#let the child unleash his inner violence

[fedorah-the-explorah]

i think player should be able to deck gray. just once. as a treat.

[indigomarina]

Hazbin OC x Canon Week Day 3 - Redemption (SwanSong)

For @hazbinocxcanon Warning: cults, heavily implied abuse, implied character death, yandere behavior from Sylvia.

Sylvia's not really 'redeemed' so much as she's in a much more better space mentally, etc. Sylvia is from this for those who want more of her (though, please proceed with caution, it's..a lot)

Sylvia sits alone in their living room, staring off into the distance. Her mind drifts back to her childhood growing up in that cult - the harsh indoctrination, the strict rules, the punishments for disobedience. She shudders, remembering how scared and confused she felt as a little girl. "No child should have to go through that… They stole my innocence, my freedom, before I could even speak." Flashes of being a rebellious, misguided teenager, lashing out with violence and getting in with the wrong circles. The shame, the self-loathing, the aimlessness. And then finally, a sharp pain at the back of her skull and then silence... "I was so lost back then. If it wasn't for discovering my divine purpose…"

Sylvia's heart brimmed with memories of a time when she felt utterly lost and consumed by fear. But then, a miraculous moment unfolded as she soared towards the heavens, forever etching a sense of awe and wonder in her soul.

She thinks of the day she manifested her angelic powers and was recruited into the exorcists. How it gave her life new meaning and direction, a way to unleash her fury on the deserving.

"For the first time, I felt in control, strong… powerful. It was intoxicating." Sylvia said, smiling faintly. But even that couldn't fill the gnawing void inside her. Not until she met HIM. Sylvia's face softens as she remembers laying eyes on Adam for the first time. "My brave, fearless warrior. My king, my earth and sky. My destiny…" Sylvia finally reunited with her three other sisters, her only remaining family members. Despite their past issues, she had longed for their presence. It was a bit uncomfortable to see her father after so long, considering their strained relationship when they were alive. However, in the end, Sylvia was overjoyed to see him and vice versa. She gazes around their beautiful home, "And now look at me - I have everything I ever wanted." She hears the front door open and turns to see Adam entering, looking exhausted from a long day's work. "Hey babe, sorry I'm - oof!" Adam said, yawning before Sylvia jumped up and rushes over, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug. She catches Adam off guard, but he chuckles and returns the embrace. "Ooh, someone's affectionate already. Everything okay?" Adam asked. Sylvia beamed up at him, "Everything is wonderful, my love. I was just thinking about how blessed I am to have you in my life, to call you my husband." Adam grinned, "Well, I am pretty amazing. Nice to see you finally admitting it." Sylvia playfully swats at him, "Incorrigible beast." However, she grew serious, "But truly, Adam, you are the light of my world. My safe harbor in the storm." Sylvia said, stroking his cheek tenderly. "I love you with every fiber of my being." Adam was momentarily stunned by her intensity, but then smiled warmly, "Love you too, Sylvie." She pulls him down for a soul-searching kiss, her way of saying thank you - for being her salvation, her redemption, her everything. When they finally part, Sylvia is radiant with joy. "Come, my heart. Let's go make the most of our beautiful forever." Sylvia said wistfully She takes his hand and leads him off toward the bedroom. For tonight at least, Sylvia's inner darkness is kept at bay, banished by the shining force of her love for her husband. Whatever shadows may have haunted her in the past, in this moment, she is deliriously, blissfully happy.

[blackiraven]

Wow! I am very glad that someone was interested in reading my headcannons, so here is the second part!🧡💚

Part 1

Since childhood, John has been an embittered child for the whole world. He was just thrown into a harsh life. Without support, without care, all alone. Jonathan was constantly suffering from thoughts of why everyone was rejecting him, ignoring him, mocking him. He drowned out this mental pain with physical pain: he scratched himself, cut himself, bit his tongue and lips, and, so that there was not much blood, fresh wounds could be cauterized with matches or hot coals. And meanwhile, anger and hatred began to sprout in the child's soul.

There was a period when he took out his anger on animals. John could poison or torture a bird, cat, dog or rodent and thus get short-term relief. But at some point Jonathan realized that these animals did not deserve such a cruel death, that they were not to blame and did not want to offend him. They were afraid of him, they wanted to live and fought for it. And John was able to overcome the knacker inside himself. Now he has a tamed flock of guard crows and a cat. By the way, Velvet just once accidentally wandered into the Scarecrow's lair to hide from the downpour, and she decided to stay here. He didn't mind.  

Edward was a sweet and good boy, but he was also subjected to violence, humiliation and indifference. He craved attention, care, but eventually withdrew into himself and began to avoid communication and acquaintances with peers, even when one of them tried to make friends with Edward. The boy tried to collect simple collections in order to be a little happy. These were collections of dried flowers, beautiful pebbles, pictures created from puzzles, and the like. But Edward's parents did not like this hobby, and the collection started ended up in the trash. The only value left after leaving the parental home is a prize for solving a puzzle at a school fair. And from now on, Edward made acquaintances only for his own benefit and did not let anyone into his inner world. Thanks to this, he developed charisma and attractiveness (yes, my Eddie blossomed from a cutie into a cunning and insidious hot bitch. And many secretly desire him🌚)

Before meeting Edward, John had never had a relationship. He never kissed, never held someone's hand, did not know warm and gentle hugs, did not hear affectionate compliments. It's the same with sexual experience. Riddler became Dr. Jonathan Crane's first love. Just imagine how hard and awkward it was for him to show signs of attention after ten years of loneliness.

Edward is more experienced. During his student years, he had several relationships. Edward also had brief affairs when he became Gotham's new villain. But Edward always broke all these ties. These were new collections of exes, broken hearts, personal stories and experiences.

Crane and Nygma had drunk kissed for the first time, and also had drunk sex. Both happened to be at the Iceberg Lounge one night and when Scarecrow became emboldened after drinking a lot of alcohol, he waited for the right moment and took the completely drunk Riddler. There was already a conflict between them, so Jonathan decided to take a chance, to reveal all the cards, as he suffered terribly because of love. At first, Edward resisted, but quickly got carried away and also enjoyed himself. This heartbreaker immediately realized that John was a total virgin, and managed to put pressure on this sore point (Edward is botton yes, I like this type🌚)

After that, when they occasionally saw each other, Edward taught John how to kiss properly, how to properly provide affection and the rest. Nygma liked to keep this charming idiot on a leash, but Crane can unleash the inner beast and take all control. Edward will never admit that he likes it🌚

Thanks for your attention! Maybe I can write the third part, but only if you want to😏

[awanderingmuse-ficrec]

Dragon of the Yuyan Series

Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender

Author: theawkwardpenguin @awkwardpenguinproductions

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Strong Language, Major Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, Racism, Colonialism, Alcohol

Word Count: 137, 313

Characters: Zuko,  Commander Toshiaki (OC), Kai, (OC), unnamed OCs, Ozai, Iroh, Azula, Commander Atsuko (OC), Yuyan Archers, Chihese Squad (OCs), Captain Hiroki (OC), Sergeant Mika (OC), Private Jiyoti (OC), Master Ryoichi (OC), Various tertiary OCs, Jet, Sokka, Katara, Aang, The Gaang,  Freedom Fighters, Smellerbee, Pipsqueak, Toph Beifong, Joo Dee, Haili Squad (OCs), OCs out the wazoo, Zhao, Appa, Momo, Bato, Pakku, Arnook, Yue, General Fong, Mai, Ty Lee, Bumi, Toph Beifong's Parents, The Dangerous Ladies, Wan Shi Tong, Professor Zei, Suki, Gansu, Sela, Lee, Than, Ying, Than's Sister, Piandao, Jin, Lao Beifong, Long Feng, Dai Li, The Blue Spirit,  Hakoda, Aang, Jee, Zuko's Crew, The Duke, Huu, Foggy Swamp Waterbenders, The Mechanist, Teo, Tyro, Haru, The Boulder, The Hippo, The Painted Lady, Order Of The White Lotus, Fat, Hama

Tags: POV Zuko, Yuyan Raise Zuko, Semi-Feral Child, Ozai is an Asshole, Flashbacks, some instances of suicidal thoughts, Zuko is a hurtin' puppy, Pre-Series, One F-Bomb, that might become a thing, because it amuses me, Inspired by MuffinLance's Tumblr, Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Discussion of child abuse and abandonment, Ozai Being a Terrible Parent, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, OC-centric, Past Abuse, baby steps to badassery, OC is an asshole, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, bad days suck, but your Yuyan Archer squad always has your back, Zuko Angst, Panic Attacks, Hijinks & Shenanigans, this part is almost entirely "teenagers doing stupid shit", what did you expect when you put a bunch of highly skilled teenagers in a military base?, plot is minimal but existent, handwaving Fire Nation war tech because I can't find satisfying answers, Zuko-centric, Zuko meets Jet, and is completely turned off, S1Ep10 "Jet", slightly out of continuity, both in terms of canon and this series, but someone asked on tumblr, and this came out, Zuko's just joined the Gaang and is still figuring things outs, 2e14 City of Walls and Secrets, Ba Sing Se is SUPER CREEPY, and Zuko HATES IT, inspired by @muffinlance's lovely AU concepts, just a little peek into a new AU I'm working on, dear G-d what have I done, just in case, TW: military action, TW: Vomiting, TW: hunting animals for food, none of this is hugely graphic,  but just in case, if I miss anything please please please let me know, Zuko being a curious bean, is it treason?, or is it "reasonable response"?, based on a throwaway line in THAT episode, WARNING: this one's gonna hurt, sorry, No happy ending here, Beware ye who enter here, Hurt No Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, TW: mistreatment of prisoners of war, TW: forced suicide, trauma aftermath, disillusioned former prince plots treason, Toshiaki unleashes his inner Commander Dad, Nightmares, Kai is a good bro, Midnight Rooftop Discussions, oblique references to canon events, based on MuffinLance's YuyanAdoptZuko Tumblr post, IT BEGINS, Episode: s01e13 The Blue Spirit, Zhao is a jerk, lots of f-bombs in this one, because Zuko is a soldier, and he's also really really done with Zhao's bull, shit, tried really hard not to just rewrite the whole episode, hope it worked, Zuko is actually really competent, Aang is a child, LITERALLLY, he's TWELVE, And tinybased on MuffinLance's Tumblr series #Yuyan Raise Zuko, in case I haven't said it before: THIS SERIES WILL NOT CONTAIN ROMANTIC SHIPS, I'm a little gen sailboat and like it that way, (apologies to maychorian for stealing her blog title), but it is EXTREMELY relevant, anyway, introductions, Sokka needs more sleep, dammit Aang stop picking up strays, Sokka is a nerd, Katara is conflicted, THIS IS THE ONE YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, Zuko meets the Gaang, do I need to keep using that tag? it's pretty obvious at this point, Zuko loves animals, POV Bato, Episode: s01e15 Bato of the Water Tribe, another one I wasn't planning on writing but did anyway, Bato needs therapy, Zuko needs THERAPY, Everyone Needs Therapy, Guys. Sokka is actually an authority figure. He's the SON OF THE CHIEF, everyone can have a tiny bit of world building. as a treat, Post-Episode: s01e16 The Deserter, Zuko has ISSUES with Jeong-Jeong, and firebending as it is currently taught, LOTS of ASL grammar, Aang is still learning sign, he's not quite code-switching yet, Zuko talks to himself in sign, Sokka has no fear, short and sweet, nearly drove myself crazy with this bullshit, my beta reader is a goddess and she saved my ass, all the fish ever for all time to her, Firebending & Firebenders, Episode: s01e18 The Waterbending Master, it's been a whopping five minutes and Zuko already hates the North Pole, it's freaking cold, the people are not nearly as friendly as they first appear, Katara challenges the patriarchy and Zuko suffers, Katara and Zuko like to giggle at Sokka being a dork, Episode: s01e19-20 The Siege of the North, Zhao's here to fuck shit up, Zuko does not have a good time, nobody has a good time, get y'all some tissues, remember how I've been saying that I'm not changing major canon events?, Yeah I'm sorry, Pyrrhic Victory, all hail Koizilla, Episode: s02e01 The Avatar State, this is basically just a chance for Zuko to meet the disaster human that is Fong, not really much to tag here, honestly if I keep going the tags list might end up being longer than the fic itself, just let me know if you want me to tag anything here, Short & Sweet, ummm.... this might be really sad?, an interlude, very short, Episode: s02ep03 "Return to Omashu", in which Zuko's past comes back to kill him, enter the Dangerous Ladies, Aang is a dumbass sometimes, the Gaang has one braincell between them, most of the time Zuko's the one who holds it, he really would rather not thanks, Omashu is basically a ninja's playground, who WOULDN'T want to go parkouring through that place???, Episode: s02e04 The Swamp, Shor, tshort and weird, Zuko can't get over how creepy this place is, not much else to add, special guest star, TOPH SMASH!!!, Toph Being Awesome, Badass Toph Beifong, Episode: s02e06 The Blind Bandit, HERE SHE IS Y'ALL, i hope i did her justice!, Toph is done with everyone's bullshit, I tried really hard not to use visual descriptions guys let me know if it worked,   how does one communicate when one can't talk and the other can't see?, LET'S FIND OUT, Let Toph Say Fuck 2020, Episode: s02e08 The Chase, SHIT HITS THE FAN Y'ALL, Azula is her own warning, Major Character Injury, Sokka is sleep deprived, the babies are fighting, Zuko is done with everyone's shit, Episode: s02e09 Bitter Work, lots of talking, and Toph kicking butt, Zuko is the worst patient, commiserating about shitty families, finding yourself through getting your ass kicked by a twelve year old, Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, i don't make the rules, Hurt Zuko, Zuko is a firebending master, and Toph is an earthbending master, Zuko Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, (need to think of an in-universe name for it), Episode: s02e10 The Library, I know it's been a while, but everyone should remember that Zuko is in fact a prince, with all of the training in diplomacy that implies, Wan Shi Tong isn't unreasonable, he just wants to be left alone with his books, Sokka's a moron but we love him anyway, yes y'all can have a little canon-divergance, as a treat, Rating for Language, (Zuko's a former soldier after all), Episode: s02e12 The Serpent's Pass, guest starring the family from Zuko Alone, enter: Suki!, hey hey the Gaang's all here!, honestly this is more exposition and backstory than real plot, but hopefully now things are a little more clear, TW: Profound Grief, tw: perceived character death, TW: suicidal thoughts, Iroh does not have a good time, at least for the first part, POV Iroh, Iroh is a Good Uncle, Iroh Loves Tea, Let me know if I missed any tags, Episode: s02e14 City of Walls and Secrets, or rather elements thereof, Iroh meets the Gaang, Iroh adopts the Gaang, honestly this one's pretty chill, not much going on past Zuko and Iroh catching up and Zuko dragging Iroh home to meet his friends, ONCE AGAIN: FAKE DATING AU, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I swear the Zutara is only like 30 seconds and neither characters are happy about it, Fake dating for infiltration purposes, someone want to come up with an ATLA version of James Bond?, cause this is it, Episode: s02e15 Tales of Ba Sing Se, fluff and nonsense, and a tiny bit of plot, wait, how did PLOT get into my FLUFF???, that's frustrating, Iroh's living out his teashop au, Aang and Zuko stop in to help, and get some wisdom, and some tea, everybody loves iroh, including the gaang, some dialogue taken from Episode: s02e09 Bitter Work, I'm sure you can guess what dialogue, Episode: s02e17 Lake Laogai, the Blue Spirit strikes again!, co-starring: the Little Badgermole!, Mission: IMPOSSIBLE (ATLA edition), Zuko finally puts his training to use, are you telling me Toph can SEE UNDERGROUND, and canon DIDN'T PUT THIS INFORMATION TO USE????, in an UNDERGROUND FORTRESS????, Toph gets her life-changing field trip with Zuko, Episode: s02e20 The Crossroads of Destiny, Canon Temporary Character Death, if you've seen the episode you know what happens, Protective Sokka,  Big Brother Sokka,  basically just Sokka processing the events of Sacrifice, which means run on sentences and a lot of cursing, honestly not super thrilled with this one but it's done and it needed to be written, Episode: s03e01 The Awakening, Episode Tag, remember how in The Awakening, Katara had said that Aang had been asleep for "a few weeks"?, I'm taking that literally, ie potentially murdering prisoners, Hakoda's a nice guy but he IS the leader of an army/nation, please let me know what else I should tag, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, also language, pretty much every character in this fic is some kind of combatant, and therefore there is swearing, a lot of swearing, Racism, Colonialism, Alcohol, Episode: s03e02 The Headband, what was the gaang doing while Aang was at school?, Fire Nation Cuisine, my inner foodie comes out in this, Mostly Fluff, there's a brief instance of Zuko/Katara but they're undercover and it's NOT REAL, Episode: s03e03 The Painted Lady, Pollution,  Effects of Pollution, Starvation, Ozai Being an Asshole,  Ozai is a BAD leader, this has effects on his nation, Protective Zuko, Zuko will be a GOOD leader, Zuko cares about his people A LOT, Environmental Terrorism, ecoterrorism, Episode: s03e04 Sokka's Master, that feeling when your friend walks up to a random castle, and knocks on the door, and the answering butler addresses him by the name that has a warrant out for his arrest, just a fun little thing, I love this episode, Let The Gaang Stay at Piandao's 2k21, Episode: s03e06 The Avatar and the Fire Lord, you cannot tell me that everyone just sat around while Aang was chatting with Roku, volcanic beach vacay, pure fluff, no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever, Episode: s01e17 The Northern Air Temple, zuko is conflicted, but only for a little bit, sokka and the mechanist are science bros, zuko gets to be a big brother, fist bumps are a fire nation thing???, one of those instances where I didn't expect the characters to react the way that they did, Episode: s03e08 The Puppet, mastertried to keep it creepy, dunno how well I succeeded, also this was really hard to write and if it's crap I apologize, like don't be mean about it but seriously tell me what I screwed up and how so I can fix it, this fic is not Hama friendly, it is not SUPPOSED to be Hama friendly, if you're here just to yell at me for not being Hama friendly then you can just scoot on out, Bloodbending,  Hama Is Her Own Warning, why is that not a tag?, Episode s03e09: Nightmares and Daydreams, Episode: s03e10 The Day of Black Sun Part 1: The Invasion, Aang is sleep deprived and aangsty, Zuko is a Good Brother, Toshiaki returns!, Episode: s03e11 The Day of Black Sun Part 2: The Eclipse, War, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Badass Zuko

Inspired by MuffinLance's #Yuyan Raise/Adopt Zuko on Tumblr.

