#oh also tag as ship and i am coming for you. rapidly. with a knife.

[haunted-xander]

And this is why Lightning should never be left in charge of children (...or angry teenagers)

[vostara]

I Am Lost - 01

Volume One: A New Guardian Component 01

pairing: - cayde-6 x female guardian x uldren sov - the crow x female guardian (eventual)

blurb: “The woman’s gaze drifts down to look at her hands. She moves her fingertips, intrigued by this odd sensation of feeling, of movement.”

word count: 2.8k+

When Verna awoke as a guardian, she knew nothing about what life is meant to be like as a Lightbearer. And though she has been told that learning about her past is a forbidden endeavor, she can’t help but feel drawn towards discovering who she once was. But her pursuit of the quest is interrupted by the growing chaos, by the Darkness spreading.

Begins with the events of Destiny 1 and will continue up to the current timeline (but hey, it’ll take awhile to get there). Verna is a void-using Hunter.

*This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | … series masterlist

Tag List (Open): @mangovalkyrie

We called it the Traveler, and its arrival changed us forever. Great cities were built on Mars and Venus. Mercury became a garden world. Human lifespan tripled. It was a time of miracles. We stared out at the galaxy and knew that it was our destiny to walk in the light of other stars—but the Traveler had an enemy. A Darkness, which had hunted it for eons across the black gulfs of space. Centuries after our Golden Age began, this Darkness found us and that was the end of everything. But it was also the beginning. — The Speaker

COSMODROME

Old Russia, Earth

A pale orange machine with golden engraving zooms around a wreckage of rusted, disintegrating vehicles. Searching amongst the ruins. He stops to scan a skeleton, slumped over in one of the cars. “Ouch,” he comments, blunt, before flying away. He pauses, looking off into the distance. And then, quick, he speeds off to investigate this new area of interest. Curiosity running strong within his circuits.

His scanner flicks on once again, scrutinizing the debris. “Is it possible?” For a moment, he feels an inkling of hope. His protective shell moves away from his main body—a metallic orb—pushed apart by a glowing sphere of blue light. “There you are!” He says, confirming his suspicions. Excited, the machine puts all of his energy into bringing the skeletal remains back to life.

In its place, a young woman appears. Tanned skin forms, surrounding the broken bones. Dark hair grows, cascading in loose waves down to her mid-back. And with her first inhale of breath, a blush of pink life spreads across her cheeks. Slowly, the woman opens her eyes, and winces at the invasion of light.

“Guardian,” the machine says. He moves closer to her, flying right up into her line of vision. “Guardian?” He repeats.

The woman blinks at him. She feels sluggish, confused. Her mind still busy trying to process the concept of life, existence.

“Eyes up, Guardian!” The strange object says, inching the slightest bit closer to her face.

She tilts her head in curiosity, finally noticing the talking robot.

“It worked… You’re alive!” He says. “You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you. I’m a Ghost. Actually, now I’m your Ghost. And you…”

The woman’s gaze drifts down to look at her hands. She moves her fingertips, intrigued by this odd sensation of feeling, of movement.

“Well, you’ve been dead a long time,” the robot continues. “So, you’re going to see a lot of things you won’t understand.”

Something yells in the distance, drawing his attention towards it.

“This is Fallen territory,” he says. His optic eye shifts rapidly to glance around the area. He’s nervous, concerned. “We aren’t safe here. I have to get you to the City.” Briefly, he flies away, before turning back to the Guardian. “Hold still,” he says, disappearing.

The woman opens her mouth to speak—tries to call out for the machine to return—but no sound escapes.

“Don’t worry,” his voice says. The sound vibrates inside of her head, and it feels ever-so-slightly unsettling. “I’m still with you. We need to move, fast.”

Almost hesitant, the woman pulls herself up onto her feet. She surveys the world in front of her, overwhelmed by the sight of sparse greenery and spreading decay.

“We won’t survive long out in the open like this,” the Ghost gives her a verbal nudge. “Let’s get inside the Wall.”

She looks beyond the clumps of rusted metal, focusing on a building that’s crumbling in the distance. With unsteady steps, she walks towards it. She stumbles in the dry dirt, gradually adapting to process that’s involved in forcing her legs into motion.

“I didn’t bring you back just for you to die again,” Ghost says. “We need to move.”

Sensing the urgency, she picks up her pace. The woman climbs through the wreckage and jogs the rest of the way to the Wall. She enters through a large hole that greets her with darkness. An automatic light resting on her left shoulder switches on, illuminating the space. She climbs the staircase to her left, ascending up a couple flights of stairs. The woman is cautious as she travels further inside, careful to avoid cutting herself with the jagged, sharp edges of broken metal. She considers grasping onto the safety railings for support, but changes her mind upon noticing that they look as if they could snap between her fingers.

A skittering noise echoes throughout the building, pulling the woman’s attention to the dark ceiling.

“Quiet,” the Ghost says, half a step below a whisper. “They’re right above us.”

Making a deliberate effort to keep her footsteps light, the woman traverses further into the building in search of a way through. Eventually, she opens a door and steps into an open space.

The Ghost rematerializes beside her, and immediately begins to scan the area. “Hang tight,” he says. “Fallen thrive in the dark. We don’t. We need more light. I’ll see what I can do.” He zips away, flying deep into the darkness. “Another one of these hardened military systems and a few centuries of entropy working against me.”

As she stares into the pitch black, a rock of discomfort settles inside the depths of her stomach. Goosebumps bloom down the woman’s arms. She feels something watching her, examining her every move. But she can’t see the source.

The lights flicker on.

And illuminate the swarm of creatures moving across the adjacent bridges and walls. The woman’s eyes widen at the sight, caught off-guard by their six slender limbs, claw-like hands, and glowing blue eyes. The creatures—the Fallen—are dressed in spiked gray and silver armor, with purple cloaks draped over their heads.

The woman emits an involuntary gasp, taking a step back towards the door that she had walked in from.

“They’re coming for us,” the Ghost yells as he speeds his way back towards the woman.

“Yeah,” she responds. And for a brief moment, she is startled by the sound of her own voice. It’s coarse, strained, yet soft, quiet.

“Oh,” the Ghost pauses, stopping abruptly to look at her. “So you can speak!”

“Yeah,” she confirms, though she sounds as if she doubts this herself. Hearing hurried footsteps, she turns her attention back to the creatures that are gaining on them.

The Ghost turns to look back at the Fallen, and then rushes back to the woman. He scans a gate beside her, hacking into the system to unlock it. As the gate rises, he flies through and points a light at an object leaning against a metal crate. “Here,” he says. “I found a rifle. Grab it!”

She runs after him, quick to pick up the offered weapon.

“I hope you know how to use that thing,” he says.

Walking at a brisk pace down the hall, she detaches the rifle’s magazine and checks the amount of ammo stored inside. “You and me both,” she mumbles, clicking everything back into place. A group of Fallen soldiers jump in front of them, and the woman reacts on instinct, lodging a couple of rounds into each of their heads. Another Fallen appears, ready to strike. And, pulling out a knife from her thigh holster, she jabs the blade into the creature’s neck.

“I think you’ll be okay,” the Ghost says, watching as the fresh corpse collapses onto the ground.

The woman looks over at the Ghost, before continuing forward. Rifle raised and ready to fire. After walking through a disorientating maze of hallways and fighting off two hoards of Fallen soldiers, she stumbles into an open space with high ceilings. On the other side, a giant fan is slowly rotating behind a metal grate.

“The Fallen have a tighter hold on this place than I thought,” the Ghost comments. He heads towards the fan and looks down a new hallway. “Just a little bit further. Let’s hope there’s something left out there.”

She follows after him. “You don’t sound entirely confident.”

“I was fortunate enough to finally find you,” he says. “I don’t know how much more luck I’ve got left today.”

As the woman enters the hallway, she pauses to look back at where they had come from, double checking that none of the Fallen were hot on their heels.

All clear.

The Ghost and the woman follow the path. It leads them outside, into another field of rust and ruin.

“This was an old Cosmodrome,” the Ghost explains. “There’s got to be something we can fly out of here.”

“Cosmodrome?” The woman whispers. She takes in the sight, trying to process and understand this ever-growing pile of information.

“Right,” the Ghost turns to look at her. “You don’t know—”

His words are interrupted by the loud sound of something being launched in the distance. The woman and the Ghost whip their eyes towards its direction, watching as a smoking orange light—a flare—flies high up in the air. Gradually, it changes direction, curving towards a nearby tower.

“Incoming!” The Ghost warns, pulling the woman’s attention away from the flare.

A large portal of blue and white light forms in the sky. And through it, a ship appears and starts to descend. With the sound of a faint explosion, another ship flies through another portal. It heads towards them, landing closer than the first.

“Fallen ships!” The Ghost says. “This close to the surface?”

The woman unclips her magazine from the rifle and replaces it with a fresh one. “We should go.”

“Move!” The Ghost agrees.

She sprints across the courtyard, approaching the ship. As she nears, several Fallen leap out of the vehicle. Aiming her rifle, she shoots several of them dead before their feet can touch the ground. Moving at a quick, but steady, pace, she heads closer and continues her task of killing the creatures. Fighting her way around the swarm, she treks through the open courtyard, before entering a new building on the other side.

