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rjhpandapaws · 6 months

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Heroes that Live are Seldom Remembered

His first memory of Revali comes when the phantom of a king hands him a well worn paraglider. As he holds it and looks it over the scene around him changed. It's in a colder place and the hands holding out the paraglider go from fingered to feathered. Revali's expression is one of fold smugness. "You told me you wanted to know what it really feels like to fly. While no such feat is possible for a mere Hylian, gliding is a close second, and something I'm sure even you can handle." His words are harsh, as they always tend to be, but the kindness beneath them isn't lost on Link, it rarely is. He finds himself smiling as the scene fades around him. He is careful as he tucks the glider away. Faint though it may be a century later, Link can still feel the care Revali put into crafting this for him, and he has no intentions of letting it fall into disrepair.

He remembers more of Revali as he travels through Hyrule, and each memory he finds is more painful than the last. Early on in his journey it was a simple thing to do small feats of mental gymnastics and continue to believe they had been nothing more than close friends. But with each careful brush of ghostly feathers his denial crumbled away and was replaced with anger. Toward himself, toward the goddess, toward Ganon, and toward the blights that he had recently learned of. To everything that took away his future. They had plans, they had a future. They were going to live just outside of Rito Village so that Link could raise his horses and Revali could have the space that he so desperately craved. They would travel when the mood struck them, stay away for as long as they felt inclined. Link would retire from the nights once his service to the princess was up and they would live peacefully as former Champions going wherever the call of adventure lead them. They were going to grow old together. Until Revali grew too stiff to fly and Link had no hair left for feathers to be braided into. Instead Revali had died cold and alone thousands of miles away from Link, and Link had died in a lonely field in the arms of a princess who finally had the power to change destiny. Then he had woken up with nothing to his name except the slate and the feathers woven into his hair with the careful hand of someone who had known what they meant to him. He wore those same feathers around his neck now, tucked safely between his tunic and his chest to keep them from being destroyed.

Finally reaching Rito Village comes with another kind of pain that he wasn't ready for. The kind of pain that comes from the small intimate memories that come with spending so much of his time in one place. No matter where he looked there was always something to be remembered, there was no place safe from Revali's ghost. He was relatively sure the villagers thought him crazy when he stood on Revali's landing and let out a blood curdling scream of his own to rival that of Medoh's. Not to mention when he collapsed in tears immediately after, because not even screaming his loss and pain could make it go away. Taking back Medoh was bittersweet. Getting to hear Revali's voice outside of a memory for the first time since waking up, almost brought him to his knees again. He stayed standing because it was the only way to get his Revali back. What fuels his strength in the fight against Windblight is nothing more than anger. Every moment of pain he'd felt for his loss so far on his journey was poured into each blow against it. When it ended he felt blissfully numb up until he saw Ravali's ghost, then it was grief and pain all over again. The gift of his gale, something they had ridden so many times together was the piece that broke him in the end. What drove him to finally say something in response to Revali instead of just basking in his presence.

"This isn't fair..... I - I ..... Your gale should be yours, it shouldn't be a parting gift to me. Nor Mipha's healing, Daruk's protection, and whatever it is Urbosa will gift me in return for her freedom. None of this should have happened." His voice is ragged both from the weight of his emotions, and lack of use, "We had plans Revali. We had so many things we were going to do, sights to see.... When this ended there was so much we were going to do. And now it's just gone." The look he gets from Revali is a familiar one of exasperated fondness, and Link knows he is going to hate what Revali says next. "We both knew those plans were little more than fantasy Link. Something to make us feel like this fight was worth it. A reason to fight that might be bigger than our destiny to die." He sighs softly, "But we knew deep down it wouldn't happen. The heroes that live are seldom remembered. We are Champions, Legends in a sense, there was no life after for us, and I am sorry that after waking up you were lead to believe there was." Revali reaches for Link and neither one of them flinches when he doesn't make contact, "Just know that when this is over, I will be waiting for you like i always said I would."

The fight with Ganon is long and exhausting, and even before he lands the final blow, Link knows he won't be surviving it. He's too injured and has lost too much blood, but more than that, he doesn't want to. There is nothing left in this Hyrule for him. As Ganon dissolves into nothing, the weapon that had pierced through Link's chest does the same. He falls to the grass wet with blood, malice, and goddesses knows what else. Zelda's cries for him to "just hold on" fade into emptiness. He is content to bleed out in a field for the second time in his life.

When he becomes aware again Revali is looking down at him with a gentle smile, "You know she isn't going to forgive you for giving up for quite a while." It's said with almost a laugh, "But I'm sure she will come to understand how much you were missed." "I just wanted to be with you again." He presses his forehead to Revali's beak like old times and relishes in the contact, "I didn't want to keep you waiting another one hundred years."

Medoh is perched above Rito Village still glowing a serene blue. At night, it is said that if someone looked closely there are two spirits standing atop it's head looking out over Hyrule, one is a Rito and one is a Hylian. They're names have long been lost to time, but it is said that at one time they woke from the dead to save the world.

#revalink #revali #link #breath of the wild #breath of the wild fic #legend of zelda #loz #tloz #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #botw #angst #Character death tw

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 months

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Drink With Me (Part 1)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Vampire Apocalypse AU Summary: In the middle of a vampire apocalypse, no one is safe. But when an unexpected storm interrupts your separate scavenger missions, there is nothing he can do but wait and hope you make it back to his arms safe and sound. Word Count: 3631 TW: Blood, Vampires, Vampire Attack, Character Death, Helplessness, Biting, Clawing, Language Notes: Written for day 4 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Failure" from Les Miserables. And big thanks to @sunlightmurdock for reading this over for me! 💗

Series Masterlist

The deep rumble of thunder echoes like an alarm for those inside the store. Instantly, all three scavengers stuff whatever supplies they are holding into their various bags and bolt for the door.

Jake reaches it first and unwraps the metal chain twisted around the handle, dropping it with a clattering thud just as Phoenix and Rooster arrive. Throwing the door open with a bang, the sight that greets them makes their blood run cold and Jake nearly drops the overflowing paper bag in his arms.

“Fuck…”

Though they have only been inside for twenty minutes or so, the world outside has transformed. Gone are the splashes of blue sky peering out from between billowing pale gray clouds, and the shimmers of warm, sunshine beams through the trees. Instead, the sky has been invaded by black, menacing clouds that stretch as far as the eye can see, casting an infinite shadow across the parking lot filled with abandoned cars and shopping carts as another roll of thunder signals the imminent downpour.

It means they will be on their way.

“Go!” Rooster urges, dropping one of the value-sized packages of toilet paper he has stuffed under his arm so he is free to dig through his pocket. “I’ve got the door.”

Phoenix doesn’t need to be told twice and she darts out into the growing storm. Jake, on the other hand, hesitates for just a second before shifting the supplies in his already overloaded arms and grabbing the package of toilet paper. Rooster meets his eye just as he pulls out a shiny gold key, and Jake yells, “Don’t wait around this time. Move your ass!” and then takes off after Phoenix.

He only makes it to the edge of the parking lot before the first drops of rain begin to hit him. Big, fat, plops of water burst across his skin, becoming more frequent by the second. As he reaches the end of the street, Jake finds himself and his belongings soaked through, the water causing his already heavy bags to sag with the added weight. He’s only a few blocks from the church but with the dense clouds blocking all afternoon light from getting through, the potential danger makes that distance seem impossible.

Keeping his head on a constant swivel, he runs as quickly as his legs will allow with his extra cargo. The additional weight isn’t the only problem. With the bulky layers of backpacks, armful of paper bags, and the slippery packaging of the toilet paper wedged under his arm, he has to keep adjusting everything as he runs so he doesn’t drop anything. It’s a delicate balance of step–shift–adjust strap–wipe rain from his eyes–step–look around–shrug backpack up arm–step, but Jake eventually finds the perfect rhythm. After all, this isn’t his first rodeo.

The shadows taunt and tease him as he rushes by. He can’t be sure if something is hiding within them or if it’s just his paranoid eyes projecting his deepest fears. Though honestly, it doesn’t matter. Even if something is lurking in the darkness, his only hope is the safety of the church so he ignores everything around him and keeps running as another booming clap of thunder fills the air.

In about six minutes that feel like an eternity, Jake begins to make out the dim lanterns shining through the stained glass windows up ahead through the pouring rain. It almost seems too good to be true that nothing has leaped out at him in the darkness, and he just hopes that doesn’t mean they are preoccupied with someone else.

Slipping slightly in a puddle in the middle of the road, he rushes through the iron fence surrounding the church and scampers up the front steps. Using the heel of his boot, he kicks the door twice and it opens almost immediately. Practically falling through the door, Jake mutters a small thanks to Payback who slaps one of his backpacks as he passes. A few other people are moving around the small vestibule but he doesn’t see the one he is looking for.

Fanboy comes over to help him unstrap the bags hanging off of him and it is a relief once all the extra weight has been removed. Rolling his shoulders as water drips off of him onto the carpet below, Jake looks around in the dim lamplight and notices Bob handing Phoenix a towel as she strips off her water-logged jacket. She accepts it and as she begins drying off, she catches Jake’s eye. The two nod, before her eyes drift down to the toilet paper Jake had dropped at his feet.

“Rooster?”

Jake shrugs. “He had to lock up but he should be right behind me.” The door to the church burst open. “Speak of the devil…”

Rooster hurries into the dim space, shaking his head like a dog and sending water spraying in all directions. When he sees Jake and Phoenix staring at him, he asks, “All good?”

“I’m always good,” Jake smirks. He kicks the package of toilet paper so it skids across the floor to rest at Rooster’s feet. “And that’s on top of picking up your slack.”

Rooster’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I could have handled it on my own.” Pushing past Jake, he approaches Phoenix. “Any sign of trouble?”

She shakes her head. “We got lucky this time. We were sloppy. We should have noticed this storm moving in long before it got here. They could have snuck into the store and gotten us before we even knew they had come out of their holes. We need to do better or someone’s going to end up dead.”

