#wait even though he shattered the comet

[troius]

[clonesimpextra]

A Shattered Peace: Chapter 13

Scattered Stardust

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.6K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: After Abregado, Wolffe faces more issues back home on Kamino. Also available on AO3

A long time ago, in a place Wolffe once called ‘home,’ he wasn’t called ‘Wolffe’ at all.

Everywhere he went, regardless of who he was around, he was ‘CC-3636’. Nothing more. Nothing less. One of many, created to succeed at a singular goal.

Or die trying.

The day Wolffe earned his name was, he thought now as he stood in one of the Tipoca City landing bays, the day things started to shift in his mind. Maybe he was more than a number. Maybe he could be more, just a bit more, than the Kaminoans told him to be.

He could follow orders, he’d decided, but in his own way.

He could care for his brothers, he’d told himself, more than the war they were created for.

He could.

He would.

He did.

Now, as he watched brothers walking around him, none of them wearing 104th maroon, Wolffe almost wished he could give his name back.

He didn’t deserve it. Had stopped earning it. Wanted to go back to being a number because numbers didn’t have to feel … this … this emptiness in his stomach hollowed out by a pain so deep he almost couldn’t register it anymore.

How had this happened? How had he let this happen?

So many men gone. Just gone. Either blown up by the Malevolence or picked off, one-by-one, in the aftermath.

Like he should have been. Like he almost was.

He could still feel a deep ache in his lungs and his head from those moments with too little oxygen. Every rise of his chest was a reminder of what happened … how long ago was it now? He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in that escape pod, waiting for a death General Plo wouldn’t allow him to accept. 

Abregado … Kamino.

Once upon a time he would have been able to list off the distance between the two, the exact time it would take for a mid-size ship to travel from the desolation of one to the relative sanctuary of the other. But, that ache. It was more than just physical.

“Wolffe?” 

Someone spoke behind him and it took Wolffe a second longer than normal to realize it was Sinker. He turned around to face his sergeant and was relieved to see the familiar maroon still on his armor. A reminder that even though he failed, at least he didn’t have to live with it on his own. He pulled at the cuff of his officer’s uniform and nodded for Sinker to continue.

“Jedi General Shaak Ti wants to see us, sir.”

Wolffe nodded again, tugging at his other cuff. This damn uniform didn’t fit right. It felt odd on his skin. Too loose, too thin, too soft. Too much like the clothes he used to wear on Kamino before he’d been given his armor. 

His armor … just another thing he’d lost.

“Sir?”

Wolffe nodded a third time without looking up. It was Boost who’d spoken just then.

Sinker and Boost. All that remained of the 104th.

And Comet. Comet was still alive. The first thing Wolffe had done when they’d reached the Resolute was ask about the 414th. Rex had assured him, before he’d left with Skywalker, Ahsoka, and General Plo, that Amara and her men were on their way back to Coruscant. Were probably already there by now. 

So Comet was with Amara, there wasn’t anywhere in the galaxy he’d be safer. And yet, a small part of Wolffe wished he was here. Wished he could have his eyes on all three of his remaining men just to make sure they didn’t disappear into stardust, too. 

And Amara …

Wolffe straightened up, finally looking from Sinker to Boost, from dark visor to dark visor. They could hide behind those, lucky bastards. Wolffe didn’t have that luxury, and he needed to remember that. If he wasn’t careful, every emotion he was determined not to feel would find its way across his face. 

He cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, set his mouth in a thin line, and nodded a fourth time.

He could do this.

He would do this.

The ache in him lessened, just a bit.

“Let’s go see the general.”

*****

Wolffe knew Shaak Ti primarily by reputation. She was stationed on Kamino after he’d already left, and though she sometimes made appearances in General Plo’s holo calls with the Council, she and Wolffe never had much reason to interact with one another. 

But the shinies liked to share stories about the wise Togruta Jedi who observed their training. The beautiful woman who gave them advice and who wasn’t afraid to question the Kaminoans and trainers on their behalf. Wolffe had always rolled his eyes at this kind of talk, chalking the infatuation and admiration up to Shaak Ti being the first non-Kaminoan woman not on a data pad many of the boys had ever laid eyes on. 

Most of those same boys were dead now.

Wolffe blinked the thought away and pressed the panel next to the general’s office door. 

“Commander Wolffe, Sergeant Sinker, and Trooper Boost,”  a soft voice floated towards them from inside, “Please, come in.”

The office had the same too-white walls that decorated all of Tipoca City, making the entire area feel more like a med-bay than a place to live. But this room was different than the others Wolffe had seen across Kamino. There was no desk in here, not even a single chair. Instead, plush cushions lined one of the walls. Wolffe recognized them as similar to the ones that used to sit in Amara’s office on the Triumphant. Meditation cushions, then, in place of proper seats. Wolffe almost snorted at how very Jedi is all was. Typical.

But he couldn’t deny that the open space and the slight color added by the cushions made the room feel more welcoming than the rest of this place. Warmer, maybe. And somehow calming.

Or was that just the Jedi influence? His eyes flashed to the woman standing in the middle of the room. Shaak Ti was already looking at him, a gentle smile on her face. She looked far too peaceful, Wolffe thought, given everything they were here to talk about.

Then again, none of it had happened to her.

Her smile remained, but the general tilted her head to the side, just a bit. As if she knew what he was thinking. 

Jedi, Wolffe thought to himself again before building back up the mental wall that should have already been there to begin with. He needed to get a grip. Just because he’d failed everyone back in the Abregado system didn’t give him an excuse to lose his shit now. He was better than that. He had to be better than that. 

So he kept his gaze trained on the Jedi before him and nodded for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “General. You wanted to speak with us?”

“Yes,” Shaak Ti said slowly, eyes flicking between him and his brothers. “You three have been through a great ordeal, I believe. I am sorry for the loss it has caused you.”

Her words were genuine, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Wolffe wasn’t surprised. Most of the Jedi he’d encountered over the last several months were the same. But her sorrow still felt small to him. How could “sorry” cover the breadth of thousands of lives lost?

How could anything?

Wolffe wanted to ask her this, wanted to know if maybe the Jedi knew something he didn’t. If she could make sense of this for him so he could nod his head yet again, say “Ah, I understand,” and actually fucking mean it.

Instead, he swallowed past his questions and said what was expected of him. “They were good men. Committed to the safety of the Republic.” But … he was still Wolffe, not just CC-3636. No matter how much he wished he could go back; he never would. “I hope their deaths won’t be for nothing.”

The general’s smile fell, just a bit. “As do I, Commander.” She took a step closer to them, hands folding behind her back. “That has something to do with why I called you here. To discuss the future of the your battalion.”

“The … future, General?” Sinker asked before Wolffe could get a word out. The sergeant’s voice was masked by his helmet’s vocoder, but the inflection was clear all the same. What the hell was the general talking about?

Shaak Ti sighed and motioned between Sinker and Boost. “Please, take your helmets off. I like to see the faces of the people I’m talking to.” 

Any other time, Wolffe knew Boost would have made a clone joke. Just look at Wolffe, then General, he’d have said. We all have the same face, even if his isn’t quite as handsome as mine. 

Instead, the only sound in the room was the whoosh of air as the two helmets released their hold, the soft thump of the domes pushed up under plastoid-covered arms. Wolffe looked at his brothers, meeting their gazes long enough to see his confusion echoed in their eyes. He turned back to the general and waited.

“Counting the three of you here, and Clone Trooper Comet, who I have been told is still helping the 414th, only four members of the 104th remain,” Shaak Ti said gently but matter-of-factly. “This is a concern. For many reasons.”

Wolffe grit his teeth, forcing the neutral face Mar-Va had trained all his command clones to adopt to remain in place. The only concern Wolffe cared about was that thousands of men hadn’t needed to die. Shouldn’t have died. They’d flown right into a trap that the Republic in all its glory and infinite wisdom hadn’t seen coming. 

But just because that was the only concern he cared about right now didn’t mean it was the only concern, period. What kind of commander would he be if he couldn’t see the forest for the trees?

The GAR relied on its battalions. As good as the remaining four of the 104th might be, they couldn’t tackle even a portion of what their larger group had been capable of. And this wasn’t like Tibrin. They didn’t just need a hundred more men to make up for losses. They needed thousands.

The past several hours, Wolffe had been living moment-to-moment. Had been so focused on survival and the safety of General Plo and his remaining brothers that he hadn’t really stopped to think about what their need would mean. 

“You want to disband the 104th.” It wasn’t a question because Wolffe wasn’t asking. It was the logical move, from a military standpoint. The commander in him, the good soldier who followed whatever orders were thrown his way, accepted this. 

The Wolffe in him wasn’t so docile.

So, before Shaak Ti could answer, Wolffe shook his head, the ache that had settled inside him suddenly far away. “That would be a mistake, General.”

He could feel Sinker’s and Boost’s eyes on him. Interrupting a general wasn’t something he was known for. But this couldn’t wait. There was an urgency that replaced the ache in Wolffe’s chest that he was becoming all too familiar with. 

He didn’t have much in this life that he could call his own. Just his name, his brothers, and his battalion. He lost brothers every day, but he’d be damned if he lost his battalion, too. 

Maybe the general could sense this in him. Maybe the walls around his mind had slipped just enough for her to get a peek into his desperation. Or maybe it was just clear in his eyes and his voice. Whatever it was brought Shaak Ti to a pause. She considered him for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest, a more relaxed position than before. An equal, maybe, instead of a revered figure.

She inclined her head, forehead creased in what Wolffe hoped was curiosity and not annoyance. “Explain.”

Wolffe didn’t need to be told twice.

“What would you do with us, if the 104th was disband?” It was a rhetorical question, really. He already knew the answer, but he wanted Shaak Ti to hear it out loud. “Put us with another battalion?”

The general nodded. “Likely one you’ve worked closely with before. The 212th, 501st. Maybe Master Unduli’s 41st.”

“And waste General Plo’s leadership?” Wolffe shook his head and began to pace the room, Shaak Ti’s eyes following him. “That’s not what you need.”

“His leadership would not be wasted. Simply re-allocated from time to time.”

“Temporary leadership of already-formed battalions? Constantly jumping from one to another?” Wolffe barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s essentially wasting his talents. Just like lumping us in with another battalion would be wasting ours.”

He paused to glance at Sinker and Boost, who were all but fidgeting in their armor. Wolffe didn’t speak like this to Jedi. Well, at least not to Jedi who weren’t Amara Kora. But if Amara were here right now, she’d be doing the same thing. He knew she would. Wolffe cleared his throat and continued.

“We’re several months into this war now. Which is several months more than any of us thought it would last. Am I wrong, General?”

Shaak Ti pursed her lips, but Wolffe swore he saw the corner of them twitch up in the moment before. “I would say your assessment is essentially accurate, Commander.”

Jedi, Wolffe thought for the third time as he found himself fighting back a smile of his own. He hadn’t won this yet.

“You don’t need one less battalion when you’re already sending every single one you have on mission after mission after mission. With no end in sight as of now. It’s all hands on deck, sir. Even if that means rebuilding one of them from the ground up.” He stopped next to his brothers and placed his hands behind his back. The perfect military rest for the perfect commander that the GAR couldn’t afford to lose. At least, that was the idea. “The 104th is one of the Republic’s best. Sinker, Boost, Comet, and I will make it that way again. I give you my word, General.”

The Jedi peered at the three of them for another moment, and Wolffe resisted the urge to pull once again at his cuffs. This would have been so much easier if he’d had his armor.

Finally, Shaak Ti uncrossed her arms and gave them a small smile. “You make a compelling argument, Commander. Master Plo would have been proud to hear it.” She cocked her head, smile widening just a bit. “Though I imagine if he were here just now, he would have been the one making it, not you.”

Wolffe gave a quick, sharp nod, not wanting to get his hopes up. “He’s a good teacher, sir.”

“Hmm, he is at that.” Shaak Ti turned her hands over, palms up as if conceding to him. “You have convinced me, Commander Wolffe. The 104th will stay. And I will see what I can do about having Comet sent here. To help with the rebuilding.”

Sinker and Boost shifted next to him and something in Wolffe loosened ever so slightly. He could have this. He might have lost at Abregado. But he hadn’t lost here. At least not yet.

The general motioned them to the door and they stepped out into the hallway. Sinker and Boost turned to leave, but Shaak Ti reached for Wolffe’s arm, holding him back.

“I should warn you,” she said in a voice so low Wolffe had to strain to hear it. “I am not the only one who makes these decisions. I will support you as much as I can, but Lama Su and the … trainers. They will be watching you closely.” She let go of his arm and looked directly into his eyes, a sternness in her gaze that reminded him for a moment of Amara. “Do not let go of your fire just yet, Commander.”

Wolffe watched her turn in the opposite direction of his brothers, an uncertainty settling in the pit of his stomach. He was standing in the halls of the only home he’d ever known, but he felt like he’d just stepped onto a battlefield.

And something was telling him that the odds were already stacked against him.

*****

Growing up on Tipoca City, Wolffe never had a room as private as the one he was standing in right now. The wide, circular space with four beds built into the walls was at odds with Wolffe’s memory of the dozens of pods that populated the bunk rooms he’d slept in up until last year. Had these rooms always been available? Empty and waiting for visitors who didn’t require the strict and invasive regime of the clones?

Wolffe sat on the bed closest to the door and tried not to be bitter about it. He sank half an inch into the mattress and scowled at the softness. The Kaminoans had these types of beds hidden away on this side of the facility this whole time?

So much for not being bitter.

“I can’t believe they were going to disband us, just like that,” Boost said as he walked out of the fresher, running a towel across his head. “After everything’s we’ve done. Hells, after what we just went through.”

“They’re having to replace more and more clones these days,” Sinker yawned as he sat down on his own bed. Wolffe could hear the bitterness in his voice, too. “Probably didn’t sound too appealing having to allocate so many just to one battalion.”

“Well that’s literally what they made us for,” Boost scoffed, tossing his towel aside. “They should have been prepared for the possibility.”

Wolffe sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He didn’t have it in him to discuss this again. Not after what Shaak Ti had said to him before they’d parted. The coming days on Tipoca City were not shaping up to be the restful ones he’d been promised when he, Sinker, and Boost were dropped off. The ache in his chest and head was starting to return and he desperately, desperately needed to sleep.

But they needed that approval from Lama Su and the trainers. Wolffe wasn’t too worried about the former. He hadn’t spent much time around Kamino’s prime minister, but he did know that Lama Su wasn’t usually one to get his hands dirty. He’d approve the continuation of the 104th if only because it meant he didn’t have to bother with the nuisances of explaining to the Republic why his people couldn’t help rebuild one of the GAR’s best battalions.

The trainers, though … they were another story.

When Wolffe was a cadet, the clones were trained by Mandalorian warriors hand-picked by Jango Fett himself. But as time wore on, those Mandalorians slowly began to leave Kamino, either by choice or by force. Mar-Va fell into the latter group, something Wolffe didn’t like to think about much.

These days, though, the Kaminoans employed bounty hunters to help train the clones. Wolffe had never met them, but he’d heard enough stories from the shinies to know they couldn’t necessarily be trusted. Not like the Mandalorians and not at all like Mar-Va. There was no telling whose best interest these bounty hunters, former or not, had in mind. But if they didn’t approve of Wolffe’s rebuilding efforts, if they gave Lama Su even the smallest reason to think disbanding the 104th would be easier than letting it continue … 

There were worse things that could happen to the four remaining members of the 104th than being placed with a new battalion.

Wolffe pushed the thought away and shifted on the bed, scowling again at the unfamiliar comfort. He’d worry about rebuilding tomorrow.

“Hey, uh, Wolffe?” Sinker’s voice cut through the too empty space between them.

“Yeah?” Wolffe looked across the room at his brother, who was staring down at the chest plate held between his hands. Sinker’s brows were creased, a pained expression on his face that Wolffe recognized all too well. He saw it every time he glanced in the mirror these days.

“If we’re starting over,” Sinker paused, tried again. “If we’re rebuilding the 104th, should we use a different color this time?”

Wolffe blinked, unsure what to say.

“Why would we do that?” Boost interrupted. When Wolffe looked at him, he was scowling at the floor. “Maroon’s ours. Everyone knows that.”

A loud crash from Sinker’s direction pulled Wolffe’s attention back to that part of the room. The chest plate his brother had been holding was tossed on the floor, far away from the bed.

“It was more than just ours, Boost.” Sinker rose, removing his armor piece by piece and letting it fall wherever it wanted instead of placing it in the careful pile all clones were committed to. “It was theirs, too.”

He didn’t need to say who ‘they’ were.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, weighed down by the absence of … everyone. The 104th had experienced loss before, but never, never on this scale. Wolffe had to remind himself that just because he was their leader, just because he was responsible for all of them, didn’t mean Sinker and Boost weren’t feeling the loss every bit as much as he was.

He wished there was something he could say to them that would make it better, easier. But there was never anything anyone could say to him. So he did the only thing he could. He pushed it back.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Wolffe rubbed at his forehead, more tired than he had been since they’d returned from Tibrin. “We have a lot to do before we even start talking about paint anyway. Get some rest.” He waited until they looked at him. “Both of you.”

Boost lay back on his bed and turned toward the wall. Sinker gave a short nod before walking to the fresher, slamming his hand on the door panel a little too harshly.

Wolffe forced himself onto his back, tugging at the collar of the fresh bodysuit he’d picked up earlier when he’d received a new set of armor. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes that made him so antsy, so uncomfortable. Maybe this was just how he was now. After everything.

He wondered what Amara would think of him, the next time they saw each other.

With that thought, his mind suddenly filled with her.

Was she really safe back on Coruscant? Had she listened to his recording? Did she know yet, what happened to them? Was she worried?

Wolffe closed his eyes and tried to remember what she looked like the last time he’d seen her. They’d been on the GAR compound, just down the hall from her office. Her hair had been in her usual braids, a little messy. Probably because she’d kept nervously tugging at them, even when he knew she didn’t realize she was doing it. 

There had been a few more freckles across her nose and cheeks than he was used to, likely caused by all the time under the Tibrin sun. He’d wished he could touch them, trace them with his thumb so he could commit them to memory. Look for new ones next time.

She’d worn a maroon tunic instead of the tan one she’d always worn as their commander. A small part of him had wondered if she’d chosen the color for them. To remember them, honor them, keep a part of them close even when they were far apart. Wolffe had thought that his colors looked so good on her, better than they ever did on him, and it was part of the reason he’d sent that recording with Comet.

But they weren’t his colors anymore, were they?

Sinker was right. 

Something wet trickled down Wolffe’s cheek and he turned his back to the room, eyes still closed.

Maroon didn’t belong to them anymore. 

It belonged to the stardust scattered forever across the Abregado system.

*****

“Commander Wolffe!”

He shot up from the bed, on his feet and heading for the door before the echo of his name even quieted. He didn’t know what trouble there could possibly be on Tipoca City at such a late hour, but his training took over regardless. A hand to the door panel and he stepped out of the circular room, glancing frantically up and down the too bright hallway for the origin of the shout.

He heard footsteps, the sound of dozens of soldiers marching, to his left and hurried that way. What his brothers were doing marching down these halls, he had no idea, but he went anyway, intent on helping wherever he could.

As he neared the end of the hall, the marching grew louder, mixing now with more shouts in his brothers’ voices.

“Watch your left!”

“Push through, NOW!”

Were they training? At this time? Had there been a glit—

This isn’t real.

Wolffe stopped. Closed his eyes.

You’ve had this dream before.

“Commander! On your right!” 

He lifted his right hand and shot without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, felling a battle droid instantly.

He wasn’t on Tipoca City anymore, but he still knew this place. Not the name of it, no. Nothing as simple as that.

When he blinked his eyes open, he knew the hazy edges of smoke. When he sucked in a breath, he knew the bitter smell of charged plasma. When he took a step, he knew the thick rivers of blood under his boots that squelched like mud. 

He knew the whisper in the air coming from a direction he couldn’t lock down.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Wolffe closed his eyes again, willing the senses away.

She was here, remember? She pulled you out.

And suddenly, he did remember.

Amara, standing in snow. No, not snow. Ash. Holding his hand, saying his name, looking at him so gently.

Telling him to wake up.

He should wake up. Should end this nightmare before it dug any deeper into his mind. But …

If she’d been there then, couldn’t she be here now? And if she could be here now, then Wolffe needed to wait. He would wait here, in this nightmare, for a moment with her. Even if it wasn’t real.

And it wasn’t real, right?

“Wolffe?”

He opened his eyes and saw the ash falling like snow, could feel it on his covered palm, turned up and lifted out and … 

And you shouldn’t be able to feel the way ash crumbles on your skin, paper-light and fragile and course, in a dream, should you? He looked up at the grey sky, squinting at the barely-there stars and forgetting what had made him open his eyes in the first place until he heard it again.

“Wolffe.”

A statement. Not a question.

His name. In her voice.

Wolffe turned, and she was there. Just like he’d wanted. Just like he’d known, somehow, she would be. And that, surely, made this a dream. He didn’t have the power to conjure Amara out of nowhere. Wasn’t sure anyone did, really. 

That’s not how the Force works, she’d say to him if this person standing before him was really her.

He looked down into her brown eyes, so dark with grief they were almost black. And she was looking back at him like she had when he was in the Resolute’s medbay. Mouth pursed, eyebrows creased, like she could lecture his pain out of him.

He knew that look as well as he knew his own reflection. Had committed it to memory, and clones had near-perfect memories. He would have no issue recreating this visage of her in his dreams.

