#but man he just got into the project out of curiosity and then was miserable through the whole thing and made it worse for everyone

[strangestcase]

glad we all agree Allan LXG is forgettable at best. sure sure the story needs an old British hero to work but what is his personality really. Sean Connery playing him like every single sentence he says is utter torment also doesn't help.

[cyren-myadd]

Avatar One-Shot: Child Support

As the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, the recombinant Miles is the legal beneficiary of all of his genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. Unfortunately, he’s also the legal beneficiary of his debts. This includes the fifteen years worth of child support for Miles Socorro.

The day started out just like any other day during Spider’s captivity in Bridgehead. Quaritch collected him from his “room” (AKA, the cell Quaritch had added a few amenities to after Spider started cooperating with him) and brought him to the cafeteria so he could eat before they set off to continue the recoms’ survival training in the jungle. The other recoms had already eaten and were off doing whatever it was they did when Quaritch wasn’t bossing them around, leaving Spider to shoulder all of his early morning bossiness alone.

“Get your hair out of your face, boy. And don’t pick at your food, just eat it.” Quaritch ordered impatiently while Spider prodded the contents of his plate. The brown lumps before him were allegedly some kind of sausage, but Spider didn’t trust the RDA’s menu anymore than he trusted their propaganda about wanting to “build a peaceful future with the Na’vi.” A group of scientists walked past with their breakfast trays in hand, and Spider eyed the large cinnamon rolls on their plates in envy. Their sweet fragrance taunted him as the scientists sat down nearby.

“This stuff is nasty. Can I have one of those things instead?” He pointed to the frosted pastries hopefully.

Unsurprisingly, Quaritch dashed his hopes by nudging the plate of “sausage” under his nose. “The last thing you need for breakfast is a bunch of sugary shit. You need protein.”

“Uhg.” Spider slouched miserably onto the cafeteria table and rested his head on his arm. 

“And sit up straight for Christ’s sake, you look like you’re falling asleep.”

“I am falling asleep,” Spider mumbled into his elbow.

Quaritch opened his mouth —to boss him around some more no doubt— but before he could say anything, a loud BANG! interrupted him. Both of them jumped in their seats and whipped around to see the source of the noise; somebody had slammed open the cafeteria door so hard it’d nearly been knocked clean off its hinges, and that somebody was marching straight towards them. All the RDA personnel in the cafeteria stared at him in varying shades of annoyance and curiosity.

“Miles Quaritch!” Hollered the man who’d caused all the ruckus.

Spider’s eyes went wide. He knew that voice. “No fucking way,” he hissed under his breath. Never in a million years had he thought he’d ever see him again.

“I got a bone to pick with you!” The man, who was wearing the obnoxiously bright orange uniform of the mining crew, stormed right up to Quaritch like he owned the place. Everyone around them stared. Spider leaned around Quaritch to try and catch his eye, but the man wouldn’t so much as glance at him. All of his attention was on Quaritch. It was a comical sight. Spider would’ve laughed if he wasn’t too busy wishing he would look at him. Even though Quaritch perched awkwardly on the cafeteria bench that was much too small for him, the man still had to crane his neck to meet his gaze.

Quaritch looked down at the angry little man with an odd expression on his face, like he couldn’t decide if he was more irritated or amused by this interruption. Luckily for the man, Quaritch’s amusement won out in the end and he gave him a smile that was only half sarcastic. “If you got a bone to pick with Miles Quaritch, you’ve come to the right place. Now who might you be?”

“My name is Nash McCosker.” He huffed and crossed his arms, watching Quaritch’s face for a reaction. Clearly, his name was supposed to mean something to Quaritch, because he looked even more irritated when he didn’t react at all.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCosker.” Quaritch replied dryly. “I reckon I don’t need to introduce myself since you already seem to know who I am, so I’ll introduce you to my, ah… translator. This here is Spider. Say hello, Spider.”

He nudged him with his knee, but Spider didn’t say hello; he didn’t think he could even if he’d wanted to. His mouth was as dry as the land around Bridgehead, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Spider stared silently at McCosker, waiting for him to say something or look at him or do anything to acknowledge his presence. Even with Quaritch making an effort to introduce him, McCosker still wouldn’t even glance at him. He might as well have been a complete stranger. The silent rejection stung like a slap and Spider’s breath caught in his throat. His legs bounced in place, itching to move. Part of him wanted to march right up to McCosker and smack that stupid mustache off his face while another part of him wanted to run so far away he’d never have to hear his voice again. But Spider didn’t dare do any of that with Quaritch breathing down his neck, so instead he settled for clenching his fists and glaring at the floor. If McCosker wanted to act like he didn’t care about him, then fine! Spider didn’t care about him either! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quaritch’s ears flatten back at his reaction, but if it bothered him he didn’t say anything.

The silence stretched from awkward to downright uncomfortable, and Quaritch seemed to accept he wasn’t going to get a proper salutation out of Spider anytime soon. “Eh, sorry about that. This one’s not much for manners.”

McCosker scoffed. “Heh. Tell me about it.”

All of Spider’s resolve to pretend he didn’t care evaporated in an instant. “You—!“ he hissed as he lunged to his feet, and McCosker recoiled with his fists raised. Fortunately for McCosker, Spider didn’t get any further than that because Quaritch put a hand on his chest and pushed him right back into his seat. “Whoa! Easy, there!”

The reaction came so quickly that Quaritch only could’ve been expecting it. He kept one hand securely on Spider and with the other he gestured for McCosker to relax. Spider shoved his oversized hand off him with a snarl, but didn’t bother with trying to stand again. He crossed his arms and glared at the next table over. The group of scientists seated at the table suddenly became very interested in their plates.

“Alright, would either of you like to explain to me what the hell is going on here?” Quaritch asked as he looked between the two of them. The novelty of the situation was wearing off quick and Quaritch was going from amusement to irritation even quicker.

“Look, sir, I’m not looking for trouble.” McCosker must’ve sensed the danger in Quaritch’s mood, because he switched to a much politer tone. “I’m just looking to get what I’m owed.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly is that?”

Before McCosker could answer, the sound of rapid footsteps made all three of them look up. A man in a suit rushed towards them from the same door as McCosker. He clutched a haphazard binder full of papers to his chest that sent the occasional loose sheet fluttering into the air behind him.

“Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late.” He said breathlessly as he arrived at their table. “I tried to keep up with you, Mr. McCosker, but you took off so fast I got left in the dust, heh, heh.” He chuckled awkwardly before clearing his throat. “Good morning, Colonel. My name is Mr. Ford. I’m from the HR department and I will be mediating this agreement between you and Mr. McCosker today.” Mr. Ford offered his hand for Quaritch to shake, but Quaritch ignored it and narrowed his eyes.

“An agreement for what exactly?”

Mr. Ford lowered his arm and jammed it into his pocket. “Well, you see, sir, as the clone of the late Miles Stephen Quaritch, you are the legal beneficiary of all of your genetic donor’s property, wealth, and rank. You know this, correct?”

“Yes, this was all explained to me when I decanted. And?” Quaritch prompted impatiently.

“Of course you already know!” Mr. Ford fidgeted nervously. “But are you aware that you also inherit any and all debts belonging to Miles Quaritch?”

At that, Quaritch’s ears twitched back against his skull. “No… I don’t think that was ever mentioned. But I didn’t— I mean— him, the original Quaritch— he didn’t have any debt when he died, so why does this matter?”

“Well, not quite, sir. You see, your, eh, predecessor, left behind a child when he died.” He glanced at Spider and gave him an awkward smile that went unreturned. “And as I’m sure you’re well aware, children take a lot of time and effort to care for— a lot of labor, if you will, and I think we can all agree that so much hard labor ought to be fairly compensated for, so, well, you see, um—“

The more Mr. Ford stammered, the stonier Quaritch’s expression grew. “Get to the point already.”

“Mr. McCosker wants to be financially compensated for raising Miles Socorro!” He blurted out in a rush.

Spider scoffed loudly and Quaritch’s face pinched in confusion. “I’m sorry— what?” He turned to McCosker with narrowed eyes. “Who did you say you were again?”

“I’m Nash McCosker. I was one of the people who chose to stay on Pandora after Sully went native on us. Since your kid was too young to go back, somebody had to look after him, and that somebody was me! I raised him for fourteen years! Fourteen years! And now I want what I’m owed!”

Quaritch shook his head in disbelief. “I ain’t calling you a liar, McCosker, but this whole time I’ve been under the impression that this kid was raised by the natives.”

“He wasn’t. Me and my wife bent over backwards to give him the most normal childhood possible.”

“Are you seriously telling me that this boy was raised by two humans?”

“Yes!” McCosker snapped. “You think I’m lying, huh? What reason do you have not to believe me?”

“What reason do I—?” Quaritch repeated incredulously before pointing at Spider. “Fucking look at him!”

For the first time in over a year, McCosker looked his foster son in the eyes— the boy he’d raised and left behind for a chance to rejoin the RDA. Spider bared his teeth and hissed. He looked close to lunging at him again.

“Does this boy look like he was raised by humans to you? Heh?” Asked Quaritch.

“I know how he looks, but that doesn’t change the fact that you owe me fourteen years of child support!” McCosker yelled so forcefully that he sent up a spray of spittle.

“Please calm down, gentlemen!” Mr. Ford cried.

“Is he serious?” Quaritch asked him with the barest hint of a snarl in his voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, sir.” Said Mr. Ford. He clutched his overstuffed binder to his chest as if it would protect him if Quaritch decided to attack. “If he’s telling the truth, then, legally speaking, you do owe him child support. The RDA is willing to enforce this if we can confirm his claim.”

Quaritch hissed through his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is unbelievable. Are you seriously trying to make me pay for something that happened while I wasn’t alive? And what do you mean, confirm his claim?”

“Well, that’s the other thing. We can only enforce child support if it’s proven that Nash McCosker did indeed raise Miles Socorro for fourteen years, and we obviously don’t have any legal record of what’s happened on Pandora since the RDA left. So I need some kind of confirmation that McCosker is telling the truth before we can proceed.”

McCosker frowned at Mr. Ford, looking as equally confused as Quaritch. Apparently, this was the first time he’d heard this too.

“What kind of confirmation do you need?” Quaritch asked.

“Well…” in answer, Mr. Ford simply nodded his head behind Quaritch. In tandem, both Quaritch and McCosker slowly turned to look at where Spider sat sulking in the cafeteria chair. He slouched back with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Spider looked up at Quaritch, whose ears were pinned back in irritation, then over to McCosker, whose face flushed pink from anger. The whole cafeteria went silent, everyone waiting to see what Spider would say.

After a long pause, Spider straightened up in his seat and stared directly at McCosker. “I’ve never met that man before in my life.”

“What?” The word exploded out of McCosker so loudly that his voice cracked. His face went straight from pink to firetruck red in a matter of moments, and a prominent vein throbbed at his temple.

“He’s lying!” He roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Spider, who shrugged innocently. “You don’t actually believe him, right? I had him under my roof for fourteen years! You can’t throw the money away just because he’s lying about it!”

Mr. Ford backed away from McCosker with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCosker. If you cannot prove you raised him, then the HR department cannot enforce your claim.”

Quaritch smirked. He looked an awful lot like a cat that was proud of itself for making a mess. “You heard the man, McCosker. It was a real pleasure meeting you, but me and the kid gotta get going now.”

“No!” Protested McCosker as Quaritch and Spider got up to leave. When Quaritch’s back was turned, Spider sneakily flipped him off before scurrying after Quaritch like he hadn’t done anything. That was the last straw for McCosker.

“You ungrateful little shit!” He howled, spittle flying everywhere. Before anyone knew what was happening, McCosker lunged at Spider, his hands going straight for his throat. They collided, and Spider stumbled back into Quaritch’s legs. Quaritch whipped around with a startled hiss. He moved to pull McCosker off of Spider, but before he could get a hand on him, Spider had already taken care of it. Snarling just as fiercely as any Na’vi, Spider shoved McCosker off him. He staggered back, almost losing his footing from the force of the shove. Before he could recover, Spider punched him in the jaw so hard his head snapped back like a bobblehead. Then he hit him with a kick that knocked him clean off his feet. McCosker collapsed on his back. Blood flowed from his slack-jawed mouth. He hacked and wheezed, then spat something small into his hands: a tooth.

For a moment, McCosker stared in shock at his tooth, before glaring up at Spider. “I hope they execute you, you damn race traitor!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed back as he lunged toward the fallen man.

Quaritch was still frozen where he’d moved to protect Spider from McCosker. Now he realized he actually needed to protect McCosker from Spider.

“Stop!” He ordered, but it fell on deaf ears. Spider managed to get in another vicious punch before Quaritch grabbed him around the middle and hauled him off the ground. “Spider, that’s enough!”

A few bystanders who also wore orange mining crew uniforms rushed over to McCosker to help him to his feet. They ended up holding him back instead when he tried to lunge for Spider again. He yelled at him, blood and saliva dripping down his chin and mingling in his facial hair. “You’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you, you fucking bastard! Nobody wanted you around and nobody will miss you when you’re gone!”

“Fuck you!” Spider screamed again. He thrashed so hard in Quaritch’s grip that it was a struggle to hold onto him without hurting him.

Quaritch hauled him away from McCosker and back towards the entrance to the cafeteria. He roughly set him on the ground and shook him. “Get a hold of yourself, boy! There are cameras in here.”

Spider grit his teeth, his breath coming out in short, angry hisses, but he finally stopped fighting against him. His eyes went to the corners of the ceiling and sure enough, there were multiple cameras trained on the unfolding drama. The idea of Ardmore watching him jump an RDA employee after Quaritch had promised he would behave himself sent a chill down his spine.

“C’mon, let’s take a walk.” Quaritch never took his hand off Spider’s shoulder as he marched him out of the cafeteria. The mining crew hauled McCosker in the opposite direction, screaming curses and death wishes at Spider the whole while. Mr. Ford had made himself scarce a long time ago. Every set of eyes in the cafeteria was trained on Spider. Now that the tunnel vision from his anger had faded, he was painfully aware of all the stares and whispers. He looked down at his feet, letting his thick dreads hide his face from view.

“Alright!” Quaritch barked at the crowd of onlookers. “Show’s over, folks, there’s nothing else to see here.”

All it took was one look from Quaritch to send everyone’s eyes back to their plates. Quaritch marched Spider through Bridgehead’s cold, twisting hallways before pulling him into a small room used for storage. It was so small that Quaritch had to crouch to fit inside, but at least they had some privacy. Spider paced as much as he could in the small space, his hands clenched in trembling fists. Quaritch sat back in a corner of the storage room and watched him pace with an unreadable expression on his face.

CLANG! Without warning, Spider punched a nearby crate as hard as he could, leaving a small dent behind in the cheap metal. His knuckles came away bloody, but he was too angry to care.

“I hate that son of a bitch!” He yelled, and he moved to punch another crate, but Quaritch grabbed his arm.

“Hey, don’t go messing all these boxes up.”

“Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Spider hissed. As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted it.

Quaritch’s eyes narrowed. “I’m gonna let that slide ‘cause I know you’re upset, but you better not use that tone of voice with me, young man. Now, try again.”

Spider closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Then in a much calmer voice, he said, “please let go of me.”

“That’s better.” Quaritch made a big show of releasing his arm and leaning back to give him space.

Spider bounced on the balls of his feet and tried to look anywhere but Quaritch. Anger buzzed under his skin like a nest of hornets, filling him with a restless energy. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He wanted to hit something. Preferably McCosker’s face.

As if reading his mind, Quaritch raised his hands and extended them so his palms were facing Spider at shoulder height. “Here. You wanna hit something, put ‘er there.”

“What? But why would I—?” Spider shuffled a few steps back.

“Aw, relax, tiger, it’s not like you’re gonna hurt me. C’mon, gimme that same southpaw you gave the prick in the cafeteria.”

After another moment of hesitation, Spider half-heartedly hit Quaritch’s palm.

Quaritch scoffed. “You call that a punch?”

He hit him again, harder this time.

“C’mon, you can do better than that!”

This time, Spider put his whole body behind the punch, just like when he’d knocked McCosker’s tooth out.

“Atta boy! Now gimme a right hook!”

Spider punched Quaritch’s fists again and again, the dull thud of flesh against flesh driving away the angry buzz under his skin. Once he didn’t feel like he wanted to hunt McCosker down and knock the rest of his teeth out anymore, Quaritch stopped. The absence of anger left him feeling oddly hollow.

Quaritch whistled appreciatively, massaging his sore palms. “You could’ve been a boxer in another life, kid! Woulda been the next Muhammed Ali!”

Spider wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could tell from his tone that it was a compliment. He looked down and scuffed his heel against the floor, unsure of how to react to the praise.

“So, you wanna tell me what that was all about?” Quaritch probed.

“I… lied. I actually do know that man.” He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke.

Quaritch snorted. “I figured that much, kid. Who is he?”

“He was my foster father— er, he was supposed to be. He was alright when I was little far as I can remember, but after his kids were born, well… I dunno how to explain it. I still lived with him and his family— slept in their home, ate their food and all that— I was never neglected or anything— but it was like I was a guest or something. I was just… there.” Spider shrugged casually, like it didn’t bother him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Quaritch. He wanted to stop talking. Any information he let slip now could be used to manipulate him later. He knew he should stop talking, but for some reason he didn’t. These were thoughts he’d never voiced aloud to anyone, not even Kiri, and for some reason they came spilling out of him in front of Quaritch of all people. “It’s why I spent so much time in the forest instead of with the other humans. Some of the Na’vi didn’t want me around, but my friends did.”

Spider fiddled with the songcord on his belt, rubbing his fingers over three beautiful blue beads; they represented the day he’d befriended Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak. “They actually cared about me, you know?”

Okay, skxwang, you’ve said enough, stop talking now. His brain screamed, but it was drowned out by his traitorous mouth. He continued spilling his guts to an insane Na’vi-killer. “And then when the RDA came back, Ardmore offered the humans a deal to rejoin them, and McCosker wanted to take it. I wanted to stay with the Na’vi, but the grown-ups forced me to go with him. And the crazy thing was, I was actually gonna suck it up and go with him until my friends came back. But then McCosker captured them. He was gonna turn them in to Ardmore in exchange for a better deal. That fucking bastard. Mr. Sully trusted him and let him go back to the RDA with no hard feelings and he betrayed him—” if Quaritch scoffed at that, Spider pretended not to hear it.

“So I helped ‘em all escape. We busted outta there and found Mr. Sully. He wanted me to turn myself in to the RDA ‘cause he thought I would slow them down—” Quaritch made another noise in the back of his throat that almost sounded angry, but Spider ignored it too, “but I proved him wrong! I ran twice as hard as everyone else and I kept up. We all got away safe and sound.” The memory made Spider’s chest puff out in pride, and he almost felt good enough to look Quaritch in the eyes again, but then he remembered everything that came after that and he deflated.

“Anyway, after that, I thought I was never gonna see McCosker again, until… you know, until today.” Spider scuffed his feet against the ground once more. To his horror, his eyes started to prickle with unshed tears. He stubbornly blinked them away before they could fall. “It’s stupid. When I saw him, for a second I thought he was gonna— gonna— I don’t even know. Do something other than ask for money, I guess. But that was stupid. He only talked to me when he had to before he left so I don’t know why I thought he would be different now and—”

THUD! The sudden sound of flesh against metal startled Spider so much he finally looked up at Quaritch. He’d punched one of the metal crates, leaving a larger, deeper indent just above where Spider’s smaller hand had punched it earlier. When Quaritch pulled his hand away, his knuckles were bloody, just like Spider’s. Now they matched. If Quaritch cared or even noticed the blood, he gave no sign of it. He stared blankly at Spider, as if looking through him rather than at him, his face twisted into a rictus of fury. There was so much pure vitriol in his eyes that Spider physically recoiled. His back hit the wall and he slid as far away from him as he could in the tiny storage space. Oh great. Now he’d done it. All his rambling had pissed him off and now he looked angry enough to murder.

“Whoa, I’m sorry!” Spider blurted out quickly.

Quaritch blinked and his eyes snapped back into focus, now looking at Spider instead of through him. “Why?”

“For pissing you off, I didn’t mean to start talking so much, I just—”

“Oh,” Quaritch’s eyebrows pulled up out of their angry scowl and he stared at the dent he’d left in the crate like he didn’t remember making it. He took in the way Spider recoiled away from him and his demeanor instantly changed, all aggression leaving his body. “Wait, kid, no, I ain’t mad at you. Relax. I was mad about something else.”

Spider eyed his bloodied knuckles warily. “You sure?”

“I promise.” He put his palms up to show he meant no harm. “You did nothing wrong today. It sounds like that guy had it coming. I don’t want you worrying about him anymore, you hear me? If he comes round again I’ll put him in his place.”

“Okay… thank you.”

Quaritch tilted his head to the side. “What are you thanking me for?”

Once again, Spider found himself unable to look Quaritch in the eye. What was he thanking him for? The man had kidnapped him for crying out loud, the last thing he owed him was an apology! In the end, all he did was shrug.

“You don’t know? Well, that’s funny, cause I’m the one who oughta be thanking you.” Quaritch gently reached out and brushed a knuckle under Spider’s chin, hard enough to nudge his head up, but still light enough so Spider could pull away if he wanted to. When Spider reluctantly made eye contact with him, Quaritch smiled— it was a real one this time, not like the mean, sarcastic ones he’d given McCosker.

“You just saved me from giving a shit-ton of money to that asshole.” He said with a slight laugh in his voice.

Even though Spider still felt pretty shitty, he smiled back and shoved Quaritch’s hand away from his chin. “I didn’t do it for you, skxwang, I did it to spite him!”

“Well, I’m thanking you for it anyway!” Chuckled Quaritch. “And you know what, I think I owe you a little something now.”

Spider watched on curiously as Quaritch reached into his side pockets and withdrew two little bundles wrapped up in napkins. When he unfolded the napkins and offered them to Spider, he was delighted to see two cinnamon rolls. He must’ve snagged them as they were leaving the cafeteria when Spider wasn’t looking. The gesture made Spider’s eyes widen. Usually Kiri was the only person who took note of Spider’s favorite foods and went out of her way to give him some when he was feeling down. Even McCosker had never done anything like that, and he’d raised Spider for fourteen years.

“You gonna just stare at it or are you gonna eat it?” Quaritch asked. He telegraphed his movements as if he were going to take the rolls back, but before he could, Spider snatched them out of his hand.

“Mmm!” Spider wasted no time sinking his teeth into a cinnamon roll. Sweet sugary icing and spice exploded on his tongue; it tasted even better than it smelled. He would always prefer natural Pandoran food to Earth food, but if he had to pick a favorite from Earth, it was definitely this.

“Don’t inhale it all at once now!” Quaritch laughed as he watched him scarf it down. “We’re not in a rush. Just make sure you eat it all before we go meet up with the others. If Wainfleet sees it he’s gonna want on too.”

“Mm-hm!” Spider nodded through a mouthful of pastry.

For some reason, eating the cinnamon roll made him feel instantly better, which was odd. Spider had never been a comfort-food kind of person. Maybe the human chefs put some strange magic in their cinnamon rolls. Or —as he looked up at Quaritch, another idea occurred to him— maybe it had less to do with the roll, and more with the fact that Quaritch had thought to give it to him.

[firesofdainix]

October 24: Betrayal | Falling Apart

I lied I got caught up with my queue because this thing was so long I wished I wasn’t joking.

@morrotober

AO3 Version

*

A little moment for my conceptual fanseason that deals with Departed Realm and Wind Lore with the touch of a Morro redemption.

*

Hideaki has no idea what he’s talking about.

The First Master of Wind was a delight to be around with.

Ebony dark hair spills from the restraints of the bun that is currently around his hair— it was never tameable, never staying tied to his hair for quite a long time because the currents of the wind get to it faster than its general stability to be confined. Morro and the First Master of Wind had taken a dive towards the Breeze Canyon in the Fields of the Elementals. It was a fun place where all the past Elemental Masters of Wind can spend leisurely time alone, without being pestered by the other Elemental Masters. It was a wide, bottomless — as Morro knows; he could never see the bottom before a gust of wind blows him off course — ravine, but it was fun because instead of taking the time and curiosity to figure out how the origins of this canyon, he was jumping and letting the gusts of wind do the flying for him.

It was the first time Morro had laughed sincerely in ages.

 When Morro had been transported in the Departed Realm, all he could see was darkness; a numbing sense of burning pain in his body, and the static noise around him.

When he comes to, as if consciousness has taken him back into the new world he has kept himself in, he is in a decrepit, dark, and depressing valley along with shades that change indescribably from purple to green. These shades were not like any that existed in the Cursed Realm— sad, regretful, their faces morphing to a face of regret, howling about how the flaws in their life were the reason why they have made the worst choices possible in the life they had lived. Morro, at first, was horrified by them; how they would erupt in the grossest sobs possible because of the dreams given to them by the Realm, forcing them to confront the truth they had always denied.

But then, he grew to only become annoyed by them, then tolerant over their needless, ceaseless crying. While he’s had his fair share of these terrible dreams (which often leaves him feeling more angry and depressed), he did not erupt into this overwhelming case of sadness that his heart is currently exhibiting. Morro supposes that, in all his years in the Cursed Realm, he’s become accustomed to only projecting his anger towards anything he is confronted with.

Yet, there is no anger within his system anymore; like the water washed it all away when he died.

There was only a ghost of anger, remaining inside a deep, big and empty shell.

All he felt was this… growing sense of numbness springing forth, and not even sadness could save him from feeling these sensations.

It was, honestly, a little overwhelming to think about. He did not think the anger that he has always haplessly fed since he's become accustomed to the Cursed Realm would just… fade away, as if the Departed Realm willed it to disappear as if the wind has carried it from his own soul, extracting his bitterness, as if he will make way with the sadness in his life.

The only thing that the Departed Realm has successfully done was to remind Morro who he is now serving. True, he is free from the Preeminent (he doesn't even know where she was taken; she had been a supreme Realm before dying, but whatever he knows is that her fate was not pretty) and her controlling, hurting clutches. He occasionally huddles up in the more shrouded parts of the Wells of Regret — as he now came to know familiarly — away from the Departed Realm's roaming hands as they start to bring forth those horrible, horrible dreams of divergence, and away from the Pond of Images and the other purple shades who becomes victim to these dreams.

He refuses to become as miserable as they are. Morro is a strong young man, even when he has to relent and offer the Realm Crystal back to the hands he once yearned for.

Even when he feels his own will and emotion breaking.

During the next few months he's been in the Wells of Regret (well, he feels like it was a few months; time seems to blend like colors in this Realm, to the point it was nauseating) he had been wandering around the part of the Wells of Regret in which buildings that were mourned about were situated in. He'd been thumbing through the old scrolls and books of the Library of Hono Mizu, attempting to find some sense of commonality in his new afterlife. If you take away those horrible dreams, you are left with nothing.

No Preeminent to pressure him into training.

No cursed ghosts constantly harassing him.

No anger to fuel him.

He was just… there.

And this makes him feel insignificant, afraid of losing his autonomy until all he can remember to do is cry about his regrets. He is different, and he knows that.

He feels sharp eyes pricking his back like sharp pins and needles, perhaps a dagger when he is being generous. He doesn't jump or feel the creeping tension, however; it was a familiar sensation, one that brings him Comfort.

Taking a moment to steel himself and not look too relieved to see him, he turns to stare at Hideaki with a stoic glare.

"I didn't know you were subjected to being in this area," Morro tells Hideaki, as the young man shifts into a long owl, to a crane, and finally, his human appearance.

"I didn't know you were as well," he replies, sounding tired, but relieved at the same time. His voice, like cherry blossoms, fills the library. Morro feels a blizzard forming, a side effect of Hideaki's abilities. "The Wells of Regret is big, after all."

Morro hums, striding towards the young man. Like him, it seems the Departed Realm has taken a toll in his appearance. While he still needs to shapeshift to various of his inhumane forms before settling to his final appearance, which was a tall slim young man in his late teens, with strawberry red hair ties tightly into a high braid that touches the ground slightly, variegated eyes that flash a thousand colors connected to the season he's currently exhibiting (which is almost always winter), a crimson red robe with cold blue and purple highlights, and sickly green armor, such as shoulder blades and wristbands keeping his regal look. It was a reminder that he was the husband of the Cursed Realm itself. He has, uncharacteristically, a small, casual look on his face, as if the years of tiredness and remorse in the Cursed Realm did not exist.

Like this damn Realm was paradise for him.

Bitterness surges in Morro.

"But you weren't sentenced to wander in this realm only." He concludes, which elicits a warm look of acknowledgement in Hideaki. His eyes change to the cherry blossoms falling in the spring, pink and beautiful.

In all the years Morro has been in the Cursed Realm, in close contact with him, he's never uplifted that blizzardous winter he's exhibited since he met him. It was as if the winter had thawed, finally making way for spring for the first time in a thousand years.

He nods. "Yes. I was actually here to retrieve you. The Departed Realm told me you only listen to me, so…" He lets Morro piece together what he is getting across.

The old Morro would have thrown a fit about the blatant condescending message the entire realm was currently exhibiting towards him, but he wasn't the old Morro now, is he not?

He only elicits an annoyed growl, making it clear he disagrees with the notion, but he still holds Hideaki's hand, just like old times.

"I listen to no one," Morro replies, before he and Hideaki disappear into one of the gateways where Morro was not allowed in initially.

A snort sounds from his old companion. "I know."

When Morro opens his eyes, he is not greeted with the purple and sickly green hue of the Wells of Regret anymore; rather, a bright and beautiful paradise awaits him when he walks.

He feels grass beneath his ghostly feet; gasping, he stares at himself.

He was, for the first time in his life, solid.

"What…?" He speaks, and he doesn't hear the mutinous echo that's been accompanying his voice for decades. He stares at his hands, the thing he has the most access to seeing. It was a warm olive brown, like he once had been.

He looks at Hideaki, who gives him a delighted look. The Departed Realm seemed to have, ironically, revived a long-dead side of him that Morro never had the chance to see.

"You know this was going to happen," he deadpans, and Hideaki gives him a shrug.

"I wanted you to be surprised."

"How kind of you."

This part of the Realm is, disturbingly, cheerful and bright, unlike the drab gray, purple, and green of the Realm. It is so contrary to the general aura of the Realm that had once been home to every desperate shade that he finds himself unsettled.

At first.

Morro had been too busy admiring as he feels, for the very first time since he's died, the grass bending to his will without even dying at some point around him. It tickles the palms of his feet, finding himself mesmerized with a beauty he thought was not his, to even listen to Hideaki's explanation fully. He does get the gist of it; when he was engulfed by the water the Water Ninja summoned like an arms' breath, she had summoned a tide that wiped all ghosts out. When Hideaki came to, he was in one part of the Well of Regrets, deliberately separated from Morro and his wife. Then he reunited with his actual, real family (Morro hopes his own was stuck in the Punishment Fields), before being granted access to the Fields of the Elements.

There were an overwhelming number of people, varying in Elemental Powers, playing across the green, grassy fields, the sun (that Morro never thought he'd see again) shining down at them. Through his own human eyes — a concept that he finds strange to think about as well — he finds himself watching various Elemental Masters spending leisure time as they interact, perhaps even talking with a long, long, egregious line of ancestors Morro is sure they will not remember names of, before stopping altogether.

He was still holding Hideaki’s hand (as if he were a lost child, but he’s gotten over that sentiment, somewhat) when he comes across this realization.

His companion clicks his tongue, but once he glances at Morro’s empty expression, it shifts to concern. “What’s the matter?”

“My father,” Morro says bluntly, having become as honest as this realm is to him. It’s a curse. “Is he here? He’s a Master of Wind like me.”

His companion makes eye contact with him, and it clues him in almost immediately. “Your father is in the Fields of Punishment, along with your other sisters.”

Morro feels a twinge of satisfaction at this, although it was a little faint. “So… my father doesn’t visit this area?”

“Oh, he does.” Hideaki must have felt Morro twitch, because, he says, “In an hour or so. If you want to flay him alive the way you did your sisters and mother, do so.”

The young man considers this prospect for a moment, before shaking his head. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. Now can you please tell me why I’m a human? Aren’t we all ghosts?”

Hideaki’s expression shifts into something of discomfort. “Hm, it’s a complicated matter as well. I don’t know how it works, other than the more logical concept that this is one of the places that is Paradise in the Cursed Realm. We are in Paradise for every Elemental Master.”

Morro frowns, but he shrugs, accepting that as a temporary answer. But his mind is already working out about how the methods and system of this Realm is, over whether or not this was an illusion and—

Suddenly, as if winter breathes upon them all, Hideaki’s grip on Morro’s hand hardens, frozen cold.

The young man suddenly yelps, feeling frost creeping through his hands. He glares at Hideaki, hair whipping to face him. “Hey, what gives?! Let me go—!”

“A new arrival?” A voice that sounds as if it wills whoever owns the voice to kill all the life in the entire world starts to speak. It was cold, soft, whispy, even. It was like Hideaki’s, but instead of that depressing, aloof formality, it was the kind of manic whispering that fills Morro’s ears when he feels as if there is nothing but him and his thoughts, letting them fester. It was oddly uncomfortable, but for entirely different reasons, it makes him feel a thrill running through his bones, an odd analogy of being unsettled… but fascinated on who he is currently speaking to right now. But he is currently not enjoying it, when the entire weather dropped a hundred degrees thanks to Hideaki’s ability.

“Morro,” Hideaki says his name so coldly, as if he were just a tree frozen and dead in the winter, that Morro almost balks at the sound of it. He is sure he’s never done anything to make him this angry. “What are you doing here, around these parts?”

The young man turns to look at him with an affronted expression. “Excuse me? You were giving me a tour around the place! Why are you acting like—”

“I’m not talking to you,” he replies, eyes narrowed. Morro grumbles about these multiple interruptions. He finally lets go of Morro’s hand, and he can feel the warmth slowly returning to his palms. “I was addressing them.”

Morro, confused about who Hideaki is trying to address, turns to actually look at the person Hideaki is so disgusted to meet.

And then, Morro does a double take, gaping like a fish.

Because the person standing in front of him is…

They put an arm around Hideaki’s shoulders, and he stiffens. “Well, that’s not a way to greet an old friend, Aki. Where’s the embrace? The warm greeting? Did the Cursed Realm take away all that politeness along with your optimism from you?”

Hideaki tries to skirt out of his grip, as if he was able to make him stick to him. “Perhaps it did.”

Meanwhile, as the two of them carry on with their tension-filled banter, the cogs on Morro’s head starts to spin; purple, iridescent skin that glints in the sunlight, ebony dark hair that flows, looking more like a ghost’s hair than general, and green-gold eyes that flow with blue wisps.

If he has a heart — which he probably does in this form — it would be beating to this sight.

“You’re—” He interrupts their conversation, as they both turn to him, remembering that Hideaki did not come alone. “You’re Morro, the First Master of Wind.”

The young man holding Hideaki as if he is their prized possession smiles. “I am.” His eyes saunter over to scrutinize the young man in front of him. Morro gulps as he stands frozen, as if he was still in Hideaki’s enchantment. His body was visibly shaking, but not from the familiar fear that overtakes him when he is talking to the Preeminent. It was, more or less, a thrill kind of shaking, as if he is currently meeting his idol that he’s named himself after. It was an experience he did not think would happen, after all the years rotting in the Cursed Realm.

While it is plausible that Morro (the first Morro, that is; he is now becoming confused) would have died the day he reached twenty-five, simultaneously cursing his bloodline with a limited lifespan, he would not have thought he’d be taken to the Departed Realm. He did not believe he would have died, just like that. There is a reason why his fate was so… muddled, unclear even. Not even the wind that belonged to him lets him know how he died.

The young man turns to Hideaki, “Who’s your friend? You didn’t tell me you got a new acquaintance. You didn’t even introduce me to the charming young man.”

Morro swallows; The First Master of Wind thinks he’s charming?

“His name is none of your business,” Hideaki replies, glaring at him with poison.

The current Master of Wind turns to look at him with a seething, embarrassed look. “Hideaki, you didn’t tell me that you’re friends with the First Master of Wind!” And he should have introduced him to them as well!

Hideaki shakes his head. “It’s a… shameful event in my past. Don’t worry about it.”

Morro stares at him with an outraged look. “Don’t worry about—? You ass! You told me that you’ve never met the First Generation of Elemental Masters despite the fact the First Spinjitzu Master seemed to know you when you were projecting your tale! How much have you hidden from me?”

The strawberry-haired man shakes his head, looking as if he was struck with sadness. “This is a past I didn’t want to relive, even if it means having to relay the story of why I was stuck in the Cursed Realm in the first place.” He finally slips out of Morro I’s grasp, much to his dismay. “This man… he is not what you think of, Morro.”