He sighs as he wipes his hand over his face, knocking the water droplets clinging to his mustache to the floor. “I know, that’s on me. We shoulda had one of us guarding the door as a lookout but it was the middle of the day and decent weather I didn’t think…Next time we’ll do it by the book.” He takes one of the fresh towels Bob offers him. “Anyone else come back yet?”

“No, but the pharmacy’s farther away. They should be back soon.”

Jake is grateful Rooster only nods and doesn’t state the obvious. The pharmacy and gas station might be farther from the church than the supermarket, but only by a block or two. The other team must have heard the thunder too and even with the extra distance, there should be some sign of them by now.

He never should have let you convince him to let you go without him.

Over the last few days, an illness has been sweeping through the church. While most of the adults who got it seemed to be fighting it off relatively well so far, the children were not as lucky. None of them showed any signs of getting better, and last night, the first of them had succumbed to it. The only hope was to try and find something to treat them but that meant an extra supply run.

You had been pre-med before the creatures arrived last year and, while no expert, you had the most medical knowledge of anyone in the group. Having you be the one to go to the pharmacy was the obvious choice. And since Coyote had been spending the last few weeks in the garage next door trying to fix some of the equipment that might help them get power again, it was clear he should be the other runner so he could continue working while you searched. Which left Jake without a valid excuse for why he should go.

The group was also running low on food, toiletries, cleaning supplies, and pretty much everything else so they needed the extra hands at the supermarket and Jake was one of their best runners—the perfect combination of speed and strength. You had spent all morning trying to reassure him it would be okay and you’d be back together before he knew it, but it did little to lessen the dread that settled in his stomach as he watched you hurry in the opposite direction, casting one last glance back at him with a smile and a wink.

What if that was the last time he ever saw you?

The roar of thunder suddenly gets louder as the door to the church swings forward once again and Coyote stumbles in. He is soaking wet and panting heavily as he struggles to catch his breath. However, the only thing Jake notices in that moment, is that he is alone.

Coyote barely has time to remove his backpack before Jake grabs him by the front of his jacket and throws him against the wall. Terror and anger coursing through him, he snarls in his best friend’s face, “Where is she? Where the fuck is she!”

“She’s coming! Damn, man,” Coyote yells as he shoves Jake off of him. Jake stumbles back, and Rooster places his hand on his arm, not really holding him back but the warning is clear. Seeing the desperation on Jake’s face, Coyote softens as he straightens his jacket. “I tried, but you know her. She wasn’t gonna leave without that medicine.”

“Then you should have waited for her! You shouldn’t have left her alone!”

“You know she wouldn’t let me do that either.”

“....Fuck!”

Jake yanks his arm away from Rooster’s grasp and begins pacing anxiously back and forth. He knows Coyote is right. You would lay down your life for any person here, but you’d be damned if you let someone do the same for you. At the first sign of trouble, you would have insisted Coyote returned to the church, probably swearing you just needed one more thing even if you had only just begun searching. Jake would have thrown you over his shoulder and carried you out kicking and pleading to let you get what you were looking for, but he couldn’t expect his friend to do the same.

“She’s going to be okay, Hangman,” Rooster says, still eyeing him cautiously in case he needs to restrain Jake. “She knows how to handle herself.”

“Handle herself? There is no handling yourself against a horde of those things,” Jake spits at him as he continues to pace. “She could already be dead o-or turned by now and we would never know. She’d just be gone for good and we’d never…I’d never…Ahhh!”

As he screams, Jake whirls around and slams his fist into the wall before slumping into it, all his rage absorbed into the wood leaving nothing but his fear and hopelessness behind. The room has fallen silent around him but he can feel every eye on him. He shouldn’t have lost it, but he’s never felt this helpless. Even when the creatures first showed up, he knew there were ways to fight back, to stand up against them. But as long as you were separated from him, there is nothing he can do but sit here and wait.

After a moment, Jake feels a hand gently grasp his shoulder and squeeze it. “She’ll be okay,” Rooster says. “Why don’t you go wait outside and be a lookout for her? I’m sure she’ll appreciate seeing you made it back safely too when she gets here.”

Jake nods slowly before pushing himself off the wall and shuffling towards the door. As he passes Coyote, his friend tries to reach out, his mouth opening but Jake shoots him a look that makes him close it without a word. Jake doesn’t really blame Coyote for leaving without you, but he’s just not in a place to hear an apology or give one of his own. So he keeps going until he slips out of the church.

Outside, there is a slight overhang that protects him from the worst of the storm, but he can still feel rain misting his skin as it is blown by the rain. Another roll of thunder rumbles overhead, shaking the steps beneath his feet. The storm has only intensified since they first heard it back in the supermarket, and there is no sign of it letting up anytime soon. Which means more of a chance they have come out to hunt.

Squinting through the darkness for any sign of you, Jake chants to himself, Come on, baby, come on, baby. Where are you? You got this, just please come back to me.

Suddenly, a slight flash of movement off to his left catches his eye. Through the faint light and the rain, he can just make out a shape hurtling towards the church at top speed. When it gets closer, Jake sags against the door as he recognizes the white t-shirt with his flannel pulled over it. You are still several hundred yards away but you are closing fast despite the several backpacks strapped to you and the pouring rain pelting your body.

But then Jake’s blood runs cold as he notices five—no six!—shadows right on your heels. They had finally arrived.

No one ever used the term “vampires” even though everyone thought it. With the creatures’ fatal reaction to the sunlight, ravenous taste for blood, aversion to holy ground, and ability to transform humans into other creatures through their bites, it was hard to categorize them as anything else. Maybe everyone avoided the term because they had been so desensitized by the onslaught of movies and television shows with their lame depictions or cheesy interpretations of vampires that the word no longer captured the true horror of the creatures terrorizing their lives. But whatever the reason, they have always only been called “the creatures” since mysteriously appearing just over a year ago.

At times, they can look just like they did when they were still human. There have even been instances when they held conversations with their prey before attacking. However, once their attack begins, it is a completely different story. With their unnatural speed and the spine-chilling hisses and growls that they make as they chase their prey, it is clear that whatever humanity they once had has long been twisted into something monstrous. And if you were unfortunate enough to get a closer look—which Jake had on a few harrowing occasions—the differences became blatantly clear. Their eyes were nothing more than black gaping voids; they had a set of daggers for teeth, each as pointed and deadly as the last; and their fingernails were several inches long and sharpened into ferocious claws that could rip skin from bone. All of it added up to things of nightmares, creatures of the night whose only goal in life was to kill and devour the living around them.

And right now, they have their sights set on you.

Jake takes a step forward to the edge of the steps, clutching the railing until his knuckles turn white. Even if there is something he can do to stop the creatures, you are still too far away. Your only hope is to make it to the safety of the church before they can reach you but they are closing fast.

The creature closest to you pounces forward and Jake yells out a warning he knows you cannot hear above the storm. However, in one fluid motion, you whirl around and swing the backpack clutched in your hand directly into its head before completing your 360° turn and continuing running at full speed.

Jake whoops in relieved exhilaration.��Fuck yeah!”

At this distance, he can just make out the smug smile that spreads across your face, reveling in your own badassery. God, he can’t wait to wrap you in his arms and squeeze you so tight and never let go. There had been some very close calls in the past, but today might take the cake. However, if he has his way, you’ll never leave his sight again.

Jake can tell the exact moment you notice him—your head perks up slightly and the smugness in your smile shifts into relief. Even while in the middle of running for your life, you have still managed to worry about him. Jake gives you two thumbs up and urges you on, waiting for you to cross the last street before you are in the clear.

But then the unthinkable happens. As you are just about to reach the gate of the church, you trip.

Jake can’t be sure if the heavy downpour blinded you or if your sneaker slipped in one of the fresh puddles. All he could see is one moment, you are about to fling yourself into the safety of his arms, and the next, you are skidding across the concrete on your hands and knees before rolling to a stop against the curb.

The blood oozing from your fresh scrapes swirls within the puddles as you quickly try to push yourself to your feet, but it’s too late. As you begin to rise, one of the creatures hisses and leaps forward, landing on your back and tackling you to the ground. In a flash, two, three, four more have joined it, each digging their claws into your skin or baring their teeth as they go in for their deadly bite. You are pinned down under the weight of them, and though you continue to fight for freedom, the agony and terror filling your screams make it clear it’s a losing battle.

Although it seems as if everything since your fall has played out in slow motion, it has only taken seconds in which Jake has been frozen in horrified disbelief. But finally snapping to, Jake launches himself towards the mass of teeth and claws that had descended onto your defenseless form as he screams, “No….No!”

But before he can get more than two steps down the stairs, half a dozen hands wrap around him from behind and draw him back into the doorway of the church. Jake flails and fights with everything in him, but even he’s no match for the combined forces of Rooster, Coyote, and Payback holding him back as he watches more creatures swarming towards you.

“Get the fuck off of me! We need to help her! No! What the fuck are you doing?”

Jake throws his head back and feels it make contact with someone else’s face. With a grunt, one set of hands loosens their grip on him and Jake tries to use this one chance to slip away to your aid.

However before he can, an arm wraps across Jake’s chest, locking him into a tight bear hug. Drawing Jake’s struggling body into his, Rooster murmurs in his ear, “She’s gone, Hangman. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing else anyone can do for her now. It’s over.”

All Jake can do is watch helplessly as he witnesses the truth of Rooster’s words.

Although the creatures had ripped into you with their claws, so far all attempts to bite you have been blocked by one of the bags strapped to your back or hanging off your arms. However, the creature with its knee pressed between your shoulder blades seems to have discovered the trick. It leans over and, with a loud hiss, sinks its teeth into the meat of your shoulder just avoiding the backpack straps. You howl in pain as your back arches up, and the creature releases its hold for just a moment. Long enough for Jake to spot the dark, thick blood dripping from its mouth. Then with another snarl, it bites down again.

