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handspunyarns · 4 months

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You Were Marked: Day Twenty.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 8.2K

chapter summary: Din dreams, and Marathel surrenders.

warnings:  crap tons of angst, mention of blood and injury, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, allusion to drug use, description of medical procedures, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<-You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din and Grogu were still on their way to Nevarro to meet with Karga. Grogu was cuddled on Din’s lap on the captain’s chair in the cockpit, and they were currently watching a holovid of what Din considered to be one of the gentlest of rom-coms in his collection. The story was simple enough: a Zabrak fellow, who was the awkward social pariah in his youth was found to be quite desirable by the hoity-toity former beauty-queen Twi’lek once they were adults. The two connected because they’d had kids who became playmates, and the children naturally conspired to bring their parents into a relationship. Eventually, the Zabrak discovered that the former beauty queen been overcompensating for a rough childhood, and the Twi’lek discovered that looks weren’t everything, but character and kindness mattered more.

Din would have told anyone who asked that the reason for watching this holo was because the story was light-hearted and child-friendly, so it was appropriate for Grogu to watch. Din had looked up some children’s holos on the sub-ether and had found them to be irritating in the extreme, and he’d rather Grogu watch people behaving decently rather than animated, dancing, shiny space whales singing about shab knew what.

The real reason for watching the sappy rom-com, though, was an attempt by Din to clear his head and heart of whatever ugliness was within that was causing him to have those dreams he’d had lately. The dream of him savaging Marathel as she lay in the stream was apparently only the first in a series. That same sleep cycle, he’d dreamed that he was aggressively fucking her up against a wall. He was pulling her hair with one hand and gripping her jaw viciously with the other, all the while growling “Look at me!”, and she’d finally managed to break loose of his hold, swiping her nails across the bite wound as she screamed “LET ME GO!” That time, after he’d awoken to another throbbing hard-on, he locked himself in the fresher again, where he harshly rubbed one out, without lubricant, in a vague attempt to punish himself. After, he’d changed the dressing on the bite wound, and the infection was worse. He also felt chilled and achy, making him wonder if he caught a cold while on Coruscant. Running around in the rain, doing a bunch of high-energy high-stress shenanigans, losing my socks, shouldn’t wonder. Haar’chak.

The holo ended. Grogu pointed at the screen, looked up at Din, and said, “Patu Mama!”

“Patu Mama? I’m not a Zabrak, you know that. Mama is not a Twi’lek. We’re both human. You, ad’ika, on the other hand, we have no kriffing clue.”

“Mama! Mama, Mama!” cried Grogu, slapping his hands on Din’s armorless chest, and Din grunted as the boy inadvertently hit the bite-mark.

Din took the boy’s little hand in his, gently rubbing the tiny knuckles with his gloved thumb. “There’s nothing new to tell you. Fennec probably just got back to Mama, and the see-kit doctors are helping her.” Grogu pouted, his ears drooping. “I know, little guy.” Din sighed. “I wish I could make this whole process go faster.” Grogu grumbled his little chatter. “Seriously, do you think I’m doing the right thing? Or is this plan of mine insane?” Grogu shrugged. “You’re a big help. Okay, get off me, let’s get you something to eat.”

After reconstituting some dried meat and a ration bar for Grogu, Din made himself a hot mug of bone broth, which made him feel a little better. He sent off a holotext to Karga, outlining his intentions, hoping that Karga would start with his request, without a bunch of damn questions. Karga was too nosy for his own good.

Din wanted to reach out to Fennec, but he knew that was unwise. He was still surprised that they’d run into each other on Coruscant as they’d had. That meant that wherever Marathel was, she must have been close. Oh, how he missed her. He hoped she was responding to whatever treatment they were giving her, that she was not in pain, that they’d figure out how to make her stop bleeding, for Frith’s sake. Din tried to not feel jealous of the time that Cobb was able to spend with her: he got to see her feeling well, in good spirits, having fun at the damn market. Din also knew Cobb well enough that he knew Cobb probably got a little more than familiar with her — holding her hand, putting an arm around her, possibly more, that flirting son of a bitch. Well, I’ll be putting an end to that soon. Leaning back in his chair, he hoped that Marathel was getting better … and perhaps thinking of him.

Marathel was thinking about Din at that moment, although she didn’t want to. Certainly not while she was in this position. Marathel was still in the chair, but she was not immobilized against the blinding flashing light. Instead, she was now lying back with her knees up towards her armpits, exposed, open, as Cieroprac did … something to her, working to repair some of the damage done by the Dilimgau. She couldn’t feel pain, but she felt the pressure of instruments and heard the quiet murmuring of Cieroprac talking to Eliadu, who was assisting her.

Eliadu had continued to try to dissuade Marathel from only repairing the damage. Marathel knew that she meant well, but Eliadu couldn’t possibly understand just how devastated she was. The knowledge she now had, when put up against what she knew and experienced, made everything so clear to her. There was no possibility, no chance of Din’s happiness with her. She had nothing, was nothing, was so completely unworthy of someone like the armor-clad Mandalorian.

She only hoped he would someday forgive her. At the very least, he could forget her. And Grogu was young: he could easily forget her as well. Marathel would rather be forgotten than live with their contempt.

Marathel suddenly sobbed. Eliadu looked up at her, asking, “Are you in pain, Marathel? We can put you to sleep, if you want.” Marathel shook her head, fighting back her tears. “We’re almost done here; then it’s just a few more tests.”

“Where is Fennec?”

“She is out … we put her in touch with someone to create an identity for you, so you can leave here.”

“Identity?”

“It’s something we all must have. We call it an ID.”

“Eye-Dee? I don’t understand.”

“It’s basically proof that you are who you say you are. It’s mostly so you can travel to certain places,” said Eliadu.

“But I don’t want to go anywhere except back to Unmanarall.”

Eliadu smiled indulgently. “Well, it’s one of those facts of life we all have to live with for now.”

Marathel sighed. Then the pressure inside her became unbearable for a moment. Cieroprac quietly apologized while her instruments continued to push around. “You’re doing great, Marathel,” she said.

“I just want this to be over,” whimpered Marathel.

Eliadu put her hand on Marathel’s ankle, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Won’t you reconsider reconstruction?”

“No.”

Cieroprac said, “I think I’m done here. You will be sore for a while. You will also still bleed for some time while you heal. Hopefully it will only seem like an extra monthly period to you; I’ll get you a supply of absorbent pads to wear. I also recommend a dilator with antibiotic suppositories; this would have been easier if you responded positively to bacta.”

“What is this bacta everyone speaks of?” Marathel asked.

“It’s a universal healing fluid; it can be used both internally and externally. For some reason, you’re part of the tiny percentage that it doesn’t work on,” said Cieroprac as she moved herself and her instruments out from under Marathel.

Eliadu began moving the large chair so that Marathel was in a regular sitting position. “We don’t know if that’s an aberration particular to you, or if it’s genetic — your people may not respond to it either.” Marathel shrugged. “What will you do, when you go back … home?” Marathel did not respond. “You live alone, away from your people, don’t you? You don’t plan to go back to them?”

Marathel shuddered. “My people were the ones who did this to me. I will … I will continue to live on my own.”

“But why would you want to go back? It would seem that you have new people who care deeply for you. Why would you deny them the pleasure of having you with them?”

“This is how it must be.” This is the way. Marathel knew they didn’t believe her. What they thought didn’t matter. The only opinion she really cared about was the Bounty Hunter’s … but there was nothing he’d be able to do or say to make her change her mind. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

The chair was adjusted enough to allow Marathel to close her legs, her hip joints making loud popping noises. Oh, she was sore. She shifted a bit to lean forward, and she felt a deep ache, not unlike the cramping that came with her cycles when she had them, which was irregular and seldom. Cieroprac was showing her the dilator device and explaining how to use it, making Marathel distinctly uncomfortable. She wanted to never think of that part of her again. It had been a source of misery to her for most of her life, and the lives of every woman she knew. Even though she’d recently had fleeting moments of ecstasy, of fulfillment, the pain and degradation far outweighed any pleasure she had ever received.

Thinking of physical pleasure brought her mind back to Din —think of him as the Bounty Hunter again, Marathel, it will make leaving him easier, she thought to herself.

And what of Grogu? How can you ever forget him? How can you even think of leaving him?

It will kill me. And even then, better so.

Fennec, meanwhile, was ready to lose her shit.

There were now so many things she’d rather be doing than dealing with government officials on behalf of a woman-child while running around an Imp ship crawling with who knew how many Imp sympathizers. Preferable activities included pulling bantha-pups from a pregnant female in the Dune Sea, or possibly getting her cyber-implants replaced while still conscious and juggling vibro-blades.

Fennec had managed to get some initial identification started for Marathel, naming her as a refugee from Jakuu. That was far enough away in the opposite direction that no one would bother checking up on it. There were enough nameless souls in the galaxy without ID that another would hardly matter. The problem here was that Marathel would require a chip before she could leave this station. Getting a chip would be more difficult, for that required an interview with the person in question, and Marathel could barely handle asking for a damned cup of tea, much less being questioned by Imps. This was allegedly a Republic station, but in reality, it was still an Imp-friendly stronghold. And Imps were big on ID chips.

Fennec was heading back when she remembered that Marathel also had nothing to wear. She sought out a clothing shop, but there wasn’t a lot of choice in Marathel’s size. Din had made a point of nothing blue; unfortunately, Fennec could only get two shirts and two pairs of pants that would fit Marathel , and they were all different shades of dark blue. Another reason to hate Imps, thought Fennec. All a bunch of skinny bitches. Fennec also purchased some undergarments as well as a soft pair of slippers that would do until they got back to Tatooine. As she paid for these, Fennec impulsively added a light scarf of yellow that had dark orange threads shot through it, hoping it would cheer Marathel. Cripes. Now she’s got me doing it, Fennec thought with an exasperated smile. She liked Marathel, she honestly did. Marathel was delightful — when she wasn’t miserable — and Fennec only wished that they had met under different circumstances. Perhaps we could have double dated. Fennec chuckled. And brought Cobb along as a fifth wheel. Fennec laughed to herself at that one as she headed back to Marathel, now in a better frame of mind.

Marathel stood in the fresher, hot water spraying on the top of her head. If there was something that she would miss from this new part of her life — besides the people she had met, so different from those she’d always known — it was these hot showers. Bathing water had never been hot enough for her. Warm water was only for the men and the boys. Clean water was only for the men and the boys. They got to take their baths, and then the laundry was done, and then the women got to bathe. Once she began to live on her own, it took a long time before she felt comfortable enough to allow herself to bathe in warm clean water for herself. But even then, there was no easy way to fill the laundry tub at the old herder’s hut, so it was only a dishpan or the dry sink for her.

But this, this, the almost too-hot water cascading though her hair in sheets, was bliss. No one had told her not to waste water here, so Marathel remained in the fresher until her skin turned pink and her muscles were warm. The room remained steamy long after she’d turned off the water. The towels she had access to were neither large nor thick, but they sufficed to dry her off until she could wrap her blanket around her. Oh, I hope I can take this blanket with me. I’ve never had a blanket this warm and soft. It’s like a hug. Marathel indulged herself in a memory of the Bounty Hunter’s arms around her, making her heart ache.

Someone knocked on the door. “Marathel?” It was Eliadu. “Are you done? Fennec is back.” Marathel hurriedly combed her hair and left the fresher.

Fennec was standing just outside with a carry bag. “How are you feeling?” asked Fennec, as she looked at Marathel’s pink face.

Marathel shrugged. “They think they’ve stopped my bleeding. Cieroprac is making two more sets of injections that I’ll have to administer to myself. After that, the hope is … I’ll be cured.”

“Marathel …” Fennec began. She thought for a few moments, then said, “What about the rest of the women in your Hold who suffer the same thing?”

“What of them?”

Fennec frowned. “Don’t they deserve an opportunity to get this treatment too?”

Marathel’s eyes closed as she sighed. “There’s no point.”

“Marathel … you can’t mean that.”

“So long as they don’t … become like me, they’ll be all right. Now, you went … to get me an ID?”

“Yes. And I got you some more clothes. I’m sorry, but all I could find was blue.”

“That is fine. I am grateful, Fennec. Thank you.” Marathel took the bag and enclosed herself in her room, leaving Fennec on the other side of the door.

Fennec went back to the treatment room. Eliadu was cleaning the large chair apparatus, and Cieroprac was inventorying instruments. “She loves the hot showers,” said Eliadu. “Once Marathel found out that we had a fresher, it’s been difficult to keep her out of it.” Fennec smiled wanly. “She is such a charming and sweet woman, but hell-bent on inflicting her own misery.”

Fennec sighed. “I think misery is all she’s ever known.” Except for maybe seven days. And now she’s hell-bent on blowing that up. It made Fennec feel sorry for Din and Grogu.

“We have done what we can for her at the moment. The rest of her pain resides in her heart.”

“If only you would tell me …”

Eliadu shook her head. “It is not for me to tell. I betrayed her trust by using an Imp serum to get the information I needed, but once I learned the full truth about her, I knew I couldn’t just blithely pass on what I learned. I needed to leave her with some dignity.”

Fennec understood. She had her own theories about Marathel’s past, and Cobb agreed with her, based on some things that Marathel had said to him. If it were true, Marathel deserved some dignity.

Fennec held out the credits, and Cieroprac shook her head. “It would be too much. The price was for full reconstruction, not the little we did.” She gave Fennec a new amount. Fennec nodded and adjusted the stack of credits.

Just then, Marathel slowly came into the treatment room. She was wearing the blue clothes and slippers and hugging the folded blanket. She had tied the scarf low over her forehead wound, braiding the long ends into her damp hair. She looked subdued, exhausted, but also healthier, with good color in her cheeks. Looking at Fennec, she said, “Thank you for the clothes and the scarf, Fennec. They seem to fit well.”

Fennec did her best to seem cheerful. “You’re welcome. Again, I’m sorry that I could only find blue clothes.”

Marathel gave a small smile. “I don’t mind. I think it’s the Bounty Hunter who dislikes blue. Blue was the color of my house at the Hold.”

Fennec frowned. “House?”

“House of Bishop,” said Marathel with a shrug. “Are we able to go now?” Marathel asked Eliadu, “Are we able to leave? And … may I … keep this blanket? I like it very much.”

“Yes, Marathel, of course you may keep the blanket,” replied Eliadu. “You are also able to leave. But please, reconsider your plans. Your heart is already broken, don’t shred it to pieces as well.”

Marathel remained silent, and then Cieroprac said, “You have the medicines and injections? And you remember how and when to use them?”

Marathel nodded. “I do. And thank you for what you have done for me.”

“Marathel,” entreated Eliadu. “You can be free of your pain. Do you understand? You can be free … but you’re the one that has to let it go.”

Marathel nodded, and said quietly, “I will be.” She quickly stepped forward and hugged Eliadu. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Eliadu, surprised, hugged Marathel back. “Marathel, thank you for trusting us. Please remember that where you came from is not who you are.” Eliadu kissed Maratgel’s cheek. “You will need more than a blanket to keep you company in this life.”

Cieroprac added, “Thank you, Marathel, for coming to us. May you be well.”

Marathel pulled back from Eliadu, looking at both women, her throat full of tears, second-guessing her decisions and her plans … but then she remembered that where she came from was exactly who she was. Marathel and Fennec finished their goodbyes and left.

Shortly after, Fennec was walking at a brisk pace ahead of Marathel. “Pick it up, Marathel. We have a way to go to get to the transport, and you also have to get chipped.”

Marathel, already breathless, said, “Pick what up? And what is a chip?” Marathel stopped. “Please, Fennec, I can’t walk as fast as you.”

Fennec turned back around to see Marathel, breathing hard, holding on to a direction sign. “I’m sorry, Marathel, I just want off this station. I won’t feel safe until we’re both out of here. The ID I tried to get for you is not enough. You must get an ID chip imbedded, and you must speak to an Imp to get it.”