“Morro?” The First Master of Wind repeats, leaning over to the young man in front of him.

The short-haired man gulps; his favorite historical figure is currently near his face (!!!)

“Yes, I—” Morro clears his throat, averting his gaze to keep himself from thrumming with excitement. “I am named after you. Well, I named myself after you, thoroughly because you are my role model in life but—”

The First Master of Wind barks a laugh, as he puts his hands on the young man’s shoulders. He stiffens in shock at the touch; his idol was touching him without a care in the world!

“You feel… powerful,” they say, breathing in and out, as if he can immediately feel the aura that Morro emanates. Of a young man that had his potential ripped away from him, by himself. It was spoken so mysteriously, enigmatic even, that Morro feels power as his own role model acknowledges him to be potent. “As if the wind speaks of your own achievements.” He gasps, and their eyes turn back towards Morro. “Tell me, do you still control…?”

He does not finish his sentence since Morro already knows what he’s going to say. He always wanted to show off in front of people who believe they already know of his abilities.

The air in this afterlife was supple, plentiful, even. And Morro loves the feeling of the breeze, effectively making it clear that, ironically, there is life in the afterlife other than the despondency and regrets that has always already afflicted his life. Feeling the wind between his fingertips, a sure sign of an everlasting power, he starts to weave his fingers into his own element.

The First Master of Wind gasps. “You can.”

Morro smirks, unabashedly proud. He hears Hideaki sigh in the back.

“The Element of Wind is something… I won’t let go of,” Morro tells him, ambivalent feelings making way to his face. No matter how many times the Departed Realm has, implicitly, told him that letting go of the Element of Wind for it to return to his master is the right choice, he was not capable of it. The only thing that made him special in his life, after all the hardships he had to endure, will it be taken away from him just like that? He summons his wind again to keep him grounded. “No matter how many times this Realm will try.”

Hideaki grows concerned, but Morro I only nods in acknowledgement. In pride, even.

“I understand that notion,” Morro I tells him, sounding sympathetic. “I dislike the idea that we must give up our elements for our descendants to have them.” Morro had been busily admiring his idol that he forgets to see the blatant hunger in his eyes as he stares at his hands. “I covet those who still have their elements.”

Hideaki coughs, and the two Morro’s turn to look at him.

“Apologies, but I am still currently giving Morro a tour around the place,” he says, holding Morro’s hands again. He scowls at the young man, like a child being denied his presence. “So, if you don’t mind, we’ll let you stand idle on your merry way, while we—”

“Morro,” the First Elemental Master of Wind interrupts Hideaki, who grumbles in response, “The Wind Canyons are excellent this time of year; would you like to see them?”

Morro’s eyes grow wide; an opportunity to spend time with the First Master of Wind?

He lets go of Hideaki’s hand, which the other man did not like, as he, gaining composure, steps forwards. He has to hide his excitement in order to look and sound dignified to him. “I would— I would love to.”

Morro I smiles, so like the Preeminent in many ways. Not like Morro cares, already seeing him through rose-tinted glasses. “Excellent choice. Follow me.”

So, a few months later, he and Morro I are idly having fun, committing any type of shenanigans he’s never had the privilege or luxury to commit in his old life. It was a revelry he did not think exists for a ghost-like him; to both have a person he admires like him as well as being his closest companion for these past few months. He thought he would have gotten bored, like the growing sense of numbness he felt in the Wells of Regret, but all he could feel was an ecstasy of emotions and dreams rolling into one. There were no regrets, no amount of internal thoughts dissuading him from holding Morro I’s hand as they continue to come up with new ideas and plans to make Morro smile.

It was the time he feels the most happy with, ever since Wu had taken him in and raised him as his own.

He doesn’t even feel that bitter anymore, remembering his master. All he feels was the sadness of what could have been.

There is nothing that could ruin his perfect relationship with his ancestor; even Hideaki’s warnings and concerns fall behind deaf ears, either to conjure up a way to excuse his actions, or he would rather not hear what he has to say when it comes to the imperfections of his idol.

Perhaps he was just… jealous, that Morro finally has someone else to speak to.

One day, when the imaginary sun that stretches upon the lands was thinning, signifying rest time for the Elemental Masters, Morro I beckons him to his own home. It was a small cabin situated in the furthest part of the Wind Sector in the Field of the Elements, made up of old wisteria flowers and wooden shack. Despite the dilapidation of the home itself, Morro feels ecstatic, having found the opportunity to meet his idol's home for the first time. The contents of the home was sparse and comfortably spacey in the inside; there was a hearth in the center of the room, surrounded by a few cushions and a lone bookcase filled with worn and old books that will never obliterate as the years go by.

Morro stares at the books with utmost satisfaction. “I did not think you were into reading.”

His namesake scoffs. "I was one of the smartest men that the First Spinjitzu Master relied on. I have the ability to deduce his opponent's next moves and how I am able to out-strategize them." There was a tone of manic bitterness in his voice, as if he is retelling his story with a hint of a snake's poison. Morro has always thought he was a misunderstood figure in history, with how he is often vilified and made a bad man to make the First Spinjitzu Master the hero, the saint.

If Morro was being honest, the more he learns of the First Spinjitzu Master, the less he has become tolerant of the man who created Ninjago. He is not sure if he can look up to him when a lot of people have been unconsciously hurt by the man himself. He supposes he can let the others worship him idly, if that is how they want to see the man.

Even Morro I has, confusedly, praised his old friend as if he still walks the earth, with a starry-eyed look in his eyes, brightening the purples of his skin. It was puzzling Morro, to be honest. But then again, they had been best friends, before the whole incident with those thugs (which, Morro still firmly believes they deserve it). "You seem to love the First Spinjitzu Master." He has the vaguest idea why Morro I can still have the space to love him, when he banished them from roaming his lands.

"The First Spinjitzu Master is the reason why we're all alive," Morro I states, with that same starry-eyed look, complete with a fixated, slightly manic grin on his face. Morro fails to tell him that is incredibly ironic in any given situation. "It is why, even after all this time, I have not given up on finding him."

Morro looks at him, confused. "Find him?"

Morro I nods, grinning from ear to ear as he moves towards the bookcase, taking one of the books with a worn cover, his eyes resembling that of the Preeminent's stare when she is having one of her delusions again.

For the first time since meeting his long admired idol, he feels this illusion, this boundary that has never truly lost its fluidity returning to him, slowly, but subtly, fade away. There is a reason why boundaries must be situated between people, after all.

“The First Spinjitzu Master’s final resting place was in a cavern beneath the ocean,” Morro I says, and Morro attempts to mask his flinch. He feels his sins crawling on his back, like spiders aiming to string him in a web of lies. He did not want to be reminded of that particular stunt, but it sure is a guilt he did not want to relive. The other man holds up a hand, “You do not need to bother hiding your crimes. It was broadcasted when the Departed Realm had an influx of ghosts never seen before since the Great Devourer.”

Morro curses, looking away. So much for keeping anonymity in this hell of a Realm. “Well, I don’t suppose you’re not angry with me for taking the Realm Crystal?”

The man chuckles. “I am not! How can I be, when you’re only doing what your master tells you to do?”

Morro nods, but he doesn’t miss the way Morro I’s hand trembles. He changes, or veers the subject back to his search once more. “So… why are you searching for him?”

This seems to have made that obsessive flair return to his eyes, as he sighs. “Because the First Spinjitzu Master is the most flawless being in the universe, and deserves to live a happier life.”

The current Master of Wind scoffs, “What? That man exiled you! I don’t think he deserves a full life!”

Morro I stares at him, and he almost stumbled backwards; there was a cutting edge to it, dangerous and low. “I suggest you don’t speak ill of my friend, youngling. It will do you no good.”

The boy gulps, but he nods. He often forgets that Morro I is also a strict individual with a stern personality, especially when offended.

He continues, his voice low. “I’ve been studying about the elements, ever since I was trapped in this desolate place, destined to reflect upon my horrible rights and wrongs. I only did what I must do, after all. Even if it means… others will pay the price.”

Morro doesn’t know what to say about that. “I… suppose I can relate to that.”

The Keeper chuckles, a wistful smile that was dangerous cutting his lips. “I know you are aware of that sentiment. The Elements must find their origins and place in the world, you know.” He then scowls at the floors. “And the origin of their power comes from the First Spinjitzu Master.”

The Human frowns. “... Excuse me? I’m pretty sure the elements came from dragons in the First Realm, and not from the First Master entirely.”

The Keeper’s chuckles explode into a… concerning the mix of insanity and anger. “They are, but the person who brought this in a Realm which is always conjuring storms and winds… let’s just say, they are from him. The man who used the Core Elements to create the continent we know today.” His eyes turn towards Morro, crazed and wild. Morro takes another step back, his impression of the First Master of Wind dwindling rapidly as if he is currently bleeding out. Whatever he is talking about, he better stop right now. Morro conjures wind on his palms, preparing to, perhaps, unwind the situation, prepared to defend himself if he ever does try any funny business.

Ah, so that’s why Hideaki is concerned.

He forgot to say that his old friend was, perhaps, a little unhinged.

“What’s your goal?” Morro says, furrowing his brows.

Morro I raise a brow. “Well, initially, my goal was to get out of this decrepit Realm.”

Morro’s eyes flare, as he summons an overwhelming amount of wind to blast it over the Keeper’s direction. While they did not have their own power any longer, they — with a smug look on their face — step aside, allowing it to destroy the less sturdy structure of the house. “You’re joking,” Morro says, as he summons another one of his more destructive winds for damage.

“Why would I be? I already have the things I need.”

“Which is?”

They hum. “Why should I tell you? I only need your Element to conjure a perfect escape plan.”

This immediately gets Morro to back down, discharging his Elemental Power out of concern. But in place of this suspicion and wariness, a fit of newfound but familiar anger he’s never felt since coming to this Realm starts to snake on his shoulders, followed by the taste of betrayal. All the pieces immediately fall into place; he was smart like that. Too smart for his own good, too prideful to actually back down. “You’re— you were only using me, were you not?”

Morro I claps, and it’s the most horrendous sound ever in the room. “Of course I did! What did you think of me, that I’d approach people undeserving of the First Master’s power and mercy, especially the man who defiled his grave?” He says the last few words with a wave of wrathful anger that even Morro feels guilty about himself.

“But Wind and Water don’t belong to him!”

“It doesn’t, but he saved all of us from Wojira!”

“He didn’t, that was—”

“ENOUGH!” Chains appear out of nowhere, tying Morro. He only lets out a gasp before his limbs are covered with — thankfully not vengestone — shackles, summoned by his namesake himself. He felt nauseous that this is the man whom he got his name from. There was a tepid and parlous glint in his eyes, and it wills him not to look at it. It was the same look the Preeminent had given him when he was promptly misbehaving. Wow, this man was such a fanboy to a core. “I tolerated you and your boisterous temper long enough. It is time to reap what I sow.”

Hearing the revelation that his own role model did not seem to like him hurt.

“What even is your motivation?!” He demands.

He laughs. “I shall resurrect the First Spinjitzu Master, by obtaining every element that he’s ever created or summoned! He shall rule the continent once more! Only he is deserving of the Elemental Power!”

The young man in chains stops thinking for a moment.

That was a… terrible plan.

Morro nods, still struggling with his chains as he does so. “Okay, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That I still have my Element.”

He smirks before he outstretches his hands and lets a funnel of wind blast between his lithe fingers. This impact blows the other man off guard, untangling the chains as he does so. Landing gracefully back to the grounds, Morro starts to run without looking back.

But, he does hear their monologue. It doesn’t comfort him in any bit.

“You fool!” They speak, sounding victorious. “You’ve summoned enough Wind to directly help me with the next step of my plans! Ninjago will fall when I’m successful!”

He falters, gasping as he almost trips, or that reckless display of escape. Right, he forgot about that. Now everyone’s going to blame another worldly apocalypse on him, a retired villain who just wants to reach the penance the Departed Realm is currently offering him. Great.

He knew he should not have been dependent on his Element to fight. Why didn’t he keep heeding both Wu and Hideaki’s advice?

“You forget I’ve done the same thing!” Morro shouts back, a little annoyed at himself to properly think of a proper comeback. “What makes you think you can resurrect an old pile of bones?!”

The First Master of Wind cackles, and it is unsettling, haunting, even. It was worse than the Preeminent’s as if he is currently choking on the air that his element has provided him.

“Oh, you’ll see, young man! You’ll see how I’ll resurrect him!”

Morro keeps running, letting their voice fade out.

[fredrickzoller]

You have now sparked a very vivid curiosity in me in relation to Dieters family dynamics, something tells me it’s MESSY cuz that man (ie: that ANT) hasn’t experienced, what one would call, a “good day” in years (if ever) and it seems as though his bullshit runs DEEP

HAHAHA hoooooo boy man do you got a lot to look forward to in Der klaren Sterne, then. To give a short answer: you are correct, Dieter has not been happy or had a "good" day in a long long time. This does tie directly to his family dynamic but also to another friendship/relationship that was important to him in his teenage years (that i'll go into. That Hans is Very Interested to know more about. :) :) :) ) Spoilers I guess, that I'm willing to give. Yay I get to talk about my OC's! It's mentioned in i picture my own grave but I have Dieter having lost his father during WW1 - he would've been relatively young, around 7. So he's old enough to remember his father but Johanna (who is 5 1/2 years younger) does not; she only knows their stepfather, Ulrich, as a father figure in her life. Thing is... Dieter knows that his mom and stepdad were carrying on their affair while his father was still alive, and off in the war. They don't know that he knows (because why would he? He was just a kid, would he have really been that perceptive? And lmfao yup), but this all comes to light during DKS one night over dinner (when Hans is there lol). So suffice to say, Dieter has very little regard for his stepdad (there's the frog incident too... lol maybe I'll share about that some other time) and especially his mom who he sees as a disloyal whore. This factors into him being very opinionated about Johanna's relationship with her husband, Kurt - and also about what he soon learns concerning a woman Kurt considers a friend. And there's, of course, Dieter's insecurity with... he views his family as not living up to the "standards" in place with what's expected in Nazi Germany, but then he has to grapple with the idea that perhaps he's the most traitorous of all of them. (Oh but he's making up for it! He is!) (Also, in Nazi Germany, infidelity was not necessarily frowned upon, at least in re: to the men. They could have as many side pieces and children as they wanted, it was all for the Fuehrer's vision, of course. Women were expected to be obedient and loyal. But I think with Dieter, because he knows how difficult it would be for him to ever be in a heterosexual relationship combined with what he view as his father being betrayed, he projects what he wishes he could have into the expectations he sets for Johanna and Kurt. So he's much more stringent in his view/opinion of fidelity.) (I love writing this all out and being like: How will Hans dissect him and manipulate him in every possible way he can imagine??) THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE i love getting to talk about this so much. He's so miserable it's great lmfao.

[americxn]

Little Witch | James March x reader

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ As part of the coven, Cordelia sends you to the Hotel Cortez to carry out a favour for James Patrick March, who has promised to pay the coven handsomely in return for your help. However, in using your gifts at the hotel, you reveal more than intended, igniting James’ interest in you.  words: 4000k + (not proofread) 

                                                  .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

    “Hello?” You pivoted slowly, neck craned to take in the glorious room you found yourself stood in. Calling out again, you spotted the front desk at the back of the room and headed towards it, the red velvet carpet soft beneath your feet.     “Is anyone there?” You braced your hands on the cool wood on the desk, leaning forwards in a futile attempt to peer behind the door against the far wall of the reception that had been left open a crack.      Huffing, you slung your designer bag from off your shoulder and dumped it on the floor. Why the hell was nobody here? Surely Cordelia didn’t forget to notify the staff to your arrival.     The creaking of the door behind the desk as it swung open startled you and you looked up to see a short, stout looking woman with big glasses that framed her round face in an adorable manner.        “Hi, do you work here?” You questioned tentatively.       “Yes, I’m Iris. Sorry, have you been waiting for long?” She reached under the desk, pulling out a large leather bound book and flipping it open.        “No, it’s fine,” you paused, noting the book she began to flick through.        “I, erm, I don’t have a reservation or anything.” The sound of the little women flicking through the pages of her book stopped abruptly, the large room falling utterly quiet. You cleared your throat, the wailing and screaming filling the deepest part of your brain threatening to spill into your consciousness; Cordelia had warned you about this. That this hotel, this glorious hotel, was certainly not as pleasant as it seemed. And you had felt it the moment you stepped out of the Uber that had deposited you on the front steps of the building, could hear the suffering in the back of your head, people pleading and crying. An awful feeling settling over you, a warning and a promise. Stay away or die.      You steeled your nerve and forced the growing butterflies in your stomach to settle.      I know what I’m doing.     “I’m y/n, I’ve come from New Orleans. Were you not notified of my arrival?”     The woman started, a guilty red tinged blooming on her cheeks.      “Oh, of course, of course. Sorry about this,” she paused to gesture around the empty room. “Busy week.” An awkward silence fell as she seemed to notice the utter stillness radiating from the entire building, and cleared her throat, coming round the your side of the desk and beckoning you.     “Follow me.” You did, stooping briefly to retrieve your bag and sling it over one shoulder. The woman led you up a shallow set of steps set into the far wall of the room, and into an open hallway. A few turns later and you found yourself at a cozy looking bar, the room opening beyond into a generous dining room, with multiple sets of tables and chairs occupying the space.    “Liz!” Iris called, pulling your attention to her and the woman who walked out from behind the bar.    “This is y/n. I assume March will come and collect her soon, but who knows with that man.” The last part was muttered on a tired sounding breath. “Keep her company, will you.”     “Of course.” Liz, as Iris had called her, hurried to the other side of the bar and you took a seat at a barstool, thanking the receptionist as she walked away.       “Can I get you a drink?” Liz asked you, leaning both her elbows on the bar and gazing at you with curiosity.        Your mouth opened to respond, but you paused briefly as you remembered your unfamiliar surroundings and the undead man you were going to meet and closed you mouth, shaking your head.      “I’m alright, thank you though.” A small small spread on Liz’s face.      “You don’t need to be worried, you know, although I don’t blame you.” She pushed off the bar as she spoke, taking up a cloth and setting herself before a pile of glasses, picking one up and beginning to polish it. “That Supreme of yours would bring this building down with half a thought if anything were to happen to you, I’m sure.” You huffed a small laugh in response.     “It might take a few of us to pull off something like that but yes,” you paused, unsure of how much this person knew and how much you should let on. “But I can’t lie, this building feels miserable.” You explained with a small shiver as the hairs on your neck raised in agreement. Liz chuckled. “You’re not the first to say that.”      You smiled slightly, a smile that turned into a grimace as the incessant wailing in your head got a fraction louder. “They agree too.” You muttered quietly. Liz cocked her head, a stack on freshly polished glasses beginning to pile up beside her.       “Especially...” you paused, pulling out a tendril of your power from the bottomless well inside you and allowing it to follow the call of the loudest voice that had filled your ears since you first set foot in the building. “Mary.” The mention of her name was like a catalyst, breaking through any sort of barrier between you and the suffering spirits of the hotel and a series of horrendous images flooding your mind. “Oh god,” you grimaced at the blood and gore that was projected in your head, a snapshot from some time ago, on the eleventh floor in a room directly above you. Your nose crinkled in distaste as you blinked the images away. “Poor girl.”       “What a helpful little tool.” Liz mused, setting the half-polished glass and cloth on the surface of the bar and looking at you intently. “Who else can you hear?”      You paused again to listen, but a scuffing sound on the carpet from the hall outside the bar caught your attention and you turned in your seat, a mere second before a man stepped into view.       “Ah, yes!” The dark-haired man exclaimed as he clasped his hands behind his back. You couldn’t help the one eyebrow that you involuntarily raised at the sudden appearance of this man, as you took in his odd clothes, the dark pencil moustache and the accent that you just couldn’t place. He wore a scarlet handkerchief around his neck, a stark contrast to the white shirt he wore beneath a dark waistcoat. “Mary.” He hummed. “Such a pretty thing, but my god was she loud.” He barked a jovial laugh as he stepped further into the room. You took an unsure glance at Liz, who met you gaze briefly before going back to her glasses.      “Are you...?” You trailed off, trying to get a reading on the man but coming up short.      “James Patrick March.” He spoke proudly, his chin raised slightly as if he were addressing a room full of important people.      You tore your gaze from him, slipping off the stool and donning your bag once more. “Right,” you nodded, “I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You said as you walked up to him, confused as to why his presence filled the room with blessed silence, like a blockade to the screaming walls and voices that had swirled around your head just moments before. But you meant it. He seemed to draw you in, his little smile somewhat endearing as he held out an arm for you to take, which you did, and found, yet again, that he was impenetrable, that you couldn’t hear or see anything when you touched him.     Cordelia had warned you of him, had apologised for choosing to send you to the hotel and gave you a brief rundown of his history, of the terrible things he had done in this hotel, his hotel. But now, as he led you into an ornate elevator arm to arm, taking your bag from your shoulder and putting it on his own in a gentlemanly gesture, happily making small talk with you as the elevator door closed, the only vibes you were getting from him was that of a harmless teddy bear.      You had to suppress a smile as you responded to his question of: “I trust you got here easily? How long did it take from New Orleans?” And then getting caught in the flow of his own rambling: “I wish I could visit there. I only went once before getting stuck in this building. Exquisite food. Oh and even better music.”     You found it incredibly endearing.      The elevator doors opened and you allowed James to lead to into the hallway, peering up at him as he continued to talk.     “Ah, here we are.” He exclaimed, pushing open the door labelled ‘55′ and allowing you to go in before you. The room was decorated in an odd sort of outdated way which somehow managed to still be cozy and welcoming; red carpet, dark oak furniture and strangely shaped light fittings. There was a large table in the centre of the room, a bed pushed against the wall beyond that and a small sitting area to the right. Looking to the left, you spied a door, open a crack to reveal a clean-looking bathroom beyond.      James pulled you out a chair and gestured for you to sit before hurrying round the table and situating himself opposite you.      “I must say,” he began, surveying you as you pulled your bag onto your lap and began taking out the items necessary for the location spell that you were to perform for James. He continued, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the wood of the table, “it has been a while since I have had a run-in with a witch. And an even longer time since I’ve had relations with your coven.”     Pulling out two large candles, you met his gaze and smiled softly. “Well, I’m happy to help.” You said mildly, just wanting to perform this spell for him and leave. This hotel just didn’t sit right with you and you were hesitant to spend more time than necessary within its walls. The room fell into a somewhat awkward silence as you pulled out the rest of the contents of your bag: a large map of Los Angeles and a thin, cruel looking blade. You cleared your throat quietly as you spread the map upon the table, James retracting his elbows to give you space, watching your every move intently.      You placed a candle at each side of the map, lighting them with half a thought and a lazy flick of your wrist. The impressed expression that fell over James’ face caused a barely suppressed soft smile to spread over your lips, a strange of sense of satisfaction unfurling in your chest.      Palming the small knife, you met his interested gaze. “Did you bring a connection with you?” You had assumed that Cordelia had explained the spell to James, that in order for you to find what he had lost, you would need some sort of connection with it. If it were an object, you would need a small part of the item or to perform the spell at the last place it was seen in order to retrieve it, but, as Cordelia had explained to you, as it was a person that had gone missing, you would need some of their DNA, some hair, blood, even a finger nail clipping, just anything that you could use to tether yourself to the missing person.      “Oh, yes of course. Miss Evers!” He called, looking at the door behind where you sat. You pivoted as the door opened, beholding the maid that bustled in, a small child clinging onto her hand. Your eyes narrowed.      “Bring him over here. Yes that’s it.” He welcomed the oddly-dressed child into his arms. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, his thick head of platinum blonde hair glinting in the candle light. James ushered the maid away before looking to you expectantly.     “What am I to do with him?” You ventured, the boy’s presence making you feel uncomfortable. No child should be involved in witchcraft, especially in such a spell that you were to perform.      But then again, looking at the boy, you couldn’t tell if he was entirely human. A deeply unsettling aura rippled off of the child, whose head was turned shyly to rest in James’ chest.      “This is the closest thing I could salvage from her. They are connected in a way that I am not required to explain,” he offered a tight smile. “So please,” he jerked his head at the blade in your hand, “continue.”      You frowned, but did as you were told, dragging the knife across your palm, hard enough to draw blood, a practice that you were so used to doing, the sting of the blade cutting into you barely registered. Clenching your hand into a tight fist, you held your hand out before you above where the Hotel Cortez was located on the map and allowed three drops of your blood to splash onto the paper. Your stomach twisted at what you had to next, meeting James’ eyes and holding out your hand. “I need to do the same with him.” You muttered.      James, to your surprise, took the boys hand and held it out to you happily, forcing his palm open and holding it steady as you raised the blade and drew a deep line across his little hand. Even more surprisingly, the boy didn’t so much as whine as you put his hand into a tiny fist and held it above the map, allowing for a few drops of his blood to fall on top of your own.      “Thank you.” You said to the boy gently, releasing his hand. James lifted him off his lap, patting his head fondly and called for Miss Evers again who returned and took the boy out of the room.      “Go ahead, witchling.” He said, a curious glint in his eye.      “Alright.” You breathed, surveying the map before you before letting your eyes fall shut. “This shouldn’t take too long. Remind me of her name?”      “Her name is Elizabeth. She took off from the hotel eight days ago. I need her back here.”      Nodding, you let this information and the quietness of the room settle over you, holding your hands outstretched over the map. Scrying was a pain in the ass, but it was what you were best at. You reminded yourself of this as you began the incantation, readying yourself for the feeling of coming out of your being, of losing control of yourself.      With each word you spoke, you began to feel the sensation of being pulled out of your body until your conscious being was hovering above the table, watching yourself utter the incantation with your hands held above the map, James’ eyes glued to your face in wonder. Below your hands, the little puddle of blood began to inch itself across the paper of the map and you concentrated as your vision began to dim, chanting louder as the candles flared.      God this hotel.      It was an effort to focus yourself as the memories of suffering clouded your thoughts and an ache began to spread from one temple to the other. Glancing at yourself, you cringed as you face began to pinch, a small drop of blood forming and dripping from your nose. Your chanting became frenzied, hands beginning to shake where you held them above the table.     The blood continued to trail across the map and you grimaced at the worsening pounding in your head, watching as the muscles in your jaw clenched.      “Y/n?” You started, having forgot that James was present and began to panic as he reached out a hand tentatively. If you touched you, you would be pulled back into yourself and the spell would be broken.      “No.” The word formed soundlessly on your lips, blood dripping from your other nostril. The blood on the map began to slow its journey, beginning to pool itself back together. Just a few more moments and- “Y/n.”       James reached over and brought his hand onto your shoulder, and you were forced back into yourself, an irritated protest forming on your lips.      But as his hand settled on your shoulder, a flurry of images emptied itself into your head with such force that you jerked.      The images were of James, his face the same as it was now but in various outfits. James stood before a half-built building, an oddly shaped hat perched on his head, James laughing as he popped open a bottle of champagne before a crowd of cheering people. And there he was again, stood in a dimly lit room with red carpets and walls, a mutilated body sprawled on a table before him. In this picture he sighed, blood splattering his face and a series of sharp, wicked blades having been discarded at his feet. You were forced to endure a series of similar images, James’ grip on your arm tightly as you tried to expel the pictures in your head, but to no avail.     And then you saw yourself from James’ vantage point as he stepped into the bar you had been in hardly thirty minutes ago, Liz polishing her glasses before where you sat, your bag abandoned at your feet. This image was quickly replaced by another, of you and James sat at this very table, but you were both dressed in finery, you at one end and him at the other, large plates of food set before you as you sipped on your wine, James laughing at a joke you had made. Then you saw the two of you running through the hallways of the hotel, giggling like children and shouting as he chased after you as you both barrelled through the hallways before James caught you and pushed you gently against the wall, his lips finding yours as you both laughed breathlessly.      The scene changed quickly, and you were looking through your own eyes as James smiled down at you with teary eyes, your white lace-covered hand clutched in his as you made your vows to love him, a priest stood a few feet away overseeing the ceremony in the reception of the hotel.     And then a glorious feeling working itself into you as the next image appeared in your head: of you sprawled out on the same bed that was behind James now, mewling in pleasure as James’ head worked between your legs. Your fingers were gripped tightly in his hair, a white gown and light grey suit scattered in pieces around the bed he worshipped you upon.     Only when the vision snapped to you cupping your swollen belly lovingly, did you finally find the strength to locate your physical self and slip back into it, pulling away from James. As soon as his hand fell from your arm, the visions disappeared abruptly and you blinked as you stared at him across the table, his eyes creased in concern.       Letting out a shaky breath, you reached up and wiped at your face, your fingers coming away bloody and James stood hurrying over to you. You felt dizzy and could barely see straight as his cold fingers hooked under you chin and you were forced to look right at him as he tutted quietly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleaning up the blood that had expelled itself from both nostrils and from the corner of one eye.      Had he seen or felt anything? Had he meant to put those images in your head?     You breathing faltered as he met your stare, the images that you had seen appearing again in the back of your mind, of his head between your spread legs as your back arched off the bed.     You shook this images from your head and forced yourself into action. You reached up and pulled his hand from your face.      “It’s okay.” You said, the roiling dizziness that you had felt giving way to bone-deep exhaustion. “It happens. This is a hard spell.” You reassured him.      He surveyed you carefully from a few feet away, the newfound tiredness of the location spell evident in the droop of your shoulders, the dimness in your eyes.     You gestured to the map. “Where the blood had formed is where Elizabeth is. I don’t know LA that well. If I were you I would go there quickly, she might move somewhere else.” Your voice was hoarse.      “Yes.” He drawled, “thank you, dearest.” You smiled weakly up at him, pulling your candles to you and blowing them out before using your magic to encourage the melted wax to harden and stuffing them back in your bag. With a lazy wave of your hand, the blood on your blade was gone, the well of your magic pleading you to let it rest. You pushed yourself to your feet silently.      “Whoa.” James darted forwards, catching you under the elbows as your knees gave out when you tired to stand.       “Oh dear.” He muttered in your ear as your bag fell from your fingers and your head fell back into his chest. You groaned softly.       Fuck. I pushed too hard. You thought as your eyes grew too heavy, your head drooping forwards as your body forced you to sleep, to recuperate. Yes, you had definitely pushed too far.       A cold hand settled on your forehead and forced your head back, James’ muttered, “it’s alright, darling. Thank you for helping me,” being the last thing you heard before your body’s demand for sleep pulled you under.     

                                                   .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

    Your phone buzzing on the pillow beside your head made you stir. You peeled your tongue from the roof of your mouth, reaching out with a groan and picking up your phone to answer it, bringing it to your ear and mumbling a sleepy “hello”.      Cordelia’s voice filled your ear. “Y/n? Are you okay? The hotel rang me and told me you would be back later than expected.” Slight panic sharpened her tone, making you force yourself to sit up. Before you, you saw the table where you had performed the location spell, the map still spread upon it. You remembered the images that James had projected into you with a shiver. A quick glance at the time displayed on your phone notified you that you had only been sleeping for a few hours but had missed your flight.          “Erm yeh, I’m fine. I’ll order an Uber and just get the next flight home. I’m fine, Cordelia. I promise.” You softened you tone, knowing how much the Supreme feared losing any of her girls.       “Okay, message me when you get in your Uber, okay? I love you.”       You smiled. “Love you too.” Hurrying, feeling uncomfortable that you had been left to sleep in this godforsaken building alone, you used the bathroom quickly and then gathered your things.       You had made it to the door of the room when you noticed that the low table beside the door had a plate laid out on it, a sandwich and a large glass of water set beside a note. It was written in pretty cursive and read: 

“Y/n. I hope you recover quickly. Thank you for your help, little witch. If you find yourself in the area again, please do visit us. JPM.” 

    You smiled softly, placing the note back down before draining the glass of water and grabbing the sandwich, munching on it as you made your way through the labyrinth of corridors, stomach sighing contentedly as you quickly finished the sandwich off, stepping into the elevator that would take you down to the reception.  

                                                  .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

     It had been a few weeks since you had made your visit to the Hotel Cortez. Now, you sat at the kitchen table, slowly making your way through your ‘theory of magic’ homework and laughing at a joke Kyle made from across the table when Cordelia strode in.

     You looked to her as she said your name. “I have another quest for you,” she began, her mouth quirking up at the corners. “You’re requested at the Hotel Cortez.” You stiffened almost imperceptibly, stomach flipping in either dread or excitement, you couldn’t tell. 

    “James March requests your company for diner.” She smirked and Kyle let out a laugh as your cheeks reddened. You reached into your pencil case and chucked a pen at him. 

    “When?” You asked Cordelia who was barely suppressing her laughter.

    “Wednesday. And I have already booked you a flight.” Your mouth fell open as she turned on her heel and began to leave. “I suggest you start looking for something spectacular to wear.” 

    You fell back into your chair as she left, defeated. Kyle was giggling.

    Today was Monday. You had two days to find something to wear. You stood suddenly, a combination of terror and excitement knotting in your chest and stalked over to friend. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pulled him up.

    “I have two days to find something to wear.” His expression quickly turned from amusement to distaste as he noted the determined gleam in your eyes. “And you’re going to help me.” It was your turn to laugh at his groan as you dragged him from the kitchen and into your room, forcing him to rate each outfit that you pulled from your wardrobe.

[emilyoftheshadows]

Deja Vu

Hi! so this is a one-shot based off of olivia rodrigo's new song deja vu. It took a little longer than I thought to write, but here it is in all its questionable glory. Of course it is rowaelin because what else endgame couple would I write lol. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

wordcount// 1838

*****

Aelin felt sick to her stomach as she stared at her phone. The bright screen illuminated the disarray she had created around her. The bed covers were thrown recklessly around Aelin’s mattress, a package of half eaten oreos shoved between the twisted sheets. Bottles of alcohol were towered on the floor and nightstand, creating a maze that she had to maneuver around every time she left the softness of her bed. Tears stained Aelin 's cheeks, the sadness inside of her spilling out everytime she even thought of him. How his touch felt on her skin or how his lips used to kiss her forehead in comfort.

But all of that was over for her. Because he didn’t need her. Her love and her own problems only held him back, and Aelin knew it. She was a stain in Rowan’s perfect new life, and she would die before she let herself be the reason for any sadness he experienced.

So here she was, 6 months and 9 days after she had broken up with him. His face had been scrunched up in confusion, his emerald eyes glistening with tears as she had said her goodbyes. Aelin knew the breakup had hit him hard, but she consoled herself with the thought that once he got over their relationship, he would be free to live his dreams. Aelin would no longer be the unnecessary tether holding him back from his full potential.

Rowan had moved soon after the couple had ended university, taking a high end job at Maeve’s Publishing Co. in Doranelle. He had met his people, The Cadre as they were known to the locals. Working with his new team, Rowan had formed an unbreakable bond with the men he spent so much of his time with. As much as Rowan had found his new home in Doranelle, the opposite could be said for Aelin.

She had opted to stay in Rifthold, accepting her own high end job at Hamel Hotels working as their Brand Manager. At first, the glitz of the hotels and fast paced life had been exhilarating. That was until she had learned her boss was a demanding misogynist and occupied her time with insane projects and endless demands.

Her sour demeanor matched Rowan's exuberance head for head, and every visit she could see the concern etched in that beautiful face deepen with time. But when she went to visit Rowan in Doranelle, all Aelin saw was a makeshift family that he would have forever. The Cadre was working their way up in the publishing world, becoming an unstoppable force and you could practically feel the excitement buzzing throughout Rowan.

It was then when he was surrounded by his men eager for their future, that Aelin knew that she was a distraction. A miserable self loathing girlfriend who was holding him back from immersing himself into this new opportunity. So she took herself out of the picture, doing whatever was necessary to make sure he moved on from her.

She stopped answering his texts, let his endless calls go to voicemail, and unfollowed him on every social media site she had. After the third month, he finally stopped calling her everyday. The month after that, he stopped texting her. Although Aelin wanted this, she couldn’t help but be sad when she stopped getting his streams of i miss yous and hearts.

Aelin had gotten herself a dog after the breakup, focusing all her misguided love and intentions into the white beast that ate all her shoes and furniture. Using his pictures, she made an account for him and used this new anonymous account to stalk Rowan and his Cadre, plus the girl that used to occasionally join the men on their outings. Lyria was Maeve’s assistant and had been through just as much hell as they did, dealing with their bosses' incessant needs. Because of this, the crew often invited her out to the bars as a way to unwind from long days of work, sharing funny mishaps and complaining about Maeve together.

She told herself it was just to check up on him, to make sure he was okay, but she knew deep down that she could never fully separate herself from Rowan. This account was her only link to him, and as shady as it was, Aelin would be damned before she ever gave up the chance to get a glimpse into his life.