In which Zuko is fostered/adopted/raised/recruited by the Yuyan Archers of Pouhai Stronghold, and destiny hiccups.

Updates Saturdays, unless it doesn't

Now posted: Part 39- Rendezvous

Notes:

ALL CREDIT FOR THIS CONCEPT GOES TO MUFFINLANCE AND HER TUMBLR AND EVERYONE WHO ADDED TO THE TAG.

ALL NAMED OCS IN THIS SERIES BELONG TO ME (00AwkwardPenguin00 and @awkwardpenguinproductions)

Part 1: Anchor Point

Zuko is so freaking hungry, and the Pouhai Stronghold is the only sign of civilization he's seen in six months. Sneaking inside is hilariously simple, until it's not. At least he's not a pincushion (yet), but it'd be really nice if he could understand what the bow-toting security guards were saying.

In which Zuko is adopted by a troop of silent ninja-archers.

Inspired by MuffinLance's #Yuyan Raise Zuko.

Part 2: Conflict of Interest

Toshiaki, Troop Commander of the Yuyan Archers, has been a soldier for fifteen years. He has served his Fire Lord and his Nation loyally and faithfully. But when Commander Atsuko, CMO of Pouhai Stronghold, brings to light a shocking revelation, it opens the floodgates to questions Toshiaki isn't sure he knows how to answer.

Inspired by MuffinLance's #Yuyan Raise Zuko on Tumblr

Part 3: Melee

Zuko may not have had much going for him during those six months in the wilderness, but he had a knife. And now that he's eating better and more regularly, he's got fire. He's ready to start training with the Yuyan, but are the Yuyan ready for him?

Part 4: Camaraderie

Zuko's life seems to be turning around--things are really looking up, and life at the Stronghold is settling into a predictable routine. And then he looks at the mess hall calendar.

Part 5: Stealth

The first time is because of a prank.

The second time is because of a dare.

The third time is because of an injustice.

or

Three times Zuko wears the Blue Spirit mask.

Part 6: Mission

Zuko is finally going on a mission with Chihese Squad! Yeah, it's a simple (boring) escort mission, but it's his very first military action, and not even Kai's oversleeping is going to ruin it for him!

It doesn't, but something else does.

Part 7: Debrief

It's been two weeks since the events at Huzhen, and Zuko can't stop thinking. Commander Toshiaki helps, and plans are made.

Part 8: Rebellion

The prisoner is tiny, and Zuko is filled with rage at the sight. The time he's been waiting for has arrived.

Time to break out of the Stronghold, instead of breaking in.

Part 9: Alliance

Sokka and Katara are confronted with the idea that not everyone in the Fire Nation wants to destroy the world. Tui and La, Aang, stop picking up strays!

Part 10: Nemesis

Something about Jet is just off. Yeah, he's got skills, and a flair for the dramatic that Zuko can appreciate, but seriously, the guy is weird. Can they go now?

Zuko meets Jet, and is not impressed.

Part 11: Perspective

Bato is nearly healed from the skirmish with a Fire Nation patrol, and is just hanging around the Abbey until he hears from his Chief. Then his Chief's kids show up out of nowhere with the Avatar, and a mysterious scarred teenager armed to the teeth.

Part 12: Education

Aang asks a question. Zuko wants to strangle a man. A discussion on the nature of firebending ensues.

Part 13: Ascent

Teo and his people are pretty cool, even if they did completely screw up an ancient Air Temple. But opening doors reveals secrets, and presents Zuko with a conflict he hadn't quite anticipated when he'd left Pohuai.

Part 14: Confrontation

The North Pole is freaking cold, and Zuko is not enthused. Add in the fact that even the culture is as opposite to everything Zuko knows as anything could ever be, and he's in for a rough time.

It doesn't help that Katara's challenge to the patriarchy brings back some bad memories.

Part 15: Seige

In which the Northern Water Tribe is under attack.

Part 16: FUBAR

The fortress may be a joke, but Zuko's not laughing when the general in charge of it proposes a Bad Plan.

Part 17: Anniversary

Three years later.

Part 18: Occupation

Omashu has been conquered.

King Bumi is missing.

And of course now is the perfect time for Zuko's past to come roaring back.

Part 19: Mirage

The swamp is dark, and gross, and creepy as all get out. Zuko would really like to leave please.

Part 20: Miscommunication

Toph can't see.

Her new friend can't talk.

This may be a problem.

Part 21: Pursuit

There's a scary-looking tank train chasing them.

The kids are constantly fighting.

Sokka just wants to sleep, for spirits' sake.

Part 22: Exposure

In the aftermath of Azula, Zuko learns some stuff.

Part 23: Justification

Zuko would like to make it clear for the record that this entire thing is Sokka's fault.

Part 24: Escort

Zuko gets an up close and personal look at the effect the Fire Nation is having on the Earth Kingdom.

It's not pretty.

Part 25: Reconnaissance

Zuko hates Ba Sing Se. And the creepy lady that's following them everywhere is being disturbingly obstructionist. The sooner they do what they came here to do, the sooner they can freaking leave. Time to break out some of his special skills.

Inspired by MuffinLance's glorious #Yuyan Raises Zuko on Tumblr.

Part 26: Reconstruction

Three years ago.

Part 27: Contact

They've been in this dump for a week, and still no sign of Appa. Then Zuko stumbles upon a very familiar tea maker.

Part 28: Manipulation

A party. For a bear.

Zuko knows that the Yuyan are experts of infiltration and espionage, but this was NOT what he'd had in mind.

Part 29: R and R 

Where do you go when you need a break from the secret dystopian drama that is your life? Your uncle's tea shop of course.

Part 30: Extraction

They've spent way longer in this spirits-cursed city than they really should have, and Zuko's had enough. When Ba Sing Se's ridiculous bureaucracy shuts down their attempts to find Appa, he decides it's time to take matters into his own hands.

Part 31: Sacrifice

Their family is scattered, and somehow Azula has entered Ba Sing Se. Katara doesn't know how things can get much worse.

And then they do.

Part 32: Shock

Sokka is trying to wrap his brain around what just happened. He's not entirely sure he's successful.

Part 33: Recruitment

Gathering allies for a certain-to-be-suicidal attack on the capital of the Fire Nation is not a straightforward task.

Part 34: Infiltration

Katara didn't really know what to expect when they snuck into the Fire Nation, but somehow delicious food and a dance party were not it.

Part 35: Homefront

Zuko has known for years that Ozai does not have their nation's best interests at heart... so he's not sure why he's surprised to find a village in his own nation barely clinging to life.

Part 36: Materiel

Sokka wants to become a master sword fighter. Zuko knows exactly where to go.

Part 37: Message  

Avatar Roku has summoned Aang to join him for the Summer Solstice. The Gaang takes an opportunity for a break.

Part 38: Terrorism

In the forest on Kong Xin Island, no one can hear you scream.

Part 39: Rendezvous

Reassurances are given.

Preparations are made.

The Invasion is about to begin.

Part 40: Invasion

It is the Day of Black Sun, and the fate of the world comes down to a choice.

[rxshl]

(2)

It is easy to convince a child, and particularly an adolescent, that his desire to emulate Buck Rogers is ridiculous: he knows that it isn’t exactly Buck Rogers he has in mind and yet, simultaneously, it is—he feels caught in an inner contradiction—and this confirms his desolately embarrassing feeling that he is being ridiculous.

Thus the adults—whose foremost moral obligation toward a child, at this stage of his development, is to help him understand that what he loves is an abstraction, to help him break through into the conceptual realm—accomplish the exact opposite. They stunt his conceptual capacity, they cripple his normative abstractions, they stifle his moral ambition.

They arrest his value-development on a primitively literal, concrete-bound level: they convince him that to be like Buck Rogers means to wear a space helmet and blast armies of Martians with a disintegrator-gun.

Their motive is obvious. If they actually regarded Romanticism as an “impractical fantasy,” they would feel nothing but a friendly or indifferent amusement—not the passionate resentment and uncontrollable rage which they do feel and exhibit.

While the child is thus driven to fear, mistrust and repress his own emotions, he cannot avoid observing the hysterical violence of the adults’ emotions unleashed against him in this and other issues. He concludes, subconsciously, that all emotions as such are dangerous, that they are the irrational, unpredictably destructive element in people, which can descend upon him at any moment in some terrifying way for some incomprehensible purpose. This is the brick before last in the wall of repression which he erects to bury his own emotions. The last is his desperate pride misdirected into a decision such as: “I’ll never let them hurt me again!” The way never to be hurt, he decides, is never to feel anything.

But an emotional repression cannot be complete; when all other emotions are stifled, a single one takes over: fear.

The element of fear was involved in the process of the child’s moral destruction from the start. His victimized virtues were not the only cause; his faults were active as well: fear of others, particularly of adults, fear of independence, of responsibility, of loneliness—as well as self-doubt and the desire to be accepted, to “belong.” But it is the involvement of his virtues that makes his position so tragic and, later, so hard to correct.

As he grows up, his amorality is reinforced and reaffirmed. His intelligence prevents him from accepting any of the current schools of morality: the mystical, the social or the subjective. An eager young mind, seeking the guidance of reason, cannot take the supernatural seriously and is impervious to mysticism. It does not take him long to perceive the contradictions and the sickeningly self-abasing hypocrisy of the social school of morality. But the worst influence of all, for him, is the subjective school.

He is too intelligent and too honorable (in his own twisted, tortured way) not to know that the subjective means the arbitrary, the irrational, the blindly emotional. These are the elements which he has come to associate with people’s attitudes in moral issues, and to dread. When formal philosophy tells him that morality, by its very nature, is closed to reason and can be nothing but a matter of subjective choice, this is the kiss or seal of death on his moral development.

He knew—even though not in fully conscious terms—that he was achieving the opposite of his original, pre-conceptual goals and motives. Instead of leading a rational (i.e., reason-guided and reason-motivated) life, he was gradually becoming a moody, subjectivist whim-worshiper, acting on the range of the moment, particularly in his personal relationships—by default of any firmly defined values. Instead of reaching independence from the irrationality of others, he was being forced—by the same default—either into actual secondhandness or into an equivalent code of behavior, into blind dependence on and compliance with the value-systems of others, into a state of abject conformity.

[nicad13]

Crossroads: Chapter 14

The Showdown

Summary: A Mandalorian, a Jedi, a Rebel, and a baby take on an Imperial Moff.

Things go well, until they don’t.

Notes: Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic before the sequel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of Season 3. Start now so you're ready! AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Tags/Warnings: Whump, Violence, Severe Injury

Rating: Mature

See these eyes so red Red like jungle burning bright Those who feel me near Pull the blinds and change their minds… And I've been putting out the fire with gasoline

David Bowie, Putting out Fire

---

Two humans, a tiny baby alien, and a large plush frog lay curled together on the upper deck of a gunship slipping toward Ilum.

The Jedi woke up to the buzz of her wristband, the only signal of morning in the veins of hyperspace. She woke up in the arms of her Mandalorian, his stubble pressed against the back of her neck, her feet pressed against his shins. Their son lay snug in her hold, his back pressed to her chest, head tucked under her chin, frog clutched in his grasp.

They were warm. They were together. They were comfortable.

The Jedi closed her eyes.

She never wanted to leave this.

She never meant for it to get this deep.

Getting this child, this tiny version of the green, powerful ghost from her past to safety became her top priority the moment the Mandalorian handed him to her with a gentle trust all those weeks ago. The reality that this Mandalorian was a religious fundamentalist raised by a terrorist group presented a challenge, though not an insurmountable one. Despite his upbringing in violence and bloodshed, he had somehow managed to maintain an inner core of gentleness, had somehow managed to root his footing in a kind of honor, and that was enough to work with.

Her plan had been simple: get him to trust her enough to at least take her advice on where to go for help. If she got particularly lucky, get him to allow her to hitch a ride so she could see it through herself.

She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been, before. She hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been, before. She hadn’t anticipated the ease with which they would fill the gaps in each other’s lives. She hadn’t anticipated becoming the child’s mother. She hadn’t anticipated becoming part of their family. She hadn’t anticipated guiding the Mandalorian through an existential crisis as the foundation of his Creed disintegrated beneath him. She hadn’t anticipated the ease with which the Mandalorian would understand and accept her darker moments. She hadn’t anticipated her desire to keep all of it, to keep them, and she had not anticipated the Mandalorian’s fear of losing her.

Naturally, this all came to a head just before taking on an Imperial Moff who wanted them all very much dead.

The baby squirmed, the full night of sleep and the empty belly combining to drive him awake. He let go of his frog and turned over, clutching his mother’s shirt and trembling. Afraid.

She patted his back. Me too, buddy. Me too. We have to be brave today. Can you be brave with us, verd’ika? Can you be a warrior today?

The request was a terrible one. To ask a child, a toddler, to stand with his parents in battle. But his parents were not ordinary people, and their son was not an ordinary child. Not only had he asked to help, fully knowing what he was getting into, but he was their best shot at success. He was the best answer to his own freedom.

And so it was with this understanding that he answered with the memory of his father unleashing fire upon a Stormtrooper with one arm while holding him in a protective embrace with the other, the memory of holding back a wall of fire on his own, and the memory of lifting the ship that had been his home for close to a year with the help of his mother. I will be strong. I will be brave. For my buire.

The Mandalorian stirred, woken by the subtle shifts of his Jedi and his son. He tightened his arms around them, around his family, aware of their anxiety, knowing they saw the oncoming day through the same lens he did. “B'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur,” he breathed.  

Today is a good day for someone else to die.

---

A human lay sprawled on the lower deck of a gunship slipping toward Ilum.

The shocktrooper rolled over, hearing the soft sounds of the family upstairs waking up.

When’s breakfast? she wondered.

She had no one and nothing to lose. Just the way she liked it.

---

Cara watched as Rayne handed Din her lightsaber and he handed her the beskar rod he had found at the covert. He activated the saber, gave it a perfunctory twirl, and they both took defensive starting positions.

“You’re sure the beskar will block this?” he asked.

“Nope. Take it easy for the first couple swings.”

He nodded, and took an easy strike. Sure enough, the rod held up against the saber, but not without a fair amount of sparks and the distinctive sound of steel-on-something-destructive. They paused to examine the damage. While the rod was not properly tempered, it could give a reasonable estimation of what the Darksaber would do to Din’s armor. Looking at the shallow gash, it was reasonable to assume that it wouldn’t be completely impervious, but it would hold up.

Between Gideon’s Force resistance training and the other things Rayne would have on her plate, she would be unable to control the Moff. Cara would have her hands full with the Stormtroopers. Gideon may or may not have been trained well enough with the saber to deflect Din’s blaster shots with it. Din would have to go against him blade-to-blade. Using the blade Rayne had constructed at the age of eighteen with no supervision beyond an abbreviated introduction. Against the legendary blade constructed by Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi and once ruler of all Mandalore.

No pressure.

And so, they took what little time they had left to spar in the cramped space of the Razor Crest’s hold.

Sitting on a ladder rung, holding Yadier to keep him out of the way, Cara retracted her earlier assessment of Rayne.

The woman could do the kick-ass-and-take-names thing.

Lacking space and not wanting to chance putting the lightsaber through the hull, Din and Rayne stuck mostly with practice drills, giving Din a chance to figure out how the lightsaber handled differently from a normal sword. Attacking strokes. Attack combinations. Defense positions. Attack-defense combinations. Ramping up the power and speed at a gradual rate such that Rayne was pulling her shots less and less.

Yadier watched, once again fascinated, reminded of when his parents had first sparred at his mother’s hangar, silhouetted against the dying light of the sunset. Now, there was just the indoor lighting of the ship, but the motions were reminiscent. Rayne’s utilitarian movements driven by the brute speed and strength of the Force, Din’s grace and skill driven by quick thinking and improvisation. But this time Rayne instructed Din, reminding him of how the balance of the weapon was different, remarking how the blade wouldn’t stick as much against another blade as it did against the beskar rod.

After just under an hour, they called it good enough, wanting to give Din enough time to rest up before the real thing.

And Rayne had two more tasks.

---

Rayne sat in the port jump seat on the flight deck, Din’s helmet once again in her hands.

Din lay in their room behind the galley, waiting. Resting.

She had already deactivated the fob scrambler on Yadier’s Mythosaur pendant. They didn’t know where Gideon was, if he would be at Ilum or not. Rayne remembered Ilum well enough to know that they did not want to stay there any longer than necessary; the planet’s arctic conditions were unkind. Once they arrived, they wanted to send as loud of a beacon as possible to draw Gideon from wherever he may be, and that meant putting Yadier and Din back on the radar.

She looked at the helmet. This stupid fucking thing that Din continued to lock himself into despite the fact that he’d already determined that his soul was forfeit. This barrier he continued to shackle himself to because he thought he deserved to be cut off. This mask that had crowded out so much of his identity that he didn’t know what he was without it. Calling himself a coward for being unable to get past it.

She hadn’t brought it up with him. They hadn’t had the time and she hadn’t had the words, but his mind had screamed it all to her just the same. She didn’t want to be selfish about it. Didn’t want to break his trust. Of course she wanted to see him. She knew by now the general shape of him, but she was curious about how it all came together. How did the strong jaw match up with the round face? What was up with the two bare patches in the stubble? How had the big brown eyes from his childhood photograph changed and matured? Were his smiles as rare as she guessed? Was his hair as big of a mess as it felt? Did he close his eyes when he kissed her or keep them open? Did he make the same stupid face that everyone else made when release claimed him, or had the Mandalorians trained him into stoicism for that, too?

She could die today without knowing these things. He could die today and she would learn a few of them. Or they could both live, and she would continue to wonder.

She turned the helmet over and pulled the padding away from the back by the louvers. The fob scrambler was still there, wired into the helmet’s power supply, the small blinking light indicating that it was still working. She used her spanner to turn the switch off, and the blinking stopped.

She got up and paused at the curtain separating the galley from their room. “Can I come in?”

