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makeste · 3 years

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“but I thought about how I needed to say this”

a.k.a. yet another meta dissection of The Apology. I actually wrote most of this up on Friday night based on the original Japanese (@pikahlua has an excellent translation up here, and I also used @hanashimas’ translations as a reference as well), but I wanted to wait until the official release, though that turned out to be a mixed bag to say the least lol.

I would also recommend reading @pikahlua and @class1akids’ breakdowns of this scene (here and here, respectively), because they are excellent, and because if any scene deserves to have as many meta breakdowns written about it as possible, it’s this one.

anyway so here goes.

Caleb did a more accurate job with this than the fanscan, even if he did try his best to take us out of the seriousness of the moment by throwing in that swiss cheese line lol. anyway so there are two things I want to talk about here. the first is the line about Izuku not remembering, which I thought was a nice touch. of course he doesn’t remember what Kacchan said back then. he wasn’t exactly in the soundest emotional state after seeing one of the people he cares about most taking a near-fatal blow that was meant for him. I’d be shocked if he remembers anything about the aftermath (including the way he flew into a mindless rage afterwards) right up until the point when he entered the OFA Interstellar Party Void with Tomura. anyway, so I thought that was a nice callback.

and speaking of emotional states, the other thing I wanted to talk about is the part that Caleb got right which the fan scanlation didn’t. “but I had more to say.” in other words, “stop trying to win on your own” wasn’t just a one-liner; it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer speech. “there were other things that I needed to say.”

like, can we just stop and talk about that for a second. because basically what this means is that in that instant, when Kacchan pushed Deku out of the way and got impaled, his one and only thought was that he needed to apologize to Deku. his life was presumably flashing before his eyes, he had no idea if he was going to survive or not, and the only thing on his mind was how urgently he needed to make things right with his former childhood friend.

moving on!

so I have a confession to make, which is that I am relieved to see Katsuki describing this as the reason why he bullied Deku, as opposed to Horikoshi trying to retcon it into some sort of “secretly he was just trying to protect him and keep him out of harm’s way because he was worried” thing, which ngl would not have gelled very well with me. the thing is that I’m really not a fan of the whole “Kacchan Did Nothing Wrong” mentality that some fans seem to have. like, I have seen all sorts of convoluted attempts to find excuses for Katsuki’s shitty behavior, but in my view those attempts undermine what I love about his character in the first place. Katsuki is such a great character specifically because he is not perfect. his redemption arc is so compelling because he was such a giant asshole at the start. he was completely at fault, and he acknowledges this, and takes full responsibility for it. and that is fucking fantastic.

his arc is so great because it doesn’t rely on garnering sympathy by giving him a Tragic Past, or by trying to foist the blame for his behavior over on someone else. it’s an arc that acknowledges that redemption isn’t something you achieve by making people feel sorry for you; it’s something you have to earn by actively working to change and do better. and by forgoing the “misunderstood/tragic past” route, Horikoshi is making a statement that anyone can go down the wrong path, but that more importantly, anyone can also choose at any time to turn away from said path. there is only one requirement for doing so, and that is realizing that you’ve done wrong, and deciding that you want to change.

anyway, so in chapter 284 Kacchan of course had that whole speech about Deku not taking himself into account, and mentioned how that made him want to keep his distance. and a good chunk of fandom took this to mean that Katsuki’s bullying was actually a misguided response to Deku’s reckless tendencies -- sort of an “if I show him how weak and powerless he really is, I can get him to accept the reality that he’s quirkless, and that being a hero will just get him hurt or killed” type of thing. and I won’t lie, for a good while I was wondering myself if Horikoshi was really going to go down that route. and like I said, I am honestly relieved that he didn’t. not only for the reasons stated in the previous paragraph, but also because the message that would have sent -- that there are certain circumstances in which bullying can almost be excused because the bully had Good Intentions and was just trying to save the other person from themselves, and so it Wasn’t That Bad, Actually -- is all kinds of fucked up to say the least. so yeah, I’m glad we ended up steering well clear of that.

(ETA: this post was long enough already so I edited out the 3 additional paragraphs I originally wrote analyzing the dialogue from 284. but just to be clear, I’m not trying to imply that Kacchan worrying about Deku’s recklessness is a retconned thing that Horikoshi only threw into the story recently, because there are multiple instances throughout the story where he clearly is worried and in total denial of it. but I firmly believe those feelings are not what led to the bullying. they’re two separate things. Kacchan worrying about Deku is what prompts him to yell at him in chapter 1 when Deku comes to save him. but it’s not what incited him to burn his notebook and taunt him earlier in that same chapter. that action had a much meaner and more selfish motivation behind it, and I’m glad Horikoshi didn’t try to change it up last minute, because it wouldn’t have felt right.)

thankfully as of this chapter I think we can safely cross that out as a possibility, as we’re given the true explanation straight from Katsuki himself. and the truth is that he bullied Deku out of insecurity and jealousy and fear and intolerance. there was nothing noble about it. there were no good intentions concealed in his actions. there are no justifications given, no excuses offered, and no mitigating circumstances to be considered, other than the fact (which neither he nor Horikoshi bring up) that he was and is still a child, and that children make mistakes.

it’s an explanation that challenges many of fandom’s ideas on who is and isn’t eligible to be redeemed. there is no Ozai in Katsuki’s backstory. there’s no great tragedy that he spent a lifetime trying to rise above. the only villain in Katsuki’s story is Katsuki himself. the only darkness that he has to overcome is his own. and it’s challenging, because I think many people believe the only way someone can be redeemed for doing bad things is if bad things happen to them in return. but what Horikoshi is saying here is that that’s not the case. bad doesn’t erase bad. and the one and only way to truly earn redemption is by doing good.

and that’s what makes this such a phenomenal scene for me. by not shying away from Katsuki’s flaws and failings, and having him take full responsibility for them, Horikoshi keeps the apology from being self-serving, and underscores the true depth of Katsuki’s character development. the level of self-awareness he has here is something most people can only dream of. which is very fitting, as that’s perhaps the most important takeaway from his character arc -- that it’s only by acknowledging your own weaknesses and flaws that you can learn to overcome them and reach your full potential.

one last thing to point out here, which is that in the panel where Katsuki finally acknowledges his terrible treatment of Deku, Deku is not even visible. instead, Horikoshi drew the panel from a perspective that makes it appear that Katsuki is addressing this particular line not just to Deku, but to all of his classmates.

again, he shows him taking full responsibility and admitting his wrongdoings in front of the people whose opinions and approval he cares about most. and just to clarify in case there’s any confusion from Caleb’s translation, Kacchan’s wording makes it very clear that he wasn’t just “mean” to Deku, but that he full-on bullied him (he uses the same verb -- “ijimeru” (苛める) -- that he did back in chapter 284). there’s no attempt to downplay his actions here.

moving on now, this chapter also reaffirmed another thing about Deku and Kacchan’s relationship which I was glad to see revisited -- Kacchan’s unwavering belief in Deku’s ability. this is one of those paradoxical things about their relationship which I’ve always been fascinated by, but which is also kind of hard to explain, because I don’t want it to come off like I’m trying to put a positive spin on something which was unequivocally awful. like, please don’t think I’m trying to say that Katsuki’s bullying of Deku was in any way a good thing. but that being said, there’s also a strange irony at play here, which is that Katsuki’s jealousy and insecurity also betray the fact that even at his very worst, he never once underestimated Deku. he has always believed in Deku’s strength, even when that strength pissed him off and made him afraid and uneasy.

no one else -- not All Might, or even Deku’s own mom -- believed from the get-go that Deku could become a hero. but Katsuki never once counted him out, even when he was calling him a pebble in his shoe. he confesses here that even though he “tried to act superior by rejecting [Deku]”, in truth he was never able to shake the feeling that Deku was above him. long before he ever understood the concept of “win to save”, he knew instinctively that there was a strength in Deku’s heart that couldn’t be measured, and which had the potential to surpass even his own strength. and I’ve always felt that this was so important, because it’s the one aspect of their early relationship that hinted that on some level, however subconscious, Katsuki held the same type of faith in Deku that Deku always held in him. it was one of the few things that hinted at there being a possible path towards reconciliation one day. and it paved the way for the most important shift in their relationship to date, when Katsuki finally realized who Deku got his quirk from, and responded not with resentment or spite, but with acceptance.

moving on, I also really love the way we see them portrayed at the different stages of their childhood throughout this speech, and how it perfectly lines up with the dialogue. from small children (when Katsuki talks about his insecurities first manifesting), to middle schoolers (when he talks about the bullying), to high schoolers (when he talks about the past year and everything he’s learned at U.A.). Horikoshi really didn’t have to go that hard, but he did, and that’s why we love him.

and then we finally get to That Part.

where do I even start with this there are so many things omg.

the bow. this is the one and only time Katsuki has ever bowed to anyone of his own volition as far as I recall. and this absolutely is a bow, just to be clear, even though his form is straight-up garbage (very Kacchan-esque, with his feet and arms spaced apart because he’s still a punk after all). this is Kacchan showing more humility and respect than he’s ever shown to anyone else in his entire life.

regarding “Izuku”, I actually have mixed feelings about this to tell the truth. I think it was a good call here because it was incredibly effective in setting the tone and showing just how serious Kacchan is. however if he continues to use “Izuku” rather than “Deku” from here on out, that would give the impression in hindsight that all his past usage of “Deku” really was meant as an insult, which would undermine some of my favorite scenes. I would really like to believe that since DvK2 or thereabouts, Kacchan has (mostly) been using “Deku (affectionate)” rather than “Deku (useless loser)”, lol. but if he switches to the “nicer” name on a permanent basis following his apology, it implies that the previous nickname was indeed being used cruelly. and so honestly I hope this was just a one-time thing, because I do think that in Katsuki’s mind, the name “Deku” hasn’t been meant as a slight to him for a long time now.

“my truth/this is what I truly feel” -- the word Katsuki uses in Japanese is honne (本音), and if you’re familiar with the concept of honne/tatemae, that’s the same “honne” he’s talking about here. it means that he’s casting aside all of his walls and facades and expressing what he truly feels. and of course, one of the fascinating things about Katsuki’s character is that he’s the exact opposite of most people in that he chooses to put his meanness on full display to the public, and ironically it’s the kindest parts of himself which he tends to keep the most carefully guarded and hidden away. this also means that while his rage and anger are very often insincere and put on just for show, those relatively few occasions where he lets his humanity truly shine through are pretty much 100% genuine, as is the case with this one here.

and Deku’s face says it all when it comes to how powerful those moments can be as a result.

and this, right here, is why it wasn’t enough for Katsuki to atone solely through his actions, and why he needed to actually say the words as well. it’s not that the words are more important; obviously the actions are far and away the most important part, and carry far more meaning. but the reason why Katsuki needed to say the words as well is simply because Izuku needed to hear them. needed to, and deserved to, because this is one of the most important people in the world to him.

and so he deserves to know that the relationship isn’t just one-sided, and that he is just as important to Kacchan as Kacchan is to him. he deserves to know that Kacchan understands how horribly he treated him, and that he’s sorry for it. and he deserves to know that Kacchan, without any expectation of it changing their relationship -- meaning that he will continue to feel this way regardless of what Izuku says or does from here on out -- cares about him. now more than ever, with AFO out there doing everything in his power to make Izuku feel as alone as possible, this is something that he really, really needed to hear.

so this part has some interesting wordplay which neither Caleb’s translation nor the fan scanlation was really able to get across. basically, in the Japanese version, when Katsuki talks about “those ideals”, Horikoshi uses the kanji for “ideal”, but pronounces it as “All Might.” obviously the meaning of this isn’t too hard to decipher, as we all know how much both boys admire All Might. to them, he absolutely is synonymous with the Ideal. so this is a way of showing that respect they both have towards him, even as Katsuki goes on to point out the one fatal flaw that All Might was never able to overcome.

and speaking of interesting wording, as others have noted, at this point in his speech Katsuki switches from “temee” (which he was using earlier during the “your strengths and my weaknesses” part) to “omae” (“omae” being a less insulting word for “you”, though still very manly and tough-sounding), which is definitely a big deal. though fwiw this is not the first time he’s used “omae” for Deku (he switches to it briefly right after DvK2, when he tells Deku “you had the strongest guy lay the groundwork for you -- don’t lose”, and then later when they’re walking back to the dorms and he says he’ll learn and get stronger by watching everyone around him just like Deku did). it’s definitely a good choice on Horikoshi’s part though, as it makes this last part of the speech sound more earnest and sincere.

just a quick note, he does indeed use a plural pronoun here, as in “the obstacles that you can’t overcome, we will overcome.” but as @pikahlua pointed out, the “we” here is ambiguous -- it could either mean “we” as in class 1-A -- “we will overcome them for you” -- OR it could mean “we” as in all of them -- class 1-A and Deku. “we will overcome them together.” idk about you, but I know which one gets my vote.

anyway, and so this is the line that finally wins Deku over and allows him to let go of his fears, however briefly. what I love about this is Kacchan’s utter conviction. one thing that Caleb’s translation doesn’t quite get across is Kacchan’s use of the word morenaku -- “without exception” -- when he talks about how they’re going to save everyone and win. it echoes that same sentiment he showed back during the Joint Training arc -- that it’s not a perfect victory unless they save everyone. every last person. and he explicitly lists Deku among their number, just so there can be no doubt.

and Deku’s response to this (or at least his thoughts, since he’s not really able to get many words out) pretty much brings everything full circle here.

he acknowledges that everyone else has gotten ahead of him. which is especially meaningful given who he’s standing directly across from. because for most of the series, as we all well know, it’s been Kacchan who was woefully lagging behind Deku in the character growth department. but now Deku himself is acknowledging that not only has Kacchan finally caught up at last, but that he and the others have surpassed him. which is only temporary, I should add, as I have zero doubt that Deku will catch up again soon. but the fact remains that just as Deku’s rapid increase in strength and skill left Kacchan scrambling to keep up earlier in the series, Kacchan’s extraordinary character development has now left Deku in that same position. as All Might once put it, “when he’s starting at level one, and you’re already at level 50, it’s only natural that you’ll be growing at different rates.”

and what’s so wonderful about this though is that the two of them are finally approaching that point where they’ve both caught up to each other and are finally starting to level out. Deku is a full-on badass, and Kacchan is out here talk-no-jutsuing with the best of them. the two of them have been chasing and chasing after each other this entire time, and now they’re finally just about ready to meet in the middle at long last, with each of them fully embodying both of those two crucial aspects -- win, and save.

just about. because Deku still needs some help catching up. but seeing as help has already been offered -- and accepted -- I can’t imagine it will be very long now, and I can’t wait to see him finally overcoming those fears and doubts with his friends by his side. it’s going to be such a powerful moment.

and last but not least,

or, as I prefer,

you had one job, Caleb. flkjsdlk.

but at least this provides a good opportunity to note that unlike the “we’ll help you handle it” line earlier in the speech, here the phrasing is left up to interpretation, as he doesn’t use a pronoun. so it could be “we know”, or, as the fan scanlation put it, “I know.” or it could be both. regardless, it’s good stuff.

anyway, and so Deku passes out, and in the process Horikoshi gives us one last parting metaphor, just in case anyone still thinks Kacchan is all talk because they haven’t been paying attention for the past 322 chapters (more likely than you think). once again, Katsuki’s actions speak louder than his words (even his nice words) ever could: he is literally there to catch Deku when he falls.

so that’s it! my sincere thanks to anyone who actually read through all of my endless ramblings about this scene which I have been waiting for since day one. props to Horikoshi for taking on an impossibly difficult task, and pulling it off with all of the emotion and care and nuance that I’ve come to expect from his writing. imo he delivered on every single level with the exception of the aftermath, which I don’t consider to have actually happened yet. Deku’s part of this is definitely a “to be continued.” but yeah, as far as Kacchan’s part goes, 10/10. so fucking proud of this kid.

#bnha 322 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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NEW REPUBLIC ARC: PART 2 - DARKNESS AND DELIVERANCE

A/N: Thank you all for your patience and the repsonse to the last part! I'm so excited to see the response to this part given we get a small insight into more of readers past as well as some new characters (including our beautiful Kai) who I hope fit into the story relatively smoothly. As always, your engagement means so much to me to know what you enjoyed so I might provide more in the future! Love you all xx

Please see the notes at the end for explanations of lore mentioned and any creative liberties I’ve taken with it.

Word Count: 16k

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: Language, injury detail and death, allusions to PTSD.

Summary: Din’s recklessness this time was a step too far.

Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

By Llyrian, you were going to conveniently forget the oaths you made as a medic to save lives and murder the next person who looked at you sideways.

You were not in a good mood and it was all because of men. Typical. The duality of their ability to piss you off by both their presence and their absence was impressive even by your standards.

In a nutshell, you slept like shit and currently had a shadow following you.

You had a bed for the first time in a year, complete with a soft mattress and thick blanket. But you hardly slept a wink. It didn’t smell like him, like Din. You never realized how much you surrounded yourself in the musky spice of his skin to help you sleep, that intimate scent you only got when you were buried in his neck. It was more comforting than any mattress or fluffy pillow and you couldn’t smell it here. Starched linen and the faint smell of disuse – a clean but stagnant aroma – was all that filled your nose, keeping you awake until you finally threw your pillow away in frustration to use your arms instead. It didn’t help—the smell was still there, and his scent wasn’t. He wasn’t there.

A bad night sleep made it easier to let his absence feed into the anger you were already feeling towards him.

How could he have just left you here, so easily too—without a word of protest.

Anger was simple. Anger was power—you were in control, and you felt the gratification of the emotion instantly. You couldn’t be hurt when you were angry—selfish and greedy as it was, consuming you with no room for you to feel anything else.

Your eyes felt tight and puffy now as you wandered the corridors. The weight of your shadow loomed ever present, tugging at you like waterlogged clothes trying to drag you deeper while you struggled just to keep your head above water.

It kept ten paces behind you at all times. It chatted with passing colleagues, gripped the hand of friends it hadn’t seen in days. For all intents and purposes, your shadow appeared no different to any other person who worked on the Star Cruiser. But unlike anyone else, it never failed to follow you as soon as you began walking. Always ten paces behind, always far enough to keep out of your peripheral vision. It was there to give you the illusion of independence when in reality, you were just a dog on a long leash. A dangerous thing, fictitious freedom—and yet, precisely what someone who didn’t trust you – someone like the general – would want you to feel.

Since when were you an enemy to these people?

Was the disparity between a rebel jacket and a New Republic uniform so profound that shared history and former trust was wiped as though it never existed? What was that common phrase… forgetting the past was condemning the future. It sounded ironic on the flip side of war. So focused on eradicating the cancer of the Empire from the galaxy, they failed to realize they were carving out healthy flesh as well—destroying the memory and people they were before becoming the reigning authority. Fearless, hopeful optimists who wanted to make a difference fell into orderly, obedient positions. A decommissioned rebel jacket never worn, only postured to say we’re different, we did something good.

You stopped in the hallway you were currently wandering. They all looked the same, smooth lines and bright – but soft – lighting lining the skirting of the walls and the cornices of the curved ceiling. Clean in colour, but too sterile for your liking. You preferred the rustic, old—lived in feel of the Razor Crest. Like the New Republic paraded their rebel days, these hallways wore warmth like sheep’s clothing.

Your shadow paused when you did, leaning back against the smooth white wall in a bid to look casual. You hadn’t even been on the Star Cruiser for more than twenty-four hours, out of your room for less than three, and already you were sick of it. Surrounded by activity, noise and people—you were isolated under the eyes on an oppressive silence. A partisan divide between you and them, judged and condemned with a single glance for the company you kept and the uniform you didn’t wear.

The only reprieve you had was when Kai met you briefly when you first left your accommodation. In the guest quarters no less – an area of the ship designed to meet the standards of visitors from the Senate and other such important people – but you didn’t let their generosity fool you as being an act of kindness. No, these quarters – on the topmost floor of the Star Cruiser, were hardly used, rarely visited and never exposed to the ships activities.

The general could have had you in a cell, but you weren’t blind to the power Kai held on this Cruiser either—and while you might doubt their intentions you didn’t doubt Kai had a say in your comfort.

Si-Flachitt just wanted you far away from New Republic business.

Kai – ever the rebel – had other ideas. He accompanied you back down into the atrium with a gentle nudge to explore, to eat, to engage—“you’re not an enemy here, little fawn—” he implored with earnest eyes and a warm palm to the back of your neck. The familiarity of the gesture – tactile and intimate – might be normal between you on Pamarthe, but easily made eyebrows raise at the charming commanders indulgence in this no-named fugitive.

Suspicious eyes turned hostile when they believed you to be pulling the wool over their commanders eyes. You wondered if that would be the case if he was old and crusty and not the virile, charismatic thirty-something year old. Dark – almost black – hair that was as effortlessly messy as the jacket he left intentionally open and casual gave him an air of approachable charm that drew people in. Kai was handsome, striking with fiery eyes—a rebel through and through. He was a poster boy that had the New Republic creaming themselves at the knowledge of having such a man in a public, powerful position.

But here he was, consorting with the companion of a Mandalorian bounty hunter who made it clear he had no allegiance to the New Republic—escorting you with warm, easy smiles in your direction as his laughter filled the hall when your sharp tongue lashed him with wit and sarcasm fluidly.

But he was a commander – with a commanders workload – and he couldn’t stay long. Then you were alone again. You had been alone ever since Din had left the night before. You tried to figure out what was so different. It wasn’t the same as being alone on the Razor Crest, even when Din was in the cockpit or on a hunt and the child was asleep. You were alone, but you weren’t lonely. You were lonely here, and you hated it.

A sigh escaped you, your chest caving and the curtain of pretence fell when you heard your shadow scuff its feet, alerting you to its presence once more. You spun on your heels to face the man following you.

“Do you think I have a rhydonium bomb hidden in my cleavage?” you hissed, brows pinched and eyes lit with a cold fury at the blatant mistrust, “What’s the worst I can do by being left alone?”

He frowned, “You’d be left alone,” he parroted your words back at you as a reasonable excuse and your blood simmered. Talk about being made to feel welcome…

Maker, you hoped Din wouldn’t be gone for long—memories of weeks long hunts dotted throughout your time with him rising in your mind and filling you with dread. If this was another one of those times… you would drive yourself insane with worry, with regret, with frustration that he was only in this situation because you put him in it.

If something happened to them because you trusted the New Republic…

You felt sick.

You turned back away from your shadow – you didn’t ask his name, he didn’t fucking deserve one if all he was going to do was follow you – and tried to steady your breathing, pacing it against your footsteps.

In… out… in… out…. in…. out.

It was too mechanical – even to you – and failed to bring you any relief from the fear of being responsible for anything that might happen to either of them while they were gone.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You came upon a washroom – unisex like they all were – and entered without holding the door for your shadow. Enter or not, you didn’t fucking care. Mercifully, it was empty and you locked the farthest stall before sitting heavily on the lid of the toilet, dropping your head into your hands with a shuddering exhale. The weight of your head in your hands the only stable, solid thing around you—everything else shattering in a rain of brittle glass.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You only trusted them because you were angry with Din. So… so angry. Angry enough that you didn’t consult him, didn’t ask his opinion—perhaps it was out of spite and you were now selfishly using your desire to protect them as an excuse to satisfy your guilty conscience. But you had hated the way he handled things on Tatooine, and the New Republic were the alternative; the complete opposite of Din. It was naïve of you to assume that just because they were so different that the outcome would be more favourable.

He just wouldn’t listen to you.

You wouldn’t listen to him.

And here you were now—both forced to listen to them.

Separated—with him Maker knew how far away, hunting a quarry the entire of the New Republic fleet couldn’t catch. A quarry important enough for them to want him in the first place. That could only mean he was indispensable to the criminal enterprise he was a part of and if he was taken… and he would be with Din hunting him—they would target the Mandalorian, not the New Republic, as an easier scapegoat for revenge.

You lifted your head – tired again – and stared unseeing at the door of the stall, a pale grey that sparkled every time it was cleaned. What did it matter? People still shat in here. Pristine walls wouldn’t change that fact.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You stood, a hopeless shake of your head. A brain you prided on knowing so much, couldn’t provide an answer. All you knew was sitting in a washroom wasn’t going to change anything. It was getting late and Kai had said he would find you later for dinner. At least there was one person’s company who you didn’t despise. You just had to wait a little longer. A little longer with that damned shadow following you.

You groaned.

Devilsquid fucking nerfherder—

Didn’t he have anything better to do? Probably.

Your gaze steeled with the glint of recognition and your lips turned up into the ghost of a grin. You might be powerless here, but you could still make your shadow’s task more difficult—give him no pause or respite as you walked, and force him to follow. Insignificant and immature some might say, but it was the tiniest amount of control you could cling to inside this fishbowl.

You washed your hands before leaving, the repetitive motions soothing in the same way you found cooking or rolling the little silver ball the child loved back and forth to him. Up your arms because habits were hard to knock and then you left. Just as you suspected, your shadow was leaning against the opposite wall to the washroom door.

You couldn’t prevent your scowl even if you tried when he ran his eyes down the length of your body suspiciously.

“What? You gonna pat me down in case I found a weapon in the ladies?” you challenged.

“Watch your mouth, or I will,” he threatened smoothly, the easy confidence startling you—could they do that?

You hadn’t considered it, having never been on the opposite side of their authority. Just a happy, ignorant cog for so many years, the trauma of the Rebellion dismissed with calls to do good in rebuilding the galaxy and lost in the system as a result. A damaged toy tossed aside the moment they realized the toy talked back.

You scoffed – hiding your surprise – and turned to start walking again. He groaned and you smirked. One victory you could hold onto at least.

He shouldn’t be here.

In all his years as a bounty hunter, Din had never strayed into the Ghost Nebula. A occluded minefield of asteroids and shadow—it made space seem darker, if it were possible. A claustrophobic awareness of absolute reality that somehow existed. Or didn’t exist—or had once existed, or never existed at all. It brought out the base instinct of humanity – the one that had been desensitized over generations and millennia of space travel – that ‘we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.’

Straddling an area between the Inner and Mid Rim, the Ghost Nebula had never seen light or even the pinprick of stars in the distance. There was nothing. And Umbara sat right in the middle of that nothingness. A shadowland of secrecy; footprints of guilty actions and violent intent concealed with the seeping fog of darkness. It was a planet where the Mining Guild and the former Empire festered, an epicentre of malice that no one ventured to willingly. Din didn’t know much more about his destination beyond that—he didn’t need to. It was the living host for the parasitic entities of oppression, and there—they thrived.

The X-wing he sat in was moving as he left hyperspace over a day later. Moving faster than the Razor Crest could and yet, it felt suspended, held in stasis amongst the suffocating darkness getting nowhere fast. For the rare occasion, Din had to focus on believing what he saw on the navi-computer with his own two eyes and ignore his instincts that gripped his lungs in a vice to turn back turn back turn back.

He set his jaw and continued forward.

In a way, the focus helped him ignore the real problem gnawing at him; you weren’t with them. Maybe he had gone against his instincts on more than one occasion in the last twenty-four hours… They roared and bellowed and ripped through the soft flesh of his resolve to go back go back go back with every step he took away from you in that non-descript corridor of the New Republic Star Cruiser. To leave you there—alone. With those… he didn’t even know what to call them.

Enemies? He would have to care to have that forceful an opinion.

Allies? Absolutely not.

Reluctant associates? Emphasis on the reluctant part.

His skin itched with an uncomfortable irritation—borne of infighting and the dredges of anger he still felt towards you. Maker, kitten… he dropped his head back against the high headrest of the pilot’s seat. He knew things had been rocky between you, divided even. That core thread of your personality, a determined desire to fully commit to a task – a trait he admired about you – had shaken him. When you tried to immerse yourself into his once solitary mission to find the kids people, it startled those ingrained habits so thoroughly—he felt naked with the knowledge in your gaze. He regressed without even knowing, let the shutters fall before you had the chance to crawl under to the other side. He kept you out, kept you safe.

Safe… he scoffed incredulously.

Were any of you safe now?

Anger torched the dry wood of his calm façade when he remembered how it was you who orchestrated this danger. You who sent him to this Maker-forsaken part of the galaxy. You who put yourself on that Star Cruiser alone. His anger was not so charitable that it would allow reason to whisper that the actions you took were in good faith. It attached itself – sponge-like – to absorb the liquid laden mess you had put them all in, leaving you at the mercy of the New Republic and his ad’ika exposed to the innumerable threats likely to greet them on Umbara.

He was furious with you for it.

I’m not angry. I’m furious with you.