But as she focused on her phone, all previous thoughts for Rowan’s wellbeing flew out of her head. Because on Fleetfoot’s instagram feed, Lyria had posted a picture. The scene was innocent enough to any other person looking at it. She sat outside, the sun filtering in through the trees in the background of the photo. On the small table in front of her sat one cup of strawberry ice cream, a spoon poking out of the top of the scoop creating the picture perfect image. Her delicate hand with its perfectly manicured fingers grasped a tan hand almost twice the size of hers, emphasizing her petite features.

But that hand is what stopped Aelin in her tracks. Because as she looked at the post again, that hand led her to the face she adored most in the world. All too fast, she was consumed by his emerald green eyes, a hint of mischief shining in their center. His silver hair reflected the light around him, giving Rowan an ethereal glow as he posed for the camera. Other than slight dark circles under his eyes, he looked perfectly content. A soft smile graced his features and his clothes showed no clear stains or rumpled appearance.

Rowan was okay. He was absolutely fine. And Aelin was not.

Because whether he realized it or not, Rowan had recreated their own first date. As awkward college freshmen, the couple had gone to a family owned ice cream shop run by a friendly old man Emrys. They would return to that ice cream shop at least once a week after that first date, getting to know the owner and his partner Malaki. They had gotten strawberry ice cream, and Rowan had only asked for one spoon, insisting that he could just feed her himself whenever she wanted a bite. The buzzard didn’t even like sweets as much as she did, only wanting to make her suffer. They had sat on a bench outside the restaurant, laughing at how silly they both were and enjoying their newfound relationship. That memory used to always bring a smile to Aelin’s face, causing nostalgia for a simpler time in their lives. Looking at this recreation on her phone though, all Aelin wanted to do was scream in his face for how careless he was with their past.

That moment should belong to them, and them only. Her vision became blurred with tears, the image of his face distorting in front of her. All she could feel was a pit opening up inside her, clawing its way through her body until all she felt was numb. Her tears stopped running down her face, her hands stopped shaking, and she could finally breathe again. But Aelin no longer felt heartbroken for the bird boy who had made her dreams come true. No, all she felt was curiosity. A curiosity for whether or not he got deja vu when he was with her.

---

Rowan sat on his couch, staring at the photo in front of him. He had gotten back from his date with Lyria a couple of hours ago, guilt crashing over him every time he looked at her. Because Lyria wasn’t the woman that made his heart soar or his bones ache when he wasn’t near her. No, that feeling only belonged to his fireheart. The woman who could apparently no longer stand his presence in her life.

Aelin had broken up with him abruptly, pushing him away when he knew she needed him the most. Rowan wasn’t blind, he could see how unhappy she was in Rifthold. Arobynn Hamel was a pervert at best and Aelin deserved to have something or someone good in her life. And he thought he could be that someone, he really did. Rowan had already put in his two week notice to Maeve with hope in his heart and a ring in his pocket. He would do anything to make Aelin happy, and nothing would ruin them, not even the job of his dreams.

But apparently, they weren’t on the same page. Because when he had gone to visit her in Rifthold, ready to offer his life to her, she had crushed his spirits in less than 5 minutes. He had flown back home, but Rowan never figured out why she felt the urge to end their relationship. The lack of closure and the loss of the other half of his soul led him to ruins. For months he texted and called everyday, hoping that she would open up to him about her pain. But Aelin never answered. And she never texted. Next thing Rowan knew, he had stopped trying all together.

The Cadre did all they could to comfort him, but none of them were even close to understanding the aching pain he felt in his heart everyday. Lyria was the only one who could stand his somber demeanor, choosing to spend her breaks near his desk and chit chatting about office gossip during the slow days. At first, the distraction had been nice. But somewhere along the line, Lyria had become more serious about Rowan than he cared to admit.

Now here he was, with an almost-kind-of-talking-maybe-dating situationship that he didn’t understand even started. He mistook her friendliness for just that--friendship. But he also hadn’t stopped her. Deep down, Rowan knew that he was using Lyria, but he couldn’t help but keep the facade going on. Because if he was left alone again, Rowan didn’t think he would ever leave his apartment.

The nights were the worst, where he was alone with his endless thoughts, his regrets, his tears. The past 6 months had been rough, and if this was how he had to pick himself up again then so be it. Aelin sure as hell didn’t want him anymore and Rowan had to come to terms with it whether he liked it or not.

But still, sitting with his phone propped up in his hand, staring at his own face and the scoop of light pink ice cream in front of him, Rowan’s mind wandered to a simpler time. A time where they would be on a bench outside their infamous ice cream spot instead of the random ice cream parlor downtown. A time where Rowan’s eyes would be shining brighter staring into the deepest blue he had ever seen. A time where his fireheart would be taking that picture instead of the woman he strung along like a puppy dog.

Imagining his own heaven in his head combined with the bitter reality around him, Rowan felt a momentary sense of deja vu.

*****

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@morganofthewildfire

@throneofmak

@whimsicallyreading  

@live-the-fangirl-life

[mandalorewhore]

Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

Cis-Female Reader Insert/ Din Djarin

Gif by @themandaloriandaily

Thank u to @cptnbvcks, @whenimaunicorn, and of course @no-droids for the inspiration and your superior writing skills, whenever i was stuck on a portion i would reread all of u guy’s works and feel inspired again

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Breath Play, Deep Throating, Masturbation, Pining, Depictions Of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 11k AO3 LINK

Summary: AU where Din Djarin stays with the mercenary group owned by Ranzar Malk. Takes place a few years before Din is contracted for Grogu's bounty. You're a merc trying to make a name for yourself in the group when circumstances end up having you run away with Din. You become his hunting partner in order to support yourself but you cant help falling in love with him, even as trained killers chase you across the galaxy.

FULL FIC:

As a mercenary, you wouldn’t consider yourself an overly sensitive person. 

Maker knows you wouldn’t have lasted a week in the job if you couldn’t handle your emotions. Although you don’t consider yourself entirely void of empathy, having a sense of detachment is useful when your waking hours are spent committing crimes throughout the galaxy.

          So why the fuck are you so jealous right now?

          The obscene moans and harsh slapping that echoes throughout the hangar shouldn’t inspire a larger reaction than disgust as you dutifully continue to repair the blaster marks on one of the rogue-class starfighters. Luckily, it seems that most of your immediate associates have ran off into the deeper areas of the bay to toll your last mission.

Excluding three members, you guess.

          Thank the fucking Maker Migs isn’t here You think bitterly, willing the sparks to fly higher and machine rumble louder as you carefully manipulate your buffing laser on the metal surface. His snarky attitude certainly wouldn’t lessen your misery as you try to drown out the sounds of sex. Raunchy words hiss, bouncing off the metal walls, before finding your feet and slithering up your limbs with a foulness that chokes you. Controlling the hot spinning laser seems to stoke your inner seething more than it distracts you. 

“Mando! Stars, keep-fuck- keep doing that,” you hear Xi’an echoing. Fucking Xi’an. She knows what she’s doing to you. The cruel Twi’lek is far too observant to not know that she is practically comm-station broadcasting her sexual exploits to the entire crew, and with that sheer volume, might as well the entire galaxy. You truly wouldn’t care about her sex life if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that Xi’an was doing this to mock you. You know this is meant for your ears only, a repeat of every other time you’ve found yourself stuck with this chore.  

Even if she wasn’t directly rubbing the fact that she was fucking the Mandalorian in your face, you don’t doubt that she would find a way to taunt your nonexistent sex life just for the fun of it. Another salacious moan echoes in the bay causing you to cringe and slightly jerk the repair tool in frustration.

Fuck, why did it have to be Mando? Aren’t there enough people on this kriffing space station to warm her bed? And how is he being so quiet right now? After a second you remember that’s a stupid question, considering he is probably the quietest person you’ve ever met.

His reservation serves to intimidate your targets, all the while unintentionally stoking that warmth in your belly when you are near him. His all-encompassing presence when he enters a room strikes fear in the hearts of the opposition, meanwhile, you are secretly pressing your thighs together in desire, enjoying the spectacle?.

 You’ve found yourself reveling in the few jobs where Ran’s strategy has you in a decoy-role, weaponizing your feminine charm to lull your target into a false sense of power. The muscle composing of Burg and Mando make quick work of those men once they're thoroughly wrapped up in your wiles. Despite being placed together for jobs on several occasions you’ve never actually had a real conversation with him. 

You’re too scared to talk to him, a near-silent man covered head to toe in Beskar, but you make money killing people and robbing gangs every week. It would be funnier if that purple freak wasn’t so vile. You don’t even know how to casually approach him.. Nice job killing those guys while I manipulated them into trying to fuck me! I’m pretty good with a gun, too. Maker, it’s so ridiculous that you don’t even bother with trying to figure it out. Other fantasies are easier to picture, such as the thought of him strolling across the room to slot himself in-between your spread legs, directing that intensity into your willing, aching body.

  This infuriating crush is why you suppose that your envy wouldn’t be as biting if you caught some sort of noise from the man during these displays of exhibitionism. It would give you something to repeat in your mind while you stow away in the late hours of the night seeking your own release. You guess the inability to hear him is proof of how far Xi’an is pushing her volume. It’s all just to piss you off. 

“Uhg, how miserable..” You mutter to yourself, allowing a little moment of self-indulgent angst. Typically, you wouldn’t allow yourself to wallow like a petulant teen seeing as you’re a literal fucking criminal. 

I’m supposed to be a hardass, dammit you think, spirits low as repairs wrap up far too swiftly. You swear you’ll buff right through every layer in the ship if you keep procrastinating on finishing your job and wandering into the tucked away fresher for a shower. Wandering past….them.

Wherever they are choosing to fuck can’t be that far considering the slap of skin on skin is already fucking loud enough. The sounds seem to be emanating from a vent not too high up the wall, you deduce it connects to one of the bunk rooms not too far from the landing pad you’re working next to. It really is fucking loud with all these metal surfaces to echo off of. Making your way to your small bunk might cause you to go deaf and if the last thing you ever hear is Xi’an wailing as she rubs in the fact that you aren’t fucking Mando, well, you might just take this spinning laser to your head. Unfortunately, at this point, the exterior of the gunship couldn’t possibly get more pristine.

Sighing in defeat, you push up from your crouching position on the metal floor and start to assemble your tools for clean-up while the sounds of Twi’lek pleasure predictably pick up  in volume.

“Fuck, fuck-Ah I’m close, I-I’m going to-“ A literal howl pierces the air as your gut twists with discomfort. Fuck, this is so awkward... and like, weird? Does he consent to this? Does he like that we can hear it? Maker.. Pushing that thought out of your mind you start to jog to your goal of the darkened hall that leads to the station fresher, still so wrapped up in jealousy that you almost miss the rough modulated growl accompanying the scream.

 O-oh.

Oh shit. Was that Mando….Moaning?

The swirling jealousy is suddenly overtaken by a- stars- painful heat, so debilitating that you stumble and almost double over with an intensity that shoots through your groin. Okay well, now you feel like an actual pervert. This display of eroticism was engineered by Xi’an to make you uncomfortable, not so painfully turned on that it’s dizzying. You vaguely register a growing slickness between your legs as you hurry along the cold hallway, desperate to drench yourself in icy water and pretend to forget the sound of Mando moaning.

Shit, Maker, was he cumming? Was that what he sounds like when-- no stopstopnope. Don’t think about that. Your inner monologue is running amuck as you desperately try to block it out. This feels kinda gross, as if you’re a greasy peeping tom spying on Mando’s private endeavors even though this whole situation was shoved in your face to make you ache in countless, longing ways.

That deep growl repeats in your mind as you hum nonsensically under your breath, tapping your skull as if you can knock the sound out of your consciousness despite being well aware that you will go to your fucking grave with every detail. The top of your inner thighs is so embarrassingly slick that you have to resist waddling along the corridor to the showers. Just as you are about to round the first corner, one of the side bunker doors slides halfway opens with a whoosh. The smirking Twi’lek saunters out like the loth-cat who got the cream.

I suppose she did get the cream... Your split-second of sour mirth is further spoiled as Xi’an slides the rest of the door open revealing the gleam of silver beskar and red steel as the ever still Mandalorian adjusting his…thigh armor. You spy a large vent at the junction between wall and ceiling, confirming your earlier suspicions that she chose this location on purpose. Quickly glancing between Mando and Xi’an, your face uncontrollably floods with fire when her giggles pierce the air. You register his helmet tilting toward you right as Xi’an’s tongue slowly extends to liiiick her fingers, any curiosity at his gesture burning away in revulsion.

What does she get out of making everyone uncomfortable? You think to yourself, wanting to squirm away from the obscenity but resolving to hold your ground.

“Xi’an,” You greet the two shortly, hands linked behind your back. “Mando.”  He nods.

“Sorry,” Xi’an offers in a voice devoid of guilt. “Were we being too loud? I would never want to distract you from your… projects.” Her taunting smile curls so widely that it is almost disturbing. “What would the team do without our junior mechanic!”

Her cackle rings through the suddenly freezing hall as you spin on your heel and try to not look like you’re fleeing. Red is tinting the edges of your vision from her insult while tears threaten to flood your eyes out of embarrassment.

You need to get to that shower quickly.

    ----------------

  As the tepid shower rains down on your flushed body, you childishly wonder if you should run away. Or rather, if you could run away considering you technically don’t own any of the ships currently residing in the hangar bay. Although you technically have free reign to pilot most of the spaceships available, that freedom entirely applies to transportation between merc assignments . The thought of running away from your current acquaintances on a stolen ship is not appealing. In fact, the only crew member owning a personal vessel happens to be Mando, his Razer Crest gunship was often subject to your mechanic skills.

Mando, who always offered a genuine “Thank you.” after you’d spend hours touching up the vessel’s damage procured from the rare missions he lent its flight to. Mando, the person who you are presently trying to not think about while naked and still trembling with emotion.

Your sillier fantasies would sometimes involve stealing away in his gunship, hand pressed over his chest and leg thrown across his lower body like a romance novel while he skillfully pilots the ship away. Kriff, you felt like a soft girl whenever you run this scenario through your mind, so cliché and campy that you cringe at yourself. Thus, this particular dive into your consciousness was reserved for special moments such as lying in bed after a strenuous job, or after long days spent working through that junkyard of hangar bay trying to strong-arm your way into earning worth in the company. Private moments where you are finally comfortable letting your guard down to drift aimlessly throughout maladaptive daydreams.

Not so soft fantasies exist in your mind as well. Once again that modulated groan springs to the forefront of your mind causing your clit to throb softly. The conflicting feelings of embarrassment, rage, and painful arousal serves to create an energizing cocktail that goes straight to your pussy.

‘Fuck it,” You whisper breathily to yourself, “Nows as good a time as ever..” your fingers are trailing down your stomach as you say the words out loud. You adjust the water to be slightly warmer and sigh as the comfortable heat compliments your tickling fingers. If only you could replace your hands with the significantly larger leather-clad ones of a certain bounty hunter. The thought spikes your arousal as you lightly brush against your mound, choosing to tease yourself as images flash through your mind. The armor-clad Mandalorian gripping the back of your neck to you press facedown on the floor of his ship and take his cock. Or your legs spread wide across his hips, crushing your pussy on his groin while he’s seated in the pilot seat of his ship.

Your fingers dip slightly into your slick hole then drag up to your clit causing you to bite your free palm and hold back a moan. Eyelids heavy, you give in to the fantasies and begin to earnestly rub at your clit.

“Mmf Maker, f-fuck..”, you whine into your hand at the thought of him breaking your pussy open. You just know he fucks hard -- it’s a given that the crazy Twi’lek would be one for rougher sexual affairs. Someone who spends nearly every moment of life feeling nothing but the weight of fabric and beskar on their skin must be so fucking touch starved. You bet the opportunities he’s had to feel a tight cunt wrapped around his length would completely overwhelm his restraint. Muffled moans begin to fill the fresher as your fingers speed up between your legs, head hanging forward into the metal wall and water dripping off your brows.

Your eyes flutter shut as you pull your hand from your lips to tug at your hardened nipple, other hand still between your legs, imagining a dark visor being trained on your soaking wet, writhing body. The image sends a shooting pleasure up your spine as you spin around and press your back to the wall. Imagining his dark form watching you from the other side of the gathering steam, you open your thighs and spread your labia apart, sighing at the wet sound it makes. “Like what you see, hunter..?” you whisper into the empty room wishing he would find you in this shower.

Removing your fingers from your nipple you reach down to your crotch and greedily fill yourself with two fingers, pumping in and out as your other hand works at your swollen clit. The volume of your now unmuffled pleasure is likely overheard by anyone on this section of the station, but you can't find it in yourself to give a shit. If Xi’an can screech out her orgasms at any given opportunity to fuck with you then let them hear.

Let him hear.

Your imagination runs rampant at the notion that he could hunt down your gasps and take care of you himself, causing you to gasp louder. S-shit people can hear you, you just won't say his name out loud, it's fine, it's f-fine- The thought of him discovering you here is so hot that it's blinding, and suddenly your orgasm is rushing up to crush you entirely.

Your lower half is locked tight then suddenly your knees buckle and you’re cumming hard. Your choked gasps cutting through the steamy shower like blaster fire as you peak higher, uncontrollably calling out for the Mandalorian while white-hot pleasure wrings you dry. Let him hear you crying for him as you gush around your fingers, convulsing in bliss.

     In the shuddering aftershocks, you don’t hear the uncharacteristically loud padding of leather boots retreating away from the fresher door.

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

    You’re good at your job. You wouldn’t be doing it if you truly couldn’t handle the ordeal of being a mercenary. The whole point of the job is to take care of the dirty work, so those far disconnected wouldn’t have to dwell on their choices too hard. You’re used to not asking questions, motivated by credits and reputation alone. But in moments like these, a job going this awry… well, you just feel like pure shit. This hit was way too easy and far too filthy even for your career mostly consisting of professional filth. It was so glaringly obvious that even if your associate’s numbers were sliced in half, you would still sweep the ground with your winnings.

And what meager earnings they are.

The crew’s assignment this round was to hit a casino shipment just outside the outer rim planet of Cantonica. Due to the Razer Crest’s ability to fly under the radar of both Imperial and New republic records, Ran rudely allotted that Mando should allow his ship’s use for crew transport. You’re surprised he agreed at all, but perhaps the prospect of gain motivated him. His motivations are rarely clear to you. You’re guessing the price of a wealthy city’s supply sounded frankly too tempting for everyone involved; Ran was practically salivating over the drawing board for this particular errand. One would imagine a hull stacked to the top with credits and the finest luxuries for Canto Blight’s flashy tourists. It is Catonica’s main attraction after all.

But once the team’s resident crime droid, Zero, breached the cargo ship's record, the whole team is  informed that the cargo-freighter ship only contains “organics”.

Slaves.

          In the end, Migs remarked that there may still be something of worth to obtain from this job, and thus the plan morphed into an robbery on the surface once the cargo landed at its isolated dock. You reluctantly agreed to continue while Mando shortly nodded, both of you last to assent on this change in direction.

----------------   

Some hours later you’re crouching in a derelict warehouse while the lessening blaster fire showers spark like fireworks across your corneas. The fighting between your crew and the dockyard guards has almost died down at this point and you take the moment to catch your breath behind a large stack of cargo boxes.

          “Holy stars,” you gasp out, head falling between your knees as a wave of guilt consumes you momentarily. This job fucking blows. It’s so much easier robbing Imps and gangs because they are inherently bad fucking people. Robbing a group of slaves is the lowest point you think you have ever hit in your life. This is so wrong, this is so so wrong, they don’t even have ownership of their own lives and here your crew of fucking mercenaries swoops in with a vengeance over being cheated out of something that we didn’t own in the first place.

The last straw was when you witnessed a young bedraggled woman fearfully tossing the Twi’lek sibling, Qin, a small wooden necklace, the last possession from her life before slavery. You ended up turning tail and running deeper into the dock while Qin needlessly hissed at her just to enjoy her terror. You’re sure he’ll just toss the thing after the job is over.

“I never would’ve agreed to this…” You breathe out shakily to the empty air, hollowness swallowing your ability to compartmentalize your humanity from the nature of this work. You are still fighting the impulse to give in to that deep pit of sorrow when a large shadow makes you start and grip your blaster before relaxing in recognition at the chrome gleam.

          “Oh, hey, Mando,” Smiling tightly in his presence as he approaches silently, his helmet tilted down at your crouched form. His gaze makes you straighten up quickly, realizing that you probably shouldn’t look so stricken in front of your crime associate. Gotta look tough, can’t let people think you’re too soft for this work. Man, didn’t he help start the company? That thought motivates you further to stand up and face him head-on.

 “Not what we expected huh? Certainly no Canto luxury here..” you quietly murmur to his cheek groove.

If you looked directly where his eyes might be he would likely catch the sparkle of moisture threatening to pool at your bottom lashes.

          “No,” he breathes shortly through the modulator. “Not this.” Something in his voice inspires the bravery to glance at his T-shaped visor. Compared to his usual tone of speech he almost sounds …stricken right now. Distraught by this display of debauchery your crewmates have shown the slaves and few people manning the dock. It's not noticeable unless you’ve been around him enough to read him on some level but deep down you know he feels the same way. You try to recall him taking part in the violent takeover and realize he was barely present for the ordeal. Aside from the initial violence that broke out during landing he hardly did anything and was noticeably absent once the slaves were targeted. In the back of your mind, you pray that he won't be reprimanded for the lack of effort. The thought is ridiculous but you’re scared anyway.

Stars, this is all too much, your head is swirling with grief and stress as your heart rate picks up and suddenly you are so desperate for humanity, for empathy  that you lose your filter and-

          “Couldn’t stomach it either?” You blurt out to him, desperately hoping he understands and will not judge your deep sorrow for the enslaved people affected by this brutal takedown. Your mind catches up in panic half a second later when Mando doesn’t immediately respond. Did you just seek sensitivity from the Mandalorian? Fuck. Wait. That sounded like an insult too. Fuck um-

“Ah, um I-I mean. I just mean I don’t remember you firing on anyone helpless and I um- I didn’t either, I didn’t fire my blaster at all to be honest I-Fuck- I hid. They’re just slaves not Imps, Mando. The guards were taken out in seconds and-” You hiccup and stutter as tears gather at the edges of your eyes and begin to fall. You feel so overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt that all of a sudden you forgot about his open show of emotion.

Pull it together, don't do this in front of the Mandalorian. He is the very picture of a stoic, hardened mercenary and now you’re kriffing crying in front of him? It briefly registers that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken one on one with him, the both of you were almost always alone or with members of Ran’s party during time off. You internally curse your existence for thinking you could tearfully word vomit in front of a fucking bounty hunter and get comforted by him. Your knowledge of Mandalorians is limited, despite knowing one, yet you think the point of his whole creed about giving up your identity and giving yourself to war. Why the fuck did you cry in front of a damn Manodlorian? You’re just starting to unfreeze from your panic-stricken muscles to dab at your cheeks when a gloved hand swiftly brushes just below your eye to catch a tear.

          ‘This wouldn’t have happened if that Droid could do his job,” You glance up at him in shock at his biting tone juxtaposed with the gentle gesture, but he’s already turning away, voice rotating with his visor. “The worst is over now that the shooting stopped. Let’s round up the others.”

          He pauses with his back turned and you take that moment to compose yourself. You’ve only shed a few tears so your eyes can’t be that red.

“O-okay.. .” You reply, trying to inject your usual backbone into the tone of your response before moving to follow him around the piled boxes and regroup. Staring into your warped reflection in the back of his helmet you try to find the words to thank him but they get lost in the ghosts of today.

          Your mind is still swirling but the clouds of despair have mostly cleared away. You know you don’t have time to dwell on your short interaction yet your mind is fully absorbed in his every move, both present and past. Coming from anyone else his reaction would seem shitty and dismissive but coming from Mando... well, you're honestly shocked. Those two sentences were fairly long for someone usually so silent. And what about his reaction to the way this job has gone? Him brushing away your tears?

You are gazing down at your feet deep in thought when you suddenly bonk into the back of Mandos broad back, wacking your forehead on the base of his helmet.

          “Oww.” You groan lightly, rubbing your forehead and stepping to the right of his body, “Why’d you stop so sudde-'' It is then when you notice the muffled whimpering coming from the clearing in front of the both of you. A crimson pool of blood laps at the Mandalorian’s boots, its kiss staining the leather a deep black.

Now you are truly sickened, bile rising in your throat as a ragged gasp leaves your mouth.

          “Why…? How can you..”

          “Xi’an!”

          Your choked whisper leaves your lips at the same moment the Mandalorian fucking barks the Twi’leks name.

A crumpled form adjacent to her body is the source of the whimpering and bloodshed, their contorted limbs looking less than human as muscles strain against metal binders. Xi’an’s triangular blades are dripping in her grip as she spins on her toes like a dancer and flounces childishly in the direction of your frozen form. Tearing your gaze away from the shell of a human you meet her eyes with open hostility. She stops several yards away from you.

          ‘Aha! So good to see you two. Isn’t this job sooo disappointing?” She calls out to the two of you casually. When no one responds her body deflates as she twists her knee inward and clutches one arm peevishly. Performative. “What? No hello? I could’ve died today!” She cackles at the notion.

          Mando is a statue at your side. You can feel the rage radiate in waves off his body like a heater and you wonder what's going to happen if Xi’an pushes this further. Your heightened stress from moments before is vibrating throughout your nervous system, compelling you to step forward and speak up.

          “Xi’an… this-this is completely unnecessary. The only thing required to complete our hit was taking out guards! What the fuc- and they were clearly incapacitated by you before you decided to take your blade to their skin!” Okay, that came out a little shakier than intended, but it feels like a disservice to hide your revulsion for her actions with the victim lying right there. “You could’ve just hit em’ in the skull with a blaster shot if you needed them out of your way!”

          “Guards? Oh, I already took them out. This-” Xi’an punctuates the word a kick into the person’s stomach causing them to groan weakly, “Well, this is just an Organic as Zero would put it.” Organic? Fucking- You jump slightly and glance to your left when the Mandorlorian makes a shocked exclamation at her words. Maker, you’re so sickened you forgot he was with you.

“You mean a Slave? From the shipment?” He hisses the question through his teeth. You can’t see his face but you can hear the tension in his jaw, his body still a ridged form at your side. Xi’an pokes her tongue out and runs it lightly over the pointed edge of her teeth while she considers her response. She seems to be measuring her response to Mando with a little more care than she bothered with while speaking to you. You’re guessing that she cares far more about his perception of her than your personal attitude regarding the Twi’lek. Wouldn’t want to piss off her fuck buddy.

“Answer me!” He snaps when her response takes a millisecond too long. Your purple associate sighs, exasperated now.

“Yes a slave,” she hisses, drawing out the word in contempt, “Really I’m doing him a favor. From the looks of him, he was picked up on Tatooine. I doubt he even had a family to mourn him back on that shitty dustball of a planet-” Her eyes suddenly bulge as she clamps her mouth shut, gaze fixed on the armored man betraying a twinkle of... fear?

Slowly, you turn to him. The pit in your stomach is somehow weighing heavier than ever when you take in his body language. If you thought he was emanating white-hot rage before Xi’an’s response then you don’t even have words for how he holds himself now. You take a half step back in trepidation as the air around you seems to warp around the Mandalorian’s gravitational pull.

“A foundling?” His tone is unexpectedly quiet for someone who is manipulating the very atmosphere of this desert planet. Time seems to freeze. Shadows are ebbing at the edge of your vision and your head feels like it is going to pop in the pressure. You want to do something, anything, to relieve the pressing wall closing in on the three of you, to somehow end this interaction so that you can crawl in on yourself and bury the ghosts in the back of your mind. Fuck, your mouth is so dry, heart palpitating with a painful squeeze. Shit, fuck, what do you do? What did he mean by that question and why is Xi’an freaking out? You’re still fixated on the gleam of his helmet, rushing to find appropriate words when-

A flash of red explodes in your peripheral-vision, sparks seeming to fly 20 feet in the air. The words die in your throat in shock.

Did he? Did he shoot her? You barely saw him move yet as your mind races to catch up on this turn of events, you realize his blaster is drawn low on his hip, while the rest of him hasn't shifted an inch. The pressure cooker disappears in a sweeping wave of silence.

You swallow and turn awkwardly back to Xi’an. Oh.

He shot the slave.

Xi’an is just as stiff as you, her arms slightly raised as if she instinctively tried to ward off the blaster fire before realizing its trajectory. You are still processing his actions when a gloved hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you swiftly as he runs from the scene, tossing a flash bomb behind the both of you.

Without question, you run with him.

  ----------------

  “Hey!” Within minutes your chest is burning from keeping up with Mando’s relentless pace. You’re fit from your job but he's twice as big as you and probably more than twice as fast. You get the feeling that he's moving slower than usual so you aren’t left behind. Struggling to control your breathing, you attempt to make sense of the jumbled thoughts by wheezing out, “M-Mando what are we doing?”

“Running.”

“Okay, fucking obviously!”

“To the Crest.” He clarifies just as shortly. Okay. Okay, once you reach his ship maybe you’ll get more answers. Right now, both of your priorities align with getting the fuck away from Xi’an before her vision returns and she comes after the both of you. But you can’t yet push some of the recent events to the side.

“You shot him.” You mean to phrase it like a question but it comes out more accusatory than intended with how breathless you are. “The slave you shot-“

“I ended his suffering.”

Oh. That makes sense, even if it makes your chest contract in duress you recognize his killing the slave came from a place of empathy. What exactly did he say right before drawing his blaster, something about… foundlings? You don’t know the term exactly but contextually you can guess it means orphan or alone. Fuck, this is so bad. Just what are you going to tell everyone? He may not have directed his shot at the Twi’lek but he temporarily blinded her. That still counts as an attack on a member of the team. Your chest is burning unbearably now so you slap at Mando’s vambrance to signal your need for a break. He drags you gasping around a corner into the shadowy edge of the warehouse.

“Listen, hey, look at me.” His large hand reaches out to gently grip the side of your face, warm against your skin and smelling sharply of blaster residue. Looking into his visor you realize your cheeks are damp again as hysterical hiccups threaten to make themselves known. “We are going to run. You don’t have to come with me of course but I unintentionally put you in the position of being complicit by attacking Xi’an. That-that wasn’t the plan… but I was leaving the company anyway”

His chest suddenly deflates as he rids it of air.

You realize you were holding your breath at the same time as him as you gasp out, before rubbing at your cheeks and asking dumbly, “Y-you were… leaving the company? Is Ran pissed?”

Stupid question. Of course, he’d be pissed at losing the one Mandalorian in the group. Mandos' presence gave him cred. 

“Ran doesn’t know.”

“Ran doesn’t… what? When was this happening then?”

Mando’s visor turns away from your gaze and looks off into the middle distance. His gloved hand on your face is still gripping gently to lock you in place. “Today. That’s the only reason why I agreed to let him use the Crest for this job.”

He shakes his helmet slightly and turns back to your face, the metal covering his face becoming your main focal point while the room spins. You can't see his features, and never would, yet you feel as if you are looking directly into his eyes. Your body has impeccable timing when you feel your cheeks heat blushing.

However, your senses return in an instant when a familiar piercing howl echoes off the walls. The glove drops and he is gripping your shoulders,

“Can you run again?”

Adrenaline springs your limbs into action as you spin around, catching his wrist and pulling, roles reversed as you lead him in the direction of his ship.

Dust is billowing from below whenever your feet meet the ground. The steps sound like thunder in your ears as paranoia begins to worm its way into the forefront of your senses, every corner, every shadow, every blindspot could be hiding one of your former partners. Xi’an is an excellent assassin; time and time again her main skill has proven to be stealth, targets dropping dead expectedly. The Crest isn’t very far thankfully. It sits right on the back of the targeted freighter since Zero requires physical contact to hack the other ship systems for paths. Oooohh shit you forgot about the droid- 

“Mando, Zero’s in there.” You puff out shortly in between breaths. 

“Fuck that droid. I’ll take care of him, just back me up.” You both slide around a corner as he responds, bringing the two ships into your field of view. You are facing the rear end of the larger vessel, thankfully leaving the coast clear as far as you can tell. Mando’s helmet scans the area then nods, indicating the go-ahead with his fingers before running ahead of you. You follow him, casting fervent glances behind you for any signs of life. You reach the ship a millisecond after he does, his vambrance held high to lower the rear ramp. As the ramp begins to lower he grips your shoulders and spins you around dizzily.

“Stay right outside here. The second I enter the crest I’m dropping the Droid. I’ll call you once it’s safe.” You gulp quickly and nod in assent right before he leaps into the opening of the ship.

Seconds pass. 

Your nerves are plucking way more than they normally would.. You never particularly liked Zero, but the sudden turn of taking out your ex-allies is making you high strung and nervous. Zero’s voice cuts through the silence, making you jump.

“Mandolarian, you are back early. Were the prospects plentiful despite being Organics?”

“No.” You twitch when a shot echoes in the hull followed by the clash of metal on metal.

 The Mandalorian sharply calls your name springing you into action. You enter the ship immediately spying Zero’s body under the cockpit ladder, blaster wound still smoking with red-hot metal ringing the edges. Your eyes linger a little on the droid’s body, slightly leery at the death of someone who was your backup only hours ago, then you sigh and duck to get a handle on under his shoulders, dragging him to toss out the open entryway. 

Grunting with effort you direct your voice at the cockpit, “Tossing the droid! Take off when read- Shit.”

One of the droid's hip joints gets stuck on a portion of the hull wall, preventing you from moving his corpse. Something wizzes above you at the exact moment you duck down to adjust the body, right where the back of your head was a second ago. One of Xi’an’s triangle blades ricochets off the wall and slides across the floor, stopping right under your nose. Oh f-

“Fuck! Fly, fly, she's here Mando!” You lurch to the floor as the thrusters kick in, twisting your head to try and get eyes on the clearing. Through the rapidly closing ramp, you see a flash of purple skin, but before you have time to react the Crest door snaps shut. Heart thudding at what feels like a million beats per second, you try to get your bearings on the floor. Twisting sideways you suddenly find yourself face to face with Zero’s corpse, revulsion whipping through you like lightning as you scramble backward on your hands and feet.

    You can’t do this right now. 

    The last thing you want is to seem weak and needy in front of the man who just selflessly saved your life, for reasons still unknown, but you can’t do this right now. A creature of habit, you fold your neck between your legs, the same reaction you had to the violence on Cantonica. A minute, you just need a minute, a minute and then this horrible drone will go away, and you can deal with this, you’re a fucking mercenary…  the blackness swarming at the edges of your sight overtakes you all at once and you slide limply to the floor.

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

  You aren’t sure how much time has passed once you rouse. At your request, Mando tosses Zero's body before kicking into hyperdrive right about 120,000 feet in the air. You stare at its flight path until the speck disappears in the taupe shithole that is Cantonica. Feeling shaky as your adrenaline finally dips, you decide that the Crest could do with a once over before the long journey. 

After performing a quick analysis on the Crests systems it’s determined that the two of you are lucky this hunk of metal can fly. Hyperdrive operating at 67% capacity, weak communication signal if it even works half the time, plus more damage than you can currently process. If there weren’t five million different stressors weighing on you, your mechanic brain would probably explode at the current state of Mando’s ship. He probably should’ve taken it to you, or anyone else handy with tools if he wanted it to be in proper form for departure, but it makes sense that he didn’t want to draw too much attention. Hopefully, his pilot skills will compensate for the Crest’s sorry state. 

 To be fair, the whole blow-up-your-coworker-and-run-for-your-life aspect didn’t seem to be in Mando’s original plan. 

“So… where are we going?” You’re on the floor in the cockpit, back facing the passenger chair while the Mandalorian is seated pilot. After crawling under the console for a while you couldn’t bother to lift your aching muscles on the chair, resigning to scoot on your butt over to the closest object that could support you. As a result, you end up craning your neck to look up at him, his back straight in the chair. 

“My original plan was to head to Nevarro to take on a few quarries. I’m still with the guild and Karga doesn’t give a shit whether I’m running with Ran or going in alone.” You bite your lip anxiously. Oh yeah, you kinda forgot your presence threw wrench in his plan. He notices and tilts the helmet sideways at you, “You’re not in the way. I’m not concerned about you joining me, someone of your skillset is helpful to have around. I’ll introduce you to Karga so you can get on your feet.”

The compliment lifts your spirits enough to make you playful, poking at his boot with your toe, “Gee, glad I’m useful enough to keep around. All I have is my blaster and the clothes on my back, so if you drop me, I’d be  pretty fucked.” 

You giggle quietly but you know it’s the truth. All of your possessions are back on the space station, but you didn’t own too many personal artifacts, aside from some clothes and weapons. The only thing of use would’ve been your credits. You worry again at the realization, dipping your head before continuing to speak,

“Shit Mando, I don’t have any money on me. It was all back in my bunk, I don’t know how I’ll help pay for things around here unless Karga decides I can take on a quarry right away. Even then I’ll have to bring it back before I ever have a lick to my name.”