She heard Din flick the lights off. “Sure.”

She ducked through and sensed him sitting up against the back wall, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands folded in his lap. She moved to the back and sat facing him, straddled over his legs, knees at his hips as he straightened his legs and moved his hands to her thighs. She leaned in for what she’d meant to be a brief kiss, but he held her there longer, hand at the back of her neck. When they pulled apart several moments later, the question came back to her mind. Were his eyes open or closed?

“Open,” he said. “You?”

“Closed.” She sighed, not having meant to push her thoughts to him. “Gideon will try to provoke you today.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let him.”

“I won’t.” He paused for a moment. “Why did you keep Xi’an’s knives?”

Rayne tilted her head. It seemed like an odd question for this particular moment, but she rolled with it anyway, understanding that he must have found them when retrieving her lightsaber during their previous encounter with Gideon. “They’re good blades. I didn’t want to leave them in the street. I thought about maybe learning how to use them, but-”

“Sell them,” he interrupted. “First chance you get. I don’t want them on my ship.” The silence hung for a few seconds before he added, “Please.”

“I will,” she said. Given everything, the request was a reasonable one, even if his timing was questionable.

One more task.

---

Din wrestled Yadier into winter clothes while Rayne worked on rigging the starboard sublight engine to leak ionized radiation when they came out of hyperspace.

Making the bait of an injured ship look more wounded than it actually was.

Yadier was not used to wearing socks. Or mittens. Or having his ears covered. He fussed and squirmed and groaned. Din managed to keep his patience and only growled at him once. Cara did her best not to laugh at the spectacle as she pulled her own cold-weather gear on. For his part, Din had thrown on an extra thermal baselayer. His armor’s environmental system would do the rest.

“Think you can handle him while we manage the landing?” Din asked her.

“We’ll do just fine,” she said. She had taken Yadier’s peace offering to heart, placing the large, silvery bearing at the head of her bunk. They had come a long way since the Force-choking incident.

Rayne came down the ladder, jacket on but unzipped. “Engine’s ready. We come out of hyperspace in ten minutes. Let’s strap in.”

---

Rayne was buckled into the pilot’s seat, the chair itself locked into the forward-facing position, amber goggles pulled over her eyes, ready for the blinding white she would face once entering the atmosphere. She reached under the console and flipped a switch, turning the ship-wide fob scrambling system off. Then she settled both hands on the sticks. Waiting. Ready.

Din was in the starboard jump seat, orbital scanner up, running, and ready. He tapped at his vambrace, once more keying it to Rayne’s wristband, then settled back as her pulse buzzed with a steady beat against his wrist.

Cara was in the port jump seat, Yadier strapped to her in the birikad.

Rayne’s eyes flicked to the navicomp. “Exiting hyperspace in five, four, three, two, one, mark.”

The blue-white ripple of hyperspace bled to streaks of white against black, and no sooner were they in realspace then Rayne hauled on the sticks to throw the Razor Crest into a yawing, tumbling spin to the surface, turning her head with the movement of the ship to always keep the planet in her sights, hoping to make the Razor Crest look like it was in trouble.

“Vibre’s in orbit,” Din said, consulting the scanner. “Gideon’s here.”

“Yyyyeeeeeee!!!” Yadier squealed with glee, eyes huge and round as he watched the stars swing around the canopy.

Cara sighed and held tight, no stranger to stomach-churning drops.

“Coordinates for the base?” Rayne asked.

“Still searching,” Din said. “Star Destroyer is on the other side of the planet.”

“Copy,” Rayne said. She continued to tumble the ship in a slow descent, not wanting to take an orbital trajectory and end up under the Star Destroyer if they didn’t have to.

“Found it,” Din said. “Coordinates on your screen.”

“Copy,” Rayne responded. The base was located in the equatorial trench, as they suspected it would be. She angled for it, smoothing out their approach a bit, but kept things a little janky for show.

Now that the view outside was more-or-less stable, Cara took a look out of the windscreen and her breath caught in her throat. It took a lot to shock a woman whose home planet had literally been blown to bits by a system-scale weapon, but seeing a massive trench the volume of a moon strip-mined out of a planet was enough to do it.

Rayne wasn’t kidding. The Empire had desecrated it.

Rayne maintained her focus on flying, but the sight of the trench with her own eyes for the first time was enough to tie her gut in a knot. She stuffed the rage down and concentrated on the task at hand.

Din scanned the topography of the area, looking for a ledge on the trench wall near the base to land on, a chokepoint in the landscape, a high ground. He found it a few moments later and sent it to Rayne’s screen. “You have landing coordinates.”

“Copy.” She brought the Razor Crest in hotter than she normally would have, but still managed to ease back in the final seconds for a reasonable landing. Everyone set to motion immediately, Din taking care of the shut-down sequence as Rayne zipped up her jacket and Cara transferred Yadier to her. Din brought up the topographical map on the ship’s main HUD. The Crest was on a ledge a hundred meters up from the floor of the trench. The route down the wall to the floor was a scramble, but doable, the final twenty meters of elevation drop a gentle scree slope. They were in a small box canyon off of the main trench, no more than fifty meters wide, a hundred meters long; not as narrow of a choke-point as Din would like, but it would be good enough. The low structure of Gideon’s base was a kilometer away.

A line of troopers was emerging from it already. They would be at the mouth of the canyon in a few minutes.

Time to go.

Cara hefted that glorious, enormous repeater gun.

Din’s knife was in his boot, sidearm in its holster, and Rayne’s lightsaber clipped to his belt. His pulse rifle would stay behind; it would likely hinder his movement when using the saber.

Rayne had Yadier strapped to her chest in the birikad and stuffed a few handwarmer packets down by the baby’s feet for good measure. She shoved a hat over her head and slipped her amber goggles back over her eyes.

She and Yadier were their own weapons.

The portside hatch opened and the arctic gale of Ilum whipped into the Crest. Rayne sure as hell hadn’t missed that. She walked down the ramp as the cold air filled her lungs and stung the uncovered parts of her face and stopped dead in her tracks when her foot hit the ground.

The kyber.

All of the fucking kyber.

The box canyon had once contained a vein of it, and enough of it was still left in the surrounding rock that she felt it buzz through her, making her teeth chatter and sending a dim, high-pitched whine through her ears.

Yadier sensed it too, craning his head every which way, his ears twitching despite being stuffed under a hat.

Rayne led the way down the wall, Din following, Cara taking her time with the heavy ordnance. Din’s gut tightened as he watched the mother of his son make her way down, movements deliberate and sure-footed as she stepped from rock to rock. They took up their position on a ledge halfway down. Yadier was tucked in, warm and snug, facing Rayne, but they both turned their heads in Din’s direction as he passed by. The clan of Rollins-Djarin exchanged a nod, but nothing more.

Everything had already been said.

Cara took up her position behind a large boulder half-way down the scree.

Din stood at the floor of the canyon, cloak whipping in the wind.

The bait was set.

This wasn’t the fight he wanted. He wanted Rayne at his side, like they had been before, wanted her defending him in close quarters to protect his advance. Instead she had his back, and he knew in his head that this was the best setup for the situation at hand, so he accepted it, even if it made his heart ache.

Rayne had her hands pulled into the sleeves of her jacket for the time being, but she brought them up to pat Yadier’s back all the same. “Remember,” she said. “This is all about you. Protect yourself. Don’t burn yourself out. I don’t know what your limits are, and this kyber’s gonna make that tricky. If I survive this and you don’t, your father will kill me.”

It wasn’t a joke. She had no doubt that Din would bring the blade of her own lightsaber to her throat if that scenario came to pass. And she would let him do it.

The Stormtroopers approached. White armor against the white landscape. The leading vanguard of bodies clad in the wardrobe of war, gun fodder, little more than meat waiting to die. A couple hundred of them.

The Deathtroopers followed. More determined. Better trained. Meat that would fight a little harder before it died. Maybe fifty of them.

Was Gideon among them?

And then…

She heard it before she saw it.

Felt it at the same time she heard it.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

THUMP.

THUMP.

An AT-ST loomed in the distance, mostly obscured by the wind-driven snow.

Well, fuck.

Cara let out a sigh. She sure as hell hadn’t signed up for that.

Din’s voice came in over their coms. “Is it too late to retreat?”

“I think I can handle it,” Rayne said.

“With what?” Cara asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

“Not sure yet, but I have a hunch…”

The troopers continued to advance and the Mandalorian, the Rebel, the Jedi, and the baby held their ground as the wind screamed all around them.

Rayne watched the Imps advance, standing in the trench of desecration they had dug into the only ground she had ever considered holy. It wasn’t enough that they had turned Eagle against her. It wasn’t enough that they had murdered all of the friends and teachers of her childhood. It wasn’t enough that they had driven her into hiding at the age of ten. It wasn’t enough that they had hunted her people to the edge of extinction. They had to go and mine the sacred crystals for the purpose of destruction. They had to go and use what they ripped out of the ground here to destroy entire worlds. Extinguish billions of souls at a time.

She remembered the vision she had here. Just a day before it had all come down. She remembered the despair those visions had brought as she lay crumpled at the bottom of a cave, cold and crying, the helplessness of watching children fall to the blade while she was powerless to do anything. As the vision happened, she had understood that any action in that moment would result in her own death. She had understood that, as horrible as it was to watch, sometimes you had to wait it out. Until you were ready. Until you were strong enough to fight back. Only then could you strike. When you were powerful enough to bring your enemy down. The vision had faded and the yellow kyber crystal revealed itself to her.

Today, the crystal had returned home. In the core of the lightsaber clipped to the belt of the man before her. The man she had shared herself with so much over such a short span of time, and who had shared of himself with her. Not with entire completion, and not without hesitancy, but with a depth that neither was quite able to believe. A depth that allowed her to share her weapon with him, that allowed him to share his son with her, an exchange of trust that would be critical to their success in this moment.

She was ready, now.

No more waiting.

No more standing by while others were slaughtered.

Today she would fight.

Today she would make the Empire pay.

The troopers continued to advance.

The AT-ST loomed ever closer.

She heard the squalling scream of a TIE fighter approach from behind. She pushed her hands through the arms of her jacket and looked down at her son. “Ready to raise some hell?”

Yadier’s eyes narrowed and he emitted something between a giggle and a growl, bringing his mittened hands to her jacket.

Yep, he was ready.

The TIE shrieked by overhead, passed over the approaching army, then turned to line up for a strafing run along the edge of the canyon.

Rayne lifted a hand into the wind, closed her eyes, and focused. Reached. Found the TIE. Found the pilot. Pressed the fingers of her mind into the pilot’s, pressed through the pilot’s arms, took the stick, and turned the TIE back to the troopers.

Back to the AT-ST.

The pilot fought her but was no match for the Jedi who had returned to the point of her first rite of passage, was no match for the Jedi who was on the brink of rage.

Rayne heard the pilot’s screams, heard the screams and didn’t care. She rode that pilot straight into the face of the AT-ST.

Cara watched as both the TIE and the AT-ST exploded. Whooped with joy as the TIE shattered into a million pieces and the walker leaned backwards with a groan, leaned and leaned, and crashed to the ground. Now this, this she had signed up for.

Din allowed himself a slow turn at the hips to look back at Rayne, who merely stood huddled on the ledge, hands already drawn back into her jacket. When she noticed him facing her, she popped a hand back out and gave him a thumbs up along with a rare, open-mouthed smile.

God damn, this woman.

He spoke into the comlink embedded in his helmet. “That wasn’t Gideon, was it?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

---

Moff Gideon watched from behind the Death Troopers as the TIE hurtled, without hesitation, into the AT-ST and smashed a hundred million credits worth of artillery, tech, and hardware to bits.

God damn, that woman.

He should have just killed her when he had the chance.

He spoke into his comlink, calling off the other TIEs. He would not have Rayne Rollins throwing his fighters around like they were toys.

He ordered his troops to continue their march until they reached the mouth of the canyon.

He surveyed his opponents. The Mandalorian, the Rebel, the Jedi, and the baby. The four of them on the high ground versus two hundred and fifty troopers. It should have been over all ready, between the TIE and the walker. He felt the anger rise through his throat as he called in the Vibre.

Let’s see the Jedi throw that around.

 But really, he wasn’t going to give her the chance.

“Open fire,” he ordered.

The roar of blaster fire he expected didn’t happen. Instead, there was only the howl of the wind. Instead of engaging, the troopers remained motionless.

The Jedi stood on a ledge half-way up the wall between the canyon floor and the gunship above, arms outstretched.

This. Is not. Happening, Gideon thought, brow furrowed in rage.

---

Cold. Rayne projected, arms up, palms out, Yadier’s hands gripping her jacket, eyes closed in concentration, funneling the Force into his mother. You’re so cold. You don’t want to be here. You just want to go back inside and get warm. Drink a gallon of hot coca. Spike it with whiskey. Curl up in bed and go to sleep.

Her eyes were closed, but the lack of blaster fire told her it was working. She was holding steady, feeling the Force as it rushed from Yadier through her. She kept him throttled back as much as possible, saving him for what was yet to come, but she knew he felt the kyber ringing all around them as much as she did. It was magnifying. Electrifying. Like she’s snorted five lines of spice and was ready to destroy an entire world.

Din stood facing two hundred and fifty troopers, hand hovering over the blaster at his hip, scanning for Gideon. Where are you? Come out and face me, you hut’uun. Coward.

Cara shifted the strap of the repeater gun around on her shoulder, wondering if she was ever going to get to use the damn thing.

A low rumble filled the valley as the Vibre sank down below the cloud deck.

And then it all happened at once.

Cara felt Rayne’s signal in her head. Now. She swung around from the cover of the boulder and opened fire on the troopers just as Rayne let go of her control over them and they returned fire. Rayne dropped her hands, dialed Yadier all the way back to catch a break, fumbled with the frozen zipper of her jacket with the frozen fingers of her hand, finally got the thing open, and pulled out a detonator.

“Here goes nothing.” She flipped the safety shield of the detonator off and pushed the button below.

For a few sickening moments, nothing happened. They found the charges, Rayne thought. They found the fucking charges and it’s all over.

But then the rumble became a stumbling roar, the Vibre’s starboard side canted down, and it began a slow spin, its repulsor engines beginning to fail.

---

Gideon was furious. He marched through his soldiers, useless piles of meat who finally decided to do something, finally opened fire when their weak, pitiful minds were released by the Jedi. Their bodies were enough to shield him from the gun the shocktrooper was using to mow them down with, but as he neared the front, he moved to the flank of the ranks and drew the Darksaber, using it to deflect the occasional shot that reached him anyway.

Din saw him the moment he broke through. He drew his blaster and fired. His first shot caught Gideon’s chestplate, which deflected the bolt with ease. The disconcerting possibility that the Moff was wearing beskar crossed his mind. Regardless, he had Gideon’s attention, freeing Cara up to cut down the troopers, and let loose with everything he had, firing round after round. He hit his mark every time, but they either deflected off of the armor or off of the Darksaber’s blade.

Seeing that he had no other choice, he holstered his sidearm and unclipped Rayne’s lightsaber.

He activated the blade.

Rayne watched from the ledge above. Once again, she was struck by déjà vu, knowing she had seen this before. A Mandalorian in full armor, cloak billowing on a frozen landscape. The shocktrooper with the enormous gun. The Mandalorian extending the yellow blade of her lightsaber.

Her vision. The night before Din and Yadier had arrived at her hangar. From nearly two months ago.

Once again, coming to pass.

Din wasted no time and approached Gideon, lightsaber in hand, taking a small amount of pleasure in the brief look of shock that flickered over the Moff’s face at the sight of it. He had a few inches over Gideon in height and Rayne’s blade was longer than the Darksaber, so he had a decent advantage in reach. He used it and struck first, Gideon blocking.

The pounding crackle of Darksaber-on-lightsaber was something neither one of them had anticipated, and they both broke away, surprised. Gideon, more familiar with his weapon than Din was with his, recovered first, returning a strike that Din blocked.

And so the Mandalorian and the Imperial Moff battled with weapons of the Jedi.

Cara growled as she mowed down Imperial troopers with the weapon of a Mandalorian.

Rayne once more raised her hands, reached out with her mind, and prepared to wield the power of the Force.

Gideon parried Din’s strikes with increasing worry. He was as aware of Djarin’s reach advantage as the Mandalorian was. Djarin was also quite a bit younger. Gideon had, in fact, trained extensively with the Darksaber, but he would be foolish to assume that training would stack up against someone as generally skilled as Din Djarin.

Moff Gideon was many things, but foolish was not one of them.

He would have to use his other advantage: his extensive knowledge of the things Djarin did not know, even about himself.

“I know that you are aware,” he began, taking a swing that Djarin blocked, “that you were rescued by Death Watch as a child.” Swing and block. No verbal response from Djarin. No change in his movement. “I wonder if you are also aware,” he continued, “of Death Watch’s alliance with Separatist forces.” Swing and block. “If you are aware of Death Watch’s strategy of staging attacks by those known locally as enemies,” swing and block, “only to swoop in and save the day to curry favor.” Swing and block. “I wonder if you are aware,” swing and block, “that your family was killed in one such attack, and that Death Watch is responsible for the murder of your parents.” Swing and block.

No change from the Mandalorian.

Did he already know?

If not, then the news did not appear to strike him as noteworthy, and Djarin was even more pathological than Gideon had guessed. He thought it more likely that the Mandalorian had already figured it out. His recent connection with Rollins could explain it. What little information he could gather on the Jedi indicated a discreet shrewdness that he did not much care for, and she could very well be connected to information sources that even he was unaware of. All the more reason to eliminate them both from the playing field.

Gideon understood that he had to push it further. Had to gamble. He was not, by nature, a gambling man, but extraordinary times called for extraordinary measures.

“You are probably not aware,” swing and block, “that Alaria Kast was the mother of your firstborn child.”

Djarin stumbled.

Gideon swung and hit his mark, but the Darksaber merely scraped a diagonal line across the beskar of Djarin’s chestplate.

“And that she died,” Gideon continued, “by the edge of this very blade.”

---

Rayne had the Vibre in her grasp. The fingers of her mind wrapped around it. Holding it. Pulling it. Refusing to let it escape.

The wind whipped at her, threatening to blow her and Yadier from the ledge.

She stood steadfast, resisting the wind. Funneling the Force.