But maybe …

Maybe there was something slightly off about the way she was standing. Something off about the way her two braids were tied back behind her head, not hanging down her chest like they almost always were. 

Every time Amara graced his thoughts, her hair was the same. And maybe it was silly and superficial and ridiculous, but Wolffe didn’t know her any other way.

“Your braids,” he said out loud, hoping that would explain something.

The crease in her brows deepened and she reached up to pat the braided buns at the top of her neck. “They were getting in the way …”

“It’s nice,” he added quickly, because what else is there to say in this place that shouldn’t be real but … is? Somehow.

Amara lowered her hand, still peering at him under those creased brows, and reached for his. “Wolffe,” she said again, pleading this time but he didn’t know for what, “what happened?”

She knew. Wolffe could tell from her eyes that she knew about the Malevolence and the deaths and the pain. She just wanted to hear it from him. A rundown, a debriefing like they always used to do after their missions.

And Wolffe wanted to tell her. Wanted to open his mouth and explain to her everything he couldn’t explain to himself. She deserved to know and he was tired of carrying it all on his own.

But he could feel the callouses on her palms, rubbed into the skin from years working with her lightsabers. He could smell the flowers that followed her wherever she went, overpowering the battle scents from earlier. 

He could feel her, here in this dream that maybe wasn’t a dream. 

And suddenly it wasn’t enough. Suddenly, an overwhelming want coursed through his body and he brought her hand up to his chest, pressed against the bodysuit he’d carried over into this place.

Her eyes widened, but she stepped closer all the same, placed her other hand on his chest, too.

“Wolffe,” she whispered.

And he responded as if was speaking into that holo recording. The one he’d made when he was so sure of what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. An honesty that wasn’t always easy for him.

Wolffe leaned his forehead against Amara’s and said, with everything in him, “I wish you were here.”

*****

When Wolffe opened his eyes again, he was staring up at the gray ceiling above his bed. He blinked a few times, accepting that he was awake now, away from his dream, away from Amara. Accepting that it would all slip away into the recesses of his mind, maybe pulled back again the next time he had this nightmare.

Because there would be a next time. There always was.

But as his body became more awake, more alert, Wolffe could still remember the dream. Could still feel Amara’s hand in his, pressed against his chest. He could see the ash that looked like snow falling around them. He could see her hair in the braided buns and hear his name pulled from her lips.

He waited a moment, still certain everything would soon fade.

By the time he got out of the fresher, the water dripping down his neck from his hair reassuring him that he was, in fact, awake, every detail remained crystal clear in his mind.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

Wolffe shook the thought away, moving to kit up in his new armor. He hadn’t left his bed, this room, Tipoca City. That was impossible.

He clasped his right vambrace on and paused. It was impossible, wasn’t it?

The question reverberated through his head all the way to the cafeteria. Sinker and Boost had said they’d meet him there when he took his turn in the fresher. Maybe he could ask them what they remembered about Amara’s or Plo’s various ramblings on the Force. Though, he was pretty sure neither of them had any firmer grasp on the particulars than he did. Especially not Boost.

It was, quite literally, magic to them. No matter what the Jedi said.

He was just down the hall from the cafeteria when a voice called out ahead of him.

“Commander Wolffe, a moment?”

He paused, nodding at the Togruta Jedi as she drew closer. “Yes, General?”

Surely she wasn’t here to tell him she’d changed her mind about the 104th. Jedi weren’t that callous. At least, not in his experience.

“I will not keep you long.” She glanced at the cafeteria doors as a group of clones walked out, smiling at them when they passed. “I have just come from a meeting with the Jedi Council and thought you might like to know. Clone Trooper Comet will leave Coruscant shortly. He should be on Kamino within the next day or two.”

What remained of the 104th, the old 104th, would be together again soon, then. Wolffe wondered how much Comet knew, not relishing the idea of having to tell him anything about the Malevolence himself.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said, pushing the thought away for now. “I appreciate your support.”

“You’ll soon have more than just my support, Commander.” Shaak Ti leaned in to whisper her next words, as if revealing a secret. “Your previous co-commander, General Kora, will accompany Comet here. I understand she plans to stay for a while. To assess the rebuilding efforts in General Plo’s absence.”

Wolffe could only stare as she pulled away and patted him on the arm. “I will let you know they’ve arrive. Enjoy your breakfast.”

She continued down the hall, leaving Wolffe standing perfectly still and earning annoyed nudges and grumbles from brothers entering and leaving the cafeteria. None of it registered, though. All he could hear was an echo of his own voice from the dream that was seeming less and less like a dream.

“I wish you were here,” he’d said to Amara.

Soon she would be, as if she’d heard him from across the galaxy.

Maybe, Wolffe thought, as he finally shook himself free of his stupor long enough to get through the cafeteria doors. 

Maybe she actually had.

[hold-me-close-senpai]

Had this in the drafts from a while - it's from a fic I am writing, if you're interested - so I thought: which best moment to share other than today?

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- "There was a time in which the nerd had been happier.

A time in which daylight came up before being cursed for having turned him so, the ghost of a body already faded.

Bakugo Katsuki had knew him since forever, and better than anyone else who claimed he didn't care at all. On the contrary, this whole situation was freaking him out.

Deku had become so numb, almost as the fire he always carried out was now turned to ashes; strangely, he didn't even mumbled anymore. He spoke only if it was strictly necessary, in such short responses, and never had seemed that empty, the same as a glass ready to shatter in million pieces. With his voice not to be heard around, or his smile not to be seen anymore, it was like the world darkened to a point of no return.

Day after day, battle after battle, Deku had lost his vibrant colors and the sparks hidden within his big, viridian, wonderful eyes.

Though never been said aloud, they were something Bakugo loved, which made his heart flutter, feelings blossomed in years and years of bickering, fondness mistaken for rivalry and hatred.

And not to start talking about all the cute freckles which recreated a sort of galaxy on those rosy, puffy cheeks. He could swear, there were at least one hundred. One hundred stars and comets, constellations masked as tiny points, as if waiting for him to be worshipped, while kissing them softly.

From a distance, from a space which allowed safety in the middle of unspoken truths too heavy to be admitted, Katsuki never missed a chance to stare back at Izuku, to carefully observe, to be mesmerized by what the other can do, by the heroism he demonstrated in every situation, even the most dangerous ones.

Admiration which led to love, until in love drowned.

He had to be sure to keep Izuku near his arm's length, because if ever he needed some help, that place was already taken, his rescuer already chosen.

It had always been him.

He knew that from deep inside, since the two of them met for the first time - the immediate instant on which magma covered green hills - the feeling of a touch never happened but regretted as time slowly departed their greedy hands.

Katsuki would've protect him.

Until the end of times, or the last breath escaped from his mouth.

After all, a true hero should dedicate his existence in order to save everyone's lives. But without somebody to look after his own, how this can even be possible?" -

.

**********************************

**********************************

[onggi]

Bleeding Hearts [ 1 ]

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date, and Mattias is vehemently not frowning over five different silk shirts right now, because he doesn’t care what Blue thinks of him. Not any more than he’d care about anyone else’s opinion, which of course means that he should dress up, just to keep up appearances. And he’s not counting down the minutes on his watch — his casual watch with a crystal watch face from Browlex — as he paces around his lofty Sun District apartment, frantically organising and reorganising irrelevant and, frankly, unimportant parts of his flat. And he’s definitely, definitely not thinking about which of the four dessert places he scoped out he should take Blue to afterwards, because that would absolutely be date behaviour and, as mentioned, it’s not a date.

Yet here he is, changing into shirt after shirt in the hopes that at least one of them will make him look a little more polished than usual, holding up ties to his chest and then throwing them to the bed when he decides they’re just not good enough. The hemlock tie he got as a gift from a client based in the City of Ink? No, too on the nose. You can’t wear a tie with a void creature on it in front of a voidtouched. That summery, golden tie with wisps on it from his trip to Harara? Too gaudy, not serious at all.

Fuck it, none of these ties are working. He’ll just go without, maybe leave the top few buttons undone to let his collarbones breathe a little. He still has to pick a shirt though, and although Off White Shirt Number 5 might be barely distinguishable from Off White Shirt Number 6 to the untrained eye, Mattias sees a world of differences. For example, Off White Shirt Number 5 pairs excellently with his comet cufflinks.

Wait a minute. Cufflinks? Is he crazy? This isn’t a work dinner, it’s a completely platonic outing with someone who he considers beneath his station. He’ll roll up his sleeves for maximum comfort, uncovering his arm spikes. He’s also been told it makes him look hot, like a dishevelled businessman. It’s something to do with his toned forearms, apparently.

Not that he wants to look hot, because it’s not a date. Obviously.

Whatever, it’ll have to be the whitest shirt he owns in his closet, because now he’s got an outfit idea that won’t work with anything less than blindingly bright. He buttons up the shirt with the practised ease of a man who’s done it a thousand times and then stands in front of the mirror assessing his appearance.

His shattered halo floats inconspicuously above his head, its glinting red sheen reminiscent of blood. His hair hasn’t been done yet, but he did have a shower earlier, so it’s flopping softly into his eyes. He’s as shaved as he ever is, stubble neatly trimmed so that it’s visible, but not scratchy or scruffy. The scar stretching meanly across his lips is an unavoidable fact of who he is, but he thinks it adds something to the overall look: it makes him seem sharper, like there’s some danger to him. The shirt clings to his body in the right way, accentuating the muscles he’s worked hard to build and keep, but most of it will be covered up soon. He’s also still in his underwear.

Before he can even move on to the next step of assembling his wardrobe, he’s forced to fold and put away the mess of discarded clothes piled up on his bed. One after the other, he rolls the ties up into balls and sets them in rows within his dresser. It’s a little therapeutic — after a while, he forgets he’s even thinking about anything at all and instead falls into the rhythm of organisation.

That doesn’t last. Once everything is in place, exactly where it should be, he sits on the bed stiffly and pushes his hair off his forehead so he can rub his face tiredly.

Everything stopped making sense the night he met Blue.

His perfectly curated world, each puzzle piece perfectly in his place, has been completely torn asunder by this kid who, by all known logic, should have been easily dealt with. If he hadn’t passed out that night, he would have done it, too — no more Blue, just a black, oozing stain seeping into the wet puddles out behind The Cat’s Alley. Instead, he’s ended up practically married to the guy; Blue’s words, not his. He’d sooner die than call their blood contract, forged in the cramped bathroom of his dingy second apartment, a marriage.

Marriage is about commitment. A promise to be with someone for the rest of your life. And if that’s the only two criteria, then yes, Blue and Mattias may be a little bit married, but it’s not. There’s supposed to be some element of love involved, or feelings, or at least something other than bare annoyance and the urge to bludgeon, preferably with a large blunt object.

Then again, Mattias hasn’t exactly seen shining examples of working marriages in practice. All his colleagues at work talk about their partners like they can’t wait to get away from them, rings left in hotel rooms whenever they go drinking on business trips. Mattias himself has never dated anyone long enough to get anywhere near to the expectation of something like that and he’s never really wanted to. That sense of obligation to someone else is something he could do without, thank you very much.

And that’s not even getting started on his parents. Which, really, he doesn’t want to think about right now, so he doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.

He thinks about them anyway.

Did they promise to love one another, all those years ago? When did it sour? He can’t really imagine his father loving anyone or anything more than the bottle, but maybe there was a time when things were different. Or maybe not. His dad was always the type to take what he wanted, no questions asked; who’s to say it was any different with his mother? He’s not sure if it’s better to hope there was some love there once or to assume there was never anything at all.

Loving her would have made him weak. He would have had something to exploit. When Mattias finally avenged her, his lip torn and bloody from the struggle, the only thing he exploited was his father’s own hubris, because all that man had ever loved was himself.

He’s still in his underwear and the clock is ticking slowly down until the time when he has to go pick up Blue from god knows where, probably wearing a ratty hoodie and stinking like he hasn’t had a shower in weeks. Thoughts like these are a waste of time. It’s better not to think at all.

The rest of his ensemble is easier to piece together now that he has a vision. The slacks are simple but elevated by their quality, made to fit his body by one of the finest tailors in the Sun District. The fabric used to make them is so dark that it almost seems to suck in light, like the void itself is woven into those fine threads. The matching suit jacket has deep red crystals splattered across its breast in a pattern that is very familiar to Matti, one that Blue will recognise too. The way that the crystals catch the light makes them look wet, like something sticking to his clothes. Dripping down his torso, perhaps.

He runs his fingertips over the crystals, smiling slightly when he feels the latent magic respond from within, curling inside its prison as if straining to reach out to him. It’s the ghost of a fingerprint upon him, a whisper that harmonises with his soul.

These are blood crystals. Crystals that, through whatever means, have endured bloodshed and even absorbed blood itself, turning into a glimmering ruby shade as a result. They’re powerful and fairly rare — to wear something like a blood crystal as a mere ornament is a show of unnecessary wealth, but Mattias thinks it suits him. It matches the red of his horns.

He’s never made a blood crystal himself, but maybe he should try it sometime. He wonders, distantly, what colour Blue’s blood crystal might be. The deep, insidious black of the void? A sticky, slick oil spill, reflecting a rainbow of light? The thought of it is tempting. Holding a piece of Blue like that, owning a fragment of a voidtouched, would be an unbelievable power trip.

He files that thought away for later, shrugging his jacket on carefully so that it doesn’t snag on his spikes.

He only has to fix up his hair and fetch his things before he’s ready to go pick up Blue in the hired car he called ahead of time. He plans on drinking tonight and he’s not so stupid that he’ll risk a DUI, even if it’s cheap cash to him. Just as he’s perched in front of his bathroom mirror fussing with his hair, however, he hears the telltale buzz of someone asking to be let up the lift to his flat.

He sighs. If there’s anything he hates more than that smugly grinning kid, it’s anything that disrupts his routine. Every minute of his day is usually meticulously planned, a perfect sequence that he dances through with ease — including today, as much as he lacks respect for the person he’s meeting. He doesn’t stomp over to the intercom, but his steps are louder than usual, and he peers at the holoscreen in irritation, as if glaring at whoever it is will make them go away.

Unfortunately, he has no such luck. A blue mop of hair peeks out at him from the screen, and oh, that’s not right. That’s not right at all.

“Mr Mattias,” comes the staticky call, “let me in! I know you’re in there!”

Everything is completely wrong. First of all, Mattias is supposed to be picking Blue up, not the other way around. Secondly, they aren’t meant to be going out for another hour yet. Mattias rubs at the bridge of his nose with a tired scoff, because he really should have seen this coming. The kid marches to the beat of his own drum at the best of times and it never fails to mess up some aspect of his perfectly organised life.

One giant blue eye fills up the screen, glancing around as if the kid can see Mattias’ grimace.

Mattias clears his throat and speaks into the microphone. “Get in the lift.” He buzzes Blue up, then rushes to finish what preparations he can.

It’s only a few minutes before a smattering of knocks interrupts his hair routine. He stares at himself in the mirror resolutely, examining each strand of hair. It’ll have to do.

As soon as he opens the door, he’s overwhelmed by the sheer energy that the kid seems to have at all possible moments. He’s positively vibrating, one hand hidden behind his back and his eyes glimmering with excitement.

“Hey! Did you forget our secret knock?” Blue jabbers relentlessly. “You took ages to open the door. Or do you have someone over?” Without asking for permission, he cranes his neck to peer around Mattias’ shoulder.

“No,” Mattias answers far too quickly. He coughs, then tries for something more laidback. “No, I don’t have someone over. And I didn’t even know we had a secret knock.”

Blue’s curiosity seems satisfied for the moment. He does that stupid crinkled eye smile, the one that makes Mattias’ guts twist up in nausea, and then he holds out a crumpled and rapidly wilting bunch of flowers.

“Happy heart day, or whatever!” He’s smiling so broadly that his chipped tooth is on full display. Half of the flowers flop down over his hand.

Mattias reaches out and tentatively takes the flowers. They look familiar somehow, but he can’t quite place where he’s seen them before. Regardless, he goes to search for a vase to stick them in, harried footsteps wandering around the apartment until he finds something sufficient.

“I woulda brought chocolate, but I ate the whole box on the way here,” Blue says over his shoulder as he gingerly organises the flowers into something almost presentable.

“Thanks for the thought,” Mattias forces out through gritted teeth. Then, he turns to face Blue with a storm brewing in his eye. “Why are you here? I was supposed to pick you up in,” he checks his watch, “forty five minutes.”

Blue shrugs with a shit eating grin. “Got bored. And, like, your place is nice.” Mattias arches one thick eyebrow. Blue sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, maybe I thought we could watch some Spongebull Squarepants before we went out because I missed yesterday’s episode and I don’t have a holoscreen.”

That makes more sense. Mattias flicks his holoscreen on absentmindedly, watching as Blue immediately sits cross legged on the floor with his back against the sofa. Spongebull isn’t Mattias’ favourite, but Blue loves to do the stupid voices and imitate all the different characters, so it should be enough to placate the kid for now.

He glances over at the ragged flowers perched on the counter. An unusually nice touch from someone with no sense of decorum at any point, and even if they’re half crushed, they’re clearly from a florist or a well maintained garden at the least.

Wait a minute.

Just as Blue begins cracking up at some stupid joke on the holoscreen, Mattias turns around with steam practically pouring out of his ears.

“Blue,” he mutters dangerously, “please tell me you did not pick these flowers from the biosculpture in the garden downstairs.”

Blue turns his face to meet his warning stare, all shining innocent eyes. “Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

Oh, Mattias is going to be lucky if he doesn’t get a noise complaint for the chase around the apartment that follows, but all’s well that ends well. Right?

[ next ]

[sparkraptor]

spacewalk (after)- A/M

“Archer,” Harvard nestled in his lap, her feathers turned to fur. “I know that look.” They were in one of the empty rooms - the incense burner set but not lit, and his foci arranged.

“Yeah.” He pressed his face against her. “Wait here, ok, my love?”

“Of course.”

~~

He found Mason on the flight deck, boring holes in the back of Kio’s head from his seat. The Marach moved woodenly, like a prey animal afraid of triggering a nearby predator.

“Mason, we need to talk.” Archer said as he approached. He could see the sweat rolling down Kio’s neck. “Before Kio flies us into a comet because he’s paralyzed with fear.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Archer.” Mason over-enunciated each word, biting off the sounds like nails.

“We need to.” Archer reiterated. “Please.”

Mason didn’t look at him, jaw twitching, then he pushed himself out of the seat. “Fine.”

Out in the corridor, Mason gritted his teeth. “Do not try and talk me into feeling better.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Archer leaned against the wall, giving Mason some physical space. “You’re allowed to be angry, to grieve. There’s no timeline for that. But even though intent doesn’t always matter, keep in mind that Kio and Luca both were trying to do what they thought was a kindness.” He held up his hand before Mason could interject. “Neither one of them has a really good set of social skills so they did the best they could with what they had. They just wanted you to be happy.”

“You’re so... CALM about it. You’re so calm about everything!” Mason’s cybernetic hand clenched.

“It’s easier when the crisis isn’t directly mine.” Archer gave a rueful little smile. “But, Love, we need to discuss...”

“No! I don’t want any of your sayings or... or platitudes. How can you understand what I’m feeling right now??” There was a part of Mason’s brain that was yelling at him to shut up. That Archer didn’t deserve the brittle, bubbling rage in his chest. But the floodgates were open and he couldn’t make it stop.

Archer folded his arms. “Are you done?”

“What?”

“Raging at me. Because there’s...”

Mason felt like he was outside of his body, the reflexes and the rage the Talons had trained into him snapping his arm into action. It was only an aftermarket arm, not the beast they’d attached to him originally, but it could still shatter a man’s face and it was Archer it was... NoNoNO

He was facedown on the thin carpeting in a second, Archer’s knee on the back of his neck and his flesh arm pinned behind him.