“I’m picking up signs of an old jumpship,” the Ghost says. “Could be our ticket out of here.”

“Here’s to hoping,” the woman mumbles.

They follow the hallways inside, pausing to kill the Fallen before these enemies are able to spot them. Eventually, they turn a corner and enter a wide, open room with a broken glass ceiling. Across the way, an old ship sits abandoned, collecting dirt and grime. It’s suspended above them, held up by multiple thick cables.

“There’s a ship!” The Ghost says.

The woman steps closer, her eyes glued to it. “It looks relatively intact,” she notes. A cluster of running footsteps storm in through the entrance behind her, and she pivots to shoot the Fallen. Once all is calm, she turns her attention back to the ship.

The Ghost reappears beside her. “Alright, let me see if I can get us out of here,” he flies up to the ship and begins to scan it. “It’s been here awhile,” he comments. “Hasn’t made a jump in centuries. We’re lucky the Fallen haven’t completely picked it clean.”

“Will it fly?” The woman asks.

The Ghost pauses and turns to look at her. “I can make it work,” he says. He turns back towards the ship and disappears as he slips inside of it. After a few moments, the ship’s lights flip on and its engine begins to rumble. Another moment goes by, and then the ship breaks itself free of cables as it raises to hover in the air.

“Would you look at that,” the woman says.

“Okay, it’s not going to break orbit, but it might just get us to the City. Now—about that transmat...”

Through a hole in the wall, several Fallen scurry into the room. “Might wanna put a rush on that,” the woman yells. She swings up her weapon, finger ready to pull the trigger.

“Bringing you in!”

Before she can fire a shot, the woman disappears in a cluster of blue lights. She reemerges inside the ship, disorientated and confused. As she stares at the different levers and buttons inside, the Ghost steers the jumpship out of the building and away from the enemies that are shooting at them.

“Let’s get you home,” he says.

“Home?”

The Ghost turns to look at her, but says nothing in return.

And unbeknownst to the duo, a stranger watches them from a distance.

TOWER

The Last City, Earth

The trip “home” is shorter than the woman anticipates. Though, she was—admittedly—a bit distracted with her face pressed up against the windows of the ship. Eyes glued to the snow-capped mountains, vast forests, clear lakes, and crumbling cities that passed by beneath them. Breaking through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm, the ship is greeted with bright rays of warm sunshine. And, pressing her nose even further into the glass, the woman’s eyes widen at the sight of a giant orb floating in the distance. Below it, a towering grey building glimmers beneath the sun’s light.

When the ship approaches the location, the Ghost switches back on the transmat and teleports the woman down onto the courtyard below. Just as her feet touch the ground, the ship flies away and disappears behind the roof of the building.

“Welcome to the last safe City on Earth,” the Ghost says. “The only place the Traveler can still protect. It took centuries to build. Now, we’re counting every day it stands.”

The woman takes a step towards the balcony’s edge, wanting a better view of the City below.

“And this Tower is where the Guardians live,” the Ghost says, flying towards the main building.

She turns to follow him, but freezes in place. She’s stunned by the expansive entryways, tall pillars, glowing lights, and red flags billowing in the wind. Robots patrol the courtyard, sweeping the ground and collecting stray pieces of rogue trash. A group of children race across the steps, led by a young boy that’s clutching a large black ball between his small hands. As the laughing children sprint passed one of the cleaning robots, it cautions them to be careful and to slow down.

“You keep referring to Guardians,” the woman says. “Is that what I am?”

“Yes.”

“And what does that entail?”

The Ghost hovers just out of her reach, his outer protective shell whirling in circles as he goes through an internal debate. “It’s normal for you to be confused,” he says, looking at her. “I’m sure that all of this is… a lot to take in all at once.”

The woman sighs, “Maybe just a little bit.”

Their conversation comes to a halt.

“Follow me,” the Ghost says, ending the long stretch of silence. “I’ll take you to—”

“Wait,” she interrupts. “I want to… I want to know who I am. Why can’t I remember anything? What even is this place? This… Tower?”

He drifts closer to her, meeting her gaze. “The answer to that is a bit complicated,” he says. “But who you are now is a Guardian, a new Guardian.”

“So,” the woman blinks, “I was once somebody else?”

“Yes and no,” the Ghost responds. “Your body—your face—it once belonged to somebody else. Beyond that, you are completely different.”

“So, you’re saying that I’ve been reincarnated?” She asks, looking down at her hands. The woman examines the bare skin, noticing long scars etched along the outside of her right forearm.

“Don’t think about it,” the Ghost says, nudging her arm back down to her side. “Pursuing knowledge about your past life is ill-advised. Forbidden, actually.”

“Do you know who I was?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

The Ghost stares at her.

But she continues to pry, “Not even a name?”

“Would you like a name?” He asks.

“‘Guardian’ feels a bit… impersonal,” she admits. “You probably have a name, don’t you?”

The top of the Ghost’s shell lowers, as if pulling itself down to represent a frown. “No,” he says. “I’ve only ever been ‘Ghost.’”

“Wouldn’t you like a name?”

“Oh!” The Ghost’s straightens out his shell. And his optic center appears to widen with brewing excitement. “You could gave me a name,” he suggests. “We could… do a trade. You name me and I’ll name you?”

For the first time, the woman feels amusement. “A fair proposal,” she smiles, “Tangerine?”

The Ghost flies around her head, contemplating the suggestion. “I like it,” he says, coming to a halt in front of her face. “My turn! What to name you,” his voice trails off, pondering his options. “Something strong? Pretty? Traditional? Unique? Do you have a preference, Guardian?”

“It’s up to you, Tangerine. That was the deal.”

Finally, he speaks, “What about Verna?”

She quirks an eyebrow, “Verna?”

“You don’t like it?” Tangerine’s shell spins rapidly, nervous. He starts to sink towards the ground, unsure and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s the first thing that I thought of. I can come up with something else if—”

She giggles softly, lifting the Ghost back up high into the air. “I like it,” the woman—Verna—says.

A/N: Thank you for reading! While I plan on keeping this story relatively close to the game itself, it will prioritize accuracy for the in-game cutscenes and spoken dialogue, and not any other miscellaneous written lore. This is simply because Destiny has an absolutely massive library of lore and I am simply a graduate student with little free time who has to write a novel for her thesis project.

Also, we'll be seeing some of Cayde-6 in the next chapter. ^^ I was hoping to squeeze him in for this one, but I felt that ending with Verna's name was a natural stopping point.

[moved-to-void-kissed]

What Can and Cannot Return

In a quiet moment shared while Pavo is healing Ardea’s combat injuries, the two share a nervous exchange about Ardea’s loss of her Celestrian powers in the face of the fact that Pavo still retains hers. (1091 words)

tag list: @thatslikesometaldude | @garchompp | @beeon | @tex-treasures | @catake | @tartaglialovemail | @catcao | @vilehusband | @dragonsmooch | @childrenofmeyneth | @lilacslovers | @blackbirdcrime | @kalliopi-ships | @strawberryshipz (to be tagged in what I make, please click here!)

Here is my piece for the twenty-sixth day of sapphic September - I was originally going to portray the scene as a render using MMD, but the models just were not cooperating nicely, so I spat out this little bit of writing instead. I hope it's still alright, even if it may or may not have been slightly rushed, haha!~

Comments on and reblogs of my work are always okay, and appreciated, but are by no means required! If the link to the document doesn't work properly, then there is also a transcript of it under the readmore.

“..Do you mean it, when you say it does not faze you?”

It was a quiet and peaceful night as the two young women sat next to the flickering campfire. Although the party had been too tired from fighting to travel any further that day, the faint glow of torches - and with them, people - could be seen on the edge of the horizon; they would be able to properly rest in an inn soon, but for the moment, they had to make do in the open air for another night. A short distance away from the pair, a girl with bright teal hair was curled up in sleep with her extravagant dress blanketing her in a thousand colours, while a much taller individual was resting with their back to a tree stump, and even now their spear and knife still lay within easy reach.

The question was not an accusatory one, instead settling quietly into the scene, but it still made the blonde-haired girl look away and out into the darkness for a moment. She was dressed in the textbook attire of a martial artist, with a red and gold top emblazoned with the logo of a dragon over a fitted black shirt and slick slacks. Her hands were wrapped with black fabric, and the kite’s claws they usually carried were tucked away safely in her equipment bag. Her left arm was raised and in the grasp of the other girl, whose short white hair fell over her face slightly as a glow of teal magic emanated from her palms.

“What do you mean by that?” asked the martial artist, whose gaze had now flickered back to her partner.

“I believe you know what I refer to, Ardea.” she replied, still focusing on healing the wound on Ardea’s arm. It was not a serious injury, and even now was healing rapidly thanks to her spells, but it was nevertheless something that required attention. “The fact that we once shared the same abilities, and now, you have lost what you once wielded as second nature.”

“Mmm..” was all that Ardea said in response, glancing over to check that the other two were definitely asleep before continuing. “Well, it’s true that it was difficult to adapt to at the beginning, but.. We’ve come quite far now, haven’t we? So I’ve had time to adjust to the situation.”

