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wild-karrde · 2 years

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One Step at a Time - Part 2

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A/N: WOW! The response to this was ENTIRELY unexpected, but HI HELLO WELCOME I LOVE YOU ALL! As always, thank you to the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me! :)

Chapter Rating: T

Warnings: canon-typical violence

Word Count: 6.8k words

Two sets of eyes stared back at the clone pilot, one pair an earthy brown, the other a honey gold. The two younglings sat in the pilot and co-pilot’s seat, swinging their feet and watching Chuckles as he stood before them, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Their looks were expectant, waiting for him to tell them what the next step was.

As if I have any kriffing idea.

Chuckles hadn’t told them how he’d known about this place, hovering in a random point in space within view of a massive pink nebula. He’d found this spot by complete accident. His squadron, the 28th Combat Wing, had gotten bad intel and jumped right into a Separatist trap. They had been overwhelmed instantly and torn apart before they could process what was happening, ship after ship exploding in a fireball as radar blips and lives blinked out of existence. Crater, his captain, had screamed at them to jump out, and as Chuckles watched his commanding officer’s ship rip apart, his scorched body floating away, he’d punched in a random set of coordinates into his Z-95’s computer, fighting the bile rising in his stomach, and made the jump to hyperspace.

He had been lucky that he’d jumped somewhere empty rather than crashing into some planet’s surface or being sucked into the middle of a black hole. In fact, it almost seemed fated that he found this spot, gazing at a dark pink nebula that almost matched his armor. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat in the cockpit of his fighter that time, hyperventilating at first and then shifting to angry sobbing. He’d scuffed the inside of his cockpit punching the paneling until his knuckles bruised and started to crack and bleed under his gloves. Finally, he’d just ripped his helmet off and screamed until his lungs had burned, tears streaming down his cheeks. When he’d worn himself out, he’d ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to clear the memories of his squad mates’ screams and Crater’s final words.

“Run, Chuckles. Get your ass out of here. Carry on the fight.”

He’d leaned back in his seat with red eyes and a bad case of the hiccups.

“Why would I want to carry on after that?” he’d rasped to no one in particular, wiping at his cheeks and runny nose. When the silence had no answer, he’d continued. “What’s even the point? We’re just cannon fodder, meant to be expendable. Fighting an entire war for a side that hardly sees us as human.” His general was stuffy and not necessarily cruel to the clones, but hardly one to treat them with the empathy and compassion Chuckles felt they deserved. They were soldiers and were expected to behave with decorum and unwavering bravery.

“What if I’m broken? What if I’m not brave enough?” Chuckles had asked the nebula again.

The stars had no answer for him, and he’d eventually limped back to base, finding solace in the bottom of a bottle at 79s until Howzer and a few others had carried him back to the barracks.

After that, he’d returned to the nebula after battles, talking with his brothers that were lost. In his mind, finding it by accident had been the galaxy giving him a place to talk with them, updating them on the war, asking their advice, or telling them any of the new jokes he’d come up with. The stars in the nebula had been the inspiration for the stars on his helmet, markers for each of those that had fallen. Now, he wished for nothing more than to sit in the pilot’s seat and talk to his brothers again, but he knew they definitely wouldn’t have answers this time.

None of us were trained to deal with this. Turning on those we fought alongside? Stealing shitty ships? Taking care of two kids? Yeah, none of that was in the training manuals.

He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck again as he looked back at the two younglings sitting in front of him. “Alright, first thing’s first. You two hungry?”

Arni’s stomach grumbled in reply, and he huffed a laugh. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Let’s see what this greasy freighter pilot has to eat. And then we inventory. See what we’ve got around this rust bucket. Also, gonna need to figure out how to scramble this ship’s signature. Arni, think you can manage that?”

The Twi’lek’s eyes widened, and Chuckles could see the task was perhaps a little daunting. “Food first, then we’ll think about it together, ok?”

The three of them began digging through storage compartments, setting whatever they could find that was edible out on the small table that protruded from one wall with two small benches on either side. The younglings could just manage to squeeze onto one together, and Chuckles took the opposite seat after removing the top half of his kit and his gloves. As they sorted through the food and water packets they found, Chuckles plucked the bottle of cheap-looking grog from Arni’s grasp as the Twi’lek was studying the faded and scratched off label. “None of that for you.” Arni rolled their eyes before returning to sorting through the food. When it was all said and done, they had half a dozen ration bars, several freeze-dried meals, a few packets of assorted dried fruits and nuts, some bags of fried snacks, and two dozen packets of water.

Not a lot for three people, but it’ll hold us for a rotation or two.

“Alright, what do you feel like eating?” Chuckles asked.

“SNACKS!” Nita demanded, reaching for one of the brightly colored bags.

Chuckles started to pull it away before he looked back at her face. Both kids looked exhausted, and suddenly, he realized just how much they’d endured in such a short span of time. Arni’s stomach growled again.

Let her have the chips. It’s the least you can do.

Chuck surrendered the bag. “Alright, but don’t eat too much. We’ve got to make this last for a bit, and I’m done cleaning up puke for the day, got it?” His eyes flicked to where his helmet was sitting out to dry after being scrubbed thoroughly in the ship’s tiny refresher. Nita nodded, but her eyes were sparkling as she tore the bag open. “Make sure she works some fruit in there,” Chuckles said pointedly to Arni. The Twi’lek nodded before hesitantly reaching for another bag of snacks.

Chuckles suddenly remembered the pouch he’d noted on Arni’s belt earlier. “By the way, what kind of snacks do you normally keep stocked in that utility belt, kid?” he asked.

Arni was already working their way through something fried and crunchy that smelled very spicy. They shrugged as they chewed, mumbling around mouthfuls. “What…whatever the clones…in my battalion were craving.”

Chuckles’s face softened. “You saw combat?” They’re just a kid. As a pilot, he’d rarely been around younger Jedi, but now as he sat and took in the youngling’s casual demeanor, his heart broke a little. They’re accustomed to it. They’re so young.

Arni nodded, swallowing. “Not much. I was only Master Yaddle’s padawan for a little while before…today.” The Twi’lek’s face fell slightly, and Chuckles could see the day’s events racing back through their mind.

“A little young to be a padawan, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m the right age.”

“Ah.” He had to admit he knew very little about how that process worked. “Well, how do you decide which snacks are best? That’s a lot of opinions to account for.”

Arni’s expression shifted with Chuckles’s question. “I’d poll them. Take requests, and gauge what was most popular statistically. If there was something that was unpopular that one guy really liked, I’d try to have that on hand when I could.”

Chuckles looked at them. “What was normally most popular?”

“These actually,” Arni said, holding up the bag they were eating from. It was aggressively red and orange with yellow lettering that spelled out SIX SUNS SPICE SNAPPERS. “They’re my favorite now too,” the Twi’lek said quietly before popping one of the snacks in their mouth. Chuckles reached into the bag, taking out one of the bright red curls and examining it warily. He took a hesitant sniff, and the smell alone made his eyes water. Arni and Nita were watching him with a bit too much interest as he inspected it. Chuckles raised an eyebrow at the two of them, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Well, I’m not about to back down from this challenge. Plus, how bad could it be? Arni’s eating these like they’re nothing.

Without sparing it another thought, he popped the snack into his mouth, and immediately, his taste buds were overwhelmed with a scorching heat that seemed to constrict his throat as his eyes watered and his nose ran. He coughed hard, banging a fist on his chest as he chewed determinedly before finally swallowing and sticking his tongue out, panting hard to circulate cooler air across his taste buds. He reached for the bottle of mystery booze, popping the cork off and taking a large mouthful and gargling before swallowing and choking some more. After a few minutes, he finally managed to assuage some of the burning, wiping his nose. As he sat up, he noted Arni trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grin. Nita, however, had no such inhibitions. The tiny Pantoran was squealing with laughter.

“YOUR FACE! IT’S SO RED!”

“Yeah, well yours is blue!” he rasped back.

“It’s supposed to be that color.”

“If you say so,” he retorted playfully, giving her a wink as he took another drink from the bottle.

It was the first genuine smile he’d seen from the two kids all day, and it warmed his heart. During the war, he’d made sure to try and joke his brothers out of any depressive funks after missions, his goal being to get one smile a day if he could. In drastic scenarios, he’d wound up resorting to physical comedy. They mostly were harmless, but there were a few cases where he managed to land himself in the medbay with a concussion or a broken finger or two and on a particularly reckless day, a broken collarbone and dislocated shoulder. Sticks was pissed that day. I really thought he was gonna break my neck just to not have to deal with me anymore. Thank the Maker Stones was around to talk him out of it. He grinned at the memories of the twin medics, Sticks normally grumbling in the corner about how irresponsible he was while Stones joked about him just coming up with a reason to raid the candy stash they kept in one of the med cabinets.

Glad I got a laugh out of them. Gotta keep some traditions alive, I suppose. Worth it to see their smiles. Even if my intestines might be wrecked.

The three of them finished their meal, Chuckles joking with them until he finally got Arni to laugh, the Twi’lek tipping their head back and guffawing loudly. The sound made him smile so much, his face hurt, and for a moment, it felt as though they hadn’t just endured the end of the galaxy as they knew it.

