#at least lana fights back in the end but its so hard to watch how lex interacts with her in the buildup

[lanaluthorlang]

Now, I don’t necessarily think that Lexana are that out of character in season six. On the surface at least. With everything the two of them had been through, together and separately, you wouldn’t have to suspend your belief to accept that cracks would begin to show. Those trials could have strengthened their bond, or,they could have brought to the surface any anxieties that might have been lurking in their minds. 

For Lana, this is a new relationship. There’s bound to be doubts or fear that she’s rushing into things. Especially when you take into account everything that happened with Zod possessing Lex. She had to make a choice on the spot to follow him into the unknown. And she did. And once the dust settled she had time to sit and think about what she just got herself into. All her past relationships have either been built on lies, or staying with someone she had fallen out of love with for the sake of the other person’s feelings. 

Nothing new would have ever been easy for someone who’s used to being put on a pedestal until it’s time to discard her and move on. Clana might have had many ups and downs but at the same time, Clark represents a safe place for her to run to when her current situation starts to feel too real or she starts to have second thoughts. Lex might have been her confidant, but Clark had always been her constant, no matter how fragile that base might be.

And there is a version of Lex where his paranoia leads him to do all these awful things. Here is a man that has had every bad thing said about him proven to be true in the eyes of the people he cared for most, and as a result been rejected and abandoned. Who’d been lied to and deceived countless times over. There is a world were his fear of losing Lana, the one person he has left, leads him to going to extremes to keep her in his life. And with this being a sci-fi show, a fake pregnancy or a little cloning wouldn’t be out of the question. I think that’s what this season was going for, but the writing was so cold and detached that we couldn't connect with Lex’s reasoning. 

Also, obviously manipulating situations to keep your partner is wrong in any circumstance, but the point is that they could have given Lex a very human motivation and they didn’t. They wrote a mentally ill character and never followed through in a way that mattered. 

The biggest change in their dynamic this season is the absence of their communication. Y’know, the very foundation their relationship was built upon. I could buy Lex lying to Lana about his secret projects. I could buy Lana hiding her resurfacing feelings for Clark from Lex. I could even buy the clones and the fake pregnancy. But Lana wouldn’t have been afraid to push Lex until he told her the truth. She wouldn’t have been afraid to vent to him about her fears, her feelings, or her insecurities. Lex has had a habit from day one from hiding the truth until it blows up in his face (secret Clark room anyone?) but he wouldn’t have so coldly brushed aside those massive breaches of trust. 

You could make the argument that every single thing Lex did to and for Lana in the previous seasons was leading to him trapping her in this abusive marriage, but quite frankly, I don’t think the Smallville writers were smart enough to plan long term like that. I still respect that reading, but, as with a lot of things, our perception of these characters changes how we perceive their interactions with others and how we read their overall narrative. This entire breakdown is soaked in my bias, but it’s still how I see the show at the end of the day. 

Because I don’t see the Lex from the first half of the show as a scheming mastermind. You can have Lex be the big scary villain all you want, but you can’t go from one season where he’s clearly shown to have empathy and understanding to having him be a volatile gaslighter in the next with no signs leading to that point. As for Lana, I could buy this relationship being an act of rebellion on her part. After all, Clana was the dying star that this show revolved around for eight seasons. Still, it’s a disservice to her character to tie her to a ship we all know is sinking.  

Tldr: the foundations of the Lexana divide is in character for both of Lex and Lana’s traumas, but the execution of how they deal with it, and the framing of Lex as the shallow villain and Lana as the silent victim makes the entire storyline feel cheap and poorly written.

[bokettochild]

Cider and Coca Part 2

Part 1

Who wants to see Ravio get his home back? Show of hands? 

 When the portal appears in his room of the castle, swirling and golden, Ravio stares at it in awe.  

 It’s beautiful and feels like Mr. Hero’s power, like that of Miss Princess Zelda, and he’s drawn to it. What lies beyond, he doesn’t know, but he does know that it feels safe, and despite being an utter and complete coward (no matter how much Mr. Hero has told him he’s not) he isn’t scared of it.

 When Hilda comes in for their regular evening talk, draping in her regal bed robes and holding a mug that’s far too fancy to be at home with the cider he’s tried time and again to replicate, his princess panics, voice raising with fury that the deal she’d made with Hyrule’s princess has been broken.

 “But no one has come through it.” Ravio murmurs softly, trying his best to appease her.

 The princess glares at it but her mouth snaps shut as her mug hits the floor. It’s golden, so it doesn’t shatter. Ravio almost wishes that it would. “We’ll investigate it tomorrow.” She says at last, face pinched and brows furrowed as she wheels about on her heel. “For now, you can stay in one of the guest rooms.”

 And Ravio nods, but once he’s been left alone in another room he immediately creeps back into his room, staring at the portal as he sips slowly on the not-quite-right cider. It’s not salty at least, but it’s missing that wild taste that made drinking it an adventure.

 The portal is enticing, and even though he knows Hilda doesn’t want him or anyone else to go through, his heart yearns for a cluttered little cottage on the edge of an orchard, bees humming as they do their work and the songs of lands far away rolling over the fields that stretch out and away from it, carried over the breeze in the dulcet tones of a pink haired hylian who’s fingers work at light smithy work and embroidery.

 He can’t go, he reminds himself as he stuffs his scarves into his bottomless sack.  

 Hilda will be mad; he whispers as robes and shoes and any number of items follow after.  

 He can’t leave, even if he’s no longer needed as an advisor now that Hilda has found better and more bold people to aid her, his mind reminds him as he ties the bag shut, slipping his hooded robe back on a with a sigh.

 “Hilda’s going to be so mad.” He murmurs as his foot crossed over to whatever lies beyond.

 He finds himself in a different place entirely, a great giant castle full of people and warriors and knights, and just outside there is fighting and shouts and cries of fear.

 It’s little to no time before he’s swept up in the battle when what he assumes are enemy forces break through the gates, and for all that he’s a coward and a merchant, he’s learned a few things from Mr. Hero, and he does what he can to protect both himself and the other people in the castle. And when the dust clears and there are three Mr. Hero’s, although none of them his, he learns the truth of the portals and the war happening around him.

 It’s hard to not be pulled along into the fighting and non-sense that is war, and injuries and illness plague them on the daily. There is little comfort in the army camps, and on the cold night all that can be done is bundle deeper into his robes and share a few of his extra scarves when the younger ones become chilled.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir, the tallest of the three heroes, will settle with him beside the fire many a night, a child pressed to either of his sides as Tune and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Either doze or stare into the flames. Neither child is innocent to war, and neither rest easy in the long nights that follow a battle, their hands resting on their blades and their eyes sharp and open against traitors.

 There people are cold. They are made harsh and wary and thin by battles after battle, and they meet the world with wariness that Ravio wishes he could wash away with the same ease as his cocoa had offered Mr. Hero.

 It’s that thought that sets him off one night, watching the soaked and trembling youngsters' bundle together under warm scarves and the single blanket they’ve been able to find, Mr. Captain Hero Sir lending his own heat to the pile as he holds both of the younger heroes. It’s like watching Mr. Hero come in from the rain all over again, and he wishes that the trio could have the comforts that he’d been able to offer or help Mr. Hero to gather on the rare trip he made home.

 And then it strikes him that he does have some of them.

 He’s puttering about the fire in a practiced yet clumsy manner, the eyes of the trio of heroes following his motions as he juices the apples and spiced the juice, boiling it over their campfire and handing it out in mugs.

 It’s too bitter. He realizes mournfully as he sips his own, but the three all release sighs of delight as they drink, and only thanks can be heard as they smile up at him.

 Ravio only wishes they could taste Mr. Hero’s cider; they would be over the moon.

 The war ends and he is sent back to his own world. His own Hyrule. He does not bother to correct Lana when she calls it that, there is no point in telling her to send him back to his homeland when there is nothing that waits there except for a bitter and still recovering sister who struggles to speak with him in any manner but that of a princess to her aid. So, he lets the Time Guardian make her mistake, and when she opens another portal, he sees that she smiles, almost knowing, as he waves back at her and steps through.

 The portal swirls and tosses him about, nothing like the pathways between Lorule and Hyrule, and Ravio is left lying on the ground when it spits him out, stomach churning as he looks up hazily at apple blossoms and bees that buzz soothingly as they go about their work.

 A smile pulls at his face as his body settles, and he’s pulling himself up ad looking around with growing delight as he takes in the familiar cottage and orchard, eyes feasting on the sight.

 It must be a Thursday, he tells himself as he looks around. It’s noon and Mr. Hero isn’t puttering about the hives in the back like he does on Mondays, and he’s not working the orchard like he does on Tuesdays, and the washing isn’t hung out to dry like it is on Wednesdays. There’s no fire roaring from the mini-forge round the back like there is on Fridays and Saturdays, and while it could very well be Sunday with how still it is, there isn’t a mug and stool by the front door.

 He’d asked once why Mr. Hero liked watching the sunrise every Sunday morning, but his friend had only said it was something even he didn’t have the answer to, only that he’d been doing it since childhood and had no wish to stop now. The mug of weak tea he’d sip as he sat would always be forgotten for some reason or another, and it isn’t there now, at mid-day, when Mr. Hero would be too busy to retrieve it.

 So, it’s Thursday, when Mr. Hero cleans his items.

 Only, when he taps nervously at the door, there’s no response, and when he peeks in at the single window that hasn’t been left shuttered up, there is no sign of life, only a faint coating of dust across the kitchen table.

 Ravio's brow furrows. That won’t do at all! Mr. Hero not using the table? Has he reverted to eating outside alone? Or not at all? Heavens! His friend is thin enough as is! He doesn’t need Mr. Hero fading away entirely!

 Worry gnaws as his heart as he searches his pockets for the spare key. He’d only realized after they parted that he’d never returned the thing, and in the months since, he’d found comfort in having another little piece of home. After all, Mr. Hero made the key himself! Something that most people can’t replicate and therefore they can never sneak into his house. The item in question is at the bottom of his pocket, and he only finds it with the help of its faded pink ribbon, the silky fabric catching on his roughened fingers as he digs about.

 It clicks into the door stiffly, as it always has, and Ravio has to bite back a sigh as he realizes that Mr. Hero never did get around to fixing that blasted lock and stopping it from sticking every time.

 When the door opens, it does so with a creak that makes Ravio wince, and dust flies up around him and makes him cough and wheeze for a good minute before he can enter. When he does step through the door though, his eyes widen in horror.

 It’s empty. There’s no sign of life; everything is covered with dust and Mr. Hero’s blasted rocker is still shoved in the corner where he’s last put it. Ravio’s brow furrows. Mr. Hero always used that bloody chair when he cleaned his items, a smirk on his face as he’d stared pointedly at Ravio, rocking the thing in its creaking manner as his oil-cloth would slide over weapons and items, a faint chuckle in his voice when Ravio finally breaks and insults it. He hates the thing, but as he walks further into the room, he finds himself brushing his fingers over its dusty arms with a sad little smile on his face.

 The house is empty. Mr. Hero has gone somewhere, possibly yet another adventure, and the house is stale and cold and smells of nothing but dust.

 This won’t do, not at all.  

 He’s bustling about with Sheerow in minutes, dusting surfaces and organizing items. It takes three whole days of fussing; washing the curtains and sheets and tablecloths and hanging them out to dry, dusting off the items on the shelves and lighting the candles around that awful monster mask, turning the mattresses in the bedrooms and cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom.

 The whole while, he keeps a pot of cider on, trying his hardest to bring back the smell of home.

 By the time he finishes cleaning the house and setting it back to rights, he’s been visited four times by villagers who think that a robbers broken into the house. Each one explains that Mr. Hero has gone away again, just as he expected, but they also welcome Ravio back with bright smiles and even brighter rupees as they wager and haggle to buy some items they’d been hoping to acquire before he’d left.

 Before he knows it, he’s got folks coming up to see him regularly, and just like before he’s got his shop all set up in the main room, his poor imitation of cider brewing over the fire and filling the house with a smell that isn’t dust and dirt.

 The villagers offer advice on how to better make the cider, how to try and replicate Mr. Hero’s special brew, but none of them appear to know it any better than he does, and the longer he tries the less the house smells like home.

 And then, one day, he’s busy tidying the shed, one of the places he’d failed to get in his initial cleaning, when the door busts open and Ravio finds himself darting into a corner to hide as several armed men dressed like knights enter. He’s delighted when he sees Mr. Hero among them, even more delighted to see familiar and not so familiar faces of the family that his friend has brought back with him, and his first order of business (after trying to sell them something) is to invite them up to the house for some cider. The heroes agree, following after and watching as he putters about in a nervous imitation of the easy dance Mr. Hero preforms when he’s working in his kitchen. The cider smells sweet, but wrong as he nervously pours it out into mugs and distributes it, and he has to fight back a wince as Mr. Hero’s face stiffens at the first sip.

 “This is good!” Mr. Captain Hero Sir states, sipping at the cider happily, face nostalgic as he looks into his mug. “Just like I remember.” And the others all nod in kind, murmuring thanks and compliments as they drink, but Mr. Hero is still frowning down into his drink and it makes Ravio’s hard patter lightly in shame.

 “I know it’s not as good as yours.” Ravio mumbles softly. “I did try, but there’s just-”

 “Cloves.” Mr. Hero looks up, brows furrowed. “Did you use cloves?”

 And Ravio’s words stutter to a stop, mind winding back to the jar of little black particles that Mr. Hero given him. The ones he had looked at later when he’d unpacked his bags and thought they were seeds from a trade that must have occurred earlier on, one he hadn’t remembered. “Lolia below!” He groans, tugging at the ears of his hood. “I forgot!”

 The smile on Mr. Hero’s face is the faintest hint of one, but it’s the closest he’s had in ages to seeing the real thing and Ravio treasures it, smiling softly to himself as the veteran hero pulls himself up out of his cursed rocking chair and moves towards the kitchen, shaking his head. “I’ll make a new batch.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir snorts into his mug, chuckling softly as Ravio’s eyes fall on him and cocking a brow in question. “So sure you want him in the kitchen?”

 Ravio blinks, confused. “Why ever wouldn’t he go in the kitchen, Mr. Captain Hero Sir? It’s his house.”

 And that’s all it takes to have Mr. Hero back in the room, a real grin playing over his surly features as he glances between Mr. Captain Hero Sir and Ravio. “’Mr. Cap-’”

 “Shut it.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir snaps, face flushing, only making Mr. Hero chuckle mischievously as he looks from one to the other.

 “We met in the war.” Ravio explains, motioning to the captain. “When you- when the portals were closed, I stayed home, but then one appeared in my room and-.”

 The smile he’d been so delighted to see fades as Mr. Hero stares at him in horror. “You fought in a war?”

 “Yes. But don’t worry! I mostly just sold items! I only fought when I really had to and it wasn't all that dangerous. You’re the one who said I wasn’t a coward, Mr. Hero, and when I tried to think of you and how you would act, I didn’t feel so very afraid and I was able to help and-”

 “Ravio.” Mr. Hero’s brows furrow in what Ravio knows is a subtle sign of concern. “Don’t worry about it. I just didn’t think Hylia would tug you across time to fight a witch.”

 And he nods; he understands. Mr. Hero doesn’t like people having to fight. He doesn’t like adventures and wars and Ravio can understand why, so he doesn’t press, instead turning to his friend and staring at him with all the hope he can gather glimmering in his eyes. “Regardless, Mr. Hero, would you please make us some cider? I haven’t had yours in forever, and no matter what I try it doesn’t come out right!”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir snorts. “Legend can’t cook to save his life, why would you want him to make cider? Your’s is terrific, Rav! We don’t need burnt apple juice to spoil it!”

 It’s said in a teasing way, and Mr. Hero’s glare is in no ways serious, but Ravio stares at the rest of the heroes in horror all the same. “Are you saying that Mr. Hero has never cooked for you? He’s never made you cider? Mr. Hero! How could you deprive these poor souls of your brilliant creations!”

 The veteran hero rolls his eyes and darts back into the kitchen, but Ravio isn’t done. “No tarts? No pies? Please tell me you at least shared some of your lovely apples with them Mr. Hero!”

 But Mr. Hero doesn’t answer, he only continues to glide about the kitchen and whip up a batch of cider that just feels and smells so much like home that tears leak down Ravio’s face, and he’s bursting into sobs as a mug is placed in his hands in the familiar dismissing way that Mr. Hero does thing, as if it’s a side though although they both know it isn’t.

 “Ravio, are you-”

 “Ravio! You’re crying!” Tune and Captain Hero Junior both cry out, but Ravio can’t bring himself to care as sweetness and spice rolls over his tongue all familiar and safe.  

 He has been at this house for a month and five days, but it is only when he takes a sip of Mr. Hero’s heavenly cider that he finally feels that he is home.

 The heroes have to leave again after a few days, but Mr. Hero allows him to stay (he pretends he’s doing Ravio a favor but the hug that the merchant received once the others were out of sight that first evening is all he needs to know that Mr. Hero has missed him too). There’s fussing and bustling for all of the morning that they depart, but then Ravio is left alone in his and Mr. Hero’s house, with only Sheerow as a companion.

 That’s alright. As much as he loves the heroes, he loves the quiet as well. It’s never truly silent here, and the hum of the bees and the singing of Mr. Hero’s bird friends mixed with the song of the breeze and the dancing of the trees to fill his head with noises of home and safety and life.

 That doesn’t mean he’s opposed to it when the heroes all come back, time and again.

 The wind is whipping fiercely outside when Mr. Hero and the others stumble in through the door, half-frozen and soaked to the skin and so, so reminiscent of so many nights before when he and Mr. Hero were still getting to know each other.

 Just like those nights, Mr. Hero’s first course of action is to stumble into the basement where there’s more clamor than usual as Ravio guides the heroes to the living room and pulls out warm blankets for them while Mr. Rancher stokes the fire higher.

 Scarfs are wrapped around necks and Ravio delights in handing out fuzzily knit socks for them to wear on their cold and frozen feet. But feet aren’t the only things that are frozen, and the sound of a clatter in the kitchen and a burst of swearing has him darting towards the room, only to see Mr. Hero kneeling in a puddle of apple juice, fingers trembling pitifully as he curses the stairs and the floor and the spilled juice that will no longer be able to become cider.

 Ravio frowns as he pulls his friend up, gently guiding Mr. Hero into the living room and settling him before the fire, even as he protests and insists that he still needs to clean the spill and make something warm.

 “Let me do it. I’ve been sitting all toasty and you’re half frozen!” Ravio coaxes, rubbing icy fingers in his hands carefully and breathing over them in hopes of inciting some warmth. Cold hands are bad as is, but with Mr. Hero’s arthritis they must be downright miserable!

 Mr. Hero scowls, about to protest when Ravio adds. On. “I’ll make hot cocoa.”

 That stops Mr. Hero from saying anything, and the veteran hero only nods sullenly as he settles where Ravio had placed him, blushing lightly as Ravio presses a warm kiss to freezing hands before darting up and towards the kitchen.

 Cider is a dance full of tripping and blustering, but cocoa is practiced and known and comfortable, and as the chocolate melts in a saucepan he busies himself with the puddle on the floor, listening with a warm smile to the idle banter that leaks in from the living room.

 The cocoa is perfectly frothy and sweet when it is done, and Ravio makes extra sure to sprinkle an extra bit of ground chocolate flakes and cinnamon over the cocoa in Mr. Hero’s mug.

 Curious eyes follow him as he trails through the living room with a tray of steaming mugs, and he starts with the youngest heroes and works his way forwards, carefully depositing a slightly bitter one in Tune’s hands and an extra sweet one in those of Captain Hero Sir Jr. If cider was any indication, they’ll like what he’s done for them.

 He doesn’t know enough about the others to do anything special, but their eyes light up all the same at the smell of the stuff, all save for Mr. Rancher, who looks down at the mug sadly before handing it off to his protégé. Ravio is halfway through handing Mr. Captain Hero Sir a mug when he sees the little exchange, hurt filling his eyes at the rejection of his labor. “Do you not like cocoa, Mr. Rancher Sir?”

 There’re snorts of laughter from the others at the name, but Ravio ignores them, green eyes boring into midnight blue as the rancher shifts uncomfortably.

 “We’ve never had cocoa before.” Mr. Champion Hero Sir frowns, looking down at his extra mug and then up to his mentor. “Why don’t you at least try it?”

 “I can’t.” Mr. Rancher murmurs apologetically, offering a weak smile to the merchant and then his protégé. “I’m- uh...allergic.”

 Understanding dawns on him. “I’m so terribly sorry! Would you-”

 “If I may,” Mr. Rancher stands, brushing himself off. “Might ah make some tea? I can do that at least without setting things on fire, so you needn’t fuss ‘bout it.”

 “Of course! Mr. Hero keeps some tea in the corner cabinet I believe.” He answers, and the hero nods thankfully before ducking into the kitchen.

Ravio shakes his head to himself. How unfortunate, but at least Mr. Rancher can have cider, apples don’t hurt wolves after all.

 He’s handed out mugs to the rest of the heroes before he moves to curl up at Mr. Hero’s side. His house-mate huffs lightly as Ravio has to help him hold his mug while his fingers thaw, but once he’s taking small sips, Ravio is bustling about the two of them with pillows to make them comfortable, and making sure that Mr. Hero’s favorite blanket is snug over both of their shoulders before he takes a proper sip himself.

 It’s sweet and rich, and after having so much cider, eh sighs in disappointment. “Still doesn’t beat your cider, Mr. Hero.”

 “I told you I could make some.” His housemate responds with a huff. “But why would you want cider when you can have cocoa?”

 “Why would you want cocoa when you could have cider?” Ravio challenges in return.

 Just like that, the old argument blooms between them as they bundle close together, his scarf around both their necks and the blanket covering their shoulders and trapping the heat of the fire before them. Giggles sound from around them as the heroes listen to them squabble, their lack of malice clear to the others as the age-old argument comes to its close with Mr. Hero scoffing and slurping his drink pointedly.  

 “If you offered cocoa at an event in any other country but Lorule, it would sell like mad, whereas if you offered cider, you’d be left with half a barrel to drink at the end of the day.”

 “The opposite is true in Lorule though.” He responds with a grin, but he lets it end there as Mr. Hero yawns heavily, head drooping to lean ever so slightly on his shoulder. A smile lights his face as he gently takes Mr. Hero’s empty mug, ignoring the coos and chuckles of the others as he pulls the blanket closer around Mr. Hero’s shoulders before running a hand through long pink locks. There’s still ice in Mr. Hero’s hair, but it’s silky soft like rabbit fur all the same.

 There’s no comeback to his argument as Mr. Hero falls asleep on his shoulder, and Ravio wouldn’t have it any other way.

 He turns to the others with a mock glare, brows low and eyes glinting with mischief as Mr. Rancher re-enters the room with a mug of tea, a surprised smile on his face. “Cider is the superior drink, correct?”

 Some grin with mischief and agree, and others roll their eyes with a smile as they sip their drinks, but no one contests his statement, and he feels satisfied that he has, at last, won the argument. It’s almost a shame Mr. Hero didn’t get to see it, but looking at the peaceful face that leans on his shoulder, he supposes he doesn’t mind too very much.

[nolongerwrites]

Lemme just repost this because my dumbass deleted it by accident a couple of weeks ago 💀

I know the lyrics are misplaced I’m too lazy to fix it rn

How to disappear

“Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard”

“I know he's in over his head”

“But I love that man like nobody can”

“He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again”

“I watched the guys getting high as they fight For the things that they hold dear”

“To forget the things they fearThis is how to disappear...”

It had been almost 4-5 years since you’d last seen him. Last you’d Seen the way he’d smile at you when you would walk in the room. The way you would wrap your arms around him from behind when you thought he least expected it, the way you’d cuddle up against him at night like it was the only way you could sleep, the addictive kisses you’d share when no one was watching.

Dazai and you were inseparable. Everyone in the port mafia knew you two were basically connected at the hip. They would talk about the way you two would sneak off and do god knows what when you were supposed to be working. But that was a long time ago. When he disappeared leaving only a note on what had happened and why he needed to leave, it felt as if your whole heart had been torn up to pieces and set on fire.

You were mad. Upset. Confused. Why didn’t he take you with him? Had everything you’d done together and the time spent with each other meant nothing?

You knew odasaku was his best friend but weren’t you also? It may have been selfish of you to think that way but After Dazai’s disappearance you fell into a deep state of depression. You became a completely different person from the way you carried yourself to the lack of sympathy for others. Everyone in the mafia stood clear of you even on assignments and in the halls of the mafias headquarters.

You killed without a second thought unlike before and It didn’t matter who it was you were interrogating, if they didn’t speak up the first time you tortured them until they spilt the info you were looking for only for you to kill them off brutally.

You had become one of the most dangerous and ruthless executives the mafia had, even chuuya wouldn’t try and mess with you.

“Cry on his shoulder 'cause life is hard”

“The waves came in over my head”

“What you been up to, my baby?”