This brought a smile to Pavo’s face, but there was still a sense of unease in her expression. “So, it is not true that you are.. jealous of me, or- anything of the sort?”

“What?” At this, Ardea turned around with a start, causing Pavo to lose hold of her arm. “Ah- My apologies!”

“Do not worry - I had already dealt with your injuries.”

“Ah, yes, I realise that now.. Thank you kindly..” Ardea muttered, moving her now woundless arm without difficulty. Then she returned to the matter at hand. “But, Pavo, whatever do you mean?”

The Celestrian looked away at this, and her wings instinctively curled closer to her body in a large sheet of white feathers. “It is just that.. You have lost the ability to use any of the magic of Celestrians, as well as both your wings and your halo, and the boons that they bestow upon you. When we happened across the carriage of the Starflight Express in that forest, it did not even react to your presence at first. Thankfully, the benevolessence we have acquired by you offering our assistance to those in peril has restored that final aspect, but.. not any of your other abilities."

She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, then continued before Ardea could interject.

"As for myself, on the other hand.. Though the long time I have spent upon the Protectorate has weakened my connection to the Observatory, and rendered my presence visible to mortals, all other characteristics that Celestrians bear, I have retained. The story we tell that I am a mortal sage appears satisfactory to explain my powers, at least to our adventuring companions-” - she glanced over at the sleeping pair upon saying this - “-it nevertheless does not change the fact that I wield my powers on a regular basis in combat, as I have always done since my teacher imparted these skills to me, while you have had to take on an entirely unfamiliar vocation in order to maintain appearances. So, at times, I have feared that you having to witness me freely use the selfsame powers you once shared, yet no longer can use, would perhaps be unfair.."

An expression of surprise mixed with confusion clouded Ardea’s face. "Pavo, I- I don't understand.. How long have you felt this way?"

"..It was not a recent fear." she admitted.

"Oh, in the name of the Almighty-“ In one movement, Ardea had shifted her position and launched herself with considerable vigour into the unsuspecting arms of her girlfriend. Pavo’s brief sounds of uncertainly were quickly dulled, and she instinctively clung to Ardea in return.

“Angel, listen to me for a moment, please. That is not at all how I feel, and it never has been, either - if anything, seeing you use your Celestrian abilities is part of what motivates me to find a way to get mine back. Besides, I haven't lost everything - my reflexes and agility are still leagues above those of the mortals, regardless of not having wings anymore. Isn't that right?"

"..Yes, I suppose that is very true."

"And, anyway," she continued, "I still think of myself as a Celestrian, because I am. That's what I have always been, and that will never change, regardless of what happens to me. The same is true for you, too - even after we ascend to the Realm of the Almighty, we will still be Celestrians, no matter what becomes of us. And we will still be together, too, no matter what becomes of us. Does that help?"

"Ah, that.. That does bring some relief, I admit." She turned to face the campfire with a soft and grateful smile. "Thank you, Ardea, my love. I truly appreciate your words.."

"It's never a problem, angel. I'm just sorry I didn't realise you felt that way, so I could help sort things out earlier on."

"Please, do not worry. I apologise for not confiding in you before now." she replied.

"There's no need to worry about that now, Pavo. Come on, let's get some rest."

And as the moon shone overhead, the pair settled comfortably into each other's embrace to rest by the fire.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Nine: Swan Song

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heh. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @toxiicpop @renegademustelid @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @hoodedbirdie @literal-fand0m-trash @thyestean-feast @fioccodineveautunnale @kateb013 @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @oh-no-who-am-i @crownofmanga @talesfromtheguild @robbinholland @kylolover96 @lukesrighthand @lackofhonor @lightan117 @misssilencewritewell

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death and depictions of vomit/bile. Stay safe!]

While the Armorer spoke quietly with the Mandalorian at length and continued to smelt the reclaimed armor down, you remained out in the hallway with the IG unit to scan for threats. You couldn't bring yourself to go into the forge and just sit quietly like Karga and Cara, your whole body still buzzing with the vestiges of the huge rush of adrenaline you had received earlier. 

The robot's many sets of eyes swiveled back and forth, silently observing the tunnel in front of you. It also seemed to take note of your fidgeting. "Never fear. I am programmed to protect." The droid assured you. 

"As comforting as that is…" you grimaced, obsessively checking your blaster over yet again. "I'd feel much better if we didn't have to fight. Or if we had decent cover. I never know what will explode." An explosion echoed faintly down the tunnel as if in response to your words and you went rigid. You gripped the blaster even tighter, feeling the stock dig into your palm.

"I would advise not shooting at the inanimate objects to avoid possible damage."

"Wonderful." You muttered, a reluctant grin making its way onto your face. "This is why I prefer my knife."

"If you would like to attempt such an inadvisable tactic, I am unable to stop you." The droid commented. 

"No, no no. I promise I won't be that dumb." Your laugh was too high, choking off in your throat when you caught sight of several headlamps down the tunnel.

"Engaging the enemy." IG-11 announced, the spindly ex-bounty hunter droid striding forward into the spillway with purpose.

"IG, wait!" You protested. "How am I supposed to-"

"Do not worry about hitting me. Aim for them." The robot interrupted you calmly.

"Aim for them, no shit!" 

You knelt beside one of the many, possibly-explosive crates, tucking the stock of your rifle up against your shoulder. You then used the flat surface to steady the gun as best as you could, gritting your teeth probably a bit too hard. 

IG-11 was a force to be reckoned with. The droid barely even needed you, only once caught off-guard by one of the eight troopers that bore down on it like an unstoppable (but ultimately doomed) wave. 

One well-placed shot from you blew that particular stormtrooper's elbow out, making him scream in agony. You froze at the sound, your body stiffening before you could fight it off. How many men had you killed today? You had pushed it down, shoved the thought away, but-

IG-11 spiraled and struck with terrifying accuracy, it's blaster searing a hole in the side of the last trooper's helmet. "You have been protected." The droid droned quietly. It went on to ask, "Were you harmed?"

"No, n-no, I'm...I'm fine." You breathed. "Sorry, I get all…" 

"You did well. It is advisable to use cover at any and all opportunities." IG-11 mused sagely. 

"No kidding."

A nerve-wracking five minutes later the Mandalorian finally walked back out of the forge area, Dune and Karga close behind. "We push forward." The armored man said, answering your unspoken question. "We'll hit the river, and it'll take us to the flats. All we can do now is hope that the Imps won't head us off." 

Karga passed a large, square object off to IG-11 while the Mandalorian spoke. The boosters on the bottom of it seemed to indicate that it was a portable jet pack of some kind. You also saw a shiny new addition to the Mandalorian's pauldron.

"What's…?" You trailed off, gesturing at the insignia that had been welded seamlessly to his armor. It looked like a stylized mudhorn, which, when you thought about it, suited him immensely.

"My signet. I...I'm considered a clan now." The Mandalorian hesitated, his hand finding the child's in their little bundle of robes. "I have a Foundling in my care." His voice was warm, an almost incredulous wonder shining through his words. "She used...she used some of your beskar to make it. The ingot that I took from you, I-I asked her to use it," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hope that's--i-is that alright? I'll compen-"

"It's definitely alright." You interrupted him, nodding rapidly and certain that you were smiling like an idiot. "Don't even worry about that. Obviously, you guys can put it to better use than I ever could."

"Thank you." The Mandalorian said sincerely.

Greef suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. "How did you get ahold of that ingot of beskar, anyhow?" He asked narrowly.

"I was paid with it when I got hired to clean his ship." You explained. "But I guess the person that hired me was actually only interested in having me jimmy the boarding ramp open for them, because as soon as I got it open I was clocked with the ingot. They ended up leaving it with me, though. Maybe they didn't know what it was worth?"

The Mandalorian turned towards Karga and you could feel him glaring, while Greef simply hummed and looked anywhere but the glowering man. "Karga, did you-?"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no! But I can't take responsibility for the actions of every hunter under me." The older man protested, waving his hands. "You know the rules, Mando, no questions asked."

"You were the only other person who got paid in beskar, Karga." The Mandalorian growled. "If I find out that it was one of-"

"We don't have time for you guys to have a beskar-based pissing match." Dune interjected, "we have to keep moving, or we're Imp chow. Squash your shit now or deal with it later."

"I apologize for anything my associates may have done to you that, er, caused you inadvertent discomfort." Karga addressed you hurriedly.

"Uh, I...forgive...you?" You replied, more than a little confused. 

"There, you see Mando? No issues here!" The Guild leader said brightly. The Mandalorian shook his head, growling something under his breath and then stalking off in the opposite direction.

...

The rickety old lava skiff, while originally half-welded to the dock, didn't stay stuck too long in the wake of Cara's heavy blaster fire. Karga quickly grabbed the side of the craft, steadying it before it could drift away from the dock.

"Watch your feet, it's molten lava." IG-11 warned. When you turned to give the robot an incredulous look, you saw the Mandalorian and Cara doing exactly the same thing. Your deadpan stare cracked a little and you were caught off-guard by a giggling fit, clumsily stumbling over the lip of the boat as the armored man followed after you.

"Fucking droids." The Mandalorian groaned while shaking his head, though he sounded less irritated and more amused.

