#orange+green wrench next :]

[op3ra]

excelling

[a-leg-without-fear]

Flooded Red (pt.1)🩸🌧️

some lore for the reader character!! this takes place during the raid on the mansion in X2: X-Men United. please enjoy some Gore and some BAMF reader :)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 4.7k

Warnings: gore, violence, Carrie-levels of blood, mentions of child abuse/abandonment, child endangerment, mentions of experimentation, depressive thoughts, drugging, choking, mentions of serious illness

Series: Flooded Red

You were no stranger to nightmares. Whether they were your own, making you toss and turn and wake up feeling exhausted, or Logan’s, leaving him shaking and panting. Yours were more infrequent than his. Every other night or so, your dreams were edged with that toxic darkness compared to his nightly torment. Anxiety-fuelled imagery that made your heart pump and your skin sweaty.

Tonight, it seemed, was your turn on the nightmare-express. Flashes of your life before joining Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters pierced your mind like a hot poker. Your father dying of polio, your mother abandoning you when your mutation showed itself, you begging for food on the side of the road for twenty years. 

In particular, one evening in the ‘50s decided to plague you. 

You, a 54-year old who appeared to still be twelve, were hunkered down in the abandoned building you called home. It was raining, humid summer air leaking in through the boarded up windows. Mildew spots covered the aged wallpaper. A distinct, old-house smell permeated the aged floorboards. 

You sat on your collection of moth-eaten blankets. An array of warm reds and cool blues created a cushy, makeshift bed that you spent your nights in. Pale orange filtered in from the streetlamps outside the abandoned house. You had tried your best to block out light by sticking newspapers to what windows weren’t covered by pine boards.

A group of men stood in front of you. Varying heights and weights. One had darker skin and cropped black hair, another had a neck tattoo and a cleft lip. Those two stood at the front of the pack of five. All wearing dark clothes and brandishing various household items as weapons. Steel pipes, wrenches, tire irons.

“You guys really don’t want to do this,” you squeaked out. You silently cursed your prepubescent voice. The man with the tattoo scoffed, squinted eyes peering around where you sat.

“And what’re you gonna do, pipsqueak?” he sneered. He smacked his palm with the pipe in his hands. The others moved to form a line next to him, blocking you from any exits.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you muttered under your breath. The man on the far right, blonde-haired and green-eyed, chuckled at you.

“You are the least threatening girl I-”

His words were cut short, breath caught in his throat. Your head was tilted as you focused. Dark eyes flooded red, blood overtaking the white, as your left arm raised toward the group.

Rough gurgles echoed from each man’s chest. Eyes wide with fear, skin flushing, lungs filled with liquid. Your lips spread into a knowing grin.

With one flick of your fingers, you made the men’s blood reach its boiling point. Explosions of crimson ichor burst from the five men. Skin split and flowered around large wounds. Bones cracked, limbs twitching and flailing.

One by one, each man fell to the ground. Bodies turned to sacks of flesh and organs. Blood seeped from the empty carcasses into the wooden floorboards.

Your smile remained stretched across your face. You hadn’t moved from your pile of blankets. Left arm covered to the elbow in blood, rest of your body clean, eyes returning to their normal ruby shade.

A piercing, world-shattering scream broke you from the shackles of your nightmare. You darted up, chest heaving, hands covering your ears to shield yourself from the noise. Glancing briefly at your own body, you were met with your adult self. Your wide eyes looked up and darted around your room.

The left side of your bed was empty. Sheets bunched up by your knees, pillow ruffled. Results of Logan sharing your bed. Yet the grouch was nowhere to be seen. You looked up to the door hoping to see him standing there.

Instead, your eyes landed on three heavily armed men. Covered in kevlar, bullet-proof vests, thick helmets. Each one having several guns attached at various points on their bodies. They were hunched over, hands over their ears, occasional grunts coming from beneath black, cloth masks.

Ignoring the scream that jabbed your eardrums when you lowered your hands, you scrambled out of bed. Your socked feet slid slightly on the hardwood floors as you dashed to the doorway. 

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. You shook your head and blinked a few times. You took the chance you saw before you while the armed men reoriented.

A sharp jab to the front man’s jaw, his head ricocheting back, and a swift kick to his stomach sent him careening back between the other two. You couldn’t stop to check if he was out yet. You swiveled on your backfoot to the man on the right. Grabbing the sides of his helmet, you yanked his head down and connected his eye socket with your knee. You punched him in the temple for good measure as he fell to the floor.

The last man raised his machine gun to your torso. You paused briefly, eyeing the man up and down, then dropped to your knees as gunshots ringed over your head. You lunged forward at the man’s legs and knocked him to the ground. A strong kick to the face and he was out.

Breathing heavily, you clambered to your feet. Your gaze landed on the wooden door behind you. You expected to see bullet holes and splintered shrapnel. Instead, three small, white darts were embedded in the wood grain. You plucked one from the door to inspect it.

Right when the dart was lifted to your face, thick arms wrapped around your neck. Kevlar vest met your t-shirt clad back as the man who you’d failed to check choked you. Your breath came out ragged and strained. You tried to stomp back on the man’s feet, but he just stepped out of the way. Your vision was growing blurry around the edges.

“Stupid fucking mutant,” the man huffed in your ear, every word laced with malice and hate.

In a last ditch attempt, you took the dart still clutched in your fingers and stabbed it into the man’s arm. A string of pained curses left the man’s mouth as he released you. You stumbled forward, chest heaving to recover lost air, as you pivoted to face your attacker.

The man blindly grabbed at the dart in his forearm. He stumbled back, body connecting with the wall behind him, then started sinking to the floor. His head lolled to the side.

Huh, tranquilizers, you thought.

You hardly had time to assess your situation as you heard scuffling down the hall. Dozens of thick boots stepping quietly across the hardwood floor. When you listened closer, you heard the clatter of guns in gloved hands.

An involuntary growl left your chest. These men were here for the kids. Your kids. The kids you’ve helped teach and care for and raise. Flashes of fiery anger licked up your chest. You knelt and tore one of the machine guns filled with darts away from the unconscious men.

You kept low to the ground as you peered out of your bedroom doorway. A larger group of kevlar-clad men, about eight strong, were walking away from your room and toward the edge of the mansion. You nestled the stock in your shoulder and aimed at the group.

Muffled, quick shots echoed from the rifle as you shot at the men, each bundle of three darts connecting with a limb. Helmets clattered on the floor as the men collapsed. They had no time to register where the shots were coming from before they laid in an unconscious heap on the floor.

You threw the empty gun to the floor as you stood. You hated guns. Hated what they represented, the violence they caused, the people who wielded them. It was a very rare circumstance that placed a gun in your hands.

A chorus of children’s screams came from the hallway behind you. Terrified, heart-wrenching, utterly fearful. Pure, unbridled rage tugged at your chest. You could feel red coat the edges of your eyes. Blood seeping into the whites to make you look like some kind of demon.

You turned and walked briskly down the hall. Hands clenched in fists at your sides, pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin, eyes clouded in a flaming scarlet.

When you approached the next group of men, this group being six strong and standing outside Ryan and Addie’s room, your mind seemed to click off. All you could see was red, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears, all you could taste was fresh blood coating your tongue. 

Your body wasn’t your own. Fingers twisted and manipulated the pumping blood beneath the men’s skin. Bubbling and boiling the flowing ichor until each man froze where they stood. Twitching and shaking, eyes crying scarlet and mouths leaking red. Another flick of your fingers and they exploded into clouds of steamed blood. Crimson coated your entire body, leaving you drenched in the men’s remains.

Six men. Turned into empty skins and abandoned organs. Blood seeping into the hardwood floor. Dead.

Your vision came back to you. Gasping breaths left your throat in short bursts. Warm liquid beaded on the sides of your face and dripped down your skin. Your clothes were utterly drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, feet submerged in a puddle of red.

It had been so long since you’d lashed out like that. Mind going blank and fingers acting of their own accord. Since that night in the abandoned house, you’d kept your wits about you. Always resorting to hand-to-hand or to weapons if the need presented itself. You never used your mutation if you could help it.

You felt ashamed. These six men were just doing as they were told. They were only following orders. No one, not even the worst humans, deserved to die like that.

Before the panic could grip you in a chokehold, another group of booted footsteps came from down the hall. A small voice echoed in the back of your mind. The kids. Protect the kids. Whatever it takes. How could you refuse, when the children were your life? Your reason for being?

You splashed through the puddles of blood as you moved down the hall. Eyes flooded red, fingers twitching at your sides, anger gripping your chest in a vice. You weren’t yourself anymore. You weren’t the art teacher the children loved, the friend that the X-Men laughed with, or the lover Logan had grown to know.

All you were was a burning, churning whirlpool of fiery hate. Flames licked at your lungs, filling each breath with fire. Swirling images of corpses at your feet filled your stomach to the brim.

“There’s another one! Wait… holy shit!” yelled out from in front of you. You cocked your head as you observed this new group of men.

Ten strong, all clad in kevlar and vests, all pointing their rifles loaded with tranquilizer darts at you. You could see a shake in their hands as they took in the sight of you. Eyes flooded red, blood seeping through your hair and into your clothes, feet tracking crimson in their wake. If there was a physical embodiment of Carrie, you fit the bill.

“D-Don’t move!” called the trembling voice again. Guns clicked in gloved hands as the safeties were switched off. You could see every hand had a finger resting on a trigger.

Your right hand twitched, fingers curling, as a manic grin overtook your stoney expression. These men, these infiltrators, were giving you commands? Were demanding you stand down as they took your children away? These puny, insignificant men were instructing someone with the power to kill them in a single motion? The thought made you laugh under your breath.

“Or what?” you said back. Red dots centered on your chest as every man aimed at you. Another chuckle flitted through your lips, “Good luck with that.”

Dozens of gunshots ringed out through the hallway as dart after dart embedded in your chest. Clusters of white needles protruded from your blood stained shirt. You glanced down at the intrusions to your bloodstream. A tired edge overtook your mind as the tranquilizers pumped their chemicals into you. 

You gripped the darts and ripped them from your chest. A cacophony of clatters bounced back to the men as the darts fell to the floor. You shook your head to rid yourself of the chemicals threatening to knock you out. 

“Wanna try that again?” you asked, every word dripping in sarcastic confidence. 

Before the men could reload and obey your request, you raised your left hand to the group. Your senses focused on the blood pumping through their scared little hearts. Cortisol coursed through each man’s veins. Pathetic.

A twitch of your fingers made their hearts careen to a stop. Blood froze in their veins, oxygen being deprived from their lungs, eyes widening and limp hands clutching at their throats. It only took a few moments for them to collapse to the floor.

You breathed a humorless laugh at the mess of corpses in front of you. Who did they think they were, to challenge you like that? Especially after they saw that their darts didn’t work. You tilted your head side to side as you stretched out your neck.

“Vampire?” a small voice said from behind you. You turned to the source, fingers twitching in preparation. Whoever this new threat was, you’d deal with it quickly.

Regret filled your stomach like a lead ball when your eyes landed on Addie and Ryan. They stood, hand in shaking hand, feet soaking in the puddles of blood, wide eyes looking up at you. Your breath left your lungs in one sharp gust.

“Are you okay?” Addie asked, being the one who’d said your nickname before. She tucked a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. You sank to your knees before the siblings.

“I… Yeah, I’m okay,” you sighed. You squeezed your eyes shut, clearing your head of the hatred it was filled with. When you opened them again, Ryan stood before you. His blue eyes looked you over with a deep concern crinkling in the corners.

“You sure? You’re pretty bloody,” he said. You wiped at the blood covering your face. It was no use, your hands being equally drenched.

“Is it your blood?” Addie questioned from behind her brother. You shook your head.

“No. No, it’s not. Are you guys okay?” you asked, desperate to shift the attention from yourself. Both children nodded. You gave them both a once over. Their hair was ruffled from sleep, hems of their pajamas and white socks soaked in the blood covering the floor, wide eyes looking to you for reassurance. You cleared your throat, “Did those guys hit you with anything?”

Both siblings shook their heads. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Alright. Let’s get you to the passageway on this floor. Ryan, You’ll be right behind me. Protect your sister,” you instructed. The kids nodded their heads again. You stood before them, giving yourself a look up and down. 

You looked horrifying. Once white t-shirt and green shorts were drenched in thick blood. Your hair clung to the sides of your head. Rivulets of crimson leaked down your bare legs and arms. 

Yet, when your gaze met the kids’, they looked at you with nothing but adoration. How could they look up to someone as terrifying as you? Someone who just killed sixteen fucking people? What would that teach them?

You squared your shoulders, pushing your insecurities down as far as they could go, and started leading the kids back down the hall. Your knees were bent as you kept low to the floor. You would pause every few moments to listen to the mansion around you. More gunshots from the floor below you, screams of terrified children, grunts and yells from the men in kevlar. You kept your mind from wandering to that rage and continued to lead Addie and Ryan to safety.

Relief flooded your lungs when you saw a group of children, led by Piotr, standing by this floor’s escape passageway. You straightened your posture. Addie and Ryan ran ahead of you to reconnect with their classmates.

“How many do you have?” you called over the swarm of scared children. Piotr, an older student whose skin could turn to metal, looked up at you from directing kids through the narrow doorway. His eyes widened at the state of you.

“Uh… Twelve, I think,” he replied. He ushered Addie and Ryan through the door, then turned to you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth. Your shoulders seized when you heard heavy boots across the hall from you. Piotr looked over his shoulder, having also heard the approach.

Logan turned the corner. White tank top bunched around his midriff, jeans torn around his thighs, dark hair mussed from its two points. He held a knocked-out Jones, a young brunet who could manipulate electrical frequencies, in his arms. His hazel eyes glanced at you then fixed on Piotr.

“Hey, take him. He’s stunned,” Logan said, handing Jones over to Piotr. The larger boy held Jones tight against his chest. 

Just as Logan was turning to you, Piotr called out, “I can help you!” Logan looked back at Piotr. He pointed down the passageway, then said, “Help them.”

Piotr nodded at Logan, ducking into the doorway and sealing the passageway behind him. Logan suddenly grabbed your shoulders in both of his hands. You met his frantic eyes, narrowed lids shadowed by his furrowed brow.

“What the hell happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?” he asked. 

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s not my blood,” you said, shrugging his hands off your shoulders. His indignant reply was cut off when you both heard movement around the corner. 

Logan shoved you behind him as you both approached the corner. He pushed on your shoulder so you could squat next to him. His sturdy arm held you against the wall at your backs.

“Stay here,” he breathed into your ear. You nodded once in acknowledgement. Logan nodded back, then turned his attention back to the approaching group. 

You focused on lifting the blood from your shirt. Beads of crimson drifted away from your body and floated in the air before you. Your fingers twitched and the beads crashed into each other. Blood cell on top of blood cell, stacking together and forming a sharp lance the length of your forearm. One last flick of your wrist and the iron in the blood hardened the lance. A solid, red, metal weapon fell out of the air and into your open palm. At least you were significantly less bloody now.

Logan watched you out of the corners of his eyes. An air of admiration crossed his face. 

The brief moment was interrupted as a combat boot landed by Logan’s knees. Logan’s chest rumbled a deep growl, his claws shinking out of his knuckles, as he lunged forward and stabbed his right claws through the toe of the boot. A pained cry fell from the kevlar wearing man. Logan leapt to his feet as he plunged his left hand into the man’s stomach, shoving them both around the corner and out of your sight.

You remained crouched, back leaning against the wooden wall. Loud pops of gunfire echoed around you. Real guns, loaded with bullets instead of darts. Sharp cracks pierced the air as bullets flew in rapid succession toward Logan. A few bullet casings landed, smoking, by your feet. 

Light beamed from the dropped flashlight that rolled into view. Spurts of blood coated the tool in red jets. You spun the lance a few times in your hands, waiting.