“I haven't seen you 'round here lately “

Fast forward those painful years and here you were now, On your way to inspect a wear house down at the port that supposedly had some suspicious looking figures lurking around it.

Mori had assigned you to just take a look at take out anyone who didn’t look like his men. But

halfway there, as you were driving in one of the cars belonging to the mafia, you had gotten a call from chuuya.

You picked up your phone and answered it hoping it was just another assignment so you could go home and sleep. You were awfully exhausted.

“What’s up” you stated blankly as you turned a corner. “You might wanna come back. Mori specifically asked for you..” chuuya sounded like he was nervous to talk to you. More than normal. “I’m already half way there can’t he wait-“ you were cut off as chuuya called your name sternly.

“ we have a prisoner that needs to be interrogated, a former mafia member..” there was a pause on your end that racked his nerves to the core, yet he continued on.

“... you can probably take a guess who it is...” the car had stopped before he could even finish that sentence. Your grip on the steering wheel was insanely tight, you were surprised you hadn’t broke it already. Blank clouded eyes stared on into the empty road in front of you and as a few minutes past, you could hear chuuya clear his throat which prompted to snap you out of your daze.

“I’ll be right there.” Was all you said as you hung up and turned your car around. Something inside you said you knew exactly who it was

“All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't”

“You just crack another beer”

“And pretend that you're still here”

“This is how to disappear”

Your footsteps echoed through the hall with every slow step you took. You were full of every kind of emotion you could possibly feel. Your ability felt like it was going to erupt like a bird set free from its cage. With every new step you took, your body was telling you to go back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it. But this was the job you’ve devoted yourself to, and you weren’t going to back out now. Chuuya had warned everyone in the building before you got there so the halls were practically empty.

They’d heard the rumors about you and they didn’t dare cross your path in a situation like this. Before you knew it you were in front of the door to the dark, empty brick room used to interrogate.

You took a deep breath a few times in an attempt to calm the beast inside you. You counted to three before slowly opening the door to the room..Dazai stood there chained to the wall by his wrists, waiting for someone to walk in. Of course being dazai, he was singing some song about a double suicide. It had been a while since anyone had come down here. Worst case scenario, that short asshole Chuuya would come down and maybe give him a punch or two (or more likely try and kill him).

What he didn’t expect however, was to see your silhouette standing at the top of the stairs. The second he saw you standing there, in your black, ankle long skirt and grey ruffled blouse that slid off your shoulders exposing the skin of your collar bones and neck which was covered in black cloth like a choker, dazai felt his whole body freeze.

“This is how to disappear”

His eyes were wide with shock as you stepped foot by foot down the stairs. The black heels you were wearing clicked and echoed through the musty room. Before he knew it you were only about 3 feet in front of him.

You never lost eye contact with dazai even as you stopped directly in front of him. Nothing was said. The silence was deafening. It wasn’t until he let out a shaky breath and looked to the floor, that his smile from before returned. When he looked back up to you he could see the pain and mixed emotions behind those empty eyes.

The same eyes that would look at him lovingly the nights the both of them spent in his bed together. The same eyes that told him countless times that they’d loved him more than words could describe. The same eyes that had touched his heart like no other person could. It hurt him to see that they were so empty and clouded now. A distant gaze that would have him dead if looks could kill.

“Its been a while hasn’t it? You’ve gotten taller..” but before he could continue on about the things that had changed about you, His cheek felt like it was on fire. You were standing directly in front of him in a split second, hand colliding with his face as dark purple serpent created of smoke and poison manifested behind you standing almost 12 feet tall.

but it only stood there unmoving no matter how many times you commanded it to attack. Your hand colliding with his cheek again in a fit of rage.

Before he could even react, your knee reached his abdomen in a striking kick to the gut. Hit after hit, you kept going until you could no longer hold onto the pure raw emotion that was going through your head. And for the first time in years, Your grunting turned into sobs, and sobs into screams.

You hit him until your last punch was nothing more that a slight push. You felt weak. Tears had been streaming down onto your shirt and they wouldn’t stop. Dazai spit some blood on the floor before turning his gaze to you again. You were facing the floor as your body shook and trembled with every sob that wracked through you.

“‘it’s been a while’? ‘ITS BEEN A WHILE’??! Really dazai?! That’s ALL you have to say? After what you put me through after you left!? After everything we did?? That’s all you have to say..?!?”.

Dazais heart felt like it was shattering. When you looked back up to him he saw your puffy red eyes and face. The pain from your assaults were nothing compared to the look you were giving him as salty tears rolled down your cheeks. He said nothing.

Even as the blood from his head dripped onto the floor between you both. In almost a second, the chains and cuffed that kept him against the wall were broken and before you knew what had happened he enveloped you in what was literally was a bone crushing embrace.

You screamed and hit at him in an attempt to push him off you which only made him hold onto you tighter. The serpent faded away with his touch and disappeared into the air. You eventually stopped hitting him as your knees felt too weak to hold your body up.

You both dropped to the floor. Dazai did not once letting his grip slack, even as he carried all your weight. He buried his face into your hair as he rocked you back and forth with each cry you let out.

It wasn’t until you slowly put your hands on his back did you feel his own tears fall onto your shoulder. “I’m so sorry... I’m so so sorry...” dazais voice was barely a whisper in your ear. “I loved you so much dazai... I loved you more than anything... why didn’t you take me with you...?” you gripped his coat as you continued to cry in his arms.

“I’m sorry...”

“The California sun and the movie stars”

“I watched the skies getting light as I write As I think about those years”

“As I whisper in your ear”

“I'm always going to be right here”

“No one's going anywhere..”

[headfulloffantasies]

Mandalorian Rest Stop

Ao3

Din interacts with the Jedi children at Luke’s Jedi Academy.

My Kofi

Din’s ship sat just beyond the lush green gardens of Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Academy. At the hottest part of the day, all the students were inside the domed building working on their mystic arts or whatever. Din bent under the wing of his ship, trying to get at the stubborn panel in need of realignment.

“Dank Farrec,” Din cursed the rivet that refused to budge.

“Dank Farrec,” a small squeaky voice answered. Din straightened up so fast he slammed his helmet on the panel above him. He spun around. A small sticky child stared back at him.

“Dank Farrec,” the child repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Din said quickly. “It’s a bad word. Don’t say it.”

“Dank Farrec,” the child giggled.

“Where is your handler?” Din looked around. The Jedi Academy didn’t keep as close eye on its youngsters as Din’s Covert had, but he was pretty sure all the kids were supposed to be training. Hence why Din was fighting with rusty rivets on his ship instead of spending time with Grogu.

The child plopped down in the dirt and started playing with a leaf like they had no intention of moving any time soon.

Din crouched next to them. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere?”

The kid did not answer. They had dirt smeared over their rosy cheeks and something blue staining their hands. Din made no assumption about age, considering his own child had been alive longer than him. But if he had to guess, he supposed the little one was four or five.

“If I pick you up, will you scream?” Din asked.

The child responded by lifting their arms and making grabby hands.

Din scooped the child into his arms. They immediately stuck their dirty fingers to his chest plate, leaving blue smears behind. The child laughed at their own reflection in the armour.

Din heaved a sigh. “Okay, let’s give you back to the Jedi now.”

“I’m a Jedi,” the child informed Din.

“I’m a Mandalorian,” he answered.

The child nodded, completely sombre.

Din walked into the main learning building of the Jedi Academy. In the common room, Luke had a group of children practicing levitating blocks of wood.

“This one is yours,” Din dropped the child at Luke’s feet. They reached back for Din with sticky, grabby hands.

“There you are, Lana,” Luke smiled. “Did you have fun with the nice Mandalorian?”

Lana looked up into Luke’s face. “Dank Farrec!”

Luke’s expression turned brittle. Din buried his head in his hands.

“I didn’t do it,” Din said into the dark of his gloves. He lifted his head.

Luke bent to speak to Lana. “That’s not a nice phrase, honey. Let’s try something more polite, okay?”

Lana nodded, all sweetness and sugar again.

Din turned to leave. Something whizzed past his face and struck the back of his helmet. Din stumbled, caught off balance. He whipped around, hand on his blaster.

The wooden blocks the kids were lifting dropped, except for the one still circling Din’s head.

All of the kids laughed while a single boy’s eyes widened in fear. The block hit the ground. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. Din remembered his name was Holden.

Luke glanced between Din and Holden.

Din let out a shaky breath. “It’s alright. Don’t do it again.”

Holden nodded so hard Din thought he might hurt himself. Din waved good-bye to Luke and went back to fixing his ship.

Luke invited Din to join Grogu and the other students for an evening meal around a campfire on the lawn. Din declined, until Luke informed him Grogu was throwing a tantrum at not having his father’s attendance.

Din lifted his head to the stars and wondered what he’d done to deserve this. Actually, no, he deserved a lot worse for his actions. He could sit through a meal with some kids.

Din took it back after five minutes around the campfire. He’d rather face a mudhorn again than spend mealtimes around children. They shrieked and screamed every time the fire crackled. They held their cooking sticks over the fire and dropped more into the flames than they managed to eat. Lana somehow got condiments in her hair.

Din picked up Grogu. “Don’t be friends with her, okay? You already have too many bad habits.”

Grogu blinked at him and made bubbles. Prime example.

Din settled Grogu on his lap with a plate of some kind of sausage. He passed bite sized chunks of meat to his kid.

Luke came out of the dark and sat next to Din. “Not so bad, is it?”

Din made a non-committed grunt.

Holden, one of the older students, came bouncing over to Luke. “Will you tell us a campfire story?”

Luke laughed. “You’ve already heard all my stories.”

“Tell us about the Death Star,” a dark-haired kid named Ryan piped up. The other children shouted their dissent or agreement in equal measure.

“What about the Mandalorian?” A voice rose about the rest. “Tell us a story Mando!”

Din stiffened. The kids all quieted, settling to watch him with rapt hope. Even Luke turned to him with expectation.

Din shuffled Grogu in his lap. “I don’t know any campfire stories.”

“You must know some stories,” Luke suggested. “A Mandalorian story?”

“Only the story of the Mythosaur,” Din said. The kids waited in a hush. Din sighed. In a stilted tone he told them the myth of how the first Mandalorians tamed the great creatures and used them to defeat their enemies. He arrived at the end of the tale to complete silence. Din flushed under his helmet.

“I’m not much of a storyteller,” he admitted.

“Tell us another!” Ryan demanded. He waved a cup of blue bantha milk and spilled half of it on the ground. “Tell us a bounty hunting story.”

Din looked to Luke for permission. The Jedi smiled his encouragement.

Din racked his brains. “One time,” he started. “I hunted a man to the edges of the Great Green Swamp.” Din let the tale unfold off his tongue. He outlined the perilous trek through the treacherous marshes, the harrowing escapes from the various wild beasts, and the shootout once Din finally found his man.

He paused there. Din realised telling the children that he’d killed the man probably was not a good idea. The kids all stared at Din. They looked ready to leap out of their seats.

“What happened to him?” Lana’s huge eyes bored into Din’s visor.

Din closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “He lived a very happy life,” Din squeaked. “He did not fall into any swamp pits or drown at all.”

“Right,” Luke clapped his hands together. “Dessert and then bed.”

Din took Grogu back to the ship for the night. In the quiet of their berth, Din removed his helmet. “No more campfires, okay?”

Grogu only snuggled into Din’s neck and let out a snore. Din decided that was a yes.

Din woke to a scuffling noise. His eyes snapped open. Grogu sat up on Dins’ chest, making cooing noises at the door. Din turned his head. The sounds got closer. He reached for his helmet.

The door whooshed open. Din slammed the helmet over his face.

Three tiny faces screamed. Grogu screamed back.

Din jumped out of bed. The kids scrambled backwards. He recognised Holden, Ryan, and the newest student, Trystan.

“Sorry! We didn’t mean to-,” Holden started.

“Is this where Grogu sleeps?” Ryan demanded. Trystan cowered behind Holden’s back.

Din stared at the intruders. He was very aware he was wearing only his flight suit and all his armour and weapons sat stacked across the room. His feet were bare.

“What are you doing here?” He finally managed to ask.

Ryan screwed up his face. “Do you sleep wearing that?” He pointed at Din’s helmet.

“I asked you a question,” Din snapped.

Ryan had enough wherewithal to drop his gaze. He scuffed a boot on the floor. “We wanted to see Grogu.”

Grogu babbled from the bed at the sound of his name. Din put one hand on his tiny head without looking away from the boys.

“How did you get on the ship? I locked the doors.”

Holden and Ryan exchanged a look. “We used the Force.”

Din’s brain became a screen of static. He really hated the Force some days.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.

The boys nodded. “I’m sorry,” Holden said again.  

Din sighed. “Does Luke- Master Skywalker know you’re here?”

All three boys shook their heads and wouldn’t look at Din.

“Go tell him what you’ve been up to,” Din pointed towards the ship’s ramp. The boys scampered away.

Din closed the door behind them.

Grogu whined. Din looked down at him. “What are the chances there’s such a thing as Force proof locks?”

 Luke planned an expedition to the top of a mountain as a Jedi exercise. Din approved wholeheartedly that most of the kids had too much energy and needed to run it out. He wished Luke luck.

Luke pressed his lips together. “I was asking if you would come with us. I would appreciate having someone with survival skills around in case we run into trouble.”

Din sighed in the privacy of his helmet. “I am not carrying anyone up a mountain. Least of all you,” he said.

Luke grinned. “Did I ever tell you about my Master Yoda?”

They made it to the top of the mountain with only mild complaining from the Jedi students. For this exercise Luke decided only to bring his oldest students. Tami, Holden, and Jameson trekked after their Master with Din bringing up the rear.

Tami tended to bolt off the path after whatever caught her eye. Jameson was easy to keep track of because of his bright red hair. Holden stayed as far as he could get from Din for the entire trip.

When they reached the peak, Luke decided they all needed to meditate. Each kid went off a little way and chose a spot to sit quietly. Din did a quick perimeter check to stave off the boredom. He came back through the trees and noticed Jameson had chosen to sit at the very edge of the mountain’s sheer drop.

“We’re getting awfully close to the edge here,” Din said as he came up behind Jameson.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jameson answered.

A rumbled echoed up from the ground. Jameson snapped wide eyes to Din.

The ground buckled under Din’s boots. Din had a split second to act. He snatched up the kid and tossed him hard. Jameson hit solid ground just as the edge of the cliff gave.

Din fell. He tumbled end over end.

He activated his grappling line. The grapple caught on the cliffside. The jolt at the end of the rope nearly pulled Din’s arm from its socket. Din swung hard back towards the rockface. Din slammed into the rock. Something in his shoulder popped. Din couldn’t bite back the shout of pain. Lightning raced from his shoulder to his fingertips. Din ground his teeth past the nauseating pain. He hung suspended by his ruined arm over the thirty-foot drop. Din forced himself to take several deep breaths.

Din reached for the cliffside with his good arm. Every little movement sent another shock of agony through his shoulder. Din managed to cling to the rockface. He scrambled and found a footing. The sheer relief of taking the pressure off his shoulder almost made Din sob.

He looked up. The crumbled edge of the cliff seemed miles away. How on earth he was going to climb up there with only one arm, Din didn’t know.

A sound caught in Din’s ears. He looked down. Luke scrambled at the bottom of the cliff. Din wondered how he got down there so fast without breaking his neck.

Luke waved his arms and shouted. Din couldn’t understand him.

Luke closed his eyes and lifted his hands. Something pulled at Din’s grip on the cliffside. Din panicked and clutched harder. The energy tugged at him gently.

“Don’t!” Din shouted.

Luke either didn’t hear him or ignored him. The Force pried Din from the cliffside. Din flailed in midair. He felt cradled in something firm as beskar, but so obviously insubstantial as a cloud. Din’s heart skipped at the sight of nothing but air between himself and the ground so far below. Slowly, Din descended down to Luke’s level. Luke released Din gently on his feet. Din swayed and almost collapsed.

Luke grabbed Din by his shoulders. Din groaned.

“You’re hurt,” Luke’s eyes widened. “I can help.”

“Don’t,” Din tried to push him away. “I can take care of it-.”

Luke unbuckled Din’s pauldron unfairly fast. Luke eased the shoulder armour off with surprising gentleness. He braced his hands over the dislocated joint.

Din reminded himself to breath.

Luke wrenched the shoulder back into the socket. Din swallowed his shout. The moment the pain passed, relief flooded Din’s veins. The awful strain in his muscles relaxed.

“Thank you,” Din said.

“You saved Jameson’s life,” Luke said quietly.

“You would have done the same,” Din answered.

Luke laughed. “I’d be a bloody streak on the cliffside if I’d tried that.” He surveyed Din with his earnest blue eyes. “The Force moves around you, Din Djarin.”

 Luke insisted Din join the students for dessert after dinner that night. Din arrived in the mess hall holding his injured arm in a sling. Grogu didn’t like it. Din’s heart twisted at the sight of his son trying to wiggle out of Luke’s grasp to heal Din.

Din reached over and pinched Grogu’s ear. “Eat your cake. I’m okay, ad’ika.”

“What does that mean?” Lana’s tiny face popped up next to Din’s knee. “Ad’ika. What does it mean?”

“It’s Mando’a for son or daughter,” Din explained.

Lana huffed in disappointment. Cleary she’d hoped for more swear words. She stomped away.

Luke’s eyes danced in the light from the lamps. “You’re very good with kids, Din.”

“Am not,” Din answered. He pointed to his son dribbling cake frosting on Luke’s cloak. “This one doesn’t listen to anything I say.”

Something crashed into Din’s back. Din twisted, wrenching his shoulder painfully. Stick thin arms wrapped around Din’s chest from behind. Jameson’s teary face came into focus leaning on Din’s armour.

“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” Jameson hiccupped. “When you went over the edge, I thought you died.”

Din carefully reached around to pat Jameson on his bright red hair. “I’m alright. So are you.”

Jameson nodded. He extricated himself from Din and wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

Din didn’t know what else to say. “Do you want some cake?”

He held out the slice Luke had politely put in front of him even knowing he wouldn’t eat it.

Jameson shook his head. He sniffed and then waved and rejoined the group of boys playing a game at the other table.

Din looked over at Luke to ask what on earth had just happened.

Luke gave him a smirk. “The kids like you.”

“I saved his life, he better like me,” Din grumbled half-hearted.

“You’ve become like a weird uncle to half these kids.”

Din blinked behind his visor. “I’m weird? They have magic mind powers!”

[ohlawsons]

i played the fool (you played the martyr)

summary: As with everything else between her and Theron, there’s always been a back-and-forth, a push-and-pull, a predictable wobble in their unsteady orbit around each other.  or; Nathema throws some things into question and throws others into sharp focus. Maybe this is a conversation that's long overdue. pairing: Rei/Theron word count: 4659 notes: back on my bullshit with 4k words of chaotic bisexuals

***

Countless things flash through Rei’s mind as Theron falls, but her foremost thought is that she’s glad he’ll be too focused on the pain — if he’s even still conscious — to pay attention to her, because she really doesn’t think he’ll appreciate the things she has planned for Vinn Atrius.

(She recognizes his voice, now, from that first transmission they’d caught back on Odessen, months ago when this had all begun. She’d crushed the holocomm as the message replayed, using the Force to reduce it to mangled metal and a shower of sparks. They were going to find him — the Zakuulan, not Theron; she hadn’t yet acknowledged out loud that Theron was no longer on Odessen — and she’d announced to the war room that she was going to end him in a variety of painful ways.

Lana had been the only one present who hadn’t flinched.)

It’s been nearly six months since Umbara, six months since she’d held back Lana and watched Theron and Zaara walk away. Six months of galaxy-wide broadcasts and half-hearted warnings that she would be bringing him back to Odessen — alive —  and six months of carefully nurtured rage and grief and confusion held tight in her chest, growing and festering until a moment like this, a moment where she has somewhere to focus all of this pain and uncertainty.

But she forces that from her mind, for now. T’sereen kneels beside Theron, and Rei knows the former Jedi will do everything in her power to keep him alive; even as Rei stalks towards Atrius, even as she rips the saber from his hands and reaches out to force him to his knees, she can sense as T’sereen begins healing Theron. It’s enough — just as it will need to be enough when she clinches her hands tight, grasping onto Atrius with the Force and gripping, pulling, tugging.

She wants to take her time. She’s Sith, after all, and she’s furious — hands shaking, eyes alight with a ocher burn, the darker edges of the Force wrenched and shaped through her will alone — and she’s spent so long planning this moment, waiting and wishing and wanting, debating the very best way to express all these months of equal parts bitterness and despair.

But Theron would protest, if he were in any shape to protest rather than out cold on the ground behind her, so instead Rei continues to pull, and with one last effort to expend all her pent up energy there’s release and the sundered halves of Atrius’ armor-clad body clatter to the ground.

She suspects Theron would still protest.

But it doesn’t matter. Lana and Zaara are already rushing past her to the console, but Rei almost can’t find it within herself to care; the grief she’s so studiously built up over the months is gone, and its sudden loss leaves her exhausted and swaying on her feet. She joins T’sereen, stands just behind her and watches as the Jedi works, cursing beneath her breath as her hands move over the wound on Theron’s chest.

“He’ll live,” is all she says at first, before standing without warning and hoisting Theron up with her, beginning to carry him back out of the ruins. “I need to get him back to the med bay on the ship. Go save the galaxy,” she adds, jerking her head towards the console.

Rei watches as they leave, eyes trailing them a moment longer than she knows is necessary; letting out a slow breath, she turns back to where Lana and Zaara are now focused on tearing the systems apart, and Rei lets electricity begin to spark and crackle along her fingertips.

 ***

 She doesn’t leave him alone once they’re back on the ship, maintaining a stubborn watch over him in the medbay even as Lana needles her about putting together an official statement for Odessen and T’sereen shoos her away, fussing over Theron with a combination of kolto and her own Force healing abilities. Andronikos joins her, too, letting Zaara take the helm so he can sit with Rei instead of sleeping.

“For what it’s worth,” he says after T’sereen leaves to get some sleep of her own, “this isn’t as bad as you were after Thanaton. That was…” he pauses, and there’s a ragged edge to the words even after all these years. “You looked a lot worse than this. And you still pulled through, even with those ghosts toying with you.”

Rei doesn’t bother turning from Theron. “The ghosts kept me alive,” she reminds Andronikos, aware her tone has slipped into something akin to a pout; she figures she’s entitled to a bit of pouting, really, given the way things have gone recently.

“Sort of.” Another pause. “We didn’t have a Jedi, either.”

The way he shrugs as he says it — as nonchalant as anything — is enough to pull a tired grin from Rei. She rests her head on his shoulder and stays there, content with just his presence, until he leaves to take the helm again and Lana’s back, asking about statements and the Alliance’s official stance on the incident; she’ll humor Lana, Rei decides, and makes an honest effort to type something up but she can’t focus, not really, not with Theron lying so still before her.

They arrive on Odessen long before Rei can muster up anything substantial, so she passes off the datapad to Lana and follows as Theron is taken to the base’s clinic to be looked over by Yvara and the other doctors. It takes more than one pointed threat to keep them from throwing Rei out of the clinic entirely; she gives them space, at least, and paces at the far end of the room while T’sereen relays details of the injury and the treatment she’d already given.

When Yvara finally gives the all-clear — “He’s stable, but he needs time. Do not let him leave this room when he wakes,” is all she says before leaving — Rei takes up the same post as in the ship; she pulls up a chair and settles in, scrolling aimlessly through a datapad despite her attention remaining fully on Theron.

She hasn’t worked out how to feel, not yet; she’d never fully accepted that Theron was even gone, to begin with — as she’d pointed out in the first broadcast after Umbara, everyone who has ever betrayed her is dead — and a hollow ache settles in her chest whenever she allows herself to consider any similar course of action for dealing with Theron.

It couldn’t be betrayal, then, as she’d told Lana for all those months, even as her remaining spymaster repeatedly showed that all evidence pointed to the contrary — until things had begun to unravel, and hints and messages and breadcrumbs began to reveal themselves.

(Lana had refused to see it, all the way up until Copero, and that’s when Rei realized just how hard Lana was taking the betrayal, as well. There was a bond between her and Theron and Zaara, one that went back to Manaan all those years ago, and Rei knew it wasn’t easy to have that bond broken by them both at once.

But then Raina came waltzing onto Odessen with decrypted messages from Zaara that used a code their team had only used when deep undercover, one that only Raina and Lokin could decrypt and, well, Raina was the only one left living. She knew her wife, Raina insisted with more fire and certainty than Odessen had seen since Umbara, and she knew the messages were deliberate. Zaara and Theron weren’t traitors, not really. Not in the truest since of the word.

But Rei thinks it’s that revelation that hurt Lana the most, learning that she had somehow lost the trust of her two closest friends.)

It doesn’t feel good, being right.

Hope and grief and anger have left a hollowed out pit in her stomach, it seems, from holding on to them so tightly for so long, but it doesn’t matter because it’s over. He’s back. He’s back, and yet something dark still roils within her mind, because once again this careful back-and-forth dance between them has a looming obstacle — like on Rishi, on Yavin, on Ziost — that she’d made the mistake of assuming was over once they’d reunited on Odessen.