After they finished eating, he put Arni and Nita in charge of putting the food away while he continued poking through the various storage compartments. He found a few blankets that smelled a bit but would be warm enough to sleep under. Glancing over at the small bunk, he tipped his head in to look around its inside. The walls were bare, but the previous owner of the ship had a double-sized bed that would fit both kids pretty well.

I’ll take the pilot’s chair. They need a comfortable place to sleep.

Nita was already making her way towards him, rubbing her eyes and yawning loudly. “‘M tired,” she said sleepily, reaching up to pull at the ribbons that were tied around her buns.

Chuckles lifted her into the bunk before kneeling down and helping her undo a particularly stubborn knot in one of the ribbons. “Well, good news! There’s a bed. You two will sleep in here, alright?” He ruffled her silver curls as they finally fell to her shoulders.

“What about you?” Arni asked as they came up behind him.

“Ah, I sleep better in a pilot’s chair than I ever sleep in a bunk,” Chuck fibbed. “Plenty of practice.”

The Twi’lek didn’t argue with him, although they seemed skeptical as they climbed into the bunk next to Nita. Chuckles threw one of the large blankets over the top of both of the younglings, tucking them in.

“Chuckles?” Nita said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you call me ‘honey’?” she asked.

Chuckles sat down on the edge of the bunk. “Because the first thing I saw was your eyes, and that’s what they made me think of: fresh honey. You ok with me calling you that?”

She pondered it for a moment. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

“Chuckles?”

“Yes, Nita?”

“What’s gonna happen to us?”

He looked past the Pantoran to find Arni watching him, the question reflected in their eyes as well. He sighed, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “I don’t know yet. But you know what I do know?”

“What?”

“That we’ll figure it out together. Arni’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. You’re kinder than you have any business being. And I’m a pilot. The three of us are unstoppable.”

“So you won’t leave us?”

His brow furrowed. “No, why would I do that?”

The Pantoran shrugged. “We’ll slow you down.”

Chuckles sighed. He’d spent the last few hours wondering what the next move was, but at no point had he considered abandoning the younglings that had stumbled into his care. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had made that a certainty. Maybe it came from being raised in a group setting from the moment he was taken out of his tube, maybe he just didn’t want to do this alone. Either way, they were staying with him, at least until he could figure out a better situation for them. “No, honey. The three of us are sticking together for as long as you two can stand me,” he teased.

Nita appeared to think on it before nodding with a bit of finality. “One step at a time,” she echoed from earlier.

“Yeah, one step at a time.”

“Pinky promise?” She held up her tiny blue hand with her pinky extended. Chuckles laughed lightly.

“Pinky promise.” He locked his pinky with hers before reaching over to Arni with his pinky extended. “Come on, gimme some pinky.”

The Twi’lek gave him a small smile before locking their pinky with his again.

“Alright, you two get some sleep. I’ll be right here in the pilot’s chair if you need me. I’m gonna shut the sliding door so the light doesn’t bother you, ok?”

The two kids nodded, settling down amongst the meager pillows and blankets as Chuckles slid the door shut with a squeal.

Oof. Gonna need some grease for that.

Alright. Now what?

Inventory. See where you stand.

Methodically, Chuckles worked his way through each storage compartment in the ship, mentally cataloging everything they had and moving things around to where they made more sense to him.

Medkit needs to be more easily accessible. Maybe closer to the ‘fresher. At least that’s somewhat clean. Small, but clean. Tool kit could use an upgrade, but it’ll do. Maybe Arni’ll have some ideas about what to get for it. Put that closer to the maintenance access panel. Spare blankets can go closer to the bunk…

He went for hours until he could finally feel exhaustion overtaking him. Looking at the chrono on his vambrace, he noted it was well into the middle of the night Coruscant time. Carefully, he removed all of his armor except for his boots, neatly piling it in one of the storage compartments except for his vambrace, which he set in the copilot seat next to him with the chrono facing him. Picking up his sidearm holster, he hung the weapon from a hook on the wall near the cockpit. Grabbing the last blanket he’d left out for himself, he trudged to the pilot seat, settling back into it and wrapping the blanket around himself as he propped his feet up on the control console. His eyes drifted out the front viewport, taking in the magenta nebula in front of him as the thoughts he’d been avoiding finally caught up with him.

“The kriff am I supposed to do now, boys?” he asked the stars. He was met with silence. “Maybe it’s good you all didn’t make it to the end. You’d have hated today. It was absolutely the worst, and we’ve endured whatever that was that the long-necks would serve us as food at the end of the month when supplies were running low. It was nutritious, sure, but we all know we’d rather have eaten the skin off our own foot callouses given the choice.” He sighed, his fingers trailing down to grip the neck of the bottle of grog that he’d dragged over to the chair. He examined it, still not entirely sure what it was since the label was unreadable. Not too much. Can’t be hungover right now. I’ve got two other living things to take care of. He took another swig, sighing as the warmth spread across his chest and into his stomach.

He sat in silence for a few moments, trying to get comfortable, but his mind wandered back to the blaster hanging from the wall in its holster where he’d placed it. Wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders, he stood, walking over and pulling the DC-17 loose before trudging back to the seat. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he pressed his thumb against the mode switch and felt the same click he could have sworn he’d felt a few hours ago. He looked down, and sure enough, the blue stun indicator glared back at him. He clicked it again, and the mode indicator flipped to red, signaling it was set to kill. He clicked it back to blue again.

I was so sure. I felt it click. I know I did.

The two troopers he had killed came roaring back to the front of his memory, a helmet with a smoldering hole in the front of it and a chest plate with two identical holes. He’d never had to fire the weapon before today, but he had certainly been trained enough on how to use it to where it was nearly second nature.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

He flipped the weapon’s mode again and again until his thumb started to hurt.

I didn’t want to kill them. I just wanted to get the kids out of there.

Blue. Red. Blue. Red.

They were going to kill you though. You did what you had to.

But they were my brothers.

But they were going to kill you.

Click. Click. Click.

The blaster clattered to the floor. Chuckles pressed his shaking hands to his face to muffle his sobs.

Why? Why did they do that?

I thought it was on stun.

---

Thud.

Chuckles awoke with a start, looking around frantically before he remembered where he was.

Thud.

The second bump against his chair startled him again, and he whirled around to find Nita’s wide golden eyes staring up at him. He must have looked angry, because she shrunk back from him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Chuckles rubbed his hands over his face quickly before clambering out of the chair and coming to kneel next to her, plastering a smile across his face. “Don’t be sorry, honey. What is it?”

She pointed at his vambrace. “I saw it was blinking when I got up to use the ‘fresher.”

Glancing over, he noted that the comm indicator was flashing on the vambrace, indicating a waiting message. “How about that? Probably nothing.” He glanced at the chrono. “Still a while before you need to be awake. Why don’t you go sleep some more?” Nita was staring at something hard, and he followed her gaze to where his DC-17 was lying on the floor of the ship, long forgotten. He picked it up, tucking it back into its holster on the wall before carrying Nita back to bed.

“You’re sad,” she whispered.

Chuckles appraised her for a moment, wondering if it was that obvious or if her Force sensitivity allowed her to perceive things like that. Ultimately, he decided lying to her wasn’t an option. He heaved a deep sigh, leaning his back against the frame of the bunk as she snuggled back under the blankets, her eyes never leaving him.

“I am. I don’t know why my brothers did what they did,” he said quietly.

“Do you think they’ll come after us?”

Chuckles thought about it. “We’re just three people. I can’t imagine they’d spend a lot of time looking for us. Plus I’m not even sure they know I’m gone. I’m not exactly important, and there was a lot of confusion there at the end. I’d bet a lot of people got lost in the fray. I think we’re safe for now.”

Nita didn’t appear to be fully convinced, but after a few moments, the crease between her pale eyebrows softened as her eyes began to droop. Chuckles waited until her breathing deepened into quiet snores before closing the bunk back up to let the two younglings sleep a little bit longer. He surveyed the blanket draped over the pilot seat for a moment, rolling his neck to work some of the stiffness out that had built up during his brief slumber.

Think I’m done sleeping for now. At least I got a few hours in.

His eyes flicked back to the blinking light on his vambrace.

I suppose that’s worth checking.

Reaching into the refresher, he retrieved his helmet, inspecting it for any remnants of Nita’s upheaval and giving it a cursory sniff.

Doesn’t smell too much like vomit I suppose.

Sitting heavily back down in the pilot’s chair, he swapped over the comm to only play in his helmet and pressed the blinking button. A grating, sinister voice immediately filled his ears.

“Citizens of the civilized galaxy, on this day we mark a transition. For a thousand years, the Republic stood as the crowning achievement of civilized beings.”

Who the kriff is this? The Chancellor? What’s wrong with his voice?

The broadcast continued.

“But there were those who would set us against one another, and we took up arms to defend our way of life against the Separatists. In so doing, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within.”

A chill ran up Chuckles’s spine.

“The Jedi, and some within our own Senate, had conspired to create the shadow of Separatism using one of their own as the enemy’s leader. They had hoped to grind the Republic into ruin. But the hatred in their hearts could not be hidden forever. At last, there came a day when our enemies showed their true natures.”

Chuckles blinked rapidly under his helmet. What the kriff is he talking about?