Your words surfaced in his mind unbidden, resulting in a snarl of aggression at his immediate refusal to acknowledge your anger and disturbed the child sleeping on his lap. He blinked blearily up at his helmet, and Din’s ire was softened a fraction—even if his helmet remained indifferent and apathetic. His ears were drooped with the traces of sleep still clinging to them—falling down his back with begrudging consciousness, small yawns and noises of complaint lifting from oversized robes when he sat up.

“Sorry, kid,” he grunted distractedly, keeping one eye on the navi-computer –the blinking dot of Umbara getting closer – and the other through the viewport uselessly. It wasn’t like he could see any sign of the planet in the distance.

He didn’t miss the glance left, the glimpse right—the chirp of noise and the perking of one ear up expectantly. That same ear drooped again when there was no response and he looked up at Din.

Where is she?

Din could almost hear the accusation in the womprat’s eyes, watery orbs of star-speckled black. The kid didn’t even have his pod on this journey, let alone you. The warrior had been so single-minded in getting away from that Star Cruiser with the kid flying under the radar, that he hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences—you had been with them both longer than he had the child alone. No one had noticed – thankfully – when Din used the guise of accessing his own armory in lieu of owing the New Republic anything else, to grab the satchel you had purchased on Ryloth to place the sleeping child in before leaving.

Better than letting the little squirt walk… he mentally commended himself for the foresight and inhaled deeply. His shoulders seized—a spasm rippling in a spate of sudden pain from his ribs.

Fucking bantha.

He might have lied to you.

He groaned. It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before—a few bruised ribs. But when you asked – stone faced and cold – if he had been injured by the dragon, he said no. It wasn’t a lie technically. But that bantha was like solid steel when he was slammed into the dull curve of its horn as they were both swallowed by the krayt dragon. It was a dull pain—one he could stubbornly ignore and often forgot until he stretched or breathed too deep or moved too fast.

Din rolled his eyes, the sparks of anger like a hammer dinging against beskar when he considered telling you. Not when you were acting like a stone-cold bitch, glaring at him so imperiously he wanted nothing more than to drag you over his lap and spank you until you fought and scratched and screamed at him instead of the chilling reproach he was being subjected to.

He was beginning to feel the kindle of regret now that he was injured on a hunt. You would no doubt have had him back in peak condition in no time. But moot pride and a bruised ego sealed his lips when you had so blatantly disregarded his request—his knowledge that it was too dangerous for you to approach victims of the dragon.

The navi-computer beeped before he could fester in his anger further, a stream of Basic filling up the screen. Statistics, weather reports, breathability, closest populated locations—his brain absorbed it all. He didn’t like this planet and he hadn’t even landed yet. Maybe he was just being bullish because of the tension with dealing with that Pantoran general, maybe it was seeing a man you obviously had a history with touch you so casually, maybe it was this whole damn fuck-up of a situation. But as he touched down in a land where it was as dark planetside as it was in space, he knew those feelings of apprehension weren’t unfounded.

“I thought I saw the last of you on the Liberty,”

The cold, painfully familiar voice came awhile later as you wandered down through the main artery of the Cruisers corridors, cut across the heart of the atrium and from where other – smaller – veins flowed in various directions left and right. You had avoided it so far, avoided the people. But this late into the day – with most people either in the cantina or taking advantage of any free time they had – there was less foot traffic as you passed frosted transparisteel double doors.

Perhaps you should have ventured here sooner, the smile that stretched across your lips at that disinterested voice likely to infuriate him despite how involuntary it was.

“Belt!” you exclaimed when you turned to the tall, stony-faced Chiss, ruby eyes set in an eternal glare and the blue hue of his skin about as warm as the icy Maldo Kreis you had escaped from the day before. You fucking adored him.

“What have I told you about—” the medic was interrupted. His attempt to wave away your advance with a disposable glove he had been removing was in vain as you wrapped your arms around his middle and smothered your cheek against his chest. His squirm of annoyance was followed by a sharp rap to your head and you let him go.

“Honestly—” he snapped, brushing down the front of his pressed, white medics uniform, the saturated carmine of his gaze an inferno of dissatisfaction when you met them, menacing in their own right—but endearing to you.

Mitrab’el’tawn – or Belt as he affectionately came to be called during the Rebellion – was a genius. One of the few Chiss to ever leave his isolated home planet of Csilla, he was one of the single most brilliant minds you had ever come across. He was also the greatest mentor you had the good fortune to train and work with in your years of service. He had very little tolerance for… anything and a bedside manner better suited to the mortuary where the patients couldn’t bother him, but for as much as he insulted his students, colleagues and superiors—he couldn’t help but like you.

Even if he would rather die than admit to it.

“You’re like a weed—always growing back the moment I get rid of you,” he sniffed indignantly, turning on his heels back in through the sliding double doors he had come from—the infirmary. His domain.

You smiled to yourself at his words; he was still soft on you. You followed him inside. He hadn’t asked—but if he didn’t want you there, you would know about it. Everyone would know about it. Your shadow for instance, felt the full force of the Chiss’s wrath when he dared set foot in the infirmary without a reason.

“She’s my reason.”

“She’s a medic and all medics fall under my authority, get out.”

He didn’t fight back. Maybe your shadow was smarter than he looked.

“I thought you were retiring after Akiva,” you conversed easily, now that you didn’t have the weight of looming eyes on you at all times. Here was safe. Belt was here. You examined the infirmary with a critical – but impressed – eye. Belt was difficult to get along with, but he ran a smooth operation. You still modelled your clinic setup after his. It was what you were used to, it was what was most effective. The infirmary was huge – they all were on Cruisers this large – and contained the latest in medical technology, no expense spared.

“And leave this place to be run by imbeciles?” he snapped, glaring at you where you perched on the gurney sitting in front of the sink – he must have been cleaning it down before he spotted you. Belt tossed the gloves into the medical waste disposal unit for incineration later, “Idiots, the lot of them—coming to me from the best schools on Coruscant – whatever that means – and they can’t even find a damn vein on the first insert.”

“They have to start somewhere,” you began the age-old defence of the poor apprentices, routine and dry—your heart not in it given you agreed with him mostly, but it was fun to rile him up, “they just need experience.”

“They need to stop wasting my time and pull their heads out of their asses thinking a top score in an exam means shit to me,” he said as he pointed to a silver case sitting on the counter between him and the tall double doored steel locker were the Cruisers supply of drugs, sedatives and whatever else the Defence Corps needed to chew on were kept, “get to restocking those pills, girl. Since when have you been so lazy?”

“Since I’m not stupid enough to touch your stuff without permission,” you hit back, pushing yourself off the gurney and approached the sink to give your hands and arms another wash before you got to work. You didn’t miss the glance sideways and downturn of Belt’s lips—the twitch of his straight, imperious nose as it scrunched momentarily, making you bite the inside of your cheek on a chuckle. Got him. Belt rarely showed anything but contempt, but you knew his quirks.

“I suppose you didn’t forget everything.”

You had to hand it to him, he could even make a concession sound like an insult.

“A good thing too,” he sniffed, “can’t have the only apprentice who never left my clinic blubbering like a child look as stupid as the rest of them.”

“Your track record still stands then, does it?”

“Yes. Until you broke it and I had to start again,” he growled.

“Aw Belt,” you commiserated, “I had to add a little seasoning to your life—it was getting too predictable with all your students being reduced to tears.”

“Yes, well I prefer things predictable,” he refuted, crimson eyes not leaving the documentation he was filling out for the day, “and now here you are, interrupting my peace and quiet again.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that left you this time, much to Belt’s dissatisfaction.

It would be easy to take offense and be hurt by anything – everything – the Chiss said, but you never did. It was one of the reasons you got along so well. He was a figure that everyone in the medical field wanted to work with and anyone wishing to become a medic wanted to train with. Very few actually had the spine to put up with his nature though, cantankerous and mean but fantastic at his job.

You simply gave back what he threw at you tenfold.

Not in insults or tantrums, but in succeeding at everything – every monstrously disgusting task – he gave you to do. You would complete it diligently, exceeding the standard expected of your level in detail and process, no corners cut and no jobs eschewed. Belt would look for fault; examine every stitch, inspect every report—and when he couldn’t find anything, he was silent. And it was the greatest compliment he could give you.

But outside of that, you knew Belt’s dirty little secret. The one you were sure he would rather go down for being an imperial sympathizer than admit to.

Belt was kind.

Kind in the way the galaxy wrote off for not conforming to the mild pleasantries and smooth corners expected of ‘civilized’ people. But unlike false niceties and placations, Belt’s loyalty—his care was rare, but genuine. Unexpected – a hurricane you only realize occurred after it had already moved on – but it had saved you, that kindness. Mitrab’el’tawn was your lifeline at the worst point in your life.

Your older brother had just died.

Killed on Malastare—mere months after the Battle of Endor and the fall of the Empire. Your last surviving sibling, your last surviving family member.

Gone.

Lost.

Dead.

Belt had found you furiously scrubbing items in the infirmary of the Liberty Star Cruiser you were both stationed on, the bristles of the sponge cleaning tools that had already been sterilized and not in need of washing. A stupid mistake on your part – you never made mistakes – and a scalpel sliced down the side of your hand when he finally intervened.

“Sit down, girl,” he had chided, voice clipped—annoyed. Pulling up a stool to sit before you, he clucked his tongue at the mess of blood on your hand. Those scalpels were sharp and had cut through your flesh like butter. He seemed more alarmed by the tears steaking down your cheeks and the hyperventilating gasps of breath you were struggling catch than the cut. It was deep, but it was clean. Emotions were not.

“Just some blood, you’ve seen much worse—dry those tears,” he tried to reprimand you in a futile attempt to treat you as normal, to ignore the reason for those tears that fell in a constant stream you couldn’t stop. The one task he gave that you failed. Alone in this damned infirmary with only the generator lights on as you dropped your face into your free hand to try hide the evidence of tears, to muffle the sobs. The pain of knowing years of saving lives—had still cost you everyone you had joined to protect.

He sighed.

“Death is the only certainty we have in this life,” he explained, voice uncharacteristically solemn as he dabbed iodine on the laceration to clean it before wiping it down with a sterile cloth, “everything before that is a blank canvas, for us to do with as we wish.”

“We can decide everything,” he emphasized, threading a line of absorbable sutures before pinching the edges of your cut closed and looping the first stitch through your skin. The whisper of a burn stung as the thread was pulled through your flesh, flashing life in front of your eyes, “we can decide how we want to be remembered after the certainty of death claims us.”

You remembered the gentleness with which he wrapped your hand. It was the only way the old – yet somehow always ageless – Chiss could show affection, and for a male like Belt—it was no small thing when he kept your hand between both of his larger blue ones. He met your eyes, yours puffy and swollen—his with the smallest hint of softness, a touch of pain staining his eyes blood red; pain at the untold losses he had suffered in his lifetime or the agony you were experiencing now. You didn’t know, he didn’t tell you.

“Rhydian will be remembered as a hero, a personification of freedom and hope—as will Rhain,” your eyes welled with fresh tears at the mention of your younger brother, killed the year before. Belt knew their names, though you were sure they had never passed through his infirmary. He patted the back of your hand gingerly, looking down at the only wound he was certain he would be able to heal as the wetness soaking your cheeks dripped onto his hand, “now… take that pain—all of it, and put it to use.”

You had watched him through blurry vision as he rose slowly, joints tight after a day’s work—the trials of age he blatantly refused to let anyone see showing themselves. Anyone apart from you that was.

“I didn’t spend three years training you to see you fall to pieces now. You’ve saved countless lives and you’ll save infinitely more if you channel that pain into passion.”

Belt wasn’t soft or empathetic or indulgent in emotions he considered petty or in the way of good work. But he had done you an inexplicable kindness that evening when celebrations were still in full swing. He had seen you cry, and he hadn’t dismissed it. He had seen you; the pain beneath the steel spine and sharp mind. Saw the child that war had stolen so much from and what was left at the end of it. Charred remains and raw nerves exposed to a galaxy of observers who would never understand, never accept. He saw the path to healing, and did his best to offer you the tools to start on it.

You signed up for the New Republic’s medical outreach program not three days later, in its’ infancy and tasked with assisting the communities devastated by the war and nearly twenty years of oppression under the tyrannical Empire. You never went home, never took a break. You went straight to where you had been stationed; Klatooine. Yes, you owed Belt a great deal… more than he probably knew.

You smiled a little, a comfortable silence neither of you felt the need to fill as you reviewed the datapad of inventory for the delivered medication. Cross-referencing it to the appropriate containers, you ticked off each one with your stylus before you began restocking. Pulling out the correct bottles of medication from behind the secure doors – the code to which Belt offered you freely in what surely must have been a breach of protocol – you got to work.

One of my medics? Denied access by stuffy officers who wouldn’t know a syringe from a scalpel? As if I’d let them give me orders in my infirmary.

You could hear him scoffing the words in your mind at the audacity. You would bet good credits that half of the officers were terrified of Belt, and the other half were in denial of the fact that they would rather face down an AT-AT in the buff on Hoth with just a vibroblade than try and sanction the medic.

“What can I say—I figured you were probably getting bored and needed me to disturb the peace a little,” you quipped while he snorted, “besides, medical outreach didn’t last long.”

Crimson eyes slid down to you, your own kept resolutely on the jars of medication.

“I heard they cut the funding, I swear—this new government is run by infants, infant Tauntauns in the middle of a blizzard,” he spun to face you, waving his stylus threateningly in one hand, “half the people with any experience are dead, and the rest think that winning a war makes them experts at governing the galaxy.”

You pulled out an empty beaker, pouring what remained of a painkiller into it so you could put the newest stock in first. He wasn’t wrong—but you had a little more sympathy, not much—but a little. It can’t have been easy for anyone who took up the mantle of leadership. You only hoped they did it for the right reasons.

“Yes, well—a tauntaun might have been more discreet with cutting the funding to pay for a new spaceport on Corellia,” you snorted with a humourless laugh, “but it wasn’t all bad. Worked with a Mirialan in a practice on Dandoran for a few years after that.”

“Dandoran?” Belt stopped filling his datapad, strong eyebrowed dropping low over his eyes at the name when he looked down at you, “what in Malachor possessed you to work on that cesspool of a planet?”

You shrugged, replacing the container and moving on to the next to repeat the process, “Wasn’t so bad when I first got there—nothing I hadn’t seen before on Klatooine. It was… different when I was leaving.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered under his breath before exhaling, “and now you’re here – my own personal menace – returned to torture me with her incessant chatter and sloppy stitching.”

“It was one stitch that was slightly out of line—Maker, that was years ago, and there hasn’t been a stitch out of place since,” you defended yourself with a huff, but you could see the quirk of a smile on the older males face. He was happy to see you again. You smiled back, wider when his expression soured to cover himself.

“I expect you bright and early first thing tomorrow, girl—”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I—what?”

“What? Did you think I was going to let you laze around the Cruiser like you own the place? Hardly,” he finished his report with the flourish of a signature, “My current staff is abysmal, I could use someone with at least some skill to help me work.”

A smile cracked the corner of your confusion, a glimmer of gemstones under the dull surface rock of understanding—and you nodded. Perhaps this stay wouldn’t be so terrible after all. Your shadow had been chased away, Kai was here, Belt was here—you could just be. If only Din and the child were here too.

Before your thoughts could turn dark, the doors slid open once more and Kai strolled in.

“There you are! I knew Belt would find some way to abduct you the moment he found out you were onboard.”

“Commander Carria, any more lies out of that foul mouth and I’ll forget to give you anaesthesia the next time you crash land that modified murder machine.”

You arched a brow at the camaraderie, surprised. The last you had known of Kai’s relationship with Belt was their decided dislike for one another.

“Threatening a commander with medical negligence, old man? I see how it is—”

“Exactly. So don’t make me follow through with it, commander.”

Kai shook his head with a deep chuckle, eyes falling to you when your laughter joined his. The back and forth was… refreshing to see again. Kai could turn anyone to his side with enough time. Good looking, charming and with an integrity that many gravitated towards for guidance. It was only a matter of time before Belt begrudgingly accepted he liked Kai. That or perhaps Belt simply had a soft spot for Carria members. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been swept off their feet by the quiet beauty of the stag and doe.

“C’mon, little fawn—let’s get some food into you. Can’t imagine you’ve been eating much with that Mandalorian—”

“A Mandalorian?” Belt’s curiosity piqued, his red eyes flashing with interest.

“You can interrogate her about her… shipmate later, Belt—” Kai waved the Chiss off as he led you out the main doors and you offered a wave and a promise to be there on time the next morning to your old mentor before the frosted glass doors slid shut behind you again.

Naturally, the tracking fob he had grabbed from the shaking officer waiting at the X-wing provided for him didn’t lead Din to any known areas populated by native Umbarans. He was sent to the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere in the middle of nothing. Maker. He hated this place.

The bioluminescence of the Zabrak spines, matchstick tops of fiery red crowning tall stems of shadowy black swayed ominously in a non-existent breeze and stood much too tall over Din’s head for his comfort. They stretched for miles. Far as he could see when they weren’t interrupted by hills of dark rock and the imposing face of mountainsides—the landscape of obscurity and phantom shadows was lit only by that same slow sway of false flames dotting the tops of countless spines.

That and the tracking fob that flashed periodically.

Adjusting his helmet, the night vision hardly helped—for all it removed the darkness and improved his sight, it only highlighted the suffocating nothingness. A repetitive labyrinth Din could easily see driving a person insane if they got lost for too long in its maze.

The fob was leading him through the spines. Of course it was. A narrow gap in the overgrown stems creating a makeshift path that suggested this area was not wholly undisturbed—a good sign if it was the bounty, a bad sign if it was something else.

A chirp from the satchel.

“I know, kid.”

He glanced down at the child’s less than enthusiastic face.

“That’s our path.”

A grizzle of dissatisfaction.

“I’m all ears if you have a better idea.”

His ears perked, cooing with spirited passion.

“No, we can’t go back for her yet.”

Din sighed the moment a chuff of annoyance left the kid, making the Mandalorian arch a thick brow from beneath his helmet. He wondered where he learned that from. He hadn’t thought about the kid—how he might miss you. Maker, when was the last time you two were even apart?

He quashed the guilt starting to bubble, an unwelcome gurgle low in his stomach. He would have been more distracted if you were here, with your penchant to dismiss his words so easily and do what you wanted with stubborn obstinance. He didn’t like the New Republic, but he knew they would keep you safe. If only to guarantee his return with their bounty.

Speaking of which…

The burnt umber of his eyes fell to the fob, rolling the small rectangular device in his palm.

Vero Scurra.

He was a piece of work if the information brought up when Din entered his chain code was anything to go by. He was the kind of criminal Din detested most; the one that orchestrated destruction and then fled from the flames. But that wasn’t what caught his attention when the mugshot popped up in the top right corner of his arrest warrant. It was the lanky neck. Too long to ever be considered attractive and more surprisingly, too distinct in Din’s eyes to be a runner. Most Hutt runners he had come across in their heyday were non-descript, forgettable.

And maybe Scurra was forgettable to others, but not to Din. Din recognized Scurra, an itch of familiarity before he was finally able to place him. A handsy Twi’lek grabbing your arm in front of the fishmongers stall, squeezing—your pulled blaster and whispered cautions by a beady eyed, long necked human against taking the Mandalorian on in the market.

Son of a mudscuffer… the nerfherder survived long enough to become invaluable, huh.

A sneer twisted on Din’s face as he took his first step into the brush of hostile shadows—alive with threat and effusing an unwelcome tang on the air that stalled thick in his lungs with every exhale.

The darkness of Umbara didn’t feel natural, the planet itself a basin in which to capture the foggy mist of shadows that settled within its embrace. The echo of soft footfalls bounced against the darkness that tried to conceal itself in its façade of nothingness. There was no room for anything but darkness on Umbara, and the planet made that fact abundantly clear in the truculent noose of tentacled plants, fat bellied and big. Stray too close and one would never escape its snare.

His steps were measured, intentional—and made the journey inextricably longer because of the fact. He was burdened with minimal sight ahead, a few feet and no more—with a narrow path of dense Zabrak spines that made him need to shuffle sideways half the time with the breadth of his shoulders.

He kept the child pressed to his side, one hand on the satchel where he was sitting and the other ahead to push aside stems to walk through. He didn’t want the little womprat wriggling out of his hold to be gobbled up by the carnivorous plants or scuttling creatures Din could hear but not see.

He walked on… and on… and on… the tiny red light of the fob the only thing stopping him from completely giving up as the hours crept by. From the steadily growing weight of his armor, he knew more time had passed by than he could tell from an absent sun. But he kept going, there was no way in Malachor he was stopping for rest here.

No wonder Scurra chose here to hide out—only the most desperate would come to this cursed place. But it confused Din, because Scurra did have something lose, had a lot to lose—so to risk his own life coming to a planet like this, it didn’t make any sense. The repellent nature of the planet would assist in keeping the New Republic at bay, but in the same breath—it also meant Scurra had to be here, and put himself in equally as much danger.

If Din knew anything about these types of criminals, it was that there was nothing they valued above their own survival.

So why here?

It itched and irritated and annoyed him the entire time he walked, muttering offhand to the kid whenever he chirped in boredom—and resolutely keeping his mind off you and where you were and who you might be with. He didn’t need any other reason to be mad at you.

The answer to his question—to why, came the next day. Or, what he assumed was the next day since the atmosphere and weather never changed here. His gait shifted to certain steps in an unhurried prowl when the brush thinned enough to reveal a shadowed structure against the face of a cliffside that crept high into the sky and went who knows where.

It looked like an old refinery.

According to the stats Din had pulled up before landing, Umbara was rich in doonium, a heavy metal used in the construction of starships. With a galaxy to rule, the Empire needed a lot of ships. Taken from deep within the crust of the planet, the refinery doubtlessly worked non-stop to extract the pure metal from within the rock it was embedded in. It was coveted, and those who had access guarded it like beskar.

As a result, the refinery looked more like a fortress. With high walls and no windows – nothing much to see outside anyway – the scan in Din’s helmet detected a durasteel exterior wall measuring an arms-length in thickness at least. Not impossible to breach, but getting in undetected might be problematic. He looked for high ground and – apart from the cliffside where the doonium was likely mined – there was none. Only Zabrak spines and vicious Devil’s Embrace that made it impossible to observe the location without coming out into the open.

He doubled back—keeping the refinery to his right as he circled around it. It looked totally abandoned, but those were usually the most dangerous locations in Din’s experience. Anyone who relinquished the intimidation of many weapons or guards being visible, usually had something more lethal at their command from within.

He tried to avoid the rustle of spines as he moved through them, keeping one hand on the butt of his blaster the entire time. The smallest of sounds easily highlighted that engorged darkness that wished to remain undisturbed, wrathful vengeance taken on the perpetrator with discovery and sabotage.

And then—a noise.

Din paused, crouched down until his hamstrings burned and his back ached—his ribs complaining from the crunch of his stomach. He didn’t move, marbled and silent—listening. He lifted a hand, a spectre of movement—unseen, unheard as he turned on the thermal reader on his helmet. The child chirped as he looked up at Din, his helmet staring out to his right, scanning slowly.

There it was again—a distinct crunch crunch crunch in paced intervals. Footsteps? Perhaps… but too rapid to be only one person. Frustrated, he scanned the direction he picked up the noise from again, unable to detect any heat signals.

Fucking bantha balls.

He wasn’t hearing things.

Crunch crunch crunch.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from growling in irritation. Blind—it sounded like two, maybe three sets of footfalls if they were bipedal. They all remained in the same vicinity of space, the footsteps fading before they returned. Forty-seven seconds, Din counted after twenty minutes of measuring the gait of whoever was walking. Forty-seven seconds to go from the furthest part of the refinery to the closest position to where Din was.

Patrolling?

He wasn’t expecting that level of organisation for someone who was apparently on the run. That prickling of doubt, of worry—rose in him again, why was Scurra here of all places? With what sounded to be security.

Din moved on to scout the rest of the location.

Be careful…

Your voice filtered through his helmet, and the silence was so absolute—he was certain he had heard your voice for real. Those achingly honest eyes as you asked him—without fail, every single time he left the Razor Crest. Nearly a year, and he was always surprised by it. At first he had reacted the way any Mandalorian would—with disdain, brushing it off as an insult. Did you not realize how dangerous Mandalorians were? That it was others who ought to be careful of him? But over time, he came to realize you knew exactly how dangerous he was—it wasn’t a slight against his abilities, it was a hesitant touch of affection beyond the physical that somehow took longer for him to understand.

Be careful… meant ‘come back’.

You didn’t say it to him this time. And he suddenly felt the hollowness of its absence—how unnerving.

He shook thoughts of intelligent eyes and pretty smiles out of his mind – he was angry with you, focus – and made his way towards the colossal wall of rock the refinery sat in front of. Around the back, the spines thinned—trodden on and stamped down into a path from the mine shafts to the chute where the rock was deposited into the refinery.

More crunching… less frequently—one guard at the back.

He scanned the water tanks, cylindrical vats and ventilation that covered most of the back wall as well as the caved in, completely congested chute. A collapse of rubble and metal wrote that as a means of entry and likely the reason for the refinery’s abandonment.

Due to the amount of curved metal and joints in the construction—the back wall was weaker, less dense—and easier for Din to get a read on any heat signatures from within. And fuck… he couldn’t stop the growl that filtered from under his helmet when he flicked on the thermal reader again.

He counted… and counted… and counted…

Twelve. Twelve individuals he could count, excluding the guards outside. Split over two floors—five patrolling the ground floor and what looked to be a cluster, a meeting of seven on the top floor.

Din’s stomach sank. Scurra wasn’t on the run, he was working.

Umbara wasn’t a hiding spot fled to in desperation.

It was neutral ground for business.

“Trust Belt to have you working,” you heard Kai snort from the booth next to yours at the firing range onboard the next day.

He had to come find you again at the infirmary. You had lost track of time as you worked—falling back into a familiar routine alongside Belt. It kept you busy, kept you sane, kept your mind off things that you had no control over right now.

Kai had mentioned a need to log hours of practice, offered to take you back to your quarters—but more time alone meant more time to think, to worry—so you asked to come with him. He hadn’t voiced the surprise on his face – you had never been one for blasters beyond basic training – but had happily agreed. Whether the amenities of the ship extended to you or not was anyone’s guess, but no one questioned Kai.

Nothing more than a hesitant glance down at his side to you when Kai slid the datapad over for you to sign in. He silenced the supervisor of the firing range with a sharp glare, and you were taken by just how much Kai had… grown up in the years since the Rebellion despite being five years older than you.

“I like working,” you huffed, trying to focus your arm proving more difficult with someone distracting you, “keeps my mind busy.”

“You’re always working though,” he complained, a steady slew of blaster bolts firing from his weapon and hitting the steadily approaching dummy droids easily. He wasn’t practicing as much as seeing how quickly he could take them all down.

“Says the guy who literally lives at work,” you threw back, ribbing him gently.

His deep rumble of laughter from the other side of the clear transparisteel screen that separated you both distracted you, your eyes flicking to him just enough to make you fire wide when you pulled the trigger.

“Bantha balls,” you grumbled, clicking your tongue and rolling your shoulder—the recoil still got you every time.

“Thought you’d be a pro at firing weapons with a Mandalorian in your bed.”

It was said casually, continuing the tone of your previous banter—but your blaster paused halfway as you went to raise it again. When you looked at him, he was already glancing down at you knowingly, no accusation or anger—just golden eyes soft and knowledgeable enough to make you sweat a little internally.

“There’s only one weapon I’m interested in when he’s in my bed,” you replied smoothly and from the choke that caught in Kai’s throat, you knew he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily—even if he did put two and two together. You smirked, a faint quirk of your lips and you dropped your gaze back to the targets and pulled the trigger. Gotcha. You hit the dummy droid.

There was a weighted silence, the wind of taken out of Kai’s sails with what he had planned to say to get you to admit it, evaporating in a lacklustre pause.

“Huh,” he hummed noncommittally.

You maintained a calm front—collected. Wearing your dishevelled hair from a day’s work in the infirmary and the dusting of colour across your cheeks as if it were armor and not an admission of your nervousness. Impenetrable. No wonder Din always felt safer beneath his beskar.

Kai obviously knew there was something between you—but saying it out loud to someone you knew? It stirred a strange feeling inside you. A clash of anxiety and excitement fighting to overpower the other, a rut of antlers colliding with hooves thrashing the ground in a bid to dominate. It was the first time you had—said it. How were you supposed to feel? Should you be saying anything when you had no clue where it was going? Weren’t you still mad at Din to be feeling flustered over your feelings for him?