It isn’t opposite sides of the war, this time, not really. She would tear down the galaxy for him, collapse the stars and ignite the planets; it’s her way, it’s in her nature, because all she’s ever known is to fight.

But Theron — he would save the galaxy for her, fight until his last breath to hold it together with his own bare hands, if need be; that’s his nature, isn’t it, to stand in the way of a blaster or a saber — or a god — because while he isn’t a Jedi he shares too many of their damnable values, Rei thinks, and hasn’t that always been the problem standing between them?

Maybe they could both learn to be a little less reckless, but that hasn’t ever been in either of their natures.

She watches the steady, shallow rise and fall of his chest, the raw bruising around his implant, the dark circles beneath his eyes; for a moment, equal parts rage and satisfaction bubble up within her at the memory of, quite literally, tearing apart the man responsible, but it’s quickly replaced by guilt that churns uncomfortably within her mind — because while this isn’t her fault, it easily could’ve been. As with everything else between her and Theron, there’s always been a back-and-forth, a push-and-pull, a predictable wobble in their unsteady orbit around each other.

They both act without thinking, they rush forward, spurred on by gut feeling and base emotion. She leave destruction in her wake, and he follows behind to clean up the mess and protect her from the fallout of her own actions. Maybe he would disagree — she knows he would disagree — but Rei can’t help but wonder if this would’ve still happened if she were a little more cautious, a little less brash, someone that Theron could’ve trusted this sort of delicate mission to.

But then, she thinks, quiet fondness causing her lips to curl into a soft grin, he was hardly delicate about the mission, either, given the way he leapt into the heart of the cult.

He’d never asked her to be anything but who she already was — and she could be so much, at times, she knew — and Rei doesn’t think she could ask Theron to change, either.

She knows what she signed up for.

 ***

 He stirs later that night, and Rei immediately has to reach over to keep him from trying to sit up; she suspects that he would’ve given up rather quickly even without her intervention, if the grimace of pain is anything to go by. She sets her datapad aside, one hand reaching for his before she withdraws; unease and uncertainly settles over her and she hesitates, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Ow.” He doesn’t try sitting again, but does turn his head just enough to look in Rei’s direction.

“We’re going to have matching scars now,” she informs him, matter-of-fact, brow raising as she glances over him again; the twisted, gnarled scar tissue that crosses her own torso — a gift from her first fight with Thanaton — is a bit messier than Theron’s will be, she suspects, once it heals enough to be a scar. “Though I think yours will heal better.”

He starts to laugh, but the sound quickly gives way to a sharp intake of breath as his grimace returns. “Glad to hear it. Are we back on Odessen?”

“We are. Are you here to stay?” The question comes out more quickly than Rei had wanted, more callous and point-blank than she’d planned, but she doesn’t take it back; she’s been in the dark for too long, spent too many nights alone with nothing but her uncertainty for company. He owes her this one thing, she thinks, just one answered question to atone for six months of lies and reckless deception.

Theron looks away, just for a moment, a few seconds of silence before he reaches for her; it’s nothing but a hint of motion, just one hand creeping to the edge of the medical bed he’s on, but Rei understands and gingerly takes his hand in one of her own. “Yes,” he says, slowly, just as delicately as the way they cling to each other, “if you’ll have me. All I want is to come back to the Alliance. Here.” A beat of silence. “With you.”

He’s watching her with a careful, reserved gaze, as if he doesn’t expect her to say yes, and somehow that cuts Rei as deeply as when he’d left in the first place. She wonders if it’s the pain or the meds, or if he really believes that she cares so little for him that she would toss him aside.

As if she could.

“Yes, of course,” she says, swallowing back the way his doubt stings and making a show of rolling her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, if you’re not. And if you are—“ she pauses and leans forward, giving his hand the slightest squeeze, “—then take me with you next time.” He starts to argue but she shakes her head; they aren’t ready for this sort of conversation, not now, not when he’s still too weak to even sit up on his own. “Focus on healing, and we can have this fight later. But I want you to know, Theron, that I love you. So completely and deeply that I… I don’t even know how to make sense of it.” She pauses, places a second hand over his; her voice stays steady, but her chest burns with the intensity of the words, the staggering depth of the way she feels about it. About him. With a slow exhale, she forces a carefully measured grin. “Really, it’s cute that you think a little betrayal is enough to get rid of me.”

He says nothing, at first, but his cautious grip on Rei’s hand tightens and she wonders if she didn’t say the wrong thing, opting for a bit of levity to break up the heavy moment. But then he smiles — it’s slow, and hesitant, and almost bitter — and when he speaks his tone is tired. “The last thing I wanted was to push you away. If there had been some other way…” He lets out a slow breath, releases her hand. “I didn’t have a choice. For the Alliance, for you…”

The words trail off again and Rei can tell Theron’s fighting exhaustion — or the meds, or both — so she slides her hand back and stands, grabbing her discarded datapad and clutching it in a grip so tight she worries it’ll crack. “Rest,” she chides, taking a step back; if she doesn’t leave now, she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to leave his side at all. “I’ll get Yvara. And I’ll be waiting — after she clears you and you’re released. No sneaking out of here early.”

That, at least, earns her a tired smile, and she pauses in the doorway and watches as Theron’s eyes flutter shut; all the months of bitterness and uncertainty seem so trivial, now that he’s back, and something like resolve — like certainty — settles warm within her bones and she’s happy, she thinks, for the first time in what feels like years.

 ***

 She doesn’t avoid him, not necessarily, but the next several days pass in a flurry of frantic activity that leave little time for her to visit.

Rei, Lana, and Beywan work to put together an official statement, first in a quiet memo circulated through the Alliance, then to lengthy reports passed to their Imperial and Republic ambassadors; Arcann takes the liberty of smoothing things over with the rest of Zakuul, but when Rei tries to thank him he waves off the attention — something about knowing Theron and Zaara need people on their side.

Zaara, for her part, seems in a better mood than Rei has ever seen her, walking hand in hand with Raina throughout the base. Theron’s recovery has gone well, to the point where Rei knows Yvara has had to threaten — more than once — to cuff Theron to the bed if he continues to try and bargain his way out of the clinic. She wishes she could visit, more than the handful of times she’s dropped by since their return, but she’s hardly had time to even sleep with as busy as she’s been.

After working to convince the rest of the galaxy that Theron and Zaara had been working under Odessen’s orders — something made infinitely easier by the fact that Rei left them alive, in stark contrast to the long list of others who had betrayed her and faced swift retribution — there were the continued attempts from both Empress Acina and Chancellor Rans to sway the Alliance in their favor, as well as the increasingly worrisome rumors that renewed war looms on the horizon, all punctuated by the stream of reports highlighting the galaxy’s worsening resource shortage. Rei doesn’t mind politics, far from it, but even the verbal sparring with Acina and blunt threats towards Rans grow tiresome, these days.

She misses Theron’s official discharge from the clinic, and only learns about it after an impossibly long day spent in meetings and on calls and trying to wrap her mind around the logistics of working enough farmland to feed the entirety of the Alliance; on a different day, she might have stormed through the base to demand answers, to demand the reason that she wasn’t alerted as soon as he was released. But tonight, she’s not in the mood to fight with anyone, so instead she drags her tired feet through the base towards her quarters — their quarters — only to find them empty.

It doesn’t take her long to find him; it’s late enough that Odessen is growing quiet, and by now Rei knows Theron well enough to have a good idea of the handful of places he’ll sneak off to when he needs a moment to himself. She finds him at the back of the base, leaning against the railing of one of the walkways that leads down to the shallow valley where she and Zaara both tend to land their ships. It’s peaceful, down here, tucked away just out of sight of the hanger bay where the Gravestone used to sit.

Rei doesn’t bother to announce her presence. She stands beside him, hands clasped behind her back as she joins him in surveying the valley that sprawls out before them; Theron acknowledges her with a quick glance, but even just that is enough for Rei to see that his movements are still stiff. “Out early on good behavior?” she asks lightly, brow raising as she suppresses a grin.

“Something like that.” His white-knuckled grip on the railing loosens, but the rest of his posture remains rigid, tense. “Guess I just needed some time to get my thoughts together.”

There’s a comfortable silence, then — at least, it’s comfortable enough for Rei, but beside her Theron is still impossibly still; she reaches for one of his hands, steps closer until she’s pressed against his side, warm and solid and real. She isn’t very good at providing comfort, but she can be here, and that’s something. “How did this all even happen?” she asks after a moment, the words more curious than accusatory, eyes locked on their joined hands as her fingers intertwine with his. “How long before Iokath were you scheming?” She tilts her head up, brow raised and lips curled into a mischievous smirk.

“In my defense, things got a little out of hand.”

“Mhmm.”

“An old contact of mine got me some leads,” he says, finally beginning to relax beside her; Rei wonders if it’s her presence or the chance to finally speak freely about it all. “I didn’t expect anything to come of it, but next thing I knew I was staring at a way in with the Order.”

“The mysterious Iokath intel,” she guesses.

He nods. “I knew I could convince you to send a team to investigate, and had to hope the Empire and Republic would do the same.” He pauses, frowning, and when he speaks again he sounds a bit sheepish for the first time. “That’s… when Zaara found out. She’s still got friends in Sith Intelligence, and apparently I didn’t cover my tracks as well as I’d thought. But I wanted to make sure I had something substantial before I turned it over to the rest of the Alliance.” Another pause, this time to glance back out over the valley, and when he speaks again his voice is rough. “There was just too much going on to waste time and people on a dead end, but… guess I didn’t really help with the personnel issues.”

Rei shifts her weight, gives a noncommittal wave of her free hand. “There’s always personnel issues. I’ve been dealing with them since long before Odessen. What about the trap on Iokath?” She doesn’t think she really wants to know, but she needs to, doesn’t she? Maybe it doesn’t matter, but she’s tired of not knowing.

“Zaara’s idea.” The simple statement comes out on a rough sigh, slow but not quite hesitant. “Atrius’ plan — I didn’t know it was him, at the time — was for you to get caught in the crossfire. Zaara pointed out it might look… suspicious, if the Alliance came out so far ahead, and I had just enough time to…” He doesn’t say it, doesn’t admit that he was the one to rig the trap that knocked Rei out cold, but the words still hang between them, unsaid. “Atrius assumed you’d make a run for the weapon and try to secure it for the Alliance, but none of us expected you to get so creative about it. Or lucky.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone at that point?” Again, she’s careful to keep her voice even, not too sharp. Not too frustrated.

Theron’s frustration, however, is plain in his tone. “We didn’t even get to meet Atrius in person until after Iokath, which is when we realized that Gemini droid was in our systems. I couldn’t report it at that point. Not without tipping off the Order.” He pauses, jaw working, eyes focused on something off in the distance. “So we met with him, and he told us about the Adegan crystals and Umbara, and… there was no going back.”

She doesn’t ask for details about Umbara.

“So…” He lets out a long, slow breath, turning back to Rei. “Where do we go from here?”

She tilts her head, considers; it’s been a long day, and a longer evening, but she certainly feels as if she’s gotten the answers she’d needed. “To bed, I’d hope,” she decides, giving the slightest tug on their still-joined hands. “It’s been a very long day and I’m very tired of sleeping alone.”

“Just like that?” His brow furrows and his expression shifts to one that’s not quite suspicious.

Rei frowns, fighting back a yawn. “Would you rather we have a big fight about this?” she deadpans. “What you did was stupid and reckless, but you and I both know I’m the last person who should be criticizing rash decisions.” Exhaustion finally gets the better of her and she yawns before continuing, “I’m tired and I miss you, and I honestly do not care about anything else. I just want to move past it.”

“Just like that.” There’s fondness in his voice, now, and even as Rei tries to lead them back to their quarters, Theron pulls her back towards him into an embrace, but even as he wraps his arms around her he’s gentle, hesitant — and she can’t tell if it’s his injury or his guilt that makes him so cautious, even now. “I’m sorry. For all of this. I’ve missed you, too, and I love you, so much, and…” A catch of his breath, a quiet, shaky laugh. “And I really don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t let me back in.”

She doesn’t respond, not right away, simply content to be held. But then she pulls away, just enough to look up at Theron — at the way he stares at her like she’s the best damn thing to ever happen to him, which isn’t fair, not really, not with the way it makes her heart thrum erratic in her chest even after all this time — and the glib remark she’d had prepared falls unspoken from her lips. “You’re stuck with me,” she says instead, beaming up at him, because it feels right — him, and this moment, and Odessen, all of it.

She would tear the galaxy apart for him, and he would piece it back together for her. And maybe that’s enough, for now.

[keldae]

These Dreams Of You

could be considered a follow-up to this.

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He’s in his apartment on Coruscant -- a place he hasn’t set foot in for almost a year. This feeling of warm comfort, of languidly rolling over in his bed, is one that he’s almost forgotten about entirely. He frowns -- why does this feel so strange?

But then he sees her in his bed next to him, curled up on her side, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. He smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose, and for a second, everything feels perfect -- or almost perfect, anyway. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle.

“Theron.” How does her voice make his name sound so good? She smiles at his caresses, all but purring. “I miss this.”

“I miss you,” Theron whispers, and wonders where that thought came from. How could something be wrong in this moment of blissful comfort?

Xaja shifts slightly, her smile fading. Theron can feel the tendrils of dark, painful grief snaking back into this moment before she speaks again. “I need you, Theron. Please…”

“How could you need me?” Theron reaches to caress her cheek, frowning. “You’re--” You’re dead, floats through his mind, and now he remembers why this doesn’t feel right, and he wishes he could forget it again.

Fear flickers through Xaja’s eyes as she seems to shrink under his hand. “Theron, hurry, please. He’s… he’s hurting me again...”

“What? Who’s hurting you?” Theron tries to grab her shoulder, and panics when his hand goes right through her like she’s made of mist. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know…” Her voice is quiet, but he can’t tell if that’s because she’s fading away from him, or if it’s due to the tears he can hear her trying to hold back. He desperately reaches for her again as she cries out for him, as the apartment around them suddenly grows dark and terrible. He can hear a cruel laugh in the background, one that reminds him too vividly of Yavin IV and Ziost. “Theron, help me, please!”

With a ragged gasp, Theron jerked himself upward, for a second panicking until he recognized his surroundings. This wasn’t Coruscant… this was the sketchy back-alley hovel he’d taken up residence in on Zakuul, deep in the Old World where the Knights weren’t likely to look for an offworld spy. The narrow bed he laid on was cold, sheets strewn in all directions from his restless movements. And when he reached his hand out to where Xaja should have been at his side, he felt nothing but a hard mattress and a cold, painful grief.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Over two years after Xaja’s murder at Zakuul’s hands, and the grief hadn’t eased at all. If anything, his nightmares about her were getting more and more vivid. He wasn’t sure yet if this was better or worse than the ones he’d been having previously, the ones where his overactive brain decided to imagine what her final moments alone before her death had been like.

At least being alone in the dark as he was, with only Tee-Seven for company, there was no one to witness the tears on his unshaven cheeks, or the shuddering of his hunched shoulders as he tried to smother the grief again. He balefully frowned at the chronometer on his ocular display -- two in the morning, local time. He had a feeling he wouldn't be going back to sleep tonight, not with the lingering fear and grief drowning him.

"These dreams of you are gonna drive me mad," he finally mumbled as he wiped a hand over his eyes and took a shaky breath. He'd all but given up meditating, given how the Force seemed to have drop kicked him over the last couple of years, but maybe trying again now would calm him down after the nightmare. Leaving the bed, he knelt in front of the window that looked out over the Eternal Swamp beyond the city walls. He then closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried settling into the patterns Master Zho had taught him. In, and out… in, and out… in, and out--

Help me, Theron. Please!

Theron swore and flopped onto his back as Xaja's voice whispered in the back of his mind. "Never mind," he groaned, "I've already gone mad." When he had said he would have done anything to hear Xaja speak to him again, he hadn't meant being haunted into insanity by dreams of her. It shouldn't have been you. It should never have been you…

"Fuck, I miss you," he brokenly whispered to the empty air above him. "I want you back." He bitterly snorted. "Why can't I hallucinate you lying beside me where you belonged?" If this was the Force's way of giving her back to him in some form, it was a cruel comfort. He was pretty sure this counted as proof that the Force hated him personally.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt tears trickling down his skin again. A low hum emitted from the corner -- no doubt Tee-Seven offering his concern -- but he couldn’t respond. He could only shake his head. "I need you back, Xaja. Never should’ve let you go to begin with. This just... hurts too much without you." He took in a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do without you here."

So much for not getting attached, he thought with a snort of sarcastic amusement. He tried to tell himself to not risk it with the pretty Jedi during their time together on Rishi or Yavin IV, and that was even during happier times when she had still lived, a bright spot in his galaxy. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother down his grief and tried to think about something else… anything that had the hope of getting his mind off of Xaja, his dreams of her, and the regrets he carried with him.

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

Hours later, as he was sipping a mug of lukewarm caf and scowling at his datapad, he gave a start at Tee-Seven’s sudden beep of warning. The droid’s sensors had picked up someone walking down the alley toward Theron’s cramped residence -- someone walking quietly, but not exactly sneaking about. Frowning, Theron got to his feet, setting the caf down and reaching for his blaster. No one should have known he was here; no one had reason to be knocking on his door, the raps echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

Cautiously, Theron cracked the door open -- and a second later, wasn’t sure if he was relieved his visitor wasn’t one of Marcus’ operatives coming to track him down, or more uneasy that this was an Imperial asset looking him in the eye. “Nine,” he sighed, easing his grip on his blaster. Cipher Nine might be a notorious sociopath and an infamous Imperial spy, but Theron was at least reasonably sure that the old man wasn’t here to end him. If Reanden Taerich had wanted him dead, he could have killed him easily enough on Nar Shaddaa last year.

“You’re a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?” Reanden dryly said by way of greeting, shifting his hands into his jacket pockets. The older spy’s hair had gotten more grey in the last three years, and there were new lines on his face, but those calculating dark eyes were still as sharp and piercing as ever.

“Apparently still too easy,” Theron grumbled. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. What the blazes had Cipher-kriffing-Nine been looking for him for? He settled for a direct approach. “What brings you out here?”

Reanden paused, dark eyes glancing to the alley for a moment. “That’s a conversion best not had out here,” he finally said, his voice low. “You mind?”

Barely keeping from rolling his eyes, Theron stepped back to allow the old man inside. His tone was acerbic as he gestured to the shabby room. "Make yourself at home." The door was secured behind him.

Turning, he watched Reanden survey the one-room apartment with its scarce furnishings, lazily shrugging one shoulder. "I've seen worse," the old spy as he sat in the one chair in the room. Somewhat surprised to not hear a snarky comment from the old timer, Theron found himself sitting on the bed as Tee-Seven started happily beeping upon recognizing their visitor. Even more surprising, he watched as the elder man patted the droid’s chassis with something approaching affection. "So this is where you ended up."

"Busted him off Coruscant when I left," Theron shrugged casually. "He was being wasted in a military hangar."

"Same time you took the Serenity?" Reanden offered a tired smirk as Theron started. "Heard about that through the vine."

"... Xaja would have hated her ship being left to rust in a hangar," Theron protested, for a second certain that the old man was ready to tear him a new one for stealing -- no, liberating -- his late daughter’s starship.

"She would have," Reanden agreed, his voice quiet, sombre, and definitely not the verbal fight Theron had been expecting. “Definitely the Corellian in her.” 

Theron frowned as the old spy looked down at his hands, the normal snarky demeanour fading into a familiar heartache. “You didn’t sneak onto Zakuul for a social call, old timer,” he finally said. “And you definitely didn’t drop in to catch up with me.”

“Bite me, kid,” Reanden muttered, glaring up at Theron for a second before seemingly standing down and sighing. “There’s a lot of people searching for your hide in particular, but, no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here on unrelated business -- only just figured out you were onworld about two hours ago.”

“And you tracked me down because…?”

“Because I figured you’d have a personal interest in this.” Reanden unflinchingly met Theron’s gaze when the younger spy frowned in confusion at him. “Sorand… has a theory that he’s asked me to look into, and I believe Lana will only be a couple of steps behind me on this.”

A personal interest for Theron that Cipher Nine would be involved with… and on Zakuul…? Maybe, he thought, the old man had an idea to kill Arcann directly for what he’d done to Xaja. And Darth Imperius was clever, with his own reasons to hate Zakuul -- perhaps father and son had figured out a plan. Or had Korin gotten into something? “What’s up? You find some sort of a vulnerability in that half-metallic bastard?”

“Not yet.” Reanden opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, paused, then shook his head. “What do you know about Force bonds, kid?”

Theron frowned in confusion. This was not where he’d expected this conversation to go. “Not a lot. Connections that form between Force-users, usually people close to each other.”

“Like a student and their teacher; a parent and child,” Reanden slowly agreed, “or siblings.” Theron felt his frown deepen as the older man looked at him. “Sorand had... formed a bond with Xaja, presumably some time during the Revanite incident. He’s been having intermittent dreams since…well, since the attack; they’ve been getting more intense over the past few months.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic sign of anxiety that Theron wasn’t used to seeing from him. The next statement left in a rush: “He believes there’s a chance that Xaja might have survived the attack. He suspects that if she's still alive, she’s probably on Zakuul, and she's in some sort of danger that he can't identify.”

For a second, Theron felt hope flare within his chest, his heart in his throat -- then reality kicked back in, and he felt his shoulders slump. “Dreams? If dreams were real, Taerich, I’d be piloting a Hutt pleasure barge overrun with gizka. The only dreams coming true now are nightmares.” He blindly gestured with one hand toward the wall, and the Spire beyond it, as if to prove his point. "You saw those reports of what happened to Marr’s fleet. There's no chance she made it."

"He swears up and down that he can feel her, or at least feel something where his bond with her was -- and he says it feels nothing like the broken bond he had with his mum.” Reanden grimaced, shifting forward in the seat. He rested his elbows on his thighs, fingers interlaced over his knees. “Look, I'm about as Force-sensitive as you and have no idea what a bond is supposed to feel like, but I trust my kid. He wouldn’t… offer hope where there isn’t any. He’s not that cruel." He shrugged. "At the least, I promised him I would do some snooping. Figured you'd be interested."

Sorand was a pretty sane, reasonable Sith, Theron knew. Unless the siege on Dromund Kaas had driven him completely insane… but Reanden, even with his clear biases toward his surviving children, should have been able to recognize that. So if Cipher Nine thought Imperius' hunch concerning a long-dead Jedi was worth investigating…

But if they're wrong? Theron raked a hand down his face as he stood up and paced to the window, then back again. "I can't do this," he heard himself whisper. "Getting my hopes up, and then finding out it was a false hope… I can't do that and lose her again." He had done that enough with the first reports of the infamous Outlander assassin, whispers of whom indicated they matched Xaja's description, unless there were other tiny, feisty redheaded women with blazing green eyes and blue lightsabers. Nothing had come out of that.

"What makes you think I can?" When Theron glanced over, he was struck by the tangible grief in Reanden's dark eyes, the sorrow making itself evident in the stoop of his shoulders. This wasn’t the Cipher Nine of legend, infamous saboteur and assassin -- this was a grief-stricken father. "My children mean everything to me, my daughter included. I need a confirmation, one way or another."

"Fuck," Theron muttered as he stared out the window for a moment longer, then finally looked back at Reanden. "If he's wrong and we're chasing a false hope, and she's still de-- still gone…"

"And if he's right, and Xaja's alive and in some sort of distress? Could you live with yourself if you didn't even try to help her?"

Help me, please…

Theron groaned and sat back down on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Weird coincidence that Nine would show up with this new theory after last night's dream, he thought, and felt himself frown. The Force didn't operate in coincidences like this, did it? He wished he had Master Zho's guidance right then -- or Hells, even his mother. Somehow, he felt like Satele would at least offer some sort of advice. And he would take any answers he could get right now.

"I... dreamed about her last night," he heard himself admit quietly, before his brain quite caught up to his mouth. "It was different than the normal nightmares about her. She was… she was scared, and kept saying 'he's hurting me'. She didn't say who 'he' was, but…" He bitterly laughed and raked his hand through his hair. "And now I'm hearing her voice in the back of my head. I think I'm losing it."

When he finally looked back at Reanden, the older man was frowning in thought, clearly considering what Theron said. "Sorand thinks he felt her fear too," he added at length. "Said he could feel pain and cold -- thinks they might have been from her end of the bond. He didn't say anything about her being hurt by anyone though. I haven't been in contact with Korin, so I don't know if he's having dreams too."

"And you haven't…?"

"Pfft. Do I look like the type of person to have dreams from the Force?"

"You're as likely as me, old timer."

"One of us didn't get thirteen years of Jedi mind training as a kid." Reanden shrugged. "Not to mention you've been onworld longer. If Sorand's right, and Xaja's here, proximity probably can't hurt."