The droid that normally piloted the skiff appeared to be out of commission, but it was no matter. Even though the lava moved slowly, it moved enough to carry the boat along with it.

The child was still limp in Cara's arms, the former dropship trooper absently rocking them back and forth. Weariness dragged at you as well, grey static slowly encroaching upon the corners of your eyes, but you did your best to push it away for the time being. You weren't sure how much longer you could get away with that, though. Stars, once this was over you would sleep for a thousand years.

A sudden crackling noise behind you made everybody whirl, respective blasters and knives brandished. But it was just the ferry droid, emerging from the ashen lava that had entombed it. It held a punting pole in its hands and began to beep, sounding almost inquisitive.

The Mandalorian finally muttered, "I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid," his tone one of long suffering.

IG-11 helpfully supplied, "I believe he is asking where we would like to go." 

"Downriver. To the lava flat." Karga ordered. The droid gave a chirp of confirmation and jabbed its pole into the lava, propelling the boat onwards at a much less leisurely pace.

The Mandalorian sat down heavily beside you after a moment, his helmet in his hands. "I can't believe you came back." He mumbled. "I didn't think...I figured you wouldn't. Thought I did a pretty good job at ruining everything."

"I can't believe I did either, honestly." You answered him, wincing when you realized how bad that sounded. "Wait, no, I uh...I just mean I didn't really know what was going on. I followed the noise and found IG-11."

"So, nothing new." The Mandalorian replied, his voice wry. Then, he murmured, "my little mudhorn."

You shot him a confused glance from beneath your lashes, but for all you could tell he was staring at the floor of the boat. Your eyes shifted to the silvery signet on his pauldron, taking in the vicious contours of the mudhorn's silhouette. I'm considered a clan now. 

"What will you do after we take care of this?" Your words were audacious in their optimism and you knew it. He knew it too, if his snort was anything to go by, but he humored you.

"I have to find the kid's people. I can't train him, he's...well, he's not really the Mando type. But he's a Foundling in my care, so I'm to act as his father until I can either return him to his people or...or until he comes of age." The Mandalorian heaved a sigh. "And seeing as he's fifty now, I don't think him coming of age is something that'll happen in my lifetime." His hand sought yours out on the bench seat after a moment. "If you...I mean, I know that...uh, the kid likes you. So if you wanted, I'd...I'd consider…" He trailed off, squeezing your wrist gently.

You opened your mouth to stammer something and then Greef inadvertently cut you off with an excited, "That's it! We're free!" The older man pointed ahead, indicating the daylight coming into view in the distance. You couldn't blame him for being relieved, really. This underground canal was stifling.

But the Mandalorian was already shaking his head, fingers tapping at the button pad on his gauntlet. "No. No, we're not." He said bitterly, getting to his feet. "Stormtroopers. They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon." Your heart sank at his words. "They must know we're coming."

His shoulders slumped. You could feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. He had almost died, only for this to happen?

Cara, meanwhile, leaped into action. "Stop the boat." She demanded of the ferry droid, which just continued to chirp merrily to itself. "Hey, droid, I said stop the boat!" She barked, storming towards the robot. "Hey, I'm talking to you!" 

The droid carried on punting the boat forward and Cara grimaced, jamming her blaster into the vacant space between the droid's dome and body. One quick trigger pull sent the droid's head flying off with a loud crack!, the dome hitting the lava and immediately beginning to melt. The child started awake at the noise, tiny fists waving wildly in the air.

The boat continued to roll downstream, slowly but surely carried by the flow's current. "We're still moving." Greef pointed out, his tone laden with dread.

Dune swore under her breath, turning to face the rest of the group. "Looks like we fight."

The Mandalorian scoffed, "There are too many." His hand absently tapped the side of his helmet and you read his fingers: enemy ahead, five, five, five, so at least fifteen.

At least. Your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. It had been one thing when you were running along pell-mell with no actual thought put into your actions, but now-

"Well then what do you suggest, because I can't surrender." Cara snapped, cringing when the kid started to whimper.

IG-11 suddenly spoke up. "They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable." It rose to its full height, proclaiming, "I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape."

"You don't have that kind of firepower, pal." The Mandalorian retorted. "You wouldn't even get to daylight."

The droid leveled him with a stare. "That is not my objective."

"We're getting close." Dune hauled you to your feet. "Saddle up." You obliged wordlessly, waiting until she turned away before you allowed yourself to grimace in pain. Maker, your side hurt.

"I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer." The IG said calmly as you and Cara maneuvered around it and the Mandalorian to prepare what limited defenses you could muster. "If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct."

"What're you talking about?" The Mandalorian growled impatiently. 

"I'm not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed."

"Are we gonna' keep talking or are we gonna' get out of here?" Greef enquired, waving a hand at the molten riverbank.

"I can no longer carry this for you." The droid murmured, pressing the jet pack into the Mandalorian's unwilling grasp. "Nor can I watch over the child."

"Wait." The armor-wearing man sounded like he was having trouble breathing. "You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child." Was he...was he arguing with the droid? "That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?" He reasoned desperately, his head tilted up to look at the spindly droid. When the robot didn't answer immediately, he pressed, "Right?"

"This is correct." IG-11 allowed.

He was arguing. With a droid. Stars, you saw something new every day. "Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out." The Mandalorian ordered curtly, turning to check over his own weaponry. 

"Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost." You watched the armored man's shoulders slump even lower beneath his pauldrons and cape, like an immense weight was pressing down on him. "Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved in which I survive." The droid carried on relentlessly. You abruptly understood what it was saying, and despite your best efforts you felt tears sting your eyes. First Kuiil, now this?

"Listen, you're not going anywhere." The Mandalorian said sharply. "We need you. Let's just come up with a-"

"Please tell me the child will be safe in your care." The IG unit requested. "If you do so, I can default to my secondary command."

"But…" the beskar-wearing man's voice faded to a hoarse whisper, "you'll be destroyed."

"And you will live, and I will have served my purpose."

"No, we need you."

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive." The droid said pragmatically.

"I'm not sad." The armored man denied gruffly. He was lying and everyone knew it. You could hear the tremor in his words.

"Yes you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've analyzed your voice." IG-11 reached out those metal fingers, gently running them over the baby's ear. Then, without further ado, the droid hoisted a leg over the side of the boat.

"IG-!" Karga began to protest, watching the droid sink into the lava. Flames licked upwards from the ex-bounty hunter's knee gaskets, but it doggedly headed for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The Mandalorian stood still as a statue, just letting the droid go. You ended up burying your face in your hands, unwilling and mentally unable to observe what would happen. 

The ringing impact of beskar suddenly broke the silence and the Mandalorian began to sing, his words wrapped in a deep, mournful tone that sounded like it came from the center of his being. "Motir ca'tra nau tracinya," His voice faltered. "Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a! Cuun hett su!" 

The droid's self-destructive explosion rocked the tunnel and you heard the Mandalorian's breath hitch, the noise sharp and pained even through the modulator. 

He then inhaled deeply, the words reverberating off the sides of the tunnel when he roared, "Cuun hett su!" and slammed his gauntlet against his breastplate once more.

The skiff slowly slipped through the archway and out into the smokey sunlight. Fifteen broken stormtroopers littered the black ground around the mouth of the canal, none left alive in the wake of IG-11's sacrifice. You scrubbed at your face in irritation, choking back your tears. There will be time later, you promised yourself, time for Kuiil and the IG. Time to mourn them properly. You weren't permitted such time now and you knew it. People needed you, they needed--

Without warning, that ship you had seen earlier buzzed by overhead, its powerful laser cannons sending chunks of half-coagulated lava flying into the air on either side of the canal. 

"Moff Gideon!" Dune shouted, the Bren blaster whirring to life. The TIE fighter's engines screamed and whined, the craft circling back around. A line of ground to the left of the skiff exploded, green lasers punching through the cooled lava. 

"He missed!" Greef sounded absolutely thrilled.

"He won't next time." The Mandalorian replied grimly, loading a fresh canister into his heavy blaster.

"Hey, let's get the baby to do the magic hand thing!" Karga suggested, wiggling his fingers at the child. "C'mon baby, do the magic hand thing." The child stared up at him, waving their hand uncertainly. Greef sighed, "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm not." The Mandalorian snapped. He reached for the jet pack and you tugged his cape out of the way so he could attach it to his backplate. He pressed his forehead against your own briefly before he tapped at his gauntlet keypad, igniting the boosters for the pack.

"Here he comes!" Cara yelled, bracing herself back against one of the seats while her blaster roared away. Whoever Gideon was, he appeared to be coming straight for the boat. The fighter wasn't slowing one iota. 

Right as you saw the TIE fighter's cannons begin to light up in preparation to fire, the Mandalorian punched the controls on his jet pack. The armored man hurtled into the sky, easily clearing the TIE fighter and then shooting his grappling line at the back of the ship. 

Gideon took off with him in tow and Karga laughed incredulously, "you've got to be kidding me! That was your plan? Mando, you're a maniac!" He then grabbed onto the cooled lava wall that rose on the right side of the boat, fumbling his way up onto the relatively-sturdy riverbank with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Alright trooper, you're next." The older man said, extending a hand to help haul Cara out of the boat.