“You can make it back. I’ll split the profit from jobs that you assist me on. Cut depends on how useful you are and once you prove yourself, Karga will give you the decent pucks.” He swivels the chair and faces you, knees slightly spread as he leans forward in the chair, “Deal?”

You swallow and nod your head, mind blanking at how your head is level with the bend in his hips. You don’t think he's trying to come across as suggestive but the effect, intentional or not, invites a flutter of desire in your tummy. The Mandalorian leans back on his leather backing and sighs, the sound gentle despite the modulator warping his natural tone,

“You aren’t in my way. I swear it. If I had more time before leaving I would’ve asked you to join me anyway, you're good with your hands and always had more… compassion? Than anyone else in the company. I admire that quality.” That makes you straighten back up to meet his visor. He sounds nearly shy.

“O-oh…” You never even thought he noticed you aside from when you touched up the Razor Crest. The compliment sends warmth throughout your body, as languid as sex pollen in the near feverish effect. You don’t know how to respond at all, you’re feeling disjointed, like you may reveal too much if you don't change the subject soon. You wish you could be snappier but you’re exhausted. Maybe try for a joke?

“I g-guess you value girls good with their hands, huh. H-haha?”

Silence. Hm. 

That was the absolute worst thing you could’ve come up with. 

It didn’t meet even a single one of your simple ass goals, which entail the following:

Thank him.

Change the subject.

Not reveal how much his words make you want him to rail you.

    Wow, what the fuck- kill me. He hasn’t moved an inch, much less reacted to your shitty joke. The positioning of your bodies that you found so hot ten seconds prior is now a place you’d try anything to escape from. It’s almost comical how his height advantage serves to emphasize the disappointment in the small room. He hasn’t responded so you’re guessing he won’t bother to try. Heavy silence suffocates you to the point of desperation, you need to fill it with something right now or you swear you’ll die. 

    “I-I jus-t mean like- Well you had certain- ah- habits, you’d adhere to in your free time. Li-like um, I mean you didn’t hide much. Kinda obvious if you- listen, uh, I didn’t mean t-to say that I-I was joking around-”

“Get to the point.”

“I-” Your tummy fills with heat at his command. “Umm..” You wipe your hands on your thighs and glance down from his voice. The hours of on and off adrenaline must be majorly messing with your head. It’s kinda weird that you want him this badly after everything that went down today. Wasn’t your most recent concern something about avoiding death at the hands of a bitch you hate most in the galaxy? To be honest you can’t recall. 

The proximity of his groin is suddenly at the forefront of your mind. Again.

He slowly tilts his helmet to look at you, arms bending to settle in a relaxed position on the armrests. You are extremely aware of how you’re blatantly staring at him but your mind is slow to come up with a valid response, blankness written in the reflection on his visor. His position on the chair is mountainous, looming over your body in a way that boxes you in between the passenger seat and the Crest console. You feel like a prey animal... In a sexy way? Maybe?

Although, when he leans back into his seat, helmet still trained on your face, you are unsure if you’re actually pissing him off or not.

“Say what you mean.” 

Okay, the sexy is mixing a little with anxiety. 

“Ah- Um well, I just mean like. It’s not like you hid it from me- everyone else too. In the company. Ran’s company? ‘Cause, I- We… always overheard you and Xi’a- Her…” Fuck, your mouth is so dry that last part came out like a squeak. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again um, I kinda thought you were doing it on purpose. With Xi’an. Making me hear when you’d...fuck her.” Cheeks blazing, you duck your head back down, which doesn’t help at all since you’re just face to face with his crotch once more. 

    “You say ‘always’...” Mando’s inflection is lost somewhere between statement and question, his tone confusing enough that you end up lifting your head from its bowed position below him. 

“Y-yes?”

“As in this was a common position you found yourself in? Did you overhear me multiple times?” Now he poses not one but two questions for you, neither of which you feel brave enough to answer steadily. You can’t deflect further at this point so you answer him with a sigh.

“No, I only heard you once. Xi’an always wanted me to hear her though. It was gross.” Mortified, you gather your legs under your body to stand up from the floor. You think the hyperdrive issue is fixed well enough to hold until Nevarro. When your hand reaches for the edge of the armrest to pull yourself up it is abruptly enveloped in warm leather. Half crouched, your arm jerks back a little in surprise at his touch. 

“I wasn’t asking about myself specifically. And I wouldn’t force you to participate in her games, had I known.”

Maker strike my ass down. Can humans die from embarrassment? You wish it were possible if it got you out of this conversation. He’s correct, he didn’t specify whether you had heard his moaning. If you weren’t nursing these stupid feelings for Mando you never would’ve given away the fact that you memorized every tantalizing second of what you overheard. Not only is this embarrassing, but you don’t want him to think you’re a sicko who wanted to eavesdrop in the first place. The clarification about his awareness of Xi'an's timing is comforting but not enough to erase what you already admitted to him. You somehow feel sweaty and bone-dry at the same time, a flush spreading over your face.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I heard you too.”

You both speak at the same second, and a beat passes before either of you process what the other said. He- what? What is he talking about? Are we having two totally different conversations right now? When did you ever fuck someone on that space station anyway… unless he means… in the fresher…

This time he is the one who breaks the silence, “You’re sorry for… overhearing me?” 

“Y-yes, I really, really, don’t want you to think I’m a creep or anything. Anything I heard was involuntary, I swear. Xi’an w-wanted to make me… Um…” You trail off shyly, sitting down again. His hand is still over yours.

“Get to the point.” His voice is filled with heat now, so low and compelling that you’d tell him anything just to keep it that way. You whisper your response, lifting your eyes to his dark visor wishing you could meet his gaze.

“She wanted to make me jealous. Over you.”

“Mm… You wanted me instead?”

“Maker, yes.”

The climate between you and the Mandalorian made a 180. Nerves dissolving like honey in tea, all at once being taken over by a hum of sexual tension while his fingers caress a warm pattern over your knuckles. Exhilaration builds within you, though in the back of your mind you are calculating the possible motives behind his advance. 

You know sometimes, after a particularly rough day, people are compelled to relieve their pent-up stress through intimacy. There’s a reason why the market of sex work thrives under wartime, terror existing constantly in a fighter’s life must be paired with the softer, inner-most comforts of knowing another living being, or they’d go mad with sorrow. Brothels made a lot of money during the last stages of the Empire’s rule from both Imps, Rebels, and neutral parties alike.

It’s not out of the ordinary for you to seek each other out right now, yet can’t help but dream that this might mean more. 

The Mandalorian’s hand currently encasing yours flips your wrist to trace the lines of your palm. Sighing you tilt your head to the side, a curtain of hair cascading across your features. His free hand reaches out to brush the strands away before he gently grips your jaw, hand large enough to press his thumb on the front of your chin while his fingers wrap lightly under your ear. 

“I heard you too, pretty girl. You called out for me in the fresher… just what were you doing in there? Describe it- please.” He speaks with such allure that you break under his voice, pressing your cheek to his palm.

    “I-I thought of you watching me while I touched my pussy. I was so wet thinking about how I want you to feel me after being under all your armor, Stars, even the wind can’t touch you Mando. I thought about how you must crave the feeling of something so soft… can I show you how soft I am?” Your free hand raises to rest gently on his knee, fingertips hesitating at the edge of his thigh piece. He is still fully suited for battle, explosives strapped to one boot and rifle across his shoulders. 

You wish so badly to help him unwind, you would never disrespect him by trying to remove his armor, but you want to help him move past the experience that was Cantonica. Mando continues to stare at you for several tense seconds before melting into your touch.

“H-helmet stays on.” He breathes out shakily, a slight tremor running through his legs as your fingers lightly explore the fabric under the edge of the piece of metal. “But the rest… the rest can come off.” 

He’s already moving to undo the magnetic connectors holding his cuirass in place so you scramble to follow his movements. The rust-colored armor on his body has complex enough attachments that you don’t really know where to begin. Your hands clamber around, mostly following his deft movements. Slowly a man of flesh and blood is revealed, and as his impenetrable exterior melts away you find the true shape of him. 

The armor serves to add a few inches of bulk on his features, enhanced proportions making out a dramatic silhouette designed to be spotted from miles away. Without it his body is still so powerful, built hard as stone and broad, hard angles melding enticingly with a hidden softness. Not hidden- you realize -it compliments him completely. The pieces fall away and you’re left with the unexplored bareness of him. He is human and warm, evidence of this betrayed in rare moments where his hands travel lightly up your arms while you work at his pauldrons, brushing through your hair here and there before finally returning to your jaw to hover in front of your lips. 

“Off.” He instructs shortly, brushing the seam of his thumb over your bottom lip. Your mouth falls open to explore him with your tongue, tasting salt, blaster residue, and a hint of the heat he holds in his body. Satisfied, you bite down gently on the glove ridge, watching as he pulls off the leather encasing his hand and drinking in the sight of golden skin as it is revealed to you inch by inch. All you’ve seen of him is one bare hand and somehow it is the sexiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Flames lick your body, spreading from your white-hot core, energy gathering with such impassioned motions that at any second now it will burst from your skin, a reaction so immense that you could birth another galaxy.

You want to taste his skin too.

“Fuck baby-” You take his middle finger down to the knuckle, emboldened by his slurred reaction, noises startling to babble out of the bounty hunter as his stoicism falls apart under your tongue. Humming around the digit, you start to bob your head gently, eyes locked on his impassive visor while filthy, filtered noises drift through the beskar. It’s like there is no barrier at all between you, the air thrumming with a longing so great that you feel one with the man crumbling before you. If you're not careful you will fall with him. 

“Mando, Plea-se,” You stutter around him, voice shaking more than intended. “I want to f-feel more of you, let me touch you, please-” You squawk, mouth empty when he suddenly rips off the other glove, tossing it behind him before reaching down his torso to pull the hem of his trousers south. You gulp in trepidation, unable to tear your eyes away as enticing dark hair displays itself, leading to the base of his cock. He pauses, but you’re so caught up in discovering him that you don’t notice the tonal shift.

“Before I show you this-” dark words enunciated by palming his cock through the fabric, “I need to know where to put it.” 

What kind of question is that? You’re honestly bewildered, mind blank before you realize that the options are overwhelming. In his own way, he is asking you to verbalize consent, which is very much appreciated. You want him in your pussy, to work his way deep in your body and in turn, discover just how human you are... yet… You feel oddly unprepared. It’s not that you don't think you can take him, in fact you can't recall ever being this wet in your life. It’s just… after today… you want to help him unwind but you’re still not fully there. You still want to please him, but you’re not ready to let him know you that way, not until you come back to yourself. 

So in that case…

“I want you in my mouth, hunter.” 

Mando growls then grabs your wrist, guiding it over the edge of fabric and onto his throbbing length. He shudders while you process the feeling of him. He is thick, the width of his cock so wide that your middle finger and thumb are straining to meet each other. You release him from his pants then try to pull at the hem to wiggle them down his thighs. He obliges and lifts his hips so that you can reveal more delicious olive skin, but he makes no move to assist you with his hands. You get the feeling that he is drinking in your efforts to touch him, the sensation of your jerky movements giving away how much you want him. 

You kiss and nibble at every possible moment, one hand drifting lightly over the length of him, twirling at the base dusted with short, dark hairs, cupping his balls then moving back up, your mouth traveling to meet your fingers. Hissing, his hand flashes up to meet the back of your head, fingers tangling in strands to tug tightly on your scalp. With a light moan, you tongue along the side of him, teasing hot air more than actually licking him. 

“Look at me- fuck - pretty thing, s-so fucking willing for me, I want to see you take my cock as far as you can, s-show me how much you can handle-” He pulls harder at your hair, dragging you roughly enough to control your neck, back up from where you were sucking at his hip to the head of his dick. “Are you going to show me yourself before or after I gag you on it?”

Fuck, you never realized how tantalizing submitting to another person could be, not until that came out of his mouth, rough enough to clip through the modulator. You elect to show him what you can handle. Leaning forward to meet the swollen tip, you part your plush lips and kiss at the drop of precum gathered there, before relaxing your jaw to take him halfway. He groans and nearly doubles over at the sudden sensation, holding you there for a second before you draw back up to spread your saliva more thoroughly. Lips rewet, you sink back down on him, gliding smoothly as you pull his cock deep within your mouth, drinking in his breathy groans.

“Maker, yes … that’s it, fuck-” You attempt to sink even further down on the Mandalorian’s impressive length, but stop short a few inches from his base, blunt head pressing in your throat. “-so good, s-so good for me baby, you look perfect like this.”

He’s so far back inside you that you can’t access your vocal cords to produce any noise at all, otherwise you’d be whining at his praise. Your hands are free to assist you at any time, you could circumvent his daunting length if you wanted help. But you want to impress him. Besides, your palms are warm on his torso, traveling under his shirt to feel the ropes of muscle there. You don’t want to remove them. 

You surface to the tip, taking a deep breath in preparation before ducking to take him as deep as you can manage. He watches you, entranced at the sight of a face so lovingly strained to please him. Your gag reflex spasms but you will it away, determined to fully engulf his cock at least once even if you find you’re unable to handle more. The noises rising from your throat are brutal and raw as you choke around him, his helmet blurring when tears fill your eyes. You bob a little then almost give up when the urge to retreat floods your senses but then he starts talking again- so filthy that you can’t stop yet.

“You’re trying so fucking hard, fuck, I love seeing you wrapped around my cock, Maker, you feel so fucking good, I can’t imagine how your little pussy must feel, you’re so warm, so, fu-fuck, tight…” The stream of filth serves as your motivation to bob for as long as possible on his length, throat stretched obscenely around him. You realize hazily that there are tears streaming from your eyes, but the urge to pull off is lost in dizziness as the oxygen in your lungs depletes. You keep going and going, your high at its peak as you recognize that your body is starting to fade in black. You should pull off and breathe, one quick breath is all you need, but the way he’s filling you is more addicting than the purest Spice. He notices when you start to slump into his lap and pulls you up gasping for air. 

Nearly fainting never felt so good.

“Shit, are you alright?” You nod and rest your cheek on his thigh, face turned on its side to meet his visor as he spins little circles in your vision. A soothing hand brushes against your cheekbone, tracing a gentle pattern on its height. “You were doing so good for me baby. No need to hurt yourself.” Mando’s voice is still breathless, offering you tenderness through a cloud of stimuli.

“I’m okay- I’m… I just need to catch m-my breath.” You’re still heaving unevenly but you want him so bad, you want him to finish for you, your wants translating into weak pawing at his dick trying to give him more sensation. He catches your wrist with an airy laugh and guides your uncoordinated movements to better stroke him. The sound fills you with light.

“Pretty thing, I know you want me. Try to not die on my dick before I’ve had the chance to feel your cunt.” His hand leaves yours on his length and reaches over your ass to cup the apex of your thighs through your pants. You jerk up and almost crack the crown of your head open on the chin of his beskar but his other palm is pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over in his lap. A garbled noise tears from you when his index and ring finger spread on either side of your outer lips, allowing his middle finger space to travel up and down your seam, so wet that you can feel the slickness gathering through two layers of fabric onto the tip of his finger.

“Ah, Fuck! Mando, I-I- wait please, please, wait-” He draws his hand up away from your wet center, reaching your asscheek before you yelp and snatch his forearm to stop him from retreating farther. “I s-still wanna, I wanna make you come. You first, before-before me.”

“Baby, you’re… fuck okay. Can I still touch you?” Mando caresses your hip at the fold where it meets your thigh. 

“Later, let me d-do this, please.” He allows you to lift his arm from your spine and rest it on the crown of your head as you move forward and try to meet his cock again. Pulling his thighs to the edge of the chair, you settle back on your knees and stroking him one-handed while he hums low in his throat. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking and swirling your tongue before taking him deeper, this time using a palm to stroke the last few inches instead of opening your throat. Starting up a rhythm of bopping and stroking his velvety length that pulls incredible noises out of the Mandalorian, each one going straight to your swollen clit. 

Coming up for air you start to jerk him off faster with your slick hand, meeting the T of his visor with your heated gaze, hoping that you are finding his eyes. He must enjoy the sight of you jerking him off because his moans start to tighten, hips thrusting into your palm. 

“K-keep fucking doing that, good girl, fuck I-I’m close, where-where do you want it, baby?” You respond by settling low near his thighs, putting his cock above you with your tongue sticking out, wetting the tip while your wrist moves faster. Somehow he’s harder than ever and-

Mando curses through his teeth as his cock convulses, warm spurts of cum painting your tongue, cheeks, and nose bridge, rivers of him flowing down your chin and dribbling on the swell of your chest. He grips the back of your head tight enough to hurt, then rips one hand down to stroke himself, smearing the mess across your features. 

The fingers on your scalp loosen then graciously begin rubbing at the base of your neck to soothe the soreness on your head. One of your eyelids is sealed shut due to a rope of his cum crossing from nose to eyebrow, the other eye unfocused, hazy with pleasure as you listen to him come down from his peak. A low noise rises from your throat as he massages your scalp, feeling tingly all over as blood flows back to the area.

“T-Thank you… that was great, I-“ he breaks off when you start to gather his cum off your skin, licking it off your fingers while studying his visor through your lashes. “Hey, let me…” 

He surprises you by wiping at your face with his cape, still hanging off the arm of the pilot chair from when you detached it. You giggle, “Is there a way to wash that on here? I can’t even tell if that hole in the wall includes a shower.” 

“There’s enough to work with.” 

You laugh louder at that, “That’s encouraging. I hope there’s ‘enough to work with’ so that I don’t meet Karga covered in cum.” Pausing to consider your current position, you add, “Actually, that might help my case.” 

Face wiped mostly clean, you're able to open both eyes now, taking in his posture. A jolt shoots through you when you realize he’s holding himself differently for some reason, he looks almost predatory but maybe that’s just the effect of Beskar’s harsh angles... Nope, he’s leaning forward now, caging you in again.  

“You want to look sexy for Karga?” Gulping, you try to figure out the best response but he continues before your slow-ass mind can catch up, “You’re right, that might help you get better pucks. But I don’t know if I want my hunting partner to be introduced that way. I still need to return the favor…” 

He lifts your body with ease, pulling you sideways onto his lap. Mando’s warm hand slides along the bend in your knee, slow and sensual on your body. He caresses you aimlessly, relaxed in the afterglow of cumming so hard. You’re still tightly wound, energy balled in your body as his movements serve to wind you up even more. But he’s not moving any faster so you relax into his broad chest, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin. 

Time blurs with your senses. His touch pulls you to a place right out of your daydreams, where everything is draped in velveteen and silk. You’ve honestly forgotten his original goal in the first place, and as his arm begins to drag on its path, it seems like he has too. The stroking on your arm has lowered your arousal to a simmer, leaving you content to stay laying across his lap, the glow of hyperspace streaking over your bodies. All at once, you realize he’s no longer moving over your body, his chest rising and falling deeply against your shoulder. 

He’s asleep. Surprise registers sleepily somewhere in your exhausted mind, the realization behind layers of warm fuzz. Didn’t even think he slept. 

There’s a full day of travel until you reach Nevarro. Snuggling closer into the warm crook of his neck to resolve to live in this dream for as long as possible. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

[miss-tc-nova]

Events Unchanged - Xehanort x Eraqus

So THIS is my final piece for the @checkmate-zine. I had a blast writing it and it’s probably one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever written. Please check out the other creators on this project because they are all absolutely amazing.​

Music Inspiration: End In Tragedy and MIssing You by Set It Off

Art by my queen @kingdomcarrots​

~~~~~

               The castle looms over the young man. This being his first stop, he’s not entirely sure he’s in the right place, or rather, the right time. The description of the place matches up, but he could be anywhere from minutes to decades off with no idea how to tell. Additionally, if he’s jumped even a minute too far, that complicates the whole plan.

               With really no other choice, he climbs the steps to the front door, letting himself in. He’d heard a little of this place, seen a few paragraphs in books, but the Land of Departure is such a small world compared to Scala Ad Caelum. However, this is very obviously an off-shoot of the Scala training school; the only real difference lies in the missing inhabitants. Such spacious halls lack the chatter of students and staff despite the well-kept appearance.

               “Identify yourself.”

               He stops. That gruff voice rumbles with the faintest hint of familiarity. Curiosity piqued, the young man turns back.

               It has to be him; it couldn’t be anyone else. Aside from that traditional style and the Master’s Defender prepared to strike, Xehanort could never mistake those eyes and no amount of hostility could mislead him. There’s no doubt now that Xehanort is far into the future, not while he stares at the aged face of the man Eraqus is to become.

               He looks worn, as if the years have been long and hard and those scars prove nearly as much. That welcoming cheer from their very first meeting has been replaced by sheer apprehension, likely caused by his arduous life. It seems he’s become the soldier his parents always pushed him to be; and yet, surely, he can’t have forgotten his beloved.

               Cautious hands lift to push the hood back and reveal the face hiding beneath.

               Shock takes over the old warrior’s expression. “Xehanort?!”

               “Eraqus.” It’s all Xehanort can come up with in his uncertainty.  

               “How is this possible?!” Resumed suspicion reaffirms that fighting stance.

               First and foremost, Xehanort has a mission, one that could potentially fix everything that went wrong in their lives. They could have everything they lost, including the happiness stripped from them far too soon. Additionally, this is Eraqus, the one who saved Xehanort from self-destruction and gave him the motivation to do all these incredible things. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure Eraqus’s happiness. However, the stubborn blueblood often disapproved of Xehanort’s methods as of late and perhaps that’s only gotten worse as the years passed—perhaps plans should be kept quite even from one’s most precious. Having been caught here in the future, Young Xehanort must pick carefully which truths to divulge.

               A soft exhale calms the nerves. “I’m from the past,” the traveler confesses. “Brought here by the version of me from this time.”

               “How? What for?” Eraqus demands. “What proof do you have for any of this?”

               “I can’t say how or why but…”

               A well-seasoned Master Eraqus is probably not a fight Xehanort wants to pick, but he’ll need something personal to convince this man of the truth. He knows just the memory, but it’s not pleasant.

               Xehanort’s gaze drops to the floor. “You once caught me on the roof of the citadel. You told me…that if I couldn’t find a reason not to step off, then you would make one.”

               Eraqus’s mouth presses into a thin line; they never told anyone of that incident.

               “So what are you doing here?”

               Shaking off morbid memories, Xehanort replies, “Like I said, I can’t tell you that, but I need to find myself from this time. Is he here?”

               Eraqus wears a heavy pity that agitates Xehanort—he may still be young with much to learn, but he’s never taken kindly to pity.

               “You don’t know anything. You just left, didn’t you…”

               “I left Scala several hours ago,” the youth says. That empathy grows. “Why?”

               “You…Your older self doesn’t come by often.”

               This is unexpected. Even as he left, Xehanort fully intended to visit his significant other once he got things set in motion. Besides, Xehanort is greedy—he knows it. He’s got only the sparsest restraint when it comes to indulging in his partner’s presence, so this statement by the man at the heart of that avarice makes no sense.

               “Why not?” Xehanort is not going to remain calm if that look of condolence continues. “When does he come by?”

               There’s a solemn shake of the old man’s head. “He doesn’t.”

               “What do you mean he doesn’t?!” Xehanort barks, leather creaking with tightened fists. “He has to come visit you! He wouldn’t leave forever—not when you’re the person most important to him!”

               The outburst does nothing against Eraqus’s empathy. “I’m sorry. Once you left, we started to view things differently. There were things we simply couldn’t agree on.”

               “Then why didn’t you stop me?!”

               “Nothing I said would’ve convinced you to stay.”

               “No!” he shouts. “There’s no excuse! You should have stopped me! If me leaving made you so miserable, you shouldn’t have let me go! You should have cried or begged or even beat me over the head—whatever it took to make me stay!”

               Tears form in the man’s eyes and that unwanted compassion pushes Xehanort past his threshold. With renewed determination, he stalks past the elder to resume the search for his future self.

               A strong fist catches around the young man’s wrist. “Where are you going?”

               His answer is short, sharp. “To do what I came here to do.”

               For the third time, Eraqus presses, “And what would that be?”

               Xehanort glowers. With a vague restraint in his voice, he spits, “I’m a time traveler; what do you think I’m doing here?”

               “You can’t do that! There must be consequences to meddling with the timeline!” protests the elder.

               “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!” the young man roars. “YOU THINK THIS IS JUST SOME STROLL IN THE PARK FOR ME?! OF COURSE I’M TRYING TO CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT IT COSTS! IT COULD COST MY LIFE AND I WOULDN’T GIVE A DAMN! THEY DESERVED BETTER! YOU—” Fury falters as the words catch in his throat and the edges of his vision blurs. “You deserve better.”

               Guilt resonates on that marred face; this is why Xehanort never told him. Eraqus had said a million times over that what happened wasn’t Xehanort’s fault, but a deep sadness settled in Eraqus’s heart that was clear to the Seeker. For Xehanort, the loss of his friends was already unbearable enough, but to have the love of his life stuffing down his turmoil behind a flighty façade tipped the scales. So now he’s here.

               With a look of defeat, Eraqus pleads, “Don’t do this. Please.”

               “I’m doing this for you.” Again, the older master begins to argue, but the younger has had enough and pulls away. “You couldn’t stop me then, and based on what I’ve seen today, you can’t stop me now. Take care of yourself.”

               With that, Xehanort leaves.

                 It’s been a few hours since the confrontation, but Xehanort still hasn’t found a single clue to the whereabouts of his present self. He’s hopped a few worlds and even double checked those he’d been drawn to in the past, but nothing comes up. Worst of all, something is pulling him back to the Land of Departure. He can’t shake the feeling that, no matter what Eraqus says, Xehanort would return to him eventually. They must still love each other or else he wouldn’t be here.

               His arrival is noiseless and unnoticed, but with each step closer to the castle, he hears the escalating sounds of a battle. Peering around a pillar across from the castle steps, Xehanort sees Eraqus squaring off with a young, brunette man.

               As he watches, Xehanort notices enough between the two to speculate that there’s a clearly straining relationship. Considering the use of darkness by the younger man and Eraqus’s violent abhorrence of it, Xehanort assumes that’s the cause of the clash. The winner would be an easy call if it were a simple fight, but that boost of darkness significantly closes the gap; so it comes as a surprise when the younger warrior rushes past Eraqus, causing him to stumble. It takes every bit of self-control Xehanort has not to act on protective urges as the Master’s Defender falls from its wielder’s hand.

               Terra, as named by Eraqus, is upset with his success. He cries over it, but his master is the one to apologize, admitting that his own heart is full of darkness. That declaration plays in the gray area of Xehanort’s mind. He already knows Eraqus is a good man with his heart bound to the light. What he doesn’t understand is that light, too, can make mistakes—mistakes which may beget darkness. Xehanort has tried explaining this before, but the noble would have none of it.

               A dark figure at the top of the stairs catches Young Xehanort’s eye too late. A blaring ring fills his ears seeing that man aim a familiar weapon. There’s no time to react; he’s too far away to do anything. Before Xehanort’s very eyes, the man he loves, and should have always loved, fades.

               With the reality of what happened beginning to sink in, his eyes focus on the man strolling down the steps. Anger ignites in his heart until he hears Terra question the stranger.

               “Master Xehanort! Why?”

               Master Xehanort—that man, the very person who killed his beloved Eraqus, is Xehanort himself.

               A dark storm swallows the sky, mirroring the wrath churning in the young man’s chest. With nothing but that rage guiding him, he rushes after the assassin into the dark portal. This new land is empty and barren save the mass of foreboding keyblades strewn about, but Xehanort has other concerns right now. Waiting just outside his attack range is the murderer.

               That man’s voice is filled with the gravel of age, but no remorse can be detected. “I wondered when you would arrive.”

               “You killed Eraqus.” Fists tremble at the young man’s sides, that quivering creeping into his chest.

               “I did.” Only a man scorned like Young Xehanort could withstand those chilling yellow eyes.

               Furious, he yells back, “That’s it?! That’s all you have to say?! How could you?! He was the only reason I didn’t throw myself off the citadel! HE’S THE REASON YOU STILL EXIST!”

               “Ah, the foolishness of my youth.” His casual dismissal drives the young Seeker’s heart rate up.  “It’s true he’s the reason I exist today, but Eraqus’s departure was necessary. You know firsthand how loyal his heart is to the light.”

               The response tears from his throat. “AND THAT’S JUSTIFICATION TO MURDER HIM?!”

               “He just didn’t understand that this is all for him, to create the life that he should’ve had. You knew there were consequences to meddling with time.”

               With no comeback, the young adult sneers, but the old master has one last remark that cuts to the quick.

               “As you said: they deserved better—he deserves better.”

               The words spoken just hours ago, shoved back in his face, incite the anguish burning in his heart. Rationality devolves and Young Xehanort charges his future self.

               All his life, Xehanort let his mind dictate his path. Moves were not made without thought to the consequences, but this—this is something beyond even the purpose of this mission and everything in him is screaming for revenge. Grief and anger cloud his judgement and spur attacks too straightforward to connect, however, that sloppiness doesn’t discourage him.

               Old Xehanort swipes, successfully disarming his younger self, and with the same ruthlessness shown to his former love, he eliminates the man from the past.

               Golden eyes meet gold; even as he’s being dragged back into his own time, the young man emanates his fury.

               Unbothered by the turn of events, the victor simply states, “One day, you will understand.”

~~~~~

               The elder watches his past self disappear among the shadows. It’s unfortunate how naïve he was, but this was to be expected—he and Eraqus had been so in love. Xehanort still possesses those feelings, which is why the decision had been so difficult. There’s a hole in his heart but he understands that sometimes things must be broken for them to become better and that’s the sort of thing the Seeker is betting on.

               In lieu of these unfortunate circumstances, he’s going to have to prepare a backup—to persuade his young self into venturing into the future a second time.

               As the thought occurs, darkness flares from the ground, creating a portal from which steps the young man that just tried to smite him. He’s more prepared than he gave himself credit for. He beckons the young man to follow to discuss the details of their plan. Even as they speak, the senior can see a spark in the new master’s eyes. There’s a curiosity that he will no doubt seek answers for.

               “How is Eraqus?”

               He should’ve known.

               Enacting his hard-earned skill of smothering his emotions, the old man answers, “Eraqus is dead.”

               The youth freezes, clearly distraught. “How?”

               A deep breath conveys true sorrow while concealing the lie. “The same as the others.”