The idea that maybe, just maybe, Xaja was somewhere on this damned rock turned the spark of hope into a tiny flame in his chest. Theron closed his eyes against the sudden desperate yearning to have her in his arms right then, and for a moment was grateful Reanden couldn't sense his feelings. "You've got some sort of plan for looking, right?"

"I've got about forty percent of a plan," Reanden acknowledged. "You and Tee-Seven share what you've turned up so far, and we might have more of a plan before Lana turns up."

"Forty percent isn't much of a plan," Theron dubiously pointed out, not mentioning he was pretty sure he only had about five percent of a plan to search for Xaja himself… and only thirty percent of a plan to kill Arcann, which was rapidly being bumped down the priority list.

"This coming from the guy who blew up a Sith warship in his underwear."

"Never gonna live that down, am I?" Theron asked with a sigh as he made his way to the computer console, ignoring Reanden's smirk. "I've been doing recon around the Spire for the last few months…"

[smolbeandrabbles]

Video Games - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

GIF CREDIT: X

Author’s Note: Well this was one scene long until I listened to this song. So, you’re welcome!

I always come back to this end scene for Nolan, and in all honesty it’s one of my favourite things to think about, so thank you @primadonna-girl23​ for finally giving me a reason to write it! I hope you enjoy!  Thank you for your request! 💙💜

Video Games - Lana Del Rey

Disclaimer: RPO characters not mine / gifs not mine / lyrics not mine.  I tend to like writing Nolan like this, and I will live and die by it!

Premise: There’s nothing you love more than playing video games with Nolan. But hes good, and he doesn’t lose. All you vow is one day someones gonna beat him, even if you have to wait for another generation to do it for you...

Words: 2771

Warnings: Small swears / insulin warning

_______

Swinging in the backyard Pull up in your fast car whistling my name Open up a beer And you say get over here and play a video game I'm in his favorite sun dress Watching me get undressed take that body downtown I say you the bestest Lean in for a big kiss put his favorite perfume on Go play your video game

Singing in the old bars Living for the fame Kissing in the blue dark, playing pool and wild darts Video games He holds me in his big arms, drunk and I am seeing stars This is all I think of This is my idea of fun Playing video games

It's you, it's you, it's all for you Everything I do I tell you all the time Heaven is a place on earth where you Tell me all the things you want to do I heard that you like the bad girls honey, is that true? It's better than I ever even knew They say that the world was built for two Only worth living if somebody is loving you Baby now you do 

 ---

 This may well have been one of your favourite past times.  Sure, you were dating Nolan Sorrento, who at any point in time – as the CEO of IOI and with the millions he made – could whisk you down town in one of the many sports cars he owned to a bar, or a club, or restaurant, where all the stars hung out, or on some expensive getaway to anywhere in the world; heck, Nolan and his money could get you anything, and often did… But there was really nothing better than sitting in his living room trying to kick his ass at retro video games. You failed more times than you won, and sometimes you thought he let you win just because of the pout on your face, but you didn’t see how you could enjoy anything as much as this. With the sometimes God awful graphics, and the very most the consoles could really do was occasionally vibrate the controller (which made you shriek and him cackle the first time it happened) these games were a far cry from the OASIS – and yet you preferred them. These old restored gaming systems and the various disks and cartridges that came with them, along with movies from years gone by, were Nolan’s pride and joy. The 90s into early 2000s were his vary favourites; staples from his childhood. But he had right through until the latest editions – just before this type of gaming became nearly obsolete. You could play them in the OASIS, of course, but Nolan didn’t see the point when you could get the real experience by putting your mind to fixing things. Essentially his only past time before he’d become CEO – and now he didn’t have a lot of time for things like that, but he could escape to play them. Sometimes you just liked to watch him on single player go through something a little more strategic – but he’d let you pick out what his character looked like, or maybe who they would side with, or the conversational track that he’d go with. And you liked the times Nolan would go quiet for just a moment and then almost shudder, and say something like, “Oh my god the soundtrack!” which made you focus on it for the remainder of his playthrough.

But on occasion Nolan would put in a multiplayer game and throw you a controller; and you’d either get to help him, or try to beat him. And it was fun to lie back on the sofa between his legs, head on his chest – tongue stuck out in concentration and yell expletives every time he beat you. “You can do better than that!” He laughed again and you smacked his leg, “You’re infuriating!” He gave you nothing more than a teasing grin; “Oh, I’m trying very hard I assure you!” “OH! SHUT UP!” But you were good humoured about it, and Nolan still laughed when you resorted to cheating, attempting to block his view or distract him from time to time. Which he used to say would serve you right if you still lost; sometimes he’d pin you between or under his legs so you couldn’t move, and you thought he was doing a little too much Kegel. Sometimes Nolan would even beat you with one arm around your waist, holding you close to him as you balanced on his knees so he was playing one handed, just to prove he could – or he’d give you a ten second head start. You had to admit that he was good, but he was also an expert – Nolan knew these consoles inside out, and he’d grown up doing this. So, no surprises there either. Today this wasn’t the plan, you were supposed to be going out on a date – judging by the fact you were wearing a sundress, and he was in a nice shirt and pants. But on the drive out of town Nolan had started telling you about games he’d been reprogramming, and fixing up and some new ones he’d managed to get hold of. That information didn’t come with a price tag, but you could imagine the expense – and before long you found that more interesting and you were on your way back home. But this was a little more casual, and after getting bored of losing to him for the umpteenth time, Nolan let you play it for yourself. “Y-You sure!?” “Mhm…” He popped the cap on his beer, “I’ll help you out!” You smiled sweetly; “Don’t you want to play it first?” “No…” He gave a shrug taking a sip, “I played it enough as a kid – you don’t even know what this game is, time I taught you. It’s one of my very favourites…” And so he did help you navigate around – or point out little hidden pieces of game play or items you would have surely missed, occasionally he’d take your hands and the controller in his to assist with some of the harder stuff where you insisted you didn’t have enough fingers to work it all out at once – but Nolan watched that smile on your face grow every time he did so, and felt that maybe you were asking for his help on purpose. Eventually you sighed gently; “I love doing this with you…” “What? Hanging out on my couch playing retro games and skipping dates?” Nolan chuckled, taking another swig of beer – he was surprised there was any left considering your practice of taking it from him when you thought he wouldn’t notice. “Don’t say it like that…” you tipped your head back to catch the amusement on his face; “This is nice and relaxed… And we’re together, how is it not a date?” He tilted his head both ways; “I dunno, I guess I kinda like taking you out…” Nolan paused thoughtfully, “I’m not saying you’re wrong though, this is… I could get used to it.” “Get used to it?” You paused the game and rolled over to face him, “Careful what you wish for Nolan Sorrento!” But he still laughed; “That doesn’t sound like it bodes well for me. Ah, I think I could put up with you for a while.” “Thanks!” But you were laughing along, until you bit your lips together, “I…Think I could probably get used to this too.” He stared at you for a little while, almost in adoration, before he leant forward, touching his nose to yours before kissing you. You closed your eyes to him, content, before wrapping your arms around him and deepening the kiss. Sorrento eventually broke it, arms still around you – before chuckling nervously, a faint shade of pink dusting his cheeks; “Aha… Okay, before we get a little too used to this… I say we don’t waste that beautiful dress, and you let me take you out for dinner?” You giggled, stealing another kiss – “Okay! Dinner it is!”

 ***

That feeling never changed, not through dating moving from months to years, or moving in with him, or getting engaged… then married… and not even the stage you were at now. You were getting better; you could actually beat him at these games now – and Nolan was only ever impressed. He enjoyed it when you won as much as you did, because of how happy you were that you’d actually beat him – and the excitement on your face; the way you’d start screaming sentences when you were nearly there. Or how he’d manage to reign it back (even if you still won), and you’d scream “NO!” so loud he thought eventually someone might knock on the front door to see if you were okay. Luckily it’d never happened. Right now you were supposed to be helping him on a campaign, but you were much more interested in watching what he was doing and snacking. “Are you actually gonna help, or…? Cuz I can go back to single player if you’d rather.” “No.” You said through a mouthful of Chex, “I’ll help, just give me a second.” He chuckled, and you held up the bag to offer him one, which he thanked you for. Truth was at 7 months pregnant you’d rather sit here quietly, head in his lap and watch him. Whilst you were sitting eating and watching Nolan do all he could in the mission solo, you’d balanced the controller on your stomach and every so often, as your baby moved, the controller wiggled around on its precarious balance. But that only made you laugh. This position was at least comfortable for you; and usually you sat like this to watch movies too – where Nolan would cuddle you close and rest his hands over yours on your stomach; where his face became a lot more interesting than whatever you were watching. Nothing really compared to the way he lit up when your baby made a noticeable movement, and would pretend he wasn’t welling up – but you knew Nolan was, he couldn’t hide that from you – though he tried. However Sorrento accidently ran himself into the levels boss fight before you were ready; and to let you know something important was about to happen, the controller vibrated. “AH-!” You gasped which caused Nolan to jump, “Shit! Sorry!” But you laughed harder; “Not only was the vibration kinda startling…Ooh-! Okay! I don’t like you right now!” You took his hand and placed it over your stomach as you were given a third little kick; “Ooops!” He laughed, “And I’ve got you into a boss fight!” “Oops-!?” You folded your arms, “I should just let you die!! If this continues all night-!” Nolan cringed, “I’d really rather I didn’t die – besides if you get attacked that controller is only gonna vibrate more, you realise that-!?” Well, that made you pick it up pretty quick. “You are okay though, right?” “Yeah. I guess.” You grumbled, “If I can’t beat you, the baby will!” Nolan chuckled before scoffing; “Yeah, that I’d like to see-!” *** “THAT’S NOT FAIR!!” “Come on its two against one how is that not fair?” “THE COMPUTER IS HELPING YOU!” “Yeah and it’s pretty useless! You two should have this-!” “BUT IT ISN’T FAIIIIIIIIIIIR---!!” “What, you think I’m gonna let you win-!?” “REMATCH! PLAY FAIR THIS TIME!” “You’re on!” You were sorting a few things out in the upstairs bedrooms when you were met with yelling from the living room. You laughed to yourself; this was the kind of argument that had transferred from you and your husband, to your husband and your children. And Nolan was still the one winning. You walked out onto the landing; balcony overlooking the living room to watch them. Your two eldest boys were sitting on the floor, having clearly just lost another match, arms folded and sulking as they threw glares at your husband, sitting cross legged on the couch with your little girl – your youngest – curled up in his lap silently watching the whole thing. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene; just another weekend in the Sorrento household… “What are you guys doing!?” They all looked up at you “Dad’s cheating!” “What-!? I’m hardly even trying-!” That made both the boys gasp and look back to him; Nolan laughed like he’d just said something he shouldn’t have and grinned at you. You rolled your eyes, smiling, and made for the stairs, “Alright hold on I’m coming…” By the time you were downstairs they were seemingly settled again into another round, although even as you padded over you could see Nolan was probably going to get himself another win. There was a smile on his face that had only appeared since you’d had children, and his laugh this time was absentminded as they both ganged up on his character. For that he turned immediately to your daughter, and indicated to her which buttons to press to help him with the powered-up finishing move. Which had the boys yelling about cheating again and Nolan and her laughing at them. And for a minute you stood back, heart full watching them all. But especially Nolan – things had been hard at IOI for him lately, and it wasn’t exactly going as planned. But when he sat here with his children, it was like everything else was forgotten; he was laughing and happy, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him this happy – not for a while – and he was relaxed. Today he was dad, not Sir, no matter how exasperatedly anyone was saying it. Your eldest spotted you in the corner and called you over; “Moooom! Can you beat him for us!?” They had heard of the famed times when you’d managed it, but it’d been a while. Nolan’s head swivelled and his eyes narrowed at you; “Oh! If you DARE--!!” You held your hands up; “Hey, I’m not taking sides-!” Nolan clapped as your boys groaned; “Ha! That’s my girl!” “Okay, Dad, one more round.” “Oh god, no, don’t you get sick of me beating you? I’m getting too old for this-!” Nolan chuckled, then he exited back to the games’ main menu to set up a multiplayer quest, handing the controller over to your daughter as you settled onto the sofa next to him. His voice lowered as he lifted her from his lap onto the floor; “Go on sweetheart – show ‘em how it’s done.” The controller was a little big in her hands but she beamed, “Play nice boys!” But he knew they would, as they lay on their fronts waiting for the game to load up again for them. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek gently; “I love you daddy!” “I love you too…” She ran off to join her brothers and he watched her go – that smile somehow bigger. You tsked “Such a daddy’s girl.” Nolan scoffed, but then agreed; “Yeah. Probably.” He held his arms out for you, watching the boys help their little sister with the controls for a moment with pride. You snuggled into him, head on his chest and he kissed your forehead – “I mean, of course I love you.” You giggled as he continued pressing kisses into your skin; “Oh that was never in doubt Nolan Sorrento!” You sat in silence for a moment – Nolan was watching the game play, and every so often would suggest strategy, as he’d used to do with you. You instead watched your kids help each other out on the floor, everyone content with life for now. Exactly how it should be, before you voiced your question, looking back to your husbands blue eyes; “Why don’t you let them win?” His smile was mysterious for a moment as he looked back to you; “Because one day they’ll beat me, and I’ll never win again!” then he grinned, “Besides, I like that they’re kinda in awe of me at the moment, and as long as I can keep that up and help them in the harder levels, I’d love to.” He placed his hand to his forehead to a moment; “…God, I’m dreading the day that don’t need me…” You shook your head, before placing a gentle kiss to his cheek; “Don’t say such silly things, they’ll always need you – you’re their father.” That smile was back, and Nolan pulled you closer to him for another kiss, before you heard the kids all cheering at beating another level and had to both laugh. Yes, for now all was right, and long may that continue.

---

Thank you for requesting! Thank you for reading!  😘💜

@3134045126​​ @happyskywhale​ @wltz-bby​ #MendoTagSquad

[lovingthereign25]

Dry spell.

*December 15th 2019*

Tables, Ladders and Chairs. TLC for short was you second least favorite pay-per-view. Extreme Rules is your absolute least favorite. The thought of your husband being thrown off a ladder, or put through a table or beaten with a chair over and over was nerve wracking for you. You know it's all well scripted but there that small possibility that something could go awfully wrong.

Roman's match was brutal, he fought off like 8 or 9 guys by himself until it got too much for him. He did get some revenge on Corbin continuing the fight afterwards then spearing him off a little balcony in the crowd. But he body took a beating, he sat with you on the stairs to the stage for a few minutes catching his breath.

"I'm too old for this shit" he joked

"Come on baby, let's get you to the hotel and I'll run a hot shower and give you a good rub down" you smile kissing his temple.

*Present Day*

You were in the shower, your phone playing music when you feel a pair of arms around you. Turning to face your husband Roman. 

"Did I ever tell you how sexy you look soaking wet" he says kissing your back.

"Don't think you have" you smile

" Well baby you are so freaking sexy all wet like this, hair dripping, body glistening from the water" he say cupping your breasts.

"Hey, Casanova where are the children?" You ask 

"Mom stopped by for a visit, their keeping her busy outside" he smiles

"So you thought you come up here and get a  quickie in? You ask 

"That's the hope!" He grins

"Well sorry to disappoint honey but I have to get out I have an appointment in 15 mins" you frown patting his now wet chest.

"Y/n...come on a fast one, let me just get a few pumps in" he groans

"I'm sorry baby I'm running late" you say grabbing your towel.

"Y/n, honey, baby ,my gorgeous wife it's been over a month" he groans again reminding you of how long its been since the two of you have had sex.

"I know baby believe me, you know how hard it is to turn him down"you say looking at Roman's junk.

"Then don't turn him down" ,Roman says sitting you on the bathroom sink.

"Baby, I really can't I gotta sell this property" you say lightly pushing him.

"Y/n" he whines.

"Honey, I honestly can't. I'm gonna be so late and plus your mother is right down stairs with our chikdren" you say

"Never stopped us before, we did it at her house in the upstairs  bathroom at the cookout" he laughs

" Not the point" you shake your head.

"Y/n?.." He asked before you left the bathroom

"Yes baby?" You smile.

"You seeing somebody on the side?" He asked

"What?, Are you kidding me? Roman." You say stunned that he would even ask you

"Are you?" He asks again

"Of course not, why would you even think that?" You ask moving away from him

"Well we aren't having sex, and you never turn it down but here you are" he says annoyed

"So because we haven't had sex, I'm automatically screwing someone else" you nearly shout.

"You tell me" he says

"Nice to know how highly you think of me, but the short answer is no" you snap. 

*a few days later* 

Tonight was the Royal Rumble. Even though you still weren't speaking to Roman he had asked you to fly out. You told him you would but because you wanted everyone to finally meet your 6 month old son Ezra.

Roman was pulling a "double duty" tonight he was having a match against King Corbin and then he would take part in the men's rumble.

Lana who was your best friend and Ezra's godmother had taken him around to meet everyone leaving you and Roman in his locker room. 

"Take a walk with me?" He asks

"I'm okay" you say

"Y/n, please" he says 

"Fine" you say getting up from the chair.

Roman had taken you to one of the skyboxes in the stadium. It was high up and enclosed.

"Everything looks so small up here" you say

" I arranged for you, mom and Ezra to watch the show from up here" he says standing behind you

" Thanks" you smile.

"Y/n , I'm so sorry, I was being stupid asking if you were cheating" he says holding you

"It hurt me that you would even think that I could do that to you" you say placing your hands over his.

 Roman slowly started to kiss down your neck, sucking on it now and again soft moans falling from your lips. You wrapped an arm around his neck as his hands made their way to your breasts him cupping then over your dress. 

"Roman" you moan

"I know, I'm stopping" he says pulling away.

"No, don't! Fuck me right here right now " you beg

Roman bent you over the couch sliding you thong down your legs. He moved your dress up just enough for him to see your perfectly shaped ass giving it a little slap before thrusting into where you needed him most. Roman wasted no time hitting your g- spot over and over causing you to grip onto the couch as hard as you could.

"Aaahh, Shit Ro, that's it! Right there baby." You moan

"Damn, baby I missed feeling you around the big dog" he grunted.

"Give it to me Roman! Fuck me " you yell

Roman continued pounding into you, the skybox filled with your moans sweat beginning pour off both of you.

"Y/n, I'm not gonna last much longer baby you close?" He grunts

" Yes, yes I'm ready" you say

Roman thrusts three more times before causing your climax to hit 

"Say my name baby" he moaned

"Roman, fill me up Daddy! You yell as he spills into you.

You calm down , fix yourselves then go back to find Ezra and Lana.

"I love you" Roman says bringing your hand to his lips.

" I love you too Daddy"  you smile.

After the rumble Roman's mom took Ezra back to the hotel, while you stayed behind with Roman. The two of you making love in the empty ring, the car and finally one more in your hotel room. Roman ending the night with a smile on his face. His dry spell was officially over.

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 8: Goodbye

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Miranda and Artemis doing some catching up in the end of all things.

Notes: Get your tissues ready. Also, making sense of the Synthesis Ending is hard. Hope the result is interesting. 

-*-

Miranda feels strange standing in an Alliance boardroom without her hands in cuffs, but war has a way of making strange bedfellows. Not that Miranda ever really considered the Alliance to be her own personal enemy--she saw them more as red tape in a galaxy full of red tape. She saw herself as a scientist, first a foremost. Sometimes she had to lie or shoot someone to get the materials and conditions she needed for an experiment, but Miranda never saw herself as a criminal, let alone a terrorist. 

The way the eyes of the Alliance officers seated at the table track her every move suggests they feel differently. Military types. Maybe Jacob could explain it in a way that made things less obnoxious. He’d say soldiers, especially their officers, like their banners, and their team loyalties. These people will probably never see Miranda as anything but a Cerberus operative. They probably never will enjoy working with Miranda. But right now, they have no choice. ‘

“Our time is short, so I won’t waste yours.” Miranda pulls out her omni-tool, feeling the eyes of the guard behind her boring into her shoulders. She can feel the steam rising from the heat sink ejectors on his rifle, and part of her wonders why he would’ve had to fire it anywhere near this station. Part of her desperately wants to never find out. 

A chorus of chimes ring out from the omni-tools belonging to the people sitting in front of her, followed by a series of gasps. Each alliance officer looks up at Miranda, all of them wide-eyed, and several with their jaws dropped. 

“You’ve all just received files documenting all known Cerberus facilities, operative locations, sympathizer identities, and supply caches. I’m sure you’ll find them useful.” Miranda braces her hands on the table, leaning forward much like the way Artemis does when outlining a battleplan, and says, “In return I ask for your cooperation and assistance in taking out these targets.”

An old man, a major by the looks of it, “And why would we give these to a former Cerberus spy?”

The middle-aged woman next to him, a colonel, nods. “Why wouldn’t we just arrest you?”

Miranda Lawson’s known for her carefully placed control, but her voice shakes with fury as she replies, “You can’t afford to.”

Only the hum of the space station answers her. 

“You’re already fighting one war against the Reapers, spending far more resources than you can replenish.” Miranda argues. “Do you honestly think you have time to fight one against Cerberus?”

“We already have a spectre--”

“Commander Shepard has her hands full and could use a bloody break.” Colonel Sandberg blanches at the mention of Artemis’s name. Honestly, did they really think the hero’s exploits were secret? She’s probably gone too far, but Miranda isn’t used to being told no. “Send me after them and you’ll win personnel, strategic bases of operations, intel, and resources you won’t find anywhere else.” If only Artemis could see her now. 

“Fine. But one wrong move and we’re sending you to the highest security prison we have to offer.”

Miranda’s omni-tool chimes with the security clearance she requested, regardless, and she smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to catch me.” Her heel clicks echo as she walks out. 

----

The Cerberus assault trooper forgets how to fire. “Miranda?” One of his fellow operatives shouts at him to shoot or to get out of the way. 

“That’s Miss Lawson to you, asshole.” Miranda shoots him in the head. Whoever he was, he drops backward like a felled tree. 

“Friend of yours?” Wong sidesteps the body, eyeing Miranda warily.

“Former coworker. Is this going to be a problem?” Miranda ducks into cover, firing at their remaining enemies. 

“Shooting people? No ma’am.”

“Miss Lawson. And I meant my former association with Cerberus.”

“Can I answer this when we’re not dodging bullets ma--Miss Lawson?”

“Fine, fine.” Miranda leads them deeper into the base, using her biotics and her pistol to clear the way. Per usual, Cerberus has hidden the data in a random corner, meaning they must clear out the goons one by one until the building’s empty. Most of the time, the soldiers have control chips embedded in their brains, aiding the indoctrination (Miranda grimaces at the thought), and preventing them from ever turning on their employer. By the time they’re done Miranda will have too much blood on her uniform and not enough amo.

“No wait! Don’t shoot!” But there are exceptions. 

Underneath a row of desks, Miranda finds a scientist, still in her lab coat, shaking and staring up at her with dark circles under her eyes. Cerberus always pushed its employees hard, but this? “You alright?”

“Don’t hurt me!” The scientist backs up further, but not much, as the desk backing blocks her escape. 

Miranda blinks, wondering at her reaction, then Wong coughs and elbows her side. Oh, right. Pistol--still pointed at her face. Lowering her gun, Miranda kneels, whispering softly. “We’re not here to hurt you. We could use your help. I’m Miranda Lawson.”

Instead of calming at the mention of her name, the scientist’s voice shakes as she replies. “The Illusive Man sent you after me?”

“What? No! I don’t work for him anymore.” The scientist doesn’t move, so Miranda steps back, gesturing at the soldiers accompanying her. “I’m working with the Alliance.”

Studying each of them slowly, the scientist pokes her head out from under the desk. “Dr. Lana Palmer.”

“Alliance Special Forces, 103rd Division, 1st and 2nd Lieutenants Molina and Mendez, at your service, ma’am.”

Dr. Palmer takes Mendez’s hand and stands up, wobbling on her stiff legs. “What on earth do you need my help for?”

“We need the information Cerberus has stored on their servers here. Can you lead us to it?”

She eyes each of them in turn. “Can you get me off this rock?” 

Before the soldiers can answer, Miranda asks “How many of you are there?”

Dr. Palmer rolls her eyes, “Do you see anyone else here?”

Miranda almost comments on her attitude, but then she realizes she’s talking to a mirror of herself two years prior. Of course, Miranda wouldn’t be the one hiding under a desk--too easy to get trapped in there. Apparently, Dr. Palmer doesn’t get much enemy interference in her lab, as she gets in Miranda’s way more often than not. 

“Get down!” Miranda has to stop herself from pulling Dr. Palmer down biotically. It wouldn’t serve to bruise or break her knees. She shoves her down instead, with one hand, while firing her pistol with the other. Whatever this base contains, Cerberus deems it important enough to fill the place with goons. 

Her stomach growls and her muscles ache by the time they reach the terminal they seek. Dr. Palmer keys in her handprint and scans her retinae, murmuring that Cerberus will kill her anyway. Miranda assures her that won’t happen, but she stands behind Palmer and scans her for explosive implants just in case. 