She too managed to get to solid ground, and she carefully sat the bundled child down for a moment before turning back to you. Cara held out her hand and Greef held out his. "C'mon rookie, get up here." She said with a tired grin. "We need good seats to watch your Mandalorian work his magic, right?" 

Your laugh caught in your throat, almost a sob, and you reached to clasp their hands. But then your breathing abruptly hitched as, in reply to the first tugs of the two individuals above you, the wound on your side made itself felt with a vengeance. You panted, half-blinded by the sudden pain and knowing that you had gone full dead-weight.

"Use your legs rookie, c'mon!" Cara complained, planting herself and slapping her other hand closed around your upper arm to help her leverage. You gritted your teeth and forced your body to cooperate in a last ditch effort to get you up onto the river banking. Despite that, you were still all but dragged the rest of the way, Dune and Karga barely managing to muscle you to safety. "Look at him go!" Cara exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the sky.

As you tipped your head back to watch the TIE fighter skitter and weave through the air, the ground suddenly felt like it was tilting under your feet. Your ears started to ring and your knees trembled unsteadily, threatening to give out beneath you any second now while the static at the edges of your vision that you had been keeping at bay crept steadily in from the sides. 

You clumsily took hold of Karga's shoulder, the older man giving you a confused look. "I...I don't feel so good." You stammered.

Cara turned to you, her mouth moving and her expression changing to one of concern, but you couldn't hear her at all over the ringing in your ears.

She grabbed your cloak, yanking it up off your body as you sagged against Greef. "Sorry," you breathed, knowing that she must have spotted the blaster wound on your side. Your own voice sounded so loud to you. Your bloodied fingers found her gorget, floundering desperately for a handhold. "Take care...of the k-kid-" you whispered, all of your adrenaline finally spent. 

You had been running on fumes for the last few minutes. You weren't sure how much blood you had lost, all you knew is that you had been bleeding since getting clipped on the battlefield. It hadn't hurt when you were moving or distracted, the urgency of your situation enabling you to draw on your body's ability to push through the predicament. But now, it seemed that your luck had run out.

Your eyes felt too heavy. You needed sleep. How long had it been since you rested? You deserved a rest. A rest sounded phenomenal.

"...shot, give--osi'kyr, let me see them!" That was the Mandalorian. He sounded terrified. You couldn't remember ever hearing his voice crack like that. What was wrong? When had he landed again? What happened to Gideon?

"S'wrong?" You slurred. You appeared to be laying down. Possibly. Up and down were a little confused at the moment. 

"Focus on me, please, you have to stay awake-" He sounded so sad.

"Going into shock--must have been when-" Cara's voice was faint and wavering, as if she was underwater. 

"Sweetheart, cyar'ika, please, please--" His helmet pressed to your forehead and you heard his breath rattle. No, that couldn't be right, the bacta spray should have fixed that. Was it your breathing that sounded that bad?

You dimly felt dried blood flaking off of your hands as you moved your fingers. "Want to sleep. S'dark." You mumbled.

"Don't you dare!" His modulated voice cut through the gray haze rudely, too loud and bright. "You're not going to sleep!"

"F-five minutes." You bargained, grimacing when his helmet banged into your forehead.

"You stay awake, you hear me?! I'm not letting you do this! Not after everything we've been through!"

"Never even...got to…" Your head felt as if it was stuffed with clouds, words trickling out of your brain and vanishing like water in the sand. "'Pologize…" He had your hand in his own now, leather rubbing feverishly over your knuckles. "Got so mad…"

"You're not the one who needed to apologize, dammit. I...I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind." His voice broke. "I-I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I-" Blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out anything else the armored man might be saying. Your fingers were going numb. Flickers of conversation reached you, battling against the roar.

"-them still, Karga, he's got to close this, stop the bleeding--"

"-idea, but make sure it holds until we get back to town--"

"I love you, I'm so sorry, this will hurt--" 

Pain stabbed through your body, startling a ragged exhale out of you. Something was burning. It smelled disgusting and you retched without meaning to, bile foaming at your lips. You wondered absently if that was the smell he had been talking about when he had been poisoned, death-rot...

Metal was pressing against your forehead and a blinding heat seared at the wound on your side, the two sensations warring for your attention. Vomit surged up your throat, making you gag again.

This is it, you realized vaguely. This is how I die. Huh. The notion was not nearly as repulsive as you had expected. Dying sounded halfway appealing. You could rest then. 

"Stay awake, please stay awake-"

"M' here. M'wake." You assured whoever it was, your hand weakly patting at theirs. "So tired...can I sleep soon? Pl-ease?"

"Not now, not now, you h-have to stay awake." His voice was trembling. "The kid needs you, dammit."

"Need you to--to take the kid and run." You urged, confidently stating, "I'll hol' 'em off so y' can escape. They're comin' in warm an' I'm comin' in cold." You struggled to grab your blaster, but your arms refused to cooperate. "Did y' turn up the gravity? Can't...can't move…hurts..." The tears wouldn't stop rolling down your cheeks in a torrent. You weren't even sure why you were crying.

"Stay awake. Just like on Sorgan. All I need is a f-few more minutes, okay? Remember?" Your body tilted crazily, someone's arms fumbling beneath your shoulders and knees to hoist you off the ground.

"Mm, I can do that. Do whatever y' want." You mumbled. The darkness closed in around you, a sweltering maw that slowly drew you deeper and deeper into its grasp. "It's...it's so dark. M' scared." You admitted, your numbed fingers petting the hand that rested on your arm.

"I'm right here with you." He assured. "I'm not going anywhere. Sing that song, please? The one you sing to the kid. The...the lullaby."

Your brow furrowed with effort and you opened your mouth, your voice faint and pitchy in the blackness. "Stars fading, but I linger on...dear...still craving…" 

The words wouldn't stick. Your brain was drawing a blank. Why couldn't you remember the words?

You fell asleep.

...

You dreamed of wind whipping your face, steam that hissed and boiled on the lava flats, droplets trickling down from underneath a proud helmet to gather at the edge of his chin and drip onto your tunic.

You dreamed of drowning, thick liquid sliding over your head, enveloping you in its fetid grasp before your consciousness faded back out. 

You dreamed of a mudhorn in beskar, the shimmering silver-clad beast guiding you through the black.

Eventually you spiraled downwards into a deeper sleep, and finally you dreamed of nothing at all.

Interlude

[princegabriel]

consider-the-nexus requested Taking the Bullet for Nureyev and Juno. Thank you for the prompt! @badthingshappenbingo

Worth Protecting

by princegabriel/ FaintlyMacabre

Rated T

Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Jet Siquliak

CW: canon-typical violence, a bit; blood, lots.

-

Juno hadn’t thought Nureyev could knock him off his feet in any but the metaphorical sense— Nureyev probably hadn’t either, if their sparring sessions back on the ship were anything to go by. There, his attacks were darting, quick, precise, and Juno knew he would be dead several times over if they were really fighting, but they never relied on a great amount of force. Nureyev’s style was deft and efficient and usually entailed sticking to the periphery. The first time he attacked from Juno’s blind spot, Juno had wound up with a (practice) knife at his throat less than a minute into the fight.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry, love,” Nureyev had said, putting the knife back down, “but the second an assailant realizes they can exploit your missing eye, they will.”

“No, you’re right,” Juno had said, looking chagrined for a moment before he spun to knock Nureyev down and pin him to the mat.

Between the two of them, when it came to close combat, Juno was much more likely to employ direct hits and blunt force. So it was a surprise when Nureyev’s bony shoulder slammed into him— from his blind spot— and he felt them both go down. Felt something else, some other force acting on Nureyev that turned them both in midair and made him land on his back with Nureyev on top of him. As Juno gasped for breath, he could feel something warm and wet soaking through his shirt.

“Juno,” Nureyev panted, “you’re all right?”

A laser beam hit the concrete next to them, and Juno instinctively picked up his blaster and aimed in the direction it had come from. With his awkward position on the ground and lack of depth perception, it didn’t hit the shooter, but it did hit the ceiling, which rained down enough pieces of itself to make them retreat. They had to get out of here; who knew how stable this area was?

“Nureyev,” Juno said, and turned to look at the thief for the first time since they’d hit the ground, and found him worryingly pale with blood flowing down his chest. “Oh, no.”

“They didn’t hit you?” Nureyev said. It sounded like he was having a hard time speaking.

“No, oh god.” It was less an answer to the question than it was an assessment of the situation. “Shit, I can’t— can you press down on the wound? I’m gonna…” He tried to roll them so that he could stand without hurting Nureyev further.

Nureyev looked like he was trying to help, but wasn’t up for much. His gaze fell to Juno’s shirt as Juno got his arms under his back and knees. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“What? No, don’t talk, don’t— we’re gonna get back to the ship, don’t worry about anything else.” Juno moved as fast as he could with Nureyev pressed to him like that, the thief’s arms folded across his chest like he was already…

Stop that.

Just as well they were in a junk yard: no one around to notice two people covered in blood, one carrying the other, his eyes so wide the whites were probably visible all the way around. He’d thought the building they were supposed to meet in looked like a death trap, but this wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind.