“Clear,” Logan called. You pushed yourself upright and rounded the corner. About a dozen men, all clad in the same dark kevlar, lay dead at Logan’s feet. His chest was heaving, eyes darting to and from each man’s face, fists still clenched with claws poking out between his knuckles.

“All good, Lo?” you asked. His claws fully retracted as he met your gaze. He gave you a sharp nod then turned on his heel. You picked your way through the bodies, accidentally kicking a few limbs here and there, as you followed after him. 

“You never answered my question,” Logan said. You caught up with him and met his fast pace down the hallway. The two of you jogged while you tried to ignore his question. A few moments passed, the clipping of Logan’s boots on the floor being the only noise between you.

“I snapped,” was your quiet response. Short, simple, to the point. And it was all Logan needed. He threw you another quick nod while you two approached the balcony overlooking the mansion’s foyer.

Bright lights shone on Rogue, Bobby, and John as they stood below the balcony. All in their sleep clothes, all looking absolutely terrified. A guttural yell came from Logan as he leapt over the railing and dived into the four men aiming rifles at the older students.

You were about to follow when the back of your head was grabbed, a rough hand shoving your face into the railing and knocking your forehead on the wood. Spiked pain shot through your head, your knees crumpling beneath you. The hand tangled in your hair remained.

“Got the bloody one,” the man gripping you called behind him. You scratched at his hand as you tried to free yourself.

Slicing claws through flesh and pained yells soared over the balcony from the floor below. Your dazed mind tried to comprehend what was happening around you.

Some of the kevlar-clad men stood around you. Five, or was it seven, surrounded you with the muzzles of their guns aimed at your woozy form. Your head was utterly spinning. Nausea flooded your stomach and sent you reeling. If it weren’t for the gloved hand in your hair, you’d be sprawled out on the floor.

“Vampire!” Bobby called. You could just barely see his face through the bars of the railing. Wide, blue eyes glanced between you and the men surrounding you. He threw a hand up in your direction, “Duck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You yanked your head away from the man above you and dove to the floor. Just as your hands covered the back of your head, a biting chill filled the air above you. Wave after wave of flowing ice coursed over the balcony. You shivered from where you laid on the floor.

“C’mon!” John yelled up at you. You peered at the men who held you captive. All of them were coated in a thick layer of ice, skin turned pale and blue, joints frozen in place. Living ice sculptures. 

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the sway in your motion, as you prepared to vault over the railing. Just as you had swung your leg over the wood banister the front door burst open, streams of LED lights illuminating the four mutants below you.

Logan motioned for you to stay where you were, looking you up and down, then ushered Rogue, Bobby, and John further into the mansion. Dozens of men followed in their wake.

You, not being one to listen to instructions very often, crept along the banister until you reached the stairs. Lucky for you, your socked and soaked feet wouldn’t make much noise on the hardwood. You snuck down the stairs while listening to the kevlar-clad men flood through the front door. When you reached the bottom you paused. Squatted, lance clutched in both hands, waiting for the last of the men to pass.

Once you saw a break in the stream of soldiers, you dashed between shadows while trailing after Logan. Keeping out of sight, ducking beneath flashlight beams, sneaking around corners. 

“You want to shoot me? Shoot me!” you heard Logan yell down the hall from where you were. You picked up the pace. Soaked feet slapping against the wood floors, clubbing soldiers on the head as you passed with the blunt end of your lance to knock them out, racing to try and prevent Logan and the others from getting hurt.

“Don’t shoot him!” a male voice yelled. You slid around the last corner and found a cluster of kevlar-clad men. All with their rifles and flashlights pointed at Logan down the hall. You froze in place, breath held. One of the men stepped forward, a flashlight held aloft in his gunless hands. He moved to stand in the middle of the rest of the men, “Not yet.”

You slipped behind one of the giant vases scattered throughout this hallway. Tucking yourself into the long shadows thrown by the large piece of pottery, your head just barely poked out to watch the scene unfold.

“Wolverine? Well, I must admit, this is certainly the last place I’d expect to find you,” the unarmed man said. He took a few more steps forward. Logan watched his approach, confusion written in his knitted brows. The lone man chuckled, “How long has it been? 15 years? You haven’t changed one bit. Me, on the other hand…” the man trailed off. He stopped a few feet in front of Logan and gestured to his own face, “...nature.”

You didn’t like this. The man in front of Logan gave you a bad feeling. Like shocks of anxiety pricking over your hypersensitive skin. You gripped your lance tighter in your hands.

Logan’s claws retracted back between his knuckles. Narrowed, hazel eyes analyzed the man standing in front of him.

“I didn’t realize Xavier was taking in animals,” the man said with a laugh. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his wide nose, “Even animals as unique as you.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked. His hands remained clenched at his sides.

The man laughed again, “Don’t you remember?”

Logan stared at the man, mouth agape. He took a few steps forward.

You’d had enough. This man, whoever he was, wasn’t going to talk Logan into… whatever it is this guy was trying to do.

You darted out from behind the vase, lance brandished in your hands. Your head cocked as you sent the weapon soaring through the air. One of the kevlar-wearing men to your right gasped as the lance speared through his back and exited from the center of his chest. You focused on the lance as it flew from one man to the next. Sailing through the air until it pierced the men’s abdomens and sent them careening to the floor.

Every gun pointed in your direction. Some men holding rifles containing darts, others aiming real guns straight at you. You paused mid-step.

Your gaze met Logan’s. Recognition flashed in his widened eyes. He took another step forward, this time toward you.

Ice crackled on the walls of the hallway. Large snowflakes linked together as they stretched the width of the hallway and formed a wall. The ice solidified, creating a transparent, blue blockade between you and Logan.

“No, no!” Logan yelled from his side of the wall. He pounded desperately on the ice.

The unarmed man turned to face you. He was older, hair graying and beard wiry. Black glasses framed his squinted, blue eyes. You shifted your weight between your feet.

“Hello, my dear. You must be the one called ‘Bleeder,’” he said. Your posture stiffened at the name. You felt your jaw clench.

“I haven’t been called that in a long time,” you replied. God, if it weren’t for the guns pointed at you, you’d have skewered this man ages ago.

“And yet it was your moniker all the same,” the man said. His boots clicked against the hardwood as he approached you. Thick coat covering his torso, gloved hands clutched behind his back. He stopped a few paces in front of you. His hooded eyes passed over your blood-covered form, “I believe I have use of you. Take her.”

The familiar pop of the dart-filled guns rang out as you were peppered with white needles. Dozens and dozens of pinpricks filled your chest. You gasped, falling to one knee. The edges of your mind began to cloud with a foggy haze.

“Vampire!” you distantly heard Logan yell. You felt the floor sway beneath your feet. Your hands planted on the hardwood when you fell forward.

“That’s it. Off to sleep, Bleeder,” the man said above you. You threw him one last hate-filled glare, then collapsed as the tranquilizers overtook your senses.

some looooooooooore for reader!!! hope y'all enjoyed. and what a cliffhanger, huh?

[nectardaddy]

wild youth

one | trash can

masterlist

track one . . . crystal

cw/notes : ignore timestamps, hurt/comfort (my bread and butter yum), anxiety attack, feelings of panic, feelings of nausea (no throwing up), someone get me a suga asap fuck I love him so bad, ignore any typos I tried my best

The swirling sensation in her stomach never stopped even after she had sent everyone on their way. In fact, it got worse as her eyes tracked over the calendar she had on her desk. Little boxes filled to the brim with colorful ink, each color holding a significance that was important to only her.

Red was urgent, meetings she couldn't miss, or she would never hear the end of it. Blue was content, what subject matter she should be on week by week - which she was behind on. Green was tasks listed out in bullet points for science and math - to make a study guide, to redo a failed worksheet, to get supplies together for an upcoming lab, to make calls regarding a field trip in the near future. 

Orange was personal. 

Orange ink littered every Friday - ‘after school w/ K.S.’ (Abbreviated in case anyone came up to her desk with prying eyes. Already learning the hard way - last month - when question upon question was asked of “oh my god what do you and Mr. Sugawara do after school?!?” And “is Mr. Suga your boyfriend?! Is that why you have that on your calendar?!”)

Orange ink that scrawled underneath every box labeled Friday made her heart squeeze but wrench all in the same breath. Holding onto the feeling so hard she felt it crush and shatter in between her fingers. She had the tendency to hold onto things too hard, and never did find it within herself to let go - fractured or not. Always finding herself picking up stray pieces that fell here and there, leaving a trail behind her wherever she went. 

The amount of colorful ink, some smeared and some barely legible, threw her into a spiral if she looked at it too long. Too many things to do, too many calls to make and meetings to attend, and simply not enough time in one school day to complete everything. The swirling feeling that started in her stomach began to move, forcing its way to her throat and she took a deep breath. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, fighting the nausea and overwhelming need to spill her guts right then and there. 

In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

She remained like that a moment, focusing on her breathing and taking deep inhales of air only to let it back out again. But she gripped the orange pen she had in her hand tightly when she heard someone step through the threshold of her door; the sickly feeling returned to her throat immediately. She kept her eyes closed and took a shaky breath, determined to focus herself onto one thing rather than the person who came in.

She knew it was Sugawara. 

Knew the moment she heard long, relaxed strides and the soft squeak of chucks onto the horribly waxed floor. Knew as soon as she heard him walk through the door without a word - silent and all too ready to listen, to help. She knew he looked at her in worry, brown eyes swimming with an emotion she had yet to pinpoint. She knew he wouldn't dare leave until he knew she was alright.

Sugawara knew that she was losing her grip on remaining calm.

“Do you need the trash can?” 

A simple question, asked in a soft voice near her. She only screwed her eyes shut tighter and shook her head. “I'm ok.” Lying through gritted teeth, hoping he would turn to leave, but to no avail. 

“No you're not.” Another whisper of a reply. 

“I'm fine.” 

She heard him hum before the screech of a chair hit her ears, making her flinch and a ‘sorry’ followed quickly after. 

And that's when she felt him. 

His presence radiated next to her that she couldn't ignore - warm, caring, and selfless. Not a single off hand comment to say as he pulled a chair next to her and sat down without a word. She could feel his arm brush against her own, a simple accident as he got comfortable in the plastic chair. But a tingling feeling that made her heart stop; a proximity she couldn't tell was intentional or not. 

“Then I'll be here to make sure you stay fine.” 

She hated that answer. 

Loathed it even, for the sole fact it caused the sickly feeling to arrange itself into a lump in her throat. A lump that made her swallow hard, as to try and fight it, but only made it worsen as it became bigger. Growing until the feeling hit her chest painfully, overwhelming her with a sense of panic. One hand still held onto the orange pen for dear life, and the other death gripped her pants leg. 

“Suga,” the name spoken in a whisper, but voice cracking all the same. It dawned on her she had no control over how the situation went anymore, realizing she would ultimately drop her façade in front of the man only made the burning pain in her chest worse. The mask would reluctantly be long gone if she started to cry; and it hit her hard as she became acutely aware of the fact she couldn't stop herself if she did.

Her face felt hot and her heart pumped violently in her chest, hearing every thump within her ear drums so loudly it drowned out the rest of the world. She took one last deep breath - but that was the start of the complete collapse of her mind.

The inhale was labored, fighting back every instinct to let tears flow freely - she couldn't, she wouldn't, not in front of him, anyone but the man beside her. 

But she did.

The exhale was a choked back sob, one of which made her drop the orange pen completely and cover her mouth to muffle the sound. A cry for help that sounded too desperate to let anyone else hear, too pained to allow the man next to her bear witness too, too raw for even herself. Even with her eyes screwed shut, squeezing them so tight the corners of her eyes began to hurt, the tears fell anyway. It wasn't gradual, it wasn't a wave that pulled her down slowly but surely - it was the sudden, violent collapse of an, otherwise fine, structure. The chaos of watching a building fall, watching as brick by brick it all came tumbling down on itself. 

She couldn't register what happened, as the time from his statement and her crying was nothing but a brief pause. She only knew she was crying, her fingers sore from grabbing at the fabric of her pants, that her throat felt hoarse, and the hand that covered her mouth was now wet with tears. But a new sensation was thrown into the mix that made her jump in her skin and hold tight to the last thread of sanity she still had. A warmth on the back of her hand completely sent her to the deep end and lurched her off.

His hand atop her own. 

She couldn't explain why she flipped her palm over in that moment, couldn't place why exactly she interlocked her fingers with his without a second thought, and she surely didn't know why she removed her hand from her mouth only to open it. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Suga?” A wrenching question asked through broken cries and hot tears, “why can't I think, for just one goddamn second, that I'm not drowning? Why can't I think I'm good enough? Why can't I think I'm not a complete failure with everything I do?”

There was a long pause, one that only made her tears flow a bit harder. Because his silence felt cold to her, his silence felt like an answer all in itself. But he squeezed her hand in his own and looked over to her; if she had glanced, even briefly, to him she would've realized she took his heart right out of his chest. Held it in her hands unknowingly and dug her fingers into it, leaving marks that would linger for the rest of his days. 

“You’re the farthest thing from a failure,” he whispered. "And I’ll tell you every day that you’re good enough, because you are. You’re more than enough - you’re perfect.”

She wished she had said yes to the trash can.

“I am failing miserably,” she choked. “They won’t fucking listen, they won’t stop talking, they keep asking me the dumbest things imaginable after I tell them what they’re doing, and they look at me like I’m stupid constantly. And I have to pretend that everything is okay, and smile and laugh. Even when I just want to slam my fucking head into the wall and cry. I-” 

“Hey.” She felt him squeeze her hand once more as he cut her words short. “Breathe.” Another squeeze, this one tighter than that last, and he kept the tension. He held her hand like her life depended on it, interlocking fingers between his own and remained firm. He refused to watch her drown - or at least, they'd drown together. 

She took an uneasy breath in, and hopelessly failed at holding it as another sob wracked her chest again. To this, he didn't say a word; only watched as she tried to inhale and hold it. Brown eyes swirled with a concern she wouldn't even bear witness to, holding her hand as it was the only thing he could do. Failed attempt after failed attempt until she was finally able to the fifth time around - holding it and releasing a shaky exhale. 

“It's ok to not be ok,” he assured, to which he squeezed her hand once again. 

She finally found it in herself to open her eyes, and she looked over to him in sorrow. Blurry, tear stained eyes locked with his own and he felt his heart sink even farther in his stomach. How long has she felt like this? Thinking himself an idiot for letting it get to a peak such as this one; ridiculing himself within the chasms of his mind for not noticing sooner. On the contrary, she felt her stomach surge upward. A squeamish feeling that made her swallow harshly, and a bitter taste at the back of her throat that made her look away from him completely. 

She most definitely should have said yes to the trash can.

Her eyes had only met his own for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for her to feel embarrassment wash over her. So she kept her eyes glued to the orange ink that littered the calendar on her desk. Orange was consistent, never changing, caring - adoring. And she watched as, now slowed, tears dripped onto the paper. Drops created small, circular splotches that bled through to the pages underneath. Watched as the ink started to scatter and feather out from hot, salty tears; and for once, she didn’t care. Didn’t care that her handwriting began to be illegible, didn’t care that red ink started to blend with green. As long as the orange ink was still there, if it still remained intact - it was fine. As long as the orange ink would always remain there, it was ok.

“But I have to be ok,” she whispered, negating his statement as she closed her eyes again. “If I’m not ok then everything will go to shit.”

“Says who?” 

“Says my brain.”

“Well,” he began, and she heard the faintest of a chuckle sound from beside her. “Don’t listen to your brain. You don’t have to be ok at all.” And in that moment, she became overly aware of the fact he was holding her hand, because he squeezed it again. Pale fingers locked with her own, holding tightly, and she felt a heat rise to her cheeks. Muddled with the already warm feeling of being overwhelmed, she felt herself thrown to the deep end all over again. “Honestly, we can not be ok together.”

Together. 