The file’s still encrypted, but Miranda can hack into anything. Wong whistles, his breath on Miranda’s shoulder. 

Cerberus cells operate independently, with no knowledge of each other. Or, at least, they used to. 

But it seems The Reapers have had more influence on the Illusive Man’s operations than he’s willing to admit. 

On the terminal, the three of them see a distress beacon--a signal sent to all connected cells. Of course, the sender wouldn’t know which cells would see it or where, but Miranda and her team can trace it back to the sender. 

The message itself comes as no surprise to Miranda. Nor do the repeated messages from the other cells. 

Shepard’s close to victory. The entire Reaper hive mind can sense it. 

----

It’s when they’re back in the shuttle, on the way back to the frigate that houses them on this mission, that Miranda gets a ping on her omni-tool. This particular tone means only one thing:

A vid call from Commander Artemis Gaia Shepard. 

Artemis never calls Miranda unannounced. As the heads turn around her to watch the flashing light, Miranda does her best to compose herself. You’re overreacting, Miranda. It’s probably nothing. Taking a deep breath, Miranda answers the call. 

Her lover’s grave expression does nothing to sooth her fears. “Miranda.”

“Shepard,” Miranda says quickly. “This isn’t a private call.” A secure channel, the most secure aside from quantum entanglement, but she can’t do anything to block out the listening ears. At least they pretend to look at their own omni tools, clear their weapons, or attend to their wounds. No one is fooled by their charade. “Could I call you back?”

Artemis shakes her head, and Miranda’s poor heart beats that much faster. “There’s no time.”

Miranda’s voice wavers despite itself, and she drops all professional pretense. “Artemis.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard’s lips move several times, but no words come out. The look tells Miranda everything she needs to know before Shepard can voice it. “We made it to Earth.”

Heat flares through Miranda’s chest. “Don’t you dare tell me this is goodbye. You’ve survived more than one suicide mission. Hell, Artemis. You beat a reaper on foot.”

It’s hard to tell through the com link, but it looks like water brims at the edge of Artemis’s eyes. “This is different.” Miranda barely hears her over the roar of gun fire and soldiers shouting. “I want you to be prepared.”

Saying goodbye isn’t the worst part--it’s seeing Artemis trying to hold it together and failing horribly. It’s not being able to reach through that projection and give her a hug. The twenty-second century can go to hell--goodbyes weren’t meant to be delivered this way. 

Miranda’s so furious at their circumstances, she can’t say a word. Artemis continues for her. “I need you to be strong, Miranda. Oriana needs you.”

“I love you, Artemis.” Miranda whispers, finally, just as the com link starts to cut out. “Please don’t give up. Not yet.”

----

The silence that follows the green flash fills Miranda with dread. Almost immediately she asks the universe, What did you do, Shepard? As if she already knows Artemis is involved, somehow. Any thoughts as to why Miranda knows? Not possible. Her brain feels like someone shut it down and rebooted it in safe mode. It takes all day just to eat, bathe, and sleep. 

On the third day, Miranda asks herself in the shower, Is this what it feels like to be indoctrinated? 

It’s not just Miranda’s own thoughts that answer her question. It’s the entire galaxy speaking in her mind. 

Miranda’s knees crumble with the brunt of it, and she hits her head on the shower stall on her way down. What in bloody hell. 

You too, huh? 

The voice, male, exhausted, and likely Turian, answers her. It’s not anyone Miranda knows. That’s for certain. She isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not. 

Get out of my head, she snaps as her body threatens to spew the bile from her empty stomach. 

I’d tell you the same thing, but it’s not possible. 

Then their conversation is drowned out by the sound of a billion midnight alarms--as the power goes out and comes back on all at once. But neither Miranda nor her Turian mind-mate hear them through their ears. The sound comes from within. Miranda hears hours of screams inside her brain, overwhelmed minds with no chance of escape. If only Miranda knew how to shut it off. If only it were a formula she could solve. 

Holy hell. 

The numbers, letters, and symbols unfurl inside Miranda’s mind, as if they’re floating in the air in front of her. She solves the formulas one by one, and the alarms, screams, and other alerts slowly die off. Miranda spends hours solving them until she passes out. 

Days, weeks, if not months, pass like this, and slowly Miranda and some of the others teach themselves binary code. This isn’t strange at all to her, until she realizes she’s communicating with computers, the Geth, the bloody Reapers without a translator. Or maybe she unlocked a translation program?

Do organics not eat? One unit asks her when she heaves in frustration. The geth unit has a point. Miranda can’t remember the last time she’s eaten. Apparently, her body’s been screaming at her for hours, if not days, but who can eat when the entire galaxy is up for the sensing? 

Your sensors are malfunctioning. We recommend caloric intake. Organic lifeforms require caloric intake. After Miranda rummages around in the frigate’s fridge, she finds something that has not rotted in the aftermath of The Green Light. 

Does it taste high in value?

Miranda blinks. It’s yogurt. 

The unit parses the information, still struggling to find the appropriate word. Does it result in positive value?

“You’re asking if the yogurt tastes good?”

Good. The platform, and its neighboring platforms parse over the word good several times in milliseconds, processing this new byte of data. We accept your inquiry. But we do not know the solution. 

Miranda laughs to herself. If only Artemis were here to see this. The pain hits her like a clench in the chest. In all the voices Miranda has heard since The Green Light, she has not heard the one belonging to her lover. 

Given name, Artemis? Surname? 

“Shepard,” Miranda says automatically. 

We have five results. Narrow search?

Miranda’s heart hammers in her chest. Middle name Gaia.

1 result. 

Forgetting how to breath, Miranda whispers. Where?

Error. Platform Artemis Gaia Shepard not available. 

“What do you mean, not available?” Miranda snaps. Wong and the others turn and look at her in annoyance, for the first time since it happened. Apparently, her outburst interfered with whatever they had been silently computing for the past…whatever. Time seems irrelevant when she’s connected to so many minds, except for the mind she wants. 

“Is Artemis Gaia Shepard alive?” Miranda asks, fearing the answer.

Error. 

“What do you mean, ‘error?’ Either she’s alive or she isn’t.”

Her brain doesn’t parse the kilobytes of data that flurry in her brain, but something about the messy pattern suggests the Geth equivalent of profanity. Establish parameters for “life.”

Miranda reels at that notion. Funny, considering defining viability defined much of her work in the Lazarus Project. She seeks the same detachment when she asks her next question, but Miranda can’t help but notice the tremor in her voice. Shepard means so much more to her now. “Does Artemis Gaia Shepard have a pulse?”

Negative.

“Then how in bloody hell is she alive, by any definition of the word?”

Organics and synthetics define life differently, Miranda Lawson.

“So, she’s alive according to a synthetic definition, but not an organic one.” Miranda says the words out loud, but they make carry no meaning. No meaning that makes any sense. 

Affirmative. 

But what is the synthetic definition of life? The answer hits Miranda like a ton of bricks. 

What distinguishes virtual and artificial intelligence? Consciousness. 

Miranda finds it difficult to breathe, but she manages to ask, “And where may I find the consciousness of Artemis Gaia Shepard?”

[storyknitter]

Fantasies & Illusions

Um, Theron’s mind isn’t a very nice place to be after he comes home from the Order of Zildrog, even after a good amount of time. Warnings for violence.

———

The latest intel on the Order of Zildrog, encrypted with the protocols that he and Lana had come up with so long ago on Rishi, transmitted to the Alliance at a snail’s pace and wasted time that Theron didn't have. If Atrius or Sixteen caught him—

“Why, hello, Shan. How's the Eternal Alliance doing today?”

Vinn's voice sent ice crackling up Theron's spine and he swore silently to himself, trying to figure out a good excuse for his actions. He looked up, fearlessly meeting his boss’s gaze in the monitor’s reflection despite his sinking stomach — he hadn't made it this far without a little bit of acting.

“Oh don’t bother coming up with an explanation. Sixteen and I have known since the beginning that you were playing the double agent card, even if your idiot girlfriend didn’t.”

Theron saw red at the insult to Vassanna, but kept his mouth shut; he didn’t trust himself with words and his mind scurried to come up with a new plan as Atrius continued his monologue.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t pay attention to the droid’s concerns about your loyalty?” the Zakuulan asked, not expecting an answer. “Maybe I'll wait to kill you until after you’ve watched your lover die, along with the rest of the Alliance.” Vinn let out an exaggerated gasp, hands on his cheeks in feigned incredulity, eyes wide. “Oh, and she'll die thinking you hated her — how fun!” The surprised look faded and a condescending smirk took its place as he crossed his arms. “By the way, we've been feeding you false information most of the time you were here. That abandoned listening post where you just sent your ‘sweetheart’ Commander? It's rigged to explode two minutes after the airlock is accessed.”

A shrill alarm blared from the console and Theron's heart raced, but he was frozen in place. No! he screamed to the Force. Sanna, get out of there!

“So: right now,” Vinn continued with a cocky grin, sarcasm dripping from every word. “How ignoble a death for the glorious Outlander.”

“Theron? Theron!” Her worried voice crackled through the speakers and he silently begged her to leave, to get out alive, to make a miracle happen — just once more. Please.

“Wake up, Shan,” Vinn said. “You’re dreaming if you think you could have beaten me. Besides, you’re not really good at saving people, hard as you might try. Let's count how many you've failed, shall we?” he said, ticking off a list on his fingers as Sanna desperately called for Theron in the background. “The man who raised you, the Twi’lek you claim as family, your mother, your father, your mentor at the SIS — not to mention your old colleagues who depended on you — and last, but not least, a Sith and Jedi. Two women: one friend, the other your lover. Best of all, they'll die thinking you betrayed them.”

No. Lana won't, he thought, but Sanna... I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Even if he could move, there was no time to attempt a shut down of the self-destruct: the hilt of an inactive lightsaber pike dug into his back.

Atrius’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and the listening post exploded in a massive fireball. As Theron watched helplessly, fury and hopelessness — his failure — choked him.

He knew there was no sweet-talking his way out of this now, no way to escape the Order alive — and no reason to, either. Letting out a desolate sigh, he initiated his backup plan, his last resort: Plan Zerek. He clicked his teeth together twice to turn his implants on, blinking the correct pattern to reconnect them to the holonet, and uploaded the virus he'd devised. It would hopefully take out Sixteen and weaken Zildrog, though he hadn't been able to test it. With that out of the way, Theron turned his focus to the man who had started this mess, who had destroyed everything he held dear.

Spinning on his heel, Theron swung his arm around with a vicious, rage-filled snarl, his hand curling into a fist. He struck Vinn in the face, then swept his feet out from under him in one smooth motion.

Before the zealot could move, Theron had him pinned to the ground, forearm digging into his throat. The spy reached for the small blade concealed in his boot but found it missing — where the hells had it gone? — so he resolved to simply choke the life out of this miserable bastard, leaning all his weight into it.

“Theron!” The gravelly gasp sounded like Sanna, but he had heard her voice everywhere since Umbara, so he didn't put much stock in it. “Theron, stop!” Vinn wasn't putting up much of a fight, which was surprising, but Theron was determined to put an end to the Order once and for all. He trapped the struggling hands against his chest, cooler and smaller than he'd expected.

Atrius managed to pry one hand away and reached up; Theron instinctively ducked his head to the side to protect his eyes and the palm landed softly on the back of his neck.

Theron! This time, it was definitely Sanna's voice in his head, prickly with fear and worry. Wake up. You're just dreaming, I promise. Wake up!

No, Vinn was just fucking with him, doing some sort of mind trick—

Theron. Please, please wake up. Then smaller, quieter: You're hurting me.

Dammit, Vinn had called his bluff: mind trick or not, he couldn't hurt her. Not again. He blinked once, twice, and the bastard he hated with every fiber of his being disappeared from view.

Theron found himself staring down into wide violet eyes. “Sanna,” he gasped, releasing his grip on her and scrambling backward out of the bed. He let out a string of obscenities laced with apologies, frantically asking if she was okay while putting as much space as possible between them.

He retreated to the cabin of the shuttle, his back against the control panels and staring at her in horror as real life filtered back into his consciousness: Vinn and the explosion had just been a nightmare. Theron replayed history in his head, running his hands down his face: Vinn Atrius wasn't really here, he was in Zakuulan custody, awaiting trial. Sixteen was dead, destroyed along with Zildrog. And Vassanna was safe.

Though not from him.

“I'm sorry,” Theron mumbled in a daze. “I'm so sorry I—”

“It's all right,” she croaked as she slowly approached, her hands up, pacifying. “It was just a dream. I'm here, you're all right.”

“Stop,” he hissed, covering his ears. Fucking hells, her voice sounded awful and he couldn't bear to hear it. And it wasn't all right; he'd just tried to strangle her, for fuck's sake.

Sanna gently took his elbow and her voice shimmered in the back of his mind. Theron, you're okay. It was just a dream, my sweet. How many times have I—

He slammed his mental shielding into place and yanked his arm out of her hand, effectively silencing her. He couldn’t meet her eyes, his gaze falling to her cheek, and a dark smudge developing beneath one of her chevron tattoos gutted him. Theron forced himself to look lower and thought he'd be sick when he saw the damage he'd done to her neck, bruises growing rapidly.

“Sit back down.” His words came out choked and cracked. “Please. Just... sit and I'll go get the kolto.” With hands clenched into tight fists, he tried to ignore why it was necessary. Theron retrieved the med kit, studying the case intently to avoid meeting Sanna’s gaze — her eyes had followed him across the shuttle, full of concern and perhaps pity, yet empty of fear or reproach.

As Theron applied the kolto to her skin, he nearly dropped the damned tube of gel twice because his stupid hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Sanna reached out silently, holding his wrist and steadying him. He should have been appreciative, but dammit, he’d caused this problem in the first place and he needed to fix it himself.

The bruises began to fade as the kolto worked to heal the damage he'd done. He tuned out everything else — including her — as he repacked the kit and placed it at the foot of the bunk.

“Theron,” she whispered, gently resting her hand on his arm. If she'd noticed that he flinched, she didn't show it. “Come back to bed, love.”

“No,” he bit out. “Thank you, I'm fine.” He stood, turning toward the cockpit, and threw himself into the pilot's chair. Soft footsteps padded across the durasteel floor, following before coming to a halt behind him.

“Theron—”

“I hurt you.” He wasn't about to give her the opportunity to let him off the hook for this. What he'd done was unforgivable.

“It was a dream. How many times have I lashed out in a nightmare over the years?”

“This is different.” Theron spun around to face her and found her hands propped on her hips, her mouth set in a thin line of concern.

“Why, because it's you and not me this time?”

The rattle in her voice made him want to pitch himself out the airlock. “It just is."

“Have you forgotten that I threw you into a wall the first time I stayed at your apartment, after Ziost?”

“Almost threw me into the wall. But fine,” he snapped, “we're even.”

“No, we're not,” she said, her words rising in volume to match his, “because we're not keeping score!” Sanna winced as her voice broke and the anger, the embarrassment, the shame Theron felt at what he’d done — sleeping or not — boiled over.

“I promised,” he roared, leaping up. “I swore to myself when we got back from Nathema that I would never hurt you again." He blinked to clear his blurry vision, his eyes prickling hot at the corners. "Ever. And now—”

“Well, that wasn’t a very logical promise.” Her matter-of-fact dismissal brought him up short, halting his self-reproach. “One day, you'll step on my toe or I'll catch your elbow while we're sparring or you'll accidentally say something little that wounds my pride.” Sanna reached out, caressing his cheek. “That’s not realistic, love. Perhaps it’s a vow better adapted by adding ‘purposely’ to it.”

He glared at her, grappling for a fault with her argument.

“Just promise not to leave me in an exploding train again and we'll call it good?” Her soft smile tripped his heart and he couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from twitching ever so slightly upward.

“Come back to bed,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“No,” Theron said, sharper than he'd meant, and sighed. “I need another minute.”

Vassanna inspected him, brow furrowed in concern. With a small sigh, she nodded and kissed his cheek, back further than usual, almost to his ear. Her lips drifted as she stood on her toes, pressing a tender, reverent kiss near his temple. She shifted to kiss his shoulder, then the top of his forearm, followed by the side of his wrist.

Oh.

Theron caught on as Sanna pressed her lips to both of his palms: she was kissing all the places she'd accidentally struck him while in the clutches of a bad dream, either one of Vitiate's making or her own mind’s. She dropped one final kiss on the edge of his jaw and turned back to their bunk.

Before he could stop himself, Theron reached out, gingerly grasping her elbow with one hand, her chin with the other. He turned Sanna to face him and kissed the fading bruise on her cheek. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tenderly, gently tilted her chin up, leaning forward with a murmured apology to press trembling lips to her neck.

Cool hands caressed his cheeks, cradling his face, and Vassanna kissed his forehead benevolently. He looked up and her lips met his. Theron felt light, unburdened. Forgiven. Peaceful.

“Don't be too long.” She turned away slowly, her fingers trailing down his cheek. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it, and gave her a shaky smile.

“Rest well, sweetheart.”

———

It took Theron nearly an hour to run through the exercises Amirtae had taught him to lessen his guilt and fear: it hadn't fixed things, but it sure as hells made looking at Sanna hurt less. Gathering up his courage, Theron approached the shuttle bunk.

She was curled up, facing the wall, but he'd shared a bed with her long enough to know that she was still awake and he sighed.

Here, practically alone in the emptiness of hyperspace, Theron could admit the truth to himself: he was afraid. Afraid to fall asleep. Afraid he’d dream again and hurt her. Afraid she'd reject him, despite her tender kisses and words of forgiveness. Afraid that he had broken things beyond repair. Afraid to need her as much as he did.

Perhaps one more quick round of meditation would be good for him.

No. No, if his stunt with the Order hadn't broken them apart, he wasn't about to let one bad dream drive a wedge between them. Theron slipped carefully under the covers, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her hip. “Can I hold you?” he whispered hesitantly. “Please, I— Sanna, I need to hold you. I need—”

She grabbed his hand and tucked it to her chest, pulling him closer. “Why can't you just call it ‘spooning’ like the rest of the galaxy?” she asked, her voice still raspy, but amused. She shifted until her back was pressed to his chest and he tucked his knees behind hers, slipping his arm under the pillows to twine their fingers together. He smiled, remembering — as she was — the night they'd mock-argued over how ridiculous the phrase “spooning” was.

“Vassanna Nabeshin, you know as well as I do: spoons that nest well together are the same size. There's no big and little spoon, they're all medium spoons.”

“I had no idea you felt so strongly about eating utensils!” she quipped. As they chuckled, a weight as big as a starship lifted from his shoulders; how had she gotten him to relax with one silly comment?

Theron kissed the side of Sanna's neck, nuzzling it as he squeezed her tight. They lay in silence, slowly relaxing, rocked gently by the shuttle’s movement through hyperspace. A question hovered in the back of his mind and he debated the merits of asking for long enough that she spoke first, soft yet insistent.

“Spit it out, mireashe.”

His heart thrilled at the endearment — as it always did — and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Unwilling to disturb the peaceful moment, he shook his head, but she rolled over to face him, her hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“Talk to me,” she whispered in a voice full of worry.

Heaving a sigh, Theron pressed his lips to her forehead and pulled her close. “Why didn't you use the Force to stop me?” he mumbled into her hair. “You should have.”

Vassanna’s fingertips tenderly traced the line of his collarbone as she spoke. “I didn't want to hurt you, scare you. You were terrified, I could feel it. Heartbroken. But I knew you'd wake up.” She snuggled closer, tangling their legs together. “You know, I don't think you actually broke your promise,” she continued. “You swore you'd never hurt me, right? I could see your face: the instant you realized that I was me and not whatever your dream was showing you, you stopped.”

Silence descended upon them once more and he wondered how in all the hells she could have so much faith in him, how she could trust him with her life, after everything.

“I don't deserve you.” The whispered words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

“I love you, mirea,” Sanna said simply, pulling back to meet his eyes. “I want you with me, until the end. My husband, my partner. Do you feel the same?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, then. If Destiny has seen fit to bring us together so many times, and we want to be together too, then...” She trailed off with a small sigh, lower lip caught in her teeth. “Then maybe that's more important than what we think we deserve.”

“Hmm, maybe you're right.” His words were muffled as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Hmm, maybe.” Sanna smiled, though it quickly disappeared. “Was it like that for you, the whole time?” she said, soft and hesitant. “When he was in my head, I mean, with all the dreams and— Did you feel that helpless every night?”

Theron paused, remembering her bad nights, the times when Vitiate would sink his claws into her mind and not let go. “Yeah. Helpless. Furious. He was torturing you and...” He sighed and cradled her head to his chest. “And I couldn’t do anything about it, except try to wake you and hold you close afterward. Stars, your face. I always knew the really bad ones — it took ages for you to come back to yourself, to recognize me again. The way you'd look at me when you thought I was one of them...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘helpless’ is probably the best way to put it.”

Sanna murmured an apology and declaration of love, but she was drifting back to sleep, her body soft and warm against his.

“I love you too, more than anything.” He kissed her temple and tightened his hold on his wife; forgoing sleep himself, Theron would be more than content to hold her through the night.

“Sweet dreams.”

[ververa]

‘Twelve Shades of Love’

Mine and @misssmephisto‘s story

CHAPTER 1 - “We have a daughter...” (PART 2 & 3)

Lana Winters & female reader

II

"Ms Winters we're honoured. From all orphanages you chose ours and it's…"

"Lana, look" Marion cut off the other woman and squeezed the journalist's hand drawing her attention to the group of children playing outside

There she was. Their little angel from that evening. She wasn't playing with the rest. She was sitting alone and reading.

Apparently the girl seemed to be happy – doing her thing, not caring about the other kids. But Lana was too observant. She saw everything. Every little detail. That sad and scared look in y/n's eyes. How other children poke fun at the girl. At that very moment Lana wanted nothing more, but to kick their asses.

"Ms Winters" an elder woman brought her back from her thoughts "I'm sister Ann. I'm in charge here" she said smiling friendly

“You are a nun…” Lana stated

“I am. Is that a problem?”

The journalist took a deep breath. It was hard for her to interact with nuns and priests after Briarcliff, even if she knew that they weren’t bad people.

“No. It’s not a problem” Marion answered squeezing Lana’s hand reassuringly

They looked at each other, then again at sister Ann.

“I just thought it’s a secular orphanage…”

“Not exactly, however I’m the only nun here”

The journalist nodded.

“What can I do for you?”

“We met one of the girls during the mayor’s party last week. We just want to say hello” Marion said enthusiastically

“Which one?”

“Y/n”

“Oooh”

“Can I go to her?” Marion asked

“Of course”

The singer looked at her girlfriend

“Go. I’ll talk with sister Ann” Lana said

Marion nodded and headed to the garden, where the child was.

“What’s her story then?” the journalist asked “Is she here since always or…”

“Her mother lost her mind when she was pregnant. She ended up in asylum and there she gave birth to y/n. She tried to kill that poor child twice”

“What? W-what do you mean?”

“She tried to choked her with a pillow when she was an infant and a year ago, when everyone claimed she’s cured she took y/n home and hit her with a mirror. Y/n still has a scare on her head” the nun shook her head “She was in two foster families, but they didn’t want her. She’s so different. She can either open up or block completely”

“Why didn’t they want her?”

“They claim she’s too much for them”

“She’s 5?”

The older woman nodded

“How a 5 year old can be too much?”

“Ms Winters, I don’t want to be intrusive or pressure you… But if you’re considering adoption you had better make up your mind quickly”

“W-why?”

“I know you and… I know what kind of relation it is. As a member of the church and Christian I don’t approve it. But if you decide to adopt y/n, I’ll do my best to help you. It’s not because you’re Lana Winters, but because that child deserve to have someone who will take care of her. She might be a problematic child, but you Ms Winters should manage. However, I’m not going to be in charge for too long. Mrs Brooks is going to take my place soon and she won’t be that understanding and eager to help…”

Lana moved a little to have a better view of her girlfriend. Marion was sitting on the bench with the girl. The woman seemed to be happy. Happier than Lana could remember her being. The journalist knew that the child won Marion’s heart the first time they had met. The girl had something that captivated both of them, but Lana didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that she liked her too.

The thought of adoption was on their minds since the visit at the orphanage, but Marion didn’t dare to mention it. The singer didn’t want to pressure Lana into anything, especially knowing how hard it was for the woman to deal with her pregnancy and the aftermath of it.

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

It was a few days later. Marion came back home after a few hours that she spent at the opera house. She found Lana sitting in their huge living room with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. Though she wasn’t reading anymore. She was just sitting and looking at the wall full of their photos with famous people.

‘Good evening, love’ Marion kissed Lana’s forehead and moved to sit opposite her

The journalist smiled weakly.

‘I’m so tired. That was the worst rehearsal ever. We spent 4 hours practising…’

‘I saw him’ Lana said suddenly

‘What? Who?’

‘I…’ she hesitated ‘I was thinking about y/n. I know you want to take her. I know you want to have a baby, well a kid actually, but well… I just couldn’t stop myself. I went to the orphanage. They told me where he’s going to school and I went there’

Marion approached her girlfriend and cautiously sat next to her.