               Hard determination grows on the young man’s face. Knowing that look and knowing himself, old Master Xehanort has ensured his ignorant self’s unquestionable devotion to the mission.

~~~~~

               Despair shakes his heart, waking the young man. Opening heavy eyelids, Young Xehanort finds a room illuminated with soft moonlight. Although this is not his room, it’s still familiar. Normally this place would bring him some solace but the discomfort he feels is intense.

               Whatever this is, it’s akin to a nightmare, slipping from his grasp as he tries to remember; it’s confusing and upsetting and damn near painful. Xehanort has had days where getting up for training was hard, he’s been injured so badly he’s been unable to stand, and he’s suffered unending fatigue at the hands of depression; but none of that compares to the sheer heartache of this moment and he doesn’t even understand why.

               Gentle humming draws his gaze lower and he immediately chokes down a whimper. Pressed flush against him is the love of his life, peacefully snoring away. Even with his messy hair and a little drool, he’s absolutely beautiful. No sight could be more stunning and yet, it’s also the most painful. Whatever vice is clenching down on Xehanort’s heart has to do with Eraqus.

               Of course, Xehanort’s always had those fears that maybe he can’t make Eraqus happy or that maybe he’s not good enough—as quoted by the noble’s parents—but even those feel so trivial compared to this dread. It breaks him more than anything ever has.

               His quivering is impossible to stifle and sniffles begin sneaking past his defense. To make matters worse, his sleeping partner stirs.

               “Xehanort?” Such a sweet sound worsens the turmoil. “Xe, what’s wrong?”

               There it is: the first hiccup that destroys the weary dam holding everything in and he breaks down right there.

               Eraqus doesn’t press for an answer but instead holds his sweetheart tightly. With the unknown sorrow flooding his system, Xehanort sobs into his boyfriend’s chest, desperately hoping to get this misery under control before he has to say goodbye to Eraqus in the morning.

[aeoncryptic]

Rain Leads to Sunshine

Genre (?): Fluff~! I mainly write fluff.

Word count: 3287

Pairing: Vincent x MC

Warning: Apparently I’m told it’s a little angsty and a little sad. @-@

She couldn’t contain her tears any longer; They fell like a heavy rainstorm on her pillow. She couldn’t forget her home, no matter how hard she tried. Trapped here in another time, another place, she was trying to make the best of it all. She chose to work as a maid here in a mansion of vampires. Most would laugh if they’d heard her say so, for vampires were a thing of dreams! Others would wonder if she had lost her mind. A human working for vampires? What would possess one to do such a thing? She thought they would ask. But these vampires - No, these men were good people! They all cared about her and wanted nothing more than to see her smile. She could not hold a smile forever, though.

And so the rain fell, heavy from her eyes, drenching her pillow. But tomorrow, she will smile again. She will conceal her sorrow again. Her decision had been made by her adoration for the beings she served. Going back home would mean never seeing them again, but staying meant never seeing her family again.

A knock to her door caused her to attempt to quiet her sobbing. She set her feet to the floor, and with hesitation, she slowly got up from her bed and trudged her way to the door. Hastily, she wiped the tears from her face and forced a smile. Her shaking hands reached for the door knob, unlocked it slowly and opened it slightly.

What greeted her were two sky blue eyes. Vincent stood there with a concerned expression. “(MC), are you alright? May I come in?” She hesitated for a moment before opening the door wider to allow him inside. He graced her with his signature angelic smile, one that made her heart skip a beat. Once he passed her and the door was closed, she walked to her bed and took a seat. He resisted the urge to catch her as she walked by, desperation to make her usual glow return was eating away at him. The fear of upsetting her more, too, ate at him. The fluffy comforter of the bed poofing a bit as she sat, her fingers smoothing out the ruffles and giving the blanket a gentle pat. A silent command for him to take the spot beside her, to which he obeyed.

Though she refused to look at his face, she knew he wore a look of concern. He tried to hide it behind that angelic face, that was always so kind. It hurt her, sometimes, how kind he could be. With a glance at his face, she donned a smile and asked, “Is there anything I can help you with, Vincent?” Her emerald eyes still held the shimmer of tears, dark circles from her lack of sleep, and the pink streaks down her face marking her sorrow. Try and try as he might, he could not keep control of the torrent of emotions that battered at the dam, the flood finally freeing itself. He reached a hand up to gently caress her cheek; he needed to comfort her.

He pulled her tight into his arms, trying to hold back his own tears. “What’s hurt you, (MC)? What can I do to make it better?” His blonde hair brushed against her neck as he buried his face there, hoping his voice didn’t shake. Would she be okay with him comforting her? What if she got upset? He shouldn’t touch her without her permission, he knew, but the signs were obvious that she was miserable. His intentions weren’t to disrespect her; perhaps she could forgive him.

The corners of her lips slowly dropped down, her arms wrapping around him to return his hug. She placed the palm of her hand on his broad back, tracing soothing circles in an attempt to sway his worries. “I’m alright, Vincent. I just miss home a little. Ah! But it’s not that I wish to go home. I love it here with all of you!” She rushed the last part past her lips, concerned he might misunderstand her. His shoulders finally relaxed, however his muscles still held that tension.

An idea slowly sliding into his mind. Something that he could do for her; that only HE could do for her. Lifting his head, he slowly leaned back up and took his handkerchief out of his pocket to gently wipe the tear streaks from her face. She offered him another shakey smile, to which he smiled back. “If it’d help, you could tell me about your life before coming to the mansion?” Her hesitation was evident in the way her smile faltered, in the way her eyes shifted towards her lap, the way her hand moved to brush her hair behind her ear.

“If… If it isn’t too much of a bother. I would hate to take up your time, Vincent.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his cerulean gaze, where she could see his desire to offer her an ear. The longer she took Vincent away from his paintings, the more upset Theo would be; She was bound for a lecture tomorrow. But those pleading puppy eyes always got to her heart. In an attempt to calm her racing heart, she looked back at her lap once again.

“(MC), you could never bother me.” His hand gently reached up under her chin, encouraging her to look back into his eyes, her blush not escaping notice. “I truly wish to hear about your home, your family, your time period.” She could almost see a halo over his head with the kindness in his request.

She began her tale. Vincent listened, enraptured with how differently she described her world from this one, the longing evident in how her voice shook. Whenever he had a question, she would patiently answer his inquiries. He needed to know what these horseless carriages were, what the tall buildings in her city looked like, and even what ‘neon lights’ were. It was all foreign to him and though most of it passed in one ear and out the other, he was trying to keep up. He admitted defeat in completely understanding.

One day, he would get to see all of this, she thought sadly. He would get to see all of this, but never again would she be able to. Another cold realization crawled through her fingertips, causing goosebumps to appear on her arms. Noticing this, Vincent gently rubbed her arms between his hands. “Are you cold?” His hands slid from her arms and reached up, grasping the edges of his own jacket as he pulled it off. With a gentle shift of air, he laid the jacket across her shoulders and pulled it tight around her. “It is a bit chilly here.” Once he was satisfied that his jacket would keep her warm, he stood up from the bed. “I’m sorry I kept you awake for so long… I’ll head back to my room. If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open.” Her lips twitched into a tired smile as she thanked him for his kindness.

Vincent’s blonde hair swished as he turned towards the door and strode out in search for the butler, Sebastian. Curiosity and a burning idea spread throughout his mind like wildfire. He knew that as soon as he left the room, his flower would return to the state she was in before he knocked upon her door. The desperation to make her smile ate away at him, tearing its claws through his heart, almost bringing him to tears. He clutched at his scarf, his only comfort in this moment. He could only hope that his jacket provided her the same comfort.

His steps echoed through the empty hallways as he made for the kitchen, knowing Sebas would still be awake making preparations for tomorrow's breakfast and checking what ingredients he would need to get. He hesitated upon reaching the door; he disliked bothering others. What if Sebas was really busy and asking questions would set him behind? Vincent’s eyes lowered to the floor, his blonde bangs casting a shadow over his eyes. The young man was tempted to turn away from the door, but he shook that thought away and confidently pushed the door open. No. I shouldn’t think like that! I would do anything for (MC).

Sebastian had his back to the door, his hands steadily chopping away at the vegetables before him. Vincent’s fears returned for a moment, bubbling near the surface and almost washing away his idea. “Sebas, may I have a moment of your time?”

The butler’s head turned to see the older Van Gogh brother standing by the table with his calm smile and gentle eyes. “Of course. What can I do for you, Master Vincent?” Setting the knife down, Sebastian moved to the sink and began washing his hands. “I’ve already finished everything for the day and was simply preparing for tomorrow.” He smiled at Vincent as he finished cleaning his hands and dried them off.

Feeling a little bit reassured that he wasn’t disturbing the butler, he decided to ask, “I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about your and (MC)’s time, the 21st century?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes softening a little as he thought about her again.

Sebastian’s lips tugged into a smile; Vincent was concerned by the expression. “I’ll give you all the information you could ever want. But I would like to know why you’re so curious this late at night?” Sebas’ grey eyes glanced at the clock, the hands pointing out that it was just past midnight.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. His lips drew into a thin line, his eyes downcast, his shoulders slumped. Vincent knew rumors got around quickly in the mansion. He wouldn’t know how long the painting would take him, but she might awaken before him to work. Sebastian was their ‘butler’ and also a friend. Talking to him about the project shouldn’t be a problem. However, Vincent’s heart told him he only wanted (MC) to know about it; Only her. “I… Want to better understand (MC).” It wasn’t a lie, he told himself, not completely. The butler’s gaze seemed to see through him, but Vincent still held his smile.

His blood was pumping from the excitement as he rushed to his room following the butler’s explanation. Vincent hardly ever rushed, but tonight he needed to get this painting to her as fast as he could.

With emotions running high, Vincent began painting. His brush glided across the canvas as if trying to keep up with his thoughts. He had been unable to confess his feelings to her before, but was hoping that with this one painting he could convey to her that he loved her. He hoped that he could rid her of the sorrows that enveloped her when the sun went down. She had given up everything to stay here, in this time period, with all of them. He had heard her loneliness as she cried in her room, felt it as he held her, understood it when she told him about her home. They could never replace it, never give it back to her. She was trapped here. But he wanted to give her the world. Wanted to see her smile.

His brush moved, no longer was he in control as his heart carried him away. It was like waves crashing against the boat, any second it could tip. The older Van Gogh was lost in his desire to please the woman that awoke these emotions from their deep slumber. He took each memory she had given him, each thing she carved so painstakingly in his mind, and placed it as best he could in his little world. Hoping this would show her how much he needed her to smile, he put as much into this painting as he could.

So enveloped in his love for her was he, that when the door opened wider, he didn’t hear it. When his brother gasped upon seeing the artwork, it went into one ear and out the other. Even as his brother drew closer to get a better view, his hand didn’t stop. The intricate work was dazzling to Theo’s eyes.

Five circular pieces were spread out on the painting, two on the left, two on the right, and one perfectly in the center of the four. The empty space around these bubble shapes was filled with night sky and stars which swirled around and became clusters around the middle orb. The circle on the top left held buildings that were close together, some were tall and some were short. The one below held what appeared to be words glowing on a building. The far right ones held a forest with a carriage before it and a field of sunflowers facing the sun. But what captivated Theo, was the middle orb. The stars swirled around it drew his eyes to Vincent and (MC) laughing together. Her facing the left, while he faced the right of the painting.

The younger Van Gogh simply stood before the painting. The painter’s brush started to slowly come to a halt once the last star was perfectly placed. With shaking hands, he set the paintbrush down and picked up a towel to clean his hands. “Broer… This is the best painting I’ve seen you make…” Upon hearing Theo’s voice, Vincent turned and looked at his little brother in surprise.

“Theo, when did you come in?” Contrary to his concerned question, Vincent looked sheepish. “I was hoping (MC) would be the first to see it.” His heart swelling with love, he turned back to the painting. He knew that once she saw this painting that she’d know how he felt about her. It was a nerve wracking feeling. The feeling of electricity running up his arms, almost causing him to shudder. Theo stood there, his eyes searching his older brother’s face. He had known for a while that Vincent’s emotions were opening up again because of (MC), but he hadn’t known how deeply his brother felt for her.

Vincent watched as Theo slowly lifted his hand to run it through his auburn hair. “It’s almost morning, broer. Were you working on this all night?” Glancing towards the window, the older brother gasped now realizing that he had stayed up the entire night.

Lethargy washed over him like water now that his painting was finished. The sensation began at his fingertips and flowed through the rest of his body. “I was too energized to sleep. I had this idea and it wouldn’t leave my mind.” He had known that if his little brother had caught him awake, he’d be concerned. He also knew it would be hard to dissuade his brother's concern. “I’ll rest a bit after I wash up.”

With a heavy sigh, Theo agreed with Vincent. “I’ll put away your supplies, broer. You go get cleaned up. The faster you rest, the less you’ll have hondje wait, yeah?” After his older brother thanked him and left the room, Theo stared at the painting once more. His heart felt heavy and fear weighed upon him. The fear that he was losing Vincent again. Would she take him away? Would they go where he couldn’t follow? Fear dug its nasty claws in him, but Theo did what he always did. He continued on.

The sun had climbed high into the sky, no longer glaring through Vincent’s window. Being used to the bright light washing through his room, he had continued sleeping soundly. Even when his brother had stopped by before he left for work, the artist did not wake. Knowing his brother would be upset to have slept in, Theo still chose to let him continue in his slumber. Only when lunchtime had come and gone did he open his eyes. The thirst caused him to rise from his bed.

Excitement pulsed through him as he dressed himself. Not only was he going to hand her this painting, but he would hand her his heart. He would give it to her openly, willingly. And although he was terrified of the thought that she would cast it aside, he needed to know her answer. With an aching heart, he pushed his door open and made his way towards the dining room. Towards the love of his life.

Each step felt heavy as his feet touched the ground, his pace quicker than normal. As soon as his eyes landed upon her, his heart skipped a beat. Lunch had just ended and the young maid was picking up the plates and silverware, no sign of last night's burdens upon her face. “Goedemorgen, (MC).” His lips tugged into a brighter smile than usual. A feeling he was no longer unaccustomed to.

She turned to face him and graced him with a bright smile of her own. This smile was one that she reserved for him. A smile that only he knew, just as her tears last night were only known to him. “Goedemorgen, Vincent. Theo said you stayed up working on another painting last night.” Her smile tightened into a look of worry. “You should be careful. Did you get enough sleep?”

After reassuring her that he had, he gently reached forward and held her hand in both of his. “(MC), I’d like to show you what I was working on. Will you come look at it?” He looked right into her eyes, his expression that of a sad puppy. She giggled, a sound that made him beam, and agreed to go with him.

A gentle gasp left her lips as he opened the door and her eyes fell upon the painting. Vincent's eyes followed her as she slowly walked towards his latest masterpiece. A sinking feeling bubbled in him as he heard her sniffling. He walked to her as fast as he could and pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms. “I’m sorry, (MC)... I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His hand left her back to gently cup her face and wipe away her tears.

Realizing that Vincent misunderstood her tears, she shook her head trying to regain her thoughts and brush away his fears. “No, Vincent. I’m just… I'm so happy. Thank you.” Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she nuzzled her face into his chest. “Thank you so much, Vincent.”

He pulled away from her slightly, causing her to look up at him again. “(MC)... I-” The fear welled up again, rearing its head. He pushed it down, shoving it back into a corner. “I love you.” As soon as the words left his lips, surprise showed on her face. “I love you so much that it hurts that I can’t protect you when this happens. I wanted to do something to make you feel better.”

More tears spilled down her face, as she grinned up at him. “Oh, Vincent… I love you too.”

No, she wouldn’t contain her tears any longer. They fell like rain on a sunny day. A happy feeling spread through her, knowing she could lean on him; knowing she could turn to him if she ever had any fears or doubts. She could never forget her home, but now she had a new family. People she could rely on. This feeling of happiness bursting through them both. An emotion too much for them to contain. His lips descended upon hers and they clung to each other, almost desperate to share their love for each other. Seeking comfort in each other's hold.

[vivifrage]

hello! I love your writing and your AUs! I just can't get enought of them! I wanted to ask about your Archivist!PK AU, idk if you have address it before but, what is everyone overall feelings towards PK and his relation with the sibs?

:D Thanks so much!!

Hmm. In quick summary for the siblings:

PK and Hollow: Both earnestly want to repair their relationship, and PK wants Hollow to heal from the way he’s treated them. Sometimes, especially early on, this means he pushes them away. But he can’t resist them for too long, he loves his baby to bits and if they want Dad to show them how much he loves them and how proud he is, so be it. They have the best personality match, too; they’re happy just being quiet and calm and hanging out together. Neither necessarily brings out the best or worst of each other, they’ve got some traits they amplify and neuroses they bring out, but general consensus is they work far better as father and child than king and knight.

PK and Hornet: Oh goodness. So much contention. Hornet is rightfully pissed off at her sire, and will only ever acknowledge him as family for Hollow’s sake. She’ll put up with him for business, but him actually trying to parent her just leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. If she reaches out, it has to be on her terms, he can’t push it. He’s hurt her and left her adrift; she grew up when his mental/emotional state was at its worst, so all she knows is the miserable workaholic who kept his walls up. So, at once, he’s caused her so much pain and misery, but he’s also an anchor to something familiar and a second chance at being cared for the way he just couldn’t when she was a child. His presence brings out her anger and bitterness, and she brings out his defeatist, self-flagellating side. Repairing their relationship is re-breaking bones to set them properly; one of them (PK especially) has to be vulnerable to the other to let them try the whole comforting thing again.

PK and Ghost: PK does not know what to do with this sassy lost child. Ghost, in turn, sees him less as a parent than either a curiosity or a project. They pulled him out of the Dream Realm so he could face his regrets instead of wallowing in them, because as it was he was rather a thorn in their side in both of their realms - regret/the Void and dream. Ghost pretty much grew up without him, and of the three siblings, they’re probably the best off. Still have some issues, but not as deep-seated. PK doesn’t want to go against their independence, but he’s not sure if they want a parent-child relationship with him or not. They’re still his baby, he cares about them, but it’s more like an odd little spark that hasn’t been kindled nor put out. Mostly he puts up with their shenanigans to try and win them over by not being a hardass, and they poke around to find his boundaries when they’re not trying to make him deal with his problems.

(He’s also still broody to different degrees with all of them; Hornet gets it the most, since she’s the youngest and he was in some way involved with her childhood. Sometimes he redirects it to Hollow’s foster babies if they bring any.)

With overall feelings about him, they’re pretty mixed. At the actual Archives, he’s sort of the campus cryptid; good luck spotting him if he doesn’t want to be seen, and he was never interested in being in the public eye as king, let alone now.

The few who remember Monomon tend to be most tense with him. Quirrel has a hell of a time; on one hand, the Archives live! And this was his god-king, who’d been so overwhelming in presence. But also this guy killed the person he was closest to in all of Hallownest and hurt his dear friends so much. Things don’t just go back to normal after that.

The students are often uncertain of him, or a little unnerved. He doesn’t teach much, or show up much, he’s just running things and doing research in the background. Everyone knows he has an open-door policy, the newest student, the menderbugs and janitors, and the most well-respected faculty can all have an audience with him if they can catch him in his office and he won’t bat an eye. When he does teach, it’s generally small classes he put together for the sake of a few students he likes - namely, the curious, creative sorts. Bonus points if they have informed debates with him and push back on things. Pointless antagonism gets nowhere, but if you yes-man him he just treats you like one of the Palace retainers since that’s what they did, too. The students he does take on do tend to enjoy working with him, though.

He also has a love-hate relationship with the student body in terms of the siblings. The siblings are super popular on campus for various reasons, and him being around means the siblings visit. However, Hornet hasn’t been quiet about what he did.

He also eventually meets up with the White Lady again. For her, there’s no love lost, even if there are some hard feelings now; that’s still her darling husband. For him, there’s a long while where he’s too stressed about what happened to enjoy their relationship. Slowly, though, they work through it and become a terribly mushy couple again. Sometimes they’ll wistfully talk about If Things Had Been Better and retiring in her gardens to raise a (managably sized) clutch now that they’ve mellowed out in their old age. But there’s uh, lots of reasons that wouldn’t work now, as much as PK has realized he wants to be a father and WL has that constant urge to propagate. No nice nest at her roots or beepy hatchlings for them.

[ampleappleamble]

—

Debriefing the Crucible Knights went about how Axa had expected it would. She and her companions had staggered out of Heritage Hill only to be immediately escorted back to Crucible Keep along with the little girl they'd rescued from her family crypt, the poor waif falling asleep on Edér's shoulders as they'd made their way through town. Once inside, they'd had their wounds tended to and their bellies filled as they recounted the events of their harrowing mission, repeating themselves over and over to one bewildered Knight after another. By the end of the evening, rumors, misinterpretations, and half-truths about the "end of the Curse of Heritage Hill" were all anybody in Crucible Keep could talk about– unless one preferred to gossip about the mysterious Watcher of Caed Nua instead.

Restful sleep was coming harder and harder to Axa, and the troubling trend had continued as they'd bedded down in the barracks that night. She'd woken the next morning feeling worse than she had when she'd laid down the night before, and her attitude had very much reflected it. She'd particularly let her ire show when her breakfast had been interrupted by a man who'd introduced himself as Penhelm, a name she recognized as the one belonging to the Knight that Osric had sent her after the day before, hoping she could recover his family's breastplate from the snooty little gossip.

"Is it true that you're not actually a Watcher, but merely a Cipher? Like the... others of your kind down at Hadret House?" Arrogance and curiosity mingled in his insufferable smirk as he spoke, not even having had the decency to wait until she'd finished chewing.

"That depends," she'd replied, her mouth still full of bacon. "Is it true you steal people's family heirlooms after talking shit about them and getting them kicked out of the service?"

Needless to say, she had gotten nowhere trying to convince him to do right by Osric. So on her way out, she'd passed through the scriptorium and, with a careful eye and a whispered word to Aloth, she'd left Crucible Keep that morning with Penhelm's soul lineage affidavit tucked away in her satchel.

She had been on her way to Hadret House to have the affidavit examined for authenticity, hoping to gain a bargaining chip that might pry the heirloom armor from the little bastard's hands, when a messenger had appeared at her shoulder, letting her know that her presence had been requested... at Hadret House. She'd almost laughed at the absurd coincidence– until the messenger told her exactly who had summoned her there, his tone low and reverent.

"Who is Lady Webb," she'd asked, "and what exactly does she want with me?"

The messenger had been young, with a casual, almost flippant air about him, but he had still had the good sense to lean close and keep an eye out for eavesdroppers. "You don't know her, milady? She's the directress of Dunryd Row, Defiance Bay's investigative peacekeeping force. No one's actually met her face to face, in... I don't know, a long time. But they say that despite her advanced age, her mind is a steel trap and her will is an iron fist. She and her Cipher operatives keep the city safe from threats that most kith are never even aware exist..."

Axa had listened, at first. She'd tried to listen. But as he'd spoken, as he'd thrust the wax-sealed summons into her hand, she'd found herself distracted by an all-too-familiar feeling. Something was pulling her toward Hadret House, something that had nothing to do with Dunryd Row or Ciphers or Lady Webb, and she'd turned away from the messenger in the middle of his speech to pursue it, helpless to resist.

He was there. Just outside of Hadret House, on the far side of Brackenbury. He was there, and she approached him–

–she approached him, any confidence she'd had before dissolving now in her sick stomach, trickling down her trembling limbs. She couldn't do this.

She had to do this.

He was already watching her, but the impact of his gaze was no less powerful than if he'd turned dramatically to face her. It was as though he knew what she was going to tell him already.

Of course he does, she thought. He knows all. He knows what I've done. What I–

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, dear."

Lady Webb chuckled in her throat, but her face did not laugh with her. "Although, perhaps you have. After all, you are the Watcher who wrested the ruins of Caed Nua away from poor, mad Maerwald, as well as the Watcher who ended the... 'curse' of Heritage Hill, if my reports are correct." The old, frail woman rose from her desk, crossed the room with a deceptive grace. "And they are."

Axa kept her head low, but lifted her eyes to meet Webb's gaze. "Why have you asked me here–"

"–You know why I have asked you here, child."  With anyone else, she would have felt that she was being chastised, but with him, she only felt kind, fatherly concern. "Your fellow missionaries have reported a change in your behavior recently. You neglect your duties, you are quiet and distant. What troubles you so to make you act this way?"

Tears stung her eyes. Her whole body quaked. Her breath caught in her throat. The quivering pit in her stomach broadened and her heart fell into it, and for a second she thought she might actually vomit, but instead it was her confession that flew from her mouth:

"Your Eminence, I... forgive me, but I wish... I wish to leave the order."

He folded his hands, frowning–

"You're not a stupid woman, Axa Mala. You should know why I've asked you here. Defiance Bay's concerns are my concerns, you see, and evidently, they are yours as well. But neither of us is overly fond of beating around the bush, so let's cut straight to it, shall we?" Lady Webb stopped at her bookshelf, turned to face Axa again, her keen eyes piercing the other woman's mind, her soul. "Why do you seek the Leaden Key?"

She had known, somehow, that Webb would ask her that, but it still took her by surprise. Nevertheless, Axa didn't waste time asking how she'd known. "I'm looking for someone. A man I saw in the ruins of Cliant Lîs. He... did something to me. And I need him to undo it."

The wizened old Cipher nodded at her, then, let her eyes slip shut, her face twitching–

–"You have been nothing if not an extraordinary asset to us," he said, slowly pacing as he spoke. "Your conviction in our cause has inspired your contemporaries to greatness, and together with them you have brought the light of redemption to thousands, if not more! What could possibly shake your faith in yourself like this? Your faith in us?"

Somehow, without her realizing, he had ended up crossing the room to stand directly before her. He looked into her eyes, worry and sorrow emanating from him. "What's wrong, Anthea? What happened?"

She squeezed her eyes shut but she still saw him in her mind, still saw the compassion in his eyes that a despicable sinner like her could never deserve–

Lady Webb opened her eyes, gasping softly.

"The gods are cruel," she murmured. "The man you seek is none other than the grandmaster of the Leaden Key himself: Thaos ix Arkannon."

The name echoed in Axa's head, the bearded man's masked face floating before her mind's eye. It felt like she'd always known him, or at least known of him, but only now could she put a name to the face.

"Thaos," she whispered–

"I cannot stay, Your Eminence. I'm... I'm tainted, wicked and weak." Anthea lowered her head, letting her tears fall to the floor. "I've done something terrible, something I can never undo, an unforgivable act of blasphemy. I fear– no, I– I know I am beyond redemption."

She curled in on herself, wracked with sobs, unable to continue. Shame and guilt burned her face, but she knew she deserved to burn for real, to burn forever. But even to cleanse her soul with holy flame would be too kind a mercy for a traitor of her magnitude. How could he, how could the gods ever forgive such a miserable wretch like her?

His hand fell onto her shoulder, steady and strong–

"He is a man unlike any other," Webb explained, her voice quiet and serious as she made her way back to her desk, hands folded behind her back. "The Leaden Key is an organization dedicated to obscuring, muddling, and destroying information, including any evidence pertaining to themselves or their activities. There's no way to be sure, but what little we've found suggests that they have supposedly existed for over two thousand years." She looked pointedly at Axa, one eyebrow cocked. "And it was Thaos who founded them."

"But that's impossible," Aloth blurted. "Even the longest-lived elves haven't even come close to..." He trailed off, twisting his fingers together anxiously, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Webb sighed, one drooping corner of her mouth briefly lifting into a smirk. "But when it comes to the Leaden Key, little is as it seems. If what we've managed to learn about him so far is true– and there's no guarantee that it is, but it's the best explanation we've got– he is one of Woedica's Favored, an agent of the Queen Who Was who has been gifted with the blessing of eternal life. In practice, this means that every time he dies, Thaos' soul is guided by Her hand to be reborn in an almost identical vessel, and once he reaches puberty, he Awakens to all of his past lives at once, in order to continue the work of his Mistress on Eora. So strong is his soul, in fact, that he can supposedly even project it out of himself and into others, crushing the will of lesser souls and usurping their bodies for his and his Queen's own ends." She regarded Axa with pity. "He is almost certainly the most dangerous, elusive, powerful man on the face of the planet. And while I can't deny being grateful for the company, you have my deepest sympathies that your path has also crossed with his."

"Why was he in Teir Nowneth the night the machine was activated in Heritage Hill?" Axa demanded, her head spinning. "What was he doing in Cliant Lîs? How did he Awaken me–"

–"So you have sinned," Thaos proclaimed gravely. "You have erred, stumbled on your path, and now you would cast yourself into the Void. Is that it?"

Anthea wanted to cover her face with her hands, wanted to run, to hide, but she could barely even find it in herself to draw the breath to answer him. "What I've done, no god could forgive me. Now or ever."

He brought his other hand around, then, gripped both of her shoulders firmly. "My child, my dear child, if you truly believe that then I have utterly failed you, as a teacher and as a leader. There is no sin so grevious that it cannot be absolved, no path so dark the gods cannot light the way to salvation! As long as you do not turn your back on Them, They will never turn Their backs on you."

She knew it couldn't be true. It was too good to be true, and nothing in her life had ever been half so good. Not since she was a child. But... would he really lie to her like that? He never had before. At least, she didn't think he had. Anthea slowly lifted her head to look at the man who would save her from herself–

Lady Webb sat back down, letting her chin hover just above her steepled fingers. "That's what I'd like to know. There's quite a lot I'd like to know about Thaos ix Arkannon and the Leaden Key, as I rather imagine you would, too. That's why I summoned you here today– to work with you, pool our resources, compare notes. The Key has been... active as of late, and where they go, you seem to follow, righting their wrongs. As you did in Heritage Hill." She smiled, her thin, red mouth like a slit cut into her face. "I'd like you to continue to do so, and to report your successes back to me. In return, Dunryd Row's resources shall be at your disposal should you need them, and with a bit of luck– well, a lot of luck, in truth– perhaps we two can corner him and get our answers at last."

There was something behind Webb's eyes, something mysterious and passionate and unrelenting that Axa couldn't quite place, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't for her. Whatever it was that drove this woman, whether it was a thirst for vengeance or a desire for the truth or a need for justice, the ferocity behind her eyes was only for Thaos.

She could respect that.

"Very well," Axa replied, "I accept–"

–"I... I want to believe that's so, Your Eminence," she stammered, "but even if it were, I don't deserve Their clemency."

"Some among the gods would see you punished, it's true," he murmured. "But the sting of the lash passes in an instant compared to the eternity afterward in which you shall enjoy the boundless mercy, the cleansing forgiveness, the all-consuming love of the gods. That is what makes one deserving– devotion. As long as you devote yourself to Them, They will return the faith you place in Them a thousand fold."

The tears fell afresh from her eyes, this time from sheer relief. Somewhere deep in her heart, she must have known he could make it all right, could show her the path to absolution. He always did. That was the real reason she had come here, wasn't it? What had she been so afraid of?

Thaos smiled warmly at her, his hands still gently clutching her shoulders. "Stay with us, Anthea. We need you. The gods need you. They have entrusted you with the truth of Their Word– will you return that trust?"

"I will," she whispered–

"Now, before you go– what was that bizarre display you put on just outside our door?" Lady Webb was already looking through another stack of documents, but she spared Axa a bemused glance. "It's not a good look, dear, standing around with your eyes glazed over and your mouth agog. You're liable to catch flies."

"I'm an Awakened Watcher," the orlan retorted curtly. "The memories from my past life tend to be a bit more vivid than the ones other Awakened kith might experience. And I don't exactly control what I see or when I see it."

The old Cipher shrugged. "I meant no offense. Only trying to warn you that you may have unwittingly broadcasted your whereabouts to someone who seems to have a bone to pick with you." She gestured vaguely toward the door to her office, and it swung open, an orlan man stepping in as though he'd been expected.

Webb looked at Axa the way a jaded teacher might at an impudent pupil. "Well? Show him the affidavit."

She blinked, and somewhat reluctantly, she reached into her satchel and produced Penhelm's affidavit, the one Aloth had pilfered for her at Crucible Keep. "Uh... Can you tell me if this is genuine?" she muttered.

The older man took it from her, looked it over briefly, and shook his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he handed it back. "Not at all," he pronounced. "Being perfectly honest, it's a rather shabby forgery, too."

Webb sighed, shuffling her papers. "Thank you, Kurren; you may go." The orlan gave her a respectful nod and left to return to his work downstairs as the directress of Dunryd Row grinned wryly at Axa. "Now you have your bargaining chip. Penhelm is waiting for you on the street outside. Do exercise caution, dear, and try to keep the blood off of my siding. We've only just had it repainted last month."

"Actually," the little woman smiled slyly, "I think I've got a better idea."

—

[missturtleduck]

The Girls of Ba Sing Se - (Sokka x f!Reader) Pt. 6

Part Five│Part Seven

“You let me nearly be eaten, Toph!”

She didn’t know how she ended up on Sokka’s chest, but Y/N wasn’t complaining.

It had been a few days since Azula administered psychological warfare on the Avatar and friends when she deprived them all of sleep, and so far, the days had been uneventful. The group had gone through the usual motions; travel for a while, make camp, eat, train, and sleep. One achievement Y/N was especially proud of, however, was training Qin to not eat Momo – Qin being the twenty-foot-long mongoose lizard that had refused to leave Y/N alone.

“I can’t believe you’re keeping it!” Katara had said, eyeing the creature warily, Momo clinging onto her by her loopies.

“But, Katara,” Y/N had whined, “We let you keep Sokka!”

Sokka was not amused.

Sleep, however, was a priority after they were deprived. With little to do when they made camp, Sokka and Y/N often made the most of it – the basking warmth of the sun and the cool shade from overhanging trees – with naps throughout the day. Perhaps that was how she ended up with her head on Sokka’s chest, ear over his heart, soothed by its steady thumping. How his hand ended up in her hair was another question entirely to Y/N, but she assumed it was probably the same for him; they had just moved in their sleep.

Just as Y/N was about to drift back into lazy slumber, Sokka yelped, shooting up and knocking her off of his chest. As she was about to shout at him, the anger caught in her throat, bubbling into laughter when she saw the mess in front of her.

Qin had her head on Sokka’s legs, pinning him down, her tail thumping like a dog – something she had likely learned from Momo. Her laughter developed into raucous cackling as Qin’s head slid up to rest on his chest, Sokka flailing his arms miserably in an attempt to get her off. Betrayal crossed his face as he watched Y/N double over in pure glee.

“Y/N!” He croaked, not appreciating the reptile nuzzling against him. “Get your dragon off of me!”

Still giggling, Y/N clapped her hand, Qin’s head snapping around to identify the noise. Clambering off of the poor boy, trampling him along the way, the lizard waited excitedly in front of her. Her tail had the strength of an earthbender’s tremor, enough to break ribs or send a soldier flying. Y/N though it was adorable, like when Kuai would wag his stub of a tail in excitement at the littlest thing. She missed Kuai.

“Qin,” Y/N said, catching her breath from giggling, “Qin is not a dragon. She’s a mongoose lizard.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes. “She’s probably spying for the Fire Nation.”

“Oh yeah?” She challenged, resting her chin on top of Qin’s head. “Qin, are you a Fire Nation spy?”

The reptile took its great tongue and licked its own eye, letting it loll dumbly after. Y/N gestured to the docile creature as if to say proof enough.

“That is exactly what a Fire Nation spy would say.”

Y/N didn’t think she had ever laughed so hard in her life. Taking a seat in front of the campfire, which had lit very easily, she began boiling tea over the flames. Sokka sat opposite her, a goofy frown on his face as he grumbled to himself. To add to insult, Qin seemed completely unaffected, learning nothing about personal space as she curled her tail around Sokka’s midriff as she basked in the sun.

Comically, the three raised their heads to look eastwards as a great crack resounded through the mountain range. Aang was learning to earthbend, Y/N knew this much, but was it honestly that loud?

“I have an excellent idea!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at her friend across the fire, whose hands gestured so wildly that his tea flew out of his cup. “I hope it’s not crying over spilt tea.”

“Hardy har har,” He blanched, sticking his tongue out. “No, we should train Qin to hunt!”

On cue, the reptile raised her head to look at Sokka, eyes glazed over with glee. Looking at the dopey animal, Y/N doubted it had the mental capability to catch an animal. Chase an animal? Qin could do that for miles? Have the depth perception and overall smarts to catch it? A firebender had more chance surviving in the North Pole.

“If you want to help train Qin, we’ll train Qin.”

With those words, Sokka tightened his wolf tail and wrapped his forearms ready for a hunting trip. Slinging her staff over her back, Y/N finished her tea, smothering the flames. She had a feeling that today was going to be very amusing.