Yadier was pressed close to her, hands freed from his mittens and threaded through the zipper of her jacket, pressed directly to the skin of her chest, just below her throat, on either side of the beskar casing containing a lock of his father’s hair, as direct a link as possible. His eyes were closed in concentration, but he remained strong, gathering the Force around him, pulling the Force around him, sending it to his mother, sending her as much as he sensed she could take.

He had gotten so much stronger in his time with her. The kyber embedded in the rock all around them sang to him, lifted him up, powered him further. But it wasn’t quite enough. He could push more, but his mother did not have the capacity to funnel it through.

Not for very long, anyway.

The Jedi had taught Rayne to always keep a cool head. To not let emotion cloud her actions. To push through adversity by the strength of her own will.

But sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, one needed more.

Yadier had not been taught such things. Until he had drawn Rayne into his orbit, he had not been taught anything about the Force, only stumbling into its use. Until he had met her, his use of the Force had mostly been driven by fear.

Fear of the mudhorn. Fear of Cara. Fear of the Incinerator Trooper.

His first attempt to use it to heal the man who would become his father had been purely instinctual. A hunch. Same for when he had managed to heal Karga. These people would help him.

Then later, he had healed his father out of love.

Yadier did not know the precise word for “love.” His mother had said it to him before, that night on Coruscant, when she had told him that she loved him. He didn’t remember the word, but he remembered what she had felt; her overwhelming desired to protect him, to provide for him, to teach him everything she knew so that he would grow strong and grow well. His father never had said the word, but the feelings that bloomed from him were the same; protect at all costs. Provide at all costs. Give him all the warmth he could manage. He had felt these things from them before, had felt them even more since, but that had been the moment when they had made it plain to him how much they felt it for him.

And yet they stumbled so badly at making it plain to each other.

Yadier didn’t know the word for it, but he understood the meaning of it. The power of it. If he could get his mother to recognize it in herself, to use it to harness the Force on behalf of his father, she would gain the strength to do what needed to be done.

He pressed even closer to her as the wind screamed around them, pressed closer to her warmth, increasing the bandwidth of his connection to her. He summoned his memory of that night on Coruscant, pushed the thought of it into her mind along with the power of the Force he funneled through.

Remember?

 I do.

Love you. You love me. It wasn’t a question. Not quite with those words exactly, but she understood the meaning

Yes. Love you. With everything going on around them, the ship straining against them, the wind whipping at them, sleet stinging against their skin, she reflected it again.

Love buir. He love me. He focused on the image of his father, the only image he knew, the blank T-visor, a face devoid of all emotion, but a face he associated with love and protection and safety.

Yes, he does.

Love buir? Buir love buir?

Oh, Yadier.

Yadi, baby, why did you have to ask this right now?

Despite the gender-neutrality of Mando’a, she knew exactly what he was asking.

If she loved Din.

And how the hell was she supposed to know that if she wasn’t quite sure if Din felt that about her?

Because after Zavin, after confessing her love to him and his inability to reciprocate, she had sworn to herself she would never again be the first to admit it. Never again make such a vulnerable offering only to have it go unanswered. And after Hayes had offered his love to her with such unbounded willingness, only to disappear with it in the cold hard vacuum of space, she had decided that maybe she was done with all that entirely.

She opened her eyes and let her gaze drift down to the trench floor, Cara laying the troopers to ruin with the repeater gun, and Din fighting Gideon blade-to-blade.

She watched as Din stumbled for no apparent reason. Watched as Gideon got him across the chest with the Darksaber.

Her heart caught in her throat as Din staggered back a step and Gideon advanced.

No… no no no no… please no…

Relief as Din rebounded and swung her blade against the Imp. Pride as he dragged it through Gideon’s armor, even if it did seem to repel the blade. Longing to be there next to him, to fight at his side, to feel the presence of his motions in her mind, to allow him the presence of her motions in his, to coordinate their efforts in the seamless manner of a single consciousness divided into two bodies, the single-minded calm and concentration that had come with it during their last battle. That if she were to die, it would be at his side, in service to their family. In service to their clan.

As a Jedi, she had been trained to accept the fact that she could die to save the galaxy.

As a Mandalorian’s Jedi, she had also come to accept the fact that she could die to save her son and his father.

Yadier had his answer.

---

He’s lying, Din thought. He knew Gideon would try to provoke him. When the Moff had failed with the bait of old news, he’d made something up. Din didn’t know how Gideon had learned of Alaria or his connection to her, but there was no way she’d been pregnant when they were separated. She’d had an implant. He had stood by her side when she’d received it, as was the customary ritual for Sol’yc. For the First. No one did protection better than Mandalorians, and their contraception was no less impervious than their beskar.

The bait was fake. Meant to lure him in. But the hooks were very much real, and he would not let himself get distracted again.

He recovered from his backward step, and seeing that Gideon had taken his stumble for granted, he lashed forward again, hitting his mark for the first time.

His Jedi’s lightsaber merely scraped along Gideon’s armor.

It was beskar, then.

An Imp wearing beskar.

Keep it cool, he reminded himself.

---

Cara swept the repeater back and forth, grinning as the troopers fell before her.

God, she loved this gun.

She was having a blast.

---

The Force surged through her.

Rayne stood, arms outstretched, shaking. She had the Vibre in her grip. She felt its wounds. Radiation spewed from the detonated reactor, poisoning everyone aboard. The navigators were too far away to control. She had to handle the ship directly. The engines still sputtered along, still fought her. She battled back, dragging it down.

She searched for the weapons. Searched for the ammunition.

She found it.

She detonated it. She detonated all of it.

This time, the explosions were immediately apparent. They ripped along the perimeter of the Vibre, sending shockwaves through the ship and the canyon.

Rayne wasn’t prepared for the blowback through the Force.

A hundred lives extinguished all at once.

Tons of ammunition detonated all at once.

It hit her like a bolt of lightning, throwing her into the rock wall behind her, the back of her head connecting, the Force lancing back up through her hands and arms. She let out a strangled scream as she stopped it before it got to Yadier, holding it off. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was blind, her surroundings nothing but a hazy red. She realized all she could hear was the high-pitched whine of impending unconsciousness. She realized all she could feel was the way her heart hammered with uncontrollable stutters in her chest.

With the last of what she had, she cast the Force out, back onto the Vibre, and brought it down to Gideon’s base. She couldn’t see the crash, but she could feel it. The deep rumble of a starship and concrete crumbling, vaporizing, burning, conducting through the kyber-infused rock through the floor of the canyon and up the rock walls to where she stood.

She lowered her arms. Blind, deaf, numb, she sank to her knees.

Blind, deaf, numb, the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness was seamless.

---

The Moff and the Mandalorian heard the detonation at the same time.

Knowing it was his ship, Gideon made the mistake of letting himself get distracted, turning away from Din to see the Vibre engulfed in fire.

It was the last thing he saw.

Din brought the blade across Gideon’s neck, parting the Imp’s head from his shoulders, marking the first direct kill of the saber constructed by an orphaned Jedi Sentinel. The saber powered by the last kyber crystal harvested from the Temple of Ilum through a Gathering rite of passage. Wielded by a Mandalorian against the Darksaber.

The body fell at Din’s feet as the Vibre fell to the planet’s surface, and the Darksaber clattered to the ground, deactivated. Din bent, picked it up, and clipped it to his belt next to Rayne’s.

The few troopers that were left turned tail and ran, Cara whooping with victory.

Din turned to look back up the mountainside, zooming in with his HUD to where Rayne and Yadier should have been.

They weren’t there. Or if they were, Rayne wasn’t standing.

No… no no no…

Cara followed his gaze. She couldn’t see the details he could, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, could see his hands close into fists.

And so when he took off running, she dropped the gun and followed as he ran past her.

He had never run so fast in his life.

He got within range of his vambrace’s connection with Rayne’s wristband before he could see them, and he stifled a scream when the vibration against his wrist was nothing but a low, constant buzz.

She was in cardiac arrest.

He gained the ledge and made the final sprint.

He saw their bodies, Rayne on her back, Yadier still strapped to her, face-down on her chest. He skidded to a stop next to them, kneeled before them, undid the clips on the birikad, and pulled his unresponsive son free. Chest heaving, he pressed his fingers to the inside of Yadier’s upper arm, the place where he could best feel his pulse… and felt nothing.

“Goddammit…” He tapped a few controls on his vambraces, making adjustments as Cara caught up. He tipped his chin in Rayne’s direction. “CPR.”

“Copy,” Cara said, dropping to her knees. She slid her fingers along Rayne’s neck, confirmed her lack of a pulse, removed the goggles from her face, found the correct place on her sternum, and began chest compressions.

Finishing with the adjustments to his vambraces, Din opened Yadier’s jacket and robe to expose the bare, green skin of his chest, placed the wrist-end of one vambrace flush against him on the upper left corner of his chest, the other at the lower right, hoping like hell that his son’s heart lay roughly in the same place in his chest as it did for humans, and pumped five-hundred volts of electricity through the tiny green baby.

“C’mon…” He checked again for a pulse. “C’mon c’mon c’mon…” Finding none, he sent another bolt of current through his son’s body.

Cara continued her work on Rayne, counting off thirty compressions, giving her two breaths, continuing with compressions.

“Please… please…” Din’s voice was down to a whisper. He sent a third bolt through and checked. No pulse. He sent a fourth and checked.

And found a pulse. “Oh, please…” Yadier sucked in a breath. Coughed. Then sucked in another. Din was still for a few more moments to be sure Yadier’s pulse and breaths held steady. When they did, he brought his hands to his own throat, undid the bindings holding his cloak in place, pulled it out from his armor, and wrapped his still-unconscious son in it to protect him from the biting cold.

Cara watched as she continued compressions, allowing herself a flicker of hope at Din’s quick movements. When he got up and pointed, she understood his intensions, switching places with him, cradling Yadier in her arms, tucking the cloak around him, watching for signs of responsiveness, keeping her hand against his chest to monitor his breathing.

Din adjusted his vambraces again, pausing when he realized he was no longer getting any feedback from Rayne’s wristband.

She was flatlined.

“Fuck…”

This was bad.

This was really, fucking, bad.

The birikad was already unclipped and out of the way. Din opened her jacket, yanked her shirt up, and pressed his vambraces to her skin, sending a thousand volts through her.

Nothing.

He tried again. Another thousand.

Nothing.

“Don’t you dare… don’t you fucking leave me… don’t you fucking dare…”

Again. Nothing.

Again. Nothing.

“Come back!” he screamed. Cara watched as his chest emptied with the words and filled with breath once more. “Get back here, goddammit!” His voice tore through the modulator, amplitude overloading, clipping through static.

Again. The vambrace chirped.

Out of charge.

“No…”

Cara’s heart sank as she watched Din wilt around Rayne, head lowered to hers, shoulders slumped. He only stayed there for a moment before he stood, tilted his head back as if to look to the sky, turned away, and took a few steps back down the ridge. He lowered his head, hands fisted at his sides.

And then he lifted his hands.

With a dawning sense of horror, Cara realized he was going for the helmet. His back was turned, but she turned away anyway, hearing the seal break, hearing his unmodulated scream, hearing the crack of beskar against rock as he threw it down.

Din sank back to his knees, closed his eyes, and lifted his face to the wind, welcoming the sting of it against the tears on his face, feeling it rip through his throat as he breathed it in, freezing him from the inside out.

He had lost her.

His mechanic. His friend. His lover. His crewmember. His surgeon. The mother of his son. His counselor. His Jedi. His battle partner.

All of the things she had become to him over the span of a couple of months.

All gone.

So many had died before him. Mostly as enemies. But a few had done so willingly. Given their lives for him. Sacrificed for him. And he hated that list for growing.

He pulled the knife from his boot, opened his eyes, and contemplated the blade in his hand.

How many had died by it?

Who would be the last he killed with it?

He closed his eyes again, tilted his head, and laid the flat of the blade against his throat, under his jaw, feeling the beat of his own pulse against the edge.

Would he die by his own hand? Deny all other enemies the pleasure of his murder by beating them to it?

He heard his son’s cries over the scream of the wind as Yadier regained consciousness.

He lowered the blade. Maybe later. But not today.

He sheathed his knife back into its place in his boot.

Instead, he lifted his head once more into the wind, eyes still closed, and let Rayne’s life, what little he knew of it, from his own limited perspective, flicker through his mind.

The first time she held Yadier, moments after he’d landed the Razor Crest in her hangar.

Drinking beer by the fire in the yard.

Her face, lips parted, their first moments together in his bunk on the Crest.

The way she’d laughed at him when he’d tried to recruit her.

The way she’d flattened an entire platoon of Stormtroopers.

Her sadness when she placed her lightsaber on the table before him.

Her vibrancy as she played with Yadier in the lake.

Her solemn expression when she adopted his son.

Her cool calculation as she interrogated Xi’an.

The broken sound of her voice the first time he put his lips to her skin.

Her fierce determination when she told him what it meant to have a family with Jedi.

Her fluid deadliness against thirty Stormtroopers after enduring torture at the hands of an Imperial Moff.

And now she was gone.

And now he felt the empty places crumble in upon themselves, no longer supported by all the pieces of her that had filled him up, not realizing how hollow he was until she spilled out of him.

“Mando…” Cara’s voice was low and cautious under the wind.

Leave me alone…

“Din!”

“What!” What the fuck could possibly be so important?

“Get over here!”

He heaved an angry sigh, collected his helmet, slammed it back over his head, and returned to Cara’s side.

Returned to see Yadier at his dead mother’s side, eyes closed, hands pressed to her shoulder, trembling. Shaking with effort.

Oh, shit… oh, no…

Din sank again to his knees, hands grasping at the top of his head, at an utter loss as to what to do. Stop his son from risking his life over a lost cause? Encourage him on the off-chance that it would work?

The decision was taken out of his hands when Rayne’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a long, ragged, harrowing breath.

Din and Cara both twitched back, startled as much by the sudden motion as by what they saw.

Rayne’s eyes. Completely bloodshot. Pupils blown, one far more than the other.

Yadier collapsed, eyes closed. Cara scooped him up, wrapping him in Din’s cloak again, checking his breathing. “He’s fine,” she said, looking in Din’s direction.

Din leaned over Rayne’s body, watching her chest rise and fall with breath, once more feeling the tap of her heartbeat against his wrist. Sluggish. Steady.

She was alive.

Technically.

But he had seen those eyes. Had seen those dead, empty pupils.

He didn’t know if Yadier had saved her life, or condemned her to a prolonged death.

Hands shaking, he zipped her jacket back up, replaced the goggles on her face, and gathered her in his arms.

Cara strapped the birikad to herself, slid Yadier into it, and wrapped Din’s cloak around both her and the baby. She made her way back down the wall, went to Gideon’s body, and retrieved what she also knew was beskar armor from it. She stopped at the boulder that had been her cover on the way back, slung the gun over her shoulder, and caught up to Din by the time he’d made it to the Razor Crest.

His steps were slow as he walked up the ramp, Rayne’s body limp in his arms. He crossed the hold and lay her on Cara’s bunk, lacking a dignified way of getting her to their space upstairs. Cara closed the hatch behind her, laying the gun and the stolen beskar in the corner, and returned to find Din standing and staring down at Rayne. Motionless.

“Hey…” she said. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Hey…”

His head turned in her direction with an agonizing slowness, but he remained silent.

“Get the ship in the air. I’ll take care of them.”

He was motionless for one more moment before he turned to the bulkhead behind which the paper with the coordinates to their next stop was hidden, removed it, retrieved the paper, and shuffled to the ladder. He paused when he reached it, placed a hand on the rung in front of him, and sighed, as if he was gathering the effort it would take to haul himself up. After another few moments, he found the strength and ascended the ladder.

Cara placed Yadier next to his mother and found the medkit as she heard the Crest’s engines fire up. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought they sounded like they ran better, seemed like the ship ran smoother, than when she’d been on it two months ago. She knew the woman before her was responsible for it. Some people were just meant to fix things, and Cara knew them when she saw them.

She hoped they would find someone who could do the same for Rayne.

She treated Din’s family the best she could. Applied bacta patches to the vambrace burns, warmed up a bag of saline in the galley and started an IV on Rayne, tucked Din’s cloak and another blanket around both Rayne and Yadier. When she had done all she could, she joined Din on the flight deck.

The coordinates were set, but he hesitated, unable to bring himself to jump the ship to hyperspace. Unable to come to terms with what he might have to give up where they dropped back out. “I can’t lose them both, Cara.”

“His people can probably help her.”

“You really believe that?”

“I believe that more than I believe anyone else can help her.”

He remained motionless.

“Or you can let her die down there and live with the fact that he’ll never forgive you for it.”

He reached for the hyperdrive lever, wrapped his fingers around it, and pulled it down.

[riverdamien]

Blazing Love!

BLAZING LOVE!

"I have come to set the earth on fire," Jesus proclaims, "and how I wish it were already blazing!"

(Luke 12:49).

We might find these words unsettling, hitting a bit close to home. Is Jesus condoning the fires raging across our state? Is Jesus predicting violence, calling for more death and destruction?

Quiet the opposite. In this context, fire is not destructive but cleansing. Jesus is taking a prophetic stance, crying out for a  new world order that will begin with an ultimate judgment, one not to be feared but yearned for, a blazing love that sets right and heals the world.  He is crying out not in anger, but anguish(12:50) giving us a glimpse of his own inner turmoil. For this fire can only be unleashed through his death--"the baptism with which I must be baptized"-which will set in motion the cleansing and renewal of those who follow him, and set them on fire.    

His call is for each human being to be loved as a child of God. A call to see through the evil present in people, and see the broken face of Christ. It is an invitation to bring this blazing fire to others.

My friend Mike, in the photo above, last week as we were on the street, walked over to the elderly gentleman. He gave "Jim" some food, knelt down, and with tears in his eyes, looked at Jim's feet, the skin broken from walking, with sores, from not having fresh socks. He held the feet in his hands and placed a fresh sock on each foot with loving care!

This is the "blazing fire of love", to individually help someone, putting oneself in another's place, and without worrying about personal harm assisting that person.

This is the "blazing fire of love", to see each person as precious in God's sight! To take risks to serve!