The metallic smell of so much blood seems to renew the other creatures’ determination to feed on you and they begin clawing at the backpacks, ripping them apart at the seams until they can toss the shreds aside and reach you. Medicine and supplies crash to the ground, either shattering on impact or getting smashed underfoot as the creatures continue to fight over your body. One-by-one more and more sets of teeth sink into your skin and with each one, another heartbreaking scream tears from your lips.

Jake has gone almost limp in his friends’ arms, unable to tear his eyes off the horror show before him. Blood, washed away by the falling rain, seeps into the puddles surrounding you, a red river running down the street. Yet even now, he can see you are continuing to fight, to try to free yourself from the creatures eating you alive.

But then Jake realizes something. You aren’t trying to get free. Or at least, you’re not trying to free all of you. As he watches, you manage to pull your arm from under one of the creatures and wrap your bloody fingers around the backpack you had been carrying in your hand as you fled. It was the only one that was still relatively in one piece.

Taking a few quick breaths, you flick your wrist and the backpack tumbles softly out of the way of the creatures and stops just inside the iron gate of the church. Seeing it successfully land within the sacred ground, all the fight goes out of you and you collapse weakly to the ground while more creatures swarm over you.

Jake had thought nothing else could be worse than listening to your wails of pain, and yet, hearing them grow weaker and less coherent as the venom floods your system and your blood is drained from your body is a whole other level of torture. Then, as yet another pair of fangs pierce your skin, your teary eyes slowly lift and meet Jake’s. The world seems to freeze for just a moment, and he watches your bloody lips softly form his name.

But before he can react, Rooster, Coyote, and Payback yank him inside the church just before Bob slams the door, and you are gone.

Part 2 coming soon!

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jewisheddiemunson · 1 year

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NIKKI SIXX BUT EDDIE MUNSON BUT SAD

#Eddie Munson #blood tw #character death tw #stranger things #mine #UVgroovy

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months

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I jsut had an idea for Slow Boiled Stone Egg au.

Basically, in the base jttw canon story, both Buddha and Guanyin are supposed to be present DURING the fight with Macaque. So you can bet that after a battle like that, Guanyin is going to insist on Wukong getting a checkup, like... he's pregnant for crying out loud and just had to kill his mate. While she is doing that, Gold Star basically comes down to get statements and discovers A) Wukong is a Stone Monkey, B) he pregnant, and C) he very much wants to keep this a secret. Now, Gold Star always liked Wukong. It's why he tried also hard to defend him when the Jade Emperor was all for killing him for his insolence from the get-go. Learning his favorite troublemaker had been a member of his favorite species of extinct primate celestial this time is a big shock to him, and he did so after discovering he had to kill his own mate, who without the magic to keep up a glamour, is now very obviously seen as another Stone Monkey. He's gonna know what that means for Wukong, being ghe msot knowledgeable about Stone Monkeys and their mating habits, and he'll feel a lot of sympathy for him.

I imagine he'll have a talk with the Pilgrims, just letting that they should take it easy on Wukong for a bit after the death of his mate, and offhandedly mentioning the fact Stone Monkeys mate for life. And kindly ask that they follow Wukong's request to keep these facts hidden and secret, and to respect that Wukong is in grieving and likely will not ever truly be able to find romantic love again.

Oh gosh, and Guanyin and Gold Star were likely unaware that Macaque didn't know until the fight was over. Buddha probably did but he has a lot on his cosmic plate rn.

The PIlgrims, the Gods, and even Guanyin herself wanted to step in and stop the fight; but Wukong refused. He demanded that it stay between him and his mate, that he can find a way to calm him down enough to tell him.

In the Jttw Stone Egged au: Wukong is successful.

However, in the Slow Boiled au: he tragically isn't.

Wukong is sobbing, wailing, screaming over the deceased monkey before him. His Pilgrim brothers are so disturbed by what they just seen that they can't even speak. Guanyin is stoney, trying to hide her own tears of sympathy as she tries to approach the monkey to determine his and his unborn's condition. Wukong refuses to move from his spot drapped over his unmoving mate.

Meanwhile, Gold Star stands nearby. A look of dismay, confirmation, and horror upon his face.

I hc that Gold Star has some huge empathy, not only for demons, but for any form of life - as the planet Venus is now scienfically believed to have once had a basis of life similar to what later developed on Earth's pre-Cambrian. The primordial god of Venus had to watch all life on his planet die off, whether due to supernatural or cosmic changes. When he became the Jade Emperor's right-hand man, Gold Star advocates for all life, now matter what - including a little chaos monkey he suspected was a reminder of the far past.

When the Monkey King and the Six Eared Macaque fought and the Macaque died; Gold Star basically witnessed what very well could be the last member of an extinct species kill their mate in self-defence. And upon realising that both monkeys were an extinct species of celestial primate? You might as well have crushed a dodo egg right infront of him.

Stone Monkeys mate for life.

Sun Wukong is an *immortal* Stone Monkey. One that's carrying a Stone egg (!!).

And he has just killed his mate in self-defence.

Gold Star bluntly states the above bullet points to the Pilgrims when asked why he himself is tearing up. All four companions weep with sympathy as the knowledge sets in, Tripitaka in particular blaming himself for banishing Wukong just before the Macaque tried ambushing them. Had the monk maybe have been more trusting of his student then maybe both monkeys could be alive right now.

At some point during the grieving, a mass of chains rise up from the Underworld and pull the six-eared monkey down into the depths, ignoring how the Monkey King screams and digs through the dirt to follow his mate.

The stench of death magic hangs in the air.

Wukong stare blankly at the dirt. His moonlight has been taken into the Underworld. Somewhere he himself is unwelcome.

In the next few years he attempts to bursts through the gates to retrieve his mate, only to recieve word that the Liu'er Mihou is not listed among the dead throughout all the levels of Hell. Wukong cries once more, now bittersweet, that his mate has passed through the Bridge of Naihe into the next life.

Wukong spends the next thousand years waiting.

#slow boiled stone egg au #stone egg talk #character death tw #canonical character death tw #sun wukong #shadowpeach #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #pregnancy tw #lmk gold star #lmk guanyin #jttw au #lmk au #lmk #lego monkie kid #jttw #journey the west #angst tw #death tw

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 7 months

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Nevermore

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 11. Fainting, 19. Left Behind, 23. Forced to Watch, 28. Oxygen Deprivation Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader Summary: When there is a malfunction during training, Rooster is forced to watch as his world comes crashing down. Word Count: 1153 TW: Character Death, Oxygen Deprivation, Passing Out, Panic Notes: Thank you to @topguncortez for looking this over for me! 💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Bradley groaned as he sunk down deeper into the rec room couch. He absolutely hated these training days. Most of the time he was stuck in this tiny room for hours just waiting for his turn to get into his plane and then he would maybe get an hour up in the sky—if he was lucky. And there was very little to pass the time in here besides one uneven foosball table, a handful of magazines from the mid-2000’s, and a radio connected to the planes currently in the air.

It wasn’t so bad depending on who he was waiting with. But since they had downsized the Dagger squad, he was currently alone with Hangman as his only company. While the two of them had cleared the air and moved past most of their past grievances, it was still awkward hanging out one-on-one like this so they usually just kept to themselves. If only Bradley had been able to switch places with Coyote today. Then he and Hangman could have kept each other occupied while Bradley could have spent this waiting time with you.

It had been bittersweet when Phoenix was promoted out of the Dagger Squad. She more than deserved it but everyone knew the squad just wouldn’t be the same without her. However, Bradley had been overjoyed when he learned you were selected as her replacement to fly with Bob.

He had first met you a few years ago when you were both stationed at the same base. It was instantly clear there was a connection between you and things had gotten pretty serious pretty quickly. However, when you found out you were being transferred a few months later, the two of you mutually agreed long distance wasn’t for you and you parted on great terms. But ever since you joined the Dagger Squad, it was as if no time had passed and you both had picked things up where you had left off.

Neither one of you wanted to put much pressure on the relationship by talking about the future, but Bradley already knew that now that he had you back in his life, he never wanted to let you go again. He just hoped you felt the same way.

Ten minutes later, Bradley had just begun to doze off, lulled to sleep by the constant chatter over the radio, when suddenly Bob’s tone shifted, his words sharp with an edge of concern and nervousness. “Hey, Raven, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Somethin’s wrong…”

Bradley bolted upright on the couch at the labored sound of your voice. Jumping to his feet, he tore across the room and snatched the radio receiver before anyone else could. It was highly frowned upon for those waiting in the rec room to use the radio, but Bradley didn’t give it a second thought as he called out to you, “Rae? Raven, what’s happening?”

“Roo...Oxygen’s not working…Ca-can’t breathe…

No. That can’t be right. The oxygen systems are always inspected before every flight to ensure something like this doesn’t happen. You had been given the all-clear this morning along with everyone else. Yet as he continued to listen to the radio, it was abundantly clear that you were struggling for every breath.

“Lt. Floyd.” Oh shit. Cyclone was monitoring training today. “Is your oxygen compromised?”

“N-no, sir. It’s just Raven’s.”

This was both good and bad news. On one hand, at least Bob wasn’t also being affected and he would be able to stay alert and focused on the situation. But on the other hand, if something happened to you, there was little he could do to help. He didn’t have any steering or altitude controls in the back seat and all emergency overrides were out of his reach.

Grabbing the radio, Bradley carried it over to the window so he could try and see what was happening. Luckily, there were a few clouds covering the worst of the sun’s glare and he could just make out the planes far off in the distance. Two were circling at a normal altitude, but the third seemed to be steadily climbing.

Cyclone must have noticed this too because his voice crackled out of the radio, “Lt., drop altitude to below 10,000 feet immediately and return to base…..Raven? Do you copy?”

“....can’t….breathe….”

“Why is she still going higher?” Hangman murmured as he approached the window to stand next to Bradley.

It seemed counterintuitive but Bradley thought he understood what was happening. Right now you wouldn’t be thinking logically about how to fix the problem, you’d just be straining to get air into your lungs. He could almost see you with your arched back, wide eyes, heaving chest….and fist clenched tightly around the stick as you unwittingly climbed higher and higher.