Marathel nodded, nervous. “I will do my best.”

Fennec slowed her pace, and stayed close to Marathel as they made their way to the ID registrar. Fennec told Marathel what she had initially told the registrar and reminded her of the original story they had planned to tell the Reconstructionists. “Where is this Jakuu?” asked Marathel.

“Basically nowhere.”

“So is Unmanarall.”

“Yes, but no one has heard of your planet. Jakuu is at least known in the galaxy. It’s also essentially populated by nobodies. It’s a good place to disappear,” said Fennec with a shrug.

“Why not say I’m from Tatooine?”

“Because I happen to live there. I don’t want people potentially following up where I live.” An office worker called out Marathel’s name. “Answer their questions, but don’t offer any information,” whispered Fennec.

Marathel nodded, and she slowly got up to follow the worker through a door and into a small cubicle within a sea of cubicles. People of all kinds were moving all about Marathel as she sat on the small chair next to the worker’s desk. The worker, a human with shocking purple hair, kept a disinterested look on his face as he tapped on a keypad connected to a large holo screen. After sitting in silence for quite a long time, the worker snapped, “Name?”

Marathel jumped, startled. “I’m sorry?”

“Name?”

“Marathel,” she replied.

“How’d you spell that?” asked the worker. Marathel didn’t respond, and the worker sighed. “Another one who can’t read. Fine. Look at me and pronounce your name slowly.”

“Mare-ah-thel,” pronounced Marathel.

“Surname?”

“I’m sorry?”

The worker sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Surname. Family name. Name of the people you come from.”

Marathel assumed that the correct answer would be ap Bishop, that was the name of the people she came from, but she had lived the last two-thirds of her life without the name hanging over her, and she refused to have it tied to her now. “Can I not just … have the name Marathel? Is that not enough?”

The worker sighed yet again. “Lady, I already missed my smoke break. I gotta fill in the forms like they tell me, because they don’t pay me enough to put up with the grief I’d get if I don’t. Just give me a kriffing name. Make up something, I don’t care.”

Marathel thought briefly of naming herself Belwhyn; it was at least an appropriate descriptor. But it hurt her heart too much to do that … and she believed that Fennec, and probably the Bounty Hunter, would dislike it. Marathel also briefly considered ap Olba, as she had been the only true family she had ever known, her mam that wasn’t her mam. The worker was glaring at her, so she blurted out, “… ap Unmapeth. That’s my … surname.”

“Finally.” The worker tapped for a while on the keypad. “From Jakuu?”

“Yes.” Again, tap-tap-tap. Marathel clutched her hands together in her lap as she waited for the next question, the interrogation she expected. The machine before her made a beep noise, and a tiny metal grain-shaped object dropped into a tiny plate.

The worker grabbed the metal grain and dropped it into what looked like a tiny boomer. “Arm,” the worker said, and Marathel reached out with her right arm, perplexed. The worker grabbed her arm and placed the tiny boomer against her inner arm, pulling the trigger.

Marathel felt a deep, painful pinch. “Ow! What in Frith ...”

“Take this to the front desk as you leave, you’re done,” said the worker, waving a small sheet of paper at her.

“But what was that …”

“Lady, you’re done. Go that way. Dank ferrik, I’m going for a smoke.” The worker stood and pulled up Marathel by her arm, pushing her towards a desk with a squatty green creature behind it.

Marathel approached the desk, and the creature, not looking at her, held out a puffy hand. “Form?” Marathel placed the piece of paper in the green hand. The creature tapped on their keypad for a while, and the creature muttered, “Another one from Jakuu with an unpronounceable name. Damn dustfoots, coming here, taking all the jobs …” The creature sighed wetly, drool cascading over the multiple chins.

“My name is pronounced Marathel ap Unmapeth.”

“Sure it is. Arm,” it said, holding out its puffy hand again.

“Why?” asked Marathel, wary, assuming some other painful thing was about to happen.

“Arm,” it said again. Marathel gingerly held out her arm again, noticing the new red area on her injection-marked skin. The creature, after giving Marathel’s arm a withering look, grabbed her arm and placed a black metal cylinder near it, and a holo projection of letters and a flattened image of her face hovered above the black cylinder. Marathel gasped. “That you?” asked the creature.

“I … I guess so.”

The creature sighed again, rolling three of its five eyes. Marathel heard the creature mutter, “A kriffing spicehead, too.” It slapped another paper slip on the desk in front of Marathel. “Sign here.”

“I’m sorry?”

��Put your mark, whatever, you’re holding up the line.” Marathel looked down at the paper, bewildered. The creature finally shoved a pen in her hand, grabbed her arm roughly, and made Marathel scribble something on the slip. The creature stamped it with a red blotchy image and said, “You’re done. Next!”

Marathel stumbled away from the desk and went out the door she had come in. Fennec was sitting in a chair, scowling at a Rodian child who was staring dumbly at her while sucking on a large lolly. Fennec noticed Marathel and stood. “Well, that was quicker than I expected.”

Marathel looked at her arm again. “I don’t understand what just happened.”

“You’ve been chipped. Welcome to modern bureaucracy. Let’s get out of here; government offices make me itch.”

As they left the offices, Marathel said, “They only asked my name and where I was from. Then … I think they put something in my arm.”

Fennec nodded. “That’s the chip. You’ll need it to get on the transport.”

“But why?”

“It’s … just the way it is, Marathel. You have to prove you are who you say you are.”

“My word is not enough?”

“Not for the Imps,” said Fennec. Seeing Marathel’s face turn to distress, she continued, “Please, Marathel, try to not upset yourself.”

“They made me create a family name for myself. They didn’t care what, just that I had one.”

“Figures. What did you choose?” Fennec was assuming that Marathel would take the surname Bishop, based on her suspicions.

“I thought about Belwhyn, but … I went with ap Unmapeth.” Marathel sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, really. I only need to have this chip to get back to Tatooine, yes?” Marathel kept stroking her arm, trying to feel where the chip had been injected.

“What does ap Unmapeth mean?”

Marathel shrugged. “Nothing. Where do we have to go now?”

“Ship 2. While I was waiting for you, I hired a cart to take us there. I wasn’t thinking that you wouldn’t be up to the long walk, Marathel; I’m sorry.”

Marathel looked downcast. “I’m sorry I can’t keep up.”

“Don’t worry; you just need some rest.” An open driverless droid cart arrived. Marathel got on with some trepidation, and Fennec tapped in their destination on the little screen in front of them. The little cart zipped off into a track with many other carts like it.

Marathel was initially startled by the speed of the cart, but then she said, “Well, this is fun,” surprising Fennec.

“How are you feeling, Marathel?”

“This is much better than walking.”

Fennec frowned; Marathel was deflecting again. The trip back to Tatooine was not terribly long, and Fennec had gotten them their own private carriage so Marathel could relax in peace, without the stares of strangers. Fennec hoped that Marathel would be able to talk at length to Din upon their return, now that she seemed better. She hoped that Din could talk her out of going back to her home planet. Marathel was rubbing her arm where they injected the chip. “Leave your arm alone, Marathel.”

“They called me a dustfoot. And a spicehead.”

“Who did?”

“The people at the ID office. They were … quite mean. I don’t know what they called me, but it obviously wasn’t good.”

Fennec sighed. “Dustfoot … that’s someone from a desert planet. It can also mean someone who is … simple, uneducated, usually poor. It’s just another term to call someone who you think is beneath you. But then, Cobb calls himself a dustfoot.”

“So, it has double meanings, like tymffod. It literally means funnel, but to call a person one, it would mean … asshole.” This last word, Marathel whispered.

Fennec laughed. “Did you ever call Din that?”

Marathel turned pink. “Once, but indirectly. When he puked up my clam stew.”

“And I bet you make very good clam stew.”

“I do! It was delicious. I even made it spicy like he asked for.”

Oh honey, he was trying as hard to please you as you were him, to the point it made him sick, poor guy. “Well, that was a tymffoddy thing for him to do.” Marathel smiled briefly, and then her face returned to sadness. Fennec then said, “A spicehead is someone addicted to spice. Spice is an illegal drug that is traded and run all over the galaxy. It has made many people very rich to the detriment of millions of others. I’m sure the person there saw the injection marks on your arms and made an assumption. But you’re not a spice addict, so that person’s just stupid.”

“But they …”

“Someday you’ll learn, Marathel, that what other people think of you doesn’t matter if you know they’re wrong. And especially if that person doesn’t care about you, unlike Din, or me, or anyone at the palace.”

Marathel fell silent. She knew, deep down, that the green creature didn’t matter. But she also knew that she was a disgusting monster and would be found repugnant by everyone at the palace who allegedly cared about her, once they finally learned the truth about her … but I have to tell the Bounty Hunter first. I only hope he will allow me to kiss Grogu goodbye; then he can be repulsed by me forever.

They got to the transport bay, and Marathel continued to not speak as they went through security. Marathel held out her arm as requested, her chip was scanned, and they made it onboard with no trouble. Fennec made a few attempts to engage Marathel in conversation, but she did not respond, and continued to look at the floor, her brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought. Fennec finally dropped to her knees within Marathel’s line of sight, and gently put her hands on Marathel’s knees. Marathel started, but still said nothing. Fennec said, “Marathel, listen to me. You don’t have to talk but by this Frith you and Din keep mentioning, you will listen to me.

“Whatever happened to you, whatever happened in your Hold … None of it is your fault. You are the victim, Marathel. Don’t judge yourself on what was done to you in that horrible place. Don’t push Din away because you feel like you’re unworthy. None of it was your doing!

“You took yourself into that Hold but doesn’t mean you deserved what those men did to you. Those women got you out because they love you. Din got you to us because he loves you. You are some woman, Marathel, you are sweet and kind and smart, and dammit, I like you. I pretty much hate everyone, but I like you.

“Whatever you’re thinking by wanting to go back to Unmanarall … stop thinking that. You’re going to break Din’s heart, and Grogu’s too, and that little boy just started calling you Mama! And you’re breaking your own heart too.

“You need help, you need so much help. You need therapy and care and healing and support. You can’t get that if you run away. We will get you that help if you stay with us. Please, Marathel, don’t go back. Don’t do this; we care about you so damn much.”

Marathel didn’t respond. Fennec’s eyes were misted over, but her own were dry. The thought of leaving should have broken her heart as well, but her heart had already disintegrated into ash. Marathel sighed and gently pushed Fennec’s hands off her lap. Marathel softly said, “You shouldn’t,” and she drew her knees up and curled herself into a ball.

The next night cycle, Din put Grogu to bed, and he locked himself in the cockpit, deciding to fantasize about Marathel in a romantic and tender manner before he fell asleep, attempting to manipulate his subconscious. He thought of her wearing her pretty gown of sunset yellow, made with her own hands, bright against her magnificent warm skin. He thought of her hair, a waving river of liquid beskar, flowing over her shoulders, tangling around his fingers, capturing his hands with its heavy coarseness, with its scent of flowers and herbs and the heat from her head. He thought of her face and its features, soft and pale, her eyelashes barely visible against her cheeks as she held her eyes closed. He thought about kissing her softly, first on her cheek, and then moving across her pale nose with little light nips to the other cheek before moving to her lips, and he always kissed with much more skill in his fantasies than he was sure he did in real life. He thought about gently sliding his hand up her ribcage to cup her full breast, heavy in his hand, molding it in his palm as he gently laid her back on a soft bed, putting a knee between her thighs. He thought of releasing her breast, moving both his hands up to cup her sweet, beautiful face, murmuring my love and my mesh’la before kissing her softly again …

… and then his hand slid down her throat to her shoulder to her breast, pinching her nipple until she gasped, then moving his hand to her thigh, where he gathered up the hem of her gown and slid his hand underneath it, moving his hand up her thigh and over her hip, roughly squeezing the ample globe of her ass cheek. Ending his kiss, he lifted his knee to press against her mound, and she moaned, her eyes closed as he hiked up her gown to her waist. He lowered his full weight on her, sliding his erection through her folds with a rolling pelvis, marking her with his fluids, as he continued to softly call her my mesh’la, my lovely, my sweet, my girl, my sweet girl, my little girl, my good girl as he got to his knees to push her legs wide open. He spit on his hand and stroked himself before he pushed his cock into her pussy — she was not wet enough but he didn’t want to wait any longer — watching her groan at the feel of him inside her, her eyes closed, and then he began to fuck her proper, holding one of her heavy legs up against her. Oh, my good girl, he said, such a good girl, sweet girl, my baby girl, can you look at me, sweet girl?

Thrusting faster.

Good girl, look at me, open your eyes, baby girl.

Faster. Grabbing at the neckline of her gown, pulling at it.

Look at me, baby girl, open your eyes, look at me now, my good girl.

Harder. Twisting her gown in his fist, ripping it.

Baby girl, open your eyes, look at me, you look at me!

He struck her across the face.

You look at me, you bitch! You whore cunt! Open your eyes, you slut, LOOK AT ME!

She kept her eyes tightly shut, tears rolling down her temples, and she cried there’s no point as she pushed against him, and she found the bite-mark with her hand, pressing as hard as she could, sobbing, let me go.

Time suddenly stretched out, slowing to almost stopping. Entire cycles of the sun passed overhead, and he was no longer ruthlessly forcing himself on her, he was merely gently holding her as he lay beside her, and eventually time fell back into its normal pace, and it was now the deepest night, and he could barely see her in the pale moonlight. He did not know where he had been before, but now he recognized the brown bed tick he slept on Unmanarall. He could feel the light breeze as it luffed the woven brown panels that hung around them. He was with his Marathel, back to where they’d been so close, where he’d fallen in love with his mesh’la, his ma’mwsh ha’laa.

My Marathel, I removed my helmet like you asked. My Marathel, I see you with my own eyes. Ner kar’ta. Look at me, he said. Mesh’la. Look at me.

She turned her head away, weeping. There’s no point.

He cupped her cheek, feeling her tears on his hand. Please. Please, mesh’la, look at me.

Marathel shook her head. There’s no point.

He pulled a blanket over her, covering her, protecting her. Ner kar’ta, I’m sorry. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim.  Ni cuy’ hut’uun. I am a despicable person, I am a coward, please, look at me, please forgive me. He tried to hold her, comfort her, even though he had been the source of her pain. Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please look at me!

Her tears continued to fall as she pulled away from him and stood, her eyes still tightly shut, walking away, pulling the blanket behind her like a train on an elaborate gown as she walked down the front steps of her hut and into the tall grass. The words let me go came back to him in a whisper as she disappeared in the distance.

Don’t make me, he whispered to the woman no longer there. Please, don’t make me let you go. Stay with me.

But she was gone, the whispers were gone, he was alone in the dark, and he remained there for a very long time.

When Din began to wake up — realizing he was reclining in his captain's chair — he was unsure of how long he slept. He felt woozy, not unlike a hangover or a concussion. Since he’d experienced both recently, he took a moment to make sure he was conscious and not still in a dream state. He also felt … damp?

Din opened his eyes, and his visor was filled with Grogu’s face, peering in. Din jerked back slightly with a start, and Grogu cooed and slid down Din’s chest. “What’s going on?” Grogu patted Din’s chest, and he realized the child was patting the bite area. He pulled down his thermal shirt and saw that the wound was no longer infected. It still was red, but it was a healthy red color, not the angry red of the previous infection. Din also noticed that his thermal shirt was soaked in sweat. He must have been running a fever, and Grogu had Force-opened the cockpit door to heal him.

Did the infection cause the dreams?

Am I still connected to her through this bite-mark?

Osi’k, that makes no damned sense, do I still have a fever?

“Was I sick, kid? Did you have to heal me?” Grogu’s hands reached up to his helmet. “I’ve been messed up the past couple of days. I’m sorry, little guy, I’m so sorry.”