“There’s work do be done, love. I’m so sorry, but time is wasting.”

~~~

Back in his quarters, Mason was hyperventilating. “Archer, Archer. I...”

“No, Shh. it’s fine, love, it’s fine.” Archer knelt before him. “It’s ok. But I understand why the universe put us on each other’s paths now. So I could love you... and aid you.”

“Wh...” Mason blinked, then shook his head. “You’re talking about the Sunless Path. No. No, I am not...”

“Mason, this is what I do. This is what I have always done.” He stroked Mason’s face. “But you need to ask me.”

“I.” Mason looked down at him, at the dark eyes glimmering with green and gold. “What do I do?”

“You tell me what the crime is. In your words. You give me all the information you have. And... you give me a token. If I take the token, i’ve taken the petition. Then, there are three phases. The Investigation. The Hunt. And the Judgement. At judgement, I speak to the target, and I try to lead them to redemption. 9 times out of 10 they don’t listen and try to shoot me. You’ve seen how that goes.” He laughed a little bit. “And then I let you know when it’s done.”

“I’m only doing this if you keep me up to date. I. I won’t. I can’t...” Mason gripped Archer’s hands tightly, then slid them down to stroke Archer’s cheek. “Arch.”

“It’s a little off protocol, but yes. I will keep you up to date.” Archer leaned into Mason’s touch. “I promise.”

[ayahhyaa]

Comet

Just worked out and watched movies all day. I watched Comet again, one of my favorite movies. I can’t believe that this movie that I watched long ago. like 6 years ago, will happen to me in real life. I really love what Dell (the male protagonist of the story) said to his ex partner:

“I don't belong in a world where we don't end up together. There are parallel universes out there where this didn't happen. Where I was with you and you are with me and whatever universe that is, that is where my heart lives in.”

I understand now what Dell felt. I feel alienated in this universe, in this world, because in this world, we didn’t end up with each other. And I’m from that universe where, him and I, belong together. I know this sounds romantic and cheesy, and really not like me, but I kind of wish that he waited for me, waited for me to finish my mission and then just came back for me and then marry. If this is a movie, that would be the twist.

If I’ll have a chance to forcefully align our stars and If I’ll have a chance to write my story in this world, I would write that he’ll realize that I was really the one he really want and he don’t want to regret his decision in marrying the wrong girl. He’ll call off his engagement, he will write me a letter or call me to tell me that it was all a mistake and that he’ll wait for me after my mission. By then, I already changed myself into a better person then he’ll keep his promise to marry me and love me 5ever. 

It’s all wishful thinking. yes. I know this will never happen and that he will never change his decision. I don’t know if I still love him, to be honest. He broke my heart. It’s easy if he broke it into big pieces, but it was shattered. And I’m picking up the million pieces one by one even though it’s not me who broke it. It just kind of sucks you know, that the person who promised he will never ever break your heart, broke it. I just hope that I’ll forget everything, because I deserve to be happy too. 

[ragingbookdragon]

And I Will Still Be Here Stargazing

Batsis x Batfamily Story

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I shouldn't be allowed to make new stories when I've already got WIP's to do. Oh well, HERE'S ANOTHER STORY! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She glanced through the telescope once more, scanning the expanse of the night sky before her. Giddiness ran through her at the thought of seeing the supposed comet coming back around. Apparently, it was one that hadn’t been seen in two hundred years. It’d taken almost two whole days to convince her dad to let her go out on her own in the field three miles out of town.

Of course, that convincing came with a massive surprise—not—of taking a tracker with her just in case—being the only non-vigilante in her family did make her vulnerable to trouble, but most of their enemies wanted nothing to do with her, so she figured she was alright.

Pulling away from the scope, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, and she sighed as she answered it, putting it to her ear. “Dad, I already told you, I’m fine.”

You weren’t answering your brothers’ texts. They were worried.

“Oh, for the love of—dad, I’m twenty-one. I shouldn’t have to check in every five freakin’ minutes.”

We worry about you, (Y/N).

“I know,” she griped. “C’mon, one night where I can actually be treated like I have a functioning brain inside my skull. Let me have it.” She glanced up again, seeing something streak across the sky. “Oh, there it is!” (Y/N) grinned. “I gotta go dad! I love you!”

Wait, (Y/N)—

Hanging up, she stowed the phone in her pocket before looking into the glass. “Oh wow,” she breathed. “It’s so beautiful…and big.” (Y/N) hummed and pulled back slightly. “Really, really big. Almost like it’s…coming to earth.”

She took a step back when she realized that was exactly what was happening. The comet, or whatever it was, was barreling towards the field near her and she gasped, taking another step back. Her foot slipped in the mud, and she fell, but the thought of being obliterated made her scramble to her feet and run as fast as she could away from it and while she wasn’t sure she’d outrun the devastation, she was going to try.

That being said, whatever it was, hit the ground with a thundering explosion, sending dirt and gravel flying, along with her and she screamed as she was thrown to the ground. (Y/N) covered her head, crying in pain as debris scraped her arms and legs, but she stayed still until the world calmed around her.

When it did, she peeked through her arms and gaped at the destruction around her. Trees had been blown from their roots and in the middle of where her telescope had once been, was something smoking inside a hollowed dip in the ground, dirt and rocks thrown away.

(Y/N) shakily got to her feet and crept closer, terrified that she was going to find some horror movie come alive. Alien and Predator stuck in the back of her mind and part of her wanted to flee. The other part—and curse her Wayne curiosity—wanted to know what it was.

“Hello?” she whispered as she neared the rim of the crater, peering in. A groan sounded and she gasped, pulling away before she took another glance and she saw a woman. At least it looked like a woman.

Her body was unlike anything familiar to (Y/N), in the form of an average woman, but she had no skin. Instead, her body looked like the night sky, swirling pools of stars and dark matter, and her hair was long and white, shimmering like glitter. Her hips and wrists were plated with some type of metal, gold and inlaid with what looked like diamonds.

(Y/N) slid down the side of the crater against her better judgement, nearing the woman carefully. “Hello?” she called again. “Are you alright?” The woman groaned and rolled onto her back, eyes opening at her. She gasped at the white eyes, like stars.

“Help,” she weakly moaned.

Hurrying over, she knelt beside the woman. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She reached out to touch the woman but stilled when she felt the warmth radiating off her body.

“Please…help me,” she begged. “They’re…coming.”

(Y/N) shook her head and took the woman’s hand; it made her skin tingle. “Who’s coming?”

“The Insentients,” the woman said. “They’re coming in a years’ time.”

“I…I don’t understand,” she replied. “What are Insentients?”

“Terrible creatures that destroy life.” The woman grasped her hand. “I am Astra, Queen of the Stars. And you must help me.” (Y/N) couldn’t believe a thing she was hearing, simply gaping at her. “I have battled the Insentients for billions of years, but I am at my end.” She squeezed tightly, reaching up to cup (Y/N)’s cheek, white eyes widening. “You must take my place as queen and protect the life of this galaxy.”

She couldn’t even form words, mouth opening and closing like a fish and all she could muster was, “I’m sorry? What?”

Astra coughed and something splattered on (Y/N)’s clothes before fading from sight. “Please, you must do this or life as you know it will cease in one year. Take my place.”

“But I’m—I’m not some alien queen! I’m a human!” She spluttered. “What do I even do?!”

The queen sighed tiredly. “Child, nothing will stop the Insentients unless you help. They will destroy all in their path.”

(Y/N) shook her head and happened to glance towards the sky. “The stars,” she breathed. “They’re so…dull.”

“My life is fading…so they are too.” Astra whispered. “They will die.”

“What?!” she shouted. “But the sun?! It’ll go out!”

“Yes.” The queen murmured.

Bewildered, she asked, “What can I do?”

Astra gazed at her. “Take my power. Be reborn as the Queen of the Stars.”

“How do I?” She questioned and Astra took (Y/N)’s hands, placing them on her chest.

“Grasp my heart.”

“Grasp your what?” she repeated.

“My heart.” The woman’s chest opened, and she stared in surprise as a small, but brilliant light came into view. “Bring it to your own.”

“I better not die,” (Y/N) deadpanned as she cupped the light carefully. Her fingers tingled like she was being shocked, and she swallowed thickly as she brought it up to her chest, just above her heart. “What now?” she asked, and Astra’s form began to fade, starting at her feet.

“Your body will absorb all that I am…all that I…have been.” She smiled. “Place it within your chest.”

“That’s not possible.” (Y/N) retorted, though she moved her hands against her chest. “My body can’t just absorb—holy shit it’s working,” she blurted, and she went still as her something jolted her spine, all the way up her spinal cord to her brain.

Her jaw went slack as he eyes widened, head tipping back to stare at the sky above her. Memories flashed across her vision, faster than she could keep track of and then her mind felt like it was imploding. She let out a strangled gasp and tipped backwards, fatigue overcoming her. The last thing she remembered was Astra’s eyes and her smile before she disappeared from sight and (Y/N) descended into darkness.

***

When she came to, all she could think about was the pounding headache in her skull and the lack of memory the night before. (Y/N) sat up and looked around. The sun was high in the sky and her telescope was sitting neatly where it had been. She blinked, feeling as though she’d forgotten something important. When she couldn’t remember, she shrugged and got to her feet, beginning to take the scope apart and put it away.

(Y/N) rolled the sleeping bag up and put it in the tote, carrying both back towards the side of the road. Her butler should’ve been around to pick her up but when she didn’t see him, she frowned. Huh…I thought Alfie was coming to pick me up? Blinking in confusion, she patted her pocket for her phone and pulled it out, though her eyes went wide when she saw the shattered screen and burnt phone.

“What the hell?” she questioned. “What happened to my phone?” It looked like it’d been blown up. Now she was really confused. What the hell happened last night? (Y/N) sighed heavily and shoved the phone in her pocket. “I guess I’m walking then.” She grunted and heaved the telescope and sleeping bag over her shoulders, starting back towards the city in the distance.

***

GCPD was the first important building she came upon and as tired as she was, she knew they’d let her use one of their phones to call home. (Y/N) lethargically wandered into the department, stopping near the counter.

“Excuse me, can I use your phone?”

The man at the counter looked up and suddenly shot to his feet. “(Y/N) Wayne!” he shouted, and she blinked.

“Uh…yeah, that’s me?”

He rubbed his eyes. “Holy shit, you’re here.” Gesturing to her, he added “Wait right there! Don’t move!”

“Wait, but I—” the man sprinted off and she sighed. “Great. Probably going to get everyone so we can do pictures.”

Next thing she knew, Commissioner Gordon was running into the entry way. “Miss Wayne!”

(Y/N) looked at him. “Yes sir. That’s me.” She pointed to the phone at the desk. “I was wondering if I could use the phone to call home? Mine’s…busted.”

He reached out, grasping her arms. “Are you hurt? We should get you checked out immediately.”

“I’m fine?” she answered confusedly. “What’s going on? Why is everyone panicking?”

Gordon gaped at her. “You don’t know what’s going on?” she shook her head. “(Y/N), you’ve been missing for an entire week.”

[echos-newlegs]

Can I request 8 from the list with Tech?

Stop Thinking

Ahh yes!

Tech x Reader: "No, no- I liked it."

Warnings: slight cursing

Tech licked his lips. Squinting with furrowed brows as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was feeling self conscious about himself, and it didn't help you and the others decided to head for 79s. A place full of regs.. Normal clones. Perfect clones. Clones you seemed to get along with as well as you got along with him and his brothers.

"Tech, you about ready?" Your voice called from outside the door, and he felt his breath catch. "I uh, yeah, one second." He called back. Running his fingers through his hair one last time. Then slipping out of the fresher. None of you were dressed fancy. You all had your blacks on and lower armor still attached. The others already waiting outside while you stayed back for Tech.

He looked over to you. You were seated on a chair. Fixing your boots, then straightening up when you saw him trail out. "You feeling okay?" You asked. Looking at his slightly distressed form. Hands trembling a bit. "Yeah, I'm fine." You frowned. You knew he wasn't, but you didn't try and press it.

You stood up, looking up to the taller male with a small smile. "Ready then?" He nodded. You opening the door and heading out of the Marauder. Closing the door behind the two of you. He was quieter than normal as the two of you trailing behind his brothers as they bickered and rambled.

You were concerned to say the least. "It's really nice tonight, " you tried to start a conversation and he looked over. Nodding a bit. He was thankful you were trying. His mind was wandering, degrading every little thing about himself. "It really is, the stars are beautifully aligned, too." He commented, and you smiled. Looking up as the five of you went to get a cab.

You and Tech had to take a separate one. The ride was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. You were relaxed and he felt a little better just with you. You never once treated him differently for being defective. You treated him with the same respect you did other clones. If anything, you were a bit nicer to him than most. Always holding conversations, smiling his way, or going out of your way to help him. It always made his day a little brighter. Especially on days like these.

"You gunna dance with me?" You asked as you both approached 79's. You've only danced with him once. It was when you were both pretty buzzed, he was actually drunker than you. Which was a shock, but you never forgot it. It was one of the best nights of your life, and by the way he smiled fondly and his cheeks tinted pink. You were sure he at least remembered a bit of it. "Sure," you giggled a bit at that.

You walked out of the cab. Tech waiting for you to catch up with him. Two of you walking in to see the rest of the gang towards the back where they normally sat. You were going to head back there, but was stopped by the 104th. "Y/n!" Comet and Sinker nearly screamed as they ran over to you. Making you smile and snicker. Giving Tech a small glance as if to say you would join him in a bit. It didn’t take him long to disband from your side and head for the others.

You could practically feel who you assumed was Crosshair glaring daggers into the back of your skull for the five minutes you were talking to the troopers. You were just catching up, it was harmless. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Sorry, I’m back,” you spoke with a small laugh as you sat at the booth the bad batch took over as theirs. “Welcome!” Wrecker chirped. Shoving you lightly with a snicker, and you snickered back. Eyes moving to Hunter and Crosshairs. “What..?” You spoke with a bit of a frown. “Why were you talking to them?” Cross spat, and you sighed. “Cross, I used to work for the 104th, I’m not about to ignore them. How’d you feel if I got assigned another troop and I just straight up ignored you guys?” You spat back. You noticed Hunters expression changed. He seemed to change his view point on it all, but Crosshair just scoffed.

“We should just enjoy our drinks-“ “Can it, Tech,” Cross sneered, and his eyes moved back to yours. Leaning over the table, but you didn’t back up. “They’re regs, we don’t talk to them, what part of that do you not understand?” It was your turn to lean in now. Furrowing your brow. “What part of you don’t run my life do you not understand?” You snarled. Smacking your hands on the table and standing.

“Wait, where are you going?” Wrecker asked, and you didn’t even turn to answer. “The bar.” Tech sat there and sighed. Head in hands. “They mean no harm and you know it,” “Tech we know as good as you that you feel insecure when she talks with the Regs.” Tech snapped his attention to his brother. Frown forming on his face. Nostrils flaring, “You don’t know bantha shit,” he snapped, and headed off to the bar as well.

It was nights like these he wished he was normal. Kriff, he loved his brothers, but their attitudes were always too stern and glum. He needed change, so he decided to accompany you at the bar with Comet, Sinker, Boost, Wolffe, and a few other troopers.

You noticed him approaching, smiling, but then frowning a bit. “If you came to drag me back to the table I won’t. I’m not letting Crosshairs petty attitude ruin my night.” He shook his head, fingers fiddling with the armor on his thighs. “No, I came to join you, actually.” Your smiled returned. Shoving Comet with a grin. “Move over, Tech sits by me!” Comet grumbled a bit, but did as told. “Yes, Sir,” he spoke and you rolled your eyes with a toothy grin.

“Alright Tech, this is Comet, Sinker, and Boost, that over there is Wolffe.” Everyone but Wolffe waved. “Don’t let him scare you off, he’s actually quite enjoyable.” You informed Tech with a grin. Shooting Wolffe a wink, which made the commander roll his eyes. Lips curled just shy of a smile. “Everyone, this is Tech, a good friend of mine.” He knew it shouldn’t, but you addressing him as a friend and not a coworker made his chest bubble with joy. Smiling as the others waved and welcomed him.

You, Tech, and The Wolfpack all participated in some drinking games with one another. One of them was ‘take a shot each time you could make Wolffe roll his eyes, two if he rolled his head and eyes.’ Though after some time you all moved to a different one since the buzz was hitting and Sinker was singing ‘Sweet Caroline,’ in a near scream.

You were laughing and enjoying yourself, and Tech spent most of the time looking over and studying your face. The way your nose scrunched up when you scolded one of the troopers, jokingly. The way your eyes nearly closed when you were laughing at a joke. Or even just the way your smile never seemed to faulter. This is what he wanted. He wanted an environment like this. One with you happy constantly. Where you weren’t scolding his brothers for something stupid. Or even himself. He began to wonder if you should transfer back to the 104th, or another legion in general.

His thoughts got the best of him again. Zoning out as he played with an empty shot glass on the counter. Coming back to when you nudged his side. “Hm?” “You good, Tech?” You asked, and his eyes widened. Realizing he was zoned out. He nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah uh, yeah I’m fine. I just uhm.. need some air, is all.” He spoke, turning in the chair and heading off to the doors. You weren’t about to let this slide any longer.

You jumped off your stool, heading for the door with him. Catching it before it closed. The music still able to be heard outside the door once shut. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, watching him turn around with a near hurt expression. “Don’t lie, either, I know you aren’t okay, I’ve been working around you long enough to know that.” You spoke. Approaching him a bit closer. You watched as he caved in. You could see it by the way he seemed to slump forward. His light eyes seeming to shatter. Worrying at his bottom lip.

“Y/n?..” he spoke, and you tilted your head a bit. “What is it, Techy?” You didn’t use that nickname on him much. Mainly only for your ears to hear. You weren’t sure of it at first, but he seemed to take a liking to it. Tech closing his eyes and sighing at the nickname. Then slowly opening them again. “I don’t think you belong with us.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows. He could tell his words hurt you, and he knew they would. “What?” Your voice wavered a bit. “I don’t mean it in anything against you, Kriff. You’re absolutely perfect, but you just seem so much happier with the 104th.” He told you. “I want what’s best for you, and well,” he chuckled, beginning to pace in front of you. “Quite honestly we aren’t the best. We’re stubborn, hard to work with, and quite un-enjoyable half the times.”

You folded your arms over your chest. “And you think the Wolfpack is any better? Did you see Wolffe? His scold is worse than Hunter and Crosshairs combined, and he holds a grudge as long, and if not longer than all of you. Then Sinker? Boost? Comet? For stars sake they’re a handful, they’re crazy, and chaotic, and Tech. What I’m trying to say is every clone unit has its flaws. No matter what. Whether it be the commander, Captain, General, Arc Trooper, whoever. There’s flaws in everyone.” You told him.

He stopped his pacing. Watching you as you told your spew, “and honestly, Tech. You aren’t in the authority to tell me what is good for me. I enjoy you all, even if I disagree with you all at times. I don’t expect a perfect troop. We’re in a war for makers sake,” you spoke, and noticed him shift at the mention of the war. “I enjoy all of you. Tech.. I enjoy you.” His eyes lit up at that. Then he looked back down.

“I’m not like them though, I’m blind, I can’t see without.. Without these,” he tapped his goggles. “I’m tan, sure, but I’m lighter than even my brothers and.. I stand out, and I hate it, y/n,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “I feel like I’m not good enough,” your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at his words. Stepping closer. Pausing when he seemed to tense. Reaching out to place your hands on his shoulders as if to ground him as you looked up to him.

You just stood there, watching his eyes look over yours for a moment. Searching for an answer, like he always was. “Tech, stop thinking.” He furrowed his brow. “You’re overthinking all of this, you’re good enough, in my eyes you are.” You told him. Watching as he seemed to relax under your touch. Hands running up to rest on the sides of his neck. Thumbs rubbing his exposed skin. Making him shudder. “I don’t care if you’re different,or that you need glasses. Tech, you’re absolutely perfect to me. You’re brilliant, handsome, and a fucking badass.” You both snickered at that. Techs fingers tapping at his thighs.

“Thank you,” you smiled and nodded. “‘Course.” The both of you standing there for a second. Taking in the moment and the touch of one another. Then you made a move that you immediately blamed on the booze. Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, and he froze up. Eyes widening. “Sorry I-“ you blurted, taking a step back. Pulling your hands from the base of his neck, but he caught them with his. His hands carefully holding yours. “No no- I liked it,” he assured, and you both smiled. Cheeks tinted pink. “Well..” you hummed, “you still up for that dance?” He chuckled and nodded. “Always.”

[cowboy-anon]

CB & Sideblog’s Christmas Special

Meant to get this up way sooner and also yesterday, but welcome to the second part of this Christmas collab with @sideblogformindtrash! :D Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Krampus

Prev - Masterlist (Soon) - Next 

CW: Amputation mention, beating, blindness mention, bleeding out, blood, bloody nose, body horror (I think??), brief food and alcohol mention, broken bones mention, burning, captivity (in a cell, temporary), chains, Christmas stuff, cold whump, discussed whump of minors (nothing happens during the drabble but it’s very much implied), electrocution (and lingering effects), evisceration mention, gore, hunted for sport, hybrid whumpees, imprisonment of minors, impaled, inhuman whumper, kicking, magic whumper (mind reading, healing), manhandling, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, near death experiences mention (quite a few times), passing out (almost), punishment mention, sadistic whumpers, screaming, sleep deprivation (self-inflicted), thinking he’s dying, torture, whip mention

Comet didn’t mean to do it, but the night before he’d stayed up late tending to Blitzen and Donner after a particularly brutal session with Santa, and the exhaustion and disorientation he felt afterwards couldn’t be helped.

It was his own ornament, one made of ice as thin as glass and twice as fragile. Inside was a snow globe-esque scenic, filled with almost life size trees and a wide opening at the top that would be perfect for letting real snow drift into it. More likely than not while Comet was inside. 

But Comet’s wagon got caught on something he couldn't see, and he tugged it free a little too forcefully. He felt the wagon tip and felt the load lighten considerably, and then he heard it--ice shattering, loud as a gunshot. 

Comet remembers it distinctly, the way Santa strode up to him and his toppled wagon. His breath smelled of spiked eggnog and poor Cupid’s cookies. 

Comet froze in place, peering not quite into Santa’s eyes and staying quiet, neither acknowledging guilt nor begging for punishment. It’s what he always told the others to do when Santa got into one of his moods. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse. 

Comet follows his own advice, because on typical days like this, it works. He’s dealt with it long enough to know that. 

“You’ve just broken one of my newest toys for you,” Santa says. He dips his foot into the sea of shards and crushes it beneath his boot for emphasis. “That’s alright, sweet Comet. Since I don’t have anything special planned for you anymore, Krampus can take care of you. Let’s see if you ever break something of mine again.”

Santa cracks the whip overhead. Comet pulls his cart forward and away from the commotion, ignoring the way the ice crackles like glass under his hooves. Whatever Santa had planned with this toy, it was intricate and precise. He doesn’t doubt he’ll receive a more severe punishment for this, but whatever it’ll be, it doesn’t draw the terrified reaction Santa was no doubt hoping for from him. 

