physiology, don’t worry. But the way the rules are structured is meant to reduce the human error as much as possible. Given that there are nine judges sitting on the panel, it is indeed impossible for them to see the same thing from different angles, but the scores should be matching closely. We’ll get into the allowed deviations later on, for now it is enough to remember that the IJS is meant to make this competition around 80-90% objective. Biggest deviation is actually meant to happen within Program Components such as Performance and Interpretation.

What would happen if the scoring system wasn’t objective, you ask. Well, it already almost happened once. I have never studied the 6.0 system and its rules, but they were there, obviously. And at one point, the judging got so rigged, so subjective and corrupted, that the bubble burst at the 2002 Olympics in a really dramatic turn of events. For those who are not familiar with the scandal in pairs: Canadians skated a simpler, yet clean routine. Russians skated a more difficult free but made a mistake. Russians got gold. Few hours later, French judge had a drunken breakdown in a hotel lobby confessing to bribery that happened and deal between her and Russian Federation. Long story short, Canadians and Russians shared the gold. But the more important thing here is the investigation run by International Olympic Committee with a conclusion of: either ISU changes the rules, makes them detailed and mathematically structured in order to achieve objectiveness, or figure skating will be losing its title of an Olympic sport.

ISU sits down and gets to work. International Judging System has been implemented since season 2004-05 until this day with some major changes to it of course. The drastic changes in 2018 ended up being a farce to make the judging more subjective through giving the judges way too much power. It was designed to better distinguish quality of the elements, and yet here we are with “human error” affecting the placements to the degree that the situation is as bad as in 2002.

Back to the point, when the IJS was still in the drafts, Sonia Garbato-Bianchetti who was the first woman in ISU’s head office for figure skating, said that the judging system will not last longer than 10-15 years without going back to the original ways. She was sadly right. She was a judge, a referee, and then a member of the Council. She was famous for traveling to training facilities and talking to skaters, listening what they wanted to change and lead the modernization of the sport in the 90s. The compulsory figures were taken out by her because the skaters wanted them out. She conducted major judging seminars, fought against corruption in the sport, severely punishing those that got caught cheating. In 2004 she even published a book exposing ISU’s inner circle, sport’s money and behind the scenes show-runners. I read it in German a few years ago, but I it’s available in English and that it is called “Cracked Ice”. She was sadly right about the way IJS turned out.

It could be improved, the human error could be reduced even more. Today we possess the technology to make it happen. Build in motion sensors in the boards and under the ice surface. That way it would be possible to create a map of skater’s movements and curves, as well as scanning the entry edges, prerotation and udnerrotation, length, speed, and height on jumps, even rotation on spins could be counted. Just using timers, simple as a stopwatch, or counting crossovers and crossunders via AI softwares, it could be possible to quantify skating skills and transitions. Of course that would require money to implement and test and ISU isn’t willing to do that. As far as I am aware, Yuzuru Hanyu has a master thesis that goes in this direction or so. That could possibly end up being a good starting point.

In its core, the goal of this scoring system is to provide fair chances to all athletes – to score them based on the same standards. That nine judges all have to respect and follow. In a conversation I had with one of the older judges from my small fed, they said “People often say things like skaters are never at fault for their own scores, blame the judges. But at the end of the day, it is only their own performances and nothing else that gets scored, what they do on the ice is on them.” And I agree, it is on them, in the ideal case where ISU’s officials were respecting their own rules. But what when a skater goes out, does a stellar job, and still knows that it will not be enough even though they are aware their performance was the best of the day. What then? That is when the faults in the system, be they actual people or loopholes in the rules, must be weeded out.

The IJS rulebooks are all available online, both the current ones and the older ones tracing back to first version in 2004. And those are the books both fans reference when they are trying to make a point against corrupt judging, and the same books that judges study in order to pass ISU’s examination and later refer them in their work.

We will be returning to IJS in detail, especially looking at GOE specifications in part 3. For now, remember that the human error is meant to be reduced to the level where it doesn’t affect the placements, and rules are meant to be as objective as possible. Now, we’ll take a look into a process of becoming an internationally certificated judge.

 2.   The process of becoming an ISU judge and the process of live judging

Believe it or not, ISU didn’t find these people on the street and told them to just give scores from -5 to +5 based on vibes.

The criteria for the title of judge is:

They must be a judge at the national level of their federation for at least three seasons.

They must be at least 25 years old.

The one for the technical specialist is not much different:

They must be a judge on the national level for at least three years before taking an exam for technical specialist position.

They must be a technical specialist on a national level for at least three seasons.

They must be at least 25 years old.

Sensible, right?

The exams to become a judge at international level happen in September during CS Nebelhorn Trophy and are constructed of three segments.

a.    Written exam – Here the candidates are provided questions from the rulebooks for all four disciplines and are given a time limit to answer them. The questions range from general questions like how many elements are required in men’s free skate (12 = 7 jumps + 3spins + 2 sequences), to TES stuff like which mistakes in a program grant the minimum GOE without taking any other aspects of the element (fall on a jump), PCS things like define criteria for grading Skating Skills (deep edges, steps and turns, balance, rhythmic knee action and precision of foot placement, flow and glide, varies use of power, speed and acceleration, use of multi directional skating, use of one foot skating).

b.    Identification and grading of individual skating elements – Those who pass the written exam get to watch figure skating videos, actually just selections from several. Candidates are shown a video of for example spin from a competition from two seasons ago, asked to identify the element and give GOE and explain why that GOE for the examiners who will be comparing their answer to the rulebook specifications and the actual scores given by judges in that event.

c.    Live judging – If the candidate proves themselves objective and reliable and knowledgeable enough, they are asked to judge at a Nebelhorn event under supervision. That means that actual judges are scoring the skaters competing, and at the same times the new candidates are judging them (their scores will not of course be taken into the final scores of a skater). Candidates also must provide why they gave each score, and finally, if the committee of examiners find their scores and reason right, they are immediately cleared to judge at future ISU events.

My own experience at the national level wasn’t much different. I did a written exam and almost failed exactly because of the minimal GOE question. As far I understood, the GOE was accumulative (it is), and for a mistake on an element it cannot be higher than +2, so that question confused me. I was explained later, that the rule goes for everything than a fall on jump, that it is some general consensus within ISU since that is the only mistake they define as a “big” mistake. I don’t think they follow their own consensus that well, though.

Second part of my exam was a merge of identification of elements and live judging. Basically, they played me 8 full programs (2 from each discipline) and asked me to grade elements and explain why that grade. I did the exam in 2019 so all the programs I answered on were from 2018-19 season since the rules changes of 2018. Example, the first program they played to me was Yuzuru Hanyu’s Otonal at 2019 World Championships. It was a struggle to stay objective since I am a hardcore fanyu. you see his 2S* and mentally go +5 purely because even his pops look beautiful, but say no score as that is the invalid element since the minimum rotation number for the solo jump in senior men’s short program is three. And so on. At the end they compared my results to the results of those nine judges allowing the normal amount of deviation since seven out of nine scores are calculated into the final score of a skater, and here I was the only person so it is natural that the scores tended to be higher as there is no averaging.

Now, how does live judging work?

There are 9 judges at the panel, each sitting separated enough so that they can’t communicate (in theory). The sitting arrangement will cover nearly full length of the ice rink, giving them different angles that will mean some of them might see something the other cannot, hence slight differences in scores. And skaters now this, there is literally a blind spot on the ice from which you cannot tell edge apart, that is where most Lutzes happen naturally. But that is why the technical panel has the video replay (in real time speed) to notice it and call the edge. Personally, I think this is why we need AI software for judging. It is impossible for human eye to in a fraction of a second notice and rightly grade everything.

Before each segment of competition, there is a short briefing with the referee (they remind you which skaters you have to score how there…). But what is actually important, is the meeting after the event, there each protocol for each skater is reviewed and none of them are released to the public until each questionable score isn’t discussed and the referee doesn’t sign all of them, taking responsibilities for those scores. Now you might be wondering what are questionable scores? So, if you have nine judges scoring a skater with score let’s say -2 and -3 and someone gave them a +1 for a big step out let’s say. The judge who gave that skater +1 is asked to elaborate their choice and if they can’t defend it, they receive sort of a minus point, and if weird scores keep repeating during the briefing, they receive a warning to follow the rules. If it keeps happening, they are risking temporary suspension. That basically means, if all judges but you give Anna’s 4F for example a +4 and you give it a much lower score since she has wrong edge on the take off but no sign from tech panel (GOE -1), cheated take-off (-1 to -3) or under-rotated (-2 to -3), and calculate all the positive things about the element in it and it is still much smaller, +1 for example. It will not be those judges asked why, but you. That is one major fault of the system that allows the real precise scores to be considered abnormalities and be punished. That is how the corruption continues to thrive in this sport.

This was a bit shorter part. Now, onto the mathematics of IJS.

 3.   Score deviations, specific rules, and mathematics involved in calculation of the scores

One thing that I really love about IJS is that is mathematically structured. Could skating be quantified more? Yes, in terms of PCS. The TES is already completely just mathematics. Now, mathematics as a core science of the universe is objective. Even if you were solving an integral calculus with a method where you assume that the result is 0, you don’t leave it at that. You go on using techniques to prove whether it is actually 0 or not. That is why I believe that mathematics is a perfect way to score skaters objectively. If we get to the point where AI software is used to assist judging, it would be perfect.

·        TES is broken down into two segments: the base values and grades of execution.

Base values are indicated in the scale of values charts and are definite. They depend solely on the technical panel and not the judges. If you look at them closely, they are quite logical. Everything is grouped into similar groups by difficulty, level, or number of rotations, and they increase proportionally to the same element of lower level and to other elements grouped with them. The only exception that doesn’t really follow any mathematical pattern are the base values of quad jumps in singles skating. If you look at the values of the triples, how they change in proportion to each other and to doubles and doubles to singles, you’ll see that quads to triples don’t really follow the same proportion. It feels as if especially 4Lo, 4F, and 4Lz were kind of crammed together in an attempt to make their values as similar as possible, there was even a proposition to make them equal which is ridiculous. From the aspects of physics Lutz that breaks the curve could never be same as Flip that is jumped from natural body position. However, this issue isn’t really big and could be easily solved by simply putting back into use old base values for the quads prior to 2018-19 season. The old quad values were: 4T – 10.3; 4S – 10.5; 4Lo – 12.00; 4F – 12.3; 4Lz – 13.6. This is not taking into account the Axels as they are, once again, from aspects of physics, borderline science-fiction. I might do a post on physics in this sport one day, but for now that doesn’t matter. It is just enough to look at the history progress of landing different jumps – first 3A (1978) was landed closer to first ever quad (4T in 1988) than to first ever triple jump (3Lo in 1952) to understand that they are a different realm compared to other jumps.

The grades of execution are the scores awarded by each judge on the panel for the individual elements. In the ideal scenario, where there is no fixed standings, where there is no corruption, the ±5 GOE system would be amazing. By changing the range from ±3 to 5, ISU allowed for a wider distinction between levels of quality of each technical element. Before it was an okay, a good, and an amazing jump. Now we have much wider range that allows to distinguish more closely.  That range is the main question that needs to be explored here. Back to human eye physiology: judges indeed do have the best seats in the whole arena, however their panel table spans nearly whole one length of the ice rink. That means that a skater might be doing a jump really close to judge 1, making it super easy for them to spot more mistakes or good things than for judge 8 who is watching from a different angle at a different distance. That is not the fault of a judge, it is simply how our eyes work. However, as they are watching the same thing, they should be able to spot quite similar qualities to the element. Maybe one judge will notice one GOE bullet more than the other, but that is ultimately the same jump, so the scores should be around the same. That means it’s natural for judges to give scores that aren’t the same across the panel. But, the difference between those individual scores that can become a problem. For one same element, it would be normal for the panel to give scores +2 and +3 depending on how they perceived it (human error), however the problem arises when there is a +5 among the mix. That means that majority of the judges saw only 2 or 3 GOE bullets executed well, and/or only the three most important ones, while this one judge somehow managed to come up with first three bullets and another two or three. Remember first three GOE bullet points must be present in the element for GOE +4 or +5, together with another 2 or 3 points. It is quite good that the GOE is accumulative, meaning that all positive aspects are added together and then all negative are subtracted from it. It allows the judges to in moments of doubt go in favour of the skater as all effort should be rewarded. And this goes for all elements in all disciplines, each element has their own GOE bullet points and deductions for certain errors well defined. There are of course exceptions – falls. Even though GOE is accumulative, falls are by consensus all graded by -5. This is a relic from the 6.0 system which I did not study and am not sure how it worked at all, however I have heard that mistakes were treated harshly. Fall is defined as “loss of control by a skater with the result that the majority of his/her own body weight is on the ice supported by any other part of the body other than the blades e.g. hand(s), knee(s), back, buttock(s) or any part of the arm.” Falls mostly happen on jumps of course, but in general fall on an element which grants it a -5 GOE may happen from the moment the skater finishes their connective steps and starts with the transition into the element, until the transition out of the element. Transitions may be as simple as standard set ups into the element (three turns into Flip for example) and simple exits where you just lower your leg and skate on, quite easy to spot on. At 2002 Olympics pairs free skate for example, Xue Shen seemed to have landed the throw 4S for a solid second, but then her edge slipped and she fell. Even in that old system, since she still hadn’t fully transitioned out of the element (even though she was in the process of transitioning out of it) their 4S was not ratified and it was counted as a fall. In case of other mistakes the procedure is standard, all positive points of GOE minus all reductions for errors (final GOE by judge still might end up being -5 if there are enough errors). However, you usually should not be getting positive GOE for a step out for example. Step out is graded with GOE -3 to -4, so for positive GOE a skater should be hitting all 6 positive GOE bullets which with a mistake is truly impossible (it literally cannot be over +2 to begin with because it had a weak landing, it wasn’t effortless throughout, and body position most likely got distorted during a landing with a step out. And then from that +2 you still have to subtract the step out reduction and most likely another -1 for weak landing etc.).

·        On the other hand, Program Components are a bit harder to score objectively as they are not truly quantified.

There are five of them and two of them should be quantified to make the judging process more objective. The tiny subjective part of the judging that prevails is in the other three aspects: Performance, Composition, and Interpretation. Even though, Composition while not necessarily needing to be quantified, isn’t also really subjective at all. The components are scored on a scale of 0 to 10 with 0.25 divisions. The only technical thing that affects them is a serious error and the only serious error that ISU has defined is a fall. The thing that bothers me when it comes to PCS is that the way they were structured is to clearly reward growth and maturity of the performance. What does that mean? It means that kids only coming into senior ranks start below, maybe their TES is already super high, but coming from juniors to seniors is a changing tide. People who have spent years in senior circuit have learned and adjusted their skating skills, their transitions to match the music, their skating grew with their maturity. When you come fresh off the junior circuit, you are still not as focused on the same things as the seniors, you are perhaps too young to get some themes, too young for your programs to be really serious and so if you try to skate to some difficult music, it just looks frantic and uncontrolled and unconnected. It is impossible for a 13 and a 23 year old that prioritize the same things in a performance to have same skating skills, as the older person has had years more of experience to learn. That is not to say that young skaters cannot be super good at certain specific component. Anna Shcherbakova has had really wonderful Interpretation of music throughout her career. Compared to other women at 2019 GPF, Alena Kostornaia and Rika Kihira had obviously superior Skating Skills even though they were a first and second year seniors.

That being said, Performance and Interpretation should be graded taking into account ISU’s current guidelines. They are pretty well defined already, ISU just needs to start implementing them based on those regulations and not personal vibes.

Composition refers to how the program is structured, the pattern on the ice, the placements of elements, if you are going to go with 5 jumps in a row in the free skate you should be thinking how that compliments the purpose and theme of the program and be ready for your composition to suffer.

Skating Skills and Transitions may be mostly quantified by the use of AI software and motion sensors. I have already mentioned some of that in the first part of this essay. But apart from that, judges must also look into the quality of those numbers. How difficult those steps were, did the skater loose much speed through them, their rhythmic knee movement, the depth of the edges (which can be visualised further by the arch of the curve they create on the ice), how easily they accelerate without doing crossovers and crossunders etc. (No wait, that also could be seen if they were to measure both speed through the program and amount of difficult one foot steps, or simply count the crossovers?).

The point is, the more the judging system gets quantified, the more objective it will be. But the AIs cannot properly judge performance and interpretation quality so we would still need judges. Not having a robot score the technical elements gives skater a feedback on what different people see and look for within their element while following the same rules and structure that they do, ultimately giving them ideas what to work on both technically and aesthetically wise, while the robots score would just be looking at the purely technical aspects. The judging system is fine as it is, however ISU and its officials need to take responsibility for following those rules. In the last few seasons, we have seen the scores leaving the realm of realistic possibilities considering what the skaters did on the ice. It is harmful to skaters that get scored fairly or underscored, both psychologically, and financially. It is harmful to skaters who get overscored as they are being told their performances are perfect and that there is no need to improve which in some cases may diminish their own motivation for longer careers since they already achieved their maximum early on, and creates a really dangerous system where it is becoming normal to have a career no longer than three years, rapidly reach your peak and later suffer the possible health consequences. No skater benefits from the current state of the sport in a long term, which is most important.