“Mama?”

What the shab? “Mama? What about her?”

Grogu climbed up further and grabbed Din’s helmet. “Mama,” he said, emphatically.

The kid knows. He knows I’ve been dreaming about her. But … does he know what I’ve dreamt? Din felt ashamed. “Yes, Grogu … I’ve been dreaming of her. Bad dreams. Dreams where I … hurt her. But you know, you know I’d never hurt her, right?” Grogu kept staring into the visor, his huge eyes gazing deep into Din’s soul. “I … I’m …” Din swallowed, collecting his thoughts. “I’m scared, kid.” Grogu tilted his head, waiting for Din to continue. “Patu really likes the idea of Patu Mama, but Patu is just … scared. Patu is afraid that Mama won’t like the idea of Patu Mama. Mama is still very sad. Sad and hurt. Mama may always be sad and hurt.” Grogu whined, his face pinching with sadness. Din squeezed Grogu’s hand, saying, “No, don’t you worry. Mama will always love Grogu. She loves you,” insisted Din. “But Mama … she may never love Patu. And that’s why Patu is so scared.”

“Sad Patu?”

Din nodded. “Very sad Patu.” Grogu snuggled up under Din’s chin, hugging him. Din put his large hand on the child’s tiny back. Sad. Scared. Terrified that she may leave me still. That was the only way the dreams made sense to him; he was overpowering her — in the worst way possible — to keep her from leaving. Forcing her to remain. Preying on her fear and her belief that she deserved such treatment. Calling her by the names that she hated, the ones that the Bishop called her. And hurting her in such a deplorable way.

Then Din recalled a recurring theme — she would not look at me. Was my helmet off or on? He made a point of telling her his helmet was off in this last dream, although it did not make any difference. Is she pulling away from me? Am I making an enormous assumption that she loves me, regardless of what she said on Unmanarall? Are my feelings for her … misplaced now?

And what about the bite mark? The wound that burns every time I wake up from one of these nightmares?

Oh, he did not want to try to piece that together.

His father — not his buir, his actual father — was some kind of engineer, he never knew what kind exactly. What he did remember was his father’s favorite pastime: root cause analysis. His father spent a lot of time talking to him in his calming manner, asking the questions that mattered.

What happened to your toy, son?

Elor broke it.

Why did the neighbor boy Elor break your toy, son?

The answer because Elor is a bully didn’t appease his father; Father wanted young Din to fully analyze the situation. Question after question he would ask, each one leading further and further back to where young Din stepped on the path that led to his toy — not that Din remembered what the toy even was, at this point — being broken. What Din remembered was that his father had walked him right back to the root cause: Din was the reason the toy was broken.

Elor, a boy close to Din’s age but older, lived two houses down. Elor lived with only his mother then; his father had just been conscripted due to his felon status. Din’s father was safe from such a fate; he had an education and a high-ranking job, and he was not a convict. Elor was not taking this well, and it just so happened that Din had decided to be a right little shit that day. With his fabulous new toy, Din went down to Elor’s house to show it off and rub his nose in it. Elor responded to this in the only way imaginable by children, and not only did Din have a broken toy, but also a bloody nose. The end result — after Din finally got to the root cause — was Din being marched back down to Elor’s house with an apology and an invitation for Elor and his mother to come for dinner. Elor was over for dinner a lot after that, and lunches too. The two boys never became friends, but Din never forgot about root cause analysis.

If Din had to analyze his dreams for the root cause, he’d be hard pressed to come up with answers that weren’t completely fantastical, or at least bizarre. The bad dreams started when the bite mark became infected, so he could blame the dreams on that … but he also wondered if the bite mark went deeper than that, so to speak.

Din remembered the night back on Unmanarall, the second night of the Dahls mating. The bite burned then. He had felt overheated, almost feverish, not only with lust for Marathel, but also a true physical fever. That night, he tried to overpower her, force himself on her, but … he finally surrendered to her strength, her physical desire to mate, her pure need.

But these new dreams, she’d been the one to surrender. Not even surrender; she didn’t fight to begin with, not until she could no longer bear it, and then, she’d attack the bite, causing him pain in both the sleeping and waking worlds.

The bite had burned another time, but he had scarcely remembered it until now — the bite had burned as he stood motionless, watching the Bishop hit her, knock out her teeth, savage her before his eyes and the eyes of all the other women and the children. She had told him to be still. Be still and it will be over quicker for me, she had said … when?

It was when Marathel looked at him, after her veil had been torn off, her mouth and head bleeding. She told the Captain to give him the coins, and she looked straight at him, and he’d heard her, clear as day, her voice inside his head, saying be still, be still, be still! Then, she’d walked straight into the Round Building, giving herself up to her fate, and he did not hear her again, and the burning sensation on his chest stopped. At the time, he was more concerned with the fact he found himself unwillingly immobile to worry about a burning wound.

Was Marathel giving up … again?

She’d sacrificed herself to the Elders, but he’d dragged her out of there against her will. When she regained consciousness, she had no desire to live. But somehow, she found a reason to at least try. Was it finding an ally in another woman, like Fennec or Silnima? Was it finding that there were other men who wouldn’t hurt her, but would protect her, like Boba? Make her feel like a worthy person, like Cobb? And if that were the case, what would have changed? What changed so much that her pain would affect him so, at such a great distance, through a … bite wound?

So, back to root cause analysis: I am tied to Marathel on a metaphysical level by a bite wound she gave me. She is telling me that she has given up, and that I need to give up on her as well.

No, I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that even if I do. This is real life, not a damned … paranormal rom-com holovid. I got an infection, I got a fever, I had fever dreams, Marathel is fine, she’s getting better, soon I’ll be back with her, and then we can …

Din’s holopad pinged, shaking him out of his thoughts. Grogu was still on his chest, holding him, patting the wound site. Din reached out and tapped the holopad, and a holo of Fennec popped up. “Fennec? What’s happening? Where are you?”

“We’re on a transport, heading back to Tatooine.”

“Already? Marathel is all better?”

“She is not better; she is possibly the furthest thing from all right.”

“What? Why?”

“The doctors … they found something, said something to her, and she refused all reconstruction. They got the bleeding disorder fixed, they patched her up, but now, she’s not communicating. She’s shut down.” Fennec pointed her holopad through a window to what must have been a private carriage on the transport. Din could see Marathel sitting on a padded bench, her knees up to her chest with her head down to her knees, curled up tightly. Grogu turned to see the holo, and he reached out with his little hand, whining quietly. “And it gets worse.”

“Worse? Worse how?”

“She wants to go back to Unmanarall.”

Din couldn’t speak for a moment. He felt physically ill. He swallowed and finally grunted, “We’re on our way.” Fennec clicked off.

Grogu turned back to Din, pressing his forehead against Din’s helmet. “Sad Mama.”

Din nodded. “Mama needs us.” Grogu sat back down on Din’s lap, and Din changed course back to Tatooine. The ship lurched and headed towards the new coordinates. “Mama needs us,” repeated Din, quietly.

But … does she want us?

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

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scaryscarecrows · 3 months

Note

Any hurt/comfort fic in your scaryverse?

Loads. The below is 'Where Do You Think You're Going?' from Why Do They Kick Me?, but there are others in that collection and scattered throughout both volumes of Cigarette Smoke & Snark.

The rain’s coming down in sheets and Dove hates it, especially here, where there’s a crap-ton of ‘hitchhikers may be escaping inmates!’ signs.

She’ll be home soon, all done and over from delivering some handsomely-paid-for evidence that while the Riddler may be a criminal, he didn’t commit that crime and therefore is unlawfully detained in Arkham. He’ll be out by tomorrow and probably right back in on Tuesday, because Batman, but whatever, he’ll have a week. Maybe.

She kinda wishes she’d taken up Charlie’s offer to come with her, but it hadn’t been raining then. And it hadn’t been meant to take this long.

Between the rain and the darkness, she has no warning whatsoever before there’s a flash of color in her headlights. She hits the brakes and is like…eighty percent…sure she doesn’t hit them, but if it’s an inmate and they find out she didn’t stop, she’s screwed.

She rolls down the window. A bit. Sees nothing, and opens the car door, leans out and remembers too late that her umbrella’s in the backseat.

Oh, well.

The rain’s coming down in icy daggers and she knows it’s going to turn into snow later. She doesn’t see any color, at first, and figures maybe it was nothing-a misplaced jack-in-the-box, maybe-when she finally spots another flash of yellow on the side of the road.

It’s barely yellow, more grungy brown and now muddy to boot, but it’s there and it only takes a few seconds to register it as Robin-yellow.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes, sloshes through the mud and prays to anyone listening that she didn’t just kill Batman’s missing kid. “Oh, my God…c’mon, Robin, wake up…Jesus Christ, please don’t be dead…”

She didn’t kill him, anyway. She can hear him wheezing from here and when she gets closer he stirs, forces himself onto his back and tries to crawl away before going still, eyes closed and arms curled over his head.

“Fuck.” She crouches down. Partly it’s dark, partly it’s raining and partly he’s a muddy (bloody) mess, but she can’t make out what could be broken, ripped open…nothing. His limbs are all there, that’s the best she’s got. “Fuck, kid, okay…”

No way Joker let him go. No way. Dove knows he’ll come looking, if he isn’t already. She can’t just leave him here, the clown’ll be furious, he’ll kill him.

“Okay, Robin, okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna get ya somewhere safe, huh?”

She gets her hands under his arms and he jerks his head, coughs and whimpers, “Please don’t do it again.”

Jesus Christ--what was that?

She doesn’t know what idiot insisted on letting the woods around Arkham grow this wild. Crane may have been crazy and evil, but she’ll give him credit, the few escapees he had during his tenure were caught and dealt with very, very quickly, in no small part due to the lack of fucking trees. But whoever’s in charge now (they rotate so quickly…) either doesn’t have the budget or just doesn’t care, because they’re dense and dark and there could be anybody in them.

But right now, she doesn’t see anyone. She thought that was movement, but she was apparently mistaken. Or someone else is escaping, someone who just wants to get moving.

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Robin’s shaking in her arms, hands clawing weakly at hers, and it doesn’t matter. They gotta go.

“Shh, shh, baby,” she soothes. “You’re gonna be okay. Think you can stand up?”

“Please, m’sorry…”

Probably not, then.

The mud is probably the best thing that could exist right now: it makes dragging him to the car a lot easier than it should be. She’ll worry about the upholstery later. For now, she’s good to lay the seat down and cover him with her coat before cranking the heater and flooring it.

And hope to God that flash of white out of the corner of her eye was an orderly.

* * *

Robin spends most of the ride either unconscious or otherwise unresponsive, but he perks up a bit when they hit midtown. Well. It’s all relative; he burrows into her coat and opens his eyes, anyway. Doesn’t react when she tries to talk to him, though. Just sits there, face tight and resigned.

Hospitals are out of the question. It’s easy, ridiculously easy, to get in there; murder a nurse and pop right in. Richardson does it all the time. She’ll call Jim, when she gets home, get him to get Batman and that shouldn’t take long at all. It’s safer. He got out of…of wherever he was (Arkham?), he can hold on until Batman can come and get him.

He’s capable of getting up, of letting her half-carry him into her apartment’s elevator, but he ends up on his knees before they’ve even hit the second floor.

Here, in the harsh lights, he looks awful; bloody and bruised and scared. He’s favoring his left ankle, trying to keep it away from the rest of his body, and Dove does not wanna know.

His head’s slumped towards his chest and when she reaches down to lift it, see if he’s drugged, he flinches and whispers, “Please don’t hurt me, m’sorry, I won’t run again.”

“No, no, honey.” Maybe drugged, or maybe just sick; his skin’s burning under her fingers. His eyes are glazed over, pupils blown wide, and she doesn’t think he’s seeing her. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m gonna get you cleaned up a bit, try to get you home, huh?”

He doesn’t seem to understand.

“M’sorry,” he whispers again, a few tears carving tracks through the blood and dirt on his cheeks before hitting her palm, and she lets him go, watches the floor count go up. He wobbles a bit, fingers tensing against the carpet, and she’s not sure if she should try to steady him or not. She’s gonna go with not; they’re almost there and so far he hasn’t put up a fight.

She’d like to keep it that way.

Whatever’s up with his ankle, he gets to his feet when she tugs on his arms, shuffles down the hall with her and manages to stay semi-upright while she gets her door open.

“Okay, kid, okay.” There. Door’s locked again, deadbolt ‘n all. “Let’s just…shower. C’mon, just a few feet, that’s all.”

She doesn’t even try to get his costume off, not now, not like this. It’s easier to just half-help, half-haul him into the bathtub and let him sink down, trembling and clearly trying not to cry.

The warm water makes him jump, at first, but he stays still after that, fingers knotted under his knees. The gunk that comes off him is reddish-brown and after a few minutes she can make out marks from barbed wire, and gashes in his uniform. He’s still and silent, gazing blankly at the rubber bath mat under him, and only flinches once when the water hits what turns out to be a ragged slash near his inner elbow.

“M’sorry.”

“Shh, don’t be sorry, sweetheart, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He’s quiet, after that, and she resolutely does not think about Joker’s ‘conditioning’ methods.

Once he’s sodden, she shuts the water off and nudges his head up, rubs a warm washcloth across his face. He sits there and lets her, doesn’t even try to struggle, and honestly…honestly, it’s unsettling. What happened to the boy that straight-up asked Penguin about the bottle in his eye socket?

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, thumb rubbing dried blood off his cheekbone. “Okay, there we go… there you are.”

Sheesh. He looked bad before. Now? Without the excuse of grime? Those bruises are dark, like Harley’s can be, and the ones just under his jaw look like someone was trying to force something (pills food worse?) down his throat. He looks at her, still blank, before dropping his head back down and trying to hide a shiver.

“I’ll turn the water back on in a minute, but I wanna at least get your cape off, maybe the rest of this, huh?”

That rouses him a little more, makes him try to pull his head away and maybe try to get up, but he’s too unsteady to do much besides wobble.

“No, no—”

“Just to get you cleaned up, you’re a mess.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t fight her when she fumbles for the clasps on his cape. There’s nothing to do with it but toss it in the trash can; Batman wants it, he can come and get it.

She’ll worry about the rest of him later. Right now? Shampoo.

He cringes at the splop-splop noise it makes leaving the bottle and tries to pull his head away from her hands. But not for long-when her fingers dig into his scalp he stills, breath hitching in his throat.

“S’okay, kid, s’okay. Just gonna get some’a this crap off’a you, huh? Just a bit?”

He doesn’t answer her, just plunks his forehead against his knees and starts to cry.

* * *

He protests, once or twice more, when she gets him undressed the rest of the way, but once he’s out of the tub and in a shirt and some old sweats of hers he’s quiet again.

She has no idea what to do with him now. Call Jim, maybe. But first, bed.

Whatever kept him up and moving before-stubbornness, desperation, adrenaline-is spent and he doesn’t even try to help when she pulls him up. Surely he should be heavier than this, it shouldn’t be this easy to drag him around.

But it is this easy, and she’s almost grateful Cobblepot made her help him dump bodies in the river back in Ye Olde Days of his career. Almost.

She gets him tucked up in bed with a mountain of blankets on him and now he comes to life a little, blinking rapidly at the dim lighting and scrubbing his hand across his eyes.

“Where am I?”

Confusion is…an improvement.

“You’re okay, kid.” Well. All things considered. That ankle’s half-broken, not healing right, and even ignoring the cuts and bruises and fuck those are electrical burns what the hell, the rasp to his breathing is probably Really Bad. “You’re safe, you…you nearly got run over, but, y’know…”

More blinking, and that expression that people get when they’re trying to make sense of things. Then, “M-Miss Marquis?”

It’s something!