This morning at 5:30 a.m. as I prayed the "Vigil" in the "Daily Office," awaiting the dawning of the day, signifying trusting God to bring another dawn, my mind centered on the recent slayings in Raleigh, North Carolina, and I cry for all who are suffering; I cry for those murdered, for their families, and for the local community. All are broken, and all are in need now, and in the days ahead of the blazing fire of the love of God in individuals to take them into their arms, to hold and, to bring hope and love, and finally  I cry for Austin, a young man so overcome with the evil of mental illness he hurt so many.

May the blazing fire of love push our society to have mental health for all, and each of us to brings the blazing fire of love in caring for adolescents. In helping them find care and meaning in their lives.

And may we remember the words of Father Ronald Rothlheiser:

"Whenever we are discouraged in our faith, whenever our hopes seem to be crucified, we need to go back to Galilee, back to the dream and the road. .that we had embarked upon before things went wrong."

And in closing  let us pray the prayer in today's Vigils:

"Hidden God, ever present to me,

may I now be present to you,

attentive to  your every word,

attuned to your inspirations,

alert to your touch.

Empty me that I maybe filled with you alone.

Amen."

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

Father Christian River Damien Sims, sfw, D.Min., D.S.T.

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

415-305-2124

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

I have started addressing Christmas Cards, and if you do not believe I have your snail mail and would like to have a card please email me. Thanks!

[eden-regained]

It’s happening again. I’m channeling my inner cringequeen.

BUT HEAR ME OUT

A multicrossover AU in which the characters are an Addams-esque family living in a big victorian gothic mansion

1) Murdoc is the horribly dysfunctional dad. He was born in 666 and made a deal with the devil to become immortal, making him outlive every wife of his by a long shot. He usually sleeps inside the guest room’s gigantic fireplace (feels just like home), yes, even when visitors are over. The man needs his comfy bed! His favourite meal to both eat and prepare is Lamb Chop, when served he and his kids refer to dinner as “sacrificing the Lamb of God”.

Also I decided he’s a grandson of Chang’e and Hou Yi because why not.

2) Sans and Papyrus are the cool uncles who come to visit for every family gathering, though for different reasons. Sans is always super chill. When he watches the kids he lets them eat all the hotdogs and sweets they want and they’re allowed to watch movies all night. Plus, he's basically got every pun known to man up his sleeve and that’s always a win.

Papyrus on the other hand is energetic and actually plays with the kids, preferably videogames. He’s really bad at Mario Kart but has fun either way. He’s also convinced he’s THE GREATEST cook “alive” despite not even having tastebuds or a digestive tract for that matter, the spaghetti just falls right through him and he’s still shook every time).

3) Remilia Scarlet is the eldest child. She’s moved out to live in her own mansion on Corsica, though she comes to stay over every weekend. While she might appear to be a poised, well-behaved little girl she’s an absolute rantipole deep down who made Murdoc’s life a living hell when she still an actual child. Changing nappies? Kid just literally flew off the changing table and Murdoc had to try and catch her with a bug net and should he be unlucky enough to not get her in time she’d make herself at home in the attic’s ceiling beams and sleep there like a bat. Bottlefeeding? Vampires prefer... fresher sustenance, intravenous so to speak. Lullabies? Nah man, bring out the pipe organ. Remilia is a handful and she knows it.

That being said, Remi deeply loves and cares for her family, if anyone dares to do harm to one of her relatives she will unleash her wrath and woe to the poor fool who will not see the moon rise the next night.

4) Flandre Scarlet is the second oldest, though like Remilia her vampiric curse makes her look younger than her siblings. Despite being equipped with cosmic-horror-levels of destructive magic and raw strength she’s probably one of the family members least prone to violence. Her closet is filled to the brim with frilly dresses that would make every fan of lolita fashion go green with jealousy and she's accumulated a ton of toys from all over history, the half broken and grimy victorian porcelain dolls with clothes dyed with arsenic “Scheele’s Green” are her most prized possessions! (She does not let Papyrus even near them in fear he might break them)

Ironically Flandre is the only one in the house who adores the sun and everytime the family goes on a roadtrip they slather the poor kid head to toe in sunscreen to the point where she looks like a snowman and she’s only allowed to leave the horse carriage with atleast two hats and a ginormous parasol and yes, it’s the kind you find standing outside restaurants and cafès, Murdoc definitely stole it, don’t ask me how.

5) Mami Tomoe is the third child. She got beheaded in a witch trial and can now attatch and detatch her head at will. Well, kind of, sometimes she wakes up to being body-less and being placed in some random spot of the house “as a prank”, and that house it huge, imagine how long it takes her to put herself back together again. Yikes!

Don’t let her eloquent and gentle demeanor, her room with the cheesiest floral patterned wallpaper and the pastel dresses fool you, tea and biscuits aren’t the only thing she’s handy at. After all, that closet full of rifles from the 17th century isn't just for show...

6) Homura Akemi is the second youngest. She quite literally has skeletons in her closet and no, I’m not talking about Papyrus playing hide and seek again and not getting the memo that maaaaybe he’s been in there for two weeks not because the kids couldn’t find him. Homura is a witch and she’s not afraid to show it; pointy hat, black flowing dress, a greenhouse with bizarre plants from all around the world (though the Red Spider Lilies are still her favourites) and of course a big spellbook on her nightstand. Her specialty is time-based magic which she learned from their head maid. To use it she needs a special hourglass which Sans gave her as a gift for her 60th birthday that she has integrated into a shield and a mixture of the finest red sand mixed with cremated remains (fun fact, in canon Homura’s full witch form in Rebellion IS a skeleton. Kind of.)

7) Kaori, though better known by her nickname; Noodle, is the youngest of the bunch. She’s probably the most normal person in the house, weren’t it for the fact that she is a genetically engineered human born from Grandpa Gaster’s basement lab. As a result Noodle’s an extraordinarily fast learner, already being able to speak 26 languages fluently at the age of 10, she and Remilia love to curse like sailors in french just to piss of their dad.

Her martial arts skills are also someting to behold, Noodle is the only one besides Flandre who can take on Homura’s magical plants once they “go rogue” again under the full moon (the girls made their own task force to deal with the green ire called “Rose Busters” pun intended, Sans is proud!)

8) Sakuya Izayoi may look like an ordinary, albeit somewhat old-fashioned maid, but she’s actually been the family’s highly renowned head servant for generations thanks to her ability to control the very flow of time. As Murdoc’s neglectful and unloving mother Katherine cut all ties with the family Sakuya became the closest thing to a maternal figure in his life.

It’s become sort of a running gag in the house that Sakuya can conveniently appear everywhere. One time she nearly gave Murdoc a heart attack when the guy sat on the toilet cursing about the lack of paper when out of nowhere Sakuya plops up next to him with a toilet roll in hand and a deadpan expression just going “You’re welcome Milord.”

9) Flowey is the most feared plant in the greenhouse and Homura one day decided it’s for the best to lock that beast up in a lion cage. Murdoc especially is freaked out by the thing, quote: “Yeah no, I’m not touching that chlorophyll-cunt with a ten foot pole!” Weirdly enough Mami is the only one who Flowey allows to water and repot him without making a scene and by "scene” I mean transforming into an eldritch abomination.

10) Napstablook is the household spirit who gets to live in the attic so they can watch the stars at night.

11) In honor of the tumblr sexyman battle I’ve decided that Reigen is the neighbourhood conman who goes from door to door to sell his shady products. He’s made multiple attempts to sell the family some bogus-magic-knockoffs, even going so far as to disguise himself so they’d let him in again but he just got the boot everytime.

12) Gaster, the malformed and enigmatic grandfather, lurks in the catacombs deep beneath the mansion. He’s locked himself away so he can be undisturbed in his quest to get to the bottom of the universe’s mysteries by studying magic and experimenting with various arcane forces. His sister, great aunt Patchouli, is the only one who can still communicate with him as he’s gone mad from centuries, if not millennia of exposure to creatures and knowledge not meant for a mortal brain.

He’s the creator of the Lapis philosophorum. Turns out that stone is not only able to turn things to gold, it also attached itself to Gaster’ soul like a parasite, keeping him alive as a half melted, only vaguely human being so it can feed off the magical energy he accumulates. Patchouli has made multiple efforts to destroy the stone with the help of her coven but the thing cannot be destroyed, atleast not for now.

[ygreczed-3]

The Red Guard and the Snow Angel

Hank and Connor’s kiss

Hank and Connor fighting

Hank and Connor having good time with Sumo

Connor’s “I’m not going anywhere”

Gavin and Nines : interface

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

They eventually find something in one of the books : Kamski is known to live in a castle, with 7 beautiful angels to serve him. No one knows how to get to Kamski's castle, since the pike is guarded by the darkness war spirit (actually Kamski being the powerful magician he is, sealed the war spirit to the castle, condemning it to the protection of the whole rock he lives on).

On their first attempt getting to the castle, Hank gets injured, and they're forced to retreat to Nestlepeek

Connor stays near Hank as he recovers, and can't help but touch him with noticeable loving attention. Nines sees him but just decides to say nothing, knowing he's too emotionally compromised with Gavin to give his brother a lesson. Gavin is totally oblivious to that, he's just very bad at hiding his concern for Hank (yes ! he is low-key worried for his human comrade).

X

Nines somehow gets to talk calmly with Nines, for the first time since the street fight.

Nines : I just don't understand. You've always been so ambitious, always training to be more powerful, why don't you use this aspiration to channel the power source and thus use it? It doesn't make sense. Gavin : It's… It's just too fucking much to process okay ? This war spirit is in me, I can feel its thirst for blood and violence all day long, and I know I can't control him because I…

Gavin just stops before he can say he's too confused with his own priorities now to have a defined goal he can use to canalize the spirit's energy. He used to know what he wanted to do with his power, but now, he feels a latent part of him wants to use it to protect his partners, Hank, and the two snowy idiots. He's still not ready to admit it outloud and thus, the spirit having no specific goal to unleash its violence, is in fact uncontrollable. 

Nines, who is a bit more honest with himself than our favorite rat, already knows he cares for Gavin more than he should in regard to his given mission, and just feels so useless when Gavin refuses to talk to him. At this point Nines only wants to help him. He looks quietly at Gavin's nape, where the seal of the war spirit is still noticeable and forms a delicate golden scar. The Golem feels a little contradictory about this scar, one part of him being satisfied and proud of the mark he was able to let on Gavin's body, and the other part of him feeling guilty for it.

Nines : I'm sorry for this. You didn't ask for it and now you have to deal with… a war spirit and unwanted killing desires. I sometimes forget you're only human, it's not in your nature to use magic. Gavin : … It's okay. Let's just… stop talking about the spirit, deal ?

Nines remains carefully silent when Gavin offers his hand in a casual manly shake. He knows humans culturally use handshakes to settle an arrangement, and decides to ignore the deep and intimate meaning of this specific gesture in his own culture. Their hands meet, as Nines' skin unwittingly turns white at the contact, but the golem doesn't pay much attention since a human can't interface anyway. Gavin's smug expression shows he's  about to say something but his grin fades away as Nines realizes their mistake : in a flash, he can feel Gavin's doubts about his unsaid desire to protect Nines despite his hatred for golems. Nines isn't sure what passed through the contact and doesn't have a clue on what impression Gavin had about his inner thoughts, or if he even felt or saw something. The human is the first to break the contact. He looks shocked, as he meets Nines' eyes and for a moment, none of them can speak. 

Gavin : The hell was that ?!

Nines is confused too : … I didn't know it would… interfaces only happen between magic creatures… Maybe… the spirit allows you to connect with me.

Gavin : What the… You read my thoughts ? Nines : It's not… mind reading. I caught a diffuse… "impression".  Gavin : … Shit.

Gavin looks suddenly so betrayed. He looks down and sideways, taking a few steps away, hands on his neck as if he was trying to hide his head between his arms. When Nines tries to get closer, he almost jumps away.

Gavin : Don't- Fuck it, don't… touch me. Nines : I'm sorry, I didn't mean to probe you. Gavin : What exactly did you… hear or whatever? Nines : … I think… I have an answer for why you can't use the spirit's violent spree. Gavin : Fuck you, that was private ! Did you search for it you fucking asshole ? Nines : Like I said, I didn't mean to interface with you ! You too must have seen something from me so stop being a child. Gavin : I didn't-

Nines waits patiently for the end of the sentence but it never comes, as some realization seems to dawn on the human warrior.

Gavin : That nice fluttering in the stomach, when we held hands, actually it was you ?

And for once, Nines is the one to remain silent, his face even but internally too embarrassed to answer the question. No wonder this sensation passed through the connection. For the few seconds their hands touched, Nines was, in a Golem way, experiencing a gesture akin to a kiss, of course he was kind of "emotionally impacted".

Nines : … As I said… let's not embarrass ourselves any further.

And at that exact moment, Gavin realizes that Nines likes him… more than a partner, more than a friend.

X

In their room, Connor is holding Hank's hand. 

Hank : So, what should we do ? Connor : I didn't think about it yet. I wanted to be here when you wake up. Hank : ...I still have three days of bed rest at the very least… Are you sure you want to lose all this time when we're so close to the goal ? I mean, we already went through the desert, you don't need me anymore. Connor : Of course I need you, Hank. Hank : Ahaha… It's nice to go easy on me like this but you don't have to- Connor : You have to trust me, when I say I need you. It's not because I think you can help me go faster or even because I think you can help me cross a specific territory. I just… need you because you mean something to me.

Hank stays quiet but tightens his hand around Connor's, looking down right at them, his large, calloused fingers embracing the golem's white and slender ones. A long and deep look into Connor's golden brown eyes tells him there is more into this already meaningful gesture than he might think.

Connor breaks the eye-contact, and Hank realizes how intense the moment was : Connor's eyes inexplicably make him feel comfortable, as if he was floating in a warm air bubble, and he instantly misses the feeling when Connor stops mirroring his gaze to look down at their hands.

Connor : You know… There is this ultimate quest upon us, something we have to achieve to save our people… And this goal governed us like it was the only thing that mattered… Maybe I'm being a selfish brat, but Hank you're so important to me, I don't want you to be injured or killed in all this. Hank : You're important to me too, Connor.  (And then Hank laughs, giving in to his stupid and unwanted feelings.) Actually, you probably couldn't even understand how much you mean to me.

When Connor meets his gaze with a puzzled expression on his face, Hank decides he has to tell him. If anything, Connor could still change his mind and keep going without him, and then Hank will be able to finally move on. He's too fucking old to pine for a pretty boy, and if it's gotta be painful then he wants it the sooner the better.

Hank : I… recently started to develop… indecent feelings… Connor, purposely obtuse: "Indecent" ? Hank : I mean... in a… hum… romantic way. Come on kid, don't make me say it. Connor : Why would "romantic" be "indecent" ? Hank : Dunno, I'm old and pathetic, you're young and cute, sounds indecent to me. Connor : Hank… I love you too. Hank : ...You, huh... Sorry what ? Connor : I mean every single word in this sentence, Hank, I really do. Hank : … Oh. 

Connor chuckles at Hank's blank expression, as his poor brain processes the information with unprecedented difficulty. And as Hank starts moving again, his brows frowning and his mouth forming an "o" like he was gonna say "why ?!", Connor just leans towards him and brushes his beard with his lips before meeting his mouth, softly.

And god, they love it. Hank leans forward to deepen the kiss, Connor catches his beard, his fingers following the edges of his chiseled jaw until they reach his neck and nestle around it.

And it's a weird sensation to Hank because he used to know what was hot passion and what was tenderness, and at this very moment, he could feel both in Connor's grip, burning fire and smooth touches at the same time. That's it, love, love everywhere.

They separate because the older man needs to breathe and hopefully, Connor remembered it because Hank was just gonna kiss him until he falls unconscious. 

Hank : Am I dead ? Connor : You're thankfully alive and safe, but you need rest. Stay calm. Hank : I can't  believe it… i'm… almost scared of falling asleep and realize you're gone when I wake up. Connor smiles smugly at this : he takes Hank's hand in his own, kisses the palm softly, his deep dark eyes locked on Hank's.  Connor : Sleep tight. I'm not going anywhere.

X

So, as soon as Hank can walk again, the party goes back to Kamski's peek.

Hank : I feel better but I admit that I don't think I'm able to fight anything right now. Maybe we can find another way ? Gavin : Humans and Golems can't beat a war spirit. But, huh… a war spirit could do. Nines : … Is that you you're talking about? Gavin : 'Know another war spirit around here ? Nines : But you… you can't control it… I mean, you're obviously facing a dilemma with your own motivations right now. I don't think you should endanger yourself in this state… Hank : What dilemma ? Gavin : Not your business. It's fine, I just need… I just need to meditate a little bit more. Connor : We don't need much more than a distraction just a moment until we reach the castle. There we'll activate the seal and it should stunt the spirit for some time. Nines : I'm not letting him go alone. Gavin : Still don't trust me, snow man ? Nines : I'm concerned for your well being. I wanna help. Hank : Well then we can do that. Nines and Gavin take care of the spirit and Connor, we get to the castle as fast as we can. You're good ? Connor : … Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to talk with Nines. In private.

Hank and Gavin just look at each other, surprised, but then they leave the brothers for their serious talk.

X

Connor : What was that ? "I'm concerned for you well being" ? Gavin is right, only a war spirit can compete with a war spirit… even if we wanted to, we couldn't help. Nines : Gavin can't control his spirit. I saw it when we interfaced, he truly can't, no matter how much he meditates, as long as he will have this dilemma, he can't make it. Connor : Wait what ?! Interfaced ? How ? Nines : Guess the spirit makes him sensible to magic connections. Connor : What's the deal ? Why can't he control it yet ? He's strong enough, and for what I know, ambitious enough, so it's only a matter of… Nines : He's confused. He grew fond of us, and he knows we're basically enemies. We're all being reckless, he's the only one to keep this truth in mind; if we can't reach Kamski, or if he refuses to help us, we'll have to go back to the war we left, go back to kill each other. He can't resign himself to accept his attachment to us if we're going to be his enemies again. Connor : … Do you think he can make it ? Against the darkness war spirit ? Nines : I don't. That's why he needs me there. If the thunder spirit takes control of his body, I'll be there to hit the seal in his neck. Connor : Oh Nines… You love him, don't  you? Nines : … We're selfish and weak, Con. This mission… our whole kind is waiting for us to succeed. And we're threatening this long awaited deliverance because we fell for humans…  Connor : ...That's why we can't fail. I understand you're worried but maybe… Maybe that's the reason why Gavin wants to try : he knows we can't fail now.