But then your plane seemed to level out for just a moment—before it began to plummet towards the ground.

Hangman inhaled sharply, “Oh my God…”

“Raven! Raven, wake up!” Bob’s voice was frantic as he cried out, “We’re going in! She’s unconscious and there’s no one on the stick!”

“No, no, no, no!” Bradley screamed, his fist slamming into the window over and over. This can’t be happening. This can’t be…

“Altitude dropping rapidly! Raven, please! Wake up! What do I do?”

“Lt. Floyd…eject.”

“What?” Bob sounded horrified at Cyclone’s command. “No. I can’t. I have to do something! I have to help her! Just tell me what to do!”

“There’s nothing you can do but save yourself. Now eject. That’s an order.”

“But–”

Hangman snatched the radio receiver out of Bradly’s hands and yelled, “Bob, you have to punch out right now! Your chute won’t save you if you go much lower.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave her.”

Hangman turned to Bradley, his face a mix of pain and sorrow as he held out the receiver. They both knew what needed to be done.

Squeezing his eyes tight to keep his tears from falling, Bradley grabbed the receiver and whispered, “Do it, Bob. She’d want you to.”

There was a momentary pause. Then, “I’m sorry.”

A loud bang blasted through the radio as the canopy was torn open and Bob’s seat jettisoned from the plane. Bradley looked out the window, his eyes scanning the sky until he just barely made out the tiny plume of color that had appeared as Bob’s cute deployed. It would be a rough landing, but he had ejected just high enough that he should be alright.

The same couldn’t be said about you.

Bradley sank to the floor as your plane spiraled closer and closer to the ground, bile rising in his throat at the knowledge there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to save you now. All he could do was watch it happen.

Then, just before your plane slammed into the ground in a fiery explosion, he heard one final word whispered through the radio.

“...R-Rooster?”

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crowzwhump · 7 months

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Tw: Character Death | Forced to Watch | Team Whump

Whumpee's heart shattered as they helplessly witnessed the gruesome scene unfold before them.

Their friend's life slipping away, the world around them dissolved into a nightmarish blur of anguish and despair.

Tears streamed down their face, mingling with the anguish etched across their features.

Team Leader's grip, though gentle, felt like a vise around Whumpee's chest, keeping them firmly in place.

Whumpee's screams echoed in the air, their throat raw from the torment of witnessing the unthinkable.

Desperation clawed at their soul as they futilely dug their fingers into Team Leader's arm, a desperate attempt to break free and save their friend.

But as Team Leader's voice trembled with sadness, they whispered the painful truth, a truth that struck Whumpee's heart like a steel blade.

"Whumpee," they murmured softly, "You... you can't do anything for them..."

The agony of those words pierced through Whumpee's very being.

Their body trembled with sorrow, their eyes locked onto the lifeless form of their dearest friend, and in that heart-wrenching moment, the reality of their loss became unbearable.

"They're gone," Team Leader's voice quivered with heartbreak, echoing the immense sadness that engulfed them all.

#character death tw #forced to watch tw #team whump #team leader whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump ideas #whump thoughts #whump drabble #whump idea #whump scenario #whump scenarios #emotional whump #whump community #whump blog

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minister-for-femslash · 19 days

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The Truth?

Summary; After Imogen accidentally falls into Laudna's dream, she finds herself face to face with Delilah Briarwood, who wants to show her exactly what happened on the day Laudna died.

Pairings; Laudna/Imogen

Warnings; Torture and mentions of character death

Word Count; 1,885

Imogen doesn't mean to, dream walking is something she's never really done before. But its been so stressful recently and they finally have a chance to stop and not quite relax - that feels like an impossibility at this point – but there's a moment of calm where her and Laudna can curl up together just the two of them. She takes off the circlet because she needs the peace that comes with being immersed in the melody of Laudna's thoughts.

Laudna drifts off first and with their psychic link open, Imogen drifts off with her.

Her mind tumbles.

She finds herself in a corridor, high ceilings and thick stone walls. It's cold, there's a harshness in the air. Dark and dank. Water drips from the ceiling. There's a small wooden door behind her and lanterns on the wall. It feels familiar, but this isn't hers.

“Hello.” Her voice echoes back at her. “Anybody here.” She takes a tentative step forward and peers down the corridor. She's reluctant to go too far. Exploring her own dreams is one thing but accidentally tumbling into someone else's is different.

“Laudna! Are you here!?”

There's a whimper. It's faint, not soft and gentle but coarse like somebody's throat is dry.

“Laudna!”

Another whimper, louder this time. Imogen takes another tentative step, and then another and another. There are bars, thick rusted steel. The stone wall turns into a cell.

Imogen freezes. She knows what this is, where this is. When this is. She doesn't want to see. She doesn't.

“Laudna,” she whispers.

“She can't hear you, dear.”

The voice comes from behind her. Imogen has only heard it once or twice, a faint response to a desperate message sent but she recognises it instantly. A deep seated anger swells inside her chest, an unintentional snarl creeps onto her face as she spins around.

Delilah Briarwood stands in front of her in a long flowing dark purple dress, a choker necklace with a green stone in the centre and the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “She's a little busy. Reminiscing.”

“Is this because of you? Is this what you make her dream?”

“Only sometimes, when she needs a reminder of exactly who made her.”

Imogen doesn't hesitate. Rage flashes and her hand shoots out, a psychic lance aimed straight at Delilah's heart.

It misses.

Delilah's form shimmers, flicker out for just a moment and the psychic lance slams into the wall behind.

A pain filled cry comes from the cell.

“Stop it! Stop this now!” Imogen yells.

“Now now dear, there's no need for tantrums. Don't you want to see the beauty of her creation.” Delilah brushes past her and heads towards the cell, stepping through the bars as if they're not there. “Sylas, darling. Don't be too hard on our sweet girl. She needs to be recognisable.”

Imogen turns away. If she can leave, if she can propel herself out of this dream then she can wake Laudna up. She can free her from this. But the corridor is gone, a large stone wall now inches away from her nose. There's pressure on her shoulders like hands grasping tight. She's pulled back. Her feet scrap against the ground as she tries to resist but this isn't her dream. She isn't in control.

She's dragged up against the bars.

Delilah is in front of her, twirling a large curved blade between her fingers. Behind her is a man, broad shouldered. He has slick-backed dark hair with a white streak running through the middle. There's blood on his hands. He's bent over a figure. Over Laudna.

“My husband, Sylas.” Delilah says. “Such a beautifully vicious man.”

“Don't touch her.” Something raw and bitter wedges itself in the back of Imogen's throat. Her vision blurs and she knows there's a risk of tears.

Delilah laughs. “This moment is long over, it can't be changed. Just relived. And I do hope you aren't lying to yourself, my dear. Even if you could change this, you wouldn't.”

“You're wrong. I won't let you hurt Laudna, ever.” She rushes forward, expecting to move through the bars as easily as Delilah did, but instead she slams into them. Locked out.

“This isn't Laudna. This is Matilda.” She steps back and allows Imogen to see.

Laudna is on the floor, curled up in a tight ball. Blood coats her skin, seeps deep into the fabric of her clothes. There are so many wounds, too many for Imogen to be able to focus on. Her limbs are twisted, bent at odd angles.

“Why would you change this? This is the day of her ascension. Matilda dies so that Laudna can be born, and you, the one who claims to love her the most should see the beauty in this moment.” Delilah brushes past Sylas and kneels down next to Laudna. She picks her up and cradles her almost gently.

Laudna's eyes are open and Imogen can see the pain in them. The fear. She makes another move for the bars, but they hold firm

“It's Laudna you care for, Matilda is just a tragic story. It's Laudna you want, so watch me create her for you.” Delilah brushes the hair away from Laudna's face. It's slick with blood. She brings the knife down against Laudna's ear.

Imogen tries to grasp at the knife with telekinesis, tries to yank it out of Delilah's hand. “Don't!” Imogen tries again. “I said don't!” And again.

It fails.

At the last second Imogen turns away. She can't watch this. She can't. Her eyes slam shut and she tries to will herself awake. To will herself somewhere else.

Laudna screams.

It's the most horrifying sound Imogen has ever heard.

“She made me so proud that day.” A finger presses against her chin, forces her head up and there stands Delilah, blood on her hands.

The stone walls are gone. The bars are gone. They're outside now, the Sun Tree in the distance behind Delilah, it's decaying branches seem to sprout from her shoulders like a grotesque parody of Laudna's beautiful transformation.

“She was Sylas's favourite. Of all the people he hurt, she was the one he loved the most,” Delilah says. “The others were weak, they couldn't survive his viciousness. They were long dead before our presentation. But my Laudna, she lasted.”

“I hate you. What you did to her...” The tears begin to falls. “I hate you.”

There are heavy footsteps behind her, the crunch of gravel under thick boots. Sylas brushes past her. Laudna is in his arms. Her head lolls against his shoulder. Her clothes have been changed, the blood washed away and a single feather placed into her hair.

Delilah and Sylas head off down the path. That invisible force wraps itself around Imogen once again, her arms are pinned as she's pulled forward, forced to walk just behind them. She struggles, tries to fight against the bonds. In her head she screams, rage and desperation battering against the inside of her own mind. She reaches for that connection, for that blinding white light and the power that caused her to level an entire city block. She needs it now. But she's alone.

“We're the same, you and me,” Delilah says.

They're suddenly at the base of the Sun Tree. Quickly. Too quickly. A noose already hangs from a branch.

“No. We're not.”

“I was willing to fight death herself to save the one I love -” Delilah runs her hand down Sylas' shoulder - “and you will do the same. For her.”

Sylas lays Laudna on the ground and then steps back.

“Witch!” A voice comes from the ether.

The night slips into day. The Sun Tree and the noose fades, the house and taverns slowly transform into carts and market stalls.

“She's a witch!”

A crowd slowly forms, their faces twisted with anger and fear. With hatred.