‘I saw him. I saw Johnny… my son’ Lana explained with shaking voice

‘But why? Why did you go there?’

‘I just… I don’t know. I thought that I should, but now I don’t know anything’

‘What you don’t know? Ask me and I’ll tell you’ Marion took Lana’s hand and squeezed it gently

Winters took a deep breath.

‘What if I’m considering it, because I want to redeem my guilt?’

‘What guilt? Lana’ Marion kneeled right next to the other woman ‘There is no guilt’ she caressed Lana’s cheek ‘You did nothing bad’

‘I left him. I’m his mother… I should have taken care of him. I’m no better than y/n’s mother and now as the guilt is unbearable I’m considering taking her’

‘No. Lana, stop it. You cannot blame yourself for what had happened to you, because it wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me?’ Marion cupped Lana’s cheeks ‘Do you understand? It wasn’t your fault. It’s on them. And you owe him nothing. You already gave him enough. You carried him for 9 months. I can only imagine how hard it was. I wish I was there for you. I know I wouldn’t be able to help you in any way, but at least you wouldn’t have been there alone with all that. Lana, you gave birth to him. You gave him life and that’s the best you could do for him’ the singer carefully wiped the tears that were escaping Lana’s beautiful, brown eyes ‘And when it comes to y/n. I know you like her. Even if you don’t want to admit it. Well, my dear you may try to deceive yourself, but you cannot deceive me. And the truth is that you lost the fight when that little miracle showed you her favourite book and asked you to read to her. She won your heart when she fell asleep in your arms with her tiny hands carefully wrapped around you and her head resting on your chest’

The journalist laughed wiping the last few tears.

‘I love you so much’ she said leaning in and kissing Marion

‘I know, because I love you too. More than anyone before, Ms Winters’

‘Marion’ Lana caressed the singer’s cheek ‘I know you want to have a baby. I know you want to take y/n. And I’m ready’

‘Are you sure? I didn’t want to pressure...’

‘I’m sure. Let’s do this’

III

The adoption procedure was supposed to take about one week. That was the quickest option, that sister Ann came up with. Both Lana and Marion decided to visit the girl as often as possible and spend with her as much time as they could. But they still needed to work. It happened that Marion had a performance and had to leave for two days.

The singer left only when Lana assured her that she's able to deal with visiting y/n and facing sister Ann and Mrs Brooks on her own.

The singer didn't want to go, she knew that it was still hard for Lana, even if she wouldn't admit it.

The journalist was reserved when it came to her feelings. It took quite some time to get to her and Marion knew that Lana just needed a while to let y/n become a part of her life. They were so alike that it wasn't possible not to notice it, so they bonding with watch other was just a matter of time.

The resemblance between them was the first thing that hit Lana. They both had been abandoned –

y/n by her mother and Lana by Wendy. They both were mistreated by people. Hurt deep inside by the world. The only difference was that Lana knew a different life, a positive part of it and asylum was only a temporary period that she had got through. It was different with y/n. She was in the orphanage since always. They're throwing her from one foster family to another not caring much about the child's feelings.

Lana couldn't get over that thoughts. It hurt her the same every time. Usually when she was visiting y/n with Marion she was able to control that side. But without her girlfriend it was going to be twice as hard. There were so many doubts that she couldn't deal with. Lana felt as going crazy with every minute, so as to remain sane she let herself got lost in work.

'Oh no' Lana muttered to herself looking at her watch - it was too late to go and visit y/n 'You fucked up Winters' she shook her head

It wasn't typical for them to miss any visit when they're together, but Marion left and Lana was working. Work had always been the best of all excuses for her, but it wasn't that. Not when it came to the child. She was afraid to go there alone. Afraid of what she may feel or that she may become too attached to the girl. She had a hard time realising it already happened. 

Next day the first thing on Lana's mind was going to the orphanage. She went there in the morning, buying a huge teddy bear on her way. The journalist felt out of place standing at the window of a toy shop, but she wanted to make her absence up to the girl. 

She was trying to calm her nerves by taking deep breaths on her way to the main room, where all the children were usually playing. Every visit was accompanied by anxiety. It was the place and its vibes. Lana could feel negative energy flowing through the walls, but that day it was different. The eerie aura was unbearable. The woman knew something was wrong, but didn't know what until she reached her destination and realised y/n wasn't there.

'Where is she?' Lana entered the sister's office without knocking

'Ms Winters? G-good morning'

' I'd not call it good. Where is y/n?'

'I… She should be in a common room'

'Well, she's not there'

'Maybe she went to the toilet or is in the bedroom'

' She's not!' Lana snapped

'She didn't disappear Ms Winters. There's no need to raise your voice' sister Ann said 

'She is 5. She's not allowed to leave on her own and she's nowhere to be seen here. Also you don't know where she is. So how can I be calm and not raise my voice?'

'Ms Winters, I'm sure we'll find her. Shall we?' the nun pointed at the door

'We shall' Lana said leaving the office

They checked the common room and the bedroom, but they didn't find the kid.

'Maybe she's in the garden. Let's go there' sister Ann suggested hopefully

Lana was following the nun still holding a fluffy toy in her hands. They were about turning and going down the stairs to the door when they heard someone yelling.

They stopped and looked at each other.

That was enough to make the journalist act. Lana didn't wait for sister Ann. She speeded up and as she was getting closer she could hear a silent sobs. She knew it was y/n. She couldn't explain it, but she felt the girl's presence.

Before sister Ann could stop her Lana opened the door. That wasn't expected. Definitely not by Mrs Brooks who jumped when she saw no other, but Lana Winters herself. The journalist didn't even look at the woman, who suddenly went quiet. All her attention was absorbed by the girl - standing in the middle of the room with her eyes red and puffy and cheeks still wet from tears. Lana's heart broke at the sight. She immediately dropped the teddy bear and moved to the child. She knelt, so that she could be face to face with y/n and carefully wiped the girl's cheeks.

'Y-you came' y/n sobbed a bit surprised

'Of course I did' Lana smiled 'Why wouldn't I?'

'You weren't here yesterday… and they said you don't want me anymore' she looked down

'We would never change our mind' Lana stroked the girl's hair 'Why did you doubt that?'

Y/n didn't answer making Lana suspicious. The woman looked at the item that the kid was holding in her little hands. She immediately recognised the book that she had given y/n on their third meeting. The girl was hugging it to her chest, but Lana could notice a few tattered leaves were sticking out of the book.

'Y/N' Lana wanted to caress the girl's cheek, but the kid flinched and moved rapidly.

Only then did the journalist noticed a red mark on y/n's cheek

'What happened?'

'Nothing!' the other woman answered before the girl could say anything

' I'm not talking with you' the journalist said dryly

' She's not able to answer your question'

' But you are?' Lana stood up

' What's going on in here?' sister Ann asked 'Y/n what happened to your face?'

The girl didn't answer, but began to cry.

' Mrs Brooks I expect you to explain what happened'

' Nothing. She just needed to be punished for bad behaviour'

'Are you kidding me?!' Lana yelled 

'What have you done?' the nun looked at the child and then at the caretaker 'You will explain yourself to the outpost board and the mayor' she stated

'Is this a threat? Who do you think you are to threaten to me?'

' It's a warning' sister said 'For now' she added

At those words the other woman puffed her cheeks up and blew a raspberry. She then moved towards the kid. Mrs Brooks started to explain herself, but Lana paid no attention to her words. The journalist was focused on the caretaker's moves and how y/n reacted to them. At some point the woman swung her arm dismissively and that's when she lost. The girl shrieked with terror taking a few steps back and curling into a ball in the corner of the room.

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry' she was sobbing

Lana as an observant and clever woman understood it. In that moment everything became clear to her. 

'You hit her…' she looked at Mrs Brooks who suddenly went quiet

'Is that true?' the nun asked

'She didn't give me a choice' the woman began to explain herself

The journalist moved towards the child.

'Hey, sunshine, it's okay. I'm here. She won't hurt you' she offered y/n her hand

The girl looked at Lana with her big teary eyes. She was trembling with fear and Winters couldn't stand seeing her like that. All her memories from asylum suddenly hit her. In the child she could see no other, but herself from asylum.

'That's enough' she cut off the other woman 'I'm taking y/n' she stated and not waiting for response lifted the girl up

Y/N was barely weighting anything and if it hadn't been for her body still shaking a little Lana wouldn't be able to say she was having the girl in her arms. 

'Are you going to let her do that?' Mrs Brooks addressed the nun

Neither sister Ann nor Lana reacted to that. Though the journalist could feel how the girl's hold tightened, so she stroked her back and kissed the top of her head reassuringly. 

'I'll take you to her room and get the papers ready' the elder woman said

They're about leaving the room when Mrs Brooks spoke up again

'That's against the law! You're breaking the rules!'

At that Lana turned around to the other woman

'You're the one who should be afraid of the law. You have no idea who you're messing with' she shook her head 'And that's the threat. If you touch my daughter again or even speak to her I'll make sure your life turns in hell and you won't find any job anywhere'

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _

Lana followed sister Ann to the room y/n was sharing with a few more children. She was holding the girl for the whole time trying to calm her down a bit more.

The journalist let the child go only when they were alone. Lana carefully sat the girl down on the bed. Looking deep in the girl's eyes she could almost see her soul. She felt how hurt and scared the child was and that made her heart ache. But despite the inner need to kill the woman who dared to hurt her baby Lana did her best to smile at y/n.

'It's okay. You're alright. Everything is. Nobody's gonna hurt you' she stroked the girl's hair and gently put the strand of it being y/n's ear

That's when Lana noticed a scar on her head - the one about which sister Ann had mentioned. The woman touched the scar with her fingertips and y/n flinched.

'I'm sorry' Lana moved back 'I didn't mean to scare you. I… you don't need to be scared anymore, okay? I won't let anyone hurt you' she smiled when the girl nodded

'Let's pack your things up, shall we?'

The child jumped off of the bed and began to gather her things. It didn't take them long, as the girl didn't have too much stuff.

'Come on. Let's go home' Lana took y/n's suitcase and took the girl's hand

They're going down the stairs when sister Ann approached them.

'Ms Winters, there are quite a lot of things that you need to see and ready and…'

'Tomorrow' the journalist cut her off ' I'll see everything tomorrow. For now I need to take my daughter' she looked at y/n 'Home'

The nun didn't even try to voice an objection knowing that it's impossible to outtalk Lana Winters.

'Alright. But make sure you're here tomorrow as early as possible. We don't want any troubles, do we?'

'Of course. Thank you, sister' Lana said

'And you my dear' the elder woman addressed the kid 'Be a good girl' she stroked y/n's hair 'May God keep you in his care'

Let me know what you think

[callunavulgari]

“Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home When our hearts beat slow together.”

Heather’s Top 50 Songs of 2019!

dark night — philip sheppard // curse of the i-5 corridor — neko case // way down we go — kaleo // almost — hozier // dancing in a room — ezi // epic (pt ii) — anais mitchell & justin vernon // spanish sahara — foals // obstacles — syd matters // tom thumb — bitter ruin // wolves of the revolution — the arcadian wild // epic (pt iii) — anais mitchell, justin vernon // the spine — darren korb & ashley barrett // don’t think twice — hikaru utada // face my fears — hikaru utada // waves — chloe moriondo // ashes — bear mccreary // wake up, moving on — kevin penkin // paper boats — darren korb & ashley barrett // call off your ghost — dessa // power over me — dermot kennedy // a future for the krogan — christopher lennertz // mine — bazzi // bite — charlie cunningham // wait for me — andre de shields // birds — imagine dragons & elisa // crazy — patsy cline //  bury a friend — billie eilish // the seed — aurora // eleventh dimension — julian casablancas // sunflower — post malone // what’s up danger — blackway, black caviar // bad guy — billie eilish // elevate — dj khalil // must’ve been — chromeo // dark matter — les friction // lark of my heart — eliza rickman // dancing on my own — robyn //  hungover in the city of dust — autoheart // season of the witch — lana del rey // bird song — juniper vale // paradise valley — honey & the sting // my hallelujah — autoheart // furthest star — dirt poor robins // play dirty — kevin mcallister // it’s quiet uptown — kelly clarkson // pas de deux — michael abels // i got 5 on it — michael abels, luniz, mi // one day more — les mis cast // into the unknown — idina menzel, aurora // show yourself — idina menzel & evan rachel wood

short version | long version | youtube | spotify unwrapped

long version will lead you to the 165 song, 10 hour and 34 minute playlist which i’ve been slowly adding to since january. short version will lead you to what you see here. youtube will lead you to the playlist you see here but... wait for it... on youtube. mostly because i know not everyone has spotify. spotify unwrapped will lead you to a mixture of the long and the short version, which is pretty bloated with austin wintory songs because those are what i listen to when i write or read usually.

the long version is much improved in length from last year, which was 261 songs and 17 hours, but that’s mostly because august through december i was pretty bad at keeping track of the music that caught my attention. whoops.

and under the cut is me ranting about music, like usual. enjoy!

i. dark night || philip sheppard *instrumental*

This was my absolute favorite from the Detroit: Become Human soundtrack. I tended to prefer Kara’s songs most because they were gorgeous and haunting and just plain fantastic. Connor’s songs were mostly listened to while writing for the fandom, but Kara’s songs were what I kept coming back to. ii. curse of the i-5 corridor || neko case So I left home and faked my ID I fucked every man that I wanted to be

Sometime in January, I fell in love with eighteen wheels on an uphill climb, which was a 91k hank/connor wip by blackeyedblonde. Hank’s a trucker. Connor occasionally dabbles in sex work to keep himself alive and moving. But like, it’s so much more than that? Anyway, at some point the author linked to this song. I think it may have been on tumblr, but I fell in love with it and neko case.

iii. way down we go || kaleo Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall And they will run you down, down 'til you go Yeah, so you can't crawl no more

Speaking of Detroit: Become Human (sensing a theme?), this fanvideo is one of my favorite things in the world. I had it and a couple other fantastic videos like it playing in the background while writing for the fandom. This video, in fact, is what finally made me go in search of the game. iv. almost (sweet music) || hozier The same kind of music haunts her bedroom I'm almost me again, she's almost you Wasteland, Baby was a thing that happened to me. Which would have already been enough to get it on this list, but I also listened to it on repeat while writing my first DBH fic. v. dancing in a room || ezi I know you notice, notice me I might be broken but it's not showing It's how I'm copin', copin' I don’t actually remember where this one came from. I know that sometime when March is still a bit cold, I listened to a playlist on spotify that I can’t find for the life of me. It had a lot of the songs that are about to come up on it, and before I started exclusively listening to audiobooks while I got ready for work in the morning, I listened to random fantastic playlists. vi. epic (pt ii) || anais mitchell & justin vernon And suddenly Hades was only a man with a taste of nectar upon his lips

Hadestown was also a thing that happened to me. This song makes me fucking weak. All of the lyrics are great, the whole song is gorgeous and haunting and so perfect it hurts, but those lyrics above are just *chefs kiss* vii. spanish sahara || foals Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It's future rust and it's future dust

Sometime during the spring, I played Life Is Strange and had a million and one feelings. I played both options for the ending and each one was gut wrenching in its own way. I think I still prefer the one where Chloe lives, but this song has literally haunted me ever since.

viii. obstacles || syd matters Someday we will foresee obstacles Through the blizzard, through the blizzard And this is the song that plays if you make the other choice. Again, SUPER TRAGIC, but also you know. You get to keep your girlfriend. ix. tom thumb || bitter ruin And I know I'll be burnt, but I can stand a flame or two to catch you

This was one of the songs that I discovered on the mysterious spotify playlist! Something I’d forgotten: I discovered Hadestown off of that playlist. Thanks, mystery playlist. You gave me all the ear worms. x. wolves of the revolution || the arcadian wild You're trapped inside of your own heart It's a spectators sport, just play your part You guessed it - from the mystery playlist. They’re all very reminiscent of the Hadestown soundtrack. Vaguely eerie, kind of haunting, a lot beautiful. Makes you feel like you’re a forest creature living on the edge of the swamp. You know: the aesthetic. xi. epic (pt iii) || anais mitchell & justin vernon Where is the treasure inside your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his hat in his hands? Who stands in the garden with nothing to lose I thought about only including this one instead of including part 2, but in the end I loved both too much to choose. Hadestown, man. I hope it comes to Ohio at some point in the near future. xii.  the spine || darren korb & ashley barrett Fingers tied themselves in knots around the heart It beats in time I see the spine of the world

I have never actually played Transistor, which is fucking tragic because I listened to basically the entire soundtrack over and over again for the entire year. There’s at least one more song from the game on this list, but it is really wonderful. Haunting vocals, perfect for writing or reading or driving.  xiii. don’t think twice || hikaru utada I'm only crying 'cause I never dreamed It'd take this long, it'd take this long Hi, I played Kingdom Hearts 3 this year. And I cried so fucking much. I had some issues with the game, namely how the ending was such a clusterfuck of boss fight after boss fight and emotional character arc resolutions so it all felt kind of rushed? But the gameplay was superb, the selfie thing was ingenious, and I did cry at least six different times while I was stressing my way through fighting boss fights with blurry eyes. xiv. face my fears || hikaru utada Oh, let me face, let me face, let me face my fears Won't be long, won't be long, I'm almost here Watch me cry all my tears

So like, if you care at all you’ve probably already seen it, but the opening cutscene of KH3 was to Face My Fears, and I’m gonna be real honest here - I didn’t like it at first. I moaned and groaned about Skrillex and how it was nothing like Simple and Clean or Passion/Sanctuary. But it grew on me to the point that it was actually my most listened to song this year. Watch me cry all my tears, indeed. xv. waves || chloe moriondo Make me into more than a goner Perhaps a little bit stronger Thicker skin, less needy, And maybe to not bruise so damn easily, but you can't

I don’t remember where I found this song either? Maybe mystery playlist but probably not. Either way, it’s pretty and uh, I too want to slow the world down. xvi. ashes || bear mccreary -instrumental- Man, oh man, let’s talk about how good of a game God of War was. It was so good, guys. The game play was excellent, the world was gorgeous, and the storyline was interesting. And the music went so, so hard. Between Horizon Zero Dawn and the new God of War, I have basically been ruined for all other games. Also, dad protagonists, am I right? xvii. wake up, moving on || kevin penkin -instrumental-

Did not actually realize this was part of a soundtrack to a game? But it’s very lilty. Has that French quirky romcom vibe to it and I listened to the crap out of it in early summer. xviii. paper boats || darren korb & ashley barrett The river always finds the sea So helplessly Like you find me

Another Transistor song. I really love Ashley Barrett’s voice. I should probably at some point play the game. xix. call off your ghost || dessa I hope she makes you happy It's just a lot to ask to watch your future walking past me

This song played during one of the weather segments of Welcome to Night Vale and made me remember how much I absolutely adore Dessa. Her voice is fantastic and I love the way that her songs flow. Also, this song gives me personal feels. xx. power over me || dermot kennedy I wanna be king in your story I wanna know who you are I want your heart to beat for me I have absolutely no idea where I heard this one. It might have been playing on the radio while I was driving somewhere? I played it a lot during the summer.  xxi. a future for the krogan || christopher lennertz -instrumental- It’s been a while since I played Mass Effect, but this song came up on a writing playlist and I have been listening to it ever since.

xxii. mine || bazzi Running circles 'round my mind Even when it's rainy all you ever do is shine

Shrug emoji. 

xxiii. bite || charlie cunningham Stone cold faces let you keep you poisoning your blood Cut you open then you'll see poison in your blood

Also shrug emoji? Most of the time when I’m doing these there’s fandom connatations to half the songs, but these year I wasn’t heavily invested in a whole lot of fandoms so these are mostly just songs I listened to while I was a) driving, b) in the shower, or c) while reading.

xxiv. wait for me || andre de shields Ain't no compass, brother, there ain't no map Just a telephone wire and the railroad track Keep on walking and you don't look back

And here’s the last Hadestown song on the list. It’s just... really good, okay. Really, really good. xxv. birds || imagine dragons & elisa Seasons, they will change Life will make you grow Dreams will make you cry, cry, cry

I think there’s been an Imagine Dragons song on here every year since they came out with Radioactive. This is the only song of theirs I heard this year, but pairing their voice with Elisa’s was fucking genius because this song makes me feel the chorus in my soul. xxvi. crazy || patsy cline You'd love me as long as you wanted And then some day You'd leave me for somebody new I was at a bar, and my friend has just announced that he was getting married to his girlfriend of ten years in Vegas, on a ferris wheel, by an Elvis impersonator. We started listening to Elvis songs to figure out what he’d play, and then we got distracted listening to a bunch of old love songs. This one is more heartbreak than love, but I’ve always loved Patsy’s voice. xxvii. bury a friend || billie eilish Bury a friend, try to wake up

I was really slow to the Billie Eilish train. One of my friends recommended her music and it’s just so chaotic and fantastic that I can’t believe I didn’t fall for it earlier. This song in particular was a Billy Hargrove song for a while.

xxviii. the seed || aurora Feed me sunlight, feed me air In a place where nothing matters Feed me truth and feed me prayer Aurora’s got one of those truly lovely voices. Also I like songs about how the earth should eat humanity.

xxix.  eleventh dimension || julian casablancas 'Cause no one really cares or wonders why anymore Oh, I got music, coming out of my hands and feet and kisses

Back in 2011, when I was still watching Doctor Who, someone made this video which blew my little heart away. I rediscovered this song while we were driving back to Ohio from our annual beach trip and managed to get everyone in the car hooked on it for weeks afterwards.

xxx. sunflower || post malone You're a sunflower I think your love would be too much

Into the Spiderverse! Was so! Good! 

xxxi. what’s up danger || blackway, black caviar I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy I like tall buildings so I can leap off of 'em

So like, that scene, right? The one that had everyone losing their collective shit? I saw gifs before I watched the movie, and goddamn, it lived up to every single expectation I ever had. I made Nick watch it with me, and he groaned a lot because honestly he is not the biggest fan of super hero movies, but even he admitted that it was the best damn Spiderman movie we’d ever seen. It was powerful and clever and heartwarming and funny and the music and animation were both fan-freaking-tastic.

xxxii. bad guy || billie eilish I'm the bad guy, duh Can you believe that I actually didn’t know about this video until @nijuukoo did art? I mean, I’d definitely heard it and liked it before hand, but the fucking video, man. That pic of Vanitas showering Ven in hearts is still the background of my desktop.(It would have been the one of him sitting on Ansem while he’s doing push ups, but it didn’t work with my screen)

xxxiii. elevate || dj khalil I jump off this building to save these civilians My strength and my honor is trusted by children I'm ready and willing to fight all these villains No chaos or killings, my style is so brilliant I really, really liked the music to Into the Spiderverse.

xxxiv. must’ve been || chromeo I must've been high when I met you Out of my mind when I decided to love you

There was a Harringrove fic that I read during the summer that made the connection between this song and modern AU Billy and Steve. I thought it was @lymricks but maybe not. Either way - I listened to this for like three weeks straight while reading about Billy and Steve flirting at the pool. Ha! Found it - you, through half-shut eyes by @brawlite.

xxxv. dark matter || les friction Bring me your soul, bring me your hate In my name you will create Bring me your fear, bring me your pain You will destroy in my name

There was an Outsider fanvid. I tripped over it.

xxxvi. lark of my heart || eliza rickman Lark of my heart - dance in the dark and say you love me Lark of my heart - right from the start and say you love me

This one was another that I found on a random playlist while I was reading and I just love the rhythm of the song. I sat right up and favorited that sucker before I lost it.

xxxvii. dancing on my own — robyn I'm just gonna dance all night I'm all messed up, I'm so outta line Stilettos on broken bottles I'm spinning around in circles Okay. Okay, okay, okay. So there was that tumblr post that went around a while back where a bunch of subway riders who just got back from a Robyn concert started singing while waiting for the train and I just. It makes me so fucking happy. Like, I remember the night I clicked on that video. I’d never heard the song before, but I didn’t need to because the level of fucking joy and unity in that video literally brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes, humans are fucking beautiful.

xxxviii. hungover in the city of dust || autoheart We’re hungover in the city of dust So let our minds run round in circles While we figure it all out

I really adore autoheart. They did Sailor Song, which was on my Top Songs post last year and honestly, according to the plays on spotify, probably should have still been on my list this year, but alas - this is the abridged version. Every song I’ve heard from them I’ve loved. The entire bridge makes me shiver, it’s just so wonderfully executed.

xxxix. season of the witch || lana del rey You've got to pick up every stitch, The rabbits running in the ditch, Oh no, must be the season of the witch In October I watched Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and it was super spooky and really great and probably one of the best movies I saw this year? But like, also this cover by Lana del Rey was the best damn thing about it. Someone made a witchy video that was great too but I can’t find it now. xl. bird song || juniper vale Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home When our hearts beat slow together

I really like Juniper Vale. I found them last year when I stumbled across their cover of Singing In The Rain, and they churn out some really quality music.

xli. paradise valley || honey & the sting So you'll have to hold me down Could you just hold me down build the levees higher This song was always going to make it to 2019′s list too. It’s just too damn good. Thank you, Wolf 359. You’ve given me a gift that is still giving three years later.

xlii. my hallelujah || autoheart Thought I found a new religion In you who was I kidding There's nowhere to go Except for under quarantine

More Autoheart! Just listen to that melody! That flow! 

xliii. furthest star || dirt poor robins We'll find our hiding place Clear across the Milky Way Beyond the galaxy On the furthest star that we see

This song reminds me a lot of Muse back in their early days. I was half-napping on the couch listening to, you guessed it, a random playlist on spotify, and I liked this song enough to surface from the edges of slumber to favorite it so I could find it again.

xliv. play dirty || kevin mcallister Would you get the Devil this dance? Would you be a part of his plans? Now you got some blood on your hands

There was a fanvid. It was good and basically caught me up on Preacher. The song is also really catchy.

xlv. it’s quiet uptown || kelly clarkson Look at where we are Look at where we started Last year, this was on my list because of an EOS 10 playlist. This year it’s on my list because I still fucking love it. Also I saw Hamilton this year and it was really phenomenal. I cannot get over how good it was.

xlvi. pas de deux || michael abels -instrumental- I watched Us in late October/early November and this entire sequence was really lovely and eerie and just all around fantastic. I loved the mirroring throughout the movie, and it all came together in this stunning confrontation.

xlvii. i got 5 on it || michael abels, luniz, mi I got five on it

Us had a really good soundtrack.

xlviii. one day more || les mis cast One more dawn One more day One day more!