That’s because Krampus is just Santa’s boogeyman. Comet doesn’t believe in Krampus. 

He sighs as he steps out of the biting arctic air and into the stables. Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner are waiting for him in the center of the little building and staring up at him with big scared eyes.

Rudolph wipes at some of the blood dripping down his lip. “Comet, how are you so calm?! Aren’t you afraid?”

Comet sighs and closes the rotting wooden door behind him. He already knows what this is about, but he asks anyway. “Of what?”

Donner and Blitzen are trembling, half from fear and seemingly half from the shocks they received earlier this evening. “Of Krampus of course!” Donner squeaks. He buries his head in his brother’s chest, even though Blitzen seems just as scared and jittery. 

Comet dusts some of the snow from his fur and approaches the three of them, spying Dancer and Prancer in the corner. Prancer rolls his eyes at Comet, all too aware of the spiel he’ll spout to make them feel better.

Well, what he’s going to say is true. Krampus isn’t real. 

“Come here, you three. Yes, Rudolph, that means you too.”

The three of them huddle together in the center of the stable in front of Comet.

“Krampus isn’t real,” Comet says firmly. He looks the three of them in the eyes, particularly Rudolph. He’s not even sure if hears things like this anymore, things like the truth and reality. “Remember what I told you? Don’t show him you’re afraid. It only makes Santa hurt you worse. You remember that, don’t you?”

Blitzen and Donner enthusiastically nod, still clinging to each other. Rudolph’s nod is a lot more reluctant and confused. Of course it is. He’s still the same old Santa in his book.  

“Well, he only ever mentions Krampus to get us afraid. You see? We’ve never seen him, only heard horrible stories. But I showed no fear. Whatever Santa has planned for me, it can’t be worse than usual.”

Donner and Blitzen still look skeptical, but the three of them nod again, even Rudolph, who looks more convinced than the others. 

Comet rewards them with a faint but genuine smile, and he motions to one of the only two beds of dry hay in the room, the one at the center of the stable. “Come on then. It’s getting late and we’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

Blitzen, Donner, and Rudolph give a final nod, and Rudolph scurries off into the back and grabs a thick fleece blanket from the only other dry spot in the stable. It’s worn and discolored an odd shade of red and green and in the center, there’s a large cartoon picture of Santa himself, but it keeps them warm during cold winter nights like tonight. 

The four of them settle into the brittle hay on the ground, getting comfortable. Then they curl up together close under the one blanket. 

Tucking himself in between his brothers and feeling the instant reprieve from the bitter chill, Comet peers over at Dancer and Prancer, huddled together and shivering in their own damp corner of the stable. Comet’s never understood why they don’t join them. Maybe the two of them like their personal space, or maybe, more realistically, the two are so accustomed to their relationship being the source of their pain that they think anything otherwise is foreign and wrong. If only that wasn’t the case. There’s room for more under the blanket. 

At least Vixen knows that. When he gets back from tonight’s hunt, he’ll be bruised and bloody, a state they all know too well by now, and he’ll need Comet’s attention. At least once Comet’s fixed him up, the two of them can crawl back under the blanket and try to get as much sleep as they can before one of Santa’s rude awakenings.

Comet sighs and pulls one of his brothers closer, either Blitzen or Donner. He can tell by the faint uncontrollable spasms that leave them juddering in his arms. 

It’ll be alright, Comet thinks to himself, and he closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be another day, and they’ll all survive that too.

***

Cold. Comet wakes to numb fingers and half frozen-shut eyes. There’s a terrifying moment where he can’t see, feels nothing but the cold sting of blizzard-like wind in his fur and stark nothingness when he reaches out to touch Blitzen, Rudolph, anyone--

His eyelashes pry apart. It’s only a little better. 

Now he knows two things: Cold and dark. Comet sniffles against the cold and presses his unfeeling palms into the floor below him, not hay but smooth stone. Cobble maybe?

He gets his hooves beneath him and stands, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. It’s then that he notices the third thing--a quiet unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s no way this is Santa’s workshop. There the noise is endless, clambering elves and hooves against ice and, in even the quiet peaceful moments of the night, the huff of his sleeping brothers’ breaths throughout the stable. 

Instead he hears disturbing silence. Comet takes a blind step forward. His hooves plod almost deafeningly against the stone beneath his feet. “H-hello?” The only response he receives is his own echo. He sniffles again and reaches out in front of him, desperate for anything familiar to orient him in whatever this place is. 

Comet takes another step forward, then another. 

He hits something cold and solid. Comet feels along the surface with his hands, touches over smooth metal and--they’re thin. Thin metal with spaces between, a big row of these tall columns. His heart drops into his stomach and the touching grows more frantic. Bars. These are bars, cold, solid steel. “He-hello?” he calls again, and he clumsily feels around, searching for the end of these bars, hoping perhaps, naively, that he’s on the outside rather than inside. 

Instead of more bars, his shoulder meets a rough wall and his hoof lands in some puddle he’d rather not think too hard about. Wherever he is, he’s inside a cell, completely blind and colder than he’s ever felt in his life. 

“Hello!” Comet calls, the loudest he’s dared so far. He buries his hands in his armpits and paces the length of the barred cell. “Rudolph?” he whimpers at the bars. No answer besides the echo and the silence that follows it. “Blitzen, Donner? Dancer?” He grows louder with the building desperation, turning in the cell and beginning his pacing in the other direction. “Prancer? Vixen? Cupid?” Comet squeezes his eyes shut and sees no difference. None of his brothers are answering. They must not be here. “S-Santa?” he cries at last. 

No answer. 

Comet forces himself to stop in place despite the frigid cold and takes a breath. There’s no use getting himself worked up now. He needs to gather his thoughts, keep it together like he tells the others to. This is a situation that can’t be helped. What can be is how smoothly whatever it is goes along. Another breath, deep and steadying, and Comet steps back towards the wall, something to keep him grounded. Slowly, his breathing returns to normal. 

“Santa told me his sweet Comet would be a tough spirit to break.”

Comet whips around, looking away from the radiating cold of the metal bars and deeper into his cell. 

Black, nothing but black. His eyes frantically tear between the nothingness, trying to find the source of that sound. Like chains dragging across a hard surface, grating and foreboding and yet with a musical quality to it too. He can’t even tell if he imagined it. Comet’s never heard a voice so odd before. 

Staring into the blackness, he finds calm in convincing himself he did imagine it. All Santa’s talk of Krampus must have him on edge. In fact, that must be the case. This has to be his latest attempt at entertaining himself. Perhaps even the toys have gotten boring to him. 

“It’s easy enough to think that, isn’t it, sweet reindeer?”

Comet hears it then, the strike of a match, and with the burst of light it brings, his ears go flat against his head and his eyes impossibly wide. 

Not a man or a reindeer or anything Comet’s ever seen, but one thought strikes him like the deafening ring of a church bell on Christmas Eve: Krampus. 

Comet’s frozen in place, unable to comprehend a single thing at once, because in a single second, the entire place comes alive. 

Light. It’s nowhere near blinding, hardly even comparable to moonlight through a wall of curtains, but it’s enough. The silhouette it reveals is twice as horrifying as Comet could’ve conjured by imagination himself. Broad shoulders and an odd, powerful gait—and horns, tall and sharp. Maybe even weirder, the match doesn’t seem to be burning out at all. 

And sound. Cries and moans. Comet forces his eyes away from the figure. He turns around then and squints to look past the barred cell he’s in, his heart pounding too quickly in his chest as he fights for verification. He gets it in the shape of a hunched form—no, two—whimpering mindlessly in the cell across from him. 

Children. It’s a prison full of children. 

Comet feels the air burst from his lungs. He’d heard stories, but— He whirls around again to face the horrifying thing, the monster that could do this. 

In the darkness, illuminated by the faint firelight from the match, his eyes meet a wretched smile. 

He’s truly never felt so afraid. 

“That’s good, Comet,” Krampus rumbles. “Take it all in. There’s so much I want to show you…”

Comet, trembling now from both the cold and the fear, can’t do anything more than stare. 

Krampus steps towards him. 

Comet wonders briefly if he can stand to take his own advice. Don’t beg or show fear, he likes that, and don’t run or cry, he’ll only hurt you worse. Don’t give him any further excuse to hurt you. Those rules worked with Santa, but he was predictable and needed them and he was human, at least in part. But Krampus? A part of him is yelling at him to run as far away as possible, even if he knows he’ll just be dragged back kicking and screaming. 

“You poor, darling thing.” Comet glances up at Krampus, still endlessly torn by the conflicting sounds of his voice. “Are you afraid?”

Comet barely avoids Krampus’s eyes, bright and shimmering like gold, enough to look like he’s paying attention but not enough to offend. Is he supposed to answer that?

“Well, it was a question,” comes the gruff reply. 

Comet pales slightly. That’s likely answer enough. 

Krampus hums some wordless acknowledgement and stalks his way closer. Comet feels the way those golden eyes rake over his body, from his trembling legs to the scattered spots patterned across his dull, half-lifeless fur. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, he speaks again. 

“You miss it, don’t you?” Krampus slinks around Comet, so close behind him at one point his stinking breath raises the fur on Comet’s neck. “I don’t even have to elaborate, do I? You already know who and what I’m talking about.”

Comet does know. Santa’s Christmas spirit. 

Comet opens his mouth to say it, to cooperate like half of him thinks he should, but before the words are even out of his mouth, Krampus hums, “That’s right. I can feel it, feel your own in fact.” Comet barely fights off the urge to run when faced with another terrifying smile. “Poor Comet,” Krampus continues, and his voice actually hangs with an odd sort of pity. “Your own feels so weak. So damaged. It grows dimmer by the minute.”

Comet doesn’t move or speak or think. He doesn’t know what to think, not with Krampus seemingly reading his mind at will. 

“You could get it back, you know.” The odd musical quality to his voice returns full force, almost silvery now. “There’s a reason he’s there and I’m here.”

Is Comet supposed to reply to that? He doesn’t know, so he stays quiet and waits for Krampus to read his thoughts: What do you mean? 

Krampus grins. “Santa and I are quite alike, contrary to what he might have told you.” He gestures to Comet to relax, which is the last thing he wants to do, but directly following orders tends to lend a hand to less sticky future situations, he’s found, so Comet takes a deep breath and tries to do so.  

Krampus huffs a breathy, content sound. “Good. From what I’ve heard, you’re smarter than your brothers.”

More experienced, Comet thinks curtly, and then his eyes widen and he wills his mind to go blank. 

But Krampus just breathes another almost laugh. “You're protective of them. That’s good. From what I hear, your ‘experience’ is one of the only things keeping them alive.”

Speaking, or rather thinking, doesn’t seem to have its consequences, at least not yet, so Comet dares to venture, …what do you mean there’s a reason you’re here? He thinks he can guess but...

“I suppose you wouldn’t know,” Krampus says in that deep, melodic rumble. “Santa’s only ever spoken poorly of me and my tactics. If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black…”

Comet…supposes that’s true. He’s only ever heard from Santa the sadism Krampus was capable of, all while enduring what he’d already subjecting them to years before. 

“That’s right, little reindeer.” Krampus steps closer to Comet, and Comet realizes his breath reeks. “We’re cut from the same cloth, he and I. The Christmas Spirit, our magic, the rewards of being on the, as Santa calls it, ‘Nice List.’ The only thing we disagree on is what to do with the naughty children.”

The… children. 

Comet takes a step back, away from the nauseating stench of Krampus’s breath, and he takes his first real sniff of the air in the rest of this place. Damp, like mold and rot, but also metallic. Like chains, like the penny collection Rudolph keeps for some inexplicable reason, like blood. The scent is so familiar now Comet thinks he wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t really looking for it just now. 

Paired with the sounds he heard earlier… Comet looks back at Krampus and for the first time he speaks directly to him. 

“You… torture children?” Not quite sure if it’s true, hoping to all that’s good and Christmasy that it isn’t. 

Krampus smiles that toothy smile behind the still-lit match and his heart sinks. “Only the naughty ones, Comet, so I suggest you behave.”

The thought makes Comet sick. Santa was right, he was right. All the stories, the tales of sadistic endeavors and brutal happenings here, they hadn’t happened to reindeer hybrids like them but human children. And the stories that he did tell, they were awful...

“You don’t even know what I really do to them yet.” That smile on Krampus’s face grows wider, showing more teeth, golden eyes sparkling. “And you haven’t even heard my proposition.”

Fear, sharp and visceral, cuts through Comet’s stomach like a knife. Whatever it is this monster has to offer, he wants no part of it. 

But he doesn’t have a choice, does he? There’s no place to run, no way out even if he could manage to overtake Krampus. Comet feels acutely aware of the way Krampus’s eyes search his face while he thinks, no doubt reading his thoughts. 

He sighs, and without a single other option, Comet nods. “Your proposition?”

Krampus seems to calm despite approaching him further. “Good choice.” The match in Krampus’s hand, his claws really, momentarily flickers but keeps burning bright with the intensity of a fresh one. The haunting shadows it casts on his face does nothing to soothe Comet’s nerves. He still hasn’t gotten a real look at him. 

“We were talking about Christmas Spirit earlier, weren’t we, Comet? About how yours is weak and Santa’s is near nonexistent?”

It’s not a real question. They both know Comet remembers. He nods anyway. 

“Well, mine, as you might have noticed, is still going strong. The good children are rewarded accordingly, and as monstrous as you might think I am—“ Comet flinches at the word choice, pulled directly from his thoughts “—I enjoy what I do. And you, sweet little reindeer, could be a part of that.”

Comet looks at Krampus, straight-faced to seem neither interested nor completely disinterested. “What do you mean?”

“Here, you wouldn’t hurt. I could use the help—and the company. I can’t punish them all myself.”

Comet only has to think of two things to make up his mind. One— “You torture children.” That’s one thing Santa would never do, no matter how pissed he got. That why they were even doing this in the first place, wasn’t it? For them? For the sake of Christmas cheer? Even the thought of turning on them like that makes him feel traitorous. 

Krampus’s smile pulls into a sort of grimace. “I encourage you to reconsider, little reindeer.” It’s a threat if Comet’s ever heard one.

But the fact still stands. Besides, there’s still reason two: Comet could never leave his brothers behind. 

He thinks this fact hard and looks into Krampus’s eyes. “I can’t.” He tries to keep his voice steady but firm. “Now either do what you’re going to do to me or let me out of here.”

Krampus’s toothy grin contorts into a vicious sneer. At this moment, Comet realizes that was the wrong thing to say. 

He decides if he’s going to try to run, now is the time, but one of Krampus’s hands, clawed and terrifying, grabs onto one of his antlers and yanks his head back so hard it’s a choice between following the pain and his neck snapping like a twig. He follows the pain. 

“You think he’s so much better than me?!” Krampus roars into his face. Chains, chains, chains. Chains in his voice, the scent of chains in the air, a burst of too bright light and—there’s chains in the room hanging from the ceiling. “You have no idea.”

The match is gone from Krampus’s fingers, and that second hand digs into the fur on the back of his neck and wrenches him forward. Towards the chains, towards big hooks Comet realizes as they get closer, towards whatever Krampus has planned– 

Comet abandons whatever strategies he thought worked with Santa. He fights, and in this brightened light, Comet gets his first full view of Krampus himself. He wishes he didn’t. 

He hardly knows what he’s looking at now, fur or flesh or cloth or some horrific combination of the three. He’s afraid of the answer, and even if he did have it, he wouldn’t know if it was true. The grime is caked on thick, so old and disgusting Comet can’t even make out what it is. 

He grabs a hold of it anyway, ripping and tearing and clawing.

It does nothing. Krampus drags him to the chains. 

Krampus hits Comet across the face. It’s harder than Comet expects, and if it wasn’t for the hand around his antler, he would’ve tumbled to the ground. Instead he takes his filthy hands and cups them under the blood spilling from his nose. 

Krampus yanks him upright and grabs his chin so hard it hurts, seemingly unbothered by the blood dripping into his hand. How often has this happened for him to seem so indifferent to this? To how many kids?

“Only to the ones I like, little deer.” Krampus grins sadistically. “Still too many to count. Now stand up.” 

Krampus lets go of his antler and his fur all at once, and Comet collapses. He earns a harsh kick in the stomach in the time it takes him to hit the ground. It leaves him gasping, and he gets another in the second after that. 

Comet wheezes and coughs, but he manages to get his hooves underneath him and stands, if only to avoid getting kicked again.

He didn’t know it was the lesser of the evils. 

Krampus towers over him now, reaching above his head for something he can’t see through the involuntary tears.

Comet hears a squeal, then the deep click click click of heavy chains descending fast. He hears the sickening squelch twice because of the cell’s echo. And he doesn’t hear his own scream at all, not over the blood rushing in his ears. 

Because sweet Christmas, he’s dying. 

No, he’s not. It’s his shoulder, just his shoulder. Something went right through it and the pain is bright and blinding and has his body trying to double over. When he moves, he hears the click click of chains. 

Chains… the hooks on the chains. Comet dares to look, barely holding himself upright on his hooves to begin with. He just about faints seeing it with his own two eyes. He cries instead and the pain doubles.

Impaled. His shoulder’s impaled on this disgusting rusted hook. Hot blood pours from the wound and soaks his fur like Santa’s sickly sweet candy wine.

It’s bad, easily the worst thing Comet’s ever felt. With every jostling breath, the hook only seems to claw its way deeper, and the thought of ever having to remove it is beyond nauseating. 

But it feels like it’s over. This wound in itself could easily kill him if they aren’t careful, but this will be the worst of it, Comet decides. 

Only Krampus starts moving again, to Comet’s other side. The dread drops in his stomach like lead. 

“K-Krampus–” Comet starts, but when he tries to turn his head, something in his shoulder pulls and he cries out. 

“You wanted worse, little Comet,” Krampus practically purrs. “And he’d usually stop here, yes? Don’t bother answering, I already know he would.” The clink clink clinking of another line of chains. “But sweet thing, we’re just getting started.”

And then he feels the new worst pain he’s ever felt in his life. 

So bad in fact it doesn’t feel real, but it’s real enough that his scream of agony gets trapped in his throat and chokes him. 

Comet’s side, his–his fucking side! 

There’s a hook in Comet’s side and it’s tearing his insides apart.

The blood loss makes his knees go weak and his head pounds and his eyes swim as the darkness races to fill his vision. He’s passing out, or maybe he’s dying, or both, probably both in that order.

Krampus hums introspectively and takes a step back to take in the sight before him: Comet, impaled on two hooks, pale, sobbing, in a cold sweat, bleeding heavily, and clearly on the verge of blacking out. 

An almost perfect picture. 

Except if Krampus keeps this up, Comet’s not going to last an hour. 

Comet’s pretty sure he’s never felt this weak in his life, and watching Krampus’s yellow eyes scan over him, he feels even weaker. Powerless even. When Krampus approaches again, he doesn’t even bother trying to stop his tears. The old rules don’t apply here, and even if they did, it’d be an impossibility. 

So when Krampus puts a terrifying hand over the wound in his side, he cries, expecting them to dig into his flesh and twist. What he doesn’t expect is the burn. It’s a familiar sensation, warm then hot then too hot. Santa hasn’t yet realized Comet can mostly breathe through it, but Krampus must know. He’s thinking it now. Maybe he should not think it, for the sake of a little familiar easy pain. Well, he’s already thought it, so Krampus must know–

“Little reindeer, your mind is just too loud when you’re dying.” Krampus looks at him with those golden eyes. “And you’re not dying. Anymore at least. I’m not letting you go that easily.”

The white heat of the burning heightens considerably. Comet grits his teeth, breathing as deep as he can without moving. Another few seconds that feel like minutes and the impossible heat coming from Krampus’s hands dies off. With it, so has the other unbearable pain. What...?

“Go ahead and take a look,” Krampus says, stepping back. “You should know the state you’re currently in. We’ll always return to this. Again and again and again until I get bored of you.”

Comet dares to peek at his injured shoulder. 

Underneath the skin and fur, Comet can see a bulge, big and unnatural. He looks down then, careful not to pull too forcefully on the strained muscles of his neck. Another big swollen lump, more noticeable from this angle than the one on his shoulder. Where there was once exposed flesh, there’s simply fur and skin. His wounds have seemingly healed over.

But the hooks are still inside of him.  

Comet’s alive and healed mostly, and somehow that thought it more terrifying than when he was sure he was dying.  

“I should warn you,” Krampus continues. He closes the gap between them again. “I’m very creative. I hardly ever get bored.”

Krampus tilts Comet’s head up with a finger under his chin. When Comet meets his eyes tearily, he grins. 

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

***

Comet wakes up screaming.

“Sweet Christmas!” someone shouts, and the next thing Comet knows, the thick fleece blanket he was fighting with is torn off his body and he’s squinting up at his brothers. 

The light in the stable, it’s blinding compared to his cell with Krampus. 

Krampus. Comet scrambles to his feet, turning every which way, trying to catch a glimpse of him. Nowhere, he sees him nowhere. Instead he sees six pairs of eyes staring at him in varying degrees of fear and annoyance. 

Comet falls onto his knees.

“He… he…” What didn’t Krampus do? Thanks to him, Comet knows what his insides look like, how they feel in his hands. And he knows blindness and broken bones and amputation and crushing hopelessness and how it feels to almost die, again and again and again, only to be brought back from the edge of what would at that point be mercy–

“Who?” Dancer pipes up worriedly from his damp corner with Prancer. 

He forgets momentarily that his thoughts can’t be read here, that they’re his own. Comet shivers and stammers, “K-Krampus…”

“Hey…” Blitzen says, creeping out from behind Donner. “That’s not funny, Comet.”

“Yeah,” Donner chirps. “We know Krampus isn’t real. You don’t have to rub it in our faces that we’re still scared…”

Comet shakes his head. No no no, they don’t understand–

“Guys,” Rudolph butts in, and he actually sounds serious. “Comet would never make fun of us.” The hopeful look Comet gives him is almost pathetic, as is the heart-wrenching whimper he gives when Rudolph bursts into a smile and says, “He’s only kidding! Right Comet? It’s a joke so we’re less scared!”

Comet feels stinging tears welling in his eyes. 

Vixen pipes up then, wincing terribly at the hand he’s pressing into his side to staunch his own bleeding. “Come on, guys, there’s only a few hours until sunrise. Back to bed.”

Comet sighs, his breath tremulous but relieved as everyone starts settling in for bed again. 

Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph curl up under the blanket, Dancer and Prancer cuddle together in their corner of the stable, and Vixen luckily seems to be taking care of his own wounds today. Comet glances between them all and fearfully slips under the covers again. He wraps himself tightly in the blankets and closes his eyes.

But Comet doesn’t sleep.

The next morning, Comet is out of it and jumpy, but pulling Santa’s toys in his wagon, he takes every precaution not to let it tip.

The next night, Comet goes sleepless again. Too scared, too terrified to go to sleep and wake up in Krampus’s cells again. 

Rudolph, Blitzen, and Donner still don’t believe Comet wasn’t dreaming that night, and though Dancer and Prancer don’t say it, Comet’s sure they don’t either. They don’t believe he’s suffered more in a night than they will in their entire lifetimes.  

But every time Comet meets Santa’s eyes in the workshop, he can see it. Santa knows. Somehow that doesn’t reassure him in the least. 

On the third night without sleep, Vixen comes back from a particularly vicious hunt and pulls Comet aside, barely conscious as it is, and tells him enough is enough. “You need to sleep.”

“I can’t…” Comet says. He sways a little on his feet, more exhausted than he thought possible. 