“Yeah,” she says gently. “Yeah. You’re okay, kiddo, I’m gonna…I dunno, I’ll get a hold of Jim or something and he can call Batman and he’ll come get you.” Robin coughs, tries to lever himself upright and she moves to prop him up. “Okay, honey, okay, there we go…think you can take a drink? That sound good?”

“Mm-mm.” He starts trying to go back down and she lets him, tugs the comforter back up to his chin. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. You came outta nowhere.” She wonders where her phone is. “What about somethin’ to eat, huh? Couple’a crackers, maybe?”

“Mm-mm. M’sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Jesus Christ, he’s just a kid, no older than Charlie’s daughter. “Don’t be sorry, hon, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. Yeah?”

He just looks at her with wide, shiny eyes and whispers, “He’s gonna come for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, he is, he’ll be here just as soon as he can—”

“No.” He swallows, fingers creeping up to tighten around the edge of the comforter. “Not. Not Batman. J—”

His voice catches in his teeth and he squeezes his eyes shut, bunches the blankets into his arms like a makeshift teddy bear. Outside, the rain turns into hail, slamming against the patio with a determined TAPTAPTAPTAP!

“Shh, shh.” There’s two furrows running down from under his eyes, bruised and ragged. Fingernails, and she can just see those boney fingers, pale and heavy-knuckled, digging in and dragging downwards. “Don’t worry, honey, he won’t come.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Nope.

“Try to sleep, Robin,” she says. “I’m gonna call Jim, okay?”

He doesn’t answer. She goes, gets her phone out of her purse and tries to do exactly what she said she would, but Jim’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

Okay. Harvey, then…no.

No answer.

This might be a little bad. She knows, logically, that there’s plenty of cops who won’t hand the kid back over, but she doesn’t know who they are and she does know, because Harley had mentioned it not three weeks ago, that ‘Mistah J’s got ears all over this town!’

A side effect of watching people’s children sleep, she imagines.

Okay. She’ll try again in a little while. Everything’s fine. It’s Gotham, they’re busy. Maybe Batman’s there!

All the same, she triple-checks the windows, and the door, and kills all the lights before grabbing a water bottle and a box of Wheat Thins and going back in the bedroom. Robin’s not asleep. He’s still half-curled in the blankets, staring at the window with frightened eyes.

“No answer, but he’s probably busy.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I hope so.”

“F’you want, I got these.” She holds up the water and the crackers and he shakes his head. “Try to sleep, hon, there’s probably just been a drugs bust or somethin’.”

“Don’t go.” His voice is barely audible over the hail. “Please. I’ll be quiet, I promise, just…”

“Shh.” She sits down on the other side of the bed. “This okay?”

“Yeah. T’anks.”

“Go to sleep, kiddo. It’ll be okay.”

He yawns and suddenly he’s moved and is now both burritoed in blankets and curled tightly against her side. She doesn’t know how that happened. She blinked, that’s all.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter. If it keeps him calm enough to sleep, he’s fine there. She turns her phone to vibrate and opens up the internet. This is fine. This is going to be fine.

Hopefully.

* * *

Robin doesn’t move from his blanket cocoon even after two hours. Hell, he doesn’t even move in the cocoon; just stays balled up with his head pressed against her side. Even asleep, he doesn’t look calm, not even close, but he does uncoil a little bit when she risks reaching down and pulling a few strands of hair away from his mouth.

Outside, the hail has only grown worse and she hopes the Joker is out in it, because it

might hurt him and the mental image of a giant hailstone smacking him in the mouth is funny.

Neither Jim nor Harvey has called her back and she’s just about to try again when Robin suddenly starts coughing.

“Come on, kiddo, wake up.”

Shaking him makes him scrunch into a ball, arms over his head.

“Please—”

“Robin.” She gives him a little nudge. “Wake up, sweetheart, you gotta sit up.”

He eventually pulls himself up a little, arms falling to cradle his ribs.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She reaches over and picks up the water bottle, cracks the seal and winces when his eyes light up.

“S’safe?”

“Yeah, just water. You gonna try?”

“Uh-huh.” He takes it, clutches it to his chest and drains it in about forty seconds. “T’anks.”

“Sure. You hungry?”

He makes a face and mumbles, “No.”

“Okay. Try to go back to sleep, huh? You don’t look so good.”

He returns to his ball-shape, arms curled in front of his chest, and doesn’t move even when she re-tucks the comforter around him. She’s just about to text Jim instead when the phone lights up. There. All better.

“Hey, glad you got back to me.”

“What’s going on?”

“You need to send Batman to my apartment. I…I sort of nearly hit Robin with my car.”

“What?” There’s the sound of running feet in the background. “Where?”

“Not too far from Arkham. He’s…I didn’t hit him, anyway, but—”

“Shit.” A car door slamming. “Shit, Dove, you need to get outta there.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m just leaving Arkham, the Joker’s God-knows-where, he murdered his way out not three hours ago.”

Well, shit.

Robin stretches out a teeny tiny bit and presses his head against her hip with a soft sigh. He’s not hearing this, then, he’s gonna calm down, he’s gonna sleep.

And that’s fine.

She ruffles his hair, still damp and warm and just covering a couple of contusions around his ears. Joker doesn’t know where she lives, she’s mostly sure, they’ve got a window before he tracks her down--

--but that flash of white, earlier.

Oh, my God.

He could be anywhere. Could be hitchhiking, could be on the roof, could not even care. He’s unpredictable enough that he might not care, but Dove doubts it.

“Get Batman here,” is all she says. “Door’s locked, windows are locked and we’re up high anyway. The kid’s hurt and he’s sick, I don’t even know if he can walk.”

“Hrm?”

“Shh.” She presses the phone to her shoulder. “Jim just wants to meet us at the precinct, you’re not up for that. That’s all.”

“Oh.” A yawn, a wet cough and a groan of pain. “T’anks.”

“Mm-hm. We’ll see you soon, okay, Jim?”

“But—”

She hangs up on him. Robin burrows under the blankets a little more and mumbles, “I didn’t think I’d ever…I don’t even know how long I was there.”

A month and a half since Batman shattered a window, dangled Cobblepot over Main Street and demanded information he didn’t have. If Robin was missing before that, Dove doesn’t know.

“Couple'a months.” Too long. “Do you remember how you got out?”

“Th-there was a doctor. He brought her down to look at me because I couldn’t. He’d.” He swallows and tries again. “I can’t scream without coughing, an’ ‘e wanted to fix me. Said I was boring like this.” That’s not surprising. “He kidnapped her or somethin’, I don’t know, but she had to lemme go to look at me better an’ I just headbutted her and ran for it an’ she’s prob’ly dead cause’a me an’—”

“Shh, shh, baby.” She’d be dead anyway, so she wouldn’t tell. “It’s not your fault, honey, it’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is—”

“Robin.” She makes him lift his head and look at her. “It’s not your fault. Listen to me, okay? It’s not your fault. It’s not.”

Next thing she knows, she’s got an armful of shivering kid and he’s sobbing into her shirt.

“M’sorry, m’sorry—”

“Shh, shh, shh.” Um. This isn’t. This is bad, what is she supposed to say, what the hell. “It’s not your fault.”

“Mm—”

“Just try to calm down, okay? Breathe with me here, c’mon.”

That’s a little difficult, what with the coughing and all, but eventually he manages to calm down, at least a bit.

“M’sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, kid. Don’t. Okay? C’mon, just lie back down—”

He shakes his head and tightens his grip and whispers, “Please.”

She’s not heartless, okay? She tried, because good employees are heartless, but she’s shit at it and the only reason Penguin keeps her is because by the time he figured it out, she had his backup e-mail passwords.

“Okay. Okay, kiddo, okay.” She moves so she’s propped against the headboard and he’s not about to knock her over and pulls the comforter up to wrap around his shoulders. “Okay, honey, you’re okay. It’s over. It’s over.” Well, providing the Joker doesn’t come knocking on the door, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Just try to sleep, okay, Robin? It’s all over.”

“You promise?”

Uh, sure?

“Yeah, I promise.”

“’Kay.” He yawns. “Night.”

It takes him about fifteen minutes to finally conk out, but conk out he does, still shivering in the blanket. Dove kind of wants a sign to inform any rampaging Batmen that he put himself here, that she hasn’t hurt him, so please don’t fly in and kick her in the side of the head or anything.

Hopefully someone gets here soon.

* * *

She’s startled out of an accidental sleep by a knock on the door. Jim, must be Jim. Or Harvey. Whoever.

Another knock. Okay, okay, hang on.

She moves the kid so he’s half-propped on pillows to help him breathe and stands up, grimacing at the pop-pop! from her knees. Ow. Ow, she regrets her life choices.

“Hrm…?”

“Shh, I’ll be right back.”

But he’s already awake, eyes alert and locked on the direction of the front door.

“Who is it?”

“Probably Jim. I’ll be right back, okay? He can carry you if he really wants you at the precinct.”

“’Kay.”

More knocking. Good God, Jim, give her a…damned…minute?

Jim does not have green hair. Green hair like the hair visible through the peephole. Green hair on a white face.

Shit.

She’s not home, is her first instinct. She’s not home, she’s at work or on an errand or some other non-home activity. Robin? Who’s that? Ain’t that a bird?

She’s about to run with that, tiptoe back to her bedroom and barricade the door and hope to God that he’ll go away, when the knob rattles and he sings out, “Yoo-hoo! Anybody hoooome? I seem to have lost my dear pet bird!”

Okay. Okay. Maybe she can get him to go away. She’s…interacted with him, a few times, at the Iceberg, and he’s always been civil. Careful wording is her one great skill, and it might work now.

Or at least buy her some time. Better, she thinks, to try and get this to go her way rather than have him break in.

She fumbles around until she comes up with the butcher knife she keeps by the door for emergencies, triple-checks the chain latch, and cracks the door.

“Hello?”

People forget, sometimes, that the Joker is a tall man. He rivals Crane, easy, but while Crane is unassuming until he wants you to look at him, the Joker is impossible to ignore. Especially up close. That grin of his is cheerful from a distance, even just from behind a bar, but now? Now it’s manic and angry, a chimp’s smile.

“Helloooo!” But his voice is always cheerful…up until he’s mad. “My bel-ooo-ved songbird flew away from me this evening!” His hands are still in his pockets. That means nothing. Nasty things can be found in the Joker’s pockets. “Have you seen him? I’m soooo worried.”

She’ll bet. Batman’s going to be furious when he sees the state of the kid.

“I haven’t seen anything,” she says, fakes a yawn. “I just got home a little bit ago, went to bed.”

The teeth glint. An elbow twitches. And then he moves, upper body lunging forward like a snake’s and a hand jamming in between the crack of the door, fingers scrambling for the chain. She throws her weight against it, slams it against his arm, and he curses at her, those purple fingers abandoning the chain in favor of her neck.

She remembers the knife. It’s heavy and clumsy in her hand, but she slashes at him anyway, tip gouging a chunk of flesh out of the back of his hand before he yanks said hand back and the door slams shut. She throws the deadbolt and rushes to the kitchen, snags a dining chair and wedges it under the knob. Outside, there’s nothing but silence.

Door as secured as it can be, she grabs another chair and retreats to the bedroom, barricades that door too. Robin’s sitting up, hands twisted into knots in his lap.

“He’s here.” God, he’s so resigned already. “He came.”

She hates to scare him, but it was impossible to miss that ruckus.

“Yeah.”

He tries to get up and can’t, ends up desperately muffling his coughs in a pillow.

“I’ll go. Just. Just can I have s-some pills o-or something, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

“Shh, shh.” It’s quiet out there. That can’t be good. “Don’t be silly, it’s gonna be fine. Batman’ll be here any minute.”

He’s silent after that, eyes glued to the door. Dove rifles through her dresser until she comes up with the pistol she always carries at work and sometimes carries the rest of the time, checks the bullet count. Fully loaded. Six shots. No more security deposit, but hey…

She doesn’t notice, at first, the movement outside. The hail is still pounding down, after all. But then there’s a rhythmic shave-and-a-hair-cut-two-bits! against the glass.

She’ll tell the police, later, that he had a tommy gun and looked like he was going to shoot through the glass. She has no idea if that’s true; all she can think of are all those people who laughed themselves literally to death, and that like hell is she gonna be one of them.

Six shots. The first two break the glass but don’t hit him, but the next four do, driving him backwards and--

--over. Down. Gone.

Not even one last cackle. Just a pair of fallen novelty teeth on the cement, getting knocked around by the hail.

Said hail is now trying to come in, and she wraps Robin in the comforter, guides him to the living room to lie down on the couch and locks her bedroom door, just in case. The kid’s staring at her when she comes back, shiny-eyed and a little awed.

“He’s gone?”

The fucker lives through everything.

“I think so, kid,” she says tiredly. “I think so.”

* * *

Nightwing’s the one that comes, at least at first. She’s surprised to see him; last she heard, he was over in Bludhaven, making a nuisance of himself.

“Nightwing.” God, it’s been so long since he did handstands on Penguin’s Very Expensive Barstools. He’s gotten so big. “Been a while, kid.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” He crouches down, hand half-reaching towards the kid in her arms. “Jesus Christ…”

“He’s sick,” she warns. “I think broken ribs, definitely broken ankle. Lotta cuts ‘n bruises.”

“Better than the alternative.” His fingers drop against Robin’s spine. “I thought…Little Wing? C’mon, buddy, wake up. Time to go home.”

Robin doesn’t stir other than to burrow deeper into the blanket and murmur something unintelligible. Nightwing doesn’t push, just lets his hand fall flat between the boy’s shoulders.

“Where was he?”

“I found him outside of Arkham. Nearly hit him, to be honest.” She gives him a little shake. “Wake up, sweetheart, Nightwing’s here to take you home.”

“Hrm…’Wing?”

Nightwing grins, relief clear on his face.

“Hey, brat. You awake?”

“Wh’re’s B?”

“On his way.” Sure enough, there’s a VROOM! a block or two over. “You ready to go home?”

“Sleepy.”

“I know. I’m gonna pick you up, please don’t bite me.”

“Once,” Robin grumbles, but he doesn’t protest when Nightwing hoists him up, arms tight, and cradles him against his chest.

“I gotcha, buddy, I gotcha…Thanks, Miss Marquis. For, um. Y’know. Everything.”

She stands up, feeling things snap and crackle.

“Take him home. And be safe, both of you. I mean it.”

“T’anks,” Robin squirms a bit, one hand falling towards the floor. She gives him a smile, stands up and cracks her spine.

“Feel better sweetheart.”

He nestles against Nightwing, and then they’re gone. Jim gets up there five minutes later, wide-eyed, and says, “Holy shit, Dove, what did you do? ”

Penguin does this all the time. She’s seen him do it. She shrugs, sinks back to the couch, and says, “He would’ve killed us both if I let him in. I thought he had a gun.”

Not that he needed one, as many an Arkham guard’s obituary can attest.

“Jesus Christ.”

Yeah. Jesus Christ, indeed.

THE END

#asks #jason todd #fic below cut #dove marquis #joker #arkhamverse #scaryverse #the above is an au for arkham but rocksteady wouldn't give me nice things so I DID IT MYSELF

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yakulin · 7 months

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Hello :)

Please can I ask for a denki kaminari x reader in which denki is like a barista in a coffee/Starbucks and has a crush the fem reader who's a costumer he serves sometimes?

.˚ *꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

A/N: Took me a while to finish this and I’m sorry about that. It is a tad bit off topic of what you described but I hope it’s still enjoyable! Thank you for your suggestion :)

The strong smell of grounded coffee beans filled the cafe. Customers would enter the store to study with friends or classmates; he enjoyed the sight of such a calming atmosphere. As of recently, he’s noticed an unfamiliar face passing by the cafe frequently. The first time he saw her, he was sort of in a daze the whole time he took her order; he just couldn’t stop looking at her beautiful eyes and precious smile. He kept a professional character every time she passed by, until one day they began to have an interesting conversation.