X

In the final act, Gavin and Nines get ready to fight with the war spirit, while Hank and Connor plan on reaching the castle as fast as they can, and find Kamski.

Gavin and Nines are hiding near the war spirit.

Nines : … Are you ready ? Gavin : I don't really have a choice there.

Gavin breathes deeply and steadily, to focus and calm down before entering the arena.

Nines : I'll be flying right behind you, okay ? It's factually stronger than me, so I have to maintain minimal distance with it, but I'll be ready to hit your seal when you need  me to, and help you run away if you're in a bad state.  Gavin scoffs : Thanks Snowman, I feel so confident right now, with you believing in me like this. Nines : … Sorry I just… worry. Gavin : Look, I was right, at that time, I couldn't do it and I was totally right. But today I… I'll do it. And I want to prove it to you. 

In front of Nines' incredulous stare, Gavin offers his hand : Nines narrows his eyes as he detects static electricity all around his fingers, as if his spirit was already eager to fight.

Nines : … Do you know what it means to us, Golems ? Interfacing with someone ? Gavin : Enlighten me, snow man. Nines : ...I'll tell you if we survive this fight. Gavin : Huh… fair enough. Now, take my hand, I'll show you.

Nines gulps nervously and reaches for Gavin's hand, his own fingers turning white as he gets closer to the human's warm skin.

And he can feel everything. It's a lot less blurry and chaotic than the first time, as somehow Nines' first sensation is Gavin's serenity about sharing his deep feelings. He catches a volatile thought that flies through the human mind, saying in a flippant tone "we might die, no need to get embarrassed", and smiles at it. Interfacing with Gavin is very special for some reason : Nines had interfaced with other Golems before but it was never so vibrant, so intense. "Maybe that's because we're about to die" he feels, and for a moment he wonders if that comes from him or from Gavin. Nines feels like Gavin is an extension of himself at that very moment. Suddenly, the realization he's gonna fight against a gigantic, ancient war spirit dawns on him. He feels scared, sure but somehow, confident as well. He can do it. He will do it now, because if he fails, he'd give up on his people in Detroit, his friends Hank and (surprisingly) Connor. He would give up on Nines and he's not ready to. He used to fear that he was making friends with an enemy… That they'd have to separate at some point, and go back to where they belonged, Detroit and Jericho. But if Gavin fails now, Detroit and Jericho are doomed. He used to fear that death was preying upon him… now he fears that his team could die. That Nines could…

If he fails now, Nines and he will be dead, and that is much more scary than befriending a Golem.

Nines frowns as he feels Gavin's hand twitching in his, as if he was about to draw it back. He wants to stay connected, he wants to melt into Gavin's mind, because he feels so scared right now.

All he can catch is a glimpse of something that sounds like "I have found some higher purpose in life than my own existence", before Gavin breaks the contact.

When Nines opens his eyes again, they're wet and his breath is short. Gavin too, seems a bit shaken up by the interface.

Nines wonders what exactly the human saw/felt/heard from him and feels very self conscious for a floating second. He wants to kiss the human, he can feel it in his vein, the fire of love rushing, burning his cold body. Gavin must have felt it through the interface… and somehow, Nines wonders if he knows. He doesn't seem shocked or… disgusted. 

Gavin : You okay ? Nines : Yeah… I'm ready to go.

Gavin exhales sharply : Alright, let's do this.

Nines : I've got your back. Everything will be alright.

So they get out of their hiding spot and as Nines takes off, Gavin summons the thunder spirit.

X

We then follow Hank and Connor, who are climbing up the rocky column at the top of which Kamski established his castle. Actually, Hank climbs it and Connor flies around to help him find the safe grips. 

They're constantly attacked by monsters with long members (parts of the war spirit), and can't fight them all back. They decide to run forward, and they finally reach a huge grid in a tunnel : Connor can pass between two bars, but Hank can't. Behind them, the monsters are getting closer.

Hank : Run before they catch us up ! Connor : Wait, there must be a way for you- Hank : I'm sure there must be, Connor, but we won't find the solution in the next few minutes we have. You have to keep going without me. Connor : What are you gonna do ? They're gonna outnumber you, and… and you're still healing from the last injury--- Hank : You have to find Kamski ! He must know how to stop those monsters, and the war spirit out there. He can help us ! Connor : … Yeah, right.

Connor puts his hands on the floor and ice columns grow up from the ground, keeping Hank in a safe space. When the man looks back at Connor with tenderness and gratitude, Connor kisses him through the bars.

Connor : The ice won't last long but it can buy you some time… Hank I… I love you. Don't let me down. Hank : I swear. Now, run, and don't look back.

Connor nods and starts running to the castle, as the monsters start to attack ferociously the ice cage Connor created. Hank knows it's not gonna last much longer, and that he'll have to fight. He prays to be able to see Connor again.

[eleanor-devil]

Kohaku & Rin’s Children | Uri, Nadeshiko & Shinju | Alternative Universe

Info about them under the cut!

Reblogs are welcome! Please do not repost, trace, edit or use it without permission!  

Note.: Rin is both a healer and a Demon Slayer in this AU!

Uri

Nihongo: 瓜 Name Meaning: Melon Age: 15 Occupation: Healer in Training Species: Human Gender: Non-Binary Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Slightly Tanned Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Nadeshiko (Younger Sister) Shinju (Younger Brother) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’u and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Uri is the first born child of Kohaku and Rin, they are about 8-9 years younger than their cousin Hisui and are especially close to him, albeit while still adoring nonetheless their twin cousins. Uri was named by their father, their name came from the fruit that their parents shared together upon their first meeting when Rin was kidnapped by Naraku and placed under Kohaku’s guard. Overall, Uri is a kindhearted person who cares about their family very much and they don’t like to resort to violence to resolve conflicts. They never truly showed interest in becoming a Demon Slayer like both their parents despite having been taught the basics, instead Uri decided to become a healer and has been learning about it from their mother and occasionally Kagome.

Nadeshiko

Nihongo: 撫子 Name Meaning: Carnation Flower Age: 13-14 Occupation: TBA Species: Human Gender: Female Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Brown Skin Color: Fair Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Uri (Oldest Sibling) Shinju (Younger Brother) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’U and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Nadeshiko is the second born child of Kohaku and Rin, having been born about a year or two after Uri. She was named after one of her mother’s favorite flowers of the same name. While adored by both her parents, Nadeshiko seems to have a closer relationship to her father and has shown interest in the art of demon slaying. Sometimes, when her father is away on missions, Nadeshiko trains with her aunt Sango with several weapons so that one day she can choose her own. Nadeshiko is a kindhearted girl much like both her parents however she has also inherited her mother’s habit of being sassy and roasting others without a second thought, she rarely keeps inner thoughts to herself. Her sweet looking face can be misleading, while Nadeshiko cares a great deal about those close to her, she will unleash her anger -quite similar to that of her aunt Sango- on those who wrong her or -especially- on those who tend to mock and make fun of her little brother, Shinju.

Shinju

Nihongo: 真珠 Name Meaning: Pearl Age: 10-11 Occupation: Priest in Training Species: Human Gender: Male Eye Color: Grey Hair Color: White Skin Color: Pale Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Uri (Oldest Sibling) Nadeshiko (Older Sister) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’U and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Ever since his birth that Shinju is the “special one” of the family, this is because despite being a human, as assured by both Inuyasha and Kagome, he was not born with the expected hair and eye color that either his parents possess. Neither Rin or Kohaku could understand why their child had been born with such features, fearing however that meant something was wrong with his health. The mystery remained for several years, when at some point and on several occasions Shinju muttered that he was seeing all white and somewhat transparent people hovering around villagers and that sometimes they talked to him but no one else seemed to be able to see them. Upon realizing that the child meant he was seeing ghosts, Kohaku and Rin took him to see Sesshomaru’s mother. Inukimi told them that while she never recalled it to have happened to a human, it would seem Shinju had gained this ability because of the contact both his parents had with death and the underworld not once but twice, which perhaps could explain Shinju’s features as well.

Children at the village often mocked Shinju more for his looks rather than his ability, which only those within his family’s inner circle knew about, and was even told many times that he was a demon or that he was not his parents’ child. This lead to Shinju becoming an extremely quiet and reserved child. A couple years later, he started training to become a priest under the guidance of both his uncle Miroku and Kagome so that he could put his abilities to use instead of letting them control his life.

[diosefm]

FROM THE DESK OF DIOSE VALEY II

when: all of these letters were written during the dawn of day two of the train hijack where: written in her train car, all letters were left on people’s rooms in the morning of day two. for those in train one, letters should be delivered the next time everyone sees each other triggers: mentions of death, threats of violence, paranoia mentions: cabil, mommy pista, @pista-clearmark , @givcnup , @cinnc, @swannscngs  , @blythefm​ , @sinksand & tiberius who is still dead

CABIL,

I know that after your conversation you probably do not wish to hear of me again, and I understand. After everything that has happened and what has been done to you, I don’t think that us Capitol people really deserve people’s pity. I don’t intend to ask you for that, nor do I want to ask for your forgiveness. I just needed to write you this and thank you for not coddling me. 

I deserved it. And not because I want to victimize myself. I’ve never been a victim, more like a victimizer. I am seeing that now. It’s almost astounding what you can realize when those you have hurt have the opportunity to tell you what they really think about you in your face. And you might have not done that outright, but your message was very clear to me.

I won’t bore you with my inner conflicts. I am writing this because Pista mentioned something to me, something about you having someone waiting for you back home. And again, I know that this really isn’t any of my business but this is something I really want to do and would be honored if you say yes.

In the event that you were to marry your girlfriend, I would love to pay for everything and offer my services as a designer. You don’t have to say yes. All I ask is that you keep this letter and if one day you are able to forgive me, my offer will still stand.

Best wishes, Diose Valey.

HELENA,

I apologize for subjecting you to this. I can only imagine how awkward it must be to receive a letter from a complete stranger, especially one that is so deeply personal and filled with apologies.

But, I feel the need to apologize for putting your son in danger. It was easy for me to just involve Pista because I vaguely knew of him and his knowledge of trains and that was the only thing that mattered to me. It wasn’t until I saw the way you looked at him that something stirred inside of me. It made me think of my own mother, made me wonder if she had ever looked at me with such love and devotion. I’m scared of finding the answer. 

I don’t want to talk about you. My intention is to tell you how sorry I am that I involved Pista in my plans. They worked, yes, but we were lucky. No, more than that. Your son refused to leave me when things god bad. I wanted to make him promise that he wouldn’t because I kept thinking of you and I couldn’t let something happen to him and hurt you. But he shot me down. And not only that, but showed me the empathy I never expected to receive given who I am. That’s what made me see what an amazing job you did raising him. I can only hope that if life ever gives me the chance of being a mother, I can be like you.

Once again, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for dumping this on you and for almost taking Pista away from you.

PISTA,

It wasn’t until I was able to lie down in bed that I remembered you. Your face was familiar, of course. I’d catch glances of you every year at the Capitol, but I couldn’t quite place you until I was left alone with my thoughts. At first I only remembered you due to Slate mentioning you during our conversations. It’s what made me come to you for help. My head just told you knew trains, having always being a hard worker who never got into trouble. But of course, Slate never mentioned your games. I remembered those on my own.

I was just a teenager so the memories are fuzzy at best. And of course, I didn’t pay attention. I was self absorbed, just saw a sobbing boy I foolishly thought had a lot of growing up to do. But there is always more than meets the eye. It’s curious, really. I would have never thought that decades later you would be the one actually helping me mature. 

You didn’t have to help me. You could’ve just left me to my own devices and stayed with your people. I keep thinking about your mother, about how I wouldn’t forgive myself if you didn’t come back to her because of my doing. It’s why I begged for you to not wait for me. Slate never taught me anything. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being the one that left a mother without her child. Which is stupid, really. That is something I have been doing for decades, just dressing up children before they’re sent to their deaths. And I know that many of the parents do want their children there, but I refuse to use that to justify my actions. Maybe that worked in the past, but not anymore.

I don’t think I really understood what empathy was until who had some for me despite of who I am. And yes, I am aware of how awful that sounds now. I wasn’t lying to you when I said I was working on dealing with all of this. I’ll keep trying. 

GRIFFIN,

Thank you. 

I could say more. Go on a tangent and talk about how much I dislike you, but that is unnecessary right now. All that you told me did bother me, but it was all because none of the things you mentioned were a lie. I guess that’s what I needed. And I hope you enjoyed it, because it is not happening again. Not because I cannot bear the thought of you having the upper hand, but because I hope that after everything that has happened, we can see eye to eye. 

You might not know this, but I was very close to Nelly once. And despite everything and the years I spent away from her, i still trust her judgement. And if she likes you and has taken care of you for years, it must be because you are worth it. I just pray you don’t ruin anymore of my dresses. Hating you is pointless, especially over something to silly. And now that we are seeing eye to eye now, well, I’ve taken it upon me to ensure you don’t hurt that woman.

You are a good man, Griffin Cripes. I apologize for not seeing it until now.

CINNA,

This is obvious to everyone, but it still has to be said. I need to confront these feelings if I truly want to be be able to seek repentance. 

I tried to sabotage you. I screamed and complained for what seems like hours, angry that someone had dared to overshadow me. I blamed you for whatever minuscule thing that happened to ruin my day when you first started working for the games. I made plans, swore I would find a way to ensure you would not get any more work after what had been done to me. I thought you were personally trying to ruin my reputation, but it was just my paranoia and Tiberius encouragement making it all worse. 

I feel like the past few days my mind has come up with a million excuses that would attempt to paint me as the victim, but I swear that is never my intention. I have a lot to work on, just like I have so many people I need to apologize to. And you’re one of them, hence this letter. 

It is an awful attempt at it, I know. I keep repeating this to myself and others, but I am trying. I promise I will have something better once we see each other face to face again. I just need time to properly deal with my own conflicting emotions, but I am sure you understand.

SWANN,

My behavior in the past was not the best. Not towards you, and especially not towards Virgo. 

I was possessive and overprotective, that I am ready to accept now. Paranoid too. With so many people whispering into my ears, I was led to believe you had ulterior motives and did not truly care about my sibling. But it was far from it, wasn’t it? I certainly could have brought this up during our conversation, give you a better apology but... Maybe I am a coward. Destroying lives and relationships is easy, but building them is what I seem to struggle with. 

Even after our meeting, I  left your train car and still asked myself if I had done enough to apologize. After a few hours, I realized I hadn’t. So you get this stupid, sentimental letter that is still not gonna feel like enough. Virgo would be much better at all of this, but I don’t have them with me right now. But on their behalf, I owe you not only several apologies, but a big thank you. 

They are not like me. It has its pros and its cons. They’re their own person, and many of what they’ve accomplished is also because of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this.

--- 

TIBERIUS,

With your connections, I am sure that by the time you read this you will know what I have done.

I don’t regret anything, Tiberius. If I am writing you one last letter before I put an end to our correspondence for good is because I need you to understand how much I’ve learned to despise you these past few weeks. I almost can’t believe that at one point I dared to think that I ha— No, I’m not doing this.

If I see you lurking around me, my sibling, or Slate I swear that all the things I’ve done to people throughout the years (so many of them for your own benefit) will seem like mere child’s play compared to what will happen if you force me to unleash my rage upon you. The bullshit about everyone that isn’t us being an enemy is over. I know who the real enemy is now.

I’m not scared of you. Never was, and never will. Fuck you.

BLYTHE,

I don’t know the truth. Virgo won’t talk to me, but they’re also absolutely terrible at keeping things hidden. I’ve seen the letters and the paintings, so I can only assume that something is going on between you two. And it did bother me. First because I didn’t think you were enough. I told myself that was the only reason, that I was just looking out for them but now I’ve realized I was tricking myself into not accepting that for the first time in my life, I was jealous of them. 

You probably won’t care about this. In fact, I am sure that before I finish this sentence this letter will already be destroyed. But I need to put this somewhere not only for my own sake, but for Virgo. If there is someone that does not deserve to suffer because of me, it’s them. 

They had a proper childhood, I did not. They are now able to experience something I have only heard about due to those corny TV dramas they love so much. And it hurts. I kept it to myself. Showing vulnerability is something I have never allowed myself to do, but when it involves love and caring, I had to bury my feelings somewhere. Except I buried my worries and let my anger and jealousy affect them. It’s not happening again. Regardless of these feelings still being present, I cannot continue hurting them just because for once, they’re thriving at something I am not.

If you are still reading, this letter is a plea for you to take care of them. And a threat as well. Because if you dare to hurt them in any way, I can promise you that all those feelings I’ve buried will come out and you will learn what dealing with what I am capable of doing when I am upset.

AVEN

I loved Desmond. Friendships don’t come easy to me, but he was talented enough to change that and earn a place in my inner circle. His last name helped, yes, but at the end of the day that was not why we remained closed.

After he was gone, blaming you was easy. Spreading rumors gave me a purpose, made me believe I had the upper hand, that I still knew better. But what I made others whispers behind your back wasn’t the only information we had. Many of us just refused to listen to it. At the end it benefitted no one but Snow. 

I’m sorry you lost your husband. That was what you deserved to hear years ago instead of our complaints and unfounded grievances. I have no way of fixing the damage I caused. I will not attempt to excuse it. It happened and you suffered deeply for it. That is what matters. 

Maybe one day you will allow me to not only explain myself, but apologize. I still have a lot to do in regards to facing all the horrible things I did and what the Capitol’s indoctrination did to my psyche, but I hope that by the time we have a chance to see each other, I will have more to offer you than an I’m sorry.