[kaylorrehabcenter]

Rating Every Song on Fearless Based on How Gay it is

Hello friends! I still have a few song analyses in the pipeline (and one on Lover the album) but today in honor of Fearless (Taylor’s Edition) being announced and Love Story being released in a few hours I thought I’d do something fun to celebrate!

And you know what? Fuck my usual disclaimer, I am the word of god here. Try and change my mind about any of these. I dare you. (I kid I kid this isn’t that serious and you’re free to disagree <3)

1. Fearless 15/10

Everything about this song is so fucking gay oh my god. This isn’t a fruit, this is a whole ass edible arrangement. As a small rural town Gay (my hometown has a population of less that 4,000 and where I’m living now has a population of 2,500) this uh. Hits.

“And I don't know how it gets better than this/You take my hand and drag me head first, fearless”

Y’ALL

The idea of falling in love with someone who makes you less afraid of your homophobic small town…….it’s getting to me.

“My hands shake, I'm not usually this way but/You pull me in and I'm a little more brave/It's the first kiss, it's flawless, really something/It's fearless”

This is making me emotional, I'll be honest. I see so much of my friends and my experience in high school in this song. 

This quote I found on genius is from when the album was released on BMR’s website.

“When I wrote ‘Fearless,’ I wasn’t dating anyone. I wasn’t even in the beginning stages of dating anybody. I really was all by myself out on tour and I got this idea for a song about the best first date. I think sometimes when you’re writing love songs, you don’t write them about what you’re going through at the moment, you write about what you wish you had. So, this song is about the best first date I haven’t had yet.”

This just screams baby Tay writing gay folklore to me, about the gay stories she wish she had. Notice how there are no pronouns in this song??? Fruity I’m telling you.

All that to say. I’m crying because the linear note says “I loved you before I met you” and I want to go listen to Long Story Short and cry now.

2. Fifteen 1/10

Objectively pretty straight as she’s singing about her and Abigail’s dating boys in HS. And Taylor got with a senior guy. Good for her I suppose.

Unless he was one of the shitty ones in which case.

“This is life before you know who you're gonna be”

This however, is a cute line and the whole song makes me warm and nostalgic. You can also hear her crying after the line “and Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind” which makes me emo and I’m sure will take on new depth after Abigail’s divorce and hurt me even more.

Other highlights that make me sob include.

“When all you wanted was to be wanted/Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now/Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday/But I realized some bigger dreams of mine”

Bigger dreams of hers indeed :’)

(Also how can you say she’s a gold star lesbian when this song exists. She was obviously dating boys in high school and even if you think she’s a lesbian. Comp het is a hell of a drug kids.)

3. Love Story 8/10

Tried to change the ending indeed.

This is THE Taylor Swift song, and maybe it’s the nostalgia talking but damn I still love it. Written because she wanted to change the ending of Romeo and Juliet (how anyone likes RandJ enough to want to rewrite I have no clue.) and/or because her parents didn’t approve of a guy she was seeing. (according to genius, it would’ve been too early for Joe J so it could possibly be Boys Like Girls frontman, his image did clash with hers and they did release some cute songs together. However if you want my take it’s probably folklore about Emily, take for what you will)

This song has very oft gay vibes with the ‘They don’t approve of our love angle!’ but uses male pronouns so points redacted for that. HOWEVER this is a very early use of ~the male perspective~ in Taylor’s songs and for that it deserves all the love.

“ So I sneak out to the garden to see you/We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew/So close your eyes/Escape this town for a little while”

More rural town angst!!!

Nothing gets me more than rural town angst.

“Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel/This love is difficult, but it's real”

Originally the lyric was “this love is different”. Granted I do not remember the source, i’s just lore implanted into my brain, but make of that what you will.

“"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone/I love you, and that's all I really know/I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress/It's a love story, baby, just say "Yes"”

Marry me Juliet from the male perspective :)

Also worth noting. This is Karlie’s (and Kim K’s lmao) favorite Taylor song which. While basic as hell. Makes this cover sad as hell to this former Kaylor. (thanks @swiftgron-get-married for the tears <3)

Also not to make this about a man AGAIN but the secret message is “Some day I’ll find this” AND SHE DID IM CRYING.

4. Hey Stephen 1/10

The one thing Camilla Cabello and I have in common is loving this song, so I have to live with that for the rest of my life.

This song is very painfully straight.

How can you think this woman is a gold star lesbian.

The only noteworthy thing is that this is one of the few songs she confirms who it’s about. The secret message is “Love and Theft” which is the name of a country music duo who went on to open her Fearless tour. Which, does make me side eye this song a little bit.

Still a cute song.

“Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believing/I don't always have to be alone”

5. White Horse 1/10

Oh look. It’s track five. 

You know maybe this is just me being a bitch but in my ranking of track fives this is. Pretty low. Maybe on the bottom.

Like I don’t have a lot to say about it. 

She’s going through it over a guy. He was a cheating dickweazel. 

“'Cause I'm not your princess, this ain't a fairytale/I'm gonna find someone someday/Who might actually treat me well”

“Try and catch me now, oh/It's too late/To catch me now”

These lines hit though!!

And she found Joe!! Who treats her well!!!! And she isn’t the princess, she’s the prince who dropped her sword and knocked on her door!!! But this time if they come for them she’s ready!!!

Yes I will make every song about Long Story Short <3

6. You Belong With Me 5/10

Ah yes. The other THE Taylor Swift song.

You know. If I went to a high school with a cheerleading squad. And I had a crush on a cheerleader. I would blast this song. So for that it gets a 5/10. Otherwise. Fairly straight and fairly iconic.

7. Breathe 8/10

Well. We know this one is about a woman. (Emily Poe for those not in the know. Ha. A rhyme!) That alone has an 8/10. And it’s the first time she has a featured artist so bonus points for that!

It was nominated for a Grammy and it fucking lost to Jason Mraz. When’s the last time you thought about Jason Mraz.

I will not have Kaylor feels on a fucking Fearless song but damn is it VERY easy.

“Never a clean break, no one here to save me/You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand”

“It's 2 A.M, feeling like I just lost a friend/Hope you know it's not easy, easy for me”

Also this bridge? Goes off. HIGHLY underrated. 

8. Tell Me Why 3/10

You know. Maybe this album isn’t as gay as I once thought.

This song does bop though, not as good as her other angry songs on this album. But I can vibe with this you know. Why are you being an asshole mysterious man.

“You could write a book on how to ruin someone's perfect day”

This has to be one of baby Tay’s best burns. Damn. 

“Why do you have to make me feel small/So you can feel whole inside?/Why do you have to put down my dreams/So you're the only thing on my mind?”

Men ain’t shit kids. However, bonus points for the shade. 

9. You’re not Sorry 1/10

Ok, ok. Maybe this was a foolish endeavor.

Because yet again we have a very straight song. A good song. That was on Taylor’s episode of CSI. But oh dear. Very straight. Gets a measly one point. We started this post off so very very gay but damn. We seem to be nearing the end on a very straight note.

10. The Way I Loved You 20/10

Hey Remember what I said about this album being very straight.

WELL THAT WAS A LIE.

Is this a comphet album or am I projecting.

This is one of my favorite baby gay Taylor songs. Her masterful use of pronouns (he is sensible! And so incredible! And all my single friends are jealous! But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, when it was two am and I was cursing your name!) makes the other person she’s singing about completely vague, while we know she isn’t happy with whichever guy she’s dating.

Mayhaps an early reaction to PRomances?

Either way this song is so good, truly an underrated gay gem I mean. Look at it.

“Breaking down and coming undone/It's a roller coaster kind of rush/And I never knew I could feel that much/And that's the way I loved you”

AND THE BRIDGE. Do all of her gay songs just have kickass bridges?

“He can't see the smile I'm faking/And my heart's not breaking/'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all/And you were wild and crazy/Just so frustrating/Intoxicating, complicated/Got away by some mistake and now…”

Damn. I’m imaging this with 2020 vocals and fucking ascending.

Also please watch the live performance of it from the Fearless tour. It’s such a damn shame this got cut from the movie and some woman in the front row is wearing a cowboy hat. Everyone is holding up those cameras everyone had to have before smartphones. Taylor is being endearing. It’s a good time.

11. Forever and Always 6/10

Bonus points for the ~drama~ of it all. Added last minute to the album? The iconic throwing of the chair in live performances?? All of it very dramatique and for that we stan.

Still pretty straight.

Also Joe Jonas responded to the song and why do I find his response so damn funny. “It’s part of being a musician, I guess. You write songs about each other.”

This is another song where the idea of Taylor’s grown up vocals on this is………..whew

12. The Best Day 0/10

This gets zero points because it’s about her literal mom.

Still makes me cry.

God bless Andrea Swift indeed

13. Change 13/10

We start the official tracklist with a gay song. We end it with a gay song.

We will ignore that it was originally written for Scott and BMR and instead induct it into the hall of gay pride anthems, as it should be. 

“We're getting stronger now, finding things they never found/They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared/You can walk away, say we don't need this/But there's something in your eyes says we can beat this”

“This revolution, the time will come/For us to finally win/And we'll sing hallelujah, we'll sing hallelujah”

The music video is cringe though lol

14. Jump then Fall 10/10

This song is gay because I choose it to be. <3

Like. Picture baby Taylor writing this song and playing it on her guitar to a girl she has a crush on telling her that she’ll protect her and they’ll be safe and in love and happy together. Gah, maybe I’m ~projecting~ but this sweet ass song always gets me and is EASILY in my top five Taylor songs. Super underrated and hecking cute. 

“We're on the phone and without a warning/I realize your laugh is the best sound/I have ever heard”

Like. Look at this shit.

“I watch you talk, you didn't notice/I hear the words but all I can think is/We should be together”

Tell me this is about the first time you get a crush on a girl and she’s your best friend and she’s amazing and beautiful and you realize you kinda want to kiss her and you hope she wants to kiss you too.

“I had time to think it oh, over/And all I can say is come closer/Take a deep breath and jump then fall into me”

And she’s the Romeo who's going to protect her!!!!! She’s the knight in shining armor in this song and I love that for her??

“The bottom's gonna drop out from under our feet/I'll catch you, I'll catch you/When people say things that bring you to your knees/I'll catch you/The time is gonna come when you're so mad you could cry/But I'll hold you through the night until you smile”

I won’t divulge into full on analysis here because. This is what this post is about but PLEASE listen to this song more. It’s such a gay little gem.

15. Untouchable 9/10

How does she make a cover sound gay.

It sounds so gay.

“You got to come on, come on, say that we'll be together/Come on, come on, little taste of heaven”

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

16. Forever and Always Piano Version 1/10

This song gets 1/10 because I don’t like it. There. I said it.

17. Come in With the Rain 3/10

I can see why this is a bonus track. It doesn’t hit me as much as the other songs on the album.

But damn if I don’t want to scream sing this one driving down a high way.

18. Superstar 7/10

You can’t tell me this song is about a man. I simply won’t entertain the idea.

You cannot prove to me that this song is about a man. There is not a male pronoun in sight. 

>:)

19. The Other Side of the Door 6/10

Is this song about having a fight about being in the closet? Probably not. Will my gay little brain make it about that? Yep!

And that, funky little queer pals, is my gay rating of every Fearless song. Like and subscribe, #t3atmidnight

[fandomstuff67]

What He Left Behind

Another sad Destiel ficlet has been born today. 

What He Left Behind (2.4K words) is available on Ao3 or you can read below! 

@tearsofgrace here’s the sadness.

Dean was numb all over. His thoughts were blank, yet rampant at the same time. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real, this was just a dream, a nightmare. 

 His head rested against the back of the wall, eyes pooling with tears, and he let his hands run through his hair as his knees came up to his chest. 

He had to wake up. 

This was just a nightmare. 

He had to wake up. 

Tears dislodged from his eyes as he covered his face with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the moment when he’d wake up in his bed and Cas would be waiting in the kitchen, coffee already brewing. 

But the longer he sat there, against that wall, with tears falling uncontrollably from his eyes, the more he began to realize this wasn’t a dream. 

“Dean!” 

Sam’s worried shout echoed through the bunker but Dean didn’t respond to him; it sounded like he was underwater, everything was distorted and far away, garbled by gallons of liquid. 

“Dean!” 

Sam’s voice was closer now, but Dean still didn’t have the energy to reply. He was frozen, sitting there, head against the wall, cheeks wet with tears, eyes staring at the spot where Cas had been merely minutes ago. 

There was nothing there now. 

The room was empty.

Empty. 

Anger suddenly flooded through him, mixing with his shock and devastation. The empty had taken Cas, he was gone, and Dean had been assured by the cosmic being that Cas wasn’t going to be coming back again. 

More tears filled Dean’s eyes as he remembered the look Cas had fixed him with. There had been such sorrow, such want, in those blue eyes; and now, in the emptiness of that room, with only the hum of the lights above him to quell the silence, Dean wished that they’d had more time. He wished that he hadn’t wasted all those years, thinking that Cas couldn’t possibly love him back, that an angel couldn’t possibly love such a broken man as himself. 

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Castiel had loved him. This whole time, they could’ve been together, but now… now Cas was gone. 

“Dean!” Sam gasped as he burst into the room, causing Dean to flinch and fix his brother with a watery stare. Sam faltered slightly, relief crossing over his face only to be replaced by concern. “Dean, what happened?” Sam glanced at the empty room and his next words dug a deeper pit in Dean’s stomach. “Where’s Cas?” 

“He’s gone, Sammy,” he choked out. 

“Gone? What… you don’t mean… did the empty…?”

“He’s gone,” Dean repeated. 

���No,” Sam whispered softly as his hand came up to grasp at the door frame. “Dean… I’m so-” 

“Don’t, Sam. Just don’t, please.” Dean knew what Sam was trying to say, he knew that Sam had never had the same kind of friendship -bond- with Cas that Dean had, he wouldn’t feel Cas’ loss as harshly as Dean. They were friends of course, but with Dean and Cas it had gone deeper, it had been in his soul, his soul that Cas never failed to mention was the brightest and most beautiful he’d ever seen.

Sam nodded stiffly, attempting to keep his own tears at bay. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to um…” Sam backed away, almost backing into the door, but managing to avoid it by a hair length. 

With Sam gone, footsteps retreating down the hallway, Dean collapsed, his whole body shaking, sobs contorting his chest in racking, breathless, cries. 

“Cas, hear me, please,” he prayed. “I can’t do this without you, I need you.” He paused for a moment, his next words had been the last thing he’d said to Cas, and they were all the more painful for it. “I love you.” 

He knew Cas couldn’t hear him, wherever he was, but words Cas had said to Dean long ago came floating back to him. 

I always come when you call. 

But this time, he didn’t. 

Silence greeted his prayer. 

Where there once might have been the flutter of wings, or the rumble of a car engine as Cas arrived twenty minutes after Dean prayed, there was nothing. 

The silence was deafening. 

There was a ringing in his ears that seemed to grow louder and louder the longer he lay on the floor, the longer he fought to control his gasping breaths. 

He didn’t know how long he lay there, it could have been hours, or days, or years, but eventually, he managed to sit up and uncurl his stiff limbs. It took him another few minutes to stand up, and when he did his head rushed wildly with vertigo, causing the world to black out for a moment. In that moment, Dean wondered what it would be like to succumb to the darkness completely, to just fall to the ground and hope his head split open on the tiled floor; death would be welcomed, after everything he’d been through he deserved some peace. 

 But when the vertigo faded and his sight returned, he knew he couldn’t do that to Sam. But it would be so easy, so easy to take a gun to his mouth and squeeze the trigger, so easy to flip the lights out and let the world's problems be figured out by someone else. 

He felt the cold metal of his gun warming against the skin of his back and his hand twitched towards it, only to falter. He shouldn’t. But it was so tempting. 

He shook his head and made his way over to the sink in the bedroom. The attached mirror revealed his ragged reflection and Dean hardly recognized the man staring back at him. His eyes were red, puffy, and bloodshot, glassed over with a bleary sheen. Dark circles were forming under his eyes, and his hair was twisted in many different angles. His heart lurched as he was reminded of Cas’ hair, unruly, never tamed, dark, thick, and wild. 

More tears stung his dry eyes, and he gripped the side of the sink as another small sob escaped from his mouth. His head hung between his shoulders, grief taking ahold of him with cold, steel-like, hands. 