One singular word felt crushing, but relieving all in the same breath. While it took her by the ankles and yanked her downward, it also grabbed her by the wrists and surged her up. A head spinning feeling that didn’t help her nausea; it only made it worse as now she felt torn asunder. Friday after Friday of being together but so, god damn, far apart. Together felt like a curse. A god awful, caring, loveable curse she couldn't get enough of.

She kept her eyes closed and lips sealed shut at his words, humming them over in her mind as seconds passed. Burnt out, foolish, embarrassed, and hot, she still noticed the yearning feeling that pulled at the back of her mind. An ache that never went away, only nagged and pined as it only continued to grow as moments became minutes. And minutes became a crushing weight to finally say something - anything. 

Together. 

“Do you want to get hammered tonight?” An off kilter, frankly off color, question she blurted out to him as she reopened her eyes. Looking over to him in anticipation, but a deep rooted fear swimming in her eyes, and she finally squeezed his hand back in response. 

She saw the smile form on his lips the second the question was asked, watched as the smile turned to a chuckle, and the chuckle became a silly, joy bringing laugh. “What kind of question is that?” A rhetorical question asked between chuckles, “obviously I want to get hammered.” 

“I still don't want to go to the bar though,” tagging on the statement quieter than the last and she saw him shrug in response.

“My offer still stands. Do you like shitty, cranberry vodka?” 

“Yes?”

“My place it is then.”

taglist (open, send an ask)

@19calicos @yoshit-he-dinosaur @sandwhitches @bokutoko @wyrcan

@darling-eos @mitskicain @cherrypieyourface @eggyrocks

@yogurtkags @cupidsblonde @honeekyuu @s1ckntw1st3d @causenessus 

@maeflowers653 @crispchocolates @moucheslove @staygoldsquatchling02 @phoenix-eclipses 

@ji9sstar @zumicho @keeboismine @cloudybillows @kameyyy

@strawberryuri

[cheesus-doodles]

Star-Crossed by Choice

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

Masterlist

‎

been a hot minute since i've posted, so please enjoy this brainrot that has been eating away at my brain - i know its not the usual TR but gotta get it out somehow. next on the menu would (finally) be A Friend in Me!

cw: use of female pronouns twice

The pokeballs hidden deep within the depths of your bag wriggled impatiently, and you giggled at the sensation against your back. You couldn’t blame them for wanting to escape from the confines of their balls, not with the hum of life that filled the air of the small town of Cortondo. But this was neither the right time or space. It had been some time since you dared to let them out for a breath of fresh air and to stretch their limbs after all, and you silently promised both them and yourself that you would the moment the opportunity arises. 

The evening was a welcomed relief from the scorching heat of the afternoon that had left you drenched in sweat - the air was crisp and fresh, just dry enough to lift the sweat from your panting skin but not enough to suck all moisture away. A far cry from the humid day under the blistering sun; much unlike what your usual day would be like spent wandering and exploring new grounds, you instead had been forced to duck into the air-conditioned shops for a break. Strolling down cobbled pathways, the little colored flags that stretched from rooftop to rooftop waved invitingly at visitors from all corners of Paldea, the calls of shopkeepers adding to the general hustle and bustle as the town came alive once more, the sun sinking ever lower towards the horizon. 

Your heart wrenched, the pain in your chest sharp. Despite your urge to shrink away from the masses of people, all the eyes you could feel watching you, there was no denying that you missed this. You missed being free. Just being able to walk through town without a care in the world, without anyone hovering over you, one arm slung tightly around your shoulders. Not having to constantly worry about your Pokemon friends getting hurt because of something stupid that was your fault. You never thought you would have ever been able to get a second chance at freedom, to start all over again from scratch; that brazen escape you had risked your life and limbs on seemed to have paid off, though you had to turn your thoughts to the present to stop the tears from welling at the thought of everything and everyone you left behind.

Amidst the crowds of students all dressed in the same Uva Academy uniform as you, out and about and eager to discover when their own ‘Treasure Hunt’ leads them to, you felt secure. You felt like you blended in for once. Maybe it had been worth it, changing both your hairstyle and color, making sure to dress down and look down. Maybe you could be safe here.

“Hey!” A call of your name cut through the commotion of the crowd like a knife through butter. You jolted as one hand came flying down to smack you on your shoulder. Whirling round, you came face to face with those excited orange eyes framed by three signature green strands of hair.  “I thought you’d never come!” The president of the student council was as enthusiastic and energetic as ever, not seeming to have noticed your startle, instead beginning to shake you by both shoulders as she all but shouted her questions at you. “Which gym have you defeated? How strong are your Pokemon? Do you want to battle?”

You opened your mouth, but as usual, no words seemed to come out. Perhaps it was the crowd, everyone else around the two of you that is. You had managed a few words to the friendly Nemona previously, back when you parted ways at Mesagoza; a rare and unusual occurrence, given how your throat usually opts to clam up in front of anyone but your parents, but it just goes to show you have come to trust the loudmouth girl. Your social anxiety didn’t quite show around her like it did everyone else. 

Lifting both hands in a surrender and placating manner, it was beyond you how you manage to calm the other down, before reaching into your pocket to shyly show your friend the two badges that you had obtained so far in all the days you had been wandering. It wasn’t much you knew, and it wasn’t much on purpose. After all that had happened to you back in Galar, you were afraid to go down the League route again, let alone touch anything that had the word ‘Champion’ in it with a fifty-foot pole. 

To your surprise, Nemona was elated. “WOW! You already got two? I knew you had potential!”

You blinked, confused. Wouldn’t she have expected more badges? Was she just hiding her disappointment? The Champion-ranked trainer didn’t give you even a minute to breathe though, hooking one arm through yours and starting to drag you towards the nearest restaurant. “I want to hear ALL about it, you understand?” There was no time to finish your thoughts as you had to scuttle to keep up with her incredibly quick walking pace, and the two of you disappeared from the streets and into the depths of some place you couldn’t catch the name of.

‎

‎

Outside, a different story was unfurling, a pair of teal eyes was fixed firmly on the doorway that you had just disappeared through from beneath the shade of a hoodie, a frown pulling at his usually upturned lips. From across the street and with most of his deceptively lean self hidden behind a wall, there was no doubt in his mind that it was you. A restaurant was no place to cause a commotion, Raihan knew; who knows what you could resort to if cornered? You had escaped once, what was going to stop you from running again? He had waited and waited for this moment despite not being a patient man, but perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to let you enjoy your last hour of freedom. There would be the rest of eternity with you after all, and he didn’t intend on letting you run wild again.

One tanned hand reaching up to pull his hoodie further down his face, Raihan leaned back against the wall, bringing his cold drink up to his lips. Soon.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, with each second feeling more like years passing by. The crowds of students of varying ages, all clad similarly in that signature purple uniform, drifted past where he stood like a gentle wave, the town slowly clearing of people as the minutes ticked by. The sun that had once ruled the sky had now fully set, sinking past the distant mountain horizon with a grand burst of colors; the evening rays had been the herald for the star full of skies that now twinkled above. Yet the Galar Dragon gym leader kept waiting. Even if his eyes drifted away from the building, to gaze at the empty distance and wonder of the different Pokemon that wandered this region, or to scan the throngs of people for threats, there was no activity in or out of the restaurant that he missed. All the while, all Raihan could do was recall the night you had disappeared again and again in his head as he glared down at anyone who dared venture too near: the sheer horror of finding you missing from your room in the morning, your confiscated Pokeballs gone from their secured box. The feeling of his gut dropping straight out the bottom when he couldn’t find you after tearing the entire estate apart, his own Pokemon returning empty-handed after he had sent them out to track you down in a sheer moment of desperation.

Never again would he let himself feel that way. Never.

‎

You finally reappeared through the doorway long after his patience had worn out, but instead of the usual annoyance turned anger, the tanned man felt his breath hitch. You looked so very different yet at the same time, so very familiar. What a sight for sore eyes. The way you stood beside your new friend, huddled as close as you dared go, those doe eyes of yours fixed on a random spot on the ground. Small smile pulling at your lips as you fidgeted with the hem of the shirt of your school uniform, listening carefully to everything your energetic companion was spewing at you.

There was nothing you could change about yourself that would be able to hide you away from him: not changing your hairstyle, your hair color, the type of clothes you wear or even the color of your eyes.

But all his joy at seeing you once more was instantly wiped away when he had to witness you lifting your eyes to meet the other’s. And the anger that raged in his chest igniting once more at the sight of your lips moving - almost as if you were speaking. Sure there was no one else but the two of you lingering on the porch of the now-dark restaurant, but you never spoke to anyone but Hop. Not to him, not even to your Pokemon in the presence of another. Selectively mute, was what your all-too innocent mother had happily informed the gym leader when he had paid her a visit to collect some clothes from your house. Even Raihan himself never had the privilege of hearing your sweet voice in person. 

So who was this bastard? 

Watching as you stepped off the curb and back onto cobblestoned streets, there was no time like the present - with the dwindling masses and the shops closed or closing. Raihan pushed off the wall, both hands sliding into the front pockets of his jacket, each stride bringing closer and closer to your little duo. You never even noticed.

‎

The unease you had in your gut had been growing for a while. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what caused that feeling, but it certainly was shared by your Pokemon, their balls having wriggled restlessly all evening where you had hidden them in the depth of your bag. But being out with Nemona gave you a sense of security, and despite your better your judgment, you had pushed the nagging voice to the back of your head. It was probably nothing.

Until it wasn’t.

“So there you are, lil champ,” came that all too familiar drawl. You froze mid-step as a long shadow fell over you. You knew that voice, and you knew it too well for your own liking. The hairs on the back of your neck instantly stood on end as the smile fell from your face. “Never thought you’d go all the way back to school just to hide from me.”

There was no answer from you, but Raihan just kept speaking as if he didn’t notice. “Have to say you fit right in though. You do still have a lot to learn, don’t ya?” You didn’t have to turn to look to know who it was standing behind you, cold sweat already beading at your forehead as you stared down at the pavement, your eyes quavering. No way. There was no way he could have already found you. You thought- you thought you had made it far enough. You thought you were safe. 

“You thought you were safe?” It was as if the man in the dragon hoodie towering over you could read your thoughts - no, in his presence, there was no doubt that your mind was like an open book. “That we would never be able to find you because you ran overseas?” Those deceivingly downturned eyes glared a hole into your back, his lazy smile deceptively kind. “Aren’t ya going to say anything?”

Your new friend seemed to have taken notice of the sudden fear that washed over your entire posture, and in an instant, you were pushed behind her back, Nemona’s gloved hand going almost threateningly to the Pokeballs that hung by her belt. “Excuse me, but who are you?” The usually bubbly voice you had come to know was suddenly firm, every bit of enthusiasm having faded away into this serious side you had only encountered once. 

The Galar Dragon gym leader was hardly intimidated by those orange eyes, ignoring her as his dragon-like gaze continued to stare you down, the pressure alone from the fixation enough to force you to freeze. “Can’t even look at me, huh? Rude.” He knew you couldn’t. Raihan of all people knew better than most you couldn’t meet his gaze. The only response that left your lips was a whimper, your figure starting to quaver as the tears welled at the corner of your eyes.

But the annoying girl with the three strands of green hair butted in again, this time withdrawing a Pokeball to fully hold in her hand with the other arm wrapping comfortingly around your shoulders. “You are scaring my friend, and I do not appreciate that. Please leave.”

Raihan’s eyes finally slipped to the little insect, that razor-sharp gaze losing any and all interest. “And who are you?”

“Nemona, president of the Uva Academy student council and Champion-ranked trainer.” She announced, and the tanned man almost groaned out loud. Of all the places to possibly find you at, of course you had chosen the company of another champion. 

‎‎‎

Though it was a third voice that finally shattered your heart and any hope of escape you had left. “Champion?” The voice rang out from the darkness of the unlit side street. “I thought you were done with champions.” The pounding of heavy footsteps, and that unmistakably mob of long purple hair emerged into the dull light of the overhead streetlight. Just when you thought your heart couldn’t sink any further, your poor beating organ simply opting to fall straight out from your chest. Leon.

If Leon was here...

Nemona’s grip on you only tightened. “Who are you?” She demanded again, putting herself directly between you and the two men. You wanted to thank her, to say something, to say anything, but all you could do was tremble, your feet rooted to the ground no matter how much you screamed at yourself to move. No way - no way. How did they find you? “What do you want?”

There was no escape. You were trapped.

Her question was answered by the whispers of the gathering stragglers that still wandered the otherwise quiet streets of Cortondo, though the growing number of eyeballs didn’t help you feel anymore at ease. 

“Isn’t that… Leon and Raihan?”

“From Galar?”

“World number 1 and 7?! But what are they doing here?”

“Who’s that with Nemona?”

Your stomach churned, and you could feel the bile starting to rise through your throat. Leave. You wanted to leave. To run. To be anywhere but here.

The student council president was quick to realize that there was a lot more to you that she didn’t know, and that orange gaze, slowly but surely, turned on you. The reassuring grip she had on your shoulders never left, and Nemona gave you a tight squeeze. “What’s going on?” She whispered to you, but in the dead silence that suddenly fell over the night, everyone could hear her loud and clear. And what do these Master-Class trainers want with you? Was the unspoken question you heard loud and clear.

A single heartbeat of silence.

“Turn around, Galar Champion,” Leon ordered. There was no room in his tone for anything but absolute obedience, and against your will, you obeyed. Hesistantingly, shuffle by shuffle, you turned to face them, though your eyes remained firmly fixed on the ground, trembling hands gripped so tight that your knuckles were white.

Nemona’s eyebrows shot through the roof, and her voice pitched. “Galar Champion?!” And the growing crowd broke into a new round of frenzies whispers, every eyeball now on you, scanning you up and down in disbelief. 

A little thing like you? Champion?

“Never told you huh?” Raihan crowed. “That she had an entire team of Pokemon that could run at Champion League levels?”

Leon only continued to study your form mutely as Raihan continued to taunt Nemona with his knowledge, those once-friendly yellow eyes now almost seeming to glow in the dare as they peered straight into your soul. Taking a single step in your direction, it was enough to have you shrink away, your eyes flying shut and your shoulders hitching up. Almost as if you were expecting to take a hit from the former Galar Champion.

“So you have our Champion, and we’ll like her back. Please.” Finished the tanned man. Baring those sharp teeth, the smile that pulled at those lips was anything but friendly, Raihan once more turning his gaze back on you.

“Are you ready to come home?”

[gendiegremlin]

i made a bunch of mechanisms octokittens themed like the mechs (and various other mechs characters) so here they are :) i actually made them ages ago but i kept forgetting to post them on here

it's going under the cut because it's unreasonably long

if you want the pattern lmk, cause i did eventually write it down

@gunpowder-tim

this is jonny. he has his funky eyeliner and his too many belts in places where there should not be belts. he's blue cause i said so and cause by the time i made him i was running out of unique colours to use

this is brian. he has his top hat which has a rose on it. he's orange because i thought i looked like metal. ignore the fact that's he's shaped weird he was made while i was still figuring out the pattern for them

this is marius. he has a monogoggle and he's green cause of his coat

this is tim. he has his goggles and his funky eyeliner. he's brown also because of his coat

this is ivy. she's holding a book. she's pink because her hair is red, but ts and carmilla were already red so i went for the next best thing

this is nastya. she was the first small one i made. you can't see it too well but she has an engineer's belt on which has a couple of wrenches on it. she's funky multicoloured cause i had cool yarn and i wanted to use it

this is raphaella. she has her wings and she's gold cause it matched her wings (figuring out how to actually make the wings was a nightmare btw)

this is ts. it has a bowtie and a moustache and it's red cause of its uniform

this is ashes. they have their hat and they're grey cause ashes are grey and i thought it was cool

this is lyf. they were the first one i made. they're a lot bigger than the others, and they're multicoloured cause when i got that yarn it reminded me of the bifrost

this is aurora. she's made with the multicoloured yarn too cause i wanted her to match nastya. she's very small and she is usually attached to my schoolbag

this is carmilla. i didn't actually intend to make a carmilla, but i wanted to make a finger puppet octokitten and when she was done i wanted her to fit in with the mech themed octos, so i named her carmilla. i thought the red was also a cool little nod to her being a vampire (also pls ignore that the video is sideways i couldn't figure out how to flip it)

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

The beginning of Tamlin's revenge

I'm imagining a ouat-Regina Mills scenario where Tamlin lures Rhysand to the Spring Court for that interaction in acofas, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist.