About a month ago I got to see Les Mis in theater and I cried like six or seven times. That is not an exaggeration I was a fucking mess. As much as I’ve adored every musical I have seen up until this point, I have never had a musical affect me the way this one did. It was incredibly powerful and the experience was worth every damn cent.

xlix. into the unknown || idina menzel, aurora Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls

Like, I know it’s cool to hate on Frozen because it got so popular, but Idina Menzel is a queen with the voice of an angel and I’m sorry, but the movies were good. Also, Elsa is very, very pretty and this shit was very, very gay. 

l. show yourself || idina menzel & evan rachel wood Come to me now Open your door Don't make me wait One moment more

Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Elsa gets all the best numbers. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, folks. Happy listening.

[anchanted-one]

Eternal War Chapter 25 Battle of Asylum II

Read on AO3

Arro fought to keep his breath steady. If his concentration wavered, the debris would break through his shield. His hands trembled, his chest felt tight, and he was starting to have difficulty keeping his composure. All around him the walls closed, tighter, deeper… The Force was slipping through his grasp, soon he would lose his grip entirely, and he would get crushed. A soft, dry sob escaped his lips.

Hush, my love. The voice was soothing, powerful, energizing. I’m right here. I’m right beside you, always. His eyes shot open. The link! Lana!

I will always be here with you, and so will the Force. Here, hold my hand… There was no hand to hold, and yet all it took was a thought, and he felt her hand in hers. Warm, comforting just as he remembered.

His eyes shot open, and power briefly surged through his veins like sunlight over a mountain spring. He took a deep breath, and Pushed outwards hard. The debris threatening to crush him suddenly flew off of him. And why wouldn’t it? Lifting rocks was something a Padawan was taught. And now he was free!

“HK!” He scrambled forward, clambering over chunks of ferrocrete and metal. “HK!” He Lifted the debris in front of him, moved it aside, and found the Droid he was looking for. “No, no, no, no!” he muttered, running up to him and taking the Droid into his arms. The Bodyguard Droid had been hit not only by debris but by shrapnel from a missile and his head had been blown off. His Memory Core was beyond repair. He was gone. Arro started gasping, tears clouding his vision.

“Are you going to cry over a Droid, Outlander?”

Arro looked around and found Arcann, who had also risen out of the rubble. Both his remaining Knights were also free but hadn't escaped the collapse unscathed. One of them had evidently broken both legs, while the other her left arm, which she held gingerly with her good arm.

Arro looked angrily at Arcann. Had he just risked his Knights’ lives to kill him? He had to have called in that strike while Arro was still fighting his Knights, so at the very least he had been willing to sacrifice their lives.

Arro got to his feet, setting HK’s body down gently. He reignited his saber and tried to get the tight feeling out of his chest. “Request: Surrender, Meatbag!”

Arcann backed away, looking wary. He did not ignite his own Lightsaber, instead, seemingly playing for time, hoping to think of a way out of this predicament. He wanted some time, eh? Well he was welcome to it. Arro knew that could use a few moments himself, to give his exhausted body some time to recover. His hands were shaking like mad despite his attempts to steady them. The pain in his throat and chest increased, and his vision began to swim in a way completely different from tears.

Ehh— ? Oh. Dammit. Shit . It wasn’t the exhaustion or the panic. It was… not now, please, not now!

*

As Arcann tried to think of a way out he wondered why the Outlander was letting him bide his time. Perhaps he wasn’t completely unharmed? Maybe it would be wise for a tactical retrea— oh what was this, now?

The Outlander seemed to be having difficulty alright. As he watched, his enemy swayed and fell over, dropping his weapon. He started coughing hard; deep, hacking coughs that brought a stream of blood out of his mouth. This was more than just exhaustion, or even injury from the cave-in. Arcann remembered that it hadn’t yet been two weeks since the Jedi had been released from the Carbonite. He tried to recall the details on the final scan done on the Jedi, in the report that stated the state of his body following his long slumber.

Hibernation Sickness. Carbonite Poisoning.

Arcann couldn’t believe his luck. His mind flashed back four years, recalling a different formidable enemy whose body had failed them just at the right time. Darth Prowle.

He shivered. Even today, he could still see the woman’s shade behind him in his mirror. He still recalled the feel of extinguishing her life in such a cowardly manner, still had nightmares about her and her haunting grins. She chuckled at his every attempt at honor. She was cackling even now.

Go on! She seemed to be saying. You can’t beat him fairly. Kicking a dog when it’s down is exactly your style!

Arcann raised his fist and the Jedi was raised into the air, invisible fingers clutching at his throat with the vise-like grip of a Tarisian Crocodile. Arcann marched forward, igniting his saber at last, and stabbed the Jedi straight through his midsection.

“Feel that, Father?”

*

Arro! NO! NOOOO! Lana appeared just in time to see Arcann run him through. Because of her link she knew how this had happened; Arro had begun to lose consciousness from his symptoms and Arcann had seized his chance like the opportunist he was. He couldn’t defeat him in a straight up duel—it was clear that he’d realized that firsthand, given the number of dead Knights she saw in the debris. So he had tried other methods, and then gone in for the underhanded kill. Underhanded, but that was of no consequence. He’d struck her husband a deathblow.

She felt Arro losing the last of his consciousness, and sank to her knees in despair. No, please. Not like this.

Suddenly, she felt her husband awaken, panicked. His thoughts were a loud shriek in her head. What? No! Valkorion, what are you doing? Stop!

Arro rolled around and propped himself on one arm. He pointed the other at a bewildered Arcann, who seemed too stunned to move.

With the sound of a thousand thunderclouds exploding, a dense, thick stream of lightning shot out from Arro’s outstretched arm. It was power beyond anything Lana had ever felt before, far beyond what she had even imagined possible.

She cried out and shielded her eyes, the image of Arcann being Pulled away and Thrown to safety by one of his remaining Knights burned into her eyes by the intensity of the light. The air before her shimmered and sparkled; all of her hair stood on end, and goosebumps erupted on her skin. The thunder was so loud it drowned out all else. Oh, Force have mercy…!

*

From the viewport of the Gravestone’s bridge, SCORPIO looked in awe at the massive outpouring of energy as it rose from the port all the way through the sky, spearing a dozen or more refugee ships, through a whole column of Eternal Warships, and disappearing into the distance.

“Such incredible power…”

*

Silence… the thunder had stopped, and in its abrupt absence Lana could feel her ears ringing. Moaning, she tried to stand, only to lose her balance and fall over, heaving. Sounds were muted. Were her eardrums damaged? Taking it more slowly she tried to blink but her eyes were still dazed from that burning light. Her Force senses were also abuzz.

Then she felt a curious tingling in her ear as though it was being Healed, crudely but powerfully. Her other senses followed and she blinked to adjust to her reawakened world.

“Lana Beniko. We meet at last” A majestic voice, deeper than the depths of space itself. The ghost of a tall man with white hair and beard stood before her, arm outstretched. His armor was also white. His eyes burned cold.

“Valkorion.” She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud. He nodded. “Your Jedi husband is dying. I am doing what I can to save him, but I have never bothered learning Force Healing. Carry him to safety, and see to it that he gets the attention he needs.”

“Thank you,” was all Lana said, scrambling forward and hurrying over to her fallen husband. He was still alive, holding on by a thread—but that thread was holding firm. She tore off his robe to see how bad it was and her breath caught. It was terrible! If not for Valkorion—!

“Not the best moment to be doing that—”

Her head jerked as she looked up. “Arro!” “Lana!” He grinned. She leaned forward and placed a grateful kiss on his bloody lips, then stood up cradling him in her arms. She picked her way through the rubble, keeping note of Arro’s shallow but steady breathing. Every fifteen seconds or so, he touched her cheek with a hand to indicate that he was conscious—as though she needed it, with their bond! But the gesture comforted her, and she couldn’t help stifling a giggle behind her teeth as she walked. She heard the sound of jets behind her, and turned her head to see three dozen Skytroopers landing in formation.

Fortunately, she was not facing them alone. A trooper dropship landed between her and the Droids, and a  Kel Dor standing at one of the doors with a heavy cannon opened fire on the Droids. At the other door, a woman with nut-brown skin leaped out to help Lana with Arro. “C’mon!” she yelled to be heard over the engines and cannonfire. Together, she and Lana got Arro onto the ship.

“All aboard?” A familiar voice called from the pilot’s seat. “Theron! Your timing is impeccable!” Lana cried, and the soldier impatiently shouted “All aboard, cast off already!”

*

“That’s the last of em!” Lem called proudly. “I think they’re regrouping for now! Well done lil Kitty!” The brusque Cathar soldier who had turned up with three soldiers and almost single-handedly crushed the incoming wave of Droids turned and growled. “That’s ‘Major Jorgan’ to you.” He listened to a transmission on his earpiece and nodded. “Alright everybody, they’re on their way back, ETA 30 seconds! And the ship is—finally—ready for takeoff! Get onboard, now! Move it, people!”

“Wait, we still gotta wait for—” Lem stopped short as he saw Senya round a corner and make straight for the ship. “Never mind, she’s here!”

*

Lana had jumped out of the ship before it had even touched down. “Medic!” she yelled. “Medic!” Theron couldn’t blame her—Arro was badly wounded. But still, Kanner had examined him and said that his vitals were holding for now, so she could afford to do this nice and slow!

She led a small group of Medical Droids and techs to Arro and they carried him off on a stretcher.

Captain Kanner tossed a salute to her CO. “Mission accomplished sir!” “I see it, good job Kanner!” Jorgan responded. “Havoc, good job, all of you! At ease now. You’ve earned a break.”

Discarding his thoughts on Lana being overly affectionate, Theron jogged up to the Cathar soldier and threw his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Can you believe it? We just gave Arcann a black eye!” His lips held Jorgan’s for a firm kiss. “Stop it, you moron!” Jorgan chided him. “Can’t you see I’m working?”

The ship lurched forward and everyone almost got thrown off their feet. Koth helpfully called over the comms “We’ve made the jump into Hyperspace folks!”

*

Vaylin stood watching as Soldiers and Knights of the Eternal Fleet poured out of dropships to secure the now mostly-abandoned Starport. Between the Gravestone’s single attack and that awful white Lightning, a massive opening had been created in the blockade through which most of the port’s denizens had escaped. The few that were left behind—those whose ships had been damaged, or unlucky refugees who cowered while the others fled, or people who had been too slow or inebriated or detained to move—these were rounded up, identified for records, and shipped off. Some would be executed, those who had fought the invasion for example. Some who might have a talent for violence might be offered a chance to serve Zakuul, or die.

But most would be released and sent back into exile elsewhere.

Vaylin awoke to find that both she and Akahte were still alive. Her face felt numb and swollen, and she suspected that there would be a bruise there, but for now that didn’t matter. She crawled to Akahte and, sobbing, gratefully took her into her arms. On Akahte’s pained gasp, Vaylin eased her grip a little. “Anything broken?” “Just my ribs, thankfully,” she’d answered with a grimace. Whatever Mother’s motivation she had spared Vaylin… but she had also spared Akahte, for which Vaylin was desperately thankful.

Vaylin had gently walked Akahte back to their landing point with several Knights and Skytroopers arriving at her position to provide an escort. Akahte was now being tended to. But where was Arcann?

Shortly afterwards, a small guard of Skytroopers and Knights escorted Arcann back. One of the Knights was helping him walk, and Arcann was showing all the coordination of a drunk. There was blood oozing out from his right ear, and his eye appeared dazed. The left half of his face was hidden behind the mask, of course. But it, along with his upper robes, had been heavily charred.

Vaylin walked up to him and adopted an expression of utmost horror. “Oh, Brother! Can you hear me? What happened to you?”

Arcann blinked. “Force Lightning…” He ran his mechanical arm over his robes and mask.

“No not that!” She abandoned her shocked voice and shifted to teasing. “Why is half your face covered up?” She laughed at Arcann’s dazed expression, then stood tiptoed to give a sweet kiss on his exposed cheek. “Just teasing! I’m glad you’re not dead yet!”

“Yes… thank you, Sister. Thank you.”

*

“So Senya…”

“She’s against us.” Vaylin chuckled darkly. “Our own Mother helped the Outlander escape. She’s against us. And she gave me this pretty bruise too.” Her face hardened “I’m going to kill her… except… she spared me. And she spared Akahte too, which is odd.”

Arcann sat silently, still exhausted. It had been a long day. “Senya was always strong willed,” he said eventually. They were in the VIP medbay now. Private. Away from eavesdroppers.

Vaylin sighed and spoke again. “Do you think she knows? Do you think she’s working with Father against us? Has she betrayed us for Him?”

“It doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t make amends, she will face the consequences when I finally defeat the Outlander and put an end to our Father.”

“And speaking of the Outlander, and Father…”

Arcann hesitated. “I… I uh— I ran the Outlander through, but Father emerged and saved him again. That burst of Lightning was his doing.” That pause was significant, as was Arcann’s quick attempt to ascertain that no one was hovering behind his right shoulder.

Oh Brother, every time you do that I know you are trying to cover something up!

She glowered at him and Arcann broke. “He was suffering from other afflictions. He was already half unconscious when I struck him.” His face turned red with embarrassment. No, shame, more likely, given his love of tales of honor and integrity. “Ah!” Vaylin nodded. That made more sense.

As Arcann lay back to rest, Vaylin mentally replayed the day’s events. What should have been an easy trap and capture mission had turned into a desperate fight for their lives. Quite a debacle, one that many had escaped to talk about. It would only get more hairy from here.

Oh, and speaking of— The thought made her suddenly look at the mirror. Yep, I definitely need to get a haircut.

[badsithnocookie]

Exfiltration

Date: Approximately two months after the first Battle of Odessen.

Location: Geostationary orbit over Corellia.

-

'Hey. Picking up some interesting chatter…'

'I don't care about 'interesting',' Eirn muttered, wishing Theron would shut the hell up, 'I care about useful.'

She kicked a skytrooper leg out of the way as she said that, sending it crashing against the wall. Subtle, she was not, but they were long past the point of stealth. They'd set the alarms off as soon as they'd disembarked - deliberately, this time - and that had been three floors ago.

Eirnhaya Illte-Quinn had a lot of terrible coping methods, and throwing herself headfirst into danger was one of them. It distracted her from her problems - forced her to focus on the moment, caused problems of its own that she could focus on instead of the ones she was there to avoid, distracted others from those same problems and their attendant consequences. For all she hated war, fighting was an art she'd excelled at in her bid to seek out immediate problems in order to avoid ongoing ones.

'Got 'useful', too. Seems they're holding a prisoner aboard the station, here. I know we don't have much time, but-'

'Let me guess,' Eirn replied, sighing. 'You want me to spring them.'

Zakuul's not-an-Empire had installations like this all over the galaxy: Star Fortresses, though Eirn had no idea if that was the Zakuulan name and frankly, didn't care. They were glorified weapons platforms, hanging ominously in the skies over some obscene number of worlds, threatening Zakuul's idea of justice at a moment's notice. The Alliance had taken credit for destroying several, in the time since they'd made themselves publicly known - which hadn't done Zakuul's opinion of Odessen many favours. That, though, was the whole idea.

They were more than just weapons, of course. They housed scientific endeavours, skytrooper deployments, even prisoners - rebels, reactionaries, or even just random civilians with the poor luck to upset an Exarch.

'We can't just leave them. It'd be a death sentence…' Theron, on the other end of the comm, was continuing to be ever the Pub. His impulses and ideals ran counter to everything that Lana would have approved of - which was why, Eirn supposed, she let him run tactical on her operations at all.

'<Teeseven opinion=((prisoner:zakuulan)=possible ally). Teeseven recommendation = rescue.>'

Of course the droid had an opinion, too. Eirn disagreed with both of their assessments; it was equally probable that this was some kind of trap, and all she'd manage was to increase her own risk of being killed or captured. (And wouldn't Zakuul love that? The hated Outlander, brought low-)

'Do you have anything useful to add,' she said, picking her way over the chassis of another skytrooper, 'or can I have my silence back?'

'The detention level seems to be the next one down. Just- be careful, Commander…'

'I'm always careful. And stop calling me that.'

-

Between Eirn's lightsaber and Teeseven's technical wizardry, breaking into the holding area was less of an obstacle than it might have been otherwise. What wasn't made short work of by the Sith could generally be hacked or electrocuted by the Republic astromech; her adventures in kicking over Zakuul's sandcastles had shown Eirn firsthand why Lana had relied on the droid so much during her own rescue.

The captive wasn't hard to find, either; wasn't out for experimentation or interrogation, but left to linger in their cell, collared with one of those Force-suppressant devices that Eirn remembered from her own capture, at Arcann's hands - what felt like half a lifetime ago, now. It didn't take much to work out who they were, either, though Eirn was still guilty of staring in mute surprise for a long moment as she tried to reassure herself she wasn't jumping to a faulty conclusion.

'<Prisoner = Jedi Battlemaster! (Identity: Awenyth Loren, confirmed). Teeseven = Glad to see Jedi! Sith (identity:Wrath, younger) = Ally (Teeseven). Rescue = underway!>'

Which barrelled over anything that Eirn might have wanted to announce herself with, and instantly got the Jedi's attention - for any number of reasons. Awenyth's focus immediately snapped to Teeseven - and to Eirn, who was standing slightly stupidly on the free side of the forcefield, lightsaber in one hand.

'Hello, Awenyth,' Eirn just managed - pulling together the words as she tried to process the sight in front of her.

'Sith,' Awenyth replied, eventually - looking up at Eirn, her expression a mixture of hunted and haunted and very, very wary. She wasn't just thin, but gaunt - her clothing, little more than thin prison scrubs, hung on her in a way that spoke of a long, unpleasant captivity.

'What- happened to you?' Eirn could hear herself making stupid, pointless conversation while T7 interfaced with the computers; the droid could do a better, faster job of lowering forcefields and opening doors than even her lightsaber could, but that just meant she had no reason not to stand and stare.

'Sith,' Awenyth just repeated, though - fixing Eirn with a look that was somewhere between desperate and hostile.

(Listen, Theron was saying, I know you don't have much time, but you can't just leave her there. When this thing-)

(Shut up, Eirn hissed; she knew full well what would happen)

-

Feigning ignorance as to the collar's removal forceps was impossible, not least because the astromech - who apparently knew Eirn far too well - made a point of announcing where they were kept, and suggesting that Eirn fetch them. The hardest part was not kicking the droid as she returned, as thanks for its less than subtle ordering her about. Still, she tried to tell herself, this wasn't unsalvageable; the Jedi Battlemaster owing her was an idea that, in that other life Eirn daydreamed about, might have been cause for celebration instead of annoyance.

Awenyth watched her suspiciously the entire time - not even attempting to stand, though, until Eirn had removed the collar that the Zakuulans had placed on her. The Jedi was weak - sustained only through her stubbornness and hatred, and without the Force to draw on, that hadn't been much at all.

'Sith,' she just muttered, once she was on her feet - crossing her arms (hugging herself) defensively, her gaze flicking between Eirn and the Republic droid.

'I don't know what they did with your weapons,' Eirn said, 'And I don't have time to look for them. Stay, or follow me, it's your decision. Get in my way and I cut you down. Fall behind and I'm not coming back for you. Understand me?'

('<Sith = joking? Teeseven probability calculation lacks (knowledge: variables). Awenyth = Follow Teeseven. Shuttle = waiting for signal! Sith = combat expert. Awenyth = in good hands?>')

Awenyth just scrunched her nose, giving Eirn no more respect than she would a bad smell. 'Sith.'

Eirn took that to mean 'yes'.

-

In the chaos and the adrenaline crash after they jumped to hyperspace, Eirn was happy enough just to collapse - to pull off whatever bulky segments of her armour she could get at easily, before collapsing on the shuttle's uncomfortable passenger seats. A lifetime ago she might have held herself up with only her pride and pain to draw on, but Vitiate's presence only exacerbated the sleeplessness she'd struggled with for years, and left her with a sleep debt that even the Force had trouble meeting.

(He'd kept his threats and promises of silence, made when she'd rejected the helpful advice of his shades in the Odessen woods, but Eirn knew better than to trust that his silence meant his absence. He'd been silent to the Empire, after all, and yet she of all people knew that he'd still been present, still been yanking at the puppet strings of the Sith through his Hands and- well, his Wraths. She couldn't feel him, but that did not mean he was not present; moreover, she knew from personal experience that water brought to boiling around an unaware Sith would still kill them, before they'd even realised something was amiss. That thought was what scared her the most; that she'd acclimatised to his presence, become so used to it that she could no longer imagine herself without it, an idea which promised nothing pleasant about the things he plotted for her future)

When she slept, though, it was dreamlessly; when she woke, some hours into their journey back to Odessen, it was to see that someone had put a blanket over her while she'd slept, an idea which was simultaneously appreciated and nauseating. Awenyth had similarly passed out on one of the shuttle's tiny bunks - was, similarly, underneath one of Miot's emergency blankets, with Teeseven patiently monitoring her. There was a story as to how the two knew each other; Eirn knew that the astromech was of Republic origin, but had never imagined that it might once have been Awenyth's.

'Hey there, sleepyhead. Pleasant dreams?' Theron was awake, of course - working on some report or another. At least, that was Eirn's assumption, and the truth of it was that she didn't care enough to start contemplating otherwise.

Eirn made no reply to that - not verbally, anyway, but she flicked the air in his general direction, before standing up to stretch. What she really wanted was a fresher - and a comfortable bed, and maybe a long, stiff drink, but for now, stretches and paces would have to suffice.

Her relationship with Theron had always been uneasy, and not simply because he'd once been the enemy. Eirn had always been acutely aware of the warrants and bounties that the Republic had out for her - both for acts personally attributable to her, and for the more general quality she had of being Sith. His ultimate loyalties likely still lay with the Republic, but so long as this Alliance acted only against the Republic's enemies, he seemed willing and loyal enough. That, and- well, for all that Lana had been the one to pry Eirn out of carbonite, she disagreed with the other Sith far more than not.

'That'll be a no, then,' he sighed - made a show of sighing, before going back to attending to his datapad. 'Anything you want to add to the report?

'Depends,' Eirn replied - wishing, as she moved, that she'd found somewhere more comfortable to crash. 'Can I swear?'

-

Odessen meant fresh air, the first since they'd left; meant the opportunity for a long, hot shower in the privacy of the Pathcarver, still docked in one of Aygo's bays; meant Lana berating her for taking unnecessary risks, itself as much a ritual as it was genuine concern that Eirn would one day bite off more than she could chew. It meant, more than anything, not having to share that tiny space with someone who'd made repeated attempts to murder her, even if the Jedi hadn't exactly been in a state to do anything that wasn't collapse under the weight of all Zakuul had inflicted on her. Hours passed into days that Eirn spent first recovering from her trip, and then preparing for the next one; training, healing, avoiding interacting with Odessen's newest Jedi resident.

Of course, it couldn't last.

'She wants what.' Eirn, sitting in the cantina with her sister, had been half inclined to ignore the call from Lana, and was strongly considering hanging up.

'Look,' Lana began, 'it's up to you. But she's in no shape to start anything, and if she does, well, we can handle it.'

Eirn looked across at Anya, who was at least aware of some of her past with the Jedi; Anya just shrugged unhelpfully, looking for all the world as though she'd rather not be in this conversation at all.

'Fine,' Eirn sighed, though - she didn't have the energy to argue, and it wasn't as though she'd be doing this in enemy territory. 'But if this goes wrong,' she added, before Lana could interrupt, 'I'm blaming you.'