“The Jedi hoped to unleash their destructive power against the Republic by assassinating the head of government and usurping control of the clone army. But the aims of would-be tyrants were valiantly opposed by those without elitist, dangerous powers. Our loyal clone troopers contained the insurrection within the Jedi Temple and quelled uprisings on a thousand worlds.”

His stomach tightened and he felt bile rise in his throat once more. There was no insurrection. They murdered younglings. Padawans. This is a lie. It’s all a kriffing lie.

“The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated! Any collaborators will suffer the same fate.”

Chuckles’s breathing was accelerating, his chest tightening with every word he listened to.

“These have been trying times, but we have passed the test. The attempt on my life has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger.”

Even through his distress, Chuckles smirked. Not like he was much of a looker to begin with.

“The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning. In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society, which I assure you will last for ten thousand years.”

The speech continued, and Chuckles could barely process what he was hearing. There were mentions of spying on each other, being “loyal and vigilant” citizens, of a new form of government that would crush its enemies. Who defines the enemies? The same people that decided younglings should be executed in cold blood? His mind raced with confusion, with betrayal, with anger. He whipped his head around to look at the closed bunk door. Hunted down and defeated? Like they were at the temple? No. I won’t let that happen. I can’t. They’re just kriffing kids. What is happening? How can this be happening? People can’t be letting this happen, right?

A new snippet of Palpatine’s address drew his attention. “The clone troopers, now proudly wearing the name of Imperial stormtroopers, have tackled the dangerous work of fighting our enemies on the front lines. Many have died in their devotion to the Empire.”

No, they died for the Republic. There was never supposed to be an Empire. What is he talking about?

“We have been tested, but we have emerged stronger,” Palpatine hissed. “We move forward as one people: the Imperial citizens of the first Galactic Empire. We will prevail. Ten thousand years of peace begins today.”

The address cut off for a few seconds before it began looping again. Chuckles ripped his helmet off, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. They’d never allow this. My brothers would never allow this. The people would never allow this. Spying on each other? Murdering younglings? No way.

He leaned forward, searching the control console for any type of radio controls. When he finally found what he was looking for, he cranked the volume down to barely audible before flipping nobs to find the news frequency broadcasts. People must be talking about this. It didn’t take him long to find the first frequency with a voice.

“…Emperor Palpatine addressed the Senate to deliver his proclamation of a new order, the establishment of a Galactic Empire…”

“…Clone troopers have been seen patrolling the outskirts of the Jedi Temple. No media or civilians have been allowed in or out, but some are saying they have seen bodies being removed from inside the temple, although it is unclear if the bodies are of Jedi or clones…”

“…disturbing reports of unrest across the galaxy as the Grand Army of the Republic works to restore order among worlds calling for the immediate removal of the Chancellor…”

Each flip to a different frequency told a different version of the same awful story. Chuckles felt his stomach drop.

It’s really happening.

“…some say inhibitor chips may have been the cause for the clones’ sudden shift in alliance…”

Chuck paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He crouched down near the radio, trying to keep his breathing even as he pressed his ear to the speaker, ensuring he’d catch every word.

“The Kaminoans allegedly installed these chips in order to ensure obedience in the clones, but some are saying it was these chips that forced the clones to turn on their Jedi counterparts. Inside sources claim that an unknown order was given that activated the chips, driving the clones to murder their Jedi commanding officers in cold blood. Now, we must ask ourselves, are these truly the people we want running the galaxy? An unelected, self-proclaimed sovereign and his army of flesh and blood droids that will turn on anyone deemed ‘an enemy’? I, for one, am quite concerned.”

Chuckles punched off the radio and sank to the floor, his hand drifting up to the side of his head where he’d felt the pain.

Execute Order 66.

That had been when it hit me, right? When that order came down? That was it.

Chuck shuddered, but he couldn’t be sure if it was from relief or fear or any combination of other emotions. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he rocked, trying to steady his breathing. His chest felt as though a Wookiee had him in a hug and wasn’t letting go, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing.

They made us kill them. We didn’t do it by choice.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

But we helped him subjugate the entire galaxy in one fell swoop, practically handing it to him on a platter. We put him in charge. We murdered for him without ever having a chance to resist it. We were pawns.

But why didn’t mine work?

He touched the side of his head again. It has to be there, right? In my brain? He had never been strong at anything biology-related, but he had to imagine that’s where you’d put a mind control device, in the brain. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

How many concussions have I had? And of all of those, how many were on this side of my head?

He started to tally them up on his fingers, trying to remember how each one had happened. There was the one time I tripped on the stairs and ate it without my helmet on. And the time the flight sim rolled on me unexpectedly and slammed my head against the viewport. Or the time I tried to do a backflip while half-drunk off that home brew…that one was a doozy. After a few moments, he paused. Could it really be that? That I’m a kriffing idiot that loves throwing himself around for the sake of making people laugh, and I damaged the damn thing?

He covered his face with his hands.

Eat that, Sticks.

Before he knew it, his shoulders were shaking with mirth. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and stifle his laughter, covering his mouth with his hands as he rocked back and forth. Tears streamed from his eyes. He couldn’t be sure what was driving them, grief, sadness, relief, joy, but he couldn’t stop. He laughed until his abdomen burned and his eyes were red. After a few minutes, he finally managed to get himself under control, taking a few deep, wavering breaths and blowing out sharply.

Alright. What’s next? They’re looking for Jedi. And clones are stormtroopers.

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at his colored tips before he paused.

I’m not a stormtrooper. And I stand out with this.

Chuckles pushed himself to his feet, striding to the ‘fresher. He surveyed himself in the mirror and cringed at his puffy red eyes. His mouth twitched, tugging at the scar that ran from the corner of his mouth up his cheek.

Get it together, trooper.

Digging around in the meager set of drawers, he finally found what he was looking for: a pair of clippers. He powered them on, and they buzzed loudly. Looking in the mirror, he took a deep breath.

One step at a time.

It only took him a few minutes for him to completely buzz his entire head. Brushing the strands of bleached and dyed hair from his scalp, he looked in the mirror, and felt a lump rise in his throat again. It had been a long time since he’d looked exactly like his brothers, always dyeing the tips of his mohawk all sorts of wild colors. But now, all of those brothers were staring back at him in the mirror. The scar at the corner of his mouth was the only identifying thing on his face. His only tattoo was the large tattoo down his back, a black pattern that was identical to the circuit board layout of his Z-95 Headhunter’s flight computer. When he was fully dressed, he looked just like all of his brothers, just another face among the millions. Rubbing at the scruff starting to pepper his chin, he decided to leave it. A beard might help hide my face a bit. He shivered involuntarily before replacing the clippers in the drawer and sweeping the remnants of his mohawk into the wastebin. As he straightened, he caught a whiff of a stench that made his nose wrinkle. Raising his arm again, he sniffed his armpit and swore under his breath.

Definitely time for a shower now.

He showered quickly and quietly in the tiny ‘fresher before wrapping one of the thin towels around his waist and sneaking back out to the main part of the ship. He’d found some clothes the night before that he assumed belonged to the freighter’s owner. They smelled a bit musty and were somewhat large on him, but he made do, rolling up the sleeves of the dark grey shirt and slipping his belt through the tan trousers to hold them up on his hips. There was a pair of worn, dark boots that were just about his size, and he slipped them on his feet, wiggling his toes experimentally inside of them. He took one last look in the mirror, heaving a deep sigh.

One step at a time.

He turned at the sound of the bunk door sliding open with a sharp metallic squeal. Arni and Nita peered out at him sleepily.

“You cut off your hair,” Nita commented.

“Yeah. I did. Figured it was time for a change.” He walked over, helping her out of the bunk. “You two get enough sleep?”

Arni nodded quietly, but Nita tipped her head back and yawned, rubbing blearily at her eyes. “What’s for breakfast?”

Chuckles grinned. “Whatever we want. But we need to figure out next steps today. I don’t think the food we’ve got will last us more than another rotation or so.”

Nita nodded before heading towards the refresher, shutting the door behind her. Chuckles glanced over at Arni. “You alright? You’re awfully quiet. I mean, you’re quiet in general, but it seems like something’s bothering you.”

The Twi’lek ducked their head. “She had nightmares last night. A lot of them.”

Chuckles’s face fell. “About what happened?”

“I think so. She didn’t want to talk about it when she woke up. Just cried for a bit. I hugged her until she went back to sleep.”

Crouching down, Chuckles put his hands on Arni’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you come wake me up?”

Arni shrugged. “You were tired too. I cracked the door open, and you were snoring loudly. I figured I was already up, so I handled it.”

Chuckles sighed. “I appreciate that, but you come wake me up next time, alright? You’ve done such a good job of taking care of Nita, but you don’t have to do that alone. I want to help. We’re all going to get through this together, so you lean on me to help with things like that. Got it?” The youngling nodded, dropping their eyes to the floor. Chuck slipped his hand under their chin, pulling their face back up to meet his gaze. “And you know that if you’re not alright, you don’t have to just deal with that on your own either, right? It’s ok to not have it all together right now. I’ll take some of that burden for you.”