Laudna fumbles, and this is Laudna, not Matilda. She looks exactly as she did the day they met. Pale skin, a flowy black dress, her hair pinned up with a tiny rock hammer. Paté is hooked on her belt, not yet animated but still a piece of her. The small basket falls from Laudna's hands, the fruit she's brought spilling out.

The murmurs are growing, the whispers turning harsher, more vicious.

“It's her. She's poisoning our crops!”

“My horses died because of her!”

This isn't Whitestone, this is Gelvaan and Imogen knows what happens here. What she does. The crowd is growing bigger, a harsh tension building and there's nothing Imogen can do.

Laudna stumbles backwards, tries to speak, to explain, but she stutters unable to be heard over the bark of the crowd.

A rock is thrown. It catches Laudna in the side of the head. She's knocked to the ground, a drop of blood appearing above her eye.

“Leave her alone!” The words are ripped from Imogen's throat. She charges forward, physically forcing her way through the crowd.

Laudna is curled up trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Laudna.” Imogen drops to her knees. “It's okay. You're going to be okay.”

Another rock is thrown. This one misses but it comes close and Laudna visibly flinches.

Something in Imogen snaps. “Back off!” There's an explosion. It rips from the centre of Imogen's chest, this cacophony of pure defensive energy whips through the air.

The crowd is blasted back. Market stalls are thrown into the air, crashing into walls. Windows smash, bodies go flying. A storm of debris, wood and stones, and heavy rocks swirl, forming a protective ring around them. Imogen clings to Laudna tight.

“How do I bring her back? Tell me what to do. I'll do anything.” Imogen's own voice echoes in the air. It doesn't come from her lips, these are words spoken what seems like a lifetime ago.

The storm suddenly drops. Bodies are scattered across the thoroughfare, streaks of blood splashed across the path.

Delilah stands before them, larger than she's ever been. She towers over them. “You begged me once, to save her. I want you to understand, Imogen Temult. Look how far you will go to protect her. Without me there is no Laudna and if you want to keep her, you need me.” Delilah walks towards them, her shadow stretching out behind her.

Delilah kneels in front of her. Imogen's arms wrap tighter around Laudna in some futile attempt at protecting her from the monster.

Delilah grabs Imogen's chin. “This is why I can trust you. You will give me everything I want as long as it keeps her by your side.”

Delilah leans in. Imogen tries to pull back but Delilah's grip is like a vice. She presses a kiss against Imogen's cheek. “You're going to make an excellent daughter-in-law.”

Imogen wakes with a gasp.

Laudna is still asleep beside her, her arm draped across Imogen's waist. She feels nauseous, there are tears on her cheeks. She reaches for Laudna, her fingers brushing just above Laudna's eyes, the wound is long healed but sometimes Imogen can still see it.

She gently presses their foreheads together. “I love you.” Imogen can still feel Delilah's grip on her chin, the ghost of that kiss on her cheek. “I won't let her take you from me.”

#critical role #laudna #imogen temult #delilah briarwood #laudna/imogen #imodna #fic #torture tw #character death tw

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 7 months

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Home Sweet Home AU: Martyrdom

Thatcher gets a late night call from an unknown number, saying they have something they need to discuss.

TW: blood, mentions of/implied character death

Notes: around 3'800 words long, being the shortest HSH fic so far. I don't have much to add here, but hope you like it!

February 12th, 1995. 10:24 PM.

Thatcher was awoken that night by the sound of his cell phone ringing in his office.

He couldn’t recall falling asleep on his couch, lying on a pile of discarded papers and dirty clothes. If he had to guess, it was due to exhaustion and/or sleep deprivation, though he could barely remember anything aside from staring at the wall for an hour or so. He groggily sat up, holding his head and wincing when an all-too-familiar headache pounded in his skull. Everything felt sore, with his right shoulder feeling as if it was ripped out of socket again. He looked down at his shoulder, pulling away his shirt to see that his collar bone was still pressing against his skin awkwardly, causing a bump in his shoulder. He sighed, remembering the reason he no longer laid on his side as he tried to ignore the deep pain shooting from it.

Oh right. The phone.

Thatcher stood up, letting out a deep, somewhat annoyed groan as he made his way to his office, pushing open the door to see the phone on his desk. He stood still for a moment, pondering whether or not he should simply let it ring and go to voicemail. Despite his best efforts not to care, he sighed in defeat and answered the phone, expecting to hear the sound of one of his co-worker’s voice, telling him to come into the station for some late-night incident or something.

“Thatcher Davis, MCP—”

“I already know who you are.”

A familiar voice, though not one that felt necessarily comforting in that regard.

“Who is this?” Thatcher furrowed his brows, absentmindedly beginning to pace back and forth in his office.

“That doesn’t matter right now.” The man on the other end of the phone stated. “St. Gabriel’s Church, as soon as possible. I need to talk to you.”

Thatcher paused in place, staring at the floor before speaking quietly yet urgently. “…I won’t do that until you tell me who is speaking.”

Silence for a moment.

“You know me.” The man said. “You ruined my life.”

“…I d—”

“Meet me at the church, tonight.” The man commanded. “This is an urgent matter. I’ll be waiting in the west bell-tower.”

The caller hung up, leaving Thatcher in a confused haze as it attempted to figure out who it was, or why the voice was familiar. The man’s somewhat raspy, yet desperate-sounding voice resonated in his head, despite the concern and almost fear of taking the call. He stood in place, staring at his phone before flipping it shut and shoving it into his pants pocket. He took in a breath as he silently approached his desk, opening a drawer and seeing nothing but junk inside. He brushed it all away before he finally found what he was looking for; his pistol. He grabbed it, checking the magazine to see that it was loaded before looking back into the drawer and fishing out his gun holster. He threw the holster over his left shoulder before sliding his gun into it, deciding not to change into a better outfit aside from his worn jeans and faded, oversized shirt.

He walked back into his living room in silence, grabbing his grey, shabby trench coat before pulling it over his arms. He tried to ignore how it too was oversized, nor the fact that he had received it as a gift from a friend, despite it being a reminder of her every time he wears it. Perhaps it was a good thing to be reminded of her. He snapped out of his train of thought, realizing he stopped moving for a second before he finally walked into his kitchen, grabbing a pair of leather gloves to somewhat protect his thin hands from the cold. He let out a deep breath as he grabbed his keys and headed for the front door, pausing as he turned his head to look behind him. He looked towards the dining room table, one that had multiple chairs despite no one coming over. On it was nothing but a single police radio, resting in the middle of it. Thatcher stared at it for a moment, pondering whether he wanted to take it, just in case, before he decided against it. He shook his head, walking through the front door into the night, only hoping he wasn’t walking into another trap.

He at least had some comfort in knowing he had a weapon.

11:03 PM

Thatcher wished the radio in his car worked as he drove down the dark, damp road to the church. The sound of his barely functioning heater blowing through the vents was the only sound that even remotely replaced the music that would’ve been playing, though it wasn’t enough to drown out much of anything. Thatcher stared forward, seeing the snow-covered trees pass by on the sides of the road, along with the snow landing on his windshield. He glanced at his right hand, wishing he could just take a break and scratch where his prosthetic rubbed against his skin under his glove, though he decided that getting the call over with was better; at the very least it meant he could go to sleep earlier.

If he’d be able to go home at all.

After all, he was working off of the assumption that the man on the other end of the phone was a human; a real person that knew Thatcher in the past and genuinely wanted to talk about something important. Thatcher felt a sense of uncertainty wash over it as it turned down a gravel road, wondering if he was going to be lucky again and that if the man wasn’t who, or rather what, he claims to be, the gun pressed against its left set of ribs would be enough to scare it off. Though perhaps Thatcher was stupid to think it was capable of being lucky.

Thatcher slowed to a stop when it saw the tall steel gate that led into the church property, barely seeing the church behind it through the trees and snow. Light from the lamp-posts bled into the gravel lane as Thatcher exited its car, looking around before approaching the gate and pushing it open, happy to see it was unlocked. After he swung the gates to the side, hearing the shrill squeaking coming from its hinges, he jogged back to his car, hopping inside and slamming the door shut. He glanced into his rearview mirror, checking that his back seat was vacant before he drove through the gate, finally driving onto asphalt as he pulled into the large parking lot.

He parked in one of the spaces, seeing a short fence between him and the church in front of his car. He exited his car, locking it before shoving his keys in his pocket and staring up at the towering cathedral before him. It had two large wooden doors at its entrance, along with a giant circular, stained-glass window above it, with many smaller circles surrounding it. A large, metal cross was to the left side of the entrance, seemingly rusted despite the church still being active from what Thatcher remembered. He looked up towards the slanted roof, seeing two giant bell towers, with one to the right, and one to the left, reaching towards the pitch-black sky. Thatcher couldn’t help but notice the pit in his gut he felt looking up at the giant building; it almost felt like vertigo, despite not looking down. He shook his head, letting out a breath as he turned to the right, following the fence towards concrete staircase that led down to the entrance. As he walked, a figure stared at him from the west bell tower, watching him as Thatcher walked towards the entrance, pushing the heavy doors open and walking inside.

The first thing Thatcher noticed aside from the deafening silence was the vastness of the inside of the church. It had a domed roof, with painted patterns on the walls. He looked forward, his shoes clacking against the marble floors as he looked around. Lines of pews ran down both sides of him, all facing a stage to the front of the room, one with a large organ front and center.

“Hello?” Thatcher called, his voice echoing off of the tall walls. “Thatcher Davis, MCPD. You called me here?”

No answer aside from his own voice reflecting back at him. He looked to his left, seeing a few archways that led to other parts of the church, deciding it was the best place to start looking for a way into the west tower, like the man had said to meet him. He walked in between pews and walked through one of the archways, being met with a hall that led into a few smaller rooms. However, when he looked to the left, he saw a stairwell, one he presumed to lead into the tower. He paused, thinking of the inevitable pain his knees were going to feel before beginning to scale the stairs.