Your mind was going a mile a minute as the silence dragged on and you had no idea how to fill it until Kai spoke again,

“Doesn’t seem like the type,” he muttered to himself, loud enough for you to hear and it made you arch an inquisitive brow.

“What type?”

Harvest eyes – written with surprise and sheepishness – met yours when he realized you heard him, a hand running awkwardly through his dark hair and musing it further.

“I mean—he just seems so… practical?” he tried to explain, “efficient, gets shit done—does it well and moves on. Sex, pleasure—”

“He does it well,” you interrupted, throwing his own words back in his face—your brows pinched at the direction this conversation had taken and feeling unusually territorial of Din’s reputation as a lover, “Mando does sex well, does pleasure even better, does me every night.”

Kai blinked.

Sex wasn’t a taboo subject on Pamarthe, especially within Clan Carria—a stag almost always having a harem and indulgence in physical pleasure one of the things people enjoyed most there.

“Right…” he conceded warily, noticing the snappish impatience of your tone.

“Odd question for the general to want answered.”

“I’m not trying to get information out of you for h—”

“So you just want to know who I’m fucking?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay—” he hissed, uncharacteristically sharp and you shut your mouth, wet your lips with your tongue and turned back towards the targets. You didn’t want to fight with him, but you were reluctant to talk about what had obviously driven you both away from home to hide out among the stars instead.

He sighed, holstering his weapon and dragged a weary hand down his close shaven jaw, the line of his shoulders under his jacket tense. He rounded the booth to stand inside yours, the proximity giving you no space to comfortably fire the weapon, the weight of his eyes on you forcing your hand to click the safety back on your blaster.

“Don’t be angry with me, fawn—”

You narrowed your gaze, trying to cling to the annoyance—but Kai had a way of making anger melt with his earnestness—the forthright attempts to make things better. His tone had gentled, softened in the back of his throat where the hint of a tease – neutral ground – could be heard.

“You can’t blame me for being curious, the sexual tension between you two made even my head spin with the potency,” he folded his arms across his chest as he cocked his head.

“Not all sexual,” you admitted with a sigh, deciding to let your previous irritation go when faced with someone like Kai, someone familiar—someone genuine. You turned to face him, leaning back against the counter that separated you from the dummy droids, “He doesn’t let me help—”

Kai frowned, “Help how?”

Shit. You couldn’t tell him the truth—regardless of how close you both were.

“With hunting,” you settled on, the arch a dark brow making it obvious Kai was taken aback by the idea of you bounty hunting, “I mean… putting my skills to use to help him find them faster.”

“He doesn’t let you?” he confirmed, nodding in greeting at a passing command floor worker.

You shook your head, chest caving on a sigh. Maker, but it felt good to finally admit it to someone other than your reflection or a baby who couldn’t respond in any language you understood.

The commander tapped a gloved finger on the crease of his elbow—thinking.

“Good.”

You froze. That was decidedly not the reaction you were expecting from the guy who got you into trouble more times than you could count back home as kids. Your head snapped up to stare incredulously at him, but his face had set in an impassive frown, a dangerous heat turning the gold of his irises molten,

“The galaxy is a fucking circus, fawn—the trafficking alone is a danger to you, to anyone remotely desirable. I’m glad he’s not letting you get close to the danger.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the testosterone fuelled protectiveness all these men from clan cultures seemed to think they were entitled to have over you. Fuck sake, you were a woman, not a lamb. You had seen more gore than Kai and more war than Din—and yet, you were the one who needed to be sheltered? Please—it was getting old, and you were just about over this overbearing posturing.

“Just because Rhydian is dead, doesn’t mean I need you to take his place as the protective big brother,” you bit out, a snap of cruelty that shook you as much as it visibly startled Kai. You couldn’t remember the last time you had said your brother’s name out loud—hadn’t seen Kai since before it happened, and the devastated agony that shattered those beautiful irises in a split second before he looked away made you sick to your stomach.

He still wasn’t over Rhydian’s death either.

You wished you could take it back—that unfair, untrue—and unkind swipe of claws to once again keep yourself away from the things that hurt you the most ended up hurting someone else. You gaped, mouth opening and closing to try and rectify it,

“Kai—I didn’t mean…”

“Does he know?” he cut across you, a frigid pain makes his voice rough—brittle in its control not to snap at you, “Have you ever told the Mandalorian any of this?”

You stared up at your friend, wide-eyed—exposed and shook your head slowly, puppeted and unable to lie when his eyes bore into yours so nakedly.

“We protect our own, with our everything,” the often used mantra sounded so strange to hear after so many years of silence and made you drop your eyes to the ground, “Why won’t you just tell him why you want to help and not just how?”

“I shouldn’t have to defend myself—I’m not… anyone’s possession to tell me what I can and can’t—”

“Stop taking someone caring for you as a slight against your independence, fawn!” he snapped at you finally, teeth bared and gleaming when he barked—you weren’t the only one who lashed out when you were hurting.

When the shock of his words abated somewhat, the both of you glaring at each other in a fruitless desire to make yourselves heard, you made to speak again but he held up a hand. A commanding action that demanded you press your lips into a tight line—an unwilling deference to a member of your head family.

“Someone who cares, someone who wants you safe, Maker—even someone who fucks you good—it’s more than a lot of us have, fawn—don’t throw that away in a pointless sacrifice for meaningless pride.”

Your heart sank, there was a strangled strain of emotion Kai was trying to smother as he spoke—an old wound incorrectly healed, flaring with pain as he spoke.

“Kai…” you placed a hand on his forearm, running it up over his jacket to his bicep where the inked ring of antlers was tattooed into his skin, a touch of home—a touch of family and he offered you a wan smile, covering your hand with his where it rested against his muscle,

“Don’t wait around, fawn—don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Fuck the New Republic.

Fuck General Si-Flachitt.

Fuck Commander Kai.

Fuck you.

Din bit down a snarl, the expulsion of aggression he wanted to release churning inside him instead, grating against bruised ribs and squeezing his organs. He had to stay still and stay quiet.

The general had conveniently misinformed him when he took this bounty—it wasn’t just to capture a link between the Zygerrian’s and the Quai-Kisu, it was to disrupt whatever this meeting was. Din had no idea if Umbara was under the jurisdiction of the New Republic—but he knew for certain that a runner settling in a location they didn’t control – completing business right under their noses – would be just one massive headache for the bureaucratical loving signatories.

A bounty hunter though? He could side step the paperwork, ignore the law to an extent. And the general took full advantage of it. Of him.

He tempered his anger; it would get him nowhere and regardless of the situation—he still needed to bring Scurra back to them alive.

Okay.

He re-evaluated his plan of action, checked his ammunition— patted the kid’s head and reassessed the size and layout of the refinery. There was only one guard at the back, the collapse of the wide chute into the refinery for the doonium rich deposits providing a sizeable defence to the rear. But while the front was the main focus of their security—and obviously where the gang thought was most at risk of being breached, Din still planned on entering through the back—his helmet already picking up weaknesses in the structure obviously overlooked. The only good thing about the refinery being so barricaded, was there was no windows for additional guards to observe from a height so he could take his time. They were entombed inside, unaware and ignorant to what might be lucking outside. Namely, a Mandalorian.

One hand for balance on the black, stony soil—he took a single step forward—remaining crouched, predatory and hidden by the stem line of spines. The bioluminescence caught the white skin of the guard. Deathly white—almost a translucent alabaster that made the hairs on Din’s arms stand on ends. Had he not known there was a race native to Umbara—he would have thought it a reanimated corpse. But it was a species adapted to the lack of sunlight, lack of warmth—a race that thrived in darkness. That explained the inability of his thermal reader to pick up a body temperature—given theirs was so low.

Umbaran guards. Bald headed and tall—lanky in a way that made Din’s joints ache as the male turned his head to glance towards the chute. Din held his breath. This was their planet, they were physically built to thrive in this environment in the way the Mandalorian was not.

Translucent, colourless eyes scanned the dense line of Zabrak spines slowly—long, pale fingers fidgety on the trigger of the blaster rifle he held in both hands. Din retreated, back a few feet deeper into the spines, side stepping a tentacle that slithered closer than he liked to his ankle and made his way back around to the front. If this was where they assumed someone would attack, Din was only too happy to play into that plan, for now.

The party of guards were still lined outside the main entrance, flanking it while another patrolled the length of the wall. Leaving the sides exposed – there was no way in – Din pressed his back to the steel wall, shuffling towards the corner the Umbaran patrolled to and waited.

Waited… crunch… waited… crunch… waited… crunch… waited—

His hand shot out around the mouth of the guard like a viper, yanking him viciously around the corner and with a dull snap of his neck, the dead weight sagged against him. He kept time in his mind—forty-seven seconds—and softened his gait to emulate the pace of the guard. He walked along the same patrol, silencer attached to his blaster and stoic as he came upon the guards focusing on the wilderness ahead of them instead of the threat looming with that same crunch crunch crunch as their – now deceased – companion.

Two fatal shots to the head, and they were dead before they even realized what was upon them. Din took issue with killing where it wasn’t necessary, but anyone on the payroll of the Zygerrian’s, were paid in blood money obtained from the sale and abuse of innocents. He had no sympathy, no mercy.

Removing three detonators lining his bandolier, he arranged them in a triangle around the seals of the heavy steel door. And then he walked away. Casually made his way back around to the back of the refinery and took his time checking his blaster, checking the kid, and checking the situation inside. Then he activated them.

The explosion was instantaneous.

A harrowing noise so deafening, it travelled across the silent darkness of the landscape in a booming echo of destruction. It lit the land reluctantly as the highly oxygenated air exacerbated the blast—a hiss and recoil of fat tentacles and skeletal spines. A vision of things ought left in the dark, of tangled vines covering the ground in nets of veins that fed the beast of Umbara with the litter of bodies and detritus of those unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped in such a place. The swirling weight of rain-filled clouds, black and heavy—refused to release their burden on the planet, reluctant to nurture the aggressive terrain. Like all things, the rain only fell on Umbara when it had no other choice.

Din watched as the single guard at the back of the refinery took off at a sprint towards the front—bolstered with the false confidence that he would be joining three others in defence of this hovel. Safety in numbers or out of a warped sense of loyalty—Din knew what he would put his credits on.

There was a flurry of movement from inside, a number of heat signals racing from the upper floor downstairs to be swallowed by the massive heat signal of the explosion. And during the pandemonium, Din climbed. A curved pipe connecting one of the water vats to the main building served as his perch—a sliver of space just wide enough for him to stand on.

Shooting his whipcord into the air, it latched onto one of the old ventilation shafts high up on the wall. The sound of shouting and arguments in an incoherent buzz covered the noise of him kicking in the grate. He gripped the sides of the vent, a funnel down onto the top of the now rusted processing unit—and pushed himself down to free fall the short distance—landing in a crouch.

Not a bad spot…

The ground floor of the refinery was mostly filled with vast conveyor belts and empty trollies—the patches of flames his explosions caused the only light source. There seemed to be less guards than he anticipated, the more formal attire of some of the Umbarans and the emblem of the Mining Guild on several of those rushing around confirmed that Din had interrupted a meeting—a negotiation table perhaps. It didn’t matter to him. He crawled to the edge of the machine he landed on, tall enough to put him at an advantage and loaded his Amban rifle.

He picked off three of the remaining guards, disintegrating them with lethal precision before the others realized their adversary was inside. He had to get upstairs. If Scurra was as slippery as the general made him out to be—he wouldn’t waste time trying to abandon the others.

Jumping from the machine as a Gamorrean guard wielding a vibroaxe charged him—too slow as it swung in the air, Din ducked to the side and drove his elbow into the sensitive snout of the swine soldier. It squealed, the unyielding force of beskar and Din’s own strength resulting in a sickening crunch and the guard staggering back a few steps before the Mandalorian’s vibroblade made its’ home in the Gamorrean’s fatty neck—the spurt of blood an instant death sentence.

It splattered across his right side, drenching his pauldron, vambrace and chest plate—the child thankfully shielded on his left side from the horrors behind his cape as he stalked forward towards the paltry few caught between him and the stairs.

“Scurra,” Din rasped.

Din might have found it comical – the way they all pointed up the stairs, eager to sacrifice another in place of their own lives – had he not been so fucking pissed. He narrowed his gaze, the flames licking across the T-shaped visor like a crack in the door to hell they were finally witnessing with fearful eyes and shaking bodies. No guards remained down here, only villains adept at causing worse harm than a blaster.

He passed them by, a wraith summoned to collect its next victim whose time was up—his shadow stretching across the cowering few that remained huddled together amidst the bodies of their security, the dark light of his armor condemning them—not you, not yet.

You spent the entire evening and the next day thinking about what Kai said. You worked on autopilot, completing tasks assigned to you by Belt and keeping quiet while your mind was far away.

Tell him.

Whatever profound message you thought you needed to hear—it wasn’t that.

We protect our own, with our everything.

Din and the child, they were your own. You slowed as you wiped down a counter as the hour grew late—an unmistakable sting of tears burning with needle pricks at the back of your eyes when you realized they were your everything too.

Tell him.

You were dismissed with a brusque wave from Belt—irritated with your silence all day and lack of conversation.

Kai was right – loathe as you were to admit it – you didn’t want to lose them. That you were here, and they were—gone. You swallowed the pulse of emotion down as you wandered through the empty Cruiser, finally released of your shadow after he had gotten sick of the late nights.

It gave you a reprieve—to walk, to think about those things you usually liked to lock away. If there was no one here… there was no proof you ever thought about them, it was a dreamlike situation where you could contemplate without fearing the repercussions of your own logic.

So, you walked… and walked… and walked.

You knew these ships, knew their layout—and your body moved on autopilot through a similar walk you used to take aboard the Liberty, floating through corridors and down elevators—coming to a stop across the space deck. A bridge of steel surrounded by the artificial gravity that allowed one to look out upon space and feel like there was nothing in your way.

But someone stood in the middle, overlooking the abyss and looking far away in his thoughts.

Kai.

You moved to turn around, but wasn’t that exactly what Kai accused you of doing the day before? Avoiding? You stood your ground, took a breath and continued on towards the commander.

“You know those things will kill you,” you began as he exhaled a billow of smoke into the ventilated air overlooking the vacuous expanse just on the other side of the gravitational field that kept you all breathing and not floating around. He arched a brow – a wariness to his gaze – and placed the cigarette back between his lips, pulling out the pack from his back pocket to wordlessly offer you one.

The cigarette hung loosely at the corner of his lips when you shook your head, speaking around it as he put the carton back, “If I can survive that Maker-damned war, I can survive lung cancer.”

You stood beside him, settled in his company when the awkwardness from your heated exchange washed away, Kai didn’t hold grudges—only an admirable loyalty to you and what he thought was best for you.

“Isn’t it prohibited to smoke onboard these things?” you challenged, narrowing your gaze playfully when the tension bled away.

“Maybe. But I need something to take the edge off—” he shrugged, taking one last inhale, the cinders lighting in flecks of amber and orange as it burned down to the stub before he pinched the bottom to extinguish it and throw it over the edge of the bridge into space.

Something about the way he said it—he sounded rattled. Shaken. By your disagreement, by your arrival—by the reminder of Rhydian with your presence. Or something else altogether.

He exhaled slower this time, through his nostrils as he watched the nothingness you were suspended in. You knew him well enough to know that a silence that stretched this long meant he wanted to say something but was pulling together the words in his mind.

“How long has it been?” he ventured, rubbing the slight dusting of ash off his fingers from where he had put out the cigarette, “Since you’ve been home—”

Oh.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure this was a conversation you wanted to have right now—one area of yourself to work on was homework enough without being given a verbal lashing for avoiding Pamarthe. But… there wasn’t a way to avoid it—Kai didn’t deserve that.

“Since I joined—�� you hummed, struck by the passage of time as you mentally counted the years since then, “So… eight? Nine years? You?”

“Can’t say I’m much better,” he admitted with a derisive exhale of laughter.

“I’m heading back there soon,” he continued, fishing in his back pocket for the pack of smokes again, amber eyes dropping to yours, but you continued to look out over the bridge, leaning your elbows on the railing for support as you absorbed his words, “something isn’t right there, fawn.”

You turned to look at him then, eyeing the seriousness in his expression—the lack of jovial mischief that once upon a time, had been a near constant on his features.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, “A sickness—hangs over our lands, stretches nearly as far as Leyghin territory but so far as I know hasn’t entered yet.”

You pushed yourself to stand, worry filling you.

“A sickness? What kind of sickness?”

“I dunno, little fawn—there’s…” he puffed a breath, took a drag of his cigarette to buy himself some time and exhales the cloud of smoke slowly, “there’s talk of the danu.”

The solemnness of his tone, the grave expression—you blinked. And then you burst into laughter, peels of tinkling sound echoing off the metal flooring and through the tunnel of space the gravitational field created around you both.

“The danu, Kai—wow, you really had me there.”

His expression didn’t change, apart from the look of shock entering those golden eyes as he held the cigarette up to his lips. Your smile fell to a shadow of what it was when he didn’t join in the laughter, and even less when he didn’t speak,

“They’re a myth, Kai—there’s no such thing.”

“People didn’t think the Jedi were real once upon a time either.”

Your heart seized at the mention of the Jedi – too close – and you tried to brush it off with an awkward chuckle,

“The Jedi are sorcerers—magic? Not shapeshifting phantoms who kidnap kids and taunt the living with the cries of lost little ones,” you remarked flippantly, dragging a hand through your hair—Maker, what you wouldn’t do for a hard drink and a shower right about now.

“Danu, Jedi—maybe they’re one in the same. It doesn’t matter. Kids going missing from their begs. Decay in Siodam’s forest—when have you ever seen leaves fall from those trees, fawn?”

You couldn’t answer him, his face scrunching at the unsavoury thought and blew out another plume of smoke.

“Is there—not some natural explanation for this?” you offered, your mind racing with the thought of there being some sort of Jedi signature or presence on your own home planet. You had no idea of any other race or people who could perform magic the way the kid could—only the Jedi. And after two months of looking for Mandalorians with only the empty armor sitting in the Razor Crest to show for it—you didn’t have many other choices. Maybe it was a moot lead… maybe it wasn’t—Maker, you hoped Din returned soon.

“I think we both know that not everything in this galaxy has a logical explanation,” Kai muttered around the butt of his cigarette, running a gloved hand through once perfectly styled hair and leaving strands to fall in his eyes as he glanced at you.

“All I know, is Kyr sounded worried when he called. My brother never worries.”

That caught your attention. The Rhaer – chieftain – of Clan Carria and a man easily ten years your senior, Kyr was always that strikingly wild, unattainable figure the younger members of the clan looked up to. The guy who bailed you out of trouble constantly and even took the fall a few times. He had taken up the mantle of leadership when he returned from the Rebellion—he would make a good leader, you always thought it. Was always meant for it as the Clan Carria’s heir. He was the perfect buffer for the stags against some of the more ruthless clans he had to make nice with in the joint ruling of Pamarthe.

“Kyr was worried?” you double-checked. Surely not—

Kai nodded, “He never asks for help, fawn—and he still asked me to come home, there must be something to those stories…”

You were inclined to believe him, if only for that piece of information. The clans on Pamarthe didn’t take kindly to outside interference. The Empire, the Republic before it… they all maintained tenuous relations with the planet—but they were stubbornly independent. Trade agreements were the most any government could expect when it came to intergalactic relations, especially after how much the war had cost them.

“What other stories have you heard?” you risked asking.

“Plenty, Kyr said there were things happening—things that couldn’t happen. A kid fell from one of the rope bridges, handle snapped from wear—and he didn’t fall. He hovered, suspended in the air before being pushed by something back onto the planks. Went missing that same night.”

Fuck.

That sounded exactly like what the kid could do. An image of the Trandoshan running in place rose in your mind—his feet hardly touching the ground as his vibroaxe was frozen in a downward slash when the child saved you.

“I leave in the morning,” Kai explained, holding in the breath of smoke before he exhaled it.

“So soon?” worry etched across your face at being left here.

The commander noticed, turning to you fully to weave his hand around the back of your neck,

“Come with me, little fawn—come home.”

Din crept up the stairs, his shadow crawling up the side of the wall—an omen of terror for those trapped above. Blasters fire lit the top of the stairwell from where erratic fire was concentrated; none of the guards remaining willing to venture closer to his steadily approaching shadow.

But Din got too comfortable, too angry at the situation he had been put in—the danger he was trying to shield his ad’ika from with every twist of his body, that he didn’t anticipate anything more than blasters. But he forgot who were involved… forgot that despite their absence at this meeting—the Zygerrians were a crafty bunch, and mere blasters were never their weapon of choice.

A burst of pain ripped through his shoulder when he turned the corner, a modified energy arrow fired so precisely it missed his pauldron and struck him through the vulnerable point of his duraweave. A purple glow pulsed, and with every pulse—pain ripped through him from the source.

He grunted, staggered back with the same debilitating rush of a rampaging Houk that knocked the wind right out of him. It wasn’t unlike the time his shoulder had been dislocated by Teff, but this pain was different. It was instant. And it didn’t stop. He braced his uninjured arm against the wall, turning his head with a hiss to try assess the damage—the arrow piercing muscles he needed in order to turn—and recognized the pulsing purple glow that imparted an energetic charge into the metal arrow. Energy infused arrows—wonderful.

It was a clean shot – thankfully – the arrow tip barely protruding out from above his shoulder blade but it still hurt like a mudscuffer; the shock waves of pain from the energy designed to inflict maximum pain with no respite. Blaster fire still rained from the back of the room he was trying to get to—the stairwell his only cover when he considered snapping the arrow to remove it.

But fuck, the metal was treated—solid, his strength not enough to break it from such an awkward angle. So, he gripped the metal fletching—clawed shards of metal to bite into his hand—in order to pull it out but then your voice rose – panicked and fretful – in his mind.

Unless you’re close enough to treatment, do NOT remove an impaled object.

Fuck.

His helmet clunked against the steel wall, sucking in ragged breaths that sent ripples of pain from his shoulder and ribs to combine in a cold sweat that broke on his forehead. He could hear them—the few that remained up here, shouts of Mandalorian—slow and panicked despite his injury, and he realized Scurra wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

The child was gazing up at him, and he wished he could convey emotion—reassurance as easily as you could with just a look, but he was left with the impassive coldness of his visor—the only face the child knew him by.

“It’s okay,” he ground out, knowing those big ears would hear him over the fire—and he didn’t know why he needed to say it—for the child, for himself… a promise unspoken that he would get them both out, get them both back to you.

If he died now—if they child was taken or killed, would you ever know? Would you ever find out? Blood gathered in his flight suit—a hot, sticky rust that formed a condemning film of sapped strength over his left arm and torso. He exhaled, gritted his teeth and threw one more detonator around the corner into the room, uncertain of the integrity of the structure and not willing to risk the child’s life should it collapse.

A raindrop of understanding disturbed the dark waters of his mind—you… you hadn’t been willing to risk the child’s life—his life on Maldo Kreis. Not when you saw a way out…

Fuck…

He snarled, forcing the thought away as he pushed himself around the corner and into the billowing smoke and ash from his explosive, the arrow still embedded in his shoulder. He side stepped a body, the fucker with the bow—and drove his foot down onto the sight window of the bow to snap the limb in half. He had been hit once already, he didn’t fancy being shot again.

The scarce few people remaining where scrambling, dignitaries trying to find their guards and only finding each other or the Mandalorian. He gripped them by the lapels of clothing or the back of their neck to examine their faces, tossing them aside when none of them fit the profile. The blood seeping from his wound draining him with every pump of his heart.

And then he saw someone—tall, long neck, lanky. Scurra.

Locked on his prey, the pain and fatigue faded as the scent of blood invigorated his determination. He shoved another Umbaran out of the way, the solid grip of his good hand banding around the back of that stupidly long neck and his boot found the back of fleeing knees.

“There you are,” he growled as the man whimpered—covered in soot and already pleading with beady eyes squeezed shut and watering from the ash and fear. Offering Din everything, anything he could want before he even knew who Din was or what he wanted. And what Din wanted right now, was quiet. The butt of his blaster found the back of Scurra’s head and put an end to the yammering. He sighed, it had been giving the Mandalorian an even worse headache than the explosions and blood loss.

The others fled around him—and while his integrity wanted to dispose of anyone who dealt in flesh trafficking, he knew he was getting weaker. And he still had a long trek back to the X-wing. He resolved to stand guard over his prey, blaster clocked and aimed at the stairwell as the others scurried down to escape the refinery. At least Din had been correct about their loyalty to one another. It was non-existent unless credits were on the table—and by the overturned table to his left, Din had interrupted them right as they were getting to the good part.

It was suddenly so quiet then, as the dust settled—the commotion of screaming and yelling—the blaster fire and blood quietened. Only the laboured pants of his breathing and the inquisitive chuff from the satchel at his side. He nodded – regretted it immediately – and dropped to one knee beside Scurra’s prone form. The child watched the rise and fall of his chest—rattling exhales more difficult as the steady pump of blood from his wound continued to darken the duraweave, saturating it in his lifeblood.

“S’okay, ad’ika—” he strained, and when the kid lifted a hand—immediately wanting to heal him with the magic that still made Din’s head spin, he covered the kids small clawed hand with his own.

“Not—not with the arrow still in there, kid,” he tried to explain, sighing at the confused tilt of the little womprats head and the chirp of annoyance when he tried to pull his hand from Din’s to try again.

He weighed the choice of leaving the arrow and possibly bleeding out in order to get back somewhere safe, or going against what you would advise, in the hopes the kid might be able to close the wound somewhat. Enough to stop the bleeding at least.

“Fuck, kitten—” he growled at the ceiling, sweat dripping into his eyes from the strain of keeping his body up—why were you so far away? His eyes rolled closed with a sigh.

In the past, he wouldn’t have had a second thought about how to deal with this—he would have just ripped the damn thing out. But now – in a voice that annoyingly sounded like you whenever you were scolding him – he was thinking of shit like nerve damage and scarring. He worried over moveability and cleanliness and infections—all things you had at one time or another, chided him for when he tried to deal with his injuries alone. Maker, when was the last time he had to deal with something like this alone?

You were always there, always there to ease his pain.

His eyes cracked open—eyelids feeling heavier than the beskar on his body. He didn’t have anything with him; no bindings, no cauterizer—more importantly… no medic. He had left in such a belligerent fury that he had only remembered to grab weapons and the bag he was carrying the kid in.

There was nothing else for it.

He clenched his jaw—but nothing could stop the grunt of pain from escaping his lips when he tore the arrow out of his flesh, choking on the sear of white hot pain as the barbs tore through more of his muscle on the way out. Maximum damage was right. He swallowed the nausea, blood gushing from the now open wound. He pressed his gloved hand to the entry wound—feeling the same warm trickle down his back from the exit.

“Okay, kid…”

His ad’ika’s ears perked and Din hesitated, a feeling of—disgust filling him. That he would use this child, knowing how much it drained him. The innocent willingness to help him shining in alien eyes tinged with distress as Din grew weaker sending a crack through the Mandalorian’s heat. He had no choice… he had to—had to get him off this planet, somewhere safe. Lifting the little womprat up in his good arm, his tiny body weighting nothing and holding his life in his little hands—Din felt like the worst sort of person.

When the kids small palm hovered over his shoulder, he expected pain—but it never came. It felt strange. Like an itch—that annoying scratch beneath the surface of the skin when muscle knitted back together. It was joined by a warmth, liquid warmth—not unlike blood but cleaner. If Din could ever describe what light felt like—if it could be touched, if it were tangible—it would be that. Permeating his nerves and chasing away the malicious darkness lingering from the intent of the injury. He closed his eyes, relief filling him where pain had once overwhelmed him.

His ad’ika did what he could by closing the wound—knitting as much of the muscle back as his little body could manage. It was still raw – probably still in need of mending by your estimation he guessed – but the pain was bearable and he wouldn’t bleed out, that would have to do for now.

He caught the little womprat in one hand when he sat down heavily, fatigued and drained. Guilt ate at Din, to feel so much relief at the expense of a child, a foundling he was supposed to protect. He belatedly worried over the effect of such a feat on his little body and made him grit his teeth, brushing a gentle hand over the white peach fuzz covering his head.

He didn’t seem in any pain… just tired—but how was he to know? He set the kid down in the satchel to sleep, knocked out from the endeavour and turned whiskey eyes to his bounty.

Vero Scurra.