Arni’s bottom lip trembled, their eyes flicking to the refresher door before they finally burst into tears, their hands flying to cover their face. Chuckles’s heart broke. Hesitantly, he reached out, wrapping his arms around Arni’s thin frame. He was worried the Twi’lek might pull away, but instead, they flung their arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Chuck squeezed them a little tighter, sliding to a seated position on the floor of the ship with Arni kneeling between his legs, clinging to him tightly as the last rotation’s events finally crashed down around them.

“It’s alright kid. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I promise,” Chuckles soothed, cradling the back of Arni’s head as they cried into his chest, their thin fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“I was just so scared. And there were so many of our friends that were dead. And I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t save everyone. And Nita was so scared. And I didn’t want her to know how scared I was. They killed everyone.” Arni trembled, hiccups interrupting their speech as tears continued to pour down their cheeks. Chuckles rocked them back and forth, holding them firmly and trying to fight the tears that were forming in his own eyes.

“You did so good, Arni. You got both of you out of there, and then you kept her safe. You did exactly what you needed to do to survive. You were so brave, kid. So brave.”

“B-b-but we ran. There were so many others. And we just r-r-ran.”

Chuckles gently pushed Arni back to meet their gaze. “Arni, look at me.”

The Twi’lek’s brown eyes were red and puffy, and their nose was runny, but they managed to meet Chuckles’s gaze. The clone pilot took the corner of his shirt and wiped their nose with it.

“That’s gross,” they mumbled.

“Yeah, well I’m a gross guy, so get used to it.”

Arni sniffled again, but smiled slightly at that, their hiccups starting to subside. They sat back on their haunches, folding their hands in their lap.

“You know, when I found this place, I was running from a battle,” Chuckles said quietly. “We’d gotten some bad information and jumped right into an ambush. My brothers were dying all around me, and I was doing everything I could to stay alive and maybe take down a few Seppies in the process. It seemed like for every ship I shot down, three more showed up. I couldn’t save them, and I felt exactly how you feel now. But then my captain screamed at me to get the hell out of there, and at first, I didn’t do what he said. I felt like I had to save them and that if I left, I was abandoning them. But you know what my captain told me?”

Arni shook their head.

“That I had to carry on the fight. So that’s what I did. I punched in some random coordinates, got my ass out of there, and came here. And then I did what my captain asked. I carried on the fight. If I had stayed, I would have died, and I truly believe I survived for a reason. Well, two reasons, and one of them is sitting in front of me, and the other is very likely making a mess of the ‘fresher right now.”

Arni giggled quietly, picking at their fingernails. Chuckles took their hands in his. He was still surprised at how much his hands dwarfed theirs, slender blue fingers folded in his massive, calloused palms.

“I’m sad that I lost those brothers. Each star on my helmet represents one of them, and I carry them with me everywhere, but it's their memory that keeps me going. I’ve got to keep living for them. You and Nita now have that same responsibility now. You’ve got to carry on that fight for those that you cared about. I never knew too many Jedi during the war, but from what I can gather, they’d want you to keep going. You honor their memory by living and carrying them with you. So that’s what we’re gonna do, ok? You and me and Nita are gonna keep living, keep surviving, and some day, we’re going to tell their stories and make sure everyone knows how brave our friends were. Alright?”

Arni nodded.

“And it’s ok to miss them and be down about it. You both have been through a lot, more than any kid should ever have to deal with, so I’d have been worried if you’d just held it together the entire time. This was good to do. So don’t feel bad about this. When you’re down, you come find me, and we’ll talk it out, or if you need to cry, you cry and I’ll hug you while you do it if that helps. Got it?”

The Twi’lek nodded again, swallowing hard. “What happens if you’re sad?”

“Ah, I don’t get sad. There’s a reason my name is Chuckles.”

Arni’s brow furrowed skeptically. “Well, if you need to be sad, you can talk to me too. You said we’re doing this together, that we’re going to take care of each other. So, we have to take care of you too. Nita’s too little to do much, but I can help. I can listen.”

Chuckles looked the kid over, chewing his lip for a moment before nodding. “Alright. If I get down, I’ll talk to you.”

Arni held out their pinky wordlessly. Chuckles huffed a laugh before locking his pinky around theirs. When they released hands, he helped the Twi’lek to their feet and pulled them in for one more quick hug before they heard some loud banging coming from the ‘fresher.

“HELP! THE DOOR’S STUCK!” Nita’s voice was more annoyed than panicked as she shouted from within her tiny prison.

Arni covered their mouth with their hand to stifle their laugh.

“How long you figure we should leave her in there?” Chuckles asked, his eyebrows wiggling teasingly.

“HELLO?! ARNI!? CHUCKLES?!”

“I’ll get her if you get breakfast out,” Arni replied, grinning up at him.

“Deal.”

A/N: I can’t believe the first part of this story that got wrecked by canon is YADDLE, but here we are. This part of the story existed before ToTJ aired, and at the time, I thought (and still think) that Yaddle would have made an AWESOME master for Arni. SO IT STAYS AND I STAND BY IT, DANGIT. That’s what fanfic is all about anyway haha.

Tag List: @seriowan @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @moonstrider9904 @partoftheeternalsoul @hockeyjedi13

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jopetkasi · 1 year

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Hello, we meet again :)

I don’t know what happened to me that all of a sudden I felt a sudden urge to drop everything and leave Manila and find comfort somewhere far. I got so overwhelmed with things and I felt an escape was much needed to save what’s left of my sanity.

so days after AJ’s wedding, we met with the oldies for dinner. and I was there all quiet and yes, as always I ate the leftovers.

I did enjoy the pasta I ordered. it was a pusit black pasta kind of thing which was really good. anyways, right after dinner, i took the 4 hour drive in Zambales to spend the remaining days of 2022 in peace.

I needed the space to recollect and i ask forgiveness to people left hanging with this sudden change. I am really sorry.

i left because i felt like a complete failure in the sense that i missed to achieve personal life goals. I wont go into the details, but i knew i screwed up. driving i was under the impression that somehow after days of getting off-grid, people would look for me? well, it sucks but none did, except for two amazing peeps here in Tumblr who forever I am grateful for the kindest attention showered to me

not even dad looked for me. surprise i am not.

it may appear that there is a certain degree of love lost that resulted to people not minding my absence. but i realized that the cloud of indifference also has its perks. i mean i am out of people’s radar and with that said, I do not have to measure up and pressure myself to please others...you see, there is also freedom from detachment.

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curseofbreadbear · 2 years

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Ask and y shall receive! What do you think of the events surrounding SAVETHEM death minigame in 2? I mean so much is going on there — dead kids scattered across the pizzeria, the toys are literally there despite the MCI happening somewhere between/around ‘83 and ‘85, Mangle is the *only* toy animatronic moving around for some reason… like HELLO? Did Afton kill yet another set of 5 kids during ‘87 that went completely under the radar? The implications are rife for potential theories tbh

ohoHO do i have some THOUGHTS on this one!!!!!! (thank you so much <33333)

okay so first off, bear in mind that this is (again) all based on my interpretation of fnaf lore. do not take it as canon lmao

THAT BEING SAID! i would first direct you to the fazbear frights story, "into the pit." lest we forget, bitch boy afton literally murked kids and LEFT THEM OUT IN THE OPEN FOR THE WHOLE ASS WORLD TO SEE. LIKE, FAMILIES ARE RUNNING OUT OF THE PIZZERIA SCREAMING & EVERYTHING. remind you of anything?? namely, how the kids in fnaf 2 are literally just out in the OPEN???? if there was one thing that purple flurp WASN'T, it was discreet.

second, i'd like to direct your attention to fnaf 4 -- despite the game taking place in 1983, the toys (including mangle, who is broken in the missing sister's bedroom) still have cameos. this is just to suggest the possibility that the entire minigame might take place BEFORE '87 - a possibility i do not, in fact, believe in, but an interesting possibility nonetheless

NOW, as for what's going on. i personally believe that the Original MCI took place in 1985, which the books seem to confirm, but i also don't think that bitch boy afton WOULD or DID stop at just five children. those five were just the beginning, so to speak, and the newspapers present in fnaf1 only reference the inciting incident - the one that started it all. there would be more kids that followed (just think about the kids who absolutely died during the reign of circus baby - did we ever hear anything about them?)

SO BASICALLY, YES, bitch boy afton was running rampant around this time in his career (and during the circus baby era as well). there were more than 5 missing kids , and i'm fairly certain of that.

side note, but charlie is an exception to the MCI (at least according to Me); her death wouldn't have occurred in 1985 OR 1987, but even EARLIER, in 1982 (same year """sammy'"" disappeared in the books). the freddy in the minigame where charlie dies looks more like withered freddy than toy freddy, meaning that the incident might not have even taken place in the 1987 restaurant - methinks it was fredbear's.