“If you start having another nightmare, I’ll wake you,” Vixen offers. He gently but firmly grabs Comet by the shoulders and leads him to the center of the stable. 

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the sheer amount of trust Comet seems to be putting in Vixen, but he follows relatively easily and lets Vixen tuck him in–beside Rudolph this time. A moment later, Vixen slides under the blanket beside Comet. He pets Comet’s fur a little. It’s gotten even more dull over the past few days.  

“I’ll wake you,” Vixen promises again. 

Comet nods his head reluctantly, terrified of what’ll happen when he closes his eyes. He does it anyway.

Vixen pets his fur until he can’t feel it anymore. Comet guesses that’s when he falls asleep.

And when Comet wakes up several hours later, he’s still in the stable and in Vixen’s arms…

TAGLIST: @kim-poce​, @as-a-matter-of-whump​ (Let us know if you want to be added/removed!)

[blackcatrph]

** evermore sentence starters.

willow.

“ i'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night. ”

“ you cut through like a knife. ”  

“ i never would have known from the look on your face. ” 

“ the more that you say, the less I know. ”

“ i'm begging for you to take my hand. ”  

“ life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. ”

“ i could feel you sneakin' in. ”

“ you are a mythical thing. ”  

“ i come back stronger than a '90s trend. ”

“ wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark. ”

“ show me the places where the others gave you scars. ”

“ anywhere else is hollow. ”  

champagne problems.

“ you booked the night train for a reason. ”

“ bustling crowds or silent sleepers, not sure which is worse. ”   

“ i dropped your hand while dancing. ”  

“ your mom's ring is in your pocket, my picture is in your wallet. ”

“ your heart was glass and I dropped it. ”

“ you told your family for a reason. ”

“ you couldn't keep it in. ”

“ no one's celebrating. ”

“ your hometown skeptics called it champagne problems. ”

“ love slipped beyond your reaches. ”

" this dorm was once a madhouse. "

“ don't think we'll say that word again. ”

“ sometimes you just don't know the answer. ”

" she would've made such a lovely bride. ”  

“ what a shame she's fucked in the head. ”

“ she'll patch up your tapestry that I shred. ”

gold rush.

“ eyes like sinking ships on waters, so inviting I almost jump in. ” 

“ i don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch. ”

“ everybody wants you. ”

“ everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ”

“ i don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bones crush. ”

“ what must it be like to grow up that beautiful ? ”

“ i see me padding across your wooden floors. ”

“ it fades into the gray of my day-old tea. ”

“ it could never be. ”

“ my mind turns your life into folklore. ”

“ i can't dare to dream about you anymore. ”

“ the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure. ”

'tis the damn season.

“ If I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you. ”

“ it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass. but I felt it when I passed you. ”

“ there's an ache in you. ”

“ but if it's all the same to you, it's the same to me. ”

“ you could call me "babe" for the weekend. ”

“ the road not taken looks real good now. ”

“ the holidays linger like bad perfume. ”

“ you can run, but only so far. ”  

“ i escaped it too. ”

“ remember how you watched me leave ? ”

“ now I'm missing your smile. ”  

“ hear me out, we could just ride around. ”

“ i won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay. ”

“ i wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I'm faking. ”

“ the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own. ”

“ we could call it even, even though I'm leavin'. ”  

tolerate it.

“ i notice everything you do or don't do. ”

“ you're so much older and wiser. ”

“ if it's all in my head tell me now. ”

“ tell me I've got it wrong somehow. ”

“ i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it. ”

“ i greet you with a battle hero's welcome. ”

“ i take your indiscretions all in good fun. ”

“ while you were out building other worlds, where was I? ”

“ where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? ”

“ i made you my temple, my mural, my sky. ”

“ i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life. ”

“ always taking up too much space or time. ”

“ you assume I'm fine. ”

“ what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins. ”  

“ took this dagger in me and removed it. ”

no body, no crime.

“ he did it. ”

" it smells like infidelity. ”

“ that ain't my merlot on his mouth. ”

“ i think I'm gonna call him out. ”

" i think he did it, but I just can't prove it. "

“ no body, no crime. ”

“ i ain't lettin' up until the day I die. ”  

“ his mistress moved in. ” 

“ there ain't no doubt. ”

“ somebody's gotta catch him out. ”

“ i've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. ”

“ they think she did it, but they just can't prove it. ”  

“ i wasn't lettin' up until the day he died. ”

happiness.

“ i see this for what it is. ”

“ all the years I've given Is just shit we're dividin' up. ”

“ i can't face reinvention. ”

“ i haven't met the new me yet. ”

“ there'll be happiness after you. ”  

“ there was happiness because of you. ”

“ there is happiness past the blood and bruises. ”

“ haunted by the look in my eyes. ”

“ leave it all behind. ”  

“ tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? ”

“ when did all our lessons start to look like weapons? ”

“ i hope she'll be your beautiful fool. ”

“ no, I didn't mean that. ”

“ i can't see facts through all of my fury. ”  

“ there'll be happiness after me. ”

“ in our history, across our great divide, there is a glorious sunrise dappled with the flickers of light. ”

“ i can't make it go away by making you a villain. ”  

“ no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you. ”

“ now my eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head. ”

“ after giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that? ”

dorothea.

“ do you ever stop and think about me?”

“ you got shiny friends since you left town. ”

“ i got nothing but well-wishes for you. ”

“ this place is the same as it ever was. ”

“ it's never too late to come back to my side. ”

“ the stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo. ”

“ and if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know, you'll always know me. ”

“ you'rе a queen sellin' dreams. ”

“ they all want to be you. ”

“ are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? ”

“ i guess I'll never know. ”  

coney island.

“ break my soul in two looking for you. ” 

“ if I can't relate to you anymore then who am I related to? ”

“ did I close my fist around something delicate? ”

“ did I shatter you? ”

“ sorry for not making you my centerfold. ”

“ lost again with no surprises. ”  

“ it gets colder and colder when the sun goes down. ”

“ what's a lifetime of achievement If I pushed you to the edge? ”

“ you were too polite to leave me. ”

“ will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care? ”

“ sorry for not winning you an arcade ring. ”

“ were you waiting at our old spot? ” 

“ did I leave you hanging every single day? ”

“ did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey? ”

“ the sight that flashed before me was your face. ”

ivy.

“ i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones. ”

“ your touch brought forth an incandescent glow. tarnished, but so grand. ”

“ i just sit here and wait, grieving for the living. ”

“ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. ”

“ i can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. ”

“ my house of stone, your ivy grows. and now I'm covered in you. ”

“ i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed. ”

“ your opal eyes are all I wish to see. ”

“ clover blooms in the fields. ”  

“ what would he do if he found us out? ”

“ he's gonna burn this house to the ground. ” 

“ i'd live and die for moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time. ”

“ so tell me to run, or dare me to sit and watch what we'll become. ”

“ it's a goddamn blaze in the dark. ”

“ it's the goddamn fight of my life. ”

cowboy like me.

" dancin' is a dangerous game. "

“ now I know I'm never gonna love again. ”

“ i've got some tricks up my sleeve. ”

“ takes one to know one. ”

“ you're a cowboy like me. ”

“ i never wanted love, just a fancy car. ”  

“ i could be the way forward. ”

“ the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. ”

“ the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one. ”

“ now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon. ”

“ forever is the sweetest con. ”  

long story short.

“ i tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me. ”

“ the knife cuts both ways. ”

“ if the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break. ”

“ i fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. ”

“ long story short, it was a bad time. ”

“ i always felt I must look better in the rear view. ”

“ missing me at the golden gates they once held the keys to. ”

“ but if someone comes at us this time, I'm ready. ”

“ i wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things. ”

“ your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing. ”

“ rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky. ”

“ long story short, I survived. ”

marjorie.

“ never be so kind that you forget to be clever. ”

“ never be so clever that you forget to be kind. ”

“ what died didn't stay dead. ”

“ you're alive, so alive. ”  

“ never be so politе that you forget your power. ”

“ nevеr wield such power that you forget to be polite. ”

“ if I didn't know better I'd think you were listening to me now. ”

“ you loved the amber skies so much. ”

“ and if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now. ”

closure.

“ it's been a long time. ”

“ seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain. ”

“ it wasn't right, the way it all went down. ”

“ i got your letter. ” 

“ i know that it's over, I don't need your closure. ”

“ don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled. ”

“ i'm fine with my spite, my tears, my beers and my candles. ”

“ i know I'm just a wrinkle in your new life. ”

“ it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary. ” 

evermore.

“ i replay my footsteps on each stepping stone trying to find the one where I went wrong. ”

“ i was catching my breath. ”

“ i had a feeling so peculiar that this pain would be for evermore. ”

“ I can't remember what I used to fight for. ”

“ you cannot think of all the cost and the things that will be lost. ”

“ can we just get a pause? ”

“ is there a line that I could just go cross? ”

“ when I was shipwrecked I thought of you. ”

“ in the cracks of light I dreamed of you. ”

“ it was real enough to get me through. ”

“ i swear you were there. ”

[hiscyarika]

“Remove” for the word drabble with Din :D

Word Count: 1.0k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Prompt: “Remove”

Warning(s): None

A/N: Was an unhelmeting scene too obvious for this word prompt? Maybe. But I did it anyway 😂 Thank you for sending this in and I hope you enjoy! 💙

Masterlist

Tag Lists

---

He’s always feared the day that someone strips away his armor: the day that someone learns that it’s all a façade, that underneath the beskar is only a frightened, doubtful man.

His heart pounds as he stands there with you in the complete darkness of the hull. He’s not used to having you this close, despite how much he craves it. You bring a hand up to his right pauldron, your nimble fingers working to remove the piece of armor from his shoulder. As soon as he realizes what you’re trying to do, he catches your wrist in his hand, stopping your movements. It’s instinctual, a protective reflex.

Though he can’t see you, he feels your gaze burning into the visor of his helmet. “We don’t have to do this, Din,” you murmur, and he feels a pang in his chest at the gentle, reassuring tone of your voice. He’ll never know what makes you so understanding of his hesitation. He’s certain that no one else would have stayed so long for someone who refused to show any sort of physical vulnerability.  

He shifts, instead lacing his gloved fingers with yours. “No, I… This is what I want. I just...I need a minute,” he explains.

You lift your other hand, slipping your fingers beneath the cowl around his neck. Gently, you pull him closer until the helmet rests against your forehead. “We can take as long as you need,” you whisper, running your thumb along the edge of his jaw.

Din takes a moment to breathe, his free hand falling to rest on your hip. He gives a gentle squeeze, bringing you that much closer. He doesn’t know how long the two of you spend standing like that, but eventually he lifts his head, releasing your hand.

“Okay,” he breathes.

You bring your hand back up to his pauldron, pulling it gently from his shoulder just a moment later. You set it aside on the crate that sits not far from where you stand. Both of his hands rest on your hips now, and he doesn’t move them as you unfasten the second pauldron. You take a moment to rest your hands on his shoulders, gently kneading his sore, aching muscles with the pads of your fingers.

He knows this is reckless. He’s never let anyone come this close to him, never let anyone render him defenseless this way.  But as your gentle hands move along, slowly removing each piece of cold steel from his body, he finds that what he feels is not fear, but relief. With you, he welcomes the loss of his armor, letting you take the weight from him and leave the warmth of your touch in its place. Because Din realizes that this is different. You’re different. You’re the safety and the solace that he’s searched for his whole life, the very thing that he feared he would never truly find.

Once you’ve removed his backplate, you take just a half step back from him. The only thing left now is the helmet. You pause, letting a few moments pass in silence. There’s a decision to be made, one that neither of you take lightly. But Din doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.

Your hands fall to either side of the helmet, and again you pause. You wait. You want him to be the one that makes this choice, not you.

Din can’t help the way his body shakes with the breath that leaves him. But he bears no hesitation for what you’re about to do. No, he’s already surrendered himself fully. He raises his arms, placing his hands on top of yours. Together, the two of you lift the helmet from his head. It hisses and clicks as he’s released, the only sounds that break the delicate silence.

And then the final piece of the armor is gone, gently set aside just like the rest. There’s nothing left to hide him from you.

Your hands tremble as they find his cheeks. He’s frozen in place, blood pounding in his ears as you map his face in the dark. Your fingers trace his cheekbones, his nose, his temples. They slip into his hair and gently untangle the unruly curls. His eyes slip closed. Your touch is almost intoxicating, leaving him without a coherent thought and feeling weak, like his legs might give out from under him if he tried to move.

Din drops his head so that his forehead presses gently against yours, and his eyes burn as he takes in the feeling of having you this close to him, of being able to feel your skin against his. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in your comforting scent now that he’s no longer hindered by the helmet. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever put it back on.

Your hands move again, and he feels the pads of your fingers press flat against his lips. He purses them, leaving the ghost of a kiss against your soft skin. You linger there for a moment, but then your hands fall to his chest. There’s a second of hesitation, and desire hangs heavy in the air, almost tangible. Din shifts, his hands running down your sides until they once again rest on your hips.

And then he pulls you close, eliminating any distance left between the two of you. His lips meet yours in a kiss so cautious it’s like the two of you are made of glass. One false move and you’ll shatter in each other’s arms. Din savors the way your lips fit so perfectly with his, only pulling away from you when his lungs burn for air. He looks down at you, only able to make out your silhouette in the dark, wondering why it took him so long to let this happen.

Because even in this moment of vulnerability, even as he stands bared completely to you, he’s never felt more secure.

---

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The Mandalorian Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @adlerorzel-blog @mrsparknuts @deputytrash @lola-wolf @sunkissed-winter

[stanharu]

“With the Leonid Meteor Shower” - a Beastars short story written by Paru Itagaki

I translated the short story Paru wrote that the ED for season 2 is based on!!  Both short stories for season 2 can be found on the beastars anime website under the “Music” tab.

I’ve put my translation under the cut, and linked my translation docs

“With the Leonid Meteor Shower“ google doc link

“Press Your Ears Against Your Chest“ translation /  google doc link

Herbivores are actually very concerned about who may eat them.

No matter the time, place, or activity, being the target of predators is an herbivore’s world. 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, you could be eaten, or you could not be eaten. That’s just everyday life. Within this endless sense of imminent danger, a strange wish soon arises within the minds of us herbivores. Our position in life is one of prey. If that’s the case, I’d at least want to be eaten by someone I approve of… Wait. What do I mean by someone I approve of? My fiance? My family? A close friend? The male lion next to me driving the car?

Currently I’m on a quiet drive alone with Ibuki. He is a lion, I am a deer. When I think back to the way Ibuki’s expression changed when I said I was leaving the Shishigumi, Yeah… It’s possible I may end up getting eaten by him in this car. Do I feel fear right now?

“Boss, are you feeling hungry? I can see a restaurant up ahead, should I make a stop?”

“I’m not hungry. Keep going.”

Did he purposefully give me a chance to escape? Or maybe he isn’t planning on eating me at all. Somehow, I don’t feel hungry at all. In the face of one’s instincts, strategy is futile. I’ll face this lion just as I am.

“What about you, Ibuki? You’re not hungry?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

Do you want to stop at the restaurant? Is what I wanted to say, but of course I didn’t have the nerve. I won’t approach the heart of the matter. In the end, this apparent bargaining session passed by within this pitch-black car. It’s like a hearse, I mutter in my mind before realizing the high probability of this car becoming a hearse in the literal sense in a matter of seconds. I feel my face tense up again.

“Are you cold?” Ibuki asks another question, glancing at me from the side of his eye. Even though I’m never one to reveal my true desires, I felt as if I was being pulled along into an elaborate scenario in which he would feel naturally compelled to prey on me, and I got oddly irritated. If I give the wrong answer, those fangs may tear open my throat. My back is getting damp. I’ve never experienced a moment this agonizing before.

“I’m not cold. Stop asking so many questions.”

“I’m sorry… It’s just that carnivores have a higher body temperature than herbivores...”

In an instant, Ibuki’s voice reverts back to the usual tone I’ve grown used to hearing, and without thinking I meet his gaze.

“Besides, you’re also sensitive to the cold, Boss.”

“You’re not one to talk. All that silvervine you all do has thrown off your ability to regulate your body temperature.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ibuki laughed. He’s normally poker faced, but surprisingly, when he laughs he doesn’t hide his fangs. I catch a fleeting glimpse of those large canines, and I also start to feel better. The joy of seeing a friend smiling, and the fear of seeing a natural enemy’s fangs come into view, are feelings equal in purity. Here I felt a calm friendship between myself and Ibuki, and I thought that if it were by him, I wouldn’t mind being eaten. If it comes to that, I’d like for him to go all out with one bite, rather than be treated with his usual modest kindness.

The car drives further and further onto a dark road, my vision being slowly taken away by Ibuki’s driving. Herbivores can’t see in the dark. There’s absolutely no way this male lion living in society’s underworld doesn’t know such common knowledge; And if the man who worries over whether I’m hungry or cold is starting to let his sadistic side run wild, then fine, so be it. My position in life is one of prey after all. It is much more meaningful to yield yourself to be eaten by someone you approve of rather than by some random passerby.

Ibuki’s golden mane catches the meager amount of light coming from outside the window, and shines in the dark for just a moment. 

“Louis… you saved me.”

I was wrong.

The flash of light I saw wasn’t his mane, it was Ibuki’s tears. It wasn’t a shooting star, no wish would be granted, they were just the tears of a male lion. How could that be so beautiful? How can the tears of a clumsy man who can’t resist his own destiny be so… Just eat me already. It’s an herbivore’s wish. Please eat me.

“I’ve stopped the car… Now, if you don’t shoot me, I’ll eat you alive.”

From your point of view, a scrawny deer holding you at gunpoint must look ridiculous. Laugh for me. Show me your fangs.

“... I can’t do it, Ibuki… I can’t shoot you...”

“I see… In that case...”

A window shattering gunshot and glass shards. The lion’s mane, in the same instant the gun was fired, is bathed in a brief moment of intense light, and a beautiful golden color explodes right before my eyes. 

What a ruthless shooting star.

I guess he didn’t intend on granting my meager wish in the first place.

In the darkness I clung tightly to that beautiful mane, to the gentle golden comet that burned out in my hands.

[firefly464]

The Family I Left Behind

hnnnnnng did i nearly make myself cry while writing this one? Hell yeah I did. I’m so proud of it. Also, I dunno if I’ve mentioned this, but this au is called 

Nothing More than a Beautiful View

because i dunno it was used in the movie to describe the comet and i just thought it sounded cool. anyways. 

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR YOUR NAME BELOW. CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK

Wind tore through Niki’s hair as she stood atop the small hill. Before her lay the remains of a destroyed town, a town she had once called home. She watched as the water of the newly created lake gently tugged at the rubble below, as if trying to pull it under. Any inhabitants that might have once called this place a home were long gone. The destruction was simply too immense for anyone to be still living there. She could even see the places where nature had begun to reclaim the destroyed land. This area had been destroyed long ago. 

She was standing in an abandoned school yard, a school yard that she had stood in hundreds of times before. “I know this place…” She said softly as she looked over the uninhabited land. “I know this school, I know this town.” 

She could hear as someone took a small step towards her, “That’s impossible. This place was destroyed years ago, there's no way you could know it.” She wasn’t sure who spoke, the blood rushing past her ears was far too loud for that. 

Either way, she ignored them, choosing to instead turn her back to the destruction and walk towards the school building. Faintly, she could hear the voices of her best friend and foster brothers calling out to her, trying to ask her what she was doing. She kept walking. 

The front door was unlocked. Almost subconsciously, Niki found herself retracing the path that she had walked hundreds of times over the past year. She marveled at how different everything felt when seen through her own eyes, rather than the eyes of someone else. 

She walked through the hallways, ignoring the concerned whispers of the people behind her. After all, they had no idea what was going on. They didn’t know why this was so important to her. 

The damage that surrounded her was heartbreaking. The windows to the building had been destroyed long ago, allowing rain and wind to tear through it. The floors were covered in dirt and grime, tracked in by various animals that had likely been seeking shelter. Leaves and twigs were scattered through the hallways, blown in by stray winds. She could see places where the unkept ivy had creeped into the building, crawling in through the broken windows. 

A flash of yellow caught her eye. Frowning, she knelt down and picked up the small object. Her heart clenched as she wiped off the dirt and grime that had built up on it. In her hands she held a small keychain shaped like a bee. She recognized this keychain, she had been the one to pick it out. 

Tears started to form in her eyes. She could still remember the way that Tommy had timidly come up to her, the way that he had refused to make eye contact as he asked for help. She remembered the way that Tubbo’s eyes lit up when he opened the gift, the way that he had tackled his best friend in a hug. 

Tubbo had cherished this keychain, he wouldn’t have left it behind. The only reason he would ever abandon it would be if- 

She choked back a sob, refusing to listen to the voice in her mind, even as it screamed that she was being foolish and naive. 

A hand rested on her shoulder. She barely noticed. “Niki… I think we should leave.” Minx’s voice was soft and soothing, clearly unsure of how she was supposed to act. “I’m sure you were thinking of some other town, this can’t be it. He can’t be from here.” 

Niki only shook her head. “No… No this is the one.” 

“That’s impo-” her best friend was cut off by one of her foster brothers.

“Is there anything else you wanted to look at before we left?” It was Fundy, his voice filled with a gentle concern. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for his presence. Even though she had initially felt outraged when she had found her foster brothers outside her door, waiting to travel to England with her, Fundy had been the only person to not question her sanity throughout the trip. 

Fundy had seen enough weird shit in his life to understand that Niki was likely telling the truth. Although he didn’t know what was going on, he could see the pain in her eyes as she looked over the rubble, or the way her hands trembled as she held the small keychain. She was clearly connected to this place, even if he didn’t understand how. Now, all he could do was try to be there for her. She needed time to grieve, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get in the way of that. 

“I um…” she took a deep breath, trying to contain her tears for at least a little while longer. “Yeah, there’s one more spot I want to check…” 