But wasn’t it? This was too secluded a meeting spot; he couldn’t believe Buddy hadn’t insisted on a change of location when she got the coordinates. But she’d trusted her contact, and they’d trusted her. God, what a mistake.

Or maybe Juno should have called her when they got there— a meeting with someone they didn’t know in a falling down cinderblock of a building in the middle of a junk yard? Pass, hard pass. Or if he’d just paid more attention, he could have taken the shot meant for him and Nureyev wouldn’t be…

Nureyev wouldn’t be shivering in his arms and still bleeding, goddamn it, where was Jet? Juno wove around piles of cast-off appliances and furniture, keeping to the edges of the path, but he didn’t really know his way around in here.

From up ahead and to the right, Juno heard a familiar whistle. He turned the corner. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see Jet and the Ruby. Jet, of course, saw the blood right away and moved to take Nureyev out of Juno’s arms, but Juno slowed and held Nureyev tighter.

“Does he have a spinal injury?” Jet said.

“What?” Juno said, his mind entirely occupied by the directive hold on to Nureyev. “No, but—”

“I am going to put him in the backseat so that he is comfortable, and you are going to get in on the other side and try to stop the bleeding.”

The Big Guy was right, as usual. Juno’s arms were starting to shake and at this point, he didn’t really know if he could put Nureyev down easily and comfortably. He nodded, and Jet plucked Nureyev out of his arms as though he weighed nothing.

They took off as soon as they were all safely inside. Nureyev was still shivering, and his eyes looked unfocused. Juno tried to put pressure on the wound while shrugging off his coat. He finally got it off and wrapped it around Nureyev, who was still apparently (thankfully) hanging in there.

“Going to… ruin… your coat.”

“I hated that coat,” Juno said. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

The corner of Nureyev’s mouth lifted briefly before he raised his eyes to Juno’s. “I’m… sorry.”

“For— no, actually, I’ve decided, you’re not allowed to be sorry until Vespa stitches you up,” Juno said. “Maybe not even then. We’ll talk.”

“For… Juno, I…” Nureyev was rapidly losing focus but still trying to speak. “I miss…”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Juno said, not wanting to look away but not wanting Nureyev to see him cry. “Everything’s okay, and you’re gonna be okay. Don’t try to talk. I promise, whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“You… promise.” It sounded to Juno like Nureyev was going for gently mocking, which was encouraging, but he answered as though it had been a real question. As though the answer was up to him.

“Yeah, I do,” Juno said. “And you know me, I’m always right, so.”

Nureyev’s laugh turned into a cough almost immediately.

“How much longer?” Juno demanded.

“We are pulling up now, Juno.” And the Carte Blanche was suddenly above them, blocking the view of stars and distant planets. Juno hadn’t even noticed when they left the atmosphere. The hatch was almost open enough to let the car in, but it still seemed to be moving too slowly. He looked back down at Nureyev.

He was still conscious, for a given value of conscious, but he didn’t seem to see Juno anymore.

“No, no, no, come on, honey, stay with me, we’re almost there, hey, look at me, Nu— Ransom, you gotta—” Juno didn’t really know what he was saying, he just had to keep talking, keep Nureyev awake, because if he couldn’t do that Nureyev would die, if he couldn’t do that, he’d be useless…

“Let go, Juno.”

“What?” Juno’s head snapped up.

Jet was standing at the open car door. The car was parked and Jet needed Juno to let go so that he could carry Nureyev to the medbay. All the same, it was hard to unclench his fingers from the coat and pull his hand away from the wound under Nureyev’s clavicle. As he pulled back he caught Nureyev’s expression; his eyes were wide but more focused again, and fixed on Juno. Nureyev whispered something before Jet got him out of the car and carried him away. Juno thought it sounded like “honey.”

---

(Psst, hey, this is where the story ends, but I promise Nureyev’s going to be fine, actually. This blog is a No Major Character Death zone, unless it’s canonical.)

I’m certainly still taking requests! If you already requested something that I haven’t marked on the card, please remind me. I’m going to just start posting them instead of answering them privately so I don’t forget, unless you ask me not to. Also, if you sent me an ask and I replied, please remind me so that I can tag you when I write your request!

[edmund-pevensie-just-king]

Heavy Weighs the Crown || Chapter : It Begins

Tag list (dm, respond to the taglist post, or send an ask to be added): @athomeinnarnia @broccocliche @ouatlovr @dialovesyellow @hopebaker @bluewillowmom @silentsongatdawn

Narnia tag list: @pevensie-trash @bessfrog @simply-ellas-stuff

Chapter warnings: Graphic depictions of torture, crying, self-hatred, and anxiety 

Ship(s): None (yet ;) )

Writing Masterlist

Edmund was woken up by a harsh kick to the side. He wheezed and curled into a ball from the pain, hands twitching in their bonds as his instincts told him to hold them out protectively. Pietro laughs at the young king’s efforts and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him out of the room. Edmund yelped in pain and tried to twist out of the man’s grip, but that only served to increase his pain. Instead he gained his footing, walking quickly by Pietro’s side rather than being dragged. He knew what was coming. He didn’t need to put himself through more pain or harm than was necessary. Pietro’s father was waiting for them. Edmund was shoved towards him and grabbed like some kind of animal. His bound hands were forced above his head, and looped through a hook that protruded from a wooden beam in the ceiling. Edmund bared his teeth and tried to kick out at the two men, but it was all in vain. All it earned him was a stinging slap to the face and Pietro spitting at him in disgust. When they successfully hung him up, Edmund’s feet dangled a few inches from the floor. He clenched his fists, sucking in a breath as the strain made his already sore muscles begin to ache. His heart raced as Pietro circled him, eyeing him like he was a piece of meat. 

“There are a few ways we can do this,” Pietro murmured. Edmund growled as the man came in front of him. He merely chuckled. “You could tell us what we want to know now, and we will let you go. You could also put up a bit of a fight, and we’d use some methods of...persuasion.” His eyes went from Edmund to a table in the corner of the room. Edmund didn’t have the stomach to make himself look. “Or,” Pietro continued, “You can keep your mouth shut and we’ll use you as entertainment for my men until we decide to dispose of your majesty. So what will it be, boy?” His voice dripped with false respect and reason. 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Edmund hissed through his teeth, trying to keep the temor out of his voice. Pietro clicked his tongue and sauntered over to the table, taking his time observing its contents before finally picking his first tool. Edmund glanced behind himself and shuddered. Pietro had picked up a Cat ‘o Nine Tails, the kind that had rocks, blades, and other harmful objects knotted to the ends so when someone would strike a person with the whip, it would rip and tear at the skin, causing even more damage and pain. 

“Here’s how this is going to work. Daniél will ask you a question. If we don’t like your answer, or if you don’t answer at all, we will use this on you. Each question will be repeated until you answer, and for each unsatisfactory answer or silence a lash will be added. I’m sure you don’t want that,” Pietro said with a smirk. Edmund said his jaw, staring straight ahead, just above Pietro’s father’s head. The older man rubbed his hands together, a wicked smile on his face. 

“Let’s begin then, shall we? I’ll start simple, even you should know this. How many troops are located inside if Cair Paravel?” Daniél asked, clasping his hands behind his back and looking up at Edmund. Edmund closed his eyes, taking in deep, shaky breaths. Daniél clucked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “*Iniziamo  con dieci. Sembra ragionevole,” Daniél said with a nod to his son. Daniél stepped towards Edmund, grabbing his shirt and pulling a knife from his pocket. The color drained from Edmund’s face but he didn’t flinch, keeping his head down and concentrating on staring at the floor. He would not betray his family again, no matter what it cost him or how simple the questions seemed. They all would have the same consequence. Daniél lifted Edmund’s chin with the blade, digging the tip of the weapon into the young kings throat and making him flinch. The old man smirked, lightly tracing the knife down Edmund’s body and creating a light trail of blood in its wake. He then used to knife to cut off Edmund’s shirt, leaving the boy’s back exposed to Pietro. Wordlessly, Daniél took a strip of the destroyed garment and wrapped it around Edmund’s head as a makeshift blindfold. Edmund’s breathing hitched and he instinctively kicked out at the man in front of him, only to be punched swiftly in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. 

The first hit came out of nowhere. Edmund shouted, head snapping back as his entire body recoiled away from Pietro. There was a slight pause before Edmund’s back was struck again, the wicked devices tied to the ends of the whip ripping into Edmund’s pale, unmarked back. He tried to breath, but each strike from the whip sent another jolt of pain and Edmund screamed. There was so much pain he lost count. His knuckles were white as he clenched them into fists. He kicked out, trying to hit one of his tormentors, but was met with a harsh slap and another stroke of the whip. 

“I will repeat the question again. How many troops are located inside Cair Paravel?” Daniél said, the location of his voice somewhere to Edmund’s right. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, his blindness causing his other senses to heighten. He jerked when a hand caressed his cheek; then his chin was grabbed harshly. 

“What a stubborn boy you are. It seems like you haven’t learned your lesson,” Pietro purred, his breath brushing against Edmund’s neck and making him shudder. He stayed silent, gritting his teeth and refusing to speak another word. Pietro glared at Edmund and backhanded him, making his head whip to the side. “Foolish boy,” his hissed, snapping the whip against the floor. Edmund’s breathing hitched and he jerked instinctively. Pietro laughed, voice cold and devoid of any real humor. The beatings began again. 