He’d lost Cas before, the grief was nothing new, but he’d always came back. This time, Dean knew no matter what he did, Cas would never walk through the bunker doors again, never place a cup of coffee in front of Dean in the morning, or hand him a beer after a hunt. He’d never see those blue eyes again, he’d never see the confused tilt to his head or the squint he always did when he didn’t understand something. He’d never hear his voice, low and soft in his ear as he was greeted with a warm smile and a ‘hello, Dean’. He’d never feel the warm palm of Cas’ hand on his shoulder, as he reassured him that everything was alright. 

At that thought, he remembered that just before Cas had disappeared, he’d given Dean’s shoulder one last squeeze. He could practically feel the lingering ghost of Castiel’s touch, and his eyes lifted to the mirror, to his shoulder, where the dark red shape of a bloodied handprint lay branded into his jacket. 

Dean stared at it for a moment before he slowly raised his own hand and pressed it against the mark. His shoulders shook in another sob as he felt the dried blood catch on his skin. He stumbled away from the mirror, and the back of his knees hit the bed. He crumpled onto the mattress, hand still pressed to his shoulder, eyes still dripping with tears like a leaky faucet. 

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

He chanted to himself as he rocked forward and backward on the bed. 

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

It’s not a dream, Dean. His mind helpfully supplied. It’s real. 

It’s real. 

It can’t be real. 

Dean won’t let it be real.

There has to be a way to get him back. 

There has to be. 

Dean suddenly spurred into action, his feet carrying him towards the bunker’s library. His hands reached for books and he tore them off the shelves, flipping through pages and pages of lore, eyes burning as he read word after word, looking for anything the Men of Letters might have on the empty. 

For days, Dean didn’t leave the library. He’d fall asleep on top of an open book and wake a few hours later only to continue reading where he left off. Sam came and went, bringing him food and water, but Dean barely touched any of it. 

When it was nearing a week, Sam finally sat down across from Dean and pulled the book he was reading away from him. 

“Sam!” Dean growled in protest. “Give it back!” 

“No,” Sam retorted. “Dean, you have to give it a rest. I miss him too, but he’s gone. The empty took him, he’s gone. You’ll burn yourself into the ground if you keep going like this.” 

“No, Sam, he came back before, he can do it again. There has to be a way, there has to be something.”

 “There isn’t. You know there isn’t, we’ve looked before.” 

“We must have missed something,” Dean hissed as he tried to grab the book from Sam, but Sam held it out of his reach. 

“Cas wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself, Dean.”

“Don’t play that card, Sam,” Dean spat. 

“Dean, please,” Sam begged. 

The look on Sam’s face made Dean falter. His lungs suddenly pushed out all their air, and he slumped in his chair, defeated. Sam was right. There was no bringing Cas back, there was no lore, no spell, no deal he could make; nothing. 

“Okay, Sammy. Okay.” 

“You’ll stop?” 

Dean nodded slowly, air filling his lungs again. “I’ll stop.” 

“Good. Now go get some sleep.” 

Dean stood warily, his legs wobbling under him from lack of use. He made his way down the hall, passing the kitchen that suddenly seemed so eerie, so haunting. 

Cas was everywhere.

The kitchen table where they used to have breakfast was vacant, the chair Cas usually sat in was twisted away from the table in the position that Cas had left it when he stood up. 

Dean blinked a few times, staving off tears, then made his way to his room in a daze, and settled down under the covers, not even bothering to change out of the week old clothes he was still in. He never wanted to take this jacket off, never wanted to wash away the handprint, never wanted to forget the feeling of Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

The footsteps Dean was so used to falling asleep to as Cas bustled around the bunker at ungodly hours of the night were absent, nothing but silence now. Despite the exhaustion tugging at his body he still tossed and turned, still shut his eyes only to reopen them moments later. 

It was too quiet. 

Dean couldn’t stand it, but somehow he managed to fall asleep, but his sleep was not peaceful. 

Memories washed over him in waves of dreams.

He was in the barn, lightbulbs burst from the ceiling, sending sparks flying everywhere. Shotgun shots blasted through the air and Castiel walked through them like it was nothing. 

I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. 

Yeah, thanks for that. 

The sound of his knife hitting home in Castiel’s chest rang in his ears and Cas pulled it from his body like he’d just been poked with a toothpick. 

Why would an angel, rescue me from hell? 

Good things do happen, Dean. 

Not in my experience. 

What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved.

His dream shifted, he felt pain radiate up his body as he was slammed into an alley wall.

I rebelled for this! So that you could surrender to them!

Cas, please.

I gave everything for you! And this is what you give to me!?

Hit after hit he took, blood pooled from his mouth, cuts deepened on his cheeks with every punch Castiel threw his way. 

He deserved this. 

I rebelled. I did it, all of it, for you.

Now, he was in Purgatory, Castiel’s hand slipping from his as he tried to pull the angel through the portal.

 I got you, hold on!

Dean! GO!

The feeling of Cas’ hand slipping through his felt like he’d been singed with fire, it burned and blistered on his skin. Devastation tore into his body as he watched Cas’ face disappear against the backdrop of Purgatory. 

Lastly, he was standing in that bedroom, Cas before him, knuckles bloody from fighting, palm dripping from where he’d cut it to activate a sigil, a sigil that was supposed to save them, not doom them. 

You fought for this whole world. 

Dean stared at him, speechless, and then he surged forward, pressing his lips to the angels. Cas gasped, but didn’t pull away, he only deepened the kiss, both trying to make up for lost time. The banging on the door was getting louder and more insistent but Dean didn’t break the kiss, not until he heard the burst door open behind him and saw the empty crash through. Cas reached for him, his hand on his shoulder, spilling blood onto his jacket. 

I love you, Dean. 

The empty laughed behind them, and then suddenly it was behind Cas, black liquid flying towards him, enveloping him in tendrils of darkness. 

I love you too, Cas. He gasped out.

Cas’ blue eyes softened, shining with tears, but he still smiled. 

Dean tried to grab for him, but an invisible force flung him across the room where he hit the wall and slumped to the ground. 

Cas’ eyes were the last thing he saw before the empty disappeared, taking Cas with it.

Dean woke with a gasp, tears in his eyes. 

He pushed the blankets off himself and his eyes fell on the chair Cas sometimes sat in. It looked so sad now, vacant and small. 

Dean knew that he was never going to stop seeing Cas in everything he’d left behind, he was never going to be able to forget what the bunker had been like when it had an angel living in it. Now, the bunker would never be anything, but empty.

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: So Little Time

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Illeria always looked beautiful to him. 

  It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being. 

  She was, is, would always be lovely. 

  Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor. 

  Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.

  When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.

  There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe. 

  Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth. 

  Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size. 

  He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...

  Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.

  So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.

  /x\

  His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .

  "I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.

  A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been. 

  In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.

  Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however. 

  She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.

  "We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."

  "How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone. 

  "Two days, Illeria." 

  She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.

  "Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble. 

  Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke. 

  "Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.

  "Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.

  "What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.

  "Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."

  "What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"

  " Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head. 

  "Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."

  "Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve." 

  "You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."

  "Are you certain? Illeria-"

  " Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"

  "Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."

  She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.

  They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace. 

  He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed? 

  She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut. 

  Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"

  Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.

  "After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."

  Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.

  "I do not fear death, Illeria."

  "That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"

  "I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"

  "And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.

  "Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."

  "Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."

  "Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."

  "You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."

  "It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"

  She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."

  Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"

  "What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."

  " Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"

  " Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."

  Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"

  Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle. 

  "I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.

  He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."

  The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."

  "And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."

  Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."

  "Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."

  "Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"

  Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror. 

  Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes. 

  "We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head. 

  She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort. 

  She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?" 

  Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

  "I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.

  Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you." 

  "Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."

  Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…

  She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.

  " Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long. 

  His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry. 

  Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.

  "Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.

  His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."

  "You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to. 

  "Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."

  "I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."

  "Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas." 

  His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do. 

  "Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust. 

  Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards. 

  Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.

  "Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."

  Where do you want me?

  She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act. 

  "Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face. 

  "You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."

  "I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."

  That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."

  Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her. 

  /x\

  Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers. 

  A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.

  "You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.

  "I am?" He asked after a moment. 

  Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"

  "I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"

  Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"

  "Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.

  " New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"

  " Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.

  Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living. 

  Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!

  "I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry. 

  Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow." 

  Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant . 

  "No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"

  " Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."

  " Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.

  "That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.

  " Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."

  /x\

  "You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.

  Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."

  The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.

  "Of course, Illeria."

  "If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.

  "Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."

  Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .

Part Five: A Choice

[klove0511]

Titans Remembered

Title: Titans Remembered  Artist: Midnight Silver  Author: Klove0511 Rating: T Warnings/Spoilers: Brief, non-graphic attempted bestiality; referenced animal sacrifice, hurt Dean Summary: Following a string of missing people and livestock mutilations, Sam and Dean stumble on a case where the monster has a personal beef with them. When Dean gets himself in trouble trying to do everything himself, Sam must come to the rescue and remind him that they're better as a team.

A/N: Written for the 2020 Wincest Reverse Bang, and inspired by the wonderful art of Midnight Silver Go check out the art post and give them some love!

Art: Tumblr  Story: on Ao3

Dean glanced at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes. He was bored, and he wished he'd pushed harder to go with Sam to interview the witnesses. Their interview styles complemented each other, and sometimes that got them more information than they would get alone. Besides, it got him out of research. He sighed and clicked open a new browser window. Something wasn't sitting right about this case, but he couldn’t figure out what. He’d learned to trust his instincts, though. He mentally reviewed what they knew from the news articles that had brought them here and away from their research on the Darkness. Four missing people in the last two weeks, with multiple more over the last three years, unrelated and having nothing obvious in common. A rash of livestock mutilations in the same time period that included a wide variety of animals from the usual cows to pigs and sheep. Their working theory was a demon, but Dean's gut said they were on the wrong track there. There weren't enough other demonic omens, and while cattle mutilations were a common sign, other types of livestock were usually left alone. It was possible that the animals were unconnected, but he doubted it. Rubbing his hands down his face, he groaned and mentally ran through the list of monsters they knew about. No bodies, no full moon and no missing hearts said it probably wasn't a werewolf. No reports of seeing double or people suddenly acting weird, so not a shifter. No throats torn open, not a vamp. Just missing people and dead animals.

He clenched his jaw and bounced his knee in frustration. The information he had to work with was too vague. Lots of things took people. Ghosts—not likely because as far as they could tell the victims hadn’t gone to a common location, demons—still possible, though Dean thought it unlikely, and even just...people. He hoped it wasn't people. Remembering finding Sam locked up in a cage was a bad memory he had no desire to relive any time soon. In any case, the missing people were an angle that he felt wasn't going to give him any leads in the motel room since they’d already scoured the police reports for useful information. Maybe Sam would turn something up in his interviews. Instead, Dean turned his attention to the animals. He flipped through photos of the dead livestock and shuddered. He may not be a fan of animals in general, but nothing deserved to die like that. Nothing obvious in the photos to point to a bad guy though. Next he ran through the police reports. Huh. No farmers had reported missing animals. That was interesting, and he was surprised Sam hadn't mentioned it when he'd been selling Dean on the case.

They had been all found out in the woods, by hikers. But, if no livestock had gone missing, then where did the animals come from? What the hell were a couple pigs and a sheep doing in the forest? Twenty minutes of digging later, and he had a sick feeling that he knew what had happened to the missing people. He always hated learning they were too late to save the victims; it was the only possible upside to missing persons cases, the hope that maybe they weren't too late for a rescue. At least they could end whatever did this and prevent anyone else from being first transformed and then eviscerated.

He ran through the list of monsters again. The numbers of things that could shapeshift themselves was disappointingly large, but the number of things that could transform others was a lot smaller. Witches, if they were powerful enough, though they weren’t seeing any other signs of witchcraft. Possibly some varieties of Fae, but the lore was pretty sketchy on them. And finally, gods. Mythologies were rife with gods that turned people into anything from a spider to a flower, and Dean was pretty sure he was still just in the Greek pantheon. The question was: which god? And, maybe more importantly, why these people? What earned them a spot on the sacrificial altar? If he could answer that, then he might have a leg up in figuring out which god was behind this.

Two hours later, Dean rubbed at his tired eyes. He really hated research. But he had an answer. A horrible, no good, very bad answer. Sam was in danger. They both were.

Sam loosened his tie and wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. It was humid and uncomfortably warm for an early April day, even this far south. He thought of Dean in the motel air conditioning, probably day drinking and enjoying the Magic Fingers instead of actually researching, and he had to fight an unjustified flare of resentment. It had been Sam's idea to split up, and he'd been the one to offer to go out in the heat and interview people. Sure, he'd expected Dean to fight him on it—either to go together or to switch and get himself out of research duties—but he hadn't, and Sam was stuck with a miserable job. He was wearing his Fed suit, and the cheap material didn't breathe at all, trapping body heat and sweat alike, which combined with the heat and humidity left the suit drenched, hanging heavy on his tall frame. He longed for a shower, and he didn't even care that Dean would try to join him. The heat always made Dean horny, and if it got Sam out of his suit sooner rather than later, then he was on board no matter how gross he felt.

Besides, unless Dean had gotten a lead there wasn't much else they could do today. Tomorrow they'd hit up the morgue and local farmers, follow the animal angle and see if it led anywhere. The families of the victims had been frustratingly unhelpful. Everyone had been perfectly polite and happy to talk, but no one had said anything that seemed remotely useful, just things like Jeremy loved to go rock climbing, or Rebecca had been spending a lot of time at the gym lately. Boring trivia about their lives that probably wasn’t relevant. Not that he hadn't paid attention, because the stupid trivia had a nasty habit of becoming relevant as soon as you stopped paying attention to it. Still, he wasn’t seeing a common thread among the victims yet, which meant they were stuck on this angle.

Sam was hit with a wave of heat as he opened the Impala’s door. The car was sweltering, and Sam winced as he tried touching the steering wheel. It burned, and he grit his teeth before turning on the car and driving back to the motel, hoping he’d manage to not drown in his own sweat before he got there.

He blamed the truly excessive heat for the fact that he didn't immediately notice something was wrong when he opened the door. Instead, he tossed the keys on the small kitchenette counter and shrugged off his suitcoat, slinging it over the back of a chair. He noticed Dean wasn't on the laptop but that there were enough notes and general chaos to indicate he'd actually been working. Sam assumed he'd stopped for a nap or a shower or a session with the Magic Fingers, and his gaze traveled to the bed, looking for Dean. He found a lion instead.

An actual, honest to God, much bigger than Sam, African male lion. Napping on the bed. Sam froze, wondering if he should go for his gun. Then he wondered how a lion had gotten into the locked motel room and what the hell had happened to Dean. He was debating his options for not getting eaten by an apex predator when the lion blinked awake, and Sam's heart jumped into his throat. Given their line of work, he was not a man easily scared, but seeing a big cat not ten feet away brought new meaning to the word intimidating. Except... the lion had startling, unnatural green eyes. Familiar eyes. In a flash of horror, everything clicked into place--the lion, Dean's apparent absence, the animal mutilations and missing people. He managed to keep the panic out of his voice when he breathed, "Dean?"

Dean watched his brother eyeing him warily. Sam was on the couch with his laptop, relaxed enough to have removed his tie in addition to the suitcoat, but the tension in his shoulders told Dean he was far from relaxed. It was fair, he supposed. Sam had no way to know if he really was Dean or if he was just a remarkably calm lion, and Dean had no way to tell him. In between guarded glances, Dean was pretty sure Sam was still researching the case, probably trying to retrace Dean’s search history to figure out where he would have had a run in with the monster of the week.

He watched his brother work from his place on the bed. He’d adapted well enough to walking with four legs, but in the small motel room his bulk was a hindrance. He wasn’t going to admit it, but he was missing a lot of the grace he’d learned to associate with cats. So, he stayed put. No need to let Sam see him faceplant off the side of the bed because he got tangled in the comforter. Again. That said, he was going to have to figure something out soon. The only reason he’d gone into the woods alone in the first place was so he could deal with the monster without putting Sam at risk. Now that he was a freaking lion, Sam was left to try to figure out the whole case on his own, definitely putting himself at risk. Dean’s plan had backfired, and what he really wanted to do now was load Sam into the car, turn tail, and run.  

It wasn’t something they did, abandoning cases. But Sam had just recovered from his near miss in Idaho, and they had just moved things between them to the next level. When Dean thought of those pictures of animal entrails, he felt sick imagining them belonging to Sam. So he was going to do his older brother duty and make sure they got their asses out of here before they both got killed.

Maybe he could distract Sam into forgetting about the research. It would be a temporary fix, but it could buy him some time. And Sam did look pretty hot in his Fed suit, with just the top few buttons left open. There was a trickle of sweat that had made its home in the hollow of his throat, and Dean decided that he really didn’t care if he was a lion or not. He was going to go for it.