[ambertaijiya]

At long last here are Kohaku’s and Rin’s children created by both me and @withagentleheart​​! All these three children along with Sumire, Hakudoshi’s and Rin’s daughter, appear in the verses Rebuilt Legacy (one of Kohaku’s Canon Divergent verses) and Post-Rebirth (Hakudoshi’s Canon Divergent verse)

Hakudoshi’s and Rin’s daughter

Below the cut is some info about them which might still change as me and Ella are still debating some stuff

Uri

Nihongo: 瓜 Name Meaning: Melon Age: 15 Occupation: Healer in Training Species: Human Gender: Non-Binary Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Black Skin Color: Slightly Tanned Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Hakudoshi (Second Father/Step-Father) Nadeshiko (Younger Sister) Shinju (Younger Brother) Sumire (Youngest Half-Sister) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’U and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Uri is the first born child of Kohaku and Rin, they are about 8-9 years younger than their cousin Hisui and are especially close to him, albeit while still adoring nonetheless their twin cousins. Uri was named by their father, their name came from the fruit that their parents shared together upon their first meeting when Rin was kidnapped by Naraku and placed under Kohaku’s guard. Overall, Uri is a kindhearted person who cares about their family very much and they don’t like to resort to violence to resolve conflicts. They never truly showed interest in becoming a Demon Slayer like both their parents despite having been taught the basics, instead Uri decided to become a healer and has been learning about it from their mother and occasionally Kagome.

Nadeshiko

Nihongo: 撫子 Name Meaning: Carnation Flower Age: 13-14 Occupation: TBA Species: Human Gender: Female Eye Color: Brown Hair Color: Brown Skin Color: Fair Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Hakudoshi (Second Father/Step-Father) Uri (Oldest Sibling) Shinju (Younger Brother) Sumire (Youngest Half-Sister) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’U and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Nadeshiko is the second born child of Kohaku and Rin, having been born about a year or two after Uri. She was named after one of her mother’s favorite flowers of the same name. While adored by both her parents, Nadeshiko seems to have a closer relationship to her father and has shown interest in the art of demon slaying. Sometimes, when her father is away on missions, Nadeshiko trains with her aunt Sango with several weapons so that one day she can choose her own. Nadeshiko is a kindhearted girl much like both her parents however she has also inherited her mother’s habit of being sassy and roasting others, she rarely keeps inner thoughts to herself. Her sweet looking face can be misleading, while Nadeshiko cares a great deal about those close to her, she will unleash her anger -quite similarly to that of her aunt Sango- to those who wrong her especially to those who tend to mock and make fun of her little brother, Shinju.

Shinju

Nihongo: 真珠 Name Meaning: Pearl Age: 10-11 Occupation: Priest in Training Species: Human Gender: Male Eye Color: Grey Hair Color: White Skin Color: Pale Family: Kohaku (Father) Rin (Mother) Hakudoshi (Second Father/Step-Father) Uri (Oldest Sibling) Nadeshiko (Older Sister) Sumire (Youngest Half-Sister) Sango (Aunt) Miroku (Uncle) Kin’U and Gyokuto (Twin Cousins) Hisui (Cousin)

History: Ever since his birth that Shinju is the “special one” of the family, this is because despite being a human he was not born with the expected hair and eye color that either his parents possess. Neither Rin or Kohaku could understand why their child had been born with such features, fearing however that meant something was wrong with his health. For a moment and because of the polyamorous relationship that Kohaku and Rin have with Hakudoshi, they thought that perhaps Shinju was in fact Hakudoshi’s child however Hakudoshi himself said that a child of his would not be a full human which Shinju was. The mystery remained for several years, when at some point and on several occasions Shinju muttered that he was seeing all white and somewhat transparent people hovering around villagers and that sometimes they talked to him but no one else seemed to be able to see them. Upon realizing that the child meant he was seeing ghosts, Kohaku and Rin took him to see Sesshomaru’s mother. Inukimi told them that while she never recalled it to have happened to a human, it would seem Shinju had gained this ability because of the contact both his parents had with death and the underworld not once but twice, which perhaps could explain Shinju’s features as well.

Children at the village often mocked Shinju more for his looks rather than his ability, which only those within his family’s inner circle knew about, and was even told many times that he was a demon or that he was not in parents’ child. This lead to Shinju becoming an extremely quiet and reserved child. A couple more years later, he started training to become a priest under the guidance of both his uncle Miroku and Kagome so that he could put his abilities to use instead of letting them control his life. 

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course, chapter 1:

I started writing this story because I love Ivar, but disliked what he became. I loved him up to where Ragnar died, after that he became more of a villain than an anti-hero. For that, I wanted to give him a good hit of karma and figured making him a slave for Christians would be his worst nightmare. Before you continue reading, I’d like to address that the story will be graphic in the blood/guts/death/violence sense. I’m also aiming to get things as historically accurate as I can, but this is my hobby so if I make horrible mistakes, bear with me. 

Chapter 1) Changing Course .-.-.

Ivar had always been plagued by pain. Since the day he left his mother’s womb and drew his first breath, life had been an endless road of physical suffering. As a nursling, those insufferable muscle aches and stiff joints made him cry relentlessly. Endlessly. It would drive his brother’s up the walls; send their father overseas. He’d weep in his mother’s arms, only silenced by the warmth of her breast; his pain absorbing strength which turned him hungry. He’d endured remarkably, survived the first crucial years and eventually managed to tolerate the pain as part of his life. He learnt to see the inevitable suffering not as foe, but as an unwelcome acquaintance that needed to be ignored in order to get through the day. That mindset, combined with his stubbornness and willpower made it possible for him to keep his chin up and get through the day. It did not lessen his self loathing and envy towards his brothers. Blessed with strong and healthy bodies, their mere existence were three thorns in Ivar’s eye; the youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The black sheep, the boneless; deformed from the waist down. 

His handicap planted a seed deep inside his chest and it spread all throughout his ribcage like poison ivy. It was blinding hate towards the world, to all who were capable to roam free and looked down upon him. Burdened by his physical limits his rage would at times rise high above his handicap, withstanding the pain to solemnly focus on destruction.  

Not a single soul forgot Ivar’s first victim. How he’d embedded his axe into the skull of another child. He remembered vividly how his tiny fist had trembled around the handle, how his mother pulled him tightly against her chest and rushed him inside. Hush dyrbare, she’d soothed him, her voice soft and warm, it’s not your fault, don’t feel regret, you are the son of Ragnar Lofthbrok, it’s only right for people to fear you. Her response was the only validation he needed. Ivar took the reassuring words of his mother to heart and smothered all forms of empathy. He was entitled to lash out to others and from that very young age Ivar found a coping mechanism; hurting the less fortunate. It wasn’t physically torture per se; his mother’s smothering grip enabled him to actually torture their thralls and peasants. He might be a useless prince, but he was a prince. His royal blood burdened him to keep their name up to certain standards, so purposely torturing their slaves was inexcusable. 

That did not mean Ivar would let any change go by to destroy the little belongings their thralls valued, pinch his nursemaid up to the point it left bruises, sink his teeth into ankles and throw a fit over the littlest of things. It was interesting to see that over time, he became quit infamous to the poor and powerless population of Kattegat. They saw him as a monster and that was much better than to be perceived as a crippled. So Ivar willingly took on the role of something dark and disgusting, he embraced being a monster.

His second act of bloodthirst happened during his pre pubescent years. The Seer had condemned a Christian to death by starvation. 

Curiosity made him crawl to their city centre in the middle of the night where he first observed the haggard form of a man, fiercely praying to it’s false God.

It was an offense, openly performing such devotion for it’s Christian God. Although the slave never laid an eye on him, Ivar resented the man with every fiber of his being. It wasn’t the poor man per say, that set him off, the poor thing simply represented defiance; praying to it’s Christian God in the centre of their town. What he later claimed as hate for the Christian, had simply been an excuse to unleash his rage. The wrath towards the entire world had been sprouting all throughout his chest and some of the roots must have reached his brain. Because what he did with his bare hands was inhuman. He destroyed the Christian, with his bare hands, knuckles and teeth. Like a meek lamb the man, awaited his death and did not fight when he was being slaughtered. It had been Ivar’s first intentional murder and it was hypnotic, addictive. Without empathy, it was easy to perceive the human body as a gigantic canvas; with endless possibilities. Destruction and pain was the purest form of art, of life itself. By ending it. Ivar loved every moment, every hair, teeth, every fiber of it. The iron taste of warm blood, the warmth of it running down his hands, chin and chest. He welcomed it, all of it and bathed in it. All for glory, all for Odin. All to make the world forget the crippled boy that wept for his mother’s warmth and see him for what he wanted to be. A monster, because he failed to perceive himself as a man, as an equal to his brothers. No, his weak legs would never place him in the same line as his brother’s. So, a monster then, was the second best choice. 

Ivar showed Kattegat another form of Boneless. At the first lights of dawn, the centre filled itself with exclamations of horrors and awe. The cobblestones were painted crimson and a flock of chickens were pecking at the intestines of the Christian. They lay spread throughout the centre, attracting flies and more bystanders. Ivar had just ripped out the tibia bones, leaving the muscles and skin lay wobbly and in a strange angle now that it’s inner skeleton had been removed. Ivar had been scraping the last bits of flesh from the bones with his fingernails when his mother appeared from the crowd and cried out in horror, falling down on her knees. 

From that day, his brothers looked at him differently. With disgust, yes, because he mauled the body of the Christian like a starved wolf. Which wasn’t far from the truth, honestly, he’d been hungry. Hungry for blood. And validation. 

From that day on, there was a hush whenever Ivar entered the Great hall, or any other place. Folks turned their head, acknowledged his presence. It was enough clarification for Ivar that being ruthless and malevolent paid off. Instead of being the handicapped son of Ragnar Lothbrok, he was the Christian slaughterer. Ivar the Boneless, now he was able to wear that byname with pride.

He’d carved pawns from the Christian’s bones and used them for his tafle game. During a game, he jokingly commented that he should’ve taken a knee bone too, it would have made an excellent king. Hvitserk chuckled uncomfortably, Sigurt’s eyes widened and Ubbe walked out. He’d loved it, pressing everyone’s buttons, making them uncomfortable and on edge. But eventually, his prepubescent act of monstrosity faded. 

That was why he felt blessed when their father asked him to join his raid in Wessex. Him, only him; Ivar the Boneless, joining their father on a raid. The Gods never favoured him and instead of glory, Ivar found despair. Their father, Ragnar Lothbrok willingly walked into the belly of the beast, with his hands raised high, unarmed and broken. Like a loyal dog, he’d crawled after his father, knowing full heartily in the castle of Wessex lay nothing but doom. Still, he’d rather die by his father’s side then end up dead in a ditch, from hunger and thirst. His father broke his promise, or rather King Egbert’s son did. The safe passage back home, which had been arranged turned out to be a lie. When he was dragged away from his father’s cell, a blunt object collided to the back of his head and pain temporarily blinded him. Quite helplessly, he’d been listening to Prince Aethelwulf arranging his deposit. The pain in the back of his head was severe. Pain throbbed so violently around in his skull that he wondered why it didn’t just crack open.

For the first day, the nausea was overwhelming, he could not keep anything down. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he lost track of time and place. Curled up, cradling his damaged skull he wished for his mother. Any form of light ravaged his brain, pounding, throbbing, like a rotting tooth right between the eyes. It took his sanity away, his coordination. The few altercation he had with Saxxons made him whimper and plead for salvation. But no relief came to his pain. Without power to fight back, Ivar found himself tossed into a ship hold, as if he were a sack of potatoes; nothing more than damaged cargo. The circumstances below deck were horrendous; human cattle packed up and wedged together as tightly as the overseers could cramp in. Ivar, half aware of his surroundings and halfway sliding into a deep pool of endless nothingness, flinched when fingers reached for his oath ring. A fist formed itself around his wrist like a bear trap and with that, the last bits of his hereditary was ripped off of him. The leather protecting his fragile lower limbs, gone, taken too. His necklace, also gone. Even his shoes and tunic were worth taking. The overseers sniggered at the sight of Ivar’s weak attempt to intervene and shoved him aside, like a thing. Like a nothing.

Their journey overseas started although Ivar wasn’t aware, which in his case was a good thing. The onerous space was filled up to the max, with minimal resources. There was barely any light, no personal space. Water was scarce and so was food. Hygiene became a problem after the ship set it’s sails and some of the unlucky ones got seasick. It did not take long for the cramped out area to turn into a sewage; the stench and heat insufferable. 

Ivar withstood the trials in silence, cradling his head in a fetal position. The pain in his head was all consuming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the pain to go away. Over and over, until in the end, the rest of the world became detached. 

He could barely hear the people around him. Some prayed in foreign tongues, others whimpered. Somewhere afar, a young child cried. 

Eventually, he drifted into sleep, waking up by a sudden toss aside. Cries were lost beneath the thunder that rolled overhead. Their cage of wood and sails was mercilessly thrown into a storm. The waves resolutely grew in size. Their vessel rode the mighty swelling sea like a child’s toy, no longer controlled by the hands of men. 

The inhabitants below deck were violently thrown from the far end of the hold to the other. Bodies were being trampled, panic spread like the plague, festering into each and everyone’s head. Violence roamed among the poor souls in captivity in order to breathe. 

At one point, Ivar found himself suffocating. Never had he wished more for land, to feel the sweet green grass of his home against the palms of his hands. The sea, it felt like his rage from within. Like punishment, ready to tear itself through the wooden construction to claim their souls. His mother’s prophecy would come true. He would drown and never enter Valhalla, because there was no honour in this poor death. To be dragged down to the bottom of the sea with countless slaves. There was nothing heroic nor royal about this death. This was not the end of a Prince, yet it seemed inevitable. And although he fought the feeling with every last bit of strength he could muster, Ivar was petrified. For the cold water to seize his body, for his lungs to fill up with water, to feel his life slowly ebb away.  

In between the lightning, darkness prevailed. In between the darkness there were flashes of his fellow unfortunate souls, their faces overcome with terror. 

‘Is it Odin’, Ivar thought, ‘fighting with the Christian God?’ Was this his fault, for it was him who’d coldly, bloodily mauled a defenseless Christian? 

‘Please Odin, the All-father, do not allow a Viking prince to die such an unworthy death,’ Ivar pleaded, ‘if I survive this storm I promise you, I will make it worth your while.’ 

As sudden as the storm erupted, it disappeared. Along the dawn of morning, the ship anchored ashore. 

Sunlight burned his eyes, blinding Ivar momentarily as the portholes were pulled open by the overseers. Orders were being shouted in unfamiliar tongues, for those who weren’t familiar with the language, there was the beating of a whip. The human cargo was expected to exit the ship, rather sooner than later. 

Few bodies remained lifeless, passed away due to suffocation. One by one they were removed by the overseers; by simply being thrown off the ship. There was no honor, nor time to bury a slave.

When one of the overseers took hold of Ivar’s curled up body, he was surprised to find the slave to be alive. Surprise was rapidly replaced by irritation. Lashing his whip he struck Ivar across the face, making the poor young man hiss and hide his face. 

The overseer signaled another member of his crew to lend out a helping hand. Both grabbed Ivar underneath his armpits and dragged him up his feet. 

Both men grunted in annoyance when their slave immediately dropped back on the floor. One chuckled and nudged against Ivar’s deformed legs. The other one let out a long impatient sigh and kicked Ivar’s arms right from under him. 

Ivar’s chin merely had time to hit the wooden floor, before a familiar boot planted itself onto Ivar’s spinal cord, taking his breath away. 

The other overseer sank down on his knees, a knife playing between his fingers. Though rust had set on the handle and blade, it was strong and jagged, enough to cut a throat. 

The tip of the knife pressing against Ivar’s  Adam’s apple prevailed the pain in his head, the stiffness of his limbs and the heavy weight on top of him. 

“I can crawl you croaked-nosed bastard,” Ivar snarled, his hands bracing to carry his upper body. The overseers must have found it amusing, seeing him squirm on the floor like a spider being squished. To exaggerate Ivar’s deride, the boot placed on his back moved up to in between his shoulder blades, pressing him down firmly. 

The boiling rage inside of him, swept through his system, like an old favoured friend patting him on the back. 

In effort to remain silent Ivar gritted his teeth, his knuckles turned white from clenching his fists too hard. His eyes squeezed closed as his face contorted and he placed his palms down onto the splintery floor. Arching his back, the pain rushed through his body like an igniting fire, but he would withstand it, even if it was the last thing he’d do. Inch by inch, he pressed himself up while another man’s weight pressed him down. With every inch, his demolished resilience sparked back up and inwardly he roared when the overseer took the boot off his back, allowing him to carry his crippled arse out of this hellhole. 

Crawling like a worm from a bird, he climbed up the steps, one by one, while sweat trickled down his face and his right eye twitched from the explosive pain inside his damaged skull. 

On the upper deck, he briefly sank against a barrel, allowing his lungs to fill up with the salty fresh breeze. Grey clouds roamed freely above – hindering the sun and its warmth. 

Once Ivar caught his breath and expelled the headache to the far end of his brain, he risked a peek over the railing. 

Dejection curled around his chest with the grip of an iron straight jacket. The ship had anchored at a small harbour, bedded near a murky dirt road. A long line of future slaves were staggering towards carts pulled by mules. One man’s sanity must have drowned during the storm, the poor bastard broke the line and made a run for it. 

He did not get far, an armed horse rider strode after him, stabbing a spear through his neck. There was no escape, at least not now. 

And so Ivar the Boneless, son of King Ragnar Lothbrok, found himself obeying the commands of Christians, lost in a faraway land while his father was at the mercy of a mendacious king. His mother presumed him to be dead, lifeless at the bottom of the sea. So there wouldn’t be a soul looking for him. 

He came to Essex as a Prince, for fame and glory; yet resurrected as a nameless, crippled slave. Oh, the Gods played him the most lousy cards of all. 

.-.-.

A/N: So this was chapter one of my Ivar fanfiction, I’m thrilled to hear what you think of it so far. As I’m still very much on Ivar’s side, I’d like to point out that yes he murdered a person in a gruesome way, but he basically did it for validation. Ok, yes that fact might make it even worse, but the way I see it is that Ivar desperately wants to become ‘something’, that he’d rather be a monster than be the person he is. 

And now he’s not even a monster anymore, now he’s just a slave, that’s karma baby. 