Din should have killed him when he had the chance all that time ago in Mynock.

He nudged the man onto his back with the toe of his steel-toed boots, out cold and with a bloody nose from where he had fallen on his face and no doubt broken it. Served him right. The incriminating green of his sleeve catching Din’s eye immediately. So, the gang that had gained such a footing in the galaxy’s criminal underground was the Quai-Kisu. Din hadn’t been sure if they were still around after their takeover on Dandoran, but this confirmed it.

Grabbing energy binders, he bound the quarry’s wrists behind his back. Sighing at the prospect of dragging this guy most – if not all – of the way back to his ship, Din grabbed the back of Scurra’s jacket and began dragging him towards the stairs. A few bruises wouldn’t go amiss either.

Keeping his blaster clocked and aimed as he turned each corner, the refinery was once again reminiscent of how it had been before becoming a meeting point. Desolate, abandoned, the ghost of a long forgotten operation that stood as a testament of the imperial power once held over this land.

Din wondered vaguely if he should be worried about the few who got away—what their business was here, but then he remembered that this wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t even getting paid for this. If he caused a bigger mess for the New Republic in fulfilling their demands… well then—he couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy that just a little bit.

They fucking deserved it after sending him on a damn suicide mission he barely escaped. They sent Din straight into the eye of the storm to get what they wanted from him. Typical. They were all the same.

Even that commander you seemed so taken with.

He growled.

Kai.

It was the first time in months – ever really – that Din had been truly shaken by your position in his life. That you didn’t have to be with him, with the kid—cramped on the floor of the Razor Crest. There was a life, people outside that steel barrier that you could go back to, build a life with. You had a life… one you could leave him for—one you should leave him for.

It was both sobering and nauseating.

A realisation that made the primal force of his rage snarl with a rebuttal that you were his his his and he could give you everything you might be missing from another life. He had to tamper it down with muzzles and chains—the inappropriate line of thought shaking him despite the intimacy of your relationship.

What even was your relationship?

You fucked, you tended to each other’s needs to the best of your abilities. He… enjoyed your company. The yammering conversations you didn’t need a response to as you told him about this or that in the medical field, the laughter that filled the Razor Crest every time the child entertained you. The interest you always showed in anything he did or said that you didn’t understand—gaze hungry with a desire to learn, to know him.

What did he know about you?

You were young. Well—younger than him. He hardly kept track of his age, but he was certain you were probably at least twelve years younger than him.

You were from a clan on Pamarthe. All he knew about Pamarthe was that they had exceptionally talented pilots but you didn’t seem too interested in flying more than was required of you.

You were a medic who joined the Rebellion to work in the field and then ended up on Klatooine where he met you.

He wracked his brain the entire way back, dragging Scurra’s slumped figure all the while—the return journey somewhat easier as he followed the path he made on the way there.

You liked water.

The expression on your face when he found you naked in that river on Bharani V still haunted his dreams, still made him weak—the sheer enjoyment you got from the way water tantalized your senses. Eyes closed, facing towards the warm sun, fingers gliding through the crystal depths of its gentle course. He thought about it more often than he cared to admit. Wanted to see it again, see you again—happy and soaked and radiating life.

What else did you like?

Berries. He liked berries too.

You had squirrelled away one of the bags you had purchased on Ryloth for him to keep in the cockpit so it would have a better chance of surviving the little womprat when he inevitably finished pilfering the others you had bought. He still remembered the pout that had formed on your lips when he told you he had eaten them all, breaking into a blinding smile that lit your eyes when he pulled out the bag to show he had been teasing.

What else?

Fuck.

He knew… he knew—

He knew how much pressure you needed on your clit to make you come—knew the exact curl of his fingers inside your cunt to make your back arch. He knew how to interpret your moans and translate the babbling pleas to know what you wanted, what you needed. He knew how to fuck you if you were stressed—how it changed if you were tired, or if you were in pain with cramps from your moon cycles. He knew how to talk to you in kisses; how some made you melt… others made you submit to him… and all of them made you drip with desire. He knew the scent of your arousal between your legs and the intimately sweet scent of your neck. Din knew you… or—at least he thought he did.

He didn’t know your age. Didn’t know if you had family. Didn’t even know your favorite fucking colour or what that ring of antlers around your thigh that drove him wild meant.

Why did he even care about those details? Must be the blood loss. They were inconsequential. You guys fucked, fought, fucked again—talked sometimes, bickered most of the time. And he… liked it. Yet, there was a hunger, a greed for more, an insatiable lust he couldn’t slake in taking your body, your mouth—your cunt. He wanted to know you.

What was your favorite colour? Blue? Like the oceans that covered your planet?

Or maybe gold… you had been so taken with the tusks of the boar on Bharani V that boasted a stunning golden hue to the point that they still sat in the Razor Crest now.

Perhaps some shade of purple or green he had no idea what to call other than purple or green. Nothing dark though… he had a strange inclination that you would like something bright—but what did it matter?

Maybe it was a way to see you smile again, intimately like in the river—or brightly when he showed you that bag of berries…

Maybe there was no logical reason. Maybe he didn’t need one.

Din came to a stand in the middle of the Zabrak spines, almost back to the X-wing and hopefully on his way back to the Star Cruiser thereafter.

Maker, he was so fucked.

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

Notes:

1. Llyrian - Pamarthan sea god.

2. Rhydonium - A volatile, explosive starship fuel (the same substance being transported by Din and Mayfeld in Chapter 15!)

3. The Ghost Nebula - a sector in the Slice portion of Expansion Region that blocked light from most of the stars beyond and within it, isolating it from the galaxy and inspiring its name.

4. Umbara - Anyone who has watched TCW knows how horrid this planet is, especially what it did to our beloved Captain Rex. For reference, I used the episode "Darkness of Umbara" and this art by Tara Rueping as inspiration! Notice the tall Zabrak spines and tentacled Devil's Embrace that Din encounters on his journey through the hostile landscape.

5. Doonium - A heavy metal used in starship construction. Following the end of the Clone Wars, the Empire extensively mined and stockpiled large amounts of doonium, secretly utilizing it in the construction of the Death Star superweapon hence the large imperial presence on Umbara where it was predominantly found as well as on Batonn, Lothal, Samovar and Soccoro.

6. Chiss - a humanoid species from the planet Chiss. Think Grand Admiral Thrawn, the most famous Chiss in SW lore. These have to be one of the most fascinating races in SW, for their secrecy alone. But where my linguist brain lights up-- is with their system of naming. Every Chiss has a core name which was a shortened version of their full name. Members of the Chiss species used their core names rather than their full names for at least two reasons. Among Chiss, core names were used in all but the most formal settings. Chiss also gave their core names to members of other species, as non-Chiss had difficulties pronouncing full Chiss names. For example, Mitth'raw'nuruodo is shortened to Thrawn and Mitrab'el'tawn is shortened to Belt.

7. Liberty of Malastare - confirmed that one rebel/New Republic pilot sacrificed himself for the victory. I've taken some creative liberties in giving this role to readers brother, Rhydian.

8. Pamarthan Names - while not a requirement, those in Clan Carria often name their children in a certain way to determine rank (eldest, second son, first daughter etc.). We can see from this chapter, that both eldest sons (Kyr and Rhydian) contain the denotion 'y' for the most powerful Pamarthan god Llyrian. Second sons are denoted by the 'ai' in their names (Kai and Rhain) and siblings are usually (but not always) connected through a similarity in given names (Rh and K for the respective families). This changes from clan to clan and the above is only in reference to Clan Carria.

8. AT-AT on Hoth - throwback to 'The Empire Strikes Back'!

9. Tauntaun - these incredibly cute reptomammals I always thought would be so super cuddly to hug.

10. The danu - monster-like creatures told in stories to scare/teach young children on Pamarthe. A myth.

11. Modified energy arrow - think of Jarrah's modified energy bow that imparted an electrical charge to a solid arrow. Not a full energy bow used by Omera in TBB or the Zygerrians.

#din djain x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #pedro pascal #star wars smut #star wars #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando

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dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 3 years

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This may be a minor gripe but something that has kind of bothered me about discussions and depictions of Dan is how often people seem to forget that Dan isn't just an older evil Danny, he's a combination of Danny and Vlad's ghost sides. Like people always talk about him like Danny threw away his humanity and turned evil but that's not even true. Sure, we can say that Dan is the result of Danny's action but that's a little unfair. (1/2)

(2/2) Him cheating on a test, coincidentally putting his loved one's in a position where they could be killed, is absolutely not his fault. Letting Vlad take away his ghost powers with a strange contraption might not have been the smartest move, but we are talking about a grieving CHILD here, of course he isn't going to make the best decisions. If anything Vlad's the one to blame here, and even then, it's not like he could predict what happened

---

you aren't wrong, my friend. it really isn't entirely danny's fault and the whole 'if you cheat on a test, you'll loose everything you love' moral is confused at best. i think as fandom we find it more interesting to look at danny's potential evil and moral struggle with himself. so simplifying it to be dan is a worse case scenario of danny makes the conflict less abstract.

particularly because when it comes to self blame danny isn't going to go easy on himself just because it was excusable mistakes.

i think another talking point should be how danny is the target of the time assassination more than vlad is, even though vlad is part of the evil whole. you could argue that danny is the catalyst of his friends death and vlad inventing the claw things. but vlad invented the claw things. maybe because his human side survived and acted relatively harmless from then on? or maybe it's because the observants based on the available evidence recognized danny as more of a threat. i think that fits actually, for all vlad tried to be an evil mastermind, his achievements outside of terrorizing a teenager and theft isn't particularly impressive. danny was the one who got shit done. all his fights he finished one way or another and i could see how that would bleed into dan defeating everyone.

the real question is how to we fix this. ideally we could shape this idea so it's less confused, though i do honestly find the dynamic of half danny, half vlad interesting. if for not other reason. than two half ghosts make a whole. actually that's something else to be said about dan. his self-loathing is what led him to killing his human half, another negative aspect coming from danny.

i wonder if we could frame it like fusion, from su. obviously dan isn't stable or healthy, or based on love. he's most comparable to malichite. but with less internal debate. dan took the best and worst of both of them. danny's determination, danny's fighting ability, danny's anger, danny's sarcasm, vlad's anger, vlads lack of morals, vlads schemes, vlad's control. heck, vlads desire to rule the world. i don't think we ever got that from danny.

maybe if vlad was more involved in the fight with dan it could have been used as an opportunity to compare and contrast their characters. to go we're not so different you and i. danny gets to recognize that he has that dark potential. vlad gets to be humbled by the fact that what he wants isn't good for anyone, especially himself. and to be fair, we do see some of that humbling with future vlad, but none of that character growth is given to present vlad, so, really it's just another vehicle for danny angst. it also depends on what you want to do with vlad though. he's a fascinating character and could be given redemption under the right circumstances or be a character who has the opportunity for redemption but chooses not to be redeemed every time.

that fits him and makes him both a more pathetic and despicable villain. it's hard to pity someone who ignores the opportunities to heal and grow.

as for danny, he becomes far more aware of the consequences his actions, especially his selfish and cruel ones can have. because that potential was always there. he has a history of abusing his powers. perhaps for this specific incident him abusing his powers can be something less understandable than almost cheating on a test that he couldn't study for through no fault of his own. (maybe i just have flexible morals?). maybe it could be something more character relevant, like he did something particularly vlad like, maybe he set up a prank at the nasty burger to get dash but it set off the explosion that killed his family. or maybe he did something particularly cruel and manipulative. there are better catalysts than a test. either way he recognized that he should never go that far again and strive to avoid being actively cruel.

he also has the opportunity to recognize that vlad does have a human half, even the one he's fighting everyday. he can face some conflict in it's not entirely clear what trait belongs to vlad and what trait belongs to him. he can empathize with vlad and he can recognize that situations aren't always in black in white. those who fly the highest, fall the hardest, after all.

it can be a growing experience. and while making it solely a danny goes bad and learns not to do evil kind of story. maybe we could cut vlad from the equation and just have danny face himself, full evil refection. i think exploring both vlad and danny through this fusion is far more interesting. especially because we can build on what's revealed about vlad in these episodes, in later ones. danny sees a future where vlad chills and that maybe his vlad could get their. later he see vlads past and what he lost to become who he is.

and then there's vlads turning point episodes. i don't know when motherly instinct took place but maddie fully recognizing he's a bastard and rejection him, was a turning point for his sanity, and danny helped it along. then we have danny rejecting him repeatedly, then we the clone episode, which we can all agree was a desperate move on his part, that danny once again thwarted. and we can all agree that this was the cannon turning point for his character where he stopped fighting for a family and started trying to be danny's villain. in that episode, i think danny could potentially pity vlad enough to try and reach out. he's not going to justify what vlad did and he's not going to apologize for stopping him. he went too far. he hurt danny and dani, he crossed a moral line that can't be justified even with his desperation. but if he changes...

he lost this time but if he changes, maybe they'll reach the point where they're ready to accept him.

i think the same thing could be said about his relationship with jack and maddie. if he changes, if he reaches out. if acts like less of a crazy fruitloop, his friends would be there for him. jack is still trying to be there for him, even if he's being oblivious about vlad's faults. vlads the one driving wedges into his relationships and pushing everyone away.

and that's so freaking human and understandable.it would be such a cool thing to explore with his character.

i could also see a potential arc where after valerie finds out vlad and masters are the same person she tries to get close to him, both to sus out how evil he is and to understand him as a halfa. afterall danny got her to acknowledge dani as human enough, the same would apply to vlad/plasmius, right? only he's a bad person and the more she uncovers about vlad masters the man, the more she realizes it's not the ghost half that's evil. but this is a double edged sword because, vlad is getting attached to her and encouraging her to be more evil. he's encouraging her to go darker and darker in her fight against ghosts and her fight specifically against phantom. to the point where she finally draws the line and says, i'm not doing that! boom exploring the moral ambiguity of her character and getting her to take a hard stance on her morals, because there's a line too far for her.

and boom a further breakdown of vlads character because he finally had someone outside the fentons to redeem him. she could have helped pull him out of the hole he'd been digging himself into. she wanted to help him. he got attached to her, but he and his bad decisions decided to dig himself deeper instead. so once again he's 'abandoned and betrayed'.

from that point, i think it'd be time for him to finally face jack head on. not through manipulative schemes. not through veiled threats and insults. but the full confrontation of 'i always hated you. you ruined my life. you're the reason i lost everything'. which is really just his own self loathing speaking. and jack... empathetic jack can see that vlad desperately wants help. and jack would offer it to him. jack would try to hug it out and apologize and give vlad the love and friendship vlad's been fighting to steal this whole time.

and vlad would reject it.

he'd probably lash out a jack and go into a full breakdown/world destroying attack. could finally put the stolen crown to use and try declaring himself king and embracing his megalomaniac thing and actually be a threat this time. and THAT would be our series finally. everyone teaming up to fight 'king vlad'. danny probably finding out that he's technically king because he beat pariah dark but the matter being a bit confused because he had help. val and danny trying to find the ring of rage or at least find someone who can make one. secrets are out. i imagine vlad, upon revealing himself to jack would out danny to make danny as sad and alone as him. except nope, his family still loves him and val has had the character development to come around to him. (she's still gonna punch danny for lying for so long.) the ghosts will come and help because no one wants another tyrannical kind and vlads obviously off his rocker.

ah, the could have beens

anyway, i didn't mean for this to become a full vlad character analysis and rewrite when we were supposed to be talking about dan, but hey, i'm a simple creature. i like good writing, and i have to rewrite things myself, so be it. - Hestia

#dpjl #hestiawrites #danny phantom #vlad masters

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

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💕Can I request all the senjus,orochimaru,shisui and itachi with a s/o who managed to make themselves immortal with out consequences and they did it without experimenting but they can make other people immortal but people keep trying to kidnap them for it,also they don’t age anymore?💕

This is what pretty much Orochimaru’s dream is.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, kidnapping, manipulation, clinginess

Immortal s/o

Hashirama Senju

🌳He is quite the more supporting and encouraging person. But in this situation even he finds himself a bit unsure how to feel. Your jutsu is quite amazing and something marvelous, but Hashirama is someone who wants to spend his whole life with his darling and die later on when both of them are grey and old together, that is his dream. But with you who stopped aging long ago and will never die, this is something impossible. The clan has definitely a huge interest in you, even though they are aware that your ability will end up being terrifying if it goes into the wrong hands which is why the Leaf guards you very observingly, not wanting to risk that a rival village gets their hands on you. If their strongest shinobi would be made immortal, that would end in a catastrophe. Hashirama himself makes sure that even in his own village no one plans on abusing your powers.

🌳I do not think that Hashirama would force you to either make him immortal nor to somehow tell you that you should try to stop your powers and start aging again. Not like he won't try to convince you to eventually consider finding a way to stop being immortal and instead settle down and live with him. Given the fact that are immortal, you might lived longer than he did and for that have knowledge he and his clan do not possess which is why you're treated from the Senju and the whole village really respectfully, if they need advice they will go and ask you. Hashirama can also only do this much and so he grows more clingy since he knows that he will die whilst you will live. And so he wants to be able to have a place in your heart for all the time to come and alongside with his brother and future generations, he trusts you to protect the Leaf Village once he dies. Even if his darling is immortal, he still wants to marry them since he is traditional.

Tobirama Senju

🌊Despite him being the harsher and much more intimidating and blackmailing guy from all the Senju, he has a rather simple dream as well. He wants to marry his darling and live with them together and one day die. And his dream is messed up with all of this as well and he is quite irritated by the knowledge that you made yourself immortal. On the one hand Tobirama is eager to invent new jutsu himself so from that perspective this is beyond fascinating, a wish many people before him had and tried to work on. But in a way this is honestly way too mocking for him as well because even if his darling might have to endure harsher lessons with him, they might honestly have the relieving thought that he will die one day anyways and then they're free. It is angering because it is true and depending on how old they are, they might nag him because of his behavior and he won't be able to say much against it since he knows they have more experience than him in life.

🌊This might be an advantage you have against him next to the whole being immortal thing. He will start being more respectful once he finds out how old you really are. He literally can not help it and that is why he sometimes, under the risk of his pride, asks you for some advice. He doesn't really want to be immortal either, even though he is more curious about it than his brother is. But what he has to do is always guaranteeing that you are under high protection because he know what terrible things your powers can do when being wrongly used. He might actually try to create a jutsu similar to yours because in a way you have been inspiring him. He also will end up marrying his darling. For starters he is a pretty traditional guy so marriage has a high meaning for him as well. Additionally he is not willing to let you that easily get away with your long life, he is possessive. He just kind of wants to set a mark on you for as long as you're part of the Leaf.

Orochimaru

🐍You have literally achieved what he has been trying to complete his whole life time without even having to experiment on anything and it is thrilling for him. No wonder he is after you as soon as he has heard the rumors, being in his way fervent about it and his obsession starts before he has even met you in person. And oh, he will hunt his darling down, no matter where he has to go and who he has to kill. He wants that jutsu and that talent who created it and no one will stop him. Not going to lie, at the beginning he is a bit salty, mostly because he feels like he has been beaten since you didn't even have to use anyone, you just had pure skill. But whilst he might have lost this, he still can owe the person who had the skills and intelligence and since he will totally force you to teach him that power and make him immortal as well, you might be stuck with him forever if you do so. And the bad part here is that if you don't, he will have no problems torturing you or using you as his next vessel.

🐍You're immortal, so it's not like you will die and he takes advantage of that if you refuse to lend him a hand. If you do help him, he will show his gratitude in a rather odd way, but it's better than his sadstic side. He simply keeps you, that much has to be said already. He can't effort to lose a talent like you, the experience not even to mention. His darling becomes his very special treasure who helped him earning immortality and in return he offers them a place to stay and protection. He knows that everyone wants to have that sort of abilities and he gets rid of all of them all to gladly, he won't let anyone dare to take his special underling away from him. He just always has you tagging along with him. Sasuke gets kind of interested as well since you are indeed powerful and you might as well get close to him since he is together with Kabuto and Orochimaru the only person you will see for a long time. Depending on how long you are already alive, Orochimaru also wants to know pretty much all jutsu and other knowledge you might have.

Tsunade Senju

🐌She looks quite young for her age which comes from the fact that she uses a jutsu that makes her appear young, but she is just like everyone else. She ages and is bound to die one day. And Tsunade handles this maybe a bit worse than some others do. You gotta understand, she just thought that she finally found the one person she can manage to live together with the rest of her life only to discover that they will continue living forever. And to know that she might be only one of many to come and that she might be forgotten one day is truly not very pretty, it makes her a bit more desperate. At first she was probably scared that you used to do the same things Orochimaru did to reach your goal so she was definitely more at ease when hearing that you succeeded without having to go with such drastic methods. For that reason she refuses to let her old teammate find out about you, knowing that he will be after you if he hears that you're in the Leaf which would only give him more reasons to attack.

🐌Tsuna might find herself tempted by the thought to be made immortal from you and live for all eternity together with you, simply because she is possessive as well and wants to be finally happy with the person she loves after all her beloved people dying on her. She's not completely sure, she knows that being immortal can be as much of a curse as it can be a blessing. The the council from Konoha is quite possessive as well, knowing how valuable you are and so they might want to use your powers for more selfish reasons from time to time. This leads to arguments between Tsunade and them because she is often against such decisions, seeing that they plan on making use of you. But one thing they do agree on is keeping you save from all other forces who want you in their grip. Funnily you might be a part of the eldest yourself if you lived long enough which gives Tsunade an advantage since you are on her side and not that narrow-viewed like the other eldest are.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂At this point in his timeline his darling might as well be already part of the village or at the very least known everywhere in the hidden villages for their special jutsu which is why everyone is on some sort of hunt for them. Shisui himself honestly probably never really saw himself falling for someone who constantly dominates the spotlight like you do, maybe also because he thought, despite the fact that you look young, the age difference would make him view you more as a admirable sensei because being able to make yourself and others immortal without having to do experiments on humans needs skill and wisdom. Shisui also just knows that even if you like him as well, this is a completely impossible love since not only might the superiors forbid it, but he does not desire to be made immortal. He already knows that everyone dies sooner or later and given his job being ready to die is a must since he is constantly exposed to danger.

🍂It would only break your heart in the end which is why he kind of feels like it might be best if he stays silent about his feelings at first. He just focuses on protecting you from potential enemies who plan on kidnapping you and tries to be someone who can leighten your mood up a bit since he sympathizes that life for you must be quite tricky. If he does confesses to you because he feels like you really like him as well or you tell him you like him first, he might hesitate and voice his doubts, but can be more easily manipulated since he loves you. Shisui kind of knows that he might not be the last since he doesn't want to be made immortal and you might find after his death a new person you love. And he accepts that, he doesn't want his darling to be alone only because they can't die. But he can make sure that he leaves some sort of impression on you so you will remember him. He wants at the very least a special place in your heart.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡He did not kidnap his darling so he could have their jutsu for himself, he definitely didn't. He did it because he lost control over his emotions and given the fact that you are constantly being chased by other power-hungry persons, he got triggered too much because he knows that some will hurt you to get what they want since you can not die. And afterwards Itachi just has to be really careful so that no one will find out because you are no ordinary person. You are famous and a living legend for your achievement and it'll cause a huge motion if he is being sighted with you because everyone will know afterwards, including the Akatsuki and he can expect that Pain will definitely want you to be a part of his organization since you not only have a very gifted ability, but might also possess knowledge and forgotten jutsu from long time ago. And Itachi doesn't want to force you to live the same life as him, even if you can't be killed on such missions.

🍡Itachi knows that he doesn't have long to live anyways and he already accepted that fact, he has his plans in mind for this. So he knows he won't be there for too long to protect you from all the greedy and selfish people which is why he might plan on making Sasuke look after you once he dies and he tells you about this as well, even though he knows you can handle yourself very well on your own as well. He respects people who are older than him and for that reason he might be far more respectful to the s/o than he would be already and he isn't embarrassed about it. Similar to Shisui he also knows that after his death his darling might find someone else and he won't be angry with them for it. They shouldn't spend their whole life grieving over him since he wants them to be happy. The only person he might ever tell willingly about his darling is Kisame since he is next to his younger brother the only person he really trusts with his darling.

#yandere naruto #yandere naruto shippuden #yandere hashirama #yandere hashirama senju #yandere tobirama #yandere tobirama senju #yandere orochimaru #yandere tsunade #yandere tsunade senju #yandere shisui #yandere shisui uchiha #yandere itachi #yandere itachi uchiha

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sacredsorceress · 3 years

Text

Secrets (Four) || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: when you wake up in the avengers compound after being saved by bucky, sam and nat, you discover that something’s changed.

a/n: thank you for all your feedback!! reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 2.7k

warnings: arguing, swearing, angst

Prologue, One, Two, Three

masterlist || request || taglist

Opening your eyes, blinking to clear your vision, you were immediately met with ice coating the ceiling above you despite feeling as though you were locked in a sauna.

“What the-”

Sitting up in your bed, you tried to piece together where you were, why you were here and what had just happened, but all you could see was the concrete room you were sat in with nothing but a bright light shining above you and frost coating every inch of the room.

Suddenly the events of the day all came back to you- the men in your house, being kidnapped, being locked in a container to freeze to death... the truth about your husband.

Bucky.

The last thing you remembered were his eyes meeting yours on the other side of the glass.

Despite years of marriage and precious memories, all that flooded your brain were the images of the Winter Soldier- masked and ready to kill. All you could hear were the screams of his victims and those who fled at the sight of him.

All you could feel was fear.

“You’re awake.” You heard an unfamiliar voice declare.

Snapping your attention towards the door of the room you hadn’t even noticed was there, you recognized the very familiar red-headed Avenger standing in the doorway.

“Wait, you’re.... are you-” You stumbled over your words. “Where am I?”

Carefully stepping into the room, closing the door behind her, Natasha slowly made her way over to your bed.

“You’re at the Avengers Compound.” She informed you. “Do you remember anything?”

You thought then that she might have been glad to learn that you had retained your memory, but you sure wished you hadn’t.

“More than I’d like to.” You said.

Shooting you a sad smile, her gloved hands pulled up the chair next to your bed, seating herself beside you. As she did you finally took in her appearance, noting the large jacket she was wearing, the hood over her head and thick gloves on her hands, meanwhile you felt as though you were soaking in your own sweat.

“God, how are you wearing that?” You asked, pointing at her jacket. “It’s so hot in here.”

Chuckling, she leaned back in her chair.

“Well when you’re ninety degrees, I guess an ice rink would feel a little warm.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you sat up straighter in your bed.

“Ninety degrees?” You asked. “Shouldn’t I be dead by now?”

“That’s what we all thought.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you remembered the feeling of the frost hitting your skin when you were enclosed in the container, the sounds of the cold air rushing out of its walls. You were trapped, feeling the biting cold in a way you never had before. So cold that when the frost began to form over the glass, your husband’s eyes meeting yours, all you could feel was the cooling sense of exhaustion wash over you as you closed your eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

“How long have I been out?” You asked.

Just as Natasha was opening her mouth, you heard a voice coming from the other side of the room.

“Two days.”

Your eyes snapping open, you turned your attention immediately to the man in the doorway. When you saw your husband standing in the threshold, you felt your heart begin to race in your chest as you scrambled back against the bed frame.

“You.” You said, swallowing, the word venomous in your mouth.

Hearing the word slip out of your mouth almost as though it were a cruse, Bucky’s eyes widened and he began to feel his heart beat against his chest.

He knew then that the consequence of the secret he had been keeping for years was now staring him back in the face.

“Y/n-” He eased, taking another step forward.

Grabbing the pillow from behind your back, you tossed it at him.

“You lied to me!” You shouted. “You fucking lied to me all these years. I- it’s sick!”

Letting the pillow hit his chest, he began to feel sick.

He had known deep down that someday his past would come back to haunt him. Even deeper down he knew that someday you would discover the truth, but he had hoped to be gone by then, leaving you to hate him once he could no longer feel your wrath. He had shoved down the idea of the look on your face when you found out for years, but now as he stood there, his own nightmares playing out before him, he just wished he had told the truth sooner.

The consequence of losing you and never having you was better than knowing your love and having it tainted with hatred by his own hand.

“Doll,” He said your pet name, his shoulders slouching.

“No!” You shouted, pushing yourself off of the bed. “You don’t get to call me that anymore! God, did ever even feel bad about lying to your own wife?”

He did.

He felt awful every time he made up some lie about his past. He felt awful every time he told you he had no family, no friends. He even felt awful every morning when he lied to you about where he was going off to work every day.

It had been eating away at him for years.