#🎬 || ᶤ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵗʰᵉᵒʳʸ˒ ᶤ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃ ʳᵘᵐᵒʳˑ (theories.) || 🎬#bugshub #{ THANK U BESTIE }#🎬 || there are secrets that will be unwound! (answered.) || 🎬

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nialltlynch · 1 year

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i got to ask about the niall mor v's but also...jordan blue??? can we get a morsel of jordan blue??

i posted what i have of the jordan blue thing here BUT i know i posted the bullet point version of this fic somewhere on my blog ?? i just??? cant find it??? it is so silly of me to have the whole thing outlined but like not written SORRY EVERYONE maybe ill try to bust this one out..

oooOHH okay so ive given Niall and mórs whole Thing some thought since cdth over the years (lmaooooo. sad). all of them were fleshed out and written way before greywaren so they have the added bonus of being non canon compliant too!!!

v1 was a strange half epistolary, half found footage type thing which was fun to do as a format but ultimately i decided to not use since i had no idea what i really though of niall and mór. v2 was an extended imagining of one of their later meetings in life and it's where i got a feel for the type of dynamic i felt they had (still super janky). and v3 looks A LOT like (current and active wip) v4 which is a brief (re: 17k words and counting) overview of their entire relationship in a way that is very cool to me personally and also has nothing whatsoever to do with greywaren SO. yeah. ive cannibalized and restructured quite a bit from the earlier versions so it's hard to pick out stuff that probably hasn't been reused but i tried !!!

the wip fridge: the post

This appears to be the final letter.

The question of who is of most interest to us. A bit of digging reveals that there once lived a Niall Lynch in Washington DC who was murdered in the Singer's Falls area around the time when we believe this final letter to have been written. Furthermore, his body was found near to the place where the original burned house is located. There are no photos of Niall as he appeared to live a life generally under the radar.

The house itself sits on a relatively hidden plot of land that had been assumed abandoned. Legal records show that it had changed a few hands back in the 1800s but those families either did not survive this long or they appear to have moved out of the area. Legally, it has been without owner or resident since at least the 1930s.

The few details we have been able to cobble together make for a strangely compelling case that perhaps Niall Lynch is the same Niall who penned half of these letters. Per immigration reports, Niall came to the United States in the early-mid 1990s from Ireland which lines up with the proposed timeline in the letters. Niall struggled to raise three sons in Washington DC. The family appeared to sustain themselves completely on odd jobs done under the table. It is assumed the boys' mother died early in life and not much is known besides the indication of an "A. Lynch" in reference to the mother on the boys' birth records.

We interviewed a few of the folks in Singer's Falls and the only knowledge they had of Niall Lynch was that he had been murdered there. No one knew him before then. Local police records show a thin investigation for his murder, which unfortunately is not uncommon for the area. What then was Niall doing in western Virginia when it seemed most of his life revolved around Washington DC?

Records show that the three Lynch Brothers (Declan, Ronan, and Matthew) were attending Aglionby Academy, a prestigious all-boys preparatory academy in Henrietta, Virginia, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Singer's Falls. When reached for comment, Declan Lynch summarized that he had been born and raised in Washington DC and his only brief stint in western Virginia was when he attended Aglionby Academy. He described his high school experience as "easily some of the years of [his] youth." When questioned about the burned house and if he or his father knew anyone in Singer's Falls, Declan came up with nothing. We showed Declan some of the letters and sketches and he seemed genuinely very surprised. He guessed that whatever had happened was something that happened to far more interesting people.

"I do love a good mystery," he told us.

For the past couple years, Declan has lived and worked in Boston as a notable art critic and curator. He and longtime girlfriend Jordan Hennessy are celebrating the opening of their first gallery in the summer.

Ronan and Matthew Lynch were unable to be reached for comment.

If the evidence for Niall Lynch is anemic at best, any clue to the identity of Mór Ó Corra is like chasing a ghost. It's clear from the letter that Mór Ó Corra, is a chosen name and no references or mentions of her legal name are ever made in the letters. Scouring historical records and those noted to be in contact with Niall Lynch turn up no mention or indication of any such character. The references made in her letters to the supposed society she joined here in the United States do not lead to anywhere of note. Select portion of her letters and available sketches have been sent to databases ranging from criminal to amateur to art historians alike. To our knowledge, no hits have been made yet. We had hoped that perhaps being knowledgeable about art, Declan Lynch would have been able to shed some light on her identity. However, when he viewed the sketches he came up with nothing. He did praise her technique and warm use of gesturing.

Niall Lynch spits blood and bourbon on the stoop of the bar as he's so kindly escorted out. He curses them, too, but the words splash against the door and dissipate in the humidity, thick and hungry and alive. Even the sky up above is rolling and nauseated as though it feels as tipsy as Niall. There's grace in good company, Niall thinks. At least there are no witnesses to this low point.

What a mess this all is.

They had made him say her name. Mór Ó Corra. He rasped it and the consonants cut a line from the soft places in his gut and all up his throat. Vowels seeped from his saliva like poison. There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Niall to rethink things a thousand times over, and then simply the name of a bar and the line going dead.

He came here to find her. He came here to forget.

In the end, it doesn't matter anyway because she didn't show up.

There's a row of measly potted flowers hugging the weathered stone exterior of the bar. They're a little dry, barely enthused to be alive, cracks all along their pots. But the sound, oh how delightful it is when they crash and shatter on the concrete. Petal flatten under his boots, fluttering to the dirt as he draws his foot up to stomp someplace else. There's a window smudged with years and too old, too timid now to reflect anything. He should break it.

"Yes, I can see you've definitely matured."

Niall blinks, the world tilts just so, and where there had been nothing now there is Mór. The years between the Mór he had last beheld, both with his eyes and his hands, and this Mór now in front of him are distinct, jarring. She is lovely.

"Cunt," he calls her. His instincts flinch in muscle memory but the wave of regret never follows.

What does follow is a moment of silence. Niall is afraid to look away, to possibly lose her as though she is only here because he longs for her to be here. The sick clouds above rumble and spark in the distance. A smattering of rain tentatively falls and it's the wet spots budding on her skin, on the fabric of her shirt, that makes Niall believe this moment is real.

"You used to write me sonnets. Is that all?" she asks, already exasperated with him. He can feel the joy already beginning to turn his stomach.

"I'm all out of words for you, woman."

"Good to know you've stopped lying to my face. The other side of the leaf is greener and you, my steadfast and true beloved, are proof of that. What have you done with him?"

"He doesn't know," he says truthfully. Mór makes a face like she doesn't believe him. Niall has missed that little pout in her lip. Her eyes rove the ground but they don't find anything and Niall laughs, gesturing at eye level. "He's about here now."

"Disgusting. Why would you let that happen?"

aaaaaaaand i actually have nothing to post for v3 since it's essentially draft 1 for the current iteration. hopefully (HOPEFULLY) ill be posting the fic soon !!! goal is before the end of the year lmao

#asks and answers #kk writing #the wip fridge

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loulovestowrite · 2 years

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Today. What a day.

A hot water pipe burst in an apartment two floors below mine and now that floor, the floor beneath it, and the basement are completely flooded. The lights and the water are off. Water was trickling down some of the walls. But my apartment is dry, albeit dark.

My new supervisor called me out in handover this morning and I hit back before my self-control could kick in. He quickly apologised. He’d been wrong. He hadn’t actually read my notes before trying to give me feedback on something that hadn’t actually happened. The clinical director was quick to step in and have a word to him with all of us on the line. It was a clusterfuck. It was awkward. He apologised multiple times throughout the day. The last time he did I burst into tears. I don’t want to be someone that cries at work any more. I want this part of my life to be done.

I spent most of the day unable to get S’s phone call this morning out of my mind. The dude I share an office with and I spent the last two hours of our day doing a google image search of every male consultant (attending) in the hospital as a distraction exercise. The outcome was that I’m still incredibly hurt and feeling vulnerable over S the ex and it turns out that man at the hospital that does the intense eye contact with me can’t be a doctor after all. We are both baffled as to what his job is. He wears a tailored jacket that costs more than my entire wardrobe for the week. What role does he play in it all...? Today was the first Monday our paths haven’t crossed and the hippie part of my soul is saying that it’s a sign. A sign of what though? And why is S the ex behaving this way?

A mutual friend rang to ask about J. I asked her why. She tells me she needs to share sad information with him about a staff member but can’t bring herself to do it because of how angry she is with him. She was hoping I’d heard from him and that things were okay. I told her I had heard from him. He’d made it clear we will never interact again and so I’d responded telling him to go fuck himself. Not those exact words but there was definitely an F word in there somewhere and the sentiment was the same. Why now though, I asked her. It was only last night that I’d been reflecting on that (and posted it to my old blog), so why today of all days had she called? She didn’t know. I don’t ever want to hear his name again, I told her. He doesn’t want to know I exist, so it’s time I returned the favour. I don’t need reminders of how stupid I was. How foolish to fall for his lies so many times.

Another friend called. She wanted to know how it was I’d fallen under S the ex’s spell again. How, indeed. For nearly 18 months I’d kept him at arms distance. It was a fair question. I don’t know, I told her honestly. And I really don’t. But something happened and now he’s here and I am back to being the desperate little girl I was when we were together. When he doesn’t call or when he ignores my text, the anxiety overwhelms me. My weight continues to climb but my mood drops lower. He has me hypnotised again. I wake multiple times through the night to see if I’ve heard from him. I feel desperate and empty when I haven’t. How does he have this effect on me? What was the point of the tens of thousands of dollars spent on therapy if I am back here? And most importantly of all, why doesn’t he love me? Why am I still so unlovable to him?

So it’s been a day. The biggest day. I’m hiding from the world now. I told work that I need a week off. Things are not good for me at work or at home and I need to coil into myself if I’m to survive. They said okay. I can have a week off at the end of the month. But now I’m on their radar. I don’t want to be. I want to be invisible. I want the world to pass by without ever seeing me. If it can’t see me, then it can’t hurt me. Right? But it doesn’t work that way. They see me. They’re watching me.