Getting up and very carefully hopping off the bed, he crossed the short distance to Sam, not caring that he knocked over a lamp in the process (seriously, just how long was his damn tail anyway?) He nosed at the laptop briefly before pressing his huge paw in and shutting the damn thing. Not wanting to crush Sam, he moved the paw to the side, steadying himself against the couch as he leaned in, roughly licking up the sweat from Sam’s neck.

Sam didn’t react at all until Dean started nuzzling significantly lower, at which point he squawked indignantly and shoved Dean’s nose away from his pants. “What the hell, dude?” he yelled, using the laptop as a shield. “For a second, I thought you were going to eat me.”

Dean gave Sam his best leer, trying to communicate silently that “eating” had definitely been part of the plan. It must have worked because Sam responded with disgusted outrage.

“At least I know it’s really you,” Sam said.

Sam frowned at his brother, then at the closed laptop. He didn't understand how Dean could behave this way. Well, no, he did. It was Dean. But still. Sam was trying to help, to turn him back before he got killed or before he couldn't BE turned back. That was the last thing he'd managed to read before Dean had closed the laptop and decided that he wanted to give inter-species sex a try. Shape shifting spells almost always had a time limit, and they were never long. And at the end of the time limit, your carriage didn't turn back into a pumpkin. He needed information. What had turned Dean? What the hell were they hunting? And how long did he have before he needed to consider whether or not he had any latent furry kinks he wasn't aware of? Because not being with Dean wasn't really an option. He needed to fix this, soon.

The internet history had been confusing at best. Mythologies and animal mutilations, which told Sam that Dean clearly thought they were dealing with a god of some sort. But the websites had been across a dozen pantheons, and he hadn't spotted any that contained a god that liked to kidnap people. All of them liked animal sacrifices, so that was equally unhelpful. Then again, he was still working from the theory that the people had been taken, and the animals had been sacrificed, and it was all separate but related. His eyes landed on his brother, in all his lion glory, and Sam knew exactly what Dean had been looking for.

The problem was that there were still dozens of possibilities. He scanned the reports of the animal killings again. Their throats had been slit, and the entrails removed and scattered. Ritualistic sacrifice. He was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. Then he reviewed the missing persons reports and his own notes. There had to be something here that linked everyone, that pointed him to the deity behind this. If he cross-referenced missing people and animal mutilations over the last three years, they had almost a dozen victims, more or less evenly split by gender. Age wise they clustered in their 20s and 30s, and the ones he’d gotten information on today were all fairly active. His notes indicated at least two had enjoyed hiking. So, possibly they had all gone hiking in the woods where the animals had been found, encountered this pagan god, and then been transformed and killed.

He yelped when Dean nuzzled his feet. The lion just blinked innocently at him, but he knew better. Dean was being distracting on purpose, and he knew Sam had ticklish feet. "Why are you like this?" he asked, frustration coloring his voice. He loved Dean, but sometimes the pull of being an annoying older brother seemed to overshadow everything else, and the new dynamic to their relationship hadn’t helped. "You do realize you could be stuck like this. Forever."

An impassive stare met him.

Sam sighed. "I'm trying to save you. Save civilians. Just because you're out of commission for research at the moment doesn't mean this monster is going to stop, and it's our case. It's our job to stop it. I know you know that. So, what the hell? Why are trying to keep me from working this?"

Nothing, of course. Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting, because obviously Dean couldn't answer him. He'd just hoped for...something. Any sort of reaction. Maybe it was time to make an alphabet out of pieces of paper and see if Dean could still read.

He shook his head. "I'm going to work this case, and I'm going to figure out how to change you back. And you can be as distracting as you want, but it's not going to change my mind." He picked at his fingernails. "I realize you're probably just worried that I'm going to get transformed too and then we'll both get killed. But give me some credit. We've faced off with a lot of scary things before, and we're still here."

Dean was torn between rolling his eyes and giving in to the urge to whip out sad kitten eyes and see how they affected Sam. That speech had been so sappy. So Sam. His stubbornness was going to get them both killed someday. He huffed a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, probably a beat too late to seem natural. Sam knew they were hunting a god, but he hadn't figured out they were hunting a god with a personal vendetta against them. Dean had only suspected when he'd gone into the woods, but his first meeting with her had proven him unfortunately right.

Dean consulted his map and drew his gun. He had to be getting close to the first site where the animals had been found. It had been months ago, so he didn't expect there to be any evidence remaining, but at least he knew it was a hunting site for their monster. His prime suspect was Hera. She had a hard-on for turning people into animals, and she was known for being particularly nasty when she was mad. And Dean suspected that she'd been mad ever since Zeus had died two years ago, which lined up well with when the killings had started. It was admittedly thin evidence, but they'd gone into hunts with less.

He heard a stick break to his left, and he froze, eyes searching for movement in the trees. Everything was quiet and still, eerie in its silence. Like the world was holding its breath. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he knew he was screwed.

"Dear Hunter. You will make such a tasty meal," a woman's voice breathed into his ear. She sounded amused, pleased to have found him.

"Don't do this," he said, pitching his voice low and threatening to cover the fear eating at his guts.

"But why not, little Hunter? You and yours killed my husband. I will enjoy making you pay. Your goddess cannot protect you from my wrath."

He laughed with false bravado. "Do you even know who I am?"

She laughed in turn, a light, lilting sound. "Of course I do, Dean Winchester. And I know you killed my husband." The lightness of her tone dropped a stone of fear deep into his stomach. He was so screwed.

Warm magic wrapped around his mind, and then his body was in agony. He screamed as his bones rearranged themselves, and it came out as a mangled roar. He fell, writhing to the forest floor as he grew, stretching and gaining muscle mass until he felt massive, heavy and powerful. The fur growing in everywhere itched, but he couldn't do anything about it because he just hurt too much.

But he had to move. Hera was coming for him, and he couldn't let her. She knew who he was, so she would definitely be going after Sam next. Groaning, he pried open his eyes, searching the forest for the matriarch of the Greek Pantheon. He found her, but he wasn't expecting the look of horror on her face. As he struggled to his feet, she turned and ran, vanishing among the trees.

It made no sense, but he was grateful for the reprieve, especially since he felt himself losing the battle with consciousness.

She was still out there, and she was hunting them. Dean didn't know or care why she hadn't finished him off when she could, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity to make a clean getaway slip by.

But deep down, he knew it was a futile effort. They weren't made to run away. It wasn't in the Winchester blood to run from a dangerous situation, and that had been true not only of them and their dad, but even their grandfather. Sam wasn't going to leave. So, Dean was going to have to figure out how to keep him safe. Which, considering he was a feline of unusual size might not actually be that difficult.

Sam watched Dean process his words, and he swore he could see the thought process happening. First derision, then fondness, and finally acceptance. Good. He pulled out some scrap paper and started making letters. "Now that we're on the same page, can you please tell me what the hell we're hunting?"

It took longer than it should have, because apparently, despite having good eyesight, being a lion hampered Dean enough that reading was difficult unless the letters were very big. Which was how Sam ended up surrounded by pieces of paper and a lion squinting comically at each one before picking up four and handed them over one at a time. H-E-R-A. Immediate recognition of the name made Sam curse and turn on Dean. "You tried to take on Hera by yourself? What the hell were you thinking, Dean?" He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed. "According to the lore, even Zeus was scared of her when she was pissed."

If it was possible for a lion to shrug, that's what Dean did. At least his obnoxious behavior made more sense now.

"Dude, I love you, but you cannot keep doing shit like this. I'm not broken. And if you want us to pass on a case because the monster might, I don't know, have a personal vendetta against us, then I'd appreciate it if you actually talked to me about it. Like the adult you supposedly are."

Dean had the decency to look properly chagrined.

Sam moved to the bed and settled himself against the headboard. "At least now I have a place to start." He gave Dean a serious look. "I'm going to fix this. I promise."

Dean had been napping pressed against Sam's legs for an hour when Sam finally struck gold. His shout woke Dean, who was just as scary when startled in lion form as he was in human form. At least he couldn't use a gun like this. "So, get this, a number of the Greek gods are reportedly weak to the things they consider sacred. Basically, they treat the thing with so much respect that it becomes lethal to them if used as a weapon. In Hera's case, most of those things are not especially useful unless we’re poisoning her, like apples and pomegranates. We can probably get our hands on some willow to use as stakes, but the real kicker is this: while she's mostly associated with cows and peacocks, she is also sometimes associated with lions."

Dean's still sleepy, confused eyes met Sam's, and they stared at each other for a moment before Dean's eyes widened in understanding.

"Yeah. We just need to get you close," Sam said, grinning.

A grumble from Dean made Sam look up from his laptop again a minute or two later. Dean's face looked concerned, and it took a while for Sam to figure it out.

He was quiet but confident when he said, "I'm still working on that part, but you aren't going to be a lion forever. You'll get to drive your Baby again, I swear." He laughed at Dean's disgruntled huff. "I can't wait to find out how you fit in the backseat, though. And no bitching about the fur later. It's your fur."

Dean produced more angry rumbles, but Sam swore he looked amused too as he dropped his head onto his massive paws. It was still astonishing just how big he was like this. Sam wasn't used to being the small one in their relationship, but lion Dean dwarfed him with a body over seven feet long, not including his tail. Frankly, it was a miracle the crappy motel bed was able to withstand the combined weight of both of them. The amount of muscle packed on his feline frame was ridiculous, and Sam figured he must weigh over 500 pounds. He certainly wasn't going to bet against his brother in the upcoming fight.

In the end, they were forced to go with their usual plan of “kill the monster and hope for the best” to try to turn Dean back. It wasn’t ideal, but Sam hadn’t been able to find any lore about undoing a transformation, and he wasn’t willing to wait anymore. When they loaded up, Dean fit in the backseat, barely, and he growled the entire trip out to the woods where Hera had been killing people and where they hoped she would still be.

"You realize this is your own fault, right? If you hadn't decided to try to hunt a literal Greek god by yourself, then you could've driven," Sam said, tone dry even as he laughed in his head at Dean's grumpy face.

Dean didn't dignify that quip with a response, which took more self-control than Sam would have usually given him. When he was human again, he was going to make sure Sam knew that he'd chosen to be the bigger brother. Literally, for once. He smirked and chuckled at his own joke, which came out as more of an annoyed growl. Whatever. Maybe Sam would stop giving him a hard time about running off on his own if he thought Dean was pissed.

The woods were dark and hopefully deserted other than their target. The last thing they wanted was to stumble across a pair of horny teenagers using the woods to get some privacy. They stuck to the path at first, which helped them avoid making extra noise from the dry underbrush but left them open and visible in a way that Dean did not appreciate. However, he was loving his new super-powered eyes that let him see in the almost pitch-black forest. Sam had insisted on taking point with a flashlight, but Dean could see into the dim areas on each side of the path almost as well as he had in the daylight. His nose told him that there were nocturnal animals out and about, but he couldn't see movement. Either they were close, or the opossums and foxes all recognized him as a predator that could eat them if he really wanted to. Not that he was sure he could catch anything like this.

He'd adapted well enough to running and walking on four legs. It was just how this body moved best. But anything more coordinated was going to be interesting. He hadn’t done too badly once he’d gotten out of the motel room, but he’d been trying to project confidence for Sam's sake. Besides, he needed to believe in his ability to do this or else he was going to get them both killed. Sam wasn't defenseless, but he didn't have the mass and raw power that an oversized lion or a god did. He did, however, have a willow stake and a familiarity with how his body was supposed to move that Dean was currently lacking.

They crept along as silently as Sam could manage, which to Dean seemed excessively loud, until Dean heard leaves shifting in the distance. He gently bit the bottom of Sam's jacket and tugged backward, a signal Sam had decided they should use on the ride over. Sam immediately froze and killed the flashlight. Dean strained his ears for any sounds, easier now that Sam wasn't drowning everything out just by walking. There was definitely something in the woods ahead of them and to their left. Bigger than the rodents he heard scurrying through the underbrush. He moved around Sam, crouching lower to the ground on instinct as he prowled, leaving the path behind him. He didn't see movement ahead yet, but the noise was still distant, farther than he could see through the foliage.

He paused and made a soft noise to signal Sam to follow, then continued on. While he'd felt clumsy in the motel, he didn't feel that way now. Even though lions were made for the open plains, he felt comfortable moving through the trees silently, closing in on his prey. He heard Sam click the light back on, knew his brother couldn't navigate the undergrowth safely without it. Luckily, Sam was intelligent enough to hang back enough that Hera might not see him coming even if Sam alerted her to their presence. They continued on that way for several minutes, Dean's pace slowing as they approached.

Finally, he stopped completely, crouching in the low bushes and watching Hera move around a small clearing, brightly lit by the moonlight that hadn't been able to filter through the trees. She had a pair of goats in front of her, tied up on a simple stone altar. Sam and Dean hadn't found any teenagers, but it looked like maybe Hera had. Slowly she circled them, monologuing like a James Bond villain. She seemed unaware that she might have company.

"--filthy teenage boy! He isn't even faithful to you; did you know that?" She spat the words at the pair, shaking her head in disgust. "And you just let him do as he pleases. You are both disgusting. May your sacrifice to the goddess Hera cleanse and purify you both." With that, she pulled a wicked looking knife from thin air and raised it in preparation to slit the first goat's throat.

Dean, already tensed to pounce, leapt from the undergrowth and tackled Hera to the ground, claws and teeth swiping furiously at the goddess. She screamed in pain but fought back, throwing Dean across the clearing. He flew into a tree trunk with a sickening thud and felt something crack. He growled as he picked himself up, whimpering when he put weight on his front left leg. She had managed to get him with that knife after all. Hera was facing him, giving him all of her attention. Good. At least the kids weren't in immediate danger now. There was movement behind her that caught Dean's eye, and he spotted Sam creeping across the clearing, willow stake in hand and poised to strike. He frowned when he saw Dean limp closer to Hera, but then his face set in determination and he gripped the stake tighter. Dean just needed to keep her attention on himself, and he'd give Sam the opening he needed. Easy.

He growled, quiet at first as he tested it, lowering the pitch just a touch to be more threatening, and then he let it grow in intensity and volume until the noise filled the clearing. The goats on the altar struggled against their bonds frantically, and even Hera's eyes widened slightly in fear. Lowering his head, he stalked toward her, ignoring the pain in his leg and keeping his gait as steady as he could. It only took a couple steps to get to within striking distance, and Sam was close, almost close enough to make his move. Dean tensed and leapt at her, catching another swipe from her blade as she tried to fend him off. The pain just made him roar, mouth wide and baring his teeth as he lunged for her neck. He landed with his paws on her shoulders, but she didn't go down. Not that he'd planned on that. Instead of pushing her away and down, he pulled her to him, exposing her back to Sam's stake.

Sam stabbed her, and Dean watched her eyes go wide in surprise, then soften with just a touch of grudging respect. And then she was gone. Nothing happened for a moment after her limp body slid out of Dean's grip and they both landed hard on the ground. Then Dean's world exploded in pain once more.

Sam watched helplessly as Dean writhed and his body shifted back to human form. Hera was dead, and the curse was broken. They had done it. He hated seeing Dean in pain, but that didn’t stop the relief he felt. He got to have his brother back.

Twin groans of pain from the altar drew his attention to the newly transformed teenagers tied up there. He freed them and giving them a brief explanation of what had happened. They were scared and confused, but they at least seemed to believe him when he said it was over and they’d be ok.

With the victims relatively dealt with, he turned back to his brother. Dean was human again, laying on the ground, thankfully fully clothed. He was panting, which didn't surprise Sam. The transformation process looked like it hurt, and besides that, Dean had taken a few good hits in the fight. It was a normal reaction to pain, and he reminded himself of that as he jogged across the clearing. Of course, that did little to quell the worry blooming in his chest as Dean continued to lay on the ground without trying to get up.

Sam slid into a kneel beside his brother and immediately spotted the blood that hadn't been visible during the transformation process but was now coloring Dean's arm a dark red. "Dean?" he said, reaching out to turn Dean onto his back. That's when he saw the second knife wound, a deep cut in Dean's abdomen that had already turned his shirt into a sticky mess. "Shit." Sam shucked his flannel overshirt quickly and pressed it to the wound, pressing Dean's hands over it. "Hold pressure there, ok? We're going to get you to a hospital, and you're going to be fine." He could hear the panic lacing his voice, but he hoped Dean couldn't. At least they weren’t far from civilization this time. Hera had set up shop deep in the woods, but thanks to a proliferation of parking lots in the state park, they were only about half a mile from the car.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

Dean nodded, shaky. The lack of smartass remarks worried Sam, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He pulled Dean to his feet and together they trudged to the Impala. Sam made good time installing Dean in the back seat and driving to the hospital, a story about how they'd been mugged at knifepoint ready for when they arrived at the emergency room.