At the end of Rhysand's spiel, Tamlin just smiles.

"Thank you, Rhysand."

confusion. "What for?"

"You have made this so much easier for me."

Then he sends a den of vines and climbers slithering towards him, latching around his arms and wrenching him to the ground.

"You tricked me," he seethed.

“No. You tricked yourself. You were so eager to come here and gloat, weren’t you? To twist the knife already there, to push your happiness into my face. I know you, Rhysand. I knew you couldn’t resist. You didn’t need to come here. But you did. And now I am going to take back what is mine.”

then next thing he knows, Tamlin is plunging his hand into his chest and pulling out a glowing tangle of threads.

Daffodil yellow, glowing orange, shimmering blue, and bright bright green.

The green of Spring.

Pain like nothing he has ever felt before, he's being burned from the inside out etc etc meanwhile Tamlin is glowing like an eldritch being, his magic eager to return back to him.

Along with Spring comes Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Night.

Tamlin takes all of his magic, leaving him slumped on the ground

"Now get the hell out of my land, and never come back, or I will make sure that you live just long enough to regret it."

[captain-of-silvenar]

Secret or Golden

Day 2 of @tes-summer-fest

Late to the party, but I had a vivid image in my head for this prompt and needed to write it out.

No beta, wrote this in 30 minutes, but I needed to get this out. Enjoy!

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

For all Teldyrn’s gripes about Riften, the natural sights were a sight for sore eyes.

After living decades upon decades in ashfilled wastelands, craggy cliffsides, or snow covered plains it was nice to settle down somewhere with an abundance of green. Not to mention the lakeside home with a personal dock.

It was about sunset, and the sun was sparkling perfectly off Lake Honrich. All around the area were birch trees with their beautiful stark white trunks and glittering orange leaves waving in the wind. The last of the fishing boats were coming to shore, muffled and distant cries of orders as people rushed to get back home. Teldryn throught the nearby fishery would cast this place in a terrible stench but the wind was blowing just right and blowing it far away from this perfect sight.

He couldn’t say that this was his own piece of Aetherius unfortunately. No, that belonged to his patron that was just coming out of the house with a towel over her head.

Freshly bathed and finally dressed in something casual, Yera plopped down on the chair next to him and scrubbed at her hair to get the last of the water out.

“You’ve got a nice place here, boss,” he commented to her. “Can see why you were rushing us to get back here.”

“Mostly that, yeah,” she responded under the towel. “The other half of it is if I don’t come back home every so often, Brynjolf sends every padfoot in the country looking for me begging me to come back. Like a mother hen that one but the sentiment is nice.”

That was another part of his boss he wasn’t expecting. Being Dragonborn was shocking enough, but also being head of a guild of thieves threw a wrench in his image of her. Teldryn didn’t have the highest opinions on thieves and cheats; compared to his life as a mercenary and living a particularly bloody lifestyle it seemed tame and cowardly to sneak away and steal your living.

He still didn’t understand it completely, but what he did understand was that these were her people and they had her back. Just the same that Yera made the effort to come back to homebase and take care of home before being whisked away onto another adventure. They seemed like… ‘nice’ enough people. Teldyrn walked away with all his armor and gold intact after the first meet-and-greet.

These were thoughts for another time. What was more important was he was going to bunk up with his boss in her fancy lakeside house for free. And his own furnished room with a feather mattress! Luxury of the highest order in his opinion.

“What are the next plans, if any?” he asked her.

“I’ve got Guild business to work on, but otherwise I feel like we deserve a break after all that nonsense on Solstheim,” Yera answered. “You’re welcome to anything in the house, within reason, and to any plans you’d like to make. I think you especially deserve it after what I dragged you through.”

“If you ever need help saving another island from an ancient dragon priest bent on taking over Nirn and steal your own soul for power, I need a bigger pay bonus to do it again.”

Yera scoffed at him and threw the towel resting on her head in his general direction. He swatted it out of the air with a laugh that caught halfway in his throat when he looked at her.

Caught in the tangled locks of her hair was the sun. Light caught in her white hair, reflecting it like spun gold.

Her eyes, half lidded against the sun, similarly caught the light and for the barest of moments he thought he could see gold in those eyes.

Teldryn had seen Yera in many different forms; ranging from a wandering stranger into the Retching Netch, to a towering warrior over a freshly burning dragon, to a frightening stillness while recovering in a tent after her final fight.

Never had he seen her quite as relaxed and calm as she was now.

It was a phenomenal sight.

One he had to shake himself out of neigh immediately after that thought.

They fell into a silent lull after, appreciating the ambient sound of the lake and nature around them. The songbirds singing their evening calls, beckoning flockmates to their roosts to sleep the evening away. An occasional fish leaping out of the water, splashing water into liquid gold in the fading sun’s light. 

Teldryn dreamed of retiring to a place like this. Away from the ash and trauma of his homeland to somewhere free of such scars. Somewhere fresh and alive at every turn. The idea of one day finally hanging up his sword and never needing to pull it down again was a goal somewhere in the far, far, far future.

And as he dreamed of how much gold he needed to live that dream, his eyes kept drifting toward his companion. In the final rays of light, the sky was cast in a myriad of pinks and oranges and reds. The birch trees with their orange leaves made for a brilliant background as he gazed once more at the golden visage of his friend, catching the sun with her very being.

For a single moment, he wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair. To touch that glimmering gold just once.

Then the moment was lost, the sound of a door opening and closing in the house.

“That must be Lydia back from the market,” Yera said, standing up from the chair. “I’ll head inside and get started on dinner. You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you want.”

“I’ll… stay out here a bit longer,” Teldryn answered back. “I won’t be long.”

With a nod, Yera turned and re-entered her home, calling out to Lydia before the door shut behind her.

Alone on the porch once more, Teldryn finally took the moment to hunch over and cradle his face in his hands.

‘You’re a professional,’ he thought to himself. ‘You can’t be thinking about your boss like this.’

But he couldn’t get the image out of his head of a relaxed Yera. Sitting quietly on a porch in her home, the wind fluttering her hair, and gold in her eyes.

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 31 || 1733 Words || Read on Ao3 A/N: I would like to state for the record that I know trick-or-treating wasn’t a thing in the UK in the early '80s but please just suspend your disbelief I’m BEGGING you. This is already going canon-divergent so let’s pretend trick-or-treating exists, cool thanks.

Additionally a quick little thank you for joining me on this ride <3 I've read every tag and comment and I'm so grateful for all the love for this fic! Keep an eye out for a masterpost with all these linked, and please feel free to drop into my ask box and let me know if you had any favorites! —

Three raps on the door and James opens it wide, only to find himself immediately arrested by the sight of the beautiful woman in front of him. Her auburn hair is swept over her right shoulder, a pointed witch’s hat sitting tall atop it as brilliant green eyes flicker between him and a small boy that sits on her hip. The boy is smiling, a disheveled mess of black hair poking out from under a little green hat—the stem to the soft orange pumpkin costume his little arms and legs stick through. 

“Trick or treat,” the woman smiles at James, and his lips immediately pull into a grin, even as her eyes once again travel to the small boy on her hip. “Can you say ‘trick or treat’, Harry?”

Harry rocks his weight against his mother’s side, bouncing with excitement as his eyes (green, like hers) sparkle at James. “Dada! Dada!” he babbles, arms outstretched, and James reaches out to take his son with a gentle smile, settling on his hip. 

“It was a long shot,” Lily sighs with a weak shrug, taking a few steps forward and nestling herself beneath James’ other outstretched arm—his whole world now within his grasp. “We’ll just have to try again next year.”

“Well if it helps,” he places a kiss on her head, “you two were my favorite visitors of the night.” Nevermind the ‘only’ that lingers in the air—the heavy weight of isolation that sits, strapped around their necks, trying its damndest to drag them further into despair every day for the last ten months.

But not tonight—not on Halloween, when they can coo over their son and his excitement, when they can enjoy the fact that they can spend another holiday together as a family (especially when the alternative is too gut-wrenching to consider). James places a firmer, longer kiss on his wife’s head as the thought flickers across his mind. Not tonight.

The pop of apparition on the other side of their wards sends his nerves on high alert. Exchanging a quick, loaded glance, Lily takes Harry inside with a protective arm around him as James reaches for his wand.

It’s not there.

He follows behind Lily in a hurry, mind racing at who could be visiting—they didn’t have any planned visits and everyone knows better than to show up unannounced. 

“James—” 

Lily’s eyes are wide and fearful when his attention snaps to her, misplaced wand securely in his hand once more. Harry’s started to fuss—the moods of his parents alerting him to something wrong, and she’s got both of her hands holding him securely to her chest, rocking back and forth.

“It’ll be fine, Lil.”

It’s an empty promise, but one he has to make. For his sanity, for his family, he has to make it. 

Silently casting a Shield, he approaches the door just as frantic beating disrupts the silence of the house.

“Prongs! Lily!”

James’ shoulders stiffen. It’s Sirius. Or rather—it sounds like Sirius.

Sirius, who had insisted on not visiting too often so as to not draw suspicion. Sirius, who had shockingly adhered to a pre-planned visit only rule. Sirius, who’s now here, unexpectedly.

“Please, please open the door or I’ll open it myself!”

Sparing a quick glance to Lily over his shoulder, James holds his wand up to the door.

“What did you say to me the day Harry was born?”

“Oh thank Merlin,” he hears with a final thunk against the wood. “I told you that it seemed unfair for Lily to do all the hard work only for him to come out looking like a shrunken duplicate of you.” James’ shoulders relax the smallest fraction at the correct answer. “Now, let me in immediately. We don’t have time. Wormtail’s been compromised. You aren’t safe here.”

The blood in his veins turns to ice, the sounds of the world dropping away as a ringing intensifies, mixed only with the sensation of his heart pounding painfully in his throat.

Wormtail’s been compromised.

“—should’ve never listened to me. Fuck, but we’ve fixed it, okay?”

“James.” The croak of Lily’s voice is what pulls him out of his stupor, more than Sirius’ ramblings through the door, more than the pounding of his heart. Lily. Harry. Wormtail’s been compromised. “James, love, open the door.”

His muscles act of their own accord as he twists the handle and he’s nearly barrelled over by Sirius’ determined strides as the door flings open and the man walks in, long hair wild and unusual panic in his gaze. Grey eyes fall on Lily and Harry and James sees the sigh of relief expelled in the rise and fall of Sirius’ chest before he snaps into movement and slams the door shut.

“What do you mean ‘compromised’?” Lily whispers, eyes shimmering with terror.

Sirius shakes his head quickly. “I can’t get into the specifics right now but I went to check on him and he was just gone. No struggle, nothing.” His wild eyes turn back to James, who's still standing by the front door, wand clutched tightly in his hand. “Something feels off. Bad off. Fawley came with me as a lookout and I immediately had her help setting up a new Fidelius on my flat—she and Graham had done it for their parents at the beginning of all of this.” He runs a hand over his face, and when the hand is gone, the eyes that meet James’ are determined and tinged with fury. “We need to get you there now.”

Head still reeling from all this news, James nods, motioning for Lily and Harry as he walks over to the fireplace—Disapparating from inside their wards is impossible.

“James—” Lily’s hand grabs his wrist in a death grip, and he cuts her off with a swift, firm kiss, hand smoothing down the red hair on the crown of her head, the black witch’s hat discarded at some point in the excitement.

“Take Harry and go, we’re right behind you.”

“32 Longmoore Street, Lily. The Floo is open.”

With a resolute nod and a clenched jaw, Lily carefully steps into the Floo, green powder spilling to her feet as her hold on Harry tightens and she calls out Sirius’ address. James’ attention is fixed on her, watching as she and Harry disappear to safety in a swell of green flames right as a red beam of light jets through the window, shattering the glass and knocking Sirius off his feet.

Wormtail’s been compromised.

Without hesitation and with everything in him, James throws up another Shield Charm as he drops to crouch low, slinging Sirius’ arm around his neck and firing off a stunner into the darkness outside his window before dragging the two of them to the fireplace.

He knocks the little bowl of floo powder to the ground and scrapes as much as he can into shaking hands as curses continue to fly at the shield. The last one—some sort of dark purple spell that he’s seen on the battlefield once or twice, shatters the shield and the front wall of the cottage, dousing the room in drywall and debris.

Heart lurching in throat, James slams Sirius into the back of the Floo, dropping the green powder as he hurls himself into the flames as well, arm tightening around the unconscious man.

“32 Longmoore Street,” James states as loud as he dares with a trembling voice. The green flames dance around him, higher and higher until it obscures his vision and the floor drops out beneath him—a bone-white wand in a pale hand the last image he sees of their home.

Squeezing his eyes tight, hand clutching his wand and shoulder supporting Sirius’ limp figure, he tumbles out of the grate moments later, knees buckling as the two of them slam to the floor. A hand is on him in an instant and his ears reattune to the sound of Lily’s sobs as she checks him for injuries, Harry crying from his spot on her hip.

“—been holding my breath, I felt sick seeing you disappear, oh my god, James what do we—Sirius!”

With a groan, James sits up, clasping Lily’s free hand with his in an effort to provide some reassurance (for who, his brain is too adrenaline-addled to answer honestly). He brings the back of her hand to his lips, holding it there even as his eyes remain focused on Sirius’ limp form on the rug while he pulls out his wand. Placing the tip to the other man’s chest, he murmurs a shaky ‘Rennervate’, his breath of relief fanning across Lily’s skin as Sirius stirs at the spell, teeth clenching as he pushes himself up.

James shifts so that he can now fully wrap himself around Lily and Harry, his arms holding them close as the shock and terror of the past few minutes begins to settle over him. Wormtail’s been compromised.

His thumb lightly rubs soothing circles on Lily’s arm and he gives Harry a kiss on the head before looking over at Sirius, his throat constricting. “Peter…”

At the name, Sirius’ jaw clenches, his eyes reflecting a hatred James had only seen reserved for his own parents. “I’m going to kill him, James,” he whispers, a growl curling the edges of the words into something deadly. He rubs a hand over his face, eyes flickering down to where Harry’s finally stopped crying before meeting James’ gaze again. “So help me god, I’m going to kill him.”

“Sirius,” Lily’s voice comes, weaker than it had been in their own home, but still with that spark of strength that had carried them all through these months of isolation. She reaches a hand out for him and Sirius grasps it, the four of them connected here, grounded by touch with the proof that they all made it out alive. “You saved us. Don’t risk yourself now.” Dropping a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, she presses her back closer against James’ chest, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever let her and Harry out of his sight again after tonight. Doesn’t know if he can bear the thought of not having everyone he loves within arms’ reach.

A lump has wedged itself into his throat. “Tell Dumbledore,” he manages around the swell of emotion, attention on Sirius. “Send a patronus, but don’t leave. You’re no safer than we are right now.”

[themanirealityshifter]

The Journey With Death: A Short Story by me

Once there was a mistake made in the creation of a person.

His soul was blue, and he should’ve been put in a blue body too, but someone put that soul in a pink body. 

When that person was born, people only saw his outer layer. They saw and treated that blue soul as the pink body he had been doomed to be in. 

After a long time, that blue soul dyed his pink body to blue too. He was happy then. 

Finally, after an even longer time, that blue soul and dyed blue body was ready to die. 