She looked at him with the same precious smile as always, although she seemed a little irritated. “Are classes getting stressful now? I heard finals are around the corner,” he said, making her come out of her thoughts. She let out a sigh. “Yeah.. I’ve been doing well all year, but I can’t help but be a bit worried, you know? These college professors seriously don’t go easy on you."She responded, and her irritated expression softened slightly. He laughed softly, “I understand, I’m in the same boat as you.. or, well, I can’t say in the exact same boat, but I’m in it somewhere. I’m not the best student when it comes to grades, but I’m not failing,” he said with an embarrassing smile.

She laughed slightly before stiffening. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look like a very organized guy; I never would’ve expected you to barely be getting by." She noted, waiting for his response before a customer behind her coughed. They were holding up a line. She grabbed her coffee quickly and said, "Ah, well, uhm, why don’t I try and tutor you? Here, I’ll give you my number." She wrote her phone number on the thin straw rapper, quickly giving it to him, and dashed out of the cafe.

As time passed, they were finally able to make plans to meet up together at her home. “Thank you for offering to be my tutor,” Denki said as he sat on the chair in front of her. She smiled at him as she sat down in a fruit punch juice box near him. “Of course, I sort of felt bad for laughing, so it’s the least I could do,” she said, embarrassed.

“That’s why? No, you’re right, it was funny. No matter why you decided to tutor me, thank you because I most likely wouldn’t be passing the finals."He explained, taking out his history book. She looked down at his book and then back at him and asked, "Is this all you brought?” She said.

He nodded his head in embarrassment before taking a crap ton of books from his book bag. “I mean, you offered,” he said, almost embarrassed. She looked down at the pile of books and then back at him, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. She was not expecting this.

Weeks have passed since the awkward tutoring session. They began to study together more often, although it was mostly her teaching him since he was the one who needed more help. Usually they’d study at her place, but other times it would be in the cafe during Denki’s shift when the time for the final was close.

“We got this, we got this!” Denki said as the two of them walked to their college, “You’ll do great; I mean, I was your tutor after all,” she said in a cocky tone, expecting him to clown her. "Yeah, you’re right,” he said in a quiet tone, almost as if he were reviewing the subjects in his head.

After all the final exams, the two of them were hanging out in her home. “I can’t wait until the final grades come out; I’ll literally faint,” she said dramatically, laying her head in her hands. "Well, I’ll die; maybe if I do fail, I’ll just become an expert in being a barista or something,” he began to think before she kicked his leg with her own. “You won’t fail; stop being so dramatic,” she stated.

"Well, I don’t know if I’ve passed yet either, huh? We've both passed and failed this test already!!"He stated.

“Shut up!” She yelled, hitting him with a pile of napkins. “Make me then?" He said that, and soon enough, as those words left his mouth, she kissed him.

She laughed slightly as he stayed silent. "There, now keep quiet.”

#mha x female reader #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #denki x you #denki x reader #denki x y/n #x reader #x female reader #x female y/n #x fem!reader #my hero x reader #my hero academia #denki headcanons #denki kaminari #bnha denki #denki fluff #mha denki

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burritosandpeppermint · 8 months

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UUUUGGGGGHHHHH

uuuuggggghhhhh

I'm not 100% sure how we got back here, folks, but I'm 100% obsessing over music and guitars for the first time since I was a teenager.

Guys...it's bad.

And for those who've known me for a long time here you may be hearing about this for the first time, but I could not get enough of playing guitars, reading about guitars, and listening to as much guitar music as I could when I was a teenager.

Could I actually play? Not really. I mean, not if you're talking about any lessons at all or trying to learn from a book or anything. I just kind of picked it up and kept playing around for years, just laying down riff after riff and playing with solo after solo. Just fucking around.

And then, eventually, I needed money and didn't have space anymore and I had to sell everything. I thought that door was closed by the time I was in my early 20's, starting to really work for a living and trying to live an adult's life. I looked back on those years a bit wistfully but with a real feeling that I had left childish things behind me...

Until the last month or so. I think I can point the finger squarely at us attending the Guns N' Roses show. Even with 100° F heat and me wishing that I had brought my earplugs I got swept away with it all, specifically with Slash. He'd change guitars regularly, usually for something that I was familiar with him playing. After the show I got curious and looked up his gear online to discover the web pages devoted to his guitars and his playing in general. Then I started Googling some guitars to see if they're still around, and any variations...and how have amps changed in the last 25 years...oh, emulators sure have come a long way...and they're fairly affordable...and while Fender's lineup has changed significantly since the 90s they still have a lot of decent guitars at reasonable prices...

All the while I'm also getting back into bands and songs I haven't heard in up to decades, just gorging myself on all the 90s rock I also "put away" at some point in my 20s, like one of my favorite bands, Hum, and getting into groups I could have really dug at the time, like My Bloody Valentine, and exploring newer stuff like finally getting more into Red Fang's discography...and then new bands and sounds spiraling off of those listens and searches...

And guys...GUYS...since I was into guitars this whole internet thing exploded, so I can hear guitars and amps and pedals and interviews that simply weren't available to me when I was previously obsessed. I can get a far better sense for things than driving an hour away to the nearest Guitar Center only to keep my hands in my pockets as I look at gear and equipment, too afraid to do anything in public, eventually going home and noodling by myself for a while.

And did you know that there are a ton of free or paid online classes where you don't have to interact with a human if it makes you feel self-conscious or anxious? And did you know that the Fender Mustang Micro Amp can fit in your pocket, has some EQ and preset sound options, a headphone jack, and can plug directly into your computer? And it's only $120 for an amp that's more versatile than the one I had 30 years ago AND it can help you can basically use it as a direct-to-computer recording device? And, holy crap, but GarageBand, while simple, is still a very competent recording suite and it's just free, right there on my Mac and everything?

Okay, breathing.

Because this is how it goes for me. I get all interested in something, all wound up, and I imagine how cool things can be, what I'll do, how things will turn out, all with an overactive imagination, until I'm just done with it and I move on. Except I don't know if I move on because I never follow through or if it's because I just fixate on things in a capricious manner. If it's because I never follow through then I should change that by following through (hello, writing ideas from five months ago that turned into nothing). But if it's because I'm capricious then I should just let it be and it'll ride itself out.

Now: how can I tell the difference without a lot of time, money, and effort? That's the question.

But it's been kinda fun as a weird hobby, just looking and reading and watching and listening. Maybe the fear of disappointment will be enough to keep me away from actually doing it, which isn't great, and maybe I should pursue more things that I think will bring me joy, even if I never truly get into it or keep it going for long, because life is short and pursuing happiness should be one of life's goals.

#if you're new to me this kind of ramble will happen about once or twice a month #no need to do anything about it #just getting some thoughts out in public #guitars

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monsieurgraves · 2 years

Text

Arthur Havisham x amab male reader headcanons

CW- Implied alcohol addiction, past abusive relationships, consensual sexual content.

SFW

In public you two wouldn't be too affectionate because obviously you don't wanna be murdered, but you would have a hand on his shoulder to reassure him.

After Amelia had found out how Compeyson had treated Arthur she would definitely call off the engagement and never speak to him again. Because of that her and Arthur would then be really close and she would feel really guilty for not realising sooner.

Obviously you and Arthur wouldn't tell Amilia about your relationship and if she did find out it would be an accident. Maybe she walked in on you two being intimate or Compeyson had told her about Arthur being gay. It would definitely take a while for her to understand your relationship because no one ever talked about queer people and the only talk about them would be negative,but she would try to be more accepting of it for you and Arthur. After everything she would not want to lose Arthur and not want Arthur to lose her.

After Amilia found out about your relationship and when she eventually learned to accept it you two would be more close in front her. It wouldn't be much only leaning into eachother or holding the others hand, but if Amelia had caught you two being affectionate with eachother she would be happy for Arthur knowing that someone loves him as much as he loves them.

When Amilia found out Arthur got so little in the will because their father found out about him being gay she would be pissed and resent her father after that.

Little spoon 100%.

His favourite cuddling positin would be on top of you with your arm around him while he lays his head and your chest with you playing with his hair.

After you two started dating you started trying to get him to drink less because you wanted him to be sober to make sure your relationship wasn't just a drunken decision that he would come to regret.

He would always feel bad whenever you have to take care of him drunk so the next day he would always buy you something little and no matter how many times you said you didn't mind taking care of him he always did it because of your little smile you would wear even if you expected it.

Forehead and neck kisses.

If he was having a hard day with work you would always make him some tea and give it to him with a kiss on the cheek which would motivate him to finish.

You two share a closet even though your clothes are a bit big on him and his are tight but you two love seeing eachother in their clothes.

NSFW

It would take a while for you two to get to that point of your relationship and even longer to get to penetration.

Would be both of your first times.

He has the most beautiful whimpers.

PRAISE.

Would prefer to take it missionary because he wants to see you but also because he's insecure of the scars on his back. If you two did do it doggy style you would kiss his scars and constantly tell him how beautiful you think he is to the point he would cry cause no one has ever loved him like this.

Never would do anything to hurt you and vice versa.

After care would include a crap ton of cuddling.

He would be so loud and even though you love it you try to get him to be more quiet so no on would hear, even if it was just Amelia who is ok with your relationship in the house you would never risk ayone hearing you.

Has the most plush thicc thighs and you can't help but want to fuck them and mark them up.

#arthur havisham #arthur havisham x reader #arthur havisham x male reader #dickensian #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x male reader #x male reader

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humaforever · 7 months

Text

An anon sent me this prompt and somehow or another I deleted the ask when I was about to post it 😐 So whoever sent this to me, thanks for the prompt.

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

Leaves

"Uma, look over there" Harry caught Uma's attention, pointing at a house

"What? That's someone's yard Harry" Uma said

"I know but look at the pile of leaves" Harry said

Uma cocked her head to the side "That is a crap ton of leaves" she nodded

"Exactly" Harry said

Uma looked at him narrowing her eyes "Let me guess, you want to play in them"

"Don't you?" Harry smiled

"It's someone's yard" Uma stated again

"Doesn't seem like something that'll stop me" Harry said taking Uma's hand and guiding her over to the house "live a little darling"

Uma chuckled rolling her eyes. She could never just go on a simple walk with Harry, that was too boring, obviously. He always had to find a way to spice things up.

"What if they're home?" Uma said

"Then they shouldn't have left these tempting leaves in their yard, it's their fault really" Harry said, justifying trespassing on someone's lawn

"You know what, you're right" Uma laughed

The crunching sound of the leaves under Uma's feet was quite satisfying, so that honestly made it all worth it. She couldn't enjoy the crunchy leaves for long though, Harry got a handful of the leaves and threw them at her. He wasn't very successful, but he had started a war.

Uma wasted no time in picking up her own handful of leaves and throwing it at Harry.

And of course, this only led to them acting like complete fools, but who cares, they were having fun. Throwing the leaves, jumping in them, Harry picked Uma up and put her in one of the big piles. They even managed to find some large sticks that they pretended were swords.

Whoever lived at this property had a great spot, it was really nice. They would have to re-rake their leaves though.

Laying on the ground side by side out of breath, Harry caressed Uma's arm.

"Don't I have the best ideas" Harry said

Uma raised her brow "I mean, you certainly know how to find the fun in things" she chuckled

"Why thank you" Harry said placing his hand over his heart

"You-" Uma stopped what she was about to say when she glanced behind her and saw the front door of the house being unlocked "We gotta go Harry"

"Huh?"

"We have to go!" She giggled, in one swift motion she was up and reaching for Harry's hand "We can't get in trouble if they don't catch us"

"Precisely" Harry said following her lead.

They ran a little ways away, but no one was chasing them so they were in the clear.

"What?" Uma questioned catching Harry staring at her

Harry smiled "You have a leaf in your hair" he said gently picking it out

"Just one?" Uma asked

"As far as I can see" Harry said

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you have about twenty leaves in your hair" Uma said

"Oh well then I shouldn't have taken yours out, now we don't match" Harry said

"Eh, I think you rock the look better than me anyway" Uma said

"Nonsense. I have some to spare and I think that's exactly what you need" Harry grinned

"You wouldn't dare Hook" Uma warned

"I think I would" he said, shaking his head over her so a few leaves fell on her

"You're the worst" Uma shook her head

"Gotta get in the fall spirit love" Harry said "And seeing as we're still in the neighborhood, I see a few more houses we could hit up..."

"You know, you're a terrible influence" Uma said

"Indeed. But as I recall, you think that's fun" Harry said

Uma looked around at all the fallen leaves, a smirk growing on her face "Well, I suppose you're right"

#huma #harry hook #uma #fanfiction #anon ask

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secretgamergirl · 1 year

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The Entire Plot of Final Fantasy 14, with all the expansions, and some serious analysis of how good it actually is. (Part 9 - Endwalker)

Last time, we had a lot of fun in a raid chain where our adopted daughter had some nice dates with her forgetful new girlfriend and helped us fight her sleaker, sometimes hornier reimaginings of old boss fights. Oh and we also spent a ton of time setting things up for this expansion, just clearing the traditional problems of political infighting, racism, and a seemingly endless cycle of responding to violence with religious zealotry and kidnappings. And this annoying turbo-dweeb Fandaniel doing poorly explained overpowered derivative crap.

Now before I get started, I feel I should just lay it out there a super strong theme of this whole expansion is suicidal thoughts, and I’m not planning to really dwell on it, but personally I found there’s a lot of stuff in here where just quickly and sort of lightly bringing up a particular flavor thereof got me into some real bad memories, so be ready for even briefer mentions I guess. The other two major thematic elements we have going on here are worshipful love letters from the whole staff to takeout food, and what has to be an intentional pattern of setting up exciting tension and then just completely defusing it. Plus the pacing’s kinda shot from trying to squeeze two expansions worth of plot into one. If only there were an in-game vista that summed this up...

Let’s see if I can get all this into a halfway reasonable word count. First order of business, we’re headed to Nerd Town, AKA Old Sharlayan, in hopes of working out why a bunch of eggheads aren’t willing to help the guy publicly announcing his plan to kill everyone in the world, or barring that, at least get access to their pretty impressive library. Nerd Town kinda sucks. Super bureaucratic. First thing when you show up you have to get processed and get your green card. Plan is everyone’s an assistant working for Krile who’s still very much a member of a respected research group, they aren’t terribly amused by the ridiculous things you can state when they ask for your name and occupation. Also while things look very Mediterranean it is firmly and repeatedly established that this place has just the worst, blandest food in the world. Oh and on the boat ride over you get a vision of a human-shaped Hydaelyn showing up to confirm that yeah, she and Zodiark are just summoned god like all the others, nothing special, and also she’s been weakening as more and more shard-worlds get reabsorbed via apocalypses and strengthening Zodiark... which doesn’t especially make sense since the whole reason she exists was to punch him hard enough to break things up in the first place. Maybe she got the drop or something.

Anyway, you get stonewalled by stubborn nerds like immediately, and have two leads to follow up on, so you split up and get a choice which to do first. Thancred Urianger and Estinein are going to test an experimental teleporter that doesn’t require you to personally unlock the destination crystal first to get to Thavnair, with its capital Radz-at-Han, which is just India, straight up. Everyone else is going to stick around here and try to sneak into Labrynthos, a whole underground archive/nature preserve/site for top secret experiments by researchers who aren’t beholden to the normal high council of nerds. This mostly involves helping a bunny boy carry crates and a brief foray with Y’shtola testing out the toad spell on you and the twins. You don’t really make a ton of progress. Krile gets kinda spacey, ends up briefly possessed by Hydaelyn to tell you this one mood ring flower they have growing down there is gonna be the key to everything and you should keep one on you, and then you’re all arrested by the science police for snooping around a high security research black site and put on trial. Mostly your party uses the trial to call these dumb jerk nerds out for being dumb jerk nerds, point out you totally are just legitimately working on your own research project, and G’raha points out some historical records marking when they shifted from just being a bunch of nerds learning cool stuff to improve society to a bunch of nerds totally restructuring their society to be isolationist weirdos archiving all the world’s knowledge in their creepy underground bunker.