He had told himself that it was for the best, but he realized now that he didn’t do it for you, but entirely for himself. He had been so incredibly selfish and you were now paying for his crimes.

“Of course I did.” Bucky said so low, it was nearly a whisper. “Of course I felt bad, Y/n.”

Before you could reply, you heard another knock on the door, it cracking open slightly.

“Oh thank God.” Natasha said from her seat when she saw Bruce and Sam.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you turned away from your husband, instead focussing your attention on the two Avengers now entering the icy space.

Before anyone could speak, however, the man you recognized as Captain America made his way over to you, reaching his gloved hand out for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” He said, giving you a soft smile. “I’m Sam. I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, but...”

Glaring at Bucky, you shook Sam’s hand.

“Sam.” You said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you too.”

Your eyes still on your husband, the three others in the room glanced between one another before Bruce cleared his throat.

“Y- you’re probably wondering about the ice in the room,” Bruce said

“You could say that.”

“Well, while you were out for the past couple of days we had some of the best doctors we know examine you,” Bruce explained. “I understand that this may be... difficult... to understand, but this- this ice- it’s-”

“It’s coming out of you.” Sam said finally, finishing Bruce’s sentence for him.

Quirking your eyebrows at the three members of the group of Avengers, you thought for a second before shaking your head, laughing.

“You’re joking, right?” You asked. “You have to be kidding.”

This couldn’t be real. There was no possible way you actually had ice coming out of your body. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t real.

Standing up from her seat, Natasha crossed her arms.

“When you were in cryo, you were in temperatures nobody comes back from.” She said, seriously. “You should be dead right now. No one knows why you’re still here.”

Lifting your hands from your sides to stare at your palms, you attempted to digest the information the three of them had just fed you.

You were alive when every logical answer said you shouldn't have been. You had abilities that no other living person did.

You were supposed to be at home, spending the weekend with your children. You were supposed to wait for your completely honest husband to walk in the doors of your home and kiss him hello.

But now you were standing there, being told that you had changed- transformed. You were different than you were before. You didn’t feel warm and fuzzy, but cold and distraught.

Feeling the anger course through your veins, tears meeting your eyes, you stared at your palms and in a flash, frost burst forth from the center of your hand.

Jumping back, you rapidly closed your hands into a fist, feeling your heart thumping against your chest.

“I understand that this is hard to take in-” Banner attempted.

“I’m... I’m a monster.” You said, staring up at them with wide eyes. “I have ice coming out of my hands!”

Gazing at you from the other side of the room, watching the fear in your eyes behind the tears begging to break free, Bucky felt incredibly guilty.

He had known what you were going through because he had gone through the same himself. He had woken up only to discover that he had become a super soldier with a metal arm- that he was no longer Bucky Barnes- but someone else- someone different.

He would have never wished the experience on his worst enemy, never mind the woman he cared for most in the world, but you were experiencing it nonetheless. You were in it because of him.

He had told himself that he was trying to protect you, but in the end he had forced you into a life you had never asked for.

He felt his heart shatter in his chest watching you fall apart before everyone.

All he wished was for him to be able to go over to you, to hold you in his arms despite the cold bite of ice that was sure to frost over him as soon as his skin met yours, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew you didn’t want him to.

“Y/n that’s not true.” Sam said. “I know it might feel that way, but you’re still you and Bruce is going to figure out a way for you to control it. I know it seems bad, but you’re going to be okay. You’re a part of our family now. We’ll figure it out, alright?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you nodded.

“Okay.”

As much as you were in shock, you trusted the three individuals in front of you. They hadn’t given you a reason not to- they had risked their lives to save you and even now when you felt they owed you nothing, they were working their best to help you.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You said. “Really. I think I just need some space right now.”

“I understand.” Sam nodded. “If you need anything, we’ll be right outside.”

Without a word the others followed him as he left the room and you slowly made your way over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it, placing your head in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

Shaking your head you pulled your face out of your hands.

“What part of ‘I need space’ don’t you understand, Buck?” You asked.

You heard his footsteps slowly cross over the room to you.

“I need to say something-”

Of course he did.

“Oh that’s rich, James!” You scoffed. “Funny how now you have something to say. Funny how you didn’t say anything when we started dating, or got married, or God- had children together.”

“Y/n-”

“It’s just so insane to me how you could go all this time without saying anything.” You continued. “How could you even look yourself in the mirror-”

“Fuck, Y/n, just listen to me!” He shouted, standing in front of your spot on the bed. “I fucked up really bad- I know that. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but can’t you see why I did it? I was so afraid you’d be ashamed of me because of what I am and I thought I was protecting you-”

Feeling the ice beginning to shoot out of your palm, you pushed yourself off of the bed, pointing your finger into your husband’s chest.

“I’m ashamed to have a liar as a husband.” You said, knowing just how much the words stung for him, but you felt nothing but ice flowing through you at the moment in the heat of rage. “How could you think this was protecting us? How could you think keeping the truth from me was protecting our kids? You not only put me in danger but my kids, Buck.”

“They’re my kids too, Y/n.” Bucky said.

“Are they?” You asked. “Because I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

You watched as he stepped back, his back hitting the icy wall behind him. He had known you were angry, he even knew that he deserved every harsh word you were throwing at him, but to hear you dismiss him so entirely- to almost denounce him from your life- made him feel a pain that even his worst days in Hydra or in recovery could never rival.

“I- I mean I don't even know who I am anymore, Buck.” You said throwing your arms in the air. “I mean look at this. Look at this room! Nobody can even touch my hand without gloves or without bundling up like they’re going to the fucking North Pole!”

Backing away from him, you held your face in your hands once again.

“I don’t even recognize myself and I’m all alone.” You said, lowering your voice. “I- I can’t even hug my kids- I can’t see my kids. It’s so hot in this room to me but everything just feels so cold and empty. I just wish you didn’t fucking lie to me because it would be so much easier to not hate you the way I do right now. Looking at you makes me want to scream but, God, I feel so alone.”

Beginning to feel a sob catch in your throat, your head still in your hands and the tears turning to ice when they met your palms, you felt the cool touch of Bucky’s vibranium hand meet your arm.

Shrugging him off, you shook your head.

“As much as I fucking hate you right now, you can’t touch me, James.” You said. “I’ll just hurt you.”

He knew that. He knew the biting sting of your ice against his skin. He had spent the past two days sitting by your unconscious side and no matter how many times the others told him to keep his gloves on at all times, your touch mattered more. They brought more warmth than any glove could- no matter how cold your hands were.

Seeing you breakdown in front of him, despite all of the harsh words you had thrown at him, he was sure he felt his heart break in his chest. You didn’t deserve this pain. You didn’t deserve this suffering. You didn’t deserve to be alone.

Resting his vibranium hand on your arm once again, the frost slowly creeping up his arm, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Wrapping both of his arms around you, he pulled you into his embrace. Rather than shrugging him off and pulling away, you wrapped your arms tightly around his torso, digging your face into his bundled up chest, sobbing.

Feeling a chill run throughout his body at your touch, he rest his chin on the top of your head, running his frozen vibranium arm up and down your back.

Although he knew that all was not forgiven, and that things would not be the same or even okay for a long time- if at all- all that mattered to him in that moment was that you weren’t alone. No matter the ice that overtook his body when you were in his embrace, the warmth that you brought him would never grow cold.

Going into cyro ten thousand times would be worth just one second of your peace and he would do whatever it took for you to forgive him for his mistakes that you now bore the consequences of.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #Bucky Barnes drabble #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes angst

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gemma-collins-ily · 3 years

Note

Hello, I wanted to ask for a request with Jesper? I wanted to see him being very protective of the reader. Maybe he saves her from a fight during a job or something (like, she can handle herself just fine but ended up getting trapped by a lot of guards idk) and he comes and shoots them at last minute and is very worried because she did got hurt. Then later she can be all like "it's nothing, I'm fine" but he insists on patching her up and caring for her wounds (maybe make it a soft moment with him being all gentle and lovey with her), kinda blaming himself for her getting hurt, and maybe then confessions are made? Thank you :D

Fools In Love

a/n - yessss more Jesper appreciation! He needs more credit! It sounds a bit creepy in the beginning I'm sorry 😭 Also Jesper and the pet name lovely ugh my heart! Thanks for the request xoxo💕♥️

Warnings: knives, blood, alcohol (used for cleaning of injuries), brief mentions of nausea and not sure what else!

Partners.

That's all you were. That's what Jesper kept telling himself, at least.

But it was so strange with you - he felt so strange with you. Like he should protect you, admire you, love you, care for you whenever he could.

He felt you should always be in his heart, and you were. Some part of him, yet every part of him, was saved for you.

On the days he was truly tired, had run errand after errand, participated in a heist, anything that exhausted him, he would save just a simple smile or two for you.

Because he felt he couldn't, and shouldn't, leave you without one. He needed you to be in his life and wanted you to need him too. He wanted you to rely on the him as he would you, and most importantly, deeply desired that you could love him the way he did you.

This was not in a warped version of reality, a figment of his mind and imagination as a sick, manipulative goal, he only wanted to be loved.

By someone. Alright, anyone. Any person. Admittedly, one specific person.

He wanted to be loved by you.

Jesper knew he did, in fact, love you. And when he realised, his heart had raced, Nina looking up in alarm before seeing the lovestruck bliss upon his face.

Jesper Fahey was in love with you.

And boy, was he in trouble now.

Chaos.

You were extremely similar to Jesper in that way: the way that meant it followed you wherever you went. There was no escaping the chaos, not when you were apparently born from the very depths of it yourself and had a friend quite the same.

A friend.

That's all you were.

It sent a pang of agony rippling through your chest, possibly enough to send you to your knees, but you swiftly shook the thought away.

Focus was what was needed.

Although, it seemed so tempting to think of him, to picture his face in your mind's eye one last time. One last time before you died.

Because it had been going well. But later, there was a high chance of fatality. But, you decided to do what you did best, instead of giving into the niggling voices that told you to remember every brush of the arm, every smile across a room, every chair he pulled out for you; instead, you decided to give into something else.

You decided, to give in to the chaos.

Your strategy was giving fairly good results, just as you had anticipated, considering it always did. Going with your gut seemed to be the best way of going about it, and it was.

Until it wasn't.

Since you were now improvising and no one appeared to be taking any notice of the shots fired, or grunts of pain heard, when even more men than previously swarmed the alley, you were taken aback.

You had not predicted how much effort the rival gang you were on a heist against would gamble on you, sending out what seemed to be the majority of their forces for just one person.

You supposed that meant whatever Kaz had up his sleeve would work fairly easily now though, the level of guard lowered and their numbers dilapidated.

He better thank me later.

Just as you flipped a man over your back, quickly and efficiently leaning down over him, your shadow looming as your hand reached for your knife that was meant to be in your belt.

"Looking for this?"

You gasped and your eyes boggled as your dagger, that the man beneath you had obviously stolen, plunged into your side, the hilt far from buried in your torso as you recovered from the shock as soon as you could find it in your abilities to.

Another knife was ripped out of a corpse beside you and burrowed in his chest, right above his heart, before he could register what was taking place.

You stood, groaning as you clasped the sore flesh surrounding your wound, not yet having pulled out the weapon to prevent further blood loss.

You spun to face the remaining gang members behind you, grimacing as you felt the bile slip upward in your throat, stubbornly rising no matter how many times you swallowed.

Now you had nothing. Nothing to defend yourself with and nothing to help you in this fight. Nothing and no one.

Dying alone was a nauseating fear, circling through your head and running rampage, sending you into a frenzied panic.

Your back hit the wall, the skin burning as it was grazed against the bricks and your heart racing as you failed to bend to the side, only a grunt sounding from your throat as your hand pressed further against your abdomen.

In that moment, you closed your eyes and prayed. Simply prayed to the Saints you had once ridiculed with Kaz, hoping there was a chance, if even just a miniscule one, that you could be saved.

And maybe Inej had been right all along, that you owed her an overdue apology, because maybe, just maybe, Saints did exist.

And perhaps, Jesper Fahey was yours.

He came barrelling around the corner, your eyes clenched tightly shut as you heard gunshots ring out, believing that moment could be your end, that heist your undoing.

But no, because when you peered through your lashes, swaying precariously on your feet, he was there.

You gaped in shock, confusion and finally, joy. You wanted to jump into his arms, tell him of your gratefulness, all because he hadn't left you alone.

Dying was no incredible feat: it happened in Ketterdam everyday, bodies piled in corners and rotting in the dank, narrow streets. To die with no one to close your eyes, only being forced to gaze glassily into the deep grey sky, or no friend to comfort you in your last seconds or less, even, seemed terrifying.

Although, now you wouldn't have to worry about that. Because he was here.

Jesper rushed to you, nimbly leaping over corpses and stepping around barrels or other obstructions, eyes full of concern that only grew when his line of sight landed upon your side.

You could only weakly smile as his arm was slung over your shoulders and his other was suddenly dipping below your upper leg.

"Jes, I don't need picking up!"

"Hmm... I beg to differ, darling. So do your knees apparently."

That was when you realised just how they had buckled and how much of your weight you were making him support. You sighed and gave a sheepish yet irked nod, giving consent to let him swoop you off your feet, and he did so without hesitance after he observed your approval.

He traipsed through the streets, using his knowledge of shady back alleys to keep away from crowds and even if he had swaggered down the main street, no one would have batted an eye.

Or offered help. Ketterdam was not the place for helpful neighbors or friendly coworkers, and often the inhabitants were cruel, selfish and overall generally appeared to be disappointed with their whole lives.

Go figure.

The capital of Kerch was not an actual hospitable place, but some little nooks and crannies could just squeeze you into a sort of community. You had once known a baker that had given you free whole loafs of bread, shaking you off when you tried to pay.

Your palm was still positioned flat over your wound, digging in uncomfortably and your fingers splayed slightly in the air. You didn't dare move it, not making a sound either, only letting soft whines out when Jesper shifted you in his arms, to which he would respond with an apologetic gaze, no words said.

The scratch was not life threateningly deep, just shocking, and well, frightening; it reminded you anything could happen, just one simple change of plan could kill you.

It mortalised you in a way, made you think of how easily it could all be over. Sometimes, galavanting off with the Crows, searching giddily for trinkets with Nina and Jes made you feel as though you could do anything, stay in that moment forever.

But you were human. And right then, you had a knife in your side. Maybe it would have been better to pull it out, considering now every jostle sourced from your friend's sharp steps, heels tapping forcefully on the stones, could possibly send the dagger closer to your ribcage or organs.

"Jes."

"Yes, love?"

"Pull it. Please."

It was a beg for help, and a desperate one after he had only glanced down at you as he continued walking when answering to his name.

He did as you asked, laying you down to the side for a moment. He always had, providing whatever you needed and doing what you thought was best when it came to you.

"Ready? It'll hurt, lovely."

"You're making me more stressed, just do it already!"

It was true. You had broken a sweat as he had been trying to prepare you, beads of perspiration forming on your hairline.

If you had expected another warning, he certainly surprised you by wrenching the mini sword out of your side without anything else said. You cried out, gasping like a fish out of water and feeling just so, the crusting of the aging blood aiding that.

"I know, I know. Just give me a sec, okay? It'll be fine."

Jesper continued to mutter reassurances as he wrapped your scarf around your lower back and torso. The hardest part was when you had to lift your hips and rotate your body slightly so his slender fingers could grasp the other end of the garment to tie it together fully.

"I know. It's okay, yeah? It's fine."

He was in now way immature but his voice was definitely becoming higher and squeakier in fear: the tell tale lurching of his stomach appeared as he accidentally took a glance at the deep crimson blossoming over the scarf and staining his hands, managing to seep into the creases of his palms, depositing itself under his previously pristine nails and cuticles.

You could tell he was worried as he picked you up once more, yelping out a 'sorry' when his wrist brushed your blazing, sensitive flesh.

It was a troublesome trip to return to the Slat, Jesper aggravating the cut when he shifted to prevent you from slipping downward.

Once you were there however, you were adamant you could treat your injuries yourself, only really having a few minor scrapes and bruises, especially a sort of natural eyeshadow in the form of a black eye that had not fully appeared, yet was still already prominent.

You practically tumbled out of Jesper's arms, limping up the stairs to your room while the Zemeni followed closely behind you, a hand on the small of your back to support you while you found your balance, ticklish tingles spreading from the spot his fingertips made contact with your shoulder blades.

"Jes, I really don't need help, like, at all. Just let me-"

You were cut off as he pulled the alcohol out of your grasp, grinning in that charming way only he could pull off, only serving to irritate you further as he winked.

"Sure you don't. It's just that I can help. And I will, alright? I don't care if you don't agree, it's happening."

With that, the scarf was gently pulled from your skin, a hiss drawn from you as the rag he had tipped the alcohol onto touched your side. You forced yourself to control a flinch, only shying away a little as his unoccupied hand came absentmindedly and immediately to your unharmed side, pushing you back to have the cloth back on your skin, scooting you along the desk you were perched on.

"Just a bit more. I promise, darling."

You nodded, gritting your teeth against the pain until it subsided, choosing to focus on the warm and calloused hand resting on your other side, not yet removed.

"Alright, now it's only the little things."

Your mouth opened to protest, explain you could easily do that yourself, but Jesper only tutted under his breath and used two fingers to close your jaw and tilt your head simultaneously to observe the shiner decorating your eye.

"None of that. Now, all we've got is this, which I can't do much about, and that nasty gash on your arm."

He didn't think about what he was doing, how casually and carefully he was caring for you, as though you were a china doll, porcelain and fractured, broken with any move that was not delicate.

You didn't think about how much you enjoyed someone looking after you for once, taking such a chunk of his time to simply stand between your legs and help.

Suddenly, as you pouted and your bottom lip was drawn between your teeth, withholding a groan while he cleansed your upper forearm, his thumb came up to untuck your lip, barely ghosting over it, although the feeling was still so delicious. Tantalising.

And his arm dropped, cloth soaked with a random drink dropping to the rug as his gaze stayed on your lips. And he leant in, as did you, finally sharing a sweet kiss, tender and loving, all things beautiful and wondrous.

His stare burned into the floor as it drew downward, a murmur heard drifting through the air a few seconds later, "You know, I was so worried about you?" You moved to speak before he hushed you, "No, just let me... I'm saying, I was more concerned than a friend probably should have been. Maybe, I mean I don't know. Actually nevermind..."

But he never had a chance to finish as his locks of chocolate brown were swept away from his forehead, a kiss planted there in replacement.

"I'd love to go out with you, Jes, love. Or, I mean, whatever you want to do..."

Chuckles filled the room pleasantly as you both laughed together, cheeks flushed and lips almost swollen, at your embarrassment and haplessness, plus the lack of tact.

You supposed you were just fools in love. And in that moment, you wanted to be suspended there, floating forever.

With him.

#jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey x y/n #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey fluff #jesper fahey fics #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fic #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine

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girlboss-revan · 4 years

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just a very fun idea that i may or may not pursue along with my very many other Fun Ideas

Anakin, somehow, someway, finds himself in the possession of an unusual holocron.

It’s unusual in the fact that there is no way to tell if it was Jedi or Sith. It may have been made my someone else altogether.

He does not tell anyone about this discovery, because it feels wrong. The Force tells him he has to keep this to himself. If anyone found out about it, they would surely take it away and he can’t let that happen.

Why can’t he let that happen? He has no idea.

He finally figures out how to open it and it’s just... some person? A person in dark, ancient Jedi robes with a Force presence that can only be described as weird as fuck.

Gray but constantly shifting. On the precipice of Light and Dark, stable in its instability. Chaotic, powerful, and unlike anything Anakin has ever witnessed. (Distantly he realizes this is how the other Jedi feel about him.)

The woman does not give her name, only cryptically implying that she’s old enough to witness history fade into legend. Eventually Anakin is able to glean that she was from the time of Jedi Civil Wars, some 3000 years ago.

The holocron was not made to store specific wisdom or knowledge. It was a diary, an attempt at leaving a legacy behind. A statement that whoever created it was once a person, not just a name in a textbook.

They talk. Of course Anakin has so many questions and the woman tries her best to answer, to give advice based on what she has to give.

Her ideas are, to be frank, extremely radical. Anakin knows exactly why the Council will confiscate this holocron if they were to discover it. It was absolutely seeping with heresy.

She has knowledge of both the Jedi and the Sith. Enough knowledge to have solid opinions on the philosophies of both, with her own borrowing liberally from the two. Disagreeing with both as often as she believed they both had merit. She talks from personal experience, but doesn’t give more than what’s necessary. Anakin would suspect it was a Sith holocron if it didn’t have so much... Light.

“Who are you?” Anakin asked, awed in the traditional sense of the word.

The woman in the holocron only smiled. “I’ve had many titles. I disliked all of them.”

She eventually gives herself a name - Mala Khan.

Anakin calls her Master Khan, because surely she must be an ancient master with her command of the Force?

Mala teases him mercilessly for it.

“The masters of my time would rather choke than acknowledge me as a peer,” she said with no small hint of bitterness. A rueful smile tugs at her lips. “I can hardly even call myself a Jedi, at this point. I left the order when it no longer needed me.”

Over time Anakin gleans more information.

She was an adult when she was admitted into the Order under a time of duress. She has intimate experience of both the Light and Dark, having struggled endlessly with the push and pull of both. She resents the Force for choosing her, as if it were an entity all its own. She was married. She had a wife. She believed that love was the most important thing in the galaxy.

“If it wasn’t for her,” Mala said, more serious than Anakin has ever seen her. “I would have been lost. Love is not a weakness. Love is the greatest source of strength there is.”

Anakin kinda really wants to cry when he hears that.

They both see their similarities. Both were chosen by the Force, given a power that isolated them from others. Both were unorthodox in their times. Both loved desperately and unconditionally. Both were thrust into power at a turning point in history. Both were mechanics at heart, both had a taste for risk and rebellion, both had reservations with the Order and struggles with Jedi doctrine.

For once in his life, Anakin has someone he can truly confine in, besides Palpatine. Even then, Mala offers much more directed comfort than the Supreme Chancellor ever could, because the Supreme Chancellor wasn’t a Jedi and didn’t understand.

He was so, incredibly betrayed when he eventually found out that Mala Khan, confidant, support, friend - was Revan, ancient Dark Lord of the Sith.

“It was a shock for me, too,” she joked, attempting to lighten the mood. She tilted her head and studied Anakin’s expression. “What have the Jedi told you? About Revan?”

“That you are an example of what not to be. The ideal Jedi brought down by their vanity and arrogance.”

“They don’t mention the war? The intent that led to the fall? The false reasoning? The ultimate redemption?” Mala - Revan - tilts her head. “Though, I deny the idea that anything could truly redeem what I have done. It is easy to make an example of history. It is hard to acknowledge that those people were sentient - capable of good and evil in equal measure and gifted with the ability to justify their actions.”

“I did what I felt I had to and it led to more strife. Perhaps you can take that as an example, young Jedi. For as much wisdom as I thought I had, it was not nearly enough. What saved me, in the end, were the people I cared about. The idea that what I personally wanted would destroy them in the process. Think about this and everything I have said. My past does not discredit what was my present.”

Yes, in the end this is a fix-it-fic idea.

Anakin finds the confidant he needed who encouraged challenging the repressing ideas of the Jedi order while admonishing the selfishness of the Sith.

Anakin basically becomes friends with someone who has been dead for 3000+ years and is also an incredibly controversial character in history and it changes him for the better. He resists the pull of the Dark because of his love for Padme and Obi-Wan. He thinks of the moment Revan had the opportunity to trade the galaxy and her friends for love, but refused on account of it going against who Bastila once was.

Chaotic lesbian Jedi Turned Sith Lord Turned Jedi Turned Outlier inspires the Chosen One to just... Refuse the lure of the Dark, by introducing him to the idea that he can Just Be A Normal Dude Who Cares About Others.

Mala intimately knows the allure of the Ends Justify the Means mentality and discourages Anakin from falling into that trap.

That’s it.

That’s the Very Fun idea I have that ultimately is just forcing Anakin to interact with what is essentially my OC.

Star Wars brainrot is very real and very powerful.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #revan #kotor #star wars au #oc: mala khan (revan)#erin writes

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aspoonofsugar · 4 years

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Semblance of the Soul: Qrow and Raven

The Branwens are two people with a shared past, that have taken different routes in life:

Ozpin: Everyone has a choice. The Branwens chose to accept their powers and the responsibilities that came with them. And later, one of them chose to abandon her duties in favor of her own self-interest.

Qrow has made an altruistic choice. He hates the crimes of his tribe and is happy to help people by working for Ozpin.

Raven has instead decided to prioritize herself and her tribe and sees Ozpin’s cause as foolish and reckless.

At the same time, they are twins, but have chosen different families. This is why the concept of family comes up so often in their interactions. After all, they first meet in the episode called Family:

Raven: Hello, brother.

Qrow: Raven. So, what do you want?

Raven: A girl can't just catch up with her family?

And their last exchange is this:

Raven: Sorry, brother. Sometimes family disappoints you like that.

Qrow: We're not family anymore.

Raven: Were we ever?

Qrow: I thought so, but I guess I was wrong.

Still, how are they doing with their families of choice? Are they happy with them? Do they have healthy relationships?

For the both of them, the answer is no. This happens because Raven and Qrow are both scared to grow close to people.

It is just that this fear is declined in opposite ways. Raven is scared for herself (selfishness), while Qrow is scared for others (selflessness).

This trait they share, but show in different ways, is well conveyed by their respective semblances. This analysis will use their powers as means to explore both characters and their foiling.

RAVEN: BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Raven’s Kindred Link perfectly embodies the saying...

Birds of a feather flock together...

...until the cat comes:

Raven: I...I'm sorry...

On one hand it lets her create portals to the people she has a strong bond with.

On the other hand she mostly uses it to run away from those bonds.

Why does she do it?

The answer is clear:

Lionheart: I'm helping her for the same reason you are - I'm afraid. We... we can't stop her... no one can...

Raven is just another version of the Cowardly Lion. She is a coward like Leo, but does not aknowledge it and prefers to hide behind a pragmatic and survivalist mask:

Raven: That's why I tried to leave when I did. I'm not afraid, I'm smart.

This is why she goes back to her tribe after she leaves Yang and Tai. She says she does so because she considers them her family and wants to protect them.

However, her motivations are implied to be more selfish. She goes to them to run away from things that scare her.

To be more specific, the tribe protects Raven psychologically in two different ways.

1) It lets her be the monster, the criminal, the most violent and powerful one:

Mercury: We’re the guys you should be afraid of.

Raven: I doubt anyone should be afraid of you.

Here, Raven mocks Mercury, but the irony is that her coping mechanism is really not that much different from his. She hides behind a Grimm mask, a universal symbol of fear, but she is the scared one.

2) She goes back to the family who raised her and neglects the family she is supposed to raise (Yang).

Deep down, Raven is just an adult, who fails at being an adult.

Mostly, this shows in her inability to make a choice:

Yang: Which is it, mom? Are you merciful, or are you a survivor?

As a matter of fact she keeps changing her mind because she is not brave enough to stick to one decision.

Initially, she is sent to Beacon, so that she could learn how to kill hunters. However, she ends up becoming a huntress herself and she accepts to fight Salem. She is considered so loyal that she is even given magical powers. Finally, she enters a relationship and has a daughter with Tai. She basically starts creating a life outside the tribe, only to leave it all behind at a certain point. It is not clear if it is because she saw something specific or if it is the result of a longer struggle.

The point is that nobody forced her to fight Salem. She could have also refused Ozpin’s powers. Finally, she could have told Ozpin and the others she wanted to stop. In any case, she did not have to leave her family to stop fighting Salem. What is more, she could have brought her family with her, when she ran away.

She chooses instead to leave everything she has built behind and goes back to the world she was a child in. It might be a violent world, but she sees it as safer.

Let’s highlight that she has the same tendency of changing idea in the series itself. She switches sides and organizes a risky plan, which puts almost all her major bonds (Qrow, Vernal and Yang) in danger. She does all that because she wants the relic, so that she has leverage against Salem. After all of this, even after Vernal’s death, she simply runs away. She is obviously shaken by her confrontation with Yang, who calls her out. However, Yang is perfectly right when she says so:

Yang: Because you're afraid of Salem!!! And if you thought having Maiden powers put a target on your back, imagine what she'll do when she finds out you have a Relic. She'll come after you with everything she has. Or she can come after me. And I'll be standing there, waiting for her.

Taking the relic would just put Raven in danger. For her it is safer to open the vault and disappear, so that someone else can take care of things. Even if this someone else is her daughter.