He met Death, and Death was kinder than he thought Death would be. He thought Death would be cruel and cold and wicked. He thought Death would wrench him from his peaceful slumber and drag him down to the searing hot wasteland that all people in life warned him he would descend to.

Instead, Death gently shook him awake, held him by his hand, and guided him to a wonderful place. 

This place was bright and alive, more than anything from the living realm had been, and everyone there was different and better than that of those of the living realm too. People were blue with pink souls. Some had blue souls and pink bodies, like him. And some had purple souls and pink or blue bodies. Some had green souls, some had black, some had yellow, red, orange, rainbow, and all other sorts of colors too, with either blue or pink bodies. 

Everyone, though, had one thing in common: they treated each other exactly how their souls required them to. 

Death took him through this magical land, holding his hand all the while. Death had become a great friend and comfort by now, and he felt safe with Death. 

Death took him to a strange land after that. This land wasn’t quite as magical and beautiful as the last. Here, though, things seemed simple and peaceful enough. 

The people there were only either pink bodies with pink souls or blue bodies with blue souls. They did not judge him when he and Death passed them. They were kind to him, and treated him as the ones in the magical and beautiful land had. 

Death then showed him a terrible place. This place was sucked of all color, and it was cold. There held people with pink bodies with pink souls and blue bodies with blue souls, but they were all angry. They were enraged and screaming at everyone, especially he and Death. Some threw themselves down into he and Death’s path, begging and weeping for some help, yet cursing them both when they did nothing but keep walking. 

He wished he could help them, even despite their anger. 

Death brought him next and last to a place of light. Pure light and kindness in all forms was there. That was what the place was made of, even. 

Death stopped him and their walking there. Death let go of his hand, stepped aside, and told him to keep walking. 

He continued on his own now, frightened. Death had been his safety and guide, and had wrapped him in warmth. Now, he felt the creeping feeling of coldness wash into him. He kept walking, though. 

He walked, and walked, and walked. He walked more, longer than the whole time he and Death had walked. All the while, he grew cold. 

He did not grow angry nor sad nor lonely, though. Simply cold and ready for whatever it was that he was walking towards. The fear had faded. 

Finally, he stopped. He looked up and was filled with more heat he had ever experienced. There, before him, stood a ray of sunshine that he could only glance upon before turning his head down again. 

The ray of sunshine told him He was proud of him. He told him that he had done a very good job in life. He said that he could go spend his eternity in the magical and beautiful land now, if he wished.

He told Him that he would prefer to spend eternity without anything anymore. He thanked Him for the offer and for making the wonderful magical and beautiful land. He just wanted to spend eternity without any worry or time spent with living realm-like things. 

He understood, and asked if he needed anything else before He granted his wish. 

He did. He asked Him why did He put him in a pink body when he so obviously fit in a blue body. 

He answered that it was not a mistake. He had put him in a pink body, knowing that he had a blue soul. He said that some souls of one color get to be in a body of another color and that is not a mistake. Those souls just lead different, better lives than the ones of the matching souls and bodies. 

He liked this answer, and said he was ready now. 

He granted his wish. 

That blue soul with the pink body laid down and closed his eyes, and there was Death to bring comfortable darkness to him. 

The End. 

[chadillacboseman]

Summary: Alex is having a horrible, terrible, no good very bad...three weeks. Just a very short one shot of pre-Kate (@thesingularityseries) and pre-Echo (@roofgeese ) Black Dragon times.

--

Alex could hear the roar of the fight pits all the way from the storage room- a loud, unforgiving cacophony that rang in his ears as he searched the shelves. Kano's voice rang out, louder than the others, his accent grating on Alex's ears.

He ignored it and crouched to better examine the bottom shelf. He knew what the fight meant for him, it was only a matter of time until-

"Got another stiff for ya, Turk."

Alex glanced up and met Kano's glowing red eye; his face was flecked with blood and a fresh, angry cut ran across his cheek, not yet scabbed over.

Alex sighed and rose from his crouched position, his bum knee creaking in protest as it lifted his weight. The body behind Kano was that of a younger man, his brown hair cropped into a military high and tight. He was wearing olive green, and his name was sewn into the right hand side of his shirt.

Special Forces.

"Your ears painted on? Get rid of him," Kano gestured and his eye glowed threateningly, "And make it quick before he stinks up the place."

Alex sauntered past Kano and searched for the least bloody part of the soldier's body. From the looks of it, his death had been painful and slow. Alex crouched and hoisted the man over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the wet squelch that met his ears on contact.

"There's the muscle we hired ya for! Now get a fuckin' move on."

Alex had been on body duty for three weeks, a punishment inflicted on him for a botched mission in Montana. It wasn't his fault, not really. The SF had known they were coming, had intercepted them at the bunker and nearly killed him in the process. The warhead Kano had desperately wanted was lost- Alex still didn't know what he wanted it for, but he'd threatened to gut him like a fish for the failure. Of course, Kano's golden child, Kabal, had gotten no punishment for his involvement in the debacle.

Alex made his way to the garage and found a suitable truck, dropping the dead agent unceremoniously into the open bed. He tossed a tarp over the top and retrieved a toolkit and shovel from the nearby shelf.

The drive to the dumpsite was uneventful, through the winding desert and into the mountain range. Still, he gripped his shotgun in the passenger seat, ready for blue and red lights to flash in the rearview at any moment.

By the time he reached the dumping ground, night had fallen and the headlights of the truck were his only source of light, their dull orange glow cutting through the slowly settling dust.

Alex had honed his grave digging skills over the weeks he'd been doomed to body duty- able to make a suitable hole in less than an hour. When he finished, he paused for a moment, resting against his shovel for support as he panted in the still-warm air.

When he had recovered, he made his way back to the pickup and ripped the tarp aside. Rigor mortis had begun to set in, causing the agent's limbs to resist his maneuvering as he wrestled him from the bed and onto the ground with a disgusting thud.

Alex swore in Turkish and began the laborious task of dragging the body awkwardly to the hole. He dropped it next to the grave and returned once more to the pickup, retrieving the toolkit from the cab.

Pliers. Blowtorch.

And then he set to work.

First went the fingertips, prints burned off by the white hot flames of the torch. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils and made his eyes water- a scent he'd never get used to.

Next went the teeth, each wrenched from the corpse's mouth with the crude, rusted pliers. The first time he'd done it, it had nearly caused him to relive his lunch. Now, he was numb, completing the task with the ease and nonchalance of repetition.

The teeth went into a bag, to be incinerated in the furnace back at the base.

"No hard feelings, pal," Alex spoke aloud to the corpse, something he often found himself doing, "I'm sure you were a nice guy."

The agent's now wide, bloodied maw of a mouth could almost be taken for a smile out here in the darkness. Alex rolled him over once, twice, and then he fell into the shallow grave with a muted whump that sent a small cloud of dust into the air.

The burying was easier than the digging.

Dirt rained down into the hole with each motion of his shovel, slowly building until the body disappeared entirely and Alex cast his shovel aside before lowering himself to the ground for a short rest.

Alex sat for a moment next to the newly-disturbed dirt of the grave and pulled his knees up into his chest before burying his face. Out in the desert, a coyote yapped out a haunting call, likely drawn by the scent of blood.

Perhaps it would be a mercy to be torn to shreds by a pack of hungry coyotes.

Would anyone from the base even come looking for him?

The crushing, all-consuming loneliness of the past three weeks hit him all at once, and for a moment, he felt as if he was going to cry. He wanted to call his mother. Wanted to jump in the truck and just drive until there was no more road to follow. Wanted to walk into the desert and let the coyotes have him.

A small meow from somewhere behind him snapped him from his stupor and he turned his head in search of the sound. Squinting in the darkness, he could just barely make out the shape of a small, orange kitten, huddled near the front tire of the truck.

"Hey, little buddy," Alex extended a hand and clicked his tongue. To his surprise, the cat trotted hesitantly toward him, pausing to sniff his fingers with interest.

It looked rough, covered in desert sand and lean from far too many days without a meal. The cat gently butted its head against his hand and he ran his palm over its matted orange fur, chuckling at the way it leaned eagerly into his touch.

"You wanna come back to base with me?"

The cat looked up at him, green eyes glittering in the headlights. He couldn't leave it out here...right? But Kano would kill him for bringing a cat back to the base.

Alex decided he didn't care.

[urwendii]

This Bitter Earth/On The Nature Of Daylight

for @mascula-sappho 😘

read it also on ao3 | sequel of this

When Nelyafinwë Maitimo Feëanorion is announced to be released Findekáno drops the heavy book he was carrying and gapes at Eönwë. The Herald for his part is a stoic as ever, distraught elves the slightest of his troubles and with practical efficiency gives him the details of when and where.

He says, "His mother dwells now in Valmar and shall make the journey on the next morrow."

Findekáno tries to answer something that would vaguely sound like the High King he once was, the war captain, the Valiant Hero who killed a Kinslayer. 

What he says instead is "huh."

Eönwë gives him a look that is halfway between pity and self-suffering.

Despite his clear lapse of intellectual display, Finno walks to the Hall as soon as he can, dodging questions and siblings alike. Only Findaráto seems to know - the nér always knows stuff and it is unnerving that these bad habits must continue after his Rehousing. Show off.

It is a clear day and Arien is warm and gentle on his tanned skin and so Finno allows himself to run and leaps over hills and enjoy the burn in his lungs that has nothing to do with feral balrogs this time.

He's halfway there when he realises he has been singing and crying. Tears of joy! His Maitimo, his Russo! How long has he waited for that day, how long has he been scared of never seeing the other nér until the Breaking of the World.

But no! Here he comes, Námo - grey figure warped in white vapours - behind him.

Russo!

Maitimo has not a clear idea of what he is doing but there are legs moving, eyes seeing and hands- hand? oh. Yes, right. Hand - singular - grasping at the cloak The Doomsman has offered to him without a word. The texture is harsh against his tender new skin - the scars are gone at least. He thinks he remembers asking for the hand though. Or maybe not? It doesn’t pain him though and that’s what matters.

Finally they are standing outside and Maitimo has to blink a few times to be able to see through the golden light of the Sun. So many colours! Yellow and green of the trees! red, pink, orange of the flowers and blue and gold.

Maitimo makes a sound. He can do that now. He does not know what type of sound it really is though. It is halfway through a wheezy gasp and a wrenched sob and he keeps making it as if not in control!

There is another nér running up to where he stands, dressed in royal blue and striking braids of midnight black and golden ribbons.

Maitimo doesn’t think he feels any pain anymore - he has healed after all, but there is a tightness on his chest and something is blossoming behind his ribs. For a second he thinks, maybe I should ask Lord Námo if anything is awry. 

But then, there are two arms wrapped about his waist, and he keeps making the strange sound - the other nér seems not to mind, if anything he makes his own. There is wetness on his cheeks. 

He turns toward the Doomsman to ask him - something? Námo stares back, grey, vaporous, immovable then blinks out of sight. 

“Russo!”

Maitimo frowns, he thinks he knows this word - and another that belongs to the shorter nér. He tries to make them into sound and taste the syllables on his tongue.  

“Finde-káno.” yes but not this one, another. It tickles Maitimo’s newly beating heart. " Beloved?”

“Yes” Findekáno - Finno? - shakes with that strange gasping sound he too makes, liquid pouring from both their eyes. “Yes darling. Welcome home”

Three months later Maitimo is overseeing the little garden behind his and Finno’s house - a small patch of soil Findaráto and his mother insisted to help them with, with the strong suspicion his very blond cousin is up to something. But maybe Maitimo sometimes forgets this is not Beleriand after all and all that Arafinwion quirkiness is simply just that.

“Russo, can you come here for a second please?” his beloved calls from the open back window - the one from the kitchen with the golden flowers, the ones he likes to paint.

He’s painting now and drawing! Him, the once-warlord. It’s a one-hand person hobby. Weaving is not. But with this new craft he can ask his beloved to pose for him, sprawled in the silky sheets and dressed only in shimmering golden jewellery. Maitimo cannot understand how he once thought the Silmarils to burn brighter than Findekáno. 

He shakes himself out of these pleasant thoughts - he will revisit the real thing later anyway - and makes his way to the kitchen. Inside Findekáno is precariously balanced on a chair, the tip of his toes supporting his weight and a heavy box. 

Maitimo crosses his arms and chuckles. 

“Come on, don’t just stare and come help me.” his beloved groans, his legs shaking with obvious effort as he tries - in vain - to reach the top of the cabinet. 

How Maitimo loves him! He suddenly thinks, overwhelmed by a peaceful realisation that this- this life, is something he is allowed to wish for and experiences each and every day and night. 

“Marry me.” The words he intended to say were, sure I'll help you - or - you look cute - or something of a short joke, those are always funny when Findekáno turns all huffy and points out Maitimo is the freakishly tall one. 

In the previous months they have not talked of remarriage - it is a slow recovery to relearn all matters of speech and how to exist in peaceful lands. And his new body - free of scars but so sensitive under warm beloved hands. Yet, now - oh now he wants this, what he has not been allowed to have, a proper ceremony for his beloved to wear all the gold he deserves, for his beloved to make him - Maitimo, still undeserving of his beloved’ strength and mercy, yet still so selfish to covet it all the same. 

Findekáno’s eyes are wide and then. The box falls on the floor, scatters Yule - A Taliska tradition his beloved has become very fond of - ornaments all over the wooden floor.

And still his beloved says nothing except looking at Maitimo as if - as if? Well he doesn’t really know, he is still relearning much. 

Then there’s a curse - Taliska again, then another one- Sindar? No- Vanyarin he thinks. And then Finno climbs down the chair, almost trips on a delicate globe of crimson stained glass, stops in front of Maitimo and says,

“Are you sure?”

Maitimo knows his Finno, knows him even when speech sometimes eludes him still and so he nods because in three words he hears others - What about your siblings, still mostly not returned, we won’t talk about your father but surely you must think about this . But it is alright, Maitimo has died once because of his family, now he wants to live for his new one.

“I want a proper ceremony, Finno,” he says, “under the sunlight and in the green hills of Valinor.” the rest of his words are cut by eager lips and soon Maitimo has Findekáno in his arms and they are kissing with tears and smiles and no jewels compare to the light in his beloved’s eyes when he answers, 

“I will marry you over and over Russo, even if Arda breaks and beyond the new infinity of time, there will be nothing that will prevent me from being yours.”

“And I, yours.” he echoes and something settles in him, like a quiet weight vanishing from his shoulders and Maitimo suddenly laughs, happy and quiet.

“What?”

“I have got to get you a taller chair.”

And with the indignant cry of his beloved in his ears, Maitimo chuckles and goes fetch his watercolours. There is a new scene he wants to paint. Of souls of silver and gold, of blue and copper, under vast blue skies, basked in the love they have shared for one another for as long as they remember.

[14muffinz]

Hi so I wrote a thingy

Inspired by @tblsomedoodles adopted AU, I wanted to do my own spin on the brothers finding Angie. 

Uhhh just trying to get this out of my brain for a good nights sleep. So yeah. lesgo

I’ll put a keep reading somewhere in here

⠀

⠀

Angelo had to be seeing things.

He just-- he had to be, okay? Because in front of him was that same goddamn sewer tunnel that always haunted his nightmares, the cracked orange paint that shouldn’t be cracked because he shouldn’t be here.

And yeah, it had to be some sort of fucked up nightmare, because there were more handprints on the wall than the ones that should be there.

Everywhere are splashes of blue, purple and-- fuck that was red, that was Pops-- no, it was the brother Raphael, the one he never thought he’d have to face again, and his handprints were staining this goddamned wall and it didn’t fucking make sense--

Angelo cried. And he didn’t care who was listening.

And maybe, the hysterical part of him, one buried over the years, laughed at how broken he was for a 12-year-old.

Raph dropped his sketchbook on the kitchen counter at the sound of an alarm he’d only heard once in his life.

Someone was in range of the mural.