It’s pretty clear that an archaeological team some years back found something. Like say a god who brainwashed everyone into fanatics or something, and they end up admitting to having this all-important “great work” where everyone has to submit to partial memory wiping and magical compulsion not to speak about it to preserve the important secret, and we are just absolutely setting things up where the nerd high council and who or whatever they’re serving as the real villains of this expansion. But like I said we are all about setting up big things and completely deflating them. Eventually it’ll turn out the thing they’re working on is actually totally benign, nobody’s evil, and they’re just a bunch of arbitrarily obstructionist bureaucrats who suck but are on your side. One member of their high council is enough of a reasonable person to have your back though so you don’t get expelled or anything. You’re still not allowed in the top secret lab though so it’s all kind of a wash.

So, experimental teleport to India because I guess they got sick of having so many expansion locations you reach by hopping a boat from Limsa or just taking an airship or something. Everyone’s super dizzy and nautious from the trip and staggering around, and has the terrible realization that Estinein is wandering around on his own in a big outdoor market desperate for tourist money. You’ve gotta get everyone a nice lassi to settle their stomach and stop that idiot before he blows all his money on kitschy knickknacks! Before you catch up he does manage to blow a couple thousand on a hair band to give himself a nice ponytail. I still don’t like how he looks without his helmet though.

The local population is all au ra and big elephant people.The elephant people have big Tribe Quest vibes, and you do eventually help some out in this sort of ridiculous setup where a bunch of delinquent elephant people using hippo-pulled chariots to drag race get into hot water for being a public menace, and turn over a new leaf opening a delivery service. Mostly it’s delivering takeout, but there’s also quests where you go around throwing Gulal at people, one where you are clearly conducting a drug deal (the second time this comes up at that, Heavensward has you helping cool bug pals harvest marijuana and sell joints to the other locals), and there’s one really unfortunate one where you’re asked to put on a ridiculous mascot elephant head and shout at some random person that you’re his god because people are sick of him praying constantly. All of this is actually post-Endwalker though, because we just arbitrarily gate all the tribe quests back there this expansion. What we’re actually here for now is helping some other elephant people who are actually doing very serious government-approved reseach on these big evil towers. Presumably since the first “tribe” unlocked are full citizens of a friendly nation, when these first went live they quietly went through the whole UI replacing “Beast Tribe” with just “Tribe.” Interesting that this didn’t happen earlier with the dwarves getting drunk and building tanks or something.

Anyway, their leader Nidhana, who’s just a real nice friendly nerd hanging out any time you’re in the area, has been working on these special “warding scales” that should in theory make anyone carrying one immune to godly mind alteration, not only letting random NPC military forces approach these towers safely, but also let the other Scions or any other noteworthy friends canonically tag along for future boss fights and so on. And they do in fact work perfectly. But oh no! There’s this weird creepy little kid showing up to deliver a fresh load of the secret ingredient they need. A huge pile of scales clearly ripped away from the belly of a dragon! Estinein, who’s come a long way on this sort of thing, is way sympathetic to dragons now (probably helps that he straight up turned into one for a bit) and confronts him, but again, we aren’t paying tension off. The Satrap who rules the country and his entire family line before them have just always had this big cool dragon friend Vrtra and he’s happy to help with stuff like this. Anyway, Nidhana decides to test one of these scales personally and heads off to the local tower, which people are locally calling the Tower of Zot, and while it does work, the second the door opens she gets hauled inside with huge chains, her scale gets lost, and she’s stuck in one of those torture walls.

We also get some attempt to retroactively make Fandaniel a character by establishing that before he was made into, let’s be honest, a fake Ascian, he was Amon, yeah like the optional FF3 boss who’s also in this, who we’re retconning into a clone of this guy, a horribly evil Allagan mad scientist who’s personally responsible for any sort of humanoid monsters walking around. Minotaurs, snake gals, nerdy bird people, all him just messing around. Also big into cloning. Hence everyone in the Crystal Tower raid. I don’t care, he’s still just the absolute worst and shallowest character.

You head off to give the Satrap a good news bad news report, and not long into the conversation Estinein gets annoyed and demands we pull back the big Wizard of Oz curtain and just directly talk to the secret ruler of the nation. Oh no! The Satrap and his whole family line are just political puppets and this country has actually been run by Vrtra the huge dragon and heretofore unmentioned additional child of Midgardsormr all along! Which... is fine actually. With the notable exception of Nidhogg every named dragon, especially the elder wyrm siblings here, has just been the absolute chillest nicest most understanding person, and Vrtra is no exception.Super nice even! And the creepy kid is just one of Vrtra’s eyes stuck into a totally indistinguishable from a normal au ra child android the local alchemists whipped up. Seems like the fact they can do that should be more of a big deal but it just never comes up elsewhere. Anyway you still need to keep this a secret from the general populace, because if they found out this cool friendly dragon who’s been known to be a trusted ally to the whole nation since it was first founded is actually the ruler, uh... everyone would be totally fine with that actually. I’m getting a little out of order but the next time you’re in the area the fake Satrap dies and Vrtra has to personally step up and for real not one single person has a problem with this, and really why should they? There’s a similar bit incidentally late in the last expansion where G’raha finally goes public with how the fabled Warrior of Darkness restoring the night sky is actually the protagonist, and this confused crowd of onlookers is just like, “yeah, obviously? This mysterious old friend of yours from where you’re originally from shows up, you’re ecstatic, and every time they take a trip somewhere we hear about the local Lightwarden being killed and the sky being fixed. This isn’t hard to piece together.”

So OK, big Tower of Zot rescue time. We just need to make a quick hop back to Nerd Town to merge these split progression options and catch everyone up. We’ve had too much lavish fan service for 5 and 6 so far, so now it’s really FF4′s turn to get some love. Inside the Tower of Zot we fight the three Magus Sisters, as the local gods being summoned by torturing elephant people in the walls. Who’d you expect them to worship in India, Shiva? Rama? No no no those were a historical white lady and a big beardo worshipped by plant-faeries. Clearly in India they worship that boss trio with the delta attack. Keep it straight. We even have Dr. Lugae and Barnabus for a sub-boss on the way! Oh and there’s a bit teased at the end about a severed hand in the core of the tower that feels like we’re setting up some sort of Golbez thing, but no.

What it actually is is that they kinda used the emperor’s corpse as a summoning base for the whole get people to worship Garlemald itself (have I actually ever mentioned that’s the official name of the Empire? I feel like I just keep saying “the Empire” since it’s just easier). It also makes for a convenient weakpoint for Estinien to jump up and stab, causing the whole tower to poof. Fortunately G’raha’s around and he knows float. Also fortunately Alisae’s around and she whips her hog out to start deprogramming tortured nerds, starting with Nidhana who notices the mood ring flower and talks about this obscure scientific study where not literally everything in the world is just aether related technobabble. There’s a secondary natural force/subatomic thing she calls Akasha and everyone else calls Dynamis later (and I think came up in the Sri Lakshmi fight as orbs of “vril” you need to grab before the big dance number). It’s basically impossible to measure so it’s an obscure thing, but yeah, mood ring flower. Anyway everyone heads back to Nerd Town as those scale talismans get distributed to your allies, which again at this point basically means like... 80% of the world give or take. And then you get woken up in the middle of the night because your friends are all sick of terrible Sharlayan food and decided to surprise you with takeout. Look at this cutscene. Watch G’raha make sweet passionate love to this enormous cheeseburger.

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The next order of business involves taking an airship and heading into the heart of the empire. Not because we’re back to the invasion though. At this point the empire is just straight up dead. All it really took was you proving they weren’t invincible in Stormblood and the extra unrest of the emperor himself being killed by his back from the dead deeply messed up son, and they just completely self-destructed on their own. This might actually be my favorite plot point in the entirety of FF14. They have this empire very clearly modeled after the nazis, and basically as soon as they lose their morale and momentum in a big way, they immediately collapse into infighting and tear themselves to pieces. As always happens in the real world. I’m less keen on how this, like so many other things, has nazi scientists actually making ridiculous cool stuff though. In reality nazi scientists have never actually existed, just a bunch of absolute suckers so hopped up on their stupid BS that they ask other people to do wacky comic book science for them and convince themselves the results are amazing. Here though, yeah, we get a ruined imperial capital crawling with death robots, demons called forth from hell, and freaky mutant monsters just crawling through the streets while a few desperate stragglers are huddled around space heaters starving to death by the time you show up, on what is explicitly a pure good will mission to help struggling refugees of their terrible civil war.

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It’s really visually striking, but kind of weird that the Imperial capital is (or really was) just straight up a major 20th century city with all the implied infrastructure. It’s not as shocking as the whole Evangelion thing from the dumbest side quest, but again, people use maps that are half cloud-cover and build stone fortresses guarded by archers all around here. There’s a bit of fighting against what’s left of their military forces when you show up, but you come in with a big huge international coalition that includes Sadu and I guess other people but for real Sadu has the rocks fall everyone dies spell so on the rare occasion you’re teamed up with her for a big plot fight she’s a win button you just stall to help. Resistance crushed, you head out with the twins to try and find some survivors to give supplies and good will to. After a while you find one group, they’re super paranoid and terrified, threaten you, and when your back is turned one of them just grabs her sick little sister and books it into a snowfield, because she’s so hopped up on imperial propaganda about you being dangerous savages they’d rather take their chances running into a snow storm with no supplies, and they absolutely freeze to death before you find them again.

The other major pocket of survivors you find are under the watch of what’s left of one of two surviving military units, holed up in a subway tunnel. You really try your best to just give them the supplies they need to live, but they insist on taking you hostage, putting shock collars on the twins, and forcing you to run around the ruined city to scrape up what little fantasy gasoline (ceruleum) you can syphon out of dead robots and the heater in a no longer functioning muck filled park fountain, and then their commander still kinda just decides the best plan is to attack your refugee aid party and seize everything, since reinforcements are totally coming from the only other surviving legion as soon as they get their radios working, honest. Speaking of, rather than embracing traditional linkpearl technology, the empire has straight up AM radios, and in what really is one of the sloppiest handwaves I’ve seen, turns out the reason there’s any survivors at all is that they were all clustered around their radios listening to news reports and the crackly vocal version of the Imperial theme currently playing on a loop. Anyway you’re about to go “OK screw humoring these idiots” and deal with that when you suddenly black out and we get one of these scenes where I really have to show before I tell so you know I’m not just writing weird slash fiction here.

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We hereby have to wave the right to make any future “at least buy a girl dinner first” jokes regarding Zenos’ whole kill-bang-die confusion. But yeah, this is the point in the plot of FF14 where the wormy little terrible new villain sucks your soul out of your body and sticks it in the body of some random imperial goon, so that you can have a nice dinner date with Zenos, and then he puts on your body, complete with whatever ridiculous gear you have on to go cause trouble and lure you into another date-fight. When I actually did this, tallest most musclebound possible orc gal in this outfit here, which made the whole thing extra kinky on his end.

Of course first you have to get to him in what’s actually kind of one of the most interesting set pieces gameplay wise. You’re still in this borrowed body, which is pretty low level, a fixed class, and has no natural regeneration of any kind, not access to your inventory, and you are just plopped kind of dead center in the middle of these horrible ruins and half to stealth/fight/scrounge your way out with no clear goal markers and a time limit. It’s actually fairly challenging and by the end you’re caught in an explosion so you’re literally crawling home to warn your friends that hey, that’s not you, it’s an undead murderous kinkster stealing your body for his elavorate sex fantasy, but you recover enough to tackle him at the last moment and then also the timer on all this and you’re restored.

So, I am just really conflicted. I maintain that bringing Zenos back from the dead was an absolutely terrible idea. He worked really well as a villain whose motivations take a bit to come into focus and eventually kinda make your skin crawl, the whole thing caps off with a truly excellent death scene that robs you of a nice celebratory vibe for your big victory, the resurrection is some really sloppy writing, especially given how the whole point is he was officially done with life, and they pretty clearly don’t know what to do with him while he’s back. He is literally just sitting there in the background bored out of his mind and actively ignoring the annoying main villain we actually have and his efforts to get him in on the evil scheming. AND YET, every interaction you have with him in this expansion is just such an entertaining scene and gives another fun glimpse into his really... unique frame of mind.

Anyway, that big attack fails, and the leader behind it finally gets word on the radio from his buddy’s unit that... they’ve actually surrendered and his like dozen surviving soldiers are kind of all that’s left of the big evil empire. Hearing this, he decides to go ahead and become the one good nazi we have in this whole thing. Yes that is a euphemism. Yes it does involve him putting down the mic on his radio, picking up a gun, and leaving a nice stain on the imperial flag he has in his little subway car makeshift office. I’m not going to post a screenshot, but seriously, 10/10, no notes. The whole Garlemald chapter of this expansion is great. Love seeing nazis literally being too stupid and racist to live. What little population is left then finally accepts defeat and lets you provide them with the free food, water, heat, and emergency shelter they need to survive. It’s finally time to head into that big menacing Imperial monster palace, AKA the Towel of Babel, find the bit of it that qualifies as a god, and kill it. Specifically what’s left of the old Emperor in the form of a rare FF10 tribute.

Then Fandaniel just kinda grabs Zenos gives a pathetic little speech and uses a big teleporter to flee to the moon. Which is... a bit abrupt but you follow. And uh... the moon sucks, actually? Like we have all this buildup and foreshadowing like it’s going to be this big enemy base and we’re going to do the whole Lunar Subterrane thing but no. Grey dust, annoying to navigate map, clear signs of cut content. You meet a palette swap of Emet-Selch’s recreated pre-fall Ascian ghosts who is... not some sort of phantom but a minion of Hydaelyn’s here to act as prison warden for what’s left of Zodiark, trapped inside the moon like it’s a giant prison (much like the other moon was for Bahamut). There’s this whole business with a ring of gargantuan swords scattered around to act as seals, one of which Fandaniel just destroyed because the whole bit with the towers was powering up a big death star laser to smash these, and you have to go around and pacify the ghosts of sacrifices made to summon Zodiark back in the day to power up the rest, with this helpful golden furred elegant moon dog ferrying you around as needed. Parthway through this though the whole thing gets cut short via Fandaniel’s BS sloppy writing powers, all the remaining towers get smashed, Zodiark is revived, do not pass go, go directly to big epic boss battle against basically Satan, and Fandaniel himself, believing everyone is now going to die, jumps into the big sort of chasm down to the center of the moon unleashing horrible magic energies to kill himself.That’s the end of that. Thank goodness villains always stay dead in this, right?

Anyway you kill Zodiark. Not even all that hard of a boss. But uh... oh right, you kind of weren’t supposed to do that, were you. He was kinda load-bearing. Summoned to avert an apocalypse and all. Which turns out was an ongoing thing not a one-time deal. As your friends catch up, you’re getting informed that The Final Days are now resuming, big ominous meteor showers, death of everyone in the world shortly. And as later exposition confirms, not just this version of this world. All those splintered off versions like the one we JUST saved from an apocalypse last expansion are doomed too. All because you, the main character here, have this legitimate self control issue where you just can’t not kill any god you see on the spot. But the chill moon dog, Argos, then leads you to a giant door to this massive high tech underground city with uh...