I’m drowning. I know it. They know it. You probably know it too. The last 18 months were just too big. Too much. Too painful. And too alone. So very alone.

I am drowning and I need space and time to kick my way to the surface. I need someone to throw me a lifeline. I need something to feel like it is going right so I can drag myself to the surface and find a way to heal. I need someone to tell me it’s all going to be okay, even though I don’t think it will be.

#medicine #medblr #psychiatry #pgy4 #relationships #hurting

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nocturnalsleuth · 1 month

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Hey friendo, to help you out with avoiding flashy videos or GIFs, what tags can I use to help you out? I know it can vary from person to person...

The big go-to tags would be 'seizure warning' or 'flashing lights' (i also tag 'rapid cuts'/'animated text' but i think that's just me getting too specific, and some people use 'strobe lights'/strobing lights'/'pulsing lights')! The other tags I use are just for sorting/filtering purposes that aren't for content warnings ('video tag'/'gif tag'/'gif set').

But for the most part, I'm covered, even if something isn't tagged properly!

I have videos and gifs set to 'tap to start/play' with the accessibility settings on my phone, and xkit adds accessibility options and video player settings on tumblr desktop which do the same thing (and there are various gif/video/animation pausing extensions for firefox as well)!

It was definitely more of a concern when we were younger and it took several years before I was on meds that completely stopped the seizures. So unless I miss something like, two and a half days of doses (the amount i missed last time i had a seizure, i think it was December 2016), the chances of me having a seizure from a few seconds of an internet video are basically nil ✨✌️😎✌️✨

honestly the worst thing that'll happen with the miniscule chance smth DOES slip under the radar is the little bit of panic that came with. y'know. years of hat-wearing/shade-wearing/trigger-avoiding-at-all-costs. lol

Fun Fact for those who dont know me irl: it was mandatory for me to wear a hat when I was outside at school and when I hit my teens the hat of choice was. A trilby. I still have it. Somewhere.

#ns answers #thigh-high-senpai #epilepsy #tagging #is this oversharing. idk.#ty for asking dani!! at this point in time i'm covered!! 👍✨💖#most websites/apps have some form of accessibility settings for videos that usually work #some of them in theory should work but are kind of shit *coughtiktokcough*

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speakingtoheal · 1 year

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Really

How dare you say you never raped anyone. You spent weeks breaking me down into complete submission with your rage. One time I knelt and kissed your feet begging you to make it stop. It became a thing that I would silently cry in your arms while you ripped me to shreds with your words.

When you were done with your punching bag, you ordered me over to the edge of the bed. You’d spent all that time making sure I couldn’t say no. Let’s be clear, there’s no such thing as consensually fucking your rage into anyone’s body, cor leaning your dick off by fucking shit down my throat. there’s only one word for that. I began to realize what was happening when you held me down hard. My arms felt like they were about to break, and so did my nose. I remember choosing to just go somewhere else and let me body endure this until it was over. That’s why I started moaning do loud. If this had to happen then I Atleast wasn’t going to let you see me feel pain.

Don’t you fucking dare tell me that wasn’t rape.

What I don’t understand, is if you regret it so much, why didn’t you find me and beg for forgiveness? You don’t give a shit. I sincerely wonder if you’re capable of it. Christ I loved you so much. For how relatively brief it was, you were so perfect, and you quickly became the only thing I wanted in the world. I owned how I had fucked up while groveling every fucking night, I’m done with that shit. You are the one who has owning up to do.

I really am still trying to just let this go. You deliberately fucked me up hard, and you’re just sad about it. You poor thing. 🙄

I’m still haunted by the fact that no one in Portland would believe me except for my closest. I’ll have you know that back in 2018/19, the only reason I didn’t check myself in was because I was starting school.

I hate you and I hate how charismatic you are, it’s hard not to like you, do you get to fly under the radar as an absolute fucking monster.

#reveretapia

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voluptuarian · 2 years

Text

GOD I would like to eventually publish my fiction someday, but I want to be sure it’s in a way that is the opposite of the Twitter/booktok/why is this YA author reviewing disney movies on youtube/celebrity writer personality thing

and like, I think making sure the content in my stories a. doesn’t fit popular formats (”fiesty” heroine who hates being a girl, love triangle-centered, I’m-an-outcast-as-a-shortcut-for-character-depth, characters who exist to tick off a diversity checklist) and b. putting in enough sex and violence that nobody can market me for adults who don’t want to rise above a 6th grade reading level will help that somewhat

but have you noticed male writers aren’t being packaged like this? The closest I can think of to a twitter-era-online-personality-author equivalent for guys is like, the auteur figure who writes really niche or intellectualist shit or is just an edgelord, but even then it’s like, I have a black and white author photo and a twitter, which I use to occasionally discuss current events, other writers, or to say that women are people once every six months (and I’m not talking about like, rock stars who end up publishing a book or something, I’m talking purely authors) or the avuncular or edgy grandfather types who are usually also Super famous (like idc Neil Gaiman)

like I want what current male authors have, I want to get published and be successful and for my books to be enjoyed and respected, I want people to read my stuff and be like “this book was great” and have no idea what I’m like beyond “lives in Indiana and owns 2 dogs”

#like if I HAVE to have social media #I want to do a Megan Whalen Turner and just have my tiny tumblr where I reblog fanart #and talk about what historical sources I used as inspiration and NOTHING else #and I think weirdly for male authors the more famous they are the more celebrity presence/less private life they have #whereas for women authors I think it's the opposite #like even as famous and online as margaret atwood is how much does the average person know about her personally??#or deborah harkness??#meanwhile all these less successful-- mostly youth market-- interchangeable female authors are like 'lets discuss my entire family history #my various marginalized identities and how I use fanfic tropes to empower my middle school self'#and must have celebrity opinions on everything and broadcast themselves everywhere #basically I'm not seeing 20 and 30something male authors selling me their books on tiktok #if it's happening it's happening somewhere completely under the radar for me #meanwhile dozens of women in panda onesies are constantly hyping their new YA novel #something something women and minority authors must sell their identities and not their work something something #like let me be the old school fantasy author who wrote a dozen bestselling series about the most bizarre shit ever #meanwhile you'd never seen their face and they didn't even use their first name just seven sets of initials #like you only get to know about me if I'm god-tier famous and then I'm using my fame to get my fave historical buildings restored #barring that I don't exist

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readingbookelf · 3 years

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It’s you - Eric Coulter

Summary: When Eric finds out you’re divergent, he vows to protect you instead of turning you in.

Warnings: Brief mention of suicide.

Requested: yes, @tiablueviolet

Pairing: divergent!reader x Eric Coulter

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Ever since Four furrowed his eyebrows after you ploughed your way through the fear simulation test, you had been dreading the moment you had to take it again. You knew why his eyebrows were flying, he told you afterwards. You were divergent. The time on your test was way too good and the way you tackled some of the fears wasn’t the way a dauntless would. He warned you about the risks of people finding out. He gave you tips and reassured you he’d help you stay under Janine and everyone she’s working with their radar. Cautiousness is what kept you in the game this long and you weren’t about to lose your place or life.

-----

When you opened the door, you expected to find Four behind the monitor, but instead you found Eric. One of Dauntless’ fiercest leaders. Also the person who’s secretly working with Janine to round up all the divergents. However, you couldn’t complain. Every interaction you had with him was civil. He was friendlier towards you than other initiates. But as soon as he finds out what you are that’ll change.

“What’s with the grimace, initiate?” Eric asks while meeting your eyes with his strong gaze.

Your eyes fall to the floor while you mumble: “Nothing,” and take your seat on the chair.

“Good luck, y/n,” is the only warning you get before he plunges the needle in your neck. The fluids dunking you into your worst fears.

----

You emerge from the simulation gasping for air. Eric’s hand lands on your shoulder holding you in place. You chew your bottom lip while slowly lifting your eyes to meet his. You were prepared for disgust and anger because there was no way he wouldn’t have figured it out by now. But all you found was worry and fear.

His lips are moving but his words don’t reach your ears. You’re still mulling over the fact he hasn’t dragged you off to get rid of you.

He roughly pulls your chin, pulling you back into the moment.

“Who else knows?” he asks.

“Who else knows what?” you dumbly fire back.

“Who else knows you’re divergent?” he asks more urgently.

To deny or not? What good is denying if he clearly knows what you are. But telling him Four knows? That seems a bit dangerous.

“Who knows? We can’t tell anyone, you hear? Who knows what they’ll do to you,” he mumbles the last part, but it reaches your ears perfectly clear.

Your eyebrows furrow together. “Why do you care? You’re working with Janine.”

He looks at you, completely dumbstruck.

Yeah, secret’s out, Eric.

“Because I care about you. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Why? I’m just an initiate.”

“I… I’ve grown to like you, okay?” he whispers.

“You like me.” It was stated as a fact, but you still find it hard to believe.

Why would he like you? He was ruthless, a leader, someone who hunted your kind, he’s extremely mean towards initiates. But here he was, saying he likes you.

Having enough of your hesitation, he starts to lead and takes matters into his own hands. He gets rid of the remaining initiates in the waiting room.