To start with, Sokka held seal jerky under Qin’s nose, talking to her lowly as if he were bartering with a stall vendor. Surprising Y/N, Qin seemed interested. She knew that mongoose lizards were omnivorous, but she couldn’t imagine any animal wanting to snack on, let alone take a whiff of, dried seal jerky. Maybe she was just projecting; she wasn’t overly fond of the food as Sokka was, though he seemed fond of any food put on his plate.

Qin’s tail hit the floor in enthusiasm, a clear sign she smelt something similar. Sure, she was no shirshu, but she still had a keen enough nose to do what Sokka needed – well, wanted.

Following her nose, Qin moved swiftly, running ahead of Y/N and Sokka until she was nearly out of sight. Skidding to a halt, the lizard looked over the edge of the canyon, eyes trained to one spot. Obviously, she had found something. It was Sokka who got there first, less wary of the rocky edge than Y/N. He pumped his fist in the air, whooping something about an easy lunch.

That was until Qin startled, knocking him over the canyon edge.

“Sokka!” Y/N screamed, tripping over herself to look over the edge.

He looked up from the rocky crevice he was trapped in, a goofy grin on his face. “Aw, you care.”

“Shut up,” She muttered, sliding down the rock face with relative ease, Qin not far behind. “I was only upset because if you died like that, Katara would never let Qin stay.”

“Uh huh, and that’s why you screamed my name.”

Flushing red, she stared pointedly away from the boy, focusing her attention on her new favourite reptile, who was struggling to descend as easily. It took a few moments for the blood to return to normal in her face, so she thought it was safe to look at Sokka again. She was wrong. He was still grinning at her from his trap, eyebrows raised. She suddenly had a very vivid image of a fair game she used to play at festivals involving a large stick and a hole hopping gopher – and she already had the big stick, or staff.

“You’re very cocky for a boy stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Y/N quipped, taking a seat next to Sokka on the ground.

Sokka barked out a laugh. “And you’re very funny today!”

Y/N, cupping her face in her hands, pouted. “I’m always funny. Speaking of...”

Stifling a giggle, Y/N pointed past Sokka’s right side at Qin. She had managed to make it down the cliff face, and even found what she was hunting. Rather than having the baby animal between her jaws, she was playing with it, watching it chase her hand.

“You know, when I trained Qin to not rip Momo in half, I think she’s just applied it to all tiny creatures,” Y/N mused, “Kinda cute, really.”

He hummed in agreement, sounding almost dreamy. “Yeah, she is.”

The place he had managed to get stuck, though snug, had some beautiful surroundings. Naturally, the canyon was home to many different flora types, but the trees that had weathered such harsh conditions were phenomenally beautiful. Somehow the leaves seemed to shine with a green more brilliant than the uniforms of earthbending soldiers, or even the emerald adornments of noblewomen’s robes. It was shockingly quiet, bar the occasional bird call, each one new and more exotic than the last.

Grunting with effort, Sokka shimmied himself up in the crack, propping himself up with his arms.

Y/N frowned. “Should I go find Toph?”

“No!” He exclaimed, startling her. “No. Just keep me company?”

Her frown quickly dissolved into a small smile. Wordlessly, she sunk to his level, unpinning her hair and laying on the dusty ground. The sky was nice at least, serenely blue against the earth tones of the canyon.

“Is the sky as pretty here as it is in the South?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to catch a glimpse of Sokka.

“Oh, way prettier,” He said, his tone completely confident. “You know how blue the sky is right now? In the South Pole, it kinda meshes with the ice, like an ocean of sky.”

Y/N snorted. “Oh, so you’re a poet now.”

“Hey!” He pouted. “You asked! And I would know what that was like, considering I’m the only one from my village who can captain a ship.”

“A ship!”

“Well, more like a boat.”

“A boat?”

“A very small fishing canoe.”

The pair dissolved into laughter, Sokka shifting so that he didn’t slip down entirely.

“You live in the South Pole though,” Y/N said, brows furrowing in confusion. “Isn’t fishing your livelihood?”

“Not just fishing.” Sokka’s tone shifted, becoming more serious as he eyes glossed over with something very different from the glee it had just been. “My dad and his partner, Bato, would know how to captain proper ships. Most the men from my village knew how to work on a boat.”

Knew.

Y/N sat up, propping her chin up on her palm. “You’re the only man in your village?”

“You’re looking at him!” He joked, though his heart didn’t seem in it. “The best captain, warrior, and overall guy you’ll find.”

She looked at him, her eyes sad, her smile even sadder. Silent, she put her hand over his, looking at him in the eyes. They stayed like that for a moment until he cleared his throat, his face red and uncomfortable.

“What about you then?” Sokka asked, staring up at her with what she could only describe as puppy dog eyes. “You’re my friend and I know nearly nothing about you.”

Spirits, help me.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Do you have parents?”

“A mother,” She nodded, her face softening ever so slightly. “She lives in Ba Sing Se, actually. It was where I was heading when Lao had his tantrum.”

“Is she pretty like you?” He said, head tilted in curiosity.

“Sokka, you best not be going after my mum,” Y/N scoffed, hiding how pink she was turning. “No, I’m her spitting image, apparently. Brown eyes and what not, y’know? I didn’t, however, pick up her affinity for earthbending. I don’t really know what she’s doing since she sent me away.”

Sokka scowled, a silent question.

“I guess she though Ba Sing Se wasn’t safe anymore,” She shrugged. “That, or she finally got sick of me.”

“No offence to your mother,” Sokka began, eyes wide in ready defence, “But I don’t understand how anyone could get sick of you.”

Y/N eyes widened to the size of the moon, Sokka’s face falling as it happened. He was opening his mouth, she realised, but honestly Y/N was far too distracted by the saber-tooth moose-lion leering over the pair. Qin realised too, hackles raised as she nudged the baby back towards its mother. With Qin stalking to Y/N’s side, she realised that Sokka had no idea what was about to attack them. Gently, she pulled her bō staff out, holding it low down but ready to strike.

“Don’t tell me,” Sokka deadpanned. “Foo Foo Cuddlypoops’ mum has finally come to pick him up.”

“You called it Foo Foo Cuddlypoops?” Y/N hissed, placing a hand on Qin’s nose, anxious she was about to pounce.

Before Y/N could make a rash decision – she was going between charging the beast, kidnapping its kid and running as fast as possible, or likely following Qin to stop her killing herself – Aang came into the clearing. Trying to prevent a very messy accident, Y/N gestured subtly to Sokka, something along the lines of use your magical Avatar superpowers and get Sokka out of this mess.

Aang smiled panicked, replying with something like I can’t earthbend, what do you want me to do?!

With the still growling moose-lion, Sokka looked between the two like watching two teams in a sports game. “Hello? Sokka here! Still stuck!”

Startled, the moose-lion charged, and they reacted fast. Scooping up the baby, Y/N grabbed onto Qin and began to run. Maybe if she was watching the ensuing chaos, she would have laughed at how the baby seemed content with the wind hitting its face, looking at its mother unfazed by the distance between them. It took all of her willpower not to scream the entire way; death by moose-lion was not going to be written in her obituary, not if she had any say in it. Then the path ran out. Another cliff edge, another chasm to fall into. Climbing off of her mount, Y/N dropped her staff, holding the baby in one hand and doing the one thing she could think of.

She ignited.

Holding the flame near the baby, Y/N held back grimacing tears as it squealed in fear, but it was enough. The mother, seemingly unbothered about trampling Y/N and Qin, whined desperately, snarling and spitting up a vicious storm. Slowly, she put the baby to the floor, letting it run from them. As the mother tended to her child, she looked up briefly, as if considering whether she could get away with brutally killing the firebender. One look at the flame, and they bolted.

Extinguishing the fire swiftly, Y/N exhaled a sigh of relief, the nausea in her stomach – that she hadn’t been aware of until she had stood still – dissipating. Keeling over, she heaved herself onto Qin, letting the reptile run her back to her friends.

“Oh, hi Y/N.”

Toph was grinning atop a stone pillar. Had she been there the entire time?

“I can’t believe you watched that happen and didn’t do anything!” Sokka shouted, Aang sharing the sentiment with a scowl.

“Pssh, the Avatar learns better under pressure.”

Y/N eyes widened as she saw red, opening her mouth to speak; no words came out as she covered her mouth, trying not to be sick. “I was nearly eaten by a moose-lion.”

“You’re being dramatic- “

“You let me nearly be eaten, Toph!”

“Nearly is the key word there!”

Baffled, Y/N stared at her friend. Somewhat hysterically, she cracked up into laughter, clutching onto Qin for support. She laughed and laughed until Sokka approached her, holding her up by her arm.

“I am not making dinner tonight.”

TAGLIST: @lunariasilver​ @maragreene​

[zuffer-weird-girl]

maybe for pirate kai pt.2, Reader had been working for overhaul for a while, when an enemy ship attacks the Shie Hassaikai ship and the captain of it takes reader cuz he's interested in her. this makes kai furious and fights to rescue her, which makes him realize that he actually developed feelings for her at the end?

"You missed a spot." That voice which you came to hate and feel shivers at only hearing from afar spoke from behind you as you scrubbed the floor with a mop.

You turned to give him a dirty look behind your shoulder as he merely raised one of his eyebrows with arms crossed over his chest.

How you wanted to give just a piece of your mind to this fucked up Captain... but the fear of being throw on a icy cold sea surrounded by sharks just like the last time. So it was better than remain quiet and atture.

... but that doesn't mean you couldn't at least give one or two snarky comments to him.

"If you think that is such a shitty job then why dont you do it asshole?" You mumbled while aggressively shoving the mop on the bucket and then splashing rather close to his shiny boots.

"What is the fun of having a slave then? I can clean properly later, is much better when I can see you here paying for what you did, and slowly watch that hope to get out of here fade away." His boots echoes on the deck as he threw you a dark glance before walking off.

You mimicked him talking with your hand before continuing scrubbing the floor.

"You should be grateful!" You deadpanned at hearing Irinaka's voice from above you "Captain doesn't speak with actually no one asides from you!"

"Wish he just could shut it up instead and leave me alone!" You shouted back, flinching at how the strand led shout of a crow left his throat and almost killed your earbuds.

You heard laughter and shouting at your little discussion with Rappa until he shouted again some incoherent words while landing on the deck with a hard thud.

"What the-" you holded the mop close but then he ran past you and shouting after Overhaul.

"CApTAin! FuCK THErE ARe A enEmY ShIp NeArBy And TheY wAn-" overhaul lifted his palm at the man, an action you learned that it was a quite polite 'shut up' but then a canon ball hitted close to Setsuno's head as you screamed.

His golden's eyes narrowed at the direction it came the canon ball as he put it on his hat and started to walk.

"LIFT THAT CANDLE AND GET READY TO ATTACK YOUR BAND OF VERMS!" You widened dyour eyes and clinged onto teh mop in shock at hearing that man shouting and how fast everyone followed to his rules.

"W-What do I do now-?!" You looked at your sides but then Overhaul came by and grabbed your arm and dragged you to the coffins of the ship "LET GO YOU-YOU-! YOU PIRATE!"

"Goadly to know you have some sense." He growled out and pushed you into his office "Dont get out of here." He glared at you before slamming the door.

"Hey!" You punched the door and kicked as the ship started to shake "LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

You heard damon balls and shots and ju God did it scare you shitless. You started to wander off at hearing more and more shouts as you started to search for something, anything that could potentially be useful for self defense.

His desk was clear as ever and some old paintings and books were sprawled and tossed by the way the shipton was going as you looked for anything on the sheets.

You found a book and opened out of curiosity and widened your eyes at it.

"The jerk's jornal..." you muttered as you started to flip pages... even fouding the date where you were prisioned by these pirates.

It had been months since you were kidnapped... by as you started to read the notes and descriptions of ever treasure and how the sea looked for future provisions for traveling you saw your name writen over it.

You furrowed your eyebrows at it...

This (Y/n) is quite a feisty one. Cant follow any of my rules, give snarky comments. By seas, I guess even Rappa Kendo can be more respectful towards me than this little thief rat.

Yet I cant deny there is something... intriguing about her... She does this... witchcraft on my chest. Ever time she leople back at one of my orders I just have to talk back... I have to remain as best as I can to have her on this ship.'

"... this man is crazy or what?" You muttered while reading until you screamed when the door bursted open to see a blue haired man looking his ruby blood eyes with yours and smilling.

"What do we have here?" He spoke nonchantly as you clenched on the diary.

"Another pirate and just a slave of other.maybe?!?!?!" you shouted and yelped when he pointed a gun towards your head.

"Captain Tomura. Pleasure to meet you slave, now come with me before I decided to burst your brains on this neat office of that Captain of yours."

You gulped and followed his orders.

.

.

.

This Compress guy was good with swords despite having one fucking arm.

"Glad to see you havent changed!" The man smiled and hitted his swords along with his befor ehe twirled Compress's sword and threw at the air and pointe the tips of both at him, one at his throat and other at his heart.

"You miserables never change." He growled before hearing a shot gun and looking at Shigaraki keeping you captive.

Fuck..

"Stay right there Oveehaul, unless you want one of your stolen things yo have her their brain busted."

"P-Please dont. I prefer the cleaning maniac then this man seriously-" you whimpered and Shigaraki laughed as his own crew smirked and giggled.

"Owww! Can we keep her?!" Toga squealed as he threw a dirty look at the teenager.

"We will." Shigaraki smiled "Take us out of here. Kurogiri!" He shouted as some black and purple clouds started to surround the ship as Overhaul saw that one by one were dissapearing.

"Dammit-!" He threw his swords and ran towards Shigaraki, even extending one of his hands towards you "SHIGARAKI GIVE HER BACK-!"

You widened your eyes as Shigaraki grabbed your neck amd put his face close to your before dissapearing.

"Come get her then, Captain Overhaul..."

And just like that they were gone and Chisaki only grabbed the air as his eyes widened.

"Overhaul!" Chrono shouted and came to his side "They hadn't rook anything besides (Y/n), so I guess there is no prejudice-" he flinched when Chisaki pinched the wall of the ship so hard that it broke.

"DAMMIT!" HE shouted so loud that even Rikiya shivered, and just when it finally ended his shouting he ran towards the wheel, even letting his hat fall as he harshly turned the wheel towards where Shigaraki ships had dissapeared.

"The fuck you're doing?!" Rappa shouted while clinging to some place as others did the same to prevent being throwed in the water "THERE'S A STORM COMING OUR WAY YOU FUCKER! WE NEED TO GET OUTTA OF-"

"They stolen something that was mine AND I WONT HAVE LOSE IT! EVERYONE JUST ON THEIR POSITION AND IF ANYONE DARES TO DISOBEY MY ORDERS-" He pointed at the sea while the clouds started to get darker and even some thunder started to echoes "I'M FEEDING THEM TO THE FUCKIING KRAKEN HIMSELF!"

Everyone lowered their heads as Chisaki lead the ship, clenching his jaw at feeling the salty water and drops of rain hit his skin.

.

.

.

You sighed, rolling your eyes at being tied up on the mast as Shigaraki walkes around while reading Overhaul's diary which you might or not accidentaly stolen.

"My, so you are more than a slave then."

You chuffed and looked at him with hate as the indigo haired man tighten the rope even more around your waist, chest to the mast.

"Yet it seems that you are... huh. Quite special to that fucked up project of a Captain."

"To be honest he does keep his ship and subbordinates better than you do." You mumbled before the ropes around you were cutted and throw over to see Shigaraki glaring at you.

"Kneel, slave." You glared at him back and spitted on his boots as he threw a look to a lizard man.

"Kill this bitch."

You sometimes hated how you were always a snarky woman.

Just before the lizard could even step closer to you a thunder echoed along with a guttural amd terrifying shout as you widened your eyes at the sign of the known ship.

"SHIGARAKI!" The ma shouted and pulled his swords before taking one rope of his ship, running and even throwing himself at the deck of the other ship as the other did the same. Landing perfectly on two foots... excluding Rappa whose fell face planted.

His golden eyes narrowed as he growled at the other male as you could only blink.

"Attack!" Shigaraki commanded as one 13 old boy grabbed you by the waist and dragged you to the top of the mast by climbing on ropes. How? You didn't know.

He clenched his teeth together as he went forward, not caring how much blood he had to drip as he cutted with his swords at anyone who got in his front.

He grabbed one rope and jumped and crawled until you.

"One more step and she is food for the sharks!" The boy shouted while holding only your arm as you were being holded just above the sea as teh thunders echoed.

"Drop then." His comment was so nonchantly as you send him a desperate look.

"Wait what?" The boy spoke as you repeated his words but with more hate and desperatioms towards then.

"Drop. Her." He growled as the boy shrugged.

"You miserable son of a-" you screamed as the boy let go of your wrist and you fell towards the water.

you closed your eyes but when you thought you were going to find frozen water, you were simply ripped off and brought to a warm chest and an arm holding you very tightly against it.

you opened your eyes and screamed again when you realized that Chisaki had also jumped and caught you in the last second, grabbing a rope while you two seemed to fly around the boat.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING MY GOOD NEPTUNE LOVED THAT'S IT- ?!"

"Do you want to stop screaming?" he asked as if it was nothing and turned his head to his subordinates to give the final attack while he fell on his own ship, holding her in his arms in a bride style.

You later on noticed you were clinging to death on him and soon yelped when you meet his nonchantly gaze. Throwing yourself out of his arms.

"L-Lets forget about that." You mumbled as he put his hand behind his neck, only for you to gasp at him grabbing your hand and pulling you to a safe place.

"Stay there."

This time you decided to follow his orders... mostly because you can tease about the blushy om his cheeks later.

So he had feelings towards you for real? Huh....

What a weird pirate...

While he jumped and managed with his swords couldn't get the thoughts of you out of his head... even when he was battling with shigaraki.

Maybe he should invite you to tea later...?

Wait-

"WHAT?!" He shouted while lifting one punch and attacking one enemy from behind.

He was fuming in embarrassment at even the thought... why?! Why did he ever thought about that?!

"Overhaul?" His crewmates asked but he could only concetrate on the tone of your voice and just was actually waiting for him to get back.

What the actual... did he... fell? For a thief rat?

Boy he was screwed.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Book Four - Part 10

Anti brings the others to help him get Dapper back from Dark, leading to an all-out battle with a half-dozen different sides.

Tws for imprisonment, physical fighting, and fire.

Part 10 - the Houses in the Woods

Anonymous asked: Trick? Dok? You going down too?

“Come on,” says Trick, taking his hand.

“Can’t they handle it?” asks Dok nervously.

“Bud, come on, I’m not going to let him hurt anybody.”

Dok looks at him as they head down the stairs together. He doesn’t know when Trick made it his responsibility to stop Anti from hurting them, but, proud as he is that Trick is stepping up, he doesn’t think he likes it.

Anonymous asked: Dok, we need your necklaces Trick we need you to be behind your true family. We're nearing the climax, and the heroes will either win or lose against the beast among them.

Trick and Dok exchange glances as they reach the door. Trick’s eyes flicker to the necklaces on Dok’s throat. Dok squeezes his hand, frowning. After all they’ve been through together, Trick can feel the rift in the air between them like a physical force.

We’re not on the same side, he realizes a little numbly.

Dok pulls away from him to check on Red, crouching down beneath Anti timidly and taking Red’s head into his hands, examining the goose bump forming on the back of his skull. Trick goes to Anti, clutching his hands and pulling him back from Red.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “Can’t be hitting him.”

Anti’s eyes seem to burn, and not just from Blue’s stolen fire. He clutches Trick to his chest and glares around at his siblings, bitter and violent.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready to go,” he spits at Blue and Red. “We’ll go get Dapper back. If you fail me, maybe I don’t have any use for the two of you little traitors anymore.”

“What am I going to do?” asks Blue, bewildered. “I can barely walk most of the time.”

“Dark’s whole territory is hidden in a mirror dimension, just like that stupid convent where the magicians kept Dok. You have to open the mirror so we can get in.”

“But - I don’t know how,” protests Blue, blinking.

“Well, you better find a way to jog your fucking memory, hadn’t you?” snaps Anti. “Otherwise maybe I’ll have to worm into that head of yours and dig the recollection out.”

Blue and Red exchange looks, alarmed. Anti stalks past them, pulling Trick with him as he goes.

“Whoa, Anti, hold on, I want to talk to - ”

“Dok can have you back when he has those necklaces off his goddamn throat,” spits Anti, yanking him down the hallway.

“But that’s my - ”

“You want to start causing me problems too, Trick?” shouts Anti, whirling on him.

Trick’s lip trembles. He lets Anti lead him back towards their room.

Anonymous asked: You can have your true name soon, Ro. It'll all be okay soon. Hold on for us, Jackie. Losing a small battle doesn't mean you're losing this war.

Red pulls Blue to his feet and they stand together, turning to see Dok padding listlessly after his twin. Blue moves to go after him, but Red pulls him back.

“Do you remember anything about mirror dimensions?” asks Red.

“No,” answers Blue. “No, it’s totally random, out of nowhere. How would I know anything about that?”

“He seems to think you would.”

“Well, if I did, he took the memories from me.”

Red sighs. “Maybe it’s a muscle memory thing? Those are different than memories of actual events or memories of everyday facts. Maybe once we get to the mirror it’ll be an everyday fact thing.”

Blue shakes his head, biting down hard on the nail of his thumb. “He’s going to possess me again if I don’t remember,” he whispers.

“You’ll remember,” Red insists, but even as he says it it doesn’t feel true. If Anti doesn’t know and Blue doesn’t remember, who would?

Anonymous asked: Do you remember the early days Trick? Where you and Dok desperately tried to save the Henrik and Chase within you, having to watch Anti tear the two of you apart day after day. The snake in the rabbit's den. Don't let him steal your heart from your family. Trick, you need to find the Chase within you that you and your twin fought so hard to save in the early days. You need to be their guard, their hero, before Anti kills them or worse.

Trick’s face scrunches up with distress. He pulls on Anti’s hand, looking back at Dok, staring miserably after him from the back of the hallway.

“Let me go with you and the others,” pleads Trick.

“What? No. You could get hurt.”

“So could they!”

“I don’t care about that,” spits Anti, pulling him to his chest. “You’ll stay in your room.”

“I want to be there if something happens to you,” Trick insists, gripping his hands. “I’ll stay back and I’ll cover you with my gun. Anti, you’re upset, you’re getting into a fight, you don’t even trust the others right now. Let me go with you. As a guard. That’s all.”

Anti softens a little, gazing at him. He pushes Trick gently towards the stairs. “I’ll… think about it. Go get dressed. We’ll see.”

Trick obeys, moving to get his gun and some better clothes.

Things are complicated in his head right now, but you’re right about one thing: he needs to be their guard.

scunneredzombie asked: Red, do you remember at all the password that Henrik used when you were sent back in time last time? Or Dok, do you remember anything you were told by the magicians?

Dok frowns, turning back to the others. “I remember… Nina would speak to the mirror? And it would let her step through it. I remember that when you’re in the mirror, it’s like a loop no matter how far you walk.”

Red nods slowly, glancing between the pair of them. “Right. When Dapper and I went back to the - I mean, I remember something. I think we lived in a mirror like that too, one Blue made for us to be safe in. I remember we had to speak to it too to get out. Like a password. ‘Amo, vale.’“

Blue laughs weakly. “That means ‘I love you, goodbye.’ Or almost, anyway.”

“But when Nina left the mirror, she said something in Spanish,” says Dok. “Not ‘te amo’ or anything like that, I don’t think. If it is like a password, I bet it’s unique to every mirror.”

“So how do we figure out the password?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep, no idea if you have a camera right now, but you know anything about mirror dimesons by any chance? Just random curiosity!

“Well, I don’t know anything about them, exactly, except that Dark and Wil made one for the houses,” answers Shep.

He’s walking around the forest, still looking for Noodle. Determined.

“It’s cool, I guess. Kind of weird. You can really get stuck in a place like that. And we’re supposed to be really careful with it, because if we break the mirror, you can sever the connection to the real world and lose whatever’s inside.”

Anonymous asked: Is there anything funny Wilford says every time he goes into the mirror? He's always really funny, I'd love to hear more of him! Or something Dark says? I'm really curious about you guys.

“Come on, guys,” laughs Shep. “I know you have to say something to get in there. It’s my home too. I’ll give you a hint… Dark’s told you their password before. Did you think that the only thing it would give you access to was a website? They always wanted you to come and find them. Find the truth, they said.”

Shep steps up onto a log, balancing on one foot. “Oh, yeah. And it’s also a son of a bitch to have to read that out every time I want to go home!”

Anonymous asked: Geez, I'm getting whiplash from your overwhelming favoritism, Anti. Don't want your favorite boy to get hurt? So you'll probably lock him in the room again, all alone and miserable? What will happen to him if you don't come back from Dark's place, uh? If you lose, you're just going to let him pathetically wither away, is that it?

Anti shrugs, glancing at Trick as he walks away. “If I can’t have him, he may as well die.”

Anonymous asked: Lmao sorry Shep, not trying to treat you like you're dumb, we're just used to dealing with a very manipulative demon. I am genuinely curious about you all, and thanks so much for hunting for Noodle, you epic hero man. Big hearts your way!

“I didn’t take any offense, no worries,” answers Shep mildly. “And yeah! Ask me anything anytime. I like talking to you… for a long time I figured nobody was interested and maybe that’s why I got thrown aside. Yes, I’ll look for the cat, and then you’ll have something to remember me by this time!”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Marvin, this might be a long shot, but when you get to the mirror, try reading out this: Lh3EeEeR9z59YWcUB2b7ViHJ8ALQ637

“What sort of a fucking password?” Blue demands.

“Dok, will you memorize this for us?” asks Red.

Dok turns and reads it over. “Okay, got it.”

“That Dark thing really is cruel if it’s making everybody read that out to get in there,” grins Blue.

Anonymous asked: Oh my god, the heist code is the mirror code? It's so convoluted though! How are you guys not getting locked out with that?

“Wilford never remembers a letter of it,” laughs Shep. “But he can transport in and out anyway. And the twins, they usually come in and out with someone there to help anyway, because they’re developmentally delayed. All the rest of us, we write it in our phones or memorize it. It’s actually only the first eight letters that are the code, so it’s not so bad.

It’s just how Dark does things. They’re obsessive over all of Mark’s projects… they hate him, but they fixate on his videos and stories. When Mark found out they actually gave out the password to our home, he only laughed, though. Dark just wants direct contact with the audience, and Mark will never give it to them, but they try at every turn.”

Shep pauses, glancing at you, the camera tucked into his pocket as he searches for Noodle.

“I don’t care that you know, but just don’t tell Dark you heard anything from me.”

Anonymous asked: Remember guys, it's a tool of gaslighting when your abuser tries to convince you that you're a "traitor" the second you stand up to the abuse. Don't let his manipulation sway your thoughts. You are not traitors. You are escaping an abuser who has pummeled you into dirt for years, years of pain and torture. It is not traitorous to stand up for yourself.

“And he can’t mock me for being autistic like that,” grumbles Red, pushing at his hair. “I struggle with myself enough already.”

“He can’t just take Trick away from me,” agrees Dok, his eyebrows drawn unhappily together. “He’s just being a control freak, punishing me for trying to stay away after he said he would kill me!”

“The only reason Dapper is gone in the first place is because Anti was bargaining with our lives for his and Dark’s entertainment,” adds Blue. “We can’t let this keep happening. He doesn’t really care about anyone but himself. Even his favorites are getting hurt and now Trick is being locked up like Dap. We have to find a way to get all of us away and finish Anti the fuck off.”

Red flinches, still not comfortable with the idea of killing Anti, but Blue and Dok just meet each other’s gazes, steadfast.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, why are you uncomfortable with it, if I can ask? He just confirmed he never loved you, he's threatening to kill all of you, saying Trick is better dead than free, he let Dapper get stolen and taken away from safety and his medicine. He's going to be the death of all of you unless you get to him first. It's looking like it's the only way to save them. Be their warrior, protect them now when they need it most.

Ro turns away from you, a flash of anger in his face. He doesn’t answer.

“Roser,” says Blue.

Red waves him off, stepping out of the room and walking back down the hallway.

Anonymous asked: Also, guys, be very very careful, you can't break the mirror while JJ is in there, or apparently you risk losing everything and everyone inside.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” says Blue, nodding his head. “Yeah, we’ll be real careful. Thanks, guys… I don’t know how this would have worked out without you. I think we’ll go pretty soon. Are we… ready for that? Last words before a big fight?”

He looks at Dok, who looks back, not able to give him a smile. He touches Dok’s head and pulls him to his shoulder, knocking their heads together.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he says.

“You don’t know,” answers Dok frailly.

“I’m going to find a way to get you away from him.”

“We’re still not all on the same page,” murmurs Dok, closing his eyes. “That’s what the magicians told me, again and again. That we have to all be fighting him. And we’re just not, Blue. Trick still loves him. Dapper doesn’t even seem to remember what it’s like to hope for something better. Are the three of us enough to do this?”

Blue sighs, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re just going to see how this turns out, honey.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, sometimes when life is scary, you’ll want to go back to where you understood it. But you can’t go back, whether you want to or not. Understanding will come, but you have to fight tooth and nail for it. Fight through the haze and claim your mind for yourself again.

Trick sits on his bed, staring at Anti as he moves around their room.

Anti plays with his appearance in the mirror for a few minutes, looking pensive, but then you see frustration and pain on his face, and he just transforms back to his usual self - green hair, black tee, ripped jeans. He glitches again and again as he moves, out of control and looking tired and pale, rummaging through the drawers in case there are any weapons he wants to hand out before they go.

“Anti,” says Trick quietly.

“What?” asks Anti.

“You would never really kill one of the others, would you? That’s just your temper.”

Anti plays with a whip, turned away from him. “Sure,” he says flatly.

Trick sighs, rubbing at his head. He gets to his feet and moves to Anti’s side, trying to get his attention. Anti dives back into the drawers. Trick grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“Hey,” he says. “Talk to me. What is going on with you lately?”

Anti sulks, shaking his head, but he doesn’t yank away from Trick’s grip. He plays quietly with the holster on Trick’s waist, tapping at the gun.

“Just angry,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I’d be angry too if someone I was into started acting like they don’t know who I am, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us.”

“Well, they ran away!” shouts Anti.

Trick grabs his face between his hands and kneels down beside him, drawing his gaze.

“I love you,” he says. “But the reason they ran away is because the way you’re treating them isn’t right.”

Anti wilts a little, glaring at the floor.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards,” he growls, getting to his feet.

Trick sighs. “Go easy on them for my sake if nothing else.”

“Yeah, sure,” mutters Anti. “Whatever.“

Trick squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to feel like this - like you’re understanding Anti better than he himself is these days. He doesn’t want you to be more true than his brother.

But he also doesn’t want to believe that he’s not thinking for himself anymore. This is what he really feels, isn’t it? This is worth putting up with? This is family?

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Going after Dark? Shouldn’t we maybe, like, talk to them before starting an actual fight?”

“They made the choice they made,” says Anti quietly. “And they took Dap. No more talking unless they’re groveling beneath my heel.”

Anonymous asked: You might not all be on the same page, and hell, maybe a couple of you are in different chapters entirely, but you're all in the same story. The others will have to go at their own pace as best they can to reach a good ending for all of you, okay? It won't be easy and it won't be perfect but the most we can do is try.

“And that’s what we’ve wanted all along, right?” murmurs Blue, touching Dok’s hair. “A chance to try. To get away. To protect each other.”

Dok nods, trying to smile.

“Today,” says Blue softly, reaching down to touch a necklace on Dok’s throat. “I think we might get a chance to use some of these.”

“Okay,” says Dok, nodding again. “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s scared to be tortured again. He doesn’t know if he could survive that. But Blue is here, gripping his hand, and he knows that at the very least the two of them have each other.

It’s going to have to be enough for now.

Anonymous asked: Anti can and would kill them. He /has/ killed them. He used to kill Red and force Dapper to turn back as punishment. He stabbed Dok in the lungs for trying to protect Dapper. As long as he has time travel, he'll kill them without a second thought just to punish the others.

Trick sits back on the bed and shudders.

“We can’t keep living like this,” you hear him whisper, as Anti busies himself around the room.

Anti steps back towards him. “Ready to go?”

Trick sits up, looking pale.

“Yes, Anti,” he says.

Anonymous asked: Trick, sad to say you'll be living like this for as long as you belong to Anti. Anti will never change, and he will never stop hurting you to make himself feel stronger, locking you in rooms to feel like he owns you, killing and torturing your brothers as punishment. He cannot, and will not ever control his temper. You're going to be stuck here until he's gone. You will not escape abuse unless you leave the abuser.

Anti steps close to Trick on the bed and takes the camera from him, turning with a sudden force to throw it against the wall, smashing it into pieces. Trick flinches and Anti laughs, touching his cheek and leaning down to kiss the side of his face and knock their foreheads together.

“Come on, then,” he says, stroking his hand down green hair as you watch from the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Let’s go. I need to know I have at least you on my side.”

Trick looks up at him, eyes wide. For a moment, his eyes flicker over to you.

He takes Anti’s hand and they move down the stairs.

.

The farther they wander, the darker the trees.

“Is this Dark’s doing?” whispers Red. “Or did they just pick the blackest, deadest part of the forest they could find?”

“It’s Dark’s doing,” hisses Anti. “Now shush.”

The trees stare down at them, sunless monoliths looming like gods over their heads. Birds flitter about like rodents through gutters, but not one of them sings, and the buzzing of insects appears only for a moment before a bigger creature comes to snap grasshoppers and flies up like deviled eggs eaten in one mouthful.

“Are we close?” asks Dok, stepping over the ashy graveyard of what was once a great redwood. “Blue is tired.”

“Why are you here again?” snaps Anti.

“Dapper’s sick, Anti,” Trick reminds him. “Dok needs to look after him.”

“I’m sick of the lot of you,” answers Anti, which makes Red snort despite himself, trying not to laugh. Anti raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Here’s the shed.”

Inside a shed in the forest - which Anti has mostly smashed open in the hopes of ticking off Dark - there is a mirror taller than they are standing against the back corner. Anti pushes his way inside and spiders scutter away from the dim light. Dok leaps back, nearly running back the way they came, and stands back from the shed, watching his feet.

“It’s okay, man,” calls Trick, helpfully squashing spiders beneath his heel. “I got it.”

“Go on then,” says Anti, shoving Blue’s shoulder. “Top magician. Jack’s special boy. Didn’t do you much good in the end.”

“Step off, Anti,” Blue spits back, stalking towards the mirror. “You’re just lucky the cameras helped us with this.”

Anti leans against the wall, picking at spiders while Blue and Dok and Red try Dark’s password. After the first eight letters, the mirror changes. There is no longer a reflection of Blue, tired and pale, in the glass - instead, it looks out like a window onto a trio of houses in a grassy field.

Red and Blue exchange glances. Anti and Red exchange glances. Dok sees a spider by his foot and yelps.

Red puts his hand to the mirror, curious. Slowly, his fingers pass through the glass like water. He draws back again, eyebrows raised, and turns to look at Blue.

Blue is gone.

Anti straightens up in his skin, cracking his neck. “Ready?” he asks.

Red gapes, shaking his head.

Anti punches his shoulder and grabs his sleeve. “Come on, so,” he says.

“Go in there? Get Dapper?”

“I should never have reset you. You and I used to go sneak into shit and take what we wanted together. I hate that the violence is gone from you. You were more fun before I gave you Blue. Don’t know when I managed to ruin you so badly.”

Something about his tone makes Red flush, his heart aching. He looks away, mouth taut, and sucks in a breath. Looking up again, he finds Anti looking back at him through his twin’s captive eyes.

“Fine, then,” says Red, straightening. He turns his body towards the mirror and grips his hands into fists. “I will get him, then.”

Anti passes him a fighting staff. Red blinks and takes it into his hand, remembering the weight and feel of it from a time he no longer recalls.

“After you,” says Anti, pulling a knife from Blue’s jacket.

Red moves through the mirror and into Dark’s home.

“Be good,” calls Anti, clucking Trick’s chin once before following after their older brother. “I’ll be back very soon.”

And then Trick and Dok are alone in the twilight forest.

Anonymous asked: Don't let your loyalty become slavery, Trickshot. Know when to let go, know when you're being held back instead of driven forward, know when their desires drown out your own. Never compromise on self-respect.

“All these messages are for you,” mumbles Henrik, sitting down on a rock in the earth and looking the camera over in his hands.

“They’ve been talking to me a lot lately,” Trick answers just as quietly, but he won’t look back at his twin. He waits at the door of the shed. In his hands, Dok’s gun.

“But you don’t listen,” Dok guesses.

Trick doesn’t answer.

“You’re letting Anti treat you like his toy,” says Henrik, turning away from him. “Won’t see the truths they tell you.”

“Dok, let’s not start, not now, c’mon. Been days since I seen you. I thought… maybe Dark had you.”

Anonymous asked: If you don't confront it and talk through it with us now, then when will you, Trick?

“Mhh,” groans Trick, looking away. “We’re busy…”

“You don’t want to ever face it,” says Henrik. “But one day, it will be in front of you, and you will already be too late to act.”

“I won’t fail to protect you again, Dok.”

“You cannot see the things that hurt me. You are blind to them. They will hurt me again. You will watch.”

“I mean it,” says Trick, loud. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. For real.”

Anonymous asked: Be strong Trick, and more importantly be /you/. Be the man who would do anything for his family, the person who lets his twin massage him when he's been guarding for hours on end, the person who whispered secret names across the room to your brother. You need to protect your family, your real family. You have a choice coming up, man. Your brothers, or your abuser.

Henrik watches his brother for a long time. Eventually, Trick glances back at him, eyes uncertain.

Henrik smiles.

Trick relaxes a little and comes to his side, sitting down with him. After a moment, he puts his head on Dok’s shoulder and fixes his eyes on the shed.

Watching. Waiting. Guard dog.

Dok massages his back so he won’t get stiff. Trick smiles. They sit in the wind of the trees together.

“We are making decisions these days, aren’t we, mein zwilling?”

“Not between you and Anti, though,” murmurs Trick. “Not making decisions like that.”

Henrik sighs, his hand around his arm. The distance between them has never gaped quite like this.

“It’s sunset,” says Trick. “Are you going to say the Shema?”

Henrik blinks. “I haven’t said my blessings in a long time.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you still said them in your head. After you stopped saying them with me.”

Henrik shrugs.

“You don’t anymore?”

“I feel far away from the Lord,” he says, very softly, staring down at the earth beneath his feet. “And lately I am not the sort of man who is strong enough to keep my eyes on Him while the valley of the shadow of death is around me. I am dry bones in the desert. The blessings begin to feel pointless. I can’t even keep track of my own holidays. Candles on Hanukah… it’s nothing. Or very little. I can barely remember the inside of a synagogue. I feel far away from my community. I feel far away from everything.”

Trick shuffles, frowning at him. “You didn’t tell me you were feeling like that.”

“No. I guess not.”

“You usually talk to me.”

“You’re not a Jew, my friend.”

“But you tell me things like that. You used to. We would say the blessings together.”

“I feel far away from you too,” whispers Henrik.