Hours later, Dean blinked awake in a hospital bed, wrapped in a comfortable pain medication haze. Sam was in the chair next to him, passed out and snoring. Dean smiled softly as he eyed Sam, looking for signs that he'd been hurt too. His little brother looked intact, at least, and Dean felt sore but not like he'd been on the brink of death for once.

They ended up releasing him from the hospital that afternoon with a prescription for the good painkillers and strict instructions to rest. He would, while they drove. Holding his hand out for the keys, he smirked when Sam shot him a bitchface.

"You just got out of the hospital. No. I'm driving," Sam said.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. It's barely a scratch. I can drive," he said, even as he grinned wide and dropped his hand, moving to the passenger side without Sam having to make another argument. It had been for show anyhow; he was still exhausted and was looking forward to a nap. He caught Sam's worried face and felt his smile softening into something fond. "Seriously, Sam. I'm ok. You did good last night."

Sam's face contorted briefly until it was a mask, hiding the concern that Dean knew was still there, but he nodded at Dean and got in the car. Mentally, Dean groaned. Sam was going to mother hen him to death for the next few days, he just knew it. If he was lucky, he might still get to have some “thank God you’re alive sex” when they stopped for the night. So long as he played his cards right.  Dean settled into his seat, smiling as Sam turned on the car and pulled them out of the lot. Sam might be on the wrong side of the car, but this was how things were supposed to be. Him, Sam, and the Impala, driving off into the sunset.

[cobwebsaint]

BLEASE DO THE SPIT FIC

AHHHH YES alright obligatory NSFW warning and link to the original if anybody is compelled to leave some sweet kudos or a comment or anything. The garbage stays under the cut for the sake of your eyeballs and your dash.

[Before we even get into the meat of this mf let it be known I was BULLIED into participating in the Slipknot body fluids garbage trend and I still hate it but god was it all downhill from there. Y’all know who you are. Bitch.]

Corey really did have a hard fucking time shutting up, and it almost always got him in some level of shit. After getting the shit kicked out of him at bars and parties and shows approximately three trillion times, you would have thought he’d learned his lesson. 

He did not. 

[I have never spoken a word that was not true. The Corey Taylor gremlin is just an obnoxious big mouthed creecher. He cannot help thise.]

The man had no off button. He knew it, everybody else knew it— it was just something they all had to live with. Jim especially. Jim signed on for this bullshit every single day.

That was his own fault.

[Ah yes, the birthplace of what is now known as the domestic nightmares AU. I promise I’m actually gonna write it. I have a whole sandbox doc. But point is they’re stupid and they’re gross and they’re boyfriends.]

He was off on some godforsaken tangent again about nothing in particular, which Jim had tuned out a good ten minutes ago. Sometimes he felt a little bad about how easy it’d become to turn Corey to white noise, but then he caught something about what Ted Bundy did right or pounding back all the Kool-Aid at Jonestown (“It’s Flavor-Aid, James.”) and decided it wasn’t such a terrible thing after all. Some things were just better left alone. Letting Corey babble while Jim mindlessly twisted his fingers through his curls was a pretty good option in Jim’s book.

Of course, that was all up until Corey inevitably realized he was being ignored and made it a point to get the spotlight back. 

[In which Jim shares the same emotion towards Corey and his Sagittarius center of attention disease as the rest of us.]

Jim shifted away from the finger that was jabbing him hard in the ribs, pulling a face and looking down at Corey who had propped himself up on his chin, laying on Jim’s stomach. “What’d I do this time? Jesus.”

“You better be thinkin’ about something real fuckin’ important.” 

[Bold of him to assume Jim is experiencing thoughts at all tbh.]

“Oh yeah. Daydreaming about the day you’re finally able to sit and shut up for more than ten seconds.”

[Aren’t we all.]

Corey narrowed his eyes, punching Jim in the side, satisfied with the “Ow!” he earned in response. “You fuckin’ prick. You don’t get to complain.”

“I get to complain the most. Nobody else sitting here listening to you talk about the logistics of having a conjoined twin, y’know. I’ve earned that right fair and square, dude.”

“What, you’re telling me you haven’t thought about how you’d—”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

[Just in case you were wondering, (you probably weren’t) the gremlin is thinking about how you’d fuck with a conjoined twin.]

Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he still couldn’t hide the dumb little smirk that wanted to tug at the corners of his lips. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Corey started up again and Jim immediately cut him off, reaching over to clap a hand over his mouth. “Ah! Don’t. Just. Shut up.”

[Jim: asks that question

Corey: starts telling his entire life story for the sixtieth time that week]

Corey batted Jim’s hand away, pushed himself up, crawling in close enough to swing a leg over Jim, straddling his hips. He leaned in, probably half a millimeter from Jim’s face, hands planted at either side of his head, curls cascading down around him. He was still pretty even when he was being a bastard and it was total bullshit. 

[You’re just mad your dick won’t you stay mad at him, James.]

“Make me.” 

Jim snorted a laugh. “Just say you want me to choke you out and be done with it.”

“Nah, that’s you. ‘Sit on my dick and strangle me, it’ll be great.”

“Don’t make me out to be the fuckin’ pervert when you’re the one begging me to step on your balls,” Jim retorted, barely even batting an eye. 

Corey sat up a little, leering down at Jim and running his tongue over his teeth. Eventually he just resigned to it. “Fair. But you’re still gross.”

[Points were made. There ain’t no winning here lbr.]

“Mhm. Right.” Jim reached up, threading a hand messy through Corey’s hair to bring him into a kiss. “You done bitching yet? Can I go back to only kinda hearing the crazy shit that comes out of your mouth again?”

“Hell no,” he said, shaking his head for that extra touch of dramatic emphasis. “Do you even know who you’re talking to? If you weren’t the size of a goddamn skyscraper I’d swear you just crawled out of whatever pit you came from.”

“Maybe I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb. The great big mouth will never be silenced.” Jim giggled, bringing a knee up to knock Corey over beside him. He rolled over, pinning him down instead. “Y’know, except maybe when you’ve got a dick shoved in your face. Still making noise, but at least you’re not fuckin’ talking.”

Corey got a look on his face like he’d just reinvented the wheel, squinting his eyes up in a shit-eating grin, and Kill Bill sirens started going off in Jim’s head. No. Nope. We are under attack. This couldn’t be anything good. 

“Okay, but just consider— AND HEAR ME OUT, OKAY?” Corey cut in, watching the idea of interrupting him again flicker through Jim’s head. “What about two dicks? I bet I could fit two dicks in my mouth.”

Well. Huh. Maybe that did have Jim some sort of interested. He sat back a little, looking Corey up and down. “…You have my attention.”

“Listen, I know this chick and—” 

Jim had to laugh, ‘cause Corey thinking he was actually gonna share had to be the funniest goddamn thing to happen to him all week. He didn’t consider himself the jealous type. Maybe a little possessive sometimes. But he had to keep a tight leash on Corey Todd “Himbo” Taylor. Him being certified Awful was what got them into this mess in the first place. Jim just had a bad habit of catching feelings. Whatever, clearly Corey was more than okay with it.

[Yes I did use the word himbo in this fic and no I do not accept criticism. Also a bit of lore is that Corey essentially annoyed the absolute dick out of Jim until he was about ready to commit a murder all as an elaborate plan to get a date.]

“Nope, try that again.”

“Alright, what about Mick or—”

“Is that supposed to be better?” 

Corey groaned, punching Jim in the shoulder. “Why you gotta ruin all the fun? Can’t a dude get his face fucked and not get a bunch of shit for it?”

“Never said you couldn’t,” Jim mused. “But if you think I’m gonna let anybody else have that kind of satisfaction, you’re dead wrong dude. I’m the only one around here who deserves it. Take it or leave it.” 

Corey cocked his head to the side, staring Jim down like he was supposed to take him seriously. Like Jim didn’t already know the answer. Like he didn’t know that Corey was physically incapable of turning down the chance to get his shit rocked, whether it happened the way he wanted it to or not. 

“Fuck you. Fine.”

[Okay so this WHOLE FIC was deadass prompted by that stupid fucking picture of Corey with his fist shoved in his mouth skdjfg. So I was talking to Marina and I was like. Y’know. I bet he could fit two dicks in there. And I just kinda went buck wild. Jim was supposed to split the little bastard’s lips and shove a dildo in there too but that. Did not happen. Maybe someday.]

Content, Jim rolled off of him, got to his feet, and made a ‘well?’ gesture. Corey didn’t move, instead shooting him a look. A challenge.

Still playing that game. Alright.

Jim reached down, twisting Corey’s hair around his fist and dragging him towards the edge of the bed. “Really gonna be stubborn when you’re the one who’s begging for it?” 

“You want it all for yourself, you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

[Sir that is not how this works.]

Smug little fucker. Corey had put him through the same act at least a billion times now but somehow he still managed to find a way to get Jim to want to smack the ego right out of him. 

Corey slipped off the bed, knees buckling without (a ton of) struggle when Jim pushed him towards the floor. He tilted Corey’s head back, getting a firm grip on his jaw. 

“How you manage to be so cute while being such a pain in the ass still fuckin’ blows my mind, y’know.”

A giggle bubbled up in Corey’s chest. He strained against the hand in his hair, trying to wriggle his way out of Jim’s hold. He knew it wasn’t gonna happen, but hey— couple fingerprint shaped bruises never hurt anyone. 

[I didn’t realize how weird the wording here was until after I posted it ngl. Like. He’s angling Corey’s head back by pulling his hair and holding him there by holding his jaw. Just. To clear that up. I’ve been obsessing over this one little line for months cuz it’s a little weird but I Am Not Changing It.]

“You love it. Wouldn’t have put up with me this long if you didn’t. It’s okay, Peach. You can admit I’m hot shit.”

“Shut up, would you?” Jim tugged back, drawing a surprised noise out of Corey that only served to melt back into a laugh. “Jesus.”

“Come on, don’t be so touchy. I’m right.” Corey slid a hand up the inside of Jim’s thigh, pressing his palm into him and grabbing his already half-hard cock through his sweats. “If I’m not, then explain this away. Pavlov ain’t got shit on me.”

Nah. Nope. That was more than enough out of him. Jim wrenched Corey’s hand away, taking his hands off him just long enough to shove his sweats and boxers down and free his cock. “Open. And hands to your fuckin’ self.”

[SEE HE JUST MAD HIS DICK ENTERS THE CHAT EVERY TIME COREY’S BEING A LITTLE BITCH.]

Thankfully, that was the one thing that Corey didn’t try and fight. He leaned his head back, opened his mouth, and locked his gaze with Jim’s. Stupid pretty blue eyes practically sparkling, knowing damn well he got Jim good. Fuck. Asshole couldn’t turn it off for a second, could he? 

Jim grabbed him, holding him in place as he guided his dick into his mouth. Warm and wet and fucking perfect as always. This little shit was gonna give him a heart attack some day, he just knew it. 

He started off slow, watching Corey melt into it. Eyes fluttering shut, cheeks hollowing out around him, hands clasped behind his back. Tongue laving expertly around the head of Jim’s cock like it was second nature. Hot shit was a stretch, but hot was a different story. 

“Fuck yeah, that’s good,” Jim groaned, hand anchored on the back of Corey’s head as he rolled his hips into his mouth. “All bark and no bite. Think it would be easier to just say you wanna get used like a toy. Least you’re good at it.”

Corey made a pleased noise, leaning into it, taking Jim’s length deeper. He opened his eyes again, looking up at Jim through his lashes and whining softly. A plea for more. More ‘cause he was a greedy little bastard. 

Jim took the cue, snapping his hips forward, tightening his grip. He heard Corey sputter around him a bit, which only served as further encouragement. He fucked into his mouth in quick, deep thrusts, Corey practically going limp before him. The heat, the way Corey pressed his tongue against the underside of his cock, face contorting a bit every time Jim’s dick hit the back of his throat. Jim was already wrapped tight around the axel but god, it was too pretty of a sight to give up this early in the game. 

Even if it was giving Corey exactly what he was trying for— a happy Corey was a quiet Corey.

Or quieter.

[Ha.]

When Jim let up to let Corey catch his breath, he probably lost about half his brain cell count. Drool running down his chin, lips pink and swollen, crystal eyes brimming with tears— Corey looked practically ethereal. Like, fuck wings and halos. This was as close to angelic as someone could get and Jim fucking loved it. Shit. 

[He do be pretty tho. Also idk where the sudden religious imagery came from but like. I sure did stick with it huh. Whatever it works.]

Jim dragged his thumb over Corey’s bottom lip, breaking strings of spit that connected with his cock. He hooked his thumb under Corey’s chin, slipping two long fingers in his mouth and pressing down on his tongue. 

Corey closed around them, running his tongue between them before bobbing his head and taking them deeper. He moaned around the digits, shifting on his knees a little like he wanted to buck his hips into something that wasn’t there.

Satisfied, Jim retracted his fingers, rubbing them over Corey’s lips and chin and smearing spit across his face while he caught his breath. Jesus fucking Christ. He was feeling more and more like a ticking time bomb by the minute here, and Corey’s stupid obnoxious pretty blissed out face was doing him no favors. 

[At this point I was like. Hmmm. How many different ways can I ruin this stupid little rat’s entire career. This is really just the everything but the kitchen sink fic.]

No matter how good and perfect and fucked up and fucking slutty he looked down on his knees, taking whatever he was given, that didn’t change a damn thing. He was still the same terrible little demon that Jim knew and loved for some godforsaken reason. 

[THEY’RE IN LOVE!!!]

“‘S that it?” he rasped out, in between heavy breaths he knew he was gonna need to savor.

Nevermind. Jim was gonna kill him. Like, absolutely decimate him. 

[I WANT THAT TWINK OBLITERATED]

He thrust back into Corey’s mouth, finding the same fast pace as before. Haphazardly pulling Corey into it, meeting every rut of hips, making him struggle more this time around. Jim watched him squirm, nails biting into his wrists, but they stayed where they were locked behind his back. 

This was that sweet spot, where Corey felt filthy and used and amazing all wrapped up into one. Sure, he could ask for it, but it wouldn’t be nearly as fun. All the back and forth was part of the game that made the end goal that much sweeter. And yes, he was terrible and loved every minute of bugging the shit out of Jim until he finally snapped. It got him the attention, didn’t it?

[I started to veer off into this sort of perspective shift thing and I didn’t know how I felt about it while I was writing it but honestly I really like how it made the story flow.]

He was worlds away for a while, reduced to nothing more than a hole to be filled while Jim fucked his face. All moans and sloppy wet sounds, soaking up every little sensation— stingy pain of his hair being pulled, jaw starting to ache, cock fucking throbbing and leaking a wet spot into his boxers every time he got the least bit of friction. Jim thought Corey was an angel and this was most definitely heaven. 

Of course, Corey only stayed on cloud nine for so long. Jim hit the back of his throat again, holding him there this time. He only gagged a little at first, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. Corey’s eyes shot open and he whimpered around him, but Jim stayed put.

The second wave was worse, and he finally had to unclasp his hands and bring them up to grip onto Jim’s hips— his sign to let up.

Jim let go and pulled back just in time for a full body wretch to hit Corey. He doubled over, bracing himself on his hands, thick, stringy deepthroat spit dripping from his mouth. He hung his head, breathing hard, and Jim felt his cock twitch. 

[Don’t @ me I had just been subjected to not one but SEVERAL puke fics and I was feeling an emotion okay.]

“Oh fuck me,” Jim said out loud, because Jim was a gross horny fool. 

He knelt down, laying his hand against Corey’s cheek, making him lift his head again. He looked positively ruined. Eyes red, cheeks tear stained, whole mouth wet and well used, the front of his shirt starting to go sheer from all the drool. God, all Jim wanted to do was kiss him.

“Good?” Jim asked, and Corey gave a weak nod. Jim moved in a little closer. “Hey, talk to me. You okay? Need to stop?”

“Yeah, ‘m good,” Corey sighed, leaning his forehead against Jim’s. “Don’t wanna stop, no. Was into it, trust me.” He let go of a gravelly laugh, “Just gimme a minute.”

Jim nodded his head, running his thumb along the curve of Corey’s jaw. “Fuckin’ pretty, y’know.”

[Oh no they’re sweet.]

“Peach?”

“Mmm?”

“Shut up. Don’t just look at me like that. You look dumb.”

[Nvm.]

Jim rolled his eyes, “You shut up.” He curled his hand around the back of Corey’s neck and closed what little gap was left between them with a kiss. He tasted like cigarettes and salt and skin and it made Jim’s head spin and his stomach do backflips. Which I mean, was definitely due in part to the fact that his dick was cocked and ready to blow like a shotgun straight through the wall next to him. But Corey— the feel of his skin and the taste on his tongue and his weight on top of Jim when he was being dumb and pretty and needy and refusing to be anything less than the center of attention— well, that never helped Jim’s case. 