He walked, further and further up into the dimly lit tower as he pushed his trench coat to the side, exposing his holster and firearm in preparation in case something other than a human was up there. He could smell dust and an overall musty smell as he pushed open the small door above him that led into the belfry, poking his head into the room to see a small electric lantern in the corner, lighting up the room. Thatcher huffed, pushing the door to the side, letting it clatter off of the floor as he hoisted himself up into the room. The belfry was larger than he expected it would be, with one large, brass bell hanging in the middle of the room. He looked around, seeing a large, arched window in front of him, with the cool wind hitting his face as he approached it.

“You actually came.”

Thatcher turned around quickly, the voice startling him enough to instinctively hold his hand close to his firearm. He turned towards one of the corners, seeing a man leaned against the wall, holding his arms close to his torso, clearly cold despite wearing a thick, turtleneck sweater. Thatcher looked up at the man’s face, his intense stare and low brows feeling familiar, though it took a few moments for Thatcher’s mind to finally connect the dots.

Arthur.

“Mr. Heathcliff.” Thatcher stated, almost surprised to see the man after so long.

Arthur’s eyes had dark rings around him, and his blank, yet irritated stare didn’t wane. “Lieutenant.” He responded, as if saying the word was some sort of profanity.

“Why did you call me here?” Thatcher questioned as Arthur stepped away from the wall, approaching Thatcher yet keeping his distance.

“I needed to…talk about some things.” Arthur said. “With you.”

“How did you even get my number?”

“Asked around.”

Thatcher remained silent, not super confident that who he was looking at was human like it seemed.

“…It’s…quiet tonight, isn’t it?” Arthur stated, looking through the window, past the parking lot and towards the lights in the distance from the town.

“What are you even doing up here?” Thatcher questioned, standing beside Arthur as he stares at the priest with a look of mild annoyance.

“It has the best view.” Arthur stated simply. “I come up here to…get my mind off of things, y’know?”

Thatcher gazed out into the distance through the window; Arthur was right about the view being nice at least, though it was hard to make out anything outside of the light from the lamp-posts.

“Though tonight, I couldn’t help but think.” Arthur continued, turning to face Thatcher with the same, almost angry look in his eyes he’s had the entire time. “…It’s been…what, nearly 3 years now?”

“…Since what?”

“…Since Mark went missing.”

The mention of the Mark Heathcliff case sent a shock to Thatcher’s system, making him skip a breath. He couldn’t respond, with an all-too familiar feeling of dread and guilt beginning to creep up inside of him.

“I’ve…been thinking about it…nonstop lately.” Arthur explained. “And I just…is he…dead, or not?”

Thatcher remained silent, staring at Arthur with a tinge of sadness added to his tired stare.

“…Well?” Arthur appeared impatient. “Is he?”

“We did all we could.” Thatcher stated, trying to cover up the uncertainty in his voice. “We…never found anything.”

“…Of course.” Arthur said under his breath, barely audible enough for Thatcher to hear.

Thatcher felt the weight of the thick air of guilt and anger around him, with the silence making it feel heavier than ever. Arthur crossed his arms, looking through the window as he thought to himself.

“…God teaches to…forgive and forget.” Arthur said quietly. “To love thy neighbor…to forgive thine enemies.” Arthur turned towards Thatcher, his face barely lit by the light outside and the light from the lantern. “But for some reason I can’t bring myself to forgive you.”

“I’m not asking to be forgiven.” Thatcher responded plainly. “…I understand what—”

“No, you don’t.” Arthur glared at Thatcher, lowering his arms as he faced the lieutenant. “Do you know how much I’ve lost? Mark runs off, and because of that, I lose the only people in my life that matter.” Arthur paused, taking in a deep breath. “…Leah and Sarah moved to Bythorne recently, you know that? Left me here…to just…rot. To try and figure out how to…fix all this.”

“I tried to help you and your family the best I could,” Thatcher responded. “I’ve done all I possibly could to try and solve this case, but I’ve already told you, we found nothing.”

“Right.” Arthur nodded, though it didn’t feel genuine. “So you ignoring the many disappearances in this town and brushing everything under the rug is you giving your all?”

Thatcher couldn’t even get a word in as Arthur continued.

“I’ve tried to forget about this; to move on and just live my life the way the Lord above wants me to,” Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who backed away a few steps. “But it keep coming back to me, ALL of this. I’m trying to keep up a sense that I’m alright even though everything in my life is falling apart, all because you couldn’t do your God damned job.”

“You don’t think I’ve given everything to solving this case?” Thatcher snapped back.

“You failed to find him, Davis.” Arthur accused. “You barely did anything to help aside from twiddle your thumbs and take some of Mark’s junk. At least the other cop tried to help Leah as she went through the worst event of her life; but what did you do?”

“Arthur, you don’t understa—”

“I’ve lost more than you could ever know due to your negligence,” Arthur interrupted, standing in front of the window, the light from outside hitting his back. “I lost Leah, and now I won’t even be able to see my own daughter grow up. All because you didn’t do anything to he—”

“Ruth is dead because of this case.”

Thatcher felt the words leave his mouth, his tone sour and hateful. Arthur appeared to pause for a moment, at least giving Thatcher time to speak. “At least…that’s what everyone else thinks. She…I lost her, and…I don’t know where she went. I tried my fucking hardest to fix things, but now only more people are gone because of it. Arthur, I know what it’s like to lose what’s closest to you because I’ve gone through the same thing.”

Silence fell between the two, leaving them to stare at each other in a hateful silence. At least, until Arthur started speaking again.

“…All I want is to have my family back, yet you won’t even help me with that.” Arthur continued. “If you find Mark…then maybe I’d be able to have it back—”

“You talk about Mark like he’s a burden.” Thatcher stated. “Like he’s just a prop that will fix everything in your life. Do you truly even care about him?”

Arthur stood in shocked silence, staring at Thatcher with an appalled stare for a tad too long for comfort.

“Do you?” Thatcher questioned. “Or did you just want to make another you.”

“I did.” Arthur claimed. “I…I did love him. He was my son; you think I didn’t love my own flesh and blood?”

“I never got the impression that you did.”

“God damn you, Davis.” Arthur said quietly. “I hope God will have mercy on your soul.”

“I’m not religious.”

“You bastard.” Arthur said, his tone hateful as he clenched his fists. “I’ve tried all I could, and I can only hope God will forgive me for having the hate I feel towards you. This town is in shambles because of you! All because you refuse to help those you claim to protect!”

Arthur stepped towards Thatcher, who stood his ground as he grew closer.

“If you won’t do anything, I will.” Arthur claimed. “And I know that God will reign by the end of this! I know that these ‘alternates’ will cower away from his light! And by the end you will be left alone, all because of your own mistakes!”

“Get away from me.” Thatcher growled as Arthur continued to step closer.

“By God, I’ll show everyone just how much of a coward you are!” Arthur yelled. “You failed to help the vulnerable, and now you will suffer the consequences of your actions!”

“Step BACK!” Thatcher shoved Arthur away with one of his arms before turning away. He went to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a surprised yell behind him. He swung around, seeing that Arthur was gone, leaving only an empty, cold room behind. He heard screaming outside of the window, fading away for a second before he heard the sound of a sickening crack that sent a chill up Thatcher’s spine.

Its wide eyes stared at the open arched window in silence. Its face was a shade paler, with its eyes unblinking and its jaw slack. He couldn’t even believe just what happened, wondering if it was just a dream or nightmare. It went to fast for him to even process the events that transpired, with all that was left being a feeling of pure shock and a rapidly beating heart.

Thatcher couldn’t even bring himself to move as he stared at the open window, with the silence feeling all encompassing, choking out whatever words Thatcher could possibly say. He stumbled backwards, looking down to see the trapdoor leading into the stairwell before he silently, yet hesitantly, began stepping down the stairs, shutting the trapdoor above him.

As he frantically descended the stairwell, only one thought ran through his head, over and over like a skipping record: “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He couldn’t even process what he was feeling as he entered the auditorium, running into the middle aisle before rushing towards the front doors. He froze when he reached them, staring at the wood before he pressed down his sudden pensiveness and pushed open the door.

He walked out of the church in silence, staring at the pavement, feeling as if he couldn’t even force himself to look to his right in fear of what he’d see when he did. It continued to stare at its feet before forcing itself to look up and forward, his eyes not blinking once despite the growing stinging feeling from the cold. He turned to his left, walking up the stairs to get to the parking lot, staring at the ground as he walked to his car. He unlocked the driver’s side door, opening it and stepping into his car as he silently stared at nothing in particular. He started the vehicle, finally looking out his windshield, staring towards the bottom of the west tower. He froze, staring at the crimson blood dripping onto the pure white snow from above. He quickly looked away, hands trembling as he grasped the steering wheel. He drove out of the parking lot the fastest he could. He knew the guilt of what happened was going to take hold of him later on, but at that moment, he thought of nothing more than going home and trying to grasp the situation.

All he knew was he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon.

February 13th, 7:16 AM.

Thatcher blankly stared forward, his mouth covered by his hand as the light from the television reflected off of his wide open, bloodshot eyes. He sat in a dark living room, all the curtains pulled over the windows and the lights off. He watched, not blinking once as the news program played in front of his face.

“—Right now we are following the breaking news at the St. Gabriel’s church, where the priest of aforementioned church, Arthur Heathcliff was found dead on the property just this morning. Our reporters are at the scene now, with the most up-to-date news on the situation.”

The camera changed to shots of the church from a distance as another broadcaster spoke over the footage.

“We are currently at the St. Gabriel’s church, right on the border of Werksha and Mandela county, where a nearby home-owner reported that they heard screaming at around 11:45 last night. The scene is closed to the public until further notice, with the circumstances of the death remaining unkno—”

Click.