Edmund was gasping and shaking with pain, only able to let out a choked, pained whimper every time the whip struck his back. He couldn’t have answered any of their questions at this point even if he wanted to. That didn’t seem to stop the two men, however. They repeated the question over and over, whipping Edmund until his back had become shredded. Even then they didn’t stop. It could have been hours. It could have only been a few minutes.Edmund couldn’t even register their words any more, the edges of his vision swimming and everything sounding like a muffled shout. Each unanswered question led to more strikes from the whip, and Edmund was honestly surprised that he hadn’t lost consciousness. 

“I think that’s enough, Pietro. The poor boy can barely keep his eyes open,” Edmund’s interrogator sneered, voice dripping with false sympathy. Edmund’s head hung low, his breathing shallow as his arms shook from the effort of holding all of his body weight. Daniél grabbed Edmund’s wrists, pulling the rope up over the hook before letting go and dropping Edmund to the ground. The boy groaned, a few tears rolling down his face as he curled up into a ball on the floor. They still hadn’t taken his blindfold off. Pietro grabbed Edmund by the hair and dragged him out of the room. Edmund, as pained as he would, could make no sound of protest or fight against the other man. His body was weak from loss of blood and having to dangle in the air with no support for so long. He was thrown to the ground, where he could only assume was his cell, and the blindfold was taken off. 

“Matteo will come in a moment to tend to your wounds. Can’t have you dying on us on the first day,” Pietro sneered. He kicked Edmund in the side and spit in his face for good measure before leaving him, locking the door with a resounding clang. Edmund closed his eyes, tears leaking through his clenched eyelids. Oh, Aslan, why was this happening to him? Had the lion finally realized Edmund wasn’t worth it? Had he abandoned him after all? Edmund growled and shook his head rapidly. No. Aslan had not left him. He never would. Edmund could only hope that the great lion would soon come to his aid, or send someone to help him. 

“I’m coming in,” Matteo said, opening the door and letting light flood in to the previously darkened room. Edmund squinted and sat up, but then immediately laying down again, his face draining of all color as pain shook him to the core. Matteo quickly knelt by Edmund’s side, who recoiled away from him. 

“Stay away from me,” Edmund snapped, his pain and grief aiding him in regaining some of his defiance. Matteo set down the bowl in his hands and put up both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. 

“I am not here to harm you, King Edmund. It is as my father said. I’m here tend to your wounds.” A lump formed in Edmund’s throat as the other boy used his title. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. His tone was not mocking, but Edmund did not believe Matteo saw him for what he truly was. He saw him as his father and grandfather’s plaything. So, Edmund simply gave him a curt nod, carefully turning onto his stomach so his back was exposed. Matteo grimaced at the sight. 

“This may hurt. Some of the marks have gone deep to the bone,” Matteo said after a moment of silence. Edmund closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding again. Matteo untied his hands and Edmund rubbed his wrists, casting him a grateful look. “Brace yourself.” Matteo dipped the cloth into the bowl and began to gently dab at the deep whip marks on Edmund’s back. The young king hissed with pain, clenching his jaw and struggling not to move. Matteo cleaned Edmund’s back until the blood was gone from it. The water in the bowl was a dark red from Edmund’s blood. 

“Is that all?” Edmund asked. He was exhausted, in pain, and just wanted to get the little amount of sleep his captors would allow him. Matteo hesitated before nodding regretfully, pulling a bottle from his pocket and unscrewing it. 

“This will prevent infection, but...it’s going to hurt. A lot,” Matteo said. Edmund took a deep breath. 

“Go on then. We both know you don’t actually feel bad about any of this.” Matteo’s eyes blazed and he looked as if he were about to say something, but he kept his mouth shut. He carefully poured the contents of the bottle over Edmund’s back. Edmund gasped, his eyes shot open, and then he cried out in pain. The liquid, whatever it was, let off a foul odor as it reacted with the open wounds on Edmund’s back, eating away at any bacteria but putting the poor boy through excruciating pain in the process. Matteo had to forcefully pin Edmund to the ground so he wouldn’t hurt himself more than he already was. When it was finally over Edmund was breathing heavily, fresh tears of pain in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. 

“Now bandages,” Matteo started, but Edmund moved away from him, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Matteo’s eyes fell. “Please. I sincerely do not wish for any more harm to befall you than necessary. This will help you, and if my father sees the extent of your injuries he will wait until you are interrogated again,” he finished. Edmund scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You think I’m stupid or something? You don’t care! Why the hell would you? You’re with them. You’re in on this-”

“I want nothing to do with this,” Matteo finally snapped, his eyes blazing. “My grandfather is a fool, and my father a greater fool still. Narnia is a great kingdom that they do not deserve. You and your siblings have made Narnia and the surrounding lands more prosperous than they have been in centuries. I do not want you hurt, nor do I want Narnia to fall into their hands.” His voice was sincere and passionate, and Edmund couldn’t help but feel guilty for his words. After all, what had Matteo really done except tend to him? 

“I’m sorry,” Edmund murmured, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the cool, damp floor below him. “I’ve been unfair. I just...this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time and all,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. Matteo smiled ever so slightly, getting out gauze and beginning to do Edmund’s bandages. He had to sit up, and his face went white again from the pain. 

“Do not apologize, your majesty. You had every right to be angry and skeptical of me. Now you know you do not have an enemy in me,” Matteo replied. Edmund raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing. 

“Tell me one thing...Peter. Is he alright? He was in the clearing with me when your father’s men attacked,” Edmund said. He tried to keep his voice calm, but Matteo could hear the panicked edge in his voice. He put a reassuring hand on Edmund’s shoulder. 

“Your brother is safe. My father and grandfather only wanted you. I suppose it was meant as a sort of torture for Peter as well...the bond that the two of you share is not exactly a secret,” Matteo said. Edmund relaxed when he heard Peter was safe in Narnia, but his heart ached at the thought of his brother’s suffering at his absence. He knew Peter would blame himself. He always did, for every little thing that went wrong. Something like this...it would tear Peter apart. Matteo seemed to sense Edmund’s distress. He sat beside him, pulling his knees up to his chest and sitting in silence for a moment. 

“What do your father and grandfather want? Really? They said they wanted to invade the castle,” Edmund said quietly. He dreaded the answer. 

“They want to take over. What else would they want? Their hearts hold nothing but greed and malice towards the citizens of Narnia. This is why you must not tell them anything, no matter what they do to you.” Edmund’s breathing hitched and he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. Matteo placed a hand on Edmund’s shoulder, making him flinch in surprise. “Not all hope is lost. Your brother may come after you and you will be rescued.” Edmund’s heart fell. 

“Don’t be so sure of that. I may be in danger, but I am not a priority. Peter is the High King. if I am lost, Narnia will not suffer for it.” Matteo’s eyes softened. 

“That’s not true. Narnia would be at a great loss without you to help rule,” Matteo said reassuringly. Edmund glanced at him for a moment before looking at the floor again. He stared at the dark, mildew crusted tiles. 

“Thanks,” he whispered. Matteo nodded and then got to his feet. 

“I must go now. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Try to get some sleep,” Matteo said, squeezing Edmund’s shoulder and walking out of the cell, the door once again slamming shut. Edmund’s world was once again plunged into darkness. 

*iniziamo con dieci. sembra ragionevole (Italian)  -Let’s start with ten. That seems reasonable.

[oknstark]

Everything I Need [part 2] ━ Loki

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Summary: You appear on Loki’s dreams one night and he realizes that there is a way to bring you back. It can be dangerous, but he needs you and hopes for the gods to hear his prayers, as he is willing to give his life for you to live again.

Warnings: death, life sacrifice maybe. Little angst (and little fluff at the end). [I suck at warnings, I know]

Word count: 2,343.

A/N: WHOAH THIS WAS LONGER THAN I EXPECTED! Also this was meant to be a one shot, but this part it was requested by @hiddlestoner3059 Thanks for being my first request! Hope you like it, lovely! <3

Gif’s not mine (cr: hiddlescheekbones) and as always, English is not my first language, so forgive me for any error!

Tags: @steve-rogers-personal-hell

Part 1 | Part 2

MASTERLIST

Many weeks had pass after the battle against Thanos, and Loki could just think about you. Nothing was never enough for him to forget you, or trying not to blame himself for your death.

Every night it was a nightmare: your horrible end was stuck on his head, like it just happened the day before; like a fresh memory, or like a movie that just kept repeating again and again on his sleep. And it was torturing him in the worst manner, almost making him crazy. Thor tried to confort him and talked to him, but it wasn’t sufficient to make his brother feel alive again.

Loki had lived a lot of things trough his life, but nothing in this moment was as hideous as your passing. He was highly mad at himself because he couldn’t protect you from Thanos and that wicked woman. There was no day in which he wanted to turn back time and wished to be in your place, just to save you. If there was someone who would face that kind of destiny, Loki always thought it was him.