Soft little whimpers from Corey were muffled into Jim’s mouth, hands sliding around his broad frame and hiking his shirt up so Corey could trace over the curve of Jim’s spine. Little bit of contact, closeness that was lost when it wasn’t Jim balls deep inside of him. This was okay though. More than okay, fucking fantastic. Good to the point that Corey didn’t even try and fight when Jim pulled away. Especially not when he tugged his head back, making him look up at the ceiling as he licked a stripe from the very bottom of his chin, back to his lips. He kissed him again, like he needed to be attached at the mouth to survive, tongue easily gaining entry into Corey’s mouth and pulling more throaty moans from him. 

[Jk they’re still gross and in love.]

It was over all too quickly, Corey making a sound in protest as Jim pulled away from him and rose to his feet again. Jim yanked his head back, catching his lower lip with his thumb, mouth falling open once more. Before the thought even had the chance of passing through Corey’s mind of what the hell— Jim was bent over him, holding him in place as he spit into his mouth. Or rather back into his mouth. 

Oh. Shit. Alright. 

[Again, everything but the kitchen sink here boys.]

Several emotions flashed across Corey’s face before he settled in at acceptance, staring up at Jim with big, glazed over eyes as he towered over him.

“You want more?”

Corey nodded a very enthusiastic yes.

“Gonna be a good boy for me?”

That was met with some hesitation, knit brows and a shrug of the shoulders like he was weighing his options. Jim just shook his head. “If you’re gonna be a shit, then you can do it your damn self now. Prove you deserve it.”

Corey shot him a look, but he didn’t exactly try and argue. Wouldn’t be the first time he sucked a dick to make a point. Definitely not the last either. He sat up on his knees, wrapping his hand around Jim’s length, working him in slow, even strokes as he teased his tongue over the head. Jim about had an aneurysm from the looks of it and Corey couldn’t help but giggle. 

Jim knocked his knuckles against the side of Corey’s face. Not hard enough to hurt, but still enough to make him knock it the fuck off.

Stupid slut. 

[This still makes me giggle. Like you bap a fucking cat on the nose dksgdfj.]

Sucking the tip of Jim’s dick into his mouth, Corey gave a contented hum. He bobbed his head up and down, keeping pace with his hand, Jim lazily tracing his fingertips over the stubble on his cheeks. He mumbled a string of praise�� ‘fuck yeah, baby’ and ‘so fucking good’ and ‘shit, just like that.’ Caught up and fucked up all over again. Corey Taylor was a bastard and Jim wasn’t about to give him up for a goddamn thing. 

Corey pulled off of him with a filthy ‘pop,’ wasting little time between then and ducking his head down to tongue at Jim’s balls. For what had to be the billionth time in the past ten minutes, Jim was briefly convinced he was going to leave this earth entirely. It was all he could do, to watch dumbly as Corey worked from left to right, sucking and moaning and swirling his tongue in just the right way to make Jim’s dick visibly twitch in his hand 

“Jesus fuck, baby.”

Jesus fuck, indeed. He was already seeing stars and he still hadn’t come yet. Here he was, giving the incentive of more when his knees were about to buckle. Who’s the jackass now?

[Me: writing oral sucks it’s always awkward and repetitive

Also me: stretches the oral to 5k]

Jim’s head fell back as Corey worked his way back up his length, running his tongue along the underside of it before damn near hilting him on his first try. He choked a little, pulling back to center himself before he tried again. Obscene sounds and lascivious moans filled the air, Jim’s eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the heat burning in the pit of his stomach. All he needed was a minute or two and to watch Corey’s eyes roll back in his skull to be pulled taut and ready to snap at any second. 

“Fuck me, I’m so close. Come on baby, don’t stop. Know you want it too.” Jim’s hand had found its way to the back of Corey’s head again, forcing him further down, finding that perfect rhythm again. Call it a sign of encouragement. Or something. 

Yeah, encouragement.  

Corey worked him as hard as he could, sucking and licking and slurping and swallowing him whole until the vibrations from one final groan around Jim’s cock brought all these sensations to a crescendo. Jim held him down as he came hard, spilling down his throat, swearing and gritting his teeth. Corey nursed him through, sucking him slow as Jim’s arms and legs turned to jello. Watching through his lashes as he tensed and moaned, breathing in sharp, ragged inhales until he finally had to shove Corey away ‘cause shit. 

Jim sighed heavily, pushing his hair back and out of his face, staring down at the stupid cocky look on Corey’s face. Were he able to form a coherent thought, he would have taken his ego down a notch— unfortunately, mentally he was still somewhere off in orbit. Without being entirely aware of his own actions, Jim was grabbing Corey by the collar and getting him back up off his knees. He shoved his hands underneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips studying inches of skin, the hair on his stomach, sides damp with sweat, every bump and imperfection before finally pulling the ratty spit-soaked tee over his head. 

[And to your left, you see Service Top Brain immediately taking control the second Jim no longer has enough brain cells to resist it.]

He pulled Corey to him, hands on his waist as he backed up to the bed, knees giving way when they hit the edge of the mattress. Jim hit the bed and laid back, bringing Corey down with him and directly into a kiss. Strong arms circled around Corey’s frame, bodies pressed snug, mouths melded together as one. Whatever post-nut trance Jim was in, it was perfectly fine by Corey. This was close and safe and comfortable and I mean, with the way Jim was rocking him against his stomach, you weren’t gonna hear much more than the sound of his brain cells popping like balloons ‘cause his dick was taking up all the blood flow. 

[They may be stupid but you gotta admit. They are pretty tender too.]

A high pitched whine that (it was safe to assume) was supposed words fell from Corey’s lips as Jim’s connected with the center of his chest. He had pulled away panting, working his way down— mouthing at Corey’s jaw, nipping at his earlobe, leaving a trail of hickeys down his neck. Maybe it had caught Corey off guard a little, not getting told off for being a shit and all, but any and all attention was welcome here with open arms. 

“Fuck, Jim c’mon,” he barely managed to gasp out. Forming sentences wasn’t about to be the first to go. He had a reputation to uphold here. “Better not start messin’ with me now.”

Teeth clinked against metal, Jim tugging on the ring through his right nipple and ripping all the thoughts straight from his brain for a moment. He swirled his tongue over the hardening flesh before biting down. Corey shivered and bit back a moan, pain radiating through him and twisting up in his gut. Like he wasn’t already prepared to implode as is. “Mother fucking Mary. Now you’re just making it a point to be a dick. Nobody likes a tease, Peach.”

[Also calling Jim peach is Corey’s thing in this universe. It’s gross. And soft. They’re the worst.]

Nothing. Not even an upwards glance. 

Corey wanted to scream. He wanted to slam his fist down on the bed, call Jim some new variant on ‘cunt,’ fight back, take control. But he also really didn’t want this to stop. He was so hard it fucking hurt and Jim had him right in the palm of his hand where he could barely keep his head straight and honestly? He was perfectly fine sitting right there. He was probably just missing some cue. Off by a beat and too whiny and stubborn to realize it. (Which he was. Corey never claimed to be smart. Especially not when his lizard brain was kicked into overdrive and all he could think about was getting split in half.) 

[He’s so STUPID. God. Bratty ass dumbass.]

While the idea was pretty appealing, he couldn’t even begin to collect the agency he’d need for any of that anyway. There was now a hand dangerously high up on his thigh, thumb tracing line where it met his hip, and there was no goddamn way he was gonna be able to focus on anything else. 

So Jim still did want him dead. Cool. 

“God baby, what do you want?” Corey whined, raking his nails over Jim’s chest, watching red marks appear in their wake. “I wasn’t even that bad. Did everything you wanted, barely even gave you shit. What, you want me to get you off again? ‘Cause I can do that. I’ll gladly do that if it gets you to quit fucking dragging me along. I’ll do all the work and fuck you myself if I gotta. Could smash my face into a wall and call me a soul sucking whore for all I care. Jesus Christ, just give me more.”

[YOU’RE SO CLOSE YET SO FAR BUD.]

Jim’s fingertips dipped into the elastic of Corey’s boxers, dragging across the front between his hips, just barely brushing against his cock before the waistband snapped back against his skin. Corey yelped, heels of his palms digging into Jim’s collarbones. He had no doubt Jim was thoroughly enjoying this, but the joke wasn’t all that funny anymore. Wasn’t very funny to begin with, actually. 

“Fuck me, Peach please. Please, I’ll do fucking anything. Just quit doing that.”

Suddenly Corey’s back was against the sheets again, Jim sliding back off the bed to tear his boxers down and toss them in some vague direction (he was only really going for away.) He nudged Corey’s legs apart and kneed back up between them, fingers curling around his cock. Corey’s hips immediately jerked up into the contact and he let out a hiss. Good god, he was so fucking sensitive he wanted to die. He made a noise that sounded more like a sob than anything, grabbing at Jim’s wrist. If he stopped he was going to scream but if he kept it up Corey was about to be launched into space and land on fucking Neptune. 

“Was that really so hard?” Jim questioned, and yeah. Maybe it was. Getting Corey to ask nice instead of being a colossal brat was like pulling teeth from an alligator. Fortunately for Jim, he was currently on a one way flight to the next realm. It was a little harder to keep all that up in the moment. 

Another “please” was all Corey managed— clearly asking for something else, something more— but Jim couldn’t just let him have that. 

“See, now you’re getting the hang of it!”

[Jim: See I can be an asshole too]

Corey snaked his arms around Jim’s neck, pulling him down to eye level. “Is it your goal in life to be a giant fucking pain in the ass?”

[Yes. That and buy a bike.]

“As much as it is yours, baby.” Jim laughed, nuzzling against Corey’s cheek. He mouthed little kisses against his jaw, slowly stroking him, pulling a frustrated growl from somewhere deep in his chest. 

He clawed at Jim’s shoulders, threading his hand through Jim’s hair and tugging back hard. More than anything, he was just trying to keep himself some semblance of centered. It wasn’t working very well. “Fucking hell. More, give me more. Give me your hands.”

Jim lifted his gaze, meeting Corey’s eyes, staring at him blankly. 

“Please.”

The grip around Corey’s cock let up and he groaned again at the loss of friction. It was gonna take next to nothing to make him fall apart. Callused fingers fingers slip up his torso and caught on his bottom lip, still kissed and swollen. “I’ll do that for you, but you might have to remind me how you earned it.”

Corey barely let him finish before he had his lips wrapped around two digits, working his tongue along them. He held onto Jim’s wrist, forcing them back and making himself gag hard. At this point, he didn’t care what it took. Besides, it was either keep his mouth busy or run it anyway. He flashed a look back up at Jim, batting his lashes and making sure to give him a little show before finally pulling off and kissing his fingertips. Is that wasn’t enough, then he didn’t know what the fuck would be.

And thank fucking buddha Jim’s mouth was enveloping his own just a moment later, one of his thighs being pushed back for a better angle and some leverage as Jim’s other hand slid between his legs. Slick fingers pressed against his entrance, drawing a pathetic noise from his throat, his legs twitching in eager anticipation. 

The first eased in, sunk home, and Corey could have sworn he saw the light in that moment. Glitter and gold and pearly gates, fluffy white clouds, and giant fucking bearpaw hands that were holding his entire fucking being in their palms. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that— Jim being that big. I mean sure, his dick alone could take out a whole city easily, but it was all of him. Limbs and chest and hips and hands. Oh good god, his hands. Say what you want about how dumb and awkward he was otherwise, but he always knew exactly what he was doing with his hands. 

[HE DO BE LANKY AND AWKWARD. Also I still can’t help but think of how weird his hands are. Like they’re so SMALL in proportion to the rest of him but they’re still HUGE. James what the fuck is that shit.]

 Corey moaned into the mouth locked with his own as Jim started to pump in and out of him, the stretch nearly impossible feeling for just one finger. Maybe it was that he was already desperate, ready to burst, that had him so beyond himself. Maybe it was just the fact that Jim knew exactly how to poke and prod to make him start to come apart at the seams. 

He started to relax more, lean into it (or as best as he could with the weight on top of him.) Steady chants of ‘yes, yes, yes, more, fuck’ swarmed around whatever little bubble they’d been encapsulated in. Corey practically had Jim in a chokehold, holding him down as close as he could possibly get, foreheads pressed together. Completely and totally consumed. 

Another finger worked inside him, curling and twisting and scissoring him open, making him flutter around them and writhe to find just the right— 

“There, there. Don’t you dare stop. Holy shit.” Corey cried out, arching up off the mattress, holding onto Jim for dear life. “So fucking good. Feels so fucking good.”

Jim brushed his fingertips against Corey’s walls again, hitting that sweet spot and eliciting another borderline embarrassing moan. “Yeah, that’s it. Not so tough like this, are you? Fight so hard to get what you want and you still come undone for me just the same. Real good when you want to be, y’know.”

Whatever Corey wanted to say came out in an incoherent mumble— something something for you and something something damn lucky. His orgasm was already twisting and burning in the pit of his stomach, and his was still only very loosely tied to this realm. Beyond taken and fucked up and he loved every minute of it. 

[Fighting to the very end, even with fingers in his ass. Just shut up already you stupid slut.]

He couldn’t take his eyes off Jim as he wormed his way out of his grasp, sat back, spread his legs a little wider apart. He leaned down, and Corey was vaguely aware of him spitting before he felt like he was being properly split in two. A third digit joined the other two. God, it was almost too much. Impossibly full and tight and overwhelming, all thanks to James and his inhumanely big hands that were surely going to be Corey’s cause of death here one of these days. 

Corey couldn’t even breathe now, squeaking out another little plea for more, honed in on Jim like a deer in headlights. He knotted his hands up in the sheets, finally able to roll his hips and fuck himself against Jim’s hand without him pinning him in place. The blood rushing through his ears still wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out Jim’s encouragement— “So good, so pretty, look at you, perfect little slut. All mine. Come on baby, let me see you come.” 

That alone was enough to make Corey’s eyes roll back in his head, but one last perfect angle of his hips was what finally sent him over the edge. He came so hard his vision went fuzzy, limbs giving out as he spilled over his stomach and cried out, “Oh god, fuck daddy.”

[THERE IT IS. One of the terrible influences who shall not be named popped into my DMs like “Consider: unnegotiated honorary in a moment of carnal horny and then Jim just straight up CACKLES” and I was like well. Guess That’s Getting Throw In The Pile Too.] 

There was a minute of blank, overwhelmed and far away and completely beyond himself. Jim milked him through it, still working his fingers in and out as the aftershocks made him twitch and whimper, until he started to come back down again. Actually, the only thing that snapped him back to the here and now was realizing that Jim was laughing. Not just laughing, giggling like a goddamn school girl. 

You had to be fucking kidding. 

Corey reached out, attempting to smack him but missing entirely. “Fuck’s so funny?”

“Daddy? Dude. You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding right?” Jim dissolved into another fit of laughter, eyes scrunched up in a big grin. 

“Shut up. Shut your fucking mouth now. You don’t get to hold the shit I say when I come against me.” Corey huffed, sitting up on his elbows and trying to scoot away. Unlucky for him, Jim was still big enough to lean over him again and still be eye level. 

He pushed Corey’s hair back, pressing a kiss to his lips with a deep chuckle. “Quit your whining. You alright?”

Corey rolled his eyes, collapsing with a sigh and (albeit begrudgingly) circling his arms around Jim’s neck. “Mmm, peachy. Just shut up and cuddle me, you fucking demon. And you tell no one about that.”

[ANYWAY. This fic took me like three wholeass months or something so I hope it was worth it. There’s also a coinciding playlist that goes with this beast if you click on the AO3 link back at the top. Thank you for reading this disaster.] 

[setoandjewel]

Leaving the Nest

So this is a Pacific Rim based AU that I have with @blametheeditor, but it has little to no proper relation to the movies other than Jaegers and Kaiju. Doesn’t follow the rules of the movie, much of the lore is changed so don’t come at me. Damnual and James belong to Blame.

I promise, I’m not obsessed with aesthetic window pictures /or/ of tiny Jewel, I’ll post proper same size Sewel eventually.

Story: Non-canon. In our universe, Kaiju are a giant species mutated by humans, of which Seto is a part of (although he isn’t a mut). Despite first being feared by a team of pilots who kill Jaegers in their surroundings, he grows lose to them. But due to concerns and restrictions from the head of their complex, the is no longer allowed to have any sort of close relationships with his comrades, including a new girlfriend, Jewel. Unable to take knowing he could hurt them all physically, and hurt their dynamic as a team, he decides to leave. 

Jewel feels her heart sting as she sees Seto pulling away from James, racing up to nearly throw herself out of the window into the cold night, hand closing around the fringe that fell over his nose and latching onto it.  