Xoxox Nukyster 

[kyloren]

«Charles Soule’s The Rise of Kylo Ren has finally revealed how Ben Solo fell under the sway of Supreme Leader Snoke. […] The story has also confirmed what many Star Wars fans had suspected all along; Ben Solo never really fell to the dark side at all. Where Anakin Skywalker was seduced by the dark side, Ben Solo was instead trapped by it. […] Ben Solo never truly fell to the dark side of the Force. Instead, he was imprisoned by it, trapped by the Emperor’s schemes. […] In Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, when Kylo Ren told Rey to “surrender” to the dark side — unwittingly hinting at the relationship he himself had with it, one of conquest and defeat rather than conscious choice. Importantly, this reframes the end of Ben Solo’s story, because he isn’t a man of darkness redeemed, like his grandfather. Rather, he is a prisoner who was freed by the faith of his parents and the woman who loved him, and who sacrificed himself to free the galaxy and give Rey the gift of a life of freedom.»

In conclusion, ScreenRant has many rights. 

[ read full article below the cut ]

Star Wars Proves Kylo Ren NEVER Fell To The Dark Side

Star Wars has finally revealed how Ben Solo became Kylo Ren. In the process, revealing that he never actually fell to the dark side at all.

Star Wars has — perhaps unwittingly — proved that Kylo Ren never fell to the dark side at all. Although Kylo Ren considered himself the heir to Darth Vader’s legacy, in truth he never seemed committed to the dark side in the same way his grandfather was. Even in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Kylo Ren was portrayed as conflicted, aware of the pull of the light side of the Force.

Charles Soule’s The Rise of Kylo Ren has finally revealed how Ben Solo fell under the sway of Supreme Leader Snoke. It’s only three issues in, but the miniseries has already shown Ben Solo’s fateful duel with Luke Skywalker, the destruction of the Jedi Temple, and his recruitment into the Knights of Ren. Surprisingly, though, the story has also confirmed what many Star Wars fans had suspected all along; Ben Solo never really fell to the dark side at all. Where Anakin Skywalker was seduced by the dark side, Ben Solo was instead trapped by it.

Anakin Skywalker is a tragic figure, with his own character flaws leading him to choose the dark side every step of the way. Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace touches upon his fear, anger swells within his heart in Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones, and by the end of Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith he has chosen the way of hate. The pattern is exactly the one predicted by Jedi Master Yoda; fear leads to anger, anger to hate, and ultimately Anakin himself — and the entire galaxy — suffer because of his hatred. But there’s no such descent for Ben Solo, no moment of choice where he embraces the dark side. Rather, every step of the way, the decisions were made for him.

Ben Solo’s Duel With Luke Skywalker

Palpatine seems to have had no conscious awareness of Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, until he was brought from Tatooine by Qui-Gon Jinn. In contrast, he appears to have been interested in Ben Solo since before the boy was born. In Chuck Wendig’s novel Aftermath: Empire’s End, there’s a scene in which Leia uses the Force to sense the child inside her womb, and momentarily becomes aware of a terrifying and malevolent presence watching over her. It only lasted for a heartbeat, and was soon forgotten, but it’s now safe to assume Leia was fleetingly aware of Palpatine himself. The Rise of Kylo Ren reveals the Emperor’s presence haunted Ben Solo throughout his childhood and into his teenage years, a constant darkness whispering in his ear. That accords perfectly with Palpatine’s own words to Kylo Ren in Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, when the Dark Lord of the Sith told Ben he had “been every voice you have ever heard inside your head.” Presumably Palpatine hid his presence from Luke Skywalker in the same way he concealed his inner darkness from Master Yoda and the Jedi Council all those years on Coruscant.

Finally, the moment came, and Palpatine personally orchestrated a fateful duel between Ben Solo and his uncle Luke. The Rise of Kylo Ren makes it abundantly clear Palpatine’s dark presence was at Ben’s side that night, when Luke entered his nephew’s room to watch over him. Although it’s not officially stated, the comic strongly implies Palpatine chose to let the mask slip, allowing Luke to sense the infinite evil of the Dark Lord of the Sith himself. Little wonder Luke reacted on instinct, suddenly aware of an infinite darkness and believing it to be Ben himself. It was probably Palpatine himself who stirred Ben Solo at that moment, and the boy defended himself, goaded into action by the Emperor’s words.

The Destruction Of The Jedi Temple

With Luke Skywalker supposedly slain, the entire galaxy believes Ben Solo then turned on the Jedi and destroyed the Temple, slaughtering all of Luke’s students. Star Wars: The Force Awakens intended this to parallel the sacking of Coruscant’s Jedi Temple in Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith. There, Darth Sidious tested Anakin Skywalker's loyalty to the dark side by having him participate in Order 66, sending his new Sith Apprentice to the Temple to slaughter the Younglings personally. It was a horrific indication of Anakin’s descent into the dark side, and he embraced it wholeheartedly. Anakin’s actions at the Jedi Temple were essentially the point of no return, and Obi-Wan Kenobi gave up on any possibility of redeeming him after he watched the footage.

In contrast, though, Ben Solo was no participant in the destruction of a Jedi Temple; The Rise of Kylo Ren reveals Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Temple was destroyed by Palpatine. The Emperor didn’t want to act openly, fearful Luke would be too powerful for him to defeat. But with Luke down, Palpatine unleashed a terrible Force Storm upon the Jedi Temple, killing everyone there. Ben was nothing more than an observer, watching in horror as almost everyone he’d grown up with was slaughtered. He took the blame for what happened when three Jedi who had been offworld arrived, and found him standing there, grief-stricken because he believed he’d just slain his own uncle and was unable to explain the atrocity he’d just witnessed.

The Death Of Han Solo

There’s a striking contrast between Anakin Skywalker and Ben Solo. Palpatine deliberately provided Anakin with countless moments where he could choose good or evil; the soon-to-be Emperor had stacked the odds in favor of the dark side, but there was a choice nonetheless. But Kylo Ren’s decisions were made almost by default, as he was forced down the path Darth Sidious had chosen for him. His first real moment of choice appears to have come in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, when he was confronted by his father, Han Solo. According to the Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Visual Dictionary, Palpatine intended Han’s death to parallel a Sith initiation ritual, where a would-be apprentice sacrifices someone who matters to them in order to bind themselves to the dark side. It’s quite striking that, all these years after Ben Solo had become his agent, the Emperor still felt the need for an initiation ritual.

But Han Solo sabotaged it. It’s safe to assume the Sith ritual required the unwilling sacrifice, an act of violence that would see the Sith Apprentice abandon their conscience and commit an act of unspeakable evil they could never go back from. Instead, Han seems to have embraced his death, willing to offer his own life if it would ease his son’s pain. It’s true that this act of patricide was still an act of darkness, but Han’s choice essentially corrupted it by adding an intrinsic element of love. In Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Ben Solo reimagined the conversation, and it played a key part in his finally stepping out of the darkness and into the light. The Emperor’s initiation ritual had completely backfired. There’s a sense, then, in which Han Solo was ultimately Palpatine’s undoing.

Ben Solo never truly fell to the dark side of the Force. Instead, he was imprisoned by it, trapped by the Emperor’s schemes. The idea is implicit in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, where Kylo Ren sensed the truth in Han’s words when he declared Snoke would use him and cast him aside; “It’s too late,” he answered, suggesting he would choose the light if he felt able to. And it’s there in Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, when Kylo Ren told Rey to “surrender” to the dark side — unwittingly hinting at the relationship he himself had with it, one of conquest and defeat rather than conscious choice. Importantly, this reframes the end of Ben Solo’s story, because he isn’t a man of darkness redeemed, like his grandfather. Rather, he is a prisoner who was freed by the faith of his parents and the woman who loved him, and who sacrificed himself to free the galaxy and give Rey the gift of a life of freedom.

— by Thomas Bacon on SCREENRANT

[svpernatvralis]

NERISSA MONTEVERDE is a 537 year old cis female fae. people say they have a striking resemblance to fahriye evcen. they work as the owner of royal jelly flowers and are part of the syndicate ( fae right hand ). people say they’re really coquettish, imaginative, & meticulous, but unfortunately also fickle, manipulative, & reticent. why are they in invictus? well, they simply wish to protect their kind. 

hey, hello, hi, bonjour! s’up buttercups? ‘tis i, your friendly neighbourhood loser chrissie and i’m super duper excited to be here among you fab human beings! this is my precious bby nerissa who is honestly quite curt sometimes tbh lmao still, she’s got a good heart deep down and is pretty much what you might say away with the fairies 99.9% of the time hsjakgkjf no pun intended tehe. plot-wise i’m open to literally anything and everything so come at me with any ideas ya got! i’m always diggity down to spit ball ideas and form some dope connections so pls feel free to invade my ims or hmu on le cord and we can brainstorm until our heart’s content! if ya wanna, go ahead and light that lil grey heart up red and i’ll shimmy my butt your way for all of the good stuff. anywho, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?

fundamentals.

name. nerissa angelique monteverde.

age. 537, but appears around 29.

d.o.b. december 17th.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

orientation. pansexual.

affiliation. the syndicate.

rank. fae right hand.

job. owner of royal jelly flowers.

connections.

birth mother. enya. †

birth father. caliban. †

step-mother. nyx. †

siblings. unknown.

significant other. n/a.

child/ren. n/a.

pet/s. n/a.

proficiencies.

spoken languages. english, turkish, german, italian, french, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. brusque, calculating, distant, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. dedicated, strong-willed, direct, honest, loyal, patient, reliable, enjoys creating order, & excellent organiser.

weaknesses. inflexible, stubborn, judgemental, uncomfortable with unconventional situations, too focused on social status, finds it difficult to relax, & has difficulty expressing emotion.

appearance.

eye colour. hazel.

hair colour. brown / auburn.

height. five feet, eight inches.

weight. 59 kg.

miscellaneous.

zodiac. sagittarius.

element. fire.

house. slytherin.

meyers briggs type. estj-a.

alignment. true neutral.

enneagram. type one.

temperament. choleric.

intelligence type. interpersonal.

background.

NERISSA ANGELIQUE MONTEVERDE     —     five hundred and thirty-seven, fae, owner of royal jelly flowers, + fae right hand for the syndicate��!

possible triggers   :   adultery, infertility, execution, beheading, murder, death.

tl;dr.     alrighty, where do we start with this lil spitfire? she uhhh ... has a lot of issues and is quite distant bc of it. nerissa was the product of an affair between an esteemed fae ( caliban ) and a fire faerie ( enya ). though nerissa never had the chance to meet her birth mother as her step-mother ( nyx ) banished enya shortly after she gave birth. enya’s banishment was a result of the rage nyx held toward her. in part, due to her inability to conceive a child of her own and also due to her anger for her husband’s affair. thus, nerissa grew up under the impression that her biological mother was nyx; neither of her parents divulging the truth behind her parentage. although nerissa was not biologically nyx’s daughter, nyx adored the young fae as if she were her own blood. in truth, nerissa spent more time with her ‘mother’ than with her father. in part, caliban felt the loss of his mistress even though he refused to acknowledge her part in his daughter’s birth. basically, he never had any time for nerissa and excluded her from everything. still, she remained upbeat about it, thinking that one day she'd win his love. she did not. shocker. growing up, life was mostly positive for nerissa. her father’s guards protected her, and his warlock friends aided her with her abilities and taught her the fae ways as well as those of the human beliefs. as the years passed by, nerissa grew stronger and smarter; becoming an adored figure among her fellow fae, yet, in the background, tensions rose between nyx and caliban when their family dynamic became endangered by nyx’s threat of revealing the truth behind nerissa’s heritage. in fear of their secret becoming common knowledge ( and most importantly, ariela finding out ), caliban ordered for his wife to be executed for ‘treason.’ of course, nerissa tried to protest this due to her love for the woman she believed to be her mother but her attempts to prevent her father’s ruling were futile. days later, nyx was publicly beheaded by one of caliban’s most loyal guards. this act served to place a wedge further between nerissa and her father and as the years ticked by, until his untimely demise which was when nerissa left her home behind. soon after, she joined the syndicate where she now sits as the right hand for the fae. to this day, she remains unaware of her true parentage and continues to struggle with the haunting nightmares of her childhood. so yah, nerissa had a pretty rough childhood but she's bounced back. well, about as much as you'd expect from someone who grew up feeling unwanted and unloved. really, she just always tries her best and is a perfectionist and wants to protect her kind.

random extras.

her signature scent is chanel N°5.

she’s fearless af. throwback to her upbringing, most likely.

she’s all sweet smiles and charming words until her expression turns sharp and deadly. it’s her tactic to entice then pounce, if you will.

she loves to surprise people. most assume she’s a pretty girl but oh, she loves the look of shock on their faces when she unleashes her inner bish.

in a way, her words are like her weaponry.

an angel of vengeance in a pair of designer sunglasses tbh.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

when it comes to whether or not she is morally decent or an extremely bad person, she is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum—she isn’t heartless but she isn’t compassionate either.

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.

is truly an independent woman who don’t need no man.

loyalty means a lot to her. if you betray her trust, then she’ll freeze you out.

while she’s a major ice queen on the outside, she has the potential to melt with the right people.

may seem like she has a superiority complex and acts as if she’s better than you, but it’s just because she knows her worth and her value.

she knows her strengths and isn’t afraid to assert them.

she’s v confident. not in a cocky way, but she is definitely self-assured in her looks and abilities.

avoids violence when possible.

prefers blackmail and taking advantage of people’s pressure points.

she’s her own biggest fan tbh.

[literarydumpinggrounds]

Secret’s Out: Part 5/?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 1,108

Warnings: angst, anger, and violence

Notes: This was a fun one to write. Feel free to tell me what you think! As always, enjoy! :)

Draco had never felt a pain so malicious. All his pride draining from him with the crimson of his veins, making his vision slightly fuzzy; like the world around him, his insides were in chaos. A mess. Something was burning him, hurting him, something inside him ached. No matter of valiant effort allowed him to pinpoint the origin of the pain. He tried to reason this unbearable burning but couldn't find any. Everything felt confused, like the jumbled game of gobstones. He could hardly breathe, his heart rattling mercilessly in his chest as he tried to accept the terrifying fate he was facing. 

He was going to die in this horrid place he’d once been so fond of, drenched in recycled toilet water. 

He was going to die at the hands of Saint Potter, the bane of his very existence. 

He was going to die in front of you, his angel, his stargazer, his light. 

He was going to die. 

No. 

Draco wasn’t ready to be done, not when he’d just discovered the good, not when he’d just found the love of his life. There was still so many things left to be done, so much life to be lived. He wanted to spend a lifetime making you smile, making a family, making a home worth living in. He wanted to be your happiness, wanted it to be directed towards him; for him, because of him. He wanted the chance to bring joy; to be the source of bright eyes and dimpled cheeks. Draco had watched you bring so much happiness and light into the world around you, felt the warmth that you’ve given him, and he wanted more. It was selfish, like many things in his life tended to be, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He longed for more time. You had shown him the possibility of beauty and compassion in an ugly, cruel world. 

The air in the room was so brittle it could’ve been snapped by one abrupt movement, you and Harry staring at each other with two very contrasting expressions before you let out a feral snarl of an inquiry. Draco had never seen you so void of yourself, and it did nothing to soothe his malicious nerves. The foreign fires of fury and hatred were smoldering behind your narrowed irises as you visibly weighed the pros and cons of the various and creative means available in that moment for exacting revenge. 

However, all thought for reaction in the room was brought to a screeching halt as Professor Snape swung open the back entrance with a disdainful look of discontent, looking between the three of you before commanding that you remove yourselves from the room. 

Draco watched as you started to lift yourself to your feet, only to hesitate as you caught his blurred gaze, twisting your features into a pained expression. 

“Y/L/N.” Snape huffed indignantly as he knelt beside the boy’s ashen figure.

Reluctantly, you pushed back the platinum tendrils sticking to his forehead before pressing a tender kiss to his clammy skin, giving him one last look before the loud rattle of the door hinges brought you back to reality. 

Potter. 

ㅡ

Ripping down the halls on Harry’s heels with a determination that you had never experienced before, you assured yourself that Snape would handle it, and that Draco would be okay. 

He had to be okay.

What if he wasn’t okay?

There was a scream from deep within the confines of your body that forced its way from your mouth in the form of Potter’s name, sounding so acidic, so malicious and cold that you hardly recognized that it came from you. It was as if your soul was rattling your bones like prison bars, clawing at the inner walls of your carcass like a demon begging to be unleashed. All you felt was anger, all rational thought of cause and effect, of karma and consequence seemed to escape you, and you allowed that fiery emotion to lead you. 

Somewhere in the back of your consciousness you were aware of how unhinged you looked, how surprising your behavior was, aware of all the eyes on your fleeing figures shoving past everyone. You were screaming incessantly after Harry, and couldn’t really couldn’t bring yourself to care about what anyone would think of it. Everything he could ever want was laid before him on a platter from the moment he set foot on campus, and he squandered it like an ill-raised child. Gryiffindor’s golden boy had royally screwed up this time, and you refused to let him get away with it. Not this time. Ungrateful, undeserving Harry Potter had added another notch to his belt; attempted murder. 

“Hey!”

You shoved him forward with so much force that he almost toppled forward, spinning around to face you with wild peridot eyes. 

“I never meant to hurt anyone, I swear! I panicked, and it was just the first spellㅡ”

It was like a vexing of the soul for what you felt was not human, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. It burned like fire lacing your veins and creeping up your spine. Your face was red with emotion, and all you could feel was desire; desire to hate. You were intoxicated with this storm of emotion that you had no prior intention of ever feeling, the acidity of it residing in your stomach waiting to be spewed from your mouth in the form of verbal vulgarity so unlike your usual dialect. However, you decided that you wouldn’t be saying them, but rather enacting them violently with every ounce of breath that dwelled in your lungs. 

“You heedless, lying, vindictive little toad!” you hissed. 

Despite your proper upbringing and better judgement you reared back your fist, and rammed it into his nose with a nauseating crack, sending him momentarily reeling back into the wall. You stood with your fists at your sides, relishing in the astonished chatter of the hallway beginning to buzz in your ears. 

“I see you so much as look at him again and I’ll kill you, Potter.”

Harry reached up indignantly to wipe the fresh blood from his upper lip, briefly glancing at the streaks painting his knuckles before setting his glare on you. “Is that a threat, Y/L/N?” Harry inquired frigidly, stepping forward as you did the same, mirroring looks of determined confidence. 

There was a stillness on both sides, pulling the cord taught between you, daring the other to retaliate; mutual disdain painting the aura among them an alarming shade of cherry red. 

“It’s a promise.”

ㅡ

@httpsavocados 

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