He knew all the things that he made in the past, as you did and still, you never grew apart from the young god. When everyone saw in him death, destruction and evilness, you saw kidness, protection and a broken soul that just wanted to be loved inside. And everytime you reminded him that, the most he felt that weird feeling, hitting hard on his chest.

But that night, when he had a difficult time trying to fell asleep, his nightmares came back as strong as always. However, instead of watching you die a million times in front of him, he was transported to a new scenario: a black sky full of small and shiny stars, fog surrounding him and the cold breeze waving his hair. He felt a strange sensation, looking slightly getting ready for any threat to come after him. But as nothing happened, Loki decided to make a step forward on the rocky ground, and suddenly a light blinded him, and used his arm to turn aside the great brightness.

“Loki...”

His heart stopped for a moment. It was your voice...

“Loki!”

His arm moved quickly without hesitating. The light had dissapeared behind you. You were there... Like a soul that had gone to the Valhalla and came back to him again. His eyes were watering and he felt like he could not breathe propperly. Were you real? Or was this one of those dreadful dreams again?

“Loki, I am real” you said, with a sad smile, like you just read his mind. Both of you grew closer and closer at every second that passed. “I tried for a long time to talk to you” your hand touched his cheek softly. “I know you suffer, but I am fine...”

“H-how you-” he began, stuttering. “H-ow are you here?”

“I can’t even explain” you carresed his face, weeping the tears flowing. “But there’s a way, I know.”

“A way? For what?” he frowned, his hand touching your arm not wanting to let you go again.

“My soul is trapped, you have to get it back... to Midgard. Please...”

“Where are you?” he asked trembling and tightening his grip, while his other hand touched your face... that beautiful face that he always loved to see. “Tell me!”

“Brother!”

His eyes finally opened, and his chest going up and down rapidly as he sat down on the bed. You were gone...

“Are you okay? You were screaming!” Loki’s eyes turned to Thor at his side. He didn’t say anything and just blinked, trying to be sure of what just happened on his dream. He was frightened. You were a mortal, so how it was possible that you could communicate with him through his dreams?

“Hey...” Thor pat his shoulder gently, getting worried of his brother, his expresion looking panicked. His face was red, proof that he was crying on his nightmare and his body was covered in cold sweat. “Say something, I’m concerned...”

“I have to find her.”

“You are crazy.”

“No, I can do it...”

“It might be dangerous.”

“Oh, and what you expect me to do?” Loki argued, turning around to meet his brother with anger. “To go and search for your friend? That Doctor Weird or something?”

“His name is Strange, but no” Thor answered. “Still you’re not going to give your live for her!” he walked on the field to get closer to Loki. “What if doesn’t work?”

“I’ll try” he responsed, locking his eyes on Thor’s. “I can and I will.”

Loki gave him a last glance, waiting for him to say something, but he kept quiet. The only sound was the wind brushing on their bodies, as they stood on the peak in Norway, where Loki was planning to sacrifice part of him just to bring you back to life. The blackhaired sighed and turned around, knowing that Thor would never approve his actions at the moment, but his voice made him stop from walking away.

“We already lost her, I don’t want to lose you as well...”

“You will not.”

Loki entered the cave, feeling nervous. His body was shaking, as he knelt on the ground, looking down, almost with shame. He wanted to try, to know that at least he kept searching for you. He wasn’t sure if you were real, maybe he was going insane and his mind decided to play with his own suffering. Maybe Thor was right. He couldn’t lose him too after everything that just happened. It looked like their destiny was to miss the few nice things they had left.

Calming down, Loki took his dagger out and slowly reached for his hand, the knife almost touching the flesh. He let out a breathe and cutted his palm in a blink. With eyes closed, Loki began to speak in a foreign old language he learned when he was younger, calling upon the gods and letting them know that he was willing to give his life for you. He repeated the conjure, his blood dripping on the cold ground in the cave, where he was still hoping for his ancestors to hear his prayers.

The last thing he remembered was the earth trembling intensely around him and a lot of voices on his head, like they heard his greatest desire. He remained his orbs closed strongly, and his wounded hand in a fist, before he was unconscious.

Eight weeks later

When you woke up on the mountain, you didn’t know what place you were in. It was a miracle that a lady found you and took you with her to her cabin, or you would have die because of the snow and the low temperature. Her name was Eir. You realized she was an asgardian when she talked about their king and how she insisted you to see him because they didn’t have a record of you since the battle, but you didn’t remember any. They lost a lot people, and the best way to keep safe was to remain together in Earth. Also, you didn’t know how you ended there, as your last memory was on space.

She took you the day after to see Thor and his closest people, to inform about your presence. Your hands were trembling, playing with the hem of the dress that the old lady provided you that morning, as you walked behind her, heading to a great house, made of wood as all of them around the mountain. Eir knocked a couple of times before she made her way inside the cabin, calling for Thor. You followed her inside and sat down on a couch near the fireplace to keep warm.

You rubbed your arms, with your eyes closed, wanting to know what happened to you. There was nothing you could remember. The last thing you had on your mind was a man; pale as snow, with long raven hair and green eyes. Loki was there with you in the ship. And Thanos... you remembered his name and everything that Loki told you about him, but that was all. There was something bad about your memories, but you couldn’t tell why or what was missing.

“Y/N?” Thor’s voice woke you up from your daydream. “How?”

“How what?” you stood up, walking to him. “What happened?” you asked. “Why am I here?”

“You were dead.”

“What?” you whispered. “And Loki? Where is he?”

When you saw Loki on his state, you immediately started to cry out loud.  Your hand reached his trough the golden aura that the healers put on him, so he could at least keep breathing. You fell to the floor, next to the bed where he was put on a sleep, one they were not sure if he’ll survive.

Thor explained you what he did: he sacrificed half of his life to the gods for you. Though, he told you everything about the battle and how you were killed, you could not remember any single thing. So here you were, crying over the man that you loved. Maybe he would never wake up, his brother informed you.

 A soft touch was all that you wanted from him. Just hear his voice again, to see him and tell him that you were alright now. Thanks to his actions. You always knew he wasn’t evil or a monster, he was far of it. Loki was a different person with you, he was caring, protective and seem to be happy when he was around you.

You entwined your fingers with his, watching his chest going up and down at a slow pace. If he could just only see that you were there again, and say thanks for everything that he did for you... But if this was a part of the consequences, you didn’t want to live anymore. The norse gods gave you a second chance, but it wasn’t worth if he was gone. You could just wait for Loki to wake up from his dream soon.

Four days passed. Four days in which you could only be by Loki’s side, hoping he will wake up and you finally could see him alive again, and tell that you always remained feeling the same towards him. Every minute, every day you were by his side, love grew bigger and bigger on your heart, as the pain did too.

You sat down on a chair, at the side of the bed, your hand always staying on his right one. You wanted to cry, but just a sob let your lips; you were out of tears by this point. You cried and mourned a lot for him, feeling weak and useless because you couldn’t defend yourself from Thanos and his subjects. But what you could do? You were just a mortal, an agent, who got in the initiative where everyone was playing to save the world...

“Maybe you don’t listen, but I want you to know that I love you...” you whispered, carissing his arm softly. “And I miss you... There will never be enough words to say how much I love you, and that I am very thankful for everything that you did for me” you smiled sadly, moving your palm to touch his cold cheek.

His facial expression was peaceful and looked like he was taking just a nap, wanting to rest for everything that he is been trough, at least just for a while. You touched his cheekbone, and moved to the bed, sitting by his side. The wind flowing on the window reminded you that it was late at night and you needed to sleep, since you barely left Loki’s room to do something else. You leaned and kissed his forehead gently. Admiring his beautiful face, you quickly took his lips for a little kiss and then left his chambers with sorrow.

The next day, you walked to the same place on Thor’s cabin, but you found Heimdall and the other woman, Valkyrie, waiting outisde Loki’s room, along with some noises and steps that you were sure, were coming from his chambers. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, getting worried.

The man looked at you for a brief moment. “He woke up” he informed you, with a tiny smile on his lips.

Heimdall made some steps back from the door, allowing you to enter and you saw Eir and one of her healers, and Thor at the end of the bed. But your eyes kept on Loki for a long time. His golden aura was gone, and he was sitting on the mattress.

Loki looked at you with surprise and happiness sorrounding him. He couldn’t believe that you were there again. He wasn’t dreaming, Thor made him sure about it. You were there, you were alive. Some tears left his eyes and you finally ran to hug him tightly in your arms.

“I missed you so much” you sobbed, crying and your hands cupped his face.

“I can’t believe you’re here” he said. His hand found his way to your cheek, wiping the tears away. “It worked... It worked! Brother, I told you! It worked!” he yelled, smiling at your sight. Thor let out a chuckle watching you both. “I love you, please don’t leave me again.”

“I don’t plan to” you said, shaking your head. “I love you too” you smiled, looking down at him.

You were still stood up, so you leaned to him and finally catched his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. His hand was running on your waist, while his other one kept on your cheek, not wanting you to leave any time soon. You pulled away after you felt need of air, and smiled at the young prince. His eyes started to tear again.

“Don’t cry, we’re fine now” you ensured, carissing his hair. “It’s alright now...”

Loki smiled, and moved to kiss your belly. You were right. You were everything he ever needed. And he was sure he never will lose you again.