When he comes back into the room, he pulls you from the chair and starts leading you somewhere. Maybe he decided it would be a good idea to just push you in the pit and play it off as a suicide. That thought disappears when you walk past the pit into the streets where lots of Dauntless live.

You stumble when he opens a door. More specifically the door to his apartment.

Finding your voice you ask: “What am I doing here?”

“We have to come up with some type of strategy so the higher ups don’t realise what you are. Your fellow initiates are also getting more restless because someone they didn’t see as a threat is now rising the ranks and fast. For your safety, you’ll be staying here. I have a spare bedroom where you can stay,” he responds.

“They’ll get suspicious if I’m not sleeping in the sleeping room with them.”

“Better than finding you dead in the morning. We’ll figure out an excuse.”

Eric’s reaction is the complete opposite of Four’s. Four was calm and collected, but Eric is taking more rash decisions. Decisions that have a big impact on your initiation and how your peers will see you. It would raise so many questions. You don’t want to tell him about Four, but maybe Four will balance out his erratic behaviour. Sharing an apartment with Eric doesn’t seem like the correct way to handle things. People would probably think you’re sleeping together which would put an even bigger target on your back. They would insinuate that he’s the reason why you’re rising in the ranks.

“Four knows,” you state quietly.

Disbelief paints Eric’s face.

You continue with an explanation: “He noticed it in the test from last week. It’s not like I told him. But his ideas seem a bit more lowkey than everything you’re suggesting. Maybe… maybe we should just put our heads together.”

You look at him with an expression that could rival the puppy eyes. It’s clear that he’s hesitating, but after taking a deep breath he manages to nod.

-----

After involving Four with the whole planning, you had a solid plan to keep you safe.

You still rose in the ranks pretty quickly causing your fellow initiates to stop talking to you and start viewing you as an enemy. One of them even took matters into their own hands and violently attacked you which resulted into you moving in with Eric.

How he convinced the other Dauntless leaders that this way the way to protect you, you had no idea, but you were grateful. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep if you had to stay in the same room as the other initiates.

It took you a couple of days to get used to living with Eric. Surprisingly, you easily fell into a rhythm with him. It usually took you a while to get used to people and their ways, but with Eric it felt natural.

Eventually you passed initiation, but you haven’t left Eric’s apartment since you moved in.

#eric coulter x reader #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x you #eric coulter x y/n #divergent #divergent imagine #divergent x reader #divergent x you #divergent x y/n #divergent series #divergent series x reader #divergent series imagine #divergent series x you #divergent series x y/n #four

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obiwanobi · 3 years

Note

Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.

LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)

He didn’t mean to kill him.

Well, not at first.

He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.

As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.

And then... And then fear.

"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."

"You gifted me those slippers."

"As a joke. And you still wear them."

"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."

"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"

"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."

"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.

"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."

Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"

"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."

"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"

"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"

"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"

Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.

He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.

So, of course, something has to be wrong.

The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.

And Obi-Wan can't understand why.

It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.

Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.

Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.

But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.

His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.

His fingers start pulling on his collar.

The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.

He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.

There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.

"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"

Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.

His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.

The tears the last time he gave it to him.

"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."

Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.

"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"

Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.

"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips."

"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.

Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.

"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."

Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"

All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.

But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.

Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.

"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"

"Vader."

"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

"Vader, who sent—"

"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."

The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.

"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"

"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.

"Who did you kill?"

"My master."

"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"

"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."

It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.

He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.

Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.

"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."

"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.

Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.

"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.

#appleslakesandeuchre #(I changed the end of your prompt a bit I hope it’s fine with you)#asks #obikin #clem's aus #fic i will never write #always a sith anakin au #ahsoka the next morning is HORRIFIED to find a sith on the couch #like 'I knew you had a huge soft spot for him but really master? REALLY?'#obi-wan 'shh don't raise your voice at him'#fic i did write

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

How long would it take the volturi to solve the Kira case?

Fascinating question, anon, I like it. So much so you get answered much earlier than you normally would be.

Shinigami and the World of Twilight

In Twilight there are few supernatural creatures that remain in our world. There's vampires, children of the moon, and the shapeshifter. However, these need not be the only supernatural creatures.

There have likely been mass extinctions (seen in Children of the Moon) and there may be more creatures that are so uncommon that we just don't see any hint of them.

Death Note's Shinigami easily fall into this category.

They live in another dimension, and in the human world (which they rarely visit in person), they're invisible to the eye save for those who have touched their death note. Their methods of killing are so unobtrusive, (heart attacks by default or whatever method they please), that they're unlikely to be noticed unless someone (i.e. Light) is trying to make a point. And in the grand scheme of things, Shinigami also kill relatively infrequently, meaning that any odd death gets passed off as that: an odd death. Also being forbidden to kill for the sake of a human being means that the deaths tend to be a) random b) whatever amuses them the most. That'd be hard to pick a pattern up of.

Shinigami exist in such a manner that I doubt even the Volturi are aware of them.

Some Ground Rules For the Post

I don't see why vampires would have an innate ability to see Shinigami that humans lack. As a result, the Volturi are in the same boat everyone else is, they can't see a Shinigami unless they touch that Shinigami's notebook.

Also, per the manga, the Kira case takes place from 2003-2010, meaning that as Twilight is happening (or before if Aro and the gang somehow solve this faster than L would), the world is mired in the Kira case.

Bella would certainly have been talking about it in Twilight. As would Edward, as he once had his Kira foray as well if on a much smaller scale and with a lot more junkies.

For the sake of my nitpicky need to have everything line up, we're going to push Death Note back a few years, to the beginning of Twilight.

Also, we're taking out L. If L's there, Aro can rely on him doing most of the work for him and only show up at the end to either murder or turn Light once L's narrowed down exactly who it is. That's not really fair per the ask, we have to leave the Volturi on their own.

With that, let's start.

Kira Makes His Appearance

Light's appearance was by no means subtle, he wanted to be noticed immediately, but he also didn't want to be noticed as a human being.

He made no televised announcements, left no messages, sent in no letters saying, "I am God, tremble before me". Instead, he let his silence speak.

He killed via heart attacks those he considered having broken the law to some heinous degree and then he sat back and watch. The public dubbed him Kira first and he only became a confirmed presence, something more real than a specter and a human who could be caught and brought to justice, when he murdered Lind L. Taylor in a public spectacle.

But this is a world without L, which means no Lind L. Taylor, instead we have Volturi and company in Volterra, utterly unconcerned with the human world.

Of course, they immediately notice once an undeniable pattern becomes clear. Human criminals are dying en masse of heart attacks, someone is making a message. The question is, to what end?

Aro wouldn't immediately think this is a human. This kind of power, this kind of gift, to be able to seemingly kill any person in the world at any time no matter the distance, is something too strong for a human. It would be unheard of to have this much power as a human.

Which means Aro believes he's looking for a vampire breaking the law.

The trouble is, it's only humans. The newborn wars are raging as always, every major coven he's ever heard of remains untouched, and there's been no noticeable uptick of deaths among the vampire population.

The only difference to them is that more of them are dangerously close to breaking the law, as crime rates are now plummeting as criminals live in terror of a spiteful god who might strike them down at any moment. This makes murders performed by vampires, in certain areas, far more noticeable.

(As Light is probably killing off known gang leaders, drug lords, etc. left and right, it's probably pandemonium in certain cities/countries. So vampires are probably alright in these places as I'm sure there's a lot of murder going on as survivors try to fill the power vacuum.)

Still, the Volturi have to put their heads together and try to think why any vampire would do this? To what end would they murder all these humans, in such a noticeable manner, and not even to eat their victims?

Aro concludes he's looking for a very young vampire, likely newborn, someone who still thinks of himself as very human and beholden to human society and who isn't aware of Volterra or else does not consider them a threat.

The Volturi Investigators

I think Aro's going to take the lead on this one. There's his gift, obviously, but he'd by far have the most interest.

Caius would be upset by the nerve of Kira, but he has no patience to track him down either when it becomes exceedingly obvious that this is going to be tricky. That, and it just doesn't seem like his thing to me. He's going to mostly sit this one out.

As for Marcus, he's not up to it.

Which makes Aro our lead detective.

The Investigation

Like L, the first thing they do is try to pinpoint the first deaths. There was the immediate deluge, of course, but that screams of confidence in this assassination gift.

Kira likely needed practice to perfect his gift or even realize he had it at all. There's going to be a first victim and it will probably be messy.

Given enough investigation, this probably leads Aro to Japan, where a man taking children hostage suddenly dies in the middle of the hostage situation when televised on national TV (though not outside of Japan). Given that Kira's a vampire, he could have moved from where he started quite easily, but Aro's willing to bet he's still somewhere in Japan.

What Aro does know is that Kira's keeping close to human society. Kira will be reading human papers, watching human television constantly, and appears to be very well-informed concerning his future victims. Both locally as well as internationally. Kira is likely still in a human settlement.

So, the first thing Aro does is look for an unusual number of casualties in any city or town in Japan. Kira will probably be in the newborn phase, may truly be only a few months old, and given his actions has probably been abandoned by his sire. Even if he has unusually high control, he's got to eat sometime, and thanks to his own actions the murder rate in major cities is way down.

Except... there's no uptick.