~~~

Niki bit her lip in an attempt to keep herself from crying as she stared at the crumbling house. The building had been just outside the blast radius, meaning it was still standing, but the shock wave and nature had taken a toll on it. The porch had collapsed, and the windows had all been shattered. 

“Are you sure this is the place?” Eret asked. 

“Yeah… I’m sure. This was his house.” With a trembling hand, she carefully pushed open the front door. 

As she stepped inside the familiar home, she froze. What had been a warm and welcoming place only a month earlier was now cold and barren. Plant life had crept into the building through the shattered windows, and animals had clearly decided to try and move in. She tried to close her eyes, to imagine the warmth of the family that had once filled every room. The laughter that echoed through the hallways constantly. The soft strumming of a guitar. 

It was all gone now. All of it was gone. And from the looks of things, it had been gone for a long time. She shook her head. None of this made any sense. She had stood in this exact same spot only a few weeks ago, and everything had been normal. Everything had been perfectly fine. 

Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen over if her best friend hadn’t been there to help her stay steady. “What… What happened…?” she asked softly. 

No one answered. They all were thinking the same thing, but none of them had the courage to say it. 

Niki’s eyes widened as she caught sight of an object, resting on the front table. Hastily, she pushed Minx aside and rushed towards the table, desperately trying to grab the old hat that lay atop it.

The old bucket hat was torn, only just barely holding together. The green and white stripes were covered in grime and dirt, making them almost invisible. None of it mattered. Niki knew that hat. 

As she held it in her hands, tears began to pour from her eyes. “Dad…” She whispered softly. “Dad, where are you?” her voice rose in volume as she continued to speak. “God damn it, where are you?! What happened to you?! Please, please you can’t just leave me here alone! Where are you?!?!” 

A scream tore through the remains of the small town. It was a scream filled with years of heartbreak and pain. Niki could feel as all the anger and hurt she had built up over the years came pouring out of her. She hadn’t found the perfect family only to lose them completely. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair!

She screamed until her throat was raw, until she couldn’t make another sound, even if she tried. She screamed until her voice was raspy and quiet, barely audible. She screamed until she could scream no more, and then she cried. She cried for the family that she had helped bring together over the past year. The family that had brought her so much joy, even if they didn’t realize. 

She continued to cry until she ran out of tears, but even then, she continued to grieve.

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: demon!minghao x reader ⚬ word count: 3478 ⚬ warnings: blood, bodily injuries, death ⚬ genres: god i don’t even know... angst, unrealized pining and romance, weird tension, reader is just as evil as minghao?

✧✎ synopsis: three-hundred years have passed, and the second son has awoken from his slumber, waiting for a new soul to devour.

✧✎ a/n: this au was many things, and in finality, it morphed into this. usually i have a lot to say in my author’s note but today i bring you nothing! enjoy!

Three-hundred years had passed, and you knew due to the bell tower.

Its reverberations shuddered throughout the town, permeated the density of the smoke curtain which had swallowed the sky for centuries, and vibrated the very oxygen that fluttered in your lungs. It was a calling to check your mailbox, for reaching inside unveiled a folded note. At first, you glanced to your neighbour across the street, to the elderly man who lived on your right, and finally to the pig-tailed girl who’d just celebrated her fifteenth birthday on your left.

Yet they had retrieved nothing from their mailboxes exempt from a soft-spoken prayer, a testament to their gratitude that their lives had been spared. But you—you were the unholy meal.

With a sharp arrowhead of stone pressed to the skin between your shoulder blades, you were forced into the cavernous opening based midway along the mountain. It fed deep into the earth’s heart, and as a watchman pierced the spear’s tip further into your flesh, you began the cold, damp descent that would lead you to a deserved death, a death that could no longer be prevaricated.

After a painful stumbling over jagged flints and pieces of crystal, you emerged into the Blood Room, where three other contenders from the town were already aligned. There was not one look exchanged between either meal; however, you did recognize a specific helix piercing and the russet locks of Joshua, who you recently spotted dragging a body down to the ravine where the forest waterfall bubbled. Still, despite Joshua’s inept piousness, you knew he was not a meal worth being served.

A watchman approached you with a pocketknife. Splaying out your fingers, you observed calmly as he created a small incision against a distinct line travelling the length of your palm. As the dark, crimson fluid leaked from the wound, it was then collected in a glass dropper. Each watchman approached a scroll which hung from the stone. A drop of Joshua’s blood was tested first. It rolled about halfway down the sallow paper, which was impressive to say the least, indicative of even the boy’s worst transgressions. 

The next possible meal had their sample beaded onto the scroll, though it had soaked up rather quickly, even before Joshua’s, and you knew their sins were pitiful and their soul was much too pentant. Similarly, the blood of the other meal drew short. You couldn’t help but think the contenders were quite pathetic. 

At last the glass dropper containing your blood was being set against the paper. A slight squeeze, and the liquid bulb started its trickling. It streamed down boldly, leaving in its wake a luminous red tint that outshined even Joshua’s viscid plasma. You watched the bulb surpass one meal, then glide past the second meal, and just as you anticipated, the droplet rolled to the very end of the scroll. In fact, it began dripping onto the dust of the icy floor.

“The test concludes.” A watchman rumbled, his voice bouncing against the rock. His spear pointed toward you criminally. “Your blood runs the thickest and your heart beats the slowest. You are the unholy meal. The second son has awoken from this three-hundred-year slumber, and it is your soul he will devour so that he may be appeased and tire.”

You fought to keep an emotionless, flat face.

“Feed him well, for the weight of your blood carries more sin than purity.”

Briskly, the latter three contenders were swept away.

Joshua may have thrown his first corpse into the waterfall and watched it gush like a leaf down the black ravine, but his single body could not compare to the hundred that you’d left to float for years.

The bare bottoms of your feet were engrained with shallow cuts and stained by the powder to the numbing stone. You had not eaten or drank for over forty-eight hours, and your strength, which could often be as robust as great titanium, had seemingly dwindled to an emaciated, dried flower.

From the tales your mother relayed amongst your youth, you knew it was important to not make a face in the presence of the second son. Unlike his older brother, Jun, who would only be appeased by a meal who smiled and flaunted their guilt, Minghao chiefly adored a meal who showed no more emotion than the limestone tumbled along the mountainside. It was best to please the Demon Sons before they untied your soul from its fleshy bindings and swallowed it whole.

Or else in their next awakening, they might demand a meal of the entire village.

Minghao gestured to the garnet-coloured mat which had been lain across his bedroom floor. There were bowls of flavourful rice, steaming, clay pots filled with different soups, plates warmed by sliced bread and tin cups almost overflowing due to the plentiful wine inside.

“Hungry?” He asked, to which his soft, wispy voice was rather surprising.

Your countenance remained blank, unmoving, apart from your mouth. “Yes, I am starved.”

“Sit,” the second son invited, “I want you to be satiated and full, until you feel sleepy.”

Heeding his order, you sat cross-legged on the side of the mat opposite to the demon. His robe, embroidered with ruby lace, rippled behind his feet when he walked, and the collar’s diamond shape revealed underworldly markings which drew attention to the pale expanse of his chest. Even through the material cloaking his arms, you could faintly decipher the kohled tattoos. You had even recognized the familiar symbols chiselled into the walls during your trek to the demon’s chamber. When Minghao took his seat, he grabbed one of the black horns curling from his hair and dug his thumb into the pointed end.

“They are becoming weak,” he admitted, “I’m sure my brother’s wings are close to shattering from his broad shoulders. I’m sure the nerves are peeling and laughably brittle.” Minghao reached for a bowl, using wood chopsticks to fish the orange, tangy rice into his mouth. “You know, as first born, he is granted those wings. It’s his rite.” He lowered the bowl, a faded grin crossing his lips. “I remember, he used to embellish them with the bones of his meals, hanging their cervicals and metacarpals and pieces of their skull across each wing like a charm bracelet. But myself? It is not my meals’ bones that I save.” He shook his head, picking up another sticky rice ball.

Suddenly, the demon paused. “Are you not going to eat?”

It was difficult to speak when the interior of your mouth felt coated with chalk. Inclined by fear rather than your hunger, you reached for a bread loaf, then broke its golden crust in half, listening to the satisfactory crackle.

“I was absorbed by your pretty voice,” you spoke with not a single intonation, “forgive me.”

As you tore a piece from the warm inside and poked it into your cheek, the pottery bowl which he held broke into pieces due to the crushing grip of his hand, orange rice and clay shards spilling onto the mat. You had visibly flinched. The demon’s body trembled as he inhaled a slow, subdue breath. 

“Dearest, if you ask me to lend my forgiveness, I will pierce a stake through your beating heart and pull it out onto my plate.” His teeth were claws in his mouth as he growled. “Do you understand?”

You hid your quivering, bottom lip by bringing a tin cup to your face, the slick formula of the wine flowing down your throat. It was thicker than the wine you drank at home, and there was a copper-like aftertaste that almost rendered your expression to pucker, but you remembered to keep staid.

“I understand.”

The void, starless nature to his gaze disappeared. Instead, his eyes returned to their settled oak. Allowing more wine to soak against your tongue, there was a distant familiarity to its unique flavour.

“Are there things you regret?” Minghao retrieved you from musing, and spooned some rosemary soup into his mouth.

Once more, you took another sip, swished the alcohol between your cheeks, and swallowed. The demon observed you with an intent eye. Something flashed against your memory. It was a pale face drained of its pink and lively colour. In fact, it was your husband’s face, Soonyoung’s face, right before you tipped his body over the ravine’s misty edge and into the gurgling chasm below.

He had been your last murder.

“I regret…” You began, lowering the wine, “I-I regret…”

A stutter. An emotion. An inkling of your distress. 

Minghao’s grasp around the soup pot tightened and the tattoos needled into his flesh seemed to slither as though they’d been disturbed. Your mind grew stifled with obnoxious imagery. It was too much, all at once, and this dizziness spun at the centre of your cranium like a comet in orbit.

You leaned further over the wine, staring blurry at the liquid.

“I regret… I r-regret…”

Then it came to you, the underlying taste of the wine. So familiar because you should have known it better than anyone, especially considering your habitual dirty work, how often that fluid caked under your fingernails and spattered your clothing. No, it was definitely not the bones Minghao kept. 

A moment later and you fainted onto the mat.

You awoke to a damp coolness folded against your forehead, and to Minghao who sat at the edge of his bed, where he had rested for three-hundred years. He removed the cloth and began dabbing it along each arch of your cheek, cleaned your jaw’s long edge, and at last wet your lips until they gleamed. Expelling a subtle breath, you kept your face as blank as possible.

“How do you feel?” He set away the cloth in order to sweep his sleight fingers down your temple.

“I’m well,” sounded your meek voice, “you have taken care of me.”

In between the black fringe that feathered the demon’s lashes, you met his eyes. Minghao’s hand slid to your throat, where his palm pressed flat against its column and his fingers curled taut with the sensation of hot steel. 

He felt you gulp.

“I implore that you bathe. Rid yourself of this fabric which has been stained by wine and broth. I will leave you undergarments and a robe.” He leaned in closer to your face, and you couldn’t help but glance at his jagged teeth when he said so adoringly, “my wish is to paint you. I would like clean flesh.”

Clad in nothing but the undergarments, Minghao stood before your body, holding a wooden bowl. The inside was smeared with a rustic-coloured substance that almost bore the same consistency as honey. His chosen brush had fanned bristles, and when he stroked their wetness along your skin, it was a smooth, somewhat ticklish feeling. You found yourself enjoying it. Specifically the longer strokes, ones that began at the top of your shoulder and licked across the soft underbelly of your arm, only to gently flit away at the brittle bones in your wrist.

He decorated you in content. 

As the boy lowered to his knees and illustrated unintelligible runes against your inner thigh, he was focused, sharp. Another dip into the wooden bowl, and Minghao moved to paint your other thigh. You examined the horns pushing between his hair. Without thought, you stroked your hand against one, feeling the small grooves that created every divot. The demon never stirred, but continued to paint down your leg, and you wondered if he truly hadn’t noticed your touch or perhaps quite liked the way you caressed him.

Despite the fact you were merely prey being toyed with until dinner time, when you looked at the demon who touched your skin and treated you with such reverence, you felt this unbeknownst tenderness in your heart.

As Minghao instructed you to raise a foot, he immediately stiffened.

“What is it?” You questioned flatly.

He set the bowl and brush down.

“Dearest, the soles of your feet are cut and raw. It appears worse than usual.”

You wobbled slightly, almost losing your balance. “I was shown no kindness on my journey to meet with you. Because I am your meal, I can ignore the stinging.”

“No,” Minghao shook his head and rose up, “I will wrap your feet in precious calendula leaves. The paint will dry quickly, then you can sit.”

“If I may ask one thing,” you remarked, fiddling with the sleeves of your robe, “how painful is it to have your soul devoured?”

Minghao plucked the last few calendula leaves from their flowers. The petals were rather striking, the aurora of a setting sun as you mother always described. It had been a longtime wish to see the sun one day, though considering your fate, such a dream must remain only that. The leaves swathed each foot with the help of a clear, sticky gel.  

“Very painful.” The demon responded. He shifted next to you on the bed, then grabbed one of the orange flowers. “This is why we sleep so far beneath the crust, so the people do not hear the meal’s delicious screams.” He grasped your hand which had suffered a slit from the watchman’s pocketknife, and he began to rub a flower bud across the wound.

“Do you remember your last meal?” You asked, staring at Minghao rather than the skin’s miraculous healing.

The demon looked straight into your eyes as he grinned. “I do remember,” he sounded wistful, “it had been three meals, since the man I consumed in an even further past had greatly upset me.” Minghao dropped the flower, slowly interlaced his fingers with yours, squeezing.

“I had treated him well. I cleaned his cuts, I allowed him to bathe, I offered him my finest silk, and then, when we ate, I asked him what he regretted.” His hand became colder than ice. Minghao’s eyes started to widen, illuminate with a shiny madness, and when he leaned in closer your every facial muscle was begging to twitch. “He cried to me. Can you believe it? I had never been so upset. It caused me to fill with rage. He wept for forgiveness, absolution, a relief from his pain. Who am I, but a being who takes pain like a supplement? In that moment, I leapt across the dinner table and devoured him. His soul tasted like salt and alloy. I could not eat his heart, which was given to my brother. He will always eat the heart, because it so plumped full of your terrible emotion.”

The demon’s hand fit to the side of your neck, his thumb stroking along a particular vein where your pulse was thundering. “Well,” he sighed, “not your terrible emotion, but most peoples.”

In that moment, you took your deepest breath, and did not respond until you were certain that not one note of your voice would tremble. “I understand.” You placed your hand overtop the demon’s as it continued to cradle your neck, “did you paint this man too?”

“No,” Minghao shook his head, “I use my paints sparingly.”

With a soft fingertip, he began to trace a thin line he had brushed. It started at your jaw, then fell down the length of your warm neck. It dragged across your collarbone and in between your chest. Over the ribs, to your stern hip. The fingertip circled sweetly against your inner thigh a few times, and at last glided to your knee where the demon’s touch drifted away like a summer breeze.  

“You are the most beautiful meal I have ever seen,” Minghao murmured, holding your gaze which threatened to water, “I was delighted to accent a body like yours, so gorgeous and strengthened by sin.”

Since your arrival at the demon’s bedroom, you knew it was vital to preserve a blank face, and yet, it came to a point where you could not restrict the whims of your emotion. A tear bled from your eye, your bottom lip started to quiver, and your brow pinched together in a wrinkle. There was fear to your gradual outbreak, but it was an infinitesimal fraction compared to your gratitude, that the second son could somehow honour you more than your own unfaithful husband, who’d been your last body discarded into the ravine. 

In reality, how different were you to this demon? Year after year, the suppleness of your heart became hardened with immorality, pummelled of its empathy and completely wrung from compassion like a soaked, heavy towel. A common routine: dragging a corpse through the wildlife, your lips pursed and whistling the tune you’d overhear the pig-tailed girl humming on her front lawn. Dump the body. Return home. Peel an apple, bake a pie, and feed a slice to your next victim, watching the froth dribble from their lips as you sipped your drink and folded a leg over your thigh. But that was life under the cinder sky. It’s what kept people mad, what kept the demons fed. Either flee or have the light of your being rubbed into another dark ash. 

The demon immediately turned rigid. 

His spine bristled straight and the tattoos started to crawl beneath his robe, rustling like serpents who navigated the tall grass. You figured your death would be the most painful, since you had not only broken at the last minute, but soiled the significance to Minghao’s paints, casted the illusion that you were not appreciative of his gestures. In a snapping wrench, he practically tore you from the velvet blanket, dragging you to a door in his bedroom.

When it was opened, a frigid wind dusted at your face, and a slender corridor was revealed, stretching so far that it led into complete blackness. With a hand against your lower back, Minghao shoved you into the tunnel.

“Go,” he demanded, his words echoing off the stone, “go and do not turn back.”

Your voice was breathy, confused, “I don’t understand. I-I—”

“It leads to an opening at the opposite side of the mountain. You will leave, and you will never-” he gripped your chin, and his gaze intruded even the most clandestine pockets to your soul, “ever return to this town. Escape these cinder skies. I will not repeat myself.”

Before you could make sense of anything, before the door could be slammed in your face, your solace left to the rock and damp air, you slipped a hand around the demon’s neck and kissed him. His mouth was just as soft as his voice, and when he angled his head to better taste the tears that  stained your lips, you felt it would be impossible to make this journey alone. The silk of his tongue brushed inside your mouth, causing your knees to tremble, therefore you gripped weakly at the demon’s hair. His sharp teeth pricked your bottom lip and it welted ever so slightly with blood.

“Come with me,” you begged, pressing your forehead to his, “please, do not go back to sleep.”

But Minghao merely giggled, and the fact that such an innocent sound could leave the chest of a demonic entity had disoriented you. 

“What creature are you?” Minghao hummed, “that I can see your emotion and only want to hold you closer? Maybe it is because you are the first meal to bare no regret. You know your flesh is stitched by the sin of your own hand. Even your sweet tears. Oh! My brother would adore you! Though he would’ve devoured you by now no doubt.” He gave a gentle shove, removing you from his body.

“Will you please come find me?” You entreated.

Time was of the essence. The tenebrosity seemed to have a curl on your ligaments, tugging you backward into the tunnel. 

Minghao smiled, his hand reaching out to wipe the blood from your sore lip.

“Dearest, I will come find your dark soul anywhere,” sounded his honest purr, “but I suggest you travel hastily. If I leave, I must first wake my brother, and the rage of a demon whose slumber has been interrupted... It cannot be compared to anything. I’m afraid you’ll faint again.”