Oh, oh no, not the goddamn--

“Donnie, Leo!” He roared, charging into the common room where sure enough, the twins were both charging from their respective rooms at top speed towards the purple curtain covering Donnie’s lab.

“I’m getting my bō, and then I’m going to maim a bitch!” Donnie announced.

True to his word, the twins emerged from the lab before Raph could even make it upstairs, folded up bō in hand.

Leo was never far behind from his twin. Not anymore. 

“Let’s go,” Donnie said coldly.

⠀

Raph twirled a sai nervously as they got closer and closer to the mural. He didn’t come down this way often. Too many memories, and sometimes they got overwhelming and Savage--

It wasn’t a very nice place for him.

But then, as the anger in Donnie and Leo only got more and more intense, they all picked up the faint sounds of sobbing. Unfamiliar sobbing. Heart-wrenching, guttural cries that now that they were listening for, bounced off the sewer walls without even an attempt to be covered.

And after a moment of consideration, they all ran.

Ran like their lives fucking depended on it, because before they’d hoped whoever the intruder was would just leave, but now that it was clear they were just crying, they needed to know who the hell this was. Because only April and Pops knew the route to the mural. And there were more sensors surrounding it, there was no way to just appear in front of it, right?

Right?

The twins screeched to a halt and Raph nearly crashed into himself before he froze as well.

Sitting against where Orange’s handprints, the last evidence of his existence, were painted was a green figure, with Orange spots and a yellow mask wrapped around his eyes. He wore orange knee and elbow pads, and the ones visible all had red lightning bolts on them. There were also stickers on his shell--

His shell. His shell. Because that figure was a turtle. Because that figure was their brother.

“Orange?” Leo squeaked.

The figure stared at them, his eyes shining under the yellow mask, which was stained darker with tears. He had orange freckles on his face. 

“Blue?” 

And before they all could process, Orange ran.

They ran after him, of course, but he was as fast and as feisty as their bleary memories and the few stories they’d wrangled out of their father had described.

The chase only lasted 3 minutes before the tears came back and Orange popped completely into his shell mid-trip, like Pops had always said he did when he was surprised.

After a silence that felt thicker than concrete, Orange popped back out of his shell, still shaking with silent tears.