In other words, Raven is a failure of a mother. This is shown by her failing all three of her “daughters” (Yang, the Spring Maiden and Vernal). Moreover, it is perfectly conveyed by her being a Maiden.

The idea of maidenhood is symbolically juxtaposed to the one of motherhood. Of course, this does not have to be true in-universe for all the Maidens. Still, in Raven’s case, this juxtaposition is deliberate. Raven is an eternal Maiden, who runs away from her parental responsibilities.

This is why she received the power from her protegee instead than from a mentor figure. She is so selfish she takes from the people she should protect:

Cinder: Vernal was a decoy the whole time. The last Spring Maiden must've trusted you a great deal before she died. I bet that was a mistake...

What is more, it is strongly implied she killed the previous Maiden to take her powers. This is interesting because it ties to a second meaning of her semblance.

Her ability symbolizes the unfairness of the bonds she forges. She works to create those bonds and there is affection involved. However, these bonds are double edged swords for the other party involved because of Raven’s moodiness. She can leave when she wants and come back out of the blue. She can always go to others when she needs it, while others can never reach her. This leads to an unbalanced dynamic in Raven’s favour.

This dynamic can even become extremely dangerous for the other person:

Raven can potentially use her ability to attack the people she is bonded with. She does not use her semblance this way in the series. Still, what happened to the Spring Maiden is something similar. To receive the power of the Maiden, Raven must have been the last person in the girl’s thoughts before death. This probably happened because the two shared a close bond. A bond Raven betrayed.

In other words, the nature of Raven’s semblance hides in itself the potential of betrayal:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm. You turned yourself into a monster just for power.

Cinder: Look who's talking...

As Cinder points out, Raven too, like her, has become a monster to obtain power. The difference here is in how this montrosity is conveyed.

In Cinder’s case, she is literally turning into a Grimm. She has accepted this metamorphosis to take the Maidens’ powers.

In Raven’s case, it is ironically the opposite symbolically. She wears a Grimm mask, but the true monstrosity is the Maiden behind it:

Raven is monster-like because she stole the power from a person, who trusted her.

Let’s highlight that the motif of the Grimm mask has come up several times in the series. So far, it has been used by people, like Raven and Adam, who want to be feared. Something similar can be seen in the Hound as well, who is not really wearing a mask, but whose humanity is hidden behind his Grimm appearance.

In all three cases, the true scary thing is what is behind the Grimm-face:

It is always the humanity behind it that is scary. Be it the victim behind the monster in the Hound, society’s mistreatment of Faunus or Raven’s cowardice and what it led her to do:

Yang: You're right. I don't know you. I only know the Raven dad told me about. She was troubled, and complicated, but she fought for what she believed in, whether it was her team or her tribe! Did you kill her too?

Yang’s question is poignant and underlines how all Raven has done is simply to hurt herself. By hurting the people she loves, she has been killing a part of herself.

This is also conveyed by her emblem missing from her possessions. According to the wiki, Raven’s emblem is this:

Raven's emblem is a winged eye with a clock inside of it. This emblem has not appeared on any of her possessions so far.

This is a reference to Raven and Qrow’s allusion to Hugin and Munin, Odin’s two ravens, who travel the world and bring him information. Raven and Qrow do the same for Ozpin and they are his eyes.

Qrow is the left eye:

Salem: The last eye is blinded... you disappoint me.

While Raven used to be the right. So, her emblem is probably the right version of Qrow’s own one. Still, Raven refuses that part of herself and this is why she is not wearing her emblem.

In short, Raven used to be a bird of a feather with Qrow, but she is not flocking together with him anymore. This is because a scary cat has come:

And Raven has sacrificed her bonds out of fear. Not only that, but she has weaponized them:

Yang: You turn your back on people, you run away when things get too hard, you put others in harm's way instead of yourself!!

Raven has been using her most loved people as assets, so that she can shield herself from danger. Maybe it is because of this that she symbolically uses Omen to open portals. This even if she can apparently do so without it, since she opens them even as a bird. However, using her sword is a way to distance herself from the true nature of her ability (bonds). It is a way to reduce her ties with people to simple things she can use.

That said, this is damaging Raven herself.

To be more specific, she is making herself weaker and weaker:

Yang: Oh, shut up!! You don't know the first thing about strength! (...) You might be powerful, but that doesn't make you strong.

Raven is powerful, but weak. This weakness is symbolically conveyed by her behaving in the opposite way her semblance would need to truly shine.

Raven’s power works thanks to bonds, so it can be assumed it would be at its strongest if its user cultivated them both in quality and in numbers. However, Raven has few bonds and she is cutting them off one by one:

Yang: You can bond to certain people. And when you do, you could create a portal that takes you straight to them. You've got one for Dad. One for me. And you've got one for Qrow.

We know that Raven is also bonded with Vernal. Still, Vernal dies at the end of volume 5. Of the other ones Yang mentions, Raven has pushed away both Qrow and Yang through her actions at Heaven.

This makes this scene interesting:

Did the portal Raven opened at Heaven go to Tai? Did she go there because she felt nostalgic and missed him? Or is he the only one (both practically and symbolically) she can still run to?

QROW: A SCARE-QROW SCARED OF CROWS

Qrow’s semblance is Misfortune and it is basically a Bad Luck Charm:

I am no one's blessing I'll just bring you harm I'm a cursed black cat I'm an albatross I'm a mirror broken Sad to say I'm your bad luck charm

Qrow causes bad luck around himself. Because of this, he sees himself as a curse.

However, this conflict Qrow has with his semblance is actually symbolic of a turmoil developed on multiple levels.

Let’s begin with this:

Raven: You're the one who left. The tribe raised us, and you turned your back on them.

Qrow: They were killers and thieves.

Raven: They were your family.

Qrow: You have a very skewed perception of that word.

Qrow was born in a tribe of bandits and was taught how to kill and steal. Finally he was sent to a hunter academy, so that he could learn how to kill his classmates in the near future.

Qrow’s semblance is nothing, but the manifestation of his self-hate, that was probably partly caused by the environment he was born in. In a sense, it is his symbolical response to his childhood.

Let’s highlight that this response is very different from Raven’s. This is shown by their opposite behaviours toward their tribe. Qrow leaves it, while Raven goes back to it.

This difference can also be conveyed by how both Raven and Qrow share a specific motif, but embody it in different ways.

Both twins are associated with bad luck. Both can turn into ravens/crows, which are birds linked to misfortune. Moreover, their weapons are called respectively Omen (Raven’s) and Harbinger (Qrow’s).

The meaning is clear. The twins were born and raised with the idea that they should be symbols of violence and bad luck for their enemies. It is just that Raven wants to be a bad omen because it makes her feel strong. Qrow does not want it, but thinks he is:

I'm a harbinger, I cannot lie, I will change the color of your life.

It is to try and free himself from this curse that Qrow started working for Ozpin. He literally becomes the Scarecrow of the story to try and exorcise the bad fortune he brings. He is trying to scare the crows away. He thinks that if he does so, he’ll become a full person.

This ties with the original story of his allusion. In The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Scarecrow wants a brain because he is told by an old crow he would be just like a real man, if only he had one. In short, the Scarecrow wants a brain to become a real man, so that he can scare crows better than he already does.

Qrow too wants to be a full person, but he believes he is not. He thinks he is cursed and as a reaction to this he has attached himself to Ozpin and to his cause:

Qrow: No one wanted me... I was cursed... I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world... I thought I was finally doing some good...

This is why he reacts so badly when he discovers that Ozpin (who is basically a father figure for Qrow) has hidden so many things from him. Not only that, but he feels that the impossibility of truly defeating Salem (of truly defeating evilness) makes his life meaningless.

The point is of course that this is not the case and that Qrow does not need to do anything specific to be a true person and to be loved:

Qrow: Every choice I've ever made has led me here, and I've dragged you along with me. Oz, myself, the others... We're responsible for the mess the world's in now. I shouldn't have come, shouldn't have let any of you come... What was I thinking?!

Ruby: We're all in this together, and we're all going to do the best we can. That's all anyone can do. And I know it's what you've always aimed for. We would've come whether or not you'd let us, so stop talking like we're your responsibility! We're not! But we could still use Qrow Branwen on our side.

Ruby’s confrontation with Qrow at the end of volume 6 is basically the opposite of Yang’s confrontation with Raven in the finale of volume 5.

Yang calls Raven out because she refuses her responsibilities. She pushes them on others and leaves her own daughter to fight a battle she ran away from.

Ruby calls Qrow out on taking too much responsibility on himself. The kids were not forced by him to come. Qrow should not be completely responsible for them, but should learn to fight by their side.

Later on, Qrow is basically told the same by Maria:

Maria: You weren't half bad yourself today, Qrow.

Qrow: I feel like they did all the heavy lifting.

Maria: But you were there to help when they asked for it, and you were there to catch them when they fell. Literally, if I recall.

This is important because Maria appears just after Ozpin (aka Qrow’s mentor and guide) disappears. She is the person Qrow aspired to be:

Qrow: You never used your name, never showed your face. Lots of us thought you were just layin' low. Eventually, we just came to accept that you were probably dead. But the stories about you, I based my weapon off of yours. I wanted to be as good as the Grimm Reaper.

At the same time, Maria too, like him, considers herself a failure:

Maria: Well, I'm nothing but a disappointment, so you're well on your way.

However, at the end of the volume both Maria and Qrow realize that they do not have to save the world by themselves or to be invincible heroes. They just need to be there for their loved ones and the new generations. In short, Maria mentors Qrow on how to be a proper mentor.

And it turns out that he just has to take better care of himself:

In short, Qrow became the Scarecrow to scare crows, but ironically all he needs to do is to overcome his own fear of one Qrow.

If he does not, his semblance is bound to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, as it is shown in his two fights against Tyrian (vol 4 and vol 7).

1) In volume 4 he manages to protect Ruby, but ends up injured and unable to help the kids for the rest of their journey. He goes from their protector to a wounded man they have to take care of.

Narratively, it happens because of this:

Ruby: This is a lot to take in, and it all sounds crazy, but... I'm willing to do whatever I can to help because I trust you. But why couldn't you trust me? Why couldn't you just travel with us, instead of this secrecy, and, and--

Qrow: Look, this has nothing to do with trust. I-- It's a long story, okay?

The whole fight between Tyrian and Qrow could have played out very differently if Qrow were better at communicating with his niece. He wanted her away from Tyrian and himself because of his semblance, but Ruby interpreted it as Qrow not trusting her.

2) In volume 7, the battle ends with Clover’s tragic death being framed on Qrow.

Why does it happen?

Clover: Sometimes the right decision is the hardest to make. I trust James with my life! I wanted to trust you.

Once again, the problem lies in a lack of trust.

Qrow and Clover genuinely like each other and have bonded. Still, they fail to trust each other in a key moment and make the worst possible choice.

This is true for both characters:

Clover: I enjoyed working with you, you know. Even with that endless cynicism of yours.

Qrow: I'm usually proven right.

Clover: We don't have to fight, friend.

Qrow: You don't know my friends. That's how it always goes.

Qrow: Why couldn't you just do the right thing instead of the thing you were told?

In a sense, the whole fight can be read as The Scorpion and the Frog. In the original fairy-tale, the point is that one can’t overcome their own nature. The scorpion will sting the frog even if it goes against its own survival. Here, it is the same for the characters. In order for things to go well, either Clover or Qrow should overcome their flaw, but they fail.

Clover is not able to let go of his loyalty for Ironwood, even if it is clear the orders he received are wrong.

Qrow goes back to his usual cynism and makes a pact with Tyrian:

Robyn: I’m sorry for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.

Qrow: It was, though. I made a deal with the darkness, and he paid the price. It was all happening so fast, but Clover wouldn’t let up. Could have worked together against Tyrian if Clover just...

Tyrian is the poisonous scorpion, while both Qrow and Clover are two frogs, who are hurt by him. Ironically, the frog’s mistake in the story is to trust the scorpion, while the mistake of our two frogs is that they did not trust each other.

Still, why is it so narratively? To be more specific, why is that so when it comes to Qrow’s character?

The answer is here:

Qrow: But the thing that really stings? For the first time in a while I thought, maybe, maybe I could be around somebody - anybody - without my semblance making it… complicated. And now, it just feels like a childish dream. Gone... like everybody else.

Clover is narratively this:

Blake: You have to understand that all of you are looking for simple answers to a very complicated problem.

He is a very simple answer to a very complicated problem that has its roots in Qrow’s interiority. Qrow’s flaw, what goes in the way of his relationships and happiness, is not that he is unlucky, but that he feels unlucky.

He feels worthless and thinks of himself as bad for others. This is why he keeps his distance and refrains himself from growing close to people.

He blames it on his semblance and this is why he makes an exception for Clover. It is because he sees in the other’s ability an easy fix to his struggle.

Still, he is proven wrong because in the moment of truth, they fail to communicate and everything goes to hell.

This is not to say that Qrow and Clover’s relationship was bad or that Clover deserved to die. In-universe their bond had beautiful aspects and could have grown stronger. Moreover, Clover could have developed and left his flaw behind.

Still, narratively Clover serves a specific purpose and him dying is a part of said purpose.

Clover brings a superficial harmony to a situation and a group dynamic, which is actually not harmonic at all:

Clover: What would you guys do without me?

The Ace Ops are a group of individuals repressing their own feelings and identities for the sake of an unspecified greater good. They see the world in black and white, not because they are stupid, but because they refuse complexity:

Robyn: Yeah, because you don’t care about the truth. You just want someone to be mad at. Easier than taking an honest look at what side you’re on.

Winter: Penny. The general is making hard choices so we don't have to.

This fits with them being a group based on Aesops aka short stories with a very well defined and often simplicistic message.

In short, Clover is the one that keeps his group together. Once he is gone, his group starts deteriorating. All because they refuse to aknowledge their feelings:

Ren: That’s why you lost against Team RWBY. You, you try to fight how you feel about each other, so you’ll never truly work as a team.

Once he is gone, Qrow is similarly forced to grieve and self-reflect. Luckily, he is not alone:

Robyn is the opposite of Qrow in terms of symbolism.

Qrow is associated with crows and bad luck, while Robyn is linked to robins, which bring good fortune.

She is also a symbol of unity and hope (her emblem is basically Katniss’s symbol in the Hunger Games, after all):

Tyrian: Robyn Hill. For such a little bird, you have quite the impact around here! Bringing hope and a smile wherever you go! I find it…upsetting.

Despite this, Robyn too has suffered isolation, just like Qrow:

Robyn: Believe it or not, I know a little of what that’s like. When people are worried you’re gonna sniff out their secrets, they tend to push you away. It makes a real connection… difficult.

Qrow: I-- never thought of it that way.

Robyn’s line is important for two reasons.

a) It shows Qrow that he is not the only one who has met difficulties in life because of his semblance. His case is not unique.

b) It links to the idea that trusting others is difficult and it is not something that comes without dedication and work.

As a matter of fact Robyn’s semblance is specifically symbolic of trust. It is the power to detect lies through touch, so if you are going to work with her, it means you must be ready to trust and to be trusted:

This also ties figuratively with the act of shaking one’s hand as if to make a pact (an act of trust). If Raven’s power is about asymmetrical bonds, then Robyn’s is about mutual ones.

Robyn highlights that this creates problems for her because it is not easy for people to trust. Some can’t be trusted, while others do not trust Robyn won’t cross their boundaries.

However, this also means that the relationships Robyn manages to forge are strong bonds, where everything or almost everything is out in the open. This is the exact opposite kind of environment than the one realized through Clover’s good luck semblance. It is a harmony more difficult to reach, but it is a more stable and genuine one.

It is these kinds of bonds Qrow should aim to create. In order to do so, he must accept his semblance and his past as parts of themselves. Still, he should not let them define him. Not only that, but he should learn to trust others and their strengths:

Qrow: Ruby, stop!

Ruby: I need you to trust me.

Only in this way, Qrow can truly grow. The secret is that it was never about scaring the crows away, but to learn how to live with them.

HUGIN THAT RUNS AWAY AND MUNIN THAT MAKES EVERYONE WORRIED

Raven and Qrow’s issues can be synthesized by this quote:

"Hugin and Munin fly each day over the spacious earth. I fear for Hugin, that he come not back, yet more anxious am I for Munin."

Raven never comes back, while Qrow has his loved ones fear for him because of his self-destructive tendencies.

In order to overcome these flaws, they must grow in opposite directions.

Raven must realize that her survivalism is actually self-destructive. It makes her survive, but it negates her the chance of living. She must become more selfless and trustworthy to make it up for the unfair bonds she created.

Qrow must accept that his self-destructiveness is actually selfish and damaging to his loved ones. He must start to trust others’ strengths, so that he can be brave enough to live together with them, instead of looking at them from afar.

#rwby #rwby meta #qrow branwen #raven branwen #robyn hill #clover ebi #tyrian callows #my meta #semblance of the soul

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

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You got any thoughts on Superman Birthright?

Probably my second or third favorite Superman origin, and the one that has my favorite Clark/Lex interactions.

Real pity it didn't get to stick as the "canon" origin because I like it a lot more than the Byrne origin that preceded it and the Johns Secret Origin that succeeded it. Smallville's influence is undeniable, but not a detriment, I like the Kents as flawed younger parents rather than wizened flawless mentors (if they have to be alive still when Clark becomes Superman that is). Pa Kent struggling with feelings of alienation with regards to Clark growing up and taking more of an interest in his heritage is still one of my favorite Pa/Clark moments in Superman's history. Ma Kent being a UFO buff is a great idea, apparently Waid had a story about that he never got to tell. I wonder what it was? Would probably make for a nice Annual or fill in story now that he's back at DC.

Lois is great of course, for all the reasons she usually is, as is Perry who gets way more panel space here than he usually does. Lois and Perry's relationship here is hilarious, love the gag where he writes out two lists of reasons to fire or keep her respectively. "No good place to hide the body" had me cackling. Jimmy though is just kind of there, he's the pal who has Supes back as always, but he's heavily overshadowed by the rest of the cast. Only real disappointment for me in terms of the core cast members.

There's a lot to like here in it's handling of Clark Kent as well. Love that Waid actually shows us Clark has travelled the world to gain some perspective, that he's not naïve or clueless, simply idealistic. He's seen the cruelty of the world up close, and he's also seen the way people react when they realize they're dealing with someone who has "gifts" (whether that's himself or Lex).

Showing us some of Clark's pre-Daily Planet journalist career is also a big pro for me, that's an area of Clark's life I wish got fleshed out more. Waid manages to establish a divide between the Clark and Superman identities that still makes the two feel different without it being a repeat of Pre-Crisis. It's a return to Superman being more "real" while Clark is more of a disguise, but "Clark" isn't bumbling so much as overlooked and ignored (which if you've lived in a big city is pretty much exactly how you get treated as a newcomer). His co-workers barely acknowledge his existence, Lois isn't giving him the time of day, Perry tears him a new one for not having a story to turn in about the ongoing alien invasion on time, Clark has to suffer in the trenches over the course of the story to prove himself.

Like Morrison's Action Comics run, this origin tries to fold a lot of the original Golden Age attitude back into Superman. This incarnation is a man with a temper, him shooting a gun then catching the bullet before it hits the guy who sold guns to a school shooter is literally a recreation of a Golden Age panel. Yet this isn't a "retro" take at all, despite being from Christopher Reeve's biggest fan. Waid writes Clark as someone who makes mistakes, fucks up in ways you don't typically see Superman do, and has a lot of doubts about whether or not he can live up to the task he's set before himself. Doesn't help that Metropolis doesn't welcome him any more easily as Superman than it does as Clark.

Public opinion about him is divided at first, then swings heavily to negative as Lex frames him for a false flag Kryptonian invasion, only to finally recover after he saves the day and exposes Lex. Personally I like Superman to have to work for that glowing reputation he usually enjoys, and if Lex is involved in trying to turn the public against him, so much the better. The anger and contempt towards Lex he demonstrates in particular sets the tone for the relationship between the two in the modern day.

Speaking of Lex, my God, this has got to be one of my favorite takes on him, and on his relationship with Clark, both pre and post Superman.

As adults Waid nails the Post-Crisis status quo of Lex being a selfish piece of shit who hides his nature behind a façade of philanthropy. For all his attempts at projecting an aura of power and intelligence, both of which he has in spades, Lex is so clearly defined by the lack of love and understanding he was shown as a youth. It's Superman "disrespecting" him, by not being happy to pose for photos with Lex after seeing him commit an act of sabotage, that pisses Lex off. For this "crime" Lex does everything he can to smear Superman to the public, and entertains holographic fantasies of dissecting Supes to copy his powers. He quips that killing Kal is "genocide" since he's the last of his people, something he demonstrates no empathy for at all given he laughs in Clark's face when he realizes Superman doesn't know he's the last.

Waid's Lex is probably one of the most monstrous incarnations, yet one of the most sympathetic as well. For my money, Waid is the one who convinced me that Clark and Lex being friends back in Smallville is a good thing.

One reason is that Clark gets to see how people react to "gifted" individuals. By observing the way Lex is treated for being unlike the rest, Clark gets a taste of what's to come if his own abilities were ever exposed. This has the dual benefit of establishing why Clark puts so much effort into making people feel at ease, and also establishing Lex as sympathetic for being unable to hide like Clark can.

The second big reason is that it shows why Clark thinks there's a chance Lex can be redeemed. Birthright Lex wasn't a monster from the start. At first he tried to help, but it always backfired. Doubling the efficiency of the milking machine scared/hurt the cows and upset Pa Kent, his ideas for how to improve the local government got rejected, and of course his experiment with Kryptonite. Sad twist of fate that Lex mistaking Clark's look of pain for the fear/disgust he sees everywhere else is what causes Clark to eventually give him that look of disgust for real when they reunite as adults. But having their first interactions be friendly instead of hostile makes Clark's hope that Lex can become a force for good feel grounded in reality instead of hopelessly naïve.

Can't gush enough about Yu's art either, he can make Superman look bright and inspiring, or scary as hell. His take on Metropolis makes it look and feel like a "City of Tomorrow", someplace exciting and dangerous, a city that needs Superman to protect it. Yu's Krypton is also one of my favorite incarnations, love that he gave Lara the S-curl! That's one idea from the DCAU I wish had become sacrosanct for all future origin retellings. Lara doesn't get to have enough influence on Kal to my tastes, so any little bit counts.

Sadly overlooked as it was coming out due to Azzarello and Lee doing For Tomorrow, it seems like it's risen in status after the fact. The S-shield being a symbol of hope on Krypton in addition to the El family crest has carried forward thanks to the DCEU (which is hilarious given Waid's feelings on that franchise).

Waid has another Superman project coming up next year with Brian Hitch that appears to be a "Year 2" follow up to Birthright. No clue if it will actually take place in strict continuity with Birthright, honestly it feels weird to have anyone but Yu do a direct followup to that, but Waid has said that a Superman run from him would basically be an issue 13 that continues from this story. I'm excited to see Waid take another big swing at Superman, I think he still has it in him to put out a great story, and Birthright being out of continuity may end up being to everyone's benefit. If this ends up being Waid's last Superman story, I hope he gets to do whatever he wants with the Birthrightverse. Kill off the Kents if that's his desire, I know he prefers them dead (as do I). Fingers crossed whatever he comes up with is good.

#superman #superman birthright #lex luthor #mark waid #dc comics

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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My third and final prompt I promise: Wen Zhuliu. WEN ZHULIU. What if instead of being Wen Chao's babysitter/bodyguard he was a different young master's? Picturing him heaving a long suffering sigh at Huisang or Zixuan's antics is hilarious to me. I just want to see all the different interactions with the Core Melting Hand!

I apologize in advance for writing a fic that technically fulfils your prompt but also is...not quite about what you asked for

That Bitter Draught (ao3)

It wasn’t that Su She was entirely unaware of what he was like.

He was a man almost entirely consumed by bitterness and envy, his eyes so firmly fixed on what his neighbors had that he couldn’t appreciate the blessings in his own life. He was selfish and ungrateful, and hated the ones he admired the most, hated all of the ones who were better off than him, even the ones who pretended to be fair and equitable about it.

Especially those.

He’d been born to an ordinary family, not cultivators at all – a feeder family doing agriculture for the sake of the great Lan sect, who never much thought nor cared about where their vegetables came from. He waded knee-deep through the muck and the mire for the first six years of his life before some passing Lan cultivator had discovered he had a bit of potential, and next thing he knew his parents had handed him off to be someone’s servant, taking him away from everyone he’d ever known – from his parents and his animals and his siblings and his brother – and he was supposed to be grateful for it.

There wasn’t anything wrong with being a servant, Su She supposed. It was a livelihood like anyone else’s, and maybe he wouldn’t be so bitter about it if he’d stayed that way, the way he was supposed to, as a servant with just enough skill at cultivating to not disturb the tranquil and thoughtful atmosphere of the Cloud Recesses as he rushed around doing all the things that were necessary.

(The Cloud Recesses – so pretty and clean and pure, except there was muck here, too, and no amount of pretending by the sect disciples that their shit didn’t stink the way everyone else’s did would change that.)

Maybe Su She would have been fine with being a servant, though he suspected he wouldn’t – in the darkness of the middle of the night he sometimes thought that his ability to be content had been taken away when he had, that the black gaping hole in his heart that had once held his family would always be a yawning pit that always wanted more than he had, forever incapable of getting the one thing that would fill it up again – but he didn’t stay that way.

No, see, Su She was good at cultivating. He was really good - not quite a genius, but his hard work paid off and he got better and better at what he was doing even though they barely gave him any time to do it in.

After all, someone had to make sure that everything was ready for the sect disciples when they woke up at the start of the mao hour, and that meant he had to be hard at work by yin, and of course the fact that they went to sleep at the end of the xu hour only meant that his work stretched well into hai, but despite all the disadvantages they loaded him down with he cultivated like a madman at every free hour, squeezing it in between work and even more degrading work. He got better and better and better, and eventually, finally, someone noticed him again.

This time they made him a disciple.

They expected him to be grateful for that, too. As if he hadn’t bought the chance with his own sweat and tears and blood, and all to be one of the blessed ones, one of the lucky ones, one of the ones who could – if they were meritorious enough – get a pass to leave the sect to go where they liked.

(Moling was too far to reach by foot, not even for the New Year, and he didn’t make enough money to buy a horse. But once he had a sword, gifted to him from the sect, once he could fly – once he was old enough – once he was trusted enough –)

Being a disciple meant that he woke up at mao hour and went to sleep at xu, that his chamber-pot disappeared in the morning as if by magic, that his food was brought to his table instead of being stuffed into his mouth in the crowded staff room right off the kitchen in the brief reprieves he had between duties…all things he had to adjust to, things that were strange and felt almost unnatural.

Now that he was a disciple, he had all the same rights as all the others, the ones who had been born to it instead of raised up from a lower level for it.

It was supposed to mean that they were all equal, all Lan disciples the same, except that all the arrogant young masters looked down their noses at the former servant who’d stepped above his station. They ridiculed him for it: for being ambitious, for being envious, for thinking too highly of himself, for not knowing the things they’d had a chance to learn and he hadn’t, for smelling like the shit no matter how clean he kept his clothing or how much he washed.

Equal – hah!

The worst, though…the worst was the Twin Jades.

Lan Xichen was powerful, yet kind and generous to the point of selflessness, a proper gentleman; Lan Wangji, equally gifted, always did the right thing, no matter the circumstances, his expression solemn and serious, his reputation famous for his righteousness.

Su She hated them. He wanted to be them, wanted to be Lan Wangji so bad it made his blood boil, but he also hated them – hated him.

The Twin Jades. They didn’t deserve to be called that, not with the three year age difference between them and at least four points of difference on their face, if you were looking; not when Su She’s brother had been born so soon before him that he’d been born clutching his ankle as they left the womb together. Not when the only difference, the only difference, between them was that fucking Lan cultivator’s comment that he only had enough room in his cart to take one of them with him.

A servant, even with cultivation potential, was worth less than a bag of bok choy meant to serve as a side dish on a trueborn Lan disciple’s plate, and so his brother was stuck in the muck back at home while Su She fought his way through the muck that was the Lan sect’s glorious principles and discipline.

He didn’t even know for sure if his brother was still alive.

Oh, Su She had the sect’s permission to write them letters, but what would it help? No one in his village could read, he certainly hadn’t been able to before he’d been forcefully taught so that Lan sect elders could pass him notes instead of condescending enough to speak to him, and the cost of paying a scholar to read it to them would be a waste of the money he faithfully sent them out of his wages every month.