Trusting that Minghao would seek you out, you began the journey down the tunnel, your hand swiping against the stone and your feet taking calculated steps. Amongst the black air, there was no concept of time. Seconds, minutes, hours, they felt ineffectual in a place where not even your own fingers or toes could be seen. Eventually, you came to a light that burned against your eyes, and emerged at the opposite side of the mountain, like Minghao promised. And as you padded into the jade forest, you felt one final vibration shake the pine needles scattered across the earth, heard some boulders from the mountainside crumble down in swirling, dry dust clouds. 

Shuddering, you knew it had been the abhorrent cry of the first born son. And for once your compulsion to escape the grey skies was a real desire. 

✧✎ a/n: yes.................... :) thinking that i could also make an au for jun in this universe? i will have to do some Major Thinking. i still have nothing to say! like i don’t know where this au crawled out of, but it’s Here now. it’s pretty morbid n freaky sfeheff but nonetheless i hope you liked it and as always i luv hearing ur guys TH0TS. 

[jessiewritesthings]

Saudade - Pt. III

Prince Zuko x Reader

Part three is here and ready to rumble! I’ve decided that there needs to be an epilogue here, because I just haven’t had enough of this whole thing so that will be coming in the next few days! Thank you endlessly for all the love it means the absolute WORLD to me x

Part I - Part II - Epilogue

It was extremely fortunate for Zuko that it hadn’t taken long for the others to welcome him into their group – albeit with a fair amount of hesitation, which he couldn’t exactly blame them for. Burning Toph had been an accident – one that had upset Zuko to no end. The fact that he had turned up without you had also raised concern – Katara was particularly unimpressed that he’d left without you, despite explaining multiple times that you had refused to join him.

 Zuko had sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair. He wasn’t sure how many times he would be able to go over the scenario again.

“You could have just taken her, though? That probably would have worked,” Sokka had commented, chewing sloppily on his bowl of porridge.

“I’m not sure that would have made y/n feel any better towards Zuko, don’t you think?” Aang sat across from his friend, lounging against a boulder Toph had pulled up for them to rest on.

“Hmm. Guess not,” Sokka replied. Zuko frowned, although he knew Aang was right. You’d made it pretty clear that you weren’t sure Zuko was worth your trust, no matter how much you wanted to believe in him.

“Anyway, y/n wouldn’t leave if she knew Azula was going to hurt all those innocent people. She would hate the thought of that. I think you made the right choice, Zuko, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” Aang stood up to place a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. An automatic flinch rolled through Zuko and Aang pulled his hand back, sharply.

“Sorry,” Zuko whispered, looking up at Aang. “I’m not used to… friendly touches yet.” 

“No worries, buddy. We’ll get you there.”

Katara rolled her eyes, sitting away from the boys as she silently played with a ball of water in her palms. It was obvious to Zuko, and the rest of the group, that Katara wasn’t fond of him and it didn’t look like she was going to warm up any time soon.

Toph, on the other hand – or burnt foot – had no major qualms about Zuko joining them, almost as if she had known he would join them all along.

“You guys are forgetting one major thing – y/n is tough. All she’d need to do is wait for the full moon, and she could be on her way out of the Fire Nation like that,” a snap of her fingers slamming two rocks together, shattering gently over the cliff-side.

“I don’t think you understand – it’s hard enough getting into the Fire Nation. Leaving as a prisoner is unheard of. And what does a full moon even have to do with it?” Even as the words left his mouth, Zuko knew he was wrong – he’d gone to the Prison Tower after leaving you, hoping to rescue and reunite with his Uncle Iroh, but had been left wanting when he found his Uncle had already made his own escape.

Katara scoffed, a gleam in her eye as she turned to face the group, the water in her palms slapping to the ground behind her.

“Zuko, I think you should know by now that the full moon enhances the powers of waterbenders,” she started with an eyebrow raised. “Of course, y/n wouldn’t be that foolish. She’s more powerful that you even know.”

“But even the most powerful waterbender would struggle to escape from the Prison Tower, full moon or not. I know she’s strong, but I don’t think anyone is that strong,” Zuko exclaimed, the exasperation evident in his voice. Why was Katara fighting him on this? He knew every detail of the Fire Nation’s defence force.

“Oh, for spirit’s sake, Katara. Don’t make it so hard for the man,” Sokka interrupted. He looked positively jovial, a stark contrast from his younger sisters’ hardy stance. “Y/n can bloodbend, Zuko.”

Realisation fell across Zuko’s features, piecing it together in his mind.

“Bloodbending… I’ve only heard rumours of that. The palace library had ancient Water Tribe scrolls, and a few of them spoke of old, ancient waterbending skills that could cause more harm than any other bending. I never thought it would be true though,” he murmured, putting his elbows to his knees and his face to his hands.

Katara returned to the group, sitting on her knees next to Aang.

“It’s… a terrifying power. No one needs that sort of control.” Zuko watched as Katara fumbled with her fingers, twisting them through her skirt, hair covering her face as she looked at the ground. Aang shifted closer to her side, placing an arm around her shoulder.

“How did she learn to bloodbend? Are there more of you?”

Katara shook her head, wiping a tear from her eye as she looked at Zuko.

“Not that I know of. Well – there was one, but we dealt with that. I’m not really sure how y/n learnt, though. Master Pakku, her grandfather, is a master waterbender, so maybe he encouraged it. But he also thinks women shouldn’t bend at all, so that’s probably unlikely.”

Zuko considered Katara’s words, and Toph rolled over onto her stomach, resting her chin in her hands. Like Zuko, she was also pretty unfamiliar with your past, and it just seemed awfully curious that a waterbender raised by someone with such staunch beliefs as Master Pakku could end up with the kind of strength you had.

“Well, if y/n’s grandfather doesn’t believe women should bend, how did she learn? She was a master waterbender before you all arrived in Agna Qel’a, right?”

Sokka grinned, leaning back as he placed his empty bowl of porridge on the ground.

“Oh, yeah. She was feisty. Absolutely wiped us all out when we caught her bending, by accident.

Aang chuckled, smiling fondly at the memory.

“She only told us that she’d been able to master waterbending by spying on the men as they trained and copying their moves against ice sculptures she would create. I have no idea how she didn’t get caught, though. Pakku lost his biscuits when he caught me trying to teach Katara what I’d learnt from him,” Aang explained.

“She’s a master healer too,” Katara continued. “I’d heard rumours of her before we’d even left the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Bad. Ass,” Toph exclaimed with a grin.

A soft bloom of red crept across Zuko, not going unnoticed by the others.

 “Oh, what’s that Sparky? I can feel you beating,” Toph remarked with a cheeky laugh, slapping one hand on the stone floor.

Sokka leapt up from the ground, jumping in excitement as he pointed at Zuko.

“Oh, I get it now! You like her, don’t you? Y/n and Zuko, sitting in a tree…”

The campfire flame crept higher as Zuko buried his head in his hands. Katara watched him carefully, reassuringly patting Aang on the knee in thanks for his comfort.

“It doesn’t matter,” Zuko retorted. “She would never want me.”

“Zuko, y/n gave you one of her most precious possessions. Don’t underestimate yourself.” Zuko glanced at Katara in shock – out of all of them, he figured she’d be against the idea the most, seeing as she was having the hardest time forgiving him for his past actions.

“My family, they’ve hurt her. Put her through so much. Her scars… I just don’t know if I can believe you, Katara.”

“You don’t have to. Just wait and see,” she replied, with a shrug of her shoulders and a small smile. Aang looked between the two of them, grinning. Zuko sighed, lost in thought as his fingers fiddled with the hair clip in his pockets. 

“Well, Zuko’s infatuation aside, how do we get y/n out?” Toph asked, her cheek to the ground.

“Well, I’ve been thinking of a master plan-” Sokka began, hands flapping excitedly.

“-We don’t.”

“What do you mean we don’t?” Katara replied, a scowl on her face as she folded her arms.

Zuko swallowed, realising all eyes were on him and they didn’t look pleased.

“You’ve said it yourselves. Y/n is strong – stronger than I had reason to believe. And she’s smart. Azula is more likely to use her as a weapon than actually hurt her any further. I know you don’t like the idea of her being there, and I want to get y/n out too, but it’s too risky.”

“Zuko’s right. Sozin’s comet is only a few weeks away. As long as the Fire Nation has need of a healer, y/n will be okay.” It wasn’t the first time Aang had spoken up in support of Zuko, and he was entirely grateful to have the Avatar’s support. Appa yawned in support of Aang, and that seemed to settle the argument, Katara relenting as her arms fell to her sides.

“We’ll get her back, Katara,” Zuko promised. “If it’s the last thing I do, we’ll get her back.”

 _____

Sozin’s Comet

 You’d been in the infirmary when you noticed Fire Lord Ozai and Princess Azula leave the palace in their palanquins. Dropping the bandages you’d been carefully arranging, you knelt to the floor, crawling to the nearest window as you silently watched them pass. You knew what this meant. Azula had considered it of the utmost importance that you were informed of the imminent attack on the Earth Kingdom – she so badly wanted to see you suffer, especially when the Fire Lord returned victorious.

The time is now, you thought as your brows furrowed. Looking down at your palms, you flexed your fingers. You’d spent every moment locked in your cell practising your bloodbending, knowing that the time would come where you would need to utilise your power. It had been hard, at first – for starters, you’d only ever practised on the full moon. You’d taken to capturing rodents while the guards weren’t paying attention in the infirmary, taking them to your cell and focussing all your energy on harnessing your power. It had taken some time, but you’d finally been able to do it without aid from the full moon.

Carefully, you walked over to your work bench, avoiding the floorboards you knew would creak. Pulling the bench out slightly, you removed the rug on the floor, using a pair of scissors to jimmy the floorboards up. Here you had hidden your most important possession – your water skin. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to get you out. Tucking the skin into your belt, pulling your shirt over to cover it, you replaced the floorboards, pushing the bench back into place.

“Where do you think you’re going, water rat?”

Scowling, you turned to face the guards, palm raised in front of you.

“Get out of my way.” Your voice was cold, distant.

The guards sniggered, in disbelief that you would try to defy them – with Sozin’s Comet only days away, no less.

The two of them prepared to attack, one foot raising as another hand came down, but before they could finish you stopped them in their tracks. Spasms started, first in their hands, up their arms, their chests convulsing as they dropped to their knees.

Keeping your palm faced towards them, you made your way to the door, one hand on the handle as your fingers slowly formed a fist. The guards collapsed, heaving, weak and disoriented from your attack. Water streamed out from your palms as you directed it to their wrists, chains of ice securing them together.

Without a second glance you left the infirmary, hiding in the shadows as you followed the palanquin carrying Princess Azula. You knew the Fire Lord was leaving for the attack, and you all but assumed Azula would be at his side, but you needed to know for sure. There was something in your gut that told you something big was going to happen today – not just the comet, but something that even Fire Lord Ozai was unable to predict.

Creeping along behind the grey walls, you halted as you came to an opening, gasping as you saw rows upon rows of Fire Nation soldiers, kneeling as Ozai and Azula were carried past them. All you could feel was despair as you watched on, the sea of red doing much to overwhelm you and make you feel hopeless. There were so many of them. And with Sozin’s Comet just one day away, you knew that their power would only be increasing. Placing your hands on the concrete in front of you, you focussed on your breath in an attempt to calm yourself down.

Aang will show up. I know he will.

Your face shrivelled when Azula poked her head out of the palanquin, and you ducked behind the wall. You were well out of sight, but if you were caught spying now, then the guards you had left in the infirmary would surely be found soon after – and you were sure that an explanation for that wouldn’t come easily.

Peeking out again, you saw that Azula had caught up with Ozai at the platform, kneeling before him. They were just out of earshot, but you could see through Azula’s body language that something had changed – that Ozai had changed his plans. It was evident that Azula wasn’t impressed with these changes – you had managed to pick up on the change in her voice, even though you couldn’t make out the words. It almost seemed like she was shrieking, arguing with the Fire Lord – you’d almost consider her brave, if you didn’t know any better.

Ozai turned around to face Azula now, the tension releasing from her body as Ozai’s guards fitted him with his armour. He raised his arms, the guards now raising a large flag behind him. A huff of air escaped you as you stepped back, almost tripping over your own feet as you heard Ozai, loud and clear as he declared himself the Phoenix King. Banners with the same image from the flag popped up in front of the Fire Nation banners, fire streaming out from behind Ozai. The soldiers knelt again, a declaration of their loyalty to their new King, and you shuddered as the realisation hit you – Azula would become Fire Lord. 

Your mind was racing as you made your way back to the infirmary, creeping along as you had done just hours before. Azula would be on her way back to the palace shortly, waiting to see the Phoenix King off before assuming her role as Fire Lord. Spirits, you hoped that Prince Zuko would show up and prevent her from taking the throne. Ozai was awful enough, but something told you Azula would be even worse at the helm of a nation.

The guards were still collapsed on the floor when you returned to the infirmary, and you thanked a silent prayer that they hadn’t been roused and set the alarm. Melting the ice on their wrists, you hauled each guard onto a bed, removing their armour and covering them with a sheet. Closing your eyes, you tuned your hands into them, attempting what you’d practised on the rodents. Your knuckles flexed, before your hand relaxed, placing a hand on each wrist to check for a pulse. A sigh of relief slipped from your lips as you felt a pulse from each guard, confirming that your plan had worked. You knew from the beginning that you didn’t want to kill anyone unless there were no other options – but if you could use your bloodbending to cause someone to pass out, things would certainly become a lot easier.

A sharp rap on the infirmary door startled you, and you quickly went outside, shielding your eyes from the blinding sun.

“Fire Lord Azula has asked for you,” the guard spoke sharply. “Come.” Two guards gripped your forearms, forcing you along. They yanked at your arm as they clutched you, breaking the skin beneath your shirt.

Sweat dripped down your back as you were forced up the stairs of the palace, your hair plastered to your forehead. The sky was slowly beginning to turn a dirty brown colour, which meant the comet was getting closer. You were dropped to your knees in the throne room, eyes widening at Azula sitting behind her wall of blue flame. Her dishevelled look concerned you – the usually immaculate black hair hanging loosely around her face, scraps of fringe sprinkled across her forehead.

“Bow to me, water rat. Tomorrow I will be crowned Fire Lord of the Fire Nation, and I want you to be there to see it happen. I want to see the misery in your face when you realise that you lost.”

You placed your hands on the floor, kneeling forward for Azula. She sneered down at you, fingers tapping the arm of the throne, her black hair flowing softly in retaliation to the flicker of her flames.

“Congratulations, Fire Lord Azula.” The words felt strange leaving your mouth, and you struggled to keep your composure as a wave of anxiety rippled through you.

“I don’t need your congratulations,” she spat. “I was born for this!”

 You’re just lucky, you thought. Lucky that Zuko isn’t heartless, like you.

Keeping your head low, you nodded. Azula’s energy was off – she was jittery, she looked exhausted, and her remarks seemed uncalculated, which was a stark difference to the Azula you were used to dealing with. The crackling of fire in the room made you aware that you were alone with Azula – at least, it appeared that way. I could attack her now, put an end to her. The thought didn’t give you any kind of relief – your scar pulsing as if in warning. She certainly seemed off her game at the moment, but you’d seen enough of Azula to know that she liked to play games, and she always lied. How could you be sure it wasn’t all an act?

Azula leapt over the flames, landing in front of you.

“I’ll keep you here tonight. You’ll be needed in the morning. I’ve banished most of my servants you see – all traitors!”

Your fingers twitched again – just one small movement and you could have her under your control. It moved almost voluntarily, you hadn’t even planned on moving it yourself, but Zuko’s face flashed into your mind and you pressed your hands against the warm concrete. Azula was his family, no matter what she had done. It was his fight. 

“I see,” you replied, peeling back off your knees, wiping your palms on your pants.

“Of course, I can’t let you run around the palace by yourself,” she jeered, a vicious gleam in her eye.

She flicked her palm up as a wall of flame towered around you, forcing you to your back as smaller rings of fire looped across your ankles and wrists, binding you.

“If you try to get out, you’ll burn. I don’t think you can afford anymore scars, do you?” Azula cackled as she stalked out of the throne room, not giving you a second glance.

She was right – you could barely move without a searing burn ripping through you. Lying on the floor of the throne room, you cursed in despair. Even if you were able to shuffle around, the ring of fire surrounding you would prevent you from getting anywhere. Sweat fell heavily from you now, your clothes damp in the creases. You could bend your sweat – hopefully that would deal with the flames on your body. Carefully you manoeuvred your fingers, hoping that your will alone would pull the sweat on your body to the fire chained around your wrists. Your water skin was still safely tucked into your belt, hidden by your shirt. If you could get your hands free you’d then be able to get out of your heated prison.

Your brows furrowed in concentration as you watched your sweat crawl across your body, running slowly towards your hands. The sensation wasn’t soothing, like standing in the rain was, it was uncomfortable and you wanted to squirm – you imagined that the beads of sweat were small slugs, creeping over you. Finally, enough water reached your wrists, and the flames dissipated.

Hands quick, you ripped your water skin from your belt, opening the sack and extinguishing the fire at your ankles, before sending a short downpour over the ring of flames – just enough to get you out before they rose high once again.

The throne room was empty when you glanced around – much to your surprise, the palace seemed mostly deserted. Azula had mentioned earlier that she’d banished some servants, but you didn’t take her words quite so literally.

You left the palace undetected, the sky turning a deeper red as night began to fall. A cool wind blew, jostling your hair as you turned away from the palace. You wandered through the lanes discretely, though no one was about. Exhausted, you collapsed in an abandoned stable, curling up and falling into a dreamless sleep, knowing that when you woke everything would be about to change.

 _____ 

Your eyes glowed red, the fiery glow from Sozin’s Comet rousing you from sleep. Blinking slowly, you left the stable, intent on making your way back to the palace to confront Azula. A strange groan echoed through the air, and you looked up to see Appa, heading towards the palace with two passengers.

“Zuko,” you whispered, breaking into a run. 

It wasn’t long before the palace courtyard was illuminated with Zuko and Azula’s fire, blue and orange pressed together. Spotting Katara, you ran to her side, pressing a soft hand to her palm in greeting.

She gasped as she saw you, gripping your hand in response.

“Y/n,” she whispered, “you’re okay.” The two of you returned your attention to Zuko and Azula, and your heart leapt to your throat at the sight of him. Relief flooded through you, your constant worries since he had left you in the infirmary slipping away.

Katara edged forward, and as Azula channelled her lightning she shot it at Katara, a wave of panic engulfing you. Zuko leapt forward, protecting Katara and getting a bolt of lightning to his chest. Azula cackled maniacally – you had known she was losing her stability – and Katara took over the battle, attacking Azula with all her power.

Sprinting towards Zuko, you collapsed over him, his head in your hands.

“Zuko, please,” you murmured, tears collecting in the corner of your eyes.

A hot flame seared across your back, and you turned to face Azula, a fierce shot of ice pummelling her way. As Katara distracted her, you focussed on Zuko again, water pooling over his chest as you placed your palms on top, that familiar silvery-blue glow starting to shimmer. Zuko groaned beneath you as Katara sealed herself into an ice prison with Azula, chaining her to the grates that held the Caldera’s water supply.

“Y/n,” Zuko stuttered, his voice hoarse.

 Smiling, you pulled him into your arms, your hands clasped around his neck. He nestled his head into your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rising, facing his sister as Katara rejoined you. 

Azula was wild, in a frenzy as her fire breathed hot and blue from her mouth. Tears streamed down her face, her hair choppy and unkempt. You felt pity for her, strangely enough. She had hurt you, belittled you, underestimated you, sure. You didn’t feel pity for Princess Azula though – you felt pity for the young, impressionable girl who had grown into someone filled with such hatred, that the only option for others was to fear her. Ozai was certainly no honourable figure to have around, and as you clasped your hand around Zuko’s, you felt so grateful that he had been able to see past his father, see past his reputation as Crown Prince, and follow his own path. 

Katara turned to you now, properly looking at you as she pulled you into a crushing hug.

“Oh, y/n, I was so worried about you. We all were.”

You smiled softly, shrugging.

“I’m still here,” you replied. “Though I cannot wait to feel the ocean around me again. I’ve felt oddly… dry for some time.” Zuko’s gaze was on you, and despite his pain, a feeling of warmth he hadn’t felt for years was beginning to take place.

 _____

The palace courtyard heaved with a happy hum. Citizens from all over had gathered to witness the coronation of Fire Lord Zuko – the mark of a new era.

You watched him in admiration, standing with your grandfather, Katara, Sokka and the rest of the Water Tribe. 

His voice rang clear across the courtyard, more confident than you’d ever seen him. Aang stood next to him, proudly watching his friend become the leader he was born to be – even if he did not always believe it. 

Sokka elbowed you, leaning into your ear to whisper. 

“Your turn next, Fire Lady,” he muttered, laughing softly to himself. Katara thumped him square in the back, and you stifled a laugh as Pakku and Hakoda turned to scold the three of you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered back with a giggle.

“You know he’s in love with you, right?” Sokka looked at you from the corner of his eye as Katara whacked him again.

“Sokka! Don’t ruin it!”

 You gave Sokka your best quizzical look, but he looked at you apologetically before zipping his lips and throwing his palms up in a shrug.

Huffing, you returned your attention to the palace steps. In the distance, behind Zuko and Aang, you could see Mai hovering in the background.

You watched her carefully as she winked at you, and while Zuko spoke about uniting the Four Nations you realised that nothing had changed – he was still unattainable. Not because he didn’t care for you – you didn’t wholly trust Sokka’s words, even though you had a feeling there was truth to them – but because he was still Fire Lord. There would be standards and traditions to keep, and ultimately, a Water Tribe Fire Lady wouldn’t fit in.