“WAIT!”

His large brown eyes fix on her, blinking slightly before she hears the soft thuds of his shifting feet and he looms closer, brows twitching as he watches her closely. Scans the desperate expression, small and shadowed as he blocks any light from the crescent moon, but as beautiful as the last time they were allowed to meet. The time when she had left him with the same tears in her eyes, after raising her voice at him out of a desperate need for relief, then hiding from him despite everything that had happened.

The giant kneels before her, pressing his forehead to the exterior wall of the complex as tears build.

James and Damnual can sense the energy in the air, take the folded note as tall as the 6-foot teenager, and leave to sit silently in the hallway and read. They had said their goodbyes, and they too had cried – Damnual more than James – but they did. For they would miss the man to which they had devoted much of their time, the one that the teenager proudly called his Jaeger; the one that James knew as a man and through Jewel’s thoughts.  

Their Seto was leaving...and it broke their heart. No more trips to the outside world, no more standing taller than a Jaeger yet free from the world, no more rumbling laughter as Gabriel galloped around them, no more cold nightmares warmed by the kindness of a giant. But hopefully, they could live out his beliefs, try and connect with the kaiju, find a better future and a cure for their kind.

But James knows well enough that for the two entwined in romance, it was different. They deserve their privacy

The woman doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know who should speak first when they hadn’t spoken in days. Days of longing to be near him again. The irony is that the words lodged inside her throat as she stands inside the shadow, staring into his pained expression.

Jewel could only lean into the bridge of his nose and rest her head there as she once did, hand running over the warm skin as tears burn her eyes and nose.

“D-Don’t go...” She chokes out, fingers clenching even if there is nothing to grab. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to. To travel space is my duty, searching for any remaining members of my kind.”

Seto replies, voice wavering slightly from the usual as he presses his nose closer even though they’re already together, needing to feel Jewel’s presence against him after so long. Feel the only hands he would let touch him in this way send tingles up his spine as he finally feels complete.  

And yet, he’s leaving.

As she hears her worst fears spoken from the voice of her love, the pilot begins to break down, her chest hiccupping as tears flow and sobs escape from her like quiet cries for help. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this over a man, she was aloof when it came to her past relationships, but Seto was different. He was kinder, more resourceful, protective and strong in himself, but not too temperamental. He was like her soul mate, and you can’t let them go!

“Seto...we need you to be here. I-I-I need you, a,a,and if you’re gone...

“It w-won’t be the same.”

Seto can’t just leave her hanging half out a window, her tears wetting his nose until he pulls away; the space left quickly filled by his gentle grasp curling around her shaking back. His palm coming beneath her legs and holding her weight inside a cup as he wipes the tears with the back of his finger, murmuring quiet apologies to her. Because it hurt to see her crying, not knowing how to truly comfort her when he was the cause of her pain. The giant’s hands curled closer, leaving her curled in a loose ball inside his warm grasp, arms wrapped about his digits as she leans her head into the pad of his thumb.

“Shh, shh. I’m here, Jewel. I never meant to fall in love, but I’m glad I did.”

“Then why are you leaving me?” Jewel asks brokenly, craning her neck to look up to him and see the tears staining his cheeks, immediately shrinking back into the crowded fingers. “I-I’m sorry, I...I know this is hard on you too..”

“I can’t stay here, where I can see you yet not truly show my affection. Knowing that I might endanger your life and the life of our friends.”

The human gasps to herself as his hands suddenly rise up, tipping back into the curves of his hand as the fingers shift underneath her, seemingly nervous as she sits before his mouth. His head is turned to the side, exposing the moon’s light to his features towering overhead at an extreme angle. This was close as she’d put herself to his face in a long time, and it still brought back the wonderful chills of the first time they’d spent together.  

“So I leave you with this. And pray you will remember me by it.”

Jewel’s eyes widen as a hand cups her back and prevents her from pulling back, his lips hesitating for a moment to let his breath shift around her, before a passionately pressed kiss smothers her from her head to her chest. Her breath is stolen from her as she has no choice but to return the loving embrace with as much as she can offer, while Seto feels everything inside him unwind, every word he regretted telling her summed up in one kiss. One she’s determined to keep for her. A spark of violet light emits from the giant’s fingertip, wrapping around her wrist before sinking in, pulsing their heartbeat into her skin. The record of a memory.

And then it’s done, and she’s released into the cold air and delicately set down out of the hands that make her feel weightless. Magenta eyes glistening with tears as he steps back from her into shadow, his hands pressing into the wall surrounding her window to help him stand

“Seto...I will always love you...g-g-goodbye.  

Gabriel chirrs his own sad goodbye as he’s called back from where he gave them space, perching on his father’s shoulder as he wipes his eyes and gives a deep sigh before he leans into the wall again so his face sits tens of feet straight up.

“Until we meet again.”

He rumbles, with a fond stroke of her side.

A shock runs through Jewel as she finally understands. Understands the ingrained feeling of being protected that came from a Jaeger standing as tall as a tree, leaving her like a bug at his feet. But before she can tell him to return.  

To kiss her again.  

To take her with him.  

He’s fallen into the stars.  

—

If you enjoyed please like and reblog as it gets my work out there, and if you’re interested in more with my characters, you can follow!

Thanks xx

[metalgearkong]

MediEvil 2019 - Review (PS4)

10/28/19

Developed by Other Ocean Emeryville / Sony Computer Entertainment, released October 2019

It has risen again! The original MediEvil from 1998 is one of my favorite games of all time, and one of the games I have completed the most. Like other games from the PS1 era, I discovered MediEvil on a demo disc and replayed it constantly. I loved the Nightmare Before Christmas aesthetics and music, and liked that it stared a cowardly bumbling skeleton. The late 90′s was a time of experimentation for 3D action/adventure games, and while some people hold Ocarina of Time or Super Mario 64 as their favorites of the genre, MediEvil has always been my personal favorite. MediEvil II released two years later, but lost a lot of its appeal for me because it took place in Victorian London instead of the graveyards and spooky locations of the original. MediEvil: Resurrection was made in 2005 for the PSP, but was more of a re-imagining of the original game, and not a true remake.

I had heard about MediEvil being remade yet again a couple years ago, but tried to have tempered expectations, and not buy into what could amount to be rumors. I imagined it would be akin to a big screen version of MediEvil: Resurrection, or at least the developers would butcher the original game. Last year was when I saw the trailer for this MediEvil remake, and I felt more confident in it. While most people were anticipating big triple-A or franchise games for 2019, my sights and hopes were dead set on this. Finally, after all this time of waiting, MediEvil 2019 has released exclusively for the PS4, and I couldn’t be happier with the final product. Other Ocean Emeryville has created a deeply loyal and extremely faithful remake of the original game I cherish so much, but I feel like only true fans will be able to truly appreciate it for the accomplishment it is.

Before I talk about the game proper, I have to elaborate on the unexpected odyssey it took to actually get the game going. Not only do I have to make a three hour round trip to the nearest Gamestop to get a copy, the game had to immediately download a day one patch: version 1.01. This update was a massive 16GB, and with my super slow mountainous wi-fi speed, my PS4 predicted it would take at least 50 hours. There was no option to begin the game without this update. I was floored. It put me in a state of blue-balled depression and denial. So I took my TV, PS4, and all the necessary cords, and physically hooked in my PS4 to my work’s ethernet cable in a public building, hoping no one would disturb it. The estimated time dropped to a meager four hours, and it made me feel a lot better. Ironically, my PS4 only realized I didn’t have enough storage space to download the update, and somewhere along the line it quit. Thankfully, it let me play after giving up.

Expectations mean a lot, and leading up to this MediEvil releasing, I intentionally did not do a lot of research on the game in order to discover it in person as I was playing. I didn’t realize this was a fully committed remake of the original. MediEvil: Resurrection disappointed me because it changed a bunch about the game and left out a lot of my favorite levels. 2019′s MediEvil recreates every inch of the original game with modern graphics. I was so thrilled I can’t even describe how cool it was to see one of my favorite games of all time with a new coat of skin, especially because I never thought THIS game would be chosen to be remade. Not only that, but the game uses the same exact audio for most of the dialog; each and every gargoyle head and character Dan meets plays the same audio as I’ve had engraved in my skull for over twenty years, only with new character models and more elaborate animations.

The developers even used the same music for each level, only re-recorded it with only small differences or flourishes. Even insignificant things like textures on a doorway or on the ground were recreated in 3D to look just like they did. I would have been perfectly okay with the developers simply using modern graphics and textures to remake certain pieces of architecture or focal points in this game, but no, every corner of Gallowmere represented the original locations, and I constantly had to pick my jaw off the floor (no offense Dan). Cinematics also play out exactly the same, with the same camera angles and movements. Part of me thinks about how maybe Other Ocean Emeryville could have taken these short cinematics sprinkled throughout the game and elaborated slightly on lore, but that would veer dangerously close to a “re-imagining” territory, and I’m just thankful everything is kept so faithful in the end.

The banished necromancer Zarok has raised an army of the dead to conquer the realm of Gallowmere. Unwittingly, Zarok also brought back to life Sir Daniel Fortesque, King Peregrine's captain of the militia, who perished embarrassingly years prior in an earlier battle against Zarok and his armies. After Fortesque’s death, fables, songs, and legends told of his false bravery and battlefield accomplishments, but now he has the opportunity to live up to his own mythical status as the hero of Gallowmere. I’ve always loved this story, wherein the bad guy accidentally raises the very hero who would thwart him. I’ve always loved Dan because he’s so unlike most knights and heroes. He has to live up to his own reputation, and prove those wrong who know what truly happened. We play as Dan and travel from the hum drum graveyards of Gallowmere all the way through more exotic levels such as a pumpkin gorge filled with demonic pumpkins, crystal caverns filled with Minotaur-like monsters, an enchanted forest containing a demonic prison, and much more.

The first advantage to the modernization of this game was being able to see the Hilltop Mausoleum (the 2nd level) from The Cemetery (the 1st level). It would make sense if you had an expansive cemetery, and the very next level, adjacent to that level, had a massive building on top of a hill, and you could see it from far away. As a PS1 game I’d never expect to see something like that, but with this remake, they had the care to include things such as this, which only helps the world feel that much more real and connected. The controls and mechanics are nearly the same as the original as well, only made slightly more convenient. Dan can still equip a one-handed weapon and a shield, and switch between weapons in a menu. He can block attacks, but only as long as the shield’s HP holds out, until you need to find a new one. Dan has all the same moves as the original, but the more free-form camera makes the game a bit more convenient to play by making platforming and seeing things easier.

As you slay enemies in each level, you fill a chalice, and bringing back a full chalice to the end of each respective level grants you a visit to the Hall of Heores before the next level begins; this world’s version of Valhalla, where the most accomplished heroes of history drink, feast, and arm wrestle for eternity. A side goal of this game is to collect the chalice from every level so Dan can also become a member of this ethereal warrior’s afterlife (twenty in all). This is something I struggled with as a kid, but in the past many years I’ve always gone out of my way to make sure Sir Fortesque gets into the Hall of Heroes where he rightfully deserves to be. Sometimes items can be found in a level which are to be used in entirely different levels, something the game only hints at. Case in point are the Ant Caves, which is a maze-like level hidden within a level that is completely optional to complete (but not if you want all twenty chalices). 

Some of the original game’s drawbacks could be regarded as similar drawbacks for this remake. Criticisms like haphazard combat and imprecise platforming are somewhat the same case here, but I would argue that’s half the point playing as a gangling hero who hasn’t yet earned his stripes. I honestly can’t take an unbiased position on some of the game’s more objective problems, not only because I’m such a fanatic and have played the original so many times, but also because it’s impossible for me to have a fresh perspective on the game. I can’t tell you how hard the puzzles are or how tough the game is simply because I’ve played the original so many times, I’ve gotten used to any perceived problems and solved all the puzzles so long ago. Reviews for this game seem to be lukewarm, and it’s an opinion I can’t share because I’m so impressed by how faithful one of my all time obscure favorites has been recreated.

In fact the very few changes the developers did make I could count on one hand. Mostly these changes have been made to a few of the game’s boss fights. Most of the bosses have always been very easy, especially compared to today’s obsession where bosses are meant to be extremely punishing. I can honestly say the changes are for the better and improve on these boss fights. For example the fight with the captain of the ghost ship has been improved, allowing you to manual aim a canon before firing it at him, rather than running back and forth between two fixed canons, hoping one of your shots hit the captain as he paces back and forth. Another addition are the “Lost Souls” which are hidden collectibles, one in each level that can be found by Sir Dan. This basically makes you replay every level to find the Lost Souls, as they only appear once you’re already near the end of the game. I can’t say I was motivated to find them, at least not right now, since it appears to be a shallow fetch-quest.

Besides getting the game booted in the first place, I did a have a few technical problems while playing the game. These are probably because the version 1.01 patch never actually downloaded and installed, and I may have been experiencing what the developers were trying to fix. One example was a door not opening once I had defeated all the enemies in the room, effectively trapping me there forever, forcing me to restart the level. The problems were mainly things such as this, and I bet I’m the only person in the world who had to complete the game from beginning to end raw without the day one patch. Otherwise the game ran great, and looks good as Hell.

I’m so glad Other Ocean Emeryville didn’t try to subvert expectations or put a clever twist on certain things, leaving it as is. MediEvil 2019 constantly impressed me, and I don’t think I’ve felt this much fan service and satisfaction since the Shadow Moses chapter of Metal Gear Solid 4 from 2008. The music, dialog, weapons, level design, aesthetics, enemies and controls have been painstakingly remade, giving this cult classic an impressive new look. Its the restrictive nature of the developer’s design philosophy I appreciate the most; this is simply a game for the fans, and very obviously by the fans. MediEvil was my most anticipated game of 2019 and I am deeply satisfied and surprised about how well it turned out. Annoying day one patch download aside, I had an incredible time experiencing this remake. While some gameplay flaws might still exist, and those who don’t already love the original may not see it in the same level of reverence, this was a big payoff for me and I’m sure other dedicated fans feel the same. Thank you Other Ocean Emeryville, this has been a wonderful gift.

9/10

[haleyreads4you]

No Laughing Matter

Why Gotham’s Crown Prince of Crime Doesn’t Deserve a Backstory

If you haven’t heard, DC is releasing a new live action movie entitled The Joker, scheduled to be released on October 4th later this year.  The movie is supposed to take us on a journey to see the beginning of this notorious villain, and hopefully give a better understanding on why he is the way he is. Usually this is fantastic! Villains, bad guys, antagonist, whatever you call them, are always so much more interesting when you get to see the reasoning behind their actions, and after all the Joker has done, who wouldn’t want to know. The short answer, is me. 

The longer answer, (which I’m about to give you,) is that honestly, no real DC or Batman fan should want to see a Joker backstory. Believe it or not, he actually has one already, and I promise you it’s not going to be the one you see in the movie. It simply isn’t that complex. If you can’t tell, I am a huge DC, (especially the Batfam,) fan, and if you’re not that’s okay! I’m honestly shocked if you read this far without being a DC fan. Nonetheless, I’m going to be giving as much background as I possibly can to flush out my points throughout this, so you don’t have to possess prior knowledge. Now, I will not claim to be an expert on DC, or Batman, and especially not on the Joker himself, but I do like to think I know quite a bit. That being said, if I miss something, or get the facts wrong, feel free to refute me! A huge point of all these dumb essays I’m writing is to get the conversation going! Now with all the logistics and introductions out of the way, here’s why I think the Joker doesn’t deserve his own movie (or back story.)

The Joker is arguably the most famous of Batman’s rogues. With countless reiterations, and big name stars playing him in adaptation after adaptation, it’s no wonder that he’s built up a name for himself. Not only that, but the Joker is one villain whose actions we simply can’t explain. We know Two-Face, AKA Harvey Dent, was seriously disfigured after a man he prosecuted threw acid on his face, destroying his lucky coin in the process. The incident made him crazy, and he wrecks havoc on the city with his destroyed coin asking people “heads or tails?” We know Mr. Freeze, AKA Victor Fries, became a criminal after a failed attempt to save his terminally ill wife left him with sub-zero body temperatures, forcing him to wear the cryo suit forever. His involvement with crime is him still attempting to raise funds to find a cure for her. We know one of my personal favorites, Scarecrow, AKA Dr. Jonathan Crane, an ex psychology professor at Gotham University remains obsessed with the idea of fear and phobias. He now uses the citizens of Gotham as his lab rats to test his ever evolving fear toxin. I could keep going on, (Batman has an impressive rogue gallery,) but the point is we know why all the villains do the things that they do. We don’t know that for the Joker, and out of all of Batman’s rogues, he’s the one that continues to commit the most heinous crimes of all. It leaves us all asking why? Why does he do the things he does? It even leaves Batman stumped. Heck, it leaves other villians stumped!! Ra’s Al Ghul, head of the League of Shadows, has said he doesn’t like working with the Joker, because he’s wild and unpredictable. According to this logic, the Joker should be first in line to get his own back story.