So yes, Su She was bitter. Su She hated. Su She envied, and envied Lan Wangji most of all. After all, he was handsome, but not as handsome; he was talented, but not as talented; he was smart, but not as smart; he was powerful, but not as powerful; he was a twin, but no one cared about him and his brother the way they cared about Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen – Lan Wangji, who got to have his older brother with him any time he liked, but spent the entire time standing there stone-faced and driving him away.

And, of course, Lan Wangji also had – him.

Yu Zhuliu was the sort of guest disciple that was really a servant and not a proper Lan disciple, although his cultivation was high enough to rank alongside some of the shining stars of the Lan sect – even more so than most, given his cultivation of the unique ability that had made him renowned throughout the cultivation world as the Core Melting Hand. It was only that he had been too old, at the time the Lan sect had rescued him from some misfortune that Su She had never heard specified, to learn their ways properly, and for some reason the elders resisted allowing him into the sect properly.

Perhaps it was because he was what was termed an ‘inconvenient child’ of Meishan Yu, the bastard child of a daughter of the clan; a liability that could neither be killed nor kept.

Perhaps it was because his ability was truly too terrifying, attacking as it did the golden core that all cultivators strove so hard and so long to form.

Or perhaps it was simply that he made a very convenient servant.

Yu Zhuliu was, to put a point on it, Lan Wangji’s servant, acting as both bodyguard and attendant.

He was a deputy to help Lan Wangji with whatever he needed, big or small. The Lan sect prided itself on discipline and humility, but only to a certain extent – only to the extent it looked good or was pure – and of course they were desperate to keep their precious young jade safe from the growing predations of Qishan Wen; it was not so strange that they assigned him a bodyguard, and of course if he was already doing that he might as well do the rest.

After all, who could expect a proper young gentleman to care for himself?

Su She hadn’t taken much notice of Yu Zhuliu at first, other than a brief stabbing feeling of pity when he heard of the man’s circumstances. But then one day he’d noticed him rolling his eyes as Lan Wangji stiffly recited the rules in advance of yet another punishment he was inflicting over something minor – no one loved the rules as much as Lan Wangji did. There was a reason nobody talked to him, perfect disciple that he was, and of course unlike the lowly Su She who, despite himself, longed for the company and recognition of his peers, Lan Wangji rose above it all, was above it all. And while no one could claim that his distribution of punishments wasn’t as fair and equitable as might be asked, it was evident to Su She that he only did it that way because it was the subject of yet another rule.

But no one ever seem to notice or care, no one ever thought it as stupid as Su She did, right up until that moment when he’d seen Yu Zhuliu making a long-suffering face like that where Lan Wangji couldn’t see, and Su She couldn’t help but smile a little, heart suddenly warm with a feeling of fellowship.

Yu Zhuliu had seen him smiling, caught his eyes, and rolled his eyes again, this time more pointedly – a gesture aimed just at him, a shared joke – and that was it; Su She was lost.

Su She was in Lan Wangji’s age group, even if they weren’t close (no one was close to Lan Wangji), so it wasn’t hard to find time to go over and talk to Yu Zhuliu.

The conversations were mostly one-sided to start with, which Su She had expected. Yu Zhuliu was a reserved man, and of course there was always that master-servant divide lying between them like a gulf. Still, Su She had been a servant once, which Yu Zhuliu knew – everyone knew – and in time Su She got him to ease up a little, talk back, commiserate.

Su She told him about his family, the little he remembered of them after all these years; in return, Yu Zhuliu unbent enough to tell him a little about his own background: the mother that hated him as the living sign of her disgrace, the constant accusations that he didn’t deserve to bear the Yu surname.

“Have you ever considered changing it?” Su She asked, helping him fold Lan Wangji’s laundry. It wasn’t something he’d ever have permitted himself to do under other circumstances, knowing how important it was to distance himself from all things relating to servants, but he was willing to make some compromises if it meant getting to spend a little more time with Yu Zhuliu. “Obviously if you want to keep it, it’s yours; they can’t deprive you of your birthright like that. But it doesn’t seem like you particularly want it.”

Yu Zhuliu was quiet for a long moment. “Once,” he said, his eyes distant. “I considered it once, before I joined the Lan sect. I wasn’t yet sure who had been the one to – well. Suffice it to say that I was seriously considering an offer I had received to join a different sect, and they offered to allow me to adopt the main clan’s surname as my own if I performed well.”

Su She shuddered in automatic revulsion at the thought.

Yu Zhuliu saw it, of course, and chuckled. “It would have been a great honor,” he reminded him. “Especially for someone like me – to be able to shed my old name would have been enough, but to replace it with a name that was even more powerful..?”

“Gratifying,” Su She agreed, a little begrudgingly. The idea of giving away his identity like that, giving in to the arrogant young masters’ lies that they were better than him just because they had a fancier surname, revolted him, but he could, he supposed, see a little of the spiteful appeal of it. “Like – stamping on their faces with it, showing them what they’ve lost.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you take that offer, then?” They both knew the Lan sect would never in a million years extend a similar offer, even though there were plenty of branch families surnamed Lan and another one more or less wouldn’t much matter. It wasn’t proper, though, and no one cared more about propriety than the Lan sect. “With the clan surname, they would have had to make you a proper disciple.”

Su She would never agree to such an offer himself. He might want, in the darkest parts of his heart, to be Lan Wangjii, to be something better than he was, might occasionally daydream of what his life might have been life if they’d been born swapped in place, but he didn’t – he wouldn’t sell his surname for it.

(He wouldn’t sell his brother for it, even if all he had of his brother was a surname and some swiftly fading memories.)

But Yu Zhuliu hated his surname and all it represented. He wasn’t like Su She, always thinking of the past and the might-have-beens and growing fat on all his resentment and grievances; if Yu Zhuliu could shed his skin like a cicada, emerge somewhere else a brand-new person, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“It was the Lan sect that saved me,” he said simply. “And so I owed it to them to come here, no matter what the Wen sect offered me.”

The Wen sect. Wow. That was sure some offer to turn down; they commanded the loyalty of over a third of the smaller sects, maybe even close to half, and Yu Zhuliu could have gotten their surname.

Of course, the Wen sect offered that out much more readily than other sects did, but still.

On the other hand, if Yu Zhuliu had accepted, if he’d become Wen Zhuliu, then Su She would never have had the chance to meet him, or would have only met him under bad circumstances.

Maybe he wouldn’t have liked Wen Zhuliu that much at all.

“Your loyalty is admirable,” he finally said, after wracking his brain for something appropriately neutral to say.

That got him another chuckle. “Did you know that lies make you look like you’ve tasted something sour?”

“I,” Su She said with dignity, “am a great liar. You just haven’t noticed it yet.”

Yu Zhuliu was silent for a moment, maybe reviewing things he knew about Su She. “I suppose you probably are,” he said thoughtfully. “Which means it’s the Lan sect that you don’t like.”

Su She shrugged. “I don’t think I’d like any sect,” he confessed, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

Yu Zhuliu’s overwhelming trait was his loyalty, after all – he’d sell Su She out in a heartbeat if he thought the Lan sect deemed it necessary. Su She was mostly just counting on being so pointless and insignificant that Yu Zhuliu wouldn’t think it was worth telling anyone about him.

It probably wasn’t, either. Why would the Lan sect care about someone like Su She one way or another? He wasn’t anything to them, not really; even as a disciple, his only purpose was to act as an adornment, to bring honor and glory that would reflect upwards onto the great clan surnamed Lan.

“Why?” Yu Zhuliu asked. He sounded honestly curious – honestly interested, interested in Su She for something other than being an extra body in a formation or another cannon fodder to throw to the dogs when a night-hunt went badly.

Su She wanted to tell him everything.

But Yu Zhuliu was loyal, always loyal, and Su She may not be as smart as Lan Wangji but he wasn’t stupid.

“They’re all the same in the end, full of arrogant young masters,” he said breezily. “I mean, did you see the group of disasters at Teacher Lan’s lectures?”

Perhaps that was a harsh assessment, but he’d humiliated himself in front of them all on that night-hunt that went wrong against the Waterborne Abyss, with his still-shaky control over his sword, trying as always to live up to Lan Wangji’s example the way they kept always telling him he should and then being looked down upon as an idiot for even trying – why would he do something so stupid obviously he can never match Lan Wangji always aiming above his station and thinks too highly of himself still a servant after all obviously he’ll never be good enough – and the mere thought of them tasted like bile and hatred in his mouth.

“The head disciple from the Jiang sect seemed fairly smart,” Yu Zhuliu said, and Su She scoffed.

“He’s very smart, very smart indeed,” he said scathingly. “So smart that he’s forgotten who he is and where he came from. Eventually someone’s going to remember that he’s a servant’s son, not a proper young master at all, and he’ll pay for it in blood and tears – if he’s lucky.”

“Do you think so?”

“The Jiang heir has an inferiority complex as deep as the ocean –” Su She knew what one looked like; after all, he saw one every day in the mirror. “– and eventually the time will come when he has to be sect leader in his father’s place. On that day, all those pretty words about how wonderful Wei Wuxian is, how smart, how talented, what a credit to his sect, they’ll all fall onto Jiang Wanyin’s ears like a lash on his back. And when the time comes that he has to sacrifice something, well, we’ll see how much being smart helps Wei Wuxian then.”

“An interesting perspective,” Yu Zhuliu remarked.

“An accurate one,” Su She retorted. “He was raised as a proper young master, not a servant, and so he won’t even know to see the danger when it comes. None of them would.”

“No, I suppose not. It’s always the things you don’t know you don’t know that can harm you the most.” Yu Zhuliu straightened up – the laundry was done; they’d finished it ages ago. “We will have to continue this discussion another time, Su-gongzi –”

“Su She, please. Su Minshan, if you must.”

“Su Minshan, then. I look forward to speaking with you again.”

When Yu Zhuliu let, Su She hugged himself in glee, allowing himself a moment of triumph at a successful conversation with the person he liked, then went to wash himself clean again. He wasn’t dirty, and it was the middle of the day, but he wanted to make sure no one could smell the bleaching herbs they put in the laundry on him. He didn’t want to risk any more mockery, and anyway, it had gotten to be a habit.

As he went to the baths, he saw Lan Wangji standing on a nearby pathway, looking up at the sky as if deep in thought. He must be on his rounds again, even though it wasn’t his day for it, or even the right time; he’d taken to haunting the routine work of it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Whatever. It wasn’t Su She’s business.

Except maybe it was, because Lan Wangji kept – looking at him, over the next few days. Which was weird, because Lan Wangji never looked at anybody, his nose firmly stuck up in the sky where mortals dared not tread, and it was starting to make Su She nervous.

Surely Lan Wangji couldn’t tell – about him. He’d never been able to before, why would he start now?

And yet…what if he could?

What if Lan Wangji had figured him out? Figured out Su She’s rebellious heart, how he wasn’t grateful at all not matter nice a face he put on, how he hated the stupid Lan sect rules and the stupid Lan sect disciples and the stupid Lan sect arrogance, how he secretly schemed to learn everything he could and transcribe everything he couldn’t memorize so that he could take it back home to Moling one day and show his brother everything he’d learned, how he despised them all for their arrogance –

“Will you be attending the archery competition?” Lan Wangji asked stiffly. He did everything stiffy, like he was actually a statute carved out of jade and only just pretending to be human. “At the Nightless City?”

“Naturally,” Su She said, not bothering to look up from the verses he was copying. Not the most polite, not as kiss-ass as he ought to be when faced with the glory that was the second jade of the Lan sect, but he’d found that as long as he kept his tone as formal and humble as possible, he could get away with a little. “It may be nothing like yours, Lan-er-gongzi, but I do have some skill at it, you know.”

Not that most people thought so. They would be travelling to Qishan in three groups, for easier and more secure travel – one for the adults, one led by the Twin Jades to represent the shining hope of their sect, and the last of everyone else making up the numbers. He was in the last group, of course, even though his talent for musical cultivation was one of the strongest in the junior generation and his swordplay good enough to only lose to Lan Wangji three times out of every five – better results than a good half of the group of well-born Lan clansman being sent out as the representatives of their sect.

Was he bitter about it? Yes.

Lan Wangji hesitated for a long moment, and even shifted from one leg to the other – a sign of nervousness in most people, maybe. In Lan Wangji? Who even knew.

After a while, he said, “My group has an extra place,” sounding almost like it was an offer, and the entire thing was so bizarre that Su She immediately became suspicious.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Lan Wangji blinked at him.

“He who is unaccountably solicitous is hiding bad intentions, Lan-er-gongzi,” Su She clarified, glaring up at him and unable to keep his mouth from twisting as though he’d bitten something sour. He knew he often looked like that, and it made the female cultivators downrate his handsomeness, but he’d been the subject of too many jokes to stop himself from being so bitterly defensive. “You don’t know me, you don’t like me, and you don’t go out of your way to offer a better place to anyone, even if there’s no official rule against it. So what is it you want?”

Lan Wangji shook his head.

“If you don’t want anything, why offer?” Su She sneered. It would be just like Lan Wangji to have decided to recognize a promising disciple that deserve a chance to shine – he was perfect like that, after all, always thinking of others, always a true gentleman. Well, Su She had endured a lifetime of being seen as promising by gentlemen, being recognized as a talent without once being thought of as a person, having to humiliate himself in front of them like a dancing monkey and worst of all of having to be grateful to them for allowing him to do it, and he was sick and tired of swallowing down that bitter draught.

He didn’t need the better spot, not this time – he would be going one way or the other – and he wasn’t willing to give Lan Wangji of all people the satisfaction of doing him a favor he didn’t even want.

Lan Wangji shifted from one side to the other again, waiting a long time before he spoke again. Maybe it was nervousness.

“Yu Zhuliu is in my party,” he finally said.

At first Su She didn’t understand the point Lan Wangji was making, terse and oblique as the other man habitually was, and then he understood it far too well.

He saw red.

“What business is that of yours?” he shouted, dropping his brush and jumping to his feet, forgetting all of his good intentions to try to keep his head down and his tone at least plausibly polite. “So what if I spend some time with him when he’s free? Not every waking hour of his is yours!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes darted from side to side. “No,” he said. “I didn’t mean –”

“You didn’t mean what?!”

“You like him.” A meaningful pause. “Very much.”

“Yes, I do,” Su She said, his cheeks flushed red. “So what? So I cut my sleeve sometimes, big deal. It’s not against any of your stupid rules – every attempt to introduce such a restriction formally has been rejected, I checked. This isn’t something you can punish me for!”

He could, of course. No one would question Lan Wangji issuing yet another punishment – he could say it was due to Su She’s noise, no shouting in the Cloud Recesses – and of course not every type of punishment was the sort that got meted out in the Punishment Hall. There were other types, more insidious – isolation, ostracization, missing out on opportunities for advancement, resources…even merely sentencing him to write lines could be used to deny him his coveted spot at the Nightless City.

Lan Wangji wouldn’t do that, though.

Somehow that just made Su She angrier. Who told Lan Wangji to be so fucking perfect?

“You can add it to your list of achievements,” he adds bitterly. “Everyone knows you’re better than me - better at manners, better at cultivation, better at everything, and now better in this way, too, because I’m a cutsleeve and you’re not –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Su She’s jaw dropped in shock. “You are?”

Lan Wangji’s features weren’t exactly easy to ready for anyone except Lan Xichen, but at the moment it was plain enough that even Su She could figure out that he was miserable.

“For who?!” A terrible thought slipped into his mind. “It had better not be Yu Zhuliu!”

“No!” Lan Wangji said hastily. “No – no. Not at all.”

“Good,” Su She said fiercely. “Because he’s mine. Or, well, not mine, we haven’t agreed on anything, I haven’t even said anything, but I’m trying and – well, it doesn’t matter. You know what I mean.”

He wasn’t actually sure Lan Wangji did. He wasn’t sure he knew what he meant.

But Lan Wangji nodded, as if his confused rambling had been as clear as a Lan sect rule.

“I thought you might like to spend more time with him,” he said, and – oh. His offer. The Nightless City.

“…I would,” Su She said begrudgingly. “Thanks.”

For Yu Zhuliu, he’d even put up Lan Wangji’s charity.

“Who is it for you, anyway?” he asked, unable to resist and wanting to take advantage of this strange intimacy, this momentary breach of etiquette undoubtedly never to be repeated, but Lan Wangji shook his head, refusing to share. “Fine. Have it your way.”

It wasn’t that he cared, anyway.

Not about Lan Wangji’s mysterious lover, and not about Lan Wangji himself – this wasn’t a charming little flaw that made the whole seem more relatable, wasn’t something that generated fellow feeling, the way Yu Zhuliu’s gentle mockery had. So what if both of them were secretly cutsleeves in a sect that most assuredly did not approve of such things? That didn’t mean anything. It didn’t give them anything in common. They still weren’t the same, not at all, not with Lan Wangji was nobly bearing the burden of it while Su She had given in to temptation almost at once…

No, this was just more of the same.

More of Lan Wangji being, despite all of Su She’s efforts to the contrary, Su She’s idol, his ideal. The person who he hated most because he envied him the most, the person who made him hate himself as being nothing but the lesser copy, the person he despised for making him sometimes feel as if maybe Lan Wangji’s better birth really did entitle him to be better.

So no. He didn’t care.

(It wasn’t that Lan Wangji had seen him, recognized him as something the same. As a person, worthy of recognition, even if not of respect. It wasn’t.)

Maybe he cared a little bit.

He must have cared, or else he would have just run away when the Wen sect descended on the Lan sect with flame and sword instead of being a stupid idiot and going to look for him.

(He told himself it was because Yu Zhuliu would undoubtedly be wherever Lan Wangji was, and it was a pretty decent lie, except that he went to the Library Pavilion and Yu Zhuliu wasn’t there. So he told himself that Yu Zhuliu would have wanted him to protect Lan Wangji, and that lie worked better.)

Of course, once he got there, the stupid noble gentlemanly fucker wouldn’t even listen to him and run.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the important one?” Su She bellowed. This was clearly not the time for manners, and anyway Lan Wangji had already seen beneath his mask once; another time wouldn’t hurt. “Yu Zhuliu’s out there fighting to keep you alive and you’re wasting all his efforts, you’re just standing here, waiting for them to come get you –”

“It is necessary,” Lan Wangji said, solemn as ever. “Someone must keep their attention here, instead of following my brother.”

“Oh fuck you,” Su She said, and took out his sword. Lan Wangji just had to play the fucking brother card, didn’t he?

Yu Zhuliu would want me to do this, he told himself as he tried to fight. He was pretty decent, but he was just a disciple, not a soldier, and as a Lan sect disciple he’d never killed anything before. After a while, he ended up shouting for Lan Wangji to throw him his guqin – the one Su She favored was rented from the sect, lacking as he did the money to purchase her in full, and so he didn’t have it with him – and he attacked with that instead for a while, being better at music than he was at the sword.

The lash of his music was less powerful than Lan Wangji’s single-note waves of power, but Su She was also sneakier about it, and a few unexpected distractions during a battle were much more helpful to Lan Wangji’s defense than any amount of getting himself killed waving a sword around would have.

In the end, unsurprisingly, they were defeated. Su She ended up surrendering in fairly dramatic manner, knowing that the Wen sect might preserve Lan Wangji’s life as a useful hostage but that they couldn’t give a damn about his own and, as always, humiliation was the path to survival; he bet Lan Wangji was already judging him for it, for his weakness, for how pathetic he was when he was sniveling at Wen Xu’s feet as they beat him black and blue to make a point to Lan Wangji, but he didn’t care because he bowed his head and lived while the disciple next to him that didn’t died.

Lan Wangji didn’t bow his head either, but they just broke his leg before throwing them both in a carriage headed to the Nightless City.

The worst of it was, he didn’t even have Yu Zhuliu around to comfort him.

“I ordered him to go with my brother,” Lan Wangji said in belated explanation. “To protect him.”

“You could have said,” Su She said, curled up in the corner of the carriage and feeling sick to his stomach. He should have just run away. He could be in Moling right now if he’d just run away, and who would have known? Of course, then he would have to have left behind all the things he’d prepared, and Yu Zhuliu, too… “Maybe I’d rather have been on that team. Why’d he run, anyway? I bet he had a great reason.”

“He took the key books of our sect –”

Su She rolled his eyes. Of course there was a good nice selfless noble reason for Lan Xichen having fled, leaving his younger brother behind as a sacrifice to cover his tracks – proper young masters never did anything without one of those. It was like they thought that admitting that they were afraid for their lives would be worse than actually dying.

“He took what he could,” Lan Wangji said, his eyes cast down. He wasn’t really talking to Su She. “But so much was still lost.”

Su She thought about all the copies of the books he’d been making, all the knowledge he’d been slowly siphoning away over the course of years, and how they were hidden far away from the main buildings of the Lan sect. He’d probably have more than they did, when this was all said and done, assuming he survived. Wouldn’t that just drive them all up the wall? All those stiff smug elders who thought they were better than him would have to come and beg him to give them the books –

Lan Wangji would, too. Those books were probably his only friends, just as they were Su She’s.

“…maybe not all lost,” he said begrudgingly, and curled up tighter, cursing himself as an idiot.

He might be feeling all warm and fuzzy towards Lan Wangji over something as stupid as a single moment of shared misery, but just because he had feelings about it didn’t mean Lan Wangji did. More than likely, when it came down to it, Lan Wangji would put aside all his noble manners and sell Su She out in a heartbeat, and probably not even count it as a betrayal. After all, in the end, Su She was still just a servant that had temporarily made good, still just cannon fodder, meant to be used and sacrificed for the sake of his better-born master.

At least Lan Wangji had probably given up on expecting him to be grateful about it, given the despicable personality he’d already seen Su She display.

It irritated him how much that mattered.

“There’s always copies, after all,” he added. “And before you say anything, I know it’s not the same as having the original, but it’s worth something, isn’t it?”

He was worth something, even if he was only Lan Wangji’s copy.

“That’s true,” Lan Wangji said. He was quiet for a long while after that, long enough that Su She started seriously considering going to sleep because unconsciousness was preferable to worrying about what was going to happen to them once they got to the Nightless City, and then he said, “You are unhappy.”

Su She turned to goggle at him. “Of course I’m unhappy! The Cloud Recesses was lit on fire, we’re prisoners, we’re probably going to die painfully –”

“Not now. Before.” A pause. “With the sect.”

Su She shut his mouth and glared suspiciously.

“I won’t say anything,” Lan Wangji promised. “I only want to know.”

Su She shook his head stubbornly. “You won’t understand,” he said, a little helplessly, when Lan Wangji continued to look at him, wanting an explanation. “It’s not – something you would understand. You’ve always had everything, all your life.”

Lan Wangji frowned a little, clearly thinking it over, clearly taking it seriously, and for a moment there Su She kind of hated Yu Zhuliu for making him actually like Lan Wangji a little bit. “Not – everything,” he finally said. “My family…”

He trailed off, probably thinking about where they were now. A father locked away in seclusion was different from one on the verge of death; a missing brother, an injured uncle…

Su She huffed and turned his head away, refusing to feel sympathetic. “At least you had them,” he said bitterly. “I haven’t seen my family since they sold me to your sect, and at this point I’m too scared to go visit them.”

“…the Lan sect does not keep slaves.”

“No, of course not,” Su She said. “You just offer people more money than they’ve ever seen in their lives if they’ll hand over their six-year-old son to be properly trained as a servant, because it’s better to get them while they’re young – teach them to be quiet and inobtrusive and grateful for how much better it is to spend their life cleaning up the shit that sticks to your boots. And the worst part is, you are grateful for it, no matter how bad it is, no matter how much you miss your home or your family or your brother, because the buyer could have picked him instead of you and then you’d be the one stuck on some farm somewhere doing nothing with your life, just waiting to see if he’ll come back one day.”

The difference with Su She was that he’d figured out pretty quick that going back wasn’t enough.

When he’d realized how important it was to cultivate a golden core at a young age, he’d saved up every bit of money he could on top of what he sent his family every month, volunteered for every job that paid and even bit his tongue and took out extravagant loans from the sect that he would be paying off for years to come, and he’d hired a rogue cultivator to go teach his brother the basics of cultivation.

He hoped that was enough to make up for all the years he’d been gone, even though he doubted it; he wouldn’t think it was enough, himself, and surely his brother was like him. He was still too young to go outside the sect by himself – he would have to apply for a token, and agree to take someone with him, and he didn’t want to take anyone with him except maybe Yu Zhuliu, who wasn’t an option.

He didn’t want anyone to know if his return home went as badly as he feared it would. If his brother turned out to be as bitter as he was, and turned that bitterness against him –

“You have a brother?” Lan Wangji asked, because of course he’d noticed the important part.

“A twin,” Su She whispered, and turned his face away.

They did not speak again until the Nightless City, and even then it was limited to necessary things, neither of them wanting to risk the fury of their Wen sect guards. After a while, it was announced that the Wen sect would be holding a camp for all young masters, meant to indoctrinate them into righteous conduct, and that they would be attending whether they wanted to or not. They had probably assumed that Su She was well-born because of the fine clothing and fancy hairpiece he wore, and never knew that they were loaned to him by a sect that liked to surround itself with pretty things even if it had to pay for the clothing itself, and Su She had never been happier to be counted among his supposed peers.

Still, when the indoctrination camp began, and Wen Chao – accompanied by three bodyguards at all times, because he was even more of an arrogant snot than even Su She had previously imagined an arrogant young master could be – began lording it over them all, Su She drifted over to Lan Wangji’s side again.

Mostly because no one else would, other than maybe that troublemaker from Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian.

“I know some curses,” he told Lan Wangji, pretending to be casual about it as if he hadn’t accused Lan Wangji’s sect of various awful things. “Really nasty ones. Want me to try one on Wen Chao? I can be subtle.”

“He’d figure out it was you when he checked us all for the inevitable backlash marks,” Wei Wuxian put in. “Then he’d just kill you to get rid of it. Stupid idea.”

“Depends on how quick-acting the curse was,” Su She said peevishly. He hadn’t even been talking to Wei Wuxian, and he hadn’t forgotten who it was that had charged in like a hero from a play to rescue him when he’d overreached himself fighting the Waterborne Abyss even if he doubted Wei Wuxian remembered him in return. “Also, why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere drawing fire onto the Jiang sect?”

“What? No,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not –”

“I mean, I certainly can’t think of any other reasons for your actions, Wei-gongzi,” Su She said, his voice set at its most simpering. It wasn’t like there were any Lan sect elders here to punish him for being disrespectful, after all, and he figured that helping defend the Library Pavilion with Lan Wangji probably earned him a little space to be himself for once. “Aggravating Wen-gonzi, making light of everything, galivanting around flirting with girls – one might almost feel as if you’re on vacation. Surely your Jiang sect will not have to pay for any of that, politically speaking; it’s not as if the Wen sect thinks of them as one of their greatest rivals and is looking for any chance to cut them down…but no, surely it’s my misunderstanding. I’m sure Wei-gongzi has a thoughtful plan, being such a good servant to his sect.”

Wei Wuxian frowned at him. “But that’s not what I’m doing,” he said, but his voice came out a little weaker this time. “That’s not it at all, I was just…hm. Hey, Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng, I have a question for you…”

Su She watched him leave with satisfaction, then turned back to Lan Wangji, who was looking at him again.

“Why do you dislike him?” he asked before Su She could change the subject.

“I don’t dislike him,” Su She said. “I envy him, sometimes. The rest of the time, I pity him.”

“You think Jiang Wanyin will cast him aside, one day,” Lan Wangji said, and Su She thought back to that conversation he’d had with Yu Zhuliu. Lan Wangji had clearly heard more of it than he’d let on.

“Well, yes,” he conceded, because he did. He’d seen how close they were, which was only going to make it worse for them both when it inevitably happened.

“Would you tell me why? In your own words?”

Su She frowned at Lan Wangji, who raised his hands as if in surrender. “Please.”

Well, if he was going to ask nicely…

Su She decided to pretend that he was talking to Yu Zhuliu.

“Fine. You want my opinion? Whoever raised Wei Wuxian ruined him,” he said bluntly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t act like a servant – he doesn’t even act like a second son. He acts like a master. He acts like he’s the next heir to the Jiang sect, not Jiang Wanyin; you’ve seen how he’s always bossing him around and refusing to listen to him even when he tells him to behave.”

“He’s his shixiong,” Lan Wangji objected, but mildly.