Crime, murder, in Japan is universally on a downwards trend. Major cities like Tokyo and small rural villages it's all the same, there's nothing noticeable.

Kira either isn't in Japan or... he's not eating.

Aro wonders if, perhaps this assassination gift of his, somehow feeds Kira. He is, after all, stealing life. He does it via heart attacks but maybe, somehow, the very act of stealing life is all Kira needs. Perhaps he doesn't have to drink blood due to this.

This blows Aro's mind for a few days but eventually he decides that, no, he's never heard of this. True, he's never heard of this gift either, but all vampires drink blood. Even Carlisle, who drinks animal blood, still drinks blood and suffers great negative effects for his avoidance of a natural diet.

Kira the vampire must still eat.

Which means, in the absence of any other explanation... Kira's not a vampire. Kira is likely a very gifted human.

Aro's mind is blown again because Holy Fuck, what a gift. Kira has blown Jane and Alec, who were only immediately noticeable in their own village, completely out of the water.

Except, the trouble is, neither Aro nor anyone else in the Volturi is a detective. Aro knows enough about human society to pay his taxes, to hire secretaries, and keep on the up and up, but he doesn't actually solve human crimes.

What he's looked for for thousands of years are vampires who break the law: and they have certain patterns, motivations, etc. that are more or less easy to spot. More, the entire point of his law is that, if Aro notices then it means you broke it. There are those that can and do fly under his radar.

How is he supposed to find a gifted human who can kill anyone in the world any time he pleases? From a brief perusal of Japanese news, there's no one immediately obvious as gifted or strange by local papers.

From earlier killings, Aro notes that Kira doesn't seem to kill between 8 in the morning to 4 pm, which might make him a student but also could mean he's working those hours.

And even if he is a student? How in the world is Aro supposed to touch the hand of every student in the entire country of Japan? Aro, who makes it a point not to navigate the human world.

Aro Calls in the Expert

When you want to hang out with the humans, there's only one vampire to call: Carlisle Cullen. As we're setting this in early Twilight, neither Eclipse nor Breaking Dawn have happened. To the Cullens, and Carlisle, Aro is simply a wise king and Carlisle's old friend.

And I'm sure Carlisle has been watching the Kira case very closely and is very disturbed by the entire thing. Kira's methods are very much not Carlisle's m.o.

Aro gives Carlisle what he knows: Kira's probably a gifted human, probably somewhere in Japan, probably in school, and has access to an extensive amount of human media.

That's it.

That's all Aro's got.

As for the police at large, without L, they haven't even narrowed it down to Japan yet.

Carlisle points out that, as much as he hangs out with humans, he doesn't think he could find the needle in the haystack either. However, he definitely wants to help in any way he can.

However, they do have something. Aro can't touch the hand of everyone in Japan, however, Edward can unobtrusively listen to a much larger segment of the population.

(Alice is off the table as she's best able to see the future of those close to her. Without knowing who Kira even is, let alone being close to him, she has no idea what he's going to even do next. She's likely very frustrated by this.)

Surely, whoever Kira is, he or she will be contemplating their victims more often than not. It's a long shot, but Edward might be able to find that needle in a haystack.

How's Edward Feel About That?

Edward's extremely conflicted. On the one hand, he doesn't want to disappoint Carlisle, and this is the first time Carlisle has ever asked him for a favor of this magnitude. And, in theory, Carlisle is right, all creatures are worthy of life.

On the other hand, Edward's on Team Kira. He thinks these rapist, murderer, pigs all deserve to die and is rooting for Kira to put the fear of God into them. Emphasizing this is when Bella was nearly raped in Port Angeles, but her would be rapist suddenly remembered himself and vomited in terror at the idea that he might be next should he get caught raping her. (As it is, Edward catches him, and a few weeks later he dies of a heart attack in prison. Edward pops the champagne).

More, if Edward goes to Japan, it means he has to leave Bella. Bella has proven she cannot survive without his personal protection. More, he's not sure he can survive without her presence. He can hardly contemplate the idea of leaving Bella, though he ultimately must, but to do so soon? He though he'd have a few more years, likely until they graduate, but now he and the family would have to move all the way to Japan in a matter of days.

Not to mention this would be letting Aro know that Edward's... not technically breaking the law but not not breaking the law either. Bella clearly suspects he's not human, she just doesn't have the right word.

And then to give Kira up to the Volturi? To have his activities stopped, to be turned and placed into the guard, or else murdered? Edward feels like he'd be selling out the brother he never knew.

But also Carlisle and imagining Carlisle's sad, disappointed, face.

Edward says yes but he really wants to say no.

He sneaks into Bella's room in the middle of the night, and for the first time, makes her aware of his presence. He tells her that regretfully he must leave her, he's off to do a man's work and catch Kira, and that they will never see each other again.

Then to Edward's horror and disappointment, Bella's completely on board for Edward catching Kira and thinks it's the noblest thing he could do. Charlie, being a chief of police, utterly despises Kira and Bella carries forward this sentiment. People deserve the due process of law, not being murdered off by some jackass conning people into believing he's a god.

Bella wishes him luck and tells him to return as soon as he can.

Edward just numbly says he won't be returning. This really is it. Goodbye forever.

Bella's utterly broken (though not nearly as much as canon as Edward didn't dump her for being boring).

Edward in Japan

Well, turns out, Edward's not actually that useful. There's a few problems.

First, there are a lot of people out there claiming to be Kira, or even convincing themselves that they're Kira. They do this to brag, to feel special, for any number of reasons.

None of them are Kira.

Second, Edward can only go out on cloudy days or at night, this severely limits when he can wander the streets and the people he'll run into. More, even if he starts with Tokyo, Tokyo's a big place. That's a lot of wandering to do.

Third, say that Edward does come across Light Yagami. Edward immediately dismisses him as being utterly insane. See, Light Yagami is talking to his imaginary friend, Ryuk, bickering about which apples they should buy from the store. Edward sees the giant clown demon that Light believes only he can see and goes, "Ah, another lunatic, cheerio."

Edward does not find Kira.

The Investigation Continues

Aro likely keeps Edward at it for months. It doesn't matter how long it takes, they're going to track down Kira and they're going to find him. It might take years, but dammit, they'll find him. Edward despairs that he will ever be able to go back to normal life.

Luckily for the gang, Bella saves their bacon.

Bella, ruminating on Edward's mission and on Kira, starts doing her own internet investigation. She doesn't get very far, but she does have those prophetic dreams to help her out.

Bella has a seriously weird dream about the moon, night gods, Kira, demons that look like giant crows, notebooks, and Light Yagami's face. Somehow, just as in canon with vampires, Bella's able to somehow put this together.

She calls up Edward (as they parted on more amiable terms, and so quickly, Edward did not yet disconnect his number) and tells him that Kira's name is Light Yagami, he's attending the University of Tokyo as the top student, and his murder weapon is an evil notebook.

How does she know this?

She looked it up on the internet.

Well, Edward isn't sure how to take that, but he also has nothing to lose. They find Light Yagami, Aro shakes his hand, and holy shit, Bella Swan was right. (Aro now decrees that she will be turned, much to Edward's horror and insistence that she has no idea he's a vampire, and has plans to recruit her for his guard).

What Are We Going to Do About Light?

Well, on the one hand, Aro discovered a new species today that he can do nothing about. Luckily, they seem to have their own laws that have more or less the same result as the Volturi laws: don't get noticed.

On the other hand, he's disappointed that this all-powerful gift was not a gift at all.

On the other other hand, Light does not seem to be an ordinary human. He's... lucky, for lack of a better term. No, it's more that he doesn't need luck, he somehow has such an awareness of everything around him that he assimilates it perfectly into his own plans. As if he can manipulate the very universe to his favor.

That's intriguing and useful, and in any other situation, Aro would jump on taking that chance and at least seeing what happens.

So the question becomes, does Aro turn Light or not? On the one hand, that's a useful gift, on the other hand, this kid's a loose cannon and a lunatic.

This Kira thing cannot continue, and Light, even as a vampire, would likely insist on continuing it somehow.

Luckily, there's a solution to this.

Aro burns the notebook, much to Ryuk's protesting despair. Light loses his memories of Ryuk, the notebook, and having been Kira. Before Light even knows what's happening, Aro turns him.

Three days later, Light wakes up a very confused vampire, gets the Volturi pitch with Chelsea there to help loosen bonds, and accepts a position in the guard to, oddly enough, stop those like Kira.

Aro's confused, but hey, they'll see how this Light thing works out. Aro also likely tells himself that he will watch for Ryuk trying to drop Light another notebook like a hawk.

The Kira case is never solved for humans: Kira just disappears one day as if he never existed. As for Light, I imagine he plots the destruction of the newborn armies, and Caius watches in utter fascination as this kid ruthlessly exterminates them all.

Bella is shortly turned into a vampire, much to Edward's despair, and due to the giant mess of this is also likely recruited to Volterra.

How Long Does This Take?

Given the need for the Volturi to first investigate, then Edward, I give them at least a year. Maybe a year and a half.

And really, it's Bella who saves their bacon.

#twilight #death note #twilight meta #death note meta #twilight headcanon #death note headcanon #light yagami #ryuk #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #aro #caius #the volturi #bella swan #meta #headcanon #opinion

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