To find the reason why he shouldn’t we have to look pretty far back in this character’s history. When the Joker first appeared in the Batman comics, he never appeared simply as “the Joker.” Multiple iterations of this simplistic “backstory” have been done, and can also be seen as far back as Batman: Year One, (even though the “Joker” himself is not actually featured,) but each time the Joker always appears, it is always first as an unassuming lowlife calling himself “the Red Hood.” This is so freaking important to how the Joker impacts the characters around him, and I’ll tell you why soon, but I can almost guarantee you it is not going to be in the new Joker film. Not only is this Red Hood portion of the Joker’s career important for reasons to be later explained, but it’s also important that in multiple, though not all, iterations of the Joker’s introduction it’s Batman’s fault. Not inherently of course. Batman always catches the Red Hood in some kind of factory, (a popular location is a playing card factory,) and in an attempt to catch him, the Red Hood always ends up falling into a vat of acid. This is the vat of acid that of course warps his appearance, (the white skin, green hair, and red lips,) and what ultimately drives him mad. In how he actually gets in the vat, well sometimes he jumps on purpose, because he’s been cornered by the Bat, sometimes he just slips, and Bruce is too late to catch him, but either way it’s always something that weighs on Bruce. It’s another reason on top of Batman’s no kill policy that he can’t bring himself to end the Joker. Despite paralyzing Barbra Gordon as Batgirl and murdering his son, Bruce can’t end the Joker, because he partly feels like the Joker is his fault. It’s his mess that he made, and a mess that he has to fix.

This introduction of the Joker as the Red Hood and tying his creation to a young emerging Batman is so important to the characters’ relationships to each other throughout their still changing course of comic history, that to negate it with this upcoming movie is almost like recreating a brand new villain. It is also important to note that because the Joker started out as a masked criminal, he remains a John Doe to this very day in comic history. This is crucial to not understanding the Joker, (an important aspect of his character,) because any time a new rogue pops up, Bruce tries his damndest to learn their real identity. Identifying the person beneath the horror helps him better know what angle to work at when going up against them, as well as what to look for, and realizing that violence usually isn’t the best answer for dealing with them. By keeping the Joker a John Doe, it keeps not only us, the audience, in the dark about trying to understand this psychotic character, but the characters in universe in the dark as well. By not knowing the Joker’s past or intentions, it actually makes him scarier, because it leaves him unpredictable, and, in a sense, strips him of his humanity. By giving this character an actual identity, you destroy the mysterious unknown behind the character, make him human enough than an audience can relate to him, and almost, in a sense, strip him of what makes him a good villain in the first place.

Now my last, and what I personally view as one of the most important reasons, on why the Joker really shouldn’t have his own movie, is because it would destroy his tragically beautiful connection to Jason Todd. If you missed it earlier, I briefly mentioned that the Joker killed Bruce’s son, and that was because I planned to go more in depth now.

I need to stop referencing material that hasn’t been written yet. If you don’t know, Jason Todd is the second character to take on the mantle of Robin. Yes, there was more than one Robin. As of current day material, there are four officially recognized holders of the mantle, (sorry Stephanie,) in the order of Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, and the current only blood son of Burce, Damian Wayne. Jason was taken in by Bruce off of Crime Alley, after he was found trying to steal the cars off of the Batmobile. Officially adopting him as his own and taking him under his wing, Bruce soon hands the mantle of Robin to Jason as Dick had recently left, and the two take to the streets fighting crime and punching bad guys. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last very long, and Jason ends up beaten nearly to death by the Joker with a crowbar in an abandoned warehouse before the Joker blows it up, seconds before Bruce arrives. Oh no. (There’s a very iconic picture of Bruce holding Jason’s dead body, if you google “batman a death in the family.) This was an absolutely pivotal part to Bruce’s character. How Bruce acts after the death of Jason had been unseen before. He became violent and angry, and almost crossed the line he swore to himself he’d never cross. Jason’s death is a staple in DC comic lore.

That isn’t the important part here though. The important part is what comes after. See, 95% of the time, if a character dies in the DC Universe, it’s not for very long, because comics. A couple of years later, Jason is brought back to life via the Lazarus Pit with the help of the League of Assassins. As I’m writing this, it is one in the morning, and I am too tired to explain why the Shadows were involved. If you’re really interested, there’s a crap ton of information on it on wikis and stuff, so it won’t be hard to find. Anyways, Jason comes back to life really messed up and in a murderous rage. He heads back to Gotham to hunt down Bruce but this time not as Jason Todd, not as Robin, but as the Red Hood. It’s perfect cinematic poetry! Yes, cinematic!! Under the Red Hood is one of the most famous comic books about Jason Todd’s return, as well as arguably one of the best DC animated films of all time! But that’s not the point. The point is, that Jason Todd comes back from the dead, and the alias he takes up is the same alias that his killer once owned. Jason does eventually kind of come back to the “good side” as a sort of anti hero, but the parallels between him and the Joker are gorgeous. Both driven mad after being thrown into a vat of mysterious liquid, except for where it was the Joker’s before, it’s Jason’s after. The idea of a young boy being beaten to death, only to come back and take the name of his killer should shake you to your core. Not only that, but imagine Bruce’s horror when he realizes there’s another terror ripping through his city bearing the same name his arch nemesis first wore. And that’s before he even realizes it’s his resurrected son! You can’t dismiss writing like that, especially when it comes to comic books! DC especially, openly admitted that its story lines take place in the multiverse, which basically means anything goes. That’s where you get stories like The Flashpoint Paradox and Crisis on Two Earths. The fact that this idea of the Red Hood being passed down from the Joker to Jason seems to be a universal constant cannot be overlooked. By giving the Joker a more in depth backstory that strays from the one that currently exists, you rip that hard work out of the author’s hands, as well as destroy an impactful connection between some of the Batman Universe’s best and most complex characters.

This whole thing ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, so thank you if you made it to the end. All of this being said, I stand by my opinion that out of all that characters in the DC universe, the Joker should be at the end of the line to get his own movie. Will I still end up seeing it in theatres? The jury’s out right now. I’m a broke college kid living in New York; there are more things I want to see than a movie I don’t think should exist. I might watch it one day, as the assumption that all of these points won’t be made in the movie is made purely off of the trailers and not the content of the film itself. If I ever do watch it, y’all will be the first to know, but until then this is where I stand. Don’t let this ruin the film for you if you planned on going to go watch it. Like stated in the beginning, these are all my own opinions, and I prefer the comics to the movies. The movies can also be seen as existing in their own realm, and in that case none of my points stand at all. It’s up to you to make your own judgement.

But ask yourself this, as you sit down in the theatre with a large tub of popcorn. What do you think people will benefit from trying to see into the mind of the one of the world’s most famous psychopath?

[whatisthisnonsense]

Continuing where we left off here, so we’re not cluttering Sarah’s pretty art (bless u @yunisverse ), did you know canonically Digimon are emotion eaters? “But Lea!”, you say. “That was in SAVERS, not Adventure!” Wasn’t it though? 

Think about it-- while they’re not necessarily feeding off it in the sense of sustenance, the digimon in Adventure all digivolve during a big influx of some form of emotion by their chosen child, usually related to the crest but not always (pants-shitting terror at Kuwagamon, for example). Normal, natural digivolution is usually a very long process of gathering energy and strength, with higher levels often taking decades if not hundreds or thousands of years (unless you suck, in which case you’re turning into a Numemon. Yes, that’s also canon.), so obviously the digimon MUST be feeding on something for those short bursts of energy, and since having the digimon feast upon their attached digidestined’s soul or lifespan is what we call bad, the natural source must be emotion. Following that thread, we see other digidestined in 02 (which I’m not going to go into for most of the lore it introduced because it is One Whole Yike, but Adventure itself introduced the concept that all you had to do to be a valid partner candidate is see a digimon and therefore this is valid) who ostensibly have the same bond as our actual Destiny’s Children without the Destiny bit, and we actively see Willis/Wallace/That Kid With The Two Bunny Digimon have his digimon digivolve. While Lopmon/Kokomon was out of his control for the most part and could arguably have been severed from the connection, Terriermon clearly wasn’t and also usually responded to emotion. As such, we can assume that this is a trait of all partner digivolutions. Why, then, are the Crests needed? Well, we find out they’re a bit of a magic feather, however they all still involve an emotion or state of being which the child exemplifies (besides Light, though that could be as in “the light in your heart that never goes out” IE Determination and Light just happened to sound more mystic and was also literally its attribute anyway, like how Honesty/Responsibility is Water and Sincerity/Purity is Plants) (Knowledge also isn’t a state of being or emotion, but the way they use the word I’m reasonably certain what they actually mean is WISDOM, which means Izzy in a state of being wise is what triggers it, not just him being a nerd). I would like to suggest, thusly, that the Crests show the emotion or mental state the digidestined represented by it has in abundance and thus what their digimon use to rocket up the digivolution ladder in ways faster and stronger than even normal human/digimon partnerships. The Crest associated with our hypothetical ninth duo? Kindness. Now, stay with me here. Allow my work-weary, sleep-deprived ass to switch from essay to narrative for a moment. Consider, if you will; Wizardmon has always been alone. Since he’s a chosen partner, Gennai dropped him when he was hit much like Gatomon, but velocity and angle meant he still hatched far away from her. He turned to magic for answers as to why he was left all alone when most are born and cared for in Primary Village, and he got good of it-- amazingly good, astoundingly good, impossibly wonderously G O O D  at magic-- but he never found his answers. Eventually, he gives up, assuming he was simply not worth the effort. That perhaps, his presence was a mistake. He wanders, looking for obscure magic but no longer having any purpose to it, aching for something he doesn’t understand nor believes exist. He says he passed through unremarked, but in many places you’ll hear tell of a quiet, soft-spoken digimon who repaired something with the snap of his fingers. Sometimes a wall, sometimes reviving a well, sometimes even bringing another digimon back from a hideous illness. But he was always gone the next day. If anyone could ask him, he’d shrug it off; it wasn’t something special, he thought. It just seemed cruel to leave things as they were, and while he’s many unpleasant things, he’d like to think he’s not cruel. (He is kind, he is so kind, but he can’t fathom it without anyone else around him, and no one nor place can hold him against that unknown longing in his programming, so it passes by him without note.) Of course, between his idle wandering and his constantly giving and giving and giving of his magical energy without much time to recover, he eventually pushes himself past exhaustion and falls out of the sky on one otherwise unremarkable day.  Those of you who’ve watched Adventure, of course, should recognize this as the event that caused him to meet Gatomon, and remember how absolutely baffled he was by her kindness-- he was already spreading himself thin, but he never had it returned to him mostly because he never stayed anywhere long enough for it-- and how fast he was to pledge undying loyalty for said shred of kindness. And this is true still, for he is still almost desperately loyal to her, but there is something else. Even when she truly forgets everything for the monster (ha) Myotismon turned her into, he can still see that longing for something she doesn’t know or understand in her eyes, and something in his chest tightens a little. It’s kinship, but he doesn’t recognize it-- he doesn’t have time, given how fast he parses the legends and figures out what she must be, as when he does that he out of hand assumes he could never be associated. Even so, they lessen eachother’s loneliness, and for a while that’s enough. Wizardmon does his best to play dumb, glide beneath the safety of contempt, and manages some tiny victories against the Dark Army’s, as after all he is never on Myotismon’s side. Some in-training digimon slipping out of the dungeon here, some misinformation there. In the end, however, he is mostly trying to give Gatomon the shot at a better life he is so certain she deserves, so every so often he has to get his hands dirty. It’s okay, though, really. It doesn’t matter what becomes of him, as long as she gets out. (Even so, when he’s forced to play evil minion to the hilt he tries his best to simply confuse or trick his target so he can leave them alive and unharmed, and if he can’t he does his damndest to make it quick. To do otherwise seems cruel, and he would still like to think he isn’t that at least.) As we all know, eventually seven dumbass kids with seven dumbass digimon who happen to also be the Digidestined turn up and Myotismon sets his plan in motion. Most of his minions just terrorize the town, but as ever Wizardmon is sneaky. He keeps his head down, and blends in, drawing children in and keeping an eye on Gatomon to see where and who she is most drawn to. He is being rather underhanded, he thinks, even though getting this gaggle of human children to watch in wonder and laugh isn’t actually necessary for his guise. He refuses to do otherwise, though. It doesn’t seem right. Naturally, Gatomon narrows what child is hers down without even realizing, but his own “patrol” draws in her and there is an almost uncomfortable snap in him as for a moment that ache, that eternal lonliness, is gone and-- no no, she just caught him flatfooted. He’s distracted and wasn’t expecting a compliment, particularly not one from someone clearly much older than the younglings he’s entertaining manipulating. The Tokyo arc is the same, but extended-- more red herrings and more time to convince Gatomon to remember that she is better than Myotismon’s lapcat, as well as scenes with Wizardmon and Minnie showing them drawing closer, albeit with Wizardmon’s denial or deflection on the subject pretty much even through his almost-death. Ah, yes. You didn’t think we kept most of that scene, did you? Of course Wizardmon gives his life for Gatomon-- by this point, it’s all he has left to give. It’s all he’s ever had to give, really. But remember how his body is still present in the show after his suppossed death? Well, that’s because he’s not quite dead yet; merely passed out. Minnie pulls him away and gets him to a relatively safe part of the building before he comes to again. He is defintely in the PROCESS of dying, though, but they refuse to let the kids know. It would be kinder for the kids not to see, at least for the moment, and thus the duo both lie through their teeth. And yet, when the kids leave to talk about what lies ahead next, Minnie turns and does her best to stop the digital hole in his chest from bleeding. He’s going to be fine, she tells him. It’s another lie, he thinks, but ah. “You’re...too kind...” There’s a faint glow from her pocket and for a moment his world is white and then he’s much more alive and terribly small. I’m gonna glaze over the rest of the Tokyo arc because we really need to get to the point in this fucking novel but I really need you to imagine a distressed Mokumon trying to wriggle out of Minnie’s arms as she tries to get him to fucking REST and then later him as a Candlemon accidentally setting the blankets he was tucked into on fire. Got that in your head? Good! Now let’s just--

There we go, see you in 02 asshole, moving on to the Dark Masters Ahem, anyway, as the group journeys through the reconfigured Digital World to forcibly scrub the influence of the Dark Masters away, Wizardmon slowly becomes a bit less aloof and a bit more on the awkward side. He’s gotten what he wanted-- Gatomon’s happy-- and he has a purpose, but that purpose doesn’t seem like something he should have, nor this group somewhere he should be. Nevermind he doesn’t really know how to handle a group out of his aloofness or various deceptions. And yet, ever so slowly, he begins to warm, and soften. Until that day in the desert. Minnie catches a lone and frightened younger digimon in the corner of her eye and diverts immediately to help it. The children and their partners are on board, of course, but before anyone can move, a Scorpiomon pops up and starts heading right for the young lady. The children shout, but Wizardmon can’t make out the words-- he’s already moving as fast as he can, even as he watches Minnie quickly turn to the younger digimon she found and hide them under a crevice, smiling before she moves away where it can’t see whatever happens. Even as she turns, pale and trying not to look frightened and moving AWAY from the kids a little so as to keep the arachnoid’s attention. Even as one of its legs connects with her cheek and knocks her away. That gentleness she was showing and his outrage and need to protect merges and twists and surges in a fountain of warmth in his chest, and he skids to a stop in front of her. Digivolving feels more like a soft blanket of darkness than anything resembling a change-- he barely even notices his limbs stretching or his clothing shift until it’s over and he’s...he’s... Myotismon. Minnie has the Crest of Kindness and he has turned into what is, objectively, the cruelest digimon to ever exist. Being Adventure the priority is Jokes, thus the immediate asking to tag out, but after this he is even more aloof than he was before, and not looking anyone in the eye. He is crushed, and once again come to the answer he always has for why he is why he is-- if he was ever meant to be here, then something must be wrong with him, and more likely he was never meant to be here at all. How interesting, do you think, it would be that it is not the Digidestined who has the huge, dramatic issue to confront, but the digimon? TL;DR, Don’t Blame You, essentially the jumping point for this whole narrative is, in a subversion to the usual “kid has to accept thing about self to slowly begin to heal from trauma and unlock potential”, essentially WIZARDMON is the one who has to learn here; the two-fold moral that he is allowed to ACCEPT Kindness and not just constantly give, and that the fact he is dark and spooky-- the fact his ultimate is the same as the mon who hurt him and the others-- does not make him less good or kind. And it only took about five novels to get here, amazing. If only I had this much energy for my actual writing.