“For now. Do you really think Wei Wuxian’s going to suddenly learn how to be obedient the second Jiang Wanyin gets instated as sect leader? Or do you think he’ll continue to run rampant, doing just as he likes the way he always has, with Jiang Wanyin bending to his every whim the way he always has? What do you think the cultivation world will think of that?”

Lan Wangji was frowning deeper now, thoughtful.

“The cultivation world isn’t kind to servants who forget their place. If he keeps acting the way he has been, the time will come when he does something so outrages that Jiang Wanyin will have no choice but to throw him away,” Su She concluded. “A servant’s son, however precious, is nothing when weighed against the duty owed to the sect inherited by your ancestors. I mean, even your brother put that first and foremost, and he’s your blood.”

“…I agreed with Brother’s decision.”

“Sure. But did he ask you first?”

Lan Wangji remained quiet.

“If it makes you feel better, there’s always a chance that it won’t become an issue,” Su She continued, mostly to avoid having to listen to Lan Wangji’s injured sort of silence. “Maybe they’ll luck out and instead something will happen to remind Wei Wuxian that he’s a servant and that his job is to throw himself into the abyss to save Jiang Wanyin, probably without even getting thanked for it.”

Lan Wangji looked at him sidelong. After a long few moments of contemplation – Su She really couldn’t stand the way Lan Wangji looked at him, as if he was trying to figure out an interesting puzzle, but he also couldn’t get enough of it, it was horrible – he said, “It will not be that way, with Yu Zhuliu.”

Caught, Su She glared at him.

“How would you solve it?” Lan Wangji asked.

“What?”

“You were a servant, once,” Lan Wangji pointed out. “You are no Yu Zhuliu, no Wei Wuxian, to sacrifice yourself for the Lan sect, and it pains you to pretend to humble yourself before us. What is your solution? You are too clever not to have one.”

Su She wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he didn’t enjoy being called clever as much as he did. It didn’t sound condescending when Lan Wangji said it, the way it did when the Lan sect’s teachers did – like praising a well-performing pet that they’d raised themselves, patting themselves on the back for doing such a good job in training him. He sounded almost as if he resented Su She for being smart enough to see the messy contradiction that was Wei Wuxian’s life, and for being the only person he could ask to shed some light on the subject.

Su She didn’t mind resentment, not even aimed at him. On the contrary, it made it feel real.

Why wouldn’t Lan Wangji resent having to respect someone like him?

“I’m leaving, eventually,” he confessed. “I’m going to start my own sect, or try, anyway, if I can get the money for it from somewhere. Back at home in Moling. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, I’ll be able to convince Yu Zhuliu to come with me, notwithstanding the stupid debt of loyalty he feels he owes your sect.”

Lan Wangji looked contemplative again, surprised but not displeased, as if Su She had suggested something he’d never even considered possible. “What cultivation style will you use?”

“Yours, of course,” Su She said, rolling his eyes at him. “What am I supposed to do, come up with a new one of my own? In what free time, exactly?”

“People will say you’re copying the Lan sect.”

“People have said I’m a copy all my life,” Su She pointed out. “Let the cultivation world sneer and the Lan sect break its rule against gossiping to look down their noses at me – I’ll still be sitting by myself as a sect leader in my own right while they’re just disciples. I’ll make my own rules, admit anyone into the sect that I want, and that’ll be worth all of their disdain.”

He hoped it would be, anyway. He suspected he’d end up being bitter about it, but then again he was always bitter, and anyway, what could he do about it?

If life had taught him one thing, it was that there was no way to make people stop talking, stop mocking, because no matter if he took three baths a day and scrubbed until the blood ran red he would still underneath it all be a servant, a farmer’s son. But he was more than that, he knew he was more than that, and the only alternative – to stay in the Lan sect as a second-class barely-better-than-a-servant for the rest of his life – just wasn’t tolerable.

He’d do what he could and figure out the rest when he came to it.

“You think Wei Wuxian will do the same?”

“Probably?” Su She said and shrugged. “I mean, he has the reputation for being an unorthodox genius, so maybe he’ll come up with his own cultivation style to go with it – you can do things like that when you’re rich and have the time – but as for whether he will form a new sect…how would I know? Maybe he’ll go be a rogue cultivator instead, the way his father did when he got tired of being stuck in the Jiang sect’s shadow. Depends on how many people go with him.”

Lan Wangji hummed thoughtfully. “A rogue cultivator has only to concern himself with his own wellbeing,” he said slowly, as if feeling something out. “A sect – with others.”

“I mean, you could try to take a family around as a rogue cultivator, but I think Wei Wuxian is a walking illustration of why you don’t do that.”

A small flinch. Why were all these well-born sons of the nobility so delicate? It was only loss.

“But you are certain he will go.”

“Well, yes. Either he figures out that he needs to shut up and listen to someone else for once or he leaves, and I don’t think he knows how to listen.” Su She shrugged again. “Why do you care, anyway? He’s Jiang sect. It’s not any of our business.”

Lan Wangji was silent, but somehow it came across as a meaningful silence. An almost pointed silence.

An embarrassed silence.

“…him, really?” Su She said, twisting around to gawk a little at where Wei Wuxian was having a furious whispered conversation with Jiang Cheng that involved a lot of gestures and even more suspicious looks from the nearby Wen sect guards. “I mean, sure, he’s attractive, no one’s going to deny that – he’s not rated fourth for nothing – but…really? Him? He’s not exactly the quiet-and-thoughtful Lan sect type I thought you’d go for, you know?”

Lan Wangji, with all the great grace and dignity and pomp of a proper young master of high birth and proper breeding, buried his face into his hands.

Su She covered his mouth with his sleeve to keep from laughing at him. It wasn’t exactly nice to laugh at someone who was clearly all too aware of their evidently terrible taste in men.

From the way Lan Wangji glared through his fingers, he wasn’t doing a very good job of muffling his snickers.

It was a good laugh, which was nice because it was the last thing Su She had to laugh about for long while.

The “indoctrination camp” was frankly awful. It wasn’t that he thought being forced to do servant’s work like tilling fields or doing laundry was the worst thing in the world (although he did resent that they didn’t bother paying them for it), and memorizing useless maxims was more or less what the Lan sect excelled at the most, but the constant air of vicious supervision, the threat of punishment, of having the swords they had all worked so hard to obtain taken away from them…

And that was all before they were forced to act as bait in Wen Chao’s night hunt.

“I’m serious,” Su She muttered to Lan Wangji. “I know so many good curses.”

Lan Wangji condescended to elbow him in the side to get him to shut up.

“I miss Yu Zhuliu,” Su She complained instead. “He’s much better company than you are.”

“No one is better company than Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian piped up. He was hanging out by them – not quite with them, but nearby – again.

“I thought the Core-Melting Hand was terrifying,” Jiang Cheng opined. He was following Wei Wuxian, as always, and sticking as close as his shadow, as if he was afraid of losing him. Maybe he was. “All silent and stoic and looming.”

“He doesn’t loom. He’s just tall.”

“All tall people loom. Look at Chifeng-zun, he looms even when he’s sitting down.”

Chifeng-zun, who was the leader of the Nie sect, was, in fact, unreasonably tall and, yes, loomed quite a bit.

“Well, Yu Zhuliu doesn’t,” Sue She said. And then, because he didn’t actually like either of the Jiang sect’s young masters no matter what Lan Wangji might think of them, he added, “Not that you of all people have the place to say anything, Jiang-gongzi. Family shame should not be spread in public.”

He thought that would make an impact, remind them of their manners, but instead all three of them – Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and even Lan Wangji – looked at him in confusion.

“What?” he said, staring at them back. “I know Jiang-gongzi’s maternal family is Meishan Yu…isn’t it?”

“It is,” Wei Wuxian said, sounding baffled. “But what does…wait. Yu Zhuliu – his Yu is Meishan Yu?”

“Yes?” Su She said, looking between them. Yu Zhuliu had said it was no secret, but the junior generation was treating this as if the information had hit them like a sudden landslide: Jiang Cheng had gone white, Wei Wuxian’s jaw was hanging open, and even Lan Wangji’s eyes were as wide and round as the moon. “You didn’t know?”

“I assumed it was another Yu,” Jiang Cheng croaked.

“Meishan Yu probably doesn’t want to admit that one of their own went to work as a servant for another sect after they kicked him out,” Su She concluded. It seemed relatively reasonable to him, but somehow that made all of them look even more upset. “What’s the matter?”

They all just shook their heads and made their way away, looking stunned to a man, and Su She was left to roll his eyes and wonder what in the world made young masters act like that. Something in the water, maybe?

He would curse himself later for making the joke, because there was something in the water of the cave they went to, and that something was, apparently, a corrupted Xuanwu.

(Lan Wangji was still glaring at him for trying to pull the girl out when Wen Chao’s whore demanded it, but it wasn’t his life on the line if the Wen sect went through with their threat to start slaughtering disciples left and right if they couldn’t get to her. Anyway, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to cut her in a way that let out a bit of blood but left her the mobility she might need to escape – she was a cultivator, too! What did it matter that she was a woman?)

Wei Wuxian was holding the Xuanwu’s attention with a fire talisman, and Jiang Cheng was leading the disciples to the pool with the water, which Lan Wangji had identified as containing an exit…as usual, all the young masters were showing their stuff. In a burst of resentful fury, the sort he hadn’t had in weeks, Su She leaned down and grabbed a bow and some arrows. If he shot the Xuanwu’s eye, he might be able to –

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Su She turned to look.

Lan Wangji shook his head. He didn’t seem angry about the girl anymore.

“Keep them,” he said, nodding at the arrows. “There will be Wen sect soldiers waiting for us outside.”

“You don’t think I can make the shot,” Su She accused, feeling obscurely betrayed. “You scored so high in the archery competition – I bet you think you could do better, is that it? You want –”

“If you miss, you may anger it further,” Lan Wangji said. “And I have promised Yu Zhuliu that I would see you safe.”

Su She’s anger was extinguished as quickly as a candle blowing out. “You – did? He asked about me?”

“Before he left with my brother.”

“You should’ve said something,” Su She grumbled, but he let himself be lured into allowing Lan Wangji to use him as a crutch as they waded into the water. At the last moment, Wei Wuxian threw the fire talisman into the air and ran after them, causing the Xuanwu to go crazy and chase, and then there was a bit of frantic swimming – it felt more like drowning, even with Wei Wuxian leading the way for them both – before they got to the other side.

“I’m going to be sick,” Su She groaned, spitting up water, and then he still had to sit up and shoot an arrow back at one of the Wen sect guards that, as Lan Wangji had predicted, were out there.

Of course, a few seconds later the Xuanwu came bursting out of the side of cave, so they all had a whole different set of problems to deal with.

At least the Wen sect mostly ran away.

(Not all of them. A few of them stuck around to shoot some arrows at them – every bad thing Su She had ever thought about any young master, he thought twice for the Wen sect.)

“Next time we deal with this inside the cave,” Su She shouted, running for cover. He was able to get the arrow into the Xuanwu’s eye the way he had planned to in the cave when he finally had a little time to stand and aim – admittedly, he might’ve missed in the cave, he never shot half as well when he was angry – and in the end Lan Wangji shouted something about Chord Assassination and Wei Wuxian had a brilliant-stupid idea about using it like a spider web to make a net and Jiang Cheng swam like a fish to lure it through the right spot and all together with a bunch of the others they ended up chopping the Xuawnu’s head off.

Well, chopping was the wrong word. More like a shichen or more or wretched sawing using Chord Assassination as a garotte, relying mostly on Lan Wangji’s arm strength – Su She and the few other Lan disciples that knew the trick were holding the strings down with burning bleeding fingers, an essential part of the process but ultimately only a prop to help Lan Wangji do what he needed – and by the time it was done their robes were more red and crusted brown than white no matter how many bleaching herbs and special arrays had been used.

“All right, the threat is gone,” Su She said, feeling bitter again as he scanned the treeline. He didn’t even know what the bitterness was about this time. “Can we go already?”

“You can come to Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng said. “It’s closest.”

No one disagreed.

More or less the second after they arrived, just as soon as they’d had baths and a change of clothing, Lan Wangji wanted to go back to the Cloud Recesses or to travel around looking for Lan Xichen. He looked strange in borrowed Yunmeng purple, even if they’d politely given him the lightest and bluest shade they had – really it was at best a pale lavender at best – but that sure didn’t seem to bother Wei Wuxian from the way he kept gawking at Lan Wangji when he thought Lan Wangji wasn’t looking.

“If you don’t trust your brother, trust Yu Zhuliu,” Su She told Lan Wangji irritably after yet another request that was swiftly denied. He’d made a half-hearted effort to remember his manners after the stress of the moment had passed, but Lan Wangji seemed unhappy any time he did so now he was back at being a bit more of his awful actual self. Of course, Lan Wangji liked Wei Wuxian so maybe he just had a kink for rude people? “Do you really think he’d take him anywhere you could find him?”

“Then I should be at the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “To help rebuild –”

“To help make them a target again, you mean?” Su She said scathingly. “Did you forget, somehow, that you’re still a valuable hostage? That they’ll be expecting you to go back? Or is it just that all that nobility is starting to make your brain rot, you stupid fucker?”

Lan Wangji glared at him, tight-lipped, and stalked away, which meant that Su She’s point had probably been taken and they could have at least a little rest before having to start running again.

Before the war started. War, which terrorized the common people…

He needed to go to Moling to check on his family. Even if his brother rejected him, as he feared, he had to go – better rejected than bereaved, surely..?

Consumed with dark thoughts, Su She didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone until he walked straight into Wei Wuxian’s chest.

(Why were they all so tall?)

Wei Wuxian was glaring at him. “Listen,” he said, sounding angry. “Listen, whatever your name is, you can’t talk to Lan Zhan like that –”

Su She punched him in the face.

Wei Wuxian stared up at him in shock from where he’d fallen on his ass on the ground, but Su She didn’t care; he turned on his heel and stormed off, his face hot with rage and shame and bitterness.

“On second thought, we can leave right now,” he spat at a shocked-looking Lan Wangji. “I’m not staying here one more fucking second.”

Whatever your name is.

Like they hadn’t just gone through life and death together, hadn’t fought side by side, like he hadn’t risked his life on Wei Wuxian’s stupid plan, none of that mattered; he wasn’t important enough for Wei Wuxian to remember his name. People like him really were nothing but side characters to people like Wei Wuxian, weren’t they? Their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their bitterness – all irrelevant. An aside at best, mere marginalia, a splash of color to liven up the background.

Su She would bet money that Wei Wuxian knew the names of all the rich young masters that had attended classes with them, whether he liked them or he didn’t. He even knew the name of that little Wen clan member that he’d so bravely stood up for during the archery competition. But not Su She’s name, no, even though he’d been so graciously suffering all of the stupid back-and-forth pining Wei Wuxian had been doing with Lan Wangji, even though he’d let himself foolishly believe that because he and Lan Wangji had something in common that they might be something like friends or at least companions, that he might be treated as an equal –

No, these stupid rich young masters were all the same. He’d been right the first time.

Actually, now that he thought about it, why was he even here? Did he really think Lan Wangji would take his side over Wei Wuxian, who wasn’t only his peer in every sense of the word but also his beloved?

What a waste of time.

Su She left again. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to walk away just as he was, no matter how furious; how far would he get with no money, no food, and even his sword back in Wen custody? Instead he made his way down to the kitchens to ask for travel rations that could last for a while, and planned to visit the armory to borrow a sword after that. He’d need to pack lightly, but comprehensively: who knew how far the Wen sect’s influence spread? He might not be able to risk going into the cities and towns on the way to get supplies, not even wearing borrowed Yunmeng robes – even if he hid the incredibly obvious white forehead ribbon with a hat, he still walked like someone from the Lan sect, something he’d only really noticed once he was surrounded by people who slouched and bent and took large ground-eating steps instead of the sedate pace that he couldn’t quite break the habit of using.

“Su She,” Lan Wangji said from the door to the room they’d been given. Su She didn’t look at him or stop stuffing the travel rations and the spare robes he’d obtained into a qiangkun pouch.

“If you’re coming here to scold me about hitting Wei-gongzi, spare me,” Su She said stiffly. “We’re not in the Cloud Recesses; you don’t have any role over discipline here –”

“The silencing spell would have been more effective.”

Su She blinked, surprised by the apparent non-sequitur, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“To silence him,” Lan Wangji clarified, meaning Wei Wuxian.

As if that was the problem with what Su She had done.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng piped up – Su She hadn’t seen him standing by Lan Wangji’s side. “Hitting doesn’t work, he just pops right back up again. Please ignore him in the future; he’s an idiot.”

Well, Su She couldn’t disagree with that.

“You have a guest,” Jiang Cheng added. He looked almost – nervous? “Could – would you introduce us? Properly, this time.”

Su She couldn’t think of anyone he knew that Lan Wangji didn’t also know. Why would they ask him? The only person –

He stiffened abruptly, hope welling in his stomach. “Yu Zhuliu? He’s here?”

“Brother sent him to check on me,” Lan Wangji said. “And to tell me to stay where I am. You were right.”

It was – immensely gratifying to hear that.

“He and Mother are having tea,” Jiang Cheng added, looking impressed. “She insisted. It’s so weird.”

Yu Zhuliu looked the same as he always did, when Su She finally got to see him: tall and broad-shouldered, steady as a mountain, untroubled by wind or rain. There were a few points of similarity between his face and Madame Yu’s, if you looked for them, and he seemed pleased by her surprisingly gracious reception – when they spoke about it later, it turned out that he greatly admired her, the famous (or infamous) Violet Spider who had made a name for herself as a fierce warrior and top-grade cultivator, and who had never looked down at him for his birth when they’d both been younger.

Wei Wuxian didn’t apologize at any point, though he also didn’t call Su She out as the cause for his black eye. Instead, he opted to act as though their earlier confrontation had never happened, bounding into the room Su She shared with Lan Wangji – no one else rose at the same hour they did – and insisting on taking them around to see the sights of the Lotus Pier, to spend a day on a boat, another picking lotus seeds, and yet another shooting down kites.

Su She refused to go shoot down kites, not wanting to risk humiliation at something he was actually pretty decent at by competing at archery against Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji, and spent the day with Yu Zhuliu instead.

“I missed you,” he blurted out instead of saying something reasonable. “I mean – not that I wanted you to be there and suffering, it was pretty awful, and who knows what the Wen sect might have tried to get you to do, it’s just – you know – ”

Yu Zhuliu was a reserved man who did not speak much. He put his hand on Su She’s and said only, “I know.”

Su She swallowed, and stared down at the hand that rested on him. It was a good hand, to his mind: broad in the palm, with short fingers that were the exact opposite of the long graceful ones favored by the Lan sect, but it did its vicious work well enough that the whole cultivation world knew about it – the whole cultivation world feared it.

Su She had never once worried about it. That probably made him a fool.

“Yu Zhuliu,” he said, very cautiously, even though he knew he shouldn’t speak; it was him being a fool again, except only this time he was a fool a hundred times over. “I know – I know that the Lan sect is very important to you. They rescued you at a bad moment in your life, and you owe them your loyalty; I understand that. But…do you think...maybe – one day in the future…”

Yu Zhuliu was looking at him steadily. He didn’t pull back his hand.

Su She gathered up his courage. “I’m going to go home to Moling, someday. Maybe even someday soon. And when I do, I’m not – I’m not going to go back to the Lan sect afterwards. I’m going to start my own sect, if I can manage it. When I do, would you – consider coming with me?”

He waited for Yu Zhuliu’s response with bated breath.

Yu Zhuliu looked serious and thoughtful, and he opened his mouth to respond –

There was a giant clatter from outside their door. “Wen sect!” someone shouted. “They’re here!”

Su She and Yu Zhuliu looked at each other, alarmed, and rushed out.

Unfortunately, that just meant they got a front row seat to the travesty that happened next.

Su She felt sick to his stomach: he’d predicted long ago that Wei Wuxian would one day rediscover that the Jiang sect saw him as only a servant, as something that could be sacrificed for the good of the sect, but each sizzle and snap of Zidian on Wei Wuxian’s back made him feel worse and worse. Su She’d been beaten plenty of times before, even whipped on occasion, but then again he’d never really taken the Lan sect to heart as his family – it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that he’d been so badly raised, tricked into thinking that they loved him like one of their own, into acting like a proud and arrogant young master who had a family that would hold up the world for him no matter what he did.

“She’s pulling the blows,” Yu Zhuliu murmured in his ear, too low for anyone else to hear, and that helped, a little. But not that much, since it was clear that Jiang Cheng, horrified, couldn’t tell, when it wasn’t clear if Wei Wuxian could, and then in the end it turned out to be all for nothing because Wang Lingjiao still demanded his hand.

Worse: he wasn’t sure if it was that, or the casual mention of a supervisory office, that was the step too far for Madame Yu.

Su She did not especially appreciate Madame Yu’s comments about Wang Lingjiao’s status as a servant, unsurprising and almost expected though they might be – although in a moment of horror-stricken hysteria he noticed that her words made Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji simultaneously flinch and glance over at him in concern, apparently all to a one forgetting the circumstances they were all in out of fear of his sharp tongue – but seeing her beat up the disgusting Wang Lingjiao was oddly gratifying.

Right up until the Wen sect guards she had brought with her started attacking from the inside, while from outside the sound of bombardment began – Wen sect’s armies had been lying in wait.

“Kill them!” Wang Lingjiao screeched the second she was free to do so, lunging forward with claws extended at Madame Yu’s face. “Kill them all –”

She never got that far.

Yu Zhuliu’s palm caught her dead in the belly, the force of it throwing her backwards into the arms of one of her guards, who quickly scurried away with her.

“A waste,” Madame Yu said, straightening her clothing. “Of your abilities, primarily. Did she even have enough of a golden core to justify melting?”

Yu Zhuliu didn’t bother responding, drawing his sword, and the next thing Su She knew they were all being given swords from dead Wen sect guards and heading out into the battlefield.

“Oh, I really hate this,” Su She said, looking down at the one he was given. As a Wen sect blade, it wouldn’t have any pity on him, and he didn’t think he was good enough to avoid getting skewered the first second he got angry and stopped paying attention to all of his weak spots. “Doesn’t anyone have a spare guqin I can use instead? I know some really good attack songs.”

“I think I have one in my room, actually,” Wei Wuxian said, and led him away from the others, limping only a little. Madame Yu really must have been pulling her strikes – not that Su She hadn’t believe Yu Zhuliu, of course, but still.

“You play?” Su She asked as they hurried through the hallways. “I thought you used a dizi.”

“I – considered picking it up. Briefly.”

“Just kiss him already,” Su She advised, deciding to try to be nice for once. “It’ll be faster, and your reception will be warm.”

“Kiss…who?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of genius?” Su She growled, and took the never-used guqin. It had been impossible to use anything more than the most straightforward sound attacks when they’d been fighting at the Cloud Recesses, given how many Lan sect disciples and even servants cultivated with music, but here at the Jiang sect where just about everyone was a swordsman first, musician later, and only Lan Wangji to compete with, Su She had a bit more freedom to go find a nice safe spot near the walls to play.

He wasn’t a guqin player on Lan Wangji’s standard – it still burned to admit it even if he maybe didn’t hate him as much as he used to – but he’d spent an awful lot of time in the library looking for things he could use when he was building his own sect and, well, he’d always liked the weird stuff.

“Wait, are you playing ‘Banish Evil’?” Jiang Cheng asked at one point, hopping over a wall to get near enough to ask.

“What? No. Are you deaf? They barely sound alike,” Su She said. “Now get out of range already before it you’re affected.”

Not long after, the effect started to show, with Wen sect cultivators falling left and right out of the sky above his head once their qi started locking up in response to his music.

Had he looked up a method to lock someone’s qi through music just because it reminded him of Yu Zhuliu? No, but it sure did help motivate him in learning the abstruse and needlessly complicated finger-work for something that, yes, okay, maybe sounded a little bit like ‘Banish Evil’, but not enough for people not to immediately call him out on what would otherwise sound like an incredibly bad rendition of that song.

“Once formed, your sect will be immensely unpopular,” Lan Wangji informed him as he flew by on his sword, his own musical cultivation acting as a shield to allow him to fight unaffected by Su She’s music.

Su She grinned down at the guqin and thought to himself that he’d be keeping this one. They could consider it payment for having made him have to put up with Wei Wuxian.

At some point in the battle, Sect Leader Jiang returned and ended up fighting back to back with his wife, which – once the battle was over – turned into a shouting match.

Yu Zhuliu, when he arrived, took one look and his eyebrows went up. “Perhaps we should assist with clean-up on the pier,” he said, delicately enough that Su She immediately figured out what he was implying.

“Yeah,” he said, covering up his smirk with his sleeve. “Let’s go quickly.”

“Don’t you two worry about our feelings getting hurt by it,” Wei Wuxian said, sounding amused, as Jiang Cheng nodded along. “We’re more than used to them fighting.”

“Is that what you call it in the Jiang sect?” Su She sniggered, unable to resist, and both of them paled.

“How would you even know about that?” Jiang Cheng eventually recovered enough to volley back. “Being from the Lan sect and all – I’m amazed it isn’t against one of your rules.”

“Su She is starting his own sect,” Lan Wangji, appearing from who-knows-where, interjected. “With fewer rules.”

“Wait, really?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking – he looked impressed, actually. “A sect of your own? That’s amazing!”

Su She flushed, his face hot and red at once. No one had ever said anything positive about his idea before. “Not anytime soon,” he demurred. “I mean, even a small cultivation sect has to have money enough to buy a house – pay for swords, musical instruments, things like that – and I’m broke.”

“Oh, money,” Wei Wuxian said, in a tone of someone who’d never had to do without, and Su She was already starting to secretly plan his murder – yes, he was aware that Wei Wuxian had reputedly spent some time on the streets as an orphaned child and no, he did not care – when he added, carelessly, “You helped save our home, the least we can do is give you something to help start yours.”

Su She stopped dead. “Are you serious?”

“Certainly,” Jiang Cheng said, and fuck, they were being serious. That was the Jiang sect heir saying he would give him money, not a servant, someone whose words could plausibly be held to be binding on the rest of his sect. “Do you have a plan for what cultivation style you’ll teach new disciples?”

“Uh,” Su She said. His mind was blank. “I was just planning on using the Lan sect techniques.”

Wei Wuxian looped an arm over his shoulder. “With some innovations, thought, right? That qi-locking music was pretty nice, and I’ve never seen it used before.”

Su She puffed up a little. It was pretty nice, good of Wei Wuxian to recognize that – and he hadn’t even seen the teleportation talisman Su She had been painstakingly teaching himself how to use!

“Nor I,” Lan Wangji said, and looked pointedly at Su She. “I suspect it comes from the forbidden section of our library.”

“No, it isn’t,” Su She said immediately, holding up his hands. He knew what the punishment was for going in there without permission. “Not the forbidden, but the forgotten – I was one of the people assigned to sort through old inheritances. Books from abroad, obscure books no one ever bothered categorizing, that sort of thing. The big jumble in the basement of the secondary library…you know, the fire hazard. The one that blew up in the Wen sect’s faces when they tried to light it.”

“You remember enough of them to make it work?” Jiang Cheng asked, now looking even more impressed.

“Well, no,” Su She admitted. “But I made copies of everything that looked interesting and hid them in an abandoned root cellar halfway down the road to Caiyi Town, so they should still be intact.”

Lan Wangji lit up, which for him was a slight bit of color to his cheeks, a slight arch to his eyebrows, a faint curve to his eyes – in other words, he was positively glowing. “Would you permit copies to be made of your copies? We would gladly pay for the privilege.”

“And if you put that together with our money, and you should definitely have enough to fund a sect,” Wei Wuxian said enthusiastically. “And we can come visit!”

“Sooner rather than later, actually,” Jiang Cheng said, rubbing the back of his head. “Before the yelling started, Mother and Father agreed that we younger generation should lie low somewhere for a few weeks somewhere obscure to avoid any immediate reprisals from the Wen sect – and once they’ve lost the trail, we go out to recruit new sects to join the war.”

“That would be in line with what Brother requested that I do,” Lan Wangji observed, voice carefully neutral as always. “I would not object to spending some time in Moling, courting a newly formed sect.”

Su She didn’t know what to say, his mouth moving open and closed. It was almost everything he’d ever wanted, and he only need to reach out and grasp it – his own sect, his brother, the respect of the arrogant young masters…

Nothing could be better.

A hand fell on his shoulder, the warmth of it lighting him up inside.

“Our sect would be happy to host you,” Yu Zhuliu said.

Su She was wrong.

Now

it was perfect.

#mdzs #su she #wen zhuliu #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #VERY LONG #rainbowrites

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