They’re called lopporits. They’re based on Namingway from FF4. The look like the sort of little figurines your great grandmother might collect, and they are here because the entire moon doubles as an emergency escape system to load the whole population of the world onto in the event that some idiot comes along, kills Zodiark, and dooms everyone. They’re also so distractingly adorable your whole party just kinda goes slack-jawed, forgets everything they were doing, and the plot just stops dead in its tracks while you spend kind of a weirdly long time just humoring them and trying to give positive feedback to all the amenities they start showing off. They’ve got all your food needs covered with, and this is the official quest item name, obscenely long carrots, described in detail as being particularly girthy. They’ve build everything to perfect human scale... based on an assumption that the average person is still like 30 feet tall like they were back in Ascian times, similarly all just assuming your whole party is a bunch of unsupervised children sent up in the first wave of evacuations. They have to improvise on clothing when it turns out universal dumb black robes are out of fashion, and have some really interesting ideas.

Once again we tease the idea that they actually have super sinister motives and are trying to trap you here with constant distractions, but then no, turns out they’re just really horrified because they’re pretty good at reading people and can clearly see that none of you are actually impressed with any of their stuff. Except Urianger. Urianger loves cute little weirdos and dressing eccentrically. This leads to a big speech to cheer them up, talking about how their self-chosen names all convey their strength of character. Like Mappingway, wanting to chart out all the unexplored secrets of the world, and Livingway just wanting to keep life going for everyone. And then turns out one is named Puddingway, but, you know, everyone likes pudding? And I guess I have to link the comic don’t I.

Anyway, checking back in on things on things down on the planet, which only NOW are we formally establishing is called Aetherys, ending years of confusion where people thought the whole world was either called Hydaelyn or Eorzea. Side note a checked and “Eorzea” is officially the term for the westernmost continent, Aldenard, if and only if you are also counting in the nearby islands. But yeah things are going bad. Especially over in Thavnair, AKA India, where the sky is stock on apocalyptic red with constant meteor showers, and seemingly at random people are turning into rad palette swaps of the freakiest looking monsters we already had models lying around for, which we’re arbitrarily calling blasphemies. There’s reports of this happening in other places too, and a lot of people seem to turn into these things just from the pure terror of seeing them. Y’shtola’s weird vision deal also reveals that rather than similar stuff where someone’s soul/aether gets tainted with some element or other, here it’s just literally rotting and crumbling away to nothing so when these monsters die and leave a sickly black splash on the floor, that’s it, do not go to afterlife, do not pass go, you are done. Sucks for them. Especially since unlike the whole becoming a sin eater deal we are so painfully cribbing from with this, it seems totally arbitrary who it happens to and why.

Anyway they kinda dance around this and kind of offer up extreme fear or hate as alternate causes but by the end of the expansion it’s abundantly clear that you turn into a monster from suicidal ideation... which makes a lot of the panicking crowds popping in the ensuing panic scenes feel really clumsy, writing wise. Also there’s this whole bit where a guy’s worried about his wife and new born baby in the chaos, gets chased by a monster and injured, turns into one himself, tries to kill his wife, she panics and jumps off a high ledge with her baby and dies on impact with the water, forcing you to dive in after to rescue this now orphan baby and hand them off to someone. Here’s the thing though, this doesn’t happen in some instanced thing. This is just your standard, on the overworld, here’s someone giving you your current active quest, here’s where you go to do the next step chain. So you could totally like, wander off with this baby at the bottom of the well, go do sidequests, maybe some that mention “days later” in them, before rescuing this baby. Or do the rescue, but not the hand-off, and just have this inventory baby for a good long while It’s paced excitingly enough this only stuck me after, but it amuses me that it’s technically possible.

This is where the fake Satrap dies, and eventually where we set up our fresh set of Role quests. Each of the five basic combat class types has a lead about a big blasphemy in a different part of the world to look into... and none of these really go anywhere interesting. Healer is probably the most interesting, since it involves checking in on Fordola who is having a very hard time keeping it together and not turning into one of these. The rest are just kinda whatever. Gosetsu shows up again briefly to call out a charlatan medium in the ranged attacker one. Offensive magic has the one that hurts my suspension of disbelief because you deal with the ONE blasphemy in Ishgard and like... it’s Ishgard. The whole place should be a crater right away. As is though yeah there’s like... five people suicidal enough in the rest of the world combined to become blasphemies, and then like half the population of Thavnair. Hell a little later you go back to Garlemald and have to deal with a bunch more of this, but it’s because Thavnairian refugees are coming through on the way to somewhere less terrifying as the red sky spreads to the area and a bunch of them lose it at the thought of nowhere being safe. These people are just kind of this game’s punching bag. My best guess between that and the way there’s no real connection on the map, which is also a bit less filled with interesting details than most, is a lot more was planned for the region but there were cuts and/or delays and the focus of all this ended up there just to flesh things out, but still.

Oh yeah and while dealing with the attack in the Imperial ruins, Zenos shows up randomly to take a big blasphemy down with his cool new scythe... and complain about how bored he is and ask if you can pretty please fight him to the death again soon as soon as you stop getting distracted by this whole thing. He was also pretty polite about this on the moon, but Alisaie wasn’t there to call him out. Another really fun scene here.

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I love how he gets called out for being a weird hedonistic kinkster here, and I love how he responds to Jullus the one Imperial soldier who grew a clue before successfully getting himself killed, barely, with this “wait would you seriously be OK with me destroying the whole country here if I was doing it for some kind of good reason? That is seriously messed up dude, get help.” And then that eye roll at the end.

So turns out the big secret of the Nerd Council is they found the actual embodied true form of Hydaelyn in a cave and she broke down all the details on Zodiark being a load-bearing boss someone would probably eventually kill, and they should really coordinate with these moon rabbits on a plan to evacuate the whole world just in case. And like, OK, but A- they’re really terrible at this. Didn’t even communicate the physical needs of people or population estimates. B- this is really the sort of thing where being less coy and explaining things to the protagonist in particular would maybe help avoid the whole problem because who else do you even have to worry about accidentally killing a god in the heat of the moment? Maybe Estinien? Tell him too. Oh and C- the nihilistic weirdo wanting to end all life and largely doing so by covering the world in mind-control towers kinda seems like a barrier to getting everyone out safely. Same with the deadly biochemical weapons from earlier. Point is the twins’ dad really sucks. Their mom is cool though. She helps Alphinaud switch classes to Sage, the healer that gets a set of flying laser cannons. Also it eventually turns out she’s quietly been THE source of funding for the Scions forever through anonymous donations. Who’s gonna tell these kids their parents are probably getting a divorce?

Getting things back on track, your only real lead is the cryptic hint about the flower. It doesn’t go much of anywhere, except a name for it that dates back to Ascian times. So with all the rest very dead, you go check in with Elidibus who’s not technically dead, just, you know, soul trapped in the crystal tower. Which is also essentially a giant database of Allagan science notes. Turns out while he’s been in there he’s mellowed out a lot and is willing to rework things and send your soul back in time to get info from before anything of note on the whole millennia long timeline happened. Specifically to a research facility called Elpis where people used to send the dangerous monster designs they came up with because they’re bored weirdos with world shaping powers to test and make sure they’re viable and would fit in an ecologic niche somewhere. Problem is you come through all ghostly and also I wasn’t kidding about the 30 foot giants. Fortunately someone eventually notices the weird tiny ghost and convinces his boyfriend to shove some aether into you so you’re solid and properly sized.

If it isn’t our old friend from a few thousand years from now Emet-Selch and his boyfriend we’re at least on good terms with some kinda recreated imaginary semi-ghost version of Hythlodaeus. They looked real dorky back forever ago. Anyway they assume from the matching color of your soul that you’re the familiar of their friend Azem, which, sure, technically distant future reincarnation of slightly more than 50% of said but close enough. So they let you hang out on this business trip. They’re here to offer the position of Fandaniel to this guy here whose real name is Hermes since the previous one just retired, and he’s all mopey about it because when people retire they kill themselves so they can get reincarnated. Except for the previous Azem, she just figured she’d keep hanging out. It’s totally a voluntary thing, not an enforced Logan’s Run sort of thing but there’s still a weird social stigma if you don’t do it so like, hey, Emet-Selch, I feel like you were overselling this place. Everyone’s a workaholic nerd who off themselves when they’re out of ideas for new research grants, and things are looking decidedly more ancient Greece and less extra art deco New York than previously suggested.

Turns out this Hermes kid is really depressed and fixated on death in general. Which is kinda weird when everyone is officially immortal. He’s particularly bummed about how it’s literally his job to snap his fingers and reduce terrible terrible monsters that would like end all life if allowed to exist in the world to their component elements, and fair enough. Maybe work on getting people to stop making horrible ravenous death beasts in the first place though? Anyway he’s proud of himself for making this weird little psychic bird girl who much like these mood ring flowers is also super empathic and gets all sad and mopey with him whenever he gets sad and mopey, which is a lot. In fact, he made a whole bunch. They’re psychically networked, and all called Meteion. Like meteor. Because he’s sending them all out to explore space and try to find some kind of meaning of life thing out. Also they’re based on this Dynamis stuff. Apparently 60% of the mass of the universe is made up of Dynamis. It’s just kinda weaker than Aether so nobody cares, but he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to untap its potential and activate it all like, as he says, a river breaking free of a dam. You can totally see where all of this is going here, right? It’s exactly as blunt as I’m making it sound.

Anyway you hang out a while dealing with this depressed kid and his weird bird girl, and eventually she gets an update that hey, the rest of her sisters have finished that task Hermes sent them out on forever ago after making them apparently some time ago and never formally submitting the design or the plan he had for him to any of his superiors. Specifically the plan was to take his super empathic socially needy bird girls, have them all fly through the supernaturally soul crushing void of space, find whatever aliens might exist and ask them what to him is the ultimate question, apparently some variation on “if everybody just dies in the end what’s even the point of going on living!?” and like... hey, I get it. Someone explained heat death to me when I was like 12. I had a similar breakdown about it. But as Emet-Selch starts tearing into him about as the report comes in, it is really just a terrible idea for all sorts of reasons to try and establish first contact with alien races by having a bunch of depressed bird girls show up and start trauma dumping on them out of the blue.

The results are pretty grim too. They just start going through planet by planet with these little stories about finding formerly inhabited planets where literally everyone is dead, and researching all the various ways this happened. These people had a apocalyptic war. These people got all spiritually enlightened, ended all suffering, and got too bored to keep going. These people had a godlike ruler who got in a bad mood and killed everyone, and hey, talking to us made him suicidal and he killed himself on the spot. This also happened when we contacted this planet where two factions were in this tense cold war setup... Everyone including Meteion really wants to cut the feed on this depressing stuff but Hermes insists on hearing the whole thing and goes off with her to do so.

In the middle of all this though, that aforementioned retired Azem shows up. Her name’s Venat. She’s more on to your weird deal than these others, mostly because she notices you have magic wards on you that seem to have been put there by her, plus she’s visibly that human form of Hydaelyn you got a quick vision of, so, yeah. Pre-deity Hydaelyn here. And she’s nice enough. Eventually the others kinda work out that you two have some weird secret thing going and you end up explaining the deal to the others and Emet-Selch basically responds with, “hey, screw you? Assuming you’re not just making all this up, you’re telling me I just become an absolute melodramatic flouncing asshole in the future, and I refuse to believe that. Like especially the part about me recreating the whole city and everyone in it to mope in? There is no way I would ever become such an over the top drama queen” and like, he keeps going for a WHILE with this. It’s great.

So you all go to confront him about the whole thing, and he arranges the showdown to be at this uh... big computer clock thing on hand that can do time warp things and also erase people’s memories and give them new ones. Seems like a bad thing to have around! Very easily abused! He totally supports his depressed bird daughters in the conclusion they draw that all life in the universe should be eliminated so there’s nobody left to be sad and die, so he’s going to wipe everyone’s memories and just play dumb about the pending bird-girl driven psychic suicidal apocalypse. Your past pals play some head games and Emet-Selch in particular pulls a big switcheroo so you and Venat get teleported out at the last minute. She goes on to become Hydaelin eventually and avoids technically having a villain turn by way of doing the whole Shiva style transformation, there’s precedent, but let’s be real she still kinda sucks and turned the worst Scion into a hand puppet for a bit in there. Anyway, now you know why the world’s ending. A depressed bird girl out in space somewhere. Oh and it’s not like the Fandaniel you know and hate has the memories of this Hermes loser, just his soul, the memories of the main reason Allagan was awful, and the body of the genocidal viceroy’s somehow even worse villain. Just a turducken of guys who really suck.

Back in the present you go find Hydaelyn in the magical god flesh to compare notes on your big stable time loop here, and she’s polite enough to challenge you to a fight to make sure you’re prepared to face some horribly depressed bird girl. And really goes all out so you “tragically” have to kill her. And definitely don’t feel super smug and relieved that in the end you really did get to go and kill literally every god anyone ever summoned. That you know of anyway.

You talk all the nerds in Nerd Town into letting you borrow their secret evacuation spaceship if you can find nerds able to increase the engines’ efficiency because as is, even the moon evacuation plan would take too long. That bits easy because you know a ton of nerds and a ton of people willing to drag over chunks of Dalamud, the whole Bahamut prison moon which are all over the place and make good scrap for this. Then the only problem is loading in enough Aether as fuel to get to the far edge of the universe. If only there was a really good way to condense a whole massive pile of crystals into something nice and compact. Say the size of a boss fight. Oh right summoning gods! The lopporits, who totally ended up coming down with Urianger to get firsthand knowledge of day to day planet life to build better stuff for people and also just dig it, just so happen to know an alternate summon ritual that bypasses all the greedy syphoning of all the world’s aether and mind controlling everyone in the area. That’s... absurdly convenient. So you get a bunch of reformed priests to resummon every god up through Stormblood with the safety on, and just... load them into the fuel tank of this spaceship you kinda low key stole from some terrible nerds. Actually at the very last minute Cid shows up to “help” and honestly the work is all done literally all the guy does is add a coat of paint with his logo on it, and insist on naming the thing. Kind of a dick move, Cid. So he kinda steals it from them and you steal it from him.

So... I feel like I’m due to break text up with something and the end of the universe, AKA Ultima Thule, or as I like to call it, Space Hell, is super visually interesting but it photographs terribly so have this but honestly this dorky power ballad is NOT playing when you show up here. Nor are silly mounts until you’re done with the plot, like every area basically.

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Space hell is built out of the random chunks of various dead worlds Meteion found just kinda brought together into a depressing collage. Technically some of these still have inhabitants, kind of. One is the dragon homeworld, and as we know dragons don’t really die properly, so, they’re all dead, but still hanging out being super depressed about the intense pollution not letting them have kids who aren’t monster freaks. We’ve got people who became beings of pure thought and then got depressed about heat death, and then realized they need to have bodies again to kill themselves, we’ve got the race of horrible death robots who destroyed dragon planet, and honestly a hell of a lot of other planets. Backstory is they were really wimpy and paranoid about being killed by space horrors, so they built death robots and also went full cyborg and transfered their minds into death robot bodies and upgraded those further and built Omega and kinda got real carried away on the proactive defense and realized they kind of had killed like half the life in the universe and could totally take the other half in a fight even all at once. So then they had a big existential crisis because what were they doing before going to war again?

So again, this is after the credits roll and you come back here in the patches, but after you finish this whole existential threat to the universe thing you come back here with a now retired lopporit and they’re still all what do we even do now, so you just toss it out there that one of the other worldlets was this like coffee shop from a planet where the bird girls couldn’t even work out how everyone died it looks like they just got raptured or whatever, so why don’t the death robots just like, move in and open a nice little cafe. Make coffee and soup and stuff for all the other last survivors of civilizations. And they go for it and it’s probably my favorite of all the tribe quests.