Anonymous asked: In abuse there's always a 'honeymoon phase' where the abuser apologizes and makes promises to change. But the tension builds, some false law is disobeyed, and another abusive incident happens. Fish and chips, a warm kitten, treats and gifts and Hanukkah candles are all false apologies for behavior that will never change. One reason it's so hard to leave is because you always want to believe they can change. But all the self-improvement in the world won't fix the way they hurt you in the past.

Trick bites down on his lip, his hands soothing along his gun. He looks between you and Dok. “It’s not a honeymoon phase… Dok-Dok, I’ll talk to Anti about you going to services - ”

“Don’t,” says Henrik dryly. “Don’t, I don’t want you to. They’re right. He doesn’t care.”

Trick shakes his head, putting his chin in his hand as he looks up at his brother on the stone beside him. He doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry or get angry at him or reassure him or what. He never seems to know lately. Feels cold in the air between them. He hates that. All he’s thought about for days is the things that Dok would do to cheer him up if they were stuck in that bedroom together, and now he can’t even comfort him.

He closes his eyes. For long minutes, they wait.

“I’ll say it for you, then,” says Trick.

Dok looks up. “What?”

“The blessing,” Trick says, mouth set. “If you don’t feel like you can have faith right now, I will.”

Dok’s lips twitch. He shakes his head at Trick, trying not to grin. “You don’t know it without me.”

“I do!”

“No way.”

“Shema, Yisrael,” begins Trick. “Uh.”

Dok laughs. Trick laughs too, but he’s determined. He keeps going.

“We’ve said it together often enough. Shema, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai echad…. wa-hafta… w… v'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha m'odekha…”

Dok looks at him, beginning to smile.

He doesn’t pronounce all of it right. He might skip a word or two, and, as always, he stammers. But he fumbles through the Hebrew with his mouth full of love for him.

And as he goes he begins to hear Henrik whispering the English alongside him.

“And you shall bind them as a sign on your hands… and between your eyes… and you shall write them on the doorposts of your home and on your gates.”

They are looking at each other. Trick grins. There is sunset light in his eyes.

Henrik puts his arm around him again and they sit side-by-side.

Anonymous asked: I know you can feel the divide between you and Henrik, even as anti-blinded as you are, Trick. You know you'll have to make the choice between them eventually. It isn't a betrayal to escape your abuser. It isn't traitorous to hate the person who's hurt you. The choice will ultimately be yours, but you have to realize and wake up to the distance between you before you can even come to that. Anti won't change, Trick. How many times has he promised to be better, only to hit you the very next day?

“He has hurt you,” says Trick, his voice very low. “Hasn’t he?”

Henrik presses his head against his shoulder, hiding just a little. “And you too.”

“No… not on purpose.”

“If you have to start by believing that he hurts me, then yes,” says Henrik. “Yes, he has, and he will not stop.”

Trick sighs. “Well. Then… I think you should go.”

Henrik sits up straight, staring at him. “What?”

“I think you should go. Like you want to. You’re an adult, Dok. We all are. We should get to choose. Right?”

Henrik touches his hair. Henrik beams.

“Yeah… yes, of course. But not without - ”

“No,” Trick cuts him off. “Not now, bud. Okay? Let’s just… chill for a bit. It’s going to be okay. And if Anti hurts you again, I’ll stop him.”

“That’s not your job,” says Henrik, as though wounded.

Trick squeezes his hand. “Are the others okay?” he asks you.

Anonymous asked: Red, how goes it? Find anything yet? Dapper is in a clinic room with barred windows last time we saw him

“Stay back here,” Red warns Anti, pushing him back into the trees. “You might use him like he’s at a hundred percent, but Blue’s sick. Be gentle with his body.”

“Get the boy back for me and I won’t have to use him rough,” says Anti, stepping back into the shadows.

“Okay,” sighs Red. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“Everyone in there is either an imbecile, a powerhouse, or both,” answers Anti. “Have fun.”

Red turns towards the house, clutching his fists together. Okay. He’s got this.

Red stalks around the house, swift and quiet, darting through the grass and staying out of the sight of windows. There are three houses. On one of them, he can see Dark and Wilford on the porch, talking and playing with an enormous dog. There’s a movie playing in another, and Red can see a man inside driving a toy car around the carpet. The third house is still until a little brown cat slips out of it and darts away. Red will check out all three in turn if he has to.

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep! You should tell us about you guys' houses. Where is everything, and why does everyone live in separate places?

“That’s it, I’m coming home,” laughs Shep, turning back towards the houses. To be fair to him, he’s been out in the heat for hours and he’s a sweaty mess. “Uh, well, Dark lives in their house ‘alone’… we all know Wil sneaks in there half the time and Google spends most of his days guarding the place like a loyal little puppy. He takes so much pride in being Dark’s weapon, he’s nuts. Won’t listen to anyone else, though.

“We come and go with the other houses. They’re damn empty these days. But Host and Google and Wil and I have our house, and sometimes Ippy comes back to stay for a while. Eric and the twins are all that’s left in the other house. Sometimes Illinois, but he’s in Mexico right now. I miss Bing, shit. I miss a lot of them.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you awake? Back in the early days of us talking to you, you said you would only be free if all of your brothers were as well. Well, Dapper, we're doing our best for you, because we care for all of you so much. Jackie, Henrik, and Marvin are on the side of freedom so far. We will keep you safe, and we will protect you any way we can. Wish us luck, Jameson.

Dapper is drawing on the walls.

It’s been his favorite pastime for a long time, ever since he realized Anti wouldn’t punish him for making the house his canvas. His biggest piece was in a defunct pen manufacturer in Sweden, where they stayed for about two weeks, during which time he covered an entire industrial wall in an image of the very ugly aliens from A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Today he draws Anti in cheap pencil lead along the wall of Ippy’s clinic, coursing the point along the curve of Anti’s curving smile. He looks happy in the picture. His hands are empty and open.

Dapper turns at the sound of the beeping and smiles at you, though you see a glassy film over his fevered eyes and a tremble in his artist’s fingers. His face softens as he reads.

“I care for you too,” he tells you heartfully, touching his chest. “All of you, thank you - for being here, for keeping me company, for all of it. And you know I’d always wish you luck, my dears.”

Anonymous asked: Hey uh, dapper? Are you feeling alright? You look a little bit... off

“I am not really recovering from this whole sickness thing that is happening,” he answers unhappily, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m tired and hot and my head aches. I can’t keep any food down, including most of my medicine. And Dark was right… Anti helps with my psychosis.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, methinks you should avoid the house with Dark on the porch unless you can't find Dapper in the other two. Google is guarding, and Silver Shepheard is on his way back. Try to avoid a fight and be sneaky if you can.

“Kinda want to poke the bear, though,” admits Red, narrowing his eyes at Dark. “They have to pay for this, the fucking cock-jockey.”

His own insult gives him a burst of confidence as he slides past Dark’s house. A black and brown cat watch him disdainfully, waving their tails at him.

“I’ll check the other two first. Thanks, guys. I just need to find a way to get in and get him out… or get him out from outside.”

Anonymous asked: Anti helps superficially, but you know what would help more, JJ? Seeing a psychiatrist to get a mood stabilizer to assist your Haldol, seeing a behavioral therapist to help deal with symptoms, and being free from a constantly traumatizing environment. You need stability and the help of doctors. Things are probably extra bad right now due to being a hostage in a strange environment. You're not hopeless without Anti, millions of people like you & I cope and live good lives w/o mind demon's 'help'.

Dapper shrinks in on himself a little, playing with his hands. He stares at Anti’s eyes on the wall.

“I remember… getting better while we were all at home, without him,” he signs quietly. “Even the paranoia - and the paranoia is always the worst - even that was better. And whenever I started talking to my hallucinations, the others would have me go stand in the laundry room, and then after a while I could take ten minutes in the laundry room and come out and the hallucinations would be so much easier to deal with. Just from having that organization in my life. And I took a couple medications and nobody got mad at me if I was delusional or disorganized or acting really weird. And I had a therapist who signed. And I went to church and the priest would give me confession and I didn’t feel like I was going to hell. And nothing ever hurt me.”

He looks down at his hands.

“It was easier.”

The admission seems to have taken a lot out of him. He slips back down onto the bed, sighing.

scunneredzombie asked: Dapper, is there a window or door near you? Red is here to get you, but he needs a way to get you out!

“Yes, there’s a door, but it’s locked, and a big window, but it’s barred.” He frowns at you and makes prayer hands. “Tell him come bust me out. I sure can’t fit through those bars unless someone wants to shrink me and put me in their pocket. Like a little hedgehog…”

He begins sketching a hedgehog by Anti’s foot.

scunneredzombie asked: Rojo, be on the lookout for large, barred windows, probably the second of the houses?

Ro creeps around the first house, narrowing his gaze at Dark, his hands still aching for a fight. For now, though, he’ll have to focus on getting Dap to safety.

He moves around the second house, slipping down beside a cracked window to listen inside. There’s a television playing a loud cartoon. Lifting his head a little, he can see the man with the toy car driving it around the carpet and talking to himself. There is a whole crate of toy cars. On the couch, a second man sorts patiently through them, occasionally holding a little figurine up to the light or racing it along the arm of the couch, making vrooming and beeping noises. Red sits back a little, rubbing his palms together as he thinks. He wants to wreck some havoc, but not in front of a pair of twins who aren’t causing any harm and don’t look like they’d be able to comprehend someone trying to hurt them. They’re all clean and content-looking, playing with their cars. Red sighs. Having innocents around makes things harder.

It always does, he thinks to himself, and he feels more than recalls a memory from two weeks ago - Anti taking him and Dapper to kill the man who owns the house they’re staying in now. His stomach churns and he digs his nails into his palms. He still remembers the blood-craze in Dapper’s eyes as Anti helped him bury a knife in the man’s chest - and then, moments later, the hopelessness.

“Come on, Red, come on,” he mutters to himself, creeping around the back of the house.

He doesn’t see any barred windows. He glances into the clearing between the three houses as he waits for his chance to dart over to the third house.

Dark is on the porch of the first house with another one of his soldiers, someone with a voice so loud and booming Ro can hear it from here. His hand is on Dark’s waist as he chatters at them. Ro remembers the weight of Max’s hand on his waist… the smell of him…

“Goddamn,” he hisses, slapping himself. Lately he can’t focus on anything. He’s just… sad. He pinches his arms until he gets some clarity back, gnawing on his lips.

“Dapper Dapper Dapper,” he chants to himself, and it’s this thought that carries him over to the third house, where, at last, he spots a little barred window in a window well to the basement.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, we believe in you! Hero of the day, the hero of all time!

Ro gives a shaky little laugh, but you’ve put a grin on his mouth. He darts over to the window, feeling sneaky and maybe even a little bit competent, which is nice. Maybe he’s even acting a little like Jackie would act. The thought gives him a strange, nervous satisfaction.

“Dap,” he whispers, tapping his knuckle cautiously against the window. He can get his hands through the bars, but not much further.

Something shifts in the room. He squints his eyes through the dim light of the basement room and sees a nervous pair of big blue eyes looking back at him.

“It’s me, dude,” he whisper-hisses, glancing around.

Dapper’s eyes water with relief. He pushes the window open, leaving only the bars between them. At this angle, Red can only just brush his hand against his shoulder, reaching down into the window well, and he can hardly see his hands.

“Are you okay? Shit, I was worried, Carve. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Dapper grips his hand and squeezes in forgiveness.

“How do I get you out?”

There’s those big puppy dog eyes. They’re familiar, sure, reassuring and maybe even cute, but not problem-solving. Red squeezes his hand back and tries to think.

“I’ll have to come inside… or get the bars off. Unless you can shrink? Have any Borrower friends in there that could help? Maybe some mice and birds, Cinderella-style?”

Dapper pinches Ro’s hand and he laughs despite his rising heart rate, more and more anxious the longer he crouches here.

Anonymous asked: Dapper was right Anti, you're such a fucking creep. Dying his hair green and roleplaying like he's Jack but still forcing him to love you unconditionally. Touching him like you love him when he's just an object to you. You don't deserve any of the love any of them have given you. You're disgusting.

“He belongs to me,” answers Anti coldly, leaning back against a tree as he keeps an eye on the houses, waiting to see if Red will fuck up or bring Dapper back to him quietly. “I can do what I want with him. Jack never gave me anything but lemons - fine, I’ll make lemonade. Besides, let’s not pretend Chase would be anything at all without me. He’d just be childless and drinking himself to death in the backroom of their house like he was before I kidnapped him. This whole crusade the lot of you have, trying to set them free… pointless. You won’t make them any happier. He’d be miserable with a taste of freedom. You know, if Jack wanted his little protagonist to actually be able to save the day, maybe he shouldn’t have made him so helpless. Huh, like fucking Chase Brody could have ever done anything about me… well, he’s mine now, so there’s your story, Jack. There’s your fucking story.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, this is important. Dapper /needs/ to see a proper psychiatrist, just once or twice, so that he can get a mood stabilizer and other medicines to assist his antipsychotic. You can't neglect him like this, he's schizophrenic/psychotic, treatment and constant medication updates are the only way to truly help him be better. Constant mind manipulation only makes things worse for him if he's away from you even for a short time.

Anti’s eyes flicker over to you and then away again. He’s playing with fire on the ends of Blue’s fingers, eyes flickering from the white light of it.

“Mh,” he shrugs, uncertain. “I don’t think I want him talking to anybody outside of the house. If he needs a mood stabilizer, talk to Dok and have him talk to me. It’s like American health care! You gotta get a referral. Besides, if being away from me makes things worse, then I’ll just have to be better about making sure he isn’t away from me again. Not even for a short amount of time.”

He drops a flame to the earth and then stomps it out with his foot, his gaze watching as though infatuated as even a moment of fire singes a whole patch of earth and sets leaves to blazing. He bets he could burn down this whole forest if he wanted to… maybe set all of California ablaze. Again.

“Letting Dark take Dapper was my fault,” he tells you quietly. “I overestimated how much they cared about me. Let them fool me. It was stupid. It won’t happen again. Not with anyone. Dapper and Trick… they’re reliable. No one else. Almost makes you wonder… if anyone else is even worth trucking with… mh.”

Anonymous asked: Without Blue, you'll have no one to possess: Dapper might snap and Trick can't handle it. Killing Dok would be the worst possible thing you could do if you still want Trick on your side. And like it or not, Red is your watchdog and the others protector. If you kill any of them, the others will turn.

Anti glances at you, his stance softening a little. He shrugs.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Just lately feels like more trouble than they’re worth. I think Jack made five to make sure it was too much for me. Maybe it’s just time I started admitting that. Trick and Dap would be cute twins. I could make Trick forget, and I think Dapper would only be sad for a while, cause it’s not like it changes much for him.”

He pauses, digging his heel into the ash of the forest floor.

“No… you’re right, though. I think. Yeah, I can still use them. They all take care of each other - yucky, but necessary.”

Anonymous asked: Anti what will you do if Dapper breaks? And I don't mean just emotionally or mentally because obviously you only see that as minor maintenance. What happens if he can't use his time travel again? Will his loyalty still matter or is it just his power that you use him for? Is he only worth as much as his usefulness to you?

Anti plays with the bark of a tree, picking at it until new growth sprouts from the side of the trunk. He peels it off again and grumbles to himself for a moment.

“I’d still want him around,” says Anti. “I guess. I mean, he’s - like… he’s the only one who… I don’t know. He’s comforting. Fine. But I don’t know if that’s because of the power or because he’s always been mine. I’ve hated not having him with me these last few days. It’s like the whole world is wrong. And when he was in Columbia, I felt like I was going to implode. Like I was going to die. And I was sick at the time, with Blue’s power eating me up. I wondered if maybe I would die before I could ever find him, and not even know if he was okay.”

He plucks apart a leaf from the offshoot he created, tearing it into pieces, which drift towards the forest floor.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d grieve,” he adds. “If he’d grieve if I died.”

Anonymous asked: They don't belong to you, Anti. You don't own them, they're adults that are fully capable of making their own decisions. They have the right to leave you whenever they want, because you abuse them and refuse to learn to control your temper. You're immature and treat them like toys, but they are autonomous human beings that deserve to make their own decisions. Why don't you test it, if you think they love you so much. Just let them go and see if they crawl back like you say they wil. I doubt it.

Anti grits his teeth. The truth is that Red was willing to leave him the moment someone else showed him that he could have a life outside of Anti, and the thought devours him. Blue was only ever here for his siblings.

“Look, I don’t pretend to not be a monster,” he snarls. “Fine, some of them don’t love me. No matter how much I use the hypnosis… it’s not real. But guess what? I don’t care. They still have to belong to me. They’re not getting away from me. Not with air in their lungs.”

Anonymous asked: Dok isn't a psychiatrist, Anti. It's two completely different fields of medicine. JJ needs to see specifically a psychiatrist. Hell, I don't care if you go to the appointment with him, but you need to let him see someone to get his medicine adjusted. Think about it this way, how much use is he to you if you're constantly having to mess with his brain and ward back his psychosis, when you can easily get the same effect with just a few trips to a psychiatrist and a less stressful environment?

“Dok’s supposed to be Jack’s genius. If he can’t handle Dapper’s issues, nobody can. Dapper has always done fine, with only a couple exceptions. Actually, I think the paranoia sometimes makes him sharper, more alert, and the hallucinations keep him scared and confused. He won’t leave me when I make him feel both sane and terrified, when he thinks he’s too much for anyone else to handle. As long as he doesn’t snap completely, his illness is a benefit to me.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I think you're so insistent that they would never be happy with freedom because you can't stand the thought, the truth, that every single one of them would be better off without you.

“How about you all stop trying to piss me off before I decide maybe you aren’t all worth dealing with either?” snaps Anti, pointing at you in accusation. “Fuckers. All you do is plot against me lately. It’s barely even fun. Maybe I’ll torture the lot of them just to see you whining and begging again.”

.

Red squeezes Dapper’s hand one more time before sneaking around the back of the house, where a glass-paned door looks into the kitchen.

He could try and get in here. He could try and get the bars off Dapper’s window somehow. Or he could ask for help.

It’s as he’s thinking that he notices movement -a figure entering through the front door, their gait thudding and their shoulders set like a statue’s. Red catches a gleam of light through their glasses. Gigi moves like a bear, his every footstep heavy and determined. Ro narrows his eyes.

“Well, then,” he mumbles, tucking you deeper into his pocket. “Do I tangle with that or try something else?”

Anonymous asked: I would try something else instead of trying to tango with Gigi. He's a robot, so he wouldn't go down like a regular human, and the commotion caused by that fight would draw too much attention.

“Oh, boy,” says Ro, drawing back from the door. “A robot, okay. Well…”

He could maybe climb the house. He sees an open window. If he listens, he can even hear a deep, sonorous voice speaking from inside it, as though narrating.

“Mh,” he says. “Could maybe get up there. I can see places to put my feet already. Or maybe… Dok’s necklace? For Dapper?”

Anonymous asked: The voice from the window is a blind man who sees All. Probably not a good idea to try sneaking by him. And... as for the necklaces, if you use it for Dapper, then you won't have it for Anti. Make sure you've exhausted all other options before that, Jackie.

“Okay,” murmurs Jackie. “Well, I think we’re looking at either man-who-sees-all or robo boy. If I have to fuck with one of them, who do I go for?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper's mental health got better when he had both mood stabilizer and other medicines to help with his other symptoms. You need him /healthy/, him being paranoid and hallucinating isn't good for him. You switch so fast between caring about him and tossing aside his issues. Anti, it would take a very simple set of changes in yourself & your personality for them to stop running and conspiring. You can change. You're not incapable of it. Start small, let him see a psychiatrist. Small things first.

“I’ll think about it, alright?” Anti says, turning his head away. “I got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Trick & Dok? Do you think it would ever be possible to get Anti to let Dapper see a psychiatrist and get medicated properly? I know you don't remember, but before Anti took you all away from your home, Dapper was getting better. He wasn't stuck being constantly psychotic and afraid, he was healing. He needs therapy and proper medications. I don't think Anti would ever give him that, he has too much fun abusing him, but... could you try?

“I’ll help convince him,” promises Trick right away, nodding. “If he needs that, then he should have it. You can get his medication fixed, right, Dok?”

“No,” says Dok, exasperated. “I’ve never really known what the hell to do with him.”

“Oh. Well - ”

Something snaps in the forest. Trick is on his feet, gun pointed.

Silence. A flicker of movement. Dok and Trick are taut as the bow of a violin.

Anonymous asked: Shep? Is that you?

You can see Shep on the other side of the trees, frozen as stiff as the twins. His gaze flickers nervously over to you and then back to the twins, his fists clutched. He doesn’t even have his knuckles with him. He didn’t actually think someone would be here. No one’s ever come to their house before. He pulls out his phone, backing away from the trees.

“Who’s there?” shouts a voice. He stills, staring at Trick through the trees.

.

Red should sneak into Host’s room.

Dec. 12 2020

3 notes

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Red should go in through the backdoor with Gigi.

Dec. 12 2020

1 note

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Red should try something else.

Dec. 12 2020

2 notes

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Anonymous asked: Trick don't shoot. It's someone who lives in Dark's house, but he's unarmed. Just be careful and try to come up with an explanation for why you're there?

Trick lets his gun falter, glancing over at Dok.

“He already knows who you are, right?” signs Dok. “Will he try to kidnap you again? Kidnap us?”

Trick grits his teeth and steps closer to Dok, blocking him from Shep’s view.

“You leave us alone!” he shouts. “You come any closer and I’ll shoot!”

Shep backs away again, nervous. He opens Gigi’s name in his contacts.

Anonymous asked: I dont know if there's anything else you could try, Red. But if there is, def look at it. Otherwise, between Gigi and Host, I think at least Host could possibly be reasoned to/ spoken with? Gigi is a no-go. Hes 100% loyal to Dark, and an android, so he'd be HELLA hard to fight. And also he'd alert Dark. Host, im not quite sure exactly where his loyalties lay, but im sure he's hella powerful. So use your words before you try and fight him.

Ro presses himself against the side of the door and hoists his body up. This isn’t like the house where he and the others are staying, lined in decorative brick to give him footholds. Instead, windows make his only path up. While his hands find a grip on the tops of the windows, he suspends the rest of his body with his side against one jutting windowframe and his feet pressing against another, and slowly leaps and drags himself up the side of the house, his worn sneakers threatening more than once to make his foot slip and his body fall. The black and brown cats are watching him from the ground, blinking up at him as he goes.

But he won’t. Today, he’s Jackie, and he doesn’t think Jackie would fall, so neither will he.

“On another day,” comes that chasm-deep voice from the open window on the second floor, “he might have been fine. The Host is not always looking. Today, he is.”

Ro pauses, hiding against the side of Host’s window, one foot on the side of its sill.

“Is he going to turn back?” asks Host in a murmur. Craning his neck, Ro can see the man bent over braille paper and a recorder “Or will he still try to sneak past him? In a trance this deep, it’s possible Host won’t be able to do anything about it anyway. He does not like to interfere with other people’s stories.”

Anonymous asked: Shep, wait, please don't call anyone who would hurt them. Theyre only here because they're following orders.

“What do you want?” calls Shep, a faint shake in his voice.

“How about the little brother you stole?” spits back Trick. “No, stay back! Stay back there, I swear to God.”

“You need to get out of here before I call Gigi,” says Shep. “Or worse, Dark.”

“No, don’t,” protests Trick. “Please, we just want Dapper. Nobody has to get hurt. We’ve had enough, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Just let Jackieboy Man's story play out, please, Host-we-love-the-most. He deserves to be the hero again after all he's been through.

Directly addressed, Host comes out of his narration a little, brushing scattered hairs out of his face. He runs his fingers over his papers, jerking back a little.

“Fuck, what a mess,” he mumbles. “Too many players in this game. How long have I been writing?”

Ro’s foot slips for a second and he catches himself quickly, thudding against the side of the house. He winces hard, closing his eyes in panic.

Host chuckles inside the house.

“Come in, then,” he says. “I’m not meant to interfere, you know…”

“Who are you?” cries Ro, heart pounding.

“Ignore me,” answers Host. “I’m just the storyteller. You are the action-taker.”

Ro rolls his eyes, biting down hard on his lip. “You’re really not going to snitch if I come in your room right now?”

“No.”

Ro pauses. Scratches at his beard. Glances at the trees, where a pair of squirrels are judging him from a few feet away.

He slips into Host’s room.

Anonymous asked: Trick, should you just take Dok back to the house? Shep can and will call help if you don't leave. I don't want you guys to have to get in unnecessary fights. I'm pretty sure Jackie and Anti can handle it from here, yeah?

“If we go back we’ll be in so much trouble,” breathes Trick, frightened just at the thought of it. “He told me to guard the way, so I can’t let anyone in or out.”

“Why do you have to do what he tells you?” asks Shep.

“Why do you have to do what they tell you?” answers Dok bitterly, standing up beside his brother. “At least Trick doesn’t notice when he’s being used as a pawn. You know you’re that monster’s little soldier and you still do horrible things just because they tell you to. Pathetic. You stole our sick, speechless little brother just because Dark and Anti decided our lives were board game pieces to be played with. You just let yourself be used, no mind control needed.”

“Hey!” snaps Shep. “You better watch your tongue, little man! I make my own goddamn choices. Your brother is the one who would have killed Gigi if he were human just because Dark wouldn’t kiss him.”

“Dark and Anti are not creatures to be trucked with,” says Dok quietly. “But we have yet to find a way to escape our monster. Turn back. We’re smaller than you, but we are far from helpless with or without a firearm.”

“Look,” answers Shep, biting down harsher words. “Nobody wants a big fight here, right? Seems like Dark and, uh. Anti? Seems like they had a misunderstanding themselves. Maybe we can work this out.”

Dok and Trick exchange glances.

Anonymous asked: Trick, if Shep were to promise to not snitch on you being out here to Dark, then would you let him through? And Shep, would you uphold that promise? Both of you have lost things, you're even in bad deeds. Gigi was destroyed and Dark's back was injured, and Dapper was stolen. No one else needs to get hurt if you try compromising with each other, right?

“I won’t tell Dark for now,” says Shep evenly, hands raised in surrender. “But I don’t think you understand. Dark is an essence and those houses belong to them. They’re always creeping around. If your other brothers are in there, the chances that Dark hasn’t spotted them yet - slim to none.”

Trick and Dok frown at each other, worried. Dok shuffles a foot closer to him.

“I’ll let you through the mirror,” says Trick. “If you let us come with you. I have a bad feeling about what comes next… I think maybe it’s better if we can try to work together. You’re right. No one else needs to get hurt today.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Henrik, answer when the time is appropriate, but advice about Dapper from a training pharmacist, I would try prescribing him Depakote or a common antidepressant to work alongside his Haldol if Anti will let you! I know it must be very hard to have to be a psychiatrist when it wasn't your field of study :(

“Oh, thank you, yes,” answers Dok, his shoulders loosening a little. “Yes, well. He wasn’t on anything when I first… remember. And he didn’t do very well. He would smoke to ease his paranoia, but then he would be paranoid about getting cancer every time he’d cough, so it did him little good. He’d stopped trying to fight his own delusions. Anti was most of his treatment plan, but he acts so dreamy and lost when he’s in his head. Honestly I just kept trying medications til they worked, which probably wasn’t very good for him either. But at least I was allowed to see him and Trick then, coming upstairs to check on him everyday. We were in Sweden at the time, I think. Or Denmark? Before Norway. I was not even sure if we were brothers. He doesn’t speak so much when he’s really ill. He was just my little patient in the attic. He was the one who called me Doktor first.”

He rubs his hands together, glancing up. Shep and Trick talk quietly by the mirror, faces tense and hands always waiting for the other to throw the first blow. Dok sighs, though a faint laugh falls from his mouth with it.

“Oh. I would like to see all of them well for once in my life.”

.

Red steps uncertainly towards the Host.

“Shy?” asks the deep voice, and it seems to echo through his head. It reminds him too much of Anti and Dark. He slinks back against the wall, cowed despite himself.

“Hmm,” hums Host. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Who did you think I was?” asks Red quietly.

“I write a lot of stories,” says Host, brushing his fingers across pages and pages of snow-white braille. “I see a lot of stories. It takes only a side glance. A moment of contact. Stories for everyone I meet. Stories for the people who meet the people I meet. Not all true. Not all real. But possible… possible. Alternatives to the reality we survive in now. I saw, once, a story from a young man Mark shares business with. I thought, for a moment, that you were the protector in that story. The strong man… the hero. Not the protagonist, true. But almost as important. The courage to his tired hands. Defender.”

Ro plays with his hands, his eyes flickering around for a way to slip past Host without coming close to him.

“But you are alternate too,” says Host. “You’re not Jackie. Not quite.”

It makes his blood hot, but only for a moment. For the most part, he feels shame. His head drops. He turns away from an unseeing gaze.

“Guess not,” he answers. “But I still have to try to be… that.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes. Jackie.”

“Well, stop,” answers Host dryly, turning away. “Stupid boy.”

“Hey! What is your problem?”

“Stop living in a story you don’t even fucking remember,” spits Host, already striking his typewriter hard enough to fill the room with click-clacking once again. “Pathetic. You’re wasting a perfectly good character arc on trying to be someone you’re not. You have your own part to play. Jackie couldn’t save his family, Ro. Not for lack of trying, but he did fail, in the end, and that’s why he’s dead and you’re not. If you want to give him life again, it’s time to stop wallowing in your doubt and your fear and your shame in yourself and start being Ro like a real hero would. You better start acting like a hero – today, Roser. Too long the five of you have been stuck in the same painful narrative. Take up arms. Stop trying to remember and be.”

Host turns to him again, and Ro has never seen so much expression in a blindfolded face.

“Or lose more than even Jackie did.”

A cat slips in through the door, mewling, and comes weaving her way through Host’s legs, pinning Ro with a yellow gaze. He steps back nervously, staring at the cracked door. His throat bobs in a swallow. He grips his fists, straightening up at Host.

“What if he’s not enough?” he asks quietly.

“Who?” says Host.

“Me,” he answers.

“Of course he’s not enough,” spits Host, shaking his head. “How dull would it be for a character to be enough all on his own.”

Ro opens his mouth to reply, but Host beats it to him.

“Google!” he calls, turning towards the door.

“Fucking snitch!” cries Ro, terrified.

“There’s a closet across the hall. Run inside. You can sneak past him when he comes in to check on me. This is the only help I will give you. Go.”

He’s too frantic to argue. In a flash, he’s leaping out of the door of Host’s room and shoving himself into a closet full of cleaning supplies on the other side of the hall.

“Host?”

Those thudding footsteps move up the stairs. A fist pounds a knock against Host’s door. “Are you stuck in a vision? If you haven’t left your room since I checked on you this morning, you’ve been static for four hours and twenty-three minutes, including our usual breakfast hours and…”

Ro darts out of the closet on near-silent feet, racing down the stairs with his heart pounding. He throws himself against the wall for a second, thinking someone’s coming in the front door, but it’s just the second cat he saw, a big black cat like a shadow against the wall, letting out a hiss at the sight of him. He races down the second set of stairs and through the little hallway that frames Dapper’s door.

“Dapper!” he calls. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Faint whistling from the other side of the door. Red shoves his shoulder against it, tearing at the handle. It will not open.

“Fuck this,” he mumbles, and a moment later he finds himself ducking into a bathroom nearby, tearing the lid off the toilet tank, and slamming the porcelain into the handle of the door until both shatter and give. The door slides open.

“Dapper…”

There’s his little brother, curled up all lonely on the bed. In the light, Ro can see him clearly at last, and the relief of finding him comes charged with a painful nausea for how ill he looks. It’s worse than a hollowness, because Jamie has always been skinny. It’s worse than fatigue, because Dapper has always been tired. It’s worse than shadow, because his youngest brother has long felt alone. Now, he looks chewed up and spat out, cut open and removed from himself, faint and white and exhausted. He does not rise to hold Red. He can barely raise a hand to greet him.

“Bud, no,” says Ro, because his first thought, in that moment, is that Jameson is going to die.

He moves forward to scoop him up for a moment, pressing him to his chest. He can feel the heat on him before he’s even touched him. Sweat beads against Red’s fingers where he cards his hand through Dapper’s mussed brown hair, gone limp and tired, no longer curling at the fringe.

“Can you walk?” asks Ro, drawing back to hold his shoulders in his hands.

“Not sure,” answers Dapper, touching his wrist. “I feel really quite unwell, Red.”

“They haven’t taken care of you.”

“No, they tried,” protests Dapper. “They’ve given me medicine for my fever and things like that. Kept my wrist clean. I’m much better off than I was a few days ago.”

“Fuck… you could have died if that’s true.”

“I think maybe I would have if I stayed with Anti,” says Dapper, lying his head down on his brother’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut.

Red hugs him, grateful for the thudding of his heartbeat. As much as he knows they need to go, he needs even more to feel his chest moving with air, if only for a moment.

“You really are just not having a fun life, are you, Dippin’ Dots?” he says, the weight of it sitting on his chest.

“There are parts of it that are nice,” replies his brother, his hand resting on Ro’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” says Ro. “Like I promised.”

“Okay, Reddy. I’m really quite tired.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He raises him into his arms, pressing him close against his body. He’s always tried to stay strong no matter how little he had to eat – not always successfully or healthily – but as the months have gone on he’s been finding his old strength. After wasting away in Norway, he built up corded muscle in Peru with long, difficult hikes up the mountain every day, bringing water and medicine and Christmas presents to his family, and in the past few weeks, with both Max and Anti, he has had good food and plenty of time for the exercise his body has craved. Host was right: now is the time to be strong.

He’s stepping out of the clinic room when he sees the big black cat again, darting away from him now, its fluffy back turned to him.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Did you follow me down here?”

And then, at the top of the stairs – black shoes and dress pants. The thud of a cane against the wood of the floor.

Ro back away, mouth taut, and he watches as that black cat, so dark that the light does not shine gold on its fur, dissolves away into the crowd of shadows that swarm like a cloak around Dark’s dead, rotting body.

“Spy cat,” Ro says. “Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“I could see you the moment you stepped foot into my territory,” answers Dark, in a voice like a wind through cold water. “Your soul is so frantic it burns just to look at it. Even the ocean of silver power from the little one does not wash your color away.”

“Oh, what color?” asks Ro, curious.

“Not red,” comes the dry reply.

Dark takes a step down the stairs. Their body seems to jolt for a second, and then they must sit down, pain tightening their features.

“Heard my other little brother fucked you up pretty good,” says Ro, taking another step back towards the clinic. “Still not fully recovered, huh? I think I’d be a douchebag if I made fun of you for having a broken spine, but I’d like to offer a generalized ‘fuck you’ if that’s alright. You can’t even get down these stairs to get me, can you?”

Dark vanishes back into smoke and bursts into being at the bottom of the stairs, bone shifting in their broken face. Red yelps and puts Dapper on his feet, turning to wrap his body around him.

“Your little monster will pay for his over-powered tantrum,” says Dark.

“You stay the hell away from us!”

“I’ve never seen anyone as simultaneously intriguing and annoying as he is. But no matter. Soon, I’ll snuff his bright lights out and tear up both the natural and the stolen powers inside his chest, and then he will stop haunting me.”

“You take one more step towards me and I’ll call for him!” shouts Red, extending his fighting staff and whirling on Dark. “And this time he’ll fuck up more than just your back!”

“Call for him, then,” sneer a dozen echoing voices at once, and as Dark’s power begins to fill Red with terror and revulsion and confusion and grief, he puts his hands over his ears, opens his mouth, and screams for Anti.

And in the woods, Anti hears.

Anonymous asked: Anti, don't be brash and let your temper control you. Fight with the wit even Jack knew you had.

Wit – wit, yes, well, this at least keeps his gait steady as he moves Blue’s body through the trees, eyes fixed on the house where he can see his oldest gripping his camera. What you say is true, as he was always Jack’s little killer, clever and powerful, manipulative and built with an instinct for fighting more commonly found in a marten who plans to make a porcupine twice its size into dinner. He was patient, in the beginning, and sensational when the time came for him to cut that porcupine open, and it was his wit, yes, that lead him to capture all five of the brothers Jack created, one after the other, remorselessly.

And yes, even Jack knew he had it.

He remembers the sound of his voice the first time he made his eyes bleed. He wiped the sleeve of a black hood across his stained cheek and met his own gaze in the mirror, and he saw Anti more clearly than he ever had before.

“This one’s wild. Already smart enough to try and get through to the audience. Like it knows…”

His fingers touched his reflection in the glass.

“Hey. I see you. I’m here.”

His fond mouth smiled.

“Don’t be scared.”

Anti remembers.

Does Dark not?

Does Jack not?

It hurts to bear the thought of it, the thought that they really and truly forgot him. He hates it. He hates that you mentioned it. That Dapper keeps saying it. That he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore and he feels alone.

That he sometimes wishes he were still just a notion curled, warm, in the back of Jack’s head, listening to him chatter and breathe.

No. No use for nostalgia now. What he wants are the people he can still have – his Trick, his Dapper, his brothers.

He’s done a lot of bad things to them. Cruel, unbearable things, without reason. But if you give him credit for one thing, let it be this –

Oh, Anti taught his boys to be fang-toothed.

“Where’s my little soldiers at, so?” he sings to himself. “Dok, Trick.”

You see the twins perk up and look over as Anti sends his own message through the cameras now.

“Go find your big brother, Trickshot, and start fucking laying waste. And you, Deutsch – get my little Carver, now. And if anyone tries to put their hands on him – teach them why I use you for torture.”

Steel makes their fond mouths harden. They glance at Shep, and then away.

“If that is what it takes,” says Dok.

“Then consider it done,” Trick finishes.

And he touches his reflection in the clear glass of the mirror, and moves.

Anonymous asked: Alright so we're just going in guns blazing. Dok, Trick, you have any idea of where to go?