Thatcher shut off the Television, delving the room into near complete darkness. He stared at the black screen, his breath quiet and his mind blank. He was going to be called about this as soon as he went to work; he knew it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch, instead hunching over and clasping his hair with his hands. He thought to himself, wondering how many more people were going to die due to his own mistakes; how many more people were going to suffer while he was on the force. The image of Arthur’s body, hanging from where it was impaled on a metal cross was burned in Thatcher’s mind, refusing to leave no matter how hard he tried to get it out. He hadn’t slept the previous night, remembering the hauntingly vacant stare and look of horror on the body’s face.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t handle being the cause of more and more pain and death. The next time he went to work would be his last. Thatcher was a coward, and now, he knew it, so the only option he felt would help people, was to quit. He was sorry; so deeply sorry for everything he did, and everything he failed to do. He just hoped the next lieutenant would be better than he was.

He was no lieutenant, just a scared boy with a gun.

How ironic.

#the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc #tmc home sweet home au #arthur heathcliff (tmc)#hsh thatcher #character death tw #blood tw #shmorp writes sometimes #Yippie!! Thatcher has a bad day the au!!!! /VVLH HJ #I feel like this fic speaks for itself so i'm not sure what else to add that won't hint at anything in it- /lh #So. read it. now /LHJ NF

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pianokantzart · 11 months

Note

I 100% fully believe if Mario ever did lose Luigi to death, even only temporarily, he would be absolutely catatonic, self destructive, and completely shattered.

Luigi would also be that way too cuz that’s his big brother and he adores him, but for Mario it would be ten times worse cuz he’s the older brother, he’s grown up fully committed to his job of protecting Luigi.

So if Mario lost him, truly lost him even for a minute, a moment, it would destroy him.

I originally was going to write something about how Mario wouldn't be prone to catatonia as much Luigi, since catatonia is rooted in fear responses. I believe Mario, at his core, is a man of action and perseverance, and I think if Luigi died– especially under violent circumstances– it would warp that part of him rather than snuff it out. I was going to detail the symptoms of prolonged grief disorder and explain how each brother would experience it.

Then I made myself actually upset. So now I'm going to derail this post entirely and talk about why I'm pretty sure that if Illumination and Nintendo has the cahonas to give us a one-up mushroom death fake-out, Mario is going to be the victim.

Mario is the titular character, he's going to be the most likely to do some big, heroic, overly risky or self-sacrificial thing that gets him killed.

Luigi would recover relatively well so long as his brother came out okay in the end. Not to say that he wouldn't have nightmares about it for weeks afterward, but given the amount of trust he has in Mario he would probably fool himself into thinking that cheating death was in the plan all along. Mario definitely wouldn't correct him if it helps Luigi feels better.

If Mario watched Luigi die, even if he got revived with a one-up shroom immediately afterward, no amount of therapy would ever make that moment okay.

What I'm trying to say is you are absolutely right that Mario would be the worse off of the brothers if forced to deal with the loss of the other. Mario is not only deeply protective of his little brother– has been since they were babies– he knows that Luigi will follow him wherever he goes, and wherever that leads in the end is ultimately his fault. Thank you for coming to my messiest ted-talk to date. PLEASE don't make me think about dead Mario Brothers anymore.

#asks #anon #Super Mario Bros #Mario #Luigi #I appreciate the ask but we serve 'hurt-comfort' here sir #I say as though you weren't just airing your own thoughts lmao #but if they can't hug it out at the end WHAT IS EVEN THE POINT #There are others far more equipped to write The Sad(tm) I do not have that sort of power #Character Death TW #Major character death

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ask-the-becile-boys · 5 months

Text

Story. Execution

Previous | Next

[ID: Content Warning splash text, reading: "Content Warning: Major Character Death Scene, Method placed at end of tags to avoid spoilers" end ID]

[ID: 7 digitally sketched panels in greyscale and green.]

[Panel 1: The Jack tackles Locksmith, who flinches with an "(all caps) Oof!" The green smoke is fading, but the stark shadows thrown by the burning building continue.]

[Panel 2: The Skull, still kneeling, flinches as the revolver goes off with a SFX: all caps Bang! A bullet strikes the ground next to The Skull, kicking up dirt.]

[Panel 3: The Jack, starting to tear up and now grappling Locksmith from behind, grabs his head with both hands. Locksmith glares, trying to shrug him off, and says, "Jack, what (em-dash)"]

[Panel 4: SFX: all caps Crack! The Jack twists Locksmith's head to the side. Locksmith gapes in shock, hands flailing.]

[Panel 5: The Jack squeezes his eyes shut, an oily tear running down his cheek, as he starts to unscrew Locksmith's head from his body with another SFX: all caps Crrack! Locksmith cries out in terror, wide-eyed, "(all caps) Jack! No! Stop this!"]

[Panel 6: The Jack squints through his tears as he continues to unscrew Locksmith's head with SFX: all caps Crrrack! Locksmith's jaw falls open and he stares forward in horror.]

[Panel 7: Black silhouettes. Locksmith yells, (all caps) "Please! Jack! Jaaaa (em-dash)" before The Jack pulls his head from his shoulders, sending his hat flying. End ID]

#becile bots #steam powered giraffe #fanbots #locksmith becile #the jack becile #the skull becile #story update #blog art #execution #decapitation tw #beheading tw #character death tw

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biorust-art · 2 years

Photo

“Orym is not a creature-- He is a body”.

ayo way to one shot me with that line, Matt. quick doot bc mentally i need to shift my focus but i also had to get this out. This next week is going to go by sooo slowly.

Bonus White-haired Orym under the cut, based on discord discussions

[Image Description. Rough Digital doodle of Orym from Critical Role. Spoiler for episdode 33. Orym lays on the ground, covered in blood. He looks small, in the center of the canvas. The surroundings are roughly sketched and fades into the background around the edges. The line above the sketch says ‘Orym is not a creature.’ and the one below it says ‘he is a body.’ in reference to how Matt described Orym after he died. End ID]

inspired by discord stuff- post resurrection sad boi with white hair. Probably wondering why out of everyone he knows, he gets to live. Gods. i want to give him a smooch on the forehead. Where’s Dorian when you need him??

[image ID: Digital drawing of Orym from Critical Role. He sits with bandages covering his torso and tattooed arm closest to the viewer. He looks down and to the side, somber, and has white hair instead of brown. End ID]

#critical role #orym #orym of the air ashari #critical role spoilers #character death tw #blood tw #hes just a tiny lad #a smol guy #halfling come home

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 7 months

Text

Nevermore

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 11. Fainting, 19. Left Behind, 23. Forced to Watch, 28. Oxygen Deprivation Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader (Raven) Summary: When there is a malfunction during training, Rooster is forced to watch as his world comes crashing down. Word Count: 1153 TW: Character Death, Oxygen Deprivation, Passing Out, Panic

Notes: Thank you to @topguncortez for looking this over for me! 💕 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

“Somethin’s wrong…”

“Roo...Oxygen’s not working…Ca-can’t breathe…

“Lt. Floyd.” Oh shit. Cyclone was monitoring training today. “Is your oxygen compromised?”

“N-no, sir. It’s just Raven’s.”

Cyclone must have noticed this too because his voice crackled out of the radio, “Lt., drop altitude to below 10,000 feet immediately and return to base…..Raven? Do you copy?”

“....can’t….breathe….”

“Why is she still going higher?” Hangman murmured as he approached the window to stand next to Bradley.

But then your plane seemed to level out for just a moment—before it began to plummet towards the ground.

Hangman inhaled sharply, “Oh my God…”

“Raven! Raven, wake up!” Bob’s voice was frantic as he cried out, “We’re going in! She’s unconscious and there’s no one on the stick!”

“No, no, no, no!” Bradley screamed, his fist slamming into the window over and over. This can’t be happening. This can’t be…

“Altitude dropping rapidly! Raven, please! Wake up! What do I do?”

“Lt. Floyd…eject.”

“What?” Bob sounded horrified at Cyclone’s command. “No. I can’t. I have to do something! I have to help her! Just tell me what to do!”

“There’s nothing you can do but save yourself. Now eject. That’s an order.”

“But–”

Hangman snatched the radio receiver out of Bradly’s hands and yelled, “Bob, you have to punch out right now! Your chute won’t save you if you go much lower.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave her.”

Hangman turned to Bradley, his face a mix of pain and sorrow as he held out the receiver. They both knew what needed to be done.

Squeezing his eyes tight to keep his tears from falling, Bradley grabbed the receiver and whispered, “Do it, Bob. She’d want you to.”

There was a momentary pause. Then, “I’m sorry.”

The same couldn’t be said about you.

Then, just before your plane slammed into the ground in a fiery explosion, he heard one final word whispered through the radio.

“...R-Rooster?”

Taglist:@loverhymeswith, @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @tavners, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @topguncortez @footprintsinthesxnd, @airhogger, @notroosterbradshaw, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @fangirlinc, @sparrows-corner, @ryebecca, @mads-weasley, @trencher4lyfe, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @imjess-themess, @callsign-phoenix, @maggie8002sq, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @tellrock35, @shanimallina87, @mak-32, @ohtobeleah, @blue-aconite, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @wkndwlff, @writercole

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kalevalakryze · 8 months

Text

Dar’Hibir

Pairings: Shin Hati/Sabine Wren, Shin Hati & Baylan Skoll, Shin Hati & Ahsoka Tano

Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren, Baylan Skoll, Ahsoka Tano, Huyang

Warnings: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Loss, The Dark Side Of The Force, Force Ghosts, Force Ghost Baylan Skoll, Jedi Funerals, Minor Injury, Shin Hati Needs a Hug, Shin Hati Gets a Hug, Protective Sabine Wren, Supportive Sabine Wren, Protective Ahsoka Tano, Supportive Ahsoka Tano, Huyang is Just There, Baylan Skoll Is A Good Dad, Shin Hati Centric

Notes: I... cried a lot writing this. anyways the idea was sabine undoing the padawan braid for Shin after Baylan.. . .

Summary: “Chase your moon, Shin. Don’t let her go,”. Their feet moved of their own accord, startling herself and Sabine as she moved forward. Each stride was long, painful, really. “What happens when we find Thrawn?” She had asked so foolishly, as if the answer has not revealed itself in many different ways. “Power.” Where was the power in this, Master? Who am I when I’m not at your side?