“It’s Angie. You-- you can call me Angie.”

~~~

Next

[tigereyes45]

30. aos mcspirk. its angst time, poor bones dealing with his idiots lol

This is from the angst dialogue prompt asks. 30 was:  "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay." I hope yall don't mind that I broke the quote up a little bit and shifted it around some. :) You can find the list of prompts here.

This story is also on Ao3. You can read it here.

Summary:

The triumvirate are trapped on a planet as animals hunt them down. Spock is injured, and McCoy is running out of options when Kirk finally returns.

Story:

Light green blood covers McCoy's hands as his nails barely manage to dig in and rip open the science blue fabric. Breathlessly he continues to repeat the mantra he began when Spock was still conscious. "You're okay. You've been through worse Spock. You're fine. You're okay. Please, you have to be."

It’s less grounding without Spock’s snarky retorts.

With a strip of Spock’s shirt, he presses it down on the wound in the middle of Spock’s abdomen. At first he was terrified that the saber had gone through his heart. Now he can see it had missed. Bones presses a white, cloth pad from his med kit against the middle of the wound. Shit. It doesn’t even cover half.

There’s shifting in the shrubbery. Leonard’s hand flies toward Spock’s phaser. The vulcan’s hold was tight. Instead of fighting to wrench it out, the doctor holds Spock’s hand up, finger pressed between Spock’s on top of the button. Purple leaves shift and shake as something pushes its way through. Brown spots are scattered around the ground. They move and shift as the orange night light shines through the moving, leaves.

If he were a soldier, Leonard would have fired. Instead, his body tenses up, waiting, one hand on Spock’s abdomen and the other around the phazer. If he were a soldier the first sight of yellow would have been shot clean off. A bald spot where dirty, shoved-up, blonde strands used to be. A nice shiner.

Jim better be grateful that he’s never been a soldier.

As the captain fumbles through the last of the foliage, McCoy drops Spock’s phaser. He’s up and racing towards Jim, as Spock’s hand thuds into the red dirt. The doctor turns back, quickly throwing out a brief, “Sorry Spock”, then he’s at Jim’s side. Arms out, catching the captain just as he starts to fall.

Jim’s knees scrape the ground as McCoy tightens his arms, and lifts the captain back up.

An arm loops around Leonard’s neck. Sweetly Jim mutters, “Glad to see you’re still in one piece Bones.”

Despite his nerves, a single, “Hah!” escapes McCoy. The tension in his arms eases as he takes the sight of Jim in. Kirk smiles. It pulls a smile out of himself. He could light a candle with just that smile, and this dark cave could use quite a few.

“That’s my line.” Jim’s other arm is stretched across his chest, holding his right side. There’s no red seeping through his golden-yellow uniform. Good. McCoy holds Jim’s arm on top of his shoulders. He rests his other hand on top of Jim’s uninjured side. “Just gotta get ya across this cave.”

McCoy carefully lays him down next to Spock. Jim pushes himself up onto his knuckles. They drag up red soil as he scoots himself back against the wall. There’s red soil back on Earth. Leonard reminds himself. Some clay is red. It can dye the dirt surrounding it. Sometimes you get puddles or red water.

Even out here, trapped on an alien planet, who knows how far away from home (Spock would know), some things are familiar. McCoy crashes to his knees between Spock and Kirk. He lifts Jim’s shirt to see an all too common sight. A giant bruise covers his side. Leonard blinks away sweat. He wills his body to cool off, as he feels around for the medical tricorder. Brown eyes trained on Jim’s side. “Got any other wounds I should know about?”

“None, doc.” Jim’s waving him off. When McCoy makes no effort to move from his side, Kirk pushes his shoulder away. “So focus on Spock.”

“Jim you come stumbling in here and-”

“Bones!” Jim cups his face. “Look at Spock.” It comes out like an order. Man does he hate it when Jim uses that tone. It’s one that expresses no room for argument. Focus up, buckle down, and get the job done, as if looking after him wasn’t his damn job.

Leonard twists his body to look back at Spock. The cloth patch is still lying where he dropped it. Blood is seeping through the wound right past the patch. In fact the bottom of it, was the only part that had sucked up any of this mess at all.

Damn it! Of course it hasn’t stopped. What, he presses his hand over the wound for five seconds while half blind with fear, and that’s enough. All those years of medical school, and he lets his judgment get clouded right when Spock needs him most. Finding a bruise on Jim Kirk is like finding red in a bowl of skittles. He should have kept a closer eye.

Bones wants to run a hand through his hair. He wants to clench it, and pull, threatening to rip out the strands as he thinks and centers himself, but he can’t. If he does his hands will be even filthier and running through the wild vegetation, past hills, digging through dirt, and working through blood has already caked his hands. There’s just a mouth’s worth of water left in his canteen too. Perfect.

Instead, he wraps the torn strip of Spock’s shirt along his waist. With one hand he lift’s Spock’s lower back up and pulls the stip under it.

“You keep looking like that and for my next birthday we’re going to have to drink to our good health alone.”

“I’d still have my eyesight.” The world can count on Jim running his mouth like it can count on a working clock to tick. “My hair thanks you.” McCoy’s hands steady. He’s finally able to finish the knot. Thank god for that mouth.

“Great job Bones.” Kirk sounds like he’s holding back a laugh. McCoy glances at him worried he’s gotten cottonmouth from something on this forsaken planet. Instead Jim’s smile. His eyes are half-lidded, but he was out of breath when he made it in.

Too bad rest is the one thing they can’t afford. “Stay awake Jim.” McCoy orders, as he digs through his medical bag for a second patch. Though he’d take anything clean to put on Spock’s wound at this point.

“I am Bones.” All that energy he has on the shore leave, or in the middle of a mission is back. “I am.” Jim’s smile shifts into a smirk, and Bones returns to looking for cloth. At the very bottom he finds a single, widespread bandage. It’s enough to cover the top half of the cut. Not nearly what he wanted but it’ll do.

With how often he has to make do with not nearly enough, he should be considered a goddamn miracle worker. “You’re lucky I’m still out here.” Bones mutters, as he rips the cover off the back. “After all we’ve saved Earth. Twice now. I could be off enjoying an early retirement on some pleasure planet with that kind of reputation.”

“You? A pleasure planet?” Jim laughs, and somehow that mockery is still comforting. “Bones you’d leave after a week.”

“Ya know I’d have a lot more energy if I wasn’t always saving you two!”

“Come on Bones, you’re way better at being a damsel in distress than us.”

That didn’t even make sense. Of course, he’d go with wit over matter.

“Bones.” Leonard rips the sleeve off his shirt. “Bones.” Delicately he pour the minimum amount of water onto the strip. “Bones?”

Careful hands gently press along the torn skin. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Surprise stills his hands. Brows furrowing, he looks up at Jim, unable to hide his concerns. “What for Jim?” He usually doesn’t start talking like this until his birthday.

“For dragging you to space.” Jim’s head bobs back hitting the wall. A somber look on his face. It doesn’t suit him. Sad looks like those never have.

Bones returns his attention to Spock. Once again he starts to clean the injured vulcan. Steady breathing made clear by the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s comforting to see him moving. A still patient can be a gift, or a curse, and a silent Spock is eerie at best. He should be awake, should be picking a fight with Jim or himself, should be lecturing them on the rules they’ve broken, and the ways this could have been avoided.

Jim wouldn’t be so sad if Spock’s wit was here to challenge him. “I know you would have gone back to Earth after the Nero incident. Probably be happy somewhere down there.”

Where? Earth? Not a chance. That’s why he left it in the first place. Starfleet was the only option. Well, that’s not true. He could have gone anywhere with his skills. Starfleet was just the fastest way to get himself as far away from everything he wanted to leave behind. “I’m glad I’m here Jim.”

Kirk scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“I am,” and honestly yeah he was. Those years at the academy were some of the most fun in his life. Maybe everything on the Enterprise hasn’t been hunky dory, but it’s never boring. Jim’s there to keep him on his toes. Spock’s the easiest person to tease. “Who else would’ve been able to bring you back from the dead?”

Jim’s laugh is easy but stilted.

“Besides, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.” It wasn’t easy moving on. It never is. Jim and Spock made the transition a little smoother. From Earth into Space. From short missions to a five-year adventure.

From single life to sharing a room with not one but two assholes.

Okay, three counting himself, but he’s always been stuck with that one.

It only takes a handful more minutes to clean the last of the drying, green blood off of Spock. “It’s like scratching paint off a banister,” McCoy mutters. His blood runs cold. Silence fills the cave.

In a panic, McCoy checks Spock’s pulse as he twists his neck back to look at Jim. The captain lays unconscious, body slumped a little more heavily against the wall. Spock’s pulse was steady. His stomach settles, before jumping into his throat as he grabs the handle of his medkit.

 "Damn it, Jim!” Callous fingers runs along the tight stitching as they search for the one piece of metal they need. “Of course the one time your big mouth could save you, you go and run out of shit to say.” He runs the tricorder over the whole of Jim’s body now. Starting with that bruise. As it runs he mutters impatiently, “You've got to be okay. You've got to be.” It beeps. As he brings it up to his eyes in the low light he continues to pray. “Please. Please be okay."

Elevated levels of adrenaline. Not surprising, but also not great. Heart rate is declining, and his blood pressure is dropping. Okay. Not good but he should have a hypo to stabilize all of that. No poisons, no sudden deadly diseases, there are several other bruises on his body he had been hiding. Then it announces the culprit behind his loss of consciousness in bolded black letters.

He has a concussion.

“Jim!” McCoy shouts, forgetting about the group of animals hunting them down. He pulls out a hypo. Bones glances back at Spock as he huddles over his medkit, preparing the hypo’s concoction.

Quickly he injects it into Jim’s shoulders. He holds Jim by the side of his face, watching as the readings return to normal on his tricorder. “I need you to wake up Jim.” He runs his thumb along the top of Kirk’s cheek. “Please open those bright blues.”

But he doesn’t. McCoy’s left sitting there on his knees, pleading for Jim to wake up. Wishing Spock hadn’t slipped out of consciousness a while back. Alone in a cave that’s losing light, on an alien planet, with a pack of animals hunting them down, and no nearby natives to ask for help, or a way to contact the Enterprise.

McCoy drags Spock’s body carefully, closer to the wall of the cave. Once there he sets the vulcan down to his left facing away. He cradles Spock’s head in his lap. Then Leonard moves Jim so he’s leaning on his right shoulder. He wraps his hands around one of theirs each and embraces the silence. Out of habit, he starts to count their breaths. Jim’s always the fastest breather. Of course he can’t do anything slow. This time though, Jim’s is slow. Slow and steady. So very unlike Kirk, but the best he can expect right now. Spock’s is even slower. For every four of Jim’s breathes he counts one for the vulcan. They’ve got a good tempo going. One any band or orchestra could play by. Then there’s his own, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t hoping to lose count soon. It’s not erratic but far faster then it should be.

Fearful.

The sound of a powerful gust moves through the trees.

It’s the Enterprise. They’ll find them. Then he can save these two. With warm rooms, biobeds supplying all the data he needs, and access to all the best tech in starfleet. Any minute now and he’ll have them back.

Even if it’s only a comforting lie it's all Leonard has. He’s not as great at the whole lifting spirits with speeches as Jim. Nor can he use such an unerring logic to prove his points that no one has cause for doubt, like Spock.

"I'll never forgive you two if ya leave me here alone." In vain he squeezes their hands. Nothing changes.

[shanamahtopoeia]

Porting Models from Dragon Age: Inquisition to Dragon Age: Origins or Dragon Age 2

Part 3: Converting Textures using Paint.NET

Tools needed: Paint.NET BoltBait's Plugin Pack

In hindsight, I probably should have started with this tutorial. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ For reference, I'll be converting the HF "prisoner" model (largely unused in Inquisition; only female NPC I could find using it is the infected woman in Sahrnia Quarry) I chose this model because it doesn't have any transparency or exposed skin. If your model does have exposed skin, you'll have to paste the outfit map together with the skin texture map, and adjust the model's UV map accordingly, unless you're using one of the very rare DAI models whose skin texture is on the outfit diffuse.

Normal Map:

I usually start with the normal map, since I follow magpie's method and paste it onto the diffuse. So, let's open up that DAI normal map. It should look like this:

If you're used to Photoshop, the first thing you'll likely notice is that it hasn't been nicely divided into RBG layers. That's something we're going to have to do ourselves. A lot.

Hopefully, you'll see a Layers box, probably on the far right. If not, hit F7 to bring it up. Now click 'Duplicate Layer' at the bottom of the Layers box.

DAI puts the X in the red channel, and Y in the green, while DAO and DA2 have X in the alpha channel, and inverted Y in the green.

With the upper layer selected, use Curves or Levels (both under 'Adjustments') to reduce the red and blue output to 0. Then do the same with the lower layer, reducing green and blue output to 0.

Using Curves: Change the Transfer Map to RBG, and uncheck the box for the color you want to keep. Then reduce the other colors to zero by clicking on the tiny dot in the upper right, and dragging it to the lower right. Hit 'OK'.

Using Levels: Uncheck the box for the color you want to keep, then reduce the other colors' Output to zero by either clicking on the uppermost bar and dragging it to the bottom, or by changing the 255 to 0. Hit 'OK'.

Now, turn each layer to grayscale with the Adjustments menu, Black and White+. Change the 'Conversion Algorithm' dropdown to 'Maximum Method'. To help keep the layers straight, you may want to rename them by double-clicking on the layer in the Layers box, or clicking the little wrench.

DAO and DA2 both use an inverted Y map, so you'll need to invert the colors. With the Y layer selected in the Layers box, do Select+A to select the entire image, then Ctrl+Shift+I to invert. Your Y layer should look like it's an stamped impression of your texture--concave when it should be convex--while your X layer will pop out like the actual texture.

The next step involves transparency, so we should do a save as a PDN in case we later need to go back and make adjustments to the individual layers. (other image formats will combine the layers - "flatten" - so it's good practice to save a PDN before saving into another format, or combining layers manually)

In the Layers box, hide the Y layer with the checkbox, and make sure you have the X layer selected. Then do Ctrl+A to select the whole image, and Ctrl+C to copy.

Then unhide the Y, and hide the X.

In the Effects menu, go to Object, Paste Alpha. Make sure you have 'Replace current Alpha with' 'Shades of gray from clipboard' selected, and hit 'ok'.

Now we almost have a proper DAO normal map! :D Despite the color, it'll work fine in DA2, too. (DAO & DA2 both read Y from the green channel and X from the alpha, but DAO has duplicates of the Y in both red & blue, while DA2 has a perfectly red red channel and all-black blue channel).

If you want to mimic the DA2 orange, you can undo the transparency for now, then add another layer in the Layers box. Move this one above the Y, and fill it with red FF0000. Using the Curves or Levels adjustment, change the Y to fully green. Double-click the all-red layer, and change the Blend mode to 'Additive'. In the Layers box, use the Merge Layers Down button to merge the red onto the Y. Then copy the X, and use Paste Alpha.

Delete the X layer.

Save as a .dds. The only setting you'll need to change from the defaults is to put the compression at BC3 (Linear, DXT5).

Diffuse Map:

Open up both the diffuse map and the specular. You'll probably notice that the diffuse map looks rather flat compared to DAO & DA2 maps. We're going to fix that by overlaying a bit of the normal and specular maps (thanks again, magpie!!).

First, we need to separate the specular map into RGB layers. Use the Layers box to make two duplicates of the base layer. Like with the normal map, you can use either the Curves tool (Adjustments, Curves) or the Levels tool (Adjustments, Levels) to make the three color channels.

With either method, Paint.NET remembers your last adjustment, so you'll have to undo it when you change the next color layer. You should end up with the layers like this:

Go back to your diffuse map.

If your diffuse has transparency, make a duplicate layer, and turn the bottom one into a transparency layer with Effect, Object, Switch Alpha to Gray. Hide this layer. We won't be using it again for a while. Turn the other layer completely opaque by clicking Adjustments, Transparency, and moving the slider all the way to the right.

Make two new blank layers above your diffuse layer.

Open back up the normal map PDN you made earlier, and copy the Y layer.

Paste the normal Y layer into the lower blank layer on the diffuse map.

Go to the specular map, copy the green layer, and paste it into the upper blank layer on the diffuse map. Sometimes one of the maps isn't the same size as the other. In that case, first adjust the size with Image, Resize. The sizes are multiples of 256, usually 1024x1024, 2048x2048, or 4096x4096.

Run the Black and White tool to turn the specular layer grayscale. Do the same to the normal layer, if it's the orange DA2-style. (You can close the normal PDN if you want now; we don't be using it again. Keep the specular map open, though.)

Your diffuse map and layers should currently look like this:

Hide the spec layer, and double-click the normal layer.

Change the Blend Mode to 'Overlay', and play with the opacity slider a bit. You can see that creases/shading are added, but the colors are also whiter. I usually end up with the norm opacity in the 170-190 range. You might want to invert the normal layer (Ctrl+Shift+I), or use the X normal layer instead. See what works best. :)

Unhide the spec layer, and set its Blend Mode to 'Overlay' as well. Play around with the opacity slider. This darkens the map and adds contrast. I usually end up with the spec opacity around 130.

If your combined texture doesn't quite look right, you can also try different adjustments to the diffuse. Keeping all layers visible, have the diffuse layer selected in the Layers box, and try one of the Adjustment tools. The ones I use most commonly are Brightness & Contrast and Hue & Saturation.

If you want to do larger recoloration, the tint map can be quite useful to select all areas of a certain component: Open up the DAI tint map, and copy it. Back on the diffuse map, make a new blank layer above the diffuse layer, and paste the tint map into it. The Magic Wand tool in the tools box will select a contiguous area of the same/similar color (the Tolerance scale at the top is used to set how picky it is). Holding Shift and then clicking will grab all areas of the matching color. Once you have a selection in the tint layer, hide the tint layer in the Layers box, and select the diffuse layer. Now any edits you do will only affect that selected area of the diffuse layer. I'm going to use the Color Balance tool to change the cloth shirt to light blue, and the leather straps & pants to brown.

Once you're done with your edits, save the diffuse map as a PDN.

Delete the tint layer if you have it, merge the normal layer onto the diffuse, and then the specular onto the normal/diffuse combined layer. (merging the specular onto the normal and then onto the diffuse will result in a slight color difference)

If you have a transparency layer, we are now going to apply it.

Select the transparency layer in the Layers box, then use Ctrl+A, Ctrl+C to select and copy the entire image. Select the merged diffuse layer in the Layers box, then use Effect, Object, Paste Alpha. Delete the transparency layer.

Save as a .dds. Diffuse maps without transparency should be set to BC1 (Linear, DXT1), while maps with transparency should be BC3 (Linear, DXT5).

Specular Map:

A specular map consists of two layers: the main layer, and a transparency layer. The main layer controls what color is reflected, while the transparency layer controls the shine (more white = more shiny).

The main layer will be an edited version of your opaque diffuse map. (if you still have the diffuse transparency layer from earlier, delete it)

If you haven't done any significant changes to the diffuse, you can copy the green layer from the the DAI specular map as your transparency layer by making a blank layer under your diffuse layer, and pasting the green specular in it.

If you have made large changes to the diffuse, duplicate it, and use the lower layer as the transparency layer.

Turn the bottom/transparency layer to grayscale using the Black and White tool under 'Adjustments'.

Select the top/main layer in the Layers box, and then open the Hue & Saturation tool under 'Adjustments'.

The specular texture should be both darker and less saturated than the diffuse, so reduce them to around 60 and -50, respectively.

If your texture has large metal areas, you may want to exclude them. The DAI specular's blue layer is a metallic mask; you can copy/paste it into another layer and use it to select the metal parts like we did for recoloring above. Ctrl+I inverts your selection. Now you can use the adjustments without affecting the metal.

Save your specular texture as a PDN (separate from your diffuse PDN).

Select the transparency layer, then do Ctrl+A, Ctrl+C to copy it.

Switch back to the main layer, and then do Effects, Object, Paste Alpha.

Delete the transparency layer.

Save your new specular map as a .dds. The compression should again be BC3 (Linear, DXT5).

Tint Map:

If you don't want/need tinting, this will be really easy--don't bother with a tint map, and set the semantic in the .mao to NoTint, or AlphaNoTint if your diffuse has transparency. :p

If you don't want the armor/cloth to tint but you have exposed skin, this will still be pretty easy:

Open up your diffuse map, make a new blank layer above the diffuse, and fill it with black (000000). Hide the black layer, go to your diffuse, and select the skin, either with the magic wand or the lasso select. Invert your selection (Ctrl+I), and fill that with black. Fill your skin with white (for DAO, use FFFFFF. For DA2, start with E5E5E5. The vanilla maps aren't terribly consistent: sometimes they're as light as E4E4E4 or as dark as DBDBDB). Unhide the all-black layer. Save your tint map as a PDN. Copy the transparency layer, and then use Paste Alpha on the all-black layer. Delete the transparency layer. Save as a .dds, with compression BC3 (Linear, DXT5). The semantic in your .mao file should be 'ArmourSkinTint', or 'AlphaArmourSkinTint' if you have transparency.

If you want material tinting, be prepared to love layers. ;) Open up the DAI diffuse map (if you've made a lot of changes to the texture layout, like adding/removing sections, use your diffuse instead).

Make the diffuse grayscale using the Black and White adjustment, and then make two duplicate layers, and four blank layers.

Open up the DAI tint map. If you exported it from DAI with the alpha channel and have transparent areas, make it completely opaque with the Transparency slider in the 'Adjustments' menu.

Make two duplicate layers.

Using Curves or Levels, like we did earlier, change these three layers into red, green, and blue channel layers. The red channel is usually for cloth tinting, and the green and blue channels for leather tinting.

Go back to the DAI specular map, and hide the red and green layers so that only the blue layer is showing. The blue channel in the DAI specular is for metal tinting.

One-by-one, copy each of these tint layers, and paste them into the blank layers you made on the DAI diffuse map. To keep your layers straight, you may want to rename them.

If you haven't seen it already, I highly recommend reading sapphim's and Ottemis' tutorials about textures.

In short, what a tint map does is allow you to easily re-color items using a RGB system (+ skin on the alpha). A tint file (.tnt) holds three colors, one to apply to the tint map red channel, one for the blue, and one for the green. The tint map is overlaid on the diffuse map, and the colors from the tint file essentially painted on. This is why if you look at the base diffuse maps for DAO and DA2 (or at the untinted models in-game), they tend to be rather bland: neutral colors take tints better than bright colors.

What we're going to do is use the tint maps' color channels to select different sections of the diffuse map and make the RBG layers for the tint map.

As you might have realized, we have 4 tint layers, but only need 3.

If making a robe/clothing model for DAO, you can just delete the metal tint layer. Otherwise, the simplest thing to do is combine the two leather layers, or delete one of them entirely. You might want to open up a similar model's tint texture from DAO/DA2 (whichever you're modding for) to see what materials each color layer corresponds to. The tint map will open up mostly or completely transparent - you can turn it opaque with Adjustments, Transparency.

Depending on what kind of model you're texturing, you will probably need to re-color the layers.