“Well, I am guessing it is this house which is all shadowy and dramatic,” says Dok, lifting his chin at the third house, where Dark’s power has cast everything in late-night lighting.

“Hey, you’ll regret it if you go rushing in there at Dark,” warns Shep, shoving himself forward. Trick steps up to him before he can reach Dok, raising his head in warning.

“I have left my little brother to rot too many times in his life,” shouts Dok, moving towards the house even as Wilford steps out of Dark’s house to see what’s going on, smoking languidly as darkness curls around his feet. “He asked me to fight for him! So I will.”

“If you’re coming, then come,” says Trick. “But don’t try and stop us getting Dapper.”

“Fine! Just try not to piss Dark off anymore, for all our sakes!”

Anonymous asked: Hey Silver, I think you should probably go with Trick and Doc. If things get crazy (and they probably will, lbr), it'd be good to have someone reasonable around. I know you can't go against Dark, but I also don't think you want to see anyone get hurt. This is admittedly a big step up from asking you to look for a lost cat, but can you do it for us?

Shep stares at the wash of shadow growing over the corners of his home. He runs after Dok and Trick, expression torn, and when Anti glitches into existence in the doorway of his house, you see him fall back in alarm, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” he hears Gigi shout from somewhere inside. A sudden thrill of fear pours adrenaline into Shep’s blood, remembering all too clearly the way Anti shattered the android last time they met.

But Anti glitches away before Gigi can reach him. Google snarls, slamming his fist against the door and stepping out to look around. Trick and Dok have already hidden, tucked against the side of one of the other houses. They’ll sneak around the back and get in through the door there, hoping to find Dapper. Shep stares around in a mild panic - but eventually, you see him set his mouth and glance at you. He follows after Dok and Trick.

Host trails out onto the porch after Google, lighting a cigarette with a cold grin.

“This,” he says, “is going to be good.”

ari-trash asked: So you're just going to watch the chaos unfold, Host? You're just going to stand back and let it all happen? Well... at the very least I hope it'll be entertaining enough for you

“Been boring as shit lately,” mutters Host, smoke wafting from his mouth as he breathes out. “I been waiting for Dark to bring me home some fucking chaos. Whole reason I stick around. Nobody gets in to as much bullshit as this family. Google, do you remember when Bim hired an assassin to kill you?”

“Host!” shouts Gigi. “Who’s in the house!”

“I’m blind, Inspector Gadget, figure it out for yourself.”

“Dammit, Host!”

Anonymous asked: Ro, you're gonna be okay. Just keep with Dapper okay? Help is coming

“We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” chants Red like the words are stuck in his mouth, over and over again. He backs away, wrapped around Dapper, hiding his face in his chest. Dark steps towards them with the thud, thud of their cane, eyes white as spoiled milk. “Help is coming, help is coming, help is - ”

“Hey!” shouts Anti.

Dark stops.

Anti stands at the top of the stairs, haloed in his own venomous, glitching light in the midst of Dark’s shadow. Green and red and cold blue light. He is beautiful and hollow. He is a grave waiting to be filled.

“Stop,” he says quietly. “Back off.”

Ro sees Dark’s mouth curve like a planet.

“Hi, handsome,” they taunt softly, inclining their head, gaze still boring into Ro.

Anti does not taunt back. His shoulders are drawn back, his head low. Blue’s eyes are like the broken edges of a piece of shattered glass.

“Done playing,” says Anti. “Get away from them.”

“I just want to talk,” they answer, extending grey hands like a crucifixion.

“Liar,” says Anti.

Dark turns to him.

“What do you want?” asks Anti, revealing just a moment of weakness.

Dark meets his gaze like a predator circling.

“I don’t know anymore,” they tell him. “For you to stop bothering me?”

“Liar,” replies Anti, very quietly. “Liar.”

Dark grits their teeth.

“I would like you to stop being the ghost that follows me everywhere I go.”

Dapper shivers in Red’s grip, his legs giving out slightly. Dark and Anti glance at him as he crumples and Anti reaches for him for a moment, gaze breaking.

“Back off,” says Anti, stepping down the stairs. “That’s mine. Enough. Enough games. Done playing. Why don’t you come pick on someone a little less mortal, you fucking slug?”

Dark extinguishes all light in the room. Red shouts, scooping Dapper right off the ground. In the shadow, only Anti is visible, Blue’s face lit with his myriad of spasming colors.

“Fine then,” comes Dark’s voice, and you hear their echo give a hissing laugh. “As you wish.”

“Red,” says Anti. “Get him out of here.”

And then he is under attack.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, how bad is it looking out there? I think you guys have a chance but you'll have to hurry, maybe ask Shep which house had Dapper. He's still following behind, yeah?

Shep sighs, reaching out to take Trick’s sleeve, pulling him towards his home. “Come on,” he says, hissing to keep his voice low. “We’ll go round through the back door and get your brother. You can take him while Dark and Anti keep each other busy.”

“Into the darkness?” asks Dok.

“Dude, it’s pitch in there,” agrees Trick, eyes wide. “We won’t be able to see.”

“Can’t you call for each other?”

Dok and Trick cross their arms over their chest, glaring.

“Oh, that’s right… uh, well, he can whistle or something, right?”

“We don’t have much other choice,” sighs Dok, letting his arms fall. “He’s probably scared in there. Maybe even having an episode. He could snap.”

“I bet Red’s found him and they’re keeping each other safe. But we need to get them both out - Dark has a pretty strong effect on the both of them.”

Dok bites down on his lip, reaching tentatively for the handle of the back door to Shep’s house, behind which, nothing but darkness awaits. He hears a slam and the telltale buzz of Anti’s power, so loud it almost feels like it’s making his whole head vibrate. Dark shouts and Anti snarls back at him, indecipherable from the other side of the house.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You plunge into shadow together.

Anonymous asked: Duck and run Red, get yourself and Dap out of there

“Come on, bud, let’s go.”

In the darkness, Dapper is almost completely unable to communicate with him. He feels him trying to sign, but they don’t have time to stumble through it, much as he hates to ignore him. He throws Dapper’s arm over his shoulder and moves towards the back door. Black as it is, Ro does not stumble for a moment. He saw the hallway once and that’s all he needs, same way he can take one look at a building before leaping up the side of it like a pine marten or a slightly over-sized squirrel.

There’s only a second where he pauses.

Dapper’s fever-heat warms his shoulder. He can hear his little brother panting in the darkness. Behind them, Anti shouts and snarls, locked in battle, and Red - oh, he can’t place it, much as he wants to, but a part of him knows he’s been here before. Not here, in this house, but… here.

“We were… trying to get away?” he hears himself mutter. “And you were sick… I needed to get you… home. To England.”

Dapper turns his head towards him in the shadows, mouth parted.

“But I couldn’t get away from Anti. Jackie couldn’t get you away from Anti. And then… Red stopped trying.”

And in the darkness, in the pitch black, Ro feels his little brother move his hands against his chest.

“He did not stop trying,” JJ tells him. “He just… needed to forget for a little while. Because he was in pain. He never stopped trying.”

Ro feels something sharp and tight in his chest.

“Here now,” signs Jameson, touching his heart. “You. Here now. Don’t be sorry. No more being sorry.”

No more being sorry.

“Come on,” murmurs Red, pulling him through the darkness again. “I gotta get you out of here.”

No more being sorry. It’s a waste of time. He needed to forget for a little while, but not anymore. Time to be what they need him to be. Doesn’t matter if that’s Jackie or Ro or Red or a little bit of all of them.

He won’t fail again.

Anonymous asked: Red, take Dapper towards the back door, if you remember where it is. Trick and Dok are trying to find you. Escape while Dark is distracted.

Red crashes into Shep headfirst and you hear them both yelp, drawing back from each other, but then Trick is hissing Ro’s name and reaching out blindly for his brother. Ro recoils when his fingers find his face and Trick knows it’s him, letting out a weak laugh. Ro grins at the sound of it, relaxing, and moves towards him.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you,” whispers Trick. Ro grabs his wrist with a grateful squeeze and feels how good it is to be on Trick’s side like they were always meant to be.

“We gotta go,” he says. “Come on, back towards the door.”

“Dark and Anti are going to hurt each other,” protests Shep. “Are we just… not doing anything about that?”

“Let’s just get out of here first,” hisses Dok, pulling them all back towards the door, and moments later, they stumble out into the light with sighs of relief.

aether-mae asked: Maybe you boys should stay out of anti and darks squabble. Let them brawl it out in the dark like the heartbroken lovesick monsters they are

“I think they’re right,” agrees Dok, already taking Dapper’s face in his hands to look him over. “Oh, my poor buddy.”

Dapper smiles wearily at him.

“Let’s get you home, yes?”

“We are far away from home,” signs Dapper, slumping against his shoulder. “But I would like to go back to bed.”

“I’m getting him out of here. Come, we should all go. Better to be far from this.”

Ro glances at Trick, and then at Shep, eyes narrowed. He can’t read Shep’s face at all - it’s never been a talent of his - but Dok and Trick must have let him come along for a reason.

“I just want everyone to be okay,” grumbles Shep, looking away from Red’s intense gaze. “Anti and Dark fighting like this - it’s stupid. And other people are going to get hurt if this keeps up.”

“Then we should run,” insists Ro. “Right?”

“You might be able to get your family clear, but I have friends in all of these houses,” says Shep quietly.

Ro nods, biting down on his lip. He pauses for a moment to meet Trick’s gaze, and if Shep’s expression is a mystery to him, Ro thinks he recognizes the determination in his brother’s face.

“We’ll stay to make sure Dark and Anti don’t hurt anyone,” he says. “They’re both out of control and we’ve let them play games with us for too long.”

“I’ll stay too,” agrees Trick. “Anti asked me to help Ro. But, Dok - here.”

Trick holds out the handgun. Dok blinks, shaking his head. “It’s yours. You might need it.”

Trick shakes his head back at him. “You have to protect Dap. If someone comes after you, he’s too sick to fight back. Take it and keep him safe.”

Dok takes the gun from him, mouth tight with worry. Trick touches his shoulder and then draws back from him, moving to Ro’s side.

“I need to get the twins before they get scared,” says Shep, glancing back at the second house, where a pair of matching faces are staring out at the growing shadow. “I’ll meet up with you back here and we can figure out what to do once they’re safe, okay?”

Red and Trick nod, stood side-by-side.

“Wait,” says Dok. “If I’m taking the gun, then - ”

He unhooks one of his necklaces and wraps it around Red’s neck. His brother startles, eyes wide.

“Dok, this is your - ”

“Break it and re-tie it if you need it,” says Dok quietly. “It will light up the darkness. It’s a weapon too. If you don’t need it, you can give it back to me. Just… take it, okay? I’ll feel better.”

“Why me?” asks Ro. “Use it to keep Dap safe. Or give it to Trick since I’m the stronger fighter.”

But Dok shakes his head.

“It was always for you,” he says. “Take it.”

The raven rests against Ro’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Keep your peepers people-d, lads.

“Bye,” says Trick quietly, meeting Dok’s gaze.

“I love you,” answers Dok.

“I love you too.”

And for a second, Trick just hates it - the memory it evokes in him, the memory of parting with Dok on the shores of a river in South America, the memory of losing him to the magicians and not knowing if he was dead or alive.

“Hey,” laughs Dok warmly, touching his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour, yes?”

“Yes,” agrees Trick weakly. “Okay. I love you.”

“We already did that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I love you too.”

Dok and Dapper move back towards the shed, hand-in-hand, leaving Ro and Trick alone behind the house.

But only for a moment.

“How touching,” sneers a deep, dangerously steady voice. “That you really believe you can leave this place alive after daring to enter.”

Ro turns slowly, standing in front of Trick.

Gigi glares back at him, hands clenched into fists at his side. A terrible glow rises in his deep brown eyes.

“Is that what we were keeping our eyes open for?” asks Trick.

Red extends his fighting staff.

“That would be it, Trickster.”

.

Inside the house, Anti refuses to tolerate being blinded.

Fire lights up around him in a circle. He burns in the center of it, eyes glowing dangerously with the light of Blue’s flame.

“You can barely even fucking control that,” says Dark quietly. “It isn’t yours. What a fucking parasite you are.”

Anti leaps forward like a snake and strikes at Dark hard, only for his enemy to vanish into smoke. He makes no witty rejoinder and does not taunt Dark anymore. Dark tries to appear from the darkness to grab him, but Anti is lining the floor of the house in flame, illuminating the shadow. Dark flicks his hand and the fire douses. Anti shouts and redoubles his efforts: his fury overcomes Dark’s power and fire grows in the room once more.

“These floors were nice before you got here.”

“I’ll do the same thing to your rotting flesh!” shouts Anti, lashing out again.

Dark blocks his blade with the stern line of a wooden cane, letting Anti score a gash into the side of it and kicking at Anti’s legs, but Anti is swift and vicious and he leaps back with a snarl on his mouth. The speed with which they fight is alarming, so fast that at some points you can’t tell whose strike is slashing forward. Dark vanishes and reappears constantly, and Anti, though solid in Blue’s form, is so coated in glitching and so quick-paced he almost looks to be transporting himself. Dark is stronger, but their back hurts them, and any blow to their spine or chest could down them. Anti is the more savage of the two, but he is bound to Blue’s skin right now, choosing the comfort of incarnation over the freedom of his natural form.

“You look like a demon coated in fire like that,” hisses Dark, circling him for a moment.

Yes, Anti looks like a demon today.

“But you smell like a fairy. And you fight like a human.”

“I’m worse than all three,” whispers back Anti.

“What, then?”

“Nothing,” says Anti. “But that was always what intrigued you, wasn’t it?”

“Stop acting like you’re something irresistible,” snarls Dark.

“You used to tell me I was,” answers Anti, and for a second, you hear something like melancholy through the anger in his voice. A moment later, it’s gone. He lunges forward again and Dark blocks his knife with the cane before striking him hard in the face, sending blood pouring from Blue’s nose. Flowers burst up between the floorboards where the red blood falls.

“Control your fucking power before you tear the house down!” shouts Dark.

“No,” says Anti. “If you want me to stop, kill me.”

“Little monster, it will be my pleasure.”

But it is now that Dark hears Gigi shouting outside, and not just at Trick and Ro. A glance to the window shows them flame growing around the house as well as inside. The fire begins to lick at the trees. Gigi and Trick are hollering at each other, both blaming the other’s master for the damage.

“I’ll burn this whole fucking forest down,” howls Anti. “You think you can act like you forget me?”

Dark vanishes and reappears behind him, shoving him towards the door, and as Anti staggers they gift him a second blow to the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Dark reaches down and puts their hands around Anti’s waist, gripping him too tight as they haul him bodily out the door and over the porch, sending him crashing down onto the stairs that lead up to the porch. Anti lets out a short gasp, touching the back of Blue’s skull, where blood buds up to stain his fingers like ink. He blows out a breath and leaps back to his feet, trying to buy himself time by duplicating – creating false doubles of himself that look real, until Dark is surrounded by a circling trio of Marvins with hatred burning like stars in their eyes.

But Dark doesn’t press their advantage. Their face is flickering again, revealing short glimpses of that same emotion that Anti couldn’t accept when they were in the woods together: confusion, raw and genuine. Their hands are still held out in front of them, remembering Anti’s waist between their palms.

“Get out of my head,” they warn.

“You get out of my heart!” shrieks Anti.

“I’m not manipulating you,” growls Dark, raising their hands slightly – perhaps the beginning of a gesture asking for a pause.

“Well, neither am I. I got enough going on possessing this body for me to be messing around in anybody else’s head,” answers Anti bitingly, setting his three pairs of identical feet.

“Come on,” sighs Dark. “Do you really expect a soul-sight like me to be tricked by your glitches?”

“Which one’s me then?” shouts Anti, stepping forward, all three pairs of himself moving close, into Dark’s space. “And you know I’m not lying if you’ve still got any sight at all! You know that and you’re still – fucking – acting like this!”

A tree behind the house bursts into flame and you hear shouts and the scattering of squirrels.

But Dark doesn’t flinch.

Anti pants in front of them. After a second, his right hand, duplicated three times, reaches out and grabs Dark’s shirt – the shoulder, the back, and the lapel of their fine black suit.

Dark sets their hands on Anti’s waist.

Squeezes.

Hard.

Feels his solidity beneath their fingers.

Anti closes his eyes, a flicker of pain in his face, but, if only for a moment, you see some of the panic drain away from his white face. The double and triple flicker out of existence.

Anti breathes.

He looks up at Dark and he pulls in air, Blue’s heart racing. Ash in his mouth and hands on his waist.

“Asshole,” he chokes, striking Dark’s chest with a faltering fist. “You liar. You do remember me.”

Dark’s gaze breaks, eyes sliding closed. They squeeze his waist again. Loosen. Squeeze. Loosen. Breathe.

“I think… I do.”

“Why’d you pretend?” cries Anti. “Is it true what you said – my soul doesn’t look the same anymore? Can you see Blue’s power instead of mine?”

“I didn’t remember you,” mumbles Dark. “I still… it’s like if I had been a character in a play, and so were you, and then suddenly here you are, telling me to remember the lines we read. But the part of you I remember – you don’t look like yourself at all. You’re not the character. You’re someone else. Someone I know even less.”

Anti grips their wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

“You can’t admit it to yourself,” Dark murmurs, withdrawing slightly. Around them, the heat and smoke is only rising. “That I don’t remember all of it. I can see the fear it puts in you.”

“What am I supposed to believe? Who could have done something like this? Not my Dapper. That’s a lie. Not him. The others have already – have already done what they’ve done. But not him and not Trick. Those are mine. You – you were mine, Dark, fuck you!”

He shoves Dark back and grabs their jacket, pulling them close.

“Tell me you remember me! And you were pretending! And you know me and now you’ll start acting like yourself again! Tell me that, now!”

But Dark is pulling away from him, shaking their head.

“Dark! Tell me that and mean it, goddammit!”

“You are a piece of something now far away from me,” says Dark. “But right now, all you are is a threat, and I will play games no longer.”

“Pangur Dubh!” screams Anti, voice breaking. “It’s me!”

“Wilford,” says Dark.

Anti hears the cock of a gun.

He throws Blue’s body back, falling back onto the porch again just in time for the bullet to miss him. Dark vanishes back into shadow and Anti turns his eyes to Wilford, who isn’t even reloading – just looking at him with a sort of strange pity in his eyes.

Anti –

Oh, fuck.

Shit, he –

He’s had enough.

He’s had enough. He’s had it. Humiliation washes over him so hot and loud it almost makes him dizzy, and Blue’s fragile little body aches against his trapped form even as it protects him from the side effects of stealing Marvin’s power, and he’s tired, and he’s scared, and he wants to go home.

But only for a moment.

Because, for a long, long, long time, he has learned one very dangerous skill:

Turn all of that into rage, and let it swallow you whole.

“Anti, you’re going to burn the whole fucking forest down! Dapper can’t reverse right now!”

“There are still people nearby! Dapper and Dok and others who haven’t hurt us!”

“Make him stop, please, please! Dark, do something, Wil, shoot him, make him stop!”

“Dark, you have to stop this. Where did you go?”

Trick and Red and Shep and Gigi’s voices are lost in the pounding of the blood in Anti’s head. Even Host is retreating now, stepping away from the porch and out onto the grass as the fire spreads, the amusement disappearing from his mouth. Anti chokes on his anger, eyes watering with the force of it, and blood gushes from his throat so fast he’s faint. At this point, he doesn’t think he could control the fire if he wanted to. He remembers Blue’s burst of power at the top of the mountain, sending plant life exploding through the rocks and sand.

Now I’m the one who’s out of control, he realizes faintly.

And a voice in his head answers, pleads, begs:

Anti. Give it back to me and I will make it stop.

Marvin, he answers. I wasn’t lying. I don’t know how.

All six of us and all of these people here are going to DIE, Anti.

Anti feels heat on his face. Ash on his white hands. Smoke in the air. Smoke like flame in the air. And he breathes. He breathes.

So be it.

[jaxsteamblog]

Spirits

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

The closer her wedding day got, everything got harder and harder. The nobility in Caldera weren’t happy, but kept to themselves because the Earth Empire also didn’t want the marriage to happen. And Arnook ramped up his sullenness to the point that they no longer took their weekly meal together.

For all of that talk about destiny, it seemed to Katara like the whole world was against her marriage to Zuko.

With a headache building, Katara headed to the oasis. True to her word, she had started visiting Yue more often, finding the trips less uncomfortable. The conversations were a lot better too.

Katara took her place next to the pond and focused her breathing on Tui and La. As Tui rose in her vision, she inhaled. When La rose, she exhaled. After a time, she closed her eyes.

Projecting her spirit felt similar to the falling sensation she’d get when laying in bed. She moved forward without moving, and when Katara opened her eyes, she was at the edge of the pond. Standing, she looked back at her body. That was always disconcerting.

Facing the pond again, Katara dove between the spirits. Without having to breathe, Katara swam down for longer than her physical lungs could manage. At some point, the swim down flipped to a swim up and Katara broke the surface of another pond.

It was a full moon, and usually Yue was waiting for her here.

But no Yue.

Pulling herself up, Katara looked around. The landscape of the spirit world fascinated her and some of the fauna approached her in curiosity. Being connected to La, Katara radiated with a dark light that was only possible in this realm. Some spirits kept their distance, whispering the phrase “vattu,” but neither Yue nor Thuy could tell her what that meant.

Regardless, she wasn’t threatened, wearing the scales of La, so Katara started to walk about. A breeze she couldn’t feel ruffled the long purple grass, making the sloping hills around her undulate.

In the distance, Katara saw the tiny figures of bipeds and she squinted. Iroh and Rohan explained to her that Airbenders were able to access the Spirit World easily, and a handful of others that could master their spiritual balance. Katara had yet to run into other humans in all of her visits, but Yue assured her that there were plenty around.

“Looking for me?” Yue asked, directly behind Katara. She laughed as Katara jumped, whirling around.

“I was beginning to think I was being stood up.” Katara remarked, making Yue smile.

“I had something take longer than I thought.” She said and Katara narrowed her eyes.

“So what were you looking at?” Yue asked, floating past her.

“Are those humans?” Katara asked, turning back and pointing to a far hill. The figures were gone.

“Hmm, always possible.” Yue said, rolling in the air like a seal. Becoming a fully-fledged spirit had relaxed her apparently. She was like this a lot of the time; ethereal and fluid.

“You now, I never asked, but what does being the moon spirit entail?” Katara questioned, continuing her aimless walk.

“Does it need to be something?” Yue questioned. “Is there something about being the ocean spirit?”

Katara scoffed, casting Yue an incredulous look.

“Of course. Blood, boats, and babies.” She retorted and Yue rolled her eyes.

“You’re really fond of your quips.”

“I’m serious. You know our people, we live and die by the ocean. Salt water runs in humanity’s veins, and amniotic fluid is salty. But boats sink, humans drown, and sea water is poisonous. Life and death exists in the ocean.” Katara explained, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.

“So what is the moonlight?” Yue pondered, tapping her lips with one slim finger.

“Yearning.” Katara murmured and Yue paused. Her hair and robes continued on for a moment, flowing in the watery air.

“Oh?”

Katara laughed and looked around.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of being here.” She said instead.

Yue nodded and rolled over, flipping to look in the same direction.

“We just have to be careful. Time passes differently here, and we want you to have a body to return to.” She said.

“That’s alarming.” Katara laughed.

“Do you want to try to find the humans?” Yue inquired.

“What if they’re not humans?”

“We’ll be fine.”

They traveled on, moving in what they both assumed was an arc to keep close to the pond. While the thought of skipping the next few days was appealing, Katara didn’t want to go back to a grave.

“So what’s bothering you?” Yue asked and Katara sighed.

“There’s just so much. After the last lunar eclipse, I just don’t really have the energy to deal with it anymore.” She replied.

“Those are always scary for me. I can’t feel you or anything, and I don’t like being so helpless.” Yue said.

“At least you don’t have a physical body. I think that’s how I’m going to die.” Katara muttered.

“Oh, no, that was the same for me when I was alive. I had to stay in the oasis during an eclipse because I almost died each time.” Yue corrected and Katara winced.

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Yue flashed her a grin and swam forward again. “So how’s Zuko?”

“He’s…” Katara drifted and looked away.

“What’s the matter?”

“How did it feel when you knew that no matter what, you weren’t going to be able to marry Sokka?”

When Yue stayed quiet, Katara looked back at her. Still floating in the air, Yue was looking off in the distance.

“I’m guessing you mean before I died.” She said.

“Yeah.”

Yue sighed and rocked backward, reclining in the air.

“There just wasn’t another option for me. There was a war going on, and my father needed the support.” She answered.

“I know you said that I should marry Zuko and become Fire Lady, but I don’t know if that’s what our tribe needs.” Katara said. “I love him so much, but every world leader is standing in our way.”

“Every single one?” Yue questioned.

Katara frowned and waved her away.

“Near about.” She muttered.

“There’s the two of you, and I think that should be enough.” Yue stated primly.

“On what authority?” Katara pushed Yue’s floating body and watched her lazily rotate.

“On my own authority, as the spirit of yearning.” She needled and Katara groaned.

“I just want to know everything is going to work out.” She said and Yue lowered herself, putting her feet on the ground. With her hair and robes, it still looked like she was made of silk, being pulled through the water.

“Katara,” Yue said and took her hands. “What does that even mean?”

Her flippant question, coming from a serene and godly face, made Katara laugh.

“No seriously.” Yue continued, sounding on the edge of laughter herself. “Things can work out, but how you feel about it depends on so many things. I mean, look at me.”

“You? Look at me!” Katara countered. “I’m some kind of Avatar knock off with this miserable little connection.”

“What are you worried about?” Yue pressed.

Lowering her head, Katara sighed again. She ran her thumbs over the backs of Yue’s hands, desperate to feel something.

“I just don’t want my desires to overcome me again. I want to know that I’m not going to hurt anyone and that this choice, this marriage, it’s not going to ruin anything.” Katara explained.

“Is that what you think happened?” Yue asked.

Katara shook her head.

“If it was fate, it’s not my fault, right? It was supposed to happen. But that’s so dumb.” Katara looked back up at Yue. “I chose that for all the wrong reasons. I want some confirmation that I’m choosing this for the right ones.”

“Well, we both know you’re not going to listen to me.” Yue said and swung their hands back and forth.

“What do you mean?” Katara asked, affronted.

“I’ve already told you my answer and you’ve obviously ignored it if you’re still being a baby about this.” Yue answered and released her hands.

“Hey!” Katara chased after her as Yue floated back into the sky.

“Wait, do you feel that?” Yue asked, pausing and rotating around.

“Yeah…” Katara murmured, also looking around. The air was warm, which was impossible since she didn’t have a physical body.

“The veil is thinner here. I wonder…” Yue drifted, in thought and body, and Katara watched her.

“It’s the solstice!” Yue chirped.

“What?” Katara exclaimed but Yue patted her hands in the air.

“Calm down. I told you time is different here. You’re still fine, I can see you at the pond.” She said.

“Well which solstice?” Katara demanded.

Yue regarded the empty space, rolling over to examine the patch of nothing from other angles.

“Definitely summer, and in the northern hemisphere. But I can’t tell if it’s a past one or future one.” She said.

“The past?” Katara stepped closer to the spot Yue regarded, trying to see what Yue did.

“Sure, why do you think so many humans are desperate to get here? The potential to see the future is too tempting to pass up.” Yue said and straightened. “It’s a good thing the monks and some very confused Waterbenders are the ones who usually manage to find their way.”

“Is someone trying to come through?” Katara asked, taking a step back.

“Maybe. Spots like this open up all the time and no one notices them.” Yue shrugged. “I mean, a lot of them are miles in the air or deep underwater, but eh.”

“I think we should head back.” Katara said.

The empty patch started to shimmer and she took a few more steps back.

A figure walked through the patch, making Yue yelp. He was tall and his long hair was clipped back. His topknot and pointed beard made Katara’s absent heart stop.

It took her a moment to realize that this man had a different face than Roku, and she recognized it just as the man recognized her.

“Katara?” Zuko asked.

He was forty years older than she had last seen him.

“Zuko.” Katara whispered as Zuko looked over his shoulder. He looked back at her, confused.

It made her laugh.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in-” He started but Katara shushed him, waving her hands in the air.

“Ssh! I’m not there yet!” She said sharply. “I’m still, I mean, we haven’t… Spirits, we do end up getting married, right?”

Zuko stared at her before doubling over, laughing.

“Married? You look so young.” He wheezed.

“I’m twenty-five!” Katara balked.

“Hello Zuko, it’s been awhile.” Yue interrupted and Zuko stood, his chest still jumping as he contained his mirth.

“Yue, I know you’ve been busy.” He said.

“So you know!” Katara accused.

Yue gave another of her fairylike shrugs.

“I know sometimes. This hadn’t happened yet, so I didn’t know. But also, I’ve met you both over and over through the years. I can only tell you things linearly since that’s how your minds work.” She explained. “Once you ascend, you’ll understand.”

“Asce-” Katara squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. Nevermind. That’s a tomorrow conversation.”

“Katara, I’m surprised to see you. But it’s...wow.” Zuko said and approached. Katara lowered her hand and found him right in front of her.

If she had a pulse, it would have thundered up her neck to make her blush to her hairline.

Spirits above and below he was still handsome.

“I always said you are as beautiful as the day I met you.” He said, taking her face in his hands.

Katara would have ripped the spirit world apart to have her body here.

“I probably look like my grandmother.” She mumbled.

The corner of his mouth hitched.

“Do you want me to tell you?” He asked.

Katara sputtered and he laughed.

“Blazes, I know you’re my wife but I feel like a lecherous old man.” Zuko said and lowered his hands.

“So we get married?” She asked meekly.

“We do. And so far, you’ve stayed married to me.” He replied.

“I want to ask about so many things, but that feels like it’s cheating.”

“It does take the fun out of things.”

“But can you tell me if everything ends up okay? I mean, you’re here, we’re still married, so everything works out, right?” Katara questioned.

Zuko stroked his beard, looking so much more like his uncle with that simple gesture.

“There’s a lot that happens in the forty-some years. A lot I’d love to change or avoid.” He mused. He shook his head and crossed his arms loosely at his chest.

“We’re all safe and happy. Everyone that you know and love is fine.” Zuko said.

“And us? We’re still, how we are now?” Katara questioned. Her tone caught him off guard and he looked surprised.

“Katara, if anything, you and I get better.” He said.

The empty patch behind him shimmered again and Yue clapped her hands.

“Well, time to go!” She said.

“But I want to see!” Katara pleaded as Yue grabbed her arm.

“Say goodbye to your husband.” She said and Katara pulled against her.

“Wait!” She said, but Yue pulled her up, launching them both miles into the sky.

As Yue dragged her back to the pond, Katara tried to keep the image of the woman who started through the portal. Her hair was long and curly, tied back in loops. She was so young.

~

“Who was that?” Riza asked.

Zuko patted her back and they started forward.

“Your mother.” He said.

“What?” Riza shrieked and Zuko chuckled, stroking her hair.

“She hasn’t gotten to that part yet, and you were absolutely meant to be a surprise.” He said.

“Da-ad!” Riza whined, pulling on his arm.

“You’re just trying to get out of finding Bumju. You lost him and it’s your responsibility to find him.” Zuko said.

“UGH.”

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[jedimasterbailey]

A sneak preview of the next chapter of my fic “The Padawans” in which Vader thinks of Ahsoka and Luminara as he plans his fated rematch with Barriss. Includes a flashback to a conversation between Anakin and Luminara post “Brain Invaders” that we should have seen! Link to the fic below, enjoy and thank you for the support 💚💙❤️

Darth Vader stares out to the busy metropolis of Coruscant from his personal quarters in the Imperial Palace, lost in thought. Behind the bulbous black eyes that served as the Sith Lord’s window to the world were tired blue ones still hoping to catch a glimpse of the former residence of Padme Amidala, the deceased wife of Anakin Skywalker. It was moments like this where the former Jedi Knight missed the Senator deeply. For Vader was about to encounter another ghost from his past, Anakin’s past. Soon Vader will be face to face with Luminara Unduli in the very place she used to call home, a home he destroyed.

In the months after the rise of the Empire, Palpatine had the Jedi Temple renovated into his own personal palace. Although the bodies of the dead Jedi have been long excavated and the relics of the Jedi long destroyed, echoes of the past were everywhere. Vader could still see the destruction he caused and he could still hear the terrified screams of the younglings and Knights that were at his mercy. No amount of refurbishment could ever erase what he had done. It was because of this that Vader avoided the palace as much as he could. The Sith apprentice despised being in the place Anakin Skywalker and his Jedi family once resided in. However, if being here resulted in the reappearance of Barriss Offee, then Vader will do what must be done.

The plan was simple. Luminara will be the bait and once Barriss was right where the Dark Lord needed her, Luminara would be disposed of. Vader wanted the Mirialan to feel the same scorching pain he felt on Mustafar when Obi-wan left him for dead. If he couldn’t have his Master’s love, neither could she.

Victory was inevitable. Anakin may have been weak, but if Barriss couldn’t defeat him, then she didn’t stand a chance against Vader, especially with a broken heart. Vader will prove Sidious wrong; that the girl is unworthy of the title of Darth or worth the attention of Ahsoka Tano.

Yet despite his quest for vengeance, Vader was admittedly nervous to see Luminara again. For months he has avoided contact, leaving the Grand Inquisitor to handle the matter. Seeing the woman Anakin viewed as a mother figure beaten and bruised by his own henchman was the last thing Vader wanted to do. It was no different than the Sith avoiding Padme’s tomb on Naboo; he could not face what he has done. As hard as the Emperor had tried to snuff it out, Anakin’s spirit was still trapped inside the machine that was his body. Vader was going to have to kill the one person he knew was Luminara’s whole heart and the Anakin part of him hated him for it.

The cyborg then walks over to a bedside table, the very table Anakin used to hold such possessions, and opens the drawer that contained the last pieces of his Jedi past he refused to part with. In one hand he held one of Ahsoka’s lightsabers and in the other, her Padawan beads.

Vader did not believe for a moment that his former apprentice was gone. Ahsoka had managed to survive situations that would have killed more experienced Jedi. He had taught her how to outsmart the enemy and how to defy seemingly impossible odds. The lightsaber had merely been a decoy and the presence of Morai was confirmation. Somewhere out there, Ahsoka Tano was alive and one day, they would meet again. Vader was sure of it.

“Forgive me, for what I’m about to do.” Vader says to the items in his hands. He didn’t know who exactly he was talking to; Ahsoka or Luminara. Regardless, the Dark Lord thinks back to a time where both women were safe and within arms reach.

Feeling ecstatic that Ahsoka has woken up from her healing trance after her encounter with the Geonosian parasites, Anakin takes it upon himself to find food for his Padawan. Just before the mess hall was a small lounge where visitors could sit and wait while the healers worked on patients. Having been up for several hours on end between their mission on Geonosis and waiting for Ahsoka to wake up, Anakin wanted to grab a cup a caf before waiting in line for food. Upon entering the quiet room, the Jedi Knight was baffled to see a very miserable Luminara Unduli staring into her own beverage.

The Mirialan’s hands were shaking and her eyes were red and puffy, presumably from crying. Never in all his years of knowing the Jedi Master has Anakin seen her look so broken. He takes a seat beside Luminara and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Master?”

Luminara raises her head up to meet the young man’s gaze, fresh tears streaming down her face, “Is Ahsoka alright?”

Anakin nods, “She just woke up. Physically, she’s on the mend, it’s her mind I’m worried about. Our Padawans have been through a lot, more than I’d like to think about.”

“Yes... our girls deserve so much more.” Luminara sighs, grabbing tissue to dry her eyes.

“Barriss is going to come through too, she’s strong and resilient like her Master.” Anakin says gently, earning a watery laugh from the woman.

“I’m not sure about that Skywalker... I’ve failed as a Master.” Luminara professes sadly.

Anakin would hear none of it, “Now hold on a second, you have not failed Barriss. None of this is your fault!”

Luminara shakes her head, “I’ve almost lost her twice within a day. It’s my job to protect her and I’ve failed. According to Master Fisto, Barriss’s head scans indicate that she may have suffered some head trauma between the worm and the extreme cold. First, she almost suffocates after blowing up a whole factory with herself still in it only to then get infected by a parasite hours later! Who knows how she’ll be when she wakes up!”

“Perhaps you were right all along. Maybe I should have accompanied Barriss inside the catacombs instead of endangering your student. Maybe I should have gone with the girls on that supply run. There were plenty of Jedi to interagate Poggle and Ahsoka would have been safer in your care. I’ve been a fool! I’m so sorry Anakin and I owe Ahsoka an apology too!”

Anakin then wraps an arm around the woman and pulls her close, “You're being way too hard on yourself, Luminara. You’re forgetting that there were a lot of factors that were beyond our control. Your plan on Geonosis was good! We probably would’ve been successful without it because Force knows I don’t think things through, I’m glad someone was doing the thinking!

“The assignment given to the Padawans was more than reasonable. I’m sure Ahsoka was thrilled to see Barriss’s photographic memory at work and I really do need to work on trusting her. You weren’t planning on those slimy bugs getting in the way nor were you counting on one of those nasty worms infecting the troops on that shuttle. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people, but I think you should give yourself some grace!”

“If you’ve failed as a Master for things not according to plan, then I am a huge failure as well as Obi-wan and probably every other Jedi Master that’s ever lived. You saw how well his plan went when he thought he could talk sense into the Queen of bugs. You were just seconds away from being possessed!” Anakin argues, rolling his eyes at the memory of Obi-wan’s curiosity.

“Rest assured, I’ll be giving him plenty of grief for that!” Luminara smiles, her face brightening up a little, “But thank you Anakin... your kindness never fails to amaze me.”

“Let me know when you do because I’d love to see that. All things considered, he deserves a good beating.” Anakin winks with a playful nudge before getting serious again. “Did you want to see Barriss? I was going to grab something to eat for Ahsoka, but if you need the company, I’d walk with you.”

Luminara nods, “Yes, I wanted to give you and Ahsoka some time alone especially since it may be a while before Barriss wakes up given her injuries.”

Anakin beams at the Jedi Master. For as long as he’s known Luminara, she has always been considerate and gentle with his needs.

“I appreciate that, Master.”

“Can I ask you something?” Luminara says with a far off look on her face.

“Anything.”

“Did you really believe that I gave up on Barriss when the factory went down?” Luminara asks calmly, but Anakin could tell from her breathing that it was a facade.

“No.” Anakin admits allowing Luminara to exhale a sigh of relief, “I allowed my fear to get the better of me and I took it out on you. You were trying to console me and even when I didn’t deserve it, you never got upset with me. You were hurting just as much as I was and I was selfish. I know better than that! Of course you care about Barriss! I owe you an apology Master, I’m sorry.”

Luminara begins to cry again startling the Jedi Knight, “Did I say something wrong?”

Luminara shakes her head.

“No! I’m just so relieved!” Luminara sobs, putting her face in her hands.

“Oh, good! I’m sure Obi-wan would kill me if I upset you.” Anakin chuckles, rising to offer a hand to Luminara.

“Walk with me back to the girl’s room? I gotta stop and get Snips some food, but I’m sure she’d love your company. And who knows? Maybe Barriss will wake up! I’m sure your face is the first one she’d want to see.”

With a smile as bright as the twin suns of Tatooine, Luminara graciously accepts Anakin’s hand, “I’d love to.”

Gingerly placing the lightsaber and beads back where he found them, Vader turns to leave the room, sensing the Grand Inquisitor’s presence as well as a weakened Luminara. For the sake of his sanity, the Dark Lord prayed his true identity stayed a secret with the prisoner.