Word Count: 1,996

AO3 Links: Fic & Collection

Shin’s lips were pressed into a thin line as she watched the body on the pyre. He looked peaceful, at the very least; calmer than they’d seen him in the last weeks of his life.

Their body leaned forward, Sabine’s hand on their wrist the only thing that stopped her from getting too close to the fire with her Master. Ahsoka stood on her other side, the Togruta staring at the Jedi Knight in front of them as the fires took him.

They should be feeling something, right? Baylan had raised her, had taught her everything she knew- and yet, there was nothing. No guidance from the force, nothing but a vast emptiness they did not have the word to describe.

Shin moved before she could catch up with her mind, reaching into the fires to grab the hot lightsaber from the stone. The fires burned her hands, but the force thrummed for the first time since she’d felt the killing blow go through him.

“Shin!” Sabine shouted, reaching to tug them back from the table, the saber fell into the dirt, despite the heat, it seemed practically untouched by the fires, unlike their hand, where her glove had caught fire. The Mandalorian tugged it off as Ahsoka approached. “Di’kut! You could have hurt yourself!” There was an unnatural worry in her tone, one that Shin brushed off easily as their hand was turned in Sabine’s, skin red and disturbed from the heat.

Shin did not move until the embers had gone cold, fingers chilly where they were wrapped in Sabine’s hands. She had to give props to the other woman, she stayed quiet and only moved enough to stop Shin from moving for the pyre again when their body would start to dip.

Ahsoka’s hand on her shoulder was enough to have Shin jumping and calling her Master’s saber from the ground, back to her hands. She killed him, they should strike her down for everything she took from them. “Don’t lose yourself to this feeling, Padawan. No one is ever truly gone,”

“Shin,” Sabine was calling her, fingers pulling at their white knuckled grip around his saber, the crystal inside thrummed with the calming energy he always had about him.

Ahsoka reached out once more, palm towards the sky, keeping eye contact with the… Padawan? Until they were placing the hilt in her hand. “The other one, too, please,” Her own saber joined her Master’s in the woman’s hand with less hesitance. “Sabine, yours as well.”

With furrowed brows, Sabine nodded and removed Ezra’s saber from her hip, joining with Baylan and Shin’s. “Huyang?” The droid approached with a tilted head, servos clicking as as the hilts were handed off. “Keep these safe for us, it is unwise for any of us to have them right now,” After the three sabers were stored neatly in the droid, the Togruta unclipped her own and passed them off.

Getting Shin to leave the tables side was hard work, their feet were firmly planted and they stubbornly refused to budge as Sabine attempted to coax them away.

“These are your first steps, Hati.”

Sabine was giving up on getting Shin back onto the T-6. “I’ll be out in a few, see if you change your mind-”

“Chase your moon, Shin. Don’t let her go,”

Their feet moved of their own accord, startling herself and Sabine as she moved forward. Each stride was long, painful, really. “What happens when we find Thrawn?” She had asked so foolishly, as if the answer has not revealed itself in many different ways. “Power.”

Where was the power in this, Master? Who am I when I’m not at your side?

Their weight dropped heavily into the bench the moment they were past the door, eyes fixing on a point in the table, a small scratch that caught the light at her angle.

Was there a power strong enough to bring him back? The force… the force said there was, somewhere. Ahsoka knew, didn’t she? The ghost of Mortis, that is what her Master had said. The Padawan that fell to the closest thing to the physical embodiment of the force, and was revived. If she could get her to show them the source of that power-

“What’s done is done. It has already been written, it cannot be changed,”

Their fingers found the braid Baylan had so caringly rebraided for her just days before, the small green gems held in place with hair that he had helped bleach and- Shin wasn’t a padawan anymore. Who was she?

Sabine’s weight settled onto the tough cushion beside her. Her fingers were gentle as they removed Shin’s fingers from the braid she’d been tugging on. Their eyes met, a hesitant understanding passing between them.

Sabine’s eyes didn’t leave theirs as her fingers smoothed over the braid. The bands snapped quietly as they were twisted. There was a gentle clack of the gems being set on the table, and the reassuring feeling of the braid in her hair was slowly unwound.

“What do you need?” Sabine’s voice was gentle as her fingers brushed through the loose strands, longer than the rest of their hair, slightly frayed from the years spent growing it out.

Biting back the anger that threatened to pass their lips, Shin Kept her gaze on the beauty mark near the Mandalorian’s nose. “Tell me…” A pause, a deep breath. “Tell me what to do,” They blinked, lips pressing into a thin line, daring a glance at warm brown eyes full of too much understanding.

“Let’s go get ready for bed, and we can figure out where to go from there.”

She would have preferred to know the plan further than the night, but Sabine was giving her something, and that was more than the nothingness inside.

Going through the motions was familiar enough, survival. They could do that, they could do that no problem. How long has it been since she’d been left with the only option of just trying to Survive? Surely not since Baylan, he taught her how to live… the irony.

There must have been a point in the shower when she’d zoned a little too far, when the overwhelming grief slipped past crumbling barriers- Sabine was in the ‘fresher with them, didn’t they lock the door? Still, Shin appreciated the arms that wrapped around her more than they knew how to articulate. Standing on her own felt… impossible, without him.

“Ner dal Kurs’kaded,” Sabine muttered into soaked blonde hair, helping her clean up before the water was shut off. There were more words spoken softly, in languages she’d only had a base knowledge on, though she could assume they were repetitive of the too kind, too sympathetic words in Mando’a.

The shirt pulled over their head was warm, it smelled… not like home, never like home; home died with a white saber through his chest, home was set aflame on the pyre. But something close, close enough that they sank into the smell of leather, warm bark, and something like a berry, though she could never place the origin.

The Mandalorian’s hand on their back was comforting as they were guided to the bunk room. It was dark, though Shin could immediately pick up on the unnatural blue glow of the Togruta’s eyes as they slipped in. No one spoke as Shin slipped into their spot, letting Sabine curl around them in the familiarity they needed more than anything.

Morning came with more confusion, a lingering weight of not real, didn’t happen sitting over them like a cloud, the fog deep in her bones in the silence of the sleeping shuttle.

The grass outside was cold and wet with morning dew, though they didn’t have much energy to change or to care about the damp socks and pants of Sabine’s pants. They knelt beside the pyre that had long gone cold, eyes sliding closed as they tried to find the peace to meditate.

“Lady Hati-” The droid startled her, the force was playing tricks on her, nothing was going right! Staring blankly at the droid, she watched as Baylan and their own saber were removed from the compartments and extended towards her. “These may help,”

She snatched them from his metal grip, offering her best glare at Huyang’s retreat until she was sure she was alone.

Their own crystal was quiet when she reached out for it, as if the kyber inside was mourning the loss of its mentor as well, Kyber of the same vein, loyal to the people who wielded it…

Baylan’s crystal still felt like him, though that was wrong, because the kyber was alive. Calm, serene, love, and acceptance rolled out in waves into her shaking hands. The sabers were pressed into the stone as she resumed her wannabe meditative position. Forehead against the stone, fingers curling around the hilts, and eyes sliding shut, she could almost feel his arms around her. “Who am I without you, Master?” Her voice was soft, a whisper to the void; she never expected the void to answer back, of course.

A weight settled against Shin’s shoulder, “Don’t look, Shin,” He called, and she listened, always listened. “Who do you want to be?”

“We never got that far,”

“We did, Shin. Remember,”

“Stormtroopers, Inquisitors, Rebels. How many of them choose their own path, Padawan?”

“None of them.”

“They are destined to these paths, to what the galaxy has in store for them. But you, Shin… You can see these paths, see how they shaped each of them, how they shaped our galaxy. Look at these pirates-” The memory of Baylan moved to the pirate Shin had just ended. “They prey on those they believe are lesser, weaker, less deserving, than themselves, because they have not seen the paths. There is no glory in causing harm, but if we must…” There had been children on the ship. Shin couldn’t remember what Baylan had done with them, but this wasn’t her memory. Coordinates had been given away, someone he could trust, a hidden path. They were safe, from the pirates, from the empire, from it all-

“Who do you want to be, Shin?”

“I want to do what’s right, Master.” I want to do what you raised me to do. I want to make you proud-

“You already have, Shin,”

The force bristled through the remains of her braid, she caught the blue tinged tint of a comforting hand. “Follow your moon, follow your feelings, but be mindful, look to the paths often, so long as you are alive, you have a choice.”

Silence was thick in their dry throat, her fingernails dug into the soft grip around his saber. “The Mandalorian’s blade?”

Of course, he knew about the vibroblade they had swiped from Sabine’s armor before coming outside, even without being part of the cosmic force, he would have known.

There was a warm, comforting presence on her hands, her eyes stayed shut as the blade was guided to her hair. The remains of the braid sliced easily when the blade pressed against them. White-blonde strands fell onto the pyre, and the blade was set between the sabers.

“I never knew myself, how this would go. We are no Jedi.”

Ahsoka’s footsteps grew louder, drawing the attention of the wolves. “You don’t rise as a Jedi Knight,” Her voice was calm, eyes stuck on the ghostly form of her master as she stepped into the bubble. Her attention left Baylan, to the wide eyed blonde against the stone. Her hand rested on their shoulder, the other reaching for their hand. “You rise as yourself. Are you ready?”

Shin did not notice the warm smile or the fading form of her Master as she took Ahsoka’s hand, accepting her help in standing. It was still hard, the weight still pressed down on her, but it was easier, manageable. Maybe… maybe she could do with just being ‘Shin, chaser of the moon.’

Translations

Dar’Hibir - no longer a student

Di’kut- Idiot

Ner dal Kurs’kaded - my strong wolf

#shin hati #Sabine wren #Baylan Skoll #Ahsoka Tano #Huyang #Ahsoka series #wolfwren #goth dad #star wars #character death tw #grief tw #fellas it’s sad and gay #I cried #a good deal #and i wrote it #sw fic

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