I'm going to port this outfit to DA2 as a light/mage armor, which usually seems to use red for the heavier leather/cloth areas, green for lighter leather/cloth, and blue for metallic accents. First thing I do is combine the leather layers by hiding the red tint layer, and use color picker to grab the green color code from the green leather layer (it's 00FF00). Then I fill the blue with green, using the paint bucket. Then I'll double-click on the upper green layer in the Layers box, and set the Blend Mode to 'Screen'. And finally, merge the upper green layer down onto the lower green layer. Now I'll swap the colors of the red and green layers. I already have the color in the Colors box set to green, so I'll unhide the red tint layer, and use paint bucket to fill all the red. (holding Shift and then clicking will fill in all the red at once) In the Colors box, I'll swap the green to red (FF0000). I hide the green cloth tint layer, and fill in the green leather tint layer with red instead.

Now we'll start combining the tint layers with the diffuse layers.

Click and drag the layers in the Layers box (or use the Move Layer Up/Down buttons) so that the layers alternate red/diffuse/green/diffuse/blue/diffuse.

On each of the color tint layers, change the Blend mode to 'Darken'. If you have skin tinting, make another duplicate layer of the diffuse, put it at the bottom, and hide it. We'll come back to it in a bit.

At this point, it's a good idea to save as a PDN, to make it easy to adjust tinting later if necessary.

Then merge each color layer onto the diffuse layer beneath it.

Finally, change the Blend Mode on the red and green layers to 'Additive'.

Then merge the layers into one, starting at the top. Now it should look like a proper tint map! :D

One last thing - if this texture is for armor/clothing, we need deal with skin tinting.

If you don't have visible skin, simply turn the whole thing transparent using the Transparency adjustment.

If you do have visible skin on your textures, unhide that last diffuse layer you made a few steps ago.

Select all the skin with the magic wand tool or lasso select. Invert the selection (Ctrl+I), and fill it with black. Now fill the skin with white (for DAO, use FFFFFF; for DA2, start with E5E5E5). In the layers box, have the skin layer selected, and hit Ctrl+A, Ctrl+C to copy it. Paste it as an alpha on the main layer. Delete the skin layer.

Save your tint map as a .dds, BC3 (Linear, DXT5). The semantic in your .mao should be ArmourSkinTint, or AlphaArmorSkinTint if your diffuse map has transparency.

Here's what my model looks like in Blender, in-game with no tint, and in-game with the red "mercenary" robe tint:

It's kind of shiny for cloth, so I'm probably going to go back to the specular texture and darken the cloth parts, and maybe slightly darken the diffuse texture.

The difference between the untinted and the tinted is also…disappointing, so I also need to brighten the tint map. (there are two ways to do this: either go to the .dds and turn up the saturation on the selected areas that need it, or open up the PDN and turn up the brightness on the individual diffuse layers before you merge them) Alternatively, I could desaturate the diffuse a bit.

But, what I have is a pretty good start. :)

[floral-force]

Code of Honor - Chapter 8

The Morning After

summary: the morning brings light to the village, and a hunter goes after a quarry of their own.

warnings: 18+/MDNI (I am not responsible for your media consumption, please be responsible and do not interact if you are a minor), canon-typical violence, mentions of blood and injury during a ptsd flashback, non-con innuendo/touching.

words: 3.9k+

read on ao3 | series masterlist

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PART 1: YOU

The breakfast in front of you was one of the most lavish spreads of food you’d ever seen. It all probably cost more than you were worth.

It took all your self-control to avoid devouring the golden rolls of bread and steaming waffles and held yourself back from taking more than two helpings of green pearberry toast. You smiled at the prince as you poured a glass of orange juice, trying to maintain the fake persona you crafted to draw him into your claws.

He sat across from you in a dark green velvet robe, cutting into his breakfast meat pie while keeping his gaze on you. A few times, you noticed his eyes trail down to your cleavage and you made sure to lean forward the next time you grabbed another piece of food—this time, a spherical red fruit that dripped with blood-red juices when you bit into it. You felt the liquid trailing down your chin, threatening to stain your nightgown, and you rushed to catch it with a napkin. You were quick enough to prevent it from dripping onto the silk gown, but unfortunately, a drop trailed down your neck and nestled right above your chest.

The prince chuckled at you, getting up from his seat and walking around to your left side, a white cloth napkin in his hand. You couldn’t even get a word out before he was dabbing your lips and chin with it, the red staining the pristine fabric. He was staring down at you with something devious in his eyes—something that made your muscles tense.

The fruit was forgotten on the white porcelain saucer plate to your right, your right hand clenching your napkin. You cleared your throat and forced an embarrassed giggle and smile.

“I’m so sorry for my mess, my prince.”

“Nonsense,” he said, gripping the edge of the table as he lowered himself to one knee. “You still have a little on you.”

“Oh, I can get it,” you protested, bringing the napkin to your neck.

The prince clicked his tongue and wrenched the cloth out of your tight grip. You looked down at him, and when he gestured for you to turn and face him, you did so slowly and reluctantly. 

As he slowly dabbed the fabric down your neck, following the sticky red trail, you felt your heart start to race. Suddenly, you felt like a caged fathier: anxious and restless, itching to escape. You stayed still, frozen under the prince’s calculating stare. 

He reached your cleavage and stole a glance before looking back up at you and chuckling, a smug smile painting his face. 

“I should ask for your permission first,” he surmised. “But something tells me I don’t need to.”

All you could do was bite your lip when his hot tongue met your skin, dipping only a little into your cleavage before licking up to your right clavicle. The cloth dropped to the floor as he went to grip your thigh, sharply squeezing your flesh. 

He sat back on his heels and simpered, looking up at you as he ran his hand up and down your thigh.

“I’m—I’m flattered,” you said, forcing another smile. “But I really should be going. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, Your highness.”

You quickly swung your legs over to the right side of the chair, nearly jumping out of it. The prince rose to his feet and marched over to you as you took quick steps toward the dining hall door. As much as it unsettled you, you faced him, not wanting to take your eyes off him lest he pounce.

“My dear! How could I ever tire of a beauty like you?”

You nervously laughed and fumbled for the doorknob, grasping at the cold metal and trying to turn it before he got too close, pressing your body into the wood. 

You nearly tumbled into the hallway when the door swung open, barely staying on your feet. The prince’s brow furrowed, so you stood straight and began your cautious backward walk to the nearby staircase, the slippers on your feet tapping against the marble. You kept a smile plastered on your face, trying your best to remain calm and coy on the outside. 

“My family is probably wondering where I am. I don’t want to worry them any longer,” you stated, throwing your hands up in the air with a shrug. “I’m sure my grandmother is already starting to fret.”

The prince stopped his pursuit, pursing his lips and looking you up and down from where you stood, perched on the first step of the marble staircase that would carry you to your holding cell. He clenched his fists and sighed. You noticed a hint of anger slip across his sharp features before he flashed a toothy grin at you, finally closing the distance and taking your clammy hands in his.

“Well, who am I to make someone’s grandmother wait for their darling?”

“I hope you don’t think ill of me, my prince.”

He shook his head, his greasy black hair moving with him. “How could I be mad at such a divine creature?”

You gasped when he pressed your knuckles to his lips, forcing a coy smile on your face before thanking him and hurrying up the marble staircase to gather your things and flee.

He was a sickening creature, possibly the worst one you’d ever encountered—and you’ve had to seduce a Hutt. As you threw on the plain trousers and blouse one of the maids had left you, you couldn’t help but shiver. The prince’s touch lingered on you even though you shed the white garment and threw the slippers across the room. 

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and noticed there was still a very faint sticky residue trailing down your neck and under the fabric of the blouse, making your skin itch.

You shook your head, walking into the bathroom to try to scrub it off. There was a washcloth neatly folded on the edge of a large pearl sink, and you ran it under hot water, wringing out the excess before bringing it to your sticky neck.

You dropped the used washcloth in the sink, shuddering again when you saw a small area of the white fabric was stained pink.

Hopefully, that was the end of it.

You knew you had to return to the palace and hunt, but you needed to escape for at least one night to nail down a plan beyond seduction. Of course, you assured the prince that you’d return soon for him, maybe in a day or two if your family allowed, and you narrowly avoided his lips falling on yours, instead collecting the nauseating kiss on your cheek.

The hard part wasn’t seducing him, you decided as you finally exited the palace gates. No, the hard part was stomaching the slimeball.

PART 2: DIN

Din woke up frustrated and rock hard in his underwear—a combination that demanded his attention almost as much as she had in that dress she wore to the ball.

Fuck, that dress. He closed his eyes and remembered how good it looked on her as he took his cock in his hand, guiding it out of his underwear. It really wasn’t fair that she made him suffer like this; one day, he’d make her pay. Din bit his lip and groaned as he stroked his cock to the thought of taking her in that palace, fucking her in some empty hallway because he couldn’t wait any longer to feel her. He imagined what it’d be like to silence her with one of his hands covering her mouth, only feeling the vibrations of her moans against his gloved hand with each thrust of his cock. Din groaned and sped up his strokes, imagining how hard he’d fuck her just so he could hear her whimper and beg for more.

It was pathetic how hard and fast he came, ropes of white painting his stomach, all the way to his collarbones. He didn’t even need to think that hard when it came to her; her name was enough to incite frustration and arousal within him. She always left a mess wherever she went, too—whether it was a beheaded Trandoshan, or the cum painting his torso, she was the cause. She was the persistent thorn in his side, the itch he could never scratch, the rock in his boot. 

And, despite it all, he found himself…wanting her.

He huffed as he wiped the mess off himself, erasing the evidence that pointed to his secret desire. Satisfied, he tossed the used towel to the side with the slowly growing pile of dirty clothes near his rack. Ever since Grogu left, he’d cared less about keeping the Crest pristine. It was only when he tripped over something and cursed that he picked up a stray blaster or pair of cuffs, and he only washed things when the pile grew too large or started to smell. It was entirely unlike him, and he should be better by now, but he hadn’t been the same since his tiny companion left.

As he put on his flight suit, he felt a little pang of guilt for mentioning your past partner. Everyone in the Guild knew what happened—vaguely—and he was sure there was a fair amount of anger and grief left inside of you, even years later. 

“I’m no better,” he said with a grunt, sitting down on the cold metal floor to tug on his boots. He saw that he’d left the ammo belt that went on his calf was tossed haphazardly to his left, and he nodded and raised his eyebrows. “And there’s the proof.”

The only thing holding him together was the heavy beskar he was meticulously putting on. His armor was the only item on the Crest that was regularly cleaned and put away in its proper place, no matter how tired or worn out he felt. 

He remembered how sometimes, he’d catch Grogu looking at his warped and muted reflection in it, his big green ears grabbing his attention the most, reaching for them with a tiny, clawed hand. Din would chuckle, the sound muffled to a volume nobody would be able to hear by his helmet, but somehow, Grogu would turn his head and stare at him, startled by Din’s chuckle. He always figured the kid picked up on it with his powers, but he never really got the chance to figure out if his guess was right.

Din shook his head, strapping on his jetpack and pulling on his gloves, balling his hands into fists then stretching his fingers out. He repeated the motion a few more times as he walked over to his armory, opening it and scanning for what he needed—more ammo, more whistling birds, his blaster and vibroblade—and he nodded when he saw that everything was in its place. 

The only thing left after his reload was his helmet, which sat on a shelf in his rack, patiently waiting for him. The familiar hiss as it locked into place helped him shrug off his thoughts of her and the kid, leaving them behind so he could move on. 

He was going on a hunt today, and he needed every ounce of strength that he had.

PART 3: YOU

The woman in the hangar saw you hurrying to your ship and stopped the work she was doing on a droid. You nodded at her and she furrowed her brow.

“Y’know, I actually got a little worried when you didn’t come back from that ball.”

You stopped at your ship’s ramp, turning to face her instead of punching in the access code. Your red dress from the night before was balled up carelessly in your arms, and you were sure you looked odd wearing heels with the bland clothes the prince had given you. Luckily, you hadn’t been forced to wear the necklace home—you’d stuffed it in your pockets, along with some of the fancy toiletries from the bathroom in your room. Apparently, the prince was always ready for visitors.

“Well, I’m sure you weren’t too worried since I paid three days in advance,” you said with a smile, trying to escape a potential conversation before it began.

She crossed her arms and sat up straighter. “I just didn’t know the prince took kindly to strays.”

You scoffed at her remark, rolling your eyes and turning back to the entry pad. “Is everyone on this planet as hospitable as you?”

“I woulda done the same if I were you, let’s be clear.” You heard her stand up and take a couple steps over to you, making you pause again and notice your increasing impatience. “Women like us do what they can to get ahead.”

She crossed her arms and you took a moment to look at her and scan her appearance. Though she was old, her long hair gray in its ponytail, she had an intriguingly gorgeous face, and despite all the lines on her tan skin, it was obvious that she had been a beauty when she was younger. Her eyes were the color of peach stones, and her gaze made you feel both seen and judged all the same. 

“Just watch which beds you lie in. One day, you could end up makin’ it.” She chuckled to herself, walking back to the crate she was sitting on and picking up a tool. “I don’t know about you,” she said, a mischievous smile on her face, “but I hate makin’ mine, and kriff, I sleep in it by myself!”

You laughed, finally entering the code for your ship, the short ramp lowering so you could enter and get the reset time you needed. The “reset” was, of course, you dumping your ball gown on the floor, kicking off your heels, emptying your pockets—you couldn’t wait to use that fancy imported body wash from Coruscant—and flopping onto your rack, settling in for a much-needed nap.

I can get you out of here, you screamed above the blaster fire. 

Both of your hands were stained with fresh, red blood. As you shot at the pirates, you felt the hand you pressed right below their left rib cage get warm with each shallow breath they took. You could barely apply the pressure they needed—your bicep had been shot just minutes before they were. You glanced down at them for a moment, firing a few haphazard shots. Their eyes were closed, mouth agape.

Stay with me, you screamed. Stay the fuck with me!

Don’t you die on me, you yelled.

You grunted as you dragged them up to their feet, trying your best to support them while providing enough cover for you both to run out the way you’d entered.

You woke with a start, your entire body shaking you awake. You took a deep breath and swore, slamming your fist into your rack’s thin mattress.

Your blaster had smelled like iron for months, you recollected, jumping off your rack and rolling your shoulders a few times, rubbing the arm you’d injured that day as you walked to your fresher. Eventually, you pawned it off to some Toydarian on Tattoine. He’d given you a shit amount of credits for it, but it was one of the few times you wanted to be rid of something more than you wanted money for it. If it meant you would be haunted less during the day, it was worth the shit deal.

You stripped out of the palace-provided clothes, kicking them away with a yuck and a grimace. You were so anxious to be rid of the grime from the palace that you didn’t even wait for the water to heat up; besides, the cold water would distract you from your nightmares, and your insidious thoughts about the Mandalorian.

He was getting in your way far too much lately. The thoughts swirling around in your head were constantly invaded by him—after his departure from the palace balcony, you had to lay in bed and quell the arousal that pooled in your belly. 

It was sick the way you wanted him to grab your wrists like he did on Jakku and look you over like you were one of his bounties, his masked gaze only adding to the fantasy. It had been a test of self-control to not touch yourself to the image of him staring down at you as his cock filled your mouth and threatened to force itself down your throat. Denying yourself release to the idea of his voice coaxing—no, demanding—you to orgasm while he curled his fingers inside of your dripping cunt was one of the hardest acts of self-discipline that you’d ever executed.

You’d fallen asleep frustrated and aroused, and as you inhaled the sweet floral scent of the body wash from Naboo, you decided that it had been for your own good. 

You turned off the shower and started to dry yourself off, noticing that your thorough scrubbing allowed the floral scent to linger a little bit. Maybe there had been a perk to spending a night at that palace after all—aside from gaining access to the quarry, of course.

Tonight, you needed a few shots of spotchka and however many drinks you could handle. Looking out your ship’s viewport, you saw the sun was beginning to set, and you decided to see if this weird little moon had any cantinas worth going to. You tossed your towel on the fresher floor, enjoying the perk of walking around your ship completely naked; as much as you enjoyed having a quarry onboard and knowing the bounty you were going to get would be hefty, you also relished the solitary moments you got, too. You had a nice pair of tighter pants that made your ass look impeccable, and you grinned when you found the shirt shoved in the back of one of your drawers that always made people’s eyes drift away from yours. As you got dressed, you hummed a made-up melody, excited to explore a bit. You never minded the attention you got when you wore these clothes; you felt sexy and confident, and you also loved the free drinks that came with the outfit and the sultry smile you flashed at whoever fell for you.

You pulled on your boots, thanking your past self for not taking out the knives you had hidden in each. You stood up and walked over to your rack, jumping up and reaching in, your hand searching wildly for your holster.

“A-ha!” you exclaimed, grasping the leather and dropping to the floor, triumphantly holding it.

You wouldn’t bring your blaster with you tonight, thinking that these people might mind it a bit more than the people in Tatooine cantinas did. You were wearing it as your own silly form of a security blanket; you’d gone nearly an entire rotation without it and you had felt jittery the whole time with only your vibroblade holster strapped to your thigh. You click the belt on, then strapped the thigh band on, taking a few steps to make sure it wasn’t too loose or too tight.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you took a deep breath. You needed and deserved this little outing. Even if it was a bust, you could at least get a few drinks and unwind before forcing yourself back to the palace to collect your quarry. You smiled at your reflection and then walked to your dresser, filling a small bag with enough credits to pay for drinks before lowering your ship’s ramp and walking into the cool night air.

You were a little surprised to see the old woman still tinkering away with the R2 unit, yellow light from a lamp the only thing illuminating her work area. She looked up at you, then smiled knowingly.

“Take a left outta here, then a right at the first intersection. Walk a little bit, and the cantina will be on your left.”

You nodded, silently thanking her. She shook her head, the smile still stretched across her aged face as you walked past her and onto the street.

PART 4: DIN

The uneven brick road Din walked down was dimly lit, the storefronts lining it closed and some of the apartment windows above them glowing with yellow light, showing that life existed on the moon even after dark.

He was taking a gamble by heading into the village: he risked missing his target and losing out on a bounty that would allow him to take a little time off from hunting. Something in his gut, though, told him to wander the village streets. 

He walked past a small arched entryway with a sign that read “Osha Hangar.” He tilted his head to the side. He doubted that it would be this easy, but if it was, he wouldn’t be mad. Anything that made his life a bit easier amid the almost constant anger and confusion was welcome.

Din walked down the alley and entered a small hangar, large enough for only one ship—and it was currently occupied. He smirked under his helmet, then turned on his thermal sensor, looking around, his hand hovering over his blaster. He picked up a life form behind a wall, and he stalked over to the closed door it was behind, blaster at the ready. Din was sure his arrival would be unexpected, and he relied on that when he gave the door a few quick raps with his gloved knuckles.

“Whaddya want?” 

Din was startled when the door slid open to reveal an old woman with wavy gray hair, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

When he didn’t answer, she looked him up and down, her eyes settling on the blaster in his hand. She scoffed and stared into his visor. “I thought Mandalorians killed quickly. This is the longest anyone has ever taken to threaten my life.”

He took a step back and straightened, maintaining his grip on the blaster. “I’m not here for you.”

“Then what are ya here for? I was just about to get some kriffin’ sleep.” She leaned against her doorway, her stern expression unwavering.

“Who’s staying here?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s asking?”

“A Mandalorian bounty hunter.”

She clicked her tongue and nodded, a sly smile slowly etching across her face. She looked at the ground and chuckled, then met Din’s visor again. “Alright, what are ya, a jealous lover? Someone who’s angry they missed the morning after sex and wants payback for the snub?”

Din huffed in frustration at her pointed questions, growing impatient with her. “I told you, I’m a Mandalorian bounty hunter, and I know my quarry isn’t here.”

“Whatever you say, Mandalorian.” The old woman stuck out her palm, waving her fingers. “But in my hangar, nothin’s free.”

He scoffed and tilted his head back, digging in his utility belt for the sack of credits he kept on him in case of shitty situations like this. He placed some credits in her palm, and she peered down at them, squinting. She straightened and took a step back, wrapping her fingers around the credits.

“Go to the cantina.”

“Where is it?”

She smiled. “You didn’t pay enough for that, Mandalorian.”

The door slid closed in front of Din, and he growled as he turned around and headed back to the street. Of course this hunt would be a frustrating one—he should have expected it when it came to her.

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I posted 485 times in 2022

That's 485 more posts than 2021!

52 posts created (11%)

433 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@they-thespian666

@theunicorncomic-blog

@antichrists-tealover

I tagged 444 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#text reblog - 154 posts

#meme - 114 posts

#art - 111 posts

#image reblog - 75 posts

#psa - 65 posts

#mostly image reblog - 46 posts

#compound reblog - 45 posts

#moth - 39 posts

#pride - 33 posts

#pride moth - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#if you're only an ally to mentally ill/neurodivergent/brain disabled people when they are not that stigmatized you're not an ally

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

day 7 trans moth! by the way i will be gone for like the next two days so i will post thursday's and probably wednesday's moths on friday.

15 notes - Posted June 7, 2022

#4

on wednesday i drew a genderqueer moth! based on an elephant hawk moth!

18 notes - Posted June 10, 2022

#3

id: a pen and marker drawing of blaseball player Djuna Scoresburg, with a watercolor wash of orange with a black shadow

Djuna is a slate gray moth standing on two of her legs. Their wings are orange, yellow, brown, and red, and the wings have two eyespots that look like baseballs. She is wearing an orange striped Core Mechanics jersey, hot pink cargo shorts, soldering goggles, and an orange helmet with the hammer and wrench Core Mechanics logo. Their face has a green star shaped mark. She is wielding a pencil that is about the same height as her for a bat.

end image description

Drew Djuna Scoresbug. I really like this bug girl.

20 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

#2

Apl moth based on an atlas moth!

26 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ID: a pen and marker drawing(with a watercolor shadow) of chorby short, a green frog. She is wearing a traffic cone hat, the orange mechs uniform, and jeans.

end ID

chorby cute

chorby smol

chorby lives inside my soul

36 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

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