But we’re not here to help death robots research soup recipes YET. We’re here to recreate the original first season Sailor Moon finale. Marching across a horrible field of total desolation where all of our friends make big heroic sacrifices one by one so we can continue. And honestly the framing is weird because basically it’s a chain of finding a nihilistic alien representative, hear why they think life’s not worth living, someone steps up with a counter argument, they sort of explode and form a bridge to the next area. It’s all about the emotional arguments because this is all made of Dynamis, so everything operates on pure vibes. These are vibe-ranium bridges if you will. Anyway what I initially thought was going on here is you land in like pure depression land and people keep vanishing because they talk themselves into better head spaces and are ejected. I feel like that’d make way more sense, but no, all your friends are in fact explaining reasons to go on living then promptly dying.

Eventually you run out of friends as you hit the cafe here, and can only advance by talking to the depressed bird girl herself about all your personal trauma and stuff and how you get past it, which creates a very long stairwell to the surface of the dead sun she’s keeping everyone’s souls in so they can’t reincarnate, and THAT’S when the power ballad in that earlier clip kicks in, as you walk up to have a boss fight. And you know, it’s a pretty good JRPG final boss fight. Big weird woman, lots of wings jutting out all over, really over the top throwing planets at you attacks. The classic stuff. And then halfway through the fight freaking Zenos just literally comes crashing through the 4th wall and goes “hey, this who you’re fighting? She doesn’t actually seem tough, you want to hurry it up? I stopped by the bar you scions hang out at and someone said you were here, so I turned myself into a dragon again so we can finally have that proper rematch as soon as you’re done here. Do you need help or anything to finish up faster?”

Tumblr’s not letting me add any more movies but NO REALLY THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENS it’s hilarious. And here’s the comic version.

I have a line I really want to go out on here, so, again, here’s my Patreon. I hope I’ve entertained and educated you with all this over the course of the month. And here’s what I have to say on what post-game currently exists for this.

The ghost of Emet-Selch and his boyfriend show up for a last minute sappy pep talk, and to remind you that while it might seem like we’ve literally wrapped up every single loose end, there’s some islands you’ve never been to. A whole southern continent to explore. The rest of those dimensional shards. You never got around to fighting The Twelve. So yeah title cards and NPCs and E-S narrating this expansion have been saying the whole time this is the end of the story, but we’re not DONE done. So you beat this bird girl down, the dead sun hatches and blue sun yolk drips out restoring life to the universe, your friends all get to come back, you activate their emergency teleporters and chuck yours so you can go in for the finishing blow, and then well, here you are. Just alone at the edge of the universe in a big empty space behind a random diner. Zenos just finally got the message and came and did something good to help you out, and he’s really giving you those puppy dog eyes. So after a set of dialog choices for exactly how you want to begrudgingly admit you honestly do also enjoy a really over the top boss fight, you begrudgingly agree to have a big duel with him, you know, just this once, fully aware he gets off on these, and it honestly goes on for a really long time, including a bit where he flat out kills you and teaches you the boss encounter trick to just pulling out a second health bar through sheer force of will, and the whole thing ends with you just tossing your weapon aside and running up to give him a big ol’ punch right between those weird never quite focused eyes of his while he has this blissed out grin.

So the conclusion, for now, of the whole long epic story of Final Fantasy 14 which I have explained to you this month is, I swear before this whole mountain of dead gods, that you make sure none of your friends are looking and give Zenos a pity handjob in the back lot behind a diner in the middle of nowhere.

#mic drop #final fantasy 14 #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #there's flying and humanoid sharks in elpis and hythlodaeus says they're big now and I know I know plenty of furry artists don't tell me...

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scorbussimulator · 2 years

Text

scorbus picnic fic reblog for 9 dabloons

albus stared up at the sky, his eyes glowing with the sun's light sparkling against them. it was warm, though a cool breeze flew through the air and ran its gentle fingers through albus' hair. he smiled. it felt nice. it was early summer, which was the best part of summer, in their opinion. it meant warm temperatures, but not warm enough to be unbearable. it was nearly perfect. of course, something was missing.

albus exhaled, bouncing as he continued to walk on his path. they stared at the ground below them, kicking pebbles and dandelions with every step. it felt weird. he felt.. calm. it was a strange feeling. there was no imminent danger, no threat to his life. there was no more school, meaning no more bullies and magical shit he didn't want to deal with. all they had to deal with was scorpius.

they grinned.

there was something about scorpius. he was different. he wasn't like everyone else in hogwarts. he was truly, genuinely kind. albus felt weird around him.

his heart.. ached.

albus felt some sort of unbridled joy at the mere thought of scorpius. some sort of happiness they had never known before meeting him. a sense of belonging. it felt amazing.

he skipped once he approached the park entrance, squinting as they looked around for a familiar blond boy. his search quickly ended upon spotting scorpius. he was knelt down on the ground, laying out stuff for the picnic which albus couldn't quite identify from how far away he was. their eyes brightened, and they waved ecstatically. scorpius noticed almost immediately, shooting up and waving, bouncing up and down as he did so. albus ran to him, a wide smile on their face.

"scorpius!" they exclaimed, arms wide open as they tackled scorpius into a hug. scorpius yelped with surprise, laughing as the two fell to the ground and rolled over in the embrace.

"albus!" scorpius giggled, pushing the brunet off of him. he brushed his clothes off, standing up with a pink tint forming on his cheeks. albus stood as well, smiling as he looked up at scorpius. scorpius made eye contact briefly, looking away.

"hello, albus," scorpius' voice was slightly higher pitched than usual as he tried to hide his excitement. he stood awkwardly, his legs crossed as he rocked back and forth. albus couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him. they'd known each other for so long, but they still couldn't handle themselves around each other.

"hi, scorpius," they responded, their smile infiltrating their speech. "how long have you been waiting?"

"oh, not long at all, don't worry!" scorpius smiled, turning to the picnic blanket he'd set up. it was pale blue with a plaid pattern, and was rather soft to the touch. there were also plates, forks, and blue napkins laid out neatly. "only a few minutes."

"you got a lot done in 'a few minutes'," albus remarked, to which scorpius beamed with pride.

"d'you like it?" scorpius held his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels.

"of course, it looks awesome!" albus added, sitting down on one side of the blanket. scorpius sat on the opposite side, crossing his legs.

"oh," albus suddenly spoke, setting down a bag and unzipping it. "i brought some stuff!" out from the bag, he pulled a carton of strawberries out, along with a few mini sandwiches. they also pulled out a couple of soda cans, and a ton of candy. scorpius' eyes widened, and a small squeal of excitement escaped his mouth.

"albus," he spoke breathily. "you got SKITTLES?"

"of course, i know it's your favorite muggle candy," albus smiled, looking up. "you better be thankful for this, my mum would not be happy if she knew i bought all of this crap." they joked.

"i am more thankful than words can say," scorpius expressed, immediately grabbing a bag of skittles. about to tear it open, he paused, his eyes widening slightly. his face turned pink as he looked up at albus.

"i, um, brought you something!" he said, his face as full of surprise as albus'. it was as if he didn't even know he'd gotten it. from a beige tote bag, he pulled out a bouquet of flowers. the flowers were a beautiful arrangement of purples and blues, the colors melting together harmoniously. scorpius gripped the stems tightly, extending his arm as much as he could as he held out the flowers in front of albus. he looked away, appearing afraid to see albus' reaction.

albus' mouth fell open with shock and glee. "scorpius..!" they exclaimed, smiling as they took the flowers. he turned the bouquet in his hands, admiring each individual flower. "this is so sweet! what's gotten into you?"

"nothing," scorpius mumbled, looking back at albus hesitantly. "do.. you like them?"

"of course, they're beautiful," albus beamed. "thank you scorpius, i love them!"

"whatever," scorpius perked up, grabbing the tote bag again. he pulled out some more food, including a carton of blackberries, a small cake, and some bags of chips. albus chuckled slightly, noticing his embarrassment. scorpius was never any good at showing affection, and albus knew this. it was admirable, to say the least, to see how hard he was trying to break this habit, despite how much of a struggle it was for him. it was nice to see his growth.

"stop looking at me like that," scorpius spoke, snapping albus out of their thoughts.

"sorry," albus laughed. "i like looking at you."

scorpius blushed profusely. "can we just eat??" he asked, his voice cracking. albus laughed.

"yeah, yeah."

they served themselves portions of food, staring down at their plates and realizing how much food they had actually brought.

"scorpius, i don't think we're going to be able to eat all of this," albus remarked.

"we'll eat it, or we'll get sick trying!" scorpius proudly stated, getting a laugh out of albus. it was probably true.

albus grabbed the two cans of soda, holding them out in front of scorpius. not to their surprise, scorpius grabbed the can of sprite, smiling gratefully. this left albus with the can of fanta, which he was also happy about.

“so,” scorpius’ voice was muffled as he chewed, swallowing the strawberry he'd eaten before continuing to speak. “how's your dad?”

“not as annoying as usual,” albus smiled, taking a bite of his sandwich. “he's been a bit clingy, though.”

“he's probably scared of you running away again,” scorpius commented. albus found this funny, despite scorpius’ genuine tone. “or scared of you disappearing in an alternate timeline.”

“eh, he’ll get over it,” albus beamed, continuing to eat. the two talked about nothing important, happy to be in the presence of each other. it had been a while since the last time they'd been able to just talk one one one. it was nice to just be alone for once. albus loved being with scorpius. they felt safe around him. he knew scorpius wouldn't judge him. they could be themself around him, and he wouldn't have to be afraid of being judged or made fun of for things that made him different. scorpius understood what it was like to be different. their experiences weren't the same, yet, they were so similar. they knew what being an outcast was like, so they never really felt so different and alone. it gave albus a sense of security in being insecure.

“how has therapy been?” albus asked, setting down his fork. they had finished most of it at that point, and was starting to feel full.

“oh, it's been alright,” scorpius picked at his food with his fork, unable to finish it all. “kind of awkward. i think my therapist hates me.”

“why's that?” albus laughed.

“sometimes i just sit there quietly while she desperately tries to get answers out of me,” scorpius spoke. “it's weird telling my whole life story to some person i met less than a month ago. it's a bit overwhelming.”

“i'm sure it'll be fine,” albus responded. “you'll open up eventually.”

“i sure hope so!” scorpius laughed absentmindedly, staring down at his plate of food. albus paused, watching him.

“it's okay, you know,” albus began. “if it's hard for you to open up. it's good that you're trying. that's what's important.”

“yeah,” scorpius mumbled, setting his fork down on his plate. “i guess you're right.” his head perked up and he cleared his throat. “anyways, what are your plans for the summer?”

albus furrowed their eyebrows, looking into scorpius’ gray eyes. uncomfortable by the interaction, scorpius looked away. scorpius tended to switch the topic quite often if the conversation was leading towards something he wasn't interested in, and albus didn't want to push any farther.

“not sure,” said albus. “hopefully hanging out with you.”

scorpius lit up, a smile blooming on his face. “i hope so too!”

“i’m sure my dad won't mind,” albus continued, smirking. “if i don't tell him.”

day faded away, and the sunset brought forth an orange hue which warmly lit up the sky and echoed off the blades of grass. the two of them laid themselves down on the blanket, faced up at the stars which slowly became more and more visible.

albus exhaled, turning to face scorpius. he was looking at the sky, his eyes moving and tracing the patterns of the stars. albus smiled. he seemed so at peace. it was nice to see scorpius like that. it was nice to see him.. happy. it felt like he hadn't been for quite some time.

albus watched scorpius closely, their eyes outlining each bit of his complexion and appearance which he loved. it was all so perfect.

“albus?” scorpius turned his head, noticing that albus had been staring.

“..yeah?” albus asked quietly.

“you're staring at me again like a weirdo.”

“i know.”

scorpius frowned, his eyebrows furrowed. “what-”

“you're really beautiful, scorpius,” albus spoke again.

scorpius’ face turned bright red, and he laughed, tugging on his sleeves. “what is wrong with you?”

“nothing!” albus laughed as well. “i just think you're nice to look at.”

“well, you're nice to look at too, albus,” scorpius replied hesitantly, turning away from albus and looking back at the stars.

“really?”

“no.” scorpius giggled, as if he was proud of himself for that.

albus couldn't help but laugh as well.

they turned to look back at the stars, watching as they twinkled and faded in and out. it had gotten significantly darker at this point, and the only light available was that of the moon and the stars. scorpius glanced over at them, and they looked at him as well. scorpius sat up. albus did the same.

“um, albus?” scorpius asked hesitantly.

“yeah?”

“i have to say something weird and you can't make fun of me.”

“i can't promise anything.”

“wh- albus!”

“okay, okay,” albus laughed. “i won't.”

“alright,” scorpius exhaled shakily, staring up at the sky again. “you said it's good for me to try to open up, so i'm going to.”

he paused. his eyes shut.

“i really- i love you, albus, and i'm scared. i didn't realize how happy i am when i'm alone with you. but i'm scared. and i know it's stupid and it's embarrassing to say this but i love you and you're my favorite person ever and i don't know what i'd do without you. every day is scary because i don't know if somethings going to happen to you and then i won't be able to see you again and then i'll be alone. and i don't want to be alone. i want to be with you but- but the world sucks and everything is scary. cus- cus what if something happens again and you get hurt again? like- like with the time turner. or when we got handcuffed and tortured?? remember that? i don't want you-”

his voice cracked, becoming quieter.

“i don't want you getting hurt.”

albus’ face softened. they looked at scorpius, studying him. he was stiff, and his lips were thinned. it looked as if he was trying not to cry. he hugged himself tightly, adjusting his arm position every so often. albus couldn't respond, they didn't know how.

“i'm sorry, i know it's stupid,” scorpius laughed sadly. “anyways-”

“no, it's not,” albus suddenly spoke up. “i'm scared to lose you too, scorpius. i love you. so much it hurts. but- everything in life hurts. i'm gonna get hurt no matter what. but we’ll be there for each other, won't we?”

scorpius nodded quickly.

“you won't be alone,” albus continued. “i promise.”

scorpius sniffed, looking at albus. their eyes met. albus reached their hand forward, wiping the tears from scorpius’ cheeks.

“i won't leave you. ever.” albus said.

“you're gay.” scorpius smiled, breaking into laughter.

albus rolled his eyes, laughing as well. he moved slightly closer to scorpius, their noses nearly touching. they could feel each other’s gentle breaths as they looked into each other’s eyes.

scorpius leaned closer.

their lips met.

albus felt their heart race as their eyes shut. his head buzzed. it felt like the world around him had disappeared, and it was just the two of them.

scorpius was the first to pull away, his face red and breath heavy. he looked into albus’ eyes for a quick second before looking away.

“wow,” scorpius exhaled. albus started laughing, and scorpius did too.

“we are absolute fucking losers,” albus sighed, smiling brightly.

“i like being a loser with you,” scorpius glanced back up at albus.

albus leaned in this time.

the two of them instantly melted into the warmth of one another, their lips intertwining more passionately than before. albus’ hands moved up the back of scorpius’ head, their fingers intertwining with blond locks of hair. scorpius latched onto albus’ waist, pulling him closer as they kissed.

the moment was broken as albus pulled apart, nearly gasping for air. he moved his hands away, resting them awkwardly in his lap. they watched scorpius, who was catching his breath as well. the blond giggled, tugging on the bottom of his sweater.

“wizzo!” scorpius exclaimed, and albus burst into laughter, shoving him playfully.

“what is wrong with you??” albus joked, and scorpius laughed as well, his face red.

albus grabbed scorpius’ hand. scorpius held albus’ hand back.

“i love you, scorpius,” albus said quietly, a gentle smile on their face. “a lot.”

“i love you too, albus,” scorpius smiled, his eyes soft as he looked at albus.

“ew,” albus looked away, making a vomit noise.

“yeah, that was weird,” scorpius shivered. the two laughed.

albus rested their head on scorpius’ shoulder, sighing quietly as the two of them watched the stars dance across the sky. and everything was alright.

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