Clasping your hands together, you decided you would leave on the first ship heading back to the Northern Water Tribe. Pakku had changed his ways, and it was high time that women were taught how to waterbend by a master – a female master at that. 

A silent sort of grief filed through your body, aching for a life you might have had with Zuko. You knew it was for the best, and you had intended on leaving him a note to explain your absence – facing him was just too hard.

Slipping the note into Katara’s hands, you thanked her, before leaving the palace courtyard and making your way to the harbour. Here you would wait for the next available ship, your legs dangling over the water in the dark. The water trickled through your hands – spirits it felt good to bend fresh water again. There was silence all around you – everyone on Capital Island had attended the coronation, and the festivities continued onto the streets as the night wore on.

A soft, orange glow reflected from the water beneath you, your breath running cold. 

“Katara came to me with this note. She said it couldn’t wait.”

Biting your lip, you stood up to face Zuko.

“I know that none of this has been easy for you, but I never thought you’d leave without saying goodbye,” he murmured. The sadness in his eyes made your heart ache.

“Zuko, it’s not that easy,” you whispered. “We can’t have a future together. There are certain… expectations you have to uphold. Mai is much better suited for the Fire Lord of the Fire Nation,” a small laugh escaping your lips as you tried to lighten the atmosphere.

“I don’t love Mai,” Zuko responded fiercely. “I love you.”

“Please, Zuko. You can’t change my mind.”

He considered you, watching carefully as your fingers twitched at your sides, your hair softly blowing in the wind.

“I won’t make you stay. But y/n, you must know. I have yearned for you since you first touched my face so delicately in the Crystal Catacombs. No one, save for my mother, has ever been that gentle with me. I didn’t even realise that’s how this could feel,” he exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, eyes closed as you pulled his hands into yours, bringing them to your chest.

“Zuko.” You brought his fingers to your lips, kissing the tips gently. “Maybe in another life.”

“I won’t give up on you, y/n. I gave my heart to you in Ba Sing Se, and I want you to keep it. Maybe that way, when I meet you again, we will be ready.”

Tears began to roll down your cheek as Zuko released himself from your grip, reaching up to place his hands in your hair, pulling you closer as you pressed his lips to yours. You felt yourself erupt, feeling everything everywhere as your mind focussed on one thing only: his lips his lips his lips. Zuko’s fingers knotted into your hair, caressing you wildly as you held one hand against his chest and the other delicately resting on his scar.

A loud bang echoed through the air as the night sky was dappled in colours of blue, green, white, gold and red, fireworks to celebrate the new Fire Lord.

Zuko looked at you, solemnly, holding your hands in his as you pulled away from each other.

“You are always welcome in the Fire Nation, y/n. I will always want you.”

The Fire Lord turned away from you, wiping a tear from his eye. His heart was hammering, and he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even been Fire Lord for a day, and you were right to an extent – his advisors would most definitely want a Fire Nation queen.

A gentle sob escaped you as you watched Zuko retreat, hand clutching your robes as if that would alleviate the pain.

“Zuko, wait – I do love you. I’m sorry it’s happened this way. But I love you. You are the sun, and when I stand in it, I am warmed.”

_____ 

Zuko was ridiculously proud of himself. Three years on from his coronation, he was holding the first Fire Lily Festival in years – his first since becoming Fire Lord. Ozai hadn’t been particularly fond of any festivities that didn’t encourage the war efforts, and so it had been some time since the citizens of the Fire Nation had been able to enjoy the excitement that they brought.

Zuko’s mother, Ursa, had helped with many of the details of festival – and she had exclaimed to Zuko that it would be a magnificent idea to invite citizens of the Four Nations – something to welcome them to the new Fire Nation – one that resided on love and peace, not hatred and war.

The palace courtyard was buzzing with people, the hum of laughter and music and good spirits could be felt from miles away.

Zuko stood with his friends, laughing with Aang as Toph played with his younger sister, Kiyi. Toph was making rocks rise in small squares, and Kiyi was attempting to smack them back down before Toph removed them for her. Aang and Katara stood underneath the cherry blossoms, holding hands as they admired delicate art made from the Fire Lily flower.

Zuko sighed, excusing himself from the group as he retreated to the rear of the palace, in need of a quick quiet space to think.

A soft flame in his hand, he followed the path around to the pond, intending to sit for a moment with the turtle ducks, when he saw you.

You had your back to him, unaware of anyone approaching you. You hadn’t been sure about attending, but Katara had convinced you that it wouldn’t be weird at all. You’d tried to ask about Mai, but she’d promptly shut you down, informing you that she’d gone to the liberty of getting you a dress made for the event and that her answer was final.

Smiling to yourself, you sent a soft trickle of water over the turtle ducks, laughing as they frolicked in the water. 

Zuko couldn’t believe himself – he would have been convinced you were a vision, just a figment of his imagination, until you laughed and the soft sound vibrated through his entire being. 

You were beautiful – always had been – in your blue dress, wrapped around your body, your arms exposed in the heat of the spring. Your skin was darker, your hair lighter, and he could see small dark tattoos on your fingers, in various different symbols. Your hair fell simply down your back, pulled back from your face in a braid, white beads dotted through so they looked like stars in the night sky.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You turned to face Zuko, dropping the water you’d been holding in your palm over your dress.

“Oh, spirits,” you muttered, flicking at the dress to get the water off.

“Here, let me,” Zuko murmured, moving closer as he held the fabric between his fingers, running his palm over it. It dried immediately, the warmth seeping through your skin.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” you said with a smile, bowing ever so slightly.

“Oh, stop. I’m just Zuko.”

“Okay, just Zuko,” you replied with a giggle. You weren’t sure where this was coming from – you’d been so afraid to see him and make a fool of yourself, but your giddiness was running absolutely rampant. Seeing Zuko again – it felt about the same as when you had finally immersed yourself in the ocean after being imprisoned by Azula for so long.

“You look well,” he commented. You smiled bashfully, ducking your face from view. Zuko looked good too – in fact, he’d never looked better. He looked strong and healthy, exactly what one would expect in a leader.

“Thank you, Zuko. I’m doing well. I’ve been travelling between the Poles, teaching healing and bending and – and it’s going well,” you said. You couldn’t even speak; your nerves were affecting you that much.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

You did as you were told, taking a seat on the grass next to the pond, removing your shoes as you dipped your toes in the water. Zuko returned quickly, following your lead and taking a seat next to you. A shiver ran through you as you felt his warmth – how long has it been since I’ve had this?

Silently, Zuko reached for your hand, placing in it a beautiful, vibrant, fire lily.

“I’ve waited some time to give you one of these,” he murmured, pink blush colouring his cheeks.

You placed your hand over his, squeezing it softly.

“For so long, I’ve thought about this moment. When you were… when you were a prisoner, and I brought you the water, I could only think of one thing. When I was a boy, I picked a fire lily for my mother, but Azula distracted me and it died. I tried to revive it, give it more water, but it was useless. And when you were in the Tower, all I could think about was what would happen to you if you dried out. I should have done more. I should have stood up to my father sooner. But I was scared. And seeing you that day, the way you completely changed with the water in your palms… I know I’ve made some bad choices, but you gave me hope.”

You wrapped your arms around Zuko, feeling the weight of his confession evaporate as he melted into you. You could feel his tears as they dripped down your back, and tears of your own trickled down your face.

“Sometimes good people do bad things. What’s important is what we learn from our mistakes.”

“Yes,” he mumbled into you. “I’ll be damned if I ever let you dry out again.”

 Zuko found your lips now, his arms roving over you as your heart thumped in your chest. A small laugh escaped your lips between hot, messy kisses and Zuko pulled back, eyebrows raised.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just have this odd feeling that everyone is going to know about this, soon,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Toph has excellent hearing,” you laughed as Zuko pulled you into his arms, legs intertwined with his.

“Don’t leave me again,” Zuko whispered as he pressed hot, desperate kisses to your neck. “I couldn’t bear it.”

 “No,” you agreed. “I just want to be close to you.”

“Mmm. To have you in my arms is enough.”

_____

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[mischiefandspirits]

Doppelgänger (17/19)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Reign Storm, Part 3}

“It’s like shooting skeleton fish in a barrel,” Doppelgänger chuckled as they flew up to Valerie’s side, blasting one of the skeleton’s harrowing her as their own crowd rushed into the football stadium after them.

“They don’t put up much of a fight, but there’s a lot of them,” she argued. “You going to duplicate?”

“Already did. We've got our own crowds.”

“It’d be nice if you could make yourself a crowd in return.”

“Sorry, we’re still working on making more than three of us.”

“Hello, son.”

Doppelgänger gave a long, drawn-out groan as Plasmius flew up to the two despite still firing on the skeletons. The older ghost tried to speak when they’d finished, only for the ghost kid to start right back up.

“Are you quite done?” Plasmius asked over the groaning.

Valerie turned to fire at him, but he dodged to the side. He stopped with Doppelgänger between her and him.

The younger ghost stopped their groaning to say, “You know, a human shield only works if the shield’s both bigger than you and someone that the person you’re hiding from won’t shoot. We are neither of those.”

“You’re also not human,” Valerie pointed out.

“I think that’s debatable, but we’ll add it to the list,” they said and fired a blast at Plasmius.

“Calm down, son! I didn't come here to fight you! You have other things to worry about!”

“Okay, even if we were your kid -- which we aren’t because gross -- we’re nonbinary, so still not your son. So get lost. We have this under control!”

A blur of black barreled into them and rose up to reveal a knight in black armor atop a pegasus. The knight had Doppelgänger by the throat and pointed his sword at them. “You are the one who destroyed the King’s ring.”

“We’re not one, but we have destroyed a ring recently. Not sure if it was a king’s, though. Can we get a description?” Doppelgänger said before a swirl of comets wrapped around them and they disappeared.

Another swirl appeared behind the knight, leaving behind the ghost kid. They cheered and shot a blast that unseated the knight. “Yes, it worked. Still not as far as we’d meant to go, but we’ll take it.”

“If you would allow me to trai-” Plasmius started.

“Not interested. Now make yourself useful.” Doppelgänger pointed at the knight, who was pulling himself to his feet.

The knight’s eyes locked onto Valerie and narrowed. “You also carry the ring’s mark.”

She leveled her rifle at him, but a pair of blasts knocked him away before she could fire.

“Right on time,” Doppelgänger said as their two copies flew into the stadium. “Wait a second, is that the Fright Knight? Who? He’s the age-old spirit of Halloween.” The trio began to casually blast the knight back and forth across the field as they spoke together. “Legend has it that if his sword The Soul Shredder cuts through you, you get teleported to a dimension where you live out your worst fear. We read about him in the book we got for Halloween. Did the book have any way to defeat him? We think there was something about a pumpkin, but we can’t remember. We’ll go check.”

One of the ghost kids shot off, giving the knight a chance to finally dodge a blast. “Fools! All I wanted to do was retrieve those who destroyed the ring and return to Pariah's Keep, but now, you give me no choice.” He knelt and held up his sword, point down. “By the authority vested in me by my Lord and Liege…” The sword began to glow and he drove it into the ground, causing a wave of energy to roll outwards across the ground. “I claim this town now and forever under the banner of Lord Pariah, the King of All Ghosts!”

Energy shot up from the sword high into the air before rolling outwards to form a green dome across the city.

Both remaining Doppelgängers fired at the knight, but he ducked away. “The sword has sunk, your die now cast, The sword removed shall signal fast. Surrender your-”

He was cut off as a blast knocked him rolling across the ground.

“We hate rhymes. Did we find a pumpkin?”

The third Doppelgänger flew up with a smirk and pulled a fake jack-o'-lantern out of thin air.

“Found it in the boxes of old Halloween decorations like we said.”

They landed next to the sword and dropped the decoration at their feet.

“Gotta move fast. Cover us. Red, Plasmius, keep the skeleton’s back. We’ll handle tall, dark, and fashionable. Fashionable? Really? Yes, we love that aesthetic.”

Val nodded and pulled out her grenade launcher as the other two placed themselves between their third and the knight, but Plasmius’s attention was on the ghost kid.

“What are you planning?”

The ghost kid smirked and wrapped their hand around the sword’s grip.

“To cease the storm…”

“No,” the knight yelled, but the ghost kid’s copies kept him back.

“To end the fear…”

“Wait!” Plasmius yelled as the ghost kid began to draw the sword from the ground.

“The sword must sheathe…”

As soon as the blade left the ground, the energy feeding into the dome cut off and it began to crack. Instead of the sky being behind it, Valerie saw the endless green of the ghost zone.

“In pumpkin near!”

Doppelgänger sank the sword into the fake pumpkin and everything froze. Then the sky returned.

White and green light began to pour from the decoration as the dome shuddered then began to rise up and flow back into the sword in a reverse of how it had just formed.

“No, NO!” the knight shouted as a vortex formed above the sword and began to draw him in.

Valerie only had a second to feel victorious before the vortex began to pull at her as well. She lost her footing on her board, but the ghost kid flew in to help her. Two of them grabbed her and the last grabbed her board before they all flew to the bleachers and grabbed hold. Once she was sure she was safe, she looked over the field.

Plasmius had taken refuge on a goal post, but many of the skeletons were being sucked up. The knight was clawing at the ground, but soon lost his grip and disappeared into the swirling green. Once he was gone, the vortex slowed and dissipated while the pumpkin holding the sword -- now looking like an actual jack-o'-lantern, if purple with a green glow -- vanished in a flash.

“Well, that’s one down,” Doppelgänger said.

“You idiot! The sword was a signal!” Plasmius yelled, brushing himself off.

“Yeah, we heard. That’s why we got rid of it!”

“Not soon enough.”

The teens looked up to see a large ghost floating over them.

After a second, one of the ghost kids pointed at him.

“You know, we expected more from the King of All Ghosts. He’s just a guy. A tall guy, but still.”

Another nodded, looking disappointed.

“Yeah, what is this Odin wannabe nonsense? We thought we’d be facing some beautiful Lovecraftian horror. We feel ripped off.”

The third tilted their head.

“He’s not even that big. Like ten feet, maybe. The dragon made a more impressive sight, and she was literally just a fairytale princess. You’d think a king could do better.”

“Are you done ticking him off?” Valerie asked, watching Dark get angrier and angrier.

They shrugged. “We’re just saying. He doesn’t even have a crown.”

Then the one who’d tilted their head shot to the side, the one who’d nodded stepped in front of Valerie and raised a shield, and the one who’d pointed braced for impact as Dark sent a massive blast towards them.

The shield held, but the ghost kid was forced to a knee as they poured their strength into it and it shattered apart as soon as it wasn’t needed. Once it was down, Valerie could see that the one who’d taken the blast head-on had created a crater in the bleachers that they were pulling themself out of. Meanwhile, the one who’d avoided it was zipping around the field, keeping Dark’s attention. They fired upon the king while bobbing and weaving around the return fire.

It didn’t look like the attacks were doing much damage.

“That hurt,” they said as the one limped towards her and their kneeling copy turned to her. “You should get clear.”

“We should all fall back,” Plasmius said, appearing next to them.

“Even if we could, he’d destroy the town trying to chase us down. You can run if you want to,” they said then they shot towards the field.

One landed and held their hands out. Thick wires shot out of the ground and grabbed Dark’s legs, electrocuting him in the process. At the same time, the other ghost kid shot towards the fight. They engaged the king as the one that had been fighting him backed off. They reached to the side and plucked a pot holding a glowing spider-like plant out of nowhere. They chucked the plant at Dark’s head then re-engaged him as their copy pulled back to command the plant to wrap around the king’s eyes and neck.

“The boy has Chlorokinesis?” Plasmius said.

“You didn’t know that?” Valerie said, checking her rifle and calling her board to her.

“He’s never used it against me. He’s only even used the Technokinesis recently.”

“They’ve had both for as long as I’ve known them. They’ve tried to use it on me, but I’m usually too high for the plants and my gear’s protected against their control.”

“ENOUGH!”

The two looked up to see Dark snatch the plant-controlling ghost kid from the air and throw them. The other flying one tried to catch them, but they both ended up crashing to the ground. The third flew over to them as the king tore off the wires and burned away the plant.

“Our baby,” the ghost kid whined, one staring at the plant’s burning remains with fury.

“Surrender, children! You can't possibly win!”

“Surrender isn’t in our vocabulary. And we can’t possibly let you loose on our city.” The one that had been controlling the wires helped the one that had been thrown to their feet, letting them lean against them, as the other placed themself in front of the two. “Besides, we don't have to win. we just have to make sure that you lose.”

Dark scowled and shot a blast at them. The one in front summoned a shield, but it shattered almost immediately and the three took most of the blast.

Valerie leveled her rifle at Dark, but Plasmius yanked it away.

“Don’t be foolish, girl. He will kill you.”

“Like you care.

“Considering you’re my only help, I do. We need a plan.”

“Face it, children, it's over.”

Valerie turned back to the field to see Dark walking towards the trio as they slowly got up onto their knees.

“No,” they growled. “No!”

Shaking with pain, the trio looked up. 

Their goggles glowed with black energy and then three things happened at once.

The one on the left threw their head back and screamed. Black sonic waves tore through the field and slammed into the king.

The one in the middle doubled over, hands clawing at the ground as they keened. Thick black vines wove in and out of the ground in front of them until they could latch onto the king, wrapping around his arms and legs to tear deep gashes into his skin with their thorns.

The one on the right wrapped their arms around themselves and sobbed. Black tears flowed down their face and formed a void beneath them that stretched out underneath the king.

The vines held him still, the rings drained his power, and the void drew him in.

Dark thrashed against his bindings, but they held and he was soon consumed by the darkness.

The trio collapsed.

The field went silent, the vines shriveled into nothing, and the darkness faded.

Consciousness clearly fading, the trio latched hands and fell through the ground.

Oddly though, they didn’t seem to go intangible and Valerie swore she saw the faintest hint of a white-blue-purple light just before they completely disappeared.

Slowly, she turned to Plasmius to see him gaping at the now empty field. “Did you know they had that kind of power?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny stared out at the stars as Blobena nuzzled up against his cheek.

“My everything hurts,” Tucker croaked, the first sound any of them had made since Danny had dropped them into the Space Fold then promptly passed out. He’s not sure how long they’ve been in there now, but he’s been awake for at least an hour and he knew the others woke before him.

“Sh!” Sam moaned.

It was quiet for a few moments, then Sam asked, “Danny. Why are your blobs in here? More importantly, why is one trying to eat my hair?”

With a sigh, Danny turned to see Sam and the blob in question. “I think Blobson likes the taste of your shampoo. He did the same thing to me two weeks ago when you let me shower at your place after the fight with Garbage Manster.”

“Wait, you seriously named them all? And with blob puns?” Tucker said, pinwheeling slowly near Sam’s feet. “I thought that was just a joke you and Valerie were telling.”

“We had a lot of time in that cage, okay?”

“Danny, get this thing off my hair or I’m smashing it.”

The boy pouted, but reached over to scoop up the blob. He set him on his shoulder next to Bloberick.

“Now again, what are they doing here?”

“In my defense, I just meant to hide them in here for a second because my mom was coming down the stairs and I didn’t have time to get them all back through the portal. I’ve tried to get them to leave, but they won’t.”

“You keep my ghost plants in here!” she huffed, gesturing to the quartet of pots holding plants she’d gathered from the ghost zone.

“They don’t bother them, promise!”

“Speaking of which, how dare you throw Arachne at that jerk!”

“Our ecto-beams weren’t doing much! I thought the poison on her fronds would help!”

“We can get you a new one, Sam,” Tucker said. “It’s not like it was sentient like Audrey II.”

“We can get you a new phone, Tucker,” she shot back. “It’s not like it’s sentient like Audrey II.”

“She’s as good as!” Tucker gasped, pulling his phone out to clutch it to his chest. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Hello, Tuck-man. The time is 9:34 p.m.”

Danny snickered. “Tuck-man.”

“Shut it, Danny Blobton,” Tucker said, grabbing one of the blobs floating near him and tossing it at Danny.

If anything, the blob seemed to be pleased by the action, even as it squished against his forehead. It gave a singing buzz and nuzzled further against him.

“Great, now Blobnessa is never going to let go.”

“Dude, you’ve got issues.”

“Wait, did your phone say it was after nine at night?” Sam asked, turning to Tucker.

“Yeah, it said… Oh man, how long have we been gone for?”

“My parents are probably tearing the town apart looking for me,” Danny groaned.

“Not to mention your girlfriend. I’m sure my parents are already blaming you. Crud, I’m going to have to wear their stupid dresses for a week if they’re ever going to let me see you again,” Sam said, grabbing Danny’s arm and tugging him to her.

“I swear, if my parents try to take me on one of those tech-free relaxation getaways because of this, I’m moving into the fold. Blobs or not,” Tucker muttered, hooking his ankle around Sam’s.

Danny gently shooed and brushed all the blobs off himself then turned all three of them invisible and dropped them onto the football field.

Thankfully no one was around so they turned visible and climbed to their feet.

“We’re going to need alibis,” Sam said.

“Got cornered by some skeletons in an abandoned building?” Tucker offered. “Only came out when we were sure it was safe, but then didn’t recognize where we were and stumbled about until we found somewhere familiar.”

“Sounds good enough for me,” Danny yawned. “Can either of you transform?”

They shook their heads.

“Guess we’re walking.”

They only made it a block before the Fenton RV came roaring up and a hysterical Maddie Fenton tackled Danny to the ground.