'Understood,' she replied, before abruptly cutting the call. It was difficult to tell when Lana was annoyed, and when she was simply being Sith; and if, at times, there was even a difference between the two.

'You're going?' Anya started - furrowing her brow a little in concern. (Her jaw tendrils were curling inwards, too; caution, of the kind worn by an animal aware it is being stalked by a predator, and it did nothing to reassure Eirn in the slightest)

'I'll- get it over with,' Eirn replied, shrugging - if the Jedi wanted to spit venom at her, well, she could always just leave.

'You… want some moral support?' Anya added - as much wary as she was anything else. Anya could hold her own in a fight, but for all they were Sith, Eirn had little desire to throw her sister into harm's way. Another of her failings, perhaps. But hers, regardless.

Eirn thought about it, for a long moment; looked at her mug of caf, half drunk and long gone cold. It had always been more of a prop than a drink - something to pay attention to that wasn't the places in her relationship with her little sister that she needed, desperately, to mend - to fill in with something that wasn't a lifetime of being somewhere else.

'I'll- be fine,' she sighed, though - besides, Awenyth was her enemy, not Anya's. Was her rescuee, her- prisoner, would Awenyth view herself that way? Her responsibility, and that was the worst thought of the lot.

-

Eirn had her lightsaber, as she always did; had her nails, her teeth, herself, and waved away any suggestion of an escort. If nothing else, she reasoned, an immediate presence would be more likely to exacerbate problems than deescalate them, and for once in her life, she had no desire to fight the one-time Battlemaster whatsoever.

Awenyth was in a side ward of the medical wing - unrestrained, uncollared, but not, Eirn noted, unguarded. Then again, the Jedi Battlemaster would have made a tempting target, and not just for Zakuul. There were plenty of Sith on Odessen who still followed Korriban's rules; stayed within the ones imposed by Eirn, yes, but were far more interested in their letter than their spirit.

'Sith.' The Jedi was the first to speak, too - had apparently been expecting Eirn, a thought that unsettled her.

Awenyth was sitting, albeit in a medical cot; hooked up to a drip of some kind, bandages in places on her arms that Eirn did not remember her being injured, and not looking any less uncharacteristically frail for wearing a medical gown, or being half-curled up under white sheets. If anything, the bright lighting threw her shadows into sharp relief - something Eirn suspected that the Jedi was unpleasantly aware of.

'Hello, Awenyth,' Eirn replied - repeated, really, and she wondered what, exactly, she'd agreed to.

Awenyth just looked at her for a long, hard moment - studied her, narrowing her gaze until it focused only on the Sith in front of her. It was a feeling Eirn disliked - from anyone, not just this old enemy of hers.

'So it was you,' Awenyth just added, after a long moment - before looking away, back to the blankets wrapped around her, as though they contained the key to some hidden mystery.

'Why wouldn't it be me?' Eirn replied - lost for what else she was supposed to respond with, and almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Awenyth fixed her with that glare, again - sharp and distant and almost contemptuous. 'Because you stink,' she snarled, 'of him.'

It took Eirn a long moment - a long, puzzled, wary moment, before the fear she still nursed of her Emperor's continued presence curled around those words, absorbing them into itself in a way that promised more sleepless nights. What other him would she mean, but-?

'You can… sense him?' Eirn began, cautiously - attempting to ignore the icy dread trying to form in her stomach, as though the Jedi wasn't apparently already well aware of other things she'd rather keep hidden.

'It amazes me,' Awenyth replied, her gaze fixed on something just out of focus, just to Eirn's side, 'That you can't.' She paused, at that - before swivelling her focus back to Eirn. 'Sith,' she began to add, 'If you still serve him…'

Eirn just snorted, to that - both to the notion that Awenyth could threaten her, in this state, and the idea that she might still serve Vitiate. 'My only goal,' she replied, 'Is to find some way to destroy him. Once and for all.' For everyone who ever suffered and died for his 'irrelevant ancient dogma'.

'You were there,' Eirn added, 'On Yavin. You heard what he said.' You are special. 'If you can sense him, it's because he enjoys tormenting me. But I promise you,' she added, 'I do not serve him, or the Empire.'

Awenyth just watched her, as she spoke - didn't lose that steel in her expression, even as it flickered between Eirn and something-just-out-of-focus.

'Be wary of him, Sith,' Awenyth replied, darkly - watching Eirn as though she thought the Sith might be taken by their enemy at any moment. 'He'll rot you from the inside out and wear you as a suit, given even a sliver of a chance.'

Eirn hadn't forgotten Ziost - or Master Surro, the just-as-broken Jedi that Lana had once wanted to study like a frog in a jar. But Awenyth's broken riddles, not to mention her sensitivity to him - something even Senya had missed - spoke of a far more personal history. For a moment - just a moment - Eirn remembered those boasts that had been made of Awenyth's raid on Dromund Kaas, and wondered if there was some awful price the Jedi had paid for what hadn't even truly been a victory.

'I don't intend to give him one,' she just replied, though - her words pointed at Vitiate as much as Awenyth. 'My goal is his destruction. Nothing else.'

'Then our goal is common, Sith,' Awenyth replied - the hostility not leaving her tone or posture, not for a single moment. 'For as long as it remains such, I will not strike you down. But do not think this makes us friends.'

Eirn just laughed humourlessly, at that. 'I would never dream of it, Jedi.'

'I don't want your pity, either, Sith.' Awenyth was suddenly furious- no, it wasn't that. There was a veneer of anger, but underneath it, she was in pain - she'd been humiliated, shattered, broken down to her constituent components and left scattered on the ground. It was still uncannily like looking in a mirror - a twisted fairground mirror, perhaps, but a mirror all the same.

'Pity is the last feeling you inspire in me, Jedi,' Eirn replied, dryly. She wondered if Awenyth saw the same thing she did, or if this introspection was entirely one-sided. 'You're here because if you weren't, Shan wouldn't let me hear the end of it.'

Which was definitely an attempt to save face, and not just to the Jedi. For all that there was no love lost between the two of them, the Jedi's concern on Ziost had been entirely genuine - as had the fleeting alliance they had made. For all the good it had done them, in the end.

Eirn's remark just made Awenyth blink in surprise, though, and her expression melted into something that was almost tinged with hope. 'The Grand Master?'

'The spy,' Eirn replied flatly. The last thing she needed was the Jedi Grandmaster oozing platitudes at her. She'd rather have Baras's ghost stalking her every failure, along with Vitiate; the pair of them criticising her at every turn, perhaps with the ghosts of her self-esteem and dignity egging them on.

Awenyth had no smart reply to that, though - just fell back into her contemptuous default state, snorting and turning her attention elsewhere. Eirn took that as meaning the conversation was over - and, rather grateful for that, left.

-

Meditation in the wilderness wasn't an activity commonly associated with Sith, especially when said wilderness was as green and full of life as Odessen's was - and if that Sith was Eirn. If Sith were not creatures found in nature, then nobody would look in the forests around the Alliance's camps when they wanted to pester her.

'If you're trying to be stealthy, Agent Shan, you might want to work harder on your force signature.'

Almost nobody.

'I wasn't,' the spy replied, sourly - and then, 'Believe it or not, Commander, I don't enjoy the prospect of a surprise lightsaber.'

Eirn opened her eyes, slowly - and smirked at the sight of the mildly irritated spy. 'What do you want, Theron?'

'That little... tiff with the Battlemaster.' he replied - leaning against the nearest tree, crossing his arms defensively, and studying Eirn as she stood. 'There's not going to be any problems with you two?'

Word apparently travelled fast. Then again, Eirn supposed she shouldn't be surprised; both Theron and Lana would be well aware of the animosity that existed between the once-Wrath and the former Battlemaster.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' Eirn said - dusting herself down as she did so. That was a downside of communing with nature - it had a tendency to stick to your clothing afterwards. 'By Sith standards, that was practically a declaration of love.'

A slight overstatement of things, perhaps, but Eirn had traded far worse barbs with people who'd hated her far less. There were likely hundreds of reasons that Awenyth's efforts had been as half-hearted as they had been, but Eirn wasn't in the habit of speculating on the reasoning of broken Jedi.

What she didn't expect, though, was the stab of concern that the l-word prompted from Theron - and Eirn decided this was not a road she wanted to venture down.

'Believe it or not,' he said, scrambling for a response, 'That's what concerns me. She's not Sith.'

'No,' Eirn replied, 'She's a very broken Jedi, and despite appearances,' she sighed, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare, 'I am not completely heartless.'

'I didn't-' Shan started to protest - before sighing, in apparent defeat. 'I can never tell when you're being serious. That's not a good thing, by the way.'

Which made it Eirn's turn to sigh again. 'As long as she doesn't start fights, I won't finish them. Is that good enough?'

'That's… going to have to do,' Theron replied - conceding defeat, or at least appearing to.

'Great,' Eirn said - dusting her hands off, at that, and making a show of being at least a little energised. 'So what Star Fortress are we hitting next?'

[onestowatch]

Ali Barter on Letting Go of Perfection [Q&A]

Choirgirl's voice meets a fuzzy guitar. Although music has been a constant in punk-pop artist Ali Barter’s life, it was never really a given that she would make a living out of it. She spent eight years in the Australian Girls Choir but quit when she was around 16 and, in her own words, became a real “rat bag,” drinking too much, behaving badly.

She returned to music in her mid-twenties and soon after she released her first of three EPs. Her debut album, A Suitable Girl, was well-received by both critics and fans but Barter had her doubts about it, and for a while, she wasn’t sure if she would be making more music. Turned out she couldn’t keep it in and her second album, Hello, I’m Doing My Best, released earlier this fall.

We caught up with Barter in between shows at Reeperbahn Festival in Hamburg, Germany for a chat about the new album, women in the music industry, and thinking of yourself as a vacuum cleaner. Yes, a vacuum cleaner.

Ones To Watch: So the first thing I’ve written down about you is “choirgirl turned punk rocker.”

Ali Barter: When I was a kid, I wasn’t really into sports, but I liked to sing so my mum put me in a choir when I was eight, I think. I was also classically trained. I guess my mum just wanted me doing something extracurricular, and then when I was 16 and all my friends doing all these other fun things, I quit. When I came back to music, it was more because I worked in a café. I’d dropped out of five different university courses. 

I’m just not a school person, I tried really hard, and I have a lot of debt because of it. I realized that the only thing I really liked was music, so I enrolled in a university degree with that and then I started writing my own songs. It just sort of started from there. I have this really pure choirgirl’s voice, and I smoked, and I drank, and I sang really low and dirty to try to get it out of me, which never really happened. The more I write songs, they get faster and higher and the choirgirl training has now come in really useful.

Why do you think you ended up in the punk rock genre?

I grew up in the '90s and early 2000’s, so I listened a lot to Nirvana and Pixies and all that stuff so that grunge thing is so deep within me. There’s that thing that the music you heard as a teenager gets in you and stays in you forever. I tried writing singer-songwriter stuff and there was a while way back when I wanted to be Lana Del Rey. But then there’s also that sort of stripping back; who am I and what am I doing, and I’ve got to make music that feels satisfying to me. The music that does that has a really strong melody, so I love pop music and that’s probably the choirgirl in me, but I also love rock n’ roll. It’s interesting how you can’t fight your own self and your own sound. Maybe I’ll go a bit more pop eventually. I kind of want to.

You recently released your sophomore album, Hello, I’m Doing My Best. Your debut album, A Suitable Girl, came out in 2017 and you’ve said that that album “wasn’t really you.”

I think the album was just another version of myself. I have a lot of shame. As a kid, I was very self-conscious, so I put out this record and it was this really public thing and I felt like it was saying “This is me,” and then I heard it and I was like this isn’t me. I think it had less to do with the music because I listen to it now and I love it and it was exactly as I was at that time, so it was probably more about me accepting myself. And I had to go through this really painful process of trying to be somebody else so much or trying to fit in. I expected that record to make me feel like, “Here I am, I am great, I am fine, this is me,” but it didn’t. It made me go “I don’t know who I am,” and I was looking at all these other artists and they all looked like they had it all together and had figured it out. I thought I would have figured it all out by then and so it all just bottomed out for me at the end of 2017, and it was really painful but it was the beginning of what this is now.

So when you started writing songs again, did you know from the beginning that you were writing another album?

I write a lot of songs so I always thought there would be an album but it took a while to know what I was writing, I guess. I started writing alone and I didn’t want anyone to help me because everyone else fucks it up. I was sort of looking for someone to blame for me not liking the first album. But I made some demos and I sounded exactly the same, so I was like, “Fuck it, I might as well just go and be me.”

Do you usually write alone?

I start to write alone and then I take it to other people. I work a lot with my husband (Oscar Dawson of Holy Holy) who produced my record. I co-write with a few people I really love and trust and go back to over and over again. The lyrics are always mine. I think that’s the one thing that nobody else has anything to do with. Sometimes somebody will suggest a lyric, but it’s very personal. But musically, I look to other people to help me produce the songs. If I sit alone with a song, it will be there for years, but if you take it to someone else there are just so many ideas and my head doesn’t get in the way.

I talked to someone about that today. Women can be so bad at just finishing things because we want it to be perfect but a lot of guys are better at putting something out there before it’s at its best and ask for advice.

Exactly. And it such a hard thing to let go of. I talk to my girlfriends about it all the time. There’s just this idea of perfection that we are all trying to measure up to.

You’ve previously spoken out about the under-representation of women in music, and I’m wondering if you see a change in that area?

I think so. Especially in Australia, anytime a festival line-up comes out there’s always a massive blowback. Everyone is talking about whether they have done it properly or not. I always want female support acts. My husband’s band only has female support acts. People are thinking about it, at least in my area. It’s a long way to go. And language around women is a really interesting thing. I still sometimes say that “girl band” instead of just band. People are a lot more aware though and they want to see diversity. It’s less like we have to hit a quota and more like people are getting bored of just seeing four dudes in a band.

 You’ve toured Europe, Australia, and have played in the States. It must be overwhelming but I take it you’re also excited? 

I’m really excited, and I love it, and I’m glad that I’ve done stuff like this in Australia so that I know that I don’t have massive expectations. I can just play my songs. I hope that I can engage with the audience and they can see my personality. I know it’s about that rather than getting up and playing perfectly every night. It’s like being at a conference and you’re selling a vacuum cleaner, presenting a product with certain features. I know it sounds really unromantic like that but that helps my head. It’s like, “Here I am, this is what I do, this is how I say it,” but in that, I feel very good and happy and excited to say that now, whereas a few years ago I would have probably completely self-sabotaged because it had to be perfect. So time and age and a bit of experience make this really fun. I’m having a lot of fun and can appreciate that it’s a hard and stressful thing to do, but I feel okay with me, so I feel really okay to share that with people.

Is there something you want people to take away from your music, either listening to it at home or going to a show?

I just want people to have fun and feel okay. That’s what I’m always trying to do. I have anxiety, I have things I battle with, and the older I get I’m like, “It doesn’t matter, let it go.”

Who are your Ones To Watch?

From anywhere? Well, my guitarist Alex is in this amazing band called murmurmur. They’ve put out a couple of singles and they’re working on an album. And then my all-time favorite band is DZ Deathrays who are also playing this festival. I love them so much. And then there’s also an Aussie girl called Mallrat who’s absolutely amazing.

[danwhobrowses]

Tinfoil Discussions - Pokémon anime: Alola, Galar and the Fate of Ash Ketchum

So here’s a new tinfoil discussion, one of a different franchise. The One Piece Wano content got a whopping zero attention but who cares? I’d like to discuss this, especially given the uncertain nature of the upcoming series. I must warn you, there are spoilers in this, deep level spoilers. I’m not just talking about the events of Episode 138 recently released in Japan, I also want to discuss the nature of Episode 140′s title. If you wanna know about that stuff, Bulbapedia is a good shout.

The Stuff We Know Last week on the aftermath of Episode 137, Pokémon teased a new anime series, alluding to the fact that all regions would be visited in some manner. Leaving it at that, many things have circulated, the main question is: Is this the end of Ash Ketchum’s story? After all, Ash is on the precipice of winning the Manalo Conference, Alola’s first Pokémon League, all that’s left is to defeat Gladion - who has put off the search for his lost father to fight in the league but more on that later. The final title of the Sun and Moon series has not been announced, all we know is that by Episode 140, Guzzlord will hop dimensions onto this world. The Potential End of Ash Ash Ketchum has been the main protagonist for the anime for over 2 decades, I was a boy watching him, Misty and Brock travel Kanto. On every (official) region however, Ash has fallen short of the Pokémon League, sometimes poorly, sometimes impressively. Many people thought last season in Kalos would be his time, and many of those people were angry when he didn’t, so Alola can be seen as retribution - second attempt and all. Should he win the league, the question is what then? Winning the league should enable Ash to fight the Elite Four, but it may be considered a stopping point since it means that Ash has no true reason to continue resetting. So is Pokémon planning on closing time on Ash Ketchum? The movies have not followed his anime journey anymore and there is so much you can do. Personally, this is a worrisome thought but - because there’s always a but - I don’t think this is the route they should or will go. The Outcome of the Manalo Conference The Manalo Conference is the name of the Alola League, and it’s expected to end next week.  Frankly, I have felt that this conference was a sham, a true vanity project from Professor Kukui. Now I’m not saying that Kukui is a bad guy, he’s just a bit vainglorious; he made a Pokémon League - having failed to defeat Lance in the Indigo League at least in the games - based off the architecture of a Pokémon School where he has like 6 students that learn nothing and have an underground X-Men facility, he lets just about anyone enter it regardless of the Island Challenge and what does the winner get? To fight his Masked Luchador alter-ego. The man puts himself on a high pedestal, but worse than that this league is tailor made for Ash to win. His only major opposition is the finalist Gladion - who has no reason to fight the ‘Royal Mask’. We also could’ve buffed some of the side character teams with Oranguru for Mallow, Drampa for Mallow or Lana, Dewpider for Lana, Clefable for Lillie, even Bewear for TR, but we didn’t, never really giving any of Ash’s companions a chance at making an impact. Narratively Ash is the only person who should win the league, since Kiawe and Hau had not enough attention to be considered viable and Guzma was the generic ‘bad guy who underestimates Ash’ who Ash always beats. The league also doesn’t feel like the right setting, since Ash doesn’t even have a full team and the final is not a full battle. Lillie, who is great but not a battler, made it further than Kahili - in the games an Elite 4 Member. That is the extra silliness we get on top of Ash’s ‘strategies’ (which involve Pikachu’s Electroweb not working like Electroweb and Rowlet’s Featherdance not working like Featherdance) and the fact that Gladion can use Items mid-battle to grant Silvally unfair advantages. But despite my opinions, the conference can still go either way. Because really, Ash doesn’t need the league to fight Kukui, the last time he fought ‘Royal Mask’ was on a beach, and Gladion doesn’t need the league to find his father, but we are reaching a point where a winner seems to be close to decided. Currently, despite both being 1-1, Ash is on the front foot, he’s only lost his most inexperienced Pokémon and it was to Gladion’s Pikachu-equivalent, he knows that Gladion has got Lycanroc for last and his Pikachu still stands against Zoroark, but this is not our first rodeo, we fully expect the finale to be Lycanroc vs Lycanroc, so who comes out on top? Option 1 is Ash, obviously, Lycanroc hasn’t beaten Gladion’s Lycanroc so it can be due, Ash goes one better than Kalos and wins undoubtedly the easiest League he’s ever signed up for in front of his mother. Option 2 is Gladion, like Alain’s Charizard against Ash-Greninja, Gladion’s Lycanroc maintains a perfect record against Ash’s, being the more experienced battler and Ash loses his easiest league in front of his mother but saves his crowning achievement for a proper challenge and liberates Ash to continue challenging gyms and resetting per region. Before the episode title for 140 was announced, these seemed to be our only options, until Option 3 Option 3: Guzzlord Guzzlord appeared in a random 2-parter to market Zeraora, but it seems to be coming back around. Guzzlord secretly seems to be the key to some character resolution, primarily the status of Gladion and Lillie’s father Mohn - who has been missing since falling through an Ultra Wormhole. Guzzlord can also be key to sparing Ash the restriction that comes with the League Victory but also prevents the disappointment of Ash losing. If Guzzlord intervenes the final outcome of the battle, then there is no winner. Ash didn’t lose but he didn’t win, and he carries momentum to get a victory with his magic changing z-crystal to best Guzzlord with his friends once and for all, and it allows Ash to still do the bi-annual reset. Guzzlord’s appearance also can lead to Magearna, Bewear and Team Rocket’s Mech being utilized, loose threads that will hopefully surface (though I’m stumped as to the status of Shaymin, why can’t Mallow just keep it?). Out of the three options this does feel like the better one, because Ash hasn’t earned his league victory yet. Why hasn’t Ash earned the League Being a Pokémon archivarius, I can cast my mind back to past leagues. Indigo was hard, the rules were stupid and we were basically robbed of a rival battle thanks to Charizard’s Laziness, the Silver Conference saw Ash be edged out by Harrison and his Blaziken to promote Hoenn, Ever Grande saw Ash lose to eventual winner Tyson in a tough Pikachu/Meowth fight, Lily of the Valley had Ash bested again by the eventual winner, the OP Legendary user Tobias, the Vertress Conference stepped back and had Ash lose to clumsy, forgetful Cameron thanks to a Lucario evolution and Lumiose had Ash overachieve by losing to the seemingly unstoppable Alain. Out of all of those leagues, the best arguably for me would have to be Sinnoh - the second longest league with 7 episodes to reach the semi finals, Manalo being 10 and all previous being 6 - because every battle Ash had to fight for it; Nando, Conway, Paul (considered one of the best Pokémon battles) and Tobias, he used the full power of his arsenal to do it, which sold that Ash was giving it his all, we got to see Pokémon old and new shine from it, and full battles for at least half of Ash’s battles. The thing that also makes it stand out to me is that there’s no excuse; Ash doesn’t have a fancy one of a kind form like Ash-Greninja or Dusk Lycanroc, he doesn’t have a Legendary Pokémon like Meltan/Melmetal and he doesn’t apply a tactic that shouldn’t work or the same motion of Pikachu quick attack everything and then iron tail - like I know there’s only 4 moves but he always starts with Quick Attack and it drives me insane! It’s stuff that’s inspired rather than convenient so all that Ash is left with is his mettle. Comparing that journey to this one, where Ash beat Faba in less than 4 moves in a 1v1, 2-Hitted Hau’s Decidueye while absorbing a nonsense amount of damage and a fakeout loss to beat Hau, and bested Guzma by really lucking out on Golisopod’s Emergency Exit, it doesn’t feel right now does it? Ash’s League Victory should be a triumph that pushes the extent of Ash’s team, strategy and connection to his Pokémon, against true challenges where either one has a chance at besting him, that is why all the Post-Sinnoh conferences have not been ‘it’; Sawyer, Trip, Guzma and Hau were never really given the threat that they could beat Ash, in fact Sawyer only beat Ash once and it was excusable by him having Ash-Greninja dysfunction. Compiling all of this into account, it should be clear that even if Ash does win this league, it is not what it’s meant to be. The Galar Series Question So Galar is still going to be a thing, we just don’t know how. What is this new series after all? It could just be a side series, it could be a means of bringing older companions to Galar or it may even follow Ash in Galar and some other characters who’ll entwine with him a la Alain and Mairin. Possibilities are endless until the answer is concrete, but in this person’s opinion I still believe Ash would embark in Galar. Would not miss the chance to Dynamax Pikachu for love nor money, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they heavily divert from the game’s plot like they have for Alola. Galar seems to revolve its gym system in a similar manner to Football (or Soccer if you’re overseas and well, wrong), it’s heavily televised like a League, which means that if they go this route Ash would be thrown into a heavy limelight, which can be restrictive, so I kinda expect that to be toned down, I will also expect TR to return with Bewear (or maybe a Nurse Joy kinda deal with another Bewear) and Marnie to probably be a companion. So of course, that answers my closing statement Are we closing the Book on Ash Ketchum Stupidity and failures aside, Ash is undoubtedly an anime icon, and I would find TPCi and TV Tokyo foolish to give that up, especially when other franchises have brought back the OG Digidestined for TRI and Goku & Friends for Dragon Ball Super, Ash has mileage but perhaps not in the same routine past series have followed. Each new setting is a new adventure and even small things can influence a unique dynamic - like even making Ash 11. People may need to think outside of the box, pick the qualities of what has passed, but that’s a good thing! Change is scary yes but that doesn’t mean you drop something entirely, Pokémon have enough IP that they can make Non-Ash series too, if they want to they can expand their market that way, just don’t give up on Ash Ketchum. This is not how his story should end, it would insult the character and the storytellers of the past to do so. But I wouldn’t worry too much about this happening, the best we can do is sit down, enjoy the show, and bide my sweet time until I get hired by them hope that sense prevails over a quick ‘shocking headline’. So that’s my piece, if you have opinions don’t be shy, but also be respectful, this is only stuff I’m feeling at present, by the passage of time new information may alter opinion.